“You… is that tea? That you made?” John quirked his head to the side and looked from Sherlock to the tea tray and back again. “You made that for me? Oh, God. Is that Devonshire cream there?”
John had never told Sherlock directly that he would actually wallow in Devonshire cream whilst making obscene moaning noises if he could find a vat of it big enough, but apparently Sherlock had figured it out somehow… like he always did.
Around a mouthful of scone and cream, John said suspiciously, “You never make tea. What’s going on?”
Sherlock’s dressing gown had come undone and John stopped chewing, swallowing dryly, at the sight of Sherlock overhanding his fully erect cock as he watched John with a raised eyebrow and a gold band around his ring finger. John couldn’t be arsed to be annoyed that Sherlock was apparently proposing marriage with breakfast foods and masturbation, because really this was the sweetest thing this man had ever done and there was no way that John was saying anything but I do.
A/N: This is almost what you prompted…
“Fuck you, you better not let Brad see you with those anywhere near the humvee,” Walt said in a low voice, coming up behind Trombley where he was leaning back against a low berm, staring up at the night sky and sucking a Charms.
Trombley’s tongue wrapped around the candy for a second, Walt could see it in the low light, and then he said, “So?”
In a shot, Walt was straddling Trombley, knees digging into the soft dirt and a hand pressing hard over Trombley’s SAPI plate. “Are you fucking serious? So? So spit it the fuck out,” Walt growled, and Trombley did, turning his head to the side and letting the Charms slide off the end of his tongue into the sand.
A fucked up shiver of need ran through Walt at the sight of Trombley’s wet, sweet lips.
“Don’t fucking let Brad know about this either,” Walt said and ground his hardened cock against Trombley’s right there in the dark.
“That is wrong,” Dean says, pointing at it, “that shit is going to cause an infection.”
“Because I would really let that happen,” Gabriel says, taking a lick of the swirling stick of sugar before lining it up like a cue stick on a pool table; “think of it this way, at least it’s not rock candy,” he says, and in the moment Dean winces at the concept, Gabriel pushes it in. Dean lets out a yelp of “holy fuck,” because the different colors are pulsing at different rates inside him, like a living, warm, sugary vibrator. He’s groaning, bucking up into the bizarre candy-cum-dildo, trying to figure how on earth it works even as he’s helpless at the waves of multicolored pleasure it’s sending through his body. And despite his fondness for sweets, Gabriel slides next to him to gulp down the salty-watery taste of his come.
James reached across their table and used his thumb to wipe away a bit of chocolate ganache from the corner of Michael’s mouth; Michael’s eyes never left James’ lips as he sucked it clean.
“Shall we?” James asked, his eyes flicking toward the restaurant’s door and then back to Michael, running down his chest in a visual caress; the tip of Michael’s tongue touched the place where James’ thumb had just been. “Anything goes,” James whispered, perhaps to convey how serious he was about this.
Michael blindly took out his wallet and threw the contents to the table, his hand fitting into the small of James’ back long enough to guide him to their waiting limousine; he pressed the switch to raise the panel between them and the driver, and then his smile broadened to ravenous.
James’ fingers were already wrapping around the bulge in his trousers when Michael purred, “If anything goes, I think we should start now.”
Don’t need a blindfold or cuffs — Sam’s sight is gone in a moment and his range of mobility is gone in the next. He thinks he smells something sweet (not sweet like Gabriel’s skin, but candy-sweet) and murmurs, small smile starting to widen on his lips, “You’ve got something there for me to taste, huh?”
“Not quite,” Gabriel says, but he presses one cherry-tasting kiss to Sam’s mouth and lets him swipe his tongue over the grenadine-flavored slickness of Gabriel’s lips. “Something for me to taste, big boy, and for you to enjoy me tasting.”
Sam racks his brain — “Chocolate syrup on my cock again?” — but he knows Gabriel’s not likely to repeat himself, and when the intense shiver of cold stings against his chest, he knows he’s guessed wrong.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispers in a weak voice, “fucking bite my nipples, Gabriel— lick and suck that fucking ice cream off my nipples, oh, God, so cold, so good—” and Gabriel palms his hard cock and murmurs, “Congratulations, you guessed right” before getting to work.
