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And when you're done acting tough, gonna take you round the corner to get fucked-up

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The moment Sam steps through the door to their shitty little apartment, Eric knows what’s about to happen. He’s always been good at reading Sam, the guy’s an open fucking book, doesn’t even pretend to bother hiding his intentions most of the time when it comes to his pursuits in life and Eric knows the look on Sam’s face much too well. That gleam of single-minded intent just barely covering up the shivery, straining desperation underneath. And he knows that it’s been a bad day for Sam. Those fucking talks with his new social worker are really taking it out of him and Eric’s still not 100% sure if they’ll actually end up helping or if that woman will just succeed in fucking Sam up even more. But Sam needs someone to listen to him, needs someone to believe him, and Eric’s tried, he has, but that’s not what Sam’s using him for, he guesses.


So Eric isn’t the least bit surprised when Sam walks up to him, clasps Eric’s face in his hands and leans up to plant a rough kiss on Eric’s lips without so much as a ‘hello’, Sam’s body molding into Eric’s in a way that’s too aggressive to be properly seductive, but that gets the idea across perfectly fine. When Sam pulls back to look Eric in the eye, Eric twists his mouth into a crooked grin and clears his throat, taking a moment to blindly set his cup of coffee down on the kitchen counter.


“That kind of day, huh?” Eric asks, not unkindly, but not as nice about it as he maybe could be. He likes Sam, always has – and maybe, a mean little voice at the back of his head whispers, that’s exactly what his fucking problem is – and Eric hates seeing him like this. Strung out and mindlessly chasing his next high in whatever shape or form he can get it. Turning to Eric not because Sam actually wants him, but because Eric is there and willing and Sam is fucking desperate enough to just not care.


“Can’t always afford the good stuff. You know how it is.” Sam shoots back, the little shit, going for his usual brand of sarcasm in an attempt to make light of the situation, but falling painfully short with the way his hands are shaking where they’re pressed against Eric’s jaw. Eric huffs out a dry laugh, but his hands wander to Sam’s waist almost of their own accord, fingers digging into the shape of him, bony hips molding themselves into his palms perfectly, and he can see that Sam already knows he’s fucking won.


Eric just can’t help it. He’s always been weak for Sam. That’s the main reason they get along so well, Eric thinks with a small hint of bitterness. Because Eric is enough of a sucker to let himself be used and discarded however Sam needs. But that thought gets scattered quickly enough by the press of Sam’s hardening dick against his thigh, two layers of denim and cloth too many in between. Eric will have plenty of time after to muse about his fucking self-worth issues.


“You’re such a sweet talker, Sam. It’s beyond me why you don’t have people lining up around the block to cater to your every whim.” Eric shoots back, his fingers digging into Sam’s sides until Sam gasps softly, his hot breath billowing across Eric’s mouth. They’re still so fucking close. And, yeah, Eric is plenty aware of what it says about him that he’s the only one hanging around ready to drop whatever the fuck he’s doing to make Sam happy. Or maybe ‘happy’ is the wrong word. Maybe it’s more about keeping Sam’s head over water just enough to fucking stay alive.


“Hmm, yeah. I’ve got the charm, man. I don’t get it either. Must be the junkie thing. Or maybe the ex-criminal thing. Or maybe it’s just the shit ton of unresolved trauma scaring people away.” Sam says, sarcasm and self-deprecation laced thickly through his words and Eric can feel his impatience in the way Sam pulls at him, slowly walking backward towards his room and stringing Eric along like a fish on a fucking hook. It makes something in Eric twist up, makes him want to be a little mean about it, just because he can. Make sure he gets his kicks out of this, too, even as he pretends like getting to touch Sam isn’t more than enough of a fucking incentive already.


“So what’s the plan here, Sam? You’re just gonna have me get you off until you pass out? Same as fucking always?” Eric breathes, digging his heels in a little, making it harder for Sam, and it chases a sad little thrill through his stomach seeing the way Sam crumbles at that, the desperation dancing in his eyes like a flickering candle flame. Breath too quick and almost shaking with how much he needs it, with all of that pent-up tension sitting in his muscles with nowhere to go. And maybe it’s cruel, but Eric knows he can get something more out of this, if he plays it right. And he knows exactly how to play Sam. Eric doesn’t let himself think about what kind of person that makes him, because he can be plenty fucking good at self-deception, too, when he wants to.


