Work Text:
based on this gif: http://figmentsoffiction.tumblr.com/post/116726008432/thereaintnomeifthereaintnosmiles-au-meme-college (follow me while you're there!)
Chapter One: August 16. The day before.
Sam climbed out of his nondescript blue sedan wearing quite ordinary jeans and plaid shirt (although of the ugly clothes he’d collected throughout grad school, this was one of his favorites) carrying a plain navy blue backpack and walked, or rather slouched his very tall frame towards the library of Remington State College. With a longish mop of light brown hair pushed behind his ears and a day-off shaven face, he looked much like many of the students he saw milling around the campus. Classes started the next day and all the kids were growing accustomed to their new homes. He tried to slouch even more as he ducked into the library in search of his office, best to stay incognito for as long as possible.
His office, if you could call it that, was a 6 foot by 8 foot cinderblock room squashed into the back of the library behind the dusty stacks of the reference section. Being well over six feet tall, the 7 foot ceilings were a challenge. The desk took up most of the small room, along with a 3 drawer filing cabinet that barely came to Sam’s knee and two matching plastic chairs on either side of the desk. There was also a small window just eye-level to him when he folded up into the chair on his side of the desk, that looked out over The Grove, the school’s beloved green bit in the center of campus.
Sam stared around the grime and watched some of the students lounging in the grass. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a landscaping golf cart pull up beside a flower bed. A boy in a shirt he was sure used to be white and dirty cargo shorts hopped out and started sprinkling something over the flowers. He was tall, perhaps not as tall as Sam but few were, with the dark tan and subtle muscle definition that no doubt came from working outside in the Kansas sun. His brown hair was tinged blond on top, most likely also the Sun’s doing. Not a student, then. The thought passed unwarranted through Sam’s mind followed by an equally unwarranted pang of disappointment. Sam frowned to himself and turned away from the window, getting his laptop and notes for his first lecture at his new school sorted for the following day.
A few minutes later he stole an innocent glance out the window, only to find the flower bed occupied by a group of girls with brightly colored hair and gleaming metal rings on strange parts of their faces. The little curl of disappointment poked into Sam’s conscious but he pushed it and the image of the boy out of his mind.
Chapter Two: August 17.
The First Day
Dr. Wesson’s first lesson of the day was a doozy; Early British Literature, room 205, Singer Hall, 8:00am. Currently, Sam Wesson was storming red-faced out of the Mills Auditorium at 7:49 and at least a 20 minute walk across the sprawling campus from his classroom. Putting his long stride to good use he decisively guessed a direction and headed purposefully away from where he should have been walking. While still coming down from the embarrassment of trying to start his lecture to group of senior engineering students (who couldn’t give a parsec less about Beowulf) and being laughed out of the building, he walked directly into an oncoming person on the sidewalk.
“Hey, watch it, man.” the figure he’d assaulted looked up from his phone.
Sam was about the stutter an apology but his mouth was suddenly very dry. The landscaping boy from the day before stood in front of him, dressed in jeans and a light blue collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. He stared at Sam for a second, shockingly green eyes narrowing a bit before a wide, white smile split across his face.
“I’m just messing with you, dude, chill out.” He grinned wider, “You look lost, can I help you find something?”
The boy looked at him expectantly and Sam realized he was still standing mute in the middle of the sidewalk.
“I’m… uh... “ Sam swallowed hard and smiled at the boy sheepishly, “This is embarrassing, but I’m new here…” His eyes finally smiled along with the rest of his face, “My guide cancelled on me last minute, and I don’t know how to get to my lecture hall.”
The boy looked down and gave a small laugh. He looked back up at Sam through thick lashes, his tongue catching behind his teeth a bit before speaking, Sam’s knees went wobbly.
“Yeah, they tend to do that.” He grinned at Sam wickedly, “But lucky for you, I’ve got a soft spot for poor lost English professors and I’m headed that way now.”
Sam let out a sigh of relief.
“But you’re pointing the wrong direction.” The boy stuffed his phone back in his pocket and grabbed Sam by the elbow of his blazer and spun him around, “Come on, Sasquatch, we don’t have much time.”
They walked a few paces before the boy let go of his elbow, and Sam found himself slightly bereft without the hand there. He cleared his throat. Time to act like a fucking adult, Wesson.
“So, how’d you know I was an English teacher…?” Sam wanted to slap himself for that one. Hadn’t even gotten the kid’s name?! The kid just grinned at him again.
“Well, for starters, you’re wearing a jacket that has elbow patches, dude, you just reek of academia.” He glanced over at Sam’s face and chuckled, “ and you’re carrying a copy of The Norton Anthony that looks like it’s been to Hell and back at least twice.”
Sam patted his giant book lovingly, “Hell twice and Purgatory once if I remember correctly.” He smiled at his walking companion.
“So then this must be Heaven, right?” They laughed together and walked a little while longer in a comfortable silence.
