Discipline
Author: fluffyllama
Title: Discipline
Rating: R
Pairing/s: Adrian Harris/Stiles Stilinski
Character/s: None apart from the above
Summary: There are many things Adrian likes to think about doing with Stiles.
Warnings: Underage student/teacher, abuse of authority, spanking, some humiliation.
Word Count: 1400
Prompt: Fire
Author's Notes: Not mine, I'm just letting them play with each other for a while. This fic was inevitable after Harris's little speech about discipline in 2.01. I'm surprised it took this long, but werewolves are sooo distracting.
“I could get you fired for this,” Stiles says, but he yanks his pants open anyway.
Adrian has heard it all before. They never come up with any original threats. If they think losing his job is what he's afraid of in this town, it's a poor reflection on the observational powers of teenagers.
Really, he'd expected better from this one. But life, as Adrian knows and Stiles has yet to learn, is full of disappointments.
Among other things.
“If you've changed your mind, Mr Stilinski, I'll be happy to keep you in detention for the next-” He makes a show of checking his watch. “-hour and a half instead.”
Stiles hasn't changed his mind. He never does.
There's a fiery flush of anger on Stiles's cheeks when he shoves his boxers down, the same rosy tint as the head of his dick. He's half hard, and already only half as mouthy as usual.
Adrian pushes his chair back from the desk. “Over my knee, Mr Stilinski.”
There are many things Adrian likes to think about doing with Stiles. Some he's done before, with other students, often in this very classroom. Some he's only thought about. The desire to bend Stiles over every desk in turn, fuck him over them one by one, is pretty standard fantasy fare. Most of the school has been there, in the privacy of Adrian's head if not in reality.
Some of the more inventive ones belong just to Stiles. Like the urge he gets to push him up against a window and make him come, watched by the whole school, everyone else oblivious to Adrian's fingers twisting inside the boy.
For now, though, he's promised him discipline.
It's still awkward, the way Stiles positions himself over Adrian's lap. Hard for it to be anything else for gangly teenage boys, barely in control of their own limbs at the best of times. He's trying to keep them under control, and his dignity too, but Adrian is an old hand at this game.
“Feet off the floor, Mr Stilinski,” he says, with a sharp slap to the back of Stiles's thigh, and the feet jerk up quickly in an immensely satisfying way. He spreads his knees just enough to take the added weight more evenly, feeling the rock hard press of the boy's dick against his leg and smooth, cooling skin under his palms. Stiles tilts, but tightens his muscles under Adrian's hands, and stills.
“Good,” Adrian says, and raises his hand.
The first crack of contact is shockingly loud.
The boy can't shut up in class, is never quiet as far as Adrian knows except when he's upended like this, jaw clenched tight so he doesn't cry out as the spanking turns his cheeks pink, pinker and then red, till the fire of it warms Adrian's hand as much as the slaps. The very thing that frustrates Adrian during school is one of the reasons Stiles is his favorite after hours subject. Stiles makes him work for it, can take more with that mile-wide stubborn streak than anyone Adrian has known for a long time.
It doesn't mean he needs to rush.
Adrian savors the round, pink, palmprint until it's almost faded, then lifts his hand once more to land a matching one on the other side. He rubs his hand over it roughly this time, over both of them, and feels Stiles twitch as the heel of his hand presses down just lightly between his cheeks. And there, that's the other reason he likes having Stiles under his hands so much. Confused virgins are a gift that just keeps on giving, as long as you keep them that way.
He settles into a rhythm then: sharp, hard slaps that cover the pale cheeks in a vista of red and pink clouds, the color deepening even as Stiles's breaths grow shallower, faster. Stiles winces and twitches when Adrian's hand smacks down on the reddest parts, and Adrian can almost hear his teeth grind and his jaw creak with the effort of staying silent. It's more than a little damp where Stiles's dick is pressed into Adrian's thigh, and he's probably hoping he's going to come before Adrian can make him ask for any help.
Needless to say, that's not the way this is going to happen.
“Dear me, Mr Stilinski,” he says, warming his hand on Stiles's burning skin for a moment. “It seems I may need some help with you this evening.”
Stiles squirms as he continues to pat and stroke him; it's obviously as uncomfortable as it looks.
“It's a good thing I brought an old friend along with me, isn't it?”
Stiles's head jerks up at that, and his eyes are wide, as if he thinks Adrian would really bring someone else along to watch, or to take part in this. Which... would certainly be interesting.
Stiles looks relieved when Adrian shows him the wooden ruler, worn smooth over the years. Adrian has to smile at that; it's an implement that has broken much tougher cases than Stiles Stilinski. Adrian has been remiss, clearly, in not disciplining Stiles with a variety of instruments, but that is about to change.
