Deep, electrifying, sparkling blue.
When it hits the sun, just right, it turns into an ocean. Solemn, mysterious, waiting to be explored.
Those are Cas's eyes.
Dean's pencil scrapes against the canvas with a soft scratching sound, as he glances up at the boy seated on the grass across him, about eight to nine feet away, and his breath hitches as he catches Castiel laugh, head falling back and soft pink lips falling open, shoulders jerking as his laugh subdues into a grin.
Dean smiles, privately, to himself, before looking down at his canvas. A rough sketch of a pair of eyes stare back at him, colourless and grey. Dean sneaks another glance, studying from afar, how Cas's eyebrows raise as he speaks, his eyes narrowing and the smile on his face spreading wider.
Dean faintly registers the girl Cas is talking to, as they laugh at something Dean doesn't know. But he doesn't care. Right now, all he can comprehend is Castiel's eyes, and how they pull Dean deeper within them.
The canvas slowly, gradually begins to liven, as Dean drags his pencil along the firm surface, biting his lip and staring at his drawing with utmost focus, as dull, grey eyes stare into his.
He lets go of his pencil, vaguely satisfied with the way the rough outline of the eyes looks to him. He doesn't need to look up at Cas again, for he has memorized the way Castiel's eyes speak and move, capturing the heart of whoever he lays them on.
As Dean reaches for the watercolours in his bag, his mind takes him back to the beginning of the year, to the first time he'd met Castiel Novak, with his adorable, shy, puppy dog look, that had soon burst into a wide, blushing smile.
Castiel had been talking to his friend, Hannah, Dean supposes, not bothering to look ahead. Dean hadn't paid much attention to him at the start, he had been busy stacking his books in his hand, struggling to close his locker, and when he finally had, after much effort, a firm, solid figure had crashed into him, sending him and his books toppling down.
Dean had looked up, angry and irate, until deep blue eyes had stared into his with the intensity of the stars, flustered apologies filling his ears, and a concerned hand sliding down his shoulder.
He hadn't been able to form coherent thoughts, let alone speak, as the boy helped him up, picking up his books and handing them to Dean. Dean had been awestruck, eyes trailing over the younger, smaller boy's face, a gush of affection coursing through his veins as Cas had smiled, eyes softening and a soft 'sorry again', had escaped his peachy, plush lips.
And then, with a promising smile, he had left.
Dean finds himself snapping out of his memories, as he fishes for a paintbrush in his bag. Today is his day off from football practice, and he's decided to use his time to paint, a hobby he rarely has time to pursue these days, due to exams and practice and sports and what not.
But here, sitting in the lawn, leaning against a tree, canvas in his hands, a brush in his fingers, as the cool wind kisses his face, and the heartwarming sight of Castiel across him, laughing and chatting, makes him long for time to stop.
He takes another breath, and dips his brush in some water, picking up a good amount of dark blue, mixing it on his palette with a lighter, brighter blue, and adding in a hint of white to it, until it resembles the colour of Castiel's eyes, or so Dean believes it does. It's hard to find a shade that fits, though, because he has seen Castiel's eyes shine bright blue when he's happy, cheering in the stands during football matches, but he's seen them go deep, prussian blue, when one of Gordon's boys bullies him, and he punches them square in the face, unable to control himself.
Dean doesn't recall the number of times he's beat Alistair up for touching Castiel inappropriately. Castiel doesn't know this, of course, which is why he thinks the reason Alistair doesn't mess with him anymore is simply because he's had a change of heart. If only he knew the truth.
As Dean glances up again, Castiel catches his eye. His words dry up in the back of his throat, and no matter what Dean wants to say, he simply can't, as Castiel's face goes pink, and he waves, gently.
Dean can't respond. He doesn't know how to. He's too distracted by how radiant Castiel looks, but he waves back, not wanting to come off as a dick.
The girl he's talking to leans into his space and whispers something in his ears, making him turn a deep red, as he looks down, hiding his face and smiling. Dean knows he has no reason to be jealous, Castiel has stated before, of his exclusive attraction to men, but somehow the fact that she gets to be that close to Castiel, hear him laugh, watch him smile, listen to his rambling and not admire it, fills Dean with envy.
Castiel steals a blatant glance at him, and Dean considers, maybe he is the subject of their conversation, and well, needless to say, it makes him go pink in the cheeks as well. He shakes his head with a fond smile, and looks down at his canvas. He's still slightly doubtful, wondering if he can do better, for an artist can never be fully satisfied with their art, no matter how much the world praises it.
