Chapter 2: Mouth Full, Ass Full
The pounding on the door didn’t stop. “I’m gonna piss in the sink out here, I swear to God!”
Peter was the first to move, snapping back into his usual smirk as if flipping a switch. He zipped his jeans with a deliberate casualness. “Keep your pants on, we’re coming,” he called toward the door, his voice rough but steady. He glanced at Derek, then at Scott, who was still propped against the sink, looking utterly shell-shocked.
“McCull? You alive?” Peter’s grin was all teeth.
Scott blinked, pushing himself upright. He fumbled with his own jeans, his movements clumsy. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m….” His eyes darted to Derek, who was still on his knees, watching them both. Scott’s cheeks flushed a deep red. He looked away, focusing on his zipper like it was the most complicated mechanism in the world.
Derek stood up, his legs stiff. The euphoria was draining away, replaced by a cold, crawling awareness. The air reeked of sex and satisfaction, and it was coming from him. From all of them. His throat was sore in a used, good way. His knees ached from the tile. The reality of what he’d just done, what he’d instigated, settled over his shoulders like a lead blanket.
He’d swallowed Peter Kavinsky’s come. He’d swallowed Scott McCall’s come.
And he’d wanted to. More than wanted.
He turned to the sink, grabbing a wad of paper towels from the dispenser. He ran them under cold water, avoiding his own reflection in the fogged mirror. He wiped his face, the coarse paper rough on his skin, trying to scrub away the evidence, the feeling.
Peter leaned past him, his broad shoulder brushing Derek’s. He snatched the half-empty bottle of lube from the counter and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans with a wink. “Just in case,” he murmured, his scent—spice and satisfaction—washing over Derek.
Scott finally got himself together. He cleared his throat. “We should… we should go. Lydia’s probably looking for us.”
No one moved.
The person outside gave the door one last, frustrated slap and stomped away.
Silence pooled again, thicker now, charged with everything unsaid. The fluorescent light buzzed like an angry insect.
Derek tossed the damp paper towels into the overflowing trash. He finally looked at Scott. “You okay?”
The question sounded stupid, hollow.
Scott met his gaze, his brown eyes wide and searching. “Are you?” he asked quietly, his voice raw.
It was the wrong question. It peeled back the fragile layer of Derek’s control. He didn’t know what he was. He was a ball of conflicting nerve-endings: triumphant, ashamed, powerful, exposed. He shrugged, a tight, jerky movement. “Fine.”
Peter’s laugh was a soft snort. “Fine? That was legendary. We just broke the bathroom.” He clapped Derek on the back, the sound too loud in the small space. “Seriously, man. Where’s that been hiding?”
The comment sliced through Derek. It was a joke, but it held the truth. That hadn’t been Derek Hale, former Alpha, brooding and careful. That had been something else. Something Omega.
He didn’t know how to answer.
Scott looked pained. “Peter, don’t.”
“Don’t what? He’s the one who asked. He’s the one who…” Peter gestured vaguely at the space where Derek had been kneeling. “He clearly knew what he was doing. Right, Derek?”
The challenge was back in Peter’s eyes. Testing him. Seeing if he’d shrink from it.
Derek held his gaze. He wouldn’t shrink. He felt off-balance, but he wouldn’t show it. “I did,” he said, his voice low but clear.
Scott flinched almost imperceptibly.
“See?” Peter said, his smile turning predatory. He leaned in, lowering his voice. “The party’s shit. Music’s crap. People are spilling beer everywhere. We’ve got a whole second floor to ourselves. My old room’s still a mess, but the bed’s made.”
The implication hung in the humid air. Derek’s mouth went dry again. He could still taste them both.
Scott shook his head, taking a step back toward the door. “No. No way, Peter. That was… we were drunk. It was a thing. It’s done.”
“Are you?” Peter asked, his eyes flicking down to the front of Scott’s jeans. Scott had cleaned himself up, but the tell-tale bulge was still present, a lingering effect. “Done?”
