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Doodles of the Damned

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Stiles was good at a great deal of things—cooking, video games, warming the bench on the Beacon Hills High lacrosse field, and spellcasting. He was especially good with spellcasting. And given the fact that he was the only human in a friend group that was composed entirely of werewolves, Stiles kind of needed to be good at something supernatural. 

Chemistry, however, was something that Stiles was not good at. If anything, he was very good at being very bad at chemistry. It was the only subject in school that he had the worst time figuring out. And whilst Stiles attributed his inability to pick up the inner workings of chemistry to the fact that his chemistry professor—Mr. Harris—was a total wad of living shit, Stiles could level with himself enough to know that there were just some subjects in school left for the geniuses to figure out. 

Mr. Harris, however, was an issue. He was a total asshole with a superiority complex. And unfortunately for Stiles, he had had to endure taking a class with Harris a total of three times throughout high school. The first time was during freshman year when Harris taught United States Government. The second was back in the Spring semester of sophomore year, when Mrs. Dinch got into a car accident and needed her World History class substituted for the rest of the year. And the third time was now, senior year, after Harris switched over to teaching chemistry instead of history. 

Stiles was unlucky in the fact that none of his friends had chemistry the same period as him, which meant Stiles spent the majority of the time sitting in the back corner of the classroom, trying to stay out of Harris’ sightlines. It worked for the most part, considering so many taller students took up the front rows of desks, meaning that Stiles wasn’t the first face spotted in the crowd of mournfully bored classmates. 

It was April, so close to the end of the year— graduation . Stiles could barely contain his excitement. He had already been accepted to Beacon Hills University as a Criminology major. But there was still a full month and a half of regular classes left and Harris’ classes found new ways to be insufferable. Not only did Stiles have to listen to Harris’ arrogant chirpy voice drone on about sciency-sounding stuff, but April brought with it hot weather, and Harris’ third-floor classroom had a shoddy air conditioning unit. 

Stiles always took the desk in the far back corner of the room, right next to the wall of windows that overlooked the front of the school. But even though the windows were all cracked open, there were no kind breezes to help get everybody through an hour long lecture. Stiles—a lover of wearing layers of clothing—refused to wear anything cooler than a flannel shirt and pair of jeans. Although, he had no issue rolling up the sleeves to cuff at his elbows. That, alone, brought some kind of ventilation. 

Harris was halfway through his normal, tedious brand of lecture—this time leading the class through a tired powerpoint presentation about some kind of chemical compound that Stiles couldn’t even bother trying to pronounce correctly. So, Stiles just sat back at his desk, head propped up with one of his hands, while he used his dominant hand to carelessly doodle around on a blank page in his notebook. 

Stiles wished that he could have brought along some of his spellbooks from home, but alas, nobody at school knew that the supernatural actually existed, so he couldn’t show off. Still—Stiles found himself recounting some of the cool looking runes he had seen in one of his books the night before. He couldn’t get it out of his head, so he found himself doodling the same rune over and over and over again—quickly filling up the rapidly depleting blank space of his notebook page. 

It was a mindless act—no harm, no foul. Stiles kind of just zoned out and let his hand scribble around on autopilot, which happened to be a whole hell of a lot better than listening to Harris teach. On the plus side, his page of repeated rune doodles was starting to look a lot like some kind of abstract art piece and Stiles knew that if he was lucky enough, he could probably try to convince some poor freshman it was a magic talisman to score better grades during finals week. 

All of a sudden, the pen that Stiles was holding in his hand turned blaring hot—hotter than any kind of innocent writing utensil should ever be able to get without added help. It was so hot that it seared against the palm of his hand, forcing him to toss it down to the laminate floor of the classroom. And to his surprise, Stiles watched as the pen struck the ground with an audible hiss—shooting up a puff of what seemed to be steam.

Stiles stared in disbelief. He shook his head and then looked down to where the pen had burned against his own hand, only to find there were no visible burn marks. The pain had also completely subsided. It was almost as if it hadn’t even happened. And yet, as Stiles shot a look back down to the ground to where his pen had fallen, the pen was still steaming and sizzling against the floor. 

What in the world? ” Stiles muttered under his breath, tugging at the neckline of the t-shirt he was wearing underneath his long-sleeved flannel. 

The classroom had suddenly become even hotter than it had felt before. Had it always been this hot? Stiles had to wonder. It felt like a different kind of heat, though. It was a lot stuffier, kind of hard to breath. The heat was also sticky and humid, even. It felt more like he had been teleported into the dead center of a rainforest somewhere along the equator, not in Northern California. 

And Stiles noticed something else strange. He wiped his forearm across the beads of sweat that had begun to form on his forehead and looked up towards the front of the classroom. Harris had stopped—stopped teaching, stopped moving, stopped talking. Everybody in the class, all of the students, had just...stopped—frozen in place and desaturated in color, as if some kind of time displacement spell had been laid upon them. 