He sighs, and decides to paint it anyway. He sets the tip of the brush down on the pupils of the eyes in the drawing, wondering how no painting could ever live up to the beauty of Castiel's actual eyes.
The brush swirls and twirls, and Dean paints it, taking as long as he needs, but making sure Castiel hasn't left. His brush dips into blue, into white, into a tan skin, finally into a black, and when he's done, he realizes he's been sitting under the tree for around half an hour, and Castiel is standing up, accompanied by his friend.
Oh no, he needs to give this to Castiel as soon as possible, but it isn't completely dry yet. Dean sets it down beside him, turning over to kneel on his knees, digging frantically into his bag for a pen to sign it with. He notices Castiel move away from the corner of his eyes, and a defeated ache settles upon his heart. He really wanted Castiel to see it. Maybe he should just leave it in his locker. Where's a pen, where's one goddamn pen-
Castiel's deep, soft voice calls out to him, quite close, actually, and Dean freezes. How does he respond? 'Hey Cas?' Or 'Hi Castiel'? No, no, too formal, how about a simple-
"Are you looking for something?"
Castiel asks again, and Dean turns back, his breath held in his chest as he finally meets Castiel's eyes. The ones he drew not more than minutes ago. A soft smile spreads over Cas's lips, a perpetual glow radiating around his face, and those eyes, god, those eyes, just peering into Dean's, with such tenderness, Dean feels his heart racing in his chest.
"Cas, erm, hey-"
Dean chirps, noticing how his voice is raised a notch. If Castiel suspects something, he doesn't say it out. Dean clears his throat and shakes his head, letting out a deep breath.
He looks up to see the girl Castiel has been talking to nudge his shoulder, and Cas grumbles something at her, turning back to Dean within a second.
His cheeks are tinted with light pink, and Dean notices a slight stutter as he speaks up, glancing down to where Castiel's fingers play with the hem of his shirt.
"I uhm, I um, wanted to ask you something-"
He starts off, and Dean looks back up at him. He realizes he's been crouching down all this while, so he grabs his bag and the drying canvas, and stands up, making a poor attempt at hiding the canvas behind his back. Undoubtedly, it catches Castiel's attention, and he voices his query.
"Is it a painting?"
Castiel's eyes gleam with curiosity, and Dean shakes his head furiously.
"No?! Of course not-"
"Can I see it? Please?"
Castiel pleads, eyes widening with childish excitement and Dean finds it harder to resist him.
The girl behind Castiel jabs him in the elbow, mumbling something along the lines of 'you're going off-track' but Cas dismisses her, leaning closer into Dean's space, eyes all pleading and soft like a puppy, lips pouting slightly.
"Please? It's not like I'm going to laugh or anything-"
"It's still wet-"
"Oh come on-"
Castiel attempts at a more physical strategy, leaning over Dean's shoulder, grabbing his arms and peeking over as Dean tries to make his brain function coherently, the touch of Cas's hands on his, sending sparks sputtering under his skin.
Somehow, Castiel gets the painting in his hands.
He gazes at it, silent for a second as Dean curses his luck. Goddamnit, he never should've been there, painting right in front of Castiel. He knew how stubborn the boy was, and crap, what does he think? Oh god, what if he thinks Dean is some kind of pervert creep who watches him all day? Worse, what if he thinks Dean is some kind of stalker? Oh no, no, no-
"Oh my god, this is beautiful."
Castiel gasps, and Dean feels a boulder lift off his chest.
"Of course, it's so detailed and just, I don't know how to describe it- Do they belong to someone? The eyes?"
Castiel smiles, fingers tightening around the canvas, gawking at it in genuine awe, and Dean feels his body wrack with heat.
Just a simple word, and Castiel whips his head up, wide blue eyes peering into Dean's, dumbfounded, lips hanging open, as Castiel does a double take, looking down at the canvas and then up at Dean's face.
His voice drops to a whisper, and Dean can almost see him trying to process it.
"Gosh, this is-"
Words fail Castiel, and Dean thinks he's going to cry, but he simply shuts his mouth and gulps, staring down at the canvas, before looking up at Dean.
"When did you...?"
"Now. That's why it's wet."
Dean says, and rubs the back of his neck, not used to being showered with such attention.
The girl, Charlie, as Dean recalls, leans over Cas's shoulder, before grabbing the picture from his hands. Dean hears her gasp out, and feels a sliver of pride make it's way through his chest.
"Oh, Dean... Why me?"
