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It’s odd how sometimes everything seems to quiet down at night. For one, most shops close, a lot of people return to their homes, which means less noise in the streets, and the color palette of the sky is much easier on the eyes, compared to a too-bright, blinding sun. A full moon like the one that is visible tonight certainly makes for a beautiful sight that's worth pondering, according to some people. The peaceful darkness that comes with nighttime appeases nearly everyone. With an emphasis on ‘nearly’.
As it does not appease Liane Cartman in the slightest. On the contrary, one could say nighttime is when she is most agitated.
Averting his scornful eyes from the sight of her clasping the small but shiny earring on her ear opposite of its pair, Scott flips the page of his textbook with no particular interest or zeal. Sitting at the kitchen table at nearly 11 PM, having to study Chemistry on a Sunday night is far from being his favorite activity. That, combined with the fact that there have been problems with the heating in his room lately (well, the room they 'let' him have, technically) is a very viable excuse to drain him from the relatively good humor he would have had otherwise. 'Good' given the circumstances, of course.
Those added to the shameless display of Liane being unable to assume the bare minimum of her responsibilities as a mother, and... Scott has seen better days. It’s simply extremely obnoxious to witness.
“Scottie, I’m in a bit of a hurry, so I’ll have to head out now”. Liane says, her trench coat rustling as she adjusts it on her body. “Could you please check that Eric is tucked in for me? And if not, could you please see to it that he goes to sleep in a bit? It’s gotten past his bedtime”.
He doesn’t bother looking up from the chemical equations he’s scribbling down in hopes of memorizing. He simply lets out an automated hum that could debatably be perceived as affirmative.
Liane, who loves being either uselessly hopeful or blissfully ignorant on occasion, perceives it as such.
“Oh, thank you, sweetie. And remember, I’ve made cake if you go hungry. I’ll be here to make you and Eric breakfast in the morning. Bye!” She tells him in her usual sugary tone before stepping out and closing the door.
The whore is out for the night... And if it weren’t for Scott, she would have left a ten-year-old alone at home in the middle of the night. Again. Pathetic.
He stops stacking a horde of symbols deficient in meaning next to each other.
The thought of Liane’s cake makes his stomach twist in knots. The thought of her son ties his intestines to ribbons.
They had a fight with Eric in the afternoon and they haven’t talked ever since. Nothing grandiose. Just the usual. Eric was angry because he caught Scott playing with his Xbox. (Which Scott may or may not have done on purpose just to spite him.)
Now might be as good a time as any to check up on the little piggy. Maybe he’s still pissed...
Scott shrugs, letting the pen fall atop his notebook. He’s always found Chemistry unbelievably dull, and it’s not like he’s gonna need it if he ends up a computer scientist anyway.
The door to Eric’s room is shut, so he doesn’t hesitate to open it. He finds his little brother sitting comfortably on his bed in front of the headboard, clad in his colorful dinosaur pajamas, but otherwise far from being ready for sleep. He seems absorbed in playing pretend with those dumb stuffed animals of his. Liane got him another one recently – a dinosaur, T-Rex, probably – and ever since he held it in his hands, he’s been doing that maddening thing he usually does with the rest of his toys where he acts as though the damn sewn-together cotton can speak. And not only can it speak, but in Eric’s twisted little head, it also has a personality of its own.
“Your mom told me to check if you’re sleeping”. He says, propping himself on the doorframe with one arm.
"Screw you". Eric barely glances in his direction before returning back to his precious toys.
Yup. Still very much pissed. Although, this could also just be attributed to Eric’s standard abrasiveness.
“Just go to sleep, fatty”.
“How about you just leave me the fuck alone?” The boy shouts, his imaginary game temporarily forgotten, leaving no doubts in Scott’s mind that he is still sour about what happened in the afternoon. “Why don’t you sneak out with your dumbass friends or go out with a chick or something, you fucking ginger-pest?”
“Believe me, I’d much rather be out right now than be stuck here with you”. The teen answers in a monotone, unimpressed with Eric’s attempts at insulting him.
