Pairing: Dean/Castiel

Notes: Sooo...no relation to canon here. Totally AU (just...general modern day setting) and disgustingly fluffy. Some kissing and oblivious Dean.

Also, English isn't my first language, so I apologize in advance for any typos/grammar errors.

Silly drabble is silly.

Enjoy! Hopefully!

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Accidentally Dating

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It wasn't as if Dean was any stranger to attraction, going both ways or one-sided, and he certainly wasn't innocent to the game of pursuing it. It was, however, admittedly focused on the female end of the spectrum. He was sure there were guys who checked him out, because he was a fine piece of ass dammit, and he'd found his eyes stray on more than one occasion over the years, but it was sort of absentmindedly.

He'd been told he wore heterosexuality like a badge of honor, or something, and by now he'd been through enough shit in life to have the self-insight to admit this was probably true. He'd spent so much of his life fighting to prove something; his strength, his usefulness, his go-on-knock-me-down, I'll-just-stand-back-up-again attitude. Growing up with the norms he had (shut up, he might not be Sam the Nerd, but he actually wasn't as dumb as people assumed), he simply hadn't thought there was anything other to associate with. His role model had been Dad, and Dad had loved mum and he'd drunk and clenched his jaw but never cried. He'd slapped his sons on the back and hustled pool with men twice their size. It was never anything told outright, and Dean likes to think if his Dad had known about him he'd accepted it because it was personal, but the underlying homophobia that seems to cloak a society at times was there enough for Dean to pick up on it.

This was probably why he'd never acted on previous attractions, or given them much thought, and why he'd grown up to act the way he had. He wasn't exactly approachable for a quick blowjob in the men's room, despite the ribbing he'd gotten from the long string on high school classmates for his somewhat borderline-pretty looks and the occasional girl moaning about his lips and fucking eyelashes. The heterosexual norm could suck sometimes, and he didn't need Sammy to rant on the subject in order to recognize this fact.

And so, he wasn't exactly prepared to be pursued as openly as he was currently being. It was totally not his fault he hadn't read the signs because guys didn't hit on him, okay? They just didn't. Especially not while he was under their car's hood working magic (though this invited for some rather interesting scenarios – but totally not the point). So when Castiel Novak, a three-time costumer working his way to the fourth and a fellow football fan (though he was beginning to suspect this as the No Way Me Too! Tactic) asked if he wanted to catch the night's game over a few beers… Well, shit, he did that stuff with his brother so either this guy was the Ninja of Dating or just had no idea how to hit on Dean.

Though, in hindsight, it might just be that he knew exactly how to hit on Dean and was, indeed, the motherfucking Ninja of Dating. Because two games later (in between musical schooling of the Led Zeppelin variety), five coffee breaks (loads of pie) and four lunches (fucking burgers, man), they were on their third dinner (meat and plenty of it) and second movie (crappy B-horrors and awesome action flicks) when the realization slammed home.

"Dude, are we…dating?" he blurted out after swallowing a slightly too large bite of steak, spluttering a bit and reaching for the glass of wine (since when does he drink wine? When the fuck did this happen? He thinks Cas mentioned Boudreaux and other stuffy French things some time these past few weeks but…).

Cas regarded him from across the table, a deceptively innocent look about him as he titled his head, eyes gleaming in the – oh God candlelight, what has his life become seriously, what the fuck. "Yes. Do you have a problem with this, Dean?"

Swallowing a lather large gulp of wine (at least it's red and non-bubbly), Dean cleared his throat, trying to buy some time. Well, fuck.

Okay, so maybe he'd been absently checking Cas out that first time, and every time since. And maybe he looked forward to hanging out with him, because Dean wasn't exactly the most social creature outside of bed or a bar, and he'd liked the thought of a new friend. Of Cas. And he hadn't gone out to hook up since that second coffee break, had he? Dammit.

"Um," he began, fiddling with the napkin beside his plate and generally trying to avoid that patient blue gaze that seemed forever all-knowing (while still succeeding at being totally ignorant of, say, personal space and mobile phones). Sighing, he gave up. "No, I really don't."

