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Hell of a Week

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“Hi Lyd – I mean, Miss Martin.”

It was always difficult to get back into the groove of a new school year, especially remembering to call his colleagues by their full names, just in case students were listening. 

“Hi, Mr. Hale,” she giggled.

Lydia Martin did not giggle.  She smirked, she chuckled, she laughed – she definitely did not giggle.

“What’s going on?”

“Come on,” she said, grabbing his arm and dragging him to the faculty room, “you’re going to love this.”

The faculty room, usually fairly quiet on the first day of the year as the teachers dealt with the back to school blues, was louder than he’d ever heard it.  Allison (Mrs. McCall) was sitting at a table near the window, her head in her hands and her face bright red.  Her husband, Scott, was standing on a couch and reading aloud from a composition notebook.  Everyone else was laughing hysterically.

“…that his hands would feel like this.  I never imagined that he would want me the way I wanted him, and it was such an intoxicating feeling that I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.  His teeth – oh god, his teeth – were gleaming and I could just feel the press of his claws against my waist – ”

“Wait!” yelled Mr. Lahey.  Like Allison, Isaac’s face was bright red.  Tears rolled down his cheeks as he fought to stop laughing long enough to speak.  “Teeth and claws?  Is he a werewolf?”

Derek turned to Lydia.  “What’s going on?”

Through her laughter, Lydia managed to say, “You know Allison’s summer creative writing assignment?  They have to write a page a day all summer.  This is what one of her kids turned in.  It’s practically porn!”

Scott continued, “...the press of his claws against my waist, reminding me that I wasn’t just about to sleep with a gorgeous older man, but a man of supernatural speed and strength.  I ran my hands across his chest, still not believing that I was allowed to touch this god brought to life, and watched him shudder as I just barely grazed his nipple.”

Scott’s reading quickly dissolved into laughter.  Derek heard Boyd’s deeper voice calling, “Let me, McCall!” 

Derek moved over to sit next to Allison as Boyd started reading.  “Is this for real?”

Allison groaned, not bothering to lift her head.  “What am I supposed to do?  The principal and guidance counselors are out of the building for a conference, and the vice-principal told me that I need to take care of it myself.”

Boyd’s reading was much more dramatic than Scott’s.  “…as he ran a hand oh-so-slowly down my stomach, stopping to pop the button of my jeans and slide down the zipper.  I had never been so turned on in my life – I was terrified that I was going to come just from the feeling of the heel of his hand against my cock – ”

“Oh my god, a guy wrote this!” Scott exclaimed, jumping up and down on the couch.  “It just gets better and better!  Your creative writing kids came up with gay werewolves, honey,” he yelled at Allison.

Allison whimpered. 

Derek couldn’t help laughing as he asked, “So, which kid?  Do I know him?”

He could see that Allison was conflicted as she raised her head.  It was clear that she didn’t want everybody to know which student had written it, but she obviously wanted somebody to turn to for help. 

She flipped open her gradebook and pointed to a name. 



Stiles, unquestionably the most infuriating seventeen-year-old to ever grace the halls of Beacon Hills High School, was the bane of Derek’s existence.  Not because he was a bad student or a troublemaker (in fact, he was so bright that he often challenged Derek’s ideas and took lessons in completely different directions), but because he made Derek want

Derek had been his teacher for tenth and eleventh grade literature, and he had loved every minute of their teacher/student interaction.  Stiles was smart and capable, and his work was consistently the best in his class.  But every time he stretched or sucked on a pen cap or gestured wildly with his long-fingered hands, Derek just wanted to jump on him and…well, do what Stiles had been writing about.    

Allison’s eyes lit up.  “Derek, you know him!  Can you please talk to him?”  She grabbed his arm.  “I’ll do anything.  I’ll cover your lunch duty!  Or your study hall!  I’ll make your lunch every single day!”

“I don’t know, I – ” 

“Oh, please!  I’ve only met the kid once!  You know him already.  Plus, you’re a guy!  It will be easier for you.  Please, please, please!”

