TEMPTATION

Author: Becca
Rating: R
Pairing: You/Dean Corso
Categories: Romance/Smut

Disclaimer: I own it all, I own Dean, I own the Ninth Gate, I even own Roman Polanski himself… if anyone took that seriously that need to get seek psychological help for not being able to understand completely obvious sarcasm. ;)

Summary: (Pre Ninth Gate) Games are fun, messing with the new teacher is just a laugh. A little bit of teasing never did anyone any harm… did it?

Author's Note: I couldn’t be bothered to go into detail about the Nine Gates and everything which is why this is pre-film. It’s just a smutshot (yep, I decided to make up a word, or at least I think I did) really to write out a lovely idea provided by LuckySparrow, so big thanks to her for the inspiration. I hope you enjoy reading!

* * * * *

Your boots thud noisily against the empty hallway floors, the jangle of metal resounds around you with every step you take. Just as expected there’s no one in sight, then again you are fifteen minutes late for the lecture. Now if anyone even comes within a foot of you asking for a hall pass you’ll actually throttle them. Fuck getting suspended, expelled, arrested even, today is not the day for anyone to mess with you. Then again when was there a day when it was okay for anyone to do so? Never answers the question simply enough, and everyone knows it. It’s amazing how you’ve gained such a reputation in such a short space of time but you have to say you’re quite pleased with it.

Just two months ago you were the one cowering away in the corners from anyone who dared look your way, too scared to say anything to anyone, too scared that whatever you did would be wrong. Now you couldn’t give a rats ass. Now it was everyone else who averted their attention if they saw you looking at them. All because of a little bit of black and your brothers idiotic friend having an untruthful tongue. You’ll have to thank him for that one day… when he comes out from hiding.

As the story went around the college you were not a girl to be messed with, for reasons that made people shudder. There were whisperings of witchcraft and human sacrifices, rumours that the scar up your left arm was from some blood ritual you performed for the devil, all of them a load of crap.

Truth be told you were just as normal as the rest of them, and the scar was from an accident with a pair of scissors when you were five years old. It all started very simply. One day you bought a new necklace that you’d seen in a shop. It had a simple silver chain and a beautiful handcrafted crucifix dangling from it. Within the centre of the crucifix a black gem was fixed, and winding and weaving along each prong of the cross were silver wires, tinged with black around the edges. After buying this beautiful piece of jewellery for just under $20 you knew you had to wear it straight away, so from then onwards you had.

Comments started being whispered when you entered your college the next day. You were in your senior year and would have thought that people wouldn’t care about a little thing such as your necklace, but it seemed that it did attract the attention of some juveniles. That very day you must have heard the word ‘goth’ being whispered almost a hundred times, and every time you walked down the corridor you could feel eyes looking at you in wonder. This was a very new experience, you’d always been the wallflower type that faded away from attention, you may as well have been invisible, but now it seemed things were to change.

You let the day pass by without too much thought. You knew what your peers were like when it came to something even remotely out of the ordinary happening so you believed that it would all pass by and never be thought of again. You’d walk through the corridors unnoticed as usual and those brief moments of attention would be forgotten. However, you were mistaken.

The next day you continued to wear your necklace, it now having become your most prized piece of jewellery other than the chunky silver ring your mother left you before she died that you’d never worn. This time however you’d decided to wear a pair of black trousers, not something you really even thought about when you dragged them out of your wardrobe but it seemed that everyone at college did.

Yet again as you walked down the corridors towards your lecture rooms there were mutterings, and the word ‘goth’ seemed to crop up even more. You couldn’t quite comprehend why it was that people were paying so much attention to your attire, but people could be fickle so you supposed again that it would pass.

A week went by and the whisperings did not stop, it was only then that the new revelations about your life started cropping up.

“She kills animals you know.” You heard one girl say in the bathrooms, when you were hidden away in one of the cubicles.

“Like what?” said the friend of the girl, her tone wary.

“I dunno. Rats and mice I think.” Said the original girl, and as you snuck a peek under the doorway you could see it was Alyssa, a blonde bimbo whose parents had too much money to comprehend.

“Why?” the other girl answered, this one you recognized as being Carmel, the sidekick to Alyssa. She was quite the little puppydog that one, following Alyssa around everywhere with her dirty blonde ringlets bobbing up and down as she walked. She was a sweet girl, you always sat next to her in your English literature class, but she was a complete follower and worshipped Alyssa to no end.

“For rituals apparently.” Alyssa spoke, dabbing more foundation onto her already perfect skin. “Apparently she kills them in sacrifice to the devil.” She added as an afterthought.

It took every ounce of strength within you not to burst out laughing; you’d never heard anything so far-fetched in your life! You cried when your goldfish died for Christ’s sake, how the hell did they expect you to kill something?!

Over the next few days the rumours began to spread and grow. Now it was no longer rats and mice that you killed, but stray dogs and cats, on occasions maybe even a deer. Then came the rumours that you’d cast a spell on your brother when he was sick from college one day, and then when he didn’t come in the next day it was said that you’d murdered him.

The latter rumour was stopped as soon as he returned to college right as rain, but he didn’t try to ease any of the rumours too much. Instead he added fuel to their fire, telling of how you’d argued just before he’d become sick, and that just after you had he’d felt like keeling over, like a pair of invisible hands were reaching within him making his stomach turn.

So it was the truth that you had argued but that was nothing unusual at all. You didn’t get along with your brother, he being just a year and a half your junior he always went out of his way to aggravate you. Your father was away too much working trying to keep the family out of debt to bother with any of it, so your brother despite being younger generally got the rule of the house. You were very rarely one to put your foot down but when you did you had to admit you could have a very vile temper.

In the beginning you attempted to quell the rumours, you even took the necklace off for a couple of days but it didn’t seem to work. There were then just rumours about where you’d lost it, one of the most interesting ones being that it had fallen off whilst you were digging someone’s grave. It was pretty hysterical the way that these tales spread around like wildfire and you could hardly believe it when people actually started moving out of your way as soon as you came near them.

With these consequences seeming a little more positive you decided to hell with it, and embraced the stories. You wore black, and nothing else, you spent a lot of your savings on a pair of heavy biker boots with steel capped toes, you dyed your hair black, wore black make up and glared at anyone who looked at you. Initially you decided only to try it out for one day but in the end it was too fun to leave behind.

Katherine had been the name you were born with, which had then been shortened to Katie during your school life. However with your new look and attitude it became Kat, and you’d heard comments about the ‘unlucky black Kat’ on several occasions. It scared you a little at first, knowing what people thought of you because you couldn’t help but wonder what your dad would think if he found out about it. He was always too busy though so in the end you dismissed these worries from your mind.

