[Eventually, Stiles falls asleep. The wolf is warm and his own skin starts to heat up and contribute; he nods off, cheek slackening into the wolf's fur, bordering on comfortable.
And then the hose.]
Wha-what huh- [Stiles splutters, indirectly hit by the water when they blast the wolf with it. It immediately snarls and attacks, but the handlers go about their job with harsh aloofness and beat it back into submission. Stiles presses back against the wall, eyes wide and unable to assist. The wolf wasn't hurting him, why had they done that?
...Oh. They want it to shift. Stiles watches silently, cringing as they beat the animal. Eventually it falls limp, finally shifting into its human form - male, Stiles realizes. A huge, both intimidating and attractive male, bruised and bloody. He's older than Stiles, much older, but still young, at least.
The handlers leave a box for them and wish Stiles luck before departing, and he sits in silence for a long moment or two. Should he approach the wolf-turned-man? Would he attack Stiles if he woke up?]
...Psst! [Stiles whispers, but it doesn't seem to rouse the man at all. He tries again, and again, until finally he's forced to conclude that he really was out like a light. Those handlers had done quite a number on him.
Stiles crawls forward slowly, watching the man carefully for any sign of waking. Finding none, Stiles kneeled beside him, looking over his body cautiously. Bruises and cuts were already starting to heal - Stiles watched in fascination, unable to stop the wonder he felt at seeing such a proccess.
Still, the wolf could have internal injuries that needed to heal. Stiles spares a few glances back at the wolf before he slowly approaches the box, examining its contents. Right. Okay, well, he can do this.
Stiles picks up the thin blankets and moves back over towards the wolf. He's probably freezing, covered in water; the drenched parts of Stiles are. The teen hesitantly pokes the man's arm, watching and waiting, but he didn't look like he was waking up anytime soon.
Stiles laid one of the blankets out on the ground, glancing back at the wolf. Should he do this? Well, he was going to die anyway so what the hell was there to lose? Besides his head.
Stiles moves to the other side of the wolf, rolling him over onto the blanket. It takes a bit of effort - the wolf is heavy and muscled, while Stiles certainly isn't - but he finally manages it. He tucks another blanket around the wolf's chest, and the last one around his legs before retreating to the corner again, cold and damp. But he wasn't as wet as the wolf, nor as beaten down, so he'd survive. Stiles didn't want to be too close if he snapped when he came to.]
Sam sinks into unconsciousness and makes no real struggle to return. His body can heal while he sleeps, sparing him further pain. It’s the cold that wakes him, or really, the lack of cold. He’s been moved, wrapped in a few thin blankets. His brow furrows as he stirs. He hasn’t been treated with such courtesy since his capture. It’s confusing. Instead of waking with a snarl, looking to attack anyone near, Sam sits up slowly, tugging the blanket around his shoulders.
His eyes are no longer hazel. They’re stuck the brilliant gold of a wolf. He’s been in wolf form for so long since his capture, they don’t shift.
Stiff and cold, he moves until his back is against the wall of the pen. Rut is starting to set in now. He should talk while he can and raises his eyes to the young man. Christ. He’s just a kid. Now to talk. Another thing he hasn’t done in a very long time. He licks his lips, remembering how to form words. Sam extends one of the blankets to him. “T-t-th-thank you.”
[Stiles is huddled in on himself against the wall, shivering. He's dry, now; the wolf has been out a few hours, but it's absolutely freezing down there in the cell. So he's more of an icicle than dry, really. He's been dozing fitfully, mentally exhausted from the nerve-wracking, ever-present threat of death since he stepped into the building so very far above ground.
He starts when Sam stirs, cringing back against the wall just in case. The man's eyes are molten gold, definitely not human, and oh God this is it. He's going to lunge across the room and kill Stiles.
...But he doesn't. Instead, the wolf retreats against the wall, and offers him a blanket. Stiles swallows thickly, but doesn't move, keeping still.] ...You're welcome.
