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Dean Winchester was whispering in the back corner. Again.
Cas sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Mr. Winchester. Is there something you'd like to share with the class?"
Dean smirked at him. "If it was somethin' I wanted to share with the class, I wouldn't've been whispering, would I?"
There was a chorus of oohs from around the room, and Cas closed his eyes briefly.
He was, overall, a patient teacher, stern but fair, generally well-liked even among his surly seniors. He was perfectly willing to laugh at himself for his screw-ups -- which, being barely out of college himself, there were plenty of -- and, unlike some other teachers, he preferred to keep control of his classroom by treating his students as reasonable adults, instead of resorting to the paddle kept in the corner of every classroom.
But Dean Winchester had been pushing his buttons all semester, strolling in late with his uniform askew -- which Cas stubbornly refused to find unfairly attractive -- and staring out the window instead of paying attention to the literature Cas was attempting to teach. All of which Cas privately considered fairly harmless little rebellions for a typical teenage boy, and rarely addressed them beyond an exasperated warning.
As a novice teacher, however, allowing blatant disrespect to slide by unchecked was a precedent he very much did not want to allow.
"Dean, to the front of the room, please," letting his irritation bleed into his voice as he gestured with his pointer.
"Ooh, did I finally manage to piss off the unflappable Mr. Novak?" Dean said, getting up and ambling unconcernedly down the aisle.
"If you insist on acting like a spoiled child then I will treat you as one," Cas retorted. "Turn around and put your hands on the desk, please."
"Wow, Mr. Novak, I'm flattered, but --" he drawled, and Cas shut him up with a glare.
Castiel Novak was in no way a cruel man; even in his frustration, he doubted he'd be able to punish a student harshly -- unlike Mr. Henrikson, about whom stories of broken paddles and bruised backsides had circled St. Mary's High in whispers for decades. But he aimed the pointer carefully and applied three sharp, precise blows to Dean's rear end, and Dean couldn't help but wince.
"As you know, Mr. Winchester, I find it makes my life and all of yours notably easier when we treat each other with maturity and respect. I ask that you not compel me to punish you as befits a child."
Dean snorted. "If you think that was punishment, you ain't met my dad," he said. He paused, and then the little fucker winked. "I like it better when you do it, though." He cast his eyes downward in a gesture only Cas could see. Cas followed his gaze automatically, coming to rest on the notable bulge in Dean's uniform slacks, and damn if that didn't send a jolt to his dick.
Cas resolutely ignored the tingling in his stomach and the teasing smirk in Dean's eyes.
"Please see me after school, Dean," he said, returning his attention to the lines of Keats on the whiteboard. "Perhaps an hour's detention scrubbing the classroom will prove a less enjoyable deterrent than my unimpressive striking arm."
Somewhat to Cas' surprise, Dean turned up shortly after the last bell.
"Mind if I change?" he asked, nodding at the bucket of soapy water Cas had put out. "I only got the one uniform, don't wanna fuck it up."
"Language," Cas reminded him. "And yes, go ahead."
But instead of grabbing his bag and ducking out the door like he expected, Dean just began undoing his white button-up. Cas tried to ignore the increasing expanse of tanned skin and a nascent six-pack, but he couldn't help noticing a splash of dark ink on his chest.
"What is that?" he asked curiously before he could help himself.
Dean looked down and shrugged. "It's a symbol of protection. Got it when I turned eighteen last month." He glanced up at Cas. "Why? Gonna report me for dress code violation too?"
Cas rolled his eyes. "I meant what I said about treating each other as adults. I see no reason to police decisions irrelevant to your education or well-being."
"Huh," was all Dean said. He shrugged off his uniform shirt and slipped on a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt, then reached down to undo the buttons of his navy slacks.
"You know, there is a bathroom directly across the hall," Cas pointed out, and Dean grinned at him.
"Sorry, Mr. Novak. Am I makin' you uncomfortable?"
Cas groaned, rubbing his temples. "When you've finished your little show, please begin by scrubbing the desks. I believe my first-period students have left a solid crust of drool on the surface."
Dean wrinkled his nose, but he pulled on a pair of torn jeans and grabbed the bucket obediently. "S'what you get for makin' kids come it at 7:30 in the damn morning," he said. "S'not natural."
"Believe me, were it up to me, I would not be coming in at that hour either."
Dean glanced up at him. "Figures. You look like a night owl."
"What does that mean?"
"Oh, y'know, that weird rumpled trenchcoat, an' half the time your tie's on backward… not to even mention the perpetual bedhead."
Cas frowned, his hand automatically going to flatten his hair.
"S'a lost cause, dude," Dean said with a laugh. "Don't worry, it's a good look."
