Author's Note: Hello, again! How are you all on this lovely evening? As the title would suggest, this story is based on the movie 'Lord of War.' I just saw it a couple of days ago for the very first time, and this idea's been stuck in my mind since then, begging to be written. So there it is! I hope you guys like it.
You know who's going to inherit the Earth? Arms dealers. Because everyone else is too busy killing each other. That's the secret to survival. Never go to war, especially with yourself.
—Yuri Orlov
It wasn't about the money.
Perhaps it would've been easier for others to believe that if Stiles had struggled more to fit into his new life, or even if he just hadn't settled right in, like a puzzle piece being slotted into place. However, it was hard to pretend to be dissatisfied when all went exactly according to plan.
Stiles was soon to become a Hale, and it couldn't come fast enough.
It had been, after all, his masterplan.
The Hale-Argent empire was well known for their clean business, yet only a selected few knew about their expertise in blurring the lines whenever necessary — which, in clear terms, meant whenever enough money was involved.
Both families had been around for decades, but for Stiles, it all started with Talia.
Six years ago, Talia Hale had been the head of the North American family who ruled the sale of weaponry across the American continent. Drunk on her own power, the woman ignored the advice of those around her and traveled to Colombia on a Saturday night to make a large sale, taking Laura with her — her firstborn. As predicted, the meeting had been a trap and stuck in the middle of a firefight between the local mafia and the police, both women died in a horrible fire.
At the time, Stiles was merely an undergraduate student, the son of a small county Sheriff, who by no means wished to get involved in the shady business of arms trafficking. So he carried on with his life, studying law and international relations, hoping to become a diplomat or something other equally as important, without even an inkling that Peter Hale was taking over the family throne alongside his nephew, Derek Hale.
They took the reins with much tighter hands than their female counterparts, grief in their eyes and thirst for revenge burning in the back of their throats. Peter would not be satisfied with carrying on with his sister work, leading the family and making sure they stayed safe — he wanted more, so much more than even Talia's wildest dreams. So, in a ballsy ass move that Stiles still to that day thought was equal parts brilliant and nuts, he reached out to the Argents, a pharmaceutical French family who had their greedy hands all over the African wars.
Peter's vision was megalomaniac — a joining of forces, where they would pool their resources together to expand their reach even further, selling weapons and armory to all sides of all wars around the globe. Asia, Africa, Oceania, North America, South America — it didn't matter, if there were people willing to pay handsomely to get their hands on the latest war technology available, Peter wanted in.
Luckily for him, the Argent family too had just gone through a change of leadership — only theirs done by their own hands, with Chris and Allison killing Gerard and Katherine after finding out just how many unsavory deals the pair had accepted in the name of getting involved in the kind of shit a family who tried to stay under the Interpol radar would never dip their fingers in. Father and daughter took over the European crown, and when Peter presented his proposal, his vision, still raw and underdeveloped, they said yes straight away.
Power knows power when it sees it.
Allison and Peter's marriage was one for the ages, or so Stiles was told, and he had to admit, the pictures were goddamn impressive — the private island, the castle, the yachts, it all painted a fairytale picture they wanted the world to see: the joining of a businessman and an heir of a pharmaceutical company. All designed to shift the attention to where they wanted, to create the perfect stage for the biggest underground takeover of the century.
Which was when Stiles joined the picture. More or less recently graduated, hoping for a breakthrough and the chance to show he could do more than most gave him credit, wearing his heart on his sleeve like a fool, Stiles met Derek during the man's campaign to become a senator for the state of California. Derek, who had the most chill demeanor even when pushed up against the wall by the harshest activist, and looked unfazed by the numerous accusations going around that he was only running in order to try to push his family agenda forward on the Senate.
Now, see, Derek had been raised since birth in that environment, born and bred to be the perfect two-faced asshole. He had the perfect excuse to be who he was and do what he did. Stiles, on the other hand, was the son of a cop, a man raised to protect the innocent and search justice for those who couldn't do it on their own. He had no excuse — none. No abusive household, no tragedy, no psychological disorder he could blame. No, Stiles had seen Derek speaking to a large group of people, shamelessly selling himself, walking in circles around them with his flawless rhetoric while he lied through his teeth, and he wanted him as he had never wanted something in his life before.
Stiles coveted Derek Hale from the first moment he laid eyes on him, vowing to himself that he would do whatever it took to have those green eyes turned his way. It was then that Stiles discovered a ruthlessness about him that he had only ever scraped the surface of before, as he patterned with his roommate and hacker extraordinary Danny, and genius Lydia, to discover all there was to know about the Hale family. As first, just to infiltrate in all possible places Derek would be, only for it to become his biggest obsession — the more he dug, and searched, and read, and put the pieces together, the more it became clear that if Stiles decided to go down that path, if he truly wanted to pursue sharp-tongue with a stubble, he would need to get his hands dirty.
It wasn't nearly as tough of a decision as Stiles wished it had been.
And while he couldn't force Derek to fall in love with him, he could definitely improve his odds.
The UN needed a new person to sit on the Internation Security Council, and he was in need of a job and a reason to approach the men of his dreams. From there, it was simply a matter of finding out when Peter and Derek would be alone together and ambush them, a pile of files secured in his grasp, a selling speech at the tip of his tongue, and a burning desire to be a part of a family he felt he already knew after stalking them for so long.
Luckily, it had been too good of a proposal to ignore. What could be better for them than to have an inside person keeping the UN out of their transactions? Stiles still remembered how savage Peter's grin had been, too closely resembling a hunting wolf for the young man's comfort, but Derek, shit, Derek looked impressed, like Stiles' research ability was beyond what he could've hoped for. And Stiles, being the greedy asshole he had discovered himself to be when it came to the man, could only purr in satisfaction, safe in the knowledge that he was definitely in Derek's radar after that moment.
