A/N: I had a dream about the core scene in this fic and had to write it because the image stayed so vivid in my mind.
**I do not intend for this to be slash, but it could be easily interpreted that way if you're looking for it or are prone to see kissing as exclusively erotic in nature.
Spoilers through 5x18.
Except You
They're on two-lane highway somewhere in the Deep South, surrounded by a cool fog in the late evening. Just Dean and Cas, standing outside. Sam's asleep in the Impala a ways behind them, parked on the side of the road. Castiel had appeared in the back seat, almost giving Dean a heart attack, and asked Dean to stop and give him a minute alone. It's the first time the angel's appeared since blasting himself in that warehouse. Sam and Dean have been waiting for weeks to hear from him, hoping and praying the stupid bastard would come back.
Castiel stands in front of Dean, again oblivious to the concept of personal space. He's so close, Dean can see the ring of dark blue around the angel's pupils, splashing on the lighter blue that make up most of his irises. The angel's giving him that look again: that "so-intense-and-completely-ambiguous" look (ambiguous because he's Cas and not some hot and horny chick). Dean just stares back for a moment, a bit creeped out but not enough to react yet.
"Can I help you?" he says to the angel.
Castiel, in his gravelly deep voice, gives an answer that may as well be one of his steel fist punches in Dean's gut.
"I love you," he says, a kind of swiftness and urgency in his tone. He lifts his right hand to cup Dean's cheek, leans in, and kisses Dean chastely and briefly on the lips. He pulls away and turns his back on Dean in seconds, leaving the man so startled, Dean doesn't register the angel's actions until after they're over.
He stands there, completely blown away, the shock showing on his face.
It was not a particularly erotic kiss. Dean's done a lot of kissing in his life, and that one was the cleanest he's ever experienced. Fast, so fast, it barely happened, but meaningful in a way that most kisses in Dean's life have never been. Somehow, he can still feel the sensation of the angel's lips on his own, a tender pushing, as if Castiel left some kind of mark on him.
Once Dean starts to clear through the haze of shock, he begins to feel a strange warmth spread through his body. He blinks, touches his lips with his fingertips. What the hell?
Castiel is several yards away from him already, walking down the road, and Dean doesn't even think to wonder why the angel hasn't disappeared instead.
"Cas," he calls. The angel stops and turns to face him, saying nothing but giving him another one of those damn, meaningful looks.
"Uh," says Dean. "Do I want to know what that was supposed to mean?"
"It means what I said it meant," Castiel says, sounding too human for his own good.
"Okay," says Dean, strangely calm about the situation. "You love me."
"Yes."
"What was the kiss for?"
"I thought it was the appropriate gesture to accompany the words."
"Well," says Dean. "Sometimes, it is, yeah. But Cas--I don't know if you've noticed yet, but kissing is something people typically do when they want to get into each other's pants."
"Not always."
Dean arches an eyebrow.
"In other cultures, the kiss I just gave you signifies affection, not erotic desire."
"Yeah, but we're in this culture."
"Which I am not a part of," says the angel. "If you are angry, I apologize."
They hold each other's gaze, and Dean considers how he feels about it.
"No," he says, weirded out by himself. Any other dude pulled the shit Cas just pulled, and Dean would've already redefined the term ass-kicking on him. "I'm not--angry. It's just.... next time, skip the kissing, okay?"
"If you say so," says Castiel.
He turns around, about to disappear, when Dean tells him to wait. The angel does. Dean closes the gap between them, comes to stand in front of Castiel as near as the angel was to him a few minutes ago. He pauses, staring at Cas a little awkwardly, and Cas gives him an inquisitive look back. Dean lifts his right hand up, changes his mind and lowers it, changes his mind again and lifts it up to rest on the angel's cheek. He pecks Castiel on the lips, only it is not too short a kiss. It reminds him of that time he kissed Becky Abbot at recess in the first grade: all innocent and unsure but with the intention to make known his feelings. It doesn't last more than a couple seconds, closed mouth against closed mouth, and Dean at once does not understand and completely understands.
He doesn't understand because he's a straight man, overprotective of his heterosexuality, avoidant of physical affection that doesn't come attached to death or sex with really hot women. He's more likely to punch a man in the face than to even shake his hand, let alone give him a kiss. He's never even kissed Sam this way, nor is he about to start. Dean's also pretty sure, before, during, and after this kiss, that he has no desire whatsoever to bone Cas. Or any dude, for that matter. So he doesn't get why this seems like the right thing to do.
But he does understand because this is Cas--who might be wearing a man's body but is definitely not a man. Do angels have gender? Dean has no idea and doesn't care. He understood, God only knows how, what Castiel's kiss meant. And he returns it in the same way, not knowing he could give such a kiss.
He stands back, meets the angel's loaded gaze, hand still on Castiel's cheek.
Says,
"I love you too."
And it really is that simple.