Chapter 2: Claimed by Moonlight
The world narrowed to the sensation of Scott’s arms under his knees and around his back, the solid warmth of his chest. Derek let his head loll against Scott’s shoulder, his senses flooded with the Alpha’s scent—salt, sweat, and pure, unadulterated satisfaction. He was carried from the veranda’s wreckage, across the cool tile of the main room, and into the shadowed bedroom.
Scott laid him down on the bed with a care that felt surreal. The sheets were crisp and cool against his heated skin, a sharp contrast to the teak and sweat of before. Scott stood over him, backlit by the lone lantern on the dresser, his expression unreadable. The amber glow caught the planes of his chest, the dark trail of hair leading down.
Derek felt a fresh, humiliating trickle of slick between his thighs. His body was singing, utterly receptive, a live wire still buzzing from being so thoroughly used. He wanted to cover himself. He didn’t.
“Look at you,” Scott said again, but his voice was different now. Softer, almost pained. He knelt on the edge of the bed, one hand hovering over Derek’s hip, not touching. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to lose it like that. Out there.”
Derek turned his face into the pillow. The tenderness was worse than the roughness. It made everything real. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t apologize.” The words were gruff. “I wanted it.”
Scott’s hand finally settled, a warm, heavy weight on his hip bone. His thumb began to move, a slow, rhythmic sweep over the skin. “I know. I could smell it. It’s all I could smell. It’s like you’re… pulling at me. All the time.” He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of Derek’s ear. “You still are.”
A full-body shudder wracked Derek. He was. The need hadn’t crested and broken; it had merely ebbed, waiting for the next tide. His anatomy felt different—open, hungry, wanting. He hated it. He arched into Scott’s touch.
Scott took the invitation. His mouth was everywhere. He didn’t kiss Derek’s lips; he mapped his territory. He bit at the cord of Derek’s neck, lapped over his pulse, sucked dark marks into the skin of his pectorals, worrying a nipple with his teeth until Derek cried out. He worshiped the tense muscles of Derek’s abdomen, his tongue following the trail of dark hair that led down from his navel.
Derek gasped, fingers tangling in the sheets, then in Scott’s hair. He was being consumed slowly, deliberately, and the ache between his legs was becoming a throbbing, insistent demand.
“Scott… please…”
“Please what?” Scott murmured against his inner thigh, his breath hot. “You have to say it.”
Derek squeezed his eyes shut. The words were ash in his mouth. “I need you. Inside. Again.”
Scott moved up his body with a predatory grace that made Derek’s breath hitch. He loomed over him, caging him. “How?”
The question hung there. Derek understood. He rolled onto his stomach, presenting himself, pillowing his head on his crossed arms. It was the ultimate surrender. A deep, approving rumble vibrated from Scott’s chest.
This time, there was no frantic rush. Scott sheathed himself with a slow, inexorable push that stole the air from Derek’s lungs. He filled him so completely Derek felt split open, reshaped. Scott folded over him, blanketing him, his chest to Derek’s back, his mouth on Derek’s shoulder.
“Okay?” Scott gritted out, his own body trembling with the effort of control.
Derek could only nod, a ragged sound of affirmation escaping him.
Scott began to move. It was a deep, rolling grind, a claiming so profound it felt less like fucking and more like a merger. Each withdrawal was an agony of emptiness, each return a shocking relief. The slick, wet sounds were obscene in the quiet room. Derek pushed back, meeting him thrust for thrust, his own cock trapped and leaking onto the sheets beneath him.
“You take me so deep,” Scott gasped, his rhythm faltering. “Like you were made for it.”
Maybe he was. The thought was a dizzying freefall. Derek had been made for control, for strength, for giving orders. This new purpose—to be filled, to be claimed, to receive—was terrifying in its simplicity. A broken moan ripped from him as Scott’s angle shifted, brushing a spot inside him that sent electric fire up his spine.
“There?” Scott breathed, chasing the spot with unerring accuracy.
“Yes—fuck—there.”
