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There’s a gnawing fantasy in the back of Eric’s mind that he’s never quite been able to look at head on. When he was a teenager brimming with violent rage that threatened to bubble over at any moment, it was a lot easier to entertain. When the imagery became too much to ignore, Eric would scrawl occasional journal entries full of visceral descriptions of exactly what he thought about.
The thing, though, is that Eric has never exactly pictured himself enacting those fantasies. He visualizes them as an observer, someone watching a scene in a movie, rather than as an active participant. For as much as he's always told himself he would be the perpetrator, Eric has never really been sure he’d have the stomach to do it even in a consensual setting.
Now, twenty years old and in a shockingly healthy situationship with his best friend, Eric simply tries not to think about it. He’s not necessarily in denial that it’s a Thing for him, because he's way past that point, but he just… Doesn’t talk about it. He doesn’t know how to explain it to himself, much less to Dylan, and he’s not sure that it’s something he actually wants to act on, anyway. He’s read about people with fantasies like that; things that they like in theory but not in practice.
Of course, with Dylan being Dylan, he’s the one to bring it up. They’re watching some shitty B-movie, and when there’s a rape scene, Dylan glances over at Eric. Eric doesn’t notice, not at first; he’s far too focused on the screen. But eventually, he becomes aware of Dylan’s gaze on the side of his head. Eric turns to look at him, mouth open to call Dylan a fag or something, when Dylan catches him off guard:
“You’re into this, aren’t you?”
“Fuck off,” Eric says on autopilot, and Dylan laughs. He can feel heat rising to his cheeks, and he can’t decide where to look. Back at the TV or back at Dylan? Neither of them feels like a viable option. Eric stares at their shitty Walmart rug instead.
“It’s okay, dude. I get… I dunno. I get the appeal,” Dylan says. Eric still can’t look at him. “It’s not that different from other power exchange stuff. Like — BDSM stuff.”
They’ve never exactly sat down and talked about fetishes, and this is probably as good of a time as any, but Eric doesn’t know how to do this. He’s not sure how Dylan is getting the words out of his mouth at all. They’ve been fucking regularly for a few months now, and it’s good — great , even — but they’ve never done anything more intense than wrestling that turns into sex, or maybe Eric pinning Dylan to the bed by his wrists while he rides him.
“So, what? You want me to pretend to rape you, Vodka? That’s kinda fucked up,” Eric says, just to see what Dylan’s reaction is.
“What? I — well—“ Dylan stammers, and now it’s Eric’s turn to laugh. The universe rights itself; Eric can look Dylan in the face again. “Shut up, man, you were the one practically salivating over the TV.”
Eric shrugs, glancing back toward the screen. The scene is over now; he’s considerably less interested. “Well, I’d do it,” he says, aiming for casual. “If you wanted.”
Dylan eyes him like he’s afraid Eric is going to make fun of him if he agrees, which. Fair. After a moment, though, he nods thoughtfully. “I think I could be into that.”
—
Half an hour later finds the two of them in Eric’s bed, Dylan beneath him and struggling against his grip. Eric’s hard, but something about the scene doesn’t quite feel right.
“Eric, please,” Dylan says, but it sounds too… Put-on. All of this feels too put-on. Dylan is much bigger than him, and it’s been long established that Dylan is stronger than him, too. Embarrassment washes over him. Eric sighs and lets go, moving off of Dylan to sit at the side of the bed.
Dylan sits up, looking confused. “Did I do something—?” he starts, but Eric interrupts him.
“No, man, it’s just — I don’t know.” Eric is flustered, and it comes out like irritation. He’s never known how to manage his tone. “I guess I’m just not really into it. Fuck.”
Dylan hesitates, then places a hand on Eric's shoulder. Eric resists, just barely, the instinct to shake it off. Dylan sounds cautious when he speaks again. "Do you think maybe you'd wanna do it the other way? I don’t know, I didn’t ask before. Maybe I should have.”
"What?" Eric says, looking at Dylan over his shoulder like he's grown a second head. "What, like—"
The image floods his mind all at once. Dylan on top of him instead, no longer pretending to be weaker and helpless. Dylan, much bigger and considerably stronger, using all of that strength to hold Eric down and take what he wants from him. Eric swallows, suddenly a whole lot more invested in this whole thing. But still — he can't bring himself to say so out loud.
"Like me on top. Me forcing you," Dylan clarifies quietly, as if he needs to. He slides closer, wrapping his arms around Eric's waist and cupping his hard cock through his boxers. Eric inhales sharply, leaning back into Dylan in spite of his embarrassment. His heart pounds a little quicker in his chest, and his dick twitches in Dylan’s hand.
"Fuck off. No, I don't want that," Eric lies. It must sound pathetic, because Dylan laughs against the side of his head.
"Why are you so always so fuckin' stubborn, Reb?" he asks, his voice a deep rumble with his chest against Eric’s back. Eric wonders how this is so easy for him. Every single time they fuck, Eric has to force himself to ignore his father's voice in the back of his head telling him he's a faggot, that he's disgusting and morally corrupt, that there's something deeply wrong with him for enjoying this. And to want this , specifically, on top of everything else — Eric doesn't know how to look his own desire in the face, and he doesn't know how to explain it to Dylan without sounding like a fag.
