Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1255363.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester, Benny_Lafitte/Dean_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Castiel, Sam_Winchester, Benny_Lafitte, Bobby_Singer,
      John_Winchester, Charlie_Bradbury
  Additional Tags:
      Dom/sub, BDSM, Non-Supernatural_AU, Sub!Dean, Dom!Cas, slow_build
      romance, Alternate_Universe_-_College/University, Absent_Parents, Alcohol
      Abuse/Alcoholism, past_underage_prostitution, Age_Difference
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-03-01 Updated: 2014-07-13 Chapters: 6/? Words: 11286
****** Tower of Learning ******
by destieldamnit
Summary
     Dean tries his best to leave his demons behind when he heads to
     college, but quickly discovers his past can't be so easily erased.
     Little does he know, the freedom he so desperately desires will be
     found in the ties that bind.
Notes
     This is my first time publishing on Ao3. If you feel I've mistakenly
     tagged or missed something, please kindly let me know.
***** The Reason for Blue *****
Dean’s never been one to pay much attention during class. His elementary and
high school years are mostly a blur of doodling erotic images on the edges of
tests and hiding out in the bathroom with a cigarette pressed between his lips
(or on the neck of the all-star quarterback, but that’s a story for another
day). By some miracle, he’d managed to keep his shit together just enough to
get him into the local university on a wrestling scholarship. That’s right—
flannel-wearin’, classic-rock-lovin’, queer-as-the-day-is-long Dean Winchester
is now a college man at the perky age of eighteen, thanks to slamming boys down
on mats for the past six years.
He’d discovered college is, thankfully, a vast improvement from his prior
history with education. The ability to follow his interests in most courses was
a huge bonus, and the lack of concern from the professors made him excel rather
than slack off. Dean found the pressure smothering from teachers that seemed to
make it their business to breathe down his neck eight hours a day. In college?
Most professors could care less if you even showed up, though there were
exceptions, of course. Even Dean was shocked by his eagerness to attend his
classes.
It was in Dean’s second semester however, when his zeal for attending his
courses shot up exponentially— well, his zest for one class in particular, that
is.
 
===============================================================================
 

“Sonofabitch!” Dean grumbled at the blank face of his alarm clock. During his
fitful night of unrest, Dean must’ve ripped the cord to his alarm clock out of
the wall. He frantically searched for his cell phone, still in yesterday’s
jeans left in a heap on his dorm room floor. Through bleary eyes, Dean could
just make out that the time read 9:18 AM.
His heart exploded in his chest as he flung his legs out of the bed, nearly
breaking his neck when his feet tangled in the covers. His class started at 9:
45 AM and being was late was not the impression Dean wanted to make on the
first day of the semester. He knew it’d be all syllabus and boredom, but he’d
made the mistake of skipping two of his first classes last semester and
regretted it for several weeks in. Dean yanked on the jeans from the floor,
threw on a black tank top, and the heather grey flannel hanging on the back of
his desk chair. Not exactly the put together appearance “College Dean” would
have aimed for, but that’s better than being late. He slipped on his boots, ran
a dampened hand through his short, nutmeg blonde hair, and grabbed his text and
notebook just in case the professor was feeling ambitious.
Dean wasn’t even sure which professor’s course he was going to this muggy
August Tuesday, just the building and room number he’d scrawled on the notebook
as he headed out the door. He was relieved but a little annoyed to arrive with
ten minutes to spare. In fact, he was the fourth person to slide into his seat;
his presence probably sufficiently annoying to the early comers as he was
huffing like he’d just sprinted a marathon.
Dean looked to the front of the lecture hall as he tried to convince his lungs
they were being overly dramatic. Neatly written in a soft, flowing cursive on
the blackboard was “Professor Novak” in royal blue. “Woman,” Dean mused to
himself, making his assumption from the pretty handwriting and color choice. He
liked playing this game, eager to see if his prediction would be accurate or
not, as he often was spot on. He waited and watched as the class began to fill
up. He thumbed his textbook, tracing the title with his finger, “ABNORMAL
PSYCHOLOGY”.
On a whim, and because the class just happened to be at 4:00PM, Dean had taken
a Psych 101 course last semester and discovered an intense interest for the
subject. Since he’d never planned on attending college, figuring he would just
go work at his good friend Bobby’s junk yard after high school, Dean hadn’t yet
declared a major. After discovering this hidden passion, Dean was leaning into
a career in psychology. He hoped this semester would help him make the big
decision.
At precisely 9:45AM on the dot, Professor Novak calmly walked into the lecture
hall with a high-end travel mug and a rich chocolate brown messenger bag slung
over his shoulder. Dean watched carefully as the man, so sharply dressed Dean
thought he may have just walked off a runway, took off his heather grey, wool
overcoat that was a stunning modern take on the traditional pea coat. Beneath
it was a burgundy scarf that Dean was positive had the same name as a fancy
wine. It hung down long and clean over a pale blue button down that had a
subtle dotted pattern. It was tucked into charcoal jeans that were somewhere
between skinny and straight cut with a pressed crease in the front. Dean
wondered if they weren’t specially tailored to hang low on his hips and cling
just right to those athletic, runner’s thighs. To finish off his remarkable
ensemble were black loafers with a slim square toe and a thin belt around his
slim waist. Dean was so swept up in the man's appearance that he'd forgotten
his flawed prediction.
Professor Novak had an effortless air of authority or perhaps, Dean
reconsidered, more accurately a commanding presence. The kind of person who the
whole room would take notice of when he entered (and the class certainly had).
The professor seemed to be disinterested in his ability to garner attention, a
quiet humility not often seen in one so stunning as him. Dean was all but
fainting on the floor, however he didn’t appear to be alone in that seeing as
he was in a room full of numerous young women clearly having similar thoughts.
Dean had been studying his new professor so closely that he’d almost entirely
missed his face. He quickly realized it was just as striking as the man’s
outfit, if not more. Professor Castiel Novak, as he’d just announced, had warm
brown hair that was a bit tousled but swept back and away from his face. He had
a rugged, strong face with a five o’clock shadow that perfectly accentuated his
lick-worthy jawline. A straight, sloped nose sat above a pair of the fullest,
pinkest lips he’d ever seen on a man (possibly second only to Dean himself, he
supposed). He had on glasses that had thick, stylish black frames, but they
couldn’t hide the eyes behind them.
Even from his seat in the middle of the hall, Dean could see those eyes. They
weren’t the piercing, icy hue of some blue eyes, nor were they mixed with other
colors to become some hard to define shade. They were blue. Dean didn’t want to
try to wax poetic, but they were everything blue he’d ever loved all in a look.
They were the sky he threw ball with Bobby under, the ocean he coaxed his
little brother, Sammy, to swim in till his fear turned to delight, and the
dress his mother wore in one of his last and fondest memories of her. Even his
favorite pair of jeans seemed wrapped around that jet black pupil and nestled
under those long lashes.
The class had all but fallen into a sink hole around him and Professor Novak.
