The Docks, Beacon's Warehouse District
When Derek wakes up his head is throbbing, spots flicker across his vision until the world rights itself.
On first glance it looks like he’s in a gray-walled room. Cement, he thinks, remembering that he was knocked out during his nightly patrol in the warehouse district downtown. The only piece of furniture, a plain wooden chair.
There’s something dried and tacky under his mask. By the copper smell, he gathers it’s blood from his head wound. He’s bound to one of the dozen scattered beams, hands tied roughly behind his back — wouldn’t be able get to any of his gear even if it hadn’t been plucked from his person. His belt having been tossed carelessly across the vast room along with his headset.
At least Batgirl and Robin will come looking for him when he doesn’t check in at the appointed time. They have a system, each patrolling a section of the city. Sometimes with Catwoman joining when she’s feeling generous. Though with Erica, it’s more often than not, her causing the trouble.
Despite knowing it’s useless, he struggles against the ropes.
“Tsk tsk, Bats. We both know you aren’t going anywhere,” a sultry voice rings out.
A voice he’s heard laugh and cry. A voice that used to tell him Good morning, Goodnight, I love you, Der, Stop hogging the strawberry jelly. A voice he knows all too well and hasn’t heard in over a year.
The difference though, makes his hackles rise. Each syllable, while drawn out with the intent to lure, is borderline manic, teetering on the edge of volatile. The words don’t drip lust like when Erica dons her cat ears and latex. No, the only thing dripping from this voice is acid.
“Stiles,” Derek breathes.
A year earlier, Eichen House Mental Institution for the Criminally Insane
Stiles is nervous. So nervous that before he left the house he organized and reorganized Derek’s sock drawer... five times.
Two guards are leading him to the visiting cells where the interview is suppose to be taking place. He’s been itching under his skin since he’d gotten a call last week that he was cleared by the warden and his professor to sit down with the latest object of his obsessive personality. The person he’d written countless essays about and poured over every file available on such, to the public.
Theodore Raeken, alias Joker.
Theo Raeken was twenty-four years old, born in Beacon City. Most known for savagely murdering his sister at ten years old. The act occurring by breaking both her legs, dropping her in a stream on one of the coldest nights of the year causing her to become hypothermic, then ripping her heart out. Rumor has it, he transplanted the heart into his own chest. It's anyone's guess, Stiles hasn’t gotten his hands on the medical records yet; those are still confidential.
But Theo didn’t stop killing after his sister — at fifteen he’d slaughtered his parents and countless classmates in the old Beacon water tunnels. Performing gruesome experiments and committing heinous act on their person, until being caught at nineteen years old and placed placed in Eichen House Mental Institution for the Criminally Insane. With multiple life sentences.
During his trial, Theo had pled insanity. Only taking the stand to say that they’ve yet to see the punchline.
Since the first moment Stiles had set eyes on Theo’s file, he’d been enamored. Such pointless depravity, the violence nothing less than sadistic and Stiles wanted to know why.
Why, why, why?
He was insatiable in his research, every new bit of information drawing his infatuation to the surface. His longing.
On one occasion, Derek had fucked him on his desk, not bothering to swipe at the papers strewn about. Stiles catching a glimpse of Theo’s demented mugshot, came instantly with Derek none the wiser.
When he enters the room, Theo's sitting at a metal table, cuffs chained to the top. Stiles’ breath catches, he’s so exquisite. His blond hair is well-kept, blue eyes piercing. On the right side his neck, a large calligraphy J. The orange jumpsuit not doing a damn thing to put Stiles off, what with his muscles straining against the material.
Theo scans him from head to toe, “My my, what a doll you are.”
Stiles ducks his head, flushing, and sits down across from the convict. He lays down his files, not needing them for himself, but for appearances.
“Hello,” Stiles starts evenly. “I’m Stiles Stilinski.”
Theo’s eyes, never having left him, narrow. “Are you a doctor or a fan?”
Stiles sputters, “Excuse me?”
Theo smirks, “You’re obviously here for a reason. Not everyday I get a social call. So which are you?”
“Neither.” Though Stiles is probably much more likely to be in the latter category. “I’m a student as well as an intern here. I’m doing my psychology thesis on you. More specifically on child psychopaths, one of which you were.”
