Chapter Text
For his birthday, Dean invites the entire neighborhood for a pie fest in his own honor. Cas busies himself doling out slices, smiling and making chit-chat, and Dean can’t look anywhere else — Cas’ smile is something else, usually so carefully hidden and so precious that Dean can only preen when he earns himself one. Being faced with the full force of it? Something. Else. Entirely.
Charlie ends up being the one to pull him out of his reverie.
"He'd make such a perfect husband, y'know," she notes around a spoon that's upside down between her lips, smirking.
Dean laughs, because he doesn't know how else to respond. Indeed, someday, Cas might be someone's husband, and whoever that will be, he’s going to make her very happy. With how attentive, how empathetic he is, how much he looks out for the people he loves and the way he just gets things without needing to be told — yeah, Cas will make an amazing partner.
For a moment, Dean imagines him with a wife or a girlfriend.
Cas chooses that moment, as if he can read Dean’s mind, to look up from the pumpkin pie he’s just cut, to meet Dean’s eyes. He smiles, brightly, happily, and something unravels in Dean.
Smiling at someone else like he’s smiling at Dean right now, that’s just unsettling to picture. So Dean doesn’t dwell on it.
A ping in his chest, sharp and bittersweet, reminds him that he’s all alone, still, as well. That all he has, right now, are some amazing friends, and that’s wonderful and all, but.
It's something that he’d always planned for himself. Getting married. Or just spending his life at a woman's side.
He just has no idea where a wife would fit into his or Cas' life at this point, and he's not keen to find out.
None of these tidbits fit together, like a puzzle that consists of five pieces, each of a different size and cut, so he leaves that be, too.
***
Sam calls in the middle of Dean’s shift, late one Sunday night, and since Dean is only staffing the front desk at the station, he actually has time to pick up.
"Hey, Sammy."
"Hi, Dean!" He sounds breathless, excited. "Did you get the invite?"
"What invite?" Dean blanks, then realizes what Sam has to be talking about. "Oh, to the wedding? Not yet. But July 21st, already penciled in. Don't worry."
"Then it's probably still with USPS… Anywho. We're running an estimate for the venue. I'm putting down a plus-one for you."
Dean winces. "Listen, I don't wanna rain on your parade or anything but uh, I'm not gonna get some meaningless date to come with me, I’m not that pathetic. Nothing wrong with being single."
"Uh. Dean. I meant Cas."
"O— oh,” Dean stutters, blinking. That makes sense. “Right. Yeah. Wait, doesn't he get his own invite?"
"I just figured you'd bring him with you anyway,” Sam says, completely blasé.
Well, he's not wrong there. "Alright."
"Besides, he's not really my friend, first and foremost, he's yours. We know each other only because you're the one relaying stories back and forth."
And he's not wrong about that either. "Huh. Guess I never thought about it that way,” Dean admits, much to Sam’s amusement.
Sam laughs. "Oh also, Eileen says that she wants to see you both in royal blue tuxedos."
"Great, the one color Cas doesn't already own in his collection of a billion boring, cheap suits."
There's Eileen, talking to Sam from the background, and Dean can't understand anything. "She says you'll look smashing. Her words, not mine."
And yeah, picturing Cas in dark blue, Dean can see that qualifying as ‘smashing.’
After he hangs up, he informs Cas by text, Need to get royal blue suits for the wedding. Yes, you too. The bride said so.
Cas replies with a simple thumbs up. And five minutes later, he asks, How long is your shift? There's a new season of Queer Eye.
Dean has to stifle a laugh. Cas loves that show so much and binges it anytime there's a new season, and Dean is admittedly not mad about it. Gimme half an hour and then I'll drive home.
Pick up some Panda Express on the way?
If you order it ready to be picked up?
Will do.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ. He loves this man. He’s said so out loud before and he’d do it again. And who cares? It's true. He’s so glad they both don’t give a damn about appearances or showing affection between best friends.
***
'Smashing' is not the right word.
Dean can't find a more fitting word right now, but ‘smashing’ isn't it.
Dashing, handsome. Close, but not exactly accurate for the misfiring Cas just caused in Dean's brain. Devastating? Yes, but also no.
