Disclaimer : Teen Wolf belongs to MTV and Jeff Davis. This fanfiction is a Sterek adaptation to the original novel written by Melanie Marchande.

Warning : This contains Male/Male sexual relationship and intercourse (which starts at chapter 7).

For the people who followed me from AO3, thank you for your support ! I hope it won't happen again...

I'm going to throw an ashtray at his head.

Okay, okay. Back up. Let me explain.

My boss is insufferable. I mean, grade-A, arrogant, Camaro-driving, top one percent of the one percent, completely out of touch, werewolfy assohole. His butler has a butler. He's rich enough to buy several politicians, and believes strongly in the value of hard work, a concept with which he's only passingly acquainted. His days are full of glad-handing and pouding drinks and turning on that oh-sp-dazzling, oh-so-fake smile that everybody falls for. Except me.

Oh yeah, and did I mention he looks like an underwear model ?

So, that's my life. I sit at this depressingly tiny desk outside Derek Hale's office, sorting his mail, making his phone calls, orgnizing his calendar. On the good days, he mostly ignores me. But most of the times, I get called into is Fortress of Solitude for a good tongue-lashing at least four or five times a day, during which he manages to work in several barbs about nearly every aspect of my life.

It took years before I realized I was allowed to dish it back. When I get in particularly good one, he favors me with a mile -razor- sharp, completely unlike the one he uses to charm his business associates. It's a predator's smile. It's a smile that haunts my dreams.

I hate it.

There are two reasons I don't leave. First of all, in this economy, I can't afford to be picky. Nobody can. Secondly, I actually feel bad. That's how sick I am. I feel guilty that this affluenza piece of shit might have a hard time replacing me. Nobody else can put up with him ; before me, he had a string of administrative assistants about a mile long, not one of them lasting longer than a few weeks. It's sick, but I feel like I can't leave him in a lurch.

I guess I've been here long enough to develop Stockholm syndrome. Who knew ?

So that's my work life. And everything else ? It's not much better. My mum died when I was nine. My dad finds his consolation in his favourite whisky, leaving me with my ADHD and panic attacks. As time goes by, he became as cold and sarcastique as my boss, which goes a long way in explaining my current predicament. But however you psychoanalyze me, the point is that I can't exactly turn to him for loving kindness. My friends all drifted away after college, or stopped returning my calls when all I could do was bitterly complain about a situation I half-created myself. Not merely content with making my job hell, Mr. Hale has managed to ruin my personal life, too.

There was just one thing in my life that really made me happy. One thing that he couldn't reach. Or so I thought. The whole thing started because I was browsing Amazon while drunk. I was looking for advise books on dealing with a difficult boss, because my situation with Mr. Hale could totally be summed up in a trite self-help book, right ? Give me a break, I was desperate.

Anyway, so I'm clicking around, and I see this book that catches my eye. It's obviously not at all what I'm looking for - the cover has a close-up of a man buttoning his cufflinks, and somehow, with the whiskey swirling in my belly, it's the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life.

The title says : HIS BOSS

So, I one-click it. Why the fuck not ?

It's a romance novel. And, I quickly realize, as I page through it - not one of those chaste ones about mail-order brides, or even a classic bodice-ripper. This is beyond steady. This is practically porn.

This is the best thing I've ever read. Before I know it, I've got my hand around my dick and I don't remember the last time I was so aroused. But something about the plot of this young werewolf clumzy boy and his sexy, sexy billionaire werewolf boss is just irresistible. Five pages in, and I'm gasping and panting in my armchair, my hand pumping furiously on my hard column of flesh. My whole body buzzing with pleasure that I haven't felt in God knows how long.

That night, I sleep like a baby for the first time in years. The next night, I finish the book - and I finish myself, too.

Several times. It's spectacular, but I'm a little bit sad it's over. I can believe I'm so addicted to a romance book. Yes, I'm gay, very very gay and this kind of romance books is basically porn for women. I get it. But the thing is, I can see myself in Adam, the young assistant, clumzy and socially awkward who has a sassy big mouth. Except that I'm not a werewolf. I'm a skinny and fragile human with no strenght, no speed and no self-healing. No, it's his relasionship with his boss that made it hot to me.

Then, I discovered that the author - Laura Wilson is her name - has a whole series out. His Boss : Bound. His Boss : Bared. His Boss : Released. I devour them all in the space of a week, and it's the best week of my life.

I spend the week, naked, on by bed, with lube and my favourite plug. Those books made me come again and again, a lot more than my favourite porn.

if Mr. Hale notices, he doesn't say anything. It's his busy season anyway, so he's certainly not going to take the time notice if his assistant has a little extra spring in his step. Even if he didn't know the reason why, he'd certainly find a reason to criticize. So, it's better this way.

I start checking for a new book every day. I know I could look at the author's website for a release schedule or join her mailing list, but I almost prefer it being a mystery. I want to be surprised, I tell myself.

This resolve lasts all of one day.

