In Another Life It Could Happen To You

Title: In Another Life It Could Happen To You.

Fandom: Supernatural.

Pairing: Dean/Castiel.

Rating: NC-17

Word count: 3200

Spoilers: None. Total AU.

Warnings: Frottage on a desk.

Feedback: Yes please.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to Supernatural.

Beta: Both

biggelois and mithrel offered their expert advice on this, and I ignored at last half of it. All mistakes are mine.Notes: Written for the Dean/Cas Kink Meme Free For All for this prompt.

Summary: Dean is a college professor, and Cas is his gifted, but shy student. Only, as it turns out, maybe not so shy after all.

Link to this fic on LJ and on DW and on AO3.

Dean moved away from the black board, and ignored the girl in the front row who kept blinking at him veeeeery slowly. She had clearly watched Raiders of the Lost Ark, judging by the writing on her eyelids, which said: “Sex --- Me”. Creative Writing, indeed. Dean would give her bonus points for effort, but he wasn't really interested. Flattered, yes. Tempted? Not so much. He was well aware that along with that particular girl's carnal interest in him came a far more important desire: the lust for better grades. And Dean might be open minded; heck he wasn't even above the - albeit risky - idea of a sexual fling with a student, but he was certainly not for sale.

”The assignment on the board, handed in by next Tuesday, people. No excuses!”

Groans and mumbles followed his announcement, until Dean let his eyes slide across the room with mock disbelief. “What are you people still doing here? It's Friday! Go get wasted!”

The room exploded with noise, and emptied at record speed, twenty minutes before it usually ended. Several students waved or gave him thumbs up on the way out, and Dean smirked. He was the coolest professor. No doubt about it.

Only one student had never openly expressed any form of appreciation for his teaching methods. Incidentally, that same student was also the one with the highest grade average, despite probably holding the record for fewest words spoken, ever. Dean peered at the boy over his reading glasses. Castiel Novak; his name easily as unusual as the guy himself. Just turned eighteen. Legal, Dean's brain provided helpfully. And yet, whenever Dean caught those blue eyes looking his way, they seemed to be millennia old, watching the world slide by as if they'd already seen everything before. Except maybe Dean.

Because every once in a while Dean would catch the boy staring at him as if he, Dean Winchester, was the most interesting thing that ever existed. Every time Dean noticed, Castiel would blush and look down as soon as he realized he was caught. It was endlessly endearing. Young Novak with the old eyes pushed all of Dean's buttons in a major way, yet he was just as off limits as the desperate-for-better-grades girl. But Dean wasn't made of stone, dammit. Not even close.

The room was almost empty, and Dean allowed himself a last glance at Castiel before he left. Dean wouldn't see that unruly mop of black hair until the following week, and a little memory to look back on would be nice to have for the weekend. To Dean's surprise, the kid looked up, as if suddenly aware that he was being observed. Castiel blushed magnificently, but didn't look away. He managed to hold eye contact for several seconds, which had to be some sort of record for him. And as if the whole thing wasn't already blowing Dean's mind, Castiel suddenly said: “Have a nice weekend, Professor Winchester,” before turning on his heel and practically running out of the room.

His voice had been low and gravelly, completely at odds with his meek teenage exterior. Dean suspected that the boy could make muggers back off just by giving them a stern reprimand, and he hardly dared imagine how that voice would sound in bed.

Something for the weekend indeed!

Dean retreated to his office for an afternoon snack. He had stacks of papers to grade and classes to plan before his weekend officially started, so he needed the sustenance, dammit. And no matter what Sam claimed, Dean had as of yet never heard of anyone who died from cappuccinos and Snickers a couple of times a week.

He sat down at his desk, pulled the lid off his cup from the coffee shop on the corner, and spent a long minute simply drawing in the smell of it. Dean was something of a hedonist at heart, and felt no shame in indulging himself. Not that he wouldn't resist temptation if there was any real risk of getting fired, but that didn't mean that he couldn't daydream about Mr. Dark-haired-and-Shy just a little bit while sipping his coffee. And if a little bit turned into quite the elaborate erotic fantasy before he'd drained the cup, then what harm could it possibly do? Except maybe the harm of Dean giving himself blue-balls with hours of work still ahead of him.

