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“Hey, you can’t do this!” Stiles yells as he is manhandled down a narrow corridor lined with steel doors. “I’m human! I’M HUMAN!”


No matter how hard he kicks it doen’t stop the two burly men from throwing him into a cell so hard he knocks his jaw against the concrete floor with an audible thunk.


“Mother fuck-“ Stiles moans, lifting a hand to cup his jaw. The sound of the steel door slamming shut rings through his ears, and he can already feel a headache approaching. He shuts his eyes and drops his head slowly back too the cool concrete, liking the way the temperature numbs the throbbing starting in his face. The floor smells damp, like rain in a city. 


“Hello?”  A hoarse voice calls sounding echoed and distant. Stiles’s eyes snap open.


“God?” Stiles mumbles into the floor, “If this is heaven then I renounce you.”


“I’m not God. I’m next to you.” The voice says sounding annoyed. 


Stiles squints around the dark room before squirming across the floor towards the voice. He flails his arms around in front of him expecting to hit the mystery man at some point. Instead he thwacks his wrist into the concrete wall twice.


“Are you the wall, or are you in the wall?” Stiles questions smoothing his hand over where his wrist had collided. He lets his fingers cautiously glide across the stone, ignoring the little pricks from the uneven surface, until they hit something cold and metal.


“I’m in the cell next to yours.” The voice elaborates. Stiles strokes the small metal bars of a grate which must connect him to the voices's cell.


“Who are you?” Stiles asks lying his head back on the floor next to the grate, hoping this meant his voice would carry through better. He can't see anything, but a brush of his fingers shows thick bolts attaching the grate to the wall.


“My name's Derek.” 


“I’m Stiles.” Stiles says, figuring the guy would like to know. “Are you a werewolf?”


“Obviously.” The guy, Derek, says and Stiles can almost feel the man rolling his eyes.


“Okay sourpants, I’m human and they still got me.” 


“I heard.” And it's Stiles's turn to roll his eyes at himself. Of course the guy heard. Werewolf, duh. 


“I mean, to be fair I was defending a werewolf. Two, actually.”


“I don’t think anything that ends up with you being in a cell is fair.” Derek’s voice is becoming less rough the more he talks, Stiles wonders how long he’s been here for.


“You’re making a lot of assumptions about my innocence. I could be a serial killer for all you know. Then this would be fair.” Stiles argues, just because he can.


“Are you?” Derek snorts, like he already knows the answer.


“No. But that wasn’t the point. The point was-“ Stiles pauses. “Why am I defending these people. You’re right, this isn’t fair. We should be skipping through meadows right now. Unless… Are you a serial killer?”


“I’m not.” Derek assures him, “But if you made me skip through meadows I might become one.”


“Well aren’t you a little ball of sunshine.” Stiles mutters, his fingers lifting up to poke at the heavy bolts drilled into the grate. Derek doesn’t answer.


“Hey,” Stiles pipes up after a few seconds. “Can your wolfy eyes see what’s in our cells?” 


“I don’t have x-ray vision Stiles.” Stiles tries to ignore the way his name sounds on the stranger’s lips. 


“No, I mean what’s in yours, because it’s probably the same as mine and I don’t want to fall over something.”


“I need light for my vision to work, Stiles.” Derek says, and Stiles wonders why he keeps saying his name. It sounds almost teasing, like Derek enjoys saying it. Stiles doesn't know if its mocking or not. “There’s nothing here really. Just a blanket and a chemical toilet.”


“Well at least it’s not a bucket.” Stiles says feeling around for the blanket. “Eugh!” He exclaims his hand finding said item. “You could have warned me that it’s all itchy and moth-eaten.”


“I don’t think moths are what ate it, Stiles.” Derek says, and there it is, his name again.


“Rats?” Stiles squawks. “Have you seen them?”


“Well my blanket doesn’t have holes in it. So no.”


“I hate you.” Stiles whines, but he inches closer to the grate anyway.




The cells were silent except for the occasional far away banging of doors. A guard had shoved a soggy tuna-sandwich in the cell a while ago, but Stiles was still hungry.


