A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 10

"I've got six O'levels, plus A'Level Art and Sociology," Rayne told him defensively.

"Jesus Christ!" Phil nearly choked on a mouthful of smoke. He stared at Rayne incredulously; "What happened?"

"What d'you mean?"

"How come you're in this mess? Why didn't you go to Uni?"

Rayne rescued the Marlboro Lite and took a long drag before passing it back.

"Why didn't 'you', Master Hun the Doctors' Son?" he exhaled sarcastically.

"Cos I didn't get A'Level Art and Sociology, I guess," Phil muttered. "O'Level English and three CSEs."

Rayne winced and sucked a hiss of breath through his teeth.

"Crap!" he said quietly.

For a moment they both stared at one another, then Phil began to giggle and finally Rayne laughed with him, shaking his head.

"I could ask my uncle if he can find you a job," the blond suggested at last, when they had stopped chuckling over his ineptitude.

"Naw... tried that once," Rayne said affably. "Worked in a record shop when I was about sixteen. I didn't last long."

"How long?" Phil was stroking his hair again, distractedly and Rayne let him do it.

"About four hours," he said with a conspiratorial grin. "The guy who ran it was a friend of a friend. He went for his lunch and when he hadn't come back by two o'clock I emptied the till, took an armful of LPs and went shopping."

"Christ!" Phil collapsed against the counter, laughing hysterically. "You're a fuckin' head case!"

"Yeah!" Rayne leaned into his hand like a friendly cat when he sat back and resumed his stroking. The gentle motion of another person's fingers running through his fine hair made him feel oddly relaxed and happy. It awakened a pleasing memory so ancient that he could not give it shape, only recalling that it had been a good one.

"I can play the guitar," he volunteered. "I'm in a band."

"Cool!" Phil enthused. "You do look like you should be on stage. Are you any good?"

"Naw!" Rayne shook his head quickly, then regretted it because Phil misinterpreted the reaction and moved his hand away.

As Rayne turned to look at him, his senses still a little dull from his recent fix, Phil's hands cupped his face and pulled Rayne's mouth onto his own, kissing him ravenously. Blindly, the dark haired boy stubbed out his cigarette and let Phil ease him back against the wall. Sweaty fingers groped between his legs, finding and rubbing his cock as their tongues clashed and twined in Phil's mouth.

At that precise moment, Phil Honeywell got his first customers of the afternoon.

TAKEN:

When Rayne left Phil's shop he did not go back to the boat right away. He knew in his heart that he owed it to Ant to deliver the good news in person but he was still angry about the interruption this morning. The more he thought about it the angrier he grew. If Ant had not come bursting in, creating chaos, Rayne was almost certain that he would have wound up – somehow – riding Paddy McNamara. The idea of it was almost an obsession now. He was aching for the throbbing heat of that magnificent cock inside him. It had not been fear that made him shiver at the thought of it, but pure, simple lust.

His preoccupation with Paddy's dong was his undoing. As he wandered back through the maze of little, floral villas in Port Nature, re-reading the letter with his results and dreaming of the things he would beg Paddy to do to him tonight, he only half-heard someone come up fast behind him. Rayne was not even conscious of the danger until a strong arm locked around his upper body, pinning his arms to his sides and lifting him off the ground as easily as if he was a child. He opened his mouth to yell out in protest, even then still believing that it was PJ, or one of his friends having a joke. A large, sweaty hand clapped over it before he could do more than draw breath. There was a piece of cloth pressed between the palm and his face, covering his nose and lips.

Rayne squeaked and struggled as his head was pulled back to his captor's shoulder. He caught a brief scent of the man's hot, hairy, sweaty body then it was drowned in a sweeter, sharper, antiseptic aroma that instantly made him feel disoriented. Instinct told him to fight it and he twisted his head rapidly from side to side, trying to shake it off as he was dragged, kicking and struggling, into the shadow of a doorway and pushed against the wall. His captor was naked and a good two heads taller than Rayne. His burly body pressed against his captive's naked back as he tightened his grip on the boy's jaw. Rayne felt him begin to get hard, the man's thick, long dick rising between his legs as he began to lose consciousness.

Whimpering with shock and fear, Rayne realised that his body was submitting to the effects of the sweet fumes. He stopped struggling, though it felt more as if there was no point to the act. It was almost like drowning; his throat was filling with water or mucus and he could not draw breath. His limbs were turning to jelly, yielding and falling; loose fingers released the pages of the doctor's letter involuntarily as stars began to flash behind his eyes. Rayne experienced a final moment of blind, helpless panic and then the blackness of drugged insentience swallowed him utterly.

END OF CHAPTER 10