Oh well. It wouldn't be the first time he'd jerked off in a bathroom stall, and most certainly not the last, considering that Castiel Novak would be spending every Tuesday and Friday for the next six months in Dean's class. Some teachers might think that it was unprofessional or even deviant to have sexual thoughts about one's students, but as far as Dean was concerned, what was in his head was very far from reality. And considering the sheer number of filthy offers he'd gotten over the years, it went very much both ways. Not that he'd ever gotten any such offer from Castiel Novak. Just as well. It might have proved too tempting to resist.

Adjusting himself slightly, Dean pushed his impure thoughts to the back of his mind, and started working again. But hardly had he opened the first paper before there was a knock on his door.

“Yeah?” he called and nearly dropped his jaw when Castiel stepped in. Very happy that there was a tabletop between his dick and the object of its current interest, Dean smiled at the young man. “Ah, Cas. I thought you'd be out somewhere getting hammered by now.”

Castiel tilted his head slightly, as if baffled by the words. “No, I... I don't drink.”

Huh. Not what Dean was expecting. But come to think of it, he didn't really know what to expect from the guy. It wasn't like he ever actually said anything more than hello and goodbye.

“Good for you,” Dean offered, cringing inwardly at the flat sentiment. “I hear it's good for the liver.” Awkward. Dammit, what was he, a blushing teenager?!

Clearing his throat in an attempt at actually sounding like the adult he was, Dean asked: “So. What can I do for you?”

Castiel looked down and Dean watched with fascination as a very visible blush started creeping up his pale neck. Dean found he would very much like to follow that blush with his tongue to wherever it started, somewhere below the collar of the boy's shirt. Focus, dickwad, he told himself sternly.

“I just wanted to... I mean... I...” Castiel swallowed hard, and finally looked up and met Dean's eyes. “I finished the assignment for Tuesday,” he breathed, as if he didn't have quite enough air to put more voice into it. Dean blinked and accepted the folder Castiel handed to him. Not sure if he should be relieved or disappointed that it was only a matter of school work, he put on his best mentor-face. The one meant to inspire confidence, and which Dean personally felt made him look awesome.

“Thanks, Cas, that's... efficient of you.”

Castiel didn't smile, but his eyes lit up briefly before he whispered: “Bye,” and fled - yes, fled - Dean's office. Dean sat for a few seconds after the door closed, just wondering what that was all about, before automatically opening the folder with Castiel's paper in it. When he saw the headline he flinched, making his empty coffee cup fly off the desk.

[Creative Writing Assignment: A Character Study.]

[Dean Winchester – A Journey In Prose.]

He was half way out of his chair, before he realized he was still half hard in his pants, and that Castiel was probably long gone. Dean had seen the kid run before. He was freakishly fast for someone not on the running team. Damn. This was bordering on Twilight Zone material. But seeing how Dean was also immensely curious about what was in the rest of the paper, he sat back down, and turned to the first page with anticipation buzzing through his skull.

Twenty minutes later, Dean was a wreck. The paper had been one long elaborate speech on the merits of Dean Winchester. All of them. Not fading to black anywhere. Meaning that there had been at least four pages full of nothing but theorizing about how he looked naked, what he was like in bed, what he tasted like, dammit.

And there, on the bottom of the last printed page, was a mobile number scribbled in blue marker. It was both the most awesome and yet most inappropriate offer Dean had ever gotten. He could feel himself boiling in his skin, and with some difficulty he got up, walked to his door, locked it, and only just managed to get his cock out of his pants before coming all over the door.

That Novak boy was going to be the death of him.

Dean managed to resist temptation until Saturday morning. He'd spent all the hours between receiving the paper and finally thumbing in the number on his phone in a goddamn frenzy. First he'd jacked off maybe four times in his office. Then he'd spent a couple of hours in a mild panic over the whole thing, and after a night of tossing and turning he'd gotten up, and decided it was a battle he'd lost long ago.