The first stroke leaves a slanted line across both cheeks, angry even against the red flush already there. The second gets Adrian a bitten-off cry. It's enough to express all the resentment, shame and pain Stiles has been holding in, but it's nowhere near enough to satisfy Adrian. On three, four and five it gets close, Stiles's whole body jerking in the wake of the ruler, gasps and obscenities spitting towards the floor.
Adrian keeps going, not even waiting for Stiles to still again between blows.
On six, Stiles cries out, loud and long. On seven, there's a choking sound, on eight a sob, and on nine, finally-
“Oh m- god- do it, do it, just-” Stiles chokes out. “Please, for the love of--” and Adrian lets the ruler clatter to the floor and moves his thigh back and forth against Stiles's dick. He presses one wet thumb hard against Stiles's hole until he gasps out and comes, spattering Adrian's chair, his desk and the floor as well as his leg, but Adrian is past caring and Stiles, well, Stiles has no choice in the matter at all.
Stiles dresses in silence, still subdued in a way that almost makes Adrian find him genuinely likeable. If only he could do this before class instead of after it, Stiles would be the most quiet and attentive student in the school. When he turns to leave though, he hesitates.
“Yes, Mr Stilinksi?” Adrian mops at his pants with a tissue, though they are pretty much a lost cause. It's a good thing it's dark outside.
“I meant to-” Stiles says, face still flushed, but this is a different sort of awkwardness that Adrian doesn't think he's seen before. “Thanks, is all.”
Adrian has no idea what to make of that. Stiles maybe gets off on the attention, maybe even on the humiliation a little, but he's never thanked him. Not like this.
“For Scott, I mean,” Stiles says hurriedly, but Adrian is still confused. “You, um. You fixed his grades, right? That was nice of you, I thought about asking, but-”
It's tempting to see how grateful Stiles really is, how far he'll go for a few more helping hands for his best friend. It's what Adrian should do, there's more in it for him that way. But Stiles is so, so innocent in some ways, and if there's one thing Adrian can't resist, it's the chance to make one of these head-in-the-fluffy-clouds teenagers face a few of the harsher realities of life.
He wonders how long it will take Stiles to understand.
“Your thanks are appreciated, Mr Stilinski,” he says, standing up and gathering his books and papers together. He walks down towards Stiles, and allows a slight smirk to twitch at his lips. “But not at all necessary.”
“I don't-” Stiles says, his forehead creasing in confusion. “What do you-”
“Didn't Mr McCall tell you?” Adrian asks him, pushing Stiles out of the door and locking it behind him. “He earned those grades all by himself.”
Note to mod: Can I have a Harris/Stiles pairing tag, please?
Title: Discipline
Rating: R
Pairing/s: Adrian Harris/Stiles Stilinski
Character/s: None apart from the above
Summary: There are many things Adrian likes to think about doing with Stiles.
Warnings: Underage student/teacher, abuse of authority, spanking, some humiliation.
Word Count: 1400
Prompt: Fire
Author's Notes: Not mine, I'm just letting them play with each other for a while. This fic was inevitable after Harris's little speech about discipline in 2.01. I'm surprised it took this long, but werewolves are sooo distracting.
“I could get you fired for this,” Stiles says, but he yanks his pants open anyway.
Adrian has heard it all before. They never come up with any original threats. If they think losing his job is what he's afraid of in this town, it's a poor reflection on the observational powers of teenagers.
Really, he'd expected better from this one. But life, as Adrian knows and Stiles has yet to learn, is full of disappointments.
Among other things.
“If you've changed your mind, Mr Stilinski, I'll be happy to keep you in detention for the next-” He makes a show of checking his watch. “-hour and a half instead.”
Stiles hasn't changed his mind. He never does.
There's a fiery flush of anger on Stiles's cheeks when he shoves his boxers down, the same rosy tint as the head of his dick. He's half hard, and already only half as mouthy as usual.
Adrian pushes his chair back from the desk. “Over my knee, Mr Stilinski.”
There are many things Adrian likes to think about doing with Stiles. Some he's done before, with other students, often in this very classroom. Some he's only thought about. The desire to bend Stiles over every desk in turn, fuck him over them one by one, is pretty standard fantasy fare. Most of the school has been there, in the privacy of Adrian's head if not in reality.
Some of the more inventive ones belong just to Stiles. Like the urge he gets to push him up against a window and make him come, watched by the whole school, everyone else oblivious to Adrian's fingers twisting inside the boy.
For now, though, he's promised him discipline.
It's still awkward, the way Stiles positions himself over Adrian's lap. Hard for it to be anything else for gangly teenage boys, barely in control of their own limbs at the best of times. He's trying to keep them under control, and his dignity too, but Adrian is an old hand at this game.
“Feet off the floor, Mr Stilinski,” he says, with a sharp slap to the back of Stiles's thigh, and the feet jerk up quickly in an immensely satisfying way. He spreads his knees just enough to take the added weight more evenly, feeling the rock hard press of the boy's dick against his leg and smooth, cooling skin under his palms. Stiles tilts, but tightens his muscles under Adrian's hands, and stills.
