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"You’re wearing my boxers, you know."
Scott lifts his head to get a look at the boxers he pulled on after his shower. Sure enough, the blue shorts he’s wearing aren’t his. ”So? You wear my clothes all the time.”
Stiles scoffs, “Exactly! Your clothes. I have never, not once, worn your underwear.”
Scott wraps his arm around Stiles’ knee, and pats the inside of his leg, “Your loss.”
Stiles reaches to pinch the Scott’s thigh and gets a knee in the side for his trouble. ”Ow! Watch it, you overgrown, freakishly strong Chihuahua!”
Scott sits up, shifting on the bed until he’s leaning over Stiles, “Did you seriously just call me an overgrown Chihuahua?”
Stiles blinks up at him innocently, lips pressing together to keep from smiling, “Don’t forget ‘freakishly strong.’”
"You know," Scott leans in and whispers, "your little comment might be considered racist."
Stiles’ eyes widen, “I didn’t mean it like that!”
Scott laughs, leaning in to rub his nose against Stiles’ own, “I know you didn’t.” He smiles down at him and offers gently, “You know, there’s an easy fix. If me borrowing your boxers really bothers you that much.”
Stiles narrows his gaze up at Scott, “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
Scott leans in to whisper on Stiles’ lips, “Help me take them off.”
Stiles whimpers. He licks his lips and nods, “I could do that, yeah.”
"Yeah?"
Stiles nods more vehemently, his hands slipping under the hem of Scott’s t-shirt, “Definitely.”