FIC: The Edible Man
So, as you may know, the working title to this story was "Let Him Eat Cake". But I'm a Libra, and I change my mind like it's my job.
I actually think A Rose stands on its own, so this isn't a direct sequel. Just a revisit for my own enjoyment. :D
Title: The Edible Man
Author: memphis86
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, Dean/Cake
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,418
Summary: Dean's going through a rough patch. Sam still has issues with green things. There's a few more letters, and a lot more sex.
Author's Notes: This is a follow-up to A Rose (In Another Man's Garden), which you really DO need to read before this. Otherwise things will confuse you. Apologies and love to Margaret Atwood for the title
ETA: There is now a soundtrack to accompany this fic.
The Edible Man
It wasn't like they were busy on a hunt or anything. The stress had been building up, and it doesn't stop because they have.
So Dean's going through a rough patch right now.
The insomnia was easy enough to explain, his restless mind finally taking it out on his body. The headaches as well: a convenience-store diet and a penchant for loud music catches up with you eventually.
Dean can fight the tangible creatures that go bump in the night, but he can't fight his age. No matter how many nineteen-year-olds he can scam phone numbers off of.
Sam sits back in his chair and nags; Dean needs to take better care of himself. Dean sticks out his tongue out and whips the chair out from under him with his leg, causing Sam to fall on the floor. It was an old trick that was only used when Dad was far, far out of earshot.
Sam dusts himself off and swears revenge, but then looks across to see his brother on the floor with him, cringing and clutching his knee.
Moments later, Dean's being hauled up by Sam. He sits him down, brings him water and a makeshift cold compress.
"I'm fine." Dean protests
Dean is certainly not fine. He's hurt, tired, and tiny war-drums are beating in his head.
"Yeah, right." Sam crosses his arms.
"Bad angles."
"Dean," Sam frowns at him. Fucking frowns weren't really helping though. Dean's knee was swollen to the size of a small grapefruit.
"C'mon Dean, it looks bad." Sam begins again.
Okay, so maybe Sam's intentions weren't to piss him off. Maybe the knee injury and the fact he'd been awake for going on 40 hours was getting to him.
Dean Winchester did not get migraines. Women with children and tax accountants got migraines. All it was is that Dean's head would hurt and he got really sensitive to light and noise.
"You want any-"
"Dear Sam,"
Oh lord, Sam thinks, biting back a groan, here he goes again.
Dear Sam,
My head hurts. My knee is swollen to the size of casaba melon-
"Pssht! Grapefruit!"
-and I am in incredible pain. And you, my dear brother, eat fucking Advil like they're Skittles. So when someone (namely, myself) has a legitimate need for painkillers, they're S.O.L.
And people say you're the dewy-eyed considerate one. If they only knew the truth…
"I'm considerate enough to-"
Whatever, you're lucky I don't know any better then to just put up with your abuse.
Love,
Dean.
Sam rolls his eyes up at the ceiling, takes a deep breath. Pasting a big sarcastic smile on his face, "Hey Dean, I'm going to run to the nearest pharmacy and get you some Advil. Completely and spontaneously of my own volition."
"That's real nice of you Sammy. Pick me up some Skittles too. And pick out all the other colors; I only want the red ones. As penance for bogarting the Advil."
Sam stalls at the door. Fratricide was harder to clean up in the long run. He should just stick with the fucking.
"And turn out the light!" Dean whines before Sam can close the door.
Okay, so maybe sitting in the dark and the quiet made Dean's headache easier to deal with. But it was still NOT a migraine. We've already been over this: Dean Winchester did not get migraines.
***
Sam leaves the 24-hour pharmacy with an extra-large bottle of migraine strength Advil, a double bag of Skittles, and yesterday's Times.
It was only technically yesterday's, since it was about 1:00 am. But hey, free newspaper. Sam was one of those people that liked to read it cover to cover, and then rub inky hands on whatever piece of Dean's skin was available.
Sam eases the Impala through the street, not quite cruising along. There were a few cars out, and taxis speeding like maniacs. Saturday night didn't hold the same significance for him as it once did, when he had a normal schedule.
Sometimes people-watching was his escape. Sam saw the college kids dash through the dim streets, they ran up and down hills, burly guys in letterman jackets, girls wobbly on high heels. Arms clutching arms forming human chains that marched down empty blocks. Cellphones ringing, buzzing, being passed haphazardly amongst friends, as they hit bar after bar. There wasn't much else open. Bars, the drugstore, ATMs, and-
Sam wasn't a big believer in serendipity. But there it was.
A bakery.
***
Sam was going on ten minutes, just sitting in the Impala, in front of the first all-night bakery he'd ever seen in his life. He was weighing his options.
One the one hand, it'd cheer Dean up.
On the other hand, he would never hear the end of it. Enablers enable.
"Dean's going through a rough patch right now." Sam says aloud, and gets out of the car.
The first sign that this was not a typical bakery should've been that it was open so late. But Sam's seen much, much stranger things. Sam knew something wasn't quite right when he opened the door, and was stopped by a bouncer in front of a black curtain.
"ID?" The bouncer asks.
"I'm sorry," Sam starts, getting his wallet out already from habit. "I thought this was the entrance to the bakery?"
"18 for pastry, 21 to drink." The bouncer replies, and holds out his hand.
"Riiiight." Sam hands over the nicest-looking license he has. The bouncer checks him over, shines a flashlight on his ID and his face, nods and hands him back the card. He pulls the black curtain back.
"Oh." Sam says.
Oh, it's more than just a bakery. Oh, there's a fully stocked bar behind the display case of cakes and cookies. Oh, this place is crawling with twentysomethings and hipsters. Oh, every guy here is drinking bourbon and wearing a velour smoking jacket without a tie. Oh, the DJ is playing The New Pornographers.
Oh.
Sam shakes it off and steps up to the counter. A girl with bleached hair and piercings smiles at him. She's got this black eyeliner around her eyes, making them jagged and diamond-shaped. "What can I get you?" She yells over the noise.
