Chapter Text
Mom normally makes a fuss about these things, but this year she’s more subdued and subtle in how she goes about helping get Dean’s act together. She even asks about Cas, to which Dean explains that the guy has apparently ganged up with Victor in getting their suits and sundries, so they won't ruin the surprise or something.
Not that Dean has expectations about prom. All he’s really dealing with is the vague terror of this being the last leg of high school before having to deal with a future of new shit to figure out, and prom is the perfect little patch to bask in while they can, goddammit.
Then there’s part where Cas hasn’t been to one with a date before.
“You look very handsome,” Mom says as she pats down Dean’s tie.
“Geez, Mom,” Dean protests, though he glances over her shoulder to the full-length mirror and confirms that he is, indeed, a stone-cold fox. He tugs at a couple of wayward strands of hair, only to have his hand smacked firmly. “What, I thought you liked it when I keep it neat?”
Mom just shakes her head and smiles. Dean is polite enough to keep his eyes averted ‘cause she’s biting her lower lip, eyes getting a little misty and Jesus, they do this every year, too. When she’s set him up to her satisfaction, she hugs him and says, “Don’t sneak out, okay. Say hi to your father before you go.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dean says.
Dad’s in the living room watching a game, and he looks up when Dean approaches. Dean doesn’t expect much, but he suppresses a smile at Dad’s, “Your collar’s crooked. Might wanna fix that.”
“Thanks.” Dean adjusts it until Dad nods. “I’ll be, uh...”
“Just don’t get into trouble,” Dad says.
“Yes, sir.”
Dean’s a little early walking over to Cas’ place, but he figures Cas won’t mind. His palms are slightly sweaty when he rings the doorbell, and Dean just remembers not to wipe them down on the rental.
There’s something good – something appropriately satisfying, even – in how he feels nervous standing on Cas’ front porch. It’s just like how he’d felt nervous the couple times he’d done this in years past; same ritual, similar clothes, Dean’s excellent taste in partners meaning he’s going to have someone absolutely gorgeous hanging off his arm for the night.
It’s Cas who greets him when the door opens. He’s not wearing his tux yet, and the top two buttons of his sky blue shirt aren’t done up, leaving a tantalizing patch of bare skin at the base of his neck. It takes Dean way too long to realize he’s staring, but when his eyes snap up guiltily, Cas doesn’t seem to have noticed either.
Cas speaks first. “Rented.”
Dean starts. “What?”
“I’m just reminding myself.” Cas rolls his shoulders a little, the restless gesture making his shirt move in interesting ways over his chest. “Your clothes are rented and I cannot rend them apart with my bare hands.”
Dean laughs, and Cas manages to keep his affronted scowl on for all of two seconds before he’s grinning back. “You look great.” Dean means it, and catches Cas’ wrist when he turns away. “I got the hottest date in school.”
“Oh,” Cas breathes, and that’s definitely an interesting flush going up his neck. “I see.”
Fucking hell, this is it. Dean should really stop being surprised at how just having Cas in his space makes everything easier; he thinks he can handle anything as long as Cas is there to watch his back and let Dean watch his back in return. Also it’s Prom Night, so Dean has permission to be a freaking sap.
“What is…” Cas laughs when Dean opens the small box he’d brought with him. “Really?”
“Don’t spare my feelings now.” Dean beams, proud of the way that Cas rolls his eyes and leans in to kiss Dean’s cheek in thank you. It’s not a corsage, because Dean wouldn’t do that, but the pin is classy and tasteful and Dean can’t help it if he likes to buy stuff for other people sometimes.
“I’m going to assume that it doesn’t clash with my outfit.” Cas turns around, accepting Dean’s help slipping his jacket on. “Anna suggested I ditch the tie. What do you think?”
“Keep the tie.” Dean experimentally tugs the end, looping it around his fingers and grinning at the way Cas inhales sharply. “For now anyway.”
Dean had thought that Anna would still be getting ready, but turns out she’s already gone. Since she’s part of the organizing committee she’d wanted to get there early to oversee things, but sadly this means there’s no one to take their picture before they go.
“There’ll be opportunities for this later,” Cas reminds him.
“Not just the two of us like this.” A selfie it is, then, so Dean takes out his phone and pulls Cas close. Cas indulges him, warm and pliable in the loop of Dean’s arm, and both of them look up together at the camera Dean’s holding at a distance. Dean knows he’s making a stupid face, but no doubt Cas is doing the same. “Great, that’ll do.”
