Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4531635.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Sheriff_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Teacher-Student_Relationship, Teacher_Derek, Student
      Stiles, Alternate_Universe_-_Human, Alternate_Universe_-_No_Hale_Fire
  Series:
      Part 2 of The_Education_of_Mr._Stilinksi
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-08-09 Words: 3184
****** Let Me Stand Next To Your Fire ******
by zoemathemata
Summary
     Continuation of The Education of Mr. Stilinski - Teacher Derek Hale
     will probably end up in hell for his fixation on Stiles Stilinski and
     it will be so fucking worth it.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Derek watches the sheriff’s cruiser pull up the long drive. The sun is bright
on the windshield and he can’t make out either occupant, but he supposes it
doesn’t matter. He knows it’s Stiles and the sheriff. The cruiser finally comes
to a stop in front of his house and Derek lopes down the steps. Stiles gets out
of the car, backpack slung over one shoulder, and slams the door shut too hard,
making the sheriff wince.
“Stiles!” the sheriff commands.
Stiles doesn’t turn around, only scowls and heads up the stairs into Derek’s
house, not looking up at Derek. He’s laying it on a little thick in Derek’s
opinion.
The sheriff sighs the long and suffering sigh of a tired parent. “He’s got a
chip on his shoulder, these days.”
Derek half-snorts. “Don’t they all at that age?”
The sheriff huffs a bit in laughter. “True enough. God help me for saying this,
but I actually hoped more of Scott would rub off on him. He’s so….” the sheriff
waves his hand, probably trying to be indicative of Scott’s even-tempered,
wholesome nature.
Derek doesn’t have the heart to tell the Sheriff that Scott’s a bit of a
stoner. He’s a good kid and getting to be a better student (working hard now
that he’s got his mind set on vet school) but still easily distracted by girls
with long hair, dark eyes and dimples. Since he doesn't want to disillusion the
Sheriff, he keeps that information to himself and only nods. The sheriff
doesn’t seem to need any verbal response to continue.
“Anyhow, thanks for this. He and that Whittmore kid keep getting into
fisticuffs and it doesn’t seem matter how much I talk to him about it. And
Whittmore’s dad is…”
“An asshole,” Derek finishes and the sheriff laughs this time.
“You know, I didn’t want to say it, but yeah. Yeah, he is. I know Jackson got
some good hits in but Stiles clocked Whittmore right in the eye and gave him a
hell of a bruise. His dad wanted to press charges but I managed to talk him out
of it. This time. Jackson’s either not as good of a hitter, or he’s been
smarter about where he’s bruising Stiles. And Stiles won’t tell me.”
Derek also won’t say it out loud, but it really is that Jackson’s not as good
of a hitter. Stiles has some bruises, under his clothes, but nothing like the
shiner Stiles put on Jackson’s face. Of course, he can’t say that without there
being questions about how he knows about the bruises on Stiles’ body - bruises
even his dad hasn’t seen.
“Well, I know regular detention just doesn’t work with a kid like him, so
thanks for coming up with this solution. Him working at your house keeps him
and Whittmore apart from each other and Stiles seems… more relaxed when he
comes home. Tired out.”
“Sometimes a physical release is the best kind.” Jesus, sometimes Derek can’t
believe the shit that comes out of his own mouth. Did he just say that?
“Especially for a kid like Stiles who’s in his brain all the time. The things
that go through that kid’s head… Do you know what I found on his computer?” the
sheriff asks and Derek goes still like an impala on the Serengeti, afraid of
what the Sheriff will say next. “The mating habits of the blue footed booby,”
the sheriff continues, ignorant of Derek’s sudden release of tension. “Why on
earth would he be looking at that? How is that remotely related to any of his
studies?”
The sheriff is shaking his head and staring off into the forest. Derek lets his
rhetoric question hang in the air.
“So, thanks for this.”
“Not a problem,” Derek replies.
“Really, I appreciate it.”
The sheriff gives him a significant look and then reaches out and claps Derek
on the shoulder. Derek tries not to squirm under the man’s gaze.
“I’ve taken his cell as part of his punishment, so let me know when you’re done
with him and I’ll come get him.”
Derek’s going to hell for sure.
He waits on the porch, watching the cruiser take the long journey back down the
somewhat winding road and then stays put until it’s completely out of sight.
