A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 12bySadieRose©
A BOY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD – CHAPTER 12
"BOYS ON FILM"
© Sadie Rose Bermingham 2006
Apologies for the delay to Chapter 12. I've been swanning around Europe and London enjoying myself so things have gotten a little behind. Which, by happy coincedence, is exactly what Aldo and Barclay hope to get themselves at the end of this chapter! As usual, the author reserves the right to stomp all over the heads of anyone who pilfers this material without permission! To everyone else... enjoy!
In spite of all his darkest speculations, Rayne was not molested as he slept in Daniel Leland's bed. In fact the old man did not sleep there at all. Probably too busy planning his revenge, Rayne though now, with the added benefit of hindsight. The elderly pornographer had not lied about wanting to get on with his pet project. Which is why the denizens of both boats were up and about especially early on this bright, sunny, mid-June morning.
There was a sense of purpose to everyone today; even laughing and chatting casually over croissants and coffee. It was Terry Goodwill, not Leland himself, who came to wake Rayne. The big man was gruff and almost deliberately distant with him, which put Rayne on his guard at once.
"You slept well," Terry said, as he struggled to sit, knuckling the grit from his eyes. It was less of a question, more a request for affirmation.
Rayne nodded warily. There had been nightmares; that much he recalled. When he slept alone he often suffered from them, but he sensed that Terry did not want to hear about that. Nor did he want to tell, in truth.
"Good." The tall, brawny, ex-pat Londoner looked him up and down. "Need you feelin' chipper today. You've got a lot of work to do."
"Yeah?" he responded, inarticulately because the reminder made him feel sick. It was the reason he was still here, he knew. Leland had a film to make and the old man did not care how anyone else felt about that, so long as shooting ran to schedule and the bills got paid. The 'stars' of these movies were not booked for their brains or their emotional interpretation skills; he was wise enough to know that much. He was here because he was pretty and men liked to fuck him, and even more so – men liked to watch him getting fucked.
"You seen the Treatment?" Terry asked, and he shook his head.
There would be no script. There never was but generally the production team put together a 'treatment', a brief guide to the programme of events, if you like. When he worked on 'Going All The Way' he had not bothered to read it. Baz gave him instructions; basically 'look cute and do as you're told'. Leland gave him technical directions from off camera, which were later edited off the soundtrack, and Rayne got naked and made out on a bare bed with two extremely bare strangers. The results, he had been assured, were astonishingly good. It was probably the only reason he was still on the payroll for this movie.
Rayne privately wished he had been a bit less eager to please back then.
"I'll get you a draft and you can check it out before breakfast; then shower, teeth cleaned, full douche, okay? We're outta here at ten sharp."
Rayne looked enquiringly at him.
"We're not filming here?" he asked blankly.
"Does this place look like a fuckin' film set?" Terry chuckled, genuinely amused for the first time this morning. "You lemon! No, we'll nip up to Beziers this morning, film the school sequence at a mate's place, then come back to port and shoot on Paddy's boat PM. Give you a break between so's you can get some stretching time!"
He leered at the younger man and this time Rayne could not help it. He blushed like a child, unable to stop himself. The knowing look on Terry's face was too much. Clearly he was wondering just who would help him to stretch, and even Rayne knew that they were not talking about sit-ups! Last time it had been Baz who took him on one side and gave him a quick, reassuring pep-talk like some over-enthusiastic PE coach, before rubbering up and fucking him quick and hard in the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later Rayne had been out there, on the bed with the cameras rolling, hyped up on speed.
He wished he had some speed now. Even more, he wished that Ant was still talking to him. Just having someone to hold him would have helped.
Ant was still asleep when Rayne rose and took his first shower of the day. Through the half open door he could see from the corridor into the bedroom they had shared. In the dim, warm half-light he made out the comfortable curve of the older man's shoulder and bare chest rising from the rumpled sheets, arms twined around the shorter, leaner frame of Thierry's naked body. The French lad's face was buried in the crook of his right arm and his blond hair splashed over the pillow like a bright star. Rayne froze there, staring at this scene with a sudden irrational surge of jealousy that all too quickly turned to anger and frustration.
