Chapter Text
Still only 1:05pm.
Castiel lets out a long sigh. There are only so many coffees he can purchase and consume at this student coffee bar before he looks and feels like a wired lunatic with a caffeine addiction. He's going to have to leave, which means he's going to turn up to class early again, and have to sit outside and wait in the hall... again. He hates Thursdays because of this stupid endless gap between lessons. Four hours. What's he supposed to do with all that in-between time? Well. Aside from the obvious that is.
Castiel knows what you're supposed to do with these gaps. The college hands them out generously because most people relish them, loving the chance to spend hours with their friends. Except Castiel doesn't have any friends.
It's not for lack of trying. During his first week he did his best to follow all the chirpy, comic-sans advice given to him on websites and in gaudily coloured leaflets. He pored over the flyers excitedly blaring 'FRESHERS' at him with an excessive amount of exclamation marks. He tried everything these products of misinformation told him would work - 'just relax!', 'be yourself!', 'start conversations!' - and was as friendly as he could muster. He said hello to everyone that crossed his path, every person in his Halls and on his course, people wandering around campus, in the coffee shop, at the library... in hindsight, he may have gone a tad overboard.
But then even the few that responded to Castiel's greetings became intolerable, the upkeep of the adolescent acquaintances becoming impossible to manage. These people would all want things from him that he couldn't give. They were so different from him, wanting to go out and socialise at every opportunity. They'd want to drink alcohol and spend all night in the frankly atrocious college 'bar' - and seeing as it only served alcohol to over-21's anyway, none of which the Freshmen were of course, Castiel couldn't fathom why. But they were relentless; they'd pound on his dormitory door, coax him into the communal kitchen for 'pre-drinking' with a round or ten of 'Never Have I Ever' or 'Would You Rather' - whichever was the most excruciating for all involved, so it seemed to Castiel.
A few times, Castiel ventured out to the bar with these 'friends' he'd made. The college called their fine drinking establishment Purgatory - some kind of sick joke, Castiel thinks privately, because that's exactly what it's like in there. Packed, claustrophobic, stinking of beer-soaked wood and body odour, it truly reminds one of a place not belonging to this realm. A few times in those first few weeks Castiel had found himself standing in the midst of a gyrating crowd, wondering what the heck he was doing there and if this is truly what he needed to do in order to have a 'normal' college experience.
One by one, over the course of an evening spent in Purgatory, Castiel's new 'friends' would approach him, wasted and grotesque to behold, begging him to come and dance, or to have a sneaky sip of the alcohol they'd snuck in in their purse to 'loosen him up'. Castiel might have chosen the latter option, if only to make the experience mildly more tolerable, except that the alcohol the others encouraged him to drink tended to be either cheap, undrinkable vodka or 'alcopop'. Castiel found it horrendous; it was cloyingly sweet and burned his throat with not even a lasting effect on his mental state. When he drinks, which he does on occasion, he prefers straight spirits, tequila being his favourite. He doesn't mind beer or (if he's feeling expensive) some wines.
Usually, at around half one in the morning, there would come a point where all of Castiel's new 'friends' began frantically shoving their tongues down each others' throats. It was at this point that Castiel usually left.
Being the apparent 'party killer' that he was, it didn't take long for people to turn from him. This general air of 'boring' that he gave off when he began saying he'd rather stay in on a Friday night and do some of his reading than set foot back in Purgatory ever again put people off pretty quickly. He found these Fresher's 'friendships' he'd made harder and harder to hang onto.
Alongside this, there was the added problem of him always seeming to manage to say the wrong thing in any given situation. He increasingly found that he appeared standoffish and rude when he only meant to be straightforward and serious in conversation. People found him awkward and peculiar, lacking in knowledge of pop-culture and therefore difficult to hold a conversation with. Castiel never really thought it would matter so much that he's never read Harry Potter or heard any of Taylor Swift's music. He prefers classic novels and listens primarily to 80's soft rock as those are the books and records his mother owned back home.
He knows that when growing up, his brother purposefully sought out films, books and other media from this decade in order to seem more 'in the loop', but Castiel has never had any real desire to do this. He likes what he likes. Though perhaps Gabriel's intensive studying of pop culture - which mostly consisted of binge-watching Breaking Bad, spending his free time completing every Xbox game under the sun and hours of sitting in front of a laptop screen with a leer on his face - throughout their youth prepared him better for college life than Castiel.