Until it dawned on him those blue, blue eyes were looking right at him and
something that sounded vaguely familiar was coming out of those crinkled rose
petal lips.
“Dean?” Professor Novak called. That beautiful face looked mildly concerned.
Shit. How many times had he said his name? They have our pictures on the
roster, he knows which student I am. Oh, god, am I supposed to do an
introduction? Just say “here”? Dean went for that.
“H-here.” Dean cursed his stumbling tongue.
“Thank you.” Professor Novak smiled, nodded slightly, and went back to his
attendance list.
By the end of the class, Dean had taken down the necessary notes and followed
along with the reading of the syllabus, but he was also semi-hard and
completely smitten. He sprinted back to his dorm, grateful he didn’t have
another class till one that afternoon. With his back pressed against his door,
he dropped his books where he stood and ran his hands up and down his thighs,
breathing heavily from more than just his jaunt back to his room. His mind was
flooded with so many fantasies and scenarios starring one Professor Novak that
at first he couldn’t even pick which to jack off to.
As images flickered behind his eyelids, they returned to the cliché of being
fucked on that ornate, solid walnut Gothic Revival desk. His mind settled there
(hey, it’s a cliché for a reason!), Professor Novak’s lecture notes and student
papers scattered from the desk to the floor; the ink pressing into Dean’s bare
skin as his Professor opened him with slick, scissoring fingers. Dean’s hand
wrapped around his cock, no longer able to control the lust searing through his
veins. He made a tight fist and thrust his hips forward, imagining the tip of
the Professor’s cock pressing into him and the buck of his hips so Dean was
given every inch. Dean was so turned on after two hours of lecture and endless
fantasies that it took only minutes to orgasm, his release slipping through his
fingers and onto the floor between his legs. He was somewhat disappointed he
hadn’t lasted longer to linger in the imaginary, but at least he’d be able to
focus in his next class.
Dean cleaned up the floor and finally got the shower he’d meant to take in the
morning. He tried to focus on the semester, his essays and projects, giving
Sammy a call, and anything he could to keep his mind away from that well-
dressed, mysterious man. Dean kept those meanderings at bay, so long as his
thoughts never returned to those soulful blue eyes. Soulful. Yes, he decided,
that was what he couldn’t quite fathom earlier. Vibrant portals to something
wholly untouchable; a vision that knows you even when you feel hidden. 
Those eyes were the reason for blue.
***** One Jagged Edge *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean's past comes back to haunt him as he contemplates getting closer
     to Professor Novak.
Dean thumbed through his Ab Psych syllabus for what seemed like the hundredth
time in the two days since his first class with Professor Novak. A steady
autumn rain tapped on the window as he stared at the words “Teacher’s
Assistant”, highlighted in neon green.
He wanted so badly to apply. The self-doubt in his ability to juggle being a TA
and a full-time schedule wasn’t the only reason he was hesitant to get
involved. Dean knew this would only get him closer to the professor he already
couldn’t get off his mind. Which is exactly what Dean wanted and precisely what
he was so terrified of. This thick desire and his overwhelming fear broke loose
memories that had for a long time only the company of skeletons until today.
Dean’s new persona dimmed, shrinking back from his existence as his past came
to call.
Dean had to pull from the depths the memory of the last person he’d had
feelings for. Benny. Yes, that was the first and last boy he’d liked, Dean
supposed. Benny was his first proper crush with butterflies and sweaty palms
and songs devoted just to him.  Dean was around twelve when they’d met, the
torrential hormones of puberty just beginning to build. Benny had moved in down
the street from Dean and their paths intertwined one fateful summer day during
a sudden downpour. He was a whole year older and couldn’t have seemed cooler to
Dean if he’d come riding up into his front lawn on a motorcycle, clad in
leather head-to-toe. The attraction between the two boys was instantaneous.
Theirs was a simple love that bloomed rather than burned.
On the day of their first encounter, Benny was taking his cherry red bike for
an afternoon ride when the rain hit. Dean, home alone while Sammy slept over at
a friend’s house, was swinging on the porch trying to read some book whose
title he couldn’t recall. He spotted Benny out in the rain, walking his bike in
the middle of the pavement and called the drenched boy up to the porch. Dean
shared his swing and a bottle of Coca Cola with him till the fallen rain had
all but dried up in the persistent summer heat.
As night began to creep around the corners of the porch, Dean knew his dad
would be home soon. He’d come with whiskey and rage on his breath if he was
arriving at all, and Dean wanted to be as far away from that as he could. Dean
escaped to Benny’s house that night. Rarely were the two apart for the rest of
Dean’s time in Missouri. Dean smiled fondly when he recalled that that sticky
summer night was also the eve of his first kiss, so uncertain and electric
between sheets with galaxies on them. Benny loved the stars, he remembered
fondly.
Dean’s smile quickly faded as the memory slid into the day Dean and Benny had
to say goodbye. Dean’s dad was moving him and Sammy for the fourth time in two
years. Dean was heartbroken over his lost love, a pain he had to suffer in
silence. He had become numb to intimacy after Benny, though not because of him.
That sweet summer love was the last tenderness he’d tasted, and its sweetness
had long ago turned to ash in his mouth.
It was after his time with Benny that Dean's life was shredded and untethered
once again. Dean’s father had been obsessed with finding his mother’s killer
since he was four years old, but his vendetta had morphed into a booze-soaked,
festering wound of spite and hate with no real direction anymore. Dean saw less
and less of his father with each passing year. His responsibilities snowballed
with each extended absence— taking care of Sammy, keeping his grades up, doing
the housework, maintaining his spot on the wrestling team. Eventually his dad’s
presence in their lives whittled down to a few days a month, an unannounced
guest appearance here and there. The wads of cash left on Dean’s nightstand
became smaller as his dad’s addiction grew at a rate far faster than his now
secondary habit of seeking justice.
Dean was fifteen the first time he had sex for money. As he got ready for his
first “transaction”, he told himself it wasn’t a big deal. A quick, easy way to
make all the cash he needed to buy Sammy three square meals a day for a whole
week. It wasn’t until after, when he laid in his bed and sobbed into his
pillow, that the black tar of regret coated his lungs and his guts. As the
years went by, the muffled cries became fainter and eventually stopped coming
at all. The johns bled into one jagged edge that left their mark on his life
and sometimes, too many times, on his body too. Selling his body became
commonplace for Dean; it was his new way of life. Another secret for him to
coil up tight inside. He knew he did what he had to, and he’d do it a thousand
more times to clothe and feed and care for his little brother. Nonetheless, the
darkness that came to him that first night was a constant passenger he couldn’t
break free from.
A crack of thunder outside his dorm window snapped Dean out of the past like a
rubber band breaking. He was still sitting in the same position, eyes cast down
upon the syllabus. He saw the wet splotches on the paper and the distorted
words on the page, before he felt the tears on his face and realized he’d been
crying. Dean was used up and broken— a knotted mass of scar tissue and
worthlessness crying alone in his bed. He felt fifteen again. How could someone
as distinguished and pristine as Professor Novak ever want a mess like Dean
around? He hurled the syllabus across the room in a rush of anger that squeezed
and singed his lungs.