"Uhhh…" Sam looks down at the glass case, he points at the first chocolate cake he sees. "I'd like a slice of that, to go?" He shouts.
"Sure!" She goes behind the counter and puts it up top. It's double-chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and a few little iced decorations. She takes out her big knife and starts cutting, "Let me cut you a piece with a flower." She winks at him.
Sam shudders inwardly; he has to remind himself it's just icing. Just sugar and buttercream and no real plant matter at all.
Honestly, he hasn't been able to look at a salad in weeks, since the rose venom incident. Dean's been making him eat orange slices so he won't get scurvy.
She places the slice carefully in a clear, custom cake-sized package. "That's five, anything else? Would you like one of our drink specials? Tonight it's wheat beer and oatmeal cookies."
"Another time, maybe." Sam mumbles and pays. She plays with her lip ring and gives him the eyes again.
"Looking forward to it!" Sam ducks his head and leaves.
Sam places the slice of cake on the passenger seat when he gets in, and then slowly pulls the car out, heading back to the motel.
Stopping at a traffic light, Sam turns again to regard the slice. It's still sitting right next to him, and thinks about Dean.
When he and Dean were younger, their father would leave them locked in the car from time to time. Either he had a job to do, or he couldn't bring them to where he was buying weapons and ammunition. Some of those places were just not okay for children, no matter how much they already knew.
They'd mostly sit in the backseat, listen to the radio and play cards. Occasionally they'd pick fights; Dean would go sit up front and sing Led Zeppelin really loud and Sam would kick the back of his seat in time with the music.
Sometimes Sam would get so bored, that Dean would have to entertain him. He'd strap in a phonebook to the driver's seat, and they'd play "Dad-the-phonebook."
Dean would do an impression of their father's gruff voice, asking Sam to do things for him. "Say Sammy, wouldja mind turning my pages here? I need to call a plumber." And Sam would crack up.
In addition to Dad-the-phonebook, there was Dad-the-road-atlas, Dad-the-tire-iron, and one memorable time: Dad-the-half-empty-bag-of-cheetos. Dean was on a roll that day, devouring their imaginary father with commentary. "No son, don't eat me! Augh! What a world, what a world…"
The light goes green and Sam shakes off his reverie. A couple of kids run across the crosswalk, even though they don't have the light. One narrowly misses getting clipped by a taxi.
Sam sighs and drives past, hoping Dean hasn't fallen asleep. Or maybe hoping he has. Sam's still trying to psych himself up for this, but he's definitely going to try it tonight.
Dean's going through a rough patch, after all.
***
Dean's still sitting in the dark when Sam gets back, he groans when the door opens and more light spills in. Sam quickly shuts the door and puts the Advil in front of him; which Dean immediately unwraps and pops in his mouth.
"I'm just gonna turn this little light on, okay?"
"What took you so fucking long?" Dean mutters. Sam hits the light by the nightstand, puts his package on the side table. Dean's still got his back turned to him as he rubs his temples.
"Uhh, well, there was a line at the pharmacy." A total lie, he was in and out in about 5 minutes.
"Mmmhmm." Sam takes off his shoes, his jacket, and then takes a deep breath. Pulls his shirt off, undoes his belt. All that's left on are his jeans.
"And, I uhhh, got you something?" He says lying against the headboard of the bed, the cake in his hands.
Dean turns to Sam and his eyes go wide. His breathing is heavier and he stirs in his seat. "Is that… chocolate cake?"
Sam toys with the edges of the package, "Yeah," he reaches over and produces a plastic fork. "I thought it might make you feel better, only-"
"It does," Dean's already up and shrugging out of his overshirt, stepping on his socks until they go too.
"Only they didn't have any plates so-"
Dean's at the bed now, his mouth is quivering as he sits by Sam. Placing a palm on his naked chest, he rubs him from side to side.
"You're just going to have to eat it, off of, something… else?" Sam's got this coy little smile. Dean makes him feel sexy and dirty all at once. It's a warmth that washes over him along followed by tinges of excitement and nerves.
"Uh-huh, is that so?" Dean takes his hand back and throws off his own shirt.
"Yeah?"
"Any suggestions?"
"Wherever you wa-" And Dean's mouth covers his own. Dean's hands work the package out of Sam's and he pulls back.
"Lie down." Dean whispers, like it's all suddenly dirty and wrong. Sam complies and regrets not thinking about napkins or a towel. The motel staff is going to love smears of chocolate all over their nice white sheets.
"Didn't know if you wanted a fork or-?" Sam trails off and Dean shakes his head.
"Don't need it." Dean undoes the fly of Sam's jeans and helps him wriggle out of them. Then Dean winks and his boxers come flying off. Dean always likes flinging clothes around.
"Oh?"
"See, in my dream, I was using my hands." Dean opens the box and turns it over on his stomach. Then the cake is there on its side, sitting nicely in between the creases of his muscles, a few little crumbs scatter. Sam can feel the cool icing in a line on his belly.
"But I think my hands are gonna be kinda busy…" Dean's stripping his own jeans off now, he's naked and hard, and fucking beautiful. Sam licks his lips and feels his mouth go dry.
"Yeah?"
"Yep, gonna have to work around it." Dean leans over to his side of the bed, pulls the lube and condoms out of the dresser. "I'm sure it'll be fine-" And then he attacks Sam's mouth again. Dean's is so wet, compared to Sam's. A slick tongue licks its way past his teeth, into his mouth, and then pulls back. Dean kisses his chin, down his jaw, collarbone, chest, edging closer and closer.
Sam's muscles tense and Dean takes his first bite from the cake. Sam gasps just a little, and Dean leans back on his haunches, swallows.
"Fuck yeah, that works." And Dean leans in for another taste. Nibbling bite after bite of cake off of Sam's stomach. Licking the crumbs and lapping up the icing. Sam's unconsciously moving his stomach up to meet Dean's mouth with every pass.
He's so entranced watching Dean, face buried in cake, that he's surprised when fingers push into him. Dean sticks his tongue out to lick chocolate off his lips and he's got slicked up fingers moving in and out of Sam.
