Strange Fruit Ch. 01

He was in turmoil himself. The blond kid was making his mouth water, and for more than just blood now. 'This is ridiculous,' he chided himself. 'You're supposed to be pining, Wylde!'

'Yeah... but you also need comforting, sweetheart!' his wicked half advised shrewdly. 'And face it... he's got the potential to be EXTREMELY comforting!'

"I'm 'really' not sure, Ray," Jamie breathed huskily in his ear. "I love her... I just don't know if I can give up doing this with guys. I get such a fucking thrill out of it! Rubbing up against a complete stranger in some seedy public lav somewhere... it really makes my heart thump. My blood gets hot. I feel alive."

He nuzzled Rayne's neck hungrily. Warm, powerful hands unbuttoned his fly and the singer caught his breath as Jamie's fingers wrapped themselves around his erect cock and began to masturbate him vigorously.

"I told Jan I was on a stag do this weekend but I spent the last two nights in a queer brothel in Amsterdam," he confessed breathlessly. "Last night I was with the two most gorgeous bits of Trade I've ever seen. I was with 'em all night, Ray. One black and one blond; first they did oneanother while I watched, then I got to do them both. About sixteen, they were. Fucking amazing!"

Rayne was gasping softly as he was rubbed. Jamie murmured; "I mean, you must see some stuff... in a band... dont'cha?"

"I guess!" the singer exhaled, tilting his head back against the cubicle wall and closing his eyes as Jamie's thumb caressed his throbbing bell-end, rubbing a slick of pre-cum down the shaft beneath the swollen purple glans.

"I bet you get all the groupies, hey?"

"We do all right!" Rayne breathed, trying to fight the impulses that extended his fangs. He felt himself melting under the stranger's insistent touch.

"You like 'em young, dont'cha? I read that somewhere!"

"I don't mind," the Vampire murmured, thinking at the same time what a dumb conversation this was to be having under the circumstances. He did not for one moment believe the tale about the Dutch rent boys.

"You've got a big prick," Jamie told him drunkenly. "Some'ow I didn't think you would have."

'Christ on a Kawasaki! Just suck my dick or something!' Rayne implored mentally. What could have been a seriously satisfying experience was turning into a farce. And a bollock-freezingly boring farce at that.

"Y'know..., I wasn't straight up with you, either," Jamie chuckled, kissing his neck as he unfastened Rayne's shirt and the fly of his own jeans.

'Here comes the fuckin' punchline...!'

"When I said I was in the public service industry, I didn't tell you the whole thing," Jamie panted, coaxing the singer's hands into his pants and moaning with satisfaction as Rayne obliged him. He wasn't wearing underpants - little Tease!

"I don't want your fuckin' life story, sweetheart!" Rayne hissed in his ear. "I just want a shag, okay?"

Jamie laughed weakly. "D'you go down, Ray?"

Without a word, the singer sank onto one knee and buried his face in his companion's crotch, running his tongue around the base of Jamie's chunky, seven inch shaft. The blond lad whimpered slightly as he nibbled his way up the underside of that lovely cock, then bathed his pulsing head in hot saliva. Maybe this would shut the fucker up for a bit!

This was the one bright spot on his horizon for the morning. Rayne adored giving head and his lips parted now, swallowing Jamie's hot, hard prick slowly, a little at a time, teasing him. His dark head nodded steadily in the younger man's groin and Jamie's hands moved down now, stroking his hair as he moaned appreciatively. The youngster pushed him lower, thrusting his hips forward urgently as Rayne's mouth opened wider, accomodating the full length of that spectacular hard-on.

Overcoming the gag reflex with practiced ease, Rayne Wylde took the fat, glossy head of Jamie's rapidly pulsing prick deep into his throat. A slow stream of pre-cum trickled down his gullet, increasing his hunger. Rayne tried to yank Jamie's pants down to grope and finger his firm young arse, to ready him for the fucking he was going to get the minute he emptied his balls.

To his chagrin, Jamie resisted the effort to expose his bum. He held his jeans up with one hand, and clapped the other more firmly to the back of Rayne Wylde's head. His fingers snarled in the singer's ebony hair, forcing Rayne's nose deep into his pubes as he pumped his cock harder and faster between the soft lips of his kneeling partner. Rayne managed to worm his own fingers into Jamie's open fly and grope his big, heavy balls as he sucked and licked the fiercely thrusting shaft in his mouth.

