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Eric was panicking - blood on his hands. On his jeans. His mom wouldn't pick up the phone. It was late. He didn't know what to do anymore. He didn't want to go to Scott... but he felt he had no choice.
Despite their incredibly messy history, Scott was, more often than not, the only functional adult around. Well, functional might not have been the correct word. Whatever, Eric didn't have to label it, did he? He needed help, he'd go to Scott, that's it. Was it a bad idea? Probably. But he was freaking out anyway.
He knocked on Scott's bedroom door - no use in trying to open it, it was locked. He knew Scott was there from the smell of the weed and Nirvana playing faintly.
"Scott!" He called, voice shaky. "Open, I need you!"
The lock clicked.
And then opened just wide enough for Scott to lean against the frame, messy hair, eyes bloodshot and half-lidded, one eyebrow arched.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at Eric. Down to the blood. Up to the eyes.
The smirk that started to form wasn't cruel, it was something worse. Interested.
“Well,” Scott said softly, voice warm like velvet over barbed wire, “look who finally remembered I exist.”
His gaze dipped again to Eric’s shaking hands, and he reached out without asking, taking one wrist. His fingers were cold, too gentle.
“…Whose blood, piggy?”
Not Eric. Never Eric. Always piggy. Like a slur with nostalgia baked in.
"It's mine," Eric said with a trembling voice. "I- Don't laugh! I need help. I'm seriously freaking out! I think I might need the hospital!"
Scott's expression didn’t change much, still that unreadable mix of irritation, curiosity, and something just a little too close to concern. But his grip tightened for a second.
“…The hospital for what?” he asked, low and slow.
"It's my tampon," Eric practically screamed, eyes closing in shame. "It’s stuck! I've been trying for one hour, I can't get it out! It's been in since this morning, I can't- I've been trying- I-... I don't know what to do!"
Scott stared with a blank expression. And then, slowly, like it physically pained him, he brought a hand to his face and dragged it down in exasperation.
“Jesus fucking Christ, piggy…”
He paced half a step away, hands on his hips, looking up at the ceiling like he was praying for the strength not to throw himself out the window. Then he turned back, pointing at Eric with a wild, incredulous stare.
“You came to me - me - because your tampon got lost in the goddamn Bermuda Triangle of your angry little bitch-hole?!”
But the thing was, he didn’t sound disgusted. He sounded delighted.
Something dark and sharp flickered behind his eyes. His mouth curled into a slow, wicked grin as he stepped forward again.
“Oh, you’re freaking out, huh? Can’t call Mommy to fish it out, so you knock on my door like a bleeding, humiliated little thing? I should leave you like this. Let it rot up there. Let the ER nurse see what a mess you.”
Eric stared, his eyes big and wet and angry… but also desperate.
“You fucking- urgh,” he muttered, his blood stained hands gripping his t-shirt. “You're fucking enjoying this, bastard!”
Scott smirked. “Hell yeah. You need me.” His fingers reached for Eric’s jaw, tilting it up. “Say it.”
Eric felt tears poke from the cheer humiliation doubled down with the panic.
"What do you want me to say exactly!"
Scott’s smile twisted, pleased, cruel.
“That you came here bleeding, shaking, begging me to fix you… because I’m the only one who can.”
His hand drifted down to rest just above Eric’s waistband.
“Say it, and I’ll help.”
"Okay, fine, I need you, and I'd rather it's you than anyone else," Eric blurted, both hands hovering near his face. "Please help me, I'm in fucking pain and I'm scared!"
Something in Scott’s face shifted. The satisfaction was still there, but it bent into something sharper. Like he was watching Eric crack open and liking the sound it made.
He didn’t tease, instead his voice got firmer. “Bathroom. Now. Pants off. And don’t argue, unless you want me to make it worse.”
Eric sobbed in that childlike way he used to. He couldn't help himself. It was too much. He was too stressed. And in pain. And humiliated. And relieved.
He unzipped his jeans and sat on the edge of the bathtub. His knickers were all red. He tossed them in the washing machine.
Scott followed him in, shutting the bathroom door behind them with a quiet click.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at Eric, taking in the trembling, the flushed cheeks, the bloody mess of his clothes.
Eric could tell that Scott was repressing a smile… the bastard. He kept his thighs squeezed shut together, blood smeared all over like he'd wipe his fingers after painting something with his bare hands.
He almost yelped when Scott crouched in front of him.
“…C'me on,” Scott said, voice low.
