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“So,” began Charlie, ladling a small plastic red cup to the brim with eggnog that someone in the department had decided would be fun to empty an entire handle of rum into, the bastards.
“So,” replied Dean, taking a sip of his own cup of eggnog. He knew what his redheaded friend was going to say before the words even tumbled from her lips, so he chose instead to change the subject. That was always healthy, wasn’t it? It was that very time of year in which couples nauseatingly draped themselves over each other on every street corner, when public displays of affection were deemed appropriate in the context of kissing under the mistletoe, and when hopeful grooms-to-be took to one knee on the ice of the Rockefeller rink with tiny Tiffany’s boxes in their extended hands. It was sickening, so of course he was going to take the attention away from himself and his own failed love. “When are you going to ask that sexy secretary from across the hall on a date to some geek convention?”
Charlie rolled her eyes and jabbed him in the ribcage with her elbow, jostling his cup.
“Hey; watch it,” said Dean, raising his cup in an attempt to stabilize the agitated liquid. “This is a quality sweater; I don’t want anything happening to it.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” scoffed Charlie.
Although the annual Smith & Wesson office party hadn’t officially been declared an Ugly Christmas party, most of the employees had taken the invitation as such and were decked out in the most atrocious articles of holiday clothing they could find. Charlie’s outfit was actually acceptable, though, as she wore a black miniskirt that hugged her slim hips, stockings with a snowflake print, and a cream sweater she had knit herself with a dalek bedecked in Christmas lights.
Dean, on the other hand, had purposely gone to the local thrift shop in an effort to find the most hideous piece the world had ever seen and had, if he did say so himself, succeeded. On the center of the dark green woolen creation stood an appliquéd cartoon image of Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer with sparkly antlers, complete with a red jingle bell for his nose. Small golden stars were embroidered all over the sweater, and the elbows bore patches of green and red plaid.
“I’m offended,” said Dean, pressing a hand to his heart in mock affront.
“And your sweater offends me, so we’re even.”
Dean tipped his head, acknowledging that she was right, and took a large gulp of his eggnog, finishing his cup.
“So back to what I was trying to say—”
Oh no.
Dean hurried towards the eggnog bowl to fill his cup once again.
“Dean, are you even listening to me?”
“Of course,” he lied.
She grabbed his shoulder and pulled, forcing him to look at her.
Damn it.
“Are you going to ask Cas out or what?”
There it was: the question that had plagued him ever since the man in question had started working at the company three years prior; Charlie thought it entertaining to bring it up at every office function, particularly around the holiday season.
Castiel’s little section of office real estate just so happened to be the cubicle adjacent to Dean’s. He always showed up to work early in a neatly pressed button-down shirt, plain colored tie, and cup of over-priced coffee from the Starbucks across the street. It was infuriating, if only because the man’s appearance beguiled an earthy roughness that his workwear attempted to keep in check; his sharp jaw was shadowed with perpetual five o’clock shadow and his dark hair was tousled in an unkempt fashion that spoke more to the fact that he probably didn’t know what to do with it, and not because he wanted to be stylish. It made Dean want to run his hands through it and muss it up even further.
Their relationship was friendly as the two often exchanged pleasantries by the water cooler and occasionally even took their lunch breaks together. According to Charlie, the way they stood uncomfortably close to each other while sipping from paper cones meant that the current that ran between them was stronger than a simple office friendship, but Dean passed it off to one of Castiel’s little idiosyncrasies, of which he had many. Despite this, Charlie was quick to point out that he didn’t have a ring on his finger, that he didn’t seem as close to anyone else in their department, and that each and every year, both he and Dean showed up to the office holiday party alone.
“Or what,” barked Dean.
“You are absolutely insufferable,” huffed Charlie. “Just know that if you don’t do it, soon, someone else will, and then you’ll be kicking yourself for not taking the chance you could have had.” With that, she stomped off towards the other end of the room, disappearing in a cluster of people surrounding another table of baked goods.