With your new look came the personality and with that came the actual desire to learn and be everything gothic. You bought the dark music, you listened to the lyrics of misery and death, and you embraced every part of this new culture. You weren’t all devil worshipping or anything, but you did like the feeling of expressing yourself through this new style. You started to write your own poetry of woe and angst to tell the world of your miseries. It was a release; it was your coming out in a way. It was a way to stop hiding.

All had been well enough like that. You still got on with your college work studying English literature, history and photography and all was going well. That was until one little incident with your brother that occurred in front of his friend who had a tendency to stretch the truth. If people feared you before, once Malcolm (the annoying kids name) got his word in they actually seemed to shit themselves if you so much as looked at them.

One evening you were at home in your room, minding your own business trying to concentrate on an essay though the sound of your brother Danny and Malcolm’s squealing laughter over some cartoon they were watching on TV was incredibly distracting. Rubbing your temples for the twentieth time in an hour to try and cease the growing headache you gave up on the essay, having at least managed to get half way through it. You deserved a break, a moment of relaxation, and so what better way to do it than to vent some of your frustrations in your diary.

Lifting up the mattress of your bed you knew something was wrong immediately. The diary was there but not in the same place, and it was not closed like you’d left it. Instead the pages were open on the last entry and you knew without a doubt who must have been in your room and touched it. Danny.

Letting out a frustrated sound you immediately proceeded to grab the leather bound book and storm out of your room, making the door swing open so hard that it hit the wall making it shudder.

“DANNY!” you screamed as you stomped towards the living room, just down the hall in the bungalow you lived in with your dad and Danny, and also quite often Malcolm. The laughter ceased immediately, and as you stormed into the lounge you could see Danny turning away from you, trying to hide what was undoubtedly a guilty expression. “You’ve been in my room!” you had accused angrily, glaring at him and just waiting for him to deny it.

“I haven’t!” he angrily responded, his tone rising an octave.

“Bullshit!” you shouted back. “You’ve been through my things, you’ve read my fucking diary!” you continued to yell, waving the personal item in the air to catch his attention.

“No I nev-“ Danny began but cut himself short when you let out a frustrated shriek, stomping over to where he was sitting with his back against the sofa and proceeding to pin him against it by the shoulders.

“Liar.” You’d whispered through gritted teeth. The fact that he’d gone into your room was bad, the fact that he’d looked through your private possessions was enough to make you very angry, but the fact that he had the gall to deny it just made your blood boil.

“I… I… didn’t read much of it.” He’d managed to stammer out and for the first time in your life you could see that he was actually just a little bit scared of you. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Malcolm shuffling away a little bit, his expression fearful.

“How much.” You spat out quickly.

“Not much.” He repeated and finding this answer unsatisfactory you slammed him back against the sofa, to which he let out a small yelp of pain.

“How. Much.” You repeated once more, your fingers starting to dig into Danny’s shoulders harder.

“Ow… Kat… you’re hurting me…” he’d whimpered but you’d just continued to dig the pads of your fingers in, right underneath his shoulder blades where you knew it would hurt like hell. “Just… just the last couple of entries.” Danny managed to whimper out, realising that you’d not ask him again.

“Promise?” you asked, feeling slightly relieved that he hadn’t gotten into it too far, your recent entries hadn’t held much anyway, just some comments about a pain in the ass ‘special guest lecture’ for English literature coming up next month.

“Uh huh.” Danny squeaked out, and with one final rough shove you let go of him, straightening up and storming out the room in a slightly toned down way compared to how you’d entered. As soon as you’d slammed your bedroom door you heard Danny call you a bitch and heard Malcolm laugh, but you’d had enough of them and their idiotic ways to do anything about it.

Two days later was when everything changed. People started actually cowering away when they saw you coming, they’d move into classrooms or huddle in corners. Before they might move to one side so as not to touch you as you passed but now they kept a good distance, several feet it seemed. This made you wonder what the new rumours were as you knew something must have been spread far worse than before. You’d hoped that you might hear something in the girls loo’s as you had so many other times but it seemed people actually watched out for when you went in, and wouldn’t enter until you’d come out again. It was only later that day as you walked outside the main building that you started to hear Malcolm and Danny talking, to several other people who were eagerly listening.

“I swear I would have phoned the police except I was rooted to the spot you know.” You heard Malcolm say.

“You were scared?” a female voice asked that you didn’t recognise.

“No!” Malcolm exclaimed indignantly. “It was like I physically couldn’t move, I was stuck there, paralysed.” He added.

“She did it.” You heard Danny interject. “She’s always doing stuff like that, casting spells so she gets her own way.” He informed the group of listeners. From what you could tell there were at least five or six people there enthralled by these tales, and you were quite eager to listen too, to see what bullshit the boys could come up with.

“But she’s your sister, she wouldn’t try to kill you surely?” a voice asked and a frown instantly crossed your features. You may have wished to kill him on occasions but didn’t every sibling think that? You’d never actually do anything like that, you might fight with him and cause him grief if he annoyed you but nothing that could really damage him, let alone kill him.

“She hates him.” Malcolm piped up. “Ever since their mother died. She has this chip on her shoulder that their mom loved Danny more.”

“Malcolm…” you heard Danny interject, his tone warning as though he may be going too far, but as you stood still behind the wall silently bristling over the words Malcolm continued.

“So ever since she’s had this big old vendetta, and then, when I was there she just went for him. She grabbed him around the throat for no reason at all. Show ‘em the bruises Danny.” Malcolm said, and after a brief moment where you could hear the sounds of shuffling you heard the group of listeners gasp.

“You petty little immature brats!” you exclaimed, having had enough of the conversation and storming around the corner. The group of mostly guys and a couple of girls instantly turned white as sheets as soon as they saw you, as soon as they heard your voice actually.

“RUN!” Malcolm squeaked out and every human figure in sight started to sprint, but you had your eyes fixated on one, so before he could get very far you’d grabbed him by the collar and had slammed him into the wall.

“You’re such a pig.” You ground out, staring Malcolm directly in the eyes as he shook in your grip. “So it’s you making up all this shit about me huh?” you asked, to which Malcolm didn’t respond. “Malcolm… be a good boy now and answer me.” You said in a singsong tone. All he could do was gulp. “Malcolm, if you don’t answer me I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to hurt you for being a spoilt little brat, I’m going to hurt you for making up all these lies, and I’m going to hurt you for ignoring me. Do you want that?” you continued to say, but still received no response. He was deathly pale and you could see his skin had become clammy. Maybe the fool had started to believe the lies he made up.

“Fine.” You hissed out, and in one swift movement you’d grabbed Malcolm by the balls, had succeeded to twist them in your clenched fist and then let go to quickly storm away as he screamed and fell to the floor, clutching his groin. Before you’d reached but a little while away you could hear him wretching and you couldn’t help the satisfied smile that came to your lips. Maybe you could be a little sadistic at times, but he sure as hell deserved it, especially because of the comment about your mother.