Sam throws his head back, stares at the ceiling, sucks in a breath but then the tongue is back on his stomach and- fuck! How is Dean everywhere at once?
"So good Sam, so mmmm, good! You have to-" Sam looks down at Dean, who laughs and leans in to take a bite of cake in his mouth.
Dean's moving closer to him, and finger fucking him deeper, and passes the cake from his mouth to Sam's. And it's just too fucking hot, his cock is ready and wants attention and Sam has to touch himself. So he swallows Dean's mouthful, and grabs his dick.
"Fuck, that's so hot, Sammy." Dean pushes in farther, and Sam squeezes harder.
"Dean-"
"Mmm gonna clean you off, fuck you so hard." Dean's fingers stop moving and his tongue is all over Sam's stomach, licking up every bit of icing it can reach. One of Dean's hands swats Sam's away, takes hold of him and runs slick fingers over him.
Sam trembles and pets Dean's head until he looks up. Dean's got a little drop of pink icing on the tip of his nose, from the flower. And Sam laughs. It's the sexiest, sweetest smile he's ever seen Dean make.
And then Dean pushes into him.
There are moments, when Sam feels the universe focus in on just him and Dean. When they're not just little specks in the dustbowl of the cosmos. When it's them, and they're bigger then life itself. When everything is theirs for the taking.
Sam throws his legs over Dean's shoulders; he can pull him close like this. Dean's hands are working Sam's cock and Dean's mouth is still kissing his stomach, then his chest. Dean stops kissing and leans over Sam's face, closes his eyes and starts groaning.
"Oh fuck that's good. Oh fuck, Sam that's so good. This is so fucking good."
Dean comes and buries himself deep in Sam with his final thrust. His head drops onto Sam's chest and his hands tighten on Sam's cock. Sam clenches his stomach muscles, thrusts himself into Dean's hands a few more times. Dean picks up his head and pulls out. He reaches for Sam's mouth again, and tongue fucks him while stroking Sam's cock to completion. Dean is still sugary sweet from the cake.
***
When it's over, Sam's covered in crumbs and hardened bits of icing. Dean rolls off of him and onto his back. Sam curls up next to him, pillows his head on Dean's bicep.
He's still got the pink on his nose and Sam decides it needs to stay there as long as possible.
Dean clears his throat, "Sammy, take a letter."
"I am not taking a let-"
"Dear Baker of Sexy Cakes,"
"You are such a freak."
"You'll have to excuse my brother, he's of the e-mail generation. The noble art of personal written correspondence is lost on him."
"La la la, not listening to you. And you don't write them down, you say them out loud."
"Well, I would have them written down if you would just take the damn letter like I asked. You know what? Quiet, I'm losing my train of thought."
Sam raises his eyebrows and inches closer to Dean.
"As I was saying:"
Dear Baker of Sexy Cakes,
Thank you for fulfilling my deepest desire to eat- Sam, quit it. I'm composing.
My deepest desire to eat baked goods off of the tummy of- Sam! Stop it! I'm trying to get my thoughts out here. Just give me one minute, move your hands.
I mean it! I am not whining. Stop that. C'mon, Sammy.
Okay. Okay, little to the left?
No. Your other left.
Other left.
That's the spot.
Oh yeah.
Ahem. In conclusion: Thankyouforcakebye!
Mmmmm,
Dean
Dean flushes as pink as the residual icing left on the tip of his nose. Sam's mouth runs up and down his cock. Alternating the tip of his tongue on the underside with the flat side on his head. Dean just about starts to lose it when Sam stops, lifts his head up and laughs quietly.
"You really think I don't appreciate your letters?"
"No, uhhhn, back down." Dean fidgets and taps the top of Sam's head.
"Because," Sam licks him from base to tip, leaving him wet with saliva. "I do." He blows gently. Dean knocks his head back on the mattress and prays Sam doesn't see his toes curling. So undignified.
"Sammy,"
"Dear Cock,"
Dean closes his eyes and tries not to laugh. "Sam!"
Dear Dean's Cock,
You are so delicious! I love you!
Warmest Regards,
Samuel Winchester I, Esq.
"Nnngh, prove it!" Dean groans, red-cheeked and squirming with anticipation.
"Shall I count the ways?"
"Shut. Up. Other left. Please, Sammy."
"I love your taste." Sam says, eyes dark and serious now.
"Sam-" Dean doesn't finish as Sam's mouth closes in on him again. Warm, wet, moving in and out. Then up and down, and Sam makes these soft little slurping sounds. Dean's toes are pulling the fitted sheet off the edge of the bed. Sam stops again, and it becomes clear to Dean that he's not just addressing one part of his anatomy.
"I love how you feel in my mouth. I love how you feel in my hands." Sam grips the base and squeezes. "I love you inside me. I love making you come. I love seeing your toes curl up."
Shit, he noticed.
"I love that you love all these simple things. I love that you dream about cake and flowers. I love that I can make you smile with cold beer and kisses. I love your appetite. I love feeling devoured by you."
It's too much and just when Dean has the nerve to say something back, Sam's mouth slurps him down and he comes. Sam swallows and Dean thinks about how fucking gorgeous that is. How fucking hot that Sam's drinking him, and the wetness in his mouth is his and-
"I love every last drop of you."
"Fuck. Shit, fuck. Sam, I'm d-"
"Shhh, just. Dean, you're a life I never imagined. I should be a college kid in a bar drinking dark liquor and flirting with diamond-eyed girls, but I'm not. I'm here. I'm here with my brother who still talks in his sleep and wants nothing more then to shoot demons and lick chocolate off of my belly. And composes letters to people instead of talking to them because he's kind of socially retarded, but that's okay, because he's all mine. You, that is. You're mine."
Dean presses his lips together, tight. He nods to himself. "Okay, okay. Sam?"
"Yes, Dean?"
"I've been kinda going through a rough patch."
"I know."
"I really needed this. And to hear, that."
"I'm glad."
