Bite Me, Suck Me Hard

Chapter 4

Note: This chapter contains graphic depictions of drug abuse, alcohol abuse, sexual content, and both homosexual and heterosexual interaction. Please read at your discretion.

"Tell me about this party," I drawled, sprawled over my black silk sheeted bed, phone held limply in one hand while the other remained listless between the two naked, glistening female bodies sleeping next to me. Our sweat permeated the bedroom in my oversized mansion, mixing together to create some kind of toxin that gave me a euphoric high I was all too used to. "When is it?"

"Tomorrow night, man. You gotta go. Brittanie—remember her—she says she's dyin' to ride you again. Said you gave her own techniques a run for her panties—haha, ya know," Vince returned, the female in question being a stick I'd slept with a week prior. She had no personality in bed; she had less "technique" than a dead fish. She lied in the bed and took me in, and no matter how hard I pounded it in her, she didn't even smile or cry—she just stared at me. Creep.

Her eyes were this gorgeous green color, though. That's why I slept with her. His eyes were almost the same color—such an entrancing hue…

I slapped myself in the head with my phone. A girl that was sprawled across my arm moaned a bit in her slumber and rolled closer to me, throwing a sticky leg over my still-heaving abdomen. The other girl lie perfectly still, the perfect sleeping partner—a heavy sleeper. I made a note in my mind to fuck her while she was sleeping; it had been a while since I'd done that.

"Okay. I'm in."

A few hours later found me slumped in my chair during fourth period, half lidded and hating life. My teacher was throwing me angry glares, but he left me alone and continued to drone on and on about… well, whatever it was he taught. I'd never stayed in this period long enough to know.

Suddenly the door opened to my left, cutting off my teacher mid-sentence. He froze for a moment, his mouth half open and a small drop of spittle hanging from his lower lip. I crinkled my nose and readjusted my arms on top of my desk, partially sitting up in the process. During that single moment of movement, my eyes caught—oh god—that green eyed boy.

He was everywhere.

The recollected feeling of his hands holding my hair as I vomited made me shiver. I tried to shake it off, but was only greeted by an up close view of his pale but lively face when my eyes slivered open. I threw my body backward, moving my chair a few centimeters across the floor in the process. The entire classroom turned around to stare at me now—not a strange occurrence; I was always causing a scene. This time, however, it was completely unintentional.

My teacher's face was, yet again, frozen in the exact same stupid, mouth-half-open expression from a few moments ago.

Deer eyed, I glanced around the classroom and nodded, as if signaling them to continue with whatever they had been learning. Smirking at me—throwing chairs around the room had apparently just recently become one of my numerous hobbies—they did just that.

"Hey," the boy's gravelly voice came softly from somewhere close to my ear. When I slowly turned, there he was—grinning cheekily with a piece of his slick brunette hair pulled over one eye. Strangely, he looked desirable…

Oh my god. Stop thinking desirable. Stop thinking… he's not sexy. He's a guy!

My face was burning red; I could feel it in my cheeks. I hoped it was from the line of cocaine I'd snorted right before this period, and not the weird churning in my gut that seemed to be permanent when this stranger was around.

"What the hell do you want?" I growled in a low voice. "Why do you always show up somewhere near me?"

"Because I want to help you, Adamantine Festavio."

My entire world stopped. He, this stranger, this person I'd never seen until this week, had just casually uttered the words I'd been dying to hear since my harsh welcoming into the world of alcohol, sex, and drugs—and I didn't even know his name.

"Who the hell are you to say such a thing?" I gazed with empty eyes at this irritating boy, this green eyed puzzle seated next to me. He smiled, a smirk of an expression that seemed more mischievous than a smile should be.

"I can't tell you yet."

Glaring at him with disgust, I rose from my seat. My phone was buzzing in my pocket; I knew who it was. I didn't have time to hang around and listen to some speech from a guy I didn't know, a guy I didn't desire to know.

"I don't have time for your bullshit. Leave me the fuck alone."

I left the classroom quietly, ignoring the awed stares of all 22 of my classmates and my teacher—whose mouth was, at the moment I passed him, open. I wondered if he enjoyed giving head.

