La Petite Mort

“It seems.”

“This is my little brother, Sam."

“Hi” He smiled.

"If you're trying something for the first time, don't start with the sugar-free stuff." You suggested, Sam smiled despite himself.

"Any recommendations?" Dean felt something inside him deflate slightly. Your eyes flicked briefly toward the display case before settling on one particular tray.

"The cinnamon rolls. Those are my favorites."

"Then I'll have one."

"Extra icing?" you asked. For a second, Sam's gaze lingered on yours.

"Sure," he said with a small smile. "Extra icing."

"Well, for me, I know exactly what I want," Dean interrupted. He lowered the menu dramatically. "Cherry pie. Extra whipped cream."

You took both menus. "Coming right up."

Before heading back toward the kitchen, you gave Sam one last smile. Dean noticed. Of course he noticed.

A few minutes later, you returned balancing a tray.

The second the slice of pie was set in front of him, Dean's entire expression changed. "Here you go."

Dean took one bite. Didn’t wait for anything, not even for Sam’s plate to be on the counter.

"This is the best pie I've ever had." You laughed.

"Thank you, if you come tomorrow I’ll give you a free slice, I’m working on a new pie, I need opinions."

“Consider it done.”

While Dean was having what could only be described as a spiritual experience, you found yourself talking with Sam.

"Passing through town?" you asked.

"Something like that." You leaned against the counter slightly.

"Business or pleasure?" Sam laughed softly.

"Mostly business."

"Sounds exciting."

"It really isn't." You smiled. Dean watched the entire exchange over the edge of his pie.

You smiled more when talking to Sam.

You looked directly at Sam when asking questions.

You kept finding reasons to continue the conversation.

And Sam, being Sam, appeared completely unaware.

Dean took another bite. Observed. Analyzed.

And reached a conclusion.

Eventually, you left them to enjoy their food in peace. Or at least that had been the intention.

You busied yourself taking orders, wiping down tables, and carrying plates back and forth from the kitchen. Still, every now and then, your gaze drifted toward the counter. Toward Sam.

It wasn't intentional. At least, not at first.

There was just something about him that kept catching your attention. Maybe the easy smile. Maybe the way he listened whenever someone spoke. Whatever it was, it proved surprisingly difficult to ignore.

Twice, you caught him looking your way. Twice, you immediately found something else to focus on. By the second time, you were pretty sure lingering any longer would only embarrass you.

A while later, when both plates sat empty and Dean looked one bite away from ordering a second slice of pie, you returned to the counter and gathered the dishes.

"So?" you asked Sam. "Was I right?" He looked up.

"Hm?"

"The cinnamon roll."

"Oh." A small smile appeared on his face. "Yeah. You were right."

Dean watched the exchange over the rim of his coffee mug.

"You usually trust complete strangers with your pastry recommendations?" Sam asked.

"Only when I'm very confident."

"And were you?" You shrugged.

"I had a feeling." Sam laughed softly.

"Good call." Something about that seemed to make you smile a little wider.

"Does that mean you'd order it again?" Dean immediately stopped eating. Interesting question.

Sam glanced down at his plate. There wasn't much to look at. The cinnamon roll was long gone, not a single crumb left behind. "Definitely." You looked pleased with that answer. Maybe a little too pleased.

"And would you come back here for it?" you asked, suddenly finding the coffee machine behind him very interesting.

Sam smiled. "Yeah. I think I would." Dean nearly rolled his eyes. Sam was completely oblivious. He was starting to seriously consider smacking some sense into him.

A few minutes later, they paid and headed outside.

The bakery door had barely closed behind them when Dean pointed at his brother.

"She likes you." Sam didn't even look up.

"What? No."

"She absolutely does."

"Dean."

"Sam."

"No." Dean let out an incredulous laugh.

"She asked if you'd come back."

"For the cinnamon roll."

“Are you listening to yourself?."

"She was just being nice." Dean stopped walking for a second.

"You are unbelievable." Sam finally looked over.

"What?"

"She gave you the smile."

"What smile?".

"You know. The smile." Dean knew the smile. He'd gotten it plenty of times before.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The one girls give you when they like you." Sam shook his head and kept walking.

But Dean caught the corner of his mouth twitching upward and that was enough.

Dean was back the next morning. Not because he had nothing better to do.

Not because he was meddling. (He was absolutely meddling.)

Not because he'd been thinking about pie all morning.

And definitely not because somebody had promised him a free slice.

But for a good cause.

The bell above the bakery door chimed.

You looked up from behind the counter and immediately smiled.

"You came."

“I did. You have something for me, remember?”

“How could I not?” You smiled. ”Have a seat, I’ll bring it”

A moment later, you returned carrying a plate.

"Pineapple pie." Dean's eyes lit up. “Fresh out of the oven.”

“Feels like you did it just for me.”

“You seem to know about this. I trust you.” Dean smirked and took the first bite. Your face relaxed when you saw him make the exact same face he had yesterday.

“Oh, wow."

"Good, wow?"

“Hell, wow.” he corrected.  Satisfied, Dean continued eating while you wiped down part of the counter nearby.

For a few minutes, the conversation stayed easy. The weather. The fact that half the locals seemed convinced the sheriff was secretly dating the mayor.

When you gave Dean his second slice, you hesitated.

"Can I ask you something?"

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Depends."

"Your brother..." Dean immediately sat up straighter.

"What about him?" You looked down at the dish towel in your hands.

"Is he seeing anyone?" Dean almost choked on the piece of pie. "You okay?"

"Absolutely." You stared at him. Dean lowered his fork slowly. "No."

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. "No?"