Good fucking riddance, thought Dean. He didn’t need Charlie’s constant prodding, or at least, he didn’t need it now. He already had enough on his plate, what with his brother’s upcoming wedding to his college sweetheart and the news that his childhood friend, Jo, had recently gotten engaged as well; he didn’t need someone else pointing out the fact that he was nearing up on thirty-five and was still single, especially during the second time of the year that crammed love down his throat. He emptied his cup of eggnog far faster than he had meant to, but he blamed it on his friend’s pestering as he refilled it yet again.
“I’d slow down if I were you,” came a gravelly voice from behind his right shoulder, causing him to drop the ladle back into the bowl with a splash. “I saw Ash pouring an entire bottle of Bacardi in there earlier, and there’s talk of people doing shots soon.”
“Thanks for the heads up, Cas,” said Dean, turning around to face the source of the sound. “I’ll be sure to avoid the IT guys.”
Castiel took the discarded ladle and filled a cup for himself. He took a tentative sip and, with a grimace, said, “Could use more rum.” He must have missed the memo regarding attire for the evening, as he wore a simple cream cable knit sweater and soft worn jeans.
“Oh?” prompted Dean, raising an eyebrow. Cas didn’t seem like much of a heavy drinker, or at least, he didn’t give off the impression from the few times they did interact outside of their work environment. Then again, there was the one time a group of the guys had gone out for drinks to celebrate an important merger and he’d downed an entire line of tequila shots before drunkenly blabbering on about goats or something.
“Jesus wasn’t even born in December,” grumbled Castiel, throwing back his cup and speedily refilling it. “In fact, most Christmas traditions are pagan in origin.”
“Hate the holidays that much?” asked Dean, eager to have found a kindred soul amidst all of the bottled cheer that permeated the room.
“Not so much the holidays themselves as what they bring out in people, or, more specifically, my family.” Castiel was often quiet about his family, although the impression Dean had gotten was that the youngest Novak was no longer as close to his siblings as he had once been. “Whenever the family gets together, Michael and Lucifer argue over who gets to carve the goose, Gabriel and Balthazar retreat into the living room to watch movies and eat countless sweets, and I drink to avoid my mother’s harassment about when I’m going to give her a set of grandchildren,” Castiel groused.
“You eat goose?” asked Dean.
Castiel blinked, apparently taken aback by the question. “Isn’t it customary for families to have goose?”
“Yeah, I mean, I guess.” Dean raked his hands through his hair. “We just usually have ham or turkey.”
Castiel wrinkled his nose. “But turkey is for Thanksgiving.”
“Hey, don’t get so worked up over it, man.” Dean held both hands up in front of his chest in a placating gesture. “Just because it’s what we do doesn’t mean it’s the be-all end-all of Christmas traditions.”
Castiel paused for a moment, staring abjectly into the swirling cinnamon in his cup. “I tend to prefer turkey.”
The poor guy seemed so… forlorn, what with the way he was looking at his eggnog like it held all the answers to life’s mysteries. Dean didn’t have the mother badgering him over getting married, as his mother had died early in his childhood. Instead, he had Bobby asking him when he was going to settle down with a nice girl and raise a couple of kids. After Dean showed up with his first boyfriend during college, the questioning changed to when he was going to find himself a nice guy and adopt a few grandbabies, but the sentiment was still the same. While Sam and Jo were off meeting their other halves and getting engaged, he was spending most of his time working. In his defense, he didn’t have enough time to date; the whole wine-and-dining scene just wasn’t for him. The truth was, he just wasn't sure there was anyone special out there for him. Everyone else was supposed to fall in love and be happy — not him. Charlie would argue the opposite, but as far as he was concerned, Charlie wasn’t there right now. Cas was.
Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder, shaking him from his reverie. “You know what, Cas?”
Castiel tilted his head to the side curiously.
“How’s about we find Ash?”
- - -
A couple of shots of peppermint schnapps and a boisterous rendition of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” by the combined voices of the IT and sales departments, Dean was being pushed along with Castiel by Charlie into the backseat of a cab that had been paid to drive them both to their respective apartments.
“That was one hell of a party, wasn’t it?” asked Dean, gently nudging a Castiel who was currently bundled up tightly in a peacoat and candy cane striped scarf that he argued was completely necessary to ward off the chill in the ribs.
“Indeed,” replied Cas, relaxing deep into his seat.