And that was it. After that Malcolm said no more but the factory was still going strong. New people started making up their own tales as to things you’d done, people started to make their own idea’s about you and all seemed to be worse than the ones previous. Everyone feared you more than ever, even the teachers. You saw how they would glance at you nervously and in the end you started feeling like you may as well use it to your advantage.

You started to go to lessons a little bit later, getting there a few minutes after the bell rang. No one cared. You started missing deadlines for your essays, would listen to music in your lectures and mouthed back if anyone spoke to you. You were quite enjoying being the rebel to be honest, it was freedom. People were just too scared to do anything about it, you could do as you pleased.

So now, here you are walking down the empty corridor in your all black outfit, your hair tied up in a ponytail, your eyes blackened with eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara… anything to make them as dark as possible. Today your choice of clothing is a black short skirt (you had nice legs, why not flaunt them?), a black halterneck that accentuated your bust (again with the flaunting), a black leather jacket, with various chains and appendages, and a black scarf despite the fact that it was warm. Two months ago you wouldn’t have dared to wear anything other than trousers and baggy plain tops despite having a decent figure, but now, just as with almost everything else you didn’t give a damn.

Making your way down the corridor you finally come to the door where your English lecture is supposed to take place. You are still interested in the subject it’s just that now you can take some liberties with it. Opening the door you step through and meet a hushed room, even the teacher at the front stops talking. Everyone’s lined up in the rows of seats that climb up the room, the stage down the bottom. This would be the biggest lecture room in the entire college, and it’s only when you spot the teacher down the front that you realise why.

The guest lecturer, a Mr Corso. Shit. You’d forgotten that it was today, so now rather than just walking in on your English literature class, you’d walked in on every single one as all English students had gathered for this one special lecture. Timetables had been temporarily rearranged just to make way for it, everyone had been informed that they absolutely must be on time… fuck it.

Sighing to yourself you let the door slam behind you and quickly gaze around the room for empty seats. Spotting one near the front you proceed to make your way down the steps, glancing around you at all the students who avoid your gaze. You hear Mr Corso start talking again about rare ancient books but pay little attention to him, busy with maintaining your reputation as you saunter past the front row of desks, making your way to the empty seat in the second row from the front that happens to be right next to Carmel.

Sliding past the small desk that sits in front of the chair you take your seat, smirking as Carmel edges away from you slightly in her chair, a look of repulsion plastered firmly across her face. Rolling your eyes you turn your attention to the stage just below, where Mr Corso stands, or rather paces as he talks.

Instantly an appreciative smile turns the corners of your mouth up a little for as you watch and take in his appearance you start rueing yourself a little for having even missed a minute of it. He’s quite attractive. His slim figure is clothed in dark navy, practically black trousers with a dark shirt which is pretty much the same as any teacher would wear, though a tad more crumpled. Glasses are propped upon his nose and his dark brown hair has been slicked back a little with some kind of styling gel. You can see that his hair is greying mildly around his temples so you guess him to be in his forties, but the look of his face would make you think he was a lot younger.

His cheekbones would have to be the first thing that attract your attention, but as you allow your gaze to wander you find they’re not the only appealing aspects of his visage. You watch as he speaks, your eyes very much attracted to his full looking lips, and above them he has a dark moustache, and below a goatee. You continue to watch his lips forming words though what words they are you’ve no idea, your mind is too wrapped up in your thoughts of appreciation for the sight before you to actually take in what is being said. You allow your gaze to move onwards over his face, upwards along his nose until you reach a pair of beautiful dark eyes, looking right at you from behind circular rimmed glasses.

You shudder startled that he’d been looking at you and upon instinct avert your attention quickly, but the inquisitive side of your nature takes over and you glance back to note that he’s smirking a little, obviously pleased to have caught you off guard. Well he’s noticed you that’s for sure, and you’re pretty pleased about it.

* * * Dean's POV – 15 minutes earlier * * *

How the hell he got dragged into this gig he did not know. Stupid Bernie. Trust him to have the one book he wanted, trust him to have a nice little favour to ask in exchange as well as the couple of thousand dollars.

Dean had tried everything to get out of it, he’d even tried upping the price by $500 but to no avail, when Bernie was set in his ways it was over. Either you agreed to the bargain or you didn’t get the book, simple. It was exactly the same way in which Dean worked, he stated his terms and he wouldn’t budge with them which is exactly why he respected Bernie as much as he did, but still, this was a pain in the ass.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses Dean sighed, already anxious for the next hour to be over and done with. He’d been dragged in to talk to these college students about old writings, rare books, collectibles and how you could turn it all into a very worthwhile profession. Of course they just wanted the soft facts, he wasn’t to tell them of his more hardcore and ruthless dealings, he was just to explain to them how to authenticate books, where to look for originals, and how to go about making money out of buying and selling them from and to the right people. It was pretty simple to be honest, he could ramble on about a load of bullshit for an hour, it wasn’t that he didn’t know what he was doing… he just didn’t want to do it.

There could be so many other things he could be doing. He could be scouting out for rare editions, he could be conning people (with too much money on their hands anyway) out of priceless copies of ancient scripts, he could be out doing anything but this. But instead there he was, waiting on stage at the bottom of a large auditorium as the bell went and students started to file in.

Watching them he let out a small weary sigh. Seniors. Okay, so there could be some good ones, ones actually interested in learning and all that, but then there could be the annoying little brats who thought they knew it already. God if anyone tried anything with him he wouldn’t take it. He knew well the high school issues of playing up for the new teacher, but he was in college now so surely they’d be okay? They did after all choose to be here, they can’t begrudge it that much… still, he really wasn’t looking forward to it.

“So you’ll have about forty-five minutes to talk.” Said the voice of a rather stout male teacher, Mr Henderson or Harrison or something. “Then you can give the students a chance to ask questions for fifteen minutes until the end.” He continued, standing leaning against a desk on the stage next to Dean.

“Sure.” Dean acknowledged, still watching the many students as they filed in.

“You have everything you need?”

“All I need is this right?” Dean answered wryly, tapping a finger against his temple.

“Whatever you say.” The teacher chuckled, and proceeded to startle Dean a little as he clapped his hands, calling for everyone’s attention to be directed at him. Dean waited silently as Mr… Harrington! proceeded to tell the students about the course of the days lecture. Before he knew it Dean was being introduced as Mr Corso, a fine book dealer, and all the students started clapping half-heartedly.

“Thank you.” Dean spoke, acknowledging Mr Harrington as he proceeded to step back to the sidelines to discreetly watch over the lecture. “So to begin with what do you all know already about book dealing?” he asked his audience, he may as well start off simply. Hands went into the air and as he pointed towards various students they gave their answers.

