“What?”  

Oh God, he’s really going to make Dean repeat that, isn’t he? Maybe it’s not too late for him to get out of this. Maybe Dean can pretend he was saying “hog” instead of “hug”. But then again, how is that any less weird?  

“It doesn’t matter, forget it.”  

But Cas is already walking towards him, concern etched into his handsome features. Not that Dean has noticed how devastatingly handsome Cas is. He definitely hasn't. Really.

“Dean, what's wrong?”  

“Nothing.”  

He feels Cas’ arm land on his shoulder, the fingers gently gripping the fabric of his shirt. “Dean, please tell me you haven't made a stupid deal with a powerful force that wants us dead.”  

“What,” he replies, his eyes shooting up to meet Cas’. And are they even more blue then they were yesterday? “Cas, what are you talking about?”  

Cas shakes his head slowly, a sadness creeping into his eyes as Dean watches him. “We don’t- I mean... you and I don’t hug unless something really bad is about to happen. Or unless something bad has already happened. Hugs are reserved for disaster or the aftermath, and that's it.”  

Dean scoffs, sadness pricking its way along his own heart as he stares back at the angel. “That’s the problem, Cas. We only ever hug because we’re in danger, or we’ve come back from the dead, or the world is ending, or we’re about to be killed for the millionth time.” He shrugs beneath Cas’ hand. “I don’t want it to be like that. You’re my best friend, Cas, and I don’t know, I thought it might be nice to hug sometimes, just because we feel like it.”  

This is so stupid. Cas probably thinks he’s the biggest idiot in the world right now. Why did he have to open his big mouth?  

But Cas looks at him, and then he smiles at him, a genuine smile he wishes he could bottle up and wear around his neck for the rest of his life.  

“I’d like that,” Cas replies. “Our fleeting moments of intimacy mean a lot to me.”  

Okay, intimacy, sure. Dean is definitely not  going to think about how that sounds.  

He blinks and clears his throat. “So, how do you want to do this?” And then he mentally kicks himself for making a hug sound like they’re trying to assemble an Ikea bookcase. Although, building a bookcase with Cas doesn’t sound half bad. A bookcase goes in a room. A room goes in a home. A home has people in it. Sometimes even people who live together because they’re in lo-  

“How about one arm over, one arm under?”  

Shit. Pay attention, Winchester.  

“Uh, yeah, sure.”  

Cas drops his hand from Dean’s shoulder, something he feels irrationally sad about, and takes a step closer. Dean can feel Cas’ breath on his cheek as he leans in and a small part of his idiot brain thinks about kissing him.  

Then he feels Cas’ arms swing around him, one over his shoulder and the other under. They’re draped loosely over Dean’s back. Chastely.  

Dean lifts his own arms up, trying to copy Cas with some difficulty.  

Once the hug has been fully assembled, he stands stock still trying to figure out what the hell to do next. How long is a platonic, totally-not-in-love-with-your-best-friend hug supposed to last? Should he say something? Should he squeeze Cas a little bit with his body?  

Before he can spiral any further, Cas breaks the hug, stepping back slightly as his arms drop back down to his sides. His face is serious as he asks “How was that for you?”  

If Dean had a drink he would choke on it.

“Oh, uh, yeah. It was good.”  

Cas nods, and Dean can tell he’s making a mental note of that. “I see.”  

“What?”  

“Nothing.”  

“Cas, what?”  

Cas scratches at the back of his neck for a moment before he speaks. “It’s just... I didn’t quite feel satisfied, if I’m being completely honest.”  

Dean glances around for cameras because there’s no way Cas can keep phrasing things like that and not realize how it sounds.  

“So, what? You’re saying it wasn’t a good hug.”  

“It was fine.”  

“Fine?” Dean feels mildly insulted. Actually, scratch that, he feels very insulted. “My hugs aren’t just fine! My hugs are legendary. They write ballads about my hugs! People kill each other to get one of these, and you say it’s fine?”  

“Six out of ten. It’s not a terrible score, Dean.”  

“I’m sorry, hugs have a score system now? Is there a judging panel too? Is Simon Cowel here?”  

Cas raises an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know who that is, and why would there be a judging panel inside a private dwelling?”  

“Why would hugs have a ranking system?”  

Cas shrugs, his hand coming up to rest on Dean’s shoulder once more. “It’s not important, Dean.”  

“Nah, screw that,” Dean mutters, his jaw clenching as he shakes Cas’ hand off and jolts forward. He wraps his arms around Cas, one slipping around his waist and landing on his lower back, the other arm reaching up for his head, Dean’s fingers pushing through Cas’ hair as he pulls the angel’s face towards his shoulder.  

Cas reacts, slowly at first, one arm rising hesitantly before joining the other and lacing around Dean’s back. Dean can feel Cas’ hands, palms flat against his lower back, strong and warm. But oh no, he’s not gonna let Cas win this one, no way.  

Dean pulls Cas even closer, their bodies crushed together as Cas leans into him. And if a certain body part reacts embarrassingly in a certain way, well, maybe he’s not the only one.  

He rubs slow circles into Cas’ back, his fingers carding through the angel’s surprisingly soft hair as he sways a little and holds on tight. He can feel Cas’ cheek pressed again his shoulder, his breath warm against his neck, and hey this is what friends do isn’t it? They hug. Just guys being dudes. But then Cas sighs, content and achingly earnest and fuck it, Dean finds himself planting a completely unplanned kiss on the top of his head.  

Cas pulls back slightly, tilting his head to look up at Dean, and as those blue eyes stare back at him, Dean realizes he’s never seen him look quite so relaxed. “What was that for?” He asks, his voice filled with warmth and something else Dean is too afraid to identify.

“I don’t know. I just wanted to.”  

“You just wanted to kiss me?”  

Dean feels his heart skip a beat. “Yeah.”  

Cas considers this for a moment. “Do you want to do it again?”  

He feels his heart stutter and race, and there’s no way in hell Cas can’t feel that with their bodies pressed together like this.  

This is insane.  

“Uh, yeah. I do.”  

Completely insane.  

“Then do it,” Cas replies, his eyes locked on Dean’s, and it’s a dare and a wish and a need all rolled up in one.  

So, Dean does.  

He leans forward and he kisses that angel stupid. Slow and chaste at first, their lips unaccustomed to each other. And then more eager, teeth and tongues connecting as they kiss and lick and nip at each other's mouths, hunger and desire drowning out every out thought.  

And it’s good. It's so goddamn good Dean can’t believe he didn’t do this years ago.  

When they finally break apart, Dean is convinced they must have set some kind of world record. His breathing is ragged and his lips are tender and swollen, but he feels more alive than he ever has in his entire life.  

He looks at Cas, utterly disheveled, his tie crooked, his shirt rucked up, and his hair sticking up at wild angles, and he knows that he will never love anyone as much as he loves him in this moment.  

“How was that?” he grins, breaking out his cockiest smile.  

Cas nods, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tries to fix his hair. “Um, yeah. Much better. Forty-seven out of ten.”  

Dean laughs. “That doesn’t make any sense.”  

Cas shrugs, already leaning in for another kiss. “Let’s try and make it fifty.”

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