"Hey Cass," Dean leans over the table, watching a rather hyper Castiel scan over his psychology notes for the third time. He took Castiel out to the student centre for a reason: to get him to stop chiselling every single shred of written notebook paper he owned into his mind. Since the prospect of final exams, Castiel has been doing nothing but memorising notes, drilling himself with flashcards, and inhaling Starbucks coffee (a habit Dean still blames Sam for starting up).

As much as Dean somewhat admires Castiel's industrious attitude towards studies (while Dean barely picks up the battered used text books he spent a couple hundred on), he knows it's going too far when he can't step anywhere in their dorm without kicking an old Frappucino glass or when he sees Castiel notably vibrating. That's what he's doing now, vibrating while he takes another sip of some frothy frilly over-priced coffee treat.

He watches the eyes flicker up from the neatly laid out notes, wide and worn. Dark rings circle around the vivid blue, bags dragging down his droopy eyes. And the blue itself looks overly energised, electric even, sparking because somewhere in that guy's head there are some loose wires shorting out because of all the late nights studying and long days injecting himself with caffeine so he can stay up later studying…

"What is it, Dean?" Castiel enquires, low voice quick, jittery, almost forced. He brings the cup back to his lips, taking another shot of White Chocolate Mocha. He shakes a little more with each drop trickling down his throat, eyes still fixated on Dean.

Dean heaves a sigh, green eyes flickering around the room a minute. Then, he reaches out and cups Castiel's hand, lowering the cup. He purses his lips, ignoring the spot of whipped cream on the corner of the other's mouth and staring deeply into his eyes. No, no this has to stop. Now.

"Put down the notes and throw away the coffee," He speaks calmly, coolly, well aware that politely asking Castiel to stop it is the only thing he ever really has to do. But, just to sweeten things, he frowns, mimicking that puppy dog pout Castiel and Sam both pull off so well.

Castiel merely blinks, eyes fluttering as he keeps focused. Under Dean's palm, his bony fingers quiver, curling and uncurling around the warm cup. He opens his mouth, trying to croak out a reply, but each time he's too rattled for anything to leave his lips. Dean can tell what he's trying to say: 'But Dean! The exams! Only three days! Need to memorise! Human behaviour! Dean! Test! DEAN!'

Dean rolls his eyes, then moves in closer, stealing a kiss. It's a funny feeling, pressing against trembling lips, a sensation that brings a smirk to Dean's face. And, just before he pulls away, his tongue licks over the clump of cream. He grins widely as Castiel's head bobs, confusion swirling in his eyes as he registers and absorbs what just happened. Then, he looks at Dean with a tilted head and cherry tinged cheeks.

"But…" He starts, but gives up when Dean raises a brow, odds against him and all argument attempts fruitless. It's nearly impossible to win an argument with Dean Winchester. Castiel huffs, folding the sheet of psychology notes and tucking it under his cup, softly muttering a grumpy and defeated "Fine."

"Atta boy," Dean chimes, scooting his chair closer to Castiel, "You need a break," A hand walks across along the tabletop, sneaking over and settling on the quavering hand, "I can help with that."

"Let me guess," A smile teases at Castiel's lips, "Shameless PDA violations?" There's a devilish accent to that, like a spike of caramel to a purely vanilla brew. He might be pegged as the type of guy who stuck to every rule like the law, but Castiel usually never minds breaking a few, so long as Dean shares the punishment.

"Didn't need to study to get that one right," Dean grins, a gleam shining in the green when his boyfriend utters a few soft chuckles. Then, he leans over and kisses Castiel again, savouring the sweet mocha taste of his mouth. And for the first time in weeks, Castiel isn't shaking anymore.