Was 'that' how much Ant thought of him? It certainly had not taken the other man long to find himself a replacement bedmate!
Feeling irritable and betrayed, he pulled himself away and forced his body under the shower, turning up the heat until the water was almost blisteringly hot. He felt dirty and worthless just for being here. The searing spray drilled into his flesh like a thousand superheated pins and he concentrated on the sensation. It was almost unbearable but the pain was just enough to cut through his confusion and give him focus. When he stepped out of the shower room he was calm and quiet inside.
In the Day Room people were already up and about. Arturo had arrived with the Twins and a number of other boys, who looked both scared and excited by this new situation. They whispered among themselves like children whenever someone walked into the room. When Rayne came in one of the Twins murmured something under his breath. There were a few nervous giggles but most of the lads stared at Rayne Wilde with a mixture of awe and disgust.
He turned his back on them at once, finding a plate and piling it with small, warm brioches, although he had no appetite for food at all. There was grapefruit juice in a tall jug and he poured two glasses of the stuff down his throat, followed by a tumbler full of iced water, before helping himself to coffee. Thus fortified he went up to sit on the roof deck where it was still mercifully quiet.
Aldo had beaten him to it. The Italian was tucking into a hearty breakfast of grilled mushrooms and tomatoes and two huge poached eggs on a slice of granary toast. He cheerfully waved Rayne over and the boy sank down beside him, nibbling on a brioche and trying not to look at the contents of Aldo's plate. His companion clucked at him disapprovingly.
"You will never be strong, eating crumbs like a sparrow!" he teased. "This is good. Lots of energy but little fat. We need this today, si?"
"I dunno how you can!" Rayne told him, burying his nose in the coffee cup, which was more of a small bowl with a handle. "I just feel sick, Aldo."
At once the other lad was concerned. He put a hand on Rayne's arm, peering intently at him.
"You will be okay, no?"
"Yeah... I guess," Rayne answered him non-committally, staring down into his cup. "I just... I don't feel very hungry."
He put down the cup and the plate, leaning forward with his arms folded on the guard-rail and his chin on the backs of his hands. It was a stunningly beautiful morning, already hot and bright although it was not much after nine am. Light glittered off the water and the streamlined hulls of the yachts and cruisers bobbing idly at their moorings. People strolled along the quayside; happy holidaymakers, blissfully ignorant of what was going on here, right under their noses. Rayne envied them. He wished that he could feel so anonymous and unconcerned. From his early teens he had been conscious of how people looked at him and whispered about him. After Brian was sent down for molestation it got progressively worse. The trial had been fairly confidential and Rayne was not named in the newspapers but Dymchurch was a small place and gossip travelled like wildfire. He shut it out because it was all that he 'could' do in the end. He had become very proficient at not letting others see how much he cared.
The downside to that, he supposed now, was that they all believed that he did not. Rayne clenched his teeth and looked down at his hands and wrists miserably. The scars were not so prominent now but still they stood out, slightly paler than the rest of his tanned skin. To his surprise, Aldo wriggled a little bit closer and the hand on his forearm slid up and across to his far shoulder.
"Please eat a little. Just for me," the Italian whispered huskily. "I will take care of you, I promise. You do not have to be afraid. I will be there."
"I'm not scared," Rayne said stubbornly. "I... I... just... I don't like this part. I don't like the hanging around... people staring at me... knowing..."
Aldo nodded his head sympathetically. His arm tightened around Rayne's slim shoulders and he murmured; "It is hard, I know. When I was first beginning in these films, I was always the bottom, si? You understand? Because I was very young and all the guys knew what I was there for. It makes you feel very... vulnerable, no?"
Rayne risked a look at him. He did not believe that Aldo would tease him about something like this but he looked anyway. The dark eyes that met his own were serious and concerned and he felt even worse knowing that Aldo seemed genuinely worried about him.
"Yeah," he breathed quietly, at last.
"Don't worry," Aldo told him levelly. "These guys are good. They are not going to hurt you."
Rayne swallowed feeling his mouth go suddenly dry. He looked away again, watching the boats and the people enjoying their pleasant, uncomplicated, ordinary lives.
