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"Stiles."

Stiles whirls, half expecting to see Derek lurking in his room because the voice is just that low, just that gruff, but it's Scott — shoulders hunched and eyes an overbright gold in the darkness. His voice is strained when he says Stiles' name again, and Stiles goes to him at once.

"What is it?" he asks, not wanting to assume despite the full moon lurking low in the sky. "Are you hurt? What do you need?"

Scott's fingers curl around Stiles' arms for a moment before his knees seem to buckle from under him. "Help me," Scott says. "The full moon— I need you."

There's no hesitation on Stiles' part. He's been waiting for this. They're well beyond the days when Scott had to be chained to radiators during every full moon, but sometimes there's just enough stress around these critical few days that Scott reverts back to form, requiring an extra ounce of control that cannot be provided by anyone other than Stiles.

Forget chains and handcuffs. Stiles' has different things on hand these days — like regular nylon rope with mountain ash rubbed into the braids, and it's for this that Stiles reaches for as he guides Scott into prostrating on the floor.

On nights like these, even with Scott desperate for a safety net of some kind, having the wolf so close to the surface makes it impossible for Stiles to work as quickly as he would like. He's hyperaware of the possibility of that rabid, canine instinct reacting badly if he moves too fast or acts like too much of a threat. So he works extra slow, laying the rope near Scott's face while he rubs his hands up and down his spine, and lets Scott smell the rope and understand what it means. Without the mountain ash, Scott would be able to tear his way free after a while, but with it, the rope locks him in — keeps him safe, keeps everyone safe from him.

Scott noses along the coils while Stiles reaches for another loop of rope. He has three in his bedroom alone and others stashed around the house and in his jeep for emergencies, but when he'd been making them, Stiles hadn't thought he'd be using them on Scott — not like this, certainly. Stiles drops a few coils around Scott's head and settles them snugly over his chest before gently pulling Scott's arms back. Scott moves easily like this — eyes closed as he rests his cheek against the carpet and breathing so, so slow — so Stiles has no trouble at all wrapping loose loops above Scott's elbows.

"That's it, Scott. Just breathe for me," he says, pausing to stroke his knuckles between Scott's bare shoulder blades.

Already Scott's sagging with relief, head hanging low. He's happy to let Stiles take control of him during nights of the full moon, when the wolf can be too much for him on his own. He's physically smaller than Stiles when he's all human — never did quite broaden out the way Stiles did — and when Stiles slides his palm up Scott's spine to span across his neck, Scott bows further under its weight. A little whine curls out of Scott's lips.

"Shh, shh," Stiles soothes. "I gotcha. Just keep breathing. Listen to my heartbeat, okay? I got you covered."

Stiles concentrates on finishing the rope then. It passes back and forth over Scott's body, making soft patters against the floor as Stiles brings his arms behind him in a narrow vee. The position makes Scott straighten out, pulls his shoulders back, lifts his head, and Stiles scoops his arm around Scott's chest and pulls him upright entirely. Scott tips back to him with a gasp, and Stiles runs his hands over Scott's front, petting him.

"How's that feel?" he asks. "Too tight? Can you still feel your fingers?"

"Good," Scott whispers, and his wiggling fingers brush the insides of Stiles' thighs. "Feels... I'm good. No problems."

"Alright, buddy." Stiles kisses the back of Scott's neck. "You let me know if that changes. Come on."

Stiles never had any plans about just leaving Scott tied up in the middle of his floor. The bed is comfortable and has plenty of room for them to share, so that's where Scott will go. Pulling Scott to his feet, though, takes a little effort. He's cooperative, but he's languid and heavy with muscle. It's a bit as if Scott's sleepy. His legs move clumsily and he leans into Stiles' grip more than he might under other circumstances, trusting Stiles to carry him and steer him in the direction he needs to go.

Scott drops into the bed face first despite Stiles' intentions and makes a happy, floppy noise as he rolls the rest of the way on, legs kicking briefly in the air before he lands on his side in the center of the bed. He rubs his face into the sheets and makes a huffing sound like he's settling in for sleep. Stooping to grab the first coil of rope from the floor, Stiles threads it over Scott's body with a few passes so that it's draped over him from head to toe, and Scott squirms underneath it, restless. Then, Stiles pulls the comforter out from under Scott's feet and smacks him lightly on the flank as he climbs onto the bed.

"Scoot over, you bed hog," he says and then watches fondly as Scott wiggles a few more inches to give Stiles some room.

They don't sleep on nights like this. Scott can't because of the moon, and Stiles doesn't want to risk leaving Scott in ropes without supervision. So Stiles' pillows are piled up against the headboard for him to lean on and after covering Scott up with the blanket, he pulls a laptop onto the bed and plays around on the internet one-handed. His other hand curls and strokes through Scott's hair, petting him while Scott snuffles against his hip.

"Fingers?" he says and watches for Scott's movement under the blanket.

"Still good," Scott sighs.