So, it didn't take long for people to make up their minds. Soon enough everyone in Castiel's dorm, all the people in his Physics class - heck, seemingly everyone on campus had filed Castiel away in their brains under the category of 'weirdo social misfit who stares too much'. And that was it. Now Castiel goes to class alone, gets coffee alone, spends his nights in his room with his homework for company - which is a damn sight better than Purgatory, he admits - and unless something drastic happens to him, he's pretty sure that's the way it will stay.
He doesn't feel too sorry for himself, though. After all, he got into college, he's studying Physics - his favourite subject, he's independent and free for the first time. His life is just beginning from here on out, stretching out ahead, filled with promises and opportunities. Plus, if he gets too lonely, there's always Gabriel. His older brother is a senior at this college, which is part of the reason Castiel chose to come here. He hasn't actually been to visit Gabe since the guy helped him move his stuff in on the first day, but he knows that he can. If things ever get too awful, he tells himself often, he can just head over to Gabriel's Fraternity and- hmm. On second thought, maybe not.
Honestly, Fraternities kinda scare the crap out of him. Gabriel can come to his room instead.
Reminiscing over, Castiel reluctantly packs away the books spread out across the coffee shop table and prepares to leave. He glances at his watch again: 1:12pm. Well, it's a little better than before at least. And really, it's not so bad waiting for this particular class. He smiles to himself a little, blushing faintly as he thinks of the beautiful sight awaiting him as soon as the class before his ends.
The Psi Delta Alpha boys.
It takes him no time at all to walk across campus to the Sciences Building. He feels a slight spattering of rain against his skin and turns his face skyward to see the silvery clouds rolling forth. It'll be pouring down soon, but that's okay; he doesn't really mind the rain. He passes the weird 'attraction' of the College on his way towards the steps - a square, eerily well-kept graveyard, right in the centre of campus. Like most people, Castiel thinks it's pretty morbid, but to be honest the sight of the graveyard on the campus tour he took last Fall enthralled him somewhat. There's some contractual obligation the college has, he remembers, and they're forbidden to build over the graves for 100 years.
What would they even put there, anyway? Another bleak, garishly coloured building full of the same boring classrooms and computer lounges, no doubt. No, Castiel thinks, pausing for a moment to stare out across the rain-spattered graves, this is far better.
Once inside the building, he heads upstairs, along the already familiar route to his Physics lab. He slumps down to the right of the door in his usual spot, back to the wall, in perfect position to stare unnoticed when the Frat boys pass him by. He can hear noises from inside the classroom - loud, raucous laughter and shouting - which will be the group of Psi Delta Alpha seniors themselves, forced to attend the class against their will, Castiel assumes. He knows that the kids here on sports scholarships have to do another subject to support it. The Psi Delta Alpha fraternity make up almost the entire college football team, so he guesses they're all being made to take a BioChem minor for extra credit.
Castiel blushes, checking himself and shaking his head. Even to himself he sounds like a stalker. He needs to stop combing through the college handbook to find this stuff out, it's just embarrassing.
Another burst of laughter erupts from within the classroom, and Castiel turns his head to stare at the closed door. He's pretty sure they're all flunking the class. He should know, he's the one sitting outside it every week, listening to the unruly chatter of obnoxious voices, the constant laughter. Once there was smoke pouring out from under the door. Shaking his head with a rueful smile, Castiel digs his headphones out of his bag and plugs in, letting the familiar melody of The Smiths pour into his ears.
Castiel is on a different Morrissey-fuelled plane of existence when the door to the lab finally swings open. Heart pounding, he scrabbles to his feet, yanking out his headphones in the process because this is the part he's been waiting for. He knows it's vaguely creepy to watch in rapture like this every week, but he can't help himself when it comes to these boys. If he could, he'd stop the indecent thoughts that swim into his mind every time those beautiful, idiotic Frat boys filter out of the lab. But now that he knows the view he can have if he just gets to class that little bit earlier... how could he give it up?
From his position, he gets to watch the parade of them swanning past him twice a week - big, roughened hands shoving and jostling one another, their teeth flashing as they laugh at lurid jokes. Blood red Letterman jackets squeezed over thick, muscled shoulders lend them confidence to swagger down the hall, their Psi Delta Alpha necklaces and tattoos winking at Castiel as they pass him, not seeing him for a moment.
