Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1142828.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Teacher/Student, Age_Difference, Teen_Wolf_kink_meme, Blow_Jobs, Anal
      Sex, Angst, Schmoop, PWP_with_Plot_(what), teacher!Derek, bottom!Derek,
      No_Hale_Fire_AU, Classroom_Sex, Canon_Age_Difference, desk!sex, Pre-Canon
      Divergence
  Collections:
      TNW_Kink_Meme
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-19 Words: 2289
****** Twist of Fate ******
by vampireisthenewblack
Summary
     "I've been hard since class started," Stiles says. His fingers
     twitch, as if he wants to bring Derek's hand down to prove it, but
     Derek knows, he can smell Stiles' arousal, he's been able to smell it
     the whole time and it's a wonder he was able to give the lesson at
     all.
Notes
     I kink meme'd again! Yay! This time the prompt called for:
          Teacher!Derek gets fucked over his desk, during school
          hours, nevertheless, by student!Stiles (highschool
          student).
     Apparently, when I see a kink prompt calling for teacher!Derek
     getting fucked over his desk by student!Stiles, I reach for angsty
     schmoop. Yeah, I thought that was kinda weird, too. But the porn is
     all there, so. Technically it's PWP, but there's some kinda plotty
     background stuffed in there as well. I've been dawdling along for the
     last couple months on a longfic with a premise very much like this
     one (no fire, teacher!Derek) so I used some of that as background,
     though it's not quite the same 'verse. Sorry, this hasn't been beta'd
     cos I've been suffering the itchypostitsTM recently, but if you see a
     kiwiism or something equally heinous, do comment and I'll fix it when
     my eyeballs aren't hanging out of my head in the morning.
     Trivia: I almost called this 'Desk Job' but decided that belonged to
     something a lot less angsty-schmoop.
See the end of the work for more notes
"You should get to class," Derek says, looking up at Stiles, still in his seat
even after the last student has drifted out of the room.
Stiles sucks his lower lip into his mouth, drags it out from between his teeth.
Maybe he's trying to hide a smile. He's failing. "It's lunch," he says. "Der—"
Derek's head snaps up in alarm and Stiles falls silent, pressing his lips
together. His tongue darts out to wet them and he glances toward the open door.
"Mr Hale," he whispers, though the words are clear to Derek. "Sorry."
"Just here," Derek says, and pushes the chair out from his desk, takes the few
steps to the door and swings it shut. "Stiles, we have to—"
"Be careful, I know." Stiles snaps his textbook shut, shoves it into his
backpack, but leaves it there as he approaches the desk. "You don't like it,
though. When I call you Mr—"
Derek shakes his head. It's bad enough what they're doing, he doesn't need a
reminder every time Stiles addresses him. When they're not here, when they're
not in school, when they're not in class, it's so easy to forget that Stiles is
his student, that Derek's in a position of authority because it's not like that
when they're alone.
"Derek," Stiles breathes, reaching out, wrapping long fingers around Derek's
wrist. "I couldn't concentrate. I've got no idea what you were talking about,
all I could do was stare at your lips. I've been hard since class started." His
fingers twitch, as if he wants to bring Derek's hand down to prove it, but
Derek knows, he can smell Stiles' arousal, he's been able to smell it the whole
time and it's a wonder he was able to give the lesson at all.
"Not here," Derek says. His heart is pounding, beating hard in his chest and
he's just glad Stiles can't hear it, that it can't give him away. "Tonight.
We'll see each other tonight, I swear."
Stiles takes a deep breath, nods, and lets it out slow. "'Kay. Yeah." He looks
up, bats his fucking eyelashes, licks his lips, and Derek knows, he knows
that's not intentional. This is Stiles trying very hard to regain control, to
think before he speaks, before he acts.
The fact that he's so close to not being in control makes Derek's pulse race a
little faster, his breath come just a little quicker. The smell of Stiles, the
flush of blood in his cheeks, the barely perceptible shake in the hand that
still grips Derek's wrist tightly fuels his own desire, already fed with
memories of the night before, of other nights alone in Derek's apartment,
snatched whenever Stiles' father does a graveyard shift so Stiles won't be
missed. Derek can't get enough of Stiles, can't believe, even after weeks of
assurances, even with the physical evidence that Derek can detect as naturally
as breathing, that Stiles wants him.
He's sixteen, and beautiful. Still awkward, yes, too-long limbs and no idea of
his worth, but he could have anything, anyone, he wanted. Maybe not in high
school, but in just a few years...