"I'm trying to do this out loud, not just in my head, okay? But it's hard. I need that buffer sometimes. The safety."
"It's okay. Take your time."
Dean tries, but he never finishes his thought. Sam waits patiently and they both drift off. Dean still has frosting on his nose in the morning.
***
Sam somehow lets it slip to Dean about the all-night bakery & bar. Almost as the words leave his mouth; Dean's in the Impala, foot on the pedal and ready to go.
"Dean, we can't really spend that much money."
"New credit cards."
"Dean,"
"My pool money."
"It's just not-"
"I will sell my kidneys."
"Dean!"
"Cake! Sam, CAKE! And beer! What do you want from me?"
Sam gives in, of course. And they drive into town.
***
Once inside, Dean dashes straight to the counter and gets lost in the crowd. Sam moves slowly, taking a better look at the place, trying to scout out a table. Some drunk guy bumps into him, and spends 10 minutes trying to convince him he went to his elementary school. It's quite possible he did, but Sam doesn't remember and shrugs the guy off.
Diamond eyes is at the bar. She puts her hands down on the counter in front of him, "Hi!"
"Hi," Sam responds pleasantly.
"So glad you came back. It's nice to see a guy that doesn't own a velour smoking jacket in here."
Sam laughs. "Yeah?"
"God, during the school-year this place is scenester central. It's like everyone here went to the same high school, y'know? And don't get me started on the 'amateur' myspace photographers."
Sam agrees with her. He likes the music but could deal without the pretense. She leans in closer.
"So what can I get you?"
"Got Stella on tap?"
"Sure thing!" She turns to fill his order, and Sam scans the bar for Dean. He spots him at a table, shoveling cake down. Dean sees him looking and waves frantically at him. Thank God his mouth is full, otherwise he'd probably be shouting.
Sam laughs softly.
"It's four," She says. "Brought a friend?"
Sam takes out a ten, "Uh, we're-"
"More than friends?" She gives him an arch of her pierced eyebrow.
Sam swallows, looks down at the counter. "You could say that."
"Of course, the first reasonably cool guy I meet in here comes complete with a boyfriend of his own." She hands him the change.
Sam tries not to laugh, but a weird grin bubbles up, "Guess so?"
"Isn't that always the way?"
"You're not going to spit in my beer now, are you?"
"'Course not! Your boy there just ordered all three of our cake specials, and I'll bet he's coming back for seconds. I'd never dick out a good customer like him."
Sam looks down and says a silent prayer. Please God let me never see you again when the credit card scam catches up with this place.
"He's got a healthy appetite."
"I'll say, where does he put it all?"
On my stomach. "I have no idea!" Sam laughs and slides a tip over, and turns away.
Sam moves through the crowd and stands over Dean's table, sips his beer. Dean's arranged three glasses of wine and three slices of cake in a semicircle around him.
"Whatcha got there?" Sam asks.
"It's the special: Merlot and Red Velvet; White Zinfandel and Angel Food; and Rosé with Strawberry Shortcake." Dean smiles and holds up a forkful of Red Velvet. "You have to try it, it's amazing-"
Sam leans over and takes the bite off of Dean's fork with his mouth.
"Hey, hey watch your manners! We're in public."
"Sowwy." Sam says through the cake. It's really nice. He sits and puts his beer down, leaning over to kiss Dean on the cheek. Dean makes his usual face of PDA disgust, and then goes back to his cake.
"Oh man, Sam." Dean sighs and crams in a mouthful of angel food. "I never want to leave."
Sam bites his bottom lip and plays with the rim of his glass. "Yeah?"
"Mmm hmm." Dean swallows down wine and stabs a forkful of strawberry shortcake. "By the way, I meant to say last night that I think in my dreams I'm eating cake off of you, or eating you (that one where you're actually made of cake); because it's my subconscious fear that I've somehow consumed your life. Like I'm preventing you from doing all the things you want; that I'm stubbornly standing in your way, and eating away at your very being or something. I'm getting older and I can't expect you to stick around forever. And the years you have open to you to do things; like going back to college; starting a life; are wasting away too. But then after what you told me, I felt relieved and happy and I just couldn't explain why. Because it really is such an odd fear, that I'm eating you whole. Then you said the part about how I was yours, and it just made me feel right for the first time, ever. Like, it's okay, he wants this too."
Sam can't really do much else but drop his jaw and stare.
"Oh! And I never got my Skittles. The red ones, remember?" Dean pops the cake in his mouth.
***
For the few days they stay in the town, there's sex and candy and cake and letters sent between the two of them. It's simple joys, sticky sweet. Like the instant burst of energy from simple sugar, the smiles and the laughs and the orgasms come easy and free. Dean crashes when the rush tapers off, and Sam lolls around like a cat, stretching his long body against him while he naps. They lie in the midday sun and feel sated.
A job comes in, and they pack up and take off. Days later, Sam will be covered in blood and Dean will be nursing a dislocated shoulder. Something dark and sinister will eat Dean's favorite shotgun. Sam will get a third degree burn on his left shin and almost need a skin graft. Dean won't sleep for days and Sam won't eat for just as long.
It's a rough patch, but they'll pull through.
fin
***
Annoying Pedantic Ending Notes:
I know I kind of set this in some nebulous anonymous American city, but I was really thinking of downtown Hoboken the entire time. If that helps flesh it out any.
Also, the bar/bakery doesn't exist to my knowledge (sadness! I know!), but I was thinking of two concept bars. Beauty Bar and Crocodile Lounge. Beauty Bar is a kinda hipster place that offers quickie manicures to go with the drinks, I'm sort of blasé on, it but it did provide a teensy bit of inspiration. Crocodile Lounge is like 1,000x cooler because they offer free pizza when you order ANY beer. Did I mention they make these pizzas fresh on the premises? They do. Oh yes.
In conclusion, there really does need to be a bakery/bar opened somewhere in NYC :D
This was longer and more schmoopy then intended. I just wanted porn, damn it! But then my brain had to be all, character development! Barely any plot! Denouement!
