Actions

Work Header

How Do You Want Me?

Chapter Text

Stiles' hands twisted uselessly over his head as he struggled with the heavy, rusting manacles encasing his wrists. Rising up on tiptoes in an attempt to get some slack, he craned his neck upward, trying to get a better look at how he was secured. He was so focused on it that he didn't notice his visitor until the other boy spoke.

"Don't bother, Stiles. Those chains could hold a werewolf; I'm pretty sure you're not going to do them any damage." 

Stiles jerked, startled at the voice, his bare toes slipping on the mildew slick cement floor and making him grab onto the dangling chains for balance as he crashed back down to a sturdier standing position.

Theo was standing in the doorway of the dank, windowless little room with a smirk on his face and something that looked suspiciously like a riding crop in his hand.

Stiles glared at him, and if looks could kill, the other boy would be a smoldering pile of ash. "Oh, it's you. I was wondering when you'd slither out of the woodwork." He was shivering a little, but only because he was cold. Whatever fucktard had strung him up down here like a side of beef had also seen fit to strip him naked, and bad-guy basement lairs were not notorious for their cozy heating.

"Now that's not very nice, after I came all the way down here just to check on you and see how you were doing," Theo mocked with wounded sincerity. His gaze raked up and down the other boy's exposed body, taking him in with an amused, assessing eye as he walked around Stiles in a slow circle.

Stiles' scowl intensified as he twisted in his bonds, attempting to track Theo's movements. He felt much more vulnerable than he wanted to let on and was not at all comfortable letting the werewolf out of his sight. "I knew you were a bastard. I knew you were lying your ass off ever since you showed up."

Theo pressed up unexpectedly against his back, his hands gripping Stiles' sides and his chin resting on the other teen's shoulder in a mockery of casual intimacy. Stiles yelped and tried to jerk away, but he had no leverage and the werewolf was too strong.

"What do you want, Stiles, a cookie for being right? It didn't exactly do you any good. No one believed you." Theo sounded smug as he let the long, thin, leather-tipped rod in his right hand glide slowly down across the length of Stiles' naked abdomen.

Yes, that was definitelya riding crop, and Stiles wasn't at all sure he wanted to know why exactly Theo was carrying it or where he got it. He shuddered slightly, Theo's warmth unwelcome against his body, despite how cold he was.

"Wow, and I didn't think anyone could be creepier than Peter Hale. Congratulations, Theo, you win the evil psycho door prize." Stiles grit out, his ears burning but refusing to otherwise react as Theo teased down between his legs with the crop. "So, like, is molesting random guys in dungeons how you get your rocks off, or are you actually here for some reason other than just being a creepy fucker?"

Theo chuckled against his shoulder and stepped back. "Actually, the Doctors want to test your healing rate, or something like that. I didn't get all the technical details, but basically, they want you messed up before they start their procedures so they can measure whatever it is they measure. I volunteered to help out." Theo was wearing that deceptively friendly, boyish smile of his, but there was a sadistic gleam in his eyes.

Stiles swallowed, his quick mind slotting the pieces together immediately, even as he wished it hadn't. "Well, that sounds fake, but okay," he snarked. "You're just such a helpful guy all around, I'm sure this has nothing to do with you being a sadistic creeper who doesn't like me."

Theo's grin widened. He shook his head. "Stiles..." he remonstrated with wounded innocence. "Why would you think that? I like you, I do. I think you're smart, loyal, and clever ... and I think you'll be fucking beautiful when you scream."

Theo brought the crop down hard across the back of Stiles' shoulders, making him yelp and jerk in pain. He followed up with three more harsh cuts across his upper back before dropping his aim lower and peppering a dozen blindingly rapid blows across the human's ass.

Stiles twisted and tried to dance away from the pain, but there was barely enough give in the chain suspending his arms to allow him to stand flat-footed on the floor; there certainly wasn't enough to allow to him to escape the punishment. The pain was raw, fiery and much more intense than he thought it had any right to be. It took his breath away and left him gasping with the effort of not crying out.

Theo stopped after a minute. He ran his fingers across the upraised lines of pain he'd created across Stiles' back before cupping one heated ass cheek in his hand. He squeezed, stroking and massaging the hurting flesh as if testing the texture of the welts. "It's okay to let go, you know," Theo told him in an almost conciliatory tone. "You can be as loud as you want, nobody will hear you."

Stiles grit his teeth and clenched his eyes shut, anger raging in his chest and his face burning with a sickly heat that did not make him warm. He could feel every pulsing line of fire that had been drawn across his chilled flesh throbbing in time with his rapid heartbeat and Theo's touch was both painful and humiliating, not to mention creepy. "Yeah, well, thanks, but I'm good," he spit back.

