I don't own Supernatural

The pads of Dean's fingers were rough, each ridge in the intricate pattern of his fingerprints grazing the soft skin around Castiel's temple - a delicate tingle crawled down his spine and hovered with anticipatory tension in the depth of his being.

He couldn't help but stare into wide eyes, the dark brown rim around the edges of those irises that melted into a luminous green before abruptly stopping at the blown pupils. He could see himself reflected in them, his own entranced, almost frightened wintry blues, and the faint glow of grace that hinted as to his true non-human nature.

He felt the gentle caress of breath against his face, the soft warmth that caused his eyelids to flutter and the aching familiarity in the scent of whisky.

The hand brushed down his face to slowly cup his stubbly chin, the thumb running contemplatively over his thin lips. The touch sent shocks through his vessel, and he could almost feel it as the sensitivity to his companion's action increased.

In turn, he allowed his eyes to wander over the hunter's face, taking in his traditional handsomeness; the even proportions of his face, his full lips (fuller than Castiel's), his strong nose, the shadow of cheekbones under tanned skin, the beginnings of facial hair that framed his features - and most of all, those magnetic eyes that seemed to hold him in their field of influence, beckoning him closer and closer...

Castiel, when he had been an angel in Heaven, had never experienced this.

Castiel, as a angel on earth, was experiencing this.

The sheer force of these confusing emotions was brutal and unforgiving, and he knew, beyond a doubt, that he would have had no more resistance to their whims if he had been in the presence of even the most powerful of the Host. They raged through his essence, battering against his pathetic shields and his fragile principles, twisting and warping them into something new, something he knew few other angels would ever get to experience.

Something that told him to him to lean forward.

Their lips collided, and Castiel registered the loss of Dean's intense gaze as his eyes slipped shut under the wave of sensations, most of all the tumultuous bundle that made him impervious to anything else in the area, even in the very room. The last time he had felt like this had been when he had been intoxicated, however this was much more pleasurable.

The plush lips beneath his own began to move, and although he was unsure how to respond, he concentrated on pulling something out of his billions of memories that would guide him, something that took far longer than it should have.

He found one.

It had been a few days ago.

Sam and Dean were sitting casually on one bed, pretending (Castiel knew this because the last time one of them had turned a page had been fifteen minutes ago) to do some research while Castiel sat on the other bed, his eyes fixed to the motel television.

Dean had insisted that no matter how terrible (in his opinion) the movie Titanic was, it was essential viewing in Castiel's ongoing human 'education'.

The angel didn't really understand how a film about a human tragedy was considered a priority, but he had been informed by Sam that it was in fact due to the romantic aspect that it was necessary (and the fact that no matter how much he protested, Dean actually enjoyed it and would take any opportunity to watch it. A guilty pleasure, Sam had called it with a strange half-cough).

So here he was, watching the events progress avidly, trusting Sam and Dean in their judgement that he needed to see this. At the same time, he would point out aspects that confused him, and one of the brothers would answer or ignore him.

"That is impractical clothing to wear outside."

"Mm-hm." Sam confirmed half-heartedly, and Dean sighed.

"Trusting someone to hold you on the railing is unsafe. If the ship has to change in speed, or there is a gust of wind, she could be thrown overboard, regardless of his hold on her."

"Yep." Sam nodded once, and Dean sighed again. This time, Castiel could hear the exasperation. He looked away sheepishly for a moment, before turning back to the movie again. His lack of knowledge was embarrassing sometimes, but he wanted to learn.

He had been told millennia ago that the best way to learn was to ask.

"I don't understand how she believes she is flying. It is obvious they are both still on the ship."

A louder, more irritated sigh was heard from the other bed, and Sam, ever the reasonable, replied with the unbreakable patience he possessed, a trait Castiel had rarely seen in any other person - but one he appreciated.

"The way the boat is moving makes her feel like she's flying over the water. She doesn't actually think she is."

Castiel nodded slowly. "Flying is never that slow."

He saw Sam and Dean look at each other out of the corner of his eyes, but he continued to watch.