Even then, he waits two more minutes before finally heading back into the
house. Stiles’ kicked off his shoes close to the front door, and Derek takes a
moment to stare at them, noting how they look - beat up sneakers contrasted
against Derek’s loafers - before heading up the stairs to his bedroom. He stops
short at the sight that greets him from his open bedroom door. Stiles is
already naked, spread out on Derek’s bed, contorted slightly as he fingers
himself open with one hand while lazily jerking himself off with another. Derek
can feel his blood starting to pool in his dick, already getting slightly hard
from the sight. Stiles makes eye contact with him and holds it, mischief in his
eyes.
“Did you even wait for him to get down the driveway?” Derek asks, stepping into
his bedroom and undoing his belt.
“I didn’t even wait for him to get in the car. I was already naked, in your
bed, while you were still talking on the porch. Mr. Hale.”
Jesus, that shouldn’t give Derek a thrill but it does - both the idea of Stiles
already naked in his bed, but also how Stiles’ says his name. Mr. Hale. It’s
illegal, what he’s doing with Stiles. Illegal, immoral, indecent… and if he had
any blood to spare for his brain, he could probably come up with a dozen more
words, but he doesn’t. Not when Stiles is acres of pale, long limbs, stretched
out on Derek’s bed. Derek undoes his jeans, pushes them down over his hips,
catching his underwear as well, and then kicks all of it off, watching Stiles’
eyes as he does. Stiles’ eyes follow Derek’s hands as they move down over his
hips and then cross over his body as he takes his shirt off. Stiles’ hands have
stilled, as if he can’t be bothered to focus on fingering himself or jacking
himself off while watching Derek disrobe.
Derek kneels on the edge of the bed as Stiles stretches out.
“Does that make you hot? Thinking about me in your bed getting myself ready for
you?”
“Yes,” Derek says easily, caging Stiles’ body with his own, hands on either
side of Stiles’ head. Stiles smirks and Derek takes a moment to rake his gaze
over Stiles, eyes slowing down when he gets to the darkening shadow of a bruise
on Stiles’ sternum. He reaches out with one hand and touches it lightly.
“Fucking Whittmore,” Stiles breathes. “Sucker punched me in the solar plexus.”
Derek’s fingers trace the edges of the mark, an irregular shape on Stiles’ fair
skin. It must have hurt - must have knocked the air out of Stiles. Derek wasn’t
there for the fight. He was in his office grading papers when Finstock had
yanked the door open and tossed Stiles in declaring that Derek had to deal with
‘this miscreant while I deal with the prissy one.’ Finstock had left mumbling
about testosterone blockers and duels with nerf balls and nothing else that
made sense. Jackson and Stiles are like oil and water - if oil and water got
into constant fights and continually kept getting detention. There are multiple
problems with the two of them, the biggest two being Jackson’s inability to
keep his mouth shut and thinking his dad’s money and power mean he can get away
with anything, coupled with Stiles’ innate need to put people in their place
and his huge brain which can slice through Jackson’s ego like butter and find
the softest, most delicate spot and then cut. It keeps ending in physical
violence.
“You should let him talk. He’ll burn out fast enough.”
Stiles snorts, hands trailing up Derek’s side, his long fingers running over
Derek’s ribs, pressing in slightly at each indentation between his ribs. Derek
wants to curl toward each press of fingertip, but his ribs won’t splay and
spread that way.
“But then how would I keep ending up with detention and then get to spend all
this time with you? Besides, Jackson Whittmore is a dick. He’s worse than a
dick. He’s a dick with money and a pretty face. And actually, his face is
prettier than his dick which, if you’ve seen his dick, isn’t that hard.”
“Can we not talk about Jackson Whittmore and his dick?” Derek asked flatly,
dropping his hips against Stiles, feeling the length of Stiles, hot and hard
against him. Stiles sighs happily and then smirks.
“You sure?” His eyes are bright and mischievous. “I mean, maybe you’d like me
to talk about it more. Jackson Whittmore’s fetching face and ugly dick.”
Derek rolls his hips and Stiles gasps, arching beneath him, eyes fluttering
shut so prettily, his long lashes dark against his cheeks.
“Okay,” Stiles breathes, “you win.”
Derek finds the lube that Stiles was using, discarded carelessly on the bed and
reaches for it with one hand even as Stiles wraps a leg around his waist.
“I’m good, I’m ready,” Stiles says, voice low and throaty, reaching out and
stilling Derek’s hand. How is it he can be barely a slip of a man but have that
voice? And those arms, Derek thinks, eyes following the length of Stiles’
fingers, up his hands and then his forearms. He’s growing into pieces of
himself - parts of him already the man he’ll become but other parts, like his
baby face and his doe eyes, still so young.
