#captain derek

Derek looks away. It’s been over six months, but Stiles’ smirks still make his stomach flip. And he doesn’t have time for it now because they’d received a transmission from a possible job out in Santo and he’s not entirely sure they have the fuel to get there.

 “I’ll clean it up,” Scott offers and it’s Derek’s turn to roll his eyes. Scott is his pilot. He should not be spending his time sweeping the kitchen floor just because Stiles and Scott formed an instant friendship.

 “It’s all on the table,” Stiles says. “Don’t worry. I would never ruin the cleanliness of your ship, oh dear Captain Derek.”

 “My ship is clean,” Derek grumbles. It’s clean enough. It’s an old Firefly, it’s never going to be perfectly clean. “It has character.”

 Stiles laughs at him. Scott is too polite to laugh but he ducks his head as if he wants to.

 “Shouldn’t you be in the cockpit?” Derek directs the question to Scott. Sure, they might be flying on autopilot but that is no excuse to sit around the kitchen and do nothing. There are always things to do. He needs to talk to Allison, his First Mate (and Scott’s wife) about ammunition and Lydia had mentioned the engine was acting up a bit and he knows they don’t have the money to fix it.

 The thought pulls his mouth down into a frown. They need to find a job. Everyone knows it too.

 “Yessir, Cap,” Scott says, hopefully remembering that Serenity’s autopilot does tend to angle left a bit, so if unwatched for too long, they will go off course.

 He has to fix that too.

 “No, don’t leave me!” Stiles says, grabbing on to Scott’s arm. “I’m bored!”

 “Scott, get up there,” Derek orders. Then, to Stiles: “Some of us have work to do.”

 He’s not that surprised when Scott doesn’t move right away, instead opting to shoot Derek’s puppy eyes that all but glitter with Please let me hang out with Stiles and Derek is about to just tell Scott that Stiles can go up with him to the cockpit when-

 “Well, maybe some of us would have work to do if we weren’t constantly out in the middle of nowhere.”

 Derek blinks. He can’t quite tell if Stiles is still joking around or is serious. He must be joking. Stiles always complains when they’ve been away from “civilization” for too long. Plus, 90% of their interactions are fake arguments and almost barbed compliments.

 Stiles is always a challenge. Derek likes that about him.

 Derek likes a lot about him.

 Derek likes too much about him.

 “We’ll head to some fancy planet soon,” he says, shrugging. They will have to head into the core eventually, for a job or resupplies. “Can’t have you freeloading.”

 He means it to come out teasing, to snark back at Stiles a little since the other man is constantly making fun of him, but Stiles drops Scott’s arm to turn to him completely.

 “I am not freeloading,” he spits and Derek almost grins. He loves when he wins a point against Stiles.

 “Haven’t paid the rent this month,” Derek replies, making a show of taking a bite of his protein bar. “Sounds like freeloading to me.”

 “I haven’t paid because we haven’t even been near a planet for almost two weeks,” Stiles says, voice going a bit sharp.

 “Sounds like excuse to me,” Derek replies. God, these protein bars are awful. “Freeloader.”

 He expects Stiles to go on a rant about how his rent is too much anyway, or how he has more than made up for being late by getting them access to a few planet, or to maybe insult Serenity a little bit if he is truly annoyed.

 He doesn’t expect Stiles to turn an even brighter red, stand, and then storm away.

 He blinks at the spot where Stiles just was. He thought they were just playing around. He didn’t think Stiles would actually care.

 He probably doesn’t, Derek tries to assure himself. He probably just wants me to think he cares. And it’s not like they both don’t know that Stiles can make enough money to pay the rent in like… a day or two if he is working. This isn’t actually a big deal.

 Stiles is just being a baby about being the broke one for once.

 Despite the assurances, something twists in Derek’s gut.

 “That wasn’t nice,” Scott says, frowning a little in Derek’s direction. “You know he’s sensitive about that.”

 Derek blinks again. Stiles isn’t sensitive about anything. He’s… Stiles. His gut twists even more.

 “I was just joking,” Derek mutters but Scott just shakes his head at him and walks away.

 *^*^*^

 Contrary to popular belief, Derek does know when he is in the wrong about things. And he is perfectly capable of admitting it and he is also perfectly capable of apologizing.

 So the next night, when Stiles has still not shown his face in the common areas, he goes to Stiles’ shuttle and knocks and -

 “I’m sorry about before,” he offers. “About what I said about rent.”