Scott hammered into him, his pace accelerating, losing its measured control. The bedframe knocked a soft, steady rhythm against the wall. Derek was fracturing, the pleasure a tangible pressure building in his core, different from before. It wasn't a sharp peak, but a swelling, desperate fullness.
“Gonna come,” Scott warned, his voice rough. “Gonna fill you up again.”
The words were the final trigger. Derek came with a choked-off shout, his body seizing, his channel clamping down in rhythmic pulses around the thick intrusion. Scott followed him over, his thrusts becoming short, sharp jerks as he spilled with a groan that was pure release.
They collapsed together, Scott’s weight a grounding force. He didn’t pull out for a long time, just lay there, nuzzling the sweat-damp hair at Derek’s nape, his breathing gradually slowing.
Time lost meaning. The lantern flame danced. Scott pulled out eventually, and Derek winced at the slow, warm trickle that followed. He was tender, over-sensitized, utterly spent. And yet, the hum under his skin remained.
Scott manhandled him onto his back. Derek was pliant, boneless. Scott looked down at him, his eyes dark, his expression a complex mix of wonder and worry. He traced the bite marks on Derek’s neck, the love-bites on his chest.
“I marked you,” he said, not with pride, but with a kind of awe.
“Yeah.”
“Does it… does it feel wrong?”
Derek considered it. The sting of the bites, the deep ache in his muscles, the unfamiliar, used feeling between his legs. “No,” he said, and it was the most truthful thing he’d ever said. “It feels… right. That’s what’s fucked up.”
A slow smile touched Scott’s lips. He bent and kissed him, deep and slow and tasting of both of them. Derek kissed back, a weak, lazy motion of his mouth.
They dozed, a tangle of limbs. Derek woke some unknown time later to the feel of Scott hard again against his thigh, and his own body answering instantly, slick and ready. The night became a cycle of half-awake couplings. Scott took him on his side, one leg hitched over Scott’s hip, a slow, deep grind that felt endless. Later, Derek found the strength to push Scott onto his back and straddle him, sinking down on that formidable length with a gasp that was part agony, part triumph. He rode him, setting a slow, rolling pace, watching the awe in Scott’s eyes as he controlled the depth, the angle. For a few minutes, he wasn’t an Omega being taken; he was giving, and the power in that was just as intoxicating.
Scott’s hands gripped his hips, guiding him, then just holding on as Derek found a rhythm that made them both shudder. He came with Scott’s name on his lips, and felt Scott pulse deep within him seconds later.
As the deepest dark of night began to soften towards indigo, Scott laid him out on his back once more. He hooked Derek’s legs over his shoulders, pushing them back until Derek felt utterly exposed, his entire body offered. Scott entered him with a sigh that sounded like homecoming.
This last time was slow, almost torturous. A deep, persistent fucking that seemed designed to imprint the feeling forever. Derek was beyond words, beyond coherent thought. He was a vessel being filled, a note being played. Scott’s gaze never left his face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every wince of overstimulation.
When Derek came, it was a dry, wrenching sob, his body convulsing around the incredible stretch. Scott followed, his release a warm flood that Derek was sure would never stop.
Scott carefully lowered his legs, which trembled uncontrollably. He didn’t pull out. He just collapsed beside Derek, pulling him close, tucking Derek’s back against his chest, still joined. He wrapped an arm around Derek’s waist, his hand splayed possessively over Derek’s stomach.
The first grey light of dawn began to edge the linen curtains. The scent of jasmine was overwhelmed by the musk of sex and spent passion.
Scott’s breath was warm and even against Derek’s shoulder. Derek stared at the growing light, feeling Scott still semi-hard inside him, feeling the tender ache in every muscle. The hum was finally quiet. A deep, satiated exhaustion had taken its place.
Scott nuzzled his neck, his voice thick with sleep. “When the sun’s up… we have to talk. About what this means.”
The words should have brought dread. Instead, a fragile sense of peace settled over Derek. The night had been a confession without words. The talking would come. But for now, in the silent, messy truth of the bed, there was only this: the weight of an arm around him, the faint, steady pulse within him, and the terrifying, exhilarating sense that for the first time since the change, he was not alone in the storm.