Already as one student droned on about something to do with rare editions and the fact that there wouldn’t be any from modern days in the future because books were too mass produced, Dean found himself having to stifle a yawn. He’d not slept very well the previous night, and so now giving a lecture was the last thing he wanted to do. He remembered back in college how he would fall asleep in his seat as the teacher droned on, and thoroughly wished that he could do that now.

Stupid Bernie, telling him that if he did this he could have the book. Stupid Bernie with a stupid friend who wouldn’t stop bugging him to give a lecture. Stupid Bernie for passing this responsibility onto Dean. God he really hated him sometimes, especially now.

He didn’t know how much time had passed but Dean knew he’d been talking for quite a while. As he spoke, pacing slightly as he did so he looked out across the auditorium, taking in the fact that a few of the students were dropping off already. God he would do anything to switch positions with them, let them talk about all of this and he could go bury his head in his arms and doze.

Suddenly the bang of a door opening sounded through the room, and looking to where the noise came from Dean stopped talking, looking up to the top of the steps on the right side of the hall he looked at the new arrival. The whole room seemed to follow suit, but as the door swang shut behind the newcomer and she started making her way down the stairs to find an empty seat all gazes were averted away from her. ‘That’s interesting…’ Dean thought to himself as he watched her for a moment longer.

As if he had a machine within him however he started to talk once more, though his gaze still occasionally glanced towards the girl who had just entered. She walked with a sense of authority he noticed, her chin held slightly aloof and her stride slow yet purposeful. Dressed completely in black with heavy biker boots she held an aura that almost seemed menacing, but in an attractive sort of way. It looked as though this must be the resident witch of the year, for as he watched he saw how a girl with dirty blonde ringlets shuffled away in her chair slightly as the new girl went to take a seat next to her. He couldn’t help smirking a little when the gothically styled girl just rolled her eyes.

Continuing with his speech he paced, wishing for time to pass more quickly. He had plenty to talk about, he could make these kids suffer for hours on end with the amount of knowledge he could recite, but the truth was he was bored of it already, just begging for some kind of distraction.

His gaze wandered back to the mysterious girl and he noted instantly that she was paying avid attention to him. That wouldn’t have seemed unusual for the fact that he was giving the lecture, but it wasn’t as though she was listening to what he was saying, but rather just visually studying him. Her gaze followed him as he moved and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her either, he just hoped no one else noticed. He just wanted to see whether she would stop looking for a moment, see whether the direction of her gaze would change…

She jumped slightly as her eyes locked with his and he couldn’t help but smirk quite visibly as she looked away, a light flush creeping up her cheeks. So the scary ‘don’t mess with me’ appearance wasn’t completely fool proof, he could bet every cent he owned on the fact that this outer shell was just a façade. She was most likely shy really and didn’t like it when people talked to her. She certainly looked like she got her wish with this look, for people it seemed were too scared to say anything.

He was about to look away, that satisfied smirk still curling his lips as he spoke, thinking that he’d won his little game of flustering the goth, but then she returned her gaze to him and continued to look at him, even as their eyes met. It seemed that the embarrassment was only short lived as she proceeded to openly watch him, and even from his distance away from her he could see a glint in her eyes. A feral smile curls her lips upwards as she continues to watch him, and Dean can’t help but feel a slight appreciation for it, she wasn’t all bark and no bite after all.

* * * Your POV * * *

Suddenly this lecture has become a lot more fun you realise as you continue to watch Mr Corso, your smirking expression matching his perfectly. This man was certainly not an ordinary teacher that was for sure, but how different he is you’re yet to completely find out. This has now become your mission for the remainder of the talk, for as you watch Mr Corso pace and allow his gaze to stop watching you, you think about how he had tried to play you. He’d obviously wanted to ruffle your feathers and momentarily he’d succeeded but now… now the tables are going to turn. You’ll see how far you can push before he’s the one blushing.

Keeping your gaze fixated on him you watch for a moment, admiring the view quite openly. Never in your life before have you found a man – especially a teacher of sorts – so attractive and you can’t help wondering further about his looks and physical attributes. Inside your mind you imagine what he would look like as you peel the clothes from his very body, and as you think of the beautiful sight you know his body would be you lick your lips, before realising that Mr Corso is looking your way again and has noticed your lustrous gaze.

The smirk that had left his lips returns as he looks at you and you can’t help but return it, smiling at him quite genuinely. He proceeds with the lecture, letting his gaze scan across the rest of the room, but his attention is very quickly drawn back to you as with a hefty sigh you slip the leather jacket from your shoulders, disentangle the scarf from around your throat and proceed to lean forward with your elbows propped on the desk, fully aware that this position makes the neckline of your halterneck dip lower with gravity.

You feel a happy tingle run down your spine as Mr Corso’s eyebrows raise slightly and he stops speaking for a moment as the sight catches his attention. Blinking once to stop himself from staring at your newly revealed skin he clears his throat, quite obviously having trouble dragging his gaze away from you as he begins to talk once again.

Quietly you chuckle, knowing that you’ve flustered him already but still it is not time to back down. There are more tricks you can pull. You’ve seen other girls do varying things on plenty of occasions, including the stunt you just pulled. Quite a few girls in your history class thought the tutor was attractive and on occasions you’d caught sight of some of the flirtatious tricks they would pull, trying to take his interest.

You remain in your leaning position for a while longer, every now and again catching Mr Corso’s eyes as he sneaks a peek back at you, trying to stop himself from smirking every time he does. It gives you quite a rush to know that he seems to be attracted to you – or your cleavage at least – and this ceases any qualms you might have had about taking the next step. Months ago you wouldn’t have dreamed of it and would have been disgusted if you noticed someone else doing it, but now the only thoughts in your mind are those thanking the fact you’ve worn a skirt and nice underwear.

From your raised position from the stage you have a good idea of what is in Mr Corso’s eyeline, and you know that it includes all of you, above and below the desk. Shivers of excitement run through you as you contemplate your next action, wondering if it could possibly be a step too far and he would just be disgusted, but you know you must take the risk.

You lean back in your chair languorously, sighing as you do so which as expected attracts Mr Corso’s attention. As soon as his eyes are on you, you proceed to look away, as if minding your own business, but as you can feel his eyes still watching you, you uncross your right leg that rested over the left, and in turn lift your left leg to cross it over the right. You know by doing this you’ve most definitely given Mr Corso quite the peep show, the un-crossing of your legs having given him a direct view of everything beneath your skirt, from your knees along the length of your thighs, up to the lacy black underwear you’d chosen to wear that day.

