15Deep, Dark Secrets
Chapter One: Dirty Little Games
Summary: Ravi is a 16-yr-old with a passion for sex . . . with anyone: male or female. Phil likewise has a passion much the same, but once he tastes how sweet Ravi is, that's all he ever wants. Pity that the boy isn't willing to cooperate. But what if Phil doesn't take no for an answer?
XXX
I'm a bit of a risk taker.
And what I say "a bit," what I really mean is that I am a stupid sixteen-year-old boy who lives by his hormones. Which, needless to say, is bad.
I really, really wish I hadn't done what I did tonight. I mean, yeah . . . so she was incredibly sexy, and virgin, and all over me; but why did I sleep with her? Why, oh why on EARTH did I ever consider that a good idea?
It's not exactly a secret that her brother's been watching every move I've made for the past couple of weeks; ever since I stumbled drunk into a party the two of them were at and kissed her on the mouth. Only God-only-knows why I thought to do that. And he about killed me. I explained that I just liked kissing. A lot. It was just a kiss . . .
I was scared then. Oh, was I ever about to piss my sexy Hollister® pants when he was up in my face staring at me with those evil looking, dark eyes. Ick, I shudder just thinking about that guy; he's so creepy. But that was then, and this is now, and I had just slept with the sister he almost killed me for kissing.
Oh, shit, shit, shit. What the fuck was I thinking to do that?
I went deep into the mass of people at the party, trying to hide from him, and shivered at the thought of what that guy would do to me once he found out. And I wouldn't even give it until the end of the night; he'd probably find out within the next twenty minutes . . . Or worse yet, he was already looking for me.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God . . .
I had to pee. Really badly, too; and I think it was from being so nervous. Well, that, and I'd already drank quite a few beers tonight, which meant that I'd be headed to the bathroom a good five or six times before the night was over. Ya know, I think I could quit drinking just from getting annoyed at having to go to the bathroom so much, but I know I won't do that. I like the feeling of being drunk way too much for my own good. It's kind of like sex: easy to get, and fun to have. And yeah, I'm a bit of a slut.
He called me some five minutes after I'd gone to the bathroom, I was thanking the gods and goddesses above that I'd just gone to the bathroom; otherwise, I'd have pissed myself for real this time. Of course, in hearing the guy on the other line, who was in fact that girl's brother, I swear I could have pissed myself anyway. But I tried to hold myself together as he spoke through the line in that quiet, even voice.
Isn't it even scarier when people are mad and talking to you like that? It gave me shivers up and down my spine, and I felt the goose bumps rising on my flesh as he spoke in that calm, heated voice of his. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as he told me exactly what he planned on doing to me for touching his sister. I all but squeaked out a response, choosing for the first time in my life, probably, to be quiet and let someone else do the talking. Not that I actually wanted to hear him talk . . .
The first thing he even said to me was, "Where are you?" Yeah, like I was actually going to help him get to me so he could kick my ass. Fat chance, buddy, find me on your own. And after you find me, you can catch my ass because I am running fast and far.
To hear him, I had to go away from the crowd I so desperately wanted to hide myself within. I had to go all the way outside just to hear the guy threaten my life and every body part that I had for touching his sister. He said he'd find me soon, and after that, I was a goner.
He finished the conversation with " . . . and once I'm done mutilating your dead body, I'm going to castrate you."
And my smart, tactless ass just had to sputter something without stopping to think first. I always got myself into trouble that way. "But I'd already be dead and mutilated, dumb ass; so what would be the point in waiting until I'm dead to castrate me?" WHY did I say that? What was I; stupid? I really like my dick attached to my body, let me tell you. So I have no idea what in the world I was thinking to say something that stupid.
"Fine, I'll do it first."
Great job, Ravi. Wonderfully brilliant, you are! Way to ever get laid again . . .
I sat down on the edge of the porch and looked down into my lap, cringing at the thought of someone trying to cut off that certain body part of mine. Youch; big OW, right there.
And a second later, I sputtered something else I should have kept my mouth shut about. I really need to learn to hold my tongue . . .
"You know, Chris, your sister's got a life of her own. Lay off, already; it's not your choice who she fucks or when. It's hers. And so what if she slept with me?" I paused, waiting for a response, but he seemed to be thinking.
My heart dropped to my stomach when he chose to speak, some twenty seconds later. "You had sex with my sister?" he said in a low, venomously evil voice. "I am going to kill you, Ravi. I swear to God, you aren't going to live to see tomorrow." He hung up the phone after that.