He just likes to look at them. Who wouldn't?
Here they come, Castiel thinks, heart thudding rhythmically as the first couple bowl through the open door - a spiky haired brunette laughing cruelly as he grips his blonde, sharply cheekboned 'brother' in a tight headlock. They pass him, fighting playfully, their laughter echoing down the hall, and Castiel sighs as they go, biting his lip. Perhaps it's the build of these young men that makes him so crazy. Broad shoulders, six-packs, tapered waists... Or maybe it's the fact they wear their jeans halfway down their asses, Castiel thinks, still staring after the two that just passed him, admiring the visible waistline of their white 'Calvin Klein' boxer briefs, clinging to an exposed strip of golden skin.
He turns his gaze away reluctantly, back towards the door, and watches eagerly for the next ones. A big group of them hurtle out next, possibly all of them at once, Castiel thinks. They're all talking together, happy and excitable now that they're out of their mandatory class. One of them is sniggering as he holds a bunsen burner triumphantly above his head; a trophy.
Hold on, Castiel thinks, freezing in place as his heart skips a beat. There's a new one. One that definitely hasn't been here before. Castiel knows this for a fact, because there is no way in Hell he would have forgotten a face like this one. He has to be a senior like the others, Castiel reasons, even as his mind skids and stutters to a halt when the new boy steps closer to him on his way past. He can't be a new member of the Fraternity, it wouldn't make any sense - so why hasn't he been here before? Term started over a month ago. Castiel's body aches thinking of the countless times he could have been staring at this beautiful creature, if only he'd shown up to class.
This new guy smiles too, like the others, but his is slightly crooked - a smirk, as though he's perpetually on the precipice of mischief. His almond hair, carefully tousled and gelled, seems to gleam at Castiel, drawing him like a beacon, and that's before he even notices the guy's eyes. Brilliantly green and utterly intoxicating, they flash over to him for the millionth of a second, then glide right past. Castiel almost faints, he's sure. It takes all he has within him not to moan at the idea of even being in this guy's line of sight.
Half a minute later, when he finally regains control of himself, Castiel strains desperately to hear their conversation as they linger in the hall before dispersing, praying for information about this boy, something he can use to fuel what is rapidly becoming his most erotic fantasy.
"Man, I fuckin' hate that class." One of them says, but it's not him, Castiel thinks in mild frustration. Instead, it's one of the black guys speaking, an intimidatingly attractive, heavily muscled guy with sharp, blue eyes that Castiel has heard the others call 'Walker'.
"Tell me 'bout it."
Oh. There it is, that's him, he spoke, he's not a hallucination, Castiel thinks, utterly awestruck. Castiel had been unprepared for that voice - rich, deep and powerful, the twang of a southern accent doing nothing to absolve Castiel's growing urges. He wonders what it would sound like saying his name. Uh oh, bit of a mistake, he thinks regretfully, turning a little on the spot to hide the tightness in his pants.
"At least you decided to turn up this week, Winchester." A blonde, stubbled guy says, laughing; Castiel thinks this one is called Milton.
Winchester. That's it, that's his name.
Castiel tucks it away in his mind greedily, repeating it over and over till it feels natural. He even whispers it quietly, testing it out on his tongue. It's a last name, sure, but it's more than enough. Then, with a sense of dreadful despair consuming his heart, Castiel is forced to watch the gorgeous man leave, following him with only his yearning eyes until he's far down the hall, turns into the stairwell and is gone.
That night, for the first time since he arrived at college, Castiel doesn't do his reading or his practice Physics questions that were set. Not that he has anything to work with anyway, the few notes he did manage to scribble down in class are undoubtedly nonsensical, and almost definitely have the word 'Winchester' in somewhere.
Instead, he gets back to his room, strips off his shirt and pants, gets on his bed and goes straight online to the college website. He knows what he's looking for, so it doesn't take him long. He finds the sports noticeboard page, clicking through all the various jock-heavy sports until he finds the proud, large section dedicated to football. He scrolls down until he finds it, a single photograph of the Official College Football Team. Sure enough, just as Castiel suspected, there's that boy in the midst of them all, grinning like he finds the whole concept of the photograph hilarious.
