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“Who’s this new teacher?” Scott asked as they picked up their schedules from the front office. “Mr. Hale?”
“I don’t know,” Stiles responded, hitching his bag higher on his shoulder. “But we should go, or we’ll be late for his class.”
They navigated through the ocean of uniform-clad students waiting in line for their schedule and walked through the walls of their boarding school, hardly looking where they were going since they knew the school so well. They’d been there since kindergarten. They’d been wearing the damn white shirt and black tie for twelve years. This was their last year, though, so they were counting down the days.
“Where is he?” Stiles asked as they took seats in the back of the classroom.
“I don’t know.” Scott pulled out a notebook and pencil; Stiles did the same, writing the date in the top corner of the first page.
“Good morning.” A tall, dark-haired, attractive-as-hell man walked in with a briefcase. “I’m Mr. Hale, your new history teacher. I know you were probably expecting Mrs. Lee, but she’s taking the year off to take care of her new baby.” He pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase. “I’ll go over the syllabus as soon as you all have one.” He started passing them out.
Stiles turned to Scott and grinned. He mouthed, “Holy shit,” before turning around to get the syllabus.
“As you can see,” Mr. Hale said, looking over the paper, “we will be breaking up American history into four sections: pre-colonial times through the Revolutionary War; the Revolutionary War to the Civil War; the Civil War to World War II; and World War II to the present. There will be exams for each of them, each worth twenty percent of your grade. The other twenty percent of your grade will come from group work and participation. The only homework in this class is reading the textbook. You will not be tested daily on the information, nor will there be a set schedule, but you must read the required chapters by the exam dates. Any questions on that?”
The class shook their heads. No homework? No daily tests? Hell yes! There would be no complaints from them.
“Time for attendance.” Mr. Hale read out the names down the list, only calling out the last name if he couldn’t pronounce the first name. This was good news; Stiles hated teachers trying to pronounce his first name. It finally got down to him. “Wow, um…Stilinski?”
“Here,” Stiles said, raising his hand. “I go by Stiles.”
Mr. Hale nodded, marking something on the attendance sheet before moving on to the rest of the class. When he was finished, he put down the attendance sheet and turned on the computer.
“To test your knowledge,” he said, turning on the projector, “I’m going to show you some slides and I ask you to write down what’s important about the picture or painting. You will be turning this in, so put your name on the paper and write legibly. I will give you two minutes per slide. Starting…now.”
~~~
After class, Stiles pulled Scott into a less crowded hallway.
“Dude, we’ll be late to English.”
“I don’t care, I need to talk to you about this.” Stiles was talking at a million miles an hour as he usually did when he was excited. “Did you see how fucking hot Mr. Hale is?”
“Stiles, I’m straight.”
“I know, but he’s objectively hot, yeah?”
Scott rolled his eyes. “Sure. Come on, let’s go.”
“No, Scott, I’m serious. I think…I mean, damn, this sounds cheesy, but I felt…I felt a spark? I don’t know. It felt different than before.”
“Even different than Lydia?” Lydia was the only girl Stiles had ever had a crush on, and it was pretty intense.
“Much different. Better.”
Scott smirked slightly. “We’re still gonna be late to English.”
~~~
“Stiles, please stay after class.”
Stiles’ stomach dropped. Mr. Hale had just told him to stay after class. Was he in trouble? Was his wildest fantasy about to come true?
It was about two weeks into the term and they’d taken their first test the other day. Maybe that was it.
“What’s up?” Stiles asked, approaching his gloriously hot teacher as the other students filed out.
“Do you have class after this?”
“English with Coach.”
“I’ll send you back with a note to explain why you’re late. I wanted to discuss your test.”
“Did I fail?”
“No, actually, you did perfectly. Too perfectly. You even answered my trick question correctly.” Mr. Hale was glaring at him. “I know you cheated.”
“What? No, I didn’t cheat!” He was telling the truth; he just so happened to love everything about this class and wanted to impress Mr. Hale. But he couldn’t say that out loud.
“It sure looks like you did. Very suspicious. Now, as I see it, I have two courses of action. I could report you for cheating and you could flunk the course.”
“Oh, God,” Stiles groaned, running a hand through his hair. If he failed this course, he couldn’t graduate on time.
“Or,” Mr. Hale continued, as if Stiles hadn’t spoken, “I could give you detentions for the rest of term.”
“Detentions, hands down.”
“You realize I said ‘for the rest of the term,’ right?”
“Yeah, but I can’t fail. My dad would kill me.”
Mr. Hale nodded. He reached for a piece of paper and wrote something on it. “Give this to Coach. I’ll see you tonight, this classroom, right after school. Do you have a way to get home?”
“Yeah, I drive to school. Right after? I have lacrosse.”
“If you fail my class, you won’t be eligible for lacrosse. I’m sure Coach will understand.” He sat at his desk, signaling the end of the conversation.
