Title: Castiel Cooks While Dean Looks
Author: martyred-wings
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 2318 words.
Notes/Prompt(s): Castiel cooking for Dean and Sam. Bonus points for extra rare ingredients that required space or time travel.
Summary: Castiel cooks breakfast for both Sam and Dean, introducing them to a new dish called "La Salade Russe" (which does exist btw).


Dean awoke to the smell of breakfast wafting through the close confines of the motel room, and his nose twitched at the smell of potatoes and eggs. He blinked in the meager light filtering through the motel room's window directly opposite his bed, and he could hear the sound of rain lashing the world outside over the sounds of general bustle from Sam, and the sound of cooking. A brief frown crossed Dean's face. Something wasn't right here. If Sam was bustling around, by his own bed, then who was cooking?

He got up, too quickly, wincing as the world swayed in a bout of dizziness, and he pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger until the dizziness had passed. He looked up, smiled briefly at Sam as a good morning, before glancing over at the far wall, finally getting the answer to his question of just who was cooking.

It was Castiel, and he'd set up a small make shift kitchen, which involved a small table over by the far wall, several cooking utensils and a portable gas cooker. The angel was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn't realize at first that Dean was even watching him. The hunter watched transfixed as Castiel diced potatoes, capers, gherkins, hard boiled eggs, and various other things that Dean could only guess at what they were. His movements were clean, methodical, structured, as though he knew what he was doing. Dean was pleasantly surprised at the angel's efficiency.

He stood, too curious to find out just what was going on, to continue sitting in bed, and followed his stomach to the still studiously chopping angel. Dean smiled slightly at the sight that Castiel made, with his trench coat finally free from his shoulders, his dark suit jacket also gone, and an apron protecting his pristine white shirt and dark pants. It seemed strange to see the angel in his shirt sleeves, let alone actually doing something so domestic as cooking.

Castiel finally looked up at Dean, blue eyes intent with concentration, before he smiled slightly back at Dean, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners in amusement.

"Hello, Dean," he said, quietly.

Dean resisted the urge to go to Castiel, to hug him, to kiss him a good morning, but felt uncomfortable with doing even those small gestures in front of his brother. He was of the mind that even something like a kiss should remain a private affair between Castiel and himself, something to be treasured alone between them.

"Hey, Cas," he said, quietly, eyes caught in the angel's depthless blue gaze, transfixed by the intensity held within.

Sam cleared his throat, giving each of them a curious look as he passed, eyes narrowed in suspicion, lips pursed in a bitch look only Sam had perfected to master levels. Neither Castiel nor Dean took any notice of Sam, leaving the youngest Winchester to carry on packing clothes in his usual canvas bag, muttering slightly beneath his breath.

"What you doing?" Dean asked Castiel, staring round at the array of unusual looking foodstuffs displayed around the angel.

"I thought I would make you breakfast," Castiel said, proudly, with a little nod of his head that he only reserved for times like this, when he felt like he was doing a good thing for someone, usually Dean.

"Breakfast, huh? What is it?" Dean asked, suspiciously, casting his eye dubiously over some of the unfamiliar foodstuffs laid across the makeshift table in front of the angel.

"It's the meal traditionally served first thing in the morning, Dean," Sam offered, on his way past to fetch a discarded pair of pants by the doorway.

"Funny, Sam, funny," Dean said, aiming a punch at his brother's shoulder and missing by a clear mile, making Castiel smile over his cooking pot of unknown delights.

At Dean's questioning glance, Castiel started to explain the ingredients on his table, pointing to each with the tip of a sharpened knife blade, starting with the rarest and the most expensive first.

"Those are truffles, that's aspic, caviar, veal tongue, grouse, smoked duck, crayfish tails ... Dean, are you alright? You look a little green," Castiel said, leaning forward to stare into Dean's eyes, with a concerned look trapped deep within his gaze.

"No, no, I'm fine, dude. And what d'you call this ... thing?" the hunter asked, waving his hand over the concoction of ingredients weakly.