Scott’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He was fighting it, the pull, the instinct. Derek could smell it on him—the renewed arousal, tangled up with his guilt.
Derek looked from Scott’s tortured expression to Peter’s confident, expectant one. The cold knot of insecurity was still there, but it was being burned away by a new, reckless heat. He’d crossed one line. The other side of it wasn’t a cliff; it was an open field. He wanted to run into it.
He wanted them to follow.
“Scared, McCall?” Derek heard himself say. The words were a low provocation, a spark tossed onto tinder.
Scott’s head snapped up. “I’m not scared.”
“Then what?” Peter pushed, his voice a seductive rumble. “You didn’t like it? Looked like you liked it. Sounded like you liked it a whole lot.”
“It’s not about liking it!” Scott hissed, his voice a frantic whisper. “It’s about… it’s Derek. He’s… he’s…”
“He’s what?” Derek asked, the words sharp. “An Omega now? That’s the problem?”
“No! Yes! I don’t know!” Scott ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. “It’s complicated. You’re my friend. This changes things.”
“It doesn’t have to change anything unless we let it,” Peter said smoothly. He was playing puppet master, and they were both letting him. “It’s just bodies. It’s just feeling good. He wanted it. You want it. I sure as hell want it.”
He turned his full attention to Derek, his gaze intense. “What do you want, Derek? Right now.”
All eyes were on him again. But this was different. This wasn’t a startled, heat-of-the-moment decision. This was a choice, laid bare in the harsh light and the lingering smells. He thought of the emptiness that had been gnawing at him all night, the strange, hollow feeling in his new skin. They had filled it. For a few minutes, it had been gone, replaced by nothing but sensation and power and their complete, unraveling focus on him.
He wanted that back.
“I want,” Derek said slowly, forcing his voice to stay even, “to not be thinking anymore.”
Peter’s smile was victory. He looked at Scott. “Well? You gonna let him think?”
The war on Scott’s face was a physical thing. His jaw worked. He looked at the door, his escape route. He looked at Derek, at the unguarded need Derek knew was showing in his eyes. He looked at Peter, the embodiment of temptation without consequence.
Scott’s shoulders slumped. The fight drained out of him, replaced by a weary, hungry acceptance. He didn’t nod. He didn’t speak. He just looked at Derek, and in his eyes was a surrender so complete it stole Derek’s breath.
“Upstairs,” Peter said, already turning, his hand on the doorknob. “Now. Before one of us grows a conscience.”
He pulled the door open. The wall of party noise hit them—bass, laughter, shouting. The hall was dimly lit, empty for the moment. Peter slipped out, not looking back, a man on a mission.
Derek followed, his heart hammering against his ribs. He heard Scott’s footsteps, hesitant then steady, fall in behind him.
They didn’t speak as they climbed the stairs, leaving the chaos below. Peter’s old room was at the end of the hall. He pushed the door open; it was exactly as he’d described—cluttered with old boxes and sports trophies, but the double bed in the center was neatly made.
Peter closed the door behind them, shutting out the distant thump of music. The relative silence was louder than any noise.
He turned, pulling the lube bottle from his pocket and setting it on the nightstand with a definitive click. The sound was a starting pistol.
“So,” Peter said, crossing his arms over his chest. “How do you want to do this?”
Derek’s mind blanked. The sheer possibility was paralyzing. He stood there, in the middle of the room, feeling like a specimen under glass.
Scott was leaning against the closed door, as if blocking his own retreat. “Derek should… he should decide.”
They were both looking at him again. Waiting. The power was back in his hands, dizzying and terrifying.
He looked at the bed. He thought of Peter’s teeth on his skin, of Scott’s hands in his hair, of the hard tile under his knees and the feeling of being utterly, completely used for their pleasure. And his own.
His voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t want to think.”