It is a fact that he would give almost anything right now to hang out with Fred and Pat instead of staying inside, doing Chemistry, and babysitting the little monster. But both Fred and Pat had an unprecedented enlightenment and decided to study properly for a test after eleven years of school, and the girls who Scott knew would not spend the evening studying are not up to his standards. So, inside it was.
“Great. So get your ass out of hyah”.
“I’m not gonna make it that easy for you”. He removes his weight from the doorframe and invites himself to the interior of Eric’s room. “Your mom also told me to see to it that you fall asleep”. He takes a seat at the foot of the bed. “Do you know what ‘see to it’ means, piggy?”
“Yeah. It means you’re gonna be a real fucking pain in the ass. And get off mah bed!”
“No can do”. Scott crosses his arms in front of his chest, his head moving sideways in a negative motion. “I can’t leave unless you go to sleep”.
Obviously, he doesn’t care that much about tucking Eric in, in the way some other, more...ordinary, less hateful older sibling might have cared. No, that’s not Scott’s job. He has no moral, familial obligation of that kind towards Eric. He just wants to blow off some steam and Eric is available as ever. With the whore out of the picture for the night, the list of things he can’t do has significantly decreased.
“Then you’re gonna die waiting there because I’m not tired”. He spits out the last part as though ‘tired’ is an insult.
“I can always make you tired”.
“What the f...-” With an abrupt, precise movement, Scott snatches the dinosaur plushie from his hand, forcing Eric to stop mid-sentence and let out a loud gasp of surprise. "Ay! Give Rexie Rex back, you black asshole!"
(Even gave it a full name...He’s so fucking ridiculous...)
“This thing?” He waves the stuffed animal at a safe distance from Eric’s face. “You want it – come and get it”.
Immediately Eric shoots up from his previously relaxed position and pounces on him. Of course, Scott was anticipating that, so he moves the hand holding the toy behind his back. It makes the chubby boy exclaim in irritation for having to scramble off the bed in order to reach him. The moment he makes a move to grab it Scott simply brings the hand holding it to his front again. This time Eric jumps next to him, trying to reach him from the side, and when he does, Scott gets up and off the bed altogether, holding the plushie above his head with an extended hand.
“She’s not yours, you dickface! Give her back!”
There are quite a few decent attempts from Eric to jump upwards and take back the toy, but in addition to being obese and therefore not the least bit athletic, he is also still very, very short when compared to Scott. They could go at this all night. And Eric would be like those braindead dogs who chase after a treat dangling right in front of their mouths hanging by a stick attached to their collars that they will never be able to eat. Soon the grade-schooler’s face becomes red from exertion, as his groans of struggle sound more strained, so he gives up and goes for a kick at Scott’s kneecap instead. Scott dodges and, deciding he’s had enough fun with this particular game, throws the stuffie onto the bed. Eric dives after it on the mattress, not all that much different from a goalkeeper in soccer who dives for the ball. Scott follows right after him.
Eric is lying on his side, a panting mess as he’s clutching at the cloth dinosaur as though it’s a treasure chest worth hundreds of dollars. At first, he doesn’t react much when Scott joins him, not until he realizes the teen’s body is hovering exactly above him.
“Tired yet?”
Before a verbal response, he gets an impatient sound of indignation. “...Fuck off...”
“Something tells me you are...” Even Eric can at times be a little more original when he gets fed up with him. “Just maybe not fully ready to get tucked in yet. But you’ll be – in a bit”.
The fingers of his hand have the intention of hooking around the elastic of Eric’s pajama pants, but the previously exhausted self-proclaimed big-boned boy slaps his hand away instantly, as though on reflex. “Quit it”.
Even so, he becomes distracted enough for Scott to snatch the plushie from him again.
“You god damn...-” Unsurprisingly, he has to restrain Eric by pushing a palm against his chest to hold him down, and keep a reasonable distance from him, lest he gets his face scratched or otherwise injured.
He doesn’t move the childish toy much further, just leaves it sitting on the nightstand.
“Really, piggy? You want her back? You want her to watch?”
It barely takes a moment for his little brother’s expression to turn from one of frustration and aggression to one of disbelief and almost – yes – horror, one could say. “...W-what?”
