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Derek never claimed to be the barhopping type. First of all he had to endure being around people, which was exhausting in of itself, but it also meant that he almost always had to carry at least one of his heavily intoxicated friends home by the end of the night. And quite frankly, while approaching 40, he just felt too old to be mingling around college kids at any given moment. However, Erica was persuasive, meaning she would incessantly call him until she got the answer she wanted. Apparently, the end of summer was to be celebrated, before they went back to teach the promising youths of Beacon Hills High School the next day.
Which was how he ended up solo at the fourth bar of the evening, quietly nursing a whiskey in a booth while Erica and Boyd were more or less dry-humping on the dance floor. Isaac had excused himself when his phone lit up five minutes prior and Derek pretended he didn’t see Cora’s name on the display. Derek hoped this was the last stop for the evening, or he would be particularly cranky at work the next day.
At least the place wasn’t overly crowded. Erica and Boyd only shared the dance floor with five or so couples and a group of color-coordinated girls in bubble gum pink, and a few of the booths were still empty. Some college kids, judging by their appearances, seemed to be celebrating some occasion in the booth opposite of Derek’s, ordering more and more elaborate drinks. Derek sighed and leaned back in his seat. He closed his eyes. A headache was creeping on, egged on by the incessant pounding of the music. He truly was getting far too old for this.
Someone cleared their throat.
“Are you made of uranium and iodine?”
Derek opened his eyes. One of the college kids, the cute one with the moles, was leaning against the booth with a bright green, sparkling drink in hand.
“Sorry?” Derek replied, eyebrows creased in confusion.
“I said, are you made of uranium and iodine?” The guy repeated, a tiny smile tilting the corners of his mouth upwards. “Because all I can see is U and I together.”
Derek blinked, his brain trying to catch up to what was happening.
“Does that one actually ever work?” He questioned, trying to hide his amusement behind a sip of whiskey. The guy’s face brightened, which probably meant that Derek didn’t succeed in hiding anything at all.
“You tell me,” he replied and gestured towards the empty space next to Derek in the booth. “Is this seat taken?”
Technically it was, but Erica and Boyd had progressed from dry-humping to making out and Isaac was still nowhere to be seen. Derek wasn’t really looking for anything, especially not from a college kid, but he was in the fourth bar in as many hours, he was going back to work tomorrow, and a flirty conversation wouldn’t do any harm.
“It’s free,” he replied and the guy didn’t hesitate to slide into the booth. He kept a respectful distance, though his feet happened to bump into Derek’s. Derek didn’t move them.
“I’m Stiles,” he said and up close Derek could see how his tongue was a bit green from his drink.
“Derek.”
“Nice to meet you, Derek,” Stiles said and the way his tongue wrapped around Derek’s name made something flutter pleasantly in Derek’s stomach. “Now, did you know that scientists recently discovered a rare new element?”
“Haven’t heard of it, no.”
“It’s called Beautium and it looks like you’re made of it.”
Derek groaned, taking another sip of his whiskey.
“That one was worse than the first one.”
“It made you smile though,” Stiles replied, letting his arms rest upon the table between them. He wasn’t wrong.
—
Surely this was some sort of early midlife crisis. Taking home a college kid from a bar on a work night must be the queer man equivalent of a straight man buying a motorcycle, but the way Stiles’s nose brushed against Derek’s neck while he fumbled with his keys was enough for him to let go of any doubts.
He had not been… intimate with someone for quite some time. His work was taxing to say the least and he didn’t get out much, and after a while he had not felt the need anymore. However, the hot press of Stiles’s lips against his skin felt like an awakening. It was addictive.
Derek finally got the door open. Stiles made an appreciative noise, his attention momentarily diverted once they entered Derek’s loft, a comment on it on the tip of his tongue, but Derek made sure to swallow it up.
The trek up the stairs to Derek’s bedroom was hazardous in the sense that neither of them seemed inclined to let the other go for more than a second at a time. Stiles stumbled once, his cheeks coloring a beautiful pink that Derek couldn’t wait to get his lips on. Undressing felt like a wrestling match, too many hands trying to get the upper hand and none really succeeding until Stiles laughed and raised his in surrender. Unhindered, Derek made quick work of their clothes.
The sheets were cool against Derek’s back in stark contrast to Stiles’s warm skin when he straddled him. Derek’s hands found Stiles’s hips, pressed him as close as he could.
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Stiles said, breathlessly, leaning over Derek. He placed one hand flat against the mattress by Derek’s ear, the other running through Derek’s hair. Derek couldn’t stifle the soft groan escaping his lips when Stiles tugged on the ends.
“What, no more chemistry pick up lines?” Derek teased, trailing his fingers up Stiles’s side and delighting in the goosebumps left in their wake.
Stiles laughed, bumping his nose against Derek’s.
“Hey, are you a non-volatile particle?” He said and Derek couldn’t hide his smile even if he wanted to. “Because you raise my boiling point.”
It was easy enough to push up and knock Stiles off balance, tipping them over so Derek could drape himself on top of him.
“We’re not even close to the boiling point yet,” he replied and Stiles’s laughter died in a moan when Derek took him into his mouth.
—
Derek woke to the noise of cursing. It was a quiet, but steady string of fucks that kept bouncing across his bedroom, but he was worn out and comfortably wrapped up in the warm sheets and he had no desire to open his eyes until his alarm went off. His body was heavy, but pleasantly so, as if his skin was still buzzing with Stiles’s touch.
It had been good. Them. Furthermore, it had been fun, and Derek wasn’t sure when he had felt like that in bed with someone before, if ever. Maybe he should hook up with college students more often. Probably not. He was pretty sure this was a Stiles thing rather than a college student thing. Maybe, if he played his cards right, they could do this again sometime. Maybe they could get coffee too.
The sound of the door slamming shut reverberated through the loft and Derek was immediately awake, eyes wide open. He rolled over to find the place Stiles had occupied empty. Only Derek’s clothes were strewn across the floor, Stiles’s missing. In fact, if it wasn’t for the gentle ache in Derek’s body, there was no sign of Stiles ever having been there.