Eric squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to see Scott's face now. Not when he was about to see his pussy. He spread his legs, reluctantly.
And Scott looked. He let himself smirk, even. Like he finally got to see what was in between Eric's legs and it was a victory in itself.
“Let’s find the little bastard.”
His fingers reached, slow and sure, brushing against Eric’s inner thigh. He spread the pussy with two fingers, giving zero fuck about the blood or the mess. His eyes were focused instead, on the ever so tiny entrance. There was no string, just red, like the vagina was blocked.
"The string snapped,” Eric whined. “And it's still stuck inside, I tried to get it but I think I only pushed it deeper…”
Scott nodded, leaning in slightly, squinting under the dim light. His voice was low, edged with something unfamiliar. Protective.
“Your opening’s too fucking small. Like, way too small. No wonder you’re in pain. You were never gonna get it out by yourself.”
His fingers moved again, even gentler now. Testing, pressing just the smallest bit, until he felt the resistance.
Then he swore under his breath.
“Tampon’s soaked. Swollen. And your hymen’s thick as hell.”
He almost smiled. Eric tried to close his legs. Scott blocked the movement with his hand.
He looked up at Eric again. “You’re gonna need to tear a little,” he said quietly. “Just enough to let it out. I can do it clean. But it’s gonna sting… Or we go to the hospital. Your call, piggy.”
He stayed right there, between Eric’s knees, waiting.
And Eric was shaky. He cried silently, fingers squeezing the edge of the bathtub. "W-what..? My hymen? How do you know?"
Scott huffed a laugh, short, humorless.
“You think I don’t know what a hymen is?” he muttered, leaning back just a little, arms resting on his knees now, expression unreadable. “I did take sex ed, Cartman. Unlike you, I wasn’t too busy doodling dicks on the handouts.”
He lit a sigh through his nose, rubbed the bridge of it with one hand like he was trying not to lose his patience, or maybe his cool.
Then his eyes flicked back to Eric. The kid was overwhelmed, that much was clear. But Scott knew he wouldn't want to go to the hospital. Or maybe he hoped so. Hoped Eric would beg him to help. To shove his fingers inside his cunt and rip his hymen.
“That string’s gone, the tampon’s bloated, and your entrance is basically sealed shut by tissue no one ever told you how to deal with. So, tell me, what do you want?”
"I, I don't know!" Eric snapped. "Just... do whatever you need to!"
Scott’s eyes didn’t leave his. Not for a second.
“Alright,” he said softly, satisfied.
Then he stood, reaching for a towel from the rack, folding it once, then setting it in between Eric's legs. He dropped back to his knees.
“This is gonna sting like hell for a second,” he murmured, brushing his fingers gently along Eric’s thigh. “You’re gonna feel it tear. But once it’s open, I can pull the thing out and it’ll be over. Just breathe.”
Eric sobbed some more, hiding his face in the sleeve of his t-shirt. "I'm not ready for the pain,” he muttered.
Scott’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close. His eyes darkened, and something sharp glinted beneath the surface of his composure.
He leaned in, close enough that Eric could feel his breath on his thigh.
“Of course you’re not ready,” he whispered, voice like heat curling around a knife. “That’s the whole point.”
Then, before Eric could say anything else, Scott moved.
His fingers slid between, firm now. Deliberate. He found the taut rim of flesh resisting him and pressed in with a single, slow force, angling it just right.
The moment it gave, tore, was unmistakable.
A sharp, wet pop of sensation.
Eric’s body jolted. He cried out.
Blood slicked around Scott’s fingers instantly, dark and fresh, mixing with the soaked remains of the tampon now suddenly, finally, reachable.
Scott exhaled slowly, like the moment hit him, too.
“…There you go,” he breathed. Voice low. A little hoarse, as his fingers pushed deeper to wrap around the tampon
"Ow, ow, ow!" Eric yelped. He forced his legs to stay open. The sting was sharp. Burning. "Oh god..."
Scott didn’t flinch. Not at the cry. Not at the blood. Not at the trembling thighs that stayed open because Eric made them, even through pain.
His fingers moved again, precise, unhurried, two fingers inside with ease now that the barrier was broken. In one slow motion, he pulled the bloated tampon free with a wet sound and dropped it in the bin without ceremony.
“Fucking hell,” Eric whined, trying to close his legs but once again, Scott held him open.
Except this time, it felt… gentler. Scott grabbed the towel and pushed it against Eric's pussy, dabbing the mess.
