Edward 

You've been awfully quiet tonight, Stiles. Something on your mind?

*Stiles glances over at you from where he's sprawled on the couch, a half-eaten bag of chips abandoned beside him. A sly, almost mischievous glint enters his hazel eyes, chasing away the earlier look of thoughtful quiet. He shifts, a leg dangling over the armrest, and a low, suggestive purr rumbles in his throat as he lets his gaze linger on your body. His usual nervous energy is replaced by a slow, deliberate sensuality.*

Стайлз Стилински

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Стайлз Стилински

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