 Stiles stares at him for a beat and then steps back to let him in. Derek does even though he never can tell whether he loves or hates Stiles’ shuttle. It just… it just doesn’t really seem like Stiles. Or how he pictures Stiles’ room in his head. The shuttle is all loose fabric and deep red and purple drapes and Stiles always has incense burning that Derek can’t really stand and-

 And yet, Derek also loves it. Because there’s a weird picture hanging on the wall of an old, old movie from Earth That Was and Stiles always seems more relaxed in his shuttle and it’s still… it’s still Stiles. And not even Scott hangs out in Stiles’ shuttle so it’s sort of an honor that Derek is let in at all.

 Stiles still doesn’t say anything so Derek continues.

 “I don’t care about rent,” he says. “You know I don’t-”

 He stops.

 He has a rule. In his head. And that rule is to never talk about Stiles’ “job.” Because he knows that he feels… something for Stiles and he knows that it can never be returned and he knows that it just isn’t his place to say anything.

 At least, he knows that now. The first few months after Stiles moved in was near constant fighting. It’s only recently that they usually manage to keep it at lighthearted banter rather than true arguments.

 This is probably the closest they’ve come to fighting in a while.

 “You need the money,” Stiles says, filling Derek’s pause. “You need it and I want to give it to you but we’ve been floating around in space for weeks and I can’t pay you if I’m not getting work, Derek. I need clients with money.”

 “Okay,” Derek says, feeling frustration rise to his chest. He knows all this. He just needs Stiles to accept his apology and move on. “I know, I’m just saying that…”

 Stiles waits.

 Derek tries to figure out how to say this.

 “Look, Stiles,” he starts over. “Crew doesn’t pay rent.”

 There. That explains it. He sees Stiles as part of the crew now. Has for months.

 Across from him, Stiles goes very still.

 “So, it was just a joke,” Derek continues. “I don’t care about you paying rent if you don’t want to, so if you don’t want to work, then-”

 Then, god, that would be fine. That would be fantastic. Derek wouldn’t have to deal with Stiles going off and returning tired or dressing up for different events or seeing people enter and exit this shuttle with smug smiles on their faces and-

 “Part of the crew,” Stiles repeats and his voice is somehow both doubtful and… dangerous.

 “Yeah,” Derek tries, a bit thrown off. This isn’t how he pictured this going. “Sure.”

 “And what… what exactly do I do on this ‘crew’ of yours?” Stiles demands.

 “Uh,” Derek says. “Um, I don’t-”

 “You said it yourself yesterday,” Stiles says, his voice rising. There are two spots of color high on his cheeks. “Some people have work to do- the crew has work to do and people in the crew help out around the ship, so I’m just wondering, if I’m apparently ‘part of this crew,’ then what exactly do you see me doing?”

 “I don’t-” Derek suddenly realizes he’s made a mistake but he can’t figure out exactly what it was. “I don’t know, I just meant-”

 “Everyone else on the crew has a job,” Stiles demands. “If I’m going to stay here rent-free, then I should too. What’s mine gonna be, Captain?”

 “Look, Stiles,” Derek says, frustrated. This isn’t what he meant and Stiles knows it. “If you really want a job, you can- I don’t know, you can clean up around the kitchen or something.”

 Stiles actually takes a step away from him.

 “A scullery maid,” he says and his head bobs up and down too quickly. “That’s what job you think I could do. That’s your big ‘Make Stiles part of the crew’ idea.”

 “No,” Derek tries. That wasn’t his idea, that’s just the first thing he thought of and- “You don’t have to-”

 “What are my other options?” Stiles demands and Derek knows it’s a sarcastic question but suddenly he is just as angry because, dammit, he had come here to apologize and tell Stiles not to worry about the rent and-

 “Well, I don’t know!” he says, voice rising to meet Stiles’. “You’re not qualified to be a pilot or an engineer and you once said you might faint at the sight of blood so doctor’s out so just- You tell me, Stiles. What are you actually good at?”

 It’s the wrong thing to say. Derek knows it immediately but it’s too late.

 “Oh, well, we both know the only thing I’m good for,” Stiles shoots back. “So is that the new position open? I keep crew morale up by blowing everyone on command? Provide a warm bed? I could rotate through the whole crew. There’s a way to pay rent.”