Castiel stares, biting his lip hard and memorising every detail of the small, grainy features on the boy's face for a good few minutes before scrolling down. There's a list of names at the bottom, and Castiel hunts eagerly for the name that's been ricocheting around his head ever since 1:55pm this afternoon.
There it is. Dean Winchester. Dean.
Castiel's finger caresses the imprint of the word on his screen. He flops back onto his pillow, eyes fluttering shut.
"Dean." He whispers into the silent air. God, it's perfect.
The name leaves his lips in a breathy cry a good few times over the course of the evening.
The following day is Friday, which is Castiel's free day. He has no classes, meant to be using this time to study. He usually sets up his laptop and books in his room or the library and stays there until closing, but today he just can't.
He has to see Dean again.
He's never felt anything like this before; something animalistic has awoken in him, something has set the blood singing and screaming through his veins. His dick feels heavy and full, twinging with arousal practically at all times, no matter how much he... 'relieves himself'. Dean's voice echoes through the core of his being, that one sentence Castiel heard him speak seemingly enough to have him a perpetual drooling mess. Dean's face flickers behind his closed eyelids, grinning and laughing in just the way Castiel saw.
Lying on his bed at 3pm, miserable and spent from the exertion of obsessing over this one boy he has seen only once, Castiel is sure he's going mad. Worse still, he can't get the thought out of his mind that there's only one possible cure - to see Dean Winchester again.
He thinks that maybe, if he can just see Dean one more time, prove to his over-active imagination that he is, in fact, just another Frat boy like any other, just maybe he can snap himself out of this. Because Dean can't really be the embodiment of Castiel's dream guy. He can't actually have ticked every box in Castiel's mind so that he goes insane over his attraction - he must have been imagining it, projecting his own desires onto the exciting new guy or something. He was over-stimulated on around ten coffees, after all. Nobody is that perfect.
It's not a bad plan, he reasons, and it beats sitting here driving himself crazy over errant thoughts of the Dean's rose-pink lips, the cupid's bow stretching as he smiles-
"Ugh!" Castiel groans to himself, hating his runaway brain right now. He can't cope with this. It's painful getting hard again so quickly.
Right, he tells himself, swinging his legs off the bed and pulling on his nearest jeans. He'll have to go to the sports field, surely Dean will be there, practising. Unless he has Fridays off too of course, which Castiel has to admit is a possibility. The thought almost stops him going, in fact. But then he thinks about just sitting here when he could be watching as Dean sprints across an open field, the cold October wind settling a rouge into his cheeks, the exercise drawing his deep, heavy breaths. It's too much to bear. He knows he has to at least try.
It seems to take him mere seconds to walk across campus, and soon he's standing beside the sports field, wind whipping at him from all sides, flaring his trenchcoat behind him. The sport's field is a place Castiel has never actually visited before, and he scans the various pitches with fairly manic eyes, glossing over rugby, hockey, soccer. The college has a football stadium he knows, being very proud of its football team, but for some reason - more stalking from the college handbook - Castiel knows that all college sports are practiced on the field, and only the actual games are played in the arena.
Finally he spots them, the football team, recognising the sport by the signature 'huddling' that Castiel has never understood. He steps onto the grass nervously, eyes darting about for signs of stray balls that will come flying towards him, but luckily he manages to cross to the playing field unscathed. He stands some way back, hopefully unnoticed, peering into the midst of the players for a glimpse of the face that's been haunting him since yesterday, his eyes straining as the boys dart about. They're not wearing their helmets at least - that would certainly have made things more difficult.
When at last Castiel spots him, he almost sinks to his knees. How could he have thought seeing Dean would make this situation any better? His picture last night on the college website, along with the mere memory of the barest glimpse outside a lab was enough to have him coming three times into his own hand; seeing Dean here, in the flesh, so close that Castiel can make out the sparse hairs clinging to his toned calves, the loose fit of his short, ruby coloured football kit, the sheen of perspiration gathered on his forehead and neck... it's something else entirely.
Castiel bites his lip, hard enough to hurt, then buries his face in his hands. He has to get ahold of himself. This is fucking ridiculous.
Dean's going to notice if he starts getting stalked all over campus by a nerdy freshman who can't stop staring. Summoning every ounce of strength he can muster, Castiel steals one last glance, watching as Dean high fives a teammate before catching the football with one hand, laughing away like it's nothing. Then he forces himself to turn, to walk back across the field and keep going until he reaches safety, out of sight of Dean Winchester.
