Work Text:
April 20th, 1999. Columbine High School, Colorado.
“That was boring.”
Eric Harris stated clearly to his best friend, Dylan Klebold.
Dylan had just killed their final victim of the dreaded Columbine High School Massacre, Corey DePooter, and went from the library back to the cafeteria to set off the other hidden bombs. When they failed to cause a major explosion, Eric and Dylan were probably equally as disappointed that the bombs didn’t go as planned.
“Yeah.” Dylan murmured. “You ready to end this, Reb?” He then asked to his friend after a brief pause. They planned to kill themselves together after all the blood they spilled during this massacre.
Eric looked over at Dylan. Hesitating for a moment before replying.
“I am. Let’s go.”
***
They both ran back to the library, hearing police sirens all around. Dylan lead Eric to a more secluded spot in that room. They sat on the floor, Eric putting the barrel of his sawed shotgun, Arlene, in his mouth. Dylan held his TEC-DC9 to his left temple.
“We’re still doing this, right, VoDKa?” Eric looked back to his best friend.
“Yeah. Of course.” Dylan answered. “You wanna shoot on three?” He suggested after yet another pause. They were both somewhat nervous.
Eric nodded, finger on the trigger. Dylan started to count.
“One…” tick. “Two…” tick. “Three.”
BOOM.
Eric collapsed, gun clattering to the floor. Blood started to pool around him, his face blown completely off of his head.
Dylan however, hesitated. His semi-automatic handgun still at his left temple. He didn’t shoot just yet.
He looked down at the fresh corpse of his friend for a long moment. Studying it, almost. “You look so peaceful now.” Dylan commented, though it fell on deaf ears. He dropped his gun beside him.
Dylan had lots of feelings. Majority of them being unspoken, or written in his journal. One of the unspoken feelings, was how much he fucking loved Eric. He could’ve never told Eric that, though. Especially not now. He could barely even admit it to himself.
Dylan always found himself wondering what it would be like to make love to Eric. To kiss him, to hold him, to date him. Maybe Eric would’ve been a better partner than any girl Dylan ever fantasized about.
Now Eric was dead. Not to mention, Eric only ever liked girls. He’d never get those questions answered. Would he?
Eric was… dead. He couldn’t do anything to fight back. He couldn’t tell Dylan to stop.
Dylan yet again, was hesitant. This would be a complete violation of his friend. What if people saw? The media would call him every name in the book. Most importantly, a faggot. Which was a word Dylan absolutely despised being called. He wasn’t a fag. He liked girls too, after all. Bisexual was what he referred to himself as. Not a known term at the time, but it was the closest word to describe his romantic and sexual preferences.
Though, would anybody see? Anyone who was near where they were in the library was probably already dead, and majority of the students had already escaped.
Dylan took a breath. It could be quick, right? Then he could shoot himself and it would all be over. Nobody would know.
***
He decided to take his chances.
“Fuck.. Sorry, Reb.” Dylan spoke, crawling over Eric and undoing his own belt and pants. He slipped his dick out of his boxers, already hard and leaking.
He then turned Eric on his stomach, undoing his friend’s belt and sliding down his pants and boxers just enough to expose him.
“You look so much better like this...” Dylan remarked, positioning his throbbing dick against Eric’s hole. They were both virgins, although they tried their hardest to get laid before the massacre.
Dylan slowly slid into Eric. His dick being enveloped by his friend’s warm heat as he penetrated him. “Fuck…” Dylan moaned out softly, bottoming out inside of his tight hole.
Dylan waited a moment, before starting to thrust slowly, holding Eric’s hips. This was so fucking hot. At least, that’s what Dylan thought.
He started to thrust faster into his friend, clearly trying to get the experience over with as quick as possible so nobody notices. His breathing gets heavier, adrenaline pumping. “Holy shit… FuckFuckFuck!” Dylan lets out strings of curses, deep in pleasure. He’s starting to practically pound into the freshly dead body of his friend. Blood still seeping out of his head wound.
Dylan starts to sweat a little from how much energy he was putting into it, he was so pent up. All those months of sitting around Eric, just wishing his friend could’ve been face down on his own bed, moaning and whimpering as Dylan fucked him hard. So rough Eric wouldn’t be able to walk for a week. He wondered if Eric sometimes felt the same about him.
Dylan wished he could hear Eric moan. He wished he could tie Eric up, do unspeakable things to him. Wished he could mark his entire body up with bruises, burns, bite marks, and cuts. Dylan would probably even go as far as carving his name into Eric with a knife. He’d enjoy that. He knew Eric probably wouldn’t, though. Then again, it was all too late.
Dylan started to get closer to his orgasm, his thrusts getting erratic and sloppy. “Mm… Shit! I’m gonna—“
Dylan groans as he spills into Eric, finally reaching his climax. He trembles, pulling out after a quick moment. Absolutely spent.
Dylan slowly pulls Eric’s pants and boxers back up, flipping him onto his back. He tries to make it look like nothing happened.
Though, the autopsy would probably show Eric’s dead body was raped, anyway.
Dylan cleans himself off, pulling his own pants and boxers up. Redoing his belt. He moves off of Eric, looking down at him once more. Sure, he felt a little guilty. Doesn’t mean he didn’t love every second of violating his friend. He was sick like that, and of course, Eric was too. Seeing how he would always talk about some rape fantasy with a chick to Dylan… They were both pretty much equally insane teenagers. Eric just made his insanity more obvious. Dylan knew this. The media would probably portray Dylan as some victim. Dylan was not a victim.
Dylan finally gets back in position, grabbing his gun and pointing it his left temple again. He braces for impact, but not before he says one last thing.
“Love you, Reb.”
Dylan pulls the trigger, and ends up drowning in his own blood. The TEC-DC9 wasn’t exactly the best gun to kill yourself with, after all.