The blue suit is in the process of being tailored to his body, so it fits like a glove. At this moment, there’s pins and needles and fine temporary threads sticking out at the seams. Cas got a waistcoat to go along with it, and a silky gray tie tucked into it. His shoulders are broad, wider than they look in PJs or one of the flannels he likes to steal from Dean's laundry basket — the ones Dean doesn't complain about going missing, since that means he doesn't need to iron them.
Cas looks put together, powerful.
The way the shirt fits around his neck renders his strong jawline even more pronounced — however that works, but it does.
The pants are just tight enough to put emphasis on Cas' strong runner's thighs. His ass looks fantastic, frankly.
Dean looks and looks and looks. Can't get enough.
Stunning.
Cas is stunning, and fucking beautiful, and when he meets Dean’s eyes, there's a minor solar flare happening in Dean's chest.
That's it. That’s the word he was looking for.
Beautiful.
"Gentlemen," the tailor says, circling Dean with a cushion of pins and adding some here and there to perfect the fit of his own suit. "I know it's usually said to bring bad luck, seeing each other before a wedding, but I have to admit, witnessing this moment for once made my day."
Dean is too stunned to process a sentence as long as this, and Cas' eyes are still trained on Dean's waist, trailing down his legs, burning like the touch of scalding flames and temptation.
***
On the day before Cas’ psych exam, they get up early. Dean’s taken a few days off so they don’t need to hurry. The appointment is in D. C., after all, and that’s 15 hours to drive and some change, plus obligatory stops for snacks and restrooms.
Dean drives the first leg, an old Motörhead tape spinning in the tape deck. Cas isn’t even fully awake yet, napping in the passenger seat, despite Dean singing along with Lemmy. He’s curled around his jacket, slumped in his seat, snoring slightly. It’s kind of adorable and Dean has a hard time not watching him — eyes on the road and all that.
They stop for coffee three hours in, and Cas gets a bit more responsive after that.
After five hours, they switch, and it never fails to amaze Dean how at home Cas looks behind the wheel, and for once, he gets to look his fill. Cas’ jawline in the morning sun is so powerful, so undeniably masculine. And so, so beautiful.
They spend the night in a motel, less crappy than last time, and tackle the last three hours in the morning.
The appointment itself is a two-hour ordeal, time that Dean spends driving around the neighborhood, getting some fresh coffee, topping up on gas, before he heads back to pick Cas up.
Who returns with a pleased little smile on his face.
Dean has no idea how to feel about that.
“Heya, Cas. I take it you’re back in the force?”
Cas slips into the passenger seat, smooth as ever, and grins. Actually grins. “No, I’m not.”
There’s a twisted little voice in the back of Dean’s mind that says, ‘Thank fuck he blew it,’ because if Cas had passed, that’d mean he’d move back to D.C., and that makes Dean feel preemptively lonely.
It also begs the question. “You failed the test? How?”
Because that doesn’t fit, either. Cas looks way too upbeat for having failed the test.
“No, I didn’t,” he confirms Dean’s assumptions.
“Okay, start from the beginning,” Dean says, seriously confused now.
“I passed the test. They thought I’d made quite some progress, built some meaningful relationships, and offered me a return to the bureau, starting on reduced duties, a lower position than the one I had before, but with the opportunity to work myself back up through the ranks, which I would have — given time and effort, of course.”
“That’s… good, though, right?”
Cas nods, then turns fully towards Dean, beaming. “Except I realized something on the drive here. This past year, I’ve been happier, more settled, way less stressed than I’ve ever been before. That’s largely your doing, but also… I don’t want to move back here. Kansas City has become my home. With you and Charlie and Benny and all the people there. I have friends and a community now, and I don’t want to go back to my old life.”
Dean has to unstick his tongue from the top of his mouth before he can ask, “So you… asked to be discharged?”
“So I asked to be discharged.”
“Wow.” It’s just a lot to process. “But, your training, and… this was your job, Cas. Are you sure? You could still go in there…”
“No. You have to understand, the bureau, being a federal agent… that was never my dream, anyway — that was all my father. And since I knew I would never make my mother happy, because I’ll never be good enough for her…” Cas averts his eyes, stares through the windshield, and Dean sees the tears gathering in their corners.
He swallows, heavily, at the same time Cas does. They share a quick gaze, and Dean can’t help but get a bit teary, too.