It seems like an eternity crawls by before Tuesday of the following week, the only time Castiel knows for sure he will see Dean again. He tells himself that even if seeking out Dean to stare at his gorgeous form is a no-go, there's nothing he can do about seeing Dean outside class. He waits there every week, after all. It's not like he's going to change his habits because he's developed a... crush.
It's been almost five days though, and the burning fire inside of Castiel has not subsided for a moment. He can't concentrate on anything no matter how hard he tries. The sure pump of Dean's legs across the football field replays in his mind so many times he swears he's he's hypnotised by it.
He practically sprints to class at 1pm. He has to wait an hour, but he'll be damned if it isn't worth every wasted second. Dean sidles out of the classroom last this time; Castiel barely even registers the rest of the Frat boys that pass. As soon as he's confirmed they're not Dean, he turns away from them, fixing his gaze back on that classroom door. He does notice Professor Crowley storming past though, muttering about 'imbeciles' not-completely under his breath, not saying where he's going or if he'll be back in time for Castiel's class. Not that it even matters, in the grand scheme of things, Castiel thinks idly, his attention focused on other things. Eventually, Dean exits, the sight of him making Castiel's breath hitch. Dean has his arm around Walker. Their faces are close, Dean whispering something in his ear around a grin - telling the other guy something secret.
Castiel surprises himself when he feels the enormous surge of jealousy slamming forward in his stomach upon seeing them walk out together like that, their bodies touching, so close they're practically kissing. Does Walker even realise how lucky he is? To touch Dean Winchester, even casually... God. Castiel struggles to think of things he wouldn't do to have that, which is worrying. Suddenly, Walker laughs uproariously at whatever Dean just said, breaking Castiel out of his thoughts, making him straighten - he hadn't realised he was glaring. Dean just grins back at him, satisfied that whatever he said has hit home. He unwinds his arm from Walker's shoulders. It only makes Castiel feel a little better.
"Hold up Walker, I got a call." Dean says suddenly, a small crease forming between his brows as he reaches into his jeans pocket for a cell. "Go ahead, I'll catch you guys back at the house."
"Alright, Dean-o."
"Hey!" Dean shouts unexpectedly, pointing at Gordon, making the other guy spin on his heel in surprise. Castiel stares, transfixed at the sudden change in atmosphere. Dean's voice has dropped an octave, which is doing downright indecent things to Castiel, and Walker looks almost... scared. What's going on? "What'd you call me?"
There's a slight smirk coating Dean's expression as Walker bows his head and holds a hand up in apology. "Sorry... Alpha."
Dean nods, still smirking, but satisfied now, and watches as a now-grumbling Walker turns and leaves.
Oh, Holy shit, Castiel thinks, his stomach dropping, his heart beginning to pound incessantly. This is bad news. Castiel hasn't just gone and developed a crush on some random Frat boy, no, nothing could ever be that simple. Instead, he's decided to start madly obsessing over the goddamn Alpha of Psi Delta Alpha. The President, the top dog, the one with all the power, the one everyone respects, the one everyone is terrified of.
The thought of it terrifies him too, of course it does. What if Dean ever found out? Castiel would be entirely at his mercy, unable to defend himself in the slightest. He'd have to obey Dean's every sadistic command, or else Dean could order an entire Fraternity to rain down their fury on his head. And fuck, Castiel isn't even going to try and pretend he's not hard right now at the thought.
Then he realises something. Dean is still here.
Castiel's mind hurtles back to this earthly plane at lightning speed, and he tries hard not to breathe, leaning against the wall as if he could melt into it if he tried. Once Walker is out of sight, Dean looks down at the phone in his hand, his thumb swiping briefly at the screen before he locks it and plunges it straight back into his jeans pocket.
What the heck? Castiel stares on in silent confusion. Didn't Dean just say he was going to answer that?
Before Castiel can make any kind of sense of the situation, Dean is turning on his heel. Time slows to a crawl, the air crackles as though a storm is about to hit, and then those blinding, chartreuse eyes are pinning Castiel in place. He lets out the smallest of squeaks. Dean is looking at him. Dean can see him. Around half a minute goes by; Castiel is completely frozen. He couldn't move a muscle if he tried, he's sure of it. Dean is just... just staring. God, this must be what people mean when they say Castiel stares too much, they're right, it's more than unnerving, it's terrifying.
