Underwear Ch. 04

"Aaaahhhh, fuck! Fuck!! You little fucking angel!" Daddy eased the seat back and pulled the Vampire down against his chest, stroking and touching him, rubbing Rayne's aching cock until he exploded too, lying on his back with his legs spread, still impaled on his mate's half-hard penis. The man began to thrust slowly once more, his arousal reawakened by Rayne's arse-tightening climax. "Dirty little Raindrop," he panted. "You liked that, didn't you? Tell Daddy how much you like getting your sweet virgin arse fucked."

"Ohhhh... it hurt so much, Daddy! But I really liked it!" he enthused, wriggling in his mate's arms, feigning breathless delight as he plotted how to get blood out of this guy. "Your cock feels so long and hard and... Mmmhhh! It feels fantastic! I need to get fucked again, Daddy!"

The mortal was certainly willing to please. He gripped his playmate's slim hips firmly and Rayne felt the thick shaft begin to piston in and out more urgently between his wide-spread legs. Daddy fucked his young mate fast and hard again, as the boy lay naked and supine on top of him. He quickly pumped a second load into Rayne but this time his penis wilted and slipped out almost at once. Rayne moaned approvingly and twisted around, kissing his neck and nipping at his skin. He was pushed away roughly for his pains.

"Oi, no bitin'! What are you, an animal?" the older man laughed wearily. "Ahh, you fuck like an animal, mind. That was amazin'. You dirty boy!" Rayne closed his eyes and lay sprawled over him in the darkness listening to his pulse like a distant rapid drumbeat or the rumble of thunder heard from a long way out. His mouth watered at the though of all that hot blood so close and so inaccessible. At last Daddy's voice rose from his sweat-soaked chest like a low growl. "You want me to drop you off somewhere, Raindrop?"

He nodded mutely fighting the blood lust. If he tried to feed now he might easily lose control. Bigger men than Daddy had died when that happened.

They dressed in silence and Daddy backed the car out onto the main road. He did not offer Rayne money and the Vampire did not ask for it. At the top end of Whitworth Street Rayne indicated a place to pull over and leaned across to kiss him. He pinned the other man in his seat briefly and bit down hard on the probing tongue in his mouth, sucking on the raw, salty heat of his blood. The mortal bucked and fought helplessly for a little while until Rayne's hand moved slowly to his crotch again. Then, when the Vampire did no more than kiss and suck and stroke him, he seemed to relent. His dick grew hard for that fondling hand and Rayne sucked on his tongue until the bleeding stopped, then kissed his way down to his meal-ticket's fly.

"Aah, you weird little bitch!" the mortal exclaimed huskily as he felt hot breath on his groin and the slender, dark haired creature unzipped him and swallowed him again. Rayne nodded and stroked until Daddy fed him another hot mouthful of his thick, luscious semen. He gulped it down greedily, taking his time, capturing every last drop. Then and only then did he wipe his lips on the back of his hand and let himself out of the car.

"Can I have your number, baby?" the man asked breathlessly. "I've got to fuck you again. You're so fuckin' beautiful!"

"I don't think so," Rayne said sweetly, leaning against the roof of the saloon and peering in at him with a little smile.

"I'll take you out to dinner first."

"Uh-uh." Rayne shook his head.

"I'll let you bite me again." He was growing desperate now. Quickly he scribbled something down on a matchbox from the glove compartment. "That's 'my' number if you change your mind."

Rayne gave the box a cursory look and put it in his pocket. Then he got back into the car and slid his arms around the man, nuzzling his cheek and kissing his neck. He bit down hard and this time the guy did not fight it. His hands were all over Rayne's lean body beneath the long coat, rubbing and stroking as the hungry little vampire snatched a quick gulp of his blood. He did not linger, for they were on a very public street and even this late at night there was a chance they would be seen. He licked his benefactor's neck roughly until every last trace of scarlet had been consumed, then wriggled out of the car, licking his lips like a well-fed cat.

"Thanks Daddy, you taste 'so' good," he crooned sardonically as he pulled his coat around himself, slamming the passenger door and walking away.

The car roared off into the night and he set off slowly in the opposite direction feeling wanton and infinitely less hungry. There was still an emptiness inside him though, a space that had nothing to do with the lack of sustenance. It disturbed him profoundly.

