tagGay MaleCalifornia Zephyr Ch. 02

California Zephyr Ch. 02

bySadieRose©

by Josh & Sadie Rose

Part Two LAST CALL FOR THE REAL WORLD

Rayne was curled up on the rumpled, spunk-stained sheets of the bunk with his earphones in and the battery-powered laptop propped against his knees when Marc came back from the shower room feeling quite refreshed for that blast of alternate hot and cold jets. He had been slightly disappointed that the singer did not volunteer to join him but, with hindsight, supposed that the other man was probably dog-tired after last night, and in any case had already taken a shower whilst he was sleeping. If he was feeling as raw and sore as Marc did right now, he could not be entirely blamed for passing.

Now, as he let himself back into the compartment, still towelling his wet hair, a pair of ice green eyes, so pale they were virtually colourless, flickered upward briefly in acknowledgement. The singer did not speak, only smiled very slightly, and carried on tapping the keys with fast, deft fingers. Marc closed the door and stripped out of his jeans and t-shirt, rummaging in his holdall for fresh underwear and clean t-shirt. He pulled them on casually before coming over to slump down on the bed beside the lean, naked Englishman.

For a while he lay with his damp head cradled in the crook of one arm, watching the way Rayne's fine, sable hair tumbled forward in delicate fronds, framing his fine, angular, alabaster features. His sensuous mouth was relaxed, the full, bloodless lips slightly parted as he hummed almost inaudibly to the song playing in his headphones. Occasionally he smiled to himself as the keys clicked softly under his fingertips. His teeth were small, perfect ivory pearls in the pink, lush warmth of his mouth. The memory of those soft, warm lips wrapped around the shaft of his cock, sucking hard, got Marc semi-erect again, in spite of the cold water. He rolled himself quickly onto his belly to hide the conspicuous bulge in the crotch of his pants.

Almost absently, Rayne's left hand moved off the keys and the backs of his fingers stroked Marc's wet hair; a brief, tender, affectionate gesture which brought a smile to his mortal companion's lips. Even with the air conditioning turned up full it was sweltering in here and finally Marc pushed up the hem of his t-shirt to his ribs, considering that Rayne had the right idea. The Englishman's fingers caressed the exposed flesh of his bare back responsively, although he carried on typing with his right hand as if this was something he did every day of his life. His aqueous, peridot gaze was intent and preoccupied; long black, girlish lashes almost fanning his ashen cheeks as he worked. Through the ragged tumble of his near-shoulder length mane, his tip-tilted nose protruded slightly, adding to the elfin sexiness of his appearance.

At last, Marc tired of being ignored and tugged on one of the dangling wires which trailed down from his hair. Those enquiring eyes met his own again, silently.

"What are you listening to?" the boy wanted to know.

Rayne Wylde reached up to his left ear and removed the small, black nodular headphone. Gently, he swept Marc's damp hair back from his neck and put the miniature amplifier into his ear. At once, David Bowie's dulcet, gravelly tones sang; "I've been putting out the fire with gasoline....."

The young man settled down beside him once more in companionable silence, tapping his feet to the song. When it ended, he mused; "What are you writing?"

"My diary," Rayne said, in a distracted tone nearly as husky as Bowie's... the first words Marc had heard him speak all morning.

"You keep a diary?"

"I have to... it's part of the conditions of my employment. I e-mail it back to my editor in daily instalments, so they can see that I'm working..." He turned his head slightly and winked at Marc in the manner of a conspirator. "Then they decide what gets put in the final article."

Marc looked up at him, intrigued. "Am I in it?"

A wry smile twisted his companion's lips as he bent his head over the keyboard once more. "You might be..."

"Let me see." Marc pushed himself to his knees at once, trying to peer over Rayne's shoulder. At once the other man clicked on 'save' and flipped down the lid of his machine, shaking his head adamantly. Marc made a grab for the laptop, refusing to be denied and the singer wrestled it away from him, setting it down on the far side of the bunk whilst he held the young man off with his left hand.

"No... Be told..."

"Not fair! If I'm in it I wanna look," Marc protested, still trying to get around him and reach the machine. "You could have said anything! D'you think I like the idea of people reading about what we did last night? Or am I not supposed to matter?"

"It's a monthly English minority rag, not fuckin' GQ!" Rayne snapped at him, losing his temper without warning. "I didn't put your full name... let's face it... I don't even know your last name! Who the fuck d'you suppose is gonna read it and guess it's about you?"