Mr Corso’s breath had hitched in his throat as you’d moved, and you have to bite your lip to stop from laughing as you hear Mr Harrington cough loudly, obviously trying to remind Mr Corso of the fact he was in the middle of a sentence when his attention had been diverted. You don’t believe that anyone else saw what you’d done as most were eagerly scribbling down notes, you’d very much hoped for that fact, and you’re sure that Mr Harrington knew nothing of it. He was too far away across the stage and not paying attention to you when you’d done it.

As Mr Corso finally clears his throat in an attempt to pull himself together you look at him again, and manage to catch a rather sinister glare directed right at you. Yes, that stunt had most definitely worked in irking him.

You bite your lower lip and stifle the laughter that you wish to release, especially as you notice Mr Corso is quite obviously looking very agitated, seemingly trying to calm himself down. You listen as he stutters to continue what he was talking about, however it is only when Mr Harrington speaks up that he’d been talking about a famous writer with a roman sounding name that he manages to get back on track.

Even at your distance from him you can see a slight blush creeping up the back of his neck and you feel utterly euphoric because of it, having won the game quite successfully. Sighing to yourself quietly you lean forward onto the desk again, resting your head in your palm as you prop your elbow on the desktop. Watching Mr Corso you allow your mind to wander, the sounds of his voice growing more and more distant as you let yourself just drift away into the depths of your own mind.

* * * Dean's POV * * *

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

These are the only words that Dean can think to say as he tries to compose himself, but still the machine of his own mouth keeps running and he manages to continue with the topic of the discussion. His mind and thoughts however are reeling all over the place, inside he feels like he’s been plunged into complete chaos.

He had a drift of what the girl was doing as soon as she sighed for the first time, catching his attention so that he would watch whilst she made a show of removing her jacket and scarf, but damnit she was really trying to push his buttons and she was succeeding 100%.

It was so wrong he told himself mentally, chastising his own mind for bringing back the image he had just witnessed, replaying the movements of her legs uncrossing in his mind. Gods this was so, so wrong but nevertheless… he was as sure as hell turned on.

Sneaking a peek back at her, gulping before doing so to try and quell his apprehension of what he might spy next he fends off the sigh of relief that he wishes to let out. She’s sitting normally again, admittedly the stance she is in with her elbows propped on the desk pushes her breasts very pleasantly together but that he could deal with. He could appreciate that view inconspicuously and not get too frenzied over it, but the stunt she’d pulled just moments ago… if she did it again he knew he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions, he’d plead momentary insanity for the fact that she was purposefully fogging his mind with her antics.

Feeling a little relieved Dean continues with his talk, and as he looks to the clock he finds himself feeling incredibly thankful that its almost over. In five minutes he’ll allow the students to ask him questions, and then once the bell rang after fifteen minutes it would be over and he could leave.

He couldn’t wait to get out of there before but it was pure torture for him now, that girl had excited him no end and it took every strength within him not to allow his body to show it. His mind kept trilling the image over and over, reminiscing over the sight and the feeling in his groin was quite persistent. He had to keep in control though, and so he forces thoughts of mundane, even disgusting things into his mind to repell his arousal.

It was wrong of him to be feeling the way he did he was sure of it, but what man could resist the temptations of that sight? What man wouldn’t feel like he did because of it? She was legal at least, that was the only positive thought he could think of; he wasn’t completely out of his mind.

Watching the clock as he talks the minutes pass by slowly, but eventually he finds that his time to speak is up and he announces that the students may ask questions. A flurry of hands are raised and Dean suppresses the groan of irritation that rises within him. Well at least if he has to think about answers it’ll keep his mind off of other, more detrimental musings.

* * *

It seems to take an absolute eternity for those fifteen minutes to end, but just as one male student is in the middle of asking a very lengthy question about how to tell the difference between one kind of ink and another for authentication, the bell goes and Dean sighs with relief, cutting the young man short as he announces that the lecture is over.

With the ringing bell the students scramble eagerly to their feet, some of them yawning and stretching as though they’d just woken up, others talking to one another and probably feeling very relieved to after having spent the previous hour in silence. As the students file out Dean notices that one student still remains, her head buried in her arms on top of her desk seemingly asleep.

“Mr Corso.” Mr Harrington speaks as he walks across the stage towards Dean who proceeds in rubbing the bridge of his nose in a way of alleviating the feeling of stress that’s been niggling at him ever since he entered the room, and has been furthered since that girl showed up. Never has he had to work quite so hard in that way before.

“Mr Harrington.” Dean acknowledges. “I trust it was all satisfactory?” he asks, although he really couldn’t give a damn and is actually just relieved that finally it is over.

“Wonderful sir, wonderful. The students seemed on the edge of their seats whilst you were talking and they were so eager to ask questions, you should come again.” Mr Harrington responds, his tone enthusiastic.

“I’ll see if I can fit it into my schedule, but I’m sorry to say that I’m going to very busy with work in the coming weeks.” Months… years…

“Ah yes, yes, well if you ever do have a chance we’d be happy to have you back.” Mr Harrington says, his tone a little deflated.

“Thank you, you’re most kind.” Dean responds pleasantly though inside he’s just wishing to get out. “Doesn’t look like quite everyone was on the edge of their seats though.” He murmurs, nodding his head towards the black haired girl who’d not moved from her desk.

“Yes, well, you’ll have to excuse her I’m afraid, she’s a bit of a troublemaker.” Mr Harrington answers as he follows Dean's gaze, disdain clearly evident in his voice.

“Hmmm, that doesn’t surprise me at all.” Dean mutters. “I’d better go and wake her up.” He says, trying not to smirk at the thought of it. He would quite like to awaken her in a very rude manner, maybe shout in her ear and make her jump, it would certainly teach her for doing what she did before.

“I’d leave her if I were you…” Mr Harrington spoke quickly and Dean could detect just the slightest hint of trepidation in his tone.

“Why?” he asks, confused by Mr Harrington’s obvious qualms.

“No particular reason, she’s just not a very pleasant girl, I wouldn’t want to cross her.” He answers, his gaze fixated warily upon said female.

“She can’t be that bad.” Dean answers, thoroughly confused as to why Mr Harrington would be so uneasy about it.

“Well you can wake her if you like but don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you don’t mind I’ll leave you to it, I don’t want to be around if you do decide to go through with it. You can meet me in the cafeteria if you like.” Mr Harrington says and proceeds to walk away, heading up the stairs to the auditorium door. Before he saw him go out the door Dean was almost certain he heard him mutter ‘if you’re still alive’.

He chuckles to himself amusedly, wondering just how a senior student, a female senior student could have such an effect on everyone. It wouldn’t be so hard to get a reputation amongst the student body, but to make the teachers fearful too? It had Dean rather intrigued. He’d quite like to see what this young woman was really like, and he would very much like to teach her a lesson for her earlier antics that had put him in a very uncomfortable position.