“Hey, Derek?” Stiles asks.


“Hmm?” Derek sounded sleepy.


“Do you think it’s nighttime?”


“I don’t know.”


“Can’t you feel the moon at night?”


“The moon is up in the daytime too, Stiles.” Derek's voice is relaxed and drifting, and it feels oddly intimate to Stiles.


“Oh, yeah.”


Stiles rests his head on his balled up blanket and tucks his knees to his chest up.


“Derek?” Stiles asks tentatively. The guy seemed pretty tired.


“Yeah?” The reply was louder, and Stiles figured Derek's shifted closer to the grate.


“How did you get in here?”


“Hunters.” Derek grunts, like that was a reasonable explanation.


“I got that.” Stiles huffs. “But how? C’mon, tell me a bedtime story.”


“It might give you nightmares.” Derek says, but Stiles thinks he can hear a hint of a smile.


“I can handle it.” Stiles assures him, his lips twitching into a grin.


“It’s the story of a werewolf falling in love with a hunter who burns his entire family alive and then kidnaps him and tortures him to try and get information about nearby packs.” Derek’s voice had turned bitter.


“Wow, man.” Stiles stutters. “How long have you been here?”


“No idea.” Derek replies and Stiles imagines his shadowed figure shrugging, “A year or so?”


“Holy shit.” Stiles whispers.


“Yeah.” Comes the reply.




Stiles is getting sick of bland sandwiches. He's getting sick of the dark. He's also getting sick of the cold. He's just plain getting sick.


He tried to keep track of the time by how often the sandwiches were given to him. Assuming every three sandwiches meant a day had passed he'd been here... too long.


“Hey, Derek?” Stiles turns his head towards the grate. He can hear Derek stop doing whatever exercise it was he was doing and shuffle towards the grate. 


“Stiles?” His breathing is steady, despite the work-out, and Stiles wonders briefly how muscled the guy is by now. 


“How many days do you think I’ve been in here?” Stiles shifts from where he is lying on his back, hand grazing over his stomach... maybe he needed to start working out everyday too. 


“I don’t know.”


“Do you think we’ll ever get out?”


“I don’t know, Stiles.”


“I wonder what you look like.” Stiles ponders. “No. Don’t tell me I’m going to try and guess.”


“Uh, Okay.” Derek replies.


“Well I have two werewolf friends, and they look surprisingly puppy-like. I don’t know if that is a werewolf thing or just an Isaac and Scott thing. Do you look like a puppy?”


“No.” Derek says, voice seemingly un-amused.


“Hmmm. Okay.” Stiles says, face scrunching up thoughtfully. “Are you a balding middle aged man?”


“No!” Derek protests, and Stiles chuckles at how offended he sounds.


“And you’re definitely not a woman?”


Stiles.” Derek warns.


“Okay okay.” Stiles bites his lip to stop himself laughing. “You have dark hair?”








“Brown eyes?”




“Blue eyes?”




“What do you mean ‘um’?”


“I don’t really know what colour they are.” Derek admits. “Last time I checked they were a kind of greeny-grey with yellow?”


“Uh… Okay. Lets skip eyes.” Stiles says, because he was struggling to imagine multi-coloured eyes. “I bet you’re buff? I’ve heard you working out.” Derek made a non-committal noise. “Okay, well in my mind you look like Wentworth Miller, but maybe I’ve just had too many Prison Break fantasies whilst in here.”


“Prison fantasies?” Derek asks, and Stiles could hear the raised eyebrow.


“Prison Break fantasies.” Stiles corrects. “You know, where they dig a hole in the prison and climb to freedom.


“I thought that was Shawshank Redemption.”


“Dude, its like most prison stories, except Wentworth Miller is a hottie... And he’s gay.”


“So, you think I’m a gay hottie?” Derek snorts.


“Well you haven’t corrected me so far.” Stiles states, and he can't help but smile to himself.


“Hmm okay. I’ll let you keep your fantasy if I can keep mine.” Stiles is pretty sure he can hear the smile in Derek's voice too. 


“What’s that?”