Peter understood first. His eyes lit up. He stepped forward, his movements fluid and sure. “Then don’t,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur meant only for the three of them. He put his hands on Derek’s shoulders and turned him toward Scott. “Just feel.”
He guided Derek down, not to his knees this time, but onto the edge of the bed. Derek went, his body compliant. Peter stood behind him, a solid wall of heat.
Scott was still by the door, watching, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Come here,” Peter said to Scott, not a request but a soft command.
Scott pushed off the door and walked over, stopping in front of Derek. His expression was a mix of fear and fervent hunger.
“Touch him,” Peter instructed from behind Derek, his hands resting on Derek’s shoulders.
Scott reached out, his fingers trembling slightly, and brushed a strand of dark hair from Derek’s forehead. The tenderness of the gesture, so at odds with the fever in Scott’s eyes, made Derek’s throat tighten.
Then Peter’s hands were on Derek’s waist, pulling his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside. The cool air of the room hit his skin, raising goosebumps. Peter’s palms were hot as they smoothed over Derek’s chest, his thumbs brushing over his nipples. Derek arched into the touch, a soft gasp escaping him.
Scott watched, mesmerized, his own hands coming to rest on Derek’s thighs. He leaned in, his scent—sunlight and honest sweat—washing over Derek, and kissed him.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was desperate, hungry, all the pent-up wanting of years pouring into the press of his lips. Derek kissed him back, opening his mouth, letting Scott in. It tasted like beer and guilt and need.
While Scott claimed his mouth, Peter worked on his jeans, popping the button, dragging the zipper down. He peeled them and Derek’s briefs down in one rough motion, leaving him exposed. Peter’s hands, now slick with lube from the bottle, found his ass, kneading the muscle. One blunt finger circled his hole, pressing, testing.
Derek broke the kiss with Scott, panting, dropping his head back against Peter’s shoulder.
“Still with us?” Peter murmured against his ear, his finger applying more pressure.
Derek nodded, wordless. He was right there.
The finger pushed inside, a slow, burning stretch. Derek gritted his teeth, pushing back against it, seeking more. He was already open, his body thrumming with a readiness he didn’t fully understand.
Scott, spurred on, sank to his knees on the floor, mirroring Derek’s position from the bathroom. He took Derek in his mouth, his technique less practiced than Derek’s had been, but earnest, enthusiastic. The hot, wet suction pulled a groan from Derek’s throat.
He was suspended between them—Scott’s mouth on his cock, Peter’s finger working inside him, stretching him open. The dual sensations were overwhelming, short-circuiting his brain. Thought evaporated. There was only feeling.
Peter added a second finger, scissoring them. Derek cried out, the sound muffled by his own arm as he bit down on it. It was a lot. It was everything.
“Think you’re ready for more?” Peter’s voice was a dark lick against his ear.
“Yes,” Derek managed, the word torn from him.
Peter withdrew his fingers. There was the sound of a zipper, the rustle of clothes. Then the blunt, insistent pressure of something much bigger was nudging against him.
Scott released him with a wet pop, looking up, his lips swollen, his eyes dark. “Derek…”
“It’s okay,” Derek breathed, not sure who he was reassuring. He reached down and tangled his fingers in Scott’s hair, guiding him back. “Don’t stop.”
Scott obeyed, swallowing him down again just as Peter pushed forward, breaching him in one long, slow, relentless stroke.
The world split open.
Derek’s back arched, a strangled sound caught in his throat. It was an immense, shocking fullness, a stretch that bordered on pain before melting into a deep, claiming pleasure. Peter was big, and he didn’t stop until he was fully seated, his hips pressed flush against Derek’s ass. He held there, letting Derek adjust, his hands firm on Derek’s hips.
Scott was sucking him, his throat working, his hands gripping Derek’s thighs. The dual sensations—the deep, internal stretch and the tight, wet heat of Scott’s mouth—were too much. Derek writhed between them, impaled and consumed.
