Day-Trippers

There were drugs and groupies and endless, countless, viciously-intentional betrayals on both sides of the relationship. Off-stage, Rayne could not keep his cock in his pants, but he and Matt were not even sleeping together!

Then there was the fight. It happened without warning, three hours before a vast, sold-out show in Dusseldorf. Rayne had disappeared, missed the sound-check and turned up, finally, out of his mind on acid, with some smug, well-fucked looking blond-boy tart in tow. Matty flipped and laid into him. He could not remember a single word he had said, back then. The recollections that remained strongest were of a rising sense of hysteria that he simply could not control anymore, and the almost mechanical 'click' of Rayne's bones under his tightly balled knuckles as Matty's fist broke his jaw for him. The upper-cut he got back off the singer knocked him out cold and by the time he got out of hospital, Ray was gone. A flight, hours before, had taken him back to London and the rest of the Silver Line Park Tour was cancelled.

"I'm glad if I make you happy," Matt ventured now, cautiously, still not sure where this was leading him. He was painfully conscious of the words that he wanted to say, but could not. The years of separation had taught him a painful lesson. One did not tell Rayne Wylde 'I love you'. Not unless the intention was to repel.

Back in London after the fight, Rayne had not spoken a single word to him for nearly two years. When the band were ready to go back into the studio he had even attempted to sack Matt as Whipsnade's manager. The other band members over-ruled him, for once, and Matty was grateful, even now. During recording, the singer mellowed and a cautious truce seemed to have been reached between them, since when they had been intensely polite to one another for most of the time.

Occasionally they even fucked, but Rayne never failed to let him know that sex was all it was. Invariably fantastic sex, but nothing more.

"It's... it's never been my intention to make you unhappy," Matt said diplomatically.

A raw, crooked smile twisted the hard, thin line of the singer's mouth in return. Ray always smiled as if it was an alien response to him, something he had been practising in front of a mirror but had not quite perfected.

"Matthew," he breathed, barely audibly - though Matt's sharp, Vampiric ears picked up every nuance. "I can count the times you've made me unhappy on one hand, Sweetheart." He let the smile soften, and pushed back his shades to look his companion in the face openly. In that seductively, husky voice he whispered; "The night we met, Ciar an' me took you in off the street and fed you and gave you a bed for the night, and in return you nicked our stash. That really pissed me off!" Matt grinned at the memory.

"I made a damned sight more out those E's than you were doing, Lover!"

That pissed me off too," Rayne nodded, with a sombre smile, checking another finger, though he winked at the younger man as he did so. "Then there was that time you booked us into that Working Men's Club in Darlington!"

"I figured the 'Head of Steam' sounded like a camp joint," Matty protested, laughing now.

Rayne's pale eyes rolled incredulously.

"I've never seen a less impressed bunch of bastards in my life. It's a fuckin' miracle we came out alive!"

"Those that could see well enough to aim straight probably couldn't throw the bottles hard enough to hurt," his companion giggled, nudging him with a bony elbow.

"Remember that DJ they had?" Rayne shook his head again incredulously. "Like something out the fuckin' ark!"

"And you asked him if he knew where you could get your cock sucked!" Matty sagged against him, cackling with delight.

Rayne's hands caught his shoulders gently and he leaned forward as if on the verge of making a comment, then seemed to change his mind. As Matt also straightened, looking into his eyes, they were bare inches apart and the blond man was on the verge of attempting another, bolder kiss when Rayne laughed softly and said; "Of course, I was massively pissed off when you punched my head in, that time in Germany!"

For a second, Matt wavered, wondering if Ray had read his mind. It would not have been the first time, he supposed.

"You asked for that," he answered finally.

One elegant eyebrow flickered upward in a silent enquiry and Matty was forced to consider that Rayne probably remembered less about that night than he did himself. He had been very, very stoned after all. Matt geared up for another dispute, but at last, his friend just murmured; "Maybe I did."

That too was such a shock that the younger man just stared at him for a little while.

"And... and now?" he forced himself to ask, finally.

"What do you mean?" Rayne was looking back at him thoughtfully, his long, pale hands still rested lightly on Matty's tanned forearms.

"Are you pissed off at me now? For not liking all this and ruining your day?"

A small, rueful smile played on Rayne's fine, almost bloodless lips.

"I was a bit narked, at first," he admitted. "But now...." The smile broadened as he looked around him. "I think the situation can possibly be salvaged."

