Supernatural does not belong to me. More's the pity.

This story was completely inspired by Your Nourishment by MajorEnglishEsquire, and follows on from it. Go and read it on AO3. I'll wait.

The song Castiel is unknowingly channelling is I Like by John Ireland. The lyrics belong to him. Go listen to it on YouTube. I'll wait.

The quotes from Lilo and Stitch belong to Disney. No waiting necessary.

Many, many thanks to MajorEnglishEsquire, for giving me permission to play with her take on these characters. I promise I did not let Dean burn anything, you know, IMPORTANT.

Thanks to malianani for pre-reading for me, despite her unfamiliarity with the series. I'll get her there one day.

Thanks to BookwormBaby2580 for, well just everything really. And for loving this story.

And thanks to LyricalKris for pointing me in the right direction, Destiel-wise.

Just so you all know, this was written as part of a bribery campaign to get BookwormBaby2580 to read SPN fanfiction. I think it may be working.

Castiel liked it when Dean cooked.

Dean in the kitchen, leaning over a recipe book, concentrating like the fate of world depended on it (that had become something of a habit with the eldest Winchester). Dean standing at the stove, stirring something in a steaming pot, his cheeks flushed from the wet heat blowing into his face. Dean bending over—bending over—checking on the progress of his latest culinary creation baking in the oven. Dean dipping his finger into batter or sauce or . . . anything really, then sucking the flavor on his finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around, the searching expression on his face as he decided whether it was good enough or not . . .

Yes, Castiel really liked it when Dean cooked.

Castiel rather enjoyed it when Dean ate, too.

The way Dean would slurp long, soft spaghetti into his mouth, pursing his lips just so, and then the languid swipe of his tongue after. Maybe a soft approving moan if Cas was lucky. When eating steak, Dean carved and sliced each bite, stabbing the perfect piece with his fork and placing the fork on his tongue, making sure his lips wrapped around each tine, so that he didn't miss out on a single succulent sliver. Burgers—Cas could never get tired of watching Dean attempt to push as much burger into his mouth with each bite as he could. And the sauce that dripped onto his chin. And the way he would catch it with his tongue. And pie—sweet Jesus, the way Dean would eat pie. The way he looked at each slice, and licked his lips before he delved in and devoured that pie with so much relish.

Castiel often wished he was pie.

Cas had once felt that, as an angel, his duty to his Father, to his brothers and sisters, to humanity and to the Winchesters, was to keep fighting, to protect and to use his powers to aid in whatever the current fight was. He could not give in to his own desires. He had a job to do and he would perform his mission with fierce determination. He did indulge a bit though, making sure he checked in with the brothers at mealtimes, giving in a little to his compulsion to watch Dean in the kitchen. Giving in a little more when Dean insisted that he taste, taste, taste. Giving in a little further to Dean's mouth and how things tasted in Dean's mouth.

Since falling and surrendering his grace, Cas found that while he could and would still fight when needed, his duty had shifted to encompass just humanity and its mightiest defenders, the Winchesters. His family. Cas had found a family in the brothers, a family that accepted and wanted him around just as he was. No ultimatums. No choices to be made. Just "we want you around because you're you. You're family and family means nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten." (It is possible that the Winchesters watched too much Disney. Not that they'd admit to it.)

Mealtimes were probably still Cas' favorite family time. Dean would bustle around the kitchen, with Sam coming in, checking what he was doing, tasting something, getting slapped upside the head for tasting something, leaving again to spend time in the library, returning with his nose in a book, offering advice to Dean about whatever he was cooking, getting the stink-eye from Dean, tasting something (again), getting slapped upside the head for tasting something (again) . . . while Dean would move around the kitchen with purpose, confidently mixing ingredients, sometimes referring to recipe books, always looking supremely in control of what he was doing (that had also become something of a habit with the eldest Winchester). Cas had offered to help once, but it was quickly discovered that the 'too many cooks' proverb was very true, especially where Castiel was concerned. Small fires or overflowing sinks were often the result of Cas helping Dean cook. Burnt food had also resulted in one instance, when Dean had been checking on his casserole in the oven and had been wearing those faded jeans and was barefoot and Cas had growled and had pulled Dean up and shoved him against the kitchen counter, had slammed his lips to Dean's and had fucked Dean's mouth with his tongue in a sorry parody of what he really wanted to be doing to Dean's ass. The kitchen had been evacuated in record time and when Sam had next wandered in, smoke was billowing from the oven, and obscene noises were emanating from Dean's room down the hall.

