Chapter Text
“It only affects you if there’s already attraction there,” the guy with an eyepatch says to Stiles, sounding like it’s amusing Stiles is tied to a metal table and at his mercy.
Then Eyepatch injects something into Stiles’ vein, and it just can’t be happening to him. He runs with wolves. He’s strong. He eats people like Eyepatch for breakfast. Yet, they managed to capture him.
“Fuck you,” Stiles croaks, trying to pull free, desperately kicking with his feet. He doesn’t know what they want from him, but he knows it’s nothing good.
“Unfortunately it’s not going to be me,” Eyepatch says. “I’m hoping for a completely different outcome.”
A red haired woman walks into the room, her perfectly shaped eyebrows making her look like an evil witch. Stiles is pretty sure she is one because of course he runs into crazy people with powers. He lives in Beacon Hills.
“Is he ready?” Redhead asks, and Eyepatch nods, pushing the table Stiles is tied to out of the door. They are somewhere underground, no windows, just flashing lights above him, and a long, long corridor ahead of him.
“What do you want?” Stiles asks, panic settling in.
They don’t answer, and Stiles doesn’t ask again because if he doesn’t know maybe it isn’t real.
Finally they stop in front of a door and Redhead opens it with a number code that is so complicated Stiles can’t follow it. Before they enter, she also fiddles with a control board nearby and when she catches Stiles watching, she says, “We don’t want him attacking us.” She gives him a brilliant smile, and it’s creepy as fuck.
He stares at the door, hoping this doesn’t mean what he think it does: they have someone else here as well, someone he knows.
They roll him in, and he hears growling from a corner he can’t see. Then, he’s left alone with the wolf in the corner, and now he hopes it’s someone he knows because it’s going to be a disaster otherwise.
“Stiles?” It’s Derek.
He tries to look back, tries to see, and then Derek is hovering above him. “Oh my god, what did they do to you?”
“I’m okay. Just get me off this thing.”
Derek cuts him free, helps him off the table, and walks him up to a couch. At least their prison is comfortable. Everything is made of solid surfaces, mostly metal, and the only two separate objects are the couch and the bed. Everything else is a part of the walls.
“Where are we?” Stiles asks, but Derek is busy touching him, trying to find any part of him that’s hurt. He sniffs at the needle mark.
“What’s this?”
“I don’t know.”
“It smells weird.” Derek is holding his arm, his nose still close to Stiles’ skin. “It smells like… hormones… something bad. Did they tell you anything?”
Stiles shakes his head, overwhelmed by it all, then he remembers. “He said it’ll only work if there’s already attraction there.”
“What?”
“Sex drugs? I’m not attracted to any of them, and he said it’s not going to be him doing… Oh my fucking god… You.”
Derek looks at him with scared eyes.
“Did they inject anything into you? You can hold me back. You can stop me. I can’t stop you.” Stiles is in full blown panic mode now.
Derek looks thoughtful for a second, clearly trying to remember what’s been done to him. “I wasn’t awake the whole time, and the healing kicks in right away so no marks. I don’t know.”
“You’re not attracted to me,” Stiles says firmly. “You’re not. Nothing’s going to happen. They’re crazy if they think…” A wave of warmth washes over him, and he scoots back, away from Derek’s touch. “Oh god, you stay away from me.” He lifts his legs up on the couch and holds his foot against Derek’s torso. “You stay there.”
Derek sniffs the air, then says, “It’s affecting you already.”
“I’m not… I wasn’t… I’m not attracted to you.” Even to his own ears, he sounds so fucking small.
“It’s okay,” Derek says gently.
“No, it’s not. Do you feel anything?”
Derek looks withdrawn, but says, “No, don’t worry.”
“So I’m the only one?” Why does it hurt? It makes no sense.
“We’ll get through this, just stay calm.” Derek moves a little closer, but stops immediately when Stiles groans. “Can I do anything?” Derek asks, and Stiles just wants the earth to swallow him.
“You can stay away from me.” He feels another wave of warmth, and it’s stronger this time, makes him lie down and arch his back. He wants to touch himself, be touched. “Fuck. It’s not… I can’t control it.”
Derek is quiet for a moment, then says, “Should I go to the bathroom? Should I leave you alone?”
It sounds like a good idea because he can’t help touching his thighs, spreading them wider, these obscene noises coming out of his mouth. “Yeah… Okay… Leave.”
Derek gets up, takes a step away, and Stiles feels the connection building between them. There’s something in Derek’s blood too.
“You’re drugged too,” Stiles says, trying to focus his eyes on Derek, but then he feels the fever spreading, and he cups himself through his pants, groaning.
