Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise is being made through the writing of this. Written for entertainment purposes only. Please see works cited section at the end of the story.

A/N: Written for cottoncandy_bingo, First Kiss, and at the pairing suggestion of Animegirl1129 who coached me through this, thanks. Spoilers, if any, are unintentional. Fluff.

Castiel tilts his head a little to the right and narrows his eyes, and Dean knows that he's thinking about something, because it's his 'thinking' face. Inasmuch as Castiel, or anyone for that matter, has a 'thinking face'.

It's almost two in the morning, and they're alone in the hotel room, waiting for Sam to return from what should be a simple mission – getting ice from the hotel's vending machine. Dean knows though, that sometimes simple and Sam don't go hand-in-hand, and a half a dozen images pop into his mind that make him think that maybe he should go check on his baby brother, just in case.

As he's about to stand from where he's seated on the corner of the bed, though, Castiel makes this little noise, it isn't quite a sigh, but Dean's attention is momentarily diverted from worrying about his brother to once more regarding the angel.

"You know, you can sit down if you'd like," Dean says.

"I'd prefer to stand," Castiel says, but his gaze rests on Dean, for the first time since he showed up, and Dean counts that as a win. "If that's okay." He inclines his head as though seeking Dean's permission.

"Yeah, man, whatever." Dean doesn't know what to make of Castiel being so formal, like he was the first time they met. It's spooky.

"Dean, I…" Castiel raises his hand out toward Dean, takes a step toward him, but then he just stops, as though frozen in place, and his hand falls to his side.

"Cas, what the fuck is going on?" Dean whirls on the angel, and stands, because he feels at a disadvantage, sitting on the bed like he is with Castiel practically towering over him.

The sound of footsteps approaching the door causes the both of them to turn toward the door. Castiel's face falls into a look of relief, and Dean tenses. It should be Sam, but it could be anyone, anything, and there's something in the air between him and Castiel that Dean isn't sure he wants to be broken right now, not until he's gotten to the bottom of whatever it is that Castiel's hiding from him.

Without putting any real thought into his actions, Dean moves to the door and locks it, slides the stopper above the lock into place so that there won't be any interruptions. Sam can wait.

But, the footsteps on the other side of the door pause for just a split second and then move down the hall, and Dean listens until they disappear. When he turns, he finds Castiel, unmoved, staring at him with an indecipherable look that makes Dean's heart race and his palms go sweaty. It's unnerving.

"Cas," Dean isn't even sure what to say, because it feels like the angel's eyes are boring into him. His back is to the door, and he's standing there, unable to move.

Dean blinks, and it isn't one of those long, I-can't-seem-to-keep-my-eyes-open sort of blinks, either. In the time it takes him to blink, Castiel's suddenly standing right in front of him, and Dean's heart just kind of stops and his mouth goes dry.

"Cas?" And it's more of a breathy prayer than a question, because Dean's eyes find the angel's lips – chapped, set in a stubble-lined jaw, slightly parted – and he can't seem to tear them away.

"Dean," Castiel's voice is roughhewn, like it actually hurts the angel to say his name. "I have to see if…"

Castiel's breath coasts across Dean's lips like a wave, and Dean's reminded of his childhood: watching his mom bake chocolate chip cookies, her back bent, gold hair flowing across her back; the scent of vanilla and chocolate filling their small home; the sound of his father's carefree laughter; the feeling of fingers, light and tickling along his ribcage; and the taste of cinnamon.

Dean's afraid to blink, so he opens his eyes wide and holds himself still when Castiel crowds him, moving without seeming to move. The knob of the door bites into Dean's lower back and he shifts a little, sensing that, whatever this is, whatever is on Castiel's mind, he needs to be distraction, and pain, free.

He isn't expecting what happens next, not even with all of the jokes and taunts from angels and his brother, and strangers alike – hell, he's even joined in on the teasing, that Castiel might have more than just a man crush on him, and he might just maybe, kind of sort of feel the same. Cas' lips are suddenly there, on his, and they aren't as rough as Dean had thought they'd be when he'd been looking at them, and they aren't smooth, like those of most of the girls that he's kissed over the years. Scratchy and warm and perfect.

Of their own accord, Dean's hands move until they're cupping Cas' ass and squeezing, pulling the angel backward with him. The door's in the way, but Castiel presses forward and his tongue finds its way into Dean's mouth, even as he grips a handful of Dean's hair and tugs lightly. The palm of his other hand is flat against Dean's chest, and his eyes, his eyes are trained on Dean's. Neither of them is blinking.

Castiel's breath hitches and he smiles. Dean can feel the upward pull of Cas' lips against his own, and his stomach tightens in response.

"Huh," Castiel says against his mouth, "no lightning."

And then he angles his head, sucks on Dean's bottom lip, deepens their kiss until Dean feels as though his very breath has been stolen from him and that Cas is breathing for the both of them. The door is solid against his back, but it's not enough to keep Dean's knees from buckling when Cas does some swirling thing with his tongue that Dean really wants the angel to teach him to do someday, because, damn . . . and, fuck, and no, there isn't lightning, but Dean is clearly seeing fireworks – white, blue and red sparks that blind him.

"Cas…" Dean's voice comes out as a whine, and he isn't exactly begging, but the room has gotten much too hot and he's wearing far too many clothes, and . . .

"Dean? Dean? You okay in there?" Sam's worried voice comes booming through the closed door. "Dean?"

Castiel straightens, removes his fingers from Dean's hair, but the hand that's resting on Dean's chest remains in place. Without a word, he helps Dean find his feet again.

And, Dean remembers that when his baby brother left the room earlier, he'd been alone. Castiel had popped in shortly after Sam left to go get ice.

Dean grabs the lapels of Castiel's trench coat when he senses that the angel might split, and he whispers, "You ain't going anywhere angel-boy, not until after we've had a little chat and you've taught me that thing you did with your tongue."

"But, Sam?" Castiel questions, his brow furrowing in confusion as Dean works the kinks out of his back.

"Dean!?"

"Coming Sammy," Dean hollers through the door, "get your panties out of a twist, will you?"

"Don't worry about Sam," Dean says, and he presses a quick kiss to the corner of Castiel's mouth, "he'll probably be happy that people won't think the two of us are gay lovers anymore. That is, if you stick around?" He tries to emulate Sammy's best puppy dog eyes, and is rewarded with a guarded smile from Castiel and a slight nod of the angel's head.

"Maybe for a while," is all the angel commits to, but Dean smiles and raises a finger to his kiss-swollen lips.

Works Cited

"Dean/Castiel." - Super-wiki. Super-wiki, 24 Sept. 2012. Web. 24 Oct. 2012. image.

Kripke, Eric. "Supernatural." Supernatural. Warner Brothers Television. CW, n.d. Television.

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