His hand has already moved on to undoing the buttons of the dinosaur-adorned pajama shirt. “Didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff, but...-”
“Shut up!” Eric grabs his wrist, but he ends up holding his hand in place, rather than repelling it properly. “You wouldn’t... You’re not gonna do this right now”.
“And what’s supposed to stop me? The fact that your mom won’t be back before morning or that you’re gonna start crying the moment I touch you? Those don’t seem like very convincing arguments to me, Eric...”
“Okay, you son of a bitch – that’s it! I’m gonna kick you in the nuts!”
Thankfully, Scott’s reflexes are faster, so before Eric has the time to lift his leg to kick him, he snaps his knees closed, trapping the younger boy’s lower limbs between them. Next is taking care of Eric’s feisty, flailing hands, and that filthy mouth of his – much too filthy for someone who has yet to get over playing with stuffed animals and still has a bedtime. He pins Eric’s wrists on the mattress on either side of his head fairly easily and then proceeds to quiet him down with a kiss – the first kiss since the day before yesterday, he believes.
Liane was around the house a bit more than usual, and Scott was not particularly in the mood. Definitely not enough to have an incentive strong enough to convince him to risk doing something with Eric. As far as the present is concerned, he was not the least bit hard before coming to Eric’s room. He is not hard at the moment either. But the alternative would be to start strangling Eric until the skin on his face turns blue, or to start banging the boy’s thick head against random solid surfaces until his skull cracks. Both of them too impulsive and incriminating for no good reason – not right now.
(This could have been a simple two-minute interaction. But Eric always has to make everything so damn complicated...)
The younger boy exhales sharply against his face, fighting to free himself with angry, jerky movements. Scott has to bite his lips to get him to open his mouth for a proper kiss.
Repulsion radiates off of his brother as their tongues touch and slide wetly against one another, and Scott eats it up, just like he does with any negative reaction or emotion Eric gives him, and just like he swallows all the noises the hapless little pig is making right now. His grip on the chubby wrists tightens, until Scott is sure that Eric can feel the clamp down to his bones through the fat. Both to prevent any unwanted surprises and because it’s satisfying. Of course, not as satisfying as witnessing Eric’s messy, disoriented face after just one kiss.
“Do-...Don’t...” Eric stutters in a distressed voice.
“Why not?”
“I... I don’t like it here...” His eyes shift briefly to the plushie on the nightstand. And then on the rest that have been scattered on the bed.
“I like that you don’t like it here”.
It is true that Eric does not want them fucking in his room in general anyway, but Scott does not understand what is quite so upsetting about getting it on in front of a bunch of inanimate objects in particular. They’re just like every other piece of furniture or ornament in this room. But then again, he does not fully understand how these things are supposed to function or how they’re seemingly alive in Eric’s head either.
Well, Scott does not concern himself with the details that much on this one. If Eric shows aversion to it, then it’s good.
It seems as though Eric cannot decide whether he should be offended or if he should simply keep the pathetic, helpless expression he has on at the moment. Before he can come up with an excessive retort, Scott practically rips the annoying button-up the boy is wearing open, not caring enough to unbutton the rest of the buttons, or to get rid of it properly at the moment. One button definitely flies off somewhere in the process. It does not come as a surprise that this irritates Eric.
“You braindead fucking...-” His momentarily free hand aims for Scott’s eyes, but he catches it on time, restraining it back on the surface of the bed again.
“Don’t sweat it, porky. Just tell your mom you’ve become too fat to fit in these. It’s not even gonna be a lie”.
It really isn’t a lie; sometimes Scott swears that one of these button-ups he wears to sleep is going to burst open at some point. Not all the buttons can even close in a few of them anymore. Which results in a good portion of Eric’s oversized belly being exposed. It is both disgusting and distracting. Mostly disgusting.