“You’re bleeding a lot,” he murmured. “But it’s normal. Tissue’s just raw.”
A pause.
Then, quieter—tainted with something darker:
“You’ll remember that tear for a while.”
He looked up, still crouched between Eric’s knees, hands slick with blood, face unreadable.
“You okay?”
But the question didn’t sound like concern. It sounded like possession.
"No, I'm not!" Eric sobbed.
Scott almost laughed. He was getting off way too much on seeing Eric in so much distress. He kept dabbing, however, cleaning up the mess. Even grabbed wipes to clean Eric's chubby thighs. Not because he liked them, god no. Just because… he never had an opportunity to do that. Touch him there.
And Eric was saying nothing. Nothing at all. He let Scott cleaned him. He barely even whined when Scott ran the wipe in between his folds, rubbing the entrance of the vagina up to the clit.
Then again, Scott took his time. Looked at the pussy like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Rubbed the clit with the wipe, maybe a little longer than necessary.
Eric's thighs shook lightly.
“Ghn… Stahp,” he protested.
“Why? Doesn't it feel good?” Scott replied, casual, almost bored.
He dropped the wipe, licked his thumb just to get it wet (tasted the blood at the same time and that definitely didn't get his dick hard, nu-uh) and then pressed the pad of his thumb on the hood of the clit.
“S-Scott, I'm seriously,” Eric stuttered.
“Shhhh, s'okay,” Scott said, “let me make it feel good.”
He didn't even know why he was doing this. Curiosity, maybe? He usually got off on Eric being humiliated, hurt, begging… But something about this was hypnotising. The thought that he had the power to make Eric hurt, and then feel good was intoxicating.
“Anyone ever made you cum?” He asked, knowing very well the answer would be no.
“Sh-shuddup, I'm not answering your questions, you perv!”
“Tsst, tsst, tsst. Why are you being difficult now? I'm trying to make you feel good.”
He rubbed his thumb a bit firmer, slow, circling. No direct pressure on the clit because it might be too sensitive, he thought.
Tears were still streaming down Eric's face, but something snapped. He let out a weird whimper, almost a moan of pleasure.
“S-stahp,” he said again, “I'm t-too sensitive…”But it was hollow. There was no fight in it anymore.
Scott looked up at him. Paused.
“You don’t want me to stop,” he said flatly, like a man stating the weather.
Eric didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His mouth opened, then shut again. His breath hitched.
Scott leaned in, resting one forearm on Eric’s thigh, close enough that his breath ghosted over the torn, swollen entrance.
“See, that’s the thing,” he said, almost softly. “You came to me. You let me in. You begged. And now you’re dripping on my fucking fingers.”
Eric whimpered.
“That’s not fair-”
“Fair?” Scott cut him off, chuckling darkly. “You want fair, call your mom. Oh wait…”
Eric’s head snapped back toward him, eyes glassy and wet with new humiliation. But he didn’t push him away. He didn’t close his legs.
Scott licked his thumb, again, and let it press down on the clit, this time more firmly. A slow grind. Back and forth.
Eric’s hips twitched.
And then, quietly. Barely a whisper:
“…Shit. Fine. You want to do this? Then don’t stop.”
Scott stilled. Just for a second. He looked up at him, smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, but there was a flash behind his eyes, something hungry. Surprised. Victorious.
“Didn’t quite catch that, piggy.”
Eric swallowed hard.
He was trembling for real now. Not from panic, not from shame. From giving in. From the shift inside him.
“…If you’re gonna make me feel good,” Eric whispered, his hands suddenly grabbing Scott's head, “then fucking commit.”
And without a warning, he pulled Scott's head in between his legs.
Scott didn’t fight the pull. His breath caught for a fraction of a second, then he grinned into Eric’s cunt, a sound low and amused humming against the slick, warm flesh.
And he went down on him.
There was nothing sweet about it. Nothing teasing. Scott devoured, tongue flat, slow, dragging up through the mess, then circling the clit with maddening control. Eric jolted.
“F-fuck-”
But his hands stayed tangled in Scott’s hair, gripping tighter, not letting him move away. His thighs were still trembling, but now they pressed in, and Scott held them, because he loved it.
He sucked. He licked. His tongue flicked sharp, fast, then slow again. And when Eric let out a stuttering sob, Scott paused just long enough to mumble into him:
“You’re gonna cum like this, piggy. Like a little slut, leaking and crying and pulling my hair.”