He decided not to apply. 
***** Open Door *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean's first intriguing essay for Professor Novak yields a surprising
     turn of events.
To start off the class, Professor Novak had assigned an open essay. One
thousand words on anything the student desired within the realm of abnormal
psychology, due the day of their second meeting. Professor Novak didn’t say as
much, but it was clear to Dean that this was his way of feeling out the
students quickly.
Dean found he enjoyed writing essays more than his peers seemed to, but the
“choose your topic” kind were his curse. Dean’s mind was flooded with hundreds
of possibilities that intrigued him. It took him at least half the time he had
to complete the essay to even select his subject for this kind of assignment.
With a burning desire to please Professor Novak, making a decision this time
was proving particularly challenging.
“Sammy, I don’t know what to do it on.” Dean was definitely whining into the
phone to his little brother.
“Are you more interested in cognitive or medical or something?” Sam inquired
casually, trying to help Dean narrow down his choices. Dean’s chest swelled
with pride at his little bro’s brilliance. Dean knew Sammy had probably started
studying psychology before it even crossed his own radar as a career.
“Cognitive, I think. There are so many topics for the behavioral approach
though. Ugh.” He groaned at his indecision.
“Whatever you pick will be awesome, man. Go with your gut. Remember how you
taught me to list my first three ideas? Try that. I gotta go work on some
algebra. Call me tomorrow?” There was a slight edge of a quiet fear in the
question, even after Dean being on campus for several months before.
“Of course, Bitch.” Dean filled those three words with as much promise and
assurance as he possibly could.
“Okay, Jerk.” The line went dead, but Dean heard the smile on his little
brother’s face that wrapped around his nickname just before the click.
Dean pulled out his pen and psych notebook and scrawled out a numbered list,
taking the advice he’d given Sammy on a similar assignment long ago. He made
notes beside the topics to help narrow down his best choice.
   1. Serial killer too typical, even more choices
   2. Sexual deviance
   3. Depression common, really broad topic
Sexual deviance it is, he concluded. A thrill skittered up his spine at the
idea of handing in a provocative paper to Professor Novak. Would he grade it at
that gorgeous desk of his? Or perhaps at home in bed, leafing through the pages
Dean wrote just for him? Dean’s breath caught in his chest and he had to
physically shake his head to clear his mind. Sexual deviance, indeed. Dean
cracked his knuckles and got to work.
  
===============================================================================
 
 
Dean was first in class that third Tuesday of the semester. He knew the class
would be getting their essays back from last week and he could barely sleep
knowing the Professor had seen his writing. Dean decided to focus on sadism and
masochism in his essay. Since it was early in the course and a short essay, he
lightly discussed the complexities of when and how these preferences may become
unhealthy and what the standards of a clinical diagnosis are. He often felt
concerned about his own predilections, so he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t
a whole lot of Dean in what he’d decided to write about. He felt a little
chicken shit for ending it with some middle of the road line. It made so little
impression he couldn’t even quite recall what it was. He sighed and gnawed on
his lip over it as the class filled up. Not much he can do about it now, he
supposed.
Professor Novak arrived as stylishly and punctually as he had each morning
before. The wool coat, messenger bag, and travel mug had returned again, but
the rest of his ensemble was fresh for Dean’s eyes to take in. The professor
was sporting a thin knit, icy silver sweater with a deep grey trim along the
short V-neck. Beneath it was the tucked collar of a shadow blue button down and
a satin tie in the same hue as the shirt. His pants were jet black and relaxed,
bordering on baggy but still clearly well-fitted to his form. No scarf or
accessories today, except for a subtle platinum watch peeking out from under
the cuff of his shirt when he moved his arm a certain way.
Dean sighed out loud in appreciation, forgetting yet again that this was a
class of roughly thirty and as such he was not alone. A bright red pixie cut
swirled around in front of him to his left and gave him a wink. Dean knew his
face had to be about the same shade as her hair.
“I’m Charlie!” she whispered brightly.
“Dean,” he smiled back.
After attendance, Dean’s long anticipated moment was quickly arriving.
Professor Novak held their essays in his arms and passed them out one by one.
It felt agonizingly slow to Dean. His leg thumped anxiously against the arm
rest of his seat as he watched the professor leisurely make his way around the
room. Before he could rattle the chair apart, his essay was slid on top of the
small desk. He immediately took in the green permanent marker scrawled across
the front, “See me after class.”
Dean’s heart pounded so hard in his chest he couldn’t hear anything but the
banging in his ears. He tried desperately to cling to some semblance of a cool
exterior as he thumbed to the back of the essay where the grade is usually
tucked away. A simple “98%” was written in the same emerald ink. Dean was now
even more confused than before. He thought for sure he’d failed miserably and
was in trouble (and not the fun kind of trouble, mind you). There were a few
small notes made by the professor throughout the essay, but no indication of
why he’d need to speak with Dean.
Dean didn’t hear a single thing that was said the rest of the lecture. He tried
to take down some notes, but it was useless. His mouth felt like he’d been
licking pebbles for the past hour and his heart showed no sign of slowing down.
Did he do something wrong? Could he have actually done something right? He
could hardly fathom the second option, even with the grade A essay he’d just
written.
Finally, the lecture was winding down. He knew this because people were
shuffling their notes and texts and laptops so they could flee the moment
Professor N (as they called him) said the parting words. Charlie was among the
shufflers. He leaned in her direction and asked if he could borrow her notes.
She was happy to help him out, she said. They exchanged numbers so he could
return her papers the following day.
Dean wondered if he hadn’t just started an actual friendship. He had no reason
to really think so, but it was more active socializing than he’d done since
arriving at the university. He felt a quick connection with her, whatever it
was. Luckily this brief interaction helped calm him a bit, until he realized he
was now alone with Professor Novak and he was going to have to speak. Speak
actual words. He was going to have to talk to this astounding man he’d been
fantasizing about for three weeks.
“Dean? Can you come down here, please?” Professor Novak’s low voice reached out
to him from the front of his classroom. Dean gathered up his stuff and walked
down to the gorgeous desk he wouldn’t mind crawling under right now.
“I loved your paper.” It was only the second time he’d look Dean straight in
the eyes, and Dean felt it all the way to his bones and into the parts people
write colorful books to teach kids about. So much so that he didn’t even
register the glowing compliment until a few seconds later.
“Thank you.” He spoke far softer than he intended. He realized he was clinging
to his books like they were a life preserver pressed against his chest, but he
managed to say real words that could be heard by human ears so for that he’d
count it as a win.
“I want you to be my TA. I know you didn’t apply, something we’ll have to keep
between us if you accept, but your essay… You show the most promise, Dean.”
Dean was pretty sure his face melted off somewhere between “I want you” and
“between us” but if it hadn’t, it most certainly did by the end of the
sentence.
