A/N: Okay, so this is NOT edited, it's exactly how I finished it. More than half was written in my half asleep state, and I am well aware there is a ton to finish. Some of the dialogue is awkard, as is the grammar and syntax. I'm also paranoid the characters are acting SUPER OOC, but considering it's AU, I'll attribute that to artistic license. TL;DR, I realize it's shit, but I have a lot to edit. Hehe.

___________________________________________________________________________

Dean wasn’t particularly found of parties. Sure, the free beer was cool, and hanging out was fun once in awhile, but he found the concept almost offensive, really; he did not need alcohol to score with chicks. He could easily do that while they were sober. The only reason he let himself get dragged to this one was because, as the lone Winchester brother with a driver’s license, he felt obligated to let his little brother get a piece of ass once in awhile. He didn’t think he could live with himself knowing he was going to be a cock block to one of the biggest parties of the school year. Plus, who could say no to free alcohol?

Within a matter of moments after the arrived, Sam scurried off, mentioning something about meeting Gabriel. Dean shrugs it off, making a beeline to the kitchen, grabbing himself a cup of ice cold, foamy beer. Taking a swig, he feels a tug on his arm.

“Winchester,” the voice sounds direct, no nonsense. He turns his head, raising a brow.

“Isn’t it past your bed time, Harvelle?” he smirks, taking a healthy gulp of the beverage in hand.

“Funny,” the petite blonde mutters, rolling her eyes as a hand gets placed against her waist. “Come on, we’re playing a game.”

“A game?” Dean asks incredulously, trailing behind the girl, “you know, if you wanted me-“

“No, not like that. We’re playing Seven Minutes in Heaven,” she said, beaming at the last part.

Dean groaned, “What are we, twelve?”

Jo merely shrugged, plopping down on the nubby carpet, patting the empty spot next to her. The circle is surprisingly large; apparently, enough nerds were nostalgic (and desperate) enough to attempt to play one of the cheesiest party games of all time. Everyone seemed excited too, tittering to one another eagerly. “Get your ass over here, Winchester.” Jo commanded.

Dean groaned as he sat, shifting uncomfortably, long legs unaccustomed to sitting cross legged. Chugging the rest of the beer in his cup, he set it down behind him before surveying the crowd of people that had gathered. For the most part, he recognized all of them; he’d known most of these kids his whole life, and there were a few lips he had been acquainted with previously. Two, however, stuck out to them.

“Hey,” he nudged Jo with an elbow, “who’re those two?”

A redheaded girl and an uncomfortable looking boy with jet black hair sat across from Dean.

“Oh,” Jo said, her voice indicating bored disinterest, “new kids. They belong to those weird families who moved into the lot,” she said, shrugging.

Dean winced, “The weird cult-y one?”

Jo merely nodded.

“Too bad,” Dean remarked, “the red head is cute.”

Dean stops short, for the he game had begun. The bottle was placed on the floor to spin, and soon enough, a tiny girl in short shorts and a hulking football player made their way to the closet, everyone giggling excitedly. A few people scurry after with the intent of eavesdropping, but Dean stays in his seat, surveying the few people left in the circle. The red head and dark haired kid are whispering intently, but with the loud music and party chatter, Dean can’t make out what they’re saying. The boy looks up, suddenly, and his eyes bore right into Dean’s. His eyes are so blue, they almost glow. Eyes that most people would marvel over, but they’re so blue, and at the moment, so intense, that it’s almost creepy. Still, he narrows his own green eyes right back; he was never one to back away from a challenge. Soon enough, the boy gets a sheepish look on his face, and looks away, refusing to make eye contact with Dean again.

Seven minutes go by rather quickly, and the happy couple emerges, hair tousled, clothes wrinkled, and slightly worse for wear, but no one can deny the goofy grins on both of their faces. Dean isn’t paying much attention, but he overhears someone mentioning it’s “Castiel’s turn”. He looks up, slightly surprised to see the dark haired boy, bottle in hand. Everyone cheers as “Castiel” offers a weak, nervous smile, before setting the bottle down, spinning, and scooting back to his place on the floor. The bottle spins, and spins, and for a split second, Dean wonders what he’d do if it landed on him. Make him respin, of course. What other option would there be?

But the bottle slows, and soon, it’s pointed directly at the red head. Everyone cheers.

“Wait, wait” Castiel says, looking uncomfortable, “I can’t… kiss Anna. She’s like my sister.”

A few people boo, and a drunk yells out “That’s hot!” Everyone titters.

“It would be weird,” ‘Anna’ adds. Castiel nods, before taking hold of the bottle once more.

“I’ll respin.”

Everyone seems to be satisfied with the option; most are half drunk, horny, and eager partake in their own carnal pleasure to care much. The bottle spins, and spins, as just as Dean contemplates getting another beer, the crowd goes silent. It’s pointed at him.

The crowd laughs. “Spin again!” someone shouts. Castiel looks more and more uncomfortable by the second. He flashes Dean another look. It’s a mix of desperation and embarrassment.

“Wait,” Dean begins. The chattering dies down, “What the hell,” he shrugs, smirking, “I’ll do it.”

Everyone laughs. If it was any other guy, it would be weird. But this is Dean Winchester. The Dean Winchester. The Dean Winchester that managed to make out with Laura Ellis in her dad’s car while he was driving. The Dean Winchester who managed to coerce Lisa Braeden and Rhonda Perkins to go under the bleachers with him at the same time. The Dean Winchester who was straight as an arrow, a mans man. The Dean Winchester who, at the moment, was wondering what Castiel’s lips tasted like.

Dean makes his way to the closet, Castiel trailing behind him like a man walking to the electric chair

“Ladies first,” Dean smirks, holding open the door. The crowd of people behind them giggle. Castiel nods, his facial expression that of a forlorn puppy, before shuffling in. Dean follows in suit before shutting the door. The closet is, as far as closets go, ideal. It’s large and spacious, roomy without being too vacuous. A lover’s paradise.

“So, Cas,” Dean teases, a faux cocky edge in his voice, “Can I call you ‘Cas’? How do you want to begin?”

Castiel frowns, crossing his arms and turning away from him, “This is… stupid.”

Dean smirks, “What, are you afraid that-“

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Castiel cuts in, scowling, “but this is stupid.” He pauses, as if gathering all of his courage, before turning to glare at the boy in front of him, “I know what it is. It’s just some idiotic alpha male pissing contest. You just want me to wuss out, look  dumb in front of everyone, just so you’ll look-“

“Shut up,” Dean growls, aggressively grabbing Castiel by his chin, and pressing his lips against his.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was just all the secondhand pot smoke in the air. Maybe it was the adrenaline. But whatever misconceived notions Dean possessed previous had completely flew out the window. Castiel seemed to melt from under him, his soft lips surprisingly cool against Dean’s warm skin. As Dean pulled away, the both of them seemed to be equally shocked. Cas’ mouth was slightly agape as he ran a finger over his lips.

It was silent for a moment, before Dean spoke up.

“You know… our seven minutes aren’t over yet.”