Cas no longer offered to help. He merely sat at the counter around mealtimes, quietly watching Dean as he worked, softly smiling at Sam as he moseyed in and out, and trying really hard to contain the moans building in his throat and ignore the hardness growing in his pants.

Dean was very aware of Cas' partiality to him in the kitchen. And if he sometimes used this to his advantage, Dean was pretty sure that no-one could blame him. One look at Castiel's steel blue eyes, his chiseled, stubble covered jaw, muscular shoulders, broad back, perky ass (Dean only used the word 'perky' when referring to Castiel's ass and then only in the privacy of his own head), strong thighs that looked oh so good wrapped around Dean's waist . . . No, Dean was pretty sure no-one could blame him for occasionally using Cas' proclivity for Dean in the kitchen to his own advantage.

And that was just what Dean was planning to do today.

Sam was away with Bobby, hunting down a pack of skinwalkers terrorizing the small county of Jones, South Dakota, about three hours away from Sioux Falls. He wasn't expecting to return home for another week at least. Cas had been helping Garth with a poltergeist problem that he'd been screwing up in his own unique way. Dean had enjoyed the texts he'd been receiving from Cas. Cas seemed to doubt that Garth was a capable hunter in any way at all. In one of the latest texts, Cas had expressed his uncertainty that Garth was even human. Dean had merely replied, "He grows on you," his standard answer to anything Garth. Cas had texted back some confused smiley face (he hadn't gotten the hang of emoticons yet) and said he'd be home that night.

Dean had just returned to the empty Bunker after following up on a suspected djinn invading an old age home, that had turned out to not be a djinn at all but rather excessively strong drugs with the old folk's breakfast. He was sitting in the kitchen, drinking a glass of orange juice and remembering fondly Cas' first reaction to the taste of orange juice. On Dean's tongue. Good times.

And the beginnings of a plan started to take shape in Dean's mind.

After all, he hadn't seen Castiel in a good few days. And Sam wasn't home, they'd have the house to themselves once Cas got back. And a man had needs, you know.

Castiel lifted himself out of Garth's car and turned around to lean down and say goodbye to the peculiar hunter. The driver's seat was empty and Cas felt scrawny arms circling around his torso.

"Thanks Castiel!" Garth hugged the ex-angel enthusiastically. "I sure couldn't have Garthed that damn poltergeist without your help. We really showed it, huh?!"

Cas tried to politely extricate himself from the bony noodle-like appendages currently enfolding him in a surprisingly strong clinch. "Showed it what? We showed the poltergeist our firearms. And we showed it the rock-salt shells within our firearms. None of which it seemed very interested in. Please release me Garth, I am struggling to inhale."

Garth just giggled, let go of Cas and clapped him on the back. Hard. Cas flinched.

"Oh Castiel! You crazy! Keep in touch y'here?"

With that Garth rounded his car, got back into the driver's seat, started up the wheezy engine and drove away, leaving the remains of a heavy baseline in his wake.

Castiel heaved a rather big sigh of relief, and turned around to enter the house.

As he closed the front door behind him, he heard the quiet sounds of some music he didn't know but recognized as the kind of music that Dean liked.

Dean.

Castiel sighed again.

And with that sigh, he caught a whiff of a sweet aroma coming from the kitchen. He followed that aroma and found himself standing at the kitchen door, unable to move a muscle, transfixed by the sight that practically assaulted his eyes.

Dean.

Wearing a red apron.

Wearing a red apron that had the words 'Put a little meat in your mouth', in large black letters written across the front.

Wearing nothing but a red apron that had the words 'Put a little meat in your mouth' in large black letters covering Dean's otherwise very naked chest.

"Gah." Castiel said, by way of greeting.

