Chapter 6: The Bus
The diesel engine thrummed deep under the worn bus seat, vibrating up through Derek’s bones. Outside, darkness pressed against the fogged windows, punctuated by streaks of passing headlights. Inside, the air hung thick with the stale tang of sweat, adrenaline from the lost lacrosse game, and the ghost of cheap beer. Most of the Alpha Sig brothers were sprawled in various states of sleep – heads lolling against windows, mouths slightly open, the rhythmic sighs of exhaustion filling the cramped space. Scott McCall snored softly to Derek’s immediate right, his lean frame slumped against the cold window. In front, Benito Perez’s shaved head rested against the seatback, his breathing deep and even. To Derek’s left, Peter Kavinsky occupied the window seat, long legs stretched awkwardly into the aisle, eyes closed. Nate Jacobs, Alpha Sig’s president, sat across the aisle from Peter, his imposing frame spilling over the seat, head tipped back, seemingly dead to the world.
Derek shifted. The vinyl seat cover stuck unpleasantly to the back of his sweat-damp tee. The lingering ache from Nate and Peter’s thorough workout in the gym locker room shower was a familiar throb low in his belly, a low-grade hum beneath his skin. The scent of Nate – earthy dominance – and Peter – sharper, almost ozone-like – was potent even over the bus smells. Especially Peter’s. That constant, subtle musk of his perpetual arousal, the faint metallic tang of pre-cum that always seemed to cling to him, teased Derek’s senses. A slow, involuntary slickness gathered between his own thighs, a biological echo resonating with the alphas’ proximity.
He glanced around. Scott was out cold. Benito hadn’t moved. Nate’s chest rose and fell steadily. Only the dim aisle lights and the glow of a few scattered phones illuminated the scene.
Peter’s knee bumped his. Derek looked over. Peter’s eyes were still closed, a faint smirk playing on his lips. His large hand rested casually on his own thigh, palm up. An invitation. Or an order. His worn jeans strained noticeably over his crotch.
Dry humor warred with the sudden spike of heat in Derek’s gut. Right. Subtle. The memory of Peter’s cock tilting sideways, leaking like a faucet into his mouth just days ago, sent a fresh jolt through him. He slid his hand slowly onto Peter’s thigh, fingers brushing the rough denim over the prominent bulge. Peter didn’t open his eyes, but his smirk widened. He shifted subtly, giving better access.
Derek’s fingers worked the button, then the zipper. The sound was loud in the relative quiet, but masked by the engine drone. He eased the waistband down just enough. Peter’s thick cock sprang free, already glistening at the tip, its characteristic tilt unmistakable even in the gloom. The scent intensified – musk, salt, pure alpha arousal – flooding Derek’s nostrils. He leaned in, turning his body slightly towards Peter, shielding the view from the aisle with his shoulder. His tongue darted out, catching a bead of pre-cum. Salty, bitter, heady. Peter let out a soft, satisfied hiss between his teeth, his hips lifting minutely off the seat.
Derek took him in, inch by thick inch. The tilted angle made it easier to swallow him deep, his throat relaxing around the familiar intrusion. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking firmly, one hand braced on Peter’s thick thigh for balance as the bus swayed. Peter’s breathing hitched, became shallow. A low groan rumbled in his chest. Derek kept his movements controlled, quiet. Up and down. Twist of the tongue. Deep pressure on the underside. His own cock strained against his jeans, dampness spreading. He could feel the faint tremors start in Peter’s leg muscles.
"Fuckin' perfect," Peter breathed, barely audible. His hand tangled roughly in Derek’s dark hair, not guiding, just possessing. "Suck it, Omega."
Derek moaned around the cock filling his mouth, the vibration earning another choked gasp from Peter. He glanced sideways. Scott still slept, oblivious. Nate hadn’t moved. Benito’s head remained resting against the seatback in front. He focused back on Peter, taking him deeper, faster, spurred by the danger and Peter’s escalating tension. Peter’s grip tightened, hips starting a shallow, involuntary thrust against Derek’s mouth. "Yeah… yeah, gonna…" he choked out.
Derek felt it, the tell-tale thickening, the pulse against his tongue. He sucked harder, swallowing convulsively as Peter’s release flooded his throat, hot and thick. Peter stifled a groan, his body going rigid then slumping back. Derek swallowed it all, licking him clean, the taste lingering on his tongue. He eased Peter’s softening cock back into his jeans, zipped him up. Peter patted his head roughly, a wordless good job, eyes still closed, a lazy, satiated expression on his face.