“If I say I accept right now, is that too eager?” He practically giggled the
words. What the hell, man, keep it together.
Professor Novak laughed. “No shame in being eager, Dean.”
Dean made note of him saying his name again. He tried to write it off as
etiquette or simply the professor trying to remember him at all, but his mind
was already reveling in the sound of his name on that tongue and slipping
across those phenomenal lips. Dean swore there was a hint of something more in
those true blue eyes when he said those four letters. He was probably imagining
things, but he liked the image.
“I have the finalization form here. Take it and fill it out and drop it in my
inbox when you’ve finished.” Again those eyes, that pretty pearl smile.
Dean took the paper and thanked him. He may or may not have ran into a desk
while trying to exit backwards out of the class to keep looking at the
professor a little longer.
Dean walked his massive grin and another post-lecture erection back to his dorm
room. He finished himself and the form in record time in that order. His formal
acceptance of the position of teacher’s assistant was in Professor Novak’s
inbox before the end of office hours that day. Now that the door had been
opened, Dean wanted his professor to know just how eager he truly was to be his
number one student.
***** Charlie *****
Dean woke the morning after turning in the TA form to a text from the
professor. He peered outside before reading the message and saw a heavy haze of
morning dew hanging in the air. His phone informed him it was 8:33AM Wednesday,
September 4th. No classes today he remembered, relieved. Taking a deep, sleepy
breath he opened the text.
“Good morning, Dean. Meet me in my classroom at 4PM today, if available. See
you soon.”
The text was sent at 6:18 this morning. Dean’s brain felt like it was a 4th of
July celebration with all the thoughts it was trying to fire off at once.
What was he doing at 6 in the morning when he thought to text me?
Oh god, I haven’t replied in over two hours.
He’ll think I’m lazy. Or too busy to respond? No, too lazy.
What is his morning routine like?
Does he have a routine?
How can I possibly make it till 4PM to see him?
Dean sucked a cool breath between his teeth and his tongue. Professor Novak’s
eyes sliced through his thoughts. Dean’s mind settled into that gaze like stray
leaves fluttering to the pavement on a breezy day. Calm, like a meditation that
transported him somewhere perfect or maybe just kept him steady and present— he
wasn’t quite sure.
He stretched and picked his phone back up. Dean pulled up Charlie’s number.
“Coffee 4 notes @ 12?”
Dean didn’t usually type in slang but he was tired and preoccupied. The
response came quickly.
“Great!”
Dean was pleased she didn't take long to get back to him, he hoped it was a
reflection of her excitement to get to see him. Dean hadn’t responded to
Professor Novak’s message yet. He had shown so much interest yesterday… Dean
decided against replying. He wanted his professor to wonder if he’d show up for
their appointment. He knew if he confirmed, Professor would not think of him
again until just before their meeting. Dean may not have had romantic
involvement since he was a tween, but he still knew how to attract and seduce
(he hoped he knew, anyway). He also knew being alluring would be a lot less
successful once he was in the professor’s physical presence again, so he better
be coy while he was capable of being so.
After a long shower, Dean reviewed his assignments and worked on some
exceedingly frustrating calculus. He was tempted but ultimately too prideful to
call Sammy for help. His high school teachers knew Dean was capable, but he
missed a lot of the foundation his peers were building in class. Dean assumed
he was too stupid, because that was easier than admitting his home life was
more smoking rubble than picket fences. Dean still felt too stupid. He shut the
book and checked his watch. 11:45 AM.
Dean grabbed his maroon hoodie and slipped his phone and wallet in his jeans
pockets. He tucked the folder he’d kept Charlie’s notes in under his arm as he
went out the door. The heat of August had given way to a brisk September almost
entirely overnight. He was pretty sure the summer heat wasn’t done with them
yet, but autumn was seeping into the edges of the scene.
The on-campus coffee shop was only a few hundred feet from Dean’s dorm, a
luxury he had grown to love in the spring and missed deeply during summer break
back home. It wasn’t just the jolt of caffeine he enjoyed, but rather the whole
experience; the hushed conversations over steaming mugs, the fragrance of
coffee and tea making the open space feel warmer and closer, the diverse
assortments of beans and people and places to sit. It was in his favorite cozy
corner where his ginger friend awaited him when he arrived at the cafe.
Dean waved to Charlie and she raised her mug in a salute from the purple
pinstriped arm chair. Dean ordered a large Italian roast, black with two
sugars. Unlike most of the patrons he’d overheard, Dean liked to switch it up
most days. There were so many drinks to try that he thought it a waste to get
the same one, but the bold, rich Italian was his favorite so far. The swirling
dark pool in his artsy yellow mug was worlds away from the discount food store
sludge he drank in high school.
He plopped down on the burnt orange wingback unceremoniously and set his drink
on the small round table between them. Charlie thanked him brightly as Dean
handed back her notes.
“So, Professor Novak, huh?” she inquired, a bit devilishly.
Dean laughed and shook his head as calmly as possible. “He’s just cute, that’s
all.”
Charlie laughed, “Oh, Dean, please. I may not swing on that branch but that
man’s downright swoon-worthy.”
Dean placed the initial spark. Family. He winked at her as he took a sip of his
coffee. Dean often wondered what that flicker of recognition is, how that
understanding is ignited. What is that elusive thing? A mutual understanding?
The power of a shared experience? The attraction of queer attraction?
Dean realized he hadn’t said a single syllable in a solid minute while he mused
internally about the complexity of “gaydar”. It then occurred to him he also
had no idea what to talk about. Charlie was peeking at him over the mossy green
mug in her pale fingers. It looked fabulous next to her hair. He swore he used
to be good at this whole mingling thing.
“I’m sorry, I’m out of it today. Must need more of this,” Dean lifted his mug,
gesturing to the caffeinated contents.
“What are you going to school for?”
“I’m not sure yet. Thinking something with psychology but it’s only my second
semester. You?”
“Comp Sci. Nerding it up with the best of ‘em.” She said it with some mix of
pride and awkwardness, like she wasn’t supposed to be smart but wouldn’t know
how to be anything else even if she wanted. Like her favorite sweater that
someone called ugly once so she remembers it every time she puts it on. Dean
hoped the discomfort would fade someday. There’s no reason for her to be anyone
else, he thought.
Dean noticed her Star Wars shirt and she noticed him looking. “You know, I’ve
only see parts of all the movies.”
The look on Charlie’s face could’ve reached out and slapped him. “Saturday and
Sunday. Star Wars marathon. No excuses.”
Dean laughed, unable to hide his excitement at having plans under the cool
exterior he tried to maintain. “I’ll bring the popcorn.”
“Shit. I gotta get to my class. Sorry to rush off, but Saturday, don’t forget.”
She gave him a serious look and grabbed her stuff.
“I won’t forget.”
“You’re going to tell me more about Professor N, too.” With that she was out
the door.
Dean was annoyed at his watch for telling him it was only 12:30. He had hoped
his meeting with Charlie was going to eat up more of his time. Now he had to
find something to do for another three and a half hours.
