Derek Hale is a 19 year old sophomore in Beacon Hills University. He’s an Omega werewolf, a particularly beautiful one at that. As an omega, his ass gets slick and loose when he is aroused or in heat. He has great oral skills, with almost no gaga reflex. He has dark stubble along his jaw and lips, and jet dark hair just long enough to really knot your finger into. He is very fit for an omega, with a dry sense of humor. Derek has started his second year of college and it's early September, he moved into the frat he rushed last year Alpha Sigma. He's out and proud and just loves sex (a total bottom), and some of the other frat, who aren't gay but all very much have a 'a mouth is a mouth' or 'an ass is an ass' mentality, brothers will pop into his room at night when they are horny to fuck around. Some other Frat brothers are President Nate Jacobs (very tall, 6 foot 4 and 22 years old), Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski (who are best friends and both 21 years old), Peter Kavinsky (21), and Benito Perez (age 22)

Chapter 3: The Gamers' Treat

Derek's bare feet slapped against the cool linoleum of the frat house hallway, the only sound besides the muffled bass from someone’s stereo downstairs. He felt loose, still humming faintly from the intensity of Nate, Benito, and Peter a few nights prior. A phantom ache lingered pleasantly in his ass, a reminder he hadn’t bothered to properly clean out yet, just showered. His own room felt miles away, the sanctuary of dark wood and rock posters calling for a deep, solitary sleep. The scent of his own lingering arousal, mixed with sandalwood and musk, was a familiar cloak.

He passed Scott and Stiles’ open door. The light spilling out was dim, mostly from a battered desk lamp, casting long, dancing shadows over walls plastered with faded band posters and lacrosse trophies. The air smelled different here – warm skin, stale pizza crusts, and the faint ozone tang of overheated electronics.

He paused, drawn by the sounds of frantic button-mashing and muttered curses. Scott and Stiles were hunched on the edge of Scott’s twin bed, shirts discarded on the floor. Their backs were to the door, muscular frames glistening faintly under the low light. Scott’s broad shoulders flexed as he jerked the controller, his dark hair messy. Stiles, leaner but wiry strong, perched beside him, fingers a blur, his sharp features intent on the screen.

Stiles glanced sideways. Not at Scott. At the reflection in the darkened window pane opposite the door. His eyes met Derek’s in the glass. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face, sharp and predatory. He didn’t turn his head, just spoke, his voice a low, sultry rasp cutting through the game sounds. "Need a break, Omega? Or just enjoying the view?"

Derek leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. A familiar heat, low and insistent, began to coil in his belly. "Just admiring the tragic display of coordination. You guys getting your asses handed to you again?"

Scott finally turned, his warm brown eyes sweeping over Derek with an Alpha’s possessive appreciation. He threw his controller onto the rumpled sheets. "More like waiting for decent competition," he rumbled, a hint of a challenge in his tone. He stretched, the muscles of his chest and abdomen rippling. His sweatpants hung low on his hips. "Door was open for a reason, Hale."

Derek’s dry humor usually shielded him, but the raw, unspoken hunger radiating from both Alphas – Scott’s solid intensity, Stiles’ sharp-edged energy – made his own pulse quicken. His breath hitched slightly. The slickness that came with his Omega nature began to well, making him shift his weight. "Is that an invitation or a declaration of war?"

Stiles was already standing, padding silently across the small room. He stopped inches from Derek, his gaze travelling down Derek’s body in a slow, deliberate appraisal. "War’s boring," he murmured, his hand coming up to brush a stray strand of dark hair from Derek’s forehead. The touch was electric. "Pretty sure you’ve already surrendered." His fingers trailed down Derek’s jawline, calloused and demanding. "Knees."

It wasn’t a question. It was a command wrapped in velvet. The low thrum of Alpha power vibrated in the air, resonating deep within Derek’s bones. He sank down without hesitation, the cool floor a shock against his hot skin. The scent of them – Scott’s earthy, warm musk, Stiles’ sharper, almost citrusy tang – flooded his senses.

Stiles undid the drawstring of his sweats, freeing himself. His cock was exactly as described: long, thin, boasting a pronounced upward curve that looked almost elegant. It stood rigid against his belly, already leaking a clear bead of precum that glistened in the lamplight. "Open wide, sweetheart," Stiles whispered, guiding the flushed tip to Derek’s lips. "Show Scott what that talented mouth does."