Well then. Guess that’s a no to coffee.
—
Art by TwistedAmusement13
By the time Derek turned his car into the parking lot of Beacon Hills High School an hour later, he had worked himself into a foul mood, as bitter as the black coffee Erica handed him upon arrival. She noted this with her usual air of patronizing amusement, flipping her perfectly coiled hair over her shoulder.
“I gather from the rather impressive frown you’ve got going on that last night was a bust, Romeo,” she commented.
Derek took a solemn sip of his coffee in reply. Of course Stiles didn’t stay. Of course last night wasn’t as good for him as it had been for Derek. He probably had amazing one night stands every weekend. He was a young and bright college student and Derek was basically a grandpa - one foot in the grave already. Erica’s red painted lips turned into a genuine pout.
“Oh poor baby,” she said, squeezing his arm before pushing the door to the school building open for him. “You’re probably better off without him anyway. He looked like trouble to me. He had mischief written all over him.”
Derek merely grunted, dully greeting the errant colleagues they passed.
“The best thing is,” Erica said, pausing to raise her coffee cup to acknowledge aforementioned colleagues. “The best thing is that you'll never have to see him again.”
Derek wasn’t sure if that was a comfort or not, but it did ease the sting somewhat.
They made their way through the nearly deserted corridors towards the staff room. Derek noted, as he did every year, the blissful silence permeating the building before hordes upon hordes of students invaded it the next day. He would miss the silence in a week.
The staff room was a rather dismal place - too small for the amount of staff at hand, drafty and always in need of a good clean. However, it was the only real refuge teachers of Beacon Hills High had, and therefore the most treasured room in the building. The first thing Derek saw upon entering was Principal Natalie Martin, showing what appeared to be two new teachers around the premises. The first, a woman of Asian descent, looked vaguely familiar, but Derek couldn’t place her. Upon noticing him, she clearly didn’t have the same problem. Her lips parted in an excited smile and she hurriedly tapped the other new teacher on the chest in an obvious gesture to turn around. Derek noted absentmindedly that he had a great ass.
“Ah, Ms. Reyes, Mr. Hale!” Principal Martin exclaimed, a polite smile spreading across her lips. “Welcome back! Come greet our new BHHS team members.”
The second recruit turned around and it was immediately obvious why Derek couldn’t tear his eyes away from his ass - he had been intimately acquainted with it just last night.
Erica seemingly choked on her own tongue, a half-aborted, surprised snort escaping her lips.
Stiles.
“This is Erica Reyes, she teaches physical education, and Derek Hale, English,” Principal Martin explained to the newcomers and the woman immediately reached out a hand in greeting.
“I’m Kira Yukimura, the new history teacher,” she said and Erica at least had the wherewithal to take her hand and reply. She had to elbow Derek in the side to restart his motor functions.
His motions were stiff, his face more so, he knew, but he managed to shake her hand. Stiles seemed equally stunned, because Kira cleared her throat twice before he jolted into action. He reached out his hand to Erica.
“Stiles Stilinski, chemistry, biology and physics,” he said, a smile grazing his features and goddammit he was even more attractive when Derek was sober, how was that even possible?
Art by TwistedAmusement13
“A pleasure to meet you, Stiles,” Erica replied and by then she had recovered, judging by the playful lilt of her voice and the way she held his hand for a little too long. By the time she let go, she immediately turned bright, mischievous eyes towards Derek as he too took Stiles’s hand in his.
His hands were big and gentle and Derek remembered far too well how they roamed his body mere hours ago. His skin was on fire.
“Welcome,” he huffed gruffly around the gravel in his throat. Stiles tried to catch his eye, but he couldn't bear it and avoided meeting his gaze. What if there was nothing of the warmth of last night left in them? Derek wasn’t sure that he could stand that. He would, in time, but right that second he was too sore.
Instead he looked to Kira, whose eyes positively sparkled with excitement, Erica, who leered, and Principal Martin who was unaware of this entire debacle altogether.
“Well, we better continue the tour,” Principal Martin said and Derek could’ve fallen to his knees in gratitude, but somehow he remained standing. “I’m sure you all will have time to get to know each other later. Come along!”
“So nice to meet you!” Kira piped up before being shepherded out of the room by Stiles. Derek stared resolutely down his coffee cup.
The silence, which earlier had been blissful, was now deafening and stifling. Erica cleared her throat. Derek looked up.
“Do you think I cursed you with that whole ‘never meet him again’ schtick earlier?” She said and she shouldn’t have looked as psyched about it as she did, she really shouldn’t have.
“Go to hell,” he replied, and she cackled in delight all the way to their desks.
—
Derek was pretty sure he managed to avoid Stiles during the day by sheer dumb luck and faking looking incredibly busy. More than once he had to engage in polite small talk about Mrs. Fennel’s grandchildren or Mr. Pritchett’s garden gnome collection, but the relief of seeing Stiles veer off in another direction was worth it. Erica was infinitely amused and made sure to tell Boyd every detail of Derek’s day when he joined them for lunch in the staff room.
“I thought you said he was in college,” Boyd mused, pouring dressing over his salad with one hand while holding Erica’s with his other.
“I thought he was,” Derek muttered sullenly, merely picking at his own food. “But I guess he never said as much.”
Erica snorted.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure talking wasn’t the main event for you two.”
It was mean, but true. Even though Stiles did talk. A lot. Only not so much about career paths and more about the size and feel of Derek’s cock. If Derek closed his eyes he could almost hear his voice still, could see him beneath him - the way his chest trembled with every breath, the pink tint of his warm skin, his hot breath against Derek’s ear, and his voice, his oh fuck Derek come on fill me up don’t stop please - NO. Enough of that.
Judging by the twin expressions of amusement on Erica’s and Boyd’s faces, he fooled exactly no one.
“Maybe talking is what you need now, though,” Boyd suggested and look, the very reason Derek got along with Boyd was because he was always the voice of reason. However, this was clearly the stupidest thing Boyd has ever said and Derek would ignore it.
“I’d rather quit this job and leave town,” Derek replied.
