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A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 01

By: SadieRose



 "This is a story for my friend Ant, aka Sirkillabutt, who fancied a session of his own with Rayne. It is quite unusual for the early stories as it's nice to have Ray pleasured intensely (if roughly) for once instead of just used and cast aside. (BTW. I am not advocating that ANYBODY should try the icicle scene at home!!) 

"If you're not into bondage and enema fetishism, or rough anal and oral sex between two horny, consenting adult males, look away now." 

xx. Sadie

Part One – ICE & FIRE

Mister Right walked back along the cut towards the harbour where his boat was moored, following the same route and routine he had enjoyed since he first came here to Greenwich a couple of years ago. It was the only real, affordable way to live in London these days without the inconvenience of a landlord. Each day he woke early and took the same walk along the embankment to the shop where he bought his milk and his newspapers then strolled back at leisure to his boat to enjoy his breakfast and watch the world go by. The only thing he imagined he would really change would be the addition of a companion to share the comfortable routines with him (and perhaps enjoy a bit of energetic bedroom action as well... or even, quite a lot of energetic bedroom action!)

Although he missed the company of a regular mate, he was not lonely. Plenty of friends dropped by to see him and each day and shoot the breeze. They talked about boats and the places they had been to and would ultimately go when they got the chance. Some of them came to see him about work they needed doing on their own crafts, or to buy his models and the other intriguing toys that he made in his spare time (about which, more a little later in this story!) 

But I am getting ahead of myself, dear reader, for this morning is what the crux of my introduction is about. London was afflicted by one of those random cold snaps that often curse England in June. The previous day had been bright and clear but this one was colder and a good deal greyer. The sky had even thrown a coating of sleet over Greenwich Park during the night and it crunched beneath his booted feet now as he walked back to the elegant little cruiser he called home. 

In order to reach the shop he tended to walk up through the park and come down at it from the rear (a favourite tactic in more than just this particular aspect of his life!) On the way back he completed the circle by walking home along the embankment, which firstly necessitated crossing through an underpass beneath the busy main junction of Greenwich Park Road and Trafalgar Road and walking down towards the domed, red-brick entrance to the old Greenwich Foot-Tunnel beneath the Thames. On a pleasant day it was a very enjoyable walk. This morning, with just a bit of a chill in the air, he was quickening the pace as he entered the underpass. 

Down towards the end of the tiled and graffittoed passageway, he could already see the huddled shape of some unfortunate, doubtless having selected the underpass as a dry, reasonably sheltered place from which to pan-handle. He had little sympathy with most of them, being of the opinion that if he could take care of himself without resorting to begging for hand-outs, then others should be able to manage it too. As he drew closer to the end of the walkway, a couple of things about the beggar were already giving him cause for concern.

Anthony Wright did not consider himself to be a cruel person. And the young man curled up in the mouth of the tunnel had no doubt been treated cruelly. 

He was lightly clad for the chill weather, in just a pair of ripped jeans and a thin, short-sleeved tee-shirt, under a black shirt of some kind of silky, impractical material. The body encased in this unsuitably summery garb was small and impossibly skinny. He lay on one side with his head cushioned by a medium-sized black canvas backpack of the kind used by students the world over. His matchstick arms were wrapped around a battered, black guitar case which for all the world he seemed reluctant to let go. 

Ant slowed his stride as he drew level and took a closer look, initially worried that the kid was dead. His skin was very pale, almost bluish in the dim light of the underpass. There were raw track marks on his bared arms (but no sign of a needle) and what he could see of the youngster's face beneath the spill of bleach-tipped black hair, was leached of colour, save for a nasty-looking bruise around one eye and much of his cheek-bone. Ant stopped and put down his milk bottle, crouching beside the youth curiously. This was London, if the kid was hurt then it might be days before anyone else paused to check on him.

Very cautiously, he rested one hand on the lad's shoulder and shook him. The skinny little creature moaned softly and huddled more securely around his guitar-case but he did not stir. There was a flaky patch of some yellowish spill in the corners of his mouth that could have been vomit, or even semen. His clothing smelled damp and unwashed and he was shivering uncontrollably. 

That made up Ant's mind for him. He could not leave the boy here like this. More determinedly, he shook the youngster until at last there was a flicker of sentience behind the veil of his dark hair. Long lashes fluttered and he struggled to sit up, whimpering quietly at this unexpected intrusion. 

"Leave me alone..."

"You're going to freeze to death if you stay here," Ant told him rationally. "How long have you been sleeping rough?"

The boy managed to get into a sitting position and his head lolled back against the tiled wall. He was still shaking. Behind lips that were turning blue, his small, white teeth chattered incessantly. Unfocussed, pale green eyes glittered behind the curtain of unwashed hair. 

"What day is it?" he managed to force out at last.

The older man was somewhat taken aback by this and it was a moment before he was able to answer; "It... it's Wednesday."

The boy rubbed his pale, tired face with one grubby hand and pushed the hair out of his eyes so that the extent of that painful-looking bruise was unveiled in all it's black and yellow glory. His eyes drew Ant's attention more strongly, however. He had the most beautiful, cold, sceptical eyes that the other man had ever seen. Even filthy, beaten and bedraggled he was astonishingly pretty. Only the tenor huskiness of his voice and the well-filled crotch of his tight, pale blue jeans convinced Ant that he was not a younger lad, or even a girl. That gaze which pinned him and kept him in suspicious view now, was the colour of ripe lime flesh and distant as the moon. He had long, thick black eyelashes and a pixyish upturned nose. The lips that framed his words were soft and full, chapped with cold but still curiously cherubic in that small, hostile, heart-shaped face which turned up towards him.

"Four nights," he said, pulling Ant back out of a reverent contemplation of that tender mouth. "Since Saturday."

"When d'you last eat?" he wanted to know.

This time the boy just shrugged. His gaze flickered away into the distance, an expression of dismissal but Ant stayed put. The kid was still shivering and he wrapped his arms around himself now, defensively. 

"Bet you're hungry, aren't you?" the older man persisted. "You look frozen."

"Not cold," the young man muttered, lowering his head and tucking his chin into his chest defiantly. "Don't need anything from you."

"You're shaking. Don't be an idiot. D'you want to freeze to death?" Ant said more firmly. "It's gonna snow later on. You gonna sleep out in your shirtsleeves then?"

"What do you care?" He could barely get the words out. Ant could hear the rattle of his teeth.

"You need to get warm," he insisted.

"I need a fix. Unless you've got some Junk, just fuck off, all right!" Those green eyes narrowed and Ant sat back on his heels. 

He supposed he should have guessed that the kid was maybe an addict. The puncture marks on his arms were a dead give-away. He figured that the sensible thing to do would be to get up and leave him to it. Ant had never really enjoyed being sensible, mind you. Impulsive people were much more fun.

"I've got some brandy," he said at last. "If you wanna get drunk, you're welcome to it."

"Idiot!" the boy spat out, scathingly. He curled around himself again, burying his face in his arms. The constant trembling of his limbs was getting worse, not better. 

At last, Ant heaved a sigh then pushed himself to his feet and went home to his boat. He looked back once but the boy had slumped down on his side again and was curled up like a stray cat. During the day he could not get the thought of the kid out of his head, however. As the afternoon rolled on, the snow clouds also rolled in and a swathe of white cascaded down into the Thames and covered the green mound of the park in a blanket of crisp, deep snow. From time to time he went up to clear the decks and look around. It was unusually quiet out here today. The snow seemed to have wiped Greenwich of its customary gaggle of tourists and lunchtime office workers. 

By two thirty he was restless. It was impossible to work on the boat in this weather and he could not concentrate on anything else. Pulling on a heavy coat and his boots, he climbed down the ladder and trudged back through the falling veil of flakes towards the underpass. 

The boy was not there. Up here the snow was not sticking so readily to the pavements and roads and Ant wandered around the edges of the park aimlessly for a while, keeping an eye open for him. After a little while he headed back via the foot tunnel, resigned to the idea that you could not always help a person if they didn't want your help. There was no point in freezing his arse off looking for the ungrateful little wretch.

He had just decided this when he spotted the familiar, skinny figure up ahead, stumbling along the embankment, struggling with the bulky instrument case and soaked to the skin. As Ant hurried after him, the boy staggered and fell into the snow. He flailed like a fallen horse for a moment then seemed to give up the uneven struggle and slumped into the embrace of the unseasonable carpet of white. When Ant tried to get him to his feet again, the kid was completely unresisting and insentient. His skin was ice-cold and the man feared for one terrible moment that he was dead. Then he shivered again, a long involuntary tremor that ran through his whole body. His breath came in quick little huffs as if bands of iron were squeezing all the air out of him. Decisively, Ant threw the strap of the guitar case over one shoulder and picked him up. 

The lad weighed next to nothing, it was like carrying a child or an empty sack. Ant stumbled back through the blinding snowfall towards the boat with only one concern, to thaw this tiny little wraith out before he froze to death. 

Somehow, he was not sure how, he managed to get back to his craft without falling or dropping the unconscious youngster. He wrapped as much of himself around the boy as possible, trying to share his body warmth until he could get them both out of this unbelievable weather. The stove was still hot when he staggered down the stairs into the galley and lowered the kid onto the sofa there. Peeling off his coat, he hurried forward into the bedroom he had created in the bow of the boat, fetching blankets in which to wrap his foundling. The lad was moaning quietly when he came back and knelt beside him. His eyes were closed and he was still shaking, his breath coming in little sobs. Ant put down the blankets and stripped him quickly out of his wet clothing, an action which at least provoked some ineffectual resistance. 

"Don't be silly, kid," he cajoled mildly. "You're soaked. You're gonna catch your death if you don't get dry and warm."

"Keep your hands off me!" the boy slurred, shaking so fiercely that he could barely get the words out. 

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he responded grimly, wrestling the young man out of his wet jeans and ruined hi-tops, noting as he did so that there were bruises all over his skinny frame as well as on his face. His naked body was boyishly hairless but even half-frozen he was well enough endowed to suggest that perhaps he was not as young as Ant had first suspected. A whisper of stubble under his fingers indicated that he shaved himself smooth. "Come on, let's just get you warmed up, hey?"

As soon as he put the blanket around the lad's shoulders it was snatched from his hands and the youngster curled himself up within it, burying his face once more and quivering like a tuning fork. Gently, Ant put another woollen throw over him and left him on his own for a little while. He took the boy's damp things through into the compact kitchen space on board and ran some hot water to wash them through. When he came back to the sofa, his foundling was quieter. He was still huddled up small, engulfed in the covers, but the tremors had subsided and he was breathing more easily. Ant sat down on the end of the covered bench and stroked his hair tenderly. 

He felt the boy wince but maintained the gentle contact for a time, until the frightened youngster stopped bristling. 

"What's your name?" he asked at last, when he could be sure that the lad was conscious and aware of him. The enquiry got no response so he went on; "I'm Ant – Anthony Wright, but you can call me Ant, okay?"

At last that dark, tousled head came up out of the nest of blankets and the boy's huge green eyes blinked at him owlishly. He looked dazed and slightly bewildered. Occasionally he shuddered but the vibrations were intermittent now, not constant. 

"Do you want a drink?" Ant suggested. "I can make you some hot chocolate, if you fancy."

"I feel sick," the kid whispered. He swallowed hard once or twice.

"Where'd you come from?" his rescuer persisted, still stroking his blond-tipped hair reassuringly. "Is there someone I can call for you?"

Again those pale, defiant eyes lifted to meet his own. 

"Your mum, maybe?" Ant smiled helplessly. "Someone must be missing you?"

"Oh yeah!" the young man sneered softly, then gagged and put his hand to his mouth, coughing up a little bile but nothing more. 

Ant fetched him some kitchen roll and he managed to wipe his pale young face with an attempt at dignity. There was a sheen of sweat across the bridge of his upturned nose and he shuddered again.

"What were you taking?" the older man asked sympathetically. 

This time the boy did not meet his eyes. In a low voice he said; "Coke, mostly, or speed. Heroin, on and off for... for a while."

"How long for?"

A shrug, then; "'bout a year... fifteen months."

"Who's your dealer?" Ant ventured. "Will he help you?"

"Don't be fuckin' stupid!" the skinny lad laughed disparagingly. 

"Can't you go home?" 

"I spent all my time trying to get away, why the fuck would I go back?" At last he struggled to sit upright and leaned back into the embrace of the sofa, coughing into the crumpled wad of tissue again.

"I'm only trying to help, kiddo. You don't 'have' to throw it all back in my face." Ant told him. 

For a moment the young fellow looked at him as though he could not quite figure out how they had come to be here, in this situation. There was a flicker of vulnerability behind his eyes, then he looked away, hiding it. 

"My name's Rayne. I'm not a kid," he said in a defensive tone of voice. 

"Rain? Like the weather?" Ant chuckled mildly.

"Rayne Wilde...as in Oscar; I was christened Raymonde, it was my grand-dad's name. My parents were hippies, they always called me Rayne." He spelled it carefully just in case there was any confusion, then coughed some more 

"Won't they want to help if they know you're in trouble?" Ant wanted to know.

"My mum killed herself when I was fourteen. My dad's always in the pub. What could 'he' do? He's doing well if he can stand up on his own." The hostility was back.

"You a London lad?" Ant deflected it gently. 

Rayne shook his head. "'m from Kent. I'm a student at UCL. Can't remember when I last went to a lecture. They've prob'ly kicked me out by now."

"How old are you?" the other fellow asked quizzically. 

"How old d'you 'think' I am?" Those icy green eyes were too knowing. He looked sidelong at Ant, then coughed again. 

"I reckoned at first that you probably weren't much more than fifteen," he confessed in turn. "But you're skin and bone. I reckon you've been living rough longer than a few days. Don't you get student digs?"

Rayne pushed his hair out of his eyes and flashed a rueful smile, the first genuine indication of humour he had attempted so far. 

"I'm twenty," he said quietly, with no evidence of deceit. "I'll be twenty one in four months. There... I reckon you're not so interested now, are you?"

"Can't people worry about you just because you're a grown up?" Ant countered at once, suprised but also quite excited by this admission. Even bruised and filthy, his young guest was gorgeous and he felt less guilt lusting after the lad in the knowledge that he was at least legal. "Where've you been living?"

"Nosy aren't you?" Rayne hacked up another good gob of bile and shivered violently again. "I had to get a place outside the halls," he croaked at last. "Digs are first come first served, there's not enough for everyone, and I was at the back of the queue. I'd spent most of my money before I got to London and I thought I was gonna have to crash under a desk at the college or somethin'. Then I met this bloke in a pub and he offered me a place in this squat he'd opened up in Mile End. It was a bit rough but it was warm and dry, so I said okay. I told him I'd pay him when I got my giro through. He said not to worry, he'd sort it."

Ant was looking seriously at him. He'd known kids who spent their whole lives moving from squat to squat with no prospects and less cash, but Rayne did not seem short of common sense. He was lucid during spells when the shakes did not master him and seemed reasonably intelligent. It was beyond reason why a smart, pretty young guy like this should get himself so messed up. 

"So you were okay?" he queried. "This bloke... would he help you out?"

"I'm not going back to him!" Rayne was suddenly defensive again. He looked defiantly at Ant. "He reckons I will, cos he knows I'll need a fix, but I can get off it. I'm not going back!"

"He gave you the drugs?" Ant said, just to clarify this for himself. 

"He didn't give me them. I 'worked' for them," Rayne expounded, his expression darkening. 

"Did you work for that shiner as well?" Ant reached out gently, touching the backs of his fingers to Rayne's bruised face.

The young man shied away then shook his head. Already Ant could see that he did not like to be touched. He sat back, giving Rayne some space. 

"I got into a fight. I nicked some gear from 'im," the young man explained at last. "I went down this club in Camden where my band sometimes plays and I was shootin' up in the bogs with Jeli, this girl that sings for us. This bloke that owns the club caught me at it and he threw me out. He punched me. Jeli kept the gear and I was going to go back to her place but her new boyfriend was there and I got into a fight with him. After that it's a bit vague. I knew I couldn't go back to John's place cos he'd fuckin' kill me for nicking the Junk in the first place. So I just wandered about a bit."

Ant shook his head slowly. 

"Can't you just work for him until the stuff's paid for?" he asked rationally. 

Rayne looked at him as though he'd suggested nude bathing in a bath of acid.

"You've no idea what this bloke is like," he flashed back ominously. "He'll fuckin' murder me for crossin' im in the first place. If I live, then I'm back to square one." He drew his knees up to his chest and folded his arms around them, burying his face in the blankets for a moment. "I've 'ad enough," he said at last in a small, muffled voice. "But I'd fuckin' kill for a fix right now. I feel so bad, Ant."


A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 01



He shivered again, rocking himself back and forth miserably. 

"Come on," the older man told him kindly, putting a careful arm around his shoulders. "Have something to eat. Or at least a hot drink, and get some sleep. I'll help you through it. I promise."

He got half a cup of hot tea into the boy before Rayne bolted for the bathroom, with no idea of where it was. Once the young man had stopped retching on his kitchen floor, Ant gave up the uneven struggle and put him to bed, where he nursed the lad with brandy and hot water. Rayne slept for a while after that, giving the older fellow the opportunity to clear up. 

An inspection of the boy's rucksack yielded up a few more items of wet clothing which he also washed through and hung by the stove to dry, some cigarette papers and little bit of rolling tobacco, an ebony kohl eye pencil, a bottle of black nail polish and some vaseline lip-balm in a small, round tin. There were a few coins in his jeans pockets and the bottom of the bag, totalling one pound and fifty seven pence. In the guitar case was a battered Fender bass, strung for a left-handed player, some amp cables and another two pounds twenty in change. There was also a note pad in which someone had scribbled reams of random lyrics and odd little diary-style reflections in spiky purple pencil. In the back of the pad were a handful of crumpled photographs of a beautiful-looking woman in her mid twenties perhaps. In one she was holding hands with a smaller, wiry, tousle-headed fellow who looked as proud as a peacock to be with her, unsurprisingly. There was a look of his current guest about both of them and he suspected that the couple were Rayne's parents. None of the pictures seemed very recent. The styles worn by the subjects were definitely late sixties to early seventies. Other photos depicted either one or the other of them and a pair of children in various holiday poses; a boy and girl, both dark-haired, cherub-faced and green-eyed. He put them back carefully and flicked through the notebook, his eye caught by the crudely scribbled line; All three of them had massive dicks. Before the morning I did them all six or seven times. I had never cum so hard or swallowed so much spunk.

The words 'massive' and 'never' were underlined firmly, twice.

It was late when he finished reading the whole notebook. It took a while because he paused to masturbate from time to time. When he could get his pants fastened, he went to check on the narrator. The young man was almost angelic when sleeping. He was sprawled on the big bed in the narrow confines of the bow. Occasionally he tossed and turned and the blankets were rucked up around him. There was a light sweat on his forehead and his naked chest and belly. Ant stood in the doorway and watched him for a while, frustrated by the tempting, untouchable presence in his bed. After reading his diary, a part of him wanted to get in with the boy and make out with him urgently until he woke, but he was still unsure if his young guest would welcome such a direct approach. As he watched, the youth writhed free of his blankets and rolled onto his back. He had shaved balls and about seven inches of nice, half-hard cock. Ant wondered idly what Rayne would do if he woke to find his rescuer's mouth wrapped around that sexy young prick. For about ten minutes he lingered in the doorway, waiting to see if the younger man would masturbate in his sleep. When Rayne just rolled over onto his belly, he finally pulled the blankets back up around his body and went for a cold shower and another good, hard wank.

MORNING:

"Eww... I stink!" Rayne wandered in from the bedroom as Ant was making breakfast. He had slept through the night and now appeared like a dishevelled vision in the doorway, clutching the blanket to his crotch with one hand whilst inspecting the opposite armpit disgustedly. 

"That's a good sign, you must be feeling better," his host told him cheerfully, even though he had spent the night on the less than substantial couch.

"What? Because I smell?" Those beautiful, icy eyes surveyed him cynically.

"Because you noticed!" Ant corrected, pointing across the corridor to a small, wooden door. "Bathroom's through there. Water's hot. Go and take a shower then let's see if I can tempt you."

Fine dark brows lifted enquiringly. Ant gestured towards the fry up in the pan. 

"Breakfast."

"I don't eat meat," Rayne said loftily and disappeared into the bathroom. 

Ant made himself something to eat and settled down to enjoy it as a distraction from the very stimulating idea that there was a gorgeous, naked young male soaping his slippery, wet body in the next room. He contemplated sneaking into the steamy bathroom to see if he could spy on Rayne in the shower for a while. The idea just gave him a hard-on that put him off his food. According to the account in his notebook, Rayne had certainly eaten plenty of meat in the past, all washed down with pints of hot, creamy spunk.

In the bathroom, Rayne had discovered a distraction of quite a different kind. He had noticed that the little room contained ledges with various soaps and toilet utensils but also a number of strange, elongated sculptures. When he first entered the room, he paid them no heed. The shower was his primary objective and the water felt incredibly good after the lost weekend (and half week) he had just been through. The withdrawal shakes were not as bad this morning and he lingered over the business of washing his hair and body. The shower cubicle occupied one end of the bathroom and was tiled from floor to ceiling in black rubber, with a curving glass screen dividing it from the rest of the room. There were intriguing metal eyelets screwed at intervals into the floor and the low roof overhead. After he had towelled himself down and wrapped the bath sheet around his waist, he borrowed a toothbrush and scrubbed his teeth until his gums bled. Then, feeling weak from the heat and the exertion, he sat down on the toilet seat to catch his breath. 

Now the sculptures took his eye again and he studied the nearest one more closely. At first he thought they were just curious, knobbly stalagmite type objects, put around the place as decorations, but a more detailed inspection left him with his mouth hanging open in astonishment. The one by the side of the WC had a perfectly shaped helm with a little slit and single eye, and a ridge just beneath the glossy head where the foreskin had been rolled back. It even had a little rough patch on the downward curve of the glans where the frenulum should be. He touched it gently with his fingertips, expecting it to be cold and hard but it felt firm and warm instead, the material as soft and yielding as skin. Carefully he took it down from the shelf and held it in both hands, stroking it experimentally. It was flexible like rubber but very soft to touch, almost like a real cock and, he thought ironically, he ought to know. It was a good nine or ten inches long and he could only just get his forefinger and thumb around it at the base. 

Feeling mischievous, he bent his head and wrapped his lips around the glans to find out what it tasted like. The flavour was slightly rubbery but no worse than sucking an erect cock in a decent-quality condom. Rayne had always enjoyed giving head. Since discovering how to pleasure himself, he had invariably been turned on by the idea of having a man's erect penis in his mouth. Before starting University, he often bunked college and went up to London for the day, where he would sometimes ride up and down on the tube trains for hours, checking out men and women. He liked sitting opposite men in their late twenties and thirties, looking at the way their crotches bulged; trying to decide how big their cocks were and imagining what it would be like to kneel in front of them and blow them whilst the other occupants of the carriage watched and stroked themselves. 

Boldly now, he swallowed four or five inches of dildo and sucked on it, stroking his lips up and down the shaft then trying to get a little more and a little more into his mouth without gagging. He was deep-throating about seven inches and had a nice erection of his own poking out through the gap in the towel, when Ant slipped quietly into the bathroom to check that he was all right. 

The sound of running water had been silent for about ten minutes and there was still no sign of Rayne when Ant came back from the bedroom where he had been ostensibly making the bed. In reality he had been lying with his face pressed into the bedcovers inhaling the sweaty, musky scent of the boy's naked crotch as he rubbed his aching penis. Having relieved some of his tension with that quick, hand-shandy, he decided to check up on the kid in case he had passed out or something.

Rayne's dark head shot up with a natural speed born of guilt as he realised, too late, that he was not alone. Ant had been watching him for several seconds as he sucked on the dildo with his eyes closed and his prick standing to attention, making little 'mmmmmm' noises of appreciation as he tried to swallow all nine and half inches. A string of saliva clung briefly between his lower lip and the shiny dome of the latex cock in his hand, then snapped and fell like gossamer across his naked body as he tried to hide what he had been up to. As he struggled to cover himself again, the towel fell open completely and he was left half-standing, stark naked with an impressive hard-on and a well-sucked dildo in his hand.

He was panting with shock, eyes wide. "Don't you ever knock?"

"This 'is' my boat. I thought you might need some help but you seem to be doing okay on your own," Ant responded mischievously. "You like my toys then?"

Rayne swallowed, the colour rising to his pale cheeks and making him look incredibly cute. He put the dildo back on its shelf and groped for the towel but Ant said; "It's all right, you can leave it. You look great like that."

"I'm... I'm not..." Rayne faltered breathlessly, still grabbing the towel and pulling it back over his stubbornly persistent erection. "I just wondered... and then I... I didn't mean anything by it!"

"That's a shame," Ant replied, still smiling calmly although his own pulse was pounding in the head of his hard dick again. "I make them you know. It's nice to find out that they give people pleasure. I liked watching you use it, Rayne. You seemed to enjoy it as well."

The younger man blushed again, looking away. "I'm not gay," he said insistently. "I mean, I've got a girlfriend. I like fucking girls. I just wondered what it would be like..."

"To suck a man's cock?" Ant finished for him.

Rayne nodded, still refusing to look at him. 

"You've never sucked a cock before?" he probed, a little sceptically, thinking back to the notebook. "You looked pretty good at it, from what I just saw. That one's one of mine, by the way. I get guys to model them for me, or I just make them from casts of my own hard-on. "

The boy was trying to hide behind his hair now. He shook his head, unable to speak. Slowly, Ant came towards him and caressed his cheek, lifting Rayne's head, making the young man meet his eyes. 

"You got me going, there. I was loving watching you suck my dick," he whispered, watching the boy blush again furiously. "I read your diary last night when you were out of it," he added with a knowing smile. "You're quite a dirty boy, aren't you Rayne Wilde?"

Rayne's eyes opened wide and his mouth fell open, embarrassed and indignant. "That's private! You went through my private stuff?"

"Sshhh," Ant responded, touching his fingers to the pretty youth's soft lips and keeping them there. "I read a lovely description in there of how much you enjoyed entertaining three big hard cocks. Five lovely, stiffy-inducing pages of you taking it at both ends and how you couldn't stop cumming. It worked for me!"

For a moment, the boy just stared at him. He shuddered again, but this time Ant sensed some fear in him. Rayne was about a half-head shorter than him and in this moment of intimacy seemed painfully conscious of the fact that his rescuer was taller and probably stronger right now. 

"Was that real or just a fantasy?" he asked, when Rayne remained stubbornly mute. "I can't stop thinking about you doing all that hot, dirty stuff with them." He smiled, still stroking the young man's pale, startled face; touching his lips and brushing back the fall of his damp, tangled hair. "You seemed to be quite turned on by the idea of sucking them all off. Did my toys remind you of that lovely session, eh?"

"It...it's just a story," Rayne faltered at last, pushing his hand away decisively. 

"You've got a hot imagination," Ant complimented him. "How much research did you do?" 

"Leave me alone." The lad was glaring at him now. "I've had it up to here with pervs like you lot! Just give me my fuckin' clothes back and let me go!"

Ant threw his hands up in surrender, turning away at once before the young man could see how that remark stung. Clearly the boy had problems, but he was an artisan, not a psychiatrist. Even a good fuck with something as pretty as Rayne was not worth fielding a world of insults. 

"They're not dry yet," he said flatly, letting himself out of the bathroom and shutting the door between them firmly. "Put your towel back on and stop waving that boner at me if you're not going to let me feel it."

He cleared away the breakfast things in sullen silence and Rayne took his time coming out of the bathroom. When he did, the boy did not even meet his eyes. The towel lay flat against his crotch, so Ant guessed that he'd either waited for his hard-on to subside, or quietly beaten his meat for several minutes after he was left alone. He went to the maiden and checked on the state of his jeans with a scowl. They were still stiff and heavy with moisture, even so Ant could see him deliberate whether or not to just put them on and walk out. To help the kid make up his mind he opened the interior blinds to demonstrate the thick blanket of ice-crusted snow that still shrouded his boat. 

"It's still coming down," he pointed out. "You can go out and make snow-angels if you like though."

Rayne said nothing. He took himself back into the bedroom and closed the door. Finally, Ant heaved a sigh and followed him in there. Without looking at the youngster he opened a drawer beneath the bed and pulled out a pair of grey cotton jogging pants with a drawstring waist and a black, baggy tee shirt. He tossed them onto the bed and said; "You can wear these until your stuff is dry, if it makes you feel more comfortable."

"When the fuck does it snow in May, anyway?" the younger man muttered finally, shaking his dark head. He reached for the proffered garments however, pulling on the tee gratefully and turning his back before dropping the towel to wriggle into the pants quickly and pull the drawstring tight.

"It's June." Ant said distractedly, watching out of the corner of his eye as his guest rose from the edge of the bed to pull those loose joggers up over his perky, white bum cheeks. 

Sharp, cynical, dark-ringed, green eyes moved to meet his own as Rayne turned. He looked good, even in mismatched scruffs; even half-starved and in the end stages of cold-turkey. 

"Bollocks, it's not!"

"When'd you walk out again?" Ant shook his head incredulously as the boy's certain stare wavered.

Rayne's acid glare dropped; he stared at his hands, looking at himself as if he saw his body for the first time. Briefly Ant worried. One heard about Heroin doing stuff to peoples' minds. 

"I dunno... it was about the twentieth of May... I remember thinkin'... it was nearly Si's birthday..." He lifted his head, meeting Ant's concerned gaze.

"It's the second of June," the older man told him quietly. "Are you telling me that you've been sleeping rough for over a week?"

"I dunno..." Rayne was shaking again. He sat down slowly on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. 

"I didn't mean to freak you out," Ant told him apologetically. He came around and sat next to the youngster, feeling at a loss to comfort him without touching him, which might only send him off on another rant. "You've no idea how long you've been out on the streets have you?"

"I'm....I'm.... I... I don't know." Tears shimmered on the ends of his long eyelashes and Ant hesitated then lifted a hand and rested it on the back of his neck. At once, the young man twisted away from him as though his touch was scalding.

"Don't...!" he exhaled, unable to look at Ant. He was shaking uncontrollably, though his skin felt very warm.

"I'm not gonna rape you," Ant promised, wondering if it was a promise that he could keep. He grinned weakly, adding; "I'd like to, but I won't. Okay? Y'know... I just walked in and saw you with your lips around that dildo and... it got me hot. I'm sorry. You're a gorgeous lad, you know?"

Rayne said nothing. He reached out picked up the towel, folding it distractedly into smaller and smaller squares. At last, Ant extended a hand and took the bath-sheet off him. "You can talk about it, you know," he suggested carefully. "I'm not stupid. Even I can figure out that this John bloke was getting' his end away with you. We're not all like him though."

Rayne's head was still down. His blond-tipped hair hung around his face, hiding his expression and his feelings, but Ant could see plainly enough that he was unhappy. He was still shivering. Ant laid a careful hand on the back of his neck again, tensed to move it if Rayne lashed out. When the boy did not pull away this time, he moved his fingers in reassuring circles there, recalling that Rayne had mentioned in his diary fantasy how much he liked to be touched in this erogenous zone. (...along with his nipples and a sensitive spot just inside the crack of his arse, behind his anal orifice. Ant looked forward to finding out with his tongue just how sensitive that latter zone was.)

"You know, if your boyfriend was getting rough with you, you don't have to put up with it. You can get help, even if you can't take it from me," he whispered, leaning a little closer. 

The young man looked up at him, his solemn gaze utterly unreadable. For a moment, his face was inches from Ant's own. Ant licked his lips, wondering if he dared to try and kiss Rayne whilst he was in such a confused state of mind. Would it help? Would it make things worse?

"You bloody fuckwit!" the lad exclaimed softly and derisively, making him sit back and blink in astonishment. "Johnno wasn't my fuckin' boyfriend! You reckon I'm totally hard up or somethin'? He wasn't my boyfriend, he was my fuckin' pimp!"

Ant stared at him, completely taken aback by this admission. 

"Oh..." he exhaled weakly, his hand falling into his lap.

"Yeah... Oh!" Rayne laughed coarsely at the expression on his face. "Not so keen to bang me now you know that you've gotta pay for it, are you?"

"I don't... I didn't mean that," Ant protested. He was still shocked by the idea that this sharp, clever, pretty kid could be so cynical when he had already managed to fuck up his life in such spectacular fashion. Twenty years old! Good God! "Why didn't you say something before?"

"You think I'm proud of sellin' my bum for a living?" Rayne flashed back, still laughing caustically to cover the naked hurt in his eyes. "Look, I only did it to start with cos I'd nowhere to live and no fuckin' money. I reckoned I could get out of it after a few weeks, but then there was the Speed to pay for, and when that got borin', there was Cocaine. It was like, every time I thought I was getting straight with him, I'd go on a bender and wind up owing him more money." He stopped to catch his breath, those beautiful, vulnerable eyes wide and a little bit manic. "So he got me more tricks, and then I wanted more drugs, 'cos doin' these tricks for him was blowing my mind. And then I got hurt, cos this bloody huge psycho that had been involved in a gang bang with me the week before decided he wanted some more. And he found out where I was livin' and jumped me on the way back one night then kept me tied up and gagged in a warehouse on the end of a fuckin' chain for three days while he screwed the livin' hell out of me! I only got away cos some night workman outside heard me screamin' while he was bangin' my balls off and came in to find out what was goin' on. So, after I get back John gives me a bit of Junk to calm me down and a bit turns into a bit more and... and... I've been goin' crazy this last month. I feel like I'm climbin' the walls. I'm not in control any more and... and... and...I dunno what day it is even..." 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 01



Rayne ran out of words. The 'even' came out as a sob. He had been talking on autopilot and was struggling to breathe. When Ant reached around him to hold him this time he did not fight it. To the older man's dismay, he burst into tears and reached for Ant in return, sobbing hysterically in his arms. Tenderly, Ant stroked his hair again, then his shuddering body, touching him sympathetically. He rubbed Rayne's shoulders and his back in gentle circles until the young man stopped crying. Even then, Rayne did not let go of him. 

"Are you okay?" Ant asked at last, murmuring the words into his tangled hair.

"I feel... fucked up... dirty," Rayne sniffed huskily. "I like sex, but he's made me feel cheap, like I can't function without him. Like... anyone that wants to can fuck me if they pay enough or even if they don't want to pay."

"I don't get it," Ant whispered, frowning. "If they don't pay they don't get, right?"

"Some blokes..." Rayne sat up a little now, sniffing and shaking his head, looking ashamed of his outburst. "Some blokes know that you're on the game and they reckon that means you're up for it all the time," he explained miserably. "Johnno isn't following me everywhere. So you tell them 'no' and they're like; 'Aw, c'mon, you're getting your pants off every night. It's just a quicky... me and my mate, we'll be done before you know it.' And you still tell them 'no' so they drag you into the bogs or out back and slam you up against the wall or on the floor. One of them holds you and keeps you quiet while the other gets your pants down and fucks you, then they swap places and you go through it again. All the time you're crying and begging them not to..."

He hiccuped dejectedly and rubbed his nose on his sleeve, still crying though he tried his hardest not to. Ant touched his salt-wet face again carefully, stroking the damp, black and white hair out of his eyes. 

"You are so beautiful," he murmured at last, looking intently at the boy. "I can't imagine anyone wanting to treat you badly. They must be out of their fucking minds."

Rayne blinked at him, bewildered and a little lost for words. Gently, Ant stroked the pad of his thumb across the younger man's quivering lower lip then took a deep breath and tilted his head, pressing his mouth gently to Rayne's and kissing him; softly at first, just a tentative touch of lip against lip, then – when the boy did not freak out again and start to scream at him – more intensely. He leaned into the kiss, folding his arms around Rayne and caressing the nape of his neck again, feeling the lad's full, cherubic lips move hungrily against his own mouth, parting to allow Ant's tongue between his perfect, white teeth. His own small, cold tongue slipped into Ant's mouth as the other man laid him down slowly on the rumpled bed, sucking on it passionately. Rayne's mouth tasted of salt tears, toothpaste, tobacco and a hint of latex (which only served to remind Ant of what he had been up to just a little while earlier in the bathroom!) He rubbed himself against the young man's lean body as they kissed, getting a lovely hard on which was quickly poking out of the waistband of his trousers.

Rayne frenched him enthusiastically; he was a deliciously good kisser, throwing himself into the endeavour with such enthusiasm that Ant guessed he was not 'made love to' very often. He had drawn up one knee and hooked his right leg over Ant's left one as they lay on the bed together, passionately exchanging saliva. Ant's left thigh was rubbing urgently between Rayne's legs and he was straddling the younger man's left hip, pressing his cock and balls against the protruding wing of bone whilst his tongue delved deeper and deeper into the boy's willing mouth. Eagerly, he slid his hands under the waist of Rayne's borrowed tee shirt and pushed it up, rising to his knees between his young mate's legs. Their lips parted wetly and Ant looked down at the satisfying nakedness of Rayne's flat belly and slender waist. His old sweatpants were riding low on the boy's skinny hips, exposing the hollows of his shaven crotch and the dark shadow of a few days' pubic stubble on the mound of his abdomen, at the base of his cock. The drawstring waistband of those soft, grey, cotton pants was held up solely by the prominent obstacle of Rayne's erect sex, tenting the loose material impressively, like a small, half opened umbrella covering his modesty. 

When he lifted his lips from Rayne's mouth, his young companion had allowed his head to fall back into the caress of the duvet, closing his eyes for a moment, an expression of quiet bliss on his young face. Now, as Ant looked back up at him, the boy was propped on his elbows, gazing down contemplatively at his crotch. There was a little, damp spot beginning to seep through the crown of the tented material and after a moment, he stretched a languid hand down into his pants and closed it around his erect penis, freeing his sex from the constraint of the borrowed garment deftly. He squeezed and rubbed his gorgeous young cock for a few moments until he had seven and half rock hard inches lying just proud of his naked belly, leaking pre-cum onto his soft skin, then looked up at Ant with a too-wise smile. 

"Is that better?"

"You could keep stroking it for me," Ant told him huskily. 

"Mmmmm..." Rayne lay back on the bed with a little sigh and fisted his cock faster and harder whilst the older man watched. Kneeling up briefly, Ant stripped off his shirt and unfastened his pants, pushing down his trousers and underpants so that his hard cock and heavy bollocks were fully exposed. He rubbed and squeezed himself enjoyably as Rayne lay wanking hard on the bed under him. After a few minutes of this, the younger lad was panting appreciatively and opened his eyes to look up at his lover again. "Are you sure you wouldn't like me to stroke your cock instead?" he exhaled softly. His left hand was already covered in pre-cum. Unselfconsciously he put it to his lips and licked the spunk off. Ant's balls contracted sharply and a large glob of semen oozed from the head of his long, hard dick onto Rayne's crotch.

Firmly now, he stripped Rayne out of the soft, black tee shirt and took the boy's left hand, closing it wordlessly around his thick, nine inch cock. He did not need to give the beautiful kid instructions. As he bent over Rayne again, kissing him hard on the mouth for a moment, then on his exposed neck and throat, the youngster began to stroke and pump his rod, just as he liked to do it to himself; steadily at first, running his fingers up and down the meaty shaft then circling with the pad of his thumb on the other man's sensitive urethra. He eased Ant's foreskin up over the helm of his throbbing glans and used it to tease and stimulate his lover's erect sex until another, more copious wad of semen trickled out into the palm of his hand. Rayne slowly rubbed the hot spunk up and down Ant's shaft, then he began to pump a little faster and more urgently.

Ant kissed and licked his neck and throat and stroked his warm hands up and down Rayne's naked back, still lingering at the nape of his neck, even as his lips moved lower and he circled one hard, dark, tiny nipple with the tip of his tongue. 

"Yessss..." Rayne hissed softly, wriggling against his powerful thigh, his long fingers tightening for just a moment around Ant's cock.

Ant smiled to himself and proceeded to tease his lover's sensitive little tits more roughly. For several minutes he nibbled and sucked, licked, bit and blew on Rayne's erect nipples whilst still caressing and stroking the back of his neck, right up into the softness of his fine black hair. In the meantime, the gorgeous, sexy boy wriggled and moaned and cried out under him. He managed to writhe free of Ant's sweatpants, in spite of the older man's thigh still being positioned between his legs. Having done this he reached down with his right hand and began to jerk himself off furiously, whilst still rubbing Ant's cock with the other hand.

"Ohh, you like that, don't you?" Ant murmured, putting a stop to the lad's wanton self-gratification by taking hold of his slender wrists and pulling them firmly up to head height. Rayne whimpered and swore and protested but Ant refused to let him get himself off. "Not yet!" he cautioned sternly. "Not until I say you can cum."

"You bastard!" Rayne panted, but he stopped struggling and lay sprawled beneath Ant, looking up at him with those too-knowing eyes. 

"It will be worth the wait, gorgeous. I promise!" Ant got to his feet for a moment and dropped his pants, kicking them off negligently. His long, hard knob was on fire where the boy had been fondling and wanking him. He was going to have to sort that out first so that he could concentrate on bringing Rayne to a hot, sweaty, fabulous climax. Lying back down on the bed beside the boy, he stroked his right hand through Rayne Wilde's silky, blond-tipped ebony hair and took hold of his aching cock in the left, touching the throbbing, spunk-wet head to the boy's soft, pouting lips. They parted at once. He felt Rayne's hot, quick breath pour over his stimulated glans and glossed the young man's seductive lips with his pre-cum. That sweet little tongue ventured out, stroking and caressing the helm of his eager sex, teasing his slit, wriggling tormentingly under the bulging purple head and licking the sensitive ridges of flesh where the hood of the foreskin joined the big bell-end. Ant felt light headed and ready to squirt, and he did not even have his cock in the boy's mouth yet. "Suck me off," he gasped, almost inaudibly. "Take all of it in your mouth."

Rayne closed his eyes. His willing mouth wrapped around the first four inches and his stroked his teasing lips up and down Ant's pulsing shaft, licking the underbelly of his big cock as he worked it orally. One hand slid between his legs and began to massage the older man's balls firmly. Rayne was not shy and he certainly seemed to know what felt good. Now, Ant lay back on the bed and the younger man pushed himself up, leaning over his lover and nodding lower and lower. Ant watched him swallow five, then six inches. 

"Yeah!" he panted eagerly. "Suck it good!"

He moaned appreciatively as he felt the tighter confines of Rayne's throat accommodate his fat cock head. The boy only gagged very slightly; little hiccup of resistance. Ant put a hand on the back of his neck, stroking him and keeping his head down. Some lovers fought this instinctively but Rayne did not panic. His hot tongue swept up and down the shaft in his mouth and his jaws parted wider, swallowing two more inches. The lad's soft, dark hair was ticking his groin now. Rayne moved astride Ant's leg and he began to rub his shaven balls rapidly against the older man's shin like a randy little dog, humping his leg.

"That's making you hot, is it?" he groaned, moving his hips in a lazy circle so that his meat was pulled back and forth in Rayne's mouth. "Aaahhh... yeah! I'm gonna fuck your dirty mouth good and hard, baby!" Ant rested both hands on his head and thrust his crotch upward into the youngster's pretty face. He felt Rayne's nose press into his hairy groin and as his spunk-wet lips touched base he made a little moaning noise deep in his throat, a sound deliciously stifled by nine and half throbbing inches of hot prick. The sound vibrated deliciously up and down Ant's thrusting cock.

Letting go of the boy's hair, he rolled onto his side and Rayne came up for air, briefly, gasping around the spit and spunk slicked head of his mate's penis.

"Do you like that, baby?" Ant wanted to know.

"Yeah," his beautiful bed-mate huffed, opening his eyes and looking up in amazement at him. "That's big, Ant! I thought you were gonna choke me."

He gently but firmly rolled the boy onto his back and knelt over him, stroking his hair and running his hot, dribbling prick over the boy's full, wet lips slowly. Rayne kept licking him clean, apparently unfazed by this and Ant was torn between the desire to ejaculate in his mouth or all over his pretty face.

"Are you ready to eat some cum?" he asked with a grin. 

"Yeah," Rayne panted, opening his mouth wider as Ant knelt up over him, dipping his long prick in and out between those greedily sucking lips. "I'm starving!"

Ant uttered a filthy laugh and began to pump the youngster's mouth deeper and faster. He was so close now and so horny that he was sure the boy was going to get about a pint of hot salty cum for breakfast. And the randy way Ant was feeling this morning, he would probably get another three or four pints pumped into his tender young arsehole before lunchtime.

"Gonna fuck your dirty mouth so hard!" he promised, stabbing away in Rayne's face and down his tight throat. The boy's hands, which had been stroking his bum and thighs now gripped his upper legs fiercely as Ant began to fuck in earnest. He leaned forward, with one hand braced flat on the bed covers, holding him tightly by the hair at the back of his neck with the other hand as he pounded Rayne's mouth. His hand forced the lad's face into his hot crotch again as he bucked violently, his bollocks bumping against the boy's chin. Furiously he pounded the full length of his twitching fuck-rod in and out, no more than an inch either way, loving the feel of a good three or four inches of cock-head fucking the kid's throat. Rayne groaned constantly, trying to throw his head back and forth, his lips working hard and his rough tongue snaking incessantly up and down the underside of Ant's pistoning shaft. That was so good that his bollocks gave up their mighty load then and there. 

"Jesus fuckin' Christ!" Ant sang out ecstatically as he buried his prick to the hilt for a long, twitching, pulsing moment, consumed by the fantastic, searing orgasm that just kept cumming and cumming. 

Rayne began to make choking noises and slapped at his legs and arse frantically until he knelt up a little way, letting go of the boy's sweat-soaked hair and pulling his cock halfway out of his lover's mouth so that he could suck and swallow properly. He had a constant trickle of cum running out of either corner of his sexy mouth and he was panting hard into Ant's sweaty crotch but he kept sucking and licking like the little star he was. His hand closed around the base of Ant's knob and he pumped it steadily until his lover's big balls yielded up a last good spurt of cream.

"Oh yeah... open your mouth good and wide," Ant gasped as he squirted a closing glob of hot, salty, vanilla-coloured spunk. Rayne's lips curved upward in a slight, open-mouthed smile and he licked his lips, his tongue swimming in a slick of cum. "You are such a delicious slut," Ant said appreciatively.

"And you're a dirty, big-cocked bastard," Rayne flashed back at him, trying to catch a trickle of spunk that escaped from his mouth with the tip of his tongue. "I thought you were goin' to strangle me with it!"

He climbed off the boy's shoulders and lay down full length on top of him. Rayne's naked body was sweat-drenched and his belly was also sticky with spunk – he must have reached orgasm when he began to thrash about on the bed just before his cum-banquet. His young dick was still rock hard and Ant curled his fingers around it and began to pump it rhythmically as he french kissed the youngster, enjoying the viscous meaty flavour of his ejaculate in Rayne's mouth. They kissed long and hard until Rayne had swallowed most of his cum and Ant had licked the rest off his face and neck. He kept wanking his young lover for a little while, then sat up and stroked his belly fondly. 

"Do you want your reward for sucking me off so well?" he asked with a grin. 

"What's my reward?" Rayne asked with a mercenary smile. He had a very sexy way of smiling, as though he was constantly trying to figure out how to go about it.

"Roll over on your tummy and I'll show you," Ant instructed, slipping a hand between his thighs and massaging Rayne's nuts steadily. 

Lovely green eyes met his somewhat disbelievingly. For a moment or two Rayne just made contented little noises in the back of his throat and rubbed his crotch against Ant's fondling hand, then when the older man made no effort to stroke his penis again, he sighed and rolled over, presenting his firm, bare buttocks. Ant stroked his bottom appreciatively, loving the shape of it, the lean, hard lines of his slim legs and the high, round globes of his sexy cheeks. He spread Rayne's legs deliberately, then knelt over him. The boy was shaved, but he had a little buzz of stubble between his legs. Ant got to his feet and went to the bathroom. 

"Don't move!" he instructed. 

"What? Where are you going?" Rayne looked over one shoulder anxiously. He was spread-eagled and furiously horny and now Ant needed a slash?

Moments later the older fellow returned from the bathroom with a can of shaving foam and a wet razor. He knelt on the bed and squirted foam between Rayne's bare buttocks. 

"What are you doing?" the naked boy asked incredulously.

"Your crack needs shaving," Ant said, rubbing the lather in slow circles all over his buttocks and scrotum and the underside of his ball-sac. "I want you totally smooth down there. You'll be more sensitive to what I'm going to do to you."

Rayne bit on his lips as Ant began to shave his arse crack slowly and carefully. He fought the urge to wriggle when the razor blade gently skimmed his exposed scrotum and perineum, though it felt incredibly kinky and pleasing. He had never let another man shave him before. Johnno liked to watch while he shaved himself and always felt him up afterwards to make sure he was perfectly smooth. After he had been exfoliated behind, Ant told him to lie on his back and proceeded to shave his crotch and bollocks. He took his time, squeezing the ball-sac so that it was stretched tight over Rayne's nice big nuts, then running the razor blade gently over them until Rayne was almost crying with frustration. His cock was dribbling a constant flow of pre-cum by the time he was completely smooth.

Ant fetched a towel and dried him off, then told him to lie on his belly again in a spread-legged position. Rayne did so at once, wriggling his silky soft crotch against the duvet eagerly.

Now Ant bent over him, touching his mouth to the back of Rayne's neck and kissing him wetly there, taking his time. His lips moved to the boy's ear and he rubbed his semi-hard sex against Rayne's bum slowly, aroused by the shaving session and how silky his lover felt down there. 

"Fold your arms under your head and keep your legs open wide," he whispered, then put his tongue into Rayne's ear, licking and kissing him there until the boy squirmed delightedly. 

When Rayne was positioned as he had requested, Ant returned his mouth to the nape of the youngster's neck and spent a good ten minutes slowly kissing and licking his soft skin and nuzzling the silken black hair at the base of his skull. After a while, he felt Rayne begin to rub his crotch in slow circles against the duvet cover. Since he was kneeling astride Rayne's slim hips, with his own penis tucked down between the boy's parted arse cheeks, the motion served to stimulate his cock to full, splendid hardness again.

Ant kissed his way slowly down Rayne's naked back, taking his time; using his lips and tongue on each of the young man's prominent vertebrae. He lingered between Rayne's shoulder blades, kissing and blowing on his skin, then eased his hands under the boy and began to circle and tease his erect nipples with his first two fingers and thumb. 

"Ohhhh..." Rayne exhaled a small, satisfied sound and his crotch bucked a little harder. Ant smiled and rubbed his erection between the boy's thighs as he pinched and pulled on the sensitive little buds and licked his way further down Rayne's sexy back.




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 01



When he reached the small of Rayne's back, he climbed between the young man's open thighs and slipped a hand beneath his denuded balls, fondling and squeezing them as he kissed his way to the boy's tailbone. Rayne was moaning softly over and over; "Ohh... ohhh...ohhh..." and really grinding his sex against the rucked material of the bedcovers as Ant groped and teased him. Now, he used the fingers of his free hand to part Rayne's bum cheeks as far as they would go. Ever so softly, he touched his wet lips to the very lowest vertebra and ran the tip of his tongue around it several times, then let it curl into the fingertip sized hollow at the very top of his young mate's crack.

"Aaahhhh!" Rayne cried, a little more insistently. "Oh god! Yes!"

Ant smiled and withdrew his tongue. 

"Don't stop!" the boy pleaded huskily. "Christ, Ant, don't stop now. I'll do anything you want, just keep going!"

That was music to his ears. Ant caressed Rayne's arse and used both hands to part his cheeks this time. He wriggled his tongue back into the little hollow and swirled it around, then licked his way lower, circling the young man's twitching rosebud while Rayne whimpered with frustrated delight. He snaked a hand down under his groin and began to rub his young cock eagerly.

Ant knelt up and slapped his bottom hard. 

"Don't touch yourself. When I want to watch you wanking your cock I'll tell you to do it," he commanded sternly. "Now assume the position again. Keep your hands under your head."

Obediently the boy did as he was told though he uttered a little whimper of disappointment. Ant lay down again with his face between Rayne's naked buttocks. Slowly and lasciviously, he licked his way from the young man's bollocks to the top of his crack and teased that little hollow some more, loving the way it made Rayne wriggle and buck with pleasure. For several minutes he pressed his face into that delicious soft, smooth valley, wiggling his hot wet tongue up and down Rayne's sexy arse crack, licking and sucking and blowing on his anal ring until his arsehole opened up like the lens of a camera. The young man was almost crying with pleasure. 

"Oh Christ, yes! Please make me cum, Ant... I need to cum!"

Ant poked the tip of his tongue into that sexy hole and Rayne almost squirmed right up off the bed. He was up on his knees and Ant forced him back down again, noting with pleasure that the bedcover was soaked with spunk under his crotch and belly.

"I'll have to restrain you if you don't lie still," he warned. "Do you want me to handcuff and gag you?"

Rayne just whimpered desperately. He was almost painfully excited. His cock head was dark purple and wet through. Even as he watched another little dribble of cum ran down it. Ant made him lie down flat and held onto his ankles as he buried his face in the boy's arse again, licking out his lovely, twitching hole. The mere touch of Ant's mouth on his spincter made him blossom every time and now the older man began to slowly tongue kiss Rayne's sensitive anal opening, licking his way deeper and deeper into the boy's arsehole. He could hear the young man panting and groaning and delighted in the way Rayne's sexy young bum pushed back insistently into his face as he struggled to get himself off against the bedclothes.

Frantically now he reached for his cock again. Ant sat up and said; "I warned you about this!" then he slipped off the bed and went to one of the built in cabinets in the bow of the boat. Rayne sank down on his back and began to masturbate with a little moan of relief, fisting his leaking cock rapidly.

Ant returned to the bed and pulled his hands away from his crotch mercilessly. Rayne put up a struggle but the older man got him back onto his belly and reached for the ladderback restraint he had retrieved from his sex-toy wardrobe, along with a couple of pairs of padded, leather cuffs. The ladderback was a firm strap of black leather with a series of D-Rings set at intervals down its length. At one end was a thick, black, buckle-up collar and at the other, two longer straps which were clipped onto a studded leather cock and ball strap. Ant knelt on Rayne's lower legs to keep him on his stomach and buckled the collar tightly around his young neck. He positioned the ladderback down Rayne's spine and looped the longer straps at the base over his hips. As Rayne squirmed under him, the older man fastened one set of three-buckle leather cuffs around his wrists and pulled the boy's hands up behind his back, clipping the snap-locks on the cuffs to the D-Rings on the ladder so that Rayne's arms were restrained in the middle of his back.

"Please..." he giggled a little bit nervously. "Don't... I'll be good!"

"No you won't," Ant said firmly. "You had your chance to behave. Now we're doing this my way!"

He rolled the youngster firmly onto his back now, pushing his legs apart and kneeling between so that he could not close them again. Quickly, he buckled the studded cock and ball strap around his mate's scrotum and the base of his dick, pulling it tight whilst Rayne groaned and begged for relief. Ant ignored him, fastening the traces from the base of the ladderback to the cock strap and adjusting the play so that any struggles from his young sex-mate would result in a further tightening of the leather band around his genitals. 

Astonished, lime green eyes watched him as Ant fastened the second pair of cuffs around Rayne's slim ankles. Finally he reached up and slid back a hatch in the low ceiling over the bed, revealing a metal hook bolted into the roof with a length of chain dangling from it. There was a foot length of telescopic chrome rod in concealed hatch, which he now tugged on the ends of until it expanded to a width of about three feet. He fastened the locking bolts to keep it at that length and attached the clip on the end of the chain to a loop in the centre of the mid-section of rod so that it hung from the ceiling about three feet over the bed. There were two more loops in either end of the chrome bar and he pulled Rayne's ankles up onto his shoulders now. Rayne squirmed as he realised what was about to happen.

"Aaoww.... Ohhh! Don't tie me up, I promise to lie still. Oh God... that hurts!"

"Keep still and the strap won't crush your cock," Ant suggested, noting that the boy was still rock hard, even though he professed to be in pain. 

Carefully, he attached the ankle cuffs with clip-on hooks to the end loops on his home-made leg-spreader. When he was done, Rayne was lying submissively on his back with his arms pinioned behind him, his legs open wide and his soft, hairless bottom raised up about a foot from the bed. Ant had originally intended to restrain him on his belly with his knees bent and arse raised up invitingly but decided that he liked this arrangement better. Not only was the boy's anus fully accessible but he could watch as the stream of pre-cum ran down Rayne's naked belly from his seven and a half rock-hard, purple inches. 

"Are you comfortable?" he asked, rubbing himself as he admired his handiwork.

"What do you fuckin' think?" Rayne panted, a sheen of sweat on his pale face and naked body.

"I think that I'm going to have to fill your lovely fuck-hole with my dick very soon," Ant promised, still smiling at him with satisfaction. "But I need to tease you a bit more first."

"Ant! My balls are ready to explode!" Rayne pleaded. 

"You need a bit more discipline before I let you cum," Ant said, unmoved. 

He went back out to the galley and opened the window there with some difficulty as it was snowed up completely from the outside. Carefully he scooped a handful of snow into a cup and as he knocked the build up of snow from the window, he noted that there were several long, fat icicles hanging from the rail above it. Carefully he snapped off the longest, which was a good ten inches in length and about two inches thick at the fattest point, and brought it in. 

When he returned, Rayne was still wriggling experimentally, unable to get free or more comfortable. He was panting with exertion and obvious sexual excitement. Ant knelt between Rayne's legs and said; "I'm going to take you to extremes of sensation before I fuck you senseless, Rayne. It's gonna feel so fuckin' good when I finally let you climax. One warning, though. If you piss on my bed while I'm doing this to you, I'm going to have to punish you with a paddle and by keeping that dick strap on while I fuck you."

"Dirty bastard!" Rayne panted, though he didn't sound too distressed. Ant felt the boy's cock with one cold hand. It was still rock hard and Rayne winced and protested at the cold touch on his hot genitals

"That's nothing," Ant vowed. Carefully now he trickled a little snow between his lover's buttocks and watched him buck and struggle as it melted slowly down his crack. He rubbed some more gently over the young man's bare bollocks, letting it melt. Rayne swore at him breathlessly then keened as his struggles tightened the strap again. 

"Aaahhh... Christ Almighty, Ant!"

Ant smiled and made several small, firm snowballs about an inch to two inches in diameter. Tenderly he blew on Rayne's anus and licked his clenched rosebud as he did this. After a little erotic teasing, the young man's hole opened up for him again. Ant pushed an ice-cold finger up his anus and groped around for the boy's prostate. As he touched it, Rayne threw his head back and screamed uncontrollably. 

"AAAHHHHH!! AAAANNNT! FUUUUUCKMEEE!" 

Ant withdrew his finger and quickly inserted the snowballs up his anus, one at a time starting with the smallest and finishing up with a nice hard two-incher. He popped the last snowball into his mouth and let it melt as Rayne bucked and yelled at him, fighting the straps and restraints furiously. Ant watched icy water begin to trickle out of his twitching, flexing hole as the snowballs melted inside him. He rubbed his cock hard, fiercely excited by the sight. 

"Bastard! Bastard! You're a fuckin' sadist!" Rayne was sobbing breathlessly by the time his own snowball had almost dissolved. Ant bent over his groin, kissing his arsehole and scrotum with cold lips, then took the young man's shaven testicles in his icy mouth and sucked them slowly. He fingered Rayne's arsehole several times until the snow inside him was all melted and Rayne was shivering uncontrollably with cold and excitement. The snow-balling had reduced his body temperature quite significantly. 

"Fuck me, Ant... p-p-please fuck me. I need to c-c-c-cuuuum!" he panted through chattering teeth.

Ant let him get his breath for a moment and fetched a large rubber ball gag from his closet. He bent over the pretty youngster and forced the ball between his teeth, buckling it tightly behind his head. Now, Ant picked up the large icicle, which was only just beginning to melt and showed it to the boy. 

"Are you ready to be fucked?" he asked with a slow smile. 

Rayne's beautiful green eyes widened and he began to thrash frantically on the bed, shaking his head and moaning fearfully as Ant moved back between his legs and slowly rubbed the pointed tip of the icicle over his cold, twitching ring. The boy was trying to clench his spincter but his rectum was still numb with cold. Ant firmly inserted the narrow point of his frozen fuck-tool into the young man's arsehole. Rayne bucked violently his curses muffled by the big rubber ball in his mouth. Pushing the icicle in slowly, Ant fucked his helpless mate with it until it was all the way inside him, ignoring his screams and incoherent objections, then withdrew it quickly before it melted. 

On the bed, Rayne hyperventilated, teeth clenched hard around the ball-gag in his mouth. His eyes were tightly closed and his belly was drenched in cum. As Ant knelt up behind him, rubbing the hot, spunk-lubed head of his sex against Rayne's hole, he watched as the young man's cock twitched and a jet of steaming, golden piss squirted down his belly and pooled in the hollow of his chest, between his stiff, dark pink nipples. 

"You dirty little bitch," he breathed delightedly and forced his throbbing sex into the boy's refrigerated hole. 

It felt amazing, filling up his long, cold fuck-tunnel this way. Ant pumped into him roughly and quickly got nine inches up the boy's fantastically tight bum. The chill of his passage kept Ant from spurting into him as he ram-raided his gorgeous young slut's arse hard and fast for a couple of minutes. When the friction of his thrusting prick had warmed the boy up internally, he withdrew quickly, before he spilled his load, panting with pleasure. Rayne groaned and squirmed, his naked body sticky with sweat, cum and piss; his cries becoming higher and more urgent as he was entered with the rapidly melting icicle again.

Three times, Ant alternated melting ice and hot hard meat. The third time he left the dwindling ice rod inside his mate until it melted then used the flood of ice water as lube, bucking his cock inside his bound, gagged plaything, hands gripping the boy's naked hips as he slammed his tool into Rayne harder and harder. The sweat ran off him in waves as he pistoned in and out of his new pet slut until his balls exploded for the second time that morning. He felt the searing pleasure of a flood of hot cum surging up through his penis and bursting out like a liquid firework into the skinny boy's fabulous, tight arsehole.

Ant withdrew slowly and knelt for a while, looking at the young man's well-fucked hole, watching his spunk trickle out of Rayne's loose, red-raw ring. He licked the boy clean before coming around to remove the gag for a moment. Rayne was staring up at him desperately, frantic with need. He struggled again. 

"Please!" The exhortation was a tiny, breathless sound.

"You want to cum?" Ant asked innocently. 

The boy nodded urgently. He looked so beautiful, all hot and sweaty and fucked, his naked body trussed like a turkey, hair and body soaking wet.

"Okay," Ant said quietly. "But you've got to cum exactly as I tell you to."

"Anything!" Rayne gasped obediently, making him instantly aroused again.

"Good." Ant reached under the youngster and released his hands but clipped the cuffs back together again so that Rayne could move his arms but his hands were still behind him. "I ought to spank you, but since you've been so very satisfying already I'm gonna let you off wetting my bed this once. You can cum," he said, unbuckling the cock restraint as Rayne cried out with relief. "But not by touching your dick."

"How, then?" Rayne sounded horrified. His cock was leaking continually on his belly. 

"You can reach your arsehole with your fingers from there, can't you?" Ant prompted speculatively. He knew from the adventure they had already shared that Rayne was pliable and determined.

The pretty youngster squirmed a little, bracing himself against the leg-spreader so that his knees were slightly bent and his spine curved. He got his elbows under him and after two abortive attempts he managed to get his left hand between his buttocks. He nodded, gasping hungrily. 

"You are amazing," Ant told him sincerely. "I've not had such a hot playmate for ages." He bent his head and kissed Rayne's balls and scrotum slowly and wetly. Sitting up he whispered; "I want to watch you put your fingers up your arse and frig yourself hard. And I want to take some photographs while you get yourself off, okay?"

Rayne looked dubiously at him. "I suppose..." he conceded at last.

Ant went back to the galley for his camera and on the way back popped into the bathroom to pick up a towel, a bottle of organic, apricot-flavoured lube and a nice big dildo for his new pet to play with. He knelt on the bed and squirted a good glob of lube into Rayne's hole, rubbing it into his rectum with a forefinger, then giving him a taste. 

"Different," Rayne said with a slight quirk of his cherubic lips. 

Ant poured some lube onto the boy's fingers as well. He dried his own hands and spread the towel under Rayne on the bed, then picked up his camera and adjusted the light meter and focus so that he could clearly see the young man's anus.

"Ready?" he asked. 

"Uh-huh," Rayne nodded quickly. 

As Ant watched him, he wriggled his shoulders down the bed, still suspended from the ceiling by his ankles and the leg-spreader, and bent his knees as far as he could, walking his fingers slowly down his spine and groping with one hand between his bum cheeks. He found his rosebud with the forefinger of his left hand and rubbed it in slow circles until it opened up and swallowed the tip of his finger. He wriggled again, urging the finger deeper then pushing and pulling it quickly in and out of his anus to the second knuckle. Ant took a couple of pictures and moved around to the side of the bed. He photographed Rayne's earnest expression as he concentrated on frigging himself, biting his lower lip seriously as he peered down between his legs, although he could not see what he was doing to himself. 

"Put another finger in," Ant suggested, coming back to kneel between his legs. 

He snapped another couple of shots as the boy fucked himself with the first two fingers of his left hand, then withdrew them, flexing them experimentally and replaced them with the middle two fingers of his right hand. 

"It's difficult," he huffed at last, trying to brace himself using the leg-spreader. "I can't reach my hot spot," The frustration was evident in his voice and his twitching prick. 

"If I untie you, do you promise not to touch your cock until I say so?" Ant asked him solemnly.

Rayne nodded wearily. He uttered a little groan of pleasure as Ant unhooked him from the leg-spreader for a while and let him lie down. He unclipped the wrist cuffs as well, but left all four cuffs on the boy in case he needed them later.

"Wanna try again?" he prompted now. 

Rayne rolled onto his side and gave him such an indulgent look that he snapped that as well. The kid looked so good on camera. He bent one knee and lifted his leg, easing his left hand back down between his buttocks again. It was easier now that his wrists were not chained together. As Ant watched through the lens of his camera, he eased three fingers more deeply into his hole and began to fuck himself steadily. 

"Like that?" he breathed, looking straight at the camera. 

"Oh yeah!" Ant nodded and took some close-ups as Rayne squirmed and moaned softly, taking his time in his well-fucked hole. "Are you sore?"

"A bit... I've been worse." The boy closed his eyes and pushed his fingers deeper. Withdrawing them, he inserted a fourth from behind, then pulled out again and looked up at Ant. "Sit a bit closer," he said quietly, spreading his legs of his own volition. 

Ant needed no encouragement. He came and knelt between Rayne's thighs and the young man lifted his left leg again and rested the foot on Ant's shoulder. The right curled around Ant's thigh on the duvet and he leaned back so that all he had was on display.

"Do you like that?" he asked in the same, soft, husky, atonal voice.

"It's beautiful," Ant whispered, smiling in awe. "You're completely beautiful Rayne. You make my dick so hard it's untrue."

Rayne dipped his left hand down languidly between his legs and wormed his fingers back into his slippery hole as Ant watched avidly. He lay back on the mattress, writhing and sighing as he got his hand deeper and deeper into himself. His fingers made sucking, slurping noises as they pumped steadily in and out right up to the third knuckle this time.

"Does that feel as good as it looks?" Ant whispered, stroking his cock as he watched the naked boy getting off unselfconsciously, right in front of him. 

"Better," Rayne exhaled. He was panting, open-mouthed, his eyes closed tightly again. "I'm touching my hot-spot, Ant. It feels amazing. Like little explosions inside my whole body. I feel so good, Ant. So dirty." The boy moaned this last word and began to frig himself more rapidly. His young cock twitched and spat out another globule of semen.




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 01



"Are you cumming?" Ant asked eagerly. He took some more pictures as Rayne wriggled his other hand down under his buttocks and stroked the area around his occupied hole.

"Not yet..." as he panted the words, Rayne moved his right hand back to his lips and sucked his middle fingers, getting them nice and wet. Sliding the hand back down beneath his bum, he urged the two well-sucked digits into his anus along with the constantly thrusting fingers of his left hand. "Does 'this' get you going?"

"Yeah!" Ant nodded vigorously, fisting his own cock faster as he stared at the boy's stretched, slippery hole. "Can you get all eight fingers in?"

"Probably," Rayne's lips curled in an uncertain little smile, then opened wider and he uttered a gasping, whimpering cry and bucked up off the mattress, left hand pumping faster and faster. "Ohgod... god! I'm cumming... cumming so hard!"

He jerked and struggled, his cries turning to yelps then little screams that sounded almost as if he was dying. As Ant clicked away, his clean-shaven balls contracted hard once, twice... the third time a fountain of semen exploded from his tight young cock head and he uttered a long, strangled cry of need and relief. 

Ant threw the camera aside now and knelt up between his legs as Rayne sank back limply on the bed, his thighs lolling open and his prick twitching incessantly. He jacked himself off furiously, feeling his own nuts tighten as he spurted a hot, pearly slick of spunk onto the younger man's cock and balls.

Rayne looked up at him with a languid, humourless smile. His eyes were huge and vividly green like spring leaves in the sunlight. Framed within those long, thick black lashes they were almost feminine. That pale, androgynous face was an inscrutable mask. Rayne's thoughts were a closely guarded secret. The only window to his emotions came through those gorgeous eyes. 

Some girls had what men called, 'come to bed' eyes. Rayne Wilde however, possessed a 'fuck me and cum in me' insolence that Ant found irresistible. 'Impale me on that big dick,' his unblinking, peridot stare challenged. 'Pump your cream into me, and all over me, if you've got the balls!'

As Ant gazed down on him, he pulled his fingers from his arsehole and stirred them in the slick of spunk on his belly, then set them between his lips and sucked them one by one. Ant groaned, deep in his throat. This gorgeous slut was probably worth a small fortune to the sex trade. His pimp was probably hunting him down through the streets of London even as they lay here in post-masturbatory bliss.

Rayne carried on scooping up cum and licking it off his fingers for a little while. Ant bent over him and touched his mouth to the wetness on his genitals, stroking his rough tongue over the boy's briefly flaccid sex, licking and kissing the smoothness of his defoliated groin and scrotum. He sucked on Rayne's penis gently for a while until the young man began to get hard again in his mouth, then orally stimulated the boy's balls one at a time, rolling them in his mouth and caressing with his tongue. 

"Ohhhhh....!" Rayne exclaimed. "Yes!"

Ant used his mouth between the boy's legs again, stroking and tickling his crack some more, then wrigging his tongue into Rayne's hole and licking it out thoroughly. He could not get enough of the sweet, musky taste of his lover's cum and apricot lube-filled arsehole, or the quick, urgent, ecstatic cries the boy uttered when his ring was being sucked and french-kissed passionately. He stroked his hands over Rayne's wriggling body, caressing him and loving the act of giving him pleasure.

After a while, he moved back up and lay on top of the boy, pressing his lips to Rayne's open mouth and his tongue inside. The boy sucked the juices of his own anus and his sex-mate's cum willingly off Ant's tongue and rubbed against him, wrapping his legs around the man. 

"You make me feel so horny," Ant whispered into his mouth. "Do your customers ever pay just to watch you getting yourself off?"

Rayne looked at him seriously for a moment, then he nodded his head. 

"I've done just about everything there is to do for money," he said in a quiet, carefully neutral voice. 

"How much does something like that cost?" Ant stroked his face tenderly, trying not to let the boy see how excited it made him to think of other men paying to fuck Rayne like he just had.

A little shrug seemed his only answer for a while, then Rayne said; "Depends... if they want quick manual relief outdoors or in their car it's generally about twenty pounds. If they just want to watch me wanking it's the same. But if they want to take pictures that's extra and if they want a room and a session that lasts more than fifteen minutes, then they're paying for the hotel and they're paying me an hourly or half-hourly rate for my time."

"What's the weirdest thing you've ever done for money?" Ant grinned. 

"I worked in a record shop once, and I mean, just once. I didn't go back the weekend after," Rayne said, deadpan. Then he winked; "That's not what you mean, is it?"

Ant kissed him hard; sometimes those little bursts of irreverent humour escaped and took him by surprise. The boy was quite relaxed now. He was glad. 

Ant reached for the fat, black, eleven-inch dildo and applied a generous slick of lube to its latex shaft. Rayne took it from him as he knelt back, picking up his camera again.

"You know what to do," Ant whispered excitedly. 

Rayne Wilde just about managed an enigmatic smile. He parted his legs again and wrapped his fingers around the base of the shaft, rubbing the round, rubber cock head in slow circles over his crack and around his arsehole until he was glistening with lube. One of his feet slithered up onto Ant's naked thigh. He lifted the other leg, resting the sole of his foot against the older man's chest and wriggling his bare buttocks up off the duvet. With both hands, he gripped the shaft of the big, flexible sex-toy and pushed his well-fucked and fingered hole against it over and over until the fat bell-end breached him and forced a cry of acknowledgement from his lips. 

"How does that feel?" Ant wanted to know. He knelt over the younger man and took some more pictures of his beautiful lover with that big rubber punisher in his hole. Rayne clenched his teeth, shaking his head a little as he wrapped his legs around Ant's midriff and braced the base of the latex cock against the other man's left knee. 

"Uhhhh....uuuuhhhhhh.....ugggghhhhhh!" he grunted, using his long, slim legs to pull himself harder onto the dildo.

"That's it," Ant coaxed. "You do whatever it takes to get that big bastard all the way inside."

Rayne was reaching out for him now and linked his fingers behind Ant's neck, hauling himself into a sitting position and humping up and down on the protruding six inches with his knees raised and spread. 

"Ahhh! Ahhhh! Ahhh! Mmmmmmmh!" he moaned; "Ohhh ohhgod! More lube!" 

His fingers scrabbled on the duvet and he sank down on his back again as Ant put the bottle of lubricant in his hand. He carried on clicking as Rayne poured the slippery solution between his legs and wormed a hand under his cheeks, fingers cupping the base of the rubber tool and urging it in and out an inch at a time. As Ant watched, feeling increasingly randy, he worked seven, then eight, then nine inches into his arsehole. Both hands were down between his legs now as he rode the monster cock. 

"God it's big!" he hissed at one point, rolling onto his belly and kneeling up so that Ant briefly had a good shot of the dildo sticking out of his pretty hole. His young cock was upright and leaking but he was too preoccupied with getting all of that big dick inside him to jerk off. Now he pushed his arse cheeks back against the foot board of the bed and braced the shaft there, pushing himself backwards on his hands and knees. The sweat was running off him as he forced himself all the way onto Ant's huge dildo. "Aaahhhhh! Aaaaiyyyyggghhhh! Omigod...omigod!" he exclaimed as it nudged all the way into his hole.

He collapsed onto the bed, rolling onto his back again. At once, Ant poured more lube over the boy's cock and balls, then straddled him, wriggling his own anus down quickly onto Rayne's leaking, seven plus inches. He exhaled a long, low growl of pleasure as he felt his mate's hot, throbbing sex slowly fill his hole. Hungrily he humped himself up and down on the gorgeous young man's hard cock. Rayne thrashed eagerly under him, his head thrown back and his lovely eyes tightly closed. His lips were parted in a soundless, panting 'o' of lusty delight. 

"Oh god! Oh god!" he groaned at last. "So good... so fuckin' good. Ohh... fuck... fuck... fuck me!" he panted in time with Ant's bounces on his hard prick. 

He wrapped one hand around Ant's big, pulsing boner as the older man rode on him, aiming the head down between his thighs like a cannon as they fucked one another harder. Ant watched the beautiful boy pumping his dick and humped himself up and down faster and more violently on Rayne's twitching cock. 

"Yeahhh! Yeaahhrrggggg!" he grunted, sitting down hard in his lover's crotch as his balls contracted tightly and squeezed out a hot spurt of cum that splattered over Rayne's bare chest and into his open mouth. Under him, the lad cried out wordlessly and bucked against his pelvis, filling him with a flood of spunk virtually at the same time.

Ant leaned forward after he had taken some lovely pictures of Rayne covered in his jism. The boy was licking his lips, still huffing quietly. 

"Christ, that was good!" he exhaled at last. "I didn't reckon you'd be up for that. Thanks!"

"You've got a really fabulous prick," the older man told him. "Last night while you were out of it, all I could think about was getting on top of you and sucking you off, then fucking you hard up the arse."

"Dirty old man!" Rayne teased, wriggling a little on the dildo, which had been forced halfway out by his passionate writhing as Ant straddled him. 

"Less of the 'old'! I'm only thirty five," Ant cautioned him. "How'd you like my Big Boy anal pleaser then?"

"Very pleasin' indeed!" Rayne let the tip of his little pink tongue slide between his lips again. "If you put your hands between my legs and keep on fucking my arsehole very nice and slow with it, I'll tell you about some of the weirdest shit I've done on the game. Deal?"

Ant began to pump the dildo in and out of him at once. Under him on the bed, the black-haired boy caught his breath then began to tell his story.

"I was a human serving dish once at a party thrown by this east-end gangster, Flash Jack Cohn. He was an old school thug, but quite a gentleman really," Rayne closed his eyes, as though reliving the experience. He circled his slim hips on the thrusting tool between his cheeks. "He had this massive party, really over the top service and everything. And he paid for rent boys to strip naked and lie on the tables, covered in food, like in one of those decadent movies, so that these old pervs at his do could pick food off them, or lick it off. That cost him a fortune 'cos there were four of us and he wanted us for hours, plus he wanted me and another guy for his bed after the party. I think Johnno billed him for about a grand, just for my time!"

"So, you hang out with the mob?" Ant teased. "Should I be scared?"

Rayne opened his eyes, looking languidly at him.

"Very," he whispered. "Jack once had some bloke dismembered and dropped in the Thames for parking in his spot outside the club he ran."

"You're kidding?" Ant's eyes widened, but Rayne shook his head seriously. "He was always a gent to me though. He was never rough with the boys he fucked and he wouldn't touch anyone he thought was just a kid." Rayne smiled a little at the memory. "He liked to be called Mr. Cohn, never Jack, even in bed. His boys had to be polite and do as they were told or they got a clip round the ear and they weren't called on again. He said he liked me because I didn't talk too much and I always did exactly what he wanted, nice and discretely, wherever he wanted to do it to me."

Ant kissed and rubbed against him, pounding him harder. Rayne whimpered with pleasure, already getting hard again.

"That idea makes me horny," he confessed. "Was he an old geezer, this Cohn?"

"About fifty... fifty three, I think. He told me once. I can't remember." Rayne smiled visibly satisfied. 

"That must be like putting out for your dad!" Ant pulled a face. 

"He was nothing like my dad," Rayne said with a shake of his head. "Like I said, he was a gentleman. He was always clean and he liked me to be completely clean before I got into bed with him, and whenever I went out with him anywhere. He bought me a proper, fitted suit and all the gear. I know he paid a lot of money for my... uhh... services. He used to call on me two or three times a month. Mostly it was as an escort, someone pretty on his arm at parties and meetings. People expected it, apparently. He never hid the fact that he liked bumming guys from anyone and most geezers respected him for it. Them that didn't generally wound up in hospital."

Rayne chewed on his lower lip and grinned. "Like I said; he was old school."

"Was it good sex?" Ant pressed, pushing the dildo into him more urgently so that he had more than three-quarters of its length surging in and out of his rectum.

"Yeah." Rayne looked back at him, panting slightly, waiting for the inevitable. Ant was bursting with curiosity about his previous life. 

"Did he have a big dick?"

"It was big enough," Rayne murmured ambiguously. "How he used it was more important. He liked making us cum. I remember him telling me that nothing turned him on more than having a boy reach climax while he was getting fucked. It put him off if the bloke he was with wasn't in the mood. We weren't to cum too soon though, that put him off. It took me a while to get used to how he liked it but I must have been doing the right thing. He kept rentin' me."

"What happened to him?" Ant asked, noting that all these references were in the past tense.

"A security heist went wrong and someone blagged him to the police. He's in the Scrubs now," Rayne said ruefully. "I visited him once or twice. He wrote to me and asked me to come. First time we just talked through the windows and he looked so sad. He kept telling me I'd brightened his day. Second time... he must have had some bloody influence, even inside... cos the screws took me up to see him in his cell and stood on guard outside while he had it off with me on the bed."

"Bet that got them hot," Ant panted, pulling Rayne's hand down to his penis and encouraging the boy to stroke him. Long, gentle fingers fisted him steadily whilst he was tooling the younger man with his dildo. Rayne's thumb teased the wet head of his cock, stroking pre-cum over the helm seductively. 

"After he'd said goodbye they took me back down into the search rooms and told me Mr.Cohn had promised them that I'd suck them both off and fuck them to pay for his privileges." Rayne wanked him a little faster, rocking his hips back and forth on the thrusting sex toy. 

"Did you?" Ant was breathing hard. 

"I didn't have much choice, did I?" Rayne said dryly. "They took me into the ID room with the one-way glass wall and made me undress and bend over. They both got their cocks out and I started sucking one of them while the other one warmed me up with his riot baton. I was full of Mr. Cohn's cum so I was nice and slippy. They took me over to the glass wall then and the one I'd been blowing pushed me up against it and fucked me up the arse."

"Was it good?" Ant asked him, panting eagerly. 

Rayne did not answer the question. For a moment he was quiet, breathing hard through his nose, the only sound coming from his rapidly pumping hand and the wet, sucking sounds of the dildo sliding in and out of his arsehole. "When he was done," he gasped finally; "he pulled out and the second one made me kneel down and suck him off. While I was sucking him, the first guy zipped up and told me there were about eighteen horny screws behind the glass all watching me do them and beating their meat. The second one came in my mouth and said that they were all frustrated and while some of them didn't fancy fellas, there were at least ten of them that wouldn't say no, bearing in mind that I was really pretty and Mr. Cohn had told them all what a nice tight arse I had. He said he was sure that the rest would still enjoy watching a free sex show, just like they'd enjoyed watching Mr. Cohn fucking me on the bed."

Ant rubbed himself in Rayne's hand, then spread his legs, pulling the dildo out slowly. It slipped wetly out of his arsehole with a little slurping noise. The older man knelt between his legs and mounted him without a word. Rayne uttered a little gasp as Ant's long penis eased back into him and he began to rock himself deeper.

"Keep telling me the story," he panted at last. "Did you get gang-banged? How many of them wanted it?"

"I dunno." Rayne caught his breath again, wrapping his legs around Ant more tightly. "I lost count. I think some of them... ahhh... did me twice. They came in to me two or three at a time. When they finished they went back behind the glass to watch some more. All... ohhh, ohhh... all I remember was the door opening and closing all the time and men laughing and joking, rubbing their dicks while they waited for a go. One guy definitely had me three times. He said... ahhhh yeah...! he said that my address was on the letters Mr. Cohn sent me and he was going to come round and see me at the weekend so huhhhuhhhhuhhe could fuck me hard again." Rayne moaned a little and rode Ant's quickening tool more fiercely. "Oh god, Ant!! Yes!! Fuck me hard NOW!"

"Is that good for you?" Ant pounded the boy's hole, turned on by the idea of watching him taking it over and over as eighteen randy screws nailed him to the wall and the floor with their big cocks and batons. 

"Mmmmnnnyyyaaaahhh!" Rayne nodded rapidly. 

"Did the screw come and see you?"

"Uh-uh." A little shake of the head. "I told him if he came around to that address my pimp would rip his balls off and make him eat them. He just laughed and said... huhhh-huhh...said he'd rather watch me eating them, then he made me suck his cock and nuts while another couple of guys fucked me in the arse. Oh Christ, Ant! Fuck me! Fuck me! Make me cum!"

"How long did it take for them all to fuck you?" Ant huffed, all too willing to give him the stuffing he was begging for. He slammed his cock in harder and faster, his balls slapping against Rayne's bare arse.

"Ages, it was dark when they let me get dressed and go home. I could hardly walk." Rayne keened a little, eagerly; "Aahhhh..., Jesus, Ant, that's good! Your big cock feels so good in me!"

Ant pulled him close, feeling Rayne snake around him like an octopus, rubbing his naked body all over the older man, shamelessly seeking gratification from his tool and his hot, sweaty skin. His anus clenched and released, milking Ant pleasurably as he squirmed beneath the older man.

He squirted after just a few more minutes of this, crying out Ant's name as he began to cum.

His lover urged Rayne's knees higher once he was sure the boy was temporarily sated and fucked his fantastically tight young arsehole like a well-greased piston, shooting his hot wad quickly inside him. Sexual satisfaction surged through his crotch and up into his belly, tingling like a static shock and he moaned with pleasure, his bell-end throbbing steadily as he kept it pushed up deep inside his pretty fuck-toy.

"Is there anything you 'won't' do?" he panted once they were sprawled on the covers, quivering and loose-limbed from their respective releases.

"I don't eat shit," Rayne said frankly, and rather huskily. "One guy was prepared to pay five 'undred quid a time to piss and shit in my mouth. That's fuckin' disgusting, to be honest!"




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 01



Ant kissed him lazily, stroking his body.

"I did go with a guy once who wanted me to piss on him. He wanted me to spank him and take him in the bathroom and pee all over him." He sounded amused by this. "Oh... and there was one really odd-ball guy, quite posh, big fancy house in Chiswick, who told Johnno he liked fucking boys that needed a shit. We had to ring him up and let him know when I was busting for a dump then he sent a cab round for me and took me up to his playroom... all rubber, naturally! He was naked and told me to strip off. I'd lost the urge a bit, but he gave me a laxative then he lay down and told me to relax my bowels and just ride his dick like normal and if I felt the urge to crap I was just to keep riding his cock and not try to hold it back."

"Messy!" Ant laughed not sure if the idea excited or revolted him. "What did it feel like?"

"Weird," Rayne said distantly. "Like... did you ever crap your pants by accident when you were a little kid?"

"Yeah," Ant laughed. "Plenty of times!"

"Well it felt like that; kind of disgusting but kind of rebellious as well. I could feel his cock pushing up me and all this cack dripping out of me, kind of squelchy and really foul, dropping on him. When I was done, he made me get off and kneel on the floor and he fucked me doggy-style until he came, then licked me clean. He wanted me to suck his cock clean but I said no way. In the end we went in the shower together and I washed his dick and let him give me an enema. Have you ever had an enema?" Rayne rolled his eyes. He fired out words like bullets from a machine gun, especially when he was excited or nervous, Ant had noticed.

"No... I have a kit. I used to give my ex-girlfriend anal enemas," Ant confessed. 

"Did she like it?" Rayne looked mischievously at him.

"No, she thought I was weird," Ant laughed. "That's why she's my ex!"

"I loved it," Rayne admitted, shaking his head. "It felt so good I made him give me three of them lying in his empty bathtub naked. He put a butt plug in after he'd filled me and made me hold my water. Holding all that hot water in my arse gave me such a hard-on! I actually pissed myself the first time and that excited him. He took the plug out and fucked me while the water was squirting out of my arse."

"Did you cum?" Ant asked him, eyes twinkling.

"Like a fountain," Rayne giggled. "I couldn't stop. It was amazing. I begged him to fill me with water again and he did. Each time he made me hold it a bit longer and the second time I started cumming as soon as he put the tube up my arse. The last time he did it to me, he put the butt plug in and made me walk around the playroom naked with all this water sloshing inside me and I couldn't keep my hand off my dick. He put me in this leather gynaecologist's chair with my hands strapped up over my head and my legs tied apart and my feet in the air. He stood between my legs and took the plug out then filled me with his cock and fucked me really hard until the water was all out of me on the floor. He made me cum three times just while I was in the chair."

Ant was getting rock hard again as he told the story. 

"You 'really' liked it?"

"Yeah," Rayne looked back at him with luminous green eyes. "It gave me the horn something bad. Am I dirty?"

"You're fucking horny," Ant told him. "And you're making me fucking horny too!"

Rayne stretched like a sexy little cat and licked his sultry lips until they were glistening wetly. He had a body like a skinny, jailbait teenager and he talked and fucked like a seasoned whore. Ant could not get enough of him.

"You know... I'm gonna 'have' to give you an enema now, don't you?" Ant told him gravely. 

"I don't see how you can't," Rayne Wilde stretched out on the bed with his legs open wide. "I'm such a dirty boy. You're going to have to scrub me down and rinse me out properly, I bet."

"Don't you worry, I'll make sure you're perfectly clean, gorgeous," Ant promised him. "Inside 'and' out!"

He took the boy back with him to the three-man shower cubicle he had installed in the bathroom. It was one of the perks of living on a bigger vessel. Okay, he had sacrificed speed for space here but this was Greenwich Reach not the Mediterranean, after all. It meant that he had spacious living quarters, decent-sized sleeping space – enough for a bed built for a three or four person orgy, and kitted out with all the essentials for a red hot BDSM session. There were discreet rings in the bed head and foot boards for tying, strapping or chaining his lovers and a variety of hooks and loops in the ceiling and on the floor for the purpose of attaching other forms of restraint. 

The walls of the shower cubicle were decorated with small, black-rubber mosaic tiles. The glass was bullet-proof and fitted from floor to ceiling so that a lover could be fucked against it as violently as he liked. Again, there were restraining hoops in the rubber-tiled floor and the ceiling. He planned to use them fully this morning. 

In the bathroom there were a number of cabinets with sex toys and restraints in them. Ant, selected a pair of metal wrist cuffs first of all, separate manacles with rings in the sides of them. He replaced the leather straps around his mate's wrists and ankles with these heavier cuffs, then led him into the shower cubicle and fastened Rayne's wrist cuffs to a pair of the ceiling hoops with D-rings. He did the same with the ankle bracelets, using a larger pair of screw-fastening connector rings. The loops in the floor were quite wide apart so that Rayne was standing in a straddle pose with arms raised either side of his shoulders. 

His mate was laughing nervously as Ant restrained him. He pulled on the cuffs quite hard but they did not budge. Now the older man fetched a curious contraption like a short, fat, black dildo. It was pushed through a wide black rubber strap with a velcro fastener. Ant slapped Rayne's arse and when he yelped indignantly, the dildo was pushed into his mouth and the strap secured behind his head. Ant pushed the dildo gag-piece through the strap until Rayne had about five, fat rubber inches in his mouth. 

Above the delicious slut's head was a huge shower rose. Ant stepped back and turned on a fierce blast of freezing cold water. He stood outside the glass for three minutes watching the naked boy moaning and struggling as the water sluiced over him like Niagara Falls. His pretty, tame whore was shuddering and soaking wet when he turned off the shower and stepped back inside. Rayne was trying to swear at him but the gag kept his jaws open and his tongue still. His captor ignored the protest and squirted a good glob of creamy white shower gel onto a medium stiff scrubbing brush, then began to rub the bristles in slow circles over Rayne's naked body, starting with his neck and back, increasing in vigour over his buttocks and thighs, moving between his legs and up over his knees and hips. He scoured the young man's soft white belly and torso, again rubbing harder and faster over his nipples, so that Rayne bucked and struggled some more. Putting more foam onto the brush, he rubbed it between Rayne's legs – scrubbing his scrotum gently at first then gradually increasing the speed and vigour of his ablutions. The sexy whore was keening and whimpering as his balls and cock were agitated roughly, then it was the turn of his well-fucked crack.

Ant scrubbed out the valley between his glorious buttocks until he was red and raw there. Tenderly, he washed Rayne's flushed, agitated face with his hands, then stepped back and gave him another blast of cold water. This time he alternated cold and hot water for a couple of minutes, loving the way Rayne bucked and wriggled in the restraints. The young man had a semi-hard-on when Ant turned off the water and fetched a long, tapering bottlebrush from the cabinets. It was about ten inches in length with a spiral of hog's hair bristles two inches across at the base. He soaked it in gel and moved behind the sexy youngster, inserting it quickly and firmly into his rectum and pumping Rayne's arsehole hard with it. The wet, naked youth jerked and thrashed but was unable to step away or close his legs or even bring his hands down to save himself. He was forced to stand and take it in his arse for a couple of painfully stimulating minutes.

When Ant pulled it out, the bristles were gluey with flecks of dry shit, mucus and spunk and his lover was rock hard. He was showered again, quickly this time and Ant returned to the cubicle with a length of ribbed, rubber hose in one hand and a chunky, seven inch butt plug in the other. He unfastened the restraining rings now and instructed his puzzled whore to lie down on his back on the floor of the cubicle. Rayne did as he was told and the older man fastened his wrist cuffs to the floor rings and knelt to attach the leg-spreader between his ankle bracelets, adjusting it so that Rayne's feet were about a yard apart. He attached a long chain to the suspension ring in the spreader then fed the other end through one of the ceiling eyelets and hauled on it until his whore was hanging, virtually upside down with his legs open wide and just his shoulder blades and the back of his head on the floor. 

Ant secured the chain with a padlock and knelt down to stroke the boy's wet hair gently. He looked so sexy chained up like that in the dildo gag that the older man could hardly wait to fuck him. Removing the little fat prick from his mouth, he quickly tilted Rayne's head back and wriggled his own sex down through the hole in the strap, filling his gorgeous slut's mouth with cock. Rayne sucked obediently and it only took Ant a few satisfying minutes to pump his throat full of semen. When Rayne had swallowed most of his cum, he put the dildo back in place and rose to prepare his equipment.

In addition to the ceiling rose, there was a hand-held shower attachment in the cubicle. Ant unscrewed the showerhead from it and wriggled one end of the hose over the nozzle unhurriedly. Rayne was looking up at him expectantly, watching him and making little groaning sounds around the dildo in his mouth. He pulled on the cuffs and squirmed energetically, making the chains clink as Ant put a good coating of anal lube on the other end of the hose and spread his cheeks, teasing his hole until he was loose enough for the older man to press it into him and begin forcing it slowly up his anus.

"Mmmm... Mmmmmmmmhhhh!" Rayne exclaimed incoherently, his sexy bottom bucking back and forth as Ant thrust about ten inches of ribbed hose into him whilst he hung upside down.

"Okay... I'm gonna wash out that dirty hole now," Ant warned, and held the pipe in place as he turned on the faucet, releasing a good spurt of hot water into the young man's colon. His captive mate bucked hard, moaning around the rubber prick in his mouth as he was quickly filled up. The water was not scalding, but hot enough and Ant did not make him hold it for long. Once he had quickly pulled the hose out of his submissive partner's abused hole, he inserted the bottle brush again, giving Rayne Wilde a second good internal scrubbing. The combined heat and friction released a surprising amount of shit and mucus and Ant sluiced out the shower cubicle before lubing up his hose and wriggling it back inside the struggling slut. 

A second hot wash came out much cleaner and Ant now turned the thermostat to cold as he watched the fluid trickle out between Rayne's bare buttocks. 

"You're such a beautiful little tart," he told his lover huskily, as he thrust the tube deep inside for the third time. 

Rayne whimpered and kicked as the icy water pumped into his colon, filling him until the residue was squirting out of his arsehole around the tube. Ant pulled the hose out rapidly again so that not much water was lost before he could push the chunky, black butt-plug into his sex-mate's anus. He stepped aside to watch Rayne fighting and thrashing; moaning sexily around the cock-gag in his mouth. Sure enough, the young man had an impressive hard on. Ant rubbed it vigorously for him and he groaned more ecstatically as he began to spurt all over his pretty face. He had clearly not been lying about the cold water in his arsehole making him cum, for he ejaculated twice in quick succession. 

Ant was growing more and more excited fondling him and watching him cream himself. Already he was bolt upright again and rose now to remove the butt-plug. 

Rayne's position meant that he did not lose the water quickly and Ant was able to push his dick in immediately. His bound, gagged, suspended slut was stretched and accessible and Ant fucked him hard as he hung by his ankles from the ceiling of the cubicle. The position of Rayne's naked body meant that Ant entered him at a downward angle and the pressure this put on his cock was incredibly stimulating. He was only fucking the boy hard for about three minutes before he spurted into the youngster's anus.

His lover thrashed and pulled on the chains as he was raped energetically with his colon still half full of cold water. Obviously he loved every minute because he came again almost before Ant was fully inside him. 

Ant's balls were twitching and spasming as he pulled out and watched the young whore cumming uncontrollably for the fourth time in less than ten minutes. Quite evidently he loved being restrained and cleaned out this way. Ant had already decided that they would have to play this game again very soon. 

Temporarily exhausted by the morning's sex play, he lowered the leg-spreaders and unclipped the ankle bracelets from the steel rod, then pushed his flexible little slut's knees back to his chest and eased his naked body back across the rubber floor of the shower cubicle. When his restrained wrists were at his hips, Ant lowered the boy's legs and fastened his leg manacles to the same loops as his arm bracelets so that the boy was lying in a loose crab position on the floor. From the long, seductive moans escaping his throat, this was agreeable to Rayne as well as his tormentor. Now, Ant inserted the tip of the hose into his rectum again and turned both taps to fill the boy's lovely hole with a constant flow of lukewarm water. Finally, removing the gag, he knelt down by Rayne's head to masturbate and watch his young slut wriggle and moan in the steamy cubicle as his anus played host to a constant fountain of warm, wet pleasure. The boy's struggling, naked body and his husky pleas for release turned him on very quickly.

"Oh christ! Oh christ! I need to pee so bad!" Rayne keened as he was flooded. His stiff young cock was standing up proudly, throbbing and dribbling virtually colourless cum as his head rolled from side to side. 

Ant knelt and stared hungrily, whacking his own hard cock-meat for a few minutes as he got his breath back and the youngster tried to control his bladder. Rayne's eyes were closed but his mouth remained open, alternately panting and pleading as he got his feet flat to the floor, bracing and pulling hard on the wrist cuffs. His tempting, shaven mound bucked up and down and his lovely prick bounced and nodded for a little while, until he stopped begging and succumbed to the irresistible urge to piss. The flood of urine trickled over his nude crotch and belly, running over him like a river, followed by a slow, pulsing stream of half-translucent semen. Rayne thrashed and screamed like he was being murdered. His hairless balls were pulled up tight into his scrotum as he came, slowly and tormentingly.

As he did so, Ant moved around between his legs and removed the anal tubing, turning off the taps. His hands cupped Rayne's wet, naked bottom and he lifted it, spreading the boy's cheeks. His hole was stretched, gaping open like a second mouth. Ant's erect cock penetrated it easily, pulsing deep inside and meeting little resistance. The boy's arse was as hot and wet as a juicy cunt. It felt so good that his lover was almost ready to cum there and then. His hands stroked Rayne's hard young prick and throbbing nuts. He could feel the young man's violent heartbeat in his bollocks as he squeezed and fondled them.

Writhing on the rubber floor, Rayne uttered a continuous guttural groan of urgent need. He seemed to have a constant hard-on. Ant could not recall having a lover so hot and randy before. Holding his young mate by the cock and balls, he fucked the boy hard and fast, then jerked his tool out of the lad's tightening arse and sprayed him with spunk. At the same time Rayne squirted a final jet of hot cum into his own face. A long, sensual growl of satisfaction escaped through his gritted teeth and his slender limbs fell slack as he stopped fighting the restraints, his gorgeous face dripping wet with sweat and semen.

His balls aching with pleasure, Mr. Right unchained him gently, then licked him clean, before carrying his unresisting body back to the bed, where he let the beautiful, naked young man sleep. Rayne Wilde would need all his strength if they were going to fuck like that all night!

END OF PART ONE



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 02



Chapter Two – LIVE AT THE FALCON

A WORD FROM YOUR AUTHOR: "A warning to those who regularly read these evil, perverted stories. THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SHAMELESS HETEROSEXUAL NAUGHTINESS. If such behaviour offends or revolts you, please skip most of the last page. To the rest of you happy degenerates, enjoy!" xx. Sadie 

THE MORNING AFTER:

Rayne needed to sleep after the rigors of his enema-induced multiple climax. Ant curled up with him under the duvet for a while, holding the beautiful young man in his arms until his breathing slowed and steadied. However he could not relax. Once he was sure that Rayne was sound asleep, he got up again and wrapped the quilt snugly around his delicious new house-boy, then pulled on some clothes. 

It had stopped snowing outside and once he came up on deck he took a long breath of the damp, cold London air, wishing they were somewhere warmer; somewhere he could sail out onto the open ocean and drop anchor to screw Rayne, naked on the decking in the balmy sunshine. The kid needed some sun on his skin. He was pale as milk. Warmth and light would help to heal some of those nasty bruises on his skinny arms and lean thighs. 

As he walked along the embankment Ant was in a kind of reverie. He wanted to tell everyone he met about the fantastic sex he and Rayne had enjoyed last night and how this gorgeous boy was still sprawled naked in his bed, waiting for Ant to come home and fuck him some more.

At the shop, he rummaged around vaguely, trying to find something that his young guest might eat without turning up his pretty nose. He had never cooked for a vegetarian lodger and had no idea where to start. Since the kid had already attempted milky tea, he decided that Rayne was probably not one of those militant veggies who would not even sit in the same room as a pat of butter and bought cheese, pasta, tomatoes and chillies, and a large bag of apples. The girl at the checkout was one of Mr Gulati's casual assistants, a big, bottle-blonde Ukrainian immigrant who never met the eye of anyone that came to her till. The pink checked overall she wore was almost too small, stretched tight across her voluminous breasts and big, round arse, straining the buttonholes until they looked ready to pop open. 

Ant speculated idly that she was nude beneath the coverall (or coverlittle!). There was no telltale bra line and he could not imagine how she might have squeezed a layer of clothing between the polyester garment and her milky skin. He could see her nipples, pressing prominently against the pink and white material. His cock stirred in his pants as he imagined how her huge, white tits would spill over the counter if the buttons burst from their overstretched holes. He wondered if she would even notice she seemed so immured to everything else around her. 

As she checked his shopping through with her customary ennui, he contemplated how it would feel to have her big, bare breasts spilling out of his hands as he thrust himself into her plump, wet pussy from behind. Would she even acknowledge his presence as he forced her over the counter and pounded her with his cock (which was almost unbearably hard again now)? He wondered if Rayne would like to do her too and the idea of his gorgeous new companion on his knees, eating her plump wet cunt in the shower as Ant fucked her from behind almost made him cream his pants. 

"Five pounds twenty five," she said atonally, breaking into his fantasy, one ringed and taloned hand outstretched for the money. Her nails were long and candyfloss pink. Her gaze was fixed on the till readout. 

Ant fumbled for the cash and stuffed his shopping into a carrier bag as she got his change. 

"Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked her as she dumped the money in his hand. 

She actually looked at him for a moment; a blue-grey gaze that swept him like an arctic wind from his crotch to the top of his head. Then, in a husky monotone, she dismissed him.

"Get lost!"

Back on the boat he found the young man awake, his hair already damp from the shower and wished privately that he had delayed his trip to the shops for a while so that he might join Rayne under the cascade for some more water sports. The boy was now perched up in the bows smoking a roll-up, gazing out at the river with a curious yearning. His clothes had dried out overnight for he was dressed and wrapped in the throw from the galley sofa. He glanced over one skinny shoulder as Ant climbed back on board and flashed a smile that did not reach his beautiful eyes before returning his attention to the scene beyond the prow of the boat. 

"Are you okay?" Ant dumped the shopping and scrambled forward to lean on the bow rail beside him. Rayne blew out a long plume of smoke; chin tilted upward slightly and eyes half closed. 

"I'll live," he exhaled huskily. 

"Not for much longer if you carry on smoking those things without a roach," Ant pointed out. 

"Who made you my mother?" Rayne did not look at him. Long black lashes shielded his ice green gaze as he surveyed the cold, dark waters of the Thames. 

Ant shook his head in disbelief. How could this kid be so gorgeously hot one minute and yet so completely distant and frigid the next? He was a total mystery, and one that Ant was determined to unravel. 

"Are you hungry?" he wanted to know. "Only I though I could cook us dinner tonight. I hope you like pasta?" 

Beneath him Rayne sucked steadily on the crumpled cigarette between his fingers then removed it from his mouth and seemed to contemplate it for a moment as if it might answer the question for him. He breathed out the words in a wreath of smoke. 

"Very domestic all of a sudden, aren't we?"

Ant experienced a little twinge of irritation. What was it with young people these days, first the girl in the shop and now Rayne Wilde? They were so bloody antagonistic. 

"I have to eat, even if you don't. If it were down to me, I'd just put a steak on the grill pan and be done with it, but madam won't eat that, will she? Oh no!" 

That had some effect. Rayne looked up at him again, somewhat quizzically. His pale face was almost girlish beneath the tumble of blond-tipped fringe, framed in that soft, woollen throw. All Ant could suddenly think about was the way those full, bloodless lips felt wrapped around the shaft of his cock. He got another hard on right away and pushed his hands into his coat pockets, drawing them together over the offending protuberance. It simply refused to stay dormant this morning. The boy frowned slightly, though probably not at the bulge in his pants, as he had not taken his eyes off Ant's face. He looked slightly perplexed, as though the outburst had come as a surprise to him. 

"Pasta's fine," he said at last, with a shrug of his shoulders as he looked away. 

Ant was about to give up on him and go back inside. It was still bloody cold up here, even with his coat on but he glanced back once as he made his careful way towards the hatch. 

"I 'am' worried about you, you know," he told the youngster. "It's not just the sex. If you regret it..."

"I don't," Rayne said before he could finish the sentence. "I don't regret it, all right?"

He sucked the life out of his roll-up and flicked the dying embers away into the cold, grey river as he pushed himself to his feet. Ant wondered if he imagined the darkness that he felt gather around the boy in that moment. 

"What day is it?" Rayne asked bluntly as Ant was making toast in the galley. The younger man had shed his woollen wrap and was pacing the small living area in tight, artfully torn bleached, blue jeans and a skinny-fit black tee shirt. His sneakers squeaked on the polished wood of the floor as he turned on every fourth step.

"I wish you'd sit still," Ant said with a shake of his head. "It's Friday, all right. The day after 'Thursday' when we spent all day 'screwing', which was the day after 'Wednesday', the day I fished you out of the fucking snow and saved your life. Will you cool it for a couple of hours?"

Again Rayne stared at him with the unfocussed expression of a creature ripped from its natural environment and thrown to the lions. He took a quick breath, then another. Ant recalled what he had admitted the other day about his drug use and was the first to look away. The hunger in his eyes was not for food or for sex, or even affection. He wanted his fix. 

"Sit down," Ant told him, forcing himself to be calm. "You 'need' to eat. I don't care what you think. I'm not gonna let you starve yourself..."

"I think I've got a gig tonight!" Rayne interrupted him, clearly having listened to none of this. 

Ant risked a glance but the boy was tearing through the contents of his guitar case now, swearing under his breath. The other man blinked, wondering if he had completely misread the last half-hour. 

Rayne was swearing softly, flicking through the notebook that contained his random smut as he hunted down the information he so obviously needed. At last his frantic fingers stilled and he poked at the page in front of him. "Tonight! We've got a gig at the fuckin' Falcon, 'tonight'!"

"That... that's good, isn't it?" Ant ventured, wary of the potential backlash. He buttered the toast vigorously and grated some of the soft, yellow cheddar over it before tucking it back under the grill. 

"I've not practised! I've nothing to 'wear'! All my stuff's back at..." He ran out of words and huffed rapidly, shaking his head.

"Then we'll go and get it, after breakfast," Ant said rationally. 

"Did you not fuckin' 'listen' to me at all yesterday?" Rayne shrilled, metaphorically climbing the walls. "If I go back there, he's gonna rip my fuckin' bollocks off!"

"Then we'll go out this afternoon and get you something 'else' to wear," Ant countered, managing to keep his voice calm and quiet. "It's no big deal, Rayne."

The boy blinked at him rapidly then turned away. Ant was on the verge of going to him but he looked back suddenly, naked bewilderment in his eyes, his voice curious and less agitated. "Why?"

"I'm not on the poverty line. I can afford to buy you something decent, I'm sure." The aroma of singed cheddar teased his nostrils and he rescued the grill tray, glad of the distraction. Rayne's expression was somewhere between 'frightened puppy' and 'potential cock whore'. He knew the kid was not naïve. His next question was half expected. 

"What do I have to do for 'that'?"

Ant took a deep breath. "Nothing... if you really don't want to. Look..." He risked a glance. Rayne was staring at him incredulously. "You were nice enough to me last night. I 'thought' you were enjoying it. If you 'weren't'..."

"I..." Rayne interrupted him then could not speak for a moment. "I..."

"Come and sit down," Ant told him. "Have something to eat and let me look after you. God knows, you 'need' someone to look after you."

The boy bristled for a few seconds, clearly offended by this implication, but the smell of hot food finally won him over. As Ant put out two plates on the table and set the larger dish of Rarebit between them, he seemed to deflate and came quietly to heel. He ate in silence, eyed lowered, like a ravenous animal. Ant made three helpings and he scarfed his share down every time, and most of Ant's third ration too.

"Good?" the older man asked gently at last, as he was licking his fingers, still huffing softly under his breath. 

A nod was his only answer. Rayne's tangled hair screened his face, shut away his feelings. 

"It's been a while since anyone took proper care of you, hasn't it?" Ant suggested carefully.

"I... I don't 'need' it," his guest stated in a defensive tone. He lifted his head now, glaring back at Ant through the cascade of his bi-tonal forelock. "I can look after myself."

"Yeah, I can see that." Ant sighed and shook his head. "What am I gonna do with you, huh?"

He could think of quite a few options but given the mood that Rayne was in this morning decided it might well be wiser to keep them to himself. Instead, he washed the breakfast dishes and put them away. His guest made no attempt to assist with this. Whilst Ant was busy in the galley, he retrieved his guitar and spent the next half hour plucking and picking at the strings making what sounded pretty much like random noise to Ant's ears. 

"What sort of music is that?" he asked at last, returning to the living area to observe Rayne's progress. 

"Know something about music do you?" the boy sneered cynically, without looking up. Then, before Ant could respond; "It sounds all right when it's plugged in."

Ant left him to it and went for a shower. 

"I need to make a phone call," Rayne informed him when he stepped out of the bathroom naked. The boy had put his guitar away and now the case was propped up in the doorway.

"Ahh... I was hoping we could... you know?" Ant looked suggestively at him. "Before I get dressed again."

The younger man's pale eyes moved dispassionately over him from his feet to his face. "Later... maybe. Have you 'got' a phone, or do I need to find a box?"

His host sighed wearily. "There's a kiosk up near the pier. I'll walk there with you if you like."

"No need." Rayne had already bounced to his feet and was rattling the loose change in his pocket speculatively as he headed for the door. He grabbed the guitar case and threw it across one skinny shoulder then vanished up the steps onto the deck before Ant could even call him back. 

He had pulled on some trousers and a warmer shirt and come back to the kitchen to look for some mints stashed in his coat pocket before he discovered that his wallet was missing.

Swearing under his breath, Ant raced back along the embankment towards Greenwich Pier, hoping desperately that Rayne was serious about making that phone call. He was cursing his own naivete as much as Rayne Wylde's name. The boy had not glossed over his background and still Ant had trusted him, maybe because he wanted to prove himself wrong above all. He 'wanted' to believe that Rayne was redeemable, even if it was just for the sake of his own libido. Their incessant lovemaking yesterday had been out of this world. Ant refused to accept that it had just been Rayne's way of getting under his skin; softening him up. 

Soft, he certainly had not been. In fact he could not remember a lover who had kept him hard and satisfied for so long.

There was a queue of people waiting to use the telephone booths on the pier and none of them remotely resembled Rayne. Ant leaned on the railings and looked frantically up and down the embankment for a fleeting glimpse of that blond-tipped, sable fringe, fluttering in the watery June sunlight. It was all in vain. Rayne Wylde had vanished completely. 

He contemplated ringing the police and his credit card company to report the theft of his wallet. At least they might track him down if he tried to use the card. Ant trudged towards the foot tunnel instead. The idea of confronting his sexy lover in a prison cell, confined and restless, at the mercy of his horny, uniformed gaolers, caused a stirring in his trouser crotch but he could not do it. He would find the little bitch and punish him personally. 

THE SEARCH:

Enquiries made on the other side of the river led Ant relentlessly towards Camden. He stopped in at the bank on the way there, told them he'd mislaid his wallet and by showing ID managed to obtain at least enough money to tide him over until he was able to recover his cards. Luckily he was always able to recall his bank account number and the pretty, buxom cashier there knew his face since he had chatted her up on plenty of previous occasions. It was she who informed him of the whereabouts of the Falcon. He thanked her and promised to take her for a drink in return, which she diplomatically did not decline. 

'Why can't I always fall for nice girls like that?' he grumbled to himself as he headed for the tube station at Whitechapel. Of course he knew the answer before he even thought the question. Girls like that would never do the kind of things that he had been up to with Rayne on the boat last night. 

He spent the day drifting in and out of pubs and shops in the Camden Lock area, one eye always open for the distinctive sight of blond on black hair and the flash of a fierce, preoccupied lime-green gaze across a crowded street. He wished that he had managed to get some of the photographs printed so that he could at least ask if anyone had seen the boy he was searching for. 

Shortly after lunch he found the Falcon pub, tucked away on Royal College Street, which looked closed until he tried the door and tumbled into the smoky darkness of the snug. Beyond this realm of all day drinkers, was another section with a small dance floor and a stage. He located the bar and ordered a pint of lager, only realising when he came to make enquiries that he had never asked the name of Rayne's band. 

The bartender, who looked even younger than Rayne Wylde, was busy wiping pint glasses with a dirty looking rag. He never met Ant's eyes and hid away behind a tumble of greasy, mouse-brown hair as the older man asked if there was live music tonight. 

"Couple'a bands on, yeah," he responded, without pausing between words so that it sounded like a bizarre new language. 

"You seen any of them before? Are they any good?" Ant persisted, handing him a tenner in exchange for his lukewarm pint. 

The youth shrugged. "Dunno."

"You haven't seen one of their guitarists in here, have you? Little guy, really skinny, green eyes and black hair with..." He broke off as the young man lifted his head, catching a glint of a sceptical stare behind his forelock. He was appraised for a moment then the bartender rummaged for a fiver and handed over his change.

"Nobody like that, nah," he muttered, returning to his glass polishing duties. 

Ant considered pressing the issue, but the deliberate evasion suggested to him that he would be better off just biding his time and staking the place out. If Rayne had not been lying about the show, then at some point he was going to have to turn up. He found a quiet corner free of career drinkers and a discarded newspaper, settling down behind it with his pint.

Posters on the wall by the doorway informed him that there were three groups playing tonight. One of them was called Pantylicker, which amused him. Also on the bill were Adolescent Sex and The Spangles. It was billed as a "Nite of Manacal Punk Mayhem" and Ant was already pretty sure that had nothing to do with BDSM.

At about five thirty, by which time Ant was already on to his third pint and was beginning to wonder if Rayne had just made the whole thing up, a bunch of youngsters in scruffy denims and baggy sweaters rolled into the Falcon. From their inane conversation and scarecrow clothes he quickly deduced that they were students but as other ragbag misfits began to file into the venue in twos and threes a social pecking order was quickly established. One little group had formed around a couple of girls in heavy black eyeliner and short, mesh skirts, mainly younger, plainer looking females but one or two skinny boys in make-up as well. 

A separate, slightly older crowd had begun to congregate at the bar in original punk attire, complete with safety pins. They wore their hair in many colours and severely gelled spikes. Even the women among them looked tough. One was wearing a tee shirt with "Lick my Box, Bitch" sprayed across the chest. Her blue jeans were so tight that he could see the outline of her pussy lips against the snug material. 

Two young men with longer hair, one of whom was carrying a guitar, hurried in and looked around hopefully before taking a place at the other end of the bar from the punk crowd. The guy with the case was tall and blond haired, dressed in dark baggy jeans and a striped, multi-coloured top. His mane hung down into his eyes and he shook it away from his face almost constantly. The smaller of the pair was wearing suit pants and an open necked, ladies' blouse in pale lilac. His dark brown hair was cut into a shaggy bob and he was wearing eyeliner and lipgloss. From time to time he ran back to the front door as if he was looking out for someone. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 02



Ant decided to keep tabs on him and his judgement was soon rewarded, when he returned from one of his scouting trips with a sassy-looking young woman in tow. She was neither tall nor short with close-cropped, shiny black hair and a dangerously lean physique that curved in all the right places. Appreciatively, Ant watched her pert little cheeks strain against the tight PVC mini skirt she was just about wearing. Her lacy white top was almost too baggy to stay on her shoulders and revealed a daring peek of black mesh bra each time she bent or turned to listen to someone. Her companion had to shout now to make himself heard over the swelling crowd of evening drinkers. 

A few awkward looking 'suits' were in there having a quick pint after work, but the crowd was mainly kids, laughing and talking and comparing outfits. Ant had just decided that he might stay and see if the sexy girl was in one of the bands (if so his evening had not been wasted even if Rayne did not show) when the door opened again. Two more people tumbled in, struggling with a huge black instrument case. The fellow with his back to the room was stocky and shaven-headed, struggling to keep hold of the container. The one behind the box was completely obscured by it and it was not until they were fighting their way through the crowds into the back room of the pub that Ant saw the familiar flash of blond fringe.

He felt his heart quicken instantly. Rayne had changed since this morning. He was wearing a fitted shirt of some very fine, black, gauzy material and dark suit pants that hugged his hips but flapped loosely around his knees and ankles as he moved. A silver chain with a dangling pendant of painted flowers hung around his neck in the open V of his shirt and his eyelids and lips shimmered with make-up. The effect was even more fetchingly androgynous than before. Someone had applied careful foundation to cover the bruise on his cheek and his dark hair had been gelled back and now fell in two thick waves down either side of his pretty face, framing it like a little white heart. 

Ant was tempted to go straight to him but the logistics of such a manoeuvre were an absolute nightmare. The bar was between him and the back room and the crowd was getting steadily thicker. To add to his problem, other musicians were already dropping back to the stage area and locating their equipment, tuning up inaudibly beyond the steady rumble of the audience and the pub's jukebox (which was playing a track that sounded like a bunch of hysterical schoolgirls screaming and vomiting simultaneously). Through the melee, he saw Rayne unzip his guitar case and sling the strap of the battered black bass over his head and one slender shoulder. The small, dark haired lad who had been watching the door now joined him and started screwing together a number of pieces of chrome-plated keyboard stand. He and Rayne were laughing together whilst the skinhead guy and two of the punks from the bar began to assemble the drum-kit behind them.

At the bar, the black haired girl in the short skirt was talking to the blond man Ant had seen with Rayne's companion earlier. Another fellow, who looked nothing like the musicians or the mainly student crowd in here, had joined them. He was taller than either of them and wore an expensive looking grey suit that fitted him perfectly. His fair hair was short and immaculate with a little quiff of pale fringe that lay smoothly over his forehead. Unlike most of the people in the Falcon tonight, he did not look particularly pleased to be here and kept checking his watch impatiently. 

Ant was distracted from his people-watching by the crackle of noise coming over the amplifier at the back of the room. A number of students collected their drinks and came to sit or stand around the few tables scattered at the edge of the dance-floor. The jukebox was turned down and the sound-check began in earnest. Rayne had disappeared and now Ant could see a glimmer of light from a doorway to the left of the stage area. He nudged his way through the crowd towards it and slipped through, only to be stopped by the guy with the shaved head. 

"Oi... performers and entourage only mate," the guy said gruffly but not offensively. 

"I'm a friend of Rayne's, I need to have a word with him," Ant explained at once, praying that the boy had not made up his name as well. "It'll only take a minute."

"What's yer name?" The skinhead was still eyeing him distrustfully. Ant thought he was being a tad over protective of a little known pub band guitarist but volunteered his credentials reluctantly and was told to wait.

As soon as the guy disappeared around the bend in the stairs, Ant followed quietly. He heard voices behind another door to the right and pushed it open just as Rayne jumped to his feet, face pale as milk. As his wide-eyed, guilty stare met Ant's admonishing eyes, the older man thought he saw a flash of anxiety there but something else too, something that looked like relief. He was perplexed, but not for long.

"Christ Ant! I thought you were Johnno!" Rayne was shaking his head, visibly scared but also clearly grateful. 

"I tried to tell you," the other man was insisting now. "I told him, 'stay put'." 

"Fine bouncer you make!" the lad was laughing weakly. 

"I'm here to drum not act as your fuckin' bodyguard!" The skin gave him a quick, friendly shove. "I'm gonna go back down and make sure everything's proper. Don't be long or Princess'll get 'er knickers in a twist!"

"She isn't wearin' any!" Rayne teased as he vanished through the doorway again. His face grew automatically more serious as he and Ant were left alone. "What you doin' 'ere? You frightened me 'alf to death."

"You're a smart kid, why don't you tell me," Ant folded his arms solemnly across his chest, suppressing a smile at the astounded expression on his lover's face. When Rayne did not make excuses right away he added; "Come on, hand it over."

"What you on about?" The lad half turned away now, fumbling in his little backpack for a cigarette. 

"You know damned well what. Give me my wallet, Rayne. I wasn't born yesterday."

"Oh..." he exhaled a little plume of smoke. "'That'! I thought you said I could get some more clothes. If you were gonna get all pissy with me..."

"I said I'd buy you more stuff, not that I'd let you run riot with my cards." Ant heaved a sigh. "I trusted you, Rayne and you ripped me off. Is this how you generally repay people that help you out?"

The boy did not look at him but he rummaged more determinedly in the bag, the cigarette filter clenched between his teeth, and yanked out Ant's wallet, slapping it down on the table between them. Then he pulled on his smoke and turned away muttering; "Oh take your fuckin' cards. Take them and fuck off!"

Ant flicked through the pockets quickly. The cards were all there. "I had about forty quid in here," he pointed out as he slipped it back into his jacket. 

"I'm gonna pay you back," Rayne said without looking around. His tone had mellowed but was still quite terse. "I'm just a bit short right now, okay?" 

Ant shook his head slowly, glad that he had never been gullible enough to have children. He wondered where Rayne Wylde's remaining family were and whether they knew what he was up to, or even cared. He pretended to be a tough little cookie but Ant had already figured that this was just an act. He had seen Rayne vulnerable, and he still could not convince himself that the boy's behaviour the other day had been all for show. 

The boy looked back at him suddenly, a small, serious frown narrowing his luminous eyes. He touched the filter to his lips but did not draw on it. 

"I 'will' give you the money, Ant," he declared ardently. "I promise. You're not a bad bloke, right but I screwed you over and you're better off forgetting you met me."

"How much did you spend?" the older man asked, ignoring this.

Rayne managed a slight shrug, avoiding Ant's eyes. "'bout three 'undred pounds."

"It looks good on you," Ant said with a weak smile.

"That's not all." Those green eyes flickered back up to his expectant face defiantly. "We bought some coke with the cash. Jelica's got it. We were gonna do the rest together before we went on. Give us a bit of an extra buzz, you know?"

"Why tell me?" Ant pushed his hands into his pockets. 

Rayne stared at him for a moment, not quite accepting the logic of this enquiry. He studied Ant's face as if he was a puzzle, something to be deciphered. 

"Why not?" the boy muttered at last. "Let you know what sort of a cunt I am, then maybe you'll piss off out of it and not get 'urt no more."

Ant stepped forward, cupping his face before he had time to step away. He lifted Rayne's mouth to his own and kissed him very softly on his full, glossy lips. The young man tasted of nicotine and pussy juices. Now Ant smiled knowingly as he drew back. 

"Did you fuck her, after you bought the coke?"

"Dirty bastard!" Rayne exhaled with a little sneer. He was already heading for the door. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm not the only dirty bastard in here." 

For a moment their eyes met again and Rayne surveyed him knowingly. Then he winked and was gone, down the stairs. 

WARMING UP:

He did not ask Ant to stay, but it was virtually impossible to get to the bar, let alone back to the front door by now. A sizeable crowd had gathered on the dancefloor and the two young ladies in eyeliner were tinkering with synths and a drum machine. He swept the room and located Rayne Wylde, sitting with the black haired girl at a table by the stage. He was behind her and his arms were looped around her shoulders. From time to time he bent his head to speak into her ear and she laughed or looked up at him knowingly. Then the blond man in the suit appeared and they parted like oil and water, the girl flirting with Mr Suit and Rayne drifting back towards the bar with a hard little scowl on his face. 

Ant managed to waylay him there and Rayne looked quite surprised that he had elected to stay. 

"I wanted to see you in action," Ant grinned. 

"Thought you'd already seen all the action you were after," Rayne flashed back rather more grimly. 

"I'm sure you've got more to give!" He let his hand rest in the small of Rayne's back as they reached the counter and the boy bellowed his order to the bartender. It felt good, thinking back to last night when he had been kneeling with his cock between those smooth, perky cheeks, pounding away fiercely. Ant began to get another hard-on just dwelling on it. He was so engrossed that he did not even hear what Rayne was saying to him. 

"I said... What are you thinking?" Rayne shouted to be heard above the opening squeals and shrieks of The Spangles' set. 

Ant leaned towards him putting his lips to Rayne's ear. "I'm thinking about fucking you."

Rayne leaned back slightly to look him in the eyes. He smiled with lazy incredulity. "Not yet."

"I want to take you upstairs and bang your tight, thieving arsehole," Ant insisted, gulping down half of his pint, emboldened by the alcohol. "You look so tasty."

The black haired beauty knocked back his shot and leaned into Ant once more, his breath hot and quick on the other man's cheek. 

"Are you hard?" He asked the question directly into Ant's ear, at the same time running his hand over his companion's crotch and answering his own query. "Ahhh you dirty bastard! You 'are'!"

Ant eagerly squeezed and touched between his mate's legs. Disappointingly the younger man was only half-erect. He privately blamed the session with the 'Princess' this afternoon, although he wished he could have been a fly on the wall for that hot little fuck-fest.

"Has she worn you out?" he teased, eager for details. 

"Not completely," Rayne leaned back against the wall by the bar, looking sidelong at him. He had such a knowing expression. Ant was utterly frustrated, having him so close and delicious but virtually untouchable. 

"Who's that bloke with her? The new boyfriend?"

Rayne said nothing but he pulled a sneering face and glared across the pub at his nemesis, who seemed blissfully unaware of the daggers he was getting 

"Is he the one that punched you?" Ant wanted to know. "Did he give you that shiner? He doesn't look like much of a prize fighter to me."

"Leave it, already!" Rayne instructed curtly, and the topic was closed. "Come on." 

He caught Ant's fingers and led him, weaving through the crowd towards the side door. They clattered up the stairs and tumbled through the first doorway they reached, into a darkened room. The sound of grunting and panting alerted them to the fact that they were not alone. 

"Shut the fuckin' door!" someone huffed and Rayne slammed it behind him, unbuttoning his pants at once and freeing his dick. In the shimmer of light that came under the door, Ant saw him begin to fist his own cock rapidly. 

"Get your back to the door," he breathed out. 

Ant did as he was told and Rayne dropped to his knees, deftly unfastening his trousers for him. The other man felt hot, sharp breaths caress his crotch and tumble over his sensitive dick as it jumped out his open fly, then Rayne's soft lips and wet tongue were kissing and stroking their expert way up the underside of his throbbing shaft from balls to tip. He wrapped the clever fingers of one hand around the base of Ant's erection and pumped it, gently at first, then more urgently as his tongue swirled around the older man's fat, purple head. His lips parted wider and swallowed the pulsing, glossy bulb, lavishing attention on it as his tongue flickered back and forth underneath. Ant moaned with pleasure. 

His eyes were adjusting to the gloom now and he could make out vague shapes over by the window, silhouetted there, one on his knees, the other, larger figure hunkered down behind. The smaller one was the little, dark-haired keyboard player, he was almost certain. His breath was coming in laboured squeaks as he took the other man's energetic thrusting. His slim, bare hips were gripped tightly in powerful, long-fingered hands. Ant thought he caught the glint of a wedding band on one finger. He guessed it was one of the businessmen he had clocked earlier. The Suit's shirt was undone to the breastbone and his trousers had slipped to his knees as he pumped away at the young man in front of him. The atmosphere smelled potently of musk and lube. 

Rayne swallowed him deeper and deeper, taking a good, long mouth and throatful of cock. He nodded steadily into Ant's crotch, working his lips gently up and down the thrusting wand of muscle between them and swallowing periodic gulps of pre-cum and saliva. His eyes were closed and he looked like a gorgeous cock-sucking angel, praying on his knees, worshipping at the altar of Ant's huge boner. The older man linked his fingers behind Rayne's head and began to fuck his mouth hard and fast. He thought he heard the youngster make an approving noise and the vibration from his palate sent little quivers of pleasure all the way back down Ant's shaft to his bollocks. Much as he ached to press his cock deep into Rayne's lovely arsehole and fuck him there, he knew that he was probably going to cum in the next five seconds.

From the incoherent grunts of passion on the other side of the room, he gathered that the Suit was not far off his own massive climax. He grunted and swore as he filled his young mate with spunk. Ant felt the answering surge of sexual release flood up from his groin, searing through his cock and fountaining out copiously into Rayne's open mouth. From the region of his crotch he heard Rayne utter a short, muffled curse. The lad stumbled to his feet, coughing into his cupped hands and wiping his mouth on his shirt sleeve. Ant caught him in a bear hug, groping from behind for the youngster's hard-on and wanking him vigorously. 

"Ohhh... ahhhhh.... Yeah!" Rayne exhaled breathlessly, sinking back like a lean, sexy panther in his encircling arms, rubbing up against him. "Don't get spunk on my suit, right!"

He swallowed down the last traces of cum, wriggling in Ant's embrace as the bigger man pulled him close, tugging those soft, cold arse cheeks snugly against his hot genitals. Already Ant was getting stiff again. He kissed Rayne's neck hungrily, rubbing and teasing with his fingers and thumb until the lad squirted hard into his agitating hand, uttering a short, panting yelp of approval. Sticky heat encased his fingers and sweaty palm. Ant dry humped his bare arse enthusiastically then switched hands, circling his cum-slippery fingers around the younger fellow's hole and up and down his sleek, sexy crack. The other hand tugged Rayne's filmy shirt open urgently and began to pinch and twist his erect nipples as he eased the boy up against the wall in the smoky darkness. 

"Does she let you fuck her up the arse?" Ant hissed excitedly, easing two fingers into his gorgeous young mate and frigging him steadily. "Do you warm her lovely, tight little shitter up with your fingers while you pump that hot wet cunt, then hold onto her sexy tits and fill her up the back way?"

"Shut up and fuck me!" Rayne hissed under his breath. "We're on in less than ten minutes, you bastard!"

On the far side of the room the other young man began to groan quietly. His lover was standing by his head now as he knelt on the floor, naked from the waist down, rising and falling more rapidly. Ant suddenly realised that he was servicing 'both' of the businessmen from the bar. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out one man lying on his back between the boy's legs, stroking his nude thighs and bottom as Rayne's pretty bandmate rode up and down on his cock. The other was feeding him a nice big mouthful of stiff, sweaty dick which he gobbled down greedily whilst stroking the guy's balls.

Turned on by the sight and the grunts of pleasure coming from the threesome, Ant pressed the swelling head of his erection against Rayne's well-fingered spincter and forced it into him eagerly. His sexy young mate swore under his breath then began to buck his slim hips and pert bum back rapidly into Ant's thrusting crotch. He braced himself against the wall, his quiet groans increasing in urgency and frequency as the older man tooled him and played with his nipples in the dark, seedy, sex-scented room. From down below the pounding thump of music in the pub was a counterpoint to their sweaty pumping and grinding. Ant could hear Rayne gasping breathlessly and the little whimpers of pleasure from his fellow musician as both young men submitted willingly to their horny mates.

On the far side of the room one of the men cried out in ecstasy and the boy groaned again, more frantically. He was still sucking and swallowing, the wet sounds of his slurping mouth on his lover's cock echoing the soft, moist squelch of Ant's incessant hard-on rocketing in and out between Rayne's bare buttocks. From a personal point of view, Ant wanted it to go on all night like this but Rayne was suddenly pulling away from him, trying to wriggle off his cock. He gripped the younger man's hips tightly and urged him up hard against the door, banging him furiously, his cock twitching and jumping within the skinny lad's tight, satisfying hole.

"Come on, fuck you! Do it!" Rayne snarled at him, struggling sexily in his grasp. "Cum, you bastard!"

The man who had been lying on the ground was sitting up now, vigorously rubbing the pretty keyboard player's stiff young cock. His standing colleague moaned with satisfaction, bucked hard and moments later the sweet-faced kid jacked off in his partner's pumping hand. His bubbling cry was stifled by a good, hot mouthful of spunk. Watching him, Ant rammed himself into Rayne's lean, beautiful body once, twice... and at the third stabbing stroke he shot his load with a moan of relief, feeling it spurt like a fountain from his throbbing knob-end.




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 02



"Thank Christ!" Rayne groaned between clenched teeth. 

As soon as they were free, the two young men were pulling on their clothes and hurrying out onto the landing. Ant heard their clattering footsteps receding down the stairs and realised that the thump of music had ceased beneath them. He fastened his fly and followed more sedately with barely a glance at the two fellows still dressing in the unlit room behind him. Had he known that young musicians in Camden were so easy to fuck, he thought that he might well have attended more gigs. 

THE GIG:

When he reached the bar area once more, Rayne and his friend were already on stage. The young female singer was saying something to Rayne, whose jacket and shirt were still undone, to incredibly sexy effect. As he adjusted the play of his guitar strap, she bent her head and licked his chest, which was greeted with cheers and wolf-whistles from the crowd. Ant guessed that he had spilt cum all over his belly and bared torso and was hopefully still throbbing with sexual pleasure. As the girl strutted back towards the front of the small stage and the shaven headed drummer began to pound his instruments, Rayne Wilde tossed his dark, blond-tipped hair and snarled with coke and sex-fuelled arrogance at the whistling audience. 

Ant watched him, mesmerised, as the lights went down and his long, white fingers caressed the strings of the bass guitar, sliding seductively up and down the long neck of the Fender like it was a lover's huge, pulsing cock in his hand. He found himself enjoying the rapid, staccato rhythm of the song. There were elements of reggae and hints of punk in the music and even the singer's yelping vocal style had a bold and sexy swagger. She strutted up and down the stage on her high heels, stopping every so often with her hands on her hips and her legs spread so that the tiny leather mini skirt rode up her slim, powerful thighs, showing off a minuscule strip of black lace thong to the front row of the crowd. 

She and Rayne shared the vocals on two songs, one of which was a fast, violent cover version of the Stranglers' 'Hangin' Around'. Ant was pleasantly surprised to discover that his mate had a good voice. He sang in a sexy, husky, teasing style, darting challenging stares at the raucous mob in front of the stage, who threw condoms and blotters at him in retaliation. Mid track he picked one of the little tabs of acid up and put it on his tongue, whisking it seductively into his mouth. The singer, Jeli, was wiggling her hips and arse at him, shimmying low so that the loose neckline of her top slipped down and exposed the cups of her black mesh bra. Her nipples poked through the holes in the netting and Ant imagined his lover sucking on those perky little titties as he banged her. The idea of it got him rock hard. She looked about nineteen and very, very sexy. 

At one point, she got down on her knees and pretended to suck his dick, which the audience went wild for. Rayne made a great show of hiding her face behind the body of his bass guitar but resting his left hand on the back of her head and rocking his hips back and forth theatrically. Ant's hand slipped into his trouser pocket and he rubbed his cock discreetly. 

"We are Adolescent Sex!" she yelled at the crowd before the final number. "You get us very horny. We hope we get you horny too!"

Ant found himself bellowing agreement along with a number of young men and a few girls in the audience as well. The band ripped into a song that Jeli said was called "Wild Women". In as far as Ant could tell, it was about anal sex; it had a pounding refrain that sounded like "...shakin' like a crack whore, comin' in the back door...". His cock was starting to leak in his pocket by the time they left the stage and the lights came back up. He felt numb and deafened, and his boner was demanding attention so he slipped back up the stairs to the little room where he and Rayne had argued. 

PARTY HARD:

There were a number of people already there; members of the three bands and their friends. He slipped into the room unobtrusively but quickly deduced that Rayne and Jeli were missing from the assembly. Still feeling pumped up and randy, he went back down the passage to the little storeroom where he and Rayne had fucked before the gig. Slipping into the familiar darkness, he shut the door and unzipped his pants for a quick wank but as his hand began to slide pleasurably up and down his hot, throbbing cock, he heard a giggle and then a familiar, breathless panting sound. 

As his eyes adjusted to the dark he made out two pale shapes on the floor beneath the window. Jeli lay on her back with her legs raised and her knees over Rayne's shoulders. She was topless, her baggy sweater and bra discarded, the PVC mini skirt a dark stripe across her hips. His pants were around his knees and he was holding her slim thighs, pumping himself in and out of her cunt with fast, urgent strokes. He had not even bothered to pull down her knickers; the crotch of her tiny thong was pushed aside to admit his erect cock.

Ant watched breathlessly, pumping his meat in one hot hand as his young friend slammed into her over and over. Jeli was humping her pussy against him running her hands over her small, firm, naked breasts and down between her legs as he fucked her. Rayne's eyes were closed and his teeth were clenched, lips drawn back from them in an animal snarl of satisfaction. They must have run up here to fuck as soon as they got off stage, Ant thought, jerking himself eagerly as he imagined them tumbling through the doorway and falling to the floor; Jeli struggling to unfasten his pants as he ripped off her top and bra and sucked greedily on her stiff, sexy nipples, tugging the damp lace free of her hot wet cunt whilst her hand reached for his hard young tool and steered it towards that dripping hole. 

Her tiny, pert breasts heaved and she uttered a little keening noise as he undulated like a serpent between her legs. Ant watched her fingertip flicker back and forth over her clit as he fucked her and kept pounding until her whining became a long, low, insistent growl. Jeli's slim, sexy body was shuddering fiercely, rising up off the floor, bucking and thrashing as she began to cum hard. When the spasms died down and her cries dulled to a steady moan of need, he slowly pulled out and bent over her, lifting her pussy to his face. Ant came closer, dropping to his knees beside the couple and Jeli's huge, bright eyes flickered to meet his, all pupil. She did not seem dismayed to discover that they had been watched. 

Rayne paid him no heed at all. His face was buried in her juicy muff and Ant could hear him licking and sucking greedily on her wet, well-fucked hole. His fingers slithered into her cunt and anus, frigging her quickly and skilfully until her moans grew more desperate. She wrapped her thighs around his neck and rubbed her pussy in his face encouraging him to keep eating her. Her spike heels scored his naked back but he did not seem to mind. This close, Ant could see that her sex was waxed completely bare. 

She reached out a hand and stroked his cock and Ant sighed with pleasure. His groping fingers moved to her perky little tits and big, dark nipples. Eagerly he fondled and squeezed them as she played with his penis, then turned her head and drew him into her mouth. He ran his fingers through her close cropped black hair as her full, rouged lips teased his cock. Ant felt her tongue slither up and down the underside of his erection, soft and wet and utterly seductive. With the other hand he carried on caressing her tits, pinching and twisting her nipples until she moaned more loudly and her body shuddered a second time, submitting to a fresh bloom of sexual ecstasy. 

Now Rayne looked up at him, only mildly irritated. As he lowered Jeli's twitching body to the floor again, she turned so that she could nuzzle Ant's crotch and swallow more of his lovely big cock. The younger man spread her legs and lifted her onto her hands and knees, rubbing his face between her buttocks. His tongue began to work up and down her slit and her arse crack and Jeli nodded her head approvingly, swallowing all nine inches of Ant's erect prick into her mouth and throat. Ant bucked slowly against her, fucking her pretty face steadily at first, then more enthusiastically as Rayne's tongue wormed into her arsehole, his fingers tangled in the lace of her thong, stretching it over one smooth creamy buttock. She made an affirmative sounding noise and nodded harder. Ant tooled her mouth correspondingly faster, watching Rayne rise to his knees behind her. 

The young man's cock was hard and leaking a constant flow of cum. He took it in one hand and rubbed it slowly between Jeli's legs, dipping his bell end teasingly into her slit and pulling it out again. She groaned with frustration, reaching back for his tool and he pushed her hands away with a sly smile. Ant caught her hands and held them, smiling too as Rayne tormented her with his cock. He looked so lithe and sexy, nudging his beautiful prick an inch or so into her, then stopping and pulling out until she was frantic to be screwed. 

Ant moved her hands to his hips and held them there, kneeling up so that she was forced to kneel up too, bucking his sex in and out of her mouth. Rayne winked at him and parted her smooth, pale cheeks, nudging his cock head against her spittle-lubed anus. He felt the girl resist and try to pull away but kept her on her knees between them, watching eagerly as the young guitarist eased his hard sex into her arsehole and began to thrust slowly. His eyes closed again as he got his prick further and further into her and began to fuck harder. 

Ant bucked more eagerly between her lips. He could feel how desperate she was to get a hand between her legs and play with her clit but he restrained her until he could watch whilst she masturbated. Thinking of her playing with herself whilst she was sodomised sent a tingle of pleasure from his loins and his thrusting prick jumped on her tongue, pumping a flood of hot spunk into her mouth. To his satisfaction she swallowed his cum down like a seasoned pro and kept on sucking until he could be sure that he was not about to lose his hard-on. 

Now he pulled his prick from her mouth and she panted with pleasure, but moaned; "You bastards!"

"You know you love it, you dirty slut," Ant told her excitedly. He was rubbing his cock between her gorgeous tiny tits. She wrapped her hand around his shaft, stroking the head of his prick over her nipples and coating them in pre-cum, then kissing and licking it. He sighed with satisfaction. "Rayne, does her new boyfriend never fuck her? She's hornier than a bitch on heat. Though..." he added with a grin as she knelt up and straddled his thighs; "...you make a good pair in that respect. Neither of you can get enough cock, can you?"

"What do you mean by that?" Jeli huffed as Ant eased his big prick between her legs and nudged it into the willing wetness of her pussy. Rayne had stilled his thrusting and leaned against her naked back, stroking her arse, with his cock berthed deep in her rectum whilst Ant entered his randy ex-girlfriend and began to stoke her cunt rhythmically. He bent his head to lick and suck her tits as he pulsed inside her, loving the way her warm, wet hole clung to him and milked his boner.

"What I said," he told her, grinning broadly. "I bet he hasn't told you how I spent most of yesterday up his tight arse, has he? Little Rayne just loves to get ram-raided. He was moaning and begging for it like a real slut. And again tonight, just before you went on stage, guess who had a nice big bone fucking away in his sexy flute?"

Jeli shook her head, trying to look over her shoulder at Rayne, who had the decency to appear somewhat embarrassed. "You said last week that you didn't do men any more!"

"Not often," he mumbled, pushing himself deeper into her. 

Ant could feel his prick moving slowly in and out, separated from Ant's erect sex by the thinnest wall of muscle. He began to thrust again, aroused by the proximity of his lover's manhood, so close to his own. Rayne pulsed more urgently in response and Jeli moaned again, resting her hands on Ant's shoulders and riding up and down on them both eagerly. Within minutes they were all fucking hard. Ant had his tongue in Jeli's mouth to keep her from screaming with pleasure as he and Rayne satisfied her simultaneously. His hands were cupped around her breasts and Rayne was tickling her clit as they both pounded her. She shrieked like a train coming in as she reached climax again. 

Once she had recovered, she pulled on her clothes and hurried off in search of her boyfriend, Jake leaving Rayne (who had reached orgasm) exhausted and Ant (who had not) somewhat bemused by the incident. Rayne was stark naked by this time and he sprawled on top of Ant in the darkened store-room, kissing him lazily until Ant's warm hands spread his legs and urged him astride the older man's still-erect penis. He did not resist and Ant eased into him slowly on the floor, Rayne straddling him and sliding up and down on his cock as Ant humped up into him. As he began to recover his energy, he pulled Rayne down into his arms and rolled the boy onto his back, fucking him harder and faster as the sound of Pantylicker rattled the floorboards beneath them. Each stab of his cock drove a little huff of sound from Rayne's soft, full, sexy lips.

"Does that feel good?"

Rayne nodded and made a small, affirmative noise. He looked worn out and thoroughly delicious. Ant loved the tightness of his sexy young hole and the thought that just half an hour ago most of the youngsters downstairs in the pub had watched this hot, tasty little number up on stage and wanted to fuck or be fucked by him, no doubt. And here he was, with his twitching, leaking rod buried in Rayne's hole, ramming the arse off a sexy, naked boy fifteen years his junior, to a hardcore punk soundtrack. He pulsed eagerly between Rayne's legs, so turned on by the hot, dirty, satisfying feel of his lover's tight anus that he quickly emptied his aching balls into it. Under him, Rayne Wilde writhed and groaned on the linoleum-covered floor, turning his head from side to side as little whimpers of pleasure and arousal escaped his soft, sensuous mouth. Ant licked his throat and sucked his nipples, turned on by his moans of ecstasy. Rayne's hands fluttered like feathers down his sweaty back and over his buttocks, pulling the older man against him. 

Ant kept his cock in the boy and pulsed slowly, reaching full, throbbing stiffness again in no time. He felt Rayne's slender legs hook up around his midriff and he began to drive himself in and out of the younger man's sexy, vulnerable hole. His lover was slippery with spilt cum, relaxed and horny enough to submit to fast, hard violation. Ant huffed and grunted hungrily, jacking his pulsing sex in and out of that snug, satisfying orifice between Rayne's creamy white cheeks. His hot hands gripped the lad's bum and he crouched over his dirty young mate, pulling the boy fiercely onto his dick with every thrust, burying himself deeper, deeper... Rayne threw his head back and cried out with uncontrolled need, sliding a hand between his raised, wide-spread thighs and rubbing his own erection rapidly. 

"OhOhOhGod! Fuck me! Fuck me!" he keened through clenched teeth. "So good! So hard! So fuckin'.... Ahhhhh! Ahhhhh!"

His slender body jerked upward and he began to quiver violently, sending spasms of pleasure through his lover's big, hard cock and heavy balls. Ant rammed himself home, deep and hard one final time as Rayne's cum splashed his bare belly. He was conscious of the door opening to his right but he clung to Rayne, keeping his aching cock buried inside the younger man until the last searing drop of his seed had been pumped into his lover's twitching arsehole. 

He collapsed onto his delicious slut with a long groan of satisfaction, still breathing hard into his ear. When the boy began to push against him urgently he initially presumed that Rayne was already up for more sex. Unable to believe his luck he hauled himself to his knees and was thus a little surprised when the youngster wriggled away from him, struggling to get to his feet, his wide-eyed gaze fixed on the doorway. 

The light flickered on as he struggled with his clothing. When he had stopped blinking, Ant followed his lover's stare. Leaning against the doorframe watching them with an expression of cruel amusement on his craggy face, was a tall, lean stranger with long, untidy black hair and a roll up in the corner of his mouth. He wore a shabby, charcoal grey suit jacket and pants over a dirty-looking red shirt and loose cream and crimson striped tie. He took a pull on the cigarette now, still watching Rayne contemplatively and shook his head. 

"Well, well... what 'ave we got 'ere?" he exhaled in a plume of smoke. "One little randy, runaway tart still putting out for older blokes. Reckons he can put one over on Rabid John, eh? Not as smart as you fink, are you Raymonde?"

With a start, Ant realised that he was looking at his lover's notorious pimp. 

TO BE CONTINUED...



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 03



Part Three – "The Payoff"

(c) Sadie Rose Bermingham 2005

"Any unauthorised use of the whole or part of this story in any format constitutes theft of copyright. If you are not reading this story on Literotica.com it is posted illegally."

UPSTAIRS AT THE FALCON...

"I was gonna pay you back, Johnno. I swear it. Every penny, I just need some time…" 

Rayne was struggling into his clothes, keeping as much distance as he physically could manage between himself and the lanky figure of his ex-pimp in the doorway. Ant manoeuvred himself to his feet, groping for his trousers with one hand. He edged towards Rayne, determined to defend the younger man if he could. There was genuine fear in the boy's eyes this time. His breathing was still rapid and anxious and the pupils of his eyes were tiny pin-pricks. Ant fastened his pants and tucked his shirt into them hurriedly. 

"Your time's run out, you little bitch," John shook his head again, sucking the life out of his cigarette. He rolled it between his yellowed forefinger and thumb, pinching the last dregs of fire out then casually slung it aside. "You owe me big bucks now, sweet cheeks."

He spoke with a gruff, Yorkshire accented voice; the gravel-toned resonance of too little education and too many fags. Even so, Ant didn't fancy his chances of double crossing this guy. He might be uneducated but he was not stupid. There was a mean edge to his expression and the casual way he stood, swallowing them with his empty, soulless eyes. Ant guessed that he probably had a weapon of some kind on his person. 