The buttons of Cas’ shirt go flying in every direction as Dean slams him against the flour covered table, not even caring that he’s making a mess of the kitchen because the very idea that Cas was in her trying to bake him a pie pushes every other thought from Dean’s mind. His lips bruise Cas’ as his hands work open the angel’s pants so that he can get a better grip on the thickness of Cas’ quickly hardening cock, so that he can wrap his hand around both of them once he wiggles his pants down over his hips and his own cock springs free. Cas manages to gasp out something like “it’s cherry” between kisses, as if Dean cares right now what kind of pie it is; what Dean cares about right now is the way that sugar and flour taste on Cas’ skin, and the sharp gasping noises Dean makes as he licks the gooey red filling from the angel’s skin when he flips Cas to his stomach against the side of the table. Every tiny sound Cas makes blows the powdery baking remains around the kitchen, but Dean’s mouth and fingers work him open anyway, not caring if it’s their passion or the warmth of the stove heating up the little kitchen and making sweat drip down his face. He pushes into Cas in a hurry, as if they’re racing the ticking timer that goes flying across the room when Cas grapples for some sort of hold when Dean starts pumping into him… and maybe they really are, because the sound of the buzzer and the announcement that the pie’s done startles Dean into climax and Cas follows right after him, making a whole new kind of mess in their dirty little kitchen.
To Gabriel’s credit, he doesn’t actually stick candy up Sam’s ass — he just sort of slots them into the crack, and Sam complains and wiggles and then groans when Gabriel’s mouth comes down to suck each tiny sweet off his skin. But that doesn’t mean it’s not weird, and when Gabriel suggests that perhaps Sam’s just imagining it — “you are such a candy-ass after all, Winchester—” it’s the last fucking straw. Sam leaps up, sending the package flying and little rainbow pebbles scattering over the bed, and as Gabriel laughs hysterically in the background, he makes his way to the bathroom.
He’s still picking the last of the candies out of a difficult space when he notices that he’s gone multicolor. His ass is covered with splotches of red and yellow and green where Gabriel’s tongue has swirled over his skin, and Sam can only think as he turns on the shower for an impromptu scrub that he’s sure as hell glad Dean’s not here.
Every inch of him tastes like chocolate and suddenly Anna realizes why all her arguments were in vain; it wasn’t at all a waste of perfectly good chocolate, it’s the best way to compliment the chocolate. Even Castiel’s moans are delicious as Anna moves over his body, licking and sucking from his neck to his navel, smearing chocolate sauce over her skin as she slides down farther to taste the layer of sweet syrup clinging to his thighs, avoiding exactly what he wants because she knows how long his patience will hold out once her lips are wrapped around his length. She doesn’t even have that long though, because one accidental brush against the swollen sensitivity of his chocolate covered cock and Castiel pushes bolt upright, fingers scrambling to get ahold of some part of her body. He catches her knee, throwing her off balance, dragging her upward in the most awkward roll and tumble that she can remember - right up until Cas pulls her thigh over his head and nuzzles up between her legs. Cas doesn’t even give her the benefit of a warning, doesn’t tease or toy with her, he just buries his face between her legs, licking and sucking at the tender flesh of her pussy, making Anna moan with more pleasure than chocolate could ever give her.
“Exactly what the fuck are you doing, sir?” Brad could barely believe his eyes; the LT was a goddamn mess in the kitchen.
“I’m rolling out this — ugh, shit — this pie crust,” Nate said, swiping at his forehead and leaving a huge white streak of flour across his nose; Brad wouldn’t use the word cute, but an appropriately masculine synonym should be found and applied to Nate right about now.
“Here,” Brad said, forming himself to Nate’s back and putting his hands over Nate’s on the rolling pin. “Smooth and gentle, sir,” he whispered along Nate’s cheek, letting Nate’s tense shoulders relax as he slumped against Brad’s body.
“Why do you know how to do this, Brad?” Nate’s fingers slid against Brad’s as they filled the pie shell and formed a finger-pressed scallop at the edge; Brad kissed the side of Nate’s neck.
“The only thing scarier than a Recon Marine is a Jewish grandmother. This needs 25 minutes in the oven, and I have a good idea of how to pass the time,” Brad said, setting the timer and laying Nate back onto the flour-covered floor.
In Dean’s defence, he had expected Castiel to use the fondue fork for dipping marshmallows. He couldn’t be held entirely responsible for his reaction to Castiel using his fingers, and he even managed to resist jumping on the angel while Castiel was just popping the dipped marshmallows straight into his mouth.
One slip was all it took though, and Castiel didn’t get a chance to lick his hand clean when the melted chocolate dripped down between his fingers; Dean needed to know how the chocolate tasted on Castiel’s skin, and he licked Castiel’s hand clean before quickly making excuses to lick his neck, his nipples, his thighs.
Dean had never needed an excuse to suck Castiel’s cock before, but by the time he made one Castiel was writhing beneath him, moaning and eager, and Dean grinned before swallowing him down. Sweet as the chocolate was, breaking Castiel apart was always sweeter.