Derek sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, heart pounding. The scent of Peter’s climax hung heavy in their small pocket of air. He looked across the aisle. Nate’s head was still back, eyes closed, but Derek knew better. He saw the slight tension in Nate’s jaw, the way his large hand rested deliberately on his own zipper, thumb hooked casually over the pull.
Your turn, Prez, Derek thought dryly. He waited a beat, watching Scott and Benito. No movement. He slid out of his seat, stepping carefully over Peter’s legs into the narrow aisle. The bus lurched, making him grab the overhead rail. He stood beside Nate’s seat. Nate didn’t open his eyes, but his lips quirked.
Derek knelt on the gritty floor of the aisle, the engine vibration humming through his knees. He didn’t hesitate. Nate’s fly was already partially undone. Derek tugged it down the rest of the way. Nate’s thick, girthy cock was already fully hard, jutting out impressively. The sheer size of it, even after taking it countless times, always sent a jolt of anticipation through Derek. This was the cock that had stretched him wide over a gym bench just days ago. He leaned in, inhaling Nate’s deeper, more potent Alpha scent, licking a broad stripe up the rigid length.
Nate let out a low, contented sigh, his hand coming down to rest heavily on the back of Derek’s head. No gentleness there, just pressure. Derek took him in. Nate’s girth was a challenge, stretching his lips wide, demanding submission. He worked methodically, using his tongue, his throat, his hand on the base. Nate remained still, utterly controlled, his breathing deepening but even. The occasional soft groan was the only sign of his building pleasure. Derek could feel the immense power coiled in Nate’s thighs beneath him. He focused, hollowing his cheeks, swirling his tongue over the broad head, swallowing Nate down as deep as he could manage. The taste was different from Peter’s – muskier, earthier, thick with raw Alpha dominance.
"Good boy," Nate murmured, his voice a low rumble just above the engine noise. His thumb rubbed rough circles on Derek’s scalp. "Take it all." The pressure increased slightly, pushing Derek down further. Derek relaxed his throat, letting Nate’s cock slide deeper, his nose pressing into Nate’s lower abdomen. He breathed through it, focusing on the hot weight filling him, the rhythmic pulse against his palate. Nate’s control was absolute until it shattered. He didn’t thrust; he simply held Derek there, deep, and came in thick, pulsing jets straight down Derek’s throat. Derek swallowed reflexively, again and again, feeling the sheer volume. Nate grunted, a sound of pure satisfaction, his hand tight on Derek’s head until the final spasm passed.
Derek pulled off slowly, licking his lips, Nate’s release heavy in his stomach. Nate adjusted himself, zipped up with one hand, the other still resting possessively on Derek’s head for a moment before releasing him. "Back to your seat," he said quietly, his voice rough. Derek stood, legs slightly shaky, and turned.
His gaze landed on the seat directly in front of his and Peter’s. Benito Perez. Still seemingly asleep, head resting against the seatback. But Derek caught it – the slight flex of Benito’s shoulders, the way his fingers were curled tight against the armrest. And the scent. A new layer of musk had bloomed, sharp and spicy, cutting through Peter and Nate's lingering smells. Benito’s arousal. He’d heard. He’d smelled it. He was awake.
A fresh wave of slick dampened Derek’s boxers. Benito was intense, unpredictable. The quiet challenge hung in the air between them. Derek paused beside Benito’s seat, looking down. He didn’t need to say anything. Slowly, deliberately, Benito tilted his head just enough to look up at Derek. His dark eyes were wide awake, glinting with hunger in the low light. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His gaze dropped pointedly to his own lap, where the thick outline of his erection strained against his jeans. The invitation – or rather, the silent command – was unmistakable.
Derek swallowed, the taste of Nate still on his tongue. The vibration of the bus floor hummed through his sneakers. He glanced back. Scott still slept. Peter seemed to be dozing again. Nate was watching him, a faint, knowing expression on his face, giving a slight nod towards Benito. Go on.
The momentum was undeniable. The risk was higher – Benito was right in front, Scott was right there. But the thrumming need, the scent of Benito’s potent Alpha arousal, the sheer audacity of it… it pulled Derek down. He sank into a crouch on the floor in the cramped space between the rows, facing Benito. The air felt charged, crackling. Benito’s smile widened, predatory. He spread his legs slightly, a clear path to his zipper. His eyes never left Derek’s.