“Don’t act like you don’t get anything out of this.” Sam presses out, his frustration getting the better of him. He’s a junkie bargaining for his next fix, impatience and need painting his every move, and Eric sometimes thinks it’s a little disconcerting how easy it is to play Sam, to beat him at his own game. Maybe that’s because Sam doesn’t fucking care whether he wins or loses, as long as he gets what he wants along the way, regardless of what he has to give up for it in turn.


“Let me fuck you, then.” Eric says, soft and low, leaning in to press a wet kiss to Sam’s throat and he can hear Sam suck in a sharp breath at the sensation and cant his hips into Eric’s shamelessly. Sam’s unsteady hands moving to pull at the lapels of Eric’s open sweater jacket. When Eric comes back up, though, there’s an unhappy frown plastered across Sam’s face and Eric has to bite his lip not to grin at him.


“Why?” Sam tosses at him and there’s definitely accusation in his voice, in his eyes, but he doesn’t stop walking them backwards, the door to his room sliding open easily once his searching fingers find the handle and press down. It’s dark inside, the makeshift bed-sheet-curtains perpetually drawn, and the air tastes stale and heavy with dust and overuse. But Eric hardly minds. He’s dealt with so much worse where he grew up.


“Because I like how you look, when I do.” Eric breathes against the shell of Sam’s ear and watches him shudder, watches Sam grind his teeth in his growing frustration, Sam’s movements jerky and restless as he tugs Eric’s sweater jacket off of his shoulders. Not breaking his stride, not willing to slow down even as he glares up at Eric.


“What? Grimacing in pain? You get off on that?” Sam bites out, not quite ready to give in yet, but Eric knows that it’s just a matter of time, that the resistance is just a way for Sam to save face, to pretend like he wouldn’t fucking do anything just to get the relief he needs. Just like the junkie that he is.


“Maybe I like the ego boost of poor Sam not being able to take my big dick without crying like a little girl.” Eric says lightly, grinning down at Sam, his hands tightening on Sam’s waist and his arms locking up when Sam starts to tug at the hem of Eric’s t-shirt, stopping him from getting anywhere with trying to remove it. And he can see the way Sam’s face twists up at that, wide open and so fucking vulnerable beneath that smart-ass, don’t-give-a-shit facade of his.


“Fuck you. You’re a fucking sadist, man.” Sam spits at him and Eric knows that he’s won, that the rest is nothing more than a formality. The look of naked need in Sam’s eyes blotting out all of the bite in his voice.


“And you’re a strung out little twink with a shit load of cryptic trauma in his past. But I love you anyway.” Eric says lightly as he watches Sam’s hands fist into the fabric of Eric’s shirt, just short of outwardly tearing at it. It’s kind of sad how much Eric actually means that last part, and how little he means the first, but he knows that Sam is too far gone to notice subtleties like that and Sam doesn’t fucking want to know that shit at the best of times, anyway. So Eric figures he’s plenty safe. “What’ll it be Sam? It’s a simple ‘yes or no’ question.”


“Fucking – fine! Now shut up and touch me, asshole.” Sam bites out, looking like he’s about ready to start yelling if Eric tries to draw this out any more, and that’s all that Eric to needed hear anyway. He may be an asshole, as Sam has so accurately assessed, but he sure as hell isn’t a fucking rapist, or so he keeps telling himself. Eric gives Sam a crooked little grin, lets go of Sam’s waist, and lifts up his arms so that Sam can impatiently yank the t-shirt over his head.


Getting Sam out of his clothes hardly takes any time at all. Sam’s too fucking restless to have it be anything other than functional and fast, no need to try and be enticing when he knows he’s already got Eric hooked and Sam isn’t the type for a lot of foreplay anyway. Sam’s just at the edge of too thin, a mix of the heroin and the fact that he never fucking eats enough, no matter how hard Eric tries to make him. But that doesn’t mean that the sight of Sam naked and needy, splayed out on his rumpled covers with his flushed dick curving up towards his belly button, isn’t still more than enough to get Eric’s blood pumping and that old, familiar heat slithering through his stomach and pooling low in his gut.


