
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/802289.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Scott_McCall, Vernon_Boyd, Isaac_Lahey,
      Erica_Reyes, Bobby_Finstock, Kate_Argent, Chris_Argent, Allison_Argent,
      Sheriff_Stilinski, Melissa_McCall
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Pirate, Alternate_Universe_-_Space, Pirate!Derek,
      Hostage!Stiles, Treasure_Hunting, Dubious_Consent, Canon_Typical
      Violence, Unsafe_Sex, POV_Multiple, Ratchet_&_Clank_References, Science
      Fiction, Fantasy, Porn_With_Plot, D/s_undertones, Light_Bondage, Anal
      Sex, Action, Treasure_Quest, Adventure, Oral_Sex, Breathplay, Anal
      Fingering, Drama, Historical_and_Future_Elements, Rimming, Orgasm_Delay/
      Denial, Spanking, Sexual_Persuasion, Nipple_Play, Mention_of_Collars,
      Mention_of_Slaves, non_negotiated_kink, Mild_Pain_Kink
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-13 Completed: 2013-12-31 Chapters: 15/15 Words: 43261
****** A Ship Without a Mate Sinks ******
by sarcasmandirony
Summary
     Stiles persuades Scott into checking out the old ship anchored by the
     docks, of which Derek is captain.
Notes
     There is a distinct lack of pirate fics in this fandom, so I've
     decided to take matters into my own hands. And, hey, now you'll have
     bad fic to read! The dubious consent is due to: 1) underage, 2)
     hierarchy and 3) hostage.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
Stiles sets aside the ragged cloth covering his lean frame, getting up from the
mattress made of straw he lies in every night. On his way to the window, or
better yet, the hole in his room to let in light and cold and rain, he walks by
a state of the art console, the latest high tech model of its brand. They might
not have electricity, but batteries are more worthless then the leaves he
swipes his ass with and Danny sure knows how to pick gadgets apart. Better, he
does it for free.
Landing amidst a cloud of dust, Stiles coughs a bit of dirt that somehow got
into his mouth and peeks over the living room window, candle flickering over
the nightly wind coming through, his dad asleep at an old oak desk, tablet
forgotten by his side, head laying on his arm.
 Sighing, Stiles steps in and picks up a worn out mantle, setting it over his
shoulders.
“Goodnight, dad.” He whispers, careful not wake his old man up.
Getting back into the pitch black night, no stars sprinkling the cloud covered
sky, he sets on a familiar course leading him to Sector B of Beacon’s Factory
Housing, impossible to miss thanks to the blinding W of Whittemore Enterprises.
And yet, all that gold makes their son no less of an asshole.
Stiles counts three rows and then fifty seven houses, going near a familiar
window.  
“Scott!” Stiles calls and an orange glow quickly comes to life in the second
story, casting shadows over the nightly air.
Scott soon makes his appearance, bare-chested and holding an oil lamp.
“Stiles, you’ll wake up my mom.” Scott complains in a hushed whisper, rubbing
the sleep away from one eye. “What do you want? You know I have to wake up
early tomorrow.”
Scott, Stiles’ best friend, has been working on the Whittemore Enterprises
factories a couple of years now. Stiles still misses him while at school,
especially since the place is swarmed with jerks and girls highly above his
league. Higher education comes with his dad’s job. Unluckily, gold doesn’t come
with the pseudo status his dad’s occupation as sheriff concedes them or his
mom’s fate might’ve been a different one.
Instead, she was taken from them too early by a common flu.
Stiles also misses Scott while on his spare time. Playing video games and
eating junk food stuck in his room for eight hours straight just isn’t as fun
when you do it alone. Actually, it is rather depressing.
 “I can’t believe you haven’t heard the chatter about the ship anchored in the
docks.” Stiles tells him. Factory workers are the worst gossipers, which
offered Scott and Stiles something to laugh about.
When they were not the beholders of said gossip, that is. Ah, the perks of
living in a town of factory workers.
“Ships anchor in the docks all the time.” Scott deadpans.
“With masts, sails and made out of freaking actual wood?” Stiles asks, tone
rising as his enthusiasm grows.
“Really?” Scott asks with a glint of excitement in his eyes, vanishing when he
quickly collects himself and cleans his throat. “I have to wake up early
tomorrow.”
“Scott, you know I’ll go with or without you. What if they are a band of
kidnapping pirates that take me in as their hostage and serve me to the toxic
ocean and whatever beasts that dwell in its depths on a silver platter? Pure
silver, Scott, probably more valuable than the cheap gold our wealthy possess!”
Stiles says.
“You really should work on your persuasion skills.” Scott tells him.
Stiles waves a hand dismissingly. “Why bother? You’ll come anyway.”
“Yeah, then we’ll be both served to the ocean.” Scott says, corrupted by
Stiles’ sarcastic ways.
“Don’t forget the oil lamp.” Stiles reminds him when Scott is about to jump out
of his window without it.
“Oh, right.” Scott remembers, looking at it by the window sill.
“Use the front door, Scott, unless you want the whole sector to ignite into
flames. And remember to be careful not to wake up your mom.” Stiles advises.
Scott sends him a dirty look. “You’re bossy.” He accuses, but goes anyway.
The front door opens after a dragged out moment of Stiles licking his tongue
over his dried out lips, grimacing at the taste of dirt that welcomes him again
and tapping his foot on the ground, raising a cloud of dust into the air and
into his nostrils.
“Now I have dirt in my mouth and in my nose.” Stiles complains.
“How is that my fault?” Scott asks, bewilderment taking over his innocent
features.
“I’m not talking with you. I’m talking with our good old dusty marble.” Stiles
says, stretching his arms as if reunited with a long lost friend and taking in
a deep breath, appreciating the moment in its fullness, only to strongly cough
afterwards. “Who is a bitch.”
Scott chuckles.
People living at the Factory Housing are pretty immune to the ways of the dusty
lady. Actually, pretty everyone is.
Stiles’ mom, however, coming from a family of actual wealth living in the moon
resort, came to earth on a trip, when its name was just that and life
flourished everywhere, sun greeting the colorful world underneath, full of
bright greens and beautiful melodies, like the chirping of crickets, the
buzzing of bees or the rattling of wind through grass.
She fell in love with it and with a young John Stilinski and decided to stay
while her family left.
And when earth became its name and all colors turned to brown, his mom kept a
small garden by the side of their house filled with as many species as she
could fit in their small patch of land, a miracle of life in an otherwise harsh
and dry soil.
It was an expensive and hard maintenance pastime, but it kept a shine in her
eyes uncommon in other adults in town, so his dad allowed that small privilege.
Stiles tried keeping it after she passed, but all flowers perished, petals
falling one by one like mourning tears, as his memories of her delicate
features and warm smile faded along with them, leaving a blur in its wake and
the unfamiliar face captured in impersonal frames behind translucent cold glass
to remind him of what he no longer knew, of whom he no longer had.
Old memories are set aside as masts and recoiled sails peek over a hill,
lighted by the orange glow of oil fueled street lamps.
“Can’t you just feel an impending sense of adventure and discovery setting in?
I can just picture us, Captains Stilinski and McCall, roaming the uncharted
sees, fighting off evil pirates, finding long lost riches and conquering the
unknown!” Stiles dreams.
“All seas are charted.” Scott informs, turning his fantasies to ash. “You spend
hours in the library looking at them.”
“You are such a buzz kill. Where is your sense of wonder?” Stiles asks, shaking
his head in disappointment.
“Let’s just approach it so I can return to my home and to my refreshing
slumber.” Scott tells him, carrying on his march.
Sometimes Stiles doesn’t even know why they are friends.
Approaching the rich brown wood vessel they are greeted by a black wolf
figurehead, jaws open threateningly wide and sharp long teeth built solely for
ripping flesh apart. Stiles covers his nose from the putrid smells of the ocean
and so does Scott, which says a lot, since factories aren’t known for their
rosy scents.
Peeking over to the ship, Stiles notices a fugly looking creature sleeping
while on watch duty, face shaped like a meteor, small purple clouds coming from
a crater that forms his nose.
“I guess going in won’t be much of a problem.” Stiles smiles.
“Let’s hope coming out is just as easy.” Scott wishes.
Boarding the ship with light footsteps, Stiles quickly notices the intricate
patterns carved on both masts and takes the oil lamp away from Scott’s hands.
“Hey!” Scott complains.
Stiles ignores him, approaching the mast, nose so close to the wood the smell
reminds him of his mom’s garden after a rainfall. “These aren’t only patterns,
these are pictures that form a tale. Like man used to draw on caverns in the
old days.” He says, bringing the lamp closer to the mast so he can better
decipher the scribing depictured. Stiles grazes his fingertips over a couple of
wolves, seemingly preparing to battle a clan of armed men. “Oh my god, this
ship belongs to the Hales!”
“And that is exciting because…”
“When man first found life outside of his little solar system, it was on a
planet filled with creatures taken straight from mythology. Werewolves. Of
course, man did the only thing he knew how to when faced with bright discovery
and the rattling fear of the unknown during those times. He waged war.” Stiles
tells, excitement running through his veins. “Dude, did you even pay attention
during history lessons?” He asks, faced with Scott’s blank stare.
“No, and you wouldn’t either if the subject wasn’t distant planets or mythical
space wars.” Scott accuses and Stiles smiles.
Scott knows him well.
Walking around the mast, Stiles sees a wolf perched by an arrow. “The Lycan
lost… And man stole their riches.” Stiles says, reaching the third and final
frame, setting course to the second mast in a fast pace.
“Stiles, we should hurry up, I think I hear people approaching.” Scott warns,
nervously looking around.
“We’ll go in a minute.” Stiles assures him, inspecting the drawing of a wolf
with its claws protecting a chest. “A Lycan was able to protect his riches… And
he fled its planet on a ship.” He feels with his fingers the round shape of a
planet, an old looking ship setting sail unto the deep, vast space.
“This is not a regular ship.” Scott finally concludes, fear to his tone.
“Nope.” Stiles confirms, mouth opening in a wide grin because this is the
single most exciting event to ever happen in little Stiles Stilinski’s life.
“We are on a freaking space ship!”
A coughing sound startles both boys.
Stiles turns away, the flame of the oil lamp casting light over a dude with
thick long brows, one of which is arched in a question and an angular jaw
seemingly cut from marble, his weight supported by a cutlass with a graceful
curve and a deadly looking cutting edge. He’s wearing a flamboyant black hat
with a crimson feather, a black velvet waistcoat with intricate patterns along
with crimson puffed sleeves underneath a dark long sleeved jacket. Below the
waist, underlined by a belt with a crimson buckle, a pair of black drawers over
crimson stockings lead to a pair of black shoes with a golden buckle and
crimson laces.
Next to him is an octopus like dude, followed by the meteor one.
Apparently this ship houses some kind of freak show.
“Finstock, it seems Greenberg let two seaweeds into my vessel.” The dude, which
Stiles figures is the captain, says, pointing his sword at both Stiles and
Scott.
“Greenberg!” Finstock shouts, slapping him in the back of the head, purple
clouds being expelled from all craters on his face, only to tangle one of his
tentacles around Greenberg’s throat and lift him into the air. “How should I
punish him, my captain?”
“If his eyelashes are so heavy, perhaps the foul smells of the bathrooms might
assist him in his ordeal.” The captain offers, after due consideration with a
dry, yet mocking tone.
“Aye Aye, my captain!” Finstock yells and drags Greenberg along the deck and
down a shaft.
“Now, what will I do with both of you?” He asks, barring their way with his
sword as Stiles and Scott try to flee the ship unnoticed, almost disposing
Stiles of his neck.
Stiles gulps. “We we were just keeping an eye on your vessel while you were
away. It’s a very impressive looking ship, if I might say so myself. Very
piraty. You might want to be careful with your help, you know? Beacon Hills
isn’t the most secure of ports. Take it from me. But now you have returned and
our services are no longer needed, so if you could just point your cutlass away
from our vital organs for us to go, that would be peachy.”
“Maybe you could assist me.” He offers. “Proper help ishard to come pass these
days.”
“As I said, we were just leaving.” Stiles repeats.
“I don’t think so. Everything aboard the Mighty Wolf” he motions with his sword
around the deck “is Captain Derek Hale’s possession. That’s me.” CaptainDerek
says, smirking, like he’s enjoying himself so very damn much, the fucker.
“You actually refer to yourself in third person and call your ship ‘The Mighty
Wolf’? Stiles asks, disbelieving. “You have got to be kidding me. Not even
Jackson is that stuck up.”
Scott elbows him and mutters Stiles!for some reason.
“I disrespectfully disagree.” Derek says, putting his sword back in its sheath,
perhaps figuring both earthen boys won’t try to flee anymore.
Stiles can be impulsive and not really think about the consequences of his
action, most of the time, but he can recognize an opportunity when it presents
itself, so he grabs Scott by one arm and runs as fast as he can towards the
docks.
But, before they have departed from the ship, a dark figure lands in front of
them with a rough kind of grace – Derek, flamboyant hat no longer in its place,
features shifting into something more beast than man, his thick dark brows
vanishing, ears turning pointy and hairy and his sideburns lengthening,
allowing him for a quite ferocious outlook.
Long, sharp canines reveal themselves with a bark, looking able to cut through
flesh with even as such as a gentle graze. His eyes glow a blood red, a
reminder of what his fangs and claws are capable of, a token of his strength
and power. A smirk tilts his lips up before Derek growls, the sound sending
shivers down Stiles’ spine, equal parts arousing and terrifying.
Both boys step back instinctively, backs crashing into strong chests.
Turning back, Stiles is faced with three pirates – a guy with stern features
and a dark complexion, a deep blue bandana protecting his eyes and wearing a
short sleeved shirt with deep blue stripes and breeches of the same dark color,
along with a dude of golden curls, wearing the same piraty outfit, only in
canary yellow and there’s also a gal with a dangerous kind of beauty, hair in a
ponytail and clothes a stark purple, striped shirt cut to show just a little
bit of cleavage.
“You are not going anywhere.” Derek states, features returning to those of a
common, yet extremely hot, men, leaving no trace of his beastly appearance
behind.
“You can’t keep us here!” Scott shouts, panicky.
“Yeah! My dad is a sheriff. He will contact space authorities and then he
willkick your little werewolf ass back to extinction!” Stiles threatens.
Derek takes a step forth, going for intimidating, and smirks when Stiles tries
to take a step back, betrayed by his own body, only to realize there’s nowhere
to run.
“He really set an example, it seems.” Derek notes.
“Fuck you!” Stiles mutters.
“Stiles!” Scott says in lieu of a warning and elbows him again.
“I have the perfect use in mind to give to that perfect mouth of yours,
Stiles.” Derek sing songs his name, like it holds a secret.
Stiles dick twitches at Derek’s words and the images they awaken in him and, if
possible, Derek’s smirk turns even cockier.
“Now, Erica make sure our guests are comfortable and secure for takeoff. There
are bumpy seas ahead.”  Derek warns.
“We are prisoners!” Stiles states.
“Then make sure the ropes are tight around Stiles’ lean body. We don’t want him
to slip under the ropes and fall off deck until the poisonous waters.” Derek
says, grinning, and takes over the wheel.
Erica manhandles them towards the mast.
“You are so cute, making an effort to look into my eyes.” Erica taunts while
tying a rope around him and Scott.
“You have beautiful eyes.” Stiles stutters.
“I have beautiful everything.” Erica states with a hint of danger to her smug
grin that keeps Stiles from adding anything else. He has grown quite fond of
his body parts and doesn’t want to part ways with them.
“Boyd, Isaac, it’s time to set sail.” He informs and the two pirates quickly
get to work, Boyd recoiling the anchor with controlled precision, focused on
the task at hand. Isaac, on the other hand, looks to be having the time of his
life, cutting a knot and being carried by a rising piece of rope while a
crimson sail drops into place, revealing a golden symbol – thee spirals joined
by a triangle.
Isaac lands on deck with playful grace. “It’s all set, Captain.”
 “Then, ahoy we go.” Derek turns the wheel tipping the ship to the side and
pressing a button hidden by a wooden veil that unlocks a control panel, bright
colors erupting from the floor. “Take off motors, engage.” Water starts
stirring around them in small yet constant waves, the ship starting to float
into thin air. “Main motors, engage.” And with that, a burst takes them off of
the small Beacon Hills port, the sudden motion shaking Stiles up. “Engaging
shields and activating artificial atmosphere.”
Static bristles the hair of Stiles’ neck as he narrows his eyes to shield them
from wind, dust and gassy clouds.
A red glow underlines the magnetic shield protecting the fragile wood vessel as
they enter the earth’s atmosphere, friction rattling the majestic boat to its
core that turns Stiles’ stomach upside down and makes him want to throw up,
closing his eyes and trying not to think about how he could be squashed by
pressure like a bug by a foot if anything went wrong.
Then, all of a sudden, the rustling stops and Stiles opens his eyes only to
find himself in the middle of space, stars sprinkling the vast universe around
them.
Looking back, Stiles sees a planet dimming in the distance, its surface hidden
by pale brown clouds. In the old days, earth’s surface was painted with green
and blue tones, white clouds casting shadows over its fields and oceans. People
once called it the blue marble, alive in all its beauty. Today, its former
glory is long gone, victim of the humans it gave life too all those millennium
ago, its image nothing more than a shadow of days past, nothing more than an
old dusty marble, forgotten by the ages.
Stiles, for all that he will miss his dad and forever hold dear the memories he
shared with his family in its soil, feels a weight lifting from his back, like
he was always meant for more than what earth’s four corners could ever dream to
offer him.
Now, in a ship in where his future is uncertain and his potential, unlimited,
there’s no telling what he’ll see or who he’ll meet, what wild adventures await
him, what planets he will explore and how many dangers he will face.
His life, Stiles realizes, is only just beginning.
“Erica, Isaac, you can now take our guests to the living quarters.” Derek
orders. “Boyd, you can follow me.”
Stiles tries to look to Scott over his shoulder, as the pirates free them. For
all his excitement at this turn of events, he knows this is probably the last
thing Scott wanted in the world. “I’m really sorry, buddy.” He says, honest in
his words.
“I know.” Scott says with a feeble and sad smile, so uncharacteristic of him
that tips Stiles unto making a decision.
Stiles will find a way to save him. 
***** Chapter 2 *****
Derek shrugs off his jacket and places it on the back of a chair. He takes off
his shoes, untying the crimson laces and removing the crimson stockings,
shedding off the rest of his clothing, but a black under shirt, carefully
folding each piece.
Derek pulls a handle bathed in gold, opening a shelf and revealing a collection
of clothes made only from the finest fabrics – velvet, silk, damask, sarcanet,
camlet and taffeta – using upper class crimson, as well as silver and black
shadings, where he stores his recently disposed clothes.
Opening a different drawer, Derek reveals a collection of simpler fabrics –
canvass, leather, wool, linen, cotton and sheepskin – in the same rich colors.
Derek puts on a pair of crimson socks, a crimson doublet with black patterns
and a pair of black leather breeches.
“My Captain, kidnapping two youngsters seems a bit imprudent.” Boyd says.
Leaving the bubble of privacy granted by the folding screen, Derek takes a seat
behind his wide mahogany desk.
“Tales of escaping the Mighty Wolf unharmed would hinder our frail
reestablished reputation.” Derek tells him. Besides, Stiles certainly looks
like a fun addition to the crew.
“You’ve spoken truth.” Boyd assures. “Were you able to find that which you
seek?”
“Indeed I was,” Derek informs, unfolding a chart he got from the Whittemore
manor with just a little bit of persuasion.  “Though I fear my efforts to make
sense of it are as fruitless as they were last time – just one more piece of a
puzzle that doesn’t seem to come together.”
Boyd nods. “I mean no offense to your legacy, my Captain, but Peter Hale wasn’t
exactly known for his sanity. You might consider that, perhaps, the charts are
simply the ramblings of a mad man, leading nowhere and making heck of a sense.”
“Perhaps.” Derek sighs.
The thought has occurred to him several times before, a dark cloud hovering
over his vessel.
“Ramblings of a mad man or not, we shall travel to the deepest ends of space in
quest of my family’s treasure, of what is rightfully mine.” Derek states and
Boyd, stoic as ever, nods his agreement.
Only he knows how deeply a fortune like Peter’s they need.
“Then I shall inform the rest of the crew of our destiny, my Captain.” Boyd
tells him, waiting for Derek’s nod of dismissal before leaving the cabin.
Derek returns his attention to the charts displayed across his desk, staying
awake even after his eyelids start to weight and a yawn creeps in on him, eyes
burning as he tries to make sense of the clusters of stars and planets by the
frail flame of an oil lamp. However, no matter how much he turns and stirs them
around, the result is always the same – failure.
Maybe the final piece will be able to shed some light over the randomness.
At least, that’s what Derek prays to the Gods for.
Because if his fears come to pass, if the charts are nothing more than the
insane ramblings of an old pirate, then he and his crew are doomed. Again.
The Hales, once a family able to rattle the bones of its enemies with solely
its name found its undoing in a treaty made with the corrupt Argent Force,
which allowed them to freely roam space, robbing and looting small and huge
vessels alike. Though, when their presence in the skies became too notorious
and intimidating, the Intergalactic most influential beings forced them to take
action.
Using their ties to the Hales, they planted a device deep within the heart of
Mighty Wolf, a fire making Derek their sole survivor.
 Sounds coming from outside the Captain’s cabin pull him from his thoughts.
Derek can’t believe it’s morning already, yet another night wasted in blank,
between dots on aged paper and memories of times past.
His body hurts when he stands up, an ache from spending the entire night in
only one position.
After taking a relieving piss and refreshing himself with a splash of water,
Derek exits his cabin, greeted by a working crew, busy swabbing the deck and
polishing the woods, the sounds of bolts being tightened, weights being carried
and heavy machinery being calibrated echoing from beneath him.
A familiar melody he grew up with.
“McCall, you call this swabbing the deck? My grandmother swabs better than
this, and she’s dead!” Finstock yells, yammering Scott’s ears off.
Derek spots Stiles, mop washing away the dirt with stumbled yet efficient
strokes.
“How is my humble ship treating you?” He asks, approaching.
“Really fucking well. Between the shouting we were greeted with in the morning
and the crappy food, my complaints are many.” Stiles says, sarcastically,
sparing him a look over the shoulder that lingers on Derek’s frame, the spicy
scent of arousal tickling his nose.
“Like what you see?” Derek smirks.
A frail shade of pink washes over Stiles’ cheeks. “If what shows is all you
have, then the Gods were particularly unkind with you, which should come to no
surprise, given your asshole personality and pitiful ship.”
Derek steps closer, noticing the small faded smudge of lipstick in Stiles’ jaw,
which means Erica already performed her celebratory hazing. Stiles steps back
at Derek’s sudden motion, which makes Derek’s smirk wider and Stiles’ eyes
narrow.
“I see making noise is an activity you rather enjoy, so I’ll do yourself a
favor. I hope you fancy a sour throat.” Derek tells him and Stiles gulps,
arousal flooding Derek’s nostrils.
He wonders if Stiles knows how keen Lycan senses are.
“Mates, your mighty Captain –”
“You really love hearing your title out loud, don’t you?” Stiles asks.
 “Has have great news for you all. Our guest, –”
“Hostage!” Stiles interrupts.
“Stiles has offered to brighten our mood by singing us a jolly tune.” Derek
reveals.
“What?” Stiles shouts, disbelieving.
“Or you chant, or I’ll make you cross the board. I hope you don’t mind not
breathing.” Derek tells him.
“Bummer, that’s kind of crucial to my surviving.” Stiles says, dryly.
And when he opens his mouth, giving in, Derek instantly regrets his decision.
He also may or may not find refuge in his cabin. Of course, the wood walls of
his quarters do little to atone the acute wailing crackling through. Lycan
abilities, both a blessing and a curse, be damned.
 
