Chapter 14: Interrogation by Pizza
The stale air in Derek’s cramped dorm room hung heavy with the lingering musk of sex and sweat, despite the cheap plastic fan whirring desperately on his cluttered desk. Derek lay sprawled on his narrow bed, tangled in damp sheets, a dull ache radiating pleasantly from his core. Peter’s arm was a solid, warm weight slung possessively low across Derek’s bare stomach, fingers splayed just above the waistband of his sweatpants. Derek traced the faint red marks encircling his own wrist – souvenirs from Peter’s grip against the shower tiles earlier. His neck felt hot, prickly; he knew the constellation of bruises Peter had sucked onto his skin was probably vivid purple against the pale skin near his collarbone. He hadn’t dared look in a mirror yet.
The kick against the door was sharp, violent, rattling the frame and the posters of moody bands plastered on the wall opposite. Before Derek could even jolt upright, the door swung open violently, bouncing off the stopper with a thud.
Erica Reyes stood silhouetted in the doorway, a large pizza box held aloft in one hand, her usual smirk already forming. "Delivery for the brooding hermit and his—" Her sentence died mid-taunt. Her sharp eyes scanned the scene: Derek frozen halfway up, sheet clutched to his chest, panic flaring in his dark eyes; Peter stirring lazily beside him, blinking sleepily but tightening his arm around Derek’s waist; and Derek’s neck, a roadmap of possessive purple blooms disappearing beneath the rumpled t-shirt he’d hastily pulled on. Erica’s smirk vanished, replaced by wide-eyed shock that quickly morphed into theatrical disgust.
"Oh, hell no," she groaned, the sound long and drawn-out. She strode into the room like she owned it, slamming the pizza box down onto Derek’s textbooks-strewn desk with a whump that made the fan wobble precariously. She planted her hands on her hips, her gaze sweeping over them again. "Absolutely hell no. You two better start talking," she jabbed a finger at them, "before I spontaneously combust from secondhand horniness." She wrinkled her nose dramatically. "Seriously. The pheromones in here are choking me."
Derek felt his face ignite. He shrank back against the headboard, pulling the sheet higher, wishing he could vanish into the mattress. Peter, however, just stretched languidly, a slow, cat-like smile spreading across his face as he propped himself up on one elbow. The movement made the sheet dip lower, revealing more of his sculpted chest and the trail of dark hair leading south. Derek tried not to stare.
"Afternoon, Reyes," Peter said, his voice still thick with sleep but layered with amusement. "Nice of you to knock."
"Knocking implies waiting for permission," Erica shot back, her eyes narrowed, still fixed on Derek’s neck. She pointed again. "What the actual fuck, Hale? Did a vacuum cleaner attack you? Or," her gaze flicked to Peter, who just raised an eyebrow, "did someone forget he possesses lips instead of a fucking Hoover attachment?"
Peter chuckled, low and dark. Derek flinched. "He liked it," Peter stated simply, his thumb rubbing a slow circle on Derek’s hip bone beneath the sheet. The casual possessiveness, the blunt admission, sent another wave of heat through Derek, equal parts humiliation and something deeper, more treacherous.
"Did he?" Erica’s voice was dangerously flat. She wasn’t buying Peter’s easy charm this time. She focused solely on Derek. "Derek? You okay? Blink twice if you need extraction. Or a rabies shot."
"I’m fine," Derek mumbled, the words thick in his dry throat. He couldn’t meet her eyes. He was fine. More than fine, physically. The shower encounter had been terrifying, overwhelming, and utterly… consuming. The memory of Peter’s strength, the command in his voice, the way Derek had come apart pinned against the wet tiles… It sent shivers down his spine that had nothing to do with fear. But Erica seeing it? Seeing the marks? That was a different kind of exposure.
"He’s fine," Peter echoed, his voice firmer now, a subtle edge beneath the smoothness. He sat up fully, the sheet pooling around his waist. He didn’t try to cover himself. His gaze locked onto Erica’s, challenging. "Better than fine. He’s mine." The words weren’t loud, but they landed in the small room like stones. Derek’s breath hitched. Mine. Possession. Claim. It should have felt wrong, stifling. Instead, a forbidden thrill sparked low in his gut.
Erica’s expression didn’t soften, but her posture shifted slightly. She crossed her arms, studying Peter, then Derek, then Peter again. The initial shock and disgust had cooled into intense scrutiny. "Yours, huh?" she repeated slowly. "Since when? And why am I, the supposed best friend, finding out after the apparent vampire convention on Derek’s neck?"
Peter shrugged one broad shoulder, a lazy, infuriating gesture. "It’s new. We’re… figuring it out." He glanced at Derek, his gaze softening just a fraction. "Aren’t we?"
Derek managed a jerky nod. Figuring it out felt like a massive understatement. He felt like he was hurtling down a mountainside with no brakes, simultaneously terrified and exhilarated.
Erica sighed, a long, exasperated sound. She walked over to the desk and flipped open the pizza box. The greasy, cheesy smell instantly filled the room, mingling bizarrely with the lingering intimacy. "Alright, Romeo and Brood-iet," she said, pulling out a slice of pepperoni. "Start talking. From the beginning. And Peter? Keep the ‘he liked it’ commentary to a minimum unless you want this pizza box lodged somewhere unpleasant."
Peter grinned, utterly unfazed. He reached over and snagged a slice for himself. Derek just stared at the pizza, his appetite gone, replaced by a churning mix of residual pleasure, deep embarrassment, and the dawning, terrifying realization. Erica knew. His world, already tilted wildly off its axis since Peter pinned him in the showers, had just irrevocably widened. People knew. He was Peter Kavinsky’s… whatever he was. Marked. Seen. The thought of walking across campus now, with Erica’s knowing eyes on him, felt like stepping onto a stage naked. He pulled the sheet tighter, the cheap cotton suddenly feeling like the thinnest shield against the world Peter had just dragged him into. The fan whirred on, a monotonous counterpoint to the frantic pulse thrumming in Derek’s ears.