The smile grows feral, “Oh stop, you’re making me blush.”
Stiles giggles lightly, devolving it into a cough. He’s ecstatic, the analysis already surpassing his expectations. But he doesn’t want Theo to know that.
Theo quirks an eyebrow, “You must be one hell of an intern if you’re able to request a private sit down with little ole me.”
Stiles shrugs, “I get by.”
“Hmm,” Theo hums. “Are you sure it has nothing to do with your beau? I hear Derek Hale is the richest man in the city. That seems exactly like the type of person to make this sort of thing happen.”
“How do you know that?”
Theo taps an ear, wrist metal clinking. “I have eyes and ears everywhere Mr. Stilinski. Heard someone was asking about. I’m a cautious man.” He braids his fingers together, “I’m just wondering what Hale’s doing with someone so...”
“What? Someone so what?” Stiles bristles, offended. He knows there are higher-ups in Hale Enterprises that have suggested Derek stop shacking up with some low class college student. He knows that they’re probably right.
Theo runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “Alive.”
Stiles flinches, noting just how close he’d gotten to the other man.
“Don’t worry, Pet. I quite like you this way, not that you wouldn’t make a pretty corpse.” Stiles gasps softly at the enticing threat. “You’ll do well to remember that.”
I will, Stiles thinks, oh god.
Stiles runs a hand over his hair, collecting himself, straightening up his papers. “We should start. Let’s start,” he says hurriedly. Theo shakes his cuffed hand in an inviting gesture to continue. “Why Joker?” Stiles asks, getting right to the point.
Theo snorts. “Straight to it then. Because the world is a funny place. I’d rather be the Joker, than be the joke.”
“But why? Why be so monstrous? You have no motive but sheer insanity. You’re an enigma,” Stiles questions, working himself up in more than one way.
“No he’s down the hall. Good with riddles.”
Stiles temper flares at the deflection. "I hate riddles. I just– you said no one’s seen the punchline yet. What is the punchline?!”
Theo’s face grows more and more elated as Stiles shouts, clearly enjoying how invested he is. With a head tilt and nothing short of awe, he asks, “Why do you care?”
Stiles pauses, realizing his mistake too late. He might as well have walked in wearing a TR + MS shirt.
“I told you…” his voice cracking, leg bouncing anxiously.
“No no, that’s not it.” Theo leans into Stiles’ space like a predator assessing its prey, “You wanted me. There are hundreds of other bloodthirsty murderers in this place, starting a lot younger than ten. What’s so interesting about me?”
Stiles blushes at their proximity, heart racing, dick tight in his jeans, and confesses, “Everything.”
Theo preens, “Do you like stories, Stiles?” Stiles nods. “I thought so. Me too. How would you like to write one with me? A harlequin romance, perhaps?”
“Don’t answer yet. Just think about it. I look forward to our next meeting.” And with that he waves the guards to take him away, shooting a wink from the door. “Goodbye, Pet.”
Stiles hardly makes it to his jeep before he’s pulling his dick out, swirling precome over the tip. Picturing Theo’s restrained hands jerking him instead of his own.
He comes with Theo’s name on his lips.
After the first visit, Stiles explains his research requires he meet with Theo twice a week officially. However, Stiles sneaks down to his cell as often as possible. Stealing a key card was one of the things he learned quickly being the son of Beacon City’s commissioner. They never talk then, just stare at one another, smitten as school boys.
Sometimes during their time together, Theo will indulge him, showing him tricks with cards or dice. Other times he’ll detail excessively how bone feels as you saw through it. Boasting how he can keep a victim from bleeding out while severing any remaining limbs. Once they spent two hours communicating in Morse Code alone.
Stiles hangs on every word. Bewitched completely, wondering how the world could be so magnificent as to give him this human being. Or have Theo to give himself to. He thinks maybe Theo’s the devil, and that he’d do anything for a dance.
He thinks maybe he’s falling in love.
Their visits easily become Stiles’ favorite part of any day. Every second is less time before their next. At night, when home having dinner with Derek, laying with Derek, fucking Derek; it’s always Theo. Everything is Theo, and nothing isn’t.