‘Maybe I’ll put her in a very uncomfortable position…’ Dean thinks, smirking to himself as he makes his way towards the sleeping girl. Maybe she would get to feel as uncomfortable as he had and maybe he could find out the mystery surrounding her.

Firmly Dean places his hand on the girls shoulder and shakes her, gently at first. Receiving nothing but a small moan – something that actually sounded quite pleasurable rather than disgruntled Dean noted – he shook her a bit harder.

“Miss…!” he asks, rueing the fact that he hadn’t learnt her name. He smiles as he hears her gasp, lifting her head slowly as she awakes.

* * * Your POV * * *

You moan quietly under your breath, trying not to make a noise for fear that someone will hear and come and find you. Your breathing is laboured as his fingers continue to work expertly, stroking the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, skimming closer and closer to where you want to be touched the most.

“Oh God…” you whisper breathlessly as you feel waves of passion build over you, you’re just moments away now from falling from the preficice you’re standing upon and he knows it, you can feel his lips curl into a smile against the bare skin of your shoulder before he bites you making you gasp…

“Miss…!” a slightly aggravated voice reaches your ears and you feel your shoulder being shaken gently. You open your eyes, blinking as you get used to the light of the room and sit up straight from your slouched position over the desk. Pulling yourself together you realise that the hand that had been shaking you has ceased and removed itself from your shoulder, and it is only now that you see the owner of said hand.

“Is it over?” you ask groggily, your voice clouded with sleep as you look at Mr Corso, standing right next to you.

“I’m glad you found it so interesting, and yes it is.” He responds, his tone wry.

“Oh good.” You answer, flashing a smile at him before standing from your seat, grabbing your jacket and scarf and proceeding to make your way down towards the stage so that you may pass all the desks and go up the main stairs to the entrance of the lecture room. As you look around you, you realise that the room is empty except for you and Mr Corso and you can’t help the hot flush that’s building over you at the thought of it, especially caused by the rather graphic dream you’d just been having.

“Do you have a lesson now?” Mr Corso asks as he follows you.

“No, it’s lunchtime.” You reply, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“Good, I was hoping to have a word with you.” He says, his tone serious. You gulp a little and stop in your tracks, turning to him however you keep a smile on your lips.

“What about?” you ask, your voice tinged with feigned innocence. You have a good idea what he might want to talk about, but you’ll see how it goes.

“I think you know.” He answers, stepping onto the stage heading towards the desk that sits at the centre for the tutors who give lectures in the auditorium. You follow him a little apprehensively, the images from your dream still fresh in your mind making you feel uncomfortably warm.

“Well if you’re annoyed about me falling asleep…” you begin, knowing that it could be a possibility.

“No, it’s understandable. I would have too.” He responds, smiling though it drops and his expression becomes serious as he speaks again. “No, what I wanted to talk to you about was… was what you did whilst you were fully awake.” He says, his tone calculating over his words.

“Like what?” you continue to feign your innocence, though your voice has become a little shaky as nerves start to set in. It was all well doing the things you did from afar, especially as you were surrounded by other people so he couldn’t do anything but now… now you’re all alone and this fact serves to make you feel just a little queasy.

“Again I believe you know the answer to your own question.” He says, his tone a little weary as though he is tired of your games. You bite the inside of your cheek, watching him as he perches on the edge of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks to you with a knowing expression as you stand rooted before him.

“Where’s Mr Harrington?” you ask quickly, wondering if maybe the stout teacher would come and end the conversation with his presence. Mr Corso wouldn’t talk of such things in front of him surely?

“He went to lunch.” He responds. You gulp tentatively, knowing that there would be no one about and you’re starting to feel quite on edge. As Mr Corso continues to look at you, you can’t help but notice a strange glint in his eye.

“Look, I was just messing about okay.” You finally speak with a heavy sigh.

“You were teasing me that’s what you were doing.” Mr Corso replies quickly, a slight edge of anger in his tone.

“Fine, I’m sorry!” you say exasperatedly and turn away to leave.

“I’m not finished talking to you.”

You wince at these words, taking a shuddering breath before you turn around, dropping your jacket and scarf to the floor as you know you probably won’t be able to go any time too soon.

“So do you do this to all the teachers?” Mr Corso asks.

“No.” you mumble.

“Then why?”

“I already said, I was just messing about.”

“But why me?”

“Why not?!” you answer, your voice rising slightly. Mr Corso sighs and removes the glasses from his nose, wiping the lenses as he seems to be gathering his thoughts.

“Are you scared?” he asks, barely glancing up at you.

“Of what?” you ask, thoroughly caught off guard.

“Of me.” He answers coolly, and proceeds to replace the glasses on top of his nose and look at you, his eyes scanning your features for a reaction.

“What… no… no, why would I be?” you answer, hating how you’re stammering over your words.

“I don’t know. But you seem pretty nervous.” He answers. You chew your lip and look at the floor, trying to think of something to say. In all honesty you were a little scared but of what you didn’t know. “If you are… well there’s no need to be, I don’t bite.” You can’t help the shudder that courses through you as your mind replays the image and feeling of him doing just that, his teeth grazing against your shoulder in your dream. “What about you?” he asks, and you frown in puzzlement.

“What about me?” you query.

“Do you bite?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

“A simple one. I’m just interested you see, you have this whole menacing look going for you, everyone seemed to shit a brick when you walked in the door and I couldn’t help but wonder why.” He says calmly and you can’t help but smile a little at his words.

“You might say I have a slight reputation.” You respond.

“I had guessed, but for what?” Mr Corso asks, looking at you with genuine intrigue.

“Various things.” You reply with a shrug. “There’ve just been a lot of rumours, things to do with witchcraft, devil worshipping and stuff.”

“True?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You answer in a cocky fashion. Your previous nerves having quelled a little.

“I would actually.” Mr Corso responds. “Because I’ve had a few dealings with the occult myself in the line of work I do, I’m interested to know what you think of it.”

“In all honesty most of the things people say about me are a load of bull.” You say with a sigh. “I like the music and the clothes but that’s about it. Its just a way of expressing myself and a way of making people leave me alone.” You admit, strangely feeling compelled to just give him the truth, he could probably see right through you anyway.

“I thought as much.” Mr Corso sighs.

“Is that such a bad thing?” you query, a little offended by his deflated response to your confession.

“No, I guess not.” He says, looking away from you. “But,” he begins, his gaze going back to lock with yours. “I have to admit that I was more than interested in the idea of it. I guess you are just all bark and no bite afterall.” He says, the last part more to himself than to you.

“Who says?!” you say defensively, your pride just a little knocked.