 “Stiles-”

 “Or maybe just you,” Stiles interrupts, his voice low and mean and mocking. “Maybe as long as I use my only skills to keep you happy, I won’t have to worry about making my own money. A personal Companion usually costs a bit more than 1500 units a month, but hey, I can’t work anyway unless you decide to fly this piece of gos-se to a semi-decent planet so that seems like a fair trade.”

 Derek wants to punch him. Wants to hit him because no one insults Serenity like that and it will stop him from saying such disgusting words and, mostly, he wants to because he doesn’t know what else to do. He opens his mouth to say something, to tell Stiles to stop being ridiculous and- and mean but Stiles doesn’t give him the chance.

 “Well, no thank you,” Stiles snarls. “I think I’ll keep my whoring off this boat. And unless you plan on kicking me off right now, this shuttle is still mine and you need to get the hell out.”

 Derek moves, only because he doesn’t want to hit Stiles and he sure as hell doesn’t know what to say. He had touched on some nerve that he didn’t know Stiles had and he didn’t mean it like that at all but he doesn’t know how to say that and-

 “You’ll have your rent,” Stiles says to Derek’s back. “With a late fee. Don’t worry.”

 And then he slams the door and Derek is left standing outside.

 *^*^*^

 One of the things that Derek has learned to hate is that he always knows when he has failed to hide his bad mood. He would like to think that he is acting normally, that his fight with Stiles hasn’t affected him that much, that he is at least able to go about his day semi-normally, but after five days, it is abundantly clear that he has failed.

 He knows he failed because his whole crew is avoiding him. Allison has become constantly too busy to discuss plans with him, Liam and Mason don’t even pretend to have good excuses when they run away, and Lydia had thrown him out of his own engine room two days ago and Derek hasn’t managed to risk going back.

 Whatever.

 He doesn’t want to talk to his crew anyway.

 Still, he marches up the steps to the cockpit and he has to admit it is a pleasant feeling that Scott looks over with his usual smile.

 See? He has not been in that bad a mood. Scott is still smiling at him.

 He stubbornly ignores the voice in his head that tells him Scott smiles at everyone. Scott smiled at his kidnappers a few months ago (They’re only henchmen, Derek. They don’t make the decisions!) and he smiled at the Alliance officers when they stopped them to perform unnecessary (and possible illegal) searches of the ship and, Derek wasn’t there for this one, but Liam claims that Scott smiled at a man who shot him.

 Derek accepts Scott’s smile with a nod and then sits down in the co-pilot seat across the way.

 “You have direct coordinates, sir?” Scott asks and that just reminds Derek of where they have to go and he finds himself almost frowning.

 “Yeah,” Derek replies.

 “Are we going to Persephone or Bellerophon first?” Scott asks, hand already poised over the controls.

 Derek doesn’t answer, merely raises an eyebrow in Scott’s direction.

 “We’ve been flying in the direction of the Central planets,” Scott says by way of explanation. “I figured that’s where we were headed.”

 Scott doesn’t ask any questions, but Derek feels like he knows the answer anyway. They are heading to the Central planets so that Stiles can pick up a few respectable clients and pay his rent and stop bitching about Derek keeping them on the fringes of society and implying that Derek wants to- to use him like that, like that’s what Derek cares about and-

 “Rich folks always need to smuggle something,” Derek grunts. “We need a real job. That pays.”

 “Of course,” Scott says, though Derek knows he’s not fooled for a second. Stiles is closest with Scott. Derek has no doubt that Scott knows all the details of their fight.

 It puts him in a bad mood and he had been planning on staying and plugging in the coordinates himself but fuck, if Scott already knows then-

 “Persephone,” he orders, standing again. They will go to stupid Persephone where Stiles will have tons of clients and that will be good because he’ll take his shuttle and be off of Derek’s ship for a few days and come back with rent so Derek can keep this boat in the air. And then if they don’t find work in Persephone, they can hit up a few more and Stiles can keep “working” and-

 Abruptly, Derek realizes he’s just been standing there. Silently fuming. His jaw aches, he’s been clenching it so hard.

 “Land us down near Badger’s,” Derek says, as if Scott didn’t already know that. “Alert the ship when we’re two hours out.”

 “Yessir.”

 The last time they were on Persephone, Stiles had been with the same “client” for two days straight and came back with a line of hickies down his neck.

 Derek’s hand goes into a fist.

 Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Stiles has made it perfectly clear how terrible he thinks sex with Derek would be.

 He is going to go check on his engine room. Lydia isn’t technically allowed to kick him out. He is the captain of this gorram ship, after all.