"I wanna know what you said," Marc persisted, making a last game attempt to scramble over him and reach the laptop.

This time, Rayne grasped him by the shoulders and slammed him back down hard on the bed. Marc's eyes went wide, more with shock than pain, but the singer must have registered that tiny instant of fear in his dark gaze as he realised how vulnerable he was. Time stopped for a moment and he was allowed a world in which to regret his reaction. His hands released Marc's slender arms and the young man scrabbled backwards, away from him, almost automatically.

"I'm sorry," Rayne told him neutrally, sitting back and reaching for the machine to turn it off. "I over-reacted. I shouldn't have done that. Sometimes I forget my own strength."

"You're telling me!" Marc exclaimed huskily, rubbing at his upper arms with both hands to dispel the tingling sensation there. No doubt, by tonight there would be more bruises there to add to the dark mottling on his hips and thighs where Rayne had gripped him as he pulled himself deeper last night. Marc made himself think of something else, with difficulty.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," the singer swore with apparent sincerity.

"If that was a love tap, I'd hate to be around when you really lose it." The young man was shaking his head unhappily now. "Look, if having secrets is so damned important to you, just forget it... 'kay? I don't wanna know!"

Rayne lowered his head, looking suddenly contrite. "I was out of order... I shouldn't have written about it in the first place," he said in that mellifluous, lazy, smoky voice that made him sound like the love child of Michael Caine and Marianne Faithful; albeit an adult lovechild, who was busy getting his cock sucked and adoring every minute of it. "Last night was out of this fuckin' world, darlin'. The best thing that's happened to me since I got here! My editor'll love it... but if you'd prefer I can get her to change your name."

When he lifted his head, Marc was gazing at him speculatively. Rayne forced a smile he clearly wasn't feeling.

"Did you tell her everything?" the young American asked him in mildly incredulous tones.

A small shrug presaged his answer. "More or less."

Marc tried and failed to suppress a nervous grin.

"D'you think she gets off on it?"

Rayne's own smile grew more contemplative. "Actually... I reckon she's a lesbian. She probably thinks that I make it all up to shock her."

Across the bunk from him, Marc bent his head, twisting tendrils of his dark hair around his fingers.

"We could send photographs!" When he looked up at the singer, the expression on his face was incontrovertibly wicked.

Rayne met it with an astonishing, brilliant, fanged smile.

"Fuckin' hell! Why didn't 'I' think of that?"

At Glenwood, many of the hikers departed the train and a new breed of traveller flooded on board, lugging heavy cases and trailing extensive families behind them. The balance of passengers was subtly changing again. It was something which did not become immediately obvious to Rayne or his partner, since they had spent much of the day ensconced in his sleeper, trying out new and increasingly un-photographable configurations of the previous night's experiments. Between them, they figured out the programming for the expensive digital camera which Grant Jackson had provided with the laptop when Rayne Wylde set out from Heathrow. So far he had not used it, which meant that he had no pictures at all of his time in New York or Chicago. That was the least of his concerns right now.

He was leaning back against the dividing wall of the sleeper compartment with his knees drawn up and Marc sitting astride him, reaching back to touch his thighs and writhing down slowly onto his deliberately well-lubed cock. The boy was still pretty sore after last night, and so they had taken their time today and the Vampire had already spent a distracting hour applying lubricant to his lover's naked body and massaging him gently all over.

Now he was trying to work out how to get all of the boy into the frame of his camera lens from such close proximity. In between, he thumbed back through the shots they had taken already, bringing up the tiny, perfect images on the rear-screen viewer and smiling with satisfaction. The young man was very photogenic. They would probably look delicious together, he decided and was obscurely pleased with the idea. In the meantime, he had to content himself with imagination, and the twenty three photos he had already amassed of their current sex session.

It was quite gloomy... he decided, squinting through the viewfinder again then reaching out to release the blind over the window. Last time he had lifted the roller, Colorado had been rushing past his car in glorious Technicolor. Now he came face to face with a concrete wall, and then a man in a long, dark coat and a flat, wide-brimmed black hat. The fellow stared at him in total disbelief for a second or two, then Rayne was snatching for the cord and yanking the blind back down whilst Marc laughed hysterically, falling forward against him, quivering with shock and hilarity.

"Ohh... oh jesus!"

