It's the skin of Castiel's back, Dean thinks, that makes him crack. Castiel is crouched over the bottom shelf, his too-small t-shirt riding up to reveal smooth skin and the curve of his spine. Dean's hand twitches against his leg, itching to map it all; to fit his fingers over the sharp spurs of Castiel's hips, press his lips to the knobs in Castiel's spine and work his way down, down.
Before Dean can reach out Castiel stands and turns, is suddenly much closer than he should be, and Dean realizes he's no longer leaning against the bookshelf behind him. He's a breath's space away from Castiel, his body heat seeping through the layers of Dean's clothes. Castiel's head tips back and his eyes widen behind his dorky, thick-rimmed glasses, and Dean can't stop staring at his mouth. The way it wraps around Dean's name, the slick tongue that darts out to lick his lips.
Dean cups Castiel's face in one warm palm, gaze bouncing between bright blue eyes and shiny pink lips, and leans in. He keeps the kiss simple at first, a damp cling of lips that doesn't last nearly long enough; pulls back a little to make sure Castiel isn't panicking, then does it again, a little firmer this time. Drags his tongue over the seam of Castiel's mouth and he can taste mint of Cas' toothpaste and the strawberry milkshake he'd sucked down in the school cafeteria after lunch.
Castiel sighs and suddenly goes pliant, his body comfortable and perfect in Dean's arms. His hand slides from Castiel's face to the back of his head and his fingers sift through wild, silky soft hair. His other hand splays flat against the small of Castiel's back, slipping underneath the t-shirt to skim along his spine. Dimly, Dean registers ten pin-pricks of pressure on his biceps; Castiel's hands clinging for support. He grins and pulls away again, proud of the dazed look in Castiel's eyes.
"Dean." Castiel says again, a sigh this time, his lips curving into a shy smile of his own. Before he can say anything more, he's wet. He's wet and Dean's wet and there are alarms blaring and the librarian is shouting. Castiel looks up. "Looks like somebody set the sprinklers off.”
And then he's soaked, and Dean is soaked and alarms are blaring and the librarian is yelling. "Somebody set the sprinklers off."
"My bad," Dean says with a wink.
"We should probably go," Castiel says, resting his thumb against the corner of Dean's mouth. He gasps when Dean's tongue brushes against it
"Yeah, probably." But Dean just leans in again, slots their mouths together, and starts learning the secrets of Castiel's mouth.
In the Stacks; Dean/Cas, PG (a hs!AU)
It's the skin of Castiel's back, Dean thinks, that makes him crack. Castiel is crouched over the bottom shelf, his too-small t-shirt riding up to reveal smooth skin and the curve of his spine. Dean's hand twitches against his leg, itching to map it all; to fit his fingers over the sharp spurs of Castiel's hips, press his lips to the knobs in Castiel's spine and work his way down, down.
Before Dean can reach out Castiel stands and turns, is suddenly much closer than he should be, and Dean realizes he's no longer leaning against the bookshelf behind him. He's a breath's space away from Castiel, his body heat seeping through the layers of Dean's clothes. Castiel's head tips back and his eyes widen behind his dorky, thick-rimmed glasses, and Dean can't stop staring at his mouth. The way it wraps around Dean's name, the slick tongue that darts out to lick his lips.
Dean cups Castiel's face in one warm palm, gaze bouncing between bright blue eyes and shiny pink lips, and leans in. He keeps the kiss simple at first, a damp cling of lips that doesn't last nearly long enough; pulls back a little to make sure Castiel isn't panicking, then does it again, a little firmer this time. Drags his tongue over the seam of Castiel's mouth and he can taste mint of Cas' toothpaste and the strawberry milkshake he'd sucked down in the school cafeteria after lunch.
Castiel sighs and suddenly goes pliant, his body comfortable and perfect in Dean's arms. His hand slides from Castiel's face to the back of his head and his fingers sift through wild, silky soft hair. His other hand splays flat against the small of Castiel's back, slipping underneath the t-shirt to skim along his spine. Dimly, Dean registers ten pin-pricks of pressure on his biceps; Castiel's hands clinging for support. He grins and pulls away again, proud of the dazed look in Castiel's eyes.
"Dean." Castiel says again, a sigh this time, his lips curving into a shy smile of his own. Before he can say anything more, he's wet. He's wet and Dean's wet and there are alarms blaring and the librarian is shouting. Castiel looks up. "Looks like somebody set the sprinklers off.”
And then he's soaked, and Dean is soaked and alarms are blaring and the librarian is yelling. "Somebody set the sprinklers off."
"My bad," Dean says with a wink.
"We should probably go," Castiel says, resting his thumb against the corner of Dean's mouth. He gasps when Dean's tongue brushes against it
"Yeah, probably." But Dean just leans in again, slots their mouths together, and starts learning the secrets of Castiel's mouth.