After an agonizing half hour spent wondering what he was going to say over the phone, Dean settled for sending a text.

[Hi, Cas. I think we need to talk about your paper. Call me, or come by my house at your earliest convenience. I'll be home all weekend. Dean.]

Dean was sweating with nerves and made himself press 'send' before he lost his nerve or rewrote the text a fifth time. He'd been so conflicted about how to sign it. 'Professor Winchester' sounded cold and yet 'Dean' was almost too intimate. But then again, intimate was pretty much what he wanted to be, and now there was no turning back.

He spent the next thirty minutes clutching his phone, and being in turns relieved and disappointed when it didn't make a sound. He finally decided to stop being a girl about it, and was just about to start grading papers again when his doorbell rang. In an instant he was back on full alert, and he could feel his heart racing as he opened the door.

Castiel was on the doorstep, looking casual in jeans and a t-shirt, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He looked like he was expecting to be punished. It broke Dean's heart a little bit.

“Cas!” he croaked. “Ahem. Come on in!” Cursing his voice for making him sound like he was the teenager here, Dean showed Castiel to the study and regretted it as soon as he sat down in one of the chairs opposite his desk. It did look like Dean was about to scold him. That wasn't what he wanted at all. Castiel hadn't said a word, and just sat there looking at the carpet.

Eager to set the record straight, Dean crouched down in front of the chair, hoping to hell that he didn't seem patronizing.

“Look, Cas, that paper... it was... well it was wildly inappropriate, let's be honest-”

“I know,” Castiel mumbled. “And I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” Dean asked incredulously. “Damn right it made me uncomfortable! I haven't had a boner that bad since I was your age!”

This made Castiel look up at him with eyes wide and mouth slightly open. Dean was powerless to resist, and offered a quiet: “Lemme know if I'm reading this wrong, okay?” before cradling Castiel's face in both of his hands, and leaning in for a kiss.

At first, Castiel was stiff and unresponsive. Dean was just about to pull away and start apologizing, when Castiel suddenly came alive against him, pushing into the kiss, making it wet and slightly desperate. It was awkward, unsophisticated and pretty much the hottest thing ever in Dean's book. Here he was on the uncomfortable side of forty, and this amazing young man actually wanted him. And clearly not for grades. Just for him and quite possibly for his body.

There were hands everywhere all of a sudden, and Dean pulled Castiel out of the chair, so they could stand up and embrace properly. Dean felt like a bit of a sap for it, but he really wanted the boy in his arms. Castiel was totally on board with that idea, though he wasted no time in putting his hands on all the good spots. He might be shy in voice, but in action he was pretty damn bold. His hands settled on Dean's ass, and squeezed hard enough to make Dean gasp and break the kiss.

Castiel was shorter than him, and Dean looked down into the old eyes with wonder before leaning in again, gentler this time. Castiel, ever the attentive student, caught on quickly, and in no time at all his greedy kisses turned into sweet, sweet torture. Dean felt like he was floating, and Castiel was the only thing keeping him grounded. He locked his arms around Castiel, and pulled him so close that he worried for a second that he was crushing him. But Castiel was clearly sturdier than he looked, because he didn't even pause his enthusiastic kissing before hugging back with an iron grip that frankly startled Dean a bit. Castiel did not look that strong. But somehow it fitted the entire package of contradictions. Quiet but passionate. Strong but gentle. Shy and yet so sexually forward.

Dean gasped when Castiel pressed their lower bodies together tightly. He was so hard it had to hurt him, and Dean was no better off. But annoyingly, the height difference made it impossible to fit their groins together properly, so forgetting all about gentle, Dean grabbed Castiel's thighs, and hoisted him onto the desk. This put Castiel a couple of inches higher, and he immediately took advantage of his increased reach, by putting his tongue and teeth on Dean's earlobe. Dean moaned and tilted his head for better access. Castiel's breath roared in Dean's ear, and he felt dizzy with lust.