Derek’s fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the button. The bus hit a pothole, jolting them, but Benito’s gaze remained fixed, intense. Derek freed Benito’s thick, uncut cock. It sprang out, hot and heavy in his hand, the head already slick beneath the foreskin. The scent was overwhelming now, spicy and raw. Derek leaned in, his breath ghosting over it. Benito let out a soft, hissed breath. "Joder..."
He didn’t wait. Derek took him in, the thick shaft filling his mouth, the foreskin sliding back over his tongue. Benito tasted different – hotter, spicier, intensely musky. Benito’s hand immediately clamped onto the back of Derek’s head, fingers digging in hard. Not guiding. Owning. Controlling. He didn't thrust wildly; he pushed Derek’s head down steadily, insistently, forcing his cock deeper into Derek’s throat. Derek gagged reflexively, tears springing to his eyes.
"Sí, así," Benito breathed, the Spanish rough and thick with lust. "Take it. All of it, puta." He held Derek’s head down, grinding his hips upward minutely, filling Derek’s throat, stretching it. The pressure was immense, suffocating. Derek fought the urge to pull back, his throat spasming. Benito’s grip was iron. He held Derek there, forcing him to endure the deep penetration, the slow, agonizing burn. Derek’s hands scrabbled weakly against Benito’s thighs, eyes watering. He could feel Benito’s cock pulsing against his palate.
Benito released his head slightly, letting him gasp for air, strands of saliva connecting Derek’s lips to his glistening cock. But before Derek could recover, Benito slammed his head back down, fucking his throat with sharp, brutal strokes, the bus’s lurching movements adding to the violence. "Traga," Benito growled, low and feral. "Swallow it." Derek choked, struggling to breathe around the thick intrusion, his body trembling with the assault and his own building, shameful arousal. The bus roared on into the night, carrying its cargo of sleeping students and Derek’s desperate, muffled gasps under Benito’s relentless, possessive grip. The journey wasn't over.
The journey wasn't over. The thick scent of sex and exertion hung heavy in the cramped back seats, a potent cocktail Nate and Peter’s releases mixed with Benito’s spicy musk and Derek’s slick. Benito leaned back, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips, adjusting himself with a low chuckle. "Buen provecho, Omega," he murmured, eyes heavy-lidded, before letting his head rest against the seatback again, feigning sleep but radiating smug satisfaction. Derek wiped his mouth roughly on his sleeve, the taste of Benito still sharp on his tongue, his own arousal a persistent, demanding throb beneath the exhaustion.
A shift beside him. Scott McCall stirred, his head lifting slightly from the cold window pane. He blinked, disoriented, the blue glow of his forgotten phone casting eerie shadows on his face. His nostrils flared almost imperceptibly. The sudden intake of breath was sharp, audible even over the engine’s drone. He didn’t look disgusted. He looked… alert. Hungry. His gaze, clearing rapidly from sleep, locked onto Derek. Not angry. Intent. His eyes, usually warm and open, held a new, assessing depth. He didn't speak. He simply crooked a finger, beckoning Derek closer with a single, deliberate movement. The message was unmistakable.
Derek felt a fresh surge of slick dampen his boxers. Scott had always been the friendlier Alpha Sig, less overtly dominant than Nate or Benito, but the raw scent of multiple alphas and Derek’s own state had clearly ignited something primal. Derek slid carefully out of his seat, stepping over Peter’s legs again. He knelt on the gritty floor beside Scott, the vibrations humming through his knees. Scott watched him, his expression unreadable, his breathing controlled but deeper than before. He shifted, making space, his worn jeans already tented prominently at the front. He unzipped himself without a word, freeing his thick, uncut cock. It sprang heavily against his stomach, the dusky head glistening beneath the hood, slick with his own pre-cum. It was a substantial weight, thick and veined, the foreskin drawn back slightly to reveal the sensitive ridge.
Derek didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, drawn by the earthy, clean scent unique to Scott, different from the others – fresher, like pine and sweat. His tongue swiped a broad stripe from base to tip, gathering the slick precum. Salty. Slightly sweet. Scott hissed, his hips jerking minutely. Derek took him in, the thick shaft filling his mouth, the foreskin sliding silkily over his tongue as he sank down. He worked slowly at first, savoring the unique texture, the heavy heat. Scott’s hand settled gently but firmly on the back of his head, a silent encouragement, fingers tangling in his dark hair. "Christ, Derek," Scott breathed, his voice rough with sleep and arousal. "Where'd you learn that?"
