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The first time he saw him, he was lost. The bluest eyes he had ever seen, more vibrant even than his own jade green, boring into him as though looking into his very soul. Which, in retrospect, he probably was.
Trapped as he was in the soul searching gaze, it was the voice that next struck him. Sounding like his baby's tires crunching over loose gravel, with a hint of smoky whiskey. And with that deep, sultry voice talking of "gripping him tight," well, Dean was done for.
It took seven years from that moment. Seven years of dancing around each other and their feelings. Seven years of uncomfortably long eye contact. Seven years of Sam wondering if they'd ever get this thing off the ground. Of course those years weren't always easy. They were full of pain, mistrust, and betrayals.
It wasn't an easy road, but somehow, one day, seven years after their fateful meeting, Dean plucked up the courage and went for it.
Dean and Cas were alone in their motel room, Sam having left to interview some witnesses for the case they were on. They were arguing about, of all things, Game of Thrones. (Cas kept trying to insist that the ambition of House Lannister had its own kind of virtue, while Dean insisted that the Lannisters had no virtue whatsoever.) As so many of their arguments did, this one culminated in one of their never-ending staring matches, neither man giving in to the other's opinion. Dean, mostly in an effort to make Castiel forget his point, (but also because for seven years he had been staring at those chapped, yet still soft looking lips) seized the angel by the lapels of his trench coat and kissed him for all he was worth.
To say Castiel was surprised would be an understatement. He had always been waiting for Dean to make the first move, and honestly never dreamed he actually would. Both his time as a human, and all the eons he had spent observing humanity, Castiel understood that humans had many more hang-ups regarding relationships than angels did. Add in Dean's personality, and the fact that Cas's vessel was male, well, suffice it to say that Cas had long ago resigned himself to a friendship unlike either man had ever experienced. Their profound bond making forgiveness for past transgressions easier.
Dean, however, was just as surprised as Castiel. He hadn't exactly thought about what he was doing. He just wanted Cas to admit, just once, that maybe Dean was right. From there he just let his body and his instinct take over, and suddenly his lips were pressed against those of the angel; hands fisted in the (on anyone else, hideous) trench coat Cas couldn't seem to lose.
When Dean's head finally caught up to the rest of his body, and he realized what was happening, he abruptly broke the kiss, backing up a step, but never quite letting go of Cas's coat. "Cas, I - I," he stuttered, looking at the angel, his eyes wide as saucers.
"Dean, I swear, if you say you're sorry..." Cas started.
"God, no." Dean breathed. "No. Not if you aren't." His eyes searched those of the angel and he liked what he saw. He smiled softly and pulled Cas back in, more gently this time, and brought his hands up to cradle his face softly, thumbs gently stroking over the angel's cheekbones. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this," Dean breathed against Cas's mouth before gently pressing their lips together again.
Castiel rested one hand on Dean's hip, the other coming up to Dean's neck, fingers scratching lightly at the short hairs at the base of Dean's skull. He used his grip on Dean's hip to pull him in even closer so their bodies were flush against each other. He slid the hand on Dean's hip around his waist to press his hand to the small of the other man's back. He sighed happily as he pulled back from the kiss and rested their foreheads together, Dean's hands moving down to rest at Castiel's hips.
Castiel brought one hand up to cup Dean's face. Dean leaned into the touch, turning his head to place a kiss against the angel's palm. "I know exactly how long, Dean. I've wanted this from the first moment I saw your soul shining like a beacon of hope in the depths of Hell. This, Dean," he said, eyes shining with years of repressed emotion, "you are right about this."
~~~Fin~~~