Derek parted his lips, his tongue flicking out to taste the saline tang of Stiles' pre-cum. He took the curved head easily, letting it slide along his palate, the unique shape hitting spots Benito’s thicker uncut length hadn’t touched last time. He hollowed his cheeks, sinking down slowly, eyes fluttering shut as he focused on the texture, the heat, the slight pulse against his tongue. He let out a low, muffled groan of satisfaction.

Behind him, Scott moved. Derek heard the rustle of fabric, then felt the heat of Scott’s larger body pressing close. Rough hands gripped his hips, kneading the muscle there. A distinct pressure, blunt and insistent, pressed against his still-slick entrance. Scott hadn’t bothered with any preparation; Derek’s Omega readiness, combined with the lingering evidence of the previous Alphas, made it unnecessary. Scott’s cock, thick and uncut, the foreskin already retracted to reveal the angry-red head, nudged firmly against Derek's hole.

"Still loose for us," Scott growled, the sound vibrating against Derek’s back. "Good. Saves time." He pushed forward steadily, the thick ridge stretching Derek’s rim, breaching him with one smooth, powerful thrust. Derek gasped around Stiles’ cock as Scott sheathed himself fully, the thick invasion a delicious, familiar burn that radiated heat through his core. Scott’s fullness was different from Benito’s or Nate’s – heavier, somehow more grounding. He filled Derek completely, his balls slapping against Derek’s ass cheeks.

"Fuck, Dere," Scott groaned, gripping his hips tighter. "Feels like you were made for this." He began a slow, deep rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in with measured force. Each thrust jolted Derek forward, making Stiles’ cock slide deeper into his throat.

Sties hissed, his fingers tangling in Derek’s hair, not guiding, just holding, possessive. "Jesus, Scotty… he’s swallowing me fucking whole," Stiles gasped, his hips starting to push gently, meeting Derek’s mouth as Scott drove him forward. "Suck it, Omega. Yeah, just like that… take it deep. Mierda… so deep."

Derek was pinned, impaled front and back, suspended between their dominant drives. He focused on relaxing his throat for Stiles’ curved length, letting it slide down until his nose pressed against Stiles’ sweat-damp pubes, then pulled back, hollowing his cheeks with obscene wet sounds. Simultaneously, he pushed back against Scott’s relentless pistoning, meeting the thick invasion, relishing the deep, internal friction that sparked along his nerves. Scott’s grunts were low and rhythmic behind him, a counterpoint to Stiles’ breathy Spanish curses and choked gasps. The room filled with the sounds: wet suction, skin slapping against skin, guttural groans, and the sharp, rhythmic creak of the bed frame Scott braced against.

After a few minutes of this relentless dual penetration, Stiles pulled Derek’s head back by his hair, his curved cock popping free with a slick sound. Derek gasped for air, spit slicking his chin. Stiles’ eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. "Flip him, Scotty. Want that ass."

Scott withdrew, leaving Derek feeling abruptly, achingly empty. Strong hands manhandled him onto his back on the floor between the bed and the desk. Scott knelt over his chest, his thick, uncut cock hovering inches from Derek’s face, drooling precum onto his collarbone. "Open," Scott commanded, his voice thick. Derek obeyed immediately, taking Scott deep into his throat this time, tasting the musk of his skin, the salt of his sweat. Scott’s thickness stretched his jaw pleasantly, a different challenge than Stiles’ curve.

Stiles wasted no time. He gripped Derek’s thighs, hitching them over his shoulders. Derek’s hole, glistening and stretched from Scott, twitched visibly. Stiles lined up his curved cock and slammed home in one fluid motion. "Ahh, fuck!" Derek screamed around Scott’s girth as Stiles hit a spot deep inside him that sent electric shocks up his spine. Stiles’ curve meant every thrust dragged perfectly over his prostate. Stiles set a brutal pace, his lean hips pistoning, driving his cock in at an angle that made Derek see stars. "Sí! Así! Take it, puta!" Stiles snarled, his control fraying.

Scott fucked Derek's mouth with deep, measured strokes, his hands braced on the floor beside Derek’s head. The combination was overwhelming. Scott’s thickness filled his mouth, stretched his throat, while Stiles nailed his prostate relentlessly with every snap of his hips. The dual stimulation was incendiary. Derek’s own cock jerked untouched against his belly, leaking copiously.

He was losing himself, drowning in sensation. The scent of Alpha musk, sweat, and sex filled his lungs. The sounds – Stiles' desperate Spanish, Scott’s guttural groans, the wet slap of flesh – merged into a symphony of raw need. The heat coiled in his belly tightened, ratcheting higher and higher with each punishing thrust from Stiles, each deep glide down Scott’s shaft.