“You better hurry, then,” Erica said, her eyes on something above Derek’s left shoulder. “Because he’s coming this way.”
The surge of panic was so overwhelming and instant that Derek was pretty sure that he could confidently fake a heart attack, but there was no time. Suddenly Stiles was just there, right by their table, looking unfairly attractive in a white dress shirt and tie. He was smiling, but his eyes were wary as they flickered over Derek, Erica and Boyd.
“Hey,” he said, reaching out his hand towards Boyd. “We haven’t met yet. I’m Stiles, the new science teacher.”
Boyd took his hand and shook it. Derek had trouble looking away from the point of contact.
“Boyd, psychology. You’re taking over from Harris, then?”
“Yeah, Principal Martin said he got a new job further south.”
“Good riddance,” Boyd replied, which earned him a laugh from Stiles. Fuck, it’s as cute as it was last night. “Welcome, Stiles.”
“Thanks.”
There’s a beat of silence in which nobody ate, nobody moved and nobody spoke. Derek knew what was coming and sure enough-
“Uhm, Derek, could I like.. talk to you, for a minute?”
Erica and Boyd were both staring at him. Derek swallowed.
“Sure,” he said, plastering what he thought was a pleasant smile upon his face, but in reality it looked more like a grimace.
“... alone?” Stiles hazarded and Erica tried to stifle a laugh.
“Sure,” Derek repeated, woodenly getting up from his seat to follow Stiles out of the staff room and into the empty corridor, his heart picking up speed with every step.
Stiles took a quick glance around to make sure that they were truly alone, before he turned to Derek and spoke.
“About last night,” he started, and Derek needed to get ahead of this. He needed Stiles to know that last night was a one time thing. A good time, but nothing more. Stiles didn’t affect Derek in any way.
Derek wouldn’t be able to stand the look of pity and embarrassment Stiles would surely give him if he knew that Derek had been gearing up to ask him out that morning.
“Forget it,” he blurted, even before he knew he was going to. Stiles quieted. “It was fun, but we’re in a professional setting now and we should forget about it. This is a big place, we don’t even need to speak with each other.”
Stiles stared.
“... what?”
“We should pretend like it didn’t happen. It’s for the best.”
Derek didn’t know where the determination in his voice came from, but it sounded final even to his own ears. Stiles didn’t immediately speak. A myriad of unidentifiable emotions crossed his face before it became blank.
“Okay,” he replied, his voice level and betraying nothing. Indifferent. Derek knew it. “If that’s what you want.”
“Yes,” Derek said, despite his body screaming in protest. “It’s what I want.”
“Fine. I guess I’ll see you around then. Or not.”
“Or not,” Derek agreed, but Stiles was already retreating and even if Derek’s heart was kicking up a storm in his chest, he didn’t let another word pass his lips.
—
“You’re an idiot,” Erica said later.
“Shut up,” Derek replied.
Boyd hmmed in disapproval and it cut even deeper.
—
Beacon Hills High is a big school. Avoiding Stiles should have been easy, especially when the students returned after their summer holidays. The building practically exploded with exuberant activity that was only made possible by nine hundred teenagers being crammed into the same space after weeks spent apart. There were people everywhere - laughing, crying, hugging, making out - and even a few found it within themselves to politely greet their English teacher as he passed through the corridors.
Derek knew he wasn’t the most popular teacher at BHHS and he’s not particularly bothered by it. Erica and Boyd were both fan favorites and probably for opposite reasons - Erica for her attitude and Boyd for his lack of it. Derek knew he was surly and strict and he didn’t exactly have the most riveting content to deliver upon his teenage audience. What is Dickens to watching people behave like dicks on TikTok? Derek couldn’t sympathize, but he could empathize. He was something of an idiot himself at that age.
What he was trying to say was that he had never been bothered by not being popular, as long as the kids were learning. Which was why it obviously shouldn’t bother him when that incessant chatter between students started to become eerily similar - the new science teacher was the greatest thing to happen to BHHS. So while it should have been easy to avoid Stiles, it very much wasn’t. And while it shouldn’t have bothered Derek that Stiles was incredibly popular, it very much did. Everywhere Derek went he heard Stiles’s name mentioned in awe, in joy, in envy and in unbridled teenage lust. Stiles was hilarious. Stiles was kind. Stiles made science fun. Stiles was so fucking hot in that shirt, and yes, Stacy from 11th grade, Derek agreed, but that’s hardly relevant information during a pop quiz.
Derek couldn’t escape him.
It was infuriating.
—
Adrian Harris had been relatively non-descript, just as his teaching. Chemistry, biology and physics had probably not been anyone’s favorite class, maybe even the class the students liked the least due to Harris’s condescending tone. Derek had rarely been subjected to it, but he knew Erica and Boyd both had. While Derek wasn’t bothered by his lack of popularity, Harris clearly had been. In other words, Derek had never noticed that any science education ever took place in the building before Stiles.
It started with the smell. Derek had been mid-lecture on Shakespeare when Tobey Johnson in the back row screwed his nose up and exclaimed:
“What the fuck is that?”
Derek turned on him immediately, a stern talking to ready on the tip of his tongue, when a ripple went through the classroom and every kid immediately started grimacing and squirming, pinching their noses. It hit Derek mere seconds later - a pungent odor of rotten eggs. It crawled through his nostrils and coated the back of his throat.
“Alright,” he said, fighting the urge to pinch his own nose. “Mr. Johnson, Ms. Nguyen - please open the windows while I go investigate.”
It was no relief to leave the classroom. The smell only grew stronger in the corridor. Students spilled out of classrooms, coughing and gagging, alongside their baffled teachers. Kira Yukimura, Stiles’s friend, was orderly showing her history class out of the building and into the sunny schoolyard. She gave Derek an equally sunny smile. She had no business being that cheery in a situation like this, and yet.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Hale! Guess there will be some outdoor teaching today, huh?” she greeted him, moving her students along the corridor. “No, Mr. Morgan, you’re not dying, it’s just a bad smell, come along now!”
