Derek loved Stiles throat. He loved the smell that dominated the area, the smell of sweat and heat, and Stiles. The arch, porcelain quality, the thickness of the column that
jumped as he teased it, the blood that rushed around in it as he inhaled everything that throat had to give. He loved it inside too; how it played him expertly and tightened
to the point of sending Derek into his own personal heaven, how it accepted him and molded around him, welcoming home to the tight hot heat that was Stiles. If the price
of such a delicacy of throats was to listen to it spew out the most unconventional phrases and facts, then so be it, Derek was willing to pay that… and much more.