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Teach Me Something: A Meta Analysis of Werewolf History

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He can't take it anymore. He has to do something about this. Today. It's been bad enough, with the sweater vests, and the skinny ties he wants to slide through his fingers. The fitted button downs, with the sleeves rolled up to show off obscene forearms; the thin, dark framed glasses and the smirk and the stubble and the thick, expressive eyebrows that cover his absolutely stunning eyes. It's all too much.


But this. Professor Hale laughing with his whole body, head thrown back and Adam's apple bobbing, it's too much. Stiles is only human, and he has never wanted anything more than he wants to run his tongue over the long, stubbled expanse of Derek Hale’s throat. He's so caught up in his arousal, which he prays no one notices as his dick is definitely twitching in his tight jeans, that he almost misses the blonde bombshell calling his name. He must actually miss it at least once, as the girl is waving a perfectly manicured hand in his face, a amused quirk to her painted lips as she continues “Earth to Stiles, come in Stiles.”


Startled from a mental image of straddling his professor's lap, Stiles blushes slightly as he gets his friend, “Hey, Erica. What's up?”


Erica grins at him knowingly, eyes darting to where the professor sits in his chair as students filter in, his legs slightly splayed as he leans forward, talking with an early arrival, the one who made him laugh. Stiles tries hard and fails to not be jealous of the man, Boyd, he thinks, for making the absolutely ridiculously enticing sound (and sight) happen. “Did you ask him yet?”


Stiles swallows, and feigns ignorance “Ask who what?”


She rolls her eyes so hard, Stiles thinks it must actually hurt. “Ask Dr. Hot-as-Hell Hale to bend you over his desk and pound that cute little ass of yours. Ask him if you can have his puppies and watch him howl at the moon, and whatever. Moron.” She says moron with affection, patting his cheek with all the condescension and fondness of an irritated aunt, but Stiles is mortified and shushes her wildly, stopping short of covering her mouth with his hand when she shoots him a look that says she'd bite him for trying.


He lowers his hand from where it hovers awkwardly a few inches from her face, frantically whispering admonishments for her boldness. “Erica, shut up!” he hisses. “We don't even know for sure he is a werewolf! And if he is, he could totally have heard you!”


Erica stares at him incredulously. “Really, Stilinski?”


I mean, Stiles is pretty sure Dr. Hale is a werewolf. The world has known about weres for a couple decades now, but they don't generally advertise, unless it suits their profession. Stiles is like, 80% certain that Derek Hale can sprout fur and four paws, and that it's not possible to be so attractive and merely human. He's also 1000% seriously, stupidly in love with the brilliant man. “Even if he is,” Stiles whispers, “he might not be interested in reading my thesis about werewolf history. It's a lot to commit to.”


“Stiles,” Erica has that you precious baby look on her face, and her voice is soft in a way she doesn't let many people hear. “You're like, the best TA any academic could hope for. That man would be lost without you. He owes you. Plus, your paper is going to be incredible. You are incredible. Just ask, silly. Or, you know, tell him you’re like, totally in love with him. Whichever.” She kisses his cheek, rubbing away the lipstick residue as she tosses out a “Now get to work, teach,” as she pats his ass a la “good game” on her way to her seat. Her seat where she and, definitely Boyd , sit and trade surprisingly innocent flirtatious glances like they have all semester.


He can’t even be mad, because she’s right. He needs to suck it up and ask. And try not to just fall on his knees and beg to suck his dick, or throw himself across his desk and fucking present himself. He can do this. So what if the man is hot like burning, like an actual fire stirs in his belly every time he’s within ten feet of the man, and there’s this itch in his fingertips when they’re in his office and he can’t help but fidget and try to keep his eyes from darting to the man like they are drawn by actual magnets. Dr. Hale probably thinks he has ADHD he has such a problem just being still in his presence. And he’s so smart . Like, expert-in-his-field-respected-the-world-over smart. Which just makes him more attractive.


Really, it ends today. Stiles will ask him today, or blow him trying.



Derek tries not to focus on the kid- he's only five years younger than you , his brain supplies unhelpfully- he really does. The younger man is charmingly unaware of how delicious he looks in his punny shirts and fitted blazers and jeans that hug him in all the right places where they hang just perfectly off of his trim hips. And Derek tries not to think about what it'd be like to fit his fingers around that curve. He is unsuccessful.


He unsuccessfully ignores the barely heard gasp when Boyd makes him laugh. His fingers clench, fighting turning into claws when the slight tang of arousal hits his nose. He tries to convince himself he only recognizes it as Stiles’ smell because he spends torturous extra time with the man and his Spring grass and Summer rain and Autumn leaves and spice smell while they prepare lessons and grade papers.


He almost convinces himself it's true. That it's not because he draws in great, purposeful lungfuls of the scent any chance he gets. Almost.


It's just that he's also so fucking smart, which is so very sexy. And he has these cinnamon-whiskey eyes and long fingers, and the way they wrap around a pen is so erotic. And when he rests the pen against the corner of his wide, mobile mouth, well, Derek has had some fantasies because of what the man does with that pen. He has had serious and painful problems that ruin his favorite pants and keep him from being able to do his work while he tries not to just stare longingly at the man while he sprawls in a chair in Derek’s office and reviews tests and essays, that goddamned pen mocking him from where it presses into Stiles’ lip, dragging it away from his teeth ever so slightly.


So, it's not on purpose, per se, when he overhears Stiles’ friend Erica say something about bending the man over his desk-which had definitely featured in the aforementioned fantasies. And he absolutely doesn't choke on his own tongue when she says “have his puppies.” Does he know? Derek can't help wonder if the human has figured it out. He's not exactly secretive about being a werewolf, but he is careful. He thinks he'd tell Stiles, if asked. Thinks the kid would be excited and curious about it, about him. He thinks he'd like Stiles wanting to know about him.


He tries to dampen his hearing, to not listen to the rest of the conversation, especially as Stiles’ scent goes from low level arousal to anxious. But if he catches the enthusiasm wrapped around the word “werewolf" and it makes a warm feeling settle in his belly, he can't feel guilty about it.


The rest of the class, Stiles all but avoids eye contact with Derek, but it only makes him grin.




Stiles is wholly unprepared for the sight that greets him upon entering Dr. Hale’s office.


The door is slightly ajar when he gets to it, so he had simply assumed he was expected and pushed it open with a perfunctory knock and half hearted (so as not to be overly enthusiastic) “Professor?”


Derek is standing in front of one of the the bookshelves that line the far wall of his office, his vest has been removed, tie loosened, and top two buttons undone. If Stiles were able to look away, he'd see the vest draped over a chair in the corner, but he can't. Because Jesus fucking Christ , the man is sex on legs. One muscled arm, forearm exposed, extended above his head, strong fingers wrapped around the spine of a serious looking volume, either unshelving or reshelving it, and Stiles is suddenly jealous of a book.


Two books, actually. Because in the professor's other hand, is another. His arm tucked close to his torso, the other book is held open by strong fingers and he is studying the pages intently, lips slightly pursed in a concentrated pout, his one visible brow furrowed adorably. When one considers the pert swell of his ass and the sinful lines of his toned back just discernable under his shirt, well, the whimper that Stiles doesn't quite manage to bite back is totally understandable.


He might be a little too caught up in his mortification and trying to suppress his burgeoning erection and please don't let him be a werewolf, because that'd mean he can totally smell me right now, and damn Scott for being too busy to come and tell me if he smells like a wolf to notice the professor’s very pleased smirk, but it's there nonetheless.


Stiles practically trips into the room at his teacher's inviting “Come sit, Stiles. I'll be right with you.” And he absolutely does shiver at the sound of his name on the other man's lips, but thankfully he has yet to turn around, so Stiles is able to throw himself gracelessly into an oversized armchair and cross his legs to hide the effect the man's presence has on him.


Unless he is a wolf. Shit.


And then, the man is right there, opting to lean against his desk mere feet away from Stiles, instead of safely behind his desk, where his crotch is hidden by relative miles of wood and paperwork, and not basically in Stiles’ face, taunting him. He wants to beg to fall to his knees and worship at the altar of Derek Hale’s casually spread legs. His erection is no longer a potentiality, and soon enough it won't take super senses to tell he's hard inside his thankfully tight jeans. He thinks he sees the professor's lip twitch upward, but he's not certain enough to panic over the implications.




