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The way to a man’s heart, according to humans, was their stomach.
Castiel always used to think it was a silly expression, one that made little sense to him until he was human, anyways. Then, while stripped of all his glory, food suddenly became something more than just molecules that made up a strange texture in his mouth. When human, it suddenly had life, it evoked feelings, had power over him. He craved it, thought of it often and needed it to keep himself going. He needed it to survive.
It wasn’t until then that Castiel realized the two could be related.
When human, the way he experienced food was the same way he experienced Dean Winchester as an angel. He needed Dean to give him substance, to keep going--to survive. He understood now some of Dean’s deep connection to pie and burgers, the way it curled warmth in his stomach, felt comforting and gave Castiel that same smile that the hunter gave him at times.
Lately, the realization of this connection was something Cas had thought of often since coming back from the clutches of death by Lucifer. It weighed on him.
Dying wasn’t anything new for the seraph, not by any means. He died, he came back--life went on. This time, though, he died and everything was different. He was different, he felt different and the brothers were ‘All of the Above’ as well.
Dean said it was just one time too many--one push too far.
Castiel hadn’t understood Dean’s comment at first, and it took him far too long to figure it out, it seemed. At least until now.
It’s quiet. The brothers are asleep--he can hear them if he focuses hard enough. They breathe in calm, shallow breaths, slow and even. No nightmares tonight.
Castiel rolls over onto the cool side of the pillow and faces the glaring numbers of the clock he doesn’t need. It’s late as he lays spread out across crisp white sheets, the tan wool blanket itching at his bare feet. He can hear Jack elsewhere in the bunker with Netflix and the laptop. He tuned him out rather quickly.
Staring into the darkness, Castiel’s mind falls upon his mistakes and regrets, on how he felt when possessed by the Nephilim and its father. The things they saw and questioned him about. He hated always burying it all down.
For the first time, though, Castiel has feelings he actually wants to act upon. Instead of pushing them down, walking out the bunker door and doing what he always did...Cas wants to do the opposite. He longs for the change the brothers seem to want as well, even if it wasn’t for the same reasons.
He realizes after a while that he needs to start by telling Dean that he loves him. This time he’d be sure to say it so that Dean believed it, so he would know it without wondering if there could be a double meaning to it like there had been last time. No, this time he’d say it and he’d look him in the eyes while doing so.
Sighing, Cas finally tugs his robe covered body from the mattress that protests his movement with a low groan. Dressing in faded jeans and a more casual flint colored button up shirt, he heads to the kitchen.
If the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, then Castiel would bake pies until Dean knew exactly how he felt about him.
Pies filled with more love than he had yesterday, sweet and flakey even, tomorrow--for when he would love Dean more than he did right now.
Feet bare, Castiel pads across the floor with gentle steps as he makes his way past Dean’s room. Passing through the library, he takes in the things there that tell him the boys live here, that this is home . A discarded iPod sits atop open books and a stack nearby. An empty crystal tumblr and rock salt, a few left behind casings. There’s a coffee mug and a plate, a discarded flannel over the back of a chair and the laptop sleeping with a quiet hum somewhere inside. He gathers the dishes with a smile.
“Getting comfortable, if they’re leaving a small mess around.” Castiel sets everything in the sink, smiling at how big of an indication that is to anyone who knew them. It means they were settling, really burrowing in and at times, just being normal. Especially Dean.
Frowning, Cas realizes Dean and Sam deserved more of that, even if he didn’t really know what normal was. To be honest, they deserve a lot more than a regular experience though--so much more--and it aches inside his chest. They may have started out as a mission, a means to an end, when his wings carried him to Earth, but over the years Castiel had come to love them. And with loving them, it meant constantly wishing and hoping they’d be happy and maybe one day, free. If he was lucky, maybe he could find that, too. Perhaps, even find it with Dean. He sighs.
One step at a time , he chides himself and focuses.
Pulling out his phone, the light of the screen casting strange shadows in the darkened kitchen, Castiel scans link after link till he finds one that seems simple enough to do. Leaning into the counter heavily, he snaps his fingers a few times to get a feel for it. Castiel ignites his grace.
The first snap produces his ingredients, spread out along the counter in perfect assembly. Studying it, the second snap illuminates the kitchen as he ties an apron around his torso.
Like Dean when he cooks in this room, Cas turns the dial on an old looking radio tucked behind the extra coffee filters and box of salt.
As he fills the large shining metallic bowl to the sounds of The Archies, an age of music he only merely observed from Heaven, he relaxes.