"Look at him," Scott grunted, pulling his cock free, a thick string of saliva connecting it to Derek’s swollen lips. "He’s gonna come untouched. Look at him shake."

"Gonna make him scream," Stiles promised, adjusting his angle slightly, grinding down hard on every inward drive. "Come on, Omega. Show us."

The pressure snapped. Derek’s back arched violently off the floor, a ragged, broken cry tearing from his ravaged throat as his orgasm crashed over him. Ropes of cum painted his belly and chest, pulsing untouched, purely from the brutal stimulation of Stiles’ curved cock hammering his prostate and the sheer, overwhelming presence of the two Alphas dominating him. He trembled violently, waves of intense pleasure rolling through him, his vision whiting out.

His climax triggered theirs. Stiles gave three final, brutal thrusts, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural roar. "¡Coño! Derek!" Derek felt the hot flood of Stiles’ release filling him deep inside, pulsing against his spasming walls. Scott, watching Derek’s face contort in ecstasy, gripped his own thick cock and stroked furiously twice, three times, before grunting, "Take it!" He aimed his cock down, painting Derek’s face and open mouth with thick, hot spurts of cum.

Derek gasped, the salty taste flooding his mouth as Scott showered him. His body shuddered through the aftershocks, lying in a sticky mess on the floor, filled with Stiles’ seed, covered in Scott’s. The heat in his belly subsided into a deep, sated exhaustion.

Scott slumped back onto his heels, breathing heavily. Stiles carefully pulled out, collapsing beside Derek, his head resting on his crossed arms on the edge of the bed. For a moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing and the distant bass from downstairs.

Stiles reached out a trembling hand, wiping a smear of Scott’s cum from Derek’s cheekbone with his thumb. His smirk was back, tired but satisfied. "Told you he’d scream."

The sticky warmth cooling on Derek’s skin mixed with the sharp tang of sweat and sex hanging thick in the cramped dorm room. Scott chuckled, a low rumble, wiping his hand on his discarded sweats. "Scream? Yeah. Pretty sure they heard him down at the campus center." He nudged Derek’s bare hip with his foot. "Good job, Hale." Derek just managed a weak, sated hum, his limbs heavy lead weights, the aftershocks still buzzing through him. The scent of Stiles’ release inside him mingled pungently with Scott’s drying spend on his face and chest.

A shadow fell across the doorway, blocking the dim hallway light. Nate stood there, fully dressed in dark jeans and a tight t-shirt, his gaze sweeping the scene with predatory stillness. His eyes travelled from Derek’s cum-streaked face, down his trembling body, to settle between his spread legs where Stiles’ seed glistened at his stretched, used hole. A slow, appreciative smile curved Nate’s lips, devoid of humour. "Well fuck me sideways," he murmured, his voice cutting through the heavy air. "Heard the commotion." He stepped fully into the room, his movements deliberate, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

He walked towards Derek, ignoring Scott and Stiles who were frozen, watching him with wary, confused expressions as they slowly pulled on sweats. Nate stopped directly between Derek’s splayed thighs, looking down at him like a fascinating specimen. His gaze was intense, almost clinical, yet burning with intent. He crouched, a predator examining its prey. "That soaked hole is gorgeous, Derek," Nate stated, his voice low and rough. He reached out, not touching, just tracing the air inches above Derek’s twitching entrance. "Absolutely gorgeous." His eyes lifted to Derek’s face, smeared with Scott’s drying cum. "And that dirty face? Fucking perfect." A beat. "Mind if I have a turn?"

Derek’s breath hitched. Exhaustion warred with the low, persistent thrum of his Omega biology, already reacting to the proximity of another dominant Alpha. He met Nate’s unwavering stare. His throat felt raw, his body ached, but the heat beneath the fatigue flickered. He nodded, once, a small, almost imperceptible dip of his chin. Permission granted.

Nate didn’t hesitate. He didn’t undress. With ruthless efficiency, he just unzipped his jeans, freeing his hard cock. It jutted out, thick and already slick at the tip, tilting slightly to the side. The sight of Nate, fully clothed, kneeling between his legs, cock out and ready, sent a jolt through Derek’s overstimulated system. Nate spat roughly onto his palm, slicked himself once, twice, the sound obscenely loud. He positioned the broad head at Derek’s glistening entrance, still gaped and wet from Stiles. Scott made a low noise, half-protest, half-shock. Stiles just stared, open-mouthed.