Before Derek even had the time to reply, she was out the door. Further down the corridor the door to the chemistry classroom flew open and Stiles came with it.
“Come on, gang!” he shouted, his voice somewhat strangled by the clothespin on his nose and the errant giggles slipping through between his words. “Save yourselves!”
The students leaving his classroom were all laughing hysterically, despite looking more than a little sick to their stomachs. They thanked Stiles loudly for the lesson while hurriedly making their way down the corridor, passing Derek to follow Kira’s class out the door.
“He’s absolutely insane,” Derek heard a student say, but with a sort of breathless awe that could only indicate absolute hero worship.
Within a minute, Derek and Stiles were alone in the corridor, fifty feet apart, but it was close enough for Derek’s heart rate to spike.
“Sorry about that,” Stiles said, plucking the clothespin from his nose. “A bit of a hydrogen sulfide mishap.”
Derek swallowed. There was something wild about Stiles, his throat still flushed pink from laughter. Derek wanted to taste it.
“Just… don’t let it happen again,” he replied stiltedly and turned to go back to his own classroom. The stench of rotten eggs clung to his clothes.
“Can’t make any promises!” Stiles called after him.
Turned out that Stiles truly couldn’t make any promises. The Stench Incident was followed by the Slime Debacle, the Sheep’s Lung Disturbance and the Glitter Extravaganza. All spectacular events according to the students, and Erica, but Derek wasn’t as amused.
The Potassium Explosion was the final straw.
In hindsight, he might have overreacted. Just slightly. However, in his defense, very few people take well to explosions happening at their place of work. Now, should he have read the weekly staff newsletter informing him of the chemistry experiments taking place in the schoolyard that week? Maybe. Should he have taken at least a second to realize that none of his students had as much as flinched upon the sound of an explosion? Perhaps. And should he have taken a breath before launching into a tirade in the middle of the schoolyard in front of Stiles’s thirty chemistry students? Definitely.
But somewhere in between the loud boom and the sound of Stiles’s laughter, the sight of him pulling off his goggles, his messed up hair, Derek lost all reason. And Stiles lost all traces of mirth as a result.
“-and I’m sick and tired of you treating my place of work as a playground! You are reckless and disrespectful when others are trying to teach instead of playing games!”
When the red faded from his eyes, he noticed how his chest was heaving. His breaths were coming in short and harsh. His throat was aching.
Stiles’s eyes were black. The smile pulling on his lips might have fooled his students, but Derek knew better.
“Alright, someone needs a nap,” he said, and nervous giggles spilled from the stunned students. Someone had their phone up. Fuck, this was a mess. “Okay, gang, we’ll pack it up here while Mr. Hale and I have a chat. We’ll talk more potassium on Friday!”
The group dispersed slowly, as if hesitant to leave their precious Stiles alone with party pooper Mr. Hale. Derek wished he could leave with them - he didn’t want to be alone with Stiles either. A trio of girls stopped by Stiles, gave him a soft tug on the arm. Derek could overhear them asking if he was alright. Stiles’s smile was blinding for those few seconds as he assured them that everything was fine. Then they were gone. So was Stiles’s smile.
Derek and Stiles were alone.
Stiles stepped closer.
“I did… everything right,” Stiles said. His voice was low and dark and it made Derek’s stomach swoop, like when you drop off the tallest peak of a rollercoaster. “I spoke to Principal Martin, I notified the students, I notified the parents, I put it in the weekly newsletter, I moved the experiment outside, I made everyone wear protective gear and secured a perimeter. I see now that I should’ve taken extra precautions to notify the impeccable Mr. Hale, considering that you seemingly stand above everyone else. I’m sorry. Next time I’ll make sure to send you a carrier pigeon. Or maybe smoke signals? A royal messenger? Sounds good?”
Derek’s brain was screaming. Fix it. Fix this. But he didn’t know how.
“Stiles, I-”
“Hm, yeah, no, I don’t want to hear it. And Derek - if you ever speak to me like that in front of my students again, I will tear that massive stick from your asshole and beat you with it. Understood?”
Derek nodded.
“Good. Now fuck off.”
And Derek did.
—
Kira Yukimura didn’t smile the next time she passed Derek in the corridor.
—
Retaliation came in increments so small that Derek nearly didn’t notice it at first. One day all of his carefully sharpened pencils had their tips broken off. It could easily be explained away with a bored student trying to keep themselves entertained. The whoopee cushion, which garnered more than a few laughs from Derek’s students, and the day all the furniture in his classroom had been completely flipped both reminded him of the pranks the senior students used to pull before graduation.
It wasn’t enough to get Derek angry, but they certainly were small inconveniences that made the v between his eyebrows turn just that little bit deeper.
Walking into the parking lot to find his Camaro completely wrapped in toilet paper was another thing altogether. Especially when Tobey Johnson slapped his shoulder and shoved his phone in Derek’s face, exclaiming “Look, Mr. Hale, you’re trending!” and all Derek could see was #epicteacherprank.
He didn’t get to examine the screen for long, since he was distracted by a low whistle from behind. Stiles was wearing yet another white shirt that fit him far too well, with his satchel hanging from one shoulder.
“Wow, that looks like a hassle,” he said, head tilting to the side in a poor imitation of sympathy. “I would stay to help, but… I just don’t want to. Good luck though!”
When Stiles drove out of the parking lot with his baby blue trash heap of a Jeep, he gave Derek a wink and a finger gun. It was now abundantly clear to Derek who had switched his Tipp-Ex for glue.
—
“Have you tried apologizing?” Boyd asked around a mouthful of yogurt.
“Yeah, that was actually a super shitty thing you did,” Erica supplied, trying to pry away one of the twenty thumbtacks glued to Derek’s office chair. “Ouch!”
Erica brought her nicked finger to her mouth, giving Derek an accusing look as if her hurting herself was his fault.
“I hate both of you,” he said.
“Aww, thanks, boo!” Erica replied. “Now be a dear and go get me a bandaid. Those are sharp!”