As I pranced proudly to my car, that boy's words wouldn't get off my mind. Why did that stupid little phrase affect me so much? It echoed in my thoughts as I drove away from the massive education facility, as I showered, as I changed into easily removable clothing… I couldn't forget it.

He was willing to help me—me, who screamed bloody fucking murder for help in my mind every night as I fell asleep thanks to the effects of my innumerable sexual encounters, bottles of alcohol, and snorts of cocaine.

I wanted his help.

Hell no. I could stop whenever I wanted. This lifestyle could never rule me.

Right?

Wrong.

Agonizingly bass-heavy hip hop music permeated my alcohol drenched brain as I slithered unnoticed through a half-naked crowd that gyrated their hips suggestively, gazing at everyone they made eye contact with like a piece of candy, a pleasure that even to me, was not lost. Barely gripping an uncapped bottle of vodka, I crossed the length of the pulsating body filled room to stand alone near a wall. With half lidded eyes, I stared through my crystal meth haze at the enticing girls throbbing in time to the beat, imagining each one of them in bed with me, wearing eternal moans of ecstasy on their lively young faces.

Snatching a random girl from the dance floor and tugging her toward the wall, I whipped a cigarette from the pocket of my undone pants and stole a lighter from the cocaine-dusted top of an end table next to me. Before I used either item, I leaned down to the tabletop for a quick, almost orgasm-inducing sniff of my favorite magical white powder, then quickly lit my cigarette. The random girl I'd grabbed, a decently pretty, half naked brunette with messy curls cascading down her back and the perkiest breasts I'd seen, giggled and curled up to my neck. The moment her warm, wet lips began to suck on the sensitive skin of my throat, I moaned and closed my eyes to the familiar motions of fucking. I reached a hand up to her breast and fondled it, forcefully gyrating our hips together. In return, she slipped her hand inside my pants and began to do things to it that I can't begin to describe. It wasn't a fantastic feeling, like the happiness I got from being high, but it was great.

"Ooh… you're a dirty girl, aren't you?" I asked in a lust-laced voice, bringing my drink up to my lips as the girl clinging to me giggled into my neck. She began to suck harder, and then she pumped my cock faster, all the while bringing forth from me little gasps and moans.

Her lips moved upward, kissing my chin, then my cheeks, and then her teeth closed on my ear. Immediately I released her breast and took hold of her chin, yanking her away from me altogether.

"No, love, not there." I directed her back to my throat, which she immediately began to lick without question.

Drunk, indeed. Not even an offended expressed, and she'd done exactly as I'd asked. I tried to think of how I could take advantage of her current situation.

Formulating a plan involving some rope and a gas mask, I glanced around for an open bedroom. My eyes flickered to a nearby doorway and then, by chance, toward the front door.

And like magic, there he was.

The familiar green gaze was staring critically in my direction, intense enough that he might have been staring straight through me. I glared at him, bringing my vodka up to my lips to drink from it as showily as I could manage, even if it burned my throat. I could handle the stinging pain, if only this over-insistent classmate would go away and try to "save" someone else. Of all the teenagers in our high school, he would get the least results from me. I didn't need—couldn't need—his help.

And still, even the glimmer of a thought of him trying to help someone else made me angry enough to want to punch him and that person he was trying to aid. I needed him, when I was sober—I knew that. I was just never sober long enough to realize it completely.

"Hey," he greeted casually, looking straight through the naked girl who had apparently become permanently attached to my neck. I don't know if he knew she was there. She, however, noticed him—she had stopped suckling on my skin and was now staring at him with the same disgusted expression I had.

I took a heavy puff of my cigarette. "Hey." Smoke leaked from my mouth, hitting him directly in the face. He flinched, but didn't move to avoid the brunt of it.

"Having fun?" His left eyebrow piqued slightly in curiosity. I couldn't help but smile at his casualness, when it was very clear that he was extremely uncomfortable and out of place. He was the only one in the room with a non-vacant expression, and hell, he still had his clothes on and intact.

But for how long?

