Chapter 13: Public Indiscretions
The humid air clung thick and heavy, tasting of chlorine and cheap body wash. Water drummed a steady rhythm on tile, echoing in the stark, steamy expanse of the Beacon Hills University showers. Derek stood under one of the far jets, head bowed, letting the near-scalding water sluice over his tense shoulders, trying to wash away the phantom ache and the lingering buzz from Peter’s dorm room. Trying to process the sheer, overwhelming fact of what had happened. Of Peter.
A hand, slick and warm, slid around his waist from behind, startling him. He hadn’t heard footsteps over the water. Peter pressed flush against his back, hard muscle against damp skin. Derek’s breath hitched. Peter’s other hand splayed possessively low on Derek’s stomach, pulling him tighter.
"Missed you already," Peter murmured, lips brushing the sensitive spot below Derek’s ear. His voice, low and rough, vibrated against Derek’s spine, cutting through the shower’s white noise.
Derek shivered, a tremor that had nothing to do with the water temperature. Peter’s cock, already thickening, pressed insistently against the cleft of his ass. The memory of that brutal first thrust, the searing stretch, the way Peter had held him down and taken, flooded back. Heat pooled low in his gut, warring with a fresh spike of anxiety. "Peter…" he started, voice strained. "Not… not here. Someone could—"
Peter’s hand tightened on his stomach. He pushed Derek forward, pinning him face-first against the cool, wet tiles. The abrupt chill shocked his skin. Peter’s body shielded him from the direct spray, the water now pounding onto Peter’s broad back, cascading down over both of them.
"Someone might hear us?" Peter finished for him, his breath hot on Derek’s neck. His free hand slid lower, tracing the curve of Derek’s ass. Derek tensed, bracing. Peter chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent another jolt through him. "Let them."
Before Derek could protest again, Peter dropped his head and bit down hard on the muscle of Derek’s shoulder. Not playful. Claiming. Derek gasped, a sound swallowed by the rushing water and the tiles. At the same moment, Peter’s slick fingers – soap or spit, Derek couldn’t tell – pushed past his entrance with shocking speed. Two of them, thick and probing, forcing their way deep.
"Fuck!" Derek choked out, his fingers scrabbling uselessly against the slippery tile. The stretch burned, sharp and immediate. It wasn’t gentle preparation; it was an invasion, a reminder. Just like the bite. Peter worked his fingers roughly, scissoring, stretching him open right there against the shower wall. Derek dropped his forehead to the cool tile, panting, water streaming down his face, mixing with the sweat beading on his skin. The sounds – the slap of wet skin, the squelch of Peter’s fingers moving inside him, Derek’s own ragged breathing – felt impossibly loud in the echoing space, even with the water’s roar. Every nerve ending was alight, a confusing mix of pain, humiliation, and a terrifying, undeniable need.
"See?" Peter rasped close to his ear, his voice thick. He twisted his fingers deep, making Derek arch and whimper. "You like it rough. You need it. Remember how you took me? How you screamed for it?" He curled his fingers, finding that spot with unerring accuracy. Pleasure, bright and electric, lanced through the discomfort, stealing Derek’s breath. His knees threatened to buckle. Peter’s other hand slid around his hip, wrapping firmly around Derek’s aching cock. "You’re dripping, Derek. Already. Just from this."
Derek squeezed his eyes shut, heat flooding his face. It was true. His body was betraying him spectacularly, responding violently to Peter’s harsh possession, the public vulnerability, the sheer risk of it. Peter stroked him slowly, deliberately, his grip tight and perfect, while his fingers continued their relentless assault inside. The dual sensation was overwhelming. Derek bit his lip hard, trying to stifle the moan building in his chest.
Peter leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of Derek’s ear as his fingers thrust deep again. "Don’t hold back," he commanded, his voice a low growl that vibrated through Derek’s bones. "Let me hear you. You sound so fucking hot when you break." He punctuated the words by twisting his wrist, grinding the pads of his fingers against Derek’s prostate. The pleasure was blinding, obliterating thought.
A choked cry tore from Derek’s throat, high and desperate. He couldn’t stop it. His hips jerked helplessly, fucking himself back onto Peter’s fingers and forward into his fist. The water hammered down, obscuring maybe, but not silencing. The thought of someone walking in, hearing him like this, seeing Peter pinning him, working him open… it should have been mortifying. Instead, it sent a perverse thrill, sharp and electric, straight through him. His cock pulsed hard in Peter’s grip.
Peter chuckled again, a dark, satisfied rumble against Derek’s back. "That’s it," he breathed, his own breath hitching slightly as he felt Derek’s body clench around his fingers. "Good boy. Taking it so pretty." He pulled his fingers out slowly, the drag a delicious agony, leaving Derek feeling achingly empty and exposed. Derek sagged against the tiles, trembling, water plastering his hair to his forehead. Peter’s hand tightened on his cock, his touch becoming almost punishing.