—
Making 105 copies of a grammar worksheet probably wasn’t anyone’s idea of a good time, but at least it was a quiet time. The copy machine room was located in a rather remote part of the school, which always was a bother when you were in a hurry, but rather soothing when you weren’t. There was something oddly calming by the rhythmic noise of the machine churning out paper after identical paper.
Or maybe that just spoke of teachers' slow descent into madness during the span of a term. Either of the two. Derek could admit to leaning towards the second option, based solely on the fact that Stiles was shoving him one step closer to seeking therapy every day. Uninterrupted moments like these, that didn’t require any kind of mental functions, were a welcome change.
Of course it couldn’t last for long.
Derek looked up at the sound of the door being shoved open, only to see Stiles coming through it with a pile of papers carefully balanced in his arms. At the sight of him, Stiles rolled his eyes.
“Typical,” he muttered, dumping the papers on the table with an unnecessarily loud slam. “Are you done soon?”
“I don’t know, are you?”
The words had just slipped out, quietly, mockingly, but of course Stiles picked them up anyway.
“You want to repeat that?” Stiles replied, his tone immediately sharper than before.
Fuck it, Derek thought. To hell with it all.
“Yeah, actually,” he said, turning around to face Stiles head on. “I said, are you? Done? Because I’m getting really tired of your shit.”
“Ohoho, my shit?” Stiles gesticulated to his own body, taking a step closer. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean, don’t play dumb,” Derek said and took a step closer still in his frustration. “When are you done with your idiotic pranks?”
“Oh, I don’t know, when you stop behaving like a child I might stop treating you like one?”
“ I’m the child? Are you serious right now?”
“Deadly serious. You’ve had it in for me since the minute I stepped foot in this place.”
Stiles was in his face now, in his space, and he was out of his depth. He was angry, he was furious, he was on fire and Stiles’s lips were pink, his scent filled Derek’s nose and he was right there.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek replied, feebly.
“I don’t? Because to me it seems like the mere thought of anyone knowing that I’ve seen your dick is so completely mortifying that-”
“Fuck, do you ever shut up?”
“Obviously not! You’d have to make me.”
It was like flipping a switch. Whatever electricity that had flickered between them since that first night at the fourth bar in the fourth hour intensified tenfold with the briefest glance by Stiles to Derek’s lips. Derek didn’t imagine that he was capable of making Stiles do anything, let alone shut up, but that doesn’t mean that he was not willing to try.
He took that final step closer, those last couple of inches that kept them apart. Stiles drew a shuddering breath and Derek could feel it ghost across his cheek.
“Well?” Stiles said and Derek thought he might have tried for an impatient challenge, but the weak timbre of his voice spoke of the same nerves Derek felt.
Derek accepted the challenge anyway and the crash of their lips contained every frustration, every longing sensation and desire he had carried with him since the minute he spotted Stiles in the staff room all those weeks ago. Stiles replied in kind. His arms wrapped around Derek in a tight hold, nearly stifling, but it was mirrored by the close to bruising grip Derek had on his hips.
It felt like a release, but like stoking the fire all at once. The flames licked the sides of his face when Stiles tugged on his hair, curled around his neck with the touch of Stiles’s tongue against his. A gasp escaped Stiles’s lips when Derek lifted him, effortlessly placing him on the edge of the table. Stiles threw his hand out for balance and it made the pile of papers he had placed there earlier scatter across the floor, but none of them took notice now that Derek was fitted between Stiles’s spread thighs.
The hardness between Stiles’s legs was unmistakable and Derek boldly pressed his hand to it, delighting in the surprised moan it pulled from Stiles, the way his legs tightened around Derek’s hips and the kiss was returned with more fervor.
The breathless words of encouragement, the ones he remembered from their first night together, came creeping in a hot whisper over his skin. The gentle begging to never stop, to keep touching him, to keep giving him more until the world around them had completely faded away. Derek was more than happy to oblige.
Stiles had his face buried in Derek’s neck when he came, his hot breath fanning across Derek’s throat and whatever frenzy that had been steadily building nearly immediately fizzled out. Stiles placed his hand on Derek’s shoulder and gave a gentle push. Derek backed away and let the cold seep back in. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of water on the raging fire.
Stiles looked wrung out on the edge of the table, his limbs long and languid, his hair a mess. He pulled a hand through it to flatten it down somewhat.
Derek cleared his throat.
“This won’t happen again,” Stiles said.
“It really won’t,” Derek agreed, gathered his 105 grammar worksheets and left the room.
—
It kept happening.
In empty classrooms, the staff bathrooms, the cleaning supply closet. The backseat of Stiles’s Jeep. It was if their copy machine room tryst had opened a door they had tried to keep shut, but now were unable to barricade any longer.
At first it was contained to the school grounds and any minute they had to spare, in any lockable corner they could find. Rushed kisses, hasty handjobs and even sloppier blowjobs. It lasted all of two weeks, until Stiles stood in the door opening to Derek’s classroom after a parent-teacher conference and said;
“Take me home and fuck me.”
Derek was more than happy to oblige.
—
Kira Yukimura stopped glaring at him. Derek wasn’t sure if he liked that she now giggled, or if he had preferred the glares.
—
Derek liked watching Stiles getting dressed. Well. He liked watching him getting undressed as well. He liked watching him overall, but that wasn’t the point. There was just something mesmerizing in watching those nimble fingers pull fabric over pale skin.
“Stop staring, you creep,” Stiles said, buttoning up his shirt by the foot of the bed. The teasing curve of his lips eased the sting of the words. Derek fought back a smile.
It was a Thursday night and Derek was still blinking out the stars in his eyes that Stiles had put there, still naked and wrapped in the sheets while Stiles got dressed. Sweat dotted his chest. It was getting harder and harder to say goodbye, after, and Derek didn’t want to examine that any further. That way laid heartbreak, he was sure.
Besides, Stiles showed no willingness to stay or to take this any further than whatever frenemies with benefits thing they had going on. He never lingered after, just stayed long enough to catch his breath.
Derek sat up, leaning back against the headboard. He didn’t miss the way Stiles’s eyes traveled across his body and bit down on the urge to preen.