“You’re not ready,” Derek murmurs, snagging the lube and trying to open it with
one hand. “You just got here.”
Stiles arches his back, pushing his hips against Derek’s. “I already jerked off
twice in the shower today, stretching myself, thinking of you. I’m good. Come
on, fuck me, Mr. Hale.”
Derek’s unable to stop the low, long drawn out groan from escaping his throat.
Stiles will be the death of him. Derek’s brain is immediately filled with the
image of Stiles, naked and wet in his shower, mouth open and eyes fluttering as
he jerks himself off, stretching himself, knowing he was coming over, coming to
Derek’s.
He manages to get some lube on his fingers and then reaches down between them,
pressing against Stiles’ hole. It makes Stiles gasp and squirm, and Derek’s
easily able to slip in two fingers with no problem.
“See?” Stiles breathes. “C’mon.” He grabs at Derek’s shoulders, gets his other
leg around Derek’s waist, using all of his body to entice Derek closer, coax
Derek into fucking him, as if Derek needed any further persuasion. Derek lines
up and presses into Stiles in a long, continuous push. He watches Stiles’ face
as his mouth falls open, his eyelashes blink, his chest heaves and he sighs.
Most people like sex, but Stiles luxuriates in it, savoring getting fucked. As
Derek starts thrusting in and out of him, Stiles stretches out, legs and arms
reaching far, back arching, neck exposed, his skin tight over his Adam's apple
and throat. Stiles sighs and moans into it, like a sumptuous morning stretch,
or a decadent mouthful of food and Derek can’t take his eyes off him. Derek
mouths at Stiles’ skin, revels in the heat of Stiles’, the tightness of him
stretched around Derek’s cock, the way Stiles’ fingers twitch and jerk until
Stiles presses them against Derek’s headboard, using them as a bit of leverage
to push himself back into Derek, forcing Derek deeper.
“Oh, fuck, please, please,” Stiles pants and Derek will give him anything he
asks for. He fucks into Stiles harder, sharper, the force of it moving Stiles
up the bed slightly. “Fuck, Der, please.”
Stiles likes to call him Mr. Hale, both because he knows what it does to Derek,
but also because he says it helps him remember to keep calling him that in
class. Derek always knows when Stiles is getting lost in getting fucked - when
he forgets and starts calling Derek by his first name. He loves that too -
knowing that Stiles is losing his higher brain function because Derek is
legitimately fucking his brains out.
He should feel worse for his relationship with Stiles, and maybe he would if
Stiles wasn’t so fucking smart. Maybe Derek would be able to stop if he thought
he was really taking advantage of Stiles, if he thought Stiles didn’t know
exactly what they were doing. But Stiles is so fucking smart. Stiles knows he’s
smart - it’s in the way he carries himself, they way he’s confident in mouthing
off at Whittmore, the way he works on his tests and papers, the ideas that he
comes up with. But Derek wonders if he knows exactly how smart. Most kinds
haven’t seen their own IQ tests, unless they take them online, or finagle the
results out of an unsuspecting teacher. Derek’s seen Stiles’ test scores,
buried in his files from elementary school, notes from former teachers,
recommendations for advanced placement. Stiles is finally growing into not only
his body, but his brain, and Derek just wants to stay as close to the fucking
supernova that he is as he can.
Stiles reaches for his dick with one hand and Derek catches it and traps it
above Stiles’ head, pressing it into the mattress before capturing Stiles’
other hand and doing the same. Stiles whines, even as Derek continues to fuck
him.
“I can’t,” he breathes, “I can’t, I already came twice today. I need… ugh, I
can’t-”
Derek slips his tongue in between Stiles’ lips, licking into his mouth. Stiles’
opens his lips up wider and Derek pushes his tongue in deeper, getting into
every part of Stiles that he can.
“You can, come on.” He nips at Stiles’ lips and Stiles makes another whining
sound that just eggs Derek on more. He knows he’s hitting Stiles’ prostate
relentlessly, watching Stiles twitch and jerk as he does, making these little
needy sounds that Derek can’t get enough of.
“Der, please.” Stiles’ bites at his own lip, teeth digging into the soft, pink
flesh of his mouth.
