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Chapter Text

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Chapter Text

Eric heaves out a sigh. He knew offering to hang out with Dylan when he's in one of his moods would only result in misery. But Dylan is safe from cutting himself with Eric around to vent to and that's all that mattered at the moment Eric agreed to come over.

"Do you know why she said no?" Eric muses carefully, watching Dylan's thin shoulders hunch into a defeated shrug.

"I don't fucking know dude. I thought she liked me. She always smiled at me and shit in the hallway between classes. Then, the moment I suggest we hang out somewhere besides school she looks at me like I have three goddamn heads."

He sniffles, using the back of his hand to swipe a tear at the corner of his eye.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

Eric nods, even though Dylan can't see.

"Yeah. Bitches, man. I don't get them either. I try and be nice and sweet and shit. I hold doors for them or whatever. Then they're always fucking the white hats anyway so it's all fucking pointless."

Eric jumps when he hears a loud, cracked sob from Dylan. The blonde cranes his left arm over his eyes, elbow against his forehead, and his right hand clenches the bed sheets so tight his knuckles pale. His entire body wracks with quiet gasps, and Eric gets a lump in his throat at the way Dylan's lips tremble. Eric's comforter gets dotted with unevenly round tears, little specks of depression that leak through the golden branches of Dylan's hair as he lies on Eric's bed. Eric stands from his desk chair, carefully moving to sit a foot away from Dylan. He's close enough to see the clench in his best friends agonized brow.

"You're gonna cry the blue out of your eyes." Eric coos, trying to be playful. After a few moments of not getting a response, Eric knocks Dylan's head like a wooden door. "Hello, is Vodka there?"

Dylan makes a whimpering sound and rolls his head over toward Eric, his left eye now visible but totally screwed shut. Big globby tears roll from the center of his closed eyelid, and his mouth presses into a flat line. He's trying to hold tears back.

"We could change her mind... with some work." Eric offers, scratching his nails near Dylan's ear.

His instinct is to reach out and hug his friend, maybe even help him dry his tears. Too many times in his life Eric's been belted on the ass for being too sensitive though, so he opts for keeping his hand at least a few inches from Dylan's... well, Dylan's anything. He just scratches his nails near Dylan's face, like his blonde friend is a golden Tabby cat and he's trying to get the feline's attention.

"Even if we did she wouldn't ever know the real me. She'd never love me for who I am." Dylan forces the words out, his voice strained behind his crying. "Nobody will ever love me. I want to fucking kill people and just die already."

"I think Mallory is still out there for you, dude. It's not over until it's over."

Dylan solemnly shakes his head. "It is over for me. I give up trying to find some chick to be my Mallory. That was just a fucking movie."

His mouth tightens again and he begins to sob anew, somehow re-energized to break down all over again. Eric feels guilty. He can tell words alone aren't exactly helping. He raises his hand and ever so lightly grazes the tip of Dylan's elbow with the pads of his fingers. Dylan moves his arm and Eric immediately retracts his touch, snapping his hand back to his own body. Dylan sniffles and opens his eyes at Eric, a bit of confusion and question swimming amongst the pooling tears. The whites are red and bloodshot, the blue of his irises indeed seeming dimmer than before. Eric internally winces. He wants to take all the pain away but every hateful thing his father has ever said about fags and being queer jumbles his guts so he stands up in a shot to avoid Dylan's piercing stare. To flee from his own empathy.

"I'll get you some toilet paper to dry off with."

Eric hastily tromps to the bathroom, clumsily rolling a big chunk of toilet paper around his hand. He feels his heart ache at the sound of Dylan trying to quiet another sob back in the bedroom, so he pretends to wash his hands to give Dylan a few moments alone before returning.

In the dark after Dylan's gone home, Eric sobs and cuddles his pillow. Far away from judgement and hateful words, he lets his own dam break for a little while. He knows he shouldn't, but even eighteen years of being taught to be tough hasn't hardened his heart completely.

Two weeks later and Dylan is anxious. He hasn't seen Eric all day. He mouths pensively around his Marlboro and snaps his fingers to a song in his head, standing alone at the smokers pit. Eric always joins him for a smoke at the mid morning break. Always. Dylan takes the cigarette from between his lips, blowing out the puff he's held in his lungs for over thirty seconds. He hears a vague conversation from his peripheral surroundings.

"Did you see how that fucking pussy cowered when I shoved him against the locker?" One low, ostentatious male voice queries.

"Yeah, that was so fucking funny. What a faggot." A higher pitched male voice agrees. The two of them laugh obnoxiously in unison, shoving each other toward a ritzy souped up Jeep in the parking lot. They sound like rich jocks, of course.

Dylan turns and disguises the intention of his movement by discarding his cigarette into the trash bucket, even though his smoke isn't even close to being spent. His real purpose is to look at who's talking, and to his dismay it's two white hats that have given Eric shit before. In fact, it's the fucking zombies who threw tampons covered in ketchup at them both last year. Dylan's blood fucking boils. He walks off without a word or another moment to spare.

The drive to Eric's house is agonizing. It's only about fifteen minutes from school but it feels like a goddamn eternity. He peels into the driveway and parks his BMW crooked. Eric's parents aren't home so it doesn't matter. Dylan pounds on the front door, ringing the doorbell several times. He's too pent up with wrath and worry to wait so he abandons getting in the nice way and pushes to the side yard, finding the widow into Eric's basement that has a busted lock. Eric broke it himself so it could look locked but he could get out even if he's grounded.

Dylan pops it open, shuffling his long legs into the small space of the window. He's lost enough weight to slide in pretty easily, although the landing is always rough. His boots crash onto the carpeted floor and Dylan's chin meets the nubby nylon. Eric whips around in his desk chair, tearing the headphones off his ears. The muffled music of Doom escapes the little ear pieces and he hastily pauses the level he's trying to master.

"V! What the fucking fuck?!"

"Could use... some help..." Dylan wheezes, scrunching his body at the pain in his winded lungs.

Eric lifts his headphones off and rushes to Dylan, grabbing his arm.

"The fuck you doing here?"

The taller man feebly stands, rubbing his aching hip.

"Looking for you. You skipped smoke break. You never skip smoke break."

Eric's neck and jawline tense up, he suddenly can't look Dylan in the face

"I couldn't be there today."

Dylan balls his fists up.

"Was it the fuck face I heard calling you a faggot?"

Eric doesn't answer.

"Tell me!"

"I didn't start it, okay?" Eric replies, almost ashamed.

"So it was you he was talking about? He fucking shoved you against the lockers?"

Eric twitches, fighting for a lie, fighting to invent a cool story, fighting to change the truth to be less fucking sad than what it really was.

"Reb?!"

Eric's resolve and fight instinct snap. He never was good at lying to Dylan, his best friend wasn't as stupid to believe bullshit like everyone else.

"Yeah. He did."

Dylan sighs, frustrated and fucking enraged. He thinks for a moment, while Eric stands there looking at nothing at all except the void of the basement.

"Where does it hurt?"

Eric looks over his shoulder slightly, flexing his chest.

"My back. He jammed me right into the handle of a locker."

Dylan ducks around easily, stunning and confusing the older man. Eric raises an opening for Dylan to explain by trying to follow his friend, he's one step into turning around to face Dylan again when a big hand on his arm stops him in his tracks.

"Stop. I'm trying to see."

Eric freezes at the feeling of Dylan's palm traveling from his arm to his back, the sensation of touch against his spine. The blonde inspects a small spot of blood on Eric's shirt. He must have been thrown so hard that he got a scrape.

"You've got blood here." Dylan hums, frowning because this is Eric's white beer festival t-shirt. The blood will definitely stain it.

Eric gasps when Dylan's adept fingers creep under the hem of the fabric. It only takes one electric brush of Dylan's calloused knuckle against Eric's silky flesh for him to jump in panic.

"DUDE!" Eric protests, squirming with abject terror.

"Fuck, Reb, just relax!" Dylan commands, voice raised and condescendingly stern.

Eric shifts but doesn't disobey, although he does begin to see his basement fucking spin. It all feels unreal, the cool slide of fabric lifting and exposing his chest to open air, the way Dylan expertly removes the neck of the shirt first, peeling the sleeves off in a way that spares his friend from having to trouble himself in the slightest. It all feels sickeningly comfortable, horribly pure and innocent. All at once Eric is shirtless and too stunned to fucking do or say anything.

"God, Reb, it’s a nasty one." Dylan grumbles, finger pad of his index finger drawing down the outline of the locker handle-shaped scrape. "It's scabbed up at least."

Eric fucking shivers at how Dylan's touches make him bubble inside. the pockets of air explode under his skin. Goosebumps. The hair on his arms stands straight up when Dylan maps the scaly scab covering Eric's wound. So careful, so tender.

"V... I..."

"What? Am I hurting you?"

Eric exhales a shaky breath, shaking his head.

"I just... I'm..."

"It's okay." Dylan reassures.

Eric's chest barrels with air and he shakes.

"Is this okay?" Dylan queries, smoothing his hand over the scab. Eric nods tightly.

"It's just us, you know. It's only me."

Eric feels a bit dumb for how he's acting. It is just Dylan. If he can trust anyone it should be the person he plans to kill and die with in a couple months.

