One Taste is not Enough by Luvscharlie

Warnings: Public sexiness (sort of), Frottage, Wincest (while it's not explicit, it's certainly referenced). Potential spoilers through Season 5. Takes place prior to Abandon All Hope

A/N: Originally written for Week 15 at the fandom_fridays community on Live Journal where the prompt was "You taste like heaven, but God knows you're built for sin."—Framing Hanley

Dean didn't mean to kiss Castiel. Not the first time anyway. That had been a complete and total accident. But there Cas was, waiting with Dean for an alleged vampire to come out from lurking (which is typically what vampires do—big lurkers, vamps) with Castiel beside him in the front seat of the Impala. It was typically Sam's place beside him to ride shotgun, but Bobby had needed someone to help him do some research back at his place, and that was definitely a role that Sam filled far better than he or Cas.

Dean had only turned to tell Cas that perhaps they were wasting their time and they should just go on back to Bobby's place, when Cas must have leaned forward to get a better look at the house they were supposed to be surveying and their lips were mere inches apart. It had been too much to resist not to lean forward just a bit more, to close that small distance, and taste him. Cas's lips were perfection, and at that moment Dean just had to sample them, run his tongue across the pout of that lower lip, and slip inside to explore the treasures of Cas's mouth. Cas had seem surprised when they broke apart—though perhaps not as surprised as Dean.

Dean Winchester didn't kiss men. Well, there was Sam, but that was different. That had been going on for far too long to count. But kissing random men, that was not something he did. Not that Castiel was just some random stranger off the street, but he certainly wasn't Sam, and Sam had been the only man Dean had ever kissed before… the only man he felt comfortable enough to kiss... the only man he'd ever wanted to kiss—and that was done in secret where no one but he and Sam would know... until now.

But who knew Cas would taste so good? I mean an angel tasting a little bit like Heaven, well, that's not too far a reach to make. It even made a good deal of sense, particularly if you were trying damn hard to give yourself a reason to have done something so completely unthinkable, which Dean was. But this was even worse. Castiel didn't taste like Heaven—not Heaven-the-place anyway, which Dean imagined would taste somewhat airy and cloudlike, and who'd really care about that? Castiel tasted like Heaven on earth. Like the juiciest of apples baked in a crispy, flaky crust so golden-brown and rich that it would melt in your mouth, even going so far as to leave a cinnamon-like aftertaste in Dean's mouth. And however was Dean Winchester to resist the allure of something that tasted like freshly baked apple pie? It was his strongest weakness… after Sam, of course.

Dean found this new desire to kiss Cas both confusing and troubling. So he settled on this rationale: standing next to an angel… far too close to an angel, apparently, made it hard to resist his pull. There was some divine power at work that was controlling his desires and playing on his weakness for pie. (Only evil beings resort to using pie against a man, so Dean found himself looking upon Cas a bit suspiciously.) Or at least that's what Dean told himself, time and time again. It was far easier to believe that the desire to kiss Cas came from somewhere higher up, than to believe that he had, in fact, wanted to kiss Cas because he found Cas irresistible.

In fact, he kept on telling himself that through the second kiss, when he found himself alone with Cas in a hotel room with Sam asleep but a few feet away from them. He had tried to apologize when it was over, tell Cas he didn't know what had come over him, what had made him pull Cas hard against him and kiss him breathless, but Cas did that annoying thing where Dean looked up and was talking to an empty room, or a room filled only with a sleeping Sam, which sort of defeated the purpose of the apology.

Right before the third kiss, Dean had steeled himself to resist Castiel's charms. He made it a point to stand as far away from Cas as possible. Then the alcohol came out during a night at Bobby's place, and with every drink Dean found himself forgetting to keep his distance, and Cas just looked so good. As a child, Dean had imagined angels as pudgy and cherubic, like the statue that he remembered being in Sam's nursery when he was just a little boy. But, what Cas held beneath that trench coat simply did not fit the image of the cupid-like angel image of Dean's childhood memory. Cas was fit and fine and firm without a trace of pudgy or cherubic to be found… and Dean Winchester wanted him, wanted to run his hands all over that fine body, taste every inch of his skin, trace his tongue over every toned muscle on Cas's beautiful body.

