Dean stared down at the cake, not exactly sure what to make of it. He didn’t want to hurt Sam’s feelings; Sam looked so proud. It was the first birthday cake Sam had ever made—the first birthday cake Dean had had since the one his mom made all those years ago. No… Lisa had made him one, and he’d let Ben blow out the candles for him because he’d been overwhelmed and a bit embarrassed. Dean wasn’t used to cakes or birthdays or celebrations of any kind. In fact, he’d tried to make Sam promise not to bake him one this year. But Sam had insisted. He wanted to see Dean happy on his birthday.
So happy was what Dean needed to be. But it was hard to do that when you were staring down at such a strange cake. It was bright white—coconut icing, Sam had said—with red writing on it. Instead of writing Dean’s name or age or some standard birthday wish, Sam had drawn some version of a Devil’s trap on the cake. Moreover, it looked like in some parts, he’d gone for one of the more detailed, intricate designs, whereas on other parts of the cake it was one of the more simple ones. Sam and Dean could both draw Devil’s traps in their sleep by now, so this was… close to an unappetizing monstrosity. The red looked like blood, and the flecks of coconut clearly interfered with the curves and angles Sam had intended, making the whole thing come out just plain wrong.
The thing was, it wouldn’t be all that bad without the designs on it. If you liked cake, that is. And Dean wasn’t sure yet that he did. It reminded him too much of a life he couldn’t have, a life he wasn’t sure he even wanted to have. What he wanted was this life. What he wanted was all right here in the bunker. Right here with Sam.
Dean stuck a finger out and touched one of the symbols on the cake, one that looked like a too-squiggly lower-cased Q. It felt moist to the touch, and a dot of red stayed on his finger as he pulled it back. This gave him an idea. Carefully, he slid his finger across the edge of the cake, wiping off the symbol and leaving a faint red smear in its wake. Not knowing what else to do, he stuck his index finger in his mouth. Despite the shockingly red color, it tasted like normal, deliciously sweet icing.
When he pulled his finger out, he noticed Sam watching him unblinkingly. No, not unblinkingly exactly… more like hungrily. “You broke it,” Sam said, tilting his head in a gesture toward the cake.
Dean didn’t bother telling Sam that the design hadn’t been good enough to do anything, he simply replied with, “I don’t think we have to worry about demons escaping from this cake.” He paused, suddenly struck with the idea. “Wait, do we have to worry about demons escaping from this cake?”
Sam laughed and dipped his finger into the icing as well. Before he could get it to his mouth, Dean intercepted it with his. He sucked for longer than was necessary, his tongue gently swirling, getting every last bit. Sam let out a soft but slow breath. “That was supposed to be my move, Dean.”
With a shrug, “I’m older. And it’s my birthday. I get it first.” He rocked forward fluidly, moving closer to Sam until they were pressed against each other. They danced like this the way they danced on a hunt, with coordinated attacks, force, and skill. As Dean undid the buttons at the fronts of their jeans, Sam slid his hands up Dean’s chest, taking the end of the shirt with them. As Dean spread his legs a little, Sam fit his leg right in-between. As Dean tilted his head to the side and reached around Sam, sliding his hands into Sam’s back pockets, Sam attacked Dean’s neck with kisses and soft nips. “Cake,” Dean reminded Sam. “Tastes better than I do.”
“Nothing tastes better than you,” Sam replied.
Dean laughed, head tilting forward, his cheek rubbing against Sam’s. “That’s a terrible line.”
“Got you to laugh, didn’t it? Even the cake didn’t manage to do that.”
Dean withdrew his hands and pushed away at once. “Wait, you made that cake terrible on purpose?”
Sam pointed at it with one hand while his other hand stroked, rubbed, pinched, and tweezed under Dean’s shirt. “It’s got a badly-drawn devil’s trap on it. I even changed designs halfway through.” Sam leaned forward and kissed Dean, his lips lingering close so that his words touched Dean’s lips with each breathy syllable. “I just want to see you happy on your birthday.”
Dean reached over and dug his fingers down into the cake, coming up with a small handful. Both men considered it a moment. Then Dean smushed it into Sam’s face. As Dean laughed, Sam wiped icing from his eyelids. As Dean lapped at the cake stuck to Sam’s cheek and upper lip, Sam purred and slid a hand into Dean’s pants. As Dean thrust into Sam’s hand, Sam closed his eyes again and whispered a heartfelt, “Happy birthday.”