"Oh...?" Matt was still staring back at him blankly when the older Vampire's mouth fastened onto his own, without warning, and began to kiss him intimately.

A good five minutes later when they both came up for air, it was to discover that they were the focus of a good deal of discreet attention. Matt realised, belatedly, that he was lying on the ground with Rayne still half-sprawled over him, a bemused smile on his beautiful face. Several yards away two swim-suited couples at a nearby table were pretending not to watch but sneaking dignified glances at them and whispering at one another urgently. The bar-tender, a lean, afro-european with long, black dreadlocks had wandered out under the shade of the awning and was observing them with a wary expression, as if calculating whether or not he would be forced to fetch a bucket of water to separate them.

Lifting his head, Rayne pushed back his forelock to meet the fellow's eyes.

"Losiento," he murmured, in his husky, Kentish accent.

"Are we in trouble?" Matt asked, grinning.

"I think we'd better eat elsewhere this evening," his companion whispered, never taking his eyes off the mortal, who was watching them with an impassive, unreadable expression that might have been disdain, or heavily veiled astonishment.

Rayne sat up, slowly, dusting himself down and adjusting the well-filled crotch of his pants carefully. He kept a steady, diplomatic smile on his face, but Matt was already reading something darker in his acid-green eyes. The younger Vampire tilted his head back slightly to check out the object of his companion's interest and licked his lips. Until this moment, all he had really been conscious of was the discomfort of his own, rapidly stiffening erection. Now he picked up on Rayne's blood hunger and his dark eyes glittered with a passion that had little to do with sex.

"Quite the nicest thing I've seen on the menu this afternoon," he murmured evenly. "Do you think he'll want to play?"

"Only one way to find out, Sweetheart." Rayne bent to whisper it in his ear, before pushing himself fluidly to his feet and offering a hand to his fellow Vampire, pulling Matt upright at once.

The blond immediately began brushing sand and seaweed off his clothing with a grimace of disgust, and shaking out his long pony-tail impatiently. Rayne picked dried-out debris off him with a distracted air, still glancing up from time to time at the bartender. Once the fellow seemed satisfied that they weren't about to strip naked and perform mutual fellatio on his terrace, he picked up a cloth and a tray of empties from the table nearest to him and strode through to the bar, which was out back behind the awning.

Matt finished his defoliation and executed a sweeping bow in the direction of the table of sun-seekers.

"Show's over, folks," he exclaimed with a wink, and they returned to their hushed conversation, pretending to ignore him. Matt grinned; "Philistines!"

Beside him, Rayne tapped his shoulder and nodded towards the bar and they both headed back that way, following the course the bartender had taken. Actually, when they got there they discovered that 'bar' was a generous description. The building was little more than a lean-to tacked onto the back of a small portakabin with a refrigerator and a shelf for spirits. There was a plump, elderly fellow - German from the sound of him - sitting at the counter when they arrived. He had a vast, sunburnt belly, lush with white curls and was clad in nothing more than a pair of excessively bright, brief swimming trunks, white training shoes and socks and a white cloth cap.

"Don't fancy yours much!" Rayne whispered in Matt's left ear as they separated, almost without a glance. Matty reached the counter first and Rayne mimed the action of taking a piss and was rewarded with a waved direction from the barkeep around to the rear of the building.

Perching on a tall, rickety bar stool, Matty grinned at the bartender, then also at the portly German guy, who was surveying him rather incredulously over his beer. The bartender said something quietly to the older man in his own language, which made the fat guy laugh until his belly wobbled.

Matt surveyed his fingernails, then said; "Yes, I 'am' an English faggot! You'd think we weren't such a rare and exotic species these days, what with Free 'Trade' across Europe and all that!" He looked up at them both with a beaming smile, then narrowed his stare onto the bartender, who looked visibly uncomfortable. "Do you know how to make a Strawberry Daiquiri, sweet-cheeks?"

Helplessly, the guy shook his head.

"Shame..." Matt sighed, returning his attention firstly to his nails, then to the gargantuan German. "What about a Maiden's Blush?"

"This is not Ibiza Town," said the bartender in halting English.

"Clearly!" Matty Greening purred, peering from one to the other of them. "Oh well... it'll have to be the 'Extremely Bloody Marys', then!"

For a second or two the bar-tender looked puzzled, then his German customer said something to him and he brightened visibly, bending to the fridge to produce a bottle of tomato juice. Matt stared at it shortly.

