A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 07

"My name is Arnoldo Francesco di Boccato," he said in a low, good-humoured, musical sounding voice. "But you can call me Aldo. I am to be your leading man if Daniel is to make this movie with you."

Those impassive, peridot-green eyes opened wide and fixed on his face this time. For a little while Rayne just stared at him incuriously.

"I can't make a film looking like this," he exhaled at last. "I can't even move without crying."

"It won't last. With enough moisture cream you may not even blister," Aldo promised. "I have seen much worse sunburn, I promise you."

Rayne lay motionless whilst he was ministered to, eyes closed tightly. Aldo noted that a jewel of salty wetness eased out from under one eyelid and ran down his small, upturned nose but he did not make a sound. From time to time he shivered like a restless horse shrugging off flies. The older man gently stroked his hands and tried to rub the cream into his forearms but he pulled away then, hugging his hands to his breast defensively.

"What is wrong?" Aldo whispered. "You let me touch your ass but not your hands? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. Leave me alone." Rayne's voice was gruff and husky with emotion.

"You don't look fine."

"I'm tired." Rayne half turned and buried his face in the pillows then changed his mind, clearly the friction was too much to bear. A little groan of frustration escaped him.

"You should eat. You will be tired if you don't eat properly." Aldo counselled gently.

"I've told Ant he's not my mother and I'm telling you the same thing. I'll only tell you once, okay!" Rayne curled up like an ammonite again, his arms folded across his chest, fists resting on their opposite shoulders. "Fuck off and leave me alone."

"Dan is angry," Aldo said, ignoring him and lounging on the mattress beside him. "We were to screen-test this afternoon. Now we cannot start until tomorrow."

"He should have told me that this morning," Rayne muttered, drawing his knees up closer to his chin. "He said we wouldn't film for five days."

"He should have done," Aldo agreed. "I would have liked to spend this afternoon fucking you instead of being your nursemaid."

One pale green eye opened and surveyed him critically, then closed again. "What time is it?" Rayne asked wearily.

"About half past ten." Aldo stretched out on his back and began to stroke his lovely long penis with one greasy hand.

"Shit!" Rayne was sitting up at once. He swayed a little then tried to get to his feet. The floor lurched under him and he dropped to the boards with another curse. Aldo was after him like a shot.

"What are you doing?"

"I have to be somewhere. I arranged... I need to meet someone at eleven." Rayne's eyes were suddenly very wide and anxious. "It's important."

"We are at sea," Aldo said slowly and precisely as if to a child. "You can't go anywhere. Settle down."

"We can't... I..." Rayne waved his hands weakly, staring towards the doorway as if he could somehow see land through there in the corridor. "I need to go..."

Aldo caught his hands at once and steered him back to the bed, making him sit down. Even in the low light the boy's pupils were tiny, his breathing was too fast. Now Aldo turned his hands over and ran his thumbs gently down the insides of his patient's forearms. The pale, almost translucent skin of his wrists and the crook of his right elbow were patterned with fine, white scars. There were needle marks in his right arm, some which still bore the faint shadows of bruising.

"I've been ill," Rayne said automatically, his eyes on the track-marks. "I was in hospital for ages. They had me on a drip and everything. Injections every day. It was awful. I'm better now."

"My sister is a nurse in Turin. They would put in a central line," Aldo said, unconvinced. He turned Rayne's right hand over, then his left. There were small white burn scars but no needle marks on the backs of them.

"Couldn't find a vein there," the boy lied at once. "They had to take pot luck. Somewhere different every day."

"Did they cut you in the hospital?" Aldo asked cynically.

Those icy green eyes bored into his head now, unblinking. Rayne's lower jaw set stubbornly. He said nothing.

"Thought not," Aldo nodded to himself. "I'm not criticising. But you can do better for yourself. What are you taking?"

Rayne wrenched his hands free and turned away curling up on the bed again. He buried his face in his arms and refused to look at Aldo. The older boy lay down beside him and stroked his hair quietly.

"Why did you cut yourself?" he asked at last. "You must have been hurting inside pretty bad to do something so dangerous."

"What the fuck do you know?" Rayne's voice was muffled and hoarse again.

"I know that someone who makes cuts on their wrists either wants to kill himself or he just needs to feel some pain, to let something out that's building up inside him like steam in a pan with the lid on tight, no?" Aldo bent over him and kissed the top of his head. His hand ran down the back of Rayne's neck and between his shoulder blades, then stroked back up again slowly. "When you bleed you feel, yes? And only then? So you were shutting something up tight inside you, a secret only you could know."

Rayne turned over so fast that he started back, almost expecting the boy to hit him. Green eyes glistened with unshed tears, glaring up at him, naked hostility and resentment in that stare.

"Don't talk anymore," Rayne said huskily.

"I am right?" Aldo whispered.

The boy reached up and snaked a hand around the back of his neck, pulling Aldo's mouth down onto his. Rayne's small, cold tongue slid between his lips and they kissed urgently for a long time. Aldo lowered himself gently onto the boy, between his legs, resting his weight on his elbows and knees so that he did not hurt Rayne as their mouths moved together in soundless concerto. He let Rayne feel his increasing arousal, leaning forward to rub his tool between his companion's soft, white cheeks. Rayne did not fight him as he wriggled his slippery cock-head into position and nudged it steadily into the boy. A little groan escaped his throat as he was entered and fucked more deeply but he did not resist. At last his knees moved higher and he wrapped his legs around Aldo's lean hips and pulled him in, wincing a little but more at the rub of the sheets against his red-raw back and shoulders than the feel of his companion's thrusting sex. The Italian youth slid his hands under Rayne's naked back and caressed him carefully and gently as he began to pulse harder, his mouth slipping to Rayne's throat and neck, kissing him there until the boy was sighing and whimpering with pleasure. He was erect and leaking as Aldo powered deep into his rectum, lifting him higher as he knelt up to get a good, quick rhythm going. He eased Rayne's knees over his shoulders and fucked him hard from underneath.

"Va bene? Do you like that?" he huffed eventually.

"Shhhh...." Rayne exhaled in a breathless whisper, eyes closed tight. "Don't... don't talk. Just screw me. Screw me hard."

Aldo was not about to argue with that.

When Ant came back to the bedroom a little after midnight, he found Rayne on his hands and knees with Aldo's long, hard prick still sheathed in his dripping arsehole. His teeth were clenched and his eyes were closed and the bedclothes were soaked with sweat and semen. Wordlessly, Aldo pulled out of him as the older man entered the room and they exchanged places as if he had not just been caught fucking another man's boyfriend and this was the most natural thing in the world.

Aldo di Boccato felt a little twinge of envy and reluctance as watched Ant mount and penetrate his young lover on the bed. Maybe the kid was no longer cutting himself, but he had found another way to exorcise his ghosts; a new way to give vent to his pain. It was harder to watch than it was to inflict. Aldo slipped away to get some air so that he did not have to hear Rayne's painful cries of agony and release. Knowing Daniel and Terry, no doubt they would be available to watch and stroke to on video by morning.

END OF PART SEVEN