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.