"Russian Salad. Also known as la Salade Russe. It was invented in the 1860's by Lucian Olivier," Castiel supplied, large serious eyes turned to Dean's in a puppy dog look of needing approval.

"Is that right? Let's hope it tastes better than it sounds," Dean muttered, darkly, turning away and catching sight of Sam laughing at him behind his back.

"It should do. I went to enough trouble getting these ingredients just right, just for you. I had to travel back to the 1860's to get the specific type of truffles and caviar used in the recipe - stuff that you just don't get these days," the angel said, a look, a note of disapproval marring his voice and facial expression into something much darker than usual.

It almost sounded as though Castiel was hurt by Dean's lack of enthusiasm, immediately making Dean feel guilty. Checking to see whether Sam was watching and discovering his brother's back was turned, he closed the distance between the angel and himself, with Castiel tilting his head to one side in confused regard.

The hunter kissed Castiel gently twice on the lips, before saying a heartfelt - "Thank you."

Castiel cast his gaze to the floor, cheeks flushing a healthy pink, before his eyes returned to Dean's. A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth, looking pleased.

"You're welcome," he said, quietly.

"Now, when's this Russian salad thing gonna be ready then?" Dean asked, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to drum up some enthusiasm for the meal that he didn't exactly feel.

"Almost ready," the angel supplied, as he gave the contents of the pot another quick stir.

He leant over the pot, eyes closed, breathing in the mixing aromas of potato and crayfish tails deeply, as a soft smile touched his lips once more, brightening his features and making him look younger. Dean watched the angel, bottom lip caught between teeth, as his cock gave an interested jerk. Castiel had never looked so alive, so happy, so relaxed as he did in that one instant, and Dean instantly regretted almost turning down the meal that the angel had slaved over, especially for him.

He reached over, and touched Castiel's arm, rubbed his hand gently over it, making Castiel turn those luminous blue eyes onto him once more. Dean felt trapped in that gaze, hypnotized, held willing captive by a beautiful angel, and once again, he felt glad that the angel was his.

Castiel must have seen Dean's thoughts, feelings, flickering in his eyes, for he smiled, cheeks turning pink once more. He knew, he understood, and he acknowledged Dean's feelings with his own, matched emotions. His eyes were more open, more easy to read than Dean's own, and in that one instant Dean was glad for it.

And then the moment passed, with Castiel turning away, checking the ingredients in his pot once more, before he lowered the heat on the gas cooker by degrees until it was turned completely off. He started plating up the food, laying out equal amounts of lettuce upon each plate, before he piled on the bizarre mixture of grouse, veal, caviar, crayfish tails, capers, gherkins, hard boiled eggs, soy beans, truffles, aspic and smoked duck, all liberally doused in a thick and creamy mayonnaise.

Both Sam and Dean looked down at their plates with some horror, uncertain as to whether the meal would be safe to eat. It didn't look very appetizing to either Sam or Dean. Both brothers cast their gazes up to Castiel, who was digging into his own meal with some certain satisfaction, large blue eyes closed, small noises of satisfaction dropping from his mouth. His lips pouted out with every chew that he made, every small sound of satisfaction arcing through the air straight to Dean's cock, which grew harder by the second.

It was like watching Jimmy eat all over again, as the angel's vessel eating had produced the same effect on Dean. He dropped his gaze back down to his plate, before he picked up his fork and started to eat as well. Surprisingly, despite the slightly suspicious look of the meal, it tasted quite nice. It wasn't something that Dean would be interested in trying again, but on this one occasion, considering all of the effort put into this by Castiel, it was acceptable.

Sam, beside Dean, looked less willing to try it, even less willing to actually finish his meal. He took a few tentative bites, chewed slowly, swallowed even slower, before he pushed his plate away, a disgusted look stamped clearly across his face. He shook his head at Dean when his brother looked questioningly at him, then shook his head again. He slowly got to his feet, drawing Castiel's attention to him, as well as Dean's.