"Who are the kids that came with Arturo this morning?" he asked at last, focussing on the facts. If he could look at this situation practically maybe that would help.
"You have not read the Treatment?" Aldo sounded a little surprised and Rayne's eyes flickered up to find his face at once.
"No... Terry was gonna get me a copy. Have 'you' read it?"
Aldo half-smiled; "Of course!"
Something in the way he said that tightened all the muscles in Rayne's chest and stomach. He wanted to be sick but he just took another sip from his cooling coffee, never taking his eyes off Aldo.
"Has 'everyone else' read it?"
Aldo's expression sobered.
"I guess so," he said cautiously.
Rayne finally averted his gaze. His thoughts were in turmoil but uppermost among them was a desire to kill Daniel Leland. The old goon had done this on purpose! He just wanted to see his nemesis fall flat on his arse, preferably in front of P J McNamara.
"You can read mine," his friend volunteered stoically.
"I will," Rayne said, with a scowl of defiance.
He was still reading as Terry shepherded them both down from the roof to make their ablutions. Aldo still watched him warily as he chewed on his lips, pale eyes growing darker and more appalled with every page. He knew that this was a particularly detailed Treatment. Some ran to no more than a single sheet of paper. Leland's was twelve whole pages, annotated with speculative camera directions. Rayne Wilde was no prude but by the time Terence Goodwill called them down his face was scarlet.
"You know what to do, eh?" the big Londoner grinned at him as he returned to the Day Room with his breakfast untouched, an utterly unreadable expression on his face.
Rayne just looked at him. If looks had power, Terry would have been a dead man right then and there. As it was, he just flashed that too-knowing grin and walked away while Rayne fumed impotently behind him.
For most of the evening, once Dan had steered Rayne away into his bedroom, Ant had simply felt sick. He did not know whether to be angry, or hurt or just downright dismayed by the scene that had erupted between himself and the boy he had hauled out of the snow. A part of his mind was telling him that Daniel had been right. Rayne would never be grateful to him. The little bitch had no idea 'how' to say thank you. His cock, and some overriding impulse to hurt people and drive them away, governed him. He had tried his hardest to penetrate the tough veneer that shrugged off any show of concern but Rayne was having none of it. Ant had hoped at the very least that beating the crap out of Christophe would win him brownie points but apparently it was not to be so. Rayne was impervious to any offer of help. He just took it for granted as if it was some God-given right.
Ant closed his eyes and tried to shut out the memories of his beautiful, defensive, angry young face. He could not bring himself to speak to anyone just yet so he had gone up onto the roof deck and was lying under the stars with a glass in his hand, wishing that tonight had gone differently. If only he had been a bit less hasty, Rayne might be here with him, curled against his side, maybe stroking or sucking him as he ran his hands through the boy's silky hair. Ant might have gently seduced him until they were both making love fiercely beneath the bright heavens, instead of which he was here alone, seething to himself.
He silently cursed Paddy McNamara to a fiery hell. Everything had been fine until the Irish National Stud stuck his great big oar in. Rayne had been... if not happy, then at least satisfied with his lot. Ant never had the impression that Rayne Wilde was happy but he had at least seemed to be settling down before McNamara and his crew arrived. And that had been the catalyst.
He knew that Rayne was utterly unimpressed by fame, Daniel and the whole movie business rolled off his back like water in the shower, but maybe it was something about the allure of men with big cocks. Ant gritted his teeth at the idea of it. Finding Rayne curled up with McNamara on the sofa the other morning had almost been the final straw. Until then he had been able to kid himself that the boy was easily seduced; after all, they had got him very drunk the night before. It was easy enough to fall into the nearest bed... but to want to stay there the morning after. McNamara must have been some stud between the sheets because he had never known Rayne to be as animated as he was on that morning when the letter with his results arrived.
And since then he had endured the nightmare of not knowing whether his young mate had fled completely, or been abducted. In a way it had been almost a relief to know that Christophe might have taken him. At least it meant that he could do something. And punching the French pervert's lights out had been immensely satisfying.