“Are you, uhm,” he started, and Stiles paused in his ministrations.
“Am I what?”
Are you hungry? That was what Derek had intended to ask, but the words got stuck in his throat. Stiles wouldn’t want to stay. Derek knew that. Asking would only make Derek feel as miserable as he had that morning when he realized that Stiles was gone, without even saying goodbye.
“Nothing.”
A slight crease appeared between Stiles’s eyebrows and he didn’t immediately continue pulling on his pants. He didn’t believe him.
“If there’s something you want to say, say it,” Stiles said, buttoning up his jeans.
Derek couldn’t ask him to stay. He couldn’t bear the thought of rejection. Not from Stiles. Not again.
“I’m sorry,” he said instead. The words had been clinging to the tip of his tongue for weeks now, but never spilled over. He guessed now was as good a time as any.
The crease between Stiles’s eyebrows deepened in confusion. He was now fully dressed.
“Sorry for what?”
“For yelling,” Derek explained, picking at the edge of his sheets. “That time in the schoolyard. I was… frustrated and I took it out on you. It was wrong. Especially in front of the students.”
There was a beat of silence, in which Derek held his breath and didn’t dare look up. In the next, Stiles was beside him. The hand in Derek’s hair was gentle, but firm, as it tilted his head back. Now Derek couldn’t not look at Stiles. There was nothing rushed, heated or frustrated by the kiss Stiles gave him. It was just a soft press, but it made Derek ache like no other.
“Thanks,” Stiles said, his voice a whisper across Derek’s lips. He pulled back and Derek tried not to chase him. “I forgive you.”
Derek released a shuddering breath.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Stiles said and backed away.
“Yeah… tomorrow,” Derek replied.
His eyes trailed Stiles’s retreating form until he heard the door close behind him.
—
Erica had left a cup of coffee on Derek’s desk that Friday. Black, from his favorite coffee shop down the street. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence and Derek didn’t think much of it. The cup was still hot to the touch as he settled down in his now thumbtack free chair to grade the pop quizzes on Shakespeare he had handed out earlier in the week. The coffee was welcome, considering he hadn’t had time to make a cup himself that morning.
By the time Erica came by again, he had almost finished the cup. He raised it in a grateful salute.
“Thanks for the coffee.”
Erica made a confused face.
“I didn’t get you coffee,” she replied.
Derek shook the cup slightly, the last dregs of it sloshing around, as if that would jog Erica’s memory. She rolled her eyes.
“I swear, I didn’t get you that cup,” she pressed, snatching it from his hand to inspect it. A smirk quickly replaced the confusion on her face. “But I think I know who.”
She returned the cup, facing it the other way, to display the message written on the paper:
thought you might need this to recover from last night - S
“I need all of the details,” Erica said, eyes wide with excitement.
“I’m not saying a word,” Derek replied, stone-faced, but he couldn’t deny the warmth filling his chest.
—
Derek rarely ventured into the science classrooms. He simply never had any business there, unless he was looking for a particular student. However, the door to the chemistry classroom stood wide open after Derek had released his last class of the day and maybe he had hoped to spot Stiles before he went home. The sound of running water hit his ears first, before the soft humming of a familiar voice.
Stiles stood by the large sinks and cleaned out beakers with deft, practiced motions. Derek vaguely recognised the song being hummed as some rock ballad. He allowed himself one extra moment to stare like a massive creep, to let his eyes roam across Stiles’s neck and shoulders, before making his presence known by a knock on the doorframe.
Stiles jumped, but only a little, and he looked over his shoulder. Derek’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of his smile.
“Well, well, if it isn't Mr. Hale?” Stiles drawled and Derek’s title shouldn’t be as hot coming from Stiles’s lips as it was. “Whatever can I do for you?”
Derek was drawn to him and the easy way he handled the delicate beakers. He was pulled further into the room. He wasn’t sure why he had stepped into the classroom to begin with, had no set motive in mind, besides the thought of seeing Stiles. Maybe kiss him. Maybe let him get in a jab or two.
“I wanted to thank you for the coffee,” he settled on, leaning his back against the counter where Stiles put the beakers to dry.
Stiles’s smile widened.
“You’re very welcome,” he replied cheerily. “I wanted to express my gratitude for an absolutely stunning performance last night.”
If it wasn’t for the soft touch of pink spreading across his cheeks, Derek wouldn’t have caught the false bravado. It made something gentle settle within him, knowing that he made Stiles nervous too.
“Although,” Derek said. “I object to the idea of having to recover. I’m 37, not 87.”
Stiles laughed, placing another clean beaker on the counter.
“Still sounds dreadfully old to me,” he teased and Derek couldn’t get enough of the way his eyes sparkled with it.
“You weren’t complaining about it last night,” Derek pointed out, giving in to the urge to touch. His fingers tugged carefully at the hem of Stiles’s trousers, skimmed over the fabric of his shirt covering the small of Stiles’s back. Stiles was still washing the beakers, but slower now. “You should let me show you how much I don’t need to recover.”
Stiles snorted with amusement, but he pressed back slightly against Derek’s hand. Derek’s touch became surer, his hand splayed across Stiles’s back. It was easy to slip closer, to press his lips to Stiles’s shoulder.
“What’s your suggestion, old man?”
“You put away those beakers and come home with me.”
It’s the most bold suggestion Derek had made. He had been careful with his invitations, letting Stiles take the lead. That way he couldn’t be rejected. But there was something in the way Stiles’s body sought his touch that made him ask for what he wanted this time.
“I can’t,” Stiles replied, and Derek had been so confident in the opposite that it took him a second to register what Stiles had said. When he did, he pulled back, removing his hands from Stiles’s body.
Of course. Of course Stiles didn’t want to. What was he thinking? Fuck, he was so stupid- The sudden grip Stiles had around his wrist was firm and wet. His eyes were on Derek, intent, the beakers forgotten.
“Not because I don’t want to,” Stiles insisted, as if he had read Derek’s mind. His grip eased somewhat, but not entirely, carefully cajoling Derek back in his space. “My dad has invited me over for dinner. He’s been working a lot lately and I haven’t had time to see him as much as I want to.”
