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After the first time, it goes like this:
Sometimes Dylan will suck Eric's dick, and sometimes Eric will let him jerk off on his boots. Eric never touches him, and he never lets Dylan kiss him. They don't talk about it. It just sort of happens from time to time.
It's a pretty sweet deal, as far as Eric's concerned. But as the weeks pass, he finds himself thinking about more and more things he thinks might sweeten it even more. The problem is that he doesn't know what Dylan would be okay with, and he'd rather pull his own teeth than try to discuss it.
In the end, though, it's simple. Eric's always had a habit of overcomplicating things.
They're in Dylan's bedroom. Eric's on the bed, idly flipping through a gun catalog. Dylan's on the floor, doing something complicated with a piece of sound equipment that Eric doesn't care to know any more about. His hair is tied back, and Eric's gaze keeps flicking to his exposed throat. He wants to cover the smooth flesh in bruises. He wonders what kind of noises Dylan would make.
Dylan moves suddenly, startling Eric out of his daydreams. He starts to get up, saying, "Gotta piss. Be right back."
Before he can overthink it or talk himself out of it, Eric says, "No."
His voice is firm and low, and it stops Dylan in his tracks.
Their eyes meet, and like every time before, Eric is sure Dylan understands what's happening. He knows he can laugh it off and walk away. He knows he doesn't have to do anything. Maybe they don't talk about it, but Eric likes to think they don't need to. They understand each other perfectly regardless.
Dylan sits back down without a word.
Eric watches as Dylan tries to refocus on the hunk of metal in his hands. He pretends he's still browsing the catalog, but he's not, and Dylan knows he's not; he keeps glancing back up.
After about five minutes, Dylan starts to shift around a little bit where he's sitting. Eric smirks, flips a page in his catalog, and says nothing.
Another few minutes later, Dylan huffs out an irritated sigh.
"Something wrong, V?" Eric asks, biting back a smirk.
Dylan rolls his eyes, looking up at Eric over the edge of his glasses. "I have to piss," he repeats.
Eric can't help his huff of laughter; he finally tosses the magazine aside and sits up. "I said no."
Dylan meets Eric's eyes, glowering. "What, are you gonna make me piss myself?" Dylan half-jokes. Eric grins, saying nothing, and Dylan falters. "Wait, seriously?"
Eric swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up. He stretches, then sits on the floor beside Dylan. He's so fucking nervous — but he does his best not to let it show, does his best to act like he knows what the fuck he's doing. Eric takes the bits of machinery out of Dylan's hands and sets them aside, then abruptly pushes him flat on his back. Dylan grunts, surprised, and stares up at Eric as he climbs on top of him.
"Don't—"
Eric sits right on Dylan's bladder, making him yelp and squeeze his legs together. Dylan tries to push him away, but Eric catches his wrists and pins them to either side of his head. He watches Dylan's expression, smirking with smug amusement.
"You're such a fucking asshole, Reb," Dylan mutters, looking away and squirming. His ears are bright red, and the flush is starting to creep across his cheeks. Eric admires it for a moment, which only makes Dylan blush harder.
"Hold fucking still," Eric orders, releasing one wrist so he can grab Dylan's hair and pull. Dylan obeys with a whimper, eyes squeezing shut. Eric laughs again, using his grip on Dylan's hair to turn his head to the side. "You whine like a bitch, Vodka."
"Shut the fu—!" Dylan's retort cuts off into a gasp as Eric bites down on his neck and sucks. He squirms beneath him, shoving at Eric's chest with his free hand, but all that does is make Eric bite him harder, squeeze his wrist tighter. Eventually, Dylan goes still, though he occasionally hisses in pain.
When Eric sits up, he admires his handiwork. The mark left behind is even darker than he expected. He shifts atop Dylan, rocking his hips down and back against Dylan's cock. The motion would probably turn him on at any other time, but this time, all Dylan does is wince at the way the movement presses against his bladder.
