Chapter Text
Dean’s excitement was almost overwhelming, the warm green of him sweeping over Castiel. With such glinting joy before him, Castiel almost missed the object Dean tapped a finger against.
“What?” he asked. His eloquence so often deserted him around Dean.
“Cake, Cas,” Dean said, the grin on his face seeping into his voice. “I saw it and knew you’d love it.”
The box was pastel blue, a colour Castiel associated with the sky on an early spring day. More precisely, it was the colour of the sky the last time he’d soared over Lake Michigan, back when his wings were still whole enough to carry him. Threads of near-white longing caught him. He had always imagined Dean would admire his wings, and had never quite dared to show him. Now, it was too late.
Pushing that aside, he considered why Dean might have brought him cake. He hadn’t eaten anything in front of Dean since getting his Grace back, but he hadn’t told Dean food had no appeal for him, either.
“Why would I want cake?” he asked, because with Dean it was sometimes best just to ask. He may or may not get an answer, but at least that avenue would have been explored.
“Just look at it,” Dean said instead. “Tell me that is not a great cake.”
Dean lifted the lid and Castiel peered in at his present, round and huge and covered in white frosting. Something about it tugged at him.
“It does look intriguing,” he said, and shifted his shoulders. The pull of his wings felt greater today, though he’d thought the constant dragging weight of the near-dead appendages had become…familiar enough to ignore. Dean wouldn’t find them impressive as they were. “Are you intending we eat some now?”
The cake did look appealing. Perhaps a slice would be acceptable.
“Absolutely,” Dean said. “Hey, why don’t we get some coffee to go with it? Who says we can’t be civilized?”
Unsure if that was a question he was meant to be answering, Castiel stared up at Dean, at the beauty and grace of him, and said nothing.
“I’ll get some plates and make a fresh pot,” Dean said, reaching to close the lid on the box.
“No,” Castiel said. “No, I can make the coffee. Shall I bring it back in here?”
“Sure,” Dean said. “You know, if you’re good with the coffee, I might go get changed. Don’t want road grime getting in the way of enjoying this.”
Dean was gone, taking the cake with him, before Castiel had to think of a reply, which was good, because Dean would likely not have appreciated the opinion that he looked at least as good as the cake, with his cheeks slightly flushed and his hair messier than usual. Perhaps he had been running his hand through it as he drove. It was a distracting mental image.
To take his mind off it, Castiel did as he’d offered, busying himself making the coffee and getting out cups. He put three aside. They didn’t look clean enough, despite having being washed. Dean deserved a decent cup of coffee in a decent cup.
He was inspecting the fourth when Sam appeared, his large frame bringing with it a soothing brown. Sam was so often the colours of autumn, where Dean was spring and summer and a vibrancy Castiel didn’t always know what to do with.
Sam seemed more interested in getting to bed than in staying up, so Castiel didn’t mention the cake. Sam most probably already knew Dean had brought cake, in any case, and if he wanted some he would say.
Finally, deciding on a cup which was clean enough and large enough to be suitable, and a second one for himself, Castiel took the drinks back to the library to find Dean wearing his dressing gown.
“Hey,” he said, as though he’d been worried Castiel wouldn’t come back. “Coffee smells good. Thanks, Cas.”
Castiel set both cups down and put down the plates he’d carried in.
“I forgot to bring a knife,” he said.
“Not a problem,” Dean said. “I’ll go get one. You just wait here.”
Castiel waited, but after a moment he couldn’t resist opening the lid on the box. The frosting looked even better now, white and pristine and inviting. Biting his lower lip, he ran an index finger through the topping, feeling the cool give of it as he made a furrow.
“You starting without me?” Dean asked from behind him. “Well? What’s it taste like?”
Lifting his finger to his mouth, Castiel licked the frosting from his pad, curling his tongue to get it all. Dean’s eyes tracked the movement, darkening in a way Castiel had seen on Dean’s face before. He’d never previously seen it directed at him.
“Good?” Dean asked, a husky note in his tone.
“Very.” And it was. Cool and sweet and rich. He found he very much wanted more. He wanted Dean to have some. “You should try it.”
“Oh, I plan to,” Dean said.
The robe shifted as Dean walked closer, a swaying movement to his step that Castiel was almost sure hadn’t been there earlier. The change in the fabric’s position revealed that Dean had bare legs under the robe, his thighs muscled and lovely.
Castiel had to quash those thoughts. The longing he sometimes felt from Dean, that was for friendship, for support. Not for the desires Castiel felt stirring silver and red in his body. He vessel felt it, too, a twitchy heat snaking through it.
“Should I cut you a slice?” Castiel asked, reaching out for the knife in Dean’s hand.
Dean gave it up and Castiel was careful to cut two neat slices, Dean’s slightly larger. On the plates, the cake’s layers were clear, buttery beige and dark chocolate and some sort of cream between them. He watched Dean lift his slice, his fingers instantly coated in the frosting, and take a bite. Dean’s eyes closed as he groaned. Castiel felt a pull in his vessel at the noise.
“Oh my god, Cas,” Dean said. “You have to try this.”
He did, a little tentatively at first, nibbling a piece from the narrow part. Flavour burst on his tongue. It was delicious.
Both slices were gone quickly, and Dean insisted they cut more. Castiel already had the knife ready.