"Just wash the damn desks," Cas sighed.
They settled into a comfortable silence, Cas grumbling through the stack of essays on William Blake he was marking while Dean methodically worked up and down the rows of desks, occasionally complaining about the level of filth or throwing out random comments.
"So why don't you use the paddle, anyway?" he asked out of the blue.
Cas blinked. "Pardon?"
"I mean, not that I want you to take a leaf from ol' Hennie's book or nothin'," Dean clarified. "But you're 'bout the only teacher in this hellhole that ain't all spare-the-rod."
Cas shrugged. "Frankly, perhaps I'm just young and naive," he said with a wry smile. "But I dislike the idea of earning respect through fear of pain and humiliation. And I dislike the message that it's only acceptable to hit someone if they cannot retaliate."
"Huh," Dean said, wiping a sudsy hand across his forehead, then smirked. "So, what, I'm just special?"
"I'm only human," Cas said with a sigh. "And you can be very infuriating. And I am fairly confident that I did not leave you with physical or psychological scars."
"Yeah, was pretty weak," Dean agreed. "Kinda disappointing. Wonder what I'd have to do to make you bring out the paddle."
"Are you trying to goad me?" Cas said, shifting uncomfortably behind his desk.
"Maybe," Dean said after a pause. He had stopped scrubbing and was looking up at Cas consideringly through the fan of lashes. "I bet you're hidin' some serious muscle under that trench coat. Could bruise my ass so hard I'd be feelin' it for a week."
"This is highly inappropriate, Dean," Cas managed.
Dean just shrugged. "Yep," he said. "But, man, those three little lovetaps got me so hard I had to go jerk off in the bathroom before biology." He dropped the sponge and stood up straight, stretching, and Cas found his eyes drifting down to the outline of his dick for the second time in as many hours. "Keep thinkin' 'bout what you could do to me if you really put some muscle into it." He palmed at his jeans unabashedly, and Cas bit back a growl.
"You are my student, Dean," he hissed.
"I'm also a legal adult," Dean countered, ambling up to the big oak desk. "Who happens to think his nerdy lit teacher is smokin' hot. And I saw you check me out, Mr. Novak."
Cas was rock-hard in his slacks, and judging from the smirk plastered on Dean's face, he was well aware of it.
"Your eighteenth birthday is not a magic threshold into adulthood," Cas said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I am still your teacher."
"Dude, you're barely older'n I am," Dean said with a hint of exasperation. "I mean, if you just ain't interested, I'll fuck right off, but uh," with a pointed glance down, "I think you're interested."
"I would lose my job," Cas said, not bothering to argue. "At the very least."
"Then I guess we shouldn't fuck in the cafeteria at noon," Dean acknowledged. "And you know I'm already gettin' an A in your class, so not like I got any ulterior motive." Which was entirely true, to Cas' equal admiration and irritation; no matter how cavalier his attitude was, his tests and papers were nearly always among the few Cas actually enjoyed. "And c'mon, aren't you just a little curious to see what that paddle can do?" He reached over and picked it up from the corner, weighing it curiously, then gave it an experimental thwack against his own thigh.
The resultant crack snapped the last of Cas' resolve, and he stood up, holding out a hand for the paddle.
"Lock the door," he said, watching Dean's eyes dilate visibly. "Then come here and strip. Slowly." He went over to twitch the window blinds closed, then leaned against his desk, waiting.
Dean locked the door then stood in front of Cas, challenge still dancing in his eyes. He pulled off his t-shirt and dropped it to the floor, then kicked off his shoes and socks. He kept his eyes locked on Cas' as he unbuckled his belt and thumbed open his jeans, wiggling his hips to shimmy them off. After stepping out of them, he toyed with the waistband of his boxers with a questioning look, and Cas just raised his eyebrows.
He waited until Dean's clothes were all puddled on the floor. "Now pick them up and fold them. Neatly."
Something sparked in Dean's eyes, but he swallowed, bending over to pick up each article of clothing and fold them atop a desk, then arranged his shoes underneath. He straightened up and stood before Cas with his hands clasped, naked and unashamed.
"Like what you see, Mr. Novak?" he asked, an insouciant smirk in his eyes.
Cas let his gaze rake up and down his body. He was still half a skinny teenager, just starting to fill out, but there was nothing boyish about his cock, curving thick and red against his stomach.
"Yes," he said simply, and a faint tinge of pink crept up Dean's neck. "Turn around. Put your hands on the desk."
"Well, ain't this deja vu," he drawled as he obeyed, but there was a nervous hitch to his voice, and Cas put a hand on the small of his back.