I just can't believe the loveliness of loving you
(I just can't believe it's true)
I just can't believe the one to love this feeling to
(I just can't believe it's true)
The Angel of Thursday can remember the greats of the era of music softly surrounding him; the mindset of a simpler time and a much different dynamic. There was a different social attitude than Castiel was living now, one that would have greatly frowned on his love for another man. As he sifts the flour, little clouds of white puffing into the air around him, Cas hums the words and lets his vessel move to the beat of old love songs. It makes the work pass easily, the words of what he read for his task fresh in his mind.
It isn’t until the dough is smooth beneath his fingers, the knife carving away the edges and it’s overflowing with thick sparkling cherries and filling, that Castiel realizes he’s done something new, something worthy of Dean’s affection.
Cas cuts little hearts into the dough he rolled out with the heavy wooden pin, each one drudging up a memory of his hunter. The first one brings ash and fire, a brilliant light and a flash of beauty when he grips the soul protectively and fights. A second brings about worn wooden surroundings, the smell of damp earth and rot. Ozone heavy in his vessel’s lungs. He pauses, cutting out a few more and smiling at those first moments. How strange it was that their first encounter would come to mean something so important to him.
After several more perfectly shaped hearts, the kitchen quiet as the oven heats, the next few songs and memories warm his vessel’s chest. He pauses, breathing in deeply the lyrics that resonate so loudly, perfectly even.
Cas places the first pie in the oven, moving on to the second. He goes about repeating the same steps, his muscles moving with each roll of the pastry, chest bursting with emotion and memories of shamrock green eyes. The Angel stares at his work sometime later and brushes flour from his cheek. He’s a white mess with bright filling on his front, the counter doesn’t fare much better.
It feels amazing, though. He cannot hide his smile.
Untying the apron, he hangs it over the counter as he washes his hands and then starts on everything he used while baking, on what he brought in with him before he started. The labor of his efforts makes him feel useful, and for the first time since he got back--like he really can belong in the bunker with Sam and Dean.
Cas pours fresh, steaming coffee into a worn and well-loved ceramic mug. The chip in the bottom rim gives it character as he places it on the tray, the poor thing reminding him of Dean. Damaged maybe, a few chips and wear, but forever useful and brimming with the good stuff Cas really likes.
Humming to himself, he places the first pie in the center atop the plate and settles. Shutting down the radio finally, Cas closes his eyes and breathes.
Even inside all this glass and concrete, he can feel the sun rising outside the thick walls. Gently, he covers the second pie with a clean dish towel for Sam, the plate waiting for the hunter when he grabs for his coffee. After all, Sam is his brother and his friend even if his love, while still fierce and protective, isn’t at all the same as his feelings for Dean.
Cas turns nervously and walks towards Dean’s room. He stares at the worn brass looking number and swallows.
There’s no turning back now.
Dean shifts against his pillow at the creak of the door, light from the hall illuminating his exposed chest and arms as Cas enters. With a soft click, they’re alone, shadowed, as Dean finally smells it for the first time.
Pie.
Sitting up, Dean eyes Cas softly when the small bedside lamp saturates them in golden tones. Rubbing at the sleep still heavy in his vision, Castiel gently sets the tray down near the typewriter where Dean usually sets his laptop. Lovingly, he hands Dean the mug first before sitting on the edge of the bed. The gesture stirs him, surfaces memories. For a moment, he recalls Dean’s nightmares of Hell, his promise to watch over him. The Angel thumbs the blanket with a crooked smile. How very different they both are since that time, how far they had come.
“Hello, Dean.”
“Mornin’ Sunshine.” Dean’s voice is rough, sending shivers down his spine as Dean takes the cup from him. Several moments pass, Cas’ toes curling and uncurling against the cold floor before he shifts nervously. The hunter seems oblivious, lips pressed against the cream colored ceramic as he sips greedily.
“I…made you something,” he starts, voice betraying him when it comes out higher than its usual gruff tone. Cas clears it, swallowing down his nerves and finding his courage. Dean’s eyes float upwards as the angel stares at him, studying the lines on his face, the way he comes slowly alive with the first sips of rich, brewed nectar in his cup. He’s aging and yet to Castiel his soul is the same, bright, warm and treasured.
Dean is, even like this, stunning. This is the man he knows right down to every atom, every tiny spark of energy. He has seen him human, broken, demon and murderous, and yet he’s still the most beautiful thing Castiel has ever seen. “I...baked you a pie--cherry, if you...if you want it?”
Dean blinks, then smiles, the mug resting on his leg above the blankets, “That’s like asking a dying man if he wants life, Sunshine. I know Sam says there isn’t such a thing as a stupid question but--that just might be it.” His sonorous laugh is warm as he meets Cas’ eyes with playfulness. It ripples through the angel’s insides. Despite his tone, the angel finds himself blushing at the way those brilliant blazing emerald orbs expose him.
