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Eric paused. The moment Scott landed his eyes on him, he knew there was no going back.
Wearing lingerie was humiliating. He was wearing a dusty pink, semi transparent night dress. Under that, a matching thong. A bow around his neck. And of course, white thigh high socks. He looked sinful like this. He knew that. He could barely believe it when he put it on and it didn't look utterly ridiculous. He couldn't help but pout, as he padded in Scott's room, socked feet quiet on the carpet. His hands clenched at his sides.
"... do you forgive me now?"
Scott had been sprawled across the bed, half-asleep and half-bored, absently scrolling on his phone until Eric walked in.
The moment he saw him, his thumb froze mid-scroll.
And then, slowly, he looked up.
His mouth parted a little, not with surprise, but with something else. Something darker. Something closer to a low-grade shock that settled just beneath the surface, masked almost immediately by a scoff.
"...Jesus."
He sat up, slow. Phone tossed aside.
The silence hung like smoke.
He didn’t speak for a few more seconds. Just let his gaze drag over the soft fabric, the cling of it, the bow, the socks, the fucking audacity.
“You’re really that desperate, huh?” he said finally, voice flat, almost amused, but edged.
He stood.
Crossed the room like gravity pulled him.
Stopped just close enough to make it worse. His fingers reached out, not touching. Just brushing the air near the bow at Eric’s throat.
“Is this supposed to make me forget you killed my parents?”
Eric was tempted to slap Scott's hand away, but he didn’t. He pinched his lips together, grumpy.
"I didn't kill them," he muttered. "Whatever. You're mad at me, so I'm trying to be the bigger person here. Is this humiliating enough for you?"
Scott let out a short, breathy laugh, mean, sharp, not amused in the funny way. More like it was too rich to be real.
“You think this is the bigger person?” he scoffed, circling Eric slightly, the way a dog might circle a bleeding thing.
He let his fingers ghost along Eric’s shoulder, just barely skimming the edge of that flimsy nightdress.
“This isn’t an apology. It’s a fucking performance.” He leaned in, voice dropping, warm against Eric’s ear. “And yeah,” he whispered, cruel and almost tender, “you do look humiliated.”
A pause.
Then his hand moved, flat and warm, settling right on Eric’s hip, thumb sliding under the sheer hem. His grip tightened, just enough to be felt.
“…Why would you put this on, if you weren’t hoping I’d touch you in it?”
Eric's breathing hitched. He felt his insides twist. "To make you forgive me," he let out. "Nothing else."
Scott smiled, small, crooked, cold at the corners.
“Bullshit.”
His hand stayed on Eric’s hip, thumb brushing slow circles through the mesh. Not moving lower. Not yet. Just holding. Letting the silence stretch like tension in a wire.
“You could’ve just got on your knees.” His voice dipped, mocking, but too soft to be safe. “You didn’t have to come in here dressed like a needy little cumrag unless you wanted something.”
Eric closed his eyes when he heard the word cumrag. He wasn’t sure why.
Scott stepped in closer. Chest nearly brushing Eric’s, the heat between them thick and stifling.
“Thing is…” he murmured, eyes dark now, fixed on Eric’s mouth. “I’m not gonna fuck you.”
Beat.
“But I might make you beg for it.”
Eric swallowed nervously. He didn't know if it was hot, scary, or gross. Probably all three. "I don't want you to fuck me, don't twist the narrative. Psycho."
Scott grinned, wide and sharp like a cut.
“Oh, that’s cute,” he murmured, still close, his voice pitched just low enough to feel instead of hear. “You show up dressed like a porn ad for stepbrother guilt porn and I’m the psycho?”
He moved his hand up Eric’s side, slow, deliberate. Not groping. Just letting him feel how close he could be. How easy it would be to ruin this stupid little outfit.
“But sure, fine.” His tone flattened into mock seriousness. “You’re just here to earn forgiveness. Not to get used. Not to get praised. Not to feel like maybe - just maybe - your fucked-up, broken ass still deserves someone’s hands on you.”
His thumb stopped, resting right beneath Eric’s ribs.
“Tell me something,” he said quietly. “You really think dressing like this is gonna make me softer? Or were you hoping I’d get mean?”
Eric felt his eyes get teary. His arms were shaky. "I... I want anything that will make you forgive me." He paused briefly, turning his head to the side a bit, though he couldn't see Scott. "And yeah, I'm not dumb. I know this is gonna get sexual. I'm not overjoyed by it but..." he breathed. "I want you to forgive me."
Scott went still. Like something had landed that he didn’t quite expect, and it wasn’t arousal, or anger, or glee. It was complicated. He hated complicated.
His breath warmed against Eric’s cheek. His hand didn’t move.
“…Fucking hell,” he muttered, but there was no venom in it. Just something twisted up behind his ribs.
He pulled back, just enough to look at him. At the gloss in Eric’s eyes. The slight tremble in his arms. The way his body was saying use me and please don’t at the same time.
Scott’s jaw worked. His hand dropped from Eric’s side, fingers curling loosely at his own thigh instead.
