Work Text:
It's the same old damn cliche. Jock versus nerd. Dean and Cas have been playing this stupid game since forever, and everyone around them is used to it by now. Hell, even Dean's buddies from the football team just roll their eyes at his little pissing contests with the class dork, instead of joining in and throwing jibes like they did once upon a time. The chess club and debate society never really helped Cas out when it came to verbal sparring matches with the jocks, so nothing had really changed there.
Castiel Collins and Dean Winchester. Castiel, with his shabby clothes, overstuffed backpack, dark-framed glasses and characteristic frown. Dean, with his letterman jacket, toothy smile, cologne a little too grown-up for him, and a girl on each arm. Like chalk and cheese, day and night, summer flowers and winter chill. They knew each other growing up, although Dean usually likes to pretend they didn't. Cas was a weird, dorky little kid even way back when, but when they were kids things were different. Cas looked up to Dean, idolised him, and Dean had no problem taking Cas under his wing. It was in middle school that they started to grow apart, when Cas started to branch out on his own and pursue his own interests - and high school was when they really started butting heads. They went for months without speaking beyond snarky jibes and irritable arguments, much to the amusement of their classmates. Their text messages after school were bitter and accusatory: Cas wanted Dean’s friendship and acceptance, and Dean either wanted Cas to be cool like him or to butt out of his life. It was an endless, exhausting tussle, but one neither of them managed to let go of. Cas never changed, but he never left either.
Neither of them was oblivious to the fact that the rest of their graduating year called them 'husbands' behind their backs. Which, really, wasn't fair or accurate. It was one kiss, one time, and so what if it happened at prom? They were trying to be ironic, to prove a point. Why could nobody see that but them?
Now, in college, their irritation with each other has blossomed again, and Cas has become more outspoken and dominant as each month passes. It's like he goes out of his way to cross Dean's path, and when he does he seems hell-bent on tripping him up and laughing at him. And the big secret?
Dean kinda likes it. He likes the attention. And he likes the memory of that kiss. He likes to think their whole snarky back-and-forths and pigtail-pulling is just a mask for affection. And most of the time, he can convince himself that it's true.
But not today. Today is the first day of a new semester, and his first social theory class of the term - a class Dean hates and regrets signing up for, especially since of course Cas excels at it and is the teacher's darn pet. Fucking Cas. He's thinking ahead to the afternoon, to baseball practice and the frat party he's been invited to, and his mind is elsewhere. He never actually joined a fraternity, but his teammates always rope him into hanging with them and attending whatever parties and events they throw, so he's practically an honorary frat brother. In his opinion, it's the best way to be. The hallways are crowded and he shoves past a bespectacled Fergus Crowley to get to the door before him and finds himself on Cas' tail. The guy seems to sense him, turns and casts him a dismissive once-over, then heads into the classroom without a single word, not even 'hi'. Hmph. Stupid dork.
Even with his attention elsewhere - very definitely not on the back of Cas' neck and the way his dark hair curls and clings to his skin thanks to the sweat brought on by an unusually hot spring - he doesn't miss it. The one thing he and Cas will fight over every semester until they graduate, and he feels the exact moment that his nemesis sees it too and stiffens in front of him: there's only one left-handed desk, right in the back corner. And two of them. The only two lefties in the entire year. Shit.
Cas moves at the same time he does, ducking past the girl in front of him and pushing someone else out of the way to get to the back of the room, Dean hot on his tail. He doesn't want to be stuck with awkwardly managing with a right-handed desk yet again - he's meant to be the athlete out of the two of them, how come Cas always manages to beat him to it? He's like Road Runner or something, all thick thighs and lean physique and... yeah. Runner's body. Dean hasn't noticed, not really. Not really.
Cas' bag lands on the chair the same instant that Dean's palm hits the wooden surface of the desk, and they both yelp in triumph - then a frown descends onto Castiel's face and he glares at Dean.
"I won, Dean. Your loss. Find somewhere else to sit."
"No, Cas! You win every time! It's my turn." Dean is aware of how petulant and childish he sounds, blushing hard as he realises people are staring and starting to snicker. From somewhere behind him, a girl whispers, 'lovers’ spat' and he rolls his eyes before turning and responding with, 'yeah, he wishes!' It's only when he looks back at Castiel's shocked face that he realises it probably wasn't the most intelligent or appropriate thing to say. He's about to offer an abashed apology, but a frown descends onto Castiel's face and abruptly his hand is shoved off the desk.
"Find somewhere else to sit, Winchester. This desk is mine." The fury in Cas' gaze is palpable, and Dean cringes away in reaction. Shit. He hasn't seen Cas look this mad at him since... since... Oh. Right. Since the last time he made a joke about Cas wanting him. That was after a football game and he'd made a similar tasteless joke to his teammates in front of Cas, only to see the other man's cheeks flare and his eyes brighten suspiciously. Perhaps it's the memory that makes Dean more irritable than usual, because instead of making a show of ‘oh, all right, let the dork win’ and raising his hands in mock defeat, he reaches over and shoves Cas’ bag to the floor, smirking at the outraged reaction.
“Nah, not this time, Cas. I won, you find another desk.”
“Yeah, screw you, Dean, make me.” Cas snags his backpack and goes to sit down, but Dean takes him at his word with a snipped-out, ‘fine’ and grabs him by the bicep. Then by the shoulder, as Cas resists and tugs away. Then his arm comes around Cas’ waist of its own accord, and he's bodily pulling him away from the desk despite the surprised yelp he receives in return.
“Dean! Get off me!”
“Let me sit there!”
“No! Let go!”
“Cas-”
“Dean! Ouch!”
They both lunge to sit down at the chair at the same time, and somehow it happens. Cas ends up on Dean’s lap, with warm arms tight around his waist and Dean’s face pressed perilously close to the back of his neck… then, with a creak and a resigned groan, the legs of the chair give way and they both tumble gracelessly to the ground in a tangle of limbs, amid the shouts and shrieks and laughter of their classmates:
“Get a room, you two!”/”Just get married already.”/”Ugh, why can't a cute guy just fall into my arms?”/”When’s the wedding, bitches?”
That last one was Charlie, Castiel’s best friend, who sits a few feet away at her own desk, chewing gum and grinning like the cat who ate the canary. Dean and Cas lie in a heap, stunned and winded, while people laugh at them and shuffle to their own desks with more oh-so-funny comments. Dean is sprawled on his back with Cas on top of him, and he should be pushing the guy off and growling at him, grumbling about stupid dorks and flimsy chairs and how Cas isn't his boyfriend and that everyone should just sod off. But he doesn't. And Cas takes his time getting up, red-cheeked and suddenly shy, and Dean helps him gather the books that had spilt from his bag.
“Sorry, Dean.” He murmurs, too low for anyone else to hear. “You can have the desk.”
“Nah, Cas, it’s fine.” Dean doesn't miss the way their fingers brush and linger as he passes Cas a book, and his own cheeks flush. “You keep your winning streak. I'll come out on top next time.”
He regrets his choice of words instantly and expects a backlash. Instead, Cas’ eyes widen and a smirk tugs at his lips.
“Is that a promise…?”