Now he moved towards them steadily, extending a hand until his fingers brushed the fall of dark, blond-tipped hair from Rayne's sweat-damp face and smeared the layer of pale foundation beneath his right eye. Rayne quivered but he did not flinch away. His venomous green gaze held John's impassive stare. 

"Who smacked you up?" the tall man asked at last.

This surprised Ant, who had presumed it must have been John who beat the boy black and blue. Rayne Wilde shrugged his slender shoulders evasively. 

"Some bloke."

John's dangerous eyes flickered towards Ant but before he could object, Rayne said; "Not him. He's been lookin' after me."

A humourless smile tugged at one corner of the tall fellow's mouth. "I could see that when I walked in. He was taking care of you good an' proper, yeah?" His lips parted in a crooked grin that showed yellowing, misaligned teeth. "And you were enjoyin' it as well, weren't you my dirty little tart? Well I'm not happy. He likes lookin' after you a bit too much, Ray. Know what I'm sayin'?"

"You don't own him," Ant interrupted bravely. "He's had enough of being used by you. Why can't you leave him alone?"

John looked him up and down dismissively for a moment as though it surprised him that Ant could even speak. 

"I can't do that, mate," he said at last, in a rational sounding voice. "You see, this little bitch owes me a lot of money. And the way I see it is, that makes his fuck hole my property until his debt gets settled. You know what I'm sayin'? And the way I also see it, you've been poking his hole good and proper tonight, which means that 'you' owe me big time as well, mate!"

Ant took a deep breath, determined not to be intimidated by this thug.

"How much?"

Rayne looked at him quickly, startled and clearly perplexed by this turn of events. 

"What d'you mean?" John frowned at him too.

"How much does he owe you? How much will buy him out and clear both our debts to you?" Ant's voice trembled slightly. He did not like the idea of giving this man money, but if it would free them both from Johnno's shadow maybe it was worth the risk. Rayne shook his head and looked away.

"You can't afford that kind of money, mate." John laughed gruffly and stroked Rayne's cheek again like a collector with a prized piece in his grasp.

Ant clenched his teeth. "Don't play games! How fucking much?"

Without looking his way, John cupped Rayne's chin in one hand and tilted his face upward, staring down into his vivid green eyes. 

"How long was toolin' you?" he asked huskily. "And don't lie to me. I know he was up here with you for at least three quarters of an hour after the gig."

Rayne shrugged again, awkwardly. 

"'bout half an hour."

"And was he straight up your bum or did he take a bit of teasin' first?" John was chuckling, a dirty, insinuating little sound. Ant wanted to strangle him.

"He… he just did me in the arse, Johnno. Nothin' else." Rayne was trying to look away, there was a flush to his pale cheeks. 

John's fingers tightened on his lower jaw. He wrenched the boy's face up to his again. 

"Did you enjoy it, baby? Does he make you cum as good as I do?"

"Leave him alone!" Ant growled at him, unable to bear the idea of this seedy bastard between Rayne's legs. He did not want to hear Rayne's answer, no matter how forced it might be. "He's had enough of selling himself for your benefit. I don't blame him."


John released the young man's chin abruptly, pushing him away so violently that he reeled against the wall. He turned on Ant vehemently. 

"You owe me a ton for tonight, you cunt. So I'd pay up or shut up if I were you. He…" and he pointed back at Rayne who was watching them nervously from the corner of the room; "…he owes me three and a half grand for the drugs and the trouble he's cost me." He laughed harshly in Ant's face. "Bet he didn't tell you he was a junky, did he?"

"As a matter of fact, he did," Ant retaliated, longing to just punch this bastard and get Rayne out of here as fast as he could. "I can give you fifteen hundred pounds, but you'll have to wait a couple of days. I can't raise it overnight."

His heart was pounding furiously. Even as he spoke the words, he wondered if he was hearing himself right. It was all the savings he had. The rest was tied up in boats and business ventures. Was he really offering to give it all to this creep just to save some junky kid? Rayne too looked startled. He shook his head again, adamantly. 

"Ant… no! You can't!" The lad ran back towards him, staring at him incredulously. "You can't. I won't let you. It's not right. I can't… I can't pay you back."

"I don't want you to pay me back. I just want you to get your life sorted out, okay," Ant touched his bruised cheek gently. "Do that for me."

'And maybe fuck me occasionally!' his mind added hopefully. 

John shattered the hope of truce by pointing out. "It's still not enough. He's still gonna owe me money."

"We'll find it," Ant said determinedly, whilst Rayne just stared at him with increasing bewilderment in his huge, pale, beautiful eyes. 

"I've got a better idea," Johnno suggested, a crafty grin on his face now. "A faster idea."

They both stared at him warily. Ant put a protective arm around Rayne's slim shoulders and for once the boy did not try to shrug him off. 

"Go on," Rayne prompted at last. 

"I've got a job lined up," Johnno said speculatively. "A 'big' job. Naïve bunch of twentysomethin' wankers at a mixed gym in Soho. Some guy there's having a comin' of age do and what he wants most of all for his twenty-first is a boy's tight arse. But he wants the boy young and virgin so he doesn't feel like a right cherry all on his own and he wants his friends to get some as well. Mucho Mazoola, you know what I'm sayin'?"

Ant stared at him stony faced. Beside him Rayne uttered a little huff of forced laughter. "I'm not young and I'm not virgin, John. One of them's gonna twig, even if the birthday boy doesn't."

"Naw… Jocks, they're all brainless!" John shook his head vigorously. He turned unexpectedly to Ant; "How old d'you reckon he is?"

"I know how old he is, he's twenty. He told me so." Ant pulled Rayne a little closer to his side, not liking Johnno's idea one bit.

"Yeah yeah! But when you looked at him first what did you reckon? Jailbait, yeah?"

Ant shrugged, a little uncomfortably. That was exactly what he had thought. 

"I guess." He sensed that Rayne gave him a 'look' but avoided the boy's eyes. 

"And he's got a nice tight little hole, yeah?" John was laughing appreciatively. "I'm tellin' you, blokes, they fall over themselves to get him on his own so they can teach him how to be a man! Queer guys, straight guys, they all want a piece of his arse! These guys are gonna supply the venue and the lube and rubbers. They just want a pretty, submissive little bitch for a couple of hours of dirty fun. When they're done, and I've been paid, you can take him wherever you want, mate! All right?"

"No," Ant told him grimly. "It's not all right."

At the same time, in a more tired and resigned voice, Rayne asked; "How many guys?"

They looked at one another enquiringly. Ant said; "I don't want you to do this."

"It's one job, Ant. He's right. One more night of humiliating myself and I can call it a day." Rayne's expression was uncharacteristically sober. "I want it to stop, Ant. I don't want men paying for me all my life."

John folded his arms and said nothing but there was a glint in his eyes that Ant did not like one bit. He chewed on his lips and kept silent though. 

"How many punters?" Rayne asked again. 

"I dunno," John admitted. "I told him I'd set it up for a grand and half. He can bring up to fifteen guys; two hour limit."

"No," Ant said again, but Rayne ignored him. 

"We're still six hundred short," he murmured distantly. 

"I can give 'em the top-up clause. If they want longer and you're up for it they pay per session, fifty quid a fuck. Twenty five for a blow job."

Ant grabbed his shoulders and turned Rayne to face him. "Listen to me. No! I'm not having you fucking fifteen guys to pay this creep!"

John pushed him aside and pulled a serrated blade from the folds of his jacket, pointing it meaningfully towards Ant's thorax. 

"Oi hero! We can have this conversation with you or without you, you know what I'm sayin'?" he warned. "Why don't you go and 'ave a little chat with your bank manager and see if you can't come up with the rest of the cash, or your little sweet cheeks here is gonna be floggin' his pretty arse for a lot longer!"

"Ant!" Rayne pleaded more quietly. "Don't get hurt for me. I don't want you to get hurt for me. I'm not worth it."

Ant just stared at him hopelessly, wondering what he had to do to protect his lover from this evil creature who had been manipulating him.

MILE END:

They hailed a taxi around the corner from the pub. Rayne twice asked Ant to take his guitar and go back to the boat with it but he refused to leave the boy alone with John. For all he knew, the lanky bastard might do anything once he had Rayne on his own. The cab took them to a squalid part of the East End up beyond Mile End tube station. This late at night the gates of the station were barricaded shut and there were metal shutters pulled down over the shop windows, all decorated with graffiti and strewn around with refuse. Shadowy figures lurked in alleyways, retreating beneath hoods or back into the darkness as the cab rattled past. It dropped them on a street of tall, Victorian terraced houses, some of which had clearly seen better days. John immediately shepherded them into the three storey end house and bolted the door behind them. 

There was candle light shining from one of the downstairs rooms and a thin, weary looking young woman standing in the hallway greeted Rayne with a look of surprise as he passed her. She ignored John and Ant completely. Rayne's pimp led them up to the top floor and opened a door into a darkened room with a mattress on the bare boards. 

"You can kip in here," he told Ant gruffly. "In the morning you go and sort out the fuckin' money."

"What about him?" Ant nodded towards Rayne Wilde who was staring at his feet miserably. 

"The fuck hole comes with me," John said with a wink. "Gotta protect my assets now, 'aven't I?"

Ant fumed impotently. 

"If you hurt him…"

"Why would I do that?" John interrupted cynically. "His tight little hole's gonna make me three grand richer this weekend. He's gotta look pretty for the paying public, yeah?"

He pushed Ant into the bedroom and closed the door between them. Feeling angry and helpless, Ant punched the woodwork but that only left him feeling sore and no less frustrated. He wandered over to the mattress which had a rumpled duvet cast negligently over it. There was a candle on a crate in the corner of the room and some matches. Ant lit it and sat down on the edge of the mattress. He heard John go down the stairs after a little while and got up, opening his door quietly. 

Cautiously he made his way across creaking floorboards to the door at the end of the landing. He tried the knob but the door was locked. The other end of the landing yielded a little closet with a toilet and basin that did not seem to have been cleaned for years. Ant unzipped and pissed into the bowl, trying to ignore the smell, then washed his hands and rubbed them down his trouser legs. He went back to his room and waited, leaving the door slightly ajar.

As he was beginning to nod, the sound of footsteps brought him back to his senses. The candle had expired and it was still dark, but a sliver of moonlight from the window illuminated the face of his watch. It was twenty to three in the morning. There were two men on the stairs, from the sound of their steps. They did not speak but he heard a key click in the lock of the door down the hall. It did not close behind them and Ant moved quietly to the doorway and looked out. There was a light flickering in the room and he could hear the low murmur of conversation, punctuated by quiet, monosyllabic responses from Rayne. Neither of the men sounded like John. Very slowly and cautiously he edged nearer until he could see through the three-inch gap between the door and the casement. There was a mattress on the floor in this room too, with a crumpled, off white sheet on it. A broad shouldered man moved into his line of sight taking off his shirt. Then he saw Rayne walk back to the mattress, his back to the door, slowly removing his clothes. When he was naked he knelt down on the crude bed and the big fellow unzipped his pants. He stood by Rayne's head and the boy began to nod slowly over his crotch, taking the guy's penis into his mouth and sucking obediently. 

"Ahhh, good lad," the fellow rumbled. From the sound of him he was a Geordie. He had tattoos all over his burly arms and chest. 

The other man in the room was smaller and more wiry in build. He was stripping off as Rayne sucked his companion's cock. Once nude he came to sit on the mattress beside the young man, watching closely as he gave head. After a little while, he took Rayne's left hand and guided it to his stiffening cock. As Rayne fisted his growing hard-on, he eased two fingers between the young man's pale bum cheeks and interfered with him, teasing his hole then pushing his hands between Rayne's legs and fondling his balls. 

Rayne uttered a little sound that might have been protest and might have been pleasure. The wiry fellow felt him up more intimately, reaching over to stroke his cock and belly. 

"Awww he's bonny," he huffed excitedly, in the same accent as his larger companion. "You sure we can't fuck him? I've got some Vaseline in the bag."

"You heard the man. He'll do us any way we want but we've to leave his arse alone. I wouldn't do anything to get on Rabid's bad side. He's got a nasty temper. If he wants the chicken's arse left virgin then he gets it, right?" The big fellow set a hand on the back of Rayne's head, stroking his hair. He soon began to make contented little crooning noises as the boy nodded faster, touching and teasing them both. 

Ant experienced a tremor of excitement. He was indignant on Rayne's behalf but watching the young man getting them off was making him hard. So much so that he only realised that he was not alone when a floorboard creaked right behind him. As he jumped and spun about, John put one hand over his mouth and shook his head.

"Naughty naughty," the Yorkshireman whispered to him. "Who's a dirty peepin' Thomas then? You like that, do you? He's a good little cocksucker, yeah?"

"You said you wouldn't do anything to him," Ant hissed as John steered him firmly away from the bedroom door. 

"Shut your hole! I'm not touching him am I?" The lanky pimp sneered at him openly. "They've got strict instructions. Nobody goes in the back way unless I say so. But if my little fuck hole needs his fix he's gonna pay for it up front. I'm not getting him anything else on the tick, you know what I'm sayin', mate?"

Ant thought he did. 

"They're dealers? You left him alone with a couple of dealers?"

"Smarter than you look aren't you?" Johnno grinned at him and patted his cheek then pushed him back along the hall to the other bedroom. "Don't you worry about Raymondo. He's a tough one. He'll sort us all out if he knows what's good for him."

"You bastard!" Ant growled at him. "You just want to keep him hooked so he'll come back for more."

"He's doin' it to himself, my friend," John sighed, shaking his head. "No one makes him do it. I just provide the goods, if you know what I'm sayin'. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna turn in."

He gave Ant another deliberate little push and as the other man stumbled back into the darkened room, turned and walked rapidly back down the landing. By the time Ant had recovered his balance and reached the top of the stairs, the door into Rayne's room was closing. He heard the key turn in the lock and cursed vehemently. 

TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS:

Ant slept with difficulty that night. He 'was' exhausted; it had been a long day and he had not got much sleep during the previous twenty-four hours but the periodic bumps, creaks and groans from the room along the landing kept him from slipping into a deep slumber. He wondered what was going on. Were they letting him rest, or was Rayne destined for another night of incessant fucking? Ant was both anxious and rabidly jealous. He hated knowing that Rayne was so close yet out of his reach. It worried him that they might pump the boy full of drugs until he had no idea what he was doing. Maybe that had been Johnno's plan all along, to get the kid high until he did not even remember that Ant had tried to help him. In the morning would they kick him out on the street, leaving Rayne a prisoner again? 

He felt sick with worry. A long, low groan of satisfaction reached his ears from the other room and he wanted to punch someone. Once, he thought he heard Rayne's voice, very soft and imploring, then it was muffled and silenced. Not long afterwards one of the Geordies began a rhythmic grunting that ended in a cry of exhausted affirmation. Ant got up and paced to the window. It was beginning to get light outside. He prayed silently that in the morning John would just take the money and let Rayne come back to the boat with him.

John came for him a little before ten. He was unwashed and unshaven and stank of stale sweat but he pushed Ant from the room and down the stairs where two younger men, one burly, with a crew cut and the other skinnier and hiding behind a mop of tangled red hair, were waiting on the lower landing. They walked down to the street together and Johnno told the pair; "Don't bring him back without the cash, capiche?"

Getting his hands on the money was harder than he had hoped. It was Saturday morning and by the time he reached the bank his branch was on the verge of closing for the day. In the end he trailed around to various machines and took out money on his bankcard and three credit cards to the tune of eight hundred and fifty pounds. He felt nervous carrying so much cash. What if his bodyguards just coshed him over the head and scarpered with it? He would be back to square one, with a diminishing chance of helping Rayne to escape.




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 03



To his surprise and relief their fear of Johnno's retribution outweighed their own personal need and he was returned to Mile End unmolested. He had stopped trying to make small talk after they proved monosyllabic and reluctant on the tube train out. Now he ignored them and gazed at his shabby, unwashed reflection in the darkened window. What the hell was he doing, scratching cash together for some junk addled creep in order to rescue another crazy addict from his clutches? Had the sex gone to his head?

"What the fuck's this?" Johnno wanted to know, counting the cash into piles in one of the downstairs back rooms. The windows here were boarded up and there was a smell of damp and mould. The room was full of electrical goods in boxes. "Where's the fuckin' rest. Fifteen hundred, you said. This is not three monkeys, mate!"

"I need to give them notice to take out so much, that's a downpayment. I can get you the rest on Monday," Ant told him, hoping his voice did not shake as much as he feared it would. "Where's Rayne?" 

"Upstairs, 'avin' a wash," Johnno said dismissively. "He's got work to do this afternoon. At least one of you seems to be concentratin' on paying me back. Some bloke up in Pimlico wants an innocent young face for a nice long cock-suckin' session. The daft fucker's never gonna know the difference. Ray's a good little actor when he puts in the effort. He just turns those big eyes on 'em. Well, 'you' know, I guess!"

Ant seethed quietly but he said nothing. Rayne's vulnerability had seemed genuine enough the other day but now he caught himself doubting. 

When the boy came down, he had washed and changed and covered the bruise on his face. He wore plain blue jeans, hi-top trainers and a black tee shirt. Someone had cut his hair; the blond stripe had gone leaving a shorter, spikier crown of black, trimmed close around his ears and the back of his slender neck. It did make him look extraordinarily young. There was a sense of listlessness about him though, as if some of the spark Ant had seen in the pub last night had been extinguished. When he met Ant's concerned gaze he forced a small, humourless smile and shook his head. He and John went out together and the other occupants of the squat drifted off on their own pursuits. Ant went upstairs to the front bedroom off the top landing but the door was locked again. Frustrated, he returned to his mattress and tried to sleep.

When he woke, Rayne was sitting on the end of the mattress watching him quizzically and a little sadly. He had removed the tee shirt and wore a loose, open black shirt and the paler, ripped jeans Ant had rescued him in. His fingers ran over the close cropped hair at the base of his skull as though he still found it peculiar. 

"Are you okay?" Ant whispered and he nodded once. 

"Was the job… all right?" He felt awkward asking, but perversely needed to know. As with the previous night when the two drug dealers had been molesting Rayne, he felt as if he was getting his own kicks indirectly through them.

Rayne shrugged and looked out through the dirty window distractedly. 

"He was about eighty," the lad whispered huskily at last. "He sat me on the bed and took my clothes off, then he told me it was all right and he would show me what to do. He kept touching me, all over, telling me I was beautiful. He took his clothes off and I couldn't look. It was like his skin didn't fit any more. It was so sad, Ant. We got down on the bed and he was feeling me all over, telling me how when he was younger he had a beautiful young lover like me and he had to teach this lad how to feel pleasure and give pleasure to him. Then he got on top of me and started kissing me all over my body until he ran out of breath." Rayne looked down at his hands, his expression unreadable. 

"He didn't drop dead on you, did he?" Ant ventured warily.

That earned him a tiny little smile. Some hint of mischief returned briefly to Rayne's tired eyes. 

"You're an idiot, you know," the boy said affably. 

"I know."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Rayne's hand stroked his thigh gently. Ant took the boy's long, cold fingers and moved them up to his crotch. He kept his hand on top of Rayne's stroking in slow circles until his cock began to tent his pants. 

"That's nice," Ant whispered at last. "Keep doing that. Did you suck him off?"

Rayne looked back at him, perplexed. His fingers curled around Ant's cock and fisted him slowly through the material of his trousers.

"You what?"

"The old dude. Did you suck his dick?" Ant humped himself up into Rayne's stroking hand with a little smile. 

"You're a dirty bastard," the lad told him, carefully unzipping him and easing his chilly fingers into Ant's underwear. Ant caught his breath as his gorgeous lover began to stroke him again, flesh on flesh. "Does it turn you on, thinking about me sucking wrinkly cocks?"

"No…" Ant gasped huskily, closing his eyes. "It does turn me on thinking about you sucking 'my' cock though. I was jealous of those two guys last night."

Rayne blinked at him. 

"What the hell d'you know about that?" He sat back for a moment until Ant caught his hand and drew it back to his throbbing prick again.

"Don't stop. I heard them come up and I wanted to see you. They left the door ajar and I was outside watching while you stripped off and did it with them. I was so horny watching that skinny bastard fingering you. I just wanted to walk right in and join them."

"You're as bad as they are," Rayne said darkly. He sat back and folded his arms. 

"Don't stop," Ant cajoled. "I wouldn't do anything you didn't want, Rayne. That old git was right, you really are beautiful. I couldn't leave you here alone. John's been trying to keep you away from me, but I'm not leaving until he lets you walk out with me."

"You're such a muppet!" Rayne told him, but rather more sorrowfully, he thought. "He'll never let me go, Ant."

"Yes he will. I'm gonna make sure of that," Ant promised rashly, prising Rayne's hands free and guiding one of them back to his aching penis. As the boy began to rub and fondle his erection again, he stroked a hand over the soft, velvety crop at the nape of Rayne's neck, pulling the lad's soft, lush lips onto his own. They parted at once and Ant's tongue plunged between them, into the warmth of his lover's mouth. Rayne let his own small, sexy tongue flicker over Ant's teeth and they kissed one another passionately, rolling across the mattress until Rayne was underneath him and Ant was able to unfasten his tight jeans and slide them down. As usual, the boy had nothing on under his denims and Ant was able to squeeze and fondle his smoothly shaven balls and tease the boyish softness of his scrotum until he moaned with need. 

"You want to be fucked hard, don't you?" Ant gasped into his mouth, pushing his jeans down further until he was able to extricate his lover from the garment. He spread Rayne's slender legs and rubbed his cock between them eagerly, teasing the youth by nudging his leaking glans against the little pink star at the head of his silky, hairless crack.

"Yeah!" Rayne groaned huskily, wriggling beneath him with his eyes closed in blissful appreciation. "Oh yeah!"

From behind them, a gruff, Yorkshire voice said; "Put your cock up his arse and I'll fucking well cut it off!"

Ant felt his hard on wither as the point of a knife touched the back of his neck. He moved to sit up but it jabbed harder, keeping him in place.

"Not so fast, wise guy! You've got my little fuck hole all hot and bothered now," Johnno warned. "If you don't make him cum, he'll be tetchy all night. Maybe if you please him enough I'll let him suck you off, how's that? He might even practice being a virgin schoolboy to your big cocked gym teacher, 'if' you ask him nicely. I know the stiffs at tonight's little gang bang want to play that game with him for real."

Ant froze, caught between fantasy and reality. Rayne was looking up at him, his eyes very sexy and languid under heavy lids. He did not look surprised, only resigned.

"It's tonight?" Ant almost whispered, unable to take his eyes off the boy. "But I thought…"

"No time like the present," Johnno said cheerfully. "And Saturday night's the traditional lads night on the town, yeah? Tell you what, if you're a good soldier now, I'll even let you come along and watch him getting shafted by all those horny muscle boys. You like spying on other people having it off with him, don't you mate? Gets you rock hard, yeah?"

Rayne closed his eyes again and exhaled a little huff of weary impatience. He was still sprawled loosely on the mattress with his legs spread and his hole on display. Ant drew the boy's knees over his shoulders and bent his head, touching his lips and tongue to the young man's silky balls, then kissing his way slowly to Rayne's arsehole. He cupped and stroked the rent boy's firm white cheeks in his hands, parting them and lowering them until he was able to rub the head of his dick against the boy's hole, then lifting him again, licking his own precum off the puckered ring and blowing on the moist skin. He repeated the action over and over until Rayne's sphincter opened up for his probing tongue and he was able to ease it into the boy's anus, tongue fucking him greedily. Rayne's left hand slid down his naked belly to his hard young cock and he began to rub himself.

Ant shuffled closer, reaching blindly for Rayne's right hand and guiding it to his own rigid tool. The boy cried out his name as he was licked and teased, rubbing a stiff prick in either hand, Ant's head between his thighs. Johnno moved closer, kneeling on the corner of the mattress and unzipping his pants and getting out his big, purple-headed cock. Ant kissed his way up between Rayne's legs and sucked on his lover's balls. Sidelong, he watched the boy open his mouth obediently and swallow John's long, hard dick, stroking the shaft with his soft, sexy lips and dextrous tongue. They all shifted around simultaneously now, Ant lowering Rayne to the mattress where he rolled over, presenting his soft white arse so that Ant's tongue could lick out his crack more easily. The boy bent over his pimp's erection, nodding lower and lower as he swallowed it all. Johnno grunted with satisfaction as he fucked the boy's mouth. Ant knelt beside Rayne in order to watch him deep-throating his keeper and before long Rayne's soft, sticky fingers closed around Ant's cock and began to fist him again. 

Alternately he fingered and licked Rayne's sexy hole, sliding a hand beneath the boy to wank him. Rayne bucked into his hand and back onto his thrusting finger until Ant was caressing the tight pleasure bud deep inside him. He felt the boy whimper and tremble moments before he exploded in Ant's hand. Cum dripped through his fingers as Johnno grunted and pulsed in the young man's mouth, stifling his cry of arousal. The cry became a wet, bubbling groan as if rising from the depths of the ocean. John let out a long whistle of breath and moaned; "Oh fuck, yeah!"

"mmhhhh…" Rayne sighed, lifting his head briefly, a ribbon of creamy spunk trickling from the corner of his mouth as he swallowed John's ejaculate, then turned towards Ant and bent over his cock at once. Ant breathed his approval, dizzy with desire as he felt Rayne's hot wet mouth close around his cock head, still full of cum, sucking and licking him seductively. Ant's hands stroked his spiky, silky hair, caressing the warm fragile skull as he urged himself into Rayne's mouth, deeper and faster. Rayne made incoherent noises of pleasure as the older man fucked away hard between his lips, then deeper into his throat. He could feel Rayne's quick nasal breaths in his crotch, as he gagged slightly then swallowed harder, stirring Ant's pubes, stimulating him to greater peaks of sensation. 

"Oh yeah, yeah! You gorgeous little cock-sucker, that feels so good!" he exhorted. Rayne was stroking the back of his thigh with one hand and groping his bollocks with the other. He felt his nuts tighten in the young man's sweaty palm then he was filling the slut's mouth with cream again. "Jesus! Yeah! That's so fuckin' hot!"

Ant was huffing with breathless satisfaction as Rayne lifted his head, trying to lick the spilt semen off his chin. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, green eyes glittering with energy. From the edge of the mattress Johnno shook his head slowly. 

"You're gonna have to play it a bit more innocent tonight," the Yorkshireman warned. "That was 'too' fucking smart, sweet thing."

THE JOB:

True to his word, Johnno let Ant come to the gym with them that night. Rayne had packed up most of his stuff and they took it back to Ant's boat before the taxi went on into the heart of the city and carried them through the bright lights of Piccadilly and up to old Soho. The private gymnasium was on a backstreet and they had to call up to the third floor in order to be admitted. Rayne was quiet now. He wore a long, dark gabardine coat over a simple white sports shirt and tight little shorts. Ant kept a hold of his left hand until they got out of the car and John paid the cab fare. Then they were in the dimly lit foyer. 

Someone buzzed them through to the lobby where they took a mirror walled elevator to the third floor. Rayne unfastened his mackintosh, which was stifling in the close heat of the lift car. The whites of his outfit were dazzling in this dingy place. Ant knew that his naked body was perfectly smooth under the schoolboy attire. He had black plimsolls and white ankle socks on his feet and looked touchingly innocent. The effect was oddly disturbing to Ant following on so soon after the delicious oral sex he had enjoyed this afternoon. He could see that Rayne was nervous. 

"You ever done this before?" he whispered before the elevator stopped. 

Rayne nodded, not trusting words. 

"Are you gonna be okay?" Ant squeezed his small, cold hand. 

Another nod, and then the doors opened and they were in a bright reception area. A young man in his twenties met them there, wearing Lycra shorts and a sleeveless vest. He looked wide-eyed at Rayne as John conversed quietly with him, no doubt discussing the delicate matter of money. Rayne sat down on one of the chairs in the foyer and pretended interest in the sporting prints on the walls. 

"How old is he?" the young man in shorts asked softly. 

Johnno said something too quiet to hear and the fellow gawked again. 

"Does he know what's gonna happen?" he hissed urgently. Ant could see that he was getting a hard on in spite of his trepidation. He had a big, fat dick. It was impossible to hide in Lycra.

"He's been groomed," Johnno assured him. "The guy next to him is his uncle, he's been training the kid, bedding naked with him for about twelve months. He's not gonna freak if he sees a hard cock, he knows how to stroke and suck but he's not had a boner up his arse yet. Take it easy with him until he gets used to it, yeah?"

Rayne exchanged the briefest of cynical looks with Ant, then rose as Johnno beckoned him, taking off his coat and handing it to Ant. Johnno took him by the arm and led him to a doorway with a sign for the showers over the top of it. 

"Jason," he said in a slightly patronising voice, bending forward to look Rayne in the eyes. "This is Gary. I told you about him, remember. You're gonna go with him now and meet his friends. You just relax and do as they tell you and you'll have a lot of fun, okay."

"Whatever," Rayne said, rolling his eyes. The fellow called Gary did not see it but Ant did. He stifled a laugh.

"Jason?" he queried under his breath as Rayne followed Gary into the shower room and Johnno came back towards him. 

"Nom de fuck," Johnno hissed back, grinning fiercely. "He never gives the punters his real name." The skinny pimp winked at him. "You wanna watch, mate? It might look more kosher if you wanna keep an eye on him. They can't say no."

Ant took a deep breath. He did not 'want' to see any of this, and yet he did. A perverse part of him deep inside was turned on by the idea of observing as Rayne Wilde pretended to be a virgin for these horny young guys. Wordlessly, he nodded his head and Johnno ushered him into the changing area.

JASON'S 'FIRST TIME':

Rayne followed Gary into the locker room where several other men were undressing already. Their eyes traced his progress and he looked around with innocent speculation, averting his gaze cautiously from their cocks. One young fellow, who was not much older than him, by Rayne's reckoning, came to meet them. He was grinning nervously. 

"This him? Jesus! How old is he?"

"Johnno says he's nearly fifteen," Gary muttered, shaking his head as his companion whistled appreciatively. "Name's Jason."

"All right Jayse?" the younger one greeted him with idiotic cheeriness and Rayne began to believe that this might be an easier con than he had first anticipated. This guy was a total schmuck. He obviously had no idea when it came to other men. Rayne wondered who had talked him into this stunt in the first place. 

He nodded solemnly, playing with the elastic waist of his shorts which was biting into his hip. It would be a relief to get stripped. Gary fished in a bag under the benches and retrieved a white towel and a tube of Astroglide.

"You wanna come and have a good time with us?" the idiot beamed, clearly nervous.

"Yeah, I guess." Rayne looked him up and down incuriously. 

"Let's get your kit off, shall we?" Gary said, in a more decisive tone. "Then you can help Damon here to get his shorts off and his dick warmed up. You know how to do that, right? John said you know how to give head."

The young whore nodded again, mutely and Gary looked satisfied. He began to strip off, baring a muscular, hairy chest and a long, thick cock. Rayne hesitated for a moment, then carefully took off his top and folded it, setting it on the bench behind him. Damon watched eagerly and so did a few of the other men in the changing area as he wriggled his white shorts down and stepped out of them, baring his smooth, pale arse as he bent to pick them up and put them with his shirt. Now Damon reached out a quivering hand and touched his bare bum, worming a tentative finger down his crack, then caressed his belly and torso experimentally. 

"Undo his shorts, Jason," Gary encouraged, sitting down on the bench beside the neatly folded pile of clothes. He stroked Rayne's arse more confidently, spreading the boy's cheeks with both hands and rubbing his thumb over the pucker of his anus. "Get his dick out and stroke it or we'll be here all night."

Rayne bent his head and did as he was told, fumbling the button and flyer of Damon's cotton shorts with shaking hands. He was keyed up. No longer nervous but ready for action. It was like going into battle, he often thought at times like this. Damon was getting hard quickly. He peeled his vest off as Rayne unfastened his flyer and slid a hand into his cotton posing pouch, stroking and touching him with deliberate clumsiness. Unlike Gary, this younger fellow had a soft body. He was not plump but clearly had not been working out with these guys for long. A shy glance around the room showed the young rent boy six or seven men, all fairly toned and fit. Most of them were nude. All had their cocks out and some were stroking themselves already as they watched him.

He pushed Damon's pants down to his knees and began to fist the other man's stiffening tool in his left hand. Damon's fingers ran through his hair and urged his head down at once. He uttered a little groan of appreciation at the feel of Rayne's hot breath on his throbbing cock head. At the same time, Gary unscrewed the cap from the lube and applied a small, cold glob of gel to Rayne's exposed ring. He worked it in, using the pad of his thumb, in slow, circling motions that were hard to resist. Rayne closed his eyes and tightened his rectal muscles purposefully. The contact made him want to do just the opposite but he kept his mind on the game. They believed he was untouched and if he 'was' untouched then he would not be totally relaxed. Not yet. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 03



"Do you like that, Jayse?" Damon was panting, stroking the spunk-wet head of his boner between Rayne's soft, full, choirboy lips. His prick was about five and a half inches and only medium thick. It jutted up from a nest of pale brown curls that virtually concealed his balls. "Do you like licking your Uncle's knob? Does he bring his friends round and let you suck all their hard cocks?"

He was huffing excitedly, bucking the head of his sex in and out of his plaything's mouth inexpertly. Behind the youngster, Gary put another bead of lube onto his middle finger and teased Rayne's hole more roughly as the slender youth bent forward over his friend's crotch, sucking and licking Damon's hard rod. He uttered an indecipherable sound, which could have been affirmation or protest.

"He's a fantastic little cock-sucker!" the young man exhaled enthusiastically. "Jesus! I'm gonna cum!"

"Not yet," Gary warned without looking up. "You want first go up his arse, don't you? Let someone else have a go in his mouth if you can't hold it in." He stroked a hand over Rayne's left thigh and buttock. "You okay, Jay. You like that?"

Rayne nodded quickly, panting at the feel of the older fellow's finger on his hole. "Yeah."

"Good lad. Just try and relax." Gary pressed on his spincter and he wriggled at the sensation. "Your uncle's a lucky fella. Does he frig you while you're sucking his dick? Does he put his finger up your arse?"

"Yeah," Rayne was breathless. He knew what was coming and kept tensing, though he also understood that it was going to be more painful that way. Two of the other men had come to join them at the bench and one sat down on the other side of his clothing whilst the other remained standing and put Rayne's left hand on his hard cock. He rubbed the guy's tool instinctively. It felt like hot, wet velvet to his touch.

"What about dildos or butt plugs? Does he put things like that up you?" Gary pushed a little harder. The tip of his finger breached Rayne's ring and the young man sucked in a sharp, startled-sounding breath as he felt it squirm wetly inside him. He shook his head. The seated fellow had a shaved skull and a little rose tattoo on one temple. He guided Rayne's right hand to his erection. When the boy was rubbing both their cocks, he reached between Rayne's slim thighs and groped his balls firmly.

"'Ey, Damo... the chicken's got a bigger knob than you!" he teased the birthday boy with a snigger.

There was a sober-faced man standing to Rayne's left. He was tall with dark, shaggy hair to his shoulders and looked older than most of these guys, there was a sprinkling of grey at his temples and in his pubes. Wordlessly now he laid a hand on the back of Rayne's head, guiding the lad's mouth onto his long prick. Gary forced his slippery finger more urgently up their playmate's arsehole and pumped it steadily in and out. Rayne closed his eyes and shuddered at the ticklish sensation inside him.

"Let me have a go," Damon was gasping. From the laboured sound of his breathing, Rayne guessed that the birthday boy was having a good hard wank.

"Put the neck of the tube in his arsehole and squirt some more lube up him," Gary advised, pulling his finger out. "He's fuckin' tight. You're gonna have to get him looser if you don't want him to crush your midget prick."

Some malicious laughter greeted this comment and Damon swore at them all vehemently as he got down to business between the boy's bare legs.

Rayne inhaled involuntarily, his jaws stretched wide around the long, heavy cock in his mouth, as he felt the sharp, narrow neck of the lube tube penetrate him crudely. Damon squeezed it and he was filled with cold, water-based gel. A probing finger wriggled up his arse, poking him experimentally. He was not gentle and Rayne struggled, but was held in position by Gary and the other two. The tall, dark fellow began to pulse in his mouth as Damon's finger partly withdrew and was quickly joined by a second digit, attempting to stretch his ring from within. He could hear Damon panting with his mouth open.

The man he was fellating let him lift his head for a moment, then the skinhead told him to get astride the bench. When he was straddling the form, his face was pushed down into that man's shaven crotch and his mouth was filled with cock meat again and fucked energetically. Rayne struggled but the four of them held him. Damon fingered him harder and faster from behind and now the others began to help him. A third slippery finger was pressed less nervously into his anus, then a fourth, all pulling him in different directions. Rayne shuddered like a dog shrugging off water. The shaven fellow bucked up hard into his face, sheathing his cock head in Rayne's pharynx as he squirted a hot blast of semen into the boy. 

"Fuck! That's good!" he barked as the tall, dark haired man knelt and made Rayne swallow his cock again. The slender whore was gagging and trying to protest but his objections were quickly muffled by another mouthful of thrusting sex. He kept his eyes open now, shivering with more than just nerves. As the big prick in his mouth forced his jaws wide and a dribble of semen and saliva ran down his chin he concentrated on breathing slowly through his nose and let his clients do the work. 

A muscular guy with receding hair began to touch him between his slim legs and pulled one of Rayne's hands onto his hard penis. Gary was also hard now and rubbing himself against Rayne's thigh as Damon frigged his hole. Gary began to lube Damon's prick steadily in preparation and the younger man whimpered with eagerness at the touch. 

"Is your bum ready for its first cock, Jayse?" he keened. "Are you ready for a good hard locker-room fuck, baby?"

The murmur of expectant conversation in the changing room had grown louder and Rayne was conscious that more men had come through from the next chamber, which was presumably the gym. They were watching and discussing him. At least eight men were standing around the bench, some rubbing their hard members as they stared at him, waiting for Damon to deflower his 'teenage' hole. Rayne felt the fingers pull out of him and the young man's lube and spunk wet sex was between his cheeks, rubbing up and down over his roughly-frigged entrance. He was shaking so hard that he could not speak. This was far from his first time, but he was overwhelmed by the sudden thought; 'What if it had been?'

Johnno was less than scrupulous in his business dealings. If he could get his hands on a genuine virgin, he'd sell the kid's arse faster than a chameleon could snap up a fly. And the more buyers, the better the deal.

"I'd pull out of his mouth while Damo's getting it up him, Wes," someone said, bringing him back to the present. "He might bite!"

The cock between his lips withdrew at once. There was laughter, some of it nervous. A hand stroked his thigh. Another caressed his cock and balls. They were all eager and not a little scared. These bastards genuinely believed he was well underage and they were willing to watch him get stripped and violated; even to take part in his degradation. He experienced a sharp, violent flashback; lying on his belly with his knees bent, biting his lips hard so that no one heard him cry as Uncle Bryan raped him violently in his own bedroom.

"Are you okay, Jay?" That was Gary again, breathing harder. "Do you understand what we're going to do to you now?"

Rayne huffed quickly and quietly, genuinely disturbed by the memory. He met Gary's eyes and shook his head. The older man stroked his body gently. 

"It's okay, I promise," he said in a level, soothing tone. "Do you know what it means to lose your cherry, Jay?"

"Its…" Rayne lowered his eyes; controlled his breathing. "It's when you have… when you go all the way… for the first time."

There was a collective exhalation of held breath. A couple of guys began to wank themselves and one another, moving closer for a better look. 

"You're going to go all the way with Damo now," Gary told him. "It's okay. Your uncle's here and he says it's good. Only we need to get a move on, we've only got about fifty minutes left and we 'all' want to have some bum fun. You know what I mean?"

"Does it hurt?" Rayne looked back up at him, eyes huge and wary; luminous in the bright light of the dressing room. 

"Naw!" Gary grinned at him. He began to grope Rayne's scrotum steadily. "It feels good, Jay. Really good!"

NO WAY OUT:

Ant clenched his teeth as the one called Gary began to hurry his slender playmate into having full sex with them. He had barely been able to contain himself as a handful of them molested the lad and forced him to blow them. Johnno had to hold him back when three of them began to finger the little whore. As more men came to watch, he felt sicker and angrier with the bastard by his side. 

"Stop this now!" he hissed furiously as Damon poked between the beautiful young man's creamy cheeks with his greasy cock and Rayne moaned and begged him to stop. "They're hurting him."

"Don't be a fuckwit!" Johnno whispered back at him. "'You've' banged the randy little slut, and he enjoyed it plenty. I was listening! That shrimp-dick's gonna feel like a kid's finger up his fuck-hole after your big bone."

Ant wanted to look away but he could not take his eyes off the scene unfolding in front of him. Rayne was crying out in a sharp, high tone as the young man kneeling against the bench astride him gripped his skinny hips and bucked his cock head through the tight ring of muscle and deeper into his arse. Damon ignored the lad's yelps for mercy and pounded his hole energetically. Rayne was straddling the bench, his crotch cushioned by the small heap of his discarded clothing as he was fucked without pity. His mouth was pulled down onto Gary's penis now, stifling his cries and he was made to suck again. His horny audience drew closer, wanking over him and encouraging him to stroke them.

"Jeez! He's fuckin' tight," Damon panted as his cock ricocheted awkwardly in and out of the boy's anus.

"Well loosen him up then!" one of the other men laughed. 

"Bet he's tighter than your mum!" another chortled..

Damon stopped huffing and uttered a long, low growl of satisfaction, immune to their taunts. He bucked into Rayne one last, savage time, then pulled out, his prick still dripping cum. The boy whimpered with obvious relief. Gary took Damon's place at once. His cock was longer and much meatier, lubed with spit and pre-cum, and he sheathed it in the boy's arsehole with a few smooth, firm thrusts. Rayne groaned huskily as he began to pulse hard and fast. Ant relaxed, he could tell from the expression on Rayne's gorgeous face that the young slut was loving this bigger, more experienced prick. He did not resist nearly so much and his cries were definitely fuelled by arousal. Rayne keened with disappointment when Gary all too quickly reached his climax and yanked it out, oozing a thick wad of yellowish spunk between his cheeks. 

Three men pulled the youngster to the floor, supine and spread his legs. Two of them tugged his mouth back and forth from one twitching boner to the other and the third knelt between his buttocks and probed him hard. The two leaking cock heads between his lips muffled Rayne's moan of anxiety. Now the sodomite pushed himself into his playmate's vulnerable hole and pounded him rapidly. A fourth man joined them, standing and holding Rayne's ankles wide apart over his shoulders as he squirmed on the ground. The bugger and the standing man changed places once the former had cum hard in Rayne's tight passage. The pair kneeling by his head were feeding him their spunk, squirting white rivers of sticky juice into his mouth and over his face as he groped for them blindly, his hands gliding over their thighs and buttocks. The guy who had been holding his feet now knelt between his legs, spreading them firmly and laughing as Rayne was re-entered and jack-hammered for the fourth time in quick succession.

Ant was disgusted with himself. He hated himself for watching this and for getting hard as Rayne was undressed and violated roughly in front of him. The boy had a lovely erection and one of the men on the floor with him was now rubbing it eagerly for him. Another knelt between his slender legs, holding his thighs apart in powerful hands whilst he fucked the pretty kid. Ant saw the tall, older guy, Wes standing over them watching and rubbing lube on his big, hard cock as he waited for his turn up Rayne's chute. He easily had one of the largest penises here. It was as long as Ant's and very thick, with a broad, circumcised head. Ant wondered if Rayne was sizing them up, deciding which cocks he was looking forward to riding and sucking. 

He was faking deliciously well, whimpering and struggling, telling them in a high, husky, breathless voice how big they felt and how it hurt but he was loving it. The rough guy hunkered over him, groaning his appreciation, then pulled out and Wes turned Rayne over, drawing the skinny boy to his hands and knees. He eased his long, fat rod in steadily, keeping Rayne's cheeks spread with both hands. A lean, hard-muscled young fellow not much older than Rayne knelt in front of him and was joined by a stocky guy with ginger, close cropped hair. Ant felt a good dollop of cum ooze from his prick as he watched Rayne swallow both their tools. The boy reached under himself with one hand, rubbing his own cock as Wes began to piston in and out of his arsehole. Immediately another man knelt beside him and started to touch him, pinching his small, dark nipples and tugging on his hot young penis.

Ant slipped a hand into his pants, closing his fingers around his hot, twitching sex and began to wank as he watched Rayne submit to cock number five, and then cock number six. Wes pulled out and creamed himself between Rayne's bare cheeks with an exclamation of satisfaction and his place was taken automatically by the eager masturbator. The ginger boy slipped out of his mouth and pulled on his prick. He squirted a good load of watery ejaculate all over Rayne's face and dark hair. Beside him, the muscular youth began to give their fuck-toy's throat a good pounding. When he pulled out a flood of cum trickled from Rayne's parted lips as he crouched on his hands and knees, huffing like a winded horse. Fuck number six kept him in that position and banged his spunk-lubed hole vigorously from behind.

Ant beat his wand a little harder in his pants. There were, he estimated, about fifteen men wandering in and out from the gymnasium in various states of undress and excitement. As his current mate reached orgasm and withdrew, Rayne complained quietly that his knees were bleeding and there was a tactical discussion, which resulted in the action relocating to the gym. Around seven men accompanied Rayne to one corner beneath a security camera where there was a thick crash mat, covered in blue PVC. They scrambled onto the mat in a rough semi-circle around the boy. Moments later the three large screens above the exercise machines, which were normally used to show MTV, flickered into life, depicting the CCTV image of Rayne Wilde getting his legs spread and his rectum filled with thrusting sex. Ant watched via the screens as his lover willingly swallowed some more cock and the others whacked their meat eagerly all around him, splattering their cream on his pale skin and the cobalt rubber mat cover. 

Gary appeared beside him, shaking his head incredulously at the images above them. 

"How do you do it, mate? How've you had his hot mouth round your dick for so fuckin' long and not given him a good bumming? I'd have had it up his saucy little shitter years ago."

Ant shrugged. Right now the idea of taking Rayne into the showers and washing him down gently, whilst entering him and fucking him was foremost in his mind. The boy looked so hot and horny, surrounded by randy males prepared to take advantage of his submissive body. His eager lover could hardly wait for the chance to get him alone and use him all night. He wanted to tell Gary what a dirty, willing little whore Rayne was and how good he looked in a gag and cuffs with an eleven inch dildo up his arse. 

"I've got plenty of time to fuck him when you guys are done warming him up for me," he said with a knowing smile.

Gary laughed at that and carried on stroking whilst he watched the hardcore action on screen. Rayne was stark naked, lying on his side with a guy behind him and urging his arse into the man's crotch whilst another prospective mate licked cum and sweat off his chest and neck. They were spreading Rayne's legs and the one in front now rolled the boy and his sex-partner onto their backs and someone handed him a bottle of massage oil. Rayne was humping himself up and down on the big tool between his cheeks as the oil was poured down his crack and all over the hard prick of the second man. Between them they pulled Rayne's arms and legs as wide open as they could and the second man mounted him, forcing a second slippery dick into the boy's well-fucked anus. Rayne was thrashing and crying out as they began to pump at him in unison. The guy lying under him put his sweaty hand over Rayne's mouth, gagging him and others held his arms and legs as the two men raped him hard. At once the crowd of wanking onlookers doubled. 

STAR ATTRACTION:

A huge, rippling cock was pushed into Rayne's mouth from the left, then another from the right as two faceless strangers bucked away urgently in his rectum. He felt the sweat slick, muscular chest and belly of one of them pressed up against his bare back. Cream squirted all over him from the eager voyeurs kneeling on the edge of the mattress all around him. There was a man licking his nipples as he writhed on the plastic cover, sucking and stroking and getting fucked hard by his horny assailants. One man was lipping and lapping at his hairless bollocks, teasing him mercilessly and milking his young cock with a hot hand. Rayne's dark head turned to one side, lips parted in a soundless gasp for clean air as one of his mates withdrew from his face. Cum ran out of his open mouth and down his chin, then a hand gripped his sweat and spunk soaked hair and another hard on was urged between his jaws. He closed his eyes and let it happen. 

A man flopped down on the mattress beside Rayne Wilde as he reached an exhausted climax for the insistent hand and mouth on his genitals. His limbs quivered uncontrollably as he spent his seed, feeling detached from his body as if this was a dream. At the same time he felt one of the rapists press deep into him and fill his rectum with semen. The other pulled out and spilled his load on Rayne's bare belly before licking it off. His tongue wriggled over the boy's flesh like a clammy worm. Hot, sweaty hands rolled him over and he found himself lying astride the naked man by his side. He was drained and sore and tried to tell them so but the guy's prick was rock hard between his legs. Resolutely he was lifted onto it and fiercely impaled. Another cock probed at him from behind and he shook his head. 

"No… please. No more." His throat was salty and parched; the words were just a whisper.

A big cock waved back and forth in front of his face and he tried to push it away but then his hands were gripped and he felt a penis within the circle of his fingers. The hot, throbbing bell end pushed against his lips and into his mouth then pulsed over his tongue, in and out. The scent of sweat and semen filled his nostrils and the air was almost too humid to breathe. He felt sore and stretched from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. As some faceless creature started to buck between his legs again, he closed his eyes and submitted to the assault, riding the wave on autopilot. He felt sure that the session had gone on far too long, although he was unaware of the time. All he knew was that he was sore and breathless.




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 03



At some point the pace relented and he was conscious that there were only a couple of men with him at any one time. He was painfully thirsty and his hips and thighs ached unbearably. The ring of muscle around his spincter felt so loose that he imagined the slightest movement would empty his guts onto the mattress. Rayne closed his eyes again and kept them closed. It had to stop, surely. Johnno would never let them fuck him to death. Would he?

In a moment of lucidity, Damon was back on top of him now, humping him with great vigour and absolutely no finesse as he sprawled on his back with his knees against his chest. Rayne let the young man's thrusting sex drive little cries from his parched mouth and turned his head, looking blankly across the mattress, trying to focus on anything but this painful humiliation. Ant was watching him he realised wonderingly. There was sorrow and no little anger in the older man's quiet face. He said something to someone else but Rayne did not have the energy to move his head in order to locate that person. The boy closed his eyes. As Damon collapsed onto him and flooded him with oppressive heat, Ant moved forward decisively. 

A TIME FOR ACTION:

"This stops now," Ant said, putting himself between Rayne and a determined muscle queen. 

"I've got the money," the queen protested, waving a wad of crumpled notes at John who was watching the scene with cruel amusement playing about his lips. "He said if we could afford him we could do him. That's fifty quid that says his bum's mine for the next fifteen minutes."

He slapped the money into Ant's hands. Ant threw it back at him. "Party's over!" he shouted, startling the few remaining die-hards. "You've been tormenting him for four and half hours. Let him rest."

He was fuming privately because Johnno had extended the pre-paid period from two hours to three after some of the men complained that they hadn't got a poke thanks to Damon's prevaricating in the locker room. When the three hours expired, Johnno invited the remaining punters to pay him for individual sex acts with Rayne. Seven men had fucked him since then, at fifty pounds a pop. Another five paid half that for a blow-job whilst the boy was getting buggered. Ant's schoolboy mathematics tallied that up to four hundred and seventy five; adding the original fee of fifteen hundred, plus the eight hundred and fifty he had raised this morning made two thousand eight hundred and twenty five pounds. They were still six hundred and seventy five quid short.

He related this to Rayne in the showers as he helped the boy to get cleaned up. To his profound disquiet, the lad would not meet his eyes. He kept his head down as he rubbed the soap bubbles all over his skinny body, shuddering continuously and refusing to let anyone else touch him. He was bleeding a little from between his legs. Ant gave him space but did not let him get out of sight. Tonight had been horrible and exciting and confusing in equal measures. For a while he had been convinced that Rayne was enjoying himself. Now he was less sure. 

"Get my coat!" Rayne was towelling his bruised, beaten body furiously. He pulled the bath sheet around himself like a shield as Ant glanced up at him. "Look at somethin' else, you fucker! Go and get my fuckin' coat!"

Ant wanted to take him back to the boat and he argued more than once with Johnno about this as they went down in the lift. In his eyes, they had already paid a substantial part of the pimp's debt. John was less than convinced. 

"I know what you bastards are like," the lanky Yorkshireman cursed as they waited outside for a taxi. 

Rayne was shivering in his insubstantial outfit, even wrapped in the long coat. He took no part in the argument, just leaned in the doorway staring out at the darkened Soho street.

"He's worked his nuts off for you tonight. I told you, I'll give you the rest of the fucking money on Monday. Just let him go, will you." Ant held his arms out, keeping himself between John and the shivering boy in the doorway. 

For a little while Johnno seemed to deliberate. He lit a roll up and contemplated it as Ant bristled at him. 

"Way I see it," he exhaled at last, in a cloud of cannabis smoke; "this is a business arrangement, yeah?"

"In your eyes maybe." Ant glared at him.

"Raymondo works for 'me'," John said impassively. "And he 'owes' me. If you were running a business, Mr Sugar Daddy, and one of your employees was taking the piss, you'd want some recompense, yeah?"

"This isn't a business… you're taking advantage of him," Ant growled defensively.

"I didn't 'have' to take him in off the streets," Johnno countered, shaking his head at the other man. "He didn't have a penny to his fuckin' name. I took pity on him. I gave him somewhere to kip and a way to pay me back. How is that takin' advantage? He didn't 'have' to stay."

Ant swallowed his anger for a moment. He did not have a quick response to that. 

"I'll get you the money, if that's all this is about," he reiterated at last. 

Johnno shook his head again. "Uh-huh. That's not all… Like I said, this is business. There's the little matter of interest to consider."

"What?" Ant stared at him, not quite believing his ears. 

It was Rayne who cleared the matter up for him. In a quiet voice, without looking back at them, Rayne Wilde said; "You promised him the money today. If he doesn't get it today, we pay interest."

Ant half turned, staring from Pimp to Prostitute and back. "You two are winding me up, yeah?"

"I wish," Rayne answered him in a voice that was little more than a breath of air. 

MILE END: 

Rayne was withdrawn and sullen in the taxi, all the way back to the house in Mile End and went straight up to his room once they got there, locking the door behind him. Johnno seemed undisturbed and poured himself a shot of whisky from a stash in one of the boxes in the back room. 

"You're a heartless bastard," Ant told him bravely as he slumped in a moth eaten armchair by the window, staring into his dirty glass speculatively.

"I've gotta make a living," John corrected him, raising his glass with a crooked grin. 

"Out of the suffering of others!"

"Oh spare me!" Rabid John shook his head in disgust, gesturing towards Ant with his glass. "I know all about people like you Mr Bloody Do-Good. If these kids could get their arses into gear don't you think they would have done by now? In the meantime, I make sure that they've got a roof over their heads and they get fed and watered. And if I take a little cut to keep myself in order then nobody complains. I'm not living the high life here, mate!"

"Cut the crap… how much money are we talking about here?" Ant wanted to know. 

"Peanuts, mate." John threw back his whisky and grinned more broadly. "If he didn't jack up most of what he earns, we wouldn't be in this pretty mess now. I 'know' what he's like, Mr Sugar Daddy. 'You' wanna figure him out before you decide to take him on board." He laughed to himself quietly. "On board! Get it, Cap'n Birds Eye?"

"Shut up!" Ant slumped back in his seat a little further. "He can sort himself out. You're not helping him."

"I'm giving him a means to an end," John rose and filled his glass again then returned to the chair and subsided into it with a sigh. "Which is all anyone can hope for at the end of the day."

"How much interest?" Ant demanded.

John shrugged his bony shoulders once. 

"Five hundred."

"You're joking?"

"A day." Their eyes met briefly. John said; "I'll be a gentleman. I'll let you off today, as there's not much left of it."

"Tomorrow's Sunday," Ant pointed out.

"And…?"

"The banks aren't open on a Sunday!"

"People still want to shag," Johnno answered with a grin. "You're forgetting your primary asset here!"

"I'm not interested in using him the way you do!" Ant glared at him. "If I promise you the money on Monday…"

"Your promise ain't gonna feed us, is it?" John waved an airy hand in a circle that might have just meant himself or the house or the whole of Mile End.

"He's in no condition to earn you money." Ant felt the anxiety rise in his chest as he thought of Rayne's misery tonight in the showers. "I'll get you the rest of your cash on Monday and then you leave us alone. Okay?"

"Twelve hundred," Johnno said dispassionately. "You bring me twelve hundred quid on Monday morning, before midday and you get the bitch to yourself. End of deal."

"Six seventy five!" Ant raged at him, leaping to his feet, wanting to kill. "We owe… He owes you six hundred and seventy five pounds! What the fuck…?"

He stopped because the point of Johnno's knife was directly in his face. The Yorkshire Pimp might look laid back but he was fast.

"Monday morning… Six seven five plus five interest, less a day 'cause I'm a good person and tomorrow is the Lord's day, rounded up in the name of easy finance… makes twelve big ones. Sorry mate, but that's the deal on the table. Take it or… bugger off back to your boat. I don't care which." John tipped the glass in his direction but did not lower the weapon. "But bear in mind, if you're still here on Monday afternoon and the money isn't…" He pulled the blade across his throat in a wordless warning, then rose to his feet, shunting Ant aside as he sauntered out to the hall and back up the stairs to the room where Rayne was closeted. 

Ant followed, determined not to give in. As he reached the topmost landing, John could be heard banging on the bedroom door. 

"Let me in you little slut! If I have to break this fuckin' door down I'll rip your fuckin' throat out!"

Ant went for him, fury overcoming common sense as he barrelled into the tall, skinny drug-fuelled manipulator on the landing. They ricocheted off the doorframe and rolled across the hall floor back towards the top of the stairs. "You bastard!" Ant cursed; "leave him alone!"

As he was thrown onto his back, John pulled the vicious looking knife out of his coat sleeve again, waving it in his face. Ant felt the blood run cold in his veins and then a door crashed open to his left and the voice of an angel screamed; "Get off him! John, get off him… I swear, I'll do whatever you want. Just leave him be! Let him go home!"

Ant turned his head to the side, swallowing up the vision of Rayne, dressed in his ripped jeans and gauzy black shirt again, his beautiful face leached of colour. He did not look at Ant even once. His lime green gaze was riveted on Rabid John. "I promise…" he said now. "Anything… just let him go home."

John rose slowly to his feet, transfixed, like a snake charmed by some exotic piper. Ant clawed at him, trying ineffectually to keep him away from the boy. 

"Rayne!" he groaned, as Rabid John moved slowly back down the hall towards the younger man. "No! You don't have to do this!"

Now those luminous green eyes met his, briefly and sadly. The look in that gaze was solemn and unforgettable. 

"Go home, Ant." Rayne Wilde said huskily. "Go home now, while you can. Forget about me. I won't ever forget you did this for me."

And then John was pushing him back into the bedroom and the door slammed shut between them. As Ant rose to his feet, on the verge of trying the door, he became aware of several hostile pairs of eyes observing him from the stairs and the landing below. Some of the watchers were holding knives. 

He raised his hands and backed away, understanding when he was beaten. Dead, he was of no use to anyone. They let him slip between them, down the stairs and out into the night. Ant kept walking, conscious all the while of predatory glances from the darkness as he trudged the deserted streets. When morning came he was still walking, with no idea of his location or of his ultimate destination. 

END OF PART THREE

"Any unauthorised use of the whole or part of this story in any format constitutes theft of copyright. If you are not reading this story on Literotica.com it is posted illegally."



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 04



 "In Chapter Four Ant discovers that Rayne does have quite a past, and finding out about it gives him a boner that just won't go down. After the nastiness of Chapter Three I thought it would be pleasant for Ray to have a little holiday, so our heroes are off to the South of France to try and make some money in the European Porno Movie industry." xxx.Sadie 

(All characters and stories are copyright of Sadie Rose Bermingham 1999-2005 – any unauthorised use of these stories will be treated as an infringement of copyright.)

!IF YOU ARE NOT READING THIS STORY ON LITEROTICA-COM IT HAS BEEN STOLEN!

*

Ant juggled the change in his trouser pocket as he waited for the receiver to pick up on the other end of the line. He had been walking all night and now, as the sun rose over this decrepit, graffiti riddled call box on Limehouse Reach, he was nearing his wit's end. The idea of leaving Rayne alone with Rabid John was still making him grind his teeth with frustration. The boy had looked so exhausted and defeated last night as he stood in the doorway, calling John off in order to save Ant's skin. Now the older man knew that there was no way he could turn his back on his beautiful young friend. If he left Rayne in Mile End the boy would be dead within a year, he was sure of it. Either the drugs or some crazy person would see him off, and that was if he did not succumb to AIDS. 

Last night, not one of the bastards at that Gym had bothered with rubbers, in so far as he could tell. Ant wondered grimly how many times the younger man had consented to unprotected sex. The odds were not good for him. 

He was about to hang up and try someone else when the line clicked softly and a cultured, sleepy, English voice said; "Who the fuck is ringing me at this time of the morning?"

"Daniel! I'm sorry, I know it's early," he apologised at once. "It's me... Ant. I need a really big favour. I need somewhere to crash out for a little while, and I'm going to bring a friend with me. You're not fully booked this weekend are you?"

"As a matter of fact, I was planning to have a few people over, but I suppose I can always make room for one or two more. What's the great urgency, Anthony?" Dan sounded bemused. He was one of Ant's oldest friends but they had seen one another rarely since Daniel Leland emigrated to the French Mediterranean. He lived on a seventy-foot cruiser at the Cap d'Agde for much of the year, a lifestyle Ant could easily appreciate.

"We just need to keep our heads down for a little while, and maybe earn a bit of cash, if you could arrange something...?" Ant bit his lip, fishing for coins and shovelling them into the machine as the credit dipped rapidly. "My friend... I reckon he could do a bit of photographic work, you know. I'm sure he's your type."

There was a pensive silence on the line, then Dan asked; "He's not jailbait, Ant? You're not hiding out from his parents and the police?"

"He's twenty," Ant pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. "He's really pretty, Dan and red hot in bed. You're gonna love him, I'm certain. He's a little goldmine!"

Daniel sighed and stifled a yawn. "I suppose so. He'd better behave though. I'm getting too old for teenage tearaways and the marina authorities won't stand for any funny business, you understand?"

"I get it," Ant nodded eagerly. 

"When are you coming down?"

"In a couple of days, I just need to sort a few things out," Ant said, experiencing a flood of relief. "I'll ring you again before we set off."

He returned to the boat once he had spoken to Daniel and took a long shower. The last couple of days had left him feeling gritty and corrupted. A glance in the mirror showed him a body that had not yet succumbed to middle aged spread though he was definitely far from scrawny; not short, although he had always wished he were taller. He owned a face that many still found handsome and a nice, long meaty cock that certainly won him plenty of admiration from both sexes. His dark blond hair flopped across his brow, still thick and full, devoid of grey and he contemplated getting it cut before they set out for France then decided that it looked quite bohemian as it was. Once he had shaved and scrubbed himself clean he dropped the black out shutters in his bedroom and set about developing the pictures he had taken of Rayne Wilde in his bed on Thursday. Satisfyingly, his initial belief that the boy would be stunning on camera seemed to be borne out by the prints he produced. He looked younger still on film, captured in random moments of seductively innocent posing. So often he seemed to lift his beautiful eyes to the lens just as the shutter clicked. There was something in that wide, upturned gaze that seemed naïve, even when he was masturbating himself openly or riding Ant's toys and his cock. Ant turned on the lights now and fetched a dildo to help in his admiration of the prints. 

He lay down, staring at a sexy little shot of the naked youngster with his wrists manacled behind him and his legs lifted and spread, a ball gag in his mouth and the self same big dildo protruding from his pink, stretched anus. Ant lubed the toy up thoroughly and eased it into his rectum, working it deeper and faster into himself then resting his cheeks against the footboard of the bed and riding against it as he began to jerk himself off with a slippery hand. 

In a couple of days, all being well, he would have Rayne on a sun-kissed deck, out at sea, slim, tanned and stark naked, whilst Daniel Leland, one of Europe's premiere Pornographers took the pictures. Ant pulled himself to a massive, breathless, satisfying climax in minutes thinking of it and rubbed the spill of hot semen all over his naked belly and chest, panting appreciatively.

DECEPTION AND LIES:

On Monday morning the bank staff were helpful but ultimately apologetic. They were quite willing to lend him money against his boat but the credit check would take a little time; time Ant did not have. He made arrangements to withdraw as much of his savings as he dared to and they promised to have the money ready for him in the afternoon. Whilst he was waiting, he called in at the post office and picked up a couple of forms, then he went down to the marina at Tower Bridge and spoke to one of the guys he knew who worked there renovating small pleasure cruisers and carrying out maintenance. They chatted about the boats for a while, which ones were regularly out on the river and which seemed to have been neglected. Then he returned to the shopping arcade and had copies of some of his old keys cut.

He filled out the forms, which were for the British Waterways Licensing Department. A few subtle alterations would take care of the primary details. Then he went back to the bank and collected a thousand pounds in cash. 

Ant felt self conscious about walking through the East End with so much money, but he had dressed down deliberately and only the occasional passer by glanced his way. He caught the District Line up to Mile End tube station and managed to find his way back to the house on Canal Road without too much difficulty. The door was shut and the place looked abandoned but he climbed the steps and knocked loudly all the same.

After a while of this, someone peeked out through the boards over the front window. He thought he recognised the thin, sullen girl from his previous visit. The door was wrestled open and she peered up at him solemnly. 

"You'd better 'ave his money," she warned. 

"Is Rayne okay?" he wanted to know. 

Before she could speak, a husky voice somewhere in the hall behind her said; "What do you expect? What the fuck are you doing back here?"

The door opened wider. Rayne looked pale and there were dark circles under his huge green eyes but he was up and dressed. He moved awkwardly as if he was still in some pain. 

"I've got some cash for your Pimp and a deal, if he's interested." Ant tried not to show his annoyance at this offhand greeting. 

"You are such a fucking idiot!" Rayne shook his head and limped into the downstairs front room where he slumped into the decrepit armchair closing his eyes. Ant followed with a studied frown on his face. 

"Is trying to get you out of this shithole such a stupid thing to do then?" he demanded. 

Rayne opened one eye and surveyed him listlessly. "I dunno why you're botherin', to be honest!"

Ant took in the ripped, rumpled jeans and the same gauzy shirt he had been wearing on Friday night. One sleeve was rolled up and there was a small, dark, painful looking bruise in the crook of his right arm. He curled up in the chair now, hugging his knees miserably and refusing to look at Ant.

"Do you think I want you to kill yourself?" the older man asked him vehemently. "Do you think I can, with all conscience, leave you here knowing that you're just going to get yourself deeper and deeper in a mess that you can't get out of?"

"I don't fuckin' care what you think!" Rayne lifted his hands to his ears and huddled up like an ammonite. "Leave me alone. You can't 'do' anythin'! John'll find a way to get me back, whatever. He's right, I can't manage without him. I can't do anythin'!"

"And you believe that, do you?" Ant moved around to the side of the chair and crouched down, reaching gently for the boy's hands. Rayne pulled away, curling up tighter. He made a little gurgling sound in the back of his throat, shaking his head. The girl watched them impassively from the doorway. 

"Listen to me," Ant said more firmly. "The other night I watched you get up on stage and you played and you sang and you were fucking great, so don't tell me that you can't do anything. You're a gorgeous kid, you're smart, you're mouthy and you could do so much with your life. Just let me get you out of here. Let me get you off the poison he's been filling your damned veins with."

Vivid, venomous green eyes stared out from the darkness between Rayne's skinny forearms. A tight little voice hissed; "It hurts too much. When I take Junk it stops it hurting for a while. I 'need' it."

"No you don't," Ant insisted in a gentler voice. "Trust me, Rayne. There are other ways to stop the pain, less lethal ways."

"They don't work," the boy looked down again, his forehead resting on the ripped knees of his jeans. Through the rents in the denim, Ant could see that his legs were still raw and scabbed. He ached to fold his arms around Rayne and just carry him out of here. "Nothin' works... nothin' else."

"It's making you ill," he protested weakly. "You need a break from it. I 'can' help you, you know. If you'll let me I can help you."

"You all want something from me! You're all as bad as one another!" Rayne's voice cracked and he made a little choking, sobbing noise and wrapped his arms tightly around his head, swaying back and forth frantically in the chair. 

"I don't want anything," Ant lied, feeling somewhat guilty but unable to say anything else that would help. "I only want you to get better and sort yourself out."

"Leave me alone. I wanna die." Rayne sniffed hard and refused to uncurl himself. 

"Someone wants his medicine," said a knowing voice from the hallway. 

Ant looked up to discover that the despondent looking girl had vanished. Rabid John was watching him expectantly in the doorway. Behind him was the tall, thin carrot-haired youngster who had accompanied Ant to the bank on Saturday morning, and chased him out with a knife in the small hours of Sunday. Now Ant rose to his feet, folding his arms defensively. 

"If you kept him off it for a while he might try and kick the habit on his own," he pointed out. 

"He'd be a pain in the arse, though," Johnno remarked, shaking his ratty mane. "Easier to give the little bitch what he wants. He works harder when he's a bit wired." He grinned lopsidedly. "You got my money, Big Fella?"

Ant shrugged; "Kind of."

"Kind of i'nt good enough," John flashed back. "You either got it or you 'aven't. What's it to be?"

"I've got five hundred, and security up to another fifteen...mmmm... twenty grand," Ant promised him, reaching for the backpack slung over his shoulder. 

Johnno's dark, shrewish eyes narrowed speculatively. "What 'kind' of security?" 

"I've got a boat, down at Commodity Quay. She's not been on the water for a bit but she's sound. I'll give you the keys and paperwork," he said fishing in the bag for the forms he had doctored during the morning. 

"What am 'I' gonna do with a fuckin' boat?" Johnno laughed, shaking his head. "Can't eat a boat, mate. It won't pay Sheila's Dealer!"

Ant kept his cool, producing the long, official looking envelope with the Waterways embossed stamp on it, into which he had slipped his faked documents. "She'll pay your interest for a fortnight, plus some. If we can't raise the rest of the cash in that time, you can sell her. I'm not bullshitting here, that vessel's worth at least fifteen grand."

He was aware that Rayne had unfurled and was looking at him with some bewilderment now. The boy's eyes were red, he had clearly been crying. Ant took a deep breath and handed him the document wallet. Then he produced a plain, A5 manila envelope and tossed it over towards Johnno. "There's five hundred quid in there. Take it or leave it."

"Fifteen grand?" John looked sceptical. He did not pick up the envelope, though the red-haired youth grabbed for it and began to count the cash at once. "What's the fucking catch, mate?"

"No catch. I tried to raise the money against another craft but it was going to take too long. I thought you'd rather do this the easy way. The fifteen's to cover your expenditure whilst you're looking for a buyer. It's up to you, of course. I can take her back." He reached for the envelope in Rayne's hands. The boy was already looking through the contents and he drew them out of Ant's reach automatically. 

"He's not spinning, John. This is... there's keys and everythin'. There's transfer documents and whatnot... Fuck!" He shook his head slowly. "Ant...!"

John came over and inspected the paperwork closely. He frowned a little, clearly not comprehending what he was looking at, but interested all the same.

"What do I do?" 

"Just fill in the bits with a cross next to them and I'll send them off to the proper authorities," Ant said reasonably. "You'll get a certificate back in about a week confirming the ownership. Then you can do whatever you like with her, mate."

"Show me this fuckin' boat," John growled softly. "This bit of paper could be anythin'."

GETTING AWAY WITH IT:

Ant and Rayne left John admiring the little cruiser in the Upper Pool and walked slowly back down towards Greenwich Reach as the afternoon turned steadily towards evening and the shadows lengthened. The boy looked rather perplexed but said very little. He did not look well, Ant thought and he wanted to get the kid settled for the night. They had a busy day ahead of them tomorrow and he did not want Rayne to be under the weather. 

"What exactly happened there?" the youngster asked him, once they were well away from Tower Bridge and Ant had begun to whistle cheerfully to himself. "Did you 'really' trade him a boat for me?"

"Kind of..." Ant told him with a little smile. "He thinks so, anyway. By the time he realises it's not his, we'll be well out of here."

Rayne stopped in his tracks, his mouth falling open. Ant halted and looked back at him with what he hoped was a soothing expression. 

"Are you out of your mind?" the boy exploded.

"It'll be okay, I promise. He won't be able to touch you."

"I wouldn't put money on that," Rayne exhaled, his eyes still wide and terrified. "He's gonna kill us 'both' when he finds out!"

"He'll have to find us first," Ant pointed out. 

"He came with us to your boat when I dropped my stuff off there on Saturday," Rayne reminded him warily. 

"That's why I moved it yesterday," Ant said, unflustered. "Come on, it's a bit further out than it was and we've got a lot to do before we go."

"Go where?" Rayne had not budged. "'Where' are we going?"

"I was thinking... mmmm..." Ant pretended to scratch his chin. "...maybe the South of France?"

"Are you insane?" Rayne was shaking his head warily now. 

"He's never going to think of looking for you there, is he?" Ant chuckled, refusing to be deflated. 

"There's a good reason for that. I haven't got a fuckin' passport!" the boy pointed out. 

"Then that's something else we'll have to sort out in the morning," Ant said cheerfully. "Don't look so worried. It'll be days before he knows we've ripped him off. Who knows, by then we might even be able to pay him back legitimately."

Rayne narrowed his eyes. "You're up to something!"

"I'm up to a lot of things, but I doubt that 'you' are right now, so you want to get some rest tonight. Don't worry so much." Ant swept an arm around him and walked him firmly back down the embankment towards Greenwich feeling immensely pleased with himself.

When they got back to the boat, Rayne shut himself in the bathroom for almost an hour and virtually exhausted the hot water supply. Ant kept busy making them both some dinner and contented himself with thoughts of France and the fun they were going to have out there. After a little while he tapped on the bathroom door but Rayne just yelled; "I won't be long!" 

He considered simply walking in and offering to wash the boy's back for him but in the end he turned away. The memory of this morning was still quite fresh in his mind. He could not shake off the image of Rayne curled up and shaking in that huge chair, as small as a child and just as vulnerable. If he used the kid now he was just as bad as Johnno; worse, even. When Rayne was ready he would know it. Until then, he decided valiantly, he could wait. 

Eventually the sound of running water ceased and after a short time the door opened and Rayne came out wearing a tired expression and Ant's soft, green bathrobe (which trailed on the floor at his feet). The older man felt his heart lurch at the sight of him. He was so sweet and sexy, even in such neutral attire, that Ant just wanted to sweep him off to bed and make gentle love to him all night.

"All right gorgeous?" he hailed the kid with a smile. "D'you like chilli? I've made a veggie one. Dunno what it'll taste like yet but you look like you could do with it."

"I'm not really all that 'ungry," Rayne said, but the defensive aggression was gone. He just sounded exhausted and frail.

"Just a bit," Ant coaxed, waving the steaming pan in a vague circle. "I can't eat it all on my own."

The lad offered a non-committal shrug but murmured; "I'll just get dressed then."

Ant left the pan to simmer and followed him into the bedroom. He hovered in the doorway for a little while as Rayne hunted through the bag they had brought from Canal Road the other night, the evening before he was repeatedly raped and abused at the gym. Now the older fellow swallowed his nausea at the thought of it. He was ashamed of himself for becoming aroused as he watched it happen. Seeing Rayne like this today hurt like a knife to the gut. He only wanted to see the boy smile again (and maybe moan with pleasure a little too).

Rayne wriggled the gown off his skinny shoulders and Ant winced at the bruises on his naked back. These were fresh blooms, inflicted since the gang-bang. Ant wanted to go right back round to Mile End and punch Johnno's lights out. As he moved out of the doorway, Rayne froze and looked up at him, his pale eyes wide and haunted. Then they darkened and narrowed with suspicion.

"Seen enough 'ave you?" The snarl was back in his tone, though the words were spoken quietly. 

"He won't ever do anything like that to you again," Ant responded automatically. "I'll make sure of it."

"'You' won't go near 'im," Rayne flashed back, snatching up a tee shirt and pulling it on, then stepping into a pair of unripped, black cords that hugged his skinny hips like latex. He glanced up once more as he tucked himself in rapidly then zipped and buttoned his fly. "I mean it, Ant. Stay away from him. He's trouble, and if he gets tired of tugging your fuckin' chain he's gonna rip your throat out."




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 04



"He's just a bully. I'm not scared of him," Ant said, folding his arms and looking as grim as he could. 

"He's a fuckin' homicidal maniac," Rayne corrected him, shaking his head. "Promise me you won't go back there, Ant. Please."

The vehemence faded from his voice on that last demand. As he turned those huge, melting eyes up towards his companion's face Ant wondered at the note he heard in that plea. Was it concern? Was Rayne actually worried about him? 

Wonders would never cease. 

"Come and eat," Ant instructed him, turning away. "And maybe I'll think about it."

Rayne picked at his food until most of it was cold. He managed to eat a few mouthfuls of rice and make that endeavour last for nearly half an hour. Ant emptied his plate into the bin after dinner muttering; "If my cooking's that bad you can say so."

"It's not bad," Rayne said atonally, his eyes fixed on the space where the plate had been. "It's okay. I'm just not... in the mood."

"How often do you eat?" Ant wanted to know as he rinsed the plates under the (now cold) hot tap. "I can't imagine he fed you well. You're skin and bone."

"I'm all right," Rayne mumbled, biting his nails distractedly. "You seemed to think so a few nights ago."

Ant wished he had not brought that up. The memory of Rayne's greedy mouth and tight, warm arse brought something else up and it refused to go back down again. "You can go to bed if you like," he offered, keeping his back to the boy. 

"I reckon I will." Rayne pushed himself to his feet and moved towards the bathroom. Ant heard him brushing his teeth, then the door hinges squeaked and his soft, slightly gruff voice murmured; "I'm sorry, I wasn' hungry. You're a pretty good cook, Ant."

"I know," he said without looking up, feeling the grin part his lips. 

"Night then." Rayne slipped into the bedroom before he could turn around and closed the door between them. 

A FUCK AT BEDTIME:

Ant gave him a bit of time to get settled. He contemplated sleeping on the couch but dismissed the idea quickly. It was not the most comfortable of sofas and a tad short for a good night's rest. Tomorrow would be a busy day and he needed to prepare for it, mentally and physically. When he let himself into the bedchamber at the prow of the boat the room was in darkness and he undressed quickly, dropping his clothes to the floor and slipping under the duvet immediately. He lay still for a while, listening to Rayne's rapid breathing, then whispered; "Are you okay?"

There was a little pause then the boy seemed to give up on the idea of pretending to sleep. 

"Yeah."

Ant turned onto his right side. "Can I hold you?"

For a moment silence was his only answer, then his bedmate exhaled; "I suppose so."

Encouraged, Ant wriggled closer and wrapped his arms around the young man. Rayne was completely nude; his groping hands quantified that immediately. He still felt cold and small in Ant's embrace and he pulled the boy towards him, kissing his cheek and his shoulders and the nape of his neck tenderly, rubbing his body against the lad's slim, sexy frame, unable to control his raging hard-on.

"I'm still sore," Rayne whispered huskily, conscious of that big cock between his legs. 

"It's okay... I'm not going to do anything you don't want," Ant breathed into his left ear. They lay together in silence for a little while, then he touched his lips to Rayne's cheek and murmured; "You do feel good though. I'd love to please you."

He felt his sexy young lover turn in his arms and Rayne's breath was a balmy breeze on his face as his lips sought out Ant's mouth. The touch was cold at first but the gradual friction of lip on lip soon thawed the ice. Rayne's minty tongue flickered temptingly in and out of his mouth and Ant responded. He sucked on it ravenously and let his own tongue delve deep between his lover's jaws. Instinctively they writhed against one another like mating eels. Ant's hands glided over the silken flesh of his companion's beautiful body, gripping and pulling him close. Rayne's slender arms snaked around his neck and he held on like a drowning thing as they kissed, rolling up onto Ant's belly and easing a slim thigh between his partner's legs. Ant tugged him in, parting his own thighs as the boy tumbled between them. He could feel that Rayne was getting hard and needy. His mouth still pressed fiercely against the youngster's wet lips, surging like a restless sea. 

When they parted he kissed his way lower, stroking his tongue over the sleek flesh of his mate's naked body. Rayne sighed delightedly and knelt over him as he explored with his mouth, sucking and biting the boy's stiff nipples until the younger man yelped with breathless pleasure then pressing his lips to the softness of his belly and kissing a slow, teasing route to the base of his hot young dick. He felt Rayne's hand in his dark blond hair, encouraging him physically as he sucked and licked his way slowly up that prominent shaft until his lips could enfold the throbbing glans and draw on it's velvety heat. 

The sighing gave way to a whimper of appreciation. Ant rolled him onto his back and moved up over him, nodding his head slowly so that he was stroking the boy's erection with his whole mouth, wrapping his tongue around it and swallowing those seven and half inches of lovely cock meat, a little at a time. He moaned incoherently, running his hands up the younger man's slim thighs and cupping his cheeks, feeling him up shamelessly. Rayne bucked into his mouth, thrusting between his lips as he was caressed and teased. 

"Oh god... yeah! Suck me off!" he huffed quietly, writhing from side to side like an energetic viper. 

Ant was not yet ready to do that but he carried on stroking for a little while, enjoying the boy's increasing arousal and the feel of his soft, warm body. Rayne's pre-cum tasted sharp and slightly bitter but his prick was pumping it out regularly enough to tell his lover that he was fiercely excited. Ant lifted his head slowly, releasing the boy's stiff young wand and letting it bob above his naked belly.

"Bastard!" Rayne squeaked, snatching for his hair again. "Don't stop!"

"It's not time yet," Ant soothed, kissing his inner thigh, loving the silkiness of the young man's bare skin against his wet lips. "You'll thank me for making you wait."

"Arsehole!" Rayne sank back into the soft mattress with a groan. 

"That's right." Ant knelt over him, rubbing his balls in steady circles on the boy's bare stomach and chest, easing his body higher and higher until Rayne's huffing breath was hot in his crotch. He felt the lad's tongue glide willingly over the root of his shaft then down around his nut-sac, tickling and tormenting him there. He groaned involuntarily as Rayne's jaws parted around his left testicle and the boy began to suck and lick his balls as though that was the only thing between himself and starvation. 

"Mmmmhhhh.... Yesssss!" Ant hissed approvingly. "Eat me... lick me out... make me cum."

Rayne's tongue wormed craftily behind his sac and skated back and forth across his scrotum, sending little shivers of uncontrollable need through his body. Ant could feel his legs shaking and knew he would have to collapse onto the boy's pretty face and fuck his hot mouth before long. In the meantime Rayne was priming his arsehole with that skilful tongue, wriggling it up and down his hot crack and blowing softly on his glistening, wet rosebud, making it twitch and spasm eagerly. His clever fingers closed around Ant's cock and pumped it, slowly at first then more urgently as his tongue wormed deeper. Ant quivered with sexual tension as the boy licked his sensitive orifice and teased it until he opened like a flower in spring. He moaned his appreciation as the younger man's agitating tongue entered his rectum and he felt Rayne's hot mouth on his spincter, kissing and sucking his arsehole relentlessly. 

"Aaahhhh... oh boy... yeah... yeah!" he huffed as the boy explored his arse and fisted his cock vigorously. Even weak and tired, drugged to his eyeballs, the lad was a skilled lover. Ant was ready to shoot his seed into that pumping hand. "I'm cummin'!"

He felt Rayne's tongue slip out of his arse and glide between his heavy nuts up the underside of his big, fat nine inch boner, even as his balls lifted and clenched, ready to pump out their load. Rayne twisted and moved to his knees between Ant's legs. As he began to ejaculate, the boy's soft lips touched around the thick, swollen head of his throbbing penis and Ant squirted a massive payload into Rayne's sexy mouth and over his pretty face. The lad was still pumping Ant's cock with one hand, urging more spunk out of his tool. Ant looked down and even in the dark of the bedroom he could see that Rayne was wanking himself with the other hand. He reached for the boy's hips and pulled him closer. 

Rayne Wylde might have been a skinny little creature but he had a lovely young cock and Ant began to stroke it for him now. He guided the throbbing head to his well-licked hole as he rubbed and squeezed it. Rayne made a small, appreciative noise in the back of his throat and bent over his lover, spreading Ant's legs eagerly. 

"Fuck me!" Ant gasped and felt the boy's fingers close around his thighs, urging his knees up to his chest as he pressed his hard tool into the older fellow's body, getting it in at the first attempt and bucking it deeper at once. He could hear Rayne panting rapidly as he began to fuck hard. His lovely young rod surged like a well-oiled piston into Ant's hole and he moaned with delight as the beautiful boy bent over him and screwed him with a will, proving once more that he most certainly was not a child. Ant squirmed and struggled as that delicious, thrusting cock pounded away inside him, pushing his arse more eagerly into Rayne's groin, determined to get every last inch of dick up his chute. The glossy head of the boy's member was shunting up against that fabulously sensitive spot deep inside him and he cried out more frantically, with less restraint, as his own penis stiffened and swelled again, responding to the surge of pleasure within him. "Oh god... fuck me... cum in me!" he begged, shameless in his moment of need. "Fill me with your hot cream!"

Rayne did not speak although he uttered wordless yelps and growls of need as he bent over his submissive mate and fucked him savagely until the sweat ran off his naked body in rivers. Ant could almost taste his desperation. He hooked his knees over the boy's shoulders and felt Rayne bend into him, both hands on his shoulders, bucking faster and more wildly. His cries became moans, then sobs. Ant squirted again, a great uncontrollable surge of cum that tightened his body and left him trembling and helpless. He felt Rayne push deep and hard, one final time, into his bowels and collapse into his arms, filling his loins with a rush of heat. Though he uttered no more than a whimpering growl of released tension it vibrated through his lean, nude body like a minor earthquake. Slumped there like a rag doll, he lay huffing with exhaustion in his lover's warm embrace.

Ant's hands roamed consolingly over his hot, sweat-soaked back and buttocks, even as Rayne wilted between his legs, still deep inside him. They were both sticky and wet with cum and perspiration. Ant lowered his knees and ran his bare feet down the boy's naked back and over his perky young bum. His rectum was spasming and twitching restlessly. He could feel Rayne's half-hard dick throbbing in his passage. His lover's heartbeat was a violent kicking against his lower ribs. Rayne's mouth reached up for his own, salty wet and delicious and they began to kiss, long and slow like creatures in a dream until the boy's cock started pulsing within him once more, growing bigger and fatter until it filled his arsehole to capacity. They rubbed and writhed against one another. At one point, Ant wrapped himself around Rayne and rolled him onto his back, riding the boy's hard penis slowly; easing himself up and down on the lad's gorgeous boner. 

He did not care if he never came again, this felt sublime. It was all he needed, the warmth of his naked lover beneath him and inside him. Ant closed his eyes and kept rocking himself back and forth. 

Ant did not recall if he reached climax. He fell asleep, lulled by the rhythm of their sex and woke around dawn with Rayne in his arms, dead to the world, his hair and soft skin sticky with spilled cum. He looked like a delicious slutty angel, so easy and relaxed in Ant's huge bed. The older man reached into his bedside cabinet for the bottle of lube he had left there the other day when they played dirty games together with his chunky, eleven-inch dildo. 

Carefully he poured lube over his sticky, half-erect cock and worked it with one hand until it was slick and slippery and rock hard. The big, purple knot of his cock-head made it look like a meaty bone in his hand. Certainly plenty of grateful partners of both sexes had enjoyed the way it locked his huge tool into their holes and stimulated them deep inside. Smiling at the memories, he poured some more lube into his palm and rubbed his fingers in it before sliding them between Rayne's legs and easing them into his anus. The boy was still quite loose from last night's massive gang-bang and whatever Johnno had inflicted on him back at the squat (Ant's imagination ran riot, picturing Johnno and a couple of his young thugs holding Rayne down, spreading his legs as he struggled and pleaded on a filthy mattress, all to no avail). It was easy enough to penetrate him digitally. The youngster tossed and turned in the pillows, his pale face sweaty and hot as Ant frigged him, working two then three slippery fingers deeper into his arsehole. Dark hair clung to his cheeks as he began to come round, sexy lips parting around a quicker, deeper breath; long lashes fluttering restlessly. 

Ant withdrew his fingers and spread the boy's legs, ready and eager for some urgent anal satisfaction. As he felt Rayne start to wake he pressed his fat, glistening cock head between the boy's cheeks and popped it easily into his submissive young mate. From Ant's point of view a bad experience needed to be overcome as quickly as possible. The longer he left this the harder it would be to persuade Rayne that a big hard cock would feel good up his bum. The simplest method of persuasion was to deliver a good hard wake-up fuck. This was what he did. 

Rayne's lips parted and he groaned with mingled pain and pleasure as that big member filled and stretched his sore young hole, thrusting vigorously in and out of him. Ant took his time, enjoying the snug warmth of his bedmate's well-fucked anus. When Rayne was clearly awake but making no effort to stop him having his way, he pulled out slowly and rolled the naked boy onto his belly, straddling him quickly.

"Aaahhhh..." Rayne exhaled as he was re-entered from behind and treated to a good, slow, deep fucking. He began to rub his crotch into the mattress hungrily. "Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Do it harder, you bastard!"

Ant was only too willing. Holding Rayne's slim hips in both hands he started to hump the naked boy quickly and furiously, bucking his big hard rod into the lad's sexy hole over and over. In this position he could watch his lovely big purple boner moving in and out of Rayne's hot, juicy passage with short, fast, slippery strokes. The youngster was groaning with satisfaction, one hand under his crotch, pumping hard at his own throbbing dick as he was fucked. The combination of position and vibration brought Ant to a speedy climax inside him and he pulled out slowly, enjoying the way his spunk spilled out of the boy's gaping rectum and trickled down his saucy, hairless crack and over his rapidly-spasming balls. 

Rayne rolled onto his back and carried on pumping his own rod and balls with both hands for a few moments more as Ant watched. Uttering a shuddering gasp he squirted a fountain of thin, creamy spunk that splattered over his stomach and chest. The exhalation was a long moan of relief. 

"Dirty bitch," Ant chuckled appreciatively and began to lick him clean. He was going to have to look lovely and hot for his passport photograph. 

TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE?

"It says here that I need the signatures of two unrelated, professional people who have known me for more than a year." Rayne was squinting at the form they had picked up at the Post Office earlier in the day, which he had been diligently filling in since they reached the end of the personal applications queue at the Passport Authority Offices. They had obtained sixteen photographs from a booth in Kings Cross station, taken whilst Ant crouched beside him, off camera, firstly stroking then sucking his cock behind the curtain. In the last four Rayne was climaxing uncontrollably. They then took eight more pictures of him blowing Ant's huge erection and taking a face-full of cum in the same booth. Ant was currently enjoying the pictures whilst his lover filled in the requisite paperwork. 

"Here..." Ant held out his hand for the form and filled out both of the reference sections, one in his own name and the other in the name of Daniel Leland. He gave his occupation as Personal Therapist and in the other box wrote Solicitor.

"Won't they check?" Rayne asked sceptically. 

"They might do," Ant admitted. "But I've given my number as the phone box down the street so I'll wait for you there just in case. Dan's cool, he'll okay anything if he thinks there might be money in it for him."

"Is he really a solicitor?" Rayne enquired. 

"He solicits good looking young lads, gets them drunk and naked and photographs them in hot, horny situations," Ant explained with a grin. "Then he sells the pictures to porn magazines."

"And he's a friend of yours?" Rayne raised his eyebrows sceptically. 

"One of the best!" Ant grinned again. 

Rayne Wylde just shook his head a shade too knowingly and uttered a sigh of resignation. 

It took a little over three hours to get his passport processed and by the time he was clutching the precious document in his hand Rayne felt as though he had been put through an emotional mangle and left out to dry. Someone showed him the way back out to the street and he wandered aimlessly along it for a few minutes until Ant spotted him from the telephone kiosk and ran after him. He thought the boy looked unsteady as he drew level and steered him to a bench within a nearby bus shelter where they sank down together. 

"You okay?"

Rayne nodded slowly, as if this was something he had to think about. 

"I feel a bit sick," he said at last. "I reckon it was the air conditioning in there. It's a bloody 'orrible place to have to wait."

"You got the passport though?"

The younger man pulled a small, dark red wallet from his trouser pocket and waved it demonstratively before tucking it away again. "I'm gonna throw up," he groaned, and that was all the warning Ant got before he doubled over with his arms wrapped around his slender body, coughing up a pool of yellowish bile that was mostly cum, with a little white rice thrown in. 

"We have got to get you straightened out," Ant tutted, stroking dark hair back from the youngster's ashen face. "Does that feel better?"

Rayne only shook his head and buried his face in his cupped hands. They sat in silence for a while, Ant avoiding the grim, disapproving stares of other bus passengers whilst Rayne huddled up in blissful ignorance. Two buses came and went before the older man attempted to rouse him. 

"We can't sit here all night. It's not even our stop. Do you think you can walk?"

"I feel a bit wobbly," Rayne muttered. He coughed and spat with a disgusted grimace. "I'd kill for a glass of water."

Ant cautioned him to stay put and ran across the road to a newsagent's shop for a bottle of Volvic. When he got back the boy had gone. Cursing, Ant stared wildly up and down the bustling street hoping for some sign of the kid but he had vanished without leaving a trace beyond the pool of drying vomit in the shelter. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 04



He searched every place he could think of; the Underground Station, taxi ranks, surrounding pubs. Rayne had no money in so far as he was aware so he was not going to have gone far. He came back to the shelter once or twice in the vain hope that his flaky little mate had just wandered off in search of somewhere to piss and later returned to wait. There was only a rotund, elderly lady at the stop when he got there. He asked if she had seen a skinny boy with black hair but she shook her head and edged away as if he was a dangerous lunatic. Ant guessed that he was perhaps a bit hyper. At last he gave up the wait and set off back towards Greenwich feeling betrayed. 

He had given up half his savings for Rayne Wilde in one week alone and this was how the little slut repaid him. Christ, he had even bought the kid a passport. He might be anywhere by now.

It was past six thirty when he got back to the boat and let himself in. Mysteriously, all Rayne's gear was still here. That was the part he could not get his head around. Why would he go off and leave his stuff, especially his precious guitar?

Ant was still brooding over this several hours later when someone knocked on the hatch-cover, tentatively at first then again, more forcefully. He set down a glass of brandy and wove towards the steps, unbolting the hatch and flinging it back to stare up into the pale, stern features of a young policeman. 

"Mr Wright?" the copper enquired wearily. 

"Err... yeah. What's wrong?"

"We've got your son in the car," the officer told him with a shake of his head. 

"My... my 'son'?" Ant blinked at him. 

The Policeman treated him to a knowing glance, probably coloured by the fact that he stank of cheap cognac and clearly had no idea what was being said to him. "We picked him up at King's Cross for soliciting. He says that he was just having a laugh and he wasn't serious but we've given him a caution. He shouldn't be wandering about the streets late at night on his own, sir."

"Umm... no... absolutely!" Ant peered over the lip of the hatch towards the wharf where a Panda car was waiting. Rayne stood meekly beside it, biting his lower lip and staring up at him with huge, luminous eyes. 

"Where the hell did you disappear to?" Ant demanded, hoping the Policeman would dismiss his outburst as parental wrath. He was also fuming quietly at the officer's placid acceptance that he could be Rayne's father. They looked nothing alike. He was less than fifteen years the boy's senior, certainly not old enough for parental responsibility.

"I thought you'd gone without me. I went to look for you and I got lost," Rayne said apologetically. He glanced up at the Policeman with a helpless smile. "It's my first time in London. I've only been staying with my dad for a couple of days."

"You want to keep a closer eye on him, sir," the young man admonished and Ant managed to look penitent until he had Rayne on board and he heard the car pull away.

"What the hell was all that about?" he raged, letting the hatch-cover slam shut and throwing the bolts across furiously. "I was worried to death about you. I hadn't the faintest idea where you'd gone."

Rayne stared at him, surprised and vulnerable. He backed away until the width of the room separated them. Ant noted that he was more in control of himself than he had appeared earlier.

"I looked up and you'd gone. I didn't see where you went so I walked back up the road to try and find you. Then I went back to the bus stop but you weren't there so I walked back down towards Kings Cross," he volunteered rapidly, his voice light and boyishly nervous. "I thought you might come back that way but you didn't, so I tried to scrounge enough money to get the tube back up here and that's when the cops busted me for hustling."

"You've been gone for hours," Ant protested. "Do you seriously expect me to believe that?"

"It's the truth," Rayne pouted sullenly. "Why would I come back if I was lying?"

Ant threw up his hands then turned away shaking his head. He did not want to try and answer that one. There were too many suspicions raging in his head at the moment. 

"You look better," he remarked dryly. 

"I begged enough money for a cheese sarnie at the station and the bloke at the cop shop got me a cup of tea and a Mars Bar," the boy said quietly. 

"Your appetite's back then?" Ant looked over one shoulder at him suspiciously.

"I reckon I needed the sugar." Rayne's expression was defiantly innocent.

"How old did you tell them you were?" the older man wanted to know. Rayne had certainly lied to one of them about his age. If he was twenty years old the police would not have wasted time bringing him back here, surely. 

His companion looked down uncomfortably. "Fifteen," he said in a small voice. His head came up again immediately; "If I'd told them the truth they'd have charged me for hustling, Ant."

"So instead you make me look like a right irresponsible git in front of the Old Bill! Thanks a lot!" Ant exploded again. 

"I'm sorry, Ant. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I was just freaked out. I didn't think they'd arrest me!"

When he turned around again the boy was at his shoulder, those huge eyes fixed on him wide and unblinking. Rayne's lips parted in a little sigh, soft and glossy and utterly kissable. Ant drew in a quick breath, then another. Moments later they were on the floor together and he was ripping Rayne's clothes off. The boy did not resist, not even when he was thrown onto his belly, his legs were spread roughly apart and Ant began to buck into him like a wild animal. Quickly he filled the youngster's dry, tight hole with cock and fucked him savagely.

Rayne moaned his assent quietly. He did not fight, nor did he encourage Ant's possession of his slender body, he was simply dormant and submissive until the older man had thrust all the irritability out of his balls and pumped a satisfying flood of hot cum into him. As Ant sank down on top of him and rolled off to the side, he cradled his pale face in his arms and murmured; "Now we're even again."

"You've a long way to go before we're even," Ant grunted, shaking his head. "You've cost me a fortune this week kid. Tonight is just the start!"

EUROSTAR:

So it was that the morning saw Ant at Waterloo Station, as planned, with a small holdall slung over one shoulder and an enthusiastic smile on his face. Rayne had found a trolley for his bags and his guitar case, which he refused to leave behind, in spite of Ant's assurances that it would be safe on the boat until they returned from France. Whilst they were waiting to check in he had bought the kid a small, inexpensive, silver suitcase on wheels, tired of constantly having to stop and pick up things that had fallen out of carrier bags as they hurried through the underground. His companion seemed inordinately pleased with his new toy and spent the next thirty minutes carefully arranging his meagre possessions inside it. This preoccupied him until it was time to go through to the boarding lounge for the Eurostar to Lille.

"I've never been to France," Rayne said for the fifteenth time that morning as they received their boarding cards and had their passports checked. The woman in the control kiosk just smiled at him and wished him a pleasant first journey, clearly accustomed to childlike banalities.

They bought a couple of beers at the bar and Ant put a proprietary arm around his lover as they sat waiting to board. He still had a slight headache from the brandy last night but Rayne's almost boyish excitement had alleviated some of his darker humours. They had fucked again this morning before setting out, this time in the shower with the aid of lubrication. Ant was still tingling from the memories of Rayne's firm, sexy body bucking back against him under the hot spray, feeling tight and wet and welcoming around his thrusting dick. It was all he could do not to kiss and stroke Rayne encouragingly then suggest that they slip into the Gents' for a few moments before they had to board. 

Working on the sugar theory, he bought the young man a number of chocolate bars for the journey, which were well received and stowed in his small backpack for later. Ant could not help imagining how it would feel to gently tool his young lover with a melting chocolate probe, then lick and suck the sweetness from his mouth and rectum as they sprawled naked together on a huge bed. When they found their seats in the spacious, comfortable carriage and Rayne sprawled opposite him with a magazine spread out on the table, innocently nibbling on the end of a Twix finger, Ant very nearly creamed his pants.

They had the table to themselves throughout the short journey to Lille, as the train was far from crowded. Rayne kicked his boots off and put his feet in Ant's lap as they thundered into the Channel Tunnel at Ashford. The boy was wearing the lacy shirt from the gig the other night, over a short, tight t-shirt that showed off his belly and snug black jeans. The logo in small, white letters across his chest read 'eat me'. The older man stroked his legs and feet possessively as they descended into the darkness of the tunnel, trying not to imagine what it would feel like to suck Rayne's cock and eat out his arse. 

Rayne declared that the tunnel was like a rollercoaster ride, though he seemed a bit dismayed by it at first. Ant tickled him until he relaxed and his laughter threatened to disrupt the rest of the carriage, after which they were a pair of unrepentant sinners all the way to Lille. Rayne seemed so utterly changed from the miserable, trembling thing he had been yesterday that Ant almost convinced himself it was probably just a bug that had laid him so low. Whatever the cause, he was apparently over it now.

"Unfasten your pants and stroke your cock," he whispered challengingly as he caressed Rayne's left foot and ankle in both hands. 

The boy stared back at him with mingled shock and glee, shaking his head vigorously. After a few moments of Ant's unrelenting gaze, he blushed and wriggled a hand into the front of his jeans, stoking himself rapidly until someone walked up the middle of the carriage. Ant almost choked with laughter at the speed with which his young lover extricated himself. Rayne pointed a warning finger at him but he was giggling too.

Ant rose and came to sit next to him, sliding his arms around the boy so that he could kiss and fondle his beautiful young mate. They were joined at the mouth so intently that when the train surfaced in France they did not even come up for air.

Rayne wriggled out of his arms with a hard on and vanished to the loo about ten minutes before they were due to make their connection. Ant hesitated then went after him but could not find his cubicle. He locked himself in alone and had a quick, productive wank, imagining Rayne doing the same, his jeans around his thighs and his t-shirt pulled up to his stiff, young nipples. When he got back to their seats there was still no sign of the kid. He was gone for so long Ant began to worry that he would miss the stop. Finally, as the train groaned to a halt in the subterranean gloom of Lille-Europe he came rushing back to their table, swearing softly and apologising for having been such a time. There was a gleam in his eyes that was more than just boyish enthusiasm. For the first time that day, Ant experienced a moment's trepidation.

ORIGINAL SIN:

Lille was a hive of humanity. Their train south was not scheduled to leave for nearly two hours so Ant allowed himself to be talked into a little excursion. Outside on the plaza beyond the station buildings there was a skateboard tournament in full swing. Rayne draped himself over the railings to watch the kids with their hand-painted boards executing life-threatening manoeuvres on the precipitous ramps that had been erected in the square between the station and the city. Bent forward, with his shirt and t-shirt riding up to his ribs and his pert, denim clad bottom swaying back and forth to some tune only he could hear he seemed to be begging for a fuck. His companion did not miss the appreciative glances his backside got from many of the men who passed them by.

Ant watched him possessively, determined not to let him out of sight for a moment. When the boy appeared to grow bored with the aerobatics down below he laid a commanding hand on his young lover's arm and whispered; "What you say we book a room in that hotel across the Plaza for an hour?"

"You've got a one track mind," Rayne pointed out with a little sigh. 

"That's because you've got a gorgeous, sexy body and I can't keep my hands off it," Ant promised him. "Besides, if we don't get a room, I'm gonna have to find somewhere nice and quiet for you to give me a blow-job. My cock's so hard it's gonna burst my zipper wide open pretty soon."

They walked back through the station and dropped their bags at Left Luggage before exploring the bustling streets. The shopping mall was a non-starter. There was not a quiet corner to be found. Ant suggested finding a boutique with a changing cubicle but Rayne got the giggles once they were inside, pretending to find things to try on. The assistant began to glare at them and they beat a hasty retreat. 

On one of the streets leading away from the station they passed a tall, white stone church whose doors stood open revealing a flash of dark, shadowy aisles and the occasional glimmer of stained glass angels. Ant was already walking by but Rayne caught his hand and towed him back towards the doorway. 

"What are you doing?" he hissed, shaking his head at once. 

"I thought you were horny!" Rayne's luminous green eyes glittered a challenge. "I'll bet it's quiet. Come on, we can check it out at least."

Ant tried to resist but his young lover was already in the doorway, then the darkness swallowed him and he had no choice but to follow. Within the portal the air was cool and resonant with wax polish and incense. It was the scent of old stones and altars that took him back to his childhood and the chapel at school. There was not a soul to be seen apart from Rayne, who was standing in the middle of the nave, in a pool of coloured light from one of the intricate windows, his head thrown back and his pale face lifted to the high, vaulted ceiling. 

"Wow!" he breathed as Ant joined him. "This is..." 

He did not finish the sentence but held out his hands, palms upward in a gesture that was almost beatific. For a moment he was a beautiful, dark angel, poised in the midst of all this sacred architecture. Then his head tilted and he flashed a wicked grin at his companion, a devil once more. 

"Were you an altar boy?"

"I... er..." Ant cast a wary glance around him then shook his head. "I was in the choir."

"Did the Choirmaster ever try to cop a feel? You hear about stuff like that." Rayne came back towards him, balancing on his toes, lifting his face up to Ant's for a kiss. His mouth felt deliciously warm against Ant's own lips. He pulled away all too quickly, towing the older man in his wake. "Was it an all boys' school?"

"Yeah," Ant whispered, his lips still tingling from the kiss. He was throbbing at the memories of furtive schoolboy circle jerks after lights out and mutual masturbation under the bedclothes with his closest friend.

"Thought so," Rayne said mysteriously.

"Why?" Ant tried to slow him down as they climbed up to the choir stalls beyond the pulpit.

"You just seem like a public school boy, that's all." Those huge green eyes looked back at him, daring him to comment, then Rayne was ducking down between the tall, carved rows of pews. Ant crouched beside him, his mouth dry and his heart pounding whilst Rayne knelt as if he was about to pray and reached for his fly. His eyes scanned the aisles below through carved vents in the screen as the boy's soft, warm hands freed his throbbing cock from his pants, then Rayne bent his head in supplication and his breath was a quick whisper of sultry air in Ant's crotch, driving all further questions out of his head.

Ant moved down onto one knee, resting his hands quickly on Rayne's dark head as he felt the lad's lips and tongue begin to stroke and suck on his throbbing penis. He was trembling with combined anticipation and anxiety as he gave the boy this unholy communion; the swollen head of his massive host thrusting urgently in Rayne's willing mouth. He felt a glob of pre-cum ooze from the eye of his tool, then another and his balls clenched fiercely. The boy's throat tightened around the head of his cock as he swallowed a mixture of spunk and saliva then Ant was pushing his head down and pressing his aching boner deep into his lover's gullet as he pumped it full of hot cum. Quivers of satisfaction ran from his loins to his fingertips as the youngster's lips parted and he tried to gasp for breath with his mouth still full of cock-meat. His slim body was vibrating and as Ant leaned back and pulled part of the way out of his mouth he was able to see that Rayne had one hand in his own pants and was stroking himself furiously. 

"You horny little bitch," he exhaled delightedly. 

Rayne said nothing, only looped one arm around Ant's neck and kissed him hard on the mouth. Ant could still taste the saltiness of his semen on the boy's lips and tongue. He groped for Rayne's erection and rubbed it urgently for him until the slut began to gasp and protest under his breath. Just before he was sure the boy was going to explode in his hand, Ant ducked beneath the back of the pew and took Rayne's throbbing glans in his mouth, gobbling down the delicious flood of cum that was released as soon as his lips touched Rayne's cock. 

The beautiful boy knelt bolt upright and shuddered violently as he reached orgasm. He uttered a long, low groan through clenched teeth, his eyes closed tightly, head flung back. His fingers gripped and released Ant's shoulders for a little while until the older man rose and kissed his exposed neck and throat gratefully. 

"You are so delicious," he whispered in reverent tones. 

Rayne's eyes glittered like jewels as they opened wide and he stared into the darkness overhead. In a voice no louder than a breath he asked; "Am I evil?"

"That was nothing," Ant promised, his lips close to his lover's ear. "Now, if you'd sunk down on the altar, begged me to strip you naked and fuck your gorgeous arsehole 'til you screamed..."

Rayne looked him in the eye, a definite wicked gleam there. When Ant stopped, the boy snaked around him and kissed him long and hard on the mouth.

"Fuck me in the confession box," he whispered into his lover's mouth. 

"It's not a Catholic Church. Only good Catholics make confession," Ant apologised wishing they'd taken the time to find a suitable house of God. He contemplated laying Rayne down on the floor behind the altar and fucking him anyway but his companion settled the matter by rising and fastening his fly then wandering off through the still, sanctified gloom like a fallen angel surveying something he could never touch. He looked beautiful and sad, Ant thought, watching him go, perplexed by his ephemeral moods. 

END OF PART FOUR



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 05



CHAPTER FIVE - DANS LE SUR:

© Sadie Rose Bermingham 2005 

"There's not a lot you can do to alleviate the boredom of a long train journey. Or is there? Ant and Rayne and some new friends take time to find out!"

***THIS STORY IS SUBMITTED FOR SOLE PUBLICATION ON LITEROTICA.COM. IF IT SHOWS ITS HORNY FACE ON ANY OTHER SITE OR IN ANY OTHER PUBLICATION WITHOUT THE STATED PERMISSION OF THE AUTHORS IT HAS BEEN STOLEN. BE WARNED THAT WE TAKE THEFT OF OUR MATERIAL VERY SERIOUSLY INDEED.***




The train south was busier than the Eurostar had been. It had an upper and lower deck, another new experience for Rayne. He sat upstairs glued to his window at first, staring out as the patchwork of farmlands and industrial northern Europe flashed past. Ant pointed out the sprawl of Paris and the distant Eiffel Tower rising up from the horizon as they thundered by and his young companion made enthusiastic noises but gradually he tired of watching the view. Rayne began to fidget, shifting constantly in his seat. He thumbed through his magazine again, subdued now that the initial novelty had worn off. At last he folded the pages and closed his eyes. For an hour or so, Rayne slept, with his head against Ant's shoulder and the older man's arm around him, holding him protectively. 

At Lyon two young men in casual suits boarded and sat in the vacant places at their table. They had a laptop computer, which they began to play with as soon as their jackets and bags were stowed away and the train was moving, chuckling and murmuring in French over some image on the screen. Ant tried to ignore them but he grew aware of the fact that one of them, the taller of the pair, a handsome fellow whose mahogany hair was slicked back from his face with gel, kept stealing glances at his sleeping companion. He was not sure whether to be irritated or pleased with himself.

As their eyes met the stranger smiled knowingly at him and asked a question which he only half understood. When Ant faltered on the response, he asked again in English.

"You are going south?" 

"Yeah." Ant nodded quickly. 

"For holiday? ‘Together'?" The stress he put on the final word indicated more than just familiarity.

"We're on holiday, yeah." Ant stroked Rayne's cheek with the backs of his fingers and the boy snuggled unconsciously closer.

"To Agde?" the young man enquired, a little too knowingly. "Or Toulouse?"

"Agde." Ant caught the other Frenchman glancing at him now. He was blond and clean-cut with big blue eyes and he smelled delicious. His pale fringe flopped over his brow like a spill of milk. Ant thought he looked very young. "I've a friend there. We're staying with him."

"Agde is hot right now. Are you going to the Cap?" the blond almost whispered.

"My friend has a seventy foot cruiser at Ambonne," Ant told him, as much to see to the expression on his face as anything else. They both appeared suitably impressed. Now the older guy looked pointedly at Rayne. 

"You should keep him on a leash if you take him to Ambonne. Every gay guy there is gonna want to fuck him once he gets naked." His pale grey eyes moved from Rayne to Ant's face contemplatively. "I'm Christophe, he's Thierry. It's our third year at the Cap." 

As Ant introduced himself and Rayne, Christophe reached over to shake his hand, whispering conspiratorially; "Have you fucked him yet or are you waiting until you get him to the Cap?"

Ant felt his heart and cock quicken. He stroked Rayne's spiky hair tenderly and the boy uttered a sleepy little noise and squirmed in his loose embrace. 

"If you had him in your bed for a whole week could ‘you' keep out of him?" he asked quietly, noting the quirk of Christophe's lips. "I thought I'd better break him in first."

The pair opposite exchanged a look and the blond grinned and almost blushed. His older companion turned the laptop slightly to show Ant what they had been looking at. On the screen was an explicit photograph of a naked, blindfolded youth, his lean, tanned body restrained in a black leather harness and cuffs so that his arms were strapped behind him. There was a black rubber ball gag in his mouth and he was sitting astride a tall, metal stool with his ankles strapped to the legs, looking back over one shoulder. A string of bright red anal beads hung from his exposed crack like a curious tail.

Ant felt his cock stir in his pants as he looked at the image. The older Frenchman pressed a key and the picture changed so that it showed the young man side on. The harness ran down the middle of his bared chest and over his belly. There was a cock ring at the base of it and the boy's erect penis and shaved balls protruded through it, kept hard and swollen by the tightness of the ring. 

"You like?" Christophe asked with a smug smile as Ant adjusted his jeans. Rayne stirred against his shoulder but did not wake. 

"Yeah," he breathed. "That's good."

"There are clubs, many places at the Cap where you can enjoy boys like this. Your boyfriend... does he also like to play this way?" Christophe had a gleam in his eye. "Does he like to be tied up when you fuck?"

He pressed the ‘enter' key again and the image on screen shifted. The young man was kneeling, with his arms still pinioned behind him. He was on a tight leash attached to a heavy leather collar around his neck. Christophe knelt behind him, naked except for black leather studded gauntlets and a cock strap. His erect penis was half embedded in the boy's arsehole, glistening with lube. With the blindfold off, Ant realised that the submissive was Thierry. His hair was dark in the pictures and he was wearing eye make-up and lipstick.

Ant wondered how old he was. If Christophe had been fucking him for three years he must have been very young the first time. He thought but was not sure that the age of gay consent in France was only 15. Now his cock was painfully hard in his pants as Christophe showed him more pictures of Thierry riding his dick and sucking it. There were a couple of photographs taken in a club showing the nude Thierry with his wrists cuffed to his thighs, sucking the cocks of naked men in harnesses whilst Christophe held his leash and caressed his cheek with a long handled whip.

"Don't you mind?" he asked incredulously. "Doesn't it make you jealous watching other men having him?"

For an answer, Christophe showed him a photograph of the pair of them, facing each other, Thierry bent forward sucking Christophe's cock whilst two naked muscle queens fucked them both in the arse.

"Would you not like to watch your slut doing that?" he whispered eagerly. "At the Cap you will not be short of volunteers to help you satisfy him."

Ant rubbed his cock as he thought of the other night in Soho. There was a damp patch to the left of his zipper where his throbbing head had been rubbing against his fly. Daniel had told him that the resort where his boat was moored was a hedonist's playground but he had not mentioned fetish bars. He wondered what Rayne would make of that. Even as he contemplated it, the younger man stretched and rubbed his eyes with the backs of his knuckles. Christophe was looking greedily at him again. 

"Do his headmaster or his father know you have run away with him?" he asked now, mischievously. 

"He's not a schoolboy," Ant said defiantly. "I know he looks really young but he's old enough to look after himself."

Rayne's head tilted back against his chest and the boy looked up at him sleepily, then seemed to realise that he was the object of scrutiny. He struggled upright and ran a hand through his soft, spiky, sable hair, blinking away the fog of sleep. His hand moved to the breast pocket of his jacket and he patted it urgently then seemed to calm down. Thierry whispered something in French and Christophe nodded wordlessly. He had not taken his eyes off Rayne since the young man started to wake.

"I'm not a fuckin' freak-show," Rayne Wilde said icily at last. Then he noticed the laptop for the first time. His eyes widened momentarily and his soft, bloodless lips parted around a silent exclamation. Ant bit back a smile. 

"Rayne, this is Christophe and his young friend is Thierry. They're going to the same place we are," he explained mildly. "Christophe was just showing me some of the pictures they took last year."

His sexy companion glanced at him rather sceptically he thought. 

"Lovely," he said, with more than a hint of sarcasm. 

"'You' are very lovely, Rayne," Christophe told him, sitting back with a serpentine smile. His eyes never left the young Englishman's face. "Very beautiful, like your name. Before you woke, your friend was just about to tell us how good you are in his bed. I am wondering if he maybe needed to gag you before he first pushed his cock into your tight hole. Do you scream when he is fucking you, Rayne?"

Ant's fingers stroked the back of his lover's neck soothingly. He could see that the boy was irritated by this interrogation. 

"I don't scream at all," Rayne said acerbically, resting his elbows on the table and staring at the picture on the laptop screen. "What you did on your holidays, huh?"

"You like that?" Christophe licked his lips. 

"It's not my cup of tea," Rayne Wilde looked back at him without blinking. Then his gaze moved slowly to Thierry, who blushed again as Rayne tapped his image on the screen. "Is that you?" 

"Oui." The boy nodded then looked away. "Yes."

"Does he pay you to do that?" Rayne asked, biting his lower lip to hide a sudden, knowing smile. Ant murmured his name in a low, warning tone. 

"Non... I like..." Thierry's cerulean stare returned more boldly. His English was not as confident as Christophe's but he was not as shy as he pretended to be. 

"Do you like getting fucked?" Rayne made no attempt to lower his voice. Across the aisle an elegantly dressed, middle aged woman peered over her reading glasses at him rather critically, then returned to her book. 

Thierry just nodded and Rayne sank back into his seat, observing the young Frenchman through narrowed, speculative eyes. 

"I'd fuck you," he said at last. "I'd like to fuck you right now." He nodded towards Christophe, whose eyes were very bright and eager. "I think your boyfriend wants to watch me do it." 

Ant shifted in an attempt to alleviate the pressure of his tight pants on his poor, swollen cock. He too wanted to watch, and join in but it was well nigh impossible on this crowded train in the middle of the afternoon. Christophe was breathing heavily and clearly eager for the same thing. Rayne wiped the smile off his face by adding; "‘He'll' have to pay me... but I'll do ‘your' schoolboy arse for nothing, sweetheart."

He picked up his magazine again and retreated behind it. Christophe exhaled a long, excited breath through his pursed lips and slid a hand beneath the table, wanking discreetly. Ant could take no more. Leaning towards Rayne he hissed; "Come to the lav with me."

"Do it yourself," the boy muttered without looking up at him. "You started it, you can finish it. You're a big boy now."

Finally, hard and frustrated, Ant did just that. For the second time that day he found himself in a toilet cubicle with both hands on his dick, beating his throbbing meat rapidly. He came almost at once and soothed himself by wetting his hand under the faucet and stroking a little soap up and down his shaft. When his hard-on did not ebb, he carried on masturbating his soapy cock for a little while longer, fantasising that he had Rayne and Thierry naked in here with him begging to take it first.



Back at the table Rayne ignored their travelling companions until Christophe had the gall to remark; "You treat your man like dirt. I think you need some discipline."

"Not from you," Rayne told him, without meeting his eyes. 

At last, Christophe also gave up and pushed his way out into the aisle. He shot a look at Thierry who almost rose to follow him until the English youth's sharp green stare flickered to his cherubic face. Rayne shook his head with a little sigh and curled up, pretending to read. To his amazement, Thierry sat down again and Christophe's whispered urgings came to naught. Once the older man had vanished into the corridor, presumably to find a private space of his own, Rayne Wilde put down the magazine and looked frankly at Thierry. 

"Why do you put up with that?" he asked disgustedly. "He's a creep."

"He is good to me," Thierry said bashfully. "And I like it, most times."

"Does he hit you with that?" Rayne looked distastefully at the crop with which Christophe was stroking Thierry's creamy cheek in the foursome photograph. 

"Not hard... he does not mark me," Thierry whispered. "And sometimes it feels good. Pleasure and pain; a coin with two sides, non?"

"Whatever!" Rayne sighed and picked up the magazine again. 

"Your friend... Ant... he seemed aroused by the pictures. I think he would like to tie you and make you submissive to him," Thierry ventured nervously. 

"In his dreams, perhaps." Rayne managed a smile. 

"I think he hopes that you will be like this with him and his friends at the Cap," the French lad suggested. 

His companion put down the magazine decisively. "Thierry. Ant knows nothing about me," he exhaled. "He likes to think he does, but he knows nothing and he makes up what he doesn't know. He thinks I'm a good boy gone wrong and that if he's nice to me I'll roll over and beg."

"I think that he likes you a lot," Thierry persisted. 

"He likes screwing me," Rayne retorted at once. 

"You don't?" the boy frowned. 

Rayne opened his mouth to affirm this, then closed it again. For a moment he looked away, staring through the images that flashed past his window, suddenly uncertain. Ant had been indecently good to him... and fabulously indecent with him, it was true. The memory of his lover's big cock thrusting hard inside him as they fucked on the bed yesterday morning was enough to make him uncomfortably aroused. Rayne shifted in his seat and when he looked back at Thierry the blond was staring at his straining crotch with a little smile on his face. 

"That looks big. Do you still want to put it in me?" Thierry whispered. 

He and Rayne were on their feet instantly. Thierry raced for the far end of the carriage and Rayne was hot on his heels ignoring the looks of disgust they got from their fellow passengers. The first cubicle was locked and the second disgusting. At the far end of the next car they found an empty berth that did not look or smell too unhygienic and tumbled into it, laughing and gasping. Rayne locked the door and Thierry began to unbutton the Englishman's jeans at once. Rayne pulled the boy's soft, wet mouth onto his and they kissed like starving creatures falling onto food. Rayne's hands ripped open Thierry's shirt and pants, letting his trousers fall to the floor and stroking his palm flat down the other lad's hairless belly and into his snug briefs. Thierry's fingers milked his cock and rubbed the oozing pre-cum from the tip right down to the base of his shaft as Rayne sucked on his tongue. 

"Say your name back to me," he huffed into the lad's mouth as their lips parted wetly.

Thierry did so, breathless and confused. It sounded like ‘cherry' the way he said it. Rayne told him that, in-between greedy kisses.

"Why is that funny?" Thierry protested, wanking his cock more urgently.

"It's not funny, it sounds sexy. Are you still at school, Cherry?" he panted into the boy's mouth.

"Uh-huh." Thierry shook his head. "At college, I'm eighteen."

"You look about fourteen," Rayne kissed his neck and throat as Thierry pushed up his T-shirt to his armpits. "I thought Christophe must have abducted you or something."

The youngster began to lick and suck Rayne's nipples, pushing the other boy against the door and pressing Rayne's erection down between his legs so that he could straddle and ride on it. The silky material of his briefs was already soaked with cum. It felt good rubbing his prick against Thierry's balls through the wet silk.

"I thought you were only sixteen, even younger when you were asleep," his mate was murmuring as his tongue flickered back and forth over Rayne's sensitive nips. "You looked like a young girl. Christophe kept saying to me... ‘He's going to lose his virginity this week... for sure!' He was so excited thinking of you doing it for the first time with your boyfriend's big cock in you. Christophe likes very young, innocent boys."

"I'm nearly twenty one... cheeky bastard!" Rayne laughed breathlessly. "Ohhh...Cherry! If you keep on doing that I'm gonna cum."

Roughly he turned Thierry around now and pushed him forward over the basin, pulling off his shirt and letting it drop then crouching quickly to pull down the boy's tight blue briefs, exposing his silky, pink crack. He was so soft down there that he must have been waxed completely clean. The big balls that dropped from his underpants suggested that he certainly was no longer a schoolboy although his cock was smaller than Rayne's. He was stiff and rose pink with a tight foreskin and firm, cleft glans that felt like two oiled marbles in a velvet bag. Rayne stroked the ball of his thumb over it, feeling Thierry squirm with pleasure as the Englishman's tongue began to circle his anus, licking and caressing it wetly. The blond bucked in his hand and muttered something breathlessly in his own tongue. 

"What do you want?" Rayne whispered against his arsehole, watching it yield and open slightly. He wormed his tongue into that tasty crevice. The boy was clean and delicious and Rayne wasted no time getting his tongue right up the lad's hole, licking him out and nuzzling his tender crack.

"Ahhh... Oui! Fuck me! Fuck Meeeee!" Thierry pleaded eagerly. Rayne felt the boy's stiff young penis begin to spurt in his hand as he kissed and lapped at that beautiful young hole. Rising slowly, he rubbed the boy's spill over his cock, loving the way it mingled with his own hot pre-cum and left him feeling slippery and ready for action. 

Stripping out of his shirt and T-shirt he pushed his jeans down and kissed his way seductively up Thierry's naked back. The boy's bleached blond hair was soft and downy at the nape of his neck and Rayne licked and kissed him there then tongued his left ear, whispering; "I'm going to fuck you so hard now, you little blond bitch. You'd better be ready for me."

He rubbed his hard tool between Thierry's silky cheeks and the little blond squirmed and moaned, thrusting his slim hips back to meet Rayne's grinding crotch. 

"Ohhhh... fuck me. Fuck me," he panted. "Put your cock in me. Put it in me and fuck me with it. Please!"

Rayne caught the boy's earlobe between his teeth, biting and sucking on it as he pressed the slippery head of his aching penis between Thierry's sexy little buttocks, gripping the French boy's hips and spreading his cheeks as he pulled the boy's hot, tight arsehole onto his cock. He almost came then and there, Thierry felt so good and tight around him. Rayne held back, gasping until his throat hurt, listening to the other lad begging and moaning with desire.

"Ahhh.... Ahhhh... yessss.... Fuck me... Fuck my hole! Fuck that big cock in me!" Thierry bucked his hips back against Rayne and the horny young Englishman realised that he was entering Thierry without even having to move. The boy was mounting him, thrusting his hungry arsehole onto Rayne's rock hard prick and riding him hard. 

"Ohhhhh... ohhhh yeah!" Rayne moaned, leaning back against the cubicle door and grinding his hips steadily against Thierry's smooth, white buttocks until he had worked the whole length of his seven and half inch prick into the randy teen. He gripped Thierry's hips again, slamming his throbbing rod deeper and feeling the younger man coming back to meet him mid thrust. "Ohhhh.... Cherry! Yeah! Ride me, ride me like that. That's so fuckin' good. Ahhhh... you're a fuckin' angel. I'm gonna cum... gonna cum so hard!"




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 05



He bucked himself deep inside the boy and felt Thierry cry out with pain and joy as his body tensed. His sex-mate felt those big bollocks contract fiercely and another jet of his hot spunk splashed against the underside of the metal basin over which Rayne Wilde was banging him frantically.

"Ahhhhhh... mon Dieu! Ohhhhh... merci mon Dieu!" Thierry wailed as Rayne sank onto him, pulling him up close, unable to keep his lust in check for a moment more, and squirted a massive spill of semen into his clenching passage. His balls were throbbing with need as the orgasm drove a cry of passion from his throat and left him almost unable to stand.

"Jeee-sus!" he exhaled forcefully. "Ahhhh... Cherry... that was... that was fuckin' amazing!"

The climax kept coming in waves and he clung to Thierry, his legs shaking, until he could feel it waning. The Frenchman was panting and moaning quietly, rubbing against him, clearly wanting more. Rayne might have summoned up the energy to give it to him when someone banged violently on the door behind him. A voice was shouting instructions in French and the two boys jerked apart involuntarily, struggling back into their clothes. 

"What does he want?" Rayne was huffing, his heart still trying to hammer its way out of his chest.

"We've got to open the door or he will kick it down," Thierry translated. "I think we are in trouble."

"Oh fuck!" the other boy groaned with a shake of his head.

IGNORANCE IS BLISS:

As Ant zipped his pants and opened the door of the cubicle he was mildly surprised to find Christophe waiting outside and even more taken aback when the good-looking Frenchman pushed him back inside and joined him in there, locking the door quickly behind him. As Christophe began to unfasten his fly, Ant felt a smile creep across his face and he automatically reached down to help the other man remove his pants. Perhaps today was not a lost cause after all. 

Christophe reciprocated by sliding his hand into the front of Ant's trousers and stroking skilfully until his companion's dick was standing proud again. The lurching of the train threw Ant against his new friend and Christophe's mouth found his, briefly, then kissed and sucked its way down his neck, as the man's deft fingers unfastened his shirt and fly. As Christophe began to nibble on his teats Ant moaned and pumped the Frenchman's nice, fat cock in his hand. His lover wasted no time on words, but sank to his knees and took Ant's long, hard prick into his mouth, running his tongue slowly and tenderly over the throbbing head, rolling back his sensitive foreskin and grazing the pulsing purple glans between his teeth before swallowing it into his mouth and curling his tongue around it. That felt so good that Ant just leaned back and sighed with satisfaction, a sigh that soon turned to a moan of delight as Christophe nodded lower and lower over his hard wand taking it all into his mouth and sucking the big, blood-filled head down his tight throat. 

Ant began to thrust a little as Christophe's hand found and squeezed his balls, firmly enough to stimulate him but not so hard that it hurt. Before the Englishman began to feel orgasmic again, he lifted his head and began to work his mouth over Ant's shaved nuts, parting his lips around those big, dangling globes one at a time and sucking them slowly and seductively. Ant closed his hand around the head of his aching dick and stroked it as he was pleasured, feeling the intensity multiplying in his testicles as Christophe seduced him down there. 

"I like to eat a man's balls before I fuck him in the ass," he said as he rose to his feet, still fondling Ant's sac firmly. 

Ant quivered with pleasure. He loved to give but he also loved to receive and Christophe had a fabulous looking cock. Now he was standing and fully unclothed from the waist down it jutted up proudly against his bare belly. Like Ant, he was completely exfoliated, but not just between his legs. His thighs were smooth and his belly and muscular torso. The smart shirt and jacket had hidden a powerful physique and Ant caressed it greedily now. His dick was slightly curved and reddish brown, fully circumcised so the weeping eye was completely visible. It was longer but not as fat as Ant's chunky tool. Turning sideways on to Ant, he stroked a hand through the Englishman's dark blond hair and pulled his mouth down to that jewel of semen. Bent at the waist, Ant licked it off then took the smooth, fleshy weight of his cock head between his lips, sucking and stroking it. 

Christophe dabbled his fingers in the wet soap as Ant fellated him, getting a good big mouthful of his lovely French stick. Now he felt cold, wet intruders at his back door and caught his breath as Christophe stroked the slippery wetness around his hole. He gasped then panted a delicious heat over his lover's cock and got it pushed into his mouth more deeply as a reward. Christophe's fingertip pierced him and pulsed into him from behind and Ant reached for his own dick and began to stroke it firmly. 

He groaned with satisfaction as Christophe alternated finger fucking him with stroking his scrotum and fondling his balls until he had three of the Frenchman's fingers thrusting in his arsehole. Now Christophe pulled the Englishman's mouth from his dick and began to kiss his neck and throat again as he tugged on Ant's buttocks, spreading them roughly with both hands. 

"Do you like to be mounted?" he whispered hoarsely in Ant's ear. When his partner nodded he licked his way to that ear and murmured; "Does your little slut know how to fuck you? Or are you taking him to the Cap to teach him how to be your whore?"

"He knows how," Ant gasped as Christophe released him and moved gracefully around behind him, easing him up against the wall. "He's not as innocent as he looks."

"Is his cock as big as mine?" Ant felt that well-sucked tool probe steadily between his cheeks. Christophe stretched them apart again with his hands. He shook his head. 

Christophe pushed it slowly and rhythmically into him, taking his time, letting Ant feel every inch of his penetration, that long tool sinking deeper into his bowels. He moaned with satisfaction again, rubbing himself up against Christophe's naked body as the Frenchman began to fuck more vigorously.

"He's fucking Thierry right now, you know," he whispered at last. "That little blond slut can't resist arrogant pretty boys like Rayne. He'll be begging for your boy toy's cock even as we speak. Will he get it, do you think?"

Ant thought about the way Rayne had looked at Thierry when he was promising to fuck the boy. He had meant every word, Ant was sure. Rayne had a hard-on for that coy little French bitch all right. He nodded his head and gasped as Christophe impaled him harder in retaliation. 

"Ohhh... those little sluts!" he grunted as he began to fuck Ant hard, possibly oblivious to the pleasure this was giving his mate. "We should teach those horny bitches a lesson, no?"

"Yeah!" Ant groaned, grinding his arse into Christophe's thrusting groin. That big knob was all the way inside him now, really pumping hard in and out of his hole. He keened with pleasure as it surged back and forth inside him, making his rectum wetter and hotter than it had been in ages. His own cock was dribbling cum against the toilet wall as the muscular Frenchman tooled him faster and more roughly.

"Do you think I should strap your naughty slut up tightly with his legs wide apart and whip him with my crop and my dick?" Christophe panted now, hammering Ant's hole. "Would he enjoy that, do you think? Would he like to take it the way you're taking it now, all the way up his tight young hole?"

Ant nodded, so close to cumming that he could not speak. He began to gasp for breath as Christophe pounded him, imagining Rayne up against the door like this, or on his hands and knees, taking it in both ends. He pictured the boy on a tight leash like Thierry had been in the photograph, collared, his hands strapped to his thighs, his pretty face painted like a girl's as he sucked the whole length of Ant's cock and Christophe fucked his arsehole hard from behind. Then when he was filled to overflowing with their cum, they would swap places and begin again and keep doing it until Rayne was weak with ecstasy, his young tool spilling cum even though the cock ring he wore was tight enough to cut off his balls. All the while Thierry would be watching, tied up and naked with a dildo in both ends, his young prick hard and leaking. When Rayne was finally too weak to go on, they would plug his mouth and ass with a pair of big, ribbed, vibrating sex toys and let him lie on the bed observing whilst young Thierry took his turn as their fuck toy.

"Ohhhh.... Fuck... yeah!" he whimpered eagerly as his balls began to pump out their seed more urgently. 

Christophe must have taken that for assent to his request for he jackhammered Ant's hole as if he had Rayne under him already. His hand covered Ant's mouth to muffle the screams of sexual satisfaction that began to escape as they climaxed in virtual unison. Ant felt Christophe bite his neck to silence his own growl of passionate desire then his colon was filled with the wet heat of the Frenchman's orgasm. Christophe began to rub his cock as he too squirted a massive payload against the door of the cubicle, moaning incoherently behind the man's strong hand.

MEANWHILE...

The pair of SNCF guards looked rather bewildered when the cubicle door opened to divulge, not a pair of dishevelled honeymooners – the bride with her tits still falling out of her dress, pulling up her knickers; her blushing hubby tucking himself anxiously back in, as they had rather hoped. Staring back at them were two pretty young boys who looked about fifteen; one blond and blue eyed like a little angel and the other dark and slender, with a lime green glare that could cut glass. They were both half-erect inside their hastily fastened pants. Sensing possible entertainment on this long, generally boring train journey, one of the guards looked knowingly at his more junior partner then crooked his finger, inviting the boys to follow them back to the carriage where they had their office.

"He says that we performed an indecent act," Thierry translated anxiously as the senior guard and his superintendent interrogated them and Rayne looked blankly at them both. "We could go to prison for that, unless we pay a large fine."

"And what if we can't pay the fine?" Rayne asked impassively. He was staring now at the younger guard who was silent and quite pink-faced under his mop of dark blown curls. "I'm not going down for this. You can't prove it."

Thierry explained what he had said and the superintendent who was very tall and burly with a bristling black moustache shook his head and uttered a curt response.

"He says that there was fresh semen on the walls and the floor. They can DNA test it," Thierry said worriedly. 

Rayne managed a little snort of incredulity.

"Tell him to go and fuck himself."

"If you do not mind, I would rather not," Thierry apologised.

The older guard, who was broad and balding like an ageing nightclub bouncer, now walked casually up to Thierry and lifted the boy's chin with one hand. He said something else rather less curtly and Thierry's cheeks flushed. 

"What?" Rayne demanded as the man turned to look at him, a glint in his eyes that the young Englishman did not like at all. "What did he say?"

Thierry swallowed hard. "He says that if I give ‘him' satisfaction he will let me go."

Rayne's eyes widened slightly. "And what about me?"

There was another, hushed exchange then Thierry blushed more vividly. 

"Well?" Rayne glared at him. "Like I can't guess but fill the gaps for me, huh!"

"He says that as I was the submissive, I can go free once I've sucked their cocks but they think you should take it in the ass a little..." Thierry's words trailed off under the venom of that acid drop stare. "Don't blame me... ‘he' said it!"

"And who told him you were the Bottom?" Rayne narrowed his eyes. 

"He asked, I only told him what he asked."

"What if we won't?" Rayne wanted to know. 

There was another exchange. The guards looked stern again. 

"He says he'll hand us over to the police in Nimes and we'll probably both get fucked in the cells anyway." Thierry looked as if he was about to cry. 

Rayne shook his head impatiently. "Christ!"

"We have to take our clothes off. He wants us naked." Thierry sniffed. 

For a moment, Rayne eyeballed the senior guard, contemplating that if he was actually arrested there was a definite likelihood that he would be deported back to England, where Johnno was no doubt waiting eagerly for him. Rayne Wilde weighed this up against the situation in hand then he heaved a sigh and began to strip. "All right, let's get on with it. Oh for Christ's sake, Cherry! Pull yourself together. All ‘you've' gotta do is blow the bastards!"

"This is wrong," Thierry complained, slowly unfastening his shirt with shaking fingers. "When Christophe finds out..."

"If Christophe finds out about this he'll probably cream himself!" Rayne interrupted cynically, peeling off his shirt and T-shirt, whilst trying to ignore the greedy ogling of the two guards and their superior. The younger one had his pants undone already. "In fact, Christophe probably set this whole thing up, didn't he? I bet he's outside with a fuckin' camera waiting to get his rocks off!"

"Why are you always so angry against everything?" the younger boy demanded miserably as he dropped his pants and hesitated over the removal of his blue briefs. 

Rayne stopped unfastening his jeans for a moment and shot him a truly dirty look. "You ‘really' have to ask?"

Thierry looked back at him solemnly. "Oui... yes... you are angry all the time. When you woke you were angry and you do not even know us. Now you are angry against me and this is not my fault. Being angry against me will not make it better."

The older boy opened his mouth, then closed it again on a cutting retort. If he tried to explain he doubted that he would have the time to do so properly and Thierry would probably fail to understand him in any case.

"Oh... just shut up and suck their cocks," he sneered with a shake of his head. "Let's get this done with as soon as we can, yeah?"

MISSING IN ACTION?

When Ant and Christophe got back to their seats, having purchased coffee on the way back to cover their absence, they were perplexed and a little bit annoyed to discover that the two boys had vanished. The snooty woman sitting across the aisle reluctantly informed Christophe that they had departed together, in a hurry, and pointed towards the farthest end of the railway carriage. 

"We should look for them," the Frenchman said irritably, clearly still thinking of how he wanted to punish them. 

Ant sat down carefully, his arse still twitching from the pounding it had recently taken. He felt sticky and exhausted and just wanted to have a shower and lie down. Rayne's whereabouts was a concern however, the boy had no money and he did not speak more than a few words of French (and the ones that he did speak were generally not used in polite company). 

"Give them a few minutes to come back. If they're not here by the time we get to Nimes we can start to worry," he suggested. 

Christophe sank reluctantly into his seat across the table and closed down his laptop, putting it away to keep himself busy. He pulled down his bag and hunted in it for a hairbrush, tidying himself up and dabbing a little cologne on his neck and wrists. Ant shook his head and leaned back, closing his eyes and thinking of nothing. His rectum throbbed in time with his still-erratic pulse.

After ten minutes had elapsed with still no sign of their errant partners, Christophe's patience was finally eroded. Muttering to himself in a dark, Gallic humour, he got to his feet and set off in the direction the snooty woman had indicated. Ant sighed and followed him, primarily because he was not prepared to let Christophe fuck Rayne if he was not there to watch (or join in). They inspected every toilet on the train (which took quite a while as it had fifteen dual level carriages) without locating the boys. Now Ant allowed himself to become a little more concerned. The train had not stopped, to the best of his knowledge, and there were few places for the pair of them to hide. 

"We should ask someone," he said reasonably. 

"We asked the guy in the last coach, he had not seen them," Christophe retorted testily.

"No... I mean someone in authority. The driver or the ticket inspector or someone like that," Ant suggested. "Maybe they're in trouble."

"They will be in trouble when I catch them," the Frenchman warned darkly but he followed as Ant set off back towards the Guards' Compartment, which he had noticed on the way down. 

When they knocked, at first there was no response. Ant was prepared to come back later, having presumed that the Guard was probably busy somewhere else but Christophe rapped again, much harder. Shortly they heard a scuffling noise and then a shambling, rather hastily dressed fellow in his twenties opened the door. There was a sheen of sweat on his flushed face and he looked visibly agitated. As he tried to put the door between himself and the office beyond, Ant realised that he had a massive boner, which was trying to escape from his pants.

Christophe seemed to have noted this too for he was staring at it, which only made the young fellow even redder. Without looking him in the eye he explained about their missing friends and asked if anyone had reported seeing them on the train in the last half-hour. For a moment the guard seemed as though he might actually explode. His cheeks turned scarlet and he ummm-ed and ahhh-ed repeatedly until Christophe demanded to know if he was an imbecile and was there a superior he could speak to. 

Suddenly from within the room a small, exhausted, boyish voice cried out; "Christophe! Au secours! Il violee moi!" and before Ant could blink, the Frenchman had barged the dishevelled guard out of his path with his fists and was forcing his way into the small room beyond the doorway. As Ant stepped into the office behind him a truly surreal and erotic sight met his eyes. 

Rayne was bent forward, stark naked, by the edge of a desk, his hands gripping the solid hips of the middle aged man with a shaven head, who had checked their tickets as they roared through the outskirts of Paris, sucking the guy's thick cock for all he was worth. He was grinding his bare backside vigorously into the thrusting crotch of a tall, hirsute, burly man in SNCF uniform, who had his pants undone and his long, hard prick sheathed between the boy's cheeks. Roughened, spatulate fingers with short, dirty nails held his lean thighs, pressing deep into the soft, white skin as the superintendent of the train buggered him energetically. Rayne's eyes remained closed, long black lashes fanning his ashen cheeks as he nodded faster and harder over the large penis in his mouth. Young Thierry was kneeling at Rayne's feet, his face buried in the older boy's crotch, also sucking away greedily. Even as Christophe began to shout insults at the men who were with him, they both bucked deep and hard, spurting their seed into Rayne's mouth and anus. Ant stiffened appreciatively at the sight.

MISSING IN ACTION 2:

Whilst Rayne was still undressing, the two Guards wasted no time occupying Thierry's mouth and once the French boy was on his knees, his head turning back and forth between their sweaty cocks he decided that he possibly had the better part of the arrangement. The superintendent watched keenly as his men occupied the little blond, vocal in their appreciation of Thierry's oral talents and the pretty youth was kept very busy teasing them and keeping them horny. Once Rayne was nude, however, the bald guy quickly drew away from the delights of his teaser's mouth and pushed the young Englishman across the corner of a nearby desk. Rayne gripped the edges of the table until his knuckles turned white, as he was mounted from behind and shown no mercy. He cried out just the once. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 05



Thierry translated the man's panted instruction as he was ramming himself in. He could moan with pleasure if he liked, but if he screamed again they would have to gag him.

Rayne Wilde clenched his teeth determinedly. If they wanted him to scream they were gonna have to try a damned sight harder. It hurt though, even more than it had hurt the other night at the end of a fifteen-man gang-bang. He slumped across the desk trying to offer as little resistance as he could but he was tight and dry and when he heard Thierry whimpering and realised that the little blond was on his knees getting buggered by the junior Guard, in spite of their promise, his blood boiled. The skinny young man was bucking himself into Thierry's arse with no regard for his pain as the superintendent moved to his head and quieted Thierry's protests with his erection. Rayne closed his eyes, feeling a red mist come down that made him want to kill them all. Thierry might be of age but they had no right to treat him like that. He began to struggle and curse and was slammed against the surface of the desk, a heavy hand slapped between his shoulder blades with such force that he felt his teeth rattle in his mouth. The big man pulled out of his raw passage briefly then rolled him onto his back and struck him hard across the face. 

He said something in his own tongue, which Rayne did not understand although he recognised the tone of the instruction all too well. Then his legs were wrenched apart and he was subjected to a second violent act of penetration. Rayne bit down on his lips so fiercely that he was not sure if the blood he tasted was from his mouth or his nose. He was moaning continually as the big man forced himself deeper this time. The rapist spat into his crotch to ease his own entry into the English boy's hole and began to bugger him fast and hard. To Rayne's infinite relief he came very quickly but the relief was not to last. 

The big fellow slapped hands with his burly superior, who turned away from Thierry's mouth, letting the blond boy gasp and moan for a while as he was raped on his hands and knees on the floor. The moustachioed superintendent had a big cock, glistening with Thierry's spit and trickling a stream of pre-cum. He wasted no time, quickly hauling Rayne's knees over his shoulders and holding his narrow hips as he probed and penetrated the sexy English lad. It was easier this time; Rayne was wet inside from the balding man's cum and his second tormentor was able to get his big tool all the way into him. The boy writhed uncomfortably under him, trying to get his legs down; his buttocks lifted clear of the tabletop so that his horny assailant could pump into him from above. Rayne gripped the edges of the desk again, rocking himself against the piston thrusting inside him, his only thought to get the dirty bastard off as quickly as he could. Again it did not take long but his spirits sank when he saw that Thierry was sucking the hairless guy's cock again, taking it deep into his mouth so that saliva and pre-cum ran down his chin from that big, hard tool. The skinny younger guard had filled Thierry's arse with his semen and now he hovered by the table watching eagerly as Rayne was fucked, getting visibly excited again.

The bald bastard dragged Thierry to the desk to watch this time as his boss pulled out and turned Rayne onto his belly again. The black haired boy resisted weakly as his legs were yanked apart, astride a corner of the table and he was remounted from behind. There were flecks of blood in the sheen of spunk on the big cock that pumped back into him. Rayne swore at the big, hairy guy but that only excited him and made him pump harder. As someone knocked on the door the superintendent made an irritable, dismissive gesture towards his young subordinate who hurried back into his tunic and struggled to fasten his pants over his hard rod. He was erect again just from watching his boss have rough sex with the English boy and could not wait for his own turn up the naked foreigner's tight arse. As he was dressing his superintendent hauled Rayne's slender body back towards him so that the dark-haired youngster was clear of the desk, still bent forward roughly with his arse full of cock-meat. At once the bald-headed guard snatched a handful of his sable hair and forced the English boy's mouth onto his throbbing penis, making him suck. Crudely, he ordered the blond kid to blow his friend's hot young cock whilst they satisfied him. 

Thierry was crying; snot and tears running down his pretty face, as the second knock threatened to take the office door off its hinges. The boss was urging him to suck his English friend, promising that once they were done with him he would be allowed to fuck Rayne up the ass whilst they watched. As the younger guard fumbled with the lock on the door, Thierry cried out for aid then began to stroke Rayne's beautiful young prick with his soft lips, swallowing it deeper and deeper into his mouth. The English boy bucked back and forth between his friend's teasing lips and tongue and the big, powerful cock thrusting away in his arsehole. His own sweet mouth was stretched wide around the fat, purple tool of the hairless guard, saliva and cum dribbling down his chin as the bald man began to climax. Rayne Wilde moaned incoherently. Thierry's lapping tongue tormented him down below until he could not control the quivering urge to spurt in the blond's mouth. 

As he looked over one shoulder, Rayne's cock-filled, burgeoning arousal was the last thing the younger Guard saw before he opened the door and Christophe burst in and decked him with a single blow to the jaw.

AGDE:

"It looks like Romney-fuckin'-Marsh with the sun shining!" There was no emotion in the boy's voice as he stared at the vast, sun-gilt Camargue, dancing in the heat haze beyond the train window, nothing to colour his feelings. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Ant asked for the fiftieth time as the train powered across the Camargue and Rayne stared out of the window through the expensive tinted sunglasses his lover had bought for him in Lille. He was leaning against the wall in the corridor between cars with his bags and his guitar case propped up beside him, as it was far too uncomfortable to sit and besides, he would not look Christophe in the face. There had been a hushed argument in French back in the Guards' office once Rayne and Thierry had been liberated. It was apparently decided that if Christophe and Ant said nothing to the authorities about the rape of their two young friends, nothing would be said about the indecency committed in the toilets. Christophe had looked darkly at Rayne all the way back to their seats, where the young Englishman grabbed his bags and retreated to the corridor to sulk.