Cas breathes in, out, huffs around a bitter laugh. “I’m serious. I could’ve become president and she’d have asked when I’d finally make world peace happen. But my dad… this is what he wished for me. A respectable government job, doing good in the world. It’s so far from what this job is in reality, and you made me understand — I’m not obligated to make him proud any more. I never was obligated to, but you know how it is. They can be long gone and you still hear their voice in your head.”
However his hand got there, it’s on Cas’ thigh, and Dean squeezes in support. “Yeah. Takes one to know one.”
“Exactly. So. Fuck them and their expectations.” Cas states it, with emphasis and his head held high.
“Free will from here on out?” Dean smirks.
“Free will and being myself and being with the people who appreciate me for me.”
“I’m all here for that,” Dean says, voice thick. His vocal cords feel like they’ve been dipped in honey, slow and husky. “Wouldn’t have wanted to, uh… not see you every day.”
That’s a lot of double negative and skirting around the much simpler truth that Dean can’t bring himself to say.
I’m happier if you’re with me, too.
A voice that sounds a lot like John Winchester chants at him, ‘selfish-selfish-selfish’. Dean tells him to shut up; he deserves this, he deserves to have his best friend with him, he deserves to be happy about this.
Fuck off , he tells the voice.
And then he realizes, with startling clarity, as Cas mutters a simple “Yes, me neither,” as he ducks his head and smiles.
Cas chose to stay.
Chose to stay in Kansas City, chose to stay with Dean. Dean’s chest implodes. Like the universe running really fast in reverse, the sun inside him becomes smaller, denser, until it unfurls into a huge atomic mass, fills him to the last corner of his being with pure energy. It’s so much, too much.
Cas smiles at him, indulgently. “And I want to find a job. I’ve seen that the library is looking to hire someone?”
“Heh, you’d make a hot librarian,” Dean laughs, then fires Baby up. “Well, you know, not my type of hot librarian, but I can picture you, pushing your lil’ cart around in your sweater vest, making all the girls squee.”
Cas’ gaze is impossibly fond. “Let’s go home?”
“Let’s go home,” Dean says, cranks up Pantera and drums his fingers on the wheel to ‘Cowboys from Hell’.
***
Dean dances with Eileen, the way he's supposed to, her wide gown flowing with their steps. They haven't wasted a single second with practice, but they are both good at improvising.
Her grin is wide and genuine, as is Sam's, and Dean can't look in his direction for too long or else he’ll get emotional. Again.
Cas and he thought they'd get to skip the dancing, for lack of female dance partners and also c'mon, they are not going to dance with each other. They both suck at it. And who’d lead? Yeah, no, especially not without a wide wedding gown to hide terrible foot work with, plus Dean values his unscathed toes.
And they also almost thought they had pulled it off, until Sam and Eileen put their heads together and snatched up each of them. This would be the part where the groom's father would dance with his daughter-in-law, where the bride's mother would dance with the groom.
But for lack of parents, Dean is now dancing with Eileen, and Sam, ever the unselfconscious one, is dancing with Cas.
It makes Dean’s stomach turn upside down with fond amusement, but Eileen distracts him.
He gets kind of lost in the dance. It is nice, he has to admit, and they have a lot of fun.
Another woman from Sam's law firm asks him for the next dance. Slowly, the dancing floor fills with people.
And an hour, two pauses, and no dance with the same partner twice later, Dean finds himself standing in front of Cas, and thinks, Fuck it.
If Sam can dance with Cas, he can do that, too.
The band plays Cher's 'Shoop Shoop Song' and Dean is laughing too hard to think this through. He just grabs Cas around the waist and off they go, making a whole bit out of it, Dean spinning Cas out and back in, before Cas returns the favor. Their footwork nonexistent, they mess up who’s leading multiple times, just going with the flow, switching back and forth, and for the love of everything that’s holy, this is neither a fox-trot nor a waltz.
By the last few beats, Cas is grinning, panting just like Dean, and drops his forehead to Dean’s shoulder, his whole body shaking.
“You’re ridiculous,” he says, chuckling on the exhale.
Dean hums, pleased. “You love it.”
“I do.”
To complete the whole bit, Dean surprises him by dipping him over his forearm, oofing at Cas’ weight.
Which, kinda, maybe was a mistake, because Dean can’t breathe for a second, looking at those deep blue eyes, wide and happy and… beatific. He somehow recovers by the time Cas is back upright.