This time, Dean failed to get all of the frosting from his fingers, and Castiel, unthinking, caught Dean’s hand.
“You missed…” he said, but didn’t manage to get the sentence out before he pressed his mouth to Dean’s knuckle, lifting a stray spot of the sweet whiteness.
Dean didn’t stop him. Castiel had a fleeting thought that Dean should have done, that Castiel shouldn’t have done this, but it was gone so quickly that he didn’t let it worry him. Instead, he listened to the hitch in Dean’s breath as he licked his tongue up Dean’s finger.
“Got it,” he said. His own words were shaky.
“Yeah,” Dean said. And reached out to the box, his eyes still locked on Cas.
When Dean brought his hand back into view, his forefinger and middle finger were both coated in frosting. Dean held them out towards Castiel, who leaned in and licked them clean without thought. This time, Dean groaned.
“God, Cas,” he said. “You really like that, huh?”
Castiel didn’t bother with an answer. Of course he liked it. He found his own breath growing slower, deeper as Dean reached out, already wanting to taste the frosting again. This time, Dean didn’t offer Castiel his fingers. Smirking, he ran his index finger along his lips, leaving frosting smeared across them. And winked.
Never one to back down from a challenge, Castiel stepped closer and pushed up the inch needed to reach Dean’s mouth. It didn’t occur to him to use his own fingers.
Dean’s lips were soft and giving under Castiel’s, the frosting perhaps even sweeter when tasted directly from them. The sound Dean made was even better. Dean had liked Castiel’s tongue on his fingers, so he tried that here, too, and felt Dean’s lips part.
Pulling away after a few moments, Castiel managed to remember English for long enough to speak.
“More,” he said. “Dean, more.”
Dean gave him more, leaning away only long enough to get more frosting and holding Castiel’s gaze as he painted a trailing pattern down his own neck. As soon as Dean let him, Castiel cleaned it off with as much dedication as he gave to everything else. If he found himself kissing Dean’s neck as much as licking up the frosting, Dean didn’t seem to mind.
“Fuck,” Dean said, once Castiel had returned his attention to Dean’s mouth and left the man breathless. “I want to taste it on you.”
Before Castiel could work out what Dean meant, Dean’s hands were on Castiel’s shoulders, pushing the suit jacket until it slid down and off. He didn’t see where it went. The tie was next, and the buttons of the shirt. Castiel tried to help him, but Dean pushed his hands away.
Cool air hit the skin of Castiel’s vessel, and it felt connected to him more than it usually did. Part of him.
He took over then, taking his own helping of frosting and marking himself with it. He drew sigils on his chest, on his stomach, over the tattoo he’d paid for when he was human and lost. The sigils were rough, imperfect, but they were true. Home. Heart. Desire. Yours. That one, he painted directly over his vessel’s heart.
Dean’s mouth left shivering electricity along his body, sparking deep blue currents to swirl in his true-form. Perhaps to keep his balance as he worked his way from Castiel’s chest down to his stomach, Dean curled his hands around Castiel’s hips, holding on and caressing the skin there with his thumbs. The sight of Dean on his knees before him was…arousing. Dean was in sharp focus, a focus Castiel hadn’t had for a long time, since before the Leviathan, before Purgatory. Certainly before Naomi and Metatron. It was almost as though he had all of his eyes back, glowing to life across his real body, along his wings. It only made that pull towards Dean stronger.
He shouldn’t have been surprised to feel desire pool, to feel himself grow hard. It wasn’t the first time, after all. But it was the first time with Dean. And Dean only had to shift his head slightly to see. He only had to move his mouth a little and his breath would ghost over Castiel in a way he really wanted to experience.
If Dean’s touch felt this good on his vessel, it would be even better on his wings. If only they were whole and here, and he could ask Dean to stroke his hands through them.
He felt the wings shift at his back. He wanted Dean’s hands on them so badly that some part of his brain was trying to move them, to spread them wide like they used to do so easily.
Dean resting his forehead against Castiel’s stomach distracted him. Dean’s breath was warm on his skin.
“I need another slice,” Dean said. Panted, really.
Castiel helped Dean to stand, his wings moving again to help him balance. They were still good for that, at times.
They ate the next pieces of cake almost demurely, sharing glances as they chewed and swallowed. The cake tasted even better. Again, Castiel felt that something about that should trouble him, but Dean offered his last crumb to Castiel, let the angel wrap his lips around Dean’s finger and suck, and that was all the thought he had room for.
“Not much left,” Dean said.
His wings flaring, Castiel looked into the box. Dean was right. A slice each, perhaps, sat in the box. Extra frosting coated the cardboard, though, and the frosting was the best part.
“You’re beautiful,” Dean murmured, and Castiel found himself pulled away from the box as Dean ran a hand up along Castiel’s chest, his neck, into his hair. It trailed silver sparks in his skin.
Dean’s other hand slid around Castiel’s back, rubbing circles along his body and into his… Castiel gasped. Into his wings. He let himself arch into it, his head falling back, and felt Dean’s mouth on his throat. His wings flared.
A thud drew them apart, and Castiel twisted with a puzzled frown to see a pile of books on the floor.
“What…?”
“Ignore it,” Dean said. “Focus on me.”
That was the last thing Castiel remembered either of them saying for some time.