Chapter 10: No More Waiting
Sunlight, thin and pale, sliced through the gap in the cheap vinyl blinds, painting a harsh stripe across Derek’s closed eyelids. He stirred, his body heavy, head throbbing with the dull, familiar percussion of a hangover. Consciousness seeped in slowly, reluctantly. Then, awareness snapped into sharp, startling focus.
Heat. Solid, encompassing heat pressed against his back. The weight of a heavy arm was slung possessively across his waist, pinning him to the mattress. And something else – hard, insistent – pressed firmly against the curve of his ass, trapped between layers of denim and cotton. Peter’s cock. The realization punched through the fog, stealing his breath.
Peter’s chest rose and fell steadily against his spine, each breath a warm puff of air against the sensitive skin at the nape of Derek’s neck. The faint scent of sleep and Peter’s unique musk – warm skin, lingering traces of detergent, something indefinably male – filled Derek’s nostrils. He froze, every muscle tense. The memory of last night flooded back: the clumsy kiss, Peter’s firm but gentle refusal, the terrifying comfort of falling asleep wrapped in this.
He hadn’t moved. Derek held impossibly still, caught between the pounding in his skull and the electric thrum building low in his own belly. Wants cock. The thought was stark, undeniable. The pressure against him felt like an answer, a promise held in abeyance. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter.
Then, Peter shifted. Just a subtle roll of his hips, grinding slowly, deliberately against Derek’s ass. The friction, even through fabric, sent a jolt straight through him. A low, rough sound, half-groan, half-sigh, vibrated against Derek’s neck.
"Morning, champion," Peter murmured. His voice was thick with sleep, scratchy, but layered with something else – a dark, lazy heat that made Derek’s skin prickle. That grinding movement repeated, firmer this time, an unmistakable declaration. Last night’s careful restraint was gone, burned away by daylight and proximity. "Sleep okay?"
Derek swallowed, his throat dry. His own body betrayed him, responding instantly to the friction, heat pooling low. "Uh. Yeah." The word came out choked. He couldn’t move, couldn’t turn. The weight, the heat, the hardness… it pinned him in a delicious, terrifying limbo.
Peter’s arm tightened minutely around Derek’s waist, pulling him even closer. His lips brushed the shell of Derek’s ear. "Good." That single word was laden. "Feel that?" Another deliberate shift of his hips. "Been like that since I woke up. About twenty minutes ago. Thinking about you."
Derek’s breath hitched. Twenty minutes. The image of Peter awake, hard against him, just… waiting? Thinking? It was too much. He felt dizzy, the hangover momentarily forgotten under the onslaught of sensation and implication. "Peter…" It was barely a whisper, a plea without a defined request.
"Hmm?" Peter nuzzled the spot behind Derek’s ear. His free hand, which had been resting near Derek’s hip, slid slowly upwards, skimming the plane of his stomach beneath the thin t-shirt he’d slept in. Calloused fingertips traced the ridges of his abdomen, leaving trails of fire. "Seems like you feel it too." His hand paused just below Derek’s ribs, palm flat and hot against his skin, feeling the rapid flutter beneath.
Derek shuddered. The careful exploration, the possessive hold, the blunt reality of Peter’s arousal grinding against him… it short-circuited his usual anxiety. His own cock was fully hard now, straining against his boxers, trapped and aching. He pressed back almost involuntarily, seeking more of that friction, a small, desperate sound escaping him.
Peter’s answering hum was pure satisfaction. He slid his hand lower, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of Derek’s boxers, skimming the trail of dark hair leading down. Derek arched, pushing his ass back harder against Peter’s cock. He needed. It was a physical ache, a hollow demand his body screamed.
"Shh," Peter breathed against his neck, the sound a counterpoint to the growing roughness of his movements. His fingers teased lower, tracing the crease where thigh met hip, agonizingly close to where Derek burned. "Easy. We got time." But his own grinding became more rhythmic, more insistent. The denim of Peter’s jeans rasped against Derek’s thin sleep pants.
Derek turned his head, finally, burying his face partially in the pillow. He could feel the flush spreading down his neck, the desperate tension coiling tighter. "Please," he rasped, the word muffled but raw. It wasn't eloquent, but it was everything. Please touch me. Please don’t stop. Please.
Peter stilled for a fraction of a second, then his hand slid down fully, fingers wrapping firmly around Derek’s aching cock through the cotton. Derek gasped, hips jerking forward into the contact. The relief was instant, intense, flooding his veins.
"Yeah?" Peter murmured, his own voice tight. He squeezed gently, then began a slow, torturous stroke through the fabric. His hips resumed their grinding, his own hardness a relentless pressure against Derek’s ass. "That what you want?" His lips found Derek’s neck again, kissing, then biting lightly, sucking a mark. "Tell me."
