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A silence has been cast over the room, assisted only by the avoidant looks of the three occupying it. The silence had arrived quickly, and the longer it stays, the more awkward the atmosphere becomes.
Castiel is the one who speaks first. “Did I not get what you wanted?”
Dean opens his mouth, only for words to fail him. He closes his mouth without so much as a sound made. He is purposely avoiding looking at his brother, knowing that if he does, they’ll both crack.
The angel, however, does not share this fear. “Sam, what is it that I have done wrong?” He asks earnestly. He looks between the two brothers in search of an answer, only to come up empty-handed. He huffs then, reaching out to take the items from the table. “If you’re not going to tell me, then I will simply return them.”
Dean’s hand darts out to stop him. “I still want them,” he admits, a glint of amusement in his eyes. He leans in to kiss Castiel’s cheek in gratitude. “They’re just… not quite what I meant.”
Castiel frowns at this, looking down to the two items in his hands. Lifting them up to his face, he inspects the label on the clear lid of the container. “Is this not the sauce you like? He asks.
The corner of Dean’s lip quips up in rebellion, causing him to pinch his lips together to conceal his amusement. “No, I do. It’s just…” He looks to Sam - who is fighting to keep it together himself - with a look of dude, help.
Sam coughs and shifts his weight from foot to foot, arms crossed over his chest. “Uh, when Dean asked you to pick him up ‘pads with wings-,” he frees his phone from his jean pocket, pulling up a picture of the brand Dean tends to go for, “he meant these.” He licks his lips, “Not uh-- not those.” He gestures to the items Castiel is still holding.
Castiel looks down to the items in his hands; a pack of 24 period pads, and a container of mango habanero chicken wings. The tips of his ears turn bright red with heat. “Oh.” He looks to Dean, fidgeting with the plastic lid of the wings. “I’m sorry, Dean. I thought that you were hungry.”
“Hey, I’m always hungry,” Dean smiles, gently nudging Castiel with his elbow. He takes the wings from his angel, before giving him a chaste kiss. “Come on, I’ve got a hot date with you, these wings, and the Scream franchise awaiting.”
In credit to Castiel, the wings are delicious. As amusing as the situation had been, Dean is glad that Castiel had misinterpreted what he wanted. “These are so good,” he groans, lying with his legs in Castiel’s lap. “I swear, these are helping my cramps.”
“There is another way that may help your cramps,” Castiel says, hands occupied with massaging Dean’s calves.
“Oh?” Dean doesn’t wait until he’s finished his mouthful to ask, “And what’s that?”
“Being eaten out.”
Dean splutters, just managing to swallow his food without choking. “Cas!” He says, hitting his arm with the back of his arm. “Dude, I could’ve choked!”
It’s Castiel’s turn to wear the bemused smirk now. “Is that a no?”
“Hey, let’s not be hasty here.” Dean puts the remaining chicken wings on the floor.
Castiel wastes no time in moving into a kneeling position between Dean’s legs, pulling his pyjama bottoms off. His fingertips slide into the waistband of Dean’s boxers, about to pull them down, too, only to pause as he hovers over his boyfriend. “Just so there’s no confusion this time, you do want me to eat you out, right? I haven’t gotten it wrong this time?”
Dean huffs, pushing the pillow to the side of him into Castiel’s face. “Stop being a dick,” he says.
Castiel responds with a grin, then gets to business.