Notes: So this is a little something I tripped over on an old flash drive that I think I was writing for Coldflash week 2016 for the prompt domestic life, and was actually inspired by a post I can't locate.

"Leonard? Leonard Snart? Where the hell are you? Leonard!"

"Good God," Len mumbles, making a final adjustment to his gun before setting it aside, "he's calling me Leonard. This can't be good."

Barry storms in from the kitchen at regular, human speed, dish towel in hand, the green cloth flipping in the air as he talks with his hands. "Leonard Snart! Are you out here playing with your gun?"

Len snickers, biting his tongue before he can even think to answer that question. Barry is definitely not in the mood for humor, but the innuendos flooding his brain are too, too good to resist. "I guess that depends on your definition of playing … and gun."

"You said you'd do the dishes!"

"And?"

Barry sputters, wondering when he took the express ticket to crazy town. Would they be having this conversation if Len had done the dishes? "And you didn't do the dishes!"

"I haven't done the dishes yet. There's a difference."

"When are you going to do the dishes?"

"I'll do them later. Or tomorrow."

"What!?"

"We have lots of dishes, Bare. It's not that big a deal."

"You were supposed to do the dishes yesterday!"

"I couldn't do the dishes, babe. Officially, I'm on laundry duty this week."

"You're on laundry duty this week because you didn't do the dishes last week! I did the dishes last week! And guess what I'm doing right now?"

"What?"

"The laundry!"

"If you ask me, I think the distribution of chores in this household is a little unfair."

"Really?" Barry huffs, crossing his arms. "Considering I'm the one doing all the chores, I'd have to agree. But how do you figure?"

"Well, it takes you about two seconds to do all of the chores in the house, whereas it takes me a considerable amount more time. Time that could be put to better use."

"Doing what?"

"A blow job, for example."

Barry raises an eyebrow, his anger shelved for a moment. "Are you offering or asking?"

"That depends – which one will get me outta doing the dishes?"

Barry rolls his eyes, his anger back with a vengeance and a flash of electricity behind his eyes. "For your information, I don't use my speed to do the chores anymore. I was reprimanded for that, remember?"

"Your friends down at S.T.A.R. Labs can lecture you all they want. Doesn't mean you have to listen. That one's on you, babe."

"Speed or not," Barry says through gritted teeth spitting sparks, "if you think I'm doing the laundry, the dishes, and giving you a blow job, you have another think coming!"

"You act like I don't want to do anything around here."

"You don't!"

"Yes, I do. It's just my priorities are different than yours. I actually have something way more important on my to-do list than the dishes, Bare."

Barry tilts his head, disbelieving. "Do you even have a to-do list?"

"Yes, I do," Len says with a nod.

"Let me see it."

Barry holds out a hand. Len holds Barry's stare, unmoved, as if this is beneath him. But once he realizes that Barry isn't going to back down, he starts looking around him – the floor, his pockets, the end table, it's small drawer – for a piece of paper and a pen. He finally finds both beneath the recliner he's sitting on in the form of a pad of bright yellow Post-It notes and a blue ballpoint pen. He scrawls on the top sheet to make sure the pen has ink, disposes of it once he sees it does, and then writes on the second. He hands the pad over to Barry, pointing emphatically at the top sheet.

Barry looks at the Post-It Len hands over. At the top, it says To-Do List in Len's psychotically neat handwriting, and below that: Barry Allen.

"See," Len says proudly, standing from his chair and approaching his bristling boyfriend. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get to work."

Barry grabs the pen from him before Len can put a hand on him. He scratches out his name and, in its place, writes the fucking dishes. He thrusts it back at Len, forcing him to take it. Len looks at Barry's corrections, grinning with the right side of his mouth.

"If I do the fucking dishes, can I get a blow?"

Barry sighs. He knew this was where it would all end up. He wonders why he even bothers. He can do the dishes in way less time than it takes to argue with his obnoxious boyfriend. But it's the principle.

Of course, if Barry could ditch his principles, maybe he'd be on the receiving end of a blow job more often.

He tosses the dish towel in Len's smug, superior face.

"Depends on if you dry."