"Dean, are you sure this is --"
"Cas, I swear to God," Dean interrupted, "if you don't start bruisin' my ass in the next two minutes I'm writin' my next paper on Titus Andronicus."
Cas couldn't hold back a snort, but he stepped back to admire the sight of Dean splayed out in front of him, all smooth muscles and freckled skin, his cock trapped achingly against the edge of the desk, with three faint lines still bisecting the perfect skin of his ass.
He rubbed the smooth wood of the paddle over the marks, then without warning he pulled he paddle back and snapped it once sharply on the pale flesh.
Dean hissed, hips jerking sharply, and Cas grabbed him around the waist to hold him still.
"This is what you asked for," he reminded him, stroking a hand down his spine. "Are you changing your mind?"
"If that's all you got, then maybe," Dean rasped. "You even lift, Mr. Novak?"
Cas choked a laugh, but he reached up to yank Dean's head back by his hair. "Look at you," he murmured into his ear. "Practically humping my desk. I bet you could come just like this, from me spanking your intractable ass, grinding into your teacher's desk." He dropped two more hard blows right across his sit bones, and Dean whined, white-knuckling the desk. "Can you, Dean?"
"Yes," Dean gasped, dropping his head. "Yes, Mr. Novak, yes, please --"
"Please, what?"
"Please make me come," Dean said, flush deepening on his cheeks.
"I will," Cas promised. He reached around and swiped a thumb over the head of Dean's cock, slick and leaking. "I'm going to spank you until you come on my desk -- and then I'm going to fuck you. Is that what you want?"
"Yes," Dean hissed. "God -- please, don't stop --"
"God, you're beautiful," Cas whispered without quite meaning to. He cracked the paddle again and again across Dean's reddening flesh until he was a quivering mess, the tears standing in his eyes at odds with his throbbing cock.
Finally Cas tossed the paddle aside, but he immediately began spanking Dean with an open hand, his other hand wrapped firmly in Dean's hair.
"Come, Dean," he commanded, dropping a particularly sharp slap to each cheek, and Dean arched and went rigid, coming in hot, hard spurts across the old oak desk.
Cas held him steady as he came down, rubbing soothing circles onto his back and running cool fingertips over the hot skin of his ass.
"Fuck," Dean finally breathed, his forehead resting on the desk.
"Soon," Cas agreed, and Dean snorted softly.
"I was right," he said, slightly smug.
"Mm?"
"You really are hiding some muscles in there." He wiggled his hips. "Christ."
"I suppose. I run daily, and I do carpentry in my spare time." He paused. "It wasn't -- was that too much?"
"Aside from the fact that I'm gonna get a boner every time I sit down for the next week?" Dean said. Then -- "Oh, shit, Cas -- sorry, Mr. Novak --"
"I think we're on a first-name basis by now," Cas said drily.
"Yeah. Uh, I might've…" He gestured at the desk, where smears of come pooled on the wood and striped over several red-inked essays.
"Oh, God," Cas said with a choked laugh. "Here, I'll --" He fumbled for tissues, but Dean just gave him an unreadable look over his shoulder, then dipped his head and began tonguing at the drying liquid.
"Oh, God," Cas said again in an awed whisper.
As soon as Dean had cleaned up as much of the mess as he could get to, Cas spun him around and finally kissed him, tasting Dean on his tongue. His hands drifted down to squeeze at the hot flesh of his ass, and Cas felt Dean's spent dick give an interested twitch against his own, still throbbing in his slacks.
"Still gonna fuck me, Mr. Novak?" he murmured, rolling his hips lazily.
"Jesus," Cas hissed. He snaked a hand between them and thumbed gently at Dean's cock, already starting to swell again. "I'm fairly sure I did not have this kind of stamina when I was your age."
"When I was your age," Dean mocked. "So what, like, last year?"
"Three years ago, thank you very much," Cas said, kissing him again. "But seriously, we don't have to. I don't wish to hurt you." Dean raised an eyebrow with an eloquent glance at the paddle laying on the desk, and Cas smacked his ass softly. "You know what I mean."
"I know," Dean said, "that if your cock is not in my ass very shortly, we're gonna have a problem."
"So eager," Cas murmured, tracing Dean's jaw with a fingertip. "Um -- I think I have --" He pulled away and rummaged in his satchel, coming up with a condom and small bottle of lube.
Dean raised his eyebrow. "So Nerdy McNerdyson over here is a bit less uptight than he seems?"
"Dean, I am about to have my cock buried in your ass," Cas said matter-of-factly. "Then we can discuss who is in fact uptight."
Dean snorted softly, but his cock jerked visibly at his words.