“That you’re a gay hottie too.” And Stiles is pretty sure he can feel the tips of his ears burning with pleasure.




Stiles had been humming theme tunes and trying to get Derek to guess them when his head snaps up. It was a game they’d been playing for what seemed like forever and it was getting harder and harder to think of shows that Derek would know.


“Hey, Derek? Do you hear that?” Stiles scooted closer to the grate. It had become his comfort zone.


“Yes.” Derek’s voice sounded tense.


“They’re coming.”


They usually came for Derek, to take him away and question him. They came every fifteen sandwiches or so, and took Derek for around two hours. Stiles had counted once. Derek would always return tired, but healing, and Stiles would try and distract him with an anecdote from his childhood or a game he’d invented.


This time though, it wasn’t Derek they came for. Stiles started when the door of his cell burst open. The light, dull when Stiles entered, seemed to blind him now. Stiles scooted back from the two silhouetted figures in the doorway, but they still approached.


“No. Hey. No!” Stiles protested, squirming in their grasp. They didn’t loosen their grip as they shoved a black hood over his head. He could faintly hear Derek calling his name as he was dragged from his cell.




“Stiles? Stiles?” Derek’s voice sounds urgent and Stiles wants to answer but he's pretty sure he's sleeping.


“Mmmm.” Stiles groans, rubbing his face into his pillow. Only his pillow is cold and hard, and not a pillow at all. He opens his eyes to the darkness. “Drk?”


“Hey, Stiles. You’re awake. Are you okay?”


“M’sore.” Stiles groans again, because it was true. His head aches and his shoulder feels like its been put in a vice. He faintly remembers being strapped to a chair and yelled at, but not much else.


“Here.” There's a clanging noise that a coming from the wall and for a second Stiles thinks Derek is punching it.


“Whatryoudoin?” Stiles murmurs, opening one eye, even though the dark made it useless.


“One second, -ow fuck.” Derek hisses as the clanging stops. Stiles nearly lets out a shout of surprise when something brushes his hand. “Give me your hand.”


“Jesus, I thought you were a rat.” Stiles breathes out a shuddering breath and moves his hand until it's clasped in Derek’s. Derek's hand is like a furnace and such a contrast from the cold stone around him. Stiles feels his pain lessen, and he knows Derek is leeching it.


“Your hands feel nice.” Stiles mumbles as Derek’s thumb brushes over his palm, the roughness tickling his skin.


“You have really nice fingers.” Derek muses, his own fingers dancing across them, caressing them softly.


“Is it possible for hands to be sexy?” Stiles’ chuckle catches in his throat and he coughs, his ribs aching from it. “I think yours are.” He hears Derek breath out a soft laugh, his hand moving to Stiles’s wrist, tracing circles as it travels along his forearm, smoothing over Stiles’ tendons until he stops halfway, unable to get his arm further into the grate.


“Closer.” Derek swallows. “Come closer.”


“Okay.” Stiles obliges, pulling his arm out of Derek’s grip in order to drag himself closer to the grate. He feels for Derek, and his fingers brush against the warm skin. He grazes his fingers along Derek’s arm, letting the soft hair tickle his fingertips before lowering his head so he’s lying next to Derek’s hand as his fingers stroke little circles into Derek’s palm.


Stiles blows out a shaky breath, and Derek’s fingers follow the movement until they bump against Stiles’s chin. They kept moving up, brushing against his skin until they almost poke Stiles’s nose. Stiles huffs a soft laugh and moves his face closer, closing his eyes. Derek’s fingers ghost across his eyelids, he curls his hand so the back of his fingers could stroke against Stiles's cheek so delicately. Derek's hands move cautiously as though looking for bruises and he smell like leather and peanut butter from that day’s sandwich. it makes Stiles’s mouth water.


“You have soft skin.” Derek’s voice croaks out into the silence.


“Thanks.” Stiles smiles, pressing his lips into Derek’s hand so he could feel it.


“You have a beautiful smile.” Derek whispers, his fingers tracing Stiles’s lips.


“You have beautiful hands.” Stiles presses a soft kiss to Derek’s knuckles.


