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When Cas returns to their shared room after his last class, Dean is already settled on his bed with the television on and clothes mostly off, his coursework forgotten and messy on his desk. The room is mostly dark and illuminated only by the Star Trek episode playing. Cas hardly glances at Dean as he strides to his bed and drops his bag down with a grimace.
“Hey, grumpy,” Dean says.
Cas falls to his bed with a sigh, quickly removing his shoes and socks. “You know, I rather dislike electronic circuits,” he says gruffly. He pulls his shirt off roughly, as if it personally offended him, throwing it to the side without a care. His jeans quickly follow, leaving him in bright blue boxers.
“Come on, don’t be like that,” Dean cajoles. He opens his arms in a clear invitation, stretching out to make room.
After a moment of hesitation, Cas walks over and lies down next to Dean. “Just a few more weeks, and you’ll be done,” Dean says soothingly. Cas grumbles and presses closer.
They curl around each other, bending to fit comfortably on the single. Dean lets out a soft sigh and wraps his arms around Cas, shifting nearer and resting his head on the other’s shoulder. Cas hums and runs his hand through Dean’s hair, nails scraping lightly on the scalp. His other hand moves down to Dean’s stomach, where it rests on the soft pudge. Dean makes a happy, pleased sound at the contact. Their legs weave together, Cas’s hairy limbs rubbing against Dean’s clean-shaven ones.
“You’re cold,” Dean complains quietly, but he doesn’t move away. There’s no real displeasure in his voice. Cas chuckles and presses his body closer.
“Stop whining,” he chides. Dean huffs.
For a few minutes, they stay like that, content to just touch each other. Dean loves this, being able to touch Cas without being asked or pushed for anything more. Cas occasionally leans over to kiss the freckles that coat Dean’s shoulders, following the warmth of his mouth with a splayed hand.
The episode eventually changes, and Kirk begins to describe their mission for Psi-2000. The change prompts Cas to move into a better position. A stray hand brushes against Dean’s fingers, and Cas pauses when he registers the lacquered feeling.
“You painted your nails,” Cas notes quietly. He takes one of Dean’s hands into his and inspects the bright red polish with a small smile on his face.
“Yeah, well.” Dean swallows thickly and resists the urge to hide his face in Cas’s neck. Even though he’s had this thing with Cas for almost a year (“a romantic relationship,” Cas calls it), it’s still hard for him to discuss this kind of stuff. Cas doesn’t say anything, but the lack of judgment on his face prompts Dean to continue, “You were in class, and I wanted to dress up a little.”
Cas slides the pad of his thumb over a glossy fingernail, keeping his touch feather-light, so that he doesn’t chip the paint. “They’re lovely, Dean,” he says, approval running through his voice. Dean feels some of the uncertainly bleed away.
Cas leans back slightly, eyes running over Dean’s face. Dean can feel his face heating up, but Cas appears genuinely pleased with what he sees.
“You are so pretty, Dean,” he murmurs, pressing light kisses to Dean’s cheekbones. “I am sorry I didn’t notice earlier.” Dean shrugs. His embarrassment at prettying himself up made him mostly unconcerned that Cas didn’t notice. After a gentle squeeze, Cas lets Dean’s hand go and moves to explore Dean’s face. His fingers gently trace over his eyelids and nose and lips, soft and almost reverent. He’s careful to avoid brushing against the mascara that coats the long eyelashes. He pulls back again and his eyes rest on Dean’s lips. They’re a vibrant pink, shiny and smooth and candy-bright, stark against the dark stubble that dusts the skin.
Dean notices what Cas is looking at, and his lips curl into a shy smile. “It’s long-lasting,” he says. “Not supposed to smear or anything.”
Cas laughs, but not cruelly. His forehead crinkles, and Dean is struck by the urge to kiss the creases. “You’re not too subtle.”
He presses his lips to Dean’s before he snarks back, closed-mouth and tender at first. He is hesitant, waiting for Dean to press for more and unwilling to push past his boundaries. Dean, eyes drifting shut, keeps the kiss chaste and loses himself in the feeling of Cas’s warm lips against his. He adores the sensation of stubble against stubble, even if it burns his cheeks slightly. Not that he’s too upset about that, because it almost looks like he put blush on.
They continue to kiss lazily and slowly, completely ignoring the television.
“You are beautiful,” Cas whispers against his swollen lips, whenever they come up for air. He says it repeatedly, like a hymn or a prayer. Dean twines their hands and laces their fingers together and beams.