“Fuck,” Peter groaned, his composure cracking. He began to move, pulling out almost all the way before driving back in with a solid, heavy thrust that shook the bed frame.
The rhythm was established quickly—Peter fucking into him with deep, pounding strokes, Scott swallowing him down in time. Derek was just a conduit for their pleasure, a body being used, and it was the most liberating thing he’d ever known. He let his head fall back, giving himself over to it, moans spilling from his lips with each of Peter’s thrusts.
Peter leaned over him, his chest plastered to Derek’s back, his mouth near Derek’s ear. “See?” he panted, his voice rough with effort. “No thinking. Just this.” He punctuated the last word with a particularly hard drive of his hips.
Scott pulled off, his own need clearly too great. He rose to his feet, his cock jutting out, flushed and wet at the tip. He looked desperate, beautiful in his abandon. “I need… Can I…?”
Derek understood. He reached for Scott, pulling him close. He kissed him again, messy and open, and then guided Scott’s cock to his lips. Scott needed no further invitation. He slid into Derek’s mouth with a grateful sob, filling him there, too.
He slid into Derek’s mouth with a grateful sob, filling him there, too.
Derek was stretched impossibly, split open and consumed from both ends. The weight of Scott on his tongue, the insistent stretch of Peter behind him—it was an overfull, perfect ache that chased every last thought from his head. He just existed as sensation. The wet heat of Scott’s cock hitting the back of his throat, the hard, deep rhythm of Peter’s hips pounding against his ass, the mingled scents of their sweat and arousal coating his senses.
Scott’s fingers twisted in his dark hair, not pulling, just holding on. He was murmuring a broken, constant stream against Derek’s forehead. “So good… Derek, oh God… your mouth…” His thrusts into Derek’s mouth were shallow, helpless, his control utterly gone.
“One hole at a time isn’t enough for greedy little Omegas, is it?” Peter grunted from behind him, each word punctuated by a sharp snap of his hips. His hands gripped Derek’s waist hard enough to bruise, holding him steady for the brutal, perfect pace. His breathing was ragged in Derek’s ear.
Peter didn’t wait for an answer. He bit down on the curve of Derek’s shoulder, a sharp, claiming pressure that made Derek cry out around Scott’s cock. The twin points of pain-pleasure sparked through his nervous system, a live wire. He pushed back against Peter, meeting each thrust, urging him deeper.
“Fuck, yeah,” Peter hissed, his rhythm stuttering. “Take it. Gonna fill you up.”
His pace became erratic, a frantic piston drive. His fingers dug deeper into Derek’s hips. Derek could feel him swelling, the rhythm losing all finesse in a final, desperate chase. With a raw, guttural shout that was more animal than man, Peter buried himself to the hilt and shuddered. Heat flooded Derek’s insides, a shocking, intimate gush that seemed to go on and on. Peter collapsed over his back, breath hot and ragged against his skin.
For a moment, it was just the sound of their breathing, the wet, slick sounds of Scott still slowly fucking Derek’s mouth. Derek reveled in the feeling of being claimed, filled, used just as he’d wanted.
Peter pulled out slowly, a slow, slick sound. He dropped onto the bed beside them, spent and watching with heavy-lidded eyes. “Your turn, McCall,” he panted, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t be gentle.”
Scott pulled himself from Derek’s mouth with a wet sound. His eyes were wild, the caring friend completely submerged under a wave of pure Alpha hunger. He looked from Derek’s flushed face to where Peter had just been, his gaze settling on the evidence of Peter’s release already beginning to drip from Derek.
He didn’t speak. He just moved, his hands replacing Peter’s on Derek’s hips. He positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging against Derek’s well-used entrance. He looked Derek right in the eyes. “I’m going to fill you up, too.”
He didn’t wait for permission. He pushed in, not with Peter’s controlled stretch, but with a single, relentless surge that buried him completely.
