It's not easy for Stiles to take orders. There's a part of him that rebels, that automatically tries to find the loophole. Even with his dad, which is why conversations with his dad tend to be negotiations. So while part of him wants to wrench away from Derek's grip and tell him to go fuck himself, the louder part that confuses him is willing to go along with it, if grudgingly.
"Got it," Stiles repeats, resentful. "God. Bossy." He gestures with his free hand towards the peanut butter and bread. "Food. I get it. Okay? Geez. No need to threaten to rip my throat out with your teeth."