Chapter 2: A Shelter in the Storm
The heavy door clicked shut behind them, muffling the thudding bass downstairs to a dull pulse. Rain lashed against the windowpanes of Scott’s third-floor sanctuary, the sound sharp against the sudden, charged quiet. Scott leaned back against the cool wood, catching his breath. The air hung thick with the scent of cheap beer, Derek’s bourbon-vanilla musk, Scott’s own cedar-and-earth Alpha signature, and the primal ozone tang of arousal.
Derek swayed slightly, already plastered back against Scott, his hands fisting in the fabric of Scott’s worn t-shirt. His laugh, low and breathless from their dash upstairs, died as Scott’s fingers slid under his chin, tilting his face up. Golden eyes, burning bright even in the dim glow from Scott’s desk lamp, scanned Derek’s flushed face.
“God, Derek,” Scott murmured, his voice rougher than usual, thick with the effort of holding back the growl vibrating in his chest. His thumb traced the sharp line of Derek’s jaw, rasping against the dark stubble. “You look… fuck. Beautiful.” He leaned in, their foreheads almost touching. Derek’s breath hitched, warm and smelling sharply of whiskey. “Tonight… hell of a game. You sure showed Liam up.” Scott’s attempt at lightness felt strained, a thin veneer over the need clawing at him.
Derek hummed, a lazy, satisfied sound. His eyes, usually so sharp and guarded, were hazy, pupils wide and dark. He nuzzled against Scott’s thumb. “Mmm. He deserved it. Little shit.” A small, drunken smile played on his lips. One hand left Scott’s shirt to trail slowly down Scott’s arm, fingers tracing the hard swell of bicep beneath the sleeve.
Scott caught that wandering hand, lacing their fingers together but holding it still against his own chest. The contact was electric. He could feel Derek’s racing pulse beneath his fingertips. “Hey. Seriously. How much did you drink?”
Derek’s smile widened, becoming almost impish. He leaned in, lips brushing Scott’s ear, his warm breath sending shivers down Scott’s spine. “Enough to not care if I puke on your fancy quilt,” he murmured, the words slightly slurred.
“Derek.” Scott’s tone held a warning edge, but it was swallowed immediately by a surge of possessive heat. He tightened his grip on Derek’s hand. “Numbers. Give me numbers. How many beers? Shots?”
“Six?” Derek offered, tilting his head. The motion exposed the long line of his throat, the pulse point fluttering wildly. Scott’s gaze snagged there, the urge to mark, to bite, a physical ache. “Maybe… seven?” Derek giggled again, the sound light and unexpectedly vulnerable. “Lost count after Liam tried that stupid triple bounce shot. Told him it wouldn’t work. Idiot.” He pressed closer, his body heat radiating through both their clothes. His other hand slid around Scott’s waist, fingers digging into the small of his back, pulling their hips flush. Scott felt the unmistakable, slick heat blooming against his thigh, Derek’s unique Omega scent deepening, intensifying, becoming almost cloying in its sweetness mixed with the sharp tang of alcohol.
Scott groaned, low and involuntary, deep in his chest. His free hand came up to cup the back of Derek’s neck, fingers tangling in the thick, dark hair at his nape. Perfect for knotting your fingers into. The unbidden thought made his cock throb painfully against the confines of his sweatpants. He fought to focus past the haze of Derek’s scent and the intoxicating press of his body. “Seven? Jesus, Hale. You weigh, what? One-sixty soaking wet? That’s… that’s too much for a human, let alone an Omega who metabolizes it slower.” He tried for concern, but his voice came out rough, strained.
Scott's fingers tightened almost painfully in Derek's hair before he forced them to relax. He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the sudden quiet broken only by the rain and their ragged breathing. "Derek," Scott began, his voice thick, strained against the primal urge surging through him. "I want this. God, you have no idea how much I want this." His other hand slid down to grip Derek's hip, feeling the heat, the subtle tremor running through the Omega's frame, the slickness dampening Derek’s jeans against Scott’s thigh.
Scott forced himself to pull back slightly, creating a crucial inch of space between their bodies. He kept one hand firmly on Derek's hip, grounding them both, the other still tangled in Derek’s dark hair. He met Derek's hazy, confused gaze, his own golden eyes blazing with intensity and conflict. "But I can't," Scott stated, the words scraping out, raw and definitive. "Not like this. Not when you’ve had seven drinks and you’re swaying on your feet." He gently squeezed Derek’s hip, his touch firm but not harsh. "I won't. I refuse to take advantage when you’ve never looked me dead sober in the eye and told me you wanted me. Really wanted me, not just... tonight."