Castiel imagines Dean using those sharp, gemstone-clear irises to burrow straight through his skull, poke around in his brain to discover every damn shameful thing he has done to the image of him over the last few days.
He feels a heavy blush rising in his cheeks, powerless to stop it, and turns his face from Dean, ashamed. In a flash, Dean moves forward, stopping right in front of him, a hand pressing against the wall to the right of Castiel's head, practically pinning him there for real this time. Oh God... he's so close Castiel can smell him - pine, a faint scent of liquor and something sharp, like rainwater or newly fired metal. He shudders as he breathes it in, and Dean smiles, capturing his eyes again, looking down into them; a vulture sizing up its prey.
"Professor Crowley's stepped out for a coffee. He'll be back for your class in a little while." Dean says, his voice low and quiet, his breath ghosting over Castiel's helplessly drawn in face. If he just leaned up a little, he'd be able to press his mouth to... oh, fuck. His head spins wildly; the thought alone is too much to handle. Wait, Dean is speaking. What is he saying? Professor Crowley's getting coffee. Why does that matter? "So..." Dean continues, taking his time over the wording, seeming to relish this moment for a reason Castiel can't fathom. Is he about to be beaten up by the boy of his dreams because of the ancient nerd/jock hierarchy? Moreover, would Castiel even care if it meant Dean would touch him? "...get in the classroom."
Castiel blinks dumbly. Huh? His eyes dart to the open door of the lab in question, wondering if there's some other meaning to Dean's words. Why does he need to go in there? He hesitates. He shouldn't - the labs are out of bounds without a Professor or Technician. He turns back to meet Dean's eyes, wondering what the heck he should say, if he can even form words.
Seeing Castiel's hesitation, Dean's face immediately changes. Castiel watches, unbelievably turned on but utterly petrified as Dean's expression hardens into the same stern, 'don't-fuck-with-me' one that had fallen over his face when called out Walker. Dean slams his hand into the wall above Castiel's shoulder, making him jump, and leans forwards, bringing their faces even closer together. When he speaks, his voice is rough and gravel-deep. There's a look in his eyes that tells Castiel the guy is probably used to getting his way. "I said get in the classroom, freshman."
Well, Castiel is certainly not in a position to 'take Dean down a peg', not that he has any desire to do so. He doesn't allow himself to question it this time, he just scrabbles for his bag on the floor without looking away from Dean's eyes, but Dean grabs it for him, pushing him - oh sweet Lord, physical contact - towards the door impatiently. Once they're both inside, Castiel turns slowly to look back at him, entirely certain he's about to crumble to pieces, to explode, something.
He's never felt so alive, disobeying the rules like this, being here with Dean, scared out of his mind and loving every damn second. He can feel his every nerve ending, like they're all on fire, scorching him. When he catches sight of Dean again, the senior is shutting and locking the door behind them. The hardened expression from just moments before has disappeared, and his omnipresent smirk has returned. There's something in his eyes though, a glint, as though something is lurking within him, seconds from breaking free.
Castiel is so hard from the intensity of this situation it scares him; Dean has barely done or said anything, it's just his proximity that's making Castiel so crazy. The rain thunders against the windows of the lab, just as Castiel predicted, the dark, gloomy skies draping the room in shadow, making everything that much more wild.
"So." Dean says softly, his face unreadable as he steps slowly forwards. Castiel backs up, stumbling a little until his back hits one of the desks, purely because he thinks he might fall if he doesn't have something to support him. "Look at you."
Castiel gulps, very audibly as it turns out. Dean chuckles at the sound.
"What's the matter? You scared? Nervous maybe?" Castiel doesn't answer, he just follows Dean's movements with frantic eyes. "I guess you have a right to be. Sorry I got a little angry out there. I'm just used to Frat life. The only freshmen I'm ever around are the Pledges and... well, I'm sure you're aware we treat them like shit."
Castiel forces himself to take some deep, calming breaths. He has to speak, he'll never forgive himself if he doesn't. "Wh- What do you want, Dean?"
Castiel screws his eyes shut as soon as he says it, cursing himself for being so fucking stupid. His mind is a mess right now, but he just gave the whole damn game away. Calling Dean by his name? That's a rookie mistake - now Dean's going to be thoroughly weirded out, angry maybe, suspect Castiel of spying on him. When Castiel dares to reopen his eyes, he's shocked to see a smile on Dean's lips, a slightly cruel smile, as though he's cornered his kill.