Dylan moves his touch, softly squeezing the muscles on Eric's side. It's knotted from stress but malleable. He slides his hand up to Eric's chest, encircling his body with his arm in a hug.

"I hate that you got hurt." Dylan rumbles, holding Eric from behind. "I'm going to fucking murder that guy."

Eric grins a little at Dylan's loyalty. He lets out a little hum.

"You know you can trust me no matter what, right Reb?" The taller man asks, tugging Eric in a little tighter.

"Yeah. You might be the only one." Eric agrees. He can't hold Dylan back quite yet, but he softens his pose, melting into the hug a bit.

Dylan uses his other hand to reach out and caress Eric's soft palm. The intimate touch ignites feelings that flow through Eric like a rushing river. Eric looks down at their connected hands and then looks over his shoulder at Dylan, their eyes locking. It's Dylan who takes the chance to close the gap between them.

Eric's breath hitches with surprise, even though he saw Dylan leaning in. His hands begin to shake, yet they don't move to rip Dylan off of him. Instead he finds himself deepening the kiss, a slow but heated moment of pure abandon.

Time halts, the rushing dam of their emotions explodes again but this time not with sadness. Dylan's hands seemingly act on their own, one coming up to cup Eric's chin, the other caressing the smooth planes of Eric's body. It feels so fucking good that Eric leans into it more. Even if everything he's been taught says that he should face everything alone, sharing a connection with someone else like this is the best thing Eric's ever fucking felt. For it to be Dylan, the one person who knows him and all the dark corners of his head, it's almost like perfect fate

Dylan is the one who pulls away.

"I-I guess I got carried away, sorry..." He mutters, a light blush to his cheeks. Eric grabs Dylan’s forearm, keeping him close.

"Don't."

Eric minimizes the space between them this time, pulling Dylan back around him. Searing kisses to lift the hovering certainty of their desires. Eric's decided he likes being touched by Dylan.

His mind made up, he turns, probing his hands under Dylan's shirt boldly. He may not be as good with words as his poetic friend, but he's got inferno levels of physical energy to use at his disposal to demonstrate his wanton yearning. He pushes up to kiss Dylan again, the two quickly stumbling knees over ankles from the basement living room to the basement bedroom. The excitement builds with every small touch and caress, each lingering and bashful glance they share between kisses.

By the time they reach the bed, Eric pulls Dylan's shirt over his head. He grabs a fistful of golden locks and tugs him to lie on his back, slinking up the taller mans body to reunite their kiss bitten lips. Dylan's hands rove Eric's back softly, tracing the scab and darkening bruise. Eric rolls onto his side, legs draped around Dylan's hips, and pulls back for some air. They stare for a few minutes, catching their breath. Dylan squirms a bit under Eric's assessment and tucks a strand of his blonde hair behind his ear.

"If this is... I mean... we don't..."

Eric shakes his head, taking a deep breath.

"I don't know much right now..." The older of the two admits, trailing off and sucking on his teeth in thought.

"All I can say is I like this."

Dylan's Adam's apple bobs up and down and he fidgets with the end of one of his curls.

"I like touching you." Dylan mutters.

Eric is taken at how vulnerable the moment is. They could both easily shrug what just happened off, just a whirlwind of emotions being let out on each others bodies.

"I don't just want casual sex." Eric declares. He feels he should say so now. As fun as this is and for all the fantasies he's written about in his journal, loyalty means a lot to him.

"Me neither." Dylan agrees. "I want to feel good, escape the fucking world sometimes before I get to die and be happy. I'd only really feel comfortable like that with you. You're probably the only one I trust too, Reb."

Dylan's mirroring of Eric's earlier words sounds like some kind of commitment, Eric diving in to capture his lips again to seal the deal. Both of them are slightly hesitant, anxious, their nerves blocking out any experience they may have haughtily assumed they possessed from what they've seen in porn. Dylan opens his mouth for Eric, his senses invaded completely. He's hypnotized by how soft Eric's lips feel on his, how seamlessly they intertwine and almost meld together with his own mouth. Eric's hands move determinedly down to Dylan's pants, gripping and squeezing the meat of his thigh before he begins to undo his belt. Dylan moans, reaching down between them to grope Eric's raging boner through his pajama pants.

"I want you so bad." Dylan coos, stroking Eric through the flannel fabric as his own pants and boxers are shimmied down his legs. Eric eyes him ravenously as he pulls Dylan's shoes and socks off along with the bundle of pants and boxers. With Dylan's body fully nude below him Eric smirks, a wolf with a bunny between his teeth. He digs his thumbs into his waistband and removes his own pants, committing to memory every square inch of the form below him. Dylan reaches up and grabs Eric's shoulder, urging him down. Eric obeys, letting their cocks meet between them.

They both gasp, immediately licking at each others mouths. Eric drives his hips against Dylan's, thrusting with so much need, their dicks pressing together as they rock in sync.

"Fuck, holy shit." Eric whimpers, throwing his head back, Dylan's lips immediately honing in on the exposed flesh of his neck. "Fuck the shit out of me."

For a moment they bask in the calm yet fiery energy between them. Slowly and deliberately, Dylan rolls Eric onto his back, sure to be mindful of the scrape. He runs his hands up Eric's thighs, strong hands wrapping and kneading the flesh and skin beneath them. Eric shudders with bliss, tossing his head side to side. Dylan kisses all the way down to the leaking head of Eric's dick and takes it into his warm mouth. Eric tangles his fingers into Dylan's hair, wide eyed in disbelief that his best friend is currently stuffed to the tonsils with his hard shaft. Dylan's enthusiastic licks warrant slutty moans and whines that pour from Eric's throat, curses and sweet praise mixed in for good measure.

Nothing can deter Eric now, his whole being brimming with broiling desire. He can feel something that can't be denied, the want, the need to be touched. It’s too much to resist anymore. Dylan takes his spitty mouth off Eric's manhood to lube up two fingers, then deep throats the fuck out of his dick as he's pushing his slick fingers past the crease in Eric's body. The older man can't help but fucking quake. His eyebrows furrow at the slight pain, Dylan prodding into the tightness of his ass with his touch. When Dylan adds the second finger, Eric grabs his thin wrist, setting the pace and bucking down on the foreign pressure in his guts. Dylan licks a line up and down Eric's cock and spits a glob of saliva onto the tip, just to deep throat him down again, using his hand to fuck Eric and prepare him for his dick.

Nothing has ever felt like this. Eric feels consumed by pleasure, like he's swimming in liquid pools of blissful submission and release. He moans at the delicious way Dylan curls his fingers, pressing up against a spot inside his body. He swivels his hips to chase the high, then Dylan slowly pulls his fingers out. Dylan bolts up, walking on his knees between Eric's legs. He almost falls over tearing Eric's bedside drawer open, and the older man watches with lust glazed eyes as the man above grabs a half full bottle of lube that Eric uses to jack off with, popping the cap open to coat his entire cock as quick as he can.

"I need to fuck you right fucking now." Dylan growls, the sound of wet lubricant against cock skin slapping out from Dylan's palm as he jacks off with the lube for a moment. "Or I'll go fucking crazy."

Eric grabs his own dick and gives himself a few teasing strokes and Dylan sets the lube aside, lining himself up. Dylan's mind dances, looking down at Eric all vulnerable beneath him. Eric is red with the exertion of sex, panting lightly, mouth slightly open, he's looking straight back up at Dylan too.

"Fuck the shit out of me." Eric repeats, thumbing over the slit at the tip of his cock.

Dylan reaches out and interlocks his left hand with Eric's right, leaning in for a deep, devouring kiss. He pushes in and the sensation is unbelievable, so unlike anything either of them have ever imagined. Eric feels full, sensitive, reacting more and more to their kiss as their tongues clash. Passion courses through their veins, bouncing off every corner of their body that is conscious to the other's touch. They groan and curse into each others mouths, the creaking of Eric's bed getting louder as Dylan picks up speed.

"Reb..." Dylan gasps, in a tone that Eric has never heard come out of Dylan's mouth. It's like a prayer, a pleading question.

Eric opens his mouth but he's cut off short by a rather deep thrust, a loud scream bellowing from his lungs. His fingers choke Dylan's hand, his other hand scrambling to claw down Dylan's pale back. The movement sparks something in Eric and he digs his nails into Dylan's hip.

"More... fuck me harder, V."

Dylan seems to snap, using both his hands to pull Eric's legs from around his waist. He grabs Eric's thighs, below the knees, and pushes them forward toward his chest. The sensations drown Eric, Dylan fucking him faster. Skin slaps hard against skin, Eric and Dylan exchanging throaty moans. Eric grabs his own cock, matching the pace of Dylan's thrusts, breathing out little praises and curses.

"Fuck, V... Shit... So good. FUCK."

Dylan has a million things he wants to say, like how good Eric feels wrapped around his cock, how fucking sexy the whines and moaning sounds are, how the sweat on Eric's brow makes him glow. He lets his hands do the talking, following his best friends example. His hands roam, exploring, searching for the spot that really sets Eric over the edge. At the crux of his best friends throat, Dylan tightens his palm and squeezes. Eric fights to stay in control of his own body, losing his grasp as he bucks his hips onto Dylan's cock.

Dylan ruts into him with an animalistic frenzy, knees weak, hardly able to breathe. Each movement sends them careening into the abyss, screaming through gritted teeth, eyes shut in ecstasy. Dylan arches himself into Eric, deeper, deeper, deeper. Each snap of his hips accompanied by a strangled mewl from the man below.