Then, he saw the two characters turn to look at one another, before they kissed. The woman's hand came up to grasp the man's neck as she deepened it, and Castiel leaned forward in fascination.

Humans had so many ways to express themselves; calmly, actively, passionately - they used their emotions to fuel their actions. It wasn't something he was familiar with, having lived as a soldier for all of his life, but there was something... about it. Something that made him want to try it. Had he been more in touch with himself, he may have even known who with - but Castiel was not, hence he did not know who he would most like to give his 'first kiss' (there seemed to be some sort of social and cultural importance placed upon one's first romantic association).

But the possessive way the woman seemed to be holding on to the man as if he would try to escape from her was strange.

"Why does she hold him as if to prevent him from leavin-"

Suddenly Dean shot off the bed. "God, Cas! It's just how people kiss, okay?"

He was pinker than usual, and his green eyes jerked about the room, landing on Castiel for a fraction of a second before hastily moving on. Then Dean slammed the motel door shut.

Surprised by the unexpected display of emotions, he turned to Sam, curious. The film kept playing in the background, forgotten.

Sam looked around the motel room, looking surprisingly uncomfortable in his own skin as if avoiding something, before finally looking back at the slightly lost angel.

"She... she is trying to... well... imply that she doesn't want him to leave. But it's not just... that. She's also trying to pull him closer."

"... closer?"

"Emotionally often translates into physically. In order to feel closer with each other's feelings, we like to actually be closer."

And with that, Sam's tap into the wellspring of the human mind was broken, and he deliberately went back to being the emotionally stunted male.

Castiel tilted his head, and suddenly a deep, woody green lined with a mischievous glint flitted through his mind. However it was gone before he could grasp it.

He doesn't notice the knowing look Sam sends him before picking up the book he was reading.

"... closer..."

Castiel's hand moved from where it had been resting clenched on his lap to lie cautiously on Dean's shoulder, before slowly running up to clasp at the back of his neck. Their lips were moving faster now, and Dean had long since cradled the angel's face in both hands, almost reverently, as if holding something breakable and precious.

The burst of happiness that brought to Castiel was foreign but far from unwelcome.

His fingers rubbed the thin, short hairs at the base of Dean's skull, and he could feel the vertebrae moving under the skin as Dean surged forward, as if renewed of some form of energy that originated from Castiel's reciprocation.

The kiss was deeper now and if Castiel had been in the mood to channel a poet, he would have said it was fiery. Each kiss was more luscious, more valuable, as if much thought had been put into every single movement. Time was relative, eons and seconds were the same, a tree and a mayfly. He didn't know how long they sat together, connected at the mouth as if they were trying to consume the other, expressing some buried emotion that neither of them were willing to bury any long.

Then, his whole body jolted at the brush of a tongue along the seam of his lips.

It was as if a spell had been broken.

Dean tumbled back, almost falling off the bed in his haste to put as much space between himself and the man he had been kissing as possible. His eyes were wide in shock, and his hands shook.

Castiel could see he was trying with all his might to force himself off the bed; to bolt from the room, run to the nearest bar and lose himself in a bottle of Jack Daniels and a willing woman like he usually did. What the angel and Sam had began to consider his usual medication - the one that sent a pang of hurt through Castiel every time.

However, something looked to have chained him to the bed, stopping him from leaving Castiel; he knew he must have a look of sheer desperation on his face, and it would have been embarrassing if he hadn't been so involved.

Castiel tried to summon some form of his 'mojo', however, he couldn't concentrate enough to gather it. Nothing could get past the aftershocks of the kiss.

Castiel spoke, which seemed to yank Dean back to reality.

"Dean..."

Dean visibly swallowed the lump in his throat, and rushed into a long spiel.

"Sorry, Cas! It's, uh... been a while, if you know what I mean! Sorry about that, man, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again-"

The frown on the angel's face morphed from desperate to determined, and Dean looked as if he felt like something was about to happen.

Castiel wasn't going to accept this.

Actually, he downright refused to accept this.