===============================================================================
 
“My escape pod had just fallen in the harsh and hostile surface of Aridia. I,
alone and with no one else to turn to, found myself cornered by a Nine-Eyed
Tyhrranoid, the deadliest of its kind, huge in size and with hundreds of lethal
sharp teeth.” Derek picks a fork and waves it around the awed expressions of
his crew mates, trying his best to keep a suspense heavy atmosphere. “After
many hours of battle, my space suit shredded to pieces and my skin a thick
layer of red, I was finally able to defeat such a thunderous beast. Of one
thing is sure, none of its nine eyes will ever see the glorious sunlight
again!” He says, raising a rum filled mug to join that of the others, among
cheers and hoorays.
“Tyhrranoids are pretty dumb creatures.” Stiles says.
“How would you know, boy? You have never set foot on another planet but that
old rock before.” Derek says, sneering.
“I might not be as well traveled as you, but we have books in that old rock.
Tyhrranoids are easily blinded by a scrap of sand and feel ticklish under their
feet. Of course you would choose to make a spectacle to brag about to a bunch
of… charming pirates.” Stiles emends, knowing better than to insult a crew of
armed men.
“I’ll remember to pick a book next time my behind is facing certain death.”
Derek assures him, the crewman laughing. “Or perhaps I will be better off
having you. Even if you don’t hold the answer to defeating my foe, you can
always talk him to death.”
“It’d be a pleasure.” Stiles offers with a sarcastic smile.
“If you think yourself so smart, maybe you would fare well behind a wheel.”
Derek says. “Finstock says your thirst for knowledge knows no bounds, so maybe
some practical experience would be equally beneficial.”
“I bet he meant that as anything but a compliment.”
“He also says you swab the deck like no other and deal with machinery like fish
fancy water. Perhaps a small reward is in other. And if you end up doing a fool
out of yourself, we will at least get a good laugh.”
“Deal.” Stiles says, with a wondrous shine to his eyes and a unshaken certitude
to his tone.
“Captain, are you sure this is wise?” Boyd asks as Stiles hurries in front of
them, lost in a heated argument with Scott.
“Trust me, Boyd, I know what I’m doing. Let the boy have some fun, and if he
screws up, we will be the ones to have a jolly time.” Derek reassures.
“Or perhaps we will crash on a planet. I hear Jupiter is nearby. And it’s not
exactly known for a welcoming weather.”
“I’ll be behind the boy, guiding him. There won’t be any problems.”
No matter his words, Boyd’s look remains uncertain.
“Don’t fret, Boyd. They’re just measuring their instruments. Boys can be so
predictable.” Erica taunts with a devilish grin.
“I think they’re also checking out each other’s instruments.” Isaac adds in.
“Perhaps we’ll do more than check each other out.” Derek smirks.
“And that is my cue.” Boyd grunts.
“Just when things are about to get interesting.” Erica complains with a
condescending roll of her eyes, not putting much of a fight as Boyd drags her
away.
“This means we can’t watch?” Isaac asks as he is dragged as well.
“I’ll send you a holo-film.” Derek says dryly.
Wandering upwards towards the deck, he finds Stiles gazing at a fairway planet,
however close it might seem – Jupiter, gassy and stormful, its atmosphere
creating an everpresent, watchful eye, staring back into deep space and any
passing visitors. “It’s strange how a bit of gas and a speck of dust can mingle
together to form something of such beauty.” Derek says, referring to its ring.
“Yeah.” Stiles agrees, looking over its shoulder with a feeble smile, before
catching himself and shaking his head. “Shall we? I have a ship to pilot.”
“Can’t let the crew waiting.” Derek motions for the wheel, daring Stiles to
approach it.
Stiles does, hands shakily laying on the handles at first, before his grip
tightens, hold turning surer as Stiles breathes in a calming loaf of air. He
twists the wheel with a quick motion a beginner’s mistake.
No member of the crew, unsubtly peeking over their shoulders, has any time to
laugh, mock or tease, holding to nearby ropes or to the solid frame of
neighboring masts while crates slide along the deck.
Derek quickly grips the handles, tipping the ship to balance with a turbulent
shake.
“Ups.” Stiles winces.
“I would say you did that on purpose.”
“You would be wrong.” Stiles says, the slight blip in his heartbeat leaving no
place for doubts.
“Well, then,” Says Derek “We should start by the beginning.” Prompting his body
very closely behind Stiles’, so close he can feel the heat flowing from Stiles’
body, the way his blood pumps throughout his veins, his crotch grazing over the
cup of Stiles’ ass through a tight pair of breeches and a loose pair of
trousers. A dry gulp echoes in his ears. “The left side of the ship is called
port, the right is starboard.” Derek says, fingernail elongating in a sharp
claw and scratching each letter on rich wood.
“I knew that, thank you.” Stiles tells him, tone affronted yet shaky, nervous.
“Just taking precaution, after your earlier feat.” Derek whispers beside his
ear, skin bristling under warm breath. He lays his hands over Stiles’ palms,
calloused from mild manual labor, uneasy under the strong press of skin.
“Relax.” He says, sure even Stiles can hear the smirk playing in his lips.
“If I didn’t know better, I would say you are doing this on purpose.” Stiles
echoes Derek’s earlier words, his accusatory tone unmistakable.
“I guess I should tell you exactly how keen werewolf senses can be.” Derek
reveals.
He doesn’t expect the jolt of pain that comes from Stiles’ elbow. “That one is
because you’re a jerk.” Stiles bites off.
“I guess I deserved that.” Derek says with a tilt of his lip. “Now, keep a
steady grip on the handle and feel it under your palm, really feel it, until
you can trace the edges and the cracks in the wood, the roundness of its shape
and the harshness of its surface. Know it as your own body, let it become an
extension of your arm.”
Stiles fingers tap a little at the handle, nervously, outlining the curve of
the wheel.
He nods. “Know it like the palm of my hand.”
“Good.” Derek states. “Now wander.”
Stiles tips the wheel just the slightest bit, taking them around the moons of
Jupiter, through its icy landscapes, home of beasts with white fur and
dangerous jaws and of birds that cannot fly, wearing ridiculous black and white
suits staring up as they pass. Animals of earth saved from extinction in
planets humans could not thrive in.
Derek can feel Stiles’ happiness in the way he can barely hold still or in how
the up tilt turn of his lips wrinkles his features as he wonders freely through
space and his emotion are contagious, drawing a smile on Derek’s mouth so wide
it leaves his cheeks aching.
He’s almost sad when it has to come to an end. “Time to resume our course, I
fear.”
“Oh?” Stiles asks, looking over his shoulder like he forgot exactly where he
was. “Oh, right.” He nods and loosens the hold of its hands on the handles,
Derek’s fingertips grazing over soft skin until they fall by his sides.
“We could continue this in my cabin.” Derek says in invitation.
“Lead the way.” Is Stiles’ answer.
Derek walks over to his cabin and Stiles follows, footsteps resonating through
the deck below, a tile screeching under the weight of his foot, heartbeat
thundering like a drum, faster and louder in his chest the closer as they
approach his cabin. And then, when Derek opens the door, welcoming Stiles
inside with an inviting wave of his arm, the symphony mellows.
Derek closes the door, watching as Stiles approaches the book filled racks,
eyes flickering over the myriad of different subjects, from Astronomy to
Zoology. He takes one, The Encyclopedia of Species, Volume I, blowing the dust
out of its cover and opening it in the middle, a musty scent caressing the air
and welcoming an overeager pair of eyes for the first time since a while.
“We were in the middle of something.” Derek whispers in Stiles’ ear,
approaching him from behind and taking the book out of Stiles’ grasp, setting
it aside, hardcover falling on the golden, silver and crimson silk carpet with
a small thud.
“I was reading –” Stiles’ complaint turns to a purr when Derek kisses him below
the ear.
“And a pirate never leaves anything half uncovered.” Derek says, unlacing
Stiles’ worn out and stained wool shirt, undressing the fabric under Stiles’
shoulders, fingertips grazing over Stiles’ skin. A pale canvas filled with
freckles and moles, scented with dirt, smoke and a faded floral smell is
uncovered as sleeves are tucked away from Stiles’ wrists, a tangled piece of
wool meeting the floor.
Derek traces a finger over Stiles’ spine, who releases a shuddered sigh at the
electrifying touch of skin, Derek scraping his lips across Stiles’ shoulders,
his trousers falling with the gentle tug of a finger. Derek caresses the rim of
Stiles’ hole with the knot of a finger, his back tensing at the slight graze.
“Is this your first?” Derek whispers, lips ghosting over Stiles’ neck.
“Yeah.” Stiles stutters, pink coloring his cheeks.
Derek wraps one arm around Stiles’ chest, half hard cock pressed along Stiles’
butt cheek behind black leather, hand wandering along Stiles’ thigh. “You
really are mine.” He smirks.
“I am not some kind of possession.” Stiles argues.
“Everything aboard this ship belongs to me.” Derek states, tugging lightly at
Stiles’ cock, who releases a half muffled moan.
“One of us is definitely wearing too much clothing and I, if you haven’t yet
noticed, am completely naked, so that leaves your iron ass and marble chest”
Stiles says. “And this conversation isn’t –”
Stiles’ words are lost between a second moan.
“It seems like it is.” Derek smirks. He has finally found a way to leave Stiles
completely speechless yet, not completely silent. “Stay still.” Derek orders as
he unbuttons his doublet.
“You are an asshole.” Stiles accuses, meaning every word, trying to look over
his shoulder, fingers wiggling. “If I helped it would go faster.”
“If you move, I will tie both your legs and arms.” Derek threatens, smirking at
the way Stiles’ heart skips the tinniest bit, at the way his cock twitches and
hardens, untouched.
“Just you try.” Stiles tells him in a veiled dare.
And Derek has to contain himself from ripping the leather of his breeches right
then and there, cock growing in length under his garments.  He takes calming
breathes while folding clothing shed, neatly pilling it on top a chair while
Stiles’ heart, each beat pounding with anticipation, calls to him like a
siren’s chant.
 Derek follows its flow, turning Stiles around and crashing into him like a
wave unto the beach, muting a yelp of surprise between his lips.
He almost doesn’t recognize himself in the mist of such desire, tracing Stiles’
sides under his palms, feeling strong muscles hidden by a lean frame under his
fingertips.
Derek grabs Stiles by both thighs, Stiles’ legs wrapping around Derek’s waist,
Stiles’ fingers tugging Derek’s hair tighter, lips locked as Derek carries him
towards the bed, of ash and chestnut wood, bed frame highlighted by a silver
inlay carved with intricate patterns, of which two triskelions stand out at
both sides.
Derek shoves Stiles into the bed sheets, the finest silk welcoming his knees
like a gentle caress. He looks down at his capture, laying at his mercy, legs
slightly open, inviting, cock sprawling along his belly, a patch a hair leading
up to his belly button. Derek palms Stiles’ stomach, abdominal muscles
clenching under his touch, fingertips wandering up, teasing, while Derek’s eyes
linger over pink, flushed lips and caramel expecting eyes.
“Show me how you touch yourself.” Derek whispers, hands stroking broad
shoulders. Stiles’ hand goes to his cock, but Derek grabs it by the wrist,
leading him through the patch of skin around his balls and unto the outskirts
of his hole. “You have fingered yourself before, haven’t you?” Derek asks, a
brow tilting up.
Stiles shakes his head, gulping.
Derek smirks. “Dip your fingers in the oil inside the dark brown bowl in the
nightstand behind you.” He orders, sitting back on his knees.
“It’s sticky and shiny.” Stiles comments.
“It wasn’t made for gazing with mesmerizing eyes, but for better allowing
penetration.”
“Thank you, in the mist of our current naked states, such thought had not
occurred me.”
With that, Stiles presses an oil slicked finger inside his hole, just the
tinniest bit, a dry sound escaping his mouth as he gets used to such a foreign
sensation.
Derek lightly brushes a hand along Stiles’ thigh. “Keep going.”
With a deep intake of air, Stiles presses his finger further in, an initial
moan giving way to a panting breath.
“Move it around.” Derek orders.
Stiles moves his finger, slightly at first, just the tinniest inch, but then he
starts wiggling it around, eyelids closing as a soft purr rumbles through his
belly, tingling the fingertips of Derek’s hand and making his own dick twitch.
Derek deciders to up the stakes, taking Stiles’ hand in his and dipping his
fingers in the bowl once again, oil dripping from his hole and staining the bed
sheets as Derek fucks him hard with his own finger, adding one and yet another,
a single purr turning into moans, whines and breathless pants for air. Derek
takes Stiles’ cock into his palm, tugging it with harsh and fast strokes.
Stiles’ neck and cheeks fluster a deep shade of red, the veins in his throat
popping out. “I’m gonna cum.” Stiles tells him, both a plead and a warning.
When he does, spurts of cum splattering across a trail of hair and a broad
chest, Derek grabs Stiles’ legs by his thighs, slightly tilting his ass up and
shoves his cock inside, hard just from watching Stiles squirm and writhe
beautifully under his own fingers, riding Stiles’ bliss with a punitive pace,
punishing Stiles for the way he makes him feel, so raw, so alive and with such
wanting, Stiles whining and moaning even louder than before. 
***** Chapter 3 *****
“I thought you hated the food here.” Scott tells him with an expression of
disgust while Stiles chews a big piece of ration open mouthed. “Like dry wall.”
“At least it has a flavor.” Stiles echoes words he has been lectured with by
none other than Scott himself.
Scott only looks half done with his shit.
“Lazy scum!” Finstock yells. “We are approaching an asteroid belt so hurry your
slothful bums up towards the main deck or an instant death will be the least of
your problems!”
“An asteroid belt!” Stiles exclaims with excitement.
“I’m sorry, I’m in no way a space expert but the words ‘instant death’ don’t
sound all that exciting. Actually, they sound very, very bad.” Scott says.
“An asteroid is a giant boulder which can reach a size bigger than this ship!”
Stiles reveals.
“So, an asteroid belt…” Scott starts, expression scrunching in frightful
anticipation.
“An whole bunch of giant boulders just waiting to hit and maim and destroy an
unsuspecting ship, tearing it to tiny pieces of nothing more than space dust
wandering around the universe in an eternal and fateless voyage. Finally
something enticing and dangerous happens in this ship. It’s fantastic!” Stiles
says, jumping out of his chair, grabbing an unenthusiastic Scott by the arm and
dragging him unto the main deck.
“I hate your definition of fantastic.” Scott complains. “It always gets me into
trouble.”
“Huh, Scott, I’ve told you a gazillion times there shouldn’t had been any
patrolling guards in that quadrant of Hale Enterprises at that time. It’s not
my fault they decided to update in a rather brilliant yet extremely
inconvenient way their security measures.”
“I rest my case.”
Stiles looks down in his way up the stairs, not quite understanding. Scott
makes shooing hand motions for him to keep going, someone down below
complaining their hands are starting to slip from the wooden board, so Stiles
resumes his climb.
Stepping out from the hatch and unto the main deck, Stiles is faced with an
apocalyptic, yet mesmerizing vision. Gazing upon pictures of tiny rocks forming
a few inches wide belt drawn in a paper sheet is so different than the heart
pounding, adrenaline rushing and blood pumping inducing image he’s witnessing
now, the ship cruising through the meteor belt with Finstock taking over the
wheel, two of his arms controlling the vessel while his six remaining tentacles
jump through the recently lit control panel.
A glimpse of an approaching meteor coming from board is all Stiles manages to
see through the corner of his eye before the deck trembles, rocking Stiles to
his feet as the giant boulder collides with the vessel’s ship in a beautiful
explosion of red, kind of like fireworks.
It’s the first time Stiles witnesses something of the sort outside the little
screen of the holovid and seriously, HD video games or blurry recordings of
times past are shit compared to real life.
However, the impact throws the ship out of its course.
“Oh, butter nut!” Finstock complains. “Aye you overgrown seals, it’s time to
set the sails!”
“I don’t understand.” Stiles says. “We have motors.”
“One of them is malfunctioning.” Scott reveals, pushing him to join their
rustling mates, dividing into several groups to attend the different sails. “Me
and a couple of other crewmembers are part of the repair crew, but it’s still
going to take a few days to fix it, and only momentarily.”
“Bummer.” Stiles lets out, a smile forming.
“Only you would be happy with a malfunction that could hinder us in a time like
this.” Scott shakes his head.
“Standing idly by while the reigns of our fate lie in someone else’s tentacles
while we admire the asteroids passing by, it would be fine. Helping sailing the
ship while our lives depend on it, our own destiny lying between the calluses
of our own hands is even better!” Stiles states and Scott laughs.
“Only if we survive.”
The sail flaps down as they let out the main-sheet, pulling it and setting the
sail into place, trying his hardest to keep a steady grip on the rope, friction
making his hand burn. The deck rumbles below his feet as more meteors crash
into the shield, crushed into tiny little particles along the starboard, some
of the debris slithering through the shield and approaching the deck, growing
of size as their distance lessens.
Apparently small debris at a distance are head sized ones real close.
Who knew?
And there goes a smaller mast.
“Oh, butter nut! Hurry up dawdling dugongs!” Finstock hustles. “Turn the sails
to port sailors, I’m going to brew us some wind to take us away from these
rocky skies!”
And magically, just like a wizard casting a spell, a breeze sets in, bristling
the hair in Stiles’ arms, blowing the sails and taking the ship out of the
hustle they had fallen into. “Now, to starboard!” Finstock orders and Stiles
loosens his hold, turning his grip and pulling the sheet once again, the winds
changing direction like it follows a maestro’s baton.
They sail around to Finstock’s whims until they finally reach the end of the
asteroid belt.
“Straighten those sexy beauties!” He orders, disabling the control panel. “And
Stilinski, the Captain needs a word with you.”
Stiles can guess what it is about. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
“Now!” Finstock orders.
It seems someone has a voracious appetite for Stiles’ sexy times. Well, can’t
let the beast waiting. “I guess it’s time for my booty call.” He tells Scott
with a grin, not really capable of letting go of the sheet.
“Greenberg will take care of that.” He informs.
 Stiles looks at Scott with wide eyes as Greenberg takes the rope from his
hands. “People do things for me now.” He says. “I’m like Lydia, only minus the
dashing looks, the witty brains, the strawberry hair and, you know, the lady
parts. The main thing is – I’m important.” And he can’t stay quiet, feeling
like he just won the lottery.
If they had a lottery.
Scott rolls his eyes, now really done. “Be careful!”
 “Not going to happen!” Stiles waves, following Finstock with excitement. There
are two words he never thought he would think together.
And don’t get him wrong. Derek Hale is still a snob, a jerk, has no matters and
thinks he can get all he wants just because of his heritage. He’s also a fine
piece of man cake and Stiles might’ve been, not so long ago, the owner of a
very virgin ass, but Derek knows how to show a man a good time. Stiles is
milking this until he finds a way out for Scott, it’s all he’s saying. There is
no harm in taking benefit and a lot of pleasure from the situation at hand.
Nope, none at all.
Finstock opens the door to Derek’s cabin and Stiles enters in, finding Derek
behind his wide mahogany desk, the luxurious cabin leaving him as dazzled as in
the day before. It almost seems like he has landed in a fairy tale, only the
prince is a brute and there will be lots of sex, it seemd. Not that Stiles is
complaining.
Finstock closes the door behind him.
“Unclothe yourself.” Derek orders, lifting his eyes from the papers scattered
along the desk, looking at Stiles with lust filled eyes, drowning with want and
desire, Stiles feeling completely bare though he’s still fully dressed.
He gulps, slowly pulling his shirt and throwing it at the corner, trying to go
for sexy. His efforts come to an halt, though when his trousers end up tangled
between his ankles, Stiles falling ass first into the sumptuous silk carpet.
Derek snorts.
“Shut up!” Stiles tells him promptly.
Derek offers both hands in surrender. “My lips were sealed just until now. And
those are not ways to address a captain.”
“Captain my ass.” Stiles retorts.
“When you undress yourself, perhaps.” Derek ponders with a quirk of his
eyebrows and Stiles’ dick twitches at the promise held behind such common
words.
“You do that on purpose.” Stiles accuses.
Derek smirks, both an admission of guilt and a statement that he doesn’t care
in the less about such accusations. “Undress yourself.” He repeats, the words
followed by a slow hand motion, telling him to hurry, leaning further in his
chair as if to better enjoy the show unfolding in front of him.
Stiles untangles the trousers from between his ankles, standing back up and
removes his undergarments, ass bare and cock exposed to the elements, as well
as to Derek’s prying eyes, his gaze lingering between each inch of Stiles’
body, leaving his cheeks flushed beneath such  scrutiny.
It’s not like Stiles is anything other than ordinary, vulgar.
“Come here.” Derek orders with the aid of two fingers.
Stiles approaches him, fingers tingling to caress Derek’s neck, to feel the
prickle of his stubble beneath his fingertips, to brush his fingers through
thick air and lock his mouth between soft lips, licking one of his own lips at
the thought.
Derek turns his chair a little to the side for better allowing Stiles to nuzzle
himself between his open legs, grazing his lips between Derek’s, before Derek
bites Stiles’ bottom lip, his hands wandering along Stiles’ thighs, fingers
leaving a trail of heat behind them, cupping the cheeks of Stiles’ ass in his
strong hands, the kiss deepening as teeth nibble and tongues tease, Stiles’
locking a strand of Derek’s hair between his fingers.
An oil slick finger starts teasing at Stiles hole, pushing the slightest inside
and leaving a burn in its wake, pulling a dry sound from his throat.
Stiles grips Derek’s shoulders tighter, over the soft fabric of his doublet,
the cold feeling of its buttons against his chest making Stiles’ skin bristle
as Derek fingers his butthole, the burning still there, still hurting a bit,
but the hurting isn’t the important now, but the waves of heat buzzing through
his body, pulsing through him like lava underneath the earth’s crust, hardening
his cock into a solid rock and clearing his mind of any thought, spine arching
as silent moans die between his lips.
Derek nibbles at his exposed neck, a nibble that turns into a bite and forces
out a moan out of his depths, Derek’s teeth slightly grazing along his neck and
licking the outside of Stiles’ ear. “Unclothe me.” He asks, giving a slight
slap to Stiles’ behind.
“I’m a bit busy right now.” Stiles says, groaning as Derek starts fucking him
with just the finger.
“C’mon.” Derek urges, taking Stiles’ lips unto his, probably to stop him from
talking and, well, it, works. But just because Stiles knows complaining any
further will only lead to slight sexual frustration, and that is the worst
kind.
He unbuttons Derek’s doublet, blindly, but between the warm contractions
seizing through him, the swab of Derek’s tongue and the sharp graze of his
teeth, Stiles is definitely not complaining.  
He removes Derek’s garment, a whine escaping his mouth as Derek removes his
finger, lips parting as the doublet sheds off, taking off his black undershirt
as well and exposing a layer of tanned skin that Stiles’ can’t help but to
lick, the salty taste of sweat curling in his palate.
Two oil slick fingers enter him this time, pulling in and out faster than
before.
“Unbutton my pants.” Derek orders, with a smirk on his lips, fingers going
deeper into him and dragging a whine out of Stiles’ lips. 
“I hate you.” Stiles groans.
“Hurry up.” Derek tells him with a chaste press of lips, leaning back in his
chair and leaving Stiles’ ass unattended, an action Stiles both welcomes,
because the move of two fingers wakes in him a sensation quite distracting, and
loathes, because fuck, he has really warmed up to the feeling two fingers in
his ass might bestow.
Stiles unbuckles Derek’s belt and unbuttons the breeches.
Derek tilts his crotch up, allowing for Stiles remove the garments and free his
cock, taking it into his hand and giving a slight lick to its head, tentative.
Please it isn’t too foul a taste, Stiles swipes his tongue around Derek’s head,
right under the foreskin, Derek humming at the sensation, hand brushing through
Stiles’ buzz cut, fingers caressing his jaw.
“That’s it.”  Derek commends. “Now, take it in your mouth.”
Stiles closes his mouth around its head, sucking in and out, closing a fist
around the base of Derek’s cock and turning while he strokes, Derek apparently
enjoying it as much as Stiles did –moans muffled between the old rags and the
uncomfortable straw mattress of his home planet – purring while throwing back
his head, lost in bliss.
Then, Derek pulls out, urging Stiles back to his feet. “Sit on my lap.” He
orders, after smearing his cock with some oil and sitting straighter in the
chair.
Stiles kneels on top the chair, lining his entrance with Derek’s cock and
sitting down, Derek’s dick slowly entering him, opening him, his muscles
contracting around the intrusion. When Stiles ass cheeks meet Derek’s thighs,
he’s already breathless, panting for air.
“Now, fuck.” Derek tells him with a dirty and rough inflection of his tone.
“Excuse me, what about you?” Stiles asks. He has done plenty of work today
while Derek partook in not so dangerous reading.
“Since you can rather well carry a conversation by your own, I thought you
could well do all work by yourself. I won’t move a muscle.” Derek reveals.
Stiles narrows his eyes, slapping Derek’s chest in no way lightly. “You really
are a jerk!”
“This might not be a free ship by any means, but the door is right there. You
are welcome to –” Making use of Derek’s own tricks, Stiles rounds his waist to
shut him up, a silent moan letting his mouth drop wide open and staying there,
helplessly as he’s eyes close.
A smirk wakes in Derek’s lips, gone in less than a minute. “You learn quickly,
Mister Stilinski.”
“Yeah, I do, but not thanks to my teacher. He was a terrible one. Actually, I
even think he wasn’t a teacher at all, but a Captain. They really are the
scourge of the sea.” Stiles taunts, but Derek doesn’t yield to his
provocations, so Stiles rocks faster, chair rattling under their weight, a
growl that settles in the air escaping Derek’s throat as a heat curls inside
Stiles like an old friend, hardening his dick and reddening his skin.
“Fuck.” Derek mutters, sounding completely lost, Stiles movements enough to
madden him, but not enough to give him release, Derek’s legs and waist
twitching and squirming beneath Stiles and he knows he has won. “You are going
to regret this.” Derek groans, whatever threat laying on his words lost by the
high pitch of his tone.
“Doesn’t matter, I won.” Stiles gloats, a smile on his lips, licking the hair
under Derek’s armpit, slick with sweat and so, so good.
Derek stretches his right arm while Stiles moves up along Derek’s left upper
arm, leaving sloppy, wet kisses along Derek’s skin, catching the glimpse of
movement of a flowing curtain by the corner of his eye.
“Arms. Up.” Derek orders, voice hoarse.
Stiles, rather cocky, obeys with a shitty eating grin as well with a sudden
rock of his hips, Derek moaning and thrusting back involuntarily, a shaky and
breathless breath rumbling out of Stiles’ mouth, drawing a lazy smile in his
lips.
Stiles feels a soft fabric enlacing around his wrists, finding Derek tying them
together with a rope of gold tones, matching the golden ascents of the crimson
curtain framing a wide window sprinkled with the frail shine of distant stars.
Once the silk sinks in his skin, Derek ties the rope around the golden rod,
stretching Stiles’ arms to the breaking point, his lean frame displayed for
Derek to touch and see at will, the head of Derek’s cock now only teasing at
his entrance.
Derek lays his palms in Stiles’ waist, smirking. “How do you like this
teasing?” He asks, with a light turn of his crotch, his head ghosting over the
entrance to Stiles’ hole, wrists pulling at the silky fabric keeping him in
place with a whimper, yearning for more of Derek, wanting more, needingmore.
“I thought teasing others amused you.” Derek says in a mockery whisper, smile
dancing around in his parted lips. “I guess it’s not so funny when you are the
one being played with.”
“You made your point rather well, yes.” Stiles barely manages to say. “Now, if
you could please –”
And before he can finish his sentence, Derek sets a fast and hard pace,
punitive like the night before, and Stiles almost can’t handle it, the line
between pleasure and pain blurring, until he can’t tell one from the other.
“Please.” Stiles pleads, and he doesn’t know if it is for Derek to speed up and
just pound into him as hard as he can or to stop, to just give him release and
stop.Derek chooses to fasten his pace, making Stiles release a shout even
louder and more desperate than before, voice cracking at the end and dying a
blissful death, a creaking sound echoing from above as he pulls hard against
the golden rod and, yeah, that was it.
 
===============================================================================
 
Stiles wakes from his slumber feeling as if inside a giant furnace, stuck
between Derek’s torso and the bed sheets, his flat cock sprawled along Stiles’
but cheek and his right hand possessively laying below Stiles’ waistline,
almost like he’s trying to imprint a brand of ownership in Stiles’ flesh
overnight. 
The feel of Derek’s palm feels good against Stiles’ skin, the thought of
ownership haunting behind closed eyelids, making it unable to fall asleep. So,
Stiles slides off the bed with care not to wake Derek up and wanders around the
room, cleaning his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand and skimming his
eyes through the titles of the hundreds… no, the thousands of books kept
uncared in the Captain’s Lair.
A Lombax Guide to Machinery and Weaponry. The History of the Universe, Volume
XXI. Captain Quark: The Wake of a hero. Intergalactic Geography’s Botanical
Guide, Volume VIX. The Great Clock.Annihilate them! and other evil mottos. The
New Adventures of Lance and Janice. He reads, wishing the time to read them
all.
His attention is, however, drawn to a marble bust of Derek’s features,
instantly mimicking the hard lines of his lips, the deep curve of his brows,
feeling like he’s making the exact same expression as when he wants to go to
the bathroom to take a load. Maybe Derek is always holding in Mr. Brown. Poop
face or not, you got to be really pretentious to carve a bust of yourself out
of marble and place it in your lair.
Meet CaptainDerek Hale.
Taking his eyes off of Derek’s creepy manifestation of overbearing confidence
in his looks, he notices a bunch of charts laying untouched and abandoned by
Derek’s wide mahogany desk, sitting his bare ass in Derek’s really comfortable
laced with leather chair, only flushing mildly when the memories of events
passed assault him, quickly pushing them aside.
About to dive into the charts, a wild thought creeps in –
Maybe Derek wouldn’t be too happy if Stiles went through his stuff, uninvited
and unattended.
On the other hand, his fingertips are already on the rich wood of the desk,
grazing over the edges of the enticing sheets of paper. Lost for an inch, lost
for a mile has always been his motto.
At least it is right now.
So, Stiles starts inspecting the different charts with eager eyes, taking only
seconds to realize the maps depict similar localizations, oddly noticing
sections within the same chart that quite don’t fit together, belonging next to
a different chart instead, like misplaced or malformed pieces of a puzzle.
Ripping old looking papyrus, Stiles starts piecing the different bits together,
only to conclude that some parts are still missing but, at least, he has seemed
to make something readable out of the charts at hand, looking down at his
fabulous work with unabashed pride, lifting his eyes off his splendorous feet,
ready to get his praise.
Only, when his eyes meet Derek still lying asleep in his ostensive bed does he
realize that maybe, just maybe, the man will not like him to have rippedwhat
probably were valuable collection pieces, mortified by what he has just done.
The image of his head exploding in deep outer space is quick to greet him.
And his dad, his poor dad will never know the fate that befall his only son. At
least Stiles hopes Scott remains well treated aboard the ship that will now
likely become his permanent home.
Shoving premature thoughts of certain doom away, Stiles quickly and carefully
collects his clothing shed randomly around the room, sliding them on and hoping
as he turns the doorknob of Derek’s cabin that the ship is big and smelly
enough to hide him until they land someplace.
Any place.
Otherwise, he is just so undoubtedly dead, he and the word alivearen’t even in
the same galaxy, let alone the same sentence. 
***** Chapter 4 *****
“Look who the tide washed in.” Derek notes once the door to his cabin opens and
Finstock comes in, holding a pliant Stiles. “And you sure took long enough.”
Finstock drops Stiles ass first into the rug.
“Hey!” Stiles complain, hiding behind a feisty attitude like a child behind his
mother’s skirt. “Wooden boards hurt, even underneath a silky surface!”
“Sorry, my Captain, he’s both slippery and cunning, this one.” Finstock
informs, in lieu of an apology, giving a slap to the back of Stiles’ head and
ignoring his protests.
“Of that I know.” Derek agrees, standing up from behind his seat and walking
around his desk, gaze never leaving Stiles’, fear and anticipation concealed
behind honey brown irises. “You can leave us now, Master Finstock.”
With a tentacle salute, Finstock abandons the quarters.
Derek looks down at Stiles once again. “Planning on growing roots?” He asks.
Stiles eyes widen, the foggy mist of surprise clearing when Stiles lifts. “You
must think you are hilarious.” He says, sarcastically.
Derek rests his weight against a mahogany edge. “Why were you hiding?”
“Huh, have you noticed the human sized octopus wandering around?” Stiles asks,
thumb pointing back towards the cabin’s entrance. “Anyone sanewould be hiding.”
Derek ponders the answer for a little bit. “Would make sense, I guess, were
this your first day. Surely it wouldn’t be due to the mess a certain someone
made of my charts. They kind look like a bad school assignment. Someone must’ve
had terrible grades at manual arts.” Derek says with a smirk.
“You’re joking.” Stiles deadpans, taken aback.
“Don’t take me wrong, I was pretty mad when I saw there. Ripping your throat
out with my teeth sparked my thought.” Derek says, resting a hand on the
charts, fear tickling his nose and a gulp echoing in his ears. “Off course,
then I realized what exactly you had done – quite ingenious.”
“What exactly are they?” Stiles asks, curiosity lacing his tone.
 “I take it you haven’t seen all six frames.” Derek guesses, words met with a
blank stare. “The drawings carved in the masts.”
“A Lycan leaves his planet on a human cruise, along with its fortune.”
“And I wonder what happens next.” Derek ponders.
Stiles’ eyes lit as realization washes over him. “The treasure was hidden.”
“The key to its location divided.” Derek continues.
“A treasure map kept within a puzzle.” Stiles finishes.
“A puzzle you finally made sense of.” Derek reveals. “I guess I should thank
you. Next time, just be sure I want my property teared to pieces before you,
well, tear it.”
“No problem.” Stiles assures. “We’re celebrating, then.” He guesses, swinging
awkwardly in his feet, head tilting towards a bottle of rosy color, resting on
a coaster. 
“I take it you have tasted alcohol before.” Derek asks with the quirk of an
eyebrow.
A red shade flushes through Stiles’ cheeks. “Nope, can’t say that I have.
Underage.” He explains, pointing towards himself. “Dad’s a sheriff. And, oh,
right, alcohol is so expensive that if I were to steal a bottle of it out of
the Whittemore’s or the Martin’s winery, I would be in for so long I would
plead the death sentence.”
“So, this will be a novelty for you.” Derek notes, pouring the bottle’s content
into a crystal glass he takes off a cabinet, the coldness of the drink misting
its facade.
“Like everything aboard this ship has.”
Derek takes a slow gulp out of the drink, watching as Stiles eagerly closes and
opens his left hand into a fist with barely contained anticipation.
Approaching Stiles, Derek tilts his head back, his eyes looking up at him
expectantly and with untamable curiosity as Derek grazes a finger over Stiles’
soft, pink and perfectly shaped bottom lip, opening his mouth and pouring the
liquid in through a kiss that warms his inside, which is quite puzzling.
Lycans are immune to alcohol, although there is a rather tasteful stream of
wolfsbane that produces in them the same jolly effect.
Stiles crunches his face in a grimace at first, looking about to spit the
drink.
“Let it marinate.” Derek whispers in his ear, caressing Stiles’ jaw with the
tips of his fingers. “Let it wash over your taste buds, let them get accustomed
to its palate.” And over the sound of Derek’s words, Stiles’ stance relaxes.
“You can taste it now, the mellow sweetness of its fruit as well as the bubbly
sting of alcohol, can’t you?”
Stiles nods just the slightest.
Derek slides his tongue between the softness of Stiles’ lips, tilting Stiles’
head forward and stealing a bit of the rosy nectar from within Stiles’ mouth,
swallowing the liquid and, gently rubbing Stiles’ throat. “You can swallow
now.” He whispers, lips ghosting over his.
Stiles gulps, coughing. “It burns on its way down like a bitch!” He complains
with yet more coughing. “Although now it’s warming through my insides in a
pleasant way. It reminds me of…” And his words die in his mouth, Derek guessing
what they could possibly be by the spicy scent of arousal burning in his
nostrils.
“How did you like it?” Derek whispers, leaning forward.
“It was not unpleasant. I guess it takes some getting used to.” Stiles answers
with nonchalance.
“I have another thing for you to taste.” Derek tells him, grabbing Stiles’ hand
by the wrist and grazing his fingers through Derek’s breeches, through the
bulge hidden behind black leather, cock already so hard, it’s insane.
There’s a blip in Stiles’ heart before he’s on his knees without Derek needing
to utter out a single word.
“Then give it to me, my palate is feeling greedy today.” He smirks.
Derek pushes his leather breeches down, Stiles taking Derek’s cock into his
mouth, that eager, witty, sarcastic and knowledge thirsty mouth, between his
lips, pink and full, perfect for kissing to nibble, sliding them up and down
the length of Derek’s cock, sucking.Beautiful are those lips, quite like Stiles
himself.
The kind you write odes about.
The kind of odes that blossom between your lips in a pleasureful moan, that
blissfully tilt your head backwards, that fluster your eyes and shiver your
knees.
Derek brushes his hand through the buzz of Stiles’ hair, curling his fingers
around his skull. “Tap if you need me to stop.” He voices, raw, pushing Stiles’
head further in to take all of his length, to choke around Derek’s cock, chokes
rumbling through him like the waves of pleasure wash over him, tuned to the
phases of a pair of lips.
Derek eases his grip when Stiles’ head when he taps, pulling back to cough and
pant for air, taking only a few loafs of air before dipping back in, slicking
Derek’s cock with spit, a string of spit spilling down his throat and into the
tapestry, Stiles tongue restless as it always his, peeking out of Stiles’ mouth
or licking at his lips, making Derek feel like his legs are about to pass out
any second, as is he, from how good it all feels.
Oh, it feels so, so good…
He’s cumming before he even realizes it, a whine dying in his throat, sounding
more like a beastly growl than a human hum, spilling inside Stiles who swallows
his cum until the last drop as if it is the most delicious of nectars.
Derek drops his hand, a shuddering breath escaping him as spasms still course
through.
Stiles lazily licks his cock, lips grazing through yet too sensitive skin and
Derek grabs him by the shoulder, the texture of the raggedy fabric below his
fingertips somehow feeling strange in the midst of present events – impersonal.
“You did good.” Derek tells him, kissing Stiles languidly and without much
thought, the salty flavor of Derek’s own spunk assaulting him amidst the sweet
aroma of the wine shared just minutes ago and he can’t quite bring himself to
care.
“You tasted good.” Stiles smiles in return.
 
