Underwear Ch. 01bySadieRose©
"UNDERWEAR..." An interlude
[This tale is set some eighteen years after Rayne Wylde becomes a Vampire. By this time he is living in Manchester (my neck of the woods - no pun intended!) and a brush with psychotic northern Vamps has led to his relationship with Kevan, a half-Irish detective sargeant with the Manchester Met Police.
The story also reintroduces Rayne's Sire, Jabez, a character I always love to play around with. It is submitted here in two parts.]
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Kevan Delaney sort of crept up on Rayne, emotionally speaking. The effect of being around him took the Vampire more than a little bit by surprise. On that first afternoon, (after the timely demise of Gerald Rafferty, the Canal Street Killer, whose fall he and Kev skilfully engineered) when Dave Ramsay, Kev's partner, finally left them alone in Manto to talk to one-another, Kevan opened himself up and spilled his feelings on the floor like so much discarded confetti. In the light of his fumbling, hesitant attempts to express his sexuality on the night before they terminated the Canal Street Ripper, this was an unprecedented flood tide of 'Kevan-ness'. The words poured from him unchecked and Rayne could only sit and listen in astonished silence.
Kevan talked of his life... his job... his failing marriage and grown up kids... his lack of direction. Unsurprisingly, he was ex-military - a former paratrooper, who lost his way in the mud and bloodshed of Goose Green whilst still in his twenties. Married before war broke out in the Falklands, his life was ripped apart irreparably by what he experienced there. He quit the Paras on his return to the UK and, after a period of therapy, joined the Police Force. Working on the Vice Squad some years later, he first linked up with David Ramsay, a veteran of Belfast and Bosnia; someone who could relate to his traumas and the nightmares which still haunted him.
In return, Dave admitted to his partner that he too had left the Army, not because he was unable to handle the bloodshed or the loss of lives, but due to the fact that he was living a lie. He loved the military lifestyle, but he also loved a Dutch pastry chef called Bernard, a relationship he was compelled to keep under wraps in case his superiors discovered it and cast him out on his ear. He quit the Forces eighteen months before the European Court of Human Rights legitimised his status.
Dave was never resentful about it. He and Bernard moved north from Aldershot to Whitefield and he worked alternately as a bouncer or a bar-tender until joining the Force. Dave Ramsay introduced Kevan to the Gay Village in Manchester, and was surprised by the way in which Kevan wholeheartedly embraced his lifestyle. Despite an avowed denial that he was queer, or even bi-sexual, Kev worked through the frustration of his failed marriage with a succession of nameless, faceless boys. Some of them, he claimed good-humouredly, were even far enough off their faces to blow him for free!
So it was that his feelings for Rayne also startled Kevan Delaney.
After that lunch date at Manto, they walked together by the canal for a while, talking aimlessly, neither wanting to be the one who let reality intrude by saying it was time to go. Rayne invited the other man back to his pad for dinner and impressed the plain-spoken cop with the art-nouveau and glass brick walls of his converted warehouse, on a block near the Northern Film Archive. It was past midnight by the time they called for a take-away, because they spent the remainder of the evening and night fucking; on the sofa and the panelled floor, and the stairs and in the shower, and finally on Rayne's expansive, oriental bed. They became a loosely linked 'item' without realising what had happened. Kevan was not Rayne's 'type' at all; the big, burly ex-para was blunt and jokey, utterly unsophisticated in fact. But he was also amazingly attentive. Kevan took the elegant little Vampire under his wing, even though he seemed aware that his lover could take perfectly adequate care of himself (probably both of them!). All the same, he insisted on trying to 'look after' the boy.
That was another thing; Kevan was forty six, and looked it. Rayne Wylde was technically forty eight but passed easily for a man twenty years younger. Since his Initiation he had not aged a day. The Vampire was not about to split hairs though; if Kev wanted a toyboy, he was perfectly prepared to play ball on that count. More perplexing to Rayne was his own tacit acceptance of the way in which Kevan dominated the relationship.
Since his own doomed love affair with a boy bludgeoned to death by a murderous brood of Vampires in London many years before, Rayne had been unattached save for the occasional painless fling. All his lovers had been Submissives, all younger than him. It had been over a decade since Rayne consented to regular sex with a dominant partner, but Kevan naturally took the initiative whenever they were together, and his lover was forced to admit that he actually enjoyed it. Kevan was skilful enough to make the experience satisfying for both of them. Kev doted on him. He loved to pamper his beautiful, immortal boyfriend. At the end of a busy shift he would phone to check that Rayne was free, then come over to the warehouse with a Thai carry-out and a bottle of good wine. More often than not they finished the wine in the bath together, or entwined on the bedclothes, drinking from one-another's mouths. Invariably they fucked until the dawn came up.
On analysis, Rayne was perfectly relaxed about the relationship. He was in no hurry to settle down and Kevan was not fool enough to suggest that they lived together. He respected Rayne's need for space, and even his obligations as a member of the Undead Community (which he did not understand but never questioned). Kevan seemed to accept without hesitation that there were times when his lover had work to do; work which normally involved the inhumation of some deserving soul who had been making innocent lives a misery. Kevan never pried, just as he had never asked why Rayne was stalking the Canal Street Ripper. In the detective's eyes, one less murderer or rapist on the streets of Manchester was no loss to him or anyone else.
He even seemed to accept that Rayne was not in love with him, content that the Vampire was happy just to be with him. It was true enough. In Kev's arms, Rayne experienced a profoundly satisfying sense of belonging. He was cherished and adored, which suited his fragile ego magnificently. As far as the Vampire was concerned, Kevan Delaney could put his own interpretation on the relationship.