Allison must have been taking lessons from her husband in making sad puppy eyes, because Derek found himself considering it.  He really didn’t want to talk to Stiles about this, but Allison was right – it would be less embarrassing for to do it.  Probably less embarrassing for Stiles, as well. 

But how could he acknowledge what Stiles had written without revealing how much it affected him?

“Allison, I don’t think I can.”

She sighed, releasing his arm.  “It’s okay.  I understand.” 

And, dammit, she placed her hand on her swollen stomach. 

“All right,” he sighed.  “I’ll do it.  Pregnant women shouldn’t have to go through something this stressful.  But you owe me!”

He stood to leave, prompting Boyd to call out, “Come on, Derek, don’t you want to hear about ‘him gently tying my arms to the headboard’ before he ‘sucked bruises into the thin skin of my neck?’”

For once, Derek was glad for his (only partially deserved) reputation as a buzzkill. 

“Okay, fun’s over.  The bell will be ringing soon.  Everybody calm down and get back to your rooms.”

As the laughter faded, Derek left, notebook in hand, trying desperately to figure out what he was going to say to Stiles. 




“Hi, Mr. Hale!  Miss Reyes said that you wanted to see me.”

Derek gestured toward the first row of desks.  “Stiles.  Have a seat, please.”

Instead of sitting, Stiles flung himself at the desk as though it had personally wronged him.  He dropped his backpack on the floor and let out a huge sigh.

“Long day?” Derek asked.

“Ugh, the first one is always terrible.  But I’m sure you think so, too.  It must be really hard to keep us all in line after we’ve been off for a whole summer.  Anyway, between the crapload of homework and ridiculous practice schedule we just got, today has pretty much sucked.”

“Well,” Derek paused, not really sure how to continue.  “Well, your day is probably going to get a little worse.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, just furrowed his brow and watched as Derek dragged his chair over next to Stiles’ desk. 

“Okay,” Derek said, “um…I don’t really know how to say this, so…”

Derek had spent all afternoon reading Stiles’ journal.  He still had no clue how exactly he should bring up this incredible disregard for boundaries, so he simply slid Stiles’ notebook across the desk. 

If anything, Stiles looked more confused.  “My summer writing journal?  Oh god, how bad was it?  If Mrs. McCall sent you to tell me that I’m a terrible writer, I’m going to cry.  Seriously, I thought that it was okay!  I mean, yeah – I never got super comfortable with the whole dystopian element, but I really tried my hardest!  I wanted to show that – ”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted gently, “this is completely inappropriate.” 

“What do you mean?  The part about the revolutionaries?  I know that was a little strange, but if you can’t experiment in something that’s not being graded, when can you?  I don’t think it’s inappropriate, though!  Look!”

Stiles began to page through his journal, looking for a specific passage to show Derek.  Suddenly, he gasped and froze, his hands suspended above the notebook. 

As Derek watched, all of the color drained from Stiles’ face, leaving him white and – was he shaking?

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god,” Stiles whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.  “Please let this be a dream.  Please please please.”

Derek was starting to worry.  “Stiles, are you okay?”

“No no no no no,” Stiles continued to whisper.  “This can’t be happening.”

Derek leaned in and gently grabbed one of Stiles’ hands.  Stiles recoiled with such force that Derek almost fell forward onto him. 

“So,” Stiles said, opening his eyes and looking anywhere but at Derek.  “I have two notebooks.  I obviously turned in the wrong journal.  My creative writing one must be at home.  I didn’t mean…I wasn’t trying to…this was an accident, Mr. Hale!”

When he lifted his head to look at Derek, tears shone in his eyes and on his cheeks.  “This is literally the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me.  I swear I didn’t mean to do this.”  His voice was soft.  “Am I in trouble?”

