Work Text:
“Ow! That stings!”
“Stop your whining.”
“I’m not whining! That hurts.”
“It’s a splinter, you big baby.”
Stiles rolls his eyes, tugging Derek’s finger closer to the lamp. There’s a tiny piece of wood still stuck in his skin, deeper than he anticipated. “It’s your own damn fault. I told you to sand down the corner of that table weeks ago.” He frowns, gently trying to pry the skin away with the tip of the tweezers.
Derek growls and snatches his hand back. “Ow!”
“Oh my goooooood,” Stiles groans. He yanks Derek’s hand back, pressing his forearm into the table to keep him in place. “I don’t understand you wolves. You dislocate a shoulder? You snap it back into place without a wince. Break your leg? It’s nothing, Stiles, I’ll heal in a minute.” Derek glares at the mocking tone of his voice. “You get shot? That’s just another Tuesday. But one tiny splinter and you turn into a toddler.” Stiles slaps Derek’s wrist when he attempts to pull away again. “Stop it.”
A continuous growl rumbles through Derek’s chest as Stiles works to remove the tiny, annoying piece of wood from his finger. It takes another five minutes of digging and poking and careful maneuvering before he finally manages to extract the little fiend.
Stiles lets out a triumphant sound, holding up the tweezers. “Gotcha, you little prick.” He makes a show of kissing Derek’s finger better as the tiny cut immediately disappears.
“Can I have my hand back now?” Derek grumbles. Stiles snickers, but he releases his wrist. Derek scowls down at his finger like it’s committed the worst of treacheries.
Biting back another round of laughter, Stiles pushes the tweezers to the side. He stretches, working the kinks out of his back from being hunched in the same position for so long. “You could have done this yourself, you know,” Stiles says; he curls his fingers, mimicking claws.
Derek busies himself with turning off the lamp, ears burning red. “I tried,” he mutters. “It hurt.”
Stiles throws back his head and laughs. He stands and wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulders, pouting until Derek relents, dropping a soft, sweet kiss to his lips.
“Don’t worry, baby,” Stiles says, breathing against Derek’s mouth. “I’ll protect you from the big, bad tweezers.”
Derek groans, burying his face in Stiles’ neck. “I hate you.”
Stiles twists his head until he can drop a kiss to the tip of Derek’s ear. “No, you don’t.”
“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”
“Not a chance in hell.”