because @mad-madam-m posted domestic prompts and #14 just spoke to me.
The footage is shaky, veering wildly between a pile of unopened moving boxes and Derek’s unamused face.
“Don’t you dare,” Derek warns. The camera zooms out from his glare to show that he’s shirtless and framed by the doorway of a bare kitchen. His arms are crossed and there’s a barely visible scrap of orange and blue cloth peeking out from under his arm. The rest of it is clenched in his fist.
“I won’t laugh, I swear.” Stiles’ voice, coming from somewhere off camera. He doesn’t sound convincing. When Derek just glares: “I’m serious. Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a boy scout,” Derek mutters, but it’s mild, and he’s already pulling on the shirt.
And the shirt. Well.
On camera, Derek glares, lifts both hands up in a gesture that says, See?
Stiles lasts for only two seconds before cracking up. “Oh my god. Der. It’s so much worse than I remember.”
The shirt would have been small on Derek a few years ago. Now, it’s just ridiculous. It rides up on the bottom, exposing a good inch of stomach. The buttons at the neckline gap. More than one looks ready to pop off under the slightest stress. By the way Derek tries and fails three times in a row to cross his arms in front of his chest, it’s obviously a strain just to move in it.
The fact that the shirt’s ugly as hell doesn’t help.
The footage shakes again, then focuses on a rule floor as Stiles howls off screen. “You look like the hulk! Even your muscles have muscles.”
Derek grumbles something unintelligible. Then, to the tune of more laughter, there’s a loud rip.
“Oh for the love of– I can’t– Stiles. Help me get this thing off.”
“Oh I’ll help you get it off, buddy. Don’t you– hey!”
There’s a loud squawk and clatter as the camera falls to the floor. The last thing to be seen is an upside-down image of Derek stalking down the hall, Stiles draped inelegantly over his shoulder. Their laughter follows them, fading out until there’s nothing left but the hum of a new fridge.