"When the fuck did we stop?" Rayne demanded.

"I - I dunno..." The young man giggled helplessly against his shoulder. "Ohh... his face!"

Rayne succumbed to the contagion of his laughter at last. It seemed the only recourse, although he felt an undercurrent of anxiety that had nothing to do with the shocked expression of the suited gentleman on the station platform. His instincts were prickling a warning. There was something else going on here that he should be aware of, but he couldn't quite reach it. Instead he buried his concerns by immersing himself in Marc, pulling the gorgeous kid into his arms and thrusting up into him more deliberately until the boy's giggles turned to little moans of need and desire.

They were fucking hard again by the time the train lurched on its way, the incident forgotten as they twined around oneanother, Marc sprawled on his back with his slim legs wrapped around his lover's waist as Rayne sank down onto him, enfolding him and rubbing himself urgently against his partner's naked body, ramming himself in as deeply as he could whilst the boy cried out hungrily in his fierce embrace.

Rayne and his lover were curled up together more tenderly when Marc asked him; "Do you want to bite me again?"

"No," Rayne lied, burying his face in the other man's soft, dark hair and wishing it were true. "I'm just fine like this."

Marc snuggled nearer to him and made a series of small, contented noises which were oddly endearing, yet plucked at his conscience all the same. San Francisco was still a day away and already he was beginning to get concerned that Marc was too fond of him. Something would have to be done about that, but for now he was happy to hold the boy and lie to him to keep him sweet. He still wanted sex, in spite of their exertions since last night, but his bedmate was sore and exhausted and badly needed to rest.

"You're really a vampire?" Marc whispered sleepily, disturbing his train of thought.

"Uh-huh..." the vampire responded inarticulately.

"And you have to suck blood to survive?"

"Something like that," Rayne said with a grim smile.

"So... am I a Vampire? Now you've bitten me?"

He chuckled softly to himself. "No, sweetheart.. it doesn't work like that."

"Awww..." Marc nuzzled his collar bone intimately, his breath quick and hot on the singer's neck. "Shame..."

"There's Vampires and there's Food..." Rayne said, more clinically.

"Mmmm?" The youngster pushed himself up onto his forearms, leaning on Rayne's chest with a querulous frown. "Pardon? Are you trying to suggest that I'm nothing more to you than a Big Mac?"

"Perhaps a bit more than that!" Rayne conceded with an amicable smile. "Extra fries maybe?"

His partner cuffed him smartly around the head.

"So... how'd you become a Vampire then? Or have you always been one?"

"It's a long story," Rayne said non-committally, letting the slap go unpunished.

"We've a long way to go," Marc reminded him.

His companion shrugged awkwardly.

"Just believe me when I say, I didn't ask for it to happen and if I could change things back so that I was mortal again, I'd do it like a shot!"

Marc's eyes widened incredulously. "You're serious?"

"Yeah... Deadly!" His smile was distinctly humourless. "'Un'-deadly!"

"Why?"

Rayne just looked at him for a long, speculative moment. His myriad personal reasons for hating his existence winked out of sight in the face of Marc's implacable curiosity and enthusiasm.

"I just am... Imagine living forever, will you? Imagine having to go on and on like this, never settling, never trusting... Always dreading that someone will find out and make your life a misery on the back of it!"

"Sounds a bit like being queer..." Marc bent his head to hide a rueful grin.

"Oh, believe me... it's a billion times worse!" Rayne assured him. "At least the queer-bashers at my school didn't come round looking for me with salt and sharpened stakes. They were scared... but not as scared as they would have been if they'd known I could rip out their lungs and use them for footballs."

Dark eyes met his own again. "Have you always known you were gay?" Marc asked tentatively.

"I'm 'not' gay," Rayne said, deadpan.

He got a 'look' in response... a look that said more than a hundred sceptical words. Marc only said; "'kay... Bi then?"

Rayne only shrugged. "I dunno...."

"You must have 'some' idea," the boy pressed him incredulously.

"No... really. It just sort of happened. One day I was fucking girls and the next I was fucking guys... I can't put a finger on it. I was straight til late in my teens... I never fancied a boy until I was about twenty." He leaned back in the pillows and folded his arms behind his head, lulled by the rocking motion of the train beneath him.

Marc stared at him. "I read somewhere that you lost your virginity to a guy when you were thirteen," he said defiantly, at last.