Stiles shot up from his seat and looked around the room, spinning around on the heels of his sneakers to catch a glance at the classroom’s wall clock—only to find that it too had been completely stopped. So, it was some kind of time spell. At least, something in the four-corners of that branch of magic. But time spells didn’t cast themselves on their own. They were complex and required tireless, near meticulous repeativie castings, and— 

Suddenly, a pinkish-red tint blew through the room. It was almost as if the sun had decided to randomly change color, or as if somebody or something had literally put rose-tinted glasses on everything around where Stiles was standing. And then without warning, the classroom’s door blasted open with a loud and shocking crash, nearly flying off its hinges. Stiles flinched, but watched carefully as a dark, foreboding figure stepped through a cloud of white smoke. 

“WHAT. THE FUCK . DO YOU . WANT?” The man screamed angrily. 

The man—was handsome. Stiles rubbed at his eyes a couple of times, trying to see if he was in some kind of hallucination. But nope—there really was a hot and equally as hot-tempered stranger standing across the room from him. And Stiles tried everything that he could to not only notice that the stranger could also be some kind of model, when he wasn’t busting through classroom doors. 

Stiles couldn’t help it, though. The man was a dreamboat. He looked as though he were Stiles’ height, but that was where the similarities stopped. The man had lots of muscles, which were only magnified by how they seemed to stretch at the fabric of the red pin-stripped suit that the man was wearing. He was also wearing a charcoal grey tie and matching vest, along with a sleek black leather belt and shiny oxfords. 

The man had beautifully tanned skin, which seemed only to complement the dangerous flare of the man’s bright red eyes. He also had dark hair, which was nicely coiffed. Dark stubble shadowed the man’s sharp jaw and cheeks, and equally as dark eyebrows made the man seem even more dangerous than he already appeared to be. And yet, Stiles couldn’t stop staring at him. 

Stiles made L-shapes with both of his hands and held them out in front of them, almost as if he were calling the handsome stranger a double-loser. But he wasn’t doing anything of the sort. He was gearing up to throw up some protective shields and charms to protect himself from whatever the stranger wanted. He seemed angry and that was enough to make Stiles ready himself for a potential battle. 

The man scoffed at Stiles’ hand movement and slapped the open air with one of his hands, forcing the glow of Stiles’ buffering magic to fizzle out. He continued to step further into the classroom—eyes blazing with fury and annoyance. He pushed frozen students and their desks out of his path with nothing more than the mere thought. Some kind of telekinetic trick. 

“Who— what are you?” Stiles asked, standing his ground. He couldn’t defend himself, but he thought that perhaps he could get some answers prior to getting slaughtered.

“Are you—fucking joking?” The man rolled his eyes, looking around the room in disgust, before starting to mumble angrily underneath his breath. “ Another goddamn stupid kid playing around with shit they don’t understand—summon me—think its funny—shit their pants when I actually show up—

“Summon you?” Stiles asked. “I didn’t fucking summon you. I didn’t fucking summon anything. I don’t know who you are.”

“Dheiriick, Hailer of Heat, Lieutenant of the Second Circle of Hell, The Dark Charmer of Taboo, The Seed Spiller, The Shadow’s Spear…” Dheiriick listed through titles in a monotonous voice, looking an obvious mix of frustration and rage. “...anything ringing a bell? Or are you just as pathetically inept as the rest of your lustful species of worms.”

Stiles squinted inquisitively, sizing the man up. “ So —your name is Derek—”

“DHEIRIICK!” Derek shouted ragefully, steam wafting off of his broad shoulders.

“Deh— hairick —Derek.” Stiles said slowly, almost snickering to himself at how angry the ‘demon’ seemed to get at the mispronounced name. “Sorry, I can’t do whatever it is you’re doing with your tongue to say it the way that you’re saying it—I think it’s because I’m an inept worm—who lives on Earth, where the closest word we have to your name is ‘Derek’.”

“Derek” seemed to mentally collapse even further into anger. “So the idiot summons me, can’t even properly pronounce my name—”

“Look, I’ve already told you, dude.” Stiles started, stretching out his arms, bearing his truth for everybody in the frozen classroom to hear. “I didn’t fucking summon you.”

Derek scoffed and then held out one of his hands—almost as if he were asking for some kind of donation. Stiles looked down at Derek’s empty hand and just raised an eyebrow in confusion, looking back up to meet Derek’s sultry red eyes. And then suddenly, a puff of white steam roared in the palm of Derek’s extended hand. When the steam dissipated, Derek was holding the notebook with all of Stiles’ careless scribbles. 

This —is my name written out in ancient Demonicadian, repeated no less than two hundred times.” Derek noted. “Somebody was clearly starved.”

“Uh—starved?” Stiles questioned. 

“For sex.” Derek said firmly, crossing his arms. His thick eyebrows were still creased in frustration. “I’m a sex demon. I answer to those that call for me. And you called for me, repeatedly.”

“It wasn’t trying to do it.” Stiles justified. “I was just doodling, trying to pass the time. It was subconscious.”

“Which says a lot about your subconscious desires, human.”

Stiles couldn’t help but blush. It was as if some kind of switch had been flipped. His body felt a little tighter, a little hotter, a little more antsy. He still wasn’t scared, even though there was an incredibly angry demon standing directly in front of him. Derek was angry and didn’t budge from that singular emotion. But Stiles couldn’t stop staring at him. 