When he was good and liquored up, Dean walked outside Bobby's house, carrying a beer with him, in an attempt to find some air to breathe that wasn't filled with Castiel. The house was not small, and yet it seemed with every inhale, Dean smelled a faint hint of apples and cinnamon and felt Cas's presence and he longed to taste Cas again.

Dean tipped his beer bottle back to his lips and drank, trying his best to concentrate on that taste alone and forget about apples and cinnamon and flaky, brown, perfectly-baked crust that was so delicious it made his mouth water. He also tried not to think of exactly what he'd do just for the opportunity to taste all of those wonderful flavors once more.

"Is it my imagination or are you avoiding me?"

Dean jumped at Cas's voice behind him… close behind him… and took a step away.

Cas smirked and Dean thought about kicking him in the shin… because he was all mature like that. "It does not work that way, Dean. You know that, right?"

"What doesn't work what way?" Dean replied, feigning innocence. Stupid angels and their stupid, ridiculous all-knowing-ness… and their tasty, inviting lips… and their—Bah, stupid, traitorous brain! Dean stomped his foot in frustration.

"I mean," said Cas, "I am not doing anything to cause your desire to kiss me. That is of your own doing, Dean."

"Hmph," Dean said, taking another drink of his beer. "I'm not sure how it can be of my doing that you taste like apple pie, man. I've only got so much self control and it's apple pie—APPLE PIE!"

"And I am to conclude from that statement that you desire to kiss me, Dean, because I remind you of a pastry you find tasteful?" Castiel shrugged his shoulders as though this made little sense to him.

"Not just any pastry, man! Pie! Apple Pie at that! Apple pie is not 'tasteful.' It is to-fucking-die-for!"

"Temptation is oftentimes most difficult to resist though I find it highly unlikely that an apple pastry would be worthy of death."

"Temptation! Man, it's pie! That goes way past 'temptation.' I am only one man, Cas. Surely you don't expect me to pass up something that tastes like heaven."

"Well, I am an angel, Dean. What did you think I might taste like?" Castiel smiled, and stuck his hand in the pocket of his trench coat, drawing Dean's attention downward over Cas's chest, further down his stomach to land and linger on perfectly shaped hips and... "Dean, are you listening to me?"

"Not really," he said with an anticipatory smack of his lips. Castiel may be an angel meant for heavenly endeavors, but Jimmy Novak's body was made for sin. Lustful, dirty, simply-must-have-it sin. His body was sinfully delicious, and even Dean's ultimate confusion about wanting to kiss someone… and do so much more… with someone who wasn't Sam didn't win out. Castiel was still talking, but it was one long monotonous drone, and Dean was hearing none of the actual words. His eyes were drinking Cas in and his blood was pounding in his ears keeping time with his racing pulse.

The wind swept past them, and Dean caught a hint of cinnamon on the breeze, and that scent was more than his futile resistance could bear. He tossed back the rest of his beer (not even the taste of apple pie or Castiel's lips was cause to waste good beer, you see; a man had standards), tossed the bottle to the ground (and Bobby's wrath at catching him littering his yard, not that there was any actual grass in the yard, was no deterrent either) and bid goodbye to his last meager attempts at willful resistance, closed the distance between them and captured Castiel's mouth once more with his own. His tongue plunged deep, tasting him, and groaning when he tasted just as sweet and divine as Dean remembered… perhaps more so.

There were people standing just on the other side of Bobby's front door. Ellen, Jo, Rufus—any of them could come out at any given moment and destroy forever the illusion of Dean Winchester, ladies' man, that he'd worked so hard to keep up. Even worse, Sam might see and that would destroy far more than an illusion. Sam was everything—or at least he had been. Now who meant what was all confused in Dean's head.