Once they got up the steps of Singer Hall, Sam turned to the boy and thanked him.
“No problem, doc. Your’s is on the second floor. ‘Fraid this is my stop,” He said jerking his thumb over his shoulder at a janitor’s closet and giving Sam a blinding smile. “Not as glamorous as literature, perhaps, but just as fulfilling.” He added with mock seriousness.
Sam smiled back at him warmly, “What happens if I get lost again? Do I flash the Bat Symbol and you come running to my rescue or are all the maintenance staff as friendly as you?”
The boy’s smile wavered for a split second before returning to full wattage, but Sam still caught it, feeling instantly like a huge jerk but not very sure why.
“Anyone in Remington Green can help you find your way,” He said softly, “But my name is Dean, if my services can be of any use to you.”
His voice was just barely above a whisper but it slammed through Sam like buckshot.
“I’m Sam-”
“Wesson, PhD, Grand Master of all things Anglo” Dean finished for him, his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning just a touch pink. “I put the letters on your office door right before you came in yesterday afternoon.”
Sam stared at him in amusement for a few long seconds.
“You’d better get to class, Doc. I hear those nerds will mutiny without leadership.” Dean smiled at him one last time and disappeared behind the frosted glass of the janitor’s closet door.
Sam shook himself and bounded up the stairs two at a time and skidded into his classroom at 8:05.
Chapter 3: September 10
Raising a flag
Sam settled into a routine at Remington after his first day’s mix-up and found that both his students and his schedule were agreeable. Just enough of them came to his office hours to feel worthwhile but not so many as to make him feel like an inadequate purveyor of knowledge.
He’d managed only to see Dean one more time over the past few weeks, having found his way to back to the library on his own. Today he’d only one class and let them go early, since the whole school was gearing up for a large memorial service to be held on the Grove for the September 11th attacks. Sam really appreciated his student’s enthusiasm for the event, and it mostly seemed to come from a place of understanding and reverence instead of blind patriotism.
He strolled around campus looking at the preparations. The grounds had been manicured within an inch of their lives, flags hung proud and straight in every corner of the octagonal lawn. He gave a cursory glance to the flowerbeds near his office and stopped in his tracks. There was dean crouched down and tending to some of the more battered of the flowers, white shirt stuck to his muscular back with sweat. The waistband of his pants was just visible over the gap in his jeans that were riding dangerously low from his position. Sam offhandedly wondered if they were boxers or briefs.
As he drew closer to Dean, he could hear him singing softly to himself. “Carry On My Wayward Son” Sam guessed after hearing a few bars. He gave a long, low whistle when he was close enough for Dean to hear. Upon reflection later he wouldn’t know whether he was whistling at the flowers, the song, or Dean’s ass. Dean turned around and smiled at him.
“Dr. Sasquatch! Lost again and come to seek my guidance?” He joked.
“Ha-ha.” Sam rolled his eyes. “If I’d known you’d never let me live that down, I wouldn’t have asked for your help.”
Dean snickered. “And you’d still be wandering around the auditorium looking for your lecture room.”
Sam shot him a look.
“Seems like you guys are coming along really well for tomorrow’s memorial.”
Dean stood up and took off his gloves, wiping his hands on the thighs of his jeans. Sam’s eyes involuntarily followed. When they raked back up to look at Dean’s face, there was a smug sort of surprise in his green eyes waiting for him.
“Yeah, me and the guys have been working really hard on it make sure it looks nice.”
Dean licked his lips and smirked, pulling his t-shirt off with both hands and wiping his face on it. He put the shirt around his neck and hung on to either end with a hand, effectively putting his chest and impressive arms on full display. He still smiled wickedly at Sam, who looked stunned and ravenous, as though a perfectly cooked steak had wandered up to him in the middle of the desert and handed him a fork.
“You know,” Dean added nonchalantly, “I could use some help getting the big flag for the front of campus ready, if you aren’t doing anything important right now.”
His green eyes drug down and back up Sam’s body, which was rerouting all the blood from his growing arousal back to his brain so he could nod and follow Dean, who pulled a large set of keys from his back pocket and headed toward the library’s service entrance. The boy was practically sauntering, and all poor Dr. Wesson could do was keep up.
Chapter 3: about 10 minutes later.
Sam was never the kind of guy who just did this sort of thing. Hell until last year he didn’t do this with men at all. Now here he was, Samuel Wesson, professor of English Literature, pressed against the dusty stacks outside his office by the sweaty body of a teenage landscaper.
Their mouths crashed together without a word, tongues and teeth fighting a constant battle for dominance. Somewhere from the feral parts of his psyche, Sam had woken up his sex drive and become an active participant in the seduction he was previously unaware of. Dean quickly divested Sam of his checked shirt, yanking it hard enough from where it was tucked into his khaki’s it pulled his t shirt up with it. A split second later that was gone too. Dean stared at Sam’s naked torso hungrily, licking his plush lips.