They cum, exploding into and onto each other. Neither can stop their bodies from convulsing, jerking and twitching. Their rapture is exclaimed in in a symphony of cries and swear words. Dylan fills Eric up, seed leaking out around his cock and down Eric's ass. Eric paints his entire chest white with milky release, his hips pinned down as Dylan fucks them both through their transcendental high.

Dylan collapses next to Eric, heaving for air. The older man stares at the ceiling as it spins, cooling flames of desire blanketing his form.

"Damn." The blonde remarks, using the back of his hand to bring Eric back to earth, stroking his shoulder.

He turns his head to look at Dylan, still somewhat in the stars but he's drifting back down.

"I liked that V." Eric murmurs. "I like you."

Dylan cracks a weak but undeniably sly smile.

"Yeah, you're okay I guess, Reb."

Eric opens and then shuts his mouth in surprise, shoving Dylan playfully.

"Fucker!"

"Yeah, that’s right I did." Dylan suggests, wiggling his eyebrows.

Eric quiets him, grabbing him by the chin for a kiss. Dylan chuckles into it, tugging Eric on top of him to properly slip his tongue into his new lover's mouth.

In the dark, callouses against silk. They need not suffer alone again. The unique bond they undeniably created together, perhaps the only two people who ever understood each other without question. They were fated to find one another, to be synonymous with each other. For all of time.

Chapter Text

12/12/98

MOAR of my El Thoughtsoz: Well, what a fucking waste. Brought ball bearings to school and Reb wasn't even there... WHY do I even bother to do anything. It all feels distorted, the everything and the nothing. Want to die so bad. Being gay what I am is in conflict with existence. Reb doesn't fucking get what these games and dis communications do to my torn soul. 
My razor will meet with mr. cutter. He always wins. 

LaTeRz

<<-VoDkA->>

Dylan puts down his pen, feeling gloomy. Ever since he and Eric started being more than friends it's become more and more difficult to make it through school.

"Freak!" "Faggot!" "Retard!"

It's on a loudspeaker in his mind, the hateful things his classmates say. When Eric's not with him, it's ten... no twenty times worse...

"Where's your boyfriend Klebold?" "You two are fucking faggots together."

For the longest time Dylan and Eric resisted. They shrugged off their feelings for each other as pointless. Even impossible.

It took months of dodging each other, pretending that lingering looks and careful kisses weren't happening.

Dylan finds his razor, the one he snuck out out of the garbage from his parents bathroom, and he stares at himself in the slim line of reflective metal.

He puts it down, grabbing his right arm with his left hand. His wrist is striped with slices. Some are strategically hidden, some are on his hand out for the world to see. Nobody notices any of them. He runs his fingers over the raised edges, feeling the difference between scabs and scars.

He hears a ping on aim. Dylan looks at the computer screen with tears in his eyes, his nose whistling as he inhales a breath.

REBDominE V

Two tears roll down Dylan's cheeks. Why is it so easy for Eric to connect through wires rather than flesh and blood. Both of them are so lonely, so angry, yet Eric still pushes Dylan away.

REBDominE ...

RebDominE U there?

Dylan slams his fist on the desk

VoDkADooM WTF DO U WANT

REBDominE the hell you talking about?

VoDkADooM U left me at fucking school alone. Again.

REBDominE I skip whenever I can

VoDkADooM kool so leving me there to deal with white hats alone is what u want

REBDominE U sound like such a pussy comeon V. Chill

Dylan grits his teeth so hard his jaw joint pops

VoDkADooM Ur a piece of shit

VoDkADooM After everything.. U and me... The everything. U really feel ok ditching me wow

REBDominE dont talk about that here. rents might see the logs we cant fuckin talk about that and u know that

VoDkADooM im destroying my hard drive before nbk but you dont fucking listen to my ideas. fuck you eric im done

VoDkADooM dont fucking talk to me if its not about nbk. fjuck you

REBDominE ...

REBDominE what do u mean?

REBDominE V?

REBDominE DYLAN?

REBDominE DYLAN?!?!?!

REBDominE HELLO?@??!?!

Dylan stares blankly at the screen, feeling his eyes well up with more tears. Somewhere inside him he's started to fall in love with Eric, but all the secrecy and shame is getting to him. He knows they can't hold hands at school, but Dylan wont even make it to nbk if Eric wont even break the crust of his fragile masculinity in private. HE craves love, as vengeful as he is, and since he's going to die it needs to be all or nothing. Dylan gasps when the phone in his room rings, he grabs it and hangs it up before his mom can get to the extension in the kitchen. He knows it was Eric calling from the way the frantic instant messages have stopped

VoDkADooM dont fucking call me my mom is home

REBDominE U wont reply to me. WTF do u mean youre done

VoDkADooM U know what I mean and u didnt want me to discuss it here. people might see

REBDominE fuck

REBDominE u hate me now

VoDkADooM nope

REBDominE yea u fucking hate me

VoDkADooM jezuz eric fucking chill now ur being a fucking girl

REBDominE im out. u wont have to worry. bye

VoDkADooM wtf

VoDkADooM what does that even mean eric?

VoDkADooM ....

VoDkADooM reb?

VoDkADooM REB?

Eric's screen name becomes gray and moves to the "offline" list. Dylan tries to rationalize.

Dylan figures Eric is giving him a taste of his own medicine. He picks up the phone and dials Eric's number by heart. It rings and rings until the voice message for their answering machine comes on

"Hi, We're unable to take your call right now-"

Dylan hangs up before the recording can finish. A knot forms in his stomach. A sick, persistent little knob of upset. He wishes with all his might that he didn't care. All empathy does is get in the way of their plan, all emotion does is complicate what should be getting laid into passion that neither of them expected. It morphs the primal need to cum into the need for Eric's innocent and lingering embrace, for them to cling to each other while naked in the sheets. Love has made Dylan crazy

Without another moment of contemplation, he turns off his computer monitor and grabs his keys, out of the house before his mother can ask where he's even going.

The ten minute drive to Eric's feels like a lifetime, every red light mocking him. He peels into Eric's driveway, the tip of his car nudging the trash cans that Wayne didn't bring all the way into the garage before leaving the house. The garage door is open and empty, Eric's parents must have gone somewhere. Dylan parks his car where Kathy usually parks her Jeep, and throws himself out of the drivers seat, cursing in panic when his arm gets caught in the seatbelt.

The instant he hurls open the front door he hears water running. His heart drops. Without thinking Dylan sprints up the stairs to the second floor, jumping and taking two, then three steps in one leap, slapping his hand down on the ground when he trips over the landing. His palm stings and he scrambles to catch his balance and bound down the hallway. His body seems to act of its own volition, arm craning up toward the bathroom door. His wrist shakes as he turns the doorknob.

Dylan holds his breath. Eric is lifeless under the water in the tub. He's clad in a shirt and boxers, the fabric swirling around his limp body as if pushed by wind. If only the wind could replace the suffocating liquid depths of the porcelain chamber Eric is within at this moment. The sound of the running tap booms into Dylan's ear, the way the water slinks into the overflow drain at the top of the tub makes a sickening hiss. The alien feeling, nothing. No depression, no anger. Just his best friend, swaying with the flow of water around him. Just outside the tub is a few empty prescription bottles, open and scattered across the floor. Dylan recognizes them as Eric's Luvox prescription. Dylan takes a painful breath in, lurching forward. He grabs Eric by his shoulders, yanking him until his head breeches the surface. Water splashes and sloshes everywhere as Dylan gets him out.

"ERIC!" Dylan shrieks, easing his floppy friend onto the floor of the bathroom. Water gets on everything, the tile, Dylan's pants, even in Dylan's hair when he clutches Eric to his chest.

"NO!"

He shoves Eric to the ground, the slightest puff of air escaping Eric's lungs when his head bonks onto the tile. Dylan places both of his hands in the divot between Eric's pecs, trying to remember how many chest compressions he's supposed to do before doing a rescue breath, when Eric gasps and starts laughing in a coughing fit.

"H-Okay- agh- Okay, V. Jesus I'm fine."

Dylan's eyes go wide as Eric is choking and laughing. Eric opens his eyes and sits up, running his hand through his hair.

"Fuck. What a mess. I tried to hold my breath for longer, almost got a kiss out of this."

Eric's shit eating grin fills Dylan with spite, and he gets off of Eric and slaps his hand onto the wet ground just to feel something other than pure hatred 

"What the FUCK?!"

Eric shrugs

"I had to get you over here somehow didn't I?"

Dylan shakes his head, cheeks turning pink.

"I can't fucking believe you."

"This was too easy, I mean give me some credit."

But when Eric looks at Dylan there's a despondency in his eyes. Dylan looks like he's about to cry, face beet red and covered in water and sweat.

"Come on V..." Eric encourages, reaching for Dylan but Dylan pulls back.

"Dylan, you wouldn't talk to me. You fuckin' hung up on me I had no choice."

"Yes you did." Dylan responds, with a hushed sadness.

Eric sighs. Maybe he did go too far.

"Look, I didn't really take all those pills." Eric picks up one of the bottles and points to the date on the label. It's from a few months ago. "I save these for gunpowder and napalm supplies."