“What can I do for you Stiles? We're not grading today, are we?” Derek is, perhaps, a little too… something. Pushy, maybe. Flirtatious, definitely. But he can't help it. Stiles blushes , for fucks sake. Blushes! And he smells delectable. Derek can practically taste the other man's desire; it's sweet and heavy on his tongue, like he imagines his cock would be. And shit, he should so very much not be thinking like that when the kids face is right there . There's no real moral dilemma, Derek isn't responsible for any of Stiles’ grades, he's just TAing for him; and Stiles is well into his twenties, so he isn't breaking any rules. And he knows Stiles wants him, so as long as this conversation goes well, well, Derek plans to find out if he's right about the taste of the other's dick.




Stiles is having trouble keeping his eyes focused somewhere socially acceptable. He wills his voice to stay steady and even as he attempts to look Dr. Hale in the face. “Nope, no papers to review today, I was actually hoping that you could help me with something,” Stiles is relieved and quite proud that he manages not to sound breathy and thisclose to coming in his pants like an adolescent.




Derek lets some of the wanting he’s feeling, and a little bit of his Alpha wolf, leak into his voice, “Anything for my favorite TA, I’d be lost without you, Stiles.” He isn’t sure if the rising color in the younger man’s cheeks is due to his deliberate use of Erica’s words, or the overtly sensual way he purred the human’s name, having noticed the spike in his scent when he’d said it earlier. Never let it be said that Derek Hale doesn’t know how to fight dirty.


The slow, heavy bob of Stiles’ Adam’s apple as he gulps at Derek’s predatory grin makes his cock perk up, but he doesn’t think the TA notices. Derek wants to suck on his neck, mark it with his teeth.


“Uh, I.  Thank you, you’re easy to work with,” Stiles says sincerely, through his increasingly lust clouded fogginess, “Anyway, I was hoping you could look at my thesis. I’m almost ready to submit a final draft, and could use a second opinion. Well, third opinion because my best friend Scott has read it, but he’s a vet, like, the animal doctor kind, not an academic type, and I really respect your opinion, and. And I will stop rambling now. Sorry.”


As Stiles stumbled through his request, Derek couldn’t help but be enthralled by the man’s capacity to speak for so long without taking a breath, and by the animated motions of his graceful, long fingered hands. Derek had many, many plans for both of those points of interest. His smile is genuine as he considers the long limbed student in front of him.


“I’m flattered you would think to ask me. What is your thesis about?” Derek asks, though he knows the answer, having overheard Erica and Stiles earlier.


“It’s about werewolf history,” his voice falters slightly, though it’s full of curiosity and wonder, not the mixture of fear and disdain or fethization that Derek has heard from many before. There’s no hint that Stiles isn’t 100% ok with the existence of weres. Not that Derek expected differently, but the reassurance was nice. “I’ve analyzed the global myths and folklore, compared actual werewolf histories and memoirs, and followed recent histories through the political and social movements and developments, as well as the struggles for recognition. There’s a focus on some of the more persistent mythos, and how it’s impacted the current state of were rights and such, which was tricky because the translations took ages, but it was worth it for the original context.” Stiles is grinning with pride, well earned, in Derek’s opinion, and his whole being is suffused with impassioned joy. His enthusiasm for his subject is a total turn on, and Derek is practically vibrating with the desire to claim the man’s mouth.


Still, he can’t quite help but push the human a little, “So, is your respect for me, and our relationship,” he lets his voice curl around the last word purposefully, “the only reason you want me to read your paper, Stiles?”


The slight uptick in his TA’s heart rate is immensely gratifying.  “Er, well. I would also like your opinion as a-” Derek raises an eyebrow at the pause. Just when he’s sure that Stiles is going to say something to avoid saying what he’s sure is coming, Stiles breathes out slowly and says without a hint of a stutter, “as a werewolf.” Stiles is looking at him like the word is a dare. Full of challenge and mostly false bravado; Derek’s dick is very interested in this look, his wolf, too, is a fan.


Derek moves ever so slightly closer into Stiles’ space, puffing up his chest and uncrossing his arms as he leans into the other man. “And you’re very sure I’m a werewolf, hmm?” Stiles nods, and Derek flashes his eyes red for a moment, Stiles’ eyes widen and dilate in response, and the smell of his arousal becomes richer, Derek’s own desire rockets and he chuckles, low and deep.


“Well, Stiles, you are very perceptive,” his voice is rough as he continues, trying to keep from closing the small gap between them and ravishing the other’s mouth. “Your paper sounds fascinating, and I’d love to read it for you. But not in an advisory capacity, though there is some overlap into my area of study.”


“Oh! That’s great, thank you! And I have an advisor, Professor Satomi, in the  Folklore department. Only, can I ask why you wouldn’t want to advise me?”


“Because I don’t want to be responsible for any of your grades, Stiles.” Derek moves slightly closer, watching a series of questions and feelings flit across Stiles’ face at a frankly startling pace.


Stiles tips his head ever so slightly to the side, “Because you have too much work to do? Because you don’t have to read my-” Stiles catches Derek’s head shaking and stops that train of thought with an almost audible effort. He also seems to notice the considerably smaller distance between them, as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “You don’t want to be responsible for my grades. Because then-” Derek can see the exact moment it clicks into place in the TA’s impressive mind, “because then you would be responsible for my grades .” His smile is brilliant and wide, even if he’s a little confused, evidenced by his scrunched brow and in his wavering scent.


“I’ve always thought you were one of the brightest minds I’d had the pleasure of working with, Stiles,” Derek says, voice dripping with sex and power, buoyed by the way Stiles’ eyes are wide with desire and slightly hooded, his lips parted almost imperceptibly, breath coming out in increasingly shallow pants. “Stiles,” Derek makes the name a question, waits for the man to hum a response, “Go shut the door. Don’t forget the lock.” The human whines low in his throat as he scrambles to comply. It is extremely pleasing to the professor.




Holy shit holy shit holy shit , is all Stiles can manage to think. There is no freakin’ way that this is happening right now. He is not this lucky. He has imagined this moment a thousand and one times, but it’s almost never started as Dr. Hale’s idea. Call him cliche, but the whole “seducing the hot professor” fantasy is a go-to alone-time standard. And if he’s honest, he had kind of sort of hoped and maybe halfway planned on making a move today. But this, yeah. He can get on board with whatever this is.


He makes his way back to where Professor Hale is standing, his stance is wide and welcoming, but his expression is hungry and it both settles and excites Stiles. He stops a short distance away from the man, not wanting to break whatever magical spell has fallen over them in this office that is making Derek Hale look at him like that . Professor Hale- shit. He can’t keep thinking of him like that, it’s weird. And as much as he gets off on the thought of coming while screaming “ Oh, Professor ,” he should probably maybe call him Derek.


“Hey, um, Professor? Is it cool if I call you Derek, because my internal monologue keeps getting tripped up about it.” To his relief, instead of breaking the spell, it seems to endear Derek to him. The man chuckles and reaches out to him, catching his hand and tugging him into his muscled chest.


“You can call me by my name, Stiles.” He leans in to whisper in Stiles’ ear, “but if you want to scream “Oh, Professor” when I make you come, that’s fine with me.” The smile is evident in his voice, but the way his breath tickles hotly against his ear is a tease.


Stiles can’t bring himself to be embarrassed, he’s too distracted by Derek’s proximity. “I said that out loud, huh?” his voice is high and breathy, even to his own ear.


“Uh-huh, you did. Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be screaming Mosze when I come inside you,” the sound of his name, his actual name, in perfectly pronounced Polish, Derek’s lips catching on the rim of his ear, in that low rumble, is enough to punch a moan from his throat and a hiccup of precome from his now aching cock. “ Fuck, Derek ,” he whispers, his fingers curling into the front of the other man’s shirt.