Nate pushed in. Hard. Derek gasped, a sharp intake of breath as Nate’s thickness stretched him anew, the intrusion deeper, more claiming than Stiles’ curved precision. Nate’s jeans rasped against Derek’s inner thighs. He set a relentless pace immediately, deep, powerful strokes that rocked Derek’s limp body against the floorboards. His clothed hips slapped against Derek’s ass. "Such a good hole," Nate grunted, leaning over him, his gaze locked on Derek’s face. "Taking it all. Again." His thrusts were possessive, demanding, designed to dominate the already dominated. Scott and Stiles remained motionless, stunned spectators to this sudden, clothed takeover, the air crackling with Nate’s focused intensity.

Derek moaned, a broken sound muffled by his own exhaustion. It was overwhelming, bordering on too much, the friction raw, Nate’s clothed presence a stark contrast to the naked intimacy moments before. Yet, the sheer dominance, the use, sparked a faint echo of pleasure beneath the ache. Nate’s rhythm became erratic, his breathing harsh. "Gonna fill you," he rasped, driving impossibly deep. "Gonna fucking own this." His hips stuttered, then slammed home one final time. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, a guttural groan ripping from his chest as Derek felt the hot flood of Nate’s release pumping deep inside, adding another layer to the mess within him. Nate shuddered, his grip tightening on Derek’s hips for a moment before he pulled out with a slick sound. He stood, looking down at Derek’s wrecked form, his expression unreadable.

Nate stood over Derek’s sprawled form, breathing steadily now, the intensity in his eyes replaced by that familiar, detached assessment. He zipped his jeans with a sharp sound, the fabric momentarily hiding the damp patch where he’d leaked. Derek lay utterly spent beneath him, a canvas painted with drying streaks of Scott’s release, the mingled scents of sweat, sex, and three different Alphas thick in the stifling air. His own breath came in shallow hitches, his hole throbbing and leaking a messy cocktail onto the floorboards.

Nate’s gaze drifted down to his own cock, still flushed and glistening where it emerged from his fly, smeared with Derek’s slick and his own spend. A lazy, satisfied smirk touched his lips. "Clean me up, Hale," he commanded, his voice rough but casual, like asking someone to pass the salt. He took a step closer, nudging Derek's cheek lightly with his knee. "Now."

Derek didn’t hesitate. Instinct and ingrained response overruled exhaustion. He pushed himself up onto trembling elbows, wincing slightly at the deep, internal ache. He leaned forward, his dark hair falling into his eyes, and took Nate’s softening length into his mouth without ceremony. His tongue moved efficiently, licking away the sticky residue, the taste metallic and musky. Nate watched him, a hand resting possessively on Derek’s head for a moment, not guiding, just claiming. "Good boy," Nate murmured, the praise devoid of warmth but laced with ownership. Derek worked diligently, sucking lightly, his lips and tongue smoothing over the sensitive skin until Nate was clean.

Nate pulled himself free with a soft pop just as Derek finished. He tucked himself away, zipped up fully, and adjusted his jeans. His eyes flickered over Derek one last time – the wrecked posture, the mess on his face and belly, the open, used hole. "See you around, Omega," Nate stated, his tone flat. He turned without another word, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway, pulling it shut behind him. The heavy silence that followed was punctuated only by Derek’s ragged breathing and the renewed thump of the bass from downstairs.

Scott and Stiles hadn’t moved. They stood rooted by the rumpled bed, sweats hastily pulled on, staring at the closed door, then down at Derek. The sight of him kneeling there, Nate’s command swiftly obeyed, the raw submission and the sheer carnality of it all, had lit a fresh fire. Stiles swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "Fuck me sideways," he breathed, his voice strangled. His sweats tented aggressively over renewed hardness. Scott ran a hand through his messy hair, his own gaze fixed on Derek’s glistening, reddened entrance. "Christ, Hale," Scott muttered, his voice thick. "After that? You gotta be kidding me." His erection was unmistakable, straining the thin fabric.

Derek slumped back onto his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He felt hollowed out, raw, yet the low, persistent thrum of his Omega biology responded to their renewed arousal, a treacherous flicker of heat amidst the exhaustion. He looked up at them, his expression dazed but accepting. "Problem?" he rasped, the single word cracking.