"Of course." I stared blankly at him, my lips twitching as I took the last drag of my cigarette before tossing it in the trashcan nearby. We stared evenly at each other for a while, the brunette girl oddly placed between us with her teeth still nibbling awkwardly at my neck. She wasn't there for more than three more seconds before she finally cleared her throat, mumbled some excuse, extracted her hand from my jeans, and stumbled off toward the pulsating dance floor. I watched her bouncing, round, very naked buttocks sway with every step as she disappeared into the crowd, giving me a wavering smile before she accepted a pill from a naked man standing next to her. I turned away, pissed to all hell that she had left me in need like I was right now.

"I thought she'd never leave," the boy standing in front of me finally said, his eyes focusing wearily on what had to be multiple hickeys all over the sensitive flesh of my neck. I felt ashamed in front of his searching eyes for some reason I couldn't identify.

"What the hell do you want?" I snarled, annoyed and perplexed at his reason for purposefully scaring her away. She'd been a good kisser, if not a little rough. "This isn't your scene."

"Dance with me," he said, his facial expression remaining one of complete normalcy despite the blasphemous question he'd just asked. I tried not to falter, lighting another cigarette while trying to disguise the fact that my fingers were shaking like mad. My heart was pounding so heavily in my chest I thought he would be able to hear it, even over the music.

I gestured in the general direction of the dance floor, where the sexy brunette had wandered off to moments ago. "I'll dance with her." But not in the middle school kind of way, I snickered. I was thinking more… horizontal. Then vertical. Perhaps a little diagonal. And then horizontal again with her on top, riding me, while I smacked her bouncy ass with as much fervor as she emphatically jumped up and down, up and down on my writhing cock in a rhythm I knew all too well.

My stalker turned around to stare in her direction, picking her out immediately with those accursed eyes. "I think she's dancing with someone else," he remarked as we watched her go into one of the nearby bedrooms with another girl and a guy.

I waited until he turned back to face me and then narrowed my eyes hatefully. "Fucker."

"So, dance with me," he repeated, as if it were a completely normal request.

"Fuck you." I took a final puff of my cigarette and then tossed that one into the trashcan as well, stalking off to the main dance floor. I didn't make it very far. The stranger grabbed at my sticky arm and pulled me back to him, throwing me gently into the wall.

Ooh, so he likes to be a little rough.

Stop.

"What do you really want?" I whispered, my voice almost unrecognizable to even myself. Lightly, I pushed him away from me and lit another cigarette, perhaps my seventh one that night, and raised it to my mouth.

"I figured you'd be here," he replied smugly, the faint promise of a smirk curling at the corners of his soft looking pink lips. Briefly, I considered throwing my mouth to his and tasting them, for I hadn't kissed sober lips in years. He stared at me, his face open and revealing, lips pursed as if encouraging me, daring me to kiss him. The way the black lights made his hair glow, caught the shimmer of saliva on his bottom lip… oh, he looked tantalizing.

Stop it. He's a guy, damn it, and he's not worth leaving this life. He doesn't care about me or my habits or my well being…

But the concern in his voice earlier today had been so sincere, so real.

"Why the fuck do you care where I am? You don't even know me," I spit out, raising my cigarette to my eternally wet lips. His eyes moved with my fingers, staying frozen on my mouth before raising, very slowly, to my narrowed blue eyes.

"I know you," he stated flatly, his hands curling into fists at his sides. The way his face was slightly beginning to turn red made my sardonic side smile, secretly loving the sexual desire so obvious on his girlish features. "At least, I know your type."

"My type?" I raised an eyebrow at him, mocking him. His face remained stolid even as I blew smoke in his face and flashed him the falsest winning smile my drunken face could present.

"I want to help you, Adamantine," he brought up our old one-sided conversation again, looking disgustingly dead set on his words—the ones that had been ringing in my ears since I'd heard a similar offer earlier that same day from those very same sexy pink lips, quivering then and quivering now with an emotion I could only describe as passion.

"I don't need your help," I replied curtly, snuffing out my cigarette on the ivory colored wall next to me and dropping it promptly onto the carpet. My eyes glared through his pleading stare, completely uninterested in whatever "help" he was offering.

Please. As one of the richest residents of Mallepa, I had easy access to rehabs crawling with the world's finest doctors. I didn't need whatever help he was offering.

