Chapter 5: Field of Submission
The scent hit Derek first. Sharp. Pungent. Alpha sweat, thick and primal, mixed with the damp, earthy smell of the cut grass underfoot. He’d lingered after his own solitary run, the cool night air a relief against his flushed skin. Now, the heavy tread of boots on turf sent a jolt through him. He turned, heart hammering against his ribs.
Scott and Stiles emerged from the shadowed edge of the field near the equipment shed, lacrosse sticks slung over their shoulders like afterthoughts. Their practice jerseys, dark with sweat, clung to their powerful frames. Scott’s dark hair was plastered to his forehead, his broad chest rising and falling with residual exertion. Stiles, lankier but no less imposing, had that familiar manic glint in his eye, his messy hair wilder than usual. The air crackled with their combined Alpha musk – a potent, intoxicating blend that made Derek’s mouth water and his ass clench, slickness blooming instantly, hot and insistent between his cheeks. The memory of being sandwiched between them on Scott’s bed, stuffed full and dripping, flashed through his mind, intensifying the heat coiling low in his belly.
"Little late for a stroll, Omega," Stiles called out, his voice rough, carrying easily in the quiet night. They were closing the distance fast, their strides purposeful.
Derek unconsciously backed up a step, his shoulder blades hitting the cold, unforgiving metal of the goalpost. The chill was a stark contrast to the furnace igniting inside him. "Just clearing my head," he managed, his voice tighter than he intended. He could smell his own arousal now, thick and sweet, mingling unmistakably with their Alpha scent. There was no hiding it. He didn’t want to hide it.
Scott stopped directly in front of him, close enough for Derek to feel the heat radiating off his damp jersey. His brown eyes, usually warm, held a predatory gleam in the dim light cast by the distant stadium lamps. He dropped his stick with a soft thud onto the grass. "Smells like you found something else to clear," Scott murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated deep in Derek’s chest. He reached out, not roughly, but with undeniable intent, and gripped the front of Derek’s t-shirt. With one powerful yank, the fabric tore open, buttons pinging off the goalpost metal. Cool air washed over Derek’s bare chest, making his nipples pebble instantly.
Before Derek could react, Stiles was behind him. He felt Stiles’ hard length press against his ass through thin sweats, felt strong hands clamp onto his hips, pinning him firmly against the chilled metal. "Think he needs a different kind of workout," Stiles rasped into Derek’s ear, his breath hot. He yanked Derek’s sweats and boxers down to his thighs in one swift motion. The night air hit Derek’s exposed cock, already hard and leaking, and his slick hole, openly presenting itself.
"Fuck," Derek gasped, his head thudding back against the goalpost crossbar. The cold metal was a shock against his fevered skin, the rough texture scratching his shoulders. Scott dropped to his knees, the damp grass staining his practice shorts. His large, calloused hands spread Derek’s ass cheeks wide, exposing him completely. Derek whimpered, the vulnerability raw and electric. Scott leaned in, inhaling deeply, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet field. "Jesus, Derek. Soaking wet already. Your hole’s fucking begging for it."
He didn’t tease. Scott’s thick tongue, hot and demanding, licked a broad, wet stripe directly over Derek’s pulsing entrance. Derek cried out, his fingers scrabbling uselessly against the slick metal behind him. Scott buried his face between Derek’s cheeks, tongue spearing deep inside the slick channel, fucking him with it, lapping greedily at the copious wetness. The sound was filthy, wet slurping that echoed slightly in the open space. Derek’s cock jerked violently, pre-come dribbling onto the grass below. Stiles ground his own erection against Derek’s lower back, a low growl escaping him as he watched.
"Taste good, Scotty?" Stiles grunted, his fingers digging into the muscle of Derek’s hips.
"Mmmfuck yes," Scott groaned against Derek’s skin, the vibration sending shivers up Derek’s spine. "Sweet. Hot. So fucking tight even on my tongue." He pulled back, saliva and Derek’s slick glistening on his chin in the dim light. His eyes, blazing crimson now, locked onto Derek’s. "Need to be inside. Now."
Scott surged to his feet. The rasp of his zipper was loud. He shoved his own sweats and shorts down just enough to free his heavy, flushed cock, already leaking at the tip. He spat roughly into his palm, slicked his length, then pressed the swollen, blunt head directly against Derek’s stretched, wet entrance. Derek braced, eyes wide, breath coming in shallow pants. Stiles held him immobile.
Scott pushed. Hard. There was no gentle breach. The thick head popped past the tight ring of muscle with a slick, wet sound, forcing Derek’s hole wide open in one relentless thrust. Derek arched, a strangled cry tearing from his throat as he was filled impossibly fast, Scott’s girth stretching him to the limit. Scott slammed home, balls deep, his sweat-slicked stomach pressing against Derek’s back, the metal goalpost unforgiving against Derek’s front.