Derek stands still, quiet, waiting, his back to Stiles. “I’m okay.” He inhales deeply.
“Yeah? So I’m the only one who’s going to embarrass himself?” Stiles twists his body, locks his hands between his thighs, trying not to let the feelings overpower him.
“You’re not embarrassing yourself. You can’t help it.”
“It’s just obvious… Forget it!” Stiles bites his lower lip, squeezes himself and hopes his own hand will be enough. “Go, I can’t… Go.”
Derek leaves him, and the moment he’s alone, Stiles pushes his pants down unceremoniously, and starts jerking off. It’s quick and intense, and he doesn’t want to think of who might be watching. He knows Derek can hear him so he tries to stay quiet. It’s not easy. When he comes it’s messy, but he’s too exhausted to find paper to clean himself up. He just pulls his pants back on, and wipes his hand to his jeans.
He falls asleep immediately after.
When he wakes up there’s a blanket over him and a pillow under his head. Derek is reading on the bed, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Why are you so calm?” Stiles asks, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck. He feels icky.
Derek smirks. “If I had a heart attack every time someone kidnaps me I’d be dead already. Either we die or we survive. No need to fret over something we can do nothing about at the moment.”
“Wise words, Buddha.” Stiles looks around. “So do we have anything to eat?”
“The fridge is full of food. They seem to want to keep us healthy.”
Stiles goes to the small kitchen, looks through the cabinets, and then finally opens the fridge. They have containers full of food, and the fridge door is full of bottled water, but there are no knives. “How am I supposed to spread butter on my bread?”
“With a spoon?” Derek says, not looking up.
Great. He grabs a container of Thai takeout and a bottle of water, and saunters back to the couch. “Have you eaten?”
Derek nods, still reading.
Stiles sits quietly for a second, eating and drinking and thinking, and then he says, “So… They want us to have sex.”
This time Derek looks up. “Maybe they are just measuring our reactions.”
“For what?”
“For science,” Derek says, and it sounds like he’s always wanted to say it. Stiles gave him the perfect opportunity.
“I hate you. I hate your calmness. I hate your control. I hate you.” Stiles takes a bite of his food, staring at Derek.
Derek grins, but says nothing.
“What if they succeed? What if they make us do the thang? What is their end game?”
“Power?” Derek raises an eyebrow. “It’s always about power.”
“And what power could they possibly get from a werewolf and a mage fucking?” Stiles tilts his head.
“Maybe they need electricity.”
Stiles laughs, throwing his head back. He’s so happy he’s locked up with Derek.
Derek stares at him for a while, then says, “I don’t know any lore about this so I don’t know what they have in mind. You know more about sex magic than I do. Is there anything there?”
He sobers up, thinking, chewing on his food. “A premise of sex magic is the concept that sexual energy is a potent force that can be harnessed to transcend one's normally perceived reality,” he recites from memory. “Maybe they want to steal my magic at the peak of my orgasm or something.”
Derek grunts. “They could’ve done that already. They need us to… do the thang for some reason.”
Stiles loves Derek for stealing his words. “Maybe they are looking for a perfect mixture for making werewolves mate with mages.”
“He said it only works if there’s already attraction there.”
Stiles groans. “Rub it in, will you? Yeah, I happen to like tall, dark, and broody. Look yourself in the mirror sometimes. Your picture should be in the dictionary under sex on legs… So sue me.” Stiles sighs, hiding his face in his hands. He still babbles way too much when he feels uncomfortable.
Derek laughs, the bastard.
“So you felt no desire to rip my clothes off with your teeth?” Stiles asks, trying to smother the tiny hopeful feeling.
This time, Derek snorts.
“Be honest. I have to know if we need to figure something out, or if you’re immune to my wiles.”
“I’m not immune,” Derek says gently. “And I’m not going to do anything with you.”
Stiles looks up, surprised. He wasn’t expecting that. He honestly thought Derek would at least deny it. They’ve always had something going on under the surface; they’ve just never admitted it in any way. What does it say about their lives that it happens while they’re held captive? “How not-immune are you?” He has to ask. He wants to know.
Instead of giving a direct answer, Derek says, “You smell like spunk. You should shower.”
Stiles swallows, trying to keep his heartbeat steady. He feels like prey suddenly. “That bad, huh?” he asks, slowly getting up. There is a wardrobe next to the bed, and he probably shouldn’t go there to look for clean clothes, but he does because he never backs down. He’s crazy that way.
Derek is reading the book again, and he looks so relaxed. It’s all a lie.