"Whatever," Eric says roughly, shoving Dylan away from him. "Just do it, then. I know what to say if I change my mind."
Dylan is back on him again in an instant, and when Eric fights back, it's with a lot more force than Dylan had been using moments ago. He fights back like he means it, like he really doesn't want this. For just a moment, it catches Dylan off guard. He nearly falls back against the pillows when Eric kicks at him, but then he's back on him a moment later, forcing Eric's arms down to either side of his head and sitting across his thighs so he can't kick. Eric tries to buck him off, but it's just how he'd imagined: Dylan is considerably stronger than him. His lanky limbs and frankly excessive height hide deceptively well-defined muscles. Right now, Eric couldn't escape him even if he really wanted to.
"Fuck, I like this a lot more," Dylan blurts, sounding surprised, and then laughs a little sheepishly. It's so dorky and so Dylan that it sort of calms the little alarm bell in the back of Eric's mind that’s trying to convince him he's genuinely in danger.
"Fuck off, you fucking faggot. Get off of me!" Eric tries — genuinely tries — to pull his wrists free, but all it does is twist the fragile skin there. Dylan shifts his grip and carefully manages to trap both of Eric's wrists above his head with one big hand. One hand now freed, he pulls Eric’s cock free of his boxers and wraps his hand around it.
Eric will never admit it aloud, but he knows that his dick is a little below average size. Dylan’s hands are so big that one of them is enough to obscure Eric’s entire cock from view. It’s something that Eric has never let himself pay attention to, much less be aroused by. But like this, already thinking about all the ways that their difference in size turns him on, Eric can’t help the small part of him that enjoys it.
Eric tries to tug his limbs free again, but Dylan's grip is tight, and there's not much he can do without hurting himself. Eric glowers at him, and he smiles back serenely. "I wouldn't move, if I were you."
"Fuck you," Eric spits. Dylan gives his dick a slow, careful stroke, and Eric can't quite keep a gasp from escaping his parted lips. Dylan grins at him, victorious.
“Just let yourself enjoy it, sweetheart,” Dylan says. He rubs his thumb in slow circles over the tip of Eric’s cock, teasing. “It’ll be over a lot quicker if you stop fighting me.”
Eric tries to buck Dylan off of him, but then he tightens his grip around Eric’s cock. He keeps it that way while he shuffles Eric into the position he wants. Even though he's finally let go of Eric's sore wrists, there’s nothing Eric can do to push Dylan away without painfully twisting his cock in his grip. Once they're both fully nude and Dylan is settled between Eric's legs, the two of them share a look. Dylan opens his mouth as if to ask a question, but Eric kicks him in the side.
“If you stop right now, I’m gonna fucking kill you,” he snaps, and Dylan laughs as he leans up to kiss him. Instead of kissing back, though, Eric bites Dylan’s lip, which earns him a sharp smack to the side of his thigh. Dylan pushes his hips into Eric’s, rutting up against his ass, and Eric whines low in his throat in spite of himself.
“Please,” Eric mumbles as Dylan bites his way down his chest, pausing to leave a hickey just above his collarbone. He keeps teasing the tip of Eric's cock with his fingertip, and it's driving him a little insane. “Don’t — don’t do this, Dylan, please.”
His voice is soft and hesitant; he’s embarrassed to be saying it, but it also makes his dick twitch in Dylan’s grasp. Dylan laughs at him, low and amused, reaching out with his free hand to grab the lube they’d set out before they started.
“You don’t really want me to stop, though, do you? Look how hard you already are. You’re leaking.” Dylan smears precum with his thumb to emphasize his point, and Eric bucks his hips up, breath catching on a whimper. “See? Practically begging me to rape you.”
“Fuck you. No I'm not,” Eric protests, but it comes out feeble at best. When Dylan lets go of him for a moment so he can uncap the lube, Eric starts to scoot away, but Dylan just grabs him by the hips and pulls him back into place like it’s nothing. His cock nudges against Eric’s dry entrance. It's the hottest thing Eric has ever seen him do.
“If you keep fucking squirming like this, I’m gonna have to fuck you dry,” Dylan tells him, reaching up to grab his chin tightly. “ Stay fucking still . I won’t tell you again. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”
He locks eyes with Eric, and Eric feels a chill crawl up his spine at the expression on his face. Dylan is into this, really into this, and Eric trusts him, but he'd be lying if he said he isn't a little afraid of him. Eric freezes like a deer in the headlights, and Dylan smiles at him as he lets go of his chin, giving his cheek a firm pat that borders on a slap.
“Good boy,” Dylan says, incongruously cheerful, and grabs the bottle of lubricant again. This time, Eric doesn’t try to kick him away; he sits completely still while Dylan wets his fingers and cock, soaking in the heady mixture of fear and arousal that's coursing through his veins.