Without warning, Theo popped his claws and raked them down the sides of Stiles' ribs and hips, not deep, but deep enough to draw blood.

"Aahnng...!" Stiles choked off his cry forcefully, refusing to give the bastard what he was after. "Did you know," he panted through his teeth, bloodied sides heaving. "that I know about a dozen different ways to kill a werewolf? Painful ways. Painful ways to kill you. To death."

Theo actually chuckled. He gave Stiles' sore ass cheek a slap that was too hard to really be playful. "Gotten a taste for it now, have you? You enjoy killing Donovan that much?"

Stiles didn't rise to the bait. "I'd enjoy killing you that much."

Theo gave him another sharp cut with the crop across his already throbbing ass and Stiles hissed, rocking forward and clenching his fists. "Oh yeah, big stake of mistletoe-wrapped mountain ash in your future, buddy. Big one. Right up your fucking ass."

The blows came slower and more methodically now, across his butt, down his thighs, sometimes straying up to his back and shoulders. Theo was supernaturally strong and he wasn't holding back. The lashes were already starting to draw blood, mingling it with the tracks left by his claws.

"Kinky. You want to fuck my ass, Stiles? I didn't know you cared," Theo mocked. "Well that's not really my thing, although I wouldn't mind fucking yours. Tell you what, if you're a good boy, I'll let you suck my dick when we're done here, huh?"

"Only if you want to lose it," Stiles snarled. Theo whipped him over and over. He whimpered and choked on the pain, refusing to let it out as anything but spite and vinegar. Oh God, it hurt. His arms and legs were beginning to tremble. His eyes burned with moisture that was just pain, not tears, because he wasn't crying, his eyes were just watering.

"You know no one's coming to save you, Stiles," Theo murmured, the exertion he was putting into the beating making him a trifle breathless, or maybe it was excitement. Maybe he got off on this. "Your friends don't even know you're gone," he taunted. "It's not like any of them are really speaking to one another right now. God knows how long it will be until they even notice you're not around. If they notice your absence at all, it's probably just a relief."

Stiles knew what Theo was doing, and it shouldn't have hurt like a dull knife in his stomach, but it did anyway. "See, this is ... ahh ... what you get for ... ngh ... being a newbie and-and not knowing shit," he shot back, trying to rock with the blows and attempting to keep the treacherous, pained warble out of his seething voice. "You think that's supposed to ... nnh ... scare me? Newsflash, asshole, this is ... ahh ... not a new development. Waiting for the cavalry is highly overrated. I've been ... NNHG ... rescuing myself just fine for a-a long time, thank you very much. Nnnhg! Ow! Motherfucker."

Theo gave a low, appreciative hum. "God, you really are perfect, Stiles," he murmured as he mercilessly walloped the crease between Stiles' butt and his trembling thighs over, and over. "Fucking perfect."

Stiles couldn't tell if the praise was ironic or sincere, or decide which scenario was more disturbing. The blazing, ungodly pain Theo was blistering into his skin was pretty much absorbing all his attention. Tears were tracing freely down his cheeks and his raw shoulders shook with aborted sobs. He was trying so hard not to give into the hurt. He fought it with everything he had, but it wasn't enough. He couldn't hold out forever. The pain was too much, and finally it overwhelmed him.

Theo hit him in the same spot for what seemed like the hundredth time and Stiles could no longer hold back the choked cry that escaped him, or the next one, or the next. Soon he was screaming helplessly, sobbing and choking on the agony that just didn't end. 

Behind him, Theo smiled.  "I knew you'd be beautiful."

Stiles thought that maybe when he gave in and started screaming, that would be enough for Theo, but to his despair, the other boy gave no indication of winding down the beating, if anything, Stiles' agonized responses seemed to egg him to hit harder and faster.

The pain was consuming. Stiles had been hurt plenty of times before, but never like this.

Running out of undamaged skin on his back, butt and the back of his thighs, Theo kicked Stiles' legs apart so he could get at his inner thighs. Stiles howled and tried to keep his legs together, but Theo just kept forcing them open again.

"No," Stiles sobbed, his body shaking, legs barely able to support him any longer. "No... s-stop, stop!" He wanted it to be a demand, but it was clearly a plea, a humiliating, urgent, agonized plea. He couldn't take any more, he really couldn't. "Stop, stop..." he sobbed over and over. "Oh god... p-please. No-no more. Theo! Stop! Please, oh please, god, stop!" He was begging and he didn't care anymore, couldn't care, he desperately needed this to end.

