He's eighteen, shy, a child prodigy with a tendency to fade into the woodwork of the university he attends. Not attracting attention at Lawrence University is no small feat of nature. The college is small, tiny, and it is almost impossible to transverse the campus without bumping into a familiar face. Somehow Castiel manages to go unnoticed.

Sometimes he jokes to himself about his situation. He calls it a self-inflicted hermitage, and while the loneliness and isolation are bitter they do wonders for his grades. Castiel Novak may be eighteen but he was also a successful graduate student well on his way to obtaining a doctorate in mathematics. His professors joke that hidden inside the teenager's brain was a computer that could put all the technology in N.A.S.A. to shame.

Castiel knows he doesn't look like much. He possesses the awkwardness that all teenagers face when growing up. He's slightly pale, slender, limbs subtly toned with wiry muscle. All anyone ever sees of him is the top of his head bent over collections of books in the library, messy brown hair barely visible among the countless stacks and papers. Once and a while the flash of bright, blue eyes will appear, but then quickly return themselves back to their task of distinguishing equations and numbers.

People dismiss him, barely give him a second glance, and that's fine. He prefers it that way; slowly he is accepting his boring, quiet life. He organizes a schedule to make his days go by easier. Every moment and time has a reason, and task.

Today was a Thursday, which meant spending the majority of the morning grading tests and papers for the Calculus class he was a teaching assistant for. He sits in his favorite place in the university library—a small, cozy corner on the ground floor, complete with a window overlooking the sprawling green lawn of the campus.

Castiel smiles softly as he pulls out a neatly bound collection of exams from his messenger bag. He can't help but admire the faded oranges and yellows of the trees outside as they change color. Fall was one of his favorite seasons—it heralded the advent of a new school year, and he had always felt at home when he was at school.

Cas allows himself to settle down into an almost, calm, trance like state. Tackling a math problem was always cathartic, relaxing even. Grading papers allows him to feel that. He enjoys the way his green pen flies across the page, leaving little marks and notes. Castiel prides himself on not being a complete hard ass when came to correcting errors. He leaves friendly little encouragements, smiley faces even, in order to soften some of the painful failing grades he is forced to hand out.

Castiel is about halfway through his stack of papers when he feels a warm, strong hand grip his shoulder. He jumps a little in his seat, fumbling from shock and dropping his pen clumsily as he blushes, turning around to see who is it that wants his attention.

Which is unusual because no one ever wants his attention; no one ever gives him attention.

It's one of the guys Castiel has seen on campus, features strikingly handsome and smile bright and inviting. He knows right away that it's Crowley .

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. Why is Crowley talking to him?

Castiel feels his brain short circuit for a bit, electrical system overwhelmed by the sight of golden skin, a muscular frame, with green eyes and freckles. Crowley is standing in front of him, hand on his shoulder and touch searing into his skin even through the layers of his shirt, and fuck it should be a crime for one man to look so good in just a plaid button down shirt and dark jeans.

"Hey man," Crowley says, voice deep and friendly as he leans down to pick up the pen Castiel has dropped, "Sorry about scaring you just then, I was just wondering if you happen to work here, I'm looking for a book and I'm kind of confused…"

Crowley takes his hand off of Castiel's shoulder, and almost immediately the younger man misses the weight and heat of it. It takes him a while to realize that Crowley has asked him something, and he blinks dumbly in response.

"I—um, I don't work here…sorry." He croaks back, eyes trained on Crowley's hands as he places the pen back on the desk. They look like powerful, capable hands, the kind of hands that could leave marks on his arms and hipbones from being held tightly. They're the kind of hands that Castiel knows would be skillful, just right, teasing as he traveled the expanse of Castiel's unmarked body.

Castiel swallows nervously, Adam's apple bobbing awkwardly.

Crowley shrugs, blissfully ignorant of what Castiel is thinking, "Sorry man, I just see you around here so much I had you figured for a work-study student or something. Are you a freshman?"

Close. Castiel is the age of a freshman…just not the performance level of one.

"Um, uh I'm eighteen," he finally stammers out, and Crowley nods, listening expectantly as if waiting for Castiel to say something else. Finally Crowley speaks.

"I'm Crowley ," he adds conversationally, extending a hand to shake, "This will be my fourth year at Lawrence. I'm a senior, majoring in engineering with a minor in literature and communications."

"I know who you are." Castiel blurts out, almost forgetting to shake Crowley's hand. Castiel mentally chastises himself. Stupid. How can he be so stupid? Now Crowley thinks he's some kind of stalker. Oh God.

"I'm uh, Castiel, Castiel Novak. I'm majoring in mathematics."