"No, no!" he said, irritably, at last.

The German and their host exchanged a questioning glance. Matt threw up his hands in exasperation.

"You have Vod-ka?" he queried in precise, clipped tones, looking directly into the local youth's dark eyes as if addressing an imbecile.

The young man nodded at once.

"Vodka... si." He returned from the cooler with a litre bottle of Stolichnaya and Matt applauded cynically.

"Very good! Now I need two glasses." He held up two fingers, in a gesture that might have been taken for an insult, had it's intended recipient not already been suitably flustered.

"Dos...?" the barkeep responded, confirming this to himself in his own tongue.

"One for me.... One for 'him'..." Matt mimicked the gesture the young mortal had used to indicate the toilets.

"Ahhh... si." The lad nodded and his dreadlocks jiggled emphatically. He uncapped the bottle and poured a liberal measure of Vodka into each glass.

"I knew there was 'something' I liked about this country!" Matt said sarcastically to the German fellow as he watched the glasses slowly fill up. "Now... you need some lime juice... Lime!" He looked a question at the portly German.

"Lima?" suggested the fellow helpfully.

What Matt got ultimately was a couple of slivers of green fruit, but he was already moving onto his next instruction, none too perturbed by this deviation from his tried and trusted recipe. The request for Worcester Sauce was met with a look so blank that even their Hanseatic companion was no use.

"Hot sauce?" Matt suggested. "Tabasco?"

Amazingly this enquiry was greeted with recognition and a good splash of fire was added to the concoction. Matt applauded loudly and handed over two thousand pesetas. Just as the bartender was getting his change, a loud crashing sound emanated from the rear of the building. This animated their host at once and he uttered a vehement Hispanic imprecation and instantly charged off to investigate.

"S'cuse me," Matt said politely to the German fellow and, picking up the glasses, he followed at a more leisurely pace.

Around the back of the building, all hell had broken loose. Rayne was standing in the foreground of a cascade of water from what had clearly once been an overhead cistern. He still held a length of chain in his hand and wore an exquisitely contrite expression.

"...when it wouldn't flush I just pulled a little harder..." he was saying, all of which was being completely ignored by the barman as he tried to stem the flow of water.

Matt handed his friend one of the glasses and they watched with studied fascination as their host wrestled with the stop-taps and finally halted the deluge. As he straightened from this task, wet through, Rayne stepped into the cubicle and Matt followed him, pulling the door shut firmly.

White-rimmed eyes turned to meet them and the mortal put up a strenuous fight before the Undead pair were able to subdue him, pressing his trembling body up against the saturated wall of the tiny cubicle. Rayne's hand pressed over his mouth and Matt was holding his arms and looking deeply into his dark, frightened eyes as he whispered; "Shhhhh.... We're not going to hurt you. At least, not 'much'. I just want to show you how one makes an 'Extremely Bloody Mary'. It's very simple."

At finish they pinned him between them and used Matt's headscarf (much against the young Vampire's will) to muffle their captive's moans of anxiety. Then they knocked back the vodka and Tabasco and Rayne made a soft hissing sound through his teeth.

"What the fuck...?"

"He's got no Lea & Perrins... we had to improvise!" Matty whispered licking his lips.

"Typical!" Rayne muttered, bending his head to the neck of the struggling mortal and sinking extended fangs deep into the young man's mocha-latte flesh. The guy was strong, well-muscled under the loose, rainbow-patterned tee-shirt, but physically no match for the two Vampires. Matt's grip on his arms from behind was unbreakable and Rayne virtually knelt on his thighs to keep him from kicking out as he bit deeper, feeling the hot rush of blood mingle with the flavour of Russian vodka and Mexican peppers in his mouth. "Oh God!" he mumbled, as the blood spilled down his chin and his by-now-frantic meal ticket bucked against him desperately. "That is 'inde-fuckin'-scribeable'!"

Not prepared to be left out, Matt bent his head to the mortal's right arm and nipped at the crook of his elbow where the flesh was soft and pliable. A less ethical assailant might have gone indiscriminately for the carotid artery but Matt's intent was merely the satiation of his hunger, not the death of his victim and he exercised restraint now. After a moment or two they automatically changed places and the younger Vampire fed from the more richly rewarding jugular bite while Rayne licked their captive's arm as seductively as a lover.

