"I still don't understand why we must wear costumes to hunt a vampire. Isn't it a bit . . . silly?"

"I told you, Cas. It's Halloween, everybody dresses up, we'd stick out like a grandma at a strip club," said Dean exasperatedly.

"But-"

"Just go put on a costume," said Dean, cutting off Castiel's rebuttal.

A deep crease formed in Castiel's forehead as his eyebrows drew inward, but he turned and walked into the bunker's bathroom to change without further argument.

Thank God, thought Dean. Although God only knows what kind of costume Cas got himself. Sam had offered to buy all of them costumes and save the trouble, but Dean had refused. He wanted to look cool, vampire hunting or not. And he did look cool as he turned to admire his reflection in the full length mirror, smoothly sliding on the cheap aviator sunglasses that came with his Top Gun flight suit. Who knew, maybe after they warmed up ganking the vamp, he'd get a little action in the cockpit. Dean smirked to himself and turned away, waiting for his brother to come back from costume shopping and his best friend to finish changing.

Although . . . it seemed like "best friend" was no longer quit the right word to describe him and Cas. There'd been a weird tension between them, not anger, but something . . . else. Little touches that should be insignificant kept on hanging in his head for days afterward. He just wanted to be around Cas all the time. I must be losing it, he thought to himself. Keep it together, Dean, can't be all in your head when there's bloodsuckers killing innocent bar-goers.

Footsteps on the bunker's hardwood floors jolted Dean from his thoughts. Looking away from his own reflection, he saw Cas come slinking out of the bathroom in a skintight ninja costume, holding a strip of cloth meant to tie around his head. The one-piece jumpsuit covered every inch of skin on Castiel's chiseled body, but it was so tight Cas might as well have been naked. The roundness of his shoulders, the contours of every muscle, the sharp outline of his hip bones, and the bulge of something else that Dean found very . . . distracting.

Dean swallowed hard, hoping the sunglasses he was wearing had disguised his open staring. "Cas, that uh-that costume doesn't- um doesn't leave much to the imagination."

"What do you mean, Dean?"

Thank Christ Sammy isn't here right now. "Well, Cas I've seen prostitutes in looser clothing."

"So? I thought Halloween was generally accepted as the one day of the year where people can dress like a total slut, and no other people can say anything about it?" said Cas, puzzled.

"Have you been watching Mean Girls?" asked Dean incredulously.

"Yes, I am trying to bring myself more up to date on human pop culture."

Dean shook his head, massaging his temples with his fingers. "That rule applies to girls, man. Dudes wear stupid costumes or things that will make them look macho, y'know?"

"Like your costume?" asked Cas innocently.

Blood rushed to Dean's face, as red as the sash gripped in Castiel's hand. "You-you think I look macho?" stammered Dean, unsure of how to react.

Cas nodded, his piercing blue eyes sparkling like water in the sun. He stood quietly watching Dean's face intently. Cas had felt the same strange attraction that Dean had. He had always felt it from the moment he and Dean met, but it was getting stronger lately. The attraction held him captive. It wasn't purely lust, although that was most certainly there. It was a fundamental rightness that he felt when he thought about Dean. Looking into Dean's eyes he thought he saw the same feeling.

Cas broke the silence without breaking the eye contact. "Can you help me tie this on?" he asked, holding out the red sash.

"Yeah."

Dean stepped forward, still looking into those eyes, those eyes like a piece of frozen sky. His hand slid up against Castiel's as Dean took the sash from Cas's outstretched hand. A tingle stretched up his arm like it had fallen asleep, spreading outward from the point of contact. Ignoring this as best he could, Dean reached up to tie the scarlet cloth around Cas's head, and complete the costume, but he was unable to ignore the soft hair that brushed against his hand when he tied the cloth on. Resisting was impossible; Dean finished the knot and swept his hand gently through Castiel's hair, savoring the silky texture. Mere inches separated their bodies, but neither moved away.

"There is more to imagine, Dean," murmured Cas, startling Dean.

"Huh?"

"You said this costume didn't leave much to the imagination, but it does."

Taking the smallest step back, Dean replied "Cas, buddy, I hate to break it to you, but I can see all-"

"No, I know you can see . . . a lot, but-" Cas began quietly, and then his voice suddenly gained strength. "There's more to think about. Maybe you don't have to imagine what I look like underneath, but one would have to imagine what I feel like . . . and- and what I taste like . . ." he trailed off, very self-conscious and very aware of what he had just said. He dropped his head, finally breaking Dean's gaze, and stared at the floor. Cas didn't know what had come over him. How could he have been that stupid, he-

"Do I have to?"

Cas's head shot up. "Wha-"

"Do I really have to imagine all those things? You could-you could . . . show me," suggested Dean timidly.

A fire suddenly blazed in Castiel's eyes, so fierce Dean was amazed it didn't melt the blue ice in Castiel's eyes. Cas reached up and pulled Dean's face down close to his, less than an inch separating their faces, so that Dean saw every slight movement of Castiel's lips as he said, "Yes, I could."

And with that, Cas brought his lips to Dean's, fitting them together in a kind of touch that felt like everything and nothing he had imagined it to be. Cas moved his lips in synchronization with Dean's. The kiss went deeper, and he tasted the whiskey on the tip of Dean's tongue, and his wings unfurled from his back in pleasure. Cas swept his wings around Dean, their downy feathers pulling Dean in closer to him. Their bodies held close together, pushing and pulling, moving up and down in perfect unison, every contour of their bodies fitting together, filling the voids. Castiel began to pull Dean backwards toward one of the bedrooms, never breaking a single point of contact in the process, and Dean hoped Sam wouldn't be home for a long time.