The worst passes within a few hours. That had worried Stiles the first time they'd done this, thinking that they might be leaving Scott in the ropes for too long, but he remembers, too, the way Scott had fought being untied. They've gotten better at this since then. There's a lot to be said for the leeway that superior werewolf physiology will allow.

"How is it?" Stiles asks. His fingers scratch lightly at the back of Scott's neck. It's nearly four in the morning. The moon will have started to set by now, and its power will have started to wane.

Scott nuzzles Stiles' hip, sucking at sleepy drool. "Almost," he says and moves his fingers without prompting. "Still good. Shoulders are starting to ache though."

"I'll give 'em a rub when it's done," Stiles promises.

Humming, Scott throws a leg over Stiles' feet, rope tangles and all. "Kay," he says. "Awesome."

Another hour and Stiles slips around to the other side of the bed and feeling Scott's hands for himself. Untying Scott goes faster than tying him. Stiles just has to hook his fingers into the corset knots and tug, one level after another, and the ropes drop off around Scott's hands. He gives Scott's arms a squeeze when they're done, and with a groan, Scott rolls onto his belly while Stiles recoils the ropes and sets them aside.

"One of these days, I'm gonna tie you up for shits and giggles," Stiles says as he sits on Scott and starts pressing down on Scott's shoulders with the heels of his palms.

"Mmkay with that," Scott mumbles into the bed.

"Yeah, I thought you'd like that," Stiles says and stretches Scott's arms out — all the way out, until their fingers are linked at the edge of the mattress. He rubs his nose behind Scott's ear and lets his weight bear down on Scott's back. "Just get you strung out just like this."

"I might even try to find a way to get rid of those heightened senses of yours for a while," is what Stiles continues with. "What do you think? Not being able to smell me or hear me or see me before I touch you?"

Scott's makes a muffled noise, and Stiles pushes up onto his knees and scoots until he's kneeling astride Scott's waist. "Turn over," he says.

Following orders usually doesn't go well with Scott for most people. Scott's a good guy — obedient — but he has to know that there are good reasons behind the instructions he receives. Without them, Scott's cooperation flies right out the window, so Stiles makes sure that he always has good reasons.

Scott turns onto his back slow, legs bumping around behind Stiles. His hands almost settle at Stiles' hip. Instead he drops them to the side and pinches at the edge of the mattress with his fingers. He's a canvas of bare chested awesome for Stiles' eyes, and Scott's belly flexes in order to bear the weight that Stiles eases onto him. He doesn't say anything more to plead his case. He kind of figures he doesn't have to, what with how golden Scott's eyes have turned. When Stiles shifts back, he gets his confirmation nudging under his ass, and with a slight grin, Stiles lifts up before pressing back down against Scott's dick.

"You keep those right there," Stiles says, pressing his fingertips against Scott's arms. "Full moon's not over yet."

Scott's fingers curl tightly in the sheets, and Stiles rolls his hips back and forth, rubbing into the dip of Scott's hip and squeezing his legs on either side of Scott's waist. They're hard together, side by side, but as Scott starts to shiver and twitch underneath him, Stiles becomes very aware of how much difference there is between their strengths.

"Jesus," Stiles gasps when a thoughtless thrust from Scott bounces him, and he catches himself on Scott's arms. Convenient for pinning him, so Stiles does. He holds Scott down and rides out those thrusts. "If I do this to you next time, I'm gonna have to tie all of you down, huh?"

Scott downright keens.

"Yeah," Stiles agrees. "Been gettin' off easy these last few months with just your arms. I'll fix that. I'll get you so tangled up in rope that you won't care which way was up. That's what you want, isn't it, Scott?" Stiles pants against Scott's jaw, not even rutting himself anymore — just letting Scott do the work with his hips while Stiles holds the rest of him down. His teeth scrape over thin skin and bone, and Scott whines. "Forget having an Alpha — some big bad wolf to tell you what you should be doing. You don't need that. You just need someone who'll take care of you when you can't take care of yourself, huh."

His words are starting to get a little shaky. He's close, and Scott — well, he's sucking in wet, desperate breaths against Stiles' temple, so he's close too, and Stiles squeezes his hands around Scott's arms and says, "That's what I'm here for, babe."

"Stiles," Scott moans. "Please — please, let me up. I need—"

"Yeah." Stiles lets up — lets Scott turn them over, lets Scott rise up onto his knees between his legs. Stiles tucks a hand behind Scott's neck and steadies him. "Come on. Do me already."

Scott shakes as he does as he's told, holding Stiles by the waist as he slides their dicks alongside each other. Even with the clothing separating them, Stiles can feel it — all the heat building up, all the sweat starting to make the cotton stick. Then Scott bends, arms scooping up under Stiles' shoulders, and he kisses Stiles with a heavy, open mouth and he manages a couple more thrusts before they're moaning into each other and coming together.

He pets Scott's neck as they both hold through the aftershocks and then Scott sinks down, face buried against Stiles' shoulder. He's heavy and sleepy fast — they both are after tonight — and Stiles manages to ruffle Scott's hair a little before he kisses Scott's cheek and gives in to sleep too.