Cas clears his throat. He stands to bring the tray to Dean, eyes and head still low to hide the taffy color in his skin. He sets the wooden tray down against the worn blanket, and despite not needing to breathe, Castiel finds he’s holding his vessel’s breath.
Dean seems to grow very quiet.
The world feels suddenly out of focus, fuzzy, as Castiel finds his mind racing at the lack of the other man’s reaction. Perhaps he had done something wrong? Did it smell bad? Did he bake the crust too long? The angel lowers his chin, shoulders drooping in defeat just as Dean speaks.
“I like the hearts...” Dean manages, voice softer than Cas has ever heard it before. Dean runs his finger along the edge of crust where Cas pressed it together gently, memorizing it as if it were some expensive work of art rather than food. Slowly, he slices the crust with the fork Cas left for him, the pastry flaking as it sinks deep. The rich, succulent filling pools up for a moment, still warm as a small whiff of steam rises, filling the room in a heavy fruity scent.
The angel watches, studies the moment--hoping he doesn’t look as obvious as he feels.
Dean scoops a bite and Cas watches it disappear with Dean’s soft pink lips pressed to the metal. The hunter’s moan catches him off guard and his stomach flips, heats up like the oven temperature, he’s sure. He swallows down the tingle dancing along his spine. “Dean?”
“This is…” Dean’s eyes roll back into his head slowly, “Cas, this is perfect!” The angel tilts his head, staring at Dean as relief sinks in. Before he can say anything, however, Dean raises the fork across to his lips. The smell is absolutely divine. “Taste it.”
Cas freezes, eyes widening suddenly, “But I made it for you, Dean…”
The hunter leans closer, careful not to bump the items on the tray or upset his coffee. His voice drops to a low sound, an octave that should be illegal, as it knots up Cas’ insides.
“For me?” Castiel can smell his skin, feel the heat from Dean like this and all at once it exposes him even more so, all that displayed skin and natural musk. Dean is tormenting him. Surely this is torture, a punishment of some kind.
Father, help him.
To Castiel’s surprise, his mouth waters as he closes his eyes. The fork Dean held out to him scrapes against his teeth and he misses catching the glob of dark, still warm filling before it hits his chin. Cas moans lowly, a strangled sound that’s foreign to his own ears. He can taste an entire universe in one bite, the air where the fruit grew, the tartness of it before the sugar, the things from the Earth, grown to supply the ingredients for the crust.
Most of all, though--he can taste love. His love, and its intensity for Dean in everything he did.
Dean and he are still close together when cerulean eyes open again to meet the blazing clover full of gold flakes that sparkle like stars. Without thinking, Dean thumbs the filling away from Cas’ bronze skin and licks it off slowly. Castiel can feel a familiar sinking in his stomach when the blood in his vessel runs south.
“I love you, too.” Closing his eyes, Dean licks his lips and Castiel shivers. He’s splintering into a million pieces of relief, shock and excitement.
There it was, then.
Dean takes another bite, exaggerating the actions and Castiel is almost panting when he watches Dean more intently than anything he has seen in all the time, in all the centuries he’s been alive. Eating pie was suddenly so important, so distracting.
Sinking his finger into the pie filling, Cas raises it to Dean’s mouth and paints them softly, memorizing them in a shade of red before being given entrance, the hunter’s teeth scraping lightly over his flesh as it goosebumps in response, little sparks from it trailing all over his body.
He doesn’t know why he does it, but he needs this, needs Dean. Now.
Castiel suddenly needs him like air, hungers for and thirsts for him. Yearns for it with every fibre of himself.
The sound that escapes them then isn’t human when Dean sucks Cas’ finger clean, his tongue teasing and tormentful. Cas snaps his fingers to move the tray from the bed to the stand, his actions impatient and desperate. Drastic, even.
Suddenly the air is charged, the hair on Dean’s arms stands at attention--Castiel’s eyes light up in a blue Dean will never have enough words to ever describe accurately. Even if he spent the rest of his life trying, nothing would compare to what he saw as he stared in anticipation.
The tension snaps.
Years of pining, of wonder and what if’s are gone the instant their mouths meet and the taste of cherries fills the space between them.
Castiel doesn’t know where he begins and Dean ends. The hunter's hands are everywhere, his fingers skilled as Castiel reacts to the heat of Dean against his vessel’s skin.