Castiel seems to be at a loss of words, and Dean's own throat is drying up under Castiel's tender gaze, until he sees Cas crack that beautiful, wide, gummy smile, his cheeks pushing up into his glassy eyes, until he's grabbing Dean's face in his hands and oh- oh.
Dean's eyes widen, until he realizes he's being kissed by Castiel Novak, the only person he's been in love with for about two years.
Dean's eyes flutter shut, and he slides his arms around Castiel's waist, letting himself immerse in the feel of Castiel plump, tender lips against his own, sucking and nipping, hands slipping around his neck and shoulder. Dean melts. Just melts. He vaguely registers, somewhere in the distance, a happy squeal, however, that's all he can comprehend before the overwhelming feel of Castiel, his warm, woody scent and his soft, pliant body, are taking over Dean's senses.
They break away after what seems like hours to them, just kissing and tasting and feeling and touching.
Dean blinks his eyes open to watch Castiel breathe heavy, chest heaving against his own, lips swollen and pinker, hanging open, as his eyebrows knit together and he squeezes his shut eyes, and a surprised huff escapes his throat.
God, I'm in love. I'm in LOVE. Oh my god. Oh my freaking god.
Dean watches, simply stares at the boy in his arms, all flush and warm, and when Castiel finally open his eyes, he squirms in Dean's arms, shaking his head and mumbling.
"Sorry, I should've asked you, I didn't even ask if you were okay with oomph!-"
Dean shuts him up with another kiss, squeezing his arms around Castiel's waist as he rocks him backward, kissing with a new-found passion, hands pressing against his hip and the small of his back, and he feels himself being pulled down by Castiel's arms around his neck. It's for a second, but Dean hears Cas moan into his mouth, and pulls back before he does something inappropriate or too forward.
Castiel moans out as Dean pulls away, slowing down with soft pecks on the corner of Cas's lips, cheeks and his jaw. A firm hand tugs at his hair, and he pulls away at last.
Castiel stares at him with intoxicated eyes, stealing a glance at Dean's lips, as Dean straightens them. Castiel doesn't speak for a moment, not a single movement, as he gazes at Dean.
"You, you're fine with this?"
He asks, eyes softening.
"Fine? Cas, I've wanted this for ages."
Dean rasps, hands still wrapped around Castiel. Castiel goes mum again, simply gazing into Dean's eyes, searching his face for the truth, smiling wide when he sees it.
Castiel brings his hand up to cradle Dean's jaw, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek.
The loud sound of a throat being cleared behind them catches their attention, and they turn to the voice.
"Sorry, guys, as much as I love this, break's about to end, and we both got classes to be at."
Charlie says, a guilty look on her face. The canvas sits carefully in her hands, and Castiel smiles at her.
"Sure, we were just about to-"
He pulls away from Dean, letting his hands slip away from Dean's neck, a smug grin on his face.
Dean licks his lips to moisten them, and rubs his neck, picking up his discarded bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
"Cas, uh, you free tonight?"
Dean asks, voice hoarse from the erm, kissing and all, heh.
Cas grins wider, more confident now, and nods.
"Yes. Do you have something in mind?"
"I uh, thought I could take you on a date to that new bookstore that opened down the street... You said you needed new books the other day..."
Dean says, half expecting Castiel to turn him down, until Castiel chuckles.
"Awh, Dean? You remember that?"
Cas's fingers stroke Dean's cheek and he melts into Dean's arms.
"Of course I do."
Dean whispers, and Castiel pulls away to look up at him.
"I'd love that."
He says with a soft smile, and Dean's eyes are drawn to the way his cheeks dimple, and a part of him wants to kiss each dimple.
"Yeah, cool, yeah, I'll see you later then, yeah?"
Dean mumbles, and Cas laughs.
"Of course. I'll see you then. Bye, Dean."
Dean watches as Castiel snatches the canvas away from Charlie's hands, making her chuckle, and walks backwards, gazing at Dean as he walks away, until Charlie jabs him in the hip, causing him to frown at her, and he turns around eventually, but not before stealing a last glance at Dean, after which they disappear into the building.
Dean stares, still incredulous. Because what was that? Castiel Novak, his crush for around two years, just confessed his feelings, kissed him, and agreed to go on a date with him.
Gosh, and how did it start? With a painting. A goddamn painting.
Dean doesn't know what Castiel will do with it, keep it on his shelf, keep it in a drawer, hang it up, sleep with it, who knows? Dean bounces the bag on his shoulders, walking towards the building, shaking his head with a blush on his cheeks, and Cas's face etched into his memory, moreso his eyes.
God, those eyes. Dean could never get enough of them. Never.