Derek’s arms are wrapped loosely around him, low around his hips, fingertips just barely teasing under the hem of his shirt, pinkies slipping accidentally on purpose into the tiny space between the top of his jeans and his skin. Each fingertip is like a brand against his bare flesh, sending delicious heat licking up his spine. And then, the fire is everywhere, because Derek’s lips are on his, and his tongue is flicking teasingly against the seam of Stiles’ mouth, and they’re both groaning into the kiss. Then their tongues are twisting together, the wet slide of the slick muscles and the increasingly possessive hold Derek has on him is like the most satisfying sex Stiles has ever had all on its own.


And then Derek’s tongue is thrusting into his mouth in a demanding rhythm, and Stiles is fitting their hips together so they each have a leg slotted between the other’s pair, and they are rocking together with intent . Stiles’ arms are wrapped around Derek’s broad shoulders, hands threaded through his soft, thick hair, and there are sounds falling steadily from both of them. Derek pushes a particularly filthy moan into Stiles’ mouth that he swallows eagerly, and they break away to catch their breath, foreheads resting against each other’s as they pant into the space between them.


Derek’s hands still their frantic petting, settling across his back so that one holds his shoulder and the other his hip, that one is under his shirt and in his pants, the whole wide palm a hot press against his own passion warmed skin.


“Wow,” Stiles says with all the breath he can muster.


Derek huffs a laugh against his lips, struggles to breathe out “Yeah, wow . Couldn't have said it better.” Stiles untangles one of his hands to slap feebly at his shoulder, grinning.


“So, I may have overheard something about bending you over my desk? Is that what you want, Stiles?” his voice is unfairly steady now, damned werewolf stamina. “Yes, we recover faster, but I promise you take my breath away, Mosze.”


Stiles groans and attempts to bury his face against Derek's chest, “I really need to work on the internal part of my internal monologue with you.”




“Don't. I like it,” Derek teases, though he is sincere. Stiles unfiltered is a treat, and he thinks he'd like to get used to it.


Stiles looks at him with wonder and asks, “Really?” and it's strange to see the man anything but confident and self assured. So it's easy for Derek to say, “Yes, really,” and to kiss him sweetly.


“Well, I have a lot of thoughts about that desk. And your chair. And maybe your door,” Stiles says, punctuating his words with kisses, but I'd like to start,” more kisses, now trailing from the corner of his mouth, across his cheek, “with the floor.”


Derek is confused for a moment, but then Stiles is dropping to his knees, kneading Derek's erection through his trousers with one hand, while the other unbuckles his belt, and then opens his pants. His long fingers are sure and quick, and the sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor makes Derek shiver.


Stiles rubs teasingly at Derek's cock, still encased in his boxer briefs, a large and growing spot of pre-come making a visible spot. Stiles moans quietly, his large, honey colored eyes locked on Derek's and heavy lidded. “I have had so many fantasies about being on my knees for you, Derek,” he begins, still steadily stroking his dick. “Sometimes, I'm under your desk, sucking you off while a student asks inane questions about a paper. Keeping you on the edge of coming while you have to explain a grading rubric; swallowing your cock while they're none the wiser.”


Derek is embarrassingly close to coming before they even begin. “I may have had a similar fantasy,” he admits, breath hitching as Stiles smiles up at him, pausing his ministrations to peel Derek's underwear down. Stiles’ gasp of appreciation makes his wolf feel victorious.


Stiles licks a long, wet stripe up Derek's cock, maintaining eye contact even as his lashes flutter contentedly. He draws a slow circle around the head, acrobatic tongue curling in stunning formation to cup and tickle at Derek's frenulum in firm but fleeting flicks. Derek can't help the broken noise he lets out, the rumble of it vibrating from his chest and out his extremities, “ Shit . This must be how that pen feels.” He doesn't think it was loud enough to be discernable, it was barely an exhalation, but Stiles pulls away, a curious tilt to his expression, his fingers a loose circle pressing just a little too lightly for Derek to not thrust slightly into, seeking more.


“Did you say something about my pen?” his voice is low and so sexy , that Derek almost misses the question. He blushes, the tips of his ears going hot.


He barely recognizes his own voice when he manages to answer, “Yes. Your pen. You-” Stiles seems to reward his honesty with a slow glide of his mouth down the side of Derek's erection and a hum that makes Derek tingle all over. “You play with them incessantly, and your fingers-” another long, sucking glide of lips and tongue temporarily takes his breath away. Stiles hums encouragingly, one long fingered hand stroking lightly, the other rolling Derek's aching balls. “Your fingers, and your mouth are obscene. I may have had to hi-" Stiles sucks the head of his dick lightly, lips dragging and catching on the flared tip, “Hide the effect you have on me. Under my desk. While you grade papers. It's possible I'm jealous of your grading pen.”


Stiles smiles teasingly against the soft skin of Derek's length, placing small kisses and kitten licks there. “My pen has nothing on you, Professor,” he purrs, squeezing Derek's cock and licking up the pre-come that beads at his slit, starting a steady rhythm, pumping his hand along the silky heat. “And I may have been similarly jealous of your books earlier,” Stiles admits with a cheeky smile before sinking that beautiful mouth down, sucking and fluttering his tongue down until without preamble Stiles’ nose is buried in the soft dark curls at the base of Derek's cock and Derek can't think anything but fuck fuck, Stiles, yes, God, please . He realizes he's talking out loud when Stiles moans filthily around him, and he can't make himself care that he's also apparently lost his internal monologue.


Derek can't keep his hands off the man between his legs, his fingers tangle in the silky strands of Stiles’ hair, tightening reflexively when Stiles sucks harder as he moves up toward the tip of Derek's cock, trying to avoid anchoring his hands around the TA’s head and fucking his mouth. Stiles’ hands are still wrapped around him, one encircling the base and making short, slow movements, the other still rolling his balls in his large, warm palm, fingers teasing the sensitive strip of skin behind them and tapping at his hole, making it twitch in anticipation.


“Stiles,” he breathes out on a moan. It's praise and a prayer and a plea all in one punched out sound, and Stiles answers each one. He smiles around Derek's cock, his eyes go soft and wide, and his hand moves from Derek's dick to cup his ass, his other hand pushing more insistently at Derek's rim. The hand on his ass begins pushing, pulling Derek into his face, encouraging him to fuck his mouth, and Derek loses control. He pulls Stiles’ hair, cups his jaw with one big palm, and thrusts in short desperate little motions into the exquisite wet heat and suction of Stiles’ brilliant mouth.


If the broken moan that Stiles let's go is any indication, he is definitely on board with the way Derek is fucking his mouth. One long finger sinks into his ass, curling expertly to tap against his prostate, and it's all he can do to push a warning past his lips. “‘m gonna come, baby.” The endearment is a surprise, but Stiles doesn't seem to mind, he smiles while he sucks relentlessly, bobbing his head and maintaining eye contact even as he gets sloppy and desperate, his own saliva and Derek's pre-come smeared around his mouth, making a mess of his face. He pulls away briefly, pushing into Derek's hand where it's tight in his hair, “I wanna taste you, Derek. Then we're going to test that wolfy refractory period of yours. Now, let me, please.” Derek has almost enough time to think that that was too many words to say in such a short time, but his brain gets caught on the fucked out sound of Stiles’ voice, knowing it's raw because of his dick makes his wolf puff up pridefully, and the keywords taste you and please, and then Stiles has his mouth on him again and he can't help moving the fingers on the man's jaw so he can feel how his lips are stretched wide. So he can feel his cock, dripping with Stiles’ spit, as it glides in and out of the human's mouth.


He watches, eyes wide and heavy, pupils passion-blown, as Stiles’ hips rock slightly, seeking friction. Watches Stiles as he can no longer keep his eyes locked on Derek's, watches his obscenely attractive mouth swallow hungrily around his cock. And he gives the man what he asked for and comes in that beautiful fucking mouth. He comes long and hard, it might be the most he's ever come, he's fascinated to see it dribble out the corner of Stiles’ mouth, even as he gulps greedily to taste it all. Stiles rests his cheek against Derek’s thigh, breath panting hot and wet against his spent but still mostly hard cock, sending shivery aftershocks through his whole body. Derek runs lazy fingers through the TA’s hair, unwilling to lose the contact just yet.


