I just love the idea of Derek pranking Stiles, because (at least for a while) he can say all kinds of bullshit with a straight face, and because Stiles isn’t used to Derek joking around, he’ll just look at him wide eyed like “Woah, really??”
Like that time Stiles throws finger guns at him and Derek is like “Oh no, you just challenged me to a fight.”
And Stiles is like “What? No, it was just finger guns.”
And Derek is like “Yeah. That’s werewolf code for ‘I wanna fight you to the death’. I’m sorry, but we have to fight now. It’s just how it is.”
And Stiles slowly backs away like “To the—Woah, woah, woah. Hang on. That’s not exactly a fair fight. And also what the fuck.”
Derek shrugs and moves after him, backing him into a corner. “Should have thought about that before throwing werewolf gang signs at me.”
Stiles gapes at him. The last time he punched Derek, he almost broke his hand. So…yeah. Not a fair fight. No, sir.
“Are you serious right now?”
Derek nods, expression completely flat.
“But since you didn’t know, the rule is that it's over when one of us yields.”
“I yield. I yield so much.”
Derek cocks his head, smirking.
“There’s gotta be at least a little bit of blood.”
Stiles pales. “Oh, dude. What the fuck. I thought we were friends.”
That almost makes Derek crack up, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing.
“Come on, Stiles. You’ve been working out lately, haven’t you? Show me what you’ve got. Let’s see that fist. Get it out there.” He winks. “Don’t be scared.”
For once, Stiles is the murderous-looking one.
“What the actual hell, Derek. That’s so not funny.”
And when Derek’s shoulders start shaking with silent laughter, Stiles smacks him hard in the chest, so hard that Derek actually loses his balance.
“Oh my God. You motherfucker. You’re the worst. Fuck you.” He sighs. “But also…good one.”
