Chapter 7: Morning Claiming
The first thing Derek registered was the throb. A deep, internal ache that pulsed in time with his heartbeat, centered in his ass. It was a familiar soreness now, a ghost of the bus ride, of being filled and used and filled again until he was dripping. The second thing was the weight. Nate’s heavy arm was slung across his waist, pinning him to the mattress, the Alpha’s broad, muscular chest a furnace against his back.
Sunlight, weak and dusty, cut through the slats of the blinds, illuminating the disaster of Nate’s room. Empty beer bottles stood sentinel on the nightstand alongside a half-eaten bag of chips. The air was a thick cocktail of stale beer, male sweat, and the distinct, musky scent of sex that had long since cooled.
A door slammed down the hall, followed by the groaning pipes of a shower starting. Muffled voices, thick with hangover, argued about someone named Mikey puking in the sink. The fraternity house was waking up.
Nate stirred behind him. Derek felt the hard line of his morning erection press against the cleft of his ass, a brand new heat against the old ache. Nate’s hand slid down from his waist, calloused fingers splaying across Derek’s lower belly, pulling him back tighter against that insistent hardness.
“Morning, pledge,” Nate’s voice was a sleep-rough growl directly in his ear. His hips rolled once, a slow, deliberate grind that made Derek’s breath hitch.
Before Derek could form a word, Nate’s body shifted. Sharp teeth—not enough to break skin, but enough to sting—closed over the sensitive juncture of Derek’s neck and shoulder. A claiming bite. A jolt of pure, submissive electricity shot down Derek’s spine, straight to his cock, which hardened instantly against his stomach. His hole, still loose and tender from the night before, clenched around nothing, producing a fresh, embarrassing trickle of slick.
“Nate—” he started, but it was choked off as Nate manhandled him with effortless, brutal strength. He flipped Derek onto his stomach, the rough cotton sheets scraping against his oversensitive skin. A heavy knee nudged his legs apart. Nate’s broad, hot hand settled between his shoulder blades, pressing him down into the mattress.
“No talking,” Nate commanded, his voice low and absolute. “Just taking.”
There was no preamble, no preparation beyond the slick already leaking from Derek’s body. Nate spat once, a wet sound, and the cold glob landed directly on Derek’s hole. He rubbed it in with the blunt head of his cock, smearing the spit and Derek’s own slick around the puffy, stretched rim.
Then he pushed.
The initial breach was a white-hot stretch that burned through the lingering soreness. Derek gasped, his fingers clawing at the sheets, his face pressed into Nate’s pillow which smelled overwhelmingly of Alpha, of him. Nate didn’t stop. He shoved forward, a single, relentless thrust that buried his thick, hard cock to the hilt in one brutal motion.
“Fuck!” Derek cried out, the sound muffled by the pillow. His body arched, trying to accommodate the sudden, overwhelming fullness. It was too much, it was everything.
Nate groaned above him, a sound of pure, animal satisfaction. He withdrew almost completely, then slammed back in, setting a punishing rhythm from the first stroke. The bedframe, old and wooden, began to knock a steady beat against the wall. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Nate grunted, his hands gripping Derek’s hips hard, fingers digging into the bone. “Still so fucking loose from the bus. Still wet for me. You wake up hungry for this cock, Omega?”
He drove into Derek with deep, piston-like strokes, each one jolting Derek forward, grinding his face into the pillow. The pain was a live wire, sparking directly into pleasure. Derek could feel every ridge, every vein of Nate’s shaft as it ripped in and out of his slick, clutching channel. The sound was filthy, a wet, slapping rhythm that drowned out the distant sounds of the house.
“Answer me,” Nate demanded, leaning forward, his chest plastered to Derek’s sweaty back, his breath hot on Derek’s neck.
“Yes!” Derek gasped, the word torn from him. “Yes, Nate… fuck…”
“Yeah, you are,” Nate snarled, his pace quickening, becoming rougher, less controlled. “You’re getting fucked. My big brother cock splitting your used-up hole open. You remember this? Remember me and Scott and Peter taking turns wrecking you on the bus?”
The memory, vivid and humiliating, combined with the brutal, present reality of Nate pounding into him, sent Derek spiraling. His own cock, trapped beneath him, was a hard, leaking ache against the sheet. He was close, so close, just from this. From being taken.
“I—I remember,” he panted, pushing his ass back, meeting Nate’s thrusts, trying to take him deeper.
“Gonna come?” Nate’s voice was guttural, strained. He was close, too. Derek could feel the telltale thickening of his cock, the frantic pace. “Gonna cream your stomach untouched like the little slut you are?”
