fanficition cove

Originally written/posted: December 2011
Universe: High School AU
Fandom: Supernatural (2006)
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,307 words
Notes: Have not reread this one, sorry!

Dean has a boyfriend.

Dean has a boyfriend, and that is both as frightening and exhilarating as it sounds, because he’s never had one of those before–never thought he’d have one of those; it wasn’t because he was homophobic or anything, but rather because he just never really swung that way–but he has one now, and Castiel isn’t like anyone Dean has ever dated.

He’s analytical, over-thinks everything whether it’s what he’s going to wear tomorrow or what he’s going to bring in his lunchbox (an honest-to-god lunch box, with comic book superheroes on it and all, and Dean really should be embarrassed by the fact that his boyfriend owns something that Sammy probably owns as well, but he can’t find it anything but endearing) to school. He’s analytical and calculating, is too damn smart for his own good, knows more about the political system than any other seventeen-year-old he knows, and owns every single Johnny Cash record that has ever been put out. There’s something about Cas that makes Dean feel differently than he ever has about someone before.

Most nights, it scares him, he lies awake with it and can’t help but let those thoughts wander to Cas’ hands that are just the right side of too-big-but-kind-of-freakishly-perfect, the way that the slender slope of his neck gathers up sweat when he’s done running his daily three-mile-run, the way that the tip of his sweetly pink tongue pokes out between his lips when he’s concentrating on something–that something usually being on what happens to be the perfect way to flick the head of Dean’s cock.

But days like this, when Cas is nestled into his side when they’re on the swing talking about nothing but everything all at once, he runs with it. It’s easy to feel confident when Cas is by his side, which is cliché, and he kind of hates himself for thinking, because if there’s one thing that Dean Winchester isn’t, it’s another statistic, but with Cas, it’s different. He’s one of those guys that he used to make fun of, the ones who dote on their girlfriend and would do anything just to see them smile, no matter how far backwards he has to bend.

Cas is just better than any one girlfriend that Dean could ever have, which is good. Cas is the solid, Class-A package that Dean never knew he wanted.

Sometimes, Dean thinks that his boyfriend actually might be perfect.

It scares him, just how perfect Castiel actually probably is, how much Dean is taking away from him; how much that Dean never really returns. He pushes those thoughts aside as best as he can, because it’s not very often they can spend time together like this uninterrupted, and he’s never been one to ruin the moment with feelings, of all things.

Cas is staring down at the rubric for Dean’s paper that he has to write, it’s due on Monday and of course Dean hasn’t even started it yet. As intelligent as Dean claims to be, he procrastinates hard but always seems to get passing, if not underachieved good grades. He knows that Sammy more than makes up for the colossal academic failure that is his school record.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be out of question to conclude that you haven’t even started on this yet,” Cas mutters, not even asking because he already knows the answer.

Dean presses a smile into his neck that confirms his suspicions. “I’ll get a solid B on it–” He stops himself short when he sees Cas’ penetrating, scolding look. 

“You shouldn’t settle for a B when you could make an A, Dean,” says Cas.

Dean shrugs, taps an abandoned rhythm onto one of Cas’ pale thighs that’s currently draped over his leg, and steals the rubric from his grip. “Of course, Father,” Dean breathes out a put-upon sigh, even though they both know that he has an incredible weak spot for impressing the fuck out of his boyfriend.

Cas levels him with a look that definitely says “if you don’t make an A on this paper then you’re not getting laid for two weeks” and Dean’s heart kind of drops into the general region of his pelvis with that thought.

There isn’t anything worse than his boyfriend holding out on him. “If you don’t pass this class you don’t graduate, Dean, and that would be embarrassing for me,” he pauses for a moment, then continues, “having to be seen with someone who didn’t graduate high school.”

Dean can’t really see Cas’ face, but he’s almost positive that he’s grinning, if the slight hitch in his voice on the last few words is anything to go by.

Instead of answering, his fingers find Cas’ face, the smooth, pale skin warm and inviting there and he can’t help but turn Cas to face him. If there’s one thing about his boyfriend that will always make Dean’s breathing cease to exist, it’s his striking pale blue eyes and the sheer amount of fucking open emotion in them. “Cas,” Dean breathes, an easy one-two and then he can’t hold back anymore and suddenly they’re kissing.

It’s slow, chaste and sweet, the kind of kisses that they share when no one else is around, when it’s only them. Dean seriously thinks he’s turning into some type of sap–someone like Sammy, probably–because the more that these type of kisses occur, the more that he starts to want them; maybe even more-so than full-on-tongue action, and that’s definitely hard to compete with.

When they pull away, Castiel is staring at him in a kiss-induced haze, his eyes are half-lidded and his mouth is bitten red and inviting. His tongue peeks out to gently glide over his lips, almost like he’s trying to savour Dean’s taste, and normally Dean would probably get hard from that principle alone, much less the picture it provides. 

Perhaps he’s growing as a person because the state of his dick continues to remain mostly uninterested. 

“Still need to work on your paper,” Cas says; he always talks like that after they’ve had a truly amazing fuck or kiss, like Dean’s taken the higher thinking out of him and has only left him with the option of speaking in incoherent fragments.

He presses a kiss to his forehead, pushing some of his wildly adorable hair out of his face, and sighs. “I know,” he says, though he doesn’t want to. He wants to sit here with Cas cuddled into his side like a purring cat on a Sunday, drinking some of the coffee that seems to be practically in endless supply at Cas’ house, and share sickeningly sweet kisses and possibly a sloppy, lazy blowjob or two.

“Now,” Cas murmurs, the haze gone from his eyes, which are now hard and filled to the brim with concern, like the fact that Dean probably isn’t going to make an A on this paper is going to be the reason Dean’s impending graduation from high school might not happen at all. 

When Dean makes no move to get up, Cas makes this growling noise in his throat and elbows him gently, and when he speaks, his voice is soft, coaxing. “Write two pages of your paper and I might make you a pie.”

Admittedly, one of Dean’s only weaknesses is his on-going relationship with pie, no matter what the kind. Coincidentally, Cas’ pies happen to be his favorite.

He raises an eyebrow. “And if I write three?”

Cas smiles, nice and slow, but so very brilliant, even in the light of Dean’s backyard. “Then I don’t think I’ll be opposed to the idea of experimenting with the leftovers as body art on you and licking you clean after I’m finished.”

Dean gets up so fast that he trips over Castiel’s feet on his way to his room.