[He feels so good, so perfect beneath him, wrapped around him. Sam nuzzles into his neck, wrapping his arms around the very fragile human. This is what they'd been trying to find for him all those years. A mate. A perfect mate and he whines, wondering why he's so still beneath him.]
Slow. Try.
[Sam rubs his face into his shoulder, keeping his thrusts as slow as he's able to. He wants Stiles to hold him too, to complete that sense of warmth and belonging that he's been missing since Before.]
[Stiles rocks with Sam's thrusts, tentatively wrapping an arm around Sam's waist after a moment, watching to see if the wolf would attack him when he did.]
[Sam did the opposite, leaning into his touch with a pleased rumble. He felt so good. Warm and safe and he could go slow. He could do whatever Stiles needed. With each slow thrust, he felt the knot begin to grow, bringing him closer to the edge.] Don't struggle. [All he can manage is a gasped warning before the process starts and he's lost, the knot tying them together.
This is usually when things went badly. When the others fought, panicked and generally tried to get away. Sam could only hope his warning, however vague it was, was heeded.]
Wh-what are you doing? [Stiles asks, eyes widening when he feels...holy shit is that Sam's cock, expanding? What in the hell-]
What is that? What are you doing? [His voice is strained, a hint of pain present - Sam's stretching him farther than he'd prepared for, and Stiles does his best not to fight him, though he twitches a little, desperate instinct telling him to get away, but unable to.]
Please. Please. [His pleas are strangled as his hips stutter against him, nearing his peak. Sam groans as his orgasm hits, his knot keeping them tied together as he cries out, coming with nearly blinding force.
He can't fight, can't struggle. If he does, Sam might not be able to stop himself.]
What is it? Sam? [Stiles is frightened, and it's audible in his voice, but Sam, at least, doesn't seem to want to hurt him even though he inadvertently is. So at least there's that, but he has no idea what the hell is happening in his ass and it's making him nervous.
Sam comes, filling Stiles with fluid, and the teen gasps, surprised at the foreign sensation. They're still, it feels, locked together, and Stiles tries to stifle the trapped feeling he's suddenly acutely aware of.]
[Finding words is nearly impossible and Sam makes a few choked sounds before he succeeds.] Knot. Stay. Don't.. [He can barely think with the smell of sex and pheromones in the air and the feel of his knot binding them together so completely.
Sam noses at his jaw, trying to offer comfort where words are obviously failing him.]
Knot? [Stiles gasps, eyes wide. He's really trying not to panic, clinging to Sam to stop himself from pushing him away desperately. It makes sense though; werewolf, duh.] P-please Sam, don't...
[But Stiles stops talking, squeezes his eyes shut and tries to relax. Breeding. Right. They could be there for hours, freaking out about it wasn't going to help anything.]
[Sam can sense his distress and it only serves to amplify his own. He whines uneasily, wrapping himself around Stiles as much as he can. Mate. He can’t lose his mate. Stiles is home and safety and if he loses that he’s as good as dead, a feral wolf lashing out at anything that comes close. If he had words, he’d try and calm him, try and assure him. But he doesn’t have them, can’t find them. The feeling of being knotted close to his mate is undercut by the tension in the body beneath him.
He noses at his jaw. Instinct has his fangs sliding into place, ready to scruff him. The false pheromones are telling him he’s a wolf, an Omega that needs to be calmed. He pants out a final, broken plea.] Please..
[Stiles can't help his flinch and terrified squeak when he feels Sam's fangs against his skin. He doesnmt know it's meant to calm him and it does the exact opposite. He takes it as a warning to keep still, or Sam would kill him.]
P-please, no. [Stiles whispers softly, forcing himself to still, frozen in fear.] Please don't kill me. I-I'll be good I p-promise.
[Sam can’t even choke out an explanation because there isn’t one he can give. He only knows instinct and it’s telling him that Stiles is his mate. It’s the pheromones that are fooling his body into knotting him when he’s human and he shouldn’t be. He’s confused and hurting and tips his head into Stiles’s shoulder with a sound suspiciously close to a sob.
The sudden change in emotion guaratees that the knot doesn’t last as long as it should and the moment Sam can slide free he does, crawling into the corner furthest from Stiles. He huddles in on himself, his frame heaving as he begins to cry. He needs his mate and all he can do is frighten him. Maybe the handlers were right, he was nothing more than a monster.]
[It's only when Sam pulls away that Stiles realizes he's crying. The teen lies on the blankets for a long moment, letting his muscles rest, feel the dull ache in his ass, fluid seeping out of him before he realizes he's ruining the blankets.]
...S-Sam? [Stiles calls softly, biting his lip nervously. Why was he crying? What was Stiles missing here?] ...Can you...I-I'm sorry...I'm c-cold?
[It's something of an olive branch; Stiles doesn't know why he's offering but he feels like he should.]