As he did so, still pressed up firmly against their struggling meal-ticket, he felt the unmistakable bulge of the young man's stiffening cock against his hip and a sly smile spread slowly across his blood-streaked face. As Matt's lapping tongue stemmed the flow of blood from the mortal lad's neck, Rayne leaned back a little, letting some of the pressure off. His pale green eyes met that darker, more startled gaze and the slim, dark Vampire plucked the crumpled wad of cloth from his captive's mouth. That 'look' defied the mortal to cry for help.

Astoundingly, he did not.

"Losiento," Rayne said softly, once more. "We didn't hurt you too much, did we?"

A heartbeat... then the fellow shook his head.

"You no kill me?" he whispered, almost breathlessly.

"No," Rayne told him evenly. "That was never the plan." Gently his fingers unbuttoned the fly of his captive's shorts and slid down seductively into his sandcastle-patterned boxers, curling around the impressive hard-on which tented the cotton. Lifting the fellow's shirt tails with one hand, he nuzzled the line of dark curls running from his navel into his groin and licked the man's sweat-salty flesh hungrily.

The mortal struggled and Matt held him tightly, looking down over his shoulder with bright, incredulous eyes as Rayne's tongue explored the underside of the man's long, fat, rigid erection, swirling slowly upward until his lips engulfed the purple head of his captive's cock and he swallowed the fellow down. The resistance stopped and Matt bit down on his neck and began to feed again, running his hands all over the fellow's hot, well-muscled body.

On his knees, Rayne took all of the bartender's beautiful penis into his mouth and sucked gently, swallowing that swollen head deeper into his throat and pulling down the man's shorts and underwear to cup and massage his hairy balls with one hand. The other caressed the smooth, firm curves of his hot, sun-browned arse insistently until his victim began to thrust into his mouth, groaning quietly.

Behind him, Matt stroked the man's hairy chest and belly beneath is shirt and sucked harder on his neck, overwhelmed by the hot spicy flavour of his blood.

"Ohhh...." The barkeeper moaned. "You must not...!"

"Don't you like it?" Matty enquired, almost incoherently, his mouth still full.

"I like..." the mortal conceded guiltily. "Too much..."

"Well then!" The tall, skinny, blond Vampire kissed his neck, licking him there seductively to heal the deep wound he had inflicted. He had fewer reservations about leaving his meals to bleed than Rayne but knew that his companion would tear a strip off him for doing so. "No problemo, huh?"

The sight of Ray's dark head nodding away in the fellow's crotch was getting him uncomfortably aroused however. Once he was sure that the guy was too close to orgasm to put up a fight, he knelt behind the young man and parted his cheeks, running the tip of his own tongue up and down that sun-tanned valley, probing the mortal's tightly puckered anus until he began to whimper incoherently in Spanish.

Quickly, Matt rose to his feet again and popped the studs that fastened his designer shorts. He encountered a little resistance as he rubbed the head of his engorged sex between those magnificent buttocks but gripped the fellow firmly under his chin and pulled his head back until it would have been dangerous for him to struggle too violently.

"Good boy," Matty whispered huskily. His free hand slid down over the mortal's abdomen and his long fingers parted around the base of his well-sucked cock. Ray's lips were warm against the back of his hand, heated by the friction of fellatio. Matt did not have to look him in the eye to know how aroused he was. Giving head invariably got him hard.

Pulling the mortal back against his body, Matt bucked into him vigorously and felt the tightness of that hot, straight young arsehole close around him like a velvet fist.

"Oh yeah!" he grunted in delight, ignoring the moans of pain and dismay from his mate as he was violated roughly. Matt thrust his way deeper into that snug orifice, keeping a tight hold on his captive as Rayne's mouth worked him slowly closer and closer towards release. His struggles diminished as he became increasingly turned on, rocking his hips back and forth between the two Vampires, riding Matty's fiercely thrusting prick and forcing himself more urgently into the mouth of the unbelievably sexy creature kneeling before him.

Rayne had eased one hand down into his jeans now and was rubbing himself as he suckled and licked on the beautiful, fat tool between his lips. Dark, unruly hair tumbled down over his icy-green eyes. Pre-cum and saliva ran down his chin, ignored as he pressed his pale, handsome face into that hairy, thrusting crotch and jerked off furiously. Moments before he exploded, the Spaniard muttered; "Joder! Joder!" and flooded his mouth with hot, creamy cum, as spicy and sharp as his blood.