[Columbine x TH] Boy Got a Gun

A Chapter by Anubis

Bill ran a hand nervously through his blond-streaked hair, his fingers catching on a series of tiny knots. He hissed in pain and attempted to yank his fingers through. Size was no guarantee of power, however, and he yelped as his failure sent a flash of sharp pain across his scalp.

"Don't be stupid," Tom sighed, putting down the gun he had been inspecting, and grabbing his twin's hairbrush from the end of Bill's bed. It was covered in those fake glue-on diamonds you could buy at a dollar store--Bill's addition, when he had felt that the neon blue brush was getting boring. They sparkled dully in the weak sunlight that filtered through the cheap curtains covering the window. Tom felt that it was a shame to place such inferior imitations anywhere near the vicinity of his brother, but Bill liked them, so he tolerated it.

"Someday I'll have the real thing," Bill said, following Tom's gaze to the brush. He grinned as his older brother sat behind him, and taking Tom's open legs as an invitation, nestled his a*s up against Tom's groin. He relished the sound of his brother's breath catching in his throat.

"You don't need any of this," murmured Tom , grasping a handful of Bill's long hair and beginning to run the brush through it, starting from the tips to avoid splitting the hair; he'd had enough lectures about the proper way to do it to last him a lifetime.

"It's pretty." Bill hummed, leaning into the rhythmic feel of Tom's attentions. He reached up and twisted one of his brother's dreads around his index finger, tugging gently. "I wish you didn't have these."

"One of us has to look tough." Tom ran the brush from the crown of Bill's head to the base of his skull, eliciting a shiver of pleasure that escaped Bill's slightly parted lips in an excited whisper.

Seized by a wild desire that he chose to blame on Bill's exposed porcelain neck, Tom pulled his brother backward and pinned him down on the faux wolf-fur duvet. He had not made the decision to kiss Bill, but it didn't matter, because neither was pulling away. Tom felt as if he was attempting to breathe concrete, and his hands gripped Bill's arms so tightly that he could feel his brother's muscles flex as if it was his own pulse racing up his arm.

The thought of their mother discovering them like this flitted briefly through his mind, but it dissolved as soon as it materialized. She didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered. It was him and Bill, and this moment in the half-light where the androgynous boy splayed out beneath him was gazing at him through wide, innocent eyes that overflowed with fear and anticipation. Bill's shirt, splashed with KMFDM's logo, had ridden up his midriff, displaying the tattoo Tom had taken him to get a few years ago; "BTK", their initials, were inscribed on his left hip, just above the lip of his boxers. They had laughed when the artist remarked that it was similar to the signature of Dennis Rader, but that was the reason Bill had wanted it. Always one for theatrics, Tom thought.

Of course, now it seemed a little on the nose. They weren't binding or torturing anyone, but they were going to do a lot of killing. The thought of it ignited his blood and send adrenaline surging through his body. Bill noticed the ravenous gaze of his brother, and took advantage of it, pushing Tom's head down to kiss the tattoo.

It was impossible to ignore sinful thoughts, especially as Bill's hips jutted upwards in response to Tom's attentions, and boxers seemed much less of a barrier than usual. Tom spared them a glance as he pulled them down, and couldn't help but grin at the message printed all over them: "Bite Me".

"Tomi, God," Bill gasped, gripping his lover's dreads in surprise as Tom obliged, in a fashion. He pressed a hand to his mouth in an effort to stifle his moan, and bucked his hips involuntarily in approval of Tom's attentions.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bill saw the TEC-DC9 pistol that Tom had bought only a few days ago. It loomed over him, though it lay unmoving on a table a few feet away. Its black case drew him in, swallowing his vision. The barrel was facing the adjacent wall, but he could see it in his mind. Dark. Forbidding. Final. He ached for it.

"Is it going to kill me?" Bill asked the hot room, his voice strained with approaching orgasm, and Tom raised his head, puzzled. His expression cleared when he saw what his brother was looking at.

"It doesn't have to."

"No," Bill said, unable to stop staring at it. "I want it."

"Are you alright?" Tom's hand had replaced his mouth, lazy strokes sustaining the feeling of pleasurable agitation.

"I just--I want to know how it looks." Bill struggled with the words, but he knew Tom would understand. It was an instinct between them. "Twin magic" was the term their mother used.

Tom wriggled off the bed and stepped over to the weapon, wrapping a hand around the grip and holding it up. It seemed even more imposing against the window. Bill had expected his hands to be shaking when he took the gun from his brother, but they were quite steady. It was much more beautiful up close, where he could see the melding of steel and plastic in the sinister, foreboding body. It seemed to whisper to him, comforting and unsettling all at once. It needed a name, but what would encompass this weapon so well?

"Malice," Bill whispered, the end of the word trailing into a groan as he came in Tom's hand. Bill welcomed Tom's last yearning, passionate kiss, and Tom let a smile tug at the corners of his lips as Bill pressed the muzzle to Tom's left temple.

"It's so..." Bill trailed off, unsure of the best word to use. How was he to express the object of wild magnificence he gripped tight now, both in need and trepidation?

"You," Tom finished, pushing the muzzle away gently until it rested at Bill's own temple, melding with the messy black hair that cascaded to his shoulders. Bill smiled.

"Us."