Dean stays on his feet until they hurt, until the evening tapers off, until people, one after the other, excuse themselves to go home.
Eileen and Sam’s last song is 'Nothing else matters' and there's nobody else Dean wants to have this last dance with than Cas. It's hot, damp outside, in the middle of the night, in the middle of California, middle of July. Dean has sweaty armpits and his jacket is long gone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Cas' waistcoat hangs open around his shoulders, sleeves rolled up as well, and he lost his tie sometime when Dean wasn’t paying attention. There's a bead of sweat in the dip of his clavicle.
They dance, slow, close, chest to chest, Cas’ arms around Dean’s shoulders, Dean’s hands on Cas’ hips.
He smells divine.
Despite only having had water all day, Dean feels lightheaded by the end of it.
On their way out, Eileen's aunt, a sweet old lady with a granny perm and a flowery dress, stops them with a hand on Dean’s elbow.
"I didn't know Leen had a gay brother-in-law," she says, smiling kindly in the way old people who don't give a fuck about social norms do. "And you make a very handsome couple. So when are the bells ringing for you two?"
It takes Dean a solid two seconds to process that.
Him. Cas. A couple. Married. Gay.
His mind runs into a wall like Harry and Ron on platform 9 ¾ on the first day of their second year at Hogwarts.
“Uh,” Dean gapes at her, eyes flickering to Cas. “We’re… not, I, um.”
“We’re not a couple,” Cas corrects her, and considering that Dean has his hand at Cas’ lower back, that probably needs to be clarified, yes.
Cas’ shirt is sweaty, under his waistcoat, where Dean’s hand seems to be glued to its chosen spot.
“I’m not gay,” Dean adds, aware that he must look like a deer in the headlights.
“You’re not? Oh, I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t mean any offense,” she hurries to reassure Dean, patting his arm.
“None taken, at all,” Dean reassures her right back, and that’s true, but.
He looks at Cas. Face flushed, hair tousled, tie sticking out of his pocket, waistcoat framing his hips, gorgeous Cas. Yeah, there’s no reason why he would feel the need to hide his relationship with Cas — if there was one. Cas is staring at him, taking a sharp breath as Eileen’s aunt wishes them a good night and shuffles on.
His fingers squeeze around Dean’s hip.
Dean’s mind winds itself into a pretzel.
So that’s what they look like.
So that is what they look like.
On some subconscious level, he knew that. He just failed to process it.
Dean is not sure he can process it now.
His hand is still on Cas’ back, and he refuses to dislodge it. It feels like it belongs there.
They leave the venue with the other guests, see Sam and Eileen off, because of course they are not going to spend his brother’s wedding night camping out on his and his new wife’s sofa. They booked a hotel, like any respectful guest would.
Specifically, they booked one room.
Jesus. When they checked in earlier, the clerk at the front desk probably… probably thought that too, what Eileen’s aunt thought. The clerk gave them a weird look when they asked for a room; in retrospect, kinda conspiratorial or something? And Dean remembers that rainbow pin on the clerk’s lapel.
And it all comes crashing down like a house of cards built too high.
So many people just assumed, didn’t they?
Charlie’s remark about Cas being a good husband.
The guy at their usual Panda Express who once offered some plum wine on top, because they are regular customers, and upon Dean’s clarification that he doesn’t drink, winked knowingly, packed it anyway, “for your partner.” Dean had been distracted by something, but he vividly remembers not knowing what to do with that.
Hendriksen teasing him about his packed breakfasts at the station, asking for what ‘the missus provided today’, only raising his eyebrows and smirking when Dean told him about Cas, his new and very male neighbor.
Also, Sam being confused about them not living together.
Jesus.
Dean huffs at the realization. Even Sam assumed.
Cas hums beside him, a question unspoken.
“I just realized Sam thought we were a couple, too, back when he came over for dad’s funeral.”
Cas tilts his head, acknowledges that tidbit. “Does that bother you?”
Dean walks down the hallway, looking for their room number, and thinks about it, seriously, before he replies. The answer is surprisingly easy. “No, no, it doesn’t bother me. You?”
Shaking his head, Cas waits as Dean fumbles with the door mechanism. Gets it open on the third try with minimal cussing.
