Sam pulls the cherry between his lips without prelude. A guy who knows exactly what he wants, and how to achieve it, he attacks his goal with precision and drive. For the short time it takes to bring his work to completion, he keeps his gaze level, locked, syrupy smug. When finished, the satisfaction swimming within his stare moves lower, curving his mouth, exposing the smallest flash of teeth as he plucks the stem free between forefinger and thumb. A perfect knot.
Dean's more coy. He grins around the berry, caught delicately between perfect whites, relishing the task before he's even begun. It's all boy-next-door sparkle and dimples until a swipe of his tongue starts the game. After that, his jaw works slow and methodical, drawing a faint pull of muscle along his neck, lips flattened one moment, released the next, plush and slick. There's something wicked in his eye that suggests he's drawing out the finale, but it's worth the wait. The tip of his tongue plays cat and mouse, just long enough for his fingers to catch and display a knot of his own. Kept loose at the twist, it artfully resembles a heart. The smirk he's wearing has been well earned.
Then there's Cas. He pops three cherries in his mouth, then sticks out his tongue less than a minute later, revealing a perfect French braid.
"Celestial intent, assbutts."