Dylan nods, sitting on his knees and then using the sink to stand up.

"Good for you. I'm going home."

Eric throws the bottle down and goes after Dylan, grabbing at his sleeve just as Dylan is halfway through the doorway.

"Wait! V- For fucks-"

Dylan whips around. Tears roll down his face and his expression is the most raw hurt.

"FUCK Eric. I thought you DIED. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

Eric pulls his hand back and swallows. Dylan shakes his head and spins on his heels to leave again.

"Dylan wait! Damn it."

Eric latches on to Dylan's coat and Dylan looks significantly more annoyed when his eyes meet Eric's again.

"Look, I..." He groans, sighing in distress. "I've been weird lately cuz I feel so fucked up."

Dylan wait for Eric to continue, shuffling his legs around.

"With everything we've been doing. You know what they say about us. I don't like it."

"Yeah so you leave me alone to deal with it all." Dylan says back, cold and bitter.

"No! I don't want you to put up with it either!"

"Well we can't fucking skip all the time! We have to keep a low profile until NBK. You're the one who fucking said that in the first place."

"I know." Eric relents. "I don't know. I'm fucked up."

"Well, whatever, have fun with that." Dylan moves like he's going to leave again, and when Eric doesn't let go Dylan grits his teeth and loses his cool.

"You're the one who made the first move on me. Now you act like being with me is this fucked up thing and I'm sick of it. I never fucking touch you at school, nobody is gonna know."

Dylan's nostrils flare, his breath labored. The veins in his neck begin to pop out and Eric releases his hold on Dylan's coat. Guilty, caught, a hypocrite. He brings his hand to his forehead and looks down at his soaking wet shirt and boxers. The water dripping off of him is freezing cold and forms a puddle at his feet.

"I'm sorry Vodka." Eric murmurs. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what I'm doing. It's like, I want this, and it's fucking me up too."

Dylan just slightly nods, looking off to the side.

"It doesn't mean I don't care." Eric adds.

Dylan doesn't respond this time, another tear escaping his eye. Eric hates himself. He may be conflicted, but the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt the person he plans to die with someday

"Look, I don't apologize much so..." Eric begins, but then swears under his breath. "Doesn't matter. Sorry, V"

Dylan clenches and unclenches his fist and Eric carefully puts his hand on Dylan's cheek. Dylan still looks angry, so Eric winds his arm around Dylan's back and rests his chin on Dylan's chest.

Dylan's eyes soften the slightest bit. It's rare for Eric to hug him like this. His hand winds around Eric but then he makes a sound of surprise, his fingertips grazing the soaked clothes Eric is still wearing.

"You're fucking freezing."

"Yeah." Eric agrees, nuzzling impishly at Dylan's dry shirt. "I guess you should take them off me."

Dylan rolls his eyes. "I'm not-" Eric shuts him up with a kiss, reaching between them to grab at Dylan's cock through his jeans.

"I'm gonna change your mind." Eric purrs, pleased when Dylan gasps and makes a noise of protest.

"Eric... Reb-fuck, come on, I'm-" Eric presses his crotch against Dylan's and looks up with eager eyes

"Let me make this up to you." Dylan huffs and wriggles under Eric's groping.

"Fuck, Reb, I don't know..."

Eric kisses at the corner of Dylan's mouth, getting turned on by grinding against Dylan like this.

"Come on, I know you need release. We both do V..."

He bravely goes for Dylan's belt and Dylan smacks his hand away, gripping Eric by the damp shirt. He manhandles him around and pushes him out of the bathroom, breathing hot into the shell of Eric's ear.

"You think you're the fucking boss of me?" Eric whimpers, Dylan's hand wrapping around his throat.

They move together through the house, to the room Eric used to sleep on before he moved into the basement. Dylan squeezes Eric's neck before he shoves Eric face first into the mattress.

"You're gonna fucking get it."

"Oh shit. Okay, fuck." Eric whines, grabbing at the sheets on the bed in anticipation.

Dylan's firm hand winds into Eric's hair, yanking his head back. It frees the tiny noises Eric is trying to hide.

"Don't hold anything back, you worthless little piece of shit. I wanna hear you fall apart while you're being fucked"

His fingers dig into Eric's scalp, sending bolts of pleasure down Eric's spine. Dylan uses his other hand to cup Eric's ass, pulling down the soaked boxers to Eric's knees. Dylan presses a finger into Eric's hole, the slight wetness from the water eliciting a sucking noise. Eric gasps, writhing.

"Fuck, yeah, gonna make you all spread out for my dick." Dylan growls, adding another finger, being rough.

Eric bites his lip at the stinging feeling. Dylan fights with his belt, quickly pulling out his cock. Eric's scream gets trapped in his throat, feeling Dylan remove his fingers, spit on his ass and then press the head of his cock in. He wrenches his head around, which only makes Dylan cling to his hair tighter and press his shaft in deeper, barely lubed cock pressing into Eric's quivering hole.

"Fuck, take it, you fucking bitch." Dylan groans, sighing with ecstasy.

Lube is more comfortable for them both, but Dylan gets a horrifying satisfaction from banging Eric raw and dirty. He pumps himself in until he's balls deep, Eric knotting his fists into the sheets, puffing pained breaths.

"Look at you, cock in your ass. You fucking love this don't you?" "Yes." Eric croaks, suffering but he can't let Dylan take away the lust surging through him.

He'd give anything to cum, bucking and spasming around the pressure in his ass.

"Say it louder. Fucking slut." Dylan hisses, using both hands to grab Eric's hips and pull him back onto his relentless thrusts.

Eric yelps, croaking a big moan between sobs of need. Fuck it's so good, so unbelievably good.

"I'm yours, V, fuck I want it so bad. Please, fuck, please." Dylan punctuates Eric's pleading with a rough snap of his hips, lifting his hips up off the mattress.

"Keep fucking talking dirty if you want this dick." Eric's arms flail to support the new position, ass up with his face straining onto the bed. "God- Shit. I love your cock. Fuck. I want you to bust so hard in my ass."

Dylan speeds up, until Eric can't make a sound. His prostate is pounded with each fuck of Dylan's hips, and Dylan is making those little grunts that mean he's close. Eric throws his hips back, meeting Dylan's rhythm, desperate, his body building up with sensitivity. He raises his hips, rolling them down into Dylan's pounding. Dylan holds Eric's hips with bruising force, all kinds of savage, carnal noises plummeting from his lips.

"Nobody will ever fuck you like I do, understand?" Dylan grumbles, slapping one of Eric's ass cheeks.

"Fuck, yes. I'm you're bitch, only- oh fuck. Only yours, fu-uck!" Eric cums untouched, his cock pulsing out a massive load onto the bed.

He screams when Dylan pounds him through his orgasm, hips slapping against Eric's body, and then he's groaning through his own peak. Warm seed fills Eric's ass, and Dylan's belt buckle is cold against Eric's thigh when Dylan falls down on top of his back and grabs his hand.

"Reb... God damn..." Eric heaves for air, mouth agape, vision blurry.

"God damn..." He repeats Dylan's sentiment weakly, half out of breath still.

"Don't ever... Do that again..." Dylan warns, rolling off Eric and laying next to him.

Eric gets that shit eating grin again, pushing up onto his elbows to look at Dylan. His best friend is wide eyed and more sweaty, pants around his hips, limp cock hanging out of his boxers.

"But that was the best sex we've had yet." Eric teases. Dylan laughs distantly and sits up too, grabbing Eric's face.

"Listen fucker, I'll never fuck you again if you pull that stunt or anything like it one more time."

Eric begins to talk but Dylan kisses him, mirroring the way Eric had shut him up earlier. Eric closes his eyes and kisses back, putting one of his hands over Dylan's.

"Besides..." Dylan whispers onto Eric's mouth. "I'll just make you beg and plead like that when I want you to be a hot little whore like that again. I can make you do whatever I want."

Eric puffs a scoff against Dylan's kisses and tries to end the kiss, but Dylan grips Eric's hair and keeps him in place, smiling his own evil and knowing grin.

"You're mine Reb. Never forget that."

Chapter Text

Moonlight. A mist turning into a light midnight rain. A Harrowing breeze signals the torrent of winds to come, an ominous companion to the storm brewing in the minds of two men. It's right on the horizon.

The swirling air fluffs their hair, one warm hand closes around the others. Side by side, colliding under the witness of the haggard branches of the trees. Eyes fall closed, mouths connecting as each takes a deep breath. Anxious hearts and nervous hesitations flutter into a cubby hole for the moment, replaced by excitement and anticipation for what they plan to do. How they intend to die.

One opens his eyes, letting himself memorize the features of the other. The few rewards of life are those that these two have left to enjoy for such a short time more. The vibrance of each others eyes, the vitality they share in their desire to end the lives of others. It's a connection that is scarcely found, yet not without it's own depth. It's commitment. Trust.

The ends of blonde curls become one with insistent hands, smiles between kisses, teeth on lips. The barriers of their stoic fronts are left at the door of their prisons, their home, that school. These woods are a respite away from their hell when they're here together. It will never be their home, not entirely, it can only provide a brief serenity, and the grief in that is not lost in these moments. The knowledge deep down that they both have come to accept. This is temporary, as all things are. This is only here and now, especially since they have chosen the day their lives will end.