When Jamie suddenly moaned and reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet, Rayne presumed he was looking for condoms. His lips parted wider in a feral grin, stretched by the blond boy's fabulous cock. As his companion shuddered furiously and began to cum, the singer looked up into his eyes and found himself staring instead at a Met. Police ID card with Jamie's name and details and an old, crop-haired photograph. As the blond released him, Rayne Wylde's incoherent response - somewhere between a spit and a sneeze - sprayed the contents of his mouth in a wide arc across the thighs of Jamie's pants.

'Ohhh... shit! Oh, sweet, fuckin' Christ!' he thought frantically. 'What a time to fall for a set-up!'

"You are not serious?" he groaned, closing his eyes for a moment once he had regained the use of his lower jaw. "You'd wait 'til I've blown you before you pulled the 'entrapment' line...? I'll tell anyone who wants to listen that you cruised me, Jamie!"

"That's 'Detective Inspector' Halliday, actually, Ray!" the blond said with a grin, mopping unflappably at his spattered jeans with a wet paper towel. "An' I don't reckon anyone's gonna listen much."

Rayne lurched to his feet, buttoning his pants, his erection utterly wilted. In all the years he had been fucking other men in public toilets, he had never been cruised by an undercover cop before. This was almost too ridiculous to believe; that it should happen now, on the first morning of his freedom. He was not sure whether to laugh or cry.

"You 'bastard'!"

Halliday hiccuped softly and put his badge away in his back pocket. "Got'cha!" A huge grin spread across his face. "Y'know... I wasn't sure when you sat down. The name was similar and everything. You looked like him... but I really couldn't believe I was sittin' across from Rayne Wylde out of Whipsnade. We went to see you lot at the Roundhouse, couple'a years back."

"I hope we were crap," Rayne said, a little bit archly, his tone and manner still brittle.

"Nah... you were all right! It was a good gig." Jamie patted him affably on the shoulder. "Did I put you off?"

"You sly fucker!" the dark-haired man exclaimed softly. "Is that your idea of a fuckin' joke? I ought to break your fucking nose for you!"

"You give bloody great head, I'll say so much!" Jamie Halliday told him, unfazed. "I take it you don't wanna fuck me any more."

Rayne sat down on the toilet seat and put his head in his hands. 'Is this joker for real?'

"Did I freak you out?" his companion asked innocently.

"Fuck off!"

"If that's your attitude..." Jamie straightened and gave himself a last rub down with another paper towel - dry this time. "Bloody 'ell, will you look at the state of me! I bet they'll wonder what the fuck's been going on when we go back out there."

"You're still fuckin' here!" Rayne pointed out, without looking up.

"Look, don't get upset, mate..."

"I'm not your fuckin' mate!" Rayne growled at him, pushing himself upright with fire in his acid-green eyes. For a small man, he could be suitably intimidating when he chose, and Jamie took a step back towards the door, no doubt familiar with the press tales about Whipsnade's volatile lead vocalist. "Now, piss off.. 'Detective Inspector'!"

When his lips parted around the snarl there were genuine fangs in it this time. Halliday's eyes widened and he did not need asking again. The door slammed behind him and Rayne sagged back against the wall with a groan. He was unhappy and frustrated, and worse still, he was still hungry.

"This is absolutely the last time I travel with a fuckin' company called 'Virgin'!" he growled softly to himself.

He sat in silence for a little while after Halliday had gone back to his seat, brooding and conscious of the nagging hunger that had lingered once the scent of the younger man's warm, mortal body was out of range. Someone rattled the door and knocked determinedly.

"Are you going to spend the whole journey in there?" a stentorian voice called.

Gathering himself, and making sure his clothing was straight and fastened, Rayne opened the door with a sudden jerk that took the guard outside by surprise. He saw the man assimilate him, quickly and come to his own conclusions about the scarecrow, junky figure lurking in the lavatory.

"May I see your ticket please, sir?"

Rayne put a hand into his jacket pocket and extracted the printed voucher from his wallet with two long, bony fingers, dangling it for the uniformed attendant's inspection. He wished now that he had decided to travel first class - that would have given the bastard something to be really uppity about!

"Thank you, sir," the fellow said a little stiffly. "If you don't mind... the toilet is for the use of all customers on this train. It is not a private office."

Rayne blanked him out with an insolent stare he had practiced since childhood. As the guard turned to walk away, he mouthed the words; 'Go and fuck yourself with your ticket machine!' at the fellow's back, and felt only a little bit better for it. The woman with the puce bag emerged from the carriage, still clutching her formidable bludgeon. The look she gave him as she sidled into the cubicle and slammed the door left him in no doubt as to the identity of the whistle-blower who had summoned the guard.

A faint headache crackled across his brow and he leaned in the open window again for a while, watching the world go by and preserving his dwindling supply of cigarettes - although he was itching for one. And it was hardly even breakfast time yet!

End of Part One