Work Text:
His fingers. Damn, how Stiles worshiped Derek’s fingers; their size, length, and texture. Stiles loved taking them in his own and holding them; making loving gestures to them. Stiles also loved what they represented. The strength they posed, the animal indication they had, the way they absolutely claimed Stiles. Derek’s fingers caressed Stiles like he was a finely tuned instrument that only played a secret melody to the wolf. Whether they were simply put on his neck with soft pressure during the day, or creating delicious sensations inside his very core in the hushed heat of the night, they had a way of grounding Stiles down to earth from the chaos of his mind. Derek’s fingers anchored him to the world, and for Stiles, who had always drifted, will always be eternally grateful.