A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 13


He nodded his head, not trusting words and that, it seemed, was response enough for Paddy just held him closer.


Ant was sitting on the roof-deck of Daniel's boat when P J McNamara and the lean, icy blond one from his entourage – the oh-so-clever one with the indecipherable trans-european accent - came out from their meeting with Leland. Since the crew came back from their shoot in Beziers, they had been shut away in Leland's room. From time to time raised voices were heard. During the afternoon the other members of the crew drifted on and off the boat. Arturo came back and made camp with his expanding bunch of boys. The technical boys came and went. Terry wandered out and spoke to them and they headed off for the nearest bar.

Of Rayne there was no sign. Aldo was also conspicuous by his absence. Ant brooded over that, certain that wherever the pair had disappeared to, they were together. This morning, before he left for the shoot, Rayne had given him such a look. There was so much resentment in that silent stare that he was rocked by it. He was still stinging from the intensity of those brooding green eyes. Nor could he forget Aldo's comments the night before when the Italian made out with him. He was just as keen to get back inside Rayne as any of them. The mood he was in, and presented with a stud like Aldo, Rayne was not likely to say no. Hell, he would probably do it just to score a point.

Ant folded his arms across his knees and rested his forehead on them, wondering if Rayne even saw it as a competition any more. He had not slept with the boy since before Christophe took him captive. The argument had been brewing long before that catalyst pushed them over the edge. Rayne was bored with him. He wanted someone younger, richer... who could say what he wanted! Daniel had been right. He was on the make.

"I should move on," he muttered with a shake of his head, but he still looked up and his eyes found that huge yacht berthed on the very edge of the marina. There were lights on inside now. He could only imagine what was going on beneath those lights.

"Antoine. Antoine?" The breathless query roused him at the second attempt and he looked around, meeting Thierry's anxious blue eyes. The boy was holding a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. "I wondered, do you want to drink?"

"Yeah," he said at once, forcing a smile. The French lad's bruises were fading now and already he was more confident. The event of the last few days must have been bewildering for him, but he was determined to help. "That would be good," Ant told him.

They shared the wine under the starlight and Thierry cuddled closer to him. Ant was glad of the boy's warmth. Before too long they were lying on his towel on the deck, twined around one another. Thierry's mouth was pressed against his own, his lips moving soundlessly over Ant's as they pulled closer to one another seeking comfort wherever they could find it.

"This is good," Ant told him when their lips parted wetly for a moment. "You are very very sexy, Thierry."

"I know that you love him," the French boy whispered, his cerulean gaze blank and fathomless. "I know that you want to be with him. But if he... if he will not be together with you, then... I... I..."

"Sssshhhh," Ant breathed, silencing the lad with another kiss. "Let's not worry about him tonight, huh?"

Thierry rubbed his face back and forth against Ant's, nuzzling him gently.

"I know that if he comes back to you, you will have him," he said plaintively. "He is very beautiful. I know what it is to love someone who does not love in the same way."

"Sssshhhhh..." Ant pulled him closer. "I'm not waiting for him to come back, Thierry. If he can't be bothered then I can't either. He's a teasing little bitch and he's going to get what he deserves."

"You don't believe that?" Thierry whispered, cuddling up against him so that Ant felt his cock rise involuntarily.

"Yeah, I believe that. Don't be taken in by that innocent look on his face. He's a user, Thierry. You can't trust them. I did him a favour and he just took it for granted. I won't be fooled twice!"

"You care about him," Thierry touched his nose to Ant's, looking him in the eye gravely. "I can see it. Others too."

"Maybe I did," Ant said defensively. "I won't be taken for a ride though. If he's not interested in me, then I'm not going to waste any more time on him."

"Then you should come back downstairs and have fun," the boy coaxed, stroking his face with gentle hands. "There is a party."

"Yeah... there usually is," Ant managed a smile. "Do you know what the meeting was about?"

Thierry shrugged and shook his head.

"A lot of shouting and blaming. The cameramen are angry because they have not been paid."

"I bet!" Ant grinned fiercely. "Do 'you' know where Rayne is?"

Thierry nodded towards the other boat. "He is there."

"With McNamara?"