He started to walk back to his dorm but decided to stop off at the bookstore to
see if they had popcorn. Dean grabbed the last three pack of movie theater
butter popcorn and wished he didn’t have to wait till Saturday to hang out
Charlie. He toyed with the idea of dropping in on Professor Novak unannounced,
but figured that was a rude, if not creepy, idea. He’d have to settle for going
back to his dorm and twiddling his thumbs for the rest of the day.
Instead of playing with his thumbs, Dean found himself under his blankets with
his hand on his cock and his laptop propped beside him. It took him over twenty
minutes just to find some porn that interested him and even now the two men
fucking on his screen only had him slightly hard. He slammed shut his laptop,
sweaty and frustrated. He saw those eyes again. Just a flicker, a blink, but
that was all it took to bring him down. Dean’s damp palm and fingers wrapped
around his dick again. He was surprised to feel it filling readily under his
flesh. “Professor,” he whispered, the word jolting straight through him like
lightning.
Dean saw himself sitting at his desk this time. Professor Novak stood before
him in those snug pants he wore the first day Dean laid eyes on him. Dean
imagined the bulge growing beneath the fabric and his mouth began to water. The
professor looked down at Dean through those black framed glasses, almost
daringly but with a taunting disapproval woven into his stare.
“Please,” Dean muttered in his bed and fantasy.
“What do you want, Dean?”
“I want to taste it,” he begged.
“Taste what?” He was more demanding now. “I want to hear you say it.”
“I want to taste your cock.”
His imagination seemed to take control of the scenario, filling his mind with
instinctual pleasures and textures. Dean’s stroking became so rapid he felt
possessed by his lust. Just that tiny fantasy was enough to do for Dean what 15
porn videos couldn’t come close to. He threw his blankets back as he came
suddenly onto his stomach in thick, hot ropes, his chest aching and heaving.
“Fuck,” he sighed, shocked by the intensity of his climax.
He hoped the orgasm would help get him through his meeting, but somehow he
doubted it.
***** Marked *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean's meeting with Professor Novak finally arrives.
Chapter Notes
     This is a longer chapter compared to the previous ones, clocking in
     at 3,100+ words.
After his intense masturbation session, Dean’s body felt warm and wrung out. He
decided to shower before going to meet his professor. Even on pain of death, he
wouldn’t admit he spent the entire time in the bathroom trying to figure out
what to wear. He decided on a bright green polo he’d bought for interviews and
dressier occasions. It was one of the only nice shirts he owned, but it
complimented all those pretty freckles and matched his eyes as closely as any
fabric ever could. A dark washed jean that only had one or two small holes and,
miraculously, no grease smudges were pulled over dark gray boxer briefs. His
underwear had a thick red elastic band that read “BOY TOY” in large block
letters. He laughed to himself every time he put them on. A private secret no
one but Dean knew about; though he had plenty of fantasies about Professor
Novak getting to see them.
He slipped the amulet Sammy had bought him for Christmas when they were kids
over his head and tucked it inside the collar of his polo. He slid into his
favorite brown leather jacket and grabbed his text and notebook. Dean had no
idea what to expect of this meeting, but he didn’t want to appear unprepared.
Dean felt surprisingly calm as he made the short walk to the classroom. He felt
a buzzing, a pulsating hum just under the surface of his skin, but it was more
pleasant than anxious. As he entered the building, he glanced at his watch. He
was stunned to see it was only 3:45PM. Despite all his “activities”, grooming,
and wardrobe changes, he was still 15 minutes early. Dean by no means wanted to
be late, but this gave him 15 minutes to over think and analyze and panic. In
the space between the front door and first staircase, it occurred to Dean that
his brilliant plan of not responding to the text this morning may have sent the
wrong message entirely. What if Professor Novak didn’t think he was coming at
all so he made other plans? Or worse, what if Dean had upset him by not
replying? The pleasant vibration he had been feeling became a high pitch whine
in his ears. Yep, Dean thought as his freak out ensued, this is exactly what I
wanted to avoid.
Thankfully, his panic was stalled as he reached the top of the stairs and saw
Professor Novak walking back into his classroom. He was holding a Styrofoam
cup, and Dean took that as a sign that he expected to be at the school for
awhile yet. He took a long, heavy breath and crossed the threshold into the
classroom.
The room felt different to Dean this afternoon. Being there outside of his
scheduled class time, alone with Professor Novak, the school far more empty
than Dean was used to all added up to a shift in the atmosphere of the
historical building. Most of the lights were out in the lecture room and the
clouded sky let in little light through the massive windows. Dean stood just
inside the doorway, unmoving and unaware that he was adoringly admiring the
professor in the soft, gray light. Professor Novak was shuffling papers and
scribbling little notes. When he would pause, he’d press the blue pen to his
lips and tap them slightly. Dean smiled inwardly at the suggestion of an oral
fixation.
Professor Novak must’ve sensed eyes upon him because he suddenly stopped and
looked up to find Dean still hovering in the door.
“Hello, Dean.” He sounded pleased to see him. Dean was so relieved he hadn’t
disappointed the professor that he felt he might float up to the copper ceiling
like a helium balloon.
“You… You looked like you were busy and I didn’t want to interrupt. I’m early.”
“Ah, yes. So you are. I lost track of time grading papers.” He was all smiles.
Dean would’ve sworn Professor Novak was checking him out, but Dean dismissed it
as wishful thinking. “Come on down and we’ll get started.”
Dean made his way to the front of the room but just as he placed his books on
the corner of the desk, Professor Novak looked up and said, “You know what?
What would you think of heading to the diner out on the highway?”
Dean was taken aback by the suggestion. Surely he wasn’t trying to get in
Dean’s pants already… Right?
“I’m sorry. If you’d rather stay here,” the Professor tried backtracking, “I
have no problem with that. I’m just starving and hate the coffee here.” He
tipped his pen at the Styrofoam cup he’d barely sipped out of.
“No, no. That sounds great! I can always go for some diner grub. I’ve never
eaten there.” Dean couldn’t hide his excitement, and he didn’t want to. He was
also genuinely hungry. There was only so much microwaved Ramen a person could
handle before they just gave up on the poor college student diet.
Dean waited quietly while Professor Novak packed up some papers and pulled out
his keys. Dean was really curious to see what kind of car the impeccable
Professor Novak drove. He was betting a Mercedes or Lexus sedan based on his
wardrobe and style. When Dean followed his professor out to faculty parking, he
damn near fainted at the transportation Professor Novak had in his possession.
There, in a small reserved section of the lot, leaned a motorcycle so smooth
and breathtaking Dean didn’t know whether he should ride it or build an altar
to it and offer up a blood sacrifice in its honor. He recognized the unique
characteristics that defined the 1953 Indian Chief motorcycle immediately. This
was the crowning jewel of the Indian legacy, the last great bike of the
legendary American company. Dean could feel his mouth hanging open
unattractively but there was little he could do about it. Professor Novak’s
bike was a shining jet black with pristine chrome accents. It was simple and
tasteful, but it was undoubtedly a rolling work of 1950s classic art.