To his surprise, Theo actually did pause for a minute. The werewolf's moved in closer, his hand closing in a firm grip across the back of Stiles' neck. Stiles could feel the tips of Theo's claws pricking his skin, but weirdly, it seemed intended as a steadying, rather than a threatening, gesture. Theo squeezed his neck reassuringly, grounding Stiles against the pain he himself was inflicting.

"Say my name, Stiles," Theo murmured, his breath brushing Stiles' arm and his flushed, tear-damp cheek. He unexpectedly whacked  the crop in his free hand against the side of Stiles' hip, catching him across the scratches and the tail ends of the welts he'd already laid there.

Stiles gave a hoarse little cry, his body jerking and his head dropping forward.

Theo's hand stayed on his neck. His claws had retracted and he rubbed contradictorily soothing circles into Stiles' agony taut muscles with his thumb as he slowly and deliberately hit him again, feeling the jolt as it transmitted through Stiles' trembling, twitching body.

"Say it," Theo murmured again, his tone deceptively soft and coaxing, demanding but gentle. "Call out for me, Stiles."

Theo hit him again, and again across the same burning, abused spot on his hip and up his injured side and Stiles pressed his eyes shut around a choked sob.  "Theo," he sobbed, his raw throat choking and catching around the word. "Theo, please..."

Stiles felt the small shudder that ran through Theo's body through the hand still clamped possessively on the back of his neck.  Theo bent his head close to the gap between Stiles' suspended arm and the side of his head, inhaling deeply as if scenting him. "Beg me, Stiles. Beg for me," he prompted softly, his voice still holding that disturbingly out of place gentleness that seemed completely at odds with his actions.

Tears streamed from Stiles' clenched eyes. "Please, Theo, please no more. It hurts, Theo, it hurts..." Stiles sobbed shakily, knowing that was what Theo wanted to hear. He'd realized what Theo wanted from the moment the werewolf's manner had changed upon first hearing him stutter out his name. Stiles couldn't begin to understand why, or what twisted game his captor was playing, but he really didn't care at this point. He'd do anything that had even the slightest chance of making the beating end.

He felt Theo inhale sharply against his skin before he hit him again, so hard Stiles nearly bit through the swollen lip he was biting. "Theo!" he howled the name hoarsely when he was struck again, too fast, too hard. He sobbed raggedly, feeling desperate and broken. "Please, Theo ... I can't. I-it's too much, I c-can't take anymore." Just because he was saying what Theo wanted to hear, didn't mean it wasn't true.

"You can," Theo soothed, squeezing his neck encouragingly as he lowered the rod and struck Stiles several times across his already much too abused ass. "You can, Stiles, you can take it."  He rubbed Stiles' neck and shoulder gently as he drew more bleeding lines across his flesh. "You're doing really good."

Stiles had no idea what to make of the praise, or the confusing mix of sweetness and savagery. He trembled and cried in Theo's grip, just wanting it to end. "I c-can't. I-I c-c-c-an't, T-Theo, ple-please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease..." he was sobbing so hard he almost couldn't breathe, his words barely intelligible.

Theo hit him a few more times and then stopped, trailing the supple tip of the crop lightly through the blood trickling down Stiles' thigh.

"Shh, shhh," Theo murmured soothingly, nuzzling Stiles' heaving shoulder lightly. "You're okay. You'll be all right. Are you going to be good now, Stiles? Can we be done?"

Stiles nodded violently, not giving a damn what Theo wanted him to say or do if it meant the whipping would end. "Yes. Fuck, yes. I'll be good. I'll be good," he promised hoarsely.

"You sound pretty eager, Stiles. Are you ready to suck me, now?" Theo asked, still in that mild, reassuring tone like he was offering Stiles a treat rather than coercing him into a blow job.

Stiles hesitated only a moment before closing his eyes and bobbing his bowed head. "Yeah, sure, why not," he mumbled through hitching breaths. It really didn't seem to matter much in the grand scheme of things right now. It couldn't possibly be worse than continuing to be systematically flayed.

Theo moved away, leaving him cold and shivering and in so much pain. It seemed like far too much effort to lift his head, so Stiles didn't see what Theo did, but he must have manipulated the chains suspending him from the ceiling because the next thing Stiles knew the tension in his arms suddenly went slack. His legs hadn't actually been supporting him for a while, so he crashed painfully to his knees, kept only from face-planting into the floor by the fact that the chains were still too short to allow that. They no longer held his hands over his head, but weren't long enough to allow him to put his hands or arms on the ground to support himself. His body screaming pain, he struggled to find his balance. There was no way he had the strength to stand on his own, so he was trapped on his knees. He rocked back onto his heels, but the pain in his thighs and butt was unbelievable, forcing him quickly forward again. Gripping onto the chains on either side of him for support, Stiles clutched on with trembling hands, trying to maintain the tenuous, exhausting position of being on his knees without letting his butt touch his calves.