“Ye—yeah, well, y’know—sometimes things are just—y’know, subconscious things—they mean nothing, kinda just happen.” Stiles babbled nervously, scratching at the back of his neck. “So, you can head back to—Hell, I guess.”

“Doesn’t work that way.” Derek said, stepping closer to Stiles’ body. His red eyes seared into Stiles’ amber-colored ones. “I’m a sex demon.”

“So?”

“The sooner I fuck you, the sooner I can leave.” Derek explained dryly, watching Stiles’ face grow even redder. 

A nervous giggle escaped Stiles’ mouth as he stumbled backwards, accidentally knocking into one of the rows of desks and frozen students. He shot a glance over his shoulder just to make sure that no damage had come to his fellow classmates, but everything seemed perfectly fine. Well, as fine as being magically frozen could be. And then just as Stiles turned his head to focus on what Derek was doing, he found Derek pressed even closer to him. 

“Are you—humans aren’t as dumb as you think, jackoff.” Stiles bit aggressively, pushing back against the broadness of Derek’s frame. The fabric of the man’s nicely tailored suit felt so unnaturally nice against the palm of his hand that his train of thought nearly derailed. “—we’re not all— what did you say before —inept worms?”

Derek scoffed and surged forward, taking Stiles’ lips in for a dominating kiss. Their bodies naturally seemed to slide inward to press up against one another. Derek was precise in his taking. His kiss was firm. It demanded attention. It demanded compliance. Derek’s hands took on different pieces of the confused, unmistakably aroused boy. Right hand—cradling Stiles’ face. Left hand—firmly grabbing at where Stiles was already throbbing in his jeans. 

Stiles’ brain scrambled as he felt Derek’s lips and body pressed against him. It was without even thinking that Stiles found his hands clutched desperately on the lapels of Derek’s suit coat—as if to hold him closer, never to let him part. Derek’s skin was unnaturally hot—though not painful or unbearable. It felt like stepping into a jacuzzi for the first time. It required a soft, relaxed ease into the heat. And Stiles melted just fine. 

For a demon, Derek didn’t taste the way Stiles thought he would—as if he had ever even stopped to think about what a demon’s kiss would taste like. There was no brimstone, no smoke, no musk. Derek tasted amazing. He tasted sweet, like honey and sugar. It was addictive. Each clash of their tongue shot off sparks inside of Stiles’ head. It pushed him to fight for more and more. It pushed him to kiss Derek even harder, rougher, and sloppier. 

“Are we really fucking doing this ?” Stiles asked breathlessly, diving back into a firm kiss. It was obvious that he didn’t truly care about getting an answer as he tugged at Derek’s coat, pulling the demon towards the front of the classroom where they wouldn’t be sandwiched in-between so many desks. “Like, really, really fucking doing this…”

Stiles languidly humped into where Derek’s hand refused to stop squeezing and stroking at his cock through his jeans. It felt too damn good. Derek’s touch felt like pure, warm energy grabbing at him in all of the right places. And Stiles was too hung up on the taste of Derek’s lips to actually strip himself down. He didn’t even know if his brain was working well enough to properly unbutton his own pants. 

Luckily, Derek was far ahead of the curve. His body count was in the trillions. He knew how to maneuver through a messy hookup. At once, Derek moved his hand away from where it had been enthusiastically clasped atop Stiles’ erection, flying up into the air. And then with the snap of his fingers, Derek watched as the front button of Stiles’ jeans popped and listened to the relieved drawl of the boy’s zipper as it slid open—completely unaided by physical touch. 

Stiles was magically trained, but too foggy in the head to properly find any workable spells to cast for undressing. Plus, there was no guarantee that his magic worked on actual demons. So he took things in a much more manual approach. Stiles grapped harder at the lapels of Derek’s suit coat and pushed it back, tugging it down the solid mass of muscle of Derek’s biceps—letting it crash down against the laminate flooring with an audible sizzle. 

There was really no helping it. Stiles was hooked. His fingers tingled with the desire to touch more of Derek. He slid his hands up Derek’s clothed torso, feeling the ridges of the demon’s abs under his fingertips. Stiles rubbed there for a moment, getting used to what it felt like to touch muscle like that. None of the guys that he had ever hooked-up with were quite as physically blessed. But he figured that perhaps being a sex demon with powerful magic helped Derek’s body stay so incredible. 

Stiles brought his hands up to the buttons of Derek’s vest—making a clumsy mess of unfastening them. But once the vest was all undone, Stiles took it off and tossed it down to where Derek’s suit coat was already starting to warp the cheap flooring with continued heat contact. And with his lips still on Derek’s, Stiles fingered at the buttons of Derek’s red button-up shirt. The only problem was that the buttons were way smaller than the vest’s and Stiles was too love-drunk to unfasten them. 

After a few minutes of lazily struggling, Stiles broke his kiss with Derek and looked down to where his fingers were shaking—desperate to keep touching at Derek. He swallowed down a frustrated groan and muttered a simple “fuck this shit” under his breath and then gripped hard into the fabric of Derek’s shirt. At once, Stiles pulled open the shirt—watching as the buttons popped off and flew out in different directions, pelting against the frozen statues that had been his lively classmates a few moments ago. 