“You think if I just touch you, that’ll fix it?” he asked, voice rough now. Not cruel. Just raw. “That I’ll suddenly forget how you sat there and let me eat chili made from my own fucking parents?”
He swallowed, barely audible.
“I shouldn’t want this.”
But then he reached out again, back to Eric’s face, brushing his thumb beneath his eye, catching a tear before it could fall.
His voice cracked low.
“But fucking hell, Piggy. You make it so easy.”
Eric felt arousal build. He hated that this was hot to him... but he wasn't able to fight it. His legs trembled.
"I can lay down, if you want," he whispered, "so you can use me..."
Scott didn’t answer right away.
Eric’s words hung in the space between them like fog, dense and heavy, impossible to ignore.
Scott just watched him.
His eyes moved slowly across Eric’s face, down to the swell of his chest beneath the sheer nightdress, the way his thighs shifted nervously inside those white socks. He looked like something stolen from a dream. Or a punishment. Scott wasn’t sure which.
He exhaled, steady, low.
Then gave a single nod.
"Go on," he said, voice quiet. Barely more than a breath. “I’m not stopping you.”
And he didn’t move.
He didn’t reach for Eric, didn’t tug, didn’t command.
He just sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread, elbows on his knees, watching.
Giving Eric space. Permission. Power, in a twisted way. Because Scott understood something now: letting someone give themselves was far more dangerous than taking them outright.
And so he waited.
Let Eric choose his pace.
Let him walk to the bed.
Let him climb onto it.
Let him lie back next to him, slow, his breath unsteady, his eyes flicking between fear and heat, shame and hunger.
Scott’s jaw tensed.
“You’re really doing it,” he murmured, more to himself than to Eric. His voice was low. Hoarse. Touched with something like awe… and something like grief.
And he still didn’t move.
Scott stayed seated for a moment longer, just watching.
Eric on his back, trembling slightly, legs parted just enough to reveal his willingness but not his confidence. The fabric of that ridiculous, delicate nightdress clung to him in the low light, catching on the curve of his chest, his hips, his thighs.
And then, finally, Scott moved.
He rose without a word, slow and soundless. Just knelt at the edge of the bed, one hand bracing beside Eric’s leg.
And then his other hand moved.
It caressed, down Eric’s shin, over the white sock, fingertips grazing skin where the fabric ended. Over the dip behind his knee. Then lower again.
Eric’s breath hitched.
But Scott’s touch stayed light.
When his fingers slipped higher, to the inside of Eric’s thigh, they barely pressed. Just a slow drag of heat against fragile skin.
Eric squirmed a little, not pulling away, not pushing closer.
“Why are you being so slow?” he whispered. It wasn’t an accusation. It was confusion.
Scott didn’t answer right away.
His hand paused just beneath the hem of the nightdress, thumb ghosting along the seam where skin met fabric.
“I like it slow. Did you think I'd be rough?”
He looked up then, gaze locking with Eric’s.
Eric looked away. The answer was obviously yes. He didn't say it, though.
So Scott just went back to touching, slow strokes on the inside of Eric’s thighs.
Eric’s breathing had gone soft, slow waves rising in his chest, sinking into the mattress. Scott’s hands hadn’t moved anywhere dangerous. Not really.
Just strokes.
Careful. Light.
The inside of his thigh. The curve behind his knee. The crease where leg met hip. Always grazing the edge, never crossing it.
But that restraint made it worse.
Eric’s thighs tensed every time Scott passed too close. His cock was hard now, aching, pressed beneath lace and heat and shame and he didn’t even remember when it happened. Maybe somewhere between the first touch and the way Scott looked at him. Like he wanted to break him and cradle him all at once.
Scott’s thumb traced one last line along the hem of the dress, then rested there, unmoving. His gaze had gone heavy-lidded, mouth slightly parted but he hadn’t said a word in minutes.
So Eric did.
“…Are you gonna fuck me?” he whispered, voice raw, unsure.
Scott bit his lips. He shouldn't, he knew he shouldn't. But he was desperately horny.
“Only if you don't scream,” he said, voice cruel. “Wouldn't want mommy run in here and interrupt us, uh?”
Eric pouted. “But what if it hurts?”
Scott snorted. Eric was a cry baby, this much was clear. He would scream and shout if he bumped his shoulder against the doorframe. He'd yell when Scott pinched him. A cock shoved inside of him? Yeah, no doubt he would scream like a pig.
And the thought was hot… But something prevented Scott from leaning into it. He wasn't sure what exactly.
“I'll go slow enough that the pain won't be sharp,” he said, having no idea why he was even indulging. “You can cry, just don't be loud.”
Eric's thighs squirmed a bit. His little cock twitched. Scott didn't miss that detail. He wondered for a second what it was exactly that turned Eric on.
“... You'll stop if I ask?” Eric whispered.
“Yeah, but then I won't forgive you, Piggy. So it's your call. You gonna let me use you like a little cock sleeve?”
Scott didn’t rush.
He didn’t smirk, didn’t taunt, didn’t even breathe louder.
