A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 19

Noriko, perching on the arm of the sofa beside the singer, crossed impossibly long legs, in thigh-high white PVC boots that rose almost to the hem of her short black and white, oriental cut dress. Beneath them she wore metallic purple stockings. She folded her arms across her tiny breasts and tossed her long fall of sleek, vivid pink hair, impatient with the boys and their lack of impetus. In spite of her appearance Noriko was older than any of her fellow band members by a couple of years (and about a century when it came to common sense!)

"Get the door guys to flank him, put him in a cab, the scum try to chase him, get bored and go home," she elaborated. "Then 'we' can leave."

"Cheers Niko," Rayne muttered without opening his eyes. "Throw me to the fuckin' dogs why don't you?"

"They won't get near. There is less traffic now," she pointed out. "If a cab comes, and they get you into it, you can go home safely. We give it a few minutes and then we can walk out of here. It is a good plan."

"I've no money though," Rayne Wylde crooned in a broken imitation of her sing-song voice. He tilted his head back to look up at her, one eye still closed.

By way of a response to this she uncrossed her legs, hooked up the front of her skirt, oblivious to the stares of the non-Whipsnade occupants of the Ritz Lounge and retrieved a folded £20 note from the tiny, lacy condom pocket on the front of her purple thong panties. Without a word she passed it down to him.

"I'll remember that," he told her knowingly, taking the warm, slightly moist note and pressing it to his nose with a grin, inhaling her scent.

"Touch my moneymaker and you'll die horribly. Being ripped apart by the press will seem like a holiday," she warned, adjusting her skirt again. She was standing now and the long pink tail of hair cascaded forward over one shoulder as she bent to this task. Rayne caught it and towed her lips down to meet his own.

"Come with me," he whispered huskily into her mouth.

"My husband is home," Noriko said with a brisk shake of her head. "He is taking me out for dinner, if I ever get back tonight!"

"Fuck me in the cab, I'll drop you off," Rayne promised, brushing his lips against hers, tasting her magenta lipstick.

"Dirty pig!" she laughed with another shake of her hair as she pulled free of him. "Get your skinny ass out of here, Wylde. Let us go home!"

Rayne just managed a wicked chuckle as he levered himself into a sitting position and ignored the dagger-glares he was getting from Matt. As the plucky doorman returned to let them know a taxi was stopping, Rayne Wylde rose stiffly to his feet. He ran a bold hand over Noriko's pert arse as he passed her. She dealt him a slap to the rear in return.

"You know you want it," he murmured teasingly. "You want to hump that tight oriental pussy on my hard cock. Again!"

"Like, fat chance you'll be hard tonight!" Noriko flashed back cheekily, blowing him a kiss. "No way you're getting a boner today, honey!"

And then four burly, top-hatted doormen were flanking him, shielding the singer with their bodies and virtually racing him through the double doors and out through the chaos on the concourse where they hustled him into a stationary cab.

THE BOY WHO CAME BACK FROM THE DEAD:

"Drive!" the skinny, black-clad creature yelled huskily as he tumbled into the back of the taxi and the kerb-side rear door slammed shut behind him.

For a nanosecond the cab driver looked over his shoulder from one man to the other then, as the horde of paparazzi surged around his vehicle, scrabbling for the door handles he seemed to reach an executive decision. He flicked the internal locks on and floored the accelerator, scattering howling journalists like confetti.

"Fuckin' hell!" Rayne Wylde exclaimed enthusiastically. "That's more like it! Mow the cunts down!"

At about the same moment he seemed to realise that he had company after all. Simultaneously Ant Wright recognised his fellow passenger with a sudden, painful jolt of emotion.

"You..." he wavered helplessly. So many times he had rehearsed what he would say if he ever saw Rayne again. Even so, all that finally came out of his mouth was one word. "You..."

"What the fuck are you doin' in my cab?" Rayne croaked, a brief flash of panic animating his ashen face. "Are you a fuckin' journalist?"

Ant stared at him. He wanted to laugh... or cry, in that split second he was not sure which.

"You don't remember me, do you?" he asked, his voice barely audible. "You've forgotten. Me... Agde... everything!" Ant looked away, shaking his head. "No surprise, I guess. You've moved on in the world since you dumped me!"

Rayne's ice green eyes widened automatically. The instant of recognition froze him in his seat.

"Fuck! It's 'you' isn't it? Jesus fuckin' Christ! What 'are' you doing in my cab?" he demanded more boldly now.

