
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3820384.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Peter_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Historical, Alternate_Universe_-_Academia, Professor
      Peter_Hale, Daddy_Kink, Orgasm_Delay, BDSM, Bondage, Power_Imbalance,
      Abuse_of_Authority, Sex_Toys, Spanking, Fear_of_Discovery, dom/sub
      elements, Aftercare, Love_Confessions
  Series:
      Part 1 of Academia_AU
  Collections:
      The_Steter_Network
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-04-26 Words: 2826
****** Bound Fast With Love ******
by Diablerie
Summary
     It started when his grandfather assigned him to attend to the
     visiting professor, Peter Hale.
     "Be his shadow, my boy. Take care of his smallest need before he has
     an opportunity to notice. It would be quite the feather in our cap if
     we can steal him away."
     Somehow, that brought him here: bound to a table and about to be
     spanked for his shoddy recitation of ancient poetry.
Notes
     Thanks go to the entire Steter Chatzy. This wouldn't exist without
     all of you encouraging me to finish what would have been my first
     Steter fic and convincing me to turn it into a series. It won't quite
     be the story I pictured back in 2012, but it will be something
     instead of collecting dust on my google drive.
     My apologies if you find the prose overwrought or otherwise purple. I
     tried to restrain myself as much as possible while maintaining the
     period atmosphere.
      
     Warnings at the end notes
See the end of the work for more notes
 

Stiles winced, realizing the error just as the words left his lips; in a
trained response, he went limp within the loops of silken rope tying him to a
polished, wooden table. Through trial and error, he’d learned that the only
option was to relax into the burst of pleasure-pain. Stiles offered no
resistance as the ruler landed three sharp blows directly across the base of
the thick, phallus—a durable, glass aide d’amour that Peter had lodged inside
him as incentiveat the beginning of his tutorial.

"Mr. Stilinski, I’m sure you can do better than that. What would your esteemed
grandfather say if he could hear this poor recitation?" Peter never raised his
voice above a murmur during correction, and he never needed to. He wielded his
words with the precision of a surgeon, and Stiles couldn’t help choking out a
sob at the threat of disappointing—not his grandfather—but his professor.

As Peter came around the low table (perfectly adjusted for his position) Stiles
jerked in surprise. However, he quickly relaxed again, almost lounging in his
restraints when he felt a hand idly stroking along the sweat dampened hair at
his brow.

“Hush now. No tears, dear boy. I know you’re quite capable. That was your only
mistake, and we’re nearly done with this afternoon’s work.” A cool finger
gently traced around his tender rim before retreating.

“I shall allow you to make another attempt, but I expect perfectionfrom such a
bright young man… you do want to earn your reward don’t you, Stiles?”

"Yes, please," he gasped wetly as Peter’s fingers lightly teased at his cock
head before painting Stiles’s slick across his parted lips and dipping inside.
Stiles eagerly chased his own taste until all that remained was the unique
flavor of Peter mixed with leather from the gloves he wore every day. All too
soon, his mouth was emptied, but he knew what was expected.

Stiles drew one ragged breath before he begged, "Please, Sir. May I begin
again?"

There was no response from Peter.

"Sir?"

He managed to contain his distress until he heard swift footsteps and the lock
turn from the other side of the door. Then the mortifying and unmistakable
sound of his grandfather requesting entrance. The minutes passed in an
interminable agony of fear and arousal. The prospect of being caught naked and
debauched in the visiting professor's private rooms shouldhave been enough to
wilt the boy’s erection, but he remained hard and dripping during the wait.

Stiles shifted in his bonds and tried to keep his moans muffled by the
tabletop. Evidently, his grandfather couldn't have the decency to be slightly
deaf in his old age because he laughed. He laughed and apologized to Peter for
interrupting his "recreation".

Headmaster Stilinski was a randy old goat. It was clear that Stiles wasn’t any
better because, yes, the risk of exposure made him struggle in his bonds—but he
struggled for completion, not freedom. He rutted mindlessly against the table’s
edge and worked his ass around the flared base of the glass pressed so sweetly
against his prostate, uncaring of the noises that escaped him.

