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“Hey, Cupcake Police.” Dean beams as he pushes through the glass doors. A bell chimes, the aroma of coffee permeate the air, and the tangy sweet scent of lemon cuts through the bittersweetness. It’s been a couple months since Dean stepped into this bakery for the first time and had his feet kicked from under him by a man with brilliant blue eyes.
Those blue eyes are glaring at Dean now, and instead of a greeting, Cas says with ice chips in his voice, “We’re closed.”
Dean checks his watch, then the sign on the door, and cocks a brow at Cas. “Door says you’re open ‘til eleven. It’s only nine thirty.”
“I’m the owner, I say we’re closed, we’re closed.” Cas pushes through the latch gate on the side of the counter and turns off the glowing neon Open sign hanging in the window. He turns to Dean, arms crossed, and juts his chin at the door.
Dean and Cas had spent just one wild afternoon together all those months ago, but Dean believed they had shared something special. He had rushed back to the city as soon as his last single finished recording. This frigid reception was not what he expected.
Was Cas’ invitation to visit him at the bakery something polite he says to every celebrity he sleeps with? Was that whole spiel about not wanting to be a booty call all a lie? Something cold coils low in Dean’s gut and he wants to throw up.
He grabs the bill of his cap and yanks it lower before pushing the glass door open. The bell attached to the door jingles, but Cas’ voice cuts through the clear chime. “That’s it? No explanation?” He storms up to Dean. “Fucking famous people, think you can do whatever you want and everyone just falls at your feet.”
Anger punches through Dean, blasts through the fog of confusion and hurt. He rips off his hat and runs a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck and giving it a squeeze. “You’re acting all crazy. What the fuck are you talking about?”
Cas’ eyes drill into him, blue as cold as a midwinter’s morning pins Dean to the spot. “Wait here,” he says, then turns and storms toward the back room.
Dean should leave, should walk out the door and never come back. He’s not sure what he did, but they’re not even dating for fuck’s sake, he does not need to stand around and take this. But no matter how hard he tries, Dean can’t lift his foot and step out into the crisp, night air.
There’s something about Cas that’s been pulling at Dean since that first time they met. He’s not walking away until he’s certain he’s the one that fucked up.
Cas comes back with a rolled up magazine. He slaps it into Dean's hand and the thick book unfurls with a whisper. On the cover of the magazine is a man with his arm around the waist of a petite blonde woman. They’re walking down a busy street, their heads pushed close and smiling, and on the woman’s left ring finger is a glittering diamond ring. They’re both wearing baseball caps and sunglasses in the picture, but it’s easy to tell the man is Dean.
Across the bottom is a caption “Dean Winchester and longtime mystery girlfriend, finally tying the knot?” The magazine is dated this month. Crap.
“I don’t care who you fuck during your spare time,” Cas growls. “But I don’t do that. I don’t touch other people’s property, and I don’t appreciate being lied to.” Cas’ face is blank, but Dean somehow knows he must be livid right now. Perhaps has been livid since he saw the magazine.
“Look, Cas, it’s not what you think it is.” Dean doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He tries for diplomatic instead.
“Really? And what exactly do you think I’m thinking?”
“Jo is like a sister—”
“So you’re telling me you’re into incest?”
“God, no.” Dean huffs and scrubs a hand down his face. “Okay, look, I don’t—I don’t talk about this with people. I—” Dean takes a deep breath. “My parents died in a car crash when I was a kid. This isn’t news, every tabloid worth their salt has done a sob story on this. What they don’t know is the name of the family friends that took me and Sammy in.”
Cas tilts his head a little, and if Dean squints, there’s a faint dusting of pink on Cas’ cheeks.
“Anyway. They have two kids of their own. Jo and Ash. And Jo got engaged that day, so I took her out to celebrate.”
“Well, hm”—Cas taps a long finger against his lips and takes a shallow breath—“um, what’s with the ‘longtime girlfriend’ thing?”
“Jo and I are close, and whenever I’m home, she and I get together,” Dean says with a smirk, enjoying the obvious discomfort and embarrassment on Cas’ face. “The paparazzi got a hold of a picture and went wild with theories. I never thought to correct them because there’s no point. If I came out and said Jo is my sister, they'll want to dig into her personal life.”
Cas is quiet. Deathly silent and standing so still he’d put a statue to shame. His cheeks grow pinker by the second until they’re a deeper shade than his pink, slightly chapped lips. Dean bites the inside of his cheek and tries not to laugh, but the corners of his lips twitch, and that small movement breaks Cas out of his mime routine.