"No girlfriend. No wife. No secret family. No mysterious fiancée." A smile slipped through before you could stop it. Dean caught it immediately.

"You like Sam." You looked away. Dean took another bite of pie. Then pointed his fork at you. "I knew it."

"You know nothing."

"I know everything now."

"You met me yesterday."

"And yet here we are." You groaned. Dean looked entirely too pleased with himself.

For a moment he simply continued eating, enjoying the fact that he'd been right.

Then another thought occurred to him. A terrible thought.

The kind of thought that usually got him in trouble.

"I can help." Your expression answered before you did. Dean laughed.

"Shut up” Dean took another bite. ”Help how?"

"You keep giving me free pie."

"...Okay."

"And I keep bringing Sam back." You blinked.

“You sell your brother for pie? What kind of brother are you?”

“A good old brother.”  

“You are unbelievable.”

"I've been told that." You tried very hard not to smile. Dean noticed that too. Felt like a victory for him.

“This is wrong”

"Is that's a yes?" You rolled your eyes It was a ridiculous deal. A completely absurd deal, but somehow, by the end of the conversation, the two of you had shaken on it.

The deal worked suspiciously well. By the end of the week, Sam had been dragged into the bakery five separate times.

At first, he'd blamed Dean.

Then the pie.

Then boredom.

Eventually, he stopped pretending.

He liked being there, talking to you, hearing your stories.

Liked watching you argue with Dean whenever he tried stealing samples.

Liked the way you laughed.

Dean could see it happening. The entire town could see it happening.  Sam, unfortunately, could not.

"Why does everyone keep looking at me?" he asked one afternoon.

Dean almost drove into a mailbox.

By the second week, Dean had enough.

The bakery was closing for the evening. You were wiping down the front counter while Sam helped carry a few boxes into the back.

Dean watched the two of you for few seconds. Then grabbed his jacket.

"Bobby’s calling."

Sam frowned. "Your phone is not ringing."

Dean was already halfway out the door. "I’ll be back." And then he was gone.

The silence that followed felt strangely different. Sam set the last box down and looked around.

"Seemed urgent" you said.

"Yeah."

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then you set the cleaning cloth aside.

"So..."

Sam looked up. "So?"

You folded your arms. "Are you gonna ask me out, or am I gonna have to make Dean keep doing all the work?"

"Oh." A nervous laugh escaped him.

"That’s not what I was expecting“

"No, I just—"

"You just what, Sam? your brother has eaten five of my pies this two weeks, please tell me it was worthy.”

"Five?"

"Five." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. You shook your head. "And somehow he's still not satisfied."

"Yeah," Sam laughed. "That sounds like Dean."

The two of you fell quiet again.

"I was starting to think you genuinely had no idea," you admitted. The tips of Sam's ears turned red. Which was answer enough.

"I didn't," he said, a little sheepishly. That made you laugh.

Not because it was surprising. Mostly because it wasn't.

Sam glanced down for a second before looking back at you.

"Now I do." Your smile softened.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Sam stepped a little closer. His eyes flickered briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. Then back to your eyes. And this time neither of you looked away.

He reached up, his hands settled gently along your jaw. And then he kissed you.

Soft at first. A little hesitant.

Long overdue.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were smiling. It felt almost funny after all the effort Dean had put into getting the two of you to this point.

"Took you long enough."

"I'd really like to take you out."

"I don't open on Fridays."

"Dinner is okay?" You smiled.

"Perfect” You gave him a quick kiss ”But you have to promise your brother won’t sneak into my bakery looking for more pie." Sam laughed.

It’s been forever since Castiel first put the blindfold over your eyes…you think. Only left with the sound of your soft breaths, time has become a blur— has it been minutes? Hours? A day even? Your blindfold is his shirt sleeve, cut off and repurposed so you’re always tauntingly touching a part of him. He says it’s all the touch that you’ve earned…no… deserved so far.

Castiel moves around like a shadow. One moment he could be standing, listening to you cry when what you think is by your lonesome, only to gasp at a sudden and paralyzing grip around your throat. He’s made it clear time and time again that he’s “not something you can turn around and breed like an animal all hours of the day”— his words, specifically. But since you wanted to fuck like one so badly, there you lie like prey in ropes, old tears leaking through the sleeve until your lover feels like touching you.

And there he is, suddenly over you. His legs straddle your waist, knees pressed against your tightly bound biceps knowing damn well it’ll do nothing to further restrain you. He must’ve been watching for a while from how hard and throbbing his cock is against your abdomen. The weight puts pressure on the ropes around your arms, burning and forcing another sob to get choked back.

“I’m glad you like to keep quiet,” Castiel grunts. “I hate when things are loud.”

Each bit of pressure he forces makes him harder— he likes seeing you try to keep your mouth shut, to keep obedient, every natural instinct screaming to clamp your hand over your mouth only to realise you can’t. He puts another few pounds of weight against you, his own guttural groan rumbling from your desperate flailing. A finger finds its way into your mouth, quickly replaced with a thumb.

“Do you like the ropes?” Castiel’s voice is playful despite aggressive tugs at your bottom lip. His fingers are painfully icy as is the rest of the room, every inch of your skin is covered in goosebumps, hairs standing up and more sensitive than ever. You know better than to cry louder than what Castiel approves.

“Good. I’ve brought more for that incessant sound. You don’t deserve anything. Especially not this disgusting entitlement.” He leans down with maximum pressure and his free hand turns to pinch your nipple. The tender flesh beads up beautifully for him and your chest heaves in another quiet gasp. The only heat you’ve felt in ages shoots through your body like a horrid sting.