Chapter Text
Sam could not entirely recall how this had been agreed upon. The past hour or so had disappeared into something vaguely-alcohol shaped, and Sam could see it, fuzzily, through the glass of a bottle (or 3) of Hunter's Helper.
He was relatively sure the idea has originated with Dean. This sort of thing often did.
No, in fact he was sure. Because he remembered Dean saying,
"Cas, what do you even know about it, has anyone kissed you aside from Meg?"
And Cas had sort of growled no, but what did that matter because he had observed humans kissing for basically ever, so. Clearly he thought that made him some kind of expert.
He was wrong, though, because Dean was the expert on kissing and Sam knew because Dean had taught him to kiss when he was twelve because as a Winchester, he needed to know. Their reputation was at stake, Dean had explained. His reputation (Sammy didn't have a reputation yet, except as Dean Winchester's little brother.)
So Dean was the expert. And Sammy had trained under him. And Cas knew nothing. And Dean explained that (leaving out the bit about Sam), much to Cas's indignation.
So, of course, a contest was proposed.
And Sam was drafted as judge, because they clearly couldn't judge each other fairly (Cas insisted he could, but he doubted Dean's ability.)
And Sam, in a drunken panic, had rushed out that he knew how Dean kissed and didn't need to kiss him again (because it's one thing when you're 12 and kiss your 16 year old brother, and entirely another when you're 27 and he's 31.)
Which they decided meant that he had agreed to kiss Cas.
And he could have done that and been ok and probably moved on with his life and not thought too much about it, except Dean called Seven Minutes in Heaven and shoved the two of them into the room's tiny closet, despite Cas's protests that Sam was physically incapable of existing in Heaven.
And Sam barely managed to explain that he didn't mean Heaven heaven, just kissing, before Cas grabbed him roughly by the shirt and pressed their lips together.
Sam had held out hope that Cas really did know what he was doing. That hope was quickly shattered as Cas pressed clumsy, dispassionate lips against Sam's. Moments later, Sam felt a disconcertingly cool tongue licking at the seam of his lips, and he reared back in indignation. Cas released him and stepped back, flickering hopeful blue eyes up at him.
"Have I successfully demonstrated my ability?"
Sam could lie. He was decent at it. He could say yes, go back out, tell Dean he had been right, that Cas had no clue what he was doing. He could even try to lie to Dean, if he wanted to save Cas's feelings. Dean would know, of course, but maybe Cas would give him points for trying.
Sam didn't do either of those things. Instead, he stepped forward, pressing into Cas's apparently non-existent personal space, and smoothed his palms down the front of his rumpled trench.
"Cas, you... Just let me show you."
Sam took a deep breath before crowding in a bit closer, forcing Cas to tip his head back in order to maintain eye contact.
"Show me what,"
Cas at least had the good sense to lower his voice, grinding out a semblance of a murmur that seemed to get caught somewhere between their chests.
Their chests that were now almost touching.
And could Sam still justify this with the contest? Because it was getting harder and har
More difficult.
Right.
Sam leaned in, brushing his lips to Cas's, and Cas immediately reached up, threading his fingers into Sam's hair and trying to pull him close. Sam grabbed his wrists, pulling his hands back down and moving back.
"Gentle, Cas. There's no rush. We have time."
"Five minutes and eighteen seconds,"
Cas confirmed, relaxing almost imperceptibly into Sam's grip.
When Sam pressed forward again, Cas waited.
"Gentle,"
Sam murmured one more time, before closing the gap and brushing his lips over Cas's. This time, Cas simply turned his face up into the kiss, letting Sam lead, and Sam pressed a bit harder with each pass, angling his head this way and that, pressing gentle kisses to every part of Cas's mouth.
When he pulled back, Cas left his eyes closed, waiting. He opened them, slowly, when it became apparent Sam had stopped, and he squinted at him in the low light.
"Why did you stop?"
"I. Um. I wanted to explain what you do next."
"What do you do next?"
"You, uh, deepen. The kiss, I mean."
“I was aware of that. It involves the tongue. I was attempting to do that when you pulled back, the first time.”
“You were doing it wrong.”
Cas ‘hmph’d’ indignantly, and Sam pressed forward, soothing the indignation with his gentle lips against Cas’s.
Cas relaxed into the kiss once more, and Sam tilted his head, running his tongue slowly along Cas’s lower lip, pausing once he reached the far corner, waiting for Cas to let him in. He did, almost hesitantly, and Sam slowly deepened the kiss, pulling him tighter as he did. Cas released a sudden, unexpected moan, tightening his arms around Sam, holding him borderline-uncomfortably and pressing up on his toes to deepen the kiss even further.
If Sam hadn’t known before, he knew then. This was too far, too much to not mean something, to him, at least. Cas didn’t understand things like this, Cas might not care once they left the closet, or the next morning, but Sam would. This would stay with Sam, it would pick at him during quiet moments, haunt him when he slept, and there was nothing he could do about it and no one to blame, because he’d gone along and never said no and now here he was, with Cas just the right amount of pliant and passionate beneath him, his lips warm and soft but insistent, and Sam would never admit it but in that moment, he knew he was in love.
“Alright, ladies, you can come out now…”
Dean opened the door, only to find it slammed in his face, Cas’s grace summoning a locking mechanism out of thin air.
“Cas, the seven minutes is…”
Sam was cut off, quite rudely, actually, by Cas pulling his lips back down. His technique had, in fact, vastly improved – he was still too eager, too insistent, but it was nice. Charming. He wanted this, wanted it badly, Sam realized, as Cas pressed their bodies together and Sam felt a hardness pressing against his thigh. Cas had somehow backed him up against the wall of the closet, and Sam found that he didn’t mind at all. He knew that they needed to stop, to talk about this, but he was pretty sure that talking about it would involve not kissing Cas, and that wasn’t something he was ready to do yet.