Derek's heart sinks as he thinks about the day, not so far away, when Stiles
will leave Beacon Hills for college. He'll have his pick of schools, schools
Derek couldn't have dreamed of when he was in Stiles' position. He could go
anywhere.
Stiles is too good for him, Derek should never have touched him. But he can't
stop. He doesn't want to stop. They're just unlucky.
They were born too many years apart. They met too early, a cruel twist of fate
that had Derek's heart almost break the day he started teaching here, at the
beginning of Stiles' sophomore year. He resisted—they both resisted—as long as
they could, but it was inevitable.
"Just kiss me," Stiles says. "Before I have to go jerk off in the boys
bathroom."
Derek can't help the smile that spreads, soft, over his face as he leans in
close, brushes his lips over Stiles' mouth. The glass in the door is frosted,
hiding enough, and Derek would hear if someone came too close. He imagines it,
what Stiles will have to do alone in a stall, knows that he'll be thinking of
the moment they can be alone, when they can forget about the fact that Derek is
the teacher and Stiles the student. Without thinking Derek shifts his feet,
bringing him flush with Stiles' body, wraps his arms around Stiles' waist to
keep them close, just to feel the heat that seems to pool at his hips.
Derek gasps when Stiles grinds against him, can't resist rocking back in turn.
Stiles takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into Derek's mouth, to bend his
neck and kiss Derek deeply, teeth and tongue and raw enthusiasm. Derek isn't
sure at what moment he knows that Stiles isn't going to be jerking off in the
bathroom, but when Stiles goes for his belt and Derek doesn't stop him, it's
already way past.
Then Stiles drops to his knees, looks up at Derek through those long dark
eyelashes, and takes Derek's cock into his mouth with a moan that hums right
into Derek's belly and shoots sparks up his spine.
"Oh, Stiles," Derek breathes, his voice shuddering so much the words come out
like a series of sobs. He wants to slide his fingers into Stiles' hair, to hold
on while he thrusts because it's so good, Stiles' hot mouth and agile tongue
working him so well.
Instead, he puts his hands back on the desk, grips white knuckled to the edge,
keeps his ass firmly planted between them as Stiles slides swollen red lips up
and down his shaft. "So good," he whispers, then inhaling through his nose as
the scent of arousal—Stiles' and his own—seems to flood the room. "You smell so
good."
Stiles' grunt almost masks the distant sound of voices, of feet in the hallway
outside the classroom. Students, moving around the school, coming from the
direction of the cafeteria, heading... Derek still doesn't know. They could
leave the building, go outside into the sunshine, but they could turn and walk
past the classroom on their way to the bank of lockers further down.
Stiles' hand comes down on his own, and Derek drops his gaze from the windowed
door. Heat in Stiles' eyes, need, desperation, but also concern. Derek shakes
his head. "Nothing," he says, as the students continue on outside. "Keep going,
please."
Stiles' eyes roll back in his head, his mouth sinks further onto Derek's cock,
throat contracting around the head before he pulls off, eyes scrunching shut, a
single tear escaping before he sinks down again. He moans and grunts, one hand
tightening rhythmically on Derek's where he still holds it, the other fisting
his thigh, the fabric of his pants bunched in his grip.
Derek can smell Stiles' precome, thinks it must be soaking his underwear, knows
he's going to smell of frantic need for the rest of the day. Derek wants to
breathe it in, wants to press his face to the sodden fabric and inhale it all,
wants every part of Stiles that Stiles will give him, wants Stiles to be a part
of him, wants to take him inside and keep him there forever.
Derek comes with his gaze locked to Stiles' face, his eyes, big dark pools of
all-consuming want.
He's left reeling, his hands locked to the edge of the table the only thing
keeping him from sliding to the floor. Stiles rises, tongue darting out to the
corner of his mouth, sliding over his upper lip, catching the lower between his
teeth. "I need you," Stiles says, voice rough as sandpaper, dark and filthy to
Derek's ears. He presses his teeth into Derek's throat, his hard dick against
Derek's thigh, riding it as he tugs at his own belt. "Please, let me," he says,
the words coming out in little gasps. "I need to fuck you."
Derek would like to say that this is proof of Stiles' age, of his immaturity,
but Derek wants the same thing, wants Stiles inside his body, part of him, even
for just a little while. "We're at school," he says, though, forcing the words
out of a throat closed up with emotion. "Anyone could walk by—"
"You'll hear them," Stiles says, and it's true. "No one will know."