[Sam makes a face as he tries to find the right words. His voice is rough with disuse as he holds all the blankets out. He speaks haltingly.] I have fur. Can shift. You don't.
[When Stiles makes no move to come for the offered blankets, Sam crawls closer, wrapping them around his body. His touch is fumbling, trying for gentle, but it's a feeling he's unused to.
Sam can't help himself when he's closer, sniffing along his skin. He can smell the chemicals and something.. else. Home. Startled, he back up, eyes wide. No. It's not possible. He'd.. he'd found his mate in this hellhole. With a low, keening sound that was more animal than human, Sam closes his eyes.]
[Stiles doesn't object to the blankets, afraid to speak. He lets the wolf sniff him, eyes wide, cautious and watching, but his brow furrows in both concern and wariness when the man backs up, looking at him like he's a death omen or something and keening...he can't help but be sympathetic.] You...are you okay?
[The wolf has closed his eyes, and while Stiles wants to give a sigh of relief maybe it's the moment of peace before he pounces.
Stiles tries to stay silent, but suddenly he's coughing, shuddering as it feels like something's burning in his chest. The drugs...what the hell are they doing?]
[His eyes snap open when he starts coughing, making quiet, alarmed sounds. Crawling closer again, Sam sniffs his skin, nosing against him. Human things like personal space are forgotten. His mate is in pain.]
Drugs. The drugs. You.. [The wolf nuzzles against his cheek again, trying to soothe him. His pheromones start filling the air.] breathe.
What is - that - [Stiles coughs, quieting as the wolf nuzzles at him, but something's burning through his veins. Wolf pheromones, intended to spur the Alpha faster into rut. Nevermind the incompatibility with a human body system.] They...they injected me with a bunch of...I don't even know...
[He smells so good. Like an Omega and heat and everything in his body is begging Sam to matetakeclaim. Sam rubs his cheek into his chest. His wolf is rising, demanding to take him.] Pheromones. You.. you smell like home.
[Sam presses in closer, his breath coming quick, his rut starting to rise.] Don't run. Don't fight. P-please.
I don't even know your name, [Stiles whispers, tensing as a flare of pain licks through his veins. He's human, those pheromones are foreign and they hurt. But Stiles nods, lets his lips part in a harsh pant.] I-I won't fight you. S'what I'm here for...
[He's never done anything like this before. And while the pheromones are saying his body is ready, he's not an Omega and he's not self-lubricating. What are they using males for, anyway? Stiles isn't a wolf, he can't get pregnant...right?
I.. [Name. Does he have a name? He's been 'wolf' and 'monster' for so long. Distracted, Sam rubs his cheek into his skin again.] S-Sam. My name is S-Sam.
[The blanket is slowly pushed off his shoulders and Sam presses in closer to him, needing to feel his skin. His mate could be an anchor. A way to keep himself grounded. No more blood.]
I'm Stiles. [Stiles whispers back, holding still and clenching his fists as the pheromones run their course. He wonders how long they'll take to work out of his system, if they'll damage anything long-term.]
S-Stiles. [He's still struggling with basic words as he crawls closer, wanting to press his entire body close into him.] Please. Don't.. don't want to hurt. [He's already growing hard, his rut starting to warm. The pheromones are reacting with his, mingling, filling the air with the smell of sex.]
M'not fighting, I promise. [Stiles reassures Sam, swallowing hard when he feels the wolf's length hardening against him. He can feel some of the pheromone reactions, though they aren't as strong in him as they would be in a wolf, and his body begins to respond, slower.
It's not comfortable, however, and Stiles wonders if serving up his virginity on a cold, dirty, hay-covered floor is really worth the money, but it's too late now and he'd do it all again if he could. His dad needed him, and Stiles had come through.] ...I don't want you to, either. Please.