Cas turns his face, the movement dragging his lips against Dean’s cheek. “Want to make out before we go?”
“How’s your willpower?” Dean asks.
“Reasonable.”
“All righty then.”
They keep it down to a handful kisses, just enough to set the mood. Dean’s hands stay cupped around Cas’ face, Cas’ fingers stay curled gently around Dean’s belt, and Dean’s kind of impressed by their shared restraint. Not that Dean wouldn’t love to shove Cas down onto the couch and peel off the packaging, but he can put that thought away for now.
“Are you humming the James Bond theme?” Cas asks. His mouth is kiss-wet, shiny and irresistible.
“No,” Dean says. “Okay, yes.”
Cas laughs softly. “Of course.”
They make it into the car, and by the time they’ve parked and Dean’s jumped out to open the door for Cas he realizes: he wasn’t exaggerating. Dean really does have the hottest date and, better yet, he wants to show off. It’s not even just about the clothes. Fact is, Cas’ eyes are bright and his smile downright stunning – and they’re there for Dean, because Cas doesn’t give a rat’s ass about prom.
“You’re going to have talk me through this,” Cas says quietly.
“What, food?”
“Not that…” Cas moves his hand a little, and they’re walking close enough side-by-side that the motion brushes his fingers against Dean’s wrist. “We’re on school grounds. Do the usual rules apply tonight?”
“You know what? I have no idea,” Dean says honestly. “What do you want to do?”
Cas regards him thoughtfully, and then takes Dean’s arm, hand resting gently around his bicep. “That okay?”
Dean nods. “Yep. Fine by me.”
Inside, the hall’s already jumping. The main lights are dimmed, the chatter loud and the music even louder. Prom’s always a freaking circus, but this time it’s a freaking circus where Dean can stay by Cas’ side, and they talk about the decorations, the food, the choice of music, the unusual coupling choices that tend to get formed this time of year. A couple of people say hi and share small talk as they go – Pamela pats both of them on the chest appreciatively, Isaac is morose for some reason and gives everyone hugs, Jody is on the lookout for alcohol (no, Cas did not bring any), et cetera.
Jo is on duty tonight, so she’s armed with a camera when she finds them. Dean sees Cas look at him for confirmation, and then they’re leaning against each other, Dean arm around Cas’ waist.
“Looking good, gentlemen.” Jo snaps her picture and gives them a thumbs up. “You hanging by the wall for any reason I should know about?”
“Best view,” Dean says.
“For everyone else,” Cas adds, which makes Dean laugh and Jo roll her eyes.
There’s dancing and a couple of speeches, during which Dean drags Cas to a table near the back since they don’t mind not having a good view of the stage. Bela is crowned Prom Queen, while Victor is Prom King, which apparently he hadn’t been expecting because Dean’s never seen him wear as terrible a poker face as he has on tonight.
“That might’ve been you,” Cas observes.
Dean snickers at Victor’s scowl when he offers Bela his arm. “No thanks. Victor’s rocking that crown pretty good himself.”
“Mm, yes, I agree. He’s quite fetching.”
“Fetching?” Dean raises an eyebrow at Cas. “You think Victor’s hot?”
“He is hot.”
“Is he hotter than me?”
Cas grins at him. “How long may I contemplate my answer?”
Dean groans. They’re sitting close enough that it’s easy for Dean to lean over and press his face against Cas’ shoulder. Cas’ cologne is pretty nice, and he pats Dean on the back while Dean grumbles, “That’s mean.”
“Does it really make a difference who’s hotter?” Cas asks. “You’re the one who gets to put your dick in my mouth.”
Dean chokes. A glance up at Cas’ coy smile is enough to tip Dean over into laughing helplessly. Cas vibrates with his own responding laughter, and then there’s a brief but familiar press of Cas’ mouth against Dean’s temple. Somewhere in the background Principal Moseley is finishing up the announcements on this year’s King and Queen, and the music comes back on, slower this time.
There’s a spotlight on the dance floor, focused on where Victor is leading Bela in a slow circle. Other couples join in around them, pairs upon pairs of bodies moving together. Dean remembers this part, with all its awkwardness and intimacy, and is struck by the fact that he’s run out of fucks to give about anything else than the fact that Cas is with him, toying with his hair and humming softly along with the music.
“Hey,” Dean says. “Want to dance?”