Stiles’ mouth went slack at the sight of the expanse of Derek’s naked torso. There were his abs, which seemed to be even more jacked than they had felt under the fabric of his shirt. But then there was Derek’s chest—just as muscular and beefy, with a nice dusting of chest hair that spread evenly across Derek’s pecs and trailed down to the waistline of Derek’s hips in a thin line. And the most perfect, suckable, biteable nipples that Stiles had ever seen. 

Derek shoved Stiles back, knocking the boy right into the edge of Mr. Harris’ long desk. The metal legs of the desk croaked at the sudden movement, which sent a few empty glass beakers down to shatter on the floor. Stiles turned to Harris, fearing that the shatter would somehow wake everybody out of their frozen state, but nothing happened. Nobody woke up. Instead, Derek snapped his fingers again and the beaker shards seemed to burn out of existence in tiny flashes of flame. 

“You’re clumsier than the average human, I see.” Derek said. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” Stiles groaned, wrapped his arms around the back of Derek’s neck. They resumed their sloppy kissing. 

Derek hoised Stiles up into his arms for a moment and then sat the boy down atop of Harris’ desk. It croaked again under the weight. Derek quickly removed Stiles’ flannel and then thumbed underneath the hem of the undershirt that the boy was wearing, pulling that up and over Stiles’ head with ease. And although it briefly disconnected their kiss, Stiles immediately surged forward in an attempt to drink in more of Derek’s heat. 

Stiles’ legs dangled off the edge of Harris’ desk, playfully swinging around—not touched down onto the ground. Meanwhile, Derek took advantage of the boy’s whorefully spread legs, sliding himself in-between them—closing the gap between their aroused bodies. Stiles’ bottom half immediately thrust forward to rub up against where Derek was hard and throbbing in his own pants. The tension made Stiles shiver. 

Derek stole his lips back from Stiles’ and then craned his head downward, mouthing passionately at the soft skin of the boy’s neck. He ravaged Stiles’ neck with rough, biting kisses that burned hot, quickly bruising red marks into Stiles’ fair skin. He moved down, sucking sweetly at Stiles’ sharp collarbone, then down to Stiles’ broad chest—dragging his tongue across the medallion of chest hair that was in-between the boy’s pecs, and finally done to Stiles’ pink nipples. 

Don’t stop .” Stiles whispered, curling his fingers into the soft curls of Derek’s hair. He threw his head back, feeling Derek’s hot lips and tongue lash across his naked torso.

“This is barely anything.” Derek said, swiping his stubble against Stiles’ sensitive skin. 

Stiles nodded rather carelessly. He didn’t even bother saying anything, because for some reason, he swore that Derek could somehow hear his thoughts—his very, very enthusiastic and lewd thoughts. And with Derek so readily available standing in-between his spread legs, Stiles firmly grabbed onto Derek’s sleek belt buckle, unfastening it quickly with his long fingers. 

Eagerly, Stiles thumbed haphazardly at the button of Derek’s pressed red trousers. He unzipped them and tugged them open the best that he could, immediately stuffing his hand down into the crotch of Derek’s pants. Just as soon as he did, Stiles’ bare fingertips were immediately met with a dazzling, radiating heat. Derek wasn’t wearing boxers—full commando. And like the rest of his body, Derek’s cock was searing hot. 

Stiles gawked down into the shadows of where his hand was plunged down into the front of Derek’s trousers. He wrapped his fingers around Derek’s cock and then pulled the demon free, stuttering out in shock as Derek’s incredibly thick cock fell out into the open space between where their bodies were slotted between one another. Stiles couldn’t even speak. He just stared—mouth agape—while Derek continued sucking bruises into Stiles’ skin. 

Derek was a good nine inches and as thick as his own wrist. There was a large vein that ran alongside the demon’s incredible length and all Stiles wanted to do was run his tongue along it. Stiles gave Derek a few timid strokes, just getting a feel for what an actual demon felt in the grasp of his own hands. He stroked slowly, pulling gently at the soft foreskin— watching as beads of precum pearled up and dripped down to sear against Stiles’ knuckles. 

“I wanna…” Stiles muttered, thumbing delicately over the leaking head of Derek’s fat cock. 

“You want to do what?” Derek asked, looking into Stiles’ eyes. 

Stiles gave Derek a weak, somewhat distracted smile, and then looked back down to where Derek’s girth throbbed in the grasp of his hand. “—wanna blow you.”

Derek snapped his fingers and a warm gust of air blew through the classroom. It washed over where Stiles was sitting on the edge of Mr. Harris’ desk with Derek slotted between his thighs. The clean gust of wind pushed at the rest of the items that were on the desk, knocking them off the far edge of the desk. But where Stiles expected to hear a loud crash from the various papers and books that had been pushed away, he only heard the trickle of sand. The items had morphed into black sand as they smacked against the floor. 

“Neat trick.” Stiles breathed, looking over to the newly empty expanse of Mr. Harris’ desk. 