Forcing Eric's arms to stay pinned above his head, Scott keeps them in place with one hand, leaving the other free to explore and grope the plump body beneath him to its liking. Though 'explore' might be a tad too metaphorical. At this point, it might not be an exaggeration to say that he knows Eric's body by heart. Therefore, he knows that if he drags his nails down Eric's chest, the younger boy is going to wince. He also knows that if he goes and gives one of Eric's nipples a hard pinch, Eric is going to squeal exactly like a little piggy. Which he does.
But there is also pain in that squeal – besides the obvious surprise. Scott likes pain on him. He likes pain on him so much that his formerly disinterested cock begins jolting awake. And once having started, it’s certain that it’s next to impossible to stop, so Scott jumps to the next step that he knows will get him a similar reaction. As he is digging his nails somewhere into the wide expanse of Eric’s squeezable belly, he bends down to sink his teeth into the soft junction where the boy’s neck meets his shoulder. It’s not the harshest he can bite, but it’s more than effective, as it has Eric moaning in pain and writhing in his clutches in no time.
“I-I said quit it...douchebag...” His voice is already coming out strained. If Scott goes on, it might break too.
And given that there are little to no sounds that he enjoys hearing more than Eric struggling or in pain, it’s inevitable that he goes on.
At the same time with his tongue tracing over the mild bitemark that has formed, his hand relaxes – the crescent-shaped imprints his nails have left behind already palpable – and slips lower down the younger boy's body, easily bypassing the cotton fabric of his pajama pants. Scott pushes his nails on the boy’s chubby body once more, only this time he’s scratching a handful of Eric’s lush, plump ass, and simultaneously bites at a different spot on his neck; a bit higher up but not too high. The tighty-whities in place subdue the normal sting his nails would have left on bare skin, but Eric has never been known for being impressively resilient to pain, so he reacts just the way Scott wants him to react regardless.
“St-stahp...”
It sounds like Eric is close to tears already, and fuck if that doesn’t get Scott hard. It makes him groan quietly and readjust so he can push his growing erection against Eric’s crotch, in hopes of achieving some level of friction. Both Eric’s sleep garments and his underwear are thin, as are the sweatpants Scott is wearing right now, but considering the fact that he still has to restrict the unruly boy’s legs, he doesn’t really hit the mark, and it isn’t all that helpful.
Muttering a curse under his breath, he lifts his face up so he can look at Eric. His head is drooped to the side, his lips parted, his eyes wet and unfocused. “Are you gonna be a good boy if I don’t hold you down, piggy?”
“Fuh...- Fuck you”.
“I like it when you get bold with me”. Scott says, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.
Seeing as Eric is not going to make it easy for him, he’ll have to resort to other methods. The hand that’s not busy with subduing the boy’s arms stops teasing Eric for a bit and reaches over to grab the stupid toy from the nightstand.
“Alright, so, here’s the thing; if you keep on causing me trouble, I’m gonna take this rag you call a toy and burn it, and tell your mom you did it yourself”.
Liane would believe it too. She might love Eric blindly, but when she leaves the two of them alone, she knows that statistically Scott is the most trustworthy one. Probably because he’s all that much older than Eric. And the fact that Eric has a history of having burnt toys in the past certainly works to Scott’s advantage in this situation.
Eric’s eyes turn right in his direction and all of the hate and the repulsion in them is just for him.
“You’re a monster”.
“And you’re a pure little angel. There’s just the halo missing from your head...” Tentatively, Scott loosens some of the tension from his legs to give Eric some room. When he confirms that no kicks will be coming his way, he lets himself ease off more – but still not completely. (This is still Eric.) “That’s a good piggy. Maybe I’ll even make you cum later”.
“Maybe I’ll chop off your dick and shove it down your throat lat...-”
The threat is left hanging in the air, incomplete, as Scott assumes the position he had been trying to assume earlier and finally grinds himself against Eric’s crotch like he had intended to. It alleviates some of the pressure, making it impossible not to repeat the motion again. The boy beneath him lets out a gasping sound, his newly abashed gaze shifting over to the nightstand.
“Would work better than shoving your dick in my throat, wouldn’t it?” He chuckles.
“I-I... I hate you”. And if there ever was a contest for stating the obvious, Eric would have won. “I don’t want...-”
“I hate you way more”. Scott can feel Eric’s flaccid cock surely reacting to the constant friction, if a tad slowly. “More than you can imagine”.
