A.N. NEW STORY, as promised. This is the final book in the FM Trilogy (they're all stand-alones though), called Save Me. It'll be sexy and depressing (the best mix imo lmao). I hope you guys like it!
This story is the story of Isaac Attenborough, about the boys he meets along the way, the boys he destroys, or the boys that try to save him. I hope you like it. As usual, the story does include sexual content, which is why it's rated Mature, but it isn't about sex. Sex just happens, as it does in life. Hope you enjoy the story!
"I'm crazy and I don't pretend to be anything else."
-Rihanna
♔ Chapter One ♔
He moaned loud, when I fucked him.
My hands ran over the surface of his bare, naked skin, feeling the shivers of his body against mine, and I loved it. The way my fingertips trailed hard over his body, down his back and around to his dick to stroke it playfully, this was what I lived for. The feel of another boy's skin against mine, the sounds, the smells, everything about it. It consumed me.
His name was Hedley, not that I cared about him at all. His arms were thrown over my shoulders, while I fucked him faster. He liked to scrape his nails along the skin of my back, clawing at it, begging me to fuck him harder, so I did. His body was small, and light, and hanging off of the edge of my hips, making it easier for me to manipulate him, to own him.
Hedley wasn't anyone that I knew really well, to be honest. A guy I'd fucked a few times, who didn't mind it being too rough, who let me do whatever I wanted without a care in the world. That was really the only thing I liked about him. He was a lot more open than the other guys I fucked, so I liked fucking him more.
The other guys, they were either too soft or too gentle, or expected things from me that I just couldn't give them. Relationships, requited love, all things I couldn't find in me to give away anymore; things that wholeheartedly made me sick to my stomach.
At the end of the day, they all meant nothing to me. Hedley, in a way, meant more to me than the others, but that was just because I could stand his company more. Some boys would be pushy or whiny, too hopeful, too stuck in their own heads.
I'd imagine they had this idyllic dream where they could build some kind of life with me, but the sour reality of it was, I wasn't built to love, to be loved, to be happy, and that was just the way it was. None of them really meant anything to me. I didn't even really like them, they were just fucks. Distant, blurry fucks.
Blurry faces, blurry bodies, blurry everything. Even the sex was kind of a blur to me, in the moment. He was just something I could shove my dick into and fuck hard and fast and then leave right after. I stopped giving a shit about people a long time ago, if I ever really did.
The way I saw it, people were just there for me to fuck with. Their bodies were built for my pleasure, and in a way, their pleasure too. I was never greedy or selfish with sex, I always made sure they got out of it exactly what I did. But whatever the case, boys existed purely for me to play with them - or, at least, that was how I liked to see it. They were mine to touch, mine to fondle, and mine to toss aside. Mine to control.
It was fun pretending that I was in control, that the power was mine, even though deep down I knew that the power was no-one's. The power was a phantom thing, an illusion I'd created for myself as a way of releasing everything I felt inside, because it was better to release it than to feel it.
Plus, it was a whole lot easier that way, wasn't it? Passing your self-hatred onto other people. When you despise yourself so much, when you hate everything that you are, everything that makes you you, it becomes a lot easier to throw the hatred back onto other people. To take out your anger on other lads, on their minds and on their bodies. It was easy to taint their souls, to destroy them the way I had been destroyed, because misery loves company, and well, meet misery.
So, yeah, that was what I did, and I didn't give a shit. It was a flawed coping mechanism, but it was the only one that worked for me, so I used it. I used it, and I used people. I'd fuck them, I'd throw them around, I'd run my hands along their naked and sweating bodies, I'd pound them and please them, and I'd let them call out my name. But right after, I'd be gone. As soon as we were done, I was gone.
It was easier to stay detached that way. Any other way, and we'd both get hurt. We'd both get hurt bad, because I always ended up hurting people. In my head, I was crippled by the disgusting things that I'd done. The brutal, vile things scattered in my past, things that fucked me up from a young age, and moulded me into the monster that I was today. The monster that avoided getting in too deep with relationships and feelings for fear of getting hurt, even if I enjoyed the hurt. It acted as a kind of reminder to me that I wasn't entirely heartless, I still felt things, I still bled like everyone else. It gave me hope that maybe I wasn't the big monster that I liked to think I was.
Hedley came first, all over himself. I watched it spurt out onto his chest, his face twisting around in satisfaction, his whole body shaking when I didn't stop.
Most times, it was always the other guy who'd come first. I reveled in the approach, in the pounding, in the minutes that would pass by. Somewhere hidden in those minutes, I'd ebb away, I'd lose myself, and I guess that's what I liked about sex so much. By the end of it all, I'd let myself shoot inside of him, and we'd collapse onto the bed or the floor or wherever it was that we were fucking that day, and we'd be done. I'd be gone. Everything wouldn't matter anymore.
"God, you're a fucking animal," he told me, his body falling down, collapsing in on itself. My eyes caught the way his stomach turned inwards when he lay on his back, the lines and curvatures of his thin frame making his ribs obvious. In that moment, his fragility was more visible than ever before - one of the reasons why I picked him out from the crowd. He was fucked up, just like me, but in a thousand different ways. I was drawn to broken things.
My ears listened to his breathing, as he rested. Fast and hard and rugged, his small chest rising and falling, and his heart racing. I started pulling my clothes together, after that, fearing that I'd stayed too long.
