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“The hell kind of a costume is that??”
The man in front of him is clearly sloshed. He's unsteady on his feet, weaving gently back and forth while he struggles to maintain enough focus for a conversation. He's dressed as Batman, in a movie-ready rubber bodysuit that clearly set him back some significant coin. The only parts of him Castiel can see under all the latex are his lips (pink and plush), his chin (strong, artfully stubbled), and his eyes (very, very green).
He's hot, and he's drunk, but in Castiel's opinion neither of those things gives him license to be a jerk to a stranger at a party. He opens his mouth to say so, but the man keeps talking.
“You a ghost, or what? Y'look like you just wrapped yourself up in your bed sheets, dude.”
In vino veritas, Castiel thinks with a blush, because that is exactly what he did. But –
“It's a Roman toga. Historically accurate in every detail.” He knows it is; he did the research for an Ancient History paper last semester. Even the tunic underneath, which no one can really see, is the correct color and length.
“Ancient Roman, huh? You s'posed to be, like, Horace or something?” The man takes a massive swig from the beer in his hand, emptying it, then launches into a syllable-perfect recitation of Canto IV of Dante's Inferno in the original Italian. He waves the bottle around in emphatic gestures, punctuating each tercet with a flourish. When he's done, he falls silent as if he'd been drained by the effort. As his hands come to rest at his sides, he drops the bottle and it rolls away under a nearby couch. He stands there for a moment, smiling beatifically in his silly superhero outfit, then thrusts out a slightly wavery hand. “Dean. I'm Dean. Nice t'meet you...?”
“Castiel.” They shake, then Dean snorts an incredulous laugh.
“Dude, your name is Castle??”
“Cas-tee-ell,” he repeats, with emphasis. “Is there a problem?”
“Musta been a problem with your parents, man, givin' you a weird-ass name like that.” He throws his head back and laughs again, hearty and loud. People are turning to look their way now, trying to see what's so funny. Castiel had been cautiously intrigued by Dean's little performance, ready to move past the bluntness of their initial contact, but now he circles back around to fuck this guy.
“It's been nice talking to you, Dean,” he lies, and brushes past him towards the kitchen, or maybe the door. He's starting to feel like he's had enough party for the evening.
“Hey, whoa, come back sunshine!” Dean calls, scurrying after him. “M'sorry. I'm an asshole when I drink too much. C'mon, Castl– Casti– Fuck, c'n I please just call you Cas?”
The question is delivered in a plaintive voice, so different from the cocksure abrasiveness of their interaction so far, and there's even a “please” thrown in there for good measure. Castiel allows himself to consider being swayed. Yes, the guy's drunk, but he's at least self-aware enough to admit that it's made him into a bit of a dick. He's also hot, and maybe that buys him one more chance? Castiel stops in his tracks and turns back to Dean. That chance needs to come with an explanation, and maybe a little more grovelling.
“What do you want from me, Dean? I've known you for three minutes and you've insulted me twice. Why did you even come up to me in the first place?”
The Batman mask covers Dean's cheeks, but Castiel would lay money he's blushing now. His pink, plush lips twist into an embarrassed grimace. Never has the Dark Knight looked so chagrined.
“You're really good-looking, dude,” Dean mutters. “In that toga? With those shoulders? Like, damn. I wanted to say hi, maybe get your number, but I– I never know what to say to hot guys. My brain kinda shut down, and then the beer took over, and...” He shrugs.
“Your brain was working just fine with Canto IV, I noticed. Your Italian was flawless.”
He waves off the compliment. “That shit's easy. Been reading Dante all semester.”
“Well, still, I was impressed,” Castiel says with a sly quirk of his eyebrows.
Dean stands up a little straighter. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Impressed enough to give me your number?”
“I'll think about it. Let's go sit on the porch and you can sober up a little. I'd like to find out if there's a personality under that mask.”
“'We all wear masks,'” Dean offers with a smirk.
“Don't quote 'Batman Forever' at me, Dean. I've seen the movies. I want to get to know you, not the costume you probably spent half your yearly stipend on,” Cas replies with a laugh. “Let's go get some air.”
“From there we came outside and saw the stars”
― Dante Alighieri, Inferno