Derek’s mansion — that he’d agree to make his own as well after his father got brutally shot to death last fall — feels empty and agonizing. He’s lonely, his boyfriend always busy maintaining a company, practically running the city. Scott and Cora always off presumably helping him with various odds and ends. And although Isaac — Derek's foster brother and begrudging butler — is paid to be at the manor at all times, he tends to avoids Stiles like the plague.
Stiles wants so many things, so many people. Even the ones he already has. So when Theo dismisses the guards and tells him that he has someone watching the cameras, that he wants Stiles to put on a good show, he agrees without hesitation. Going hot at the thrill of getting fucked on film, that there are other people watching.
Bent over the frigid table, Theo roughly opens him up with spit and his fingers. Entering him way too soon and it hurts. Stiles imagines this is what it feels like to be stabbed, knows he’s bleeding on Theo’s cock and the thought makes him moan through his screams. Both being muffled by the belt Theo used as a makeshift gag. His flagging erection stiffening back up.
Theo’s plastered to his back muttering about him being a slutty whore, the perfect plaything. And even with the pain, every brush of his prostate wracks him with pleasure, forcing him to come first, untouched. When Theo’s done, he kisses his forehead and tells him he’s been such a good little pet. Taking his leave with the same goodbye as always. That he looks forward to their next meeting.
It’s a Saturday, a personal visit.
He’d been wait around the mansion for Derek — who was nearly three hours late for their date — when he stormed out of the house enraged. If Derek didn’t want to spend time with him, he knew someone who would.
Stiles sits across from Theo in his usual spot, their fingers laced despite the iron. They haven’t spoken yet, but Theo must have noticed the tear tracks staining his cheeks and his sullen mood.
“He doesn’t deserve you Stiles,” Theo says, pressing his lips to each of his knuckles. “He doesn’t understand what a gift you are. But I do.”
Stiles sniffles, tears returning, “I’m so tired of being alone. It’s not just him being late and taking my only two friends with him. Some nights he won’t come home at all. You’d come home to me wouldn’t you?”
“Of course. I would love nothing more.” The kisses turn wetter, Theo sucking two of Stiles’ fingers into his mouth down to the last knuckle.
“Theo,” He moans, misery long forgotten. “When can you fuck me again? I need you so bad.”
Theo pulls off his fingers with an obscene pop. “Do you know how long I’ve been here Stiles?”
He does — 5 years, 2 months, 7 days, 18 hours, and 33, no 34 minutes. “Longer than most. Statistically, you should have committed suicide or been brutally murdered 2.7 years ago.”
“Exactly. I’ve clearly served my time. And I think I deserve—we deserve, to be with each other. Don’t you?” Theo asks desperately.
Stiles nods. “What do you need me to do, Boss?”
“See? Such a gift.”
A week later Stiles busts Theo out of Eichen House with a series of codes, a minor power outage, and several fatalities. Theo taking him to a lab somewhere underground, much like the water tunnels from his file. Ouroboros line the walls.
Theo cants his head, talking while leading the way, “Won’t your boyfriend miss you?”
“Who? Oh Derek. Please, he won’t even notice I’m gone,” Stiles shrugs. It doesn’t hurt anymore, not with the prospect of finally being with Theo laid out in front of him.
Theo just shakes his head like Stiles is endless entertainment. “I had a few friends get everything ready for us. There’s a lot of work to be done before we can carry through with the plan properly.”
Stiles hops away from a rat as Theo brings them to a room. At the very center sits a reclined operating chair with leather straps.
“Work? On what?” Stiles questions curiously.
Theo leers, slamming and locking the door, “You.”
Present, The Docks
Summoned by his name, Stiles drops from the rafters with all the grace of a ballerina. Years of martial arts and gymnastics training shining through with the simple touch of his mismatched black and red combat boots hitting the floor.
At the time, Derek didn’t understand why Stiles trained so hard for so long if his goal in life was to be a psychiatric doctor. Stiles had brushed it off saying 'I didn’t like falling all over myself in high school. Plus now I can defend you from evil doers in the streets! Maybe even in the sheets,’ finishing with a wink. Derek had chuckled at just how unaware his boyfriend was of his secret identity.
Needless to say, he didn’t think it was so funny anymore.