Stiles pulled his legs up from where they were dangling off the edge of the desk and tucked them up to his chest, spinning his body around. He laid down horizontally down the length of the desk’s surface, slightly cringing as his bare back laid against the desk’s cold faux-wood surface. Stiles let his head hang off the edge of the desk that was practically lined up with where Derek’s massive cock was spilt out the front of his pants. All the while, Stiles’ dirty, unlaced sneakers hung off the opposite edge. 

Derek hummed at the switch in positioning. Stiles seemed a lot more trained than he had initially thought. He wrapped one of his hands around his cock and gave it an enticing swing, stepping closer so that he could rest the length of his cock across where Stiles’ face was hanging off the edge of the desk. He dragged the head of his dick across Stiles’ reddened lips, watching as the boy’s tongue eagerly chased the heat. 

Impatiently, Stiles reached up and grabbed onto the base of Derek’s cock and directed it towards his open mouth. And just like that, Stiles took Derek into his mouth. Immediately, Stiles felt his stomach flutter at the taste of Derek’s precum as it shot across his tongue. He lashed it violently around the demon’s cockhead, trying his best to nurse out as much precum as he could manage. His skin tingled each time that he got another taste. He really couldn’t get enough. 

Derek cradled Stiles’ upside down face, marvelling at the boy’s choice of positioning. He stared down to where Stiles nursed the head of his cock and swirled his tongue around in a careful, yet demanding way. And then just when Stiles’ was starting to get antsy where he laid across the desk, Derek shoved his dick down Stiles’ throat—eliciting a harsh series of choked out gags as it slammed into the back of the boy’s throat. 

Derek didn’t wait for Stiles to adjust. He began to thrust his cock in and out of the human’s mouth, starting with a calm rhythm. Tears pooled up in the corners of Stiles’ hazel eyes, but the tears were immediately knocked away as Derek picked up the pace of his thrusts— electing to slam harder into the boy’s throat. He held tighter onto the sides of Stiles’ face, keeping the wet heat that he was fucking into perfectly centered. All the while, the repetitive sound of his balls smacking against Stiles’ forehead permeated the classroom’s quiet. 

Stiles breathed hard through his nose in harsh exhales, sputtering out saliva and precum that drooled out from the corners of his abused mouth. His lips were starting to sting as they remained stretched open and wrapped around Derek’s girth. His jaw began to ache. And wild slurps and gags echoed deep down in his throat and Derek’s cock drove in and smashed against the back of his mouth. 

Eventually, Derek shouted out with an echoed roar that shook the old windows of the classroom. His eyes simmered red—no pupils or irises visible. His body shuttered and he drove his hips particularly hard into Stiles’ mouth, stuffing the entirety of his nine girthy inches down the poor human’s throat as an orgasm crashed through his whole body. 

Stiles’ eyes nearly bulged out of his head in shock. He writhed around atop the desk in a desperate attempt to find something to grab onto to brace himself, but he couldn’t do anything, so he just reached up and grabbed onto where Derek kept his hands tightly clasped at the sides of Stiles’ head. All Stiles could do was lay there, staring up into the deep red of Derek’s eyes, while he felt monstrous bursts of cum flood down his throat in repeated spurts. 

Stiles’ somewhat panicked writhing calmed immediately, all thanks to Derek’s seed having a calming effect on anything that swallowed it. He smirked down to where he watched as Stiles’ tight throat worked around where the massive cock remained stuffed down it. Stiles’ Adam’s Apple bobbed around rapidly as he swallowed the pumps of fresh cum. It was audible. It sounded almost as if Stiles was chugging down a giant thermos of fresh water after playing in a sports game, but it wasn’t water. It was cum. And Stiles was taking every drop. 

After a few minutes, Derek’s cock stopped pulsing and Stiles had nothing left to swallow down into his stomach. Derek pulled his cock out of Stiles’ throat and gave it a triumphant wave around, watching as Stiles’ hopeful eyes tracked the movement. Derek was still hard— the perks of being a sex demon. He could stay hard for as long as he wanted and definitely for as long as he needed. After all, the protocol for fucking a summoner called for at least two orgasms—one down the throat, the other up the ass. 

Fuck —you’re still gonna fuck me right?” Stiles asked, sitting up from where he had been laid out on his back. He spun around, letting his legs hang over the edge again, letting Derek’s hips slot in-between them. 

“It’s protocol.” Derek explained, pulling Stiles off the edge of the desk to stand on his own two feet—as unsteady as they were. “You summoned me. I fuck one load down your throat, the other into your ass. Now bend the fuck over, Stiles.”

Stiles nodded, spinning around on the heels of his sneakers. He fumbled around with his pants, but managed to get them undone and shucked down to his ankles—along with his boxers—in a quick manner. As Derek pressed against his back, forcing him to bend over the edge of the desk, Stiles looked around the classroom. He couldn’t even really fathom it. He stared into the frozen, rather bored looking facial expressions of his fellow classmates and then over to where Mr. Harris was standing a few inches from him—equally as frozen, pointing at the projector screen that reflected one of his powerpoint slides.

But before Stiles could even think about how truly fucked up it was that he was about to get fucked across his teacher’s desk, in front of all of his classmates, there was a spark of excitement that twisted around inside of his stomach. His hard cock twitched as he thought harder about it. There he was— spread out for everybody to see, by a demon. And it felt like it would end up being the hottest moment in his entire life. 