Dean leaned his head back against the top of the seat, closing his eyes for a moment. “It's been a long time since I've laughed that hard,” he said, recalling how Ash had managed to drag Charlie up atop a table to dance and shimmy through Frosty the Snowman. She had even been lucky enough to catch Gilda under the mistletoe; chances were, she was going to be spending the evening at her new girl’s apartment. Lucky.
Castiel nodded in agreement, closing his eyes as well. “I didn’t know Victor was capable of singing such high notes.”
Dean barked a laugh. “Oh yeah. It’s the ones you’ll least expect it that’ll really surprise you.”
A comfortable quiet settled upon the cab and Dean chose to relish in the warm buzz that he carried with him from both the alcohol and spending a fun evening with friends. Although he had shown up expecting to leave early and be grumpy the entire time, he had actually stayed so long as to have to help with the clean up. It wasn’t long before the cab rolled to a stop outside a large apartment building.
“Dean?” asked Castiel, hesitantly breaking the silence.
“Yeah, Cas?” replied Dean.
“Would you like to join me inside? Perhaps for a cup of coffee, or glass of wine?”
Dean opened an eye to look at Cas and found, much to his surprise, that the other man had a faint flush to his cheeks that couldn’t be blamed entirely on the alcohol or the cold.
“Sure, I mean, of course,” he replied, and he followed him out of the car and into the crisp night air.
- - -
“Nice place you’ve got here,” said Dean, plopping himself down on the living room sofa. He had no idea what he was expecting, although the comfortably warm atmosphere the apartment gave had probably not been it. The living room furniture was dark brown and where pictures of family usually stood in people’s homes, Castiel had trinkets that probably, to him, held even more value.
“Thank you,” came Castiel’s voice from the kitchen. He returned shortly to the living room with an uncorked bottle of red wine and two glasses.
“I hope merlot’s alright,” he said, pouring the two glasses.
Although Dean often preferred beer, he took the proffered glass graciously and took a sip. “It’s great,” he replied.”
Cas held the stem of his glass between his fingers, but made no motion to drink it.
“What’s up?” asked Dean. Moments before at the Christmas party, Castiel had been more than happy to laugh and sing along with everyone else. In fact, it was the most animated he had ever been throughout their friendship. Now, in the stillness of his apartment, his stiff demeanor had returned, blanketing over the warm and exciting Cas he had been given a glimpse of earlier.
“Nothing,” replied Castiel, although his voice belief that it was certainly something.
Dean plucked the glass from his hands and set both of them on the coffee table.
“Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing, honestly.”
“Sure don’t look like it to me.”
Castiel huffed a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest.
“If you must know,” he grumbled, his brow furrowed in frustration. The pink tip of his tongue darted out, running nervously across the skin of his lower lip. “I’ve been meaning to,” he paused, taking a breath before plowing on in a rush of words, “I’ve been meaning to ask you if you would like to go out with me sometime, but I never head occasion, and now we’re both here, and I’m still mucking things up in the worst way possible.”
Dean stared wide-eyed at the other man seated on the couch next to him, gobsmacked. Castiel, the stoically handsome font of sexual frustration from the cubicle beside his who rode his bike in to work when the weather permitted it and chided him for not carrying a water bottle around, the very same guy who had moments prior been warbling Christmas songs like his very life depended on it with his arm wrapped around his shoulders and a beer in the other hand, was interested in him?
“I’m sorry,” said Cas. “I shouldn’t have presumed… I must’ve made you uncomfortable. I’m—”
Dean shrunk the space between them and pressed their mouths together in a hard kiss, effectively silencing whatever protest Castiel was going to make. The dark haired man was still for a moment, in shock, before leaning in and returning the kiss. Their lips slotted together, tongues licking into each other’s mouth, heat building between them in a clash of teeth and tongue. Castiel slide one hand to the nape of his neck, his other reaching to entangle its fingers in his hair.
“I’ve been meaning to do that for a long time,” said Dean, gently breaking the kiss, his voice thick.
“I’m glad you did,” returned Castiel before stealing yet another kiss and, hand firmly planted against the Rudolph on Dean’s chest, pushing him down against the couch.
Maybe the holidays weren’t as terrible as Dean had thought.