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Dean had had enough. There was something that was bothering him. It wasn’t the unfinished homework shoved to the bottom of his book bag (which he wasn’t planning on working on), and it wasn’t the fact that his little brother started hanging out with the mischievous trickster of the school (okay, maybe it bothered him a bit, but that’s not the point).
No, it was that… that damn research paper. And it wasn’t even assigned to him.
Of course, when Castiel signed up for all those AP classes, Dean knew he was smart enough to handle them. But he didn’t know they were going to be this hard.
The paper that was given was about x subject that Dean knew very little about, and it was pushing his boyfriend to the limit. Even Cas, who never failed to get straight-A’s, and whom Sam swore would be sorted into Ravenclaw house, was clearly having trouble writing it.
Dean tried to get Cas to relax and take a break, but to no avail. Most of their conversations went like this:
Dean: Hey, Cas. Want to come over later?
Castiel: Dean, I’d love to, but I have to work on my research paper.
Dean: You have a couple days! Don’t worry, there’s time.
Castiel: Sorry, Dean.
And Dean would try to get mad at him, but let’s face it, Castiel’s blue eyes and only-slightly-there smile would be able to make Dean forgive him for even killing an angel.
As the week progressed, and the due date crept closer, the chestnut-haired teen decided he wouldn’t pester Cas until he was done with his assignment. Of course, Dean didn’t deny himself of any interaction with his boyfriend; that would surely be torture.
And then came the blissful day. Friday. The report was finally handed in, and there was nothing for Cas to worry about anymore. In a bout of joy, Dean met him after school, and they walked to Cas’ house.
But when the two walked into Castiel’s room, the blue-eyed boy grabbed sheets of paper from his bag, laid them out neatly on his desk, plopped down in his chair and began to write.
This was usual for them; often, Cas and Dean would stay at each other’s houses to work on homework, with Cas helping the latter with difficult problems, and Dean occasionally making snide comments about Shakespeare (which Cas scolded him for).
Despite the normality of it, Dean knew they couldn’t do it. Not after such a huge essay.
"What is that?" Dean asked.
"Calculus." Cas replied, not looking up from the papers.
"But it’s friday."
Cas shrugged. “I don’t want to work on it over the weekend.”
But Dean was having none of that. “No. You’re finally done with that damn paper, you deserve a break.”
The other teenager did look up this time. He smiled. “It’s fine.”
"No, it isn’t," Dean protested, but Castiel ignored him. Exasperated, Dean walked over to his boyfriend, and sat on the floor.
"Hey," he said like a 5-year-old. He poked Cas in the side. Although that got a reaction (he had nearly jumped to the ceiling), Castiel resumed with his homework.
Dean wouldn’t give up that easily. “Hey. Hey. Hey,” he repeated, accompanying each word with a poke. Though Cas was trying his best not to pay attention to him, it was clear that he wasn’t doing a very good job. His cheeks were flushed pink, and he couldn’t hold back his smile or breathy giggles.
Encouraged, Dean grinned and prodded a little harder, earning him tiny squeaks from Cas. Adorable.
At a particularly hard poke, Cas finally paid full attention to Dean. He quickly discarded his pencil and grabbed the offender’s wrist, thus ceasing the tickling.
"Dean," he said.
"Cas."
“Dean."
"Yes?" Dean beamed. That little shit, he was enjoying this.
“Dean," Castiel said again through clenched teeth. "Stop."
"Okay." Dean lowered his hands. Castiel was just about to thank him when he was scooped out of his chair and carried bridal-style.
"Dean!" he shouted. "What are you - !" He struggled against his boyfriend’s muscular arms, and they both fell to the carpeted floor.
Cas burst out into laughter as deft fingers effortlessly found their ways to his stomach. All while thrashing and shaking his head, he tried to protest.
"No! S-stop!"
Dean just chuckled. He had already known of Castiel’s sensitivity, as well as which spots caused which reaction (sides for some giggling; underarms for uncontrollable laughter; ribs for fits of giggles you couldn’t even hear). He’d found out at the early stages of their relationship, when it was full of shy glances and awkward yet blissful kisses. Dean would often use it against him to win petty arguments… that is, until Castiel found out about the other’s own ticklishness.
Since then, tickle wars became less frequent between them. However, Dean knew Cas was a lot more ticklish than him, so he didn’t stop initiating them completely.
As Dean kept running his fingers up and down Cas’ sides, Castiel kept squirming and screaming with laughter.
"Stop! P-please!" He shook his head side to side, which messed up his hair.
"Only if you stop doing homework and relax a little," Dean responded.
"FINE!" Cas shouted when Dean hit a particularly sensitive spot. "Just stop it!"
"Are you kidding? I love your laugh." Dean smirked. "I’m not going to stop just yet."
"Oh my God, you can suck m-” Castiel was cut off by another stream of laughs as Dean’s tickling doubled in speed.
After a few minutes of this torture (or perhaps game, depending on whose perspective you’re looking at), Dean ceased because a) Cas kept on making rude remarks (between his giggles); b) His face was almost unhealthily red; and c) Dean was sort of getting turned on, which would inevitably end awkwardly. But mostly c).
They were still on the floor. Dean was on top of Castiel, straddling his hips, and Cas was breathing heavily with a blush painting his face.
"Okay, I’m done," Dean declared. He rolled off of the other teen and situated himself beside him. But then Castiel quickly jumped on him and reversed the previous positions.
Dean knew Cas was a lot more ticklish than him. That is, when you disregard that one spot that makes him a panting, babbling mess.
Castiel knew this spot like the back of his hand. His fingers immediately made contact with Dean’s hips, and he jolted in response. Slowly, Cas moved his thumbs in circles.
Instantly, Dean forced his face to remain stoic. Castiel found this adorable. The way he was embarrassed about his ticklishness and trying to hide it when he’d probably fail anyway. Yeah. Adorable.
"Hey, what-" Dean’s voice came out in a higher octave, and he cleared his throat. "Hey, what are you doing?" he asked nervously.
"Nothing." Then Cas started.
His fingers went into a frenzy, and Dean’s crumpled into a pile of giggles.
"C-CAS! Stop! Stop!”
The other boy did his best to imitate Dean’s voice, and mocked, “Are you kidding? I love your laugh. I’m not going to stop just yet.”
He continued to scribble his hands against Dean’s hips, and Dean attempted to grab Cas’ lithe arms to get him to stop. He couldn’t get a firm grip, but another idea popped into his mind in the midst of his breathless laughter.
Shooting out his hands, Dean jabbed his fingers into his boyfriend’s sides, and his resolve slipped. Soon, they were engaged in a full-blown war, with each trying to get the upper hand. As they rolled around the floor, their giggles bouncing off the thin bedroom walls.
Eventually, Cas found his way on top again, and he tickled vigorously. Dean, who was weak from all the laughing, tried to think of a way out.
Spontaneously, he rose up and crashed his face to Castiel’s. The tickler’s hands froze promptly, and he melted into the kiss. The way Dean’s chapped lips felt against his own gave his stomach butterflies.
When the duo broke apart, their faces were flushed and they were breathing heavily (it could have been from the kiss, or maybe the tickling, or maybe both). Castiel looked away bashfully and chuckled. He rolled off of Dean and settled next to his side, nuzzling into his neck.
"So, are you relaxed?" Dean sighed.
Cas grinned. “Yeah, I’m relaxed.”