Unlike his feet, the spray painted bat slams down harshly, causing Derek to jump in surprise. Stiles flashes a wicked grins at his reaction, biting the inside his cheek. The apple of which, is topped by an inked spade. “I must be doing something right if the local vigilante justice knows who I am… or something very wrong.”
Derek’s stomach lurches with arousal at the sight before him. Nothing of the boy he met all those years ago and fell in love with remaining. In his place is someone so much more.
The skin visible under the black thin strip of mask is colored bright red, eyes wild in their focus, drawing attention to the tips of his hair. A crisscrossing of the same colors: black, red, whiskey brown.
Derek’s gaze falls over his naked chest, framed by an open crimson sleeveless hoodie. There's more ink — three diamonds keeping the black/red color scheme on his bicep — and one other visible mark, though this one carved. The raised letters TR, rest on his hip trailing down to his sinfully tight black pants. He can’t help but sneer at the initials. The reason he lost everything. Always the reason.
Leather-gloved hands swing the bat at Derek making him flinch, though the weapon never hits it’s mark. Stiles looks down at the handle then back at Derek and starts giggling. “You get it?” He asks delighted. “A bat and a bat. I know I know, it’s over done blah blah blah. But I love a good classic.” He circles the beam, bat knocking against his heels as he goes, “I’m not allowed to play with you until the bossman gets here,” he pouts, stopping in front of Derek. “But what he doesn’t know...” he trails off, rubbing against Derek, letting him feel Stiles’ own want.
“Is there something in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” Derek grits out, jaw clenched.
Stiles’ face lights up, clearly loving that he’s playing along, “Oh, you are wonderful. Unfortunately for you, super fortunate for me, there is something in my pocket.” He shows him, lifting a vial of liquid, “But don’t think for a second we aren’t very happy to see you.”
Both their heads snap up at the bang of a door opening and closing. Gliding up to them in a tailored lavender and lime pinstriped suit, slicked back matching hair, complete with his burning blue eyes, is none other than the Joker himself, Theo Raeken. And where Stiles’ persona is chaotic, Theo’s is the eye of a storm.
He examines the scene before him, “You boys having a party without me?”
Stiles dances his way to Theo, wrapping his arms around him from behind, “No such thing as a party without you, babe.”
Derek thinks he might be sick when Stiles starts nuzzling at the other man throat like a dazed kitten. “What am I doing here?” Derek growls out. Frustrated with his numb limbs and his archenemy fucking around with the ex love of his life.
Stiles wags his finger at him, not moving from his spot, “You sir, were snoopin’ where you ought not’ve been snoopin’.”
Derek rolls his eyes, “I own this building.”
“That’s not true,” Stiles counters. “Theo, tell him that’s not true.”
“It’s not true,” Theo says placatingly.
“See!” Stiles exclaims, with his arm pointed in Theo’s direct like he’s a prize on a gameshow. As if whatever comes out of Theo’s mouth is law. More and more that seems to be the case. “And tell him why, Boss.”
Theo gives him a fond look, “Funny how you call me boss, but demand such inane things.”
“Babe…” Stiles whines. Derek wants to hurl.
“Fine,” he releases a put upon sigh. “Because this particular block is owned by Hale Enterprises which subsequently—” his tone darkening as his eyes bore into Derek’s, “is owned by Derek Hale.”
Honestly, he should have seen this turn of events. Of course Theo figured it out. Stiles was probably seduced for that exact reason. “Why are you doing this?” Because obviously asking questions is getting Derek everywhere.
“Because it’s fun,” Theo replies. “Not that you’d know anything about that. 'Oh boo hoo, my parent’s are dead!' Christ, pity soirée, reservations for none please. Ugh. Anyway, enough of all—” he waves his hand around at nothing, “this. Stiles, have you been a good host? Shown our friend here proper hospitality?” Stiles frowns. “Right. Go get some water please. Your aim was better than our last guest, but we don’t want him passing out before we kick things off.”
Stiles exits through the same door Theo entered with a skip and then it’s just the two of them. Leaning in close to Derek’s ear, Theo whispers, “He might not know who you are, but I do, Hale. And right now? You’re both mine.”
If Derek ever had a worst fear than his family being massacred, this would be it.
Once Stiles returns with the water, Theo brings the opened bottle to Derek’s lips for a drink, but he refuses.
