Cock-A-Doodle-Doo
Prompt: early childhood teacher!Dean Pairing: Dean/Lucifer Rating: Mature Summary: Jack overhears something he shouldn't have and has some very interesting questions as a result. Word Count: 2,306 Warnings: adult language and naughty words Tags: humor, borderline crack, Lucifer is not Lucifer, Lucifer is called Nick, AU-No supernatural
Read on AO3
Written for the SPN AU and Trope Bingo Challenge.
Tagging: @brieflymaximumprincess @spnaubingo (I think this is the right URL; please let me know if I’m wrong!)
-.-.-.-.-
Dean grins and pushes Nick against the whiteboard sprawling across the front of the room, careful not to smudge the big red bubble letters of today’s math lesson. Would be a shame to accidentally erase 1 + 1 = 2, because right now that’s the truest thing Dean knows. Nick’s back hits the whiteboard so hard a few of the capped markers and erasers jostle about in the ledge and clatter to the beige carpet, but whatever. It’s already polka dotted with erasers and pencil stubs and rubber bands and whatever else these kids chuck at each other (and at Dean) while Dean’s back is turned.
“Finally got you to myself for a few minutes,” Dean husks into Nick’s ear as he skates his fingertips down the smooth, warm skin of the other man’s sides beneath his clothes, making him shiver and moan softly. Mmm. Music to Dean’s ears. Not that he minds the kids chattering and laughing and singing to themselves as they do their work or play over in the toy nook when their work’s done. It’s just nice to hear something so…adult for a change of pace.
Nick hums and slips his arms around Dean’s waist, squeezing the pert globes of his ass through the stupid fancy dress slacks Dean has to wear to work. Apparently showing up in denim and flannel is against the school’s dress code for teachers. “Not quite, but close enough,” Nick murmurs just as a well-timed shriek rings out from the playground. The hell are these little cock blockers up to now? Stiffening, both men lean forward (or in Dean’s case, backward) to see what the fuss is all about just as two colorful blurs dart past the large window.
Eh. They’re just playing tag or some shit. Whatever. Let ‘em burn off all that energy so they can focus on math after recess. With a shrug Dean faces Nick and, with a borderline demonic smirk, slams him back against the whiteboard, knocking another marker to the floor as he pins him in place. Nick yelps but it quickly morphs into a moan as Dean captures his lips in a deep kiss. “Now where were we?” Dean asks when he pulls away a few seconds later, still close enough that their lips brush together as he talks.
In reply Nick cups Dean’s face and urges him forward for another kiss, this time with more teeth and tongue, but not enough to get either of them feeling frisky. “Mmm. Right about…there.”
And yeah, okay, it’s sort of weird making out with his boyfriend in a room with brightly colored ABCs and one-two-threes trimming the walls and cubbies full of backpacks and lunch boxes near the front door and stick figure Crayola masterpieces pinned to the cork board near his desk. But this is the only time during the week they really get to see each other. Even though Dean gets home in the early afternoon, by that time Nick is already heading off to work. And no way is Dean gonna ask a single dad struggling to support himself and his son to play hooky just for some tonsil hockey. So they make do with making out during recess while the kids are too busy running around like hooligans to notice what Mr. Winchester and Mr. Kline are getting up to, and tease each other until the weekend, when they can – ahem – get together. In the Biblical sense.
Speaking of the weekend…
“Am I seeing you this Saturday?” Dean nuzzles a kiss onto Nick’s neck as he tugs the other man away from the white board and into a tight embrace. It’s insane how good it feels to just hold his lover in his arms. Before his brain can jump off the high dive and drown in a pool of fuzzy pink chick flick feelings, he reaches around and smacks Nick smartly on his ass. It’s a nice ass, too. Tight enough to bounce a nickel off of it.
Nick’s in the middle of answering when Dean smacks him. “Yeah, I THINK so.” Dean cackles and earns himself a playful swat on the shoulder. “Keep that up, and you won’t get a piece of this until next week,” Nick says with mock indignation.