"I don't know. Yes... I guess so." Thierry looked up at him sorrowfully. "Antoine, let go. I thought I was in love with Christophe but he was just hurting me more and more. I let him do it because he was sometimes sorry when he had made me bleed. He would hold me and it was all right then. I knew that he loved me really. But the more that he did it, the more I got to think that if he really did love me, he would not hurt me at all."

Ant folded his arms around the blond boy and held him close for a moment. He still had not entirely recovered from the anger of finding Thierry cowering under that table in the marketplace. Although he enjoyed a bit of rough play as much as the next man he could not forgive Christophe for marking the child that way. Thierry had none of Rayne's determination. He was fair game for any user out there. Ant had already decided that no one would take advantage of him that way again.

"I can't figure out how you ended up with a guy like that?" he murmured now.

"I was young when we met. Still at school," Thierry admitted shyly, his face still buried in the hollow of Ant's neck and shoulder. "Men have controlled me all of my life. My father first, telling me that I should go to this school and that school. Teachers, telling me to study this thing and that. I got to study art; that was my second choice. I wanted to act, but my father said that only queers went on the stage. My class was visiting a gallery... Christophe was there, he is an art dealer. He spoke to me about a piece that I did not understand. He was telling me that it was all about sex... about entry and domination. I was so hot for him. He was very handsome."

Ant stroked his hair, looking at him in bewildered affection.

"He said that you were just a child when he first had you," he confessed.

"I was still at college. He gave me his card at the gallery. We talk about sex and I am hard when he left me but I did not dare to ring him for so long. When we finally get together I am so scared but he makes me feel so good that night. It is my birthday and my father is supposed to take me for a meal but he cancels that day – he is very busy with his work. So I go to the call box and I telephoned Chris. He said he remembered me, and he will come and collect me. He took me to an expensive restaurant and we had dinner then went back to his apartment. We drank some wine and then he asks do I want to go to bed with him."

Thierry giggled. Ant snuggled closer. He wanted to take the blond back downstairs and bed him right away.

"So you had sex with him?" he said huskily.

"Uhuh... we went to his bedroom and he stripped me. Then he took me; my first time and I was very nervous. It was good and he was careful the first time, but afterwards the whole night he was more rough with me. It was exciting. It made me feel very aroused. Every second Saturday I spend the night with him and we have... um... experiment, oui?"

"You played games?" Ant stroked his young body gently.

"Oui. He began to tie me... and to put things in me. He would leave me, bound for an hour then come and spank me. I was very excited when he put his cock into me." Thierry was still giggling shyly.

"But the games got nasty?" Ant murmured, holding him closer.

Thierry fell silent. He curled around Ant and would not look at him.

"He was sometimes very rough," he whispered at last. "He would tie me and hit me hard, and gag me so that I cannot scream. Sometimes other men were there and he wants me to fuck with them too. I said non, but he says to me that I must do as he wishes or it will hurt for me. If I do not make his friends happy he does not want to see me again."

"Bastard!" Ant growled quietly.

"But I love him and I want to see him so I say yes. It is worth it to be with him non?" Thierry looked up at him mournfully.

"He's using you. He doesn't love you," Ant told him flatly. "He wouldn't do things like that to you if he loved you, Thierry. Not if you didn't want it."

"I never told 'him' no," Thierry closed his eyes but tears squeezed out from under the lids and ran down his cheeks. "I hoped he would love me if I did not say no."

Ant pulled him close, stunned by this admission. He had never met anyone quite so submissive as Thierry. The boy was frighteningly vulnerable. Now he held the little blond and stroked his hair tenderly until he stopped sobbing.

"I'll look after you," he whispered into the young man's fine, white blond hair. "I promise you, Thierry. I will take care of you."

