[ There's something so satisfying about scaring the hell out of Stiles. It's not that difficult, considering he comes and goes quieter than anyone else on the ship and Stiles is as jumpy as a jackrabbit-- his pulse even speeds like one at rest, it's ridiculous-- but it's still something he enjoys.

Making sure not to get smacked in the face with his head, though, Derek leans back a little without removing his hand from where it's settled. His hand doesn't squeeze any tighter where it rests, but he figures that the touch as-is will be just enough to convey his intent. Since Stiles stowed away, he's maybe brained the teen once, shoved him up against something a handful of times, but he doesn't intend to hurt him. ]

Are you suddenly taking an interest in our ventures? [ There's faint amusement to his tone, but he drops his eyes almost absently down to the map after looking Stiles in the eye for a moment. He mentally recalculates, tracking the path that he'd made with his fingers just as the wolf had come in. It's not wrong, more like something they could easily pull off. ] There's another ship due for these waters this week. While we could take both easily, especially with these adjustments to the course, if right, I hadn't been entirely concerned about it.

[ His fingers uncurl from the scruff of Stiles' neck, hand pulling away. ] But you are more than welcome to tell the helm to change it if you're confident about it.