“Well look at you.” Mr Corso begins, standing now and walking towards you slowly as you keep your eyes on him, following his movements as he starts to circle around you. “You dress up like this and act like you’re the scariest, most confident person in the whole campus… but it seems to me it’s all just a joke, inside you’re just a scared little girl.” He stops his movements, now standing so that his back is to the seating area of the auditorium.

“I’m not.” You answer, frowning at him as you find yourself bristling. Okay so you hadn’t done all the things that you were rumoured to but that didn’t mean you were weak or anything surely?

“Yes you are.” Mr Corso says matter of factly. “Think of what you’ve done. Earlier on you were flaunting yourself quite blatantly, teasing me and taking great delight in doing so.” He begins to reason, making you smile a little in recollection. “But now,” he says, his voice dropping low as he steps towards you, his body now very close to your own making the smile drop from your lips. “I believe you’re practically shaking.” He finishes, smirking at you.

You open your mouth to deny it but before you know whats happening Mr Corso’s lips are pressing firmly against yours, kissing you hard.

“Mr Corso!” you exclaim breathlessly, stepping backwards and away from him as he stands grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“You can call me Dean if you like.” He says, a feral gleam in his eyes.

“Fine, Dean.” You respond, spitting his name vehemently. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” you whisper, finding your hands have gone clammy and that your nerves are coming back.

“Proving a point.” He answers simply. “Earlier you acted like that was what you wanted, in fact you acted like you wanted a whole lot more but now… like I said, you’re just a scared little girl pretending to be something more.” He answers coolly with a shrug of his shoulders. You grit your teeth in anger, knowing that his words didn’t lack truth but you sure as hell feel pissed off that he obviously knows it too. “All bark, no bite.” He whispers, smirking at you in an incredibly annoying fashion making you wish to firmly wipe it from his lips. And so you do.

Dean hardly knew what was happening as a hand collided with his cheek but caught his senses quickly enough as you attempted to storm past him as he reached out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you back.

“Let go of me!” you grind out through your teeth.

“Hmmm, maybe a little bit of a bite.” He murmurs as he maintains his grip on your wrist, almost painfully.

“You really don’t want to fuck with me.” You tell him, glaring ferociously.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He answers, that gleam in his eyes plainly visible. “I really, really do.” He states, and before you know it his lips are on yours again and you’re being pushed backwards until your lower back collides with the desk. As you stop in motion Dean pulls away, a smirk pulling at his lips once again.

“Fucker.” You snap, bringing your hand up to slap him once again but before your palm can connect with his face he’s caught your wrist in his hand and as you try to use your other hand he captures that wrist as well.

“Tell me now, do you want me or not, or was that display earlier all just a little charade?” he says, his eyes darting over your features as he waits for your response.

“Get off of me.” You growl, ignoring his question and focussing all your attention on the fact that you’re completely trapped between the desk and Dean’s body.

“Seriously, I really want to know. You looked like you wanted me with the way you were staring at me, but now I just don’t know.” He replies, maintaining his grip as you try to wriggle away.

“Leave me alone!” you continue to growl, trying to wrench your arms free. Dean just shakes his head and chuckles under his breath. “Why are you laughing at me?” you exclaim thoroughly exasperated.

“Because it’s all a show. You’re just a little temptress.” He answers, his tone tinged with mirth. “You didn’t mean any of it at all, you just wanted to get me worked up and bravo it worked splendidly.”

“Fine, I’ve already admitted that I was just messing about, now let me leave!”

“The thing is I don’t completely believe you.” Dean responds, his tone becoming grave. “Because the way you looked at me said something completely different, and the way that you blushed when I caught you only served to prove that further.” He answers. “You’re just too scared to do anything about it.”

“I am not scared.” You grind out, getting thoroughly pissed off with his opinion of you.

“Then prove it.” He whispers, looking you deeply in the eyes. Before you know it your body is acting of its own accord before your mind has thought through your actions and you’re crushing your lips against Dean's in the same hard manner he had done to you earlier. You can feel his lips curl into a smirk as you kiss him, but it is brief as his lips work against your own and he kisses you back. Initially you had no intention of doing anything like this, you had every desire just to get out of the auditorium and say goodbye to Mr Corso forever, but now…

Now the dream comes rushing back to you and as Dean's tongue flicks at your lower lip asking for entry to your mouth you speed forward the actions in your mind, recalling the way he touched you, recalling how he made you feel and all of a sudden you’re not doing this just to show him you’re not scared, you’re doing this because you actually want to.

You allow Deans tongue to slip into your mouth and as you do so you feel his hold on your wrists slacken until he lets go of them completely, his hands now moving to your hips as he presses his body against you, pushing you back against the desk. With your new found freedom you encircle your arms around Dean’s neck, entwining your fingers into his hair holding him to you or at least trying to as he pulls away.

“Why aren’t you running?” he whispers as he pants slightly.

“Why would I?” you answer, thoroughly confused by the question.

“I thought it would just be a distraction, so that I would let go of you and then you could run away screaming rape or something.” He responds, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.

“It’s not rape if I don’t say no.” you answer, smirking and raising an eyebrow at him, hoping that he’ll get the hint.

“You actually want…” he begins but trails off, seeminly unable to say the words aloud. You nod your head in agreement also unable to speak, especially as with this motion of agreement you find his lips against yours again and his hands moving round to grope the backs of your thighs and buttocks before he gently but forcefully lifts you so that you sit upon the tabletop.

“Oh god…” you murmur as Deans mouth leaves yours as he places kisses along your jawline, his hands now moving to stroke the outside of your thighs over your skirt. You tilt your head back slightly as he begins to kiss your throat, leaving hot damp kisses along the skin as his tongue trails along the sensitive flesh. His hands move down towards your knees but as he moves upwards he slides his hands beneath your skirt, caressing your thighs firmly yet pleasantly.

You grip onto Deans shirt pulling him against you further, wanting more than anything to feel your bodies meet. You tug at the shirt, pulling at it to remove it from where it’s tucked into his trousers and as soon as it is you pass your hands beneath it, groping your inquisitive fingers over his hot flesh, running your hands over his muscles making him shiver in delight. Passing your hands downwards over his abdominal muscles you feel him shiver further as upon some kind of reflex action his hips thrust forward.

With your bodies ever closer you can feel Deans arousal straining against his trousers, the prominent bulge being driven against your own want as you clench your knees around his waist, drawing him to you. As you do so you hear him groan quite audibly which only serves to add fuel to your fiery want to get closer. Your fingers now grope at the buckle of his belt, intent on freeing him.

“Hang on, wait, wait!” Dean gasps as he pulls away from you, his chest rising and falling quickly.

“What?” you all but whimper, thoroughly frustrated by the fact that all ministrations have ceased.

“The doors aren’t locked are they?” he asks, his tone nervous.