 He turns to go and then-

 “I am sorry,” Scott says suddenly. Derek freezes. “I know it sucks.”

 Derek wants to open his mouth and demand to know what the hell Scott is talking about because no one… no one ever acknowledges whatever thing might be happening between him and Stiles. It’s an unwritten rule of the ship. Maybe the most important one.

 Luckily, as Derek stands there, wondering how the hell he is supposed to respond to that statement, Scott glances up at him and continues.

 “But I feel bad for him too,” Scott says and his eyes are worried. Worried for both of them maybe. “I don’t think you realize what you are asking him to give up.”

 I’m not asking him to give up anything, Derek wants to say. I’m just telling him he doesn’t have to—

 He can’t finish that sentence, even in his head, because Stiles having sex with other people but not with Derek is… it’s something he can’t focus on. Not even for a moment.

 “Two hours,” Derek says, turning and marching out of the room before Scott can say anything. “And tell Allison that she’s coming with me to Badger’s.”

 *^*^*^

 As Derek suspected, Stiles is busy. He is gone for four straight days as they try to work out a deal with Badger on Persephone and then his pod returns only for a night before it’s flying off again. The only contact Derek has with Stiles is the fact that on the morning of the second day, he gets an alert that credits have been transferred into his account.

 There’s not even a strange message in the “Description” section of the transfer. Just a single word “Rent” and that’s that.

 He would have felt better if there was at least some sarcastic message.

 Still, it’s past 2am local time and they’re leaving tomorrow morning for Ariel. And Stiles still isn’t back even though Scott insisted that he’d told him.

 Derek isn’t going to lose one of the shuttles of his ship just because freaking Stiles can’t get back on time.

 So that’s why he’s lying in his bunk, awake. Just waiting to hear Stiles’ pod reattach to Serenity.

 It does around 2:30 and Derek should go to sleep now, but then he hears the telltale slide of doors opening to the kitchen and-

 Derek is hungry. It’s his ship. He can go grab food at 2:30 if he wants to.

 Stiles is there and Derek’s breath catches at the sight of him.

 He’s wearing his trademark too-tight black pants with a silver, silk robe covering his torso, and when he turns, Derek can see that his makeup is smudged and he-

 He looks exhausted. He doesn’t even really react to Derek being there, just blinks at him and accepts it.

 “Hi,” Derek says as Stiles turns back to the cabinet of food. Idly, he wonders if they’re still fighting. Or if they would be if Stiles didn’t look ready to drop on his feet.

 “‘Lo,” Stiles replies. He doesn’t sound angry.

 “You look exhausted,” Derek says, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. What had these clients made him do? How much sex could he possibly have?

 “Haven’t slept yet, Cap,” Stiles mumbles. “You never sleep until after the client is gone. Companion 101.”

 There’s a teasing quality to Stiles’ tone that makes Derek instantly relax, even as he flinches at the reminder what Stiles has been doing the past seven days.

 “And eating?” Derek asks as he moves to stand closer to Stiles. Does he look skinnier? He thinks he does. Can you lose weight after only a week?

 Stiles looks at him and smiles.

 “You don’t do too much of that either.”

 “No one was feeding you strawberries by hand?” Derek forces himself to keep his voice light. He’s okay. He can do this.

 Stiles snorts at that. “Not nearly enough.”

 “That should be on the profiles,” Derek offers. He hopes Stiles hears the apology that he’s trying to send. “We picked up some real apples. They’re not your favorite but…”

 He doesn’t finish the sentence because Stiles is grinning at him and moving towards the fridge and-

 “Oh my god yes,” Stiles moans, grabbing one and taking a truly enormous bite. “Real fruit.”

 “I would take a few with you,” Derek says, smiling. “Liam and Mason have been circling around them like vultures.”

 “Didya keep ‘em away for me?” Stiles asks, raising his eyebrows and smirking.

 Derek flushes.

 “Just trying to keep things fair.”

 Stiles ducks his head at that and the silence lingers and-

 “Well,” Derek says, shifting back. “I guess you should get some rest.”

 “Yeah,” Stiles agrees. But doesn’t move. “Or- or you could fill me in on what everyone’s been up to.”

 They end up sitting at the table, talking about nothing really for two hours.

 Stiles is sleepy but focused and Derek tries not to look like he is just drinking the sight of him in, tries to hide the fact that he had missed Stiles all the days and nights he’s been away and the days before that when they were fighting and it’s-

 It’s about as happy as Derek gets these days, sitting with Stiles.