Stiles left the classroom, clutching the note. He’d just gotten private detentions with his teacher for the rest of term. Who cares if he’d miss lacrosse? He’d get an hour every day for the next three months alone with the hottest guy in the world. He looked at the note; it read: “Please excuse Stiles for being tardy, I needed to discuss his grades. Derek Hale.” Derek. His first name was Derek. Stiles said the name under his breath a few times; it was heavenly.
When he got to English, Scott winked at him. He scowled and handed the excuse note to Coach. Then he sat by Scott and had to endure his grins, winks, and nudges for an hour. When the bell rang, Scott burst out laughing.
“What?” Stiles asked.
“I’ve never seen you look so uncomfortable,” Scott said, punching him lightly.
“Shut up.”
“So what happened?”
“I have private detentions with Mr. Hale for the rest of term.”
Scott’s mouth dropped. “What? Why?”
“Because he thinks I cheated on the test and it was either that or failing the class. So. Obvious choice.”
Scott grinned widely. “Dude, that’s amazing. Be sure to use protection.”
Stiles punched him. “Shut up. Let’s go to lunch.”
~~~
“Mr. Hale?” Stiles said, pushing open the classroom door after school.
“Come in,” Mr. Hale said, putting away some files and taking off a pair of reading glasses. Damn, he looked hot in those. “You’re going to be my TA this term. You’ll help me grade exams and group work.”
“Will there be enough for the whole term?”
Mr. Hale smirked. “I teach five classes.”
“Oh. Shit.”
Stiles sat in the front row, dropping his backpack below the desk. This hour every day might not be the best hour of his life. He’d actually be doing work.
“Here’s some in-class work,” Mr. Hale said, handing over a stack of crumpled papers. “And the answer sheet. I’d like it finished by the end of the hour.”
Stiles nodded, taking out a pen and starting to work. Wow, some kids his age still didn’t know how to write legibly. This was gonna be tough.
When he finished the stack, he looked at the clock; he still had ten minutes until the hour was up.
“Are you done?” Mr. Hale asked, looking up from his computer.
“Yeah.”
“I guess you can go, then. See you in class tomorrow.”
Stiles walked out of the classroom slightly dazed, almost floating. He’d just spent an hour in the company of Mr. Hale with no one else there. He only barely paid attention to the road as he drove home. Holy shit, that was amazing. Just being with him felt so great. Not just sex-wise either; Stiles felt weirdly at-home around him. Speaking of home, his dad was here. Shit. Stiles pulled into the driveway, turned off his car, and headed inside; the Sheriff was waiting in the entryway.
“Stiles Stilinski, where the hell were you?” he asked, arms folded, an extremely angry look on his face.
Stiles felt heat rise into his face. “Detention.”
The Sheriff raised his eyebrows. “And why the hell are you in detention?”
“Mr. Hale thought I cheated on my test.”
“Did you?”
“No, I just know the answers. But I can’t prove that, so he was either going to flunk me or give me detentions for the rest of term.”
The Sheriff stared at him for a second before nodding curtly. “Go to your room until dinner.”
Stiles nodded and ran up to his room. He was in big trouble now. He texted Scott about his day and then started studying; he really needed to keep his grades up now that his dad was watching him closer. He was so immersed in his studies that he didn’t hear his dad call him down for dinner.
“Stiles Stilinski!” the Sheriff shouted up the stairs, making Stiles jump. “I’ve called you four times, get down here now to eat!”
Stiles closed his books and went downstairs to the dining room. His father was already eating, and he had a bottle of sherry next to him.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you about dinner.”
“It’s okay, Dad,” Stiles said as he piled his plate with food.
“No, it isn’t. I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry.”
Stiles nodded, not sure what to say.
“You are still grounded.”
Stiles groaned. “But, Dad—”
“No, I’m not listening to any of that. When you get done eating, you can go to your room and study.”
~~~
“What do you have today, Mr. Hale?” Stiles asked, dropping his backpack on the floor. It was two months into the term, with only a month left till the detentions were over.
“Actually, nothing.” Mr. Hale was typing something on his computer, looking at the screen through his reading glasses. “But you still have to stay for the hour. And I can think of something for us to do.”
Stiles’ heart pounded as he sat in the desk. That sounded like a line from porn, to be honest.
“No, don’t sit. Come stand in front of the desk.”
Stiles stood, shaking, and stopped in front of Mr. Hale’s desk.
“Stiles,” he said, standing and walking around the desk. “Does anyone walk by this door? Or the windows?”
“No, sir.” Mr. Hale was now so close to him, mere feet. Stiles’ palms were sweating.
“And is there a security camera?”
Stiles inhaled sharply. “No, sir.”
Mr. Hale was behind him now, inches behind him. Stiles felt his breath on his neck and it just made him so hot and horny.