He just stared down at Eric, small and trembling in pink mesh, legs open without meaning to, breath stuttering.
“Cock sleeve,” Scott repeated, quieter this time. Not mocking. Testing the weight of the words on his tongue.
Eric nodded once.
Scott’s hands finally moved.
One settled on Eric’s thigh again, firmer now, thumb pressing into the soft flesh just enough to pin him. The other traveled up, slow and deliberate, fingers hooking into the thin waistband of the pink thong.
“Lift your hips,” he murmured.
Eric did, awkward, shy, barely lifting them an inch.
Scott’s breath hitched at how small the movement was.
“…Higher,” he said, voice rougher.
Eric obeyed. This time the nightdress slid higher, fabric whispering against his stomach. The thong stretched over his hips, thin material straining before Scott slid his fingers underneath and tugged it aside.
Just enough for Eric’s hole to show, tight and fluttering, exposed through the soft tear of pink fabric.
Eric gasped softly. Scott just stared, jaw clenched, throat working around a swallow he didn’t want to show.
“Christ,” he muttered under his breath.
His thumb brushed the very edge of Eric’s rim, feather-light. Not even a stroke, just contact. Eric’s whole body tightened, then loosened like he couldn’t decide.
“You’re shaking,” Scott said softly.
“You’re looking,” Eric whispered.
Scott huffed a laugh through his nose. “Yeah. I’m looking.”
Then, slowly, he reached to the nightstand and grabbed the small bottle of lube he clearly kept for reasons that had nothing to do with Eric. He didn’t unscrew it immediately. He just held it in his hand while his fingers kept lightly tracing circles around Eric’s hole, never direct, never entering, just teasing the skin until Eric’s thighs quivered visibly.
“You’re already clenching,” Scott murmured. “I didn’t touch you yet.”
“You are touching me,” Eric said, breath high. “I feel it.”
Scott let that sit. Let Eric hear his own voice. Let him feel the air shift.
Then he opened the bottle.
The click of the cap sounded far too loud in the quiet.
Scott warmed the lube in his hand first - of course he fucking did - and then his fingers returned, slick now, tracing the same slow circles around the rim. The first proper stroke made Eric’s hips jolt.
Scott caught him with a hand on his thigh.
“Easy,” he said calmly. “I’m not shoving anything into you yet.”
His finger slid lower, pressing just enough to spread lube across the tight entrance. The pressure was gentle but unmistakably intentional, working the lube in even though he wasn’t penetrating.
Eric’s breath caught, sharp, high, shocked.
Scott paused, reading every twitch.
“Too much?”
Eric shook his head fast. “No.”
Scott tilted his head. “Lie to me again and I’m stopping.”
“It’s not too much,” Eric whispered. “It’s just… a lot.”
“Yeah,” Scott murmured, and his finger pressed again, the lube making it glide perfectly over the trembling rim. “That’s kinda the point.”
Eric writhed, not away, but into - barely perceptible, but Scott saw it.
And Scott’s voice dipped again, that dangerous softness returning:
“There you go… good boy.”
Eric’s face flushed violently.
Scott didn’t push in. Not yet. He let the moment sit, let Eric feel the slow, deliberate circles, the teasing pressure, the slide of slick heat just barely parting him without breaking him open.
Then, just when Eric’s hole fluttered, just when he exhaled Scott’s fingertip pressed slightly more firmly, testing the edge. Not entering, just stretching the rim a fraction, making Eric gasp and grab at the sheets.
“Tell me if you want more,” Scott said, voice low. “The more I’ll give, the closer you get to being forgiven.”
He didn’t sound patient.
He sounded hungry.
And Eric, swallowing hard, legs trembling, whispered:
“…more.”
Scott didn’t ease into roughness.
He shifted into it, subtle, sharp, decisive, like someone flipping a switch inside his chest.
Eric felt the change before Scott even touched him.
Scott’s posture changed, his shoulders squaring, breath deepening, eyes sharpening into something almost predatory. His lube-slick finger returned to Eric’s rim, but this time the circles were firmer, more insistent, pressing instead of teasing.
“You said more,” he murmured, voice low, dark. “So don’t go crying that I’m being mean.”
Eric swallowed, legs open, trembling.
“I’m not- I won’t.”
Scott smirked. “Yeah? We’ll see.”
He pressed his fingertip to the tight center again, firmer than before. Not pushing in yet, but demanding access. Eric gasped, hips twitching upward, hole clenching around nothing.
Scott laughed under his breath.
“So fucking tight.”
His hand slid from Eric’s thigh to his hip, gripping him with a firm hold that offered no escape, even though Eric wasn’t trying to escape at all. Then Scott pressed harder, enough to make the rim stretch, the entrance straining around the pressure.
Eric whined, a tiny sound, involuntary.
“Oh, now that’s interesting,” Scott muttered.
And then he pushed.
Not gently. Not cruelly, but decisively, forcing the first joint of his finger past the tight ring in one slow, steady shove.
Eric gasped loudly, arching off the mattress, thighs trembling uncontrollably.
“Fuck-! Scott-!”
