“Pack meeting tonight,” Derek mutters as Stiles strokes his fingers across the back of Derek’s neck. Derek shuts his eyes and rolls his neck.
“I’ll go home,” Stiles replies as Derek’s fingers dip into the back of his jeans.
“You’re pack,” Derek reminds him, opening his eyes and fixing Stiles with a solid stare, one that has Stiles’s pulse stuttering, “now more than ever,” there’s something serious swimming in Derek’s eyes and Stiles wrinkles his nose in confusion.
“Why now?” Derek rolls his eyes and sighs in exasperation.
“For a clever guy, you’re a fucking idiot sometimes,” he pokes Stiles in the forehead.