"I saw horses back there," Rayne said in a slightly blank and dreamlike tone, ignoring him completely. "Four little white horses in the middle of all that emptiness."

"The Camargue is famous for them," Ant told him, more resolutely. "Look... Ray... I know..."

"Shut up." The boy was gazing unblinkingly out into the sunlit expanse of marshland, refusing to respond to any of Ant's gentle cajoling. Only the sharpness of his tone suggested that he was paying any heed to his companion at all. "You don't know anything. Shut up and go talk to your new mate, Christophe. Leave me alone, all right!"

"It isn't his fault," Ant protested quietly. "What happened back there isn't his fault. And it isn't mine, either. Besides, you looked like you w..."

"Don't you dare say I looked like I was enjoying it!" Rayne turned on him with a vehemence that took Ant by surprise. His pale glare was like crystallised acid. "I've had ‘enough', all right. I don't wanna talk about it. When this train stops I don't ever want to see you again! Capiche?"

Ant swallowed an angry retort. The kid was hurt and embarrassed, he reminded himself. He was not himself. His attackers had not been gentle with him but still he had been unmistakably aroused when the door burst open and Ant and Christophe stumbled in on the Guards' little gang-bang.

"You've no money," he reminded Rayne Wilde quietly, refusing to be swept aside. "You've no idea where we are, even."

"I'll figure it out." The boy unbuttoned his jacket pocket and retrieved a roll up then scowled at the no smoking sign over the door and put it back impatiently. "I can earn money. I know how."

There was a sarcastic edge to this last comment. He turned his back on the older man and stared out at the reeds and the glittering salt lakes again. Ant sighed and leaned against the wall on the other side of the door from him stubbornly. 

"You're still here." Rayne pointed out after a moment or two of bristling silence.

"I'm not going to abandon you," Ant told him. "I know you don't think you need me, but I'm still responsible for bringing you here."

He saw Rayne's head tilt sideways and those knowing, icy, lime green eyes found his own again. "Why ‘did' you bring me here?"

"Because I thought you'd be safe. And I hoped you'd relax and enjoy the sun and the sea." Ant folded his arms and Rayne inhaled a slow, deep breath through his nostrils then let it go between slightly pursed lips. 

"Why did Thierry tell me that you hoped I was going to make nice with your friends?" he wanted to know. 

"Why shouldn't you? They're putting a roof over your head and food in your belly," Ant retaliated. "It's not too much to ask, is it? For you to be polite to them?"

"I don't think that's what he meant," Rayne pointed out bluntly. "He seems to think that I'm down here to 'entertain' you and your mates. Is he right?"

Ant heaved a vast sigh. This time it was his turn to look away. He contemplated his next words carefully. Rayne was on a hair trigger right now and the slightest provocation might well see him explode.

"You know I'm out of pocket, Ray." As the boy took a step towards him he held up his hands to forestall the outburst of indignant rage that he sensed was brewing. "Wait... I know you didn't ask me to do any of this. I know! Before you remind me... again, let me finish. I thought that this would give you the chance to get your life sorted out. It would be an experience. You could meet some new people, chill out, have some red-hot sex and earn a bit of cash. That's all I thought. I wasn't trying to pull the wool over your eyes."

"So you ‘do' expect me to fuck your friends?" Rayne pushed up his shades into his dark, tousled hair and scowled at him suspiciously. 

"They aren't putting us up for nothing," Ant said quietly as a middle-aged couple sidled through to the next carriage from the buffet, glancing at them disparagingly.

"Tell you what..." Rayne sneered back at him, unconcerned. "Why don't ‘you' flog your arse for a change? If you'd told me this from the start I'd not have wasted your precious, fuckin' money. I could have saved you a lot of fuckin' bother and I wouldn't have to put up with all this fuckin' grief about how I should be fuckin' ‘grateful' to you!" He was up on his toes, virtually growling the words into Ant's face by this time. Now he jabbed a finger viciously into the older man's chest and snarled; "Arsehole!"


Ant did not even think. He slapped the boy's face hard before he could turn away. For a second Rayne just stared at him, naked shock in his eyes. Clearly, of all the reactions he might have been expecting that was not one. Ant experienced a brief flare of anger and resentment. He had spent all of this time working to gain Rayne's trust and blown it with that one unconsidered, impulsive act. The passion cooled as soon as it had risen but he still felt the tingling in his palm from where it had made sudden, violent contact with Rayne's pale, pretty, sneering face.

And ‘damn' if it didn't feel good!

"Don't talk to me like that," he said grimly now, managing to keep the satisfaction from his lips as Rayne backed away from him slowly. "I'm not some piece of shit on your shoe, Ray. I've tried my hardest to help you and you're right, you've given me nothing but fucking grief from day one. You can pull yourself together or you can fall apart on your own, but you're going nowhere until I've got my money back. Do you understand?"

Ant saw the kid open his mouth to say something smart, then close it again without a word. In that instant he was poleaxed. Rayne looked so stunned and scared that he just wanted to fall to his knees and apologise. He wanted to put his arms around the beautiful boy and hold him until he was forgiven. The window of opportunity opened briefly then, before he could act, it was closed quite irrevocably. Something happened behind that glittering gaze that Ant did not understand. It was as if his lover pulled on a mask and the fear vanished like it had never been, replaced by a cold, impassive veneer. 

Rayne shrugged his shoulders now and turned away, retreating behind his sunglasses once more and muttering; "Whatever makes you happy. You're the fuckin' boss."

Ant was on the verge of telling him that this did not in any way make him happy but right then the train began to slow and lean into the curve of the track as it began its steady approach into Agde. Their corridor was suddenly filled with happy holidaymakers all jostling against them with their suitcases and parasols and the moment was lost forever.

***THIS STORY IS SUBMITTED FOR SOLE PUBLICATION ON LITEROTICA.COM. IF IT SHOWS ITS HORNY FACE ON ANY OTHER SITE OR IN ANY OTHER PUBLICATION WITHOUT THE STATED PERMISSION OF THE AUTHORS IT HAS BEEN STOLEN. BE WARNED THAT WE TAKE THEFT OF OUR MATERIAL VERY SERIOUSLY INDEED.***

END OF PART FIVE



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 06



 PART SIX – WHATEVER FLOATS YOUR BOAT

By Josh and Sadie Rose © 2005

"Ahhh, sun sea and sex... our favourite combination. What starts off as a potentially uncomfortable endeavour quickly turns out to be anything but... except perhaps for Rayne, but he's not complaining. Much!"

***AS EVER... IF THIS STORY SHOWS UP ANYWHERE BUT LITEROTICA.COM IT HAS, UNLESS OTHERWISE SPECIFIED, BEEN TAKEN AND USED WITHOUT PERMISSION. COPYRIGHT FRAUD IS THEFT AND WE WILL TAKE ACTION AGAINST ANYONE CAUGHT STEALING OUR MATERIAL***

The concourse of Agde railway station was like the seventh circle of hell. It was a sweltering ninety degrees in the shade once Ant and his travelling companion emerged from the underpass in the midst of the evening rush hour. Taxis and cars vied dangerously with buses mopeds and bicycles for every inch of space outside and the air was heady with petrol fumes, sweat and frustration. People shouted and pushed their way into the available cabs and Ant stood precariously in the doorway for a moment, surveying the scene with a thumping heart, searching for a familiar face in the heat of all this alien chaos. Beside him, Rayne located a bench and dumped his bags on it whilst he retrieved the mangled roll-up from his jacket and extracted a lighter from the tight back pocket of his jeans. Once his cigarette was lit he leaned back against the wall observing their new environment with a cool detachment that Ant briefly envied. There was a sheen of sweat on the bridge of his upturned nose and his recently cropped hair was still somewhat unruly but apart from this he looked as calm and unconcerned as a native. 

A taxi pulled up at the kerb and the back window rolled down. Christophe called out; "Do you want to share our car?"

Ant was tempted but a glance back at his inscrutable companion swayed his decision. Rayne was not even looking at them. 

"Someone's picking us up," he called back. "We should wait really."

"See you at the Cap," the Frenchman saluted him and the long black car pulled away. 

When he returned to the bench where Rayne had been guarding their luggage, the boy was gone but a quick, panicked assessment of the forecourt located him almost immediately. He was talking to a scruffy, rather dirty looking fellow with a deeply tanned, wrinkled face. The man spoke with his hands, pointing along the street and gesticulating in Rayne's direction. The boy shook his head a couple of times then nodded and blew a streamer of smoke in the fellow's face. As Ant approached them the wizened man quickly shuffled away and accosted someone else. 

"Who was that?" the older man asked warily. He was still not sure if Rayne was talking to him. 

"Dunno," his lover responded with infuriating apathy. "I think he wanted me to go with him but I'm not sure why. I told him I didn't have any money and he buggered off sharpish."

This was in fact a blatant lie. Ant could see as much in the closed nature of his lover's stare. He returned to the bench and checked through his bag but all his things were thankfully still there. Rayne had taken his backpack and guitar case with him, of course. 

"We could have been robbed," Ant pointed out now. 

"We 'aven't got anything worth nickin'," Rayne reminded him, taking a long pull on his ratty roll-up. "I thought you said somebody was coming to pick us up," he exhaled in a plume of smoke.

"He is," Ant said irritably. "Maybe he's stuck in traffic. Maybe I should ring them."

"Maybe we should get the bus," Rayne suggested pointing to a line of service buses under the trees on the main road. He wandered off to inspect the timetables whilst Ant located a telephone kiosk and called Daniel to let his friend know they had arrived. 


As he was scrutinising the list of destinations with no real idea of where they were going, Rayne became aware that the scruffy guy from the forecourt was watching him again. He sidled closer as the young Englishman pinched out the last embers of his smoke and flicked the ashes away deftly. Dark, calculating eyes took in the boy's attitude and his looks in one appreciative sweep.

"You need more?" he asked again now. "Your friend, he not know what you..." Pressing two fingers together he mimed taking a long toke and Rayne laughed humourlessly.

"I doubt it."

"What you like? I get for you," the fellow promised him, resting a long, brown hand on his arm. 

"I'm broke," Rayne said apologetically, shrugging him off. "No cash... no francs. Sorry."

"You want Marijuana, I get... just two hundred francs for two ounce."

"No." Rayne told him more firmly. "Not interested."

"You want Ketamine? Heroin? I get." Dark eyes bored into him and Rayne chewed on his lower lip speculatively. 

"Your friend... the one who gets the stuff. Where can I find him?"

"No... you come with me," the wiry fellow countered, shaking his tatty dreadlocks determinedly. 

"I can't... I'm not on my own."

"You give me money and I fetch."

"No... I told you, I haven't got any money. God's truth!" Rayne put his hands in his pockets and brought them out full of cigarette papers and sweet wrappers.

That earned him a disappointed look and he shrugged his shoulders evasively. 

"You like men?" the tout persisted. "Tout le cul?"

Rayne blinked at him, not quite comprehending this.

"I take you to meet a man, oui?" The little dealer elaborated. "He will give you money if you let him fuck you in the ass. Five hundred francs, very quick."

"Fuck off." Rayne was already walking. The scrawny guy followed him, persistent to the last but as Ant came back down towards him with a huge, relieved smile on his face he melted away almost magically. 

"What's up with you?" Ant wanted to know as they drew level. 

"No buses," Rayne said with a shake of his head. 

"No matter... Terry's on his way. Like I said, he's probably stuck in the traffic."

Around ten minutes later a long, dusty black Mercedes that looked to have seen better days (probably in the 1970s) pulled up on the rapidly emptying concourse and a round, cheerful face framed by a shock of yellowing blond hair peered out of the near side front window at them. Sky blue eyes twinkled merrily as the shirtless, sun-tanned driver asked in a broad, Cockney crackle; "You 'eading anywhere I know, mate?"

"Terry!" Ant exclaimed. "Thought you'd got lost."

"Long time no see, Rosie!" the driver retorted with a grin like the white keys on a grand piano. "Who's your friend then?"

Ant opened the door and ushered his lover into the back of the Merc complete with all their baggage. As they settled on the back seat he made cursory introductions. 

"Terry, this is Raymonde, aka Rayne Wilde. Ray, my old friend Terence Goodwill. We go back a long way, me and Terry."

"'Allo," Rayne said non-committally. 

"All right gorgeous?" the man called Terence asked over his right shoulder as the Merc pulled away into Agde's rush hour traffic. "What's a proper darlin' like you doin' hanging about with an old salt like Rosie?"

"Rosie?" the boy repeated, mildly curious.

"Rosie and Jim," Ant explained wearily. "I used to live on a narrow boat in the Black Country with a friend of Terry's called James Hawkes. It was a kid's TV programme..."

"Yeah... Rosie and Jim, I know." But Rayne was grinning for the first time since Lille and Ant allowed himself to hope that things could only improve from here on in.

"How's Daniel?" he asked now, settling into the worn leather of the rear seat and watching his beautiful lover out of the corner of his eye.

"Ahh... you know Dan," Terry answered cryptically.

They made small talk for much of the short journey back around the cape whilst Rayne looked out of the window at the river and the dusty roadside haciendas. He was half asleep again wrapped in the stifling heat when the car pulled up at a checkpoint and inched forward through the traffic until a barrier rose and it was allowed through into the Port of Ambonne. 

Ant shook him gently when the Merc stopped on the roadside by the harbour. He saw the younger man stir and blink back at him drowsily then sit up straighter as he seemed to realise that they were here, wherever 'here' was. His green eyes widened as he took in the palm trees on the main boulevard and the clink of mooring ropes and hoops against the jetties to their left. As Ant opened the door he climbed out and stared around him at the vast harbour town that was Port Ambonne. 

There were boats moored everywhere; large and small, old and new; roped up side by side along the wooden gangplanks off the boulevard and curling around the harbour to his right. An ex-trawler was up on the hoist at the chandlery just off the main road, being inspected by a big woolly bear of a man in a skimpy pair of yellow lycra briefs and nothing else. Beyond that there were chalets and flats with open, inviting balconies all around the man-made cove. Away to the left was a huge block of apartments rising like a concrete cliff to meet the cerulean sky. 

Terry, who had probably once been a muscle queen but was now a stocky fellow in his late middle age, wearing nothing but tight denim cut-offs and deck shoes, helped to carry their luggage down through an iron barred gate onto one of the jetties. Rayne found himself watching his step as the wooden planks bobbed and swayed underfoot. The sunlight glittered on the water to either side. An elderly fellow in a small, open-topped motor boat hailed them cheerfully and it was only as he looked away that Rayne realised the man was stark bollock naked. His chest and crotch were densely furred in white but his sun browned knob dangled down from the carpet of thick white hair like a pendulum on a novelty alarm clock. He blinked and wondered had he got too much sun waiting outside the station. 

Now he looked around a little more attentively he began to notice that the old guy in the boat was not a lone eccentric. A pair of young women strolled along the quay, boldly naked as children. Their full, brown breasts bounced as they walked. One was shaven clean down below and the other had a trimmed stripe of bleached blonde pubis. Rayne blinked, quite astonished. His eyes followed them admiringly until they vanished from sight and he ran into the back of Terry who had stopped beside a long, white ocean-going cruiser. There was an open deck to the rear with a wooden table and cushioned chairs. A pair of half-empty glasses stood on the table as if a pleasant meal had been interrupted and was waiting to be resumed. 

"Welcome aboard," Terry declared, ushering them both onto the sun deck and following them into the cooler shadows of the lounge. 

Two shallow steps led down into a spacious, maple floored leisure room. A low futon in the same pale wood, covered with a rumpled white duvet occupied the floor space on one side of the wide, bright room. The walls which were not windows were lined with cabinets and shelves filled with books and videos and even a few DVDs. Digital Video Discs were still a relatively new product on the market in the late eighties and Rayne stopped and examined one or two as he passed by. As he was thus occupied, a tall, white-bearded, sun-tanned man stepped out from one of the rooms beyond the lounge and greeted them in a baritone voice that was as rich and melodious as an opera singer's.

"Antoine, my child! You've put on weight! And what is this dark angel you have been promising me?"

Rayne Wilde lifted his head and his pale green eyes met a solemn, familiar silver grey stare that almost stopped his heart in his chest. For a moment he just gaped at the man in front of him, not quite sure what to do next. Daniel Leland was about six feet tall and lean as a wooden ruler. His skin was tanned a deep, golden brown, which set off the long white hair that fell to his waist in a thick braid, hanging over his left shoulder. He wore a neatly trimmed white beard and moustache and his loins were draped artlessly in a skein of pale blue silk like a short sarong, his only attire apart from the silver loop he wore on a long black cord around his neck and the cork-soled deck shoes on his feet. He looked like Gandalf on a beach holiday. The man was ageless; he might have been in his late forties or early seventies. It was hard to say. 

Except that Rayne already had a good idea. 

Ant seemed not to have noticed his companion's state of shock. He made the introductions with a naïve sweetness that genuinely hurt. Rayne felt sick. He knew that he should have put two and two together when Ant first spoke of his friend Daniel the pornographer and the boat he owned in the South of France. He had seen Dan Leland's name written down on his passport application form and still he had not made the connection.

When Ant announced his name, Leland's pewter stare narrowed speculatively and Rayne could see him trying to remember. He lowered his head for a moment, wondering if he should lie when the inevitable happened. There was a pensive silence and then their host rumbled; "I 'know' you, don't I?"

Rayne wanted to deny it. After the events of this afternoon on the train the last thing he wanted to recall was his past knowledge of Dan Leland. He bit his lip, aware of Ant's incredulous stare and unable to meet it. Finally he nodded his head.

"Thought so," the quiet, cultured accentless voice remarked. "I never forget a pretty face." 

The man moved closer and touched his fingertips to Rayne's chin, lifting the boy's head to look into his eyes. Rayne swallowed nervously, his mouth suddenly very dry. Ant murmured his name in bewilderment but he ignored it.

"You were in one of my movies, about... four years ago?"

"Nearly five," Rayne whispered, his tongue so parched that he could barely make a sound, let alone speak coherent sentences.

"Yes, it's all coming back. You don't look nearly old enough. And you didn't call yourself Rayne Wilde either?" The elderly pornographer cupped his face in a long-boned, surprisingly gentle hand. His skin was warm, like well-tended parchment. Rayne shook his head just once or twice. "What was the name of that film? A sweet young schoolboy surrendering his innocence to two horny strangers in an empty house."

Rayne tried to speak and had to clear his throat twice before he could get the words out.

"'Going All The Way'," he volunteered huskily. "And it wasn't the only film I made with you. I was in 'Dying for It' as well."

Ant made a small, astonished noise in the back of his throat. "You never told me you'd been in porn movies!" he protested at last, visibly shocked. 

Terry stood by him, a hand on his shoulder as if he was worried that Ant would collapse and foam at the mouth. 

"You never asked," Rayne said awkwardly, unable to meet his eyes. "I did it for the money. It's not something I brag about, Ant."

Daniel Leland had moved away from him and was flicking through an index box now until he came up with a small, blue card. He scrutinised a bank of videos on one of the shelves then produced a box and handed it wordlessly to Ant. The fair-haired man studied the cover for a little while, his cheeks flushing steadily. The crotch of his pants began to protrude slowly as he examined the stills on the sleeve.

"Jay Raymonde," he said finally. "Is that your real name?"

Rayne shook his head. "I told you, Ant. I was christened Raymonde James Wilde, after my grandfathers. Rayne Wilde 'is' my real name. I don't like using it when I'm selling myself so I go by Jay or Jason."

"How old were you...?" Ant began but Rayne was already shaking his head. 

"Work it out!"

He could see that Ant was already doing the maths. "Christ, Ray!" he exhaled tremulously. "I knew you weren't an innocent but... this is something else."

"I think they call it Hardcore, Antoine," Daniel took the video box from his hands and put it back on the shelf. "Are you excited my dear? Would you like to watch it?"

"No!" Rayne exclaimed before Ant could even open his mouth. "No... don't!" 

He stood for a moment, worrying his lower lip between his small, white teeth as Ant gaped at him visibly aroused and perplexed. Rayne felt betrayed. He stared back at the older man accusingly then whirled away. 

"I feel dirty. I need to have a shower then I wanna sleep. Alone!" he said in a grim voice. 

Whilst Ant and Daniel were still talking in subdued murmurs in the day room, Terry showed him to the bathroom, which was an ornate, white-tiled cube with a showerhead protruding from the ceiling like a silver flower and a drain hole in the floor. There was enough space in the room for at least six men. Sunken lights in the walls made the cube look like the inside of a swimming pool without the water. Once he was alone, Rayne stripped and dumped his clothes outside, then hunted for the lock on the door before concluding that there wasn't one.

Warily he turned the chromium dial in the far wall and a spill of water cascaded down onto his head and shoulders, pummelling his gritty skin until he actually began to relax slightly. It felt good to get clean. An array of soaps and gels in blocks and bottles sat on ledges around the edge of the cube and he rubbed a sweet, minty-smelling foam all through his hair and over his naked body then rinsed it off three times in all before he began to feel human again. There were no towels but when he turned off the water a soft, warm breeze began to blow from vents in the ceiling and he was soon touch dry, save for his dark, spiky hair. 

His discarded clothing had gone when he stepped out into the corridor that led to the bows of the boat. The next room along was a bedroom and he discovered his bags and guitar case and also Ant's gear in here, next to the white-shrouded, king-sized bed. There were two other bedroom suites, a toilet and a galley, which adjoined the day room where meals were prepared and eaten. As he turned to leave the largest bedroom he ran into Terry who had removed his tight denim shorts and was naked except for a pair of blue espadrilles and a broad smile. 

"That's better," the stocky Cockney fellow told him approvingly. "Nice little body you've got, still. Shame about the bruises but I guess they'll fade."

"Does everybody wander about in the buff here?" Rayne wanted to know, ignoring the other fellow's curiosity about his injuries. 

"That's what Naturism's all about," Terry laughed, then seeing the confusion on his guest's face, he added; "Didn't Anthony tell you this was a naturist resort?"

Rayne swore quietly under his breath and vowed that once they were on a level playing field he was going to beat Ant Wright to a bloody pulp for this. As if it was not bad enough that he was stuck on a boat with a man who had once filmed him pretending to surrender his virginity and being ripped apart by a humungous dildo, he was now surrounded by naked perverts as well. 

"Do I 'have' to walk about in the nude?" he asked disparagingly. 

"You can suit yourself, darlin'," Terry laughed at him. "But it gets hot as hell out here during the summer. Some days it's a blessed relief to get your kit off, I can tell you. I reckon you'd look good with an all-over tan, don't you?"

Rayne did not answer that question. He was still preoccupied by the expression on Ant's face as he studied that video case. Fending off Terry's genial attempts to coax him back on deck for a cocktail he retreated to the bedroom again and curled up on the cool sheets, his head beginning to ache slightly. Once he was lying down, alone and quiet for the first time in days, he was able to take stock. It was in the back of his mind that he had smoked the last of his Kings Cross stash as they waited for Terry to collect them from the station. He was okay for the time being but it would only be a matter of about thirty-six hours before he started to get the shakes again. That was not a comforting thought. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 06



In London he always knew someone who could fix him up for the price of a regular blow-job or a couple of rounds of casual sex in the toilets at Victoria or Kings Cross. Here he was out of his depth. He knew no one, he was flat broke and as Ant had so cuttingly reminded him on the train, he spoke very little French. He did not even know how to 'say' heroin, let alone ask for it. There was the guy at the station, he supposed, although he had no idea how to get back there. It had taken about fifteen minutes to drive here so it was probably one hell of a walk.

He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, lulled by the slap-slap-slap of water against the hull of the boat and the gentle rocking motion beneath him. It soothed him enough that he was able to finally slip into a peaceful sleep. In the end he was so tired that he did not even wake when Ant came back from the shower room and curled up around him, holding him tenderly and stroking his hair and body in exhausted wonderment. 

THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF YOUR LIFE: It was mind-numbingly hot when Rayne came to his senses, conscious of a dull thumping that was not a part of his aching head. He lay in a dark place, aware that the ground was moving very slightly underneath him. For a little while he could not remember a single thing from before he fell asleep. As he tried to sit up, someone shifted beside him and he felt a hot hand on his thigh, stroking gently over his moist skin. His bones ached, particularly in his hips and lower back. That restored some of his recent memory and he began to recover the journey that had led him to this place; the gang-bang in Soho; Ant shouting at Johnno; the interminable train journey and his amazing session with Thierry. That brought back the recollection of what had followed; the guard's van and Daniel Leland's predatory smile. 

Rayne shuddered quietly and rolled onto his back, staring through the dense, sweltering darkness at the ceiling. Some years back, when he was still much less worldly, he had been the cock-slut and protégé of a burly impresario and would-be fetish photographer called Dave Barry, who also went by the name of Barrington le Vay. They met in a nightclub in Folkestone when Rayne was still in his teens. Simon, his best friend, had talked him into the club night. Si was still in the process of discovering his homosexuality at this time. He was desperate to go to the only decent Gay Night within spitting distance of the Channel Ports in the hope of finding a boyfriend to whom he could willingly lose his anal virginity. 

Rayne would have preferred to have gone to London but Si was nervous enough about the provinces, so they wound up at the Club Tropicana (affectionately known as the Pink Parrot) and spent the night persuading older men to buy them drinks, since they were both virtually penniless. The eighties gave them licence to experiment with hair, clothes and makeup and they spared no sartorial quarter in their determination to attract as much attention as possible. It worked too. Before the night was halfway through, Simon had been dragged off into a corner booth where some guy was relentlessly trying to eat his face and feel his dick. Rayne danced for a little while then sat on a stool by the bar, watching the wildlife. 

Baz had come over to chat him up around this point. He was a big guy, not fat but very broad across the shoulders and tall with it. His dark hair was already receding from his temples although he was merely twenty-seven, and he had tried to disguise this by back-combing it so that it spiked up from his wide, sun-tanned forehead. He was wearing a tuxedo and tight black pants with the shiniest, most pointed winklepicker boots east of the metropolis. In spite of all his efforts there was something ungainly about the guy. Rayne did his best to dissuade him but quickly discovered that it was like standing in the path of an avalanche. Once Dave Barry started to talk there was no shutting the man up. Not without putting your tongue in his mouth anyway. So that was what he did. 

Baz snogged him, on and off for the rest of the night. Sometimes they danced, or the older man bought him Bacardi and cokes, which Rayne drank easily as lemonade. (He could not stand the smell of Bacardi rum to this day) At one stage, Baz asked if he wanted to go somewhere quieter and Rayne experienced the first cold water shock of the night. He was not a complete ingenue but the sudden comprehension that this bizarre creature wanted to get him into bed hit him right between the eyes. 

He tried to fend Baz off by pointing out that he was here with a friend but since Simon still had his face glued to some stranger's, this was not the greatest of excuses. When Si finally sought him out to sheepishly tell him that he was 'going back to Jake's for a night-cap' his last defence crumbled. If Simon was with him Rayne could just about face spending the remainder of the night in Folkestone bus station but alone he did not fancy it at all. Simon valiantly offered to ask if Jake minded him sleeping on the couch, which was not an option that appealed to him either. Lying on a lumpy settee with a growing hangover, listening to Si getting his brains banged out in the next room was not his idea of fun.

As he set out on his own from the club a taxi pulled up beside him and Dave Barry leaned out of the window and asked where he was going. When he said that he did not know, the door opened and reluctantly Rayne got in. They spent the fifteen-minute cab journey french-kissing and masturbating one another on the back seat and when they finally tumbled out into the night, to the evident relief of the cab driver, they were both furiously horny. The house was in the middle of nowhere, three storeys high, with little turrets at the front and a huge expanse of garden. It belonged to friends, Baz said; he was minding it for them. 

Inside there was a heated pool in the basement and a steam room. Baz poured him large, neat vodka on request, which he knocked back in one go. Then they stripped off and lounged on the steps of the pool in the shallow water, splashing and wrestling, then kissing again, teasingly at first then more intensely. Dave Barry rolled onto him, caressing his buttocks and thighs, feeling his dick and wordlessly encouraging Rayne to stroke his lovely big boner. While the boy felt his cock for him Baz began towing him into deeper water and lifting his knees from underneath. They went under and came up gasping for air, Baz was kneeling on the lowest step under him and Rayne felt the man's erection probe urgently between his cheeks as he lay back, allowing the water to lift and carry him. Dave was pushing into him wordlessly, huffing and panting as he fucked the pretty teenager, as they had both known he would when Rayne agreed to come home with him. Rayne closed his eyes, gasping softly and let it happen. Unlike Si, he was not a virgin and this was at least an improvement on risking his arse in a cold, smelly bus station where the chances of getting raped before morning were middling to high. The pool was clean and warm and he was pleasantly drunk. Dave's big cock felt okay inside him. 

They made out three times, once in the pool and twice more, naked in the steam room. Rayne woke up the next morning on a king-sized bed with black latex sheets, to which his lover handcuffed him, on his back with his legs spread wide, then gagged him and took photographs before, during and after sex.

Every Saturday night for nearly three months, Rayne Wilde stayed over with Baz at the house. The second time he went back there, the older man did a couple of lines of coke with him, then encouraged him to masturbate, naked, on the leather sofa, with a dildo and some massage oil. He took photographs incessantly. At one point he stepped up to the sofa and urged his young lover to suck him off, but he still kept snapping. They fucked for nearly four hours that night. Around two am they stopped and did another line then Dave Barry greased and mounted him again, taking him hard on the polished wooden floor until his teenage mate was whimpering with hot, horny ecstasy, his tight young body covered in sweat, lubricant and spunk...

Rayne arched his back off the sweaty sheets now, feeling them cling briefly to his moist flesh as he rose, rubbing gritty eyes. He was hard from the memories and needed to wank. The thundering sound in his ears changed momentum as he wriggled to the edge of the bed and slipped off onto his knees on the listing wooden floor. For a moment he held still, listening to Ant's level breathing and the dull pounding racket that seemed like dance music heard from a way off. There was no single discernible track, just a melee of sounds as if a neighbour with five record players had put on five different singles and was playing them all at once, at top blast.

He remembered now; he was on a boat, in France with a dirty old man who had once strapped him naked into an examination chair and asked him to straddle and ride a dildo the size of two grown male forearms and fists twined together whilst he filmed the experience. 

Dave Barry had been responsible for introducing him to Daniel Leland. Dan was, according to Baz, simply 'The Dog's...' when it came to making 'arthouse' pictures; especially the kind of arthouse pictures where sexy young lads got stripped and greased and introduced to the pleasures of rough anal intercourse. Baz sent Leland some of the photographs he had already taken of Rayne and by way of a screen-test, arranged for his young lover to have submissive sex in a deserted pool hall with three randy youths in their early twenties. A friend of Dave's ran the pool hall, his brother directed the shoot and one of the studs was the brother's eldest son, who warmed Rayne up with some axle grease on the handle of a pool cue. He ripped Rayne's jeans down then mounted and fucked him over the edge of the pool table in front of his dad and uncle, Baz and the camera. When he had shot his load he climbed onto the table, encouraging his two friends to 'get some nice tight bum while he's sucking my cock clean'. Baz filmed it in shameless close up; fifty gory minutes of rough, dirty oral and anal sex, pumped up on amphetamines. Rayne had thankfully been out of his skull and it would be over two years before he saw the finished movie which managed to imply that he was far younger than he actually had been and completely inexperienced until his crude pool-cue deflowering.

In fact he had reached orgasm three times whilst they were banging him. It still made him excited and sick in equal measure to think about it. Rayne closed his eyes now and began to pump his cock steadily in his left hand. 

After that shameless experience in the pool hall he had made 'Going All the Way' for Leland. Daniel Leland had been highly enamoured of his youthful good looks and was determined to milk them for all they were worth. In the movie, Rayne played a schoolboy stopped and asked for directions by two men who then offered to run him home. When they reached their destination they invited him in for a beer and took him upstairs, where the only furniture in the house apart from the fridge in the kitchen was an iron framed bed with a bare mattress. The pair asked if he would like to look at some porn magazines and masturbate with them. When he agreed they both undressed and got him stripped so that they could interfere with him on the bed. He was asked if he was a virgin and he shyly admitted that he was, a blatant lie which sexually excited his horny companions even more. They aroused him with their hands and mouths and encouraged him to stroke their big cocks, then spent some time 'teaching' him to suck and deep throat them. Once his mouth and face were running with cum they licked and sucked out his anus, feeling his cock and bollocks for him until he started to climax uncontrollably. He was shown explicit pictures of teenage boys getting fucked in the arse with big, glistening cocks and encouraged to rub and finger himself and his educators until he got excited again. His teachers wanked and lubricated him until he begged them shamelessly to put their dicks inside him. When he began to plead for it they took his anal virginity; one at a time to start with, then spit roasted him eagerly between them, and finally both came up his arsehole together.

"Aaahhhhhhhhh! Aaahhhhh....mmmmmmhhh!" the youngster moaned softly, bending his head to muffle his cries of satisfaction in the bed covers as he jerked himself off, thinking of that scene. Those two big tools had felt so good inside him that he had been able to forget about the camera for a little while and cum uninhibitedly for his two accommodating co-stars, kneeling astride one of them and riding him whilst the other pounded him hard from behind.

The floorboards creaked softly and Rayne sat up with a start, catching his breath in the darkness. 

"Who's being a naughty little boy then?" a mellow, gravel-toned voice enquired from the doorway. He recognised the east-end barrow-boy accent as Terry's right away and groped helplessly for some explanation that would not sound completely lame. 

"I was... I just... I couldn't sleep."

"We've been watching you at work while you was not-sleepin', gorgeous," Terry chuckled. "Quite a little cum slut, aren't you? I had a serious wank watching you get some experience with those two young blokes. I reckon young Rosie didn't know whether to blush or beat his meat."

Rayne felt the heat rise to his cheeks. Ant began to snore quietly, then rolled over and nuzzled the pillows, snuffling after his missing lover in his dreams.

"I was kind of hopin' that he'd have the energy to give you one so's I could watch," the cockney fellow said cheekily now. "From the look of you, you've been hopin' the same."

Rayne remained kneeling on the floor. His hands were sticky with spilt cum and there was a spreading pool of semen on the boards in front of him. When he did not speak, Terry pushed away from the door and came towards him. He had a hard-on, visible in the light from the corridor now. Rayne stared at his long, thick, fully erect penis, silhouetted against the doorway. Even though Terry had to be in his late fifties, he had a lovely cock. It was as long as Ant's and easily as fat but Terry was circumcised and his helm glistened wetly in the half-light as it bobbed in front of his face, then brushed its salty wetness over his lips. He opened his mouth, never able to resist a big, sexy cock on his tongue.

"Good boy," Terry breathed, almost inaudibly as the boy's full, soft, glossy lips parted around his throbbing glans, stroking the sensitive flesh skilfully. "Ohhh yesss... good boy. Suck that, baby!"

Rayne let his tongue glide down the rippling underside of Terry's long shaft, opening his mouth wider and nodding his dark head down onto the tangy fuck-rod between his jaws. He wasted no time. As his throat yielded to Terry's gentle, insistent pulsing, he let his left hand slide between his legs and began to caress himself again, stiffening as he sucked on the older man's big, ribbed, muscular penis. For an old guy, Terry was magnificently endowed and Rayne nuzzled the white curls of his sweaty crotch now as he knelt and pleasured the man. His right hand moved to Terry's balls and began to fondle them. He felt the vibration of his mate's answering groan trickle across his palate and into his skull. 

Rayne made a small, satisfied noise as he tasted the sharpness of a fat pearl of pre-cum in the back of his throat. Terry pulled slowly from his mouth before he spilled his entire load and rubbed the plump, throbbing head of his gleaming, well-sucked penis over his lover's face, squeezing a streamer of sperm over his eyelids and lips as Rayne gently blew on his wet cock, still teasing him.

"Suck my bollocks, there's a good lad," he sighed. "Oh yeah... you're good. Lick 'em good... get my big fella nice and ready for your glory hole."

Rayne nuzzled his heavy balls and took them in his mouth one at a time, drawing them between his lips until the flesh stretched taut then releasing them gradually so they slipped out of his mouth a bit at a time. Terry stroked his hair and made happy little whimpering noises. 

"Yeah... yeah... good lad." He moved around now, coaxing Rayne back onto the bed. "Bend over lover boy there and give him a wake-up call with your sexy mouth on his nice big cock."

As Rayne began to kiss and lick Ant's penis, it stirred and stiffened quickly to full erection. Ant turned sleepily onto his back and his hand moved down to Rayne's dark hair automatically, urging his mate to suck and swallow as he began to thrust his hips upward off the mattress. Terry bent over Rayne's cheeks and pulled the boy's slim thighs open a little wider so that he could lick and suck on that pucker of dark flesh that promised so much pleasure. Rayne uttered a little 'aaahhhh' of need as Terry's wriggling tongue quickly probed and entered him, tickling wetly into his rectum and making him twitch and stiffen in response. 

There was absolutely no question of denying them this. He was hot and trembling, still needy even after pulling himself to a climax. As Terry Goodwill bent over him from behind and began to rub the head of his pulsing, sticky cock against Rayne's hole, the boy swallowed the last inch of Ant's penis down into his throat and rubbed his crotch on the bedcovers urgently. His well-fucked sphincter opened with barely a moment's resistance, engulfing Terry's thrusting prick quickly and readily. Rayne uttered a little mew of longing as that big shaft filled him up, reaching his hot spot in no time and nudging against it over and over. He heard Ant murmuring sleepy, delighted encouragement as he nodded his head over the other man's lovely, nine-inch tool. The big, fat head of his penis sat right in the back of his throat and he took a long breath through his nostrils, then another to keep from gagging on it until he could get it deeper. Ant stroked his hair and pressed his head down with both hands as he began to buck impulsively underneath the boy. Terry straddled him, kneeling on the edge of the mattress astride his slim hips so that he could pump the youngster's arse deeper and harder.

The lights had come up whilst they were fucking but Rayne was immured to everything but the sensation of burning pleasure that began somewhere under his ribs and ended in his throat and the tip of his cock. He was wriggling and moaning, taking them willingly to heaven and back so long as they brought him off in turn. The two older men passed breathless, murmured comments as they fucked him, surging in and out of his lean, wet, sexy body, their thrusting weapons making soft, slippery, squelching sounds in time with their groans of satisfaction. 

Rayne managed to get to his knees under the older guy and felt Terry's groping hand between his legs even before he could touch himself. He moaned, way down in his chest, squirming in the man's powerful, seductive embrace, grinding his hips back into Terry's groin the way the young French lad had done for him in the toilet cubicle this afternoon. It felt amazing, Terry was so big and hot inside him. He did not want it to end.

Ant let him lift his head so that he was able to stroke and lick the throbbing penis in his mouth just before it exploded and he was treated to a feast of salty semen. Overwhelmed by his own need, Rayne keened more urgently, swallowing as much of his lover's spill as he could. As he knelt back into Terry's arms, gasping for air, Ant bent over him and took Rayne's stiff young cock into his own mouth, licking and sucking passionately. Rayne bucked back and forth between them, yelping like an animal. The powerful strokes of Terry's big cock quickly brought him to a thrashing, howling peak of pleasure between Ant's lips and as he subsided into the older fellow's embrace he felt Terry stab potently into his nether depths, filling him with rich, viscous heat. Rayne quivered repeatedly, eyes closed, lips parted, panting with astonishment and arousal.




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 06



"Oh yeah... that was good!" Terry growled softly in his ear. 

He nodded, too breathless to speak. Ant rose up before him, kissing his mouth slowly and sensually, running shaking hands over his naked body as they knelt together on the bed. Terry kissed his shoulders and caressed his thighs in warm, steady circles. He was still inside Rayne, half hard and throbbing with pleasure. Rayne could feel the other man's rapid pulse deep in his rectum. As Ant's tongue lapped at the roof of his mouth, Terry huffed; "D'you want some more, gorgeous?"

Rayne nodded and made a small, affirmative noise in the back of his throat as Ant kissed him harder. His own lips were searching the other man's face hungrily as he rotated his hips in Terry's thrusting crotch. Now he could feel the cockney fellow getting harder inside him as he began to pump away again. 

"God you're beautiful!" Ant gasped as their lips parted with a wet sucking sound and he bent his head to kiss Rayne's neck and throat. His hand moved between the boy's legs, cupping his balls and rubbing them gently, then he began to lick and nibble Rayne's erect nipples until the lad was writhing and crying out again. 

"He's something else, Rosie," Terry groaned appreciatively. "When he's in the mood he's red hot, you're so right."

"Have you bastards been talking about me?" Rayne hissed through clenched teeth as Terry began to plumb his depths again, stoking the rebellious heat that was seething inside him. 

"Talking... and watching you in action, sweet-cheeks; "Terry huffed as Ant went down on him, licking and stroking with his lips as he fondled Rayne's aching balls. "You are such a saucy little treat, aren't you? I must have watched that movie before but it never got to me the way it did tonight, knowing you were naked in the next room. My dick was like lead while I was listening to you begging those two big studs for some cock action. Did you want it as much as you made out?"

Rayne sucked another breath through his teeth and moaned ecstatic affirmation as Terry fucked harder, reaching around him to pinch and twist his nipples. Ant stroked his wet tongue down between his lover's balls, deep-throating him greedily until he wanted to burst. 

"Oh god!" he panted, wriggling between them furiously. "Oh Christ, yes! Ohhhhh yes!"

"Good lad. Tell us what you want, baby. Beg us for it like you did in the movie." Terry kissed his neck and his ear wetly. His thumbs rubbed back and forth incessantly across Rayne's stiff, sensitive nipples. Ant released his cock and began to kiss his way back up Rayne's bare belly, sucking and biting his tender buds again. 

"Fuck me! Make me cum!" Rayne implored huskily. His slim body was soaked in sweat and spilled cum. Terry drove his rod deeper, bucking faster and harder.

"Like this?"

"Aaahhhhhh... Yeah!" Rayne was nodding eagerly. 

Terry's crotch felt hot and sticky against his cheeks, his big balls swung back and forth between his mate's thighs, bumping against Rayne's as he fucked the boy. "Is that good, baby?" 

"Mmmmmmmhhhhhh!" Rayne was nodding automatically.

Ant rose to his feet and steered his fat, purple cock head between Rayne's wet lips. At once the boy began to lick and suck him greedily. 

"Is that what you want?" Ant chuckled, throbbing with pleasure as Rayne's mouth opened for him. 

"Uhh-huh," the boy nodded again, reaching for his own cock. 

Terry got there first, closing his fingers around the youngster's erection and fisting it steadily. Rayne whimpered with longing and swallowed Ant deeper into his mouth. His young hands moved up between Ant's thighs now, caressing his nuts and stroking tenderly between Ant's cheeks the way he knew the other man loved it. 

Ant caught his breath and let it go in a rush of delight. "Aahhh... put your fingers in me. Oh god, Rayne... yeah! Like that!"

The younger man let his translucent eyelids and long lashes veil that huge-pupiled, lime green gaze as he swallowed Ant deep into his throat again. He pressed the first two fingertips of his left hand firmly against the pucker of his lover's anus, then drove them steadily into his moist, hot arse. Ant swayed and put a hand on Terry's shoulder to keep himself upright while Rayne sucked and frigged him deftly. Terry screwed the boy hard now, holding his slim hips in both hands as he fed his length repeatedly in and out of their young lover's willing hole.

It was Terry who groaned and climaxed first, buckling forward and bringing Rayne and Ant down across the bed like a felled chimney as he spurted hard inside the boy. Ant slipped free of the youngster's mouth as he fell backwards, still moaning in ecstasy. Rayne scrambled up between his legs at once and began to kiss his neck as he replaced his fingers with his hard young cock in Ant's spasmodically twitching anus. At once Ant's knees came up and he hooked his legs over Rayne's thrusting hips, pulling him in eagerly. 

"Ohhhh, yeah!" Ant keened, writhing on the bed under his lover as Rayne bucked into him furiously, pounding him with all the burgeoning frustration of the last couple of days. "Fuck me, Ray. Don't hold back."

Terry was laughing breathlessly as he watched them coupling on the bed. At one point he said, ambiguously; "I hope you're getting all of this."

Ant and Rayne were too involved in one another to care. The younger man bucked like a horse between his lover's thighs until the sweat was running off him in streams and he could barely get his breath. When it looked as if he would collapse between Ant's legs, he suddenly stiffened and shuddered, giving in to the powerful surge of release with a long, wordless, aching groan of passion. 

"Christ, you're beautiful," Ant whispered huskily, pulling Rayne towards him as the boy's cock slipped out of him, quickly losing it's tumescence as the last droplets of semen were spent in Ant's exposed crack. 

Instinctively the exhausted youth straddled him and felt the mattress subside behind his knees as Terry came to join him, aroused again by the sight of their energetic fucking. The older man reached into the drawer by the bed and produced a bottle of lubricant as Rayne sat astride Ant's throbbing penis, rubbing the head slowly against his well-fucked hole. The lube helped Ant to slip easily into his stretched ring. Terry lubed his own wand slowly, then screwed the cap back on the bottle and discarded it in order to press his circumcised tip between the boy's bare buttocks. He wriggled a slippery finger into the youngster's anus and Rayne squirmed and sighed; "No... Terry please."

"We've just watched you do it, baby. You know you can," Terry coaxed, still fingering him gently.

"You're both a 'lot' bigger," Rayne exhaled, shaking his head, hoping the compliment would placate them. 

"Yeah yeah!" Terry chuckled, wriggling a second finger up there as Ant humped up into him a little at a time, eyes wide and eager. "I've just watched you taking a dildo the size of two big fists up there. Don't spin me a line, baby! Just relax and let me get you nice and loose and ready for us."

Rayne wriggled again as Terry cupped his cheeks and pushed him forward, up and off Ant's hard-on, which bobbed over his belly as Ant stroked his young mate's thighs, uttering a little whimper of disappointment. He had been aching to get his cock inside Rayne all night and those few short moments of lovely, slippery penetration were not nearly enough. 

As Terry applied more lube to his fingers, Ant pulled Rayne's mouth onto his own again and they kissed long and deep. He felt Rayne groan into his mouth and begin to squirm some more, then to buck eagerly as Terry got three, then four fingers into his arsehole and frigged him good and fast with them. 

"Mmmmmhhh," he exhaled into Ant's mouth. "Feels good!"

Terry withdrew his fingers slowly and curled them into a tight fist, rubbing his greasy knuckles over the boy's stretched entrance, pummelling him steadily until he was able to ease his fist slowly up the young man's sexy hole. He kept applying lubricant and took his time as Rayne bucked and struggled, keening in a high, shuddering tone the whole while. 

"Aaaahhhh.... Aahhhhhahhhhhhhiiyyy Yeah! Ohhhh Yeah!"

"You like that, baby?" Terry pumped him a little faster from behind. Ant held onto his arms as the boy knelt over him, mewling like a baby tiger. He was getting hard again and Ant was aching to fuck him but he also wanted to be the cause of the sublime pleasure he could see on his lover's gorgeous face. He wriggled out from under Rayne now so that he could watch as Terry fisted the younger man roughly. 

"Let me," he huffed after a moment or two. 

Terry had his right arm embedded in Rayne's hole well up past the wrist and as he withdrew it slowly, glistening with mucus and a few dark flecks of shit, the boy whimpered his disapproval clearly enough. Ant applied some of the slippery gunk to his knuckles and rubbed it in swiftly, rolling Rayne onto his side and drawing one of the boy's knees over his shoulder so that his legs were wide spread, and his hole likewise. He circled one knuckle inside his mate's anus and the boy sighed wistfully. Ant rubbed with two, then three knucklebones until the ring of muscle between Rayne's soft white cheeks expanded and admitted them all. As he put a bit more pressure behind them, his mate cried out quietly and reached down to stroke himself. 

His body was soft and warm, moist and yielding inside. He sucked Ant's clenched fingers into himself like a black hole, writhing and surging against the intrusion as he pumped his throbbing sex harder. The little noises escaping from his throat were fragile, half-painful, part wondering exclamations. 

"Ahhh, yeah, he likes that," Terry enthused, bending over the boy to watch him take it. "You never tried him out like this, Rosie? Shame on you!"

Rayne twisted and convulsed on the mattress. His eyes were closed again and his breathing was fast and uncontrolled. Ant could feel how focussed he was on reaching orgasm. From time to time he shuddered like a stalling engine; a violent spasm of sheer sensation, be it pain or pleasure. His dark hair was slick and sweat soaked, sticking to his cheeks and brow in little fronds. Jewels of sweat gleamed on his face and body as he rocked himself against Ant's pounding fist, getting himself more deeply impaled with every stroke.

"Rrrrrrrrr..... rrrrrrrrrrggghhhhh...." he groaned quietly and urgently, his small, white teeth clenched hard behind curling lips. He was working on himself with both hands now, tugging on his balls and fisting his stiff, leaking cock furiously.

"Ohhh Christ I hope Dan's getting all this!" Terry breathed, shaking his head slowly as he watched the boy begin to cum hard. His head tilted back and his mouth fell open around a long, hungry, needy cry that was almost anguished. Ant felt his body begin to shake violently. He pushed deep, one final time and pulled out slowly as Rayne squirted a fountain of semen over his belly and chest. 

"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! Jesus! Jesus!" Rayne was sobbing, shaking his head from side to side. "Omigod!"

Ant spread his legs and climbed onto him before he could recover his senses. He sank into the younger man's yielding rectum easily and began to thrust away fast and hard whilst Rayne was still whimpering under him, his cries no more than little hiccups of emotion. Terry was down beside them at once, easing the boy onto his right side and snuggling up behind him. Ant caught his breath as Terry's hot penis joined his own, stabbing into Rayne eagerly and getting deep inside him in no time at all. The young man looped his arms around Ant's neck, clinging to him as he was taken front and rear. He moved one knee up over Ant's right hip, giving him better access as the two men fucked the breath out of him. Ant could hear him huffing softly, his heart hammering its way out of his skinny chest as he was pressed between them.

"Ohhhh you're good," he sighed, kissing the lad tenderly on the neck and throat as he surged and Terry rubbed against him rapidly in the hot, wet confines of his lover's arse. "So good!"

"So tasty," Terry added, nuzzling his shoulder and neck from behind. "Do you like this, baby? Do you love it this way?"

"Uh-huh..." Rayne managed a tiny, sexy, exhausted little smile for Ant. His green eyes glittered with energy behind those long, black lashes as his two randy, older mates pumped him full of their hot, copious ejaculate, both grunting and moaning with intense satisfaction before they finally slipped out of him and let him rest.

***AS EVER... IF THIS STORY SHOWS UP ANYWHERE BUT LITEROTICA.COM IT HAS, UNLESS OTHERWISE SPECIFIED, BEEN TAKEN AND USED WITHOUT PERMISSION. COPYRIGHT FRAUD IS THEFT AND WE WILL TAKE ACTION AGAINST ANYONE CAUGHT STEALING OUR MATERIAL***

END OF CHAPTER SIX.  



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 07



CHAPTER SEVEN – OLD HABITS DIE HARD

"Gosh, Chapter Seven already! To think this was only going to be a short story. Oh well, please enjoy, the party's nearly over.

"As usual, if this story shows up anywhere but Literotica it's been NICKED! Theft is cheap and nasty so go write your own!"

xxx.Sadie

AGDE: MORNING

Ant was still sleeping soundly when Rayne scrambled from the disarrayed bed and dragged himself across the corridor to the shower room. Thankfully there were no mirrors in the white tiled cubicle. The glare of lights on the polished surfaces was painful enough without the visual reminder that he was probably not looking his best right now. He turned on the water and stood underneath the jets until they grew too hot to tolerate, then adjusted the thermostat with a shaking hand and remained there with his eyes closed and his head tilted back, catching the cascade in his mouth and spitting it out until he began to feel slightly less defiled. 

Still damp from the shower, he wandered through the shady galley and into the brighter spaces of the day room beyond. Although the room was empty the doors onto the rear deck were open and he could hear quiet conversation. Just as he was debating whether or not to slip unobtrusively back to bed a shadow fell across the room and he looked up into the curious, mildly amused grey eyes of Daniel Leland.

"I wasn't expecting you to surface for a few hours yet," the older man remarked a little too knowingly. 

That brought back another memory from his experience of the previous night. He vaguely recalled that Terry Goodwill had seemed to be speaking to someone whilst he and Ant fucked Rayne in the bedroom, although there was no sign of the elderly pornographer at the time. Now he narrowed his eyes at the fellow suspiciously, ignoring the dig. 

"Are there cameras in our room?" he demanded, all too conscious of the fact that he was still naked and Leland was not. Admittedly the old man wore nothing more than one of his omnipresent dangling sarongs and a pair of deck shoes but that was beside the point. 

"Do you have a problem with that?" Daniel Leland enquired mildly, derailing his line of interrogation by refusing to appear remotely ashamed. 

"It's... it's not exactly..." Rayne groped for a suitable handle and the older man supplied it for him neatly. 

"...Nice? Well no, I suppose it isn't. But then I was not given to understand that you were a 'nice' boy. If it troubles you I could always promise to turn them off." He tilted his head, gazing at Rayne like some degenerate prophet from a biblical scene. 

The boy chewed on his lower lip irritably. "Bit late for that, isn't it?"

"Precisely!" Leland's expression visibly brightened as if this acknowledgement was somehow a satisfactory conclusion to their disagreement. "Maybe you would feel better after some breakfast; coffee and croissants... or some fruit juice perhaps?"

He turned and sauntered back onto the sunlit deck before his young guest could open his mouth to argue that he was not hungry. Awkwardly he followed his host out into the bright, summer morning, blinking against the intensity of the light. He had been expecting to find Terry out there so he was not sure whether to be relieved or embarrassed when he discovered that Daniel's companion was a handsome looking woman of middle years who wore a magenta silk wrap, embroidered in gold thread around her slim waist. She was richly tanned, the colour of polished walnut veneer, with long, dark, red-gold hair tied back in a thick tail at the nape of her neck. Huge, round sunglasses perched on her nose obscuring much of her face and her neck was draped in strings of coloured beads and dangling ornaments that hung down between her bare breasts. Long, sun-tanned legs were crossed gracefully at the knee and her feet were bare, the toenails painted vivid pink to match her wrap. A pair of pink, beaded flip-flops had been casually discarded at the entrance to the deck area. 

Rayne tried not to stare at her tits but it was hard as they did scream for attention. They were big and firm, at least a double handful apiece and tanned as deeply as the rest of her body (or the bits that he could see, in any case). Her skin was very smooth and glistened with oil and she wore ornamental swirls of golden leaves around her large, dark-brown nipples so that the teats protruded like coffee beans through the middle. He looked deliberately towards Dan Leland so that he was not forced to gaze at them.

"Rayne Wilde, meet Isolde Parvenue, one of my oldest friends out here. Isolde runs one of the most popular clubs at the Cap," Dan explained. 

"Ohhh, he is adorable!" the woman cooed in a husky, French-accented voice at least two octaves deeper than Rayne had been expecting. "So slim, so pale. He is 'beautiful', Daniel!"

Rayne felt a little heat rise to his cheeks at that. He forced his eyes back to hers, seeing long lashes flicker through the smoky lenses of her shades as she watched him. 

"Uh... hi," he said, blushing more hotly as the words came out more of a squeak than the assured greeting he had hoped for. 

"Come and sit next to me," Isolde purred, shifting on her cushioned bench and making some room for him. "Let me look at you, cherie. So pretty!"

He bit his lip and tucked his cock between his legs carefully as he sank onto the soft bench seat where she indicated. It felt wrong somehow to expose himself to a woman who was probably old enough to be his mother. Her body felt hot next to his and he swallowed dryly. 

Isolde pushed her sunglasses up onto her forehead and half turned, cupping his face in her hand. Her fingernails were long and pink as well, with little diamante pieces set into them that twinkled in the sunlight. She wore a wealth of gold and diamonds on her slim, brown fingers. 

"Such lovely eyes," she enthused. Her own were dark brown with little flecks of green and gold. Those long lashes were extended with a liberal coating of mascara. There were a few fine lines around the edges of her eyes and generous mouth but nothing more ageing than that. Her lips were fine and filled out with pale pink lipstick and a shimmer of gloss. He wondered if she was about to kiss him but she just let go of his chin and reached for her drink. "Like jewels!" she said, taking a little sip through the straw embedded in a heap of strawberries and crushed ice in her glass. 

"Um... thanks," Rayne murmured awkwardly. 

"Rayne is going to make a film for me," Daniel explained, saving him from further attempts at small talk. "Hopefully, he's going to make me a lot of money as well."

"You are Antoine's boy?" Isolde asked, turning to face him again. "His little street boy? Terry has told me of you."

"News travels fast," Rayne said, a little more dryly. 

"Have a drink," Dan interjected, pouring a pinkish concoction from a tall, glass jug in the centre of the table and pushing the glass towards him. 

Rayne sipped it warily. There was vodka in there and some fruit mixture that he could not decipher, cranberries possibly, or redcurrants. It was early to start drinking but he figured that he needed it and downed the lot at one draught. Daniel said nothing, only refilled his glass. 

"I thought I might go for a walk," Rayne told him, emboldened by the vodka. "Y'know, get my bearings and what 'ave you."

"Should you not wait until Antoine wakes?" Isolde asked him solicitously. Dan was looking at him with a rather doubtful expression on his craggy face.

"He's not my mother. I'm a big boy now. I'm not going to get lost or run away or nothin'," Rayne said in a determined tone. "I've no bloody clothes on for a start. I wouldn't get far, would I?"

"You should be careful," the older man responded seriously, taking the deck chair opposite their lounger now. 

"I will be." Rayne held his stare defiantly. 

"You do not know this place. It is... fun, yes but there are darker elements here also. There are people here who are not as they might seem. Just... be careful." Leland sighed and took a sip from his own glass. "Will you not eat first?" 

"I'm never 'ungry first thing in the morning," Rayne said neutrally, finishing his second drink and setting the tumbler down as he rose. 

"You should put on some sun cream before you go out," Isolde warned solemnly, though there was a twinkle in her eye. "Such a pale skin, you will burn for sure."

"Are you gonna help me?" he asked cheekily, feeling the alcohol bubbling through his veins, giving him more confidence. 

By way of a reply, she rose with him and nudged him back into the day room. 

Isolde's long brown hands were firm and gentle on his face and neck, smoothing the sun oil into his skin in slow, deliberate circles. She took her time and forbade him to help her, so he watched her more openly this time, appreciating the rise and fall of her perfect curves as she stroked the contours of his naked body. 

"How long does it take to get that colour?" he wanted to know. 

"I have lived here for... nearly thirty years," Isolde said, hesitating only slightly in order to count them off. 

"You must have been a child when you first came then," he ventured with a grin. 

"Pretty and charming also," Isolde smiled at him as she stroked his skinny arms and his bare chest and belly. "Turn about." 

When he turned away from her reluctantly, she applied a drizzle of the lukewarm oil to his naked back and rubbed it in steadily. Her hands felt good on his body and he closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on the steady swirling touch of her fingers and palms on his bare skin. "I was seventeen when I came here first, with my lover. He stayed with me for two years only, then left me. Since then I have lived by my own wits."

"You're nearly fifty?" he exclaimed softly, opening his eyes wide and shaking his head. "Bloody 'ell!"

"That surprises you?" Isolde knelt and he could feel her warm breath on his buttocks and the backs of his thighs as she caressed his skin wetly there. Her thumb glided every so seductively down the crevice between his cheeks and he caught a sharp intake of the sultry morning air as it lingered there. Isolde asked; "Does that feel good?"

"Yeah."

She oiled him carefully between his legs and he parted his thighs automatically as she stroked the downy inner flanks with her slippery hands. Strong, warm fingers curled around his calves and rubbed smoothly up and down his shins to his ankles and feet. 

"Turn," she said in a voice that was little more than a breathy whisper. 

As he obeyed her, he noted that Leland was standing in the doorway watching them with a boyishly eager smile. Rayne swallowed with a little difficulty and tried to glare at him but it made no difference. Isolde carefully lavished oil on the tops of his feet and his ankles, then his knees and the front of his slim thighs. He waited for her to tell him that he could do the rest himself but she did not. 

He was half-hard and conscious of it as she began to oil his balls, cupping them in her left hand and stroking them carefully with the right until they were hot and slippery and he was leaking a dribble of semen from his stiffening tool. He quivered as she rubbed her hands down her thighs to get rid of the excess sun oil, then wrapped her fingers around his cock and slowly pulled on it. Isolde worked her way to the throbbing head, squeezing him gently, then smoothed her hand back down his shaft, manicured fingers curled tight around it, easing back his foreskin so that the glans was exposed to her warm breath. He moaned quietly, biting on his lower lip again as she rose on her knees and bent her mouth to his erect penis. Rayne began to huff rapidly as she licked and sucked on the head of his sex, swirling her tongue around it and teasing the oozing eyelet with the tip. 

When she pulled him down onto the bed with her, Rayne did not resist. He was throbbing with need and as she removed her nipple rings and passed him the bottle of oil he wasted no time in rubbing a handful into her naked breasts. They were unexpectedly firm and smooth, yielding only a little to his fondling hands, but she sighed her appreciation and wriggled down lower onto the crisp, white duvet as he caressed her, bending over her to kiss her lips and her neck. The oil was sweet smelling and slightly tart on his tongue when he began to kiss and suck on her breasts, his hands moving up and down from her slim waist to the swell of her mammaries as he pulled on her nipples with his mouth. He took his time, sheathing his teeth behind his lips so that he did not hurt her and her groans of arousal suggested that she certainly approved.

"You like my breasts?" she growled huskily. 

"Are they real?" he whispered wickedly, running his tongue slowly around one nipple and then the other until she shivered with pleasure.

"Cheeky boy! What do 'you' think?"

"'alf and 'alf," he grinned back at her. "I reckon 'real' tits are softer than that. Not that I don't approve," he added quickly when her eyebrows lowered in warning. "I've never sucked a pair as big as yours."

Dan Leland was forgotten as he bent over her, his hands moving to her thighs and stroking their way up the smooth, lean expanses of her legs. She spread herself willingly for him and he mouthed and suckled more greedily on her heaving bosom, rubbing his face between her rolling breasts and inhaling her hot, sweet aroma, then kissing his way down to her belly reaching for her pussy. As his hands parted her thighs, the sarong fell away and he sat back with a start. 

"Jesus Christ!"

Isolde's hands caught his wrists, keeping him from falling over backwards. She was saying something soothing to him but his ears were buzzing and his heart was racing too fast for him to follow the words. In the background Leland was laughing quietly. 

The woman beneath him was perfectly smooth and sleek, her tanned body oiled and hairless all the way up her lean thighs and flat belly. Her mound was waxed and the same golden brown as the rest of her body. A large, dark, semi-erect penis jutted up proudly from the junction of her long legs. Heavy, hairless balls hung down between her thighs. She was a He!

"Fuck!" he exhaled, still blinking at her twitching cock. 

Isolde held him loosely, her expression unchanging as he stared at her. In that rich, lazy, husky voice she... he purred; "Would you like to? Fuck me, I mean!"

Rayne swallowed again, heart racing though he was slowly getting over the initial shock. He had never fucked a Tranny before. Isolde wriggled and pouted at him, pretending disappointment. 

"You don't want me now that that you know what I have between my legs? You want a 'real' pussy?"

"Ant 'will' be disappointed!" Daniel chuckled, still watching from the doorway, his arms folded across his bare chest. "His little rent boy is straight after all!"

Rayne's eyes narrowed, though he purposely did not look Leland's way this time. Firmly he pulled his wrists free of Isolde's hands and then, when she sighed a little resignedly, he bent over her and wrapped his lips around the head of her cock. The sigh deepened and ended in a little 'ohhh'.

Even her semen had a sweetish taste to it, almonds and rose-water and a hint of something sharp like lemon. He swallowed her deeper at once, eyes closed, relishing the thickness of her shaft as it filled the space between his jaws. He nodded his head gently and she writhed beneath him, urging herself up into his mouth hungrily. 

"Oh you sweet boy. That feels so... ohhhh!"

Rayne knelt up over her, feeling the fingers of one of her hands curl into the dark nest of his hair, pushing his mouth down harder onto her rod. He opened his eyes and looked towards her. Isolde was rubbing her breasts eagerly with the other hand. Taking a deep breath through his nostrils he swallowed her all the way down and nuzzled the silky smoothness of her pelvic mound. Isolde cried his name; a soft, fractured note that was almost a plea.

He parted her legs again and stroked one finger between her cheeks, tickling and teasing until he felt her ring accommodate him. The slippery probe eased into her and she rose up off the bed covers like an eel. 

"Ohhhh.... Ohhhh!" she keened, her voice raising half an octave. 

As she released his head he knelt upright between her thighs and rubbed himself between her firm, brown buttocks. Isolde cried out his name again; "Rayne... Rayne... Mai oui!" as he urged himself into her, feeling her legs encircle him, pulling him down. Isolde was tight and wet and he had to buck hard to bury the full length of his erect prick all the way inside her the way she wanted it. Once he was sheathed in her, he felt her snug passage begin to relax a little. Astonishingly, she must have been quite nervous although it had never shown in her face as she held him, keeping him from fleeing her seduction. Now he crouched over her once more, thrusting eagerly as he kissed her neck and breasts again. 

"Is this what you want?" he huffed in her ear.

"Ohhh... oui, vraiment!" Isolde sighed, grinding her firm arse against his groin deliberately. "So beautiful and so good in bed! Your cock feels so good in me! Perhaps you are not such a little boy after all!"

He fucked her quick and hard, a smile on his face that would not quite go away even when she squeezed tightly around him as she reached her hot, squirting climax. He bent his head, lips parted to catch a little of her semen in his mouth then pushed himself fiercely into her, as deep as he could go, slumping in her arms, across her breasts and echoing her cry of passion as he came long and hard inside her. His limbs trembled and failed him as he gave in to the climactic impulse and he felt his own spill lubricating her rectum, easing his withdrawal from her hot, needy body. 

"That was... somethin' else!" he panted at last. 

Isolde rolled him onto his side and wriggled out from under him with a beaming smile. 

"You are a sweetheart," she purred, ruffling his hair as she rose and sashayed through to the shower room. He watched her go, appreciating the curves of her firm arse and the long, slim, shapely lines of her legs. 

He washed quickly at the basin in the WC and applied some more sun oil. Isolde was still singing in a deep husky voice in the shower when he wandered back out to the rear deck with his sunglasses perched on top of his head. He felt like singing as well. Dan Leland glanced up at him from the broadsheet newspaper that was open across his lap.

"That was kind of you," he said quietly. "Not every man treats Isolde so gently."

"I wasn't gentle," Rayne pointed out. 

"You were not fazed either," the elderly pornographer responded, a slight smile pulling at his lips beneath his immaculate moustache. "It was a shock, but you handled it well."

"She seemed to think so." Rayne poured himself some grapefruit juice and knocked it back in one. "Can I borrow some money?"

"Am I a loan facility now?" Leland eyed him speculatively. 

"You got a free show back there. 'And' last night," the younger man reminded him seriously. "Don't think I didn't know you were watching."

Daniel seemed to deliberate for a moment. 

"How much do you need?" he asked finally. 

"I just want some fags, and maybe a beer or something while I'm out." Rayne put his hands on his hips and let Leland silently appraise his naked body for a little while longer. At last the bearded fellow nodded his head and reached for a leather money belt beneath his chair. He counted out four hundred franc notes and two fifties. 

Before handing them to Rayne he said; "You would look good on film, still. I'd want you to pass the doctor first; some of the actors I work with are big in this industry. We don't use rubbers and I like all my boys to be clean. Do you understand?"




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 07



Rayne's pale green eyes widened slightly. 

"You seriously want to film me again? For real?"

"If you are willing to work with me. The money will be good." Leland tapped the wad of Francs against his long brown thigh. Rayne's gaze flickered to the notes then back to his face.

"For real?" he said again.

"If you agree to play by my rules," Leland told him. "Ant says that you need a lot of money, and quickly. I can arrange for you to make that kind of money, but I don't work with whores and I don't work with Junkies. Do you understand?"

"I have to see a doctor?" Rayne chewed on his lip, his pupils widening slightly.

"Do you think that will be a problem?"

"I dunno," the younger man exhaled warily. "I think I'm clean but it's been a while since I had a medical check up."

"I will arrange it," Leland leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the money cupped loosely in his hands. He was looking at Rayne's long, slim, pale arms. The boy put his hands behind him automatically. "If my medical advisor says you are clean then we begin shooting in five days."

"Jesus!" Rayne breathed the word out through lightly clenched teeth. 

"You are not sure?" Those long brown fingers curled around the cash. Rayne shook his head at once.

"I... I can do it. I'm... just..." 

"You are not sure about the examination?"

"Like I said, it's been a long time. I've... I've been..."

"You've been a dirty boy," Leland nodded his head knowingly. "Antoine has told me as much as he knows. I am not judgmental, Rayne Wilde. If you scope clean and you are willing I will give you another chance. Mess me about, lie to me, take drugs on my boat and I will make sure your bones rot at the bottom of the Med. Do You Understand?"

Rayne nodded his head silently. Leland seemed satisfied. He held out the money in one hand and his companion snatched it like a chameleon snaring a fly.

"You have about fifty pounds there," Leland said gravely, watching as the boy shuffled the notes from hand to hand. "You might want to find something to put it in. Don't spend it all at once."

Rayne flashed him a dazzling grin and blew him a kiss, then he was gone. 

EXPLORING THE CAP:

The old-timer who had been tinkering with his motor launch when they arrived was still pottering about on his small boat when Rayne came virtually skipping back along the pontoon to the harbour. He waved and smiled and the boy shouted; "Bonjour!" as he let himself out at the small gate and set off in the direction of the handful of bars and small shops across the road from the marina. He bought a little turquoise suede pouch on a long cord fairly inexpensively from a shop that sold leather belts and handbags. It provided some small change as well and he tucked his money inside and hung it around his neck. 

The initial strangeness of being naked on a public street soon gave way to curiosity about his new environment. Not everyone went from place to place completely nude but the majority of people that he passed seemed unhampered by clothing. He was surprised to find that the older visitors seemed to have fewer inhibitions. A lot of younger men and women still wore towels to and from the beach but the middle aged and the elderly let it all hang out quite happily. People stopped and chatted as if it was quite the most normal thing in the world to wander down to the shops or go for a morning stroll in the all together. He found a small arcade around a circular pool area where families congregated and children ran around splashing and playing together, naked as the day they were born. There was a supermarket on the ring of shops and he wandered in, bemused at the sight of a balding man in glasses pushing a trolley around, blithely nude. 

He bought a can of French lager and some white chocolate. The girl on the till was wearing a denim skirt and a bikini top and he wondered if she got fed up of staring at limp cocks and saggy tits all day but when he asked her she just shrugged and did not seem to understand. There was a tobacconist's shop three doors along, which also sold a proliferation of inflatable dinghies, beach towels and lilos. He contemplated buying postcards but remembered Daniel's warning about not spending everything at once and restricted himself to a couple of 20 packs of Marlboro Lites.

Halfway down a covered street between shops selling skimpy outfits covered in sequins and buckles, exotic shoe stores and a handful of busy restaurants, he realised that he had left his lighter in his jeans back on the boat. He was contemplating going back to the shop to buy another one when he spotted a young man with a blond buzz-cut lounging in a tight tee-shirt and baggy shorts against the entrance to the shoe shop, smoking a roll up. Extracting a cigarette he wandered over and gestured towards the fellow's smoke with his own. The lad nodded and he bent his head towards Rayne's as they juggled cigarette ends until the young Englishman was able to exhale a grateful plume of smoke. 

"Cheers," he said instinctively. 

"Where you from?" asked the other lad at once, in an accent that was so familiar that Rayne initially wondered if he was dreaming. 

"Kent coast," he said distantly. "Dymchurch, via London."

"Rochester," the blond told him with a grin. "Bloody 'ell it's a small world!"

"D'you live out here?" Rayne took a pull on his cigarette, shaking his head in amazement. 

"I come up in the summer, work 'ere 'til October then I go down to Spain for the winter. My uncle's got a couple of shops in Malaga and Torremolinos as well as this one." He put the roll up in the corner of his mouth and extended a hand. "Phil Honeywell."

"Rayne Wilde," Rayne shook the proffered hand. 

"For real?" Phil grinned at him.

Rayne nodded. "Hippy parents!"

"Mad!" Phil declared, still grinning. He looked Rayne up and down quickly. "You've not been 'ere long, 'ave you?" 

"Where's the best place to get a tan then?" 

"Depends what 'else' you want," Phil told him ambiguously. 

Rayne sucked on the filter of his Marlboro, taking his time. "Such as?" he prompted when Phil did not elaborate. 

"If you wanna be left alone then the top beach nearest the lighthouse is your best bet. It gets busy though and there's kids. If you go down a little way towards Heliopolis, the big crescent development, past the yellow bar it's more couples and singles but it's a bit cruisey sometimes, y'know what I mean." Phil eyed him speculatively all of a sudden. 

"I don't mind," Rayne said, blowing a plume of smoke 

"And then..." Phil added as if he had not spoken. "If you go a bit further, down past the residential bits and the blue bar, you get to the nature reserve. You wanna watch yourself down there, specially if you go on your own."

Rayne looked quizzically at him. "What d'you mean?"

"You wanna watch your bum. 'Cause you can guarantee that someone'll be watchin' it already!" Phil winked at him. 

"Seriously?"

"Dead serious," the blond said with a shake of his head. "Predators, the lot of 'em. Stay on the beach if you go that far. If you go up into the dunes you're fair game."

"Fuckin' hell!" Rayne was laughing quietly. "Thanks for the warning."

Phil shook his head incredulously. "You're gonna go now aren't you? I can tell. You've got that look on your face!"

"Maybe not today," Rayne demurred, lighting another cigarette from his first before it expired. Seeing Phil's expectant glance, he lit one for the blond as well. Once Phil was drawing on the filter with a satisfied smile, he lowered his voice. "D'you know where I can get my hands on something a bit stronger than Marlboros?"

Phil shot him a look then beckoned him inside the shop for a moment. "What you after? Mary Jane?"

Rayne shook his head. 

"There's a place up on the boardwalk that sells poppers and maybe a bit of speed if you're lucky," Phil whispered.

"Junk?" Rayne asked in a low, solemn tone. 

Phil shook his head for a moment. "Not unless Giovanni's got anythin'. A couple of guys got busted in the spring for punting heavy goods. They've been extra vigilant this year, the cops. You can go down for a long time if they catch you."

"Where's Giovanni?" Rayne pressed him.

Phil managed a tight-lipped smile. "He runs a bar up on the boardwalk, next level, past the Collines, just before you get to the beach. There's a pool club up there and he's got a bar called the Laguna. Be careful if you get mixed up with Giovanni, Rayne." He looked deadly serious again.

"Bad Man?" Rayne Wilde winked at him. "Don't worry, I've had my share of bad men."

"They say he's Mafia," Phil whispered, pulling a face. 

"Yeah?" Rayne's expression was sceptical. "Who's 'they' then?"

"Don't take the piss. You don't wanna end up in the Med in concrete boots!" the other boy warned. 

"Do the Mafia still do that kind of thing?" Rayne teased him.

"You don't wanna find out," his companion said more solemnly. "Not before I take you down the dunes anyway!"

"Naughty boy," murmured Rayne with a grin. "You wanna take me down the dunes then?"

"If you fancy. Where you stayin'?" Phil held his eyes; brazened him out. 

"With a friend of a friend on a boat in... what's the marina place called?" 

"Ambonne. Anyone I know?" Phil was more cheerful now that the topic had steered away from the mysterious Giovanni.

"Daniel Leland, he's a film maker."

Phil's eyes went quite wide for a moment. "Yeah... I know," he said at last. "You're with Dan Leland? Bloody hell... I thought you were hot. That explains it."

"I'm not 'with' him. Like I said, I'm just a friend of a friend," Rayne wanted to ask more, Daniel clearly had quite a towering reputation on the Cap, but he held his tongue. It could wait. 

"I get off at two thirty if you fancy a drink... or a shag," Phil said boldly. 

Rayne managed a smile. "Maybe I'll see you then, in that case."

He left the blond a couple of cigarettes and went off in search of the Laguna.

More than one man met his eyes and checked him out on the way up to the beach. The pathway was flanked on one side by the towering Collines apartment block rising in stepped terraces, all fronted by broad balconies on his left. Towels fluttered like the flags of all nations from each balcony railing. To the right was a veritable warren of exotic gardens and single storey villas. People passed and greeted one another in a smorgasbord of different languages. Countless skinny, half-feral cats slunk along the borders, skulking beneath the broad leaves of colourful zinnias and dwarf palms.

He passed a supermarket and a small pizzeria; the aromas drifting out from the latter almost made his mouth water. There was a little arcade of shops in the cool shade beneath a concrete walkway and Rayne strolled by, browsing the windows distractedly until he emerged into the sunlight once more, standing outside a busy restaurant that overlooked the rolling blue of the Mediterranean. For a moment he stood catching his breath, a slender reed in the busy stream of people coming and going from the beach below. Ever so briefly he was a child again; entranced by the surge of the ocean and the endless stretch of golden sand. He had spent his earliest years in a small town on the Kent coast and the long beach of St. Mary's Bay had been his playground. 

Even in the height of summer, the strand at Dymchurch had never been this busy. It seemed that everywhere he looked there were bodies stretched out on the sands, or lounging in deckchairs reading or talking. Children built elaborate castles or chased one another in and out of the rolling sea. Couples played beach tennis or flirted tenderly together. People wandered down to the water's edge to cool off then returned to their industrious tanning. Sometimes they gathered their towels and decamped to the restaurant or to one of the bars beyond it in search of refreshments. The human traffic to and from the strand was endless. Old and young alike seemed to congregate here, enjoying the blazing sun and the chance to disrobe completely.

As he stood there, looking around like a lost child, his gaze fell upon the colourful blue and gold sign above the entrance to a bar on the walkway that passed over the shopping arcade. There were colourful fish on a turquoise background, swimming happily in and out of letters made from bones and shells and pieces of driftwood, spelling the name of the Laguna. Rayne blinked and wandered back towards it, observing the portly German tourists parked out front on cushioned loungers, sipping tall cocktails and laughing raucously. It hardly looked like a hotbed of Mafia intrigue and dubious drug-dealing but Dan Leland had warned that nothing here was quite what it appeared to be.

He was still contemplating this when a cheerful voice greeted him in pidgin European; "'Allo, bonjour, guten morgen."

Rayne half-turned to face a lithe, brown-skinned fellow, possibly in his late thirties. He had dark eyes and hair that hung in oiled black ringlets past his shoulders, framing a handsome, latino face. The smile that split it was too wide and too white. He grinned like a shark scenting prey. Like many of the people who worked here, as opposed to the holidaymakers, he was not naked. Snug, pale blue jeans hugged his hips and he wore a fitted shirt of some purposely crumpled, white linen, open to his breastbone. A gold chain hung in the V of his neckline and he sported expensive looking, dark brown leather shoes. 

"Francais?" he asked now, head on one side, looking Rayne up and down shrewdly. "Italiano?"

"No," Rayne said mildly, returning the look. 

"English! Mamma mia!" The fellow pretended shock. He clapped both hands to his breast then lifted them to frame Rayne's face. "So angelic! You cannot be!"

"Sorry." The boy was trying not to smile but the corners of his mouth betrayed him. 

"You want a drink or you going to stand out there and stare at my nice arse all day?" his inquisitor demanded, rather impudently. 

"I'll 'ave a beer, yeah," Rayne said with another little quirk of his lips. "Are you Giovanni?"

The fellow had turned his head and was snapping his fingers, calling instructions in his own tongue or possibly in French, to the tall blond guy in a Hawaiian shirt that was working the bar. He put a hand between Rayne's shoulder blades now and ushered him firmly to a lounger with a parasol next to it. 

"Sit," he commanded. "Who is asking?"

"I am." Rayne looked up at him, squinting a little against the sunlight. 

The blond, who wore his long hair in a loose ponytail that cascaded down his back, brought two bottled beers and a pair of glasses on a tray. The dark fellow sat opposite Rayne and poured for them both. His sharp, almost colourless eyes flickered back speculatively to meet his customer's narrowed, curious gaze.

"What is your name little English boy?" he breathed at last, sipping his beer and smacking his lips appreciatively.

"I'm not a little boy. My name's Rayne."

"Like in England, it rain all the time," the man grinned like the Cheshire Cat at his own joke. "What for you look up Giovanni?"

Rayne took a good swallow of his beer. It was sweet and cold and tasted wonderful in the increasing heat of the morning. 

"Someone told me that he might be able to sort me out with something I was after," he said quietly. "Someone told me that Giovanni was the man that could get me some proper gear."

At once the older fellow leaned towards him, touching a finger to his lips. He shook his head slowly, his smile reduced in wattage ever so slightly. 

"We no talk business here," he explained cheerfully enough. "We drink, we shoot the breeze. Happy people, enjoying happy holidays, si?"

"Are 'you' Giovanni?" Rayne persisted, running a finger slowly up and down the condensation beaded flank of his beer glass. Beside them, three generations of the same family took up residence around a couple of tables and began a noisy conversation. The blond barman swept in and began to take their orders efficiently, tall and tanned in his baggy Bermudas and colourful shirt. Across the table in the shade of the parasol, the dark-haired man contemplated Rayne Wylde solemnly. 

"You come into the bar. Have another drink with me, si?" he said at last. 

"I've not got much money," Rayne ventured apologetically. 

"You have a drink. On the house. And we talk about what you need, hmm?" The fellow rose and drained his glass, setting it back on the table between them like a challenge. 

"Okay." Rayne echoed his manoeuvre and followed him back towards the bar. Within it was shady and cooler, drafts of air descending from the large ceiling fans above them. It was also empty, on a lovely day like this few people wanted to sit indoors, even in an open fronted beach bar. His host selected two more beer bottles and cracked them open deftly, sliding one along the counter towards Rayne with a practised hand. 

"First question. You got no money, how you gonna pay me for these goods you want, hey?" he asked pragmatically.

"I'll get some money. I've just got nothing with me now," Rayne said, taking a swig from the neck of the bottle in his hand. "I just wanted to check... make sure my friend got his information right, you know."

"He was correct, but my services don't come cheap," the dark-skinned foreigner warned him more gravely, leaning on the bar to look him in the eye again. The blond returned from his interrogation of the huge family wearing a harassed expression. The pair exchanged a few words in a tongue Rayne did not understand and the blond glanced at him incuriously then made some comment that caused his dark-haired colleague to utter a bark of crude laughter.

Irritably, Rayne slid off his barstool and set down the bottle with a click. "If you're not gonna take this seriously then I'll pay for my drink and go elsewhere," he said in a warning tone.

Again the pair behind the bar exchanged a look. The blond busied himself pulling pints and making cocktails but his companion moved around the counter to stand in front of Rayne. He stood about a half head taller and now the feral smile was gone. 

"You don't talk about this conversation to anyone, understand?" he intoned darkly. "Giovanni can get you what you want, but you pay what I say 'when' I say. Do you understand me? I don't play games with little boys like you."

"I'm not a kid," Rayne snapped back at him. "Just tell me what you want and I'll get the cash."

"You got a big mouth and you don't think before you open it," Giovanni hissed into his face. He jerked a long, brown thumb back in the direction of the toilets at the rear of the bar. "You wanna talk a deal then we go where we don't get heard."

"Fine." Rayne realised he was shaking and gritted his teeth. It would not do to look too desperate. He set off for the back of the unit and the other fellow came after him at once. 

There was a small door with colourful leaded glass in front of him and he opened it and found himself in a long, narrow corridor where buckets and mops and assorted cleaning equipment had been stowed away hastily. The passage broadened after about five strides revealing a small, square room not much bigger than a cupboard, a basin with a soap dispenser hanging over it, a cracked mirror and a single w.c. with a wooden seat. There were movie posters on the lilac-painted walls, and cuttings from poster boy magazines depicting muscular young men in varying states of undress. 

"Nice," Rayne remarked deprecatingly as he turned to face the older man. "'Are' you Giovanni?"

The fellow cracked his knuckles and nodded once. Rayne took a deep breath; he was just showing off, trying to be impressive. Don't mess about, he thought grimly. Cut to the chase.

"Can you get hold of some Junk for me?"

Giovanni sucked a breath through his teeth and pretended to consider. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 07



"It won't be inexpensive," he said at last. 

"I don't expect it to be." Rayne held his eyes. "I can get money."

"Or..." Giovanni looked him up and down reminding Rayne that he was naked and his companion was not. It was a predatory look, one that the younger man was all too familiar with. "I can arrange for you to 'make' some money. Enough to pay for your drugs."

Rayne looked away, feeling suddenly queasy. He knew exactly what Giovanni was proposing and he also knew that it made sense but still there was that uncomfortable sensation of déjà vu.

"That won't be necessary," he said in a flat monotone.

"A shame," Giovanni remarked. "It would be enjoyable. You are pretty boy. It would be a pleasure to train you."

"Train...?" Rayne looked up at him incredulously. "I'm not a fuckin' performing seal!"

Giovanni laughed softly at that. "You have good spirit. I like that. Are you virgin?"

"Does that turn you on?" Rayne sneered back at him automatically. "Shy, inexperienced, little sub boys who'll do as they're told! Does that get your rocks off?"

"Yes," Giovanni said frankly. "I like that, but also I like spirit. You are spirited Rayne. Is your ass tight?"

He almost laughed at that. "Probably not, since it had a fist and two big cocks rammed up it last night!"

Giovanni inhaled a long, tremulous breath and stroked his crotch. He was getting quite aroused and Rayne sensed that he was not a man who would take no for an answer. "Was last night your first time, Rayne?"

"No." He saw no point in lying. Giovanni was going to fuck him either way. At least he was reasonably handsome and from the jutting prow of his groin he had a substantial looking cock in his jeans. He unzipped now and slid a hand inside, rubbing himself and almost purring with pleasure. 

"Do you like to do it rough? Do you like a hard, fast fuck in your ass?"

"The faster the better," Rayne told him cynically.

"Turn around and spread your legs," Giovanni told him. "Lean against the wall. Do this for me and I'll get you two ounce as a reward."

Rayne's cynicism faded slightly. That was enough to sweet-talk him into just about anything. 

"For free?"

"Turn around." Giovanni had his erect penis in his hand now, ten lovely fat, sun-bronzed inches of Latino cock. He reached for the soap dispenser and rubbed the slippery pink goo over his shaft. Rayne turned his back and rested both hands against the wall in the 'frisk me' position. A sun-tanned sailor boy was wiggling his golden arse cheeks out of the back of his crisp white pants right in front of his nose. He concentrated on that deep, smooth, hairless cleft and the promised Junk as Giovanni parted his buttocks and penetrated him fast and hard from behind. Three quick, deep stabs got him more than halfway in and Rayne was mewling breathlessly as he began to pump his big, slippery Italian prick in and out, submerging it more profoundly in the English boy's arse. Within half a minute he was fully immersed. 

Rayne leaned his insubstantial weight into the wall and pushed back against him, feeling hot, firm hands on his hips as the other man began to bang him hard. He was not gentle, nor did he touch Rayne anywhere save to hold him as he buggered the boy raw. His powerful cock sawed in and out, vigorously stimulating his young mate who was erect and leaking within moments of being entered. Whilst he was selling himself he was more often than not subjected to this kind of quick, urgent, stand-up fuck, in a toilet or a darkened backstreet. It was generally over in a matter of minutes and he always got hard and usually needed a wank when it was done.

He was not going to have to resort to his hand today. Well before Giovanni began to grunt and spurt he felt his balls contract and pressed his cheek against the smooth golden bum of the boy on the wall as he squirted a hot jet of cum against the lilac paintwork. Three more good blasts of spunk followed as the Italian rammed his huge fuck-pole deep into Rayne's yielding passage and filled him with liquid, latin heat.

"Ahhhhh... Jesus!" Rayne hissed through his teeth and the Italian groaned a similarly profane curse in his mother tongue as his muscles relaxed and he sagged against his mate briefly, hot hands stroking the boy's thighs and bum. 

"Mmmhhhhh... bellisimo," Giovanni muttered now, pulling out of him and washing his cock at the basin, casual as you like, before towelling it off and stuffing it back into his pants. "You're a sweet boy, Rayne. Sweet and hot."

Rayne looked at him expectantly, his head on one side. He was clenching his rectal muscles steadily, conscious of the sticky wetness of Giovanni's hot cum inside him, trickling down. 

"Two ounces," he reminded the Italian now. 

"Mmmmh?" Dark eyes met his over the towel as the fellow washed his hands and splashed his face, then dried himself off.

"Don't fuck me about. Two ounces, you said. If I fuck you..."

"Shhhh... so hasty." Giovanni turned and touched a finger to his lips. "I said, and I meant. Giovanni keeps his word. But you think I walk about with such a thing in my pockets, huh? I do not have it here."

"We'll go and get it then." Rayne felt his pulse quicken. He knew that his cheeks were flushed; he could feel the heat beneath his skin. 

"I have to work now. You come back here this evening and I will have your gift for you." The Italian stroked his face, his expression tolerant and slightly angelic.

"I need it now." Rayne's breathing had quickened with his heartbeat. The promise of a fix had sustained him this far but now he could feel himself losing it slightly. "You promised."

"And I will keep my promise. Come back here tonight after 11 o' clock and you will have your reward." He bent his head and touched his mouth to Rayne's trembling lips, tasting his frustration and impotent fury. "So sweet."

"You'd better!" Rayne exhaled helplessly, an empty threat. It was all he could do not to weep with disappointment, but he steeled himself and walked out of the Gents with his head held high. As he walked back through the bar and out into sunlight that was painfully bright after the subdued illumination of the W.C. he sensed that Giovanni rejoined his colleague at the bar and they were laughing together quietly. His cheeks blazed more furiously at that but he did not look back.

'Idiot!' he cursed himself silently. 'You are such a fuckin' idiot!'

He sat on the beach alone with his frustration for a while, close to the waterline, letting the uncomfortable trickle of wetness dissipate and wash away with the waves between his cheeks. Now to compound his misery he had a bag full of cigarettes that he could not smoke and his arsehole was twitching and throbbing incessantly, refusing to let him forget what a fool he had just been. 

Finally he pushed himself to his feet and trudged back sullenly through the arcade, ignoring the throngs of happy people all around him. It seemed to take forever to find his way back through the warren of walkways and passages to the harbour. Somehow, this morning, the journey up to the beach had passed by in a pleasant blur. Now he was hot and tired and intensely irritable and to make matters worse he suspected that he was lost. 

Just as he was feeling the urge to scream at the next person who jostled past him, a quiet voice spoke his name. He was so immersed in his own dark thoughts that it took a second, "Rayne?" before he looked up. 

Thierry was already bronzed, and naked except for a pair of black espadrilles and a black leather dog collar with rounded chromium plates and a silver nametag that hung in the hollow of his collarbones. A pair of dark sunglasses sat on top of his head in stark contrast to his short, white blond hair. Huge blue eyes met his own, filled with a curious tenderness that only made Rayne feel more spiteful. 

"Are you all right?" Thierry asked him in a solicitous tone. "You look un'appy."

""I'm fine," Rayne told him shortly. "Fuckin' delirious, in fact. Where's your handler? I didn't think he'd let you off the leash out 'ere."

"You are 'still' angry at everyone?" Thierry asked in a mildly incredulous tone as though he could not understand how anyone could possibly feel that way here. 

"What do you think, Sherlock?" Rayne turned on his heel and walked away. To his annoyance, Thierry only trailed after him like a lost puppy.

"You are mad. You come to a place like this and you are just angry all the time. You should relax. Go to the clubs, get drunk and dance. Have sex, " he suggested unhelpfully. 

"Fuck off!" Rayne did not look round at him.

"I do not understand you, my friend," Thierry said sadly, then skidded to a halt and took three steps back as the Englishman turned on him, green eyes blazing. 

"Fuck. Off. Now!" he snarled, every muscle in his body shaking with the effort it took not to just punch his shadow's lights out. "You are not my fuckin' friend. All right? Go back to your fuckin' boyfriend and do... whatever it is you do with him! Just leave me alone or I'll fuckin' kill you and dump you in the harbour, okay!"

For a moment Thierry just stared at him, shaking his head slowly, his face a picture of pity and contempt. Rayne hated him for it. He hated everyone for it. Wordlessly he turned his back and walked off. This time the boy did not follow him. Several pairs of curious eyes did, however. He sensed that he was watched all the way back to Ambonne. Great... just great, now he was the subject of every gossipmonger in the Cap, on top of everything else.

"Where the hell have you been?" Ant wanted to know when he finally got back to the boat. 

His head ached and so did his feet and he just wanted to have a cold shower and go back to bed but clearly the Anglo-Franglais Inquisition had other ideas. Rayne dumped his shopping bag in the middle of the day room and folded his arms wearily across his chest. The population of the boat had swollen since the morning and now he had an audience for his impending tantrum. An older man, who might once have been a body-builder but was now merely portly and swathed in greying fur that covered him from his neck to his ankles, occupied the futon. He kept company with two younger lads, who were lithe and hairless, save for the closely cropped dark wedges on top of their heads. They might have been art-deco bookends, for they were virtually identical. Rayne guessed that they were both around eighteen. 

A tall, dark haired man, who was probably in his early twenties, although he might have passed for younger, lounged in the entrance to the galley, his hands resting on the worktop behind him. He leaned back now, watching the newcomer with guarded interest. Soft, damp, mahogany curls framed a chiselled, sun-tanned face. His eyes were as dark as his hair and long lashed under fine, arched brows. Under different circumstances Rayne might have found him attractive. This afternoon he was simply too tired and twitchy to be appreciative.

Isolde came out from the kitchen in her magenta sarong, carrying three tall glasses and gave the handsome youth a peck on the cheek. At once he took one of the glasses and winked at her conspiratorially. She came to Rayne now, before the argument could erupt and purred; "Poor baby, you're hot and sweaty. You need a cold drink and a good rub down."

Rayne could not disagree. He sipped the contents of the glass, which tasted cold and far too sweet. 

"I just went for a walk."

"Over four hours ago!" Ant exclaimed, a little hysterically Rayne thought. 

"I got lost," he said with a humourless grin. 

Daniel Leland had followed Ant and Rayne in from the rear deck and stood in the doorway, observing them quietly now. 

"We've wasted a whole day," he pointed out in a milder tone that nevertheless failed to mask his impatience.

Rayne turned on him now, simmering visibly. "You never said I ought to be back for a certain time. I 'told' you I was going out!"

"I imagined that you would be no more than an hour." Leland shrugged. "My mistake."

"Yeah!" Rayne took a longer swig from the glass then put it down on the counter with a grimace. "Damn right it is!"

"I had already understood that you were less than reliable," the old man told him, as if he had not paused. "I should have been more... explicit."

That was just about all that Rayne could take after the morning he had endured. Grabbing the bag of cigarettes he headed off for the bedrooms growling; "Oh fuck off and leave me alone!"

Ant called out to him reprovingly but he did not look back. A pensive silence filled the day room and Daniel Leland heaved a long, ponderous sigh that seemed to suck the heat from the afternoon. 

"I'll talk to him," Ant was already heading after the boy. "He's just... highly strung. It's not been easy for him, the last few weeks. Sometimes he gets a bit..."

"Rude?" Leland finished for him. "Petulant?"

"He's not used to all this," Ant stopped in the entrance to the passageway, beside the dark haired youth, who looked at him rather sympathetically. "He's just unsettled, that's all. He likes to get his own way."

"Obviously." Daniel waved him away with another sigh. "Ask if he has any objections to our putting out to sea whilst it's still light, would you?"

Rayne was under the shower when Ant caught up with him. His eyes were closed and he was standing motionless, his arms loose at his sides, head turned upward, letting the water splash off his face like a mountain cascade. He watched the boy for a little while, letting his temper subside as Rayne slowly lowered his face, shaking his dark head from side to side and raising his arms almost as if he was offering prayers to the water gods. 

"Can you hear me?" he asked at last. 

Green eyes opened slowly, blinking through the wetness, shimmering and red-rimmed. Ant had not expected him to cry. He moved under the shower at once and put his arms around his lover. 

"What's wrong? I didn't mean to shout at you. I was just worried that's all." He buried his face in the boy's dark, wet hair, feeling his slight body tremble and jerk with the effort of containing the sobs. Now Ant knelt in front of him, cupping his face and stroking his hot cheeks gently. Even under the cool water he was burning up. His shoulders and the bridge of his nose were flushed. Ant cursed himself for not noticing it before; Rayne was on fire, even after a liberal application of sun-oil. He would be untouchable for days. Daniel was going to be furious. "Oh, my poor baby," he whispered. 

Isolde had some intensive moisturising cream in her bag and together she and Ant gently applied most of it to Rayne's face and body. He was seared in bands across his back and chest, the curve of his buttocks and his upper thighs, his forehead, nose and chin, his forearms and the tops of his feet. As they fussed over him he whimpered and cried like a child on the bed. 

Terry brought a jug of iced water and they managed to coax some of it into him before he curled up on his side and lay shivering on the mattress, refusing to speak to anyone. Ant and Isolde stayed with him in shifts throughout the afternoon and evening as the party continued on deck. Daniel, Ant suspected, was not best pleased with him but he put a brave face on things as he went back out in search of refreshment. 

"Is he all right?" asked Aldo, the dark-haired, older boy, one of Dan's regular actors, who had come on board with his companion Arturo, the woolly-chested fellow, earlier in the day. 

Ant smiled weakly. Aldo was a good-looking lad and seemed genuine enough but he felt awkward discussing the situation. He could not help the feeling that Rayne would not thank him for it.

"Burned and tired, probably a bit of sunstroke as well," he said in a weary voice. "Poor little bugger's probably never known it as hot and bright as it is here."

"Do you want me to stay with him for a while?" The lad sounded quite sincere in his concern. Ant wondered why it was that the idea left him feeling so uneasy. Rayne was exhausted and hurting. It was not as if he was going to throw himself at the young Italian porn star tonight.

"Isolde's still with him," he explained. 

"I'll go see if she wants a drink," Aldo vanished into the corridor before he could object. Ant heaved a sigh and went back up on deck. When Isolde joined him a few moments later he did not ask her for an explanation.

ALDO: He was agonisingly thin, that was Aldo's first thought as he stood in the doorway studying the naked boy on the bed. Aldo was the fourth son of a large Tuscan family and his stage-name, di Boccato, was appropriate in more ways than just the one. It meant, 'the Mouthful' and his brothers certainly knew how to eat. Although Aldo was lean by their standards, he was a bruiser compared to Rayne. The tiny little creature curled up before him seemed barely more than a child. He would not talk; would not eat; seemed reluctant to even move in spite of all Isolde's gentle coaxing. 

At last she gave in and left the boy to Aldo's care. 

"Do you want more cream?" 

Aldo settled down on the end of Rayne's bed once Isolde had returned to the party. After a little while of watching the English boy in silence, he decided that Rayne Wilde was not asleep, merely pretending. His breathing was quick and irregular still and he remained curled up on one side, careful not to lie on any of his more serious burns. Antonio said that he was twenty years old but Aldo found that hard to believe. He had seen 'Going All The Way' and knew that it was a longstanding hardcore classic among men who liked First-Time movies, but even so he found it incredible that the sexy young teen who had called himself Jay Raymonde was only a couple of years his junior. 

When Rayne did not answer him, Aldo unscrewed the lid from the moisturiser tub and began to gently apply the soft, white cream to his naked back. His flesh was still on fire. Aldo felt him wince more than just a couple of times as he worked the soothing solution into Rayne's skin, though he did not protest. Occasionally he whimpered under his breath and Aldo guessed that the sunburn hurt like crazy. He had been blessed with a complexion that tanned naturally but this pretty little boy had a milk-white celtic hide. In the places where he was most sheltered from the sun - the smooth crevice between his arse cheeks and the backs of his knees - he was still that colour. 

Aldo stroked the moisturiser carefully down his back and over his firm, silky buttocks before nestling a little closer. As he began to stroke Rayne's upper arm, he touched his lips to the nape of the English boy's neck and felt a little shiver run through him. 

"Are you awake?" he whispered huskily. "Do you like that?"

"Leave me alone," the boy croaked miserably, the first words he had spoken since storming off to hide himself here. 

"Antonio thinks that someone should stay with you," Aldo murmured against the back of his neck. His short black hair was cropped very close there and felt silky soft against his lips. Now he nuzzled the curve of Rayne's skull through his hair, loving the clean, warm smell of his naked body. 

"I'm not going to run away," Rayne muttered sleepily. "I just want to lie still. Forever."

"Can I lie with you?" 

A little silence followed Aldo's playful enquiry, then Rayne whispered; "Why?"

"Because I want to," Aldo snuggled a little closer, careful of his companion's sore back and bottom. "You feel so warm. I want to soak up some of your heat. May I hold you?"

"Who are you?" Rayne tried to turn but it hurt too much and he relented and lay where he had fallen. After a moment, Aldo got up and moved around to lie in front of him. Pale green eyes flickered restlessly up and down his body for a moment, then closed wearily. 

Aldo touched gentle fingers to his reddened cheeks, then set about applying more cream. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 07



"My name is Arnoldo Francesco di Boccato," he said in a low, good-humoured, musical sounding voice. "But you can call me Aldo. I am to be your leading man if Daniel is to make this movie with you."

Those impassive, peridot-green eyes opened wide and fixed on his face this time. For a little while Rayne just stared at him incuriously. 

"I can't make a film looking like this," he exhaled at last. "I can't even move without crying."

"It won't last. With enough moisture cream you may not even blister," Aldo promised. "I have seen much worse sunburn, I promise you."

Rayne lay motionless whilst he was ministered to, eyes closed tightly. Aldo noted that a jewel of salty wetness eased out from under one eyelid and ran down his small, upturned nose but he did not make a sound. From time to time he shivered like a restless horse shrugging off flies. The older man gently stroked his hands and tried to rub the cream into his forearms but he pulled away then, hugging his hands to his breast defensively. 

"What is wrong?" Aldo whispered. "You let me touch your ass but not your hands? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. Leave me alone." Rayne's voice was gruff and husky with emotion. 

"You don't look fine."

"I'm tired." Rayne half turned and buried his face in the pillows then changed his mind, clearly the friction was too much to bear. A little groan of frustration escaped him. 

"You should eat. You will be tired if you don't eat properly." Aldo counselled gently.

"I've told Ant he's not my mother and I'm telling you the same thing. I'll only tell you once, okay!" Rayne curled up like an ammonite again, his arms folded across his chest, fists resting on their opposite shoulders. "Fuck off and leave me alone."

"Dan is angry," Aldo said, ignoring him and lounging on the mattress beside him. "We were to screen-test this afternoon. Now we cannot start until tomorrow."

"He should have told me that this morning," Rayne muttered, drawing his knees up closer to his chin. "He said we wouldn't film for five days."

"He should have done," Aldo agreed. "I would have liked to spend this afternoon fucking you instead of being your nursemaid."

One pale green eye opened and surveyed him critically, then closed again. "What time is it?" Rayne asked wearily.

"About half past ten." Aldo stretched out on his back and began to stroke his lovely long penis with one greasy hand. 

"Shit!" Rayne was sitting up at once. He swayed a little then tried to get to his feet. The floor lurched under him and he dropped to the boards with another curse. Aldo was after him like a shot.

"What are you doing?"

"I have to be somewhere. I arranged... I need to meet someone at eleven." Rayne's eyes were suddenly very wide and anxious. "It's important."

"We are at sea," Aldo said slowly and precisely as if to a child. "You can't go anywhere. Settle down."

"We can't... I..." Rayne waved his hands weakly, staring towards the doorway as if he could somehow see land through there in the corridor. "I need to go..."

Aldo caught his hands at once and steered him back to the bed, making him sit down. Even in the low light the boy's pupils were tiny, his breathing was too fast. Now Aldo turned his hands over and ran his thumbs gently down the insides of his patient's forearms. The pale, almost translucent skin of his wrists and the crook of his right elbow were patterned with fine, white scars. There were needle marks in his right arm, some which still bore the faint shadows of bruising. 

"I've been ill," Rayne said automatically, his eyes on the track-marks. "I was in hospital for ages. They had me on a drip and everything. Injections every day. It was awful. I'm better now."

"My sister is a nurse in Turin. They would put in a central line," Aldo said, unconvinced. He turned Rayne's right hand over, then his left. There were small white burn scars but no needle marks on the backs of them.

"Couldn't find a vein there," the boy lied at once. "They had to take pot luck. Somewhere different every day."

"Did they cut you in the hospital?" Aldo asked cynically. 

Those icy green eyes bored into his head now, unblinking. Rayne's lower jaw set stubbornly. He said nothing.

"Thought not," Aldo nodded to himself. "I'm not criticising. But you can do better for yourself. What are you taking?"

Rayne wrenched his hands free and turned away curling up on the bed again. He buried his face in his arms and refused to look at Aldo. The older boy lay down beside him and stroked his hair quietly.

"Why did you cut yourself?" he asked at last. "You must have been hurting inside pretty bad to do something so dangerous."

"What the fuck do you know?" Rayne's voice was muffled and hoarse again. 

"I know that someone who makes cuts on their wrists either wants to kill himself or he just needs to feel some pain, to let something out that's building up inside him like steam in a pan with the lid on tight, no?" Aldo bent over him and kissed the top of his head. His hand ran down the back of Rayne's neck and between his shoulder blades, then stroked back up again slowly. "When you bleed you feel, yes? And only then? So you were shutting something up tight inside you, a secret only you could know."

Rayne turned over so fast that he started back, almost expecting the boy to hit him. Green eyes glistened with unshed tears, glaring up at him, naked hostility and resentment in that stare. 

"Don't talk anymore," Rayne said huskily. 

"I am right?" Aldo whispered. 

The boy reached up and snaked a hand around the back of his neck, pulling Aldo's mouth down onto his. Rayne's small, cold tongue slid between his lips and they kissed urgently for a long time. Aldo lowered himself gently onto the boy, between his legs, resting his weight on his elbows and knees so that he did not hurt Rayne as their mouths moved together in soundless concerto. He let Rayne feel his increasing arousal, leaning forward to rub his tool between his companion's soft, white cheeks. Rayne did not fight him as he wriggled his slippery cock-head into position and nudged it steadily into the boy. A little groan escaped his throat as he was entered and fucked more deeply but he did not resist. At last his knees moved higher and he wrapped his legs around Aldo's lean hips and pulled him in, wincing a little but more at the rub of the sheets against his red-raw back and shoulders than the feel of his companion's thrusting sex. The Italian youth slid his hands under Rayne's naked back and caressed him carefully and gently as he began to pulse harder, his mouth slipping to Rayne's throat and neck, kissing him there until the boy was sighing and whimpering with pleasure. He was erect and leaking as Aldo powered deep into his rectum, lifting him higher as he knelt up to get a good, quick rhythm going. He eased Rayne's knees over his shoulders and fucked him hard from underneath.

"Va bene? Do you like that?" he huffed eventually.

"Shhhh...." Rayne exhaled in a breathless whisper, eyes closed tight. "Don't... don't talk. Just screw me. Screw me hard."

Aldo was not about to argue with that. 

When Ant came back to the bedroom a little after midnight, he found Rayne on his hands and knees with Aldo's long, hard prick still sheathed in his dripping arsehole. His teeth were clenched and his eyes were closed and the bedclothes were soaked with sweat and semen. Wordlessly, Aldo pulled out of him as the older man entered the room and they exchanged places as if he had not just been caught fucking another man's boyfriend and this was the most natural thing in the world. 

Aldo di Boccato felt a little twinge of envy and reluctance as watched Ant mount and penetrate his young lover on the bed. Maybe the kid was no longer cutting himself, but he had found another way to exorcise his ghosts; a new way to give vent to his pain. It was harder to watch than it was to inflict. Aldo slipped away to get some air so that he did not have to hear Rayne's painful cries of agony and release. Knowing Daniel and Terry, no doubt they would be available to watch and stroke to on video by morning. 

END OF PART SEVEN



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 08



PART EIGHT: CLOSE TO THE EDGE

"Ahhh, I'm getting very close to the end now. I can feel it in my water. I reckon another couple of chapters will sew this story up. Anyway, in Chapter Eight Rayne gets to be the top for once. Thank you to everyone who has been so patient and stuck with this rambling epic, & especially for your lovely feedback. This is for you." *kiss* Sadie

***AS EVER... IF THIS TALE FROM LITEROTICA SHOULD ROAM, GIVE THE HOST A SPANKING AND E-MAIL ME AT HOME. YEP, IT'S BEEN NICKED!!! NAUGHTY NAUGHTY!!***

AN INTIMATE ARRANGEMENT:

Doctor Mahmoudi lived in a spacious bungalow in the Port Venus complex, behind Ambonne. It was only a few minutes walk from the boat and Ant and Daniel accompanied Rayne during the early hours of the next morning as he went for his check up. Irfan Mahmoudi was a lean, brown skinned ex-pat Algerian who might have been any age between forty five and sixty. He had serene features and deep, dark, contemplative eyes. A thick cap of steel coloured hair crowned his skull and he wore a thin, tapering moustache in matching grey. 

Like many of the occupants of the Cap he wore nothing else, excepting flip flops and a yin/yang pendant on a long white cord around his neck. There was a broad, white smile upon his face as he ushered them into his lounge and bade them make themselves at home. Daniel introduced Rayne, reminded him of the reason for their visit and the Doctor nodded, then poured the two older men a couple of glasses of brandy. Having dispensed his largesse as host, he ushered his young, naked guest through into a back room of the house. Rayne Wilde glanced back once, anxiously at Ant then allowed himself to be steered away.

There was a desk in the adjoining room with a laptop computer on it, set against the far wall. To the left was another larger desk set out with a blotter and various stationary holders. A broad, leather chair sat behind it. There were photographs in wooden frames scattered about on the surface. Against the right hand wall stood a narrow examination table with a colourful, vinyl-covered mattress under a sheet of disposable gauze. As Rayne followed him into the room, the doctor turned to his left and retrieved several items from cabinets in the wall adjacent to the doorway. 

"You know why you are here?" he asked solemnly as he turned to face his patient. He spoke good, clear English with only a trace of a French accent, having been educated at Eton and Cambridge.

The boy nodded his head just the once. He looked pale and tired, Doctor Mahmoudi thought but many of Daniel's boys were overworked and under nourished A lot of them were runaways. He did not see many addicts; Leland did not like drug addicts. He had dated one once, to his cost. Doctor Mahmoudi privately agreed, they were unpredictable and could be a serious liability in Daniel's line of business but this boy had all the hallmarks of a junky. There were scars and track-marks on his arms, some old, some less so. He was skinny and nervous and from the shadows beneath his pale eyes and the pin-prick pupils he did not sleep well, nor did he trust his current doctor. 

"Sit," Mahmoudi instructed, indicating the examining table. The patient hopped onto the edge of the mattress and swung his thin, sunburned legs nervously. There were bars of fresh heat across his flesh. He had taken too much sun, too quickly and with too little protection. "You know why you are here, Rayne?"

"Dan wants me to have a check up," the boy said quietly. 

"Right." Mahmoudi nodded his head. "Were you regularly examined in England?"

"No," the boy almost whispered, bending his head. 

"You were a rent boy in London, yes?" 

"Uh-huh," Rayne inclined his head just the once. 

"For how long?"

"About... two years." His voice was soft; reluctant. 

"And before that?" Mahmoudi waited. His patient looked up at him with a little frown. 

"I was at school.

"How old are you, Rayne?"

"I'm twenty," the boy looked at him almost defiantly but Mahmoudi just scribbled this down on the pad next to his computer. 

"You had no sex with men before you came to London?"

Rayne chewed on his lower lip and looked down again. He said nothing. 

"You were not a virgin when you began to sell your body?" Mahmoudi persisted.

A long silence followed the question. Just as he was about to try another tack the boy muttered; "No."

Now the Doctor pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He came back with a metal tray and a set of implements that made the young man on his examining table look at him anxiously. 

"I am not going to hurt you, Rayne. I just want to take a good look at you. I will look inside your mouth and throat, in your ears and your nose. I will need to examine your penis and testicles for cancer and sexually transmitted disease. I will also need to examine your anus and for this purpose I will need to insert a speculum into your rectum in order to look at your insides. I will use lubrication and I will be as gentle as I can. Do you understand and consent to this?"

The boy blinked at him, wide eyes shuttered briefly by translucent lids. He had the longest eyelashes Mahmoudi had ever seen on a male patient. He felt himself begin to get aroused and turned away, selecting a tube of lubricant and a spatula from the tray.

"Are you willing to let me examine you internally?" he asked, couching the request in different words as he returned to his client. 

"I..." Rayne swallowed. "I suppose so."

"Open your mouth," Mahmoudi instructed and he did so. 

He had good teeth, small and white, in reasonable condition. His gums were pale but otherwise healthy. There was no flecking, no indication of candidiasis in his mouth or on his tongue. His skin was a little bit dry but very soft and smooth, his scalp and hair likewise. He was quite badly sunburnt across his nose and forehead and lower down on his shoulders and back. 

"Lie down," Mahmoudi instructed and he obeyed at once, wriggling down onto his back on the mattress. 

The doctor examined his navel and his hands moved slowly between the boy's legs, lifting his penis and smoothing back the foreskin, stroking and squeezing his shaft then cupping and holding his testicles. He took his time on this, pausing to apply a little squirt of gel to his palm then feeling the young man's balls and stroking his cock again, more firmly. 

Rayne moaned quietly, his pale eyes closed. Those long lashes splashed across his cheeks as if they had been painted there. 

"You are very beautiful," Mahmoudi told him huskily. "Lift your knees for me and open your legs."

Rayne did as he was told. The doctor ran a gloved finger between his cheeks and probed his anus. As he pushed the slippery tip of his finger up the boy's arse he felt a little wetness inside. 

"You have given yourself an enema this morning?" he asked, working his finger deeper. The boy felt smooth and wet inside but not as tight as he might have expected. 

"Yeah," the boy groaned softly. He squirmed against the intrusive digit in his passage, eyes still closed. 

"When did you last have rectal intercourse?" Doctor Mahmoudi removed his finger and removed the gloves. He washed his hands and donned a fresh pair then applied lubricant to the gleaming chrome speculum on the tray.

"Last night," the boy whispered, barely audibly. 

"Did your partner use a condom?"

"No." Rayne bit down on both lips. He had not opened his eyes since the examination began. Mahmoudi lifted the boy's knees and spread his legs a little wider now.

"Did he ejaculate inside you?" he asked, positioning the bulbous nose of the speculum against his patient's ring. He felt Rayne flinch from the chill caress of the metal. His sphincter tightened defensively. 

"Did he cum in you?" Mahmoudi asked again, more crudely. 

"Yes."

The doctor took a deep breath. He pushed the instrument against his patient's ring firmly. 

"Do you like having a man cum inside you?"

Rayne was silent for a moment then he whispered; "It depends on the man."

"I'm going to enter you now, Rayne. Keep talking to me. Tell me... did you ejaculate when he climaxed inside you?"

Emerald eyes flickered open and the boy stared up at him solemnly. The pupils had dilated so far that they virtually swallowed the icy green irises. He writhed on the examination table and his full, pink lips parted around a little gasp of... pain possibly, or pleasure. Mahmoudi laid a hand on the patient's genitals and began to stroke his penis until he felt it stiffen. 

"Do you examine all your patients like this?" Rayne whispered huskily, though he made no effort to stop the interference.

"It depends upon the patient," Mahmoudi said without looking at him. 

Rayne Wilde laughed at that, then caught his breath as the speculum probed him harder.

"Do you like that, Rayne?" the Doctor murmured, wrapping his latex-sheathed fingers around the boy's expanding cock and rubbing it slowly. "Do you like being touched and penetrated?"

"Mmmhhhh...." The boy nodded and wriggled under him. "Yeah!"

"I'm ready to enter you now. It might feel cold and hard at first, then a little painful as it opens up your rectum but I will try not to hurt you. Can you pull your knees up to your chest for me Rayne and hold them there?"

The slender youth reached down and hooked his fingers behind his knees, drawing himself up into a foetal curl. He bit down on his lower lip as the cold, steel instrument pressed down hard on his ring, then pulsed into his anus. Mahmoudi pressed six or seven inches of chrome into his arsehole then pried him open, parting the jaws of the speculum inside him so that the boy's hole was gaping wide. He inserted a long spatula into his patient's rectum and probed him steadily, keeping one eye on the lad's throbbing erection. Rayne panted and moaned a little as his anus was prodded and poked. He did not seem to be in too much pain. Mahmoudi speculated that he was quite accustomed to anal penetration. If he had been a prostitute for the past two years then he had probably been buggered or even fist-fucked regularly.

He rubbed the head of the spatula in slow circles on the smooth, firm bud of the young man's prostate watching Rayne bite his lips, trying not to moan with pleasure. The Doctor took samples then slowly closed and removed the speculum. His patient whimpered quietly as it was withdrawn. 

"Is that better?" the doctor asked him tenderly, removing the gloves and stroking his pale face with the backs of his fingers. "You can close your legs now, Rayne. I'm going to take some blood, then you'll need to provide a urine and semen sample for me, and then we're almost done."

Rayne sat up almost too quickly. He swayed a little and clung to the edge of the bed. Mahmoudi sat beside him, prepping a hypodermic syringe.

"Which hand do you use the most?"

Mutely the boy held out his left hand and Mahmoudi moved to his other side looping a strap around his upper right arm and fastening it briskly with Velcro tabs. He stroked his thumb down Rayne's inner arm, pressing down hard above his elbow. A deep frown bisected his forehead as he studied the needle marks and fine, light, razor scars. 

"Do you inject yourself regularly?" 

"N...no." The boy cleared his throat and shook his head. "I don't... I don't like needles."

"What are you taking?" Mahmoudi wanted to know. He inserted the point of the hypodermic into Rayne's arm, seeking out a vein. It took several stabs before he found an active one. The boy could not even look at him. He was frozen, with his face turned away and his eyes screwed shut. Both lips were clamped between his teeth. He had not lied about his fear; which meant that someone else had probably injected him; his dealer or his pimp, most likely.

Quickly the doctor took a number of samples then withdrew the needle and swabbed the pin-prick entry wound. His hands stroked the boy's trembling body reassuringly. 

"Okay... it's all done now. No more needles."

It took several more minutes before Rayne stopped shaking and hyperventilating. He was pale and frightened until the tray with the hypodermic on it had been put safely out of the way. 

"I... I really don't like needles," he whispered apologetically at last. 

"I can see that," the doctor sat beside him and stroked him some more. He ran a gentle hand down the back of Rayne's neck and between his shoulder blades. "Don't be scared. I won't do that to you again today, if you really don't want me to."

"What are you testing for?" The boy looked at him with huge, liquid eyes. 

"Well, we need to test for all the STDs... that's sexually transmitted diseases; herpes, syphilis, gonorrhoea, chlamydia, hepatitis..." he hesitated then added; "AIDS."

"Seriously?"

"Have you ever had an AIDS test?" Mahmoudi was still stroking his back, now he shifted around to face the boy and ran a fondling hand over his chest and belly too.

Rayne shook his head, looking a little bit stunned. 

"I had urethritis about a year ago but it's cleared up now. I got crabs a while back but that's all," he whispered shyly. "John shaved me and made me bath in this ointment stuff for days. I stank of it!" He shook his head at the memory and laughed a little.

"Well you look clean enough," Mahmoudi assured him, "but you never know. Sometimes it takes a test to show things up. Daniel makes Gonzo movies so he won't take the risk that you're not infected."

"Gonzo?" Rayne blinked at him.

"Anything goes," the doctor elaborated, still smiling, still stroking. His hand moved lower, circling on Rayne's naked belly. "Bareback boys; rough anal fucking without condoms."

"Oh." The boy's expression said that it had not actually occurred to him that this might be anything out of the ordinary. Mahmoudi eased his hand between the young man's legs and started to fondle his balls again. He could feel that Rayne had been smoothly shaved for him this morning. He was silky soft between his thighs and all over his pelvic region. The crack of his buttocks was also smooth and clean. It was like touching a peach. 

"What are you doing?" Rayne asked warily. 

The doctor carried on feeling his testicles and penis gently as if this too was quite normal. 

"I need you to provide a urine and a semen sample," he exhaled at last, the first audible sign that he was aroused by this contact. He rose to his feet and his own long dark penis bobbed, half-erect between his legs. The doctor was circumcised and he wore his steel grey pubic hair trimmed close around the base of his rod. Small firm testicles hung loosely in his dark-skinned scrotum. "If you are worried or nervous I can help you to reach your climax."

"Can't I do it back on the boat and bring it over later?" Rayne suggested with a grimace.

"The test will be more efficient if your ejaculate is still hot and fresh, Rayne," Mahmoudi said persuasively. "There is no need to be ashamed. I have helped many young men to masturbate themselves to orgasm in this room. You will not be the first to pull yourself off in front of me."

Rayne shrugged awkwardly. 

"I suppose..."

"You are about to allow Daniel Leland to photograph you performing indecent acts with other men," Mahmoudi elaborated. "As a rent boy you presumably permitted men to fuck and masturbate you in public places. This should be quite simple for you. If your bladder is full maybe it would be easier to urinate first."

"I guess..." Rayne looked at him helplessly. "Where do I do it?"

"Come over to the sluice," Mahmoudi beckoned and the boy slipped off the table and followed him to the low basin set under the opaque panelled window in the far wall. He unwrapped a sterile beaker and came to stand a little behind his patient now. Leaning forward he turned on the cold tap and a gush of rusty looking water spurted into the sluice. At once Rayne felt the urge to piss but Mahmoudi's hand began to stroke his cock again. With the other hand he held the beaker so that Rayne's bell end was inside the neck of the vessel. "Relax," he whispered in the boy's ear, his fingers supporting Rayne's half-hard dick. "Relax and obey your body's need to pass water. Let your urine flow into the glass. You know that you are aching to piss, Rayne. Don't hold back."

"I can't," the boy whispered, feeling his pelvis clench, even though the sound of trickling water was pure agony. "I can't do it while you're touching me."

"I will just hold the glass then," Mahmoudi promised, releasing his cock. He moved to kneel by Rayne's side and held the beaker under his patient's long, heavy penis. When Rayne still could not pee he cupped a handful of cold water and poured it slowly over the boy's cock. He kept on doing this until Rayne's cheeks flushed scarlet and he lost control of his bladder. The young man moaned quietly and pissed until the beaker was brimming with his dark, golden urine then carried on, splashing his water into the sluice as Mahmoudi watched with a knowing smile. 

"I love to watch boys urinating," he said when Rayne had shaken off the final droplets and was panting with relief. "You have a very sexy young cock, Mr. Wilde. If you would like to spread yourself on my desk now it would give me enormous pleasure to watch you bringing yourself to a climax."

"Do you 'have' to watch?" Rayne asked with a shake of his head. 

"No, but you might humour me in my old age," Mahmoudi smiled at him broadly. "You are a very attractive boy. I rarely get the opportunity to observe a beautiful young lad making himself cum these days. Mrs Mahmoudi disapproves of such things."

"You're a dirty old man," the boy said, surveying him through narrowed eyelids as if the thought had only just occurred to him. 

"I treat a lot of Daniel's young actors," Mahmoudi told him, apparently not offended by this. He stretched out the word 'actors' by inserting a pause between the syllables as if to demonstrate that he did not regard what Dan Leland's boys did as 'acting'. "The general understanding is that he pays me by allowing me to take my pleasure with the boys I find arousing. Did he not mention this to you?"

"No," Rayne said, more defensively. "He didn't."

"Well, I'm sure you can check it out with him later. He's a busy man and so am I, I expect he forgot to mention it," Mahmoudi stroked his cheek and the side of his neck with a long-fingered hand. "I will use a condom until I know for sure that you are clean. There is no need to be concerned on that score."

"I'm not." Rayne answered curtly. "I... I can get myself off without help."

"Well then..." Mahmoudi gestured towards the examining table once more. "Maybe you would be more comfortable lying down, Rayne."

Rayne boosted himself onto the examining table again and lay down a little nervously. He reached down and began to fist his cock steadily until it rose to full hardness in his hand. It took a little while. In spite of the doctor's reasoning he still felt quite awkward playing with himself like this. "Do you have something for me to... shoot into?" he panted at last. 

"Just pump it onto your belly. I will take a sample when you have satisfied your needs." Doctor Mahmoudi stood by the table and watched him stroking his penis. Rayne was very conscious of how close he was. Mahmoudi had a good sized prick, long and rippled, the colour of milk chocolate except for the circumcised head which was like a freshly washed plum protruding from his heavily veined shaft. A jewel of semen glittered in the deep slit of his helm. Rayne closed his eyes and fisted himself harder and more urgently, to no avail.

"Would it help you to reach orgasm if I were to mount and enter you?" the doctor ventured eagerly, moving closer to him. "Maybe if you surrender yourself to another it will bring you to a speedier climax. My penis has satisfied a number of Daniel's young gentlemen. I have received no complaints from them in that respect."




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 08



"Keep your fucking hands off me!" Rayne exhaled, pumping his cock harder. It was no use though, he could not cum whilst this horny stranger was hovering greedily waiting to see him spurt. He pumped away at his prick until it felt raw and sore and his hands both ached but to no avail He could not reach a climax. 

This privately dismayed Rayne, he was about to appear in a porn movie and he could not even jerk himself off. At last, even Doctor Mahmoudi took pity on him.

"Stop," he commanded, catching Rayne by the wrist and pulling his hand away from his sore, swollen penis. "This is not productive."

"No." Rayne blushed a little. He sat up with some difficulty and Doctor Mahmoudi bent over his crotch then took his hot, painful cock carefully into his mouth, sucking on it gently. Rayne leaned back on his elbows with a little whimper of mingled discomfort and relief as the doctor's tongue caressed his hard-on, licking and flicking over his rod as his lips stroked up and down the sensitive shaft and warm fingers tickled his balls. 

"Mmmhhhh..." Rayne moaned hoarsely as Doctor Mahmoudi kissed his way to the base of his prick and began to lick and suck on his bollocks. He let the older man spread his legs, kissing and tonguing his groin and scrotum then swallowing his balls one at a time.

"You are such a sexy little boy," Mahmoudi whispered to him as he was kissing and licking Rayne's oozing prick again. "Where does a man's lapping tongue give you the most intense pleasure my young friend?"

"Aaaahhhhh..." Rayne squirmed as he was teased gently. "Ohhhh.... Christ! My nipples... and... and my arsehole!"

"You like to be sucked and licked here?" Mahmoudi gripped his thighs and pulled him to the edge of the table where he began to suck Rayne's tiny, dark teats hungrily whilst stroking the boy's balls. 

"Mmmhhhhh... Ohhhhhhh... Yeah!" The boy surged against him, quivering at the wet, pleasurable sensations that flowed from his chest, down into his groin. His doctor teased him with the rough, wet surface of his tongue, licking his bare torso and occasionally biting his nipples as they writhed on the narrow mattress together. 

"And here?" Mahmoudi was suddenly squirming back down between his legs, forcing them apart so that he could stroke his tongue up and down Rayne's arse crack, tickling the silky smoothness of his young bottom with his moustache as he began to eat the boy's twitching orifice.

"Jesus!" Rayne exhaled, throwing back his head and panting with need as that fat, wet tongue wriggled and probed at his rear entrance. His ring was fairly elastic after the vigorous internal examination earlier in the morning and it did not take a great deal of effort for the doctor to get inside him and begin to lick out his hole. Rayne's knees were over his shoulders and Mahmoudi's face was buried in the boy's soft white crack as he tongue kissed his patient's anus long and slow on the examination table. 

Rayne sank back and began to pump his cock again. Having his chute tongue fucked never failed to get him off, and it did not fail this time. He squirted long and hard with a throaty growl of approval, dousing his belly with semen. At last he collapsed, loose-limbed and exhausted on the plastic-covered mattress but Doctor Mahmoudi was not done with him yet. 

As the boy lay panting and dripping with cum on his table, he took his sample then left the room for a few moments. When he returned there was a knowing smile on his face. Rayne was lying draped across the bed, panting with satisfaction, his eyes closed and his lips parted. 

"I've just told Daniel and your friend that I'm going to have to keep you here for a little while longer until I'm satisfied with you," he said heartily. He went to the desk by the examination table and bent over it for a moment rummaging in one of the drawers. 

"They've gone?" Rayne asked warily, opening his eyes and sitting up at once. He reached without looking for the box of tissues on the desk beside his perch, mopping at the spill on his belly and thighs.

"Yes," Mahmoudi confirmed in an odd voice. "We are alone together now, Rayne. So you can tell me what it is that you want from me and I will tell you the price it commands."

He set out a handful of small, white plastic containers from his locked drawer on the edge of the desk. They had medical labels on them and annotations in the doctor's own hand, which identified their real purpose.

"This one," he said, tapping a finger against the lid of the vessel on the right, "is pure opium. It comes in from China and Burma, quite rare these days, it generally gets refined down into other narcotic substances before it reaches Europe but there is still a small market for it." 

He shuffled the middle pot to the fore and said; "This is medical grade Ketamine. I try not to prescribe this without a psychological examination first. It can lead to depressive episodes and hallucinations."

Rayne licked his lips nervously. He knew all about Special K, having experienced a couple of incredible trips on the stuff in London. Only the most adventurous dealers were handling it but it was the stuff of legend among some of clubland's more hardcore addicts, crossing the boundaries between Junk and LSD. The assertion was that it was not addictive but there had been a rumour that one kid had jumped off the fifth floor of a multi-storey car park in Dulwich during the Spring, high on K and convinced that he was really an angel. 

Mahmoudi picked up the third and final container and rolled it between his palms. 

"This is Heroin," he said levelly. "I acquire small amounts for the purposes of extreme pain relief. It is imported for me from Karachi, where some of the finest medical supplies in the world are grown and refined."

Rayne slid off the table as he was speaking, his eyes on the phail in the Doctor's hands. He took a deep breath as the older man fell silent. 

"What do you want?" Rayne whispered, nodding towards the plastic container reverently. "For the Junk... what do I have to do?"

Mahmoudi smiled knowingly. 

"You are a smart boy, Rayne. You know the value of these commodities in your own country I am sure. What price would this fetch, do you think?"

"Depends how much and how you were payin' for it, I guess," Rayne said cautiously. He had not taken his eyes off the little pot of Junk. 

"And how would you pay me for such a thing?" Mahmoudi probed.

"I'll have some money, but not for a few days," Rayne told him, feeling weak at the thought of waiting for so long.

"Oh come now, surely you can do better than that?" the Doctor chided, turning to put the three little containers back in the drawer of his desk. He closed it and turned the key in the lock with a solid click. "You could pay me right now, here in this room, if you wanted to."

As he turned back to face his patient, Rayne was still gazing hungrily at the drawer behind him. The boy licked his lips again, restless and edgy so close to his heart's desire. 

"What do you want?" he asked atonally, without lifting his gaze. 

"You know what I want." Mahmoudi came to him now, cupping his face and turning those drowning, helpless eyes up to his own. Cherubic lips parted around a little gasp and the Doctor eased the tip of his thumb between them, feeling the boy's hot tongue flicker across the broad pad. He pushed it in deeper and Rayne's lips closed around it, sucking on it gently. His small, white teeth closed but did not bite hard on the intrusive digit in his mouth. Even sunburnt it was such a pretty face, Mahmoudi thought, tilting the kid's head back further and caressing the smoothness of his neck and throat with one hand as Rayne sucked his thumb and fingers. "Kneel down," he whispered huskily now. 

The lad released his thumb and went down slowly, his head still tilted back, looking up at Mahmoudi all the time. His full, pink lips were still lightly parted, glistening wetly as he stared back into the Doctor's eyes. Then, slowly, his gaze lowered. His eyes were on a level with Doctor Mahmoudi's stiffening dick and they rested in his crotch now, unblinking and contemplative. 

"You know what to do, Rayne," Mahmoudi urged, stroking his soft black hair encouragingly. "Take it in your mouth."

Rayne's lips parted further and he tilted his head to wrap them around the first three inches of his Doctor's long, brown cock. Softly, with a featherlight touch, he stroked his lips to the tip of Mahmoudi's throbbing helm, then opened wider and swallowed him in again, repeating the motion, but getting a little more of his companion's sex into his mouth each time. He closed his eyes and began to work his tongue in slow, sensuous circles up and down the underside of the Doctor's erect shaft as he nodded his dark head closer and closer to Mahmoudi's groin. 

"Oh you wonderful boy! That's good!" the Doctor panted, delighted and aroused by the sight and the sensation of Rayne's hot, wet mouth around his erect penis.

Rayne gulped him down steadily. Those long black lashes fluttered a little but he did not open his eyes as Mahmoudi's swollen glans touched the back of his throat and forced his jaws wider. He uttered a little groan and gagged slightly, then his lips folded back around the long shaft on his tongue and he began to swallow hard, taking slow breaths through his nostrils. His head was still tilted to one side as he took all of the older man's erection in his mouth and throat. The outward breath was warm and pleasantly ticklish in the Doctor's crotch. 

Mahmoudi felt small, warm hands on his naked thighs as Rayne began to nod again, more quickly this time. The quiet, slippery, sucking and licking noises and the occasional throaty moan of appreciation were the only sounds in the peaceful surgery for several minutes. Now the Doctor rested both hands on Rayne's sable hair and began to thrust steadily in time with his patient's nodding head. Rayne moaned around the length of flesh in his mouth but he did not try to resist. One of his hands moved between Mahmoudi's legs and began to caress his balls ever so gently at first then with increasing urgency. 

His careful caresses helped to stimulate the Doctor to a speedy climax and he began to buck rapidly now, both hands tangled in Rayne's silky black hair. He spurted, with a grunt of enthusiasm, on the outbound thrust and his semen spattered the face and hair of the young man kneeling before him. Rayne blinked and lifted a hand to wipe his nose and eyes as the Doctor reeled away behind his desk and located some more tissues to clean himself and his patient up. He was still breathing heavily once Rayne had come back from washing his face at the sluice. 

"You are a professional. I like that," the older fellow said, gesturing towards the chair in front of his desk. 

Rayne sat down with a too-knowing look on his face. His green eyes were sharp and clever, the gaze of a child that has grown up too quickly. 

"Then you're not going to welch on your side of the deal, are you," he remarked, never taking his eyes off Mahmoudi, not even for a moment. 

"No," the Doctor assured him. "But I cannot give you much. If you return to the boat incapacitated then Mr Leland will know for sure where you got the drugs."

"You can give me a shot now and some for later," Rayne Wilde said reasonably. "I'll smoke the rest. I prefer it that way anyhow."

"You will keep it a secret from our friend Mr Leland?" Mahmoudi unscrewed the lid from the little white pot and spread a napkin on the table on the measuring dish of a small electronic scale. He poured carefully as Rayne nodded, pale eyes fixed on the greyish powder that trickled out.

"I promise." 

Rayne shivered a little as Mahmoudi tightened the tourniquet around his upper arm. A small amount of heroin was cooking on a petrie dish over the bunsen burner on the Doctor's workstation. The fumes alone were making him twitchy. Too often, Johnno had made him wait his turn whilst others got their fix. Sometimes there was next to nothing left and he had to be content with chasing the wreath of pale smoke rising from the foil. He closed his eyes again as the older man drew up the small measure into a syringe and came towards him. 

"You should try to lose this habit, Rayne," he said mildly, locating a vein at the second attempt and gently easing the point of the needle in. "It does you no favours."

"I know," the boy whispered, his voice barely audible. "Please..."

With a sigh, the Doctor depressed the plunger and withdrew the needle. He taped the wad of cotton wool from the earlier blood tests back over the bead of bright blood in the crook of his patient's slender arm then removed the tourniquet. Rayne quivered again. For a little while he did not move or even talk. The sensation was like falling from a great height onto a pillow of clouds. He felt hot and cold, then intensely, profoundly still. After a moment or so he remembered how to breathe and took a long gulp of air. 

"Okay?" Mahmoudi asked as if from a distance. 

He nodded. This was more than okay. It was incredible. This was possibly the most amazing fix he had ever known. Mahmoudi had not lied about it being top notch stuff. For a little while he was flying; he had done it, broken the loop, no more Johnno. No more back streets and scumbags! He was in the South of France he was gonna make movies and money... more money than he would ever spend, even on Junk.

"That... that's good gear," he breathed when he could finally make words. The smile on his face was a brilliant, fragile thing.

"Use it sparingly," Mahmoudi warned. "Do you want to lie down for a little while?"

Rayne shook his head. He didn't want to lie still, he wanted to dance and laugh and tell people about this wonderful life he had discovered. Doctor Mahmoudi folded the napkin up into a small wrap and put it in his hand. He stared at it for a moment, feeling tears spring to his eyes. What a fantastic man, giving him something like this. 

"Put it away," Mahmoudi said to him. "And be careful with it."

"I will." Rayne unzipped the little pouch around his neck and tucked the wrap inside. He fastened it carefully as he had been told. Doctor Mahmoudi came up close behind him, rolling on a condom and bent him firmly over the desk in order to mount and penetrate him. As he sprawled on the green leather upholstered surface with the older man's hand on the back of his neck, keeping him down, he whispered; "Thank you. Oh my god... thank you!"

ALL AT SEA:

"Everything okay?" Ant asked solicitously when Rayne got back to the boat. 

The boy treated him to a beaming smile, which instantly worried the older man. 

"Totally fantastic!" he chirruped. "I've just had a fucking AIDS test, what d'you reckon to that, eh? Rock'n'Roll or what?"

"I'm sure it's just a precaution," Ant said warily but his face told a different story.

*

"What are you worried about?" Daniel Leland purred from behind his newspaper when Ant voiced his concerns. "You've been careful, haven't you? After all, you know his history. I'm sure the little slut will be fine. He seems quite good at taking care of himself. Maybe you should do the same."

"Are you suggesting that 'I' ought to have an AIDS test?" Ant queried, mildly horrified.

"Only if you're seriously worried my dear child," Daniel said, without looking up at him. "I mean... you did use rubbers when you fucked the little tart, 'didn't' you?"

Ant sat down rather heavily in the nearest chair and put his head in his hands. 

*

"You'll get cancer," Aldo warned seriously as he flopped down on the sunlit deck beside Rayne. The English boy was smoking a roll up, having bought some papers and tobacco on the way back to the boat. He was sitting cross-legged on the upper deck beneath a parasol, staring out into space behind his huge, dark sunglasses. The little pad of cotton wool was still taped to his arm like a medal for valiant conduct.

"Woo Hoo," he exhaled now, utterly deadpan. "Bring it on!"

"It's just a precaution, the blood test," Aldo said reassuringly from just outside the circle of shade cast by his umbrella. "You'll be fine."

"I bet 'you' hope so, after last night," Rayne turned his face towards the Italian youth though his eyes were still invisible behind his shades.

"You could have asked me to stop if you didn't want it," Aldo returned, holding his gaze through the smoked glass. "You don't have to take your frustration out on me. I told you last night, I'm on your side."

Rayne sucked on the roach again and shrugged his shoulders slightly. He held the smoke down deep in his lungs for a little while then let it go. Aldo stretched his long, lean, well-muscled body languidly and lay back, propped up on his elbows watching the wavelets and the little cruisers bobbing in the harbour. 

"How come you've got an American accent?" Rayne asked him finally, taking another drag. The cigarette was pure tobacco. He had contemplated adding a pinch... but no, that would just be greedy. Mahmoudi had warned him to be careful. 

"I do a lot of work in New York." 

He pronounced it Noo Yoik. Rayne smiled a little at that but only said; "Movies?"

"Yeah. It's big bucks out there. The studios get their actors tested every couple'a months." Aldo spread himself out to catch every last ray of the sun that he could. 

"You'll get skin cancer," Rayne pointed out sagely, gesturing skyward with his roll up.

"I'm Italian, we're born tanned," Aldo retaliated, puffing out his bronzed chest.

"Twat!" Rayne said, but he had a smile on his face. Aldo nudged him in the ribs. 

"You're just jealous."

"Yeah, right! I've always wanted to be a brainless stud-muffin with leather skin!" He was grinning broadly now.

"You're in a good mood this morning," Aldo commented, sitting up and ruffling his hair. "Not so sore now?"

"Only my arse," Rayne flashed back archly. 

"Did Mahmoudi try to grope you?" Aldo had a twinkle in his dark eyes as he said it.

For a moment the younger man seemed to flounder then he drew on the dwindling roll up one last time and flicked the ashes overboard casually. Tilting his head back he blew a perfect ring of smoke up into the dome of the parasol. 

"He did until I sucked him off," he breathed. "That settled him down all right."

Aldo gagged. "You sucked his cock? Aaggghhh!"

"Pussy!" The English boy turned his head to grin at him playfully. "You suck dick for a living and that's too much for you?"

"I get 'paid' to suck dick," Aldo reminded him.

"Who says I did it for nothing?" Rayne drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. His smile was almost vicious. "He fucked me as well. And it was 'so' worth it."

"I do not get your sense of humour sometimes," Aldo rolled onto his side to look enquiringly at his co-star. "Are all English guys like you?"

"I doubt it." Rayne Wilde said with a shake of his head. 

They sat in companionable silence for a little while, enjoying the sun and the play of the waves around the boat. Aldo turned and lay on his stomach, perfecting the bronzed curves of his backside and Rayne eased his slim legs over the side and rested his chin on his folded arms over the low guard-rail, closing his eyes. It was turning into a searingly hot day, his mood was mellow, and he decided it would be quite nice to do nothing at all.

Their peace was disturbed by the return to the boat of the two young men whom Rayne vaguely recalled from the previous evening. They both wore shades and matching silver stetsons this morning. Although they were not quite as toned or as tanned as Aldo, they 'were' identical, right down to their behaviour – which this morning seemed to have been programmed to 'childish' mode.

"We-ell, lookee here!" one of them whooped. "Looks like the laydeez have bagged all the sun deck for them-selves!"




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 08



"Which is a terr-ible waste, seeing as one doesn't need the sun and the other doesn't even know what to do with it!" the twin barked. 

They rolled around together on the lower deck, obviously finding this observation too hysterical for words. Rayne surveyed them impassively through his shades. Aldo sighed wearily. 

"What the fuck has the cat dragged in?" the English boy asked, just loud enough to carry. 

"Craig and Neil Dupont," Aldo said by way of introduction. "Famous for their thirty minute mutual jerk-off scene in 'Brothers Are Doin' It For Themselves'."

"Oh," Rayne said with a little nod. "The Terrible Tosser Twins! God help us!"

Aldo snickered at this. 

"Well hark at Laydee High and Mighty!" one of the twins crooned, pushing back his stetson to scowl at Rayne. "Little Miss 'I got double-ended five fuckin' years ago and never worked again'!"

"Mine was catchier," Rayne told him, without moving from his post on the guard-rail. "Are you Crepe or Nellie? Not that I can be bothered telling you apart!"

"Gawd, you're such a hoot!" the other twin jeered up at him. "And I just lu-urve your candy stripes, laydee!"

"And I just 'lurve' the fact that you both fanny on in spastic cowboy mode when you're plainly a pair of skinny little twats from Essex!" Rayne Wilde pushed himself up from the rail and hopped to his feet, staring down on them defiantly. "Go an' hotwire a Ford Escort or something!"

"Get Her!" the second twin laughed, shaking his tush vigorously.

"'Aah'd you know we're from Essex?" the first demanded indignantly, dropping his fake Texan camp like a hot brick.

*

The twins were a little more subdued below deck with Dan's beady eye on them. Rayne quickly ascertained that the elderly pornographer was no keener on Crepe and Nellie than Aldo or himself had been. In fact, most of the boys he worked with seemed to be a trial to Daniel Leland. Aldo poured a glass of juice and spring water from one of the tall, chilled jugs set around the day room and settled on the futon glowering darkly at the two teenage boys. Rayne took the adjacent corner of the bed, between his new friend and Ant who was sitting in an armchair looking decidedly uneasy. 

Arturo, who seemed to be in charge of both the Twins and Aldo, had been talking to Daniel when they came back down and now one of the younger boys asked; "When's Paddy getting here, Arty?"

"This afternoon," the elder Italian responded. His accent was thicker than Aldo's but his English was still very good. "No doubt there will be a party this evening."

"I'm sure," Daniel said dryly. "We have a booking at La Fenix."

"Paddy's parties are cool!" the other Twin enthused. 

"He'll shut Princess Candy-Stripes up tonight, that's for sure," the first giggled nastily. 

"Or make her scream her cunting head off!" Number Two sniggered into his hands like a child. 

Rayne said; "Will someone gag those two Chelmsford fuckwits before I kill them both!"

Twin One opened his mouth but a look from Dan Leland was enough to make him shut it again without uttering so much as a squeak. Rayne's smile bordered on malevolent.

"I'm going for a shower," he said, pushing himself to his feet. 

Aldo moved to follow but Ant was faster. 

"I'll come with you," he said gravely. "We need to talk."

UNDER THE SPRAY:

"Who's Paddy?" Rayne asked once he and Ant were in the shower room together and the cool water was taking some of the heat from his face.

His older lover soaped his back and bottom gently, then moved in closer so that his wet body curved around Rayne's. "Patrick McNamara," he elaborated in the boy's ear. "Only one of the biggest names in the movie game. Are you telling me seriously you've never heard of him?"

"Nope," Rayne said cheerfully, leaning back into his arms. "Should I have?"

"Since you're going to work with him, I guess so," Ant told him. "They call him the Irish National Stud. He's an actor, backer, producer, director; you name it he's done it."

"Sounds impressive," Rayne admitted, lifting his hands and looping his arms around Ant's neck, locking his fingers together there. "This boat's getting pretty crowded though."

"Oh, Patrick will bring his own boat, and his own entourage," Ant promised. "He doesn't go anywhere without a bodyguard."

"Big cheese!" Rayne chuckled. "No wonder the Tithead Twins were wetting their proverbial knickers."

"He's a big boy in every sense of the word," Ant murmured. The older man was rubbing himself between Rayne's cheeks now, growing steadily more aroused though he had promised himself that he would try and behave until his lover's results came back. Although that was probably a case of bolting the barn door after the pigeons had flown. "He's rumoured to have the biggest cock in the Business."

"Mmmhhh..." Rayne chuckled. "Sounds interesting."

Ant shook his head. 

"You're in an amazingly good mood this morning."

"What's to be miserable about? The sun's shining, we're in the South of France, we're on a boat and..." Rayne stopped and turned to face him, dropping the faux vivacious act abruptly. His eyes were wide and unblinking. "What if...?" 

Ant put a hand over his mouth at once, shaking his head more vigorously. 

"Shhhh. Don't even think about it. You'll get the results as soon as the tests are done. Until then there's no point worrying."

The boy stared back at him, his eyes suddenly huge and scared. Ant felt a lump of ice start to melt in his belly. Up until this moment he had seriously believed that Rayne did not give a damn whether he lived or died. Now he was not so sure. Sometimes his lover was so self assured that it made his head ache and then he went and did something that reminded Ant how young he still was.

"It'll be okay," he promised, wishing words could make it so.

Rayne tried a shrug but it did not quite come off. 

"Bet you wish you'd never fished me out of the snow now," he said with a grimace. 

"Seriously? If I had the chance to walk on by and leave you there..." Ant straightened, looking solemnly down on him. Then he weakened; "...naw, I'd have done the same thing. I guess I've always been a sucker."

Rayne's hands slid up his chest to the back of his neck again and the boy pulled himself up on his toes and kissed Ant softly on the lips. His lean body swayed against Ant's chest and belly under the fine drizzle of cool water.

"You're not a sucker, Ant," he said magnanimously. "Shame more people aren't like you, really."

"Do you wish I'd not got you into this?" the other man asked, still preoccupied.

Rayne leaned against him, his left cheek resting on Ant's breast, slim arms still wrapped around his neck. Ant gently caressed his back and buttocks under the shower unable to disguise his arousal any longer. 

"If the only other option is staying with John and flogging my arse then... no, I guess it's a good move," he said thoughtfully, at last.

"Why did you never just go home?" Ant breathed, burying his face in Rayne's wet hair. 

"There never seemed much point," Rayne Wilde said neutrally. 

They had been here before, but this time the boy seemed less hostile to the idea. Ant hoped that he would at least consider it. Daniel's offer was a good stop-gap but even Ant hated the idea that Rayne might get sucked back into the movie industry. Dan looked after his lads but it was a rough and nasty way to make a living however you looked at it. Aldo and the twins were not much older than Rayne but they seemed so hard somehow. He could not imagine any of them settling to a life that allowed them love and peace. 