===============================================================================
 
Derek wakes to rustling beside him, Stiles no longer by his side.
“Stay.” He says, laying a gentle hand in Stiles’ waist, fingers grazing through
his skin, surprised by the honesty held within his words, by how they are a
request instead of an order. As a captain he has found giving orders is so much
easier, his commands always carried through. 
Requests can always be denied.
“You can make me company for breakfast. I might be in mood of a snack later.”
He tries to disguise.
“I’m curious.” Stiles tells him and Derek takes it as a concession.
“Aren’t you always?”
A smile tilts the corner of Stiles’ lip. “I think better while walking, don’t
worry, I ain’t going anywhere, no need to get too alarmed, insecure wolf.”
Derek grunts, laying his head along his arm, lying in the bed he made for
himself. “Be my guest.”
“Hostage.” Stiles corrects. “And thank you.”
The bed tilts to the side as Stiles lifts his weight out of the mattress,
standing up and wrapping a towel around his hip.
“I’ve seen without clothes, you know? Don’t need to get modest now.” Derek
says, words carrying more truth than Stiles himself realizes, by the way his
cheeks flush just the tinniest bit in a both awkward and sexy, much like Stiles
himself.
Derek lays his head across his hand, turning sideways in the bed, his frame
completely bare to Stiles’ eyes, his cock falling across his thighs.
Stiles’ eyes narrow. “I know. It’s distracting.” He says plainly, pacing across
the room, kind of wobbling in his stance, towel hanging precariously from his
hips.
Awkward and sexy.
“What spikes your curiosity?” Derek asks, himself growing intrigued.
“The whole universe is charted.” He says with a lifted finger.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Pirates, old pirates, from the old days, they used maps because oceans were
mainly undiscovered and they would have no way to know where they kept their
treasures otherwise.”
“True.”
“Your ancestor, Peter Hale, was quite an ingenious man, with the turning the
charts into a puzzle, so I guess he wouldn’t do something so cliché as to mark
the treasure’s lying ground with a cross. Not in such a simple way, anyway.
Besides, then you would only need the part of the map with the cross. Old map
with a cross? It would be the chatter of the universe.”
“Right again, though most people would call my great times something uncle a
mad man.” Derek clarifies.
“Aren’t all geniuses?” Stiles asks with a grin.
 “Indeed they are.” And a pointy tongue his all too ready to greet him.
“So you need all pieces of the puzzle, assembled in the correct way. Only then
would you be able to read it, to take a peek inside, to find what it reveals.”
“I’m so happy you wandered into my ship.” Derek chuckles. Seeing how Stiles
mind goes, even if Derek is witnessing but a glimpse, is truly mesmerizing.
“I know. Your life would be but dark clouds without my sunny presence.”
“No clouds in the outer space, though. Guess I don’t need you after all.”
“Bummer.” Stiles says with a shrug. “You have it, don’t you?” He asks, eyes
sparkling, brows wiggling.
“I do.” Derek concedes.
“Show me.”
“Find it.” Derek dares him, encompassing his cabin with the uplift of an arm.
“Challenge accepted.” Stiles nods with a grin. “So, you aren’t so cliché as to
hide whatever it is in a vault behind the bookshelves, or you would more
strongly oppose of me snooping around. Combine that with the fear and adore
mething you have going on and… No way!” Stiles exclaims. “You really are a smug
asshole.”
“Who’s resorting to insults?” Derek points out.
“How do you open it?” Stiles asks, ignoring him, fingers restless, eager to lay
a touch on the marble surface of Derek’s bust.
“Smug assholes don’t tell their secrets.” Derek reminds him with a smirk.
Stiles turns around and grunts. “Really?” He asks.
Derek simply looks around.
“Whatever, I’ll open it by myself.” And, clear as clockwork, after a while of
Stiles carefully grazing his fingers through cold marble, hands shaking and
heart thundering, he finds the lever, the bust of Derek’s features parting in
two and revealing a glowing blue prism. “A scanner.” Stiles whispers, voice
bursting with wonder.
“An holographic scanner and emitter, to be more precise.” Derek reveals,
whispering in Stiles’ ear, heart skipping just a bit as Stiles holds in a
startled breath. Derek lays his hands just above Stiles’ waist, releasing him
from his towel. “I trust you not to tell anyone.” He says, kissing his neck.
“Off course, I want to know to where it leads.” Stiles tells him, tilting his
head back, allowing Derek to reach his lips for a kiss, his hand playing with
the distracting patch of hair leading down towards Stiles’ cock, a path Derek
plans to nuzzle with the tip of his nose.
“Let’s go back to bed. Breakfast is almost coming but I’m in the mood for a
snack.”
“What are we waiting for, then?” Stiles asks, turning around and pushing Derek
unto the bed, both of them falling into the soft mattress.
A laugh echoes out from Derek’s throat.
Things with Stiles are just so easy. 
***** Chapter 5 *****
Stiles regards his reflection with curiosity, a golden frame adorned with
intricate floral patterns showcasing his attire – a red waistcoat over a bright
yellow shirt, a pair of velvet breeches in an exuberant purple shade, held by a
simple belt, cover a pair of light blue stockings leading to a pair of brown
shoes decorated with golden buckles and green laces.
A tremble signaling their descent into Kerwan shakes the cabin, threatening
Stiles’ balance and rattling the chandelier above him.
Stiles quickly approaches the window and presses his features against the cool
glass, looking over Metropolis, the majestic city dawning in the horizon with
skyscrapers high as mountains, painted in a variety of bright metallic colors
gleaming in the sunlight, no layer of smoke hovering its skies like a bad omen.
Looking down at the docks, Stiles witnesses a few elements of the crew sliding
through lengths of rope and anchoring the ship. The low rumble of the engines
subsides, vessel left hovering over a magnetic field, the ground below nothing
but a hazy blur.
Derek opens the door in the same pirate attire from when they first met,
unannounced. “Oh, I see you’re ready. I was hoping I could be of some
assistance.”
“I can imagine.” Stiles says, looking down at his outfit. “How does it suit
me?” He asks, unsure.
“Spin for me.” Derek requests with the twirl of a finger, steeping inside the
cabin and closing the door behind him.
After a twirl that leaves him feeling slightly ridiculous, Derek is but a few
inches away.
“The attire suits you in ways that are giving me the urge to postpone our
little stroll to Metropolis.” Derek tells him, brushing his palms through the
fabric of the closely fitted waistcoat and hooking his fingers around the belt.
“May I ask why you look like a clown?”
Stiles slaps Derek’s chest. “You really are a jerk! I’ve made research, mind
you! This is a style of pirate wear worn by the Motley Crew, consisting of
bright, mis matched colors.” He informs with a proud smile.
“Then I’m sorry to inform you we are not in the middle ages.”
Stiles chuckles. “That’s precious, Derek.” He says with a disbelieving nod,
covering his smile with a free hand. “Almost all your crewmen wear colors under
the Elizabethan Sumptuary Laws. You yourself are a giant fuck you sign to the
late departed Queen.”
“I don't know what you're referring to.” Derek says, eyes roaming around the
cabin and Stiles would dare say his cheeks look a little rosy.
Oh, he’ll milk this.
“The old vessel, the sumptuous yet old fashioned furniture, the pirate wear.
Admit it, Derek, you are a pirate buff. I have seen your holovid collection. I
actually quite admire it. You have nothing you need to be ashamed of, you big
pirate geek. Embrace the nerd within you!” Stiles declares with a lift of his
glorious fist.
Derek grunts like he regrets all his life choices, sinking his fingers in
Stiles’ ass and roughly pressing his lips against Stiles’, more teeth than
anything else.
He has so won this argument.
After a light nibble, Derek pushes his tongue between Stiles’ swollen lips,
their mouths closing with a clack that echoes in the small cabin, rocking their
crotches together. Stiles moans, feeling the hardness of Derek’s length sliding
along his own and chases the heavenly friction with a jerk of his hips.
Derek steps back, breaking the kiss and Stiles staggers forward, losing his
balance for a bit. “As much as I enjoy this, it seems you would like exploring
the city so much more. Well, Stiles, your wishes are my command.”
“Come back here and fuck me, Captain Asshole.” Stiles orders, smashing his lips
with Derek’s, drawn in a cocky smirk.
“Your wish is my command.” Derek says smugly between a kiss, his hat flying
across the cabin and hitting the armchair with a thud.
Metropolis can wait half an hour.
 
===============================================================================
 
Stiles walks wide eyed through the busy streets of Metropolis, unable to
prevent his eyes from wandering across the crowd, lingering on a set of four
arms, flickering on a lone eye, staring shamelessly at a horn sticking from a
forehead, curiously peering at a pair of claw shaped hands. Some of the
metropolitans even look animal like, others seeming plain bizarre.
The lifestyle in Metropolis seems to be equally diverse, from people rushing
towards work with a quick pace, a walk that always carries a sense of
inevitable doom, of resigned defeat, to playful jogging, to carefree chatter,
the air buzzing with topics as wide as who won the Intergalactic Cup last night
to whom will be the next heir of Argent Force, the loyal daughter or the
prodigal son.
Merchants in trailers or sitting in mats sprawled across the pristine white
flooring sell their merchandize by big commercial enterprises.
Flying cars and hover crafts fly silently beside buildings reaching far up into
the sky, even though the platform Stiles stands in is so high he feels dizzy
whenever he dares looking down.
It’s like being inside a candy store for the very first time.
And weighting on his conscience like a stolen treat is a gun tucked below
layers of clothing.
Stealing it from the weaponry cabinet under Greenberg’s nose had been risky in
the least, hiding the gun in a hideout he himself carved into the ship,
figuring Derek would know each and every hidden compartment in his nautical
dwelling, like tempting fate. Excusing himself just after dressing his pirate
attire for the second time that day to retrieve the weapon with a blatant
excuse of imminent bladder eruption just plain idiotic.  
All to discover Scott had gone with Isaac, Boyd and Erica in their quest to
gather and assemble parts for a “magnetic distabilizer”, whatever that was, the
rest of the crewman off to acquire provisions.
There went his escape plan.
At least Metropolis is proving itself interesting.
Soon enough, though, Stiles realizes his prying gazes are being met with weird
stares and crinkling noses. And Stiles doesn’t smell. He just checked, whiffing
his arm pits and feeling slightly ridiculous doing so.
“Why is everyone looking at us?” Stiles asks, confusion tainting his tone,
being greeted by a pair of pointy ears, sideburns framing Derek’s features and
sharp fangs peeking over his bottom lip, glinting in the bright sunlight. “Why
are you half wolfed out?”
“They are not looking at me.” Derek says like he holds a secret and he’s smug
about it.
No way. “You are a pirate. You loot and take hostages and are a general
asshole. I’m just a harmless human.” Stiles deadpans, hands moving around
frantically.
“Oh, Stiles, we both know you are anything but harmless. Wit can be deadly.”
Derek says with a grin and a wiggle of his eyebrow. “And you’re human.” He
adds, like the thought had just occurred to him.
“When did humans ever hurt anyone?” Stiles asks.
“Perhaps you should ask my family tree.” Derek tells him and Stiles can hear
the hint of sorrow buried below a teasing smirk.
“I see your point.” Stiles agrees with a nod, stomach in a turmoil.
“Also, your planet was quite something, you know? Earth was the jewel of your
solar system, the once glorious and majestic blue marble, now nothing more than
an orbiting speck of dust, a shadow of its former glory. Species from much more
inhospitable planets feel a little resentful.” Derek reveals.
“Well, there must be someone who messed up worst than we did.” Stiles tries
with a shrug.
Derek ponders for a bit. “Blargs and Cragmites, bloody nasty creatures.”
“Awesome. We’re hovering above rock bottom. You really know how to cheer a guy
up, Derek.” Stiles praises Derek’s efforts sarcastically, with an eye roll.
Derek bumps his arm with Stiles’. “C’mon mate, there’s no time to fret. We have
a museum to be welcomed to and a chart piece to borrow.” He says, dragging
Stiles along.
“I think you mean loot.” Stiles corrects, lips tilting up and shaking his head.
“You cheered me up with the promise of pillaging a beacon of historical
knowledge. You are lucky I am so easily pleased.”
“Let’s not give you all the credit, shall we? I happen to be quite adept at
pleasing. You certainly seemed to enjoy my skills, if your pleasurable moans
muffled in silky bed sheets are anything to go by. Or perhaps I shall remind
you tonight, make you beg for it.” Derek offers, voice turning into a rasp
whisper, charged with a heavy layer of seduction.
Stiles’ dick twitches and the muscles of his rims clench at the mere memory of
Derek rocking into him, a heat gathering in his belly and taking refuge in his
cheeks, Derek’s mouth opening in an irritating smug grin.
Damn werewolf senses.
“We’re here.” He announces once they come to a halt by the Metropolis Museum, a
building historical in architecture, hosting a privatehistorical exhibition.
“How do you propose you get in?” Stiles asks, motioning to the cat like
security troops.
“I guess we could sneak in, but there’s a chance we could get caught.” Derek
rubs a hand over his chiseled jaw, thoughtfully. “There’s also the option of
kicking our way in, of course then we would most find ourselves in very
delicate position. I, being a Lycan, would heal. You, my friend, would not. So
I guess that’s also a no, since I seem to find pleasure in your company.”
“Yeah, and I very much enjoy being alive, thank you. Do you have any more
bright ideas?” Stiles asks, voice heavy with sarcasm.
 “I guess we could use this.” He offers, fishing a pair of tickets from a
pocket of his waistcoat. “I mean, this is how people get in on these kinds of
events, is it not?”
“Asshole.” Stiles accuses, yanking a ticket from Derek’s grasp. “How did you
get these, anyway?”
“I borrowed them from a man of considerate wealth.” Derek tells him.
“I think you mean stole.” Stiles corrects.
Derek shrugs. “Oh, of course, where are my manners? I stole the lovely things
after leaving their previous owner in a quite pitiful state, disposing him of
all his precious belongings.” He offers. “Care to follow me inside or would you
like to keep debating semantics?” Derek asks, offering Stiles an arm.
“Lead the way.”
“With pleasure.” Derek says with a smirk and a wink.
Stiles shakes his head with a chuckle. “Take it easy, Romeo.” He tells Derek,
handing his ticket to the guard and stepping inside the Metropolitan Museum.
“Having sex in a semi secluded corner of the museum would be incredibly tacky
and incredibly risky. We should try it some time.” Stiles says, grazing his
hand over Derek’s crotch and feeling the pirate’s dick half hard under the
breeches, letting go of his arm to freely roam around the museum.
A smirk tilts his lips when Derek groans.
“I guess you would love if there weren’t other people around right now.” Stiles
whispers, knowing all too well Derek can listen, turning over a corner.
“I’ll take care of you tonight.” Derek tells him with a raspy voice and
darkening eyes, laying a hand possessively on Stiles’ waist, suddenly behind
him, but letting him lead the march.
Thoughts of Derek, sexy times and the chart dim away as Stiles’ attention is
drawn to the historical pieces on display, roaming throughout the exhibition as
his eyes wander around, taking in a giant fossil of a dinosaur reaching far up
into the high ceiling, a model reconstruction of the Robot Invasion of
Metropolis, a bronze sculpture of Captain Starshield and, kept under a glass
covering, the missing chart of Peter Hale’s treasure.
“I trust you remember what shall be done.” Derek says.
“Yes, Captain Bossy Pants, don’t worry.” Stiles reassures, words met with an
inquiring pair of brows. He sighs. “You distract the guard, which I have no
idea if it is a male or a female troop lurking beneath so much fur…” Derek
coughs. “Right, hum, I find my way towards the control panel, taking advantage
of the cameras’ blind spots. I pick my way in and disable digital surveillance.
I got this, Derek. We went over this a million times. “
“You can’t blame an old pirate for being overzealous.” Derek teases.
Stiles slaps him in the arm. “You know very well I don’t like it when you refer
to yourself as an old pirate, it weirds me out.”
“I know. Now I’m off to flirt with the guard. Try not to be jealous.” Derek
tells him, smug.
“I would never.” Stiles argues, Derek already walking towards his target.
“Your heart speaks differently.” Derek says and how he manages to say something
so corny with a mocking smirk makes Stiles grunt in frustration.
Damn Werewolf senses. 
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     I probably over did it with the innuendos, opps. And there will be
     sex next chapter, yeyy. Also, here is a Cazar, if you need visuals.
Approaching the female Cazar, Derek tries not to think about how much she
reminds him of her. “Hi.” He says, making his most charming smile.
“How original...” Stiles mocks dryly through the inter com.
“Hi.” She says back, a shy smile drawing on her lips as she faces him.
“I can’t believe she fell for that.” Stiles snickers and Derek pictures him
slapping his face and shaking his head in disapproval.
 “I’m a pirate fan, which you can probably tell from my attire.” He motions to
himself.
Stiles snorts. “That’s not all she can tell from your attire, if you catch my
drift.”
 She chuckles. “And a really committed one, I can see.”  She says with an
approving nod, eyes lingering on his frame. “Our pirate exhibition is next
month, by the way.”
“I’ll be delighted to attend.” Derek says, words laced with a thick layer of
seduction, succeeding in his attempts to charm her, if the love struck look he
gets is of any indication.
“I’m going to hurl.” Stiles grunts, feigning gagging noises.
“And I’ve noticed you have one of the legendary long lost charts of Lycan Peter
Hale. I mean, until now I thought they were just rumors, you know?  Like the
story of the antique ship he stole from earth.”
“They say he restored it and technologically upgraded it.” The Cazar shakes her
head. “People will believe anything.”
“I know. Sometimes it’s almost sad.” Derek agrees.
“Tell me about it.” Stiles says in a overdramatic tune, like he’s physically
hurting.
“I wonder if you could tell me a bit more about the chart and Peter himself, if
you can spare me the time.” Derek offers.
“Of course.” She utters out without much thought, embarrassment soon assaulting
Derek’s nostrils. “I mean… I can be of assistance.”
“This sounds like the intro to a bad porno.” Stiles notes.
“And assist you will.” Derek agrees, leading her towards the glass covered
chart, a smirk dawning on his lips as Stiles’ footsteps dim in the distance,
choking on thin air.
“Well, as you know, these matters are always surrounded by wild speculation.
However, since the chart was found on a recent dig site right here in
Metropolis, I guess some of tales must be true.” She says, their shoulders
brushing slightly together.
“How dull would be the world without a bit of wild speculation?” Derek
inquires, eyebrows waggling and he notices a shade of red dying her cheeks even
over the soft fur covering her features. 
“You can give me blue balls later, Derek. Now, let her tell the story.” Stiles
shushes him.
“I guess you’re right.” She nods, lowering her eyes and cleaning her throat.
“Well, where was I?”
“Awesome, she’s more easily distracted than I am and you can’t sex me up right
now. You’re the worst.” Stiles complains and Derek is starting to realize that
perhaps using com units was not such a good idea.
“Oh, I remember.” The Cazar exclaims and Derek can feel Stiles holding his
breath in anticipation, even over the com. “Historians documented that after
one too many foul encounters with the humans, Peter was left in a pretty bad
shape and simply vanished. However, this new finding seems to confirm some of
the rumors.”
“What rumors?” Derek asks with a lift of an eyebrow, a question Stiles echoes.
“Many years ago there were stories told about howls heard every full moon.
Children would cry. Grown man would shiver upon hearing howls filled with
sorrow and despair for his fallen kind the skies themselves would weep.” She
says, tone growing of intensity, like she’s telling a simple story.
Derek closes a fist and Stiles is oddly quiet.
“Well, half truth, half lie sounds about right. Thank you.” Derek nods his
regards, trying his best to keep a pleasant and flirtatious facade. “Perhaps we
could arrange a meeting when I return for the pirate exhibition.” He says.
She takes a card out of her pocket and hands it to Derek. “Perhaps I’ll have
the day off.”
“It would be a pleasure.” Derek nods, eyes glancing from the female figure
walking away to rest on the map piece, his palm touching the cool glass
surface, the chart so close to his grasp he can almost feel the harsh texture
of old musk paper between his fingers.
He has been looking for so long it seems surreal to finally stand so close,
like a dream.
“I think you earned a you’re trying too hardmedal for that over the top
performance. Pity I left them at home.” Stiles says with a fake sadness to his
tone, his voice somehow tethering Derek.
“Perhaps next time you’ll do the seduction.” He whispers mockingly.
“Hey, I can seduce! And you seem like a possessive type of guy, so I’ll prove
you wrong and I’ll get hot jealous sex – a double win for team Stilinski.”
Stiles says, fist cutting the air.
“Don’t push me.” Derek says, both a threat and a promise, smirking.
“Shit.” Stiles mutters and Derek is suddenly alert.
“What is it?” He mutters too loud, some people staring at him like he’s a mad
man, which he figures it’s exactly the picture his painting by apparently
talking with himself.
“Awesome, you probably attracted everyone’s attention.” Stiles complains with a
huff, rustling coming from across the com. “Now people think you’re talking to
yourself like a lunatic, which, werewolf pun.”
Derek scratches his ear.
“Okay, okay, keep your pants on, for now. I think the Metropolitan Museum
upgraded their security system – bummer. You should acquire better informants.”
Fuck.
Derek looks around, eyes wandering from the people admiring the historical
pieces, some still side eyeing him, to the guard, lustful pair of eyes still
lingering on Derek, smiling and waving as she catches his gaze.
Fuck.
They need a distraction.
“We need a distraction.” Says Stiles and Derek snorts. “I’m going to cut a
wire. Rustle if you hear me.” He tells him and as soon as Derek goes to scratch
his ear yet again, feeling slightly dog like doing so, Stiles speaks.
“Actually, don’t. Oh, and another thing – your plan sucks.”
A deafening screech floods his senses.
“Aren’t you going to wish me good luck for my departure, hopefully finding no
security along the way?” Stiles asks.
Derek snorts as people around him wince at the sudden loud noise, being
escorted by the security lady towards the exit. “I’m sure you’ll rise to the
occasion. You’re certainly able to both annoy and outsmart anyone.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Stiles tells him, shameless of the pride in
his voice.
Derek chuckles and shakes his head, a fondness curling comfortably in his
stomach.
“You should come with us.” The guard tells him, laying a hand on his shoulder,
shouting over the alarm, her arm around a man hurt during the sudden turmoil.
“Maybe I should help your colleagues. In this commotion, they’ll probably need
all the muscle available.” Derek tries with a charming smile.
Her heart falters, eyes flickering down. “Okay. Be careful and good luck.” And
then she’s gone.
“Let me guess. You fluttered your eyelashes.” Stiles mocks.
“Shut up.” Derek mutters, refusing to let his cheeks redden.
Approaching the glass covering, Derek takes a deep breath, bracing himself for
the myriad of sensations washing over him, an itch in his fingers he can’t
scratch away, anticipation pounding in his heart, excitement blurring the
corners of his eyes, a sense of impending doom dancing in the outskirts of his
mind, taunting him, sudden triumph feeling like a velvet rug threatening to be
pulled from beneath his feet at any moment.
Well, this is Derek’s song and he’ll dance to it time and time again.
He rests his palms against the cool glass covering, a weight lifting from his
shoulders, letting gravity play its part, glass shattering with a muffled thud
when reaching the carpet flooring. “We won’t need such royalties.” He says,
missing Stiles’ voice.
A chuckled laugh comes through the com and a smile pulls at the edges of
Derek’s lips. “You’re such a drama queen.” Stiles accuses.
“Distracts me from the approaching footsteps.” Derek informs with a careless
shrug, alarm silencing as he sneaks the carefully curled chart in a pocket
under his long black coat.
“Then get out of there, you dumbass.” Stiles hurries him.
“Who died and made you captain?” Derek asks dryly and Stiles makes an offended
squawk.
“Sorry for caring.” Stiles tells him, mockingly resentful.
“Turn slowly.” A voice orders from behind.
“Oops, I guess it’s too late.” Stiles says, echoing his own thoughts.
Derek turns, saluting them with a lift of his hat and a small curve of his
back.
“Return the chart right now or we will shoot.” One of them orders, voice
steady, finger tight and firm around the trigger.
Derek smirks. “Well, I could do that, but you lack proper firepower. I guess
budget cuts left out wolfsbane bullets. A shame, really.”
“You are antagonizing the guys with guns. And I don’t know if I admire your
guts or pity your stupidity. I’m supposed to be the reckless one, you know?”
Stiles says, like it’s a competition and it probably is.  
“We can still incapacitate you.” He threatens.
“I wasn’t aware it was a competition.” He tells both of them.
“The good sir makes a terrific point and you lose on both accounts.” Stiles
tells him, and which side is he on?
Derek silently nods, figuring he is right but refusing to grant him such joy.
“Well it has been a pleasure.” He says with another lift of his hat, dashing
through a corridor.
“After him!” The guard orders, gunfire raining down on him as they chase him
through the hallways framed by valuable relics.
“Apparently you stole their centerpiece.” Stiles offers his always useful
commentary.
“Well, it’s been my long lost heirloom for longer.” Derek retorts.
“Aren’t you too old for calling dibs?” Stiles jokes.
“I’m not too old to spank your ass.” Derek growls, voice smoky and turning left
as a bullet buzzes right near his hear.
Stiles coughs, surprised, and Derek can almost smell the spicy scent of
arousal, a deliciously warm rosy shade taking comfort in his cheeks. “We could
try that, some time, since I’m expecting a thank you for making you memorize
the plants of the building in case something went wrong, which it did, or for
sparing your poor little fangs and claws from an overblown escape performance.”
He teases.
Derek smirks. “I’ll think about that. Besides, a show never hurt anyone.” He
says, propelling his body forward just in time.
“You’re not –”
Derek closes his fist in a punch, impact muffling Stiles’ reply, the drywall
turning to bits and pieces beneath his raw strength, body curling as he lands
on his hands and somersaults back up with a slight pull of his palms, landing
on his feet.
“Yes, Stiles, I’m going to punch through the wall.” He smirks, smug, brushing
dust off his coat and picking up his fallen hat.
Stiles simply gapes at him, incredulous.
“I thought you were in a hurry.” Derek says, waving forward.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yes, we are. Let’s go, showoff.”And then they start
running, guards soon hot on their tails and refraining from firing as Derek and
Stiles merge with the crowd.
“You’re probably wishing for real back up right about now.” Stiles says, voice
faltering when he bumps with a pedestrian, who flips them the finger between
unpleasant words.
“I was going to apologize before realizing you are an asshole, so fuck you!”
Stiles wheezes back over his shoulder.
“And ruin our romantic outing?” Derek asks, brows shooting up and a smile
threatening to disrupt the thin line of his lips.
Stiles chuckles. “If robbery and pursuit are your ideas of a date, I’m never
coming out with you ever again.” He teases.
“I prefer staying in and stretching you wide anyway, having you lying on my bed
as I rock hard onto your ass.” Derek smirks and Stiles almost falls, gagging on
thin air, legs tangling and feet stumbling in each other, his smirk turning in
a mocking grin as arousal hits his nostrils like a high speed train, dick
growing hard under his garments.
Derek focuses on the run, on the steady pace of his heart.
“You’re such an asshole.” Stiles accuses, regaining his balance.
“I would be an asshole if I were to take you right now, to fuck you in front of
all these people, to leave you panting and whimpering from the expert twist and
turn of my fingers, a much more pleasurable activity than running for your
life. If I were to behave in such a way, then I would be an asshole.” Derek
says, voice hoarse from reasons unrelated to physical fatigue.
Stiles stumbles again, Derek holding him up with a tight grip around his arm.
“Don’t say things like that!” He shouts, a vein form his neck popping out,
inviting.
“I was merely trying to convey a point.” Derek clarifies, pulling Stiles along
until he’s running again, sparing the guards a few feet behind a look over his
shoulder.
“I always thought after having sex things wouldn’t feel like this anymore, like
I’m still a virginal teenager jacking off three times a day in order to avoid a
very agonizing death from frustration of a sexual nature every time a short
skirt or a tight shirt springs my attention.” Stiles reveals in way of
confession and, eyes lingering on the spots where the fabric of his light
yellow shirt clings to the sweat of Stiles’ skin, Derek and the uncomfortable
bulge in his breeches agree with him.
“Maybe it’s the rush of a dangerous chase, the excitement of a mission.” Stiles
wonders.
“Maybe I’m just that good.” Derek offers with a wink.
Stiles slaps him in the shoulder.
They pass a food truck, Stiles stealing a local delicacy from an unsuspecting
pedestrian, taking a big bite and moaning at the tastes of fried oil and
spices, Derek’s eyes following the way his tongue swipes slowly along his
bottom lip. “Stop looking at me with your pair of judgmental eyes! Exercise
makes me hungry.”
“I’ve noticed. You eat like a starved man every time –” Derek lets his words
trail off wander off when Stiles narrows his eyes. Derek tilts his eyebrows up
and down anyway, for good measure and Stiles rolls his eyes, letting the napkin
fall uselessly on the ground as he takes a final bite.
 “Finally!” Stiles shouts to the skies, like his prayers have been answered as
soon as they reach the docks. “My legs are burning, man. I think the moment we
reach the ship I won’t get up for a week.”
“As long as you choose my cabin for your housing needs, fine by me.” Derek says
with a smirk and not a single drop of sweat, unlike Stiles.
“Metropolis PD!” A Cazar warns ahead, gun aiming at them. “Stop right now.”
“We’re not surrendering, are we?” Stiles whispers, sparing a moment of rest as
he curves down, laying his hands on his knees as he takes a deep breath of
fresh air, wheezing.
Derek closes his hand over Stiles’, drawing his reply with a finger. “Catch us
if you can.” He challenges, dragging Stiles along a row of crates, a gunshot
muffling his carefree laugh, birds nesting nearby fearfully screeching and
scurrying away.
“You’ll get us both killed.” Stiles chuckles, sounding all but upset. “Well,
you’ll get me killed. You’ll probably just be arrested.”
Derek makes a quick turn left, sensing a set of three footsteps approaching
from the right.
“Normally people are a bit more wary of their final breath.”
“Are you kidding me? I’ll never regret this. I got to live an adventure. I
planned a freaking heist, I robbed a museum, I’m running for my fucking life, I
deciphered an hundred years old enigma, a riddle hidden in a map which was
really a puzzle. And most of all, I’m not dying a virgin, can’t forget about
that.” Stiles tells him.
“I will never forget about that.” Derek says with a crooked smile, reflected in
Stiles’ lips. “Let’s just not end the list there. There are still some very
dirty things I would like to do to you.”
“You won’t hear any complaints from me.” Stiles declares, tightening his hold
on Derek’s hand.
And then he takes a gun from a holster concealed beneath his coat, shooting
towards a crate, surprised yelps being carried through the air as they turn
right towards the ship, Derek able to hear the sound of the thruster coils
already working, their roar like a beacon.
Derek hears footsteps approaching from the right, something odd about them,
sounding too high. It almost seems like they are running past the wooden
crates, above ground level.
As if –
“Ugh.” Derek grunts, a loaf of air being pushed out of his lungs as he’s
tackled down before even sparing a look up, fingers unraveling from Stiles’ as
they both tumble around across the gravel, weapon tinkling way from his
grasp.  
Derek is soon back on his feet, finding himself standing on the opposite side
of a barrel and growls menacingly, feeling his eyes turn a looming shade of
red, nails turning into claws, the ground trembling below his feet.
Stiles raises up ungracefully a few seconds later.
The Cazar is unstirred by his wordless threats, smirking. “You’re not going
anywhere.” He declares, firing into the gravel ground as Stiles takes a step
towards the fallen gun, a bright blue glow shining among the smoke coming from
the recently carved dent, the smell of wolfsbane immediately burning Derek’s
nostrils, flaming his throat and watering his eyes.
“Okay, kitten, no funny business, got it.” Stiles says, holding up his hands in
surrender and presenting the Cazar with two thumbs up, letting out a nervous
chuckle, and scratching the back of his neck nervously.
“Don’t call me kitten, bald ape.” The cop mutters.
“You’re surrounded.” Another Cazar says, a set of footsteps reaching its wake
behind them.
“Where is the rest of the welcome party?” Stiles asks, looking from a Czar to
the other, clapping his hands together like this is a mere social meeting.
The Cazares ignore him, keeping their sights locked on Derek.
Derek arches a brow, or he would if he presently had any. “They’ll be here
sporting gifts in a moment.” He says dryly, knowing by now how foolish it is to
disregard Stiles’ random and slightly ludicrous thoughts.
“How nice of them.” Stiles coos, hand quickly reaching below his waistcoat, the
handle of a weapon of modest size peeking through the purple breeches.
“Unfortunately, we are in a bit of a hurry.”
And before Derek has any time to feel angry, surprised, alarmed or betrayed,
he’s covering Stiles as he shoots both Czars, feeling two gunshots firing
through his expensive attire and burning their way through him, painful howls
tearing the peaceful sky.
“Shit, Derek.” Derek hears Stiles utter out, a hint of worry underneath his
annoyed demeanor.
Derek ears are buzzing, his vision blurring, nose scenting nothing but the foul
smell of wolfsbane flaming its way through his body like a poison and
preventing him from properly healing, feeling Stiles’ muscled arm sliding below
his own and holding him tight, keeping him up and carrying him forward, Derek’s
feet stumbling upon each other before he realizes they are running.
His lazy gaze falls on Stiles, gun seemingly out of place in his long fingers.
“How?” Derek is able to ask, voice weak and low and he should feel vulnerable,
yet he doesn’t.
“Dad’s a sheriff, duh.” Stiles tells him, voice higher than usual.
Derek rolls his eyes, knowing Stiles knows well what he really means, but lets
it slide, tucking his curiosity with the anger and tingling sense of distrust
growing inside him.
“Turn left.” He tells Stiles, who follows his orders without question or second
thought, which eases Derek’s doubts.
They still have a common goal, it seems.
“Take a shot towards the next crate on the left and turn right.” He says and
Stiles promptly obeys, keeping the Cazares at bay and rushing towards their
vessel.
“Mine is bigger than yours.” Stiles teases, easing the tension.
“Let’s not go there.” Derek warns easily with a smirk, Mighty Wolf appearing
hovering in the distance. Perhaps wolfsbane has taken a tool on his better
judgment. “I have better practice.”
“Hey, that is totally debatable.” Stiles complains.
“We’ll see.” Derek offers. Stiles heartbeat fluttering and for a slight, feeble
moment, Derek forgets about the gun in Stiles’ hand.
“You’ll have to use those lazy legs of yours now, Derek. Can you do that for
me?” Stiles asks in a challenge, voice slightly trembling.
Derek chooses showing instead of telling and if Stiles yelps, wrapping his arm
tighter around him and muttering jerkunder his breath, Derek’s smirk only grows
wider.
Feet landing on the deck, Derek knows his betas will smell the poisonous scent
of wolfsbane, will see the holes tearing his garments and the weapon in between
Stiles’ fingers. It’s a shame there’s a ship that needs to be sailed preventing
that particularly dreaded conversation for the time being.
“Just keep it all in.” Derek tells them. “My captain’s duties await me.” He
says, glaring Finstock away from the wheel and taking his place behind it.
Gunfire rains on them, bullets ricocheting when reaching their shield. “Is the
magnetic distabilizer ready?” He asks.
“It’s ready, fully operational and in sync with Kerwan’s frequency.” Boyd tells
him.
“Then grab onto something mates, there’s a bloody bumpy atmosphere ahead.” He
shouts and lets all his worries wash away for the time being, taking the
handles and stirring the wheel.
 