Whatevs, I got my cake and wrote it too.
I actually think A Rose stands on its own, so this isn't a direct sequel. Just a revisit for my own enjoyment. :D
Title: The Edible Man
Author: memphis86
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, Dean/Cake
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,418
Summary: Dean's going through a rough patch. Sam still has issues with green things. There's a few more letters, and a lot more sex.
Author's Notes: This is a follow-up to A Rose (In Another Man's Garden), which you really DO need to read before this. Otherwise things will confuse you. Apologies and love to Margaret Atwood for the title
ETA: There is now a soundtrack to accompany this fic.
The Edible Man
It wasn't like they were busy on a hunt or anything. The stress had been building up, and it doesn't stop because they have.
So Dean's going through a rough patch right now.
The insomnia was easy enough to explain, his restless mind finally taking it out on his body. The headaches as well: a convenience-store diet and a penchant for loud music catches up with you eventually.
Dean can fight the tangible creatures that go bump in the night, but he can't fight his age. No matter how many nineteen-year-olds he can scam phone numbers off of.
Sam sits back in his chair and nags; Dean needs to take better care of himself. Dean sticks out his tongue out and whips the chair out from under him with his leg, causing Sam to fall on the floor. It was an old trick that was only used when Dad was far, far out of earshot.
Sam dusts himself off and swears revenge, but then looks across to see his brother on the floor with him, cringing and clutching his knee.
Moments later, Dean's being hauled up by Sam. He sits him down, brings him water and a makeshift cold compress.
"I'm fine." Dean protests
Dean is certainly not fine. He's hurt, tired, and tiny war-drums are beating in his head.
"Yeah, right." Sam crosses his arms.
"Bad angles."
"Dean," Sam frowns at him. Fucking frowns weren't really helping though. Dean's knee was swollen to the size of a small grapefruit.
"C'mon Dean, it looks bad." Sam begins again.
Okay, so maybe Sam's intentions weren't to piss him off. Maybe the knee injury and the fact he'd been awake for going on 40 hours was getting to him.
Dean Winchester did not get migraines. Women with children and tax accountants got migraines. All it was is that Dean's head would hurt and he got really sensitive to light and noise.
"You want any-"
"Dear Sam,"
Oh lord, Sam thinks, biting back a groan, here he goes again.
Dear Sam,
My head hurts. My knee is swollen to the size of casaba melon-
"Pssht! Grapefruit!"
-and I am in incredible pain. And you, my dear brother, eat fucking Advil like they're Skittles. So when someone (namely, myself) has a legitimate need for painkillers, they're S.O.L.
And people say you're the dewy-eyed considerate one. If they only knew the truth…
"I'm considerate enough to-"
Whatever, you're lucky I don't know any better then to just put up with your abuse.
Love,
Dean.
Sam rolls his eyes up at the ceiling, takes a deep breath. Pasting a big sarcastic smile on his face, "Hey Dean, I'm going to run to the nearest pharmacy and get you some Advil. Completely and spontaneously of my own volition."
"That's real nice of you Sammy. Pick me up some Skittles too. And pick out all the other colors; I only want the red ones. As penance for bogarting the Advil."
Sam stalls at the door. Fratricide was harder to clean up in the long run. He should just stick with the fucking.
"And turn out the light!" Dean whines before Sam can close the door.
Okay, so maybe sitting in the dark and the quiet made Dean's headache easier to deal with. But it was still NOT a migraine. We've already been over this: Dean Winchester did not get migraines.
***
Sam leaves the 24-hour pharmacy with an extra-large bottle of migraine strength Advil, a double bag of Skittles, and yesterday's Times.
It was only technically yesterday's, since it was about 1:00 am. But hey, free newspaper. Sam was one of those people that liked to read it cover to cover, and then rub inky hands on whatever piece of Dean's skin was available.
Sam eases the Impala through the street, not quite cruising along. There were a few cars out, and taxis speeding like maniacs. Saturday night didn't hold the same significance for him as it once did, when he had a normal schedule.
Sometimes people-watching was his escape. Sam saw the college kids dash through the dim streets, they ran up and down hills, burly guys in letterman jackets, girls wobbly on high heels. Arms clutching arms forming human chains that marched down empty blocks. Cellphones ringing, buzzing, being passed haphazardly amongst friends, as they hit bar after bar. There wasn't much else open. Bars, the drugstore, ATMs, and-
Sam wasn't a big believer in serendipity. But there it was.
A bakery.
***
Sam was going on ten minutes, just sitting in the Impala, in front of the first all-night bakery he'd ever seen in his life. He was weighing his options.
One the one hand, it'd cheer Dean up.
On the other hand, he would never hear the end of it. Enablers enable.
"Dean's going through a rough patch right now." Sam says aloud, and gets out of the car.
The first sign that this was not a typical bakery should've been that it was open so late. But Sam's seen much, much stranger things. Sam knew something wasn't quite right when he opened the door, and was stopped by a bouncer in front of a black curtain.
"ID?" The bouncer asks.
"I'm sorry," Sam starts, getting his wallet out already from habit. "I thought this was the entrance to the bakery?"
"18 for pastry, 21 to drink." The bouncer replies, and holds out his hand.
"Riiiight." Sam hands over the nicest-looking license he has. The bouncer checks him over, shines a flashlight on his ID and his face, nods and hands him back the card. He pulls the black curtain back.
"Oh." Sam says.
Oh, it's more than just a bakery. Oh, there's a fully stocked bar behind the display case of cakes and cookies. Oh, this place is crawling with twentysomethings and hipsters. Oh, every guy here is drinking bourbon and wearing a velour smoking jacket without a tie. Oh, the DJ is playing The New Pornographers.
Oh.
Sam shakes it off and steps up to the counter. A girl with bleached hair and piercings smiles at him. She's got this black eyeliner around her eyes, making them jagged and diamond-shaped. "What can I get you?" She yells over the noise.
"Uhhh…" Sam looks down at the glass case, he points at the first chocolate cake he sees. "I'd like a slice of that, to go?" He shouts.
