@fatherhaunted: 010 — in the kitchen making the desserts for the big day, and perhaps even making a mess too!
"hey!" but it's too late. dean's mouth is already wrapped around the cake-batter-covered spatula, and tay's hands are on her hips. the silicone springs back into place when he pulls it out— "ha! it bends!" she's far from enthralled, less so when she sees where the spatula ends up in response to her glare. tay wets her lip, and breathes in through her nose. "not... the same bowl."
after a minute long argument about how she can no longer give any to their neighbours, tay realises she's losing. dean thinks she can, 'cause it won't hurt 'em. and tay knows she can't play the morality card, so she doesn't. her lips press into a line, and she resumes her work in silence.
"you pissed?" he asks, sounding ever so slightly worried. tay side-eyes him, and says nothing— not because she is, but because the panic on his face sends a short, sharp thrill through her. she knows dean, knows that when he's like this— relaxed, happy, and not trying to kill her— that he must rectify the situation immediately.
when he pulls her back against his chest, clad in the gaudiest, and she assumes, most crude festive apron he could find, she grins knowingly. but it soon drops, when his hands wander. "dean." tay's chin is tilted up, so she can look at his face. "is there a flour handprint on my ass?"
"heh," he grins this time, and there's mischief in his eyes. "y'want me to check?" tay rolls hers as she pushes away from him, but she doesn't make any effort to brush it away. it's as close to taking ownership that dean will get, and given the time of year, tay will treat herself to a little self-pleasure.
"no," tay finally answers. "why don't you roll out the dough?" she spins on the spot, opens the fridge door to grab it and shoves it into his hands. "cookie cutters are there, and remember— the same amount of each one." he's obedient enough, even picks a clean area as workspace. but then he makes a face, one that says hold on a sec.
"what are you doin’?"
"making you something."
in a pan, she dumps cherries, sugar, a pinch of salt, and a squeeze of lemon and enough water to ensure nothing burns. "cookies," she reminds him, when he glances in the stovetop's direction. "same amount of each—" she turns her head to check, "put the knife down. your snowmen have sharp edges. and what don't snowmen have?"
"sharp edges," dean mumbles. the knife clatters when he puts it down. confident enough, she turns her back to stir the mixture in the saucepan. and thankfully, the rest of her preparation passes by with no further incident.
"i was thinkin'…" now that everything is laid out on racks, and cooling to the perfect temperature for decorating— "we got time for some fun?" he punctuates the word, and raises his eyebrows and looks all-around ridiculous. the ingredients for the frosting stare at her from the kitchen counter, but so does dean, whose eyebrows have turned into caterpillars.
tay sighs, eventually, like his question is mentally debilitating. "apron, off. now," she says, deadpan, like she's preparing to reject him. "half an hour," she points a finger, whilst he gleefully untangles himself from the fabric. "and do not—" tay's already backing away, heading for the living room, smirk forming, "say ho ho ho this time."