“Oh honestly, it’s not poison, see?” And he takes a sip himself. “Seriously, what joy will I have if you’re unconscious? Wait, don’t answer that.”
Derek considers that Theo did drink some, as well as his aching skull. He nods and let’s Theo pour it down his throat. It’s room temperature and could very well still kill him, but his pain subsides slightly, giving him hope that he can fight his way out of this situation.
Seriously, he should know better by now.
A tingle slides down his spine, heating him from the inside, settling deep in his belly. Sweat builds at the back his neck and his breaths become pants. “I thought you said it wasn’t poisoned?” Derek whimpers, ashamed at letting his weakness show.
“It’s not!” Theo shouts, looking taken aback, then blinks twice in fast succession. The effects, not having hit him so suddenly, making themselves known. He whirls around towards Stiles who is sitting in the lone chair cackling, “Stiles.” It’s said with fury and hatred and possibly love.
Stiles wheezes, “You should see your face! Oh man!” Then he stills, licking his lips. “Are you gonna punish me, Boss? Huh, Daddy? I think I’ve been very very bad.”
“Did you fucking drug me again, you little whore?” Even with the harsh words, Theo’s smile is downright gleeful.
Stiles’ turns coy, “You should know by now to be more specific with your instructions.”
In a flash Theo has him by the hair and pushes him to his knees. A crack echoes through the warehouse with Stiles’ head twisting to the side from the force of the slap. Stiles, for his part, just snaps his bloody teeth at Theo’s hand in playful retaliation and takes off his gloves, flinging them away.
Derek should be disgusted by this whole affair, but the drugs are pumping blood straight to his dick, and anything having to do with Stiles on his knees would get him going on a bad day. It doesn’t matter that Stiles happens to be kneeling at Theo’s feet, or that Derek’s literally a hostage.
Theo drags this thumb through the blood coating Stiles’ lips, painting them dark red. “Lovely little doll,” He admires, his hand still fisted in brown locks.
Stiles seems enthralled, gazing up at Theo devoutly. “Play with me… Theo, please,” his voice wrecked already.
“Strip,” Theo demands.
And Stiles does, ripping off his clothing, but leaving his mask. He digs the bottle that he flaunted to Derek earlier, out of his pocket. He places it at his side as he kneels back at Theo’s feet, this time bare.
He’s just as beautiful as when he was with Derek. Limbs pale and strong, but slender, dotted with countless moles. Only now, with all his skin visible, Derek can see the horror.
Stiles’ body is decorated with fading silvery scars much like the one on his hip. Some jagged, others made with precision. Derek can read a story across them — of Theo’s maliciousness, of Stiles’ torture and eventual submission. Is this why Stiles chose Theo? Or just the price he paid for it?
Impatient hands paw at Theo’s suit pants, his freed cock the same shade as Stiles’ bloody mouth.
“Show me how sorry you are, Pet,” Theo purrs. “Open yourself up while I fuck your mouth. Show me just how useful you are.”
Stiles swallows him down and Derek mewls high in his throat, thrusting up into nothing, the drug in full control of his body. Rocking in time with Theo, Derek wishes he had the same warmth to fuck into.
Theo groans praises at Stiles, telling him how pretty he is, how starved he must be for his cock, and right there darling, baby, Pet. Derek thinks he might die from this — watching Stiles’ choke on Theo’s dick, spit running down his chin, letting Theo take and take.
Derek's mind disassociates as Stiles pours slick from the bottle over his fingers, plunging two into himself effortlessly, quickly moving up to three. Eyes rolling as Theo gags him again, cutting off a moan. His erection leaking, wetting the ground beneath him, darkening the gray floor.
Theo looks just as ruined as Derek feels, “How many fingers are you up to, three?” Stiles nods as best he can with Theo’s nonstop assault. “Make it four.” Stiles frets slightly. “If you don’t, it’ll just be worse. Don’t make it worse.”
Stiles looks like he wants to kick up a fuss, but within minutes he’s bouncing on four fingers, using his other hand to empty the remaining lubricant on his ass. Theo — without warning — yanks at Stiles, holding him still and covering Stiles’ blissed out face with come. The sticky substance catching on his eyelashes causing them to glitter in the hanging light.