He didn't realize Theo was in front of him until his wavering forehead bumped into the other boy's crotch.

Theo crouched in front of him with a worried look on his face. "Sorry, didn't think you'd drop like that, are you okay?" He asked, cupping the side of Stiles' face tenderly in his hand.

Stiles wanted to turn his head and bite that hand. He wanted to spit at Theo. He wanted to tell the douche bag that no, he was most fucking definitely not okay.  He didn't. He was in much too much pain, and too afraid of what that defiance might earn him.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, gaze dropping to the floor, because that was a lie he had a lot of practice telling.

Theo didn't call him on it. Instead, he rose, giving Stiles' cheek a gentle, caressing pat. "Okay. Open up."

Stiles did. He closed his eyes and let his jaw go slack, wavering back and forth on his knees and feeling so faint from pain and the settling shock of his injuries that everything became a little hazy and disconnected. He heard Theo's zipper, then felt the press of firm, warm flesh sliding between his lips. He didn't fight it. He didn't open his eyes. He let Theo do what he wanted and tried to take it.

Theo murmured encouragements, holding his hair and trapping his head as he shoved his cock down his throat, making Stiles gag helplessly. Stiles wasn't really able to do much other than struggle not to throw up on the other boy and he couldn't help thinking that this had to be a fairly terrible blow job. Theo fortunately didn't seem to care, as long as he could hold Stiles' head still and fuck into him.

It hurt. Not as much as the whipping had, but it definitely hurt. Stiles was still crying and his nose was clogged; he couldn't breathe when Theo's dick was down his throat. He struggled desperately for air each time the werewolf pulled out enough to allow it, but the world quickly started going grainy yellow-black and his sense of reality distorted. He struggled to hold onto the chains and stay balanced on his knees, but his hands felt numb and his arms heavy. He flailed about a little, wavering drunkenly until Theo pushed him back, making him sit on his heels in a more stable, if much more excruciating position. 

Stiles gasped dizzily, crying out at the pain. Theo seemed to very much appreciate the way it felt when Stiles' throat constricted and vibrated around him as he attempted to scream. He grabbed Stiles' shoulder, using the leverage to push Stiles down roughly, grinding his injured flesh to make him keep screaming as he fucked hard into his mouth.

Thankfully, the stimulation pushed the werewolf over the edge pretty quickly and he climaxed, spilling himself down Stiles' throat and into his mouth.

Stiles collapsed forward when Theo pulled out and stepped away, gasping desperately for air with drool and cum dribbling down his chin as he retched and sobbed for oxygen. Everything was dim and only semi-real, like he'd entered some kind of numb, twilight state, only it wasn't really numb because he was agonizingly aware of just how badly he hurt.

He must have blacked out, or at least grayed out for a while, because the next thing he was aware, the cuffs around his wrists were gone and he was in Theo's arms, being carried somewhere. He tried to move, not because he had any real thought of escape, but because Theo was carrying him bridal style and that made his injured back scream.

Theo's arms tightened around him, holding him carefully. "Shh," he comforted. "It's okay. I've got you. Relax."

Relaxing was out of the question, but Stiles did go limp, head lolling against Theo's shoulder as reality drifted away from him again.

Stiles felt something cold and hard under him and found himself once more struggling back to consciousness to find himself lying face down on some kind of medical table that was draped with a sheet. Someone was standing over him and panic iced through his hurting, shocky body as he recalled what Theo had told him earlier about the Doctors.

Oh God. Oh God they were going to operate on him. Experiment on him like the others, bury him in a hole, make him into some kind of doomed, nightmare freak.

He tried to thrash, but found that he couldn't move. Kanima venom, maybe, or some other paralytic, who knew? His breathing started to come too fast again, panic building explosively in his chest.

"Stiles, shh, shhh, no, it's all right." Theo's voice again, he was the person standing over beside the table. He placed a reassuring hand on Stiles' hurting shoulder, massaging comfortingly.

"No," Stiles sobbed softly, voice slurred and hopeless. "Don't ... don't want ... don't let them ..." Tears obscured his vision.

Theo leaned down in front of him, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. "I won't," he promised softly. "I won't let them have you. I told the Doctors that you didn't survive the prep. They weren't happy, but honestly, they don't really care. You're just another body to them, and there's plenty others." Theo stroked the side of Stiles' face and combed light fingers through his wildly tangled hair. "Don't worry, I'm the one that gave you the paralytic."