"What's wrong, Sam?" Castiel questioned, head tilting to one side in that confused look that always managed to travel straight to Dean's heart.

"Thanks, Cas, for cooking this for us. I appreciate the trouble it must have taken to do this for us, but, if you don't mind, I'm going to get something else. A burger, a salad, even pasta would do," Sam muttered, cheeks beginning to blaze a ferocious red in awkward embarrassment.

Castiel tried not to look hurt by Sam's rejection of his meal, but the disappointment was evident deep within his innocent blue gaze.

"I'm sorry, Cas," Sam said, almost sitting back down again, out of courtesy.

One more look at the Russian Salad displayed on the plate before him steeled his resolve, and he turned, walked away, retrieved his jacket from the bed and walked to the motel room door without even putting it on first.

"Hey, Sammy! Get me some pie," Dean called out after his hastily retreating brother.

Sam nodded wordlessly, before he left the room, closing the door shut firmly behind him. The sound of the Impala's V8 engine filled the air, slowly receding into the distance, as Sam followed the early morning traffic into town.

Castiel watched him go, before he cast his disappointed gaze down to the food on his own plate.

"I tried, Dean. What did I do wrong?" he asked, casting a look of pure puppy dog adorableness up at the elder Winchester.

"Nothing, Cas, you did everything right. It's just Sam. You know how precious he is about his healthy food and all," Dean said, with a shrug. "I'm still eating it."

As if to prove a point, he loaded another forkful of the Russian salad, already going cool, into his mouth, before he chewed with some determination. He smiled around his mouthful, cheeks bulging slightly, before he swallowed, licking the remainder of the mayonnaise from across his lips. Castiel smiled gratefully at Dean, who smiled back.

"Thank you, Dean," the angel said, quietly.

Dean merely nodded, before the pair continued the meal in silence. Between them, they managed to finish the majority of the salad, before Dean helped Castiel to clear up. Their hands brushed one against the other every time they went for the same plate, the same pot, the same empty glass, both inhaling sharply at the contact.

Finally, Dean leant forward, unable to stand the tension between them any longer, closing the distance between them, and pressed urgent lips to Castiel's own. Castiel immediately responded, eyes closed, mouth open, kiss wet, rushed, perfect. He rested his hands on Dean's hips, tracing his fingers in slow, lazy circle beneath his T Shirt, causing pleasurable goose bumps on Dean's bare skin.

Dean groaned into Castiel's open mouth, feeling desire course through him, shifting his hands slightly, skimming them over the angel's stomach, his chest, loving the firm feel of Castiel's body beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. His erection ground against Castiel's own, both inhaling sharply at the contact, moaning with want, need, desire into each other's open mouths. Dean ground his hips against Castiel's again, needing the angel, wanting him, needing to feel him, but that pleasure would soon be denied.

Castiel's hand snaked down, trailing wild fire down Dean's lust heated skin, before sliding down into Dean's jeans, wrapped firmly around Dean's cock and pumped hard, fast, stroked him until Dean came with a whimper of Castiel‘s name, coated the angel's hand with his release. His breath hitched, rasped hard in his throat, whimpered the angel's name once more and almost didn't catch the familiar rumble of his own Impala drawing to halt outside.

"Holy crap, Cas, it's Sam," Dean cursed, green eyes opened wide in sudden horror.

Castiel frowned, looked displeased with Sam's sudden arrival, before he went to the sink, washed his hands beneath too cool water. He was still there when Sam walked in, carrying various paper sacks clutched in large hands, eyes unknowing, face suspicion free of what had just happened between the pair left behind.

The tempting scents of burgers and pie filled the air, as he placed the sacks on the table nearby, and he removed his jacket, tossed it on the nearby bed without even a glance.

"D'you get my pie?" Dean questioned, peering into one of the sacks suspiciously.

"Oh, I forget it once, and you never let me live it down, do you? ‘course I remembered it," Sam said, with his trademark bitch-face at his brother.

Even Castiel smiled at that, smiled again when Dean dug into his pie, a look of satisfaction lodged deep in his eyes.