Each glance to the colorless maw of the night as the rain pours harder. For another instant they allow it, tipping their jaws back, to let the cleansing chill of water patter on their face. No one is sure if sensations such as these exist in the afterlife, or if there even is an afterlife. They differ on what they believe to be true. One believes in a warm place, a neutral plane where all the memories and people we've ever loved or were supposed to love will be with us. The Halcyon. The other thinks death is more of a blanket, a nothingness, the end of a life with with no lingering consciousness of the fact that it ever lived or died. No heaven or hell, just black, like his favorite color.

The rain is too insistent, urging the two that reality always exists even when you want to pretend it doesn't. They pile into the car, sharing one more embrace before they're back where people might see such an act of love.

The drive seems endless, a BMW rolling through space itself.

On the opposite side of town, amongst a morning too bright, they each awaken.

The nights they share seem like a fantasy when they move through their days. Almost not real. The sunlight looks nothing like those inky evenings where they spend what seems like forever intertwined, building bombs, melting into one another.

It's a burden, a crushing dread. Moving through daily life as if they don't really exist, as if they're only doing the best impression of a person that they can, and never feeling like they do it well. It makes them exhausted. Angry. Full of wrath

Their smiles and peace seem far away, part of some delusion. All the sounds in voices around them filter into their ears and it may as well be smothered in cotton, they can barely understand what anyone else ever tries to say. It's all so inane. The two of them are so evolved, so different, human bodies but the awareness and sentience of a god. To them this existence is a punishment, to die and kill together has morphed the reality they could have once lived together. It's too late for either of them to see what greatness they could achieve, side by side. Their intelligence used for good in a future that doesn't exist, the lives they could have lead if they had seen how powerful two gods could be here on earth. Hindsight.

One licks his lips, the other touches his. Neither of them can see but they do this at the same time, miles away from each other. Their kiss feels a lifetime away. A death away.

Shirts. One black and white. The other black and red. Resting on the chairs of their desks, inanimate but bold in their statements. Wrath. Natural Selection. The words face the ceiling, the ceiling a lifeless accomplice to all that it conceals. Each of them sit in silence, craving the other, despairing in the impending end yet delighting in it too. For one believes he'll have his other half in the blissful hereafter, and the other just wants the last thing he sees to be his best friend before it all goes black.

Fate. Their own fate. A fate that they will reach together.

Chapter Text

Eric, so wasted and so high, isn't sure in this particular moment if he's actually seeing what he's seeing or if he's simply too high. His best friend is rolling on the ground, thin fingers tangling into the shabby carpet. His hair is everywhere. Eric can't even remember why Dylan started this weirdness in the first place. Weird ass retard that he is, Dylan is more normal on alcohol than he is on weed and all Eric can do is raise an eyebrow at his stoned, tumbling friend. Dylan forgets his lanky body is as tall as it is and he knocks into a side table in his room. Dylan shrieks, voice breaking. The loose paper Dylan's been using as a cheap journal skitters off the edge of the night stand and flutters over his body, lined paper and messy chicken scratch handwriting everywhere.

"Fuckin' spazz." Eric slurs, propping himself onto his elbow.

"S'fine." Dylan mumbles, shakily grabbing at the papers. He clenches his body and sits up, wrenching his hand too tightly. The note that he has in his hand is mangled into an almost perfect ball.

"Shit." He barks, frantically and hastily smoothing it out.

Dylan clasps each end of the page, and uses his knee as an impromptu surface, slipping the paper back and forth over his jeans. The rounded edge of his bone eases some of the wrinkles but to no avail. It's disheveled, the fragile material permanently indented with crease marks.

"Damnit" Dylan breathes, distraught.

"What?"

Dylan wheezes, mood shifted. His face pinches and Eric knows instantly the pissy, woe is me, bullshit attitude that Dylan has been possessed by.

"Nothing, doesn't fuckin' matter. I'm never gonna tell her."

"Tell who? What the fuck you talking about?"

Dylan shakes his head dismissively. He brazenly opens his bed side drawer and grabs the first pen he can, a red sharpie, and begins to scribble shapes and x marks all over the black ink and wrinkles.

"Stop!" Eric chides, pawing for the paper. "Jesus V, This is such a gay, retarded way to fuckin' act. Just chill."

Dylan fights it, but Eric wins. Dylan haughtily throws the uncapped sharpie off into a corner and the felt tip makes a red dot on the wall. He crosses his arms, pouting.

"You're an asshole Reb."

"What even is this? NBK shit?"

Eric spreads the paper out as best he can, and reads it, ignoring Dylan's tantrum

...yet everything about her I love. From her good body to her almost perfect face, her charm, her wit & cunning, her NOT being popular..."

Eric clears his throat, something he doesn't like clenches his guts.

"You're really that into her? It was like one date and you didn't even get some... I went out with her too man and she doesn't seem to give a fuck about either of us..."

"Stop, Reb, I know." Dylan returns, upset.

"I just... Really felt something. I thought she had a good time. I haven't had that much fun with someone else in forever."

"Wow. Thanks." Eric hisses, teeth clenched. "Fuck Eric I guess. Typical."

Eric frisbee throws the paper and it spins around, gliding until it lands next to the red sharpie.

"The hell?" Dylan retorts, crawling over to retrieve the paper. and the marker. "What's up with you?"

"Wha-" Eric chuckles in the middle of his word. "What's wrong with me? You're the one being a little bitch about some cunt that dated us both like a little whore, and doesn't even-"

"Stop!" Dylan demands, voice monotone but firm. "Just shut the fuck up Reb. You don't-"

"Oh I don't?!"

Eric sits up, meets Dylan's eyes with his own. Dylan squares his shoulders, one hand holding the paper, the other holding the marker.

"You have no idea what it's like living in your faggot shadow Dylan." Eric seethes, narrowing his eyes. "All you do is complain about how no one fuckin' wants you and it's such bullshit! Robyn would literally suck your dick on command and you fucking know it!"

Dylan bares his teeth, steadying himself onto his feet and bounding over to Eric. For a moment, Eric sees Vodka, and it's not the Vodka that is his best friend. It's the alter ego that thirsts for violence and pain and it's looking Eric right in the face. Dylan stands right in front of Eric, stoic, a wall, looming. He drops the paper and in an instant his clenched hand finds it's way around Eric's jaw. The wind is knocked out of him, he cant breathe. Eric thinks to kick or yell, but the blue in Dylan's eyes is a sickly pale gray, like the color of a moldy body. Eric can't move.

"How dare you." Dylan states. "I give you everything. I have given you ALL of my fucking time. All my effort. I was the one who brought you in on NBK for fucks sake and this is how-"

Eric pulls back a little, trying to get away from Dylan's warm breath, the way he's staring.

Fingernails into claws, Eric's jaw released in favor of his pale throat. Dylan roars, pinching Eric's windpipe just enough, enough to hear the struggle for oxygen battle itself from Eric's body.

"P-Pl-" Eric tries to speak, but it just comes out stammered, he grips Dylan's wrist and looks at him with pleading eyes. The hazel stare of a man being choked to death.

"You always call me a goddamn faggot, talk so much about how all I think about is cunt bitches." Dylan raises his other hand, looking at the red felt tip of his sharpie, then to Eric's flushed face.

"As if I couldn't make you look like my kind of fucking girl if I wanted to."

With a smarmy grin, Dylan presses the marker to Eric's lips, and Eric bucks and thrashes. He valiantly tries to get away, sputtering and writhing as Dylan holds his neck, as easily as holding a wounded animal. Eric lands one smack to Dylan's face and it only enrages him further.

"You fucker." Dylan yells into Eric's ear. His other hand rips into Eric's hair, tugging, yanking the roots and making Eric yelp. He jabs the marker to Eric's lips again, outlining them, coloring them.

"That's right, scream like a fucking girl. That's what you fucking are with this lipstick you're wearing faggot." Dylan rumbles, guiding Eric's head back by the grip he has on his hair. He decides to be even more of a shit, head drawing tiny hearts on Eric's dimples. Girls always love Eric's dimples, and Eric fucking hates hearts.

"STOP!" Eric finally manages, reeling back enough to relieve the pressure of Dylan's hold on his esophagus.

"Oh I'm just getting started." Dylan coos, leaning in.

Lips on lips. Eric tastes poison. the saliva and sharpie stinging his tongue, Dylan's hand loosening and now all at once caressing his neck instead of gripping it. Eric yowls against Dylan's lips, fighting, clawing. Dylan grabs both of Eric's hands into one of his and begins to undo his belt.

"V, Don-mnmm!!!"

Dylan silences Eric with his tongue, probing, splitting the taste of sharpie and spit with the weed they smoked. Dylan opens his pants and shoves Eric onto his back smiling as he begins to work on Eric's fly.

"Gonna make you my bitch Reb." Dylan breathes, and Eric tries to knock his head into Dylan's

"V stop! I mean it!"

Dylan's grin is that of zero hesitation, the kind of look he gets when they talk about NBK or who they're going to kill, where they're going to leave a bomb, or what they want their frag count to be when it's all over. Dylan is determined.

"Dy-lan." Eric whines in frustration and panic, hearing his best friend let out a rumbling laugh in response.

Dylan has Eric pinned below him, their plaid boxers grazing against each other, hard cocks shifting beneath Dylan's gyrating hips.

