By the time Dean figures out why Castiel gives him that wounded, you-just-slaughtered-my-puppy look every time he so much as glances twice at a girl (or Dr. Sexy), it's almost too late.
"So," Dean says sarcastically, staring at a furious Uriel with wide, disbelieving eyes. "You're seriously trying to tell me that Cas thinks we're in a gay relationship and that I'm a cheating scumbag?"
Uriel glares at him, his scowl promising heavenly torture and repentance, before he finally responds, his teeth grit together and his voice forced, uncomfortable, "Your ignorance towards anything involving actual use of that rotting piece of filth you consider a 'brain' astounds me. Copulation with an angel is not something to be taken lightly, boy."
"Wait, what? I'm not having sex with any angels!" Dean protests. There's a moment of silence when he pauses. "Well, okay, there was that one time with Anna, but that was ages ago!"
Uriel's expression becomes thunderous. "You would dare deny your actions, when they were committed publicly?" he asks tightly, looking on the verge of a conniption.
Dean gapes at him, eyebrows raised. "What? I don't — Cas and I haven't—!"
Anna pops in behind Uriel and lightly rests a comforting hand on his shoulder, as though trying to prevent him from erupting. Uriel tenses, a tick in his jaw, looking for all the world like he wants nothing more than to smite them all and be done with it. He says nothing.
Dean waits impatiently for Anna to explain what the hell is going on, but all she does is make things more confusing. "You've been engaging in intercourse with our brother since your first meeting," she says, matter-of-fact, and now that Dean is looking at her, he notices that she looks pretty pissed off, too.
What the fuck is going on? Dean glares at both of them irately; he hates being out of the loop, confused. He can only be patient for so long before he starts to become angry. "I am not fucking Cas!" he all but growls, but a voice in the back of his head whispers mournfully that he wishes he were.
Anna sighs and gives Dean a look that one might a slow animal that keeps running into a wall. Before she can say anything, however, Castiel flies in with a quiet flutter of wings.
"Cas," Dean says with relief, locking eyes with the angel intently. Absently, Dean hears Anna sigh and Uriel snarl, "Ungrateful slug!" under his breath. "Would you please tell these two chuckleheads what kind of relationship we have?"
Castiel frowns at Dean before he gives a chilly nod and turns to face his brother and sister. "We are not romantically involved," he says, voice devoid of emotion. Dean crows triumphantly and turns to say, "See?" when Castiel continues, "We are, as humans say, 'fuck buddies.'"
Dean's eyes bulge and he whirls around to face Castiel, his mouth gaping. "What?" he sputters. "Wait, what? I — when have we ever... Who taught you that wor — We have sex?"
Castiel inclines his head, poker-faced, and nods at Dean. "We engage in copulation each time we greet each other," he says, his voice a little raspy as he gazes into Dean's eyes with almost palpable intensity. "Right now, even."
Dean's heart flips in his chest as everything clicks with startling clarity — the conversation, the wounded jealousy, the occasional blissed out expression Castiel gives him after a particularly long staring session. "Whoa, wait a minute. You mean this?" he asks, gesturing at their eyesex with a flick of his wrist. Castiel doesn't respond, but neither does he look away. "This is sex for you?"
Uriel makes a sound of disgust and snarls something snarky, but the only word Dean catches is "crude" because his voice has an almost shaky quality to it, husky and breathless. Dean stares at his flustered demeanor and Anna's flushed face blankly before it occurs to him that this must be like porn for them. Dean blanches in horror, because, oh god, their eyefucking was turning the Angel Squad on and, no, that's just wrong!
Castiel cocks his head to the side and furrows his brows at him and this time, he's not — not fucking Dean, but looking right through him, trying to work out some problem in his head. Dean shifts uncomfortably, forcing back panic as his brain races, thinking back to all of the times he and Castiel have eyefucked. Who had been around, then? How many angels (or demons, or, oh fuck, even Lucifer!) had he unknowingly given a hard-on with their explicit eyesex exhibitionism?