"Sure!" She goes behind the counter and puts it up top. It's double-chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and a few little iced decorations. She takes out her big knife and starts cutting, "Let me cut you a piece with a flower." She winks at him.
Sam shudders inwardly; he has to remind himself it's just icing. Just sugar and buttercream and no real plant matter at all.
Honestly, he hasn't been able to look at a salad in weeks, since the rose venom incident. Dean's been making him eat orange slices so he won't get scurvy.
She places the slice carefully in a clear, custom cake-sized package. "That's five, anything else? Would you like one of our drink specials? Tonight it's wheat beer and oatmeal cookies."
"Another time, maybe." Sam mumbles and pays. She plays with her lip ring and gives him the eyes again.
"Looking forward to it!" Sam ducks his head and leaves.
Sam places the slice of cake on the passenger seat when he gets in, and then slowly pulls the car out, heading back to the motel.
Stopping at a traffic light, Sam turns again to regard the slice. It's still sitting right next to him, and thinks about Dean.
When he and Dean were younger, their father would leave them locked in the car from time to time. Either he had a job to do, or he couldn't bring them to where he was buying weapons and ammunition. Some of those places were just not okay for children, no matter how much they already knew.
They'd mostly sit in the backseat, listen to the radio and play cards. Occasionally they'd pick fights; Dean would go sit up front and sing Led Zeppelin really loud and Sam would kick the back of his seat in time with the music.
Sometimes Sam would get so bored, that Dean would have to entertain him. He'd strap in a phonebook to the driver's seat, and they'd play "Dad-the-phonebook."
Dean would do an impression of their father's gruff voice, asking Sam to do things for him. "Say Sammy, wouldja mind turning my pages here? I need to call a plumber." And Sam would crack up.
In addition to Dad-the-phonebook, there was Dad-the-road-atlas, Dad-the-tire-iron, and one memorable time: Dad-the-half-empty-bag-of-cheetos. Dean was on a roll that day, devouring their imaginary father with commentary. "No son, don't eat me! Augh! What a world, what a world…"
The light goes green and Sam shakes off his reverie. A couple of kids run across the crosswalk, even though they don't have the light. One narrowly misses getting clipped by a taxi.
Sam sighs and drives past, hoping Dean hasn't fallen asleep. Or maybe hoping he has. Sam's still trying to psych himself up for this, but he's definitely going to try it tonight.
Dean's going through a rough patch, after all.
***
Dean's still sitting in the dark when Sam gets back, he groans when the door opens and more light spills in. Sam quickly shuts the door and puts the Advil in front of him; which Dean immediately unwraps and pops in his mouth.
"I'm just gonna turn this little light on, okay?"
"What took you so fucking long?" Dean mutters. Sam hits the light by the nightstand, puts his package on the side table. Dean's still got his back turned to him as he rubs his temples.
"Uhh, well, there was a line at the pharmacy." A total lie, he was in and out in about 5 minutes.
"Mmmhmm." Sam takes off his shoes, his jacket, and then takes a deep breath. Pulls his shirt off, undoes his belt. All that's left on are his jeans.
"And, I uhhh, got you something?" He says lying against the headboard of the bed, the cake in his hands.
Dean turns to Sam and his eyes go wide. His breathing is heavier and he stirs in his seat. "Is that… chocolate cake?"
Sam toys with the edges of the package, "Yeah," he reaches over and produces a plastic fork. "I thought it might make you feel better, only-"
"It does," Dean's already up and shrugging out of his overshirt, stepping on his socks until they go too.
"Only they didn't have any plates so-"
Dean's at the bed now, his mouth is quivering as he sits by Sam. Placing a palm on his naked chest, he rubs him from side to side.
"You're just going to have to eat it, off of, something… else?" Sam's got this coy little smile. Dean makes him feel sexy and dirty all at once. It's a warmth that washes over him along followed by tinges of excitement and nerves.
"Uh-huh, is that so?" Dean takes his hand back and throws off his own shirt.
"Yeah?"
"Any suggestions?"
"Wherever you wa-" And Dean's mouth covers his own. Dean's hands work the package out of Sam's and he pulls back.
"Lie down." Dean whispers, like it's all suddenly dirty and wrong. Sam complies and regrets not thinking about napkins or a towel. The motel staff is going to love smears of chocolate all over their nice white sheets.
"Didn't know if you wanted a fork or-?" Sam trails off and Dean shakes his head.
"Don't need it." Dean undoes the fly of Sam's jeans and helps him wriggle out of them. Then Dean winks and his boxers come flying off. Dean always likes flinging clothes around.
"Oh?"
"See, in my dream, I was using my hands." Dean opens the box and turns it over on his stomach. Then the cake is there on its side, sitting nicely in between the creases of his muscles, a few little crumbs scatter. Sam can feel the cool icing in a line on his belly.
"But I think my hands are gonna be kinda busy…" Dean's stripping his own jeans off now, he's naked and hard, and fucking beautiful. Sam licks his lips and feels his mouth go dry.
"Yeah?"
"Yep, gonna have to work around it." Dean leans over to his side of the bed, pulls the lube and condoms out of the dresser. "I'm sure it'll be fine-" And then he attacks Sam's mouth again. Dean's is so wet, compared to Sam's. A slick tongue licks its way past his teeth, into his mouth, and then pulls back. Dean kisses his chin, down his jaw, collarbone, chest, edging closer and closer.
Sam's muscles tense and Dean takes his first bite from the cake. Sam gasps just a little, and Dean leans back on his haunches, swallows.
"Fuck yeah, that works." And Dean leans in for another taste. Nibbling bite after bite of cake off of Sam's stomach. Licking the crumbs and lapping up the icing. Sam's unconsciously moving his stomach up to meet Dean's mouth with every pass.
He's so entranced watching Dean, face buried in cake, that he's surprised when fingers push into him. Dean sticks his tongue out to lick chocolate off his lips and he's got slicked up fingers moving in and out of Sam.