He kisses Eric, although it is not a kiss exactly. In fact, it’s less of a kiss and more of an excuse to get his mouth close enough to the little brat’s so he can bite at his lips and tongue. The sounds from Eric that follow seem conflicted, as he is torn between wanting the pain in his mouth to stop and wanting more contact in his lower body than he’s currently being given. Scott feels the muscles in his arms clench and unclench uselessly – still trying to fight his way out of this.
The teen doesn’t pull away before the slight bitterness of iron invades his tastebuds and not before there are a few droplets of partially reddened drool dribbling down Eric’s chin. He’s having continuous sharp intakes of breath, his chest, swollen from fat, heaving rapidly. Scott licks a trail from the side of the boy’s chin all the way back to his mouth to collect the traces of blood, making Eric wince in discomfort.
Soon the friction starts to offer more of a teasing sensation, rather than any significant relief. At the same time, that overbearing desire he can’t help but feel about Eric is flooding his senses, rendering him incapable of thinking about anything else at the moment; the desire to make him cry and weep, to degrade him in the worst ways possible, to witness him being ashamed for existing.
“Okay, baby brother, I’m going to let go now and you’re gonna be good, yeah?”
The ‘no’ is already at the tip of his tongue, but Scott doesn’t let it be voiced.
“Is this really worth risking your new toy over?” He indicates over to the nightstand with his eyes. “I mean, what difference does it make if it’s the hundredth or the hundred and first time you take it up the ass – really?”
The way Eric looks at him is something wavering between unadulterated hate, grievance, and desperation. It’s the most satisfying sight Scott has witnessed in possibly the entire week. The grade-schooler’s pudgy fists clench and then unclench once more, and when they do, Scott lets go.
“I am going to break all of your CDs. Every single fucking one of them”. Eric makes one last attempt at regaining some semblance of control over the situation, but with his voice not being fully steady, the threat doesn’t manage to get across.
“No, you won’t”. Scott replies nonchalantly as he’s taking care of the obstructive pajama pants, as well as the hideously plain white underwear.
Though, he might want to keep the door of his room locked when he’s out...
Despite the anticipated reluctance and protests Eric is so adamant about vocalizing, there seems to be a discordance between his mind and his body, judging by the way his little dick has chubbed up, already pointing upwards.
“I am going to break them and then put the pieces in your cereal”.
“No, you won’t, because then I’m going to turn all your toys to ashes. And that’s a promise”.
Once the annoying clothing is successfully dragged off of Eric’s ankles, Scott throws both the pants and the underwear out of the bed, along with a couple of stuffed animals in his path that he happens to find particularly pestering.
“You dickhead...-”
“Oh, my bad, you wanted them to have a better seat to watch?”
“I... I don’t...-”
The retort is effective enough to stupefy Eric, granting Scott the time to lower his sweatpants and boxers, both of which felt more constrictive than they should feel.
It's a delight to see how pathetic Eric looks right now, sniffling as he gazes off to the nightstand guiltily as though the toy is actually sentient and he’s apologizing to it. So pathetic that it’s almost making Scott feel bad for doing this. And perhaps in a different life, he could have felt bad. In this one, he can only sigh in nearly overwhelming pleasure as Eric is wailing, violently being snapped out of his daydream.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts... It hurts and he’s crying, because it’s happening in front of all of his friends.
Scott was not the slightest bit gentle about shoving his gross, infectious ginger-dick in him. He never is, but this time he's exceeded even himself. Eric could feel every last inch of the engorged length as it tore its way to his insides, stretching him abnormally. He still can – no avoiding it.
And he’s crying. He’s crying because they can all see him. It’s not like they didn’t know. Eric has told them about what Scott forces him to go through every other day. But telling them is so vastly different than having them here. Eric would never tell them all the details – he much prefers trying to forget about them anyway – and them being so close, witnessing every little weakness of his, every failed attempt to make this stop, is so upsetting that it actually makes his stomach churn.