“Do you still hurt?”


“Not anymore. Thank you.” Stiles squirms closer, resting his head in Derek’s hand. Derek’s fingernails comb through the edge of his scalp, massaging it as his palm pillows Stiles’s cheek. Stiles falls asleep like that. The warmth of Derek seeping into his skin, and the smell of Derek allowing him to dream of something other than concrete and rain.





“Hey, Derek?” Stiles is wrapped up in both his and Derek’s blanket. Derek had insisted on pushing his through the grate, ignoring Stiles’s protests.


“Yeah.” Comes the reply.


“Where do you think my rats came from?” 


“I don’t know Stiles, it’s your cell.” Stiles can hear the fond-exasperation.


“I can’t feel a hole. But I can’t see anything either. I wish we had light.” Stiles rests his head back against the cold wall with a pout.


“Do you have any string on you?” Derek asks, and Stiles frowns, because that's a weird question.


“Um no… oh wait. I have my hoodie strings?” He pulls them out of his jacket and feels around where he knows Derek’s hand will be poking out of the grate. “What are you going to do with them?” Stiles asks curiously as Derek pulls his hand back.


“If I move my claws along the floor fast enough I can create a spark.” Derek explains, and Stiles can hear the scratching sound. “And the toilet chemicals are flammable, so just dip the end in a voila.” He makes a triumphant sound and Stiles hears a crackle just as he sees a glow coming from the grate. The grate which he can now see for the first time.


Stiles squints, the little glow is like looking directly at the sun. Stiles creeps towards the light slowly, head coming forward. His breath suddenly hitched, this was it, he's about to see Derek, he's about to actually see what Derek looked like. He presses his eyes closed before placing the side of his head to the floor where he’d be eye-line with the grate. He hears Derek’s intake of breath before opening his eyes and he pauses, trying to remember how to breathe properly. 


“You’re kind of beautiful.” Derek whispers, and Stiles eyes fly open from the pure shock of the statement. His eyes meet Derek’s, and now he can see what Derek meant before. Behind the glow of the light dancing in his eyes lies a rainbow of colours. Green, blue, hazel, gold. Stiles licks his cracked lips and watches the eyes flicker down to follow the movement.


Stiles is speechless, unable to respond with words. Derek's face is all strong jaw and high cheekbones. Where Stiles had only accumulated a little fuzz along his chin Derek has a thick layer of stubble, Stiles remembers Derek mentioning using his claws to trim it, but Stiles had just pictured him hacking chucks out, this looked so groomed.


“Hey.” Stiles grins, unable to think of anything else to say. Derek’s responding smile is blinding, his chapped lips stretch across straight teeth and his eyes crinkle at the corners.


Stiles doesn’t know how long they lay there, on either side of the grate just watching each other. Stiles just soaking in the ability to see, to see Derek. Neither of them moved until the warmth of the flame went out, and even then all that happened was Derek squeezed his hand through the grate to link his fingers with Stiles’s.


Just as he was drifting off to sleep Stiles realised he’d forgotten to look for the rat holes.





“Hey, Derek?”


“Yeah, Stiles?”


“When we get out of here I’m going to take you out.”


“Yeah?” Derek says, and Stiles knows he's smiling.


“Yeah. What’s your favourite place?”


“I don’t know.” Derek hesitates. “It’s been so long since I’ve been out.” Stiles’s heart breaks a bit at that, he sometimes forgets how much longer Derek's been there.


“In that case, lets not wait.” Stiles decides.


“What?” Derek asks.


“Close your eyes, I’m taking you out.” Stiles shuts his own eyes and lies back onto the concrete, allowing his body to relax and his mind to open. “Eyes shut?”


“Yeah.” Derek mutters, and Stiles can hear him settle onto the floor too.


“Okay.” Stiles starts, his lips quirking. “You are waiting outside a multiplex cinema, looking gorgeous in a leather jacket and V-neck with your hair tousled just right and your stubble groomed to perfection.” He hears Derek’s soft snort. “You are nervous because we arranged to meet at six and I’m late. I’m always late by the way. Its six fifteen and the move starts at half past. You are beginning to think you are a fool for waiting this long when I come running up to you rambling about how my jeep broke down again and I had to get a lift from Scott.”


