And he was picking them up. Smelling it, thick and musky in the confines of the Jeep. All he could think about is what he tasted like, what he was hearing and all he could think about doing.

Glancing over at Stiles, tongue brushing over his own lip as if tasting him on the air.

"All I can think about... I mean, how good it has to be. Hot, wet mouth on your dick. Or how it feels doing it..."

Yep, he's not helping.