Cas flashed him a smug, pleased grin before resuming cutting up his own steak. It was rather anti-climatic, Dean thought, utterly bemused as he slowly grabbed his fork and dug in. Not that he minded, at all, because the potential of this turning into a chick-flick moment was already too high for comfort. After a few moments of slightly strained silence on his part, content and relaxed on Cas', Dean picked up conversation and they fell into it so easily he wondered what he'd been tense about. Well, maybe finding out he's been accidentally dating someone.

At the end of the night, he found it in himself to admire the kick-ass operation of Seduce Dean that had apparently been going on, because damn, it was some fine work. It, at the very least, deserved some kind of recognition. And so he found himself kissing another man for the first time, age 26, against his baby who had already seen him through so many firsts it was sort of tradition at this point.

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Castiel was currently being properly appreciative of the acknowledgement of his plan's success as his fingers dug into Dean's neck to keep him close, his other hand slipping underneath his worn leather jacket and hips shifting to bring them closer and closer still. It, was, in Castiel's humble opinion, heavenly to finally have the younger man's lips on his own (they were the third thing he'd noticed about him, right after forest green eyes and a spatter of freckles). The past few weeks had been a mix of sexual frustration at the obliviousness of the living embodiment of his personal Wet Dream, genuine enjoyment of getting to know this man as well as the building excitement of anticipation. He was both relieved and a bit sad that it was over, but God was he ever eager to move along and damn if Dean Winchester wasn't just the harbinger of the most sinful kisses Castiel had ever had the pleasure of receiving.

Things were, sadly, brought to a stop at the honking and wolf-whistling of a passing car, and Castiel had the pleasure of watching Dean blush a deep red that did very interesting things to the image that was his swollen, wet lips, freckled nose and blown eyes as he drew away. Clearing his throat, Dean let his hands fall to Castiel's hips as he bent down for an adorably chaste kiss before stepping away completely. Castiel would've been screaming in frustration (Dean's thigh had been a steady pressure between his own legs) and demanding to be taken to the nearest bed if it weren't for the fact that this was Dean. Reliable sources (re: the little brother) told him this was most likely the first time Dean had ever kissed another man. To push further might scare him off, and that was the last thing Castiel wanted.

"Um, right, so…I'll take you home?" Dean sounded slightly confused, shuffling where he stood with his hands in his pockets. Castiel had to remind himself that although Dean might not have been with a man, he was still definitely not a blushing virgin, and so he should probably stop that train of thought before it devolved into one of his fantasies. However, their five years age-gap was quite present in moments like these. Not that he minded, or he wouldn't have gone to all this trouble in the first place.

"Yes, thank you, Dean," he replied with a smile that widened at Dean's answering one. He barely refrained from kissing him again when he went around opening the car's door for him, but just barely. "Thank you," he said instead, allowing his eyes to flicker down Dean's body pointedly. Dean hastily went back to his side and slid into the driver's seat, turning on the ignition and pulling out of the parking lot.

It was a relatively short drive from the restaurant to Castiel's apartment, and it was filled with the tunes of one of Dean's mixed tapes, softened by the low volume of the stereo, and some pleasant small talk here and there. They would have time for The Talk all new relationships needed when they needed it; Castiel was content to take it one step at a time if it meant he could have this. Besides, he was confident a lot of the issues that came with dating and a new possible relationship had already been sorting themselves out and wouldn't need much of a push at this point.

When they arrived, Castiel didn't stop himself as Dean opened the door for him again, because the man had no right to be this level of endearing, and kissed him firmly. Dean's surprised yelp quickly turned into a moan as Castiel slipped his arms around his waist and deepened the kiss, unable to resist.

An unknown amount of minutes later, they bid each other a breathless good bye, securing another date over lunch in two days (it was becoming a habit already). All in all, Castiel thought with a satisfied smirk as he settled down on his bed – hands straying across his chest down to the hard-on that had persisted through the drive home and become rather urgent after the last kiss – it had been a very successful evening. He was definitely pleased with the outcome of his self-imposed crusade of snaring the helplessly oblivious Dean Winchester for his own. But first, he had some frustration that needed dealing with.