Crowley's hand firmly grips his own, dominating the handshake effortlessly. Castiel has to fight back a moan. It's been a long time.

Well, a long time if you're an eighteen year old with the social life of a monk. But still.

"Uh, I may not work here but—um, maybe I can help. I know the library of congress system of classification can be a bit confusing, especially since many small town libraries prefer to utilize the Dewey decimal system when organizing books. Of course, once you get used to it it's perfectly simple. An interesting fact about Melville Dewey, he was--"

Castiel abruptly stops, catching himself just in time from full on babbling uncontrollably in front of Crowley. He silently wonders how much damage he has done this time, and considers making his hermitage permanent.

But Crowley laughs, full on laughs, but not in a way that makes Castiel think that he's being made of fun of. Crowley just seems amused, with his head tilted back, and eyes sparkling. Castiel can't help but feel a flush of pride at having done that, at making Crowley happy.

"Settle down Cas, it's fine. I just need to find one book…but if you'd like maybe later you can teach me the library of congress numbering system later…" Crowley intones suggestively, winking at Castiel and causing the teenager to blush in his seat. He manages to stand up on wobbly knees, and Crowley hands him a piece of paper with a call number on it, written in an untidy scrawl. He explains it's a book he needs for his senior thesis.

Castiel listens attentively, glancing down at the paper once more before gesturing for Crowley to follow him. They make their way through a tall maze of bookshelves, the teenager navigating them expertly. As they walk Castiel takes in little details about Crowley—how he's taller than Castiel, how his shoulders are broad.

Castiel halts and with a wistful, quiet sigh, gestures to a packed case of books, all of their titles featuring engineering and mechanics. "Here we are." He announces awkwardly, not exactly sure what to do now. His heart is thudding heavily in the darkness of the library, and he is so, so close to Crowley, bodies almost touching as they stand in between the crowded cases. He can just make out Crowley's profile in the dark, and the scent of old books and leather is overwhelming, almost covering what Castiel thinks to be the smell of Crowley—old leather and coffee.

It's absolutely torturing and delicious. Castiel wants to lean forward, wants to taste Crowley, but most of all he wants Crowley to slam him up against the wall and simply take. Crowley is so close, standing chest to chest with Castiel, his presence distracting and demanding. His breath sweetly tickling the column of Castiel's neck as Crowley leaned in closer, to whisper in his ear.

"I'm going to kiss you now, Cas." He says, and Castiel shivers. He knows that Crowleys only trying to warn him, let him know what's coming next so he isn't scared off, but he can't help but imagine it said as a command. I am going to kiss you now, Cas. No choice, an order to be completed, an opportunity to please.

Castiel can feel hands cupping either side of his face reverently, and Crowley moves closer, tenderly pressing his lips against Castiel's own. It's chaste and sweet at first, more like a question than an answer, but Castiel can't help but mewl in pleasure. He wraps his arms around Crowley's shoulders, presses his hips against the hot body in front of him, searching out for that perfect friction.

Cas pulls away, licks his lips and stares up at Crowley, eyes searching, "More, please…" He begs, any awkward nervousness having been burned away long ago.

Crowley makes a low, rumbling noise and his eyes darken, turning a little fiercer than they were before. He roughly presses Castiel up against the shelf, making the younger man gasp. It's crazy, and foolish and absolutely insane. Crowley barely knows him, they've barely even spoken, and this shouldn't give Castiel the dirty thrill it's giving him right now.

Cas moans as Crowley starts to quest and explore the inside of his mouth urgently. He almost comes right then and there when Crowley nips lightly at his lower lip. The sounds he's making must have been encouraging, because Crowley begins to work his way down, biting and licking the bare skin of Castiel's throat, leaving little red marks as he sucks and works the flesh with his teeth.

He leans into each bite, wanting it harder, faster, praying for those marks, wanting that unique, rare combination of pleasure-pain. It's intoxicating and heady and so wonderful that Cas needs more, wonders if Crowley could be the one to give him what he really wants.

"Crowley…" He breaths out, and Crowley bites harder in response, worrying the skin between his teeth and melting away the pain as he sucked and kissed.

Crowley finally pulls away, but not before grinding himself up against Castiel, letting him know how hard he is, how much he wants this too. Castiel feels weak, like a puppet waiting for someone to come along and pull his strings.

"I'm sorry." Crowley murmurs, gaze heavy lidded and breathing heavily.

"Don't be." Castiel insists, voice wrecked, and he presses up against the older man so he can feel their clothed erections rub together with just the rest amount of pressure.

Crowley hisses, kissing him again. "Damn it." He growls. "You're coming over to my place Friday night for dinner and a movie, and you're definitely staying."

Castiel can't help but whimper at that, because that was most definitely an order.