"Actually..." Ant pointed out, growing increasingly annoyed with this line of enquiry. "I think you'll find it's my cab. I was here first."

"You'll have to get another," Rayne protested, grabbing the handle above the door as they skimmed around Hyde Park Corner, leaving the pursuing press pack well behind. "I mean... we'll drop you at the Dorchester, right? You can get another taxi easy enough there."

"No." Ant countered, his temper beginning to fray. "Bloody Hell, Rayne! What is it? Ten years? And you still can't just say 'I'm sorry.' 'I'm sorry, Ant. I fucked you over!' You can't say it can you?"

"I 'paid' you!" Rayne snapped back at him, his voice cracking with the effort. He coughed painfully, shaking his head so that his dark hair flew like the tendrils of some dark sea anemone. "I gave you your money back, you bastard. With interest! I didn't take a penny for myself."

"Don't you get it?" Ant yelled in response. "I didn't 'want' any money from you. I wouldn't have cared if you 'never' paid me back. That's not what I wanted Rayne!"

Fear glittered in the wide, expressive eyes that turned back towards him then. Automatically, Rayne wriggled back towards the door, groping blindly for the handle. The locks stayed down and he banged a fist against the panel in his frustration. He was like a hunted animal, Ant thought miserably. That much had not changed.

"What 'do' you want?" the singer pleaded huskily in a brittle, tortured voice. He sounded tired and ill and suddenly Ant just wanted to pick him up and take him somewhere warm and safe where he could rest and relax. It seemed wrong that he was still so scared after all he had been through. "What do you want to stop stalking me and just leave me alone?"

"I'm not fucking stalking you!" Ant reached for one of the overhead safety handles beyond the singer's head and pulled himself across the back seat until he was close enough to touch Rayne. Still the smaller man pulled away from him, his back pressed against the door. Those fierce green eyes were screened behind his hair, hiding his emotions. His breath came in short, desperate bursts. "I haven't been near you since you walked out on me in France. I didn't even know if you were still alive until a couple of years ago when I saw your face in a magazine. Do you know how that made me feel?"

He rested one careful hand on the young man's lean, black-clad thigh and lowered the other from the door handle to run it gently through Rayne's sleek, ebony hair. He felt the singer quiver furiously under his touch, too scared and angry to speak.

"You 'know' what I want," Ant whispered to him, leaning close enough to feel Rayne's rapid breath on his face. His hand glided slowly up the boy's inside leg. "God almighty, you're still so beautiful. Even now!"

Rayne closed his eyes and groaned quietly as Ant's searching hand cupped his balls through the tight black crotch of his trousers, squeezing and rubbing him firmly until he felt the beginnings of an erection tenting the material. Biting down on both lips the younger man squirmed and moaned under his touch, reluctantly aroused. Ant unfastened the button and zipper awkwardly as the restrictive garment impeded nature's course. His hand eased steadily into the front of Rayne's snug-fitting pants and he groped Whipsnade's sexy vocalist shamelessly, delighted to discover that Rayne still went commando after all this time. The young man would not look at him but he did not push Ant away.

Ant fondled his freed cock for a little while, until Rayne was panting urgently in his loose embrace. Keeping his left hand at the base of Rayne's skull, supporting his head, he stroked the other slowly up over the singer's heaving belly and chest, caressing the soft material of his black shirt, reaching for the triangle of pale skin at his throat. He let his fingers slide up under Rayne's chin and pressed his thumb against the younger man's soft, full lips. They parted wordlessly around it, taking it into his mouth. Rayne sucked on his thumb and fingers, reaching a hand down between his legs to rub on his neglected cock as the cab lurched through the rainy night.

There was a little silver stud in the tip of his tongue now.

Ant drew his thumb out of the singer's mouth and reached down to unzip his own pants. At the same time Rayne leaned towards him uncertainly. Their lips met and Rayne kissed him hungrily. He tasted nicotine and marijuana on the singer's lashing tongue.

"Touch me!" he panted into Rayne's mouth, before easing his own tongue between the young man's cold, wet lips and returning his right hand to Rayne's twitching cock.

For the first time Rayne turned those huge, icy-green eyes up towards him as they kissed again. The pupils were like needle-points. He still had not said a word since Ant began to seduce him.

"Are you all right?" Ant asked him now, suddenly wary of the wide-eyed, slightly feral gaze that was fixed on his face.