“You’re not in trouble,” Derek told him.  “Mrs. McCall is extremely embarrassed, but it’s okay.  I’m the only person she told.  When I explain to her what happened, everything will be fine.”  He chose not to mention Scott and Boyd’s dramatic readings, figuring that hearing about it would only make Stiles even more embarrassed.

“I…I’m so sorry.  Can I go?” 

“Sure,” Derek said, realizing how uncomfortable Stiles must be. 

But as Stiles made his way to the classroom door, Derek couldn’t stand to see how sad he looked. 

“Stiles,” he called, “there’s one more thing.”

Stiles stopped, but didn’t turn to face him.


“Werewolves?  Really?

The part of Stiles’ face that he could see turned red faster than he thought humanly possible. 

“Oh my god, shut up.  I hate you.”

But at least he was laughing as he went out the door. 



Since Derek didn’t teach Stiles, he didn’t see him for the rest of the week.  He didn’t want Stiles to feel more embarrassed, so he didn’t seek him out.  In the end, Stiles was the one who came to him. 

It was finally Friday, and Derek had spent the last four evenings running, doing extra work for school, and cooking complicated meals.  Anything to keep his mind off of Stiles.  Stiles, who Derek now knew liked men (or liked men enough to write about having sex with one) and who intrigued him like no one else – student or not – ever had.   

The thoughts that he was having were completely inappropriate, but Derek had successfully resisted temptation for two years.  Now, though, after having read Stiles’ journal, he was unable to focus on anything but imagining himself as the mystery man in all of those scenarios.      

Every night ended the same way, no matter how hard he tried to ignore his feelings: with him in the shower, one hand on his dick and Stiles’ name on his lips. 

“Mr. Hale?  Are you busy?”

Stiles’ voice was soft and tentative.  He appeared to be freshly showered, probably coming from lacrosse practice.  Derek was suddenly made aware of just how late it was – he had been grading papers for so long that it was nearly 7:00 in the evening. 

“Hi, Stiles.  What’s up?”

“Um, I wanted to say thanks,” Stiles told him as he approached Derek’s desk. 

“For what?”

“You know, for being really cool on Monday.  I still can’t believe I did that.”

Derek chuckled.  “No problem.  You have to admit, though – it was pretty funny.”

“Yeah,” Stiles grinned, “funny for you.  It was pretty much the most embarrassing moment of my life.” 

“How was practice?”

“Ah, practice.”  Stiles groaned.  “It pretty much sucked.  I’ve been…I’ve been really distracted lately, and Coach was not happy with my performance today.”

“Distracted?  What’s going on?”  Though Derek was genuinely curious, a part of him wanted nothing more than for Stiles to turn around and leave.  Having the subject of his fantasies standing damp and red-faced in front of him was like torture.  He just wanted to go home and jerk off – nope, he realized, watching Stiles’ tongue dart out to wet his lips, he’d probably be reaching into his pants the second Stiles closed the door behind him. 

“Um, most embarrassing moment of my life, remember?”

Derek’s mouth suddenly went dry as Stiles took a step closer, bringing him into Derek’s personal space. 

“So,” Stiles continued, “I kind of just wanted to crawl into a hole and die.  Especially because it was you who had to talk to me about it.  But I realized something.”  He looked right at Derek.  “You read it.”

Derek wasn’t sure what to say, but luckily he didn’t have to.  Stiles continued, “And you weren’t disgusted by it.  And last year I thought that maybe you wanted…you know what, here goes nothing.  I’m pretty sure that I’ve already reached maximum embarrassment level, so –”

Before he could say anything, Stiles was practically throwing himself at Derek, landing in his lap and smashing their mouths together. 

For a moment, Derek was frozen.  All of his instincts screamed at him to respond, to lick into Stiles’ mouth, to push him down on top of his desk – but his rational mind reminded him that Stiles was a student.  He was seventeen years old and Derek was in a position of authority over him.  This couldn’t happen.

Fuck his rational mind.  For a few moments, he lost himself in hot slide of Stiles’ tongue against his, then he separated their mouths as gently as he could. 