I sat there with my little silver cell phone in the palm of my hand, just staring at it. He didn't . . . He hadn't known I'd slept with his sister? But . . . who told him that I'd been with her tonight then? He'd obviously known that we'd gone in a room alone together, but for some reason or another, apparently hadn't assumed that we'd gone all the way. Maybe he thought his little sister was way too innocent to do something like that; I didn't know.
What I did know, however, was that I was sprinting for the front door. I was going to go back into that party and hide myself in a crowd before that freaky bastard go this ass over to where I was and murdered me. As much as I doubted anyone I knew would kill me, with this guy, I wasn't exactly so sure . . . and that scared me more than just a little. I mean, it's one thing for a guy to threaten to kick my ass or something (I get that from time to time when I make the brilliant choice to sleep with their girlfriends or younger sisters) but it's completely another when you're not sure exactly what it is that they're gonna do.
Like, for instance, any other guy telling me he was going to kill me really meant that he was going to kick my ass. And I've gotten my ass beat quite a few times; I'm a lover, not a fighter. I can hit back, but . . . to be completely honest: I suck . I couldn't beat up a six-year-old if I tried, and that's pathetic.
I can run, though. Quite well, I might add. I'm a track star and I hold almost all the sprinting records for the school right now: the one hundred meter dash and the two hundred meter dash records are mine, as well as the same for hurdles. Distance . . . I'm not quite so great at. I run it because I do well, but I'm much better at being quick on my feet.
And being quick on my little feet is such a good thing. Especially considering that when I got to the front door, it was already opened, and standing in my doorway was Chris.
I ran for it.
I just whipped my ass one-eighty and took off running full sprint. No way that I was standing waiting for a direction confrontation with that particular guy. No, I was running as fast as my little self could go, which sadly wasn't quite fast enough in my drunken stupor.
I was headed in the direction of the yard; there were a few people gathered outside, talking down by some of the oak trees. For one reason or another, my mind rationalized that I'd be safe by them. But it wasn't like any of them actually so much as liked me. I didn't care; so long as I could get over there; it wasn't like they were all going to gang up on me and beat my ass together.
That didn't matter though, because the mere idea was abolished in my head the moment I felt his arms snag around my waist and my body go crashing toward the wet grass. Had it been any other moment, I'd have been freaking out because of the possible, hell, fuck that: I'd be freaking out because of the probable grass stains on my sexy Hollister ® jeans.
What I was worried about at the moment was that my landing wasn't exactly a cushy landing, if you get my drift. Chris's 6'0" and really athletic, landing on the 5'4", 111.5lbs of me. AKA: SQUISH! Oh, that was a painful landing, let me tell you . . .
I yelped, feeling the cold wet grass against my clothed body and the side of my face. The sunglasses that I always had perched on my head were lying askew somewhere off in the distance, probably broken. I'd have a fit if they were, too. Those were Gucci ®, damn it. The pants I could replace, but those sunglasses were my babies.
I felt Chris back off a little, and knew that he was probably only doing so to start beating the hell out of me, but that didn't stop my feeble attempt to crawl away. It really was feeble, too; I got a whole lot of nowhere. By the time I pushed myself up off the ground to where I was in a crawling position, Chris grabbed my left arm, which was closest to him, and yanked it so that I came flying toward him, my face barely an inch from his. I swallowed hard; remembering for an instant how everyone made fun of be for being so "overconfident." I wasn't confident at all; not right now, at least.
I couldn't move my left arm because he had a hold of it, so I used my right arm to shield my face. It didn't do much good though; he backhanded me across the face just hard enough to leave a painful sting. Wincing, I peeked up at him, realizing that it hadn't hurt so much because he hadn't gotten through my blockade of arms.
He stood up, forcing me up with him by my left arm. "Why the fuck did you touch her?" he snarled. When I didn't answer, he slapped me again, as if I were a female he was pushing around. "Answer me, you stupid slut."
The guys who were sitting near the tree looked at me, but didn't really bother to move. They just sat watching to make sure the guy didn't kill me, probably, but no one cared quite enough to stop him from smacking and berating me.
Now, I'd seen Christ fight before, and compared to how he was then, right now he was gentle. It seemed like he liked slapping me around; there was a more amused sense in him than one of complete anger. And that scared me even more.
"Why are you treating me like a fucking chick?" I retorted. I am such an idiot! Disregard that! Treat me like a girl; please, please treat me like a girl! I don't wanna be treated like all the guys you beat up!