Derek hummed around him, the vibration pulling a deeper groan from Scott’s chest. He picked up the pace, hollowing his cheeks, taking Scott deep until his nose pressed against the coarse hair at the base. Scott’s grip tightened, his hips lifting off the seat in shallow, involuntary thrusts. "Yeah… fuck… just like that," he muttered, his voice thick. Derek felt the familiar thickening, the pulse building at the root. He sucked harder, his hand working the base, thumb pressing against the sensitive spot beneath the head. Scott tensed, a strangled sound escaping him, then released in hot, thick spurts down Derek’s throat. Derek swallowed, working him through it until Scott sagged back, breathing heavily. "Damn," Scott sighed, patting Derek’s shoulder almost awkwardly as he pulled off. "Okay. Okay. Thanks, man." He zipped himself up, looking slightly dazed but pleased, turning back towards the window, the moment already shifting back towards casual camaraderie.
Derek stood, legs protesting, tasting Scott’s distinct salt on his lips. He turned back towards his seat beside Peter. Peter’s eyes were open now, watching him with amused intensity. He hadn't moved, legs still sprawled into the aisle, but the bulge in his grey sweatpants was unmistakable. Hard. Again. That relentless faucet-like leak already darkening the fabric at the tip. A lazy, predatory grin spread across Peter’s face. "Hey," he murmured, his voice low and husky. His hand rested casually on his own thigh. "Think you missed a spot." He didn’t gesture. Didn’t need to. The tilt of his head, the way his thumb brushed over the wet patch on his sweats, was command enough. "One more time? For the road?"
Dry humor warred with the persistent ache in Derek’s jaw and the fresh pulse of his own need. Peter’s stamina was legendary, and his cock’s constant state of readiness was practically a frat house joke. "Christ, Kavinsky," Derek muttered hoarsely, dropping back into a crouch beside Peter’s seat. "Insatiable." He tugged the waistband of Peter’s sweats down just enough. Peter’s thick, leaking cock sprang free, already slick and glistening, tilted characteristically to the side. The scent, sharp and metallic, filled Derek’s nostrils instantly. He didn’t bother with preamble, his own exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the face of the familiar demand. He leaned in, his tongue darting out first to catch the steady bead forming at the slit. Bitter. Electric.
He took the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue deliberately around the corona, lapping at the sensitive underside where pre-cum welled constantly. Peter groaned, a soft, drawn-out sound of pure appreciation, his hand finding Derek’s hair. "There it is," he breathed. "Suck it clean, pretty boy." Derek sank down, taking more, but focused his attention on the engorged head, his tongue flicking rapidly, tracing the ridge, pressing against the slit, coaxing out more of the slick fluid. Peter’s hips bucked slightly, his breath coming in sharp gasps. "Fuck, yeah, just like that… right there…" Derek knew him, knew the spot. He concentrated, tongue relentless, hollowing his cheeks to apply suction directly to the weeping tip. Peter’s fingers clenched in his hair. "Gonna… Derek… now!"
Derek felt the first hot spurt hit the back of his throat a split second before Peter’s cock pulsed violently in his mouth. He kept his lips sealed tight around the head, tongue still lapping frantically as Peter sprayed his second load – less voluminous than the first, but just as intense – straight onto his tongue. Salty, viscous. Peter shuddered, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he emptied himself. Derek swallowed convulsively, his tongue capturing the last remnants, lapping at the softening head until Peter finally stilled, panting, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Derek eased back, wiping his mouth. Peter gave a contented sigh, tucking himself away with a satisfied grunt. "Perfect," he mumbled, his eyes already drifting shut again, the picture of satiated oblivion as the bus carried them deeper into the quiet night.
The vinyl seat groaned under Derek’s weight as he slumped back beside Peter, the taste of salt and musk thick on his tongue. His jaw ached, a deep, familiar throb after Peter’s second round, and his own neglected cock strained painfully against his jeans, slick making the denim cling uncomfortably. Outside, the world was just a smear of dark trees and distant, lonely headlights rushing past the fogged glass. Most of the bus remained a tableau of exhaustion – Scott’s soft snores, Benito’s stillness, Peter already drifting beside him, his earlier demand sated.