But once they are in the room, things start to get weird.
Cas has never bothered with personal space, and Dean has gotten used to it. So used to it that now it feels completely unnecessary for Cas to take a step back when Dean passes him by on his way to the bathroom.
Also, of course it turns out they’ve been given a room with one king-sized bed. One bed, one room, for both of them. Dean doesn’t want to raise a fuss about it, since they’ve slept on a single piece of furniture together before. That wasn’t weird.
Now, it kind of is.
Now, in the bed, all Dean can think about, his mind going round and round like a swing carousel, is that if they were… if they were gay, if they were a couple, he would not let Cas sleep so far away. He’d get to do all the things, all the good stuff, he’d get to kiss Cas, he’d get to push him into the mattress, he’d get to have sex with — and this is where his mind zonks out.
Cas looks at him, eyes shifting from Dean’s nose to his mouth and back, like he’s thinking the same thoughts, and can’t voice any of them, tongue-tied like Dean.
“Good night, Cas,” Dean says, closes his eyes. How would it feel, to lean over, wrap Cas up in his arms, tuck him in under his chin?
“Good night, Dean.”
It’s soft, on the edge somehow, it’s nothing like they usually are, and Dean can’t fall asleep for a long time after that.
It feels like teetering on a cliff, about to lose footing any second now.
Dean wonders if it wouldn’t be smarter to jump.
***
The drive home is mostly done in silence, and even if it’s the comfortable kind of silence, as it always is with Cas, there’s a false bottom under Dean’s feet, one that might open up to a whole entire world at any time now.
It leaves Dean unsure, shaky, and Cas is not much better. He's not sure if he wants the floor to open, anyhow.
What would that whole entire other world even look like?
He doesn’t dare bring it up until they’re in the home stretch, the sun having gone down, the highway empty, Zeppelin on low and the world obscured in darkness. It's like a comfortable, fuzzy blanket that wraps around Baby. And Baby is where Dean already feels comfortable by default, and he can stick to that being the reason why he finds the courage to say what he has to say at all.
"Cas, I don't want this to be weird," he begins, trying to keep his voice even. "We never did weird, and I don't want us to start now."
And he doesn't want to feel self-conscious around Cas, watch his steps, watch their distance, not getting too close. That's not them, that's not who they were, that's not who he wants them to be.
"I very much agree with you there." Cas sounds almost amused.
"So let's not do weird?"
"Let's not."
Dean breathes. "Okay. So Eileen's aunt… are we talking about that?"
"Do you want to?" Cas answers, and Dean recognizes the out for what it is.
He doesn't want to take it. If he strikes out, he’d at least have tried to hit it out of the park. “We kinda need to, don’t we? We can't let this… you know. Get between us. I'd hate that. Ride or die, remember?"
Cas’ voice is calm, steady, as he says, "Yes, I remember."
“How can you be so cool about all this?” Dean gestures out the front window, helplessly nervous and out of his depth. “I’m kind of freaking out. I just… never thought about us that way.”
“I haven’t, either,” Cas admits, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “But I assure you, you have nothing to freak out about.”
“I don’t? How?”
“Is it worth freaking out about? If it’s only an assumption that isn’t true?”
Silence stretches for a moment as Dean follows a curvy road through the woods, keeping his eyes peeled for any wildlife which might jump on the street. He can’t pinpoint if it’s a perfect metaphor for his life right now, the way Eileen’s aunt dropped that right in front of him, and now he’s trying to stay in control, deal with the situation.
Or if he’s the literal deer in the headlights, frozen, unable to do anything, overwhelmed.
"I'm not gay," Dean repeats the obvious. That’s the one thing he’s sure of. He likes women, okay.
"Me neither," Cas says, and why it makes Dean's heart plummet is a mystery yet to be solved. "But I don't think I am strictly straight, either."
Dean’s heart stops, then beat-beat-beats into his ribs.
A helpless chuckle bubbles out of him. "What do you mean?" he asks, a little hysterical.
"Because I'm genuinely curious about… what it'd feel like to kiss you."
Oh. Oh.
Dean imagines it — Cas’ full lips, chapped and a little dry, moving over his, stubble rasping against his own, the scratch of it at the corners of his mouth. Would it tickle? What would it feel like to have his tongue catch against Cas’ teeth?