"You look enough like one," he grumbled in response, giving me a strange look. Were I anyone else, I might have missed it, but I swore to the gods and goddesses above that this guy was giving me one of those like: I will wrap you up in a blanket, pour gasoline on you, and light you on fire.
Maybe I could negotiate my way out of this . . .
"What do you want me to do? Say I'm sorry? I'm not." Great way to negotiate! Start good and then tell the truth. Always trust me to be honest. I don't think I can lie, otherwise, I definitely would not have said that. "Gees, if I were anyone else you wouldn't even have cared that your sister slept with me. It's just because I'm me, isn't it?"
"No it's not. I'd kill anyone who touched my sister like that, you slut. You know, I doubt you can name one goddamn person in this fucking city that you haven't slept with. I swear to God, I can't go to a party and meet a girl you haven't fucked; unless she's a virgin, but you're right on her as soon as you hear that, aren't you?"
I shrugged. "So? I don't like used goods."
I got slapped again.
"You are used goods, you coke whore."
"Save the name calling," I growled. "You're not too much better, as I recall. What, you trying to save your little sissy from being like you? You really don't need to worry about that, she's not that fucking retarded."
And that was a punch right in the stomach.
I collapsed to the floor, trying to breathe, but overall just coughing and holding my bare stomach. I looked up at him with watery eyes and glared as he glared right back. If looks could burn holes, we'd both have been dead at that moment.
"Jerk," I muttered as soon as I had enough air in my lungs to say the word. What a nice comeback, too; I mean, that was completely an ingenious thing to say.
He sneered down at me, grabbed a fistful on my jaw-length hair, and yanked me back to my feet. I yelped loudly and felt a tear, which I quickly wiped away, escape my eye.
"Excuse me?" Hello, don't you look very murderous tonight?
"You heard me, you stupid prick." My, my was I brave. Maybe I was overconfident after all.
"At least I'm not some stupid little fag boy trying to be straight," he replied evenly, still holding onto my hair. Wow, when you're on the money, you are on the money.
I shifted my gaze when I realized that my hair no longer covered the right side of my face. See, I had this little insecurity about people seeing that side because my eyes are two completely different colors. I like my left eye, which is brilliantly ocean blue, but the right side . . . yuck, it's honey brown. They definitely don't look good together.
Then again, it wasn't as if he hadn't already seen both colors of my eyes. He hadn't said anything, might as well pretend they were the same, right?
I think he was about to punch me when someone stopped him. I saw his fist raise and it was coming for me, only to stop. Some good looking guy that I was sure I'd never seen before had a hold of his wrist and was telling him to lay off. And so Chris seemed to think that if he spilled the situation at hand, the guy would go away and let him pummel me. The only problem with that was that this guy, whoever he was, didn't quite see eye-to-eye with Chris.
"Leave him alone," the guy said irritably. "You're getting on my nerves with all this yelling."
"Fuck off," Chris retorted. Glad to know I wasn't the only one who was saying the stupidest things in the world tonight. I don't think I would have tried to cross this guy; he looked kind of scary. Like scarier than Chris, who resembled a psychopathic stalker in my mind. Of course, the difference therein was the fact that this guy wasn't half as bad looking. He could have been a model.
The guy just gave him this look, and Chris turned his ugly ass around and stalked off, cursing and saying something about us two being fags. I watched him as he went, tilting my head to the side and smiling at the situation. Oh man, I'd gotten luckier than shit tonight.
Tearing my eyes from the retreating Chris, I looked over, and to my shock, the guy was standing there with my lovely Gucci ® sunglasses, unharmed and still looking as beautiful as ever. I let out a "Yay!" of excitement and snatched them out of his hands, placing them gingerly on my head and fixing my hair as best I could.
"Thank you," I said as cutely as I could, giving him a sweet-as-sugar smile and all but kissing him. But he just rolled his eyes in sheer annoyance and walked away. Well, that was rude.
He was headed back toward his little group of misfits by the tree, and I was right behind him with my arms crossed over my chest. A couple of his friends were sort of laughing and snorting, but trying to hide it so the guy wouldn't notice; he did, and he turned around to give me a glare.
"Why are you following me?" he asked as he took a seat on the ground near a boy with spiky pink hair. I was preoccupied with staring at the boy's hair, so I didn't answer right away; I just sort of stood there with a slightly awed expression on my face. "Hello?"
"Oh," I snapped back to reality, realizing that I had a mission. "Well, what's your problem? I mean, I know you totally helped me back there and stuff, but you didn't have to act like it was all my fault."
