
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/470451.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Weeds
  Relationship:
      Shane_Botwin/Silas_Botwin
  Character:
      Shane_Botwin, Silas_Botwin
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Sharing_a_Room, Underage_Sex, Blow_Jobs, Hand_Jobs,
      Guilt, Masturbation, Mental_Health_Issues
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-10-17 Words: 4210
****** the cock of a rifle, a memory in the dark ******
by likecharity
Summary
     Silas says, "Y-yeah," because—well, fuck knows why, because
     apparently it's impossible to be a morally decent Botwin and because
     right now he's pretty sure he might die if somebody doesn't touch his
     dick.
Notes
     Shane is fifteen, and there's some sexual activity that takes place
     in close proximity to sleeping people. Set during 6x02, so spoilers
     up until then. Title from, uh, 'Erection' by The Faint. Yeah. I can't
     lie, this is a pretty weird story.
"You are so fucked up."
Shane just shrugs, and Silas shakes his head. He doesn't want to start another
fight—in the past, he wouldn't have even worried about Shane overpowering him,
but now his little brother's a murderer and the look in his eyes when he threw
himself at him earlier was more than a little unnerving. He doesn't want to
risk it.
"What? Would you rather I was wallowing in guilt?" Shane says scornfully.
"Well—yeah," Silas stammers. "I mean, like a normal person."
Shane wrinkles his nose. "I am a normal person."
Silas snorts. "A normal person who killed somebody."
Shane rolls his eyes. "Oh, I just feel so bad for the heroic act of protecting
my family," he says, heavily sarcastic. "I don't know how I can live with
myself."
Silas can't help it. His brother's apparent inability to see this for what it
is infuriates him, and he finds himself grabbing Shane by the shoulders and
actually shaking him.
"Would you stop talking about yourself as a hero and realise you're a fucking
murderer?" he snaps, but Shane just laughs, which makes the anger flare up
inside Silas even more.
He shakes Shane a little too violently, and Shane lashes out, pushing him
backwards onto the bed and clambering on top of him. They wrestle, and within
seconds, Shane's got him pinned, straddling him at the hips and holding his
shoulders down with surprising (and slightly scary) strength. Silas struggles,
tries to heave Shane off him, but before he even has the chance, Shane's
ducking down, coming right at him. Silas only just manages to jerk his head out
of the way in time, and when he looks back up, Shane's face is mere inches away
and looking vaguely irritated.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Silas demands.
"Well, I was trying to do this," Shane says, and this time Silas doesn't get a
chance to move, and Shane's lips are against his, pressing with a strange
combination of tenderness and persistence.
It only lasts about a couple of seconds, while Silas is too shocked to react,
and then his hand's on Shane's chest and pushing him away with all his might.
Wild-eyed and sweating, feeling his heart pounding worryingly fast, he stares
up at his little brother, who appears just as calm as ever (if not more).
"What—what the fuck," is all Silas can manage this time.
Shane straightens up, settling back across Silas's hips. This position is
making Silas increasingly uncomfortable, but Shane just looks at him
questioningly as there's absolutely nothing out of the ordinary going on.
Silas gestures a little frantically at him. "Well?" he says. "What the fuck was
that?"
"Uh, that was a kiss," Shane says, slowly, like he's talking to a preschooler.
"I'm pretty sure you've experienced it before, I didn't realise you were gonna
need an explanation."
"I fucking do need an explanation," Silas exclaims. Jesus. As if jacking off to
those old pictures of Mom wasn't enough, now Shane wants to make out with his
brother?
He can't deal with Shane straddling him like this any longer so he pushes him
back, which leads to another brief bout of unanticipated wrestling and somehow
ends up with Silas pinning Shane down on the bed, lying right on top of him.
But Shane just quirks an eyebrow at him and says nothing.
"That," Silas hisses through his teeth, "that—kissing—whatever—that's not okay,
dude. I'm not okay with that."
"Okay," Shane replies.
"Okay?" Silas repeats.
Shane looks at him like he's the one being weird. "Okay..." he says again. A
pause. "So can you get off me now? I might get mixed signals."
Silas does get off him (immediately, at that) and settles back on the bed again
to watch whatever it is he was watching on TV before. He barely has a chance to
work out what it actually is before Shane's talking again.
"So does your rejection of me stem from the social stigma against incest, or is
it just that I'm not your type?" he enquires.
Silas looks at him, momentarily speechless.
