"How glad?" The question slips out even as Stiles moves forward, still crawling and aiming to hover over Scott on all fours. In the dark of the room, his eyes glow red, his head coming down as he sniffs at Scott, cheek brushing against warm skin. He doesn't need to be that close to smell him, he could smell him outside the window, but he wants to be. He wants to get a stronger dose of his scent. He wants to rub his cheek on him, to mark him with his own smell. Because Scott was his.