"From what Chris said, it is," the pink haired boy pointed out, smiling up at me adoringly. Ah, I love worship. Love it, love it, love it.
"Well, jeez, it's not like I raped her. She slept with me of her own free will, she wasn't drunk, and she came on to me. So I think it's all fair," I retorted. "Don't you?"
The pink haired boy giggled and I giggled back. "You're so cute," he said to me. A pale blush formed on his tanned cheeks and I smiled. He was pretty cute, too. "So, are the rumors about you sleeping with a guy true?" he asked curiously.
I looked around to see everyone's attention turned on me. The whole group looked like a GSA, and it was really freakish for me, but kind of cute. It's always really cute how people try to form alliances to make the world a better place. I say we all just get dressed up in Gucci ® and Hollister ® and look absolutely stunning together. That would be my definition of a group effort. Of course, I'm rather one-track minded toward fashion. Look rave or don't come out of your room.
The guy who rescued me looked up at me with his eyebrows raised; he was very interested in the answer, I could tell. I grinned my sweet-as-sugar grin and then stuck my tongue out too playfully, pulling laughter from a few people, before I answered. Always best to look adorable when giving an answer like this; and because I knew a lot of these kids were in fact from my school's Gay-Straight-Alliance Club, I could easily play them by being adorable. Maybe even get laid again too!
"Well," I started, biting my lower lip and trying to look kinky about it, but not as though I'd planned to. "Sort of."
Hoots and hollers went around and people laughed and gasped. I just giggled again, realizing that the guy who saved me had his eyes positively locked on me now, and it wasn't in disgust so much as I-want-to-fuck-you-right-here-and-now. I looked directly at him and smiled suggestively, shrieking in surprise when he grabbed me by my arms and pulled me down on top of him.
I sat on him in a straddling position, just like the girl had been on me earlier, and the thought made my cheeks go red. I had the urge to start grinding on him until he was hard; I wanted to bite and kiss his lips. But I played a good boy.
"What do you mean, sort of?" he asked. His fingers pressed into my upper arms for a moment, and then he used the palms of his hands to rub them. I shuddered from being turned on and heard the jeers of some of the other guys saying. "Ouch, go Phil!"
"Your name's Phil?" I asked, leaning in very close to his face. "And I mean 'sort of,' 'cause I didn't go all the way with him. We just um . . . played a little."
"Yes," Phil responded, smirking. He stopped rubbing my arms and moved the palms of his hands up to my shoulders, massaging a little. I shivered and licked my lips, wondering what in the world his friends thought. That I was easy? Damn straight I was! And I didn't care what anyone thought about that. My things I like most are: Sex, sex, sex, fashion, and sex. Oh, and did I mention sex?
Leaning in, I bit his neck, pulling a loud hiss from him that made me smile. He didn't try to push me back like I figured he would after that, which meant that he either liked pain or liked to play rough. Well, either way was good for me; I like rough sex. So, I bit down on his neck again, this time a little above what I had, and pulled another hiss from him.
"Ouch! You bite hard!"
I only giggled and bit him again. That time he did push me back, stared at me like I was insane, and then laughed. I just shrugged dramatically, pushing my shoulders up high and using my hands, too. He smiled and rolled his eyes, and then he looked around at all of the people I assumed were his friends. I looked around too, seeing that a lot of them looked astounded and speechless.
"What?" I asked, but no one answered. I looked at the pink haired boy and stuck my lower lip out. "Why is everyone staring at me?" I pouted.
"Because," he started, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "You're you. Mr. Gucci-model himself, all tricked out and sitting on my best friend's lap. I'm sorry, but that's a little shocking. I mean, I've heard that you like to experiment, but why in the hell would someone like you even want to be near people like us."
I wrapped my arms around the man I was straddling and cuddled his chest. "He saved me," I pointed out quietly.
"So you're repaying him?" The pink haired boy sounded quite insulted.
I stared incredulously at Phil for a minute. "That better not be what you're thinking, you brat! But it's not, is it? No, you're too cute . . . for a guy." I winked at him and gave him a small kiss on the lips, to which he didn't immediately respond. But upon pressing harder I got a nice reaction; he opened his mouth and let his tongue slip into mine to play. So, being the incredibly cute and nice guy I am, I totally sucked on it for him, and even got a small moan in return. It was so cute that I accidentally smiled and broke the kiss.