Derek’s eyes slammed shut. The dual sensations – the hand on his cock, the hard length rocking against him, the mouth on his neck – were overwhelming. The world narrowed to heat and pressure and Peter’s scent. He pushed back harder, thrusting shallowly into Peter’s grip.
"Yes," he gasped. "God, yes. Peter…"
Peter’s hand stilled. He pulled back slightly, just enough for Derek to feel the sudden, devastating loss. Derek whimpered, turning his head to look, confused, desperate.
Peter’s gaze met his. Sleepy warmth was gone, replaced by a focused, almost predatory intensity. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. There was no trace of last night’s hesitation, only a smoldering certainty. "Clear head?" he asked, his voice low, rough, the question loaded.
Derek’s mind might still be fuzzy from the hangover, but his body, his need, was crystal clear. The fear was still there, a familiar buzz under his skin, but it was drowned out by the roaring pulse of want. "Clear enough," he managed, his voice cracking. "More than."
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Peter’s face. It wasn't his usual charming grin; it was hungry, possessive. He leaned in, his lips hovering a breath away from Derek’s. "Good. Because I meant it last night. I want this. Want you." His hand tightened fractionally on Derek’s cock through the fabric, a silent promise. "But I need you to say it. Right now. So there’s no question."
The air crackled. Derek felt pinned by that gaze, by the sheer intensity radiating off Peter. The dorm room, the posters, the faint hum of the lamp – it all receded. There was only Peter’s heat, his strength, his overwhelming presence, and the unrelenting demand in his eyes. Derek’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the pulse throbbing where Peter held him. He licked his lips, the taste of sleep and desperation sharp on his tongue.
"Fuck me," Derek breathed, the words raw, stripped bare. He held Peter’s gaze, the vulnerability terrifying and exhilarating. "Please, Peter. Fuck me."
Peter’s predatory smile softened into something warmer, almost relieved. "Music to my fucking ears, Derek," he breathed, the roughness in his voice sending another shiver down Derek’s spine. His hand, still gripping Derek through cotton, gave one firm, promising squeeze before releasing its hold, leaving Derek achingly empty.
Derek rolled onto his back, the cool sheet a shock against his overheated skin. Peter propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at him. Sunlight caught the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, making them seem impossibly deep. The playful glint was back, mixed with an intensity that made Derek’s stomach flip. "Clear head, yeah?" Peter repeated, quieter this time, searching Derek’s face.
"Yeah," Derek managed, his voice steadier than he felt. The lingering fuzz of the hangover was a dull throb compared to the sharp, demanding pulse between his legs. "Crystal." He reached up, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed a stray strand of hair from Peter’s forehead. The simple touch ignited a spark.
Peter’s gaze dropped to Derek’s lips. "Prove it," he murmured, the challenge laced with heat. He leaned down slowly, deliberately, giving Derek every chance to pull away. Derek didn’t. He met him halfway, their lips crashing together with none of last night’s drunken hesitation. It wasn't gentle. It was claiming. Possessive. Hungry.
Derek moaned into Peter’s mouth, the sound swallowed instantly. His hands flew up, one tangling in Peter’s tousled hair, pulling him closer, the other sliding down across the powerful plane of Peter’s back, feeling the flex of muscle beneath warm skin. The taste of sleep and something uniquely Peter filled his senses – mint toothpaste undercut by the lingering warmth of shared breath. The weight of Peter pressing him into the mattress was perfect, anchoring him against the dizzying rush.
His other hand, the one exploring the solid expanse of Peter’s back, grew bolder. It dipped lower, skimming the waistband of Peter’s jeans. The denim felt rough, unforgiving against his questing fingers. He pressed his palm flat against the hard, unmistakable ridge trapped beneath it, the heat radiating through the fabric almost scorching. A needy whimper escaped him, vibrating against Peter’s lips.
He tore his mouth away, gasping for air. Peter’s lips immediately found his jaw, his neck, sucking and biting with just enough pressure to make Derek arch. "Peter," Derek gasped, his voice ragged. His hand fumbled clumsily over the button and zipper of Peter’s jeans, desperate for the feel of skin. "Wanna see it. Please. Let me see you."
Peter lifted his head, his eyes dark pools of desire. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face. He shifted his weight, giving Derek more room. His voice was a low, throaty rumble that Derek felt deep in his own chest. "So pull it out then." His gaze held Derek’s, daring him. "Go on." He didn’t move to help, just watched, the challenge hanging in the charged air between them.
Derek’s fingers felt thick, clumsy, fumbling against the cold metal button of Peter’s jeans. The denim was stiff, resisting. Each frantic scrape of his thumbnail against the buttonhole sent a jolt of frustration through him. He needed it gone. Now. "C'mon," he muttered, breathless, his knuckles white with effort. Peter just watched, his chest rising and falling a little faster, a faint, expectant smile playing on his lips, the challenge still burning in his eyes.