"Did you really think I only have a thing for girls?" Dylan asks, gasping when their dicks pulse. Eric lets out the softest moan, embarrassed.

Dylan squeezes Eric's wrists in his hand, opening his mouth and letting out a noise of pleasure of his own.

"Fuck Reb, you'll do just fine..." He leans in, rolling his hips down, kissing the salty crease of Eric's neck. "I could be happy with you as my bitch."

Ah.

Fuck.

Eric's eyes roll into the top of his head, the way Dylan is kissing his neck, holding his wrists, the way their cocks are leaking and making their boxers wet. Eric keens just ever so slightly, rolling his head around, exhaling a pleasured breath of ecstasy.

"That's a good girl." Dylan praises, nipping Eric's nape. It elicits a gasp.

Dylan's free hand finds itself groping their dicks.

"This is what you want isn't it?" Dylan teases. "You act like being gay is so wrong and immoral..."

He leans in to kiss Eric's ear tugging on the fleshy earlobe with his teeth.

"But you're my little slut."

"F-fucckk. NO!" Eric squeals, jerking and shaking to try and get free. Dylan cuts off the circulation in Eric's hands with how much he tightens his hold.

"No, That is what you want and I know it. Beg me for it, beg me to cum you whore."

It's all like a movie, playing in Eric's head, like it's real but it's also not. Dylan slows his hips and Eric feels his orgasm teeter away. Their cocks, pressed hard against the muscles of their shifting bodies and agonizingly separated by gritty, thin, boxer fabric. Eric needs to cum so bad he can practically taste it. He wants it.

Shakily, with an air of determination, Eric twists a hand free, curling his fist around the back of Dylan's sweaty t-shirt. He takes a hand full and reels Dylan in closer, grinding his lower body up against Dylan's slow thrusts. The pleasure makes Eric whine, and Dylan eats the sound by melding them into a sloppy and spitty kiss.

"Oh fuck, you little slut." Dylan groans into Eric's mouth. "Fuck baby."

Eric digs his nails into Dylan's back, digging in hard, a protest.

A shudder rips through both of them, the two of them practically humping like dogs. Dylan's bed makes a light squeaking noise every time they move and the slick suck of their cock sweat and precum matches their heavy breathing and the little curses they utter into the mouth or ear of one another. Dylan presses forward, folding Eric into a pretzel. He mimics fucking him, watching Eric get thrown around in the sheets like he's getting the pounding of his life. The motion gives them the most exquisite friction, their hips roiling and meeting over and over in perfect synchronization. Eric's brain disassociates, going wild, forgetting anything else. They clutch to each other passionately, meeting for a kiss as they finally cum, spilling into their boxers, all over each other.

"Fuck." Dylan moans, bucking until every drop seeps out of his softening cock.

"There you go, see Reb? I can give you what you want."

Eric is glassy eyed, still, too still. He feels Dylan zip him back up but he doesn't say a word. Dylan eventually crawls over Eric and sits on his hips again.

"If you're gonna keep being a bitch then you're just going to give me more reason to do this again." Dylan tells Eric.

"What I hate the most is that you only fucking raped me because you can't be with that stupid halcyon girl."

The words are callous, full of malice and spite.

"You only wanted me for NBK because you couldn't have that other bitch too." Eric adds.

"You're a fucking manipulating asshole."

Eric sits up and wipes his mouth, grumbling when red sharpie stains his hand. He keeps wiping, only smearing it.

"It's true I wanted her, and Zack first, but then I found out you're the only one who fucking has self awareness."

Eric pauses, looks over to see Vodka is gone and it's Dylan behind those sky blue eyes.

"I can't be myself... at least not entirely with anyone else Reb."

Eric licks his lips and tastes the sharpie, sees the look in Dylan's eye, the same comradery that Eric couldn't resist since the beginning. A friendship he doesn't have to lose because they're going to die together.

"You're the only one I can be myself with." Dylan finishes

Eric takes a deep breath, licking his index finger before scrubbing at the marker on his face.

"I'm not a bitch V." Eric replies, somewhat crestfallen. "I'm not that stupid halcyon girl or Zach. If you want to do this with me it has to be because it's me. I've had fuckin' enough of being the weird fuckin' Eric kid that no one wants around."

A few moments of silence pass, Eric relinquishing his efforts to rest his hands in his lap. His crotch is still buzzing with the aftermath of his orgasm, pants full of cum, when he turns to Dylan and is struck with a sense of surety he's never had in his entire life.

"It's you for me Eric. It's you."

Chapter Text

Every Friday evening, every fri-fucking-day night. A ritual. Dylan knows the way without paying attention, and the variety of treats never really changes... but Dylan shook it up today. Eric never answers the door, so Dylan doesn't bother with it. He sneaks around back, boots over knees he slides down the egress window. Pinned between steel and stone, Dylan holds the grocery bags tight and pushes the off white frame of the glass inward, toward the hum of warmth and the smell of Vicks vapor rub. Eric's house is like entering Willy Wonka's factory or Narnia or some shit like that. No one ever seems to come or go. It's the goddamn Twilight Zone.

In the cave of wonders, he finds his friend in a cocoon. Wrapped up neat and tidy, bundled like a baby. A blanket drapes his flushed face. Eric's wide eyes look glassy and dim. The tip of his pale nose is rubbed red and raw, and his voice rasps roughly against his throat when he speaks.

"For fucks sake Vodka, I'm sick."

"No, Really?" Dylan quips sarcastically. He holds out the grocery bags clutched in his fist like he just brought home the biggest wild turkey for Thanksgiving dinner for Eric to see.

"I got you soup. You could say thank you."

Eric blinks at him, eyeing the bag, then Dylan again. He shifts his weight, looking behind the taller man. It's almost as if he's looking for the joke, searching for the prank that Dylan must be attempting.

Dylan rolls his eyes, his detached cheerfulness morphing into a matter of fact statement.

"It's King Soopers delicious and definitely never frozen chili from the deli. They probably truck this shit in from some shit factory in Illinois but I know you like it."

Dylan probably knows Eric too well. Eric likes anything with meat and spice. A spicy Slim Jim makes his whole damn day. The more unhealthy, the better.

Eric's quizzical squint transforms back into a neutral curiosity. The way Eric's nose crinkles when he's thinking is cute. That's the only word for it.

"It'll heal you right up." Dylan assures, shaking the bag again.

"You some kind of psycho, like me?" Eric queries. He sticks his arm out to itch his nose, his blue Broncos sweater looking dull. He's obviously been wearing it for days. He then burrows further, shifting himself back onto his recliner. He's curled up like prey would take cover in a den. Dylan can't help but see Eric much like his feisty grumbly cat at home. "You're just here to kill me and make sure you're the one who gets to do it." Eric says, with a flurry of accusatory eyebrow expressions. Dylan is actually amused.

"If that were true I would die too, cuz I had some of the butternut squash soup."

Eric's form in the shape of soft fuzzy blankets groans back in reply. His feet shift under the pile and Dylan shakes his head at the way Eric almost falls off the recliner trying to adjust. Eric drapes the blanket over his face and takes a deep sigh.

Something about the way Eric is covered in the blankets feels like a grimaced expression, almost as if Eric's suspicious and grouchy demeanor is effervescent. It's oozing out from him, spilling and cascading into the air and encasing everything with what can only be described as a big fucking bummer mood. Eric clears his throat, unsheathing his face from the fleece enclosure. "It's the flu." He states. "I'm sick as a fucking dog dude."

Dylan frowns at Eric's exhausted countenance, hair mussed, lips dry and forehead dewy with perspiration. If only the fuckwads at school could see him right now. Eric is built up amongst almost everyone as a mythical being in his own right, the weirdo, the hermit, always in his room playing Doom. He's a fairy tale, a cryptid, people stay away but they also want to know everything about him. Dylan's always been a bit jealous of it. He might be more popular and have more friends, but he likes how Eric can shift into the dark and meld with the shadows. Dylan feels so average at times, like he's nothing and nobody special.

"You all alone in there?" Dylan asks, more toward the attitude Eric has rather than the man himself.

"Yeah, well, you of all people know that my parents don't give a shit and Kevin abandoned me so..." Eric shrugs. "What do you care? Of course I'm alone. I gotta take care of myself all the time anyway."

Dylan shrugs back "I'm just here to bring you some fucking soup man. I was trying to help."

Eric swallows, perhaps seeing the attempt to connect and how he let it fall and break right in front of Dylan's face.

"I'm sick and not in a great mood man, sorry."

"You gonna take this or what?" Dylan asks, a little frustrated. He holds his offerings outstretched, long arm dangling in front of Eric.

Eric's cheeks become pink, right around the apples of his cheeks. He reaches out, clutching it to his chest as if the bag is his newborn baby once Dylan lets it go.

"Thanks V."

Silence lingers between them, clinging to the haze of the room. Dylan can hear his heart beat in his ears, watching Eric take stock of the contents in the bag. It's a vice grip, as if he has to sit and wait, but for what? Dylan is unable to do anything except breathe and stare at Eric as he gnaws into a candy bar. His mouth twists into a frown and he looks at the chocolate with dismay.

"Let me guess, I got the wrong fucking candy again?" Dylan teases. "You gonna bite me instead?"

"You do look like a good meal." Eric retorts, throwing the candy bar into the small trash can at his feet. "A little stringy maybe, but you'd taste better than that shit."