Rayne blinked once, never taking his eyes off Ant. He nodded his head briefly.

Ant groaned deep in his throat as he felt long, slender, chilly fingers slide into his open fly and close around his stiffening member. The stoned, sexy youth fisted his erection vigorously as their lips met again, surging and parting. Rayne's tongue entered his mouth and he sucked on the tiny stud, catching it lightly between his teeth, trapping the boy's lips against his own. His thumb rolled slowly over the slick, leaking head of his lover's pulsing hard-on and he felt Rayne's lithe body arc upward, towards him as the young man whimpered with pleasure.

"Christ, guys! Get a fuckin' room or somthin'!" the cabbie growled at last, reminding them that they were not alone.

His words briefly broke the spell that held them. They moved apart unwillingly, both panting and still hard. Ant's heart was pounding eagerly and Rayne's beautiful green eyes glittered like jewels in the winking light from the street-lamps and storefronts they passed. His full, wet lips were as tempting as original sin as he struggled to force his cock back into his pants.

The cab driver's eyes flickered back and forth from the mirror to the road, watching Rayne's impossibly pretty face.

"You're that singer, aren't you?" he queried at last, unable to resist. "The one what decked that photographer bloke in Ireland?"

"Yeah!" Rayne told him huskily, a little smile tugging at his lips.

"Thought so." The cabbie began to look happier now that he had some juicy gossip to relay to future customers.

Ant could almost hear him; 'Yeah... I 'ad that Rayne Wylde in the back of my cab the other day. Randy as a bitch on heat! Getting it on with some bloke he only just met!'

He moved his hand possessively down Rayne's spine and back up again to the nape of his neck. The singer was still so slender that he felt the curve of each individual vertebra through the fine material of his summer jacket. His fingers crept back over Rayne's collar beneath his dark, shoulder-length spill of sable hair. The skin there was sweat-damp but surprisingly cool. Ant watched him close his eyes again and suck in a long shuddering breath, remembering how the boy loved to be touched in certain places.

"Where you going?" the driver asked now.

Rayne said nothing. His trembling fingers moved up to the neckline of his gauzy black shirt and tugged on it so that the buttons peeled free and it fell open, baring his pale torso and belly. He tilted his head back into Ant's caressing hand. It was such a trusting, submissive gesture that the older man stiffened again for him.

"King's Road," Ant said quietly now, glancing at his companion to see if he had any objection. When none was forthcoming, he eased his right hand back inside Rayne's shirt and began to twist his small, firm nipples lightly between his forefinger and thumb. The boy's lips parted around a sudden moan of delight; a little sound exhaled forcefully as he was teased.

"Yeah... right... thought so!" the driver said again, in a strained voice, his eyes moving rapidly in the mirror, unable to look away as the singer writhed in the back of his cab with his shirt and pants undone, succumbing to his companion's touch. "Saw your picture in a magazine the other day. Stark bollock naked with a load of chains and a couple of big black panthers. What was that all about, eh?"

Rayne laughed breathlessly, never opening his eyes. Ant's hand eased down his backbone again, curling under the tail of his shirt and sliding down easily into his pants to explore that final erogenous zone beneath the very end of his tail bone; the small, round hollow at the top of his sexy arse-crack. It was still there, and Ant slipped the tip of his middle finger into it, feeling Rayne squirm restlessly under his hands.

"It's... uhhhhh... it's about.... About how I'm a... ahhhh... a total slave to huhhh... hot, black pussy!" he panted as Ant's head went down and the older man began to suck and nibble on his erect nipples.

Ant snorted with amusement, the sound muffled against his chest. Rayne pulled on his hair roughly, recovering his breath enough to declare; "It 'is'!"

"Yeah, right!" Ant whispered, kissing his way back up to Rayne's throat. At the same time his probing finger moved lower, circling the singer's puckered ring and pressing down on it firmly. He felt Rayne's breathing quicken against his left ear and the younger man struggled in his arms as Ant's finger breached his tight, hot rectum and thrust deeper into his writhing body. "Hot black pussy, my arse!" Ant chuckled softly against his skin, as the cab turned right onto the King's Road.

"Where're you guys getting off?" the cabbie grunted, sounding increasingly uncomfortable with the behaviour on the back seat of his vehicle.

'Right here, if you don't get a fuckin' move on!' Ant thought as Rayne began to hump his intrusive finger eagerly, gasping and panting in his embrace. He lifted his head and peered out through the steamed up window.