"Fucker! Eric, seriously, I have to—"
"Are you pussying out on me?" Eric demands, yanking Dylan's hair again and forcing him to meet his eyes. Dylan glowers at him for a moment, then deflates.
"...No," he responds resentfully. Eric smiles.
"No, who?" Eric asks, and Dylan rolls his eyes. He fights against Eric's grip for a moment, but it's all for show. He knows what Eric wants him to say.
"No, sir," Dylan says, putting heavy, sarcastic emphasis on the title. Eric gives his hair another sharp tug, and Dylan's breath catches in his throat.
"Good boy." Eric pats Dylan's cheek — or rather, gives it a single firm slap, making him flinch. "What time are your parents gonna be home?"
Dylan's nose wrinkles, probably at the mention of his family. "Uh, I don't know. Usually not 'til, like, seven. Why?"
Eric rolls off of Dylan quite suddenly, getting up to his feet. Dylan blinks up at him for a moment, looking disoriented, and only follows suit when Eric waves impatiently at him. He follows Eric out of his bedroom and into the bathroom.
Once the door is locked behind them, Eric yanks on Dylan's shoulders until he gets the message and drops to his knees. Dylan looks up at him, brows furrowed; Eric smirks.
"Well? You said you wanted to go to the bathroom. We're here. Go ahead." Dylan glances toward the toilet, but Eric grabs him by the face and redirects his gaze straight ahead. "No, not there. You can go right where you are."
Dylan's face flushes, and he tries to squirm out of Eric's grip. In response, Eric draws his hand back and slaps Dylan hard across the face. Dylan gasps, head turning with the force of it, and Eric watches as he tries to gather himself enough to say something.
Finally, Dylan stutters out, "I — I don't—"
Eric lets go of Dylan so he can undo his button and zipper, then pushes his jeans and underwear down just enough to pull his cock out. He's half-hard, and Dylan relaxes minutely at the sight of his dick. It's all Eric can do not to laugh. Dylan leans in, probably intending to open his mouth and suck him off — but Eric stops him with a hand against his forehead.
"Hold on, faggot," Eric scoffs. "I am gonna make you suck my dick, but not yet."
Dylan looks confused for a moment, and then it clicks. His eyes widen, and he starts to lean away. "Eric, I don't know—"
Eric holds the base of his cock with one hand, and uses the other to grab Dylan by the hair again. "Last chance to pussy out, Vodka. Yes or no?"
Dylan hesitates, eyeing him warily. Then he huffs out a frustrated sigh. "Fine," he mumbles, and relaxes a little. "Fine. Fuck. You're a fucking—"
He can't even finish the sentence before the first stream of piss hits him on the chin.
Dylan yelps, closing his mouth and eyes quickly. Eric laughs, letting go of Dylan's head and adjusting his aim. Piss soaks into Dylan's shirt collar and hair, dripping down his face. Eric can't help a quiet groan at the sight of him, pathetic and piss-soaked and utterly submissive at his feet.
Impulsively, Eric reaches out to grab Dylan's jaw, pushing his thumb between his lips until he parts them with a groan that sounds equal parts disgusted and turned on. The trickle of urine hits Dylan's tongue, and Dylan gags as it spills out and down his chin. As the trickle slows to a drip, Eric pushes his cock into Dylan's mouth.
Dylan splutters, gagging again, and pulls back quickly. Eric lets him, because he's not exactly keen on the idea of Dylan throwing up all over his dick, but jerks himself off while Dylan coughs and spits onto the ground.
"Fuck, Eric," Dylan manages eventually, wiping his eyes so he can open them and look up at Eric. Eric just grins at him, sharp and threatening, and once again tangles his fingers in Dylan's now-soaked hair to pull him forward.
Dylan goes willingly, letting Eric push his cock past his lips and into his mouth. He's gotten a lot better at sucking cock over the past few months, Eric notices with some amount of smug satisfaction. He nudges Dylan's thighs apart with one socked foot, pressing against his cock through his jeans. Only then does he realize that at some point in the last few minutes, Dylan has already wet himself.
