If Scott was doing it with Deaton, that would at least explain why he had seemingly forgotten about Stiles and was spending so much time with him. Derek wouldn't be able to blame him, if it felt anything like with Stiles.

He broke off from Stiles' lips, pressing hungry kisses down his neck, and let his hands wander up under Stiles' shirt. He wanted to explore every inch of him; he wanted to see and taste his skin. Lick trails down his back, suck a hickie into his hip. The drive, the urge, was overwhelming.