There’s something about Sam that Eric has a hard time explaining. Something about the way he looks at Eric, with those pale, sea-green eyes of his like Eric is the thing he needs most in the entire fucking world right now, even though Eric knows it probably wouldn’t make a lick of difference to Sam if Eric spontaneously swapped himself out for a complete fucking stranger as long as Sam still got his part of the deal out of it. But maybe that’s not entirely fair. Because Eric does think Sam cares, in his own fucked up way, in whatever capacity he can. That’s just the kind of stuff you’ve got be able to live with when dealing with a junkie, Eric guesses.


But that feeling in his gut is still enough to make Eric a little mean, to make his touch a little too rough when he climbs onto the bed with Sam and reaches for him, making Sam choke out a strangled gasp and cant his hips into Eric’s hand. Sam’s eyes screw shut and his brows twist up and his arms wrap around Eric’s shoulders when Eric leans in to press a harsh, wet kiss to his chapped lips. It always sends a thrill through Eric’s gut how easily Sam opens up for him, lips parting on a strangled gasp and tongue darting out to drag against Eric’s as Eric shoves it into Sam’s mouth gracelessly.


Eric knows he should probably be using lube, or some spit at least, that it’s too dry to be entirely comfortable the way he’s jerking Sam off, soft skin catching on his palm, but this is exactly what Sam wants. The sensations intense enough to get him out of his mind, to not think for however long Eric can make him. Eric swallows up each choked-off gasp and broken little whimper, going hard and fast as Sam’s fingernails dig into his back harshly enough leave crescent shaped marks on his skin.


Eric tightens his grip when Sam throbs helplessly in his hand, kisses him harder to keep him quiet enough for the neighbors to not make a fuss and digs his free hand into Sam’s hair. Tugs at the strands roughly as Sam’s skinny thighs dig into Eric’s sides, shaking with need, Sam’s body arching into him, and a second later Sam goes completely still, his muscles pulling fraught as he comes. Sticky warmth spilling out all over Eric’s fingers and Sam’s stomach, a series of strangled moans falling from Sam’s lips, not even trying to hold on and make it last. When Eric pulls back to breathe, he can see the blotchy red flush on Sam’s face, crawling down his neck and towards his heaving chest. Narrow, wet streaks running down from the corners of Sam’s screwed shut eyes across his temples and into his hairline, glistening softly in the low light.


But Eric already knows the drill, knows that this is just the beginning, and he doesn’t give Sam a chance to catch his breath. Now that Eric’s fingers are slick with Sam’s come, it’s so much easier to keep up the rhythm of his strokes, Eric’s grip just as rough as before and Sam twitches in his hand, squirming beneath Eric like he’s can’t decide whether to push for more or try to get away. Like Sam can’t fucking decide whether it’s too much or not enough and Eric knows that it has to hurt, the over-stimulation on raw nerve endings, but that doesn’t make him stop. Eric pulls his hand from Sam’s hair and clamps it across Sam’s mouth to keep him quiet, to muffle the moans that are clawing their way up Sam’s throat as they rise in volume. Hot, frantic puffs of air against Eric’s palm.


Sam’s dick stays hard in Eric’s fist, hot and slick as it slips through his tight grip and he can tell when the sharp discomfort of it morphs back into pleasure for Sam by the way Sam’s hips start move with him more smoothly and Sam’s grip on Eric’s shoulders loses some of its severity. Though Sam’s fingers are still anything but steady where they’re digging into Eric’s muscles and the flush on Sam’s face is a deep, dark red, his skin coated in a thin sheen of sweat that’s almost enough to mask the traces of wetness around Sam’s eyes.


Sam’s a fucking mess, but Eric knows that’s exactly what Sam wants, so he doesn’t waste time pretending to feel about it. He takes his hand away from Sam’s mouth and moves it down to Sam’s stomach, Sam’s labored panting and breathy moans filling up the air around them. Eric drags it through the come that’s starting to dry there, sticky and cooling and Sam doesn’t even flinch, too busy chasing the pleasure Eric is offering him, all of his focus centered on Eric’s hand on his dick.


Eric moves his free hand further down until he can cup Sam’s balls, smearing Sam’s come all over them as Eric squeezes and pulls a little, drawing a strangled sound out of Sam, but Sam just presses his head back into the rumpled pillows and bares his straining throat and lets Eric do whatever the hell he wants. Eric can’t help himself, he leans forward and mouths along Sam’s Adam’s apple, darts out his tongue and drags it across the heated, sweat-salty skin, soaking up the vibrations of Sam’s voice when he moans, then moving to the side to suck a hickey where Sam’s pulse thrums erratically right beneath the surface.


