Work Text:
Washcloth shivered. It was going to be his turn this time, he just knew it.
A large hand picked him up and gave him a gentle squeeze and Washcloth thanked the Great Towel that he'd been washed and dried earlier with fabric softener. He took a deep breath and tried to make his terry loops pook out even puffier. He almost managed to keep the smugness in check but there was one thing he was confident of - his downy fresh smell.
Hand seemed satisfied and Washcloth found himself held under the faucet as warm water sprayed down over him. Determined to do his duty, he forced himself to relax and take as much of it into him as he could. Oh god, it was good and so much better than those casual flings in the laundry room. This was personal. Washcloth couldn't help himself and a little drizzle leaked out.
Hand didn't seem to mind. He just gave him a gentle squeeze and carried him into the next room.
Miles and miles of naked skin lay in front of him and Washcloth just stared and hoped he'd survive this encounter.
He was handled with a smoothness and gentleness that none of the other washcloths had warned him about. Pride filled his terrycloth breast and Washcloth put his best effort into absorbing all that he could, and leaving clean, damp skin in his wake. He -- dare he say it? -- licked up every drop of musky residue that Hand gave him.
Oh, he knew what was coming next; he'd heard the talk in the linen closet, impossible to miss, really. And yes, he was tossed to the side, barely hitting the top of the dirty laundry pile.
His job was over. He'd done it and done it well. Sticky and wet, Washcloth sighed in satisfaction.