“Shh.” Scott’s free hand pressed lightly on Eric’s stomach. “Don’t start complaining already. You asked for this. Remember?”
Eric’s breath hitched, body shaking around the intrusion. It didn’t really hurt, but the suddenness, the fullness, the stretch, it was overwhelming.
Scott started to work his finger in small circles, twisting, stretching the inside with no attempt to hide how he enjoyed watching Eric squirm.
“You want forgiveness?” Scott asked, tone almost conversational as he crooked his finger and worked deeper. “Then take it.”
Eric whimpered, his hole spasming around Scott’s finger.
His hands gripped the sheets, knuckles white.
Scott pushed deeper.
Eric’s breath broke on a gasp, but he didn’t tell him to stop.
“You’re doing fine,” Scott said, teasing, cold at the edges. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Piggy. Thought you’d start bawling by now.”
“I’m not- I’m okay,” Eric whispered, even though his eyes were wet.
Scott paused.
Something flickered across his face, not softness, but awareness.
He saw the trembling, the overwhelmed breathing, the edge of tears not from pain but from the sheer intensity.
“…Hey.” Scott’s tone dropped, lower. Still rough, but quieter. “Look at me.”
Eric tried. His eyes fluttered open.
Scott moved his thumb up, brushing just above Eric’s hipbone, grounding him. Not soothing, just present.
“You still want it?” Scott asked, voice steady. “Say it. Or I slow down.”
Eric breathed shakily.
“Keep going. Please.”
That was enough.
Scott pushed his finger deeper, but now the movements shifted, still firm, still stretching him, but with rhythm instead of assault, intent instead of impulse. His free hand stroked up Eric’s thigh, grounding him again as he began to pump his finger slowly in and out, each glide helped by the lube.
“There you go,” Scott murmured, the roughness melting into something slower, deliberate. “See? You can take it.”
Eric exhaled shakily, hips relaxing around the motion.
Scott leaned in closer, breath grazing Eric’s knee.
“But don’t forget why you’re taking it,” he whispered. “You want forgiveness, then earn it.”
His finger curled just right.
Eric cried out, soft, broken, dizzy.
“That’s it,” Scott breathed, finally gentle again. “Good boy.”
Scott didn’t warn him.
He pulled his finger almost all the way out, slow, dragging, making Eric’s rim clutch helplessly around nothing - and then he pushed two fingers back in.
No hesitation.
Just a thick, slick stretch that made Eric’s back arch off the mattress, a choked gasp ripping out of him.
“Scott-!”
Scott caught his hip with one hand, holding him down.
“Relax,” he murmured, but his voice was low, almost pleased with how hard Eric clenched around him. “If you tense up, it’s gonna hurt more.”
Eric tried, God, he tried, but the stretch was so sudden, so deep, that his breath came in little broken noises.
Scott groaned quietly under his breath.
“Fuck… you’re tight.”
He started moving his fingers, slow at first, letting Eric’s body adjust, but his thumb pressed firmly against Eric’s hipbone to keep him from squirming away. The contrast was brutal: tender rhythm, rough grip.
Eric’s hole spasmed around the intrusion, body trembling.
“It’s too-”
“It’s not,” Scott cut in, voice rough but steady. “You can take it. I’d know if you couldn’t.”
His fingers twisted, scissoring slightly, making Eric cry out again, high and disoriented.
Scott leaned over him, closer to his thigh, his breath hitting Eric’s skin.
“You wanna know something, Piggy?”
Eric whimpered. “What…?”
Scott’s fingers slipped deeper, slow, deliberate, stretching him open.
“If you hadn’t come in here,” Scott murmured, voice suddenly darker, “dressed like a pathetic little apology, begging for forgiveness…”
His fingers curled inside Eric, gentle, too gentle, and Eric’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp.
“…I wouldn’t be touching you like this.”
Another curl, firmer this time, making Eric jolt.
“I wouldn’t be warming you up… or teasing you… or making sure you can take it.”
Eric swallowed hard, wide-eyed.
Scott’s tone dropped to a whisper, dangerous and almost intimate.
“I would’ve bent you over the couch downstairs, made you cry into the cushions while I shoved myself into you dry, just to hear you scream.”
Eric’s breath shattered into pieces.
His hole clenched hard around Scott’s fingers.
Scott paused, just long enough for Eric to feel the implication… Then he pushed deeper again, gentler this time, stroking the tight inner ring like he was soothing the very place he had just threatened in fantasy.
“But you came to me like this,” he continued, brushing his thumb against Eric’s thigh in a way that felt like an apology he’d never say out loud. “So you get my fingers instead of my cock. You get lube. You get slow.”
His fingers pumped in and out, slow, deep, stretching him with a rhythm meant to open him, not break him.
Eric whimpered, overwhelmed by the contrast, the sweetness and the cruelty dancing around each other like heat and ice.
“And if you’d fought me?” Scott added, tone dipping into a growl.
“I’d have held you down harder than this…”
His fingers slammed in deeper, once, making Eric yelp.