===============================================================================
 
Derek opens the door to his cabin and steps inside, followed by half his crew.
“He’s holding a gun!” Isaac tells him indignantly, finger accusingly pointed at
Stiles.
“Oh, you’re right. I guess that is why both Stiles and I are alive and aboard
this wonderful vessel. I had been wondering.” Derek says dryly, setting his hat
aside, taking off his long coat, crimson waistcoat and his puffed sleeve shirt,
letting the shredded clothing fall on the wooden flooring, leaving him bare
from the waist up, Stiles’ heartbeat slightly fluttering at the sight. “Stiles,
hand your stolen gun to Master Finstock to stow away. Maybe that will give
mister Lahey some peace of mind. Also, Finstock, check if anything else is
missing. You can never be too careful these days, it seems.” He waves.
A heartbeat among his crew members picks up its pace, nervous.
“I’m on it, Captain.” Finstock nods, closing the door behind him.
“Now that we’ve discussed mine and Stiles outing, how was yours?” Derek asks,
sparing his betas a look while clearing his desk and gathering an oval bowl, a
knife and a dishcloth, setting them on top the rich mahogany wood.
“Oh, I found the most amazing video store. They have this high tech virtual
reality helmets with really realistic graphics played inside this gigantic
room, which is more of a maze really, where you can walk and explore freely.”
Isaac tells him enthusiastically.
“Okay, I’m feeling jealous right now.” Stiles admits. “I’m even more jealous
since we can never come back here again. Am I right?”
Derek looks over his shoulder and arches an eyebrow, Stiles nodding and
uttering a right. Derek rolls his eyes, starting to take out one of two bullets
nested inside his abdomen between grunts of pain, mild chatter and an
overwhelming stench of death.
“I bought a pair of dark heels, crimson stockings, black leather breeches and a
crimson corset. I’m thinking of changing my color scheme.” Erica informs with a
wolfish grin and Derek knows better than to ask why she just couldn’t use her
previous set.
 “I just sat in this really low key café shop, which had this really beautiful
view of the city, sipping tea from a gorgeous ceramic cup.” Boyd informs.
“I’m glad you all had such a great time.” Derek mutters, a metallic sound
echoing in the cabin as Derek takes a bullet. “Although I doubt the parts of
the magnetic distabilizer marched aboard and assembled themselves.”
A second bullet hits the ceramic bowl and Derek presses the dry cloth against
his wounds.
“Hum.” Scott starts, nervously, raising a hand. “I gathered the parts and we
met back at the ship to assemble them, together.”
Kneeling down, Derek takes an old wooden box with a triskelion engraving carved
on its surface, opening it and letting his sense of smell be his guide.
“Scott has a natural talent for handling machinery.” Isaac says, proudly.
“Yeah, my best friend is really skillful, the best among earthen kind.” Stiles
agrees, an arm around Scott shoulders, a bit of jealously masking his vanilla
and chestnut scent.
“Stiles!” Scott complains, shoving him away. “That’s not true.” He whispers
like Stiles just committed the most awful of felonies.
Derek grabs one of several wolfsbane recipients, closing the box and shoving it
back under the bookshelf, standing up.
“I worked in a factory back on Earth.” Scott informs him, words sounding almost
like an apology and Derek sees him shrugging from the corner of his eye,
slightly embarrassed.
Stiles rolls his eyes, setting a second bowl on the desk, unasked, Derek’s eyes
meeting Stiles’ honey brown ones, only managing a curt nod, thoughts still
stirring his head in a turbulent mess. 
“My betas are, if anything, sincere.” Derek tells Scott, pouring wolfsbane
powder into the pristine white bowl. “In my presence, at least. Your skills
must be truly remarkable.”
Stiles snorts at the back handed compliment to his betas, slightly amused.
“Hey!” Isaac complains.
“At least we give compliments.” Erica bites back with a smile, which, touché.
Derek lights the powder, inhaling the bright, almost ethereal blue smoke that
ignites through, cleansing the air of the foul stench, soothing the fire
burning his throat and lungs, the wolves in the room taking an almost audible
breath of relief.
“It’s really nothing.” Scott stutters out, eyes looking down.
When Derek turns back, feeling his body finally healing his injuries and
cleaning the poison clogging his arteries, he sees bumping his elbow with
Scott’s at his best friend’s modesty.
“Stiles is right, Scotty.” Derek says, clapping his hands together and
receiving a grin from Stiles and a nose twitch from Isaac, judging him for not
siding with his beta. “You should feel more proud of your accomplishments.” He
continues, a grin widening his lips predatorily as he approaches the young man,
Scott looking like he might as well run away any second now, Derek clasping a
hand in his shoulder, keeping him still. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks…” Scott stutters out, voice trembling and heart thundering in his rib
cage.
Finstock, the scent of fish and salty water unmistakably giving him out, opens
the door at the same time Derek yanks a gun tucked beneath Scott’s trousers.
“Captain –”
“Let me guess, there is another pistol missing from the weapons cabinet?” He
guesses, handing the gun to Finstock, Scott’s eyes bulging out in panic,
Stiles’ in surprise and Isaac’s in shock, Boyd and Erica content with a pair of
murderous side glance of their eyes.
Derek snorts, figuring by Stiles reaction he and Scott apparently had two
separate escape plans, both of them resulting in complete failures, which was
ridiculous in the very least.
“Store it away with the others.” He tells him as soon as Finstock takes the
holder in his hand.
“I’ll do that right away, my Captain.” Finstock nods.
“My memory still seems to be a little hazy, perhaps from traces of wolfsbane
still lingering in my system, so refresh my memory. Who’s been on guard duty
over the weaponry cabinet this past week?” He asks, cocking an inquisitive
brow.
“Greenberg.” Finstock mutters, enraged.
“I’ll let you take care of this matter as you see fit.” Derek tells him. “Oh,
one more thing, Mr. McCall is being upgraded to hostage status.” He says and
Isaac soon voices his protests. “Do me the favor of escorting him to his new
housings. Isaac?” He asks, Finstock leaving the cabin with Scott by the collar,
resigned.
“He stole a gun as well.” Isaac states, like these are breaking news to Derek,
which are not. He was there. “How do you propose to deal with him?” He asks,
crossing his arms stubbornly.
“Stiles will be kept in my cabin and I’ll keep a close eye on him, like I
expect you three to do with Scott once he is free of his new accommodations.”
Derek offers.
“That barely seems like a punishment.” Isaac sneers.
Derek arches a brow.
“Oh, trust me, Stiles will be punished.” He says, eyes flickering towards
Stiles as he gulps audibly, his smell equal parts terrified and aroused. “As I
see fit, of course. I am still captain of this ship, Isaac.”
Isaac pouts.
“Derek, excuse my straightforwardness, but we are only concerned that your
judgment might be a bit clouded due to an emotional connection with mister
Stilinski –”
“Sexual.” Derek and Stiles both voice their protests at the preposterous term
simultaneously.
Erica rolls her eyes. “Let the princesses be in denial, Boyd.” She pats his
shoulder, like she pities them. “Move to the part where we think Derek is an
idiot who doesn’t learn from his past mistakes.”
“I guess you already did that.” Boyd notes.
“We wouldn’t have time for your sugar coating, anyway.” Erica shrugs.
Derek clears his throat. “Although I am greatly touched by such profound
concern, not so much by your painfully lack of respect for your alpha, my
decision is final.”
“Hum, before my punishment comes into effect, I really need to speak with
Scott.” Stiles says, awkwardly fidgeting with his fingers in a slight adorable
fashion.
Isaac, Boyd and Erica regard him with ‘you should lock him in jail and leave
him there’ looks.
“Even prisoners have a right to a –” Derek requests Stiles for some help on the
matter, since he is consonant of earthen laws, being the sheriff’s son and all.
“A phone call.” Stiles offers promptly.
Derek nods. “See, where would our pirate honor be if we didn’t allow our self
proclaimed prisoners some basic rights?” He tells his betas, who regard him
with completely done looks. “Now, go along Stiles, before I change my mind. And
you three go do something useful, I am in need of some rest.”
Stiles hurries out of the cabin, voicing a quickthank you.
His betas are a bit slower, remembering to gaze their disapproval upon Derek
before leaving his quarters, Derek sighing deeply as the door shuts off.
He takes off his boots and sheds off the remainder of his clothing, lying down
on his bed, soft mattress welcoming his completely bare frame, thinking about
the day’s events. Perhaps his pack was right, perhaps Derek his letting this
thing with Stiles, whatever its nature, cloud his better judgment, leading him
down a before threaded path which held nothing but misery and pain.
Laura would surely smack him in the head for his stupidity.
Of course, the fact that Stiles chose to draw his weapon and shoot the Cazares,
his ticket back home, bugged him to no avail. The vessel would not have parted
without Derek, so he would have gotten the chance to save Scott as well. Why he
chose to help him made no sense, held no benefit and helped him in no tangible
way.
It only could harm him.
Derek puts an end to that particular trail of thought, realizing nothing good
could possibly come out of it, taking nonetheless the decision to present
Stiles with more than a simple punishment.
He owned him at least that for saving him of eternal incarceration, despite
what his original plans might’ve been.
Without Stiles, Derek would be drenched in wolfsbane inside a Metropolitan
detention center, electricity coursing through his body, keeping him
restrained, instead of his skin being caressed by rich silk sheets, still king
of his own vessel, close as he never was before of finally finding his great
uncle’s treasure. 
***** Chapter 7 *****
“Bilinski, what are you doing here?”Finstock questions, a tentacle barring
Stiles’ way.
Stiles ducks down, evading the squishy member. “I’m just visiting Scott, no
biggy.” He informs, darting forward and dodging a damp tentacle slap. “And rest
assured, Derek –”
“Watch it, Bilinski! I don’t care if you two are shagging, it’s Captain Hale or
Sir to you.” Finstock tells him, waving his gelatinous member in the air.
“– Captain Hale gifted me with his permission. Though, if you doubt my word,
you’re free to discuss this matter with him.”
“Given your recent misbehavior I will indeed speak of this matter with Captain
Hale, instantly.” Finstock says, departing the room and leaving behind loud
footsteps that echo throughout the hall.
 “You’re leaving two prisoners, one of which is free of chains and can roam
freely around the ship, unguarded?” Stiles asks, his question met with silence,
rubbing a hand over his features and shaking his head. “What a dumbass.” He
concludes.
Looking around, Stiles decides to begin his search for Scott, his eyes
wandering across crates containing food and varied supplies randomly displayed
across the storage space, stacked upon each other like a Lego tower. In the
deepest end of the room there is a steel cage, rust creeping in the once
glimmering metal bars, the dirt and dust covering the cage floor sprinkle the
wooden boards nearby and a bed made of hay houses his best friend, currently
lying down with closed eyes.
“Hitting the hay?” Stiles asks, a smile tugging at his lips.
Scott opens his eyes, lazily turning his head to the side and meeting Stiles’
gaze. “You never get tired of that joke, do you?” He asks with a certain
fondness to his tone.
Stiles shrugs. “How could I? It’s a classic. Besides, sarcasm and humor have
always been my best weapons against precarious and dangerous situations.” He
recalls, remembering all those times they had been buster by the Sheriff and
Melissa. “Which reminds me, given how I faced actual life threatening danger
today, I should probably come up with a different word for the ‘ah, my dad is
going to ground me for a week’ kind of danger.”
“We could call it ‘parental hazard’.” Scott offers. “And we both know your
arsenal is composed of infinite more weapons other than mere sarcasm.”
“Scott, you can only carry infinite amount of weapons in remarkable video
games. You can’t do that in real life. Where would I put them all?” Stiles
asks, showing Scott just how little space his tiny pirate attire pockets’ have.
“And never underestimate the power of sarcasm.”
“I would never.” Scott laughs.
“But there has been enough rambling about my hilarious and incredibly well
crafted wit.” Stiles decides and Scott rolls his eyes dramatically. “What the
hell were you thinking?” He demands, hands moving around spastically.
“What was why thinking? What were youthinking!?” Scott questions in return.
“I was trying to save you!” Stiles exclaims, throwing his arms in the air with
exasperation.
“I was trying to save you!” Scott echoes.
“What?” Stiles asks, confused. “Save me from what, exactly?” He demands.
“Derek.” Scott utters out like it’s obvious. “I’ve seen the rope marks he
leaves on your skin, the grim bruises along your neck. He hurts you.” He
elaborates under Stiles’ deadly stare, repulsed by even the idea of someone
hurting Stiles.
Laughter escapes Stiles’ lips, shocked by Scott’s words, earning a bewildered
look from Scott.
“I appreciate your worries, buddy, I really do. Yet, they are thankfully
unfounded. Derek hasn’t forced me to do anything against my own volition.”
Stiles states, shrugging. “I simply seem to enjoy rough sex.”
A different kind of nausea downs on Scott as he grimaces.
“I guess that’s enough sharing.” Stiles concludes with a chuckle. “And I was
hoping to discuss every detail of our sexual intercourse.”
Scott fake barfs.
“Not gonna happen.” He says, a smile tugging on his lips nonetheless. “Although
I’m happy for you, I guess. By the way, what were you trying to save me from?”
Scott asks.
Stiles fidgets a little before answering. “Well, it’s kind of my fault we ended
up prisoners on this ship. I mean, things could be worse and it’s a lesser work
load than back on Earth. Home sweet home, huh? But you must miss your mom and,
well, being kidnapped is never pleasant.”
“I do miss my mom.” Scott acknowledges. “A lot, actually, and she must be
worrying sick about both of us and will probably kill me herself when I come
back. But you certainly miss your dad as well.”
Stiles nods. He does miss him deeply. Even thinking about what his old man
must’ve went through upon realizing Stiles just didn’t merely snuck out of the
house in the middle of the night like so many nights before again, what he must
be going through right now wondering what was of his only son, leaves an ache
in Stiles heart and wakes a sour taste below his tongue.
“And you didn’t drag me to the ship. It’s my own fault I’m here. Also, I’ve
heard whispers we are in search of a great treasure and I might not express
such excitement for wild adventures and dangerous quests as enthusiastically as
you might, I’m still enjoying this trip quite a lot. Besides, I’ve noticed
Derek’s ruthless pirate persona is a facade to his crew and apparently to
‘prisoners’ as well so you’ve certainly talked to him about our situation and
we’re going back home afterwards, right?” Scott shrugs, like there is no doubt
about such matter.
“Right...”
 