Seconds later, Dylan is pushing two fingers into Eric’s entrance. Only then does Eric start to kick and push again, and Dylan uses his free hand to grab Eric’s hip tightly enough that he’s sure it’ll leave a bruise. Eric yelps at the pain, but Dylan's grip doesn't loosen. He just levels Eric with an annoyed look as he starts to fuck him with his fingers.
Dylan has fucked him plenty of times, but it’s an entirely different experience when they're doing it like this. He holds Eric in place like it’s nothing, leaving him panting and grasping at Dylan's wrists, still stubbornly trying to push him away. His effort is halfhearted at best, though, because it feels so fucking good that Eric thinks he might cry if Dylan really were to stop.
Eventually, Dylan pulls his fingers out abruptly. Eric whines at the loss, but it’s replaced moments later by the blunt head of Dylan’s cock, and Eric feels tears start to gather in the corners of his eyes. Humiliated, he raises his hands to wipe them away, but Dylan stops him.
“Let me see you,” Dylan murmurs. Eric’s face feels like it’s on fire. Dylan starts to push inside him and it’s a familiar, slow burn that fills some kind of void in Eric. He grabs Dylan’s wrists where they’re holding his hips in place, digs his nails in, and squeezes his eyes shut. Tears fall down his cheeks, and above him, Dylan groans quietly.
“You're so beautiful like this, Reb. Fuck. How was I supposed to help myself?”
“Please stop,” Eric manages to bite out. “Please, Dylan, please, I won’t tell anybody, please just stop—“ Eric’s actions say otherwise, though; he has his legs wrapped around Dylan’s waist and is pulling him in, pushing Dylan’s cock into his ass a little faster.
“You can beg all you want. It’s not gonna stop me, and nobody is gonna hear you,” Dylan says. He finally starts to thrust instead of just sinking in slowly. It’s a little too much too fast, and it still stings a little, but it’s perfect . It’s exactly what Eric didn’t know he needed until this exact moment. More tears stream down his cheeks, and he’s pretty sure he’s actively hurting Dylan with how tightly he's holding onto his wrists now, but Eric can’t force his fingers to loosen.
“Besides,” Dylan continues, moving faster each time he drives his hips into Eric's, “If anybody saw you right now, they’d understand why I had to do it.” He laughs, a rough little noise, and Eric opens his eyes briefly to look at him. His pupils are blown wide, and his gaze on Eric’s face is so intense that he has to squeeze his eyes shut again.
Eric finally lets go of Dylan’s wrists, but it’s only to grab his shoulders when Dylan bends down over him, pressing his face against Eric’s hair. He drills into him over and over again, nails digging into the soft skin on the underside of Eric’s thighs to keep them open. Eric keeps whining and whimpering, mumbling little no s and please s, voice catching on quiet sobs. He can't quite catch his breath, and his brain is devoid of any substantial thoughts.
Eric feels like he could stay suspended in this moment forever. Dylan on top of him, inside of him, holding him down and just taking . He’s clinging to Dylan for dear life, all thoughts of trying to push him away gone despite the way he keeps begging Dylan to stop. His orgasm hits him like a tidal wave, and Eric doesn’t even remember the noise he makes when he comes. All he remembers is the way Dylan feels in that moment, and then — then he actually fucking whites out.
By the time he comes to, Dylan is in the midst of coming, too. He fucks into Eric's oversensitive ass a few more times, filling him with cum, before slowing to a stop. Eric reaches up to wipe his eyes with trembling hands while Dylan's breathing slows down. Neither of them says anything for a long moment.
Finally, Dylan smiles and sits up on one elbow. He's still inside Eric, cock softening, and his limbs are starting to shake a little with the effort of holding himself up. Even so, he runs the fingers of his other hand through Eric’s short-cropped hair.
“You with me, Reb?” Dylan asks quietly. Eric nods, still wiping at the tears that have trailed down the side of his face and into his hairline.
“Holy fucking — Jesus shitting Christ, Dylan,” he manages after a minute or so, and Dylan laughs. Eric grimaces at the feeling — Dylan is still on top of him, still inside of him — and gives Dylan’s chest a little shove. Dylan takes the hint and pulls out, flopping down onto the bed beside him with an exhausted sigh.
“I didn’t think I’d get so into that,” Dylan admits, turning his head to look at Eric. He’s sweaty and gross, but Eric knows he’s not much better. He grunts and rolls over, snuggling into Dylan’s side. His heart is still pounding; he’s not sure how long it’ll take him to come down from this. Dylan rubs a hand up and down his back, though, and it helps. This version of him is so different from who he'd been a few minutes ago that it makes Eric's head spin.
“It was good,” Eric admits begrudgingly. Leave it to Dylan to know exactly what he needs before Eric even knows himself. He's annoyed, but more than that, he's truly, deeply in fucking love. But he can't say any of that to Dylan. Not now, and maybe not ever.
“It was… Fuck, man, I don’t really wanna talk. Can we just lay here?”
Dylan keeps stroking his back soothingly. If he keeps it up, Eric might just fall asleep in his arms. Maybe he's just tired, but for once, the idea of something so intimate doesn't scare him. He can hear the smile in Dylan’s voice when he says, “Yeah, Reb. Of course.”