Very slight smut.
Who doesn't watch Star Trek?
Dean I'm-a-football-player-not-a-nerd Winchester doesn't watch Star Trek.
So they'd stolen a quick kiss before parting again, praying that wouldn't be it for them. At least, Castiel was. Dean wasn't like anyone else he'd dated. Dean was sarcastic and a bit of a dick, but that gaze he'd cast to his brother in the library was enough to let him know that that was just the hard shell. On the inside he was probably all mushy and emotional.
Like a melon.
Yeah, like a melon.
They'd pass in the hall, steal kisses; Dean would go to get coffee, they'd steal kisses over the counter. Every bit of them was thankful they were in Washington, not a southern state. Especially Dean, seeing as he could have gone to college somewhere in Kansas. No one seemed bothered by their affections, no more than any other kind of public display of it. It wasn't as if they got into it in public—they hadn't at all, yet, actually—so mostly the pair was just given things like teasing "Get a room!"s or "turgleturgleturgle"s.
Somehow, a week or two later, Dean had managed to convince Castiel, to let him explain football. Castiel didn't understand the sport. Sweaty men in tights running around and tackling each other over something they call a ball but isn't? It's ridiculous. Of course, when he voiced this, he was cast a glare and gently smacked on the back of his head.
"It isn't just—"
Dean stopped. An expression of dismayed dawning crossed his face.
"It is."
Castiel laughed. "How about you keep explaining," he suggested, a teasing smile on his lips.
So Dean did. He told him about the way the field was set up and the way the players could do things on it. It was all very confusing to Castiel, who was easily bored by things he wasn't familiar with, so he started interrupting.
Maybe it was to see Dean's response to it.
Maybe it was to get Dean to kiss him again to shut him up.
Castiel honestly didn't know.
"So there's the touchdown, which is six points, and there's also a field goal and a safety, which aren't as many points—"
"Why?"
The player closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself for the conversation, it seemed. Then he said, "Because they're a lot harder to get."
"And why is that?"
Dean slammed his palm down on the table. "Damnit, Cas, it's football, not philosophy!"
Cas.
"Well, someone's grouchy today," Castiel joked.
Groaning, Dean gave him an exasperated look. "Don't you want to know what's going on?"
Castiel shrugged. "I'll get to see your ass in Spandex. That's enough for me."
Dean laughed. It was a full, genuine sound, smooth and sweet.
Are laughs supposed to remind one of chocolate?
Dean's reminded Castiel of chocolate. He had so many different laughs, but this laugh was white chocolate. Clean and rich and wonderful.
He'd stopped laughing now and was staring at Cas with green eyes so soft, oh so soft. Unable to resist, Castiel leaned over and planted his lips on Dean's. To his surprise, Dean grabbed his shirt and pulled him up, walking them until Cas' back was to a wall. Their lips moved together as they had before, but now it seemed to be more. Cas wasn't sure how he felt about it, but he instinctively pressed himself to Dean until Dean pressed back, their bodies flush. Unable to run his hands across his back, Dean placed one on his neck and the other under the hem of his shirt. Cas' ended up in Dean's hair, mussing it and loving the feeling of it. Dean's fingers felt hot as they slipped up across his stomach, fluttering and hovering and dancing about his skin. Cas was surprised when he felt Dean's tongue run along his bottom lip, gasping into his mouth. This gave Dean the opportunity to flick his tongue with his own, fingers darting down to start on the button of his jeans. Cas, reluctantly, pulled away so their lips only brushed, reaching down and taking a hold of Dean's hand, stilling it.
Those green eyes met blue ones again, darkened with lust.
Fuck, that isn't fair! Those eyes aren't fair at all!
Leaning in again and nipping Dean's lip gently, Cas murmured, "Not yet, Dean. Trust me. Please."
He'd expected him to purse his lips, push away, say 'you should head back, I'm sure you've got studying to do,' but he didn't. Dean gave him a faint nod, looking at Cas through his lashes. "I do," he breathed, kissing the corner of his mouth. "I'm… I'm not going to rush you, Cas."
Dean flushed, as if unaccustomed to saying whatever he was about to. "Um, Cas, did you uh… Did you want to show me Star Trek?"
A/N: I know it's short, but I felt obliged to put something up.