===============================================================================
 
Stiles steps into the bathing room, a towel hanging precariously around his
waist, offering a slight peek of his hip bones.
Turning sideways, he finds Derek inspecting his frame, hungry dark eyes
following a patch of dark hair trailing down Stiles’ belly button and finding
refuge after an arduous journey over dotted pale skin under soft cotton fabric.
Derek’s stance looks feral, shoulders hunched down, knees flexed and stalking
forward like a wild animal ready to hunt down his prey.
Stiles’ can’t help his eyes from wandering along Derek’s naked body, pale
muscled skin uncovered for Stiles to admire, for his eyes to bask in its glory,
in broad shoulders and solid rock abs, humongous arms and brawny legs.
“Dispose of your towel.” Derek tells him, pointing towards the tiled floor.
“Pretty peculiar place you’ve chosen for a gruesome punishment.” Stiles notes,
loosing the hold of the towel around his waist, the soft fabric sliding along
his legs and reaching the floor in a bundle.
“Your punishment will take place later tonight.” Derek informs and Stiles
blinks in confusion.
“You’ve reserved the bathing room and placed Finstock guarding its entrance on
a whim?” Stiles asks, chuckling.
Derek arches a brow. “I could.” He says, a smirk dawning in his lips. “I’m the
captain, after all. I can do whatever I damn well please.”
Stiles laughs, shaking his head. “I’ve no doubt you could, although you shall
admit the timing of such action denotes an ulterior motive.”
Derek ponders for a little while. “I guess you’re right, the timing is a little
suspicious. See it as a reward of sorts, if you wish.” He decides with a shrug.
“Why?” Stiles questions, feeling unsure.
“You know why.” Derek answers. “Your actions at the docks could’ve led you to
more dire consequences and although one could speculate you were ensuring your
own safety and that of your friend, we both know leaving me to rot would’ve
better served your original intent. You surely are cleaver enough to fool the
entire ship for an adequate amount of until the Metropolis PD took care of
them.”
“You take me in too higher consideration.” Stiles tells him. “And a ‘thank you’
would suffice.” He challenges with a grin.
“Oh, but where would be the pleasure in that?” Derek asks with a smirk, smug as
fucking ever. “Hands against the wall.” He orders with a wave.
“Bossy as ever.” Stiles chuckles, placing both palms against the cold surface
of the tiles.
Derek’s fingers graze over the cheeks of Stiles’ bottom, tilting his ass
slightly up and trailing a hand up his back, encouraging Stiles to lean along
the tiled wall, a shudder shaking his body when Stiles’ forehead meets cold
blue tiles.
 “I know you like it when I boss you around.” Derek whispers into his ear and
Stiles feels the hair surrounding his ears prickle, feels the press of Derek’s
body along his own and the half hard length of Derek’ cock pressing into his
ass as Derek nibbles at his ear lobe.
Stiles lets out a soft whine, eyes fluttering shut and head leaning back.
Derek sprinkles kisses along Stiles’ exposed neck, sliding a hand down his side
and closing a fist around Stiles’ already hard cock, sinking sharp teeth in his
collar bone.
“Fuck, Derek.” Stiles mutters, the initial hint of pain slowly subsiding as
Derek starts stroking his cock with quick pulls and tugs, twisting his hold
roughly from time to time and swiping the sting of pointed teeth with soft wet
licks of tongue.
Stiles rests his head against an arm, hand sliding along droplets stained blue
tiles as he fights to keep an already quavering balance.
“God, Stiles, you’re almost cumming already, aren’t you?” Derek asks, hoarse.
“Fuck you.” Stiles is able to utter, breathless and feeling his release
approaching.
A low pitch yelp erupts from Stiles’ throat as a jet of ice cold water hits
him, Derek’s hands the only thing keeping him from jumping the hell out of
dodge, stiffening his muscles and killing both his erection and his coming
release.
“Fuck, Derek!” Stiles shouts with a entirely different sentiment than before.
“I thought this was a reward, you bastard!” He continues.
“There you go.” Derek says with amusement in his tone as water turns warmer
against Stiles’ skins, washing over his body rather nicely and taking any
complaints Stiles was voicing down the drain.
The stream of water subsides and Stiles silently morns its absence, following
Derek’s hand as he grabs a bottle of liquid soap and squirts its gelatinous
content into his palm, rubbing both his hands together and petting Stiles’
sides quite satisfactorily .
Stiles hums happily as Derek’s hands massage his body, Derek’s fingers relaxing
Stiles’ muscles with expertise and Stiles’ cock grows hard once again.
Trailing his hands down, Derek softly teases the rim of Stiles’ entrance with
his thumb, soap working as a lubricant of sorts, forcing a moan out of Stiles,
his legs moving further apart as invitation for Derek to push in deeper.
“Fuck, Stiles.” Derek groans through a lengthy breath, wasting no time pushing
his finger deeper inside, Stiles’ dick twitching at the initial intrusion,
Stiles’ forehead lolling along the tiled wall as the faint hint of pain gives
place to a warm pleasure coiling in his belly. “You love this, don’t you?”
Derek asks, voice rough and throaty, his hands grazing through Stiles’ jaw and
pulling his head back for a kiss, wet and sloppy and so perfect as Derek’s
fingers move inside him with relentlessly.
“Faster.” Stiles urges as a shuddered groan is pulled out of him, Derek’s
finger hitting just the right spot.
Derek adds a second finger and starts fucking into Stiles’ with a bigger sense
of urgency, movements turning harsher and more frantic with each of Stiles’
moans until they resemble a recital without a proper beginning or an end to
each chord. “Like this?” Derek asks, breathless and rough, capturing Stiles’
bottom lip between his teeth.
Stiles just moans and pants into Derek’s open mouth, their lips ghosting
against each other and their breaths, hot and frenetic, mixing into one.
And just when Stiles is seconds away from begging Derek to touch him, just
touch him, please, the douche dares to pull his fingers away.
“Hey, don’t stop. No one said you could stop!” Stiles complains, trying to
regain his breath, rocking back his hips shamelessly.
Derek chuckles. “Be patient.” He coos with a small tap to Stiles’ ass, smug.
With the turn of a faucet, hot water pours down over Stiles, washing the soap
from his body and spiraling dirt down the drain.
Stiles rests his forehead against the tiles, powerless against the way steaming
water magically seems to relax his muscles, nothing like the ice cold water
typically traveling the pipes of earth, always leaving him a bit cranky, like
most earthen citizens in the first early morning hours, and his muscles
contrite.
He has no idea what is Jackson’s excuse for crankiness.
He can actually afford hot water.
Derek turns the faucet back off, peppering kisses down Stiles’ spine, soft lips
and the faint tease of sharp teeth sending shudders throughout pale skin.
Dropping on his knees with a splash, Derek digs his fingers into the cheeks of
Stiles’ ass, licking the rim of his hole and sending pleasurable sparks up his
spine.
“Oh, fuck, Derek! Don’t stop!” Stiles pleads.
Derek chuckles and how he manages to sound smug seconds before spreading
Stiles’ cheeks further apart and stuffing his face in Stiles’ ass, tongue
licking greedily at his hole and pushing inside with voracious appetite will
forever puzzle Stiles.
He forces his legs further apart until his muscles ache and his legs tremble,
pushing his hips backwards to allow more of Derek’s tongue inside him, fucking
him raw. He has lost count of just how many moans, pleading and ravished,
Derek’s tongue has pulled out of him.
“Fuck, Stiles, you taste so good.” Derek utters, ferocious and sounding as raw
as Stiles himself feels, making him rock his waist forward, throbbing dick
demanding for release.
“Touch me, Derek. C’mon, I need to come.” Stiles begs, rutting his dick against
the wall.
Derek growls, low and guttural, a fist closing around Stiles’ cock as Derek
stands back up and gives one, two, three short tugs before Stiles cums in the
most intense release he has ever experienced, Derek guiding him through his
orgasm and gently nibbling at his earlobe.
When the last spurt of spunk is squeezed out of his cock, Stiles lets his
forehead fall against the tiles sleepily, Derek’s strong arms keeping him up in
his lazy afterglow.
“Don’t fall asleep just yet, Stiles, there’s still the small matter of your
punishment to attend to.” Derek reminds with a soft peck against Stiles’ neck,
petting at his sides.
“Is it a sexy punishment?” Stiles asks with a hopeful purr.
Derek chuckles. “Is there any other kind?” He asks with a small nibble.
“Then count me in.” Stiles decides, sliding with Derek into the wet tiled floor
and staying there, surrounded by Derek’s arms and warmth for a blissful yet
fleeting moment.  
***** Chapter 8 *****
“Tell me if this hurts.” Derek asks, tying the length of rope around Stiles’
wrist in a perfect knot and checking if it ain’t loose.
“Don’t worry, I’ve always been known to spoke my mind.” Stiles assures.
“Oh, I’ve noticed.” Derek smirks, fingers trailing down the length of Stiles’
arm, a gentle spark greeting his fingertips, moving to caress Stiles’ chin and
free Stiles’ lip from between the mauling of his own teeth. “Remember, if this
feels like too much, all you need to do is tell me, understood?”
Stiles rolls his eyes, both exasperated and amused. “Geez, Derek, you would
suck as a real pirate.”
Derek crooks an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Yup, In fact, I can imagine you in the field of battle asking your enemies if
they are okay with you killing them.” Stiles says and clears his throat. “If my
sword seems too sharp against your skin, just let me know. I would hate for
this to cause you –” He blabbers on, voice gruff.
Derek grunts and shuts Stiles up with a rough kiss, nibbling at his bottom lip
before pulling back. “I made you a question.” He says, commanding.
“Yes, I will tell you if this feels like too much.” Stiles whispers and Derek
feels Stiles’ fresh breath gently brush over his lips like a caress, half
lidded honey brown eyes looking at him in wonder.
Derek grazes his teeth along Stiles’ jaw, feeling Stiles’ body shuddering under
him, and lightly sinks his teeth in Stiles’ throat. A moan erupts from Stiles’
throat, body arching up and meeting Derek’s touch, arms pulling at the ropes,
and the scent of arousal hits his nose like a train wreck, Stiles’ dick
twitching against Derek’s leg, hips thrusting lightly along his length.
Derek pulls away before he gives in and bites deeper, harder, swiping the lunar
mark left by his teeth with gentle swabs of his tongue.
“Fuck, Derek.” Stiles breathes out, body relaxing back against the sheets.
“I’m only starting.” Derek warns him, smug nonetheless.
“Oh, yeah, no, awesome, this will go along nicely then, I can feel it. Please,
continue.” Stiles breathes out, anxiety and anticipation flooding his every
spore as he swallows.
“I’m planning to.” Derek smirks, leaving Stiles’ throat with a quick kiss and
sitting back down on his knees and Stiles’ dark eyes follow him curiously.
Derek lets his spit fall on Stiles’ cock, spreading it along Stiles’ length and
never leaving his gaze. “Oh, fuck, Derek.” Stiles grunts, eyes closing shut and
throwing his head back.
Derek feels him harden in his palm, desire seeping from Stiles like catnip,
inciting Derek’s fist to move faster, to stroke him harder, the sound of skin
moving against skin mixing with frantic pants and thundering heartbeats.
“I’m gonna cum.” Stiles warns and Derek can smell it, can feel Stiles’ body
tensing below him, anticipating release. He feels his own vision blurring on
the edges, breath heaving, heady and dizzy from Stiles’ intoxicating scent.
It almost pains him to let go, to see Stiles’ waist thrusting upwards at the
loss of friction, wrists pulling against the ropes as triskelion poles remain
unshaken by the pull. A whimper falls off of Stiles’ lips, shaken and broken as
frustration mixes with arousal and the salty scent of pre cum.
Almost.
“You’re such an asshole.” Stiles tells him, blinking tears away from his eyes.
Derek kneels down, trailing the length of Stiles’ cock with his tongue, keeping
his legs quiet and feeling Stiles’ pushing his waist upwards to no avail while
he licking the head of Stiles’ cock clean of pre cum. “I’m not hearing any
actual protests.” He says, peering up at him as his lips ghost over Stiles’
dick teasingly.
“Then I’m happy to inform you your hearing abilities remain intact.” Stiles
mutters.
“Good to know you retain your sarcasm under the influence of sexual
frustration.” Derek says, taking Stiles’ cock into his mouth.
“Oh, fuck.” Stiles moans. “And you shouldn’t be able to sound so smug while
giving me a blow job. It’s not fair.” Stiles complains, relaxing as Derek
slowly traces the length of his cock from top back to bottom. “You’re not done
torturing me, are you?” He asks, words coming out with a soft exhale.
“No.” Derek answers, pulling back and taking Stiles’ dick in his hand, setting
an unforgiving pace that has Stiles meeting his fist with every stroke in no
time. “Let’s see how long you can keep this up without begging me to cum.”
“I know what this is doing to you.” Stiles says between small moans that build
up with each stroke, a devilish glint to his eyes. “Let’s see how long you can
keep this up.” Stiles finishes just as Derek fastens his pace and reduces him
to a moaning, panting mess, writhing all over the sheets and tugging at the
ropes.
“It will be interesting to see who caves in first.” Derek challenges, engulfing
Stiles’ cock between his lips and watching the length of Stiles’ dick disappear
into his mouth, chocking around it.
“Oh, fuck, Derek. Yeah, just like that. ” Stiles groans, thrusting his hips up
and fucking into Derek’s mouth, who moans in delight with the taste of Stiles’
cock and pre cum, sensing an orgasm previously frustrated building up again,
making him hard and hold his breath as long as he can, not wanting to part with
such an erotic and intoxicating scent, almost like a drug.
When he leaves Stiles’ cock, wet with saliva and flushed red, hot blood pumping
through his veins, Derek takes him in his hand and strokes with rough and quick
pulls.
“I’m gonna cum.” Stiles breathes out again, like a broken plead.
Derek drags his palm over Stiles’ cock, excruciatingly slow, enough for Stiles’
moan to linger in his throat, yet only scanting at his blissful release.
“No!” Stiles whimpers, something resembling a growl following the frustrated
movement of his waist. “C’mon, Derek, how long will you keep this up?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Derek smirks, rubbing a hand through Stiles’ ball
and leaving his cock with a shallow kiss to tip of its head and standing up. “I
think we are done.” He says, picking a book from the bookcase and sitting at
his desk.
“Ah, freaking ah.” Stiles shouts, though Derek only opens the book on a random
page to which he gives his total attention. “You are not serious, are you?” He
asks, pulling at the ropes. “You are reading it upside down, jerkass!”
Oh, right.
Derek turns the book in his hands, peering over the page. “A person with as
much wit as yourself can surely find a way out of such a predicament.”
A dangerous grin draws itself on Stiles’ lips, washing the anger away.
“Alright.” He nods, closing his eyes.
Derek looks at him curiously, lifting a brow.
A moan escapes Stiles’ lips as he tilts his hips up, arousal tickling Derek’s
nose before it burns its way into his nostrils. “What are you doing?” Derek
asks, voice hoarse, his blood burning in his veins and his fingers sparking
with the desire to feel Stiles’ skin against his own.
“Thinking of you.” Stiles says, fluttering his eyelashes and rubbing his ass
against the silk sheets, deeper and more genuine moan erupting from between his
lips. “Of all the times you’ve fucked me against this mattress.”
And before he can think about it, the hallow thud of the book against mahogany
wood echoes throughout the room and Derek lands on top of Stiles, bed rattling
slightly beneath his weight, his vision turning a vicious shade of blood red as
he claims Stiles’ mouth with his own, a yelp of surprise turning into a content
moan.
Derek fists Stiles’ cock, stroking it mercilessly.
“Oh, fuck, that’s hurting a little.” Stiles utters out against Derek’s lips.
“Do you want me to slow down?” Derek whispers, his voice rough and shallow,
tracing Stiles’ throat with a claw and bristling the skin below.
“No.” Stiles whispers, almost pained, between hot and frantic breathing.
A drop of sweat catches Derek’s eye, slipping from Stiles’ forehead down his
cheeks, slowly, trailing a glimmering path in its wake.
“Derek, I think I’m going to cum.” Stiles informs him, sounding so tired and
yet his raw tone is laced with lust, thick with want and desire.
Derek drags his fingers over Stiles’ throbbing cock and circles his head with
his thumb.
“Fuck, Derek.” Stiles whimpers, desperate, waist rocking up in quest for
further friction, again and again and again, rutting against Derek’s palm as
Stiles growls with frustration and Derek knows it’s time to end both their
torture, licking the wandering droplet of sweat from Stiles’ throat and turning
him around, Stiles landing on his knees, rope restrained arms stretched and
aching, leaving bright red marks against pale skin and revealing black bruises.
Stiles’ glistening cock is throbbing, swollen  and red and so, so beautiful,
smearing the sheets below with delightful pre cum.
“Please, Derek, make me cum.” Stiles pleads and Derek takes pride in how lost
he sounds.
“Are you sure?” Derek asks, a hand caressing Stiles’ behind.
“Yes, I’m sure, Derek. I swear, the next time I’m on the edge, you’ll make me
fucking cum or the Gods help me, Derek, you will be the one who’ll be
punished.” Stiles threatens.
Derek leans over Stiles’ body, bare cock teasing his entrance. “Does that mean
you’re still up for some more fun?” He asks, biting Stiles’ ear lobe and
leaning his head back.
“Fuck.” Stiles breathes out. “Make it quick, please. I’m almost dying from
exhaustion and probably from sexual frustration as well. It’s going to be a
thing, I swear to the Gods.”
Derek brushes his fingers across Stiles’ jaw and grabs him by the throat,
gently turning his head around and kissing him, all teeth and wet sounds.
“Sure thing.” Derek promises, sliding back from over Stiles.
Derek rubs his hand over one cheek from Stiles’ ass. “But first I have a
confession to make.” He reveals and Stiles’ grunts. “I have to admit I was a
little disappointed when you took that gun from under your breeches.” He says,
landing a slap in Stiles’ ass and waking a bright shade of pink against pale
skin, Stiles’ head falling between his stretched arms as a whine escapes his
throat, the salty scent of pre cum joining the erotic aroma hovering above
their naked bodies.
Derek slaps Stiles’ other cheek, a strangled breath being punched out of him.
“You behaved rather poorly and I think there’s time someone teaches you some
manners.”
“Derek, you can keep the role play for some other time, I really –” A
disgruntled groan takes the place of whatever words Stiles would spoken, a
harsh sound breaking the air as a redder hand shaped mark tints Stiles’ skin.
Derek presses his cock against Stiles’ entrance and takes his dick into his
fist, feeling Stiles’ cock hard, smeared with cum and so, so swollen in his
palm, and strokes it roughly.
“Say you’re sorry for taking that gun.” Derek whispers unto his hear, body
curved over Stiles’, pressing him against the mattress, his arms still tied to
the poles, impossibly stretched out.
“I’m sorry for breaking your trust.” Stiles says in a low voice.
Stiles groans as his ass takes another blow. “Yet, you are not sorry for taking
my weapon, for intending to escape.”
“That’s too hard a question to –” Stiles starts, words soon turning into a
prolonged groan as Derek slaps hard already sensitive skin. “No, I’m not sorry
for that and I won’t be sorry if, for whatever reason, it happens again.” He
admits.
“That was the wrong answer, yet an honest one. I guess it will have to do.”
Derek concludes and dips his fingers inside a small oil recipient on top his
night stand, smearing the liquid along his own hard dick and pushing inside
Stiles’ still stretched hole, only taking him a few thrusts of his hips and
strokes of his fist to spill his cum inside Stiles’ while milking him to his
last drop.
After they’re both done cumming and the afterglow blows away, Derek pulls from
inside Stiles, untying the rope around both his wrists.
Stiles remains fallen in the cum tainted sheets, too exhausted to care.
Derek gets up to get a wet cloth, gently rolling Stiles on his side and
brushing the cloth across his skin, cleaning him up.
“That feels nice.” Stiles purrs, a content smile tilting up his lips.
Derek plants a kiss on Stiles’ forehead. “You look nice.” He whispers, throwing
the cloth to the floor and making a note to change the bed sheets the coming
day.
Crawling back unto the bed, weariness finally catching up with him, Derek pulls
Stiles into his arms and closing his eyes for a good night sleep.
“Derek.” Stiles says, sleepy.
“Yeah?” Derek asks, petting the back of Stiles’ head, fingers brushing along
short hair.
“After we find your treasure, can you drop me and Scott back on earth?” He
asks, eyes staring at some point in the wall.
“Yeah, I can.”
“Will you?” Stiles demands.
“Yes, I will.” Derek reassures, tightening his hold around Stiles, knowing
he’ll eventually have to let go and he’s suddenly assaulted by an ache in his
heart, a knot in his stomach, the mere thought of losing Stiles hurting more
than he’d hoped.
 
===============================================================================
 
“Why are you peering around?” Derek asks, focusing his stare on Erica, her eyes
roaming through Derek’s cabin.
“Oh. Me?” Erica questions innocently. “I’m just looking for your jailbait.” She
shrugs, smile widening in a sly grin.
“Stiles is my concern, not yours.” Derek tells her.
“That’s bullshit, Derek.” Erica retorts. “As long as he is aboard this ship,
he’s ourconcern.” She states, hand comprising the three betas.
Derek sighs. “I sent him with Finstock to free Scott of his private
accommodations.” He gives in, knowing Erica’s right. “I’d also like to ask you
to keep an eye on both Scott and Stiles.”
Erica cocks a brow. “Do I smell trouble in paradise?” She asks and Boyd bumps
his elbow into hers as to shush her.
“By the terrible stench of sex filling this cabin, I would say problems are the
least of their concerns.” Isaac offers, scrunching his nose in distaste. “Maybe
they both just needed some rest.” He ponders.
Derek pinches the bridge of his nose while Boyd rolls his eyes and Erica’s sly
grin only grows wider.
“Unless you would like to discuss my sex life in rigorous detail, we should
move on to more pressing matters.”
“Please.” Boyd nods with a suffering tone and Isaac appears slightly
disappointed.
“Wonderful. I shall inform you the map is complete and so, it’s time for the
treasure’s location to be finally revealed.” Derek says, approaching his desk
and grazing his fingers grazing over the last piece of the puzzle.
Derek can see the curve of Stiles’ back as perfectly as that very morning,
lighted by an old oil lamp shading yellows and oranges unto beautiful pale
skin, hunched over the most recent piece of the map and ripping the chart
apart, the sound of tearing paper almost giving Derek a heart attack.
He also remembers the feel of soft skin under his fingertip as their lips
touched.
“I see on ‘x’.” Isaac notes, waking Derek from his day dreams.
“That would be too simple.” Boyd says. “There is probably some kind of device
to decipher the map or to pin point the treasure’s exact location.”
“I smell further searching.” Erica crosses her arms, directing Derek an
unimpressed gaze.
Isaac sniffs the air. “Nope, still only sex.”
“I trust you have such a device.” Boyd quickly cuts in.
“Indeed I do.” Derek nods, pushing the small lever behind his marble bust, his
stone features parting in half and revealing a glowing blue prism.
“Good hiding place, captain. That thing always gave me the creeps.” Isaac says.
“Chewing on the scenery just isn’t enough, now is it, Derek? You are totally
verging on villain territory here.” Erica giggles. “That’s what you earn for
taking pirate movies as gospel.”
“We could always ditch the clothes.” Derek offers, eyeing Erica’s bright red
corset. “Space suits without any modifications would fit us all rather nicely.”
“What is wrong with Victorian pirate attires, anyway?” Erica asks, feigning
ignorance.
“That’s what I thought.” Derek states without missing the small smile tilting
up the corners of Boyd’s lips.
“How does it work?” Isaac asks, eyeing the cube curiously.
“I’d rather show you.” Derek says, pulling each side of the prism. The bright
blue fades into a grim shade, deep blue streaming through the recently formed
opening, scribbling resembling a form of archaic Lycan written along the inner
top and bottom edges of the cube.
The prism rises from Derek’s hand, casting a blue lighted net over the cabin,
analyzing and processing its content and floating towards the chart resting on
top of the mahogany desk, projecting a cross above a planet far too familiar to
Derek or to any Lycan, although he has never set foot on its surface.
A planet named Lupus by the human invaders, yet simply addressed as Motherby
its inhabitants.
“He hid it right under their noses.” Boyd realizes, awed.
“Wicked.” Isaac murmurs in a wondrous tone.
“I guess theatric flare runs in the family, even after all these years. If you
ever succumb to insanity, I call dibs on the clothing of your female ancestry
you have hidden somewhere around this cabin. I’ll never understand how you
manage to fit so much crap in here. I can barely fit my small amount of
clothing items in those tiny cabinets.” Erica tells him.
“At least you have a closet.” Boyd says, dryly.
“Yeah, you use all the space in the commoncabinet. The rest of us have to stack
our clothes beneath out beds.” Isaac complains.
“If you have any problems, you can discuss them with me.” Erica says, sharp
claws sliding along each other and making a low crackling noise.
Isaac gulps.
“If you are done acting like children, I need to tell Finstock of our destiny.”
Derek clears his throat and waves his hand towards the exit. “I’m not leaving
you lot alone in here without some kind of adult supervision.”
The three of them roll their eyes, but do as told, Derek following them with a
renewed sense of purpose and the inkling sensation he’s finally returning home.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Stiles hovers in the light blue sky, similar to the one depicted in old earthen
paintings, if not by the bright stars seemingly an arm’s reach away.
Wearing a tight, slightly constricting space suit, he’s holding some sort of
hose releasing a powerful stream of water, blasting dirt off the hull of the
ship.
“I’ll never understand how this ship gets so dirty.” Scott says, floating just
a few feet above, hover boots keeping him from falling into the depths of
space. “We are in space, after all, there’s no dirt for thousands of miles, if
not more.”
“Well, whenever the ship enters a planet, the hull is exposed to the countless
micro organisms composing that foreign planet’s fauna and flora. In a regular
ship, all of them would perish once the ship left the atmosphere, but in this
case, given Derek’s tastes, we have to be enveloped in an artificial atmosphere
before leaving its surface, or we would die, encasing all that micro organic
life in a bubble, trapped, so to speak. And then it’s just a matter of nature
taking its course.” Stiles explains, sliding his gaze towards Scott, his best
friend looking back at him with a goofy grin. “You already knew that.”
“Yeah, I did.” Scott nods.
His tank starts making a noise akin to a dying animal, seemingly empty.
Stiles peeks through the hose and, yep, there’s nothing coming out this way.
Thankfully, the hull is completely and undeniably clean. “Now we’ll have to wax
the entire thing. This is going to take forever.” He pouts, shoulders slumping
down.
“There are a couple of tanks left.” Scott winks.
Stiles lights up. “Are you proposing what I think you’re proposing?”
“Yep.” Scott nods with a goofy grin.
“Laser tag!” Stiles yells, hitting his hover boots’ accelerator, bolting past
Scott and zapping along the hull of the ship, already unzipping the empty tank
deposit when he grabs a completely full, feeling the thruster coils slightly
giving in at the extra weight .  
Twirling around, Stiles hits Scott with a jet stream while he’s still equipping
his weapon, stream of water sending him spinning backwards through the air.
“That’s cheating!” Scott complains, once he has regained his balance.
“All I’m hearing is loser talk!” Stiles taunts, dodging a couple of water jets
with ease and zigzagging around the wooden masts.
With a frustrated grunt, Scott hurries after Stiles, only to be hit again, his
moppy wet hair sticking to his forehead. Spitting out water that somehow got
into his mouth, Scott blows wet strands of hair from above his eyes, looking
only slightly annoyed while doing so.
“Catch me if you can!” Stiles challenges between humorous laughter, plummeting
along the hull and turning around to see Scott is nowhere in sight.
“C’mon, Scott, you’re not even –” He starts, but before he can finish his
sentence, an unexpected jet of water coming splashes his features.
“You were saying?” Scott asks, looking really proud of himself.
“That was really sneaky.” Stiles tells him with narrowed eyes before his mouth
opens in a grin. “I like it.”
“McCall, Bilinski!” Finstock shouts. “Quit burning daylight and start waxing
the hull! This isn’t a day care! And, to teach you lot a lesson, the last one
getting up here will single handedly clean the ship’s hull with only a
toothbrush!”
An expression of impending doom dawns on Scott’s face.
“Race you to the top!” Stiles cackles.
 