“...and you wouldn’t be trembling because it feels good.”
Then, as if flipping the current, Scott pressed his free hand flat on Eric’s stomach, grounding him, gentler than he’d been all night.
“You’d be trembling because you were scared,” he whispered, softer now, fingers easing back into slow, deep strokes.
Eric’s eyes fluttered.
His breathing steadied.
His body loosened around Scott’s hand, accepting him, opening.
“But you didn’t fight,” Scott murmured. “You offered yourself.”
He leaned in, lips brushing Eric’s thigh without kissing.
“So you get to feel good.”
His fingers curled inside Eric, perfect, intentional, tender.
Eric moaned.
A full, helpless sound.
Scott’s voice dropped to something that felt like possession and mercy tangled together.
“Say you want more.”
Eric’s hole fluttered around Scott’s fingers, greedy, clenching, pulling.
“More,” he breathed.
And Scott froze for a half-second.
“…You’re getting into this,” he said quietly.
Eric’s face flushed hard, his breath shaking.
“Yes… Feels so fucking- so good!”
Scott’s tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek.
Oh, he liked that.
Way too much.
“Yeah,” he murmured, pumping his fingers deeper, rougher for a moment just to see Eric’s reaction, “I can tell.”
Eric let out a sound, half gasp, half moan and Scott’s pupils blew wide. Something hot, sharp, hungry unfurled in his chest.
“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling his fingers out suddenly.
Eric whined at the loss.
Scott smirked.
“Oh, don’t pout. I’m not done with you.”
He crawled up over Eric, settling between his spread thighs, moved the thong to the side to reveal Eric's cock, and for a second, just a second, he hesitated.
Eric’s cock was small.
Hard, twitching, leaking, but undeniably small.
Scott dragged one finger along the underside of it, lazy, warm.
“…This is what you’re giving me?” he said, voice pitched low, amused. “This little thing?”
Eric went red instantly, thighs clamping inward until Scott’s hands forced them open again.
He swallowed and whispered,
“I know it’s small,” he muttered. “Fucking suck it, or don't- but stop staring!”
Scott’s breath caught.
Oh, he loved that.
“God, you’re pathetic,” Scott murmured, and it wasn’t even mean. “You’ll let me say anything to you, won’t you?”
Eric nodded fast.
“Yes. Please. Just- keep going-”
Scott didn’t give him time to finish.
He wrapped his lips around Eric’s cock.
Eric choked on his own breath, hands flying up but not touching, fingers curling tight in the sheets.
Scott took him easily, because there wasn’t much to take, mouth sinking down to the base in one slow, mocking pass.
He pulled back with a soft pop.
“…That’s it?” he smirked. “I’ve had cough drops bigger than this.”
Eric whimpered, not hurt or embarrassed, but wrecked.
And Scott realized something dangerous:
Eric liked being humiliated more than he liked being touched.
Scott’s cock throbbed at the thought.
He ducked down again, tongue flicking the sensitive underside, mouth warm and slow and maddeningly gentle against the cruel edge of his words.
Eric’s hips jerked.
“Scott! I’m- I’ll- I’m close-”
Scott immediately pulled his mouth away.
“No,” he said simply.
Eric wrung the sheets, breath shaking.
“But-!”
“No,” Scott repeated, leaning in close enough for their noses to almost touch. “You don’t cum from my mouth. Not if you want me to forgive you.”
Eric whimpered, small and desperate.
Scott reached down, grabbed Eric’s hip, and squeezed.
“You don’t get off until I’m inside you.”
Eric’s entire body shivered violently.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please, Scott, fuck me before I cum, please…”
Scott’s jaw tightened.
A pulse hammered visibly in his throat.
“…Say that again.”
Eric spread his legs wider, trembling, eyes wide and wet and begging.
“Please fuck me,” he breathed.
Scott exhaled through his teeth like the air had punched him.
He reached for the lube again.
“Alright,” he whispered, voice wrecked and low, “I’ll fuck you.”
Scott lined himself up, the blunt, slick head of his cock nudging against Eric’s stretched, trembling entrance, expecting Eric to tense. To gasp.
To whine and squirm away.
To make Scott hold him down by the hips and force his way through the tight resistance.
But the moment Scott pressed forward… Eric breathed.
A slow, deliberate inhale, deep from the bottom of his ribs.
And then, as Scott pushed another millimeter, Eric tilted his hips up.
Just slightly.
Perfectly.
Opening himself.
Inviting the pressure instead of fleeing from it.
Scott swallowed, hard.
The head of his cock was already slipping past the rim, not forced, not shoved, but welcomed.
“Jesus, Eric…”
Eric breathed out slowly, and his hole loosened around the intrusion in a way Scott had never imagined possible.
He pushed in another inch, and Eric gasped, yes, but he didn’t tense. Didn’t shut down. He relaxed into it.
His thighs trembled, but they didn’t close.
His hips lifted again, offering himself, guiding Scott deeper with a shy, shaky bravery.
Scott’s hands gripped Eric’s thighs, maybe a little too tight.