His own breathing coming in soft little pants, Eric pulls back to watch the way Sam’s face twists up when Eric lets go of Sam’s balls and moves his hand lower, finds Sam’s ass and pushes his slicked up middle finger in through the tightly puckered ring of muscle there. Eric can see the lines of discomfort pull at Sam’s mouth, the way Sam’s eyes flutter open to stare up at Eric blearily through his haze of aching pleasure. But Eric knows what he’s doing, knows what Sam likes, what he needs, and Eric is quick to crook his finger as he fucks it in and out of Sam and he finds Sam’s prostate on the second try. Makes Sam choke out a strangled moan and his dick twitch in Eric’s grip as Sam’s hips stutter helplessly.


Yeah, that’s it.


Sam swears under his breath, the strain in his voice making him sound wrecked and his unsteady hands fall away from Eric’s shoulders, only to move up towards the headboard of his bed, scrambling for purchase. Sam’s slender fingers wrap around the wooden bars and use the new leverage to push back into Eric’s hands with more determination, spurring Eric on, a wordless demand for more, Sam letting his body do the talking, and it makes Eric’s head spin a little. Seeing Sam like this, all pretense at composure gone, all of his defenses down as he puts himself at Eric’s mercy, it never fails to have that effect on Eric. Heat pools thick and heavy low in his gut and he has to bite his lip to not push too far too soon, to keep himself paced the way he knows Sam needs.


“Fuck.” Sam presses out, his chest heaving and his thighs trembling where they press tightly against Eric’s sides and Eric knows that Sam’s close again, the pupils of Sam’s eyes blown so wide they swallow up almost all of the color of the irises. Two black voids staring up at him out of a blotchy red face pulled tight with the strain of chasing after his own pleasure. “Come on, come on, come on.” Sam chants desperately and Eric tightens his grip on Sam’s dick.


He speeds up his tugs, adding that little twist and squeeze around the head he knows Sam likes, and uses the distraction to push a second finger into him, pressing down on Sam’s prostate hard to distract him from the burn of the stretch. Sam’s eyes squeeze shut, his mouth falling open on strangled gasp and his whole body seizing up, back arching off of the mattress as he comes again. A sad little trickle of come dribbling from his dick as it throbs in Eric’s fist.


Sam collapses onto the mattress after, a strung out, sweaty, panting mess and this time, Eric pulls out his fingers and lets go of him, because he knows that trying to keep Sam hard, trying to get him off again right away, would be too much. Even with the desperate state Sam is in right now. Sam badly needs a moment to catch his breath and Eric may have a bit of a mean streak sometimes, but not enough to try and push Sam beyond what Eric knows he can handle.


Sam’s legs fall away from Eric’s sides, feet slipping down the mattress as he lays there, looking every bit the fucking mess that he is and Eric can’t help the sting of something intangible that sparks through his chest at the sight. But that’s not what he’s doing right now. That’s not what he’s thinking about. He didn’t get this far in life by letting shit like that break his stride when he’s got something that he wants right there at the tips of his fingers, his for the taking.


“Stuff still where you usually keep it?” Eric asks, bringing one of his hands, sticky with Sam’s come, up to pat Sam’s cheek lightly to get his attention. Sam wrinkles up his nose and bats Eric’s hand away clumsily, shooting Eric an irritated look.


“Fuck.” Sam groans, his heels digging into the covers as he arches his spine a little and then drops back onto the covers panting softly. “Yeah. Top drawer. You’re an awful person, I hope you fucking know that.”


“Yeah, yeah. A deal’s a deal.” Eric murmurs lightly as he crawls over to the nightstand and pulls open the drawer. He knows that Sam doesn’t really mean it, he’s just being his usual charming self and Eric doesn’t plan on taking it to heart, he knows better than that. Eric wipes his hands on the sheets to take care of the worst of the mess and then digs around in the clutter until he’s found what he’s looking for. Condoms and lube. There are only two left in the pack and the lube is more than half empty, but it’s all he needs. He should probably tell Sam to get more, though, once Sam is all there again.


“I really hate you sometimes.” Sam presses out as Eric crawls back over to him with his haul. But there’s no real heat behind the statement. Sam is too out of it for that, basking in his post-orgasmic bliss, tiredness making his eyelids droop, the pressing, desperate tension from before having lost some of its severity. The crushing relief of that first high kicking in is still holding Sam in its clutches firmly and Eric knows Sam isn’t one to waste that. All Eric does is pat Sam’s side lightly and give him a crooked little grin as he tears the condom wrapper open with his teeth.