As the night wheeled around towards morning he let himself back into the apartment and took a long shower then settled on the bed and curled up under his silk-shrouded duvet with a little sigh. Maybe he just needed rest. Maybe tomorrow everything would look different.

His dreams were dark though; no sooner had he closed his eyes than he was opening his front door to discover the bloody corpse of his ex-lover on the steps, a hand stretched out vainly towards him seeking help that had never come. He stirred into half-wakefulness and pushed the image away. It was quickly replaced by 'Daddy', mounting and taking him as he sprawled naked on the pool table at the Union whilst Dave and Bernard watched in silent disgust, shaking their heads at one another. If they were repelled by his actions many others were not and soon he had a queue of men waiting to take him on. Rayne tried to resist but it was no use, he was held down by many pairs of eager hands and forced to spread himself while Daddy told them what a good little, cum guzzling ass-slut he was.

When Kev Delaney spread his legs and mounted him, blood still leaking from his eyeballs and his open mouth, Rayne woke up screaming and thrashing in the tangled duvet. It took him several minutes to stop hyperventilating. Only once he was outwardly calm, did he stumble back down to his kitchen and pour some cold water, gulping it down until the stale, sick taste was gone from his mouth and throat.

"This is ridiculous," he told himself irritably.

A rummage through his address book reminded him that he had no idea where Kev lived. They had been seeing one another for months now and he did not even have the man's address. Kev always came to the apartment or met Rayne in town. The number the Vampire had for him was his work phone. Dave Ramsay answered it on the third ring.

"Is..." Rayne swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "Is Kev there?"

"He's not in the office this week," Dave said efficiently. "Who is this?"

Rayne told him and Dave's brisk tone mellowed slightly.

"You all right, Ray?"

"Yeah, I think so. Has Kev spoken to you in the last two days?"

"He's not been to yours at all?" Dave answered him with another question, ever the consummate policeman.

"No." Rayne swallowed again. "Dave, this is gonna sound pretty weird, but... do you know where he lives?"

He thought he heard quiet laughter as if the other man had moved the receiver away from his mouth to chuckle at this.

"You don't know?" he asked at last, a trace of humour lingering in his voice. "Trust Kev not to give too much away."

"Why would he do that?" Rayne felt a sliver of annoyance creep into his response and tried to sit on it. He did not want to antagonise Dave as well. "Is there anything about Kevan that I should know, Dave?"

The chuckle petered out and Dave's voice said; "He's a cagey one, that's all."

"He's still with his wife, isn't he?" Rayne closed his eyes, cursing himself for being such a fool. Kev had never tried to pretend that he was not still married. He claimed that his wife had walked out with their two children over a year ago. Now the Vampire wondered what else he lied about. "She never left him?"

"No... that's the truth, Ray. I swear, he lives on his own," Dave said it without hesitation. "It's just..."

"He still sees her?"

"No... he sees the kids sometimes but he's not going back to her," Dave had lowered his voice. "Look, this isn't a good place to talk about his private life right now. If you can wait I'll take you to his place."

"Can't you just tell me where it is?" Rayne said irritably. "Or is that a state secret as well?"

"You didn't seem too bothered about him last night," Dave Ramsay responded knowingly. "What's happened that you're suddenly so worried about him?"

Rayne glared at the receiver for a moment, wishing violent retribution on Kevan's too-smart partner.

"I'm not worried about him. I just want to talk to him, okay!"

"I'll take you there tomorrow," Dave promised soothingly.

"Tell me now, or I'll come round there and make you wish you hadn't fucked me about!" Rayne kept his teeth clenched. Patience had never been one of his virtues and Dave was testing it to the very limits this morning.

"Ray... it's a dump," Dave said with obvious reluctance. "He wouldn't want you going round there on your own, okay. It's not safe."

"Where the fuck does he live?" the Vampire snarled at him. "This is Manchester, not the fucking Bronx! And I can take care of myself!"

It was infuriating enough that Kev occasionally forgot what he was. Dave Ramsay had watched him fight a three hundred year old Vampire, he had no excuses. Admittedly he had also watched said Vamp pin Rayne to the floor of the Union with the iron pole from a standard lamp before Dave took the bastard's head off with a fire axe, but that was no reason to treat him like a delicate flower now.

"He's got a house up in Burnage," Dave said unwillingly. "Ray, it's a really rough estate. I wouldn't want to have to explain to Kev that I'd sent you up there on your own..."