Dean was not going to do this. He was not going to suppress and ignore and forget what had just happened. Castiel wasn't going to allow him to.

The angel was the first person to admit he wasn't the best person when it came to having and dealing with human feelings. They were completely new, and to begin with, he had rejected them totally. The pain, the sadness, the regret, the fury.

He hated them all, because they were why Lucifer, the brightest and most beautiful of all the Host, the Morning Star, had fallen. He had given into them, and in turn he had been cast out of Heaven, cursed to live a half life in a cage surrounded by the disgusting creatures he had created. He had lost his devoted family, his loving siblings, his merciful father - and for what? For jealously and anger.

So Castiel and his thousands of brothers and sisters had renounced emotions, swearing to follow each and every order from their distant father and their superiors without question. They would not feel, and so they would not disobey.

And then Castiel had received the order to save the Righteous Man from the depths of Hell.

To begin with, he had been irritated by the arrogant, violent, energetic human. He was everything Castiel was not, and yet he lived a decent life, with a brother who genuinely loved him. Not the dutiful, recited love of the angels, but the deep, all encompassing love felt by the closest family. The love Castiel believed the archangels used to share, before the Rebellion.

That was when he knew he desired it. Without realising it, he had began to feel jealously. In a panic, he had attempted to grow closer to the Winchesters, hoping to sate his want and prevent the development of the vicious envy that could destroy him.

His frantic reach had turned into so much more.

He had people he could truly trust, people who he called friends, people who he was closer to than the beings he called 'brother'.

And most of all, he had Dean.

These feelings that were centred around the eldest Winchester were not new, but neither had he even been aware of their existence for very long. They had grown like a fungus, undetected until the point where they were too large to ignore, and too mature to ever get rid of. But while the word 'fungus' had a negative connotation, what he felt for Dean was precisely the opposite.

They seemed to make up part of him now, to rip them out would be like ripping out his grace, and that was exactly something he had sworn to himself he would never do.

So, without destroying these feelings, there was only one thing he could do, and here he would quote Dean.

He would 'roll with the punches'.

And Dean was not... throwing the correct punches (Castiel got an indication it was becoming a rather laboured metaphor).

"Dean." He stared at the frozen man with narrowed eyes, who licked his lips (Castiel felt that tingle again) and tentatively replied.

"Yeah, Cas?"

Castiel's hand grabbed the front of the hunter's shirt and pulled him towards him.

Their lips touched once again, and immediately Castiel copied the gesture that had made him jump before.

A sound that could only be a low squeal erupted from Dean's throat, but Castiel did not let go.

If he let go now, he knew Dean would run away.

So he persisted, and if by the way Dean's lips softened and his tongue trailed along the side of Castiel's own, he knew it was the right thing to do.

He was completely sure when he felt Dean try to grin under his lips, and his muffled hiss when his bottom lip caught on Castiel's teeth.

The angel chuckled deep in his chest, and he broke apart from the hunter when he began to do the same.

Their foreheads remained pressed together as they both laughed quietly, and Castiel smiled fondly when Dean held on tightly to a few of his fingers on his left hand.

Castiel revelled in the short silence, and waited for Dean to break it.

"So, Cas." His voice was hoarse, but filled with a heat that had Castiel smiling wider and his cheeks turning pinker. "Where'd you learn to kiss like that?"

Castiel cleared his throat. "I thought "it's just how people kiss", Dean?"

Dean's reply was a smirk and another kiss which swept all of his other emotions off the board.

He felt such a longing for this man. If he hadn't shared a presence with him, it would have been near unbearable.

If this had been the reason Lucifer fell... Castiel might have joined him.

Gah! My first Supernatural fic, and it's on one of my OTPs! I really hope I did the show, and most of all Castiel, justice!

This was really written to quell my feels regarding the finale, which won't air until 2am for me! I have to wait until tomorrow! The horror!

Please tell me what you think! I really would appreciate feedback, as this is my first non-anime fics in a very long time (I think it's been at least a year and a half).

Reviews would be very much cherished, thank you!