“You know you love me.” Eric shoots back, biting his tongue as he rolls the condom over his aching dick, his own touch almost too good with how he’s been holding back. Sam rolls his eyes at Eric halfheartedly and huffs out a derisive breath. His very own brand of charisma on full display. Too bad that’s exactly what Eric is such a sucker for. He can’t help but think that he’s at least as much of a masochist as Sam sometimes.


“Legs up and bent at the knee.” Eric says cheerfully and taps Sam’s skinny thigh lightly with the tips of his fingers, helps him along a little as Sam struggles to find the coordination necessary to comply, and enjoys the way he can feel Sam’s muscles work beneath his touch. Eric squeezes a bit of lube out onto his hand, then rubs his palms together to warm it up a bit. He reaches for Sam’s dick, stroking it lightly, and Sam gasps out a breath before biting his lip and screwing his eyes shut again, leaning into the touch despite how sensitive he has to be right now.


It takes a bit of time, but slowly, bit by bit, Eric can feel Sam grow hard again in his grasp and he tightens his grip as he goes until Sam is moaning along to Eric’s strokes, Sam’s hips rocking into Eric’s hand in a sloppy counter rhythm. Eric brings his free hand down between them, until his fingers graze Sam’s rim, still slick and glistening with his own come, and the tiny ring of muscle flutters under his touch as Sam shudders beneath him. Eric presses in, two fingers at once, and Sam’s body, loose and relaxed form his two previous orgasms, opens up for him just like that, letting Eric slide in to the last knuckle on the first go, the slick doing its part to make it nice and smooth. Even with that, though, it’s still fucking tight, Sam always is, and Sam gasps out a throaty ‘ah’, his fingers gripping the bars of his bed’s headboard harder until his knuckles turn white.


Sam is all slick, velvety heat inside and his muscles twitch around Eric’s fingers as Eric crooks them, aiming for Sam’s prostate, Sam’s muscles clutching at him desperately as Eric presses down hard and punches a loud moan out of him. Sucking in a strained breath through his teeth, Eric pulls out and comes back with a third finger, working hard to go slow as he pushes in as Sam’s face pulls tight with the strain of it. The sounds Sam makes morph into something a little sharper, a little more pained, but Eric knows that he’s not hurting Sam in a way Sam can’t take, even if Sam doesn’t like it, and Eric keeps jerking him off and angling for Sam’s prostate to give him something other to focus on than the burn of the stretch.


Sam’s hips stutter, losing their rhythm, because Sam can’t push into Eric’s grip and move away from his fingers at the same time, and Sam pulls back his lips in a small grimace, a row of charmingly crooked bottom teeth glowing softly in the low light as Eric continues to thrust into him. Sam’s hips stutter every time Eric hits his prostate and Eric can see wetness glistening at the corners of Sam’s eyes. Fighting his own impatience, Eric pulls out his fingers, making Sam gasp in surprise then blow out a shaky breath as Eric gathers Sam’s legs up so that he can drape Sam’s knees over his shoulders and lean forward. Squeezing the breath out of Sam’s lungs as Eric practically folds him in half until Sam’s ass is right where Eric wants it and he can reach down to line himself up.


Sam’s eyes flutter open when the head of Eric’s dick crowds against his slicked-up rim, giving Eric a sullen look, then screwing them tightly shut again when Eric starts to cant his hips forward and build up pressure, jerking Sam’s dick harder in turn. When Eric finally slips past that furled ring of muscle into smooth, perfect heat tight enough to make stars dance across his vision, Sam jerks beneath him and presses out an obscene little string of curses as he struggles for breath.


Sam’s fingers scrabble across his headboard, nails digging grooves into the worn, scarred wood, and Eric draws his lip between his teeth as he keeps pushing, Sam’s insides desperately clutching at him as if trying to pull him in deeper and push him back out all at the same time. Sam’s breathing escalates, silent tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and disappearing into his dark hairline, as he mumbles halfhearted insults at Eric until his voice gives out and all he can do is gasp and moan helplessly. A strange sort of warmth blooms in Eric’s chest as he watches Sam’s features contort, a fondness he’s not sure is entirely appropriate for this strange, twisted relationship that they have, but Eric’s been in too deep with Sam right from the start anyway. He has no trouble admitting that much to himself.


