Dean was a pervert and retroactively earning his time in Hell, but he really couldn't bring himself to care.
"Are you sure," Castiel asked, licking the juice running down his forearm, "this is the proper way to eat peaches?"
"Absolutely," Dean said, carefully memorizing the red of Castiel's tongue sliding against his pale skin, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows and coat and suit jacket discarded on Dean's bed.
Sam had abandoned them by the second item on the list, but not before shooting Dean one final look that said, I am judging you so hard right now and You owe me for not putting a stop to this and I am totally getting a second motel room far, far away from yours.
"Next," Dean said, his voice embarrassingly hoarse, "I'm going to introduce you to ice cream."
Castiel dropped the peach pit in the trash can next to his chair, then stood and skirted around the table to stand by Dean. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he used his Why must you be awkward about this tone as he said, "Dean, if you want to have sex with me, you only have to ask."
"I'll say yes," Castiel said bluntly, like he thought Dean wasn't getting it.
"Um," Dean said eloquently.
(When Dean got his act together enough to kiss Castiel, he tasted faintly of whipped cream, peaches, and strawberries. Operation Sweet Tooth was a resounding success.)