“Oh,” was the most intelligent reply Derek could muster up.
“Yeah, oh,” Stiles replied, the teasing tone back. “Now, are you going to keep fondling me or what? I’m into it.”
The last tension was seeped from Derek’s body with a snort of amusement, and he draped himself along Stiles’s back. His hands immediately found Stiles’s hips, his lips the sensitive space behind Stiles’s ear.
“Happy?” he murmured and delighted in the shiver it drew from Stiles.
“Very,” Stiles said, leaning back against Derek’s chest while he continued washing the beakers.
—
From Stiles Stilinski [10:23pm]
do you want to come over sunday? we still need to test your refractory period ;)
To Stiles Stilinski [10:24pm]
That’s the worst come on you’ve ever attempted on me.
From Stiles Stilinski [10:24pm]
it’s working tho, isn’t it
From Stiles Stilinski [10:25pm]
isn’t it
From Stiles Stilinski [10:25pm]
isn’t it
From Stiles Stilinski [10:25pm]
isn’t it
To Stiles Stilinski [10:25pm]
Shut up.
To Stiles Stilinski [10:26pm]
7 o’clock. Text the address.
All Derek got in reply was three eggplant emojis.
—
Derek had never been to Stiles’s apartment before. They had always found a corner at work or gone to Derek’s place. He wasn’t sure why, only that Stiles had never offered and Derek had never asked. He found himself being infinitely curious though, as he knocked on Stiles’s door. A muffled “hang on” was heard through the door, rapid footsteps approaching, before Stiles pulled it open. His hair was wet, his cheeks a little red and his voice breathless when he spoke.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Derek replied and he wanted to kiss him.
“Come on in,” Stiles said, making a grand gesture to the interior of the apartment.
Derek stepped across the threshold and Stiles closed the door behind them both.
“Well, welcome to my humble abode,” Stiles said. “Make yourself at home.”
Derek shrugged out of his jacket and left his shoes inside the door, before following Stiles further into the apartment. Stiles wasn’t wrong - it was humble. Derek knew very well that he wouldn’t be able to afford his own loft without the money of his family, not on a teacher salary. They walked straight into the combined kitchen and living room area, and despite the crampedness of it all, it was smack full of… well, of Stiles. A lacrosse stick stood leaning against the wall next to the TV. A gaming console was crammed beneath the TV. The coffee table, old and battered, was littered with what looked to be student essays. The margins were covered in notes made with a glitter pen, because of course they were. Derek could see Stiles downing coffee on the mustard yellow sofa during late nights, scribbling furiously with a pink glitter pen on the documents spread out across the table.
There was a bookshelf taking up the other wall. Derek recognised a few of the titles as fantasy and sci-fi, but the entire bottom row seemed dedicated to prose, scientific essays and chemistry books. Tiny tokens, like a baseball, a miniature Captain America shield, and picture frames struggled for room between the books.
“Does my collection pass the English teacher test?” Stiles asked and Derek tore his eyes away from the bookshelf to catch Stiles’s amused smile.
“Well, your classics section could be expanded upon,” Derek replied, finding himself matching Stiles’s smile. His eyes caught upon one of the picture frames; a young Stiles in lacrosse gear with his arm around a friend. They wore Beacon Hills Cyclones uniforms. “You went to Beacon Hills High?” Derek asked, surprised. He’d had no idea.
Stiles stepped closer to take a look at the picture himself.
“Yeah,” he replied. “That’s me and my best friend Scott. Kira’s husband, actually. We basically never got off the bench, but we tried.”
The Stiles in the picture is infinitely gangly, despite his lacrosse pads. He’s holding his helmet in his hand, exposing his completely buzzed head, and wide grin.
“I actually had Mr. Harris as my science teacher,” Stiles supplied.
“Really?” Derek replied. He had gone to Beacon Hills High too, but before Harris’s time. Stiles must have still been in middle school when Derek finished high school.
“Really. He made my life a living hell.”
The words were said so casually that it took Derek a second to register them and tear his eyes away from the picture. Stiles shrugged.
“I don’t really know if it was my existence that personally offended him, or if he treated every ADHD kid the same, but he was ruthless. I was really into science, pretty good at it too, but he took every opportunity he could to just… beat me down. He’d call me names, humiliate me when I zoned out in front of the others… Nearly killed my joy for science altogether. Nearly killed my joy for me too.”
Harris being unpopular among the students had been public knowledge and Derek had never liked him much, but to hear the extent of his deeds was a different thing altogether. Rage and sadness mixed together and settled heavily in the pit of his stomach. If only he had known sooner, if he could have alerted the principal of Harris’s behavior… it would have been too late for Stiles, but how many others had Harris tormented through the years at Beacon Hills High? All that anger and grief must show on his face, because Stiles smiled and squeezed his arm soothingly.
“It was a long time ago,” he assured Derek. “I’m over Adrian Harris. Taking his place… it felt like revenge. And as long as I’m at Beacon Hills High, science is going to be fun.”
The Stench Incident. The Slime Debacle. The Sheep’s Lung Disturbance. The Glitter Extravaganza. The Potassium Explosion.
It all made perfect sense now. The rage and sadness curdled with the addition of guilt and turned Derek’s stomach sour.
“Stiles, I…” He started, but Stiles cut him off.
“You haven’t been totally out of line, though,” he said. “I have been careless at times. Selfish, maybe. Besides from the potassium experiment, because that time I really did everything right and it was all on you.”
Stiles was smiling now, and he pressed an accusing finger into Derek’s chest. It carefully unraveled some of the guilt he carried.
“I did say I was sorry,” Derek said, catching Stiles’s wrist in a gentle hold.
“Yeah, like, a decade later,” Stiles snorted with amusement, but he let himself be pulled closer without fuss.
“I’m an old man,” Derek admitted to Stiles’s visible delight. “I hold grudges and can never admit when I’m wrong.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Stiles reached for his lips first. The warmth of his palm on Derek’s chest made the concoction in Derek’s stomach lose its acidity.