"It might give you some time to get your head together," Ant suggested. 

"Are you saying that you've brought me all the way down here and introduced me to people and got me AIDS tested and now you don't think it was the right thing to do?" Rayne pushed away from him, looking up quizzically into his face. A small frown brought his angular brows down into an elegant arrowhead at the bridge of his tip-tilted nose.

Ant opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"I think you can do better for yourself than this," he said at last, diplomatically.

Rayne's lips attempted a smile but the frown was still in place. He shook his head slowly, wandering out from under the showerhead. As Ant followed him the water ceased immediately and the warm air began to billow over their damp skin. 

"You were fine about 'this' until last night. The idea of me in films was giving you a perfect boner the other day, now you're thinking I can do better! What's going on, Ant?" the boy demanded. "Is it the idea that I might have given you a fuckin' disease? What am I gonna do if I'm infected? You didn't think about that before, huh?"

"That's not what I mean," Ant protested but some of his own anxiety must have showed on his face. As he was quickly discovering, Rayne did not need much in the way of clues when it came to personal feelings. He was quite a connoisseur of human emotions, even though he kept his own under pretty tight wraps most of the time.

"Or maybe you're jealous. Is that it?" the boy ploughed on, twisting the knife in another tender spot. He retrieved his plaited bracelets and the little pouch he wore around his neck and pulled them back on, shaking droplets of water out of his hair. "Are you jealous that someone else gets to fuck me? You think I'll get one shot at this Paddy bloke and I'll be off again before I've paid you back? Jesus, Ant!"

"I don't think that," Ant lied valiantly. 

"Well don't worry. You'll get your fucking money!" Rayne snapped at him and stalked out into the corridor. 

"It's not about the money!" Ant yelled after him but there was no answer. 

*

"Patrick's arriving at seven," Daniel Leland called, without looking up from his book, as Rayne stormed between him and Arturo on the rear deck and jumped down to the jetty without a word. "You should wear a hat!" he added in a slightly louder voice but the boy had already stalked out of earshot. 

Ant arrived moments later, still wet and looking flustered. Terry came through from the lounge behind him and handed him a Manhattan.

"Where did he go?" Ant demanded. 

Daniel pointed wordlessly in the direction of the apartment complex around Ambonne and Ant set off in pursuit, still clutching his glass. 

"Wow, I didn't know we were doing amateur dramatics!" one of the Twins remarked from up on the top deck. "It's like a Queer Sex and the City!"

Aldo, who was sprawled out beside him in shades and nothing else, shook his head irritably at the youth and returned to his sun worshipping.

A FAMILIAR FACE:

Ant thought he saw the back of Rayne's head disappearing into the colourful maze that was the marketplace but once he reached the avenue of bustling stalls and shops he lost the younger man. He walked right through to the far end of the Collines and scanned the beach, shading his eyes with his free hand. There was no sign of Rayne anywhere. At last he knocked back the cocktail in the other hand and turned back despondently towards the harbour. 

As he trudged by, a voice hailed him by name from one of the bars on the boardwalk and he looked up, briefly hopeful. A familiar figure waved a hand in his direction but it was not his errant lover. Christophe was sprawled comfortably on a lounger in the shade of a huge parasol. He was nude save for a pair of wrap-around shades and a couple of dog tags on a silver chain around his neck. As Ant came closer he noted that the Frenchman was also wearing a silver cock ring. His long, brown prick lay across his right thigh, just flaccid enough to be decent. Thierry knelt at his left side in a black leather collar and a skull harness with a bit strap that pulled between his soft, pink lips, gagging him. The harness was attached to the collar with little silver rings as was the short chain leash that Christophe tugged on now, pulling him closer. The boy laid his head against Christophe's naked thigh. His eyes were closed but Ant could see the darkening bruise that ran down the right side of his face. 

"Is he okay?" he asked as he came to a halt by their table. 

Christophe looked dismissively at his pet then gestured to the empty seat at their table. 

"Sit. How are you, mon ami? Are you enjoying the Cap?" he said as if Thierry was an irrelevance. 

"I'm... yeah." Ant's gaze kept wandering to the boy, who was very still and quiet. Twin silver loops in his small, pink nipples were joined by a pair of fine chains that ran down to a pierced ring in the head of his cock. His wrists were manacled behind him with studded leather cuffs. There were more bruises on his arms and his slim thighs. 

"You are alone?" Christophe enquired, taking a sip from the tall, iced glass beside him. 

"Yeah. For the time being... actually I was looking for Rayne. You haven't seen him, have you?"

Christophe shook his head briskly. His expression was unreadable behind those broad, reflective lenses. Thierry's blond head turned slightly. Pale blue eyes were looking up at Ant, as solemn as an angel's. He experienced an irrational urge to stroke Thierry's icy curls as if he was a dog. 

"I warned you that the little bitch would need some discipline," the older Frenchman said mildly, breaking into his distracted observation of the boy. "If you kept him leashed then you would know where he was at all times."

"He's not an animal," Ant said tersely. The other day whilst they were fucking in the toilet cubicle on the train he had been aroused by the idea of using restraints and sex toys to tame his impulsive lover. Today, with Thierry kneeling before him like a frightened cur, he was not so sure. "Does he like that?" he asked now.

"What he likes or does not like is not the issue," Christophe said in a matter-of-fact voice. "If he is a good little bitch he gets rewarded. If he is bad, then he can expect to be punished. For example, yesterday he decided to go wandering off on his own without telling me, so he was bound and gagged on his return and a number of our neighbours were invited to the apartment to use him." Christophe smiled thinly. "Today he has been a perfect angel. Good as gold, as you can see."

"Are you all right?" Ant asked Thierry solicitously, bending forward to peer at the boy. 

Thierry bit down hard on the gag and nodded just once, stoically.

"Did someone hit you?" 

The boy's eyes widened slightly but he shook his head, again the tiniest motion. Christophe stroked his blond hair possessively.

"He got drunk and fell down the steps in the dark, didn't you, you foolish little slut?" He insulted Thierry with such a casual air that Ant was roused to protect the boy. 

"He should be resting. He's hurt, Christophe."

"He will be fine. I felt that he needed to take the air. I will take him back to bed when I have finished my drink, I swear to you," the older man flashed that serpentine smile again. "If I find your pretty little whore would you like me to have him tied and beaten? My friends and I have taught many hot-blooded young sluts the value of absolute submission. I will send for you so that you can watch, do not fear. You can even help us to rape and tame him, if you wish."

Ant pushed himself to his feet, torn between the urge to punch Christophe and the desire to simply pull Thierry away from him and take the child back to the boat. Instead he shook his head. 

"He's not to be harmed. We're going to make a film in a few days, he's got to be fit enough for that."

"Ah yes," Christophe tilted his head back speculatively. "You are staying with Daniel Leland, non?" His smile broadened at Ant's bemused expression. "The Cap is a tightly knit community. Word travels quickly here. I had not realised before yesterday that your whore was Leland's camera fodder. Naturally you will want him unmarked."

"Just... keep your hands off him," Ant warned grimly. He turned to go but Christophe added; 

"What will be my reward if we find him? Thierry needs rest tonight. May we at least gag and fuck your wanton slut before we hand him back?"

"Don't touch him!" Ant looked back over one shoulder, his eyes blazing. "Don't even 'think' of touching him!"

He wanted to ask who 'us' and 'we' were and how many of Christophe's friends had abused Thierry the other night but he knew that if the conversation went there he might wind up punching the smug smile right off the Frenchman's face. Daniel had been correct. There were some nasty pieces of work out here and Rayne was currently lost among them. Ant clenched his fists and returned to his search with a vengeance.

LUST IN THE AFTERNOON:

Phil Honeywell was just shutting up the shop for the afternoon when Rayne walked in looking wild eyed and a little bit wired. Phil closed the door and locked it without a word and pulled the other boy through to the back of the unit where Rayne sank down in a deck chair and fumbled in the pouch around his neck for cigarette papers and a twist of tobacco. 

"Turn around," he said at last. 

Phil raised an eyebrow but did as he was told. Behind him, Rayne unfolded the napkin from Mahmoudi's surgery in his lap and added a pinch of his stash to the roll up before tucking it away again. When he had completed the skinny joint with shaking fingers and managed to light the thing without setting fire to himself, he finally allowed his companion to turn back. 

"What's going on?" Phil wanted to know. "Are you okay? You look terrible."

"Cheers," Rayne exhaled, sucking on the crumpled roll up vigorously. He could already feel the smoke soothing his ragged edges but he was too angry to speak without bursting into tears and he was not ready to do something like that in front of Phil. 

"You wanna come upstairs?" the other lad asked tentatively. 

"Upstairs?" green eyes flickered to his face then away as if even that contact gave up too much of him.

"To the flat. It's not the Ritz but it's nicer that this." Phil waved a hand at the stacks of shoe boxes and piles of carrier bags in the store room. There was a table by the door and a dirty looking kettle on a tray with a chipped yellow mug. 

"Okay." Rayne nodded numbly and followed him out the back and up a flight of stone stairs lit by a single dim bulb. 

By the time they reached Phil's flat on the second floor he had exhausted his joint and his nerves were less jangled. The apartment was painted a soothing shade of pale blue and consisted of a kitchenette with a four ring hob a microwave and fridge, a folded down sofa bed and another table. There was a small balcony beyond and Phil opened the doors onto it now, letting in some air to alleviate the sultry heat. There were shelves of books and cassettes to the left of the main door and to the right another entrance led into the smallest bathroom Rayne had ever seen. It was basically a walk in shower with a WC and a small basin. There was a long thin mirror tacked to the wall above the sink and a water cistern over the toilet.

"It's... minimalist," he said diplomatically.

Phil managed a smile. 

"You want to fuck?" he asked. 

Rayne sat down on the edge of the sofa bed and looked up at him warily. 

"I'm waiting for some test results."

Phil shrugged slightly and stripped out of his t-shirt and shorts. 

"I've got rubbers," he said amiably and fetched a box of ribbed anal condoms and a bottle of lube from the bathroom.

His companion looked up at him speculatively, then pulled him down onto the bed and they snaked around one another at once. Phil's mouth found his, hot and needy. His tongue darted between Rayne's teeth and he rolled onto his back, pulling the other youth on top of him, hands roaming eagerly over his mate's body. 

"Are you sore?" he asked when Rayne broke for air. "The sunburn?"

"It's not so bad today," his companion said economically. "Hurt like hell last night."




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 08



"Were you hiding from someone?" Phil's hand reached for his cock and began to pump it rhythmically. Rayne kissed his neck and shoulders and returned the favour, stroking his left hand steadily over Phil's dick and balls. 

"I had a row with the guy that brought me out here," his mouth fastened onto Phil's once more and they surged against one another on the bed cover. For a little while there was nothing more said; the only sounds in the room were the soft, wet noises of their conjoined mouths and rubbing hands. Occasionally one or the other uttered a little moan or whimper of approval or encouragement. Rayne kissed his slow way down Phil's chest, licking and nibbling at his nipples, then bent his head and took the other man's cockhead in his mouth.

Phil groaned weakly, his breathing quickening as Rayne sucked his cock. He was not huge but already he was intensely aroused. His genitals and scrotum were clean-shaven, which seemed to be a trend out here. It made his five inch cock seem bigger but Rayne had no trouble taking it all and still managing to lick and tease his balls. As Phil spread his legs, his mate reached for the lube and rubbed some sensuously between his soft, tanned cheeks. 

"You're fuckin' beautiful," Phil panted, writhing on the bed under him. "You give fuckin' great head! Touch me inside. Put your fingers up me."

Rayne came up for air but carried on kissing Phil's penis and balls as he worked a slippery finger around the other boy's anal orifice then pressed on his button firmly until he was admitted. Phil bucked his slim hips up off the bed and groaned again, more eagerly as Rayne's tongue swept from the base of his ball sac to the tip of his cock. He pushed a second finger in and began to pump them both up and down in Phil's soft, wet hole. 

"Omigod!" Phil huffed in a sharper voice. "Will you fuck me?"

Rayne nuzzled his crotch, breathing in his hot, slightly sweaty scent. He licked the salty skin around Phil's twitching balls, slightly surprised but not displeased by the request. 

"Sure," he breathed, feeling the other lad squirm with pleasure. 

Eagerly he kissed his way back up to Phil's neck and they rubbed together on the bed with Rayne's cock between the other man's thighs. His lips touched Phil's mouth and he whispered; "Help me with the rubber."

"You really never used them?" Phil looked up at him with wide blue eyes.

"Not much," Rayne confessed, unable to meet that innocent stare. "Guess I should be dead by now, huh?"

"You're a fuckin' angel. Maybe that makes you immune!" Phil giggled, then sat up with Rayne kneeling between his legs and reached for the box of condoms. "Here, let me do it."

His touch was light and skilful on Rayne's cock. They kissed one another the whole time he was ripping open the packet and rolling the latex sheath one-handed over his lover's erection. He did not even look down. 

"You've done that before," Rayne panted as Phil's fingers reached the base of his hard-on.

"Just a bit!" Phil winked at him. He poured a little more lube into the palm of his hand and rubbed it firmly up and down the ridged shaft that jutted against his belly. Rayne's lips parted around a little "ohhhh" of approval. The condom felt peculiar, like the skin had shrunk and tightened around his penis, it was sensitive but not unpleasant.

Phil kissed his mouth a little harder. His tongue pulsed deep between the other boy's jaws as they sank back down on the bed again with Phil underneath. Rayne felt his mate's legs part around him and Phil reached down, pulling his knees back towards his shoulders so that his arse cheeks spread and lifted off the bed.

"Put it in me," Phil instructed a little more urgently now. "Mmmhhhh, quick Rayne. I need your cock in me."

Rayne Wilde needed no more encouragement than that. It was rare enough that he got to be the top, he was determined to make the most of Phil's kind offer. Bracing his knees wide he crouched over the other man and guided his throbbing cock head to Phil's welcoming entrance. His little pink star was bobbing up and down eagerly on the bed and Rayne gripped his bum to hold him steady as he eased his tool inside. He was amazed at how little resistance Phil's sphincter offered and in no time at all he was buried to the hilt in the other lad's hot, wet hole, bucking his hips against Phil's bare arse while the blond lad's long legs wrapped around him and he cried out excitedly.

"Oh God! Yeah... yeah... fuck me... fuck me... fuck me! Harder! Jesus, Rayne... Harder! Fuck me hard!"

He was half scared of hurting Phil or tearing the rubber but he got the blond's knees over his shoulders and straddled his exposed arse, giving the boy what he wanted, banging away at him like it was his only chance. His mate's soft, moist, slippery arsehole yielded to his thrusts in the most incredibly satisfying way. Phil felt hot and tight around his cock but he was still slipping in and out quick and easy like fucking pussy. Rayne bent over him hands flat on the bedcover either side of Phil's ribs, his head bent and his dark hair tumbling around his face and swaying back and forth as he bucked away furiously between the blond boy's legs. Sweat ran down his naked back in streams. 

Phil lay with his arms thrown out to either side like a crucified saint, eyes rolled back in his head, mouth open wide, panting and screaming.

"Oh, Rayne! Yeah! Fuck! Fuck me! Make me cum! Maaaaaake me cuuuuuum!"

If he did not reach climax soon, Rayne knew he was going to get there first. The delicious friction on his throbbing prick, combined with the ribbing on the condom, was bringing him unbearably close. He slowed his thrusting briefly but Phil only yelled at him to go faster again. 

'Fuck it!' he thought with a shake of his head. 'If he doesn't cum I can always suck him off!'

He hammered Phil's arse for all he was worth, satisfying the furious itch inside, and was rewarded when the blond almost bucked him off the bed as he shot his load all over his chest and belly. His tightening chute milked the cream from Rayne's balls and the dark-haired boy collapsed between his legs with an involuntary cry of ecstasy as Phil's clenching rectal muscles gripped and squeezed him, controlling the explosion. He could feel his own hot flood filling the rubber sheath and spilling back out onto his nuts as he sprawled on top of Phil moaning like a dying animal.

"Omigod!" Phil huffed in a tiny voice. "Omigod! That was SO good! I've been thinking about doing it with you since yesterday. You are SO good, Rayne!"

He nuzzled Phil's chest and licked some cum off his nipples, then wormed higher and kissed his mouth again. For a few minutes they just lay together, sucking at one another's faces and stroking hot sweaty skin. Rayne knelt up and Phil stroked his cock, rubbing him in the loose, cum-filled rubber until he quickened again. Rayne stripped off the rubber and Phil wasted no time unwrapping another. He bent over his lover's groin, blond head between those sharp, narrow hips, and this time used his lips and tongue to apply the sheath whilst he fondled Rayne's balls. The other boy closed his eyes for a moment, throwing his head back as he was teased, his mouth slightly parted around a soundless sigh. He began to gasp a little as Phil deep-throated the head of his cock. 

This time there was no need for verbal instruction. Phil lifted his head and turned around, presenting his buttocks. As he dropped to his hands and knees on the bed, Rayne lubed and mounted him, pushing himself in with no concerns about hurting his friend this time. 

"Aaaahhhh!" Phil cried out. "Ohhhh Christ! Yeah... like that! "

Deaf to his cries, Rayne grabbed his tanned hips and fucked him hard. This time it was painfully, savagely quick. He was on fire, banging the naked blond halfway across the bed until Phil was up against the wall and still taking it. His mate ground his crotch violently into Phil's arse, pushing himself up as far as he physically could and ramming it in over and over until he came uncontrollably. He wondered as he did so if this was how it felt for some of the men who had paid to use him like this back home. Did they feel as if fireworks were going off behind their eyes and in their balls? Were their hearts hammering twenty to the dozen as they slammed away at his arsehole, just desperate to get the deed done as quickly as possible because they'd paid for half an hour and maybe they'd have time for another go, and yet another if they seeded him fast and hard.

He could not blame them. This felt good. It felt more than good; it was fucking amazing.

Rayne leaned against Phil, keeping him pinned to the wall; keeping his prick inside the blond. He nuzzled the other boy's neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent of clean, fresh sweat and the hot musk of his well-fucked arsehole. His sexual aroma was overwhelming. 

"That was hot," he gasped. "Do you like it like this?"

Phil nodded. He whimpered slightly. 

"Did you get off?"

A shake of the head this time; Phil whispered; "Are you still hard?"

Rayne pulsed experimentally. The feel of Phil's abused hole around his cock was almost unbearably arousing. 

"Yeah," he said with a feral grin. "You want some more?"

"Uh-huh... don't stop," Phil panted. "You're making me feel so horny."

Rayne began to thrust again, he did not need asking. Phil keened frantically as they coupled up against his bedroom wall, fucking so hard that the bed rocked from side to side as Rayne worked his cock in and out. He was riding Phil in tight circles, keeping the other man satisfied this time. One hand slid down Phil's bare belly to his dick and began to pump it hard. The other gripped the blond's firm young balls. Rayne kissed his neck and began to give him long, slow lovebites there as he thrust away between Phil's cheeks. Phil was soon writhing in his arms and humping himself up and down on Rayne's cock.

"Ooohhhh, so good... so hot!" he whined eagerly. "Fuck me! Fuck me!"

Rayne raised the pace steadily, letting himself get rougher and faster a little at a time. He had begun to buck double-quick and was just shy of nailing Phil to the wall with his dick when the blond exploded in his rapidly fisting hand. Pressed up close to him, Rayne began to jack-hammer his arsehole for the second time that night as Phil sprayed the wall of his rented room with spunk. Just when he thought that he could not physically go on, Rayne felt his testes shrink up into his groin and the sensation of slow-burning pleasure trickled back down his cock and out through his crotch into his belly and down his arms and legs. His fingers and toes were quivering as if with pins and needles.

Phil curled up on the bed and Rayne flopped down on his back, peeling off the sticky, spunk filled sheath and dropping it onto the tiled floor with a soft, wet splat.

"Fuckin'ell!" he exhaled exhaustedly.

"Did you like that?" Phil whispered.

"Yeah!"

"Do you want to come to the dunes with me tomorrow?" the blond asked him. "We can fuck there, if you don't mind people watching you."

Rayne turned his head to look at Phil. He really was deceptive with those big blue eyes. They made you think he was innocent when he clearly was anything but.

"I don't mind that," he said neutrally.

"Maybe a few guys might want to join in," Phil ventured cautiously. "Y'know, like an orgy?"

"Or a gangbang," Rayne said, his expression very still. 

"Yeah." Phil grinned at him. 

"Have you ever been gangbanged?" the dark-haired boy asked, rolling onto his side to look at Phil seriously.

"No... but I fantasise about it all the time," Phil confessed. "Have you?"

Rayne turned onto his stomach and cradled his head in his arms. He felt tired and very light-headed as if he might float away. 

"Yeah," he murmured at last.

"What was it like? How many men were there?" Phil wriggled closer, conspiratorially.

"Dunno," Rayne said, turning his head to see the look on Phil's face. "I lost count after about twelve."

"Wow!" The blond began to masturbate. "How did they do it? Did they queue up for it? Did you cum?"

"A few times," Rayne said vaguely. "It was a bit of a free for all actually. They just stood around wanking and waited for a hole to come free then they stuck their cocks in it."

"Did you enjoy it?" Phil asked him tremulously. He was jerking himself off hard now.

"Not as much as you," Rayne told him and buried his face in his arms again.

Phil moved up close to him, undeterred. He was rubbing himself against Rayne on the bed. At last he climbed on top of the other boy and eased his erect penis between Rayne's legs. 

"Can I fuck you?" he asked huskily.

"What time is it?" Rayne asked without lifting his head. 

"About six fifteen," Phil nuzzled the back of his neck and dry humped him eagerly.

"I have to go," Rayne said, sitting up at once and dislodging him. "I said I'd be back before seven. Patrick's coming for tea! Can I have a shower?"

"Who's Patrick?" Phil asked as Rayne swung his legs off the bed and wandered into the bathroom without waiting for confirmation. He peeled off his carry pouch and hung it on the door.

"Some Porno big cheese. P.J.McNamara; he's in this film Leland's making. I've got to make nice with him or something." He turned on the water and sighed with pleasure as it rinsed off some of the stickiness, cooling his blood.

Phil appeared in the doorway, eyes wide. 

"Paddy McNamara? Fuckin' hell!" he exclaimed. "You're gonna do it with Paddy Mac? God, I'm soooooo jealous!"

"You can do it instead if you like," Rayne said sarcastically. "What's with this guy anyway? Everyone acts like he's God or something."

Phil slipped into the shower room and began to wash Rayne's back for him quite deliberately.

"Paddy's notorious," he gushed delightedly. "I can't believe you've never heard of him. He's got the biggest knob in Queer Porn. It's official, they measured him in San Remo last year. He's got a fifteen-inch dick, Rayne. Fifteen inches long, six and a half inches around at the tip and seven inches around at the base! He's huge! They have this competition in America every year for new young porn actors to see if they can deep-throat him."

"Piece of piss," Rayne said, deadpan.

"You're kidding! It'd choke me."

"You're doing it wrong." Rayne turned around and kissed him slowly and tenderly. "Look I've really got to shoot. I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Thanks for this afternoon, it's been great."

"Yeah," Phil said affectionately. "It has."

*

Rayne set off at a run. It was nearly six thirty by the time he left Phil's flat and he had reached the boat before he remembered that he'd left his stash bag and money in the blond boy's bathroom. 

"Shit!" he swore through his teeth and was about to dash back for it when Aldo's voice hailed him, sounding worried. 

"Rayne! Where have you been? Anthony's turned the Cap upside down looking for you!"

And then he was surrounded with no hope of escape.

:END OF PART EIGHT:



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 09



*All the usual rules apply. No part of this story may be taken or reused without the author's permission. Because I Say So!!*

"Seven o'clock!" Rayne Wilde protested, in the face of Ant's frantic questions and Daniel Leland's silent, implacable disapproval. "You said I had to be back by seven and I 'am'! For Christ's sake, I dunno why you don't just lock me in my fuckin' room and be done with it!"

"The thought had occurred," Leland sighed wearily.

"Fuck you!"

Ant caught his arm as Rayne turned away, ready to walk again; ready to do anything so long as he could escape from this floating asylum. The younger man yanked himself free at once.

"Get your fucking hands off me!"

Ant's features darkened but he backed away, letting the boy storm off towards the room they had been sharing. Terry Goodwill patted his arm and muttered; "Leave 'im to me, Rosie. I'll talk to 'im."

Aldo was Terry's silent shadow as the burly Londoner checked out the bedrooms and then the shower. Ant sank down on the edge of the futon and wrapped his hands around his head as if it ached, which it did.

"What was all that about, eh?" Terry leaned comfortably against the shower room wall, his gaze following Rayne as he paced back and forth like a caged animal. The boy was breathing hard and fast through clenched teeth, his pale eyes angry and unfocussed but Terry's words drew the younger man's attention for he stopped pacing and glanced up suspiciously. Then his eyes darted away to a point just beyond the tall, burly Englishman.

Aldo had followed them to the bathroom and was standing in the doorway with his arms folded. His handsome face was as serious as either man had ever seen it. There was to be no support from the Italian either, it seemed. Rayne slumped back against the far wall and glowered at them both darkly. 

"I don't get it," he snarled, his teeth still gritted furiously. "I'm not a child. I knew I had to be back by seven and I'm here, aren't I? What the fuck have I done wrong now?"

"Ant was worried about you," Aldo said mildly, before Terry could open his mouth to deliver a more crushing tirade. "He though you might do something crazy. He said that one minute you were fine and the next you were like an animal, tearing him apart."

"I never touched him!"

"You don't 'ave to touch anything," Terry Goodwill rumbled, sounding more disappointed than angry. "You're like fuckin' acid, Ray! You open your mouth and you just burn through everyone like they're not there. It's all about 'you', isn't it princess? He's just tryin' to look after you, can't you see that?"

"I don't 'need' looking after!" Rayne flung up his arms and wrapped them around his head as if he could hide from their retribution that way. "I just wish you'd all stop crowding me like you want a fuckin' piece of me!"

"Where did you go?" Aldo wanted to know. "We looked everywhere."

"We?" Rayne lowered his arms and blinked at the Italian, his face perplexed.

"All of us," Aldo elucidated. "Anthony said that there was a man looking out for you. A fellow that you met on the train here. He did not want that man to find you."

For a moment Rayne shook his head slowly. He wondered briefly if the superintendent on the SNCF had found out about the heroin. Had he dropped incriminating evidence? Was he about to be arrested? 

"Some guy called Christopher?" Terry suggested, shaking his head.

The light dawned and Rayne's face lost some of its pallor. 

"That twat!" he exclaimed. "What the hell does 'he' want?"

Aldo said; "Your ass on a spike from the sound of it." 

"You what?" Rayne laughed weakly. "What the fuck have I done to him?"

"I dunno, but Ant said that he promised to have you anally gang-raped if he found you first." Aldo rolled his eyes. "You really know how to light a guy's fire, don't you?"

The younger boy slumped back against the wall again, his expression unreadable. 

"Jesus Christ!" he whispered at last. "I'm surrounded by fuckin' crazy people."

"Well if you don't want them crazier, you'll get your arse into gear right now," Terry advised sagely. "Dan's planned dinner and an evening at La Fenix. He doesn't like having his plans buggered up so I suggest you get ready to go out and you make 'very' nice with him and Paddy tonight. Get it?"

Rayne cast a searching look in Aldo's direction but the other boy just nodded adamantly. 

"You won't be alone, Rayne. I'll be there," he promised. 

"Get ready?" the younger boy asked him worriedly. "As in 'dressed'?"

"Just make yourself look pretty," Terry volunteered. "A bit of makeup, some sexy jewellery, strappy boots or something. Get yourself oiled and smelling good. You're spending tonight with Paddy Mac, so don't fuck it up."

Green eyes went wide as old pennies. Rayne just stared at him.

"Wh... who's idea of a joke was that?" he demanded at last.

"It's not a joke," Aldo said quietly. "PJ likes to get to know his boys before he shoots with them. He knows all of us. You, he has not met. Don't be scared, Rayne. He won't hurt you. He knows that you're still waiting on the tests and they haven't made a sheath big enough to hold him so he won't fuck you tonight."

Terry snorted quietly through his nostrils. Rayne glared at him; "What?"

"He won't poke you, but those two muscle boys that came out here with him don't look as if they'd mind!" Terry laughed grimly. "Better make sure your arse is nice and slippery, sweet-cheeks!"

"Fuck off!" Rayne snarled at him, pushing his way out of the shower and into the bedroom. 

His hands were shaking as he studied himself in the mirror on the wardrobe door, stroking his dark hair back from his face and wondering what he should do. All his money was in the pouch at Phil's flat, as well as the wrap of precious Heroin. Christophe was looking for him, hoping to train him into a good little doggie like Thierry. 

The young man snorted incredulously at the idea of that. No way was he coming to heel for Christophe, not even if the bastard offered to pay him!

And now he was being handed over to Paddy McNamara like a peace offering. If Phil was not exaggerating about the size of the man's dick, tonight might well be an eye opener in more ways than one. Rayne sat down on the edge of the bed, conscious that he was shaking. It was almost worse than being in thrall to Johnno. At least with John he had a good idea what to expect. These jokers might try anything with him and he had nowhere to run to. 

To cap it all off, Ant – his only ally in this madness - was not even speaking to him and it was his own fault. Rayne clasped his hands in his lap and stared glumly at his reflection. He realised, belatedly, that this upset him most of all. Ant might sometimes be a bit of an idiot and he was far too convinced of his own heroic role in Rayne's great escape from Johnno, but he was at least a kind man. No one had forced him to spend so much money trying to help one ungrateful boy prostitute change his life. He had done what he thought was right, even when it was clearly not. Rayne was torn between feeling sorry for him and being angry because Ant knew just how to manipulate him.

"He's as bad as the rest of them," he told his mirror image in a sullen whisper. "He just wants to get his rocks off while you do all the donkey work."

He put his head in his hands then and sat there, huddled on the edge of the bed until Aldo came to help him with his makeup.

"You look fabulous," the Italian whispered in his ear as he prepared to leave the bedroom at last. 

Rayne Wilde wished he felt fabulous but the only sensation he was conscious of was one of rising nausea. His skin was crawling, not helped by the sweet, aromatic massage oil which Aldo had rubbed gently all over him as they got ready. Delicate, beaded, silver coils were wound around his nipples and he wore a snug, black cock strap around his shaft and balls with delicate silver chains running to a ring that fastened snugly just beneath the head of his sex. It felt heavy and a little uncomfortable but Aldo assured him that he would get used to it. Silver bracelets circled his wrists, with more strands of fine chain running from them to rings around the tips of each of his fingers and his thumbs. His nails were painted silver and black. Soft-soled, sable suede boots caressed his feet and calves, bound with buckled straps of the same material and he wore little diamond studs in his ears and a silver and diamante collar around his neck. His hair was full of glitter and there were streaks of it across his high cheekbones. Aldo had glossed his lips until he felt sure they were melting and drawn thick, black lines of Kohl across his eyelids so that he looked like Cleopatra.

Beside him, Aldo was a vision in black and gold. A black leather collar and cock harness complimented black and tan leather boots and a golden belt across his lean, bronzed hips. Little whorls of golden leaves ringed his nipples and he wore a single dark jewel in his navel. His ebony hair was slicked back from his handsome face with styling wax and he wore a single golden ring in his left earlobe with a little piece of jet hanging from it.

"I wish this was over," Rayne breathed, hoping that he would not be sick and ruin all of Aldo's work. "I wish I could just go back to bed and hide under the duvet 'til morning."

"You'll be fine," Aldo assured him. "I swear it, Rayne. No one is gonna hurt you."

A silence greeted their arrival in the day room. Then there were a few appreciative murmurs from the waiting group. Arturo and the twins had already set off, for which Rayne was profoundly grateful. Another slanging match with the Terrible Tossers was more than he could stomach at the moment. Ant looked at him as if he had grown another head, then turned away as if the sight was too much to bear but Daniel Leland rose to his feet, garbed in a long, loose, midnight black sarong, edged in golden loops of thread, which he wore like a roman toga. He nodded his head slowly. 

"Well well... it was certainly worth the wait," he said at last. 

A LA FENIX:

They walked the short distance from the boat to the club, on the edge of La Collines district. A neon sign over the door showed a brightly plumed bird discarding its golden feathers to reveal firstly a curvaceous naked woman, then a muscular, golden skinned man, over and over. Daniel took Rayne's arm and led him inside where the darkness swallowed his vision for a few moments. When he could see again, they were approaching a deep booth with turquoise covered bench seats and a long table between them. A number of people were already seated and Rayne recognised the Twins by their silver stetsons. A tall man with long, blond hair tied back in a pony tail rose and greeted them. His solemn grey eyes roamed over Rayne slowly, as if trying to memorise every inch of him, then he turned and wordlessly ushered them into the booth. Daniel Leland sat down at the head of the table, next to Terry. Rayne was guided to a place next to a broad shouldered, richly sun-bronzed man whose thick, shoulder length hair shone a deep, copper red in the lights from the dancefloor beyond their seats. As he sat down, a pair of steely blue eyes moved to meet his curious gaze. Their owner had a square, solid jaw like some old action cartoon hero and a full, sensuous mouth. His nose had been broken but it did not look out of place on that strong-boned face. 

Rayne held his gaze, unwilling to look away. This fellow was not handsome in the same way as Aldo but nor was he ugly. He had a commanding presence. His chest was deep and broad with powerful pectorals, curving and dipping like polished bronze into the sculpted precision of his abdominal muscles and his nipples were hard, dark bullets. One muscular thigh rested so close to Rayne's leg that he could feel the heat rolling off it in waves. 

"So..." this man said at last, his voice rich and warm, resonating with the combined brogue of Southern Ireland and the nasal twang of East Coast America. "You must be the boy who came in from the cold?" 

Rayne blinked at him, not sure what to say to this. It was a curious opening gambit and it told the younger man that his fellow diner already knew more about him than he knew about the man sitting next to him. He shivered under the intense scrutiny of that steady stare.

"I'm PJ," the fellow said, without any fuss or fanfare. "Are you 'still' cold?"

Rayne shook his head. The concern seemed genuine but he could not be sure. It was rare for him to meet a man he could not mentally unzip and assess in the first few moments of their meeting. PJ McNamara reached across the table, breaking the hold his gaze had on his companion as he picked up a bottle of champagne and deftly twisted the foil cap so that he could pop the cork. As if this was some kind of signal, people settled in their seats and other bottles were opened. Foam spewed from the necks and into tall, narrow glasses, which chinked and clinked as the revellers toasted one another's health. 

Rayne lifted his own glass to his lips but as he did so, Paddy McNamara turned in his seat and touched his crystal flute to Rayne's lightly. His eyes were fixed on the younger man's slightly flushed face once more.

"Good health," he said portentously.

Rayne swallowed the sudden urge to be sick. He hid his nose in the glass and gulped down a mouthful of bubbles and acid fizz. The stuff burned cold in the back of his throat and seared down his gullet. He could feel the bubbles in his nose long after he swallowed it.

Beside him, PJ McNamara sipped his champagne coolly and watched him with a curious smile playing about his full-lipped mouth. Rayne could not help it, his gaze moved slowly down that muscular chest and over the ripples of his richly tanned six-pack into the deep valley between his thighs. The way he was sitting concealed him perfectly. There was no way of telling how big that weapon between his legs might be. It had sunk like a submarine, lurking beneath the surface, waiting to strike.

"Do you want to see it?" The actor's voice was gentle but still mildly amused. There was a small lull in the conversation that flowed around them. Several pairs of eyes moved towards him and Rayne, some knowingly, others eager for some kind of spectacle even though the night was young.

Rayne felt his cheeks heat up. He could not look at the man, so he drained his glass instead and set it down a little heavily. 

"Woah there," PJ said quietly, as if he was calming a spooky horse. "There's plenty to go round."

He filled the glass again, then began to talk to someone on his other side as if nothing had happened. Slowly the conversations resumed once more and Rayne stared at the bubbles rising in his champagne flute until he thought the colour had subsided from his face. He could not understand what was the matter with him. Years of being a plaything for anyone who wanted him had left Rayne Wilde immune to sexual innuendo. He was not normally shy around strangers but here he felt out of his depth. When he lifted his head, Aldo, who was sitting one place down, across the table from him, caught his eye and smiled encouragingly. Rayne sipped nervously at the bubbles. He tried to smile back but the expression felt out of place. He felt totally, utterly, completely 'wrong'. 

Waiters in sparkly collars with dickie bows and thigh high, glittery boots brought menus to the table and he found himself sharing with PJ and completely bewildered by the choices. The only time he could recall having eaten at a restaurant had been for his sister's wedding, and he had been very wasted then and did not remember much about the choice he made. He wished that he was stoned right now. It might not have helped him but he would certainly have cared less about it. Taking a deep breath he gulped down a good half of the glass of champagne. If he could not lose himself in Junk then he could at least get rolling drunk. No doubt it would piss everyone off enormously. Which was even more satisfying!

A waiter appeared behind him and asked him something in French. Rayne blinked at him owlishly and shook his head.

"You don't want a starter?" Paddy asked solicitously.

"Not hungry," Rayne said in a stoical voice.

"What are you having for the main?"

"Dunno." The young man smiled awkwardly. "I've no idea what 'alf of this stuff is."

PJ laughed agreeably. 

"It took me ages to figure out as well. Twenty years and I can just about read a menu in French now. Good job I don't spend all my time here!" He leaned towards Rayne and looked over his shoulder at the menu card, then pointed to something. "What about that? A nice steak Diane, very rare and juicy. Put some meat on your bones!"

"I don't eat meat," Rayne said neutrally. He felt sick again at the very thought of it.

"You should. It's not good for you living on rabbit food. No wonder you're such a slip of a thing," the Irishman commented with a shake of his head that set his thick, copper-coloured hair swinging lightly.

"There is pasta," Aldo volunteered from across the table, pointing to a line on the menu for him as if that would help his understanding. "This has garlic and oil, ahh... this here is tomato and onion and herbs. Do you like fungi... ummm, mushrooms?"

He plumped for something that Aldo assured him was pasta ribbons with cream and mushrooms and a little garlic. While the others tucked into their starters, exchanging spoonfuls of food and laughing among themselves, he emptied his glass again and helped himself to a bread roll. 

"Slow down," advised the tall, blond man who was sitting to his left. It was the first thing Rayne had heard him say all night. He had been so quiet that his table companion had barely registered his presence since their arrival. Now he looked enquiringly at the fellow, whose blond hair was so fair it was almost white, and bound up in a long tail with a narrow strip of dark suede thong. His skin was tanned lightly all over, shown off by a liberal dusting of body glitter and very little else, although he wore a white dog collar like a priest and white cuffs with diamond cufflinks in them. The bones of his cheeks, brow and jaw were sharp and prominent and he had a long, narrow, slightly pointed nose and fine, pale lips. 

"Are you with him?" Rayne asked boldly, jerking a thumb towards the man sitting on his other side, who was pouring him more champagne.

His new companion laughed softly without parting his lips. At last he nodded his head; "Yes. I am 'with him', as you so graciously put it."

"Is he your boyfriend?" Rayne felt like an idiot as soon as he asked it. 

The other man was looking at him quite incredulously as if he had suggested something quite out of the question but he did at least smile.

"No. That is not the situation between us."

He spoke with an accent, not French, Rayne thought, nor Italian. He was used to that now, having been around Aldo and Arturo for a couple of days.

"Where are you from?" he asked to cover his embarrassment.

"I come originally from Tampere, a town in the mountains of Finland but for many years now I live in San Francisco," the other man said in broken English, which was, nonetheless, one hundred percent better than Rayne's Finnish. 

"Do you make films with Paddy?" Rayne probed speculatively, overcoming his nerves a little. He took another sip from his champagne flute. The bubbles did not attack quite so fiercely this time.

"Sometimes, yes. Most often now I come with him when he wishes to look impressive. When he needs, mmmh... muscle." The fellow offered a cautious smile.

"What's your name?" 

"I am Mikkal Saarinen, at your service," the fellow said with a nod of his head. 

"Rayne Wilde," Rayne offered his hand and the tall, grave Finn shook it briefly. "Are you looking after him tonight?"




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 09



"I am always looking after him," Mikkal said seriously. "And his friends also, Rayne Wilde."

PJ McNamara said; "Your resume lists you as Jaysen Raymonde, Mr Wilde."

"My alias," Rayne told him, shredding the bread roll methodically and eating every third piece. He alternated the pattern with a small gulp of fizz, conscious suddenly of the effect it was having. His nerves were buzzing and he wanted to giggle at everything.

"Do I call you Jaysen or Rayne when I'm between your legs?" PJ wanted to know.

Rayne looked at him as if he had temporarily forgotten this eventuality. Now he chewed and swallowed the third small piece of bread carefully, fearing that it might stick in his throat. It was not that Paddy was repulsive; there was a certain charm and warmth about him that Rayne found himself rather drawn to, but he was unaccountably anxious all the same.

"Erm..." he faltered, laughing nervously. "I dunno."

"You don't know?" Paddy laughed too but it was not a critical sound. He seemed genuinely amused by this response. 

"I guess I didn't really think about it much," Rayne admitted. "I guess I thought... it's a film, I'm playing a character. You'll call me whatever the character's called."

"I can't call you 'Cockslut' all evening," PJ chortled. 

Around the table a number of the other guests laughed appreciatively at this. Rayne glared at him and looked away, pretending to study the dancefloor, which was still sparsely populated this early in the night. At one point, seemingly sensing that he had hurt Rayne's feelings, PJ asked if he wanted to dance but he shook his head. He was still trying to work this man out. His manner seemed to vacillate between gentlemanly conduct and boorish good humour as though he was not sure which was the more becoming.


The waiters brought more food and Rayne picked warily at the contents of the steaming dish set in front of him. There was nothing obviously animal in it, but he remained cautious all the same. Beside him, PJ tucked heartily into a steak that was almost as long as his forearm. Mikkal was excavating some kind of seafood platter that involved the shelling of things he preferred not to think about, certainly not when it came to putting them in his mouth. Rayne stared at his plate and willed himself to lift each spoonful. The food smelled fine but it turned to ashes once it was in his mouth. Each swallow was harder than the one before. 

Fresh glasses arrived and PJ poured him a large glass of white wine, which he never normally drank. Now he snatched for it like a drowning man presented with a lifeline. It tasted sharp and sour but he gulped it down and felt it begin to have some effect. The clatter of cutlery and the rattle of several different conversations seemed to blur as if he had somehow closed a door between himself and the rest of the room. Somewhere behind him he heard music start up and there was a ripple of spontaneous applause. Someone filled his glass again and he thanked the person vaguely. PJ tried to feed him little bites of steak, which he resisted by biting down hard on the insides of his lips, to the amusement of those who observed it.

His plate vanished and a waiter appeared, asking him something he did not understand. 

"Do you want dessert?" Aldo called out to him. "Or cheese maybe?"

"Cheese... yeah!" Rayne laughed, not sure why it was funny. He just thought that it was.

The wine tasted nicer this time, not so sour. He drank it without stopping to breathe. Someone told him to take it easy and he just laughed and told them to 'fuck off out of his face!' That set them off again but he was past caring. He pushed his chair back, meaning to stand up but his legs were not co-operating. A hot hand rested on his arm and PJ murmured; "Hey, slow down, Tiger!"

"Gimme another drink," he demanded. 

"You've had enough," someone else said; Daniel he thought. 

"Shut up! I didn't ask you!" He tried to look around the table for the miserable old bastard but the room started to spin slowly when he did that. He closed his eyes. Everything was still turning chaotically behind his eyelids and he took several quick breaths, letting them out more slowly.

"Get him some water," a quiet voice said. He thought it was Aldo but he was not sure.

"I'll take him back to the boat." That was Ant, who had been sitting with Terry and Dan during the meal, on his own side of the table so that Rayne could not see him without craning his neck to look round others.

"I don't want to go," he said stubbornly. "I'm okay."

"Here..." A glass appeared in front of him as he opened his eyes and he reached for it and drank it down in one breath. The water was ice cold and it felt incredible searing its way down his parched throat. 

"Do you want some air?" Aldo asked him, leaning forward, concern in his dark, gentle eyes.

He shook his head, then changed his mind. "Can I just go for a walk?"

"Sure. Of course," Aldo was rising but to his right Paddy made a move as well. 

"It's okay," the Irishman was saying. "It's my fault. I should have twigged that he wasn't holding his drink too good. We'll take a spin around the harbour and head back to mine. Anyone wants to come back for a night-cap or three, that's good."

"I'm sorry about this..." That was Dan again. "If you want to come over to the yacht later..."

Rayne closed his eyes, feeling ill and irritable in equal parts. There was too much heat, too much noise. He wanted to get out and to have a cigarette, but his fag papers and tobacco were in that damned pouch at Phil's flat. Rayne quivered with frustration, pushing himself to his feet. On his left, Mikkal caught his arm and steadied him. He was aware of a tide of people moving out of the way as the tall Finn guided him firmly towards the head of the table.

"You don't have to do this." Ant was in front of him briefly. His fingertips touched Rayne's face and the look in his eyes was almost soulful.

"What are you on about?" Rayne laughed hoarsely. "I'm just going for a walk. I'm not a kid. Leave me alone."

"He'll be fine," soothed PJ from somewhere behind him. "We'll come to the boat afterwards, okay? We'll take care of him."

Rayne could hear the buzz of heated conversation following him as he stumbled towards the exit but Mikkal's grip on his arm remained steady and suddenly they were out in the cooler air, under the starry skies. He took a deep breath and another, then doubled up and was violently sick all over the pavement.

"Hoo Boy!" exclaimed a cheerful sounding American accented voice somewhere very close by. "Better out than in, huh?"

"Christ Almighty!" Paddy's Irish accent was thicker now that they were out, losing some of its East Coast US twang. "Some people just 'should' not drink!"

"W'z the champagne," Rayne slurred, trying to wipe his mouth. He could suddenly taste the earthy, iron tang of mushroom and the sharpness of the garlic; everything that had seemed flavourless going down. The flavours were all too clear now. Everything was too clear. His head was pounding. "I c'n drink Vodka."

"Man of good taste," Mikkal said approvingly. He was still holding Rayne's arm, unfazed by the fountain of vomit that his companion had just ejected. 

Another man came out of the club now with a couple of bottles of water and a damp cloth. His skin was a rich blue black like the shimmering sky over their heads. It had not been dark when they went in. Clearly the meal had taken longer than he thought. Rayne accepted the cloth and wiped his hands and face, then staggered a little way to the side of the path and sat down on one of the raised edges of a flowerbed, pressing the damp material to his forehead.

"Here," the black guy said (his was the stronger American accent). "Drink some of this, okay?"

Rayne took one of the water bottles and rinsed his mouth vigorously, spitting twice into the Zinnias before he began to gulp down the cold fluid. His head already felt a little clearer and he could look at his companions without wanting to black out now. The dark face in front of him belonged to a stranger and he cradled the bottle against his knees and long fingers as he asked; "Who're you?"

"Name's Barclay Johnson Francis, young man. But you can call me Clay. Here to assist!" The fellow grinned at him, flashing a soft-lipped mouthful of immaculate white teeth. He wore his hair shaved above the ears and at the sides of his head but long on top and braided into hundreds of tiny, midnight black plaits. His ears glittered with gold and diamonds all the way up to the topmost curve of the shell and his neck and wrists were hung with chains and bangles. As he rose to his feet, Rayne could appreciate the body that went with all of this adornment. He was extremely muscular; his body sculpted, as was Paddy's, although he was taller than the red-haired man by about six inches. He wore golden boxer boots, flat and tight to his powerful calf muscles and a chunky golden ring around the base of his cock under his balls, which only served to draw more attention to his manhood. 

The shaft that hung between his broad, black thighs was a monster. There was no other word for it. It had to be nearly a foot long, with a fat, dark purple, circumcised head and it was almost as thick as Rayne's skinny wrist. Mikkal, standing to his left side still, was a pale shadow next to Barclay. His build was not as heavy although he was easily as tall and toned to the minute, and his skin gleamed as though it had been oiled and polished. His cock ring was silver and girded a cut tool that was leaner than his colleague's but made up for it with a little extra length. His boots were a pale, metallic blue.

Rayne looked from one to the other, feeling his head clear with alarming speed. Now McNamara came from behind Barclay to crouch before him. He got a tantalising flash of that infamous phallus before the man hunkered down but it was like piecing together a scene from fragments glimpsed as a train flies in and out of a tunnel on the underground. He swallowed again at the euphemistic imagery of trains and tunnels, especially in such close proximity to these three studs.

"Is that better?" Paddy asked him, a sparkle of amusement in his pale blue eyes. "You feel more like yourself again now?"

Rayne nodded once, then bit his lip. 

"Sorry," he said quietly, lowering his eyes. "I fucked up in there, didn't I?"

"Ahh, it was too stuffy inside anyway!" the Irishman rested both hands on Rayne's knees and crouched lower to peer up at him curiously. "What do you wanna do now?"

They were attracting attention from passers by and Rayne could see that the two bodyguards, though effectively casual, were on their mettle. Two young men with closely shaven heads called out to Paddy excitedly and though he acknowledged them affably enough and even waited while they got paper so that he could sign an autograph for them, he seemed relieved once they were gone on their way.

"You wanna go down the beach? It should be quieter there," he suggested now. "We can dip our toes and cool off for a while then head back to the boat."

"Okay," Rayne said in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

SECOURS:

Back at la Fenix, the atmosphere lightened once PJ and his entourage had taken Rayne out for a walk. Terry hit the dancefloor with the twins and Daniel settled back in his seat to chat with Arturo over a bottle of red wine. Ant accepted a glass of some purple concoction from Isolde, who had just returned from the bar, and sipped it warily, pulling a face. He had been feeling frustrated for the last couple of days and drink simply was not going to lift his spirits at the moment. How stupid had he been to imagine that bringing Rayne here would be the answer to all their problems? The dream was rapidly turning into a nightmare. In the past, when he had spent time out here with Terry and Dan, it had always been idyllic. There were boys and parties, as there should be. Dan almost always had a movie on the boil. Often more than one! The boat was always crowded with pretty young actors who needed seeing to. 

But of course, that was the problem. Tonight, the one pretty young thing he truly wanted was getting seen to by another man. The very thought of it made him want to hit something. How the hell had he become so wrapped up in Rayne Wilde that he failed to see how the kid was making moves on everyone else? To make it worse, Rayne had warned him that this would happen before they came out here. Like an idiot he had believed he could make the boy change. 

No wonder people were laughing at him.

"Darling, you look very far away tonight," Isolde purred solicitously. "Can I do something for you, to cheer you up?"

"You're very kind," he sighed, setting down the sweet, purple drink and shaking his head. "I just feel a bit... jaded, I guess."

"Maybe you also need some air?" Daniel's pretty Transsexual friend flashed a knowing smile at him. "We could take a walk together. Would you like that?"

"I'm not going to run after him," Ant said, more defensively. 

"That was not what I had in mind," Isolde chuckled, resting her hand on his thigh. "The boat is empty right now. Perhaps you and I should have a little nightcap."

Her lips were painted a rich scarlet tonight and her long nails matched to perfection. There were black, diamante feathers in her artfully styled copper curls and her long lashes fluttered playfully at him now. Ant took a longer sip from his drink, his eyes roving over her curvaceous body. No one not in the know would ever have guessed that Isolde was born a man. A jewelled, black mesh wrap hung loosely over her full breasts and was co-ordinated with a short, black leather skirt and a wide, golden belt. There was a huge diamond set into her gold neck collar just beneath her chin and her high-heeled, strappy, golden sandals glittered with diamante stones. As a younger man he had always been overcome by a combination of lust and awe when in Isolde's presence. Like Rayne, he had discovered her secret in bed but he was sure he had not handled the revelation as well as his young friend. 

These days he had no fear of her, but for many years he had been wide-eyed and wary around Isolde Parvenue. It seemed she was prepared to forgive him tonight, at any rate. 

"I think that would be really good," he exhaled, returning her smile. 

Isolde walked back through the arcade, arm in arm with him, her head resting against his shoulder like they were a pair of long-term lovers. Ant felt a little satisfaction in the lingering looks they attracted from those they passed. As they walked through the shadows of the deserted market place, he stopped and cupped her face, touching his lips to hers. Isolde kissed him tenderly, letting him guide her towards one of the empty tables where the stall-holders set out their wares during the day. The laughter from the nearby bars on the strip were clearly audible but not a disturbance. Ant climbed onto her, lifting her knees so that he could lie between her thighs as they kissed more intimately and Isolde wrapped her arms and legs around him invitingly. She had never been shy and he was hungry for her uncomplicated company tonight. His hands stroked hungrily up her slender thighs, caressing the growing bulge in her jewelled thong, answering her low, hungry moan with a growl of his own. 

When he first heard the whimpering, he thought it was Isolde. He only sat up when it happened again as he was kissing her ravenously.

"Darling, don't stop," she panted. 

"What was that?" Ant shifted back to the edge of the table, looking around suspiciously. 

"I did not hear anything," Isolde insisted. "Hold me."

"Wait!" Ant held up a hand, moving back from the table and crouching to listen more carefully. As his eye level reached the underside of the benches, something moved in the darkness on the ground and he heard it again; scuffling and a muffled, frightened noise like an injured animal. 

He knelt and reached beneath the tables where a number of storage crates and some dusty old tarpaulins had been stashed out of harm's way. There was something pale huddled up between the crates, trying to shrink into the shadows. Ant crept in after it, his heart pounding. 

He was so preoccupied with Rayne that he was immediately imagining the worst. The boy had left the club a good twenty minutes before he and Isolde came out. His horny companions could easily have all had their way with him in that time, whether he wanted it or not. Rayne was slight and tempting and very, very drunk. Ant seethed at the idea of it, even as his hand came to rest on soft, warm flesh. The whimper became a moan and he murmured; "It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. I want to help."

He heard a rustling and the click of heels on the concrete as Isolde wriggled off the table and crouched down to peer after him. 

"What are you doing, Antoine?" she asked incredulously.

"There's someone under here. I think they're hurt." Ant's hand traced the shape of a slender calf muscle and moved to the back of a knee and the underside of a long, slim thigh. A shuddering breath answered his touch and as he murmured soothing nonsense again, a small, touchingly familiar elfin face turned towards his out of the shadows, wet with tears and already mottled with bruises. Ice pale eyes stared out of the shadows and tears bubbled up in them at once, spilling through thick, mascaraed lashes and running down his pale cheeks in fresh, black streams. 

"Thierry!" Ant breathed out, his relief quickly turning to shock. The boy was curled up in a foetal huddle with his hands tucked under his chin and his knees pulled up to his chest. His legs and elbows were grazed and bleeding. "Thierry, what happened to you?"

"Please!" the boy whimpered, trembling uncontrollably. "Please, say nothing. Do not take me back to him."

He reached for the French boy's hands then realised that the defensive pose was partly imposed. Thierry wore a thick, black, leather collar with chrome rings in it. His wrist cuffs were attached to the collar with screw-lock loops. To compound his misery, his booted ankles were girded by a pair of iron cuffs with a short, connecting hobble chain between them.

"Come on," And said gently. "Can you get out? I promise, I won't let anyone hurt you."

"Do not tell him where I am," Thierry sobbed huskily. He sounded terrified and exhausted. 

"I swear I won't," Ant reached out carefully, resting a hand on his close cropped blond hair. "But I can't do anything for you if you stay down here."

For a few moments the youngster sniffled and sobbed quietly and Ant wondered if he should go back to the club for help. Isolde was hovering impotently at the edge of the table. He could not imagine her scrambling under here on her hands and knees, but at last Thierry's baby-blue eyes blinked away the tears and he tried to squirm towards Ant, like an eel, on his side. Only as he reached the clearer space near the lip of the overhanging bench-top did the older man realise how remarkable his escape from Christophe had been. The hobble continued, with a length of chain that ran from his ankle restraint right up his slender back to another hoop in the back of his neck collar. The chain was about three feet long; not long enough for him to stand up straight. 

"Did you crawl all the way down here?" Ant questioned him, already fumbling with the ring at the nape of Thierry's neck. Fortunately it too had a screw fastening and not a padlock. Thierry nodded miserably, too dejected for words. Ant managed to undo the rings holding his hobbles and release the collar so that the boy could sit up, slowly and painfully. His lower lip wobbled dangerously and Ant sat next to him for a little while, putting a protective arm across his shoulders and back. 

"Ssshhh... it's okay. I'll look after you," he whispered. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 09



Thierry winced, this time with a little hiss of pain. As Ant touched his back he understood why. The heat coming off his skin was incandescent. His hand came away slippery with blood and other fluids. 

"That bastard!" he snarled, unable to contain himself this time. "Did that evil fucker flog you?"

Thierry bit his lip, embarrassed and ashamed. He lowered his blond head wordlessly. Ant was furious and bewildered in equal parts. 

"Why do you stay with him? How can you stand this?"

The French youth looked despondently at his hands.

"He is good to me, usually. When I do not anger him he is strong for me. He was my first lover, Antoine. I know that I am lucky to be his boy. I love him, but sometimes... sometimes I am afraid of him. His passion is very strong... sometimes he cannot help himself." Thierry lifted his tear-streaked face towards Ant. "I just need... I need to be still, for a little while. Then I will be okay."

Ant unfastened the ankle cuffs and tried to get him to his feet, but when Thierry could still barely walk, even supported by both Ant and Isolde, he threw caution to the wind. Carefully picking up the protesting youth, he carried him gently back to Daniel's boat, Isolde clicking along nervously behind them like a mother hen.

THE BEACH:

As they walked, Rayne began to realise just how notorious his companion must be. Guys who recognised him from his movies hailed Paddy from virtually every bar and café en route. He allowed himself to feel a little pride in the company he was suddenly keeping. When they passed the Laguna he half hoped that Giovanni would be there so that he could rub the Italian's nose in it for withholding his heroin yesterday, but there was no sign of the loquacious Italian. 

The beach was a different world after dark. It was a black velvet ribbon edged with silver lace, shushing and sighing like a restless sleeper. A few determined intimacy seekers and late night romantics roamed the shoreline in the moonlight but did not disturb them. Out on the moll the lighthouse flashed its steady, dependable warning and the moon was bright and full enough to cast shadows. Once they reached the restless sea, Rayne kicked off his soft, black boots and wandered in to mid-thigh, delighting in the shock of the cold waves against his bare legs. Paddy chuckled and unlaced his own boots, following the younger man into the chilly water. They splashed and wrestled together whilst Mikkal and Clay sat down on the sand to watch, laughing at them both. At last Paddy took his hand and pulled him gently back towards the shore. 

It was still warm, but not the clinging, stifling heat of the afternoon. Beside him, McNamara was a different kind of heat entirely; solid, brooding and needy. Rayne did not have to look at him or ask questions to know that the man wanted him. He had spent large parts of his adult life, and before, in the company of men who wanted to undress and fuck him; he knew the way they tasted and smelled, the ways in which they behaved when their interest turned suddenly from platonic to sexual and their balls began to rule their brains. PJ McNamara smelled of the ocean but he also carried the unmistakable pheromones of the rutting male. The gentle play fighting had been a part of it, a game to relax him and win some trust, but now the serious business began.

"You okay now?" Paddy asked quietly as they reached the waterline, still dripping and breathless. As they half turned to face one another the mingled aromas of the salt air and the sea and his hot, aroused body caught in Rayne's throat. 

His head still ached; a slow, booming pulse in his skull. Rayne played it cool, if his heartbeat quickened that headache would be an absolute bitch. Paddy wanted to fuck and he hated fucking with a hangover. Now he just nodded and made an affirmative noise.

"Are you scared?" the big man asked, stroking a searching hand up and down his left arm.

An interesting question that. Asked about two hours ago, Rayne would have said 'yes' but the dynamic had shifted in the restaurant and again down here on the beach. His adrenaline was still pumping but it was not pure terror that drove it any more. He shook his head.

"No."

Mcnamara smiled weakly. 

"You haven't lost your tongue then?"

"No such luck." Rayne had to clear his throat. His mouth was still parched and his throat burned. He uncapped the second water bottle and drank deeply, feeling instant relief. Dehydration was such a bitch.

"We should keep you off the champagne, man!" Clay commented, a gleaming grin splitting his dark, handsome face in the moonlight.

"It's horrible," Rayne agreed, turning to look at Paddy as he did so.

McNamara had come to stand very close behind him and he could feel the big guy's heat again. He knew that he was deliberately avoiding the moment when he would have to confront the main issue standing between them, even though they both understood what it was. As he lowered his eyes, deciding it was best to get it over with quickly, the problem was standing slightly upright from Paddy's powerful thighs, constrained by the tight gold ring he wore around his nut sac and the base of his rod. Paddy folded his arms, planting his feet about eighteen inches apart like a genie about to grant his three wishes. Rayne already knew what Paddy hoped they were. He looked up again, meeting the man's steel-blue eyes bravely. It seemed rude to stare at him like he was some kind of freak show.

And it 'was' freakishly huge. Even Rayne, who had seen (and sampled) some impressive cocks in his short time, had to acknowledge that this man was physically abnormal. Were it not for the chunky golden cock ring nestling against his enormous balls and the shaven mound of his pelvis, he would be fully erect. At full tumescence, Rayne guessed that his cock would probably jut up as far as his breastbone, without manual assistance. Currently it hung almost to his knees, the thick, tanned shaft all straining flesh and prominent veins. He was circumcised, like many porn actors. It was a vanity thing and Rayne, though un-squeamish, was not vain enough to go so far.

"It's not 'that' bad," Paddy said at last, with an awkward little smile.

Rayne shook his head quickly, coming to his senses. 

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean you. Uh... it's... it's..." His cheeks flushed and he was glad of the darkness for it hid his embarrassment slightly.

"That's okay. It has that effect on some guys!" The Irishman reached out for him now, pulling him close enough to kiss. "I guess it doesn't help that it really wants to get to know you better, Rayne. It wants to get so deep inside you that you think you're gonna die of pleasure." 

It was such a corny line, but all Rayne could do was stare at him like an idiot. He was shaking again, unsure if it was the drink or the idea of riding that huge bone that did it. The very thought of taking it up his arse made him very glad that Aldo had persuaded him to wear a cock strap and fasten it tight. Jesus, he was still so fucking drunk! He could not open his mouth, if he did he knew that he was going to embarrass himself. He was going to do something stupid like beg them all to take him right here on the beach!

'I'm never gonna drink again,' he promised himself, swallowing hard.

"Do you wanna go somewhere more private?" McNamara asked him now. "Up into the dunes with us... or back to the boat. Somewhere you can relax and let the three of us make you cum like you never did before."

Rayne took a step back and another. He felt the waves lick around his ankles and kept moving back until the undertow snatched at his legs, pulling him off balance. At once someone caught him. Paddy was steering him back towards the beach. Mikkal said; "He should get something to eat. He just threw his dinner up, no wonder he's light-headed."

The suggestion sounded like a good one, so he let them guide his feet back up to a restaurant on the beachfront where the bald, moustachioed owner came out at once and greeted McNamara effusively. Everyone on the damned Cap seemed to know who Paddy was. Rayne could not make up his mind if this was a good thing or a bad one right now. He sat down at a table and put his head in his hands letting the sounds of the ocean and the clink and clatter and general chatter of the other diners wash over him like background music. 

Mikkal sat next to him, gently stroking his hair and talking quietly to him. Someone brought him a cup of coffee, unasked for, which made him feel a little better. It was hot and freshly made with cream and a hint of sugar. He drank it down without breathing and demanded more water. Beside him he heard Paddy enquire about some fries and mayo, then asked if he wanted anything else.

"Dunno. A cheese sarnie, maybe," Rayne said, vaguely. 

"You want hot sandwich?" the waiter asked and he nodded mutely, hardly caring.

When the food came he was surprised by how hungry he was. Aldo and Ant were constantly fussing about how badly he ate, but he rarely had a great appetite. He supposed it explained his physique, but sometimes just the idea of eating knocked him sick. Ignoring the warnings about the heat of the filling he devoured the toasted sandwich in moments, right down to the crust, which he left on his plate. Molten cheese seared the roof of his mouth and his gullet but he did not care, it just tasted fabulous.

Paddy was watching him with some amusement in his pale blue eyes. He dipped a french fry into his mayonnaise and put it in his mouth, chewing contemplatively. 

"That looks disgusting," Rayne said, once his mouth had stopped melting. His head felt clear for the first time that night.

"It tastes real good," McNamara told him. "Here, try some."

He dipped another fry and held it out, touching it to Rayne's lips so that they were smeared lightly with creamy mayonnaise. Rayne pushed his hand away.

"I'm not going to eat it."

"Keep your mouth open," Paddy McNamara told him. "C'mon... trust me!"

Rayne licked the dressing off his lips and conceded that it did not taste as bad as it looked. He met Paddy's glittering eyes and opened his mouth with a little shrug. The burly porn star grinned and dipped another fry, then stroked his lips with it and touched the tip of it onto his tongue. Rayne bit down on it and turned his head away, feeling his cheeks getting hotter again. 

"Christ, you're sexy," Paddy whispered in his ear. "Come and sit in my lap while I feed you."

"I'm not a fuckin' Chihuahua!" Rayne retorted, with a shake of his head.

"You're frickin' hard work!" the older man laughed. "I hope you follow the script when you get in front of the cameras, baby."

"I'm not your baby, either," the boy warned him, his green eyes sparkling with daring. "You wanna know somethin' for nothin'? You sound like you're livin' in one of your fuckin' movies. That is such a laugh!"

"You think that's funny, huh?" Paddy sat back and surveyed him seriously for a little while until the grin slowly faded from Rayne's face and he folded his arms, almost mirroring the other man's pose.

"I think it's a bit sad," Rayne said airily at last.

Clay and Mikka chuckled knowingly at this, nudging one another as they watched him face off with McNamara. He bit his lip, conscious that Paddy was frowning at him, not angrily but in a thoughtful kind of way. Of all the bizarre things that had happened tonight this was almost the strangest. Rayne had geared up for a fight with this man. He knew this type; they got their own way through money and power and they expected you to be in awe of them. But whenever he thought that he had PJ McNamara sussed out the man did something else that he was not expecting.

"You know what?" Paddy McNamara sighed at last. "You're a little firecracker, Rayne Wilde. I can't wait to get on set with you."

BACK ON BOARD:

Ant watched Aldo fix a Blue Witch and wander out onto the decks with it, thinking that it must be good to be as handsome and untroubled as the young Italian movie star. The rest of Daniel's crew had returned to the boat not long after he and Isolde got young Thierry settled in Ant's bed. They had helped him to shower and bandaged his lacerated back and wrists. Now he was sleeping as though he had not dared to close his eyes in days. Ant sat with him for a little while then stroked his peaceful young face and left him to rest. He was brooding angrily now, not sure who was most deserving of his ire. Tonight, Christophe had moved towards the head of the list of people he most wanted to punch. He had no problems with BDSM when the recipients were all consenting adults, but he could not begin to imagine how Thierry had been willing to let the older man hurt him so badly. Back at the boat he and Isolde had freed the boy of his tethers, including a pierced cock restraint that pulled his sex back between his legs and anchored it to the base of a thick, eight inch butt plug that had been rammed deep into his arsehole. Thierry explained shyly that Christophe liked him to be ready for fucking at all times and without the plug he was too tight for the kind of quick, rough, unlubricated sex his lover enjoyed.

Ant shook his head grimly. He could only imagine how the boy had wound up with so many vicious stripes across his back. Yesterday when they had been discussing Rayne, Christophe had mentioned others who would help him break the younger man. He wondered if that had also been Thierry's fate. 

Thinking of Rayne only made him more irritable. The little slut still had not returned and across the harbour, on the end of the long jetty, PJ's boat remained in darkness. If McNamara and his friends had taken Rayne to the dunes then it would be hours before they returned. Ant had been coming to the Cap long enough to know the kind of thing that went on in the sand hills by the nature reserve after dark. Like as not, Rayne was satisfying more than just the three porn stars by now. The sight of him on his knees in the sand with McNamara up his tight young arse would attract the nightcrawlers like flies on fresh shit. No doubt Rayne was thoroughly enjoying all the randy male attention, as well. He certainly had not objected to Aldo's vigorous use of his fuck hole last night.

Aldo 'was' a gorgeous young man and he could hardly blame Rayne for noticing that, or succumbing to it. He 'could' blame Aldo for taking advantage though and that was what he had decided to do. Ant might have forgiven finding anyone else between his lover's thighs, but he could not forget the hungry expression on Rayne's face as he walked into the bedroom the other night to find the pair of them at it like dogs on the bed. Jealousy burned like a cold flame in his heart. And they had been so fucking casual about it too. Behaving like nothing had happened. Aldo had withdrawn and sauntered out past him like it was nothing. Rayne had then pulled him into bed like he did not care who mounted him next. 

Ant hunted out a bottle of wine from the cooler in the galley and poured himself a large glass to soothe his temper. On the day bed, Terry was already getting down and dirty with the Twins in the flickering light from the full-length movie screen on the opposite wall. 

"Rosie, stop moping! Come and give me a hand with these two hot little bitches," he called, as Craig (or was it Neil? Ant could never tell) crouched over him, deep-throating his cock. Neil (or was it Craig...?) was already straddling his brother and humping him urgently on the long, low bed. 

Ant was considering the invitation when a familiar voice distracted him and he looked up at the screen. Rayne, looking very young and beautiful, in spite of his unruly platinum blond hair and dark eye makeup, was sitting in the back of a car in a school uniform letting an older man unfasten his pants and wank him, while the driver hung over the back of his seat and watched. 

"I've never been with a man before," Rayne said in that oddly husky voice, like a juvenile, male Marilyn Monroe.

Immediately, Ant got an erection. It was a startling, Pavlovian reaction. Just hearing his words, Ant could feel his young lover's mouth around his dick. He could not watch it again, knowing that Rayne would not be here to fuck after it was over; knowing that the beautiful little slut was probably on his back right now, with at least two enormous pricks inside him, maybe more. His balls aching, Ant hurried out onto the rear deck to get some air. He could see Paddy's boat from here. It would be easy to go over there and walk in, catch them in the act, let them know exactly what he thought. But then, he knew Rayne would only remind him that it was his own fault for deciding to come here. He would have to face the possibility that maybe Rayne preferred to be with Paddy McNamara, and when he thought about it like that, he could not imagine how the boy would 'not' prefer it. Paddy was rich and magnanimous. He was renowned for his skill in the bedroom, and then there was that cock!

Ant sat back and closed his eyes, letting the swaying of the boat lull him. Terry was right, he guessed. He should just go back inside and have hot sex with one of the boys and stop moping. He could hear grunting and laughter from the day room and knew that his old mate was having a whale of a time with those two young studs. Terry had always loved fucking young men. He never cared what anyone thought or what the consequences might be. He would never have allowed himself to get taken for a ride the way Ant always seemed to. 

Fuck 'em and move on to the next one! That was Terry's motto, and it seemed a good one right now.

He emptied his glass and wandered back into the day room where it had gone rather quiet. There was no one on the bed, though the film was still playing on the big screent hat covered one wall. He wandered through to the corridor and peered into the bedrooms. In Terry's den he found them. Neil and Craig were in the sixty-nine on the floor while Terry knelt behind one of them, pounding his tight arsehole. None of them even noticed him, they were so busy getting off. 

He walked back to the day room with a heavy heart. On the screen, Rayne was half-naked on the bare mattress of an iron-framed bed in an otherwise unfurnished room, letting two nude, well-hung men strip and molest him whilst he rubbed their cocks. He was so distracted by this sight that he did not initially see Aldo lying on the rumpled futon. The first he knew of the Italian's presence was when the fellow sighed; "God, I had never realised before how young he must have been."

"Uh?" Ant jumped and looked down at the good-looking lad rather guiltily. Aldo was tugging slowly on his long cock as he watched the film.

Ant cleared his throat awkwardly. Aldo glanced briefly towards his crotch then back up into his eyes solemnly.

"You're missing him, I see," he whispered in a mischievous tone. "Have you ever seen this movie?"

"Just once," Ant whispered back, "the other night."

"Isn't he hot? I love it," Aldo told him. "It's one of my favourite first-timer films."

"Even more amazing when you know that it 'wasn't' his first time," Ant said gruffly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. 

"He plays it like it is," Aldo exhaled, stroking himself a little faster. "You don't mind me jerking off?"

Ant shook his head. "Not so long as I can watch you."

"You can help me, if you like," Aldo invited with a sexy smile. 

On the screen Rayne was telling one of his lovers that he had never sucked cock before. He was nude now and looking up with those long-lashed, kitten eyes.

"Lying little slut," Ant said with a harsh laugh.

Aldo said nothing, only bent over him and took Ant's throbbing prick in his mouth. Ant reached for his magnificent ten-inch tool and began to fist the Italian stud vigorously. He kept his eyes on the screen watching Rayne take the first man between his lips whilst he held onto the other fellow's cock as if it was a safety rail, letting the man rub himself up and down in his hand. Ant gasped and bucked on the bed as Aldo's warm mouth enfolded him, slowly and sweetly sucking him off. He watched Rayne's luscious young mouth move from one prick to the other on screen, taking them deeper and deeper; gagging on a mouthful of precum or struggling to deep-throat the larger of the pair. They urged him on more coarsely, rubbing their cocks on his face and body, streaking his skin with cum, then squirting their love juices all over him, into his open mouth and soft hair. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 09



Ant gripped Aldo's sleek black hair in one hand and bucked between his lips for a moment, releasing his load almost simultaneously. His fingers fell limp and Aldo rose, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, still swallowing Ant's cum. He reached for the lubricant beside the bed and applied it to his rigid cock with one hand whilst Ant watched him. Then he laid down on top of the older man and began to kiss him sensuously on the mouth. Ant tasted his own hot spill on the Italian's tongue and lips.

"Are you angry with him?" he breathed between kisses.

"No," Ant lied badly. "Why should I bother?"

"Because you let yourself get fond of him. You should be careful around that type of boy, Antonio. They are beautiful but also dangerous." Aldo's mouth pressed against his again, more urgently. "May I fuck you?" he panted at last. "I need to fuck."

"Sure." Ant was staring at him in the half-light of the room. The only illumination came from the big screen where Rayne was looking at porn magazines whilst his horny sex instructors fingered and stretched his young arsehole on the bed. They were laughing that he was about to get his cherry popped and asking what position he fancied and which of their cocks he wanted to lose his virginity to.

"What do you mean, 'that kind of boy'?"

Aldo dipped a hand between his legs and began to tease Ant's scrotum and the valley between his cheeks with slippery fingers. Ant moaned a little as his ring was caressed firmly.

"You know he takes drugs?" Aldo murmured under his breath. When he saw the guarded look on Ant's face he quickly added; "Do not worry, I have said nothing to Daniel. I 'will' not say anything. Only..."

"What?" Ant prompted when he did not finish the sentence. "Only... what?"

"I do not want him to become a danger to himself or to us," Aldo said seriously. "I have not seen him use needles but he has track marks."

"His Pimp was a junkie," Ant told him defensively. "He can quit, I know it. He hasn't taken drugs since I got him away from London."

Aldo's face was a perfect masque. He could not read the Italian's expressionless features and the lad said nothing but the silence was more portentous than words.

"What?" Ant demanded, more urgently. "You don't believe that?"

Aldo smiled weakly. "I think that you like him very much and that your fondness for him blinds you to his faults."

"So you think I'm an idiot as well. Thanks for that!" Ant sank back on the yielding mattress and closed his eyes with a little sigh.

"You are not an idiot. You are an optimist," Aldo corrected, kissing his lips very softly. "Maybe you are what he needs. But I do wonder if he also needs a stronger master. Someone to keep him in check."

"You sound like that bastard, Christophe," growled Ant, shaking his head. 

Aldo mirrored the gesture at once. 

"Do not be alarmed, I have no desire to harm him. I just think that he needs someone he can respect. I think that he finds respect for others hard but not impossible. If he loved you..."

"He doesn't love me. I'm not kidding myself that much," Ant interrupted him. 

"Even so," Aldo touched his lips with a slippery fingertip. "Do you love him, Antonio?"

Ant was silent for a moment. On the screen Rayne was whimpering softly as he was bent forward on the bed on his shoulders and knees and slowly deflowered in close up. Strong fingers stretched his ring and pulled his cheeks apart until it opened wide for the big tool that was poised in his smooth, pink crack. His own cock stiffened as he recalled that it was barely a week since he had violated that tight young hole for himself with an icicle and a number of big, ribbed sex toys, in addition to his rock-hard dick.

"I'd do anything for him," he whispered huskily. "Or to him! If he begged me like this."

Rayne's character in the movie was certainly begging now. In a husky voice he pleaded for mercy at first, gasping at the size of his lover's cock and imploring him to stop before it split him open. Then as they poured more lube into his cleft and the thrusting in his arsehole got rougher and quicker his moans grew deeper and more needy. His sobbing and head shaking ceased and he urged them to fuck harder instead. A big cock filled his mouth, silencing all but his moans of pleasure and the squelching thrusts of his lovers as they spitted him, nude, on the bare mattress and pumped him full of their cum.

Aldo spread Ant's legs firmly and pushed into him with a little grunt of satisfaction. He closed his dark, Latin eyes and began to pulse vigorously. Ant groaned his approval as that lovely, long, Italian dick powered into his twitching chute and began to pound him the way it had pounded Rayne last night. He hoped that it had been as good for the boy as it was for him right now.

"Did he beg you?" he huffed at last, when Aldo slowed for a time, catching his breath.

"I'm sorry?" Aldo queried, frowning at him, sweat dripping off the end of his nose as he slipped more gently in and out. 

"Last night, when you fucked him in our bed... did he beg you for it?" Ant asked hoarsely. "Was he willing, or did you force him?"

"I'm not that kind of guy, Antonio," Aldo panted, quickening his stroke again. "We kissed for a while and we talked about stuff and then he asked me to fuck him hard, so I did." He hesitated, then added; "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Ant whispered, letting his eyes move back to the screen as Rayne was fist-fucked on the bed, then spread wide, on his knees and entered from the front and rear by both of his excited abductors. He groaned through clenched teeth at the close up of both their big penises stretching the teenager's tight anus. At the same time, Aldo began to pump harder and faster in his chute and he submitted to the feeling of pleasure inside, just as Rayne must have done last night. 

He began to cum, as Rayne masturbated himself to climax on screen, listening to the boy's incoherent, exhausted cries of pleasure as he rode his two captors, just as he had ridden Ant and Terry on the night of their arrival at the Cap. Aldo bucked deeper with a little growl of satisfaction, then spilled his hot load way up inside the older man's clenching, twitching passage. He sank down onto Ant's chest and belly, nuzzling his neck and panting rapidly as their hot, sweaty bodies rubbed together more slowly and sensuously on the bed. They drifted off to sleep that way, holding one another as the screen went dark and the room was plunged into blackness.

DEEP THROAT:

Rayne was still having problems walking in a straight line, even after three coffees and about two litres of water. It took the Porn Supremo and his two henchmen the better part of half an hour to walk him back to the boat. He was mesmerised by the lights and the people in all their under-dressed finery. Complete strangers kissed him and told him how pretty he was. Many young guys stopped Paddy and asked for his autograph or a photo, or just to touch his cock. 

At last Rayne found himself on familiar territory. There were a couple of bars and night-club on the strip behind them and before him stretched the marina, its little boats and cruisers bobbing in the gentle swell; their mooring lines clinking and jingling like fairy bells. He swallowed the rising bile and made himself breathe steadily as he recalled Terry's warning about his assignation for tonight. Paddy and his two bodyguards were okay really, but was he really expected to fuck them all? 

Somehow they got him down the narrow, wooden jetty to PJ's boat, although it was actually more like a miniature cruise liner. He had thought that Daniel's vessel was impressive but this one was so large that it had to be moored on the very end of the pontoon. Inside it was luxuriously tacky, as one might expect of a wealthy Porn Star. Leather sofas and day beds with white fur throws were set around the main chamber; soft, richly coloured rugs and cushions were scattered on the wooden floor and a long bar in black and chrome curved around one corner of the room. There was an enormous TV screen in another corner and an audio-visual unit beneath it. He wanted to sit down on one of the sofas but PJ had his hand now and towed him relentlessly deeper into the boat. 

"Come on, I want to get cleaned up. Come with me," he said firmly. "Clay will go and tell your friends that you're okay."

It felt good to scrub his teeth until his gums bled and wash some of the oil and make-up off his face and body under the shower. His skin was caked in the salty tightness of dried seawater and when PJ and Mikkal joined him in the three-man shower cubicle he did not object. The burly Irishman helped him to get his jewellery off and washed his back vigorously for him whilst he soaped Mikkal's taut chest and stomach muscles with his bare hands. The two men rubbed and caressed him all over, then led him from the shower cubicle to another part of the bathroom where a huge corner bath was brimming with foam and steam billowed up from the deep water. They eased into the water together, fully nude. Mikkal and PJ leaned back casually against the side of the tub as Rayne settled astride the Irish porn star's broad thighs.

"It's hot," he exhaled quietly as the older man gently stroked his legs and his slender hips.

"So are you," Paddy McNamara whispered languidly, never taking his eyes off Rayne. "You are incredibly beautiful. Even pissed out of your tiny brain and throwing up all over me, you're beautiful. Although I'm real glad you've stopped doing that, it kinda wilts my boner!"

Mikkal chuckled and sank down into the foam with a sigh of pleasure. Rayne managed not to laugh but he could not keep a slight smile from twisting his lips. He said nothing, just ran his wet hands back and forth over the Irishman's broad chest.

"I sent Clay to tell your friends you needed some downtime," PJ said now. "I hope you don't mind?"

Green eyes so pale that they were almost the colour of the moonlight moved up to meet his steady gaze. Rayne's hands stilled.

"Why?"

"I figured you 'did' need some space." PJ smiled reassuringly.

"No... I mean, why would it bother you if I minded?" Rayne's narrow brows came down sharply like the wings of a swallow in flight. 

The two older men tilted their heads to look at one another. Mikkal pursed his lips slightly and frowned. Paddy turned back to face the boy.

"I'm not an animal, Rayne Wilde," he insisted a little more strenuously. "You can make up your own mind what you want. It's not for me to force you into anything, so if you wanna go back and party with them...?"

"I don't." Rayne cut him off simply and effectively. He lowered his head, running a hand through his wet, ink-black hair restlessly.

"You don't seem too sure." That was Mikkal, his voice very calm and measured.

"It's just..." Rayne looked up at him again, still frowning slightly. "I'm not used to being asked what I want. I'm not even sure that I know any more."

"I know what 'I' want," PJ told him, wriggling down deeper into the delicious warmth of the tub so that he could ease his groin back and forth between the boy's legs.

Rayne's expression softened but his smile was cynical; "'I' fuckin' know what 'you' want!"

"Well then?" Paddy reached for him and began to stroke his hips and his smooth, firm buttocks in both hands. "We're not confused about 'that', at least. Thing is... do 'you' want what 'we' want?"

Rayne lowered his head again, shrugging his shoulders. Paddy sat up and rested his hot hands on the boy's upper arms, drawing him back down into the water very slowly until Rayne was lying on top of him, his cheek resting against Paddy's shoulder. He felt very frail and cold, a tiny, helpless, breakable thing. The big man wrapped his arms around his young mate and just held him until he began to feel warm and alive again. He stroked his hands over the boy's dark head and down the back of his slender neck and his pale, sun-banded back. Mikkal knelt up and bent over him, kissing the nape of his neck slowly and hungrily and nuzzling his hair. Soon they were both caressing him all over until he quivered with pleasure and his young cock was hard and leaking against Paddy's belly.

"Do you like that?" the Irishman asked at last and the lad nodded eagerly in his embrace.

"Do you want to make out with us?" Mikkal whispered into his hair. "Here in the tub? Do you want both our cocks inside you?"

Rayne pushed himself up a little, folding his arms on Paddy's broad chest and looking seriously at him with sleepy, sexy eyes; the pupils dilated wide like a startled cat's eyes. Paddy must have felt the flutter of the boy's heartbeat against his ribs. It seemed to turn him on something chronic.

"I..." he breathed out helplessly. "We... we can't."

"In a couple of days Daniel Leland's gonna shout 'lights, camera, action' and you're gonna get my big lubed battering ram forced into your ass, good and hard," Paddy told him, feeling his 'ram' quicken at the very idea of it. "I love my job, Rayne. I love fucking beautiful young guys for a living and I want you to love what I do too. Now I know your boyfriend wasn't happy about the idea of you coming here tonight, but quite frankly..."

"He's not my boyfriend," Rayne said, levering himself up into a kneeling position astride Paddy's stomach. 

"Sorry?"

"Ant isn't my boyfriend. He just brought me down here. I've known him about a week," Rayne told them bluntly. "We can't have sex because I might have AIDS. I'm waiting for the results of a test. I was on the game back home. I did it with loads of men and I never thought... I'm stupid, Paddy. I should have been more careful. And I might have given it to Ant, and to Aldo, and they only tried to help. I've got to stop, but I can't control it. They get on top of me and I just let them do whatever they want."

He squeezed his eyes tight shut as if the light hurt them. Paddy stroked his arms tenderly, from the shoulders to the wrists. He took Rayne's slim hands in his large ones and pulled them to his mouth, kissing the boy's fingers. Mikkal knelt behind him and rubbed his slim shoulders, kissing his naked back. The two older men exchanged a knowing look over his head.

"Why do you let them?" Paddy asked.

"I don't know." Rayne would not look at him. He kept his eyes shut.

"I think you probably do." Paddy sat up and wrapped his arms around the shivering youth, kissing him again, very softly and tenderly, his mouth moving easily against Rayne's full, sensuous lips. The boy tasted so good; minty and sweet from the toothpaste; his mouth warm, wet and inviting. 

Rayne tried to shake his head. When Paddy broke the kiss he said; "I don't understand why. I just know that when a man starts trying to get his cock into me its easier to let him do it than to fight. Once he's in me it usually feels okay and sometimes I even want it then."

"Even if you didn't really want it to start off?" Mikkal asked incredulously. "You've let men rape you because it 'might' be good?"

Rayne shook his head quietly. At last he murmured; "I'm not very big, am I? There's not a lot I can do if they want it and I don't."

"Did your friend rape you? Is that it? Did he bring you down here so that he could fuck you?" Paddy looked very serious now but Rayne just shook his head. 

"No... he was... persistent. He wore me down. And he's been good to me. My pimp, Johnno, back in London, wouldn't have been so good to me. 'He' raped me the first night that I stayed at his place. He ran this squat and he promised me a bed for the night then got in it with me and forced me. He said he'd kill me if I tried to leave." Rayne's cheeks were pink and he looked down helplessly. "He made me fuck his friends and his dealer as well. Then he started selling me to strangers in the pub. I ran away once but he came after me and found me. He tried to strangle me, then he dragged me back to the squat and him and some friends beat me up, then they stripped me naked and all four of them buggered me. I was scared. I didn't think I'd ever get away unless I killed him. Then Ant came along. He bought me out... gave John virtually all the money he'd got to pay for my debts, so that I could leave."

Rayne closed his eyes tightly against the sudden threat of tears. He felt tired and depressed all of a sudden. Telling them the truth had not eased the pain, it just reminded him what a fuckwit he had been to start off with. Rayne just wanted to curl up and go to sleep but he did not trust either of these men not to take advantage if he did.

"What does your old man think about you fucking guys for money?" the Irish porn star asked him gravely.

"He doesn't know."

"He would not like it?" Mikkal asked, whispering the words into his ear from behind.

Rayne shivered. "Would yours?"

"What would he reckon to you making hot, passionate, willing love, all night, with three naked, horny guys? For free?" Paddy breathed, leaning closer and wrapping him in a warm embrace.

Rayne struggled a little but ultimately gave up and surrendered to the gentle intimacy of PJ's arms. 

"I don't think he'd be too keen on that either," he whispered huskily.

They got out of the bath when the water began to cool and Paddy led the way into a sumptuous room, with a king sized bed draped in rich, blood red velvet covers, and mirrored cabinets all around the walls. It was warmer in here, away from the powerful air-conditioning system in the bathroom. The French heat clung to their skin like tiny jewels. 

Mikkal's hands glided smoothly over his chest and belly as they sank onto the bed together. Now the handsome Finn began to kiss him and Rayne did not want to make him stop. His mouth was like silk, pulsing against the younger man's lips and their tongues sparred like mating eels in the seductive wetness of that yawning orifice. Strong fingers found his nipples, pinching and twisting them roughly until they stood erect and painfully sensitive. Rayne whimpered mutely, raking his fingers through Mikkal's long, pale hair, twisting it around his hands as he writhed in the bigger man's embrace, his lips moving in synchronicity with Mikkal's. 

Paddy lay down on his other side, reaching under Mikkal to caress the Finn's long, lean cock. Mikkal made a low, groaning noise in his throat and his lips left Rayne's briefly to fasten onto Paddy's mouth in a gesture of appreciation. When he resumed, his kisses raked the younger man's throat and neck whilst Paddy leant over him and took over Rayne's lips.

There were no words between them now. Mikkal licked Rayne's chest and began to suck and nibble at his erect teats once more, making him squirm and cry out eagerly. His hand moved languidly down over the boy's belly and dipped between his legs, cupping and caressing his chilly balls until they warmed up nicely, along with his stiffening cock. Paddy was fisting and milking Rayne's semi-erect penis in one hand as his tongue pulsed eagerly in and out of Rayne's mouth. The boy responded by running a hand down Paddy's firm torso and rippling abdomen, reaching for the throbbing beast between his legs. His other hand found Mikkal's long, hard rod and the fingers curled around it, rubbing up and down the shaft, feeling at once how much the blond, handsome Finn liked it.

A little moan escaped Paddy's mouth as Rayne began to stroke his magnificent member. The boy could barely get his hand around the thick base of his tool but he still stroked and caressed it pleasingly. Rayne felt the Irishman's lovely big rod twitch and stiffen as he handled it deftly. It was truly enormous, bigger than any phallus he had ever had inside him; the length and thickness of a boy's fist and forearm. His stroking fingers moved deeper, cupping Paddy's big balls and rolling them gently in the palm of his hand, moving from one to the other until his eager mate was muttering breathless appreciation in his ear. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 09



"Oh yeah! That feels good, baby. Don't stop! You want it inside you so badly, huh?"

He shivered again at the thought of that massive prick plunging in and out of his arsehole but it was a tremor of need and arousal this time. The two older men took their time with him, kissing and licking his naked body; stroking their hands steadily all over him as he lay on the bed between them. Rayne rolled onto his side and hooked one leg over Paddy's hip as he French-kissed with the naked Irishman, rubbing his body up close so that he was stimulating Paddy's gigantic dong with his belly and crotch; his stomach sticky with the man's cum already. Mikkal licked the back of his neck and kissed him there, rubbing with skilful fingers between Rayne's bare cheeks, stroking his ring with light, circular movements of his hand.

Clay returned from the other boat just then. He put his head around the doorframe and exclaimed; "Bastards! You started without me."

"We just couldn't wait!" Paddy growled hungrily. "He's such a tease. You get yourself cleaned up quick, boy. This little angel's starving for some action. He can't hold back much longer. You guys are gonna have to warm him up good and hard so that he's ready for me!"

Mikkal was already ahead of him there. His hot tongue was hard at work in Rayne's crack, licking and sucking on his hole. Rayne moaned and whimpered excitedly as the stunning blond kissed and licked his bare arse seductively. His writhing probe penetrated the younger man, thrusting deeper into his chute and reaming him out roughly. Paddy kissed and teased his way down into Rayne's crotch, lapping the spilt precum off his skin, then applied his lips to the boy's aching cock, caressing gently up and down the twitching shaft until Rayne was almost crying with need.

Paddy swallowed his cock as Clay came ambling back into the bedroom to find the naked boy writhing on the bed, getting first class service from his two friends. He grinned broadly and called out; "You like sucking big black cocks, babe? Does that get you hot?"

Rayne nodded eagerly, feeling roused and sexual, ready for some cum. Clay knelt by his head obligingly and Rayne Wilde reached for that tumescent black dick jutting up proudly from his lap. In actual fact it was not black at all but a deep, purplish red, with a fat, circumcised, plum for a helm. The trickle of spunk weeping from the slit was startlingly pale against the dark flesh. Rayne parted his lips and guided the head between them, letting his tongue flicker out and snake up and down the thick shaft. He groaned out loud as Mikkal slowly thrust a finger up his arse and it began to worm around inside him, touching him as intimately as any man could be touched. Clay took advantage of his open mouth and pushed his cock in deeper, rubbing that near foot of man meat in and out but never quite going all the way into his lover's throat. 

Rayne gripped his blue-black thighs and sucked willingly on his big tool, moving onto his knees in front of the muscular American. Saliva and precum spilled from his mouth as Clay rested heavy hands on his head and began to fuck him there faster and harder, giving him about two thirds of his eleven and half inches. Rayne swallowed as quickly as he could but the man's spunk was pumping into him relentlessly as he sucked and Clay pumped his mouth rapidly. Rayne began to buck his own cock between Paddy's lips, tingling and twitching. Mikkal and the Irishman frigged and licked and sucked and stroked between his legs, driving him crazy with pleasure. Just as he began to jerk and moan at the forces outside his control, Paddy released his dick and knelt up, caressing his naked back slowly. Rayne shook his head as hard as he could with Clay's big rod pulsing in his gullet. Spunk and saliva bubbled out of the corners of his mouth as he moaned a protest.

"Not yet, my sweet little fuck toy," Paddy whispered. "Much too soon. We want you on fire before we let you cum. Tonight's gonna be the best sex of your life so far. Believe it!"

Mikkal rose behind him and they helped him to his knees. Clay began to kiss him, lapping his precum out of the boy's mouth as Mikkal stroked Rayne's hair. The tall Finn was kneeling up on his right and now he pulled Rayne's lips from Clay's mouth to his own cock. All three men were circumcised and Mikkal had a long, lean dick, perhaps a little longer but not as fat as Clay's sex. His glans was baby pink and pulsing out a steady trickle of vanilla-coloured cum. Rayne stroked the Yank's chunky black cock with one hand as he wrapped his full lips around Mikkal's gorgeous, rippling erection and lowered his head slowly, stroking it with his lips. He loved giving head, always had done, but Mikkal was a challenge. He was long and very hard and Rayne got more than halfway twice, choking around ten inches deep as Mikkal's precum bubbled back up his gullet into his mouth. He drooled for a few moments then kept swallowing determinedly as the blond man tooled his face again. Rayne breathed slowly and deeply through his nostrils, nodding lower until he was nuzzling the Finn's hairless crotch, with a foot of cock meat thrusting in his mouth and throat. He had done it! His balls tingled with ecstasy as he deep-throated Mikkal, on his knees.

Now he was tugged back and forth between Clay and Mikkal as Paddy knelt behind and rubbed his huge prong between Rayne's thighs, kissing and sucking on his neck and shoulders. He fondled the young man and fisted Rayne's cock, letting him get close to orgasm but not allowing him to spurt. The two bodyguards did not go all the way with him either. They were holding back to increase their pleasure once he was spreading his legs for them, no doubt.

Rayne buried his nose in Clay's close cropped black pubis and grunted softly as the back of his gullet was hammered by the pulsing purple head of his lover's big, black dick. He was wanking Mikkal's long cock as he sucked and gulped on the fat, thrusting phallus between his jaws. It had been harder to swallow Clay all the way down. He was thicker than Mikkal, even though his cock was a little shorter and Rayne gagged on him a few times before he was able to relax enough for full immersion. Each time he sucked he thought that surely soon he must get a good mouthful of cum from one of these men. They were good though, as controlled and deliberate as any lover he had even been with.

Three or four times he moved back and forth between the pair, sucking, licking, groping and teasing the two eager men. He stroked Mikkal's long, firm cock while taking Clay's throbbing balls in his mouth one at a time, then licked out Mikka's crack and arse with Clay's big cock rubbing in his hair and all over his face. All the while Paddy caressed him, occasionally licking and sucking on his anus as Mikkal had, and slowly rubbing his aching cock, never letting him reach the ultimate peak of pleasure. Rayne whimpered like a creature in pain as they all moved around him once more. Whilst he squirmed and panted on the bed, Clay told him he was beautiful and almost ripe for fucking as he parted Rayne's slim legs, rubbing his huge rod against the underside of his young mate's shaven balls. Mikkal knelt over him and slipped his fingers, then his cock head between Rayne's parted lips. Paddy was lying beside him now, on his right, like a big cat, languidly stroking his incredible member. He had taken off the cock ring and it stood up hard and proud between his thighs as he rubbed flavoured lube up and down the thick, brown shaft, making it glisten like a trophy. 

Mikkal moved off the younger man and bent forward, kissing his soft mouth gently. Clay wormed lower, kissing and licking his leaking cock and throbbing balls; fondling Rayne's bum seductively. At last the boy could take it no more and moaned; "Oh God! Someone fuck me now! 'Please' fuck me!"

"Ssshhhhh," Paddy McNamara whispered, lying down beside him and touching his mouth to Rayne's lips. "You're not going to get fucked tonight, angel. I promised Daniel that your sexy ass would not be stretched until we film, and I keep my promises."

Rayne uttered a little wail of anguish as Clay's mouth began to caress his erection. Mikkal bent his blond head and sucked the boy's nipples tenderly. Paddy french kissed him, forcing his tongue as deeply into Rayne's mouth as it would go, silencing the wordless complaint. 

"Sssshhhhh," he breathed again, as their lips parted. "This feels good, doesn't it?"

"Uh-huh..." Rayne nodded, breathing too hard and too fast. He was dizzy with pleasure, still itching to feel Clay spread his cheeks and penetrate him. The very thought of it almost made him cum and the idea that he would not get that thick, black rod in his arsehole at all was nearly enough to reduce him to tears. He had never wanted cock as much as he wanted Clay's lovely eleven-incher right now. To think he had been scared of coming here tonight and now he was upset because they were not allowed to fuck him. 

"Screw Dan Leland!" he panted, shaking his head. "The miserable old bastard!"

"I am much in agreement, my sweet," Paddy breathed in his ear. "But I would much rather screw 'your' hot young hole instead!"

"Do it then," Rayne exhaled, barely able to control himself. "Christ Paddy! I need you so much! How can you get me this hot then refuse to fuck me?"

"Oh, we're going to fuck you... just not in your ass," Paddy promised with a twinkle in his eye. "You ready to neck my load yet, babycakes?"

Rayne's eyes widened as the older man knelt over him, his dark red hair falling around his face like a shroud. The huge, glistening head of his well-fondled penis glided up over Rayne's belly and chest, rubbing lightly between his nipples and leaving a trail of precum behind it. The head alone was the size of a large egg or a golf ball. It glistened hot and red on his chest and he stared at it incredulously, not even sure if he could get that part alone into his mouth, never mind all of it!

"Open wide, cream pie," Paddy crooned at him. "Daddy's got a lovely big lollypop for his sexy little boy. He just wants to watch you lick and suck on it, sweetie."

"You're gonna choke me with that," Rayne whispered with a little shake of his head. "Now you could get it up my 'arse', no problem."

Paddy rubbed the head of that big cock slowly over his face, trickling his sticky sperm all over the younger man's pretty features. Rayne opened his mouth wide, tilting his head back to wrap his lips around that fat, red helmet. To his amazement he actually got it into his mouth and the shaft beyond was easier as it was not so thick. He ran his tongue over the heavy, salty weight in his mouth and felt Paddy pump another little glob of pre onto it. Rayne moaned and licked his slit hungrily. His hands moved up and down the shaft, stroking and stimulating his lover as he swallowed a little more cock meat.

"Come on, baby," Paddy coaxed. "Daniel says you're good at this. One of the best he's seen. He wants to film you on your knees, deep-throating this big boy in one of the opening sequences of his little movie. I'd hate to disappoint him."

Rayne lifted one hand and gave him the bird but still concentrated on the big rod in his mouth. As Paddy knelt over him, he began to take a little more and a little more until he had swallowed about eight inches of that huge phallus. His hands were on Paddy's thighs now, stroking the smooth muscle ridges of his legs with his slim fingers. He took a slow breath and another, letting them out steadily, relaxing his whole body until he felt as limp as a rag doll. As a child he had watched circus sword-swallowing acts with wide-eyed fascination. It had been a sword-swallower who imparted the relaxation techniques involved in lowering three feet of honed steel into your gullet, but the same technique applied to giving good head. He also knew that in this position, with Paddy kneeling over him, he would never get all fifteen inches down.

His mouth filled with a rush of precum and he took his time, swallowing it down and swallowing some more cock with it. Paddy groaned quietly as he felt his throbbing glans penetrate the boy's throat. He leaned forward and began to pulse slowly. He had been in control thus far but that felt too good. Rayne's grip tightened on his thighs, and the boy's huge green eyes widened anxiously as his lover began to fuck him in the mouth. Paddy was gentle but visibly excited. 

"Nearly twelve inches, baby," he panted now. "You're doing good! Suck my cock, cream pie. You're gonna get so much cum to eat."

Rayne pushed at him suddenly, gurgling and coughing up a froth of spunk and spittle. Paddy pulled right out at once, to his credit. Clay was beside him, stroking the boy's hair. 

"You okay, honey?"

Rayne coughed and nodded. 

"I can't do you in that position," he told Paddy at last. Can you stand up? I'll kneel in front of you and suck you that way. I can tilt my head back then. It's easier to get it all the way in."

"Told you he was a pro," Paddy said to Clay, winking knowingly. 

He scrambled to his feet and stood by the bed and Rayne knelt on the edge of it and opened his mouth wide. This time, Paddy slowly pushed his cock in and out, a little deeper each time. Rayne sucked and stroked him deftly, keeping him fiercely aroused and leaking. He let Paddy fuck his mouth until his helm was pressing at the narrow entry to Rayne's throat. Then he slapped a hand against his lover's thigh, indicating a stop. Paddy caressed his soft dark hair. Mikkal who was sitting next to him, began to stroke Rayne's cock. 

"You are amazing," McNamara panted. "That feels so hot, baby! You know you can take more than that. You swallow all of it and I'll say to hell with Leland, we'll fuck your ass 'til you beg us to stop."

Rayne nodded eagerly. He was breathing deeply as he began to swallow Paddy's thick, red cock head again, gagging just a little as it stretched his oesophagus. A thick drool of cum and saliva ran down his chin from the corners of his mouth as he gulped down another inch, concentrating on breathing. Mikkal's head went down into his lap and the Finn began to suck him slowly and seductively. Rayne moaned and closed his eyes and Paddy uttered a little groan as well. 

"God, that feels tight. What did you do?"

Clay returned with a small video camera and began to film as Rayne let the big man pulse between his lips again. His jaws were forced open so wide by the thicker base of Paddy's shaft that he could do nothing more than kneel and let the Irishman fuck his mouth and throat now. He moaned again as Mikkal began to bring him off, sliding to his knees on the floor so that the handsome Finn could get at his cock more easily and finger his arse again. Rayne began to whimper as his balls contracted violently for that probing touch on his sensitive prostate. 

Paddy was pumping his mouth just as eagerly now, getting it deeper and deeper with every thrust. Rayne could feel that fat cock head somewhere in his chest. Pretty soon he was going to have to stop or he would choke. Clay moved closer as he began to cum, pulling Rayne's fingers onto his throbbing cock. Without looking, Rayne worked his twitching sex one handed as Clay spurted over the pretty English boy. But a denser, more consuming darkness came over Rayne as he too began to ejaculate hard in Mikkal's gently sucking mouth. As the waves of ecstasy washed over him, sharp lights began to flash behind his eyes. He gulped frantically, again and again, unable to breathe, then passed out, slumping into that sparkling void as shooting stars hurtled past him into oblivion. Rayne was unconscious when his nose touched Paddy's groin and the Irishman pulled out of him at once, cumming like a fountain all over his angelic, insentient face.

PROPERTY OF SADIE ROSE BERMINGHAM



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 10



CHAPTER TEN: ANGELS AND DEMONS

By Sadie Rose Bermingham ©2006 

**The usual terms and conditions apply. If this story turns up anywhere else but Literotica.com it's been half-inched and the vendors are very naughty people. SMACK SMACK!! Sadie Sees All!!**

The sealed envelope was propped up on the counter in the Day Room when Ant rose and wandered through for some breakfast. It was addressed by hand, with Rayne's name alone in stark, black ink on the crisp, white cartridge paper. He touched the edges of it warily as if it might be cursed, then picked it up, feeling the weight of the folded documents inside. As he was turning it over in his hand, Daniel wandered back through from the rear deck looking like God on holiday, in a long, almost-translucent white gown and open sandals, his snowy hair spilling over his shoulders like a shroud. Steely eyes glittered a warning but all he said was; "Leave it."

"I need to know," Ant said, tapping one end of the envelope into his open palm irritably.

"Then you can ask him when he gets back and opens it," Dan Leland told him, shaking his head. "If it makes you feel better, Mahmoudi dropped it off in person. He did not suggest that we should be unduly concerned."

For a long moment, Ant just stared at the dreaded envelope as if he could peel away the layers of paper with his eyes and devour the words inside. Then he made himself set it down again and poured some orange juice. 

"Who is the little blond in your bed?" Daniel enquired loftily, reminding him that there was nothing going on aboard this vessel that he did not know about.

"Christophe's boy, Thierry," Ant sighed wearily. "The guy who said he'd have Rayne raped. I reckon he decided to take it out on Thierry instead. Isolde and I found him on the way back from the club. He needs somewhere to recover."

Daniel shook his head, apparently bemused by this.

"You're becoming a regular knight in shining armour, Antoine. It's not your duty to rescue every little slut that crosses your path, you know!"

"Thierry's not a slut!" Ant protested. "He genuinely believes he's in love with that bastard. He'd let the guy do almost anything to him, but last night was just too much. He still won't tell me what happened but it looks like Christophe beat the shit out of him."

He followed Daniel out into the morning sunlight, still preoccupied by the contents of the envelope back on the galley counter.

"You spent the night with Arnoldo, I believe?" Dan commented as he joined the older man on the sunlit deck, rubbing tired eyes against the brilliance of the light that shimmered off the dancing waves.

"What if I did?" Ant sat down cautiously and sipped his drink, wincing at the cold, sharp taste.

"I'm not rebuking you, child. If you want my opinion, I think it is a good thing," Leland smiled pacifically at him and helped himself to a croissant. "You have been far too preoccupied with your little pet since you arrived. It will do you good to relax and enjoy yourself. Aldo is an uncomplicated boy. He has more... maturity."

Ant could not argue with that. He had enjoyed Aldo di Boccato's pounding 'maturity' inside him for much of last night and was glad of the cushions on his friend's comfortable lounger this morning. 

"I don't have the hots for him though," he told Daniel with a little sigh. "When I look at Aldo I just don't get the feeling I get when I'm with Rayne. I know I'm crazy, but that's how I feel. He... sets me on fire."

"He's consuming your common sense, that's for sure," his companion snorted in a good-humoured tone. "Antoine, you used to be such a level headed boy."

"We all grow up and we all do foolish things for love," Ant said distractedly, staring into space, although his eyes had wandered instinctively towards the huge cruiser moored at the head of the next pontoon. 

"Please tell me that you're not in love with the little bitch!" Daniel shook his head gravely. "That would be too excruciating."

"Just because Corin broke your heart, it doesn't mean they're all the same." Ant's serious gaze moved back to his face, more boldly. 

"Please! Broke my heart? He was a little junky slut and he went the way of all of them in the end. Good riddance!" Daniel snatched up his newspaper though and retreated behind it, clearing his throat. His casual demeanour had evaporated. Ant experienced a little surge of satisfaction then felt it slowly ebb away as he watched Dan Leland fidget with the broadsheet then slap it down again and retreat back into the cool shadows of the Day Room.

The old man had been alone since Corin Harding left him. And although he was never without company it was not the same as having a lover who knew your every whim. Although Corin was fifteen years Dan's junior, they had been passionately, hedonistically close for almost a decade, living in London and Paris, making movies and enjoying life to full. Everyone they knew smoked a little grass or even took poppers or speed on occasion. Then Corin discovered the temptation of Smack. Before long he was disappearing for days at a time, stealing money and possessions and making excuses for his absences that even a blind, deaf and stupid man would be hard pressed to fall for. Daniel was none of those things and although he was patient, he would not be made to look foolish. He gave Corin an ultimatum, clean up and give his new Dealer friends the push, or move out. 

Corin pretended for a little while that he was clean but when Dan found needles in their bedroom he took the initiative. Packing his things and moving everything else into storage, he retreated to his boat on the Cap and had been there ever since. Corin tried to get him back but Dan would not see him or speak to him. The younger man had died of an overdose, alone, in a Parisian hotel bedroom, about eight years ago. Daniel did not even go to his funeral.

The thought of Rayne lying dead in a squalid room somewhere with a needle in his arm made Ant feel sick to his stomach. Then he looked up at the looming, white boat that filled his vision and the idea of the boy being stretched and violated somewhere on board, started a fire in his belly that would not subside. Pushing himself to his feet he walked back into the Day Room, snatched up the envelope and set out for PJ's vessel to find out the truth for himself.



Rayne Wilde woke with a slight headache and an astonishingly sore throat, the only detractions from an otherwise overwhelming sensation of wellbeing that seemed to have wrapped itself around him in the night. It was not the only thing. Paddy McNamara was snuggled up against his back and bottom, his steady breathing like a hot breeze on Rayne's neck. Clay was lying sprawled on his belly in front of the boy, his dark handsome head pillowed in his folded arms, sleeping face turned a little towards them. His long braids cascaded over the rumpled bedclothes like a spill of tiny snakes. For a little while, Rayne just lay still, enjoying the heat and the primal, musky-salty scent of their spent sex, letting the memories of last night come back to him. When he closed his eyes again he could not recall anything beyond struggling to suck on the length of Paddy's cock. His rectum was not aching so he deduced that the men had actually honoured their promise to Daniel Leland after all. Rayne was privately astounded. 

He lay in Paddy's arms a little longer, deliberating on recent events. Last Wednesday, Ant had hauled him out of the London snow and thawed him out in the warmth of his bed. Since then, it seemed that he had not gone for more than half a day without getting his mouth or his arsehole fucked. Even working for Johnno, he did not think he had ever been screwed as frequently as he had been during this hectic week. He was not even sure what day it was. 

As he opened his eyes, a movement in the doorway made him struggle to sit up. Mikkal was awake and on the prowl. His powerful body glistened, wet from an early shower, and his pale, tousled hair hung free, so long that it fell well past his nipples, almost to his navel. His beautiful cock swung loose between his legs as he walked casually into the room like some kind of Greek God.

"Hi, you want some coffee?" he asked amenably, and Rayne nodded, managing to disentangle himself carefully from the other two without rousing them.

"That was some night, yeah?" Mikka commented as he rose. "You feel okay?"

"A bit... weird," Rayne admitted, rubbing his eyes. "Like I could just sleep forever."

"You earned the right to sleep last night," Mikkal agreed as Rayne followed him from the bedroom, down a long, cool, corridor towards the lounge. He could feel the slight rolling motion of the vessel and wondered for a moment if he was still drunk. "Not many boys can deep-throat PJ all the way down like that. Even 'I' have to start when he is limp."

Rayne blinked, visibly surprised. 

"You've sucked his cock?"

"Of course!" Mikkal laughed, glancing back over his shoulder at the younger man. "Before I was his bodyguard, I appeared in some of his movies. That is how we all begin. I've had that cock inside me many times, in every position you can imagine and some you probably can't!"

Rayne shook his head, somewhat bemused by this admission. He headed in to the bathroom while Mikkal went on ahead to fix the coffee. The handsome, confident Finn looked older than him but certainly younger than PJ McNamara. Even so, Rayne could not imagine Mikkal as a shy teenager, just beginning in the movie industry and overwhelmed by all those huge cocks. He stepped under the shower and let the warm water reinvigorate him quickly before towelling off and following Mikkal through to the galley. 

"How'd you get involved in all this?" he asked, hopping up onto a tall, leather-covered stool at the breakfast bar in the sunlit galley. The smell of fresh coffee and hot croissants washed over him like a purifying balm. "Do they make porn in Finland?"

"Sure they do!" Mikka laughed at him. "Wherever they have guys and cameras they make porn."

"Okay, okay!" Rayne managed to laugh at himself as the blond poured him a huge, bowl-like cup of coffee. "I'm dim, I know!"

"You're still waking up," Mikkal said in a forgiving tone. "Don't be hard on yourself. I've been making movies for about ten years, then working for PJ another five. When I am eighteen, I make my first movie with him but there were others, in Finland, before. I am lucky, I guess. I have this." He stroked his limp, but still impressive cock.

"Have you always been huge?" Rayne asked, admiring it openly. 

"From about age eleven, yes. It began to grow then. I was much teased at school. I saw many doctors. When I was about fourteen, it was ten inches and still growing. At sixteen it stopped. Twelve and a quarter inch! Many doctors came and took photographs for medical journals. One day a man approached my parents and asked can he take photos for an 'artistic' magazine. He offered money but my parents said no."

Rayne looked at him knowingly. 

"But you called him on your own?"

"It was a lot of money," Mikkal said simply. "My parents were not wealthy and Finland is an expensive country to live in. At first he was not happy to take pictures without consent of my parents but at last we met up. I went to Helsinki and he took my picture, posing for him, taking off my clothes and also fully naked. The photos were for a German magazine. They were very popular. I posed nude for them a few times after." Mikkal sipped his coffee and took a bite from one of the croissants, looking thoughtful. 

"Is that how Paddy found you?" Rayne asked, helping himself to a croissant. It was warm and fluffy-soft, just the right side of sweet.

Mikkal shook his head, making his blond hair swing back and forth. Rayne imagined that he must have been very beautiful in his teens; slim, blond and well endowed, every Aryan queer man's fantasy.

"Another German magazine contacted me after I had left school. They asked; 'do you do more risque stuff?' My pictures were very innocent, you see; just simple nudity, a little suggestion but nothing more. I asked what they meant and the guy on the phone said; 'are you prepared to pose for hardcore pictures?' Well..." Mikkal chuckled to himself quickly. "...I was very naïve. I did not know what this was but the man said 'more money, much more' so I said yes. I went with him to Dusseldorf, in Germany. I was still a virgin. In Dusseldorf at a studio I stroked and sucked another man's erect penis while he took photos. I had never done such a thing before. It was shocking. My companion was very excited watching me do this. He took many pictures and I sucked off four men." 

"Were you scared?" Rayne asked as he took another sip from his coffee cup, smiling wryly. 

"A little, yes. But it was not difficult. After the first time, I quickly learned what they wanted of me. A couple of times I choked and spat it out when they ejaculated in my mouth, but the man taking pictures did not seem to mind. That night he came to my room at the hotel with another man and cameras. They sat me down and explained that there would be much money for film of me losing my innocence with a man. They brought vodka and I drank with them. I got very drunk that night and I was very nervous. The stranger undressed with me and they set up the camera, then I sucked both their cocks. The stranger put on a rubber and lubricated his cock and the photographer began to film us as he got on the bed with me. He spread my legs so the camera could see as he pushed his hard penis into me. I think I cried and asked him to stop but I was very drunk. I cannot remember much. They both had anal sex with me two or three times that night but I never watched the film. He gave me some of the money but I think that he made much more!"

"Bastard!" the younger man said in a grim voice. He shook his head slowly. 

"Yes," Mikkal agreed distantly. "For a while I made no pictures. I was embarrassed. It was no secret that I was a queer slut. I felt that everyone must know. I went home to Finland, to college in Helsinki, where no one knew me. When I went home to visit, my Mama said that a man had been calling for me, an English-speaking man. He wanted to see me about a job. There was a number."

"Paddy?" Rayne asked with a grin.

"Yeah." Mikkal drained his coffee cup and topped them both up from the percolator. "I nearly threw the number away, but I had applied for other jobs. My parents' number was listed as contact as I had no phone in Helsinki. I called him and he said he had seen some of my pictures and asked if I was a registered actor. I told him no."

"Was he disappointed?" Rayne laughed.

Mikkal shook his heavy blond hair slowly. 

"I don't think so. He asked me could I come to London and I said I had no money. The next day some tickets arrived and directions to his hotel in London. He had sounded nice on the phone, he did not talk about sex. He told me that he wanted me to screen test. When I arrived though, he took me to dinner. He was handsome and very charming. I relaxed with him completely. Over dinner he told me again how much he had enjoyed my pictures and how beautiful I was. He asked my age and if I had a boyfriend. I said no. That seemed to surprise him. He asked me then, how was my favourite way to have a man make love with me." Mikkal's silver eyes widened and he managed another small shake of his head. "Well... I think I blushed. I was very shy still. At last I told him that I had only ever done sex that one night in Dusseldorf when those two German guys fuck me, and I was not sure I liked it at all. Paddy was shocked; he said he had seen that film and he thought I was an actor. He seemed... annoyed that I was forced on my first time with a man. He called them some very Irish names I had never heard before. It made me laugh." He was smiling faintly at the memory. "Afterwards we went to his hotel room with a bottle of wine and made out for hours."

Rayne uttered an incredulous sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh.

"Didn't he freak you out when he stripped off?"

Mikkal nodded. 

"He was not as big as he is now. PJ has worked on his cock-strength for years. He was about the size I am now, but it was still large. I said that I was afraid it would rip my ass out but he promised me that it would not. He took his time with me. He was very gentle and patient. We had been making out for three hours before he penetrated me."

Rayne half closed his eyes, feeling that plummeting sensation in his belly again. He remembered something else about last night. 

"Did I really beg you all to fuck me?" he asked warily. "Or was that a dream?"

Mikkal smiled at him rather mischievously. 

"I think that one time you screamed it so loud that half the marina heard," he volunteered rather apologetically.

Rayne put down the coffee bowl and let his head drop into his hands with a little groan of mortification.

"Oh Jesus! I should 'never' drink, Mikka!"

"You 'were' still very drunk," his companion acknowledged. "Even late into the morning after you had been sick. It is not so good for you, I think. Nor this..." 

Mikkal reached forward now and touched Rayne's arm, letting his fingers trail from the crook of his elbow to his shoulder. The younger man was watching his expressionless face. He did not have to ask what Mikkal meant.

"I don't do it any more," he lied automatically.

"Yes, that is what all addicts say," Mikkal nodded sadly.

"I don't inject it."

"But you have done," the Finn pointed out. "In the past."

"It was just the people I was around at the time. I don't inject myself, I swear to you. I'd faint if I had to watch the needle go in!" he laughed at himself a little awkwardly.

"Is that why you were concerned about your test results?" Mikkal asked him gravely.

Rayne managed to shrug his skinny shoulders.

"I fuck strangers for a living," he said quietly. "Some wear johnnies, a lot don't bother. It would be quicker and easier to cut my throat, I guess!"

"Or your wrists?" Mikkal said darkly. His grey eyes lifted from Rayne's hands to his strikingly pretty face, still carefully neutral.

"Yeah... I know what it looks like," Rayne admitted without missing a beat. "I'm not suicidal, okay?"

"Glad to hear it." The sleepy voice did not come from Mikkal's lips.

Both men turned automatically to face the corridor leading back into the bedrooms. PJ McNamara was watching them intently from the shadows. He flashed them a tired smile now and said; "Any of that damned coffee left?"

To Rayne's infinite relief, the subject of his scars was not pursued. He thought that Paddy looked at him a little oddly over breakfast but the big man said very little, nor did he allude to the events of the previous night. Rayne let him escape to the bathroom after breakfast and though he wandered up there in the Irishman's wake, he was not asked to join Paddy under the shower. A glance into the bedroom showed him that Clay was still sleeping soundly on the rumpled divan. Only Mikka was a morning person, it seemed. 

Rayne wandered back to the breakfast bar, having collected his scattered jewellery from the bedroom and pulled on his black boots. As he was fastening the buckled straps around his slim calves, PJ returned to the lounge and slumped down comfortably on one of the leather sofas reading through some paperwork. The breakfast things had been cleared and there was no sign of Mikkal. 

The Irish National Stud wore reading glasses, and precious little else, which made Rayne smile. His thick, dark red hair was pulled back from his face with an elasticised band and he flicked through the documents with a steady determination that precluded conversation. 

"I'm gonna go back to the other boat," Rayne told him at last, when he did not look up. "If that's okay with you?"




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 10



Now Paddy lifted his head and peered over the top of his spectacles at Rayne, like a schoolteacher. 

"Tired of our company already, Mr Wilde?" he asked mildly. "I'm afraid we're not very rock & roll."

Rayne chewed on his lower lip for a moment, prey to a sudden feeling of consternation. Maybe he had misread the situation last night. Back then it had seemed very much as if PJ wanted to get more involved with him. Had he heard more than he wanted to this morning? Was that what was putting him off?

"Have I pissed you off, somehow?" the boy ventured warily.

McNamara shook his head with a brief smile and returned to the pages he had been perusing as he sprawled lazily on the sofa cushions. 

"No, Rayne. You haven't."

It felt like a dismissal but Rayne stayed put, still perplexed by it. Mikkal had been fine with him this morning and beyond the projectile vomiting and shameless pleading for sex, he had not mentioned any further embarrassing incidents from last night.

"You just want me to go?" he probed.

Paddy sighed, without lifting his head; "Go if you wish. Stay if you wish. I don't mind."

"I... I'll go then." Rayne felt his cheeks heat up. He was not used to having people call his bluff like this. 

"As you wish."

When the big man said nothing else, Rayne bit down on an acid retort and headed for the door. He had not quite reached it when Paddy added; "Do I not get a kiss first?"

He came to a dead stop, heart jumping. When he turned around the confusion on his face must have been plain to see. 

"I don't get this!"

Paddy had removed his reading glasses and was looking up at him with a small, satisfied smile on his handsome face. 

"What don't you get, Rayne Wilde?" 

"You!" The younger man waved a hand at him. "You're... I don't know! I can't keep up! Last night..."

"...was last night," Paddy McNamara finished for him, more quickly. He put the papers to one side and swung his bare feet to the wooden floor, leaning forward with his muscular forearms on his knees. Rayne noted as he moved that he was wearing the gold cock ring again. "This morning is this morning. And tomorrow, if your test results are good, we should be filming."

Rayne tried to smile but the expression felt awkward on his face. 

"You... you still want me to, then?" 

Across the room from him, Paddy sat back with a long, impatient sigh. He crooked a finger at Rayne, beckoning him closer. 

"Come here," he said imperiously when the boy took no more than a step. "Come!"

Somewhat irritated at the ignominy of being summoned like a pet dog, Rayne walked back slowly to stand before him. He folded his arms stubbornly across his chest.

"What?"

Paddy leaned back into the embrace of the soft, leather cushions. He stretched out his arms across the back of the sofa, reclining comfortably, knees slightly parted, his whole magnificent, muscular body on full display. Rayne held his quiet, confident stare, but raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Stop jerkin' my chain," he complained at last.

"You are something else, Rayne Wilde," PJ McNamara told him, chuckling slightly.

"What d'you mean?" Those fierce, peridot-green eyes were still glaring at the Irishman. Rayne licked his lips, almost able to taste the shift in tension between them.

"Come and sit in my lap. Give me that kiss and I'll tell you," Paddy coaxed.

"Tell you what," Rayne unfolded his arms and put down the handful of borrowed jewellery he had been wearing when he first came here. His hands came to rest on his slim hips. "You tell me now, exactly what you're playin' at, and 'I'll' decide if it's worth a kiss or not."

Paddy laughed without opening his mouth; a deep, dry, disbelieving chuckle.

"You are fantastically irreverent," he observed out loud.

"You'd rather I was on my knees begging for your kisses?" Rayne asked him bluntly.

"I'd rather you were on your knees riding my greased cock," Paddy corrected him without blinking. 

Rayne swallowed as his mouth went dry. His stomach had gone into freefall again, the way it did earlier this morning when Mikkal spoke of Paddy entering him. He felt his gut spasm and clench involuntarily.

"If you want it so much, why play it so fuckin' cool with me?" he demanded, swallowing some more. His voice sounded husky, even to his own ears. 

"You know the answer to that," the big Irishman told him, almost breathlessly. "You play hard to get all the time, Rayne Wilde. I figured I'd find out just what a cool customer you are. Now tell me, would you have walked right on out that door if I hadn't called you back?"

"I nearly walked out anyway!" Rayne answered insolently, narrowing his eyes. "I don't like being fucked about. I don't care what sort of big shot you are in LA, Mr PJ fuckin' McNamara!"

In his head, he pulled out an imaginary gun and put it to the side of his skull, pulling the trigger, but the corporeal Rayne just stood his ground, breathing a little faster. He would not apologise.

'Oh, you idiot! You fuckin' muppet!" his conscience chided.

Paddy McNamara just stared at him in silence for several seconds, his face unreadable. Then the big man shook his head and laughed heartily. He chortled until Rayne's glare suggested that he really 'would' walk out this time.

"I'm that funny, am I?" the boy growled when his laughter subsided. 

"Uhh-huh," Paddy shook his head quickly, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. "You're a breath of fresh air. Now get down here and kiss me before I have to throw you on the damned floor and fuck you senseless, Rayne!"

The young Englishman took a deep breath. Each time he imagined what it would be like to be with Paddy, every muscle in his body tightened involuntarily. It was not fear that caused the reaction. If he had been afraid he would not have come back when Paddy called. He felt a violent fluttering, like a trapped moth in a lampshade, somewhere beneath his ribs, and then he was moving, almost on autopilot. He reached the edge of the sofa, resting one knee on the cushion there and leaned forward. One hand came to rest on the back of the couch and the other on Paddy's far shoulder, which was firm and hot to the touch. He bent his head, touching his mouth briefly to Paddy's lips, feeling the man tilt his head so that they had full contact. Rayne still had one booted foot on the floor until the older man's arms moved around him. Strong hands slid down his naked back to his hips, cupping his bottom and drawing him up steadily onto the sofa. This close, the only thing he could do if he was not to kneel on the muscular actor physically, was to straddle him. Rayne spread his legs instinctively, kneeling with his thighs astride Paddy's hips at the narrowest part of his body. He felt one large, hot hand move back up between his shoulder blades to the nape of his neck, then the other slid down between his bare buttocks, pulling him into a deeper, slower kiss. 

His own hands, which had moved defensively to press against Paddy's bulked up pectorals, now slid back up over his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around the big man's bull-neck and threw himself bodily into that meshing of tongues and lips. His heart was hammering in his chest long before Paddy let him break the kiss. Rayne felt his cock respond to that caressing touch between his legs and he did not pull away for fear of embarrassing himself. 

"So..." he huffed at last. "You 'do' fancy me then?"

"Get outta here!" Paddy told him with a little grin. "You are such a damned tease!"

Rayne kissed him again, just for the feel of his soft, wet lips. Paddy was an awesome kisser; he kissed like he could taste Rayne's soul on his tongue and it tasted too good. All of his life he had ached to be held and kissed like that.

"Have I passed my audition then?" he panted as they broke once more. 

Paddy caressed him slowly, all over, nuzzling his face and neck, stroking him incessantly from his head to his knees. 

"If you kiss me like that again," he gasped huskily, at last, "I'm gonna have to carry you through to the bedroom and get Clay to stretch your tight ass while I get this cock ring off and lube myself up good and big for you."

"Mmmhhhh..." Rayne shuddered helplessly in his embrace and snuggled closer. "Please!"

"I'm serious," the Irishman whispered in his ear. "I'm warning you, Rayne, you'd better get out of here. This damned ring has gotta come off my dick before it cuts my circulation!"

Rayne sat back on his knees, looking down expectantly at the monster he had woken. Paddy leaned back on the sofa, eyes closed, breathing deeply. A few hanks of his auburn hair had come loose from the band holding them back. He looked sweet and frustrated and very handsome. Rayne let him rest until his manhood stopped straining to rise. Some of the bulging veins in that long shaft subsided and he almost thought he saw it quiver with disappointment as it lay back down in the valley of his meaty thighs. Rayne stroked his hands gently up Paddy's powerful legs to the junction of his hips and pelvis. 

"What the hell are you doing?" his companion groaned, his head lolling back on the sofa cushions. 

Rayne silently eased one hand between Paddy's legs and cupped his shaven balls, wriggling those huge twitching testes back through the restraining ring one at a time. He felt the Irishman catch his breath and lift his head, stiffening again, but the ring was already sliding back along his throbbing shaft. 

"Are you insane?" Paddy panted as the boy looked up at him.

"Isn't that more comfortable?" Rayne asked innocently. He eased the big, gold cock ring over the pulsing helm of his lover's massive erection and wriggled his hand into the empty hoop, wearing it like a bangle.

"Aren't you scared?" McNamara asked him wonderingly. "Aren't you afraid that I'll lose control? That I'll spread you and ram it into your ass before you're ready?"

"Aren't you?" Rayne fired back with a shake of his head. "You're too smart for that, Paddy. You could have fucked me last night while I was out of it, if that's what you wanted. You won't take me until you know I'm clean."

Strong fingers cupped his face and gripped his lower jaw, pulling him closer. 

"Then I was right. You 'are' a tease!"

Rayne shook his head at once, slipping back off Paddy's lap and onto the floor. He pushed the older man's knees apart firmly and crouched between them, applying his soft, warm lips and little wet tongue tenderly to the head of Paddy'' stirring manhood. He took his time, licking and kissing the red, shiny helmet and stroking his hands up and down the thick, brown shaft beyond it; one hand beneath, supporting it as it rose; one on top, sliding back and forth steadily. As it lifted like a beacon between Paddy's legs, Rayne began to run his tongue slowly up and down the sensitive underside, kneeling and working his lover's hot, hard flesh with his sexy mouth.

Paddy groaned hungrily as his slender, boyish mate knelt before him, pleasuring him the way that he had last night. This time, though, Rayne was sober and totally focussed. 

"Aaaahhhh Jesus!" he growled as Rayne began to lick and kiss his full, silken scrotum, taking those huge balls in his mouth one at a time as his small white hand squeezed and milked the throbbing glans of his cock. The pad of his thumb rubbed back and forth in Paddy's slit, teasing and stimulating him until there was a steady river of cum dribbling down his erect shaft. 

Rayne's fabulous tongue lapped the spunk up greedily on the way back up, flickering all over his aching dick. His hot breath was a delicious caress in Paddy's crotch. By the time he reached the tip it was oozing like a small cum-volcano and his boner was standing proud and rigid at fifteen and a half inches of rock-hard fuck muscle.

"Oh god, you are a fucking angel!" Paddy gasped excitedly. "Suck me off, baby. Suck that big cock right off! Let me watch you chokin' it down, baby!"

"Do you always talk like a bad porno script when you're getting laid?" Rayne asked him with a sarcastic smile. 

"Just suck it!" Paddy groaned, then seeing the narrowed look that earned him; " 'Please'!"

"That's better." Rayne bent his head again, a small, knowing smile on his face. He leaned forward with both hands on Paddy's well-muscled thighs and worked his lips and jaws around that thick, crimson bell end. At once Paddy's fingers were running through his soft, dark hair and his hands began to urge Rayne's head down on his enormous cock. At the same time he was thrusting his eager tool up into the willing mouth of his newest porn starlet. Rayne swallowed him fearlessly and Paddy groaned with arousal at the touch of that hot, wet mouth, so tight around his big member. If Rayne's arse felt half as good around his cock he would make sure this little angel went all the way to the top of the movie industry. Paddy humped his pretty face harder, dreaming of some of the hot scenarios he could fix up for his little cockslut.

Rayne loved to suck dick. Last night was ample evidence of that. He was a self-confessed cock-sucking, cum gobbling addict and the fact that he was legal in most US states, coupled with his schoolboy good looks, meant they could make hot jailbait movies with him that the censors could not touch them for. Paddy bucked his hips up off the leather cushions, pulsing faster in the boy's mouth at the thought of it. 

At six inches he hit the back of Rayne's mouth and the boy gagged and swallowed harder. A river of hot drool and pre-cum slicked the exposed length of his cock and his twitching balls. Paddy stroked the boy's silky hair and let him get his shit together before he began to pump Rayne's sexy mouth again. Another couple of inches were immersed and he felt Rayne's head go back. His jaws opened wider and long lashes splashed across his sweat-damp cheeks as he struggled to take more cock, hyperventilating quietly. 

"Easy, baby," Paddy coaxed. "Come on, you can do it. Eat that big fuck-rod, honey. Swallow it down. You know you can do it."

Rayne was breathing fast and hard through his nostrils as he gulped and choked willingly on his lover's sex. Paddy began to thrust steadily again, watching the mixture of cream and saliva run down the boy's chin from the corners of his mouth as he submitted to the vigorous face-fucking. Rayne's eyes were watering as he choked again on thirteen inches of meat, his pale face almost scarlet with the effort of taking it all. Paddy let go of him and pulled back slowly to about the eight inch mark when he just kept trying. 

"Ssshhhh.... Take it easy, baby. It's okay," he soothed. "Come on, sit back. Breathe deep for me, angel-face."

He could feel Rayne's throat and jaws working spasmodically around his tingling cock head. Paddy's balls contracted, almost all the way back up into his scrotum. It was so tight down Rayne's gullet that a movement in either direction could clinch it. The boy was going to get a mouthful of hot cock milk at any minute. Rayne began to nod again, taking it deep one final time, huffing like a winded bitch into Paddy's thrusting crotch. 

The big Irishman sank back into the sofa cushions and let his balls explode with a long, low, earthy groan of satisfaction. Rayne gagged and his head went back but Paddy did not care. He was on fire. Cum leaked from his slut's glossy lips as he took a second spurt and a third. Paddy pulled out of his mouth and Rayne's deft hands jerked his big cock vigorously until another gout of semen squirted over the boy's gorgeous face. 

"Aahhh, you dirty little cocksucker!" Paddy gasped delightedly. "That feels so fucking good!"

He pulled Rayne up into his arms again and rolled over so that the younger man was underneath him on the sofa, kissing his cum-sticky mouth and sliding a hand between the boy's legs, rubbing his hot young cock in return. Rayne was hard and leaking. The feel of Paddy's hand on his sex tore little gasping cries from his violated mouth. 

"You are red hot, baby boy!" Paddy growled as he masturbated his sexy, wriggling slut on the soft black leather sofa. He rubbed the boy's clenching balls enthusiastically and began to bite and suck on Rayne's stiff, dark nipples until his young mate was groaning urgently. 

"Omigod... gonna cum... gonna cum!"

"Not yet, sweet creampie," Paddy crooned. His strong hands spread Rayne's legs as the boy lay on his back beneath him. The big Irishman rubbed his stiffening sex between Rayne's cheeks. "Jerk yourself off with both hands," he instructed now. "Let me watch you pumping that hot cream all over your sexy young body."

Rayne was soaked with sweat and cum, his dark hair plastered to his brow, slim body wet and gleaming as he bucked and writhed on the smooth leather cushions in nothing but his knee-high, suede boots. One of his slender hands curled around his bone-hard eight-inch cock and he started to pump it rapidly. The other dipped between his legs, groping his hairless balls as Paddy watched greedily. 

"Talk dirty to me, baby," the big fellow coaxed as his lover masturbated for him. "I wanna hear that filthy mouth in action while you get yourself off for me."

"Pervy old cunt!" Rayne panted at him, wanking harder. 

"That's good, you dirty boy," Paddy nodded his head, rubbing his sex more urgently between Rayne's buttocks. "Tell me what you need, my little slut."

"Is that what you like, McNamara?" Rayne caught his breath then fisted himself harder as Paddy's big cock pushed against his ring. "Do you like dirty whores? D'you like what's between my fuckin' legs?"

"Good boy," Paddy huffed excitedly. "Gimme more! Tell me what you like."

"Mmmhhhh...." Rayne twisted and struggled on the sofa, rubbing himself energetically until his cock began to leak a constant stream of cum. "Nnnnnnggggkkkhhhhh...Ch-Christ, Paddy! I need a good hard fucking!"

"Oh yes... you certainly do," the Irishman agreed. "Tell me how you want to be fucked, Rayne. How and where and how hard! Finger your ass for me and let me know what a whore you are."

Rayne let himself be lifted up with his legs spread wide and reached under himself, probing between his cheeks with his forefinger until he found his tight ring. He wriggled two fingers into his anus and began to thrust while Paddy watched excitedly. 

"Uhhhhh! Mmmhhhhhh!" he grunted, fisting his erect dick like a high-speed automaton. "Fuck my arse! Rape my fuckin' hole, you big Irish cunt! I want all of you... spreading me... fuckin' me. I'm your dirty bitch! Make me cum!"

"Good boy, Rayne!" Paddy bent over him, licking his nipples and biting them again as Rayne swore at him, struggling and jerking, naked on the leather sofa. A stream of pale cum oozed out of his cock head and ran down his bare belly and he made a strangled whining sound through his clenched teeth.

In the doorway, Clay wide-awake now, was watching through the lens of the hand held camera as the pretty young Englishman begged to be fucked. He too was rock hard and dribbling. So was Paddy, who licked Rayne's neck and throat as the boy's fingers eased out of his stretched rectum, reaching for that famous cock. An eager hand guided the head of PJ's enormous prick into his well-frigged crack, rubbing it up and down over his exposed ring. He had one knee over the back of the sofa and Clay moved closer, gripping the other ankle and pulling his leg up higher to get a good clear shot. He zoomed in between Rayne's slender legs still filming eagerly as the boy tried to hump Paddy's cock up into his arsehole like a massive dildo. 

"Come on baby, squirt your hot cream all over us," PJ panted as Rayne bucked and moaned underneath him, whimpering when the throbbing cock head was too big to go inside him. "You're gonna get a good hard buggering today, I promise! Just a little longer to wait."

He looked up, however, distracted by a sudden commotion out on the jetty. As Mikkal came back through the main door into the lounge with Ant on his heels, clutching the precious envelope, Rayne pumped himself to a massive orgasm on the sofa, oblivious to all else. His throbbing cock jerked and began to spurt and he screamed a torrent of abuse as he climaxed for them. At first sight it must have looked as if Clay was holding him down while Paddy mounted and fucked him. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 10



Ant slapped the envelope into Mikkal's hands and snarled; "I guess you couldn't fucking wait for that, could you? I hope it's bad news!"

He tried to push his way out but the tall, blond Finn caught his arms easily and shoved him back into the room as Paddy was disentangling himself from Rayne. The boy had struggled to his knees on the sofa, still dripping with cum. Beyond him, Clay was still watching the scene through the lens of his small, hand-held camera.

"Ant, what the fuck are you doin' here?" Rayne exclaimed vehemently. His face was still flushed and for a moment he had the decency to look embarrassed. 

"I could ask you the same thing," Ant huffed, righting himself and turning so that he did not have his back to any of the boat's occupants. "I waited up all night for you to come back."

This was a lie, but he figured that a little emotional blackmail was fair enough after the nightmare Rayne had put him through this week. When the boy said nothing in his own defence, Ant shook his head gravely. 

"Your results came back. I thought you might like to know." He glanced up at Paddy somewhat more icily. "You 'did' know that he was waiting on the results of an AIDs test?"

"Jesus!" Rayne sighed disgustedly and pushed himself to his feet. "Thanks, Ant! Tell 'everybody' my business!"

"I know," Paddy McNamara said in a voice that was curiously devoid of sentiment. "Is that what's in the envelope?"

Ant swallowed and nodded his head. Mikkal reached out and handed the missive wordlessly to Rayne and for a moment there was silence as the boy turned it over in his hands. Clay even stopped filming and put the camera down quietly.

"Well... are you gonna open that or just stand there clutching it all day?" Ant prompted irritably, at last, when no one moved or said anything. 

Rayne was still staring at the envelope as if he could make it vanish by the force of his will alone. He made a move towards the bedrooms but stopped when he saw Clay standing in the entrance to the corridor. The muscular black fellow was watching him expectantly. On the sofa, Paddy leaned forward with his forearms resting on his knees, hiding the swell of his impressive cock from view. He smiled at Rayne encouragingly. Mikka still leaned in the outer doorway, arms folded across his broad chest, his handsome face very quiet and serious. 

Finally he turned to look at Ant, who was staring at him like a wounded animal begging to be put out of its misery. Rayne swallowed hard. His long fingers clenched around the envelope, creasing the perfection of that heavy, cream-coloured parchment. 

"I... I need to think," he blurted out, then pushed between Ant and Paddy, running for the external door. 

"Wait!" Ant turned to pursue him but PJ was already up, shaking his head at Mikkal as the Finn barred the way out. At once the tall, blond stepped aside and PJ McNamara caught Ant by the arm as he did so, pulling him back. 

Rayne ducked through the open doorway and was gone. 

"Let go of me! What the hell d'you think you're doing?" Ant fumed, trying to wrestle free but even though he was taller and stronger than Rayne Wilde he was still no match for PJ. The Irishman did not relinquish his hold until Rayne's escape was beyond doubt. Then, he steered the furious Ant firmly towards the sofa. 

"Sit," he instructed. 

"You fucking idiot!" Ant railed at him. "You're gonna let him open that on his own?"

"It's his to open," McNamara said mildly. "If he desires privacy, should we not respect that?"

Ant shook his dark blond head vehemently. 

"You have no idea, have you? You just don't know what he's like!"

"He'll come back, Anthony. He has nowhere else to go." Paddy sat down beside him, maintaining a gentle, restraining contact. His hands ran over Ant's back and shoulders and his right thigh, stroking steadily as if the man was a frightened horse. 

Blue-grey eyes met PJ's silver-steel gaze, wide and frustrated now. 

"Aren't you concerned at all?" 

"Of course," the bigger man assured him. "A great deal rests upon the contents of that envelope."

"And what if he decides to throw it in the creek?" Ant snapped, annoyed beyond measure by this pacific approach.

"Then he does not work on this movie. It is as simple as that," Paddy sighed wearily. "Anthony, he won't throw it away. He's smarter than that."

"What the hell do you know?" Ant raged, fighting the urge to punch this supercilious Irish bastard. He knew it would earn him a pasting – Mikkal and Clay were hovering, watching the argument intently and if he so much as raised a fist they would take him down, for certain – but it was oh-so-tempting. "You've spent a night between his legs! What the hell do you know about the way his bloody mind works?"

Paddy McNamara shrugged those beefy shoulders in acknowledgement.

"He's been with you for... hmmm, all of a week," the big man stated dryly. "I'm sure you know all his foibles by now. I suppose you've seen all the workings of his devious mind in that time, Anthony. You are the acknowledged expert on his behaviour and I bow to your superior judgement."

"You piss-taking Irish cunt..." Ant wrenched himself away from McNamara's wandering hands and rose to his feet. 

In the background he sensed that Mikkal and Barclay both shifted subtly from casual poses to a more defensive stance. Their muscular arms hung loose at their sides but they were ready to leap into action. He did not care. Let them beat the living crap out of him! He was still going to go after Rayne.

"'I' know he's scared," he growled now. "I know that somewhere, deep down, behind that tough as nails façade he puts on, there's a frightened little kid curled up crying. And right now that little kid is probably pissing himself with fear, on his own somewhere, maybe reading the worst news he could ever imagine. Don't think for a minute that this doesn't mean anything to him."

"I don't think that," McNamara said patiently. "He'll come back, Ant. Of his own free will! I might not know him the way you do, but I do know that child won't be bullied or harassed into making up his mind. If you push him, you'll only push him away. And if you do that, my friend, I'll have Clay and Mikka break both your legs."

He rose to his feet with an easy grace and folded his arms across his burly chest, looking grimly back at Ant... who could not help himself. His eyes flickered down to that notorious, half-hard member nodding between McNamara's thighs and he felt a quivering in his loins that was part fear, part awe and part anger. The idea of Rayne being forced to spread for 'that'...! Ant was not sure if it turned him on or just made him feel sick. 

"You're the bully," he declared, his mouth suddenly too dry. "If you hurt him, at all, I'll kill you."

PJ just laughed, a short, grim, self-satisfied sound that did not part his lips. In the hallway leading to the bedrooms, Barclay cracked his knuckles deliberately, but the Irishman shook his head at once. 

"Go back to Daniel's boat and wait, Ant," he said in a pleasantly neutral voice. "Rayne 'will' come back."

RESULT:

Rayne ran as if all of hell was on his tail. The moment he was free of the boat he simply took to his heels and fled blindly up the pontoon and through the gate. His frantic flight took him across the promenade and both carriageways of the main road, causing three vehicles to slam their brakes on. A flurry of imprecations in more than one language followed him but he did not stop to listen, hurtling through the car-park behind the small row of bars on the strip and into the welcome shade of the apartments beyond. He did not look back, not even once.

The heat was intense, even this early in the day, and the shadows were a welcome relief. Rayne threw himself into a dark passageway that ran beneath the block of shops and apartments and did not stop until the light was almost too faint to see where he was running. He slammed into a concrete wall, his vision blurring before he made contact with the rough, cold surface, then turned with his back to it and sank to his haunches. His face dropped weakly to his knees as the breath tore out of his body in ragged gasps. Trembling with exhaustion and despair, he wrapped both arms around his head and the gasps turned to choking sobs that he could not control.

A thousand bright stars whirled and spun as they were sucked into the void behind his eyes. He could not think straight. Every hope and fear was raging lose around him and he just wanted to hide. The stink of the waste carts and the discarded junk from the flats up in the living world were ghostly intrusions that could not touch him. He had closed his mind to the reek of petrol and the cold, foetid, wetness of the floor beneath his thin boot-soles. It was quiet here, and dark, that was all he cared about. He could give voice to his emotions for just a few moments, safe from prying eyes, and that was what he did. Rayne wept as if his lungs would burst, rocking himself back and forth in the sordid gloom, until finally his breathing slowed and the retching sobs ceased. His heart gradually stopped hammering and he was able to think rationally at last. 

The envelope in his shaking fingers was a crumpled wreck of a thing by the time he finally uncurled from his foetal huddle and sank onto the kerb, wiping his face with his free hand. Rayne stared at it, rubbing his nose dejectedly on the back of his wrist, wishing he could will it out of existence by the sheer force of his mind. For a little while he contemplated simply dropping it into one of the looming garbage carts and pretending to the others that everything had been fine. He knew that he could do it. The lie was just another bunch of words. Paddy wanted him enough to believe them. Ant would simply be happy that everything was all right. By the time they found out the truth...

Rayne gulped and swallowed a mouthful of tears, as sharp and salty as fresh semen. He tilted his head back against the wall blinking determinedly until the saline wetness subsided and his vision no longer shimmered in that dangerous way. 

He had been so stupid, letting himself believe that he could play this role; convincing himself that he could easily walk away whenever he chose. It was no more achievable than resisting the craving for Junk. He had allowed strangers to get under his skin, imagining that he could cut loose from them with no effort, no withdrawal pains, and it was all another lie. If he had made Ant sick...

Rayne's fingers clenched around the envelope again and he forced his thoughts away from that nightmare. It could not happen. It 'would not' be that way. Ant had been good to him, he did not deserve to be punished. Rayne's breathing quickened again until he was huffing softly and painfully. If there was a god then he or she did not care who was good and who was not. A god who loved good people would never let someone like Ant get AIDS from a pathetic junky slut that he was only trying to help. A decent god would never have taken his mother from him when he needed her the most, or allowed his Uncle Brian to molest and rape him while he was still too young to know that he could object. If there was a god then he either hated Rayne Wilde personally or he did not care one way or the other for the fate of his creations.

Rayne struggled away from the wall, fighting his way to his feet and resisting tears as he paced back towards the source of the faint light in his subterranean nightmare. The anger drove him as it always had. If he could not help himself then no one would.

Maybe 'everyone' was evil. Was that it? He already knew that 'he' was corrupt. It was written all over him, after all. Every man he met could see it. All decent women recoiled from it. He was a miserable, cheap little whore. Maybe Brian had been right all those years ago. He was only good for spreading and fucking. 

Rayne ripped open the envelope, feeling sick to his gut. 

"Come on then!" he muttered huskily. "Let's find out! Let's end this!"

There were three pages of hand-written notes on eggshell blue foolscap. He sank against the wall, puzzling over the fine, slanting hand, his eyes tracing the curves and loops of the letters, picking out familiar words whilst his mind tried to fill the gaps. His name and date of birth were at the top. Mahmoudi's surgery details were embossed on the vellum, rough beneath his fingertips like butterfly eggs on the underside of a leaf. The rest was a list and he struggled to decipher the medical terminology. The first was syphillis, he was pretty sure of that. There were some figures and a single word on the right; 'negative'. For each entry he read abbreviations that made no sense. So many numbers; so many 'negatives'. 