Finally, the button popped free with a small, satisfying snick. Derek didn’t hesitate. He yanked the stiff zipper down, the metallic teeth rasping loud in the quiet room. The worn cotton of Peter’s boxers strained against the thick outline beneath. Heat radiated from it, intense, pulling Derek closer like a magnet. The scent – salt, skin, pure musk – hit him, potent and intoxicating, cutting through the stale air of the dorm room and the lingering ghost of cheap beer on his own breath.
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Peter's jeans and boxers, pushing them down over the sharp jut of Peter’s hips in one rough, urgent motion. Peter’s cock sprang free, thick and hard, straining upwards against the pale skin of his lower belly, flushed a deep, ruddy pink at the tip. Derek caught his breath. Big. Larger than he’d expected, even through the denim. A primal thrum vibrated deep in his core, the ache between his own legs intensifying to a sharp, demanding pulse.
He didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. Need surged, overriding the fuzziness in his head, the tremor in his hands. He leaned forward, pressing his face into the wiry thatch of dark hair at the base. The skin beneath smelled even stronger there, earthier. He licked a broad, wet stripe from root to tip, tasting salt and heat and Peter. A low, ragged groan tore from Peter’s throat, his hips twitching upwards involuntarily.
Emboldened, Derek wrapped his lips around the swollen head, sucking firmly. Peter’s hand shot out, fingers tangling roughly in Derek’s dark, messy bed-hair, not forcing, just holding. "Fuck, Derek," Peter gasped, his voice shattered, the effortless charm gone. "Yeah… like that." The approval, the raw need in Peter’s voice, sent a thrill through Derek. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking harder, swirling his tongue around the sensitive ridge beneath the head.
He took more in, the heavy weight filling his mouth, the thick vein pulsing against his tongue. He pushed down further, the blunt tip nudging the back of his throat. He breathed sharply through his nose, relaxing his jaw, letting the thick shaft slide deeper. His throat opened, accepting it, the stretch intense but not painful, a sensation he craved. He swallowed deliberately, the muscles contracting around Peter’s cock.
Peter cried out, a strangled, guttural sound Derek had never heard from him before. His fingers clenched tighter in Derek’s hair, pulling almost painfully. "Oh shit," Peter choked, his whole body tensing, the muscles in his abdomen clenching visibly. "Jesus Christ… you can… fuck…" His hips lifted off the mattress, thrusting shallowly, helplessly into the wet heat of Derek’s mouth. Derek moaned around him, the vibration drawing another sharp gasp from Peter. He pulled back slowly, sucking hard, then plunged down again, deeper this time, burying his nose in the coarse hair at the base. Peter’s thighs trembled. The hand in Derek’s hair was the only anchor Peter seemed to have left.
Derek didn’t let up. He sucked Peter deep, hollowing his cheeks, tongue working the swollen underside, the thick vein pulsing hard against it. Peter’s choked gasps filled the small room, mingling with the slick, wet sounds Derek made. The fingers knotted in Derek’s hair tightened, pulling, guiding the rhythm as Peter’s hips stuttered off the mattress. "Fuck! Derek, holy shit—" Peter’s voice was shredded, breathless, the usual smooth charm obliterated by raw need. "Just like that… yes."
He felt Peter’s entire body coil, a live wire about to snap. Muscles in Peter’s stomach clenched like stone beneath Derek’s free hand, which had braced itself there. The heavy cock in Derek’s mouth throbbed violently, a startlingly intense heat blooming against his tongue. Derek pressed down, taking it all, swallowing instinctively as Peter jerked, a guttural cry tearing from his throat. Hot, salty spurts flooded Derek’s mouth, thick and insistent.
Peter’s body arched, rigid for a heartbeat suspended in pure sensation, then collapsed back onto the mattress with a shuddering groan. His hand fell from Derek’s hair, landing limp beside his head. Chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut, Peter gasped for air like he’d just run a sprint. "Jesus. Derek." The name came out ragged, awed. "Where the hell did you learn that?"
Derek slowly pulled off, licking his lips, tasting the lingering salt and musk. He stayed close, resting his cheek on Peter’s trembling thigh, watching the sweat bead on Peter’s flushed skin. The frantic energy had bled out of Peter, replaced by a dazed, sated exhaustion. Derek felt a quiet surge of power, unfamiliar and intoxicating. He’d done that. Made the effortlessly smooth Peter Kavinsky come completely undone. "Just… wanted to," Derek murmured, his own voice rough, the simple truth resonating deeper than any practiced line could. His own arousal pressed insistently against the mattress, a sharp counterpoint to Peter’s spent stillness. Peter turned his head, opening heavy-lidded eyes. His gaze, still dark but softened now, drifted down Derek’s tense body. A slow, lazy smile touched his kiss-swollen lips. "Right. Well." He reached out, fingers brushing Derek’s jawline, a touch surprisingly tender. "My turn."