Stiles lost all sense of time in his desperate need for release. It could have
been minutes or hours that he spent milking the plug with tiring muscles, so
when Peter returned, it was to a frantic, overstimulated boy writhing and
dripping cum onto the floor. He tsked lightly and slapped at Stiles’s flank
with a casual hand, as though he was no more than a pet or a possession.

“Did I leave you alone too long, sweetling?” Peter cooed, the smug fondness
clear in his voice as he reached between boy and table to drag gentle nails
along Stiles’ slim cock. “Should I bring you off until you’re coming dry and
begging me to stop pleasuring you?”

“Oh! Please, Sir,” he groaned. “I want to come—I need you to fuck me.”

The only answer to his plea was Peter’s hand, suddenly there tugging out the
plug and thrusting it back inside. Stiles moaned low in his throat. He tried to
rock with the thrusts, to force the man to hit his prostate; but his efforts
were an exercise in futility. No matter how solicitous or indulgent Peter
seemed, he was the benevolent tyrant who ruled these special “tutoring”
sessions with an iron fist wrapped in soft leather. Each struggle or small
rebellion occurred strictly at the pleasure of Professor Hale; that knowledge
was intoxicating and liberating. It freed Stiles to display his weakest self,
to abase himself before Peter without fear of shame, all with the assurance
that he was valued – treasured by the man.

It was a heady, pleasing thing to be the center of such a man’s attention, but
Stiles would be happiest if they could finally progress to the fucking.

“Professor… fuck me.” He arched his back, tipping up his ass in vulgar
invitation. “I need more than this,” he shuddered at a particularly rough twist
followed by a deep, torturous slide. “I need your skin on mine. Your body
inside me. There is no comparison to when you peak—marking me inside, so I can
know where you’ve been. Please.”

“Such pretty words, dearheart. You’ve learned so much in our time together.”
Peter’s pleased declaration made him grab at the table for stability, suddenly
gone boneless in the face of such warm approval. The man pulled the glass free
from the clutch of Stiles’ body, while his other hand stroked over the dips in
his spine in an absent, soothing motion.

“Should I reward you for nothing when you’ve already had your release? You
dripped all over my floor while I had to deal with your grandfather.”

“No, I swear!” Stiles panted. “I’ll do it perfectly next time if you’ll fuck
me.”

Peter gripped the reddened flesh of Stiles’ buttocks and said, “No, Stiles.
You’ll do it perfectly regardless because you want to please me… You want to be
my good boy. Isn’t that right?”

Stiles trembled, tears clinging to his lashes. “Yes, Da—I mean, Sir.
Professor,” he stumbled, tongue-tied. “Yes, Professor, I do. Let me show you.”

Inwardly cursing his mistake, he listened as Peter drew away from the table.
From his position, all he could hear was the faint rustle of fabric and the
squeaky hinges of the bedroom door. Although the feeling had been growing in
him for months – born of the hitherto unknown care and discipline he’d enjoyed
at the professor’s hands – he’d never once exposed his most secret and deviant
desire to scrutiny. Stiles gnawed on his lip, worrying a loose bit of skin
while he waited for what would surely be Peter’s rejection.

The next thing Stiles knew was the feeling of hands running over the straining
muscles of his thighs and calves on their way to unbuckle the straps that kept
him bound to the table’s legs. He eased himself down from his toes and lay in
docile confusion while Peter unfastened his wrists from the other side of the
table.

“Why? What are you...?” Stiles shivered and shrank back from Peter’s hands.
“Did I do something wrong?”

“It seems that I have been quite negligent in caring for you, sweet boy.”

Peter’s voice seemed to be coming from very far away even though it
reverberated under Stiles’ ear as the man easily carried him the short distance
to the bedroom. A dim corner of his mind registered that Peter must have used
his brief absence to build up the fire and turn down the bedclothes to create
the presently warm and inviting atmosphere.

After he was set down in the middle of the bed, Stiles didn’t delay in worming
his way under the soft, heated blankets to combat his building anxiety. He hid
his reddening face under a pillow that smelled of Peter and his elegant eau de
toilette, but Peter didn’t allow more than a single whimper to escape Stiles
before he was pulling him out from under the pillows, flush against his front
and stroking Stiles’ tense form.