Rayne swallowed hard. Negative meant 'bad', he was fairly sure. He remembered it from school reports. 

'Raymonde's attitude is dangerously negative.'

'Such a negative approach will surely never benefit...'

He turned over to the next page automatically but the words were swimming in front of his eyes again; 'negative', negative', 'bad', 'evil'... His fingers crumpled the page and Rayne stumbled on through the block and out into the daylight on the far side of the passageway. He was swallowed up into a crowd of happy, heedless holidaymakers and let them carry him forward, numb to their laughter and warmth and the occasional curious, questioning frown they cast his way. 

'Bad.' 'Negative.' 'Contaminated.'

By the time a hand caught his arm and towed him into a space safe from the jostling of strangers he was blind with silent tears. He let himself be guided and coaxed into the shade and relative quiet.

"Jesus, Rayne! What's wrong?" Phil steered him to one of the cushioned benches in the back of the shop and made him sit down. "What happened? Did someone hurt you?"

He shook his head slowly, unable to speak, incapable of rational explanation. The pages of the crumpled letter dropped from his nerveless fingers and Phil crouched to pick them up. As Rayne sat staring into space, trembling and uncommunicative, he went straight to the door and pulled down the shutter. On the way back he scanned the letter curiously, searching for some clue to his companion's bizarre behaviour. 

"Rayne," he ventured at last, sitting down next to the other boy and sliding a companionable arm around him. "You're okay. What's wrong?"

"I..." Rayne could not look at him. It took three attempts to get the words out. "I kill everyone, Phil."

"You muppet!" Phil ruffled his soft black hair awkwardly. "What the hell do you mean?"

"I'm a bad person," Rayne choked on the words, his head sinking into his chest. "I'm contaminated."

Phil managed a laugh and gave him back the letter. 

"You reckon?" he chuckled wryly. "That's not what it says here."

Rayne blinked several times, his long black lashes jewelled with tears. Red-rimmed eyes sought out Phil's face.

"Wh-what do you mean?" he croaked incredulously.

"I told you," Phil stroked his hair again. "Can't you read, you head-case?"

"Yeah!" Rayne protested. "I can read 'English'! This is just... it doesn't make sense. But all the results... I mean... negative is 'bad' yeah?"

Phil laughed again and pulled him closer, kissing him impulsively.

"God, you're a muppet!" he said again. "Yeah... it 'can' mean bad... but it means 'no' as well. Nothing! Negative! Clear... do you get it yet? You're okay!"

Rayne closed his eyes for a few seconds, retreating into the sanctity of the dark again. His heart was still thumping but he was not sure if it was fear or embarrassment that drove it now. He still could not quite comprehend the enormity of the truth. 

"How can I be?" he wanted to know. 

"What did I say?" Phil chuckled, hugging him again. "You've got a bloody angel looking after you, Rayne!"

"Are you... sure?" the dark-haired boy was staring at the pile of rumpled papers in his hands again, utterly mesmerised.

"My parents are both doctors," Phil said, although he actually seemed rather embarrassed by it, as if admitting to living with serial molesters. He prised the pages out of Rayne's hands again. "You've nothing communicable," he translated. "STDs are clear. T-cell count is... okay. You're HIV negative... that's good." Phil paused and grinned at him reassuringly. "And bloody lucky! He wants to do a retest on renal function and he reckons you're borderline anaemic, which isn't great but it's not gonna kill you. Well, not if you take better care of yourself anyway!"

Rayne put his face in his hands and burst into tears of sheer relief. At last Phil took him up to the flat and left him there to pull himself together in privacy. 

It felt strange to sit alone on the balcony of another person's flat, feeling the warmth on his arms and face, watching the bustle of happy human life down below whilst remaining curiously detached from it. As soon as he managed to stop the intermittent floods of tears, that came without warning and left his face looking like someone had screwed it up and tried to throw it away, he hunted down the bag he had left here during the previous evening. It was still hanging innocently enough on the bathroom door handle, exactly where he had put it before he took a shower. Rayne returned to the bed and sat down, rolling himself a joint with the reminder of the junk Mahmoudi had given him. He lit it with shaking hands. It still seemed strange to him that this time yesterday he had not yet encountered Paddy McNamara. Even Phil had known more about the man that he came bare inches from screwing with this morning. 

The first hit quietened his racing heart and stilled his emotions. He held it in his lungs until his head began to swim, then breathed out slowly as the room tilted and he was swallowed into the comfortable embrace of Phil's extended sofa-bed. The rough, red coverlet still smelled of their heat and spilled sex and he turned his head to nuzzle it, rubbing his cheek on the heavy woollen cloth, breathing in the memory. The second pull took him right down to a tranquil place inside that he had been aching for since last night. He knew, or at least some rational part of his brain understood, that he ought to save at least half of this joint. If he smoked it all, the chances were that he would spend the next two days just lying here, staring at the ceiling. 

Rayne sighed deeply, listening to the whisper of his breathing, then raised the roach to his lips, taking a third drag before he pinched out the glowing embers. It was enough, he told himself as he breathed down the swirling warmth of the heroin fumes; enough.

When his limbs stopped feeling like melted butter he rolled slowly off the mattress and tucked the dormant roll-up behind his ear as he stumbled onto the little balcony. For a while he leaned on the railing watching the people wandering by and soaking up the heat of the morning sunlight, then he collapsed exhaustedly into a deckchair and closed his eyes, forcing himself to contemplate the present. 

He was clean. It was official. He could go back to the boat, rub Dan Leland's nose in his results, make this movie with PJ, pay back Ant and Johnno, and then...

Rayne frowned a little, unsure where the plot went next. He had allowed others to control his life for so long now that it felt strange to pick up the reins again. Of course, he would need to make some money, and find himself a place to live. And he needed a Dealer!

"You are such a fuckin' mess!" he told himself disgustedly.

*

"What are you good at?" Phil asked practically when he came back down to thank the other boy and voiced these concerns over a shared cigarette.

Rayne shrugged roundly, exhaling a plume of smoke.

"Dunno. I give great head!"

"You do, but you can't exactly put that on a CV," Phil pointed out. "I was thinkin' more in the line of GCEs and whatnot."




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 10



"I've got six O'levels, plus A'Level Art and Sociology," Rayne told him defensively.

"Jesus Christ!" Phil nearly choked on a mouthful of smoke. He stared at Rayne incredulously; "What happened?"

"What d'you mean?"

"How come you're in this mess? Why didn't you go to Uni?"

Rayne rescued the Marlboro Lite and took a long drag before passing it back.

"Why didn't 'you', Master Hun the Doctors' Son?" he exhaled sarcastically.

"Cos I didn't get A'Level Art and Sociology, I guess," Phil muttered. "O'Level English and three CSEs."

Rayne winced and sucked a hiss of breath through his teeth.

"Crap!" he said quietly.

For a moment they both stared at one another, then Phil began to giggle and finally Rayne laughed with him, shaking his head.

"I could ask my uncle if he can find you a job," the blond suggested at last, when they had stopped chuckling over his ineptitude.

"Naw... tried that once," Rayne said affably. "Worked in a record shop when I was about sixteen. I didn't last long."

"How long?" Phil was stroking his hair again, distractedly and Rayne let him do it.

"About four hours," he said with a conspiratorial grin. "The guy who ran it was a friend of a friend. He went for his lunch and when he hadn't come back by two o'clock I emptied the till, took an armful of LPs and went shopping."

"Christ!" Phil collapsed against the counter, laughing hysterically. "You're a fuckin' head case!"

"Yeah!" Rayne leaned into his hand like a friendly cat when he sat back and resumed his stroking. The gentle motion of another person's fingers running through his fine hair made him feel oddly relaxed and happy. It awakened a pleasing memory so ancient that he could not give it shape, only recalling that it had been a good one.

"I can play the guitar," he volunteered. "I'm in a band."

"Cool!" Phil enthused. "You do look like you should be on stage. Are you any good?"

"Naw!" Rayne shook his head quickly, then regretted it because Phil misinterpreted the reaction and moved his hand away.

As Rayne turned to look at him, his senses still a little dull from his recent fix, Phil's hands cupped his face and pulled Rayne's mouth onto his own, kissing him ravenously. Blindly, the dark haired boy stubbed out his cigarette and let Phil ease him back against the wall. Sweaty fingers groped between his legs, finding and rubbing his cock as their tongues clashed and twined in Phil's mouth. 

At that precise moment, Phil Honeywell got his first customers of the afternoon. 

TAKEN:

When Rayne left Phil's shop he did not go back to the boat right away. He knew in his heart that he owed it to Ant to deliver the good news in person but he was still angry about the interruption this morning. The more he thought about it the angrier he grew. If Ant had not come bursting in, creating chaos, Rayne was almost certain that he would have wound up – somehow – riding Paddy McNamara. The idea of it was almost an obsession now. He was aching for the throbbing heat of that magnificent cock inside him. It had not been fear that made him shiver at the thought of it, but pure, simple lust.

His preoccupation with Paddy's dong was his undoing. As he wandered back through the maze of little, floral villas in Port Nature, re-reading the letter with his results and dreaming of the things he would beg Paddy to do to him tonight, he only half-heard someone come up fast behind him. Rayne was not even conscious of the danger until a strong arm locked around his upper body, pinning his arms to his sides and lifting him off the ground as easily as if he was a child. He opened his mouth to yell out in protest, even then still believing that it was PJ, or one of his friends having a joke. A large, sweaty hand clapped over it before he could do more than draw breath. There was a piece of cloth pressed between the palm and his face, covering his nose and lips.

Rayne squeaked and struggled as his head was pulled back to his captor's shoulder. He caught a brief scent of the man's hot, hairy, sweaty body then it was drowned in a sweeter, sharper, antiseptic aroma that instantly made him feel disoriented. Instinct told him to fight it and he twisted his head rapidly from side to side, trying to shake it off as he was dragged, kicking and struggling, into the shadow of a doorway and pushed against the wall. His captor was naked and a good two heads taller than Rayne. His burly body pressed against his captive's naked back as he tightened his grip on the boy's jaw. Rayne felt him begin to get hard, the man's thick, long dick rising between his legs as he began to lose consciousness.

Whimpering with shock and fear, Rayne realised that his body was submitting to the effects of the sweet fumes. He stopped struggling, though it felt more as if there was no point to the act. It was almost like drowning; his throat was filling with water or mucus and he could not draw breath. His limbs were turning to jelly, yielding and falling; loose fingers released the pages of the doctor's letter involuntarily as stars began to flash behind his eyes. Rayne experienced a final moment of blind, helpless panic and then the blackness of drugged insentience swallowed him utterly.

END OF CHAPTER 10



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 11



© Sadie Rose Bermingham 2006 

"Woo hoo!! Chapter Eleven already. This chapter caused me great emotional difficulty so I hope you guys have managed to bear with me since it's taken much longer than normal to produce. 

The usual terms and conditions apply. Josh and Sadie Rose own the copyright to this random work of genius. Anyone publishing it without consent deserves whatever we decide to do to them in retaliation! You have been warned!!

BEYOND EVIL

"He will come back," Aldo soothed for the umpteenth time that day as he came to sit up on the top deck with Ant, sipping a Margarita. "He has nothing to wear, so he is not going to leave the Cap, no?"

"You don't know him," Ant exhaled, still staring out at the road beyond the harbour, waiting for the familiar dark head to appear in the distance, slim shoulders slumped, demeanour already chastened. He would know, he had already decided; from Rayne's very stance he would know the truth of the matter. 'If' the boy decided to come back at all, that was. 

Rayne had been determinedly opposed to anyone's pity from the beginning. On that very first day, a mere week and a half ago, when he had pulled the kid from the unseasonable snow back in Greenwich, Ant had been countering Rayne Wilde's attempts to push him away. It was almost as if he had been programmed to reject assistance, even if the only other option was death. He had never known anyone so determined to be independent that they would face the grave rather than let others get near. If the worst had happened and his results were positive, Ant's greatest fear was that Rayne would pre-empt the sentence of AIDS by cutting his throat or simply walking into the sea and not stopping until the waves washed his limp body back to shore. Alternately, he would fuck any man who wanted him then bait them with the truth until they gave him what he wanted. He had walked the mile and a half length of the beach five times since mid-day. No one had seen his young lover.

Mikkal came to the boat at around five thirty in the evening wearing an expression of dutiful concern, and little else. Ant had been pacing the upper deck for the past half-hour and before that he had spent all afternoon searching the Cap for his young friend, with no success. Now he scowled at the tall, blond Finn as if he was personally responsible. Mikkal folded his arms and queried; "He is not back yet?"

"Do you see him?" Ant snapped, hands on his hips. 

A shake of the head was his only answer. Mikkal looked away solemnly as if Rayne might step up out of the sea in front of him like Ursula Andress in Doctor No.

"PJ has stayed with our boat to wait for him. Clay went out again to search a little while ago," he said at last. "I told them I would come here and ask."

"Well you've asked. And the answer is still no. So you can fuck off back and tell him that," Ant growled. 

Mikkal turned his head and surveyed the Englishman coolly, his handsome face hard to read. 

"We did not push him away," he said simply, at last. 

"You let him go, that's just as bad. If he's dead it's 'your' fault!"

"Ant!" Aldo exclaimed with a shake of his head. "You cannot say such things!"

"I'll say what I mean," the older man growled back at him. "Something is wrong. If he was coming back here he would have done it by now. Someone would have seen him. 'You' tell me where the hell else he could have gone!"

"I don't know," Aldo answered him, holding out his hands helplessly. "But accusing people is not going to help. We need to find him and to find him we have to work together, no?"

He looked from Ant to Mikkal standing solemnly below them on the pontoon. The tall Finn braced his arms more tightly across his tanned chest and shrugged his broad shoulders. Aldo narrowed his eyes at the man irritably. Ant was already on his way down to the lower deck, muttering darkly to himself. 

"Does he have other friends here?" Mikka asked at last.

"He doesn't know anyone but us," Ant said vehemently. "He's been here less than a week. He doesn't speak French! What do 'you' think?"

Mikkal seemed on the verge of a sarcastic retort but he looked up as the gate opened onto their pontoon and a stranger ventured warily through it. He was slim and fair-haired and, curiously for the Cap, actually dressed in denim cut-offs and a pale blue tee-shirt. Sensing that his approach had been noted, he stopped about halfway down the jetty and held up a folded sheet of paper. 

"I'm looking for Rayne," he called out hesitantly in English. "I... umm... this is his, I think."

Mikkal snorted delicately through his nostrils and shook his head so that his long blond hair swayed restlessly with the motion. 

"So... 'he doesn't know anyone but us'!" he repeated sardonically, holding Ant's incendiary stare.

BOUND:

Rayne came to his senses slowly, feeling cold and sick to his gut. He was so disoriented that it took him a little while to assimilate his surroundings and begin to think coherently. When he finally managed to force his brain and body to work together they relayed the grim truth back to him. He was hanging, by his wrists, from a pair of leather manacles attached to a chain that dangled down from the ceiling, in a whitewashed room devoid of furnishings. The walls were tiled and he could smell bleach. It was cool although the lights were quite bright. His jaws ached and when he tried to move his lips he realised why. There was a thick rubber bit-gag between his teeth, held in place by a tight strap that fastened around the back of his head. He struggled weakly and his body answered with a slow flood of pain. His ankles were cuffed and chained to loops in the floor so that his feet were kept about three feet apart, his toes barely able to brush the cold, tiled surface. His arms screamed as the sensation gradually returned and his pulse quickened. Rayne quickly figured that he must have been suspended here for quite some time. 

He clenched his buttocks together, trying to ascertain whether he had been raped and the tugging sensation between his legs, coupled with the large, firm obstruction in his anus quickly told him the worst. There was a butt plug inside him, or some kind of long, thick, ribbed sex toy that he could not expel without the use of his hands. His struggles pulled on the serrated clip fastened to the soft flesh of his foreskin and linked to the plug by a short chain so that his prick was tugged back between his legs. In addition there was a cold, metal cock ring around the base of his shaft, beneath his shaved balls. Another pair of fine chains connected two more clips on his erect nipples to the ring. He wore a collar around his neck with little iron spikes on the inside that dug into his skin when he tried to look down. Each movement twitched the metal teeth in his sensitive buds and towed on the chain between his legs until he whimpered with combined need and agony.

As he squirmed and groaned incoherently, a door opened somewhere behind him and he heard quiet footsteps coming closer. A soft touch on his left buttock made him wince away defensively, then utter a muffled yelp at the biting sensations that tormented his slender body as a result.

"So glad you could join us, Mr Wilde," his tormentor said in a silky tone, speaking perfect English but with a pronounced French accent. "I believe that you will benefit enormously from our little training session tonight."

Rayne did not have to see his face to know who he was. An icy trickle of fear ran down his spine as Christophe walked slowly around him to look him in the eye. The Frenchman was naked save for a pair of supple black leather gloves and buckled biker boots His long, brown cock was fully engorged and nodding against his belly. The younger man moaned wordlessly around the gag in his mouth, shaking his head. 

A gloved hand cupped his cheek and Christophe looked solemnly into his eyes. 

"I was pining for the loss of my precious Thierry, but you fell into my lap like a gift," he purred. "It will be a pleasure and a challenge to train you, Rayne Wilde. I have heard so many tempting tales of the skill of your hot mouth and the tightness of your delicious ass. By sunrise my friends and I will all have sampled your delights, my little whore."

'Over my dead body!' Rayne tried to get the words out but the gag muffled his attempt. He shook his dark head again more fiercely. The struggles tugged at the clips on his nipples and he keened in pain, biting down hard on the rubber bit in his mouth. 

"Such spirit," Christophe whispered coldly. "It will take a good many men to tame you, I think. We few will begin with your initial chastisement. If the pain of the scourge encourages you to submit, maybe we will be more gentle when we have you saddled and mounted. If not, then I fear we must simply ride you hard until you are too weak to fight us. Rest assured, we 'will' beat the rebellion out of you by morning, one way or another!"

He introduced his companions formally, one by one, as if he was a tour guide and they were all his charges. Rayne had only realised that others were present when Christophe's comrades stepped forward to look him in the eye. They were a pair of Dutchmen, Henryk and Davide who were totally mismatched; the latter was young, blond and brawny with a deep, all-over tan, the former middle-aged, short and stocky with the beginnings of a belly, a 70s porn-director's moustache and more scalp than hair. Next to him stood a tall, muscular German named Peter, whose hirsute body and unwashed scent told Rayne that this had been his abductor. Peter was still visibly horny and the younger man shuddered at the thought of what might already have been done to him while he was unconscious. 

The last of his tormentors he knew before they were introduced. Giovanni's smile was calculating and humourless. His dark, latin eyes virtually swallowed Rayne's body as he hung helplessly before the five men. Rayne wondered if he had already bragged about the other day in the toilets at the Laguna. He felt sick with disgust and self-loathing.

They selected their weapons on Christophe's instruction and wasted no time using them. Each man was allowed five strokes and they took them alternately and without pity. Henryk, the balding Dutchmen had a thick leather strap, which he used on the boy's bare buttocks with great enthusiasm. Davide, his countryman wielded a leather thong that flickered across his legs like a striking mamba. Peter struck his back and shoulders with a long, slender switch that stung his flesh and made him wince, glad of the bit between his teeth. Rayne chewed down harder on it as Giovanni flicked the cat across his naked chest, twitching the clips on his sensitive nipples. He closed his eyes tightly as Christophe stepped up with a riding crop and slashed him across the face without restraint. His abusers were not gentle. More than one man was soon panting with excitement as they took turns to beat him. There was no rhythm to their assault on his body. Some came rapidly, raining down blows on his flesh like stinging ants. Others were more premeditated and he experienced a terrible anticipation, awaiting the crack of the whip. Each strike hurt worse than the last though, and Rayne was shuddering and whimpering involuntarily well before it came to an end. His slim body flinched instinctively whenever he heard one of their weapons whistle towards him.

His exposed skin was streaked with sweat and a little blood, the muscles twitching involuntarily at every touch. His jaws ached from the effort of remaining clenched on the bit and not screaming, even though he wanted to beg them to stop. He found himself wondering about halfway through his punishment if they had killed Thierry. And if that was true then what would prevent them doing the same to him?

Giovanni grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged his head back roughly, then pulled on the two chains attached to his nipple clamps, making him drop the bit and suck in a sharp hiss of breath. Fire seared through his chest from the vicious metal teeth in his tortured teats and he let out a breathless moan of agony. 

"Good. You feel pain then?" the lean Italian said with another mirthless smile. 

Pale green eyes glared back at him like cups of poison. 

"Fuck you!" Rayne snarled around the gag, emphatically enough that his muffled words needed no translation.

"You will," Christophe promised him, unmoved.

"You want it hotter?" Giovanni sneered. "You want us to hurt you more? I noticed that you did not come back for your reward the night before last. Did I scare you, little boy?"

Rayne pulled on the cuffs around his wrists, trying to lift himself though the pain in his arms was almost unbearable. There was no question that the others knew what Giovanni meant. He heard a few muffled snickers. Peter, his captor, was playing with himself quite openly. Now Rayne avoided looking at the rest of them. He kept his teeth clenched and his malevolent stare fixed on the man in front of him, thinking that one day he would hunt this bastard down and kill him slowly. He wanted to remember Giovanni's face so that he could see it contorted with fear and pain. The thought sustained him well enough that when they unhooked his wrists and let him kneel down so that the blood ran back into his arms and hands, he did not scream in agony, although he did bend his face down to his knees and whimper softly to himself. The pain from his aching shoulders to his cold fingertips was like the lick of flames.

His wrist cuffs were clipped to the ankle restraints then, so that he could not rise. Christophe knelt beside him and removed the gag. 

"This room is soundproofed," he said. "You can scream as loudly as you like. No one will hear you."

"I'll make 'you' scream," Rayne hissed quietly at him. "Just you fuckin' wait!"

"We won't wait for long. Soon we will be crying out with pleasure as we fuck your tight ass," Peter, the big German promised huskily in broken English, still stroking his massive tool. 

"We have all taken a pill for potency tonight," Christophe chuckled. "I feel the medication beginning to work already. Soon we will not be able to control ourselves, Rayne. You will be our helpless slut for the rest of the night, cuffed and gagged, on your knees as we take turns to fill you with our cum. After each covering session you will be allowed to thank us for pleasuring you so vigorously. If we do not receive your gratitude and humility you will be raped again. Your humiliation will continue until you express gratitude. Do you understand?"

Rayne lifted his head, swallowing once or twice to wet his mouth, his expression unreadable. His lips parted uncertainly, then he pursed them and spat in Christophe's handsome face. The slap he got back rattled his teeth and he did cry out, more in shock than pain, before the gag was forced back between his jaws and his face was pushed down against the cold tiled floor. He felt rough hands between his legs, unclipping the chain from his plug and fastening it to another loop in the floor. Now every motion back or forth tugged on the sharp metal clip in the soft flesh of his cock hood. Moments later the big, ridged, rubber plug was pulled quickly out of his anus and he shuddered with pain and pleasure as it was expelled. A deep, slow ache of need in his balls was exacerbated by the tight metal ring around the base of his dick and then he felt strong fingers part his cheeks and a cold glob of lube was squirted into his gaping hole.

He caught his breath as Christophe pushed his long, hard cock in, sheathing it smoothly all the way up his twitching passage. Someone – Giovanni, he was willing to bet – was holding him down, a hand pressed onto the back of his neck. The Frenchman got right inside him, then began to buck vigorously. Each stroke forced Rayne forward on his shoulders and knees and tugged on the chain between his legs. Christophe was well endowed and he needed no assurance of that from his young victim. Every thrust sent bolts of pain through the boy's caparisoned genitals. Rayne began to scream in agony from about midway and did not stop until Christophe had bathed his innards in cum.

His assailant withdrew and the gag was removed so that Rayne could sob more freely. 

"Take it off!" he choked when he was able to speak. "Please! Take that thing off my cock!"

"Not what we want to hear," Christophe said drily. He patted Rayne's arse cheek and added; "Gio was correct. He is a most satisfying ride! Who wants the next turn up his tight fuck-chute?"

Peter stepped in right away and the gag was left off this time as the enormous German lubed and penetrated him, thrusting his long, thick sex in deep and hard. He raped the slender English boy viciously, seeming to enjoy his breathless shrieks of pain as he was used. The force of his thrusts pulled the clip right off Rayne's red-raw foreskin and this was not discovered until after he had withdrawn from the boy's leaking anus. 

"We should pierce his cock head," Giovanni suggested maliciously. "Insert a small hook into his slit and clip it to the ground, then fuck him until he begs!"

"No!" Rayne said at once, unable to look at him. His face felt as if it was on fire. "Please, no!"

"You forget he is one of Leland's boys," Christophe said more grimly. "We have already marked him. If we go too far..."

"Pfff! Daniel Leland is an old man!" Giovanni snorted, shaking his head. "What can he do?"

"He has powerful friends," the Frenchman countered. "Patrick McNamara is here at the Cap. He was seen in Leland's company yesterday. We will probably get away with fucking his boy but if we damage him, there 'will' be reprisals."

Rayne closed his eyes for a moment. He had never been so grateful in his life. When he got back to the boat he was going to do whatever he could to make life easier for Dan Leland. Rape he could handle but mutilation was something else. He felt queasy at the thought of it.

"How are we to teach him true submission if we cannot hurt him?" Henryk asked warily. He had moved into position behind Rayne and was rubbing his hard on against the boy's bare buttocks.

"We can hurt him," Christophe said coldly. "So long as we do not 'physically' mark him. He can be tormented though, without coming to physical harm."

The younger man looked at him anxiously. He did not like the sound of that. Nor, he suspected did Giovanni, who clearly preferred to beat his victims bloody, or even cut them, as a prelude to his climax. Rayne had been with men like the Latino before. One of his rare punters in London liked to make small incisions on his arms and back during sex and lick the bloody wounds while he fucked his mate. He said that he could not cum if there was no blood. Personally Rayne thought he was sick but since he was also sick enough to cut his own arms he said nothing about it at the time.

This was different. He was genuinely concerned that these perverts might actually try to kill him tonight.

"How do we do that?" Davide asked curiously. He was younger than the others and looked a little wary of inflicting actual damage on their pet.

"When the rest of you have taken your pleasure with him, I will demonstrate," Christophe said magnanimously. 

Henryk and Davide were only too pleased to get on with Rayne's anal violation. Both men fucked him energetically until he was moaning with mingled pain and arousal, still on his knees. Henryk was not over large and his turn with their captive was mercifully brief. Davide mounted him quickly as soon as the older man had withdrawn. During this assault, Giovanni pushed the gag back between Rayne's teeth then slowly rubbed his leaking cock head all over the boy's face, covering his skin and hair in fat jewels of cum. As Davide was nearing climax in him, the Italian instructed the still-panting, older Dutchman to prise open Rayne's mouth and pull his head back, holding him in that position. Rayne struggled but was held in place as Giovanni masturbated vigorously, pumping his long hard cock until it ejected its creamy load into the English boy's face and mouth. At once, he put his hand under Rayne's chin, forcing his head up and his mouth shut and allowing Davide to bugger him excitedly from behind. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 11



"Swallow it," Giovanni instructed firmly when Rayne defiantly tried to spit it in his face. He clamped his thumb down over the boy's nose, keeping his lips together. "Swallow it or I'll give you another load!"

Rayne pulled frantically on the wrist and ankle cuffs as he struggled to breathe. At last when he was beginning to turn blue, he yielded and swallowed the cooling semen on his tongue. It tasted sour and stale and he gagged a little as it went down. At the same time he felt Davide's hot juices fill his intestines from behind. The young Netherlander had a lovely long cock and in spite of his circumstances Rayne could feel his own body responding to the feel of that oiled, hard rod surging inside him. He closed his eyes. If he had to keep on looking at them he would cry and he refused to do that.

'Don't let them kill me,' he kept on thinking, focussing on that determined mantra as his humiliation proceeded. 'Just don't let them kill me. I'll do anything. I swear it. Don't let them kill me.'

INQUISITION:

Phil looked a little nervously at the group of men who had surrounded him as he entered the day room of Daniel Leland's yacht. He knew who Leland was, everyone on the Cap knew Leland by reputation if not in person. The pair who had been outside with Rayne's boyfriend were such stunning looking guys that they had to be movie stars. Phil thought he recognised the darker guy from some of the films he had watched. He felt rather overawed to be surrounded by so much talent but he kept his nerve as he related to the assembled strangers how Rayne had spent the earlier part of the day with him then set off, as he believed, back to the boat. 

"I went out for a walk to get some milk and a few groceries and I came back the long way, up through the villas in Nature," he said, biting his lip as Ant paced back and forth with the crumpled sheets of paper in his hands, still studying them fervently. "I knew something was wrong when I found the doctor's letter."

"What made you suspicious?" Daniel Leland asked him solemnly. The elderly pornographer was sitting in a deep, white leather armchair, stroking his long, snowy beard as he studied Phil Honeywell. His pale grey eyes were unblinking, taking Phil in like twin cameras, recording everything he said and did. 

"Umm... he... he seemed happy when he left. I think he was relieved. I dunno why he would throw it away. It doesn't make sense," the young man faltered, shaking his head. "I just wanted to make sure he was okay. I mean, if there had been a problem... yeah, he might have ditched it, but..." Phil shrugged his shoulders awkwardly. 

"He was clean?" Leland asked gravely. "The test results, I mean? He showed you?"

"Yeah," Phil bit his lip again. "He was a bit freaked out, he didn't understand it all. I had a look for him. It was okay, I'm pretty sure."

"And that's all you can think about!" Ant muttered, still perusing the crumpled pages of the letter grimly. "He's clean! Oh good, now all we have to do is find him and you can get filming! Hoo-bloody-rah!"

"You don't have to be so vitriolic, Anthony. You're just as concerned, if not more," the older man said coolly. "You've not stopped reading that damned thing since Phil brought it here. Your conscience is easier now, yes?"

Ant looked up, his face flushed and angry but he said nothing. In the doorway, the blond man, Mikkal quietly asked; "Can you show us where you found the letter, Phil?"

"We've searched Port Nature up down and sideways!" Ant said in a pained voice. 

"Then we'll search it again," Mikkal responded gravely. "As you said, he 'has' to be somewhere. His young friend does not seem to believe he was suicidal, therefore he is still somewhere on the complex. Maybe he has 'other' friends you do not know about, huh?"

Phil wished that he could shrink to the size of an insect and just slip away. The hostility between these two was so strong that it made him physically uncomfortable. No wonder Rayne wanted somewhere to hide!

"I'll show you," he said quickly. Anything to get off this boat and away from the argument building between them. 

As he rose, a slender boy with soft, white blond curls and a shockingly bruised face came quietly through from the corridor beyond the day room and peered in at them anxiously. Phil thought he looked familiar but could not place him. Maybe he was another porn star, though he looked very young to be in the kind of movies Daniel Leland made. 

"What is 'appening?" he asked in a small voice, strongly accented and audibly nervous. 

"It's okay, Thierry," the tall, dark haired man from the roof of the boat went to his side at once, pressing a reassuring smile onto his face as he explained Phil's presence on board. 

Thierry's blue eyes widened as he listened to the account of this afternoon's events. He began to shake his head as the other man told him of the discovery of the doctor's letter. 

"Aldo, non!" he exclaimed at once, a look of sheer terror on his face as he sought out Ant in the crowded room and ran to him. "Antoine, you must do something! You know what this means! Christophe has him!"

Phil thought that Ant actually turned white as the boy's words sank in. The look he gave Thierry was almost pleading. The others looked equally shocked or confused.

"Who is Christophe?" Mikkal asked, frowning.

The dark fellow - Aldo - said; "Christophe is Thierry's Dom. He gave him the bruises you see. He has threatened to rape Rayne."

"Where does he live?" Phil asked Thierry, feeling his chest grow tight. 

"In Port Nature, he has a villa near to the place where you found the letter," the boy almost yelped. "We must do something!"

"We 'will' do something," Mikkal promised grimly. "Show us, Thierry. Take us there!"

For a moment Thierry just froze, looking petrified. Then Ant was by his side, stroking his hair and the back of his neck. 

"It's okay, Thierry, we'll be with you. We won't let him hurt you this time," he promised soothingly. 

Mikkal was already on the pontoon shouting across to the other boat as Thierry stepped down from the rear deck, flanked by Ant and Aldo. Phil tagged on behind, unsure whether he was supposed to wait or go with them but ultimately deciding that if Rayne was in serious trouble there was no harm in the safety of numbers. His face turned scarlet when they reached the esplanade and were joined by a handsome, muscular black man and a tall, red-haired fellow to whom the young Englishman needed no introduction. He had jerked off to so many of PJ McNamara's movies that he was glad now of his baggy tee-shirt and shorts, for his cock jumped to attention at the very sight of the well-hung Irish Porn Star. 

"What's going on?" McNamara demanded at once, taking in the unlikely looking lynch mob with a wry expression on his tanned, comely face. 

"I think we know where he's gone, but he could be in trouble," Ant snapped, pushing past him and keeping Thierry moving, though the boy's blue eyes were also wide with awed admiration at the sight of their famous companion. 

PJ strode after him at once, keeping pace with him easily as they crossed the main road and Thierry led them through the busy arcade and back into the warren of low rise holiday homes on the other side of Port Nature. Many people stopped and stared or waved as they passed by but PJ was intent on what Ant was telling him. Curtly the fellow related Phil's story to him and explained Thierry's belief that Christophe was behind Rayne Wilde's disappearance. The rest of them might as well not have existed. 

SUBMISSION:

Rayne shuddered like a wounded animal as he felt the wave of powerful vibrations rise again, starting at a point somewhere deep in his colon and quivering through every nerve and fibre of his body as it intensified. His heart was beating faster and not just because of the poppers he had inhaled once he was gagged and blindfolded. Christophe had devised a new torment for him once the five men had taken their pleasure with him. When he would not crawl to them, they fastened his cuffed wrists up high behind his back, attaching them to a short strap, which was clipped onto his collar. When he pulled on the strap the collar almost asphyxiated him. His genitals were then caught up in a little device Christophe called a cage, which consisted of a couple of tight, leather straps around his ball sac and the base of his cock and another that fastened around the head of his limp penis. Four short chains connected these so that he could not get fully aroused without feeling discomfort. 

He was still on his knees, his ankle cuffs clipped to loops in the tiled floor that spread his legs just wide enough that he could not get to his feet. Rayne fought the blindfold hardest of all, panic rising in him at the idea that they could do things to him that he could not see coming. Next, he was pushed to the floor and penetrated again, by a long, ridged dildo this time, which just kept coming. He moaned behind the padded gag that covered his lips and was secured tightly at the back of his skull, hardly able to breathe as the huge, lubed toy was pushed fully into his intestines. 

"This is going to feel so good that you won't be able to stand it," Christophe chuckled nastily in his ear. He heard the others echo his captor's laugh and struggled again, but the pressure on his windpipe was almost enough to choke him so he quickly stopped resisting and tried to keep his hands high enough between his shoulder blades so that they did not pull on the collar. He heard the cap on the little bottle pop and tried to hold his breath when Christophe waved it under his nose. The familiar icy tingle in his nostrils warned him in advance of their intentions but he could not keep from breathing forever and the initial rush of the nitrite made his head swim and left him quivering on his knees, his heart racing uncontrollably. 

When Christophe turned on the vibrator inside him, he was already trembling furiously. His sex strained against the restraint of the cage and he struggled again, to no avail. This time the pressure on his throat almost throttled him before he was able to make his arms obey the simplest mental instructions. He was not sure how long they kept the dildo oscillating gently inside him but it had the desired effect. His caparisoned cock was leaking unchecked by the time they turned off the vibrations.

"I think he likes that," Giovanni laughed wickedly. "Naughty little boy. He wants to cum, doesn't he?"

"Well he can only cum if he asks nice enough," Christophe said more firmly. "Are you listening, you little slut? Are you ready to beg your Masters for relief?"

Rayne shook his head adamantly. His limbs were twitching furiously but he struggled to keep his hands high enough, swallowing hard against the leather strap that pulled across his larynx.

"Oh good," Christophe remarked urbanely. "I 'am' going to enjoy this."

Rayne heard a click and realised with a surge of fury that they were taking pictures of his humiliation. Someone grabbed him by the hair and pulled him upright and then Christophe activated the vibrator once more, turning up the speed a little. Their captive yelped and his lean body bucked against the pulsing in his arse and groin. His breathing came in short, violent bursts as that ticklish sensation rippled through his nerves from the tormented bud of his prostate to his rapidly beating heart and the throbbing head of his pinioned prick. He could hear a pounding in his head that drowned out their muffled voices and laughter. Belatedly he realised that it was his own pulse, jolting away frenetically inside him. His arms and legs ached from the unaccustomed pose and his balls were screaming for relief.

The violent tremors inside him ceased again and he felt cooler air on his face as the gag was briefly removed.

"What do you have to say to us, slut?" Giovanni asked coolly, tugging on his dark hair again to pull back his head.

Rayne caught his breath, panting and sucking the fresh air down into his lungs desperately.

"Fuck you!" he hissed at last. "Fuck all of you!"

"The slut is making a slimy mess on my floor," Christophe sneered coldly. "Make him lick it up."

Before he could deliver a sniping response to that command, the rough fingers in his hair pushed his head down to the cold floor and he was jerked backwards so that the ankle cuffs strained against his slender legs. Someone was holding him down in an almost impossible position, with his head virtually between his knees. Rayne felt his senses swim. He could not breathe, let alone speak. 

"LICK UP YOUR MISERABLE SPILL!" Christophe bellowed at him and his face was rubbed in the salty wetness on the tiled floor until he was almost sobbing for breath. Weakly he tried to lick the cold tiles but his body was refusing to co-operate. He could feel the stars falling behind his eyes again. 

Just as he thought that he would probably pass out and finally experience a little mercy, he was hauled to his knees, huffing and panting like a winded animal.

"Salope!" Christophe shouted at him. "Imbecile! Putain!" 

"Give him what he wants," Giovanni suggested, more levelly. He was breathing hard close to Rayne's ear, still holding the boy's dark hair in his clenched fist. From the jerky motions of his body and shortness of breath he was also masturbating hard with the other hand.

Rayne tried to swallow and failed. He tried again.

"Drop dead!"

"I will make you wish you were dead," Christophe warned him, somewhere behind his head. "Stupid bitch!"

"Tell him what he wants to hear," Giovanni was whispering in his ear again. "Tell him you will be a good boy for him. You will do as he tells you, si?"

"I'll die first," Rayne panted through clenched teeth. "And if I do, Paddy McNamara will have your fuckin' bollocks for earrings!"

"Why do you have to make this so difficult for yourself?" the Italian wanted to know, unfazed by his threat. "It could be pleasure for you 'and' for us."

"I'm 'not' your fuck toy!" Rayne hissed at him, shaking his head and strangling as the collar pulled tight again. "I 'never' will be!"

"Gag the little bitch!" Christophe snapped at his fellow tormentor. "We'll see about 'that'!"

Rayne shook his head frantically as Giovanni forced the padded gag back over his lips and pulled the straps tight again. When Christophe turned up the vibrator to its top speed his protests became muffled screams of painful stimulation.

INTO THE DUNGEON:

The villa complex at the heart of Port Nature was a maze of coloured, stuccoed single storey dwellings. Most were drowning in bougainvillea and russian vine. More than one had colourful birdcages on the bustling terrace and feral cats slunk around in the shade of tall palms and yucca plants, or dozed on walls in the bright sunlight. When Thierry stopped in front of a plain, whitewashed bungalow with shuttered windows, right at the heart of the miniature village, the others all quickly gathered around him.  

"It looks empty," Mikkal said with a frown. "Locked up, still."

"He does not open the shutters," Thierry barely whispered. 

"Is this where you found the letter?" PJ asked the still awe-struck Phil, who merely nodded at first then pointed a little further down the avenue.

"It was just around there somewhere."

"Do we knock?" Ant asked Thierry. "Or have you a key?"

He mimed the action of unlocking a door when the boy just looked blankly at him. Mikkal murmured; "Vous avez la cle?"

"The... key is with my things, inside." The French boy looked apologetically at him.

"If we knock, the bastard knows we're coming," Clay suggested grimly. 

"If he has Rayne in there, where are they most likely to be?" PJ asked the French lad speculatively.

"Christophe has a dungeon room in the back of the house," Thierry explained, his cheeks turning a little pinker. "Maybe they will keep him there. 

"Can we get in through a back window?" Ant mused out loud, still glaring at the house as if it had insulted him personally.

"If you break in he's gonna 'hear' you coming," Aldo pointed out, shaking his head.

"Well what do you suggest? Climb on the roof and shin down the chimney like fucking Santa Claus?" Ant rounded on him. "Let him 'know' we're fucking coming! Let the fucker shit himself!"

PJ heaved a sigh and stepped into the shadow of the terrace. There was a small button set in a ceramic pad, under a grille, by the door and he pressed it now and stood back to wait. For a moment or two nothing happened. Ant stared at him incredulously and Thierry moved behind Aldo looking suddenly nervous. Just as he was about to press the buzzer again, the console above it crackled into life and a hoarse sounding voice demanded sharply; "Oui? Qui c'est?"

PJ beckoned Thierry and Aldo gently pushed the blond boy forward. 

"Qui c'est?" the voice reiterated, sounding decidedly irritable.

"Speak to him," PJ whispered, nudging Thierry up towards the door.

Trembling so fiercely that he could barely walk, let alone speak, Thierry croaked; "C'est moi, Chris."

The door opened at once and Christophe's unexpected visitors needed no further invitation. They poured into the villa like a swarm of insects and wasted no time exploring every room in the place. Christophe began to protest as they forced him back up the hallway but in the face of Ant's cold glare and the sheer bulk of PJ and Clay he did not quibble for long. Mikkal put a protective arm around Thierry as the older Frenchman headed for him instead. Phil moved to stand on his other side and folded his arms, suddenly remembering why he had recognised Thierry. Last time he had seen the boy had been at a fetish club here at the Cap. Christophe had been wearing leather boots and a black peaked cap with a Nazi badge. Thierry had been on a leash at his feet, made up like a little slapper with his wrists cuffed to his thighs. He remembered thinking that the boy looked most uncomfortable.

"Leave him alone," he warned now. "You've done enough to him already!"

When burly strangers burst into the dungeon room, shouting and cursing in English, the remaining torturers scattered like mice before a particularly vengeful cat, fleeing into the bathroom and grappling with the windows in their eagerness to escape. Giovanni held his ground but only until Ant punched him in the head and knocked him to the tiled floor. As the three muscle-bound porn stars inflicted a little punishment of their own on the others, Ant dropped to his knees and wrestled with the straps and cuffs that restrained their quivering captive. Rayne curled up in a tight, defensive ball just as soon as his hands and feet were free. He wrapped his arms around his head and whimpered like a frightened pup, his whole body shuddering uncontrollably. Ant unfastened the gag and blindfold and tried to hold his terrified young friend but Rayne was still squirming and resisting him, moaning more urgently now. 

As his concerned lover ran soothing hands over his back and thigh, careful of the red, angry welts raised on his pale skin there, he noticed the black, rubber-covered cord that hung down between Rayne's buttocks and pulled on it gently, meeting resistance at once. There was a small plastic box on the end of the cord with a switch device and as he flicked the control back down to zero his companion shuddered once more, then curled up more tightly, panting for breath, his hands pressed to his face as if he could not bear to look at anything. 

"Sshhhhh," Ant soothed him, ignoring the shouts and screams and the sounds of fists pummelling flesh as justice was carried out in the next room. "It's okay. It's over, baby."

He pulled more firmly on the cord, recalling Thierry's words about his lover's fondness for inserting sex toys into his playmates. The dildo was wedged in tightly but he managed to pull it out after a little careful wriggling and tugging on the cable. Ant exclaimed softly and incredulously over the length of the thing, which had to be at least thirteen inches of pliable black latex. Rayne shivered and gasped breathlessly as it slipped wetly out of him. He moved a trembling hand between his legs now, struggling with the cock cage. Very gently, Ant helped him to remove the tight leather straps and carefully massaged the boy's raw, sore penis and swollen balls.




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 11



"Ssshhhhh," he whispered, scooping Rayne tenderly into his arms and holding the lad close as he began to sob more audibly. "Aahhh... don't cry, it's all over now. No one's gonna hurt you any more. I swear it!"

They got Rayne back to the boat a little before sunset. Ant insisted on carrying him all the way there, even though he argued weakly and rather shamefacedly that he could walk. In the end he gave in and closed his eyes as he was lifted in strong, warm, familiar arms and held tightly to his lover's breast, his head on the older man's shoulder. At one point he curled his arms around Ant's neck, hiding his tear-streaked face against his rescuer's hot, sweat-damp skin. 

Ant Wright had only left his side once since they found him and that was when Aldo came back, with blood on his knuckles and spattered across his powerful chest, to help console the boy. Ant rose silently then and walked back down the hall towards the front door where Christophe was fuming about the invasion of his privacy and arguing with Mikkal who still stood between the older Frenchman and his young lover, Thierry, arms folded implacably across his broad chest. 

"He belongs to me!" Christophe insisted, although there was perhaps an edge of fear in his voice as he said it. "You people cannot monopolise every beautiful boy on the Cap!"

"You're right," Ant said in a low, dangerously neutral tone, making Christophe whirl to face him with a little start. "We can't. But we can make damned sure that you never hurt one of them again!"

"Hypocrite!" Christophe sneered at him. "You agreed that such a thing would excite you! On the train..."

"On the train I said a lot of things that I regret," Ant interrupted, conscious of Mikkal's raised eyebrows, although the tall, imposing Finn did not say a word. "Toys and restraints are one thing. Humiliation is a completely different ball game, Christophe. You thrashed Thierry until he could barely stand upright. And for the things you've done to Rayne today I ought to fucking kill you! If you've damaged him, I'm gonna come for you with the biggest fucking dildo you've ever seen in your god-damned life!" 

Christophe opened his mouth to say something else but the words never left it. Ant's punch knocked at least three of his teeth out and slapped him into the wall. Thierry gasped in shock. Mikkal applauded slowly, with a humourless smile. Phil, who had been guarding the doorway merely shook his head in amazement.

Several hours later they were all back on Dan Leland's boat, including Thierry and Phil Honeywell, who seemed to have been accepted by the regulars with open arms. Neil and Craig Dupont who had spent all afternoon down on the Plage and missed much of the excitement now whooped and cheered as Phil related the storming of the bungalow to them, making it sound like a scene from a Batman cartoon, complete with 'Splat!' and 'Kerrpow!'. In the relative privacy of the bedroom, Rayne was sleeping at last. Ant had helped him to shower and Terry fetched Doctor Mahmoudi, who pumped him full of antibiotics (to be on the safe side) and a shot of something 'to help him settle'.

"You should have called the Police," Daniel lectured sagely now from the doorway as Ant lay on the bed beside his exhausted lover, stroking the boy's hair. "He could still press charges for assault, you know."

"Somehow, I don't think he will," Ant murmured, burying his face in Rayne's dark, silky hair as they curled together like hand-carved spoons on the huge bed. "And our way of dealing with him was infinitely more satisfying!"

Rayne Wilde slept like a dead thing for nearly three days. The Doctor visited him each morning and gave him a little jab to 'help with the pain'. He did not exact his usual fee for such services, for which his patient was profoundly grateful. Rayne was too enervated to even speak most of the time, he just sprawled on the bed wrapped in the silken sheets with his eyes closed, enjoying the stillness. Voices came and went. Gentle hands felt his brow or tried to sit him up a little to coax sips of chilled water or slivers of ice into his mouth, then Mahmoudi's needle slipped into his arm and down he went again into that comforting darkness where nothing could touch him. 

Aldo was sitting on the end of the bed when he came to his senses properly for the first time in days. The Italian youth was perched on a corner of the mattress with his legs crossed under him and his spine perfectly straight, peeling an orange. The sharp, citric scent roused his companion and Rayne's eyelashes fluttered as he rolled over and tried to sit up. 

At once Aldo sprang into action, abandoning his snack and catching the boy before he collapsed back onto the sheets, or worse, fell out of bed. Ant would never have forgiven him if that happened during one of the few, rare periods when he was not personally at Rayne's side.

" 's awright," Rayne muttered hoarsely as he was propped up and surrounded with pillows. "Don' fuss!"

"I want to fuss," Aldo insisted cheerfully. "You need some fuss. Antoine practically insists upon it. He will be most annoyed that he was not here when you awoke."

Rayne blinked at him sleepily. 

"Why do I feel like shit?"

"You don't remember?" Aldo asked, looking a little worried. 

"Dunno." Rayne shook his head, trying to clear the fog of sleep. "It's all a bit..." he waved a hand vaguely.

"Maybe that's good," Aldo said hopefully.

"Why would that be good?" Rayne demanded, pulling a sceptical face at him. "Uh-ohhh..." he added, before the Italian fellow could think of an excuse; "...I think I'm starting to remember why!"

Paddy came to see him that evening. Rayne opened his eyes slowly, coming out of a disturbing half dream in which he was pursued across Camber Sands by men in gimp masks with large nets. He sat up a little too quickly and strong hands caught him, holding him steady as he realised where he was. A little colour returned to his cheeks when his eyes met PJ McNamara's steady gaze.

"Aldo said you were beginning to feel more like yourself," he remarked evenly now. "You will forgive me, I hope for not coming to visit sooner. Your guard dog has been most vigilant in keeping me at bay. I think he believes I plan to mount you the moment I get you alone."

Rayne took a quick breath and licked his lips nervously. 

"Don't you?" he asked with a quick, teasing smile.

"I thought it might not be terribly polite," Paddy replied, his hands sliding gently upward over Rayne's shoulders and cupping his face. "You are looking a little healthier then when I last saw you, anyway. The marks on your cheek are healing well."

Rayne touched his face anxiously but could feel no evidence of indelible scars. He inhaled more deeply and his fingers lingered briefly on the backs of Paddy's hands, then fell away as he realised that Ant was sound asleep on the bed next to him. His visitor saw the way Rayne's expression flickered from tenderness through surprise and a little confusion and back to a look of tolerant affection as he tugged the delicate coverlet up over Ant's nude body. Sitting back on the edge of the bed, Paddy let his touch drop away and Rayne's pale green eyes darted back to his own at once.

"He's barely left your side," he said quietly. "I don't think he approves of me."

"He's only jealous," Rayne answered in a monotone. "He thinks he's in love with me."

"Is he not?" PJ smiled curiously. 

A little shake of the head was his only response. Rayne sighed deeply and looked away.

"What makes you so sure?" the Irishman enquired.

For a moment Rayne seemed to stare into space as if he saw another time and place to the one he was in; a place where the answers were. He flexed his long, pale fingers slowly, then bent his head. 

"I'm not someone people fall in love with," he whispered at last with a hint of resignation.

"Since when?" PJ's smile faltered but his tone was still gentle.

"Since... always." Rayne looked up at him finally, his lips twitching almost apologetically. He seemed both impossibly young and immeasurably ancient in that moment. Paddy almost leaned forward to hold him but the instant passed and Rayne was looking away again, watching Ant sleep like a worried parent with a small, sickly child.

"I don't think that's true," Paddy told him at last, exhaling the words carefully. "I think that you don't like to let others get too close. Maybe you think that they'll hurt you. Maybe you believe that you're safer if you don't give them the keys; if you don't even let them through the door. I reckon you've broken some hearts in your time, Mr Wilde."

The look he got in return for that observation was one of mild disgust and casual dismissal. Rayne plumped up the pillows and leaned back against them for a little while, then shifted again restlessly, pulling his feet up under him and propping his elbows on his knees. His hands moved constantly, tracing light, airy, invisible patterns between them as if he could conjure enchantments to protect him.

"You just want me to get well so that you can fuck me," he said at last, rather deprecatingly. "Just like Ant wants me to get well so that he can get inside me and I can make some money and pay him back. Dan just wants me to get the fuck off his boat! I think he's a bit scared of me, actually." A cynical smile flashed across his face and was gone just as quickly as it came. "You all are, when it comes down to it."

"I'm not scared of you, Rayne," PJ told him with a small shake of his head. "And yes, I do want to fuck you. And it's nothing about movies and money. I want to get inside your body and feel you merge with me and cry out for me until we're both melting with pleasure. You are one hell of a challenge, Rayne Wilde. I just want to... to please you."

Rayne's response was nonplussed. He snorted softly through his nostrils and looked away again, closing his eyes.

"You're damned hard to impress," the older man informed him, utterly bemused by this.

His lithe young companion did not look at him but murmured; "You want to impress me, do you?"

"I wanna get through to you," PJ said. "I wanna register in your eyes. I just want to know that you're human like the rest of us, I guess."

Rayne shrugged his shoulders. "That's tough," he replied quietly.

PJ frowned at that. It seemed such a cold thing to say; so crushing and final. 

"Is there 'anyone' out there who impresses you?" he wanted to know. "Is there anyone in this world that Rayne Wilde sees as an equal, huh? Do you actually give a good god damn about anyone at all?"

Those green eyes came slowly back to his. Rayne's lips framed a crooked half smile but it never reached his eyes.

"That really bothers you, doesn't it?" he ventured at last, tilting his head, studying Paddy as if he was an image in a frame on the wall of a gallery. "You're really freaked about the idea that I might not actually give a shit!"

"I find it... kinda disturbing," the Irishman admitted. "You're a good looking boy, Rayne. You've got a lot going for you and you don't seem to realise it. Or you don't actually care."

"I had teachers like you when I was a kid," the young man told him with a speculative smirk. "Fucking trainee social workers, every last one! When the fuck are you gonna realise that it doesn't matter?"

Paddy shook his head, bewildered by this remark. "I don't get it. What do you mean, it doesn't matter?"

Rayne uttered a little sigh of frustration and looked away again. His hands spread wide then curled into fists and fell into his lap. 

"No one gives a fuck! I don't give a fuck, PJ! Shit happens. Most of it happens to me!" He looked down at his hands for a little while then closed his eyes again. "Why the fuck would anyone want to take that on?"

"You talk like you believe you're cursed," Paddy said incredulously.

"Maybe I am."

Rayne was shutting the door. He sensed it right away and moved closer at once, refusing to let the kid push him out.

"I don't believe that."

"More fool you!" Rayne muttered without lifting his chin. 

Paddy McNamara reached out and cupped his face before he could flinch away. He drew Rayne towards him until he could almost taste the boy's quick, angry breath. Those eyes were incandescent. He had never known anyone so determined to be right.

"Let me prove it," he whispered.

"Fuck. Off." Rayne's teeth came together with a little click behind slightly parted lips. His expression was almost a snarl.

"You think I kicked the crap out of those perverts the other day because I enjoy kicking ass?" PJ almost laughed. He did not know whether to be angry or amused. "I did it because I don't like to see helpless people get abused."

" 'm not helpless," Rayne muttered, trying to shrug out of his grasp. "I don't need your help. I don't want you to feel sorry for me. It doesn't make a scrap of fucking difference!"

"What 'do' you want?" PJ asked, sensing an opening.

"I want you to leave me alone."

He was surprised and somewhat deflated. "For real?"

Rayne quivered like a tensioned cable in a high breeze. Then his delicate hands moved up to Paddy's thick red hair and surged through it, fingers closing and tugging on it as if he would fall if he let go. His head tilted again and his soft, moist lips pressed against PJ McNamara's mouth kissing him ravenously, all but sucking the air out of his lungs. He felt small and cold, a tiny, fragile thing, clinging on to life. Groping hands pushed through Paddy's mane to the back of his head and he looped his slender arms around the other man's neck, pulling himself closer. His lips moved rapidly as if he was speaking a silent language into the Irishman's mouth; directly into his soul. PJ scooped him up and held him tightly, feeling Rayne straddle him and rub against him as if he needed someone else's warmth to survive. 

He rose to his knees, bending forward, laying the boy down again and carefully lying on top of him. Automatically, Rayne spread his legs and hooked his knees up over his partner's hips, rubbing his slender body urgently against Paddy's muscular belly and torso as the Irishman's tongue searched his open mouth. Beside them, Ant grunted in his sleep and rolled over slowly and they both froze. Rayne was looking up at him with huge, melting green eyes. His pupils were enormous, almost dwarfing the irises. As PJ's lips parted softly from his he could hear the boy panting rapidly under him. 

"You wanted to know how much I care?" Rayne whispered to him breathlessly. "There's lube in the cabinet by the bed. Rub it on your dick and push it into me, McNamara. Ram your big cock up my arse and fuck me 'til I scream! Wake him up. Let him watch. Let him fucking well join in!"

The last comment was uttered in a snarling tone that shattered his desire. Paddy shifted his weight onto his elbows. For a moment he traced the pale, hungry face of the slight, frenetic, bewildering boy beneath him, then he knelt up slowly and disentangled himself from Rayne's grasp feeling a sudden chill in his loins. 

"Coward!" the youngster exhaled vehemently as he rose to his feet beside the bed. Rayne's eyes never left his face but Paddy could not hold that ferocious, half-crazy stare. And surely he 'was' out of his mind!

He shook his head slowly and sorrowfully and reached out to smooth the boy's hair. Rayne thrust his hand away and rolled over with a little gasping noise that might have been a sob or a brief sigh of disgust. As Paddy watched him, Ant turned again and curled an arm around the boy's shoulders, drawing him closer. Rayne burrowed into that embrace and did not look back.

ON DECK:

"That was quick!" Aldo was laughing as he mixed Paddy one of his special Blue Witch cocktails, following the tall Irishman out onto the rear deck where Daniel and Terry were already ensconced with Arturo and Isolde, chatting amiably in the evening sunlight. ""Not to mention quiet!"

"That's because nothing happened," PJ said impassively. 

"Sure!" Aldo was still grinning at him.

"His boyfriend was with him, what did you 'think' was gonna happen?" Paddy took the cocktail glass and lowered his imposing bulk into a wicker chair, which creaked alarmingly under him but held his weight.

"Sound asleep," Aldo remarked, shaking his head. "He's probably exhausted enough to sleep through the boat sinking!"

PJ shrugged and sipped his drink with a solemn expression on his face. 

"What's all this about?" Daniel asked mildly, a little frown creasing his brow.

"Paddy's got a crush on Rayne," Aldo grinned more broadly. 

"Yeah, right!" PJ sighed, fixing the younger man with a steely look.

"Come on, everyone knows you hate it when they hold out on you," the Italian youth teased. "And he's got you wound up like a god-damned spring, old man!"

Terry and Isolde laughed heartily at this and Arturo cracked a smile behind his bushy moustache but PJ only shook his head again and Daniel's frown deepened. Nothing more was said about the matter but the elderly pornographer cast more than one speculative glance in PJ McNamara's direction before the evening was out. 

AND DOWN BELOW:

As Rayne huddled into the curve of Ant's hot, naked body, burying his face in the salty flesh at the hollow of his neck and shoulder, he was cursing himself furiously and silently. It was too easy to cry right now. He still felt weak and less than himself. Mahmoudi had been giving him morphine, he suspected, and it was never good for him but this was just ridiculous. He felt as if someone had physically turned him inside out and now all his thoughts and emotions were on display, raw as open veins and stretched nerves. How the hell else had PJ known just how to pull his strings? 

Had he not been wasted, there would have been no way he'd have allowed their argument to get so far. So let the arrogant Irish prick think he was a complete slut. In a few days he would be out of here, with money in his pockets and a smile on his face. He would never see McNamara again. What did it matter?

Rayne closed his eyes on the prickle of tears and swore to himself quietly. 

"Jesus, stop it! Fuckin' stop it, you idiot!"

"Stop what?" Ant murmured quietly and the boy sat up as if a gun had gone off behind him.

Blue-grey eyes opened and surveyed him shrewdly as he scrubbed at his face, eradicating the tears as quickly as they had come. His breath came in rapid huffs that were not quite sobs.

"I thought you were asleep," he panted, flopping back down and hiding his face in the pillows. 

"I gathered," Ant said, rather neutrally. 

"I was talking to myself." Rayne rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, willing himself to think straight. "I was just mad at myself... for... for letting them get me so easily."

"Not because you freaked McNamara out and missed a shot at that cock then?" Ant queried atonally. 

Rayne turned his head, staring at the other man incredulously.

"You...?"

"Yeah, I was awake. Or do you want to try and convince me that I didn't hear any of that?" Ant was looking back at him, his expression unreadable.

"I'm..." Rayne swallowed hard, trying to remember exactly what it was that he had said to PJ. He remembered getting angry and a sense of wanting that was almost strong enough to choke him. "It... it's not what you think."

"It never is," Ant sighed, sinking back into the pillows and gazing up into the shadows of the ceiling. "You know something, I could probably have coped with all the moods and the tantrums. I could even have coped with you taking drugs and lying bald about it. But what I can't take is that you were prepared to do something like that; to fuck him and rub it in my face. Maybe Dan was right about you, after all. I should have left you in the fucking snow!"

Rayne opened his mouth to say something. His lips quivered and he knew that it was no good. He was going to cry and that would cut no ice right now. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet and forced the quaver out of his voice long enough to snap; "Maybe you fuckin' should have!"




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 11



He heard Ant sit up as he rummaged around for his bags and his guitar case and the other man sounded a little perplexed as he asked; "What are you doing?"

"What I should have done from the start," Rayne Wilde told him bitterly, and tumbled out into the corridor with his meagre belongings before his tears blinded him. 

Ant caught his shoulders and tried to turn him around and Rayne pushed him away furiously. 

"Leave me alone!" he yelped. "You fuckin' said it, didn't you? You're better off without me. You believe it. Everyone believes it, so it must be true! Now back off!"

"I 'don't' believe it," Ant said to him a little more forcefully.

"You think I'm a tart, and you're right!" Rayne caught his breath and looked down so that his hair screened his ashen face and hid his red-rimmed eyes. "I'm a dirty, cheap little slut! It's true! I'd have let him do it, but he was too much of a fuckin' coward to take me on in your bed! So tell me to fuck off! Slap me; tell me I'm cheap. Whatever you want! Do it!"

The murmur of conversation in the background told them both that they suddenly had an audience. Rayne held his ground, sniffing back the tears, feeling as if his legs would give in at any moment. Morphine, for sure! It was still in his system. He swayed dangerously and took a step back to lean against the wall before he dropped. 

"I want to know why you're doing this?" Ant said quietly. "I want to understand. Do you imagine that I turned the Cap upside down looking for you the other day just to let you walk away from me? Do you think I sat with you for three fucking days just to keep his hands off you? I'm not an animal, Rayne. I have feelings, you know!"

The younger man shook his head slowly. He felt suddenly very hot and very unsteady. This was not good. Not good at all.

"I know you do," he answered almost inaudibly, because it was easier than arguing. He felt sick. "I know you have feelings. I know you're a decent person. I know it. I'm just... I'm 'not'!"

"Are you in love with 'him', is that it?" Ant wanted to know.

Rayne closed his eyes and shook his head again.

"That's not it."

"You want to be with him though?"

Ant was persistent and Rayne just wished he would drop the subject. All he wanted was to lie down and never get up again. 

"No-o. I want you 'both' to leave me alone," he retorted through gritted teeth. His fingers were curled tightly around the handle of his bag and the strap of his guitar case. The nails dug into his palms and he squeezed harder, concentrating on the pain. It cleared his head a little. "Please," he implored quietly. "Please let this go. I'll leave. I'll pay you back. I'll do whatever you want, just let it go."

For a little while no one spoke or moved and he was on the verge of just turning and walking out, through the Day Room, off the boat, away. He wondered if anyone would actually bother to stop him, then wondered if it would matter to him if they didn't. Someone took hold of his arm then and steered him in the opposite direction. Rayne started to resist then realised that the person propelling him back through the boat, past the bedroom he had so recently vacated and into one he had never yet seen, up in the prow of the vessel, was Daniel Leland.

Leland waved aside the protests from Rayne and from Ant as he firmly guided the young man into his bedroom and pushed him towards the bed, closing the door behind him. He turned a key in the lock and folded his arms as Rayne stared at him in bewilderment. 

"What...?"

"Shhh," the old man exhaled at once. "Not a word. I don't want to hear it. I'm going to talk and you're going to listen. Oh for goodness' sake, sit down before you fall down!"

Rayne let his knees buckle and was grateful when the comfortable king-size bed was near enough to catch him. His fingers dropped the bags he had been clutching to the thick, white rug underfoot. The whole room was decorated in white and varnished oak. The bed was diamond shaped and built right into the prow with long, snow-white curtained windows on either side. The cabinets built into the walls around him were all the same polished wood as the window ledges and the bedframe. Several sepia toned pictures of muscular, nude men hung on the otherwise unadorned walls. He blinked at them wearily, half aware that the subject was the same in each, an incredibly handsome and very well endowed blond. In more than one photo he was almost fully erect. Rayne took a deep breath; Patrick McNamara had serious competition after all.

"You like those, do you?" Leland asked, his tone mellowing slightly as he followed Rayne's eyes. 

Rayne managed a weak smile and asked; "Is he one of your... performers?"

His host only laughed and shook his snowy mane for a moment. 

"No, Rayne," he answered at last. "He's much closer to us than that. 'Much' closer!"

He walked to one of the cabinets then and removed his sarong, reaching for a long, black satin dressing gown that was hanging from the door there. As he did so, Rayne realised three things; firstly that he had never seen Leland laugh; secondly that he had never seen the man completely naked and third and finally that the man in the photographs was standing bare feet away from him. For a few moments, 'completely' bare!

"Jesus!" he exhaled, his jaw sagging at the brief flash of flesh before Daniel Leland pulled on his gown. "And I thought you had an inferiority complex!"

The old man looked back at him with a curious twinkle in his silver eyes. 

"You did, did you? I hope you no longer believe so." He nodded towards the nearest of the prints. "They were taken when I was about twenty three years old. Of course these days they are considered quite tame but in those days it was rather scandalous to see a man naked, let alone... engorged."

His young guest put a hand to his mouth to hide the smile. He felt awkward around Leland, conscious that he was not the old filmmaker's favourite person in the world right now, and he did not want to do anything that would encourage Daniel to throw him physically into the Mediterranean.

"You were a porn model?" he asked instead.

"I was a professional artist and I modelled to make a little extra money. A client requested these pictures and paid me handsomely and I began to understand that there was a rich living to be made by providing such images," Leland came to the bed and sat down beside him, looking solemnly at Rayne. "You are impossibly unhappy here, aren't you?"

The question wrong footed him and Rayne opened his mouth twice to give a flippant response before he said; "I've messed up, haven't I?"

A nod greeted this acknowledgement. Daniel sighed gravely.

"You have caused me more trouble than all of my other actors put together," he remarked. "I tolerate you because Ant is taken with you, even though I disapprove of his relationship with you. Also..." he added, almost as an afterthought; "...because you 'are' incredibly pretty."

A tanned weathered hand cupped Rayne's cheek and caressed it with a touch like old parchment. He did nothing more, just stroked the boy's face and gazed searchingly into his wide green eyes. Rayne sat like a statue, hardly daring to breathe, let alone move. This was beyond unexpected, it was almost insane. Daniel Leland had to be nearly eighty!

"Wh... what do you want?" he whispered at last, still paralysed by that steady look and careful touch.

"Not what you think," Leland said almost at once. 

"What do I think?" Rayne was still staring at him like a kitten transfixed by a cobra. 

Daniel Leland sat back and drew his hand away with a knowing smile. He shook his head gravely.

"What would I have to offer to make you do what you 'think' I want to do with you?" he laughed softly and humourlessly. "I don't make bargains with the Devil's kin. I want only two things of you, Rayne Wilde. I want to get this thrice damned movie made before McNamara starts to bill me for wasting his time, and when it's in the can I want you gone from here. I want you to leave Anthony alone. I'll give you enough money to take you back to London or to any city in Europe in comfort. What you do once you get there is up to you, so long as you don't go looking for him and you don't hurt him again." He took a long, purposeful breath and exhaled slowly. "Do you understand?"

Rayne just blinked at him. After a moment he swallowed again. 

"You're trying to buy me off?"

"No," Leland corrected. "I'm offering you a small incentive to do the right thing. Believe me, if you don't accept my offer then I can find infinitely less expensive ways to get rid of you."

"I don't get it," Rayne whispered, shaking his head. "I know I'm not exactly Miss Perfect but why the fuck would you care? Do you think he'll be happy if I disappear?"

"Anthony and I go back a long way," the older man replied more firmly. "He is, in some respects, like a son to me. And I take his welfare seriously. I think that you are not good for him, Rayne."

His young companion let out a short, whistling breath. For a moment he was simply stunned. He had been told a good many things that franked his low sense of self-esteem in the past but no one had ever given him money to just fuck off out of someone's life. At first he was not sure if he was angry or just so shocked that he wanted to laugh.

"What happens if I won't do it?" he perversely wanted to know.

"The Mediterranean is a big enough sea to support one more food source," Daniel Leland said, perfectly straight faced. "I've heard there are even sharks this far north in the summer."

"You wouldn't dare!" Rayne was halfway to his feet when that lean, tanned hand caught him in a grip like a fighter's. 

"How determined are you to find out?" Silver grey eyes outstared him and he wrestled free, staggering back from the bed in genuine astonishment now. 

"You're a fuckin' lunatic!"

"And you're a fucked up little drug addict. I won't put up with you messing my friends around, Rayne Wilde. You can get clean or you can get lost. I don't care which." Leland narrowed his eyes seriously. "The latter choice would be a waste, I confess, but I will not pander to you if you decide against the former. Looks are everything in this business and yours won't last if you persist with this way of life."

Rayne swallowed hard, blinking back the hot, tingling threat of tears again. He backed up as far as the wall then let himself sink down it until he was sitting on the floor with his forehead against his knees. The flood came then and he could not stop it, even though he told himself that Leland would not be impressed. He was quite right about that. 

The old man let him cry himself out and only when he was panting and retching quietly with his head in his arms, did he rise and catch hold of Rayne's hands, pulling him to his feet and steering him back to the bed. Daniel gently tumbled him onto the duvet and fetched a soft, pale throw, which he wrapped around the boy. 

"I don't want to know what that was for," he said gravely at last. "If you want me to feel sorry for you, then you're out of luck. Pull yourself together. I don't expect to see rings around your eyes in the morning. If you look less than one hundred percent for the cameras I'll find someone else to play your part. Pretty boys are ten a penny down here in the summer, Rayne Wilde."

"Why don't you just find someone else?" Rayne croaked as he felt the old man rise and heard him head back towards the door. 

For a little while there was just a contemplative silence, then Daniel Leland murmured; "A very good question, that." 

The door shushed open and clicked shut, and he was gone. Rayne sank back onto the bed and put both hands over his face with a little groan of dismay.

END OF PART ELEVEN



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 12



A BOY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD – CHAPTER 12

"BOYS ON FILM"

© Sadie Rose Bermingham 2006 

 Apologies for the delay to Chapter 12. I've been swanning around Europe and London enjoying myself so things have gotten a little behind. Which, by happy coincedence, is exactly what Aldo and Barclay hope to get themselves at the end of this chapter! As usual, the author reserves the right to stomp all over the heads of anyone who pilfers this material without permission! To everyone else... enjoy!

UNPREPARED:

In spite of all his darkest speculations, Rayne was not molested as he slept in Daniel Leland's bed. In fact the old man did not sleep there at all. Probably too busy planning his revenge, Rayne though now, with the added benefit of hindsight. The elderly pornographer had not lied about wanting to get on with his pet project. Which is why the denizens of both boats were up and about especially early on this bright, sunny, mid-June morning.

There was a sense of purpose to everyone today; even laughing and chatting casually over croissants and coffee. It was Terry Goodwill, not Leland himself, who came to wake Rayne. The big man was gruff and almost deliberately distant with him, which put Rayne on his guard at once. 

"You slept well," Terry said, as he struggled to sit, knuckling the grit from his eyes. It was less of a question, more a request for affirmation.

Rayne nodded warily. There had been nightmares; that much he recalled. When he slept alone he often suffered from them, but he sensed that Terry did not want to hear about that. Nor did he want to tell, in truth. 

"Good." The tall, brawny, ex-pat Londoner looked him up and down. "Need you feelin' chipper today. You've got a lot of work to do."

"Yeah?" he responded, inarticulately because the reminder made him feel sick. It was the reason he was still here, he knew. Leland had a film to make and the old man did not care how anyone else felt about that, so long as shooting ran to schedule and the bills got paid. The 'stars' of these movies were not booked for their brains or their emotional interpretation skills; he was wise enough to know that much. He was here because he was pretty and men liked to fuck him, and even more so – men liked to watch him getting fucked.

"You seen the Treatment?" Terry asked, and he shook his head. 

There would be no script. There never was but generally the production team put together a 'treatment', a brief guide to the programme of events, if you like. When he worked on 'Going All The Way' he had not bothered to read it. Baz gave him instructions; basically 'look cute and do as you're told'. Leland gave him technical directions from off camera, which were later edited off the soundtrack, and Rayne got naked and made out on a bare bed with two extremely bare strangers. The results, he had been assured, were astonishingly good. It was probably the only reason he was still on the payroll for this movie.

Rayne privately wished he had been a bit less eager to please back then. 

"I'll get you a draft and you can check it out before breakfast; then shower, teeth cleaned, full douche, okay? We're outta here at ten sharp."

Rayne looked enquiringly at him.

"We're not filming here?" he asked blankly.

"Does this place look like a fuckin' film set?" Terry chuckled, genuinely amused for the first time this morning. "You lemon! No, we'll nip up to Beziers this morning, film the school sequence at a mate's place, then come back to port and shoot on Paddy's boat PM. Give you a break between so's you can get some stretching time!"

He leered at the younger man and this time Rayne could not help it. He blushed like a child, unable to stop himself. The knowing look on Terry's face was too much. Clearly he was wondering just who would help him to stretch, and even Rayne knew that they were not talking about sit-ups! Last time it had been Baz who took him on one side and gave him a quick, reassuring pep-talk like some over-enthusiastic PE coach, before rubbering up and fucking him quick and hard in the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later Rayne had been out there, on the bed with the cameras rolling, hyped up on speed.

He wished he had some speed now. Even more, he wished that Ant was still talking to him. Just having someone to hold him would have helped.

Ant was still asleep when Rayne rose and took his first shower of the day. Through the half open door he could see from the corridor into the bedroom they had shared. In the dim, warm half-light he made out the comfortable curve of the older man's shoulder and bare chest rising from the rumpled sheets, arms twined around the shorter, leaner frame of Thierry's naked body. The French lad's face was buried in the crook of his right arm and his blond hair splashed over the pillow like a bright star. Rayne froze there, staring at this scene with a sudden irrational surge of jealousy that all too quickly turned to anger and frustration.

Was 'that' how much Ant thought of him? It certainly had not taken the other man long to find himself a replacement bedmate!

Feeling irritable and betrayed, he pulled himself away and forced his body under the shower, turning up the heat until the water was almost blisteringly hot. He felt dirty and worthless just for being here. The searing spray drilled into his flesh like a thousand superheated pins and he concentrated on the sensation. It was almost unbearable but the pain was just enough to cut through his confusion and give him focus. When he stepped out of the shower room he was calm and quiet inside. 

In the Day Room people were already up and about. Arturo had arrived with the Twins and a number of other boys, who looked both scared and excited by this new situation. They whispered among themselves like children whenever someone walked into the room. When Rayne came in one of the Twins murmured something under his breath. There were a few nervous giggles but most of the lads stared at Rayne Wilde with a mixture of awe and disgust.

He turned his back on them at once, finding a plate and piling it with small, warm brioches, although he had no appetite for food at all. There was grapefruit juice in a tall jug and he poured two glasses of the stuff down his throat, followed by a tumbler full of iced water, before helping himself to coffee. Thus fortified he went up to sit on the roof deck where it was still mercifully quiet. 

Aldo had beaten him to it. The Italian was tucking into a hearty breakfast of grilled mushrooms and tomatoes and two huge poached eggs on a slice of granary toast. He cheerfully waved Rayne over and the boy sank down beside him, nibbling on a brioche and trying not to look at the contents of Aldo's plate. His companion clucked at him disapprovingly. 

"You will never be strong, eating crumbs like a sparrow!" he teased. "This is good. Lots of energy but little fat. We need this today, si?"

"I dunno how you can!" Rayne told him, burying his nose in the coffee cup, which was more of a small bowl with a handle. "I just feel sick, Aldo."

At once the other lad was concerned. He put a hand on Rayne's arm, peering intently at him. 

"You will be okay, no?"

"Yeah... I guess," Rayne answered him non-committally, staring down into his cup. "I just... I don't feel very hungry."

He put down the cup and the plate, leaning forward with his arms folded on the guard-rail and his chin on the backs of his hands. It was a stunningly beautiful morning, already hot and bright although it was not much after nine am. Light glittered off the water and the streamlined hulls of the yachts and cruisers bobbing idly at their moorings. People strolled along the quayside; happy holidaymakers, blissfully ignorant of what was going on here, right under their noses. Rayne envied them. He wished that he could feel so anonymous and unconcerned. From his early teens he had been conscious of how people looked at him and whispered about him. After Brian was sent down for molestation it got progressively worse. The trial had been fairly confidential and Rayne was not named in the newspapers but Dymchurch was a small place and gossip travelled like wildfire. He shut it out because it was all that he 'could' do in the end. He had become very proficient at not letting others see how much he cared. 

The downside to that, he supposed now, was that they all believed that he did not. Rayne clenched his teeth and looked down at his hands and wrists miserably. The scars were not so prominent now but still they stood out, slightly paler than the rest of his tanned skin. To his surprise, Aldo wriggled a little bit closer and the hand on his forearm slid up and across to his far shoulder. 

"Please eat a little. Just for me," the Italian whispered huskily. "I will take care of you, I promise. You do not have to be afraid. I will be there."

"I'm not scared," Rayne said stubbornly. "I... I... just... I don't like this part. I don't like the hanging around... people staring at me... knowing..."

Aldo nodded his head sympathetically. His arm tightened around Rayne's slim shoulders and he murmured; "It is hard, I know. When I was first beginning in these films, I was always the bottom, si? You understand? Because I was very young and all the guys knew what I was there for. It makes you feel very... vulnerable, no?"

Rayne risked a look at him. He did not believe that Aldo would tease him about something like this but he looked anyway. The dark eyes that met his own were serious and concerned and he felt even worse knowing that Aldo seemed genuinely worried about him.

"Yeah," he breathed quietly, at last.

"Don't worry," Aldo told him levelly. "These guys are good. They are not going to hurt you."

Rayne swallowed feeling his mouth go suddenly dry. He looked away again, watching the boats and the people enjoying their pleasant, uncomplicated, ordinary lives.

"Who are the kids that came with Arturo this morning?" he asked at last, focussing on the facts. If he could look at this situation practically maybe that would help.

"You have not read the Treatment?" Aldo sounded a little surprised and Rayne's eyes flickered up to find his face at once. 

"No... Terry was gonna get me a copy. Have 'you' read it?"

Aldo half-smiled; "Of course!"

Something in the way he said that tightened all the muscles in Rayne's chest and stomach. He wanted to be sick but he just took another sip from his cooling coffee, never taking his eyes off Aldo.

"Has 'everyone else' read it?"

Aldo's expression sobered.

"I guess so," he said cautiously.

Rayne finally averted his gaze. His thoughts were in turmoil but uppermost among them was a desire to kill Daniel Leland. The old goon had done this on purpose! He just wanted to see his nemesis fall flat on his arse, preferably in front of P J McNamara.


"You can read mine," his friend volunteered stoically. 

"I will," Rayne said, with a scowl of defiance.

He was still reading as Terry shepherded them both down from the roof to make their ablutions. Aldo still watched him warily as he chewed on his lips, pale eyes growing darker and more appalled with every page. He knew that this was a particularly detailed Treatment. Some ran to no more than a single sheet of paper. Leland's was twelve whole pages, annotated with speculative camera directions. Rayne Wilde was no prude but by the time Terence Goodwill called them down his face was scarlet.

"You know what to do, eh?" the big Londoner grinned at him as he returned to the Day Room with his breakfast untouched, an utterly unreadable expression on his face. 

Rayne just looked at him. If looks had power, Terry would have been a dead man right then and there. As it was, he just flashed that too-knowing grin and walked away while Rayne fumed impotently behind him.

ANT: 

For most of the evening, once Dan had steered Rayne away into his bedroom, Ant had simply felt sick. He did not know whether to be angry, or hurt or just downright dismayed by the scene that had erupted between himself and the boy he had hauled out of the snow. A part of his mind was telling him that Daniel had been right. Rayne would never be grateful to him. The little bitch had no idea 'how' to say thank you. His cock, and some overriding impulse to hurt people and drive them away, governed him. He had tried his hardest to penetrate the tough veneer that shrugged off any show of concern but Rayne was having none of it. Ant had hoped at the very least that beating the crap out of Christophe would win him brownie points but apparently it was not to be so. Rayne was impervious to any offer of help. He just took it for granted as if it was some God-given right.

Ant closed his eyes and tried to shut out the memories of his beautiful, defensive, angry young face. He could not bring himself to speak to anyone just yet so he had gone up onto the roof deck and was lying under the stars with a glass in his hand, wishing that tonight had gone differently. If only he had been a bit less hasty, Rayne might be here with him, curled against his side, maybe stroking or sucking him as he ran his hands through the boy's silky hair. Ant might have gently seduced him until they were both making love fiercely beneath the bright heavens, instead of which he was here alone, seething to himself. 

He silently cursed Paddy McNamara to a fiery hell. Everything had been fine until the Irish National Stud stuck his great big oar in. Rayne had been... if not happy, then at least satisfied with his lot. Ant never had the impression that Rayne Wilde was happy but he had at least seemed to be settling down before McNamara and his crew arrived. And that had been the catalyst. 

He knew that Rayne was utterly unimpressed by fame, Daniel and the whole movie business rolled off his back like water in the shower, but maybe it was something about the allure of men with big cocks. Ant gritted his teeth at the idea of it. Finding Rayne curled up with McNamara on the sofa the other morning had almost been the final straw. Until then he had been able to kid himself that the boy was easily seduced; after all, they had got him very drunk the night before. It was easy enough to fall into the nearest bed... but to want to stay there the morning after. McNamara must have been some stud between the sheets because he had never known Rayne to be as animated as he was on that morning when the letter with his results arrived. 

And since then he had endured the nightmare of not knowing whether his young mate had fled completely, or been abducted. In a way it had been almost a relief to know that Christophe might have taken him. At least it meant that he could do something. And punching the French pervert's lights out had been immensely satisfying. 

More so had been the chance to hold Rayne in his arms and just make a complete fuss of the boy. He had been through a nightmare. Though he made no complaint, Ant sensed that Rayne was mortified by the experience and also in considerable pain. Later, with his nerves and impulses numbed by the drugs he was so soft and compliant that Ant could not help but want to make love to him. Somehow he had managed to hold off. It was agony, lying beside his lover and rubbing against his sleek body but unable to spread and enter him. He had never wanted a fuck so badly in his life. 

The half-sentient awareness of Rayne's little chat with McNamara was the thing that completely tipped him over the edge. He could almost taste Rayne's need for the Irishman. When the boy began to beg for sex it was all that he could do not to jump up and rip P J's throat out. So it was that he could not quite believe the man's immense restraint in getting up and walking away. Had he been placed in the same position he did not know how the hell he would have kept from ripping Rayne apart with his cock. In fact he wanted to get inside his lover so much that his passions were still running high once the boy discovered that he was awake and cognisant of the facts. 

That had been his last mistake. Ant had been embarrassed but curiously he sensed that Rayne was too. The scene with Paddy had not gone the way his young mate expected. And then he had been forced to explain himself. 

Ant let his head fall into his hands and groaned, utterly dismayed. How the hell had he let the situation get away from him so badly? When he realised that Ant was awake, Rayne had been horny enough to let him do anything. If he had just pulled the boy into his arms, said nothing, fucked him stupid... Ant sighed wearily, disgusted with himself. Since leaving London he had managed to contain Rayne's aggression but tonight it had exploded and completely overwhelmed him. He had underestimated just how far Rayne would go to avoid confronting the truth. And now he could not even talk to the boy. He could not even say how sorry he was. 

"Antoine?" 

The quiet voice started him out of his agonised reflection and he peeled his hands from his eyes and looked up, blinking owlishly into Thierry's huge, blue eyes. The slender French youth was sitting beside him. He must have come up here so quietly that Ant did not even hear his bare feet on the polished deck. Now Thierry stared down at him almost helplessly and he found himself reaching up, touching a reassuring hand to the lad's bruised face. 

"It's okay... I'm okay... I just... I wanted a moment."

"You want to be alone?" Thierry exhaled, almost fearfully. Ant sensed him drawing back as if he felt that he was not wanted. He curled his hand around the nape of Thierry's neck and pulled him very gently back down until he was lying across Ant's chest. 


"No... I don't think anyone really wants that," he murmured reassuringly, wrapping his arms around the bewildered lad. 

"It is not just you. He is angry at everyone," Thierry whispered huskily into his ear as they sprawled beneath the stars together. "I cannot understand him, Antoine."

"Then that makes two of us, Thierry," he answered disconsolately. 

He had no memory of staggering back down the stairs to his room but he knew that Thierry had come with him of his own accord. They had tumbled onto the bed together, the worse for wine and emotion. Thierry's soft mouth sought out his own and they kissed long and hard, like it was something they had discovered and no one had kissed before. Ant was astonished by how proficient Thierry was; he seemed little more than a child but he kissed with a hunger that matched Ant's own. 

They wound about one another in a serpentine embrace that seemed to have no beginning and no end. Thierry's hands moved constantly over his body, discovering his erogenous zones with a careful skill that Ant was envious of. In response he caressed the lad tenderly, stroking urgent fingers through his blond curls, coaxing Thierry's mouth down towards his cock as they writhed together on the bed. To his amazement the blond did not fight him; he was quietly compliant with all of Ant's desires and deliciously good at satisfying most of them too. 

At some point during the night he was conscious of pulling the little blond closer to his own body, feeling Thierry straddle him willingly, rising up above his crotch and reaching back to guide Ant's pulsing member between his creamy cheeks. His sweet hole was hot and welcoming, not as tight as Rayne's but still pleasing nonetheless. Ant groaned long and loud as he drove his cock into the lad, feeling Thierry's slender legs coil around his hips as he urged his groin upward to push himself deeper, his arse rising up off the mattress, back arching as he pressed his aching tool into that delicious heat. Thierry leaned over him, gasping and crying out quietly and Ant's hands stroked his pretty face, then slid down his back to his pert bottom just as the boy's arms snaked hungrily around his shoulders. They met at all points from the lips down and Thierry rode him almost savagely as he bucked upward to meet his new lover's lean, smooth, undulating body.




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 12



The first explosion, when it came, was a blissful relief. There were others, but he sank into that first one like some sweet panacea, letting the cooling balm wash over him and soothe his fears away.

ON SCREEN:

In the car on the way to Beziers, Rayne was unusually quiet. He sat up front with Terry whilst three of Arturo's boys whispered and giggled in the back. Even the burly, blond Cockney's pointed jibes failed to elicit much response and Terry soon gave up trying to provoke him and concentrated on the road, to Rayne's relief. Aldo had gone ahead in the Alfa with Arturo and the twins and another boy he did not know – although he was now aware that by the end of this afternoon they would 'all' be much more intimately acquainted.

Ant and Thierry had not come with them. He saw Ant only briefly before they set out, and not to speak to. Perhaps that was wise, he thought now. Another argument would not help his mood. He thought that the older man had looked rather sorry for his predicament and hated him passionately for it. 

Anything would have been better than pity; disgust, loathing... anything at all.

It felt strange to be dressed. He had put on his ripped blue jeans because they were at least well ventilated, and a black muslin shirt with the unbuttoned sleeves rolled down over his hands and arms. More than one of the newbies had tried to sneak a look at his scarred wrists and he could only sit and wonder what Crepe and Nellie had told them. He would not ask, or even bring himself to make small talk with them.

They arrived in the old city of Beziers just as it was closing for the siesta. Rayne leaned against the window frame and let the hot breeze fan his face as they drove along. He looked up at the tall, peeling, dusty facades of the buildings as they passed by. Once they might have been imposing mansions but now they seemed virtually derelict. Only the flutter of drying laundry on the occasional balcony told him that there was still life somewhere beyond those warped, faded shutters. As the aged Mercedes prowled back and forth along the winding streets , climbing steadily higher on the constantly winding thoroughfares, he caught brief glimpses of a pale yellow cathedral, standing like a crown at the crest of the hill upon which the town had been built. The journey felt like a dream. Rayne was sleepy in the shimmering golden heat, his mind filled with the words he had read on those twelve hateful pages.

He knew somehow that Daniel Leland was going to enjoy this day and that – if he survived it – he was going to find a way to make the old bastard very sorry for that.

When Terry's car finally stopped, it was in the courtyard of an old house built of dark stone, with varnished walnut shutters. The building rose for four storeys, crenellated on top like some ancient fortress, perched high on the side of the hill. After the hot white glare of the day the interior was a blissfully dark and cool place. It smelled of wood polish and warm old leather and reminded Rayne of school. There were tall, glass-fronted bookshelves on the long, high-ceilinged corridors and he wanted to stretch out his fingers and touch the spines of the books as he passed, but everything was shut away.

In a warm, sunlit sitting room where the shutters had been thrown open, Leland and P J McNamara were talking in French with a lean, weathered man in a dark, undertaker's suit. His grey moustaches were stiffly waxed like Salvador Dali's. 

P J was wearing a loose, elegant looking cream two piece suit and a white vest that stretched tightly over his rippling chest. His red-gold hair was pulled back in a casual tail at the nape of his neck and the soft, supple, pale brown leather shoes, worn over bare feet, were very probably handmade. His blue-grey eyes found Rayne's as the boy entered the room and a half-smile twitched his mouth, though he did not stop talking. Rayne had been ready to be angry with him too. After last night, Paddy had no reason to greet him so gently. As it was, just that quiet acknowledgement snatched at his gut and squeezed hard. Rayne turned away at once, sure that his feelings were scrawled all over his face like hieroglyphs. He let his gaze wander over the sunlit walls, taking in the paintings and the green-leather spines of yet more caged volumes, whose gilt-edged titles he could barely translate, rather than confront the man who turned him on so unbelievably.

Whilst he was pretending to check out the bookshelves, Mikkal wandered in casually, his long, white-blond hair also caparisoned down his back with a silver clip; clad in tailored, artfully-faded, button-fly blue jeans and a crisp white linen shirt. He wore white cowboy boots under the bootleg denims and grinned at Rayne, his Nordic blue eyes mischievous behind the huge round lenses of his reactolite sunglasses. He was carrying a clipboard and looked less like a porn star and more like a rogue librarian on his day off. The cut of his jeans just spoiled that. Rayne had never seen a librarian quite as well hung as Mikka Saarinen.

"You okay?" the tall Finn asked him in a conspiratorial tone. "No butterflies, huh?" 

"Only a few," Rayne lied, glad to see him all the same. A friendly face was a big plus right now.

Mikkal was carrying a large black canvas satchel slung over one shoulder and he checked his expensive watch, then fished in the bag. The package he produced was about a foot long and shrink-wrapped in bluish plastic. 

We'll shoot in about 25," he said practically. "You can relax your throat on that if you want. You might wanna rinse it first though, it's sterile but the wrap tastes..." He pulled a comical face, wrinkling his nose and running his tongue between his teeth. 

Rayne grinned in spite of his nerves. He held the dildo gingerly in the fingers of his left hand as if it might bite. 

"We're just doing the oral stuff this morning?" he asked, whilst he still had Mikka's attention. 

"You've not had the schedule?" the other man asked him incredulously, with a little click of his tongue. 

Rayne shook his head once. "I only read the Treatment this morning."

For a moment Mikkal just looked at him rather oddly, Rayne thought, then he cast a more searching glance at P J and Leland before running a hand through his silver hair. 

"I am managing amateurs," he stated dramatically, then grinned again to show the younger man that he did not mean this disparagingly. "Costume is down the hall, first right. I will get you the schedule. For the boys it is one scene and even cattle can do one scene! 'You'..." and he pointed at Rayne, "...should have the schedule. Do you have a watch?"

Rayne shook his head numbly but Mikka waved away this technicality.

"By this afternoon you will have one. I will give you the time calls. Go get changed and try to relax. There is water in the dressing room, and lubricant. Tastes better than the shrink-wrap, yeah?"

Rayne could only nod at that. There was no stepping back. Twenty-five minutes, Mikkal had said. Probably twenty now. And no schedule! He felt cold inside and followed the Finn's directions. All he could think was that Aldo had promised to be here, but there was no sign of the Italian. He felt ill.

In the room he had been directed to, the boys were already part-dressed from a rail against the far wall. They wore an assortment of rather archaic looking garments; loose black pants and white shirts with ruffled cuffs and collars, dark, cravat-style neckties and long, dark over shirts with slashed open sleeves. They were laughing and trading insults as he came in but one by one they clocked him, then fell silent, regarding him with expressions that ranged from the benignly curious to the openly hostile. From the Twins, the latter was de rigeur; he already knew that Crepe and Nellie did not like him, but from complete strangers it was a bit much.

"Awright Lady Muck," one of the Twins remarked, his faux cowboy twang completely abandoned this morning. "Thought you'd 'ave a room to yourself."

Rayne let his eyes run over each of them, taking his time. Experience had taught him not to back down from pack predators like these. Deference was the only excuse they needed to make his life a misery. Enough time for that once the cameras had begun to roll, he decided grimly. 

"Why would you think that?" he asked instead, moving over to the rail and smiling determinedly as he noted how the other lads moved aside for him in spite of their forced camaraderie. "Makes it harder for you to get it up for me, huh Craig?"

"He's Neil, 'I'm' Craig you stupid tart!" the other Twin sniped from somewhere just beyond his right shoulder. "Can't even get that right!"

A ripple of uneasy laughter followed this remark. Rayne unhooked the bag with his name on it and checked that it had not been tampered with. He guessed that Leland would give them hell if it had, but it never hurt to check.

"I reckon that when God gave out personalities, he just split yours down the middle," he said coolly now, without looking round. "Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber! Who 'needs' to know the fucking difference?"

Several lads caught their breath at that, but he heard a stifled giggle among the anticipatory mumbling before he turned around. Craig (he guessed it was Craig from the closer position and the look of sheer outrage on his face) was still hovering by his left shoulder. He was about four inches taller so Rayne 'had' to lift his chin a little to look up at him. 

"We're gonna enjoy this morning you dirty little cocksucker bitch!" Craig said coldly now. "You reckon you're God's fuckin' gift or something? Well Paddy likes the novelty, stupid! Once he's fucked you, it'll wear off pretty quick! Then what'll you do, huh?"

Rayne held his furious gaze for a moment, staring up at the younger man in bewilderment. This close he could see that Craig's eyes were hazel, flecked with mint green. His skin was not the best but he had covered it well with foundation and he smelled delicious but a little bit scared too. There was a sheen of fresh sweat across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He was part hostile, part afraid and Rayne wondered why.

"I'll think of something," he said evenly, at last. "Because 'I' have a brain, unlike 'some' people! Remember me, Craig Davenport... or whatever your real fuckin' name is... because when you're too old to be a twink and you're stacking shelves at Tesco's, 'I'll' still be doing something good with my fuckin' life. Wank off to 'that'!"

There was a frigid silence behind his words for just a few seconds. He could feel the electricity in the room as every eye turned to look at him. Just for that moment he had them.

"You'll go back on the game!" Neil sneered from the doorway, fracturing the tension with his childish bray. "He'll get bored with you Princess Candy Stripes!"

In silence, Rayne pushed his way to a clear corner and stripped off his shirt and jeans. He made sure that every boy in that room got a good look at the welts that were fading into the rich colour of his naked back and thighs. Again they gasped and whispered more urgently. 

"You reckon I give a fuck what some muscle brained Irish Yank thinks, do you?" he demanded without turning to look at them as he wriggled into the loose white shirt. It came down to his knees and he played with the drawstrings on the ruched cuffs, tightening them so that his hands remained free. "Paddy McNamara can suck my dick! In fact..." he added, turning around as he pulled up the soft black pants and tucked in the voluminous shirt carefully; "... he already 'has' and it was fuckin' mad!"

The mumbling increased but this time when he looked up there were a couple of admiring faces among the cynical ones. Rayne sighed and shook his head. He was still fastening the cravat awkwardly, since some of the boys were hogging the room's only mirror, when Mikka came back and called; "Ten minutes, girls!"

He spotted Rayne and came to him at once with the schedule, as promised. Rayne scanned it and found no real surprises. 

"Who's playing the director of the school?" he asked quietly, pointing to the second scene on this morning's filming schedule. 

Again Mikkal gave him a look that said he ought to know more, but he just said ; "Leland is," and straightened Rayne's tie. 

As the Finn left him to compose himself, Rayne unscrewed the cap from a bottle of mineral water and drank the lot without stopping for breath. Even that did not completely get rid of the sour taste in his mouth. He knew now why Mikka had given him the dildo. 

Retreating into a small anteroom off the main dressing room he found a sink with two ancient looking chrome-plated taps and a shelf to one side with more bottles of water and some tubes of gel. Taking a deep breath he unwrapped the toy and ran the flexible length of tan-coloured rubber carefully under the cold tap. It felt very supple; almost as soft as a real cock, although it was much longer than the average male member. Rayne focussed all of his attention on it now, shutting out the animated chatter from the next room. He could feel how nervous some of them were; anxious but keen to get on with it. 

They were playing around, teasing one another physically. He could tell from the little sighs and the nervous laughter that some were helping others to get aroused. They left him to his own preparation and he was quietly glad of that. With shaking hands he slowly lubed the foot long monster in front of him. Tentatively he squirted a little gloop of gel onto his tongue and swirled it around his mouth but it tasted better than some he had used; slightly buttery with a hint of strawberry Opal Fruits. He swallowed it quickly then began to play with the dildo.

"Five minutes!" Mikkal shouted from the hall. 

He heard one of the boys tell another to 'go more slowly'. Rayne tuned out their breathless mutual masturbation. He took the head of the rubber dong into his mouth and worked his jaws around the thickness of it, swallowing slowly, taking it down. He got to seven inches easily then withdrew a little, applying more lube. His throat accommodated it beautifully, with barely a hiccup and at eight inches he knelt down in front of the basin and unfastened his pants as he felt his own sex respond to the pressure in his mouth and down his gullet. Cock sucking always got him hot. It was almost embarrassing but even the thought of a nice, thick tool riding his tongue gave him a hard-on. Brian had trained him well. Rayne kept swallowing, eyes closed tightly, one hand over the protruding end of the toy and the other dipped between his legs, stroking his aching member very gently; his long fingers contracting and releasing rhythmically around his sex. Any faster and he would get cum all over the front of his black pants. Not a good start!

"Fuckin' hell!" 

A quiet voice from the doorway broke his near trancelike state of absorption. He felt his throat muscles tighten reflexively and pulled back. 

One of the Newbies was watching him intently, stroking his own cock as Rayne 'stretched' in front of him. His dark eyes were wide now, mahogany hair flopping down over his flushed, perspiring face. 

"Don't stop," he almost pleaded, as Rayne drew back to about four inches and let his tongue flicker around the thick rubber shaft between his lips. "Jesus! How long 'is' that thing?" the boy panted, jerking harder. 

"Three minutes!" Mikka called and there was movement outside. 

"What you doing?" Another stranger came to put an arm around the voyeur.

"He's amazing," the dark haired lad huffed, tugging on his cock. "Look at the size of that thing! He'd got nearly all of it down."

Rayne let the dildo slip slickly between his lips. He rolled his tongue around the head, never taking his eyes off the pair in the doorway.

"Paddy's is bigger," he said when neither of them moved. "And 'much' tastier!" 

He pushed himself to his feet and zipped his pants, then ran a sticky hand through his hair. 

"'scuse me," he grinned, loving the way they both fell aside for him. 

"Two minutes! Places girls!" Mikka's voice echoed down the hallway.

ACTION:

Boys in dark flowing robes spilled out into the corridor like crows. There were lights rigged up in the dark hallway now and a couple of nondescript cameramen in loose jeans and tee shirts wandered around metering the lighting, checking against a group and then a single boy. Terry was up on the rostrum at the far end of the hallway but there was no sign of Leland or of PJ McNamara.

"Rayne! Come to me for a count of five. When I shout 'action' everyone else is to start after him. You've read the 'treat' you all know what to do," Terry bawled at them.

Mikka had the clapboard and he met Rayne's eye as he began to count down from ten on his long fingers. Nine, eight, seven, six...on five the boy began to walk, slowly, a step at a time. Four, three, two one...

"Action!" Terry yelled, and there was a clatter of footsteps behind him. The cameras were running and Rayne blanked them out and lengthened his stride. On four he heard voices behind him and moved faster. As Terry made the call someone shouted; "There he is!" and he broke into a run, transported back around six or seven years to his own school days as he took to his heels and sprinted down the long, gloomy corridor. 

Up ahead he could see the camera on its dolly, gliding away from him effortlessly. It stopped smartly as he almost tripped over his long sleeves and then the pack descended on him, en masse. Rayne braced himself, on his hands and knees, as someone grabbed him by the hair. He was not surprised when his head was jerked up and he found himself looking into Craig's small, bright, vicious eyes. It was certainly Craig; this time he knew it. If there was a difference between the two of them, then Neil was the more submissive of the pair. Craig was simply spoiling for a fight. 

"You owe us, you little bitch!" he spat now as the others milled eagerly around him in a loose horseshoe formation so that the camera could still find him. "We let you off the last time but nobody's gonna get in our way now. You're gonna suck us 'all' off!"

Rayne closed his eyes for a moment. He let himself switch off and felt his cock get hard again as he heard someone unzip close by his left cheek. It was like a charm. He closed himself to the cameras and the watching eyes and let it happen. 

Craig was long and lean and rock hard; only about seven inches but very sleek and salty. Rayne wrapped his lips around that hot, eager cock and took it down, sucking and swallowing at once. He could hear the others muttering and panting, trying to get closer, all wanting a look; all wanting to be next. He kept his eyes closed. Craig's fingers tightened in his hair and the young man bucked hard against his face; fucking his mouth, pulling up his shirt with the other hand so that the camera angle was unimpeded. Rayne's tongue flickered greedily along the underside of his thrusting cock and Craig pushed himself deep and cried out huskily; "Uurrrggghhh... God!"

That was all it took. Cum bubbled out of the corners of Rayne's mouth and almost too easily he felt Craig's rod wilt and slip away. Other fingers closed around his dark hair and immediately another prick bobbed against his lips. He opened wide and took it in; thicker and shorted than Craig's but still keen and ready for action. He nodded over it greedily. To his left his heard a little grunt of amazement and felt a splatter of hot, wet semen against his hair and the side of his face. He opened his eyes, astonished. 

All around him the boys had their flies undone and were jerking their cocks vigorously. Another spurt took him across the forehead from the right this time. He curled his tongue up around the chunky rod between his lips and felt it begin to squirt. Someone pulled his head right back immediately and two hard pricks sparred for the mastery of his empty mouth. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 12



Rayne moaned quietly, twisting in their grasp and taking one in his mouth as the other spanked an erect rod against the side of his face, demanding his attention. He felt hands pulling on his shirt and pants, trying to strip him as he knelt and sucked. A fresh blast of wetness struck the side of his head and ran down his cheek and he used his mouth teasingly on the rod that fucked his throat, coaxing a river of spunk from it with his lips and tongue. This was almost too easy; the boys were impossibly horny and so was he.

Thankfully his pants were very loose, for he was rock hard by now. His aching cock throbbed with the need for release as he lapped and sucked and swallowed and licked. One after another they pressed themselves between his lips and he writhed eagerly as they ripped off his clothes, forcing him into submission. He groaned more urgently as his pants were pulled down and he felt a hard cock slip between his cheeks, rubbing back and forth energetically between his legs, beneath his balls. His breathing quickened and he ached to touch himself. 

Closing his eyes again he let it happen to him. A hand curled around his cock, rubbing and tugging in time with the thrusts between his naked thighs. His own hands were pulled onto the hot young dicks of his excitable assailants. Two cocks pulsed in his mouth, tugging him in different directions as yet more cum splattered his nearly nude body. They were wanking over him from all sides and he was bursting to climax when Terry bawled; "CUT!"

"No!" he gurgled, shaking his head disconsolately. Spunk bubbled out of his mouth as he felt the others back off. He could still hear them panting and laughing weakly. Worse, he was still hard and leaking. He needed to cum. 

He sank to his hands and knees on the polished wooden floor, panting and trembling from the sheer effort of restraining his orgasm. His whole body quivered furiously and he felt his cock jump and twitch between his legs, leaking slowly.

Terry Goodwill was already calling the boys to stand around him close, but to be ready to scatter. He felt a hot hand in his hair again and when he lifted his head the dark boy from the dressing room was looking down at him. There was a sense of eagerness in his drowning brown eyes and Rayne could smell the heat of his lust, pulsing inches from his own face. He sensed something moving off camera but then Terry was yelling for 'action' again and he took the stranger in his mouth without needing guidance. Someone pulsed between his buttocks once more and he felt a hot cock head rub against his ring. 

Rayne squirmed and fought it. This was not supposed to be an anal scene. He had read the Treatment. It only described oral sex and masturbation. He swallowed the newbie's long, thick cock greedily and tried to wriggle away from the surging between his legs. As he did so, a booming voice cried out; "Stop that! Let him be!"

It was like pouring water on oil. The boys scattered in all directions and Rayne was left on his knees in the middle of an empty corridor as the echoes of running footsteps faded and died away. His shirt was ripped open to his ribs and his pants yanked down to mid thigh. For a second or two he felt cold and exposed then he opened his eyes again and the first thing he saw was Daniel Leland. During a handful of breathless, interminable moments he half expected the old bastard to tell them to shoot it again, then the director held out a hand and pulled Rayne to his feet instead. 

"You, come with me," he said in clipped tones and Terry called out; "CUT!" again. 

In the room with all the books and paintings, they set up the second shoot while Mikkal fussed over Rayne's torn shirt and misted him with a small, hand-held spray to keep the gleam of the spilled semen fresh on his skin and hair. Rayne sat on the edge of a leather-covered chair, recovering his breath and composure, and tried not to laugh. It was bizarre but also ridiculous. A part of him felt almost as if this was happening to someone else and he was just watching it all, distantly detached. 

"Five minutes," Mikka said quietly when he had finished misting the bemused youth. 

"I'll dry out," he complained.

"No you won't," Mikka retorted, giving him another quick spritz and a knowing smile.

The big arc lights were manoeuvred into place around the spacious room and he played awkwardly with his ripped clothing as the crew also slipped into position. Rayne mentally noted the position of the two cameramen and when Mikkal Saarinen damped him down for the final time before the countdown, he was ready. The nerves were gone now. He rose to his feet completely in control. 

"Action!" Terry yelled and Leland's strong fingers curled around his upper arm like a vice, steering him towards a chair and almost flinging him into it.

"I had heard rumour of your talents around the school," the older man declared coolly. "That was quite a demonstration. I was going to wait until you were of an age to graduate before finding a place in society for you but perhaps it is time that you were removed from this establishment for your own good. I believe that the means to that end is close at hand."

"Sir?" Rayne mumbled rather sullenly, of the opinion that Leland did not have to be quite so heavy handed with him. He was going to be bruised tomorrow. 

"How old are you, child?" Leland demanded. 

"Nearly fifteen, sir." Rayne kept his voice pitched a little higher and softer, even though he did not believe that anyone would genuinely think him 'so' young. 

"Fourteen years old, and beautiful as an angel, though you are but a wicked sinner," Leland purred, stroking his sticky face briefly. "Rumour has it that you like the taste of cock meat and fresh ejaculate as well as any harbour-front whore. Is this so?

"No sir," Rayne said huskily. "They made me, sir!"

The hand lifted his chin slightly. Leland looked solemnly down into his pale green eyes. 

"I think you are lying, boy. I think you are a dirty, lying cocksucker!" he said coldly. "I could see the way that your manhood tented your pants as you satisfied those wanton boys. I've heard them whisper of how you come to them for their seed when the lights are out and cavort naked in their beds with them. You are nothing but a filthy, cock-hungry slut!"

"I'm not, sir!" Rayne protested, thinking with a twist of wry humour that he had never heard anyone use the word 'cavort' in a porno film before, but he was ignored. 

"Our guest this morning is a very well-endowed gentleman," the old pervert continued, striding back and forth across the room now as if he was of no consequence. Rayne tried not to grin at the double-entendre. "He has adopted unfortunates from this school before, of course, and all have gone on to make names for themselves within his organisation. Of course there are strict criteria to be observed... He appreciates certain 'talents' in his orphan-boys."

"Talents, sir?" Rayne was eyeing him speculatively, watching for the physical and verbal cues that let him into the scene. Not that he was expected to say a great deal! His mouth definitely had other uses this morning. 

"It's all very well to be able to deep throat your ignorant peers, but satisfying a grown man is a different matter, child." Leland came to halt in front of him and unfastened his pants without preamble. "Have you ever seen a grown man fully erect, boy? Have you ever stroked a man's engorged penis and taken it in your mouth?"

He shook his head obediently, keeping his face carefully innocent in spite of the trickles of spilled semen that teased their way down his cheeks and his neck. 'Here it comes' he thought with an internalised sigh of resignation. 

Daniel Leland was watching him shrewdly as he freed his long, semi-hard tool from his loose, black trousers. He almost smiled at the look of feigned shock on Rayne's face as he got it out, then ordered the younger man to strip naked and masturbate him.

It was not a shock but Rayne still experienced a little frisson of incredulity that Leland could go ahead with this scene, especially in view of his comments during the previous evening. Rayne peeled off his torn shirt with an expression of innocent outrage on his pale face. He rose to his feet and let his pants cascade to his ankles, stepping out of them delicately and coming to kneel in front of the elderly director, virtually nude. As both cameras eased closer and zoomed in on him, Rayne Wilde took the old man's impossibly long cock in both hands and began to caress it skilfully. He concentrated on the piece of flesh; that was all it was, just another bit of meat, another dildo. He felt it thicken and lengthen under his touch and stroked his fingers up and down the rippled shaft, leaning in closer to run his lips over the dribbling head. 

One of the cameramen murmured his appreciation as Rayne stroked the leaking glans of Leland's twelve inch cock all over his face. As he took the director in his mouth and began to slide his lips back and forth over the fat, blue-veined head, Leland groaned too. The old cunt was rock hard now and Rayne closed his eyes and began to suck on his big dick greedily. 

"Ohhh... you dirty boy," Dan Leland crooned as he sank into the chair behind him with Rayne still kneeling between his thighs, gobbling him down. "I'll wager those randy lads have all enjoyed your sweet anus as well as your mouth, haven't they?"

He shook his head vehemently. His mouth opened wider as he took more of his director's erect cock down his throat, letting the shaft play between his jaws as he turned his face from side to side. Leland's hands came to rest on the back of his dark head and he began to thrust excitedly between the boy's lips. 

"Ahhh... yes! Good lad! You are still virgin?" he gasped.

Rayne nodded now, a little faster and more adamantly, although he was quietly incredulous. He had heard better dialogue on children's television. Maybe he was jaded, he thought sadly. A life on the game had broken the spell of these ridiculous lines for him. He had knelt for too many men who hoped in vain that he was the real thing; a true innocent. He had listened to their moans as they pumped and jerked inside him, trying to convince themselves that he was everything they had hoped for and more. 

"Your new master is coming to see you in action this morning, boy," Leland panted. "Ohhhh... mmmmmhhhh, that's good! He has asked me personally to find him a new playmate; a beautiful, virgin schoolboy whom he can instruct in the art of satisfying a man. You will learn true submission from him and also the art of anal pleasure." 

Rayne was hardly listening to any of this. His jaws were stretched wide around Leland's erection and he was concentrating on suckling and licking the old bastard and not gagging on the length of cock meat that pumped his throat. As he nodded lower, Leland practically purred with satisfaction and he felt the vibrations run through the length of throbbing muscle in his mouth as he caressed it with his lips and tongue. Now he nodded his head more quickly and deliberately, sheathing the last few inches deep in his pharynx. He felt his throat expand around it, then pulled back to take a breath before swallowing again, burying his face in the smoothly waxed heat of the older man's groin. Leland pumped in time with his nodding head and the room was suddenly silent, but for the sound of his thrusting sex in Rayne's soft, wet, sucking mouth and the gentle hum of electronics as the crew worked around them, zooming in closer. 

A bell rang somewhere off the set and Rayne flinched, but felt his director's long fingers tighten in his sweat-damp hair. 

"Steady," Leland murmured, still pulsing rhythmically. "Not yet."

There was a click as the door opened and a young male voice called; "Sir! You have a guest."

"CUT!" Terry Goodwill bellowed, and Leland withdrew from Rayne's mouth immediately, pushing his head back so sharply that the muscles in his neck twinged with pain. At once the younger man sucked in a long, much-needed gulp of air and knelt for a few moments with his shoulders bent and his face averted from his partner's crotch. 

At least the old bastard was clean, he thought to himself ruefully. Leland's tanned skin was almost baby soft and he smelled incredibly good. Whatever expensive stuff he showered with, it was well worth it.

They filmed the last twenty seconds again from another angle, looking towards the door, by which time Rayne was fairly relaxed and handled the scene without wincing at the bell this time. When the cameras stopped rolling, Mikkal brought him a bottle of water and he took a long swig from the neck. Already his co-star was moving back into position and Rayne came back to kneel before him, swallowing him down as one of the cameramen filmed from a point on a stepladder up behind Leland's snowy-white head. It was hard to ignore him but Rayne kept his eyes focussed on Leland's navel. He had a protuberant belly button. It rose from his tanned stomach like a little swirl of coffee icing.

This time over the whirr of the cameras, he heard footsteps on the polished wooden floor. Leland raised his head, looking up beyond Rayne with an expression of supreme satisfaction on his cunning old face. 

"Master," he acknowledged in a deep, purring tone. "You are just in time."

"I feared I was interrupting," Rayne heard P J McNamara answer him with a hint of amusement in his own mellow voice. The accent definitely leaned more towards the Irish than the US this time. "Is this the boy you have selected for me?"

"This is him," Leland nodded, and Terry called for another cut. 

They took this small scene from several angles and perspectives. By the end of it, Rayne's jaws were aching. Mikka sat behind him in a folding chair, massaging his face and neck as he slumped on the floor with a throw around his shoulders, having retrieved his trousers though the shirt was no longer wearable..

"You okay?" P J asked, coming to stand before him. He had changed out of the pale summer suit and now wore a trim, smart black three-piece with a crisp white shirt and dark blue tie. A silver watch chain spanned his hips and his hair was slicked back so smoothly with gel that it looked almost black. 

"I nearly didn't recognise you," Rayne said huskily. He flexed his lower jaw experimentally. 

"You're good," Paddy told him with a knowing smile. "I could watch you do that all afternoon."

"Liar!" Mikka teased. 

"Okay... I could watch him do that to 'me' all afternoon!" The Irishman conceded with a grin. 

"You might just do that yet," his Finnish colleague said in a low tone. "Goodspill's being a total queen about the takes. At this rate we'll be shooting here until the best of the light is gone!"

"Well make her hurry it up a bit," Paddy responded in a good-humoured tone that masked the steely light in his eyes. "Tell her we'll send 'her' the bill or something!" He ran his fingers through Rayne's hair as he spoke. "You ready for a 'real' cock, honey?"

Rayne felt a little shudder run through him from the point of contact with Paddy's warm hand. He nodded his head, not trusting words. Until that moment he had been fine. Now he was jelly all over again. It was all he could do not to throw his arms around Paddy's muscular thighs and beg the man to take him somewhere more private. He was so desperate to climax that he was ready to cast dignity to the winds if only P J would fuck him. It made no sense. The last time this had happened he had been out of his skull on morphine but he did not have that excuse today.

"Not long to wait now, baby," the Irishman promised with a smile so dazzlingly sexy that he felt sick with longing. "You gotta suck that old fuck off first though. Don't waste too much time, okay!"

"O-okay," he managed to stammer. The idea of fellating Leland again made him feel genuinely ill but he tried to concentrate on the idea of pleasing Patrick McNamara instead. It was ridiculous, of course! He just did not do this sort of thing. Cocksucking was a means to an end for him, a way of making a living. He liked to do it on the whole because of the sense of power it gave him. Other men were never more vulnerable than when they had their erect dicks planted deep in his gullet. They 'had' to trust him; to believe that he was not going to bite their boners off or that one of his friends was not going to come up behind and rob them blind while he made them weak at the knees. He had known men who would promise him anything he desired while his lips stroked up and down their hard cocks shafts It got him hot and wet like nothing else.

And here he was, quivering like a schoolgirl at a Take That concert, just because P J McNamara smiled at him. Rayne was privately disgusted with himself. No man had ever made him feel like this. It was crazy and completely wrong.

"Miz Raymonde?" Mikkal said archly and he realised that he was still huddled on the floor with his flies undone whilst the crew stood around watching him wool-gathering. Mikka fired a worried frown in his direction and he shook his head at once. 

"I'm okay... I was just... thinking."

"We don't pay you to think, child!" Leland reminded him impatiently. The old man was slumped in his leather-bound swivel chair once more, knees apart, waiting. "If you're quite ready...?"

Rayne sucked in his cheeks and kept the retort firmly under his tongue. Provoking an argument with Leland was not going to keep him in Paddy's good books for long. He shrugged off the throw and came back to stand between the director's long, black-clad thighs where he dropped his pants almost insolently and moved fluidly to his knees on the floor. He thought he heard Paddy chuckle behind him as he took Daniel Leland's throbbing cock head in his mouth once more and Terry yelled; "Action!"

"He is very... accommodating," P J said in a good-humoured tone, whilst Rayne quickly gulped down the older man's long, lean prick. He also eased a hand between Leland's thighs inside his pants and cupped the man's balls, massaging them steadily. His nuts were large and hard and they pulsed in the palm of his hand like twin hearts. Daniel ran one hand through his hair and began to urge Rayne's head up and down over his foot long cock, bucking up out of the seat to thrust into his mouth. He groaned eagerly as he fucked the boy.

"He is... aaaahhhhhh.... He is incredible. I have never... ohhhhhhh... yessssss... never had a boy like him."

"And his arsehole is completely virgin, you say?" 

Rayne felt a hot hand land on his left cheek with a slap that made him jump. He nearly choked on Leland's erection. 

"In so far as I have... Mmmmmmmhhhhhhh... been able to... rrrggggghhhhhhh... able to ascertain!" Leland growled and huffed as he pulsed faster. "Sweet God! That's good!"

Behind him, Rayne heard a rustle of material and suddenly felt a huff of hot breath between his legs. His mouth went dry and he began to struggle for air as his cheeks were parted and the wetness of a hot, lapping tongue teased his crack, circling the clenching bud of his sphincter then sliding deeper, over his perineum to the base of his ball sac. He whimpered almost inaudibly, feeling his throat tighten as he was licked. His cock dribbled uncontrollably and then he was fighting for breath; gagging furiously. 

"Ohhhhhhh... can't hold on...!" Leland moaned, writhing up out of his seat and pushing him back with both hands as he began to spurt, still half sheathed in Rayne's mouth. The boy fought to get off him as he felt the hot flood of semen hit the back of his throat. The extra lubrication helped a little, but the sharp, salty flavour still made him retch involuntarily. 

P J wriggled a spittle-wet finger against his anus and he choked again until there was cum running down his nostrils and out of the corners of his mouth. Leland pulled out of him with a little grunt of satisfaction, rubbing his hand up and down his own shaft until the last droplets of his spill had been jolted out onto his co-star's pretty face. Rayne tried to swallow, but at the same time, Paddy eased that probing finger inside him and he gasped for breath instead and gagged some more. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 12



"Stop!" Leland said sharply, and at first Rayne thought the man was talking to him, but Terry was pointing to his watch. The director snapped; "He's going to throw his guts up if you don't give him a moment!"

Sulkily, Terry called; "Cut!" 

At once the pressure eased in his arsehole and Rayne struggled away from them both, tripping over his pants as he tried to get to his feet and turn and walk at the same time. Paddy caught him, with a little shake of his head. 

"Slow down," he instructed. 

"I... I can't do it!" Rayne hiccuped, still feeling sick. His cheeks were blazing and he just wanted to get as far from everyone as he possibly could. "I can't..."

"Yes you can," P J. towed him around firmly and lifted his chin so that Rayne was looking up into his eyes. His stern expression softened a little then. "Jesus, you're sexy! You 'can' do this, baby. You've already proved it. You've taken the guys and me back on the boat. You've sucked my cock more than once, Rayne. You can do this. You're a pro. I am never wrong!"

Rayne closed his eyes so that he did not have to look at that impossibly handsome face. He concentrated on breathing, letting the panting slow and his pulse get back to something resembling normal. His nostrils and the back of his throat were stinging from the effort of choking up so much jism. He probably looked awful. 

"I don't feel well," he whispered. 

"Well, when you've shot this scene you get a whole two hours to recover," P J murmured in his ear, steering him back towards the set. "Just imagine... you and me, on that boat together, getting real cozy. That's what you want, isn't it?"

Rayne managed to nod his head. He felt miserable though and could not begin to fathom out why. Mikkal brought him some more water and he drank without stopping for breath. The blond rubbed his shoulders steadily. 

"It won't take long," he said in a quiet, soothing voice. "Not long at all. Just switch it off, Rayne. You can do it. I know you can."

He looked around at Mikka helplessly. 

"You've been here," he exhaled, and it was not a question. "You know how... how hard it is."

"I know," Mikkal answered, still stroking his neck and shoulders. "But this is the easy part. You just gotta relax and let it happen, yeah?"

"Yeah..." Rayne replied unenthusiastically. 

The Finn frowned again, a curious little twitch of his silvery brows. 

"I thought you were hot for him?" He nodded once in Paddy's direction. Rayne did not have to turn around to know where he was, he could feel the big man's heat on his skin. 

"I... I am," he almost whispered, feeling ashamed of himself. 

"Well then...?" Mikkal was clearly perplexed. "What is the problem."

"I dunno..." Rayne looked at his feet dejectedly. "I s'pose... I... I thought it would be a bit different."

"I don't get it," Mikkal was shaking his head again. "You've shot movies before, right?"

"Not the film," Rayne protested, but then Terry was yelling at everyone to get back to their places. 

Mikkal flashed an apologetic smile and steered his young protégé back into the fray. Rayne saw Paddy McNamara exchange a long look with the Finn before he found himself back on his hands and knees and all too quickly the cameras were rolling again. 

In the end it was easy and it was hard. P J fingered his hole as he knelt between Leland's thighs, licking the old man's wilting cock. He struggled and made the appropriate noises as the two men held him down and investigated the 'tightness' of his rectum. The Irishman kissed and licked his stretched ring after he had withdrawn his thrusting fingers, then moved around to Rayne's head where he urged the boy to unzip and arouse him, and also to stroke himself. 

Paddy's hands moved over his fine, dark hair gently as he opened wide and began to suck. The pleasure on his face was not pretended but Rayne listened to the scripted words he breathed out without really hearing as he took that enormous tool down his throat and tried not to choke on it. It was easy enough. He had sucked plenty of cocks in his time and even one this big, whilst a challenge, was just another job at the end of the day. Rayne delighted the crew by pumping himself to a vigorous orgasm as he gobbled Paddy's pulsing sex down. His head was somewhere else though and maybe Patrick McNamara knew it because after he had cum, when Terry shouted "Cut!" for the final time that morning, he just pulled out and walked away without a backward look. Rayne knelt for a little while, with semen running from his nose and mouth, panting like a winded dog. He wanted to walk away too but his whole body was shaking and he did not think that he could get up without stumbling. 

Mikkal caught his arms and helped him up at last and he was aware of voices all around him as he was walked back along a busy corridor and into another room. Someone gave him water and he weakly murmured 'thank you', without really seeing anyone's face. A soft, warm wrap was put around his shoulders and he shrugged it off quickly because he felt too hot and too light, almost as if he could float away. He was still so hard that his cock hurt.

"Come," A soft voice said imperiously and he rose and followed it through a doorway into another room. 

Aldo laid him down on the bed and kissed him long and slowly and he tried not to cry. He wanted to shout at the Italian youth for not being there when he had promised to help but he could not get the words past the huge lump in his throat. 

"Silly!" Aldo purred at him huskily as he ran his hands gently over Rayne's naked body. "What are you crying for?"

"I'm not crying," Rayne told him huskily. "You tell people I cried and I'll fucking kill you!"

Aldo laughed quietly, and curled around him, holding him close. When Rayne unfolded around him like an oyster opening its shell, he reached down and unzipped his pants, pushing his hardness into the blossoming, wet heat of his young lover's naked body. Rayne sank back in his embrace and turned his face away, moaning long and hard as he was entered and ploughed vigorously. His own aching member twitched urgently in response and his trembling hands tugged loose Aldo's shirt as he rubbed himself up against the Italian's hot, brown belly, seeking release.

"Mmmm... that's good!" Aldo growled eagerly, pumping himself deeper in response. "Si bello!"

Rayne came hard with cry that could be heard throughout the house and Aldo made no attempt to silence him. As his lover's passage clenched and squeezed his cock, he spurted deep inside Rayne, pressing himself as far up the boy's sexy hole as he could get and collapsing into his arms, panting as if he would die. They curled around one another and lay there, winded and stunned by the force of that explosion of pleasure until Mikka came to tell them, rather sternly, to get dressed as the cars were about to leave for the Cap.

BOARDED: 

Rayne was conscious of the argument that began before they returned to Ambonne but, for once, he was not directly involved in it. He and Aldo had gone straight to Paddy's boat once they got back to the resort but P J McNamara and Mikkal Saarinen both followed Daniel Leland back to the other vessel and did not return to their own for nearly an hour. Paddy and Leland had been arguing quietly before they left Beziers and Mikka would not tell the younger men what it was about. Automatically, Rayne thought the worst. 

"It's my fault!" he exclaimed tremulously once they were back on the boat. "I messed up!"

"You were fine," Aldo reassured him at once. "It looked great from where I was standing."

"And that's another thing!" Rayne stared at him helplessly. "You said you'd stay with me. You promised!"

"You didn't need me," Aldo soothed. 

"But I 'did'!" The younger man paced back and forth restlessly, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

"You look nearly as good with your clothes on as you do naked," Aldo told him, ignoring this impassioned cry. 

Clay, who had been sprawled nude and prone on the leather sofa reading through the Treatment for the next period of filming now looked up at the Italian and grinned broadly. 

"Neither of you is taking this seriously," Rayne pointed out, coming to an exasperated standstill and glaring from one to the other. "Why else are they arguing? They were fine this morning. Then I... we filmed the office scene and P J's pissed off about something! I don't get it... I must have done something wrong..."

Aldo came to join him, cupping Rayne's face in his hands and kissing his forehead tenderly. 

"You were sexy as hell," he whispered huskily. "Take your clothes off and let's fuck again. This morning was so hot!"

"Why did you leave me alone?" Rayne demanded petulantly. 

He thought that Aldo half-shrugged and tried to wriggle out of the answer then seemed to think better of it. 

"I was told to," he said with a little sigh. 

"What!" Rayne stared at him, aghast, ready to go round to the other boat and punch Daniel Leland in the head. He could already imagine the interfering old goat spinning some dire warning to the handsome Italian about the dangers of hanging around with him. "I... I don't..."

"Paddy asked me to look after the boys. He was very firm about it," Aldo said in a resigned tone. "He said that you would be okay. He would look after you."

Rayne closed his mouth. He blinked at Aldo, momentarily lost for words. Finally he managed to force out a stammering; "P-Paddy told you to do it? I – I don't get it."

"Nor I," Aldo sighed, unbuttoning his white shirt and shrugging it off easily. As he began to unfasten his pants, Rayne pulled away from him and walked back to the rear deck, blinking against the sunlight as he tried to work out the reason behind this peculiar demand. He turned when he sensed that Aldo had come up behind him. The Italian was naked and half-hard. "Come to bed with me," he coaxed with a little smile.

"Won't that piss off your boss even more?" Rayne asked him, folding his arms defensively and standing his ground. 

"Uh-uhh," Aldo said with a shake of his head. "He wants us to get it on this afternoon."

"But he didn't want you hanging around me this morning?" Rayne pulled a sceptical face. 

"He wants you nice and stretched for when he gets back," Aldo whispered, pulling him closer with a conspiratorial grin. 

"Fuck off!" Rayne pulled free and held up his hands, palms outward when Aldo tried to reach for him again. "No... I mean it! What the fuck is going on? What are they arguing about?"

"Don't worry about it," his companion persisted. "Rayne, it's really not anything to get upset about. Leland... he did a few things that pissed Paddy off this morning and that's what it's about. That's all, I promise you."

"You 'promised' me that you'd stay with me," Rayne reminded him, angry now. "You know what I think? I think your promises are worth 'shit'!"

To his surprise, Aldo actually looked hurt by that. He backed away, shaking his head again, and there was such a startled, puzzled expression on his handsome face that Rayne swallowed the rest of his stinging retort. He lowered his head and mumbled; "I'm sorry... I... I was scared and lonely. I didn't mean that."

He felt Aldo come back to him and did not resist this time when the Italian's warm, bare arms encircled him, pulling him closer. Aldo's lips touched his hair and he felt the murmur of his words against his scalp.

"Come to bed with me, caro. Let Aldo and Barclay make hot love to you until nothing else matters, huh. Let's get you stretched and ready for him!"

Rayne looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Did he tell you to do 'that' as well?" he wanted to know. 

"Yeah," Aldo drawled with a half smile. "But I would have done it anyway!"

Rayne swallowed hard. He was not sure whether he wanted to slap Aldo or kiss him. The idea of P J ordering his actors to get it on with one another was only about a half step up from prostituting them. Then he stopped to think about it, and working in the porn industry was little better than prostitution anyway. He undressed and got fucked in front of strangers and they paid him for it. 

"Is Paddy... is he really going to fuck me this afternoon?" he wanted to know as Aldo led him gently back into one of the bedrooms and began to help him out of his clothes. 

"I guess so," the Italian said vaguely, as he unbuttoned Rayne's jeans and pushed them down. "It's on the schedule."

"We're behind schedule already," Clay announced as he wandered into the bedroom behind them, stretching and yawning as if he had just woken from a long and pleasant sleep. "I guess that's part of the reason for the argument."

"But they're wasting more time arguing!" Rayne said with a little quirk of his lips. "That's stupid!"

"More time for us to have fun, hun!" the big American quipped, flopping down on the bed, which was a low, kingsize divan with no covers, just a smooth, black latex top sheet. It was not the room where he had spent his previous night with Paddy and the boys. This one had dark wooden walls and lots of floor to ceiling mirrors. He could see himself reflected several times over, just by moving his head. 

Clay reached down and pulled open a drawer in the divan, retrieving a bottle of lubricant. Aldo kissed the back of Rayne's neck and began to stroke his young mate's cock as the muscular black guy poured thick, transparent gloop over his chunky shaft and big, heavy balls, then lay back and began to jack off vigorously. Wherever Rayne looked he could see Clay in action, pumping his stiffening rod with both hands. He hardened appreciatively in response and then Aldo was steering him to the bed and he was kneeling on the mattress, kissing the Italian full on the mouth as Aldo wanked him.

Gently but firmly, his fellow porn star disengaged from his lips and moved back, running a hand through Rayne's hair and pushing the boy's mouth down towards the head of his leaking cock. At once the young Englishman wrapped his lips round the fresh, raw, pinkness of his glans and stroked the underside of his cock head with an eager tongue. Aldo tasted hot and musky after the rough sex they had enjoyed in Beziers. Rayne sucked him clean as Clay reached between his cheeks and fondled his arse, rubbing a teasing finger up and down his smooth, pale crack; back and forth over his clenching ring. Rayne was still loose from the fast, energetic fucking Aldo had given him and it was not hard for Clay to wriggle his slippery finger up that warm, wet chute and frig him rapidly as he crouched before the excited Italian giving him head.

Rayne felt a little quiver of eagerness run through his veins as he was penetrated. Clay's big, black finger explored him thoroughly and pushed up into him to the last knuckle, pumping and pulling on his hole until he was whimpering around the thrusting length of Latin meat in his mouth. Aldo was panting and grunting with inarticulate pleasure. He felt Clay roll onto his side and a second finger fought for access inside him, then a good squirt of lube trickled down his crack and was worked up into his hole.

"Oh yeah!" Clay groaned as he poked and thrust a third finger up the boy's twitching, jumping chute. 

Rayne spread his legs a little wider, bracing himself and beginning to ride the fingers in his arse. Clay had found his prostate and every touch made his lean young body jerk and tremble with need. At around the same time, Aldo's grip on his hair tightened and he pulled halfway out of Rayne's mouth murmuring; "No... no... not yet. Oh God, not yet!"

A little flood of pre-cum washed over Rayne's tongue as Clay sank down on his back again, pulling his fingers out slowly from his mate's delicious anus. At once Rayne climbed onto him, straddling the American's narrow hips, running his hands over that smooth, muscular, dark-skinned chest. He crouched astride the big man, marvelling at the rich, blue-black shimmer of his firm, powerful body. Clay's nipples were big and hard, a little pinker than the rest of his torso. The buds were the size of Rayne's little fingertip, standing erect, framed by broad, purplish areolas. Rayne wanted to suck them but Aldo moved up behind, kissing the back of his neck and spreading Rayne's cheeks so that Clay could get his cock-head into the boy's arsehole easily.

"Ride him," Aldo panted, gripping Rayne's bare bottom tightly in both hands and beginning to urge him up and down on the thick, dark-purple shaft between his buttocks. 

The slippery, circumcised head penetrated him smoothly, stretching him open even wider than Clay's thrusting fingers had done. Rayne hunkered down over Clay's hips with his knees wide apart and his hands flat on the American stud's naked belly. He bounced up and down steadily on the balls of his feet, feeling that thick cock shaft enter him a little at a time, getting deeper with every bounce. 

"Uhhhhh...." he moaned hungrily as the sense of fullness grew and grew inside him, feeding the rush of energy that surged through every nerve ending until he was shaking with uncontrollable arousal. "Mmmhhhh... Aaaaaaahhhhhhh... Ssssso good!"

"You're hot as hell, babe," Clay told him in a deep, hungry voice. "That feels... ohhhhhhhhhh... yeah... like that! Don't stop, baby!"

Rayne shuddered furiously once more as Aldo bent his head and began to lick his crack, alternately teasing his hole and Clay's thrusting dick with his tongue. Rayne leaned forward and eased his feet out to the sides, coming down onto his knees now that Clay was safely berthed more than half-way inside him. He rocked his hips back and forth, feeling the man's big, black cock surge deeper and deeper into his gut. Clay writhed on the bed beneath him, bucking his groin upward hard, his large, long-fingered hands resting firmly on Rayne's naked thighs. His palms were soft and pink, but a paler pink than his beautiful, dusky-rose cock, though the backs of his hands were as black as the rest of him. Rayne loved watching the blissful expression on his face as he rolled his head from side to side, clearly loving the feel of a nice tight arsehole around his thick, eleven and a half inch dick. Rayne humped up and down on him vigorously now, huffing and squeaking as that massive cock was forced deeper with every bounce.

All that he could think now was that if Clay felt huge, how the hell was he going to get Paddy McNamara all the way up his arse without ripping himself open? His cock began to squirt involuntarily at the thought of straddling and riding P J and he cried out breathlessly as his precum spattered on Clay's heaving six-pack.

Behind him, Aldo had begun lubing and fingering his well-fucked hole and he shook his head automatically. 

"No... too big!" he panted, trying to struggle away from that invasive touch. 

"Not too big," Aldo soothed huskily. "Relax, caro. We're gonna give you sex like you never imagined."

"You can't DP me. It won't go in," Rayne argued breathlessly. 

"You wanna bet!" That was Clay, who was grinning eagerly. "I've shared a hole with plenty of big guys. It'll go in, okay!"

"Lean right forward," Aldo instructed firmly. "Further... so that he's almost falling out of your ass. That's it!"

His hands were back on Rayne's buttocks, parting them roughly as he climbed up over both men, standing astride them like a hot, naked colossus. Crouching slightly he rubbed his sex up and down Rayne's cleft. The boy whimpered and groaned some more. It felt good but his heart was racing. 

"Hold onto his butt cheeks, Barclay. Pull his little flower open good and wide for me so I can put it in his ass," he panted enthusiastically. 

Rayne leaned right forward, bracing the heels of his hands against Clay's broad shoulders as the American gripped his bare bottom and applied subtle pressure so that the boy's anus relaxed and yielded, opening wide. Rayne felt the humid air circulate briefly in his arsehole then Aldo's cock head was pressing just beneath the fat bulb of Clay's glans where the big black's erect penis was narrowest. He was holding his cock, guiding it in as he pushed steadily, knees bent, ready to pull back if Rayne screamed. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 12



"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh! Jesus!" Rayne exhaled incredulously as he felt Aldo's prick thrust slowly into his spastic rectum. He was fluttering and twitching furiously inside as the two men resumed a steady, careful thrusting motion within him. His colon ached from the pressure but he was furiously turned on. Closing his eyes and clenching his teeth, Rayne let them both buck their long, hard cocks into him. Ant and Terry had done this to him a few nights ago but neither man was as well endowed as Aldo and none of them could match the length or girth of Barclay's fabulous member. 

It had felt good with just the one big fuck-rod inside him, but Rayne was completely unprepared for how good both would be. His two eager lovers pulsed more vigorously now that he was relaxed and they were both more than half way up him already. His chute was stretched and deliciously full and all around him he could see the three of them reflected in the mirrors on every wall, their naked bodies glistening with sweat and precum

"Rrrrgggggg... your dick feels real good rubbing against mine!" Clay growled huskily at Aldo as he humped his ass up off the mattress.

"This is so hot!" Aldo agreed, pounding Rayne's arse energetically. He was almost all the way in already and pulling his lover in a completely different direction. "You sexy little bastard! I'm gonna cum real hard any minute."

Rayne began to keen urgently as he felt their cock heads reach that sensitive bud deep in his anal wall. The pressure of two fat pricks rubbing back and forth over his prostate was too much for him and he submitted willingly to the rush of pleasure it sent to his balls, spattering Clay's muscular chest with semen, his whimpers rising to a quivering moan of ecstasy as his body bucked and jerked spasmodically, out of his control. 

"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh! Christ!"

"Oooohhhhhhh yeah!" Aldo moaned as Rayne's arsehole clenched with the spasms of his prolonged orgasm. The Italian almost dropped to his knees on the bed, pushing his cock in deep and hard and shooting his load into Rayne's gaping hole. The boy gasped with pleasure as he felt his lover's hot flood of spunk deep inside him. Then Aldo was rolling off him, almost completely pulling out to lie on his side, panting with satisfaction. 

Barclay pulled Rayne down into his arms and also rolled onto his side so that the boy lay between them, facing him, with Aldo kissing the back of his neck and his slim shoulders. Clay stroked Rayne's inner thigh and urged him to lift his upper leg as high as he could. Then he mounted the boy and fucked him hard. 

"Mmmmmmhhhhhhh... oh god... ohgodohgod!" Rayne screamed as he was taken vigorously by the huge black stud. 

The thrusting quickly stimulated Aldo's briefly flaccid member and Rayne felt the Italian get hard again in his arsehole. Aldo's fingers curled around Rayne's stiff young cock now, pumping it rapidly as he licked and sucked the younger man's neck and earlobe and began to buck in and out of him from behind. Rayne was initially lying on his right side with his left ankle over Clay's shoulder so that the American had unimpeded access to his bum but Clay was buggering him so hard that he soon forced his two companions into a supine position and climbed onto them. The American straddled Aldo's thighs and spread Rayne's legs wide as the boy sprawled between them. He was lying on top of Aldo with the Italian's throbbing penis completely immersed in his arsehole from beneath as Clay pounded his colon from above. Aldo was wanking him hard and Rayne thrashed and struggled, uttering breathless, wordless little sounds as he was fucked into complete submission. 

Occasionally he panted; "Don't stop! Fuck me! C'mon!"

His two lovers certainly did that. They were pistoning in and out of his leaking hole like automatons now. Sweat dripped and trickled from their naked bodies as they undulated on the bed. Then Clay uttered a long, low growl of passion and bucked deep, holding his prick all the way inside Rayne until he had spilled every last drop of his spunk in the lad's sweet, wet, satisfying arse.

"Uuuuuuuuuugggggggggghhhh..." he grunted breathlessly. "So good! That was so good!"

When he knelt back and pulled out, Aldo gently rolled Rayne onto his belly and mounted him, fucking fast and hard in that loose, gaping hole. Finally he pulled out and masturbated himself to orgasm, shooting his cum into the boy's stretched, raw orifice, then turning Rayne's limp body over and sucking him off skilfully. Rayne Wilde came with a little gasp of astonishment. He was so incredibly aroused that he could hardly control himself any more. Aldo's lips and tongue suckled and teased until he exploded, crying out as if they had wounded him. His thick, pearly jism rose like a flood tide over the Italian's tongue and Rayne collapsed, supine, on the bed in a moaning, shuddering heap.

His heart was pounding so fiercely that it took several minutes before he was able to calm down and stop shaking. Once his heart rate had begun to stabilise he let his body go to the farthest extreme and exhaustion wrapped him up in silken wings and pulled him down inexorably into a brief, deep, merciful slumber. 

END OF PART TWELVE

© Sadie Rose Bermingham 2006 



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 13



CHAPTER 13: GUILT EDGED PLAYGROUND 

© Josh & Sadie Rose 2006 

"Okay guys and girls, this is the one you've all been waiting for. No... not the end! * tsk * you know very well what I mean! After the trials and tribulations of C. twelve I was amazed at how easy this chapter was to write. It was kind of like it was meant to be and I was with him for every inch of the ride. Anyway, I hope it's as much fun to read as it was to write! I'll shut up now..." * grin *

THE USUAL TERMS AND CONDITIONS APPLY. COPYRIGHT MEANS MINE AND LITTY'S! THIS STORY OR ANY PART THEREOF TURNS UP ON ANOTHER SITE WITHOUT MY SAY-SO, MY BIG, NASTY LEGAL PEOPLE WILL COME DOWN THERE PRONTO AND KICK YOUR BUTT-SO!! 

*

IRISH CREAM:

He woke from a vivid dream, where everything was bathed in a lurid purple light and he was sprawled in a throne-like chair whilst asexual, naked creatures writhed and twisted around him, barely touching him or even looking at him. He could feel and taste their hunger though. It made his head ache and his nerves jangle irritably. For a little while he was lost in a place that looked like some dimly remembered fairground from a childhood holiday long ago. 

When he and Skye were small, long before mum and dad separated, they had gone to visit his Gran and Grandad Wilde in Lancashire. His Gran was from Liverpool Irish stock, a large, loud, jovial woman with tight white curls. Dad's father was like an older version of him, his shock of white hair was a little thinner than dad's mad, salt and pepper barnet but he had the same narrow features and intense blue eyes. Grandad had moved down to the south looking for work when his sons were in their late teens but never settled there. Rayne's dad Jimmy and his brothers found work in Kent and Essex but Gran and Grandad moved back up to Wigan and had lived there ever since. 

They took their grandchildren to Blackpool for the day and Rayne still had vivid memories of the noise and colour. Everything seemed too big and too loud after the sleepy seaside gentility of Dymchurch. He clutched at Mum's hand as they explored the Golden Mile and the Pleasure Beach, screaming along with her on the larger faster rides; rollercoasters that ripped out his stomach and stuffed it down his throat so that he could barely breathe, yet left him howling for more once they got off. They rode rockets that flew so high he could see the shimmering sea and the rooftops of the houses all around them. Mum had loved the River Caves, sliding almost silently through the darkness on a boat that carried them from one lurid vision to another. The water was a blue so vivid that he asked did it have toilet cleaner in it and made everyone laugh, but privately he found the illuminated scenes in each of the caves disturbing and inexplicable. Huge faces loomed out of the darkness and sounds boomed from hidden speakers, making him jump at every turn. He was petrified that that juddering boat would stick in one of the tunnels and they would have to get out and make their escape on foot wading through murky water that might have any kind of monster lurking in it.

In his dream he stumbled through Plexiglas caverns that dripped with glowing, turquoise wetness; hearing the loud, forced joviality of adult laughter as he was captured and hauled into one of the caverns. Mere feet from the gilded pleasure boats that glided silently through the empty caves of his nightmare, he was dragged struggling from the shadows and forced to his knees in the eerie light. The passengers ignored his screams as he was stripped and raped in plain sight before them. He could hear Uncle Brian's coarse laughter as he asked if anyone else wanted a turn.

The heat of another man's body was very real against his own. He felt powerful arms wrap themselves more tightly around him and lashed out violently with a little yelp of protest. 

"No!" He screamed the word aloud and tried to twist himself into a knot to escape his captor. "Stop it! Please! No! NO!! I don't want to!!"

"It's all right," a warm, familiar voice breathed the words into his ear and the caverns melted away like spun sugar in the rain. "It's okay, Rayne. It's just a dream."

He could feel the tears in the back of his throat, hot and salty, as many tears as it took to fill a pint pot. The effort of swallowing them was just too much and he curled up miserably into the pillows, burying his face in the soft linen as they poured out of him; crying until it physically hurt to cry any more. 

"It's okay," Paddy said, over and over, stroking his hair and his face with a gentle hand. "Sssshhhhhh.... It's okay. It's through now."

Rayne kept his eyes closed until he knew that he would not burst into tears again. He was conscious of the ache in his back and the stretched, gaping sensation between his legs that only reminded him of the wanton things he had done with Aldo and Barclay earlier. That in turn recalled Aldo's words to him before they made out.

'Let's get you stretched and ready for him.'

He kicked and pushed his way clear of Paddy's embrace now, huffing with shock as he reached the farthest corner of the mattress. Only then did he stop and face the Irishman, once he was sure that PJ Mc Namara was not going to pounce on him and pull him back down onto the bed. They were in yet another room, this one fitted with polished, dark wood and pale wall hangings. The bed was made with crisp, clean, cream-coloured linen. It smelled good and felt good under his hands and knees.

"Don't touch me," he warned tremulously.

"It's a bit late for that, don't you think?" Paddy was watching him with a slightly bemused expression on his handsome face. He was nude; only his lower legs covered by the rumpled sheet as he lay on his side, his face cupped in one hand, the other draped across his exposed hip. To Rayne's surprise he was not hard. His cock lay at ease against his lower thigh, smooth and dry; the skin as supple as folded silk. "Clay told me what you did this afternoon. Did you tell 'them' to stop? Did you beg them to stop fucking you, Rayne?"

He swallowed hard as some of the blood rushed back to his cheeks. As he dimly recalled he had begged for the exact opposite, as he was sure now that Clay and Aldo had already gleefully related to their boss. Rayne closed his eyes again, feeling like such a fool. Paddy probably thought he was a complete slut. And he would be right about that!

Weakly he shook his head. 

To his surprise, Paddy did not jump on that right away. Instead he asked; "What were you dreaming about?"

Rayne swallowed and thought on his feet.

"I dunno, it was all mixed up. There was a fair and a water ride. I can't remember it now."

"You were freaking out. I thought you were trying to get away from me at first but then I realised that you were still asleep," the other man told him with a little smile. "That was some nightmare. I thought someone was trying to kill you."

"I can't... I dunno..." Rayne muttered, looking away before the fear showed up in his eyes again. He did not want to think of Brian; not here. 

"I didn't think you were scared of me," Paddy said quietly. "I thought you were up for it. Was I wrong, Rayne? Did they hurt you this afternoon?"

He felt his heart quicken and for a moment it hurt to breathe. How could he even begin to tell this man what he felt? That he wasn't scared of the sex, just of the way that Paddy McNamara made him feel! It was too stupid for words. Paddy would laugh at him. Men like McNamara did not fall hopelessly in love with nobodies like him. He bit his lip and shook his head.

"I'm not scared. You just... I was dreaming, that's all. I thought you were someone else."

Paddy sat up then and leaned forward so that the covers fell away from his tanned, powerful body. 

"Can I touch you now?" he asked and Rayne looked up at him in surprise. 