“Hold on,” Scott muttered, thrown off, voice low and ragged. “You’re- you’re actually-”
Eric bit his lip.
“I said I wanted you to forgive me.”
Scott’s breath stuttered.
He pushed deeper, slow, testing, and Eric breathed out again, body adjusting around him, opening further, surrendering with intention.
It was too much.
“Piggy,” Scott said, voice a strained whisper, “I’m gonna- fuck- you’re taking it!”
“I want to,” Eric whispered back. “Just… go slow. I can take it.”
Scott’s hips jerked forward instinctively.
He caught himself on his elbows, trembling over Eric, teeth grit.
“You’ve never done this,” Scott rasped.
“I want your forgiveness more than I’m scared,” Eric admitted, voice small but steady. “So I’m trying to do it right…”
Scott stared at him like he’d never seen him before.
Because Eric wasn’t crying.
Wasn’t begging him to stop.
Wasn’t resisting.
He was choosing this.
Breathing for him.
Opening for him.
Taking him better than Scott would have believed possible.
“…Holy shit,” Scott muttered, hips pressing slowly until more of him sank into Eric’s body, inch by careful inch.
Eric whimpered, soft, overwhelmed, but willing.
Scott stroked his thumb along Eric’s thigh without meaning to.
A quiet, unconscious gesture.
“Good boy,” he murmured, and it wasn’t mocking this time.
It was awe.
Eric shivered under him.
Scott pushed deeper and Eric tilted his hips again, perfectly, like his body had learned Scott’s shape in thirty seconds.
Scott’s breath broke.
Eric wrapped his arms around Scott’s shoulders, pulling him in, trembling but steady.
“I want all of it.”
Scott let out a sound he’d never made before, somewhere between a groan and a gasp and a curse.
“…Piggy,” he said, forehead dropping to Eric’s shoulder, his cock buried halfway inside him now. “Don’t say shit like that unless you’re ready for what comes next.”
Eric inhaled, deep and steady.
“I’m ready.”
And Scott, shaking, stunned, hungry, pushed deeper.
He didn’t ease into claiming Eric’s wrists. One moment his hands were on Eric’s hips, the next, they slid up his sides, over the flimsy nightdress, catching lightly on the fabric as he moved…
And then both wrists were pinned above Eric’s head.
Eric gasped, chest arching, legs falling wider from the sudden shift in control.
“Scott, w-”
“Don’t,” Scott warned under his breath, voice breaking into something rougher. “Don’t talk right now.”
Eric swallowed hard, breath trembling.
Scott adjusted his knees, weight settling between Eric’s thighs, and then he pushed deeper.
All the way.
Bottoming out.
Eric’s whole body jolted, a breathless cry catching in his throat as the last inches forced their way in, heat and stretch and fullness overwhelming him.
“F-fuck-!” Eric gasped, eyes squeezing shut.
Scott groaned into his neck, voice ragged and shaking.
“Jesus, you’re… tight- just- stay still-”
But he wasn’t still.
He couldn’t be.
Because the moment he bottomed out, the moment he felt Eric fully open around him, trembling, clenching, trying so hard… Scott lost the last piece of control he thought he was holding.
He pulled back halfway and thrust in hard.
Eric cried out, loud, startled, overwhelmed. Whatever they said before about not screaming was now forgotten.
Scott’s forehead dropped to Eric’s shoulder, his breath hot and shaky against his skin.
“…fuck, Piggy, I’m- I don’t know if I should be gentle with you- or fuck you like a bitch-”
And he meant it.
His body kept proving it.
He pulled back slowly, agonizingly gentle, then thrust in rough, hips snapping, cock driving deep enough to punch a gasp out of Eric’s lungs.
Eric whimpered, legs trembling around Scott’s hips.
“Fuck- fucking hell” Eric breathed, voice thin. “Stop- changing pace- I can't-”
Scott’s grip tightened on his wrists, fingers pressing into the delicate bones, holding him firmly in place.
“I know,” Scott growled, thrusting slow again, grinding deep, making Eric’s toes curl.
Eric gasped, head rolling to the side.
Another sharper thrust. Eric’s eyes flew open, back arching involuntarily.
Then a soft one, slow, deep, easing him through the stretch.
Eric breathed for it, his voice small, desperate.
“I’m trying to take it- I swear- just- just tell me what you want-”
Scott bit the inside of his cheek, breathing hard, chest heaving above Eric.
“What I want?”
His hips snapped forward, sudden and deep, making Eric gasp.
“I want to fuck you stupid-”
Then he slowed down, sliding in and out gently, almost tender.
“-but I keep looking at your face-”
Another rough thrust, almost losing himself again.
“-and I want to be good to you- fuck-”
Eric whimpered, trying to keep his hips relaxed, trying to breathe with every shift, but the inconsistency made his whole body shudder.
“I can handle it,” Eric whispered, voice shaking. “Just- hold me.”
Scott froze for one second.
Just one.
Then he tightened his grip on the wrists, lowering his weight until his chest pressed lightly to Eric’s.
“Okay,” he breathed, voice cracking. “I’m right here.”