"You brainy types. Always do your research, huh?" Dean asks, amusement in his voice, but it has an edge. "Even about the people you think about boning."
Castiel flushes a deep red, from his neck to his cheeks, but his erection regretfully stays firmly in place. "I-I don't know what you're-"
"Aw come on, don't play with me." Dean cuts in before Cas can stammer out his denial. "I saw you. I saw you watchin' me play football on Friday. Was wonderin' who you were." Shit, Cas thinks. Dean saw that? The older boy takes two steps towards him then, effectively closing the distance between them. "Remember thinkin' you were awful cute." Castiel stares at Dean, utterly dumbstruck. Cute? "So. Here's my proposition, uh- you got a name?" Dean asks.
"C-C-Cas-Cas-" Dean places a hand over his mouth, silencing him. He's still grinning, loving every second of this. Castiel's eyes flutter as he feels the skin of Dean's palm cover his lips.
"Cas'll do, angel. Alright, here's my proposition, Cas: I wanna take you to dinner tonight." Dean says simply, and Castiel's eyes widen. "I know a cool place. We can grab some food, some beers, and if you wanna continue your creepy-ass starin' that is a-okay." Dean's grin suddenly gets wider, eyes sparkling, and his gaze flicks down where Castiel's lips would be, if his hand weren't covering them. "If you're awful good, I might even let you kiss me, Cas. Would you like that?"
Castiel couldn't have stopped the bitten off noise that escapes from behind Dean's hand if he tried. Fuck, did Dean really just say that? He focuses on Dean's wide, full pink lips, trying to imagine what it would be like to taste them. God. Unimaginable.
"Okay, sounds like that's a plan then." Dean chuckles. "But here's my condition, Cas, you ready?" Castiel nods frantically, not knowing what's become of himself anymore. He's never lost control like this, not with anything. Now he's ready to sell his fucking soul to this guy for a goddamned kiss - this is insane! "Alright then. My condition is that you gotta do whatever I ask. Now now, don't worry, doll face." Dean reassures him when Cas's eyes grow wide and frightened. "I know you're not pledgin' anyone- I'm not gonna ask you to do or say anything you won't enjoy. But just in case, I'll give you a special word you can say if things get too..." Dean's hand is suddenly upon him, the ghost of a palm stroking lightly over Castiel's crotch, pressing gently against his erection. Cas cries out, his eyes watering a little. "...intense for you."
Dean grins at Castiel's helpless, no-doubt wanton expression, chuckling a little as Cas pushes his hips forward to meet Dean's hand. "Now, now. Settle down, gorgeous." Dean removes his hand, and Castiel, remembering Dean's condition, reluctantly but obediently moves his hips back to meet the desk. "Your safe word is 'Croatoan', alright? You say that word and I'll know you're not enjoyin' yourself and I'll stop. You got that, Cas? Croatoan. Let me hear you say it Cas so I know you got it."
Dean removes his hand from Cas's mouth and waits expectantly. In the seconds that follow, Castiel tries to begin the arduous, impossible process of reorientating his mind. Every thought in his brain his swimming around at 100mph; he struggles to make sense of Dean's words. All he can think about is that intoxicating scent pouring off of Dean's skin, the flash of his green eyes in the dark, the feel of Dean's fingers against the bump of his hardness. He takes a breath, calming himself, and sorts through what Dean just said.
"Croatoan." He croaks out eventually, forcing the word from his lips because it's what Dean asked of him, and more than anything, he just wants to do what Dean wants. Dean smiles at him.
"Good. I'll meet you at the East Gate at 7. Don't even try being late." Castiel realises a couple of seconds too late that these are Dean's parting words. He's about to wail in protest, and then, so casually cruel, Dean leans in and kisses him.
It's so brief he could have dreamt it, nothing more than a touch of mouths, but it's enough to send Castiel freewheeling into a no-man's land of Dean, Dean, Dean.
When he touches back down to earth, it's because a rain-soaked Professor Crowley has angrily flung open the door, taken in Castiel standing there unsupervised, entranced and speechless, and started yelling.
Castiel looks around dazedly, but Dean is nowhere to be seen.