“No…”

“What if someone walks in?”

“Everyone’s at lunch.”

“But someone might have left something behind…”

“Who cares if they do, it’s not like we’re doing anything illegal, you’re not actually a teacher.” You reason, starting to get more than a little desperate as your body feels like it’s physically aching for his touch to continue. Dean seems to think this over for a moment but not for very long as you let out a surprised squeal of delight as his lips are persistent against yours once again.

“Sshh, I still don’t want an audience.” He murmurs against your lips and you fight back an excited giggle at the thought of it. It would be a pretty interesting situation for someone to walk in on, it would certainly do wonders for your reputation you’re sure!

“Sorry,” you manage to mutter but find any other response is impossible as Deans tongue slips into your mouth again, delving to search out every part of the cavern. Again his hands roam your thighs and you take up your earlier proceedings of removing his trousers, fiddling with the belt buckle until finally you slip the leather strap out, quickly working to undo the remaining button and fly before pushing his trousers down, his boxers going with them to pool at his feet.

He groans into your mouth as he is freed and it is not long before his fingers go between your legs, sliding behind your underwear and making you groan as he touches you. Your hands grip the edge of the desk as you try to steady yourself, feeling as though you shall fall backwards as Dean proceeds with his ministrations making you gasp for breath.

“Let go.” He whispers against your lips as he pushes against you, trying to push you backwards. It takes a moment for you to register what he is talking about but as you do you instantly comply, letting go of the desk and in turn holding onto Deans shoulders as if for life itself.

Slowly you find yourself being tipped backwards as Dean leans over you, and as you lie down on your back his hands grasp your hips, pushing your body further backwards on the desk as he kneels upon it, leaning over you as you continue to grip his waist with your knees.

As he rests his weight upon his left forearm his right hand skims down your side, passing beneath your skirt as he tries to pull your underwear away. You attempt to wriggle slightly in hope that it would help, arching your back to lift your lower body but this only serves to drive his manhood against you making him grunt in frustration. Giving up his attempts to pull your underwear down he employs a different tactic, pushing your underwear aside as you feel a cool breeze against your hot skin as he does so.

The next thing you know his hips have crashed against yours and he’s within you, engulfed in your heat making you moan at the sensation and him gasp. You grip Deans shoulders as he withdraws from you almost completely, and you find his lips smothering the moan you wish to release as he plunges within you again with another thrust of his hips.

Quickly he builds up a steady rythmn, his hips rolling as he thrusts into you, his pace quickly gathering speed and force. You find yourself gasping for breath as your hips meet over and over, clashing together as his thrusts become more violent to the point where it’s almost painful. Any unpleasant feelings however are completely overridden by every other sensation being bestowed upon your body. Deans lips continue to work their magic against your own, his tongue seeking and delving within your mouth as you duel against it. His right hand remains between your legs, his fingers stroking patterns over your incredibly sensitive skin trailing along the tops of your thighs so delicately it feels like torture.

As the pace grows further you feel every thrust becoming more erratic as Dean struggles to keep control as he nears his climax and you moan quietly into his mouth as you feel the waves of pleasure building within you stronger and stronger just waiting to be released.

Dean gasps a ragged breath as he pulls away from your lips but he takes up his earlier ministrations of kissing along your jawline and down your throat. You arch your back as Dean plunges into you again, making him hit you in exactly the right place and as though he has pulled a trigger the waves of pleasure are released, washing over you with the fury of a tempest causing you to grit your teeth to hold back the moan that you so badly want to liberate. As your body clenches around him Dean groans quietly, squeezing his eyes shut as he thrusts into you again, your body tighter around him bringing his own release.

You feel a small sharp pain on your shoulder that makes your breath hitch, and it takes you a moment to register the fact that Dean has actually bitten you but before you can feel any unpleasantness about it you find the sore skin being soothed by his tongue as he sucks it gently before he lets his weight drop heavily over your body as he rests his forehead on your shoulder.

Breathing heavily you do not move, you just rest there for a moment waiting to feel somewhat normal again, or at least a little less breathless. You hear Dean murmur god only knows what, before he props himself up on his elbows again looking down on your incredibly flushed face. As you look at him you notice his glasses are gone – they must have been knocked off at some point during your frenzy – and now you find yourself looking into the dark brown depths you’d found beautiful even from afar.

“You do bite.” You whisper, your voice almost getting stuck within you as your throat has gone dry. Deans attention glances quickly towards your shoulder where a red bite mark does indeed reside, and you can’t help but mirror his expression as he smirks slightly obviously pleased with having made his mark on you.

“I thought you’d want something to remember me by.” He answers, his voice low and a little husky. You just murmur in response and close your eyes as he leans down and kisses you, before withdrawing from your body and getting down from the desk, bending to pull his trousers up and put his glasses on that seem to have fallen on the floor.

Sighing you scoot forwards on the desk, rearranging your tousled clothes as you do so and pulling your now incredibly messed up hair out of its ponytail before scraping it back up using your hands.

“It’s good they have big desks.” Dean muses aloud as you stand away from it and you can’t help but laugh amusedly as you look back at the place you’d just occupied.

“Mhmmm, I always wondered why they were quite so large and sturdy.” You admit, having previously noticed the fact that all the teachers seemed to have big, heavy wooden writing desks whereas students had the individual, fold-away ones. “I guess now I know.” You smirk.

“You think they were expecting us?” Dean asks as you walk the small steps towards your bag and jacket and pick the items up. “Or do you think other people have been using it for that purp-“ he begins but stops as you glare back at him.

“Don’t be disgusting.” You say, thoughts of any of the teachers at your college doing what you just did repulsing you to no end. Dean just smirks – something that he seems to have perfected very well – and proceeds to follow you as you make your way up the stairs to the exit.

“Well I think that was proof enough.” He says from behind you as you walk out the door into the corridor.

“Good.” You answer. “I’m going this way.” You say, jabbing your thumb towards the left.

“Well I’d better go meet Mr Harrington in the cafeteria, which way’s that?” Dean asks.

“That way.” You say, nodding your head towards the right.

“Oh… well I guess I’ll be seeing you then.” He says, smiling.

“I doubt it.” You admit honestly. Dean smirks again, flashes a sincere smile before heading towards the cafeteria and with a smile upon your face you walk in the opposite direction. However an idea strikes you quickly and without really thinking you let out a loud bark making everyone in the corridor stare at you bewildered as all fall silent. The silence is broken however as you hear Dean laugh, and you know that the fearful expressions from your peers are completely worth it.

THE END

Author's Note: Well there we have it, all over and done with. I’m afraid I just couldn’t write the spanking that was in the original idea, I hope that’s not too much of a disappointment. Mostly though I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this, and implore one and all to be very kind and review! =D

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