Then Castiel swallowed thickly. Dean enjoyed watching Cas' Adams apple bob in his throat.

"Hey there, Cas." Dean grinned. "See something you like?" Dean winked. "Wanna try some of my meat?" Dean lifted his arms and wiggled his hips and his eyebrows in a way that would be very crude if anyone else had done it, but it was Dean doing it and suddenly Cas' jeans felt very tight.

"Nnnngh." Cas replied, still frozen to his spot but finding the wherewithal to make grabby hands at Dean.

"Nuh uh". Dean waved a wooden spoon at the dumbstruck former being of celestial intent. "You know the rules, Cas. You sit over there," Dean pointed to the stool at the counter, "quietly, while I do my thing." With that Dean turned around to get something from the fridge, and Castiel's knees nearly buckled at the fine view of Dean's very fine, very naked ass that he was presented with.

Dean briefly looked over his shoulder, smirked and said "Dude. Sit already. You're distracting me."

Who's distracting who, now? Cas thought.

But he cleared his throat, put one foot in front of the other, shuffling awkwardly to the chair at the kitchen counter, and sat down very carefully, painfully aware of the growing problem in his lap.

"Ahem." Cas cleared his throat again at the sight of Dean bending very slightly into the fridge looking for—butter, obviously, as he straightened himself up, with the tub of butter in one hand and a triumphant look on his face.

"What are you making, Dean?" Cas asked, his voice even huskier than normal. He didn't notice how Dean's skin erupted in goose-bumps. He was too busy looking at the various exposed parts of Dean's 'meat'.

"Cupcakes." Dean replied. "I even remembered the little paper thingies this time." He waved a small packet of paper cupcake holders around, before handing it to Castiel. Castiel looked more closely at the paper cups.

"Dean. There appears to be the expressionless face of a cartoon feline on these paper . . . thingies."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I know. It's all they had at the Gas n' Sip. What the fuck is a hello kitty anyway? Sounds like something rude to me." Dean snorted, then stopped stirring the melting butter in the saucepan on the stove, and looked thoughtful for a moment. "I bet that big pink cat would scare the shit out of Sam." He snickered. "That thing looks way scarier than clowns."

Castiel just looked confused, his confusion quickly dissipating as Dean turned around to continue stirring, the globes of his buttocks twitching slightly as he shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other.

"I like— " Cas took in a big breath, "uh huh huh huh huh huh . . ." and released it in small staccato puffs of air.

"What was that?" Dean was now pouring the melted butter into another bowl filled with a heap of white powder Cas could only assume was flour.

"N- Nothing." Cas stuttered as Dean licked some globs of butter off his hand.

Dean was concentrating on adding cocoa and a number of other things Cas didn't really care about. He was too busy watching Dean's biceps twitch as he stirred the thickening batter in the glass mixing bowl. Cas had a thickening situation of his own.

"So. You are making chocolate cupcakes, Dean?" Castiel politely enquired.

"Yep. Just for you angel boy. Here, taste. Tell me what you think."

And then—and then, Dean licked a long stripe of chocolate brown batter from the sticky spoon he'd been mixing with, and held it on his tongue as he stepped towards Cas.

Cas practically choked on his own tongue as he saw the naughty glint in Dean's eyes and then felt Dean's hands cup his face and then Dean's mouth was on his and Dean's tongue was stroking his tongue and oh the chocolaty goodness that was filling his mouth and the arousal that was filling his cock was almost too much for poor Castiel.

Finally Dean pulled back, and rested his forehead on Cas' and grinned. Cas' eyes were still closed as he murmured, "Oh, your mouth feels so warm."

Dean grinned wider. "Just getting' started, sweetheart." And Cas nearly choked again at Dean's use of the endearment.

As Dean stepped back towards the mixing bowl, he asked again, "so what do you think? More cocoa?"

Cas slowly shook his head. "No. No, I think the amount of cocoa will be sufficient." He shook his head again, as if he was trying to clear it.

"Cool. Then these babies can go in the oven and I can get started on the frosting." Dean nodded his head and reached for the packet of paper cupcake cups, still on the counter in front of Castiel.

