"You're going to be alright, buddy."

His claws were scraping along the flooring of the old warehouse. It was old and abandoned, making it perfect for the full moon. The concrete underneath his exposed hands and feet was freezing, and his vision was frantic. One second it was normal, and then all of a sudden it would turn into a hellish red.

Stiles was on his knees, a foot away from Scott, who was snarling in his chains. Long, jagged claw marks ran down his throat, throbbing painfully and spewing blood. It had subsided somewhat (it had been torturously loud in Scott's ears), but Stiles had this look of dizziness on his face. His hands were resting on his knees, ignoring his wound as he watched Scott with a weary expression. Dark shadows were under his eyes, and his hair was tousled and unkempt.

And all Scott wanted to do was tear the rest of his throat out.

Calm down, he tried ordering himself, but seeing Stiles' blood was causing him to go into frenzy. He strained against the chains encircling his wrists, pulling them taut, but they still held. They were working a fuckload better than a single handcuff on a radiator, that's for sure.

"I can handle this, Stiles," Scott suddenly begged, trying to sound innocent. "I haven't wolfed out entirely; it's just my claws, see?! Let me go, alright?"

"You were doing so well," Stiles muttered sadly. He kept staring into Scott's eyes, wide and unblinking.

"Let. Me. Go." Scott snapped. He raised his hands, and clawed the air, a mere few inches from Stiles' face. But his best friend held his ground, biting his lip as he watched.

Being under the influence of the moon was suffocating. And Stiles' calm demeanor seemed to only infuriate Scott even more.

"Come on, SCREAM!" Scott roared. "I can hear your heart pounding, so why aren't you running away?!"

"I'm not going to leave you Scott," Stiles replied.

Scott growled as he felt his fangs force their way down, and he tasted blood in his mouth. His vision was once again bathed in that horrific red, and something sinister caught hold of his tongue. Stiles had jokingly called it "Dark Scott", and that it was a temporary alter-ego that was all bark and no bite.

Scott silently prayed for it to stay that way as he felt mouth begin to work against him.

"I'm surprised you hadn't," Scott sneered, snapping his teeth. "Because seriously, why do you even bother anymore, Stiles? He's moved on, can't you tell? You were useful in the beginning when your knowledge held some of the more vital cards, but they're obsolete now."

"Looks like Dark Scott is back," Stiles said, but his voice wavered.

Shut up! Scott screamed in his head, but whatever this black entity was refused to let up.

"You label me that way because you're afraid that I actually mean every word of it," hissed Scott. The chains were suddenly less restraining, and he reached out, grabbing Stiles by the wrists. Stiles, unprepared, was thrown forward, landing on his stomach. He began to scramble away, but Scott was too quick for him. He grabbed Stiles by his slender hips, and flipped him over so that they were face-to-face.

Scott slid Stiles down a notch, and straddled him as he sat on his stomach. The chains felt looser on his wrists, and he grinned viciously. He gave them an experimental tug, and they whipped forward, chinking ominously against the concrete ground.

"You didn't even bolt these in correctly!" Scott laughed, and it was cold and cruel, dripping with venomously intent. He traced a claw down Stiles' cheek, ending just beneath his chin. "Did you want me to escape, Stiles? Were you planning for this exact situation to unfold?" He clamped his hands down on Stiles' wrists, holding them above his head as Scott leaned forward.

"Did you want to be punished by me?" he whispered breathily into Stiles' ear.

"Kinky," Stiles said, staring at Scott, "but this isn't you, Scott. Snap out of it. You know you're gonna feel stupid about this later."

"How would you know?" Scott hissed, eyes glowing gold. "Did you take a crash course on Scott's Brain 101? How do you know that this,"—he licked a strip of the clawed up flesh on Stiles' throat—"isn't what I want? What we want?"

"Why don't you get back to the part where you damage my self-esteem?" Stiles said.

"Keep talking dirty," Scott growled, "you're getting me all hard." He began to drag his tongue across Stiles' exposed collarbone, and made his way up to the hollowed base of his neck, lapping up the perspiration.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "You're telling me it took this long for you to decide to fuck me? You're kidding me, right?"

The chains slid noisily across the ground as Scott released Stiles' wrists, and immediately latched onto his throat. He squeezed just enough to hear a strangled gasp escaped from Stiles' lips.

"You wish you had this, didn't you?" Scott said, releasing Stiles from his grip. He then proceeded to slide his hands down Stiles' chest, and slipped them beneath his grey T-shirt. He palmed the flesh underneath, and slowly edged the fabric up. "All of this power? I can hear it here," he whispered, scraping his claws over Stiles' thudding heart.

"I don't want it," Stiles said weakly. His eyes were red; his body limp underneath Scott's. "And I wish you didn't have it either, sometimes. It fucks with your head, Scott, just like it's doing now."

"You're lying."

The vicious hold of darkness was slowly ebbing away, and Scott gasped, sucking in air. His vision was muddled, and then became crystal clear. He looked down, and instantly felt shame. Stiles was looking up at him, his face void of expression.

"Oh God, I'm sorry!" Scott cried out. He slid off of Stiles before pulling him into an embrace. He felt Stiles stiffen before going slack in his arms, resting his head on Scott's shoulder.

"He came out too much this time."

"I'm sorry, I'm trying so hard to reign him in—"

"My neck hurts."

Scott laughed, in spite of himself. He pressed Stiles closer to him, and felt his best friend's heartbeat slow down from the hammering trait it possessed earlier.

I'm sorry.