[He’s human. The false scents of an Omega in heat can’t hide that from him. Sam fumbles in the box that they’d left in the room, pulling out a plastic bottle and shoving it into Stiles’ hands. He knows the clear liquid is important somehow, but it’s a little out of his grasp at the moment. The wolf returns to pressing in against Stiles, nosing at his neck, the warmth of his skin.
He doesn’t want to hurt him. This human is his mate. Sam rumbles low in his chest, the desire to take him nearly overwhelming.]
Try. Can.. can try. Want to try. [Sam presses his face into Stiles hair, breathing in his reassuring scent, buried beneath the false pheromones] Mate. [A low growl] Mine.
All yours. Yours. [Stiles repeats, though he doesn't understand the significance behind it. Maybe the wolf didn't really want to kill him; maybe he wanted to keep him for mating or entertainment or whatever. Stiles would cooperate, of course, and one look at the bottle is all he needs to know about what Sam wants him to do.] Okay, okay, mate. Right. Got it.
[Stiles quickly uncaps the bottle, letting Sam sniff and explore his body as much as he wanted. His. Hopefully Sam was the type of wolf to take care of his stuff.
Stiles squeezes some of the lube onto his finger, quickly reaching down to circle his own entrance. He's never done this before, but he knows he needs to learn, fast.]
[He noses at his neck, his hair, his ear, pausing to drag his tongue along his jaw. Even in mating, he’s now more wolf than human. All taste and scent and sensation and he doesn’t want to hurt him. He needs to keep him alive and safe. Mate.Protect.Claim. The smell of the drugs they’ve pumped him full of are off-putting, but he can smell the true scent of his skin beneath it. Wants more.
Golden eyes flash as he presses in, struggling to push the blankets beneath Stiles as he crowds in.
All yours. Yes.
His human side is struggling with the wolf, trying to keep himself in check. He really doesn’t want to hurt anyone. But he’s been beaten and starved and hurt for so long, all he has left to operate on is instinct.Sam crowds in, hips moving against Stiles’ thigh, clearly struggling to wait, to give him a moment.] Please.. mate.
And then the hose.]
Wha-what huh- [Stiles splutters, indirectly hit by the water when they blast the wolf with it. It immediately snarls and attacks, but the handlers go about their job with harsh aloofness and beat it back into submission. Stiles presses back against the wall, eyes wide and unable to assist. The wolf wasn't hurting him, why had they done that?
...Oh. They want it to shift. Stiles watches silently, cringing as they beat the animal. Eventually it falls limp, finally shifting into its human form - male, Stiles realizes. A huge, both intimidating and attractive male, bruised and bloody. He's older than Stiles, much older, but still young, at least.
The handlers leave a box for them and wish Stiles luck before departing, and he sits in silence for a long moment or two. Should he approach the wolf-turned-man? Would he attack Stiles if he woke up?]
...Psst! [Stiles whispers, but it doesn't seem to rouse the man at all. He tries again, and again, until finally he's forced to conclude that he really was out like a light. Those handlers had done quite a number on him.
Stiles crawls forward slowly, watching the man carefully for any sign of waking. Finding none, Stiles kneeled beside him, looking over his body cautiously. Bruises and cuts were already starting to heal - Stiles watched in fascination, unable to stop the wonder he felt at seeing such a proccess.
Still, the wolf could have internal injuries that needed to heal. Stiles spares a few glances back at the wolf before he slowly approaches the box, examining its contents. Right. Okay, well, he can do this.
Stiles picks up the thin blankets and moves back over towards the wolf. He's probably freezing, covered in water; the drenched parts of Stiles are. The teen hesitantly pokes the man's arm, watching and waiting, but he didn't look like he was waking up anytime soon.
Stiles laid one of the blankets out on the ground, glancing back at the wolf. Should he do this? Well, he was going to die anyway so what the hell was there to lose? Besides his head.