"F- Frosting?" Cas sputtered. "I like," he took another deep breath, "ooh hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo…" and slowly let it out.

"Good. Can't have cupcakes without frosting," Dean answered absentmindedly as he placed the pink cupcake cups in a muffin pan and carefully filled each one with the chocolate batter.

Castiel watched as Dean finished filling the last cup, picked up the pan and walked over to the oven, opened the door and bent over—again, good Lord—to put the pan in the oven. He straightened, and carefully set the oven timer as he muttered, "don't want these burning."

Cas had the decency to blush a little.

"Right." Dean clapped his hands together. "Frosting."

Dean then proceeded to collect all the ingredients he would need, and place them on the counter in front of Cas. He concentrated as he measured out the powdered sugar, butter, cocoa and threw them all into another bowl.

"Lots of cream, to make it wilder," came out of Cas' mouth as he watched Dean, mesmerized by his movements. He almost clapped his hand to his mouth as he wasn't sure where those words came from and certainly never gave them permission to leave his tongue. But then he decided oh to hell with it, it's Dean, and simply shrugged as Dean looked over at him, a slightly perplexed expression on his face.

"Um . . ." Dean said. "You wanna add cream, Cas?"

Cas shrugged again.

"I can do that, Cas. I can add cream for you." And with that Dean turned around to get some cream, which surprisingly, they actually had in the fridge, and he whipped it up and carefully added it to the frosting mixture.

Then Dean swiped his finger through the creamy mixture and leaned towards Cas. "Opinion please, taste-tester," he said with a smirk.

Cas' eyes nearly rolled right back into his head as Dean slid his cream covered finger between Cas' lips. It tasted good. It tasted so good. It tasted like, "Forbidden fruit," Cas mumbled around Dean's finger. Dean looked confused again.

"Dude. You drunk or something? What's with all freaky shit coming outta your mouth right now?" Dean smirked again. "Not that I mind. You get your freak on anytime sweetheart, I kinda like it." And Dean leaned in and kissed Cas as he slowly removed his finger from Cas' mouth. Castiel's mind blurred a little around the edges as he felt Dean's tongue enter his mouth at the same time as his finger was leaving it. And Cas thought he really might be drunk. Drunk on Dean. His mind was so befuddled he couldn't seem to think one clear thought except Dean, Dean, Dean. He really could take no responsibility for the nonsense falling out of his mouth.

As Dean pulled away, the only sounds that could be heard were the soft strains of Led Zeppelin's Dazed and Confused (which was very appropriate), the tick, tick, tick of the timer and the heavy breaths passing between Dean and Castiel as once again their foreheads rested together.

"Fuck it," Dean growled, as he attacked Cas' mouth once again and began to tear off his ever present trench coat, flinging it over the counter when he finally got it off and turning his attention to the rest of Castiel's clothing as though it was personally insulting Dean with the fact that it was covering the body he so desperately wanted to get to. Castiel was no help at all, as he just kept chasing Dean's mouth with his own, unable to bear not having Dean's lips on his.

Finally Castiel was down to his white boxer briefs and he heard Dean mumble the words "fucking angel underwear" as he was lifted on to the kitchen counter. His legs locked around Dean's torso of their own volition and Castiel cried out "apple slices!" as Dean's lips locked around his nipples, but neither Cas nor Dean could bring themselves to care about what was spewing out of Cas' mouth anymore, as their skin was touching and Dean was licking Cas' chest and Cas was trying to get closer, closer, closer. Cas tried to undo the apron ties behind Dean's neck, but his fumbling, shaking fingers couldn't summon the dexterity to do so, so he finally just gave up and tore the ties apart, quickly leaning down and doing the same to the ties around Dean's waist. The red apron with the words 'Put a little meat in your mouth', in large black letters written across the now somewhat ripped and sticky front, fell to the floor.

Dean pulled back, looked down at the apron crumpled at his feet and then looked up at Cas, a dark, mischievous spark in his eye as he slowly removed Cas' white angel underwear. As he stood up, he lowered his hand into the bowl of creamy chocolate icing, and then Dean taught Castiel all about finger painting.