Scott is telling him something. Something dirty. Something repulsive and filthy that makes his skin crawl. Eric is not able to discern it, and he is much better off like that. He almost always talks to him. And sometimes the words themselves sting just as much as the aggressiveness present in Scott's every action. He calls him names (whore, slut, pig – among others, he's got variety), threatens him, tells Eric that it's his own fault that this is happening. All of the harshness stemming from the words accompanies all the bites, the grabby hands that grope and poke and stroke places they shouldn't be touching at all, as well as the punishing, frenetic thrusts, exceptionally fittingly.
Internally, he wants to wonder how long it’s going to be before Scott causes some kind of permanent damage to him with how he’s slamming into him as though the boy is nothing more than a cheap toy, but right now this series of thoughts seems too complicated with every sensation he’s experiencing.
Eric’s fingers cling to the sheets, having little else to do. His head wilts to the side, his wet eyes focusing on his dinosaur friend.
“...I... didn’t mean for you to see me like this...”
He’s so terribly embarrassed... He wishes he could just crawl inside a hole and... stay there.
“It’s okay, Eric”. She says. “It’s not your fault. We know how awesome and kewl you are. He’s just forcing you into it”.
(Yes...yes...)
“I don’t think you are. I just think you’re a faggot whore”. Says Clyde Frog.
“...I...” A hoarse moan interrupts his attempt to defend himself. “...I’m not...-”
His breath is torn from his throat as Scott’s palm strikes his cheek fast as lightning. His ears start ringing.
“You don’t get to do that”. Scott, from somewhere above him, sounds unimpressed once more, if not irritated.
The boy’s hand holding his pained cheek is hauled away, along with his other one, both of his wrists getting pinned on either side of his head again.
“It’s rude to favor nonexistent people over existing ones, you know”.
Being restrained and stunned like this, Eric has no other choice but to look at Scott’s general direction and take everything that’s being forced on him. He hates this even more because aside from it being perhaps the pinnacle of humiliation, now he has no choice but to focus on the physical side of what’s happening. Scott makes it impossible not to do so with how crude he’s being.
“I hate it when you try to do that...” Grunts Scott, probably referring to Eric trying to make excuses to his friends.
It’s as though he is being extra rough as a punishment, his lower body constantly smacking against the younger boy’s ass, pounding him in such a grueling manner.
“Shouldn’t be surprised though... You’re so fucking stupid, Eric...” The grip around his wrists tightens considerably, starting to become painful. “A dumb little slut is what you are...”
His instinct to retort properly is so powerful, yet the sensations are overbearing. Everything is painful. Eric cannot define what exactly. Maybe it’s his ass from having a gross ginger-dick ramming up his insides, maybe it’s his wrists from being squeezed like stress-balls, maybe it’s his head from having been slapped like the cheapest of street whores. It’s a long-lasting pain that spreads across the entirety of his body.
Of course, the fact that Scott went in raw, without the slightest bit of waiting does not help his situation whatsoever. Fleetingly, Eric remembers how one time when he was particularly distraught about bleeding out of his ass afterwards, Scott told him that he’d start giving him proper preparation from the next time onwards. Needless to say, the number of times he kept his word is more or less equivalent to the chances of a Jew not stabbing you in the back.
Eric feels him pull back until the head catches on his rim, only to feel the unnatural, burning stretch it offers return when Scott pushes forward again. He moans pitifully in a weak voice, incapable of doing much else. There's something else lying underneath the pain too, something less unpleasant, but it’s not enough to distract him.
“...H-hurts...” He whimpers, the newest tears blurring his vision.
“Aww...poor baby...” Scott purrs before his tone turns gruffer. “You should be thanking me. This is nothing compared to what I’ve thought of doing to you. Hear that, Eric? Fucking...” If this keeps up any longer whatever bones form his wrists are definitely going to be broken. “...nothing”.
Then there are teeth on his neck that chomp down on his flesh hungrily, and Eric can’t stop himself from shrieking and squirming, but Scott’s hold on him is immobilizing. And because Scott is a good-for-nothing disgusting pervert, he actually starts fucking him faster after he screams.