Stiles moves to the other side of the wolf, rolling him over onto the blanket. It takes a bit of effort - the wolf is heavy and muscled, while Stiles certainly isn't - but he finally manages it. He tucks another blanket around the wolf's chest, and the last one around his legs before retreating to the corner again, cold and damp. But he wasn't as wet as the wolf, nor as beaten down, so he'd survive. Stiles didn't want to be too close if he snapped when he came to.]
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His eyes are no longer hazel. They’re stuck the brilliant gold of a wolf. He’s been in wolf form for so long since his capture, they don’t shift.
Stiff and cold, he moves until his back is against the wall of the pen. Rut is starting to set in now. He should talk while he can and raises his eyes to the young man. Christ. He’s just a kid. Now to talk. Another thing he hasn’t done in a very long time. He licks his lips, remembering how to form words. Sam extends one of the blankets to him. “T-t-th-thank you.”
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He starts when Sam stirs, cringing back against the wall just in case. The man's eyes are molten gold, definitely not human, and oh God this is it. He's going to lunge across the room and kill Stiles.
...But he doesn't. Instead, the wolf retreats against the wall, and offers him a blanket. Stiles swallows thickly, but doesn't move, keeping still.] ...You're welcome.
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[When Stiles makes no move to come for the offered blankets, Sam crawls closer, wrapping them around his body. His touch is fumbling, trying for gentle, but it's a feeling he's unused to.
Sam can't help himself when he's closer, sniffing along his skin. He can smell the chemicals and something.. else. Home. Startled, he back up, eyes wide. No. It's not possible. He'd.. he'd found his mate in this hellhole. With a low, keening sound that was more animal than human, Sam closes his eyes.]
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[The wolf has closed his eyes, and while Stiles wants to give a sigh of relief maybe it's the moment of peace before he pounces.
Stiles tries to stay silent, but suddenly he's coughing, shuddering as it feels like something's burning in his chest. The drugs...what the hell are they doing?]
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Drugs. The drugs. You.. [The wolf nuzzles against his cheek again, trying to soothe him. His pheromones start filling the air.] breathe.
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[Sam presses in closer, his breath coming quick, his rut starting to rise.] Don't run. Don't fight. P-please.
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[He's never done anything like this before. And while the pheromones are saying his body is ready, he's not an Omega and he's not self-lubricating. What are they using males for, anyway? Stiles isn't a wolf, he can't get pregnant...right?
Oh God, he doesn't even know that much anymore.]
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[The blanket is slowly pushed off his shoulders and Sam presses in closer to him, needing to feel his skin. His mate could be an anchor. A way to keep himself grounded. No more blood.]
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It's not comfortable, however, and Stiles wonders if serving up his virginity on a cold, dirty, hay-covered floor is really worth the money, but it's too late now and he'd do it all again if he could. His dad needed him, and Stiles had come through.] ...I don't want you to, either. Please.
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He doesn’t want to hurt him. This human is his mate. Sam rumbles low in his chest, the desire to take him nearly overwhelming.]
Try. Can.. can try. Want to try. [Sam presses his face into Stiles hair, breathing in his reassuring scent, buried beneath the false pheromones] Mate. [A low growl] Mine.
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[Stiles quickly uncaps the bottle, letting Sam sniff and explore his body as much as he wanted. His. Hopefully Sam was the type of wolf to take care of his stuff.
Stiles squeezes some of the lube onto his finger, quickly reaching down to circle his own entrance. He's never done this before, but he knows he needs to learn, fast.]
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Golden eyes flash as he presses in, struggling to push the blankets beneath Stiles as he crowds in.
All yours. Yes.
His human side is struggling with the wolf, trying to keep himself in check. He really doesn’t want to hurt anyone. But he’s been beaten and starved and hurt for so long, all he has left to operate on is instinct.Sam crowds in, hips moving against Stiles’ thigh, clearly struggling to wait, to give him a moment.] Please.. mate.
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