Derek keeps fucking him, holding Stiles’ hands above his head, biting at
Stiles’ skin, careful to keep to all the places Stiles will be covered by
clothes - his shoulders, his clavicle, the little bit of skin Derek can get
with his teeth on Stiles’ lean chest. He licks up Stiles’ neck, feeling the
barest hint of stubble starting there, just a promise of Stiles’ getting older,
filling into the man he’s going to become.
“No, I can’t,” Stiles pants, breath hitching. He’s squirming deliciously
underneath Derek, his dick leaking precome against his own stomach and Derek’s
- trying to use the motion of his writhing to get some friction.
Derek runs his tongue over the delicate shell of Stiles’ ear and then pauses,
breathing harshly into Stiles.
“If you’re a good boy and come untouched, I’ll let you fuck me next.”
Stiles makes this high keening sound, his back arching, his hips pushing up
hard and then he’s coming, spurting between them, hot and sticky. Derek fucks
him through it, long, deep, almost punishing thrusts until Stiles is limp and
languid beneath him, relaxing back into the mattress and staring up at Derek
with half-lidded eyes. He looks completely fucked out and Derek loves him like
this - loose limbed and slack, his lithe body flexible and pliable. He curls
his legs loosely around Derek again, pressing into Derek’s ass with his heels a
bit - permission for Derek to keep fucking him. And Derek does. He loves to
fuck into Stiles after he’s come, loves to feel Stiles body hot and somewhat
sluggish beneath him, loves to see the dazed, come-dumb expression on Stiles’
face. Derek chases his own orgasm, trying not to hit Stiles’ prostate too much,
knowing how sensitive it can be. He still hits it a few times if the way Stiles
jerks and shivers is any indication and then Derek’s coming, driving deep into
Stiles, feeling Stiles clench around him, watching Stiles bite his lip again as
he wallows in the pleasure of getting fucked.
It’s the kind of orgasm that makes him sad when it’s over - intense and deep,
leaving him feeling emptied out and hollow. He noses at Stiles’ temple, feeling
Stiles’ fingers tracing a random pattern on the side of his hip. Reluctantly,
he finally eases out of Stiles, careful and slow. Stiles sighs, stretching his
arms above his head fully, looking like a cat waking up from a nap in the sun.
Derek pushes himself out of bed and pads to the bathroom, bringing back a
washcloth, carefully and meticulously cleaning them both up as Stiles continues
to watch him with half-open, dark eyes. He pitches the washcloth in the
vicinity of the laundry basket, hoping it made it in, but not feeling like
checking. He collapses back onto the bed facedown, beside Stiles, turning his
face toward him. Stiles tips his head a bit to stare back at him.
“Did you mean it? What you said?”
Derek frowns, not sure which conversation Stiles is continuing. He’s tired and
feeling like liquid - happy to sink into the mattress with Stiles’ warm weight
next to him.
Stiles flicks him, his long fingers hitting Derek soundly in the middle of the
forehead. “About… about me fucking you.”
Stiles looks a little hesitant and shy, if such a word can ever be attributed
to him. Derek snakes out an arm, resting it over Stiles’ lithe waist and
tugging him a bit closer.
“Yeah, I meant it. If you want.”
“Oh, I want, I want a lot. A whole buttload of want right here.” Stiles
gestures down his naked torso, wiggling a bit. “Or a dickload, I guess.”
Derek snorts into the pillow, eyes drifting shut. They really will have to work
on the deck at some point, not only for the cover story, but also because
Derek’s deck is half-finished and if he walks out his back door at the moment,
he’ll likely break a leg. But right now, he just wants to steep in the feeling
of having Stiles close, of being able to run his fingers over the jut of
Stiles’ hip, of being able to touch Stiles without worrying if someone is
watching, if someone will see. Stiles slumps into Derek’s side, lifting his leg
and then dropping it overtop of both of Derek’s, possessive and proprietary.
On the edge of unconsciousness, he finds himself blurting, “You don’t have to.”
“Huh?” Stiles’ voice sounds just as dopey and dreamy as Derek’s. Derek feels
Stiles stir a bit, his leg twitches.
“Get detention to come over. You don’t have to. You can just… come over.
Whenever you like.”
There’s a long pause, so long that Derek fears either he misspoke or that
Stiles fell asleep, but then he hears Stiles’ voice, soft and low.
“Yeah. Okay.”
End Notes
     Again for mezzo_cammin who got ANOTHER Promotion! YOU ARE A GEM AND
     DESERVE ALL WONDERFUL THINGS, BB, LIKE PORNY STEREK.
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