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...