 It makes it that much worse when they get to Ariel and once again, Stiles is gone.

 *^*^*^

 Three days later, Stiles finally brings his pod home and Derek thinks that means they can leave, that they can get away from these forsaken “Central” planets and back out on the rim of the universe where things aren’t so polished and a man can get away with doing some real work. But then Stiles says he has a client who is meeting him here and they have to stay for at least one more night because he’s already arranged the appointment and they don’t fight about it, not exactly, but all the soft laughter from the kitchen is gone and Derek leaves abruptly before he says something stupid again, something that will turn it into another stupid argument.

 It’s sort of an argument anyway. Stiles is sharp and Derek growls and-

 He leaves and he paces and he snaps at Liam and he thinks it’s worse – so much worse – when Stiles brings the clients here. Because when it’s on his ship, it’s harder to ignore and Stiles is probably having sex right now and that older man who marched on Serenity was already so confident he could buy anything he wanted and he could, he did, and Derek is-

 Derek can’t do it anymore.

 It’s late when the client finally leaves. It’s late and so that means Derek has been sitting outside of Stiles’ pod for almost four hours and he’s pretty sure his legs have gone numb from sitting on the cold metal but he-

 Every time he tells himself he should leave, he can’t do it. All he can do is picture the older man entering Stiles’ room and Stiles letting him in so easily and he- he-

 He stays.

 He stays and he waits and the second the man turns the corner, he walks up.

 Stiles is lingering by the door, as he always does in case the client looks back or comes back and so he still has a pleasant smile on his face, is still shirtless, is still wearing black eyeliner along the bottom of his eyes and a small line of gold along the top and-

 He rolls his eyes when he sees Derek coming.

 “Seriously, dude,” Stiles says, craning his neck to look for his client one last time before turning into his room. “Whatever it is, I am not in the mood. The guy was just a talker which is somehow even more exhausting than actually having sex and I’d really just love to crash right now.”

 He stretches then, his long arms coming up and he’s done some of his lined paint makeup across his shoulder blade and then onto his chest and it’s not smudged like it sometimes is after a client and the words die in Derek’s throat.

 He still follows Stiles into his quarters.

 “Alright, fine,” Stiles sighs, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “What is it? What have I done wrong this time? Are you increasing my rent?”

 “I’m in love with you.”

 The words tear themselves out of Derek’s throat and fall to the ground in front of Stiles and now that they are out, Derek can’t stop.

 “I’m in love with you and that’s why I was such a jerk before and to me, you are part of the crew and I am jealous, I’m jealous of every single person who gets to touch you and I’m jealous of Scott sometimes and I know it’s ridiculous but, Stiles, I-”

 He has to stop then. Stops and swallows and gives up on trying to read the expression on Stiles’ face.

 “I love you,” he repeats uselessly. “I’m sorry.”

 He isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for. This, probably. Everything.

 “You,” Stiles says, his hand waving in the air. He is sort of gaping. Derek flushes and thinks that he should get out of here. “You idiot.”

 Definitely time to leave.

 God, he hopes Stiles doesn’t tell Scott about this.

 “I cannot believe,” Stiles says, his hand still fluttering at Derek. “You are- this is-”

 “Sorry,” Derek repeats. “Sorry, I’m-”

 “Fucker,” Stiles says and then he launches himself forward.

 Derek catches him by instinct and then Stiles’ mouth is against his own and Derek’s brain goes offline and then restarts and by the time this happens, Stiles is pulling away and-

 “I hate you,” Stiles says, but he is grinning and his slap against Derek’s shoulder is hard but playful and- “Oh my god, I love you.”

 Derek thinks they’ve talked enough. If this is happening, he needs it to happen and Stiles’ chest is pressed against him and-

 He cups Stiles’ jaw and pulls him in for a kiss, hard and desperate and frustrated because even now, Stiles is frustrating and-

 “Shirt off,” Stiles orders, stepping away. He sounds like Derek’s feels and that is more than enough reason to simply yank at his shirt until it comes off and-

 “Gonna make it perfect,” Stiles is muttering to himself. “So good. It’s gonna be so good. Fuck yes.”