More so had been the chance to hold Rayne in his arms and just make a complete fuss of the boy. He had been through a nightmare. Though he made no complaint, Ant sensed that Rayne was mortified by the experience and also in considerable pain. Later, with his nerves and impulses numbed by the drugs he was so soft and compliant that Ant could not help but want to make love to him. Somehow he had managed to hold off. It was agony, lying beside his lover and rubbing against his sleek body but unable to spread and enter him. He had never wanted a fuck so badly in his life.
The half-sentient awareness of Rayne's little chat with McNamara was the thing that completely tipped him over the edge. He could almost taste Rayne's need for the Irishman. When the boy began to beg for sex it was all that he could do not to jump up and rip P J's throat out. So it was that he could not quite believe the man's immense restraint in getting up and walking away. Had he been placed in the same position he did not know how the hell he would have kept from ripping Rayne apart with his cock. In fact he wanted to get inside his lover so much that his passions were still running high once the boy discovered that he was awake and cognisant of the facts.
That had been his last mistake. Ant had been embarrassed but curiously he sensed that Rayne was too. The scene with Paddy had not gone the way his young mate expected. And then he had been forced to explain himself.
Ant let his head fall into his hands and groaned, utterly dismayed. How the hell had he let the situation get away from him so badly? When he realised that Ant was awake, Rayne had been horny enough to let him do anything. If he had just pulled the boy into his arms, said nothing, fucked him stupid... Ant sighed wearily, disgusted with himself. Since leaving London he had managed to contain Rayne's aggression but tonight it had exploded and completely overwhelmed him. He had underestimated just how far Rayne would go to avoid confronting the truth. And now he could not even talk to the boy. He could not even say how sorry he was.
The quiet voice started him out of his agonised reflection and he peeled his hands from his eyes and looked up, blinking owlishly into Thierry's huge, blue eyes. The slender French youth was sitting beside him. He must have come up here so quietly that Ant did not even hear his bare feet on the polished deck. Now Thierry stared down at him almost helplessly and he found himself reaching up, touching a reassuring hand to the lad's bruised face.
"It's okay... I'm okay... I just... I wanted a moment."
"You want to be alone?" Thierry exhaled, almost fearfully. Ant sensed him drawing back as if he felt that he was not wanted. He curled his hand around the nape of Thierry's neck and pulled him very gently back down until he was lying across Ant's chest.
"No... I don't think anyone really wants that," he murmured reassuringly, wrapping his arms around the bewildered lad.
"It is not just you. He is angry at everyone," Thierry whispered huskily into his ear as they sprawled beneath the stars together. "I cannot understand him, Antoine."
"Then that makes two of us, Thierry," he answered disconsolately.
He had no memory of staggering back down the stairs to his room but he knew that Thierry had come with him of his own accord. They had tumbled onto the bed together, the worse for wine and emotion. Thierry's soft mouth sought out his own and they kissed long and hard, like it was something they had discovered and no one had kissed before. Ant was astonished by how proficient Thierry was; he seemed little more than a child but he kissed with a hunger that matched Ant's own.
They wound about one another in a serpentine embrace that seemed to have no beginning and no end. Thierry's hands moved constantly over his body, discovering his erogenous zones with a careful skill that Ant was envious of. In response he caressed the lad tenderly, stroking urgent fingers through his blond curls, coaxing Thierry's mouth down towards his cock as they writhed together on the bed. To his amazement the blond did not fight him; he was quietly compliant with all of Ant's desires and deliciously good at satisfying most of them too.
At some point during the night he was conscious of pulling the little blond closer to his own body, feeling Thierry straddle him willingly, rising up above his crotch and reaching back to guide Ant's pulsing member between his creamy cheeks. His sweet hole was hot and welcoming, not as tight as Rayne's but still pleasing nonetheless. Ant groaned long and loud as he drove his cock into the lad, feeling Thierry's slender legs coil around his hips as he urged his groin upward to push himself deeper, his arse rising up off the mattress, back arching as he pressed his aching tool into that delicious heat. Thierry leaned over him, gasping and crying out quietly and Ant's hands stroked his pretty face, then slid down his back to his pert bottom just as the boy's arms snaked hungrily around his shoulders. They met at all points from the lips down and Thierry rode him almost savagely as he bucked upward to meet his new lover's lean, smooth, undulating body.