"Give me the address," Rayne hissed at him.

"Please don't..."

"Give me the fucking address, Ramsay. Don't make me come round to your office and beat it out of you!"

Dave clearly thought about this threat for a few moments, enough to suggest he was taking it seriously. He gave Rayne an address and started to say something else but the Vampire had already hung up and was ringing a cab company.

He rang three numbers before he found a firm willing to take him to the address Dave Ramsay had given him. The first hung up on him straight away, the second tried to talk him out of it. The third operator said they would take him as far as the main road and then he was on his own. By this time even Rayne was beginning to have second thoughts.

He got changed while he was waiting for the taxi, swapping his dark pants and black chenille sweater for a navy tee-shirt, black shirt and faded blue jeans. A casual, hooded black sweat jacket and pale blue hi-tops completed the ensemble. It was not quite street but close enough to student chic that he might not attract too much attention. He slipped his slim, black mobile phone into the zip pocket of his jacket and tucked a couple of tenners and some loose change into the front pocket of his jeans. The buzzer in the hallway sounded and he snared his keys from the kitchen counter and raced down the stairs to the front door.

The cab driver was a lean, edgy Pakistani fellow in his twenties, with a broad south Manchester accent and a couple of gold earrings. He looked Rayne up and down sceptically as the Vampire got into the front passenger seat and fastened his seatbelt.

"You sure about this, mate?" he wanted to know as soon as those cool green eyes met his nervous, dark grey ones.

"Just drive the car," Rayne said to him levelly.

"You know where you're going?"

"I'll leave that to you. You're the bloody cabbie, right?" They faced off for a moment or so and Rayne waited for the guy to tell him to get out. It would not have been the first time, but it was a while since he had upset a cab driver and he tried to keep his sarcasm in check around them these days. It was that or walk everywhere!

"I'll take you as far as Princess Road. You can get out past the cemetery and walk from there. It's not far," the driver told him at last, putting his elderly Honda Accord in gear and pulling away at last.

"What the hell is wrong with this place?" Rayne grilled him as they drove.

"It's not nice, right, man. Not good, y'know what I'm sayin'?" The driver kept his eyes fixed on the road as they navigated their way down Whitworth Street and turned left into the bottom of Princess Street, joining the heavier flow of traffic heading south of the city.

"Not good in what sort of way?" The Vampire leaned back in his seat, one shoulder to the passenger door, watching the cab driver's face.

"Well..." the young man glanced his way then his eyes flickered back to the road. "There's been a lot of trouble up that way with the drug gangs and what 'ave you. You know? Fightin', gun wars, that kind of stuff. A bloke I knew of, drivin' for a diff'rent firm, he took two blokes up there the other weekend and they did 'im over, took 'is money, kicked the shit out of 'im and burnt out 'is cab. Like I said... not nice."

"Fuckin' 'ell!" Rayne exhaled quietly, at the same time wondering privately what Kev was doing living in a place like that. "Did he... is he okay?"

"Took 'im to hospital. He's gonna live, innit but he ain't gonna drive no more. Not round 'ere." The cabbie shot him a knowing look. "You really gonna walk in there?"

"My friend lives there, how the fuck else do I get to see him?" Rayne crossed one leg over the other, his right ankle resting across his left knee and picked at the rubber sole of his scruffy Converse trainer distractedly.

"Ring 'im up and get 'im to meet you in town is what I'd do, innit?" The driver flashed a cautious grin his way.

"I've tried that. I can't get hold of him."

"Maybe he's dead, yeah? Maybe they've done for 'im!" His companion pulled a face and gripped the wheel tighter. They stopped at a traffic light and Rayne very nearly gave him the money and got out.

"He's shrewder than that," he said quietly, hoping it was true.

Just as he had promised, the taxi driver dropped him on the main road and gave him directions. He charged fifteen pounds for the journey which Rayne thought exorbitant but handed over all the same.

"I'm not waiting," he said defensively, studying the two ten pound notes in his hand.

"I want change then," Rayne told him. "And who asked you to wait?"

"Just so's you know." The fellow rummaged in his glove box for a couple of two-pound coins and a one.

"Do you have a card? Can I call for someone to take me back into town?" the Vampire asked him casually, pocketing the change.