Over the sound of their combined heavy panting, and the smell of his own spend, he smells Stiles’ arousal. It lays heavy and sweet in the air, he can practically taste it, feel it on his tongue. He whimpers almost silently with how much he wants to taste it. Through the haze of his post-orgasm bliss, he notices Stiles making small, abortive thrusts, rolling his hips against the tight confines of his jeans; he feels the man’s hands gripping almost painfully at his thigh, and realizes he is actively trying not to come in his pants. He’s so close , just from blowing him. It gives Derek a rush.


He reaches down to pull Stiles to his feet, he comes willingly, draping his arms easily over Derek’s shoulders and opening his mouth to Derek’s softly questing tongue when he fits their mouths together. Derek takes hold of Stiles’ face with one hand, and the round, muscled swell of one perfect butt cheek with the other as he chases the taste of himself in the other man’s mouth. Breaking away just enough to look into the honey colored depths of Stiles’ eyes, he is momentarily caught breathless by the emotions he finds reflected there.


“I want you to come, Mozse. What do you need?”




Stiles can’t quite keep the awe and adoration from his gaze, only prays that Derek doesn’t see it through the post-orgasmic cloud he should still be wrapped in. The question catches him off guard though, he’d assumed that Derek fucking him was a foregone conclusion at this point. He can’t help the little huff of laughter that escapes. He is so fucking close to coming in his jeans like a goddamned teenager, it’s embarrassing. “I don’t have your quick recovery time, Dr. Wolf-man. If I come now, I won’t be able to properly enjoy it when you get your groove back.” Stiles’ voice is tight and breathy, almost pained even to his human ears. He really, really wants to come. Needs it.


Derek is holding him, running light fingers up and down his back, tracing his cheek and jaw with the tip of his nose, and it’s almost enough to push him that last little bit over the edge. And then Derek’s breath is hot against his neck as he speaks into his ear, voice low and thrumming with power and sex.


“I want to taste you, too, Stiles. It’s only fair,” he ghosts a trail of kisses along Stiles’ neck, making him shiver. Stiles groans, ruts his hips against Derek’s thigh and tightens his arms around Derek’s neck and shoulders. Derek is apparently not finished, and also, possibly, a dirty, dirty cheater, because he fucking bites the juncture of Stiles’ neck and shoulder, teeth blunt, and human, but it sends a jolt of pleasure zinging through him regardless. “I want to see you come, and then I want to lick you clean, tease you open and get you hard again. Then-” Derek is moving his hips in counterpoint to Stiles’ now, kneading his ass with the perfect amount of pressure, holding his shirt away from his shoulder- and Christ , they haven’t even taken their shirts off yet, and this is already the most intense sexual experience Stiles has ever had- and Derek is licking and nipping at his exposed skin, rubbing his surprisingly soft stubble along the curve of his neck, soothing the burn with slow, dragging kisses. “Then, I’ll fuck you over my desk,” a hard, slow roll of hips, “or in my chair,” a more purposeful press now, “or yours. Or maybe against the wall?” they’re fucking against each other hard now, Stiles feels frantic until Derek runs a soothing hand down his spine and presses a soft “ Hush, shh ” into his mouth with a kiss.


“The wall-” Stiles stutters out, “that should go on the list for next time.”




Derek is incredibly pleased at the mention of next time. “Alright, desk it is, baby. But first,” Derek draws a strong hand down Stiles’ chest, the other still firmly cupping his frankly ridiculous, perfect butt, and then continuing lower to the front of his obscenely tented jeans, squeezes his cock while he whispers in his ear, voice purposely commanding and helplessly fond, says simply “come. Come now, Mosze.” Stiles does, and he is stunning when he does. It’s absolutely breathtaking, and Derek can’t stop the gasp that he releases, doesn’t try. Doesn’t try to stop the moan that follows it as Stiles falls apart in front of him, hips shuddering and eyes closed, that beautiful mouth slack with pleasure and a string of deep, pornographic moans steadily joining Derek’s awed panting. Stiles’ arms are still cradling his head. Holding him almost carefully, even as he comes down slowly from his orgasm. Stiles is holding him like he matters, and Derek’s heart swells contentedly in his chest.


It’s never felt like this. He should probably be panicking, but Stiles is looking at him now, still come-dazed and sleepy-eyed, but he’s looking at him adoringly and petting his hair. He drops his head to Derek’s shoulder with a long sigh and a quiet “ Holy shit , Professor ,” and a small, insincere groan of “I’m a mess,” which reminds Derek of his plan, though it doesn’t totally dim the significance of the moment. Derek sweeps Stiles up with an arm around his waist and one under his slightly shaking knees, and the man lets out an indignant yelp, wrist flopping feebly to smack against his chest. “Really?” he asks, full of sarcasm and amusement. Derek meets his raised eyebrow and rolled eyes with a smirk he knows is full of something like adoration as he crosses his office to lay Stiles down on the small couch in the corner where he often reviews papers.


Derek can’t help kissing him as he undoes the man’s pants, slowly pulls the zipper down as he bites along Stiles’ jaw, his chin. Stiles raises his chin, baring his throat and Derek growls at the submission, the trust in the action, and thinks that it must have been on purpose. That thought makes him moan into the hollow of Stiles’ throat. “ Fuck, Stiles. What you do to me.”


Derek peels the human’s pants and- Batman?- boxer briefs down his long, pale, muscled legs, the light dusting of hair tickling his wrists, and wastes no time in nuzzling into the crease of the TA’s groin. The smell is absolutely intoxicating, his cock had gone from “very interested in the proceedings” to “ready to go” as soon as the first hints of the scent of Stiles’ come had reached him, but now, with the source so close, his dick is jumping and leaking a steady stream of pre-come onto his stomach and thigh. He is dimly aware of the pleased rumble that he’s making, slightly more aware of the low keening whines that Stiles is making as he nuzzles at the half hard cock and still tight balls in front of him. He licks and sucks at the traces of come clinging to the silky soft flesh and in the patch of cropped, springy curls that Stiles’ flushed length is nestled in, his tongue curling around the flared head, lips and teeth dragging and tugging gently. He chases every drop of the milky spend, letting it coat his tongue, licking and sucking relentlessly, feasting on the taste of the man beneath him, one hand kneading Stiles’ lightly muscled chest, pinching and teasing his nipple just to hear him pant and gasp. He scoops up a thick line of come, rolls it on his tongue and hums appreciatively.


One of Stiles’ hands rests at the back of Derek's head, his palm a welcome weight on the back of his neck, the other is clenched on the arm of the couch, his face turned into the bend of his elbow and a pleasing whine high in his throat.




The weight of Derek's arm across Stiles’ hips mostly keeps him from shifting them, from thrusting restlessly, but there's a trembling tension just below his skin. It's similar to the strange buzzing he always feels in the professor's presence, but this time it's more acute. Like having the man's skin on his own has intensified the wanting his skin against his own.


And Doctor Derek Hale, lapping up his come like a rare delicacy, licking at his spent dick and his pale thighs, which may or may not still be quivering from the intensity of his orgasm? That's enough to make Stiles feel like he's shaking apart. When Derek had said “Come” in his ear, voice full of power he couldn't resist and affection he prayed he wasn't imagining, Stiles had had no choice but to obey . Hadn't wanted to even try not to. Something in the tone, the feel of Derek's hands on him, had settled him; calmed the constant hum of movement that seemed to rush through his veins. It was intense and wonderful and definitely the most amazing orgasm of his life.


Stiles knows he's making sounds that should embarrass him as Derek explores with tongue and teeth and reverent fingertips, but he only feels the heat of arousal and the contentment that comes from getting something you've long wished for. Plus, the man is making some noises of his own, and they're absolutely nothing but erotic.


Derek maneuvers Stiles so that he's sitting up on the couch, a litany of “ How fucking delicious you taste” and “What are you doing to me” and “ Fucking Hell, Stiles” falling from his mouth, angling Stiles’ ass so that it's on the edge of one deep cushion, bending his knees and splaying his legs wide. Stiles would be lying if he said that the show of strength didn't turn him on. He'd also be lying if he said he didn't say so out loud, adding a “You're so fucking sexy,” and pulling Derek's mouth to his own with both hands, kissing him hard and dirty, all thrusting tongue and nipping, clacking teeth and begging moans. Derek answered back in kind, adding his own clutching hands and that delicious stubble dragging against Stiles’ chin.