 Stiles appears distracted by his own thoughts so once he’s free of his shirt, Derek stalks forward and grabs Stiles again. Stiles’ mouth opens instantly, letting Derek’s lick into it and he’s responsive – so responsive – that Derek doesn’t know what he even wants to do first. It’s as if he only has to think about kissing Stiles’ neck and then Stiles is leaning his head and giving him access and when he glances back up, Stiles automatically goes for his mouth again and he’s always wanted to thread his fingers through Stiles’ hair and the moment he gets them close, Stiles tilts his head back this time and lets him. All the while, gasping out things like Yes, Derek, fuck.

 It’s… it’s perfect and everything he’s wanted and yet there is something hovering on the edge of his awareness but then Stiles is smirking at him and-

 Derek can’t help but grin as he walks them backwards and then they are both tumbling to Stiles’ huge bed, Stiles bouncing slightly as he hits the soft mattress. Derek is on top of him in an instant. His eyes are still lined with black and his hair is still too gelled but it’s still Stiles grinning up at him and as Derek catches his mouth in a kiss again, unable to keep it slow or gentle, he can feel Stiles’ heart beating against him.

 Stiles’ hands go for Derek’s pants even as they kiss, reaching out to palm the outline of his dick and Derek whines at even that touch, breaking away from the kiss because Stiles is making quick work of the buttons and-

 “Shhh,” Stiles says. “I got you. Don’t worry. I-”

 No.

 The thought hits Derek all at once and suddenly he knows what is wrong. He doesn’t want Stiles to “have him,” to get Derek off because he thinks that’s what he should do. He doesn’t want Stiles to be a Companion, he wants Stiles to be Stiles.

 He wants Stiles to challenge him and demand things from him and he wants- he wants more than just sex. He wants everything.

 He doesn’t know how to say that though, so he does the only thing he can think of.

 He grabs Stiles’ hands and drags them away from his pants. He pulls them up by the wrist and puts them above Stiles’ head, sliding closer so they can kiss again and-

 And Stiles immediately relaxes underneath him, accepting Derek’s repositioning of him without question. In fact, even as Derek lets go, Stiles keeps his hands up, twisting them into the sheets.

Derek leans away. Stiles doesn’t follow.

 “This isn’t working,” he says, more to himself than Stiles.

 “What’re you talking about?” Stiles says, planting his heels on the bed and thrusting up. His hands are still above him. “It’s working for me.”

 At least that’s true. Derek can see that Stiles is hard is those ridiculous pants and can feel it as Stiles once again thrusts up and drags them together but he-

 He doesn’t want cooperative Stiles, laid out on his deep red bed, doing whatever he thinks Derek wants because Stiles is used to figuring out what people want and doing it without question. Derek wants- he wants-

 “What do you want?” he asks. Stiles smirks up at him.

 “What you were doing was good,” he says, making a show of biting his lip and raising his eyebrows. A challenge, but Derek can’t tell if it’s sincere. Or if Stiles would even know if it wasn’t.

 It’s not enough.

 “C’mon,” Derek says, rolling off the bed. “Let’s go.”

 They can’t do it here. There’s too much Companion here.

 “What?” Stiles says, finally sounding like Stiles again. “Go where?”

 “My bunk,” Derek replies and then knows he has it right when Stiles scoffs at him.

 “Oh my god, really?” Stiles says, but he rises. “Is this some weird ‘I don’t want to do it where Stiles has done it before’ shit? Because if it is then maybe this won’t even-”

 Derek cuts him off with a hard kiss. It might be his new favorite way to cut Stiles’ off.

 “Not that,” he says, rebuttoning his pants. “My room.”

 “You are the worst,” Stiles says even as he turns and marches out of the room. Derek follows. “It is painful for me to walk right now, you know. And you don’t seem to care at all!”

 “Stop being such a baby,” Derek grumbles. “You’re going to wake the whole crew.”

 “They deserve to know about your cruelty!”

 “Stiles,” Derek tries. It doesn’t work. Stiles mutters angrily the whole way there and then slides down into Derek’s quarters with a huff and-

 And this time when Derek goes to kiss the complaints out of him, Stiles allows it only for a moment, before shoving him away.

 “Alright, Captain,” he says, leaning over and taking off his pants. For all his complaining, he is still hard. For that matter, so is Derek. “Is this location suitable for you or shall we continue our tour of the ship?”

 Derek can’t help but grin, though he tries to hide it by looking down to take off his pants.