He pulled halfway out, and this time, the thrust back in was a perfect middle ground: deep, controlled, steady, intense.
Eric gasped and melted.
Finally able to follow the rhythm.
Finally able to meet him halfway.
Scott groaned, guttural, helpless.
“That’s it,” he whispered against Eric’s mouth. “Work with me. Just like that.”
And Eric did.
Even trembling, even overwhelmed, he moved his hips to meet every push, every shift, every indecisive edge of Scott’s desire.
And Scott’s voice broke again, low and wrecked:
“…Good boy… fuck- you’re doing so good-”
He pulled out suddenly, shifted his grip on Eric’s hips and turned him over, a firm twist, effortless, practiced.
Eric landed on his stomach with a startled noise, elbows buckling, face pressed into the sheet for a second before he pushed himself up onto his forearms.
The position hit him immediately.
His breath stuttered.
His spine went rigid.
His thighs quivered, not with arousal, with instinct.
“Wait-”
The word came out thin, more air than sound.
Scott heard it. His hands were still on Eric’s hips, thumbs resting at the edge of the lifted nightdress. He could have dragged Eric back. He didn’t.
Instead, Scott exhaled quietly, one short breath through his nose, and adjusted his hold by a few centimeters.
Subtle, but different.
Eric felt it immediately.
It didn’t make the position less vulnerable. But it made the moment less… predatory. His shoulders loosened a fraction.
Scott’s voice came from behind him, lower than before, but not soft.
“It's okay,” he said, not knowing exactly what he meant, just that he wanted to be reassuring, for whatever reason.
He nudged forward, the head of his cock brushing Eric’s entrance again. Eric flinched before he could stop himself.
Scott didn't stop, he pressed in.
Slowly.
Not out of kindness, more like calculation. Like he didn’t trust Eric not to panic. Like he didn’t trust himself not to push too far if he went fast.
“Don’t tense,” Scott said quietly. “Come back on my cock. Come on.”
A command, not comfort.
Functional, not emotional.
But Eric followed it.
He exhaled slowly, intentionally, and Scott slid the rest of the way in with one smooth, controlled push.
Eric gasped into the pillow. And the pace he set after that, it wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t rough. Just controlled. Measured. Scott forcing himself to stay inside a narrow band of motion so Eric could keep up.
Eric’s fingers curled into the sheets, but his hips slowly began to move with the rhythm.
Eric was still tense, still learning the way his body felt in this position, but something shifted.
It happened between one slow thrust and the next: Eric pushed his hips back.
Just an inch.
Barely anything.
But it changed everything.
Scott swore under his breath, quiet, low, like the sound escaped before he could stop it.
“Don’t-” He stopped himself. He was going to say don’t move, but Eric was already settling his hips again, lining himself up better, breathing like he was trying to stay ahead of the sensation instead of behind it.
Scott’s hands tightened on his waist automatically.
“…You trying to set the pace now?”
Flat tone, unreadable. But he didn’t pull Eric back and certainly didn’t stop him.
Eric hesitated a heartbeat, then pushed back again, a little firmer. Still shy, still unsure, but intentional.
Scott’s hips jerked forward harder than he meant to.
“Don’t, you're gonna make me lose it,” he muttered, voice low, strained.
Eric breathed out shakily.
“It’s- it’s okay.”
“It’s not,” Scott said, quieter now. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
But Eric pushed back again, slow, steady, guiding the angle, helping his own body accept the fullness.
“…Yeah,” Scott whispered, barely a sound. “You definitely don’t know.”
The rhythm changed. Scott wasn’t the only one controlling it now.
Eric’s pushes were small, uncertain, but they met Scott’s controlled thrusts halfway, matching them, softening them, directing them.
Their bodies found a rhythm that neither had planned. Not rough. Not gentle. Something in between.
Scott’s breaths grew heavier.
Eric’s moans were soft, broken, muffled into the pillow.
The bed creaked once, Scott’s hands sliding from Eric’s hips to grip the tops of his thighs, holding him in place while still letting him move.
“Don’t stop,” Scott muttered, voice cracking around the edges.
Eric didn’t.
He pushed back again, more confident now, matching Scott’s slow thrust with his own small movement.
Scott groaned, raw and unrestrained.
“Fuck- Eric-”
Eric’s breath hitched.
“Scott, I’m- I think- I’m close-”
“Yeah,” Scott breathed, thrusts getting tighter, deeper, losing that rigid restraint he’d been holding onto. “I can feel it.”
Eric pushed back hard, just once, the strongest one yet, and Scott’s rhythm buckled.
His hips snapped forward, a deep, final thrust sinking fully inside Eric, pressing their bodies together, shuddering with the force of it.
Eric gasped, back arching, a choked sound breaking in his throat as his whole body trembled around Scott, and he came.
A shiver that ran up his spine and broke him open in silence.
Scott lasted three more seconds.
His grip tightened on Eric’s thighs, a hard, involuntary squeeze, and he groaned into Eric’s shoulder, hips pressing flush, climax hitting him with a sharp, stunned exhale.