"Dude, we're brothers," he manages eventually. "Plus, I'm...you know, not gay?"
"Is that both, then?"
"What?" Silas is floundering. "Mom," he calls, "Shane's being weird!"
"That's because he's a psychopath now, get used to it," comes Nancy's voice
from the bathroom.
"Oh, so it's normal for psychopaths to be into incest?" Silas ignores the sharp
jab of Shane's elbow into his ribs.
"What?" Nancy's head appears from around the corner this time. She's wearing
another wig, this one an unnatural red and hanging in tight curls to her chin.
"He said—" Silas starts, but his mother violently shakes her head, red ringlets
bouncing ridiculously.
"No, never mind, I don't want to know," she interrupts him, ducking back into
the bathroom. "I really don't want to know," they hear her mutter from inside.
"I wanna know," says Andy, coming out wearing some rather bizarre false facial
hair. He pauses. "What do I wanna know?" he asks, apparently having been too
wrapped up in his disguise makeover to hear them.
"Shane—" Silas starts, but for some reason finds himself unable to actually say
it. "Sh—" he tries again, to no avail.
Andy strokes his beard pensively. "Wow, you can't even say it? That bad, huh?"
A thought suddenly strikes him. "Oh god, he didn't kill anyone else while we
weren't looking, did he?"
"No," Silas sighs. "He's just...being a freak."
"Oh, well what else is new," Andy says, losing interest, and disappears back
into the bathroom.
Shane reaches over Silas for the remote, which makes Silas tense up rather
excessively, and turns up the volume. He waits a moment or two, as though he's
genuinely interested in hearing about the antique teapots the old lady on the
TV is selling, and then he looks back at Silas and says,
"So. When's the last time you had sex?"
Silas frowns at him. "What? I don't know." Too long ago. "Why?"
"Just asking. I know you can't go that long without it, that's all. And hey, if
you ever need an extra hand to—"
"Woah, woah," Silas cuts him off, but Shane is already making a crude gesture
anyway.
"I have a mouth, too," Shane goes on, popping out one of his cheeks with his
tongue and bringing the gesture to his lips to make it even cruder. "A pretty
good one, or so I've been told."
"What?" Silas bursts out. "Who've you—"
He pauses, trying to get a hold of himself and the situation in general. He
licks his dry lips without thinking, and inadvertantly makes Shane smirk. Silas
lowers his voice, hisses, "Who've you been sucking off?"
Shane shrugs, settling back against the headboard casually. He's toying with
the drawstring of his pants and it's making Silas nervous. "Oh, you know, just
some guys." He flashes Silas a look. "Why, you jealous?"
"No! What is wrong with you?"
"I don't know, apparently I'm a psychopath."
Silas frowns, chewing his lip in agitation. That answer doesn't really explain
this, at least not enough for his liking. It doesn't explain why his little
brother is relentlessly, unabashedly hitting on him all of a sudden, or why
he's acting like it's no big deal (just like he's acting like murdering a woman
is no big deal either, Silas reminds himself). It doesn't explain why he's
apparently been sucking off random guys, and it sure as hell doesn't explain
why Silas can't get that fucking image out of his mind—of Shane on his knees
for some guy, a big hand raking through his hair as his head bobs back and
forth, hot hard flesh stretching his lips—
Jesus Christ. Maybe he really does need to get laid.
"This—this is not something I want to talk about," Silas says firmly.
"Okay," Shane shrugs. "I'm just saying. I know you can't go that long without
jerking off, and it's gonna be a little cramped here, so..."
He gestures to the bed that they're gonna have to share tonight, and Silas's
heart sinks. They really, really need to find somewhere with more beds next
time.
                                      ***
That night, Silas lies in that very same bed, completely and utterly wide
awake. It's at least 2am, and he hasn't been able to get to sleep yet at all.
How, he's not sure—everyone else is knocked out, exhausted from the events of
the past 24 hours, but it doesn't matter how tired Silas's body is if his mind
can't calm down.
He closes his eyes, tries to clear his thoughts. Usually, when he can't sleep,
jacking off helps him relax, but that doesn't seem like the best idea what with
Shane right beside him and Andy and Nancy just a few feet away. Especially
after what Shane said tonight.
Even so, the idea kind of nags at him. It's been a few days since he last got
off, thanks to the family's latest burst of insanity, and, regrettably, it
seems he's getting to the point of desperation. God, he doesn't want to think
about it, he doesn't, but just having Shane sitting on him like that—a warm
body against him, settled right on his lap—it did something to him. Made him
want to fuck somebody.
