Destiel spice prompt! This is how it works: you can write or draw about it, needs to feature the location and situation and focus on the body part. Can be explicit or highly suggestive, a fic drabble or a meta/headcanon post. Let's have fun!
Situation: Dean or Cash over prepare for something
Domestic engaged post-canon Destiel x wedding cake x Cas being a very earnest weirdo
Cas doesn't think a cake tasting is necessary. "We both know what cake tastes like," he says, completely flat, even as he dutifully follows Dean through the parking lot and up to the front door of a bakery the next town over. Lebanon didn't have one, which Dean considered a personal affront. "This seems a little excessive," Cas adds, as he steps through the door Dean holds open for him.
Cas just doesn't get it. What's the point of planning a wedding if you don't get to taste the damn cake first?
A tiny wisp of a woman with gray-blue hair and knobbly knuckles, who has probably been baking wedding cakes since The Beatles were touring, ushers them to a table where their cakes are already waiting.
And you know what? More power to her for single-handedly carrying the wedding cake market for whole county, because this shit is fire. It was an assortment of her most popular flavor combos: almond cake with raspberry filling, red velvet and cream cheese, strawberry cake with lemon curd, and of course the classic chocolate and vanilla. The cakes are all soft and fluffy, and the flavors are saturated. Intense without being too sweet. As soon as she disappears into the back, Dean elbows Cas in the ribs and whispers, "Still seem excessive?"
Cas just smiles peacefully and scoops up a forkful of strawberry and lemon curd.
"Which one's your favorite?" Dean asks. Fork in hand, he swipes at a stray lock of hair that had fallen down on his forehead.
Cas doesn't answer the question. He gestures at Dean's face. "You have frosting there," he says.
Dean tries to swipe it up with his thumb, twice, unsuccessfully. Cas takes two surreptitious glances around the front of the bakery.
Then he yanks Dean towards him by the collar of his flannel, and licks the frosting off of Dean's forehead, flattening his tongue fully against the slope of it and dragging a thick, wet stripe from his brow bone to his hairline. Dean is stunned... and immediately, harrowingly aroused.
Cas returns to his plate as though nothing abnormal just happened. "Whatever flavor that was," he says blandly, "that's my favorite."
Dean has to take a moment to compose himself.
When the baker rounds the corner again, asking if they've found anything they like, Dean glances over at Cas. "We'll, uh," he says, sitting up a little straighter and shifting in his seat uncomfortably, "we'll go with the cream cheese."
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