Dylan's pink lips part with half amusement and half surprise. Is this what it feels like when a cannibal hits on you? Eric is a wanna-be murderer after all, a future mass killer. Is this what it's like to see the charm of a snake? Dylan's Pacific-blue eyes flicker with a building intrigue, witnessing Eric uncap a coke before he chugs it down. He barely comes up for air.

"I mean, I guess I would. You'd taste good I think too." Dylan states quietly.

The pink in Eric's cheek becomes a fiery crimson, and he abruptly stops drinking his soda to look at Dylan. It's abundantly clear how that sounded and what that implies. It knocks Dylan off balance, swirling colors, he's dizzy all of a sudden. Eric has a way of doing this to him and Dylan can't decide if he wants to run from it or keep it in a cage.

"Anyway..." Eric interrupts, licking his lips in a circle, drops of coke darkening the corners of his mouth. "Thanks again V."

"You're welcome." Dylan counters quietly. "I guess I should go."

"You can, or you can stay. Just don't bitch at me if you get sick."

Eric is a human after all, Dylan decides. More man than myth if you break it down to the facts. The true man in and of himself is more intriguing than any story or rumor. It's a shame more people don't know Eric like this. He's an ornery fuck, and he's irresistible.

Chapter Text

Silently, I hold the door for Eric to walk through. We're skipping out, slinking from the nave of my childhood church as carefully as we can. I hastily pull the flask out of the pocket of my jeans, looking around to make sure no one sees us slip away into the men’s bathroom just as the reverend begins to recite Christmas Mass. My family isn't even religious, not really. Neither is Eric's family. We're what they call "chreasters" as in, people who only show up to church on Christmas or Easter. None of it makes any fucking sense. I catch Brooks in my periphery, his face tilted toward the reverend in concentration. That fake ass fuck only shows up on Christmas, never Easter. I carefully allow the bathroom door to swing closed behind me.

Immediately I'm met with Eric's lips, pressed against my own, kissing me in a sloppy, needy frenzy. I kiss him back, albeit with less force. He has me pinned against the door, which makes me anxious because anyone can just walk in and find us together and call us godless heathens. Although we've already been called worse to be fair. I try pushing Eric off, and manage to shimmy out of his grasp. He gazes at me, smirking as he wipes his mouth, his glassy eyes giving away how stoned he is. I procure the flask from my pocket and hold it up, flipping the cap up. I take a long swig, welcoming the taste of vodka. I wordlessly hand it off to Eric as I brush by him and beckon him into a bathroom stall.

“Reb, hand it back will you?” I whisper, hoarsely, locking the stall door behind us.

Reluctantly, he hands the flask back to me, then scrambles to unzip his fly. I put my flask in my pocket, more than half of my vodka stash consumed between the two of us. I start on my own pants, undoing my belt and jean button. Eric shoves by me in the tight stall to sit on the toilet lid, his jeans still on, though unbuttoned and open.

As I push my pants down I look up, catching sight of a wooden crucifix hanging on the wall near the window in this bathroom. I can't help but chuckle. Eric follows my gaze, moving his head off kilter and slow in the same way he always does when he's completely drunk and high. He cackles in kind, elated by this revelation of ours.

“I guess Jesus wants to watch us fuck, that dumb crucified asshole.”

This whole situation is rather ironic. Here we are in a bathroom stall of a Catholic church skipping Christmas Mass to have gay sex in ‘the house of god.’

“Do you think he’s jealous?” I jest, grinning down at Eric

Eric feigns sincerity. “Wouldn’t you be if you died like two thousand years ago and were dying for a fuck?”

I shrug “Personally, I’m dying to sit on that dick.”

“I’m dying for my dick to be sat on.”

I climb into Eric's lap, sporting a semi. I grind playfully against his growing erection. He nips at my neck through my polo shirt, leaving fresh hickeys in the wake of his lips. It's as if my skin is his canvas and his medium is bruises and bite marks. I hate how much I love it and yet can't get more. I can't have too many because I can never justify wearing turtle necks to cover it all up. I know how unhealthy this is—I know I'm nothing more than his plaything—yet I'm compelled by the duality of his unpredictable nature; the soft, warm caresses juxtaposed by the violent hands and bruising force. I don't want to feel anything for him, but on the other hand, we as humans are beholden to what we feel and will pursue lust at any cost.

“Mm, Vodka?” Eric murmurs, his lips brushing softly against my collarbone.

“Yeah?”

“You have anything we can use as lube?”

“All I have is the rest of the vodka.”

He grins, eyeing me up as our cocks touch. “Let's try it.”

I sigh with mock exasperation, suppressing a growing smile. “This,” I said, angling down and groaning as I grab my pants and get the flask, “is an outrageous way to use my vodka." I flip the cap again and take a hearty mouthful before handing it off to him, and he subsequently chugs some too.

Eric pours a bit of the pungent liquid into his hands and rubs it onto his dick. He hisses, bucking his hips at the sting. He drops the flask in favor of holding me by my hips, shifting me closer towards him, before moving a hand to his vodka-covered cock.

"Well that sucked." He complains, lining up his throbbing length into the crevasse of my ass. "Worth it though. God, I fucking need you."

It's surprising how quickly and easily he slides into me, slick with liquor. I try to be as silent as possible, taking him balls deep in to my body with only quiet and hurried breaths. Eric fully moans, eyes rolling back into his head. I hurriedly clap a hand over his mouth.

“Shut the fuck up.” I chide in a hushed tone, hissing through my teeth, “Let me ride the cum out of you in peace.”

Eric emits a breathy chuckle against my palm, clearly not caring who may or may not overhear us.

“You’re such an asshole,” I groan as I rock myself up and down on his cock.

“That's rich...” Eric retorts, voice muffled by my trembling hand "Cuz I'm pounding your asshole.”

Eric licks the palm of my hand, causing me to recoil my hand from his face, just like he wanted. He takes hold of my hands and guides them to his neck. He blushes, too shy to ask me to choke him. I know without him saying what he wants. It's his way of offering me control over his life and death. I never thought when we first met that he'd have this side to him. Usually he's so angry and mean, yet he lets me decide whether he lives or dies in this vulnerable state. I don't know why and I don't dare ask why. My hips pound my all consuming wrath onto his hearty cock, my hands tightening around his pretty throat. I feel a sick pleasure course through me. Pure satisfaction and elation in every strangled gasp, the way his eyelashes flutter, the vice grip he has on my waist. Between breaths I kiss his face, his lips, his skin is hot to the touch against my lips.

I give it my all, knees becoming increasingly weak, my breathing labored, my muscles involuntarily beginning to tense. I shift my hands from their place around his neck to his shoulders for better stability. I'm trembling. It's all I can do to stay silent though I'm agonizingly close to cumming. Eric's grasp on my hips tightens even more and he fucks up into me hard and fast. Hushed curses slip from both of our mouths, alerting me to my loss of control. Eric knows what I need without me having to say, wrapping his liquor slicked hand around my dick so that each stroke of his hips fucks my cock into his hand. I cling to him, muffling my pleasured gasps with my hand over my mouth.

I toss my head back as I cum all over his hand. He sighs happily and kisses my neck so gently, so sweetly and bliss courses through my veins. I breathe in Eric's scent—shaving cream from his shower this morning mixed with the faint aromas of weed and flannel clinging to his clothing. His cum spills out of me, coating my thighs and his lap.

"We came together." He announces drowsily, sounding nearly incoherent.

“How faded are you?” I ask, trying to catch my breath while he holds me around the waist.

"About as fucked up as usual.”

I nod agreeingly, knowing I do the same thing. We keep ourselves at a decent level of altered at all times. It's safer for those around us. Alcohol quiets our thoughts, weed makes us loopy, daffy, even forgetful. A few times we've forgotten to plan a damn thing for NBK because we just get fucked up, then fuck and fall asleep. A weed-induced-acid-like trip of a sleep.

Eric sits still in his inebriated state as I clean us both up and straighten our church clothes. He's more of a stoner, and waivers under the amount of vodka he's had. Me however, I'm a pro. I get my flask from the floor and swallow what's left. We both stand up in the stall and he sighs as he assesses his appearance. He tucks in his shirt and swipes his hair away from his forehead. I get bitter watching him, thinking about what he may think of me, whether he still cares about me, about the plan. I keep it at bay. However long this lasts and whatever may happen in the future, I just want to feel what he makes me feel as long as I can.

Eric and I sneak out of our clandestine sex rendezvous, mixing with the crowd after we creep through the doors into the church again, as everyone is singing "Oh Holy Night." In typical Reb fashion, Eric begins to sing boisterously and exuberantly. His mom glances back at us and gives us an approving nod, clearly oblivious to how long we've been missing. Hearing the sound, that stupid fuck face Brooks turns around too, singing and giving us a distasteful glare. I begin to sing uproariously with Eric, and we both give him aggressive middle fingers the instant Eric's mother looks away.

Chapter Text

It begins with violence. Dylan bites Eric’s neck and presses canine smiles against his mouth, paws at the bulge of Eric's hardening cock like he’s in heat, whispering how he wants the night to go into the skin of Eric's jawbone using the same voice he threatens jocks with. They stumble to the bed – and couch, and the old desk in Eric's basement and back to the bed– anywhere they can get their hands on each other. They tug at each other until there’s no more clothes, and kiss until Dylan's mouth is swollen and chapped, the glint of his teeth a threat in the dim light.