His mind is a mess. And he needs to hear that again. So he asks, "You want to kiss me?"
"Yes, I’d like to kiss you,” Cas says, ever-patient.
Dean spent half the night at the hotel thinking about just that, so he can relate. Heat spreads on his cheeks, his pulse thrumming in his ears, a buzz, a bouncy ball gone feral somewhere in his chest. There's two options to deal with this: either keep driving, keep talking about it, make it worse, and resolve it at home, effectively ignoring the severe hit of yearning that slams into him like a freight train; or pull over and kiss the living daylights out of Cas. Risk making it awkward for the rest of the drive, or, worse, for the rest of their lives.
It’s too much to decide. He drives. Licks his lips. Is aware of Cas’ eyes on him, so aware.
For now, he clears his throat. "I… When I realized there were a lot of people who assumed we were together. I realized it wasn’t just Sam. Charlie, too. And Hendriksen. Hell, the guy over at Panda Express—"
"Steve."
"Steve. He probably thinks we're an old married couple, too."
"Well. I always order for you and so far, you haven't complained once." There’s a smile, curling around Cas’ lips, and Dean has a hard time — no, scratch that. He decides to dwell on it, for once. He loves it when Cas’ lips do that, and once again, it makes his thoughts circle back to kissing Cas.
If Cas got to know him in that sense, the way he already knows Dean in every other way? Kissing Cas would blow his mind. "Yeah, and that's just it, Cas. You know what I like. We hang out every chance we get. You know me better than anyone."
Cas hums, noncommittally. He’s going to change the subject. "Did I ever tell you that… you were the reason why I passed the interview?”
“I what?” Dean blurts out, taken by surprise. Not what he expected
Cas shrugs. “Well, I wouldn’t have taken the test if you hadn’t encouraged me to. Would’ve taken the debarring, and. Well. For the longest time, I genuinely thought something was wrong with me, that’s why I botched the mission, that’s why my partner and the others— and it’s still my fault and it will always be my fault. But you made me see that this was one wrong decision, and not, how everyone else made me think, a character flaw of mine. I’m okay, the way I am. You like me, my friends like me, for who I am. You made me see that, accept that.”
“Yeah, of course,” Dean says softly. “You’re a wonderful person to have around.”
“I also enjoy your company a lot. But that doesn’t mean I ever thought about dating men, or you,” Cas clarifies.
"Yeah, dude. Entirely mutual. So those people see something we didn’t?" Dean’s still trying to wrap his head around that.
"Or have we been missing out all this time?"
"Makes you wonder, huh." Dean chuckles. There's so much going on. He has no idea where to start. “You and me, this could be… this could be great.” If this past year has been an indicator...
Beside him, Cas wrings his hands between his knees. "If there's any chance we can make it work…"
"... I know," Dean groans, but at this point, some rationality returns to his brain. They need to discuss this, not let themselves drift into curiosity that might end in catastrophic failure. "But if we mess this up, there's no going back.”
"I don't know. We're friends, right, we can always come back to that." He sounds so small, and hopeful, so damn hopeful.
Dean isn't so sure, but he can't look at Cas right now, takes the road as an excuse to not do so. "You think we could?" He doesn’t even know what he’s asking. It’s all so much, swirling in his guts, and Dean refuses to call this ‘butterflies’.
"Do we know if we don't even try?"
“I can’t ruin this…our friendship. I won’t— Cas." And this needs to be said, too. “I need you, Cas. In my life, no matter which way. I’m just… we’re better together, okay?”
Cas hums again, and Dean can hear the smirk in his voice. “That’s the point, isn’t it.”
“Can you promise me that? That whatever we do or… don’t do, that we won’t fuck this up? It means too much to me.”
“I can’t guarantee it, of course,” Cas mutters, “But I can promise you that I’ll try, that I’ll do everything I can. I don’t want to live the rest of my life without you, either, Dean.”
The way he can just say stuff like that is beyond Dean. He groans again, feels himself yield, melts into a puddle. "You're trying really hard to get me to kiss you, aren’t you?"
When Dean inevitably looks over, Cas' eyes are sparkling in the blinking street lights of the town they are now passing through. "Maybe..."