Dean just snorts. Yeah right. His boyfriend’s a cockslut and they both know it. “You couldn’t go another whole week without my cock filling you up, splitting you open nice and wide.”
Nick considers this for a moment, then shrugs. “You do have a nice cock.” He doesn’t even blush, just quirks an eyebrow and winks up at Dean like the sassy little shit he is.
Dean loves it.
Grinning, he leans forward for another kiss when a small voice pipes up from behind them. “Daddy, what’s a cock?”
Somewhere, the record player oozing cheesy chick flick music glitches to a halt. Or maybe that’s just Dean’s brain shutting down in a shit storm of oh fuck. Shoving Nick aside (”Oof,” Nick grunts as he hits the whiteboard for the third time that morning, sending the rest of the markers and erases clattering to the floor), Dean spins around and peers past the clusters of brightly colored plastic desks and giant foam planet balls hanging from the ceiling (last week’s art project) to see the sandy brown mop and wide blue eyes of —
“Jack.” Nick steps forward, straightening his shirts and nudging Dean out of his way with his shoulder to squat in front of his son. Dean swears under his breath and runs a hand through his hair. Great. This is just perfect. Who knows how long the kid’s been standing there? This is not the kind of vocab lesson a kindergartener needs.
“Why aren’t you playing outside with the other kids? It’s a nice day,” Nick’s saying, gesturing vaguely at the slightly cloudy but otherwise sunshiny morning visible through the window.
“But what’s a cock?” Jack asks again, not taking the go-play-outside bait.
Coughing, Dean shuffles his feet and scrubs a hand along the back of his neck. “It’s…uh…Um.” He’s tempted to dial his desk phone from his cell phone to get himself out of this mess, let Nick tackle this parenting problem all by his onesies. But then Nick might really get pissed at him and he might not get laid this weekend, and that’s a tragedy Dean can’t live with.
Suddenly Nick perks up and snaps his fingers. “Aha! Its, uh, its’ another word for ‘rooster.” He gives a shaky little laugh and pats Jack on the shoulder, obviously proud of himself for pulling a G-rated answer out of his ass at the last second. Dean inclines his head, silently giving Nick props. Hopefully that’ll satisfy the kid and he’ll skip on out to the monkey bars so he and Nick can get back to their own kind of goofing off.
Instead, Jack tilts his head and stares up at them with laser like focus. “Where does he live?”
Nick’s face scrunches up, looking as hopelessly lost as Dean feels. His thoughts race, searching every nook and cranny of his mind for what the hell Jack might mean, but no brave answer pops up and volunteers as tribute, so he’s left spinning his wheels.
Clearing his throat, he inches toward Nick for some adult-vs-child solidarity. “Where does —” He’s so focused on Jack he forgets all about the foam solar system hanging from the ceiling and smacks himself upside the head with Neptune. Grumbling darkly under his breath, he glares at the offending blue foam ball and gently bats it aside. “Where does who live, buddy?”
Jack’s eyes flick up to him. “Your rooster.” He turns his gaze back onto Nick, who visibly flinches like someone socked him in the stomach. “You said Mister Winchester had a nice cock, daddy.” Nick’s face is the same color as the whiteboard. “So where does he live?”
Goddamn it, this kid’s too smart for Nick and Dean’s own good. Dean would be proud of his student and possible future step-son (hey, ya never know, it could happen) if the situation hadn’t been so damn awkward. Sweat beads on his forehead, and a drop trickles down the side of his face. Shit, this is almost as bad as getting interrogated by the cops. Maybe worse.
Nick scratches at the stubble on his chin and glances up at Dean, a pleading look for help on his face. Dean shakes his head and holds out his empty hands, ‘cause he’s got nothing. Besides, he fielded the last question. Nick’s on his own with this one. Nick shoots him a narrow-eyed squint, lips flat across his face, but honestly, Dean has no idea what to say here. Besides, Nick’s the parent.