“Not a stranger to this kind of sin, I take it.” Derek said raspily, he nudged the head of his fat cock against Stiles’ tight entrance.

“Public sex, you mean?” Stiles asked, shaking his head—canting his hips up to rub against where Derek’s cock was touching him so nicely. “Nah, no—yeah, once before—in a park with this dude I went on a date with—the date sucked—but I— ah, fuck —blew him in park on the walk—back home.”

“And now we know why your subconscious called out to me here—of all places.” Derek looked around the room at the other frozen humans, face wincing in disgust. “—amongst an audience of your….human friends.”

“I guess.” Stiles breathed, somewhat distracted. 

Stiles gave his hips another waggle, but then felt Derek press his index finger against his upper back. Stiles’ shoulders instinctively hutched, but released. His skin freckled in goosebumps under Derek’s touch. And then, Derek started to lightly trail his fingertip down Stiles’ skin—teasingly slow—stopping only at his lower back. Stiles waited for a few seconds and then opened his mouth to speak, only to feel as Derek’s finger began to move across his lower back—tracing around designs and odd motions, like he was drawing something. 

Derek was drawing something—tracing runes into Stiles’ lower back. They were completely invisible to the naked human eyes, but not to Derek. He traced intricate circles, with deep, plunging lines. Slashes, harsh angles, swirls, and letters from a language only he could understand. And then he pressed the ball of his palm down onto Stiles’ lower back, watching as the ruins seemed to glow and sink into the human’s skin. 

Suddenly, Stiles cried out. His knees buckled and he nearly slipped down to his knees. But he held onto the side edges of the desk that he was bent over to prevent himself from crashing down. He felt a spike of electricity surge through his spine once, up to his neck, and then back down to where Derek’s fingers had been doodling. And then he felt something hot and wet swirl around inside of his ass, dripping out of his untouched hole in thick rivlets—like syrup. 

Stiles shot a curious look over his shoulder at where Derek was standing behind him, thumbing at his hole. “What—what the hell was that?” He asked shakily—legs still wobbling. 

“A lubrication enchantment.” Derek said, sliding a couple of his fingers into Stiles’ wetness. “We demons are not savages—but you will take all of me.”

Derek started fucking his fingers into Stiles’ hole, shooting them inward with hard and precise jolts, only to slowly retract them—repeating the whole motion again and again. Stiles’ body responded so well to the intrusion. Stiles’ ass seemed to hike higher up into the air without the boy’s own knowledge. It was pure instinct now. It was the desperation to be stuffed full. 

A deep, shocking bolt of achiness twinged in Stiles’ balls each time that Derek’s fingers pushed into his tightness. He swore that he could feel his load doubling in quantity each time that Derek did it. Stiles could also tell that Derek’s fingerwork was skilled and knowing. As he fucked his fingers past the tight ring of Stiles’ hole, he curved his fingers—purposely prodding them around to rub at Stiles’ prostate. That, alone, made Stiles’ knees feel even weaker than they already were. 

And then, just when Stiles was ready to accept the fact that his orgasm would arrive all thanks to Derek’s fingers, Derek splayed an open palm against his back and pushed his upper half forward— holding him down against the surface of the desk, unable to move or look over his shoulders. Derek withdrew his fingers, took hold of his massive cock, and shoved in—without as much as a clever sneer. 

Derek bottomed out quickly, stuffing the entire length of his cock into Stiles’ heat—right down to the root. Stiles moaned loudly, breathlessly. His fingers scrambled around desperately atop the desk, scratching and clawing at the surface. But the bluntness of his fingernails did nothing. All he could do was take it, take everything that Derek was about to passionately deliver. 

“Ah—ha— ah, ah —fuck—yeah—fuck me—like that—harder—har— harder —fuck!” Stiles panted out in quick, cut off breaths, each and every time Derek’s fat cock hammered into him. 

Derek was so thick, but Stiles’ body eagerly swallowed his thrusts. His nine inches filled Stiles so deep and so right, Stiles’ head swirled. He panted out hard against where his face laid motionless atop the desk, all the while, he kept trying to raise his hips up even higher so that Derek’s thrusts fucked into him at a stronger, unfamiliar angle. And each time that he did, Stiles’ vision flashed white. 

The savage slaps of Derek’s muscular, hairy thighs ramming against Stiles’ ass bounced off the walls of the classroom. 

“Humans—so fucking tiresome—” Derek breathed raggedly, gripping his hands at the sides of Stiles’ slender waistline. “—but I do enjoy breaking them in so nicely.”

“How—how ro—romantic.” Stiles stuttered, unable to keep his voice steady. 

Derek let a small chuckle tickle at the depth of his throat. He pulled his cock out of Stiles’ hole, watching as a river of syrup-like slick poured down the back of the poor boy’s thighs, splatting down onto the laminate flooring with a crude noise. The lubrication enchantment was working better on Stiles than it usually did on humans. Stiles was wet—wet enough to take much more than Derek had originally planned to give. 