Derek blinked, the haze of alcohol and arousal momentarily clearing, replaced by stark surprise. He stared at Scott, his beautiful face slackening. The sly smile vanished, replaced by a flicker of confusion, then dawning comprehension. He opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, to insist he knew what he wanted, but the words died unspoken as Scott’s unwavering sincerity sank in. His brow furrowed slightly as he processed Scott’s refusal – a rejection rooted not in disinterest, but in fierce, unexpected care.
A tremor ran through Derek, different from the shivers of desire. His lower lip quivered almost imperceptibly. The sharp, defiant glint in his eyes, usually so present, flickered and dimmed. He looked down, suddenly unable to meet Scott’s intense gaze, focusing instead on th never minde worn fabric of Scott’s t-shirt stretched across his chest. The flush on his cheeks deepened, but now it seemed born of something other than liquor or lust.
A choked sound escaped Derek’s throat, half gasp, half sob. His eyes, when they finally lifted back to Scott’s, were shimmering with sudden, unshed tears. The sight hit Scott like a physical blow, stealing his breath. "Scott..." Derek whispered, his voice trembling, rough with emotion he couldn’t contain. "I... nobody...shit." He swiped clumsily at his eyes with the back of his hand, but the tears escaped, tracing hot paths down his cheeks. He looked mortified, vulnerable in a way Scott had never seen. "That’s... really sweet," he managed, his voice thick with tears and drunkenness, the words laced with profound disbelief. "Too damn sweet." He tried to turn his head away, hiding his face, utterly embarrassed by his own reaction.
"Hey, no." Scott’s voice softened instantly, the Alpha growl replaced by pure tenderness. He released Derek’s hip and hair, his arms sweeping around Derek’s shoulders instead, pulling him firmly against his chest. "Come here." He folded Derek into a tight, enveloping embrace, tucking Derek’s head under his chin. "It’s okay. Derek, it’s okay."
Derek resisted for only a split second before collapsing against him, his body shuddering with silent sobs he tried desperately to stifle. He pressed his face hard into the solid warmth of Scott’s chest, fingers clutching handfuls of Scott’s t-shirt. Scott could feel the dampness of tears soaking through the fabric, feel the tremors running through the strong body held against his own. The sweet, slick scent of Derek’s arousal was still potent, intermingling now with the salt of tears and the fading sharpness of whiskey. Scott rested his cheek against the top of Derek’s head, breathing in the scent of his hair – rain, cedar, and that unique Derek musk. "Shhh," Scott murmured, his voice a low rumble against Derek’s ear, one hand rubbing slow, comforting circles on his back. "I’ve got you. Just breathe. I’ve got you." The fierce urge to protect, to shield this unexpectedly vulnerable Omega, surged within him, a tidal wave that finally, decisively, drowned out the raw hunger clawing at his gut. Holding Derek close, feeling the tremors subside into shaky breaths against his chest, Scott’s resolve solidified into something unbreakable.
Holding Derek close, feeling the tremors subside into shaky breaths against his chest, Scott’s resolve solidified into something unbreakable. He kept one large hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on Derek’s back, the worn cotton of Derek’s shirt soft beneath his palm. His other hand lifted, fingers threading lazily through the thick, dark strands of Derek’s hair, gently massaging his scalp. "Shh, you're okay," Scott murmured, his voice a low rumble vibrating against Derek’s temple. "Completely safe here. Nothing to be embarrassed about, Derek. Not a damn thing." He pressed his lips lightly against Derek’s hairline, breathing in the scent of rain, whiskey, and the fading sweetness of slick arousal beneath the salt of tears.
Derek’s breathing gradually evened out, the frantic clutching at Scott’s shirt loosening. He slumped heavier against Scott, a profound exhaustion seeming to settle into his bones, replacing the frantic energy of the party and the sharp spike of emotion. Scott felt the shift, the surrender to fatigue. "C'mon," Scott whispered, gently easing them apart just enough to guide Derek towards the large, inviting bed draped in its patchwork quilt. The springs groaned softly as Scott sat Derek down on the edge. Derek blinked slowly, his eyes heavy-lidded and still slightly red-rimmed, looking impossibly young and worn out.
"Almost three," Scott said softly, glancing at the cheap digital clock on his cluttered nightstand. Its harsh red numbers glowed in the dim room. "You drank way too much to walk anywhere tonight, let alone back to the dorms." He crouched slightly, meeting Derek’s downcast gaze. The unspoken heat between them crackled in the quiet, thick and undeniable despite the tenderness. "Stay? Sleep here?" Scott asked, his voice rough with care and something deeper, held tightly in check.
Derek looked up, his gaze lingering on Scott’s face – the earnest concern, the strength held in check. He swallowed, then nodded once, a tired, almost imperceptible dip of his chin. "Yeah," he rasped, the word thick. "Okay." The sheer exhaustion of the long day, the intense emotions, the alcohol, hit him fully then, making his shoulders sag. "Suddenly... really tired."
