The fabric of Dean's worn plaid shirt crumpled in Cas' greedy fist. He had the angel taken by such surprise that not a word of response could be uttered before Dean had brought them together. He had spent so many stolen seconds selfishly emulating that exact moment that he thought for sure he'd be ruined for the real thing. But regardless of the countless sins in his head, finally having Cas in the flesh was just as electrifying as his figmentation.
In a kiss that was sure to catch fire to the room, Dean could only imagine why he hadn't been doing this all along. The family business was more than just a reason to stand in his dad's shadow - it teaches a man how to survive. And for Dean, that meant following his gut. There's something to be said about a man who ignored an instinct, and that was a eulogy. At least, that was a mantra that had pulled Dean out of the cross-hairs more than once.
If a cracked door spelled trouble, he went in barrel first. If a hunt went a little too easy, they stayed in town an extra night. A rattle under the hood? He knew it was the damn radiator again.
His first instinct against Cas was a magic knife to the chest, and all that got him was dirty knife and an exhausted backup plan. However, it wasn't the first time an instinct hadn't panned out, and he'd learned that it wouldn't be the last.
His second instinct told him to cut Cas loose. Too many mistakes led back to the guy, not enough frayed ends tied up. But, as he had to admit, these all proved untrue, too.
Cas was a guy he couldn't figure out. His gut couldn't place him. He had jumped over so many of the walls Dean had in his heart, in his head, the walls that read "NO TRESPASSING", and "WILL SHOOT ON SIGHT". Each of these instincts told him to throw his stones, build those walls higher, but Cas was a guy he couldn't help but let in.
All these different failed instincts later, and Dean wondered why he never followed the only one that seemed to make any kind of sense.
And now, there he was, his heart screaming at him for more and his mind cursing him to stop, stop, what are you doing? You've let him in, now he'll just leave. But the voice wasn't his, not anymore. It was the voice of a stranger, the Dean one too haughty to let others catch him with his pants down, the one shoving down feelings he was too embarrassed to share even with himself. The one who made him wear his dad's old leather jackets and drink too much. Dean couldn't pretend he hadn't noticed the quiet in his mind when Cas was around, and it was only the water's rush through the opened floodgates and the roar of the blood in his ears that brought it to the front. The tilt in Cas' head was more than enough to quell the scared warnings in his head, though.
The hand tearing at the back of his shirt moved to his shoulder and clenched at the taught muscles of them. It was music to Dean's ears, hearing his and Cas' frantic breaths and the pawing of their hands at each other. Blood-red light filtered in through his eyelids, and it wasn't until it flashed a brilliant orange and yellow that Dean broke apart from Cas.
There was no sound of explosion, no click of a gun fired. There was only the flushed cheeks of the man in front of him, and the flicker of eyes that went from his own to his lips that told Dean he was doing nothing right.
It was clear Cas was not surprised at the flash. But what was that? A look to one side told him nothing, but when he turned to look at the other, he was sure he was dreaming.
At the place that Cas' fingers still dug into Dean's shoulder, bright tendrils of red, orange, and yellow erupted through the cracks. The look of it told him fire, but before he could register that the flames really weren't burning him, he yanked his hand away from the place it held on Cas' waist and slapped at the light. However, when Cas took back his hand, the light disappeared, and they were both left in the same ambient light of Dean's cheap hotel room.
His wild eyes bore into Cas' for answers. His voice came out in more of a whisper than he wanted. "What in the hell was that?"
Talking past winded breath, Cas answered, "You know very well what that was, Dean. The only thing I'm wondering was why you had to do it so hard."
The comment made his already hot cheeks burn even hotter. He shook his head. "Not that, genius. The heavenly fire coming from your vice grip on my arm!"
"Kindred spirits. Not heavenly fire." Cas paused. "Although, one could consider it heavenly, if one wanted."
Not even a scorch mark on his old shirt to give any evidence of the lights. "What the hell is a kindred spirit?" His heart beat hard against his ears. "Was it you?"
"No, Dean." Cas took a step closer and looked Dean right in the eye, his own wide in return. "It was both of us. Kindred spirits are two people who've reach the deepest and most intimate level of intimacy that two people can, one touching even their souls. The contact between them can appear as a flame, but it is only their souls reaching for each other through their skin, wanting to go to the one they were made for. Not exactly Biblical, but it has a certain divinity."
He brought a hand to Dean's shoulder again, and before they could even touch small flames leaped through the air to nip around the both of them. Dean reflexively jumped backwards, disrupting the spectacle.
Cas pinched his eyes at Dean. "It won't hurt us, Dean."
For all that their first kiss had soothed every muscle and bone in his body, the red in his cheeks and the light show they were giving made his palms sweat with embarrassment, and he started spinning the ring on his thumb like he always did when he was nervous. Cas' eyes were a little hard to meet just then.
Casmade like he wanted to speak, but closed his mouth instead. He stepped closer to the retreated Dean. He didn't want Cas to touch him. Didn't want their touches to explode with imaginary embers. Couldn't let Cas see the embarrassment threatening to lash out.
But, hadn't he said it was the ultimate connection, those flames? Visual proof that two people couldn't love each other more? He had to smile at the connection; he didn't need a confessions of requited feelings, this mark of kindred spirits seemed like evidence enough. Cas loved him back.
He let Cas touch him this time, merely a hand on the shoulder. The expected burst of color ran from the spot, and Dean dug his heels to keep from jumping away. Cas spoke in his gravely voice, "Don't be afraid of it. Just..." He trailed as he took in the brightness at his hand. "Kiss me again."
A planned kiss always turns out messier than a heat-of-the-moment one, and it wasn't until Dean's nerves brought his lips to the far corner of Cas' that the angel finally took pity on him. The water color sunset returned to Dean's closed eyes, and he thought, not quite the fireworks I had in mind, but I could get used to 'em.
And really, it was fitting; he always knew that Cas would be his endgame.