Stories I Never Finished

Burning Slow

Calum wouldn't exactly call himself a manipulator, he's more of a... conversationalist, who's quite successful in the art of encouragement.

His few close friends would agree in a heartbeat, glittery makeup flashing in the lights as they nodded their pretty heads.
He wouldn't call his group particularly popular, in terms of popularity they were probably a box of Nerds candy—well liked but not the top shelf. Which, in retrospect, made sense to them. If you dedicate your time to being a semi-gang wandering through streets and hovering around businesses like a gossip magazine in the nineteen nineties, then it's to be expected not everyone is going to approach and ask to be the new addition.

Calum, their vague leader, spent his time tracking down big named 'bad boys' and ramming them off the chaos lane with sheer brutality.
He would lure them in like fish to bait and rip them from the water once he had them cruelly hooked.

His methods weren't very appreciated, from "turning gay men straight" and "experimenting" on those who had once been certain of their sexuality, to seducing any who showed a shred of homosexuality or interest. He'd take up whatever mask would best suit his next target and then, before you could blink, he'd tear them apart from the inside; bad attitude, gangs, and all.

He had no trouble doing it, in a large town like Anuna rife with criminals and assholes it wasn't hard to find one of the bad guys and break them down.
Or at least he had no trouble until new guy Michael Clifford turned up with his husband and ridiculous family of two dogs and a stupid infant baby Calum would rather throw in the sewer than be anywhere near.

Face value, Michael seemed like another random guy, a plain thirty six year old moving in to start a family, but after a few weeks Calum noticed how much the once top assholes had begun to step back from their usual business. Drug deals stopped becoming a sight to see during the day—even though paid-off police barely made an impact in the first place—and hot spots for needle junkies had been returned to their original state of playgrounds and skateparks.

With all the positive contributions, Calum had half a mind to leave Michael alone, but when more and more of his exes and their rotten gangs started turning up dead, dumped in the river or left in a random downtown dumpster, he realised all the good was merely a mask for the cynical.

Seducing a married man over ten years older than him? Calum swore he was taking on a challenge he wasn't going to enjoy.

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With a huff of air, Calum stumbled against the pulling force his friend was tugging on strings with. Attached around his waist sat a pure black corset, and his friend Emalie had been given the task of tying it up for him.

"This is ridiculous." He puffed, grabbing the edge of a mirror in front of him; the small group congregating at the back of Emalie's alt-clothing shop near the dressing rooms.

"Oh god-" he whined in frustrated pain. "Why is this necessary?"

"Have you seen Clifford's husband?" Jay stood close by, admiring a stand of studded belts.
Dressed in the darkest blacks and silver chains like a trending e-boy, Jay almost blended in to Emalie's cosy shop shelves.
He plucked a belt from the stand. "He's like Victoria's Secret had a child with Fashion Nova."

"Classy and skinny." Emalie grunted, planting her large combat boots against the wooden floorboards and giving the corset another tug.

"Jesus!" Calum's hand slipped from the mirror and he staggered backwards in a flail. "Okay! I think it's tight enough-"

"You can still talk." Jay put the belt back and crossed his arms over his chest, dark green eyes peering at his best friend over the gloss of sleek slimy green circular glasses.