“I...I did not know. My sincerest apologies for ‘acting all crazy,’” he says while curling his fingers like air quotes. “I’ve made some mistakes in the past, and now I live by a set of rules I don’t like to break.”
Dean perks up with piqued interest, but there’s something in the way Cas says ‘mistakes’ that gives Dean pause. He wants to ask, like really wants to ask, but maybe he can save that for next time, because now Cas is giving him a different kind of look.
“It’s okay, Cas. I should have, I dunno, explained or something.” Dean takes a step forward, shortening the distance between them.
“So you’re not seeing anyone?”
“I’m as single as they come, baby.”
Cas’ eyes widen, and the black pit of desire eats away the blue with each blink. “What would you like today?” Cas takes a step as well and closes the distance between them. His lips are so close Dean can taste the lemon on his breath. “Salted caramel again? Or something new?”
“What do you suggest?”
“Hm, I have a fresh batch of lemon custard.”
“I do love custard.”
“Good.” Cas’ eyes narrow, and the gleam in the thinning blue halos sends a jolt of shocking need to Dean’s cock. “Come with me.”
Without waiting for a response, Cas takes Dean’s hand and pulls Dean to the back of the bakery. A blur of stainless steel and gleaming chrome, and Cas is pushing through a set of heavy double doors.
A blast of cold air hits Dean, and he stumbles into the walk-in fridge, rubbing his arm with his free hand. “Cas?”
“The custard is cooling,” Cas says, his voice lower than usual. He points at a plastic tub about two feet tall, the lid only partially snapped shut, and steam escapes the small gap like fairies in flight. “But I don't think I want to wait that long to taste you.”
Dean blinks. Cas’ words are a coaxing breath to the embers of Dean's desire, bringing it to life. He's still recovering from the emotional whiplash, but it seems like Cas has forgotten about their earlier spat. He's eager to get his hands on Dean, and Dean goes along for the ride, enjoying the attention.
Cas pulls him close, blue eyes wide and demanding, and claims Dean's lips with a wicked sweep of tongue. The kiss steals Dean's breath as much as the cold does, but Dean doesn't care as he melts in the frigid air.
It feels good to be wanted, to be missed, and after the little display from earlier, Dean dares to believe Cas not only missed him, but he was jealous of the idea Dean might be taken. Sure, his reasoning was sound—Dean doesn't like to be a homewrecker either—but it felt like there was a hint of something more selfish hidden in Cas’ anger.
Bold hands slip under the hem of Dean's leather jacket, pushes the supple material up to delve beneath Dean's t-shirt. The fingertips are cold, but they burn where they land on Dean’s bare skin.
Cas pushes his tongue past Dean’s lips, and Dean’s only too happy to push into the kiss. His tongue laps and tangles with Cas’, and the faint sweetness of tangy lemon overwhelms Dean. If that’s what the custard tastes like, Dean’s so getting a spoon after all this steamy stuff is over.
Not that he wants it to be over too quickly, and it seems Cas shares this sentiment as he pulls away from the kiss with a growl, eyes smoldering so blue they glow in the dim lighting of the walk-in fridge. “Turn around, Dean.” Cas’ breath plumes. His daft fingers make short work of the button on Dean’s jeans. Pop pop, and down goes the zipper.
Dean frowns, uncertainty heightens his anticipation, and he turns his back to Cas. A firm hand push against his shoulder blade, another pulls on Dean’s hip, and he’s bending over the plastic tub of warm custard.
“Stay. Don’t move,” Cas commands behind him, and something electrifying thrills through Dean. He enjoys a bossy lover as much as the next guy, but the sure way Cas is rounding Dean’s jeans and boxer briefs over his ass makes Dean grip the edge of the tub with white knuckles.
The custard tub tips and Dean scrambles to pull it upright, knocking off the lid. Sweet, sharp vanilla and lemon assault his senses, and Dean’s nose is inches away from the thick, creamy filling. He only needs to lean down, and the tip of his tongue could curl in for a taste. Dean worries at his bottom lip, wondering how much trouble he’d get into if he did that when something soft and warm and wet curls against his hole.
“Oh, whoa—” Dean jumps and holds onto the edge of the tub in a death grip, his knees bending to catch his balance. “Cas, Christ, give a man some warning next tim—” His words make way for a long, filthy moan when the tip of Cas’ tongue circles Dean’s tight ring of muscle. Then the heat is gone, and Dean keens as cold air blasts his core.
“Do not use the Lord’s name in vain, Dean,” Cas mumbles in Dean’s ear, his weight pushing down on Dean’s back like an anchor.