There’s a deep breath behind Stiles, and he wonders how quickly Derek could have him on the bed and underneath him. Two seconds?
He finds a clean pair of underwear and a towel, then notices that the wardrobe is full of clothes and sheets, like they’re expected to stay here for a long time. At least they’re not planning on murdering them any time soon so Scott and the others have time to find them.
Without glancing back, Stiles heads to the bathroom. He closes the door, locks it, and then leans against it, his body needing to let go. Even if Derek is able to channel his frustration and fear, Stiles isn’t. They took away his ability to do magic. They injected something into him that makes his hormones go crazy. And now... now he’s washing his own spunk off his skin so his werewolf friend doesn’t go feral. Must be Tuesday.
He stays in the shower for a long while, trying to figure out how to escape, how to avoid any more injections, how to be powerful and not lose this game. He has no answers.
When he gets back to their little room Derek is still reading.
It gets on Stiles’ nerves, but it’s not Derek’s fault. Stability is not Stiles’ strong suit, and seeing it in others makes him nervous. Derek wouldn’t have survived his life if he didn’t have the ability to let go of things when he needed to.
Derek can sleep anywhere. Stiles has witnessed it in more than one occasion. Derek is a freak of nature.
“Scoot over. I’m not sleeping on the couch,” Stiles says, climbing into bed with Derek. It’s not the wisest decision he’s ever made considering they are not supposed to fall for the trap these people have laid out for them. He’s too tired to care, though.
Derek does what he’s told to, and Stiles sighs, letting his head fall against the pillow. He needs sleep like air right now.
For the next two days, they are left alone, and they mainly just eat and talk. There isn’t much to do, and Stiles knows he’ll lose his mind if he doesn’t get some tools to work with soon. He needs at least a deck of cards and maybe even crossword puzzles. He’s not hoping for a TV or a computer because they have too many moving parts that they could use to cause problems.
They mostly talk about their situation, but never about the pack and what they are doing because they know that the walls have ears. Stiles just hopes Lydia has enough clues for her brilliant brain to solve the puzzle. Stiles was taken from home; Derek was taken while he was out shopping. There is no pattern, but if there’s something that leads Lydia here she’ll find a way, and she’ll make a plan that will obliterate anyone standing between her and her pack mates. They are pretty tight nowadays.
Then on the third day, the walls turn into guns that are full of wolfsbane bullets and threaten to kill Derek if he doesn’t go to the furthest corner from the door. Stiles is left standing in the middle of the room, panicking. They strap him back onto the table, roll him away, and run some tests, make him drink something, and then pump him full of the same hormones they did before. Or maybe they are better, stronger, designed to break Derek. They sure as hell are breaking Stiles.
He tries to talk to Redhead, tries to get some information about who they are and why they’ve taken them, but he gets nothing for his troubles except a clammy hand to his mouth and a hiss, “Shut it.”
Stiles is planning her murder when they roll him back into the cell. Derek is whining in the corner, and that tells Stiles he’s hurt.
When Redhead and Eyepatch are gone Stiles pulls at the restraints and tries to see Derek. “Are you okay?”
“I fucking hate electricity,” Derek growls, and Stiles laughs because he’s so, so relieved.
Derek crawls to his side, gets him free, and when Stiles sits up, Derek presses his head against Stiles’ thigh. “Are they hurting you?” Derek asks, his voice soft.
“Other than pumping me full of drugs? No, I’m good.” He hesitates for a second, then pets Derek’s hair. He hopes they’ll get out of here before anything too horrible happens. He hates to be helpless, and he knows Derek hates it even more. He knows Derek doesn’t like walls around him. “I’m sorry you have to go through this,” Stiles whispers, and Derek looks up, confused.
“I’m good,” Derek says. “Promise.” A slight tremor goes through his body because of the electric shocks that were given to him. It steals away from his words, but Stiles believes him anyway. Stiles needs to believe him because if Derek isn’t fine they won’t stand a chance.
“Take me to the bed, please.” Stiles looks at Derek, looks at his eyes, the way his mouth makes him look sulky, and then touches his cheek. “It’s starting.” He’s already feeling the fire burning low in his belly.
Derek helps him off the table and half-carries him to bed. Stiles lets him because he needs all the energy he has to endure this. Once he’s lying down, he takes off his shirt. Everything hurts his skin, and he can’t take it, can’t take any of it. Doesn’t want to.
Derek is getting up, moving away, and that’s a bad idea. It makes Stiles scream.
“What?” Derek asks, his face close to Stiles’. “What’s going on? What’s hurting you?”
“Don’t go,” he manages to say because that’s what he needs: Derek here, close, touching him, keeping him sane. “Please don’t go. I can’t do this without you.”