"Oh, if only I could keep you!" I joked. He rolled his eyes; I put my head back on his chest. For a few moments I closed my eyes, feeling a little bit comfortable and relaxed at the moment, until the pink haired boy just had to say, "Your pants have dirt on them," and I sprung up from Phil's lap, freaking out.
"Oh, no!" I whined. "Now I'm dirty. Oh, why'd you have to tell me! I'm going to worry over it all night. I can't walk around with dirt on me. That's like a fashion sin."
Phil just stared and shook his head softly, muttering and laughing to himself. I didn't see what was so damn funny! But some of the others were laughing as well, and the pink haired boy was grinning at me rather sheepishly.
"Well, you don't have to walk around with dirty pants all night, you know," someone else said. I turned to see a guy that I should have known from school. He had a couple classes with me, and I think he might have even sat near me, but I had no idea who he was. Probably due to the fact that he didn't look really interesting, and his fashion sense was too norm. Yuck. "Just take them off."
I grinned devilishly, and people started to laugh again.
"Oh, well in that case," the pink haired boy chimed in, "I guess I should tell you that your shirt is dirty, too."
That was it. I'd show them.
"Fine," I said coolly. I grabbed the hem of my small Abercrombie & Fitch ® t-shirt and pulled it over my head, discarding it in the wet grass. People just stared, not so much at my face, but at my chest; nice, smooth, and hairless. Then I went for the buckle to my belt and people were really dying. I think they actually thought that I wasn't going to take them off.
They apparently didn't know me very well. I'd have gladly stripped naked, so long as someone promised to keep certain body parts of mine warm. So, there I stood, undoing my belt and then my jeans. I pulled them down easily and then sat back on Phil, who just smiled at me suggestively and stuck his hand between my legs, cupping me.
"Now, we wouldn't want this to get cold, would we?" he whispered into my ear. I got goose bumps then, and it wasn't from the cold. It was a warm spring night, so I couldn't even lie and say that it was the cold. Not that I would have, even given the chance, because I had no problem whatsoever with the current situation. I was quite enjoying myself . . . wearing only my boxers and the sunglasses that were perched on my head, as always.
From what I could tell, this was going to be one hell of an interesting night.
I was soooooo getting laid!
XXX
Neko: So, I hope ya'll like the show, 'cause trust me, as bad as this sounds with this particular little rocker, you don't have a clue. Ravi is cut out to be a hot little rock star. And who knows, maybe when he grows up, I'll make him one. I hope you enjoyed the show.
There are some fun stats I drew up to help illustrate my new character Ravi below, so check 'em out, they give you a good overview.
Preview: Okay, so things are about to get hot and heavy, and more than once. But don't think it's with the same person! Ravi's a bad little devil, and definitely not the type to settle down, but Phil has different ideas for the boy.
It's going to be fun and games when these two go at it, arguing over what it meant and if it's gonna be. Ravi wants to play, but Phil has it in his mind to make the boy his, and isn't keen on taking "No" for an answer!
Plus, everyone's hiding a few little secrets that get pushed out into the open! Uh-oh! These aren't your everyday secrets!
Stats:
Hair Colour: Silver-Blonde
Eye Colour: Left: Blue, Right: Brown
Hair Style: Jaw length, he covers his right eye with it so no one knows his eyes are different colours and always has a pair of sunglasses perched on his head
Height: 5 foot 4 inches
Weight: 111.5 lbs
Body Type: Slim/Slender
Pants Size (Just for fun): 29 inches (waist) by 30 inches (length)
Shirt Size (Just for fun): Small in Youth (he thinks tight clothes make him look sexy, and the girls who chase him totally agree)
Right Handed
Sun Sign: Sagittarius
Moon Sign: Sagittarius
Birth Date: November 29, 1989, 11:04 pm
Blood Type: A
Age: 16
Face: Cutely rounded with a slightly masculine jaw, huge eyes, round, full lips
Nicknames: Known as "The hot guy" by the girls, called "Rave" by the fags, and a "Druggie" by people that don't like him
Deep Dark Secret(s): Gay and submissive in bed (He pretends he's not, and chases after any girl he hears is a virgin, trying to get her into bed with him); addicted to Cocaine
Some Personality Traits (That you ought to know): Independent, Talkative, Theatrical, Athletic, Tactless, Overconfident, Doesn't hesitate to give opinion, Very witty, Shoots first and asks questions later, Forever running around with energy and enthusiasm, Friendly, Optimistic, Natural Risk Taker, Loves Music, Art, and Dance