They’ve only begun, and Dean’s already losing himself. He nods, wiggles his ass and presses against the hardness he’s sure is Cas’ erection. When Cas gasps and nips his ear, Dean grins into the tub, satisfied.
Cas crawls off his body, languid fingers tracing along Dean’s ribcage and down his sides, just enough pressure Dean’s aware of them. He wants to strip naked, wants to feel Cas’ strong fingers along his heated skin, but it’s so damn cold in here. Also, getting naked in a fridge probably violates a ton of food and safety regulations. Not that what they’re doing isn’t already breaking all the rules.
As if reading his thoughts, Cas mouths against his asscheek before saying, “I’m not using this tub of custard for the store, don’t worry.”
Dean’s response evaporates like morning dew under the sun when Cas’ tongue laps at his hole once more, the flat of it hungry and demanding, yet infuriatingly slow as it drags across sensitive nerves. Dean clutches at the custard tub, hanging on for dear life as Cas spreads his ass cheeks and eats him like dessert.
No one has ever done this to Dean, spreading him open, leaving him vulnerable and needy, and taking from him everything he has to offer. Dean shuts his eyes, and the darkness sharpens his senses: the custard smells sweeter, the citrus more pronounced. The thin edge of the plastic tub digs into his palms, and his legs burn with the effort to stay upright while Cas’s tongue licks the center of his hole, the tip breaching his body so intimately Dean forgets how to breathe.
It’s wet and hot and cold and Dean’s so hard it hurts. His hips cant forward, but there’s nothing for his cock to rub against. His balls pull close to his body, and Dean’s not sure if it’s the cold or Cas’ tongue spearing into him with earnest thrusts. He’s wrapped up in the scent of lemon and vanilla and he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to smell either and not get hard. But he doesn’t care right now; he needs to feel Cas inside him, needs to touch himself. It’s throbbing and it hurts and—
A cold hand grabs Dean’s cock, stills its frantic bob, and time stops marching. Dean gasps, his voice choking on the exhale as Cas’ fingers squeeze the head then stroke down to the base. “Oh—fuck. C-Cas—baby, please—”
“Shh,” Cas whispers against the shell of his ear, hot breath stinging against his chilled flesh. Dean shudders, a full body tremor that leaves him wanting. “Not just yet. I want to watch you squirm on my cock, want you to come with my dick in you. Can you hold off for me?”
Dean’s shaking, teeth chattering, but he manages a garbled “yes” before collapsing to his knees. The tub holds his weight, stoic as ever, and Cas kisses the back of his neck before yanking him to his feet and pulling up his jeans.
They walk, or rather, Cas walks and Dean stumbles out of the fridge, and the blast of warm air from the kitchen sets Dean’s skin alight with sensation. Like pinpricks and fuzzy blankets and electricity zapping across his skin. All of a sudden, it’s too hot, and Dean sheds his jacket, uncaring where he drops it.
Cas sits him on a stool, then he grabs a small metal bowl off a shelf and disappears back into the fridge. Dean is buzzing with need, with excitement, and a little trepidation. Cas’ words reverberate in his head like church bells, loud and impossible to ignore. At first glance, Dean wouldn’t have dubbed Cas as the dirty talking type. Books and covers and all that jazz.
Dean’s not sure how long has passed, but he’s still vibrating and no less turned on when Cas comes back with a bowl of lemon custard, and Dean’s mouth goes dry.
“You like custard, right?” Cas asks nonchalantly as if he’s not sporting the largest tent of the century. He dips a finger in the bowl and holds it out to Dean, blue eyes expectant. Dean leans forward, holding Cas’ gaze, and pauses before parting his lips.
Rich flavours burst on Dean’s tongue; vanilla and eggs and tangy sweet lemon. The custard is soft and silky. Cas’ finger is hard and thick, and it twirls around Dean’s tongue before pulling away.
“Good?” Cas’ voice is gruffer than usual. He dips the same finger back in the bowl and scoops out another dollop.
“God, yes.” Dean moans and runs his tongue along his bottom lip. Cas narrows his eyes, and Dean’s heart does a fluttering little dance. He slips off the stool and kneels in front of Cas, his eyes level with the taut stretch of Cas’ pants. “I’d like some more, please.” Dean looks up through his lashes, catches Cas’ stormy gaze with a smirk, then pulls Cas’ hand down.
He takes Cas’ finger between his lips, licks the sticky custard off with infinite care. Sweetness gives way to the faint saltiness of Cas’ skin, and smooth custard melts to reveal the rough texture of Cas’ skin. Dean laps at the finger, sucks it in one knuckle at a time until the tip tickles the back of his throat.