And then, Derek is pulling away from his mouth, lips dragging wetly against Stiles’ own, and Stiles is pleased at his reluctance to leave his lips. He kisses a sloppy trail down Stiles’ neck, rucks up his shirt- Jesus fuck, how are we both still half dressed? Stiles thinks vaguely- to place open mouthed kisses along his torso, stopping to swirl his tongue around each pink nipple, then pausing to lave and bite and suck each in turn when the tease causes Stiles’ breath to stutter. At the gasping moan and arching of Stiles’ back, pressing his chest more firmly into Derek’s mouth, Derek growls , sending little shivery sparks through Stiles’ body, making his hands clench helplessly where they rest on Derek’s shoulder and the couch cushion next to his head.


Derek leaves his nipples puffy and reddened, blows a slow, hot breath over one slick bud, making it pebble and sending a shiver up Stiles’ spine; his fingers stutter against Derek's heated skin, nails raking slightly and making Derek groan deliciously.


Derek continues to mouth at Stiles, trailing toward his legs with kisses and quick bites and long, glorious drags of his lips and his stubbled jaw, marking Stiles with the pattern of it, until he finally settles back between Stiles’ legs, which are splayed wantonly, practically begging for Derek to follow them to their juncture. And he does, eagerly. He nuzzles at Stiles’ definitely reawakened erection, but his kisses ignore it, earning a whine from Stiles, which earns him a predatory grin that might make his dick jump and his ass clench, just a little.


And then, the professor that Stiles has been pining after for months is holding his ass in wide, warm palms, massaging his muscled cheeks and diving into his cleft with a needy moan, and all Stiles can do is respond with a groan and a “ Holy fucking shit, Derek” in a voice that sounds way too gravelly to be his. And then, Derek's tongue is lapping at the furl of his entrance, wide, wet sweeps with the flat of his tongue, which is fluttering and moving in ways that Stiles had never really considered possible before. There's a pleased rumble coming from Derek's chest, and it makes Stiles feel like preening. Derek is spreading his cheeks wider, like he can't get close enough, spearing into his hole with short, slick jabs, fucking him with his tongue, and Stiles distantly hears a high, keening whine and vaguely realizes it's coming from him.


He doesn't know what to do with his hands, they're scrabbling, desperate for contact, for something to hold onto. Derek settles Stiles’ legs over his shoulders, reaches one hand to tangle with Stiles’ and use the other to settle Stiles’ on the back of his neck, they both sigh at the contact, but Derek’s tongue doesn't falter, he's sucking lightly at Stiles’ rim now, tongue flicking over the sensitized flesh, his stubble dragging gloriously against Stiles’ inner thighs, his butt cheeks, his skin pink and reddened with the mild burn. Stiles is pretty sure that he might be able to come just from Derek marking him, and his mind stutters a bit at the thought that Derek is doing just that.




Derek can't help but groan at the weight of Stiles’ hand on his neck, it pleases his wolf in an unnameable way and makes his dick throb, hard. He also can't help but drag his beard over the pale expanse of Stiles’ skin, the red marks it leaves behind pleasing his wolf in a very easy to discern way; namely, in a wholly possessive and probably inappropriate this soon in their relationship way, but it makes him purr nonetheless. He wants to rub himself all over Stiles, from his gorgeous head, down the long, pale line of his throat… Making Stiles’ skin smell of him, and leaving little claiming marks on the brilliant TA’s flesh could become addictive, indeed.


Equally enthralling are the noises that the human makes, and his taste , holy shit, it's intoxicating. The flutter of his little hole around Derek's tongue is indescribably erotic, the scent of his arousal, his wanting, and knowing it's all because of what Derek is doing for him? Derek is on the verge of obsession, his wolf is perhaps a little further over the line, pushing him to delve deeper into the other man, pull more of those sounds from him, taste him a little longer. If his scent, and the restless little thrusts he's making despite the position he's in, are any indication, he's pretty sure Stiles might be as close as he is to flying apart, and he most definitely plans to be inside the man when they climax again, so, with no small effort, he slows down, squeezing Stiles’ hand where their fingers are twined together.


He undulates his tongue in a slow roll against Stiles’ rim, lays small, quick licks with just the edge of his tongue in concentrated circles around the tight pucker, laves long stripes with the flat of his tongue up and down Stiles’ perineum, sucking and biting teasingly at the fleshy globes of Stiles’ ass, his creamy thighs. His ears eagerly drink in the mewling gasps that Stiles is steadily emitting, and one broad finger pulls gently at Stiles’ rim, presses in beside his questing tongue, the way well lubricated and spit slick, it slides inside Stiles and strokes the walls of his passage. As Stiles begins to ride his finger and his face a little more earnestly, grinding against him with the tiniest of rolls of his hips, Derek begins to rub at his prostate lightly, coaxing Stiles’ cock to leak more delicious pre-come, eagerly lapping it up where it dribbles down Stiles’ flushed length, catches a few precious drops as they bead at the slit, moans at the silky fluid coating his tongue.


Derek officially cannot wait another minute.


He moves back enough to look at Stiles, gratified at how the other man whimpers at the loss of his tongue, and how he meets his gaze with lust blown pupils and hooded eyes, a lazy smile broken by a hint of teeth as he chews his bottom lip. He looks fucking gorgeous, sex rumpled and eager, Derek wants him to always look at him like this, without pretense or planning, open. He doesn’t even try to hold back the fond smile that stretches his lips. He keeps a torturously slow in and out slide with his finger, smile widening and turning gleeful and self-satisfied at the way Stiles’ eyes roll back in his head at the motion. Groaning when Stiles breathes out a desperate sounding “ Derek” that is full of awe and need, he returns the sentiment with his own exhalation of Stiles’ name as he leans into the man, takes his bottom lip into his mouth gently, sucking lightly on the plump flesh, spurring Stiles to deepen the contact, turn it into a searching kiss as he winds his arms around Derek, hips still bucking slightly into the glacially slow thrust of Derek’s finger.


Derek uses his arm around Stiles’ waist to pull him closer, easing him off the couch and onto his lap, pulls back from the kiss in degrees, teeth raking over Stiles’ lip, lis own lips catching and dragging against Stiles’ in his reluctance to fully disengage from the intoxicating slide of Stiles’ tongue against his own. He does though, even as Stiles chases his mouth, leans toward him, eyes closed and lips parted and he’s heart-meltingly adorable in the moment. “Stiles-” he begins, trying to find a way to say how much he wants inside the man, how much he just wants him, in every sense of the phrase; “I want to fuck you” doesn’t feel right, and “Let me make love to you” feels too close to “I love you,” and it’s certainly too soon for that, even though as Stiles meets his eyes again, he’s positive that it is a distinct possibility for the not too distant future.




Derek is looking at him with so much- something that makes his heart flutter- and his finger is still moving in and out of him so slowly, keeping a steady stream of pre-come leaking from his dick, which Derek keeps almost unconsciously swiping away with his thumb and sucking it off, a rapturous look on his face, and Stiles is absolutely losing his damned mind. He’s shifting his hips, gratefully using the leverage from his knees on the floor to raise and lower himself, but he’s increasingly desperate for more.


When Derek says his name, Stiles hears a hundred different things in the breathy syllable, he hears “i want you,” and “please,” and “oh, gods” and other things he’s a little afraid he’s imagining. He’s also a little afraid to let Derek finish his sentence, so instead he kisses him sweetly and says “Derek, I need-’ he almost says you , but that feels too close to the truth, so instead he says “more than your finger. And I need it like, now.” He punctuates the statement with a dirty grind of his hips, throwing his head back and tugging Derek’s hair, smiling stupidly at the way Derek tightens his grip on him and growls a little.


“Mmm. I have lotion in my desk,” Derek purrs, curling his finger to massage against Stiles’ prostate.


“That’s- oh, god- that’s good. We don’t need condoms, right? Oh, fuck , Der,” the idea of Derek being inside him without a barrier makes his hole clench, tightening around Derek’s finger. Weres can’t get STDs, so there’s no chance he’ll get sick, and honestly, he just wants to feel Derek inside him. Approximately now.


