15.1 Over Pie
"It is a truth universally acknowledged that pie is a food group."
Sam eyes the offending pastry with distaste, like sometimes he still can't believe that he and Dean are related. Then he stuffs a forkful of eggs in his mouth and chases it with weak-ass diner coffee.
"Dude, for breakfast? Seriously?"
"What?" Dean replies, a bit defensively. Bitch Face Number Two this early in the morning is never an auspicious beginning to the day. "It's got fruit in it."
Dean looks beseechingly at Castiel, who is seated across from him, next to Sam.
"I am inclined to agree with Sam, Dean," Castiel responds solemnly. "The combination of minimal protein and excessive sugar will –"
Enthusiastically, Dean lops off a chunk of cherry pie with his fork and shovels it into his mouth, taking great care to lick every little bit of filling and whipped cream from the utensil. It's sweet and tangy and the crust is nice and flaky, so he doesn't really have to play it up. But the look on Castiel's face, eyes wide, lips slightly parted as he stumbles over his words – is totally worth the half-amused, half-disgusted snort Sam blows into his coffee as he takes another sip.
"Mmm," Dean hums, sliding the fork out between pressed lips.
Castiel swallows, but plows stubbornly ahead. "—retard your metabolism, and the inevitable sugar crash you will experience in approximately sixty minutes will leave you irritable and poorly focused."
"And we have to ride with you," Sam adds, unhelpfully.
"Since when do you take his side?" Dean grouses, glaring accusingly at Castiel.
"I'm not 'taking sides' Dean. I'm merely concerned for your well-being, and Sam's breakfast is—"
Calling on all his speed and agility as a hunter, Dean reaches across the table and stuffs a chunk of his pie into Castiel's open mouth between words. It's not a perfect hit – Dean manages to smear whipped cream on Castiel's upper lip, but the good stuff makes it in. Dean grins.
"Mmph."
"Awesome, right?"
"Nice, Dean," Sam chastises.
Castiel barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes. But, as the food is already in his mouth and is too large to speak around, Castiel resigns himself to chewing. Dean watches him openly, gauging his response. Almost instantly, Castiel's expression slides from mild annoyance to pleasantly surprised, which is a face Dean didn't know Castiel could make. Surprises aren't usually pleasant in their line of work.
Then, very slowly, Castiel's tongue sneaks out from between pink lips and swipes at the whipped cream, and it is Dean's turn to squirm. That tongue is sinfully alluring – all the more so because Cas has no idea. And Dean wants. He wants Cas, and specifically, at that second, he wants to know what that tongue feels like, well, everywhere.
He's half-hard just thinking about it, and wonders if there's any way he can rearrange himself without Sam noticing, when Castiel steals Sam's extra fork (why do they give you two anyway?) and uses it, not to stab Dean for stuffing food in his mouth, but to break off another piece of pie and bring it precariously to his mouth.
Dean's mouth goes dry, and when he looks at Sam his brother's eyebrows are hiding behind his stupid bangs, like they just witnessed the end of the world or something and are seeking shelter. Castiel still has just enough mojo that food is not a requirement, and neither of them have ever seen him eat something that was not forced upon him by Dean, or, you know, a Horseman of the Apocalypse.
But Castiel just stole some of Dean's cherry pie, all by himself, and Dean thinks he may have just fallen in love, or died and gone to heaven or some other stupid, sappy metaphor-thingy.
After Castiel swallows it down, looking distinctly satisfied, he realizes he's being observed.
"I apologize, Dean. I should have asked. I know how you feel about pie."
Dean grunts, fingers wrapped so tightly around his own fork he thinks he might warp it.
Sam snorts.
Castiel cants his head to the side and, very solemnly, turns to face Sam. "I apologize to you, also, Sam. I feel I must amend my previous statement, because Dean does have a point."
"Does he?"
"The pie does have fruit in it, and while I'm not certain this qualifies it for its own food group, it more than adequately meets the criteria for breakfast."
Under pain of death, Dean will not ever admit to making the awed, greedy sound that squeaks in the back of his throat right before he lunges across the table, grabs Cas by his tie and pulls him into an equally awed, greedy kiss. It's kind of sloppy, but Castiel's fork clatters to the floor when he abandons it for Dean's hair, and he's making these awesome happy noises that Dean just keeps swallowing down because they may be better than the pie. Actually, they are definitely better than the pie, and even if they weren't, Castiel's tongue certainly is. It's straightforward and insistent, just like its owner, and when they're finished tasting each other, Castiel licks his lips like he's pretty sure he wants seconds.
Dean shivers, and seriously thinks he may have just fallen in love. Over pie.
"Thank God," Sam mutters. "Check please? And we're totally getting separate rooms now."
Dean grins, and Cas is smiling with his eyes, and thinks he may be okay with that. More than okay, even.