Dean had no idea how much time had passed while he was drooling over the bike,
but he was brought back to reality when a helmet came sailing through the air
in his direction. His reflexes snatched the helmet out of the air, but his
breath was completely knocked out of him as he watched those thick, muscular
thighs swing over and wrap around the body of the bike. Dean was in no way in
control of his body any longer, but luckily some subconscious drive to preserve
a shred of his dignity convinced his limbs to put on the helmet and walk to
where the professor was waiting for him. Dean hefted his leg over the bike and
tried to position himself in a way that wasn’t overtly sexual, but realized
that was a ridiculous impossibility on the rather small seat.
Professor Novak started and revved the engine a few times before turning his
head to the side and telling Dean to hang on. From the moment he realized
Professor Novak drove a motorcycle up until this very second, Dean’s head had
felt like it’d detached from his body and was floating in crowded waters. None
of it felt real and he was almost certain he was still in his bed, under the
covers, jacking off to this wildly arousing fantasy. When Dean wrapped his arms
around that strong torso and pressed his chest to Professor Novak’s back,
however, he was pulled from the surreal chaos. He was now so present in every
single second of what was happening that it made his chest swell and ache with
delight. Professor Novak rolled the bike back and Dean gripped his sides when
they lunged forward to exit the parking lot.
Dean had been on a motorcycle before, but there would never be a motorcycle in
the history of human existence that could make Dean feel the way he felt on the
back of that bike in that moment. Despite the strong wind on his face, Dean
could still smell Professor Novak’s cologne and aftershave, and the helmet
smelled of his shampoo. His scent was so intoxicating that Dean had to stop
himself from burying his face in the crook of the professor’s neck. He smelled
of leather and sandalwood and the spicy scent of fallen autumn leaves. It was
an effortless fragrance, just like the rest of Professor Novak.
The ride to the diner felt suspended in time. Dean supposed it was quite brisk
now that the sun was making its departure from the already chilly day, but the
heat of the body he was pressed against and the purring bike beneath him
surrounded Dean in a blanket of warmth. He felt a pang of regret as the lights
of the diner swung into view around a short bend in the highway, but it was
quickly accompanied by a growl in his stomach that rivaled the roar of the
engine.
Professor Novak pulled up to the sidewalk in front of the diner. Dean climbed
off and he felt the cold on his thighs and torso where the heat used to be,
like an invisible imprint of the professor’s body lingering on his skin. He
admired the way Professor Novak went through his dismount ritual, removing his
helmet and locking everything up with the ease of having done it a million
times before. Everything he did was so steady and unfaltering.
Professor Novak led the way into the shiny retro diner. The booths and stools
were a funky teal hue and there was enough chrome to manufacture six hundred
motorcycles. A checkered floor and vintage tin signs added to the time travel
trip. If that wasn’t enough, the jukebox and milkshake machine were clearly
genuine articles from the 1950s. Professor Novak picked a booth in the far left
corner and Dean slid in across from him. Despite the exhilarating bike ride,
there was still a surreal glow around the entire experience. Am I really here
with him now? was all that kept running through Dean’s mind.
Neither of them had said a word since before leaving the college. The silence
felt comfortable until Dean became aware of it.
“What’s good here?” Dean asked, pulling the menus from the condiment holder.
“Everything. Their waffles and burgers are my favorite. And the milkshakes, of
course.” Professor Novak looked serious despite the light conversation. Dean
felt a sudden drop in his stomach, the worry that he’d done something wrong
already pressing down on his guts.
He wasn’t sure how to reply. “I love all of those things,” Dean tried his best
to sound casual but it felt like he was reaching anyway.
A pretty young waitress with auburn hair, porcelain skin, and the biggest brown
eyes Dean had ever seen bounced over in a coral cardigan and jeans. She had a
small yellow notepad and pen in her hand and a crisp white apron slung around
her slim waist.
“What can I get for ya, Cas?” She was like the embodiment of a bubbling brook.
Hearing his first name, a pet name at that, took Dean aback. He couldn’t
imagine the very serious Professor Novak going for a nickname. Dean wondered
what other surprises were hidden under that slick, polished exterior. His mind
went down one of his rabbit trails as he imagined a geode that was sliced open
to reveal breathtaking, sparkling crystalline structures under it’s buffed
surface.
While Dean was having a geological epiphany, Professor Novak was placing his
order. “The usual, Anna. Can I get a strawberry milkshake tonight too, please.”
“Sure thing!” Anna replied.
“Thank you, Anna.” Professor Novak replied with a smile. Dean always felt
better when he saw him smile.
“And what can I get for you, hon?”
“Um, I’ll have whatever he’s having. But chocolate instead of strawberry,
please.”
“Coming right up!” She bounced away, leaving Dean to try to figure out what to
do now.
Dean leaned back and drilled his brain for some interesting topic. He wanted so
badly to impress Professor Novak, and it had little to do with his GPA or
future in psychiatry. He wanted to do well as a student and professional, of
course, but there was something altogether different here he couldn’t dismiss.
“Talk to me about your essay.”
Dean felt whatever blood wasn’t continuously in his cock when around Professor
Novak run directly to his cheeks.
“Well, what do you want to know about it?” Dean shot back playfully. This was
why he’d written it, after all.
“Why you chose the topic, I suppose.” Professor Novak’s eyes betrayed a subtle
acknowledgment. It was clear he was asking questions he already knew the answer
to. He wanted to hear Dean say it.
Dean contemplated for a moment. With this being their first serious
interaction, he wasn’t sure how he wanted to approach his professor. The way
Dean felt was electric and there was no chance he could ignore it. And despite
the numerous obvious obstacles to a relationship of any kind at all, he didn’t
want to ignore it.
“I’m into bondage.” It was the first confident thing Dean had said in any of
their interactions. Those three words were the first time he wasn’t trying to
be someone else to impress. Though his history was soiled and jaded, Dean
adored sex not only for it’s physical pleasures but also the impact it has on
every human at some point in their life- even if they never do it, it’s still a
part of life. He wanted more positive experiences in his life when it came to
sexuality.
Professor Novak smiled and a flush came to his cheeks that made Dean’s heart
swell, but he never looked away from Dean’s eyes. Dean was dying to know what
was going on in that beautiful mind. Their silence had to be prolonged as Anna
returned with their food, which smelled as delicious as it looked. Both men
thanked her, and she headed into the kitchen. Dean was relieved to have their
privacy again because he wanted this conversation to continue at all costs.
The ball was in Professor Novak’s court. Dean sensed he wouldn’t back down, but
didn’t dare hope for it.
“Academically, regardless of topic, your essay was brilliant,” The professional
tone made Dean’s heart shrivel even though it was a compliment, but then the
professor continued, “but I’d be lying if I said the subject you chose didn’t
interest me on a personal level.” Those blue eyes Dean loved so much were now
electric, as though a switch had been flipped on behind them; they damn near
glowed behind his eye wear. An understanding between the pair was struck like
flint sparking against rock. This is really happening, Dean thought feverishly.