They’re doused in flames as Castiel’s grace ignites across their bond, arousal roaring through their veins as beads of glistening salted sweat magnify Dean’s freckles as they pool and slip across his skin, emphasizing his shape, his strength and muscular form.
Dean’s heartbeat, the sound of his breath as they kiss, the gravel in his voice and the softness in his gasps, his pleasure, all make Castiel dizzy. Nothing compares to this as Cas lets go and falls into every movement, exploring with his hands, his slender fingers tracing out newfound treasures and tastes, hungry for the passion in their kissing.
Dean’s movements slip down into the waistband of Cas’ pants, tracing his body. Dean’s tongue slides between the angel’s lips, teasing and dominant. His movements are confident and precise, like he already holds the map to the body above him. Castiel whimpers as Dean’s calloused hands slide along the firm flesh of his backside, digging into the meaty part of his thigh and pulling him in closer.
Dean groans as he feels the delicious friction of that slide forward rubbing through the fabric of Castiel’s jeans, desperate to remove the pants and the sheets between them, but determined to savor it, this--for the first time.
“I never thought...” Dean pants against the shallow of Cas’ earlobe, nipping gently, “I thought I’d never see you again. It was worse than all of Hell ever could have been.” His voice is thick with want, but the pain is there as Dean once again grinds them together, Cas’ knees sink deep into the mattress on either side of him as he trembles, fingers digging into Dean’s shoulder as he gasps, Dean’s scent calming and arousing all at once.
“De-Dean.”
The hunter licks at the sweat forming along the angel’s neck, satisfied that some things, in fact, do override Angelic control in some circumstances, after all.
“ Castiel, ” he drawls, emphasized and breathy as he winds his fingers in dark messy locks that smell like rain, of childhood pleasantries and ozone, “I need you to save me from that perdition, to show me this is real, that we’re real. ”
Perdition.
Castiel sucks deep marks against the flesh of Dean’s neck, grace lighting up the space between them. His hand shadows the scar, grips against Dean’s bicep as the hunter groans, filling the room like a prayer had been answered as Castiel shifts to help rid him of the clothing he still wore over the heavy arousal between his legs.
The jeans land with a thud against the cold floor as Dean rolls them, pinning the angel beneath him as he attacks Castiel in heated kisses along his jaw and neck. Castiel struggles, Dean holding him down as he nudges a nipple with his nose, a soft laugh from his chest rising up as he blows cold air against the areola. Goosebumps dance along Cas’ soft bronzed chest making him somehow even more desirable than before.
“Do you trust me, Angel?”
Castiel grunts, almost offended by such a question. Dean should know that by now--but he nods, eyes searching Dean’s when he looks up and the smile that spreads across his face is downright wicked.
Castiel swallows, heat coiling in his belly. The angel is about to ask him what he’s doing when Dean thumbs the sensitive area he teased and then rolls it between his fingers.
Castiel groans, loudly .
The pie filling still warm when Dean spreads it teasingly over the darkened nubs of flesh. He shivers, feeling like there’s an agonizing amount of time before Dean’s tongue sucks desperately, savoring the taste off his nipples where he spread the warmth. It makes stars burst behind his eyes as he tosses back his head, hands trying to grip at Dean to steady the want burning beneath the surface like a supernova.
Dean practically purrs. The man he loves so dearly seems to take his time drawing out the needy, stimulated look Castiel has beneath him. He hasn’t even started and already Dean can feel he’s going to be close at the way Castiel appears above, so wound up and impatient, so eager and crazed. Dean can see he’d do anything to have him, them--like this right now. He tastes the flesh again and moans.
And so would he, he realizes. Castiel is beautiful, but like this somehow it’s even more obvious than before as his legs slip on the sheets and pleads for Dean to get a move on. He moves a hand down to pin his hip, his mouth leaving wet glistening trails of cherry coated kisses and saliva between love bites and hickeys that make Cas sob, his breath hitching as he chokes on his moans of pleasure and approval.
Dean spreads more of the filling as Cas begs to be touched, anything as Dean somehow makes him more rash than the moment that passed before it, harder and hotter, insane. Dean swallows his sob with a bruising kiss that tears a growl from the hunter's chest, “You look so wild, I can see how much you want me, Cas--it’s so hot.”
Castiel whines, raising his hips in a motion he’s not sure he had control of when Dean grips him in the palm of his hand, his fist wrapping around them both as Dean pants heavily. Their precome is slick on their throbbing cocks, and Dean’s never been so aroused by anyone or anything in his entire life.
Stroking downwards, Cas’ lips part open, puffy and full, his neck and chest speckled with spots of red and purple. The sound he makes vibrates through to Dean’s core, his balls tightening. Upwards, towards the head of the cock he thumbs over and he makes a sound even Dean doesn’t recognize.