Sam throws his head back, stares at the ceiling, sucks in a breath but then the tongue is back on his stomach and- fuck! How is Dean everywhere at once?
"So good Sam, so mmmm, good! You have to-" Sam looks down at Dean, who laughs and leans in to take a bite of cake in his mouth.
Dean's moving closer to him, and finger fucking him deeper, and passes the cake from his mouth to Sam's. And it's just too fucking hot, his cock is ready and wants attention and Sam has to touch himself. So he swallows Dean's mouthful, and grabs his dick.
"Fuck, that's so hot, Sammy." Dean pushes in farther, and Sam squeezes harder.
"Dean-"
"Mmm gonna clean you off, fuck you so hard." Dean's fingers stop moving and his tongue is all over Sam's stomach, licking up every bit of icing it can reach. One of Dean's hands swats Sam's away, takes hold of him and runs slick fingers over him.
Sam trembles and pets Dean's head until he looks up. Dean's got a little drop of pink icing on the tip of his nose, from the flower. And Sam laughs. It's the sexiest, sweetest smile he's ever seen Dean make.
And then Dean pushes into him.
There are moments, when Sam feels the universe focus in on just him and Dean. When they're not just little specks in the dustbowl of the cosmos. When it's them, and they're bigger then life itself. When everything is theirs for the taking.
Sam throws his legs over Dean's shoulders; he can pull him close like this. Dean's hands are working Sam's cock and Dean's mouth is still kissing his stomach, then his chest. Dean stops kissing and leans over Sam's face, closes his eyes and starts groaning.
"Oh fuck that's good. Oh fuck, Sam that's so good. This is so fucking good."
Dean comes and buries himself deep in Sam with his final thrust. His head drops onto Sam's chest and his hands tighten on Sam's cock. Sam clenches his stomach muscles, thrusts himself into Dean's hands a few more times. Dean picks up his head and pulls out. He reaches for Sam's mouth again, and tongue fucks him while stroking Sam's cock to completion. Dean is still sugary sweet from the cake.
***
When it's over, Sam's covered in crumbs and hardened bits of icing. Dean rolls off of him and onto his back. Sam curls up next to him, pillows his head on Dean's bicep.
He's still got the pink on his nose and Sam decides it needs to stay there as long as possible.
Dean clears his throat, "Sammy, take a letter."
"I am not taking a let-"
"Dear Baker of Sexy Cakes,"
"You are such a freak."
"You'll have to excuse my brother, he's of the e-mail generation. The noble art of personal written correspondence is lost on him."
"La la la, not listening to you. And you don't write them down, you say them out loud."
"Well, I would have them written down if you would just take the damn letter like I asked. You know what? Quiet, I'm losing my train of thought."
Sam raises his eyebrows and inches closer to Dean.
"As I was saying:"
Dear Baker of Sexy Cakes,
Thank you for fulfilling my deepest desire to eat- Sam, quit it. I'm composing.
My deepest desire to eat baked goods off of the tummy of- Sam! Stop it! I'm trying to get my thoughts out here. Just give me one minute, move your hands.
I mean it! I am not whining. Stop that. C'mon, Sammy.
Okay. Okay, little to the left?
No. Your other left.
Other left.
That's the spot.
Oh yeah.
Ahem. In conclusion: Thankyouforcakebye!
Mmmmm,
Dean
Dean flushes as pink as the residual icing left on the tip of his nose. Sam's mouth runs up and down his cock. Alternating the tip of his tongue on the underside with the flat side on his head. Dean just about starts to lose it when Sam stops, lifts his head up and laughs quietly.
"You really think I don't appreciate your letters?"
"No, uhhhn, back down." Dean fidgets and taps the top of Sam's head.
"Because," Sam licks him from base to tip, leaving him wet with saliva. "I do." He blows gently. Dean knocks his head back on the mattress and prays Sam doesn't see his toes curling. So undignified.
"Sammy,"
"Dear Cock,"
Dean closes his eyes and tries not to laugh. "Sam!"
Dear Dean's Cock,
You are so delicious! I love you!
Warmest Regards,
Samuel Winchester I, Esq.
"Nnngh, prove it!" Dean groans, red-cheeked and squirming with anticipation.
"Shall I count the ways?"
"Shut. Up. Other left. Please, Sammy."
"I love your taste." Sam says, eyes dark and serious now.
"Sam-" Dean doesn't finish as Sam's mouth closes in on him again. Warm, wet, moving in and out. Then up and down, and Sam makes these soft little slurping sounds. Dean's toes are pulling the fitted sheet off the edge of the bed. Sam stops again, and it becomes clear to Dean that he's not just addressing one part of his anatomy.
"I love how you feel in my mouth. I love how you feel in my hands." Sam grips the base and squeezes. "I love you inside me. I love making you come. I love seeing your toes curl up."
Shit, he noticed.
"I love that you love all these simple things. I love that you dream about cake and flowers. I love that I can make you smile with cold beer and kisses. I love your appetite. I love feeling devoured by you."
It's too much and just when Dean has the nerve to say something back, Sam's mouth slurps him down and he comes. Sam swallows and Dean thinks about how fucking gorgeous that is. How fucking hot that Sam's drinking him, and the wetness in his mouth is his and-
"I love every last drop of you."
"Fuck. Shit, fuck. Sam, I'm d-"
"Shhh, just. Dean, you're a life I never imagined. I should be a college kid in a bar drinking dark liquor and flirting with diamond-eyed girls, but I'm not. I'm here. I'm here with my brother who still talks in his sleep and wants nothing more then to shoot demons and lick chocolate off of my belly. And composes letters to people instead of talking to them because he's kind of socially retarded, but that's okay, because he's all mine. You, that is. You're mine."
Dean presses his lips together, tight. He nods to himself. "Okay, okay. Sam?"
"Yes, Dean?"
"I've been kinda going through a rough patch."
"I know."
"I really needed this. And to hear, that."
"I'm glad."
"I'm trying to do this out loud, not just in my head, okay? But it's hard. I need that buffer sometimes. The safety."