(At least it’s gonna be over soon...
“Those are the words of someone who’s given up”.
“You should see yourself, Eric... You’re pathetic”.
“Just like your Mom”.
“And fat. Fat and pathetic”.)
The boy sobs harder, feeling as though he is taking too much oxygen and not enough at the same time.
(Why are they like this...?)
“S...s-stop it...” Whatever words he manages to get out are slurred and mixed with other shameful noises, the brutality of the thrusts making it impossible to concentrate enough to disprove his friends’ statements.
“Stop it, you said?” Talking to them triggers Scott, who pulls away from his neck, his gaze demanding that Eric also look at him. The ginger chuckles, but it’s nowhere near being even a remotely happy gesture. “You know what else you are, piggy? A big. Fat. Liar”. He’s making less and less sense with each passing word. “You want the attention... you want everything from this...” He pants. “You probably stayed awake just to get me to come here, didn’t you, baby brother?”
God, Eric doesn’t know how a person can possibly be so self-centered and so insane at the same time.
His mind is a mess, not knowing which insult to prioritize responding to first – or from whom – but Scott is oh so kind to deprive him of all mental autonomy when he kisses him. He is suffocating Eric, both because of his big, slimy tongue invading his mouth, and also because of the weight he’s putting on him due to how he’s chosen to lean down. Too drained to fight back, Eric lets him lick around until his sick thirst is quenched, and until what they’re engaging in must look considerably less like a kiss and more like some kind of play animals would have.
Then Scott backs off and supports himself on his palms like before, giving Eric some much-needed space. Although it doesn’t really matter because the increasingly rapid thrusts don’t allow him to concentrate on anything else other than the impression that Scott’s cock is actually going deeper each time – deeper and deeper until Eric feels filled to the brim, completely unable to take any more.
But Scott finally cums and it’s accompanied by an obscenity Eric doesn’t quite catch. The foul liquid spreads around his insides, everywhere it can reach, giving him that repulsive sensation of wetness and fullness. If he had any more energy at the moment, he would jump straight to the bathroom for a shower. (Not that it’d do all that much to erase the phantom sensations of Scott’s prying hands on his body...)
On the bright side, his wrists are eventually freed, and he doesn’t have to feel as though his bones are going to snap at any moment now. And at least his legs can rest on the bed properly instead of hovering in the air.
The teen pulls his dick out – ouch... – and Eric shudders in disgust at the feeling of the cum dripping out of him.
“Wouldn’t be able to go to sleep otherwise, would you?”
Looking at him, staring at his pleased, smug, arrogant face causes Eric to seethe with rage. His muscles may be exhausted, but his will is stronger than his current physical limitations. Surpassing his fatigue, his hand moves almost automatically to give Scott’s cheek a hard slap it’s been itching to give all this while.
The noise created and the ginger having no time to react along with the sight of his head turning to the side from the force he used all make Eric feel more satisfied than he’s felt the whole week.
Scott does not look all that angry, just mostly unamused. “Happy now? Did this make you feel more fulfilled?”
“Not yet, asshole”.
There is this ever-present urge to pounce on him, to rip him to pieces, that Eric has not felt for someone before. Not to this extent, at least. But Scott is not the type to be caught by surprise twice in a row, so the next time he tries to strike the other’s face Scott fends him off.
“Ah, piggy, if you keep this up, you might make me change my mind and leave you like this”. He traces a cool finger over the underside of his half-hard wiener, making a shiver travel through his body.
Right. He had nearly forgotten about this. It is starting to become rather uncomfortable...
“Then...then leave”.
"Okay, then, that settles it. I'll stay a while longer". Of fucking course. Scott is going to do whatever the fuck he wants to do anyway because he is a goddamn jerk-off.
“But I don’t want to...-”
“You don’t want a blowjob? You should be on the news. First ever guy who doesn’t want to be sucked off”.
Eric sure as hell wants a blowjob. (It’s kickass, why wouldn’t he?) But not here, not like this – and most definitely not from Scott.