Cas stood back and just looked at Dean for a moment, drinking in the sight of his sweat-dampened hair and flushed cheeks, looking up at him through his eyelashes.
"Turn around again," Cas finally said, and Dean obeyed immediately, bracing his hands on the desk. Cas smiled. "Good boy." He took a moment to look over the hot red flesh of his ass, pressing kisses to the mottled bruises already beginning to form, then dropped to his knees. He spread Dean's sore cheeks open, then pressed his tongue against his hole.
"Oh fuck," Dean cried out, and there was a crash as his knee connected with the desk.
Cas drew back slightly. "Has anyone ever done this to you?"
"N-no," Dean choked. "Sorry -- I just -- wasn't expecting --"
"Shh," Cas soothed him. "Just tell me if I do anything you don't enjoy." He leaned back in, licking his tongue in small circles, then pushed the tip of it inside.
"Oh my God," Dean whispered. "Cas, fuck -- Cas --"
"Patience," Cas chided, pinching the tender skin lightly, then pressed his index finger in under his tongue.
"Fuck," Dean hissed. "Cas, please…" Cas just hummed, and Dean shuddered above him.
Finally Cas pulled back, standing up and reaching for the lube, slicking up his fingers. The first two slid easily in, and he twisted and stretched them, then added a third, stroking in and out until he found the place that made Dean arch and sob in pleasure.
"Cas," he said through gritted teeth, "if you don't get your fingers out and fuck me I'm gonna come like this, and I don't know if I can get it up yet again."
Cas smiled, pulling his fingers out. He realized belatedly that he was still fully dressed, and scrabbled awkwardly at his belt and slacks with slippery fingers.
"Smooth, Mr. Novak," Dean drawled, his eyes half-lidded, and Cas resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at his student.
He got his slacks off eventually, leaving shiny streaks of lube on the beige fabric, and kicked off his plain white boxers. He rubbed his aching cock between Dean's cheeks, but when Dean tried to push back he stepped away, ignoring his frustrated whine.
"I want to see you," he said, sitting down on his oversized desk chair. "I want to watch you fuck yourself on my cock."
Dean stared at him blankly for a moment, then hauled himself up, stepping over to stand between Cas' legs. He reached over and fumbled for the condom and lube, rolling down Cas' length then slicking it up, before straddling his legs and teasing his own hole with the head of his cock.
"Fuck," Cas breathed, his head dropping back as Dean sank down slowly, infinitesimal inch at a time.
"S'the idea," Dean agreed. He braced his arms on Cas' shoulders, working himself up and down, until he was seated fully in his lap, and Cas felt the hot flesh of his ass flush against his thighs.
They stared at each other, lips parted, almost afraid to move, until Cas' hips gave an unintentional jerk, and Dean mewled.
"So good," Cas whispered, putting his hands on Dean's waist to urge him gently up and down. "So tight, so gorgeous, so fucking perfect…"
Dean locked his ankles around Cas' calves to gain more leverage, muscles working in tanned thighs, and Cas moaned.
"I hope you don't expect any superhuman stamina," he warned, and Dean smirked.
"Why, Mr. Novak," he said, punctuated by small gasps as he fucked himself down, "you been hard for me today?"
"You are impossible, Dean Winchester," he growled.
"Infuriating," Dean agreed, then threw his head back as Cas' cock grazed over his prostate. "Oh, fuck, Cas -- right there -- Jesus --"
Cas gripped his waist and thrust up harder, hipbones digging into the hot abused skin of his ass, and Dean let out a choked wail.
They found a rhythm, Dean bouncing shamelessly as Cas shoved into him hard. When Cas finally wrapped a hand around Dean's cock his eyes went wide, mouth falling open.
"Cas, 'm gonna -- gonna --"
"Me too, Dean," he said, twisting his hand over the head of his cock, and then Dean was coming again, soundlessly, spilling over his hand and dripping onto the white button-up Cas was still inexplicably wearing. He ground himself down onto Cas as he came, and the sight of Dean's face coupled with the friction on his cock was enough to send him toppling over the edge as well, and he wrapped his arms around Dean as he came, digging his nails into the skin of his back.
"Jesus," he murmured, pulling Dean down to rest their foreheads together.
"Should a Catholic schoolteacher be blaspheming?" Dean mumbled, breathless, and Cas snorted.
"I'm fairly certain that that isn't going to tip me over the edge of damnation," he said. Then, after a minute -- "You know this is a terrible idea, Dean."
"Mm," Dean agreed unconcernedly. "I like terrible ideas."
"Evidently," Cas said, tightening his arms. "Just promise me one thing."
"Mm?"
"...Please don't write on Titus Andronicus."