"It's okay. Take your time."
Dean tries, but he never finishes his thought. Sam waits patiently and they both drift off. Dean still has frosting on his nose in the morning.
***
Sam somehow lets it slip to Dean about the all-night bakery & bar. Almost as the words leave his mouth; Dean's in the Impala, foot on the pedal and ready to go.
"Dean, we can't really spend that much money."
"New credit cards."
"Dean,"
"My pool money."
"It's just not-"
"I will sell my kidneys."
"Dean!"
"Cake! Sam, CAKE! And beer! What do you want from me?"
Sam gives in, of course. And they drive into town.
***
Once inside, Dean dashes straight to the counter and gets lost in the crowd. Sam moves slowly, taking a better look at the place, trying to scout out a table. Some drunk guy bumps into him, and spends 10 minutes trying to convince him he went to his elementary school. It's quite possible he did, but Sam doesn't remember and shrugs the guy off.
Diamond eyes is at the bar. She puts her hands down on the counter in front of him, "Hi!"
"Hi," Sam responds pleasantly.
"So glad you came back. It's nice to see a guy that doesn't own a velour smoking jacket in here."
Sam laughs. "Yeah?"
"God, during the school-year this place is scenester central. It's like everyone here went to the same high school, y'know? And don't get me started on the 'amateur' myspace photographers."
Sam agrees with her. He likes the music but could deal without the pretense. She leans in closer.
"So what can I get you?"
"Got Stella on tap?"
"Sure thing!" She turns to fill his order, and Sam scans the bar for Dean. He spots him at a table, shoveling cake down. Dean sees him looking and waves frantically at him. Thank God his mouth is full, otherwise he'd probably be shouting.
Sam laughs softly.
"It's four," She says. "Brought a friend?"
Sam takes out a ten, "Uh, we're-"
"More than friends?" She gives him an arch of her pierced eyebrow.
Sam swallows, looks down at the counter. "You could say that."
"Of course, the first reasonably cool guy I meet in here comes complete with a boyfriend of his own." She hands him the change.
Sam tries not to laugh, but a weird grin bubbles up, "Guess so?"
"Isn't that always the way?"
"You're not going to spit in my beer now, are you?"
"'Course not! Your boy there just ordered all three of our cake specials, and I'll bet he's coming back for seconds. I'd never dick out a good customer like him."
Sam looks down and says a silent prayer. Please God let me never see you again when the credit card scam catches up with this place.
"He's got a healthy appetite."
"I'll say, where does he put it all?"
On my stomach. "I have no idea!" Sam laughs and slides a tip over, and turns away.
Sam moves through the crowd and stands over Dean's table, sips his beer. Dean's arranged three glasses of wine and three slices of cake in a semicircle around him.
"Whatcha got there?" Sam asks.
"It's the special: Merlot and Red Velvet; White Zinfandel and Angel Food; and Rosé with Strawberry Shortcake." Dean smiles and holds up a forkful of Red Velvet. "You have to try it, it's amazing-"
Sam leans over and takes the bite off of Dean's fork with his mouth.
"Hey, hey watch your manners! We're in public."
"Sowwy." Sam says through the cake. It's really nice. He sits and puts his beer down, leaning over to kiss Dean on the cheek. Dean makes his usual face of PDA disgust, and then goes back to his cake.
"Oh man, Sam." Dean sighs and crams in a mouthful of angel food. "I never want to leave."
Sam bites his bottom lip and plays with the rim of his glass. "Yeah?"
"Mmm hmm." Dean swallows down wine and stabs a forkful of strawberry shortcake. "By the way, I meant to say last night that I think in my dreams I'm eating cake off of you, or eating you (that one where you're actually made of cake); because it's my subconscious fear that I've somehow consumed your life. Like I'm preventing you from doing all the things you want; that I'm stubbornly standing in your way, and eating away at your very being or something. I'm getting older and I can't expect you to stick around forever. And the years you have open to you to do things; like going back to college; starting a life; are wasting away too. But then after what you told me, I felt relieved and happy and I just couldn't explain why. Because it really is such an odd fear, that I'm eating you whole. Then you said the part about how I was yours, and it just made me feel right for the first time, ever. Like, it's okay, he wants this too."
Sam can't really do much else but drop his jaw and stare.
"Oh! And I never got my Skittles. The red ones, remember?" Dean pops the cake in his mouth.
***
For the few days they stay in the town, there's sex and candy and cake and letters sent between the two of them. It's simple joys, sticky sweet. Like the instant burst of energy from simple sugar, the smiles and the laughs and the orgasms come easy and free. Dean crashes when the rush tapers off, and Sam lolls around like a cat, stretching his long body against him while he naps. They lie in the midday sun and feel sated.
A job comes in, and they pack up and take off. Days later, Sam will be covered in blood and Dean will be nursing a dislocated shoulder. Something dark and sinister will eat Dean's favorite shotgun. Sam will get a third degree burn on his left shin and almost need a skin graft. Dean won't sleep for days and Sam won't eat for just as long.
It's a rough patch, but they'll pull through.
fin
***
Annoying Pedantic Ending Notes:
I know I kind of set this in some nebulous anonymous American city, but I was really thinking of downtown Hoboken the entire time. If that helps flesh it out any.
Also, the bar/bakery doesn't exist to my knowledge (sadness! I know!), but I was thinking of two concept bars. Beauty Bar and Crocodile Lounge. Beauty Bar is a kinda hipster place that offers quickie manicures to go with the drinks, I'm sort of blasé on, it but it did provide a teensy bit of inspiration. Crocodile Lounge is like 1,000x cooler because they offer free pizza when you order ANY beer. Did I mention they make these pizzas fresh on the premises? They do. Oh yes.
In conclusion, there really does need to be a bakery/bar opened somewhere in NYC :D
This was longer and more schmoopy then intended. I just wanted porn, damn it! But then my brain had to be all, character development! Barely any plot! Denouement!
Whatevs, I got my cake and wrote it too.