Derek’s growl goes from a low rumble to a loud moaning thing that Stiles is almost sure is loud enough to be heard through the office door, but he can’t bring himself to care because the sound of it sends a wave of desire rushing through his system. He crashes their mouths together, licks into Derek’s mouth with enthusiasm, pouring wanting moans and every ounce of his desire and all the things he can’t yet say into the kiss. When Derek slips his finger out of his aching hole, he doesn’t have time to whimper at the loss, because suddenly he’s in mid air, legs wrapped around Derek’s waist, Derek’s strong arms holding him close and secure, and holy shit, Derek just stood up from kneeling while holding Stiles-werewolf strength is no joke!


And in a few long strides, mouths still fused together, Derek’s tongue twisting and sliding around his own, his lips catching at Stiles’ deliciously, they are at the much fantasized over desk, and Derek is easing him onto it. Derek keeps their lips moving together, one hand coming up to cup Stiles’ jaw tenderly, the other fumbling in a drawer, presumably searching for the aforementioned lotion. Stiles is so overcome by the gentleness of Derek’s hand, he is helpless to do anything but hold Derek’s face between his palms and return the kiss.


And really, why would he want to?




Derek fumbles blindly for the lotion he keeps in his desk, mostly for after Stiles leaves their meetings and he needs to jerk off before he's fit to leave his office, if he's honest. And holy crap, this is really happening!


“Derek,” Stiles breathes into their kiss. Derek makes a small sound of acknowledgment and starts kissing along his jaw as Stiles continues,reaching for his collar, “We should probably finish-mmm- finish getting naked.” The last word is a moan more than anything else, and really, Derek was so caught up in the intensity of this thing between them that he hardly even noticed they were still half dressed. This whole thing is ridiculous .


But then, Stiles is unbuttoning his shirt, those long, able fingers stroking his overheated skin, nails raking and leaving red trails behind, making Derek wish they'd last longer than a few moments, and ask Derek can think is yes.


Stiles traces the path his fingers are taking with his mouth, wet, open mouthed kisses and intermittent bites soothed with a hot, swirling tongue down Derek's neck, along his collar bones, down his chest and torso, fingers scratching through his chest hair. Stiles bites and sucks at his nipples, and Derek never really thought they were all that sensitive , but he might have to mentally recite important dates in his head to stop himself from coming.


“Fucking Hell, Derek,” Stiles breathes into the hollow of his throat, fingers finally finished opening Derek's shirt and eagerly exploring the newly exposed flesh with broad, slow strokes. “You look Photoshopped, dude. I want- ugh,” Derek huffs a laugh as Stiles whines briefly before moving to continue mouthing along Derek's abs, moaning as he rubs his nose along the trail of hair leading from Derek's navel to his throbbing cock. He flicks his tongue into Derek's bellybutton, a ticklish little flutter, his hands still roaming, flicking over peaked nipples and defined ridges of muscle, making Derek pant and clench his hands restlessly in his hair and in Stiles’.


Stiles stands, placing little, biting kisses into Derek’s skin as he rises, hands sliding up Derek’s sides in a reverent drag, settling on his shoulders at the same time Stiles’ lips return to Derek’s neck, and Derek is pretty sure that the low, wet exhale against the place just behind his ear is sexier than any kiss he’d previously had, his experiences with Stiles today notwithstanding. And when Stiles whispers in his ear “Turn around, Professor ,” and it’s not so much words as a long, raspy breath, accompanied by a gentle tug on his shoulders as Stiles steps away from him just enough so that he can turn around, Derek is absolutely sure that he would do anything that the human asked him, so long as he could have his hands on his skin and his hot breath in his ear.


Stiles takes a firm hold of Derek’s shirt and slowly drags it down his arms, his fingertips bumping lightly and purposefully over the muscles there, a low hum of approval at the revealed skin making Derek shiver and his wolf is immensely pleased. “Seriously, Der, you look like porn,” Stiles pulls the arms of Derek’s shirt where it is still caught on his wrists, causing Derek’s shoulders to arch back slightly. “Unnf,” the moan is a warm exhale between Derek’s flexed shoulder blades, and Stiles’ tongue follows the sound to trace his tattoo, stealing Derek’s breath.


“It’s a-” Derek’s voice is shockingly high and tight as he begins to explain, cut off by a particularly distracting swirl of Stiles tongue as he pulls the shirt completely off Derek’s arms. He should have figured the explanation was unnecessary for the brilliant TA.


“A triskellion, I know,” and Derek can feel his grin pressed in between his shoulders. Derek turns, taking Stiles into the circle of his arms, an impressed grin curving his lips.


“It’s kind of ridiculously hot that you’re familiar with were lore,” Derek says fondly, hands tracing lines up under Stiles’ shirt to tease his nipples as he kisses along his throat. The feel of the tightly beaded nubs under his thumbs, and Stiles’ pulse under his tongue sends a thrill up Derek’s spine. He reluctantly drags his hands down the light ridges of muscle on Stiles’ torso, skims eager fingers over trim hips, and finally pulls them away to drag the blazer off of perfectly sculpted, broad shoulders, enjoying the feel of Stiles’ long fingers in his hair as he drags Derek away from his throat to meet his gaze.


Derek gets lost in the heat and honest affection in Stiles’ cinnamon eyes, they’re close enough to kiss, but they don’t, just share space, breathing hotly into the space between them, fingers and hips moving easily against each others skin. Stiles reaches down to remove his snarky T-shirt, but Derek stills his hands, asks earnestly “Let me, please,” and Stiles smiles, lazy and genuine, a hint of teasing, as he lets his hands drop to his side, hands sliding lightly along Derek’s as they do. Derek pulls the soft cotton slowly upwards, letting it drag against Stiles’ heated skin, making it a tease and a preview of later pleasure.


When the shirt reaches Stiles’ neck, he holds it there a moment, Stiles’ arms trapped and raised behind his head, face hidden, he licks one perfect, pink nipple, and then pulls the shirt up a little further, so Stiles’ eyes are covered, an improptu blindfold emblazoned with a witty remark. He kisses Stiles’ waiting mouth, keeps it brief so he can pull away and enjoy the increased speed of Stiles’ heartbeat, the fast little pants of breath against his lips. He seems to like the hint of sensory deprivation, and Derek files the information away for another time, sucks Stiles’ full bottom lip between his own, bites gently as he pulls the shirt up, revealing Stiles’ lust fogged gaze once more.


“Hi,” he says fondly. Stiles grins and leans forward to kiss him, mindless of his arms still tangled in his shirt and trapped behind his head, “Hello,” he says into Derek’s smile. Derek steps back a little, one hand leaving Stiles’ shirt to wander down his now gloriously naked body, admiring the planes of Stiles’ chest and torso, eyes caressing where his hands lead but flickering back to Stiles’ face often, gauging and cataloging his reactions.


Derek’s eyes settle on the shirt clenched in his fist, and he is overcome by the desire to drag Stiles’ arms to the base of his spine and twist the shirt to tighten it, effectively restraining the human;s arms. He wants to bend Stiles over his desk and push him down into its polished surface with one hand on the back of his neck and the other fisted in the cotton of his shirt-cum-handcuffs, using it as leverage against the small of Stiles’ back so that he can pound into his beautiful little hole, wants to make him scream and babble, make him mindless, until the only sound is the rhythmic slap of flesh and their mixed moans.


He realizes he’s talking out loud -again- when Stiles lets out a filthy groan, his hips stuttering against Derek’s thigh.




Holy fucking shit . The things coming out of Derek’s mouth are filthy , and “Goddamnit, Derek, if you don’t- oh, fuck - if you keep talking like that, I’m going to come before you get inside me. And I really, really want you inside me,” Stiles is ready to beg, can feel the whine caught in his throat, is completely unable to do more than grasp his own hands against each other and thrust uselessly, seeking friction.


When Derek’s hand settles on his hip, smoothing down to cup his ass, the other briefly holding his joined hands where they clasp their opposites wrist  and rest against the back of his head, before he loosens his grip on Stiles’ shirt and lets the slow upwards arc of his arms as it comes to find Stiles’ other hip pull the material totally off and free Stiles arms, Stiles whimpers and he scrabbles to wrap his arms around Derek’s shoulders.


