Their first kiss isnât dramatic.
It probably should have been.
It probably should have happened a million times before, with the two of them caught in an impossible life or death situation, staring at each other with that look like they donât ever want to look anywhere else. It should have happened in the middle of a million close calls, with adrenaline pumping and fear of losing each other coursing through their veins. It should have happened when they came back to each other time after time, in the midst of insurmountable odds, desperately relieved to see each other, feeling like they can finally take a breath again.
Instead, it happens outside of a motel one morning, when the sky is still streaked with pinks and reds. Deanâs leaning on the Impala, laughing at his own bad joke, and Cas leans in and kisses that laugh like he wants to swallow it down and keep it inside him forever.
Itâs not fancy. Thereâs no music or fireworks, time doesnât stop, and Cas isnât quite sure what heâs supposed to do with his hands.
But itâs warm and familiar. He tastes like Dean, and Cas recognizes the solid wall of Deanâs chest against his even if heâs never felt it this way before. They sink into it slowly, soft and hesitant, but unbearably right. Â
Cas doesnât linger, pulls away sooner than heâd like, because he doesnât want to freak Dean out more than he surely already has.
Dean looks surprised, yes, but he doesnât look angry. It takes him a second, but his lips curl into a lazy smile, skin glowing in the early morning sun. He looks down, lashes dark against his creamy skin, and actually blushes.
When Sam opens the motel door, Cas knows the moment is over.
Their first kiss wasnât dramatic, wasnât huge or overwhelming, didnât alter the course of the future.
But Dean slides into the Impala with an easy grace, smiles at Cas through the window as he says âSee ya later.â And Cas knows heâll have many more kisses. Kisses of all kinds.