And when his thoughts drift to sex, he finds them making their way right back
to Shane again, the warmth of him and the smell of his sweat, and his
strength—the feeling of those muscles holding him down. His eyes dart to Shane
instinctively, guilt washing over him. He's curled up on his side, facing
Silas, his eyes closed, eyelashes making delicate little shadows across his
cheeks. His lips are slightly parted, and an image flashes back, unbidden, into
Silas's mind—Shane giving a blowjob, those plump lips wrapped around a dick...
Silas groans, rolling over onto his side away from Shane as he feels himself
starting to get hard. He tells himself it's just because he's thinking about
sex—thinking about anyone's lips wrapped around a dick right now would probably
do it for him—but fuck, he doesn't need this. He really does not fucking need
this. Isn't it enough that his brother murdered someone? Isn't it enough that
his family is on the run and planning to change their identities? Does
incestuous lust really have to be thrown into the mix?
He refuses to even acknowledge that he thought that. Shane's fucking with his
head, that's all—kissing him and propositioning him like that, being even more
of a freak like usual, has messed Silas up in a situation that's already taking
a toll on his emotions anyway.
Still, he can rationalize it all he likes, but it doesn't stop the little movie
reel playing over and over in the back of his mind...Shane sucking some dude's
dick into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue...
The fact that it's his little brother he's thinking about apparently doesn't
concern his own dick, as his erection's full and aching now between his legs,
straining uncomfortably against the cotton of his pajamas. He's gonna have to
jerk off, he's gonna have to otherwise he'll be lying awake all fucking night
nursing a hard-on that won't go down.
He shuts his eyes tight, trying to block out the sound of Andy's snoring and
pretend he's somewhere else—anywhere but here—as he snakes his hand down inside
his pants and feels himself, cups himself in his hand and almost swears out
loud at the relief the simple touch brings. He's so hard, his dick wet a little
at the tip already and clinging hot and sticky to the skin of his palm.
He brings his hand back up to spit into it, and then returns it between his
legs, wrapping it around himself and stroking, shuddering a little. It's
uncomfortable on his side like this, legs together, and he shifts, tries to
reposition himself. He stretches a leg out too far behind him and his foot
connects with something. It's not until there's a soft mumble of a sound that
he realises he must've kicked Shane, and he freezes. Grimacing, he cranes his
neck back, peering through the dark to see if anyone's awake. He hates to
remind himself that he's doing this in the same room as three other people
(plus a baby), but he's too far gone to stop now and he may as well check that
those other people are as oblivious as he hopes they are.
Andy's still snoring away, and beyond him, Silas can see his mother, splayed
out on the bed with various limbs draped over Andy's body and sheets kicked
down to her ankles. She's clearly fast asleep, out like a light. And then
there's Shane, who—thank God—looks pretty much exactly as he did before. Silas
breathes a quiet, shaky sigh of relief, and rolls onto his back again. As much
as he'd like to pretend he's alone in the room, it's safer if he's at least
somewhat aware of everybody's movements, and plus, this position is a lot more
comfortable.
He settles back, staring at the ceiling, and gingerly starts to move his hand
again. Slow at first—relaxing, relishing the feeling, the friction against the
slick and tender skin. He tightens his curled fingers, twists, speeds up.
Before long he's almost forgotten about everything around him, his head thrown
back and his hand bringing him ever closer to orgasm.
"Told you you couldn't go that long without it," comes Shane's voice suddenly,
a whisper that breaks the silence and nearly has Silas jumping out of his skin.
"Shit."
He fumbles to get his cock back inside his pants, forgetting momentarily that
the sheets are covering him anyway, and accidentally snaps the elastic
waistband on himself. He swears again, wincing.
"Hey, don't stop for my sake," Shane whispers, and Silas can practically hear
the fucking smirk in his words. "I was enjoying the show."
Silas groans. "You're so fucked up. You are so fucked up."
"I know, I know, murder and incest, yada yada yada, I'm the antichrist," Shane
mutters, and then actually pauses to yawn. When he speaks again, Silas is
pretty sure he says, "Can I?"
"Can you what?"
"You know. Give you a hand."