Setting his jaw, Nick huffs and then turns back to Jack, who’s patiently waiting like a little angel for an answer to his question. “It’s, uh. It lives in his, in his…” he trails off, fingers twitching in the air like he’s hoping the parenting gods will drop another kid-friendly answer into his hands. Then his eyes light up and a slow smile spreads on his face like ink staining water. “In his backyard! Yeah. The rooster lives in De— Mr. Winchester’s back yard.” He sits back on his haunches, looking all kinds of smug, and bounces his eyebrows at Dean, obviously pleased with himself.
Dean isn’t pleased with Nick though, oh hell no. At this point he’d kinda like to strangle him. Just so Nick knows how not-pleased Dean is with him, he none-too-gently kicks Nick in the shin. What the hell? he mouths at him, eyes bugging out of his skull.
Nick shrugs a shoulder in a very sorry-not-sorry sort of way. What did you want me to say? he mouths back. Anything but that! Dean silently screams at him. Oblivious to the silent conversation the adults are having above his head, Jack’s face bursts into a smile bright enough to rival the sunshine outside. Toddling over to Dean, he tugs on his pants leg. “Please bring your rooster to class tomorrow, Mister Winchester? For show an’ tell? I wanna pet him.”
Dean blinks down at Jack. Goddamn it. He can’t shoot down the hope brimming in this kids eyes, but where the hell is he supposed to get a goddamn rooster by tomorrow morning?
Nick’s grinning along with his son. Hmph. His ass is saved, so of fucking course he goes and throws Dean under the big yellow school bus. Asshole. Dean vows to get back at him later, but now, all he can do is swallow around the rooster-shaped lump in his throat and say, “Uh, yeah. Sure thing, buddy. Now go out and play, okay? You’ve still got — “ he checks his watch “—six more minutes of recess.”
Jack claps his hands and laughs, bouncing from foot to foot. “Okay!” Then he’s gone, tumbling out the door. Dean and Nick get as far as sharing a relieved look when Jack starts screaming outside. “Mister Winchester is gonna bring his cock tomorrow for show and tell!”
Nick bursts out laughing, doubling over and slapping his knees and repeating Jack’s announcement in a wheezy voice.
Dean just groans and wanders over to his chair, sinking down into it and covering his face with both hands. This is just fantastic. Fan-fucking-tastic. An hour or two from now, he’s gonna get bombarded with concerned phone calls from concerned parents. The damn thing’s gonna ring all afternoon. Probably all night too. He peeks out from between his fingers to see Nick still chortling away, face all shiny and red.
Oh yeah. He’s definitely making sure Nick will be too sore to walk straight for a week.
Bonus scene:
Dean’s just about ready to take a ride into hickville and bird-nap a random chicken when he remembers that Sam owns a small organic farm nearby. When school lets out that afternoon, he heads over and convinces Sam to let him borrow a rooster for the next day.
Fucking thing crows all night long, cock-a-doodle-dooing at the top of its voice. Dean stuffs his head under his pillow and tries to get some shut-eye, but each time he’s nodding off, the goddamn thing wakes him up again.
After a few hours of tossing and turning, he gets up at the ass-crack of dawn, which is actually a good thing because it escapes the crate when he goes to feed it and it takes Dean half a century to wrestle the mangy son of a bitch back inside. By the time he’s done he’s got scratches and peck marks all over his arms and neck and hands and he’s craving fried chicken like no one’s business.
Turns out the rooster loves kids, lets them pet its feathers and poke at its wattles and give it the five-year-old equivalent of a giant bear hug. But for some reason it hates Dean. Not that asshole Nick, or the flock of concerned parents that showed up for today’s show and tell. Just Dean. It attacks him every chance it gets, chases him around the classroom and pecks at his ass, all while cawing loudly and flapping its wings.
The kids laugh and clap and think it’s the best thing ever. Nick the asshole records the whole thing and puts it on YouTube, and damn it if it doesn’t go viral and get mentioned on the local weekend news, their feel-good story of the day. And of course Sam has to call and “congratulate” him on making the six o’clock news.
Dean makes sure Nick can’t walk straight or sit on a chair without a cushion for a month.
-.-.-.-.-