"Fucking pathetic," Eric says breathlessly, forcing Dylan's head down onto his dick just a little further. "You'd do anything I fucking told you to, wouldn't you, faggot? Fucking — Christ, Dylan."
Dylan whines around Eric's cock, rocking his hips mindlessly upward. "You fucking love this. Covered in piss and getting off on whatever you can rut against. God, you're like a bitch in heat."
Dylan stubbornly hums a mm-mm noise, but he doesn't try to wrench out of Eric's grasp. In fact, he goes still when Eric starts to move instead, fucking into his mouth. He whimpers when Eric pushes in too deep, but doesn't struggle, doesn't raise his hands to try and push him away. It's not long before Eric's coming in his mouth — and this time, Dylan doesn't need to be goaded into swallowing his cum.
Dylan pulls back with a gasp afterward, and Eric lets him, still coming down from the high of his own orgasm. Dylan is still hard, but he doesn't try to touch himself; he just uses his new freedom of movement to keep rutting up against the sole of Eric's foot, instead.
"I knew you were into feet, you freak," Eric muses after a minute. He pushes Dylan away so he can lift himself up on the bathroom counter. Dylan whines at the loss of friction, but then Eric has both feet in Dylan's lap. He can feel Dylan's piss soaking into his socks, which is... Fucking gross, but Eric figures he deserves at least this much.
"You're fucking disgusting, Vodka," Eric says, pressing the ball of his foot down against Dylan's cock. "Take it out, faggot, before I change my mind."
Dylan scrambles to undo his jeans, pushing the wet fabric down to his knees along with his underwear. Eric traces his toes along the side of Dylan's cock, making him whimper. "You're a pretty obedient bitch, though, I'll give you that."
Eric is a little nervous about actively touching Dylan's dick, but — they've already crossed about a thousand lines. He can figure out how to give Dylan a footjob. Dylan is already so hard that he could probably come from a light breeze, anyway. Eric lifts both legs and holds Dylan's cock between the arches of his feet, forming a sort of loose circle around it. The way it makes Dylan gasp and thrust upward is immediately worth the embarrassment.
Eric doesn't end up having to do much at all. Dylan holds his feet in place as he fucks up into the circle they form. There's no way the damp, rough fabric of Eric's socks feels good against Dylan's cock, but he's sure as fuck not complaining. Within minutes, Dylan is flushed and whining, and Eric can tell he's about to come.
"Please, please, can I..." Dylan breathes, meeting Eric's eyes briefly before looking away again. "Eric, please—"
"Yeah, yeah. You can come, faggot. But you gotta clean it up afterward," Eric says, trying to sound bored and not as though he's enraptured with the way Dylan looks like this.
Dylan comes shortly later, striping Eric's socks with translucent white. Only a few seconds pass before Eric shakes Dylan's hands off of his feet so he can shove them in his face. Dylan, obedient and pathetic as ever, leans in to lick what he can from Eric's socks. Only then does Eric let his legs rest against the counter so he can slump back against the mirror, ass halfway in the sink. There's silence as both boys take a minute to catch their breath.
Dylan is the one to break the silence; eventually, he starts laughing. The sound makes Eric raise his head, and then he cracks up too, looking down at Dylan on the floor.
"What the fuck, man," Dylan manages between cackles, and Eric snorts, practically doubling over.
"Don't ask me. Go take a fucking shower." Eric stands up on slightly wobbly legs, offering Dylan a nervous grin. "I'll clean the floor, or whatever. And get clean clothes. God, this is disgusting." He bends down to take off his socks, tossing them off to the side somewhere. Dylan scrambles out of the way, which makes Eric laugh again.
"Dude, you're already covered in piss."
"Shut up, I know! It's just." Dylan wrinkles his nose. "Ew. Jesus Christ. I'm getting in the shower, I'll leave the door unlocked."
"Whatever, faggot," Eric says, and dashes out of the bathroom before Dylan has time to be indignant.