Dean painted chocolate patterns all over Cas' body and Cas couldn't be sure in his current intoxicated state, but he thought he might have recognized protection sigils along with enochian symbols of love among the random shapes. Then Dean dipped his hand in the bowl once again and Cas' eyes widened as he watched Dean draw across his own body. Dean's fingers traced patterns and lines over his chest, his nipples, down to his navel and further . . . Castiel had absolutely no control over his actions as his body leaned forward, like a reflex action, and he started to lick the chocolaty goodness off of Dean and really, they should bottle and sell the flavor of Dean because the chocolate cream frosting was good, but the underlying taste of Dean was far, far better.

Dean groaned and lifted his hand to hold Cas' head to his chest, his fingers sliding through Cas' short hair, looking for something to grab onto. ". . . skin, a taste of almonds," Cas murmured as he swirled his tongue around Dean's now chocolate cream filled navel, neither of them taking any notice of what Cas was saying. The position was getting awkward, as Cas and Dean were of similar height, and with Cas sitting on the kitchen counter, he was bending to get to Dean's lower torso and Dean was standing on tip-toes in an effort to assist him. As good as it felt it just wasn't working, so Dean grabbed Cas' head in his strong hands, and lifted it up to Dean's face where he immediately joined their mouths again, in a teeth-clashing, lip-bleeding, soul-scorching kiss.

"Enough. Enough." Dean growled again, and he traced his hand down Castiel's body until his fingers met with Cas' achingly hard cock. Both men moaned loudly as Dean gently stroked up and down Cas' length, eventually going lower, gently caressing past his balls and finally reaching the part of Cas that he wanted most. He needed to be inside his lover. It had been far too long.

Dean reached over to the stove, never breaking contact with Cas' skin and swirled his fingers around the remnants of melted butter still in the saucepan. He apparently hadn't planned this little surprise all that well, as he had totally forgotten to stash the lube somewhere, so this would have to do. There was no way he could wait any longer.

"I like, mm hmm hmm HMM HMM HMM! With you!" Cas gasped as Dean's butter-fingers entered him. Dean should perhaps have gone a little slower, but his patience had completely fled the state of Kansas and besides, Castiel really didn't seem to mind, as he was now murmuring, "groovy grapes and wine" with eyes shut tight as Dean fingered him in preparation for his 'meat'.

Dean bent over Cas, pushing his back further down onto the surface of the kitchen counter and continued licking the frosting off of Cas' body as he slowly removed his fingers and pushed himself into Cas. Into Castiel, where he felt he belonged, more than anywhere else in the whole world. They both sighed as Dean stilled for a moment, seated fully inside Cas, and their hands met and their fingers tangled together, and everything was so right.

"Oh, your skin is so wet," Cas gasped as his free hand trailed across Dean's chest, feeling the sweat gathering there as Dean fought to hold on to his control. Dean shook his head in fuzzy amusement.

Then Dean started to move, slowly. Slowly, so that they could both feel every inch of each other as their bodies met. And then slowly, slowly Dean began to pick up speed, until he was thrusting powerfully into Castiel's body and with every thrust Cas would slide a little on the counter and Dean held onto his hips, bringing him back towards the edge, and Castile was crying out with each thrust, "custard and banana!" and "lemon cream!" and "syrup apricot!" and finally "kinky capers! KINKY CAPERS!"

With that final exclamation, Castiel came. He came hard with gasps and weird phrases and clenching and every part of his body held onto Dean—Dean—so tightly that it felt as if he could almost take the whole of Dean into his own body. Dean felt it too and followed closely behind Cas, finally collapsing on top of Cas' body, breathing heavily.

"You are a kinky fuck, angel boy," Dean said softly in between gasping breaths, and in spite of the actual words it sounded very much like I love you to Castiel.

And Castiel just gripped Dean tighter as he said, "Tangerine liqueurs supplement the body juices. We should endeavor to find out if that is true next time."

"What. The fuck?" Dean asked incredulously, and then, "You know what? Nevermind."

Castiel shrugged as he smiled and Dean beamed back at him, and Cas felt once again with exceptional certainty that he had found his family. It was little, and broken, but still good.

So good.