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"You can stop grumbling anytime, lizard boy," Stiles hissed out, continually wiggling despite logic telling him it wouldn't do any good.
"You do realize you're the one who just woke up? I am fully within my rights to be grouchy about being squished inside a box with you of all people."
"I don't even know where to start with how ridiculous that statement was. What rights exactly do you think we have right now? And what the hell do you mean 'you of all people'? I take great offense to that."
The last words were punctuated by Stiles jamming his elbow back, not realizing he was repeatedly punching Jackson in the face until he felt the tail wrap around his wrist, halting his movements.
"You need to calm the fuck down, Stilinski," Jackson made out.
Stiles could tell just from the sound of it that Jackson's teeth were clenched in a grimace, the thin veneer of control contrasting starkly against the tail's presence. He could've sworn that the reptilian limb only came out during higher danger scenarios, unfortunately for his fantasies. Not that he had ever voiced such thoughts to Jackson.
"What's in it for me, huh? Either I somehow manage to knock you out or I manage to break this box enough for us to escape. At least I'm doing something while you just lay there!" He took up the wiggling once more, all but flailing his limbs in the extremely restricted space.
Jackson merely sighed, letting Stiles continue the not-so-frail human escape attempt. He didn't hear anyone guarding their container, nor did he pick up on the faint hum of recording devices. It seemed as though the two of them were left to their own devices, save for being stuck in such a small space.
He knew he could further restrain Stiles, but given that they both had their fair share of PTSD related to the various supernaturally-induced traps and captures over the years, he didn't want to put Stiles into panic mode. Better he simply tire himself out. That moment came much sooner than Jackson had expected.
Trying to ignore the presence of Jackson's body uncomfortably wrapped around him, Stiles could sense the air in the container decreasing. It wasn't so obvious at first, merely getting winded because he was exerting so much energy. But after some time, he put his theory to the test, slowing his movements down and regaining a normal breathing rate. He was still struggling, despite making a point to get in better shape after the last few incidents where he was the only pack member left injured.
"Hey Jackson?" Stiles asked, his voice less sure than it had been a short while before.
"What do you want now?" Jackson groaned out. It was mostly a show, and both of them were fully aware of it. He still wasn't very good at communicating his feelings.
"Can you breathe?"
It wasn't at all what Jackson was expecting to hear, but Stiles had a point. He wasn't surprised that Stiles had tired himself out, but it had been a long time since Jackson had lost his breath. Yet here he was, trying to actually breathe deeply. It wasn't working.
"Not very well," Jackson admitted, knowing Stiles had to be worse off. He could hear his lungs struggling, the slight rasp in Stiles' voice.
"We know the container isn't airtight," Stiles started, coughing along some of the words. "You could hear the goons when they threatened us to be quiet earlier."
"And?" Jackson prompted. He knew time was of the essence, that Stiles would need to use some of what little air they had to explain what he'd realized.
"That means they're specifically taking the air out of the room."
Stiles didn't need to say more; Jackson suddenly understood their predicament. Stiles may have had experience in practically dying several times now, including the Nogitsune's tenure in his body and the ritual sacrifice before that, but this was something human, and it would kill without regard to the supernatural.
"Come here," Jackson whispered. He didn't have a plan, so much as a feeling of what he needed to do.
Stiles was barely breathing by then, his eyes closed as he lost the energy to stay awake. He couldn't find a way to move himself, even to kick against the box, but he felt his body slowly and awkwardly manhandled until he felt Jackson's hands on his face. His jaw was being gripped, tight but not unkindly, and his hair tugged just enough to make him gasp his mouth open.
"You better not make me regret this," Jackson muttered before leaning in and kissing Stiles. It wasn't romantic or soft, but it was more intense than simply breathing life back into Stiles' lungs. Somehow apt for whatever the two of them had become together.
"You're kissing me," Stiles muttered against Jackson in between kisses, eyes now wide open. He didn't fight the embrace, instead letting himself melt against Jackson. The action surprised himself as much as it did the kanima-werewolf.
"Shut up," Jackson smirked with his dwindling energy, returning to the task at hand. He didn't feel the need to hold Stiles up as much, instead letting his hands settle on the boy's face, softer than he thought he had ever been with him.
"Do you need us to put the box back together?"
Lydia's voice was suddenly in the space around them, and Stiles and Jackson practically flew apart. Stiles wiped his hand at his mouth, a confused expression on his face.
"You know, lack of air can make you do funny things," he started, not wanting to meet Jackson's eyes.
"Yeah, and life-or-death situations can make you realize how much you care about someone," Lydia chimed in.
She walked over and kissed him on the forehead before repeating the gesture with Jackson. The fact that she didn't even need to ask them to bow their heads for her was evidence enough that they knew where she was going.