La Petite Mort

“beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. his thumbs stroke the soft flesh of your inner thighs, spreading you wider. “every inch of you. a miracle.”

you feel exposed, a little shy under the intensity of his gaze, but the way he touches you chases it away. his mouth follows his hands, pressing open kisses to the crease where thigh meets hip, then lower. when his tongue finally drags through your folds, a deep groan vibrates against you.

castiel sounds like he’s tasting heaven.

“cas—” you gasp, fingers threading into his messy hair.

he answers with another pleased hum, licking broader, deeper. his tongue circles your clit before sucking it gently between his lips. the wet heat of his mouth is overwhelming. he eats you out like he’s starving for it, like the taste of you is salvation. low, satisfied sounds spill from his throat with every lick—deep groans, soft hums, little gasps when you drip onto his tongue.

“so soft here,” he whispers against your pussy, nuzzling into the plush flesh of your mound. “so warm. so wet for me.” his hands slide up to grip your hips, fingers sinking into the curve there. he pulls you closer, burying his face deeper. “i could stay here forever. worshipping what my father made so perfectly.”

your thighs tremble around his head. the praise sinks into your skin, warm and addictive. you’ve never felt so wanted, so adored, every soft roll and stretch of your body cherished under his mouth. castiel’s shoulders are broad between your legs, holding you open while he devours you. his stubble scrapes deliciously against sensitive skin. when he pushes his tongue inside you, fucking you with it in slow, deep strokes, you moan loud enough that the thin motel walls probably let the sound through.

he groans again, louder, like the sound of your pleasure feeds him. “yes. let me hear you. let me taste how much you need this.”

one of his hands leaves your hip and slides down. two thick fingers push into you alongside his tongue, stretching you open. the fullness makes your back arch, soft belly curving as you rock against his face. castiel moans around you, the vibration shooting straight to your core.

“so tight,” he pants between licks. “so perfect. taking everything i give you.” his free hand kneads the soft flesh of your thigh, squeezing, worshipping the weight of it. “i love how you feel under my hands. how you tremble for me.”

you’re close already, hips rolling, fingers tightening in his hair. castiel senses it and doubles down, sucking your clit hard while his fingers curl deep inside you. the wet, filthy sounds of his mouth fill the room along with his constant, satisfied groans.

“come for me,” he begs against your pussy, voice wrecked. “let me feel it.”

you shatter with a cry, thighs clamping around his head as pleasure crashes through you. castiel moans loud and long, licking you through every pulse like he can’t get enough. he keeps going until you’re twitching and oversensitive, only then slowing to gentle, reverent kisses along your folds and inner thighs.

when he finally lifts his head, his lips are shiny, chin wet, eyes glowing with something holy and hungry. he crawls up your body and kisses you slow, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“thank you,” he whispers against your mouth, like you’re the one who gave him a gift. his hand rests on the soft curve of your stomach, thumb stroking gently. “for letting me worship you.”

“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.