“Derek,” Cora growls from halfway across the Quidditch pitch, her bat paused mid-air like she’d been about to go for a swing. “What the holy hell is your weirdo Gryffindor boyfriend doing?”

Derek smirks at her, eyes hooded as he leans closer still, until his lips are brushing her ear. His breath fans hotly over the curve of her neck and Stiles shudders, knuckles going white as she clasps them together between her legs. “Touch yourself,” he whispers, the curve of his lips a shade too wicked.