"Next block will do," he replied to their driver's obvious relief.

He paid the cab driver, struggling to keep his pants up as Rayne lolled against the side of the car, oblivious of his half-dressed state. Fortunately it was late and quiet down this end of the road and he was able to steer the singer down the alleyway to the little courtyard, which allowed access to his temporary residence, before he exposed himself to some unsuspecting passer-by. The flat belonged to a friend of a friend but he was often away in Portugal on business and had no objection to Ant staying over there on his visits to London. Only as he struggled to get the singer up the stairs to the front door did Ant realise just how stoned and sleepy Rayne was. In the end he hoisted the boy over one shoulder in a fireman's lift and carried him up, letting himself into the warmth of the kitchen. He strode through to the lounge and dumped Rayne Wylde onto the black leather sofa there shaking his head at the way the slender youth sank into the soft embrace of the yielding cushions. He could not stop thinking how easy it would be to rip Rayne's clothes off and fuck him hard right now.

Déjà vu was kicking in. A little over ten years ago he had carried Rayne back to his boat in a similar state. The memories were still etched vividly on his mind. Rayne lying on his couch, cold and wet, unsure of where he was. It had taken him a little while to pluck up the courage to touch the boy back then. Now he knew what he wanted. He just hoped that Rayne wanted the same thing.

"I'll get you some coffee," he said, controlling himself sternly. If they made out tonight he wanted the singer to remember it.

"You got any vodka?" his guest crooned huskily, without opening his eyes.

"You're wasted enough," Ant called back from the kitchen where he was already putting the percolator on. "What is it this time? Drink or Drugs?"

"Bit of both!" Rayne admitted, struggling to sit up for a few seconds then giving in and flopping back down onto the couch.

"I wasted my time trying to clean you up then?" Ant came back to the doorway, unfastening his shirt and shrugging it off.

The younger man was watching him from the sofa, where he sprawled languidly in a state of semi-undress. Ant let his trousers drop to the floor and stepped out of them, toeing off his shoes and socks. He pushed down his underpants and pulled on his half-erect cock.

"Once a junkie, always a junkie," Rayne agreed sleepily. "You living 'ere then?"

"It's not mine, I've just borrowed it," Ant wandered back through to the kitchen and hunted out a pair of coffee mugs.

"It's nice," his guest assured him, raising his voice to be heard in the next room. "Very... comfortable."

"Are you still living in London?" Ant asked as he busied himself with the cups.

"Mmm," Rayne made an affirmative noise. "Not in a squat though, now. I've got my own place."

"You must be doing well then."

"I'm doin' okay," Rayne said casually.

Ant carried the mugs through into the long, low-ceilinged lounge area and smiled when he observed Rayne stroking himself lazily as he waited. The younger man had eased his pants down around his thighs and peeled off his long black coat. It hung over the back of the sofa like a charred corspe. His filmy black shirt hung off the narrow wings of his pale shoulders and his head was tipped back into the soft, leather cushions of the low sofa. Long, dark eyelashes fanned his cheeks seductively. His tongue flickered between his lips as he pulled on his cock and balls with both hands.

"It looks that way," Ant told him, smiling. His own penis stiffened appreciatively at the thought of those soft lips around his aching shaft. "Would you like some sugar or cream with that?"

Green eyes opened and surveyed him silently. Rayne managed a lazy smile. It bared the longest, sharpest dog-teeth Ant had ever seen. He felt his pulse race at the sight. At the same time he wondered how he had not noticed them when he was kissing the boy urgently in the cab.

"Jesus Christ! When did you get those done?" he laughed quickly, to hide the shock.

Rayne licked one of the long canines, taking his time, running the studded tip of his tongue down the outer curve like an invitation. At last he leaned back again with a little sigh.

"Do you like them?" he breathed, wriggling seductively on the sofa.

"They're amazing!" Ant nodded, setting down the cups and coming to sit beside him. "Do you bite people with them?"

Rayne Wylde eased his slight weight onto one hip and leaned forward so that his tip-tilted nose touched Ant's. He let the tip of his tongue run over Ant's lips, then traced a cool, wet trail to his lover's right ear, licking his face and neck like a dog. He shuddered again, as he had in the car. Ant pulled him closer, running his hands up under the gauzy shirt as he towed the slender singer into his lap and kissed his neck. His fingers crept back down to Rayne's hips, gripping and parting his firm, white cheeks as they nuzzled one another breathlessly.