“What are you wearing?” Derek asks.


“Oh yeah,” Stiles says, “I’m wearing my favourite purple button-down, and the jeans my friend Lydia says makes my ass pop.” He hears Derek make a noise of appreciation and blushes into the dark. “Um, so I apologize and you make some sarcastic comment but accept it and grab my hand so we can go in.” Stiles reaches out to the grate where he knows Derek’s hand is waiting and weaves their fingers together.

“We go and see one of those throwback movies. They’re playing one of the classic bonds, Thunderball, and I make a joke about how good you’d look in a tux.” Stiles pauses to lick his lips and Derek’s thumb glides across his hand before he contines. “I buy way too much popcorn, it smells so good, and a giant coke to share. We sit in the back, so we can hold hands in the dark and reminisce about our time here.”


“Do we sit a seat away so we have to stretch?” Derek snorts.


“Nah,” Stiles chuckles, “I wouldn’t he able to subtly grope you if you’re far away.” Derek barks out a laugh and Stiles grins so hard he makes it his goal to do it as often as he can manage. “Yeah, by the time the henchman-guy is fed to the sharks we are making out pretty heavily.” Derek’s hand tightens around Stiles’s at that. “We were going to get something to eat after the movie but we ate too much popcorn. Our stomachs are so full. We decide to go to the aquarium instead, because of the movie.”


“As long as there’s stingrays.” Derek interrupts.


“Oh yeah. You get to feed them and everything, they nibble your fingers and we get told off for having a mini splash fight. And there’s penguins and exotic fish and sharks!” Stiles makes snapping motions with his hand pretending its eating Derek’s. Derek laughs again before pulling their hands back together.


“Is it dark in there too?” Derek asks.


“Of course! The dark is our thing. Perfect for finding secret spots to make-out. At one point a mother catches us kissing by the clown-fish and makes tutting noises as she drags her child away. It’s a pretty epic kiss to be fair, and I was kind of grabbing your butt.”


“I’m pretty sure I was grabbing yours too.” Derek’s voice is teasing, and Stiles feels his chest flutter.


“We get asked to leave, and then I ask you if you want to come back to my place.”


“And I say yes.”


“So we run through the shark tunnel, and you lead me to your car.”


“Stopping to kiss you as often as I can.”


“Your mouth warm against mine.”


“Your lips so soft.”


“We climb into the car and you drive.”


“As fast as I can.”


“We reach my place and clamber to the door.”


“I kiss your neck as you find your keys.”


“Yes. I open the door. We stumble in.” Stiles’s breathing has increased and he can hear Derek’s too. Their hands are clasped so tightly Stiles has to stop his fingernails from biting into Derek's skin.


“Yes. I close the door behind us.”


“I push you up against it and kiss you.”




“Yes. Your mouth is so hot. Your tongue burning.”


“My fingers comb through your hair. I kiss along your jaw, licking down your neck.”


“God yeah. I pull of your jacket. Your shirt.”


“Yes. I kiss your lips. Your nose. Your eyelids. My hands running up your shirt.”


“You can rip it off.” Stiles pants. Feeling the ghost of Derek’s kisses. His cock is painfully hard, pressing against his pants, but he doesn’t dare touch it. He wants Derek to make him come.


“Yeah? Okay. We’re topless. I kiss your chest.”




“My tongue on your nipple.”


“So hot. Your mouth.”


“Yes.. Your skin burns against my tongue. So hot.”


“My hands are on your shoulders. Neck. In your hair.” Derek lets out a small moan, and Stiles knows he’s just as hard as him. Their hands are shaking, palms sweating.


“My mouth on your stomach.”




“Your hips. Lower.”




“I undo your pants. Pull you out.”




“My hands on your skin. On your cock.”




“My mouth on your cock.”








“Yeah. Do you feel my mouth?”


“Yeah, I feel you. Do you feel my cock?”