"You didn't know," Castiel says abruptly, interrupting Dean's increasingly hysterical thoughts. "You were unaware." And now he sounds awed and a little hollow, like he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. If Dean weren't so busy trying to keep from hyperventilating, he would've taken an appreciative moment to revel in the blatant emotion in the angel's voice.
As it is, Dean can't quite bring himself to speak yet, so he nods once, jerkily, and gulps down some much-needed oxygen. Ordinarily, Dean would be all for a display of exhibitionism, to feel the adrenaline rush course through his veins at the thrill of potentially being caught. These circumstances are anything but normal, however, and Dean wasn't even aware that he was in that kind of relationship with Castiel, much less engaging in public sex with him and turning on God only knows how many supernatural beings.
There's a woosh and a gust of wind. Dean knows without looking that, if he were to glance over his shoulder, Uriel and Anna would be gone. 'Thank God for small mercies,' Dean thinks as he looks anywhere that isn't Castiel. He isn't good with chick flick moments, his instinctive reaction is to get the hell out. The only thought that gives him pause is the fact that he knows if he leaves now, he'll never get this moment back and, despite his initial reaction, he isn't willing to give that up.
"Dean," Castiel says, sounding both determined and hesitant. Dean looks over automatically and gazes up at him, into his eyes before he remembers what that means and jerks his gaze away with a panicked breath. Castiel gives a small, almost amused huff and then there are warm fingers on Dean's face, tilting his chin up and forcing him to stare into the angel's big blue eyes. "Dean," Castiel repeats, his voice gruff. "While copulation is not an entirely accurate term, it's the closest human equivalent."
"Yeah, okay," Dean says, but he's having a hard time concentrating on what Castiel is saying. The angel's lips are moving, but Dean's only hearing about half of the words. He's too busy focusing on the feel of Castiel's fingers, the scrape of skin against skin as they absently stroke the line of his jaw. He swallows thickly, his eyes skittering across Castiel's face, and when did he grab the angel by the elbows and pull him closer?
Castiel seems to understand though, because he releases Dean's chin and breaks eye contact, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around him. He presses his face past the crook of Dean's neck and, suddenly, they're chest to chest, hip to hip. "For angels, it is a spiritual joining," he's saying, his stubble brushing against the sensitive skin of Dean's neck. Dean closes his eyes and tries to focus on what's being said, ignoring the urge to grind himself against Castiel. "We don't have physical forms — we're beings of energy."
There's a short pause, as if Castiel is searching for the correct words, and Dean can't help but shudder at the hot puffs of breath blowing against the shell of his ear. "Physical forms complicate the process," Castiel says eventually, and, the part of Dean that's actually paying attention wishes Sammy were here to translate this into English for him. "The spiritual energy ricochets off both souls before converting itself into the only identifiable substance it can — sexual energy."
"It's all Enochian to me," Dean interrupts, his voice low, breathy, as he drops his hands from Castiel's elbows and slides them around the angel's waist. "The only word I understood was sex."
Castiel laughs (or chuckles — whatever it is he does to express amusement) and presses small, tender kisses against the crook of Dean's neck. Dean sucks in a sharp breath and groans, arousal pooling in his groin as Castiel nips the sensitive skin and sucks. He makes a path up the side of Dean's neck, pausing to press a wet kiss to the underside of his ear, before continuing up to mouth the hollow of his jaw.
"So, uh, Cas," Dean says weakly, his left hand cupping the curve of Castiel's ass and squeezing of its own volition. He isn't sure what to think anymore, can't imagine how they'd managed to go from such a huge misunderstanding to practically making out in the span of an hour.
"I believe we have done enough talking," Castiel hums against his skin, pressing his hand to the cloth-covered hand-print seared into Dean's arm, and eliciting a groan.
Dean bucks his hips against the angel's and feels an answering hardness in return. His heart feels like it's beating 500 times a minute and he can't recall ever being so turned on in his life. Slipping his fingers into Castiel's hair, Dean tugs the angel's mouth away from his jaw and directs it towards his lips. "Yeah," he says, "I agree."