Work Text:
You’re running as fast as you can. The breath bursts from your mouth in heavy pants; your skin feels as hot as smouldering coals; your heartbeat pounds against your eardrums.
Overhead, the Super Moon calls its lonesome howl. Your shining yellow eyes reflect the moonlight like glass and you feel its pull to your very core. There’s a hunger inside of you, it crashes like waves breaking against a rocky shore. Your throat feels coarse, it burns when you inhale. You’re thirsty beyond description, but you don’t know what for.
Where are you? There are trees all around, earth and leaves underfoot. It doesn’t matter.
Why are you running? That has an easy answer - you’re not running. You are chasing, you are hunting.
Who are you? You are the hunger, the thirst. You are the breath in your lungs, the blood in your veins. You are the hunter.
You skid to a halt and the trees around you crack and groan. Above, the moon illuminates your path, its power enticing your mind, taking control.
Why do you howl at the moon? Because you want it to stop, to let you do. But it never listens, so you will always howl.
Adrenaline is singing through your body; you can taste your prey’s scent in the air as sweet as honey and thick as blood. It hurts, your body that is. Your jaw aches and your fingers throb. Fangs, claws. Moon, howl, hunt.
You’re running again, kicking up leaves and twigs. Your feet are bare but you’re nimble and fast, much faster than your prey. It’s close now, so close. But there’s something wrong. You’re not sure if you should be hunting this prey. It it's prey at all. The hunger is different now.
You stumble and fall. The ground is soft, the mud damp and leaf-litter deep. You spit out earth and wrinkle your nose in disgust. The scent is so strong, so overwhelming…so familiar. The hunger and thirst are fighting. They don’t want the same thing, they never have been the same. It’s the moon, so full and powerful, it’s warping what you know.
You stand and run once more, to catch them. Are they prey or pack? Both. Are you going to kill them? You don't know. The thirst wants to, it wants to taste the saltiness of blood. But the hunger pushes back, it isn’t hunger to feed or to kill, but to protect and to claim.
You see movement between the trees. Your heart lurches as you see it trip and fall. It twists around and sees you and you recognise its face. The thirst breaks through and you lunge, pinning its arms and holding down its legs with your weight.
The face is so familiar, the skin is white with fear, its eyes so wide you can see the moon in them. It is speaking – no – shouting the same thing over and over at you.
You snatch its jaw in your hand; your claws are so long and sharp you graze its perfect skin without any pressure. The smell of its blood ignites the thirst and you lower your face towards its neck. Yanking its head back, you reveal the smooth, vulnerable expanse of its throat. It’s so beautiful, its scent a drug. You run your nose and mouth up and down the throat, chasing the pounding of blood through the artery. The skin tastes salty, the sweat sharp, the fear toxic.
You pull back and pull back down its chin, claws so black against such fairness. You lock eyes and it immediately begins to speak again – the same singular thing as before. You cock your head to one side, listening intently, trying to make sense of it. At first it continues to sound like nothing, just noise, just the cries of an animal in distress. Then it slowly begins to lower and calm its tone as it realises you could have kill it already.
“Theo.”
You jerk back, a snarl ripping from your lips as you bare your teeth. What is that?
“Theo. Theo. Theo.” Again and again it says it.
Who are you?
You whine and pressed yourself close against the warm body. The scent cocoons you and you feel safe, as if the moon can no longer reach you. Loosening your grip, you release its arms and at once they are looping around you. Tensing, you growl in warning but the arms still wrap around your back; shaking fingers scratch the nape of your neck. You melt into the caress; turn your face into the neck and bury your nose against its pulse.
Where are you? In his arms, you are where you belong, you are home.
Why are you running? To find him, to get to him, to protect him.
Who are you? Theo, you are Theo Raeken.
And who is he? He is Stiles and he is pack, he is mate. You will never hurt him, never fail to find him. The moon wants you to kill him, the thirst wants his blood. But you are stronger, he makes you stronger than the moon, and that is what you howl.