Author's Note: The prompt was 'sinner'. Originally published via my tumblr account (charlie-breadbury) I somehow managed to take the smuttiest prompt and turn it into a fluffy story.

Diets, Dean Winchester had long since decided, were stupid. The whole premise of 'eating better' to 'improve your figure' was just ridiculous. Tough, red-blooded men like Dean didn't eat pansy things like quinoa (when Sam first brought it up, Dean though that it was some sort of rare, oriental disease). It would be a cold day in Hell before Dean Winchester consented to leafy greens.

Which is why he was so confused when he went into the kitchen one morning to fix some burgers and found that all of the food had been replaced by healthy, green monstrosities.

"SAM," he bellowed.

"WHAT?'

"WHERE IS THE PIE,"

"I GOT RID OF IT FOR OUR DIET,"

A deathly silence descended upon the bunker. Sam felt that it was as good a time as any to make himself scarce for a few hours.

That's how Dean ended up, at 11:30 at night, rifling through his secret stash of food. Martyrdom, evidently, does not quite extend to the giving up of carbs.

Not that cheating on one's diet was a terrifically big sin, but if you asked Sam it was on the level with taking candy from babies and, like, genocide. Needless to say, Dean was unwilling to face the full force of Sam's patented Puppy Dog Face ™.

But getting back to the story, Dean was so absorbed that he failed to notice someone creeping up behind him. Ominous music began to play. Well, figuratively. Anyway, the figure moved closer and closer and then-

"Hello, Dean," said the shadow. Dean jumped approximately a foot in the air and whirled around, his pie filled plate crashing to the floor with a guilty smash (if smashes could be guilty, which they can't).

Before him stood…oh wait, it was just Cas. Dean exhaled in relief.

"Don't tell Sam," he said. Cas cocked his head to the side.

"Are you doing something wrong?" he asked.

"Uh…no,"

"Then why would I tell Sam?"

"…"

"…"

"Do you want a hamburger?"

Cas' face lost its bewildered look and replaced it with one of incontestable bliss. Dean grinned at him subconsciously. They stood there for a moment. The moment continued. And continued. Okay, less of a moment, more of a, uh, extended period of time.

When the moment ended, both sat down at the dinner table, Dean with his pie and Cas with his burger.

The next night, Dean was sitting down at the table, munching away at a plate of bacon. Cas silently sat down next to him and hesitantly tucked in. They stared at one another in a manner that would've made Becky Rosen squeal with delight.

They continued on in this vein for several nights. Suddenly, midway through their nightly eyescapades, Dean leaned over and pecked Cas on the lips. Cas blinked owlishly.

The rest of the night was too entirely inappropriate to be contained in this tale and has therefore been removed for the safe viewing of many a younger audience.

Suffice to say, Dean was definitely a bigger sinner than he had been that morning.

The next morning Sam wondered through the kitchen and was alarmed to see Cas wearing one of Dean's shirts. His eyebrows went up several notches higher than was previously thought possible.

A smile the size of Northern Ontario spread across Sam's face (for those who don't know, Northern Ontario is freakishly big. Like, enormously big. Northern Ontario is so phenomenally huge that it intimidates the inside of the TARDIS). When Dean sauntered out in a self-satisfied manner, Sam had but one thing to say:

"Cas and Dean sitting in a tree…"