“Stiles, we can’t do this,” he told him, slightly out of breath.

“I think we can.  You want me, I want you – that entire notebook was about you, you know?  All of the ways that I want to be with you.”

Derek practically swallowed his tongue trying to process what was going on as Stiles grinned and pressed his thigh between Derek’s legs.    

“Don’t try to lie to me.  You want me.”

Before he even realized he was moving, Derek had lifted his hands to the back of Stiles head, his fingers burrowing into his hair. 

“Yes,” he admitted.  “But it can’t work.”

“Why not?  Because I’m too young?  Because I’m a student?  Listen, I’m eighteen now!  And you’re not my teacher.  You’re just a dude who teaches in the building where I go to school.  There’s nothing wrong with this!”

It couldn’t be that easy, could it?  Could he actually have what he wanted?

“So,” Stiles said, dropping his head to trail his open mouth across Derek’s neck, “any other objections?”

There was a loud knock on the door.  “Hey, Hale?”

Shit shit shit.

Stiles grinned and slid off Derek’s lap.  He crawled under Derek’s desk just as the door flew open. 

“Coach Finstock.  What’s up?”

He had no idea what Finstock was saying.  He just nodded and murmured agreement at what he hoped was the right time, all of his brainpower currently focused on the fact that Stiles was oh-so-slowly unzipping his pants. 

He tried to swat Stiles away without drawing attention to himself, but Finstock noticed.  “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek lied, “just a little itchy.  Must be the new laundry detergent I tried.”

“Yeah, okay.  So, like I was saying, if we could get the kids in your class to do the writing part and the kids in my class to…”

Derek stopped listening again as Stiles pulled his cock out through the slit in his boxers and gave him a few tentative strokes.  Derek had to grab his chair’s armrests so that Finstock wouldn’t see how much his hands were shaking.

He had just become used to the feeling of Stiles’ palm stroking him, even managing to listen long enough to determine that Finstock wanted to do some kind of cross-curricular activity with their seniors, when Stiles leaned in and pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock. 

“Oh shit!”  The words were out of his mouth before he could even think about holding them in. 

Finstock looked concerned.  “You sure you’re okay?”

“Definitely!  Just a, uh, a little leg cramp.  I’m fine.”

Derek felt the small puff of air of Stiles’ quiet laugh.  He looked down and immediately wished he hadn’t.  Stiles parted his lips and slid them around Derek, at first just sucking at the head, but then gradually moving slowly down the shaft as though he was trying to see just how much he could fit in his mouth.

Oh, fuck, it was amazing, the way his mouth looked and felt stretched out around him.  He had been imagining it for years, but he had never thought that it might actually happen.  And certainly not in his classroom, under his desk.    

He knew that he could push Stiles away, that he could wordlessly ask him to please stop until they were alone, but he didn’t want to.  Obviously this wasn’t ideal – nobody wanted Finstock’s rambling to be the soundtrack to a blowjob – but he couldn’t bring himself to stop it.  Stiles’ mouth was hot and wet and just made for him. 

His lack of experience was driving Derek crazy.  The up and down motions, the little licks to the head, the hand tightening around the base – he had no idea what to expect, and it was pushing him closer and closer to the edge.     

He couldn’t help it – he dropped one hand to the back of Stiles’ head, not to force him, but just to guide him as he began to move faster.  A tiny groan had him glancing farther down to see that Stiles was squeezing himself through his jeans.

Stiles’ mouth suddenly froze.

Derek watched as his eyes rolled back into his head.  It took him a few moments (during which he couldn’t help but thrust a little into Stiles’ mouth) to realize that Stiles had just come.  He was torn between feeling jealous that he hadn’t been the one to bring Stiles to orgasm and feeling a little god-like at seeing just how much he affected Stiles.

It took just a few seconds for Stiles’ brain to come back online, and an even shorter amount of time for Derek to thrust deep once, twice, three times – and it was all over.