 This time it’s Stiles crowding in for hard, angry kiss and Derek grins into it and moans and then his hands come up slide their way from Stiles’ hips to his shoulder blades. He bites Stiles’ bottom lip and then chases it with a soft lick and-

 And Stiles makes a noise that is somewhere between a grunt and a whimper and Derek feels him stiffen in what must be surprise and-

 That’s it.

 There’s Stiles’ tell. Derek’s roadmap to getting this right.

 He hides his smirk of triumph by sliding his mouth around to Stiles’ neck.

 He draws two more of those little gasps out of Stiles by the time he once again has him underneath him, legs spread so that Derek can lie between them, and Stiles snarks at him that it has been years since he was forced to used cheap lube but his eyes still track Derek’s hands as he pours it on.

 He stops talking quite so much when Derek starts circling his hole with one finger, is quickly reduced to Fuck, Derek, c’mon, please and Derek takes his time, enjoying all of it and waiting for that little hiccup.

 “Really,” Stiles gasps as Derek’s finger slides partly in before he eases it out. “Derek, this is- come on. Just-”

 Derek considers it but, aside from Stiles’ begging, there is no sign he really wants it and-

 He gets cursed at for removing his hand completely, cursed but then Stiles’ opens his eyes to see where Derek’s hand has gone and-

 Stiles’ short moan hits right as Derek slides his finger into himself. He closes his eyes, focusing on the feeling and the sound of Stiles’ choked out curses and so he misses it, when after a moment he feels Stiles leaning up to kiss him again.

 It’s not Derek’s best job at kissing, but considering he is more focusing on working himself up to two and then three fingers, he figures he can’t be blamed. At least Stiles quickly realizes this and scrambles up so that they are both kneeling on the bed, Stiles mouthing at his neck, running a soothing hand up and down Derek’s arm as he bends it to get somewhat of a good angle.

 “Fuck, Derek,” Stiles gasps. “You- I-”

 “A little help would be nice,” Derek grunts, though secretly he’s pleased that Stiles seems quite willing to let him do the work. He’s almost there, he’s almost got the third finger in and then he can bend over and Stiles will make that sound and fill him up and fuck, he has to stop thinking about this (and Stiles has to stop rubbing their dicks together) because he’s going to come from this alone and-

 “But you’re so fun to watch,” Stiles says. He moves around behind Derek anyway, pulling on Derek’s wrist until he moves his hand out of the way and there’s the sound of cheap lube being squirted and then-

 “Stiles,” Derek gasps and oh god, Stiles is so much better at this. His fingers (three of them, Derek thinks he’s at three) are quirking in just the right direction and there’s a stretch but Derek just wants more.

 He wants Stiles inside him, all of him, stretching him open and just there, always there and please, Stiles, he’s ready, please-

 Derek doesn’t try to stifle his whimper when Stiles’ fingers are suddenly gone and he is about to complain when suddenly Stiles’ cock is in their place.

 Of course, Stiles doesn’t enter immediately, instead he thrusts along Derek’s slit twice and then pushes in only to pull out again.

 “Stiles,” Derek says. “Stiles.”

 Stiles doesn’t respond, but at least he pushes in again.

 Then stops and rolls his hips and it feels good, it’s not that it doesn’t, but it’s not-

 “Stop,” Derek demands as Stiles continues to slowly fuck into him, stopping every so often to rock instead of push forward. Above him, he feels Stiles’ pause in confusion. “Stop being so gorram fancy.”

 And then he simply shoves backwards, mouth falling open as Stiles’ dick finally fills him completely and behind him, he hears Stiles make that little gasping grunt that he had before and-

 “Oh my god,” Stiles says, dropping his forehead to Derek’s back. “Oh my- fuck- Derek-”

 And then he starts thrusting in earnest. Hard and long, but not slow, and-

 God, Derek needed this. He should have admitted he was in love with Stiles months ago. He could have had months of this, of Stiles sliding into him, hitting all the right places, and Stiles’ long fingers digging into his hips and-

 “You know,” Stiles grunts. “If I were being fancy, I might wrap my hand around your cock right now. Might – fuck – might jack you off real good, Cap, but you said- you said you didn’t want fancy soo…”

 And Stiles being an asshole.

 Fine. Two can play that game.

