Sterek, going away to war
Stiles bites his thumbnail, waiting for Derek’s answer. Instead of really replying, Derek asks, “You joined the fleet?”
Stiles nods again. “They needed pilots. We’re leaving the Beacon at 0600.”
Derek reels, steadying himself by pressing a hand against the bulkhead. That’s so soon. There are so few hours left. “Don’t you need training or something before the Commander sends you to war?”
"I’m Captain Stilinski’s son," Stiles argues, taking half a step toward Derek. "I’ve been in training since I was tall enough to reach the foot controls on a Fox Fighter."
Derek clenches his jaw. That might have been true, but Stiles had never joined the fleet before. Hell, Derek had first met Stiles when he was in the mess, ranting to his friends about how the Beacon was supposed to be an exploratory vessel, not a warship. The speech had been one of the main reasons Derek chose to talk to Stiles that day, much less at all.
The situation has changed. Derek knows this. It still hurts when Stiles takes another step closer, leaning his forehead against Derek’s shoulder, and whispers, “He’s my brother, Derek. I have to go after him.”
Derek nods, pressing his lips together. The Brightstar knows, if it was Derek’s sister on the captured Wolf rather than Scott, Derek would’ve done everything in his power to get her back. “Yeah.”
"Are you mad at me?" Stiles asks, gingerly sliding his arms around Derek’s waist.
"Yeah," Derek hisses, even as he pulls Stiles tight against his body and squeezes Stiles for all he’s worth. "But I understand."
Stiles nods against Derek’s shoulder, one of his boots scuffing against Derek’s as he adjusts his balance for the embrace. “I still have a few hours, if you wanna…”
It’s unfair, and Derek knows Stiles knows it’s unfair, but that doesn’t stop Derek from nodding and reaching back to palm open his cabin door. As he leads Stiles in and pushes him toward the bed, the door sliding shut behind them, Derek says, “If you die on this stupid suicide mission, I’m gonna kill you.”
Stiles laughs, but his eyes are shiny-wet in the soft light coming from Derek’s desk. “Sure, buddy. Whatever you say.”
"I’m not your buddy," Derek says as he presses Stiles down onto Derek’s bunk, kissing him hard and rolling them, so Derek is closest to the bulkhead and Stiles is mostly on top of him.
"Uh-huh." Stiles returns the kiss as fiercely as Derek gave it.
Derek tries to think about Stiles’ hands and the interesting things they do, and not about the titanium engagement band sitting in Derek’s underwear drawer.
I hope you like it, babbugroot!
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