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Andre had fallen right into Cal’s trap. Even though Cal was counting down to the end of what seemed like both of their lives, he never pulled the trigger. But Andre did, and now his body lay limp on the floor he’d been walking on triumphantly just minutes before.
“Shots fired,” the blond faintly heard the 911 operator state through the cell phone speaker. “Perpetrators may be down.”
She wasn’t entirely wrong; one of the Army of Two was down, but the other one was more up than ever before.
There was no one else left in the library with him; Cal even remarked about that earlier. Surely no one else would be barging in anytime soon either, unless they wanted to meet the same fate as their fellow victims. The singular boy looked around at his surroundings before looking back down at his friend who was left a beautiful, gory mess below him.
Cal never thought Andre looked more handsome.
The “leader” of the Army of Two’s plan to flee the scene and destroy more of civilization? Out the window. The only one who would really be caught dead in a black plastic bag was Andre. Cal would claim victory; the sole survivor of the wrath of a false angel. Then again, of course he’d be the sole survivor; he was the false angel. If Cal wasn’t going to leave cleanly, then neither was his co-conspirator.
Andre had finally found the way of the Samurai. Well played, Lieutenant.
Without giving it too much of a second thought, Cal unzips and unwinds. The blaring of police sirens can probably be heard for at least a mile, but he just tunes it out. His only focus right now is the sexy meat shell that was his friend. He’s dead weight, dead muscle, dead sweat, dead blood.
The blond plants a solemn kiss onto his brunet accomplice’s lips, or what’s left of them. He’s still warm, soft, delicate. His skull is wide open and filled with chunks of brain tissue swimming in blood and spilling out onto the floor. Cal sits himself down onto his friend’s crotch and starts to rut against it, his body moving on its own accord in order to feel something of the dead boy against it. Andre’s hips twitch slightly, almost as if he can feel what’s happening to him. Almost as if he wants more.
“Always knew you were a slut,” Cal mutters, more to himself since no one else is around to hear him. His hand trembles in shock and excitement as he sticks his fingers into the red abyss and uses the atrocity to make himself wetter. He’s defiling a corpse, and he’s about to do so much worse.
He imagines Andre’s gaping wound with cum dripping into the remnants of a brain; life within death. It’s not too far from reality, and Cal can feel it coming. He can feel himself coming. That’s two loads shot in Andre’s skull; two more than he’d expected. But Cal knew better. He knew that no innards within cumshot distance would remain pure. The angel would make his mark, and only then it would be his time to die.