Adult Content Warning
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Summary
"I'm not wearing a muzzle," Derek snaps.
"Look, if you wear this then we're golden! There's no way you can bite through this, Deaton said so."
"Oh well, if Deaton says," Derek says snidely. It's a silly argument. Sure, Deaton is shady and enjoys bending the truth on occasion, but unless it's a complex assassination plan he wouldn't lie about this. Something that Stiles knows that Derek is aware of.
"There's really no reason for him to lie," Stiles points out. "What's your real problem with it?"
"It's demeaning," Derek says through gritted teeth.
"What? No! Lots of werewolves have to wear one of these," Stiles says, waving the muzzle around. The leather and clasps jingle.
Derek sneers at him. "Wolves who can't control themselves."
"Pot and kettle, buddy. Wait, wait," Stiles says hurriedly when Derek turns to leave, "let's just... let's try it, okay? Come on, have I steered us wrong before?"
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In which Derek can't control himself while having sex with Stiles and needs to be muzzled.