"You shouldn't believe everything you read," Rayne told him.

"So it's not true?"

For a moment the Englishman was silent, staring up at the ceiling of the compartment as if he saw a different scene up there. Marc crossed his hands on the other man's breast and rested his chin on the backs of his knuckles. Finally, in a voice that was no more than a breath, Rayne answered; "No... it's true."

"I don't understand...."

"No..." Rayne agreed, a little more firmly. "Of course you don't... I would never expect you to. At least.. I would hope that you never, 'ever' have to understand."

He glanced downward, meeting Marc's eyes and seeing the thoughtful expression on his face turn slowly to horror. The boy's lips parted in a breathless gasp of realisation.

"Y-you were raped?" he exhaled, almost choking on the words.

Rayne nodded his head once.

"Oh my god!"

A gentle hand reached down and stroked Marc's hair tenderly. "Sshhh... it was a long time ago."

The young man stared back at him. "You were thirteen years old?"

"Yeah..." said Rayne Wylde levelly. "Just about... it was my birthday present, believe it or not! A coming of age gift from my darling uncle Bryan!"

Bitterness crept into his words and Marc crept around him again, wrapping quick, comforting arms about the other man's body.

"Oh god... no!"

"Oh god, 'yeah'..." the singer nodded adamantly. "Only 'I' got all the 'cum', and I 'aged' about fifty years in the process!"

"Wasn't there anyone you could tell?" Marc demanded, incredulously.

"Sure there was... but how many of them would have believed me? I was a kid with a reputation for being a bit wild... child of a broken home. My parents separated when I was ten. Me and my mum and Skye-Ann were living under Bryan's roof... he was married to my mother's twin sister, for fuck's sake! It was his word against mine, and he was a respected 'pillar of the community'!"

He said this last part with heavy sarcasm.

"My sister, Skye, ran away to have an abortion because he got her pregnant. She was still at school. When she left he started fucking 'me' instead!"

Marc had turned paler than usual. "It happened more than once?" he queried weakly.

Rayne just chuckled unpleasantly at that. For a while he leaned back with his head in his long hands, gazing up at the roof of the car. At last he exhaled a little sigh. In a soft, almost melodic voice, he murmured; "Every Tuesday night, my mum and aunty Iris went playing bingo in Hythe. They dropped Iris and Bryan's twin girls off at Brownies on the way and picked them up as they were coming back. The house was empty for an hour and a half. I was expected to be home before they left, so that mum could make sure I did my homework. If I didn't come home on time I could expect the Belt for it.

"So-o-o...." he breathed portentously; "I was alone in the house with Bryan for all that time. Every Tuesday night, for about a year and a half, Bryan had me, naked, on a towel on the bed in the room he shared with his wife. And there was nothing I could do about it. He made me strip...if I refused he stripped me, then beat me for it. He was twice my size, sweetheart!"

Rayne said this in an imploring tone, almost as if he was trying to convince himself of his own lack of complicity. He closed his eyes as though he could banish the memories that way, forcing them out of his head.

For a moment, Marc could only hold him tighter, not knowing what to say. The singer was slight and frail-looking as a grown man. One could only imagine how tiny he had been as a boy of thirteen. He pressed his face into the hollow of Rayne's neck and shoulder, kissing him there softly.

"Oh, my dear... I'm so sorry..." he whispered at last, touching his mouth to Rayne's ear. "That's why, of course... why you were so... reluctant...."

"No..." Rayne told him quietly, folding his arms around the mortal with unexpected tenderness. "I'm just a good old, honest control freak... I'd rather fuck than be fucked... it's nothing to do with 'him'. Although there is one thing in his favour... he taught me to give spectacular head!"

Marc laughed nervously at that.

"I can't disagree!" He hesitated, then ventured; "How did you stop him?"

"It was messy..." Rayne confessed evasively. "Ultimately, I told my mum that something was going on. She didn't believe it at first, but finally she took me to our doctor and the guy examined me and took her out of the room for a while. They talked for a bit and a nurse came out and sat with me. Then the police turned up. Apparently he called them right away. He was pretty sure I'd been sexually abused."

"So they arrested your uncle?" Marc finished for him, hugging him tightly.

"Mmhmmm... although they let him go again after they'd questioned him," Rayne told the boy ruefully. "It's the hardest thing in the world to take to court. 'Apparently'!" A cynical edge crept back into his words.

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