Lonerism

Darker Skin (R)

A.N. Okay so this is the longest one shot (and the longest single chapter update) I've EVER written! It's nearly seven thousand words which for me is a FUCKING LOT.

WARNING: This one is a dark, religious story about a Muslim boy coming to terms with the fact that he's gay, and trying to deal with the internal struggle. I did my research and I'm sure it's mostly spot on (I come from a town with a large Muslim population, so I have some knowledge on what English Muslims are like - not all Muslims, and in no way am I trying to paint vast swathes of the Islamic community in a negative way, I'm just telling a story). But do let me know what you think!

Also, there appears to be multiple spellings for certain Islamic phrases so if you see a spelling you don't use, it's still a spelling that IS used. Thanks for reading, and enjoy the story! Xoxo.

"Indeed we belong to Allah, and indeed to him we will return."

-Quran 2:156

Darker Skin

Nadir Nasrallah used to be a good Muslim.

He recited quotes from the Quran to his parents as a young boy, he had memorised its verses and heeded its ancient knowledge, he used to pray five times a day, and go to the Mosque every Friday.

But lately he was finding it harder to believe in something greater than himself, something he thought was both wonderful and terrible at the same time.

As he grew older, he couldn't help but to feel disillusioned with his god - he just didn't believe in Him anymore.

He knew why, too. As he lay in bed on a dreary Saturday morning, he knew exactly why he couldn't bring himself to believe - as his hands played over his chest, his fingertips running along the surface of his skin, sinking low to his waist - it was because he was a faggot; because he thought of random boys from school while he stroked himself, and he liked it.

Not all the boys were random, though. Most of the time his mind would wander to a specific boy that he knew, a boy that he'd had certain affections for for as long as he could remember, a boy who'd ravaged and fucked him too many times to count. The tight feeling in his trousers every time he saw him confirmed his worst fears, but he couldn't control who he liked, even if his god would hate him for it.

He thought of a boy with hair the colour of sticky caramel, falling over his forehead and framing his face, making him look perfect in his mind's eye. Nadir imagined his eyes too, a crystallised blue with streaks of a sickly-sweet green spiking from the centre - eyes that almost looked like the Earth from farthest space, glowing and gorgeous, larger than life and so far from his grasp.

He gave into his darker desires in that moment, and thought of the boy's muscled arms and the bulging abs hiding beneath his shirt. He pictured his white skin shining with sweat and musk. Just imagining the smell made him hard instantly.

His mind continued to wander after that, from the feeling of taking him in his mouth to the lusty sensation of being fucked, of fucking and sucking, riding and slapping, spanking, pounding, kissing, licking and touching.

His mind raced only with the thought of boys. Boys, boys, boys - and he came quickly from those thoughts, the pleasure bursting through him, shuddering and shooting, his voice calling out quietly.

When he was done, he lay motionless in his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Then the guilt started sinking in. Allāh sees all, and he judges all that you do.

Nadir knew he couldn't change who he was, despite years of trying. He had first tried to condition himself from even thinking such sinful thoughts, to remind himself that even thinking them was a sin. But once he reached that age, he knew it was already too late. His subconscious would always wander back to boys, so he gave up, and he gave in.