He doesn't follow that up. Dean's skin is itching, something deeply unsatisfied clawing along the inside of his ribcage. He's right, he's wrong, Dean knows, doesn't know. He wants, wants with an impossible intensity that threatens to tear him apart. He knows why he’s hesitating; doesn’t know why he doesn’t just take the risk. There’s a tiny Shia LaBeouf in his head, shouting at him to ‘JUST. DO. IT. Don’t let your dreams be dreams!’
They have to stop at a red light, in this town about 30 minutes from home, and Dean dares to look over. Cas is looking out the window, but his hands aren’t clutched together anymore. His profile, strong and so undeniably masculine, something Dean never thought of as attractive, is throwing him for a loop.
If they were together, he could lean over, kiss along that strong jaw, make Cas shake with it.
There’s so much about Cas that he knows, inside and out. That he enjoys caramelized onions on his burger, but hates tomatoes with a passion; that he always orders Greek salad with feta cheese, but lets Dean pick the olives off of it, since he loves them so much; that he has a hoodie at home that they play musical chairs with, whoever gets his hands on it first will hog it, until the other finds it and takes it back; that the more sour his lemonade is, the better.
They drive out of town and down the highway, following a car in the distance.
What would really change about their relationship, if they decided to just try this?
Dean would get to learn all kinds of new things about Cas. The way he likes to be kissed, whether it’d be hot and wet and urgent, with lots of tongue, or gentle and soft, just sighing into it? At this point, Dean is already overwhelmed with the thought of just that much, short-circuits at the thought of everything beyond.
The real question is, can Dean live his life without even trying to find out what it might be like?
They could be great. They could be epic. They could be forever.
Abruptly, Dean hits the brakes and peels off the highway into the next parking bay, puts Baby in park, leaves the motor running.
He doesn’t even get all the way across the bench seat.
Cas meets him halfway, a spark in his fingertips, eyes already closed, but lips intent and zeroed in on Dean’s. The first touch is just like Dean expected: lips against lips, two days worth of stubble brushing the corner of his lips. He exhales, through his nose, tilts his head, and then it’s not lips on lips any more. It’s the gentlest force to be taken with, bruising in its intensity, knocking him out like a warm summer breeze. There’s a hand at Dean’s nape, pulling him in, and Dean goes, always goes where Cas leads him, and Cas’ lips are soft, move over his in a way that has Dean seeing stars, perfect pressure, slow, so incredibly, unnecessarily slow, and what did Dean ever care about him being a man?
If that’s how Cas kisses, if that’s how he makes Dean’s heart sing with the need to wrap him up and never let him go again, if that’s how they can be, together, then Cas’ junk can be what it may, Dean doesn’t care, Dean will make it work. If Cas is interested, of course.
Cas pulls away ever-so-slightly, not even an inch, to say one word, “Dean,” like a prayer, like a wish upon a star, reverent.
Dean pulls back, watches Cas’ eyes widen as he shuffles back behind the wheel, lips parted, panting, his hair a mess — Dean vaguely remembers running his hand through familiar dark strands — the picture of debauchery personified, all from a kiss that didn’t even include tongue.
And suddenly, it's clear to see — attraction. Adoration. Love. So much love. Suddenly, it all makes sense, easy as ever.
With a flick of his wrist, Dean kills the engine, shuts off the headlights.
The next kiss definitely includes tongue, includes Cas pulling him down onto the seat, includes fumbling with belts and zippers and pants, includes Dean, gasping against Cas’ neck when he loses himself in exploring with his hands and mouth, loses himself in the way Cas smells, so familiar, so new. When Cas bites into the joint where his neck and shoulder meet, Dean notices how lost he is, too. It’s a heady rush, is what it is, it leaves Dean boneless and shaky in the best way, but none the wiser about any of the questions he’s finally allowing himself to think through: Does Cas like teeth on his nipples, does he prefer sloppy blowjobs where he’s in control, or would he want to be held down and pleasured until he comes, helplessly, under Dean’s hands and mouth? Would Dean get to slide between his legs, fuck him, or would Dean be the one to ride him into next Saturday? Would Cas even want that?
But they have all the time in the world to find out now.
“Cas,” he says, afterwards, when the kisses have turned into sharing the same breath, not wanting to part yet, their hands sticky, their pants open. “Marry me?”
Cas laughs, a startled thing just wrenching itself from his lips, but he nods, blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “Yes.”
THE END