Derek slapped his palm down hard against Stiles’ ass, watching as a red handprint quickly brightened against the boy’s fair skin. He grabbed hold of his slicked up cock and gave it a few enthusiastic strokes, looking down to where he could see Stiles’ now empty hole fluttering—desperate to be filled again. And as Stiles slowly raised from where he had been pressed down against Harris’ creaky desk, turning around to ask Derek what the hell was wrong with him for stopping, Derek hoised Stiles up into his arms and crashed him back down atop the desk—like he had before when the two of them were just kissing. 

Time time, however, Derek was a lot rougher with it. There was a blaze of furious hunger in his bright red eyes that hadn’t been there beforehand. Derek knew what he wanted. Hell —he knew what Stiles wanted. So, he pushed against Stiles’ broad chest and forced the boy to lay on his back. He pulled away the clutter of Stiles jeans and boxers that had been messily held at his ankles, tossing it across the room to land atop some poor frozen boy’s head, and then grabbed onto Stiles’ ankles. 

Derek lifted Stiles’ legs up and then pushed them back— further and further—watching Stiles’ face contort with the slightest glimmer of worry that his legs might not be that flexible. But no pain came as Derek pushed them back further, only stopping when each of Stiles’ knees were properly levelled at the sides of the human’s face. 

It came as a great shock to Stiles. He had never been put into such a daring, submissive position, but the fact that Derek was folding him into the shape he wanted made Stiles’ already leaking cock start to leak even more. Stiles laid there on his back, completely naked—all except for his long black socks and sneakers—legs pushed back towards his ears. He stared up to where Derek remained, massive cock swaying slightly as it hovered above Stiles’ exposed hole. 

And then Derek drove back in—slamming his huge cock into Stiles’ tight heat with a wet squelch. Stiles panted out a shocked, breathless and silent scream, eyes rolled back into his own head. Meanwhile, Derek’s pace became mercilessly brutal and starved. His hips snapped harder and harder, his balls slapped up against Stiles’ ass. The noise was so incredibly lewd and loud that for just a moment, Stiles hoped that all of the other classrooms in the school had also been totally frozen. 

Derek growled and snapped his teeth—a wicked grin spread across his intoxicating face. He continued to hammer into Stiles’ wet heat, refusing to slow. He was still clothed from the bottom-half down, with just his massive—throbbing cock and balls spilled out from the waistband of his unfastened trousers. The rest of his naked body flooded with a sheen and sweat that matted down his body hair and intensified the sharpness of his muscle. 

Stiles held on for dear life, feeling his body explode with pleasure that rang through from his brain, through the flutter of his stomach, and down through the tips of his toes. He felt like he was floating, but held warmly in the tightness of Derek’s strength. Derek wouldn’t let him go. And Stiles didn’t want to be let go. He wanted so much more. He needed it. And Derek was going to give it to him. 

Suddenly, Stiles watched as Derek began to change. In any other circumstance, it would have stopped his heart with fright. But the entirety of Stiles’ body and mind was wrapped up tight in a warm feeling of contentment. Stiles couldn’t figure out if it was just the feeling of the sweltering air in the classroom or if Derek had sank another demonic rune into his skin to help him relax. Either way, Stiles couldn’t break his eyes away from where Derek was wildly driving into him.

Stiles watched as twelve inch long black horns grew out the top of Derek’s head. Derek’s red eyes began to gleam even brighter—so bright, in fact, that it kind of hurt to look directly into them. And yet, Stiles couldn’t find a way to look away. At the same time, Derek’s skin turned from tanned bronze to a warm slate gray. Derek’s grin almost seemed to widen, and there Stiles saw a mouthful of now razor sharp teeth. Derek’s tongue slipped out from between Derek’s now gray lips—slimy and black, 7 inches, and whipping around, strewing around lashes of saliva. And a tail, elastic, pointed at the tip, now swayed around behind Derek’s imposing form. 

Then just as Stiles thought that Derek’s shift had slowed to a stop, he felt his own insides begin to scream and twist in the most amazing, repetitive sparks of pleasure that he had ever felt. His bottom lip quivered. His body grew even hotter than it had been. His chest heaved rapidly. Stiles felt Derek’s already massive cock begin to thicken inside of him, stretching his inner walls even more, hammering even deeper than Stiles had originally even thought possible. And it didn’t stop. 

As Derek’s dick grew in size, so did Derek’s stature. He grew taller and wider—his muscles became even bigger. His shoulders drew wider. If Stiles laid his head to rest atop Derek’s hairy chest, his face wouldn’t have even been big enough to fit just one of Derek’s pectorals. If Stiles had tried to wrap his arms around the girth of Derek’s waistline, he would have been unsuccessful. 

And still— Derek increased in mass, his cock following the lead. The red trousers that Derek was still wearing stretched fiercely and split along some of the seams. Just like that, Derek had grown a full 3 feet in height, coming in stand at 9 feet tall. The top of his horns scratched obnoxiously at the shoddy roof. But the best part was that Derek’s cock was now twelve inches in length, still stuffed entirely inside of Stiles’ guts. 