===============================================================================
 
“Gear.” Scot asks with an open hand.
“Here.” Stiles hands him one of the many gears inside the tool box.
“Bolt.” He demands, open hand closing around the requested item.
“This is kind of boring, ain’t it?” Stiles complains, after a while, resting
his head along his open palm. “Each freaking day you check all the same damn
machinery.”
“I remember you being excited the first day. You kept badgering me with tons of
questions about each machine, what they did and what was their contribution to
the ship as a whole. By the end of the day my throat was so sore I couldn’t
speak another word, even if I wanted to.” Scott reminds him. “Wrench.”
Stiles drops the wrench in Scott’s hand. “In the beginning everything was new,
each machine was a discovery, each one working independently towards a common
goal, akin to the ship’s crew themselves. Now it’s just a bore because I’ve
seen it all before.”
“A bore or not, it’s still work that needs to be done.” Scott states, taking a
glance at Stiles from the corner of his eye. “You and Derek still butting
head?”
“Yeah.” Stiles admits, a bit without thinking before realizing just what Scott
asked him. “Wait, no. You’re not supposed to know that. Who told you? Oh my
god. Who else knows?”
Scott smiles slyly. “No one told me and, as far as I know, no one else knows. I
just figured it out.”
“Yes, I’ve got that far, genius. Just how did you figure it out?” Stiles asks,
puzzled.
“Stiles, I’ve known you since forever and, although revealing curiosity is a
familiar trait of yours, keeping up with things that you no longer find
enticing, isn’t.”
“I could be keeping you company.” Stiles tries with a shrug.
Scott hums, unconvincingly, handing the wrench back to Stiles. “Take this and
clean things up.” He says. “And, since this was the last stop of my shift, I
can show you around. I’m sure there are parts of this ship you have yet to
see.”
“Awesome!” Stiles chirps out, throwing the wrench carelessly into the tool box,
quickly swiping a cloth through the mess Scott left on the wooden floor and
standing up. “What are we waiting for, then?” He asks, dragging an amused Scott
behind him, before slapping his own forehead. “Why the hell am I dragging you?
You are the one who knows where the hell we are going. You should be the one to
lead the way!” Stiles realizes, pushing Scott forward.
Scott laughs and shakes his head. “Are you telling me what happened between you
and Derek or will I have to guess?”
“You are terrible at guessing. Besides, it was nothing, really.” Stiles waves a
hand, dismissing the subject.
“Okay, then.” Scott shrugs, the fact that he dropped the issue with such a
minimal fuss leaving him slightly suspicious. “I guess I won’t be telling you
any of the rumors getting the entire crew in a turmoil.”
“What?” Stiles exclaims, perhaps a little too loudly. “You can’t withhold
information from me. And juicy information even less. How in the hell have I
not heard a single word about this?” He asks , now whispering.
“I can and I will.” Scott tells him. “Sharing of information goes both ways.
But I’m sure you’ll get someone else to tell you, between Erica, Isaac or Boyd.
You shouldn’t worry.”
Stiles grunts. “I’m trying to avoid those three. They threatened me, can you
believe it? Isaac told me that if I ever hurt Derek he would stick me in a
missile compartment and fire me into the depths of space, watching through
binoculars while my head explodes. Erica told me she would delight her ears
while she tortured me beforehand. Boyd reassuredme he would make sure I had a
quick, painless death.” He reveals, shivers traveling down his spine while
panic creeps into his tone. “And the rest of the crew keeps sending me dirty
looks No one is going to tell me anything.”
“Then I guess I’m your only source.” Scott shrugged with a smirk tilting the
edge of his lips.
“Fine, I’ll tell you.” Stiles gives in, defeated. “After we returned to the
ship, Derek expressed his anger for the betrayal of his trust and gratitude for
‘saving his life’, which is just a tiny bit melodramatic , in opposite, yet
both totally orgasm inducing sexual activities.”
“Of which this is all I want to know about.” Scott interrupts, grimacing.
“Fair. The morning after, after I played around a bit with the jigsaw that is
Peter’s treasure map, Derek sent me to free you of your metaphorical shackles
and literal cage and has been avoiding me ever since.” Stiles tells him,
realizing nothingis exactly what he knows.
“Are you sure it has nothing to do with you stealing his gun?” Scott inquires,
grimacing at the same time Stiles cackles at the double entendre. “And that
came out really wrong.”
“You don’t say.” Stiles shakes his head. “And yes, I’m sure.” He nods,
remembering the distant eve.
Scott scratches his chin. “Did you talked after…” He starts, making a hand
motion that conveys his point exactly.
“We talk about all sorts of stuff after we dip the sauce.” Stiles says,
smirking at Scott’s nauseated expression. “For example, when Derek was eleven,
his dad let him hold the wheel of their space shuttle and sometimes he even got
to press some of the buttons.” He remembers, the image of a toddler Derek
frowning at a myriad of buttons and unsurely pressing the one his father tells
him.
“That’s great, Stiles.” Scott nods with a smile. “But I mean, did you talk
about anything particular that night?”
“Oh.” Stiles murmurs, making an effort to remember. “I think I asked him about
dropping us off on earth after we found his great uncle times ten rumored
treasure.”
Scott stays behind in their march, still. “You told me you guys had already
talked about that.” He says with a smack to Stiles’ forearm.
“Sorry.” Stiles shrugs. “Didn’t want you to worry.”
Scott rolls his eyes. “Okay, so maybe has it occurred to you that maybe Derek
thought you were using him?”
Stiles makes a dismissive sound. “That sounds ridiculous, man. I mean, that was
kind of my idea at the start, but Derek would never avoid me because of that. I
don’t even think I would be alive if Derek was mad about that.”
“After all you’ve learned about Derek, do you really think so?” Scott asks.
“Crap.” Stiles utters out between a sigh. Off course he thought Stiles had been
using him, given his history with Kate. And of course he wasn’t mad. He was
hurt. And Stiles had only himself to blame. “I better go talk to him.”
“I also think you should.” Scott nods.
Stiles looks at Scott, head tilted. “There’s not really some kind of terrifying
news threatening to rattle the mighty wolf to its core, is it?”
“Nope.” Scott shakes his head.
“You’re the devil.” Stiles tells him, wrapping an arm around Scott’s shoulder.
“I’ve learned from the worst.”
***** Chapter 10 *****
 There’s a knock on the door.
“You can come in, Stiles.” Derek says and the door promptly opens, the smell of
embarrassment quickly coloring the air.
“Fuck, Derek, if you knew it was me, you could’ve at least put a damn shirt on,
those arms must constitute a violation of some constitutional law.” Stiles
complains, trying to look away but failing miserably.
"Breaking constitutional laws is what I do." Derek smirks, getting up from his
pushups and looking down at his own figure, covered only by a pair of leather
breeches and shrugs. “Besides, I wouldn't want to miss your ridiculous rosy
cheeks or your awkward ways. I’ll take making you uncomfortable over following
the law any day.”
“I would laugh, but with that sleazy smile of yours, I never know if you’re
playfully joking or plainly being a jerk.” Stiles remarks. 
“It's a valid debate.” Derek agrees, scratching at his belly.
Stiles grunts in exasperation, picking a shirt from the bed and throwing it at
him. “Just put a fucking shirt on. I can’t focus with your abs being all
arrogant and superior like that.”
Derek snorts but does just that, slipping into the cotton fabric. “Was the
purpose of your visit simply to insult me, or did you had anything else in
mind?”
“You’ve been ignoring me.” Stiles accuses, an inflexion of pain toning his
words.
“We've been mutually avoiding each other." Derek corrects.
"Have not." Stiles debates.
"Yes we have."
"No, we haven't."
Derek refrains himself from prolonging this childish debate any further. "I
haven't called for you, you haven't come by."
“You were busy.” Stiles insists.
“How many times did you stroll in here while I was hunched over that very desk,
neck deep in paperwork and you simply picked up a book and sit by my chair?”
Derek reminds him, having not realized how much he has missed those small
moments.
Stiles tries to retort, but comes out empty.
“I gave you an out. You took it. I thought you were done with us, with me” and
those words don’t come out without effort, after countless years of living
behind a mask, but things always seem to be less hard with Stiles “so I didn’t
bother calling for you. My wish was never to impose.”
“It was never my intention to use you.” Stiles is quick to offer.
“I never said –”
“You thought.” Stiles cuts in, his words nothing but the truth, because for
Derek it made so much more sense than the alternative. “And perhaps it wasn’t
without reasons. I should’ve come to you sooner, spoken of my worries about
returning home, but the timing never seemed right.”
“If we’re talking about past mistakes, I shouldn’t have brought you with me.
That was a pretty awful thing to do and I don’t even regret my decision, not in
the slightest.”
“And I don’t regret my decision in letting you take me.” Stiles taunts him,
giving a step forward, a smile playing along his lips.
“Oh, really?” Derek asks, quirking up an eyebrow and rivaling Stiles’ advances.
"Really." Stiles chuckles and shakes his head, expression serene when he faces
Derek again. “I’ve missed you and I like you and I’ll be eighteen soon, free to
leave earth and roam around space with you, if you’ll have me, of course. I
don't want to impose either.”
"You don't." Derek assures, knitting his eyebrows together, any trace of
playful charm gone from his features. “Abd don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“Just you wait.” Stiles tells him, in tone of a challenge, closing the distance
between them and giving Derek a certain yet feeble kiss, the feeling of Stiles’
lips against his own fleeting, leading Derek to chase after them when they
part, locking their mouths together and caressing Stiles’ jaw with a gentle
hand.
“I’ve missed you too.” Derek confides, kissing Stiles’ forehead, dragging his
lips through Stiles' temple and kissing both his eyelids, locking their eyes
together as he removes each piece of Stiles’ clothing, fingers ghosting over
soft skin while bundles of fabric fall haphazardly on the floor. “Is this
okay?” Derek asks, their lips slightly brushing, when Stiles is left bare in
the middle of his cabin.
“Yes.” Stiles offers with a timid smile.
And that single, truthful word is all Derek needs, perhaps even forever.
“Unclothe me.” Derek asks of Stiles.
Stiles eyes widen a bit in surprise but he does as he’s told, removing the
cotton shirt Derek has just slide on, the knuckles of his fingers brushing
along Derek’s abdomen, bristling the hairs in the back of his neck and sending
small currents of electricity along his body. Ancient instincts grow nervous
when he temporally loses his sight, throat bare and exposed, yet just as
suddenly, Stiles is back in his line of vision, cotton shirt sliding down his
arms and unto the floor, forgotten.
Stiles then removes Derek's breeches, freeing his cock and falling unto his
knees as he does so.
As much as the sight of Stiles in his knees for him, about to take his cock in
that beautiful, gorgeous and sinful mouth of his, fills him with delight, Derek
offers Stiles a hand that he regards with some curiosity and slight confusion.
“Let me.” Derek asks and Stiles nods, accepting the open palm and standing up.
Derek places a chaste kiss in Stiles’ lips, trying to reacquaint with their
flavor, the kiss deepening as Derek pushes his tongue inside, senses drowning
in Stiles, rediscovering past sensations, past smells and tastes and textures.
He maneuvers the younger man towards the bed and pushes Stiles unto it, who
lands in the soft mattress with a huff, heartbeat speeding up when Derek drops
on his knees, spreading Stiles’ legs and sliding between them, keeping his eyes
fixed on Stiles’, pupils dilated and mouth hanging open with anticipation,
tongue swiping nervously at his lips.
Derek smirks and starts kissing Stiles’ inner thigh, the tip of his tongue
teasing sensitive flesh with each press of lips as Derek strokes Stiles' half
hard cock with a loose and kind of sloppy grip that seems to be driving Stiles’
crazy, unable to stay still, trying to get just a bit more friction.
“C’mon Derek, stop being such a tease.” Stiles grunts, frustration exhaling out
of every pore.
Derek grips his hold and turns his wrist, a movement that has Stiles’ hips
thrusting forward as a whimper falls off Stiles’ swollen lips, like a broken
plead.
“Like this?” Derek asks, lips ghosting over Stiles' hard cock.
“Please, Derek –”
Derek cups Stiles balls in one hand, cutting off his words, and licks Stiles’
cock from the base of its balls and along the length of its shaft until he
finally closes his lips around the head and bobs, tongue teasing at first
before Derek dives in, taking it all in.
“Fuck.” Stiles moans, hand sliding through Derek’s hair and hips thrusting
forward.
Derek grins, leaving Stiles’ cock glistening with dribble and turning him into
an incoherent mess of moans and whimpers as he chokes around it. The bitter
taste of pre cum tickles Derek’s taste buds, sending shivers down his spine and
making his dick grow harder, relishing in the taste of how close to release he
has gotten Stiles, closing his fist around the base of Stiles’ cock and
stroking, tight and fast and with a rhythm rivaled by Stiles' thrusts.
“Oh, fuck, Derek, I’m gonna cum.” Stiles warns, voice high and frantic, hand
fisting Derek's dark locks while the other grips the edge of the bed.
Derek leaves his dick with a pop and Stiles releases a small desperate whimper
from the back of his throat. His complaints are soon silenced when Derek starts
licking at his balls, tasting deliciously scented skin as small pubic hairs
brush against his stubbled cheek. “Come for me, Stiles.” He whispers, taking
one of Stiles' balls into his mouth and bobbing around it, taking Stiles even
more dangerously close to the edge and sending him over with a tight turn of
his fist, the scent of cum filling the room, spilling into Derek’s fist and
unto his cheek, making his nostrils flare and his own waist thrust forward,
hard cock rutting against Stiles’ leg.
A pull to his shoulders has him sitting in Stiles' lap as Stiles licks his own
cum from Derek’s cheek, leaving him feeling raw and aroused and dirty and in no
way displeased with any of it. “Fuck.” Derek mutters, fingers tangling in
Stiles’ hair and pulling him away, chasing the taste of cum from the other
man’s mouth with a sloppy kiss of tangled tongues and leading Stiles' eagerly
opened mouth and obscene swollen lips towards Derek’s knuckles, covered in the
pearly liquid that Stiles cleans until the very last drop. Derek smiles,
petting his nape. “Good boy.” He praises, kissing Stiles' temple. 
"Glad you enjoyed." Stiles whispers in his ear. "Now I want you to fuck me." He
tells Derek, pushing him unto the sheets with a devious smile.
Derek laughs freely, taking Stiles into his arms.
***** Chapter 11 *****
“You seem tense.” Stiles points out, setting The Universes Greatest
Destiniesdown on the bed and standing up, walking towards Derek, who’s sitting
behind his desk with such a deep frown Stiles fears they’ll get stuck like
that.
Derek looks up from whatever is troubling him, eyes tired. “It’s nothing.”
“Liar.” Stiles accuses, coming to a halt behind Derek’s chair and sliding his
arms down the captain’s tense shoulders, teasing his Pecs with just the tip of
his fingers. “Something is on your mind and it has nothing to do with” Stiles
squints at the papers crowding Derek’s desk “chart logs and space miles. You
need to relax. Relaxing always helps me speak whenever something is troubling
me.”
“I never realized you’d need any help with that.” Derek taunts, though he
offers no objection when Stiles slides his hands under Derek’s shirt and starts
massaging his shoulders. He simply rests his hands on top of his knees and lets
Stiles work his magic, humming and melting into the touch under Stiles’ expert
fingers.
Stiles sees that as a small victory.
So he starts unbuttoning Derek’s undershirt one button at a time, loosening its
grip on Derek’s body and exposing broad shoulders and pale skin. He slides the
sleeves off Derek’s arms, left hanging by the sides of the chair, and gets to
work, his fingers touching strong muscles and pressing unto tension points,
kneading out knots lodged beneath warm skin.
“Feeling better?” Stiles whispers beside Derek’s ear.
Derek hums his retort, the sound turning into a groan when Stiles bites his
earlobe, his hand jerking up and his fingers tangling in Stiles’ grown out
hair, pulling him closer.
“Fuck, Stiles.” He grunts.
“So, are you ready to tell me about what is bothering you?” Stiles asks,
corners of his lips bowed upwards.
Derek chuckles and the sound is deep and heavy in his throat. “So this was all
an elaborate plan for me to ‘fess up’?”
“No, this was just me being nice and getting you to relax.” Stiles says,
spinning the chair around so Derek is facing him and there’s a very evident
bulge beneath his leather breeches. Stiles smirks, already anticipating how
easy this is going to be and sits on Derek’s lap, his eyes regarding Stiles
curiously. “Though some form of persuasion can be arranged.” He concludes,
dragging his teeth along Derek’s jaw and squeezing one of Derek’s nipples
between his fingers.
Derek grunts, breathe hitching and hands moving to grasp unto Stiles’ thighs,
thumbs brushing along the cheeks of his ass and pressing him closer and along
his groin, mouth hungrily looking for Stiles’ lips.
Stiles smashes his finger against Derek’s lips and shakes his head. “Not until
you fess up.” He says with a smirk.
Derek raises his brows. “So that’s how it’s going to be?” He asks, tone not
entirely convinced Stiles will have the strength of mind to go through with it.
“Yup.” Stiles nods, pulling Derek’s nipples not so gently and watching him
curse under his breath, tightening his grip on Stiles’ ass and pressing him
forward to meet Derek’s thrust to, unfortunately for him, no avail, his
strength restrained by the sleeves left unbuttoned.
“Stiles, I will punish you for this.” Derek threatens.
“Not until I let you.” Stiles tells him, hand feeling Derek’s erection beneath
the shiny black leather fabric of his breeches, pressing against the push of
his waist, moving his hand in sync with Derek’s thrusts and mouthing at his
pulse point, tongue feeling the thick prickle of stubble against its wet
surface.
A grunt erupts from Derek’s throat when a frustrated thrust earns his dick only
the friction of the thin air between them, Stiles’ hand covering his mouth when
he tries to find his lips.
“So, what do you say?” Stiles asks.
Derek arches a brow and Stiles uncovers his mouth. “You’re the worse.”
Stiles shrugs. “I learned from the best.” He says with a confident smile
playing around his lips.
Derek tilts his head, considering, and smirks. “Yeah, I guess you have, which
in your case I would be very afraid with what I’ll do to you in return.”
“And I’ll certainly enjoy it, but all in due time.” Stiles pats Derek’s chest,
lifting his arm and leaving kisses along his forearm, giving tiny nibbles to
prickling skin.
“Fuck.” Derek moans, hand cupping Stiles’ nape and pressing him closer.
“Just tell me what is bugging and you can have me.” Stiles sing songs, licking
the hair of Derek’s armpit.
Derek’s nostrils flare, head jerking back. “Right now? You.” He groans.
“What about before I began persuading you?”
“I think you mean frustrating.”
“I can do worse.” Stiles says, slipping his hand beneath the leather fabric and
groping Derek’s length. “I seem to have learned a great frustration enhancement
technique.”
Derek grunts, looking down. “Kate.”
Stiles sits back in Derek’s lap, caught completely by surprise. He had heard
the name before and, among a ‘I had a girlfriend once’ whispered one night,
after Stiles had talked a bit about previous crushes on Derek’s request, the
heart wrenching ‘It’s my fault my family’s dead’ when Stiles once talked about
his mom, of home, and a final ‘Her name was Kate Argent’, all coupled with what
he knows about the fire at the Hale’s shuttle and who the Argents were, Stiles
had a really good idea of what she had done.
Well, that sure as hell was a way to kill the mood.
“What about her?” He asks.
And Derek really looks like he rather do anything else than talk about this and
perhaps now Stiles is feeling a little bit guilty.
Okay, a lot.
“Forget it.” Says Stiles all of a sudden, despite his burning curiosity. “I
shouldn’t have pushed you into telling me anything. I’m sorry.”
Derek sighs, rubbing his palms along Stiles’ thighs. “You’re going to find out
about it either way, so I might tell you now. At least I’ll have an excuse to
punish you later on.” He smirks.
Stiles chuckles. “That you’ll have.” He agrees with a tilt of his head,
slightly smacking Derek’s forearm. “C’mon, hurry up, I’m waiting.” Stiles tells
him, because he really is fuckingcurious.
“If you let me, I will.” Derek tells him, caressing his thighs as if to comfort
Stiles. “So, the stunt we pulled in Kerwan was bound to attract Argent’s
curiosity. I’m also sure they would be curious about you. Who you are and why
you were with me. By now they must know about the reward your father is willing
to give to anyone who brings you back home.”
“What?” Stiles cuts in. That earthen police wouldn’t have the funds to finance
a space pursuit and being the son of the sheriff might come with certain
privileges, but a luxurious life wasn’t one of them. “My dad doesn’t have that
kind of money.”
“And you are telling me he wouldn’t find a way?” Derek asks, eyebrow shooting
up.
 Stiles sighs, leaning his body closer to Derek’s chest, Derek’s arms
surrounding him and pulling him even closer, Derek’s heat warming him, kind of
like a safety blanket. “You can keep going.” Stiles tells him, forehead resting
on Derek’s shoulder.
“Kate would do anything for money; even throw her own family under the bus. The
only reason she even let us roam around is because I promised her a small part
of my uncle’s fortune.” Derek reveals.
“She’s planning on stealing the treasure. All of it.” Stiles deduces, piecing
the puzzle together.
“That’s my guess.” Derek says and then he smirks.
“You have something up your sleeve.”
“I have nothing up my sleeve. I do like to know my opponent’s hand and there’s
happens to be an Argent checkpoint on our way to Lupus” he sneers at the human
given name “and heading there would be reckless, even for me. She’ll know it
pertains to the treasure.”
“You are forcing her to show her game.” Stiles understands.
Derek slides a hand below Stiles’ neck and pulls him into a kiss, heated and
languid, tongue insistent and teeth punishing. “You’re so smart and I almost
pity having to punish you now.” Says Derek, pushing two oil slicked fingers
inside him, his breathe catching at the intrusion, cock twitching in Derek’s
lap.
“Fuck.” Stiles mutters, fingers digging in Derek’s broad shoulders.
“Almost.” Derek says, amused as he captures Stiles’ lips between his teeth,
fingers fucking his hole with little mercy. “I’m still deciding if I’ll let you
cum today.” He muses, kissing his mouth as a moan erupts from Stiles’ lips,
pulled out of him by a pair of ravishing fingers.
“Please, Derek, I won’t hold much longer.” Stiles pleads, rutting frantically
along Derek’s leg.
Derek grips Stiles’ dick in his fist, a jolt of pain, sudden and unexpected,
jerking him upright, but if possible, his dick hardens even more at the slight
pain. “You will cum when and ifI let you cum.” Derek whispers dangerously at
his ear and then his voice softens. “Remember, if you want me to stop, you only
have to say.” He reminds, teeth teasing at Stiles’ earlobe.
Stiles nods. “I know.”
Derek’s fingers slowly leave his hole. “Good boy.” He says with a pat on his
bum.
And then, for all of his sins, there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in, Master Finstock.” Derek says, mildly annoyed, his eyes sparkling with
amusement though, as Stiles’ cheeks redden.
The door opens and Stiles sinks further down on the chair, trying to stay
hidden and Derek snickers at him, the bastard. “Oh, I’m sorry for interrupting,
Captain Hale.” Finstock blabbers sheepishly, and it’s the first time he has
heard him sound shy.
“As long as you remain where you are, I guess there won’t be reasons for any
lasting damage.” Derek points out with a tone dry as sand and a devilish smile.
“I take it you interrupted us for a reason, though.”
“Oh, right.” Finstock says, taking the opportunity to collect himself, if the
rustling of feet through the wooden floor is anything to go by. Poor dude.
“She’s here.”
Derek’s relaxed demeanor falls, a thin line setting on his lips.
 
===============================================================================
 
Scott and Stiles are washing the ship’s deck, the noise of crew conversations
and the clanking sounds of a duel between Erica and Boyd fills the air, Isaac
chanting words of encouragement at them both, all of them ignoring the top of
the line space shuttle connecting with the Mighty Wolf, old and dusty by
comparison.
“Stupid jerk, having a reunion behind closed doors with his unlawfully hot ex
girlfriend who also happens to be a corrupt law enforcer. If I even suspect
something other talking, and the non sexual kind of talking, is happening in
that office, I’ll be the one doing the punishment and, trust me, it won’t be
the sexual kind.” Stiles mutters under his breath.
“Don’t you trust him?” Asks Scott and he has the effrontery to sound, gasp,
amused.
“I trust him. I don’t trust her.” Stiles states matter of factly while angrily
mopping the floor.
Scott chuckles and Stiles sends him a dirty look.“I’m happy you find my
suffering amusing. I’ll remember to laugh next time something bad happens to
you.” He mutters.
“I’m sorry, buddy, but you sound like a chick flick cliché.” Scott tells him,
providing no help in soothing his now ex best friend.
The tinkling of sharp metal blades entwined in battle breaks off.
“You’re fretting too much, Stiles, she has nothing you don’t have.” Boyd
offers.
Erica snickers. “Yeah, let’s ignore for the time being of what’s hanging
between his legs, Stiles also happens to be missing these pretty ladies.” She
provides, motioning towards her breasts. “And her boobs are even bigger than
mine.”
“I think your boobs are just the right size.” Says Boyd.
A sincere smile flourishes in Erica’s lips. “That’s really sweet.”
“None of you thought Kate was a little, I don’t know, hairy?” Isaac shrugs,
looking thoroughly confused.
“What do you mean, hairy?” Stiles asks.
“Hairy is someone with lots of hair.” Scott provides and Stiles’ eye twitches.
“Wait, you are having a mental breakdown without even laying eyes on her?”
Stiles ignores Scott’s remark. His panic is perfectly justified.
“Does anyone else wanna say something besides the obvious?” He asks, turning to
the three stooges.
“She was hairier than you.” Erica laughs.
“Hey!” Stiles complains. “I happen to have a very enviable happy trail, thank
you very much. And my pubic hairs are very manly, for your information.”
Erica outright cackles.
“Stilinski, no one wants to know about your junk!” Finstock shouts, slapping
the back of his head.
“But –” Stiles tries to argue, soothing the blow.
“Shut it!”
Stiles groans but does as he’s told, receiving a sympathetic look from Scott.
“Don’t worry, dude, if I was bi, I would totally go for you.” He whispers.
Stiles smiles. “Thanks buddy.”
“She is kind of hot, though.” Scott ponders.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “And I’m back to not liking you.” He says, picking up
his mop and going to wash a part of the deck far away from his so called best
friend and the musketeers of lame.
And then, the headlights of an entire fleet lock on the Mighty Wolf, which is
still a stuck up and pompous name, by the way. As the entire crew stands
awestruck, Stiles finds himself hurrying back towards the captain’s cabin, both
the mop and his cleaning duties left behind.
When he gets there, his closed fist hovers by the door for a doubting second.
Maybe, Stiles wonders, Derek needs this time with Kate, as to provide some sort
of closure and settle his demons to rest.
However, whatever Stiles’ decision was going to be, it is taken out of his
hands when the shriek of chairs dragging along wooden flooring carries outside,
steps approaching the cabin’s door.
Stiles quickly tries to look as inconspicuous as possible, focusing his
attention on a very interesting crack in the wood paneling.
A laugh that sends chills down his spine flows out of the now open door. “It
seems your new pet is a little lost. Maybe you could use one of the collars
from the three other dogs you stole.”
Stiles turns around, retort at the tip of his tongue when –
“You arefurry.”
Her smirk only widens, fixing Stiles with a long once over. “And you are the
ugliest hairless chimp I have ever laid my eyes on, but you don’t see me
pointing that out.”
“Wow, apparently you’re a one punch line kind of species.” Stiles retorts.
Derek clears his throat. “Kate was leaving.”
“Yeah, I was. I really liked our chat.” She smiles. “And if you ever get tired
of your pet ape, just give me a call or cross a secured boarder. Either one
works.” And then she leaves, the sound of heels echoing throughout the halls in
her departure.
“Wow, what a bitch.”
“You have no idea.”
“You’re aware the sky lit up like a christmas tree?” Stiles asks in a whispered
voice, like it’s a big secret, the lights of the fleet surrounding them still
creeping in through the window and casting it’s light along Derek’s cabin.
“Yeah, luckily, bad judgment is my only deficiency.” Derek says, dry, his smirk
telling Stiles he’s enjoying this little back and forth.
“Can you enlighten me on its obscure meaning?” Stiles asks with a jab of his
elbow.
“It was nothing more than a simple statement of power, a way of making it
crystal clear she’s only letting me go because I’m useful and because she can.”
Derek says colloquially.
“So, you were right?”
“I was right.” Derek nods.
A kind of awkward moment when neither of them says a word settles in.
Strangely, Derek is the one to break it. “I know we were in the middle of
something, but right now –”
 “Oh, right. Yeah, I totally understand. I can go.”
“Or you can stay, if you want to.” Derek offers, awkwardly scratching the back
of his head and actually looking kind of adorable while doing so.
Stiles smiles. “Then I think I’ll stay.” He says, stepping into the cabin and
picking up the copy of The Universe’s Greatest Destinies back from between the
silk sheets and walks over to Derek’s chair, sitting beside him.
“What’s your favorite destiny?” Derek asks after a while of rustling papers
around and reorganizing his desk, ruffling Stiles’ hair a little bit.
“The Plantae system.” Stiles offers. “My mom would’ve loved visiting such a
beautiful place, this kind of multi planetary botanic garden containing the
most stunning and wondrous plant life in the entire universe.”
“I could take you there someday.” Derek tells him, planting a kiss on his
forehead.
Stiles would wish for nothing else. 
***** Chapter 12 *****
They land in a port city, the water of the peaceful ocean cradling the ship as
birds squawk in the sky above.
Derek hides a smile when Stiles sighs of relief once his feet touch solid
ground, his features colored a sick shade of green. “I never would’ve thought
that amongst all our rocking, the ocean would leave you nauseous.” He whispers,
sparing a look to his betas and Scott, already moving a few steps ahead,
engrossed in their own conversation.
Stiles looks up from his leaning down position. “Maybe your bed just squeaks a
lot.”
Derek ponders. “I guess that’s something to be discussed some other time. Come
along, Stiles, you don’t want to get behind around here.”
Stiles snorts. “Are you telling me there are monsters?”
“What do you think?” Derek arches a brow.
Stiles rolls his eyes, though a hint of fear colors his smell and he quickly
follows Derek.
Looking around, Derek sees the ruins of old buildings and the white stoned
pavement that covers the ground and thinks about how this once must’ve been
very a rich and healthy town. Now, the forest surrounding it has taken claim of
the deserted city, green grass sprouting from lapses in the pavement, moss and
colorful flowers covering building frames and tall trees emerging from roofless
dwellings or random spots in the sidewalk.
It also has its own brand of beautiful, if it didn’t hide an awful truth.
That his people are gone – victims of genocide – and the only ones left are
probably slaves, like his betas once were, or are imprisoned in some private
collection.
A comforting hand holds his and Derek gazes to his side, finding Stiles there,
smiling sadly back at him and in that look Derek knows Stiles understands.
“Wow.” Isaac murmurs.
Derek forces his eyes from Stiles and follows Isaac’s dazzled stare, noticing
the almost full moon in the daylight sky.
He faintly feels its pull, calling to him in a very primal way and Derek
squeezes Stiles’ hand just a little bit tighter.
“We’ll be okay, right?” Boyd asks, a bit of worry in his eyes.
“Of course we’ll be.” Derek says, trying to appear more confident than he
really feels.
Stiles squeezes his hand in return.
 