He stayed there.
Still.
Breathing hard.
Not moving.
Not speaking.
Just inside him, hands still gripping his thighs, the aftermath trembling through both of them in a quiet, ragged rhythm.
Scott stayed inside him longer than he meant to.
He wasn’t clinging, wasn’t savoring,
just… catching his breath, braced above Eric, chest rising against Eric’s back in slow, uneven pulls.
Eric was the first to move.
A tiny shift of his hips.
Barely anything.
But enough to make the warm, unfamiliar spill inside him shift too.
He sucked in a breath, sharp, panicked.
“Scott-” His voice wavered. “Shit, I can feel it-”
Scott stiffened. Not angry, more like: fuck, right, I came inside.
He pulled out carefully, slow, deliberate, one hand steadying Eric’s hip so he didn’t jerk forward at the sensation.
Eric still winced; a soft, startled sound left him as the mix of lube and Scott’s cum slipped out of him in a warm slide he wasn’t prepared for.
He went very still.
Scott froze behind him, reading that silence instantly.
“…Hey.” Just a flat word meant to get Eric’s attention.
Eric didn’t answer. His breath was shallow. His shoulders were tense.
He wasn’t crying, but close. Probably trying to process something he had zero map for. Scott pushed out a breath through his nose,quiet, resigned, and shifted off the bed.
A rustle.
A drawer opening.
The soft rip of something being pulled free.
Eric tensed at every sound.
Scott came back into view, half kneeling behind him, holding a towel.
He didn’t say it’s okay.
Didn’t ask how are you feeling?
Didn’t soften his voice or pretend to be someone he wasn’t.
He just said, bluntly: “Don’t freak out.”
And he pressed the folded towel between Eric’s thighs, catching the spill as it leaked down.
Eric shuddered at the contact.
Scott’s hand hovered for a second, like he was thinking about touching Eric’s back, but then decided against it. That would be too much. Too obvious.
Instead, he rested his palm lightly on the side of Eric’s hip.
“You good?” Scott asked, voice low, rough, but steady.
Eric swallowed.
He wasn’t sure.
Everything felt… too warm, too strange, too adult, too intimate.
“I- I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he admitted quietly, barely audible.
Scott snorted softly. Not mocking. More like: yeah, figures.
“You’re not supposed to do anything,” he said. “Just breathe. You’ll be fine.”
Eric’s breath trembled. “…It feels weird.”
“Yeah.” Scott adjusted the towel a little closer. “It should. It’s your first time.”
Eric’s cheeks went red.
He wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment, vulnerability, or the fact that Scott was being… almost human.
Scott sighed through his nose again, shoved his hand into Eric’s hair, and gave one light, grounding tug, just a cue to pull him out of his head.
“Hey,” Scott muttered. “You didn’t die. You didn’t break.” A beat. “And you didn’t do bad.”
Eric blinked.
That? From Scott? That was basically a hug, a gold star, and therapy combined.
Scott sat back on his heels, wiping his hands on the towel, looking away like he was annoyed at himself for being here.
Then, begrudgingly:
“If you want a shower, I’ll walk you. You’re wobbly.”
Eric stared at the sheets.
“…Are you… being nice?”
Scott let out a breath that was almost a laugh, except it wasn’t amused.
More like it was dragged out of him.
“Don’t get excited,” he muttered.
But he didn’t deny it this time.
Eric shifted on the bed, feeling the towel, feeling Scott’s cum inside him, feeling too many things at once.
“…Did you forgive me?”
The words came before he could stop them.
Quiet.
Raw.
Hopeful.
Scott’s hand stilled.
His thumb rested against Eric’s waistbone, barely there, barely a touch, but the stillness said everything.
“…Yeah,” Scott said after a long second.
Voice low.
Not dramatic.
Not emotional.
Just true.
“I forgave you.”
Eric’s breath hitched. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything else, scared he’d mess up the moment.
Scott clicked his tongue, irritated at the silence.
“Don’t look at me like I just proposed,” he muttered.
“I’m not! I’m just-”
Eric didn’t finish, because he didn’t know how.
Scott shifted closer, the mattress dipping behind Eric. He replaced the towel with a fresh one, slower this time. He wiped him clean, efficient, clinical, but his touch never left Eric’s skin, never drifted too far.
Eric’s breath trembled. “…Why now?”
Scott shrugged one shoulder, the smallest movement.
“Because you let me fuck your ass, dumbass,” Scott muttered. “Or because you offered yourself, I guess. I don't fucking know. Anyway, I'm cleaning you up because it's your first time. Don’t get used to it.”
Eric managed a tiny smile he couldn’t hide.
Scott noticed and was tempted to mock, or say something to wipe it away… but he didn't.
“Come on,” Scott muttered, finally releasing the towel and standing beside the bed, offering a hand down. “You’re wobbly. Let’s get you cleaned up before you start overthinking.”
Eric stared at the offered hand.
“…You’re really forgiving me?”
Scott didn’t blink.
“Yeah.” A beat. “And if you make me repeat it again, I’m taking it back.”