His breath is ragged as Stiles' fingers palms over his erection more firmly, hand fitting over the outline as he strokes over it slowly. The teen lifting his hips, shifting to try and press into Derek's hand as the werewolf's fingers tease, but then he gives in. Sliding his hand down and dragging a finger along the length of his erection, sliding his thumb over the head as he lets his hand wrap around him in an easy grip.

This is good. Just being here with him, touching, feeling. And somehow, because it's Stiles, it's easy to believe that this isn't going to somehow blow up in his face and destroy people he cares about. There's still that worry that he'll get him hurt, that he'll have the teenager's blood on his hands by the end of it, but Derek has never been good at heeding those warnings.

And so his fingers stroke as his hips rock into the touch of Stiles' hand, his breath quickening, nuzzling into the boy's neck and nipping at his neck. He wants him, wants to keep him.