And, as he had said in the beginning, it was easier than he expected. Stiles sense of morality and ethics bent without a hitch, accommodating his new lifestyle with only a few nightmares and some sleepless nights, which, for someone who had been raised as he had and had the aspirations he had had, was about as smooth of a transition as he could ever hope for. It happened flawlessly — not because fate was meant to be, and he and Derek were soulmates or some other spiritual crap, but because Stiles planned all the steps, forcing the sharp edges to become smooth curves with his will alone, jumping into the mud with both feet.
Not content with his own journey to hell, Stiles made sure to drag Danny and Lydia, with him. It had to be done — they had been the ones to help him in his crusade, so they already knew too much, and were far too valuable to leave behind.
The puzzle pieces slotted into place when Derek was elected Senator with votes to spare, and Stiles got the UN position with only minimal fuss about this age and lack of previous experience.
Life was good, and Stiles enjoyed every second of it.
He walked inside Derek's office, nodding in greetings to Boyd and Erica, who, as always, stood still in front of the door, guarding their boss.
"I don't want to wear that suit, Derek. If you love me, you'll protect me," Stiles announced dramatically as soon as he arrived, closing the door behind him.
His fiancé raised his head from the papers in front of him, not at all fazed by the hurricane that was Stiles. "It's already in your closet, fitted and ready for you. If you think I'll get into an argument with Lydia because you don't want to wear a pink suit, then you're severely mistaken," Derek said, slowly and patiently, although his eyebrows told a different story. "You were the one who introduced them, you only have yourself to blame. As a matter of fact, Lydia is your best friend — it's all your fault."
Stiles clutched his chest over his heart. "Betrayed by my other half, how is this fair?" He whined. "You're supposed to side with me, you know?"
"Me? I don't remember agreeing to that."
Stiles threw his head back and banged it against the chair. "You don't understand, Derek! It's not that the suit is pink, alright? I'm a modern man, I'll wear pink if I want to, I'll wear it, and I'll wear it proudly, fuck you. It's just so uncomfortable, though," he complained, settling his feet on top of Derek's desk and sending a couple of papers flying. "It's tight, Derek. I won't be able to eat wearing that."
Derek eyed the mess Stiles was making of his desk. "As I said, your friend, your problem," he said, but his eyes softened in a way they only ever did for Stiles. "I'll arrange for all the food you want to be delivered at our room after the ceremony, if you wish. You can get naked and stuff yourself, how's that?"
Stiles laughed. "Is this a new kink? 'Cause I'm down, big guy. Just say the word." He rolled his eyes, though. "I still think it's unfair that I have to be up there in a horrible suit and you get to wear whatever you want."
"Privileges of not being the best man, I suppose."
"Ugh, whatever. Thank god Lydia will be Chris' problem from now on, so luckily he'll be the only playing barbie in the future."
Derek tilted his head. "Jealousy doesn't become you, my love."
"Jealousy? I have no idea what you're talking about," Stiles said airly, and he made sure to glare at Derek for daring to suggest such a thing.
"Possessiveness, then? You've always been rather unwilling to share your friends," he pointed out, lowering his head to sign the document he had been reading. "You shouldn't worry, I'm sure Lydia will find time after her honeymoon to take you shopping."
"Shut up, Derek!" Stiles snapped, getting up from his chair. "What nonsense is this? I'll be fine without Lydia. Just peachy. Great, even."
"Sure you will," he agreed, placing his pen back into the pocket of his jacket. However, when he saw Stiles pacing around his office, he exhaled. "Stiles…"
And, just like that, Stiles sagged. "You're right. This is silly," he said, coming closer and sitting on Derek's lap when the man turned on his chair and opened his arm in a clear invitation. "Besides, I have an important job to do, right? I'll be keeping the Council occupied with the Palestine deal, and it will take up all my time."
Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist, pulling a face. "Don't remind me. You should feel grateful, I have to keep this imbecile we call president from building this fucking wall."
"Yep, wouldn't want to be in your shoes right now. Glad to be on the pacifist side."
Derek groaned. "Is it too late to change my profession?"
It was cute to see Derek so pissed off with his work. In a way, it was ironic that he found the illegal stuff so much easier to deal with than the legal work he did in the Senate.
"I'm afraid so," Stiles confirmed, poking Derek's shoulder. "I told you we should've interfered. It would make all of our lives way less complicated if we had the president in our pocket. This orange guy is a joke — seriously."
"Hey, you don't have to convince me. Peter's way ahead of you," Derek said, rubbing Stiles' back in a calming motion. "He's calling me every other day to complain about a new announcement made. I'm done. The next one? I'll be all over that."
"You know?" Stiles said, remembering something. "I actually met a guy a few weeks ago that I think would be perfect." When Derek raised an eyebrow, he added. "Scott McCall. Upcoming politician, from Beacon Hills? Nice face, not exactly the highest IQ. Has that likable factor, though. Give Lydia three seconds with him, and he's ours."
His fiancé's eyes glistered with desire, as they always did when Stiles began moving the pieces around in their chess board. "Scott McCall, hun? Possible. Very possible."
And when Derek's hand began crawling up his thigh, Stiles smiled, forgetting about the phone calls he had to return, the files he had to read, the wedding rehearsals he had to attend, and the still missing crate of AK-47's from their last shipping. He would make it work; he always did.
It wasn't about the money — it was about the war.