“Stop freaking out,” Malia whispers, rubbing herself against him. It’s not really in an intentionally hot way, more like the way that dogs and cats rub themselves against you because they want pets, but she’s naked, and Stiles is a perfectly functional teenage boy sandwiched between two very hot people. Who are in his bed. “I’m not freaking out,” he whispers back furiously, voice too high to be steady. “Are you freaking out? And oh yeah, important question. Why is Derek Hale in my bed?”