The words, the possession, the raw, physical domination—it was the final trigger. Derek’s body seized, his back bowing as a silent, violent orgasm ripped through him. His channel clamped down viscously around Nate’s pounding cock, milking it, and his own release spurted hot and thick beneath him, soaking the sheet.
The convulsing tightness was too much for Nate. With a final, brutal slam that shoved Derek up the bed, he roared, a low, guttural sound that was pure Alpha. He buried himself as deep as he could and unleashed, hot pulses of cum flooding Derek’s depths, filling him, marking him from the inside out again.
He collapsed on top of Derek, his full weight driving the air from Derek’s lungs, both of them slick with sweat and breathing in ragged, shattered gasps. The knocking on the wall stopped. From the other side, a voice shouted, “Keep it down, Jacobs! Some of us are trying to fucking die in here!”
Nate chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound. He slowly pulled out, the sound a wet, obscene withdrawal. Another gush of his release leaked out of Derek, onto the already ruined sheets.
Another gush of his release leaked out of Derek, onto the already ruined sheets. Nate rolled off him, the mattress groaning in protest, and the sudden absence of his weight left Derek feeling hollowed out and exposed. He lay there, breathing in the potent smell of their sex, his own spend cooling on his stomach, Nate’s dripping from his used hole.
Nate sat on the edge of the bed, his muscular back to Derek, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He reached for the battered nightstand, yanking the drawer open with a screech of wood. The morning light glinted off a small, brass key he fished from the jumble inside.
He tossed it onto the bed beside Derek’s hip. The metal was cold against his feverish skin. “That’s for Peter’s room,” Nate said, his voice flat and commanding. “I want you to go unlock his door, get in there, and wake him up with your mouth.”
Derek’s eyes widened, a flicker of apprehension mixing with the dark thrill of the order. Nate looked down at his own cock, still semi-hard and glistening with a mixture of his own drying cum and Derek’s slick. “But first,” he said, his gaze locking with Derek’s. “Show me. Show me how you’re gonna pleasure him.”
A shiver, one of pure anticipation, ran through Derek. He didn’t hesitate. He slid down Nate’s body, his skin sliding easily through the sweat, until his face was level with Nate’s thickening shaft. The musky, mixed scent of their bodies was overwhelming this close, a primal perfume that made his head spin.
He didn’t use his hands. He leaned forward and traced the thick, prominent vein on the underside with the flat of his tongue, from base to tip, collecting the bitter-salty taste of their mingled fluids. Nate let out a low, approving grunt, his abdominal muscles clenching.
Then Derek took the head into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the corona, lapping at the slit. He worked his lips down the shaft, taking more and more, his throat relaxing open in a practiced, effortless motion. He looked up at Nate through his lashes, his mouth stretched obscenely wide.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Nate growled, his voice dropping an octave. He tangled his fingers in Derek’s jet-black hair, not guiding yet, just holding. “Make it messy. Make it good.”
Derek obeyed, increasing his pace, letting saliva drip freely from his lips and down Nate’s balls. The sounds were lewd, wet sucks and guttural breaths. He deep-throated him, his nose pressing into the coarse hair at the base, holding it for a count of three before pulling back with a gasp, a string of spit connecting his lips to the glistening tip.
Nate’s patience shattered. His grip in Derek’s hair tightened into a fist, yanking his head back to a painful angle. “Enough show,” he snarled, his hips lifting off the bed. “Now you fucking take it.”
He drove his cock back into Derek’s mouth, fucking his face with the same brutal rhythm he’d used on his ass. Derek’s eyes watered, his throat convulsing around the invading length, but he forced himself to relax, to take it. He gagged, spit flying, but Nate didn’t stop, pounding into the wet heat of his mouth.
“Gonna fill this pretty mouth,” Nate grunted, his thrusts becoming erratic, jerky. “Swallow it all, you fucking cocksucker. Every drop.”
Derek felt the orgasm build at the root of Nate’s cock, the pulsing throb just before the eruption. Nate shoved in one last time, hilting himself, and held Derek there as he came. Hot, thick spurts shot directly down Derek’s throat, the taste bitter and overwhelming. He swallowed convulsively, his Adam’s apple bobbing, trying to keep up with the torrent.
When Nate finally pulled out, spent and softening, a final pearl of cum escaped Derek’s lips. He leaned forward and slurped it clean from the tip, his eyes never leaving Nate’s. He sat back on his heels, breathing heavily, Nate’s taste still coating his tongue.
Nate looked down at him, a satisfied, predatory smirk on his face. He gestured to the key, still lying on the rumpled sheet. “Now go,” he said, his voice rough. “Don’t make him wait.”
Derek picked up the cold brass key. His hand trembled slightly as he closed his fingers around it.