That's also true. The only other werewolf on campus has no reason to be near
this classroom, never comes near this classroom, because apparently Cora finds
the idea of her own brother teaching while she's still at high school
mortifying. "Yeah," Derek says. "Yeah, do it. Fuck me."
He lets himself be turned, goes limp in Stiles' hands, lets Stiles press him
down against the desk. He wonders briefly if Stiles' planned this all along as
he produces lube from a pocket, but decides he doesn't care as long, slick
fingers press him open. His pants slip down to his thighs, exposing his bare
ass as Stiles stretches him just enough, as Stiles drops wet, open mouth kisses
down his spine.
Derek starts to beg, two fingers not enough, but Stiles is only getting him
slick and soon enough he's pushing the blunt head of his dick into Derek's ass.
Briefly, the room fills with sound as they moan in unison, and then Stiles
says, "Yeah, Derek, fuck yeah, need this so much, need it all the time," before
they both fall silent but for soft gasps and rasping breaths.
Derek barely keeps an ear trained for sound outside the room, the distant hum
of the student body a constant, reassuring presence—as long as they're far
enough away. Stiles starts slow, his thrusts erratic and jerky because he's
been close for a long time and it'll take him a moment to grasp the control he
needs to make this last more than a few minutes.
Derek presses his palms flat against his desk, stares at the words on the
blackboard behind it that blur and swim before his eyes.
He never thought he could do this, never imagined he'd surrender like this.
Derek's a beta, with an uncle and a sister above him that will become Alpha
long before Derek ever will. He's not dominant by nature, but Stiles is human,
and a full nine years younger. Derek's nature, his instinct, shouldn't allow
this, and yet, he surrenders completely, trusts completely that Stiles will
take care of him, will keep him safe.
Stiles finds a rhythm, and each long, sure thrust grazes lightly over Derek's
over-sensitive prostate. He cries out, makes a sound half-way between a whimper
and a moan, and his nails scrape gouges in the brittle varnish of his desk.
Every time he looks down during class he'll remember this moment. "Stiles," he
whines, "Stiles, please."
Stiles' breath is hot on the back of his neck. "Tell me," he pants. "God,
Derek, fuck. You feel so good. I need to—" His thrusts falter once more. "Say
it."
Derek responds to the urgency by pushing back, hungry for Stiles' cock to be
deeper inside him, as far as it will go. "Come in me," he says. "Fucking come
in me, I need it." The desk rocks beneath them. Derek's cock is half-hard, but
he doesn't need to come, couldn't care less. "Please, Stiles, I need you to
fill me."
Stiles groans as he comes, the nails of one hand digging deep into Derek's
shoulder, the other gripping tight to Derek's hip. His body jerks with small,
aborted thrusts that only serve to drive him deeper into Derek's body as he
spills.
Finally, they both go still, Stiles pressed to Derek's back, both of them damp
with sweat. Derek's shirt sticks to his skin, and he's going to have to put his
jacket over it, despite the heat.
Right now he doesn't care. He smells of Stiles, smells like he belongs to
Stiles, and that's all he wants. He craves the day he can wear Stiles' scent
with pride, instead of having to shower it away before he goes near any of his
family.
Footsteps and voices grow more distinct. A locker slams shut. Stiles hears it
too, moves off of Derek, fumbles with his belt. "Shit," he says under his
breath. "Guess we missed out on lunch."
Derek hurries to get his own clothes back in order. He doesn't care about
lunch, but that was too close. "Stiles, we shouldn't have—"
"I know." Stiles turns, retrieves his backpack from the back of the class, and
wanders back down the aisle with it on his shoulder looking too much like what
he is—a student. "I just..." He stops, stands a couple of feet from Derek, a
respectable distance between them. "I can't not touch you, sometimes. Most of
the time. Almost all of the time." He reaches out, locks his fist into the
front of Derek's shirt, pulls him out of view of the window, so they don't even
cast a silhouette as they kiss goodbye.
"Tonight," Derek whispers as they break apart.
Stiles grins. "I can't wait." He heads for the door, opens it, steps through
and pauses, turning back. "Later, Mr Hale," he says, his voice at a normal
level. He winks, and disappears, leaving the door wide open.
Derek crosses the room, pushes a window open. The room reeks of sex, but he's
fairly sure a bunch of human teenagers who constantly stink of it themselves
aren't going to notice. It's the breeze from outside Derek wants. It cools his
burning skin as Stiles' final words keep repeating in his head.
End Notes
           If you enjoyed reading, please hit the [Kudos ♥] button.
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