A low grunt cut through the engine’s drone. Derek’s eyes flicked across the aisle. Nate’s head was no longer tilted back against the seat; he was watching Derek, his expression unreadable in the dim light, but the intensity was a physical thing, a low thrum under Derek’s skin. Nate jerked his chin, a silent command slicing through the haze of Derek’s fatigue and lingering arousal. Over here. Now.
The air felt heavier as Derek pushed himself up, his legs protesting. He stepped over Peter’s sprawled legs, the vinyl floor gritty under his sneakers. Nate shifted deeper into the corner seat, making a space. Derek squeezed in, the press of Nate’s muscular thigh against his own immediate and overwhelming. Nate’s scent – earth, leather, pure Alpha dominance – washed over him, sharper than the stale bus air, sharper than Peter’s lingering release. Nate leaned in, his breath hot against Derek’s ear, the whisper a rough scrape of sound. "Drop 'em."
No preamble. No sweet talk. Just the order. Derek’s fingers fumbled slightly with his button and zipper, the simple act feeling illicitly loud. He shoved his jeans and boxers down past his hips, letting them puddle around his ankles, the cool air hitting his heated skin. He turned, his back to Nate, the wide bench seat offering just enough room. Nate’s large, calloused hands gripped his hips, guiding him back. The thick, blunt head of Nate’s cock pressed against him, insistent, already slick with pre-cum. Derek braced his hands on the seatback in front of him – Benito’s seat – and took a slow, steadying breath.
Then he sank down. Nate’s girth stretched him wide, a familiar burn that quickly bloomed into a deep, satisfying ache. Nate’s hand clamped over Derek’s mouth instantly, muffling the choked gasp that escaped him. "Quiet," Nate breathed, his own voice tight. He pulled Derek’s hips back slightly, then drove up, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, powerful stroke. Derek’s vision blurred, stars dancing behind his closed eyelids. Nate held him there, deep, letting him feel the immense stretch, the thick heat pulsing inside him.
Then the slow, relentless rhythm began. Nate fucked him with hard, deep strokes, each one driving Derek forward against the seatback, Nate’s hand a firm, silencing seal over his mouth. Derek could only breathe hard through his nose, the scent of Nate’s sweat and his own arousal thick in his nostrils. The burn faded, replaced by a sharp, building pressure low in his gut, coiling tighter with every deep penetration. Nate’s grip on his hip tightened, fingers digging in, pulling Derek back onto his cock with bruising force. The rough dominance of it, the sheer physical power pinning him, the scent of Nate’s exertion… it flooded Derek’s senses.
He shuddered violently, a silent cry trapped behind Nate’s hand. Pleasure detonated low in his belly, radiating outwards in intense waves as his untouched cock jerked, spilling hot stripes against the vinyl seatback in front of him. His body clenched hard around Nate’s thrusting cock, drawing a thick, guttural groan from the Alpha. Nate’s rhythm stuttered, grew frantic. He slammed into Derek one last time, burying himself deep, and held. Derek felt the hot, sudden flood inside him as Nate pulsed, emptying himself with a low, satisfied growl muffled against Derek’s shoulder.
Nate stayed buried for a long moment, both of them breathing raggedly, Nate’s hand still covering Derek’s mouth. Slowly, Nate pulled out, the slick sound obscenely loud in their small corner. Derek felt the immediate, empty ache and the wet slide of Nate’s release. Before Nate could move, Derek slid off the seat, landing unsteadily on his knees on the gritty floor. He leaned forward, his tongue finding Nate’s softening cock, tracing the thick length, cleaning the glistening mess from base to tip with slow, thorough strokes. Nate let him, a faint huff of breath escaping him as Derek worked, the sensation clearly registering even in his post-coital haze.
Finished, Derek wiped his mouth, pulled his jeans back up over his sticky thighs, and slumped heavily onto the seat beside Nate. He leaned his head against Nate’s broad shoulder, the solid warmth a counterpoint to his own trembling exhaustion. Nate shifted, settling against the cold window glass, a faint smirk playing on his lips despite his closed eyes. His arm rested heavy across Derek’s shoulders, a casual, possessive weight. Within moments, the deep, even rhythm of Nate’s breathing signaled sleep, the bus rumbling on, carrying them through the unending dark. Derek closed his own eyes, the ache in his body a satisfied hum, the taste of Nate still lingering.