Scott gave him a small, reassuring smile. "Be right back." He crossed the small room to the dented mini-fridge humming in the corner, its door plastered with faded band stickers. He pulled out a chilled bottle of water, the condensation instantly beading on the plastic. Unscrewing the cap, he handed it to Derek. "Drink this. Slow sips."
Derek took the bottle, his fingers brushing Scott’s. He lifted it, drinking deeply, the cool water a stark contrast to the lingering burn of whiskey and tears. He lowered the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze fixed on Scott standing before him. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant thump of music downstairs and the patter of rain on the window. A faint flush crept back up Derek’s neck, not from alcohol this time. He cleared his throat softly. "Scott?" His voice was quieter now, less slurred, tinged with a hesitant vulnerability.
"Yeah?" Scott leaned in slightly, his golden eyes soft, attentive.
Derek looked down at the water bottle clutched in his hands, then back up, meeting Scott’s gaze directly. His dark eyes held a flicker of the earlier heat, tempered now by exhaustion and a raw, unguarded need. "Can we...?" He paused, took a shallow breath. "Just kiss? One or two more times? Before...sleep?" The request hung in the air, simple yet charged with everything they hadn't done, everything simmering beneath the surface care.
Scott’s answering smile wasn't just warm; it was blinding, transforming his rugged face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. Relief, affection, and a fierce, restrained joy lit him up from within. "Yeah," he breathed, the word thick with promise. He closed the small distance between them, his hands coming up to cradle Derek’s face with infinite gentleness. He leaned down, his lips meeting Derek’s in a kiss that was achingly soft, a slow exploration devoid of the earlier desperate hunger. It was reassurance, comfort, and a quiet vow all wrapped into one tender touch. Derek sighed into it, his body relaxing further, leaning into Scott’s solid strength as the frantic energy of the party finally dissolved into the quiet intimacy of the rain-lashed room.
The kiss lingered, soft and unhurried, a quiet counterpoint to the storm lashing the windows. Derek sighed into Scott’s mouth, the last vestiges of tension melting from his shoulders as he leaned fully against the Alpha’s solid frame. The frantic pulse of the party downstairs felt worlds away, replaced by the drumming rain and the shared warmth between them. Scott’s hands slid from Derek’s face, down his arms, settling firmly on his waist.
"Bed," Scott murmured, the word rough with tenderness against Derek’s lips. It wasn’t a question, but a gentle command wrapped in care. He didn’t wait for an answer, his arms tightening possessively around Derek’s waist.
With surprising ease, Scott lifted Derek slightly, guiding him backwards until his knees hit the edge of the large, quilt-draped bed. Derek stumbled slightly, a soft, drunken chuckle escaping him as he landed on the soft surface. Scott followed him down, the worn springs groaning softly beneath their combined weight. He settled beside Derek, propped up on one elbow, his gaze intense in the dim light filtering from the desk lamp.
"Just a few more," Derek breathed, his voice thick with exhaustion and lingering desire.His eyes, still slightly red-rimmed but clearer now, searched Scott’s face."Please?"
"Anything," Scott whispered, the word catching in his throat. He leaned down again, capturing Derek’s lips in another slow, deliberate kiss. It was softer than before, a reassurance, a promise held in the gentle pressure. Derek responded lazily, his movements slowed by fatigue and alcohol, his fingers tangling weakly in the fabric of Scott’s t-shirt. Scott kissed him again, lingering this time, tasting the faint salt of dried tears and the cool water Derek had drunk.Then once more, a brief, tender press against Derek’s slightly parted lips.
Derek sighed, a deep, contented sound that seemed to come from his bones. He turned instinctively towards Scott’s warmth, burrowing his face against the Alpha’s broad chest. One arm flopped heavily across Scott’s waist. Within moments, his breathing deepened, evening out into the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. The faint scent of slick arousal still clung to him, mingling now with the clean cotton of Scott’s shirt and the lingering ghost of whiskey.
Scott lay perfectly still, wired with a potent mix of protectiveness and unresolved longing. His fingers, seemingly of their own accord, found their way into Derek’s thick, dark hair. He began to gently pet it, smoothing the strands back from Derek’s forehead, his touch infinitely careful. The rain continued its steady tattoo against the glass, the bass from downstairs a distant throb. Scott couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sleeping Omega nestled against him. The sharp angles of Derek’s face were softened in sleep, the guardedness gone, replaced by a profound vulnerability that tightened Scott’s chest. His gaze traced the line of Derek’s jaw, the dark stubble, the curve of his lips, the flutter of an eyelash against his cheek. The possessive warmth radiating from Scott’s core intensified, a fierce, quiet hum beneath his skin. He watched Derek sleep, fingers continuing their slow, rhythmic path through the dark silk of his hair, unable to look away from the beautiful, complicated young man who stirred something primal and profound within him. Unable to look away from what he hoped, with a fierce, trembling certainty, might be… his Omega.