(no subject)
“This...this is not what I thought you meant we you suggested we get pie, Dean.”
Cas is spread out on the bed, pale skin naked to the refrigerated air. Dean’s not sure, but he doesn’t think the angel feels temperature, at least not the way he does. Because it’s got to be sixty degrees in the room, and there isn’t so much as a goosebump to be found.
Dean is still trussed up in two shirts and his jacket, but he’s starting to get a little hot around the collar.
Because how many people can say they’ve had an angel naked on the bed, with cherry pie filling smeared across his lean stomach?
None. Which was why God had to love Dean Winchester. Either that, or he was going to hell in a flaming hand basket. There was no way he was walking away from this. Who in their right mind would?
“I didn’t think you’d take me seriously.”
Cas pins him with those impossibly blue eyes, running his fingertip curiously through the sticky syrup on his chest. “You said you wanted me covered in pie. Is this not...?”
Dean crosses the room, peeling away his first layer of shirt to toss it in the general direction of the lamp. “Yeah, this is exactly what I wanted.” He crawls on his hands and knees onto the bed, until he’s hovering over the delicious expanse of flesh before him.
He leans in and swipes his tongue in the hollow of Cas’ hip, tasting salty, dry skin and the viscous sweetness of the filling.