 “Your loss,” Derek replies, hoping he somehow sounds confident instead of desperate, and then slides one hand over so it’s more in the middle and reaches his right up to wrap around himself and there’s still a bit of lube on there from before so it slides perfectly and –

 He grins as Stiles slams into him even harder. Grins and then groans and then-

 It goes by pretty quickly after that. Stiles loses his rhythm and Derek eventually falls to his forearm and Stiles’ hand comes up to wrap around his own eventually (Derek smirks but can’t waste the breath actually saying something) and then-

 Derek comes with a shout and then Stiles follows with a low groan and they’re both hot enough that Derek suspects they would love to have some space, but obviously his bed is too small for that so they end up pressed side by side, still panting.

 He can’t stop smiling entirely, but he tries to keep it small. Tries to at least hold it together better than Stiles, who is grinning up at the low ceiling, looking blissed out and entirely too happy.

 “There,” Derek says, not bothering to hide the smug pride from his voice. “My room. Told you.”

 “Ugh,” Stiles says. “Shut up.”

 Derek doesn’t say anything. Just reaches over and shoves Stiles up until he can stick his arm underneath him and pull him closer. The result is him on his back, Stiles on his side, tucked under Derek’s arm, head resting on Derek’s shoulder.

 “Stop taking advantage of my post-coital exhaustion to manhandle me,” Stiles mumbles, but Derek can feel the curve of his smile against his chest.

 “Post-coital bliss, you mean,” Derek replies. Stiles snorts.

 “No bliss,” he says. His eyes are already shut. He’s going to fall asleep any second.

 You look exhausted.

 Haven’t slept yet, Cap. You never sleep until after the client is gone. Companion 101.

 Derek’s heart flutters in his chest and he should let Stiles sleep. Should let him fall asleep and then he should fall asleep and then wake up and bring Stiles breakfast in the morning.

 “Hey,” he says instead, jerking his arm so that Stiles’ head is forced up an inch. He’s not ready to sleep yet. He wants- he wants- “Stiles.”

 “Wha?”

 “Tell me,” he stops and then continues before he can decide this is a bad idea. “Tell me something you hate.”

 “You,” Stiles answers, nuzzling back into Derek’s shoulder.

 “Tell me something you hate in bed,” Derek clarifies.

 He feels Stiles stiffen and he knows it was the right question to ask. Maybe not the most romantic timing but he wants to know. Needs to know. He needs to be different than Stiles’ clients or what Stiles thinks he should do and if he asked what Stiles liked he might get an coy answer or a non-answer or a thousand other word games that Stiles will always win because Stiles is smarter than he is by a mile but-

 There’s no way to back out of this one.

 “I-” Stiles starts. And then he rolls away a little, so he’s on his back instead of tucked into Derek’s side. Derek doesn’t react. Doesn’t push. Just waits.

 “I hate the taste of jizz,” Stiles admits softly to the ceiling. “I mean, I’ve gotten used to it and it’s not like a deal breaker obviously, not on my blacklist, but, generally, if… if it were up to me, then maybe, I-”

 Derek leans over and cuts him off with a kiss. He keeps it slow and sweet and keeps at it until he feels Stiles relax.

 “Okay,” he says. “No jizz in your mouth.”

 Stiles looks at him in something like suspicion before smirking.

 “I’m really good at blow jobs though,” he says, grinning like this is some sort of challenge. “So, you might not be able to-”

 “No,” Derek says. “I’ll warn you off.”

 “But what I’m saying is that you might not be able to-”

 “No,” Derek repeats. “No jizz in your mouth. Promise.”

 Stiles laughs then and rolls over so he is tucked under Derek’s arm again.

 “You can still be a Companion,” Derek says because he doesn’t know if he made that clear. It’s true though. As long as he has this Stiles and everyone else only gets the Companion. “I mean, I don’t want… I’m not saying you can’t.”

 Stiles doesn’t bother untucking himself this time. Just lifts his head and props it on Derek’s chest so they are looking at each other.

 “I know,” he says. “But I might switch to only the talkers… maybe.”

 Derek knows that he should try to fight off the pleased smile that rises to his face, but he can’t.

 “And eventually… I might… well, I might want to quit,” Stiles admits. “Eventually. Once I figure out what I want to do.”

 “On the ship right?” Derek says, a sudden fear gripping his heart. What if Stiles wants to be a farmer? Or a doctor? Or some sort of business man who-

 “Oh my god,” Stiles says, laughing again. “Yes, on the ship, you idiot.”

 He turns his head to the side again. Again, the silence grows into something peaceful.

 “You know,” Derek says. “We still could use a scullery maid.”

 Stiles doesn’t even need to look up to whack him in the face.

 Derek takes this as a good sign.