“Shh, darling. You’re all right. I’m here now.” Peter sighed into his ear and
gave the lobe a brief suckle that sent a tingle running through him. He laid
soft kisses down Stiles’ exposed neck, muttering praises into his skin, holding
him firm and steady. Anchoring Stiles with his own body when he twitched in
restless pleasure. Peter’s capable, knowing hands followed a meandering path to
Stiles’ renewed hardness, still covered in his earlier release.

“What’s this, hmm?” Hot fingers dwarfed his cock and started a slow rhythm of
firm strokes, squeezing up and down the shaft while a wicked thumb tapped
maddeningly at the head. “Is all this for me?”

“Yes! Always, Sir.”

The hand loosened just enough to decrease the urgent sensation building in his
balls and the base of his spine. Stiles whined at the denial. “Please.”

Peter chuckled and wrapped his other arm more tightly around Stiles. “Soon,
precious.”

Cradled against Peter’s firm body, he felt momentarily appeased. Stiles’
allowed himself to go limp in tacit surrender as the man sucked what would
surely become a dark mark onto the join of his neck and shoulder. Peter made
low soothing noises when he thrust his hips in little involuntary spasms. “I
know what you need from me. I’ll give you everything, but first, I want to hear
it from your own lips.”

Stiles tossed his head in confusion, eyes squeezed shut against the effort of
thought. “I don’t understand, Da—Sir,” he hiccuped, tears filling his eyes as
he burrowed backwards into Peter’s chest, shrinking away from the teasing hand
that kept him on the knife’s edge of coming.

“Where’s my smart Stiles?” he cajoled. “You do know, darling. You began to say
it mere moments ago, and earlier when you were telling me what you wanted. When
you said you were my good, sweet boy. Don’t you want to make me proud?”

He nodded slowly, his thoughts a slow and hazy counterpoint to the tension in
his groin. It was true. From the first day they met, Stiles had been enamoured,
as attentive an aide as his grandfather could have wished. He was like the land
after a drought, drinking in Peter’s smiles and patient attention as though
they were rain. After experiencing such care, Stiles knew that he’d do anything
if it would please his dear Professor Hale. He could do this. He could believe
in him, and entrust his most shameful secret to Peter.

Then he could finallybe free to spend all over Peter’s hand.

Shyly, he tucked his chin into his thin chest, angling his mouth towards the
linens beneath them. Stiles knew that his courage would fail if he turned back
to look the man in the eyes. Voice muffled by the  his chest Stiles whispered,
“Daddy. Even though you’re my lover and teacher, at times that’s how I think of
you. I can’t help it.” He hesitated, breath held in for an instant before he
plunged onwards. “Do I disgust you now? Is that why you stopped?”

Stiles felt as Peter stiffened behind him and suck in a sharp breath. To his
keen disappointment, the hand around his shaft squeezed once then fell away,
but Peter swiftly brought that hand up to turn his body around to face him.
Worried blue eyes peered into his, and Peter sighed as he dropped his forehead
down to rest against Stiles’ own. They spent several moments breathing in each
other’s breaths, lulling Stiles into a drowsy state despite his arousal. Then
Peter broke the silence.

“I could never be disgusted by you, Stiles. Why would I untie you and bring you
to my bedif I wasn’t pleased by this development? You’re my precious, darling
boy. My own, dearheart. Please, say you understand.”

Under this intense scrutiny, Stiles lowered his eyes in shame at his
faithlessness. Peter had never disappointed or rejected him. Why should now be
any different?

“It’s unnatural. What we do. What I want. Isn’t it?”

“I’ll have none of that nonsense spoken while you lie here in my arms. I ought
to give you another spanking for such cheek. When you’re with me you may have
anythingyou want without fear of judgement. I swear it.”

He bit his lips and nodded. “Yes, Sir. Daddy.” Stiles ducked his head again.
“Only if you’re certain.”

With a bold smirk, Peter drew Stiles hand down and pressed it against his
straining erection. “Would I still be standing proud if I didn’t desire the
same? I can give you everything you want if you’ll allow it.” Peter brushed a
chaste, reverent kiss across his forehead. As though in benediction he
murmured, “There is no shame, darling. Now tell me. What do you want?”

“I want to call you Daddy.”

“And what else?”

Blushing, he stroked the hot flesh still under his fingers. “I want us to
release in your hand. Together, if you please.”