Pressing close, Dean finally managed to line up their cocks, and even through a disturbing number of layers of clothes the sensation was heavenly. Castiel let out a heavy groan, right in Dean's ear, and started undulating as much as he could sitting on the desk. Dean thrust back eagerly, and for a while it was just a rough dry-humping session, with the bonus of whatever kisses they had the presence of mind to exchange.

But eventually this wasn't enough, and Castiel suddenly leaned back to lie on the desk, pulling Dean down with him. Dean's back protested to the change in position, so to avoid the awkward leaning, he promptly crawled onto the desk, scattering papers everywhere before settling on top of Castiel. Throwing his legs around Dean's waist, Castiel moaned loudly in appreciation, and pulled at Dean until he let his full weight rest on Castiel's wiry frame.

Dean could feel every rapid breath being sucked into the chest under his, and while he felt it was some sort of miracle that the boy could even breathe, Dean frankly didn't have the brain power to give it too much thought. Every one of Castiel's moans just sent that much more blood south, and Dean could only lie there and let the waves of pleasure wash over him.

Castiel's hands were everywhere. In Dean's hair, on his back, his neck, his ass. Dean settled for stroking Castiel's sides, from his ribs to his thighs, up and down, up and down. Castiel showed his appreciation by grinding his hardness frantically against Dean's, and that was all Dean could take.

He sat up, straddling Castiel's thighs, and fumbled his jeans open. Castiel worked furiously on his own pants, and by some stroke of luck they managed to push enough clothes out of the way to bare both their cocks at the same time. Dean surged back down on top of Castiel, and when skin met skin they both groaned and kissed again, desperately.

Dean was usually more refined than this, but Castiel had a way of frying all of his brain cells, so he ended up chasing his orgasm just rutting against Castiel, clutching his hip with one hand, and holding on to the edge of the desk with the other. Their kisses were all tongue now, sliding wet and hot against each other. Castiel pushed down on Dean's ass to encourage the friction, which was rapidly becoming easier with the pre-come leaking freely from them both.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean groaned, breaking the kiss.

“Yes,” Cas rasped, pulling Dean's head back down, as if separating for only a second would be agony.

And that was it for Dean. He pushed his hips hard against Castiel, and came in short, powerful bursts. Only a few more frantic thrusts upwards had Castiel following him, his cock jerking rapidly for what felt like ages, before he finally let his head fall back onto the desk with a thunk. Dean tried to keep his weight off Castiel, but gave up when the hands on his ass wrapped around his back instead, and pulled him down.

He rested his head against Castiel's for a while, until their breaths calmed. Then Dean raised his head, and looked into Castiel's eyes. They seemed even more deeply blue than usual, even half-closed as they were in relaxed bliss.

“Cas, that was...”

“Yes, it was,” Castiel agreed, a smile slowly pulling his lips crooked. “Professor.”

Dean choked out a short laugh. “Jesus, Cas. I think after this you can call me Dean. Unless you like it kinky.”

“Maybe I do,” Castiel mumbled, and Dean couldn't be sure if it was a joke or not. Castiel's face was hard to read at the best of times - meaning when Dean had most of his available blood supply going to his brain - but Castiel's eyes, thankfully, were not, and they twinkled with amusement.

“I suppose this means you'll want to do this again?” Dean asked, smirking.

“Yes, please... Dean.” Even Castiel's eyes got serious then.

Dean shook his head in disbelief. “Son of a bitch. You're gonna get me fired, because I can't not do this again.”

“Thank God,” Castiel replied mildly.

Dean snickered, and tried his best not to feel like a naughty school boy all over again. Predictably, he failed spectacularly.

“If I'm gonna get fired, then we might as well make the most of it,” Dean huffed. “Castiel Novak, may I take you to bed?”

A full blown smile finally made its way to Castiel's face and Dean felt like he could bask in it for the rest of his life.

“Yes, you may, Dean Winchester.”

And so he did.

End.