Derek Hale had been brought to orgasm many times in his life, both by his own hands and by others’.  He had considered some of them particularly intense, but this eclipsed them all.  Coming into Stiles’ mouth was fucking life-changing.  It felt as though every nerve ending in his body was exposed as electricity crackled through his veins.  It took every ounce of willpower that he had to not just gag Stiles with his cock, to make him swallow around the head and milk out every last drop.

“Oh, fuck fuck fuck!”  He tried to make it quiet, but Finstock obviously noticed.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes!”  Derek couldn’t think.  Shit, what kind of excuse would Finstock buy?  “I, uh, I was trying to hold in a fart.”

“What?  You should never do that!  Keeping ‘em in causes all kinds of problems.  Next time, just let it out.”

“Ah, okay.  Sure.  Next time.”

“All right, Hale.  See you on Monday.  Get some sleep.  It seems like you need it.  You’re acting really weird.”

Just like that, Finstock was gone and Stiles was lifting his head up from Derek’s lap. 

“Derek?” he whispered.  “Fuck me?”

Derek groaned and hauled Stiles up into his lap.  This time, when their mouths met, he could taste himself on Stiles’ lips.

“Yes,” he gasped, unwilling to put any space between their mouths.  “But not here.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, grabbing his backpack and moving toward the door.  “I know where you live.  I…well, I had Danny hack into the faculty directory.  I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.” 

Oh, he was so screwed.  In all of his fantasies, Derek was the one who had been the aggressor, the one who had propositioned Stiles.  He had never imagined this fearless, wanton creature willing to do whatever it took to get what he wanted.  He pictured Stiles in his bed, naked and stretched out over him, ready to – wait, why was he imagining it?  Stiles was on his way to his house, ready to bring to life all of their mutual fantasies.

He stood and shoved paperwork wildly into his bag.  With any luck, he wouldn’t leave his bedroom for the next two days, but it never hurt to be prepared.  He stopped his whirlwind packing when he noticed a notebook that definitely did not belong to him at the bottom of his bag.  Affixed to the front cover was a smiley-face sticky note that read: I wrote so much more this week.  I was feeling hopeful.      

Derek opened the journal to the last page.

I was shaking a little with nerves at the thought that what I’d wanted for so long was finally going to be mine.  It was true that I was just eighteen and we probably couldn’t tell anyone about our relationship until I graduated, but that was okay with me.  I just wanted Derek. 
He didn’t know that I’d overheard him telling another teacher that he kept his spare key under the rock next to his door.  He had no clue that when he arrived home, I would be naked in his bed, loving the feeling of sheets that smelled like him rubbing against my skin.  He had no idea what I had planned for him. 

He turned the page so forcefully that it ripped, but there was nothing else.  He grabbed the notebook and his keys, leaving the rest of the mess on the middle of his desk, and sprinted for the parking lot. 

On the way, he ran directly into Finstock.  “Hale, what is wrong with you today?”

He had no idea what made him say it.  “There is an absolutely gorgeous man waiting naked in my bed.” 

Finstock’s eyes went wide, but he recovered quickly.  He grinned, tipped an imaginary hat to Derek, and said, “Well done, sir.  Enjoy your weekend.”

When Derek was almost to the door, Finstock yelled, “Just make sure he’s not too tired for practice on Monday!”


Oh god, how did he know?  He couldn’t have seen Stiles under the desk.  And Derek had never acted inappropriately toward Stiles (until today, that is).  How did he know? 

Finstock laughed at Derek’s open-mouthed stare.  “It’s okay, Hale.  He’s eighteen, right?  You’re fine.  Now go sex him up.”

It was clearly a case of mass temporary insanity.  Stiles actually wanted him, Finstock was talking to him about sex – wait, why was he worrying about it now? 

Stiles was waiting for him.  The man he had been waiting for and wanting for two years was getting naked and climbing into his bed.  He grinned and waved at Finstock, and pushed the doors open, already planning the fastest route back home.  Stiles was waiting for him.