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"C'mon, we've always wanted to do this~" Lyle whispered.
"Haha, yeah, we should go back to your apartment first..."
"Yeah, yeah, that's fine..." The taller man responded. "See ya, Kyle." He waved behind him before stumbling into Chris.
They decided to take the bus back to Lyle's place. Once they got inside, they immediately headed for the bedroom. Their clothes came off in a blur, and the blonde quickly found himself pinned under the tattooed man.
"Oh, you're like, bigger than I thought..." Chris admitted, a slight hint of fear in his voice.
"You'll be fine," Lyle reassured before slipping his dick inside him. "Fuck, you're tight!" He started to thrust, causing the Irishman to whimper at first, but it soon turned into loud moans that would probably get them a noise complaint.
The black-haired man nipped at the blonde's neck, before giving him full on hickeys, letting the shorter man do the same. "I've never been with a guy before..."
"Eh, you're my third or fourth guy," Chris started in between moans, "You've been the best, though."
They continued their awkward, drunken small talk while they fucked.
"You're so cute, Chris~" Lyle purred. His cheeks were pink, both from the alcohol and from blushing. His moans were adorable.
They sloppily made out as they came closer to finishing, only stopping when Lyle noticed the blonde jacking himself off. "My, aren't you impatient..."
Chris' body bucked and shivered as he came onto his stomach and chest. The American soon followed, filling the other man with his cum. He collapsed onto the bed, almost on top of him, wiping the sweat off of his forehead.
They kissed as they cooled down for a few minutes, before they went to clean themselves up.
The two men cuddled as they watched a nature documentary about monkeys, mainly because Chris insisted on it. His obsession was weird, but cute according to Lyle.
There were a lot of things that he adored about the Irishman. He was a bit chubby, which Lyle thought was cute. He always wore a hat or a beanie, like how Zach always wore sunglasses. Slightly longer than average blonde hair. Irish accent. Handsome face. Great personality. Made hilarious jokes. Adorable laugh.
It had been a couple hours, and they still hadn't fallen asleep yet, now watching some shitty horror movie. He didn't know if it was the alcohol wearing off or what, but the American suddenly started feeling gross about himself.
"I'm gonna go use the bathroom," he whispered, prying Chris' arms off of him. He quickly pissed, spending more time washing his hands and looking at himself in the mirror.
Why did he feel so bad about that experience now? Was it because he had a one night stand? Probably not, he had a habit of bringing someone home almost every time he went to the bar. Then again, he didn't want to become one of those sex addicted people who watched porn and masturbated every day. Was it because he was a friend and not just a stranger? Again, no, he'd been with a couple of his female friends before. Then, it hit him. He'd only ever hooked up with women. Chris was a guy.
No. No no no no no no no. Part of his mind didn't care, he'd always been somewhat interested in the shorter man, he felt like he accomplished something by getting in bed with him. But the sane part of his mind knew that he couldn't be happy about it. His parents would kill him if they found out, even though it would have been pretty hard for them to know.
He punched the bathroom mirror, leaving it shattered. Fuck. He'd been suppressing his feelings towards men his whole life, and he'd let some alcohol ruin it.
"Are you okay, Lyle?" Chris asked worriedly as he knocked on the door.
"I'm fine, d-don't worry about it," the black-haired man responded, quickly locking himself in the bathroom. He started to pick the small shards of glass out of his hand.
What was Lyle going to do? He was afraid that the shorter man would tell somebody about their experience. He didn't really seem like that type of guy, but he was still anxious about it. As he looked in the broken mirror, he noticed the light bruises on his neck.
Shit, he'd forgotten that they'd given each other hickeys. Even if the blonde didn't tell anybody, if they were in the same room together, people would easily put two and two together.
He definitely had to do something about this. The first thing that came to mind was an incredibly drastic measure.
Kill him.
Lyle knew that this was a terrible idea, of course, who wouldn't. But he didn't know what else to do, honestly.
He snuck out of the bathroom, Chris not noticing, and looked for an old camping knife he had. He found it in a rarely opened drawer in the kitchen, and silently walked back into his bedroom. The American silently watched the other man for a minute, hiding the knife, before lunging on top of him.
The taller man was a bit lenient at first, just lightly cutting at his arms. Chris, understandably, freaked out, and pushed Lyle off of him. He leaped off the bed and ran out of the room. The black-haired man was fast, though, and he quickly caught up to him. His muscular, tattooed arms easily held the other man down as they both fell onto the floor. Again, the blonde tried to push him off, but he was easily overpowered.
Lyle started to properly stab the terrified man, starting near the collarbone and moving down towards his chest and stomach. The tattooed man was scared himself, but not necessarily because of what he was doing. He sort of...enjoyed it. It was worrying to him, to say the least.