Silas braves a look at his brother, and is a little disarmed to see him looking
so normal, just lying there propped up on one arm and smiling sleepily. Silas
can't find any words to respond with. His mind is repeating a mantra of fuck
no, but his body is telling an entirely different story.
"I've watched you before, you know," Shane says, almost conversationally. "You
always made it so easy. You jerk off ridiculously often."
"You—what—"
Silas knows he should be mad, should feel violated and disgusted, but fuck—if
there's one thing that turns him on like nothing else, it's being watched.
Maybe it's a little narcissistic, but just the thought of having somebody
spying on him getting off, without him knowing it...he swears it's making him
harder. How many times? What did he look like? Hand working himself, body
flushed and sweaty and bare—and Shane might've seen him come—
He's so caught up thinking about it that he doesn't notice Shane's hand
slipping under the covers, and he jumps again when he feels it brush against
his stomach.
"Hey, chill," Shane whispers. "It's just me."
Which is the problem.
But Shane's long, cool fingers gently brushing the hot, taut skin of Silas's
stomach feel kinda good, and even better when they're skimming the waistband of
his pajamas.
"Can I?"
Silas says, "Y-yeah," because—well, fuck knows why, because apparently it's
impossible to be a morally decent Botwin and because right now he's pretty sure
he might die if somebody doesn't touch his dick.
And Shane does—hurriedly pulling Silas's pants down out of the way like he
can't fucking wait, and clumsily groping for his erection under the covers
before grasping it in his fist and letting out an unsteady little breath at the
feel of it.
"You can tell me to stop if you really want to, by the way," Shane murmurs. "I
might be okay with some pretty unusual things, but molestation isn't one of
them."
And Silas knows he should speak up at this point, should say that yeah,
actually, Shane should probably stop, they should probably go to sleep and
pretend none of this ever happened, but—god, what he's doing feels really
fucking good.
And besides, when's the last time Silas did what he should do, anyway?
Shane's hand is confident, firm, and just tight enough as he slowly starts to
jerk Silas off, palm sliding and pulling and twisting. Speeding up. Making
Silas have to fight the urge to moan. He shudders suddenly as Shane's thumb
strokes over the head of his dick, skimming the slit over and over until it's
almost too much. He's starting to lose the feeling in his hands, and he's
biting his lip so hard it hurts.
Shane chuckles low beside him. "I know you like that," he says, and then "hang
on," as he lets go and shimmies down under the covers.
Oh, fuck.
Silas is not letting his little brother suck him off. He's not, he's not, he's
not. This is not a thing that is happening.
Except, oh fuck, Shane's touching him again and Silas knows there's no way he's
about to stop him. He's got his hand wrapped around his cock at the base, and
Silas can feel warm breath ghosting over his aching flesh, teasing. It's taking
every ounce of his self-control not to buck his hips right up into that mouth.
Then suddenly, he feels it—Shane's tongue, sliding over the tip of his cock. So
hot and so wet, and so teasing, as he licks down the shaft and back up before
sweeping over the head once again. And shit, Silas's hips practically have a
mind of their own by now, and he's jerking up before he can help himself, his
cock parting Shane's lips and sliding smoothly inside his mouth. And Silas
feels like it's been years since he last had a blowjob.
He draws fistfuls of sheets into his hands and squeezes so tight that his
knuckles go white, and focuses whatever last shreds of self-control he has on
trying not to just fuck Shane's mouth.
He feels Shane swallow around him, a gulp that draws him even deeper into the
slick warmth, and then Shane's drawing his mouth back up, lips tight around him
as they slide up his length and back down again, and again, deeper every time.
Silas jerks when he feels two hands smooth along his hips, and it's only then
that he realises his ass is barely touching the bed. Shane pushes him down,
hardly gentle, and then holds him tight as he opens his throat and tries to
take Silas all the way in.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
There's a slight sound of gagging, and then a harsher one, and Silas forces
himself to glance over to the other bed for any signs of stirring. But there
are none, and then there's no more struggling either, as Shane takes him right
down and Silas feels nothing but wonderful tight heat and Shane's nose pressed
right against his pubic hair. Jesus fuck.
For a blissful moment, lost in pleasure, he has absolutely no idea why he would
ever have been resistant to this idea.
And then Shane's mouth slips away with a quiet pop and his head appears from
under the covers, linen framing his face. And Silas sees that face, and he
remembers.
