#flightlesscas

“I bet I could get his number and a date in less than a minute.” And his friends are like, “haha, yeah right. He’s out of your league, Winchester. Novak’s don’t date. They just curve all the tests.” Then Dean goes, “I bet you $200 each. And I’ll even add in an extra bet that I’ll get HIM to kiss ME.”

So they take the bet and Dean just waltz over and sits down next to Cas and just smiles at him and says, “hey, sweetheart” then hands him his phone.

Seconds later Castiel just leans forward and kisses Dean on the lips and goes, “are you scamming your friends out of money with bets again? You know eventually they’ll figure out we’ve been dating for a little while.”

Then Dean just grins like, “And that’s when I’ll stop.”

It’s Dean. It’s always Dean who’s engrossed in the idea of cuddling. Yeah, that probably would come to a surprise to some but it’s true. Dean likes the idea of having someone in his arms– being in someone’s arms. The idea of that type of security and warmth just appeals to him on a level that he can’t really explain.

But none of that matters, he likes it and Castiel loves that. That’s how they end up in bed on Sunday’s and never being functioning productive adults.

Castiel is an early riser. He’s up before the sun regardless of the fact that Dean thinks that’s demonic activity to be awake before noon. But who’s being rational here? He isn’t.

Dean, despite his dead sleeps, is actually a very light sleeper. Contradiction perhaps but it makes sense when you’re Dean. He sleeps hard but if you disrupt his sleep with just the slightest movement that indicates leaving the bed, he’ll wake up.

Just like that, eyes snapping open and arms shooting out to wrap around whatever he can get ahold on. Usually it’s fingertips grazing over Cas’ t-shirt, if he’s wearing one, in an attempt to stop him but he misses and drops to the man’s boxers since he’s not wearing a shirt.

Castiel falters and finds himself plopping back down to the bed, underwear hanging off his hips. So he whispers, “I have laundry to do. I have class tomorrow.”

Dean shakes his head and throws a leg over Cas’ and slips his arms around him then scoots close. His hands slide up his torso, fingertips tracing over warm, smooth skin while his face presses into Cas’ neck. “Laundry can wait.” Dean hums, tapping light patterns over his boyfriend’s ribs.

Castiel lays there for a moment before relaxing. He ‘needs’ to get up and get things done but he WANTS to lay here for an eternity pressed against Dean.

Moments later he throws his head back and smiles. “What will we wear tomorrow?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not appro–” he pauses when he catches on. “Oh.”

Dean grins against his neck while his hands slide down to Castiel’s hips. He doesn’t stop though, he keeps going, taking the light fabric down with his thumbs.

Now they’re naked and engulfed in the heat from their bodies, tangled and content with their sleepy state.

It’s Sunday.

What college student actually gets things done on cold mornings in early January?

Surprisingly, it’s Castiel. He curses a lot more than anyone could imagine. It’s something shocking because Castiel always comes off as this really quiet conservative type. The one who’s soft spoken and so eloquent with his actions and with his words.

But he has a potty mouth.

And Dean loves it.

When Cas spits profanity, it’s always unexpected. Dean finds it funny most of the times. Other times, he finds it a turn on. You know like when Castiel is studying and realizes he’s missed something that was vital for an exam and he just goes, “fuck.”

It’s smooth but aggressive at the same time, he’s irritated and the word just rolls off his tongue like silk.

“Fuck.” He says again, louder this time.

Dean swoons.

Then there’s times when they’re having sex and Dean is touching him just right, hands gripping hips and thrusts nice and slow. Castiel just moans, rocking quickly, grinding down like his life depends on it with a, “shit! Fuck me harder.”

And Dean just loses it.

On occasions, there’s murmurs of, “asshole…” at inanimate objects for the blatant disrespect of something falling or malfunctioning.

Then, “damn,” or a soft, “son of a bitch” followed by, “I fucking love you, Dean Winchester.”

And Dean absolutely “fucking” loves it.

It’s Dean. Dean loves nothing more than seeing Castiel dressed in his clothes. He discovers this when Castiel spends the night at his house for the first time

Dean and Castiel have been friends since grade school but they’ve been neighbor’s since they were born.

It wasn’t hard for them to mesh together despite what everyone always said. “Winchester and Novak? They’re complete opposites.” But one class together and it was history in the making.

It wasn’t unknown to who these two were. By high school, Dean was known as the guy who was friends with everyone. Friendly smile, pretty face, and reputation of having a liking for pretty eyes, dark hair, and a nice body. Male or female.

Castiel was the smart kid with a weird sense of humor that was pretty well liked. You’d think those two ran in different circles but they still found one another.

So it wasn’t really a surprise when everyone heard rumors about Castiel and Dean being a little more than just friends.

But that was just what they were- friends.

Until Castiel is standing in the middle of his bedroom wearing nothing but Dean’s Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Just his Led Zeppelin t-shirt.

Evenings where he’s snowed in with Dean and classes are cancelled, Castiel can’t help but want to have all of Dean’s attention.

And let’s face it, he’ll get it.

“Cas…” Dean grumbles as he types away on his laptop. He’s got a ten page paper due tomorrow and by the grace of whoever, they have an impromptu snow day. He counts his blessings because it was due today and he had already come up with four top notch excuses as to why he couldn’t turn it in but it’s okay, he basically has an extra day.

“Yes?” Castiel finally answers, studying the faces that Dean has been making for the past hour.

“I mean, not for nothin’ but in my distinctive knowledge about these things, no guy ever could finish a paper with someone’s foot that close to their junk.” He tears his gaze from the screen and looks at Castiel who’s got his foot between Dean’s legs under the table.