He anchors him hands in Derek’s hair, and around the back of his neck, enjoys the press of Derek’s hips against his own and the way Derek is looking at him: unabashedly hungry and indulgent. “If you want to tie me up, Derek,” he begins, and he is breathless with the idea of it, can’t keep the desirous catch from his words, can’t keep from saying them, “then I am 1000 percent on board. There are so many glorious, inappropriate things that I have thought about while I watch you grade papers that I really, really want to explore with you, now that this-,” he ruts against Derek, hard and dirty, moans at the press of his dripping cock sliding along next to his own, and the so quick he almost missed it prickle of claws at his hips and Derek’s broken off growl make him shiver, “Unn- this, is something me can do. But right now?” Stiles reaches back toward Derek’s desk and blidly pats around for the lube as Derek bites and sucks along the column of his throat.


He pulls his arm back, victoriously brandishing the lube and pulling Derek in closer to his neck before dragging him in for a filthy kiss that is more wet swipes of tongues than anything else. “Right now,” he holds tightly to Derek’s shoulders and hops up, trusting Derek to catch him, making a pleased, though distinctly human growl of satisfaction when he does, helping Stiles wrap his legs around his waist with one arm, holding him with the other effortlessly, and jeezus if that isn’t stupid fucking sexy, “right now, I believe we had plans to christen your desk.”  


He can feel the suggestive grin stretch his lips, it’s sloppy and exaggerated by an eyebrow wriggle that is definitely more silly than enticing, but Derek kisses it off his face anyway. Stiles anchors himself with one arm around Derek’s shoulders to flip the top of the lotion open and squeeze some onto his fingers as Derek’s tongue continues its glorious, dirty exploration of his mouth. Switching hands, he reaches back to where he can feel the blunt pressure of Derek’s cock rubbing between the cleft of his ass, smears a generous amount of the thick lotion around the part of the hot length he can reach, whining when the motion causes his own erection to rasp against the hair that dusts Derek’s belly, sliding in the trail of precome that he’s been steadily leaking there. The groan Derek pushes into his mouth tastes sweet and heavy, and Stiles echoes the sound.


Stiles angles his ass so that the rounded head of Derek’s cock catches at his rim, rocks against the dragging press of flesh. He has never wanted anyone the way he wants Derek, never felt like he does now, like his entire body is on the edge of orgasm, like he needs Derek’s mouth on his to breathe. It should be terrifying, but instead it’s exhilarating, it’s relief. He feels his hole catch around Derek’s tip and moves to chase it, to finally feel the slick glide of Derek sliding into him, but Derek’s dick slides away, a hot, hard line against the cleft of his ass, and he whimpers out a frustrated groan.


Derek chuckles breathily into his mouth, “Need something, baby?” he asks with a sharp inhale as Stiles rubs his dripping cock against Derek’s abs.


“You’re not funny, Professor. If you don’t lay me out on that desk of yours in the next-” Stiles momentarily forgets what numbers might make for a reasonable threat, between the steady roll of his hips, Derek’s dick teasingly wet and prodding at his ass, and the pattern of hickeys Derek is sucking into his neck and along his collarbone, Stiles barely remembers his own name. “Unn, Derek, please ,” he manages, and then his world is moving again, until he’s settled on his back, the cool wood of Derek’s desk a balm on his overheated skin. And then rational thought ceases again as Derek starts to rub the crown of his cock around Stiles’ hole, his thick knuckles grazing Stiles’ inner thigh.


“Oh, gods, Derek. Stop tea-mmmf,” Stiles stops short as Derek pushes inside of him the tiniest bit, as he feels his rim stretching around the wide head, and Derek pauses just like that, leaving Stiles to just pant heavily and scrabble his hands to find purchase on the edge of the desk, revelling in the wicked stretch, the idea of the picture they must make; slick, and open and obscene , makes his own cock throb, a small line of precome drooling down his length as he moans around Derek’s name.


It seems to spur him into action, as he slides achingly slowly into Stiles, a steady, unhurried push until his hips are flush with the backs of Stiles’ thighs. Every nerve ending in Stiles’ body is alight with a flutter of power, like electricity crackling with potential as Derek shudders in pleasure above him. A gasp of surprise fills the otherwise still air, though neither of them could tell you who made it. Professor Derek Hale, werewolf, is pulsing inside him, and Stiles feels like he belongs there.




Derek’s control is a tenuous thing. Stiles’ long, muscled legs wrapped around him was a blissful torture, but this, seeing his puckered hole, slightly open and wet from his ministrations, it’s too much. Derek wants to fuck him. Hard. But there’s a stronger pull he feels regarding the TA, a deep desire for tenderness. A desire to claim him so thoroughly, so completely, that the human won’t want anyone else. Ever. The drive to claim him should be unsettling, but it makes him feel free in a way he’s unaccustomed to.


Seeing Stiles on his desk, all miles of pale, freckle kissed skin, and lithe strength, and the smell of his arousal; his tight, pink hole. Derek had to see. Had to see what that furl of flesh looked like grabbing for his cock, so he took himself in hand and rubbed Stiles’ hole with the wet tip of his dick, traced around it in teasing circles, and when Stiles seemed on the verge of begging, he pressed in, just a little, not even enough to push the entire flared crown inside of Stiles’ tight heat, just enough to stretch it out, watch it flutter around his cock in a way that should look indecent, but only makes his cock harder. And if the way Stiles’ eyes are rolling back in his head, and the stream of little wheezing moans he’s letting fall from that fucking beautiful mouth of his are any indication, Stiles is decidedly unoffended by the action.

As he slides into Stiles, the clench of muscle and the searing heat make his vision go red for a moment, before he can be embarassed, Stiles makes an almost pained noise before saying in a strained voice “Holy shit, that was so hot, Alpha,” and it speaks to Derek’s impeccable restraint that he didn’t fuck Stiles through the desk at hearing the title fall so easily from his lips. He does not however, stop a hard thrust of his hips that sends his cock directly into Stiles’ prostate, or the growl that works it’s way up from deep in his chest.


Being connected to Stiles this way, inside Stiles this way, it feels a lot like coming home, and Derek is overcome by a wave of tenderness, even as something in him rebels at the notion of something so fairy-tale romantic; he’s an intellectual, dammit, a professor, , not a school boy. Still, the feeling of rightness as he rolls his hips, sliding his cock in and out of Stiles’ clenching hole, Stiles arching into every slow thrust, his chest pushed toward Derek, inviting him to play with the pale pink nipples, the muscles in stark relief as he bucks up slightly to meet Derek- it’s the most incredible sex he’s ever had.


He increases the pressure of his thrusts, but keeps the pace unhurried, though he wants nothing more than to give in to the increasingly frantic urging of the wolf to take and claim, he also wants to make sure he’s the best sex Stiles has ever had. And the way the man is bowing off the desk is a fair indicator he’s succeeding.


Stiles is cursing lowly, hands clenched in a white knuckle grip on the edge of Derek’s desk, and he’s arched so far off the desk that with Derek’s arms supporting him his beautiful, hard cock is leaking tantalizingly close to Derek; close enough that if Derek were to curl forward just a little further, he could lick the stream of precome from Stiles’ slit, could wrap his lips around the tip enough to suck just a little. So he does. And Stiles- Stiles screams , and it washes over Derek, calls to him in the same way a howl from a packmate does, and Derek feels the last threads of his control snap as his name falls from Stiles’ lips in a deliciously wrecked sounding breath.


Derek lets Stiles fall gently to the desk, running his hands up his legs, his torso, raking his nails down the pale expanse of Stiles’ chest, leaving faint red lines that his wolf finds very satisfying, as he slows the rutting of his hips to an achingly glacial pace. “C’mere,” he growls, unable to keep the rumble out of his voice as he reaches for Stiles, pulling him up to fuse their mouths together in a hungry kiss. It’s eager and filthy, though their hands remain gentle as they cling to one another with lips and fingers, tongues thrusting and wriggling against each other, lips dragging and gliding together, palms warmly pressed to heated skin.

“I need to- nnnggh- Can I go harder? My wolf- I want to-” Derek attempts to articulate the myriad thoughts that are clamoring in his head, but the way that Stiles is reverently sucking bruises into his neck, mouthing wetly at the cords of his throat and licking soothingly over  the little, nipping kisses he’s trailing over Derek’s collar bones and shoulders is making it very difficult. The little, abortive movements of his lower body and the rhythmic squeezing he’s doing around Derek’s cock, as though he might otherwise forget he’s still buried inside the man, aren’t doing wonders for his concentration either.