“Good,” Adrian says, and raises his hand.
The first crack of contact is shockingly loud.
The boy can't shut up in class, is never quiet as far as Adrian knows except when he's upended like this, jaw clenched tight so he doesn't cry out as the spanking turns his cheeks pink, pinker and then red, till the fire of it warms Adrian's hand as much as the slaps. The very thing that frustrates Adrian during school is one of the reasons Stiles is his favorite after hours subject. Stiles makes him work for it, can take more with that mile-wide stubborn streak than anyone Adrian has known for a long time.
It doesn't mean he needs to rush.
Adrian savors the round, pink, palmprint until it's almost faded, then lifts his hand once more to land a matching one on the other side. He rubs his hand over it roughly this time, over both of them, and feels Stiles twitch as the heel of his hand presses down just lightly between his cheeks. And there, that's the other reason he likes having Stiles under his hands so much. Confused virgins are a gift that just keeps on giving, as long as you keep them that way.
He settles into a rhythm then: sharp, hard slaps that cover the pale cheeks in a vista of red and pink clouds, the color deepening even as Stiles's breaths grow shallower, faster. Stiles winces and twitches when Adrian's hand smacks down on the reddest parts, and Adrian can almost hear his teeth grind and his jaw creak with the effort of staying silent. It's more than a little damp where Stiles's dick is pressed into Adrian's thigh, and he's probably hoping he's going to come before Adrian can make him ask for any help.
Needless to say, that's not the way this is going to happen.
“Dear me, Mr Stilinski,” he says, warming his hand on Stiles's burning skin for a moment. “It seems I may need some help with you this evening.”
Stiles squirms as he continues to pat and stroke him; it's obviously as uncomfortable as it looks.
“It's a good thing I brought an old friend along with me, isn't it?”
Stiles's head jerks up at that, and his eyes are wide, as if he thinks Adrian would really bring someone else along to watch, or to take part in this. Which... would certainly be interesting.
Stiles looks relieved when Adrian shows him the wooden ruler, worn smooth over the years. Adrian has to smile at that; it's an implement that has broken much tougher cases than Stiles Stilinski. Adrian has been remiss, clearly, in not disciplining Stiles with a variety of instruments, but that is about to change.
The first stroke leaves a slanted line across both cheeks, angry even against the red flush already there. The second gets Adrian a bitten-off cry. It's enough to express all the resentment, shame and pain Stiles has been holding in, but it's nowhere near enough to satisfy Adrian. On three, four and five it gets close, Stiles's whole body jerking in the wake of the ruler, gasps and obscenities spitting towards the floor.
Adrian keeps going, not even waiting for Stiles to still again between blows.
On six, Stiles cries out, loud and long. On seven, there's a choking sound, on eight a sob, and on nine, finally-
“Oh m- god- do it, do it, just-” Stiles chokes out. “Please, for the love of--” and Adrian lets the ruler clatter to the floor and moves his thigh back and forth against Stiles's dick. He presses one wet thumb hard against Stiles's hole until he gasps out and comes, spattering Adrian's chair, his desk and the floor as well as his leg, but Adrian is past caring and Stiles, well, Stiles has no choice in the matter at all.
Stiles dresses in silence, still subdued in a way that almost makes Adrian find him genuinely likeable. If only he could do this before class instead of after it, Stiles would be the most quiet and attentive student in the school. When he turns to leave though, he hesitates.
“Yes, Mr Stilinksi?” Adrian mops at his pants with a tissue, though they are pretty much a lost cause. It's a good thing it's dark outside.
“I meant to-” Stiles says, face still flushed, but this is a different sort of awkwardness that Adrian doesn't think he's seen before. “Thanks, is all.”
Adrian has no idea what to make of that. Stiles maybe gets off on the attention, maybe even on the humiliation a little, but he's never thanked him. Not like this.
“For Scott, I mean,” Stiles says hurriedly, but Adrian is still confused. “You, um. You fixed his grades, right? That was nice of you, I thought about asking, but-”
It's tempting to see how grateful Stiles really is, how far he'll go for a few more helping hands for his best friend. It's what Adrian should do, there's more in it for him that way. But Stiles is so, so innocent in some ways, and if there's one thing Adrian can't resist, it's the chance to make one of these head-in-the-fluffy-clouds teenagers face a few of the harsher realities of life.
He wonders how long it will take Stiles to understand.
“Your thanks are appreciated, Mr Stilinski,” he says, standing up and gathering his books and papers together. He walks down towards Stiles, and allows a slight smirk to twitch at his lips. “But not at all necessary.”
“I don't-” Stiles says, his forehead creasing in confusion. “What do you-”
“Didn't Mr McCall tell you?” Adrian asks him, pushing Stiles out of the door and locking it behind him. “He earned those grades all by himself.”
Note to mod: Can I have a Harris/Stiles pairing tag, please?