A/N: So here's my little collection of teensy tiny Destiel drabbles. Now be warned, these were originally from an RP with OC's who were based off Cas and Dean so I just did a little editing and viola! Destiel. No spoilers, except ya'know, Cas. The title is from Buffy and if you don't know what that is then I shed a tear for you. Thanks so much for reading! Reviews are appreciated more than you can possibly know for a super crazily insecure writer putting my ego into your hands to make or break so please be gentle with me. Xoxoxoxox -Michaela
It wasn't until they were nose to nose and collapsed in the snow, breath coming out in white puffs of clouds, after what could only be called the most epic snow ball fight in the history of existence, that Dean noticed the precise shade of cobalt blue of Cas's irises. Or the way the skin crinkled around his eyes when he smiled, really smiled, not one of the fake ones he put on to be polite. Well, more accurately, it wasn't until then that he noticed how much he liked these things about him, that he noticed the twisted knot he got in his stomach during these few moments when Cas let himself open up, the moments when Dean got to see him smile, really smile.
Cas sunk into the arm chair after Dean had finally fallen asleep on the ratty couch, as per usual lately. Although Dean would never admit it, he didn't like to be alone when he was sick; or ever really. Which of course was practically written out in bolded letters to Castiel, he didn't mind staying though. The sun was finally going down, the summer days seemed so long. The way the light streaked through the dingy windows in ribbons and waves and landed in colored blotches against Dean's sleeping figure, the gold, it brightened his tanned skin, forcing the freckles that tried so desperately to blend in out of hiding. He wished he could've taken a picture.
Dean chuckled as he guided Cas's hand in circular motions around the pot of thick bubbling red liquid. He'd been promising him for ages that he'd teach him to cook and Cas swore that he'd been guaranteed by Sam that it was nearly impossible to ruin spaghetti. So he gave in. He was pretty positive that Cas could manage to stir by himself but that didn't mean he had to say so. Dean assured Cas that stirring was one of the most difficult parts, that it was completely necessary for him to be helping. The whole getting to hold his hand for an extended period of time or stand pressed to Cas's back in the tiny kitchen so close that he was breathing against his neck had absolutely nothing to do with his command decision to help Cas swirl the chunky vermillion colored sauce for as long as possible, just to make entirely sure the sauce was 100% cooked all the way through. He just wanted to make sure his food was cooked right is all.
Usually the one good thing about the holidays was 'accidentally' stepping under the mistletoe with some lucky lady in between shots. But this year was different. A very drunk, very bossy, Sam had, for all intents and purposes, trapped them in the doorway where none other than the machiavellian mistletoe hung loosely from the frame, apparently he found it amusing to put the two of them in this situation. Dean's heart dropped. Because that was the exact moment, after they both laughed nervously and Castiel pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, as he was told was tradition, with his gorgeous full chapped lips, stubble rubbing together for less than a millisecond, that Dean realized he didn't want it to end at that. And he felt his heart fall out of his chest. Sam spit out a dry laugh and slurred something sarcastic along the lines of well that sure was exciting and Dean managed to force a perfectly practiced fake smile and piece himself back together, for the moment.
The stars shone down bright, brighter than most nights, Castiel thought to himself. They were both still breathing heavily, what had started as a spontaneous night time walk in the woods quickly turned into a race to a nearby forest clearing. Spread out in the grass the night wind weaved through the thin blades and loose fabric of their clothes, drawing shivers and oh-so-manly giggles from the both of them, still high off the adrenaline. The only sounds to be heard were of breathing and leaves rustling in the nearby trees and long swaying grasses, Castiel stole a glance to his side. Dean was staring up at the night sky, flecks of white light reflecting in his deep virescent eyes. His mind wandered as he looked back towards the glowing crescent moon, curious as to how long it would be until he could convince himself that he would eventually become bored being forced to stare into those eyes forever.