And all of those things should have been enough to halt the madness that brought Dean to kiss Castiel, but it wasn't. Somehow the knowledge that they could be found out at any time only made it all the more sweet. And Dean hadn't thought it could possibly get any sweeter.

"Perhaps we should move away from the door," Cas remarked during a break in their kissing, his eyes darting towards the light spilling forth from the window, but Dean ignored him, pushing Cas's back up against the house with a soft thump and kissing him some more.

"Dear God, you just taste so good," Dean said with a sigh, licking his way across Cas's lower lip, before sucking that lip into his own mouth.

"I am not God. I am simply his serv—"

"Cas!"

"Yes?" he inquired seriously. "I was making a joke. Did I do it incorrectly?"

Typically, Dean would have been happy to hear Castiel's rare attempt at levity, but now was not the time. "Shut your mouth."

Cas did so. Quite literally. Sealing those perfect lips closed, and looking confused. Their kissing ceased for a moment, both of them gasping for breath. Dean grasped hands full of Castiel's trench coat, pressing flush against him, grinding his hips into Cas's, feeling Cas's erection hard against his own jeans, as he undulated, pressing forth with each deepening kiss. Cas's hand slid beneath his shirt, cool against his warm skin. Cas's hand slid down, over Dean's belt-buckle, down the front of his jeans, palming, pressing. His knee pressed between Cas's thighs and he groaned when Cas ground his hips down, seeking more friction, kissing Dean's neck and moaning his appreciation against Dean's skin.

"Jesus, Cas, I'm going to come in my pants like a seventeen year old kid," Dean said, his breath raspy and his voice broken, as he bucked against Cas, hard and hot despite the coolness of the night.

Dean could feel his balls tightening. He wasn't going to last much longer. It was incredible the feelings and sensations that Cas brought forth from him… even with his clothes still on.

Cas wiggled a hand between them and tugged down the zip of Dean's jeans, then slid his fingers inside just enough to press against Dean's hard length and rub in a slight motion up and down. That was all it took. Dean was gasping and coming and clinging tightly to Cas to keep his knees from buckling beneath him.

Dean was reaching for the zip on Cas's trousers when the front door clanged open and Sam came walking out. He looked around until his eyes finally landed on Dean and Castiel, who had broken apart at the sound of the door.

"There you two are. Bobby's called a meeting. He wants you both insi—Cas, are you okay? You look—I don't know, strange—I mean, stranger than usual even."

Dean took control of the conversation, praying that in the darkness Sam wouldn't note the state of their cothing. "He's just had too much to drink," Dean said, clapping Cas on the shoulder. "Isn't that right, Cas?"

"Well, Dean, I'm not sure it is possible for an angel to—"

Dean tightened his hold on Cas's shoulder. "Isn't that right, Cas?" he prompted once more.

"Dean, if you will allow me to finish—"

Interrupting before Sam became suspicious (or more suspicious), Dean gave his brother his most engaging smile. "Tell Bobby we'll be right there, Sammy."

"Erm, okay. I guess. God, you're both so weird." Sam walked back inside shaking his head, and when the door clicked into place Dean turned to Castiel.

"This is very interesting," Cas said, almost to himself it seemed. "It would appear as if you do not wish your brother to know of your attraction to me. Would that be a correct assumption?"

"Of course that would be a correct assumption. Sammy can't know about this." He can never, ever know.

Cas paced the length of the porch and then back again straightening his clothing as he walked. "That is very interesting indeed. It would seem reasonable then, that I should draw the further assumption that Sam would not wish for you to know of his attraction to me… though he does not say I taste of apples." Cas shook his head as though amused… or puzzled, and walked back into Bobby's house, leaving Dean gaping open-mouthed after him.

Sammy? Sammy and Cas? No. It couldn't—well could it? "Son of a bitch," he said with a sigh as he pulled up his zip and walked inside.