                                 | Flashback |
                                        
“So, by my calculations and if this book has its facts right, Luna will have a
full moon in five days time. We should post pone our landing.” Stiles tells
him, as if having his hand written scribbles on his face will make Derek
understand the severity of the situation any more.
Derek understands plenty.
“I can’t.”
“Oh, you can’t?” Stiles asks, incredulity clear in his tone. “Alright; you
leave me no choice. Let’s see.” He opens a book, flipping through its pages.
“Here we are: Their eyes change rapidly between regular coloring and
supernatural shades of yellow, blue and red upon mild emotional distress, claws
and fangs sometimes becoming visible in the hours closing the full moon. At its
peak, restraints barely hold the subjects in their wild, beastly state…” Stiles
closes the book with a thud, as a revolted scent seeps from his every pore.
“You guys have never been exposed to the full moon like the subjectsin this
book. What if something happens and you all turn on each other? Or you turn on
me – the human who won’theal?”
“Then don’t come.” Derek offers bluntly.
“You know that’s out of question.” Stiles states with steel resolve.
Derek looks up from his books. “I understand your worries, Stiles, I do. I have
them too. Yet, giving the state of our supplies and how we can barely afford
anything else, we can’t turn around and hold off this trip for five days. We
just can’t. And even if we stole what we need, our route has been pretty
obvious. Kate will know where we’re headed and those five days could be enough
for her to find the treasure all on her own. Then, she’ll have no need for us
and I’m pretty sure she’ll have no qualms disposing of us to dissipate any
doubts of fraternizing with pirates, ensuring her election as the new Argent
president.”
Stiles sighs. “I know. I just wish there was another less life threatening way
of doing this.”
Derek gets up from his chair and walks over to Stiles, pulling him into his
embrace. “My offer still stands.”
Stiles shakes his head, holding Derek’s gaze. “No. We’ll do this, together.
Besides, I missing out on this adventure through uncharted lands in quest for a
centuries’ old treasure is not going to happen.”
Derek rolls his eyes.
“And so, I have a question. Are we sniffing our way towards the treasure or do
you have some sort of plan?” Stiles inquires, patting Derek on the chest.
“There’s this old nursery rhyme that’s been in my family for generations.”
Derek reveals.
Stiles’ eyes widen in astonishment and then incredulity when he realizes Derek
is telling him the truth. “Well, at least I’ll be useful, since my detective
skills are galaxies away from yours.”
“Is that so?” Derek asks, leaning closer.
“Yup.” Stiles nods with a cocky smile, closing off the distance between them.
 
                                | Present Day |
                                        
“So, where do we begin?” Stiles asks.
“First we need to find a tree.”
Erica snorts, unimpressed. “Take your pick.”
There’s a three higher than a mountain.
“It’s a tree higher than a mountain.”
“Well, that’s what I call fertilizer.” Erica remarks.
“That’s impossible.” Isaac points out.
“Wait a second. I’m sure that’s not all there is, right?” Boyd asks in a
hopeful tone, turning towards him.
“There!” Stiles points out suddenly. “Those hills are full of trees and I bet
that from their perspective, those faraway mountains look tiny. Does the rhyme
say anything else?”
All eyes turn to Derek.
There’s a tree higher than a mountain.
It rests peacefully on a valley.
“The tree is supposed to be on some kind of valley.” Derek tells him.
Stiles nods. “That must refer to a shape made by a rock formation of sorts. I
guess we’re up for a hike, then.”
“Holding these backpacks?” Scott complains.
“Big, strong Scott can’t carry such a small lightweight? I’m slightly
disappointed. Perhaps it would help if I borrowed you my heels.” Erica cackles,
swinging back her hair and strolling forward.
“Hey, humans don’t have as much strength as we do.” Isaac, like a knight in
shining armor, follows Erica in defense of his helpless princess.
“They are a little heavy.” Stiles concedes, adjusting the straps of his
backpack.
“Actually, they’re not that heavy, Stiles. Maybe you should start to lift some
weights.” Scott braves up, following his clique.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Maybe I should, buddy.”
Derek and Stiles meet eyes and Stiles shakes his head, unable to contain a
smile. “I guess Boyd and Erica aren’t that easily mesmerized by Scott’s
mechanic skills as Isaac seems to be.”
“Your quick thought always mesmerizes me.” Derek tells him, half sarcastically.
“You can praise me all you want, but there won’t be any hot, wild, nature sex
while we’re here. Maybe back at ship.” Stiles teases.
“Well, I guess I’ll have to endure.” Derek throws back dryly, approaching
Stiles and wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him into a
languid kiss, all insistent tongue and biting teeth, groping at Stiles’ cock
through the fabric of his breeches until he’s at least half hard.
“Guys, stop face licking and hurry up!” Erica scolds them.
Derek leans back, a cocky smile appearing on his as he smells Stiles’ arousal
and looks into his needy eyes. “Come along, Stiles.”
Stiles’ brows furrow. “That’s so not fair.” He mutters.
 
===============================================================================
 
They find the tree two days later and, as it turns out, Peter left behind some
cavalry to protect his treasure from the hands of human looters .That they find
some resistance actually lightens Derek up, since it probably means they are on
the right track. The worrying part, however, is that Isaac, Erica and Boyd
almost rip each other throats out in their hurry to sink their sharp claws
inside the two rusty robots.
“Not cool.” one of the robots says in a metallic voice.
“Let me show you the power of human love.” Pleads the other as sparks fly from
the hole in its middle as he falls to the ground.
And Isaac looks about ready to steal the robots Boyd and Erica are currently
gnawing at.
“Enough!” Derek orders and his alpha voice seems to pull them from their
trance, their features relaxing, their claws and fangs retreating.
“I’m sorry.” Isaac says, voice low, keeping his eyes fixed on the grassy
terrain as he scratches at a wound already healed.
“I don’t know what came over me.” Boyd admits.
“Probably we’re just a little tired from these past few days.” Stiles offers
and, probably taken aback by the recent episode, the three betas agree.
Scott, however, regards the trio with careful eyes.
“What’s the next verse?” Stiles asks, forcing an enthusiastic smile, the shadow
of the full moon’s presence probably still looming over him.
It looms over Derek, too.
Derek, though, does his best to act confident, like a leader would. His small
pack looks at him for guidance and he can’t disappoint them, so he recalls the
old family rhyme.
There’s a tree higher than a mountain.
It rests peacefully on a valley.
If you follow the arrow,
You’ll get to a stream.
“If you follow the arrow, you’ll get to a stream.” Derek reveals.
“There are no arrows nearby.” Isaac point out.
“Well, that was a waste.” Erica kicks at a rock that flies by Scott’s head.
“Hey, be careful.” He complains, looking to Stiles. “It must be another
metaphorical riddle.”
Derek looks past the tree at the mountain far ahead – the curve carved in the
rock formation kind of looking like an arrow, pointing downwards.
“I think I know where we need to go.” Derek and Stiles say in unison.
Erica rolls her eyes. “Now they even finish each other sentences – how
romantic.”
“Be nice.” Boyd scolds. “As long as they keep it quiet during the night, we
have no reason to complain.” And that sounds like a hint.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing them in action.” Isaac wonders.
“And that’s our cue to keep moving.” Scott decides, pushing Isaac down the
hill, his previous doubts about the betas forgotten. “I wouldn’t mind taking a
look at those robots, though.” He says, casting a mournful look at the
destroyed robot parts.
Stiles chuckles and shakes his head. “Poor robots, they didn’t stand a chance.”
Though, when his eyes meet Derek’s, they’re filled with worry, his fears about
the moon’s presence clear in those honest, honey brown eyes.
“Promise me that you’ll not lose control like that.” Stiles tells him later
that night when they are in the safety of their tent, naked under the fabric of
the plastic bag, Stiles’ body splayed along Derek’s with his head resting on
Derek’s chest.
“I’ve already promised you that.” Derek points out.
“Promise me again. You’re supposed to be soothing me, not being an antagonizing
asshole.” Stiles throws back at him.
Derek rolls his eyes. “Since you’re asking me so nicely, I guess I’ll agree.”
And then he turns them around, Stiles landing in the ground with a huff.
“The sleeping bag isn’t made of –”
Derek shuts his upcoming complaint with a kiss on his lips and a tug at his
dick. With a groan, Stiles’ brushes his palms through Derek’s stubble and
closes his fists around Derek’s slick black hair, pulling Derek closer and
straddling both of his legs around Derek’s waist.
When Derek rocks their already hard cocks together, moans sound in the silent
night.
“Fuck, Derek.” He curses, panting for air in the suddenly hot and stuffy tent
interior.
“I promise you I’ll never lose control like that.” Derek whispers, eyes staring
deeply unto Stiles’ own. “And if I even feel myself slipping, losing myself in
the pull of the full moon, I’ll just think of you.” He says, placing a soft
kiss to Stiles’ forehead. “And now, we’ll better leave things at this or Boyd
will come shake the tent.”
“Oh, yes, Boyd.” Stiles says, like he’s only now remembering of the beta, out
patrolling in case any other robots decide to wander around. “You’re going to
give me blue balls, I swear.”
A cocky smile spreads along Derek’s mouth. “There’s always other ways to pass
the time, as long as you’re quiet.”
“I’ll try.” And a mischievous glint shines in Stiles’ eyes.
Derek surrounds both their lengths in his fist, jerking them off and feeling a
kick of pleasure every time Stiles forces himself to muffle his moans, nails
digging in Derek’s back or fingers pulling at his hair. Derek bites and licks
at Stiles’ lips – those obscene lips that can jump from fact to fact, from
conclusion to conclusion as easily as they can wrap around Derek’s cock and
blow him into oblivion – drinking in the moans he can’t contain.
When the smell of cum and arousal burn as hotly in his nose as his skin below
each of Stiles’ touches, he clashes their lips together as they drink in each
other moan’s.
“I hope we find that river soon.” Stiles tells him later, when his head is back
resting on Derek’s chest and their minds are no longer clouded in a post
orgasmic haze and they’ve finally found some sort of semi comfortable position
in the sleeping bag, given both their and the bag’s very sticky conditions.
“Because as much as I enjoy when you jerk me off, such an activity being even
hotter in a covert mission like way, dry cum feels like shit.”
Derek rolls his eyes. “I hope we find it soon too.” He agrees, giving a final
kiss to Stiles’ forehead and resting a hand on Stiles’ ass before drifting off
to sleep.
***** Chapter 13 *****
Stiles takes off his shoes and stockings, rolling up his breeches and entering
the ice cold water, the nightlight casting a faint glow across the quiet
waters. He dips the sticky sleeping bag in the river’s crystal clear stream,
washing the remains of his and Derek’s last night jerking off session.
“Oh, interesting. These robots are actually powered by solar batteries,
connected to these tiny solar panels in their eyes. It’s quite ingenious.
Earth’s buildings used to employ these as well, before our atmosphere got
polluted by all that smoke.” Scott tells him, sitting crosslegged on top a
stone by the shore and playing with a lone robot they found wandering around;
Derek had hold it up while Scott looked for something akin to a turn off
button.
Its frantic movements made it hard for Derek to keep it still, which was kind
of ridiculous.
“A+, Scotty. And yeah, it’s quite ingenious. Peter got himself a very lasting
set of troops. Though, such an ingenious plan comes as no surprise, since crazy
masterminds always have the brightest ideas. I wonder if they auto-repair.”
“That’s a really brilliant idea, Stiles.” Scott declares.
“Watch it.” Stiles advises, rubbing the bag’s interior with a brush.
Scott chuckles. “Now seriously – it’s actually quite possible that they have a
supply of spare parts in some warehouse. Their programming must be in this chip
inside. Now, if only I had a way to peek in.”
Stiles whistles. “I’m really curious about what kind of whacky programming
Derek’s uncle put in there. You know, besides the ridiculous dialogue.”
“Peter’s always been the alphawas a little over the top.” Scott admits.
“Tell me about it.” Stiles nods and rolls his eyes. “I guess theatricality runs
in the family.”
And then a growl comes from between the trees.
“Is that you, Derek?” Stiles asks, peering through the dark, dense vegetation.
“You don’t have to bite me, it was only a joke. Though, you can rest assured,
I’ll let you bite me, among other things, later tonight.” He declares, wiggling
his eyebrows.
His smile suddenly fades, the hair in Stiles’ arms and neck bristling as four
sets of eyes, one a shining blood red and the others sparkling with an amber
like glow, appear from behind the tree’s leafage.
No! Stiles almost cries.
“Scott, get away from that!” He manages to shout, hurrying towards a shocked
Scott as the sleeping bag is left forgotten in the river’s quiet flow.
Fuck!
 
                                 | Flashback |
                                        
Stiles buttons a red tunic, the color of the fabric clashing with the flashy
purple of his breeches.
“So, you’ve decided for a motley themed attire yet again.” Derek notes, coming
to stand behind him and placing his hands on Stiles’ wait.
“You’re one to talk about sticking to a theme, running with it and building a
shrine dedicated to it next to a mausoleum you previously built in the theme's
honor.” Stiles points out jokingly, teasingly pressing his ass back against
Derek’s crotch.
“I guess you’re right.” Derek agrees, sneaking his palm under Stiles’ breeches.
“Besides, I’ve chosen cheaper fabrics, since I guess floral life won’t care
much about our power or ruthlessness. Clearly, you don’t share of my
undisputable opinion.” Stiles notes.
Derek tilts his head. “A captain always has to dress both richly and
provocatively. We never know who might come along unexpectedly to shiver at my
might. Though, good job on the pirate trivia. You’ve been a very good boy
indeed.” Derek congratulates him with a tug at his cock that quickly turns into
a squeeze that pulls a moan out of Stile’s throat. “Though, something certainly
has to be done about your feisty attitude.” He decides, biting at Stiles’
earlobe, the light sting sending a charged spark throughout his body that has
his dick throbbing already and the balance of his legs wavering, kind of like
goo.
“The others are waiting for us.” Stiles whispers faintly, tone unsure as his
cheek meet the cold surface of the mirror, because the last thing he wants is
to give up on this perfect opportunity for a round of steamy sex.
Thinking about it, he’s always ready for a good round of steamy sex with his
surly Captain.
“Then don’t tease me.” Derek warns, a cocky hint to his tone, like he knows how
much Stiles wants this right now and is relishing in it, stepping back.
Stiles’ hands grip the frame of the mirror for support, suddenly off balance.
“You’re such an asshole.” He calls out, in no uncertain terms.
“This asshole comes bearing gifts.” Derek announces, taking a belt from one of
the shelves of a cabinet and dropping it in Stiles’ hands. “There.”
“What’s the point of carrying a belt if not to hold my pants up?” Stiles
questions. "Wait a minute. Are you trying to torture me by carrying this heavy
monstrosity? Because I thought both of us had settled that sexy punishments are
the only punishments I need.”
Derek arches an unimpressed eyebrow. “I don’t really need an excuse for a sexy
punishment, given how to you they’re no punishment at all. The belt comes with
an embedded weapon holster and some wider loops that can be used to store vials
of whatever you’d like.” Derek points out, presenting him with a gun.
“You’re giving me a gun?” Stiles asks intelligently.
“Yeah, I am, unless you’d otherwise prefer stealing one from my weaponry
supplies.” Derek offers.
Stiles ignores his remark and looks at Derek. “You promised nothing would go
wrong.”
Derek sighs. “I know. Just see this as a preemptive measure. And even if
nothing goes wrong, who’s to say there aren’t any surprises waiting for us in
the planet’s surface? There can be wild animals or wandering Argents. I’m not
letting you go out there unprotected.”
“Cut the bullshit, Derek. I’m not taking that gun.”
“Stiles –”
“If nothing wrong is going to happen, I won’t need any fucking preemptive
measures!” Stiles argues, perhaps a little too loudly but fuck him if he cares.
Derek’s expression hardens. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I phrase that as a question? I
meant to say: wheter you take this weapon with you or you’re not leaving this
ship.”
“Hey!” Stiles objects, arms waving around. “That’s not fair!”
“We both know far too well life isn’t fair, Stiles.” Derek says, forcing
Stiles’ fingers to wrap around the gun and leveling it with his own forehead,
which, wow, is a vision he hopes never to repeat again. “If you see me coming
towards you in any way that seems menacing, you shoot me right here. It won’t
kill me, just leave me unconscious for a bit.”
“Derek. No!” Stiles cries, trying to yank his arm from Derek’s tight grip.
“Promise me, Stiles.” Derek insists with this resolute expression in his
features Stiles has never before seen.
It kind of scares him a little, mostly because it only makes all the things
that could go wrong in Luna, under the influence of the full moon, that much
more real.
“Fine, I promise.” Stiles gives in.
“Stiles, I can smell you, you’re just going along with this. I need you to
really promise me or you’re staying back.”
Stiles sighs, looking Derek into his eyes, seeing the love and the worry Derek
feels for him there: “I promise.” He whispers.
After some seconds of inspection, Derek’s furrowed brows relax a little and he
lets go of Stiles’ arm, satisfied with whatever he sees or smells in him.
Stiles gulps, feeling unsure about if he’s truly comfortable with what he has
just agreed to.
 
                                | Present Day |
                                        
Stiles reaches towards the weapon tucked away in his waist holster and,
pointing it at Derek – at those sharp cheekbones, angular jaw line and yummy
stubble – he knows he’ll not be able to do it. Back at Derek’s quarters, it had
been relatively easy promising to something that seemed ages away. Now, in the
heart pounding reality of this gut wrenching moment, faced with the face he’s
grown to love, his fingers only tremble uselessly against the trigger.
That’s not to say he’s defenseless.
Oh, no!
Just because he can’t watch Derek fall unconsciously to the ground doesn’t mean
he can’t shoot him anywhere else.
And yanking Scott to motion, that’s exactly what he does – he aims at Derek’s
arm and shoots.
The deafening screech of the gunshot seems to take the betas by surprise,
giving Stiles and Scott enough time to get some distance from the wild
werewolves.
They run deeper into the wilderness and Stiles feels grass leaves break under
his bare feet, tree branches sinking in his sole and drawing out blood and he
just shoves the pain away.
“What the hell was that?” Scott asks, his question seeming like a murmur
amongst the whistling still shrieking in Stiles’ ears.
“It’s a full moon.” Stiles offers. “They’re werewolves.”
Scott seems to accept Stiles’ answer pretty well, nodding curtly. “You
should’ve told us.” He says, disapprovingly.
Well, too late for that now.
The sounds of growling chasing them through the woods has Stiles reaching for
his belt again and picking one of the vials he stored, quickly opening the
small glass case and, remembering Derek’s words – mountain ash can protect you
from any supernatural creature, if you believe –he throws its contents into the
air, yanking Scott to a standstill, which has his best friend falling intoto
the ground.
Who needs to lift some weights now, buddy?
“What?” Scott asks, looking at him with wide, scared eyes.
“This barrier will protect us.” Stiles tells him.
“Are you sure?” Scott asks, regarding the dark ash with suspicion.
“It better work, since we can’t really outrun our werewolf friends.” Stiles
offers simply.
And it works, because when Isaac jumps towards them, he clashes into an
invisible barrier and is thrown back, sort of like a whip, left knocked out for
the time being.
Stiles: one.
Werewolves: zero.
Of course, that’s when the robots decide to show up.
“Fuck, I’m going to need a gun with more bullets.”
And then, Derek appears out of nowhere, standing protectively between the ash
circle, his remaining betas and the approaching, murderous, robots.
“You snapped out of it.” Stiles realizes, relief coating his every word.
Derek takes a peek back. “I guess I only needed to remember how much of a pain
you are. You should’ve kept your promise, either way.”
“Well, see that as payback for you breaking yours and for whenever you make me
suffer through unbearable sexual frustration.” Stiles winks.
“It was risky.”
“Well, it would be more risky to face down all these robots without you.”
“There are too many, we don’t stand a chance.
“You’re always so positive."
“Stop flirting!” Scott scolds, looking at them like they don’t see the gravity
of the situation. Stiles sees plenty, he just doesn’t let it mess up with his
hilarious wit.
But yeah, they’re probably going to die.
And then a couple of darts leave Erica and Boyd lying unconsciously on the
ground.
They might actually have a chance at coming out of this alive now and they have
mysterious dart people to thank to.
With newly found energy, Stiles promptly aims and fires at the robots closer to
him and Derek does the same, sinking his long claws in rusted metal bodies and
ripping cables out with his sharp teeth while arrows shrilling through the air
hit another few with equal efficiency.
When the robopocalypse is taken care of, Stiles is left wheezing with fatigue.
Derek, however, remains in a protective stance as two figures emerge from
between the trees – a male Czar and a younger female one.
Derek growls menacingly.
“Save your growls, Lycan.” The male Czar says and Stiles faintly recognizes him
from a poster back in Kerwan announcing the coming elections for president of
the Argent force. This is Chris Argent. “We’re on the same side,
unfortunately.”
***** Chapter 14 *****
After deciding these particular Argents aren’t an immediate threat, Derek props
both Boyd and Erica on his shoulders, Scott carrying Isaac in his arms, and
they all head over in quest of a safe camping ground for the night.
Keeping the beast in control proves to be a challenge, the wolf incessantly
trying to claw his way out.
Derek keeps a steady grip on Stiles’ hand and listens to the soothing thud of
his heart, bubbly and excited and so like Stiles as he curiously asks some
perhaps too private questions about Czar Biology.
When they find a relatively safe clearing, they set up camp and light a small
fire, mainly for both humans’ sake, bones shivering and teeth rattling with the
crisp night air.
“There are still some men loyal to me among Kate’s guard and I’ve told me to
keep me posted about her movements. A couple of days ago, I received notice
about a miraculous break Kate has been incessantly bragging about; how she’s
finally finishing the job she started all those years ago and straighten
Argent’s accounts all in one go. Me and my daughter have been tailing the
Argent fleet ever since and, well, here we are.” Argent says as they sit around
the camp fire.
“I still can’t believe Aunt Kate would be able of something like this.”
Allison, his daughter, mournfully adds.
“Yet, she did.” Derek says. “She, in her father’s old tradition, makes deals
with pirates and mercenaries for personal gain and then disposes of them when
they become too big of an inconvenience.”
“They’re bad people.” Allison accuses.
“They still don’t deserve such a fate, and neither did my family.” Derek
argues. “Everyone we’ve ever killed, we’ve killed in legitimate defense.”
“Your reputation says otherwise.” Argent points out.
“Reputations can be deceiving.” Derek offers with a fake grin.
Argent coughs. “Regardless of her past actions, my sister is still part of my
family and I won’t let her die.” He firmly states. “She’ll pay for her sins,
yes. But not with her life.”
“If it ever comes to the life of my pack or hers, I’ll gladly throw hers
aside.”
“Then I guess that’s a situation we’ll have to avoid.”
A tense silence sets in, thick air hovering heavily above the small group.
“You tracked her here, right?” Stiles asks, seeing the sudden silence as an
opportunity to sooth his curiosity.
“Yeah, we did.” Argent nods affirmatively.
“Then why isn’t she in custody yet?” He asks. “It would be a huge problem out
of both our backs; humongous actually.”
“It would.” Argent agrees. “Unfortunately, all we have against her are mild
conjectures and wild accusations. The only way we’ll have solid evidence is
when we’re able to look around Argent Enterprise.”
“I think you mean snoop.” Stiles corrects.
Argent ignores him. “Besides, we don’t really know where in the island she is.
We must’ve gone too close and she or one of her men spotted us. A missile hit
our wings and our small nave unit crashed.” He reveals.
“It seems she’s not as concerned with your lives as you are with hers.” Derek
states.
Both Argents fix him with a pair of dirty looks.
“Scott is great with machinery.” Stiles says cheerfully. “I’ll bet he’ll be
able to fix your ship in no time. Right, buddy?”
“Y-Yeah, I guess.” Scott stutters.
When Derek looks at the duo of friends sitting beside him, Stiles is looking
between Scott and Allison with a curious look while Scott is scratching the
back of his neck and has his gaze fixed on the dirty ground, the flickering
fire warming his rosy cheeks.
“You’d need fresh parts, since some of ours are damaged beyond repair.” Argent
points out.
“In a show of good faith, I could let you use some ship parts I have lying
around the deck.” Derek offers.
“That would be helpful.” Argent nods, turning to his daughter. “You remember
which parts we need and where the ship crashed?”
“Yeah, I remember.” Allison answers with a curt nod.
“Then it’s settled, my daughter will go with your beta.” Argent decides.
“Oh, I’m not a werewolf.” Scott stutters.
“He’s not in my pack.” Derek adds, at the same time.
“Scott isn’t a werewolf.” Stiles laughs, like the whole idea of Scott being
something akin to dangerous or menacing is completely ridiculous.
Argent and his daughter share a look.
“I can handle a couple of robots on my own.” Allison tells him.
Argent then tilts his head for her to go, even if doubts and nervous anxiety
crease at his forehead and the pungent stench of fear makes even the hair of
Derek’s arms shiver.
Scott stumbles over his feet as he joins Allison and Derek wonders why he’s
behaving so awkwardly. Allison, at least, seems to find it endearing, if the
smile tugging at her lips when she turns the flashlight on, more for Scott’s
benefit, Derek supposes, since Czars have great night vision, is of any
indication.
Stiles shakes his head with a chuckle.
Argent pinches the bridge of his nose and the Derek the smell of regret lingers
in the air.
Derek trades a questioning look with Stiles.
“I’ll tell you later.” He says with a cocky turn to his lip that makes Derek
want to drag him towards the woods, since they don’t really have a tent
anymore, and make him spill all he knows right the instant.
“Is your ancestor’s treasure as mythically big as it’s told?” Argent asks. “The
state Argent Force’s are in isn’t one solved with a couple of gold coins.”
“I thought taking bribes was all the money you needed.” Derek says.
Argent’s features harden. “To sooth claims of corruption, Kate will have to
refrain from taking bribes for a while.”
Stiles snorts. “If you ask me, the treasure isn’t even real.”
“Why so?” Argent inquires.
“If those robot’s catchphrases are any indication of the dude’s sense of humor,
I wouldn’t be too surprised if the treasure ended up being the knowledge we
gained along the way or some crap like that. You know, just to mess with our
heads.”
Derek kind of agrees.
His ancestor could’ve been a bit more subtle in his ways, though by all
accounts he was a bit insane in the end.
“Well, I guess that’s a question for another time.” Argent decides. “We’ll
continue our journey in the morning.” He informs, retiring himself from perhaps
too warm fire, given how he wears a layer of natural fur beneath his enterprise
attire.
“I never thought Scott was into bestiality.” Stiles murmurs once Argent creeps
through the opening of his tent.
“What do you mean?” Derek asks with a lifting eyebrow.
Stiles shakes his head. “If sexual arousal isn’t involved, you’re as oblivious
to attraction as you are to other social cues.” He chuckles, scooping a little
closer to Derek, the flickering of the flames casting a ghostly glow upon his
features and gifting his amber eyes with an almost supernatural sparkle.
“I seem to manage just fine.” Derek says, surrounding Stiles’ shoulders with an
arm as he rests his head against Derek’s chest.
“I guess you do.” Stiles whispers, drawing soothing circles in Derek’s exposed
chest, above the undone buttons of his puff sleeved shirt.  
They fall asleep in each other’s embrace as the flames dwindle and the rattling
wood turns into ash, the quiet sound of Stiles’ breathe brushing through
Derek’s chest and the peaceful thump of his heart lulling the wolf to sleep.
 
===============================================================================
 
Derek wakes up to shouts.
“You, you knew about this!” Erica accuses, pointing a finger in Derek’s general
direction. It comes as little console that Boyd and Isaac are too preoccupied
nursing their heavy heads instead of screaming at him. “You knew the full moon
was going to affect us and you didn’t bother telling us!”
All eyes turn on him, even Argent’s, head peeking out of his tent upon the
recent commotion, and Derek feels like he’s the target of a fleet of battle
ships.
He’s acquainted with the feeling from when a fleet targeted the Mighty Wolf
once, canons targeting the vessel and missing the ship by dangerous inches.
It was a really close call.
“Yes, I knew.” Derek concedes, rubbing off his eyes and deciding to face
Erica’s wrath head on.
Erica, though, doesn’t shout or scream. No. She simply grunts, like a
frustrated parent upon his child’s tantrums.
Stiles pats at Derek’s chest and he can almost hear him say ‘buckle up buddy,
you brought this upon yourself’.
“Is there any danger of it happening again?” She asks.
Derek tries to recall Stiles’ narration of the hideous book, as well as his own
torturous readings of the damn thing. “We may still experience some moodiness,
though the phase of murderous instinct has blown by.”
“Okay. Good news, at last.” She says, sarcastic. “Now, let’s set a couple of
ground rules. There’s going to be no more big bad Captain Alpha from here on
forth. We are not just members of your pirate crew, Derek, we are pack. We are
your pack. It’s time you start trusting us.”
Derek nods awkwardly, Stiles’ body still splayed over his.
And the bastard is smiling.
“I’m glad that’s settled.” Erica says, voice cold, storming off until a new
thought stills her march, turning to Derek with narrowed eyes. “Why are we
going to such lengths for this treasure, Derek?”
Derek sighs, deciding the time for half truths is over. “We need the treasure
for two reasons. Firstly, we’re essentially broke. Secondly, the Argents are
demanding half of the fortune in exchange for our lives. Oh, they’re also
planning to kill us before we leave Mother’s surface, allowing them to keep the
entirety of the treasure for themselves.”
“And what’s that thing?” Erica points at Argent.
“He’s one of the aforementioned Argents.” Derek offers. “He’s on our side,
though.”
“Okay.” Erica says like nothing is really okay. “Now we’re talking. Was it that
hard? We’re now also on not speaking terms.” Erica then grabs Boyd and Isaac by
the sleeves of their tunics. “All of us!” She states, storming off.
“That’s A+ for honesty.” Stiles congratulates, sitting up. “…F on timing,
though.”
Derek pretends to bite off the finger Stiles is tauntingly dancing around his
face. He throws Derek a dirty look and Derek shows off his sharp fangs through
a wide grin.
“Wow.” Stiles murmurs, voice filled with wonder, a slight hint of fear almost
indistinguishable among the seeping arousal. “You should not be allowed to do
that.”
Derek rolls his eyes. “Your fascination for all things dangerous is going to
get you in trouble someday.” Derek warns, standing up as he notices Argent
gathering his things.
“It already has, though it landed me your hot piece of ass, so it was worth it,
I guess.” And he gets up as well.
Derek’s eyebrows quirks up. “Are you implying only my ass is hot?”
“I’m implying you’re an ass, also hot.”
 “Unfortunately for me, you’re just an ass.”
Stiles steps on one of Derek’s feet with probably as much strength as he can
muster, given his forceful grimace, though Derek only feels a slight tingle.
He lifts an unimpressed brow for good measure.
“Jerk.” Stiles accuses, before capturing Derek’s lips in a chastising kiss and
striding away.
They leave camp quickly after, Argent telling them Allison will follow their
tracks once the ship is fixed. For all of his worries about his daughter, he
seems to have complete confidence in her skills, which eases Stiles’ own
worries about Scott alone in the forest.
At least he stops looking over his back and nervously tapping his fingers along
his leg.
Seriously, even Derek was starting to get anxious.
 