Eric keeps jerking Sam off, keeps Sam from going soft on him, and doesn’t stop until his hips come flush with Sam’s perky little ass. Eric brings his lube-sticky hand up to Sam’s face, cradles Sam’s cheek and messes up the tear-tracks on his temple. “Hey – fuck – look at me, asshole.” Eric presses out through his teeth, doing everything he can to keep himself still while Sam’s muscles flutter and clench around him tight enough to make it borderline uncomfortable, and Eric has trouble pulling enough air into his straining lungs.


“What?” Sam bites out, snappish with the sharp discomfort that’s distorting his face, but his eyes fly open anyway, watery and pale enough that they look almost translucent. So damn bright it feels as though Eric’s staring right into his soul, all of Sam’s defenses down like they never are, except for when Sam is dreaming or high or – mostly – both, the drugs or the alcohol softening all of his sharp angles, but that’s not the same.


Seeing Sam on drugs or caught in the throes of another fucking nightmare always leaves a bitter taste in Eric’s mouth, some hard-to-untangle mix of emotion in his chest, because he knows he’s sitting there watching Sam kill himself one fucking needle at a time. Knows he’s watching Sam fall apart and break down in increments and there’s shit all Eric can do about it, because God knows he’s tried. He’s still trying, for all that it’s worth.


But this, this is honest and real and that’s why Eric likes fucking Sam so much. Because it’s the only time he ever gets this close to who Sam is beneath all those layers of trauma and addiction and cranky, smart-ass comebacks, without the suffocating taint of self-destruction overshadowing it all.


“You need to relax a little.” Eric says around a groan, his hips stuttering a little and making Sam wince and glare up at Eric balefully.


“You try to fucking relax when someone’s – ah! – shoving a fucking dick up your ass. Mother – fuck!” Sam’s voice breaks on the last syllable and he’s breathing too fucking fast, his teeth sinking into his full bottom lip until it turns white as the blood drains out of it, and Eric’s almost afraid Sam’s going to break skin if he doesn’t ease up.


“I know you can take it.” Eric makes himself say, and he presses his thumb to Sam’s lip and pulls until it slips free of his teeth and Sam’s breath gusts hot and wet across his skin in open-mouthed gasps. “I’m going to start moving now.”


Sam makes a miserable little sound at the back of his throat as an answer and Eric pulls back until he’s halfway out, then pushes in again, wringing a strangled moan out of Sam. Eric’s teeth grit against the tightness and the heat of Sam’s body as it clutches at him desperately. Then he does it again, and again, until he’s got a nice rhythm set, Sam straining to keep up, his eyes, wet and leaking, closed tightly again. Sharp yelps falling from his lips whenever Eric hits his prostate, and however much Sam keeps going on about hating this, he’s still hard as a fucking rock in Eric’s fist and Eric knows Sam’s going to come with Eric’s dick up his ass, from Eric fucking him just right.


Eric keeps angling his hips the way he knows Sam likes, letting himself be guided by the volume of Sam’s moans until Sam’s using what little leverage he has in his position to push back into Eric’s thrusts. Eric takes the hint and gives it to him harder, his own muscles straining, sweat pooling at the base of his spine as he works those perfect, throaty, guttural sounds out of Sam, Sam’s hands gripping his headboard so tightly the wood starts to creak beneath his fingers. Until everything is heat and Sam and this one perfect fucking moment stretched out and endless. Just the here and now with Eric fucking Sam harshly with all he’s got and nothing else.


Then, without warning, all of Sam’s muscles go rigid and Sam comes again, twitching helplessly in Eric’s grip, his mouth open around a soundless yell and his face so red it might have Eric worried if he still had the capacity. But he’s too fucking busy holding it together, keeping up his pace as he thrusts into Sam, hitting his prostate over and over, white-noise rushing through Eric’s ears and fuzzy static dancing around in front of his eyes as Sam flutters around him and clenches tight enough to hurt, a choked-off litany of ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ falling from Sam’s lips. Sam’s body strains against Eric like coiled-up steel wire ready to snap at any second.