It takes a moment for Cas to answer. “I don’t think I’d be comfortable out there.”
“Okay.” Dean shifts a little, not wanting to move away from Cas’ firm shoulder. “How about there? Behind the banners?”
Cas turns, spotting the corner that Dean’s referring to. “All right.”
Can’t go to prom without hitting the dance floor at least once, right? Well, Dean doesn’t actually believe that, but tonight’s a special occasion. He and Cas are rock stars in suits and they’re going to fucking dance in a fucking corner of the hall if that’s what they want. It’s a cozy corner, too, just slightly hidden by banners and decoration. Singer is one the chaperones tonight, and he gives Dean a quick warning look that Dean acknowledges with a small salute; no hanky panky tonight, sir, yes, we promise, just dancing.
“How do you…” Cas frowns uncertainly. “How does this…”
“Here.” It’s strange at first, their clothes bulky and getting in the way. They figure out that by unbuttoning their jackets, hands can go inside like an interlocking jigsaw puzzle, kind of, and that works. Dean has a hand on Cas’ waist, the other on his back, and he draws him close enough that they’re almost cheek-to-cheek. This way is just right for Dean to briefly nuzzle Cas’ ear, and then guide their movements into a gentle swaying motion that follows the music.
Cas’ breath is cool against Dean’s neck. After a while he relaxes, head tipping a little to rest against Dean’s. He is warm and solid, the proximity of him leaving Dean’s whole body buzzing – but not with arousal as he knows it, because there’s no urge to drag Cas off somewhere. This is the thrill and the endgame – Cas’ awkward shuffling of feet and all – and Dean just wants to bottle up this moment so he can take all his time in figuring out what it is.
“So…” Cas says slowly. “This is cuddling, but standing up.”
“Is not,” Dean protests. “There’s less clothes when we cuddle.”
Cas shakes in amusement. “This is nice, Dean.”
The song tapers off, to be replaced by a new one that’s as slow and easy as the first. There’s no reason to stop yet, so they don’t, and Dean experimentally tries dipping Cas, which fails miserably save the part where Cas flails and bursts out laughing. There’s other voices and laughter elsewhere, but that’s far away, irrelevant.
“Dean, I want to…” Cas turns a little, and Dean’s barely registered the movement before Cas is planting a solid one on him, close-mouthed and urgent, like he had to do that right at that exact moment before he lost his nerve. Then Cas is back to snuggling against him, face in Dean’s neck, and they’re so fucking disgusting.
“Okay then,” Dean says dumbly. “There’s a party later. You wanna go?”
“My house will be empty tonight,” Cas replies. “Anna is staying at a friend’s.”
Dean’s mouth goes dry. “You sure?”
“She told me herself. Along with the instruction to clean up any mess we make.”
“Jesus.” Dean lifts a hand, dragging a fingertip along the hairline at Cas’ neck. Zero to sixty, just like that, and Dean’s already thinking of the many possible surfaces in Cas’ house he may unwrap tonight’s present. “Damn it, Cas,” he hisses.
“Shhh,” Cas murmurs. “One more song.”
“Can I use your tie?” Dean asks. “Is it yours? Can I tie you up with it?”
Cas stiffens. “Fie upon you, Dean Winchester.”
“What goes around, buddy.”
“But I like this,” Cas says stubbornly, voice muffled where he’s refused to move away from Dean’s neck. “I didn’t expect to, but I do.”
The admission is soft and earnest, but it sends an unexpected shiver up Dean’s spine. “Story of our lives, ain’t it?” Dean says quietly.
“Yes,” Cas agrees. He smiles against Dean’s neck, and his hands tighten their hold, upgrading it to what’s clearly now a hug. “Yes, funny.”
Eventually the song winds down, the guitar riffs trailing off with the final chorus. Cas knows it’s ending, too, because he shifts in Dean’s arms, just enough that they ending up doing that thing where they’re standing so close that the other person is an unfocused almost-blur at the end of their nose. Cas’ eyes are half-lidded, but he’s not moving any closer, the kiss hovering and unclaimed between them.
Dean cups the back of Cas’ head. Right now, in this moment, he is completely unafraid. There’s no reason to be, because sometimes the world is generous with its gifts, and Dean will hold on to this one for as long as he can.
“Thanks for everything, Cas.” The fuck, Dean Winchester, smooth. “I mean… uh…”
But Cas just smiles. “I know. You’re welcome.”