"FUCK! Scott!" Derek gasped, the air knocked out of him. His ass burned, stretched taut, then flooded with intense, shocking pleasure as Scott’s cockhead pressed against that deep, sensitive spot inside him.
"God, you take it so fucking good," Scott growled, voice thick with lust. He didn’t pause, didn’t let Derek adjust. He pulled back almost all the way, then slammed in again with brutal force. The wet slap of his hips against Derek’s ass echoed across the field. "Squeezing me like a fucking fist. That’s it. Milk my cock, Omega."
Derek could only moan, a continuous, broken sound, his eyes squeezed shut. The sensations were overwhelming – the cold metal against his chest, Scott’s searing heat pounding into him from behind, the stretch, the delicious friction against his prostate with every deep drive. His own cock throbbed, untouched, leaking steadily onto the grass. He could smell the potent cocktail of their arousal, the Alpha musk, the sweat, his own slick – it was intoxicating, driving him higher.
Scott fucked him hard and fast, his rhythm punishing, owning. Each powerful thrust rocked Derek forward against the post, the metal digging into his skin. Stiles kept him pinned, his own cock a hard pressure against Derek’s lower back, his breathing ragged as he watched Scott claim Derek’s ass. "Look at him take it," Stiles breathed, awed and greedy. "Look at that hole swallowing you whole, Scott. Fuck, it’s wet. Making such a mess."
Scott grunted in agreement, his thrusts becoming erratic. He drove deep, grinding his pelvis against Derek’s ass, making him cry out. "Gonna fill you," Scott snarled, his voice guttural. "Gonna pump this tight cunt full. Breed you right here against the fucking goal."
The words, the possessive claim, sent Derek over the edge. His untouched cock pulsed violently, then erupted. Thick ropes of white cum spurted out, splattering against the metal goalpost and the damp grass below with every jerking spasm. He screamed, back arching impossibly, his ass clamping down viscously around Scott’s pistoning cock as the orgasm ripped through him, triggered purely by the brutal pounding against his prostate.
The intense clenching of Derek’s slick channel, milking him through his orgasm, was Scott’s undoing. With a roar that silenced the crickets, Scott slammed in one final time, burying himself to the hilt, grinding deep as he emptied himself. Hot jets of cum flooded deep inside Derek, adding to the wet heat churning in his ass. Scott pulsed heavily, groaning, holding Derek impossibly close for a long moment as he pumped his release into the Omega’s willing body.
Panting, Scott pulled out slowly. A rush of thick, milky cum leaked out of Derek’s stretched hole almost immediately, dripping down his thighs, glistening obscenely in the faint light. Derek slumped, trembling violently, held upright only by Stiles’ grip and the goalpost.
Before Derek could even catch his breath, Stiles was moving. He shoved Scott aside roughly. "My turn," he declared, his voice cracking with urgency. He yanked his own sweats and shorts down, freeing his thick, eager cock, already slick with pre-come. He spat into his palm again, slicked himself hastily, his eyes fixed on Derek’s gaping, cum-leaking hole.
"Stiles… fuck…" Derek whimpered, still shuddering from the aftershocks. He was impossibly full, impossibly sensitive.
"Shut up and take it, sweetheart," Stiles growled. He grabbed Derek’s hips, angled him slightly, and without any preamble, shoved his thick cock straight into Derek’s slick, used hole. It slid in easier now, stretched and wet with Scott’s cum, but the stretch was still intense, different.
"AH! FUCK!" Derek cried out again, his oversensitive nerves lighting up.
Stiles didn’t care. He set a brutal pace immediately, fucking Derek hard and deep with short, powerful thrusts. His balls slapped wetly against Derek’s cum-slicked skin. "Yeah! Oh fuck, Derek!" Stiles gasped, leaning forward to brace one hand against the goalpost above Derek’s shoulder. "So hot inside! So fucking ruined! Full of Scott’s load and taking mine!" He pistoned in and out, the wet squelching sounds loud and lewd. "Look at it! Look at you dripping our fucking cum everywhere!"
Derek was beyond words. Sensation overload. The cold metal. Stiles’ cock hammering into his tender channel, stirring up the cum already inside him. The aftershocks of his own untouched orgasm still vibrating through him. He felt Stiles’ rhythm stutter, become frantic.
"Gonna… gonna fuck my load right in there with his!" Stiles snarled, slamming in deep. "Fill this greedy hole right the fuck up!" He buried himself to the root, grinding, and Derek felt the hot, thick pulses erupting inside him, adding another layer to the mess filling his churning ass.
Stiles slumped forward, panting harshly against Derek’s neck, his cock still buried deep, pulsing weakly. Derek trembled between them, pressed against the cold goalpost, his legs shaky, his hole stretched and leaking cum onto the damp grass, the scents of sweat, sex, and Alpha musk hanging heavy in the cool night air. Scott watched, a satisfied gleam in his still-glowing eyes. He clapped Stiles on the shoulder. "Good hustle."