For the next few days he treats it like a horrible dream. It almost works; because once he's washed his hands and gotten into bed with Lisa it feels comfortably distant. All the heat he felt has petered out, he's wrapped around his wife, warm and comfortable. One drunken, fumbling, embrace does not make him gay.
The belting hangover he has the next morning drives it even further away.
It comes back, the memories of Castiel on top of him, begging and writhing as his cock slid across Dean's palm, when Lisa asks.
"So are you ok with Castiel coming over again tomorrow?"
He almost chokes on his raisin bran (fucking raisin bran). "Uh...yeah, I guess."
"Great, I just wanted to make sure because, well Anna has this thing about organza and..."
Dean can't help it, he tunes it out, save for one errant thought – is organza a flower, a fabric or a band?
He pecks Lisa on the cheek, watches as she takes the Volvo to the yoga studio. He busies himself washing dishes.
(Not thinking about Castiel)
Tidying the living room.
(Not thinking about Castiel)
Taking a shower.
(Not thinking about Castiel)
Answering the door.
(Not thinking about...)
"Castiel."
"Dean"
He looks decidedly ruffled, trench coat absent, suit the same as always, but his hair is wild, like he's run his hands through it too much and not slept enough either.
"I thought Anna wasn't...Lisa's not here." He manages, stupidly.
"I know." Castiel looks shifty, no two ways about it. "I thought we should talk, before I came back here with Anna."
Dean steps aside and lets him in.
He leaves Castiel on the cream sofa in the living room and goes to make coffee, returning with mugs that neither of them touch. Castiel is tense, anxiously perched on the edge of his seat and hunching his shoulders protectively.
"Cas" he jumps at the sound, at the endearment, or both. "I'm sorry, about last night. I was drunk and out of line. I mean, I don't even know you."
"I came to apologise for myself." Castiel avoids looking him in the eye. "I don't think I've ever been that drunk before. I had no idea what I was saying"
What Dean hears is, I wish I hadn't said anything, but now I'm denying it, got it? No go area.
Dean can do denial, but he can't just let this go. Anna deserves better than this, and Castiel deserves better than this lie. Besides, he knows he took something precious from Castiel last night, something he can never get back. His first time being that close with someone should not have been on an electric-tape covered couch with a married stranger.
"You know I remember everything, right?" Dean's never been good at subtle, he forgets that, sometimes.
Castiel's eyes flick to his own. Wide and blue and afraid.
"And I'm sorry that I kissed you, sorry for everything that we did because...well, you deserve better. You were in love and you deserve to have that, not just some...empty...fuck." Dean feels his self disgust reaching new heights.
Castiel winces again.
"I'm sorry about that, I was out of my mind." He suddenly looks anxious. "Not that you were...bad."
Right. Because after confessing your homosexuality whilst drunk and having a stranger feel you up – it's logical to not want to hurt their feelings. Warmth radiates through him, Castiel, though strange, was definitely growing on him.
"Well, you seemed to..."
Castiel blushes, averting his eyes for a second, when they meet Dean's again they're subtly darker. It's a darkness that looks so strange on Castiel, like it comes from somewhere deep inside that no one was ever meant to see.
"It was pleasant." His voice has gone husky, loaded with guilt and want and nerves.
"Upstairs." Dean blurts. Castiel's eyes widen, almost hopefully. "Upstairs, now."
They end up tumbled on the couch for the second time in twenty-four hours. Dean's jeans and Castiel's slacks around their ankles, hands raking over each other. After a while Dean takes Castiel's erection in hand, blocking the part of his brain that's been asking for the last hour, exactly what the fuck he thinks he's doing. Castiel's hand copies the gesture, running his strangely jointed fingers over Dean's urgent flesh.
The only sounds are the subdued, urgent whimpers of Castiel and the dry pull of their palms over each other. Heat pools in his belly, sluggish and heavy, laced with shocks of pleasure every time Castiel mewls his name.
"Cas...Cas, I'm going to..."
Castiel's free hand tugs his dress shirt up, revealing his stomach and chest, dusted with smoky hair. Dean comes with a choked gasp, spilling over his smooth, pale skin. Castiel's own release follows, soaking the bunched fabric of Dean's T-shirt. His mouth is pressed, wet and open, against Dean's throat.
"Oh" the sound comes from deep down, grating in his wrecked throat. "God, that was...oh"
Dean's strength fails and his body drops onto Castiel's, heated mess trapped between them. Castiel lets out a surprised huff of air, his fingers twining in Dean's hair.
"What are we doing?" Dean murmurs after a while.
"I don't know" His voice is small, unsure and broken. "I don't know why I want this, you." He mouths Dean's jaw tentatively. "But I think that's why I came here...I'm sorry."
"We just cheated on them. I cheated on my wife" Dean says, numbly.
"I'm sorry" Castiel repeats. "I can...it won't happen again" he sounds so resolute.
Dean can only nod against Castiel's shoulder.
"Ok."
Castiel cleans up and goes home. That evening Anna comes to the house alone, Castiel she explains, has some work to catch up on.
Dean nods vaguely and gets another beer. Whatever it was is over, no need to think about it.
Of course that's all he does.
Castiel, beautiful, innocent Castiel. Somehow a separate entity from corporate, awkward Castiel. Dean loves Lisa, thinks she's incredibly, smart and sexy and bendy. But Cas...maybe he loves Cas just that little bit more.
Which is stupid. He's met him twice (three times if you count his own fucking wedding) No one falls in love that fast.
Except...he kind of wants to call him.
Just to see if he's ok.