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Summary
The first time Stiles felt Derek's hand around his throat, he panicked. Not the kind of panic that would normally come when you suddenly can't breathe, or see razor sharp teeth and glowing red eyes inches from your face, or feel pinpricks of clawed hands piercing your throat. It wasn't the kind of panic where he feared for his life. Stiles knew that Derek would never actually rip his throat out. He wasn't even grabbing hard enough to cut off air flow. It was weird to be pinned to the wall by an angry werewolf and feel safe, despite the overwhelming evidence that he was one snarky comment away from a bloody death. But Stiles knew, somehow. He just knew that Derek wouldn't hurt him.