When Eric’s orgasm finally hits him, it’s so intense his vision fizzles out for a second, his hips twitching into Sam, mindlessly chasing the aftershocks of the white-hot pleasure rushing through him and when it’s over, it takes all of the coordination Eric has left to carefully pull out and collapse onto the mattress next to Sam instead of on top of him. Both of them are flushed and sticky and breathing like they just ran a fucking marathon. Eric feels light, borderline weightless as he lies there and watches the black spots dancing across his vision slowly disappear.


“God, I hate you.” Sam groans miserably, but the words are slurred with fatigue and Eric can tell that he’s barely clinging to consciousness. Eric snorts out a laugh but doesn’t move otherwise, hasn’t quite yet mustered enough energy to do so.


“Why, gonna have trouble sitting tomorrow?” He jabs back good-naturedly as he stares up at the shadowed ceiling of Sam’s room, his eyes catching on the old water stain in the corner that kind of looks like Elvis’ profile if he angles his head just right.


Sam groans again and when Eric glances over at him, he can see that Sam’s more than half-gone already, close enough to passing out that it makes Eric shake his head and reach out to shove at Sam’s shoulder groggily. “Dude, don’t just fall asleep like that. You’re fucking gross.”


“Don’t care.” Sam mumbles and turns his face to the other side, probably too wiped to turn away from Eric properly.


“You’re gonna care when you wake up tomorrow, trust me.” Eric presses out shaking his head at Sam, and he rolls to his side with a groan, heaving himself into a sitting position before he starts rooting around on the floor until his fingers tangle with a piece of cloth that Eric suspects is one of Sam’s t-shirts. “Come on, man. Just let me-”


Sam halfheartedly tries to push Eric’s hand away when Eric drags the shirt over Sam’s stomach, where the worst of the mess is, but he’s too uncoordinated to really do much. Once Eric’s satisfied that it’s as good as it’s going to get, he drops the t-shirt back onto the floor and reached down to pull the condom off of his dick. Ties it off and tosses it in the general direction of the garbage bin, not entirely sure he hit the mark, but not caring enough to go check.


He should really get going, Eric thinks, that same weight from before slowly settling back in. He should gather up his clothes and leave Sam to deal with his fucking nightmares in peace. As if reading Eric’s fucking mind, Sam rolls onto his side with a heartfelt groan and reaches for Eric’s wrist, his fingers circling it carefully and when Eric looks down at him, Sam’s eyes are drooping and heavy and he’s not even looking at Eric.


“Please don’t go.” Sam murmurs, the words so soft and low that Eric almost doesn’t catch them and Eric knows that’s the fatigue and the despair talking, that Eric could pull away and get up and Sam probably wouldn’t even remember in the morning. Because Sam is too fucking vulnerable right now and he only ever gets that way when he’s tired out of his mind or high or wasted on fucking something.


But Eric can’t bring himself to leave. Sam looks about a decade younger than he is right now, like a scared little kid and not the cynical, fucked-up adult Eric knows him to be at all, and it pulls on something in Eric’s chest that has him gritting his teeth and digging his fingers into the mattress roughly. With a weary sigh, Eric flops back down onto the mattress and wrestles with the covers until he can pull them over both himself and Sam.


Eric already knows he’s going to fucking regret this. Knows that chances are, he’ll wake up to Sam screaming and thrashing and end up with another black eye or bruised jaw as a fucking reward, but yeah. He’s an idiot like that. He always pretends like he’s so much better at getting his shit together and keeping it that way than Sam is, but in times like these, Eric can’t help but wonder if maybe he’s just really damn good at fooling himself, at pretending.


Because here he is, even though he knows that Sam doesn’t give a shit about whether it’s Eric here with him or anyone else, as long as he’s not alone. But Eric knows, with that same certainty, that he’s going to let himself be used until Sam grows tired of him or gets himself locked up again or ODs on a bad batch of heroin or something equally fucked-up.


But yeah. That’s just how it fucking is. And maybe, a tiny little part of Eric that isn’t quite ready to give up hope yet, regardless of how stupid that is, thinks maybe that new social worker of Sam’s really will be the one to finally get Sam to open up. Maybe she’ll be the one who finally figures out how to fix Sam, where everyone else has failed up until now. ‘You don’t have to believe in miracles, you just have to believe that they’re possible’ and all that bullshit.


Next to him, Sam’s previously lax face twists up into something ugly and where he’d been still before, all but passed out from exhaustion and snoring softly, he begins to stir, low sounds of distress climbing up his throat. A display Eric has grown painfully accustomed to over time. Peace never lasts very long for Sam.