Derek whuffed lightly in response and put his hand on Stiles' chest, pushing him back down against the bed as he leaned down over him. He rubbed his lips--too wet and unfocused to be called a kiss--against the boy's neck before latching onto his throat, teeth nipping at his skin.
Five minutes ago he was ready to let Stiles escape, to give up on ever making a real connection with him. But the boy's story, his grief, had pushed that away, for now.