Soon, I'm biting my nails, counting down until the release of the next book. Just one more month! She posts teasers and updates on Facebook, and I'm practically panting with impatience. I quickly learn that there are a lot of people out there, voracious readers, who spend basically their entire lives in this state of feverish anticipation. I wonder how they survive.

And now, I'm one of them.

Finally, finally, the glorieux day comes. I wait and wait for the notification email that my pre-order has landed, but it doesn't come.

Finally, exhaused and defeated, I refresh my mail one last time before bed. And there it is. Cursing softly, I pick up my e-reader and curl up in bed. Just a few pages, I tell myself, because it's only seven hours until work. Just a few pages.

The sun is up by the time I finish, bleary-eyed and shivering from sleep deprivation. After a scalding shore, I'm pretty sure I can get through the day, but I know it's going to be a rough one. Boy. Understatement of the century. Mr. Hale is on the warpath - not, against me, fortunately, but I'm still expected to be right there with him. He snaps at me for being distracted, and even in my delirious state, I notice that he's got dark circles under his eyes too.

I almost feel bad, until he tells me stop staying up all night watching soap operas. Dickhead. I didn't tell him that I actually was up all night reading a romance novel. That's my fucking business. By the time I get home, I'm so over-tired that I can't wind down. I pace my apartment, picking up my e-reader to glance over choice passages again and then throwing it back down when I realize my eyes can't focus.

Finally, I pick up my laptop and do the unthinkable. I write an email to Laura Wilson. I bare my soul. I tell her how much her books have meant to me, how they offer a much-needed escape from the hell that is my life. How I feel ashamed because I know we're not supposed to like these kinds of books, but of course no offence to her, because she's brilliant, it's just like, social expectations, you know ? I've got this arrogant and dominative boss who would just have a field day if he knew how much I was devouring these books. He's nothing at all like the hero from the books, the bad boy with a heart of gold. But I wish he was. I tell her how much I wish I could find a guy like that. How lonely I am. How I feel like a failure, letting myself get walked all over. This isn't how it's supposed to be. We're supposed to be strong, capable, modern humans.

I write all of this, and then, for some fucking reason, I actually press « send ». I know that werewolfs are known to be smarter and stronger than humans, they are mostly all successful. Ninety percents of billionaires CEOs are supernatural creatures. Werewolf is the new black. It's actually not socially accepted that a werewolf date a human, this case can happen only if the human accepts the bite which happens more and more often.

The difference of our species is the reason I know I will never be with my boss, I mean, if he were kind, nice and more like Rick, the hero from His Boss. There is no way that a man so sexy, rich, gorgeous, brillant and dangerously lustful be attracted to me, Stiles Stilinski. Skinny boy with pale skin, annoying moles all around my body, big mouth whp babbles a lot too much and my long limbs which I can't help jumping with anxiety. I read the mail I send again and I immediately pass out in my armchair. The next morning, I wake up just in time to throw on some clothes and catch the train. I know how messy I looks, I know I'm going to deal with some complete crap from Mr. Hale, but thought doesn't mortify me as much as the memory of what I wrote to Laura Wilson last night. I force myself not to check my email. I make it until lunch.

« Genim, » Mr. Hale intones, as he brushes past my desk. Always with his hip so close to me, trying his damnedest to be unnerving. Besides my father, he's the only one who calls me by my real name, and I fucking hate the sound of it.

« Mr. Hale, » I say, in as neutral tone as I can manage. I can feel his eyes raking over me, and I begin to formulate a comeback.

« Rough night ? » He's resting his fingers on my desk, just slightly, just enough to make his presence impossible to ignore.

« I noticed you didn't ride your broomstick today, but you certainly look the part. »

« Yeah, the rest of the coven had me up all hours, » I say, slamming the heel of my hand down on my stapler. « Speaking of which, how's that plague of frogs coming ? »

I clap my hand to my mouth in mock chagrin.

« Oh, shit, have you not been out to your car yet today ? Did I ruin the surprise ? »

« Really ? Frogs ? That's amateur hour. An experienced crone like yourself should at least be able to turn my drinking water into blood. » He smirks, snatching a sheaf of papers and letting his smoking green eyes dart over the text.

« Wouldn't that be redundant, Count? » I stand up, pushing my chair away from my desk. « Now, if you'll excuse me, it's lunch time. Want me to swing by the Red Cross for you ? »

He shakes his head.

« Sorry, Genim, you only get partial credit for that one. Try to be more original. » He clears his throat, rolling his shoulders as he steps back. I absolutely do not notice how much his perfectly-cultivated stubble resembles that of Rick, the billionaire boss of my fantaisies.

« Oh, and get those files copied before you run off to feast on the flesh of the living, will you ? »

« Oh, and you're allowed to do a zombie joke off of my vampire joke ? Really ? » I call after him, but he's already practically out of earshot. Damn it, he walks fast. And before I know it, I'm checking my email. Not my work email but the one I contacted Laura from. The secret anonymous one that, even in my sleep-deprived stupor, I'd been smart enough to use.

She's answered. My heart leaps into mu throat and I click on it, before I can stop myself. I have to know.