"Hang on," says Shane, and Silas sort of forgets again, because Shane's voice
has this husky quality he's never heard before like his throat is a little raw,
and his lips are shiny and slick and red. "I'm totally gonna do that again,
don't worry, I just—I wanna watch you this time."
Silas's only response to this is to throw his head back, and inhale shakily,
and stare up at the ceiling, trying to prepare himself.
One of Shane's hands tightens on his hip. "No," he hisses, "you watch, too."
Silas really isn't sure he's gonna be able to cope with that, but he obeys
anyway, because he's pretty much willing to do anything right now if it'll get
his dick sucked like that again. He rubs his eyes, finds himself grinning at
the absurdity of it all, and stares down at Shane. Shane grins back almost
wickedly, and then slithers back down Silas's body. This causes Silas's cock to
rub all the way up against Shane's stomach and chest, and Silas has to try
really, really hard not to come right then and there.
Shane strokes him over once again, twists the cupped palm of his hand over the
head and grins up at Silas. He opens his mouth, and sucks Silas in again, and
Silas watches, almost stunned, as inch by inch his cock disappears between
Shane's lips. Shane stares up at him all the while, dark eyes welling up the
deeper he goes. When his mouth is all the way full, Silas's breathing is
starting to sound worryingly ragged, and while before he wasn't sure if he
could look Shane in the eye, now he's not sure he can look away.
It seems to spur Shane on somehow (because he's fucked up, Silas reminds
himself, he's so fucked up), and all of a sudden he's really working Silas's
cock with his mouth, taking him into his throat over and over even as it makes
his eyes water, and tonguing the tip 'til Silas doesn't know if he can take any
more.
He can feel a knot unravelling faster and faster in the pit of his stomach, and
he would feel guilty, he really would, he'd be beating himself up for this and
then some, only—he's so tired of emotions right now. He's had a stressful 24
hours—a stressful week, a stressful year, a stressful life—and he can't deal
with thinking about it anymore. He just wants a good blowjob and a good night's
sleep, and to worry about it later.
It suddenly occurs to him that solving his problems with sex and sleep probably
isn't the best way to do things, but fuck it, it's always worked for him
before.
Just then, there's a tiny little noise, Shane whimpering against the slick head
of Silas's dick, and Silas realises Shane's getting himself off, too. One of
the hands on Silas's hips has disappeared, and is between Shane's legs, and
Silas can see it moving so fast it's practically a blur. He catches a glimpse
of slick, shiny, flushed skin, and he barely has a chance to warn Shane before
he's coming, choking out vague syllables and spilling into Shane's open mouth
with a shudder that wracks his whole body. Shane's body jolts too, and Silas
watches him gasp and pant. He's still coming—splashing Shane's cheek and chin
now, but Shane's right there with him, and Silas feels it on his thigh and the
sheets beneath him, the heat and wetness.
"Fuck. Fuck." Silas bites the words out, his head spinning. His body feels like
it weighs about a ton, and the weight of Shane on top of him isn't helping.
But Shane is dazed, still milking himself dry, and then using that same hand to
wipe Silas's come from his face and lick it. He makes a bit of a face, but then
licks his palm clean anyway. Silas almost wants to look away, except for the
fact that he really, really doesn't.
"Here, get off me," he mutters instead, voice rough, "'s too hot."
Shane sort of rolls off him, slumps back down beside him again. There's a
horrible silence.
Or, rather, the horrible sound of Andy's snoring, and nothing else.
"Great, so, I have to sleep in the wet spot?" Silas whispers, half genuinely
pissed and half trying to make a joke. His heart's still racing at about a
hundred miles per hour and the panic is starting to set in. Or back in.
Whatever.
Shane yawns. And shrugs. And then, after fumbling around a bit to get his
pajamas back on, curls back up facing Silas and settles down against his
pillow.
"I was lying, you know," he says, sleepily.
"What?"
"I've never done that before."
Well shit, you'd never guess, Silas thinks, dumbfounded, but he can't quite
bring himself to say it. He's also thinking about how he really fucking
shouldn't have been the first person Shane did that to, and how he shouldn't
have let Shane do that period, and about a hundred other 'shouldn'ts' that are
probably going to keep him awake all night.
"I'm so fucked up," he hears himself say, then, a stunned and broken whisper as
he lies there staring at the ceiling again, pants still tangled somewhere
around his knees and his dick still going soft.
Shane snorts quietly. "Hey, welcome to the club," he murmurs. "Maybe we should
make t-shirts."
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