[He doesn’t have the words to tell Stiles what’s wrong. All he can do is curl up and hate himself for hurting his mate. He’s a monster and maybe he does belong in a place like this. Finally his words sink in and Sam moves. There isn’t a lot that Sam can explain or even offer Stiles in the stall, but he can keep him warm. He can give him that much. His face still streaked with tears, he crawls closer, shifting midstep.
With a low, mournful sound, Sam wraps himself around Stiles, warming him with his fur. He licks at his face once, a gesture of apology.
The wolf doesn’t move again until the doors slide open. It’s time for another round of medication for Stiles and a brutal reminder for Sam to stay shifted. He snarls viciously as they reach into the pen in an attempt to snatch him away. The shock sticks snap and pop against the wolf but he keeps coming, defending Stiles until they finally subdue him and leave Sam an unconscious heap on the floor, his skin covered with burn marks.]
[Stiles watches Sam carefully as he shifts and approaches, but let's the wolf wrap around him. He freezes at the lick, sure that Sam is finally going to tear him apart with his teeth, but he doesn't, and Stiles manages to relax somewhere into the second hour of lying there, curled up together.
The handlers come in and Sam fights them again, though eventually they get him to pass out again and callously inject Stiles with another batch of pheromones. He hisses, jerking away, but he can't stop them.]
Sam? Sam? [Stiles pulls the blankets out from underneath him and moves over to Sam, carefully wrapping him up again. The burns are healing slowly, and there isn't much Stiles could do anyway; he'd put water on the burns, but they don't have enough to last.]
[He comes awake with a startled gasp, flinging away the blankets and scrambling back until he touches the cold metal of the wall. His muscles ache from the shock sticks and they're still twitching when he comes to. Sam licks parched lips.] They.. hurt.. hurt you.
[He crawls over, moving to tuck the blankets back around Stiles.]
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Slow. Try.
[Sam rubs his face into his shoulder, keeping his thrusts as slow as he's able to. He wants Stiles to hold him too, to complete that sense of warmth and belonging that he's been missing since Before.]
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[Stiles rocks with Sam's thrusts, tentatively wrapping an arm around Sam's waist after a moment, watching to see if the wolf would attack him when he did.]
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This is usually when things went badly. When the others fought, panicked and generally tried to get away. Sam could only hope his warning, however vague it was, was heeded.]
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What is that? What are you doing? [His voice is strained, a hint of pain present - Sam's stretching him farther than he'd prepared for, and Stiles does his best not to fight him, though he twitches a little, desperate instinct telling him to get away, but unable to.]
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He can't fight, can't struggle. If he does, Sam might not be able to stop himself.]
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Sam comes, filling Stiles with fluid, and the teen gasps, surprised at the foreign sensation. They're still, it feels, locked together, and Stiles tries to stifle the trapped feeling he's suddenly acutely aware of.]
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Sam noses at his jaw, trying to offer comfort where words are obviously failing him.]
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[But Stiles stops talking, squeezes his eyes shut and tries to relax. Breeding. Right. They could be there for hours, freaking out about it wasn't going to help anything.]
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He noses at his jaw. Instinct has his fangs sliding into place, ready to scruff him. The false pheromones are telling him he’s a wolf, an Omega that needs to be calmed. He pants out a final, broken plea.] Please..
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P-please, no. [Stiles whispers softly, forcing himself to still, frozen in fear.] Please don't kill me. I-I'll be good I p-promise.
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The sudden change in emotion guaratees that the knot doesn’t last as long as it should and the moment Sam can slide free he does, crawling into the corner furthest from Stiles. He huddles in on himself, his frame heaving as he begins to cry. He needs his mate and all he can do is frighten him. Maybe the handlers were right, he was nothing more than a monster.]
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...S-Sam? [Stiles calls softly, biting his lip nervously. Why was he crying? What was Stiles missing here?] ...Can you...I-I'm sorry...I'm c-cold?
[It's something of an olive branch; Stiles doesn't know why he's offering but he feels like he should.]
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With a low, mournful sound, Sam wraps himself around Stiles, warming him with his fur. He licks at his face once, a gesture of apology.
The wolf doesn’t move again until the doors slide open. It’s time for another round of medication for Stiles and a brutal reminder for Sam to stay shifted. He snarls viciously as they reach into the pen in an attempt to snatch him away. The shock sticks snap and pop against the wolf but he keeps coming, defending Stiles until they finally subdue him and leave Sam an unconscious heap on the floor, his skin covered with burn marks.]
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The handlers come in and Sam fights them again, though eventually they get him to pass out again and callously inject Stiles with another batch of pheromones. He hisses, jerking away, but he can't stop them.]
Sam? Sam? [Stiles pulls the blankets out from underneath him and moves over to Sam, carefully wrapping him up again. The burns are healing slowly, and there isn't much Stiles could do anyway; he'd put water on the burns, but they don't have enough to last.]
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[He crawls over, moving to tuck the blankets back around Stiles.]
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