Stiles blinked, afraid to believe what he was being told. Afraid Theo was just messing with him again. "Why?" he whispered raggedly.

"I need to treat your injuries, Stiles. Don't want you to scar ... well, not too much," he smiled almost tenderly. "Maybe just a little scarring, to remember. It won't look bad, I promise," he assured, as if that were Stiles' biggest concern at the moment.

Straightening up, Theo moved about, out of Stiles' view before returning, holding between a set of metal tongs a long, flimsy sheet of something semi-translucent and vaguely scaly that looked disturbingly like some type of skin. "I may not be at the Doctors' level," Theo said, "but I've learned a few tricks from them. I'll get you patched up, without any monster side effects." He gave Stiles another one of those innocent looking, boyish smiles. "

Stiles blinked, not sure if he should feel hopeful, alarmed, or maybe all of the above. "But why?" he repeated, his head still feeling thick and slow and confused.

"Because if I gave you to the Doctors, they'd probably screw you up and then kill you," Theo told him. "Besides, I like you human. Now, I'm going to need you to be brave Stiles, okay? This will help you heal, but it's going to hurt, a lot," Theo warned.

He laid the strip of whatever it was across one of Stiles' cut up, welted shoulder blades and Stiles felt like he'd just dumped acid into the wounds. He screamed and would have rolled right off the table, except he couldn't move. He couldn't do anything but lie there, paralyzed, as Theo covered him from his neck to his knees in the painful, unusual dressings, or grafts or whatever the hell they were.

"I know, I know it hurts, It's okay Stiles, you're going to be all right, you can do this," Theo encouraged as he worked.

Stiles begged to differ, but he didn't really have a choice. Mercifully, he passed out again after a while.

When next he woke, he was just starting to regain sluggish, sloppy command of his limbs, but the fire on his back, butt and thighs was worse than ever. He felt like he was covered in magma, like it was actively burning into his body and he needed to get it off. He reached behind his back with clumsy hands, groping about to find the source of the pain. There was something weird there, something leathery and alien covering his skin that didn't seem to belong but clung as if adhered to him. He scratched at it desperately, but strong hands quickly caught his wrists and pulled his hands around in front of him.

It was only then that Stiles realized he wasn't on the table anymore. He was on a pile of blankets on the floor in a room he couldn't see very well. Theo was there, sitting beside him. Theo held his wrists firmly but gently, pulling Stiles onto his lap and into his arms, hugging him close to keep his struggling to a minimum.

"Leave it, Stiles, it's helping you. I know it doesn't feel like it, but it is. Let it do its thing, it'll come off when it's done," Theo told him.

"It hurts, it hurts," Stiles sobbed against his chest, too wrung out and in too much pain by now to care about anything else. It was too much, it felt like he was dying or losing his mind, like the unending pain was going to drive him insane.

"I know, I know, shhh, it's okay, I'll help," he promised.

Stiles thought it was just more empty words, but a minute later he realized the pain was diminishing. Not disappearing, there was too much for that, but it was inexplicably dropping down to a tolerable level. Looking down in numb shock, he saw the black lines crawling up Theo's arms from where he held him. Theo was taking his pain, and Stiles had no idea why, or what to think anymore. He was beyond confused and so exhausted that it felt like he was made of lead.

He knew he wasn't safe here. He knew Theo was a motherfucking rat bastard dick... but Stiles was too tired for any of that to matter. Theo's embrace was warm and gentle, his touch leaching away some of the excruciating pain that Stiles honestly couldn't continue to bear on his own just now. Stiles had been hurt too badly. He needed the gentleness Theo offered, even if it was messed up or some kind of elaborate lie. Taking comfort where and when he could, Stiles relaxed hesitantly in Theo's embrace and let himself rest against him, listening to the steady heartbeat beneath his ear.

As Stiles stopped struggling, Theo freed one hand to gently stroke and caress Stiles’ hair and neck, his other staying carefully glued to Stiles’ arm, continuing to drain away his pain despite the cost it must surely be exacting. He murmured soft, soothing things to the other boy and Stiles started to feel a little like he was floating. It was so good not to hurt.

“Why didn’t you give me to the Doctors?” he finally asked in a hoarse, drowsy voice. It was only one of many questions whirling about in his foggy head, but it was the only one that seemed safe. “What does it matter to you if they killed me or not?”

"Because you're mine, now, Stiles," Theo said gently, like that should be painfully obvious. "And people don't get to take what's mine."

Stiles swallowed. "Oh."