"Why are you doing this, dude?!?" Chris yelled. "I-I have to!" The American answered, breathing heavily. It was terrible, having to listen to the blonde's screams of pain, but Lyle had to keep going. It got to the point where his victim was coughing up blood when he tried to call for help.
He eventually started to feel bad for the injured man, and gave him one final stab in the side of the neck before dropping the knife and getting off of him. It was disturbing, he'd never seen so much blood in his life. Both of their bodies were covered in blood, and the carpet surrounding Chris was stained red.
His neck wound was bleeding profusely, and he was still coughing blood. He wasn't quite dead yet, but Lyle didn't have the heart to finish him off. It wasn't like it mattered, though. The Irishman wouldn't make it to the morning, he'd die of blood loss before then.
The now murderer took a quick shower to clean the blood of of him. It was creepy, the way the water turned red as it dripped off his body and went into the drain. He didn't think much of it, though, as he finally went to bed.
---
As soon as Lyle woke up, he felt sick. He had an absolutely terrible hangover. As he walked over into the bathroom, he noticed a strong, metallic smell. He didn't worry about it too much at first, just another thing that made him want to throw up. He saw the ruined mirror, too, but just chalked it up to drunken antics.
He knelt over the toilet and vomited into it. This was the worst he'd felt in a while. As soon as he was done and was wiping his mouth off, he got a phonecall. From Kyle, of course, who always called at the worst times.
"Hello?" Lyle asked, almost in a whisper. He'd just awoken and then thrown up, after all, he wasn't really in the mood to talk.
"Hey man, did you make it home okay last night?"
"Okay-ish, I guess..." He answered, slowly making his way out of the bathroom to find the source of the awful scent.
"Aw suck it up, you'll live. By the way, I never knew that you were gay. You brought Chris home with you, right?"
"What are you-OH, SH-shit!" He rediscovered Chris' dead body, and remembered everything that had happened last night.
"Hm? You okay?" There was genuine concern in Kyle's voice, a rarity.
"It's nothing, I'm just really gay, and I'm overjoyed!...Okay, bye!" Lyle responded before quickly hanging up. Tears started to form and run down his cheeks. He didn't know why he felt the need to make a joke like that when there was a corpse laying right in front of him. Maybe it was just a fucked up way of trying to cope. The stench of blood was incredibly overwhelming, so much so that the tattooed man nearly vomited again, but he managed to control himself.
He panicked. What was he supposed to do with a dead body? He didn't quite know how to successfully hide one, and even if he did, he knew that he'd feel guilty for the rest of his life. His other option was to turn himself in, but there was no way in hell he was going to do that.
He did think of a third option. Off himself. Admittedly, it was the one that he felt the best about. No guilt, no prison time, just the sweet release of death as repercussion for his actions.
Fine, he would do it. He picked up the camping knife and just lightly cut at his wrists at first, small amounts of blood leaking out. He continued this for about 10 minutes, contemplating if this was really his best choice. Fuck it, it wasn't like anybody was going to miss him anyway.
He cut deeper into his wrists, pain flowing through his body as more of the red liquid rushed out of the wounds. God, it hurt so much more than he thought it would. He really felt for Chris, if this was what he had to go through.
Lyle proceeded to stab his stomach a couple of times before slicing at his neck a bit. He looked over at the dead Irishman, a disturbing sight. His eyes were glossed over, and there seemingly wasn't a single inch of skin that wasn't covered in blood.
Speaking of blood, it was still pouring out of the black-haired man, ruining his shirt and pants, not that it would matter in the long run. He felt himself getting weaker by the minute as he continued to run the knife through his skin. He even cut through his tribal tattoo which, even though he joked about it a lot, he did like, and hated to see it ruined. Whatever, he'd be dead in an hour at most.
The pain was completely unbearable at this point, and Lyle finally just stabbed at his neck, causing him to cough up blood much like how Chris did.
Chris. Fuck Chris. This was all his fault. If he hadn't started flirting with him, this wouldn't have happened.
He got yet another phonecall, yet again from Kyle. He didn't answer it, but it made him start to regret everything somewhat. If he hadn't gone to that bar, he wouldn't have had sex. If he wasn't so worried about his reputation, he wouldn't have killed Chris. If he hadn't overreacted, he wouldn't be bleeding out.
That thing about "nobody caring whether or not he died" wasn't entirely true, at least not when it came to Kyle. He'd care. But...he wouldn't care if he found out what his friend had done, so it didn't matter in the end to Lyle.
The American eventually fell over, still bleeding heavily, right next to his dead friend. He was getting weaker and weaker, unable to pick himself up, but still managed to crawl over to the blonde, giving him one final hug. He stared to cry again, but kept digging the knife into his gut as best he could.
Finally, he started to feel himself properly start to die.
Then, he felt nothing.
Lyle was gone.