"And, uh…that's about all I can tell you about the Spanish Inquisition today, guys. Remember, first draft of your paper's due at the end of the week and—Dean Winchester, put away your cell phone!"

"Sorry, Mr. Singer." The student slid his phone back into his bookbag, careful to send a warning glance to his boyfriend, Castiel, whom he was texting.

"One more time and I'm taking it for the rest of the semester." He knew he'd give it right back, being Dean's uncle and all, but making his authority known in front of the class gave him a sense of accomplishment. He nodded at Dean, then wrote the assignments for the next day on the whiteboard. "Now, after you do the reading for tonight, I expect you all to have questions for me tomorrow. Class dismissed."

Once the students had cleared out, Bobby Singer relaxed in the chair behind his desk. It was his lunch period now, so he had an hour to himself. In a school as small as Lawrence High, private time wasn't too rare; Bobby had been moonlighting as a history 101 teacher at the local community college though, so he hadn't gotten much time to himself. He leaned back in his chair and opened up his lunch—a Tupperware container of last night's meatloaf—when the intercom buzzed.

"Mr. Singer?" the student's voice questioned. Freshman, he guessed.

"Yello?"

"Um, Principal Crowley needs to see you in his office?" she whined.

Bobby smiled. "Tell him I'll be right down." The intercom clicked off, and Bobby put the meatloaf in the garbage. He straightened his cap, made sure there were no stray crumbs in his beard, then set off for the principal's office.

Not many teachers enjoyed trips to see the principal. He was new to the school, and a bit strange. The water cooler gossip was that Principal Crowley was too hard on the students, to the point of being a total asshole; he wasn't all that nice to the teachers either, honestly. He was sarcastic, crude—and Bobby loved it. It didn't help that he had a glowing British accent, or bedroom eyes, or that he seemed to favor Bobby over the other teachers. Bobby may have liked him a bit too much, but he shook his head and kept walking.

Bobby rounded the corner and walked into Crowley's office. He was seated at his desk with two takeout bags from the Chinese restaurant around the corner. "So glad you could join me, Robert," he purred, gesturing to the seat across from him at the desk. "Please, sit?"

Bobby smirked, taking a seat, "Chinese? You really know me well, Fergus."

"Please, I wouldn't have you eating that meatloaf from last night. No offense to your cooking, but I would rather Soo Lin take care of lunch today." Crowley smirked, digging into his orange chicken. "So, how are classes?"

"Same as always." Bobby opened his takeout box—beef and broccoli. Oh, he was good. "We're on the Spanish Inquisition, but you know how seniors are…they only care about graduation at this point. I'm sure nothing I say is actually relevant to any of them…except maybe that Castiel kid. He writes down every word I say like it's gospel."

"I don't see why they wouldn't be interested. You're the most interesting man in the world to me." Crowley and Bobby locked eyes momentarily, then Crowley stammered, "Er, that is, history is a, uh…very interesting subject, yeah? Can't move forward without looking backward, or something, right?"

Bobby smirked at Crowley. He'd just confirmed what he'd been thinking for the past few months—there were more feelings between the two than just professional. He reached for Crowley's hand across the desk, noting how quickly Crowley was to interlace their fingers. "Fergus…"

"Please, call me Crowley. I hate that damned name."

"Sorry. Crowley…I gotta tell ya, I've never had any sort of a…thing…with another dude before…"

Crowley laughed. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, you're sort of painfully obvious."

The principal blushed slightly, looking down into his lap and sighing. "Oh. I tried so hard not to be. Please forgive me."

"What's to forgive? I, uh…well, I like you too. I'm sort of an idjit when it comes to this romantic stuff but—" Bobby couldn't finish his sentence due to another pair of lips being pressed against his own. Crowley had nearly leapt across the desk to get to him, and they were now gently kissing. Bobby was surprised at Crowley's gentleness, and lifted a hand to stroke his 5 o'clock shadow.

"We'd better stop," murmured Crowley, almost sadly, "before a student walks in. But, uh…tonight, 6 o'clock, let me take you to dinner?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."