Stiles could barely breathe. He was so full—far past just feeling full. Derek’s massive shaft was speared right into him, stretching his walls from the inside, stabbed hard into his prostate. And then Derek gave a dark, deep bellowed laugh, looking down directly at him with his beaming red eyes. He relinquished his hold on Stiles’ ankles and let the boy lower down his legs. But before Stiles could say anything, Derek began thrusting into him again— just as hard, just as rough, just as good

“GOD— FUCK !” Stiles sobbed out. “HOLY— FUCK— OH , FUCK!”

Derek laughed, driving deep into Stiles’ ass. The boy’s body was pitched forward harshly with each thrust. The flimsy desk croaked even harder and louder, as though it were about to collapse. But Derek didn’t stop the movement of his hips and Stiles didn’t stop moaning, desperately reaching up to grab at something—at anything, at air, at Derek, just anything. 

Stiles’ eyes drew hazy. His mouth hung open, slack-jawed. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, drooling saliva down the sides of his cheeks. He couldn’t do much of anything except scream out in pleasure and attempt to track the sight of Derek’s massive cock hammering into his body. And each time that it did, Stiles watched in disbelief as the huge, unavoidable imprint of Derek’s cock pressed through the skin of his own stomach. 

“De—Der—Dheiriick! Don’tstopdon’tstop—FUCK—please—don’tdon’t—DON’T FUCKING STOP—”

Suddenly, Derek’s elastic prehensile tail whipped around and slapped Stiles across the face, snuffing out the human’s cum-hungry pleas for more. Stiles let out a delirious sort of giggle, looking up into Derek’s devilish grin. Derek’s tail swayed around above Stiles’ sweaty face, as if surveying the situation, and then shot downward—coiling and wrapping itself around Stiles’ perfect neck. 

Stiles yelped and gulped down his shock. And then, without even the slightest bit of warning, Stiles’ hips jolted up into the air—as the cruelest orgasm ran over him. Stiles babbled messily, hazily looking into the stark brightness of Derek’s fiery eyes. Meanwhile, Stiles’ hard cock stood straight up in the air and twitched rapidly, throwing ropes and hot cum up into the air—arching high above Stiles’ own’ head, some of which rained down atop Stiles’ messy face, his heaving chest, and his distended stomach. With one particularly bold spurt of cum flying up to splat against Mr. Harris’ frozen, unaware face.

Derek craned downward and lashed Stiles’ cummed-up face with his long, wild tongue—taking Stiles’ sticky taste into his mouth. He jackhammered even harder into the boy’s worn body, over and over again, drawing exhausted wheezes of breath out from Stiles’ lungs. And just when Stiles looked at though he was about to pass out in a deep, post-orgasmic slumber, Derek punched into Stiles’ body with a thrust nobody would have been able to miss—shocking Stiles back to full alertness. 

A thunderous roar fled Derek’s mouth, which seemed to shake the foundation of the school. The hanging fluorescent lights in the classroom swung around, books tipped off some of the shelves, and one frozen student slipped out of his seat to thud against the floor. Nonetheless, Derek’s own orgasm washed over him. And with his cock plunged deep into Stiles’ guts, he let himself unload. 

As Derek’s tail unwrapped itself from Stiles’ neck, Stiles panted out in shock. His body was still incredibly sensitive and his own cock refused to stop twitched, drooling feeble spurts of cum down the shaft of his softening cock. But Stiles couldn’t even bother to care about that. His head was still high in the clouds as he melted into the incredible sensation of Derek’s massive cock twitching inside of his body. 

Stiles lazily reached down with both of his hands and rubbed at where he could both see and feel Derek’s cock rooted deep inside of him. Through the surface of his own distended stomach, Stiles could feel Derek’s dick. And without even thinking, he began to massage Derek’s pulsating cock, through the skin of his stomach. 

Derek seemed to groan at the added sensation, so Stiles kept with it. He palmed down Derek’s length. He could feel the sludge of boiling hot cum slosh into his body with repeated, heavy bursts. And just as quickly as Stiles felt the cum pump into his stomach, he felt the excess spatter out from where his hole was still tightly wrapped around Derek’s unyielding girth. 

“I would hurry if I were you—” Derek breathed, after a handful of minutes letting his balls fully empty inside of Stiles. “—because when I snap my fingers, you’ll have five minutes before this whole school unfreezes.”

“Mmhmm.” Stiles droned sleepily, running his hand up and down the pudge of his stomach. 

“Find a change of clothes.” Derek said. “I don’t think you’ll want your human pals to wake up to find their fellow classmate perched atop their teacher’s desk, naked, and guts flooded with cum.”

Stiles just nodded dazedly. His blinks drew slower. He wasn’t paying much attention to Derek’s words. After all, they all seemed to sound so muffled and so far away—so detached from where Stiles was lounging around in a post-sex stupor of mindless bliss. He just rubbed at his skin, feeling the soft trickle of slick and cum pour out of his ass and splat down onto the floor. 

Derek smirked and then snapped his fingers—disappearing in a soft haze of black smoke. The classroom remained tinted red, still sweltering with heat. Stiles remained atop Harris’ desk in the front of the room, completely naked, sweaty and sticky, covered with his own cum and leaking the cum of a demon. He teasingly dragged his fingertips through the matted hair of his treasure trail. 

The classroom remained frozen. Time ticked on by. And Stiles—

accidentally dozed off.