"Cheers," was all I said to him, throwing my shirt back over my shoulders, feeling it stick to my skin from the sweat dripping off of me. From looking at him, I could tell I looked exactly the same. His skin slickened with the smell and sweat of pure sex, shining in the ambience of his bedroom. His hair clung to his forehead, just like mine, his breathing heavy, just like mine.
"You're leaving then?" he asked, already knowing the answer. It had become a kind of routine, coming over to his flat at uni, fucking, and then pissing off. I imagined his flatmates knew exactly what was going on, but neither of us cared enough to even keep the noise down - him especially. We were at uni, after all. What else were you supposed to do?
"Yeah," I answered, pulling on my socks, one by one.
"I get it, you don't like to stay around after. Call me when you want to go again."
I watched him for a second after, where he lay, his body sprangled over his bed carelessly. His sheets were creased and half-hanging off of the mattress, his arms thrown lazily behind his head. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the drawers at the side of his bed, and sparked one up. Hedley always did that, after sex, I'd noticed. Last time, I'd stayed and smoked one with him, but most times, I'd just go back home. Habits can be bad to get out off, especially when they concerned boys as gorgeous and as good in bed as Hedley Haynes.
"I will." Maybe I meant it that time. I wasn't sure.
"Will you, though?" he asked, smiling, letting the fumes dangle in the air around him. He had an honest smile, it was one of the few reasons we had a casual thing going on. He understood the rules a lot more than the other guys, because, in a way, he was exactly like me. No strings attached, no feelings, just sex. That was how we both liked it, I think. The silent rules of what we had going on.
"Yeah, I'll call you," I reassured him. "You're fit, and the sex is good, so I'll call you."
His hand landed on my chest, as I was about to walk away. His body lifted back up into a sitting position, his face swooping in closer to mine. Taking a quick drag from his fag, he fanned the inhalation over my face with a smug grin plastered over his boyish features.
Seeing him smile reminded me of another reason why I picked him out of the crowd, the first time I saw him. He wandered into a university lecture twenty minutes late, a theatre of three hundred people, that same smile creasing his features, and acted like he didn't have a care in the whole fucking world. Nothing mattered to him. I admired that about him so much, more than he could ever know, and more than I could ever tell him. It would be breaking the unspoken rules, after all.
"Hey, yeah, sorry," he muttered to the lecturer up front, before striding into a seat in the front row of the lecture theatre. He walked with such pride, too, another thing I quietly admired about him. It was a kind of confidence that I found sexy in guys, so the first time I approached him, we fucked in the disabled toilets ten minutes after the lecture ended.
Within the first five minutes of meeting him, I knew he was a fag. It wasn't that he made it obvious, but it was the look he gave me when we caught eyes for the first time. He was outrageously flirty too, but not just with me, with everyone. And he had absolutely no fucks to give, so when I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into the nearest toilet, he didn't say a word.
The door jammed shut behind us, and he wasted no time in forcing his lips on mine, his hands eagerly pressing into my jeans. When I slammed him hard against the wall and ripped every piece of clothing off of his body, he still didn't say a word. But as soon as his dick went in my mouth, then he started talking.
"Fuck," he'd say. "Shit," was another one. "Oh my fucking god!" was one of my personal favourites.
After that day, we'd call or meet up whenever we fancied a meaningless quickie.
Just as I was about to leave his flat, his hands held me in place, standing at the edge of his bed. His face was inches from mine. Our noses nudged, before our lips met again, wet and slow. His tongue peaked out gradually and ran over my lower lip, down my chin, along the length of my jaw, my neck, and then, he withdrew.
"'Til next time, you fuck up." Then his hands pushed me away from him, and I turned towards the door.
"Next time," I paused, stopping my hand from reaching out to feel the side of his face. I half-turned back, knelt in, and kissed him gently on the forehead before leaving. I didn't stay to see the look on his face either.
I knew what he'd be thinking. I had boys worked out from a very young age. I knew exactly how to toy with them, to get into their heads, and to have them thinking about me for hours after I was gone. It gave me a kind of control, knowing the power I had over them.
I could already tell what he would be thinking, about that small, affectionate kiss. His first reaction would be to raise his hand to where my lips had been, and smile, once I'd gone, at the thought that maybe I liked him. Like, liked him. But I knew Hedley knew better than that, he knew me better than that. He knew I was testing him, teasing him, taunting him with the idea that maybe we could be more than a casual shag, when we both knew that was all we could ever be.
I think what intrigued me the most about him was that he saw right through my games. Where some boys would fall for me, where they would become effortlessly infatuated with me, Hedley would just shrug and laugh it off, because he was a slut, just like me. Another reason why I liked fucking him. But all the same, at the end of the day, I knew we could never be more than what we already were.
I knew I could never have anything more than that, in my whole lifetime, because happiness wasn't a construct built for people like us. It was built for people like them, the others, the ones that glided on by with life so easily. We envy them, don't we? It's hard not to, when they seem so perfect, and meanwhile we are so broken, so incomplete, spending our time just praying and hoping that maybe they'd be able to save us.
But I can't be saved, and believe me, people have died trying.
A.N. OMINOUS AS ALWAYS!
Anyway, as you can tell, this book is starting afresh for Isaac. As always, there are new boys for him to play with! I hope you can grow to love them. I can't wait to take you guys on this rollercoaster. I hope you cry your hearts out by the end.
Any continuity questions or just questions in general, don't be afraid to ask. I hope you're looking as forward to this as I am!
Xoxo, Clay.