“Yeah. I can taste you.”


“I can feel you.”


“I want you.”


“You have me.”


“Can you feel what I’m doing?”


“Yeah. I want more. I want you inside me.”


“Fuck. Yeah?”




“Okay. I’m taking off my pants.”


“You're so good.” Stiles is completely breathless now. His cock leaking.


“Yeah? Do you know what I’m doing?”


“Yeah. I feel you.”


“Do you feel me inside you?”


“I want you inside me.”


“Feel me.”


“I feel you inside. You feel so good.”


“Do you feel me thrusting.” Both their voices tremble between harsh, panting breaths. 


“Hard. Yes”






“I feel you.”


“I feel us both.” 








“Oh, yeah.”


“I feel…”




“I’m gonna…”


“Yes, Derek…”






Stiles comes hard. He can hear Derek gasping as he comes too. They lay there, panting. Hands together.


“Are you sure you’re not God.” Stiles croaks out. He hears Derek chuckle softly, his hand squeezing Stiles’s.




Stiles barely notices his hunger anymore. It isn’t until he can’t sit up that he realises there haven’t been any sandwiches in a long time. He wonders if they’re being starved.


“Hey, Derek.”


“Stiles?” His voice is soft, equally as weak.


“Do you think they’re done with us?”


“I don’t know.”


“Maybe I can catch a rat.” Stiles jokes, he hears Derek’s huff of laughter.


“Have you seen a single rat in the months you’ve been here?”


“No. I guess not.” Stiles was about to say something else when he hears Derek shuffle. “Derek?”


“Someone’s coming.” Derek whispers back. Stiles automatically scoots towards the grate, towards Derek, facing the direction of the door in case they’re coming for him instead of Derek again.


He hears whispering coming from outside, which is strange because they’re normally quiet.


“Scott, let me.” Stiles’s head snaps up at the sound of the voice. He knows that voice.


“Isaac?!” Stiles calls out, gaining strength through hope.


“Hey its Stiles. Stiles!” He hears the voice calling back.


“STILES!” The other familiar voice rings out.


“SCOTT. Oh my God, Scott! I’m in here!” Stiles rushes to the door, and bangs on it.


“Hang on!” He hears Scott shout then, “Isaac no, its not that key it’s the rusty one!” The lock clicks twice and there is a clang as the door bursts open. Light flooding in and burning Stiles’s eyes even when he shuts them. 


“Stiles!” Isaac and Scott both lunge forward to envelope Stiles in hugs, and even a couple of kisses. “Are you okay. Oh my God you’re so skinny. Come on, lets go.”


“Wait,” Stiles croaks, leaning most of his weight on Scott’s shoulders. “Derek.”


“What?” Isaac says and Stiles blindly points to the wall.


“Derek. Unlock him.” Scott shoves the keys at Isaac who fumbles with Derek’s lock until it clicks open. Stiles stumbles away from Scott’s hold, towards Derek’s cell.


Just as he reaches it he risks peeking through his lashes. Derek emerges from his cell hand shielding his eyes until he notices Stiles squinting up at him. He drops his hand immediately in favour of wrapping his arms around Stiles and burying his face into his neck.


“Hey.” Derek mumbles into Stiles’s skin. Stiles is gripping him so tightly that he’s sure if he was human he’d be crushed. His face is pressed into Derek’s shoulder and his hand fisted into his hair as he breathes him in.


“Hey.” Stiles says, pulling back and placing a delicate kiss on Derek’s lips. “Lets get out of here.” Stiles turns to Isaac and Scott who nod. 


“We killed the hunters.” Scott says as he makes himself into a human-crutch. Isaac offers his shoulder for Derek to lean on but Derek waves him off with a smile.


"I'm fine. Thanks." Isaac nods and begins to lead the way out.


“Sorry it took so long to find you Stiles, we were so worried.” Stiles lifts up a floppy hand to ruffle Isaac's hair. 


“That’s okay. You found us, that’s all that matters.” Stiles drops his hand and feels Derek’s hand slip into it. Stiles squints down at their hands as he laces their fingers together and grins.