He plots everything out just like they've been planning everything together. Thoughtful and languid nights of longing have turned into reality. Eric, who's ever impatient and hurried, stretches himself open until his insides throb, moans for Vodka just to watch his eyes slit. Eric pulls him closer by the hair, testing just how far Dylan's patience can go. Eric is cunning, he’s smart, he knows Dylan is a weak little god when it comes to carnal pleasure. He whimpers through his smile when Dylan greedily grips the meat of his thigh and spreads his legs open, feral need settling on his handsome features.

Dylan leans in, pulling Eric into a naked kiss, one of his long fingers under his chin, their skin pressing together all warm. Eric melts around the edges, opening his mouth to let Dylan's tongue lick behind his teeth, pulling him impossibly closer with his arms circling his neck. Eric lets one of his hands slide up, across the expanse of milky skin above him, groping the suppler parts, skidding his thumb over a hardened nipple. Eric swallows the gasp Dylan lets out, and he smiles against his lips. Eric knows exactly how to fuck Dylan into bits and soft pieces so that he can consume him body and soul.

Dylan's body enveloping him into the mattress makes Eric lose his cool a little. Dylan smells like smoke and pine, his chest deliciously quivering around a stuttered swear and Eric's name as fingers are pressed into the supple flesh of Dylan's shoulders. Eric fully intends to keep putting up a fight, even if his breathing is shallow and his legs are tightening around Dylan's waist. It's never a fair fight. Dylan, in an act of possession, bites down on Eric's lip hard enough to pierce skin, a flame in his eyes.

“Reb, are you really gonna be a hard to get bitch all night?” he pants, and it’s amusing how strained it sounds.

“Maybe.” Eric purrs, kissing Dylan's cheekbone then the bridge of his nose. “You gonna do anything about it, or just sit there like a newb?”

Dylan's eyes open slightly in alarm, but he won’t let his reaction show.

Eric is spread out for him like prey, flushed and slightly sweaty from his forehead down to his thighs, and Dylan knows he’ll find tiny bruises where the pads of his fingers dig into Eric's perfect skin. It’s almost endearing how eager and honest Eric's body is, a drop of precum beading at the tip of his cock, the jerk it gives when Dylan's hand slides down to fondle it. It contradicts the challenging smirk on Eric's face, as if he thinks he's controlling their little game flawlessly.

Dylan slicks his fingers with lube and sinks in two at once, swallowed up with ease by Eric's prior preparation. Eric's eyelashes flutter at the sensation, eyebrows drawing into a tight furrow. Dylan's fingers are long and slim, plunging farther than Eric can. It makes him quiver as Dylan's knuckles brush that one spot teasingly. There’s no actual need to prepare him anymore, but Dylan is fully addicted to the way Eric's face looks with a hand between his legs, chest stuttering, eyes slowly glazing over with a sugary glimmer. He would trade the halcyon for Eric's needy and airy whimpers any time.

“Come on V, ” He whines, squeezing Dylan's fingers with his body, and it sounds just like music.

Dylan presses his cock in slowly, inch by inch, hissing at the hot, wet and tight pleasure. Eric pants and groans, uttering swear words. His hazel eyes get swallowed by inky black pupils. His thighs tremble when Dylan bottoms out, that mighty dick carving a nest in Eric's guts. Dylan keeps one hand on Eric's cheek to keep their faces aligned, kissing him sweetly. Eric can't speak for several moments, adrift in the pressing of their skin, absorbing the way Dylan talks when they fuck. Eric feels as if he's the entire world right now, blinded by cock and those sky colored eyes towering above him.

It doesn’t take Eric long to want more, to utter the words "Fuck me" in a shredded voice, one that tears at Dylan's sanity. He starts gently, grinding into him and keeping Eric in place with two unwavering hands on his hips, stuffing his cock so far inside him he’ll be feeling it for days.

“Harder." Eric commands, spoken through his teeth. Dylan fucks into him the way he wants for only one thrust, skin slapping obscenely loud, and Eric silently screams at the sensation, a hand digging into Dylan's bicep. “Please-fuck, please."

“Oh?” He nuzzles his mouth right beside Eric's ear, voice dripping with syrupy desire. “But first, you're gonna be a good boy for me, aren't you?”

Eric forces his legs to open wider, to accommodate Dylan to be even closer, and his entire body shivers. Dylan starts a slow rhythm, the roll of his hips almost teasing. The room seems to get ten degrees hotter, the slide of their skin a maddening sensation when combined with their hushed kisses and swear words, the sound of hair being grabbed into fists and bedsheets shifting.

“Oh god Reb. You feel so good.” He's rewarded with a squeeze around his length. Lube and precum begin to spill out around the base of his cock, which creates a wet slap whenever Dylan fucks all the way in.

“Fuck yes. Fucking take it just like that."

Eric is fully gone, mouth open to let out pretty little breathy gasps. He looks glorious under Dylan's thrusts, clinging to his arms with white knuckles. No matter how many times they have sex, Dylan will never get tired of seeing Eric fucking Harris wrecked and defiled like this, all their walls and defenses lowered only for each other.

Eric likes a hand on his throat and teeth on his neck. He likes the feel of Dylan's cock spearing him open almost to shreds, the cold sting of that pain deleting his thoughts for a while. He likes those times they're both so horny that Dylan grabs him by the hair and shoves him face-down ass-up, smothered into the pillows as he’s fucked until his hips give out. He even likes the look of those red handprints on his ass that stay for days afterwards, although he'll probably never admit that part.

Dylan presses him even deeper into the mattress, grunting at the sticky grip around his cock and at the way Eric's tongue peeks between his lips. He’s velvet soft inside, and Dylan's dick feels like it will melt from how hot his insides are, clinging to his length each time he pulls back.

Dylan puts a hand on Eric's jaw to keep their eyes locked, sliding the other hand behind his knee to pull his leg up, and rocks slow and sweet into his guts. Dylan pounds him open and presses viciously against him again and again and again. Eric's eyes roll back into his head at the pressure, uttering curses and nonsense as his entire body burns something fierce. It feels so good to see him lose himself in this ecstasy. For them to abandon themselves in each other

It makes it so much better to hold Eric close, to keep a steady grip on his gorgeous face while he shakes and gasps. Dylan watches Eric's eyes, brimming with tears and pleasure at the seams. Eric looks at him like he's starved and Dylan is the one keeping him fed with every caress, nourishing him with worship. Dylan thrusts wildly into him, kissing his cheeks while whispering filthy little nothings in his ear. "So good to me, such a good boy. Fuck Reb, so good." and it actually hurts Dylan to the core to think how lucky he is to get to see Eric like this. To be the one who makes Eric get like this.

Every roll of his hips wrenches a choked sob from Eric, one hand loosely forgotten by the side of his head while the other weakly grips the Dylan's arm. Eric's cock twitches miserably against his own navel. Dylan presses a kiss to Eric's forehead as he fucks into him, letting go of his face to fuck faster and with renewed vigor. Eric gags on a moan, his back aching and his thighs burning. Each lurid noise and sexy remark from Dylan's lips makes it worth it and the sweat glittering across Dylan's chest and face makes him look like an angel. A fallen angel. Fucking Lucifer in the sky with diamonds

"V. Shit... -oh fuck. I'm - gonna fucking cum.” is all Eric manages to sputter before Dylan presses against his prostate one last time, grinding as deep as he can while Eric falls apart on his cock, clenching around him so hard it makes a wounded grunt slip from Dylan's lips.

It doesn’t take long for him to cum either, with the shaky grip of Eric's ass milking the throbbing in his gut, and he’s a few strokes away from growling a curse and pumping Eric full with his seed, deep enough to hurt.

Eric lies there, panting for air, and whines when Dylan pulls out his softening cock. Dylan brushes his sweaty hair off his forehead, watching Eric regain his composure as he takes a deep breath. He almost purrs when the Eric nuzzles up into him, wrapping his arms around him in a post nut hug. Dylan knows better than to actually describe Eric like that out loud, so he just keeps it in his mind sorted and stored like a filing card. He revels in the rare embrace. Dylan isn't used to this, this gooey-warm weight that tugs at his insides and presses against his lungs, rendering him breathless as he looks and looks and looks at Eric, too stunned to even begin to comprehend what this means. Dylan always feels so empty and forlorn, so useless and pointless. Except here with Eric. Those feelings can't exist here. How could this even be real? Feeling unsure and scared to dissipate whatever illusion this may or may not be Dylan ever so carefully uses a shaky hand to cup Eric's cheek. If this is a dream, so be it. At least this dream has the eyes of a man that conquers the stars and dances with fate.

Eric blinks up at him, still relaxed and drowsy with pleasure. He playfully bites at Dylan's hand. "What's up butthead?"

Dylan can't find the courage to express his thoughts. His heart starts squirming around his chest and it's sickening to feel so tormented. It's him and Eric, not the decision to live or die. He needs to calm down. He settles for the usual "Wanna watch pulp fiction and get fucked up?”

Eric raises an eyebrow, and doesn’t question further. He's happy with that. No matter how many times they collide in the shadows, they will always and forever end up calm and at ease in the protective nook of each others company. All they need is each other.