===============================================================================
 
Derek hears the thundering of falling water before any of the others, his pace
quickening as the last verses of the rhyme passed through generations of Hales
echoes in his mind.
 
There’s a tree higher than a mountain.
It rests peacefully on a valley.
If you follow the arrow,
You’ll get to a stream.
Your journey’s desire will soon be near.
Behind the curtains your prize awaits,
Though be careful with your quickening pace.
One wrong move will prompt the closing of the gates.
 
“The treasure is behind that waterfall.” Derek says once the cascade comes into
view, falling droplets of water sparkling in the daylight’s sun.
“Manipulate. Manipulate. Manipulate.” It suddenly echoes around them, a swarm
of the increasingly irritating robots coming forth from between the trees.
“Fuck.” Stiles mutters, loading his gun. “These guys are starting to annoy me.”
“Yeah, they manage to be more innerving than you do.” Derek counters.
Stiles smirks. “And they somehow manage to be much funnier than you.”
“This is not the time or the place for your foreplay.” Erica scolds them, nails
elongating into sharp claws.
“He says your boobs are too small.”One of the robots slanders, approaching
Erica.
Erica sinks her claws in its body, sparks flying everywhere. “And you’re too
skinny, bitch.” She states, yanking the robot aside and inspecting her hands
carefully. “And I didn’t even break a nail.”
“They think you’re too furry.”
“She calls you fat behind your back.”
“Your pirate attire is ridiculous.”
Then suddenly, Argent is taking three round devices from his belt and throwing
them each at a different side. The spheres whistle through the air, making a
sharp screech. “Cover your heads!” Argent warns as the metallic orbs explode in
a blazing blast of heat, Derek’s ears buzzing from the deafening sound and
black spots sprouting in his vision from the intensity of the bright flash.
It also sends bits of robot parts flying off everywhere.
“Wow, dude!” Stiles says, amazed.
“Don’t call me dude.” Argent tells him, stalking towards the waterfall.
“I could do that.” Derek mutters. And he could, actually. Derek would even use
his claws and fangs, which would be much more impressing.
“I still love you, duffus, there’s no need to be jealous.” Stiles says, patting
his shoulder.
“You love me?” Derek asks, arching a brow.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Ah ah, laugh of the one brave enough to say it.”
Derek grabs onto Stiles’ arm, making the other man face him. “I’m not making
fun of you.” He says intently.
Stiles averts Derek’s gaze. “I’m sorry if me saying it out loud weirds you out.
I just thought that, since it’s pretty much an unspoken thing between us at
this point, that it really wouldn’t be such a big deal.” Stiles says,
shrugging.
Derek shakes his head. “I just never thought this would –”
“What are you waiting for?” Argent asks, interrupting him. “Hurry up, I’ve
found a way around the lake that will let us get behind the waterfall and see
if there really is a cavern behind it.”
“There will be.” Derek states, turning to Stiles. “And we’ll be continuing this
conversation back at the ship.”
Stiles nods and they all follow Chris Argent towards a narrow path outlining
the lake and surely, it takes them behind the curtain of water, the bubbling
sound of the falling stream echoing in his ears and dampening the jangling
wilderness, dampening the sound of small animals rustling through the leaves or
the melodic chirping of buzzing birds, sounds that have become so common during
these past few days, he only really notices them when they’re gone.
“What were you saying about there not being any cavern?” Derek asks Argent, a
smirk playing on his lips as the narrow path opens up in a cave, hidden behind
the crystal clear curtain of the waterfall.
“Excuse me if I don’t believe in lullabies.” Argent counters.
“Captain, I’m sorry to tell you I don’t see any treasure.” Boyd says.
“So I broke my heel for a wild goose chase.” Erica complains.
“If at least there was a goose, we could eat it.” Isaac mourns.
“Knowledge is the only treasure we need.” Stiles says, smothering a laugh and
nudging his hip against Derek’s.
Derek huffs. “At least explore the cave first before declaring defeat. There,
I’ll check that bend up ahead.”
His pack and Argent start looking around and Stiles joins him as Derek walks
towards the bend, linking their hands together and squeezing soflty.
“Thanks for believing in me.” Derek says.
 “Oh, I’m not sure I do. I just think you shouldn’t do this alone, is all.”
Stiles admits. “You should have someone by your side to hug you in case there
isn’t any treasure, as well as someone to call you an idiot later on.”
“Gee, thanks.” Derek rolls his eyes sarcastically, squeezing Stiles’ hand
anyway.
And after the bend, he finds a pile of golden coins and jewelry, of cutlery and
plates, the treasure casting a yellow glow across the rocky walls of the
cavern. Upon such an unlikely sight, of an immensurable wealth he was starting
to believe didn’t even existed, Derek feels his stomach bubbling with warmth
that spreads through his limbs and breaks his thin set of tight lips into a
grin that has his cheeks aching.
“Fuck, that’s a lot of gold.” Stiles breathes out.
“Yeah, it is.” Derek agrees, turning to Stiles to find the most beautiful of
smiles on his perfect face. Though, Stiles’ eyes are no longer on the treasure,
but on Derek, his eyes shining in the dim lighted cave, a molten gold brighter
than all the gold in the universe and Derek can’t resist sliding his fingers
through the soft, pale skin of Stiles’ jaw, caressing the mole that peacefully
rests in the edges of his lips and bringing him closer.
Their lips brush together, Derek’s tongue meeting Stiles’ chapped lips and he
feels like the happiest person in the world.
“Step away from the gold, lover boys!” Kate’s voice sounds in the cavern, her
voice echoing like a bad omen and, instantly, the warmth shatters inside of
Derek.
He unlocks his lips from Stiles’, turning to the woman he once loved and now
hates and steps between Stiles and the gun.
Looking towards his left side, he sees more Czars pointing electric weapons at
his betas and shotguns at Chris Argent, his arsenal lying uselessly on the
rocky terrain.
“How long have you been following us?” Derek asks.
 “I wasn’t following you. I merely found the signal of my dear brother’s ship
and followed his tracks.” A playful smirk blossoms on Kate’s lips. “And they
led me to you.”
“How in the hell did you manage to stay undetected?” Stiles asks.
Kate rests her eyes on Stiles and then slides them to Derek. “C’mon Derek, the
human said speak.” She prompts, her laughter bristling the hair at the back of
his neck.
“If you disguise yourself well enough with the environment, Lycans can’t scent
you.”
“That’s right. I would applaud, but –” She lifts her gun apologetically. “And
thank you so much from bringing me towards the treasure. I would have never
been able to get here without your help, and without yours either, dear
brother.”
“Kate, you can still turn back.” Argent pleads.
“Why would I ever want to turn my back on greatness, Chris? With all this gold
and with the death of the Puny Wolf crew, nothing will stand in the way of the
Argent Force. It’s a shame you and your daughter won’t be there to see it.”
Kate says with a pout, the acidic scent of bullshit coating the word ‘shame’.
Then, a whistling arrow swings through the curtain of water and explodes in a
blinding flash of white light upon reaching the ground.
Kate instinctively shoots off her weapon, like a cornered animal, and Derek
shoves Stiles against the rocky walls of the cavern, shielding him with his own
body.
“What is –” Stiles begins to ask.
“Be quiet.” Derek tells him, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or they’ll hear
us.”
The blunt sound of hitting fills the air and when dark spots stop overrunning
Derek’s visions, Kate and her men are lying unconscious on the middle of the
ground, Peter’s robots standing still beside them.
“What the fuck?” Stiles asks, incredulity seeping into his tone.
And, like an answer to his question, Scott and Allison walk into the cave.
“It worked!” Scott shouts, unable to control his excitement. “Oh man, Stiles,
you won’t believe it. Their space ship is so awesome and they had this thing
that reads chips and I fucked around a bit with the robots programming and, oh,
and Allison shot an arrow and it was awesome!”
“Glad you had fun, buddy.” Stiles chuckles and rests his head on Derek’s
shoulder, letting out a sigh of relief.
“You brought the ship?” Derek asks, petting the back of Stiles’ head as the
feeling that everything’s right in the world settles deep into his bones with
each breathe that ghosts against his neck, warm and familiar.
“Of course we did. We wouldn’t have been able to get here so fast without it.”
Scott reveals. Why?” He asks, letting Allison and Chris to their hugs and
muffled words.
“We will need some help carrying the treasure back to the ship.” Derek says.
“Shit, really?” Scott asks.
“Did no one believe me?” Derek asks, voice not really annoyed as Stiles’
heartbeat buzzes soothingly next to Derek’s own ribcage.
“I’ll always believe from now on.” Stiles admits and there isn’t a trace of
falsehood in his tone.
***** Chapter 15 *****
With his sister at gunpoint, the cold and awesome bastard that is Chris Argent
is able to incarcerate the Argent troops still loyal to his daughter and, after
a raid of the files kept aboard their ship, he’s able to gather enough evidence
proving Kate’s corrupt ways. Luckily, his name isn’t in any of it, so Chris
will likely still have a chance at candidacy.
Chris is also so impressed with how fast Scott managed to fix their crashed
cruiser and use the robots at his advantage that he offers him a job as an
engineer aboard Argent Enterprises. The grin that blossoms in Scott’s face,
bright and radiant, is only mirrored by the one on Allison’s lips.
Of course, there is the matter of Scott’s mom.
Stiles can only imagine how worried Melissa must be and how much convincing
both Scott and Chris will have to do in order for Scott to ever dream leaving
Earth again.
He’s trying not to think about his dad’s wrath either.
A difficult conversation at a time is Stiles’ new motto, starting now, because
as soon as Derek closes the door of the captain’s quarters, the victorious
chants of his crew muffled by the dark wood, he can tell it is going to be a
doozy.
“So, you love me.” Derek says, the words hanging in the space between them, a
statement and a question rolled into a package of nope.
“Yes, I do, Derek. I thought this conversation was over.” Stiles awkwardly
scratches at the back of his neck and sits on theirbed, taking off his shoes.
“No, we didn’t. Treasure hunting got in the way.”
“Oh, yeah, treasures are such nuisances.”
“What are we going to do, Stiles?” Derek asks, ignoring Stiles’ sassy and
ingenious remark, his voice so small in the cabin’s interior, so frail, it is
hard to believe this guy is captain of a pirate ship feared in countless ports
and forbidden of ever entering in countless others.
Well, probably not if Chris is elected.
It seems Chris is open to a truce if his conditions are met, conditions he’s
only comfortable turning public if he wins the candidacy.
“We’ve talked about this.” Stiles tells Derek, forcing his thoughts back to the
present conversation, one he wishes they weren’t having.
They could be having sex right now!
Hot, see you later sex.
Stiles takes off his red tunic, hoping that carries his point over to Derek’s
hard, stubborn head, in hopes his other head becomes hard and overpowers his
very handsome, stubbly one. It’s a bulletproof plan.
Derek groans. “We really haven’t.”
“Just because you thought I wasn’t serious doesn’t mean we haven’t.” Stiles
states, smirking as Derek’s eyes follow the purple fabric of Stiles’ breeches
as it slides down his legs, Derek’s eyes dark and hungry. Stiles feels hot and
dirty beneath such an intense stare.
“What about your father?” Derek asks.
“I’ll have almost a year worth of persuading him. Besides, I’ll worry about my
dad.” Stiles says pointedly, removing his stockings, the whip of the fabric
against thin air making him realize he is practically stripping for Derek.
The thought makes him blush all over.
Derek’s tongue peeking out to lick across his upper lip, a lip Stiles has
kissed and bitten and pulled between his own, only makes everything worse.
“You are young, Stiles. That much time might seem like nothing now, but you
will get tired of waiting.” Derek warns, though his body couldn’t care less
about the words coming out his of his mouth, apparently wanting Stiles as much
as Stiles wants him if the way his feet bring him closer and his fingers push
each button of his waistcoat through each loop to reveal just the tiniest bit
of yummy skin and shy chest hair, are of any indication
“The entire world is your playground.” Stiles states and stands up, pulling off
his boxer briefs. “You’ll soon realize how plain I am.”
“You’re not plain.” Derek argues.
“Then I won’t get tired.” Stiles decides.
Derek groans, like Stiles is the one being stubborn here, his puff sleeved
shirt joining his waistcoat on the floor, the outline of his hard dick in the
dark breeches screaming ‘ready for action’.
“How about you cut the chit chat and give me something I’ll remember.” Stiles
winks and takes a few steps towards Derek, their bodies a mere arm’s length
away.
“It’s not that simple.” He says, falling into the temptation of Stiles’ naked
body anyway.
Their lips meet without much thought, their mouths locking together like two
matching pieces of a puzzle, teeth nipping and tongues brushing together,
tangled, almost like they are fighting for dominance, for contact, for just a
little bit more.
Derek places his palms on Stiles’ neck, fingertips following the lines of
Stiles’ tendons, tracing the bob of Stiles’ Adam’s apple as he swallows and
pushing Stiles towards the mattress as Stiles struggles with Derek’s stupid
pants.
If Stiles wasn’t leaving soon, he would institute a no clothes rule while on
cabin’s grounds.
Although maybe Derek would start wearing more clothes, just to go against the
law and taunt Stiles just a little bit more.
All thoughts concerning the best way of ensuring Derek’s nakedness at all times
are blown away as the heels of Stiles’ feet knock into the hardwood of the bed,
Derek biting a groan out of Stiles’ mouth and he’s unsure if the stars dancing
around in his head are from the burn in his feet or from the sting of Derek’s
teeth scarping along his lips.
Stile falls unto the bed, bouncing slightly as his ass meets the mattress.
“Fuck, Stiles.” Derek mutters as Stiles sits up to place wet kisses along
Derek’s dark trail, carelessly shoving down his leather breeches as Derek’s
fingers intertwine with loose strands of Stiles’ hair, longer now than when
Stiles first came aboard the ship.
Derek’s cock bumps up and down once Stiles frees it from the constraining
fabrics of both the breeches and Derek’s undergarments. Stiles wraps his hand
around Derek’s hard cock, pushing down the foreskin and stroking its length
sloppily, Derek thrusting into his fist. Stiles’ other hand gathers Derek’s
balls into his palm, licking the sensitive skin.
Derek’s breath turns more frantic, his hand on Stiles’ scalp pushing him deeper
and his hips thrusting into Stiles’ fist with a renewed sense of urgency,
Stiles’ name falling off Derek’s lips like a broken prayer as Stiles closes his
mouth around one of Derek’s balls, bobbing and licking around it, Derek’s cock
smearing pre-cum all over Stiles’ cheek.
Stiles then drags his tongue across Derek’s dick, pressing small kisses along
the way and brushing his tongue along the pulse points of Derek’s veins, his
tongue pulling rough groans and throaty moans out of Derek’s mouth.
Stiles swipes his tongue across the slit and closes his eager mouth around the
head of Derek’s cock, his hand fisting around the base of Derek’s cock, tongue
licking over the border of his foreskin and smearing the head with dribble.
“Fuck, your mouth feels so good, Stiles.” Derek praises and Stiles looks up, a
smirk blossoming on his lips when he sees just how dark Derek’s pupils are and
how flushed his skin is, keeping his hold on Derek’s cock and continuing to bob
around the head of his fat cock as he watches the changes in Derek’s features
through his lashes.
Derek strokes the curve of his jaw. “So fucking good.” He whispers, pushing
Stiles’ deeper, making him take more of his fat cock.
Stiles wraps his hands around Derek’s hipbones for balance as Derek fucks into
his mouth, leaving his throat dry and bringing burning tears into his blinking
eyes.
Derek lets him go each time Stiles needs to breath, each time his gag reflex
makes him cough, but Stiles goes back for more each time and soon after the
bitter taste of semen fills his mouth as Derek cums, his hips coming to a
standstill with one final jerk as his mouth lets go of a broken little moan.
Stiles swallows it all, his fist forcing every last drop of cum out and licking
Derek’s slick cock clean, letting go with a dirty pop only when he knows
Derek’s dick is dry, his breath spent.
Derek pulls him up and pushes his tongue into Stiles’ mouth, his lips drawn in
a lazy smile as he licks the taste of his own cum clean.
“Get back.” Derek tells him, gently brushing his fingers along Stiles’ jaw, his
breath ghosting over Stiles’ swollen lips and the slight sting of his stubble
still burning Stiles’ cheeks.
Stiles does as he’s told, watching as Derek takes off his breeches, his knees
coming up one at a time as he peels of each leathery leg from where it’s stuck
around his ankles.
He stalks on top of the bed, fingertips tip toeing along Stiles’ legs as he
burrows himself between Stiles’ thighs.
Stiles wraps his feet around Derek’s waist, swirling his tongue around one of
Derek’s nipple and nipping at the hair of his armpit and kissing the impressive
muscles of his forearm until Derek is bending down and pushing him unto the
bed, bringing their mouths together as he aligns his dick with Stiles’.
They spend a while rocking their cocks together, each brush of skin against
skin sending waves of heat all through Stiles’ body, making his muscles spasm
and his mouth voice out ridiculously needy noises that Derek just takes into
his mouth like they are his.
Stiles traces the ripped muscles of Derek’s back with his blunt nails as pre
cum smears between their bellies.
“Derek, fuck, I’m almost cumming.” Stiles warns and Derek just smirks, the ass.
Both luckily, because Stiles really wants to get fucked quicker as possible,
and unfortunately, because he kind of needs release now, Derek pulls back,
dropping tender kisses along Stiles’ body, like promises carved in his skin,
and tracing his fingers along the tendons of Stiles’ neck, along his abdomen
and his ribs, along his belly and his happy trail, like he’s memorizing every
hint, every line and every texture of Stiles’ body so he can preserve it for
later, dedicate poems to it and build statues in Stiles’ honor, like he wants
to drag this moment in time and wants it to last forever.
Like he’s taunting Stiles and telling him to be patient.
Finally, his hands grab Stiles’ thighs and he lifts Stiles up, back bent in a
awkward position against the mattress, ass popped up.
 Derek’s tongue feels harsher against Stiles’ butthole than it did on his skin
as he greedily brushes his tongue around the edges of Stiles’ rim before
pushing inside as deep as the length of his wide member allows, the burn of
Derek’s stubble scratching against the tender skin of Stiles’ butt cheeks.
“You taste so good, Stiles.” Derek tells him before diving in for more, his
wide eyes locked in Stiles’ hole and his voice rash, breathless.
“Fuck, Derek.” Stiles mutters, swiping his palm across his sweaty forehead and
not knowing what to do himself anymore.
When Derek is satisfied, he rests Stiles’ back against the silky sheets,
bending over Stiles to dip his fingers in oil before pushing one of them inside
Stiles, a moan erupting from between his lips at the intrusion.
Derek then adds a second finger, and then a third, hitting all the right spots
inside Stiles and composing with his fingers the most loud and pleasurable
serenade of them all. It’s almost like he has committed to memory every sound
Stiles has ever made at the command of his fingers and is now using all of his
knowledge to take Stiles to the precipices of both insanity and bliss.
“Fuck me, Derek, just fuck me.” Stiles pleads, unable to recognize his own
voice.
“You have to learn to be patient, Stiles.” Derek tells him, removing all of his
three fingers from inside of him, Stiles already missing the sense of fullness
inside of him, and tugs at Stiles’ cock teasingly.
Stiles groans, jerking up his hips. “Make me.” He’s able to throw back in a
semi irreverent way.
Derek smirks and then, suddenly, Stiles’, world is spinning around him until he
lands face first on the mattress with a breathless huff.
He’s about to protest when the sharp sound of a slap making him moan and rut
his hard and swollen cock shamelessly against the mattress sounds sharp in the
still air, the soft fabric of the sheets too harsh for his sensitive skin, the
burn and the warmth coiling in the cheek of his ass sending spasms along his
body that have his legs shaking and his fists crumpling the silky sheets and
tears burning in his eyes.
Derek grabs and squeezes both of his cheeks in his strong hands, the sharp
sting of a second slap making him moan and smear pre cum between his belly and
the mattress.
“Maybe I will some other time.” Derek whispers at his ear, the shape of a
predatory grin clear against his neck. Derek dips his fingers in the oil
recipient once more before he pushes his oil slick cock inside of Stiles hole.
Stiles feels a slight burn as Derek’s cock goes through each ring of muscles,
his body getting reacquainted with the fullness Stiles missed so much during
those days camping in Luna.
Camping with werewolves totally sucks.
“Fuck, Stiles, you’re so tight.” Derek mutters as he locks both of Stiles’ arms
behind his back, one of his hands wrapping around both of Stiles’ wrists,
pinning him there and fucking him boneless into the mattress.
It isn’t longer until Stiles cums, messy and blissful and leaving both his mind
and his bones feeling like mush, muscles clenching around Derek’s cock.
Derek cums inside of Stiles with a rough groan cum letting go of Stiles’ sore
arms, and draping himself on top of him.
“I love you.” Derek tells him.
Stiles smiles, lazy and happy and Derek tips his chin up and they trade a kiss
that is more a brushing of their mouths together than anything else.
“I know.” He murmurs. “Now get up and clean us.” Stiles hums as Derek leaves
sloppy kisses behind the shell of his ear and above his shoulder blades, his
palms caressing Stiles’ sides.
Does goes do just that, patting Stiles’ ass before getting up.
Stiles is going miss Derek, he thinks, as he watches Derek’s body strutting
away to get a clean cloth, hips swinging from side to side and ripped muscles
flexing and rearranging as he walks.
 
===============================================================================
 
Landing on Earth involves some consultation with the Beacon Hills Harbor and
also some not really veiled threats from Derek concerning their peaceful
departure.
“We’ll miss you.” The betas tell Scott, hugging him in what Stiles names a
puppy pile.
“Thanks for the warm farewell, guys.” Stiles says when he’s left out.
“You were alright too, I guess.” Erica decides.
“It will be a bit quieter without you here, though.” Boyd ponders with a smile.
“And it will also be a lot less smelly.” Isaac chips in.
Stiles flips all of them.
They chuckle and smother him in a four way bear hug all the same.
Derek and Stiles trade a short kiss after that before off they go.
“I wish we had a little bit of more time for goodbyes.” Stiles admits to Scott
as they walk down the landing board.
“We were eating at each other’s faces for hours!” Scott says, mouth falling
open.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “That’s an overstatement.”
“It’s an understatement.” Scott tells him. “Everyone was politely dragging
their eyes from the both of you. Actually, it’s a good thing we’re leaving now
or you would drag Derek’s fearsome reputation into the dirt.”
Their discussion is promptly silenced when they see their parents waiting on
the docks.
Both Stiles and Scott run towards their corresponding family member. Stiles’
dad welcomes him with tears in his eyes and a tight hug, arms wrapping around
Stiles’ back. A peek over his dad’s shoulder, amidst the tears blurring his own
eyes, Stiles can see Scott is having a similar welcome.
“If you ever sneak out of the house like that again, I’ll kill you myself.” His
dad threatens.
Oh, boy.
Stiles waits until the nights where his dad checks in if he’s still in his
bedroom sleeping or calls him in a frantic, desperate tone in his voice when he
doesn’t find Stiles where he expects him to be are taken by the wind to tell
him of his wishes.
Needless to say, it doesn’t go over very well.
His dad eventually accepts Stiles’ decision, makes him promise to check back
daily. His change of mind probably also has something to do with the news that
Argent Force’s new president is striking a deal with the last of the Hale’s
Pirates.
They become Argent Force’s strike team, sailing the seas arresting pirates and
robbers, as ironically as it may sound. Some of the Mighty Wolf crew doesn’t
seem to take to the new management that well though, and leave the ship to sail
the space on their own.
Derek, Stiles thinks, must appreciate the sense of calmness he has now.
Chris Argent comes by a couple of weeks after he wins the elections.
Scott is gone soon after that and Stiles gambles it probably took a similar
amount of convincing for Melissa to agree to that as it did with his Stiles’
dad. She starts visiting them more then and Stiles sometimes ears her from his
room.
“How could I deprive him of a better life?” She asks one day.
The Sheriff offers no answer.
They also laugh a lot and one night, when Stiles goes through the living room
towards the kitchen, to pick up some dry, paper like snacks to sooth his
stomach, he sees them dancing to the tune of some old song spurting out of the
rusted mp5, a blue light seeping out of the broken screen and casting an
ethereal glow upon them.
Stiles is happy they’ll have each other for support, at least.
His popularity also seems to go up. Apparently getting kidnapped and
participating in a robbery really amps up a dude’s appeal with both the guys
and the gals.
Stiles refuses every invite for a date, though.
Instead, he waits for his birthday and remembers his time with Derek, the
crease of his eyebrows while he’s hunched in his desk, head deep in paperwork,
remembers his genuine smile when they laid together in bed, remembers the touch
of his fingers and the sound of his voice and feels an ache in his chest and a
smile in his lips and a tear slipping down his cheek at the memories.
At night, Stiles remembers other things about Derek, things that leave him
breathless and panting, leaves his skin coated with sweat and makes him cum
amongst muffled groans in the moon’s quiet glow.
His birthday finally comes, feeling like the date took too little and too long
all at the same time and Stiles and his dad tend to his mom’s garden, and even
through the poor thing clearly has been through better days, it still seems
like she’s there. They watch Stiles’ favorite movie on the holo screen and tell
stories, so many stories.
Stories that have them laughing until their cheeks hurt and crying until
they’re balling their eyes out. His dad also uses some money he had saved and
buys ingredients for a cake.
They forget about it and almost burn the house down.
Melissa comes by at dinner time and they eat together, shoving an impromptu
candle in the middle of the cake. Scott joins in via video call and sings along
with the birthday song, telling them about his day as they eat around the burnt
parts of the cake while the noise of the HV sounds in the backdrop.
The noise of the ship sailing across earthen skies sounds shortly after.
Stiles hugs Melissa and his dad goodbye, trying not to look at his dad’s teary
eyes as he pushes back some tears of his own.
“I’ll see you both in a couple of months!” Stiles says, running away.
Derek is waiting for him when he arrives, back leaning against a flickering
light pole wearing the same attire as that first day and Stiles leaps into his
arms, their teeth clashing in a slightly painful crash.
Derek grunts and Stiles chuckles and then their mouths in an actual kiss, still
full of urgency and longing and, God, Stiles has missed Derek’s mouth and the
firm hold of his hand on Stiles’ jaw, the texture of his lips and the woody
taste of his tongue, the burn of his stubble against Stiles’ cheek and the
scrape of his teeth, pulling teasingly at Stiles’ bottom lip.
“I’ve missed you.” Derek whispers, his breath dissolving in the crisp chill.
“I’ve missed you too.” Stiles says. “And now, before we take this party to our
cabin, I’d like to know where we are going”
Derek snorts. “Someday I’ll teach you to be patient.”
“Maybe later, now, though, I have a burning question that needs answering.”
“What you have is an ass that needs smacking.” Derek decides, biting at his
pulse point and yanking a startled moan out of him, Stiles’ dick twitching at
such a light incentive and a cocky smirk widening Derek’s mouth.
God, it’s been too long.
“I’m taking you to the Plantae System.” Derek then reveals.
Stiles brings Derek’s mouth into a kiss, the grin that flourishes in his lips
so wide, it hurts.
End Notes
     Your Captain hopes you had a good stay aboard the Mighty Wolf.
     You can follow me here.
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