“Damn, doc…” He breathed out a smile and cocked an eyebrow at him, “Who knew you were hiding all this?” He roughly grabbed Sam by the belt and drug him closer, nipping at his collarbone. “You’d better be holding office hours right now, or I’ll see what else you’re hiding right here with the books.” Dean was practically growling now, biting wet open mouthed kisses to Sam’s clavicle.
Sam did as he was told.
He shut the office door quietly behind them and tossed their shirts onto the chair opposite his desk. Then he spun around and pinned Dean to the wall with one of his large forearms across his shoulders, and pierced him with an intense green-on-green stare before claiming Dean’s mouth in a bruising kiss. He moved his arm and roved his big hands over Dean’s chest, touching light circles over his already taut nipples. Dean shuddered, his own hands working the belt and fly on Sam’s trousers.
The kiss broke apart when Sam hissed a few curses as Dean started stroking him through the cotton of his boxer briefs. His cock was getting painfully hard and sank heavily into Dean’s ministrations. Dean leaned forward and sank his teeth into the tight muscle at Sam’s shoulder, earning him a low moan. Sam grabbed a handful of Dean’s sun tinted hair and yanked his head to the side, exposing the tanned skin of neck and attacking his carotid artery with his teeth and tongue, not really caring if his young paramour was easily bruised. Dean gasped and rested his freckled cheek against Sam’s chest. Sam continued kissing along the ridge of Dean’s muscular shoulder and the column of his neck while freeing his poor neglected cock from the confines of the too tight jeans, amused to see Batman briefs. The laugh on his lips was soon replaced with a sharp intake of breath, awe, at the magnificent muscle now resting in his big hand, a few experimental twists of his wrists and Dean was writhing between him and the wall, gently thrusting into Sam’s hand. Sam whispered encouragement into his ear as Dean continued his unravelling.
“So hot… my God, Dean I’ve wanted this since I saw you out that window…” Sam purred into Dean’s ear. Dean panted a few times and bit down again hard on Sam’s bicep and a hot stream of cum splashed over Sam’s hand. Sam kneaded him through the tremors of his orgasm, his own straining cock forgotten at the sight of the beautiful creature falling apart in front of him. A few long minutes later, Dean looked up at Sam, eyes wide and hazy, with a crooked grin. “Is that the kind of thing you learn in college? Maybe I ought to go after all.”
Sam smiled at him. “Lucky for you, you’ve got a professor at your disposal.”
Dean sank to his knees, eyes never leaving Sam’s sharp gaze. After a second he looked down and pressed his face into the crease of Sam’s leg, breathing in the scent of testosterone and arousal. His straight white teeth hooked onto the elastic on Sam’s pants and dragged them down just far enough so that the massive erection underneath sprung free and bobbed enticingly in front of Dean’s open lips. His eyes flickered up at Sam’s face once more before fluttering closed as he sucked Sam down in one go. Sam cried out, one arm shooting up to steady himself on the wall and the other gently cradling Dean’s skull as he moved achingly over his cock. Dean’s tongue circled quickly over the head before lapping down the sensitive vein on the underside of his task. Sam tried hard not to rock into the wet, glorious heat of Dean’s mouth but he found himself moving slightly. Dean’s jaw went lax and allowed Sam to push all the way to his throat and fuck his mouth for a few beats, aiding the endeavor by swirling his tongue around as the glans passed by his lips. Dean grabbed hold of Sam’s hips and held him still, leaving a pornographic amount of saliva behind as he pulled off, he gave Sam a few hard strokes and then swallowed him down again, this time bypassing where he should’ve gagged and burying his nose in the tuft of brown curls at the bottom of Sam’s pelvis. A guttural moan ripped from him and he could practically feel dean smirk around his cock. He made the mistake of looking down. As Dean pulled away he could see the bulge in his throat moving from the outside.
“D..Deann… I’m.. I’m g-gonna…” Sam sputtered, grappling for some kind of purchase along the smooth wall.
Dean didn’t seem to be phased, his left hand moving to squeeze the heavy balls hanging before him, right hand moving around to grasp Sam’s ass firmly to him, Sam heaved a great sound from somewhere deep inside him and came hard into Dean’s throat, watchin his adam’s apple bob to accommodate the load.
When he came down from the ethereal high of a fantastic blow job, Sam opened his eyes to the tarty little Dean looking up at him through those thick dark lashes, green eyes shining with mirth. His tongue caught behind his teeth in that wholly erotic fashion as he smiled.
“A+” Sam breathed out heavily with a laugh, “But you’re going to have to come by regularly for office hours to keep this level of performance.”
Dean stood up and wiped his mouth on his forearm. He grabbed his Sam’s white t-shirt instead of his own and reached for the door. He turned back to Sam and winked.
“Told you I had a soft spot for English professors.”
~Fin~