Peter easily grasped them in one hand, fingers wrapped tight and grinding their
cocks together with perfect friction. “Like this, sweetling?”

“Yes. Daddy,yes.” Stiles rocked forward and pulled himself closer, keening as
the long-delayed pleasure built to its former heights.

“Oh, please! Touch me. Touch me, Daddy.”

“I amtouching you. Where do you want it, darling?”

Writhing and clutching at the tense muscles of Peter’s forearm Stiles begged in
wanton abandon. “Inside me . Please, Daddy. I’m almost— I’m close. Please, do
it now. Please!”

As his voice rose to a shriek Peter hissed in triumph, fingers already prodding
at his tender hole before sinking all the way to the last knuckles. Stiles was
caught helplessly between Peter’s hands, torn between the hand on his cock and
the one fucking into him, driving him towards that ultimate peak.

There at the limit of his endurance, Peter pressed on the spot inside him that
never failed to make his vision go dark. Stars burst behind his closed lids,
and he came for the second time that day – barely aware of the bitten off
curses as Peter followed him over the edge.

===============================================================================

When Stiles came back to full awareness, Peter was attempting to rouse him from
his cozy spot bundled in the fresh linens. He frowned at the hand wiping him
clean with a perfectly warmed cloth.

“Stiles. Dearheart. Be good.”

“Daddy… I was happy,” he muttered in plaintive tones.

“I know, precious thing, but I need to know you’re well.” Peter turned away to
drop the cloth on the basin’s lip then seated himself under the blankets and
against the headboard. With ill grace, Stiles concedes to being tugged and
positioned to Peter’s exacting specifications so that he’s curled into the
space under the man’s arm with his head cushioned just under Peter’s heart.
Settled in his new place, he simply huffed and twined their legs together,
letting Peter pet him into a better humor.

“Such a grumpy boy. I’ve made you tea, and I expect you to drink it all. If
you’re sweet to me, then you may have the cookies as well.”

Stiles hid a smile in Peter’s chest. Somehow the man always knew precisely what
he needed after one of their sessions.

“Did you bring me the macarons or the shortbread?”

Peter kissed the top of his head and reached for the teatray waiting on the
bedside table. “I thought, after such an emotional day, you might need both.
Was I correct?”

He pursed his lips and accepted his tea. “You’re always correct. It’s horrid.”
“Oh, you seem to enjoy the fruits of my rightness, or do I need to take back
the cookies?”

“Now, now. There’s no call to be hasty.”

“Of course, darling.” Peter drawled. “Enjoy your tea.”

They sat in companionable silence, sipping tea and steadily working through the
small plate of sweets. Several times he considered breaking the quiet, intimate
moment, but it didn’t seem appropriate.

Finally, when Peter returned from clearing the bed of their impromptu teatime,
Stiles cleared his throat and murmured, “Thank you.”

Peter cocked his head and gave a brief half-smile. “For what? Tea?”

Stiles scowled. “Don’t be deliberately obtuse. For everything . For letting me
call you daddy. For tea. For spending time with me. Caring for me. For… for
lovingme.”

“How could I do anything but love you? You’ve been my precious boy since the
moment you nearly crushed yourself trying to help carry my trunk.” Peter drew
him close once more, protectively enfolding him in his arms as they lay down.

He sighed in sheer happiness. It had been a long, taxing day full of emotional
upheaval, but this made it all worthwhile. Stiles yawned as the events of the
day caught up to him. “Love you too, Daddy.”

“Rest now, Stiles. I’ll have you back in your room before morning with no one
the wiser.”





End Notes
     Thanks for reading! As ever, let me know if you noticed any mistakes
     or problems in the text or tags.
      
     Warnings:
      
     In the middle of a scene, Peter leaves Stiles when he's in bondage.
     It's only for a short time, and he's in the next room.
     How old is Stiles? How old do you think he is? I marked it as
     underage because he's depicted to be a bit young. He might be 16. He
     might be not 16. The choice is yours.
     Why did you use the abuse of authority tag, Mal? Because you could
     read it as the willful, manipulation of an emotionally vulnerable boy
     by an adult. Or you could read it as completely consensual. Your
     mileage may vary.
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