He knew it was wrong to everyone else, but they weren’t here in this sleepy
highway diner looking into the prettiest face he could ever imagine.
They chatted lightly throughout the rest of their dinner, though it never
returned to their original topic. The conversation was so easy and Dean
couldn’t remember the last time he felt so himself. There was feet lightly
bumping under the table and soft laughter and fingers brushing accidentally. It
was fresh and the world fell away around their table for two. And they both
knew there was no turning back.
Dean argued about paying for himself, but Professor Novak wouldn’t hear it. He
paid and left Anna a generous tip on the table. Dean followed the professor out
the door and as the cold air hit him, so did the realization that he had no
idea what was going to happen now. Should he make a move? Was Professor Novak
going to make a move? He didn’t want to go home alone tonight if he could be
with his professor (God, this is so wrong, he thought again). Before he had
anymore time to consider, Professor Novak was straddling his bike and ready to
go. Dean hopped on the bike and, unlike the first time, purposefully pressed
his body fully against the soft jacket and the tight, warm body beneath it.
The wind was much colder now and it numbed his face and ears, but Dean could
think of nothing else but what was going to happen next. As the dorm came into
view, Dean felt tears stinging his eyes. He burrowed his face into Professor
Novak’s back. He felt so silly and irrational, but the thought of being away
from the professor was gutting him.
Professor Novak parked the motorcycle near some outbuildings, out of view of
the academic buildings and dormitories so they’d remain unseen. Dean got off,
defeated. He hated himself for it, but he began to storm off like a petulant
child. Really, he just didn’t want to say goodbye. Dean hated goodbyes. Before
he could get to far, a hand grabbed his arm and spun him around, nearly making
him fall to the ground. The corner of a storage shed braced his back as
Professor Novak's eyes swung into view before him.
“Dean… Dean, I know you know what’s happening here. You aren’t imagining
things. But I want you to be sure and we can’t just jump into this.” His voice
was sincere and this was as flustered as Dean had ever seen him, but Dean knew
he wasn’t wrong and was grateful one of them had some self—control left. Well,
almost.
Before Dean could move from the wall, he found the lips of his professor
pressed against his neck. The moan he let out was much louder than he expected.
Professor Novak continued kissing his flesh lower, down the artery of his
throat where his pulse beat heavy, to the curve of his still summer tanned
neck, and finally he pulled the collar of his shirt to the side. There, he
stopped moving and began to lick and suck the delicate skin that stretched over
Dean’s collar bone. Dean’s legs went completely numb, but Professor Novak
caught him as he sucked harder, taking the skin lightly between his teeth. Dean
cried out with the intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain, his body mindlessly
grinding against Professor Novak’s thigh that was helping to hold him up. Dean
knew a pretty purple bruise was blooming under the power of that gorgeous
mouth.
Professor Novak raised Dean’s hands above his head and pinned him tightly
against the rough brick, staring darkly into his eyes as Dean panted and
whimpered. The erotic tension they were both experiencing could have been
tasted in the autumn night air. Dean tried to steal a kiss but the permission
was not given, making Dean desire the taste of those lips even more.
Just before Professor Novak turns to go, he leans close, kisses the swollen
bruise once more, and whispers hotly in Dean’s ear, “Now you’re mine.”
***** Professor *****
Chapter Summary
     I have not yet proofed this so I apologize if there are errors! Just
     wanted to get it up since it took me so long to update (also sorry
     for that!).
Three days passed without a word. The violet brand on his collar bone turned a
sickly yellow, and Dean couldn’t help but identify with the beautiful thing
turned ugly.
It was Saturday now. A September morning warmer than those of the past week.
This was also the day he was to have his Star Wars marathon with Charlie. Dean
was still excited to spend time with her, but he feared he’d be miserable
company in the depressing wake of Professor Novak’s silence.
Dean was doubted this was a game at his expense, but it was certainly a
puzzling outcome. He never expected for their attraction to be so magnetic nor
for it to reach such a feverish climax during their very first secluded
meeting. Even so, Professor Novak didn’t seem to be a person who would shy away
from his desires, no matter how dangerous.
He huffed and yanked his covers off his chest, feeling stifled by more than the
comforter. At least the blankets were something he could free himself from. He
sent Charlie a message asking when and where she wanted to get together and
hopped in the shower before her response. The shower helped soothe him as much
as such things can when you’re being ignored by the most wonderful man one can
imagine. Dean patted himself dry half-heartedly, wrapping the towel around his
waist and flinging himself back onto the bed. His phone buzzed by his ear,
alerting him to two new messages.
The first, from Charlie, read, “My room 223. 12ish?” Dean responded in
agreement.
His breath caught at sight of the second text, “I think, too often, of you. -
C.”
Dean felt the urge to cry with relief. His mind was overwhelmed with possible
responses. Should he wait three days to respond as Profess— as Castiel had made
him wait? Dean decided no, because he of course could have messaged him first
but didn’t. He also knew his chances of holding out for even five more minutes
without responding were slim. He pressed his phone to his chest and filled his
mind with Cas’s eyes, a ritual he was turning to with growing frequency.
“And I, you. - D.” was his simple response. Dean smiled for what felt like the
first time in days. He knew now he’d be able to fully enjoy his marathon with
Charlie.
With Episode I and II complete, Dean could no longer handle the not-so-subtle
glares and dropped hints to dish from the bean bag dweller across the room. It
was obvious Charlie wasn’t going to give up and truthfully he was pretty eager
to give in.
“Gave me this.” The confession was so much filthier than he intended, whispered
husky and thick into the dimly lit dorm room with his collar pulled to the side
between his two crooked fingers. Such little words and yet they lifted him
right from that slouched futon to the brick wall where Professor Novak sank his
teeth into his skin. Dean visibly shivered despite the toasty climate.
Charlie’s mouth was frozen between a gasp and a grin, her eyes sparkling as the
credits still scrolled across the TV screen. She knew not to bother asking for
a full account, though she would’ve loved to hear it.
“So, are you going to see each other again?” Her tone was as casual as she
could muster.
“I think so. Yes. I mean, I want to.” Dean stumbled over his words, still
flushed and foggy from the vivid memory.
 
The duo munched on the popcorn Dean had bought and plowed through Revenge of
the Sith and A New Hope before neither of them could sit still any longer. Dean
suggested going to grab some more substantial food from the cafeteria before
the kitchen closed. Dean was half way through a turkey club when his phone
alerted him to a new message. He was nearly choked by the anxiety that flooded
him and he stalled looking at the message. Charlie playfully kicked his shin
and, with a mouth full of veggie wrap, said, “Read it!” Dean laughed and put
his sandwich down and replaced it with his phone.
The message read only, “Come over?” but what was below it took Dean’s breath
away. It was Professor Novak’s home address. Dean’s face must’ve betrayed his
surprise because when he looked up, Charlie was grinning and nodding.