"There's a bus from across the road, innit. Cheaper than a cab if money's what's worryin' you." The driver's grey eyes were half challenging half pitying.

"Money's no object," Rayne held his stare.

"I'm not goin' in there no matter what you pay me," his driver declared, but he did relent and give Rayne a number to ring. He even wrote it down on the back of a take-away carton that he found in the door compartment. Rayne tore off the small strip with the number on it and threw the rest away. There was already a sea of litter in the gutter around him and one more small piece was hardly going to make a difference.

The Honda performed an illegal U-Turn in the middle of a six-lane junction, to the annoyance of most of the oncoming traffic and roared back into town. Rayne Wylde took a deep, unnecessary breath and set off in the direction his driver had indicated. A left turn and then another took him off the main thoroughfare and deep into a thirties housing estate that had seen much better days. Rayne pushed both hands into his pockets and pulled up the hood of his jacket instinctively. He had grown up in a house like many of these but the estate where he spent his formative years was nothing like this. Marshlands had been small compared to this place, which was easily the size of a Kentish village. No thatched roofs or duckponds here though!

The houses were mostly semi or quasi-detached buildings. Some of them were in a decent state of repair, a few had pretty gardens and made an attempt to bring a little colour to the area. More of them stood gaunt and empty, the windows and doors covered with pitted metal grilles to keep out all but the most determined intruders. Once upon a time a piece of hardboard might have sufficed but these modern day barriers were drilled and bolted into the walls. Many had since been decorated with ragged graffiti. The gardens were either completely overgrown or blasted wastelands, strewn with car parts, sofas and dead refrigerators. A child's brightly coloured ball sat, half-deflated, in the midst of a puddle of engine oil on one frontage, surrounded by refuse; empty cartons and newspaper, sweet wrappers and crushed drinks cans.

He heard the dull thump of music from a house as he passed by and over it the sound of someone shouting, a high-pitched, monotone rant. A dog started barking close by and would not stop. Others joined its rallying call; low growls and high, persistent yapping. Rayne breathed in the scent of hot fat from one house and something sharp and spicy from another, whose curtains were all drawn tightly. The windows were thick with grime. Even Rayne's dad, not the most houseproud of Marshlands residents, occasionally opened his curtains.

A small, white hatchback powered past him, its fat twin exhaust almost drowning out the pounding beat from the sound system that must have filled its boot. It took the corner up ahead on two wheels and screeched off into the distance. He could still hear it long after he lost sight of the car.

Rayne crossed the road, using a speed hump as a makeshift bridge from kerb to kerb. Someone had sprayed the words; 'Dead Pigs' across it in blue paint. The house in front of him was similarly decked with three-foot high letters along with the legends; "Kingy" and "Wanker".

Two small boys were scrapping in the garden next door, shouting and swearing at one another like tiny scally fishwives. A muscle-bound, brindle bull terrier raced in circles around them snapping at their heels and barking madly. One of the lads punched the other in the nose and made it spout a crimson fountain of blood. Rayne licked his lips, able to smell the flow even as the injured party ran screaming into the house. The aggressor, who was probably no more than four years old, caught him looking and yelled; "Fuck off, paedo!"

He glared for a moment longer then Rayne's momentum carried him past their gate and onward down the road. There was another empty house next door. Half the roof was missing and it sagged alarmingly as if the very ground beneath was trying to reclaim it. Next door had rotten window frames and a determined display of weak stemmed roses around a square of withered lawn. The windows were clean but inside there were metal bars between the glass and the curtains.

Rayne blinked at them briefly, feeling a sudden uncharacteristic surge of empathy. He tried not to imagine some poor old soul barricading his or herself in against the tide of violence and abuse outside. London was not a gentle city, there were rough and dangerous areas all over the capital but the violence was often sporadic and unpredictable. Here he could almost smell it. There was an undercurrent of hatred, pain and despair on this estate. It felt like the moment before lightning struck. All the hairs of his body were on end.

A door slammed to his right and he almost jumped. Two young men came out of one of the gardens across the road laughing and swearing loudly. One was in dark jeans and trainers and a tracksuit top the other in baggy grey sweat bottoms and a t-shirt with a faded England logo on the chest and a greasy looking cap worn backwards in a style at least twenty years out of date. The door opened again and skinny woman in cut off trousers and a baggy sweatshirt stepped out holding a grubby infant on one hip.