It was an unpleasant evening. With the sinking of the sun, the day's heat had faded to a cloying warmth. The air hung thick and humid, a tapestry of summer heat and smog. Dean and Cas sat on a worn wooden bench in the local botanical gardens, their arms slung around each other's shoulders. They came here often on dates, in between hunts; Cas liked to watch the beehives the garden kept to pollinate the plants.

Suddenly, Dean turned to face his boyfriend. "I have a really important question to ask you, Cas."

"What is it?"

Dean rose from the bench, only to sink down to the ground—on one knee.

"If the pizza man truly loves the babysitter, how come he keeps slapping her rear?" he asked, trying not to laugh.

Cas cracked a smile. "That is not of import, Dean."

"No, no," Dean waved away Cas's objection with one hand. "Indulge me here for a second."

"Dean, you are not supposed to talk about porn with other men." Cas frowned. "You taught me that."

"I know, I know, but just—can we get back to the question?" Dean cleared his throat. "Why does the babysitter let the pizzaman slap her on the ass repeatedly? I mean, think about it. The pizzaman—he's not exactly a catch. He delivers pizzas and sleeps with anything that moves."

Cas nodded. "The pizzaman is a manwhore."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, I guess he is. But the babysitter—she's great. She's so far out of his league. She's smart, and pretty, and good with kids—even though she's, you know, bangin' some dude while she's supposed to be watching them. And the pizzaman doesn't deserve her, you know? He's really lucky that she lets him slap her ass."

"'Lucky' is not how I would describe a career in food service."

Dean raised his hand in protest. "No, Cas, that's—that's not the point, okay?"

"Then what is the point?" Cas's eyes darted back and forth in confusion.

Dean sighed in frustration. "The point is, Cas, that I'm the pizzaman, okay? I don't have the greatest job. I don't know where I'm going in life—hell, I don't know where I want to go. So, for a while, I just did my little old job and settled for sleeping with lots of girls."

The angel nodded again, knowingly.

"And you—well, you're the babysitter. You're smart and kind and good with bees, and I don't—" Dean paused to collect himself before continuing. "I don't deserve you. But Cas, I'll be damned if that means I won't try. So I wanted to ask you: would you do me the honour of letting me be your pizzaman—forever?" Dean looked directly at Cas.

Cas spoke slowly, with a solemnity unique to angelic beings. "Dean Winchester, I would love to let you slap my rear for the rest of our lives. And I will happily care for any spawn we choose to adopt."

Dean smiled. "God, for a moment I thought you were going to say no."

Cas tilted his head to the side. "I would never say 'no' to you." He extended his hand and helped Dean up from the grass, before standing up himself. Rising up on his tiptoes, Cas craned his neck and kissed Dean's chapped lips.

Dean kissed back, pulling Cas into his arms. His hands began to roam—cradling Cas's face, down the angel's arms, eventually settling on his hips.

Cas broke the kiss abruptly. "I do need to ask you a question, as well," he breathed.

"Mmm," Dean responded, laying a line of kisses down the angel's neck.

"Do you think we could put a beehive on our wedding registry?"

Dean chuckled and playfully slapped Cas on the ass.