Derek sits down slowly, but doesn’t touch Stiles, just stays there, a quiet presence of strength.
Stiles tries not to lose his sense of reality, but the feelings that have been forced on him are too powerful. They make him keen, make him writhe, make him grab the sheets, and arch. He wants Derek’s hands on him. “Please, touch me. Please.”
Derek puts a hand on Stiles’ stomach, and it sets him on fire, makes him moan out loud.
“More, please.” The words are barely audible through his panting. He’s so out of it, so out of control, and he needs Derek to acknowledge it.
Derek only strokes his stomach gently, only touches him lightly with that one hand, and Stiles can’t take it anymore. He yanks his pants down to get his hand on his cock, and he only needs to jerk himself a few times before he’s coming all over Derek’s hand and his own stomach. Some of it lands on his chest and chin too.
This time it’s not enough, but it makes him feel relaxed, and he sinks into the pillows. “I feel so heavy,” he slurs, and Derek says something he can’t hear. It doesn’t matter. He feels so good.
When he comes around his stomach is clean, and Derek is sitting next to him, reading again. His pants are back on, but his chest is bare. That makes him realize how much he wants to touch his nipples, how much he wants Derek to touch them.
“Still?” Derek asks, not looking at Stiles, and that’s just too much. Stiles wants to sink through the bed, disappear, be invisible.
“Shut up.” He turns on his side, willing the feelings to go away. He’s still horny, still in need of hands all over his body. He needs sex, so, so, badly. Stiles bites his wrist and curls into a ball.
Derek is quiet for a long time, then moves closer, hovering above Stiles. “I’m not judging you. They’re doing this to you, and I’m sure your magic isn’t helping. They know how to manipulate your magical body.”
“How are you able to resist it?” Stiles croaks, desperately thinking of something other than Derek’s voice and warmth and scent.
“Because I can’t lose it.”
“Why?”
“I’ll hurt you.” Derek sighs, then breathes in, his nose so close to Stiles’ hair it can’t be an accident. “They’re playing with my instincts. You smell like mine. Just a little bit wrong so it has to be artificial, but almost right…” Derek’s hand touches Stiles’ side, his claws out.
“I want this,” Stiles whispers, trying to curl closer, but Derek doesn’t let him. Stiles opens his legs, pushes his hand in his sweatpants, and curls it around his cock, squeezing. “Fuck, I need this. Please.” Stiles tilts his head in a way that leaves his throat bare, and he knows Derek can’t resist it, won’t. He feels sharp teeth against his pulse point, and he shouts when he comes, his fingers wet and sticky.
It gives him an idea, a crazy idea, and he pushes his fingers as far back between his thighs as he can reach, and presses a finger tip against his hole.
Derek growls, biting Stiles harder, his nails drawing blood.
“Fuck… Oh yeah… bite me. Rub yourself off on me. I don’t mind. I don’t care. Just do it.”
And Derek does, pushing Stiles face down on the bed, his teeth never leaving Stiles skin. It’s the hottest, heaviest thing Stiles has ever experienced, and it’s over far too quickly. Derek whines when he comes, like he’s ashamed, angry, but he doesn’t go anywhere afterwards. He just stays on top of Stiles, his cock nestled against Stiles’ ass, his whole body so hot Stiles is sweating with him. They probably need to change the sheets.
Stiles still has the tip of his finger inside himself, and he pulls it out slowly, tries to get comfortable, but the ton of werewolf on top of him makes it a little difficult.
Derek lost control, and Stiles didn’t even smell exactly right, just right enough. It’s not good.
“Sorry,” Derek says quietly, still not moving off of Stiles. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He made Derek lose control. He did that.
“I should be stronger than this.” Derek licks the bite mark on Stiles’ neck.
They both should. They have no idea what’s going to happen if they have sex. Even the orgasms can lead to something terrible. “Yeah, we should try to be stronger. I don’t want to give them what they want.”
“Me neither.” Derek rolls off of him, and Stiles feels sticky and cold. He wants a shower.
“We should totally eat something. I’m starving.” He grins into the pillow when he hears Derek laugh. Yeah, they can survive this. Maybe their friendship can, too. “I’ll have a quick shower first.”
“Please do. You stink.” It’s playful, and meant to cover all the damage they just did, and Stiles accepts it. He pokes Derek in the ribs just like he would’ve done a week ago in a pack meeting. Then he kicks Derek out of the bed and goes to the shower.
Derek hums, sounding grateful when Stiles gets back and doesn’t smell like hormones and spunk and Derek.
To Be Continued...