"Nothing is going to eat you," Derek assures him, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation. His hand is still on the back of Thomas' neck, squeezing gently, and Derek's eyes fall to a bead of sweat rolling down the line of his throat. For a moment, he wonders what it might taste like against his tongue.

He blinks and steps away, letting his hand fall away from Thomas' neck. His scent is nearly overwhelming, amplified as it is by the heat, and Derek takes a breath through his mouth.

"But I am starving," Derek says after a moment, voice pitched low as he looks at Thomas. "So we should keep moving."