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Sam’s only half joking when he suggests it.
Because, really, he doesn’t care about whatever fictional ship name random strangers use for him and his best friend.
Right? Right. Totally. Definitely. He for sure hasn’t been thinking about it since the musical. Hasn’t nearly melted at all of Castiel’s touches. Or the way his heart skips a beat when he goes to his room, only to find the angel watching Netflix in his bed.
He barely even thinks about it, he thinks, as he stares at Cas, while he looks intently at the scene unfolding on the screen. Some confused guy on the tv, bloody and barely coherent, looks exactly how Sam feels.
Sam has no idea how Cas would react if he made a move. And, shit, he doesn’t even know how Dean would react. Not that he’d have to tell him, but it’d probably come up sooner or later. He’s joked about Sam being gay, hopefully with no harmful intent, but the thought of how he’d respond to finding out he actually was (well, bi, technically)? That scares him more than clowns ever could.
Cas pauses the show as one of the kid characters screams bloody murder and Sam wonders if Dean thinks they’re actually killing a child.
Sam has a book in his lap, surprised he’s even able to pay attention despite the noise Cas’s shows making, and he looks up when the sound stops, Cas looking at him expectedly.
“You seem... troubled.” As the words pass Castiel’s lips, Sam thinks back to when he’d said, ‘of course, that’s a primary aspect of your personality, so I sometimes ignore it,’ and isn’t sure if he should laugh or cry.
“I’m fine.” Sam closes his book and tosses it on the nightstand. “Just... thinking, is all.”
“About what?” Cas tilts his head and Sam swears his heart would beat out of his chest if it could. He doesn’t know how to answer, or if it’s scarier to tell Cas or Dean, because ones his brother, and the others the one he wants to smother in kisses and wrap his arms around while listening to the gentle thump of his heartbeat.
And, yeah, maybe he wouldn’t mind letting Cas pound him into the mattress, but he’d rather crawl in a hole and never speak to another living being ever again than say that out loud.
“Uh, stuff, you know,” He stammers. “Things.”
“You can tell me, Sam. I promise not to judge you.” Cas reaches a hand to touch Sam’s thigh, having no clue what it’s doing to him. “Unless you don’t want to, of course.”
Sam doesn’t answer. Not with words, at least.
He lunged forward as much as his position on the bed allows, fast and erratic, but still giving Cas enough time to back down or push away.
He doesn’t.
He accepts Sam’s lips with the press of his own, moving his hand to tangle in his hair.
There’s movement on both parts, and by the time they pull apart, Sam’s panting. “So, uh-“ He starts, only for Cas to interrupt by bringing their lips together again.
Sam swears he can feel Cas smile against his mouth