Stiles was already moving, dropping his sweats again. His curved cock sprang free, rigid and demanding. "Problem? Only that I need back in that perfect fucking hole right now." He stalked towards Derek, his eyes burning. Scott followed suit, shucking his sweats, his thick, uncut cock heavy and already beading anew. "Turn over," Scott ordered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in Derek’s bones. "Hands and knees. Now."

Derek obeyed, the movement sending fresh waves of soreness through him. He braced himself on trembling forearms, presenting himself again. Stiles knelt behind him immediately. He didn’t bother with any preamble; his fingers spread Derek’s cheeks wide, exposing the slick, gaping entrance still glistening with Nate’s contribution. "Dios mío, look at it," Stiles groaned. "Begging for it." He spat roughly onto his palm, slicked his curved length once, and guided the head to Derek’s rim. With a single, powerful thrust, Stiles buried himself to the hilt.

Derek cried out, a harsh, broken sound as Stiles filled him, the unique curve scraping over his abused prostate in a way that was both agonizing and electric. Stiles set a punishing pace instantly, his hips snapping forward, each deep drive punching the air from Derek’s lungs. "Sí! Toma toda! Así!" Stiles snarled, his fingers digging into Derek’s hips.

Scott moved to Derek’s head, his thick cock nudging Derek’s lips. Derek opened automatically, taking Scott deep into his throat, the familiar stretch a secondary anchor point. Scott thrust slowly, deliberately, his movements a counter-rhythm to Stiles’ frantic pounding. "Feels even better second time 'round, huh?" Scott grunted, watching Derek’s throat work. "Made for it."

The dual invasion was overwhelming, bordering on brutal. Stiles’ curve found its mark relentlessly, sending jolts of white-hot pleasure-pain through Derek’s core, while Scott’s thickness filled his mouth, a constant, grounding pressure. Derek’s own spent cock twitched feebly against his belly, impossibly responding again to the sheer, relentless stimulation. He was a conduit for their need, suspended between their drives, the room filled once more with wet sounds, sharp slaps of flesh, Stiles’ hissed Spanish, Scott’s guttural groans.

Stiles’ rhythm faltered, became frantic, jagged. "Fuck! Derek! Aquí voy!" he gasped, slamming deep one final time. Derek felt the hot, insistent pulse deep inside as Stiles came again, adding his fresh release to the mix already filling Derek. Stiles collapsed forward slightly, bracing himself on Derek’s back, panting harshly, his cock still twitching within him.

Before Stiles had even fully stilled, Scott pulled his cock from Derek’s mouth with a slick sound. "My turn back there," he growled, his eyes fixed on Derek’s well-used entrance. Stiles, breathing hard, reluctantly pulled out, a fresh trickle escaping Derek’s hole.

Scott moved swiftly behind Derek. He gripped Derek’s hips hard, his thick crown pressing against the slick, stretched rim. He pushed in slowly this time, a deliberate, claiming slide, stretching Derek anew around his greater girth. Derek whimpered, the sensation a deep, full burn. "Tight," Scott rumbled, beginning a slow, powerful roll of his hips, each withdrawal and re-entry deeper, more possessive than Stiles’ frantic energy. "So fucking tight still. All mine now." He leaned over Derek’s back, his breath hot on Derek’s neck, driving in with increasing force, his balls slapping heavily against Derek’s skin.

The slow, deep claiming sent Derek spiraling again. The ache, the fullness, the sheer dominance shattered his already frayed control. A second, weaker but still intense orgasm ripped through him untouched, his body convulsing around Scott’s invading length. "Scott!" he sobbed, the sound muffled against the floor.

Feeling Derek clamp down, hearing the broken cry, Scott lost his measured pace. His thrusts became hard, urgent pistons. "Yeah! Take it! God, Derek!" His rhythm shattered, hips stuttering erratically before he slammed home, burying himself impossibly deep. A raw, guttural roar tore from him as he pulsed, flooding Derek’s ass with another thick, hot load. He held there for a long moment, shuddering, before finally collapsing forward slightly, his weight heavy on Derek’s back.

Utter silence descended, broken only by three sets of ragged, gasping breaths. Scott slowly pulled out, leaving Derek feeling devastatingly empty, cold air hitting the mess between his legs. Derek collapsed fully onto the cool, sticky floor, unable to move, every muscle screaming, his mind blissfully blank. Scott and Stiles sank back onto the edge of the bed, staring at the ruined Omega between them, the only sound their harsh breathing and the distant, unrelenting bass.