It still seemed odd to him that someone like McNamara would ask for permission as if he was a society virgin in a nineteenth century period novel. The smile flickered across his lips like a brief flash of sunlight seen through the clouds and then gone again. 

"There's no law against it."

A big hand reached out for him and cupped his face, stroking his cheek and his hair gently, touching his lips and his eyelids with a contact light as gossamer. He shivered involuntarily. 

"Are you all right?" Paddy asked him.

Rayne nodded his head just the one time. 

"Do you want me to stop?"

He had to clear his throat twice before the words would come out. 

"N-no. That's... it's okay."

The Irishman smiled at him now. 

"You 'are' beautiful," he said, in a low, husky tone that made Rayne shiver again. "I sure hope Barclay remembered to set the cameras running before he tooled you this afternoon!"

Rayne's teeth came together with an audible click. He pulled away automatically, an incendiary glare on his face. 

"You... you're just as bad as Leland!" he spluttered furiously, almost tumbling off the bed in his haste to put distance back between them. "You pretend to be nice as pie with me then you play a trick like that!"

Paddy was laughing and shaking his head though, visibly amused by the reaction.

"Now that's more like the Rayne I know!" he declared good-humouredly. "It was just a joke, baby. I was teasing you. I'm sorry."

"Some joke!" Rayne scowled at him, eyes narrowed. "It wasn't very funny."

"You scare me when you pull away inside yourself like you did just then," Paddy told him tenderly. "I worry about you."

Rayne's eyebrows twitched upward at that.

"You don't have to," he said defensively, at last.

"I know, but I can't help it," the bigger man answered him with another little smile, slightly apologetic this time. "Sometimes you're tough as nails but others you seem so fragile that I just wanna look after you."

"I don't need anybody to look after me," Rayne flashed back at once. His expression was suspicious again. "I can look after myself."

"Christophe didn't seem to think so," the big man reminded him archly. "He seemed to believe that he could do as he liked with you. Or was that what 'you' wanted?"

Rayne felt his face heat up again at the reminder of his experience at the hands of the Frenchman and his friends. It was bad enough that he had let his guard down so far that such a thing could be done to him but to have Paddy and the others witness his humiliation as well was more than embarrassing. He had wanted the earth to swallow him up. 

"Yeah!" he said vehemently and turned away grinding his teeth irritably. 

"So you want me to hog tie you and stick a dildo up your sweet ass before I take you, huh?" Paddy leaned back in the nest of pillows and folded his arms. Rayne did not have to look round to know that he had a smile on his face. 

He was too clever by half, this fucking Paddy!

"Try it and I'll castrate you with my teeth," the boy warned him.

"There's no shame in being vulnerable," his companion told him quietly now. "We all go there at some time in our lives."

Rayne shook his head at that and turned back rather reluctantly to face the Irishman. He doubted very much that this muscled up freak had ever been vulnerable. Time to nip this particular line of inquiry in the bud, he thought.

"What were you arguing with Leland about this afternoon?"

"Tell you what," Paddy said sweetly, unswayed by his diversionary tactics. "You tell me what you were dreaming about and I'll spill the beans on Leland."

"I told you, I can't remember. It was a dream, it's gone now." He stared defiantly at the older man. "Why were you gone so long? We didn't get to film this afternoon."

"Did that upset you, baby?" McNamara grinned at him wickedly. "Were you actually hoping for my big cock in your ass today?"

"In your dreams!" Rayne said with a shake of his head. "I thought you were pissed off because they were wasting time, then you waste all afternoon arguing with him."

"I don't like it when people fuck me about," Paddy said rather more coolly. "And he's been fucking me around for far too long. Mikka told me you hadn't read the treatment, 'and' he told me that it wasn't your fault either."

Rayne blinked at him, privately astounded. 

"You were mad at him because of me?"

"Why not?" P J McNamara was watching his reaction with one of those clever, guarded little smiles. He unfolded his arms and snuggled down into the pillows more comfortably now. "It put you off your mark and that never looks good on the camera. If you weren't so fucking good at what you do, I'd have said that could be enough to screw up an entire morning's shooting, and that would have really pissed me off!"

"Yeah?" Rayne was looking at him speculatively. He had never seen Paddy lose his temper but he imagined that it could well be a formidable sight. "I though you were mad at me," he added finally, with a little sigh. 

"You weren't concentrating towards the end, don't think I didn't notice," Paddy remarked sternly. "But given the circumstances I'm prepared to let that go just this once. I guess we can film the close-ups again sometime."

"I know you'll enjoy that," Rayne said sarcastically. 

"I thought you enjoyed your work too," Paddy told him crooking a finger in his direction. "C'mere."

"Why?" Rayne stayed put for the time being on the very edge of the huge bed. 

"Because I want you to," McNamara answered. "And because you get a reward if you're a good boy. You wouldn't want to miss out on a reward, would you?"

"Conniving bastard," Rayne said with quiet conviction. 

For a little while the Irishman just looked back at him with a twinkle in his steely blue eyes that promised he was up to no good. Then he leaned forward and closed his fingers around one of Rayne's wrists drawing him firmly back across the bed, protesting wildly, until he tumbled forward into the bigger man's lap with a little squeak of indignation. 

"That's better," Paddy said at once, letting go of his arm and stroking his hair affectionately. He snuggled down a little further, getting underneath the boy and running his hands suggestively up and down Rayne's naked back, then pulling him closer until their noses were almost touching. "Much better," he breathed quietly. 

Rayne could feel his steady heartbeat, lying sprawled on top of the other man like this. It was a quiet rhythm that pulsed between them; a mesmerising, intimate thing. He was sure that Paddy could feel his own pulse, running like a flock of startled sheep in his chest. He had stopped fighting once the Irishman had him where he wanted him. There was no point in it really. Now he rested his hands in the pillows to either side of the other man's head and braced himself there, staring down at his captor and trying to look serious. 

"Is it?"

"Don't you think so?" Paddy winked at him. "Much more comfortable, yes? A whole lot nicer, I think."

"You're just as bad as Leland," Rayne reminded him. "Just a dirty old man, aren't you?"

"Less of the old, thank you! I'm only forty two," McNamara said with a shake of his head. 

"Nearly as old as my dad," Rayne Wilde grinned at him fiercely. 

"Cheeky little bitch, aren't you?" his companion retorted, running his hands down over the boy's buttocks and thighs, spreading him a little wider. "Does you father like to ride you hard, though?"

"That is such a disgusting thought I might just be sick on you!" the youngster declared, pulling a horrified face. 

Paddy's hands moved slowly back up to his shoulders again, but he did not adjust his position astride the older man. Instead he pillowed his cheek against Paddy's shoulder and let his arms creep around the fellow's neck. In contemplative silence, the Irishman stroked his back and let his fingers run steadily down between Rayne's thighs, tickling and teasing him until he was squirming restlessly in the big fellow's arms. 

"Is that good?" Paddy rumbled quietly in his ear.

"Mm-hmmm," Rayne responded in the affirmative, nuzzling his neck comfortably. It did feel nice and curiously enough he was quite relaxed. After the nightmares of this morning he had not believed that he could be this close to Paddy and feel so calm. He was getting hard against the Irishman's firm, sculpted belly and adjusted himself a little to let his sex rise between them. Only as he eased back down again did he feel the rub of his partner's own rising erection between his legs. 

"Christ!" he exhaled softly, feeling his heartbeat quicken again in response. "It's like straddling a man's arm!"

Paddy's fingers moved slowly up his back to the nape of his neck, towing him down again firmly and gently until their lips touched. Rayne pulled himself closer, letting his mouth press against Paddy's until they were kissing instinctively, moving together in a silent synchronicity that was guided purely by need. His hands roamed through Paddy's thick, dark-red hair as his lips surged wetly against the Irishman's mouth and their tongues clashed and sparred like independent creatures in the cavern between their parted jaws. His mate's hands prowled over his body relentlessly, stoking and soothing his passions as they writhed against one another on the bed. Rayne could not believe that he could still feel so horny after the things he had done this afternoon with Aldo and Clay. It was insane. He had never felt this way for another man in his life. He was not gay, for god's sake! This was incredible though.

"Ohhhh boy, you're good at that!" Paddy sighed breathlessly as their lips briefly parted, then came together again, moving softly against each other. Rayne caught the Irishman's upper lip between his own, towing gently on it, turning his head so that the tilted tip of his nose rubbed against Paddy's somewhat skewed prow. He could not deny it. Just lying here, kissing him felt better than anything he had ever known. With Angelica there was only lust. He had never been in love with her, nor she with him, but the fucking was incredible. Even with Skye it had never been this good. He could never be with her without a creeping sense of guilt. It was always fabulous sex, and he loved his sister more than anyone else alive, but he was plagued by the sheer 'wrongness' of it every time they were alone together. 

Paddy McNamara had not even entered him yet and he was on fire. No man had ever made him burn like this, as if his whole body was wrapped in a rising inferno. He had never believed it possible. He fucked men because they paid him to do it. Yet, if Paddy had no dick at all this would be enough, he thought, his head spinning. 

"Are you okay?" his lover whispered, nuzzling his ear, kissing his neck and shoulder hungrily. 

"Yeah," he exhaled tremulously. "Yeah, it feels good."

Ever so gently, Paddy gripped his body just below the ribs and rolled him over into the soft, clean smelling sheets. He began to kiss Rayne's torso and belly, running his tongue up and down over the younger man's skin, circling his nipples with the very tip and tickling the stiff, dark buds that protruded from his skinny chest. Rayne arched his back with a little moan of appreciation, stroking his hands through the older man's hair again as Paddy kissed his belly and the head of his leaking cock. He swept his clever tongue slowly down the length of the boy's shaft then kissed his way back up it until Rayne was panting eagerly under him. 

"Still good?" Paddy grinned up at him playfully. 

"Mmmmmmhhhhhh!" Rayne nodded fervently. It was so good that it robbed him of speech. As Paddy's mouth did ingenious things to him down below he simply closed his eyes and gave in to the feelings generated by that light, sensuous contact with his skin. Skilfully, Paddy wrapped him in the warm wetness of his mouth then released him and blew gently on his flesh until he was almost ready to beg for a more urgent kind of loving. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 13



He responded limply to the guidance of his lover's hands, spreading his legs when Paddy urged him to and lifting his knees so that the man could lick him slowly and seductively between his cheeks, tonguing the yielding wetness of his abused hole. It took next to nothing to open him and leave him vulnerable to that searching tongue. 

"Aaahhhhhh!" he exhaled in a shuddering voice, still sore from the vigorous fucking he had received earlier in the day. "Aaaahhhh... that's... that's..... oh god! Don't stop!"

Paddy sucked a finger and eased it into him, gently working it in and out of his rectum until he was moving in response to the intrusion, urging his hips back and forth, riding that pulsing digit in his tenderised arse. Hot breath wrapped around his balls and then soft, wet lips. He rose up off the mattress on his elbows and heels, rocking backwards and forwards more eagerly. 

"Yeaaaaaaaahhhhhh! Oh god! That's.... incredible!"

"You 'are' beautiful," Paddy said with his mouth full. "You taste so good, baby."

He knelt up between Rayne's slender legs, stroking one hand down the inside of his lover's smooth, pale thigh. The finger eased out of him and he spread Rayne a little wider, ignoring the youngster's whimpers of objection, reaching over him and into the drawer of a bedside cabinet for some lubrication. Slowly he poured it onto his nodding cock then murmured; "Hold out your hands, baby."

Rayne sprawled under him but did as he was told, receiving a light drizzle of water-based lubricant in return for his compliance. 

"Rub it in, honey. Get me nice and slick," Paddy urged him, pouring a little into his own cupped palm and setting the bottle aside to rub his hands together enthusiastically.

It felt slick and clingy over his palms and fingers. As Rayne stroked slippery hands up and down the length of his mate's massive love muscle Paddy groaned quietly and eased the glistening digits of one hand back between his lover's buttocks, pressing them into his body more firmly this time. Rayne arched his back again, planting his heels in the mattress, well apart as he began to hump Paddy's thrusting hand instinctively. He cried out wordless encouragement as those four long, powerful probes pushed deeper and found his prostate, circling and massaging his internal g-spot with a deftness of touch that almost had him weeping with desire. 

"Ohhhhh... Jesus!" he whimpered, thrashing loosely on the bed as Paddy interfered with him and he stroked his hands eagerly up and down the thick shaft protruding upward from his lover's clean-shaven groin. He could only just get his hands around Paddy's cock but he worked it enthusiastically, feeling the silken heat pulsating under his caressing touch. The glossy head leaked a little stream of viscous, cream-coloured pre-cum onto his bare belly and Rayne trailed his fingers through it then curled them around his own young cock, stroking his aching boner and milking it excitedly with one hand. 

"Is my little baby ready to fuck?" Paddy crooned at him, pumping all four fingers of his right hand deep into his lover's anus. 

Rayne squirmed eagerly on them, humping himself up and down on the teasing intrusion between his cheeks. He began to push Paddy's huge prick down between his legs and the older man now slowly pulled his fingers from Rayne's hole and wrapped the sticky, wet probes around his thighs, lifting his firm arse and parting his legs nice and wide. 

"You want me to go in this way or do you wanna ride on it the first time?" he asked a little breathlessly. 

"Will you stop if I ask you to?" Rayne panted, his green eyes widening slightly at the sudden realisation that this was it. Paddy was going in and he wanted it to happen, with every nerve and fibre of his being. Tonight he was going to fuck that big tool. The bare thought of it almost made him cum right then. 

"I'll do whatever you beg me to," Paddy McNamara promised with a hungry smile. "So long as I get to fill you up and take you to heaven."

"So long as you don't send me to heaven for real!" Rayne laughed nervously, letting the soles of his bare feet rest against Paddy's bulky pectorals. "I reckon they'd send me back!"

"No taste!" the Irishman grinned. "You ready for me now?"

He nodded, his breath suddenly coming in shorter, faster bursts than previously. 

"I'm ready. Do it!"

"Nice and slow, okay?" P J murmured, positioning the head of his leaking sex against his young lover's well-stretched ring. "I don't wanna hurt you. Let me know if I'm hurting you, okay?"

"Just put it in me!" Rayne pleaded huskily, wriggling against him eagerly. "I need to feel you inside me. I've been thinking about this for days! I can't think of anything else!"

Briefly, Paddy shook his head, a look of slight incredulity on his face, but he said nothing. His hands felt hot and sticky on Rayne's arse cheeks as he cupped and parted them, holding the boy steady as he leaned forward, putting some weight behind the long, glistening shaft that rested between them. Rayne closed his eyes and moaned quietly under his breath, concentrating on the sensation of Paddy's pulsing cock head resting against his sore ring. The moan rose to a little yip of astonishment as his partner began to push and the fat, circumcised head of his enormous cock popped into Rayne's arsehole with surprisingly little resistance. 

"Mmmmmmmnnnnnn..." he groaned, clenching his teeth fiercely as he felt the long shaft behind it start to pulse in his rectum. He was still very tender and winced away painfully, shaking his head. Tears rose unbidden to his eyes. Damn Aldo and Barclay! They had done too vigorous a job this afternoon. It hurt already and Paddy had barely begun to pump it into him. 

"More lube?" his lover asked a little anxiously. 

"Yeah..." He nodded his head at once, panting a little at the tendrils of fire that licked around his rear entrance. At once Paddy had the bottle in his hand and he sighed at the cool, pleasing flood of slippery wetness that flowed down his stretched crack and into his hole. It did the trick beautifully. At once he felt the difference; the big fuck pole in his sensitive passage began to pulse more smoothly in and out of him, getting a little deeper with every thrust. From time to time Paddy stopped and applied more of the gel then resumed his steady, rhythmic penetration. The Irishman had a look of supreme concentration on his handsome face as he crouched over his naked lover on the bed, working his massive cock in and out of the boy, his pale eyes flickering back and forth from Rayne's face to his arsehole, never resting or becoming complacent. 

Rayne had opened his eyes again and was watching his mate now as the bigger man thrust into him deeper and harder, his breathing also coming more rapidly as he got further and further inside. Rayne's heels slid over his shoulders as he leaned into his task and the boy bent his knees, spreading his thighs wider apart to accommodate his lover's muscular bulk between his legs. He wormed lazily into the soft sheets, damp now beneath his sweat-soaked back, wriggling on the bed as Paddy fucked that vast cock deeper into his anus. It was like there had been an unspoken contract between them, they were helping one another to get that huge tool into him. Rayne leaned back and rocked his hips to and fro, wriggling his anus down onto Paddy's cock, moving in time with his lover's steady thrusts. He had never made out with a man quite like this before. Generally they did not give a fuck if they ripped him apart in their urgency to get into his arse, so long as they got to shoot their load into him.

"Okay?" the older man mouthed from time to time, looking with a little smile, and Rayne just nodded, lips parted, panting softly as he was impaled. It felt more than just okay though. It was unbelievable. That gigantic ramrod was filling him up slowly, surging into the soft, warm places deep inside him, stretching and stimulating him internally until he could hardly breathe. He thought he could feel Paddy's cock head pulsing somewhere beneath his ribs. It was a frightening thought, and an arousing one. 

"I don't think I can take much more," he huffed, and his voice sounded as high and frightened as a girl's to his critical ears. Every movement inside him threatened to tip him over the brink. He did not dare to touch himself for fear that he would explode before Paddy McNamara was ready for him to cum. He wanted to feel Paddy climaxing inside him as he came.

"Nearly there, baby," his lover panted, kneeling up so that he could bend right over Rayne on the bed, urging his length down more firmly into the young man's slender body. 

Rayne let out a little, involuntary yelp that turned into a sharp cry of pain and pleasure as he felt that unending pressure coming down on him, pushing deeper still. Each outward breath was another short, anguished groan of combined need and disbelief. Paddy's hands were gripping the back of his knees, using his body for leverage as he began to buck harder, sawing his throbbing prick in and out of that raw, red hole. He was panting too now, his face glistening with perspiration as his hips rocked back and forth between Rayne's legs. His young mate was shaking so hard that he could barely get coherent speech out of his mouth.

"Nearly there, baby!" Paddy gasped again. "Just another inch! It's almost in you, sweet thing."

He was thicker down at the base than up beneath the fat, purple head of his sex. Rayne Wilde began to kick and thrash under him as he felt it stretch him further. He wanted to beg for more lubrication but he could not force the words out. Paddy held on tight to his slim legs, running his greasy hands slowly up to the boy's ankles. He pushed Rayne's knees right back to his shoulders so that he could straddle his young lover's exposed backside and ram that enormous erection all the way down into him. Rayne fell Paddy's balls bump against his arse and knew it was completely berthed inside him even before the Irishman triumphantly sighed; "Oh yes! That's it, baby! That feels so good!"

His lean body quivered violently as the head of his lover's powerful hard-on touched what he could only describe as a second g-spot, deeper in his colon than his tingling prostate. It felt as if he was being branded internally. Rayne gripped the bedsheets and began to rock his arse furiously backwards and forwards, rotating his hips, trying to escape the unbearable itch within him.

"Aaaaaahhhhhhh..... aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!" he gasped desperately. "Please!"

Paddy was pulsing rhythmically inside him now. He let go of one of Rayne's legs and reached for the lube, squirting another good load of cooling gel around the boy's hole as his young lover struggled to get his foot down on the mattress and writhe up and off that massive intrusion before he went insane. His mate seemed unfazed by this. Paddy adapted to the new position, rolling Rayne firmly onto his side and pushing the captive leg higher so that he could straddle Rayne's free thigh, pulsing more eagerly now between his partner's cheeks. 

"Ggnnnnnnnnnuuuuhhhhhhhh!" Rayne shook his head furiously. 

At once, Paddy stopped thrusting and leaned back. He pulled out about seven inches and Rayne sagged onto the sheets feeling as if he had been deflated. The boy caught his breath at the third attempt and closed his eyes for a moment. All that he could hear at first was his own rapid, frightened panting and the almost incessant drumming of his heart. 

"Did I hurt you?" Paddy asked him solicitously, stroking his left buttock as Rayne lay beneath him, legs loosely splayed, arms thrown out to his sides, his stiff cock still leaking precum onto his naked belly. Dark hair clung in sweat-soaked strands to his lightly sun-gilt face and beads of perspiration glittered on the bridge of his upturned nose and his chin, where the skin was tanned a darker shade of gold now. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Rayne."

"Mmmmhhhhh.... I'll be okay..." the boy exhaled weakly. "I just.... It was just... too much!"

"We can take it a little slower," Paddy reassured him, still caressing him encouragingly. "Just until you get used to how big it feels inside you. Don't be scared, a lot of boys get this way the first time they ride it. I won't tear you, Rayne. I promise. Just relax and go with it, don't fight the way it makes you feel."

Dark lashes unveiled the boy's huge, liquid green eyes like a pair of fluttering, black-lace fans. His pupils were fully dilated and he still shuddered periodically. That must have felt good around Paddy's cock because the big man smiled and moaned a little every time he did it. 

"You okay now?" he asked at last. 

His sexy young lover nodded bravely, chewing on his lips as Paddy spread him again and began to pulse slowly. He did not hold onto Rayne this time though, allowing the boy to find his own position and only once Rayne's legs were hooked around his midriff did he bend over, taking his weight on his elbows and forearms as he began to pump a little harder. His breath was hot and quick on Rayne's bare chest, moving up to his neck as he drove himself deeper. He stopped to lube his cock more frequently now and it went in much easier this time. Soon the boy's small, hot hands were clawing at his shoulders and back, pulling him closer as eleven, then thirteen, then fourteen inches ploughed urgently into his tight young arse. 

Rayne squirmed and cried out under him as the last inch and a quarter was forced up his clenching, quivering passage and deep into his gut. Paddy pushed it in deep and held it there as the boy wriggled on his erect cock. This time Rayne took his advice, he did not try to fight the orgasmic rush of pleasure emanating from his loins. Short, sharp nails dug into Paddy's back as the boy threw his head back and began to cry out savagely. He thrashed as if he was being electrocuted and the cries rose in their intensity. Before long his whole body was vibrating with energy. Paddy groaned, long and low in the back of his throat as the younger man's rectum tightened around him, gripping hard. He was not released until Rayne's cum splashed hot and wet against his belly and chest. The boy was throwing his head from side to side, eyes closed and lips curling back from his small white teeth. 

"Aaahhhhh Jesus!" he screamed as he lashed back and forth in the throes of unbearable ecstasy. "Fucking hell! Fucking, fucking hell... make it stop!"

Paddy leaned back and watched him squirting with a grin on his face, then, when the boy's muscles relaxed enough to allow movement inside him, he leaned forward and began to thrust with renewed urgency. Rayne's pale green eyes started open again immediately, a look of absolute shock and astonishment on his flushed, perspiration drenched face. 

"No!" he protested huskily. "Oh God! Oh my god! Please..."

"You can take it, baby," Paddy McNamara grunted, slamming into him harder and faster as he sprawled on the bed, still limp and unresisting, in the aftermath of his violent climax. "Good boy! My baby boy! Oh I want you!"

Rayne's heart was thudding painfully as he felt his cock respond again to that furious hammering in his sore, loose arsehole. He was spread wide and fucked with a savagery that brought tears to his eyes and felt so fucking good that he thought he was going to die. Several times he drifted close to the edges of sanity and awareness as Paddy drilled him on the bed. At one point, the big man pulled back about halfway, then lifted his legs until they were extended upward, perfectly straight at a right angle from his body. Slowly Paddy eased both his legs down to the right so that his anus rotated on the seven inches still buried inside him, then wriggled down behind him and snuggled against his back. It felt good to lie with his legs together. His hips were aching from being forced astride his lover for so long. Now Paddy spooned up against him and began to hump deeper into his raw chute from behind. Strong arms curled around him, holding him close as he was fucked enthusiastically. One hand slid down to his cock and began to stroke between his legs, teasing and pulling on his erection. 

"Oh baby, I'm gonna pump you full of my cum any minute now," Paddy groaned in his ear as he fisted Rayne's cock faster. "You're such a good fuck! A good tight little fuck! I wanna feel you cumming again on my big fuck pole when I fill your sexy ass with my hot cream!"

The boy reached down at once and began to rub his throbbing balls, helping the Irishman to wank him to orgasm. Eagerly, Paddy rolled him forward onto his belly and knelt over Rayne, towing him to his knees on the bed as he buggered the naked youth quickly and eagerly from behind. Rayne could feel that vast tumescence surging a good seven inches in and out of him every time his lover thrust. It felt so good, filling him up and punching that deep internal hotspot that he did not have to touch his erect prick in order to reach orgasm. Each pulse drove a strangled, involuntary groan from his lips. Within a handful of strokes of Paddy's long, thick cock, he was burying his face in the sweat-damp sheets to muffle his screams of pleasure. 

"Oh yeah!" Paddy exclaimed each time it went in. "Oh yeah!"

As the cold fire raced through his nerves and pulsed into his scrotum, Rayne's balls contracted fiercely and he spurted hard all over his chest and on the crumpled bedclothes. Simultaneously, Paddy McNamara rammed his long, meaty bone in hard, one last time, forcing it up his young lover until his hairless nuts were wedged in Rayne's crack. He held it there for several moments, one hand on the nape of his lover's neck, pressing him down into the sheets, the other curled around his dribbling cock as a long, shuddering groan of release escaped his throat. They both cried out as a flood of sticky wet heat filled Rayne's gut, washing over the sensitive sweet-spot way inside him and wringing a few last droplets of semen from his own twitching erection. 

He realised then how much his legs were shaking and collapsed onto the bed, sobbing for breath. Paddy snuggled down on top of him, propped on his elbows so that he did not crush his young mate. His wilting penis was still sheathed in Rayne's gaping hole. Muscular, sweat-sticky arms curled around him as they settled into a more comfortable position on a drier patch of bedding, both lying on their left sides. Paddy kissed the back of his neck, licking the sweat from his skin and nuzzling his damp hair. Rayne's hands moved up involuntarily to lie over the older man's forearms, stroking his moist flesh as they spooned together more intimately, still breathing hard. He felt one of Paddy's hands creep up to cup his face and caress his neck and earlobe until he shivered with pleasure. The handsome Irish porn star kissed the other side of his face and sucked on the right earlobe gently. He did not speak and though Rayne desperately wanted to ask him if it had been good, he could not force the words out. It felt as if words would break the incredible spell holding them together. 

For his own part it had been the most incredible experience; a mixture of terror and blind passion. He had never ever let himself trust another man the way he just did. This went way beyond the threesome he had enjoyed with the others this afternoon. Something very powerful had woken between P J McNamara and himself tonight and Rayne wanted to know if the older man had felt it too but did not dare to ask. If he was wrong and Paddy thought he was being foolish...

Rayne closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of his lover's hot, wet mouth, kissing his neck, sowing trickles of contentment through his body. As he was drifting off to sleep, thoroughly enervated by the experience, Paddy murmured in his ear; "Are you okay?"




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 13



He nodded his head, not trusting words and that, it seemed, was response enough for Paddy just held him closer. 

MOONLIGHT CONTEMPLATIONS:

Ant was sitting on the roof-deck of Daniel's boat when P J McNamara and the lean, icy blond one from his entourage – the oh-so-clever one with the indecipherable trans-european accent - came out from their meeting with Leland. Since the crew came back from their shoot in Beziers, they had been shut away in Leland's room. From time to time raised voices were heard. During the afternoon the other members of the crew drifted on and off the boat. Arturo came back and made camp with his expanding bunch of boys. The technical boys came and went. Terry wandered out and spoke to them and they headed off for the nearest bar. 

Of Rayne there was no sign. Aldo was also conspicuous by his absence. Ant brooded over that, certain that wherever the pair had disappeared to, they were together. This morning, before he left for the shoot, Rayne had given him such a look. There was so much resentment in that silent stare that he was rocked by it. He was still stinging from the intensity of those brooding green eyes. Nor could he forget Aldo's comments the night before when the Italian made out with him. He was just as keen to get back inside Rayne as any of them. The mood he was in, and presented with a stud like Aldo, Rayne was not likely to say no. Hell, he would probably do it just to score a point. 

Ant folded his arms across his knees and rested his forehead on them, wondering if Rayne even saw it as a competition any more. He had not slept with the boy since before Christophe took him captive. The argument had been brewing long before that catalyst pushed them over the edge. Rayne was bored with him. He wanted someone younger, richer... who could say what he wanted! Daniel had been right. He was on the make. 

"I should move on," he muttered with a shake of his head, but he still looked up and his eyes found that huge yacht berthed on the very edge of the marina. There were lights on inside now. He could only imagine what was going on beneath those lights. 

"Antoine. Antoine?" The breathless query roused him at the second attempt and he looked around, meeting Thierry's anxious blue eyes. The boy was holding a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. "I wondered, do you want to drink?"

"Yeah," he said at once, forcing a smile. The French lad's bruises were fading now and already he was more confident. The event of the last few days must have been bewildering for him, but he was determined to help. "That would be good," Ant told him. 

They shared the wine under the starlight and Thierry cuddled closer to him. Ant was glad of the boy's warmth. Before too long they were lying on his towel on the deck, twined around one another. Thierry's mouth was pressed against his own, his lips moving soundlessly over Ant's as they pulled closer to one another seeking comfort wherever they could find it. 

"This is good," Ant told him when their lips parted wetly for a moment. "You are very very sexy, Thierry."

"I know that you love him," the French boy whispered, his cerulean gaze blank and fathomless. "I know that you want to be with him. But if he... if he will not be together with you, then... I... I..."

"Sssshhhh," Ant breathed, silencing the lad with another kiss. "Let's not worry about him tonight, huh?"

Thierry rubbed his face back and forth against Ant's, nuzzling him gently.

"I know that if he comes back to you, you will have him," he said plaintively. "He is very beautiful. I know what it is to love someone who does not love in the same way."

"Sssshhhhh..." Ant pulled him closer. "I'm not waiting for him to come back, Thierry. If he can't be bothered then I can't either. He's a teasing little bitch and he's going to get what he deserves."

"You don't believe that?" Thierry whispered, cuddling up against him so that Ant felt his cock rise involuntarily. 

"Yeah, I believe that. Don't be taken in by that innocent look on his face. He's a user, Thierry. You can't trust them. I did him a favour and he just took it for granted. I won't be fooled twice!"

"You care about him," Thierry touched his nose to Ant's, looking him in the eye gravely. "I can see it. Others too."

"Maybe I did," Ant said defensively. "I won't be taken for a ride though. If he's not interested in me, then I'm not going to waste any more time on him."

"Then you should come back downstairs and have fun," the boy coaxed, stroking his face with gentle hands. "There is a party."

"Yeah... there usually is," Ant managed a smile. "Do you know what the meeting was about?"

Thierry shrugged and shook his head. 

"A lot of shouting and blaming. The cameramen are angry because they have not been paid."

"I bet!" Ant grinned fiercely. "Do 'you' know where Rayne is?"

Thierry nodded towards the other boat. "He is there."

"With McNamara?" 

"I don't know. Yes... I guess so." Thierry looked up at him sorrowfully. "Antoine, let go. I thought I was in love with Christophe but he was just hurting me more and more. I let him do it because he was sometimes sorry when he had made me bleed. He would hold me and it was all right then. I knew that he loved me really. But the more that he did it, the more I got to think that if he really did love me, he would not hurt me at all."

Ant folded his arms around the blond boy and held him close for a moment. He still had not entirely recovered from the anger of finding Thierry cowering under that table in the marketplace. Although he enjoyed a bit of rough play as much as the next man he could not forgive Christophe for marking the child that way. Thierry had none of Rayne's determination. He was fair game for any user out there. Ant had already decided that no one would take advantage of him that way again. 

"I can't figure out how you ended up with a guy like that?" he murmured now. 

"I was young when we met. Still at school," Thierry admitted shyly, his face still buried in the hollow of Ant's neck and shoulder. "Men have controlled me all of my life. My father first, telling me that I should go to this school and that school. Teachers, telling me to study this thing and that. I got to study art; that was my second choice. I wanted to act, but my father said that only queers went on the stage. My class was visiting a gallery... Christophe was there, he is an art dealer. He spoke to me about a piece that I did not understand. He was telling me that it was all about sex... about entry and domination. I was so hot for him. He was very handsome."

Ant stroked his hair, looking at him in bewildered affection. 

"He said that you were just a child when he first had you," he confessed. 

"I was still at college. He gave me his card at the gallery. We talk about sex and I am hard when he left me but I did not dare to ring him for so long. When we finally get together I am so scared but he makes me feel so good that night. It is my birthday and my father is supposed to take me for a meal but he cancels that day – he is very busy with his work. So I go to the call box and I telephoned Chris. He said he remembered me, and he will come and collect me. He took me to an expensive restaurant and we had dinner then went back to his apartment. We drank some wine and then he asks do I want to go to bed with him."

Thierry giggled. Ant snuggled closer. He wanted to take the blond back downstairs and bed him right away. 

"So you had sex with him?" he said huskily. 

"Uhuh... we went to his bedroom and he stripped me. Then he took me; my first time and I was very nervous. It was good and he was careful the first time, but afterwards the whole night he was more rough with me. It was exciting. It made me feel very aroused. Every second Saturday I spend the night with him and we have... um... experiment, oui?"

"You played games?" Ant stroked his young body gently. 

"Oui. He began to tie me... and to put things in me. He would leave me, bound for an hour then come and spank me. I was very excited when he put his cock into me." Thierry was still giggling shyly. 

"But the games got nasty?" Ant murmured, holding him closer. 

Thierry fell silent. He curled around Ant and would not look at him.

"He was sometimes very rough," he whispered at last. "He would tie me and hit me hard, and gag me so that I cannot scream. Sometimes other men were there and he wants me to fuck with them too. I said non, but he says to me that I must do as he wishes or it will hurt for me. If I do not make his friends happy he does not want to see me again."

"Bastard!" Ant growled quietly. 

"But I love him and I want to see him so I say yes. It is worth it to be with him non?" Thierry looked up at him mournfully. 

"He's using you. He doesn't love you," Ant told him flatly. "He wouldn't do things like that to you if he loved you, Thierry. Not if you didn't want it."

"I never told 'him' no," Thierry closed his eyes but tears squeezed out from under the lids and ran down his cheeks. "I hoped he would love me if I did not say no."

Ant pulled him close, stunned by this admission. He had never met anyone quite so submissive as Thierry. The boy was frighteningly vulnerable. Now he held the little blond and stroked his hair tenderly until he stopped sobbing. 

"I'll look after you," he whispered into the young man's fine, white blond hair. "I promise you, Thierry. I will take care of you."

Once they were back in the bedroom, Thierry was unstinting in his gratitude. Ant laid him gently on the bed and kissed his slender body gently all over until he was moaning with desire. Thierry sucked on his erect nipples and bent over his aching cock, taking him almost all the way into his mouth as he nodded and sucked. Ant closed his eyes, kneeling on the mattress, slowly nudging his prick in and out of the French boy's soft, wet mouth. It felt good but he was not as proficient in the art of fellatio as Rayne had been. He was more submissive beneath Ant too, as the older man pushed into him and pumped his tender, eighteen year old arse. With every thrust he moaned and sighed, writhing under his lover with complete abandon. Ant loved it. He had been aching for this for far too long. Something was missing, though. Even though Thierry was pressing all the right buttons to bring him to a shuddering, sweaty climax, the essential spark was not there. The boy was well trained but his physical responses were schooled not natural, or so the older man sensed. Ant was not on fire, it was as if he was following a script and Thierry too. It was a bloody great script though! He pushed his cock in deep and came with a groan of relief, then fisted and sucked on the French boy's erection until Thierry reached a panting, whimpering orgasm beneath him. 

"Was that good?" he whispered once they were sprawled, panting and perspiring freely in one another's arms. 

"Yeah!" he exhaled with a fervent nod. "That was great!"

He still felt empty though. Thierry cuddled against him as he was sinking into a deep sleep. Ant put his arms around the boy and held him helplessly. 

PILLZ 'n' THRILLZ:

Rayne was conscious of Paddy's warmth against his back when he first woke, as the early sunlight filtered though the blinds into their bedroom, tickling fingers of gold across the insides of his eyelids. He felt sore and sticky and vastly uncomfortable. His rectum was as loose as broken elastic and he was painfully aware of the cool draught from the air conditioning circulating in his gaping passage. Wincing at the tight, sharp pains in his anal walls he tried to clench his ring a couple of times then sank into a nest of disturbed bed-covers, pressing his burning face into the cool, soft linen. 

Yesterday he had been such a slut for them. It was painfully embarrassing even to think of what he had willingly done with Aldo, Barclay and P.J.McNamara. It would serve him right if Paddy thought he was no better than a whore this morning. 

But the handsome Irish stud was still in bed with him. Either last night's vigorous fuck had completely exhausted him or he was actually enjoying himself, lying here with a well-fucked lover in his arms. 

Rayne closed his eyes and wriggled back into that warm embrace. He felt Paddy rub against him sleepily and the man made a small, affirmative, contented noise as he nuzzled Rayne's neck and bare shoulder. When nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, his young lover relaxed and drifted off into a deeper sleep once more. 

The second time he woke it was from a vivid dream in which Paddy McNamara chased him in a speedboat up Camden High Street. He was alone this time. There was residual warmth on the sheets behind him; a P J shaped space defined by his heat and the musky, man-sweat aroma of his body. Rayne turned and buried his face in the bed linen, breathing in that familiar smell. He got a hard-on just rubbing himself in Paddy's scent. 

To his lasting dismay, he felt so horny that his hand crept down to his throbbing cock and he pulled himself off quickly, wrapped up in that lingering masculine perfume. It felt good to cum again. He rolled onto his back and bucked his hips up off the bed, thrusting into his curled fingers as his twitching cock-head squirted it's wet, sticky load onto his naked belly. A small gasp of pleasure escaped his parted lips and he ran the fingers of his other hand down through the spill, stroking tendrils of spunk up onto his stiff, dark nipples; then slipping his fingers into his mouth. Rayne had never been squeamish about the taste of semen. Often it was the quickest, most convenient way to hide the evidence of some furtive bout of self-gratification. He was still licking himself clean like a little cat when Mikka came to lean quietly in the bedroom doorway and made him jump when he said; "It would be easier to take a shower."

His Finnish companion was right about that. The shower felt amazing after all he had been through yesterday. Rayne stood under the powerful jets, letting them blast his skin clean. He washed the sweat from his hair, then shaved himself carefully all over from his chin to his ankles, before showering off the traces of shaving foam that his razor had missed. Feeling smooth and sultry, energised by the rush of the hot water on his skin, he plucked up the courage to face his fellow cast members. 

The guys were having breakfast in the bright, airy galley area when he came to find them. His searching gaze found P J first, lounging on the leather sofa with a broadsheet newspaper spread open across his lap. His auburn hair was tied back in a short tail at the nape of his neck and his reading glasses were perched on the bridge of his impressive prow of a nose. He experienced a curious warmth inside as soon as his eyes rested on the big man. It was as if something cold melted around his heart; another barricade falling. 

Clay wolf-whistled salaciously when he spotted their youngest comrade and Rayne's green gaze flew to his face. He was conscious of the spots of heat spreading across his cheeks and fervently hoped that nobody had spotted him mooning around over Paddy. Even a good-natured ribbing was going to make him blush like a girl after last night's exertions. 

Aldo was with them, helping Mikka to cook breakfast. He wore a crisp linen apron from the waist down and nothing else. The pale material stood out in stark contrast to his lean, toned, sun-bronzed body. When he turned away from them, his firm, brown arse was still temptingly bare. Mikkal Saarinen spanked the Italian smartly there with a serving spatula in return for some quip in French about his cooking. 

"That's not a hygienic use of kitchen utensils, surely?" Paddy commented from the sofa. 

Aldo di Boccato was not the only addition to their usual number this morning. Sitting with Clay at the breakfast bar and trying to hide behind a vast mug of coffee was the dark haired boy who had watched him with the dildo yesterday. He smiled nervously when Rayne's eyes lingered enquiringly on his face, but did not speak. 

"You know Robin, don't you?" Clay said cheerfully, making a formal introduction less necessary. 

"We've met, yeah.," Rayne answered, a shade dismissively. He had not bothered to discover the young man's name yesterday. It had seemed unnecessary then. Now he felt rather awkward with those big brown eyes watching him so intently. 

"We rescued him from the Terrible Tossers!" Aldo declared valiantly, blitzing a reddish combination of fruit and vitamins in the blender then decanting the frothing mixture into a tall glass, which he passed to Rayne. "There, get that down you. It will do you good. All heathy, nice fruits and no animal products, I promise!"

Rayne's lips twitched upward in spite of his determination to be serious. Aldo's disapproval of his eating habits was becoming something of a joke between them. He sipped the drink, which tasted odd, but not unpleasant. Taking the free stool to Barclay's right he gulped the rest of it down, suddenly aware of how thirsty he was. 

Aldo grinned at him. "Another?"

"Yeah...that was okay," Rayne conceded, though he was wondering exactly when it had become so commonplace to hang around with naked well-endowed men that he barely gave their impressive bodies a second glance. He was used to Mikka's tall, slim, graceful, golden frame and the harder definition of Aldo's younger, darker body. Although muscles were not his thing, he even appreciated the sculpted beauty of Barclay's gleaming, blue-black pecs and the tight ridges of his rock hard abdomen. 

And then there was Paddy. Quite apart from that notorious piece of equipment between his legs, P J McNamara had one hell of a body for a man of his age. He was muscular without being too bulky but burlier than Aldo, with sleek, hairless skin the colour of lightly brewed tea; A physique that was simultaneously soft and smooth, yet firm and warm to the touch. Rayne's mouth went dry at the memory of that strong, masculine body thrusting urgently between his widespread legs. 

Another flush of colour rose to his cheeks as he felt his cock stiffen in response to the thought. Rayne clamped his thighs together, desperate to keep his suddenly erect cock between his legs, out of sight. 

As Aldo returned with his drink the Italian fired a curious look at him.

"You okay?"

Rayne nodded, excited and mortified in equal measures. Even Robin, who was still gazing in silent awe at these semi-mythical, beautiful men all around him, was not fighting to control a raging hard-on.

"I'll be all right," he vowed, catching his breath. 

"You sure?" Aldo set the glass down, touching the side of Rayne's face with his cool, damp fingers. 

The younger man shuddered with pleasure at that caress. Although he could not see them, he knew that the pupils of his eyes were fully dilated. He could barely breathe. Now he managed a tiny nod of his head, wondering if he dared to try and cross his legs. 

'Think of something boring,' his mind volunteered. 'Drink the juice. Try to identify the fruit... umm... there's strawberries... melon... something else sweet, dunno what that is... a kind of chalky taste in the back of the throat. What's that? Dunno... Add them up... four flavours, multiply them by four... that's... ummm... sixteen! Think of sixteen fruits!!'

It felt too hard to breathe. He buried his nose in the glass and missed the 'look' that Aldo fired over one shoulder at Mikkal. Now the Finn put down his spatula with a little frown of concern and bent forward to peer into Rayne's eyes. He felt Clay's big, warm hand on his shoulder and huffed softly like a panting dog. 

"That one's straight juice, right?" the American asked warily. 

Behind them, the newspaper rustled and Rayne heard the sofa creak softly as Paddy rose and came over to join them.




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 13



"Is he okay?" 

"I'm fine, Rayne squeaked, closing his eyes, still panting with his lips slightly parted. "I'm okay! Everyone... just back off!"

His pulse was racing and he felt every touch, every breath of air like hot tongues licking his skin. It was akin to being on Speed, only he felt so hot all the time. So unbelievably horny!

'Strawberries, raspberries, grapes, melon, oranges, apples, pears,' his mind supplied helpfully. He put down the glass and counted on his fingers as he felt his cock-head beginning to leak persistently between his thighs. 

"Jesus!" he gasped breathlessly. 

'Apples... and pears... bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S! Grapefruit... ummm... peaches...'

"Oh Christ!" he whispered as this only conjured an image of Phil Honeywell's soft, creamy buttocks raised and waiting for him at the flat the other day. 

This was just too humiliating. No one had touched him in a sexual way this morning but if he did not manage to control himself in the next few minutes he was going to cum, for sure. Rayne drew up his feet and braced them against the cross bar under his seat, bringing his knees up in front of him but keeping them pressed together as if his life depended on it. He snatched up the glass and gulped down the last of his drink. 

"Get him some water," Mikka said, quietly but firmly. 

Rayne opened his eyes to find everyone gathered around, staring at him. Aldo looked a little horrified; Clay and Paddy were openly bemused. Mikkal looked annoyed but not, Rayne sensed, with him. Robin was just bewildered. 

"What's wrong with him?" the young man whispered urgently. 

"He's hyper," Mikkal said seriously, taking the glass of water Aldo had fetched from the refrigerator and putting it into Rayne's hands, careful not to touch him. "Here, drink that. Drink as much as you can. It will help to flush your system through."

Green eyes darted to meet his solemn, silvery stare. Rayne was panting rapidly now, fighting for breath. Every nerve in his body was beginning to jangle. He felt as if he was on the verge of the most enormous orgasm and there was nothing in the world that he could do to stop it. Clay's hand felt much too hot on his shoulder and arm. A trickle of sweat ran down his naked back and the sensation sent ripples of longing through him that almost tipped him over the brink. 

He gulped the water down, almost choking on the cold flow that filled his throat and pushed down deeper into his chest; between his lungs, making him struggle for breath; down into his belly. It was like deep-throating an icicle. He flashed back vividly to Ant's boat in Greenwich, lying bound and naked on the bed as his lover fucked his tormented arsehole with that long, melting probe. The glass slipped through his shaking fingers and he heard it shatter on the wooden floor. Rayne closed his eyes and hid his face in his hands, his cheeks felt so hot and he was gasping so hard and fast that it hurt his chest. 

"Nectarines..." he sobbed. "Lemons... limes... Jesus, three more! Oh God, make it stop! Please!"

"What the fuck...!" Paddy exclaimed incredulously. 

Aldo moved to his side and whispered something in his ear. Clay was looking at the pair of them almost apologetically. 

"I've never seen it take hold of anyone like this before," the American was protesting. "That's amazing... It should take up to an hour to kick back in. I've tried it myself, I swear to God!"

"You muscle brained idiot!" Mikkal snapped at him. "Both of you are fools!"

"He was fine yesterday!" Aldo declared defensively. "Nice and randy. It worked fine!"

Rayne wrapped his arms around his knees, rocking back and forth on the stool, fighting to shut out this nonsensical row. He needed three more fruits... tomato was a fruit, wasn't it? And pineapple! Yeah... one more!

His colon began to tickle insistently and his whole body shuddered. He whimpered like an unhappy dog; little, high pitched moaning noises were forced from his throat as he bit down on his lips, huffing in each breath through his nostrils so rapidly that he could hear the air whistling as he snorted it up.

"Nnnn.... Nnnn... nnnnhhh... No...!!"

That teasing tendril of energy chased down through his loins like the spark on a slow fuse. A hot sweat broke out all over his body, running down his face, under his arms, between his thighs and buttocks. He could not stop it. 

"Aahhh... ahhhh... hahhh... nnnnnnhhhhhh!" he whimpered, shaking his head in absolute mortification as the spark ignited the twin powder kegs between his thighs. They kicked back up into his groin with a violence that made him scream. A surge of wriggling power blasted its way up through his troublesome shaft and erupted from his cock head in a shower of fluid heat that ripped his nervous system to shreds. 

He screamed again. This was unbelievable! It could not be happening to him. He was cumming like an express train; the flood would not stop, it just kept on surging through him, bursting out of him incessantly until his blood was burning and his heart felt like it would explode too. 

"Get Mahmoudi!" Paddy yelled.

Someone scooped him up and carried him through to the bedroom where he was laid down gently on a firm, comfortable mattress. The material caressed his skin possessively. Rayne kept his eyes closed tight. He could not look at them. This had to be a nightmare, right? He was still asleep, still dreaming! This kind of thing did not happen to anyone when they were awake.

His hand moved instinctively to his cock as he was set down on the bed. It was still rock hard, still oozing a slow trickle of fluids. His belly and chest were soaked with sweat and spunk. Shamelessly he fisted his hard penis, rolling onto his back and squirming restlessly on the sheets, bucking his slim hips upward urgently as his fingers caressed the sticky, hot shaft, teasing a painful kind of pleasure from it. How could he still feel so fucking horny after everything that had been done to him yesterday?

A cool hand stroked his forehead then someone gently pulled his fingers from his erection and he whimpered a pathetic protest. 

"Get me a wet towel," Mikka said grimly. "Make sure it is cold."

"He can fuck me, if it'll help," a quieter voice ventured. 

Rayne opened his eyes and found Robin kneeling on the edge of the mattress beside him. The other lad was watching him with fascinated eyes. He smiled gratefully. Right now the promise of any kind of gratification was welcome. 

"Suck me off!" he panted. 

"NO!" Mikkal gripped his chin in a strong hand and turned Rayne's face away smartly from Robin's hopeful, answering smile. "Listen... you need to calm down."

"If... if he makes me cum again, maybe I'll calm down," Rayne gasped. His heart was racing so hard that it ached like someone was squeezing it tightly in a huge fist. 

"Do you believe that?" Mikka asked, and this time he sounded properly angry. "Hellfire, Rayne! You're as stupid as those bollock-heads out there! Clay and Aldo are big guys, 'fit' guys! They can take a pill like that and fuck all night until they drop. They've no damned brain-cells to kill, so no damage done, huh? It's too much for you, baby. You're not a machine, you've not got the muscle-density those guys have. Let 'me' calm you down, honey. Please! Trust me! You're gonna hurt yourself if you try to fight it."

"Kiss me!" Rayne exhaled, having tuned out about half way through this impassioned plea. He was painfully conscious this close up of how gorgeous Mikkal actually was. He had long, silver eyelashes, every colour of silver from the darkest grey to the purest white, and so long and curling that they were nearly feminine. His pale eyes were flecked with blue and green and the lightest shade of grey. Rayne wanted to press his lips to the straight, serious line of Mikka's mouth, to feel it part and surge against his own. "Fuck me!" he panted, writhing on the bed again. 

He was aching all over. Even his head was beginning to pound. A sense of nausea washed over him and he swallowed dryly.

Aldo returned, looking chastened, although his cock still tented his ridiculous apron. He dumped a pile of wet bath sheets on the edge of the bed. At once, Mikkal folded one lengthways and laid it over Rayne's belly and groin. He wrapped it around the boy, tucking it under his arse like a huge, damp loincloth, then used another to wipe down his sweating face and chest.

Rayne shuddered a little at the cool touch. It 'was' quieting down the riot of energy in his body and things were beginning to make horrible, painful sense to him all of a sudden. His mind unpicked the meaningless tangle of words they had left for him as he began to lose his senses. Aldo had spiked his drink, not just this morning but probably yesterday as well. There was nothing wrong with his self-control. The Italian had given him some kind of drug that made him horny. And it had worked too!

He remembered stumbling off the set in the afternoon, feeling tired and emotional. Someone had given him a glass of water; a glass, not a bottle as most of their drinking water in Beziers seemed to have been. He had drunk it right down without thinking. Not long after that, Aldo di Boccato took him into another room, pushed him down onto a sofa, dropped his pants and fucked his brains out. And he had not tried to stop it happening. He had fucking wanted it; wanted it so badly that the frustration was like a scream trapped inside him waiting to get out. 

Even when they got back to the boat his lust had not subsided. He had wondered at the curious camaraderie between Aldo and Clay when the Italian guy brought him back here. The little winks and smiles should have warned him that they were up to no good but he had ignored his base instincts and let them do whatever they wanted to him, in any way that they wanted it. And much later, when he woke up in Paddy's arms... 

Rayne felt the tears come then, filling his eyes until he did not know which way to turn in order to hide them. They must have had a fucking good laugh about this yesterday afternoon before he woke up. And again probably once they had all enjoyed him. To think that he had come so very close to blurting out his true feelings when Paddy was alone with him. It was probably all on camera! Thank god he had retained 'that much' sense. He had kept his mouth shut at least, even if he had been forced to whore himself out to them for nothing. 

Mahmoudi turned up about then. Following a hushed conversation with a shamefaced Aldo and Clay, he twisted Rayne's left arm around so that the plumper veins in the crook of his elbow were accessible and administered a shot to the shuddering boy on the bed. Rayne winced away from him, only thinking after the needle had gone in that he should have reminded the Doctor that he was left-handed. It seemed such a stupid thing to think. As if any of these men cared! Peeling off the wet towels Mahmoudi wrapped Rayne carefully in the duvet and told them to keep his temperature stable and come for him right away if his breathing became laboured or his lips turned blue. From the doorway, Paddy McNamara sighed; "I take it we've just lost 'another' day's shooting! Thanks guys!"

Rayne could not make himself care. His throat hurt from trying not to cry and his muscles ached mercilessly. He curled up small, feeling his pulse begin to slow at last. It was such a relief that he closed his eyes and went down with the sedative, sinking into a blissful, peaceful blackness without dreams. 

END OF CHAPTER 13 

*

© Josh & Sadie Rose 2006 



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 14



 CHAPTER 14: PULLING THE DEVIL'S TAIL

By Sadie Rose Bermingham © 2006 

ATONEMENT:

Rayne woke up alone, which of late was so unusual that he took his time to assimilate and appreciate the space in which he found himself. He felt groggy and in need of a good long shower but he was not as sore as he dreaded he might have been. The bed was large and clean and very comfortable. It also showed signs of not having been slept in by more than one person. Under the circumstances that was a relief. Slowly now his memories of the last time he had been properly conscious were coming back.

He curled up again and buried his face in his arms. 

"Jesus fucking Christ on a bike!" he muttered with a shake of his head. "I've been such a fucking muppet!"

It was earlier than he had first guessed and he took advantage of the fact that his fellow boat-mates were still asleep in various tangled configurations to quietly recover consciousness under the cool drizzle of the shower. His upper left arm was sore and he vaguely remembered that Mahmoudi had been there and had poked a needle into the crook of his elbow before he could even point out that he was left handed. He knew without asking that the shot was Diamorphine. It had knocked him straight out. Maybe it would have killed him if it had been a bigger shot but he guessed that even Mahmoudi would be pressed to explain his demise under such circumstances. And Paddy would not want something like that happening on his boat. 

"Could have been worse," he muttered to himself, tilting his head back to let the cool water flow into his mouth and run down his chin. He spat it out and shook his head. "Leland would have dumped you over the side and reported you missing three days later!"

Even Mikkal was not up and about yet and Rayne wrapped himself in a towel, feeling cold to his bones in spite of the mild, summer morning. The galley kitchen was in a semi-mystical state of emptiness and the morning half-light pushed through the gaps in the vertical blinds, reaching vague silvery fingers into the oddest corners. The quiet splashing of water against the side of the boat and the clink of mooring ropes outside broke the stillness but other than this it was bizarrely quiet. When he pulled the blinds, it was just getting light outside and somehow he managed to make himself a pot of coffee in semi-twilight without dropping or spilling anything. He was just about to take it up onto the roof and have a cigarette when someone spoke his name and he jumped so violently that he almost threw the whole shooting match onto the floor. 

"Christ!" he exhaled nervously when Aldo pushed himself up off the sofa, where he had plainly spent the night. Rayne had not even spotted him when he first stumbled through into the kitchen. The Italian pushed a hand through his rumpled black hair now and knuckled the sleep from his eyes. 

"Sorry... did I freak you out?"

Rayne's knuckles tightened around the handle of the coffee pot and the huge mug in his other hand. He felt his heart quicken but at least this morning it was just natural adrenaline. 

"Leave me alone!" he warned, bristling defensively when Aldo tried to get closer. "I'm warning you, this stuff is hot!"

"I'm not gonna try anything. I... I didn't sleep too good last night if that's any consolation," Aldo said a little blearily. 

"Good! I slept fine," Rayne glared at him. "I'm gonna go up and have a fag. I don't want company!"

He got it in any case. Admittedly, Aldo left him to his own devices for at least two cigarettes, by which time he was ready for the top up of coffee which the Italian brought up for him, together with a large plate of hot buttered brioches and a pot of strawberry jam.

"There's nothing bad in it, I promise," he said in a contrite tone as he set the tray down on the roof deck next to the younger man. "I thought you might be hungry by now."

Rayne was and he scowled at Aldo for just a little while, then attacked the sweet rolls before they began to cool. His companion poured them both some more coffee. 

"We've got today off," he said quietly. "PJ's pretty pissed off at me. I guess I'm probably not gonna work with him again for a while."

"Serves you right," Rayne muttered with his mouth full. He chewed vigorously for a moment then washed the mouthful down with more coffee. It made him feel sick but he needed to feel occupied and the food kept his hands and mouth busy so that he could keep conversation to a minimum. "'ave we got any Cheerios?"

For a little while Aldo just looked at him in bewilderment, then he pushed himself to his feet and went back down into the galley with a little sigh. 

Rayne dipped a finger into the jam and sucked it clean. It was sharp and sweet, just the right mix of sugar and fruit. He scooped a slightly more loaded finger of preserve into his mouth and licked his lips, relishing the sugar rush. It balanced the coffee out quite nicely. 

When Aldo came back up on deck with a large bowl of cereal swimming in milk, he did not have the heart to point out that they were better dry. Instead he concentrated on picking the little cereal loops out of the milk and flipping them into the air, catching them in his mouth. 

"It is little wonder that you are thin," Aldo said at last, having observed this human sea-lion routine for a few minutes.

"I'm not gonna put much weight on with 'you' around, am I?" Rayne said venomously, flicking another Cheerio so high into the air that it vanished over the other side of the yacht. 

"I did not give you the pills to hurt you," Aldo countered with a shake of his head. "I am sorry, Rayne. What more can I say?"

"You think I care if you're sorry or not?" the younger man snapped at him. "Aldo... I thought you were my fuckin' friend!"

"I 'am' your friend," Aldo protested, looking genuinely hurt by this. He shook his head at once, staring mournfully at Rayne with those dark, Latin-Spaniel eyes. 

"You are a bastard!" Rayne told him, completely unmoved by this display of contrition. "You spiked my fucking drink, not once but twice! You nearly fuckin' killed me! You're Paddy's fuckin' lapdog. When he snaps his fingers, you jump to attention like you're on a fuckin' lead! I'll tell you what..." he wagged a knowing finger at the Italian; "...you lot deserve each other!"

"Paddy did not tell me to give you the pills," Aldo protested. "He said to get you ready for him, that was all. You were nervous. Clay suggested that they might... make you more relaxed. He knew someone who could get him a few of these pills. I said that I would try and give you some to make you chill out. P J did not know that we had given them to you. When you were hot for us yesterday we thought; 'that worked!' So we gave you some more in the morning, to help with the filming during the day. I didn't know that you still had some drug in your system. Clay reckoned that they wear off pretty quickly."

Rayne was just staring at him. He put the cereal bowl down slowly although he was tempted to throw it at Aldo's head. 

"Clay's built like a brick shit-house! How much of that stuff did you give me, Aldo? I've taken Speed and I know how much tolerance I've got for 'that'!"

The older man looked down awkwardly. 

"We only gave you one the first day but it worked okay, so we thought if we trebled it yesterday..." he stopped because Rayne was looking at him like thunder. Aldo held his hands up and leaned back defensively. "Okay... I know. I'm sorry! I'm really, totally sorry Rayne!"

Pale green eyes glared at him without blinking. 

"Yeah... you're fuckin' sorry, all right!" the boy muttered at last, returning to his Cheerios, although he had lost his appetite again. 

"Paddy asked me to try and cheer you up today," Aldo said with a hopeful little smile. "No pills, no sex... Just the chance to relax, yes?"

"Fuck. Off." Rayne replied, completely deadpan. He did not even look up.

"He suggested that I ought to take you shopping this morning to try and get you chilled before we film," Aldo persisted as if he had not spoken. "Artie's given me the car keys, so I thought we might take the Alfa and go into Agde. Would you like that?"

Rayne closed his eyes tightly for a little while, feeling breathless from the scatter-gun effect of Aldo's amiable chatter. It was beyond him how the Italian could prattle away to him as if nothing had happened. The boy could not believe that Aldo could have done something so unbelievably stupid and reckless, then come up here this morning chatting to him as if it was all a game. His own nerves were still vibrating like a struck tuning fork. 

"Leave me alone," he said through gritted teeth. 

"You don't want to go shopping?" Aldo asked, putting his head on one side like a puppy. "He's given us a lot of money."

Rayne looked sidelong at him, finally. He was still feeling quite woozy and his stomach hurt but the idea of getting out of this goldfish bowl, even just for a few hours, 'was' very tempting. Even if he had to put up with Aldo. Besides, if they had pocket money...

"How much?" he asked at last. 

The Italian flashed a feral smile. 

"About two thousand francs each."

Rayne managed a vague, mental calculation. He did it again just to be on the safe side. 

"That's about two hundred quid?"

"I suppose," said Aldo as if it was of no real consequence. 

Rayne wanted to bang his head on the deck. At home he would have had to work non-stop for three nights to make that sort of money. PJ had to be absolutely loaded if he could afford to throw cash about like this. Or maybe he just had a guilty conscience. Rayne mulled it over silently.

"Yeah," he said at last. "That would be good."

"Did you fuck him?" Aldo wanted to know, subtle as ever.

"Don't you know?" Rayne's green eyes slid back up to survey his face. "Doesn't everyone know by now? What you did to me, the four of you? I thought there were cameras everywhere on this fuckin' boat." 

"It wasn't like that," Aldo said without flinching from his stare. "Paddy took you straight to his room when he got back to the boat. You were completely out of it after..." Aldo looked away, unable to articulate his meaning.

"...after you and Clay fucked the arse out of me while I was strung out on some fuckin' pep pills you'd bunged me?" Rayne supplied for him acerbically. "Yeah! Right!"

"The room is soundproofed and the door was locked," Aldo told him defensively. "I know that he spent all night with you, that's all. And Mikka never even touched you. He's pissed off with me too, so don't round him up with the rest of us. 'And' you weren't helpless, Rayne. You 'knew' what we were doing to you the other day. You wanted it and you 'liked' it!"

Rayne bit his tongue on the verge of a sharp, clever answer. That was too close to the damned truth and Aldo knew it. He could not deny it with a clear conscience. The echoes of their vigorous sex still resonated through his body, two days later. He was sore and his back and thigh muscles were complaining but the memory of their hands and their bodies, their mouths and cocks interacting with his own... that was very clear and almost too stimulating. Aldo had fucked him hard in Beziers and he had loved it. Back in Ambonne, the Italian and his US co-star had shown him how to enjoy being the centre of rock-hard male attention. He wrapped himself more securely in his towel because the recollection gave him a hard on that was nothing to do with artificial stimulants. 

But it still did not get close to the pleasure he had known in Paddy McNamara's arms later that same night. Aldo and Clay excited him and brought him to orgasm, but Paddy blew his mind. It was not just that he was big; it was not that at all. 

Rayne pushed the thoughts away. He would not think about Paddy this morning. He had not forgiven them. He still did not trust Aldo, and Paddy was in league with Aldo, therefore he was not to be trusted either. It made no difference that he could make Rayne cum without even being in the same room. 

"You still doped me," he pointed out sullenly. 

"And you let go of your inhibitions," Aldo retorted, holding his stare.

"I'm not gay," Rayne said in a quiet, insistent monotone. "I only fuck men for money."

"Are you saying that I 'raped' you?" The Italian was looking incredulously at him now. 

Rayne bristled again. He wanted to say 'yes' just to see Aldo flinch but he looked away at last and shook his head. 

Aldo's hand cupped his chin, lifting his face instantly. 

"Should I 'pay' you? Is that what you want?"

Rayne felt sick. He shook his head a little more adamantly, wishing that Aldo would just go away and leave him be. He was confused enough about Paddy right now without this additional complication. 

"What 'do' you want?" his companion asked with a grimace. 

"I don't know," Rayne answered him quietly. 

"Do you want this?" Aldo reached down with his free hand and stroked his ten-inch cock, which was also quite rigid. A little jewel of semen rose to the eye immediately. 

Rayne shook his head, not trusting words. He was not sure that he had the strength for a fucking right now, although the idea of Aldo's long, hard rod inside him 'was' exciting. The realisation of that perplexed him too.

"Aren't you supposed to be taking me shopping?" he asked, changing the subject deftly. 

Aldo looked a tad disappointed with this response but he let go of Rayne's chin and turned away, curling around himself, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, watching the sunlight on the water meditatively. Rayne Wilde popped another small, round cereal snack into his mouth and pulled a face. Cheerios just weren't the same once they got soggy.

KNOW YOURSELF:

Rayne sat thinking for a little while after the handsome Italian had gone in search of his clothes. It was more than two weeks now since Ant had come back to look for him and pulled him out of the snow; hard to believe, really. It felt like another world; another lifetime. A fortnight ago he had been on the verge of an eagerly anticipated gig; just an ordinary kid scraping a living in London, trying to be a rock star. He found himself wondering what would happen to him if he went back to England now. Would he wind up back on the streets? Was London even the right place to go? He knew too many dealers in the capital and they knew him by sight as well. The temptation was going to be too much to resist there.

He could get clean. He knew that he could, it was just a question of willpower. That would show Daniel-fucking-Leland a thing or two! Maybe if he could stay out here...

Rayne shook his head quickly. Not wise, that! He already knew where the drugs were here at the Cap, although he would probably give Giovanni a pretty wide berth after the events of this past weekend. There was still Mahmoudi right on his doorstep, though. Maybe there was just as much temptation out here as there was back home.

Sighing, he finished his cereal and wandered through to the bathroom where he scrubbed his teeth, shaved himself all over and took a shower. Feeling better for the kiss of blisteringly hot water on his skin, he hunted through the closet in the room where he had woken up but there was nothing clean that fitted his slender frame. Biting the bullet, he wandered back through the lounge and hopped down onto the jetty, making his careful way back along the swaying, wooden gangways to Daniel's boat. It felt strange to come back here after the last couple of hectic days. To his relief everyone was still sleeping when he opened the screen door from the rear deck and let himself in. No one locked anything down here. That was another thing he had noticed that was peculiar about the Cap. Either everyone was honest or no one really cared if they had their lives stolen from under them. Either way it was odd. 

In the first room off the corridor, it was still dark and he navigated his way to the cabinet by touch, not wanting to disturb Ant if he was still asleep. His hands found the door to the closet and lingered over the suit he had bought with Ant's credit card on the day of Adolescent Sex's Camden gig. Finally he decided that it was too warm for a jacket and retrieved his black jeans and a simple black shirt and teeshirt.

It felt extremely peculiar to wriggle into his well-worn, comfortable clothing. He was almost reluctant to cover his newly tanned body. The sunburn of the previous week was mellowing now so that his skin was more of an all over honey colour. There were still a few darker welts on his shoulders and buttocks where Christophe and his friends had whipped him but already they were fading into his new, sun kissed skin tones. 

He stroked a wistful hand over the battered guitar case, thinking longingly of his bass and wishing that he could just slope off somewhere and find an amplifier. It would be good to just lose himself in the familiar, rhythmic patterns of the songs he had learned since his childhood. The guitar had belonged to his cousin Joe who was a couple of years older than Rayne and had played in punk bands around the pubs of East Kent for many years. Joe had sold it to him about three years ago when he was about to settle down and marry his long time girlfriend, Elle. She was expecting their first child and they needed every penny they could lay their hands on. Joe wanted the Fender to go to someone who would appreciate it, and while Rayne acknowledged that he would probably never be the greatest bass player in the world, he certainly loved his instrument. It felt as warm and familiar as a lover in his hands. When he snaked his long fingers around the slender neck and gently thumbed the strings he felt a shiver that was just like the anticipation of fabulous sex. 

Jeli used to tease him about getting an erection just before they went on stage but he could not help himself. The buzz that surrounded them before a show was more intense than anything he had experienced using speed or cocaine. It was like being on another planet and communicating with aliens for the very first time. And they were beautiful, lust hungry aliens... and they wanted him and he wanted them in return. 

That had not helped his relationship with Angelica in the long term; he knew it now. He had been such a flirt, and he had not cared whether the ones he flirted with were boys or girls. There were some very pretty boys down in the front row of many of Adolescent Sex's early shows. He knew that they were primarily interested in Jeli, and quite rightly so. Who would not have been? Rayne certainly had not passed at the chance. The groupies made their love life interesting though. More than once they had come home with a boy or a girl from the show, who was willing to make out with both of them. The difference between Jeli and himself, Rayne knew now, was that she was just dipping her toes. It was a giggle for her, a little bit of freedom and exuberance before she settled down. At the end of the day she would follow the life map laid out for her by her money and her breeding. Get a qualification, a career, a good husband and as soon as decently possible, pop out a few well-bred babies to carry on the Parker line. 

Maybe that would be enough for her, maybe not. Rayne doubted it somehow, but for the time being at least she seemed determined to try. She had cried when she told him about Kurt, as if she felt some sense of the betrayal she had perpetrated. He wanted desperately to believe that her tears were genuine, that she was seriously being forced into something that she had no control over. The only thing was, he did not fall for it for one moment. 

Rayne knelt down and put his arms around the guitar case, holding its familiar shape against his body for a little while as he forced back the tears. For a couple of weeks he had played her game, pretending with all his heart that she was playing too and that soon she would see the error of her ways and come back to him. They were still the best of friends, that was the worst of it. Jeli could not let go of him and he had refused to let her walk away. They still talked all night, twined around one another, telling stupid jokes and confessing heartfelt secrets, like children. They fucked like rabid animals from time to time, unable to keep their hands off one another, especially just before or after a gig. Then the energy was at its peak between them. The electricity was undeniable. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 14



But she was engaged, to man she had known as a boy, a man she had only recently become involved with as an adult. Kurt was the son of a business friend of Daddy's. They were going to get married and that was that. No matter that she was unable to keep her knickers on when she was around Rayne. No matter that he was still crazy about her. 

He closed his eyes and tried to think of something that would not make him horny. It took him quite a time.

Finally, Rayne hunted out his comfortable hi-top sneakers and sat down carefully on the edge of the bed to lace them up. He pulled on a loose black shirt with longer sleeves that he kept rolled down but unbuttoned. The scars on his wrists and forearms and the backs of his hands were still paler than the rest of his tanned flesh. Naked, he could not hide them, but now he took advantage of the chance to feign normality. He shoved the remnants of his loose change into his trouser pockets, together with a lighter and a couple of roll ups. The half a joint he had saved at Phil's flat the other day was still in the bottom of his pouch and he turned it over contemplatively in his fingers, then tucked it into the pocket of his shirt with his sunglasses. Just because he had it, it did not mean he had to smoke it but he felt happier knowing it was on his person.

As he stood up with a little sigh, the bedclothes rustled behind him and a sleepy voice murmured; "What are you doing?"

"Shhh," he breathed, coming back to the bedside and bending over Ant to kiss his forehead. "Go back to sleep. It's still early."

"Get in with me," Ant mumbled and Rayne could feel the smile behind his quiet words even though he could not see it. 

"I'm going out," he whispered, crouching beside the bed. "Maybe later."

It was about then that he realised Ant was not alone in the vast bed. Silhouetted against the faint light from the doorway, he made out the form of another head and a slender shoulder, still sound asleep. Slowly he rose to his feet and as his eyes adjusted to the light he recognised the peroxide crop and the delicate features of his lover's current bedmate. 

"Bloody hell, that didn't take long, did it?" he exhaled with a shake of his head. "Not enough for you on his own is he?"

Ant sat up, rubbing his eyes, seeming to remember for the first time that he was not alone. He opened his mouth then closed it again. 

"Forget it," Rayne told him quietly. "I 'aven't got time for this now. If you wanna fuck about with TinTin there, you do it."

He turned away, heading for the door. When he reached the day room, where the morning light was already spilling in through the pale drapes and blinds, Ant caught up with him. Warm hands closed around his upper arms, holding him back, then turning him firmly. He looked up into Ant's sleepy blue eyes and forced a smile that he did not feel and could not maintain.

"It's just a bit of company," Ant protested, keeping his own voice low. "I was missing you. I wanted someone to hold, that's all."

Rayne looked him up and down for a moment, then he astounded the older man by dropping wordlessly to one knee in front of him, curling his fingers around Ant's half-hard morning wood and wrapping soft, wet lips around his glans. He licked and sucked on the bulbous head of his lover's cock for a moment, eyes closed as if he was sampling some interesting new sweet, then knelt back and fired a sceptical stare at the older man, running his tongue over his teeth with a little scowl of disgust.

"You slipped it up his arse by accident did you?" he asked in a sarcastic tone. "While you were busy 'holding him'!"

Ant reached out to stroke his hair but Rayne pulled away and rose to his feet with a vigorous shake of his head. 

"Do you expect me to be a monk while you're getting shafted by McNamara every night?" Ant demanded, stretching out a hand to him again. "Rayne, I'm a human being. I want to be with you but it's becoming painfully obvious to all and sundry that you'd rather be with him. What do you want me to do?"

Pale green eyes moved warily back to his face. In the midst of all this madness, Ant was the one stable force in Rayne's existence. Admittedly he looked a little unstable right now, half-awake, with his overgrown, dark blond hair still dishevelled and framing his sleepy face like a punked-up dandelion clock, and his cock still twitching restlessly. Even so, he was the only link to reality in this bizarre world of sex and sunshine. Watching him standing there with his arms held out, Rayne understood something that came as a bit of a shock to him. Ant had genuine feelings for him, and like Rayne, he was used to hiding those feelings because they got damaged too easily. The boy's lips quirked speculatively and he shrugged his shoulders, not knowing what to say. 

"I dunno."

"What do 'you' want to do?" Ant prompted, trying another tack.

He got another shrug. Rayne just chewed on his lower lip. 

"I have to go," he said at last. 

"Yeah," Ant sneered quietly. "Got another busy filming schedule this morning, I expect!"

"Actually I'm going shopping." Rayne put his hands on his hips and looked back defiantly at his lover.

"Mr Big Cock's opening his big wallet for you? How magnanimous of him! I expect he reckons you can pay him back in kind just like you pay off everyone else."

Rayne saw him wince even as he said it but the words could not be unsaid. The terrible thing was, he understood. In that moment of painful, blistering truth he knew precisely how Ant was feeling. He struck out hoping to hurt to deflect all the attention from his own pain, just as Rayne had been throwing Paddy McNamara's words right back at him since the night they met. He wanted kiss Ant and at the same time he wanted to slap the man for being so transparent. He wondered if Paddy could see through him just as easily. The idea was not a comfortable one. 

"Fuck you!" he said instead, and turned on his heel.

"That's it! Run back to your sugar daddy!" Ant called after him. "That's the only loyalty you know, isn't it? Money and power and what they can buy for you!"

Rayne did not look back, but he raised his left hand with the middle finger extended, then slammed the screen door behind him, no longer caring who he woke. He put his dark sunglasses on as he strode back up the pontoon towards the car park so that no one would see the shimmer of angry tears in his red-rimmed eyes.

FUNTIME:

Aldo was waiting outside on a bench at the edge of the marina. The Italian was wearing a cream linen two piece suit with a crisp white tee shirt under it. He 'looked' like a movie star. Rayne ran a nervous hand through his dark hair and wished that he had elected to wear the suit after all. Although the severely cropped hairdo he had been given the night before he was gang-banged in London was beginning to grow out he still felt bereft. He was used to being able to retreat behind his fringe and it was still not quite long enough for that. The boy felt distinctly scruffy standing next to his older, more worldly companion.

"Wow, you look red hot!" Aldo enthused, blind to his feelings of inadequacy. "I thought you were sexy with your clothes 'off'!"

Rayne just shrugged and tried to ignore that, even though he felt his cheeks heating up. He was still unsure how he felt about Aldo. The Italian was friendly and funny and he certainly lacked nothing in the looks department but Rayne could not help the feeling that he flirted automatically with everyone to get his own way. That was just his manner. If he threw himself at Aldo there was always the danger that the older man might simply laugh at him. And after yesterday he simply did not trust the older man any more.



It was still early enough to be quiet and empty of crowds around the marina as they walked across the car park together. Aldo flipped the remote locking system on the sleek, black Alfa Romeo Spider parked nearest the road. As he opened the driver's door to slide in, the sunroof peeled back automatically and Rayne clapped his hands with a sardonic chuckle, recovering some of his venom.

"You are such a fucking poser!"

"Of course!" Aldo grinned back at him, clearly not offended in the slightest.

Aldo put the radio on as he gunned the engine and they pulled out past the curve of the huge horseshoe-shaped block of apartments at Heliopolis listening to the muted chatter of the loquacious French breakfast DJ. Talk gave way to a medley of mid eighties summer hits as they drove out through the security gates, already manned by a smartly uniformed young buck, even this early in the day. Rayne leaned back in the passenger seat and watched the quiet faceless avenues around the Cap give way to the main road and the open spaces of the Herault valley, tapping his foot idly to Wham's Club Tropicana. Even though he had never been especially keen on the song, he figured that it was probably written for days like this one, speeding through the morning sunlight in an open topped car. He liked being a passenger. It took him back to the random days out of his childhood when his father was making enough money for them to own a beaten up Austin Maxi, bought for twenty pounds from a friend of a friend. It had a dodgy cooling system which meant that it ran out of water without warning and they could not go anywhere without a couple of five gallon cans of H2O in the back. The rear seat did not catch properly either, so it had a tendency to drop into the boot on sharp bends, taking unwary occupants with it. When Rayne was eight the rear part of the chassis collapsed completely and it had to be abandoned in a car park just outside Rye. He remembered being inconsolable at the idea of leaving it behind and his father hurrying them away before anyone linked them to it and made them pay to have it towed. It had taken forever to get the bus home and he had snivelled all the way, refusing to even talk to anyone.

"What are you thinking about?" Aldo asked him as they pulled off the highway and headed into town. 

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you," Rayne said with a lazy smile.

LOST IN AGDE:

The old town of Agde and its narrow winding streets quietly amazed him, as well as reminding him very much of his traumatic visit to Rye. They parked up between the tall, imposing, fortified church with it's huge, dark, Norman tower and an elaborate cloistered building set on a stepped pedestal, which turned out to be the Municipal Hall. There were colourful banners hanging from its crenellated walls and a cool, arched walkway leading to the main square. Children cycled past on their way to school and people hurried on their everyday routes to work, barely even glancing up at the ancient buildings all around them, then in a matter of minutes everything became quite still again. Rayne stood at the top of the steps, staring up past the very highest ramparts into the cloudless, blue sky. Then he lowered his eyes, peering into alleyways barely narrow enough to take the Spider, with cobbled roads that dipped in the centre, turning sharp corners out of his view. Walls crawled with ivy and vines, and lines of washing hung out to dry between the buildings on either side of the street. It was possible to believe that little had changed here for hundreds of years. Rayne thought it was nothing at all like the urban chaos he recalled from the evening of his arrival.

"Do you like it?" Aldo asked cheerfully, rummaging in his wallet and passing the younger man a sheaf of notes.

"Yeah... it's... quaint," Rayne said, staring down at the money uncertainly. "What's this for?"

"Shopping," Aldo grinned. "We cannot shop without cash, no?"

"Christ!" Rayne murmured, counting the notes out carefully. "There's got to be about a hundred and eighty quid here, are you sure?"

"Like I said, it's Dan's money. Spend it or not, but I'd spend it if I were you!" Aldo was shaking his head like a bemused parent with a difficult child.

"Okay," Rayne said decisively, stuffing the cash into a front pocket of his jeans. "You mind if I have a bit of a wander on my own. I just want to get a feel for the place. You know?"

Aldo frowned as if this had not been part of the remit. Rayne knew straight away what the problem was. 

"I'm not gonna disappear," he promised. "I've not got enough money for that, have I? I just... I want a bit of space, yeah? I'll meet you back here in an hour and we can have a laugh, okay?"

He beamed hopefully at Aldo, who still looked doubtful. 

"You'd better not get me in trouble," he warned sagely at last.

"I swear it," Rayne rose on tiptoe and kissed him on the nose. "You're an angel. I'll see you in an hour, all right?"

"One hour," Aldo waved a finger at him warily. "No more."

"Dead on," Rayne agreed. 



In the end, persuading Aldo di Bocatto that he would be all right alone was the easy part. Rayne went around in circles twice on the narrow, twisting medieval streets before he found the river. He followed it to the bridge that he recalled seeing from Terry's ancient Merc the night he and Ant were picked up. Taking a deep breath he walked across and found a road sign that seemed to indicate the station, pointing along a tree lined boulevard that climbed very slightly upward from the banks of the slow moving river. It was a short walk along this avenue to the bustling station forecourt but Rayne noted en-route that this was a vastly different environment to the one he had left on the far bank of the Herault.

He had been in rougher neighbourhoods, for sure, but there was a palpable sense of desperation about some of the faces he observed as he walked. Lean, pinched men of indeterminate age and race hovered in doorways engaged in muted conversation, watching every stranger that passed by with suspicion or an eye to the main chance. A thin, dirty looking woman in a long, ragged dress was weaving down the street, accosting stragglers from the rush hour with their briefcases and suits or harassed foreigners hauling huge cases. Most of them hurried on by and paid her little or no heed. Others got caught and pressed small amounts of change on her with red faces before they struggled on their way.

Rayne crossed the road to avoid making eye contact, not out of any sense of pity or disgust but because he did not want those watching to mark him as a foreigner and a possible target; not while his pockets were crammed with folded francs. The high pitched scream of a siren cut the air and he managed not to jump as a police car went roaring down towards the river, apparently oblivious to the potential muggers and the ragged woman. They had bigger fish to reel in, probably over the bridge in the more affluent old town.

He supposed that he ought to have felt out of his depth but surprisingly, the further he went from the river the more affinity he had with this place. Even without understanding the language that filled his ears, along with the rich aural patterns of music that spilled from the passing cars and the tavernas and cafes as he wandered by, he knew how things worked here. A skinny whore gave him the wink from a doorway in one of the sidestreets. She looked easily old enough to be his mother, in spite of the scoop-necked scarlet top that bared her bony shoulders and the tops of her sagging breasts and the short, tight black skirt that covered no more than the crotch of her panties, flashing her long, brown legs. Rayne shook his head with an easy grin and she turned and wiggled her ass at him dismissively as if to demonstrate what he was missing, then moved on to her next mark.

There was a faded elegance to these streets, such as one found in certain parts of London where the regeneration money had not yet reached out and the bulldozers had not quite crept in. The tall, Palladian mansions merged with more recent Nouveau villas and terraces, possessed of a wasted gentility with their peeling whitewash facades and the delicate ironwork of their rusting balconies, peeking through the leaves of the overgrown plane trees. His nostrils were assaulted by the smells of sweet doughnuts and hot chocolate, fresh steaming black espressos, newly baked bread and cooking meats. All of this was underlain with the hot tang of simmering fat and petrol fumes and a distant but omnipresent whiff of rotting refuse and the turgid drains that permeated everything. The smell of the river was inescapable as it was in London. 

Many visitors would have wrinkled their noses and hurried on by but Rayne had spent the last two years of his life in England's capital city and the miasma of sounds and smells was oddly comforting. He felt happier and more at home here than he did in the claustrophobic, artificial environment of the Cap. These were his people, the hookers and pimps, the dealers and down and outs.

As a child he had dreaded being taken by his mother to visit her parents, his Nanna and Grandad Monksford. They had a beautiful home and a huge, wonderful garden and Nanna was always baking so there were sweet biscuits and cakes, and bitingly cold milkshakes with ice-cream floats. But in this house packed with abundant delights and curiosities he was always being told to 'sit down', 'keep still' and 'don't touch'. He was forbidden to slide along the glossy, polished hall floor in his socks, hauled bodily out of flowerbeds where he had buried his nose in the middle of some enormous, beautiful, scented bloom, rebuked for running around the garden pretending to be a jungle explorer in the tall grasses and dense, green bushes that made such fabulous dens and hiding places. Most inexplicably of all, in a house that was filled to the rafters with books and pictures, he was never allowed to handle a single one of them.

Skye had called him stupid but he began to hate going there. And now he thought he understood, with painful simplicity, what he had failed to grasp aged eight and a half; the reason why his mother had left home as soon as possible and went back there as infrequently as good manners allowed. At home they had little in the way of material luxuries but what they had belonged to everyone and they shared it without reserve. Being at his grandparents' house was like visiting a museum; he was kept at arm's length from everything he wanted to embrace. Something burned at the backs of his eyes and Rayne sat down heavily on a bench just off the busy concourse of the station, having reached his destination without realising it. 

He closed his eyes for a moment until the memory and the uncharacteristic flood of concomitant emotion subsided. Quietly he cursed Mahmoudi for giving him diamorphin. It always left him feeling mawkish and sentimental. When he was able to focus again, which he did by digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands until the pain drove everything else away, he finally opened his eyes and began to look around.

The scrawny little dealer he had encountered on the evening of his arrival was nowhere in sight. Rayne worried that perhaps he was not an early riser and he was wasting his time hanging around waiting for the fellow at this hour of the day. He lit one of the roll ups and smoked it to calm his nerves, letting the last wash of suits and morning workers melt away into shops and offices, then wandering into the cool, lofty station concourse that was still sparsely peopled by random tourists with cases and sleeping back-packers. At one of the vending machines he raided the change in his pockets and bought a can of Fanta and packet of crisps. His stomach still felt a little queasy but he forced himself to eat, slumped on a bench near the doorway, watching groups of youngsters wrestling with the straps of their enormous back-packs or checking out the tyres and brakes on their hired bicycles. Bewildered holiday makers, generally male, prowled around in search of a cab or a bus timetable whilst their wives sat tight in the midst of a circle of suitcases and bags like lone immigrant wagon trains waiting to fight off Red Indians.




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 14



That made him think of Wagon Wheels but a cursory inspection of the vending machine revealed that either these chocolate treats were now obsolete or had never reached this far flung outpost of Europe. He returned to the bench and took another slurp from his can, thinking to himself how good it felt to actually be alone. Rayne was not solitary by nature but this little stretch of personal space was delicious. It felt wicked, like bunking off school and riding up to London on the train without a ticket.

Some of his friends were incapable of doing the smallest things without someone to hold their hand but he had never minded being on his own. It gave him thinking space and he had been doing a lot of thinking just recently. 

When they were children, he and Skye had been eternally perplexed by their father's habit of locking himself in the bathroom with the newspapers on a Sunday morning. Sometimes he was in there for almost an hour and when asked what he did in there that took so long he always answered; "I'm contemplating, son. I'm contemplating."

For years Rayne had confused contemplation and constipation as a result of this habit but now he thought he understood it.

When someone dropped down next to him on the bench he initially blanked the guy. Only when his companion attempted to say hello in about five different languages did Rayne finally turn to look at him. He found himself facing a tall, half-caste fellow with a wisp of dark moustache and a straggly goatee beard. Jewellery dripped from his ears and nostrils, neck and wrists, all of it cheap and home-made. His clothing was a similar rag bag assortment in a rainbow of mismatched colours, some of it fitting tolerably well, other parts, like his baggy yellow trousers, hardly at all.

"You smoke, oui?" the fellow said to him, pointing to his nearly exhausted roll up.

"Yeah," Rayne exhaled, this being obvious.

"English?"

"Mmhmm," Rayne nodded. "You want a light or somink?"

Pale grey eyes, the colour of mercury, stared back at him impassively. Just as he was about to try another tack, thinking he was not making himself understood, the guy said; "You want weed, English? Skink, non?"

"Skunk?" Rayne corrected him cautiously, though his spirits rose a little. "No... no thanks."

The stranger made a non-committal sound that did not part his lips. He touched the back of Rayne's hand, artlessly moving his loose shirtsleeve back along his forearm. At once the boy pulled away from him.

"Oi!" he warned.

"You cut?" the scarecrow said, shaking his head a little, then pulling back the sleeve of his multicoloured sweater to the elbow. The scars and track marks criss-crossed his forearm as if some rabid animal had clawed him.

"Jesus!" Rayne exhaled, taking another pull on his cigarette to hide some of the mingled pity and empathy in his voice. "That's... something else!"

"Feels good, non?" his companion sighed, leaning back on the bench and stretching out as if they were discussing nothing more disturbing than the beautiful day. "We smoke and shoot the breeze, oui?"

Rayne passed him the half-smoked roll up wordlessly and his new friend took a long, contented pull, holding the smoke deep then blowing it out through his nostrils. 

"C'est bien," he commented approvingly. "You like to smoke? Understand?"

"Yeah," Rayne said again, taking back the remnants of the cigarette and sucking on the damp roach. He leaned closer and murmured; "You got some weed then?"

"You like?" His companion beamed at him.

"Nah..." Rayne put a hand on his arm before he could pull away, the confusion plain on his face. He passed back the roll up and as the Frenchman sucked in the welcome smoke, he whispered; "You got any pills? Junk?"

The stranger stared back at him for a moment with wide, over-zealous eyes. 

"Dschunk?" he repeated in an undertone. 

"He-ro-in," Rayne said atonally, keeping his voice low.

"Is much money," the skinny fellow told him at once. 

"I can afford it," Rayne held his gaze. "Do you have it or not?"

"Much money." The other stared back at him intently as if he was some bizarre new life-form.

"How much?"

"How much you want?" Silver eyes met pale, peridot green ones without blinking. 

"Couple of grams," Rayne said, holding that look.

"One thousand francs."

For a moment neither man moved then Rayne shook his head.

"You are havin' a laugh, right?"

"One thousand," the scarecrow repeated solemnly.

"Fuck. Off." Rayne sucked the remaining life out his roll up and flicked the roach away with another shake of his head. He emptied the soda can and tipped the empty tin into a nearby bin, then pushed himself to his feet and walked away.

"Nine hundred," said a voice close by his right ear as he reached the bus stop and checked his pockets, pretending to study the timetable. A small, humourless smile tugged at his lips and he did not look round.

"Don't waste my time," he said quietly. "You think I come in on a banana boat or somink?"

"Banana...?" He sensed the fellow's puzzlement now and turned his head to look into those peculiar, silver eyes.

"Go. Away."

"How much money you have?" the rainbow lunatic persisted, ignoring this.

There was a moment when Rayne wondered just how many of this mad bastard's friends were watching him. He regretted the cereal and the crisps because he thought he was actually going to be sick.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," he said, keeping the quiver out of his voice.

"Nine hundred," the scarecrow repeated, walking around the shelter and sitting down on the deserted bench within. A bus had just come through and for the moment they were alone on this small, perspex island.

Rayne wandered around casually to join him but remained standing, leaning against the plastic adshell, framed by a gigantic ice-cream Snickers bar.

"Six," he said resolutely, folding his arms across his chest and focussing on not throwing up.

"You are a funny boy," his companion told him solemnly. "Eight hundred franc, no less."

"Seven," Rayne persisted, still shaking his head. "Eight hundred is too much."

"You cannot afford?" The lanky foreigner rose to his feet and moved closer, looking down on Rayne, reminding him that he was taller and probably faster and stronger to boot. His spidery fingers skated over the boy's denim clad crotch then cupped and squeezed his balls gently. "You can pay other ways, non?"

Rayne's hand caught his wrist, pushing the groping digits away at once.

"I can 'afford' it, it's just too much, okay?" He looked up seriously into those shrewd silver eyes. This close he could smell nicotine and marijuana on the dealer's stale breath. He was not stoned but he was quite mellow. With a clear head, he might have persisted in his attempts to grope Rayne but he did not do so now.

"Seven hundred," Rayne breathed slowly and determinedly.

"Seven fifty... last chance," the scarecrow whispered back. His clammy hand moved to Rayne's face, cupping and stroking it as if they were trysting lovers. This time Rayne held his ground and let the guy touch him. Anyone looking would automatically think they were coming on to one another and probably look away just as quickly.

"Seven hundred and fifty," he sighed at last, reaching for his jeans pocket. "Okay."

The hand left his face, stopping him at once. 

"Not here," the dealer warned, shaking his head. "Too public; too many police." He glanced towards the edge of the concourse where a patrol car had just pulled up.

They watched the uniformed men get out and walk into the station buildings, then the dealer pointed back towards the avenue he had walked up from the river. 

"Down there," he said quietly. "Two streets... a' gauche." He gestured to his left and Rayne nodded at once "Four doors..." Again he made that waving motion with his left hand. 

"Second street, fourth door on the left," Rayne repeated, still nodding. "I understand."

"You wait ten minutes," the dealer counted out the time period on the face of his watch in case this was not clear. 

"Okay." Rayne glanced over his shoulder. There was a clock on the front of the station building. It was almost ten am now.

"You knock and ask for Armand," his companion told him.

"Armand, okay," Rayne agreed eagerly. He could feel the familiar shiver starting up in his veins at the thought of the fix. Rayne did not like drug-dealers, generally. You could never trust them, but the idea of the deal, the allure of that first sweet hit of smoke, was all too much. He nodded his head again seriously and the fellow patted his cheek as if he was a child and scurried off in the direction he had just indicated.

It was one of the longest ten minutes of Rayne's young life. He paced back and forth in the shelter for a while, watching the clock, keeping his hands on the money in his pockets and waiting for the seconds to crawl by. And the more he waited, the more anxious he became.

Johnno sorted out the dealers back home. Occasionally one of them wanted a bit more than the cash and then John would leave Rayne alone with him for a while. He had never struck a deal for heroin in his life until that night in London, just before Ant brought him to France. Even then he had managed to get himself arrested, although it was only for soliciting in the end. Telling the cops he was only fifteen generally worked and he got off with a caution. Normally, Johnno would come and pick him up from the station with a ready-made excuse. Rayne was not naïve enough to imagine that the police believed he was John's little brother, any more than they believed that he had missed his bus and was waiting for a lift home in a notorious red-light district where men came regularly to pick up young boys for sex.

Unfortunately for them, they had no more evidence that he was lying than he had that he was telling the truth. 

He paced back and forth again, then looked up at the clock. Three minutes past ten! He stared at it for a moment, counting to sixty slowly, sure that it had stopped, then walked down the pavement to the far corner of the concourse and stared along the boulevard towards the entrance that was second on the left. It looked no different to any other street around here; no better, no worse.

"I'm looking for Armand," he whispered under his breath, trying the words for size. "I was told to ask for Armand... shit no, that sounds lame!"

He walked back towards the station and bought a bottle of water from the machine. The two cops passed him on the way out and one of them looked him up and down but they did not stop. Rayne shivered in spite of the gathering heat and unscrewed the cap from his bottle, draining it gratefully.

"I want to see Armand," he murmured to himself, imagining a more purposeful tone of voice as he leaned in the doorway, waiting for the police car to pull away. That only sounded pushy; a bit too cocky, perhaps.

He checked the time again, this time on the flicker-board readout above the ticket kiosks. The numbers flickered down, changing as he watched them; white on black panels; 10:05.

"I've come for Armand," he said to it, shaking his head at once and turning away.

A tune came into his head and he wandered out again, humming quietly to himself, snatching fragments of the lyrics; "I'm... waiting for the man... twenty five dollars... in my hand."

His brain played with some school boy mathematics at the same time. Lou Reed had written that song maybe fifteen or twenty years ago and twenty five dollars was, what? Sixteen pounds maybe? Even with inflation he figured that the seven hundred and fifty francs he had just been charged was a bit steep! Maybe Heroin was more expensive in France than it was in New York. Maybe Lou Reed just knew a friendly dealer!

He wondered if the scarecrow was Armand or just the messenger. If he had to ask for Armand then it stood to reason that he would not be the only person there. Was it a crack house? Rayne took a deep breath and contemplated smoking the half joint in his shirt pocket, then ruled it out severely. He needed to keep his wits about him if this place 'was' a crack house. John and Surrey Dave sometimes went down to one of their regular Dealer's places in Shoreditch to lend the guy some muscle. Johnno always carried at least a couple of knives and Surrey had a pistol; a neat little Beretta that he claimed to have taken from a cop at the Whitewater Farm riots. 

Rayne never knew whether to believe any of Surrey's blagging, but at least the guy was not interested in his arse at all. That was a blessing! 

He sighed, weary of waiting. Scarecrow Man was right about one thing, there 'were' too many police around. Another car passed him as he walked back to the bus stop and he deliberately avoided looking at it, lighting the other fag to settle his nerves, eyes on the station clock. When it ticked down to 10:08, he turned and set off back towards the boulevard, under the whispering planes and limes, eyes fixed on the second turning on the left. His heart was beating double time when he reached it and flicked away the roach from his exhausted roll up. 

The fourth door on the left was set back in a deep alcove with four buttons in a battered looking intercom grille, fixed to the wall. There were no names or numbers next to any of them so he pressed them all, one at a time. When nothing happened, he stepped back into the street, looking up at the house. It was three storeys tall, with a loft window above that. Floors one and two had small iron balconies and louvered, full-length shutters with peeling paintwork. Both were closed but there were some withered pot plants on one of the balconies and a towel hanging over the balustrade to dry. On the next balcony there was nothing at all.

Rayne glowered at the door irritably, wondering if this had all been some kind of elaborate joke. Across the street a skinny, shirtless, richly tanned youth was watching him from another doorway, pulling languidly on a cigarette. Now he called out, a meaningless tattoo of words and Rayne shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in response. The smoker raised his hand and mimicked a swift rapping motion.

Feeling stupid, and quite ready to turn and walk away empty handed, Rayne Wilde stepped back into the alcove and knocked hard on the peeling red door. For a moment there was a profound silence, no voices, no footsteps, nothing at all; then, just as he was about to give up completely, the lock clicked. He heard a bolt slide back behind the door and it opened, framing a tall, beardless, broad-shouldered, black skinned man in a well-fitting suit. The fellow's hair was cropped close to his skull and shimmering with oil and he looked down at Rayne with dark, impassive eyes and a closed, expressionless face.

"I... I've come to see Armand," Rayne choked the words out, seriously wondering if he had the wrong address. This guy did not look like any dealer or crack-whore he had ever met.

"English?" the man queried. His accent was heavy and the single word dripped from his lips like melting chocolate.

Rayne nodded, struck dumb. That was one hell of a sexy voice!

"You come, English," the guy invited, stepping aside so that he could walk past into the dimly lit hallway beyond the door.

As he took his first tentative steps inside, Rayne thought that the place felt unused, as if no one actually lived here. There was a stale, damp, dusty smell to the place that was utterly at odds with his host's appearance and manner. His senses all prickled at the wrongness of that. Sure, from time to time, dealers had to move around. Their whole game was about making a profit and staying a couple of jumps ahead of the cops, but even so, Rayne's instincts were screaming at him to get out of here.

The big guy closed the door behind him and he managed not to jump as he felt a large, warm hand come to rest in the small of his back, steering him firmly but not roughly along the empty hallway, past a couple of closed doors on his right, towards another portal at the farthest end. A flight of bare, paint-spattered stairs to his left ran up to the next floor and Rayne was conscious of the squeak of his rubber-soled sneakers on the ancient parquet underfoot. The click of the black guy's boot heels echoed ominously in the empty hall.

The door at the end of the corridor stood ajar and he was ushered through it now into a room dominated by a huge, dirty window with bars on the outside, dimly visible through the grime. His gaze took in another door set into the far wall to the left; a big, iron door with three heavy padlocked bolts on it. A bare bulb hung from a worn, braided pendant in the ceiling over a pitted wooden table that might have seated ten people, although there were no chairs in the room. In fact it was the only piece of furniture he had seen in the house, full stop. Set into the right hand wall was an enormous, filthy-looking fireplace with a stone mantel and the charred remnants of some feeble attempt at a fire in the iron grate. A number of plain, wooden packing cases were stacked haphazardly under the window.

At the head of the long table stood another man, silhouetted in grey against the light from the dirty panes. He too wore an immaculate dark suit with a pale, lightly woven, roll-neck sweater beneath it. His hair was trimmed short and neat around his ears, framing his head like a dark skullcap, flecked with grey at the temples. He was white and, Rayne guessed, probably about forty five; a little older than the black guy who had let him in. And he made the boy's skin crawl.

There was no sign of Scarecrow Man anywhere in the room.

He wanted to leave more than anything but one thing held him in place. At the head of the table, in front of the creep in the suit, was a small, chromium-plated, digital scale and a shrink-wrapped, plastic package about the size of a man's fist. Next to it lay a couple of polythene baggies and a large tablespoon. The scale gleamed in the dull light from the flyspecked bulb; clean, pristine, brand new.

"Are you Armand?" Rayne asked him huskily.

"Let us say, for simplicity's sake, that I am," the man replied in faultless, barely accented English. "What is 'your' name?"

He was not sure what made him decide, but in that instant the very last thing he wanted was to reveal his identity to this man, or even give him a clue.

"James," he said decisively, settling for his father's name. "James... Wright."

"Come closer, James," Armand beckoned, crooking his little finger in Rayne's direction.

The other man's hand was on his back again, pushing him gently forward in case he thought to change his mind. That pressure remained as the man in front of him cupped his chin in one strong, smooth-skinned hand, lifting his face to the light. Colourless eyes bored into him. Armand was not traditionally handsome, but he was still good looking in an arrogant, middle-aged, Mediterranean way. He smelled incredible; a liberal dousing with expensive aftershave on that carefully exfoliated chin, no doubt.

"You are a pretty little thing, James," he said solemnly, swallowing Rayne with his eyes in a way that made the boy shiver. "How old are you?"

"I'm twenty," Rayne said, clearing his throat nervously. He wanted to pull away but he was scared now. They were both big guys and it would be no great task for them to hurt him badly if that was what they chose to do. 

"I think you're probably younger than that, aren't you?" Armand suggested silkily. His hands moved to Rayne's wrists and he pushed back the boy's sleeves casually then said; "No matter. Take off your shirt and vest, then drop your pants for me, James."

Rayne froze, unable to move. Briefly he was paralysed by those fixed, impassive eyes; snared like a mouse in front of a cobra.

"Pasqual, strip him!" Armand instructed when he did not obey automatically.




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 14



At once the black man's hands were sliding up under the hem of his tee-shirt, peeling both the under and outer garment off deftly over his head before he was able to resist. He dropped them onto the table, just out of Rayne's reach, then groped for the fly of the boy's jeans. 

"No!" Rayne yelped at him, slapping and pushing at those powerful, dark hands. "Stop it! What that fuck...?"

Armand snatched his wrists and held his arms up above his head effortlessly, examining Rayne's skinny wrists as he did so. The younger man was almost lifted off his feet as the black man unfastened his pants and yanked them roughly down to his knees, exposing him to both men. He made a remark in French that clearly amused his countryman for Armand chuckled darkly, never taking his eyes off Rayne.

"What did he say?" the boy panted, struggling uselessly.

"He observed that you have an all-over tan, James. You have been staying at the Cap, non? At Port Ambonne?" Armand smiled like a serpent with a nice meal all lined up and waiting.

"I've... I spent a few day there," Rayne acknowledged, not sure what else to say.

"Were you whipped there?" Armand asked curiously, his eyes tracing the faint lash marks on Rayne's bare chest and belly.

He swallowed hard, and nodded his head feeling the colour rise to his cheeks at the admission. Pasqual's warm hands began to caress his bare arse and he struggled again.

"Did you pay to be beaten? Or was it done to you at one of the clubs?" Armand persisted, ogling him shamelessly; enjoying his humiliation. The crotch of his free-fitting suit pants tented as he pulled Rayne up onto his toes. "Does being beaten arouse you? Or your lover, perhaps?"

"N-no..." Rayne whispered, shaking his head adamantly.

"Do you have a girlfriend, James Wright?" the Frenchman asked with a little smile. "Or a boyfriend, perhaps?"

He shook his head quickly again, feeling a prickle of anxiety run up his spine. 

Behind him, the black murmured something else in that rich, smoky, velvety voice. His fingers wormed between Rayne's smooth cheeks, stroking and probing his clenched ring.

"My friend Pasqual likes you very much, James," Armand informed him. "Pasqual enjoys fucking young men. He wishes to know if you are still a virgin."

"No," Rayne said atonally, though he felt a rush of colour rise to his cheeks. 

"You have been with a girl?" the Frenchman interrogated him. His gaze bored into Rayne's head and the younger man nodded at once.

"What about with a man?"

Rayne closed his eyes. His face felt unbearably hot and he could only keep shaking his head. He felt Armand lower him a little so that he could stand on his own two feet again but the man kept his hands raised. 

"You have never been penetrated by a man?" he asked in a quiet, eager voice.

Rayne swallowed hard. 'Give them what they want' his conscience insisted. 'Tell them what they want to hear. They might shoot you up first.'

"N-n-no..." he quavered now, shaking his head. 

Armand relayed something very softly to his friend and his fingers loosened a little around Rayne's cold, aching wrists. Behind him, the boy heard Pasqual spit into his hand, then the black began to work some of his saliva slowly into Rayne's twitching anus with a couple of fingers. The younger man moaned helplessly as he was breached and frigged. Armand watched his friend molest the boy with a knowing smile. His breathing had quickened along with his cock as Rayne struggled and whimpered at the pulsing digits in his vulnerable rectum, pushing deeper and faster into the soft, wet places of his clenching hole.

"Ohhhh... mmmmmhhhh! No-o!" he moaned urgently as his young cock stiffened of it's own volition. "Uuhhhh.... Ohhh God! Please don't rape me!"

The two men laughed appreciatively, talking to one another in French. Pasqual fingered him faster and harder. With the other spit-lubed hand he reached around and gripped Rayne's erection, fisting it rapidly until the English lad was wriggling and making little crying noises; his sex leaking uncontrollably in the black man's pumping hand. He was petrified but also impossibly turned on, unsure how something so incredibly indecent could feel so fucking good. Perhaps the aphrodisiac Clay and Aldo gave him had not entirely worn off yet.

'You can do this, Ray,' his conscience whispered encouragingly. 'Just give them what they want, heh? Maybe you'll get a bonus. Another gram perhaps?'

Suddenly Armand was lowering his arms, letting the blood flow back to his hands. Rayne opened his eyes, looking up at the tall Frenchman as fearlessly as he could manage. 

"You will not keep your looks taking heroin," Armand warned him paternally, whilst his countryman forced his fingers deeper into the boy's tight arse. That was such an echo of Leland's warning from a couple of nights ago that the boy felt uneasy.

"I... I know," he gasped in return, catching his breath as Pasqual found his hot spot and began to rub and tease that sensitive gland until he shuddered furiously. "Ohhhh.... Please! Sweet Jesus! I know... I know I should stop!"

"You should," Armand whispered, adjusting his grip so that he could hold both of Rayne's slender wrists in one hand and stroke the boy's hair and face with the other. "You are astonishingly beautiful; as pretty as a young girl, James. Men are not usually to my taste but the sight of your virgin body, naked and submissive... it is making me very hard!"

He released Rayne's arms and stroked his face with both hands. Rayne felt Pasqual's fingers ease out of him and he caught his breath again, wondering if this was maybe just a test. Were they teasing him, playing him to see how far he would go for Junk?

"Step out of your jeans and kneel down for us now," Armand told him as Pasqual rubbed his hands together, getting some of the stickiness off his fingers.

Rayne's knees went weak and he obeyed the simple instruction wordlessly, sinking to the floor between the two older men, reasoning with himself as he went down. It would not take him long. He had done this kind of thing before, many times, for the dealers who came to Rabid John's place. This was no different. Neither of these guys was hard on the eye; they looked clean enough. Maybe they believed this would humiliate him, make him a soft touch. Well more fool them! 

"Don't hurt me," he panted fearfully. "I know how to suck. I'll suck you both off."

They exchanged a look. Armand said something that made Pasqual laugh, then both men unzipped their pants and got their hard pricks out. Rayne curled the fingers of his right hand around Armand's long, blue-veined, slightly crooked cock, stroking it's near seven inch, circumcised length steadily as his lips parted around the dusky pink head of Pasqual's longer, thicker, cut tool. His erect meat was the colour of milk chocolate, a little over eight inches, which was next to nothing after taking Clay and PJ down his throat. Rayne swallowed and sucked him greedily, without needing to be told, lost in the heat and the rich, musky, salty flavour of the man's sex, the fingers of his right hand pumping gently on Armand's hot, purple rod. His thumb rubbed oozing pre-cum down the white man's throbbing shaft as his lips and tongue caressed Pasqual's delicious, chunky, black dick.

The two men exchanged breathless, murmured comments, then Armand touched Rayne's cheek and Pasqual pulled out of his mouth so that the boy could turn his head and wrap his warm, welcoming lips around Armand's leaking cock. Rayne spat into his left hand first and gently enfolded Pasqual's hot, wet erection in the nest of his palm and deft fingers. His right hand still gripped the base of Armand's hard shaft, pumping him rhythmically as he licked and suckled on the head of the man's dribbling cock. He masturbated Pasqual urgently as Armand ran a hand through his silky hair, forcing his head down and bucking his sex in and out of the English boy's mouth.

For a while the only sounds in the room were the men's husky murmurs of approval and the soft, wet, sucking and stroking noises of Rayne's skilful mouth and hands. He moaned a little as Armand's cock head entered his throat, briefly choking him, then the pressure on his head was gone and it withdrew completely. At once his parted lips were drawn back onto Pasqual's beautiful, dark brown dick again. The horny black dealer rested both hands on the back of Rayne's head, thrusting excitedly in his mouth and deeper into his throat as the boy cupped and massaged his big, hairy balls with one hand, swallowing him down. Armand's crotch and nut sac were neatly trimmed like the rest of him. Rayne pumped his shaft right-handed for a little while. He was generally better with the left but Armand did not seem to mind too much. After a while the man moved closer, easing Rayne's hand down to his balls and spanking the boy's face with his erect tool as Pasqual stopped fucking his mouth and let the pretty youngster nod and suck at his own pace again.

"Mmmmhhh... both!" Armand panted, as Pasqual all but pulled out. Rayne took hold of Armand's cock and opened his jaws just wide enough to take the pair of pulsing heads in his mouth. He lashed the glossy domes with his rough, flickering tongue until Armand pulled out again with a grunt of urgency, rubbing his own shaft quickly between his thumb and fingers until a jet of thick, opalescent cum squirted out all over the young Englishman's face and into his mouth.

"Jesu!" he panted hoarsely. "C'est mais bien!"

Pasqual withdrew from Rayne's mouth at once and the black man lifted him almost gently to his feet, then sat him on the edge of the table like a child. Armand moved around behind him and the two men eased Rayne down firmly on his back across one corner of the pitted wooden table top. Armand flipped a coin and showed it to his companion with a scowl. Pasqual just grinned, then peeled off his jacket and sweater, revealing glistening muscles from his shoulders to his powerful thighs. He lifted Rayne's legs, spreading them wide and worming his broad shoulders beneath the boy's knees. Armand tilted Rayne's head back over the lip of the table and gently spanked his face again with his half hard sex.

"He is going to fuck you first," Armand told him breathlessly and rather unnecessarily, Rayne thought, in view of the fact that he could feel Pasqual's strong fingers pulling his cheeks apart until his well-fingered hole gaped. He moaned eagerly as the handsome black guy bent over him, spitting two good gobs of saliva into his arsehole, then rubbing the fat, glossy head of his hard, black cock over that spittle slick orifice.

Armand said; "Soon you will no longer be a virgin, James

"Please!" Rayne panted, wriggling urgently under him. "Don't hurt me! I'll do anything... I swear!"

The fellatio had left him feeling unbelievably horny. He was sure now that the drugs had not yet worn off. Whatever the cause, he was still aching for a good hard boning. Even after all the action on and off the film set the other day he was not completely sated.

Armand presumably translated this to his friend for Pasqual laughed out loud and hoisted Rayne's ankles over his shoulders once more. He fished a small, foil-wrapped package out of his trouser pocket and tore it open with a broad grin, quickly rolling the slippery rubber down over his long, black tool. His pants and jockey shorts fell to the floor as he gripped the boy's slim hips and eased himself in and out a couple of times, almost experimentally, then bent over Rayne and humped himself deeper. Rayne cried out incredulously and thrashed around beneath him until Armand had to hold him still. Pasqual spread his legs roughly and pulled his hips to the edge of the table so that he could buck his big, thick cock all the way into Rayne's body.

Rayne uttered a little whinnying cry of pleasure and astonishment. The other man's chunky, powerful erection felt incredible inside him. He could barely believe it himself but he was shivering with ecstasy and an uncontrollable need to hold onto Pasqual and not let go until the guy had brought him to a bucking, screaming orgasm. 

Pasqual panted something eagerly as he slammed away between Rayne's legs. Armand told him; "He likes your ass, James. He says you are a tight little boy but you are also a liar, you have done this before!"

Rayne's hand groped down between his thighs for his cock, his fingers snaring the aching glans and squeezing gently until he felt a river of molten semen trickle down the shaft. There seemed no point in denying himself pleasure if the game was up. Pasqual did not seem to worried about his dubious claims to virginity.

"Nnngggghhhhh!" he groaned. "Ohhh Christ! Tell him not to stop... tell him to fuck me harder! He's not hurting me! Tell him.... Ohhhh god almighty! It feels so good!"

He almost bucked up off the table as Armand conveyed this to his friend and Pasqual began to hammer his colon with corresponding frequency and enthusiasm. Rayne's hand flew up and down the twitching, jumping shaft of his throbbing cock as that thick black tool pistoned furiously back and forth in the spasmodic wetness of his stimulated arsehole. Armand tilted his head back again, rubbing his balls against the boy's face until Rayne swallowed and sucked on his big nuts, one at a time, then took the Frenchman's leaking cock shaft in his mouth again, sucking the thick, meaty juices from it as he was spit-roasted vigorously across the table. 

His orgasmic yelp was stifled by Armand's thrusting cock in his mouth and throat, but Rayne's back arched up off the table top as his semen spattered all over his bare belly and chest. His bollocks were jerking madly as Pasqual bent low over him, gripping his shoulders and pulling himself deep into the boy's colon. He groaned like a bull elephant as he released the wet heat of his spill into the straining rubber. 

"Mmmnnnhhhh!" Rayne exclaimed, pearly streams of jism and saliva running from the corners of his mouth as his tongue caressed Armand's still-leaking sex. He felt as if his body was burning up from the inside. It would not stop trembling and he felt muscles twitching and popping furiously inside him as he sank back onto the table, overwhelmed with lust. It never ceased to amaze him how good sex with other men sometimes was. Time after time he told himself that it was just a bizarre kink and he would soon grow out of the need to let men spread and enter him and find a stunning girl to settle down with. He loved to screw women; adored the soft swell of their breasts and the lush curves of their hips and thighs. The scent of a woman's pussy still drove him insane with lust. When he first met Jeli he spent hours at a time just lying on the bed at her apartment, his face buried in the wetness of her sweet cunt, revelling in the way her body would shake and tighten as he licked and fingered her closer to yet another climax. By the time he was ready to mount her and drive his hard shaft into her quivering heat she was usually weak with pleasure and exhaustion. The act of penetration was an almost cursory thing; virtually an afterthought.

He wondered, did other men feel that tenderness and amazement watching him grow excited and spill his seed as they thrust away inside him. The more he thought about it, the more he decided that he was just abnormal. On the whole men were only interested in him until the tightness of his anus or the wetness of his mouth brought them off. They were not concerned with whether he came or not. It could not be natural to feel the way he did. Surely, more men would be that way if it was. Or were they just hiding it, as embarrassed by their emotions as he was?

"You are a very dirty boy," Armand was chuckling down at him now, stroking his sticky face. "To pay with your virginity, you must want what we have very badly, James."

For a moment, Rayne had actually forgotten what it was that brought him here, which amazed him. He was thinking that he desperately wanted to feel Pasqual's cock rise and surge back into his gut again. It slipped out of him wetly, the spunk-filled condom was a slippery, uncomfortable presence at his backdoor, then it was whipped away. Pasqual peeled it off casually and discarded it. Armand was already rolling on a rubber and as his companion moved away, he urged Rayne firmly onto his belly over the table and took Pasqual's place between the young man's slender thighs. Rough hands gripped his arse and spread his buttocks and more saliva was spat into his gaping hole. 

"Aahhhhh!" Rayne huffed quietly as Armand's sheathed penis pushed steadily into him from behind.

The man's right hand reached under him at once, taking a firm hold of his cock and balls. Armand leaned the left hand into the back of Rayne's neck, holding him down across the tabletop with his left cheek pressed against the coarse grain of the wood and his arsehole raised invitingly. He began to fuck rapidly with his erect prick immersed deep in Rayne's backside, rocking himself back and forth against the squirming youngster's naked body. Rayne clenched his teeth as he was buggered hard and fast. He could feel Armand's cock sawing against the curve of his backbone and it felt amazing. The boy ground his genitals into Armand's palm, bucking and whimpering under him, eager to cum again.

Pasqual crouched down across the table from him and peered into his eyes intently. 

"You like?" he panted in broken English. 

Rayne struggled to nod his head. "Yeah."

"Little whore!" Armand grunted, banging him harder. "You want it, n'est pas?" 

"Mmmmmhhhhh..." Rayne whined huskily, thrashing around under him. "Uuugggghhhhh, yeaaaagggghhhhh!"

Pasqual pushed himself to his feet and rubbed his stiffening member as he watched his partner violently sodomising the boy. Armand's hand moved from the youngster's neck and Pasqual grabbed Rayne by the hair, pulling him towards the edge of the table and forcing his resurgent sex into their plaything's half-open mouth. It tasted a little bit rubbery but Rayne sucked and licked on his thick black cock for all he was worth. Behind him, Armand thrust into his arse deep and hard with a grunt of satisfaction. Pasqual muttered something in French and as the older man pulled his wilting dick out of Rayne's bum, he withdrew from the boy's mouth and splashed his face with cum.



It was over as suddenly as it had begun. Armand was tucking his cock back into his pants and Pasqual now bent and pulled up his jockeys and his trousers. Rayne flopped across the table for a moment and caught his breath, staring at the scale and the block of heroin, just a couple of feet away from him, then Armand tossed him his clothes, almost casually.

"Get dressed," he said, more curtly. "We talk business, mais oui?"

Pasqual was watching him avariciously as he sat up and wriggled his jeans back on. Rayne slid off the edge of the table to button his fly with shaking hands. He rubbed his sweating, spunk-wet face on the inverse side of his tee shirt before turning it right way out and pulling it on. The black guy remained shirtless, bare-chested, as if conscious of the allure if his powerful body. Rayne's eyes flickered towards him more than once as he shrugged the thin black shirt back over his scarred arms. Pasqual winked at him suggestively and Rayne pushed a hand through his dishevelled hair, playing it cool though his colon was still pinking urgently, his legs were shaking and his ring felt stretched and loose.

As they dressed, Armand rubbed one of the baggies between his hands to open it and set it on the dish of the little digital scale, adjusting the balance minutely. He produced a pen knife from his jacket pocket and slit the polythene wrapped block next to the weighing device. Now all of Rayne's attention was on Armand. Using the tablespoon, the older man carefully transferred some of the fine, greyish brown powder into the baggie a little at a time. At last he straightened and looked Rayne in the eye. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 14



"2 grams," he said with a nod of his head. "This is what Toumbe promised you, non?"

Rayne shrugged slightly.

"Near enough," he murmured, green eyes lifting slowly from the scale to meet that dark, expressionless stare. There was a sheen of sweat across Armand's brow and his hair was a few strands out of place, otherwise he seemed unruffled by what he had just done to the boy. "Surely I've earned a bit of a bonus though?"

"Bonus?" Armand repeated impassively.

"Another gram?" Rayne suggested lightly, with his most winning smile. He tucked his thumbs into the loose waistband of his jeans, letting them ride down to his skinny hips so that both men could appreciate the flash of smooth, golden flesh. "Surely it's worth it for making you both cum like that?" He cast a glance at Pasqual who was watching him flirt with an appreciative smile. 

Armand's eyebrows twitched upward speculatively.

"You have money for us?" he asked.

"Yeah." Rayne did not move though.

"Eight hundred francs," Armand said with a slow smile.

"Your friend told me seven fifty," Rayne countered, feeling his pulse quicken again.

"He was not authorised to deal with you. We deal, James Wright, and we say eight hundred francs for 3 grams. You get your bonus."

"And I pay fifty francs more for it!" Rayne protested.

Pasqual straightened purposefully, folding his arms across that burly chest. His smile vanished and Rayne's eyes narrowed warily. Arguing with drug dealers was not conducive to good health, he knew that much without the warning.

"Easy Tiger!" he soothed, forcing a smile he did not feel. "We've had a good time, yeah? We've all had some fun, no need to get shirty!"

Armand murmured something in French to his companion and Pasqual unfolded his arms, though his stance remained defensive. 

"You want to take us both again for your fifty francs?" the Frenchman asked him, a little mockingly.

"You wish!" Rayne laughed hoarsely, shaking his head. 

"Very well," Armand shook a little more from the spoon into the small plastic bag on the scales. When he straightened again the red, digital readout stood at 3.01. "You get extra," he said with ironic smile. "You have my eight hundred francs now?"

Rayne licked his lips. It was getting hard to breathe and he just wanted to take the junk and get out but common sense prevailed. 

"That could be anything," he pointed out, more bravely than he felt. 

"You are trying my patience, little English boy," Armand warned.

"You expect me to flog my arse then give you eighty quid for something that could be fuckin' Homepride?" Rayne countered, resting both hands squarely on the table and leaning towards him. "You're 'avin' a laugh, mate!"

He could tell that Armand was at the limits of his tolerance but after a moment the tall Frenchman sighed and pushed the open package a few inches across the table towards him. 

"You taste then... a 'small' taste," he quickly added in a warning tone. 

Rayne put the tip of his little finger into his mouth, then dipped it lightly into the block, observing the way it crumbled softly and stirring it so that the grainy powder clung to his wet finger. He watched how it clumped and dropped as he lifted his hand, then put his finger back into his mouth, running the tip around his gums, which he had seen other people do although he had no earthly idea what it was supposed to tell him. After a few moments he experienced a curious numbing sensation not unlike the initial effects of an injection of anaesthetic at the dentist's. His nostrils tingled alarmingly and he sneezed several times before the effect subsided. It left his mouth feeling pleasantly numb.

"Jesus Christ!" he whispered at last.

Armand shook his head wearily. 

"'Now' you have some money for me?" he enquired in a lofty tone, tying off the bag from the scales and holding it out like a bribe.

Rayne heaved a sigh, then rummaged deep in his jeans pocket for the folded bills Aldo had given him earlier. To his horror they were not there. He felt his heart plummet down through his ribs into his gut as he groped in the other pocket desperately, to no avail. The cash had gone! They were gonna kill him now, for sure! Frantically he wracked his brain trying to remember. The money had been in his pockets when he got here, he was certain. Eighteen hundred francs did not simply evaporate!

He bent and looked under the table in case it had fallen out while he was undressing. When he straightened disconsolately, Pasqual was fanning out a wad of crumpled notes in his hands, a smug smile on his darkly handsome face. Armand laughed quietly. 

"You are looking for this?"

"Give that back!" Rayne yelped at him furiously. "That's... that's everything I've got! You can take your cut, just give me back what's mine."

Pasqual made a cursory head count of the notes and murmured something to his boss. 

"Eighteen hundred, imagine that!" Armand shook his head seriously. "Where did you get this, James?"

"I 'earned' it," Rayne growled at him. "Now give it back!"

"You have a work permit to earn money here?" Armand asked him more briskly. 

"What the fuck do you care?" the young man snapped back at him. "Just give me the fuckin' stuff and I'll fuck off and keep quiet, okay?"

His heart was racing so fast now that he thought it was going to kick a hole in his chest. This was not going well. He did not like the feel of this set-up one little bit. 

'Ah, why the hell does this shit always happen to me?' he thought furiously. 'Bastards!'

"You want this?" Armand dropped the baggie in front of him and Rayne snatched it up, dignity be damned! He was going to walk away from this with 'something' to his name, at least.

"What about my money?" he asked again, and this time he could not keep the tremor out of his voice. Yes, he was scared. He was scared enough and loose enough to crap himself and they both knew it. His stomach churned violently and all he could think about was getting out here alive. Armand reached into his jacket again and Rayne began to step back from the table. This was it. They were going to shoot him.

"The money you 'gave' us in exchange for heroin?" Armand asked calmly. 

"You know damned well!" Rayne shook his head, keeping the table between himself and them, though it would not do him much good if they started pumping bullets into him. "I've paid you, now stop fucking me around, Armand."

Pasqual folded the money carefully and pocketed it, reaching for his sweater and pulling it over his head casually. Armand pulled his wallet from his inside breast pocket and flipped it open, flashing the badge inside at his startled customer. 

"That is Detective Inspector Picot, to you," he said calmly. "You are under arrest, James Wright."

"Shit!" Rayne felt his knees buckle. He gripped the corner of the table as Armand came for him and then everything seemed to move in slow motion. He was conscious of Pasqual still squirming into his tight, woollen roll neck and the open parcel of heroin that still lay on the table between them, not so tightly packed now that they had taken from it. 

Survival instinct kicked in and although his senses screamed a protest at the terrible thing he was about to do, Rayne followed his impulses. While Pasqual was blinded by his jersey, Rayne grabbed for the loose edge of the plastic wrapping and swung it around hard, tumbling away from the table as the block of opiate exploded in a dense cloud that seemed to wrap itself around Armand. Rayne hurled the remainder at them both and ran for his life while they were still coughing and spluttering behind him. He did not look back to see how much it had delayed them. 

As he hit the front door he panicked for a moment, struggling with the Yale and the deadlock. Someone came clattering down the hall after him as the latches clicked and he ducked out into the street, slamming the door behind him. Rayne counted as he ran. It would take less than three seconds to open the door. On the count of three he swung left into an alley beside the block of houses, praying that it would not be a blind. If his pursuer had a gun he was well and truly fucked. 

Again!

The rubbish-strewn ginnel opened into a courtyard with no egress, but there was a door open at the back of a building in the block opposite. Rayne bolted through it into a steamy kitchen. A tired-looking young woman and two small, grubby children stared up at him in astonishment, almost as startled to see him as he was to see them. He forced a grin and touched one finger to his lips then fled down a linoleum-floored corridor that stank of grease and decay.

At the far end there was a door open onto the street. Two teenage youths lounged there in jeans and open shirts, sharing a cigarette. He burst out between them before they could do more than yell at him and made a sharp right turn, shouting back; "Sorry mate!" as he tried to get his bearings without slowing down. 

Whilst he was at school he had never been much of an athlete but he could certainly sprint and that was what he did now, painfully conscious of the fact that he was unfit and close to puking his guts up. If he let himself be driven by escalating panic, they were going to catch him. They knew the streets around here and he did not have a clue where he was.

Rayne took the next right into another alley and threw himself into a deep alcove in front of a fire door, covered in graffiti. A glance up and down in either direction showed him that the passage ran straight through to the next street. It sloped gradually downward from his hiding place, which meant, possibly, that it led back towards the river. He flopped back into the alcove and dropped to a crouch, fighting for breath but his pulse only quickened as hurried footfalls echoed up from the mouth of the alleyway. He heard them stop and huddled smaller, physically incapable of getting up and running right away. Slowly the steps drew closer, then stopped, just as he thought his heart was going to do the same thing. When they began again they were receding, moving away from him. It was a few moments before he reminded himself to breathe. Maybe, he hoped desperately, if he just stayed here they would finally give up and go back to the office to file a report or something.

Rayne wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his chin on them. If he could get down to the river, then he might be able to slip back over the bridge and lose them in the old town. He just had to sit tight for a while and wait for them to get bored. The longer he waited, the further they would think that he had gone. He held on until his pulse rate had slowed to something resembling normal and he could breathe without it hurting too much. Then, before his legs began to cramp up, he pushed himself to his feet and moved out of the doorway, keeping to the shadows and picking his way steadily down the alley. The street at the far end, he realised with a start, was the one he had initially fled from, just a few blocks further down. Rayne peered out warily, glancing up and down. When nothing moved, he took a deep breath and made a dash for the far side of the road, skittering into another ginnel, darker and narrower than the last one. It was barely wide enough to walk down with his arms outstretched and in places he had to squeeze around the enormous refuse bins that served the entire neighbourhood. He slipped from bin to bin, his hi-tops making barely any sound on the filthy cobbles, checking over his shoulder with paranoid frequency. 

In the back of his mind he was conscious too of the time. He had promised to meet Aldo in an hour and surely that time was up by now. If Aldo came looking for him it might accidentally make matters worse. Rayne had alarming visions of the Italian innocently describing his 'missing' friend to a helpful gendarme and getting his sleek arse hauled in for questioning. If that happened then he might as well just disappear. His name would be shit back at the Cap!

He quickened his pace again, dashing from alley to alley, unceasingly alert, until he reached a busy street that was choked with people and traffic. No point being cagey here, that would just look suspicious. He stepped out of the shadows and walked rapidly through the crowds back towards a busy junction with a large roundabout. Through the trees he could make out the gleam of sunlight on water and his heart leapt. He must be near to the river. 

A footbridge ran across a narrow channel of water to his left and beyond it was the higher, wider span of the main road bridge. He had found it!

Rayne exulted privately until he reached the roundabout and spotted the police car parked on the bridge. The uniformed officer was talking casually on his radio, leaning on the bonnet, looking up towards the station. At once Rayne turned, ducking out of sight of the car, and hurried over the footbridge, finding himself in a park, with precious little cover. His trainers crunched on the gravel as he broke into a trot again, desperate to get out of sight. Just his luck that they were thinking a step ahead of him. Unfortunately, as he soon discovered once he was a safe distance from the bridge, he was still on the wrong side of the Herault. The footbridge only spanned a narrower canal running parallel to the river. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he huffed, shaking his head and wishing that he dared to stop and roll himself a joint. Then he remembered that he had smoked both the plain roll-ups at the station and swore quietly again. Patting his shirt pocket he found the half joint he had saved at Phil's the other day and his pulse quickened, but he kept on walking. 

"Not yet," he told himself seriously. "Not yet, stupid! You need a clear head! Once you've worked out how to get back to Aldo, you can chill out. Not until! You're gonna look a proper tit if you drop your guard and get caught now!"

Two young women wandering past with buggies cast suspicious glances at him and gave him quite a wide berth as they passed by, glancing back at him from time to time to make sure he had not followed them. Rayne figured that he probably looked a bit disreputable by now. His hair and clothing were sticking to him, heavy with sweat and he was muttering to himself like a lunatic. They must have thought he was crazy or something. 

He walked until he reached an ornate drinking fountain in the middle of a water garden filled with little rills and ponds, populated by ducks and geese of all shapes and shades. Children played around the ponds or fed the ducks from little paper bags of stale bread. Rayne put the joint in the pocket of his jeans and stripped out of his shirt and tee shirt, rinsing the latter and using it to wash his sticky body. He splashed his face and ran wet hands through his hair, then tied the shirtsleeves around his waist and slung the wet tee over one shoulder, ignoring the sceptical glances he got from genteel walkers and duck-fatteners alike. 

Invigorated by his cat-bath he investigated ways to get across the river. The nearest bridge carried the railway line back into Agde Station and was a good quarter mile away. He had used the London railway bridges as short cuts back home but you had to be careful. Out here he had no idea which lines were live and which were safe to cross and from the electric pylons on the bridge there was probably at least one live track. He shook his head, deciding that he had probably tempted fate a bit too much already for one day.

Before the bridge was a man-made weir across the river and this seemed a more tempting prospect. Fishermen dotted the length of it, manning their rods and nets and there were a number of young men just chilling and smoking out there. A little walk along the walls that banked the Herault led him to a gap at the farthest end of the park where he could slither down the bank to the edges of the river. He attracted some curious stares from the men in their tee shirts and long waders, checking their lines along the concrete lip of the weir as he passed them with his black jeans rolled up to mid-thigh, tee shirt wrapped around his head like a turban and his hi-tops hanging by their knotted laces around his neck. The water was bloody cold but by midway he was getting used to the chill and it was certainly cooling him down. So much so that by the time he reached the far side of the broad, slow moving Herault, his brain was working again and he had formulated a plan.

END OF PART FOURTEEN



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 15



"Well, we seem to be getting back on track. A Boy who is getting closer and closer to completion and where the story will end, no one knows. Not even Rayne! But I've been hard at work these last few weeks and there should be a steady progression of chapters from now until the conclusion (If I don't get side-tracked by Count Cain or the pressures of work, that is!) "The usual criteria apply to this tale. If it shows up on any other site than Litty, and it's not got my name attached, it's been thieved and the miscreants should be soundly thrashed!

"Enjoy."E

*

ELECTRICITY!

By the time Rayne found Aldo di Bocatto in the heart of Agde's old town he was barely recognisable. Shoplifting was another useful talent from his youth that he had never quite lost the knack of and he made his way back into the town via Agde's bustling street market beneath the old fortress walls. Any crowd was good to hide in and he was soon at work liberating random items that took his fancy like a human magpie, examining tee shirts and shirts quite openly whilst he stuffed smaller things like silk scarves and jewellery into his pockets beneath them. His jeans were quite snug so he was limited to fine materials and delicate objects but that did not stop him slipping a sage green voile shirt right off it's hanger as he flicked through the rack and balling it into his loose fist before walking off coolly towards the next stall. 

The trick was to be casual about it. Never run and never look back to see if you were being watched. 

By the time Aldo found him, sitting on the steps of the Municipal Hall close to the Alfa, he had acquired a pair of huge, round, green, translucent framed sunglasses by simply putting them on his head as he looked at something else, then walking away with them. He had a jewel-green headscarf wrapped completely around his dark hair and tumbling to his shoulders and wore a long chain with little silver, jingling coins around his neck. The voile shirt was so sheer that it was almost transparent. Beneath it were dark green silk trousers that billowed around his slender legs and had been the hardest thing to steal since they required the acquisition of a plastic shopping bag. Fortunately he still had some coins in his pockets and achieved his aim by buying cigarette papers and tobacco, which came complete with a sweet little carrier, just large enough to tuck a pair of misappropriated silk pants into. He changed in a cubicle in the public toilets and tucked his normal clothes into the carrier then popped them under the front seat of the Alfa Romeo on his return to the main square. The pharmacy across the street from his current perch had been a great source of makeup and he spent a happy ten minutes applying samples to his eyelids and cheekbones and glossing his lips with silvery gel. He found a pleasant, citric perfume tester and squirted some onto his wrists and behind his ears. Discreetly he pocketed a small bottle of silvery white nail polish, which he diligently applied to his finger and toenails as he waited for Aldo to return. 

The Italian nearly exploded with laughter at the sight of him. In his white vest and crisp linen two piece suit he was the epitome of cool European elegance. 

"Fuck me! What 'do' you look like?" he exclaimed, shaking his head incredulously. "God, Rayne! Where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you."

"I went shopping down the market," the boy grinned up at him cheerfully. He had made good use of the cigarette papers and tobacco whilst waiting for his friend to find him and was in much more relaxed state of mind than he had been about an hour ago. "Unfortunately, I managed to get my pocket picked," he added with a grimace, having already considered how he was to account for the loss of eighteen hundred francs. "Can you fuckin' believe it? I live in fuckin' London and some provincial 'erbert gets me 'ere, of all places!"

He laughed again, echoing Aldo's good-humoured disbelief. The Italian boy stared at him aghast.

"God! How much did they take?"

"'Bout eight hundred, I reckon," Rayne shrugged helplessly. "Hope you've got enough left for dinner or we'll have to head back."

Privately he considered that it would be less worrying if they got out of Agde ASAP, but Aldo was hungry and not yet broke so they wound up in a pavement café by the river where the handsome Italian tried to tempt him with local specialities and Rayne concentrated on his maintaining his disguise. It had been successful thus far and their sweet young waitress seemed quite amused by his insistence that he was Aldo's fiancée and they had just got engaged. Aldo himself seemed less enthusiastic.

ALDO:

"What are you up to?" the Italian asked in an undertone once they had been left to study the menu. "You are in such a peculiar mood today."

"What's wrong with my mood? You've been giving me grief since you got here 'cause I don't chill out enough for your liking, so I'm chilling, okay! Don't I look pretty enough for you?" Rayne pursed his lips and lifted his shades briefly to flutter his eyelashes. 

Aldo sat back with a sigh and a reluctant little smile. 

"Yeah, you look incredibly pretty," he conceded. "You also look like a drag queen!"

"What's wrong with that?" Rayne asked innocently. 

"Nothing... except I 'know' you are not a drag queen," Aldo sighed. 

"You never saw me with clothes on until the other day in Beziers," Rayne teased. "How d'you know I'm not a drag queen?"

"Believe me, I have known Queens and you are not one," Aldo assured him, pretending to study the menu. "What do you want to eat?"

"I'll have some fries," Rayne said airily, waving the menu around. 

"With something else?" Aldo enquired curiously.

"No... just fries, I'm not that hungry," the boy murmured with a shake of his head that dislodged his scarf. He busied himself adjusting it while Aldo studied him contemplatively. 

"You should eat better," he remarked once Rayne was paying attention again. "Have you ever tried Moules Mariniere?" 

"I've no idea what you're talking about, let alone put it in my mouth, darlin'," Rayne exhaled loftily. 

"It is a speciality here," Aldo explained in a patient tone. "Fresh mussels in garlic and white wine. Very tasty and good for you."

Rayne pulled a face. He shook his head at once. 

"I don't eat stuff that moves about!"

"It's dead, it won't move about," Aldo promised him. 

"I told you the other night. I don't eat dead stuff, okay. I don't eat cows, or sheep or horses or any of the barbarian stuff they cook out here. I don't eat fish, or snails, or anything that crawls, okay!" He turned away at once, looking suddenly quite pale.

"What about an omelette then?" Aldo persisted, perplexed by his refusal to even try anything new. He had never understood vegetarianism and supposed that anyone from his rural, agricultural background, no matter how far removed they were, probably felt the same.

"No." Rayne looked back at him through the huge sunglasses, shaking his head. "You have one if you like, but I don't want any."

"An omelette is not dead," Aldo pointed out. 

"Yeah and it's made out of eggs and eggs come out of chickens' arses, and I... I really don't wanna think about it, okay?" Rayne chewed on his lower lip and looked away again, visibly uncomfortable by now.

The waitress came with a large bottle of mineral water, a glass of red wine for Aldo and a vodka and tonic for his young companion, which Rayne drank down in one draught before the waitress had time to pick up her tray. He asked for another right away. Smiling apologetically, Aldo nodded and ordered a mushroom omelette and two side orders of fries, one with mayonnaise. 

"I can't believe that you won't even eat eggs," he said once the girl had gone again. "How do you stay alive?"

Rayne shrugged his slender shoulders evasively and cast another wistful glance across the river as though he wished he could escape there. 

"I eat all sorts of stuff... toast, breakfast cereal. Cheerios are good. There's lots of minerals and stuff in breakfast cereal," he explained. "Keeps you going. I don't like eating really early, or late in the day, it just sits on my stomach and I feel ill."

"Is that because of the drugs?" Aldo wanted to know?

Rayne turned back slowly, pushing up the sunglasses onto the top of his head. The green scarf framed his little, heart-shaped face perfectly and set off his incredible pale, peridot coloured eyes. For a moment neither man spoke, they just stared at one another. Aldo decided that, made up like this, Rayne was almost girlishly pretty and definitely not in a drag queen kind of way. The colours he had used were subtle and well blended. He was used to applying makeup and well aware of what looked good on him. Aldo's gaze was drawn to his shimmering lips and he felt a sudden, overwhelming desire to kiss them.

"They... it doesn't make any difference," Rayne said at last, in a small voice. "The food doesn't taste of much. That's all."

"I know you think that no one understands, but you would be wrong," Aldo told him quietly. "When I first left home, I didn't know what I was going to do. I went to Naples thinking I could be a model, maybe a fashion designer and I got in with a bad crowd of people. I was doing coke for quite a while, working for a guy who was a dealer. I was his, how do you say it... his runner?" 

Rayne nodded solemnly. 

"Yeah, there's dealers in the East End that use little kids to run their gear you know," he volunteered now. "No wonder some of 'em are hooked on Junk by the time they leave school." 

"Is that what happened to you?" Aldo enquired, sensing an opening.

Rayne shook his head, but he did not elaborate.

"I had quite a habit," Aldo confessed now in a softer voice. "It was embarrassing. I could not go home, I was openly homosexual and I did not know how to tell my Catholic parents or my brothers. I stayed with this man and he sold me to men who took my picture and also gave me cocaine. Then I met Arturo, through one of his contacts. Artie took me to New York. He promised me a modelling and acting career and he also helped me to stop taking coke. I know now how stupid it was. How much it changed me as a person."

The waitress returned with Rayne's drink and he beamed at her gratefully, but took his time with this one, sipping it cautiously. 

"I'm not addicted," he said levelly, once she was out of earshot. "You don't have to rescue me from anything. I never ate much when I was a kid either."

"No wonder you are so thin," Aldo said, sympathetically. 

"I told you, I've no sense of taste," the younger man countered defiantly, shaking his head. "It happens. Lots of people have the same problem."

"You've never been able to enjoy food?" Aldo was quite appalled at that. In his family, good food was up there with religion. Although he was no waif, compared to his brothers and his father he was a lightweight.

"Did Arturo want to fuck you?" Rayne asked, without answering the question. It was a clear attempt at evasion but the older man did not pull him up on it. He made a mental note to pursue the matter later.

"At first," he admitted sheepishly, instead. "And I was very young, I did not know any better than to let him. But he only really likes very young men so now he is not so interested. We are more like, ah, business partners. You understand?"

"Yeah, right." Rayne managed a lazy smile. "So do you live in New York most of the time now?"

"Quite often," Aldo nodded. "I have an apartment there, and I rent a condo up in Frisco when I spend time there. PJ has his studios there so I work in California for a lot of the time."

"San Francisco?" Rayne asked, suddenly interested. 

Aldo nodded his head. The waitress brought out three plates and bade them 'Bon Apetite' and at once the Italian tucked into his huge omelette, seduced at once by the delicious aroma. Rayne watched him eat, nibbling on a French fry he had dipped in a little mound of salt and a drizzle of olive oil. He nipped at it for about two thirds of its length then put it down and picked another, dipping and taking small bites as they talked. 

"What's it like? San Francisco?"

"Fantastic," Aldo said enthusiastically. "You're going to come to the States with us, yeah? I can show you. It's the most fabulous place to be gay."

Rayne shrugged but said nothing. He put down an inch of his fry and took another, methodically stirring it in the oil and salt before he bit into it. Again he ate all but an inch then put the last piece down and took a good swig of his vodka. 

"I'm not gay," he said at last. "I like girls, Aldo. A lot!"

"But you like men as well," the Italian pointed out amiably. "You liked me and Clay well enough the other day. And Paddy too from what I heard!" 

He was grinning knowingly now and Rayne fired a look at him that was part embarrassed part appalled. 

"Fuck! You said that no one knew what he did to me!"

"Is it so bad?" Aldo asked him sympathetically. "He's a good man, Rayne. You could do worse than be with him."

"I'm not 'with him' though, am I?" Rayne shook his head irritably then turned his face away, staring at the river and the passing boats in determined silence. From time to time he snared a potato chip from his plate without looking at it and bit the head off it as if it had done him a personal injustice.

Aldo was looking at him quizzically, his fork half raised to his mouth. 

"Can I ask a question?" he ventured at last. 

"Go on." Rayne looked back at him warily as if he had rather hoped that by ignoring the Italian he would make the entire conversation go away.

"Why don't you eat the 'whole' French fry?"

Rayne blinked at him then lowered his eyes to his plate. Apparently he had not even realised what he was doing. The discarded remains of his eviscerated chips were lying on the edge of the dish, challenging him to argue. For a moment he bit his lower lip again, thinking it over, during which time Aldo realised with a jolt that he did not actually know the reason why he did it. It was just another curious compulsion. 

"I mean..." Aldo said casually, when Rayne did not answer him. "If you ate three whole ones, it would only be the same as eating half of six. Why not eat the whole thing?"

Those green eyes flickered upward to meet his expectant gaze, suddenly wary again.

"You already know I'm a freak. What's the problem?" Rayne fired back at him defensively. 

"I don't think you're a freak," Aldo corrected him quickly. 

"All right, I've got 'issues'..." The last word dripped with sarcasm. 

"Issues that mean you can't eat a whole French fry?" Aldo laughed, in spite of the situation. "Why is that, Rayne? You gonna die if you eat a whole one?"

He watched Rayne bristle for a moment then the English boy dropped his guard and forced a sardonic laugh. Those startled green eyes looked away across the river again, full of a strange, internalised pain that he could not give voice to. He leaned on the railing by their table and watched things that Aldo could not see.

"Yeah!" he laughed distractedly at last. "That's right!"

Aldo wanted to pick him up in that instant and hold him. He wondered helplessly what had been done to the young Englishman to make him so brittle and frightened of his own emotions. The fear coiled around him like smoke right now. Rayne was moments away from running like a spooked horse. Aldo wished with all his heart that there was something he could do to drive back that terror and mistrust and wondered silently if that was how Antoine had felt when he first rescued the boy. He decided that he would have to find some way of asking the older man when they got back to the boat. Now his gaze moved to Rayne's hands and arms. The green shirt had loose sleeves but they were rolled down, covering his slim wrists completely. It made no difference, Aldo had already seen the cigarette burns and the fine white razor blade scars across the backs of his forearms. He wondered what kind of void existed in Rayne's young life to make him hurt himself like that. There were track marks too, the damaged veins that made Leland so mistrustful of Rayne Wilde. Was the heroin use just another form of self-punishment?

"It's because you've touched the other end, yeah?" Aldo speculated quietly. He saw Rayne's expression focus abruptly. The pupils of his green eyes widened and grew more fixed but the boy did not look at him. "You've... fouled it, somehow, so you can't eat it? Am I right?"

Rayne took a slow breath, then another. He did not meet Aldo's eyes but his hand pulled the plate over to the railing and methodically, one by one, he threw the offending pieces of potato fry over the barrier, into the water below. At once a teeming shoal of fish rose to the surface and fought over the pieces ravenously. 

"Now look what you've done," Rayne said solemnly when the last piece had been cast away and devoured. "All those poor fish are gonna die."

His gaze moved back to Aldo's face at last. There was something vulnerable but also not quite sane behind his eyes. Aldo held up his hands in surrender.

"You've got me. I'm a piscopath!"

Rayne blinked at him once, very slowly. His expression was utterly unreadable. Both hands moved to his mouth at once and he bent his head, shoulders quivering unsteadily. Those trembling fingers crept over his eyes and Aldo was on his feet instantly, moving to his side. He had not meant to make Rayne cry; had not even understood what it was that he had said to affect him so.

"Are you okay?" he whispered solicitously. 

His companion held up a hand and made a little, strangling noise and it was only then that Aldo realised, to his relief, that the boy was actually stifling a fit of giggles. He put his arms around Rayne at once and held him close, pulling off the scarf and burying his face in the softness of his hair. Rayne's skin smelled incredible, very hot and raw and physical, like the aftermath of good, rough sex. Aldo was conscious of the seductive mix of pheromones rising from his quivering body. It gave him a furious hard on and he was glad of the loose fit of his trousers.

"Piss.... Piss... Jesus! Piscopath! What the fuck are you on?" Rayne was chuckling in his ear now, his breath hot and tormenting. "You are completely cracked!"

"Cracked?" Aldo whispered against the downy softness of his earlobe. He kissed Rayne's neck, unable to help himself.

"Barmy, barking, mad, nuts, insane!" 

"Yeah," Aldo conceded. His lips trailed across Rayne's cheek to his mouth and suddenly he felt the electricity shift between them. It was like someone had thrown a switch. He and Rayne were instantly joined at the lips and all points down, kissing like both their lives depended on the other man's breath. His arms moved around Rayne, holding him and stroking him as the boy writhed into his embrace, his lithe body crawling over Aldo like Russian Vine. 

The Italian fumbled in his pocket for money to cover the bill and left it on the table. He knew that he had to get Rayne away from here and find a quiet spot within the next few minutes. Those wide green eyes were looking up at him, the pupils huge and dark for the first time today. His lips were moist and slightly parted, a silent question poised upon them.

"Come on," Aldo said imperiously, taking his hand and towing him to his feet. He dragged Rayne through the maze of winding streets in the old town until they found themselves tumbling, giggling and breathless, through an iron gateway into a small, dark, ivy-festooned courtyard well off the main road. 