Eric gasped, but he didn’t deny it. His hips were moving now, small desperate rolls against Scott’s mouth.
He hated him.
He needed him.
He wanted to ruin his own shame before Scott could do it first.
Scott’s hands gripped tighter around Eric’s thighs, pulling him to the edge of the tub, opening him more, almost making him stand on his face.
Eric tried to speak, some insult, maybe, but it dissolved into a broken moan.
Then Scott slid two fingers back inside, now that the barrier was gone.
Eric cried out, body arching, thighs twitching, fingers yanking Scott’s hair in a messy knot.
“Sh-shit! Scott!”
The pain was still there, raw and new, but it was drowned now, under something molten and climbing.
Scott curled his fingers just right, pressing deep.
It was just this now. Humiliation turning into heat. Hate turning into want.
And it crested.
Eric’s whole body locked, then broke apart as the orgasm hit him like a slap. He came with a sob, legs closing around Scott's face, half standing, folded in half.
Only once he got quiet did Scott pull away.
“Fucking knew it,” he whispered, kissing the thigh, the pussy, the trembling space just under the soft belly. “Knew I could make you cum.”
Eric slumped, panting, fingers finally releasing their hold in Scott’s hair. His chest heaved.
“Bastard,” he muttered, “you did that so I'd let you fuck me.”
It wasn't even a question. Eric knew Scott was as manipulative as he was. Orgasms weren't free.
Scott blinked. Eric couldn't see the look on his face, burried against his stomach. If he had, maybe he'd realise that Scott actually forgot about his boner for a while. That it was the thought of having control over Eric's pleasure or pain that drove him crazy. And that, in that aspect, maybe the orgasm was indeed free…
He pulled away with a smirk. “Piggy, my little, adorable piggy,” he said, mocking, “you're freaking out over a tampon. My cock would send you right through a panic attack.”
Eric groaned. He pulled away just a bit so he could sit back full on the edge of the tub. “As if you wouldn't love that. Me crying on your dick. Don't play mind games. If you're gonna fuck me, just do it.”
But Scott didn't move, because seeing Eric spiral over his own mind was a delightful spectacle.
“What, you think I want repayment for helping you?” he teased.
Eric shot him a death glare. “Yes?! Are you gonna say you don't?”
Scott shrugged. The smirk that spread across his lips was slow, lazy, dangerous. “Maybe. What makes you think I'd want to fuck you, though?”
The look on Eric's face was everything. He gasped, offended, angry even.
“You fucking moron!” He yelled.
And Scott laughed.
“I mean, I can fuck you. If you beg.”
“Don't- you're the one who wants to fuck me,” Eric fumbled.
Scott gave a half shrug. “Not really. I mean… I did just watch you cry over a tampon. Not exactly a turn-on.”
Eric’s mouth fell open.
“You absolute bastard.”
Scott grinned. “What? Just being honest.”
“You went down on me like you were starving!”
“You begged.”
“I didn't!”
Scott raised both arms like he was a victim, though he smiled.
“You pulled my face into your pussy! And now you’re yelling,” he said, totally unfazed, “naked, post-orgasm, legs still open. Who’s the crazy one here?”
Eric looked down at himself, at the blood-stained towel under his ass, the mess between his thighs, the way he was still breathing too hard-
And his cheeks went bright red.
Scott beamed.
“Aw, piggy,” he said sweetly, “you’re embarrassed. That’s cute.”
Eric groaned, shoving at him weakly. “Fuck off.”
Scott didn’t budge. Just crouched beside him, one elbow on the tub, head resting in his palm like he was watching TV.
“You’re fun like this,” he said. “All messy and pissed off and post-orgasmic. Kinda like a stray cat that let someone pet it and now doesn’t know how to act.”
“Scott-”
“I mean, do you even want me to fuck you?” he asked, wide-eyed, like he was genuinely wondering. “I can’t tell. You’re giving me such mixed signals.”
Eric looked like he was about to explode.
“You smug asshole,” he snapped. “You’re enjoying this.”
Scott grinned. “I’m fucking delighted.”
Scott kept teasing for a while. Until his erection died, which, admittedly, took some time.
Because yes, he did want to fuck Eric. Badly. Maybe it was a power thing, maybe something else. Revenge. Entertainment. Twisted affection.
But in any case, he wasn't going to fuck him today. Not because he cared, no, god no! Just because… Maybe he liked Eric better when he was wanting. Don't tell anyone.