His protests are not very eloquent, which makes it easier for Scott to disregard them entirely and proceed to fit his whole dick in his mouth effortlessly. The boy gasps, unprepared for the heat that engulfs him.
“...S-Scott, nooo...”
In a last effort to stop this, his hand entangles itself in Scott’s disgustingly red hair, in hopes of pulling it to get him to back off, but once he feels that tongue pressing insistently against his length, all his hand manages is to pull Scott towards him, rather than away.
If he hadn’t been completely hard before, now he’s so hard it’s almost unbearable.
In the beginning, he did not understand why Scott would do this. Now he knows that it's just another means of degrading Eric and making the redhead feel like he has control over him. Eric has long since reached the very logical conclusion that blowjobs are humiliating to the person performing the act, not the one receiving it. (The guy who has a schlong down his throat is the fag in the situation, no?) Yet Scott has this unique arsenal of mental gymnastics that he uses to somehow twist Eric’s view around and make him forget what he knows to be true.
Because it is humiliating; it’s so horribly humiliating to release all these embarrassing sounds he can’t prevent from surfacing and to instinctively thrust his hips upwards in vain as Scott’s mouth moves up and down his cock, his hands holding him down firmly by the waist, effectively restraining him.
His grip on Scott's hair tightens the more this keeps up, and Scott responds by also contracting the muscles in his mouth around him. The teen's tongue intervenes every now and then as well, licking wet trails from the base up to the head. Eric feels like he's not breathing.
However shameful, it’s a good thing his whimpers convince Scott to go at it faster because he doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.
But the most embarrassing part is by far the fact that he comes so quickly. It’s seriously ridiculous how little effort it takes for Scott to make him come once he has his mouth wrapped around him. This time is unfortunately no different and in a matter of mere seconds after Scott has begun increasingly quickening the pace, Eric’s toes curl as every muscle in his body becomes taut as a rope momentarily. Immediately after, he’s shooting a load down Scott’s throat and it’s so very relieving...
Everything is good for a few consecutive moments. He doesn’t have a care in the world...
Until Scott decides to kiss him.
Eric whines in his mouth, which only results in Scott pushing his tongue against his to swap spit with him. He makes a distinctive, displeased sound of disgust, not only because of the standard repulsion the kiss causes him, but also because Scott's spit is a bit too abundant and somewhat bitter. His stomach becomes queasy when he realizes it's his own cum that Scott is feeding him. He wants to cough it back up or throw up, but Scott is pressing too firmly against his mouth for that, so Eric has no choice but to feel his infuriating smirk on his lips.
It isn’t even the first time he’s tasted his own cum (he’s licked it off Scott’s fingers before, off his shirt, off his belly...) but, just...It’s fucking gross, man.
Maybe he could have been more efficient in fighting back if he had more energy, but at the moment he is exhausted, through and through. He feels ready to fall asleep. He ends up staring to the side once the kiss is over (in the opposite direction of the nightstand).
“Why the long face, piggy?”
“...You hiiit meee...You... douchebag...”
He still can’t stop thinking about it, despite his tiredness. Scott had never... hit him during sex before. A slap on the ass or two, maybe, but that’s as far as he went.
“You hit me too afterwards”. He says to remind him, as though the situations are comparable. “And you’ve hit me before. We’ve hit each other in general. What’s your point?”
“It’s not the same...” His eyelids are getting heavier and heavier pretty quickly, his head fully leaning on the pillow.
Sure there are things that are bothering him right now – like how he’s basically naked or how there’s still that puddle of cum leaking out his asshole – but his need for sleep seems to be greater than his problems at the moment.
“Hurt more now, didn’t it?”
With his last ounce of strength, he turns his body to the side, because at least he is less exposed to Scott like that. He decides that the retarded question is not worth answering.
“Hate you...” He mutters as his eyes shut closed.
The next thing he feels is Scott’s lips in his ear, his warm breath mildly tickling, but not enough for the boy to do something about it. “I hate you too”.
Scott’s weight is being lifted off the bed and then his blanket is draped over him.
Shit... And he planned on playing some ‘Baldur’s Gate 3’ now that Mom wouldn’t be here to bitch about it...