Aldo slammed his mate up against the stone wall, out of sight of any potential passers-by and plunged his tongue back into the younger man's hot, wet mouth. He felt slim, pale arms snake up around his neck and the smaller, slighter youth rubbed up against him in the shadows, lips working hungrily against his own. With a shaking hand, Aldo unzipped his pants and released his aching cock, rubbing the hot sticky head urgently against his lover's bare stomach beneath the green voile shirt. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 15



His hand wormed its way up Rayne's thigh to his crotch, squeezing and stroking the boy's erect prick through the fine silk of his pants. Rayne straddled his right thigh and bucked eagerly against his hip as they kissed. Aldo now unbuttoned him and reached inside, stroking his lovely young tool and slipping his hand in deeper to cup and grope Rayne's firm, smooth balls.

"Sweet Christ! You are so hot!" he panted into his lover's mouth. "Turn around, I want to fuck you hard."

Uttering a wordless moan, Rayne turned at once, a signal of his own need. Aldo crouched and tugged down his flimsy, silken pants, spreading the boy's honey-coloured cheeks and pressing his mouth to the creamy smooth crack between them. His strong fingers massaged Rayne's bare arse and the lad's puckered pink ring opened wide for him at once, still surprisingly loose and raw. Aldo's tongue skated around the gaping, musky orifice, licking up and down that seductive chasm, wetting it with his saliva, then wriggling against his willing hole and pushing greedily into him. As Aldo's wet lips suckled and kissed between his buttocks, Rayne began to whimper with desperation, his lean hips bucking back and forth in Aldo's strong hands. 

"Oh god! Do it to me!" he keened now, his hands flat against the wall, leaning forward with his legs apart, ready and waiting. 

Aldo rose at once, still licking the sharp taste of Rayne's ass from his lips and spat into his hand, laving the bubbling wetness quickly over the pulsing head of his eager cock. He spread Rayne's cheeks again and wasted no time sliding his long, hard penis into the boy's receptive hole. The younger man cried out inarticulately as he was entered but he bucked his hips and sexy young arse back to meet the thrust of Aldo's rod without guidance. He was impossibly randy, even without the aid of pills. This, Aldo decided with a feral smile, was not going to take long at all.

Rayne was snug and moist inside but his anus yielded easily to Aldo's vigorous penetration. It was almost as if he had been prepped. The older man got deep inside him at once, sliding his arms around the boy's lean, half naked body and reaching down for his mate's drooling hard on as he began to pound at Rayne's satisfying rear entrance with his tumescent battering ram. 

They did not speak now. There was no need for words, both he and Rayne knew what they wanted – needed – far more than words could express. For just a few, hot, desperate minutes they ground and thrust against one another, panting and groaning, immune to the distant sounds of the street beyond their secluded hideaway. Rayne mewed his pleasure as Aldo quickened the thrusts inside him, pressing him up firmly against the wall and bucking harder. The little keening sounds rose to a steady wail of eagerness that Aldo silenced with his left hand. The right was fiercely wanking Rayne's twitching penis, fisting it rapidly until he felt it begin to jolt and spurt in his grasp. As his rectum clenched and spasmed with the force of his orgasm, Aldo pushed savagely into him, releasing the flood of heat from his big, Italian balls, pumping it deep into Rayne's sexy young hole. He buried his face in the boy's soft hair and pressed his mouth to Rayne's slender neck to stifle his own growls of pleasure. 

Rayne's head turned and he lipped at Aldo's fingers, sucking on them tenderly as the other man slumped against him. Aldo's wilting penis slipped wetly out of Rayne's ass and as his grip on the English lad loosened, Rayne turned in his arms, seeking out his mouth once more. 

"You're a fabulous kisser," Aldo panted into his open mouth once their lips finally parted. 

"So are you," Rayne huffed, resuming his oral assault on the Italian porn star's handsome face. His tongue flickered and whipped deftly in and out between Aldo's teeth, sometimes plunging deeper, most frequently teasing and licking, luring him closer so that their hot bodies rubbed together as they kissed. He snaked his arms around Aldo's neck again, hanging from him limply as the other man caressed and stroked him, pulling open his shirt and fondling his bare chest and slim hips. This went beyond fucking, it was body worship in its purest and most stimulating form. He was adoring Rayne's flesh, here in this quiet courtyard off a very public street, knowing that they might well get caught in the act, half-naked and fiercely aroused, at any time. Aldo felt his dick get hard again as they sucked on one another's tongues; the danger better than any aphrodisiac. Rayne's mouth trailed down to his neck and throat, kissing and licking his salty skin greedily. Aldo slipped two fingers into his soft, pale arse crack, caressing his leaking hole, then probing and entering him, sliding easily in and out of his cum-filled chute.

"Am I forgiven now?" he exhaled, his voice shaking with the sheer violence of his need.

"Mmmmhhhhh!" Rayne moaned softly and non-committally, rubbing the length of his slight body against his lover's more muscular frame. His mouth roamed lower as Aldo's cock sprang to full attention. Rayne's teeth grazed and tugged on his nipples. One slim, hot hand slid down, guiding Aldo's hot love missile between his thighs. He moved his lean hips back and forth so that it surged beneath his balls, watching Aldo's enormous genitals pulse and swing as they moved against one another. His almost innocent gaze slid back up to meet Aldo's dark, Latin eyes. Rayne licked his full, sexy lips slowly. 

"Jesus, you are beautiful!" Aldo panted. "I need to fuck you again."

"You will," Rayne whispered. He began to kiss his way slowly down Aldo's bare belly, sinking to his knees. Aldo's fingers were pulled from his anus as he went down. His big, Italian cock sprang up against his stomach once more as he felt the English boy's clever lips and tongue get to work on his throbbing balls. Aldo groaned with desire as Rayne sucked on his hot, heavy nuts and stroked his thick, ten-inch penis with one sticky hand. His hand was slick with Aldo's precum and he paused to lick his palm and fingers delicately before kissing and tonguing his slow way up that rock hard shaft. Aldo watched, mesmerised as the kneeling youth caressed his dick, opening his mouth wide to take the oozing helm of his magnificent tool inside. 

The beautiful, dark-haired boy had his eyes closed as he crouched and began to suck and stroke Aldo's throbbing meat. Long, ebony lashes fanned across his sun-blushed cheeks as his pouting lips got to work on that massive cock shaft. Aldo's fingers snaked through his tousled, black hair as he slowly nodded his way down, taking his time and swallowing all ten inches without hesitation. About six inches into his mouth Aldo groaned eagerly as he felt the tighter muscles of Rayne's throat squeezing his bell end.

Furiously turned on, Aldo began to thrust, steadily at first, then fucking that sweet subservient mouth harder and faster with both hands resting on the back of Rayne's dark head. The boy moaned quietly but he did not fight it. Instead his warm hands caressed Aldo's big balls and the curves of his well-muscled arse, encouraging the Italian to enjoy his willing mouth. It only took a few minutes of vigorous pounding to pump a fat wad of sticky cum into his young lover. Aldo pulled his cock back as he began to squirt so that he could watch the boy's open mouth filling with his hot semen. 

When he pulled Rayne to his feet again and began to kiss him, he could still taste his own cum on the boy's tongue. His spunk trickled down Rayne's slim thighs and his chin as they kissed one another relentlessly. Rayne's pants had fallen to the ground and he stepped clear of them, hard and excited. Aldo backed him up to the wall and wanked him vigorously again. His hand got the boy to the brink of his second climax then Aldo stopped and stripped the shirt from his shoulders. He ran his hands down his lover's naked back, cupping his bottom and gripping his slim thighs, spreading Rayne's legs and lifting him off the ground clad in nothing but his jewellery and battered hi-tops.

Rayne's arms were back around his neck and they kissed ravenously as Aldo lowered the young man's spunk-lubed arsehole slowly onto his still-hard cock. Rayne hooked his knees over his lover's hips and braced his heels in the small of Aldo's naked back. He cried out uninhibitedly into Aldo's mouth as the Italian penetrated him again, pressing him up against the wall and fucking him roughly up the arse for the second time in half an hour.

Aldo felt Rayne's rectal muscles tighten up before he was two thirds of the way in. The boy shot a massive load against his sculpted chest and belly, mewling and yelping like an angry kitten. He stilled his thrusts for a moment, holding Rayne to his breast more gently. 

"Are you okay?" he panted at last.

The younger man nodded, still clinging to him, his body trembling from the force of his last orgasm. He was gasping hoarsely and rapidly for breath.

"Don't stop, Aldo," he huffed at last. "You feel so good inside me. Fuck me hard!"

Aldo dick grew even bigger inside him at those words. He wasted no time, forcing the whole length of his mighty ramrod up into Rayne's tight, sweet young hole. The boy writhed and bucked in his arms, growling and panting as he was sodomised vigorously by his well-endowed Italian lover.

"Do you like that?" Aldo grunted into his ear as he screwed Rayne hard. "Am I big enough for you?"

"Aaaaahhhhh, yeah!" The younger man was thrashing in his arms, becoming almost impossible to hold on to. "Oh Jesus, Aldo! Don't slow down. Fuck me harder!"

Aldo took him fast and frantic against the wall. He almost collapsed onto his knees as his balls tightened and fired a third jet of semen into his sexy mate. He could not believe how aroused this kid was making feel. He had cum hard in the boy three times and still his cock refused to go down. Aldo sank to his knees, slipping out of Rayne, who crumpled to the cobbled courtyard floor with him, still kissing him wetly on the mouth. Aldo fisted his throbbing, sticky cock excitedly and Rayne straddled him, wordlessly guiding that big tool back to his gaping hole. Resting his hands on Aldo's shoulders he began to hump his slender body up and down on his lover's erect tool while Aldo watched and stroked him. Rayne's cock was hard and leaking in his hand. He milked the boy's shaved, silky balls in one hand and fisted Rayne's sex harder with the other, eager to watch the kid cumming while riding on his dick.

Rayne's eyes were closed and his lips were parted, panting rapidly as he rose and fell in time with Aldo's thrusting member. The Italian bucked rhythmically between his arse cheeks, feeling Rayne's long fingers dig into his muscular shoulders as he urged himself up and down more energetically. Aldo's hand kept pounding his stiff eight inch cock for him until Rayne's gasps became little, keening cries, then gradually louder, more urgent yelps of sexual ecstasy. His firm young nuts shrank in Aldo's hot, massaging hand and he squirted a fountain of pearly jism from his pulsing, purple cock head. His rectal walls clenched hard around the Italian's boner. At the same time Aldo bent his head to catch some of that spunk in his mouth, then pulled him close and french kissed him, letting Rayne taste his own cum on his lover's tongue. 

Aldo knelt up, hauling Rayne down hard onto his aching penis. His balls fired out their ammunition and he filled the boy's tightening arsehole up again with a last hot gush of Latino cum. For several minutes they just knelt on the cobbles, breathless and sticky with sweat and semen, clinging to one another like drowning men. Aldo could feel Rayne's violent heartbeat against his exposed breast. He was sure that his own felt just as wild. 

"We should get back," he whispered at last when he was sure that words would not come out as a mere squeak. 

Rayne nodded weakly, his cheek laid against Aldo's shoulder. Gratefully, Aldo caressed his sweat-soaked, sexy body.

"You are so beautiful," he sighed. "I just wanna take you to a hotel and do that to you all afternoon."

"Mmmhhh..." Rayne snuggled against him for a moment then, rather unwillingly Aldo thought, he knelt up letting the older man's shrinking cock slip out of his stretched, spunk wet hole. It twitched again as it dropped onto his thighs. 

"'Am' I forgiven?" he asked again, breathlessly. 

The boy looked at him strangely for a moment, a shadow behind his pale eyes that the Italian could not read. Finally he nodded his head in wordless acknowledgement.

"You're so hot, Rayne," Aldo panted. "You make me wanna do such bad things to you."

The boy struggled to his feet and managed to get his shirt and pants back on without his shaky legs giving way. Aldo reluctantly zipped his dick back into his ruined slacks. The knees were black with road dust and the crotch was spattered with drying cum, as was the front of his vest, but he did not care. Now he bent and kissed Rayne's mouth gently one more time before taking his hand and walking him back to the square where he had parked Arturo's Alfa Romeo.

At the water fountain, Rayne pulled free of him. He stopped and splashed his face there, running wet fingers through his hair several times then cupping his hands and drinking deeply from the well between them. Aldo watched him with a covetous smile. There was something brittle and fragile about Rayne Wilde that made men want to protect the boy. At the same time he possessed a fierce spark, an intense core of energy and lust that was like nothing Aldo di Boccato had ever experienced. There was so much anger and verve in him. And then there were those scars on his slender arms. 

Aldo shivered at the thought of cold sharp metal slicing his soft skin. He wanted to understand the reasons why the boy would do such a thing to himself; and yet a part of him did not. Sometimes Rayne got a certain look in his eyes; a far away look, as if his body was present but his mind was elsewhere. He found it difficult to talk about his own feelings; almost impossible to ask another man to give him pleasure. The Italian wanted to help him but at the same time he knew that Rayne would pull away from him if he tried. Leland had said that the boy was a prostitute back in London, before Anthony brought him out here to Agde. Beyond that he knew surprisingly little about Rayne's life. Ant had complained that he could not work out what Rayne wanted. 

Now Aldo was beginning to understand the other man's frustration. Rayne was painfully adept at closing the door on his thoughts and feelings. Even Mikka could not figure him out, and Mikkal Saarinen was by far the most competent judge of character in their crew. 

"Can I ask you something?" he ventured as they walked slowly back towards the car. He slid an arm around Rayne's waist as they wandered beneath the cool, shady cloisters under the Municipal Hall. 

The younger man looked up at him when he did this, curious but not offended, for he did not try to pull away. 

"Depends," he said at last, forcing a small, humourless smile. 

Aldo drew him a little closer, close enough to feel that Rayne was still shaking. He was not really surprised. His own legs felt like jelly after the last thirty-five frantic minutes of fucking. The Italian swallowed, wetting his mouth, which had gone startlingly dry when Rayne turned those huge, golden green eyes up to meet his own.

"What does it depend upon?" he teased, trying to keep his mate in a good humour.

"Is it a personal question?" Rayne asked him. 

Aldo nodded his head and the boy smiled more guardedly. 

"I don't do personal questions," he said with a hint of finality.

"Just one?" Aldo persisted. "It is important. I need to know how you feel?"

"What? Now?" Rayne retaliated with another little quirk of his lips. "I feel... shattered! Exhausted! Like I could sleep for days, actually."

"No..." Aldo shook his head seriously, coming to a halt as they reached his pretty, black sports car and he thumbed the electronic keypad, unlocking the doors with a little 'blip'. He turned to face Rayne, resting his hands on the boy's slim shoulders. Rayne's body was hot and sweat damp through the fine green voile. "That isn't what I mean. I mean... how do you feel about... about me?"

Rayne blinked at him just the once. For a moment he said nothing at all. His face attained a perfect stillness, devoid of emotion. Only those pale eyes spoke to him and Aldo saw puzzlement there and a little fear, just for a second. Then it was gone. 

"You..." he began, then closed his mouth and looked away for a moment. "I don't... I don't understand."

Aldo's fingers glided softly from his left shoulder, up the curve of his warm, slender neck, to his cheek. He gently turned Rayne's face back towards his own, still caressing him slowly there. 

"You know that I like you very much, don't you?" he queried in a quiet voice. "You do understand that I never meant to hurt or frighten you when I gave you those tablets? I thought that today... now that the drugs have worn off and you still wanted to..."

Rayne lifted a hand and touched two fingers to his lips then. He shook his head. 

"Don't say anything," he whispered solemnly. "I can't answer that question. I don't know how I feel about you. I don't know how I feel about any of this yet. It's too confusing."

Aldo wrapped his hand around Rayne's kissing the fingers that were pressed to his lips. 

"You wanted it," he murmured, needing clarification on this point. "You wanted me to fuck you just now?"

Rayne only nodded his head. He looked a little embarrassed though. 

"And you loved it?" Aldo moved closer, sliding his arms around the boy so that he could not escape. "I could feel how much you loved having me in you."

Rayne responded by snuggling up to him, burying his flushed face in Aldo's chest so that he did not have to look the Italian in the eyes. 

"You're a dead fit bloke," he assured his lover now, his voice slightly muffled. "Very fanciable! And a bloody great fuck!"

Aldo bent his head, nuzzling the boy's scalp through his hair. He loved the heat and the sensual, musky scent of Rayne's body, but something else was niggling away in his mind and he murmured the words into his companion's soft, damp hair now. 

"What about PJ?" 

"That's two questions," Rayne said, pushing away from him slightly. 

Aldo felt his spirits sink. He tried to keep hold of Rayne's arms but the boy struggled clear with more determination now. 

"Do you love him?" he demanded as his young colleague opened the door and slipped into the car. 

"No," Rayne answered without a moment's hesitation. 

"You 'like' him though?" Aldo came around to the kerbside and slid behind the wheel, turning to look expectantly at him.

"What is this? Twenty fuckin' Questions?" Rayne laughed, but with an effort. 

"Just answer me," Aldo persisted. "Do you have the hots for him?"

"Come off it! He's as old as my dad!" Rayne protested, though he fidgeted with his discarded headscarf as he spoke, refusing to meet Aldo's stare. 

"So you don't want him?" Aldo's fingers tightened around the steering wheel. 

"We should be getting back. They'll wonder where we are," Rayne told him, refusing to answer the question. 

"Not until you tell me."

"Don't be stupid!" Now the boy was looking at him almost fearfully again. "You're thinking with your dick, Aldo! Just start the fucking car!"

"He wants you," Aldo spat the words out like poison. 

For a moment Rayne just stared at him blankly, his gaze so shocked that that the Italian wished he could swallow the words back down and pretend they had never happened. He had expected a few possible reactions to that bombshell but not this one. Rayne was actually scared. Again he only showed it very briefly but that flash of anxiety was there. Then the shutters were right down again.




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 15



"He's 'had' me!" Rayne Wilde said atonally.

"Not just to fuck you," Aldo elaborated, more quietly now. He stared ahead through the windscreen of the Alfa, his dark eyes prickling with an emotion that scared him. "He wants you completely. He wants you to be a part of this, of everything he does. He wants you in his bed and on his arm. He wants other men to see that you belong to him, completely."

"He can fuck off then!" Rayne snapped back at him. "I don't belong to anybody! What does he think I am, anyway? Some kind of fucking lapdog! Just because I let men pay for my body doesn't mean that just anybody can have me. Okay? I went with you today because I wanted to! I let him have me the other night because I thought it would be a... an experience. Right? I wanted to know how it would feel. So stop thinking it all means something when it fucking doesn't and none of you has a fucking clue! Just drive the fucking car, Aldo!"

Rayne whipped his head around so smartly that Aldo heard the muscles in his neck pop. He was breathing rapidly; the kind of quick, sobbing breaths that said he was trying desperately hard not to cry. Aldo considered putting his arms around the boy but his body language did not invite consolation. He did not want to have to explain to Paddy that Rayne had run away from him in the middle of a strange town. Taking a deep breath, the older man turned the key in the ignition and the engines growled into life. The sleek little car pulled away from the kerb and as they drove back to the Cap that was the only sound between them. 

SEEING STARS:

Ant watched from the roof of Daniel's boat as the familiar figure stalked back down to the marina from the direction of the car parks. Mysteriously, Rayne was wearing billowing green pants that looked like they belonged to some kind of harem dancer. He also wore hand-painted hi-top sneakers, a dishevelled headscarf and enormous, green sunglasses. As he came closer Ant recognised the set of his jaw and the purposeful nature of his stride. Someone had pissed him off royally this morning and Ant exulted privately at the thought. 

Craig and Neil hooted derisively from the rear deck where they had been supping margaritas since just before lunchtime. 

"What 'ave you come as?" one of them demanded, laughing hysterically. "Carmen fuckin' Verandah?"

"Where's your fruit-bowl, babe?" the other cackled, clutching his sides. 

"Shut your stupid fuckin' holes before I find something to shut them for you! Permanently!" Rayne warned, pushing them both aside and storming onto the boat. Ant heard him yell; "Get out!" from somewhere deep inside the vessel and a door slammed violently. 

Thierry came stumbling towards him, eyes wide with shock as he entered the dayroom. Fortunately Daniel and Isolde were having lunch somewhere in Port Nature but Terry also came wandering out of one of the bedrooms rubbing the sleep from his eyes and muttering; "Wha's goin' on?"

"He threw me out of the bedroom, Antoine!" Thierry protested, his blue eyes glistening with emotion. "Il etait comme une bete sauvage."

Terry rolled his eyes. "Let me guess!"

"I'll sort it out," Ant sighed. "Don't worry."

He tapped quietly on the bedroom door when the sound of slamming and crashing indicated a violent occupation of his sleeping quarters. From beyond the door Rayne shouted; "Fuck off and leave me alone!"

"You're in my room," Ant pointed out rationally. 

"I'm getting my fucking stuff, then you can have your poxy room!" the boy snarled back at him. 

Ant pushed the door open and stepped inside, surveying the chaos. The duvet had been ripped physically from the bed and was strewn across the wooden floor like a collapsed tent. Cabinets and drawers were open and the contents had been flung out at random. Rayne had shed the shades and scarf and was stuffing his things into the little canvas satchel he had brought with him from London. He ignored the intrusion completely. 

"What's wrong now?" Ant asked in a placid tone, folding his arms as he leant in the doorway.

"I told you to fuck off," Rayne growled without looking at him. 

"And I'm telling you I won't," the older man responded firmly. "What right do you have to come stomping in here and turfing people out of bed? Thierry never did you any harm."

Now the boy stopped his frantic raiding of the drawers for a moment and looked back at him with wide, angry, tearful eyes. 

"Didn't take you long to replace me with that little blond slut, did it?" he sneered vehemently. "Bet you couldn't wait for me to be out of the way so that you could get between his legs. Nice and submissive for you is he? Lets you do whatever you like to him, heh?" He fluttered his eyelashes and wrapped his arms around himself, affecting a crude French accent; "Ohhh Antoine, tie me up and 'ave me 'owever you want me! I love your big English dick in me!"

Ant took three strides across the room and slapped him hard. The crack of his open palm across Rayne's left cheek knocked the boy sideways and echoed dully in his own ears. Rayne did not make a sound. He righted himself quickly, looking a little shocked but also triumphant. Now he shook his head at Ant grimly. 

"Enjoy that, did you?" he asked more quietly. "Feel like a man now, do you?"

"If you'd been less of a whore I'd not have looked at Thierry even once," Ant told him in a tight little voice. He was shocked at himself. Until the last couple of weeks he had never raised a hand to anyone in anger but this was not the first time he had struck Rayne Wilde. And the boy was dangerously close to the truth. He 'had' enjoyed it, in a perverse kind of way. It was satisfying to wipe the smug look off his pretty face. When he slapped Rayne it was the only time he felt that he had earned a genuine reaction from the boy. Albeit briefly he got a flicker of true emotion, then Rayne shut him out again. "I'd have moved heaven and earth for you," he declared, feeling the anger rise within him. "But you're a little bitch! You don't give a fuck about anyone but yourself! Now this is my room and if I want Thierry to sleep in my bed then he can. If you want to use it you can come and ask my permission. Go and apologise to him, now."

Rayne looked incredulously at him. At first he did not move. It was as if the slap had rooted him to the ground. Then he grabbed a last handful of stuff and forced it into the bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder and snatching up his guitar case furiously. 

"Go and fuck yourself!" he snarled as he tried to push past Ant and out into the corridor. 

The older man grabbed him by the shoulders and physically threw him back into the bedroom. It was as if the fury galvanised him. He was overcome with a kind of blind rage that was so energising that it even gave him an incredible hard-on. Rayne's legs tangled with the long, black case in his left hand and he went down, crumpling to the floor at Ant's feet, although he was struggling to get up again almost immediately. 

"You... you... fuckwit! What the fuck...?" he screamed as Ant grabbed him by the waistband of his silk pants and hauled him over to the bed. He dumped Rayne unceremoniously on the mattress. 

"Dirty little bitch!" he panted, shaking his head. "You think that you can spend a couple of nights in Big Boy's bed and suddenly that makes you untouchable? Is that it? You reckon you're too good for us now, do you?"

"Nnnn.... No!" Rayne shook his head automatically. He was wriggling backwards across the mattress, huffing rapidly as he tried to put some distance between himself and his former rescuer. "I don't think that. And that's not... it's not what happened."

"Liar!" Ant spat out. "Everyone on the Cap knows that he's fucked you!"

The colour rose to Rayne's cheeks instantly as he struggled off the bed, staggering to his feet. There was no point in his denying it. That flush of scarlet betrayed him completely. Ant felt sick at the very thought of it being true. He found himself praying that Rayne would argue. His silence only served to implicate him more deeply.

"Little slag!" Ant exclaimed disgustedly, at last. "You dirty, randy, lying whore! Did you beg him for it, eh? Did you spread your whoring legs and plead for his big cock? You're a sick little bitch!"

"I didn't...!" Rayne protested, finding his tongue. "Ant, it 'wasn't' like that!"

"I don't care what it was like," Ant yelled at him, making him flinch more violently than he had from the slap. "I would have done anything for you. I'd have looked after you like a princess, but he comes along with his big knob and his big wallet and you're bending over for him before he's even through the door!"

"This was 'your' idea!" Rayne screamed back at him, shaking his head furiously. "'You' brought me here! 'You' wanted me to shag other men to get your fucking money back! Well I'm fuckin' doin' it, all right! I'm doing what 'you' wanted! I'm making money for 'you'! And you're tucked up here nice and cosy with someone else in your bed while I get my arse ripped out and cum pumped all over me and people film it all and have a good laugh about it! I 'hate' you! I hate 'all' of you!"

He ripped the filmy green shirt physically off and threw it on the floor then wrenched open the button fly of his green trousers and let them drop, stepping out of them with a shameless defiance that made Ant's heart beat faster. 

"Like that, do you? That's what you wanted isn't it?" Rayne sneered at him knowingly. "Come on then, bend me over! Shove it in me! Show me what I'm missing! Show me how fuckin' good it could be!"

When Ant just stared at him, swallowing the sudden dryness in his throat, Rayne made a quick, disgusted noise somewhere between a sneeze and a laugh and crouched down to fish about in his bag. He pulled on his torn, pale blue jeans quickly and buttoned them without looking up at the older man. Now he picked up the bags again. 

"I'm going," he said more firmly. "Don't try to stop me or I'll scream rape 'til someone calls the fuckin' police."

His gaze was a pale, painful void. Ant held his hands out wide and tried to block his path without manhandling him. His heart was suddenly beating too quickly. This was not what he had intended at all. 

"Wait..." he implored. "Rayne, don't just... I'm sorry, okay. I never meant to say any of that stuff. I was jealous, that's all. I was jealous that you were with him. I wanted you so much."

The boy threw his weight onto one leg, studying Ant's face with a raised eyebrow. He did not put the bag or the guitar case down. The tip of his tongue ran between his lips slowly and he stared back at Ant with a solemn, contemplative frown. 

"You wanted me, huh?"

"I still want you. I only want you," Ant vowed ardently. "You drive me insane."

"You were already insane," Rayne told him with a small, cynical smile. "That's what I liked about you. Be Thierry's hero if that's what you want, Ant. I don't care. At least 'he' might appreciate it."

He nudged the other man aside with the neck of his guitar case and walked out. This time Ant did not try to stop him. He sat down on the edge of the bed feeling sick to his guts. After a little while, Thierry came back in and put both arms around him, kissing his hair and murmuring quietly to him in French. Ant did not push him away.

CHILLING WITH PHIL – PART 2:

"They're unbelievable," Rayne muttered, pulling angrily on the third roll up he had smoked since arriving at Phil's flat. He had caught the other man just as Phil Honeywell was locking up for the afternoon siesta. In between smokes he had taken a cooling shower with his fellow Englishman and now they were naked together on Phil's bed. The balcony doors were open but it was still sweltering inside, even with the ceiling fan rotating at its highest speed. "They're all the fucking same. They think that just because you've stooped low enough to fuck them you're gonna give them your life and soul."

Phil grinned at him lazily, sprawled on his back on the rumpled red blanket. 

"I'd give Paddy McNamara my heart and ar-sehole, no problemo!" he chuckled. 

Rayne turned his head, firing a quizzical look at him. 

"Are you serious?"

"Sure thing!" Phil enthused. "He's fit as! I've wanked off to his movies more than I can count. I'd give anything to have that big Irish bastard up my arse!"

Rayne took another drag on the roll up and passed it over, shaking his head incredulously. 

"They think they fucking own you though! I hate that," he muttered, blowing a twin streamer of smoke through his nostrils. 

"I'd not complain. Hell, I'd never have to work... all my bills paid for me... that's my kind of slavery!" Phil sucked on the roach enthusiastically. 

"You'd have to work when they were filming. As many men up you as they say you can take! Doing it all day until you're fit to drop then he wants to shag you again in the evening, say..." Rayne could already see from Phil's glazed expression that he was losing the argument. "It's all right for you, you're a fuckin' nympho!"

"I don't get laid so often that I can afford to be blasé about it," Phil corrected him. "Speaking of which... do you fancy a shag or not?"

"It's too hot," Rayne sighed, folding his arms and resting his left cheek on the back of his right hand as he stretched out on his belly on the bed. "I can't even move in this heat. And anyway, I should get back. I'll get grief again for going missing and having them worry all afternoon that I've jumped ship or something."

Phil passed back the dwindling roll up and stroked Rayne's hair as he smoked it. He rubbed his erect cock with the other hand. As the dark haired boy pinched out the last embers of his smoke, Phil murmured; "Suck me off."

"You don't give up do you?" Rayne chuckled, rolling onto his side so that he could stroke Phil's small, chunky cock, running his fingers and thumb rapidly up and down the shaft. Phil sank down onto his back with a sigh of pleasure and Rayne bent over him at once, taking that pink, perky little penis into his mouth. He let his tongue worm slowly up and down over the prominent veins in Phil's short, fat erection. It was small enough to fit comfortably between his jaws but protruded between a pair of lovely firm, shaved balls. Rayne nuzzled them intimately as his tongue lashed the blond's throbbing cock. 

"Aaahhhh yeahhhh!" Phil groaned delightedly as he wriggled on the bed, humping his crotch upward into Rayne's face. "Ohhhh... suck me off! Suck my bollocks!"

Rayne's fingers cupped those firm, blue-veined balls and he opened wider, easing Phil's tight, hairless nuts into his mouth as well. His own cock swelled and thickened as he greedily licked and sucked on Phil's throbbing genitals. The blond boy's skin tasted cool and clean in his mouth, garnished with a few drops of salty pre-cum. Now Rayne rubbed his nose against Phil's smooth scrotum and eased his thumb pad back and forth over the other lad's clenching ring. It excited him feeling how Phil bucked and jerked as his anus was teased. Rayne eased his thumb back into the corner of his mouth getting it wet with his saliva then returning to Phil's puckered sphincter and rubbing that wetness over his exposed hole. 

"Mmmhhhhhh!" Phil groaned. "Yeah! You're so good to me, Rayne."

Rayne moved one leg over Phil's head and shoulders straddling him, dangling his leaking cock head over the blond's parted lips. He reached down with his free hand and rolled back his foreskin, spanking his long, hard cock on Phil's face the way Armand had done it to him this morning. At once Phil's lips closed around the head of his prick and sucked it greedily. Rayne uttered a muffled, delighted cry and rubbed his own face from side to side in Phil's soft, smooth groin. Phil bucked harder in his mouth, twisting and thrashing underneath him. 

"Put it in me! Put your fingers in me!" he groaned around Rayne's cock head. 

Rayne pumped his sex slowly deeper into Phil's mouth until the head bumped against the entrance to his lover's throat. He felt Phil's hot hand on his balls, rubbing in steady circles against his scrotum. Firmly he pushed his thumb pad into Phil's arsehole and as the blond arched up off the bed in response to the penetration of his arse his pharynx also opened wide and swallowed Rayne's thrusting cock. Rayne cried out again with his mouth full and Phil bucking into his face. He fucked the other man's mouth harder and pushed two fingers roughly up the blond man's rectum. Phil's breathless panting increased in ferocity as he shot his hot wet load in Rayne's mouth. 

Now Rayne lifted his head, cum dripping from his mouth whilst Phil eased the first two fingers of his right hand up his chute. He fucked them in and out steadily and Rayne closed his eyes, rocking back and forth on Phil's hand. The blond carried on caressing his sweet spot until he came like a randy dog, bucking his cock urgently in and out of the blond man's mouth. He collapsed on the bed beside Phil Honeywell with a yelp of satiation. 

"Aahhhhh..." Phil sighed. "That was good. So good! I want to get fucked so badly. Come to the dunes with me. We can do it outdoors, it'll be cooler."

"Do guys seriously fuck one another up there?" Rayne asked him with a breathless grin. 

"Yeah, all the time. This time of year they're at it like rabbits," Phil panted. "Some guys just like watching and wanking. Some like to join in. Some couples like it when other people join in. There's a few straight couples but a lot of gay guys as well. The far end of the beach is mostly gay. There's cruising going on all the time and lots of fucking. You can probably get laid within about half an hour of putting your towel out if you're not fussy."

"Do you like that?" Rayne asked him, shaking his head. 

"I like being watched," Phil said. "It turns me on knowing someone's watching me while I get screwed."

"You really want to show off with me?" He laughed to himself and shook his head at the idea. "Jesus, Phil! You're a sick kid!"

Phil leaned over him and kissed him long and slow on the mouth, his soft lips moving silently in tandem with Rayne's. After a little while of this, Rayne pulled him back down firmly onto the bed and they twined around one another. Where their flesh touched and rubbed they were soon wet with perspiration and pre-cum again. Rayne devoured Phil's soft mouth, loving the way it felt surging against his own. He tried to push away the memory of Aldo's frantic passion this morning. It was making him hard and that was the last thing he needed right now.

"Okay..." he exhaled at last, when Phil let him come up for a breather. 

"Okay, what?" Those big blue eyes looked back at him expectantly. Phil was grinning. 

"It 'would' be cooler outside, you're right," Rayne said pragmatically.

"You'll do it?" the other boy cackled delightedly. "Oh yeah!"

"I just know I'm gonna regret this," Rayne Wilde exhaled with a little shake of his head.

DOWN IN THE DUNES:

The beach at the Cap d'Agde ran in a straight line for over a mile from the lighthouse on its short mole back down towards the headland at Sete. It was already crowded with reclining sun worshippers as they two boys wandered down to the shoreline and began to walk through the shallow surf together. Rayne took his hi-tops off and tied the laces together, hanging them around his neck but Phil kept his plastic sandals on, naked save for his footwear and the key to his flat on a cord looped around his left wrist. He reached for Rayne's hand as they walked and the other boy looked at him rather oddly but did not pull away. 

The ocean was a delicious pale turquoise colour today. Little streamers of foam danced on the waves as they rolled steadily in to the shore and the edge of the water was dotted with countless huge, scalloped shells. Children played in the shallows at the top end of the beach and as he walked he was able to imagine for a moment that this place was no different to anywhere he recalled from his childhood. Somehow the Dymchurch beach he had grown up with seemed a world away from this curious place, belonging to a more open and innocent time, a world before he had been exposed to the mysteries of sex, corruption and lies. He wondered if the children playing here today were as unworldly as he had been at their age. How on earth did their parents explain the delicacies of the innumerable sex clubs and fetish-wear shops sprinkled among the ordinary bakers, groceries and supermarkets in the village? Did they even bat an eye at the sight of some strutting leather queen in a cock strap and nipple rings wandering beneath their balcony in the evening? Or was it true that everyone here was somehow less naïve than he had been as a child?




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 15



Or even less naïve than he still was today! 

He was still irritated that he had let Ant pull that stuff with him back at the boat. In truth he had not been geared up for an argument. It would have been good to just be able to talk to Ant normally. Maybe Ant would have been able to help him get his head straight again after the bizarre events of this morning. He had been prepared to have to soothe the older man's ruffled feathers over the amount of time he spent on Paddy's yacht, but finding Thierry still in his bed had been the last straw. Maybe it was just the kind of thing that went on around here, but if that was so then why the hell was Ant so uptight about him screwing Paddy MacNamara? Instead of sorting things out and calming himself down he was even more confused now.

"Are you okay?" Phil asked as they walked and Rayne looked at him with a little start. 

"Uh... yeah, I was just thinking," he murmured, shaking the tumble of wind-blown hair out of his eyes. 

"You're pretty quiet today," Phil said, squeezing his hand tighter. "I just wondered if something was wrong. If you don't want to do this, I'll understand."

Rayne managed a smile and shook his head. 

"It's nothing. I was just feeling a bit... out of step, I guess." 

Phil smiled back at him almost adoringly. 

"You grew up near the sea, didn't you?" he said, demonstrating that he paid perfect attention to just about everything Rayne told him. That in itself was a disquieting thought. 

"Yeah," he acknowledged, glancing away again, watching the shimmer of the sunlight on the Mediterranean. "It wasn't much like this though."

"What 'are' you thinking about?" Phil wanted to know. 

Rayne was currently thinking that he did not want Phil to be inside his head to the degree that Phil plainly needed to be right now. That was just another level of confusion. He liked Phil well enough and the blond lad was a good, uncomplicated fuck but Rayne now worried that maybe Phil was mentally taking things forward a bit too fast. He bit his tongue and shook his head. 

"Nothing much."

"You can talk to me," Phil coaxed. "I'm not gonna go telling tales, am I?"

"There's nothing to say," Rayne answered, taking a long breath and shaking his head again. "I'm just mulling stuff over, Phil. Can't I be quiet without there being a problem? Jesus!"

They were further along the beach by now and the happy families had given way to smaller groups, couples and singles, mostly adult. These were serious sun-worshippers, dedicated to the development of their tans, often to the extent that they worked in teams to oil one another up and compare skin tones. The bias was definitely straight and Rayne detached his hand from Phil's without another word, although he kept pace with the blond boy. 

"Are you ashamed of me?" his companion asked at once. "'They' don't care, you know!"

"I do," Rayne said, then wished he had kept his mouth shut. 

"So I'm okay for you to bone in private but you're not up for being seen in public with me?" Phil hissed back at him instantly. "Cheers Rayne!"

"Christ almighty! Will you let this go?" Rayne snapped at him, stopping in his tracks. "I'm fucking 'here'! I'm playing your bloody game, so stop giving me shit about it, will you? You're as bad as the rest of them!"

To his dismay, Phil's eyes teared up like a child's and he turned away at once, without a word. Rayne shook his head as the young man marched away from him, storming grimly down the shoreline with his hands clenched into small, furious fists. He swore softly under his breath and set off after Phil at once. In this sort of mood, if he was still going where Rayne thought he was headed, he could get himself into any sort of trouble. 

The further along the beach they walked the more the demographic altered from the straight male/female mix. Gradually Rayne became conscious that there were far more men than women down at this distant end of the strand. The apartment blocks and bars beyond the beach gave way to low rolling sand dunes and short, scrubby trees and bushes. Phil was still walking just ahead of him. Rayne was determined not to run after the other man but Phil was a little taller and had a slightly longer stride. He was deliberately making it harder for Rayne to casually draw level and prevent him making a complete fool of himself. 

Not only were there more men down here but Rayne was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was getting checked out as he marched down the shoreline. He was trying not to break into a trot but painfully attuned to the fact that he was not gaining on Phil by so much as a yard. He was ready to curse the young man to a fiery end by now. For the last few days he had spent his time as the sexual focus of other men's attention but that had been in front of the cameras and this was something else entirely. Now Rayne slowed his stride as he realised that more than one pair of eyes was tracking his anxious progress down the beach. 

"Shit!" he hissed through clenched teeth. 

Up ahead, Phil swung to his left and began to march determinedly up the beach, moving away from the sea. Rayne let his pace slow and gradually came to a halt, reluctant to follow him. He had already seen how the eyes of certain beach loungers followed the slender blond's progress across the sands. More than one guy moved casually to his feet and began to follow him slowly.

"Oh Jesus F Christ!" Rayne exhaled, shaking his head. "Philip... don't do this to me!"

Not every pair of eyes followed Phil however. Rayne took several steps back into the water as he realised that quite a few of the basking sharks were still observing him with proprietary interest. He retreated into the water, shuddering at the lick of the cool, green waves around his hips and thighs as he planned the best course of assault. Not everyone was watching him but he was aware already of more than three or four predators, mostly on the sands but one in the water checking him out with a rakish smile. 

Clenching his teeth, he moved deeper for the time being, hoping to distract the paddling pest by pretending absolute disinterest. The seabed helped and hindered him in this endeavour as it rose and fell without warning and he suddenly found himself on a sandbank, separated from the beach by a narrow channel of water but only submerged as far as his knees. Phil had vanished by this time and Rayne was drawn to his friend's vulnerability when he noted that a number of the beach sharks had shifted away from the sea towards the dunes like a swarm of ants. 

"God help me!" he muttered to himself as he pushed back towards the shoreline, ignoring the suggestive glances of the men around him. It felt as though the water was trying to pull him back in but he fought free and stumbled back onto the hot, shifting sands like a new life-form discovering land for the first time. 

By the time he reached the highest lip of the sand dunes there was a large crowd of men assembled at the ridge already and he felt sick to his stomach. Phil's words from earlier in the day were ringing in his ears and he felt people move aside as he scrambled up to join them. Rayne did not have to look at his fellow voyeurs to know that he was the object of a good deal of attention. The musky smell told him that plenty of them were already masturbating. He knew the scent of fresh cum well enough. Now when he looked sidelong the glances that met his were furtive and wary. Rayne understood what they were thinking without having to ask or look too closely. There was no sign of Phil. 

Rayne pushed through the throng and ignored the comments in an array of tongues. He did not understand the words but he had a good enough idea of what they were saying. As he moved to the front of the huddle, he found himself on the edge of a hollow in the sand dunes. Beneath him in the dip two naked men were roughly entwined in a bucking, thrusting mesh of limbs. Neither man was Phil, to his relief. He pulled away from the scene, suddenly scanning the faces of his fellow observers. Maybe Phil had lost his nerve on reaching this bristling wall of masculine urgency. Maybe he was also still hovering somewhere, waiting for the chance to withdraw.

Someone touched the back of his neck and Rayne jerked away from him violently, radiating hostility. He lost his footing and went down in the shifting sand, tumbling head over heels into a deep defile in the sand. As he wrestled his way to his feet he found the object of his search. Phil was on his hands and knees at the bottom of the dip, a tall, hirsute blond man crouched behind him gripping his lean hips tightly in both hands, bucking hard against him as he pushed himself deeper. 

"Awww Christ!" Rayne exhaled tumbling backwards and shaking sand out of his hair. "Phil... No! Don't do this!"

As he sprawled in the heat and dust he saw Phil's blue eyes open and meet his own, very wide and knowing. Phil lifted a hand and beckoned him closer, wordlessly. Rayne obeyed without even understanding what drew him. There was something in that look that transcended sanity but he came to Phil all the same. When Phil's hand reached for his cock and stroked and pulled on it until it was close enough to put in his mouth, Rayne closed his eyes and ran his own hands down through the spill of his friend's soft blond curls. He clung to that silken contact as Phil sucked and licked on him greedily, feeling his balls tighten and the heat of the sun beating down on his head. 

Distantly he was conscious of the throng that hung around them, watching them get it on, but at the same time he was able to shrug them off. The eager murmur of voices faded in his ears as he pushed himself deeper into Phil's mouth, for the second time that day. He could hear the blond lad grunting with pleasure as he was taken in both ends but he could not open his eyes and watch. If he looked the reality would spill in and destroy the moment of pure pleasure. Like this he could shut out the crowd that had gathered around their natural amphitheatre, once he opened his eyes the reality would be inescapable. It was like being a Christian thrown to the lions. He could almost taste the eagerness of the watchers; their desire to see something taboo; to watch another living creature submit to their own furtive desires. 

The hairy guy began to grunt like a pig as he neared his orgasm and Phil made a little moaning noise as his thrusts quickened. Rayne's fingers tightened in his hair, as if by holding him fast he could somehow prevent anyone else from joining in with his friend's humiliation. He kept his eyes closed and rocked his smooth, sun-tanned abdomen and groin slowly against Phil's face, concentrating on the feel of the young man's hot mouth, sucking greedily on his cock. Phil's soft lips were warm and wet around his shaft and whenever he groaned the sound sent little vibrations of pleasure up into Rayne's crotch. Gently, Rayne caressed the back of his neck where his short blond hair was sweat damp and plastered to his skin. He sighed reverently as his partner's skilful tongue worked the underside of his long shaft, flickering back and forth from his balls to his crown. Then Phil engulfed him and nodded down greedily on his erection once more.

Rayne Wilde rocked against him with a more urgent groan, throwing his head back so that the sunlight kissed his face. He kept his eyes closed tightly, seeing golden sunbursts through the delicate skin of the lids as his fingers tightened in the blond's curls. Phil's ass-fuck buddy made a strangling noise and muttered something that might have been approval, though Rayne was not sure. Phil began to make muffled yelping sounds that quivered into his groin. Eagerly, Rayne bucked harder, relishing the tight heat of his lover's throat around his cock head. Much more of this and he was going to shoot without even getting up Phil's arse.

When he lowered his head and his eyes opened he realised why Phil was yelping. A thickset, bald guy with a grey-furred torso and belly had replaced the blond behind him. He had one of the broadest cocks Rayne had ever seen outside a porn movie set and he was currently forcing said rubber-clad member into Phil's arsehole. The crowd around their hollow made low, encouraging noises like a playground rabble exhorting two combatants to fight, but anxious that they might be overheard and have their fun cut short by the arrival of the headmaster.

"Are you okay?" he asked his friend quietly. 

Phil looked up at him with wide eyes but he nodded eagerly. 

"Big!" he said with his mouth full, rather unnecessarily. 

"Uh-huh," Rayne confirmed, still stroking his hair and trying not to pulse too rapidly. He was worried about what would happen to Phil once he came. Already more than a couple of guys had edged closer and he could see they were wondering if they would get a turn.

"I don't like this," he said neutrally. "It feels dangerous and it's not doing it for me, Phil. I mean... you are, obviously, but..." Rayne shrugged, unable to articulate his anxiety adequately enough.

The blond knelt up so that he could stroke Rayne's cock with his tongue and hands. His new friend shuffled closer on his knees and bucked harder against Phil's sun-bronzed arse as he huffed; "I didn't think there would be so many of them. It's got busier since I last came down here."

"Will they let us go when we want to, d'you reckon?" Rayne asked him in a low voice, glancing around nervously at the watchers. 

"Dunno. Probably." Phil sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. He reached down, pulling on his cock one-handed as his new mate fucked him vigorously and came with a grunt of satisfaction.

When the thickset man pulled slowly out of him, Rayne also took a step back and drew Phil to his feet, towing him closer. Two more men moved towards them at once but Rayne shook his head seriously. 

"Enough!" he said in a sharp, slightly nervous voice. "No more!"

"You only just begin?" the bald man who had just fucked Phil told him, shaking his head. "You take it in the ass also?"

"No." Rayne held his stare defiantly. 

"You suck, then?" That was a tall fellow with a long, rust coloured beard and braids in his nipple-length hair. He was stroking a long, crooked looking cock in one hand and watching them speculatively from the edge of the hollow.

"No," Rayne said again. He pointed at Phil. "I'll suck and fuck him, but no one else."

Phil put both arms around his neck and nuzzled him hungrily.

"Yeah!" he growled like a baby tiger. "Fuck me, Rayne! Fuck me hard and make them watch."

"Headcase!" Rayne murmured to him, a small, uneasy smile pulling at his lips all the same. "Don't get down, I think we might have to run for it."

Phil moved towards the edge of the hollow and leaned against the steep sandbank, offering his pert arse with a little grin. His nose and bum cheeks glittered with sweat and Rayne followed at once, stroking a warm hand over his backside and down one slim, golden thigh. 

"Give it to me!" Phil teased, wriggling his buttocks seductively from side to side. 

"I've no rubbers," Rayne warned him.

"I don't care. You've had an AIDS test haven't you?" Phil blew him a kiss. "Just screw me, Rayne, the natives are getting restless!"

Rayne needed no greater incentive. He could still feel the heat of so many watching eyes on the back of his neck, or more likely on his arse and Phil's. Taking a quick breath, he rubbed his cock and guided it between the slender blond's parted cheeks. Phil's arsehole was already gaping from the bald guy's big dick and he slipped it in easily, letting out a shuddering gasp of pleasure as he felt the close, moist heat of his friend's anus clench rapidly around his sex. Rayne gripped Phil's lean hips and he began to ease himself deeper, pulsing in and out carefully until his nice long bone was immersed in Phil's tempting hole. The murmuring of the eager observers around the edge of their dell intensified as they watched the two slim, sexy English boys begin fucking one another down below.

Rayne growled softly through clenched teeth, rocking his hips against Phil's smooth, firm arse, pumping himself in and out more urgently. The blond looked back at him over his right shoulder. He was leaning one handed against the bank now, pumping his small, hard dick with the right hand. The look on his face was one of sheer ecstasy. 

"Rrrrrrrggghhhh!" he exclaimed encouragingly. "Yeah! Harder! That feels good, Rayne!"

Closing his eyes, Rayne Wilde began to thrust more deliberately, sinking his cock into the other man as if he was drilling for gold in that firm cleft. Their audience was mostly quiet now, although he could hear panting and the wet, slippery sound of pumping hands on hard cocks. Occasionally one of them would utter a little grunt of release then slink shamefully away and the crowd rustled like reeds in a restless breeze as they regrouped around the hollow. When Rayne opened his eyes again the bald guy and about three other men were still standing closer, down in the bottom of the dip, watching and wanking eagerly as he tooled Phil Honeywell right in front of them. He avoided their eyes, afraid that he would lose his erection if he had to look at the furtive faces of the excited masturbators. Tilting his head back he stared up instead into the clear, cerulean sky, lips parted, gasping more brokenly as he clutched Phil to him, humping the blond for all he was worth. When he lowered his gaze just a little there were at least ten men at the top of the steep rise right in front of them, some stroking casually, others going hell for leather with both hands on their balls and leaking cocks.

He looked down again, feeling both sets of cheeks get hotter as he moved his feet further apart and adjusted his stroke. Now he was using a longer, slower thrust, moving his throbbing cock almost three quarters of its length in and out of Phil. The fleshy resistance of his lover's tight chute was getting him deliciously close. One of the voyeurs was so near to them now that he could feel the guy's hot breath on his shoulder and arm. He thought it was the man with the long, rust-coloured hair but refused to look up at him. He could see the guy's hand working up and down the length of his crooked erection though, milking the head, holding it over Phil's buttocks as it began to spit frothy cum. Rayne gritted his teeth and ignored the intrusion determinedly. Phil seemed past caring, he was keening with delight and bucking his hips back to meet the thrust of his lover's prick. When the other man spurted over him with a long groan of satisfaction, the blond reached back and squeezed his balls in silent camaraderie. 

'Don't encourage the cunt!' Rayne thought impatiently, although he kept his teeth clenched and said nothing. Or at least, he said nothing until he felt someone try to rub a hot, sticky penis up and down his own cleft. 

Rayne was incandescent with rage and humiliation. Throwing up both hands he almost pulled right out of Phil as he half turned to find the interloper. 

"Touch me again and this stops right now!" he warned in a voice that trembled with passion and exertion. 

"Who is going to stop me, Rayne Wilde?" asked a dry, familiar, heavily-accented voice, very close to his ear. Strong hands gripped his hips and he was probed again, more roughly. "Are 'you'?" Christophe asked him sardonically. "I don't think so, somehow."



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 16



A BOY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD – CHAPTER 16

© Sadie Rose Bermingham 2006 

"Another weekend, another chapter. There is a double warning on this one; it's a very, very sad chapter, although no one actually dies... I'm the not the porn version of J K Rowling just yet! Also there is some non-consensual activity at the heart of this segment. I've tried my bestest to make it un-gratuitous but it's there and it happens so anyone who isn't into that maybe ought to skim over that part. I will apologise that there actually isn't a great deal of SEX in Ch 16... because I don't want to waste the time of anyone just looking for a wank. This ain't a wank chapter, sorry guys and gals. I will try my hardest to make up for that in the next one which, very, very possibly, will be the last proper chapter before the Epilogue. I can hear you sighing with relief even now. I know I am!! LOL

"So without further ado... I give unto you..."

FROGS AND SNAILS AND PUPPY DOGS' TAILS...

(PS – the usual terms and conditions apply regarding the copyright. I will rip off/out the genital parts of anyone who violates my statutory rights as Author of this nonsense! xx.Sadie)

ANT:

I swear to God that when I get back to England I've had it with boys!" 

Terry exchanged a long look with Isolde as they reclined on the day bed watching Anthony Wright pace up and down the bleached and polished boards of the inner decking. The younger man ran both hands through his dishevelled hair, shaking his head slowly as he stopped stalking back and forth for a moment and caught his breath. They had been listening patiently as he vented his spleen for the past few minutes and now Isolde leaned forward and purred; "Sit down Antoine, you are overwrought. Everything will be all right, if you only deal with this calmly."

"I've screwed everything up!" Ant protested, turning to stare at her with haunted eyes. "I only ever wanted him to... to be happy with me. And now he hates my guts!"

"You should never interfere in someone else's life, Anthony. You know that." Daniel lit a cigarette in a long, ebony holder and sat back in his sculpted, leather swing-seat with a little frown, exhaling a stream of smoke. 

"Like you couldn't help yourself interfering in mine?" Ant asked him sarcastically, turning to face the old man with another shake of his head. 

"You first came to me willingly, as I recall," Daniel responded, unruffled by this hostility. "You needed my money and you needed my guidance more. I offered both freely. I do not regret doing so."

"You think I abducted him?" Ant almost yelped. "You think I got everything I deserved, don't you?"

Terry nodded vigorously in the background but Leland just treated him to a patient smile. 

"I don't think that, Anthony. I know you better than that. But I think maybe that you were a little too hungry for his gratitude. Boys like Rayne are rarely grateful for anything, and when they are it never lasts for long." The old man took another long pull on his cigarette holder. 

"You don't know anything about him," Ant argued.

"Nor do you," Leland retorted at once. "You forget, he worked for me before. And he was a stroppy little bitch on an older man's leash back then as well. Neither you nor Barrington LeVey could keep a tight enough rein on the child."

Ant stopped pacing finally and say down on the edge of the day bed. Isolde rested a hand on the back of his neck and massaged him steadily there as he cradled his forehead in his hands. 

"What happened to this LeVey bloke?" he asked wearily.

Leland blew a little huff of smoke through his nostrils and sighed deeply. 

"He was found dead by the Police at a friend's house. Wilde was with him at the time."

Ant looked up at once, the shock very clear in his pale eyes. 

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying nothing," Leland responded coolly. "The coroner's report said it was a massive heart attack, but there was an extraordinary amount of alcohol and cocaine in his system and the boy was coked up to the eyeballs!"

Ant turned to look at Terry, but the big, burly Londoner just nodded his head in accordance with what the boss had said.

"How long ago was this?" Ant wanted to know.

Terry shrugged vaguely. 

"'Bout three... four years, maybe more."

"Jesus Christ!" Ant breathed, looking to Leland for confirmation. "You think that Rayne gave this bloke the cocaine?"

"I have no earthly idea, Anthony," the old man sighed again. "I just see that he does not appear to be good for the life-expectancy of those who try to adopt him. The track marks on his arms seem to indicate that he has not lost his appetite for self-destructive behaviour. His short temper supports this theory. I know all about junkies, Anthony. I know what they are like and I don't want to see you get hurt."

"If he wants to go with PJ then perhaps it will be for the best to let him go," Isolde murmured, still stroking his back and his neck soothingly. "You still have your little blond doll to play with, do not forget."

Ant rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead, feeling the beginning of a headache. Thierry was sleeping soundly in his bed now, as a result of the lengthy and very energetic anal sex he and Ant had shared this afternoon. Thierry was certainly persistent in his efforts to cheer Ant up and ultimately the older man had stopped resisting him and allowed the blond to suck and then straddle him on the bed. Initially he had believed Thierry to be nothing more than a submissive plaything for any dominant male who wanted him, but the boy certainly knew what he wanted from a lover and was not too shy to demand it either. The memory of watching and enjoying the French lad as Thierry rode his cock and rubbed himself eagerly to his first climax made Ant hard again. 

He was being an idiot, he decided ruefully. Whenever he had come out to the Cap before, the holiday had always been about the chance to fuck lots of beautiful young lads. Dan's boat was heaving with them at the moment. You could not throw a cocktail stick without hitting a sexy, teenage boy and there were even more out there in the clubs, all ripe and waiting to be plucked. Ant felt unbearably horny once more but he also felt defeated. He knew in his heart that Isolde was probably right. Thierry would do anything for him, and not give him grief about it either. So why did he still wish that it was Rayne curled up well-fucked and exhausted under his duvet?

"I guess," he muttered with a shrug of his shoulders. 

Daniel Leland smiled and blew a smoke ring. 

"Good boy," the old man declared in a satisfied tone.

ACROSS THE MARINA:

"He 'is' coming back, isn't he?" Mikkal asked seriously as Aldo skulked in the kitchen, watching the handsome Finn fix a round of mint daiquiris. "PJ wants him at the party this afternoon. If you've upset him again then you can go look for him and sort it out right now!"

"He'll come back," Aldo said, with more confidence than he felt. "He's just cooling off. He said something about picking up the rest of his gear from the other boat."

Mikka looked relieved. He turned with a tray of drinks balanced on one hand like some kind of elegant nude sommelier and pointed to the plates of nibbles laid out on the counter. 

"Good. I am glad to hear it. Now give me a hand taking those up then go and have a shower, you are filthy."

Aldo sniffed himself critically and had to agree. He had stripped out of his dusty clothes as soon as he got back to the yacht but his body was still sticky with sweat and dry cum. Mikka at least had the good grace not to comment on that!



Patrick McNamara was stretched out on the sun deck, perfecting his all over tan, as if it needed any more perfection, when his second in command came back up with the drinks. Clay was playing a card game with young Robin, using condoms as counters. He appeared to be winning although from the look on Robin's face the boy was not too disappointed by that. Mikkal suspected that they were playing for Robin's ass again. Later in the afternoon, Leland and his friends and a few members of the film crew were to join them for a little booze cruise and some naughty fun and games. Arturo had promised to bring a few of the boys and PJ was already chilling out. 

The big Irishman sat up as Aldo set down the plates and prepared to make himself scarce. He narrowed his eyes at the Italian porn actor for just a moment though.

"Where's Rayne?" 

"Gone to get his stuff," Aldo said quickly, without meeting his gaze. "He's probably stuck talking to his ex. You know how it goes!"

"Yeah," PJ said, sounding unconvinced by this excuse. 

"I'm gonna get cleaned up." Aldo announced with a sigh. 

"Yeah... it's a dirty business, shopping!" 

Just for a moment, steely blue grey eyes met Latin dark ones. Aldo's cheeks turned a shade pinker and then he was gone, back down the steps and into the safety of the bathroom. 

Ten minutes later, Rayne stormed off Leland's yacht like a small thundercloud caught in a high wind, armed with a bag and his guitar case. He marched straight up the jetty and off across the road without a backward glance at the marina. PJ was on his feet at once and Mikkal's eyes followed him up as he snapped; "I knew it! I frickin' knew it! What is it now?"

The Finn turned from the waist, just in time to see Rayne vanish into the arcade of shops beneath the Port Ambonne apartment complex. He dropped the straw from his daiquiri and asked innocently; "You want me to go after him?"

McNamara threw up his hands and turned away, shaking his head in despair. His two closest friends exchanged a knowing glance whilst Robin just looked puzzled. 

"Leave it," the Irishman exhaled at last. "I'm through messing about with him. Let 'him' decide what the fuck he wants!"

TWO HOURS LATER:

Up in the dunes, Rayne's eyes widened with shock as he recognised the voice behind him before his head could turn far enough to visually confirm Christophe's identity. At once he struggled free, hearing Phil whimper with sudden desperation as he withdrew. Rayne ignored him and stumbled clear of the men in the hollow. 

"Don't touch me," he warned now, shaking his head determinedly. "I've got witnesses. If you even 'try' to touch me again I'll make you sorry!"

Christophe shrugged his shoulders slightly as if this was a disappointing reply but not entirely unexpected. His face was still visibly marked by his encounter with Rayne's friends; a broken nose, split lips and two black eyes marred his icy good looks somewhat but did not seem to have affected his tongue. He was flanked loosely by the bald man and a couple of younger fellows who looked like naked body builders. Rayne began to back away at once, calling Phil to stay close. 

"Get the blond," Christophe said in a deadpan tone and the bald headed man grabbed Phil's arms and pulled him back as he tried to scramble after Rayne. 

"Let go of him!" Rayne ran at them both, blinded to the potential danger by his concern for Phil. He slapped at the hairless fellow, then clawed at his hands as Phil struggled and kicked in his powerful grasp. 

"Put my English bitch on the floor where they can't hear him whining from the beach and spread him," Christophe instructed the two muscle boys impassively. "Make his little boyfriend watch. Let him see what happens to stupid wilful sluts who try to make a fool of me."

"NOOOOO!" Rayne screamed at him as the two crop-headed hunks of muscle pried him off Phil and his captor, carrying him after the Frenchman. Christophe had already turned to walk deeper into the dunes, away from the shushing of the sea. The scrub grew taller and thicker back here and soon the sound of crickets drowned out the whispering of the waves. Heat rolled over them like a shimmering blanket as the two slabs of muscle dragged Rayne physically down into the heart of the Nature Reserve beyond the dunes. In a quiet, sunbaked hollow, shrouded by withered olive trees Christophe stopped and pointed at the ground. In unison the heavy lads dropped to their knees and slammed Rayne down into the dust. He struggled onto his belly at once, trying to get up and crawl away but they were either side of him immediately, pinning him down and wrestling him onto his back. Rayne bucked frantically as they held his wrists down on the harder ground and gripped his ankles, pulling his knees back to his shoulders, leaving him splayed and dangerously vulnerable. "PLEASE!" he sobbed desperately. "DON'T!"

"Not so sharp-tongued now, are we?" Christophe remarked, coming to stand over him as he thrashed helplessly in the shallow basin beyond the sand dunes. The Frenchman lifted his head and glanced around at those who had drifted after them from the rise. Many of the voyeurs had slunk away when things began to get violent, not wishing to be implicated in any of this, but a few remained, perversely keen to watch the pretty, tight-arsed English boy get what was coming to him. "Who wants to fuck him first?" he called out, scanning the nervous watchers coolly. "Don't worry, my boys will keep the whore still for you until everyone who wants some has given him a good fucking."

"You can't do this! You CAN'T do this!" Rayne keened at him, breathlessly. 

A little way from him he could hear Phil crying, a sound muffled by the bald man's hand over his mouth. Rayne's heart was slamming against his ribs by now, every muscle and sinew of his body straining uselessly against the hands that held him down. He threw his head back and screamed for all he was worth. 

"That's it," Christophe said with an evil little smile as the first man scrambled down eagerly from the brow and knelt between Rayne's wide-spread thighs. "Shout all you like, my little bitch. No one can hear you out here."

They made no attempt to gag him. Rayne alternately swore at them and pleaded with them frantically as one after another the furtive spies slunk down into the blasted grove and buggered him without mercy. He kept struggling, long after the realisation had sunk in that his resistance was utterly futile. His abductors did not beat him or even make any threat of violence; they simply turned deaf ears to his heartfelt pleas as he was mounted, penetrated and raped over and over. It was like a production line of horny strangers. As the word spread out on the gay beach more and more men came into the bush to part his legs and probe him, or just to watch and wank as others satisfied themselves with him. The heat of mid afternoon dissipated and the inferno shifted into the longer, cooler shadows of early evening as stranger after stranger was lured deeper into the scrub by his breathless, helpless cries. Some of his attackers were fast and rough with him, but more than a few men took their time over the deed, spending as long as possible between his legs; groping him lewdly and passing comment in their own tongues with those who still waited their turn. His voice became hoarse and the yelps of resistance as he was entered and fucked were weaker now, but no less insistent. When a couple of men grew impatient of waiting their turn and began to rape Phil as well, he broke and wept, furious and disconsolate in equal measures. Throughout all of this, Christophe stood over him and watched impassively, his arms folded across his chest and his cock standing upright, crowned in pearls of cold, satisfied pleasure.

The Frenchman took him last of all and Rayne Wilde spat in his face as he hunkered down on one knee and pushed his erect member violently up the younger man's arse. He did not bother to have the boy restrained, gripping Rayne's slim thighs and using them for leverage as he hammered his way deeper into his exhausted victim. Rayne had closed his eyes during some of the assaults but he kept them open now, glaring at the rapist furiously as the man's cock raked him internally. Christophe looked up into that blazing stare again and again, smiling coolly like a snake each time he met and held Rayne's eyes. His steely stare would flicker back down then, watching the way his rod pulsed like a piston in and out of the young Englishman's raw, sore, cum filled arsehole and the smile grew more feral as it moved back to his flushed, angry, beautiful face. 

"You want to kill me, don't you?" he huffed as he neared his climax, banging Rayne harder.

The boy ground his teeth as little grunts and moans were driven from his throat by each thrust. It was agony to remain silent but he would not give Christophe the pleasure of hearing him beg now. Instead he turned his head and gazed into the gathering gloom where he could hear Phil sobbing and hiccuping quietly. He was grateful that they had stopped hurting the blond lad but at the same time he was so angry with them that he thought his blood would boil up out of his eyes at any moment. 

The thought of ripping Christophe apart inch by inch was all that kept him sane. His jaws clenched and he concentrated on the visceral image of his clawed hands digging deeper into soft flesh, tearing muscles and breaking bones. The tension must have tightened him inside as his assailant uttered a low groaning cry of pleasure and pushed himself deep, holding his twitching cock inside Rayne until the boy's tight arse milked the last drop of liquid heat from his balls.

Rayne looked at him again as he finally knelt back and slowly pulled his wilting manhood out, slick with cum. He rose to his feet, letting the boy sprawl awkwardly beneath him, too weak and sore to even move. 

"I enjoyed that," he said, his voice still slightly tremulous from the climax. "I enjoyed watching them wear you down. The pain in your voice and in your eyes, especially when they began to use your little boyfriend, almost made me lose control. But I am glad that I was able to withold my orgasm until the end. It was so worth it!"

"Damn you to hell, you lousy fucker!" Rayne croaked, his throat so sore that he could barely get the words out. He managed to pull himself away from Christophe's feet and struggle to his knees. Even that took an almighty effort. His muscles and joints screamed a protest as he tried to bring his legs back together and get them under him. "I hope you die slowly," he hissed through gritted teeth. "In a jail! Preferably one where they know what a dirty, fuckin' rapist pervert you are!"

"Such a fire, you have in your heart," Christophe chuckled, turning to walk away as if nothing had happened. "I pray I will get another chance to break your spirit before I return to Lyon."

Rayne glared at his retreating back, too breathless to retaliate, until he was sure that the Frenchman had gone. Then he sank forward on his hands and knees and vomited until his stomach hurt and he could barely breathe for retching. Phil crawled over to him at one point and put both arms around him, still crying bitterly and whimpering; "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Rayne swallowed bile, then retched again, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 

"It's not your fault," he croaked weakly. 

"I made you come here," Phil sobbed. "Oh god!"

"Shhhh..." Rayne exhaled, too weak to argue. He was still trembling violently and did not think that he would be able to walk any time soon. Although the daylight had not yet gone the sun was below the visible horizon now and it would start to get dark before long. Surely someone had missed him by now? "Can you get up?"

"I think so," Phil sniffed and scrubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. 

"Good." Rayne let the rational part of his brain take charge. If he let himself act on his emotional thoughts there was no telling what he might do. "Go back to Ambonne and find Paddy, or Ant. Tell them..." He stopped, suddenly painfully conscious that he did not want either man to know what had just happened to him. He could not bear to tell them. The sheer embarrassment of having to admit what he had been unable to prevent was like a heavy weight around his neck. Ant would probably tell Phil he had deserved it. PJ McNamara would hunt Christophe down and kill him... and probably go to jail for it.




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 16



"I'll go and get them," Phil volunteered bravely. 

"No!" Rayne caught him as he struggled to his feet. He saw Phil look down at him, visibly perplexed. "Don't... don't tell them what happened."

"We 'have' to!" Phil protested, his eyes widening. "We need to call the cops, Rayne! They can't get away with this!"

"You tell them if you have to, but leave me out of it," Rayne coughed as his voice cracked and broke on the last word. There was a huge lump in his chest, so vast that he could barely breathe for it. "I'll... I'll deal with this myself."

"You can't..." Phil was crying again now. "They'll hurt you, Rayne. What can you do?"

"I don't know," he admitted, closing his eyes for a moment to still the dizzying sensation that almost felled him. "But I don't want them to know. Please... promise me that you won't tell them."

"I can't just leave you here," Phil said determinedly. "You're hurt. You're bleeding!"

Rayne startled at that and ran a hand back between his cheeks. It came away sticky and tinged with redness. He bit down on his lower lip to stop it quivering. 

"It's mostly cum... probably just a couple of blood vessels burst," he forced out practically, ignoring the thumping of his heart at the sight of the tendrils of blood on his fingertips. "Phil, help me up."

It took the blond boy three attempts to get Rayne onto his feet. Phil clung to him as he swayed like a sapling in a strong gale, then pulled one of Rayne's arms over his shoulders and stumbled back through the shifting sands with his friend virtually hanging off him, struggling to make his shaking legs obey the simplest instructions. After about half an hour of scrambling and stumbling they crested the dunes and tumbled down onto the almost deserted beach. Rayne gritted his teeth against the searing pain inside him as he pushed himself back to his feet and kept on staggering until he reached the shoreline where the sand was damp and firm. He fell to his knees in the shallow surf and could not get up again, even though Phil pleaded and cajoled for several minutes. 

At last Rayne lay down on the wet sand, staring up at the darkening indigo of the sky. A few bold, early stars were already beginning to twinkle overhead. Rayne watched them swim in the swell of his tears. 

"Go home, Phil," he virtually whispered. "Go home and... do what you need to do."

"What about you?" the blond demanded. 

"Leave me here. I just want to lie here for a while. Then I'll be all right." Rayne closed his eyes. He felt a line of saline run down either side of his face into his hair and squeezed the lids together more tightly. 

"I can't leave you on your own. What if they come back?" Phil was audibly anxious now. 

"They won't. They've had their fun for today," Rayne exhaled, shaking his head. "Please go, Phil. I just... I need to be on my own for a little while now."

"How will you get back?" his friend persisted, still unmoving. 

"I'll be okay once... once I stop shaking. Honestly, Phil. I'll be all right. It's not like... not like it's the first time." He swallowed another surge of rising bile and put his hands over his eyes because they would not stop leaking and he did not want Phil to see him cry. "Please... just go."

"You will come back to my flat tonight, won't you?" Phil queried tremulously. "I don't want to be on my own."

"I'll come," Rayne said atonally. "You've still got all my stuff, remember."

For a moment the other boy was quiet and then he felt a huff of hot breath and the quick touch of Phil's soft, sand-grained lips on his forehead. In a quiet, determined voice the blond said; "If you're not at the flat in half an hour I'm coming back to look for you. I'll pick you up and fucking carry you if I have to!"

Rayne tried to laugh at the unlikeliness of that but he could feel the tears rising like a tidal wave in his throat.

"Fuck off!" he said, more insistently, even though his voice and heart were breaking. "Just go, will you? For Christ's sake!"

To his relief Phil pushed away from him then, turning and stumbling off along the shoreline. Rayne could hear him crying and wrapped his arms around his head trying to shut the sound out until there was nothing but the incessant rush and trickle of the sea and the tinkle of broken shells as they washed up on the sand. He lay with his head turned to the right for a long time, watching until Phil Honeywell vanished from sight up near one of the deserted beach bars. Then, and only then, did he sit up awkwardly and wrap his arms around his cold, wet body, letting the tears flow more freely and the sobs shake his bones until he thought he would die of embarrassment and rage.

The pain inside him was unbearable, not so much the physical hurt but the huge boulder of emotional despair in his chest that lodged there and would not be moved. Once he had begun to cry he could not stop until the wails rising from his throat were long, ululating sounds like the howling of a beaten dog. He wept until it hurt to cry any more, then sank into a foetal huddle on the sand, gasping and retching again. 

When he closed his eyes he saw Uncle Brian standing over him again, clear as daylight, his brown leather belt folded over in his hand, telling his nephew to stop snivelling "...or I'll really give you something to snivel about!"

Rayne swallowed and retched again until he nearly choked. Would he never be free of the memory of what that man had done to him? The worst of it was that if Brian could see him now he would be smugly commenting that he had been right all along. It 'was' all his nephew was good for! 

He managed to get to his feet, still shaking uncontrollably in every nerve of his body. The feel of their bodies interacting with his own was still palpable. When he closed his eyes he was on his back again, fighting with every ounce of strength to stop them. His throat hurt now and he just wanted to lie down in the water and never get up again. 

Weakly he staggered into the sea up to his knees. The cold water shocked a little sense into him and he stood for a moment, swaying dangerously as the waves licked at his lower legs, pulling at him like the hands of mischievous naiads or mermaids. When he lifted his head and stared helplessly out to sea, the moon was beginning to rise and he caught his breath at the beautiful sight of it, spilling onto the water like a broken egg-yolk and shimmering there in tresses of silver and gold. Huge, and not quite full, it hung just above the horizon, seeming so close that all he had to do was step out into the water and touch it. 

He took a step, and then another, walking slowly deeper as the currents towed him in. It should have felt unbearably cold but surprisingly enough the water was like the very breath of a goddess as he moved through it, stroking the tips of his fingers through the tiny waves. It surged gently around his body but with an undercurrent of strength that took his breath away. Rayne stroked the water and kept moving deeper, letting it rise around his trembling thighs and wash away the blood and the filth. He was mesmerised by the way it felt, drawn into a web of memories so tangled and comforting that it was all he could do not to cry again. He was child once more, baptised by the waves. They had taken away all the darkness and pain in his life and returned his youth and innocence to him. He remembered walking into the sea at Dymchurch for the first time as a small boy, holding his father's hand; overawed but somehow not afraid of this vast, surging thing that came to wrap itself around him and pull him to and fro as if he was nothing more than a shell or a piece of seaweed. 

Playing in the sea was as natural as breathing to him. 

He walked deeper. For a little while the bed of the sea rose beneath his feet and although he kept moving away from the shore he was suddenly no more than knee deep again, bathed in moonlight. The moon cast a carpet of silver at his feet and he followed it, bewitched by its beauty. Briefly he sat down on the sandbank, exhausted by his struggle with the restless current. Even sitting he was no more than shoulder deep in the lapping water. He splashed his fingers experimentally in the blanket of undulating silver that licked up against his bare skin. It was not cold, although he felt more alert now, more alive than he had felt for days. Exhausted, he leaned back into the strong embrace of the water and let it pick him up and carry him. Long cool fingers crept through his hair and massaged his sweaty scalp. Rayne closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the clean, salty air. It felt like home. 

He tilted his head back so that his ears were submerged and all he could hear was the steady pulse of the sea. A cooling veil washed over his face and he exhaled a long breath as it trickled down his cheeks. Rayne twisted about, and pushed his hands through the thickness of the water, using it to pull his body deeper. He was a merman, a dolphin, some wild sea creature, frolicking in the waves! Holding his breath he kept on pulling deeper. He could see the silver of the moonlight on the seabed like some mystical pathway, and followed it until his lungs felt like they could burst. Breaking the surface again, he threw back his head and shook the water from his hair. 

"Hold me," he said and the sea did just that. It twined about him, tugging him into its bosom like the mother of all lost children. Rayne could feel it lapping at his erect nipples now. He kept walking, his pulse suddenly very fast and urgent, following the ribbon of silver deeper and further than he had ever gone. The waves tickled his chin and he put his head back again, letting the sea caress him. "I'm yours if you want me," he whispered huskily, rock hard in spite of the cold water. 

The current of the ocean pulled at him insistently, hungry to clasp him to her breast. She was mother, lover... killer?

Tears spilled from his eyes again as he took another step, and then another. They fell down and mingled with the rolling surf, coming home. The swell pulled him off his feet this time and he could not fight it. Rayne began to sob again and the ocean took him and poured into him like lifeblood. As he began to sink into the darkness, he thought he felt gentle hands, cradling his head stroking his face. He opened his eyes and gazed into a sorrowful, lonely face so like his own that it hurt. 

"Mum?" he whispered breathlessly. "Oh god, Mum! I'm so sorry!"



COMING HOME:

In the end, Aldo did not go out to sea with the others. Charged with finding Rayne, he quickly acknowledged that, out here at the height of the tourist season, this was like looking for a needle in a haystack. He checked out all the bars and shops, then walked up and down the beach a couple of times asking people if they had seen a slim boy with black hair, but this was Agde in the summertime and slim boys with black hair were plentiful. He began to think that perhaps he should have brought a picture. By ten o' clock it was getting dark and he was tired and hungry. He walked back to Ambonne but the boat had still not come into harbour. Aldo knew that all his money was on board and that he would not eat tonight unless someone took pity on him. He was just beginning to feel sorry for himself when he saw a familiar figure among the crowds. 

The blond boy had come to Leland's yacht looking for Rayne on that afternoon when he first went missing. Aldo quickened his stride and caught up with the lad easily. Maybe he had seen Rayne, or might know who could be sheltering him. It was only as he drew level with the young Englishman that Aldo realised he was hurt. The lad was limping and his skin was still dusted with mica and sand, his fair hair dusty and dishevelled. Tears cut visible tracks down his face and he was almost blinded by them for he nearly ran into someone before Aldo could catch him and pull him to a standstill.

"Are you okay?" he asked at once, although it was obvious that the younger man was not.

The blond looked up at him and a fresh flood of tears poured down his cheeks. Aldo pulled him close instinctively. 

"Is there somewhere I can take you?" he wanted to know.

His companion nodded weakly and guided him through the crowds to an access passage that ran beneath the flats at Port Nature. Moments later they were on a quiet corridor outside the door to his apartment. 

Phil's heart jumped at the sight of Aldo di Bocatto. Of course he knew without question what this vision standing before him was. He also remembered Aldo from the boat that afternoon when he had come looking for Rayne. The memory of his friend just made him cry harder. 

Somehow, miraculously, Aldo did not think he must be insane and abandon him. He was still here, with his arm around Phil's shoulders as the blond man sank wearily onto the edge of the bed. Phil swallowed twice before he was even able to try and speak. 

"I need to call the police," he whispered, when he could. 

"Do you have a phone?" Aldo asked him, scanning the compact bedsit without much hope in his eyes. 

Phil shook his head at once. He swallowed again. 

"I shouldn't have left him," he said, almost inaudibly. "I need to go back."

Aldo gripped his shoulders in a way that made Phil wince. The look of fright in his big blue eyes was such that the Italian let him go immediately. 

"What happened to you?" he asked, visibly concerned. "Why do you need the police?"

Phil began to sob again and Aldo wrapped warm, muscular arms around him automatically. 

"Someone hurt you?" he asked helplessly.

Phil nodded once. 

In that instant, Aldo's heat-seared, energy-starved brain began to work overtime. 

"Was Rayne with you?" he demanded.

Phil took a quick breath. He did some very rapid thinking. He had promised Rayne Wilde that he would not tell Ant or Paddy what had happened but this man was neither Anthony Wright nor PJ McNamara. And he was big enough and strong enough to help. 

"I left him on the beach," he said evasively. 

"On the beach? But it's dark now," Aldo said with a shake of his head. 

Phil focussed on his face, pulling himself together determinedly. Aldo was even more handsome in the flesh than he was in the movies, but he could not let himself be distracted. 

"He... he couldn't walk any more. He told me to come back on my own."

Aldo's eyes widened in sudden horrified comprehension. 

"What happened to the two of you?"

Phil began to sob again, and then he poured out the whole story, telling Aldo how he had persuaded Rayne to come to the dunes with him and how Rayne had not wanted to do it. He confessed how he had let men fuck him and how reluctantly the other boy was drawn into their games, then, in a shaking voice, he told the handsome Italian about Christophe. 

Aldo was on his feet before he was done. 

"Where did you leave him?" he shouted. 

"I'll take you," Phil hiccuped, overcome with emotion. 

"You can hardly walk. Find a telephone and call the police, I'll find him if you tell me where."

In a quavering voice, Phil gave him the directions. 

SOME SOLACE:

Ant did not go out to sea either. In spite of his promise to Daniel that he would try and enjoy the rest of his stay, he was in no mood to party, although he insisted that Thierry went along, even though the boy protested he would rather stay with Ant. 

"Really... I'm just going to have a drink and a couple of sleeping pills and get some rest," Ant assured him. "It will be very boring if you stay here."

The boat was refreshingly peaceful once everyone had gone. He pottered around and drank half a bottle of red wine whilst packing his belongings. Ant had already decided that he would go home tomorrow. If Rayne did not want to be with him then there was no point in his hanging around here. Thierry would probably be upset for a few days but he was sure that Daniel and Terry would look after the kid. Isolde already thought the world of him, but Isolde loved all pretty boys. No, it was for the best if he went back to London. He had been planning to move out of the city but there were things he needed to sort out before he upped moorings and sailed on. It was time to stop procrastinating and get on with his life. 

He was not surprised when the other boat had not come back by nightfall. Sometimes these parties went on well into the morning. They never went far out to sea and generally dropped anchor somewhere well out of the shipping lanes. The lights would stay on until the sun began to rise. He doubted that anyone would sleep before then either. Sensibly, he should have gone with them, but Ant could not force himself to feel jovial. He was tired and still wishing that he had not come here. The others did their best to raise his spirits but even they could see when they were on a hiding to nothing. 

Ant went out to the rear deck once he had packed his bags and poured a last glass of wine. The disco on the harbour front was still in full swing and he could hear laughter and raucous singing over the thumping beat of the music but it did not disturb him tonight. He would finish the wine and take a couple of tablets then sleep like a baby until mid morning. At least, that was the plan. 

He ought to have known by now never to make plans. 



Aldo pushed his way back through the swell of the crowds with his heart in his mouth. He broke into a run once he was clear of the bars in the middle of Heliopolis and ducked through the access archway onto the near-deserted back road between the apartments and the huge campsite beyond them. From there he had a clear run up to the beach. Phil had said that he left Rayne a long way down near to the bottom end of the strand. From his description of their ordeal in the dunes, Aldo could guess how far that was and he struggled down to the shoreline on the shifting sand then began to run again once he reached the hard-packed surface at the edge of the water. Shells crunched under his deck shoes as he raced along the beach like his life depended on it. 

The moon was rising, as he reached the beach, which helped his cause as it bathed the sands in silver light and made it easier to see where he was going. Even so, he reached the far end of the naturist beach without finding any trace of the missing boy. Aldo slowed his stride as the sign post warning that bathers were reaching the end of the Naturist Zone came into view. He looked up towards the dunes in bewilderment, then turned and began to walk back briskly, his gaze scouring the shadowy beach. 

It was only as he looked out to sea, mentally asking the moon for her aid, that he thought he saw something. At first he imagined it was a porpoise, but it bobbed out of view only very briefly, and was too close to the shore. Aldo kicked off his shoes and strode out into the water for several yards to get a closer look. 

He cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed; "RAYNE!"

As the sound of his cry subsided and was swallowed by the shushing of the waves, he walked out a little further until he was up to his hips in the Mediterranean. The lick of the cold water on his dangling cock and balls was almost enough to make him turn back but then he saw it again, turning like a silver catherine wheel in the water. A pale arm that broke the surface then was dragged down again. Aldo stumbled deeper, coming out to meet the small, ragged, ashen bundle of limbs as the tide washed it back in to shore. 

"Jesus Christ!" Aldo gasped, snatching at it before the sea could pull it away again. "Please, God! No!"

He managed to drag the small, body back towards the shore, although the sea was reluctant to give up her prize. At last he rolled the still, lifeless form onto the sand beyond the wave line and cupped that ashen, moonlit face in his hands desperately once more. 

"Rayne!" he keened, shaking his head. "What the hell have you done?"




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 16



Some essential first aid knowledge came back to him from his school days and he pushed the boy onto his back and turned his head to one side. His fingers probed Rayne's airway, pressing his tongue down in his mouth, then he folded both hands over the boy's sternum and pushed down hard and fast. At first nothing happened, then, as he began the compressions again, a well of seawater erupted from between his lips. Rayne was still limp and motionless though. 

Aldo bent over him but could feel no trace of breath on his cheek. He tilted Rayne's face in his hands again and pressed his mouth to those cold, full lips, blowing into his mouth and watching to see if his chest rose. He blew two more times then tried the compressions again. 

Push, push push, push, push... Aldo stopped and pinched Rayne's nose, breathing for him. This time his slender torso rose with the breath of life and Aldo leaned over him, pumping his chest for all he was worth. Another trickle of water escaped but this time Rayne choked and struggled to breathe. 

"Yesssss..." Aldo hissed through his teeth. "Come on, baby!"

He touched his mouth to Rayne's but the boy's hands came up weakly, pushing him away. 

"No...!" It was barely more than a whimper of protest but Aldo exulted. 

"It's okay, babe," he promised. "I've got you. Don't be scared."

Rayne passed out again as Aldo was carrying him back up the beach, but at least he was still breathing. The Italian man took him around the back of the apartment blocks and across the car park. He got some curious looks from people in the restaurants closest to the marina as he walked back out into the lights, still sea-damp, carrying the small, limp body in his arms. To his consternation, Paddy's boat was still not back but there was a light on in the other yacht, the one belonging to Daniel Leland. He stumbled down the gangplank now, heading for safety.

Ant was sitting on the small rear sun deck with a drink in his hand when the Italian appeared at the head of the pontoon. He leapt to his feet at once when he realised who it was that Aldo was carrying so carefully. 

Between them the two men got him onto the boat and Aldo laid him down gently on the day bed. Ant knelt over Rayne at once, stroking his face and murmuring breathlessly to him. 

"What happened?" he demanded in between quiet entreaties for the boy to open his eyes. 

"I don't know..." Aldo's throat closed up at the idea of telling Ant what Phil had told him. "He was in the water. I should go back to his friend, he was pretty worked up."

"Yeah, yeah!" Ant waved him away as if he was an irrelevance. For a moment Aldo was not sure whether to be irritated or relieved. He ruffled Rayne's wet hair finally and pushed himself to his feet feeling deadbeat. It was a long walk back up to Phil's flat and when he got there the door was unlocked. He let himself in and made sure it was secure behind him. 

Phil was stretched out on the bed, still sniffing a little but more than half asleep. There was a glass of gin in one hand, almost empty. Aldo took it before he dropped it and swigged the bittersweet dregs, then he lay down on the bed beside the blond lad and curled around him protectively. After a moment, Phil wriggled back against him, then turned and snaked around him pulling his sticky body close. Aldo felt his cock rise but had no more energy to do anything about it than Phil did. Finally they both succumbed to sleep like that, holding one another tightly. 

Back on the boat, Ant fetched a glass of water and touched it to Rayne's lips as the boy's long eyelashes began to quiver. He choked on the first mouthful and struggled to sit up, suddenly awake but dazed and confused. 

"Where... what...?" he protested, his whole body shuddering violently.

"Ssshhhh... it's okay," Ant said gently, stroking a hand down his naked back. 

Huge green eyes flickered to his face as Rayne turned his head. His lips were parted, his breath coming in quick, anxious gulps. Ant let him get his breathing under control and just sat beside him, stroking and soothing him until he seemed to calm down a little. The fear in his eyes took him right back to that first morning when he had rescued the boy from the snow. Back then, after Rayne had cleaned himself up and learned to relax a little, they had spent a whole day and night fucking hard in his bed. Ant hoped and prayed that history was about to repeat itself.

"What happened?" he asked, once the boy had stopped panting and was sitting with his eyes closed, still quivering slightly. 

"Water..." Rayne said at last, holding his hand out. Ant put the glass in it and he emptied it at a draught. "More!"

He drank three tumblers of cold water before he was able to talk in coherent sentences. Ant remained patient, still stroking his hand up and down the boy's spine, sitting as close as he dared. He had filled a jug the second time and topped up the glass as required. 

"How did I get here?" Rayne asked huskily at last, without looking at him.

"The Italian brought you," Ant said quietly. "He said you were in the sea... you almost drowned. What happened?"

Rayne shook his head a little.

"Dunno," he said vaguely. "It's... I can't remember."

"Did you fall off the boat?" Ant asked him. He had presumed that Rayne and Aldo were with McNamara's party so the next words came as a bit of a surprise. 

"No... I just... I just wanted to go for a walk. And then I was on the beach... and I wanted to go in the water. I couldn't stop myself. The moon was calling me."

He shivered again.

"Come on," Ant told him more firmly this time. None of the boy's ramblings made sense and he had already decided that Rayne was in shock. "Let's get you in the shower and warm you up."



Rayne was curiously weak and unresisting as he let himself be propelled into the shower room but once he got there he became more animated, shooing Ant out and begging a few moments alone. He did not break down this time but when the lubricated nozzle of the douche kit probed his tender rear, he forced his eyes shut to keep the tears of very real pain inside. It took three washes before the liquid he expelled came out remotely clear, even then there was a thin spiral of redness curling in the bowl of the bidet. Rayne sank forward with his head in his hands. His legs were barely strong enough to hold him and he rocked himself back and forth for a little while, just making little whimpering noises. 

Ant came back in to the bathroom almost soundlessly. He began to run a bath without asking, and the boy's head jerked up as if it was on strings, activated by the sound of running water. 



Whilst the tub was filling, he helped Rayne to his feet without a word, guiding him to the shower rose and standing him beneath it. The rush of warm water blasted the sand and filth out of his hair and sent it trickling down his naked body in little dirty rivulets. Rayne clung to the pipes as Ant adjusted the water temperature and began to soap his back and shoulders steadily. The older man realised now that the dark patches on his arms and his legs, which he had presumed were sand and mud, would not rub off. Closer inspection revealed that they were actually quite vicious looking bruises. Ant laid one of his hands over each of them and calculated that someone bigger than him had physically pinned Rayne down at some point during the day. He felt a sudden surge of anger. Automatically, McNamara was the culprit. He was big and powerful, and he had no right to treat the boy like that!

In Ant's fevered imagination the bastards had taken Rayne out to sea and whilst he was stuck on the yacht with no chance of escape they had pinned him to the deck and enjoyed themselves with him in plain sight. In a frenzy, desperate to escape, he had jumped overboard and tried to swim to shore. If not for Aldo swimming after him he would probably not have made it. 

He experienced a wave of uncharacteristic gratitude towards the Italian for that. 

When he washed dried blood from between the younger man's thighs and buttocks, Ant was ready to kill the Irishman. He remembered Rayne's impassioned protest this morning; 'It wasn't like that!'

Now he thought he was beginning to see exactly what it was like. McNamara and his friends had taken the boy however they wanted him, and whether 'he' wanted it or not. Suddenly he hated himself passionately for not being there to protect Rayne, for accusing him without knowing the half of the matter. 

"Oh sweetheart... I am so sorry," he groaned, letting his face rest against Rayne's bare, soapy arse. "I haven't taken proper care of you, have I? But I'm going to look after you now, baby."

"What are you on about?" Rayne asked wearily as the older man got to his feet, carefully washing the soap away with his hands. 

"I want to look after you," Ant told him earnestly.

"Huhhh!" Rayne made a fragile, incredulous noise that could have been a laugh or snort of derision, it was hard to tell. 

Ant did not care. His dark angel had come home to him, which was all that mattered. Rayne was letting Ant look after him finally. Maybe he was not physically up to looking after himself but the circumstances had to be exceptional if he was admitting it. Even if he was not admitting it in words. Ant managed to manoeuvre him into the bathtub gently enough. He heard the boy exhale a little hiss of pain as he sank slowly into the hot water, but he did not resist. 

"Do you want some company?" he asked hopefully. 

Rayne half opened one glittering green eye like a sleeping cat. He shook his head no more than a couple of times. The long lashes came to rest on his sweat-jewelled cheeks again. Instead Ant investigated the evidence left by his private ablutions. The douche bag and the trail of blood in the bidet made his heart run cold. Rayne had been assaulted, and further more he was protecting whoever had done this thing to him. Ant seethed internally. Was he so besotted with McNamara that he would lie to keep the big Irish bastard out of jail? Or had the man threatened him with further punishment if he went telling tales?

"You know that you can talk to me, don't you?" he said levelly. 

Rayne's lips quirked upward slightly but he said nothing, just made a small, sleepy, affirmative noise. He was drowsing in the hot water. Ant came back to his side and shook him gently. 

"Don't fall asleep in there," he warned. 

"Not much chance of that is there?" Rayne murmured huskily, although he did push himself upright and splash his face a couple of times. 

Ant helped him to get out at last. He towelled the boy gently until his skin was dry and his hair at least a little bit less sodden then picked him up, in spite of his protestations and carried him into the bedroom. The distant pulse of music from the clubs was quieter in here and Rayne rolled himself onto his right side just as soon as he was lying down, curling into a little ball with his arms around his knees. He buried his face in the softness of the duvet cover and Ant came to lie beside and behind him, gently running his hands over the boy's slender body again. He wriggled as close as he dared, close enough to hold Rayne once he was sure that the younger man would not object. Now he pulled that slim, cold creature more firmly into his arms and rubbed his face in the soft, wet hair at the nape of Rayne's neck. 

"What happened to you?" he whispered, kissing the boy there. 

"I don't know," Rayne said in a more measured tone than before. Quite clearly he had been thinking about this and Ant was no more convinced by his reply than he had been by any of the earlier ones. 

"Were you drunk?" his companion persisted? "Stoned? Did you fall overboard or were you pushed?"

Rayne shook his head a little. 

"Overboard?" he repeated as if this was some alien concept beyond his understanding. "Uh... no. I... I wasn't on a boat."

"You didn't go with them?" Ant sought some clarification of this point. "McNamara... you didn't go with him?"

"No." Rayne seemed fairly certain of this. He yawned now, wriggling against the duvet again. "Can we get under? I'm still so cold."

Ant obliged him at once, rising to pull the king-sized duvet up and around them both like a sleeping bag. They were cocooned in its cosy heart now and Ant snuggled closer once more, sharing his warmth willingly with the shivering boy. He kissed Rayne's neck and shoulders again, reassuringly. 

"What about Aldo?" he wanted to know. "Didn't he go with them either? Was he with you?"

"I don't want to talk," Rayne said quietly. "Just... shhhh!"

Ant shook his head, bewildered by this reaction but simply glad that Rayne had come back to him. In his hour of need it was Ant that he turned to. He had already conveniently put to the back of his mind that actually it had been Aldo who brought the boy here, at a loss what to do with him. The memory of that only raised more questions. There were the bruises and the blood, for a start.

"Did he hurt you?" he murmured in Rayne's left ear.

Rayne made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat and shook his head. 

"Are you... have you taken something?" Ant persisted, more cautiously now. 

"No... I'm tired," the boy responded huskily. "I'm cold, my throat hurts, everything hurts. I just want to lie still."

Ant curled around him tighter and pressed the length of his hot body against the boy's naked back and bottom. He carried on kissing Rayne slowly and gently. 

"Why were you in the sea? It doesn't make sense," he whispered, half to himself half to Rayne.

He felt the boy shudder in his arms, a long, quivering reaction that ran from his shoulders to the base of his spine. Rayne's slender limbs vibrated again, then again. He began to sob almost inaudibly, turning his face to bury it in the thick quilting, muffling the little whimpers of despair. Ant's pulse raced. Whatever had happened it had to be pretty bad if he was crying. The older man began to caress him very gently, folding his arms around Rayne and stroking his hands up and down the boy's stomach and chest. Firmly but tenderly he pulled Rayne against his own body, nuzzling his unhappy young lover steadily whilst he offered physical reassurance. 

"I didn't mean to make you cry," he murmured at last. "What is it, Rayne? Do you want me to let go of you? Can't you bear to be touched by me any more?"

He got his answer when the boy turned violently in his embrace, but instead of lashing out at him as he was half-expecting, Rayne's arms snaked around his neck and the young man just clung to him, sobbing bitterly. Ant settled around him once more, startled and confused but determined not to let his mate down this time. He ran his hands from the crown of Rayne's dark head down to the backs of his knees, just stroking and soothing, whispering nonsense to him until his weeping subsided and he was lying limply in Ant's embrace. 

Slowly and cautiously now, Ant trailed a fingertip back up the boy's inner thigh, following the soft curve of his buttock out to his hip, then moving it back in to the small of his back. He moved it in circles over the lowest vertebra and Rayne squirmed awkwardly in his arms as Ant caressed the back of his neck with the other hand. 

"You are so beautiful," he whispered sadly. "I can't help wanting you."

"I'm not good enough for you," Rayne croaked at last, his voice barely audible. "He was right, Ant. All I'm good for is fucking. It's all I can do. It's what men expect of me. You need more than that... you deserve more. I can't stop them, Ant. I can't change how it is!"

He pressed his face into the curve of Ant's neck and shoulder and the older man felt the wetness of his tears and the quick heat of his breath there. He eased his finger under the curl of Rayne's tailbone and into the little hollow between his spine and his anus. 

The boy flinched and shook his head. 

"Are you still sore?" Ant whispered into his ear and got a nod in response. 

He stroked Rayne's hair, gripping thick handfuls of that silky, sable mane and pulling gently on it. When Rayne tilted his head back in response, Ant pressed his mouth to the boy's slightly parted lips and kissed him hungrily. Rayne snaked around him more willingly, responding to the kiss. He loved to be kissed, Ant had learned this very early in their tempestuous relationship. More than that, he was incredibly good at it. As his tongue delved between the boy's soft lips, he gently circled Rayne's anal pucker with that searching finger. 

"Nuuuuhhhh...." Rayne pulled away at once, shaking his head again. "It hurts too much," he pouted, his eyes red-rimmed and huge with exhaustion.

"Did McNamara do this to you?" Ant demanded, suddenly angry and defensive again. 

Rayne just shook his head. He slumped back down into the downy embrace of the quilt, running a hand up and down Ant's sweat damp chest to soothe him. 

"It... it's not what you think. He hasn't touched me for days," he said huskily, at last. "And when he did it was... gentle. He was so gentle... I wasn't expecting that."

"Did he hurt you?" Ant was perplexed. 

"No," Rayne whispered, looking up at him with a trembling smile. "No, it was... intense but he didn't hurt me."

"Someone else forced you then? One of his 'actors'?" Ant spat out the word as though it was poison. He had little faith that much acting was involved in most of McNamara's movies. Generally a slender youth was procured and his virginity was extolled until McNamara and his well-tooled friends rode into town and vigorously eradicated his virtue for him. Ant conveniently shelved the fact that he had still watched said movies with his cock in his hand on more than one occasion.

"No," Rayne said again, rolling onto his back wearily and staring up at the ceiling. 

"I don't understand," Ant pressed him, shaking his head. He lay on his side now, his head propped against his right hand, just watching the boy possessively. 

"Leave it." His companion's lips moved but the sound that came from them was barely more than a breath.

Ant ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to know the truth; needed to know but Rayne was a closed book again.

"I can't leave it," he growled quietly at last. "You're hurting and you're ripping yourself up over it even more! What the hell did you mean, you're 'not good enough for me'? Can't I be the judge of that?" 

A shake of the head was his only response. Rayne refused to look at him. 

"Too stupid, huh? Too emotional?" Ant sneered, slumping back down beside him. "Okay, I'm a schmuck! I think with my dick! I get the picture!"

Rayne's head turned and for a moment there was pain in those pale eyes. The boy chewed on his lower lip.

"You're not stupid," he said in a small voice. "I'm stupid, Ant. I really thought I could be different here. But it's like... like there's a code printed on my forehead and I can't see it, but other guys can... and it just tells them they can do what they like with me. It's the same in any language isn't it? They look at me and they think, 'fuck-toy'!"

Rayne turned onto his side with his back to Ant and buried his face in his folded arms again. Ant just stared at his slender shoulders, for a few moments too stunned by this outburst to even speak. 

RAYNE'S WORLD:

He felt as if his head was dissolving. The heat of this afternoon and the exhaustion were winning the battle against his body. Rayne curled around himself, rocking back and forth again, too enervated to even cry now. He felt sick and he was still shaking, even though he was no longer cold. The pain and the shock of what had happened to him were hovering at the edges of his awareness but he knew they were there. If he began to think too hard about this afternoon he would start screaming. Alone he might have thrown caution to the winds but here...




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 16



Rayne was still not entirely sure how he had come to be here. A part of him wondered if he was actually dead and this was some kind of spirit fantasy, only it hurt too much to be a dream and he could not understand what Ant was doing in Hell with him, or why the afterlife had comfy beds and familiar rooms. He remembered shouting at Phil and standing in the water looking up at the moon. There had been a terrible yearning in him, a longing to lie down in the water and not get up again. The rest was confusion. He thought he recalled Aldo singing to him and kissing him but that could have been a disjointed memory from another time. He remembered looking up and seeing his mother's face, tears running down her cheeks. She never cried. The only time he had ever seen her cry was when the police doctor went back to talk to her in private after he had internally examined Rayne in that little room with no windows. They stood on the corridor, just far enough away to be out of earshot as he hovered in the doorway, tucking in his shirt and trying not to look like he was eavesdropping when they were talking about him anyway and he had a right to know what they said. Then his mum just sat down on the bench along the wall and put her face in her hands. The doctor sat beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. Rayne heard her sobbing and he ducked back into the room with his back to the door, feeling his heart start to thump in his chest like there were demons in there kicking their way out. She was crying like a girl, sobbing her heart out in front of a stranger, and she was doing it because of him. 

She never cried. She did not even cry when his Dad came around to Aunt Iris's house just after she left him and begged her on his knees to come home. He knelt on the doorstep wailing and weeping, embarrassing her in front of her sister's well-to-do neighbours. Even Rayne, who was only ten, could have told him how stupid and pointless that was. He was mortified for his father but also for Mum, who was so angry inside that she could not even look at him. 

His mother, crying her heart out because he was too spineless to stand another eighteen months of Brian, and Brian's fucking friends! Eighteen months and he could leave home and school, he would never have to see the bastard again. Eighteen months of gritting his teeth and enduring the pain each time his Uncle picked him up from school and drove him to an anonymous friend's house for sex. Patronising strangers patting him on the head like he was a dog, offering him money and telling him he was a good boy. A good boy for keeping his mouth shut and getting his pants down when they told him to. "Well trained," one of them had said. 'Well trained!' like an advert for a puppy or something. It made him think of Christophe, and then he just wanted to be sick. 

The look in the Frenchman's eye as he climbed on to take his turn said it all. The bastard could have it all and he knew it. How was Rayne ever going to stop him? He had never known how. He still did not know it, even now. The secret was hardwired into his system. There was a magnet in him that drew bastards like Christophe and Brian fucking Collinge and he was powerless against them. Even when he said no, it made no difference. Even when he kicked and screamed and wept and they stood over him laughing like it didn't matter to them how he felt!

At first he had worried that Ant was another one. He got under Rayne's skin with kindness and promises the way Brian had and Johnno, then it all came out. The movies, the money, the payback! But Ant was different, he had a soul under that horny veneer. He showed his emotions far too plainly to be one of them, but that was not to say that he did not have those kinds of ambitions.

For the first time in more years than he could count, Rayne wished that he was back home. He just wanted to close his eyes like Judy Garland in the Wizard of Oz and say the words, over and over, then open them and find himself back in his old bed at Dad's house. The moon would be setting over Dymchurch and St Mary's Bay when he looked out of the window. He could sit on the sill and roll himself a cigarette and bathe in the moonlight until the silver glow was superseded by the first rosy hint of dawn. If he was very lucky he could wipe out the last ten years and Mum would still be there, calling up the stairs to him, warning that he would be late for school if he didn't get a move on, sharpish. It would be a mad scramble to the bathroom, trying to beat Skye to it, or else he would be marooned on the landing in his pyjamas, banging his heels against the door whilst his sister took forever over her shower and her makeup. He could rewind and wipe out Brian and Baz and Johnno and all the people who had ever left him feeling like dirt. He could be normal. Angie McDonnell would wait for him after school and walk back home with him along the promenade. If he was very good she might let him kiss her behind the bus-shelter down on the corner of Mill Road. That would be the real world, not this spiralling descent into madness. 

The tears rolled silently from his eyes like molten glass, streaming down his cheeks into the soft linen of the bedcovers. It was not fair. Tonight he had really believed it was over. He had walked into the sea, secure in the knowledge that it would end, one way or another. Why was he here? It was all wrong.

The gentle touch of Ant's lips on the back of his neck broke that train of thought completely. For a long time that was all the contact they had, just the warmth of another person's breath on his neck and back; Ant kissing his hair and his nape and his slim shoulders tenderly as he lay shuddering on the bed, pretending not to cry. His throat was so sore that it felt like he had eaten rusty nails. He was filthy; why could Ant not see it? Why was he doing this?

"Leave me alone," he croaked miserably, at last. 

Ant stopped kissing him for a moment, but he did not move away. Eventually he murmured; "I can't do that."

Rayne shuddered. His skin felt cold without the contact of those soft lips. 

"Why not?" he growled quietly. 

"Because... I need to be with you," Ant said simply. "I want to be with you tonight. Even if I don't get to fuck you, I just want to be beside you."

Rayne's throat filled with tears and he curled up tighter, trying to force them down. 

"Stupid!" he muttered in a small, choked voice. 

"Yeah," the older man agreed. "I guess so. Can't change the habit of a lifetime, I guess. I'm impulsive. I think with my cock not my brain. I happen to... to adore you. I want to hold you in my arms so that you can sleep and know that no one will hurt you. I want to find the bastard that did this to you and rip his cock off with my bare hands!"

Rayne's eyes opened wide. He managed to swallow, though it hurt like gulping down sandpaper. Wet jewels hung from his long eyelashes, hovering for a moment then splashing down soundlessly. 

"Idiot!" he whispered huskily. 

"We make a good pair," Ant told him, moving close enough to curl his arms around the boy and draw him carefully back against his own body. He slid a hand beneath Rayne's sweat and tear drenched cheek and cradled his face very gently, touching his lips lightly to the younger man's earlobe. "I'm a fool for love and you're a glutton for punishment. We must be crazy!"

"You don't love me," Rayne made a noise between a cough and a startled laugh. "You 'think' you love me, maybe..."

"When someone hurts you, they hurt me," Ant breathed into his ear.

Rayne stared straight ahead, at the wall, watching the shadows cast by the lights beyond their porthole window. He could not breathe. 

"Is that what love feels like?" he exhaled at last.

"Don't you know?" Ant asked him curiously. 

Rayne Wilde shook his head. 

"A pretty boy like you and you've never been in love? I don't believe it!" his companion chuckled dryly.

"Not really," Rayne murmured, wishing he would be quiet. This conversation was making his head ache. "And you're drunk!"

"Not 'so' drunk," Ant countered solemnly. 

"How does it feel, then?" the boy asked in a wary tone. "Mr Expert!"

Ant snuggled up to him, breathing him in. His lips and his body felt good, but his words were dangerous things. Rayne could not switch off. He did not dare to relax.

"Love?" Ant mumbled drowsily. "It feels like... you look at someone and your heart just stops for a moment. Everything stops! You just feel your whole life flow into orbit around that person for an instant, like they're a sun and you're some insignificant asteroid, caught in their gravity. You feel like your chest is full of confetti. Or cherry blossom... tumbling down inside you."

"Butterflies?" Rayne said in a slightly tremulous voice. He was still staring into space, watching the shifting golden patterns on the wall; light reflected off the water, rippling and shimmering. "Butterflies dancing in your stomach?"

"Yeah... that's a good analogy," Ant chuckled warmly, kissing his shoulder again. "Maybe you have been in love after all?"

Rayne clenched his teeth. He could not speak. All he could think of was that morning on the other boat when he looked at Paddy sitting on the sofa reading his paper and felt his heart turn to snow-melt and his insides shudder until it felt like pain. He sucked in a long, quivering sob, and then another. 

"Sshhhhh...." Ant breathed, still stroking his face and hair. "Shhhhh, it doesn't matter."

"But... but..." Rayne was sobbing, unable to think in a coherent sentence, let alone speak it. "I don't... I can't..."

"I know," Ant interrupted him quietly and reasonably. "I know you love someone else. I know you don't feel that way about me. I'm not quite the idiot you had me pegged out as."

"It's not fair!" Rayne huffed, turning suddenly in his arms again and wrapping himself around Ant so that he could hide his face against the other man's broader torso. 

"Life rarely is," Ant said, running a soothing hand over his wet hair. 

"Why are you being so nice to me, if you know?" The boy sniffed hard, struggling to get his renegade emotions under control again. 

He felt Ant's hands cup his face, lifting so that he could not hide the stream of tears any more. Ant kissed them away very tenderly.

"I don't know," he answered after a little while of this. "Maybe, in spite of everything, I thought that you deserved a little love. Maybe I hoped that it would change you; melt your cold heart a bit. I don't know why you were in the sea tonight. I don't know how Aldo found you or why he brought you back here to me. Maybe you just needed it. I could never walk away from anyone in need."

Rayne reached up for his hands, just clinging to them as if he would drown again were he to let go. He nuzzled Ant's palms and rubbed his face against them quietly. 

"Why do we fall for the people we shouldn't?" he murmured at last. "Why are we made like that? Why do we always want something that's going to be bad for us?"

Ant carefully pulled Rayne's lips to his own and kissed the boy hungrily for quite some time. Finally, conscious perhaps of his own desire for the vulnerable creature in his arms, he drew away and folded Rayne Wilde in his arms again. 

"Maybe love isn't actually meant to be so easy," he suggested with a sad, ironic smile. 

END OF CHAPTER SIXTEEN

© Sadie Rose Bermingham 2006



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 17



Chapter 17: When All Else Fails...

© Sadie Rose Bermingham 2006 

"Apologies for the delay to this chapter. My internet connection and my husband have both been sick and it's taken me a little while to get around to posting. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the penultimate chapter of Rayne's French adventure."

The usual terms apply. Copyright belongs to Sadie Rose and Litty. 

*

COLD TURKEY

Rayne sat on the upper deck of Dan Leland's yacht, nursing a huge mug of black coffee in both hands. He hunched over the cup as if its heat could warm his whole body. His head was down and tendrils of dark hair drooped around his pale face like hanging vines. When Ant came up to join him he did not even stir. It was as if he had been petrified by the rising sun and turned into a small, golden statue. The older man sat down next to him, facing the empty berth at the end of the far pontoon. He stroked the back of Rayne's neck gently for a little while. 

"When did they go?" the boy asked him huskily at last. He tilted his head back, rubbing against the fingers that massaged the base of his skull slowly and rhythmically. 

"Yesterday," Ant told him atonally. "About noon. McNamara had some business in Marseilles. Apparently!"

"They didn't say goodbye." Rayne was staring at the empty space, lips parted lightly, inhaling the caffeinated steam from his cup a breath at a time.

"Yeah... well..." Ant shrugged stiffly and shook his head. 

"Well, what?" That dark head turned to face him and pale, red-rimmed eyes looked into his own seriously. 

"He was... he was pretty pissed off about... about what happened."

"What? That I got hurt... or that his fuckin' film got spoiled?" Rayne's upper lip curled slightly and he looked back down into his mug again, letting the spill of ebony hair screen his expression from view once more.

"It's an expensive business, making movies," Ant said, trying to sound non-committal. 

"Yeah!" Rayne put down the coffee cup and folded his arms across his knees, resting his forehead against them wearily. 

"I'm sorry," Ant ventured warily, still stroking the backs of his fingers in slow circles through the downy hair at the nape of his companion's neck.

"Why?" Rayne asked, without lifting his head. 

"Well... I know you... you liked him."

At once Rayne pushed back and uncurled, shrugging him off almost casually. He moved to his knees and picked up the cup, draining it without pausing for breath. Only then did he treat Ant to a small, disdainful, knowing look and murmur; "He's just an arsehole! Like everyone else!"

Ant followed the boy back down into the bedroom, where he watched for a little while as Rayne hunted through the drawers and under the bed, searching for something with a preoccupied air. Aldo had brought his bags and guitar case back from Phil's flat a few days ago. The young porn star and his minder, Arturo were still at the Cap. This surprised Ant who had expected them to go with McNamara, but the older Italian had an apartment here in Agde and was staying for the next couple of weeks. Aldo di Boccato stayed too. Ant thought that the young man seemed a little bit lost, but Aldo was not his major concern right now.

"Lost something?" he asked artlessly. 

Rayne looked up at him with a quietly frustrated expression. 

"I had a pouch thing with my cigarettes and stuff in it," he said, chewing on his lower lip irritably. 

"I know. I burned it," Ant told him, folding his arms and steeling himself for the explosion. 

A terrible stillness came over Rayne for a moment. Icy green eyes glared back at him incredulously and then the boy struggled for breath. He was huffing anxiously as he yelped; "You did 'what'?"

"I burned it." Ant looked back at him impassively. "I took it down to the beach last night while you were asleep and I burned it. I've been talking to a few people while you've been recuperating. I asked Mahmoudi what it was that he's been sedating you with. I talked to your little friend Phil as well. Who sold it to you, Rayne?"

The boy just blinked at him incredulously. He began to shake his head but Ant was quicker. 

"Uh-huh... no lies. I know. I know what you've been smoking, I know what he's been filling your veins with and it's going to stop. Today!"

"No!" Rayne protested automatically. 

"Yes." Ant nodded his head. 

"I can't!" Rayne was breathing faster now, shaking his dark hair more urgently. "Ant, I can't... I can't just stop!"

"You told me before that it wasn't a problem," Ant reminded him evenly. "You just did a bit, it wasn't a big deal. You didn't take it all the time. That's what you told me."

"I don't... It's 'not'!" Rayne insisted, moving towards him automatically. "Ant, I swear to you! It's no big deal, but I... I've been through so much shit this week..." His eyes filled up and he caught his breath, staring imploringly into the older fellow's solemn blue-grey gaze. "Please... I can't do this..."

"I'll help you," Ant said stoically. He unfolded his arms and cupped Rayne's face in his hands firmly, stroking the salt-wetness from the corners of his beautiful eyes. "You 'can' do it. I'm going to make sure you do."

"No!" Rayne snaked around him, shaking his head desperately. "Get Mahmoudi. I just need something to start me off and I can think straight and 'then' I can do it!"

"You don't," Ant told him, a little more coldly. "Rayne, it's got to stop."

"I'm in pain!" the boy yelled at him, gripping his shoulders and glaring up at him furiously. "You don't fuckin' care do you? It's not 'you' they raped! It's not you they fuckin' hurt!"

He had guessed that it would not take Ant long to find out the truth, not once he spoke to Phil and Aldo about the events of the other night. Phil had come to see him a couple of days ago and Rayne refused to talk to him. He felt sorry about that now. Phil Honeywell looked so dejected at his response but he was angry. He had only asked for one thing, that Phil should keep his mouth shut about what had been done to him. The stupid little bitch couldn't even do that! He had blabbed to Aldo and the Italian had seen it as his duty to inform Ant of the whole sorry affair. 

The police had come and Rayne blanked them too, much to Ant's frustration. They had argued about that one last night, just before Doctor Mahmoudi arrived to sedate him. Rayne was cursing that row right now. If Ant had not been so fired up maybe he would not have thought to interrogate the Doctor about the contents of his hypodermic and he would not be in this mess today. 

Ant was looking down at him solemnly. 

"You admit it then?" he queried huskily. "It's the first time you've actually come out and said it, so I guess it must be true after all."

Rayne swallowed hard. He was angry and upset in equal measures and it was hard to stay in control when all he wanted was to suck down a little sweet, narcotic smoke and feel his nerves stop grating against one another. 

"You knew I'd been attacked," he said, fighting down the tremor in his voice. "You thought Paddy did it to me, remember?"

Ant nodded his head. 

"Why didn't you tell me the truth?" he wanted to know. 

"I didn't want you to get hurt," Rayne said neutrally, lowering his head and resting his brow against the older man's chest. "I know what you're like. I remembered what you were like after... after that night in Soho. You wanted to kill John with your bare hands. Christophe would have been expecting you. He wasn't going to sit around on his own after doing something like that. He'd have had friends there waiting. I didn't want you to go after him, Ant."

Gently, Ant steered him back to the bed and sat him down. He put both arms around the boy and held him for a long, quiet time, just stroking his hair and his slim, naked back. 

"You are out of your mind," he breathed against Rayne's scalp at last. "You'd have let yourself drown the other night rather than admit what happened, wouldn't you? Jesus Christ! If Aldo hadn't found you..."

"Sshhhh..." Rayne exhaled wearily, shaking his head. "It wasn't like that."

"You tried to kill yourself!" Ant protested. 

"No..." he sat back, looking up dejectedly at the older man. "I didn't mean to. I just... it felt easier not to fight it any more. I didn't go into the sea meaning to... to end it. Look at me, Ant!" He held his arms out desperately, lifting them so that the pale stars and stripes of his own determined rite of passage were hard to ignore. "If I really wanted to die I'd have gone by now, yeah? It wasn't what you think. I needed to pull myself together. I needed something to make me focus and being in the water did it. But I was so tired. When it took me off my feet I couldn't fight it. I didn't want to."

He looked away, suddenly vulnerable and embarrassed. Only one person in his life had ever come this close to knowing his darkest humours. He was not ready to unburden himself again but he was homesick. Rayne yearned for Dymchurch and his best friend, Simon's quiet, accepting wisdom. He felt so far from home here. 

Ant stroked his arms gently, his face etched with sorrow. 

"Did it hurt?" he wanted to know. "Cutting yourself like that..."

Rayne shook his head, numb and exhausted. 

"It felt clean," he said atonally. 

"Clean?" Ant was puzzled. 

"Like fire, or ice. It was like a purifying thing," Rayne whispered, unable to look at the marks on his forearms. "When I pulled the knife across my skin and watched the blood come, it was like letting out all the darkness inside me. It felt so good." He closed his eyes and swayed a little. "With the cigarette burns I was usually angry about something. All the little round marks are like that, where I burned myself or jabbed myself with something sharp because I'd lost my temper. I punched a compass needle through the back of my hand once in a maths lesson. It freaked the girls next to me out, totally!"

"I... I bet it did," Ant caught his breath. 

"But I was calm straight afterwards," Rayne told him, looking up suddenly, his eyes so full of fervour that Ant looked worried. "It took all the anger out of me. I felt okay."

"Why would you do that?" the older man asked him, shaking his head slowly now. "You were still at school? This must have been years ago, right? Before you were on drugs... on the game?"

Rayne swallowed and turned his face away, suddenly pulling his arms back around himself, conscious of having said too much. It was like falling into a trap. He felt safe and he opened his mouth and then he realised that you could never tell people the whole story, because that was just asking for trouble. Ant was not going to be able to deal with the reasons why he cut and burned himself, just as he could not deal with Rayne's attitude to sex and relationships. He bit down hard on his lips and pushed his hands through his hair, trying to hide behind them. 

"I'm stupid," he said flatly. "That's why."

"Someone hurt you?" Ant ventured, not side-tracked in the slightest. 

"No. I just liked doing it. I liked scaring people. It felt good!" Rayne lifted his head defiantly. 

"Stop closing the fucking door on me!" Ant grabbed him by the chin and pulled Rayne around to face him. "You have got some serious problems, kiddo. I'm trying to fucking help you but you're hard work! Now this week I'm gonna start by getting you off this shit you've been neutralising your brain with. And when we're done with that, you can start telling me exactly what it is that's made you into such a screwball. Okay?"

Rayne quivered in his grasp. He wanted to pull away, shouting and screaming until someone came and sedated him. That would be good right now. In that instant he was overwhelmed by the absolute hopelessness of his situation. Ant was right. He was a mess. He should get himself cleaned up but it was easier to take the junk and let other people make the rules for him. Nothing was ever going to change. He was an idiot if he believed that it could. 

"Okay." He lowered his eyes and tried to look penitent. Something would come along. It always did. 

"Seriously?" Ant was looking suspiciously at him now. 

Rayne shrugged; "Whatever... you're the boss."

It was not so easy to give Ant the slip however. The older man watched him like a bird of prey hunting for vermin. He stayed with Rayne all the time. No privacy was permissible; even trips to the toilet were accompanied. Rayne yelled at him, and lashed out at him. He hurled abuse. He even threw up over Ant at one point when the shakes and the need and the absolute frustration overwhelmed him. The next few days were among the most horrendous of his short life. 

Before long the itch of need gave way to a very real pain, deep in his muscles and his gut. The cramps ate him alive. It was like lying in a pool of cold bile whilst rats gnawed on his innards. When he reached a point where there was no positive effect in retching because his stomach was empty and he was just choking up the lining, he curled up on the floor of the bedroom and waited to die. He was sweating so much that the bedclothes got soaked the minute he lay down on them. He rolled off the bed. Within minutes the floor was too cold and he was struggling to get under cover but moments after wrapping himself in the duvet he was sweating again. 

"I need something!" he pleaded. "Get Mahmoudi. Please, Ant! I'll do 'anything'!"

"You'll be all right," Ant promised him. "I'm watching you, Rayne. And there's nothing he can give you for the pain, in any case. You've seen to that, haven't you?"

"There is! He can... You are a fuckin' sadist!" Rayne screamed at him. "I hate you! I'm sick and I'm hurting and all you can do is torment me!"

Ant just shrugged his shoulders and looked away.

He lost track of the time. Someone was always watching him though. Each evening, Ant gently helped him through into the bathroom and let him use the toilet and get clean. A warm bath was the sweetest thing in the world. He let the water caress his sweaty skin and slumped under the surface until Ant got nervous and pulled him back up again. 

"Idiot!" he muttered, shaking the water out of his hair, but the older man never berated him for it. 

Later that night, Rayne woke from uneasy dreams, lying on his side with a pillow hugged against his aching belly, staring at a patch of rippling light reflected from one of the little porthole windows onto the wall. He thought that it looked like a huge eye filled with tears, ready to overflow and he wanted to cry with it. His body felt too heavy and he wished that there was a valve in his chest that he could turn on and off, releasing the pressure that weighed him down. 

"Are you hungry?" a familiar voice asked and he shook his head, still staring at the big, sorrowful eye on the wall. 

The speaker stirred and came around to crouch beside the bed looking back at him dejectedly. Aldo looked tired, he thought. There were dark rings under his eyes and he was huddled in a pair of faded jeans and a finely knitted sweater. It seemed strange to see him with clothes on.

"Where's Ant?" he asked numbly. 

"He needed to get some rest. He's been sitting up with you for three days," the Italian told him, coming to perch on the edge of the bed. "I told him to take a bath and get his head down. Daniel and Terry are out at Isolde's club, it's quiet enough."

Rayne nodded distractedly. His stomach ached and he just wished it would stop. He was shaking almost incessantly. 

"I didn't realise you were so bad," Aldo murmured, reaching over to stroke a wisp of hair back from his face. 

Rayne pushed his hand away automatically. 

"Don't touch me."

"I'm not the one doing this to you," Aldo said defensively. 

"It's your fault!" Rayne croaked, refusing to even look at him. "I thought you were my friend. I thought I could trust you, but you're worse than any of them!"

"I don't know how you can say that," Aldo argued. "I was there for you. I came looking for you. I stood up to McNamara over you and I lost my job for you, so don't even start accusing me of treachery!"

Rayne's head turned smartly and his pale green eyes sought Aldo's face at once. 

"He dumped you off the film?" the boy asked, shocked by this revelation. "Why?"

"Because... because I let you disappear that afternoon when Christophe..." Aldo swallowed, unable to complete the statement. He rubbed at his forehead as if it ached. "He told me not to come back unless I found you. I didn't find you in time. Now he's angry because you would not talk to the police... something to do with his insurance, I think. That's why they went to Marseilles, to talk to the money men."

"Arsehole!" Rayne muttered, shaking his head and huddling back beneath the duvet as he tried to stop his teeth chattering. 

"Me or him?" Aldo wanted to know.

"B-b-both of you!" 

"I thought you were in love with him," Aldo said coldly. 

"I told you before and I'm telling you now, I was not and I am not in love with P J fuckin' McNamara!" Rayne felt his voice break and he hugged the pillow more tightly to his chest and belly, rocking himself furiously. "Why did you tell Ant what happened?"

For a moment Aldo was silent, then when Rayne uncurled enough to peer at him curiously, he let out a shuddering sigh. 

"He thought that we did it to you," the Italian youth exhaled. "He really believed that we took turns with you then they sent me back with you once you were beyond... use."

Rayne closed his eyes and uttered a little huff of impotent disbelief. 

"He is 'such' an idiot! I 'told' him that wasn't what happened!"

"You can imagine what P J would have done to him if he had gone around to the boat and started making such an accusation?" Aldo said wearily. 

"Yeah... I can imagine." Rayne rolled slowly and cautiously onto his back. His spine felt as if it was trying to dig into his guts. He moaned involuntarily at the pain. 

"Phil had already told me the truth," Aldo said in a quiet voice. "He did not promise to you that he would not tell me, only that he would say nothing to Ant or Paddy. He did not 'want' to tell me, Rayne. I made him do it. Then I told Ant because I did not want to see P J beat him to a pulp. He is a fool, but he does not deserve that."

"Don't talk about him like that. He's a better man than you," Rayne informed him in a low, warning tone. 

Aldo shrugged and looked away. He was hugging himself as if he was cold. 

"I went to the villa the other night," he said distantly. 

"What villa?" Rayne tried to sit up but he was still shaking too much to make a proper job of it. At last he compromised by propping himself on one elbow. Already he was beginning to shiver again, even though it was a swelteringly warm night. He could not understand why Aldo felt cold though. 

"The place where they took you when Christophe kidnapped you," Aldo elaborated, his eyes suddenly very dark and serious. "I went there and I hammered on the door until they let me in. I managed to land a good few punches on that bastard before his muscle boys pulled me off him. I wish I could have killed him with my bare hands!"

This time Rayne managed to sit upright. His head was pounding and he really did not feel well at all but he could not believe what he was hearing.

"You fucking maniac!" he yelped. "This is 'exactly' what I didn't want! 'This' is why I asked Phil to keep his mouth shut. You and Ant and P J, you're fuckin' testosterone driven lunatics! What did he do to you?"

Aldo looked somewhat abashed but he unfolded now and peeled off his sweater carefully. Rayne put a hand over his mouth, feeling the bile rise in his throat as the Italian uncovered the deep, raw stripes and vicious bruises on his back and torso. He had been whipped hard enough to draw blood, but they had not touched his face at all. Rayne swallowed hard, not sure whether to cry or throw up. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 17



"I went back with tools, petrol and some tapers from the boat after they had dumped me on the beach," the handsome Italian told him in a cold, grim voice. "I grew up in the country, I know how to get a job done properly. I screwed slats of wood over the windows while they were sleeping, nice and quiet. Then I poured the gasoline through a few broken panes and lit it. I went to a bar nearby and watched it burn."

Rayne lowered his hands. His mouth fell open in silent dismay and he began to shake his head incredulously. 

"Y...you..."

"He will not bother you again, Rayne. This I promise," Aldo told him impassively. 

He pulled his sweater back on, wincing at the pain from the cruel scars on his back. Rayne Wilde stared at him, stunned and horrified by what the Italian had just told him.

"He's...?"

"He won't hurt you any more. Don't ask me anything else, okay?" Aldo closed his eyes. 

"Jesus!" Rayne exhaled quietly. 

"If you talk to the police, you know nothing about this, do you understand?" Aldo lifted his head, fixing the boy with that stony gaze once more. 

Rayne nodded mutely. He did not plan to stick around long enough to speak to the cops, besides which, he was already nervous in case one of them turned out to be Armand Picot or his associate Pasqual. That was just about his level of luck right now. 

"I won't say anything," he promised, shuddering with combined horror and the ongoing shock of withdrawal. 

"Good," Aldo said with a hint of finality. He closed his eyes again, his brows drawn together as if he was in pain or thinking very intently. "I will stay with you until Anthony wakes."

"You don't have to stay," Rayne told him. "I haven't got any gear. It's not as if I can take anything."

"I will stay," Aldo responded more firmly. "Who knows what you will do?" 

Rayne scowled at that, but he did not argue. He did not have the strength to argue. Instead he wriggled back down beneath the duvet and tried to sleep. Aldo lay down beside him after a little while and put one arm around his shoulders, holding him. This time, Rayne did not try to push him away.

It took a little over a week for him to stop shaking but Rayne reached a point about half way through the battle of wills between himself and Ant when it got easier. The pain began to diminish and he was able to eat without being sick or needing to rush for the toilet. Knowing that Ant did not trust him was probably the worst part of the whole endeavour; that and having to empty his bowels in front of the man. Rayne had never been shy but he was quite a private person and found it quite disturbing having to put up with being watched whilst he performed the most mundane and intimate functions. He was not even getting paid for this!

"You could turn your back," he suggested bitterly, huddled over the bowl, shaking like a drunk. 

"You think I enjoy this?" Ant asked in retaliation. 

"I think you get off on it, yeah!" Rayne sneered; then he doubled up in pain as his gut spat liquid fire and the exchange was forgotten.

One morning, Doctor Mahmoudi came around to talk to Rayne about his test results. The Doctor had taken mandatory blood tests but he had also taken semen samples and DNA swabs from the boy's mouth and rectum when Ant informed him that the boy had been raped. Ant left them alone reluctantly, not entirely trusting Mahmoudi although he was forced to concede to Rayne's request for privacy. 

"How are you feeling?" Mahmoudi asked solemnly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed once he had examined the boy again. As ever Rayne was uncomfortable letting the old man touch him but he did not resist the examination, only wincing a little as Mahmoudi eased a swab into his rectum to check for signs of infection. 

Perhaps out of respect for Rayne's condition, he was also dressed this morning, in grey linen trousers and a pale blue shirt, open at the neck. Rayne could not look at him. He was afraid of what the man had come to tell him but also wary of losing control of his will and his emotions. They had come through so much this week and with one little jab of a needle, Mahmoudi could take things back to normal. He seemed as conscious of it as Rayne was for he made no direct allusion to the heroin. 

"I feel like shit," Rayne admitted, sitting up now. "But I feel a bit less like shit than I did five days ago."

"Good," the doctor declared with a little smile. "I would like to talk to you for a short while, Rayne. You have been riding your luck and it was inevitable that sooner or later you would take a fall. But the news is not all bad. Your HIV samples have once more come back clear, although I would suggest that you get another test once you have returned to the care of your own doctor in London."

Rayne did not have the heart to tell him that he did not have a doctor in London and it was unlikely that he would go back there at any rate. 

"Unfortunately," Mahmoudi added, making his heart sink a little way, "you have gonorrhoea, although this is eminently treatable and we have caught it early so you should make a full recovery."

"I knew something was wrong," Rayne admitted, nodding his head rather awkwardly. "I mean... I've been uncomfortable all week, what with one thing or another but..." He shrugged and looked vaguely embarrassed. 

"It is not an insurmountable problem," Mahmoudi told him kindly. "You should refrain from sexual congress for a little while and ensure that you use contraception when you resume. Okay? I will give you treatment for this illness and monitor your progress. Now, I must say that the DNA swabs we took were not very helpful. You took steps to eliminate the evidence of your assault did you not?"

Rayne lowered his head, sensing disapproval in the doctor's tone.

"I didn't do it on purpose," he said. "I just felt dirty. I wanted to... to get everything out of me!"

"You cleansed yourself thoroughly," Mahmoudi inclined his head in Rayne's direction. "You have suffered no further internal infection and in that respect what you did was a positive thing. However, we have precious little evidence with which to find and prosecute..."

"I don't want to find them," Rayne interrupted him rather more coldly. "I don't ever want to see them again. They can rot in hell for all I care."

"They should rot in jail," Mahmoudi corrected him. "What they did to you should not be encouraged. It paints a picture that the Cap Authorities are not keen to show to outsiders. These men are still at large. What if they do this to another boy? Someone younger, perhaps... less experienced?"

Rayne looked at him defiantly. His green eyes were pale and very hostile. 

"They won't," he said, remembering Aldo's words to him the other night. 

"What makes you so sure?"

"They came for 'me'," Rayne told him, folding his arms defensively. "It was no accident that I was there when it began. He came looking for me and he made sure that I got what he wanted me to get."

"You are telling me that one man instigated this assault upon you?" Mahmoudi asked carefully. "The man who abducted you previously, perhaps?"

"I'm telling you nothing," Rayne said quietly. 

"You are protecting him?" the doctor queried incredulously. "Why would you do that?"

"I'm not protecting him," the boy retorted at once. 

"You are protecting someone else then?" Mahmoudi tilted his head to look beneath Rayne's heavy black forelock and up into his angry, defiant emerald eyes. "Perhaps you are protecting the person who went to that man's house and burnt it to the ground five nights ago?"

Rayne looked at him directly but said nothing. His jaws were clenched furiously. 

"Perhaps that person could not be blamed for his emotions," Mahmoudi continued in a low, pleasant voice. "He had seen with his own eyes what your abductor had done to you and encouraged other men to do to you and he wanted that man to suffer for his crimes."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rayne said atonally. "Give me the antibiotics and go away. I didn't want to talk to the police and I don't want to talk to you."

"Three men died in that fire five nights ago," Mahmoudi continued as if he had not spoken. "One did not. He escaped badly burned through the front hallway where the fire was raging at its highest. He will be disfigured for the rest of his life... 'if' he lives."

"I don't care!" Rayne snapped. 

"I think you do," Mahmoudi said in a calm, persistent voice. "I think that you care more than you pretend. I think that you would like to know who was the man who escaped the fire, even though his windows and doors had been barred shut and plainly he was intended to die. I think that your friend Mr Wright started that fire, Rayne and that you feel a great responsibility..."

"NO!" Rayne was on his feet, shaking his head furiously now. "Get out! Ant was with me! He was with me all the time! Now get lost!"

He was still shaking long after Mahmoudi had gone, leaving a small bottle of tablets with Ant and refusing to discuss what had been said in the room whilst the other man was absent. Rayne felt sick. What would happen if Mahmoudi went to the police with a story like that? He was livid with the doctor, and with Aldo for doing something so stupid and with Phil for telling him in the first place, but most of all with himself for being the catalyst. If he had never been born the world would have been so much the richer!

Rayne paced up and down the bedroom with his hands clenched into small, impotent fists, driving his fingernails into his palms with grim determination until the blood dripped through his fingers. Ant tried to soothe him but he would not be calmed. He paced restlessly. Ant caught him and made him sit down but the minute he let go, Rayne was on his feet again, stalking around the room like a miniature tornado. He could not understand why Ant did not see it. At times like these he needed Junk. If he could just sit and smoke for a little while the anger would go away. He would feel better. 

The older man was shadowing him as he turned and caught sight of himself in the mirror, a pale, scrawny, hysterical thing; mad eyed and reckless. No wonder so many people abandoned him. He truly looked insane. Rayne balled his left fist tightly and smashed his knuckles into the glass, feeling a moment of exultation as the shards splintered around him in all directions. He heard Ant utter a violent imprecation then he was on his knees in the sea of broken glass, laughing like a demon. Long fingers closed around one of the large shards and he slammed the point through the back of his right hand even as Ant jumped on his back and grabbed him around the neck, pulling him away. 

Rayne lay, transfixed by the sight of his own blood as Ant sat on his chest, pinning him down and screaming for all he was worth, bellowing for help like a wounded bull. The blood was fascinating, so much of it, so incredibly rich and red. It pooled on the floor around his trembling hand and he smiled incredulously as he stared at it, deaf to the commotion that had erupted all around him. At some point other people flooded into the room and he was held down. He was conscious of Mahmoudi's presence and Thierry crying in the background. Terry Goodwill was shouting something at Ant and Aldo was kneeling by his head, stroking his hair. He looked up at the Italian shocked to see that Aldo was crying too. 

"It's all right," he tried to whisper. "It'll be all right. I won't tell anyone."

His voice was so weak that nothing more than a little gasp came out. Aldo stroked the pad of his thumb over Rayne's lips and stared down at him with glittering eyes. 

"You must be out of your mind," the Italian sobbed. 

"Yeah..." Rayne nodded a little, forcing a bright, brave, nervous smile. "I thought you knew."

At some point he was sedated, which was such a relief that he simply closed his eyes and let the pleasure wash over him. It was not Diamorphin but the slight fuzziness it brought to every sense stopped him shivering. He shut everything out and some time afterwards he lost consciousness. There were no dreams, he simply slipped into a delicious blackness that wrapped him up like a sheet of cold velvet.

THREE WEEKS LATER: 

"As cries for help go, that was some holler!" 

Rayne was not really listening to the words. He had been sitting on the edge of his hospital bed for about ten minutes just staring at the enormous figure squeezed into the impossibly tiny visitor's chair beside it. His eyes devoured every inch of Patrick J McNamara's huge bulk. The man was dressed casually in snug blue jeans and a shimmery gunmetal-grey vest that hugged his sculpted physique to perfection. His dark red hair was pulled back into a shaggy pony tail and tinted glasses perched on the hook of his aquiline nose looking like miniature spectacles framed by that big, tanned, beautiful face. He felt small and frail and exposed in a white hospital gown, open at the back so that he had to hug the material around his body to keep out the draught. His bare legs swung impatiently like a child's from the lip of the mattress. They had let him paint his finger and toenails, although they trimmed them for him every week, and he stared at the little black nails now, thinking that they were like tiny claws. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked at last, when Paddy seemed to run out of words or find his bemused silence disturbing.

"I came to see 'you', stupid!" the Irishman reached across and squeezed his right knee in a huge, hot hand. 

Rayne shuddered slightly, but it was not an unpleasant sensation, just an awkward one. He wanted to throw his arms around the man and hold onto him but he sensed that Paddy would be uncomfortable with that so he just sat here, trying to memorise every inch of the fellow before he vanished again. 

Ant's words came into his head, unbidden. 'Everything stops! You just feel your whole life flow into orbit around that person...'

'It's true then,' he thought, his reactions still fogged by the drugs they had been giving him. 'It does... everything stops!'

"So... you can see me..." Rayne held his hands out and forced a brittle laugh. "Funny that... most people seem to try and look through me, or look at something else. They visit but they don't really want to 'see' me. They want to see something they've... made happen. They want to see me turn into a normal person but I'm never going to be one of those am I?"

He felt his throat close and stopped talking before he did something ridiculous in front of Paddy McNamara. That would be awful... even more awful than being stuck here where people thought he was crazy and kept him out of reach of sharp objects and filled him with drugs that left him feeling nothing; no hope, no desolation, no euphoria, nothing. 

"What happened?" Paddy asked simply. "What the hell happened to you, baby? I turn my back for five minutes and you do something crazy. What in the name of God possessed you?"

He was on his feet now and cupping Rayne's face in his hands. The boy just stared up at him, blinking back the shimmering well of tears. 

"I didn't go there on purpose," he keened quietly. "I didn't know..."

His visitor took one small, bandaged hand in both of his own. 

"What about this?" he wanted to know. 

"It was an accident," Rayne told him breathlessly. "I fell on some glass."

"That is not what I heard," Paddy sat down beside him on the bed and Rayne reached for him. It was instinct really. He needed to feel warm and the Irishman was giving off so much heat. 

"No one speaks English in here. I've no idea what's going on," he said conversationally, snaking his arms around Paddy and leaning into him, breathing in his clean, warm, delicious scent. "They cut my nails and they wash me and they give me drugs. Sometimes a man with the weirdest accent comes and talks to me for a bit. I think they want me to say that I'm crazy so they can lock me up. They ask questions but they never tell me if I give them the right answers or not."

Paddy stroked his hair tenderly for a little while then encircled him and held him in those powerful arms. Rayne thought distantly that if he really wanted to, Paddy could easily crush the last breath from his body. What a way to go!

"'Are' you crazy?" the bigger man asked at last.

"That depends... Are you working for them?" Rayne looked up at him and smiled helplessly. 

Soft, warm hands stroked his face fondly. 

"You are still so beautiful, even in here you take my breath away," Paddy said in a quiet, awed voice. "So smart and stubborn and fragile..."

"I am not fragile," Rayne retorted at once. "If I was fragile I'd be dead."

"True," the older man conceded wryly. "Did they tell you that Christophe died?"

He nodded once, expression guarded. The police had come to the hospital. They had been the ones to tell him. He presumed that they expected him to break down and admit to everything but he had said nothing. Rayne was perplexed by their mute acceptance of this. In movies people shouted and yelled and asked for lawyers but he did not see the point in asking for anything. If he kept his mouth shut, in the end everyone went away.

"You know who killed him, don't you?" Paddy stated evenly.

A little shake of the head was his only response. Rayne looked away from him, out of the window. It was a nice view, down through some trees into a little park. He enjoyed looking at it but he needed to see other things right now. It would be nice to trust Paddy McNamara but right now he trusted no one.

"There was a fire," he mused at last. "It was an accident."

"Like hell it was!" Paddy laughed hoarsely. "Rayne, 'I' know who started that fire. I didn't come here to interrogate you."

"It wasn't Ant," Rayne said, turning back to face him earnestly. "He was with me all the time that night. He was trying to keep me off Heroin."

He closed his mouth a little too late, forgetting that Paddy hadn't known about the Junk. Small white teeth pulled his lower lip between them and bit down anxiously. Ah well... For a moment Paddy McNamara just looked at him as if he had never seen the like of Rayne Wilde before. 

"You're a bundle of contradictions aren't you?" Paddy murmured at last. 

"If that's a polite way of saying you don't hang around with fuck-ups, I understand," Rayne told him in an offhand manner, shrugging him off at once. 

"Just when I think I've got you pegged, you throw another curve ball my way," Paddy chuckled, shaking his head. 

"Talk English or don't bother," Rayne said, folding his arms and looking away suddenly. He felt like a child whenever he spoke to Paddy, as if something was going on just out of his reach and he would never understand it. The Irishman always seemed to be laughing at him.

A gentle hand stroked the back of his neck. Paddy whispered; "I know that Ant didn't start the fire. I 'didn't' know that you were an addict, but it doesn't change anything right now."

Rayne drew his legs up and hugged himself, keeping his back half turned so that he did not have to look Paddy in the eye although he knew that the Irishman was still watching him. Once he might have been able to kid himself that P J McNamara would let such a blatant evasion tactic go by but he knew by now that this was a vain hope. Paddy was thinking over what he already knew; putting together the clues. It was only a matter of time. He had not released Rayne completely. That steady hand kept contact with the back of his neck, stroking him gently; holding him without restraining him. If he tried to leave; if he just got up off the bed now and tried to walk away, he wondered would the other man let him. Then he remembered that there was no point. The last time he tried that three orderlies had carried him back in here, strapped him to the bed and sedated him, ignoring him as he yelled that he could walk on his own.




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 17



"Are you still with me?" Paddy asked and he felt the words like a warm breeze across his shoulders. 

"Yeah." Rayne stared out of the window at the trees and the sunlight and he knew that he would not move away. He could not move at all; could not look around. If he met Paddy's eye he would not be able to lie to the man. For a moment his conscience debated the wisdom versus folly of telling the truth. 

'Would that be so bad?'

Rayne closed his eyes tightly, refusing to consider it further. How stupid was he going to look when Paddy realised the truth of how he felt? Of course the Irishman would be really kind; he was not the sort to let others down badly after all but it was that very patience – that unbearable tolerance – the smile and the dismissive pat on the head that he was trying to avoid. 

'He can't know!' Rayne warned that treacherous little voice inside himself darkly now. 'He mustn't ever know!'

At the same time he felt those warm, careful arms move around him a little more securely. Paddy eased closer against his back, breathing quietly into his hair and running his hands very gently up and down Rayne's bare arms. 

"What happened?" he asked again now. "I just don't get what happened with you guys. I thought you and Aldo were really clicking and then you wind up in hospital and he won't even come visit you. Then he flies off to Naples without a word and doesn't even come to say goodbye."

Rayne swallowed hard. That was not entirely true. Aldo 'had' come to see him, to make sure he hadn't talked. It had been a long goodbye, in almost every sense of the word. He was in a private ward and Aldo di Bocatto took full advantage of that. Rayne felt more alive that night than at any other time since he had been admitted to the hospital. 

"I hate goodbyes," he said neutrally. 

"I thought you might go with him," Paddy whispered into his ear, sounding intrigued. "I was kinda surprised that you stayed here."

"It's a secure unit. You reckon he'd have come to break me out, yeah?" Rayne curled up tighter and kept his eyes closed. 

"I'd break you out," Paddy told him, laughing quietly at his own daring. "If you really don't want him..."

Rayne ground his teeth, silently wishing that the older man would leave this alone. 

"It's none of your business!" he declared a little too harshly. "There! You got it wrong... I'm not hung up on him! I don't care about anybody!"

Paddy sat back and for a little while his back was cold without that large, reassuring presence there. Thankfully he did not pursue the matter of Aldo, but he was not done. Rayne could tell from the thoughtful silence. He was not prepared to forget the rest, worse luck!

"You care about Ant," he said reasonably. "You care about him enough to be his alibi."

"I'm not his alibi. He didn't do it," Rayne said flatly. 

Ant came to see him every day. He brought little presents; chocolate and small amusements from vending machines, little cartoon strips and things that he figured would make Rayne smile. A few days ago he had come with a box of novelty condoms in four fruit flavours and they had used all of them, urgently, before the ward sister came back on her rounds. That had been quite an afternoon! He still felt the buzz of it, distantly, beneath the soft, muffled blanket of sedation. 

"If you get out of here, where will you go?" Paddy wanted to know. 

It was a good question. Rayne did not like the 'if' part of it. He shrugged evasively and shook his head. 

"Dan Leland offered me a lot of money to just bugger off and leave Ant alone. I dunno if that offer still stands."

"You don't have to take his money," P J murmured, settling back against the bed head, which creaked a quiet protest. 

"I didn't say I would," Rayne countered, burying his fingers in his shaggy hair and resting his head in his hands wearily. "Maybe I'll just tell him 'no thanks' and stick around to piss him off!"

'Maybe Dan Leland will get someone to wrap you in concrete and drop you in the Med like he promised!' the little voice of his conscience remarked snidely. 

"I can offer you more," P J told him levelly and his heart jumped for a second or two, although he did not turn just yet. It would never do to seem too keen.

"I don't want to be a film star, thanks!" Rayne flashed back quickly. "I've been there, it's a pain!"

"You make half a movie and it's too much like hard work?" Paddy laughed incredulously. "Jesus, 'you're' a pain!"

He sat forward again, resting his hands on Rayne's slender shoulders, massaging them stealthily. The boy leaned back into his touch, eyes still closed, enjoying the firm, warm, comforting contact. 

"Am I dreaming this?" he wanted to know. 

"It's not a dream," Paddy assured him. His hands moved up Rayne's neck to cup his face, tilting his head back. As the Irishman bent over him their lips touched and those pale eyes opened suddenly. 

"You're not supposed to swap spit with the mental patients," he remarked acerbically. "We could be contagious you know!"

"I'll take that risk," P J McNamara whispered into his mouth. "I'm not asking you to be in any of my films, Rayne. You're too expensive for a start! This last fiasco cost me over fifty thousand dollars alone! If you don't wanna make films you should just say, but that doesn't mean you can't be with me, does it?"

Rayne looked up at him suddenly lost for words. His mouth had gone dry at this sudden, unexpected turn of events and he could not even think of a smart answer; at least nothing that would not sound childish, churlish or both!

"With you?" he repeated numbly, shaking his head. 

Paddy's arms moved back around him, holding him closer once more. It felt so good that Rayne briefly hoped he was dying and this would be the last thing he ever felt. Maybe that was why everyone was being so nice to him.

"That's why I came back. It's up to you," P J said pleasantly.

"With you in what respect?" Rayne turned to face him, wriggling around in his loose embrace and studying that solemn, handsome face. There was no indication in that expression that Paddy was winding him up, but he had been wrong about people before. 

"Well... I was kinda hoping... in the respect that you'd come back to the States with me. We're flying out in a week and... I mean... I know that I'm old enough to be your dad and you don't take me remotely seriously, so why the hell you'd want to come, I don't know but..."

Rayne touched his mouth to Paddy's quickly. 

"Don't talk," he said with his lips still brushing the other man's mouth. 

To his infinite relief, Patrick McNamara did not even try. He kept his arms around Rayne though and for a long, searching, hungry time he kissed the boy, ignoring the stream of silent tears that ran down his pale face the whole time. Gentle hands drew him closer and closer until Rayne knew it could only be a dream. Nothing real felt like this. 

