Just a short Sastiel kiss.
xxxx
"Sam," Castiel says, "I want to kiss you."
They're sitting in Bobby's kitchen when he says this. Sam is peeling tomatoes for the chili and Castiel has risen from his chair to throw the skins away. Sam looks up from the heart of a deep red tomato to find Castiel standing at the counter, watching him.
Sam sets the knife down. "Okay," he says.
Castiel moves to stand next to his chair. Sam wipes his hands on a ratty dishtowel. Cas stares down into Sam's eyes and lifts both his hands, but can't seem to decide what to do with them, first bracing them both on Sam's shoulders, then sliding one around to the back of his neck, raising the other to brush Sam's hair behind his ear. Sam can't help smiling at the uncertainty in his touch. If he wasn't sure whether Cas had ever kissed anyone before, he is now.
Finally Castiel cups his hands along the sides of Sam's face, tilts it up to him, brushes his thumbs over Sam's cheekbones. Bends far enough to press their lips together. Sam smiles against them. The kiss is barely a feeling, just soft, warm pressure. The tenderness of Cas's hands on his face almost means more to him - how anxious he is to do this right, how clear it is that he has no idea what he's doing. Sam likes the sincerity in that.
When he pulls away, Cas leaves his hands on Sam's face for a few seconds, like he's imprinting the memory. Sam smiles up at him. "Thanks," he says. Then he catches one of Cas's retreating hands, holds it against his cheek, and leans up in his seat to whisper, "Next time, close your eyes."
Cas looks surprised, but Sam thinks he's sort of smiling, too.