Chapter 13: Double Trouble
The bass from the club was a physical thing, a relentless throb that vibrated up through the soles of Derek’s shoes and into his bones. It was a welcome distraction from the memory of Nate’s scent, which seemed to have clung to his skin for days despite the shower. He leaned against the sticky bar, nursing a beer he didn’t want, his senses overwhelmed by the press of bodies and the pulse of synthetic music.
A hand clapped him on the shoulder, firm and familiar. Peter Kavinsky’s charming smile was a flash of white in the strobe-lit darkness. “Looking a little lost, pup. Nate not keeping you on a shorter leash?”
Derek shrugged him off, a flicker of irritation cutting through the haze. “I don’t need a leash.”
“Don’t you?” Scott appeared on his other side, his presence just as solid, boxing him in. Scott’s smile was easier, softer than Peter’s, but his eyes held the same predatory interest. “We saw how you looked after he was done with you in the laundry room. Like you’d been properly broken in.”
Peter leaned in, his voice a low murmur against Derek’s ear, barely audible over the music. “We’ve been talking. Think it’s our turn to play with Nate’s favorite toy.”
Before Derek could form a retort, Scott’s hand was on his lower back, applying gentle, inexorable pressure. “C’mon. Too loud in here.” They guided him, a united front, through the gyrating crowd toward the back hallways, away from the noise. The music faded, replaced by the echo of their footsteps on tile. Peter pushed open the door to the men’s room, a cramped, neon-lit space that reeked of cheap disinfectant and stale piss.
It was empty. Peter shot the bolt on the door, the click echoing with finality.
Scott didn’t waste a second. He backed Derek into the largest stall, his body caging him in. “You’ve been driving us crazy all night,” Scott breathed, his hands sliding down to Derek’s hips. “Just the sight of you in those jeans, knowing what’s underneath.”
Peter crowded in behind him, his chest pressing against Derek’s back. The stall was too small for three grown men; they were a tangle of heat and muscle and intent. “Open your mouth, Derek,” Peter commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Derek’s jaw went slack. Scott was already unbuckling his belt, freeing his thick, uncut cock. It sprung out, heavy and already leaking. Scott fisted it, guiding the broad head to Derek’s lips. “Suck.”
The first taste was salty, musky, overwhelmingly male. Derek’s eyes fluttered closed as he took Scott in, his tongue swirling around the foreskin, lapping at the pre-cum beading at the slit. He hollowed his cheeks, taking him deeper, the act itself a surrender that sent a jolt of pure heat straight to his own dick.
“Fuck, he’s good,” Scott groaned, his hands tangling in Derek’s dark hair, controlling the rhythm. “No wonder Nate’s so possessive.”
Behind him, Peter was working Derek’s jeans and boxers down his thighs. The cold air hit his exposed ass, followed by the warm, wet pressure of Peter’s tongue, licking a broad, filthy stripe from his balls to his hole.
Derek jolted, a muffled cry around Scott’s cock. Peter’s tongue was insistent, probing, making him open up. “So clean for us,” Peter muttered against his skin, his breath hot. “You get ready for this, Omega? You think about our cocks all day?”
He had. The thought was a shameful, constant hum in the back of his mind. Peter spat, the sound crude and wet, then pressed a thick finger inside him. It was a brutal, welcome invasion. Derek groaned, the vibration traveling through Scott’s shaft.
“My turn,” Peter said, pulling his finger out. He shoved his own pants down, his cock, just as thick but cut, slapping against Derek’s ass. He spat into his palm again, slicking himself, then positioned the head at Derek’s entrance. “Keep sucking him. Don’t stop.”
With a single, powerful thrust, Peter sheathed himself inside. Derek’s body arched, a strangled gasp caught in his throat, his mouth stuffed full of Scott. The feeling of being filled at both ends was overwhelming, a complete and utter violation that felt more like home than anything else. Peter set a punishing pace, his hips slamming against Derek’s ass, the sound of skin on skin mixing with the wet, gagging noises from Derek’s throat.
Scott fucked his face in time with Peter’s thrusts, holding his head still, driving his cock deep into his throat. “That’s it, take it all, you greedy slut,” Scott grunted, his hips pistoning. Derek’s eyes watered, tears tracking through the sweat on his temples. He was a conduit, a vessel for their pleasure, and the sheer debasement of it was making his own cock throb, untouched and trapped against the cold stall wall.
Peter’s grip on his hips was bruising. “You like this, don’t you? Being our little cumdump? Nate’s not here to watch, but we’ll tell him how good you were for us.”
The words, the simultaneous, relentless fucking, tipped him over the edge. His orgasm ripped through him without a hand ever touching his dick, a violent, convulsing wave that left him shaking, his own release splattering against the grimy tiles. The clenching of his ass around Peter’s cock and the convulsing of his throat around Scott’s was the final trigger for both of them.
Scott came first, with a guttural shout, pumping his release down Derek’s throat in hot, bitter pulses. Derek swallowed instinctively, greedily, as Peter followed, his thrusts turning jagged before he stilled, burying himself to the hilt as he emptied his load deep inside Derek’s ass with a low, satisfied growl.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant, muffled thump of the bass. They pulled out of him almost in unison. Derek slumped forward, his forehead resting against the cool metal of the stall, spent and dripping.
Scott tucked himself away, ruffling Derek’s hair. “Good kid.”
Peter zipped his fly, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at the mess they’d made of him. “Yeah. Nate taught you well.”
They left him there, stumbling out of the stall and then the bathroom, their laughter fading down the hall. Derek slowly pulled his jeans up, the fabric chafing against his sensitive, cum-leaking skin. He caught his reflection in the smudged mirror over the sink. His lips were swollen, his eyes were glazed, and he had the look of a man who had been thoroughly used and knew he’d come back for more. He splashed water on his face, the cold a feeble shock against the heat that still burned under his skin. He was theirs now, all of theirs, and the terrifying part was the profound, soul-deep satisfaction that settled in the quiet aftermath. He was a good little Omega.