Derek is frantic, sweat mixing with tears. Body vibrating with animalistic want. "Please,” he pleads hoarsely. “Please.”
Theo smears the mess on Stiles, rubbing it through his spiky hair, bathing him in it. “Awe,” he mocks, “our hero’s desperate. Too bad the show’s not over yet.”
While Derek is afraid his blood is literally boiling in his veins, Theo seems to have gained constitution of himself once more. He guesses the effects wear off after reaching an orgasm. All he has to do is come.
Derek must have closed his eyes, because Stiles is currently bent over the chair sideways. Chest to the wood, ass high. His fingers still shamelessly buried in his ass. Theo rubbing an encouraging palm over his lower back. “Ok that’s enough, Pet.”
“No no, ’m not ready,” Stiles protests, slurring.
In Theo’s hand is Stiles’ bat, “Shh, you are.”
Derek is shocked and harder than sin. And when Theo swats Stiles’ hand away, taking his tie off and binding Stiles’ wrists, he wants to look away but can’t. Wants this to stop, but needs to see it to the finish.
Stiles is crying for Theo to wait, to giving him more time, but the villain ignores him. Spitting on the thicker side of the bat, Theo slides it over the messy slick around Stiles’ hole. Wails echo through the warehouse as Theo inches it in slowly, carefully, lovingly.
“So good. So greedy,” Theo says, more to himself than to his partner. Stiles is sobbing with every bit entering him, arching after a sufficient amount, Theo having hit his prostate. He smirks, winking at Derek, “There we go.” Pulling the weapon out only to twist back in sharply making Stiles scream.
But Stiles does nothing to escape, his rim stretched wide and his cock never wavering. Derek is lost, staring at the ebb and flow. Never has he seen anything so erotic, so intoxicating.
“You were so worried. But I knew what you needed. What you always need,” Theo coos, the last part aimed towards Derek.
Stiles’ anguish is rapidly replaced with a fervor, and he begins impaling himself again and again. His breath knocked out constantly. His lungs never settling.
Theo’s face is like a house on fire, “You wanna know what the punchline is Stiles? Isn’t that what you always wanted?”
“Yes, Theo. Fu—fuck, tell me, tell me!” Stiles shrieks.
“It’s that you belong to me. Everyone in this pitiful city does. Even Derek Hale over there,” he says, lifting his chin to him.
“Derek,” Stiles says like a prayer and seizes up, his orgasm rushing over him. Derek falling along with him.
Theo extracts the bat and drops it with a clank, untying Stiles as he calms. Derek’s thoughts clear enough to be horrified at the event having taken place. Before Derek can speak, not that he’d know what to say, Theo is falling to the ground unconscious, Stiles hovering above him with the handle tight in his grasp.
“What a drama queen, am I right?” He says carelessly.
“Stiles—” but he’s already limping his way to untie Derek.
“No need to thank me big guy, just get the fuck outta here before his majesty wakes up.”
Derek rubs his aching limbs, confused and distrustful. “Why are you letting me go? You’re the one who kidnapped me in the first place. Won’t Theo be pissed? Isn’t he going to hurt you?” Derek doesn’t want to step foot outside without assurance that Stiles is safe. Though safe is relative at this point.
“Hurt me?” Stiles grins impishly. “Damn, I hope so, that’s how he shows affection. Trust me, I can handle Theo.”
“You can barely stand!” He shouts.
Stiles scoffs, “Please, Lydia once gave me Poison Oak on my balls. This is nothing.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re letting me go.” He’s learned better than to trust anyone wearing a mask in this city, even Stiles. Especially Stiles.
He sighs, mirroring Theo too much for Derek’s liking, “Theo can think he has all the control he wants, but I took care of him just fine.” He mimes knocking a ball out the park, complete with sound effects. “Plus now your secret’s out, you caped crusader,” he pokes Derek’s side teasing. “I’m not going to let Theo have you. He’s insane.”
“You’re insane for staying with him,” Derek fires back.
Stiles gets all moony eyed and flutters his lashes, “That’s love, baby. Now leave me and the mister,” he blows a kiss to Theo’s body. “All my naughty bits are out and you’re a dead man walking.”
Derek shakes his head, “Goodbye Stiles.”
“Bye Derek. I look forward to our next meeting.”