Once they were back in the bedroom, Thierry was unstinting in his gratitude. Ant laid him gently on the bed and kissed his slender body gently all over until he was moaning with desire. Thierry sucked on his erect nipples and bent over his aching cock, taking him almost all the way into his mouth as he nodded and sucked. Ant closed his eyes, kneeling on the mattress, slowly nudging his prick in and out of the French boy's soft, wet mouth. It felt good but he was not as proficient in the art of fellatio as Rayne had been. He was more submissive beneath Ant too, as the older man pushed into him and pumped his tender, eighteen year old arse. With every thrust he moaned and sighed, writhing under his lover with complete abandon. Ant loved it. He had been aching for this for far too long. Something was missing, though. Even though Thierry was pressing all the right buttons to bring him to a shuddering, sweaty climax, the essential spark was not there. The boy was well trained but his physical responses were schooled not natural, or so the older man sensed. Ant was not on fire, it was as if he was following a script and Thierry too. It was a bloody great script though! He pushed his cock in deep and came with a groan of relief, then fisted and sucked on the French boy's erection until Thierry reached a panting, whimpering orgasm beneath him.

"Was that good?" he whispered once they were sprawled, panting and perspiring freely in one another's arms.

"Yeah!" he exhaled with a fervent nod. "That was great!"

He still felt empty though. Thierry cuddled against him as he was sinking into a deep sleep. Ant put his arms around the boy and held him helplessly.


Rayne was conscious of Paddy's warmth against his back when he first woke, as the early sunlight filtered though the blinds into their bedroom, tickling fingers of gold across the insides of his eyelids. He felt sore and sticky and vastly uncomfortable. His rectum was as loose as broken elastic and he was painfully aware of the cool draught from the air conditioning circulating in his gaping passage. Wincing at the tight, sharp pains in his anal walls he tried to clench his ring a couple of times then sank into a nest of disturbed bed-covers, pressing his burning face into the cool, soft linen.

Yesterday he had been such a slut for them. It was painfully embarrassing even to think of what he had willingly done with Aldo, Barclay and P.J.McNamara. It would serve him right if Paddy thought he was no better than a whore this morning.

But the handsome Irish stud was still in bed with him. Either last night's vigorous fuck had completely exhausted him or he was actually enjoying himself, lying here with a well-fucked lover in his arms.

Rayne closed his eyes and wriggled back into that warm embrace. He felt Paddy rub against him sleepily and the man made a small, affirmative, contented noise as he nuzzled Rayne's neck and bare shoulder. When nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, his young lover relaxed and drifted off into a deeper sleep once more.

The second time he woke it was from a vivid dream in which Paddy McNamara chased him in a speedboat up Camden High Street. He was alone this time. There was residual warmth on the sheets behind him; a P J shaped space defined by his heat and the musky, man-sweat aroma of his body. Rayne turned and buried his face in the bed linen, breathing in that familiar smell. He got a hard-on just rubbing himself in Paddy's scent.

To his lasting dismay, he felt so horny that his hand crept down to his throbbing cock and he pulled himself off quickly, wrapped up in that lingering masculine perfume. It felt good to cum again. He rolled onto his back and bucked his hips up off the bed, thrusting into his curled fingers as his twitching cock-head squirted it's wet, sticky load onto his naked belly. A small gasp of pleasure escaped his parted lips and he ran the fingers of his other hand down through the spill, stroking tendrils of spunk up onto his stiff, dark nipples; then slipping his fingers into his mouth. Rayne had never been squeamish about the taste of semen. Often it was the quickest, most convenient way to hide the evidence of some furtive bout of self-gratification. He was still licking himself clean like a little cat when Mikka came to lean quietly in the bedroom doorway and made him jump when he said; "It would be easier to take a shower."

His Finnish companion was right about that. The shower felt amazing after all he had been through yesterday. Rayne stood under the powerful jets, letting them blast his skin clean. He washed the sweat from his hair, then shaved himself carefully all over from his chin to his ankles, before showering off the traces of shaving foam that his razor had missed. Feeling smooth and sultry, energised by the rush of the hot water on his skin, he plucked up the courage to face his fellow cast members.

The guys were having breakfast in the bright, airy galley area when he came to find them. His searching gaze found P J first, lounging on the leather sofa with a broadsheet newspaper spread open across his lap. His auburn hair was tied back in a short tail at the nape of his neck and his reading glasses were perched on the bridge of his impressive prow of a nose. He experienced a curious warmth inside as soon as his eyes rested on the big man. It was as if something cold melted around his heart; another barricade falling.

Clay wolf-whistled salaciously when he spotted their youngest comrade and Rayne's green gaze flew to his face. He was conscious of the spots of heat spreading across his cheeks and fervently hoped that nobody had spotted him mooning around over Paddy. Even a good-natured ribbing was going to make him blush like a girl after last night's exertions.