Castiel falls apart at his touch, and Dean’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he pleases him. It’s intense, agonizing and every part of him is building up for the orgasm he knows is coming for them both, he doesn’t have to see Cas to know. He can feel him, somehow, both connected and strong, two halves meeting in mutual feelings and pleasure. Escape and sentiment.
Love.
“Oh, Dean. Dean...Dean, I’m--” Cas’s nails draw blood against Dean’s back where they dig in and Dean hisses, gripping tighter on them both.
Cas...
Dean knew they were tied together by something, right from the moment he saw wings descend for him in Hell, the glint of his eyes and the way he gave in. From the moment they met face to face in the barn and he knew, felt it --but asked anyways. He spent years running, maybe at times trying to deny it--but at the end of the day Dean knew. He always knew.
Everything feels far away when the sweat rolls down Dean’s spine,
I’ve got you, I’ve got you--It’s okay, Cas, I’m here...
Dean comes with Castiel’s voice ringing in his ears, their seed coating his fist when he collapses into the bed with a satisfied sigh. He drops a kiss into the hair on Cas’ head.
I’m never leaving you, Cas...
Dean’s boneless, floating and tingling like electricity is flowing through his whole body as they catch their breath. He can’t feel his toes, his legs are like jello.
In the silence of that early morning, beside him--Castiel starts laughing. It’s soft, his face buried in the pillow but soon it’s loud and fills the room with both a sound and a feeling Dean has never heard or had before.
It forms a lump in his own throat when he starts to laugh, too.
It’s a morning full of new experiences, it seems.
They’re a hot, sticky mess when they finally settle, both of them tangled, the sheets red with remnants of forgotten sugar and covered in the cream of their lovemaking. Castiel slides his hand around the back of Dean’s neck, his lover making a content sound as he mojos away the mess and strokes gently at the fine hair residing there.
Every part of Castiel is singing, his heart has wing and his body is shaking from both release and awe. The pie no longer looks like it stood a chance of staying intact and that’s okay.
Dean shifts, holding Castiel close as they stare at one another across the space between the pillows, legs tangled at the ankles and relaxed.
Galaxies, universes with the most blazing stars and oceans stare back at the hunter as he gently thumbs a crumb of crust from Cas’ cheek. His skin holds a soft pink hue, his lips a shade of rose that makes every other color dull in comparison, everyone but the indigo and oceans memorizing him.
It’s Dean’s favorite color.
He hums softly, nuzzling the soft stubble against his lover affectionately. He certainly hadn’t expected a first time with Castiel to involve release and dessert, but perhaps that really was as close as perfection that Dean could ever get. He always imagined this moment as something like an explosion, a toppling of tension like the Berlin Wall, as they finally connected and the world stopped turning. Something short lived and rough.
Instead, the moment was soft, no anger or fear, no looming war or silent denial, no regret. Just a morning where he could love both pie and Castiel, at once--together. Indulge. He smiles into the Angel's hair, he couldn’t care how strange someone might find it.
For the first time in years, Dean finally feels good. Warm, safe and like his soul is all Castiel claimed it to be. He wishes it didn’t take what it did to get them here, but he’s thankful nonetheless for finally reaching the tipping point.
“I love you so much, Dean,” Cas breathes, his body turning in towards his lover as his lips tickle the hunter’s collarbone. The hunter nudges at the beautiful man’s temple and closes his eyes. He doesn’t bother to stop the salted relief, the cave in of emotion as tears fall into the bed behind him.
After all those nights waiting, lost in booze filled misery and regret-- it’s time for Dean to finally move on and away from the cycle. No more running.
“I love you more than you will ever know, Cas. Even more than pie.”
Castiel swallows the lump in his throat as his eyes water, “Even more than the one I made you?” he whispers, voice soft--higher and vulnerable.
Dean melts, rolling them over in a passionate kiss that molds Castiel into the memory foam beneath them. “I would give it up for the rest of my life to prove it, to give me more moments to remind you just how much I really, really do,” Dean whispers and Castiel buries into him as they hold on like they can never let go.
I thought I lost you. I’d give up nearly everything to keep you, Angel. I’m going to make the most of it all this time.
Castiel feels his tears match Dean’s. He loves Dean more in this moment than he ever has, and tomorrow he knows he will love him even more than he does right now. How could he not? Cas smiles as they burrow beneath the blankets. Dean’s breath evens out as Cas traces small circles with his thumb against the middle of his lover’s chest.
Dean’s heartbeat is a sound he would never tire of.