—
Stiles took him apart that night. With his tongue and fingers. His cock. Derek felt flayed open and raw when spread out beneath him. The first orgasm came too soon and the second left him shivering in Stiles’s arms. Stiles ran soothing fingers through his hair, the warmth of them pulling Derek back to the ground.
“There’s a bit of gray in your beard,” Stiles murmured thoughtfully, running his thumb over Derek’s jawline.
They were pressed together, Stiles propped up on his elbow. His hair was a bit wet from sweat, his naked chest red with exertion. Derek couldn’t take his eyes off of him.
“I know,” he acknowledged. He ran his fingers along Stiles’s back, tracing his spine.
“It’s… it’s kind of really fucking hot,” Stiles said, and his face split into a mischievous grin. “If a bit of gray gets me going, does that mean I’ve got a daddy kink?”
Derek’s stomach did an exhilarating swoop that he was woefully unprepared for. It didn’t slip by Stiles unnoticed and his waggling eyebrows shot straight up to his hairline.
“Oh my god, do you have a daddy kink?” He exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement and laughter threatening to spill over his lips.
Derek blushed, he knew he did.
“Shut up, Stiles.”
“Oh daddy, don’t be mean,” Stiles replied with an exaggerated pout and Derek couldn’t help laughing too. His grip tightened on Stiles’s waist to reverse their positions. It pulled a tiny surprised noise from Stiles’s lips, but it didn’t wipe the smugness off his face, not even when being pressed into the mattress.
“I said, shut up,” Derek said, fighting uselessly against his own smile when he kissed him.
His third orgasm was wrenched from him while he lost himself within Stiles.
Art by TwistedAmusement13
—
The only light within Stiles’s bedroom came from the street outside. It cast a barely there, golden glow upon Stiles’s face. His eyes were nearly closed, his body languid and pliable beneath the sheets. He was exhausted, just like Derek. Derek didn’t know what time it was, but the darkness outside spoke of the late hour.
He should probably go home. It was Sunday, or probably Monday already, and they had work in the morning. Tearing himself from Stiles felt like agony, but the reality of the situation was starting to set in. Stiles always left when they had had their fun. This was his place, so it was Derek’s turn to leave.
He allowed himself a final touch, to reach out and caress Stiles’s cheek. It drew a tiny, pleased noise from Stiles’s lips and Derek could feel his smile against his palm. Derek cleared his throat.
“I… I should get going,” he said, quietly so as to not disturb the stillness of the room.
Stiles didn’t reply at first, but Derek could feel the hot touch of his hand against Derek’s own. He wrapped it gently, carefully, in his.
“Yeah,” he replied, like a whisper. “Or you could… you could stay.”
Stiles wasn’t looking at Derek, his eyes downcast and tracing their interlaced hands. Derek didn’t mind, because his face, his chest, his heart was burning red with hope. It would be glaringly obvious for Stiles’s perceptive eyes and Derek wasn’t sure he would survive the embarrassment.
“I, uh… I thought you would want me to leave,” Derek said. “You always leave.”
He didn’t mean for it to sound like an accusation, because it wasn’t, but Stiles still shifted uncomfortably with the words. Derek let his thumb caress Stiles’s in hopes of numbing the sting.
“I leave,” Stiles said, still not meeting Derek’s gaze. “I leave, but I never want to. I thought that was what you wanted.”
The idea was so profoundly ridiculous in Derek’s mind that he nearly laughed, but he bit down on it before it left his body. Right from the start, he’d never wanted Stiles to leave.
“I thought…” Stiles continued. “It felt like I was just some kid that got on your nerves all the time that you like… begrudgingly thought was super hot and you just couldn’t resist my sexy body-”
“That’s not-”
“-and I don’t even know why I like you because you’re grumpy, like, all of the time, but I want to be around you all of the time too-”
“Stiles-”
“-and we’re good together, right? I think we are. And I want you to stay.”
Stiles was nearly breathless with the confession. Derek definitely was. Staying now was more than staying the night and they both knew it. It was everything Derek had ever hoped to hear, but had been too afraid to believe in. It hurt and soothed in equal measure, the knowledge that his attempts at keeping his own heart safe had effectively shut Stiles out, but Stiles still wanted him there with him.
“I want to stay too,” he said and Stiles finally looked at him then, those warm eyes in the weak golden light from the street outside. “I was going to ask you out, that morning after the bar. But you left and when I saw you at work, I just… I didn’t want to get rejected twice. So I rejected you first.”
Stiles shook his head incredulously.
“I wasn’t trying to reject you,” he said, nearly laughing with the absurdity of the situation. “I was late for my first day of teaching at a new job because I had hooked up with this really hot dude in a bar and I was freaking out. I couldn’t believe it when you worked at the same place, and I wanted to clear things up with you, but yeah…”
But Derek had jumped to conclusions and derailed it all. Of course. Fantastically on brand.
“We’re really dumb, huh?” Stiles said, successfully breaking through Derek’s bout of internal self-flagellation with a squeeze of his hand.
“Moronic,” Derek agreed, squeezing back.
“Dumb enough to try again?”
Derek’s breath caught in his throat.
“Definitely.”
Stiles’s smile was blinding and Derek had never felt lighter.
~~~
There was a cup of coffee on Stiles’s desk, from that place he really liked down the street. While Kira occasionally would splurge on a really good cup of coffee for the both of them, Stiles had a sneaking suspicion of who the mystery giver was. Smiling to himself, he sat down in his chair and pulled the cup to him, taking a tentative sip. It was perfect. Twisting the cup in his hand, he noticed Derek’s telltale neat handwriting on the side.
Babe, if you were words on a page, you’d be what they call FINE print.
Stiles couldn’t contain his laughter. He fished his phone from his pocket, took a picture of the cup and attached it to a text.
To Loverboy <3 [9:36am]
You’ve literally never been sexier than in this moment. Copy machine room in 5?
From Loverboy <3 [9:36am]
See you there in 3.
Stiles pocketed his phone and took his coffee cup to go. His boyfriend was waiting.