Aldo was with them, helping Mikka to cook breakfast. He wore a crisp linen apron from the waist down and nothing else. The pale material stood out in stark contrast to his lean, toned, sun-bronzed body. When he turned away from them, his firm, brown arse was still temptingly bare. Mikkal Saarinen spanked the Italian smartly there with a serving spatula in return for some quip in French about his cooking.

"That's not a hygienic use of kitchen utensils, surely?" Paddy commented from the sofa.

Aldo di Boccato was not the only addition to their usual number this morning. Sitting with Clay at the breakfast bar and trying to hide behind a vast mug of coffee was the dark haired boy who had watched him with the dildo yesterday. He smiled nervously when Rayne's eyes lingered enquiringly on his face, but did not speak.

"You know Robin, don't you?" Clay said cheerfully, making a formal introduction less necessary.

"We've met, yeah.," Rayne answered, a shade dismissively. He had not bothered to discover the young man's name yesterday. It had seemed unnecessary then. Now he felt rather awkward with those big brown eyes watching him so intently.

"We rescued him from the Terrible Tossers!" Aldo declared valiantly, blitzing a reddish combination of fruit and vitamins in the blender then decanting the frothing mixture into a tall glass, which he passed to Rayne. "There, get that down you. It will do you good. All heathy, nice fruits and no animal products, I promise!"

Rayne's lips twitched upward in spite of his determination to be serious. Aldo's disapproval of his eating habits was becoming something of a joke between them. He sipped the drink, which tasted odd, but not unpleasant. Taking the free stool to Barclay's right he gulped the rest of it down, suddenly aware of how thirsty he was.

Aldo grinned at him. "Another?"

"Yeah...that was okay," Rayne conceded, though he was wondering exactly when it had become so commonplace to hang around with naked well-endowed men that he barely gave their impressive bodies a second glance. He was used to Mikka's tall, slim, graceful, golden frame and the harder definition of Aldo's younger, darker body. Although muscles were not his thing, he even appreciated the sculpted beauty of Barclay's gleaming, blue-black pecs and the tight ridges of his rock hard abdomen.

And then there was Paddy. Quite apart from that notorious piece of equipment between his legs, P J McNamara had one hell of a body for a man of his age. He was muscular without being too bulky but burlier than Aldo, with sleek, hairless skin the colour of lightly brewed tea; A physique that was simultaneously soft and smooth, yet firm and warm to the touch. Rayne's mouth went dry at the memory of that strong, masculine body thrusting urgently between his widespread legs.

Another flush of colour rose to his cheeks as he felt his cock stiffen in response to the thought. Rayne clamped his thighs together, desperate to keep his suddenly erect cock between his legs, out of sight.

As Aldo returned with his drink the Italian fired a curious look at him.

"You okay?"

Rayne nodded, excited and mortified in equal measures. Even Robin, who was still gazing in silent awe at these semi-mythical, beautiful men all around him, was not fighting to control a raging hard-on.

"I'll be all right," he vowed, catching his breath.

"You sure?" Aldo set the glass down, touching the side of Rayne's face with his cool, damp fingers.

The younger man shuddered with pleasure at that caress. Although he could not see them, he knew that the pupils of his eyes were fully dilated. He could barely breathe. Now he managed a tiny nod of his head, wondering if he dared to try and cross his legs.

'Think of something boring,' his mind volunteered. 'Drink the juice. Try to identify the fruit... umm... there's strawberries... melon... something else sweet, dunno what that is... a kind of chalky taste in the back of the throat. What's that? Dunno... Add them up... four flavours, multiply them by four... that's... ummm... sixteen! Think of sixteen fruits!!'

It felt too hard to breathe. He buried his nose in the glass and missed the 'look' that Aldo fired over one shoulder at Mikkal. Now the Finn put down his spatula with a little frown of concern and bent forward to peer into Rayne's eyes. He felt Clay's big, warm hand on his shoulder and huffed softly like a panting dog.

"That one's straight juice, right?" the American asked warily.

Behind them, the newspaper rustled and Rayne heard the sofa creak softly as Paddy rose and came over to join them.

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