Cas groans, a strained, soft sound, then pulls his finger from Dean. Again, the finger dips back into the bowl, but Dean leans back and works the button and zipper of Cas’ pants down with impatient fingers. He yanks the denim, along with Cas’ underwear, down his legs. Cas’ cock springs free, hard, pulsing, the velvet head is purple, and the metal barbell glistens with pre-come.
Dean swallows, runs his trembling hands up Cas’ thick thighs before reaching for Cas’ custard covered fingers and smearing the sweet treat along the length of his cock.
Cas’ eyebrows jump toward his hairline, his eyes wide, and there’s a glint of amusement hidden in the shock there. “Oh?”
“Mhm,” Dean says and smacks his lips. “I do love me some custard.” Without waiting for a reply, Dean takes the head of Cas’ cock between his lips and caresses the cool barb with his tongue. He flicks the curved rod, pulls back and hooks his teeth around the top metal ball embedded against the slit. Cas gasps, his thigh muscles shifting under tanned skin, and a string of soft curses rolls off his tongue.
The trail of silky custard guides him, and Dean leads with his tongue, laps up every last smear of sweetness before swallowing each inch. The mix of flavours is exquisite; rich, tangy, musky, salty. And Cas’ hitched breath and choked little moans complete the intoxicating blend.
Fingernails scrape along Dean’s scalp, then two greedy hands cradle the back of Dean’s head and hold him still. Cas’ hips snap forward, metal nudges at the back of Dean’s throat. Dean chokes, his fingers dig into Cas’ hips, then he relaxes and the head of Cas’ cock snugs down his throat.
Cas looks down at him, eyes so dark they’re black. He pulls back a fraction of an inch, then thrusts down Dean’s throat until coarse curls tickle Dean’s nose. They hold still like that, and Dean slips into a headspace he's never been.
His vision grows soft around the edges, his heartbeat slows until he can no longer feel its frantic dance. He can't breathe, but somehow that doesn't scare him as much as it should when the blue of Cas’ intense gaze blankets him from above.
It's a moment of serenity. No cameras, no obligations. No expectations and performances. Here, kneeling in front of Cas, his very ability to breathe in the hands of someone he barely knows, he's free. Dean isn't used to this level of comfort with anymore.
Not even his family since his fame became a spotlight on their private lives. Bobby and Ellen say they don't care, but Dean knows they're private people, so he stays away most of the time.
Cas’ eyes flutter shut, and his head drops back with a soft sigh. His fingers card through Dean's hair, gentle caresses that shouldn't be so arousing. It's another heartbeat or two before Cas pulls back, and Dean keens at the loss of fullness.
“Fuck, Dean, you're incredible.” Cas’ eyes are glassy when they find their way back to Dean. “Up, pants off, ass on the stool and lean back against the counter.”
Dean obeys, can't get out of his pants fast enough, tripping over his boots in the struggle. He gets naked, and can't even be bothered with thoughts of shame as he gets on the stool, his arms spread out leaning against the chrome counter behind him.
A whiff of coconut and the crinkle of a condom wrapper, and Cas is slotting between Dean's legs like it's his natural place to be. He slips one arm under Dean's left leg, pushes Dean's knee to his chest. Cas strokes Dean's hole, fingers slippery, and slips two into Dean with ease.
“Coconut oil, not just good for chocolates.” Cas smirks. A wicked curve of lips, and Dean bites his tongue to keep from coming right then. Fuck.
Dean doesn't remember the first thrust, only the faint fragrance of coconut and the immense pressure building low in this gut. Cas is thrusting into him with relentless strokes, and Dean is already embarrassingly close. His arm slips, and Dean fails to catch his balance, knocking the bowl of custard to the floor.
He comes to the clatter of metal and the intense scent of lemon. Cas isn't far behind him, his arms bulging as he pulls Dean to him, holding him close.
They breathe together for a few fluttering heartbeats. When Cas pulls away, Dean suppresses the urge to reach out and pull Cas back to him. He got what he came for, and Cas probably has things to do, perhaps has Friday night plans that Dean's not privy to.
“Do you always think so hard after sex?” Cas asks, the amusement in his voice breaks through Dean's somber thoughts.
“What? No. I was just—”
“If you have nothing fancy planned,” Cas says and throws Dean his jeans, “help me clean up and sanitize the place, then we can go hang out at my place.”
The rock in his chest crumbles, and warmth spreads into the cracks of Dean's soul. He yanks on his jeans and says with a smile, “Sounds like a party.”