The air left Derek’s lungs in a punched-out groan. Scott was bigger, and the stretch was exquisite, a burning fullness that stole his breath. Scott held still for a heartbeat, letting them both adjust, his face a mask of pained ecstasy. Then he pulled back and drove in again, setting a punishing, deep rhythm that made the bed frame creak in protest.
“Oh, God, Derek,” Scott choked out, his voice wrecked. “You feel… you feel unbelievable.”
As Scott began to fuck him in earnest, Peter shifted on the bed. He sat up, his own cock, somehow still hard and glistening, bobbed in front of Derek’s face. “Clean me up,” he ordered softly, his thumb stroking Derek’s cheekbone.
Derek turned his head and took Peter into his mouth without hesitation. The taste of himself and Peter was salty, musky, deeply familiar now. He sucked lazily at first, then with more purpose, as Scott’s thrusts rocked his whole body forward and back.
Scott held his hips in a firm, unyielding grip, keeping him in place as he really went to town. Each powerful drive sent a jolt through Derek, forcing a muffled sound around Peter’s cock. Peter just sighed, carding his fingers through Derek’s hair. “Look at you. Taking us both. So perfect for it.”
The praise, the filthy reality of it, coiled tight in Derek’s gut. He was a vessel for their pleasure, and in that, he found his own. Scott’s cock dragged over something inside him with every stroke, a bright, electric spot that made stars burst behind his eyelids.
Scott’s pace began to fracture, his thrusts becoming ragged, uncoordinated. “Derek… I’m close… I need…”
He suddenly pulled out, leaving Derek achingly empty and bereft. Before Derek could protest, strong hands were flipping him onto his back. Scott loomed over him, his kind face stark with need, and pushed Derek’s legs up and apart. He sank back into him in one smooth, deep stroke, this new angle hitting that perfect spot with devastating accuracy.
“There,” Scott breathed, his eyes locked on Derek’s. “I wanna see you.”
He began to move again, a steady, deep, rolling rhythm that was more intimate than anything that had come before. He leaned down, bracing himself on his forearms, his face inches from Derek’s.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Scott murmured, the words meant for Derek alone, a private counterpoint to the slap of skin. “Took us so good. Made us feel so good.” He pressed a soft, incongruously gentle kiss to Derek’s sweat-slicked forehead. “My turn to take care of you.”
The tenderness undid him. The praise, the relentless friction, the overwhelming sense of being wanted not just used, but cherished in his surrender—it crashed over Derek like a wave. A coil of heat tightened low in his belly, spiraling outwards without a single touch to his own cock.
His back arched off the bed, a wordless cry torn from his throat. Pleasure, white-hot and shocking, ripped through him, seizing every muscle. He came untouched, stripes of white painting his own stomach, his vision whiting out at the edges. The contractions of his climax squeezed around Scott, pulling a hoarse shout from the Alpha above him.
Scott’s rhythm broke completely. With three more frantic, deep thrusts, he stilled, buried to the hilt. Derek felt the hot pulse deep inside, another flood joining the first, a second claiming. Scott collapsed on top of him, his full weight a warm, anchoring press.
The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the distant thump of the party below. Peter was still carding his fingers through Derek’s hair, his other hand resting possessively on Derek’s thigh.
No one moved. No one spoke. The world slowly seeped back in—the texture of the comforter under his back, the cool air on his overheated skin, the weight of Scott, the scent of sex and satisfaction so thick it was almost a taste.
Derek stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling, his body humming, utterly spent. The hollow feeling from before was gone. It had been filled, overfilled, packed so tight with sensation and feeling there was no room for anything else.
Scott finally shifted, rolling off to lie beside him, one arm flung across Derek’s chest. He was still breathing hard, his eyes closed.
Peter was the first to break the silence. He let out a low, contented chuckle. “Well,” he said, his voice rough but satisfied. “That escalated.”