On the other hand, maybe the addictions I had weren't addictions a doctor could cure. Maybe it wasn't something my family could help me with. Maybe it was something that only a peer could fix—a—dare I use the word—friend who could emphasize with me from my level, break me away from the negativity around me and wrap his protective armor around me to keep me content and safe and alive.

"Yes you do," he called out as I turned away in disgust. "Before you kill yourself, please, let me help you." His hand, warm on my bare skin, landed softly on my shoulder. "Adamantine, please."

"Get away from me," I hissed, narrowing my eyes into slits. "You don't know anything about me, nor will you ever understand me or my actions. I'm not lost, nor confused, nor addicted, and that means that I don't need your help. I don't need anyone's help."

My mystery stalker sighed, shaking his blonde and brunette head of hair in dismay, his face folding into an exhausted expression. When he spoke, his tone of voice was much softer and less insistent than before. Still, I understood that he wouldn't give up. "You do need help, Adamantine Festavio. I'll be watching out for you, and I'll catch you when you fall. If I can save anyone from the sea of drugs that I lost Jonathon to, I want to save you."

Somehow, the way his eyes seemed to fog up when he said the name Jonathon made me nervous. Jealous.

The mysterious boy took a step forward, his chest flattening against mine. I inhaled sharply at the immense heat of his body, my eyes rising from their hazy focus on the ground to his delicate featured face, deeply defined by an intense expression of determination. Slowly, he rose to his tiptoes, using my body as a leaning post. His lips grazed my ear; his breath on my neck made me shiver in places I didn't know could feel desire. Inside my half-undone pants, my drug afflicted cock quivered.

"My name is Khrystion Black, and I'm going to be your guardian angel."

Those words would echo in my mind for the rest of my life. Khrystion was the first person I'd ever encountered who had wanted to help me for no apparent reason.

Or did he have a reason? Surely, his "dance with me" escapade meant that he wanted something more than a project.

My first chance at affection? At friendship? At a romance that lasts more than fifteen minutes, when cum spills from my body and I'm coming down disgracefully from a high that had never been there?

My mouth, frozen in an "o" shape, could find no words. I continued to stutter as my self-appointed guardian angel turned gracefully on a heel and exited the cluster of naked, drug induced teenagers swaying in the fervent embrace of intercourse. Confused, disoriented, horny, and still holding a clear picture of my new savior on my mind, I stumbled into the nearest open doorway and into a bed, welcoming the frenzied caresses of the three females that had been slumbering in the bed before my arrival. Like succubae, they fed on my soul that withered away inside my alcohol and drug infested husk. They took me away from "my scene", as Khrystion called it; transported me to the world of rapture for at least a little while.

Lying naked between, amongst, and underneath their lethargic limbs, I folded my arms under my head and stared at the ceiling, wishing that I could have been strong enough to say something to Khrystion just a few hours earlier, something that would have made him take me away from this forsaken place.

Damn him for getting my thoughts started like this. Damn him for offering to help me.

Damn him for not trying just a little harder. The thought that I might have succumbed to his plea of sobriety excited me beyond reason—but on the other hand, who would be waiting for me if I got clean? Who would help me deal with the pain that had racked my body the few hours I'd been sober in the last few years? Who would hold my hand and comfort me like a significant other should?

No. It was easier to just keep doing the same thing, this, than face the loneliness that would await me on the other side of rehab. Here, I had friends. Here, I had sex. Here, I had a reason and a means to hide from the world that for a very sexually active seventeen year old boy, I'd never had an orgasm—and I probably never would.

Author's Notes: Hi everyone! Did you enjoy the chapter?

All right, so I have some bad news for you, my wonderful readers-I'm probably not going to be updating very often on anymore. I made a webpage to act as my portfolio for when I apply to a four year university next year, so I'm going to focus all of my energy on that! :)

And to make it a real portfolio, I need people to visit it and review my work!

So, as a reward for your visiting it, I have a fully rewritten version of the first chapter of this story on my webpage (it's under the title 'G.I.F.T' now!) that will probably never make it onto this website. Be aware that I will be updating the new, rewritten story on that page; there are email buttons all over the page, so email me if you want to be notified of chapter updates!

Here's the webpage! {h . t . t . p . : / / tsuyunoinochikoukyo . weebly . c o m}

Thank you all so much!