It was Ant though who picked him up from the clinic when the consultant finally agreed to Rayne Wilde's discharge. Terry had come with him in the Mercedes and they sat in the back in silence all the way back to the Cap from Narbonne. The big Londoner looked him up and down as he got into the car but beyond a cursory; "All right then?" he said nothing. 

Ant held his hand possessively. Rayne looked out of the window, his senses buzzing mutely at the shock of being outside, albeit briefly. His head was full of madness. 

Paddy had stayed with him for ages that afternoon, just holding him and talking quietly about his house in San Francisco and his friends and his two dogs. Rayne said nothing in response. He had not even said 'yes'. Paddy talked like any other answer was out of the question. When he left, Rayne felt as though he had gone deaf. The silence was absolute. He wrapped himself in blankets and cried for an hour. It had been years since he last felt so scared and confused. 

The doctor said it was a good sign. He was emoting. It was a positive response. He ticked boxes on Rayne's chart and smiled like a con-man. The boy stared at him and said nothing. 

And now here he was, watching the verges flash by as they drove back along the AutoRoute to Agde. He picked at the rip in the knee of his pale blue jeans and tried to sort out his thoughts but nothing was making sense. There was still a small bandage around his left hand below the knuckles and he examined it curiously. Ant squeezed his good hand to distract him and tried to put an arm around him but Rayne shook his head irritably. It was too warm and confining here in the car and he was still too bewildered to accept intimacy. 

"What do you want to do?" Ant asked him when they got out of the Merc on the little car park beyond the marina. 

Rayne was looking out at the boats, feeling nervous again now that they were back on familiar territory. Ant talked as if he thought Rayne did not remember what he had done, or even understand it, but he remembered all right. He remembered a moment of clarity before they drugged him and his head stopped working for him. 

"I can't stay here," he said defensively. 

"I understand if you want to go somewhere else," Ant told him at once. "It must be strange to come back here after everything that happened."

Rayne shook his head slowly. 

"I need some space," he murmured. "I just... I want to go for a walk. I need to think."

He could see from Ant's expression that the older man was unhappy with this request and added; "I won't go far. No one's going to touch me in any case. I look like a total fruit loop, don't I? Besides, just about everyone probably knows what happened to me by now."

As he walked up around the edge of the marina at Ambonne, eyes half closed against the brilliance of the sunlight on the water, someone ran up from one of the pontoons and came to a halt at the gate, just a few feet ahead. Mikkal Saarinen smiled like it hurt him and ran a hand through his long, pale hair, pushing it back from his face. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked tentatively. 

"Weird," Rayne said with a little shrug. "Agoraphobic."

"It must be strange," Mikka agreed. 

"No," Rayne shook his head. "It's just...It's horrible, Mikkal!"

He saw the shadow of concern behind Mikka's eyes but the blond man just said; "Are you coming down to the boat?"

"Not yet," Rayne answered him. "I need to stretch my legs. I've got some stuff to think over first. How long have I got?"

"We're sailing tonight at six. The boat goes back to Marseilles then we'll get a taxi to the airport and fly to Paris," the Finn told him methodically. He reached out towards Rayne as if to take his arm when the boy moved on but did not touch him. "You 'are' coming with us, yes?"

"Apparently," Rayne said, without meeting his eyes. He tugged restlessly at the bandage on his hand again.

"Is this what you want?" Mikkal asked seriously. 

"I don't know," Rayne exhaled, shaking his head again. "I don't know what I want, Mikka. I've never known. I just need a bit of space, that's all."

As he walked the tall, blond man shadowed him for a little way. He was dressed this afternoon, in an open white shirt, leather thong sandals and loose, cream coloured linen trousers. Mikkal invariably looked good but the outfit suited him. 

"He cares about you," Mikka said at last, almost reluctantly. 

"You would know." Rayne looked sidelong at him with a small, careful smile. 

"Yes," the Finn shrugged slightly. "He is hard to know but I understand him."

"Do you love him?" Rayne asked quietly. 

"Do you?" Mikkal retaliated but it was more of a challenge. 

For a moment the boy said nothing at all but he stopped and looked directly into Mikkal's silver eyes as he contemplated the answer.

"Yeah..." he admitted finally. "But I wonder if it's enough."

Mikkal frowned, the concern all too plain in his eyes now. 

"I will leave you to consider," he sighed in the end. "But I ask of you, if you must let him down, then do so to his face. He will be unhappy but he will think more of you if you do not simply run away again."

As he turned away, Rayne called him back and when he came the boy impulsively threw both arms around his shoulders and hugged him. It felt strange to hold him as an equal, knowing the familiar warm, clean scent of his body and hair. 

"You've been really good to me, Mikka," he murmured into the Finn's ear. "Thank you."

"You are welcome, Rayne," Mikkal told him, kissing him gently on the forehead before releasing him. As they went their separate ways he called; "Six o' clock! No later!"

Rayne flashed a smile by way of acknowledgement and went on his way. 

He walked down to the mole and the lighthouse and sat watching the small yachts battle the waves for a while as a couple of elderly fellows in waterproofs fished for sprats off the rocks below. The beach was busy and he only went a little way down the shoreline before turning back inland and walking back through the precinct past the shops and bars, quietly oblivious to the sun worshippers on their loungers, swilling beer and sipping cocktails. It truly was another world but not one that he felt a part of. It was time to move on, for certain, but the direction to move in... that was the big question. 

He experienced two incidents that unsettled him on the way back to Ambonne. The first occurred as he passed the row of bars up on the boardwalk near to the beach. Giovanni was standing in the shade of a tall, black parasol outside the Laguna watching him with his dark, Latin eyes narrowed disapprovingly. The fellow folded his arms as Rayne drew level and shook his head but he said nothing, just turned and went back into the shade of the bar. Rayne quickened his stride at once and did not look back. He was not sure why he had presumed that Giovanni would have been one of the men in the villa when Aldo went back to burn it. The shock of knowing that he was unscathed made his heart beat a little too fast. 

Giovanni had not been one of the men from the dunes but even so Rayne seethed a little at the sight of him. In turn, that encounter drove him in a direction he had not intended to take. When he set out he had not really decided on a route but now he found himself walking back down between the low-rise villas of Port Nature. It was not possible to walk past the place where Christophe's abode had been since the police had cordoned off the whole area with fluttering blue and white tape but he could see the charred remains of the single storey house from the path. The roof had fallen in and the broken joists rose up like ugly black claws into the summer sky. 

Rayne shivered and turned away, feeling ill and not one bit satisfied. He went back to the marina and retreated to the bedroom to pack his few belongings, not wanting to see anyone or talk about anything. He was almost done when Ant came down from the sun deck to join him and sat on the bed looking pensive and unusually solemn.

"Well?" the older man breathed at last. "Have you decided what you want to do?"

Rayne put his arms around the battered guitar case between his knees and hugged it as if the contact with that familiar possession reassured him. He rested his cheek against the neck of the case and closed his eyes. 

"Paddy's asked me to go to America with him," he said atonally. 

"Right." Ant heaved a long sigh and nodded his head slowly as if this was no real surprise. "When do you leave?"

Rayne opened his eyes and looked at him a little strangely, he thought. 

"They're going this evening," he said at last, rocking himself back and forth, clinging to the case in his arms.

"Is that what you want?" Ant enquired, trying not to sound too embittered. 

Rayne just shrugged awkwardly. 

"Do you want me to stay?" the boy asked. 

"Of course," his companion retorted at once. "I... I can't really compete though, can I? I mean, what have I got to offer you that he can't better? He's got more money, a flashy lifestyle, a big cock!"

Rayne let go of the case and eased it to the floor, then turned and put his arms around the older man, kissing him firmly on the mouth and drawing him down onto the bed. He slid one hand down to his groin and unbuttoned his jeans so that Ant could help him to get out of them, then kissed his slow way down the other man's tanned, naked belly to his rising cock, taking the thick, pulsing head in his mouth and rolling his tongue slowly around it. Ant sank back on the duvet and pushed his fingers through the thick mop of black hair that trickled down like silk into his crotch. Rayne's hot, wet mouth swallowed more and more of his straining sex as the boy nodded lower. They had made urgent love one afternoon whilst Rayne was still in the Hospital but this impulsive act of oral pleasuring was as delicious as it was unexpected. 

"Mmmnnnhhhhh.... You are wonderful!" Ant groaned huskily as the boy touched base and licked his balls seductively.

Ant bucked upward into his tight throat a couple of times then let go of his hair so that Rayne could kneel back, pacing himself. His mouth drew back up to the fat mushroom head of Ant's erection and his tongue flickered teasingly back and forth in the sensitive slit. At the same time, Rayne reached sideways into the drawer above the bed where he knew Ant kept condoms and lube. His deft fingers shucked the rubber out of it's wrapper unseen and he lifted his head briefly to work the sheath down over his partner's thick, leaking cock. 

"I thought you were better," Ant whispered to him, surprised by this new caution. 

"Better safe than sorry, hey?" Rayne told him quietly. "I only came off the antibiotics the other day."

He uncapped the lube and drizzled it liberally over Ant's twitching sex, then straddled him with a sharp, expectant little smile and wriggled out of his shirt. Eagerly he guided the other man's hard cock to his arsehole and lowered himself steadily onto it until Ant felt the head pop into his yielding bum. The wet heat of his chute swallowed him up at once and he sucked in a gasp of approval.

"Uuuhhhhh... Yeah!" he cried appreciatively as Rayne began to ease steadily up and down on his long, hard shaft. He reached out and pulled on the boy's stiff young nipples, then let his hands glide to Rayne's slender hips, holding him there as he began to thrust. 

"Aahhh!" Rayne cried out, throwing his head back as Ant's big cock invaded him with more purpose. His own dark, sexy young prick was rising in response to the vigorous friction in his colon as he rode eagerly on his lover's swollen sex. 

"Does it still hurt?" Ant gasped solicitously, praying that it would not be too bad. 

Rayne shook his head bravely. "Not much."

"I bet you've missed it though, haven't you?" He pulled Rayne down into his arms then rolled the unresisting boy easily onto his back on the bed and kissed his neck as he pumped deeper and faster in that soft, slippery passage. 

Rayne coiled around him with one heel braced against the mattress and the other leg hooked over Ant's hip, riding on the bigger man, his arms wrapped tightly around Ant's neck. 

"Uuuhhhh... uuuuhhhh... c'mon!" he keened hungrily. "Ohhhh, Ant... yes! Like that! That's good! That's gooooooood!"

He began to cry out, his voice rising in pitch, over and over like a kicked dog, bucking and yelping in time with Ant's vigorous cock thrusts until there was not much doubt in Ant's mind that he certainly had been needing this for quite some time. The older man wasted no time in giving him what he wanted and it was not long before he felt Rayne clench furiously around him and his hot seed spurted all over Ant's belly. 

"Yuhhh...yuuhhhh... yeeaaaahhhhh!" he moaned, thrashing like a landed shark in Ant's embrace. 

His mate pumped hard two... three more times in that pulsing, tightening chute then thrust deep and let his own hot payload spill into the skein of latex around his bell-end, washing over him like a lover's tongue. He slumped in Rayne's arms for a moment, twin hearts pounding in his chest and the head of his cock, then leaned over the boy to kiss the softness of his parted lips slowly. Ant's cock stiffened automatically and he began to thrust again. He felt Rayne's knees come up and the boy's feet landed in the small of his back, stroking encouragingly there as his lover carried on pulsing between his legs. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 17



"Are you okay?" Ant huffed as he began to surge more eagerly in and out of the boy.

"Mmmhhh..." Rayne groaned huskily, squirming on the bed beneath him. "Fuck me, Ant!"

"Yeah... don't you worry! I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want," he panted, kneeling up over Rayne so that he could pulse harder in the young man's sexy arsehole. The boy was so beautiful and his willingness just made this even better for his mate. Ant had been anxious about hurting him after all the things Rayne Wilde had been through recently, but it seemed that he need not have worried. His lover was incredibly hot and horny and visibly, audibly eager for his cock again. 

"Uuuuhhhhh... yeaaaahh! C'mon, Ant! Fuck me hard!" he yelped as his slim legs scissored around Ant's waist and his randy mate obliged him immediately. 

It felt so good to be thrusting in the deep, soft wetness of his hole and Rayne was almost howling with need by the time he hammered his way to a grunting, sweating, second climax in the boy. Ant pulled out this time and stripped off the cum filled sheath. He wrapped his sticky hand around Rayne's throbbing cock and cupped his balls in the other hand as he pumped the wriggling youth to another delicious orgasm. He loved to watch Rayne shoot and began to get hard again as the slender lad jacked a creamy wad of semen onto his chest and belly, yelping eagerly. 

Ant took his time, licking his way down the boy's chest, savouring the taste of his semen and his hot, moist skin. It felt impossibly, unbearably good to be with him, in the light of what he had just been told but Ant could not avoid the feeling that something was still a little bit wrong. The sex was wonderful but it felt mechanical, not as uninhibited as some of their previous lovemaking. His mate was holding back, somehow. 

"This is goodbye, isn't it?" he whispered, curling up close to press his lips to Rayne's neck and his ear again. 

Rayne wriggled around in his arms and solemn, knowing green eyes looked back at him unwaveringly. 

"I don't do goodbyes," he said firmly, running his hands over Ant's face as if he could memorise it by touch alone. "You're on my side or you're not. You 'are' on my side, aren't you?"

Ant pulled him closer and held him in silence for a moment or so. 

"You know I am," he said into Rayne's soft, sweat-damp hair. "Always."

"Well then..." Rayne Wilde kissed his neck and eased his hands slowly up and down Ant's wet, naked back. "It isn't goodbye, is it?"

Ant closed his eyes tightly and held onto Rayne, pulling him close. He could not speak. The words were just too tight in his throat. He clung to his lover instead, sharing the heat of his body until exhaustion took them both into an uneasy slumber. 

END OF CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

*

© Sadie Rose Bermingham 2006 



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 18



"Well guys and gals, the time has almost come. This is the penultimate chapter of A Boy Who...For Rayne, the time for vacillating has ended and the time to make a decision has arrived. (I just used the word 'time' three times in the last two sentences, didn't I? Time to get a new thesaurus, I think.) Will Rayne make the right choice? Will he ever be happy? Will anybody ultimately care? Sigh I hope so. "

xx.Sadie

"THE BOY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD" BELONGS TO SADIE ROSE AND IS POSTED WITH PERMISSION TO LITEROTICA. IF YOU WANT TO REPRODUCE IT THEN YOU SHOULD ASK PERMISSION. IF YOU DON'T ASK FIRST THEN DON'T BE DISAPPOINTED IF YOU GET YOUR ASS SUED!

*

4pm

Rayne opened his eyes, feeling tired and thirsty. His head ached and he was convinced that someone was watching him. In that respect he was not incorrect, but it was not Ant who still slumbered exhaustedly beside him on the bed, anaesthetised by their vigorous lovemaking earlier in the afternoon. Daniel Leland leaned casually in the doorway, observing him like an owl stalking an unwary mouse. The boy sat up and rubbed his eyes. 

"What time is it?" he mumbled. 

"Still early, they haven't left yet," Leland said in a soothing tone. "You 'are' leaving with them, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Rayne said cagily, avoiding his eyes. He glanced down at Ant and smiled sleepily. Suddenly their friendship was a comfortable thing, a safe haven in a storm of uncertainty. Okay, he did not get that swirling, falling feeling in his stomach when he looked at the blond man but he knew that Ant would probably never hurt him. 

"You've got a nerve showing your face back here after everything you've done!" Leland said with quiet venom, calculated not to wake Ant up. 

"Keep your beard on!" the boy retaliated at once. "We'll be out of your face tomorrow and you can carry on being a sanctimonious old shrew around people who give a fuck!"

Leland just folded his arms and stared down on the younger man disdainfully. If he was glad to hear this news it did not show in his face. 

"My offer still stands, you know," he said grimly at last. 

"What offer?" Rayne pulled himself to the edge of the bed, searching for his jeans. His muscles still ached from the vigorous workout Ant had so recently given him. He hunted down his shirt as well, pulling on his clothing, uncomfortable with the way that Leland looked at his body. The old pervert had barely touched him in all the time he had been out here but Rayne still bristled at the way Leland eyed him up.

"The offer I made you last time you messed me around," the film-maker reminded him succinctly. "You've cost me a lot of money, Rayne Wilde, but I'm prepared to stand by the arrangement if it means that you leave us alone. I'm an old fool. It would be easier to tell Terry to go ahead and kill you; 'lose' your body somewhere; but I don't need blood on my hands at my time of life."

He straightened and unfolded himself now, producing a long manila envelope from the folds of one of his omnipresent wraps. Thoughtfully he tapped one end against his knuckles as he watched the boy's face. Rayne's eyes moved to the packet at once, weighing it visually. He did not have to ask what was in it. 

"Why do you hate me so much?" he asked now, refusing to acknowledge its presence for the time being. "I've never done a thing to you!"

"I don't hate you, Rayne," Leland told him impassively. "My feelings towards you are actually fairly ambivalent, but I love Anthony like a son and I warned you once before that I would not let you ruin his life." He leaned forward, tossing the envelope onto the bed negligently. "Three thousand pounds sterling," he said before Rayne could move or speak. "It's all I can spare. Spend it how you like. Fill your miserable veins with it if you wish but don't spend it here. And if you ever go near him again, I will forego my mortal soul and send Terence to break your neck."

Rayne just stared at him incredulously. He made no move to take the money. 

"What about Ant?" he asked stubbornly. 

"We will take care of him," Leland said in a cool tone. 

"He 'loves' me!" Rayne protested, shaking his head. "How could you do this to him?"

Leland managed a half-strangled laugh. "He doesn't 'love' you! You flatter his ego, Rayne; a boy nearly half his age! He feels good when he's thrusting hard inside you but you'll drive him crazy with grief and you'll break his spirit. I won't allow that. I've watched you manipulate people and lie to them for your own selfish ends since the moment you arrived here. You've got McNamara wrapped around your little finger. Aldo risking his skin for you! His career depends on his looks. Do you even comprehend how much damage you did to him? I could not allow that to continue."

Rayne blinked, suddenly reminded of something Aldo had said when he came to the hospital that last time. He had mentioned that he had to go home, that it was not his choice but he had to go. Rayne had been too heavily sedated to question it then. 

"You 'made' Arturo send him back to Naples?" he queried, his chest suddenly feeling tight and uncomfortable. 

"He will be better off there. His family will care for him until Arturo can arrange for him to see a good surgeon," Leland said scathingly. "He was lucky. At least the scars were not on his face."

Rayne rose from the bed and snatched up the envelope, walking back towards him more purposefully now. Leland backed out into the corridor and Rayne followed him, eyes narrowed. 

"If I believed you were grateful it would be something," the old man said bitterly. "But you don't actually care, do you? You're just waiting to see who will be the best for you, who will give you the most. Well the game is up, Rayne. I know what you're after and I want you gone from here before the morning. Take the money, take your things and go!"

"What the fuck do you know?" Rayne hissed at him, backing him up against the wall and glaring up at him malevolently. 

"I know that you are using him," Leland retaliated, pointing back into the bedroom at the slumbering form of Ant on the bed. "You bribe him with your body and it means nothing to you, does it? Sex is easy for you! It's cheap currency!"

"You old bastard!" The boy's eyes were aflame now. He slapped the envelope viciously across Leland's face, then pushed it back into his hands. "Keep your fuckin' blood money, you old creep! I don't need it. Give it to 'him' if you care so much!"

He turned back to look almost ruefully at Anthony Wright, still sleeping in blissful ignorance on the bed they had so recently shared. For a little while during the afternoon he had allowed himself to believe that he could be good for Ant. They could keep each other warm on his little boat in Greenwich. Ant could make and fix things for people and he could write songs and play a few gigs. They would get by without being rich, making the most of whatever life dropped into their hands. Now he knew that he had been naïve. Ant was not just older; in his own way he was a lot smarter than that. Before three months were up Rayne would become restless and Ant would tire of being eternally understanding when he vanished for days on end and came home wrecked. Ant cared but would never entirely trust him again after the events of the last few weeks. 

"I really don't want to hurt you, Rayne," Leland warned, quietly breaking into his reflections. "In spite of my reservations about you I doubt that you deserve to be ill-used but if that is what it takes to get rid of you I 'will' do it. Everyone knows what you did to poor David Barrington LeVay. I will not take the risk that one day someone finds Anthony in the same sorry state."

Rayne spun about so quickly that he almost tripped himself. The look of shock on his face was the most genuine expression he had worn for weeks. 

"I had nothing to do with that!" he yelped.

In the bedroom, Ant groaned a little and rolled onto his back. Both men fell silent automatically, waiting for him to wake up. When he settled again, Rayne pushed Leland back down the corridor towards his own bedroom door.

"Touch me like that again and I 'will' make you regret it!" Leland warned as he extricated himself and walked unhindered into the cool, tidy, panelled room. 

Rayne followed him and slammed the door behind them. 

"Have you been telling people that I killed Baz?" he snarled, completely undeterred by the threat. "Did you tell Ant that?"

"I told him the truth," Leland said airily. "Your boyfriend was found dead, full of cocaine, in your company!" He glared back at the boy challenging him to deny this. 

"He had a heart attack!" Rayne protested furiously. "And he wasn't my 'boyfriend' either!"

"You were in bed with him when he died, that's what I heard!" Leland sneered and Rayne itched to slap that smug look off his face. "Coked up to the eyeballs! You didn't even know what planet you were on, did you? I knew David well, Rayne. He was a bit flash but he wasn't an addict."

"That's what you think!" Rayne snorted vehemently. "I was fifteen years old! He was my agent. He introduced me to 'you', for fuck's sake! But I'd never even 'seen' coke until I met him, I swear it!"

"It still doesn't explain why he was dead for nearly 48 hours and you hadn't even called for an ambulance!" Leland snapped at him. "Deny that, if you dare!"

Rayne clenched his hands into small, impotent fists. He looked away for the first time since he had followed Leland into the room, his expression suddenly uncertain. 

"You don't know what you're talking about, you mad old bastard!"

"Were you there or not?" Leland had a nasty little smile on his face and Rayne, seeing it, felt suddenly quite sick. 

"Yes," he said at last in a smaller voice. 

"High on cocaine and completely oblivious!" Leland sneered at him. "How touching!"

Rayne ground his teeth but he said nothing. He could not speak, not even to defend himself. The memories had been buried for a long time but they were surging back up now and he just felt ill. In that moment he wanted to get as far away from Daniel Leland and the movie industry as he possibly could. The sheer proximity made him feel dirty. 

Leland took his hand now, matter of factly and put the envelope into it. 

"Get your things and go," he said in a low, warning tone. "Now. Before he wakes up and you have to tell him the whole sorry story. And I 'will' make sure you do, Rayne!"

5pm

Phil Honeywell opened the door to his flat, naked, still blinking the sleep from his big blue eyes, but they widened conspicuously when Rayne pushed his way in, still wearing sunglasses in the darkness of the corridor, and dumped his bag and guitar case on the floor unceremoniously. The blond boy stared at him as he closed the door again, leaning against it in shock. 

"I didn't think you wanted to talk to me," he ventured at last. 

"I don't," Rayne Wilde said without looking at him. "But I need a favour."

"What sort of favour?" Phil was wary. "You don't want me to do anything illegal do you?"

Rayne just snorted quietly through his nostrils. He shook his head. 

"I just need somewhere to... think for a while," he said finally. 

"Okay," Phil whispered, biting his lip. "Shall I put the kettle on?"

"Have you got any vodka?" Rayne asked him, wandering out to the small, cramped balcony and leaning his hands against the railing, soaking up the kiss of the afternoon sunshine. 

"I've got some gin," Phil ventured. "Will that do?"

"Yeah... whatever," Rayne turned back towards him. He pushed the shades up into his hair and rubbed his perspiring face wearily with both hands.

"Did someone hit you?" Phil wanted to know. He poured two large measures of Bombay Sapphire into a pair of tumblers and came to sit at the scarred, weather-beaten patio table across from the other boy. 

Rayne shook his head, taking one of the glasses from him and emptying it at a draught. Phil topped him up again automatically. He watched Rayne swill the alcohol around in the glass for a moment before it went the way of the first measure. 

"Daniel Leland just gave me three grand to get out of town," he said now, laughing humourlessly. 

Phil whistled softly under his breath. He shook his head and raised his glass in a toast. 

"Christ! I wish someone hated 'my' guts that much!"

For a moment, Rayne just stared back at him through the smoked glass, then he laughed suddenly, throwing his head back and giving in to the hysterical impulse. Phil watched him for a little while, then joined in tentatively. He poured them both more gin. 

"I need to get pissed!" Rayne told him approvingly as he took another slug. "God, I hate gin though!"

The blond lad emptied his own glass. Emboldened by the alcohol he asked; "Can I suck your cock?"

Rayne pushed back the sunglasses briefly and squinted at him in the golden haze of late afternoon. A crooked smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. 

"Yeah," he said at last. "Why not?"

They tumbled onto the bed, back inside the tiny apartment and Rayne sprawled languidly on his back whilst Phil unzipped his jeans and gave him a vigorous hand job to get him started. The naked blond used both hands on him, cupping and tugging on his balls with one whilst he fisted Rayne's stiffening shaft with the other, rubbing his thumb pad back and forth across the leaking slit. Rayne unbuttoned his shirt then slumped back on the rough, red, woollen blanket, dark hair spilling softly around his pale, exhausted face. He uttered a low moan of pleasure as Phil bent over him and took the swollen, purple head into his mouth, licking and suckling gently on him. 

"That old bastard hates my guts!" he huffed quietly as Phil nodded slowly over his erect cock. "He really, really hates me. He'd do anything to get me out of his nice tidy life, can you believe that?"

Rayne caught his breath as Phil's lapping tongue swirled around the underside of his erection, teasing and tickling his cock. 

"You can stay with me, if you want," he said, with his mouth full. "I don't hate you."

"Don't talk," Rayne told him, stroking his fine, fair hair almost fondly. "Just blow me, Phil. Suck me off!"

The other lad seemed to have no objections to that for he swallowed Rayne deeper and nodded more energetically up and down his slippery shaft. He gagged slightly as the pulsing mushroom dome pushed against the back of his throat but gulped it down valiantly in the end. Rayne quivered with anticipation, urging his hips up off the bed and resting both hands on the back of Phil's head as he fucked the blond boy's tight pharynx, concentrating on the feel of another man's lips and mouth around his aching boner. Phil's deft fingers rolled his balls and he eased the other hand under Rayne's bucking hips and rubbed enticingly between his cheeks as he gulped and nodded. He drooled a little streamlet of saliva and pre-cum, which ran stickily down between Rayne's legs lubing his crack enough for Phil to push two searching fingers up into him. 

"Aaahhhhh!" Rayne exhaled, arching up off the bed as Phil began to finger him slowly. He bucked and wriggled like a beached fish and as Phil's fingertips skated over the sensitive prostate gland, he exploded into the boy's mouth with a long, low cry of need and satisfaction. 

"Ohhhhhhh... Phil! Yeah!" he panted at last, pulling the blond up into his arms and rolling onto him. 

Phil's mouth was sticky and cum-filled as he French-kissed Rayne willingly. One hand was already pumping his own small, stiff cock. Rayne took over, wanking him rapidly as they exchanged spit and semen. The pair of them squirmed around on the bed for another ten minutes or so, groping and masturbating one another. When Phil was unbearably hard and needy, Rayne scrambled to his hands and knees and climbed off him. 

"What are you doing?" Phil whimpered, reaching up for him. 

"Come with me, it'll be fun," Rayne grinned at him, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet. "You're an exhibitionist, aren't you?"

He towed Phil back to the balcony and made him stand facing the alleyway below. It was not as busy as it could be at night or in the height of the afternoon but there were still a few people about. Rayne knelt behind him and parted his tanned cheeks, nuzzling and licking his smoothly waxed crack and teasing the boy's puckered pink arsehole with his tongue. Phil keened and wriggled delightedly as Rayne fingered and tongued his rectum. Across the street there were two slightly older guys who had been staying in the apartment opposite for just over a week. They were transfixed now by the sight of the pretty blond kid across the way putting on a real show for them. Their balcony was a little higher so they could see everything. When Rayne had given Phil's arse a good wet tongue-fucking he rose and let the blond lad masturbate while he pulled on his mate's erect nipples and fingered his anus. 

Phil was soon unbearably excited again and Rayne turned him firmly, urging him down onto his knees so that he could take it in his mouth again. This time he fucked Phil's mouth and throat vigorously, holding him by the hair as he bucked his crotch in the blond's face. The two men had been joined by a third watcher on a slightly higher balcony. This guy was beating his meat openly as he stared at them. Rayne drew Phil to his feet again, kissing him gratefully and lifting him onto the edge of the table. Phil lay back at once so that the flimsy structure did not capsize, spreading his slender legs willingly. He was like some fine, gauzy insect marooned on its back. Rayne gripped his hard, spittle-slippery cock and eased it in and out of his snug, well-tongued ring a couple of times before bending over him and gripping the far side of the table to pull himself slowly right into Phil. His little blond lover squealed with excitement as he was entered and fucked in front of his randy audience. He wrapped his legs around Rayne's hips as the dark-haired boy began to pulse harder and faster. 

Up on the opposite balcony the initial pair of voyeurs was also now engaged in vigorous anal copulation in full view of the street and several other balconies. The man above them wanked himself to a climax over the edge of his veranda and carried on pumping his cock as he watched the two gay couples fucking hard beneath him. 

Phil yelped again and Rayne felt him contract fiercely as he shot a hard jet of cum against his bared belly and chest. He leaned back pulling slowly out of Phil's clenching, spasming anus and fisted his cock for a few seconds more until he returned the favour, spilling his hot jism over Phil's stomach and crotch. Finally he bent over the blond and licked the cooling semen off his naked body. 

"That was good. I need one more favour though," he said huskily now, kissing Phil's neck and throat and feeling the other boy shiver at his touch. 

"Anything!" Phil sighed delightedly. 

"I want you to grease up and fist me hard for about five minutes," Rayne whispered, nuzzling him seductively. 

"Are you sure?" Phil gazed at him for the first time since they had begun to couple on the balcony. From the look in his eye he already doubted Rayne's sanity. 

"I'm sure..." his friend soothed. "I'm going to see Paddy in a few minutes. I need to be ready for him."

Phil blushed at the mention of Paddy McNamara. He harboured the most enormous crush on the Irish porn star and was deeply envious of Rayne's intimate relationship with the man. For the first time Rayne experienced a little ripple of pride. He was close to a man half the gay world desired. It left him feeling warm inside and intensely aroused. 

When Phil eased him down over the table he closed his eyes, shutting out the voyeurs who had doubled in number since they began to play. Phil drizzled warm massage oil down the valley between his firm, pale cheeks and rubbed it into his ring with two fingers. He got them deep inside with ease, then withdrew and began again with three, spreading and stretching as the men across the way watched eagerly. Rayne's cock rose against the underside of the table top as Phil frigged his slippery chute more energetically. He moaned a little as the fourth finger entered him. Phil was rubbing his thumb in slow circles on Rayne's scrotum as he eased the rest of his hand deeper. Rayne gripped the edge of the table tightly and bucked as he felt his partner go deeper than before. With two and three fingers the third knuckle formed a natural brake, stopping him from penetrating any further. Now Phil could get his hand inside Rayne up to the joint of his thumb. The wriggling fingers probed more deeply inside him and he worked it in and out experimentally, huffing almost as hard as Rayne. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 18



"Do you like it?" he whispered at last. 

"Mmhhh," Rayne Wilde nodded his head, keeping his eyes closed. "Do it harder. Put your whole hand up me."

"You feel so soft inside. I'm scared of hurting you," Phil panted excitedly. 

"It doesn't hurt," Rayne assured him. "It feels incredible. Like you're stretching me wide open. Push your hand right up my arse, Phil. I need it!"

His partner needed no more encouragement than that. Pouring some more lube over his right hand, Phil Honeywell drew his fingers back to the second knuckle, gooey and wet with lubricant and mucus. Tucking his thumb beneath them he snaked his hand sinuously into Rayne's gaping ring. 

The other boy began to gasp as Phil pumped his hand in and out, working it a little deeper with each thrust. He felt a deep ache in his belly as his mate's groping fingers began to stretch the walls of his colon. Phil had small hands and slim wrists but his arm was still thicker than any cock Rayne had had inside him bar McNamara's. 

"More!" he keened, wriggling against the edge of the table as his erect penis drooled semen onto the tiled floor of the balcony. 

Phil squeezed another stream of lubricant down his crack and thrust again, urging his forearm deeper into his friend's clenching, twitching anus. He fisted harder and faster until the tightness of his lover's passage began to cut off his blood supply. 

"I can't feel my fingers," he complained. 

"I can!" Rayne groaned huskily. "Just a bit more... don't stop! It feels so good!"

He opened his eyes to discover that there were now about ten men on various balconies and one naked woman as well, watching and masturbating, or making out with someone as they spied on the two horny young guys below. Phil pulled out of him before he came, flexing his numb, white, shit-flecked fingers to get the feeling back into them. Rayne groaned with disappointment but the blond made amends by kneeling before him and slurping on his leaking cock until he exploded in Phil's open mouth. 

"Oh... so sweeet!" Rayne crooned quietly, his arse still pinking and throbbing from the vigorous stretching it had received. "That hit the spot all right!"

5.55pm

He still felt stretched and loose as he made his way down the jetty to the huge white boat that was still moored on the very end. It felt strange to walk aboard, fully dressed, unsure of his reception. The yacht's three permanent occupants were waiting in the light, airy lounge as he made his careful way down the steps to join them. 

"Thought you weren't coming, man," Clay remarked cheerfully. The big, black-skinned American was clad in snug white shorts and an open shirt, which left nothing to the imagination. He might just as well have been naked, but he had made an effort since they would be on their way very soon. 

"Sorry... I was held up," Rayne told them a little bit breathlessly. "It's not six yet, is it?"

"Doesn't matter. You can explain as we travel." P J was sprawled comfortably on the leather sofa in tight, faded jeans and a body hugging vest that looked as good on him as his own skin. 

Rayne felt his empty stomach clench and was glad that he had not eaten. The gin was making him feel light-headed though. He wished that he still had some junk, better still, a bit of speed. The confidence he got from speed would have been handy right now. 

"Can we wait a while?" he pleaded now. "Just a few minutes. I've not got my stuff."

"Rayne..." Mikkal warned in a low tone. 

"Please... I won't... it won't take long. I just need to talk to Paddy for a few minutes. Alone."

The tall Finn and the burly American exchanged a telling look. P J McNamara was looking straight at Rayne Wilde, his pale, steely blue eyes very solemn and unblinking. He sat forward with his forearms resting loosely on his knees. 

"You heard the lady..." he said at last. "Disappear for a few minutes, okay. No more than thirty or we won't make the flight."

He was looking at Rayne again as he said this. His face was utterly impassive; no clue to his thoughts or feelings. Rayne swallowed hard, so scared that he felt physically sick. The other two hesitated for a moment, then when Paddy nodded towards the door they shrugged and made their silent exit. 

"I thought it was all sorted," the Irishman said quietly, once they had gone and everything was still, save for the slap of tiny waves against the hull of the boat. "We talked about this, yeah? I thought you wanted to come with us."

Rayne could not look at him. His heart was beating just a bit too fast and he could barely breathe. Paddy knew what he had come to say. The truth was already there in his resigned expression. He hated himself with a passion and wished he could find any way to deny it but there was none. 

"I thought it was too," he whispered at last, tears welling in his eyes. 

Aghast at his own lack of control he turned his face away but Paddy was on his feet now, coming towards him. Strong hands cupped his face and lifted his head. 

"Look at me," the older man instructed firmly. "Look me in the eyes when you lie to me, god damn you!"

Rayne wanted more than anything to hide his face and ignore that command but he could not pull away. Tears glistened like silver streamers on his pale cheeks. 

"What's going on, Rayne?" Paddy demanded, shaking his head. "What changed your mind?"

"I never said I'd go with you," the boy exhaled in a breathless rush. "I never promised. You... you didn't give me the chance to tell you what I was feeling."

"I'm giving you that chance right now," the Irishman sighed, letting go of him and running both hands back through his shaggy mane of dark red hair. It gleamed softly in the light from the low sun beyond their window. Rayne wanted to reach up and stroke his fingers through it as they lay down together on the rug. His whole body shuddered with need. Paddy said; "Jesus, Rayne! What the hell is going on in your head, kid? I thought you wanted to be with me!"

"I do," Rayne Wilde told him, entirely honestly. His voice was a ghostly thing, struggling to escape the constriction of his throat. "I do want to be with you. But not like this."

Paddy held out his hands helplessly. 

"'This' is how it is," he protested softly, still not comprehending the boy's faltering words. "I'm here. 'This' is me. What were you expecting? Santa Claus with a suntan?"

"That's not what I mean," Rayne countered, shaking his head at once. He still felt too slow; too muffled by sedatives to think straight. "Christ, Paddy! You're doing it again! You're taking over. Why can't any of you see I don't like that? I don't want that!"

"Baby, you've been very sick. You need someone to take care of you for a little while. We don't mind spoiling you, honestly!" Paddy reached for him. He curled the fingers of one hand around the back of Rayne's head, towing him closer, stroking the soft, downy hair at the nape of his neck for a little while. 

"I'm 'not' sick!" Rayne argued stubbornly. His head came up and he took a step backwards. "I'm not sick and I don't need anyone's help. Okay?"

P J released him at once. He held those angry, golden-green eyes with his own though. Sceptically he shook his head now. 

"Rayne, you made holes in your hands that I could push a finger through and you think that's okay?" he queried gravely. "I beg to differ."

"It's 'my' body!" the boy growled defensively. "I'm not ill, Paddy. I just get angry. I get..." He clenched his fingers into impotent fists and quivered with suppressed rage. 

"Frustrated," Paddy finished for him more mildly. 

Some of the fight went out of him and Rayne lowered his hands and his head miserably. 

"Yeah."

"You wanna hurt someone else but you can't," the big man hazarded. "So you take it out on yourself."

"I... I dunno," Rayne flexed his fingers awkwardly as if they did not belong to him. "I just feel so... worthless sometimes. I need to hurt so that I know I'm still alive."

"It needs to stop," Paddy told him more firmly. "Let someone tell you your worth, Rayne. You're not all that good at it, you know."

"I don't want you to feel sorry for me," Rayne told him, without looking up.

"I don't feel sorry for you," his companion told him in a quietly admonishing tone. "You refuse to tell me what's wrong so how can I feel sorry for you? I don't know what happened to you, Rayne Wilde. I guess that something major 'did' happen, or you wouldn't be so spectacularly fucked up right now. But I can only guess, like I say."

"Nothing happened to me," Rayne muttered defiantly, scowling at his hands. 

Paddy stroked the backs of his fingers gently down the boy's scarred forearms and Rayne pulled away from him immediately, tugging down his sleeves so that they covered his hands. At once the older man tried a different tactic, sliding his hands into the open neck of Rayne's shirt and easing them down until the buttons popped from their holes. He pushed his fingers into the sleeves of the boy's shirt, attempting to slide the whole garment right off his shoulders. 

"No!" Rayne struggled away from him again. 

"Why not?" Paddy sighed, utterly exasperated by this lack of co-operation. 

"I can't!"

"You'll go with everyone else, just not with me?" P J stepped back and folded his arms across that broad chest, his expression suddenly very stern and serious.

"I don't 'go' with everyone else!" the younger man snapped back at him furiously. "I just thought, for one naïve, stupid minute that you might be fuckin' different from everyone else! But you're not, are you? You just want what they all want! A piece of my fuckin' arse! Well listen to this, P J Fuckin' High and Mighty McNamara... I don't want it and I don't care if I never see you again!" he had lifted his head defiantly as he began this little tirade but it came back down now, very suddenly as his voice broke and the tears began to roll again. 

Without saying a word, Paddy put both arms around him and held him close. He steered Rayne back to the sofa and they sat down there together. Rayne cried like a child in his embrace; howling until he felt sick again and there were no tears left in him. 

"Leland's gonna kill me if I don't leave tonight," he sobbed brokenly at last, whilst Paddy swayed him gently in his powerful arms.

"Come with us then," he whispered, kissing the top of the boy's head and stroking his quivering body soothingly. 

"It's not a good enough reason," Rayne sniffed, shaking his head. 

"It's good enough for me," Paddy assured him. 

"No," Rayne said automatically. "It won't work. I can't be with you like this. I've 'belonged to' too many men, Paddy. If I'm gonna be with someone I want it to be on equal terms this time."

"Rayne," the big Irishman protested mildly. "I don't get you. You're not making sense, baby. I told you that you wouldn't have to work for me."

"That isn't what I mean," Rayne retaliated, scrubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. "You just don't understand!"

"You're right there," Paddy sat back against the soft, leather sofa cushions and folded his arms again, patiently waiting for his companion to elaborate. 

"Idiot!" Rayne snapped at him.

"Don't call me names, Rayne Wilde," P J warned in a dangerously quiet voice. "Tell me what you want. I'm not a mind reader. You're gonna have to give me a clue here."

"I want... I want you to treat me the same as you'd treat Mikka, or Clay." Rayne glared at him, determined not to be cowed by that solemn, exasperated stare. "I want you to treat me like a grown up!"

"Mikkal and Clay 'work' for me," P J reminded him a little bit disparagingly. "We have a 'business' arrangement. But I thought you told me that you didn't want that."

"They're your friends though!" Rayne argued stubbornly. 

"Yes, they are." Paddy was still looking shrewdly at him, measuring his responses. "I want you to be rather more than that, kiddo. I want to know you better than any man ever has. I want to get inside your head as well as your body, but you won't let me in there, will you? How can I treat you as an equal when you don't trust me and you won't let me in?"

For a moment the boy closed his eyes, trying to will everything away. He did not want to go down this road. Every time Paddy came close to saying the right thing to him it just came out all wrong. If the man would just stop trying to analyse him and tell him that he would love and respect him no matter what... Rayne bit down on both lips and shook his head miserably. 

'Say it, damn you!' he thought at the man furiously. 'Say that none of this matters and I'll do whatever you want! Tell me how 'you' feel!'

Paddy leaned forward and took hold of both his hands. He seemed to wait, briefly, for Rayne to open his eyes but when his head remained bowed and his emotions stayed tightly shielded, he began to speak anyway.

"We don't have much time Rayne, so I'm gonna keep this short," he said quietly. And he proceeded to tell the boy about his own childhood, about the mother who fell pregnant to two different men, neither of them her husband and was the shame of her small, Wexford village. He spoke of how they were hounded out by malicious gossip, unable to turn to even their closest kin and how his mother's wandering finally brought them to America where she underwent a minor breakdown and her two young sons wound up in care. He quietly and unemotionally told Rayne how he and his brother were separated when he was nine and his sibling just six and put into foster homes; how ultimately in one of those homes another foster boy much older than him molested him and forced him into a sexual relationship that he was not ready for and did not want. 

He spoke of all this in the same level, dispassionate tones. Rayne lifted his head when he began to speak of the hell of his own abuse. He could not imagine this huge, confident man as a child. It was impossible to imagine, although he did not have to try very hard to imagine what that child must have been thinking and feeling. Rayne swallowed hard as Paddy stroked his face, telling him how he joined a gym after his foster brother turned eighteen and left the home. 

"I was determined never to be weak or vulnerable again. I just wanted to find my brother and get us both out of that nightmare," the Irishman told him in a grim voice. "But Michael was happy at least with his family and I began to meet new friends and forge new memories with people who worked out alongside me. They were a kind of family to me. They took me under their wings and looked out for me and I learned that not all guys were like my foster brother."

"But you... you like boys... men, I mean!" Rayne blinked at him, confused by this. 

"Yeah," Paddy admitted ruefully. "But plenty of straight girls get raped and they don't become lesbians."

"Some do," Rayne argued weakly. 

"Not all of them." Paddy smiled wryly at him. "And I guess I was the same. When I was nineteen I moved in with a guy I met at the gym. I was pretty impressive to look at by then. He got my face into some of the muscle mags and from there it was a short step to nude work." He grinned now. "Some of the muscle boys are so preoccupied with their biceps that they never give a thought to how all that bulking up and working out affects their cocks. It makes them tiny, by the way!" He crooked his little finger and Rayne laughed weakly in spite of his resolve not to. "I was determined that I wasn't going to go that route. I worked on my cock length and thickness just as hard as the rest of my body."

"It paid off," Rayne told him with a little smile of his own.

"Yeah. It goes to show that just because one idiot treats you like you're lower than dirt, it doesn't mean that you 'are'!" Paddy said solemnly. "You gotta 'make' them see the diamond underneath, Rayne."

"I'm never going to have muscles though, am I?" Rayne said disparagingly. "I don't think I even 'want' to have muscles. Not even if it means that I can fight for myself."

"Then you need to find another way to be strong," Paddy said as if it was all so simple. 

"Get rich and hire a bodyguard!" Rayne laughed sarcastically.

"If you like." The big man grinned at him. "Or find a lover who scares the shit out of your enemies."

Rayne quivered again. It came back down to that one little thing. Paddy wanted to be with him, right now. He could see it in the man's pale blue eyes. They twinkled with pleasure and something darker and hotter than simple pleasure. The crotch of his faded denims bulged dangerously. 

Taking a long, shuddering breath, Rayne laid a hand on him there and stroked the hot, hard prominence in his pants. He could feel the throbbing thickness of Paddy's cock through the heavy material. When the Irishman cupped his face in one hand and tilted his head to touch his lips to Rayne's mouth the boy did not pull away. He was shaking uncontrollably as his lover unfastened his jeans for him and told him to take them off. Helpless to resist, Rayne moved to his feet, shrugging off his shirt and letting his trousers cascade to the floor. Naked but for his bracelets and his sneakers he climbed back into Paddy's lap as the huge, sexy porn star unzipped his own fly and released the beast within. 

There was lube on the low occasional table beside the sofa and Paddy retrieved it now, lavishing a good few squirts of cool gel onto his massive probe. 

"Rub it in for me," he panted eagerly. "Quickly Rayne, we haven't got long now and I want you so badly."

Rayne's deft hands encircled the pulsing head of his lover's tumescent pole and began to stroke the clear, slippery wetness up and down his entire length. At the same time, Paddy pulled him close enough to kiss and their lips and tongues meshed and twined urgently whilst the Irishman's slippery fingers slid down Rayne's silky arse crack and explored him internally. 

"Naughty boy, you've been stretching for me, haven't you?" he whispered eagerly into his companion's mouth as two, then three fingers entered the boy and began to lube him up internally. 

Rayne nodded and wriggled on the thrusting digits inside him. Even after Phil's forearm, Paddy's probing fingers felt almost too good up his hot, wet anal chute. The Irishman knew exactly how to touch him there and he was soon writhing with excitement and crying out his need shamelessly. 

"Ride me, baby," Paddy groaned ecstatically. "Come on. Let me give you what you need, honey."

At once, Rayne knelt up and let the big man manoeuvre himself into position, his pulsing purple head, the size of a large egg, poised at his young lover's gaping ring. Rayne leaned back slowly, taking his time, letting it press against him for a few moments as Paddy gripped his slender hips and tried to pull him down. Then he lowered himself very gradually, concentrating on the way that huge, thick knot of a bell-end felt as it submerged itself smoothly in his willing passage. He shuddered again, groaning through gritted teeth as he rocked his hips back and forth, moving up and down on Paddy's delicious cock, letting it invade him more deeply. His mate's big hands roamed hungrily over his naked body, stroking and groping, gripping his arse and kneading the soft flesh as Rayne rose and fell on his leaking member. 

"Jesus, Rayne!" he exhaled in an appreciative tone. "That feels so good, baby boy. Come on... get it all the way in. All the way into you! I'm gonna fuck you so hard once this big bastard's inside you, honey child!"

Rayne laughed breathlessly at the porn-script endearments and began to ride him harder and faster. He could feel it filling his colon now, stretching him inside, getting deeper than even Phil's arm had gone. There was a lump in his throat and he could barely breathe for it. His own sex was rigid with pleasure and spitting little gouts of foaming precum as Paddy stroked and teased him. He could feel the semen boiling in his balls as that monstrous member tormented his twitching passage. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 18



"Ohhhh... Yeah!" Paddy grunted as his legs were forced wider by the Irishman's muscular thighs and he came to sit in his lover's clean-shaven crotch with his knees bent under him. 

"Fuck me," he gasped into P J's mouth as the older man's lips met his own and he felt his lover pull him close. "Fuck me hard! Make me cum!"

Paddy rolled him onto his back on the sofa, and came to crouch over him, spreading Rayne's slim, pale thighs wider. 

"Don't you worry," he crooned. "I will, baby boy!"

And then there was no breath left for words. P J mounted him and took hold of his narrow hips as he began to buck hard, pumping his young lover with fifteen and a quarter inches of hot, thick, slippery meat. Rayne lashed and screamed under him as it pulsed in and out of his body like a mechanical piston. He was on fire, burning with arousal and longing, his legs hooked around Paddy's waist as the big man screwed him deeper and faster. His gaping mouth fastened onto Rayne's as they surged and bucked together on the sweat-soaked black leather of the cushions. Paddy's tongue squirmed like a greedy serpent in his mouth and Rayne whimpered incoherently around it as the hot, trembling sensation in his loins grew and grew. It was a dark, pulsing, desperate thing, struggling to take over his body. The boy arched his back and rubbed himself submissively against his lover's powerful chest and belly, allowing the pressure to build within his balls until it was almost unbearable. Paddy was banging him faster and harder, his huge nuts slapping with a rapid, urgent rhythm on the boy's bare arse cheeks as they fucked. 

He screamed again as it overwhelmed him and his scrotum jerked and tightened like he had received an electric shock to the balls. Paddy must have felt his clenching chute squeeze tight for he was suddenly still inside the boy, slumping over him as Rayne spurted over his firm, sweat-dripping abdominal muscles. The younger man clawed at his back, reaching up beneath his clinging lycra vest to scrabble at the hot, moist flesh beneath. His lover remained still and poised until the spasms around his throbbing dick slowed and Rayne let go of him, slumping back onto the cushions. 

Then and only then did he pull slowly out of the youth and drag him to the polished wooden floor. Rayne made no effort to resist as he was rolled onto his belly, then hauled to his shoulders and knees. Paddy inspected the dark moon of his gaping anus and reached for the lube, squirting another good mass of water-based jelly into the quivering hole. He knelt up reverently and began to slide his hot, musky cock back into that welcoming sheath. To his delight, Rayne bucked against him, thrusting his well-fucked arsehole back onto the thick spear of his lover's invading phallus.

The act of penetration was quick and slippery. Lube pulsed out of Rayne's delicious hole as it was rapidly filled with cock for the umpteenth time that afternoon. The young man braced himself on his hands and knees, taking the long, steady thrusts of his lover's sex until Paddy McNamara was completely immersed in his anus once again. This time, however, Paddy was more controlled. He paced himself, pulsing in and out with long strokes of his humungous weapon. Sometimes he pulled almost all the way out before letting it sink back in until Rayne's hot, wet flesh was flush with his own. He took his time, enjoying the way his lover's colon clung to his sex as he pulled back then yielded smoothly and sweetly as he pushed it deeper. Every few minutes he pulled right back and applied more lubricant until his young lover was slick with gel and mucus and more than a little pre-cum.

"Uuhhhhh!" Rayne exhaled softly and hungrily as he gripped the boy's sexy arse and began to pump a little harder. 

"You like that?" Paddy huffed. 

"Mmmmhhhh... yeah!"

He checked his watch. They had about three minutes before the guys returned. Paddy reached underneath Rayne and stroked his stiff, leaking cock. The boy was furiously horny and ready to cum again.

"I'm gonna fuck you hard now. Your hot, saucy hole is gonna get filled with cream. You ready?" he whispered, pulling Rayne up onto his knees and looping one arm around his chest as the other hand worked the boy's jumping, spunk-wet sex. Rayne's dark head rested against his left shoulder and the boy nodded breathlessly. His full lips were slightly parted and his jewel-green eyes were closed. He looked so beautiful in that moment that Paddy almost came up his arse without moving an inch. 

He began to thrust urgently and Rayne pushed back against him, writhing like a horny angel in his arms. 

"Aahhhh!" the boy cried out, struggling a little as Paddy spread his legs and humped that massive tool up into him as far as it would go. He felt his balls press up into the slender youth's sweaty crack and pulled Rayne down hard on his spurting knob. His hand slid up Rayne's chest and over his throat, covering his mouth. Paddy eased cum-sticky fingers between his lover's wet lips and exploded inside the lad as he felt Rayne begin to suck on them. His other hand pumped Rayne's lovely, hard eight inch bone until it squirted its answering salvo. He nuzzled Rayne's sweat-damp neck as he rubbed the spilt semen all over his lover's naked body and came again for the clenching of his lover's rectal muscles around his spasming penis. 

When Clay and Mikkal came back to the boat the pair were still on their knees, eyes closed, breathing heavily and clearly sated. The big American laughed wickedly. '

"Not fair! He'll be too loose for the rest of us now!" he quipped, stroking his stiffening cock through the snug, white lycra of his shorts. 

Rayne's cheeks flushed and he pulled himself to his feet now. It was difficult. His knees were shaking and he could barely walk but it had been worth it. Paddy kissed the top of his head. 

"Can we finally go now?" he asked impatiently. 

"Five minutes!" Rayne told him breathlessly, pulling on his shirt and reaching for his jeans. 

"What now?" The Irishman shook his head incredulously. 

"I need to fetch my guitar."

"I'll buy you another when we get to the States!" his lover promised. 

"Not like this one. It's special. It was my cousin's. He reckons Topper Headon from the Clash used to own it." Rayne beamed at him.

"Who the fuck is Topper Headjob?" Paddy wanted to know. 

Rayne touched two fingers to his lips and stood on tip toe to kiss him there. 

"Philistine!" he whispered mischievously. "I'll be five minutes. If I'm any later go without me!"

"You better not be!" Paddy warned. 

"I love you too!" Rayne blew him a kiss but the big Irishman just looked bemused. Sexy and bemused. Rayne fixed that image in his head. Then he turned and ran.

His heart was racing as he stepped off the boat into the enveloping warmth of the Mediterranean night. He forced himself to keep moving, to jog back to Phil's flat before his legs failed him. He was still trembling and twitching internally from the energetic sex. On the way back he was chatted up from an overhead balcony by one of the guys who had enjoyed the peep show he and Phil put on earlier. 

"Come up and have some fun with me," the man called out cheerfully. "I can give you real satisfaction!"

"I've had some, thanks!" Rayne winked at him. 

He found Phil at the shop where the young man had just opened up for the night. Phil gave him the keys to the flat without question.

"You're going then?" he asked when Rayne brought them back, armed with his bags. 

"Yeah... I reckon it's time," the other boy said lazily. "I've been down here long enough. Time to get on with my life, yeah?"

"I'll miss you," Phil told him, in all sincerity. "You sure you don't wanna stay with me for a bit?"

"I'll write," Rayne promised, without answering that one. He leaned over the counter and snaked his fingers around the back of Phil's neck, pulling the blond boy's lips onto his one final time. 

"You'd better!" Phil said huskily when he pulled away. "Take care of yourself. Don't do yourself a mischief riding that big fat cock! Lucky bastard!"

Rayne Wilde said nothing. He just winked again and hoisted his bags onto his slender shoulders, then walked out into the night, his heart still racing uncontrollably. 

ANT

Ant fled from the marina in a state of confusion, emotionally wrung out by his confrontation with Leland. He had woken to find the old man gloating that his precious 'boy' had run out on him, finally. Although Daniel managed to refrain from using the words 'I Told You So' he clearly implied this much. They had argued, for the first time since his teens when Daniel had first taken him under one reprobate wing. Ant was furious with himself. He had not managed to get into such a state in many years and was privately fuming at his own lack of control. Surely no one should be able to make him feel so wretched and desperate? He was a grown man and beyond such foolish impulses but right now, as he stalked off Daniel's boat and out of the marina, blinded by his own tears, he felt as if nothing else in his life mattered. Rayne had turned his head around so many times since that fateful day when he went back to pull the miserable child out of the snow that he had no idea which way he was facing. They had 'both' grown here, he conceded unhappily, and they had 'both' changed. That much was certainly true. Ant knew that he was not the same man he had been back in London. His experiences in Agde had made him more defensive; more cynical too. 

Rayne Wilde had blossomed in Agde, but not in any way that Ant had hoped for when he brought the kid here. The boy would never be happy in a submissive role. Ant's private dreams, that he would learn to love being cared for in return for security and the pleasures of lovemaking, were fading now. He had watched in dismay as his young mate replaced that brittle, defensive shell of his with bright armour, built for battle, not hiding behind. With every day that passed, Rayne took more control. Ant was not sure if that was a good thing or a bad one right now. 

All he knew for sure was that he could not watch PJ's boat sail out of harbour. Not when he knew that the boy was on board. 

"Dan was right! He's made a bloody fool of you!" he muttered bitterly to himself, striding grimly past throngs of happy, colourful, energetic holidaymakers already setting out for another mindless evening of hedonism in the numerous bars and restaurants of the Cap. 

His route ultimately took him the quieter way, across the car park between the creek and the low-lying villas of Port Nature. It felt cooler here and he slowed his pace, less conscious of curious eyes on his back. His feet carried him to the mole at the mouth of the creek and he scrambled up the stone built barricade and stood, panting and angry still, at the top end of the vast expanse of beach with only a last desperate handful of determined nature lovers and a couple of dog walkers to avoid. The creeping twilight had almost emptied the long, golden strand and only the twinkling lights on the buoys and the slow sweep of the lighthouse broke the blue-grey velvet of the horizon. He caught his breath and stood for a moment, listening to the hissing of the waves as they rolled over the shore then lolled back down into the depths of the sea. The sound calmed him somehow. It whispered in his blood and his bones, towing him at last, down to the water's edge. 

There was no sign of Paddy's yacht. He wondered if they had already gone but decided against it almost immediately. He would have heard the engine as they motored down the creek and there was no hint of their lights out at sea. In the far distance, the lighthouse on the dark hump of headland at Sete stretched out a finger of luminescence and the squat turret on the end of the mole replied with a gesture of its own. 

Turning his back on the mole he walked slowly down the beach, away from the muted chatter and the separate pulses of music coming out of the bars along the boardwalk at Nature. He wrapped his arms around his bare chest, feeling a chill that did not come from the summer evening air. His time here had seen him strip fitter than he had been back in London. The sex and the sunshine had been twin balms to his body and soul. His tan was looking good and the muscles of his arms and legs and his belly felt tighter and firmer. The sun had picked out the highlights in his dark blond hair too. It would need a trim when he got back to England but for the casual lifestyle out here on the Med it was fine. Ant figured that he might well have lost a few pounds in weight as well. 

Look on the bright side!

London would seem grey and cold after the golden days out here though. He trudged onward through the damp sand along the shoreline. Ant was comfortably naked, save for his sandals and the leather wallet flapping at his hip on its long shoulder strap. Shells crunched softly underfoot and the waves whispered their lullaby to him. He heard the low grumble of a marine engine somewhere behind him and forced his eyes forward. He would not look. 

He wondered if Rayne was sitting up on the deck, watching all of this slipping away into the darkness, thinking of his new life in America. Would the boy see him from there? It was beginning to get dark after all. Ant shook his head bitterly as the cruiser accelerated, clearing the harbour, pushing out into deeper water. No doubt the little bitch was already below, sprawled on McNamara's bed like the slut he was; howling with pleasure as the Irish bastard ploughed his hole with that obscene shaft!

Ant spotted a dark shape up ahead, nestling in the curve of the sea-washed sand, huddled up and surrounded by smaller objects. A late night fisherman, he thought at once, and he swung to his left to avoid tangling with the fellow's lines. Some of them stayed out here until the small hours, obsessed with the watching and waiting for that elusive pull on their lines. To his right the yacht picked up speed now, bobbing out across the waves like a skimmed stone. He wished with all of his heart that it would sink like a stone as well, but finally his eyes were drawn to it and he could not longer fight the urge to look as it sped away. 

Ant felt his vision blur as he watched the lights grow smaller and fainter and the roar of engines gradually faded away until they were swallowed by the hushing of the sea. His gaze was pulled after it in spite of all his resolve. He was feeling sick and angry with himself and with Rayne and with the whole world, when a small, quiet, heartbreakingly familiar voice just behind him said; "That's it then, innit?"

He turned so quickly that he almost fell over. The sandal was snatched from his left foot by the shifting sand and he stumbled to his knees. Rayne was watching him, curled up beyond the water's edge with his bags around him like a makeshift fortification. His arms were wrapped around his knees and his chin rested in the crook of his folded arms. Dressed in black, he was almost invisible in the encroaching darkness, but an odd little quirk of his lips showed up on that paler face, an expression that was almost, but not quite a smile. His eyes were glittering, even in the deepening twilight and he rubbed at his nose now with the back of one hand, then sniffed a couple of times and looked away. His huge, sad eyes watched the boat vanish into the arms of the night. 

Now Ant scrambled towards him and sat down heavily beside him. His heart was pounding double time, hammering at the insides of his ribs as if it was trying to escape. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked, hardly daring to hope. 'Had they argued?' 'Had Rayne changed his mind?' He wanted to know and yet he did not. Could he stand one more night of trying to figure out what the boy was after, let alone longer?

"What are 'you' doin' 'ere?" Rayne flashed back immediately. "Not exactly the time of day for sunbathin' is it?"

"I... I thought you'd gone," Ant protested, swallowing the lump in his throat. He drew up his knees in a parody of Rayne's pose to hide what would certainly have been a lump in his pants, had he been wearing any. The reaction was unavoidable whenever he was around Rayne. 

"I have," the boy said, returning his gaze to the empty sea. 

Ant turned his head, observing that quiet, wistful stare. 

"Not very far," he ventured warily. 

"Far enough." Rayne burrowed his chin back down into his folded arms as if he could hide himself like a tortoise pulling into its shell. 

"I thought you were going to America," Ant clarified for him. 

Those huge, pale, glistening eyes travelled back to his face at once. For a little while there was only the sighing sound of the sea beyond their feet to break the spell of stillness cast upon them. Rayne lifted his hands and pushed them through his hair, clutching at his head as if it hurt. 

"Goes to show," he said in a muffled voice, at last. "You 'don't' know everything!"

"What's the bloody matter with you?" Ant caught him before he could pull away again. He snaked a hand through the soft, cool black hair at the nape of his lover's slender neck, pulling himself closer. "Are you 'really' that crazy?"

Rayne looked up, staring back at him with a stoned, sexy insolence that took his breath away. He did not struggle or try to argue. 

"Why the fuck would I wanna go to America?" he asked instead. "I don't need his fuckin' money!"

He had to ask it. 

"What about his cock?"

"What about it?" Rayne narrowed his eyes in a silent challenge. "You've 'ad one, you've 'ad 'em all, yeah?"

Ant leaned towards him, fingers curling tight in his dark hair, cupping his face with the other hand. He pulled Rayne's mouth onto his, kissing him hungrily. It had been too long since he enjoyed the simple touch of the boy's soft, full lips against his own. He felt Rayne resist the attempt for a second or two then his tongue forged on between the younger man's teeth and Rayne sucked on it for a few moments, allowing Ant to press him back down urgently into the sand. Ant climbed onto him at once, rubbing against him passionately as they kissed. 

"Don't get cum on my jeans!" Rayne protested at last, pushing him off more forcefully. 

"Take them off then!" Ant knelt up over him, panting eagerly. "Take 'everything' off!"

"I've got a better idea," Rayne whispered, wriggling out from between his legs then leaning forward. His long, pale fingers curled boldly around Ant's stiff, leaking nine-inch cock, towing the other man to his side. Rolling smoothly onto his side he parted his lips and pulled the head of Ant's aching boner between them. His little pink tongue glided seductively all over it, drenching it in his saliva. The cool sea breeze tickled lightly on his hot, stretched, wet glans and made him wriggle with pleasure, then the boy was bending over his crotch as he flopped back down into the sand again. Ant watched excitedly as his lover opened wider, nodding his head and working those sexy lips further and further down his shaft. He felt the huff of hot breath in his hairless crotch as Rayne's throat yielded to the thick, throbbing helm of his cock. His head moved up and down steadily and with each upstroke his lips came together, caressing the quivering bolt of muscle in his mouth. As his lips reached the fleshy, purple head, his jaws parted and his tongue lashed Ant's sex vigorously, up and down and side to side. Then he opened wide again, nodding back down, swallowing a little more cock.

Ant lay back on the rippled sand, stretching out beneath him in absolute supplication. His body was Rayne's, to do with as he would! As the beautiful boy touched down on his dick, kissing the base of his shaft, he cried out with pleasure. Rayne did not even gag when Ant's fat cock head bucked repeatedly in and out of his tight pharynx. He nuzzled the older man's belly and his lips worked around the base of the long, hot prick in his mouth. Ant felt a trickle of spit and precum pool in his crotch, then Rayne's lips were working back up his erect rod towards the oozing head. That clever tongue knowingly worked his slit and Ant's hands flew to cup Rayne's head, knotting in his silken hair and tugging on it as he bucked upward into his lover's mouth. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 18



Rayne moaned quietly as his face was pushed back down. Ant rested both hands on the back of his head and fucked his throat, delirious with satisfaction. His lover took this for a few moments then planted the heels of his hands in the shifting sand to either side of Ant's bucking hips, pushing himself back up. He took a long breath and another and Ant gazed at him in silent awe, his well-sucked cock shaft still glistening between his young lover's soft, clever lips. The warm breath that spilled over him was almost enough to make him cum on its own. Now Rayne moved to straddle his right thigh and rubbed his hands together, dusting the sand off them before applying them skilfully to Ant's twitching bone. His sexy little tongue wriggled over the leaking glans as he stroked the base of his mate's aching penis. Decisively now he moved between Ant's legs, nudging the older man's thighs apart with his knees. Lifting his head he spat into the palm of his left hand. 

"That's it! Fuck me baby!" Ant coaxed breathlessly. "Fuck my sweet arse then get your pants off and ride my cock!"

Rayne stroked Ant's sex wordlessly with that spittle slick hand. He bent forward, tilting his head and running his teasing tongue gently under the other man's throbbing balls. Ant cried out eagerly when he felt the boy's warm, wet lips part around his jolting bollocks, taking them into his mouth one at a time and sucking on that sensitive sac as his deft hands teased Ant's dribbling prick.

"Uuuggggghhhhhh... yeaaaaaahhhhh! Make me cum!" Ant growled, throwing his head back and squirming under him on the yielding sand. 

Rayne blew gently on his slippery cock and balls. He bent forward again, an intent expression on his pretty face; dark hair spilling into his pale eyes as he kissed and licked Ant's twitching erection. His fingers and thumb worked the lower six inches vigorously now whilst his lips and tongue satisfied the fat, spongy, purple head. 

"You're very tasty," he whispered, in a sweet little voice that made Ant's nuts clench as if they were locked into a vice. "I'm gonna make you cum in my mouth now."

"Aaahhhhhh... yeaaah!" Ant grunted eagerly. "Yeah! Then I'm gonna fuck your hot, tight, teasing arsehole for you!"

"Uh-huh," Rayne murmured, shaking his head a little as he lapped at Ant's big bell-end. He suckled on it like a child with a delicious, melting lollypop.

"Get your pants down!" Ant gasped, bucking excitedly in his mouth. "Get them off! I wanna... Uhhhhh....ohhhhhhh....ooooohhhhhhh God!"

Rayne's hand slipped beneath his ball sac and his fingers rubbed Ant's clenching nuts rhythmically as his lover began to squirt in his open mouth. As the older man gazed imploringly at him he stuck out his tongue, still coated in thick, pearly cream and began to lick Ant's spurting head. Beneath him the naked man stretched out, supine and shot the rest of his hot ejaculate all over his companion's pretty face. 

Once he could breathe again, Ant pushed himself into a sitting position whilst Rayne wiped his cheeks on the back of one hand and licked the cum off like a little cat washing itself. Ant leaned in under his forelock and kissed him gratefully. His hand reached down between Rayne's thighs, groping for the fly of his jeans. At once the boy pushed it away and Ant tried a couple more times before he moved physically out of reach.

"Awww, c'mon," Ant cajoled. "Let me fill that tight little fuck hole for you. I've missed that gorgeous arse grinding in my crotch. Let me make you cum hard, baby. I promise you'll love it!"

"Ant... not here," Rayne begged huskily. He was still wiping the spunk off his face and trying to smile, but there was a note in his voice that warned his older mate not to push it. "I'm not ready. Go back to the boat and I'll come and join you there once I've got my shit together. You can do anything you like to me then, I swear. Just give me a few minutes on my own, will you?"

Ant kissed him again, with lust in his heart. 

"Seriously?"

"Yeah... go on, you idiot!" Rayne was looking up at him with a small, tolerant smile. He was so beautiful that Ant's heart nearly burst out of his chest with longing for the boy. 

"I can really do 'anything'?"

"That's what I said, innit?" Rayne rolled his eyes incredulously. 

"You're really not going with McNamara?" Ant shook his head, still unable to comprehend this. 

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Rayne said a little impatiently. "Look Ant... I don't need his fucking money. I'm not just some fuck toy for people like him and Leland to put on display. Oh..." he looked down suddenly, rummaging in one of the pockets of his discarded jacket. "You 'can' do something for me. Will you take this?" He lowered his voice conspiratorially now, handing Ant a chunky package in a crumpled envelope; "It's the money I got for the film. I feel nervous carryin' it about with me."

Ant took the envelope, both honoured and surprised that the boy had chosen to trust him with it. 

"I didn't know he'd paid you," he said, surprised by this. "I thought they made a loss."

"I guess I was worth the effort," Rayne said sarcastically. "Just take it, will you?"

"If you're sure," he ventured, feeling a flood of warmth and protectiveness towards his young lover. 

"I'm sure. I just need a minute to get my head together and I'll follow you," Rayne exhaled. He sounded relieved. 

Ant crouched lower and kissed him softly on the mouth one last time. 

"Don't sit out here too long. You might wash away," he whispered between the boy's lightly parted lips. "I'll warm the bed for you."

Rayne caught his hair gently in one hand as he moved to rise. His lips offered another kiss and Ant accepted greedily. 

"I'm sorry," Rayne breathed as they drew apart again. 

Would wonders never cease? Ant stared at him disbelievingly. "What on earth for?"

"I've really fucked you about, 'aven't I?" the boy said in a small, contrite sounding voice. The tip of his nose brushed against Ant's and they kissed one another again. "I can never make it up to you."

"You can make a start tonight," Ant promised him with a grin. "We'll start off with you getting out of your clothes, then getting that sweet young arse nice and slippery so that you can sit yourself right down on my big hard cock."

Rayne stroked his cheek fondly for a moment then let him go. 

"You'd best go back and start lubing it up for me then," he advised with an innocent little smile. 

Ant strode back down the beach with the lightest of hearts. He even whistled to himself as he marched over the damp sand at the water's edge. A couple of times he glanced back over his shoulder until the darkness made it impossible for him to make out the huddled shape of his beloved boy, gazing out to sea with eyes that were impossible to read. 

ENDGAME 1:

Rayne Wilde hugged his knees to his chest and watched the older man go. It had been a relief to give him the money. It solved one problem quite neatly for him and made the rest of his plans much easier to carry out. The next would be much harder. 

He was surprised at how painful it was to watch the other man walk away knowing that he would probably never see him again. Ant had been incredibly good to him and he did not deserve half of that kindness. He knew in his rotten heart that Ant would be gutted by the truth. The fellow tried to hide his vulnerability behind a tough act that Rayne saw straight through. It was so easy to make him happy. The right buttons to push were just out there, on clear display. Once upon a time Rayne would have pushed them all and milked the poor sucker for everything he had, then walked away as fast as he dared. 

He supposed that he was not the same boy who had come away to France with Ant almost three weeks earlier. This experience had changed him. He worried that it had also weakened him. 

Rayne sat and watched the sea for a while. The moon was not yet risen and the waves were whispering ghosts in the gathering gloom. The hiss and hush of their surging passage up and down the beach, tugging sand and shells in their wake reminded him of his childhood. He had grown up beside the sea and the sound of it always soothed his spirits when he was feeling low and restless. Now he propped his chin against his knees thinking of the other day, standing to his shoulders in the cold water, letting the current tug at him. How close had he come to yielding; allowing the pull of the ocean to swallow him down and keep him forever? Would it have been less complicated to sink into the drowning depths, to follow the ghostly voices that called out to him? They would never let him hurt another soul. He could still do it. If he stripped off and walked out into the sea now no one would ever find him and the world would be a better place. 

A noise jolted him out of his morbid reverie, a cautious tread in the sand behind him and he turned abruptly, worried that Ant had come back to look for him. Standing behind him was a burly, bearded man, his broad, hairy body unashamedly naked. He was stroking his cock and smiling with idiotic hopefulness. 

"You want company?" he asked carefully in a heavily accented voice.

Rayne exhaled a long, shuddering breath. His heart was already slowing as he swallowed to combat the sudden dryness in his mouth. 

"No," he said firmly. "I'm okay. Thanks... anyway!"

The man kept on watching him and stroking very deliberately as Rayne pushed himself to his feet and picked up his belongings, slinging the strap of the guitar case over one shoulder and throwing the black satchel with his clothes and the rest of his stuff over the other. Shaking his dark head, he turned and trudged off along the beach, following the edge of the water, walking with his back to the lighthouse and the sounds of music and muted laughter from the clubs and bars of the Cap. He kept his gaze fixed on the distant, twinkling lights of Sete and he did not look back. 

ENDGAME 2:

On Daniel's boat, back in Ambonne, Ant settled down on the bed with a bottle of wine and two glasses and poured some lubricant into the palm of his hand. He lay back, taking his time, enjoying the pull of his slippery hand on the shaft of his stiffening cock. Thierry looked in on him and asked if he wanted company, but he shook his head. He thought the pretty French lad looked disappointed but he did not quibble and left Ant to his own devices. In turn Ant felt guilty for casting him aside so readily, but his thoughts were already running ahead to the delicious things he would do to Rayne once the black sheep returned to the fold. His gaze moved to the face of his watch on the bedside cabinet when he had been masturbating more vigorously for a little while. He watched the minutes tick by and a flicker of anxiety replaced his eagerness. It had been nearly half an hour now. Was Rayne all right? Had some predator like Christophe pounced on him as he walked back in the dark. 

"I should have stayed with him," he murmured to himself, shaking his head as he pushed himself up from the bed. 

He paced the room impatiently for several more minutes. When the time elapsed reached the three-quarter hour mark he poured a good measure of red wine into one of the glasses and threw it down, then reached for the envelope that the boy had given him out on the beach. He had left it on the cabinet next to the wineglasses and now he ripped it open with trembling hands. A sheaf of five hundred franc notes tumbled out through his fingers and he went to his knees at once, gathering them up from the floor, his heart beating more rapidly now. There had to be thousands of pounds here. As he scrabbled for them, trying to put them back into a tidy stack, his fingers snared up a sheaf of folded notepaper that had fallen onto the floor under the bed. It had his name on it in purple pencil. Ant sat back on his heels, staring at it blankly. 

Setting the money aside, he stumbled back onto the bed and unfolded the note carefully. 

'By the time you read this, I'll have gone,' it began in the boy's rapid, nervy hand. Ant closed his eyes for a moment seeing the reality surge up to meet him. He had been such a fool. With a sinking heart he looked down at the letter again. 'I owe you more than I can ever truly give you, Ant. At the end of the day you'll be better off without me though. I only cause you trouble, don't I?"

Ant felt his lips frame a quick, sorrowful smile at that, in spite of the tears that were rising to his eyes. 

'Don't follow me!' Rayne had written, and underlined this instruction firmly. 'I don't want you to get hurt any more because of me. Leland was right. I fuck up everything I touch. You'll find someone normal, I know. Someone kind, like you deserve. I hope it's soon and you're not too upset. One day I'll pay you back, I swear it. I'm sorry, Ant. Don't ever think about me. Just try and forget me. I promise that I won't mess up your life any more. I hope you don't hate me, but I would deserve it if you did. You always tried to be kind and I just treated you like filth. You were really good in bed too, it wasn't about that. I know you think that I preferred Paddy but that wasn't true. You're very different people and both sweet in your own ways, but I'm not good enough for either of you. I hope it works out okay for you and you find someone nice to look after you. Take care, Ant.'

He had signed the letter simply; 'Rayne'

"You little bitch!" Ant gasped through tears of rage and frustration. He crumpled the letter in his hand and threw it aside then sank down on the bed and wept, angry with himself as much as Rayne Wilde. Johnno had warned him back in London that the little whore was manipulative, but he had been determined not to believe it. Well that lesson had come back to bite him in the arse, well and truly. 

Thierry crept into his bed once he had stopped sobbing and cursing into his pillow. The blond lad said nothing, just put his arms around Ant's torso and held him close. He was a small, warm, comforting presence against Ant's back and after a little while the older man turned in his arms and kissed him gratefully. Thierry did not object when Ant rolled onto him and pushed a lubricated finger into his snug young arsehole. His mouth roamed greedily over the French youth's slender neck and shoulders as he frigged the boy , then eased his stiffening rod between Thierry's perfect peachy bum cheeks, pushing his hungry cock head into the boy's receptive anus. 

"Mmmmmhhhhh..." Thierry moaned softly, encouraging him in his own tongue. He murmured words that Ant did not understand but took heart from as he powered deeper into the boy's slim, willing body. Rayne had instructed him to forget but it still was not easy. As he fucked his way further up Thierry's sweet young hole he closed his eyes and for a few moments he held Rayne Wilde in his arms and he buggered the boy with all the rage and longing in his heart. 

Thierry cried out at one point but did not beg him to stop and Ant used him long and hard, until all of his seed was spent in the boy and he collapsed exhausted into his young mate's trembling arms. He kissed Thierry with genuine warmth and gratitude then, scooping him up and holding the youngster close until he stopped shaking and was able to sleep, finally, in Ant's hot, sweaty embrace. Mr Right did not succumb to sleep for a good many hours though. He lay, with his face pressed into Thierry's soft, blond hair and thought bitterly of Rayne.

THE END OF THE ROAD:

Rayne Wilde followed the beach until the jetty of Marseillan Plage barred his way and he could not walk any further without coming inland. His feet carried him out of the darkness onto an illuminated street so startling in its normality that he felt like Judy Garland stumbling back into Kansas after the Technicolor insanity of Oz. Only in reverse!

Ordinary families wandered up and down the town's handful of streets, gaudily dressed in their every-day shorts and t-shirts. Children ran in and out of doorways laughing and shrieking at one another. Women haggled over flip-flops and beach mats and couples hovered in the entrances of restaurants, peering at the menus and trying to decide what they could afford. Bright neon signs danced in front of his eyes and he let his feet carry him away from the main drag whilst his mind sought the shadows of the quieter residential thoroughfares. He found the slow, dark ribbon of the creek, glittering with reflected moonlight, and followed it up towards the bridge that carried the main road around the back of the little seaside town. 

There was a truckstop just before the bridge and he climbed up from the calm, moonlit waterway and crossed the carriageway, peering up into the cabs of stationary lorries parked up for the night. Most were in darkness though, their drivers no doubt already bedded down. Rayne sat on the low stone barrier by the side of the road and dumped his bags, holding out a hopeful thumb to the passing traffic. It was getting late now and the cars were few and far between. He was just resigning himself to a long walk into Sete to make some money and catch a train when one of the lorry drivers returned to his wagon carrying a paper bag of provisions and a polystyrene cup of coffee. The smell was enough to make his mouth water and he tilted his head back to watch the guy pass behind him. 

The driver was a tall fellow, broad in the shoulders but still narrow at the hips and waist in spite of the beginnings of a belly under his rumpled Kiss t-shirt and baggy jeans. His head had been shaved close to the skull to disguise the receding hairline, although his unshaven, square jawed features suggested that he was probably no older than forty. A swirl of dark, celtic tattoos ran down his left arm to the back of his hand. Rayne smiled at him winningly and in turn he responded in French.

Rayne shook his head vaguely. 

"London?" he ventured in a hopeful tone of voice. 

"English?" the driver grinned back at him, showing a mouthful of good, strong, ivory-coloured teeth. He spoke with a heavy accent. According to the legend on the side of his truck he had come from Valencia. 

Rayne nodded. 

"I go to Thu-rrock," the driver said then, pronouncing the two syllables very precisely. 'Too-rook'. "Is near for you?"

"Near enough," Rayne declared, bouncing to his feet with an answering grin. 

The driver unlocked the door to his cab and boosted him up there, passing up his bags and the sack of provisions. 

"Jesus," he introduced himself once he had climbed up behind the younger man. He pronounced it 'Hay-zuth'.

"Rayne," Rayne responded, shaking the proffered hand. 

Jesus stripped off his sweaty t-shirt and pulled down a black, sleeveless vest from the overhead cabin, wriggling into it as Rayne admired the illustrations on his chest and back. His torso sported a snarling lion's head and across his back was emblazoned an ornate crucifix wrapped about with thorns and backed with a pair of huge black wings. 

"You like?" Jesus enquired, flexing his biceps to show off his tattooed muscles to better effect. 

"Cool," the young Englishman nodded at once. "They're amazing."

"Is not all," Jesus grinned at him and unzipped his jeans. He shucked off the heavy denims and sprawled behind the wheel in a black posing pouch that revealed the twin dragons etched up and down his legs from crotch to ankles. 

"Fuckin' hell!" Rayne exhaled incredulously, his own sorry situation temporarily forgotten. "You're like... the illustrated man, right? Is there anywhere you're 'not' tattooed?"

"No-where," his companion declared proudly. "I have tattoo all over my body. Except for my face. My wife no like on my face."

"What... even...?" Rayne glanced down at the bulky black pouch between his thighs. 

"You want to see?" Jesus slid a finger into the waistband and tugged it forward and down before Rayne could shake his head. His genitals tumbled out, on full display. He had plenty to be proud of!




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 18



"Jesus Christ!" Rayne breathed, shaking his head incredulously. 

Jesus' big bollocks were clean-shaven and had little red-eyed bull heads tattooed on them. There was a ring of barbed wire entwined with roses and skulls around the base of his long shaft and the thick rod in his hand was encircled by two serpents, jaws stretched wide around the protruding glans just beneath the tip.

"You like?" Jesus tugged on his cock lazily, letting it get hard in his hand. He glanced curiously at his passenger now. "Is big, si?"

"Did that hurt?" Rayne wanted to know. He refrained from adding that he had seen bigger. If he had never met Paddy McNamara he might have been more impressed, he supposed.

"Hah!" Jesus exclaimed. "I drink chilled vodka and I pour some over my cock... I feel no pain." 

"Good for you." Rayne grinned at him, wishing he had some chilled vodka on the premises right now. It would be good to get drunk, especially if Jesus planned to fuck him. 

"Are you offended if I drive without clothes? It is hot tonight. Much better to drive nude, si?" Jesus cast a measuring glance his way. 

"It's your lorry," his passenger said with a little shrug and a roll of his eyes. He did not need this right now but if Jesus wanted to get frisky with him he supposed it was only fair. The man was taking him home, after all.

Jesus wasted no time shedding his vest and underpants. Once he was fully nude he grinned slyly at his passenger. 

"You wish to strip, also?" he asked. 

Rayne shook his head. "I'm fine, sweetheart. Honest!"

To his amazement this remark was taken at face value. Jesus looked a little disappointed but he did not force the issue. Once the fellow had gunned the engine and the huge rig had negotiated the unlit way back onto the main AutoRoute, Rayne finally relaxed on the warm leather seat. His lift it seemed was quite an exhibitionist but not bold enough to make a move on him. Maybe he would get through the night without having to whore himself after all. Wonders would never cease!

"It is good to have company, si?" Jesus remarked as they headed out into the night. 

"Yeah," Rayne agreed with a little smile. He pressed his cheek to the cool glass of the window and gazed out at the darkness, watching the brief firefly lights of the villages and towns as they thundered by. The steady motion of the huge wagon left his eyelids feeling heavy but he vigorously resisted sleep until the first pearly flush of light heralded in the dawn.

*

END OF CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

© Sadie Rose Bermingham 2006 

To be concluded in the Nineteenth and Final Chapter... A Boy Who Came In From the Cold - Epilogue.



A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 19



"Well... the end has come at last. It's taken me a little over a year to write this story and I'd like to say a big thank you to all the kind people who have read A Boy Who... in its entirety (some of you, amazingly, more than once!) You've been very patient with me, and I'm so grateful for all the wonderful comments and e-mails you've sent. It just makes me happy to know that you've taken some pleasure from Rayne's sorry tale and that makes all the hard work worth while. 

I wrote A Boy Who... for my friend Ant, who originally wanted a role in a vampire tale. This epilogue is for him. It's a strange little piece, written as a bridge between Rayne's life and his Unlife. I hope I've done him justice.

A Happy New Year to you all!

Love... Sadie.xxx"

*

TEN YEARS LATER:

(LONDON -- SEPTEMBER 1999)

It was already dark outside when Mr. Wright left the cinema on Shaftesbury Avenue. A steady drizzle made the pavements gleam in the coppery glow of the streetlights. He turned up his collar, dissatisfied with the cinematic fare, which overzealous reviewers had tried to work up into some kind of priapic orgy when in truth it was nothing more than a fairly tame rom-com with a bit of full-frontal nudity thrown in to piss off the censors. He walked back up to Piccadilly in search of a cab, reflecting ruefully on warmer days and sunnier climes. In a few weeks he would be off to Cornwall to spend a short break on one of his boats with some close friends, but for the time being he would have to be content with this business trip to the Capital. 

It had been several years since Ant had last lived in London. When it finally became too expensive to moor in Greenwich he upped anchor and moved up the Grand Union to Oxford, spending a year or two on the outskirts of the bustling academic town before finally settling in the Black Country. His businesses there and in Cornwall now yielded enough income to purchase a house and add to his collection of sailing vessels. One was the yacht down in St Mawes, where he was currently looking forward to some well-earned R+R. The other was a restored restaurant boat moored on the Canal du Midi in France. Currently Terry Goodwill was minding the latter for him. He hoped the old bastard had not managed to sink it during some wild party.

Terry had barely known what to do with himself in the eighteen months since Daniel Leland's death. Although they had never been lovers, he and Leland had been a virtually inseparable couple for nearly twenty years. Ant felt sorry for his old friend. The boat got Terry out of Ambonne and kept him busy. There were still boys there every weekend, even though Goodwill was in his sixties now. Ant could almost hear him chuckling; "You can keep a good man hard but you can't keep a hard man down, Rosie!"

He felt guilty at having missed Daniel's funeral. Terry had brought his body back to Dulwich, where apparently the old man still had surviving family. It had been quite a send off, by all accounts, though he wondered what the blue-rinsed, well-to-do relatives thought of the glamorous porn starlets gathered at the graveside, and vice-versa! Ant had been over in Ireland on holiday at the time. He did not find out that Daniel had passed away until after his return to England, although the news still saddened him. Leland could be a contrary old so and so but he was a loyal friend. He had never turned Ant away from his door in times of need. Even though they had not seen one another for nearly five years, he still felt the sorrow acutely. In some ways he had been closer to Dan Leland than to his own kin.

The memory of Leland and the glorious summers spent at Port Ambonne turned his mind unexpectedly back to that bizarre time, nearly ten years ago, when he had fled to the Cap with Rayne Wylde. Jesus Christ! His friends still refused to believe that story; that he had once dipped his wick into the sweet, hot flame that was rock band Whipsnade's crazy, beautiful, screwed-up lead singer. The band were in all the magazines and Wylde was on the front cover of the tabloids at least six times a year for some form of riotous behaviour, usually being escorted from restaurants and clubs, or the back of a police car. 

Last week he had seen the boy in action for the first time since Ambonne. Okay, so Rayne had been performing with his band on Top Of The Pops, but apart from pictures in the press and on the worn sleeve notes of ancient porn videos, he had not set eyes on the little hussy since Rayne ran out on him in 1989. It had been a revelation. 

He was quietly aware that the boy -- no longer a boy now -- was the singer with a well-known band, but had not realised just how successful they were until he tried this week to get a ticket for one of their upcoming concerts in London. The helpful girl on the sales counter told him apologetically that all five nights at the Roundhouse had been sold out since February when the shows went on sale. 

Ant would have been the first to confess that he knew nothing about pop music but Whipsnade had invaded his consciousness over the past twelve months. It had been a shock the first time he opened a magazine (one of the Sunday supplements, he thought now) to see that achingly familiar face staring insolently back at him. Initially he refused to believe it was the same boy he had dragged out of the snow all those years before but as his brain assimilated the accompanying interview he was forced to accept the truth. 

At least the young man was no longer hiding behind a pimp or an alias these days. He hoped, with only a hint of bitterness, that this meant he was 'finally' comfortable with his identity. From the interview he did at least glean enough information to know that Rayne had not yet settled down. He coyly fielded enquiries about potential girl/boyfriends, although he was candid about his assorted addictions and the trouble they had got him into over the years. The magazine said he was 25. Mentally Ant calculated that the singer had to be at least 29 years old if he had been telling the truth about his age back in Agde. He looked pretty good for a man approaching thirty.

Watching him on TV last week, Ant saw some of the same defensive aggression behind his wide, kohl-ringed, emerald eyes. Rayne Wylde might be ten years older and spelling his surname differently but he still seethed with latent anger. His voice was stronger than Ant remembered from that long-ago gig at the Camden Falcon. It swung from a sweet falsetto croon to a crowing snarl as he swamped the microphone and stared challengingly into the camera. Poised on the edge of the sofa, unable to take his own eyes off the screen, all Ant could think of was the memory of that soft, sweet mouth wrapped around his erect cock. 

It made him hard then and there, and he had no way of explaining to Elaine that once he and Wylde had shared the pleasure of that stiffening flesh. Like the rest of his friends, she would not have believed it, for a start.

Ant had been with Elaine since the spring of 1996, when he bought his house. Elaine worked for an estate agency, and whilst he did not actually bring her any business, for some reason the pretty branch manageress did accept his invitation to come out for a drink. A drink led to a meal and then a couple of pleasant days out and a weekend on his boat in Cornwall. Elaine shared his bed on that trip. Two months later she sold her own flat and moved in with him. 

He loved her soft, sensuous curves, the fall of her dark hair and the swell of her gorgeous breasts, overflowing his caressing hands as he sank down onto her and into her. Elaine had the sweetest, wettest cunt he had ever tasted and he loved to lose himself inside her. He had not yet told her of his appetite for boys, nor did he think he ever would. It was not that he feared her disapproval, more that they were two separate parts of his life now. A part of the thrill of coming to London alone was about the secret cruising. It allowed him to do something daring and forbidden; something for himself, never to be spoken of in the polite circles Elaine moved in. Although he loved her and he enjoyed the time he spent with his girlfriend, the thrill of doing something dangerous still turned him on like nothing else. 

Piccadilly Circus was oddly quiet in the gathering gloom of this rainy evening. He pushed sodden hair out of his eyes and scanned the streets for a taxi, but the black cabs he spotted were either occupied or running empty. Instead he set off on foot along Piccadilly itself. Even the whores around the Circus Plaza were unappealing tonight. 

Outside the Ritz Hotel, one of many glamorous venues dotted along that famous thoroughfare, he was forced to swerve out into the road to avoid a sudden throng of people. He crossed to the opposite side where he was able to observe from the kerb with a little more detachment. They swarmed like bees or feeding pirhanas, converging on the colonnaded entranceway with a single-minded determination. He saw cameras flash as someone came out into a cordoned area beneath the portico but it was only a doorman in a top hat and long tails and the air of tension holding them together relaxed briefly. 

Ant spotted a cab with its light on just then and abandoned his brief spectator's role, stepping back into the road and waving a hand to attract the driver's attention. Fortunately the vehicle was slowing to navigate around the throng that spilled off the opposite pavement and it stopped for him at once. As he opened the rear door to let himself into the warm, dry, black leather interior, the swarm began to buzz again, more urgently this time. 

"King's Road, please," he told the driver with a sigh of relief at escaping the rain and the chaos.

And then the other door of the cab opened and admitted a howling, baying scene like some Dante-esque vision of Hell. 

RITZ HOTEL, LONDON -- SEPTEMBER 18TH 1999

"This is not good!" The tall, impossibly-skinny, blond-dreadlocked youth, who had been pacing back and forth across the foyer for the last fifteen minutes, as near to the doors as he dared, now stared aghast at the growing pack of restless reporters trying to shelter from the rain beneath the portico of the Ritz Hotel. There was not much in the way of space out there and he was visibly unhappy with the situation. What had begun, earlier in the evening as an informal round of civilised interviews with the broadsheets in the Palm Court Tea Room, was now turning into bedlam as those elements deliberately excluded as a result of recent hostilities between the band and the press in Dublin got wind of the game plan. Now the press-pack was growing by the minute. "Not good at all. Can't we call the police?"

The polish concierge, who had been hovering by his shoulder for a little while, wearing a polite and would-be-helpful smile, shook his head. 

"They say that they have right to be there."

"This is your doorstep," the lanky, blond fellow told him irritably. 

"Technically, no," his companion pointed out. "I am only employee here."

"But you can make them go away," the blond insisted more adamantly. "This is ridiculous."

"If you go out and talk to them, maybe they go away," the little man answered him as diplomatically as he knew how.

"If we go out there now they're gonna kill us," the taller one pointed out to him, shaking his head until his long, honey coloured rat-tails of hair swayed like the thongs of a whip. "You've seen them! They're savages!"

"They cannot kill you. That would be crazy," the concierge told him soothingly. 

"They are paparazzi! They are not sane men!" the blond shouted at him. He wheeled away irately, clutching his head in both hands. "For Christ's sake, where the hell is Chaz?"

He glanced at his watch again and paced back across the foyer to the group of bemused looking people waiting on a circle of velvet upholstered sofas near the bar. They were a dissolute looking bunch for sure, but not -- he considered -- worthy of a full scale press riot outside one of London's most prestigious hotels. If it had not been for the Dublin incident earlier in the year none of this would be happening. 

"What's the score, Matty?" That was Ciaran Hartney, their laconic Irish bass player, who was sprawled with his feet up on an oriental lacquered occasional table, a half-empty pint glass in his hand, looking probably the least concerned of their tribe. Ciar stood a towering six feet three inches and was possessed of a fearsome Celtic stare that would probably have cowed the most determined journo. Maybe he should go out and talk to the press, Matt Greening thought grimly. 

He had been managing this band for too long. Whipsnade were doing well in the charts and they were making money, in spite of the insane amounts that went on their 'excessive' rock lifestyle but Matt was exhausted from running around after them. It was like managing children sometimes, which was ridiculous too. With the exception of guitarist, Sean Courtney, they were all older than him. It was not fair, he decided with another shake of his head. Why couldn't someone else be the sensible one for a change?

"We can't go out the front way," he declared now, wishing he had agreed to be an accountant like his brothers. Wishing Rayne hadn't taken it into his head to deck that mouthy photographer last month in Dublin. "They want our blood."

"Correction..." That was pink-haired Noriko Mori, official band mother and keyboard genius. The curvaceous Japanese-American girl was perched on one arm of the long sofa, with the band's maverick singer Rayne Wylde draped languidly at her feet smoking a roll up and looking smug. "They want his blood!" 

She pointed one long, magenta talon straight down at the top of Wylde's dark, tousled head. 

"Great thinking! Throw Mouth Almighty to the press and we'll make a run for it out the back door!" Ciaran chuckled, raising his pint to her appreciatively. 

"Thanks a bunch, you lot!" The singer blew out a long streamer of smoke, aiming it upward into Noriko's face. "I'll remember this!"

As she was waving the smoke away, looking unconcerned, the other two members of their party returned from their brief reconnoitre of the rear of the building. Their drummer, Simon Hathaway ran a hand through his short, spiky auburn hair and slumped down on a vacant chair shaking his head. Little Sean tugged fretfully on his chestnut ponytail and stared at the throng beyond the main doors with an anxious frown. 

"No joy," Si exhaled. "They're out the back as well. I think Chaz tried to get round that way but he can't get near."

"He's driving a 20 foot, bullet-proof Merc!" Rayne exploded incredulously, swinging himself into a sitting position so that he could glare at his oldest friend. "What's his fuckin' problem? Run the bastards over!"

"It's that kind of attitude towards the press that got us in this situation to begin with," Sean reminded him tersely. 

"They started it!" Rayne countered. 

"You broke that guy's nose!" Sean was staring at him now, his blue eyes wide and openly hostile. 

"He shouldn't have invaded my personal fucking space then, should he?" Wylde was shaking his head again irritably. 

"I do not believe you, sometimes!" their young guitarist huffed, turning his back and staring miserably out towards the seething rabble beneath the portico.

Several hotel guests occupying the bar were now glancing warily in their direction, monitoring the heated exchanges between the band members in case something interesting kicked off. At least two of them were reporters from their earlier, prearranged press conference in the Palm Court Tea Rooms, who had hung around to see what would happen now that their tabloid brethren had arrived. Matty was conscious of this, and also of the fact that Rayne was beginning to loose his cool.

"It'll be all right," Matt heard himself say distantly. "They'll get bored with this in a while. We'll have another drink."

As he spoke one of the unfortunate doormen stumbled back into the foyer looking rather less composed than he had a few moments before. The doors closed smoothly behind him and the brief chorus of howls that followed him was swiftly muted again. A camera flashed hopefully just before the press were shut out. 

"Call the cops!" Ciaran remarked from his deep, comfortable armchair in the foyer, utterly unconcerned. "We're being harassed here!"

"They'll bill us," Matt reminded him gloomily. 

"Let them!"

For a moment all eyes moved back to the ashen face of their singer-singwriter, stretched out on the sofa opposite Ciaran's chair. Clad in black from the high-collar of his Alexander McQueen coat to the tapered toes of his ebony, cuban heeled boots, Rayne Wylde was a brooding shadow. The rumpled sable bangs of his shoulder length hair and the darkness of his snug-fitting attire were only alleviated by his pale, heart-shaped face; leached of colour by a recent mystery illness that had stalled the band's European tour midway through. Currently he could barely talk, let alone sing. The press alleged that he was in rehab. Rayne Wylde insisted it had been pneumonia. The flashpoint of this argument had been the punch up in Dublin. At the moment it looked set to culminate here in the Ritz Hotel.

"I'm serious," he croaked. 

"I know, babe," Matty soothed. "Kris'll go ballistic though."

Kris Speddings, the head of SOLD Records had been less than impressed about having to bail out his primary asset in Dublin. The police were already in talks with Whipsnade's gig promoters about the cost of manning the upcoming shows in London. Then, twenty-three days ago, Rayne lost his temper and punched out some wisecracking arsehole from the Daily Mail in the foyer of Dublin's Point Hotel. The scumbag had asked for a knuckle-sarnie, to be frank, but about five photographers got a good shot of the knockout blow and it made the front page of most of the tabloids the next day. 

'Whipsnade Beast Goes Wylde!'

Hilarious... Not! At least, Kris and the Board of Directors did not seem to think so. 

"Not bad for a half-dead junky, yeah?" Rayne had remarked insouciantly when he saw it. 

"No publicity is bad publicity," Matt had valiantly reminded the Board, but this only earned him a 'look' from his generally tolerant Boss that warned him his head was in danger of winding up on a spike outside the record company's Notting Hill Gate offices. 

"What's gonna be more expensive? Cops or getting' a couple of rooms here until they get bored and piss off to hassle someone else?" Rayne stretched out wearily on the sofa, tilting his head back into the cushions and closing those pale, tired eyes again. 

He had a point, Matt conceded. Plus he had seen the pin-prick pupils of those eyes. Rayne was completely wrecked and the younger man was just thankful that he had managed to hold it together for the actual interviews and the formal photo session. Matt could not even remember letting him get out of sight, but someone must have got to him. Briefly Matty experienced another surge of irritation, tinged with envy that Rayne could get off his tits so easily and not even share with him. Things had been a bloody sight easier before the band got this big. He remembered promoting their first album with a surge of pleasure and pride. Back then everything had been fun. He and Ray fucked each other every chance they got. High on life and no small amount of illicit substances, they enjoyed every minute. 

Now their relationship was almost exclusively business. Matt Greening could hardly recall the last time Rayne had been straight enough or horny enough to get inside him. It did not help that his former lover was still so fuckin' gorgeous. Even wasted, exhausted and desperately ill, he was beautiful to Matt's stinging eyes. 

"Like I said, we only need to get 'him' out. It's 'him' they want." 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 19



Noriko, perching on the arm of the sofa beside the singer, crossed impossibly long legs, in thigh-high white PVC boots that rose almost to the hem of her short black and white, oriental cut dress. Beneath them she wore metallic purple stockings. She folded her arms across her tiny breasts and tossed her long fall of sleek, vivid pink hair, impatient with the boys and their lack of impetus. In spite of her appearance Noriko was older than any of her fellow band members by a couple of years (and about a century when it came to common sense!) 

"Get the door guys to flank him, put him in a cab, the scum try to chase him, get bored and go home," she elaborated. "Then 'we' can leave."

"Cheers Niko," Rayne muttered without opening his eyes. "Throw me to the fuckin' dogs why don't you?"

"They won't get near. There is less traffic now," she pointed out. "If a cab comes, and they get you into it, you can go home safely. We give it a few minutes and then we can walk out of here. It is a good plan."

"I've no money though," Rayne Wylde crooned in a broken imitation of her sing-song voice. He tilted his head back to look up at her, one eye still closed. 

By way of a response to this she uncrossed her legs, hooked up the front of her skirt, oblivious to the stares of the non-Whipsnade occupants of the Ritz Lounge and retrieved a folded £20 note from the tiny, lacy condom pocket on the front of her purple thong panties. Without a word she passed it down to him. 

"I'll remember that," he told her knowingly, taking the warm, slightly moist note and pressing it to his nose with a grin, inhaling her scent.

"Touch my moneymaker and you'll die horribly. Being ripped apart by the press will seem like a holiday," she warned, adjusting her skirt again. She was standing now and the long pink tail of hair cascaded forward over one shoulder as she bent to this task. Rayne caught it and towed her lips down to meet his own. 

"Come with me," he whispered huskily into her mouth. 

"My husband is home," Noriko said with a brisk shake of her head. "He is taking me out for dinner, if I ever get back tonight!"

"Fuck me in the cab, I'll drop you off," Rayne promised, brushing his lips against hers, tasting her magenta lipstick.

"Dirty pig!" she laughed with another shake of her hair as she pulled free of him. "Get your skinny ass out of here, Wylde. Let us go home!"

Rayne just managed a wicked chuckle as he levered himself into a sitting position and ignored the dagger-glares he was getting from Matt. As the plucky doorman returned to let them know a taxi was stopping, Rayne Wylde rose stiffly to his feet. He ran a bold hand over Noriko's pert arse as he passed her. She dealt him a slap to the rear in return. 

"You know you want it," he murmured teasingly. "You want to hump that tight oriental pussy on my hard cock. Again!"

"Like, fat chance you'll be hard tonight!" Noriko flashed back cheekily, blowing him a kiss. "No way you're getting a boner today, honey!"

And then four burly, top-hatted doormen were flanking him, shielding the singer with their bodies and virtually racing him through the double doors and out through the chaos on the concourse where they hustled him into a stationary cab. 

THE BOY WHO CAME BACK FROM THE DEAD:

"Drive!" the skinny, black-clad creature yelled huskily as he tumbled into the back of the taxi and the kerb-side rear door slammed shut behind him. 

For a nanosecond the cab driver looked over his shoulder from one man to the other then, as the horde of paparazzi surged around his vehicle, scrabbling for the door handles he seemed to reach an executive decision. He flicked the internal locks on and floored the accelerator, scattering howling journalists like confetti. 

"Fuckin' hell!" Rayne Wylde exclaimed enthusiastically. "That's more like it! Mow the cunts down!"

At about the same moment he seemed to realise that he had company after all. Simultaneously Ant Wright recognised his fellow passenger with a sudden, painful jolt of emotion. 

"You..." he wavered helplessly. So many times he had rehearsed what he would say if he ever saw Rayne again. Even so, all that finally came out of his mouth was one word. "You..."

"What the fuck are you doin' in my cab?" Rayne croaked, a brief flash of panic animating his ashen face. "Are you a fuckin' journalist?"

Ant stared at him. He wanted to laugh... or cry, in that split second he was not sure which. 

"You don't remember me, do you?" he asked, his voice barely audible. "You've forgotten. Me... Agde... everything!" Ant looked away, shaking his head. "No surprise, I guess. You've moved on in the world since you dumped me!"

Rayne's ice green eyes widened automatically. The instant of recognition froze him in his seat.

"Fuck! It's 'you' isn't it? Jesus fuckin' Christ! What 'are' you doing in my cab?" he demanded more boldly now. 

"Actually..." Ant pointed out, growing increasingly annoyed with this line of enquiry. "I think you'll find it's my cab. I was here first."

"You'll have to get another," Rayne protested, grabbing the handle above the door as they skimmed around Hyde Park Corner, leaving the pursuing press pack well behind. "I mean... we'll drop you at the Dorchester, right? You can get another taxi easy enough there."

"No." Ant countered, his temper beginning to fray. "Bloody Hell, Rayne! What is it? Ten years? And you still can't just say 'I'm sorry.' 'I'm sorry, Ant. I fucked you over!' You can't say it can you?"

"I 'paid' you!" Rayne snapped back at him, his voice cracking with the effort. He coughed painfully, shaking his head so that his dark hair flew like the tendrils of some dark sea anemone. "I gave you your money back, you bastard. With interest! I didn't take a penny for myself."

"Don't you get it?" Ant yelled in response. "I didn't 'want' any money from you. I wouldn't have cared if you 'never' paid me back. That's not what I wanted Rayne!"

Fear glittered in the wide, expressive eyes that turned back towards him then. Automatically, Rayne wriggled back towards the door, groping blindly for the handle. The locks stayed down and he banged a fist against the panel in his frustration. He was like a hunted animal, Ant thought miserably. That much had not changed. 

"What 'do' you want?" the singer pleaded huskily in a brittle, tortured voice. He sounded tired and ill and suddenly Ant just wanted to pick him up and take him somewhere warm and safe where he could rest and relax. It seemed wrong that he was still so scared after all he had been through. "What do you want to stop stalking me and just leave me alone?"

"I'm not fucking stalking you!" Ant reached for one of the overhead safety handles beyond the singer's head and pulled himself across the back seat until he was close enough to touch Rayne. Still the smaller man pulled away from him, his back pressed against the door. Those fierce green eyes were screened behind his hair, hiding his emotions. His breath came in short, desperate bursts. "I haven't been near you since you walked out on me in France. I didn't even know if you were still alive until a couple of years ago when I saw your face in a magazine. Do you know how that made me feel?"

He rested one careful hand on the young man's lean, black-clad thigh and lowered the other from the door handle to run it gently through Rayne's sleek, ebony hair. He felt the singer quiver furiously under his touch, too scared and angry to speak.

"You 'know' what I want," Ant whispered to him, leaning close enough to feel Rayne's rapid breath on his face. His hand glided slowly up the boy's inside leg. "God almighty, you're still so beautiful. Even now!"

Rayne closed his eyes and groaned quietly as Ant's searching hand cupped his balls through the tight black crotch of his trousers, squeezing and rubbing him firmly until he felt the beginnings of an erection tenting the material. Biting down on both lips the younger man squirmed and moaned under his touch, reluctantly aroused. Ant unfastened the button and zipper awkwardly as the restrictive garment impeded nature's course. His hand eased steadily into the front of Rayne's snug-fitting pants and he groped Whipsnade's sexy vocalist shamelessly, delighted to discover that Rayne still went commando after all this time. The young man would not look at him but he did not push Ant away.

Ant fondled his freed cock for a little while, until Rayne was panting urgently in his loose embrace. Keeping his left hand at the base of Rayne's skull, supporting his head, he stroked the other slowly up over the singer's heaving belly and chest, caressing the soft material of his black shirt, reaching for the triangle of pale skin at his throat. He let his fingers slide up under Rayne's chin and pressed his thumb against the younger man's soft, full lips. They parted wordlessly around it, taking it into his mouth. Rayne sucked on his thumb and fingers, reaching a hand down between his legs to rub on his neglected cock as the cab lurched through the rainy night. 

There was a little silver stud in the tip of his tongue now. 

Ant drew his thumb out of the singer's mouth and reached down to unzip his own pants. At the same time Rayne leaned towards him uncertainly. Their lips met and Rayne kissed him hungrily. He tasted nicotine and marijuana on the singer's lashing tongue.

"Touch me!" he panted into Rayne's mouth, before easing his own tongue between the young man's cold, wet lips and returning his right hand to Rayne's twitching cock. 

For the first time Rayne turned those huge, icy-green eyes up towards him as they kissed again. The pupils were like needle-points. He still had not said a word since Ant began to seduce him. 

"Are you all right?" Ant asked him now, suddenly wary of the wide-eyed, slightly feral gaze that was fixed on his face. 

Rayne blinked once, never taking his eyes off Ant. He nodded his head briefly. 

Ant groaned deep in his throat as he felt long, slender, chilly fingers slide into his open fly and close around his stiffening member. The stoned, sexy youth fisted his erection vigorously as their lips met again, surging and parting. Rayne's tongue entered his mouth and he sucked on the tiny stud, catching it lightly between his teeth, trapping the boy's lips against his own. His thumb rolled slowly over the slick, leaking head of his lover's pulsing hard-on and he felt Rayne's lithe body arc upward, towards him as the young man whimpered with pleasure.

"Christ, guys! Get a fuckin' room or somthin'!" the cabbie growled at last, reminding them that they were not alone. 

His words briefly broke the spell that held them. They moved apart unwillingly, both panting and still hard. Ant's heart was pounding eagerly and Rayne's beautiful green eyes glittered like jewels in the winking light from the street-lamps and storefronts they passed. His full, wet lips were as tempting as original sin as he struggled to force his cock back into his pants. 

The cab driver's eyes flickered back and forth from the mirror to the road, watching Rayne's impossibly pretty face. 

"You're that singer, aren't you?" he queried at last, unable to resist. "The one what decked that photographer bloke in Ireland?"

"Yeah!" Rayne told him huskily, a little smile tugging at his lips. 

"Thought so." The cabbie began to look happier now that he had some juicy gossip to relay to future customers. 

Ant could almost hear him; 'Yeah... I 'ad that Rayne Wylde in the back of my cab the other day. Randy as a bitch on heat! Getting it on with some bloke he only just met!'

He moved his hand possessively down Rayne's spine and back up again to the nape of his neck. The singer was still so slender that he felt the curve of each individual vertebra through the fine material of his summer jacket. His fingers crept back over Rayne's collar beneath his dark, shoulder-length spill of sable hair. The skin there was sweat-damp but surprisingly cool. Ant watched him close his eyes again and suck in a long shuddering breath, remembering how the boy loved to be touched in certain places. 

"Where you going?" the driver asked now. 

Rayne said nothing. His trembling fingers moved up to the neckline of his gauzy black shirt and tugged on it so that the buttons peeled free and it fell open, baring his pale torso and belly. He tilted his head back into Ant's caressing hand. It was such a trusting, submissive gesture that the older man stiffened again for him.

"King's Road," Ant said quietly now, glancing at his companion to see if he had any objection. When none was forthcoming, he eased his right hand back inside Rayne's shirt and began to twist his small, firm nipples lightly between his forefinger and thumb. The boy's lips parted around a sudden moan of delight; a little sound exhaled forcefully as he was teased. 

"Yeah... right... thought so!" the driver said again, in a strained voice, his eyes moving rapidly in the mirror, unable to look away as the singer writhed in the back of his cab with his shirt and pants undone, succumbing to his companion's touch. "Saw your picture in a magazine the other day. Stark bollock naked with a load of chains and a couple of big black panthers. What was that all about, eh?"

Rayne laughed breathlessly, never opening his eyes. Ant's hand eased down his backbone again, curling under the tail of his shirt and sliding down easily into his pants to explore that final erogenous zone beneath the very end of his tail bone; the small, round hollow at the top of his sexy arse-crack. It was still there, and Ant slipped the tip of his middle finger into it, feeling Rayne squirm restlessly under his hands. 

"It's... uhhhhh... it's about.... About how I'm a... ahhhh... a total slave to huhhh... hot, black pussy!" he panted as Ant's head went down and the older man began to suck and nibble on his erect nipples. 

Ant snorted with amusement, the sound muffled against his chest. Rayne pulled on his hair roughly, recovering his breath enough to declare; "It 'is'!"

"Yeah, right!" Ant whispered, kissing his way back up to Rayne's throat. At the same time his probing finger moved lower, circling the singer's puckered ring and pressing down on it firmly. He felt Rayne's breathing quicken against his left ear and the younger man struggled in his arms as Ant's finger breached his tight, hot rectum and thrust deeper into his writhing body. "Hot black pussy, my arse!" Ant chuckled softly against his skin, as the cab turned right onto the King's Road. 

"Where're you guys getting off?" the cabbie grunted, sounding increasingly uncomfortable with the behaviour on the back seat of his vehicle.

'Right here, if you don't get a fuckin' move on!' Ant thought as Rayne began to hump his intrusive finger eagerly, gasping and panting in his embrace. He lifted his head and peered out through the steamed up window. 

"Next block will do," he replied to their driver's obvious relief. 

He paid the cab driver, struggling to keep his pants up as Rayne lolled against the side of the car, oblivious of his half-dressed state. Fortunately it was late and quiet down this end of the road and he was able to steer the singer down the alleyway to the little courtyard, which allowed access to his temporary residence, before he exposed himself to some unsuspecting passer-by. The flat belonged to a friend of a friend but he was often away in Portugal on business and had no objection to Ant staying over there on his visits to London. Only as he struggled to get the singer up the stairs to the front door did Ant realise just how stoned and sleepy Rayne was. In the end he hoisted the boy over one shoulder in a fireman's lift and carried him up, letting himself into the warmth of the kitchen. He strode through to the lounge and dumped Rayne Wylde onto the black leather sofa there shaking his head at the way the slender youth sank into the soft embrace of the yielding cushions. He could not stop thinking how easy it would be to rip Rayne's clothes off and fuck him hard right now. 

Déjà vu was kicking in. A little over ten years ago he had carried Rayne back to his boat in a similar state. The memories were still etched vividly on his mind. Rayne lying on his couch, cold and wet, unsure of where he was. It had taken him a little while to pluck up the courage to touch the boy back then. Now he knew what he wanted. He just hoped that Rayne wanted the same thing.

"I'll get you some coffee," he said, controlling himself sternly. If they made out tonight he wanted the singer to remember it. 

"You got any vodka?" his guest crooned huskily, without opening his eyes. 

"You're wasted enough," Ant called back from the kitchen where he was already putting the percolator on. "What is it this time? Drink or Drugs?"

"Bit of both!" Rayne admitted, struggling to sit up for a few seconds then giving in and flopping back down onto the couch.

"I wasted my time trying to clean you up then?" Ant came back to the doorway, unfastening his shirt and shrugging it off. 

The younger man was watching him from the sofa, where he sprawled languidly in a state of semi-undress. Ant let his trousers drop to the floor and stepped out of them, toeing off his shoes and socks. He pushed down his underpants and pulled on his half-erect cock. 

"Once a junkie, always a junkie," Rayne agreed sleepily. "You living 'ere then?"

"It's not mine, I've just borrowed it," Ant wandered back through to the kitchen and hunted out a pair of coffee mugs. 

"It's nice," his guest assured him, raising his voice to be heard in the next room. "Very... comfortable."

"Are you still living in London?" Ant asked as he busied himself with the cups.

"Mmm," Rayne made an affirmative noise. "Not in a squat though, now. I've got my own place."

"You must be doing well then." 

"I'm doin' okay," Rayne said casually. 

Ant carried the mugs through into the long, low-ceilinged lounge area and smiled when he observed Rayne stroking himself lazily as he waited. The younger man had eased his pants down around his thighs and peeled off his long black coat. It hung over the back of the sofa like a charred corspe. His filmy black shirt hung off the narrow wings of his pale shoulders and his head was tipped back into the soft, leather cushions of the low sofa. Long, dark eyelashes fanned his cheeks seductively. His tongue flickered between his lips as he pulled on his cock and balls with both hands. 

"It looks that way," Ant told him, smiling. His own penis stiffened appreciatively at the thought of those soft lips around his aching shaft. "Would you like some sugar or cream with that?"

Green eyes opened and surveyed him silently. Rayne managed a lazy smile. It bared the longest, sharpest dog-teeth Ant had ever seen. He felt his pulse race at the sight. At the same time he wondered how he had not noticed them when he was kissing the boy urgently in the cab.

"Jesus Christ! When did you get those done?" he laughed quickly, to hide the shock. 

Rayne licked one of the long canines, taking his time, running the studded tip of his tongue down the outer curve like an invitation. At last he leaned back again with a little sigh.

"Do you like them?" he breathed, wriggling seductively on the sofa. 

"They're amazing!" Ant nodded, setting down the cups and coming to sit beside him. "Do you bite people with them?"

Rayne Wylde eased his slight weight onto one hip and leaned forward so that his tip-tilted nose touched Ant's. He let the tip of his tongue run over Ant's lips, then traced a cool, wet trail to his lover's right ear, licking his face and neck like a dog. He shuddered again, as he had in the car. Ant pulled him closer, running his hands up under the gauzy shirt as he towed the slender singer into his lap and kissed his neck. His fingers crept back down to Rayne's hips, gripping and parting his firm, white cheeks as they nuzzled one another breathlessly. 




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 19



"I want you," Ant whispered to him at last. "I want to fuck you. I want to feel your mouth around my dick."

Rayne kissed his bare chest, open-mouthed. He nipped Ant's teats between his small, white incisors and licked at them greedily. 

"You taste good," the singer purred huskily. "I want to make you bleed. Can I bite you?"

Ant felt his cock lurch at the idea. A jewel of semen leaked from the glans and he nodded eagerly. 

"Yeah!"

Rayne needed no more invitation than that. He bent his head again and bit down harder, worrying Ant's left nipple with his front teeth until the tender flesh ruptured and yielded a little blood. Ant moaned appreciatively at the sharp, stinging sensation in his breast. Rayne's lips encircled the wounded bud and he sucked gently on his lover's pierced flesh. The seductive brush of his cold, wet tongue on that sore, sensitive nipple was enough to make Ant tremble eagerly. 

"Mmmmhhhh... so good!" Rayne crooned with his eyes closed. 

He lowered his mouth to the other nipple and bit down hard. Ant yelped out loud, but the boy's clever hand was already curling around his cock, placating him as he began to suck. Under him, Ant moaned with mingled pain and pleasure. His nipples were on fire and his balls were throbbing urgently. Rayne moved between his thighs and slid down fluidly to the polished wooden floor, on his knees. His hands firmly parted Ant's legs as wide as they would go and he bent his head, wordlessly taking the crown of his lover's pulsating sex into his mouth. His lips were impossibly cold as if he had been drinking iced water. It felt amazing and Ant did not resist as the beautiful young man took him deeper. His studded tongue flickered deftly over the underside of Ant's erect shaft and teased him mercilessly. 

"Uuuhhhh..." Ant groaned. "You're still good at that! It's even better than I remembered."

His fingers groped for Rayne's head and closed in a silky mass of black tresses. Ant urged his hips up from the sofa, thrusting impulsively into his lover's mouth between those long, sharp canines. A dimly heeded part of his brain did suggest that such an act was rash in the extreme but he ignored it. Rayne's teeth and studded tongue felt delicious on his aching cock. He was going to explode at any moment. He could not remember ever wanting so badly to come. 

Rayne tilted his head slightly. His eyes were still closed reverently and those long lashes fanned his cheeks as he sucked. With his hair longer and a dusting of glittery makeup on his cheeks and eyelids he was even prettier now than Ant remembered from ten years ago. It was hard to believe that he was nearly thirty. He was still as slender and beautiful as a teenage girl.

Ant felt him check and swallow urgently as the head of his mate's long hard cock pushed against the back of his throat. Rayne knelt up a little higher, nodding down more energetically on the leaking tool in his mouth and pharynx. His wet lips caressed the base of Ant's prick and the older man rested both hands on his dark head now, pressing down and thrusting his crotch upward more vigorously. 

"Ohhhh... yeah!" he exhaled, as the singer nuzzled his exposed groin, unfazed by the change of pace. His head was still canted to one side so that Ant could watch the way his full, sexy lips worked industriously on that pulsing bone. Pale, solemn eyes opened briefly and the pupils flickered up to meet his earnest, needy gaze. Ant felt and saw the mischievous smile that tugged Rayne's mouth tight around his cock as it had on the beach that night before the boy walked out of his life. He lost control right then and there.

Rayne knelt back and opened his mouth wider to take the lavish spray of rich, salty ejaculate on his tongue. As he did so, Ant bucked and roared like a wounded bull, overwhelmed by the surge of glorious, pulsing pleasure gushing from his balls. The younger man rolled the foreskin right back with his fingers and caressed Ant's leaking helmet with his lips, kissing and lapping at the fat, spongy, purple head like the consummate professional he was; teasing the last droplets of satisfaction from it. Maybe Ant was getting used to them, because Rayne's dog-teeth did not look nearly so long or scary as they had when he first set eyes on them. He pulled the young man up into his arms and kissed him, sliding his tongue between those cool, salty lips. 

"So-o-o-o tasty," Rayne whispered into his mouth. 

Ant was overwhelmed. He distantly recalled the boy murmuring something similar to him when they made out for the last time back in Adge, with the sea rolling restlessly behind them. His rage was subsiding now. There seemed no point in being angry, not with Rayne curled up in his arms looking eminently fuckable. 

"Have you got a boyfriend?" he asked with a twinge of jealousy.

"Have you?" Rayne asked him coyly, licking the tip of Ant's nose and kissing him softly on the lips. 

"I'm engaged," Ant said, finding it hard to think of his relatively normal life with Elaine sitting here with Rayne in his lap.

"To a man?" The boy snorted incredulously.

"To a woman," Ant corrected him. "We're getting married next year."

"Doesn't she mind that you fuck around?" Green eyes looked accusingly at him. 

Ant stroked Rayne's soft, pale face with both hands, brushing the dark tangled hair back from his cheeks. 

"I don't... much." 

"Yeah... right!" Rayne laughed quietly. He sat back and peeled his shirt off slowly, watching the way that Ant's blue eyes devoured him. "I don't go with men all that much these days," he admitted now. "I haven't done for ages. Not when I wasn't on top, anyway!"

"You can be top," Ant assured him breathlessly. "The first time, you can, at least! Then I want to fuck you." He kissed Rayne quickly to stave off any argument. "What happened to you after you walked out on me? I've wondered for years."

"I came home," Rayne said with a little shrug. "My band split up. I hung about in Manchester for a bit. Then I came back to London. I formed another band. We got famous. The end."

Ant looked sceptical. 

"'Are' you with anyone?" 

"I'm too busy for that." Rayne smiled, chewing on his lower lip suggestively. 

"I worried about you, you know," the older man was stroking his neck and slim white shoulders tenderly. "I worried that you'd gone back to how it was before. I went to all the places I thought you might hang around, looking for you."

"Yeah... I thought you might. I wasn't there though," Rayne said with a shake of his head. "Like I told you. I moved on."

"So did I," Ant told him. "Thierry came back with me, you know. He lived with me for about three years."

Rayne laughed softly and shook his head again. 

"Good for him."

"I missed you though." Ant smiled up at him painfully. "He was good to me, but he wasn't you. He got homesick in the end. It was hard for him speaking English all the time. He went back to Lyon, to his family. I moved away from London and met Elaine."

"That's nice." The younger man was looking at him suddenly, with an expression that said he couldn't care less. Ant felt his heart lurch at that. It had always been a battle to keep Rayne's attention and he was no different now. "Ant, are we gonna fuck, or what? Only I'm in the studio tomorrow, I've got be up early."

Ant stared at him, unable to comprehend this. His mind could not fill in the gaps. It was as if he had seen Rayne only yesterday and yet there was a vast gulf between them now. 

'There always was!' his conscience sneered. 

"Stand up. Let me get you stripped off," he said, ignoring it and following the urgings of his cock. 

Rayne moved to his feet, swaying a little. He was still quite wrecked and unsteady as he leaned on Ant's shoulder to wriggle his expensive looking boots off. The older man slowly pulled his tight black pants down to his ankles and helped him to step out of them. He knelt in front of Rayne and fondled the singer's pale, hairless groin wantonly, then took the boy's cock in his mouth. His mate uttered a small, incoherent noise as Ant swallowed and sucked him slowly, taking his time. He wanted to enjoy every minute of this and he wanted Rayne to enjoy it too. Even if his lover did not care what happened so long as he got to make his recording on time.

The singer swayed dangerously and Ant caught him as he began to tumble to the floor. He pulled the boy close and laid him down on the soft, white rug in front of the sofa. Then he spread Rayne's legs and climbed onto him, kissing him fiercely on the mouth. They entwined like rampant vines and the singer uttered a long, low moan, deep in his chest.

"Are you all right?" Ant whispered breathlessly in his ear, still protective of him after all this time. 

"I am soooooo horny!" Rayne groaned in a low, husky, tempting voice. "And sooooo hungry!"

That was a first! Ant could not recall a time when he ever got the boy to eat anything but cock without being cajoled into it. He kissed his way down the boy's slender body, stroking and caressing him as he writhed on the soft, pale rug. His lips and tongue worked Rayne's heavy balls for a little while as he stroked his mate's hard, leaking cock. To his satisfaction the young man whimpered and cried out with pleasure beneath him. Ant pressed one of his knees back to his chest and wriggled his tongue up that sleek, hairless chasm between the singer's buttocks. He still waxed himself perfectly smooth and the silky touch of his skin made Ant's mouth water. That searching tongue lapped at his clenching orifice and tickled there until it opened up for him. 

"Ah...ahhh...ahhh...ahhh...!" Rayne panted as Ant licked his way deeper into his body, alternating his fingers and tongue until the lean, naked creature was thrashing eagerly on the rug. Ant's deft fingers rubbed and squeezed his erect cock as he probed the singer and buried his face in the lad's crack.

"Mmmhhhh... You need a good hard fucking," he crooned delightedly, clambering up on top of his sexy lover once more. "You want a big, fat knob in your arse, don't you?"

Rayne's arms moved up around his neck, towing him back down and they kissed ravenously as Ant gripped his slim thighs, lifting and spreading them so that the younger man's pert arse was raised up off the rug in front of him and his open hole was positioned temptingly just a few inches from his dribbling cock head. He guided himself to that welcoming aperture without looking down. Rayne sucked on his tongue and clung to him fiercely as he slowly pushed his hard tool into the lad's snug, wet chute.

"Nnnnyyyyggggghhhhh!" Rayne groaned incoherently, as Ant penetrated him, squirming and bucking on the rug beneath the older man. He planted his bare feet in the small of Ant's back and began to ride his lover's cock eagerly. Ant thrust himself deeper and harder into Rayne, holding that slight, pale body tightly as he pounded it. He grinned delightedly, wondering what Rayne's army of teenage girl fans would think if they could see their idol sprawled like a slut underneath him, moaning with desire as he began to cum for the long, thick penis thrusting hard in his arsehole.

And he 'was' cumming. Ant felt his rectum clench and release rapidly as the pearls of spunk were ejected from his twitching slit. Rayne's balls jumped and tightened as he began to squirt his eager load over both of them. His mate pulsed faster and deeper in his hot, wet passage and Rayne's lips found his neck as he howled with pleasure. Ant winced briefly when Rayne Wylde bit him; not just a little nip below his left ear but a deep, probing bite that drew blood. The singer was kissing and licking him there at once. 

Ant hesitated, running his hands up Rayne's bare chest towards his face. It felt good but at the same time he was suddenly wary.

"Don't stop," the singer urged with his mouth full. "Fuck me, Ant!"

"You bit me!" he protested breathlessly. 

"I told you, you taste good," Rayne huffed into his ear, curling his arms around Ant's neck and shoulders. He was wrapped around the bigger man like ribbons around a parcel, pulling himself tight against Ant, licking his neck. "Just screw me!" he muttered between strokes of his tongue. "Please!"

He did not need urging twice. Ant's hands forced his lover's thighs wider and he pulled Rayne Wylde close as he began to pump away urgently at the boy's throbbing anus. The singer threw his head back and cried out in mingled pain and pleasure. There could be no mistaking it. His long, curving fangs were fully extended and streaked with Ant's blood. The gore ran down his chin as he writhed and twisted on the rug under his mate. He came again; the force of his orgasm milking the semen from Ant's balls this time. Ant pressed into him as deeply as he could, shooting the heat of his passion up into Rayne's gut as the dark haired youth towed him back down into a fierce embrace. His lips worked Ant's neck and throat greedily. It should have been a shock but Ant had never been particularly squeamish. He knew that Rayne liked to cut himself and he guessed that this was just another fetish that had been brewing in his dark heart for a while. 

They snaked around one another like dancing serpents on the rug and Rayne managed to roll the bigger, older man onto his back to lick and kiss him, his lips moving from Ant's neck to his mouth then down to his torso, biting his nipples. He roamed back up to Ant's throat and sank his teeth in again, mercilessly. Those bites went deep, and for the first time his lover was anxious. Surprisingly it did not hurt so much. He could feel the pressure of his mate's jaws on his neck more than the bite itself. Rayne did not tear at him like an animal, he just bit down, puncturing the skin and licking up the residual spill greedily.

"I thought you were a vegetarian!" Ant gasped huskily, once he lifted his head again, wiping his bloody lips on the back of his hand then licking it appreciatively. 

"I am," Rayne Wylde said with a little quirk of his lips. "I don't eat animals... or fish... but people are fair game, aren't they?" 

He winked after a moment, just as Ant was beginning to believe that he was serious about this. 

His lover relaxed at once, stroking his hands up and down the young man's slender white arms. 

"You lost that nice tan," he observed. 

"I'm not made for a suntan," Rayne told him with another little smile. "I'm a creature of the night, you know." 

He laughed at his own words as if this was some arcane joke, shaking his head quickly. Ant noticed that he seemed calmer now. His eyes were darker, the pupils more regular and less like pin holes in a skein of green silk. There was a little colour to his pale cheeks and full lips. 

"I'd better not look like I've lost a fight with my razor blade," Ant warned him, entranced by the young man's unblinking stare. 

Rayne licked his lips again, with a look like a sweet, satisfied little cat. He stroked his fingertips down Ant's bare chest very slowly. 

"Don't worry... you'll be fine in the morning. It's only a tiny little bite. You'll barely be able to see it," he murmured huskily. 

"You shouldn't really draw blood from someone in this day and age," Ant cautioned, realising as soon as he pointed it out that the advice was of little use to either of them now. "You never know what they might be carrying."

"I'll be fine," Rayne said dismissively. "I 'know' you, Ant. You'd never hurt me, would you?"

Ant shook his head automatically. 

"But what about you?" he asked in all seriousness. "The stuff I've read about your lifestyle..."

He got no further for the singer just made a disdainful noise, a little huff of breath between his pursed lips. Rayne touched a soft, cool hand to his cheek and pushed his face away. 

"The rubbish you read in the tabloids is just that, okay? It's garbage, Ant! I don't shag babies.!I don't live in a crack house and I certainly don't spend every hour of the day off my tits on heroin! You did me 'some' good in France. All right?"

"Okay," he said with a small, nervous smile. "Now you've got that off your chest, are we going to fuck some more?"

Rayne Wylde knelt back with another knowing quirk of his soft, full lips. 

"Am I on top this time?" he asked, reaching down to stroke his quickening shaft with a steady hand. 

"'This' time, yeah!" Ant promised, letting his fears melt away in the genuine warmth of his lover's tentative smile.

"I'd better get a move on then. I figure this could be a long night," Rayne chuckled, parting Ant's thighs and spitting into his hand, rubbing the wetness over his pulsing cock head. 

It had been a while since Ant had submitted to another man. He was prepared for it to be uncomfortable at first but Rayne was surprisingly adept. He knelt and treated Ant to the sweetness of his tongue first of all, laving the moisture of his saliva all over his lover's hot, twitching crevice and up into that tight, dusky rosebud. He did not use his fingers, although he stroked Ant's stiffening cock slowly in both hands once he had eased his swollen glans into the other man and worked the leaking device carefully in and out, ensuring there was enough lubrication to avoid discomfort. His sex had grown thicker and a little longer since they were last naked together. Maturity had given his manhood more substance, but it still felt cool like the rest of his body as it began to thrust slowly into him. Ant lifted his knees and let eight inches of thick, sexy prick stretch his cock-hungry ring.

Watching Rayne's face as the young man mounted and entered him was almost as satisfying as being fucked vigorously by the boy. His lover had such a beautiful, expressive face. There were no secrets to him during sex, as Ant already knew. He opened up and his pleasure was completely honest. From time to time his head went back and his lips parted in an astonished gasp or a trembling half-smile, weak with arousal, all his control swallowed up by that clenching sheath of muscle around his pulsing dick. 

There were no words between them. Their bodies did all the talking now. Ant watched and moaned softly as he felt Rayne surge deep inside him, one knee over the boy's slim shoulder the other leg draped loosely out to one side as his mate knelt over him, pumping it harder and faster into his chute. He felt the vigorous motion inside him, quickening and intensifying as Rayne leaned forward, his breath coming fast and hard now as he bucked more ferociously. His long fingered hands moved to Ant's hips, constantly circling and caressing, never gripping tightly. The sensation was overwhelming. He was being stoked up inside and out. 

Rayne's eyes closed briefly every few minutes and he bit down on his lower lip, holding in a little cry of burgeoning excitement or clenched his teeth as if the pleasure was too much to bear. Ant loved to watch the quiet flashes of ecstasy on his beautiful face. When his eyes opened there was such a look of amazement in his stare that Ant wanted to catch him up and hold him tightly, never letting him go. The dark centres of his gorgeous, green eyes were huge and dark now, swollen gravid hearts in the midst of that field of emerald moonlight. He leaned forward, hands planted in the deep, white rug to either side of Ant's shoulders and his lover stared up into his huge, emotive eyes as Rayne drove those lean hips faster and faster between his thighs.

Rayne began to groan softly as he came closer and closer to the moment of release. His head went back again and his mouth opened wide in a soundless cry. Ant undulated fiercely beneath him, on fire inside from the incessant agitation of his mate's delicious cock. He was ready to explode and he knew from the unfocussed look in Rayne's eyes that the boy was not far away either. 

"Uuuuhhhhhh!" he moaned eagerly. "Uuuuhhhhh... yeah!"




A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 19



He felt the thrusting between his legs quicken again and Rayne's eyes closed tightly this time. His lips peeled back in an animal snarl from his gritted teeth as he drove himself deeper. This time Ant did not miss the differential. He saw the dog-teeth extend, although afterwards he always tried to tell himself that it was his fevered imagination. Rayne's jaws parted around a little scream of pleasure, forced apart by the extension of his perfect canines. It was not extreme, Ant would later think, when his head was clearer. They did not grow to obscene points like something from a horror movie or a gothic joke shop, but he reckoned that they almost doubled in length before the extension stopped, curling inward gently so that the slender vampire was unable to bring his jaws together without pulling the lower mandible back slightly.

Ant screamed and Rayne ignored him because he was screaming too. He pressed himself deep inside his mate and held his cock there, pulsing and jumping furiously within Ant's colon for over a minute whilst short, panting breaths were torn out of his heaving torso. As he sank down into the older man's arms, collapsing onto Ant's bare, sweat soaked chest, his dick lost none of it's rigidity. Ant felt it begin to surge slowly inside him again as the boy's mouth sought out his neck once more. He wanted to piss but his cock was still too hard. 

"Christ!" he exhaled in a quivering voice. "What 'are' you?"

"I'm whatever you want me to be," Rayne whispered in his ear, his voice little more than a breath of air. "You mustn't be scared, Ant. I promise not to harm you, sweetheart. I swear it. But I do have an addiction still, a terrible thing, and I'll never be rid of it. I need to taste your sweet blood and your hot cum, Ant. I need to bite you again, while I'm in you. Can I do that to you?"

He was shaking now, his voice tremulous and small, a desperate, pleading thing. Ant felt the sexy little vampire nuzzle his ear seductively. He could still feel the thick, pulsing pleasure of the creature's hard cock, easing rhythmically in and out of his arsehole. Ant wanted to cum harder than he ever had before. He knew that he ought to be in mortal dread for his life but all he could think of was the sensation of being joined physically to Rayne, at the throat and at the hips. The boy felt 'so' good inside him that he was ready to spill his hot load on his belly at any moment. 

"You won't kill me?" he whispered breathlessly. 

"I promise you," Rayne groaned in a soft voice. "Please feed me, Ant. I'm begging you!" 

"I won't... it's not...?"

"...contagious?" Rayne finished for him sweetly. "No, Ant. I swear it's not. It doesn't happen like that. You don't become like this just because someone feeds from you. It's more... complicated."

"How? How is it complicated?" Ant was quivering with a combination of terror and need. He needed to cum but he also needed to see Rayne's face, to know that he was not about to die. 

"Shhhhh..." his mate exhaled softly. "Let me bite you and I'll explain. Let me feed from you and I'll suck your balls dry all night, Ant. I promise. On my knees, with your dick in my mouth, sucking it until you can't cum any more..."

"Nnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Ant groaned helplessly. He could not stop himself. The image Rayne had just sown in his mind now translated itself to his twitching nuts and he flooded his belly with hot semen.

Rayne Wylde knelt back between his thighs, smiling in a way that was almost boyish except for the curve of his fangs. He trailed his fingers through the lake of sticky ejaculate and lifted them to his mouth, sucking them delicately one by one. After teasing Ant this way for a little while, he slowly pulled out of the man's arse and bent over him, licking his salt wet belly and chest with feline elegance until he had devoured every last drop. Ant was throbbing with need again by the time he was done. 

Slowly, Rayne licked his erect cock from the balls to the tip. He rubbed the tiny silver stud in his tongue back and forth in the weeping eye of Ant's bell-end, then lifted the hot, nine inch rod in one hand and drew it into his mouth. Ant moaned with terror and delight as he was gently sucked and teased. Rayne's hand caressed the base of his shaft and his pulsating nuts and his mouth worked on the head, nodding carefully so that Ant's pride and joy moved in and out of his mouth between his extended dog-teeth. The skilful little vamp did not even nip him. When about six inches were gliding wetly in and out of Rayne's mouth, Ant gave the boy his reward. 

He cried out hoarsely as the spunk spurted from his throbbing penis and the slender singer lifted his head slightly so that only the squirting plum was left in his mouth. Once Ant had filled his mouth until it was overflowing, he let the fat, purple bulb of his lover's cock head slip from between his lips and slap wetly onto the man's bare belly. Rayne kissed Ant's twitching glans, then crawled astride him and pressed his lips to Ant's mouth, sharing the bounty of his payload. Ant cast his trepidation aside as the little creature slowly and deeply French kissed him, thrusting his tongue up into the spunk filled mouth of his sexy little mate. For a long time the only sounds in the room were the occasional blissful 'mmmhhh' noises and the little wet slurps of two sets of lips locked together in the throes of passion. 

"Do you trust me now?" Rayne murmured at last, when their lips finally parted enough for breath and speech. 

He was lying, naked on his left side on the rug and Ant lay facing him on his right, caressing his pale visage and the softness of his slim, bare body. He was still reeling from the pleasure of that long, slow, cream-filled kiss.

"I... I 'want' to," Ant declared ardently. 

"Good," the little creature smiled up at him. "I want to make you happy before I go, Ant."

"You're going?" The older man looked puzzled and a little hurt. 

"Of course. I told you, I'm in the studio tomorrow. I need to rest. But first..." He shrugged his shoulders slightly as if the words embarrassed him. 

"You want to suck my blood," Ant finished for him, shaking his head in bewilderment. 

"That would be... good," Rayne ended with a wan smile. "To bite and fuck you."

Ant was still running his hands over the boy's beautiful body. He felt as if he had fallen asleep and was dreaming all of this. In a while he would wake and everything would be normal again. Rayne leaned towards him and kissed him tenderly again. It was a gentle, careful contact. His fangs were still half-extended and as Ant knew from their previous kiss, they were sharp. His lips were bleeding when they pulled away although the blood seemed to have stopped flowing now. 

"How long have you been this way?" he wanted to know. 

Rayne shrugged again. 

"Not long... a few months. The press have been having a field day, saying I was in drug rehab and all sorts of crap, but it was all down to him. The one who bit me. I was sick as a dog at first. I couldn't even stomach the idea of drinking blood. But it's an addiction, like heroin, only worse because I need it now to survive. I could come off Junk but if I don't feed..." 

He bit his lip, then winced as one of his long canines pierced it, drawing a small bead of carmine fluid that lingered briefly until he licked it away. There was no more blood.

"How did you get like this?" Ant asked sorrowfully.

"It's a long story," Rayne murmured, with an evasive smile that told Ant he was not about to hear the truth of the matter. "I'm still not really sure. Maybe I'll tell you about it some day, when I've figured it all out. I guess that addicts attract other addicts. I just fell into the path of one who was addicted to other people's blood. He saw that need in me and he gave me something else to depend on." 

"What happens if you don't feed. Will you die?" Ant realised that he felt anxious on Rayne's behalf, even now. 

"I don't know," the singer exhaled, sitting up and running a hand over Ant's upper arm and shoulder. "There's people who are experts on this kind of thing. I always used to think they were nutters, but now I'm not so sure. I've been told that if I don't get blood, I'll eventually get too weak to move and that anything might happen to me then, but whether I'd die or not... I just don't know."

He moved to his knees and pulled Ant up into his arms, kissing him on the cheek and on the neck. They held one another in silence for a little while, just rubbing against each other in the faint, warm light from the fire and the lamps. Then Rayne whispered; "Turn around."

Ant moved for him automatically, kneeling before the younger man in silent co-operation. He felt the softness of Rayne's skin against his back and then the moist, warm thickness of his erect penis between his buttocks. Rayne leaned against his back, easing his body up and down against Ant. His lips touched the back of the other man's neck wetly as he guided the head of his cock back to his mate's still-twitching ring. It penetrated him easily this time and Ant grunted urgently as he felt Rayne's long, delicious hard-on begin to fill his snug passage once more. The singer rocked against Ant steadily until it was buried all the way inside him, his long, white hands resting on Ant's hips. Now Rayne pulled him back and began to thrust in earnest. 

He exhaled a little gasp of pleasure, then another. Ant was groaning eagerly as he felt the younger man begin to bugger him harder. His strong fingers gripped Ant's hips more tightly as he rammed his sex in deep and fast. When the friction of their horny bodies began to produce a natural wetness in his chute, Rayne let go of Ant's hips and let his hands slide up the other man's bare belly and over his broad chest. 

"You feel good," he panted, just about the only thing he had said during any of their acts of intercourse tonight. 

"You feel amazing!" Ant assured him breathlessly as he was pounded from behind. 

Rayne's left hand stroked gently up his neck and cupped his chin, tilting Ant's head back onto his shoulder as they coupled urgently, on their knees. The other hand reached for his penis and began to pump it vigorously for him. Soft lips kissed his neck, just below his ear. 

"Are you ready?" Rayne whispered almost inaudibly.

Ant nodded just a little, his heart almost pounding its way out of his chest.

"Do it!" he panted. 

The vampire needed no more encouragement. His mouth pressed harder on Ant's exposed neck, just above the collarbone. The other man moaned in pain as he felt Rayne bite down hard there, sinking deeper than he had done before and pushing his cock up hard into Ant's colon at the same time. There was an instant of stillness, then he began to pulse vigorously again. Either his fangs had withdrawn completely or they were so deep that Ant could not feel them any more. Rayne was sucking steadily on his neck as if he was trying to leave the mother and father of all lovebites there. Ant pushed back against him, taking him deeper and deeper as the beautiful young man pressed up against his back showing him pleasures he had only recently dreamed of. 

"Mmmmnnnhhh... that's fuckin' amazing!" Rayne mumbled at last, nuzzling his cheek roughly. 

They were slamming against one another savagely now. Rayne's hand was a blur on his cock. The fingers of the other hand pinched and pulled on his erect nipples and his lips returned to Ant's neck, sucking hard on the soft flesh. Ant felt the singer force his hot, hard cock into the depths of his arse one final time before he heard Rayne make a long, low, whining noise like broken machinery or a kicked dog. 

"Omigod!Omigod!" he growled into the curve of Ant's neck, then his mate felt the violent leap of his stiff cock and the hot flush of Rayne's massive climax deep in his bowels. 

He groaned in response, for Rayne's hand had stilled on his aching penis and he still sought relief. He was not to be disappointed long though. 

Rayne was as good as his word and as soon as he was sufficiently recovered from the explosion within his balls, he pulled out of Ant's arse and lay down on the soft white rug before him, taking his lover's throbbing prick between his soft, wet lips. There was a little blood still in the corner of his mouth, which was disconcerting, but Ant was soon distracted from this by the feel of that skilful tongue working his leaking cock to yet another cascading, creamy climax. Ant was in heaven. 

They spent the next couple of hours naked on the rug together, mainly engaged in slow, seductive oral sex, after Rayne explained that since his mysterious conversion, he also found male ejaculate irresistibly tasty and almost as energising as blood. Ant was only too happy to oblige him on that score, and they whiled away some more of the night slowly frigging, licking, sucking, stroking and snowballing one another to climax after delicious climax. 

AM:

Ant woke up alone with stiff hips and a sore jaw. The bed was rumpled and sweat-damp beneath him but apart from this and the stickiness of his aching body there was no trace in the room to show that he had company the night before. The clock suggested it was a little after six thirty in the morning. 

The lounge was fairly tidy. Two coffee mugs still sat on the low table in front of the sofa. There were a few splatters of dried spunk on the rug in front of the fire but no other traces of his mate. He had a sudden flashback where he was excitedly thrusting into Rayne's tight young bum on the bed. He had just taken a good mouthful of spunk from the horny singer, which the boy was now greedily eating from his mouth as Ant fucked him hard. Ant's morning hard-on stiffened a little more at the delicious memory.

He stumbled to the bathroom and checked his face in the mirror. After last night he probably looked like the bride of Frankenstein. To his surprise his reflection's lips were full and unmarked and there was not even a bruise on his neck where Rayne had almost sucked the skin off him. No puncture marks, no blood, not even a tiny lovebite!

He took a shower, which was also a good opportunity to wank himself off. As the water beat down on his head he daydreamed idly about Rayne's soft mouth on his long, hard, sticky prick, sucking it greedily until he squirted in the boy's mouth. Ant enjoyed this fantasy so much that he carried it on for a while after he had cum, jerking his lovely hard, nine-inch cock until he had spilled his seed twice more. He rinsed himself of and towelled dry, then pulled on his dressing gown and shuffled through to the kitchen to make more coffee. A small, white note was propped against the percolator. In painfully familiar, rapid, slanting handwriting, he picked out his name on the front and unfolded it with a sigh. 

'Morning Ant!' it said. 'Hope you're feeling okay and I didn't leave you light last night. It's your fault for tasting so nice. You know that I can't see you again, don't you? Probably for the best if you're getting married though, isn't it? I had fun last night, hope you did too. You were such a good fuck. Thanks for everything! xx.R'

Underneath in smaller letters, but firmly underlined, it added; 'By the way, you DO understand, don't you, that if you tell ANYONE about what I am, I WILL come back and suck you dry while you sleep. And I DON'T mean your balls!'

For a moment Mr Right just stared at this bizarre little missive. He was surprised to discover that he felt no pain, or grief, or even incredulity, just a burgeoning sense of hysteria. He began to laugh uncontrollably, then folded the note and put it in his pocket whilst he made himself some coffee. In spite of the tone of his message, Ant still had the strangest feeling that this would not be the last time Rayne's path would cross his own. But even if it was to be so, surprisingly he was content with that too. 

::FIN::

THE BOY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD

© Josh Rose & Sadie Rose Bermingham 2005/6

"AFTERWORD -- This story touches on the sometimes inescapable trap that prostitution and drug addiction can lead into. It's sometimes easy to forget that the boys and girls on the street are real people just like you or I. At the moment in England we're all too conscious of the dangers inherent in their lives, thanks to one maniac who murdered five girls in Ipswich just before Xmas. This story is also dedicated to Gemma Adams, Anneli Alderton, Annette Nicholls, Paula Clennell and Tania Nicol, and to the family members who love and miss them." Sadie