Castiel smiles, foot sliding from the chair and hitting the floor with a thud. “Innocent coincidence.”

“I’m sure.”

“It was.”

“Un-huh. And I’m the Easter bunny.”

They go silent before Dean returns to tapping away on the laptop. He’s a few bullshitted pages away from being done with this nightmarish paper when Castiel finally stands and wanders off somewhere.

It’s quiet now.

Dean feels slightly guilty, like he’s neglecting Castiel but he knows his boyfriend isn’t mad. Still, there’s that inkling of doubt floating around in his head.

Well, an inkling of doubt until he feels fingertips tracing down the back of his neck. He shivers, wondering how this clumsy dork just snuck up behind him that quietly.

That curiosity fades when that hand is moving down his chest and now there’s lips brushing over his neck. “Cas.” He breathes out shakily, fingers fidgeting over the keyboard. “I need to finish this shit.”

He can’t focus.

“Considering the current state of the weather,” Castiel whispers. “The probability of another closed campus is high.” He smiles and moves around the chair and stands beside Dean.

Dean deliberately keeps his eyes on the screen, even when his computer chair is being spun around some. “Yeah, possibly.” His eyes scan over the same sentence four times before he feels Castiel move between his legs.

“So you will be able to finish those last pages in the morning.” He smiles and brings his hands up to his hips. “Of course, the slight chance that campus isn’t closed, your paper wouldn’t technically be due until the day AFTER tomorrow. Your professor wanted hard copies correct?”

Dean nods as his eyes follow Castiel’s hands. He’s trapped now. He can’t look away when Castiel’s fingers are gliding over the button to his stupid corduroy pants. Or when he’s pulling down the zipper and wiggling his hips to push them down.

Suddenly Dean’s breathing a little harder and his hand is twitching, tapping the arm of the chair.

“Therefore,” he starts while his pants slide down his thighs and drops to his ankles. “Therefore you have two days. A day and an half at the least. Regardless, you have plenty time, Dean.”

Dean clears his throat. The way Castiel says his name is sinfully illegal. He tries to clear it again but his throat is dry now. Castiel has stepped out of his pants and his hands are moving slowly up his thighs, then his hips, flicking the waistband of his underwear before his reaches his sides. He keeps moving up but he’s taking the ends of his sweater vest with him.

Once that blue heap of fabric hits the floor, Castiel starts undoing the buttons on his shirt and Dean has never wanted to rip a shirt more than he does right now.

“So I suggest taking a break and spending some quality time with me. If you want of course.” He down casts his gaze to his shirt and undoes the last button. The shirt falls open and he can see where Dean’s eyes go. They start at his eyes, then start to drop south. His mouth, his chest, his stomach, his…

“Do you agree, Dean?”

Dean shifts in his seat and reaches up, touching Castiel’s thighs. Why not? Castiel wouldn’t be between his legs if he wasn’t allowed to touch.

“Well?”

Dean smirks and brings his eyes back up to Cas’. “Well fuck yeah, Cas.”

“Okay, good.” He looks down at Dean with the most endearing look and shakes off the shirt until he’s only clad in his underwear. “Let’s do proper research for your paper now that I have your full attention. I’ve found several sources for your citing page that you can use. Also, I can proof read what you have so far.”

Dean’s eyes snap up and he makes some sort of disapproving squeaky sound. “What?”

“You didn’t think I’d let you turn in some atrocity that you bullshitted overnight? It’s called a strip tease for a reason, Dean.”

“Fuck.”

[This actually more like a continuation of her story.]

Inspired by the prompt: Soulmate au where when you write something on your skin with pen/marker/whatever the hell you want, it will show up on your soul mates skin as well.

Hey, squad, how’s this one? @lovefromdean @deanandhiscas @cains-mane

Dean had spent most of his life feeling left out.  He lost his mother.  His dad had shut him out emotionally.  He never stayed at the same school very long,  He was part of a community, but that entire community lived outside of traditional society.

Maybe he should be grateful.  Maybe he should be happy that he never had to deal with the same teacher for too long, or have to deal with the drama of friends for years at a time.  Maybe he should just be happy with what he had.

For a while, he was.  

Then Sam got his first marks.  Sam got little, scribbly flowers and vines beginning at his fingertips and continuing up his arm.  Sam got little notes on where the art club was meeting or where a book was in a library.

Sam got Jess.

Dean looked at his own arms and saw nothing.  Nothing had ever appeared on his skin.  Nothing had ever woke him up in the middle of the night with an unbearable itch on his left arm.

Whenever he got really tired or stressed or upset, he would think about it, think about how messed up he must be to never get any marks.  He would feel ghost tingles and feel even worse.

When Sam ran off to college, Dean was certain to keep an eye on him… and Jess.  They were adorable together and Dean really couldn’t complain.  The girl did Sam some good and she reminded him of Mom.

The rules are as follows: go to page 7 of a WIP, skip to the 7th line, share 7 lines (or however much you want) and tag 7 more writers to continue the challenge.

“Because you want to know why,” Castiel answered, nonplussed, and stepped even closer- so much so that Dean’s gun was almost touching his chest, just above his heart. “Why I saved you, when nobody else made it out that day. Why you.”  

And with that, he turned away and started striding back down the alleyway, trench coat billowing out behind him. 

“Wait, wait!” Dean shouted, taking a few seconds to realise he was running to catch up. The man - Angel - Castiel - who fuckin’ knew- didn’t hesitate, but Dean had barely even been able to take in the situation he’d been put in before the guy was leaving.  

....a bit of the next chapter of adsob, which should >really< hopefully be posted sooner rather than later :’’’’’/