Stiles hums into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, they both shiver. “I am so ok with that, Professor. And the fact that you can't keep straight who wants to fuck me more, you or the wolf inside you?” Stiles rolls his hips to punctuate the moan he lets out, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck and throwing his head back at the throb of Derek’s cock inside him, baring his throat; Derek doesn’t bother to try not to growl. Stiles whimpers out “It’s so fucking sexy. Turns me on in ways I can’t even- fuck, Der . What you do to me.” And Derek is officially in trouble, as if he wasn’t already, but the way Stiles says his name, how he looks at Derek like he sees him? Fuck.


“Fuck,” Derek says out loud, because this human makes him that eloquent, apparently, and it sounds like a benediction. He lifts Stiles from his desk,, kissing him deeply as he pulls out of the tight grasp of Stiles’ ass with a reluctant whine from both of them, lets his feet slide gently to rest on the floor until they’re pressed together from lips to toes. He pulls back from the kiss, his lips clinging to Stiles’ as though they don’t want to part. Before he can say a word, Stiles turns around, pressing the perfection that is his ass into Derek’s erection as he wraps his arms behind himself to tangle in Derek’s hair, his head falling back to rest on Derek’s shoulder.


“I believe,” he pushes into Derek, purring at the contact, “that I had requested to be bent over this desk, Professor Hale. Care to oblige me?” Stiles moans into Derek’s ear before he gracefully rolls himself forward to rest his elbows on the desk, Derek moves back to accommodate the new position, groaning at the picture Stiles makes draped over his desk, his papers and books scattered around the surface haphazardly.


Derek grips Stiles’ hips automatically, watching his dick slide in the cleft of the TA’s ass as the man rolls his hips to facilitate the slow drag. Derek is mesmerized, so much so that the strained laugh and exasperated “You going to make me beg for it, Doctor Hale, or are you going to fuck me?” startles him a little. Stiles is looking at him over his shoulder, a teasing grin lifting the corners of his mouth, and Derek moves and pushes into him hard in retaliation, though the gasping “Fuck,  yes ” that Stiles utters assures him he didn’t harm the man.


Stiles reaches back to hold Derek’s thigh as he begins to fuck him in earnest, the hot grip of Stiles’ ass around him, the mixed scent of their arousal, the sounds of slapping flesh and pleasured moans, the feeling of rightness of being joined like this, all urging Derek to move , and when Stiles starts to meet his thrusts with his own, starts to encourage Derek with a string of “ Harder, faster, right there, please, fuck, yes yes yes,” Derek’s rhythm becomes desperate.


He watches a bead of sweat roll down Stiles’ neck, traces it with his eyes at it trickles between his shoulder blades, follows it to the dip at the base of Stiles’ spine in fascination. He follows the next one with his tongue, the salty taste of Stiles sweat and the smooth texture of his skin a delicious combination on his tongue. He finds each freckle dotting Stiles’ back and laves at it, connecting random patterns with kisses and wet drags of his tongue.


When Stiles pants out his name, reaching for Derek’s hand, the sound of it-wrecked and full of affection even through the thick haze lust, Derek can’t help but wrap his free arm around his chest, pull him up against his chest and kiss and nuzzle at his neck, the thrust of his cock slow but no less brutal, a constant assault on Stiles’ prostate.


“So close, Derek.”


Derek urges Stiles to turn toward him with a nudge of his fingertips against Stiles’ chin, captures his mouth in a passionate kiss, awkward angle be damned. “I’m going to come inside you in about thirty seconds. Going to fill you up, baby. That ok?” Derek has lost all ability to properly dirty talk, he just wants to come, more specifically, to come all over Stiles.  “Please?” he adds, needing to hear that Stiles wants him, too.


The deep groan Stiles lets out is confirmation enough, but he adds “Gods, yes, Derek. Come inside me, fuck ” and Derek almost comes just from the low vibration of the sound. He fucks into Stiles as they are, standing, embracing like lounging lovers, for a few glorious thrusts, enjoying the short, dragging plunges and the shallow exhales they draw from them both. But he needs more, he’s so close, and Stiles seems to be as well; they just need a little more .


Derek helps guide Stiles back over the desk, his forearms bracing against the smooth polished wood. He draws his hips back slowly, savoring the clenching heat around his shaft, drags one hand down Stiles’ back unhurriedly, with purposeful tenderness; his fingers slide easily, aided by the thin sheen of sweat on them both. After a few long, measured thrusts, moving almost all the way out, enjoying the way Stiles’ hole seems to suck him back in, he nestles his thumb against where they’re joined, feels the slick of the lotion and his gathered precome, relishing in the way his cock and Stiles’ stretched hole look shiny with the combination, drags and pulls at Stiles’ rim a little just to hear the sound he makes: a surprised, choked off moan.


Then, Derek shunts his hips forward hard and fast, anchoring himself with one hand on Stiles’ shoulder and one on his hip, setting a stuttering pace, moving in and out of the tight scorch of Stiles’ ass with short, quick movements, barreling toward orgasm at a startling rate.


“Shi-it, Derek, touch me, pl-please,” Stiles whines without a trace of shame. Derek releases Stiles’ hip to snake his arm around to grip his absolutely aching erection, strokes him lightly for a long moment, until Stiles is keening loudly, before he tightens his grip, bends his knees just enough to change the angle of his dick to jab at Stiles’ prostate, and he draws his hand up the velvet soft and burning hot shaft in his hand, has just a moment to regret he won’t get to see Stiles come, and then he feels the sticky-hot-wet of it dripping over his fingers.


The sound of Stiles’ orgasm is the most incredible thing Derek has ever had the opportunity to hear, long, shuddering moans and a litany of curses, and Derek’s name like a chant to ancient deities. And the indescribable pleasure of the feel of Stiles’ insides seizing around him in rhythm with the spurt of his cock? Derek has never felt anything so exquisite.


He brings his hand to his mouth, licks some of the warm spend from his fingers, rubs the rest into where he and Stiles are joined and uses the extra slick to speed his final thrusts. When he comes, screaming “Mosze” like a prayer, he swears his vision goes black with the force of it, knows his claws come out, leaving small pinpricks of red on Stiles’ shoulder and the curve of one beautiful butt cheek. He can feel every pulse and every spurt of his dick, pulls out just enough to watch it spill out of Stiles’ stretched hole, dribble around his cock.


When he’s done coming, long moments later, he draws out of Stiles slowly, rubs his dick around in small circles again, pushes back into the TA, pushes his come back inside the man. He doesn’t quite want to pull out, so he gathers the sticky drops of come that have leaked out between them, rubs it into Stiles skin, between his shoulder blades in a crude imitation of his own tattoo. When it brings a happy sigh from the human, Derek smiles, drapes himself over the man and wraps his arms around him. Working to ensure they stay connected, Derek carefully maneuvers them into his oversized desk chair, tracing lazy patterns into Stiles’ chest and scenting the man shamelessly.


Stiles leans into every caress and every kiss to his neck elicits a contented hum. Derek has never been much for cuddling, but he finds himself wishing for his great big bed, so he could hold Stiles properly. Stiles drops his head to Derek’s shoulder, turns to rub his nose along Derek’s cheek, it’s almost a wolf gesture, and it makes him and his wolf rumble contentedly.


Derek isn’t wholly certain what to say, how to make Stiles stay, but before he can work himself into a state, Stiles kisses his temple and breathes out a guileless but pant laden “So, Professor, did I pass?” and all Derek can manage is a startled laugh.


“I don’t know, I think we may need further review.”


“I’m so ok with that, I’m good at revision. Just, maybe, next time, with a bed? A bed would be nice.”


Derek laughs again, and it shakes them enough that his mostly softened cock slips out of Stiles, releasing a warm flood of come between their tangled legs, they groan in unison. “Maybe a shower, too? A shower’d be good,” Stiles makes a sound of agreement, using their clasped hands to pull Derek’s arms around himself.


“You know,” Derek begins with obviously false casualness, “I have a jacuzzi tub at home, it’s big enough for two.”



And it was.