“You have to go!” Charlie was egging him on and enjoying the vicarious thrill.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to bail on our plans.”
“Oh definitely. We can finish the movies any time. How often do you get invited
over to Professor Sex God’s place?!”
 
Dean finished his dinner with Charlie slowly, in part because he felt bad about
leaving her, but also because he needed the time to calm down so he didn’t
weird out Professor N by showing up as an overly excited puppy. He ran back to
his dorm to take a quick shower and by the time he was done, Dean was as calm
as he possibly could be. He pulled on a deep red Henley over his damp skin and
a pair of jeans that were actually washed recently. In the back of his closet
was his worn, brown leather jacket. He slipped it on and it felt familiar and
eased his nerves further. Dean pulled out his phone and realized the professor
lived quite close to the campus, only a few blocks toward the highway where the
diner sat. He was grateful for this since he neither wanted to ride his bike
nor call a cab he couldn’t afford.
 
It seemed like Dean had floated to Castiel’s home, where he now stood. He was
across the street staring in awe at the massive home before him. It was in the
style of a New England Victorian and the house sprawled upwards and back,
giving it an intimidating presence on the large piece of land it was nestled
in. The brick walkway to the columned porch was long and well-manicured. The
architecture seemed out of place for the Midwest, where the more common
bungalows and Prairie style homes lined many of the older streets. There were
large blue hydrangeas along the front of the partial wrap around deck. Enormous
maple trees dotted the property, particularly evident by the abundance of
golden orange leaves rustling around the yard. Dean could tell the home would
have oddly shaped rooms and lots of woodwork inside, and he didn’t doubt it
would be every bit as well-kept as the exterior and the man that inhabited the
home.
Dean breathed in a crisp, autumn spiced lungful of air before crossing the
street and walking up to the chocolate stained walnut door. He knocked and
waited anxiously as he heard foot steps approach. The porch wasn’t well lit
despite the pendant light hanging directly above him, and the flood of light
and warmth that greeted him when the door was slowly opened made his head swim
momentarily. There, standing before him in the doorway, was Castiel with a
sparkling smile and as stunningly dressed as always. Dean felt under dressed
even for the casual occasion of visiting his professor’s home. Dean felt his
face flush and he couldn’t bring himself to look into Cas’s eyes.
Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled him through the door, pressing his body
against Dean’s suddenly, with Dean’s back pinned against the door before it had
even closed. Castiel’s mouth found Dean’s instantly, and the hunger on his
tongue was matched by Dean’s own insatiable desire. Neither man could will the
kiss to end, their bodies grinding and thrusting into the other feverishly, but
the need for oxygen simultaneously won out. They stood, face to face, breathing
hard and heavy as their eyes remained locked. Dean felt like an animal who both
wanted to pounce and be pounced upon. Castiel moved first, running his hand up
Dean’s chest to his collar, where he pulled over the fabric of Dean’s shirt to
reveal the hazy yellow mark he’d left the last they met.
“Hm,” he breathed darkly as he ran his thumb over the fading bruise, “been too
long.”
Dean’s breath caught in his throat and damn it if he didn’t whimper with want
right there.
The sound triggered something in Castiel, his eyes igniting like two orbs of
sapphire flame. He fisted his hand in the back of Dean’s hair and pulled his
ear closer to his mouth.
“Will you be mine?” The thick, deep sound reverberated through Dean’s skull and
fell through him, nearly taking out his knees in the process. Dean hissed,
“Yesss…” in response, without a single doubt or hesitation in his mind or
heart. Before the last ‘s’ had left his lips, he was on his knees and swiftly
unzipping Castiel’s pants. He didn’t even bother to undo Castiel’s belt before
reaching his hands into the opening of the tight black jeans. Castiel moaned
from above as Dean’s rough, calloused hands found the stiffening flesh down
Castiel’s leg and tugged it free from the denim. Dean was delighted to first
discover Castiel didn’t have on any underwear, and secondly he was absolutely
floored by the size of cock hidden so well in the famously snug pants of
Professor Novak. Dean stroked Castiel once, pulling the remaining skin back to
reveal the rosy pink head, which he greeted with a rough lick of his flattened
tongue. Castiel moaned and grunted at the same time with the exhilarating
sensation. The hand that wasn’t still knotted in Dean’s hair slammed into the
closed door as he tried to steady himself. Dean took the momentary loss of
balance to his advantage and opened his mouth wide, curling his lips around his
teeth and sticking his tongue out slightly as he took Castiel into his throat
in one swift motion. Castiel was so surprised by the tenacity with which Dean
was devouring his cock that he instinctual thrust his hips forward, pinning
Dean’s head to the door at the same time. Dean moaned around the organ filling
his mouth, delighted by the control Castiel was manifesting once again.
Dean looked up at those blue eyes, simmering with lust and intensity, and
Castiel growled down at him, “Mmm, yes, look at me.” Dean couldn’t exactly
smile as he worked Castiel’s dick, but he knew Castiel could see the
mischievous twinkle behind his eyes. Castiel ran his thumb across Dean’s cheek
and down to his stretched jaw, a look of adoration flickering across his face
before his need overtook all conscious thought. Dean pressed forward till his
nose was pressing against the soft, short hairs and olive skin of Castiel’s
stomach. Dean swallowed the gagging sensation rising in his throat, eager to
have Castiel inside him as long as he possibly could. As Castiel’s body began
to tremble, Dean ran his hands up the back of those taut, shaking thighs and
dug his fingernails in and down. Castiel let out a loud, deep moan as he
quickly pulled his cock out of Dean’s mouth till just the head remained between
those gorgeous pink lips. Without missing a beat, Dean grabbed the throbbing,
wet shaft and began to pump it as he swirled his tongue around the head.
Castiel gasped, his orgasm no longer able to be withheld. Dean opened his mouth
wide and stuck out his tongue, just in time to catch the first pearly ropes of
Castiel’s release. Dean held the cum in his mouth till it stopped, and then
closed his mouth around the tip once more. Dean sucked and tongued the opening,
getting all of Castiel in him that he could, before swallowing the mouthful. He
couldn’t hide his excitement and pleasure, which was evident by the smile he
looked up at Castiel with and the thick bulge in his jeans.
“You like making me cum, Dean?” It was both a question and an artfully masked
playful accusation.
“Yes.” Dean replied, still tasting Castiel on his tongue and lips.
“Yes, what?” Castiel’s tone was more demanding now. Dean panicked, uncertain
what the correct answer was. For the first time since he arrived, flashes of
his past threatened to overtake his present. Then, it clicked like a puzzle
Pier fitting into its perfect place. “Yes, Professor.”
“That’s right, Dean. I want you to remember how wrong this is.” Castiel stroked
Dean’s cheek again, and though his words could be taken as a statement of
disgust, Dean knew the thrill of doing something so wrong was only a small part
of what had drawn them both together.
“Would you like to go to my room, Dean?”
“Yes, Professor.”
Dean followed his professor up the stairs and closed the door behind him.
 
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