Stiles woke softly, his eyes mulling over the decision to open or remain closed. Eventually his eyelids fluttered open in a quick lift and he gazed around the room like a new born baby, exploring the new world in which he was just born into. Everything looked new to Stiles, it was so bright and clean and the room felt energetic. He knew where he was. He knew what had happened. But Stiles new that he, the one inside the heart of the room, was different. But he didn't feel it.
Stiles ran his tongue along his lower lip and felt the dryness of his skin. He must've been out for a few hours or so. He was dehydrated. But that's all he felt; dehydrated. He didn't feel the difference in which he had thought he would feel. He didn't want to kill someone, or eat chicken livers, he just felt dehydrated of all things. It kind of frustrated Stiles. He had prepared himself for something drastic, but nothing.
Belatedly, he decided he needed to get off the bed and satisfy his thirst. As Stiles began to lift his arm, it was held back by the chains that he subconsciously could not feel. Derek had chained Stiles in an X shape; one limb to one bed post. And Stiles had forgotten this.
"Dang it." he muttered after shaking the chains as if they were going to break off like soggy cardboard.
"Derek." Stiles bellowed. After a minute or two, Stiles heard footsteps slamming up the stairs. Angry footsteps.
"Hm?" Derek peered his tired face around the door frame and gazed impassively at Stiles. And as if he just clicked that his boyfriend was chained to his bed, he grinned.
"How do you feel?" Derek said, walking over to the bed and resting beside him.
"Un-werewolfy." Stiles replied, shrugging. Derek chuckled and began running his fingers up Stiles' left arm; exploring his bicep and ending up at the beginning of his palm. Derek continued this torture and Stiles watched Derek's fingers glide up and down and up and down.
"Stop it." Stiles said, portraying a mock-angry face.
Once more, Derek chuckled and expressed mere delight in torturing Stiles in such a sexual way. Eventually, though, he did stop and returned to his normal, serious self.
"We can't risk letting you off the chains just because you feel...'un-werewolfy'." Derek muttered.
"But I have a way to test you, per say."
Stiles' eyebrows knitted together in confusion.
Derek grunted, got up and left the room.
"What the..." Stiles questioned to the empty room.
Suddenly, Stiles could smell his so called test. It edged closer and closer, followed by Derek's footsteps.
"Can you smell it?" Derek yelled from the top of the stairs.
"Yes!" Stiles yelled through gritted teeth. Stiles moved around as if in pain, but he wasn't. He felt hungry. Hungry for the meat that Derek was holding. Stiles smelt it's freshness, the overwhelming stench of sweet blood and vessels. He could taste it on his tongue. Derek walked in, fisting the meat in his hand. Derek was composed. He didn't want the meat, but Stiles did.
"Overcome it." Derek said to Stiles, staring him right in the eyes.
Stiles was about to change. He was nearing the brink. And then suddenly, he scrunched his eyes together and thought about his dad. Dad.
"I don't want it!" Stiles cried, turning his face away from Derek.
"Get it away from me!" He yelled, scratching at the bedpost.
Derek threw the meat outside the door and ran to Stiles' aid. He clawed the chains off with his bare hands and cradled Stiles' now free and quivering body. Derek felt Stiles' fear of becoming a werewolf. The fear that Stiles shed was seeping into the air and Derek could not stand seeing Stiles like this.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Derek whispered, not releasing the sobbing Stiles.
"I knew you weren't ready. I just wanted you to be. I shouldn't've."
Stiles curled into Derek, and breathed in his warm and earthy scent. He smelt like home.