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.