Derek heard the distinct sound of Peter spitting, then the blunt, slick pressure at his entrance again. Not fingers this time. Thicker. Hotter. Him. Derek braced, his breath catching in a ragged gasp. The fear spiked – the exposure, the noise, the sheer, terrifying size of him after the rough prep. But beneath it roared a deeper, darker hunger, stoked by Peter’s brutality and his praise. He needed it. He wanted Peter to wreck him right here.
Peter leaned his full weight into Derek, crushing him against the tile, his lips finding Derek’s neck again. "Ready?" he murmured, the question a dark promise. He didn’t wait for an answer. His hips drove forward.
The first inch was a searing stretch, stealing Derek’s breath. He cried out, the sound echoing sharply off the tiles before the water could drown it. Peter covered Derek’s mouth with his hand, muffling the next choked gasp as he pushed deeper, relentless, filling Derek with an exquisite, burning pressure that felt like it split him open all over again. Derek’s body strained, muscles protesting, then yielding.
Peter held deep for a heartbeat, buried to the hilt, his breath hot and ragged against Derek’s neck beneath the streaming water. He slowly removed his hand from Derek’s mouth, letting the sounds – the slap of water, their harsh breathing, Derek’s low whimpers – mingle freely. "Someone might hear, huh?" Peter growled, his voice thick with exertion and desire. He pulled back, the drag stealing Derek’s breath, then slammed home with a force that rattled Derek’s teeth. "Try and be quiet then."
The command hung in the steamy air, a challenge wrapped in Peter’s dark, low growl. Derek braced against the slick tiles, fingers scrabbling for purchase as Peter pulled back again. The drag was excruciating, leaving him achingly empty before that devastating force slammed home once more. Water roared down Peter’s back, plastering Derek’s hair to his forehead, mixing with the sweat beading at his temples. Each deep, brutal thrust punched the air from his lungs, forcing choked gasps he couldn’t fully suppress. "Fuck… Peter…"
"Shhh," Peter hissed, burying his face in the crook of Derek’s neck, his own breath ragged against wet skin. His hips snapped forward again, relentless, driving Derek harder into the wall. The sharp smack of their bodies connecting echoed under the shower’s constant drumming. Derek felt the rough tile scrape his cheekbone, felt the impossible stretch, felt Peter’s thick cock hitting that spot inside him with unerring precision. Pleasure, sharp and white-hot, crackled through the strain, coiling his muscles unbearably tight.
"Can’t… hold…" Derek gasped, the words tearing free despite himself. He was shuddering violently now, teetering on the edge. The pressure in his groin was a live wire, sparking under Peter’s relentless rhythm and the rough grip still tight around his cock. Peter’s hips stuttered, his own control fraying. His fingers dug bruisingly into Derek’s hip. "Close… Derek… God, you feel…"
Peter’s groan vibrated against Derek’s back, raw and primal. He drove in one final, deep time, grinding hard, hips flush against Derek’s ass. Derek’s world imploded. His cry was strangled, ripped from him as his body arched violently back against Peter’s hold. Hot ropes of cum shot from his cock, splattering thickly across the wet shower tiles, stark white against the pale green. His vision whited out, consumed by the convulsive release tearing through him.
Peter followed instantly. With a guttural shout muffled against Derek’s shoulder, he pushed impossibly deeper, hips jerking erratically. Derek felt it, the hot, pulsing surge deep inside him, the possessive claim that left him trembling and pinned. Peter held him there, buried to the hilt, grinding slightly as he rode the last waves, his breath shuddering against Derek’s skin. "Christ… Derek…" he breathed, voice thick and wrecked.
Slowly, the world seeped back in. The relentless drumming of the water. The harsh rasp of their breathing. The cooling streaks of Derek’s release running down the tiles, diluted by the spray. Peter’s grip loosened, his weight settling more heavily against Derek’s back as he softened inside him. He kissed the bite mark on Derek’s shoulder, a surprisingly soft counterpoint to the raw intensity moments before. Derek felt boneless, drained, his cheek still pressed to the cold tile, shivering despite the warm water cascading over them. Peter nuzzled his neck. "Okay?" The question was rough but held a quiet check-in beneath the casual tone.
Derek just managed a shaky nod, a wordless grunt escaping him. Okay felt like a vast understatement. He was wrecked. Used. Utterly claimed. And beneath the exhaustion, a terrifying, undeniable sense of rightness hummed. Peter gently eased out of him, the sudden emptiness profound. He turned Derek around carefully, his gaze intense, searching Derek’s face in the steamy haze. Water streamed over them both, washing away the physical evidence plastered on the wall, but not the searing memory, not the lingering heat deep within Derek. Peter’s thumb brushed a stray droplet from Derek’s cheekbone, his usual smirk softened into something else entirely. "C’mon," he murmured, pulling him under the direct spray. "Don’t wanna prune up." He reached for the soap, the mundane gesture jarringly intimate after what they’d just shared. Derek leaned into him, letting the water and Peter’s solid presence hold him steady as the tremors slowly subsided.