“So there’s no one around to hear us.” He kissed Stiles’ neck, one hand holding his hips, the other slipping down the front of his jeans. “How old are you, Stiles?”
“S-seventeen, sir.” Stiles couldn’t concentrate, not with Mr. Hale’s hand so close to his dick.
“Close enough.” He forcefully turned Stiles around and smashed their lips together. Stiles leaned into the kiss, rutting his crotch against Mr. Hale.
“Fuck,” he moaned when Mr. Hale put him on the desk and ground their groins together. “Derek…”
Mr. Hale pulled back. “How did you know my name?”
Stiles gulped. He didn’t want Mr. Hale to leave. “I saw it on a note once.”
Mr. Hale smirked. “Well, call me that now. Call me Derek. I want to make you fucking scream it.”
Stiles groaned; Derek smirked and kissed him again, running his fingers under the boy’s shirt, pinching and tweaking his nipples, yanking the shirt off. He kissed down Stiles’ chest, undid his jeans, yanked them down, and took Stiles in his mouth.
“Oh, my God,” Stiles moaned, placing his hands on the desk behind him to hold on to something. “Fucking hell, that’s good.”
Derek was sucking and licking and stroking and it was all so amazing. He was moaning and he didn’t care. And then he felt his orgasm building.
“Derek, I’m gonna come.”
Derek pulled back, still lightly stroking him. “I can probably make you come again by the time your detention’s over.”
Stiles was speechless, which didn’t happen often. Derek took him back in his mouth and sucked him until he cried out and exploded in his mouth; Derek swallowed it all like he was dying of thirst. Then he stood up and took off his own shirt and pants and pulled out a bottle of what must be lube and a condom and told Stiles to get on his knees.
“W-why?” Stiles stuttered. Not that he didn’t want to, of course. He just wanted to prepare himself for the first blow job he’d ever give.
“Because I’m not hard enough to fuck you yet.”
Speechless again, he knelt in front of his teacher and gave the beautiful cock in front of him a few experimental tugs before licking from base to tip and then closing his mouth around it.
“Fuck yeah, Stiles,” Derek said, placing a hand on his head. “Can you take it all?”
Stiles shrugged, swallowing more and more of his cock, but he gagged when it hit the back of his throat.
“Okay, you don’t have to.” He didn’t even sound disappointed. “Just keep sucking. And…move your tongue.”
He did as he was told, swirling his tongue around the head, licking the precome leaking from the tip. Then Derek pushed him away, pulled him to his feet, and bent him over the desk. Stiles could hear the lube opening and then felt cold, wet fingers against his hole. He gasped, clenching.
“Hey, relax, Stiles,” Derek said, massaging his finger around and dipping it in. “This will hurt if you’re not relaxed.”
“It’ll hurt anyway,” he replied. “I’ve done research.”
Derek laughed. “Did you research this?” He curled his fingers and pressed against a little bundle of nerves inside Stiles, which made him buck against the desk and groan. His dick was starting to get hard again.
“Prostate?” Stiles mumbled.
“Yep.” Another finger; it burned, but he liked that. Huh. Stiles hadn’t known he was into pain. Three fingers, then four, then they were gone and the condom wrapper fell to the floor and then something large was pressed against him.
“Relax,” Derek said, pushing inside. It didn’t hurt, probably because of the preparing Derek had done. It wasn’t long before Derek was completely inside him, and it felt so great.
“How’s that?” Derek asked, trailing a finger lightly down Stiles’ spine.
“Fucking great. Please fuck me.” Oh, God, why did he beg? He wasn’t the begging type.
“If you say so.” He pulled out and thrust back in, harder and faster than before.
“Fuck!” Stiles called out, grasping the desk. “Fuck, don’t stop. Fuck me so hard.”
“Say please.”
“Please, please, please fuck me, Derek.”
Derek grabbed onto the desk and started thrusting hard and fast and deep, brushing against Stiles’ prostate. Stiles cried out with every forward thrust and reached down to stroke his aching cock. Derek slapped his hand away.
“You’re gonna come without touching,” he said, panting slightly from the effort.
Stiles groaned, but kept his hand on the desk. There it was, he was so close, he could feel it, but he wasn’t sure if he could come without touching himself. He rode the edge for a minute or so until suddenly, unexpectedly, he exploded, shooting quite a lot of come straight to the ground. He was pretty sure he’d screamed Derek’s name as he did.
“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groaned, hips stuttering. “Fuck!” He thrust forward one more time and stayed there, cock pulsing inside Stiles. Then he pulled out and took off the condom, throwing it away. Stiles was still leaning over the desk, panting, an empty feeling in his ass. He decided he needed to get up, so he pushed himself off the desk and pulled his pants up, accepting the shirt Derek offered.
“This doesn’t leave this room,” Derek said, pulling out some paper towels to clean up Stiles’ mess. “You don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“Can it happen again?”
Derek looked at him, smile forming on his lips. “Oh, hell yes.”