A perplexing twist emerged in the Spring when, one evening as they made love on the bathroom floor, Kevan expressed a breathless desire to fuck his lover in women's underwear. Rayne Wylde gave him a 'look' which suggested that he would rather cut his own wrists on a rusty band saw blade, and nothing more was said, at the time.
Until, that is, the evening when Kevan bought him the matching basque and panties and a pair of pure silk stockings. They were exquisite creations, in carmine silk and lace, designed - Kev explained with boyish exuberance - to be worn by a man. The basque was full-cupped to give the impression of small, firm breasts when worn under clothing. The knickers were fuller in the crotch (as he demonstrated with one hand inside them) and cut away to a lacy thong at the rear.
"No." Rayne told him flatly. "No way, Jose!"
Kevan's face crumpled in an expression of abject misery. All night afterwards, he moped. Nothing would lighten his mood, not even sex. Nothing interested him.
"You're cruel," he berated his lover at one point. "I do so much for you. I never ask you for anything in return. I come over here when it's convenient for 'you'. We eat the things 'you' like. All I'm askin' is a little something that would turn me on. Is that so bad? Is it such a sick, kinky thing I'm askin' you to do? I didn't think you were so narrow minded, Ray."
Rayne glared at him, arms folded defensively. "You ask me what I want, and I tell you," he said tersely. "If you wanted something different, you should have said."
"What do you think I'm doing now?" Kev retaliated vehemently. "I'm asking you to wear something that will excite me. Or does what I feel not matter?"
The Vampire sucked in his cheeks irritably and drew a long, impatient breath. If there was one thing he really hated it was being made to feel guilty. And Kev was good at it. He was 'excruciatingly' good at it.
Finally, when the other man said nothing else, Rayne exhaled loudly through his teeth, snatching up the offending lingerie box and storming off up the open-plan stairs to the mezzanine where his bedroom and bathroom were. A long, brooding silence ensued and Kevan was patient for about fifteen minutes before plucking up the courage to go and investigate. He found a sorry sight when he climbed the stairs onto the balcony.
His lover was sitting on the edge of the low bed, ashen-faced and bewildered, his dark hair tangled around his sharp, elfin features and his pale eyes glittering with frustration as he wrestled valiantly with the hook and eye fastenings of the basque. The straps hung loose on his slender shoulders whilst the stockings pooled around his calves and ankles.
The big man resisted the urge to laugh. It would not help his cause to have Rayne think he was being deliberately humiliated and he had no desire to irritate his precious lover further, but the Vampire looked so utterly confounded that Kevan found a shred of remorse amidst the humour.
Gently he sat down beside his beautiful mate and unfastened all the mis-matched eyelets, then re-hooked them one by one as Ray sat in miserable silence with his head bowed and his fine, straight, sable hair tumbling forward around his face. Kevan kissed the bared nape of his neck tenderly when he was done, and tightened the straps on his lover's shoulders.
"There," he whispered, sliding a finger between the snug-fitting silk body and Rayne's pale, soft, boyish skin. "It's even a good fit."
"I can't fucking move!" Rayne protested sullenly.
"You're not supposed to," Kevan assured him, winking suggestively.
The Vampire ignored his attempt at humour. "I feel ridiculous!" he complained unhappily.
"You 'look' gorgeous," his lover soothed, carefully rolling the stockings up his mate's slender, hairless thighs. "You've got a wonderful body, darlin'. Soft as silk, you are." He attached the claret lace suspenders one by one, threading them beneath the elasticated sides of his boyfriend's panties, smiling at the recollection of how Rayne had come to be so smooth.
Apparently - according to the Vampire – shortly before his Turning, he had been a singer in a rock band. It happened one night, whilst the group were on tour, Rayne having lost a bet with his road crew, who implied that he couldn't drink the band's entire rider and get through the night without losing consciousness. He took them on, he said, although he was adamant that the bottles must have been spiked. At around half past three in the morning he passed out, and the Roadies exacted their forfeit. They stripped him to his underpants and waxed his entire body, without compassion.
Once he was Turned, his physical body 'technically' froze. Consequently, nothing about him had changed since that day. His hair stayed the same length, as did his finger nails. As he explained it, his body had a data file that told it what should be there and what should not. If he lost a limb, it would grow back because it was supposed to be there. But if, for example, he cut his hair, it would only grow to the length it had been when he became a Vampire, and no more. The same went for his body hair. It had not even begun to grow back when he was Turned, and so he would never recover it.
Kevan had no objections to that. He found Rayne's body remarkably arousing. The only hair anywhere on his person was a fine dusting under his armpits, and between his thighs. Clearly the roadies had blanched at the idea of going so far! His lover was far less prudish.
As Kevan's fingers slipped into the crotch of his panties, Rayne sagged back like a rag doll onto the covers of the bed and gazed up at him balefully. "I bet you dressed your Action Man in all your sister's Sindy clothes, didn't you?" he growled huskily.
"Ahhh... shhhhh love," Kevan breathed, watching him with admiring eyes. "You look wonderful. Beautiful... D'you have any red lipstick, darlin?"
Ice green eyes narrowed irritably. "When have you ever seen me in rouge, Kevan Delaney?"
"You wear make-up," Kev protested.
"Not 'red' make-up!"
"You should do," the mortal coaxed him fondly. He smiled in that idiotic/hopeful way that he seemed to imagine passed for 'winning'.
"I'm not a slut, Kevan. It doesn't suit me."
The other man bent over him, kissing his lips gently. "Would you be a slut just for me? With no-one else to see?" he pleaded, still smiling.
Rayne turned his head away abruptly, but not before his lover caught sight of the shimmer of tears beneath his long, black lashes. Kev sank down on him, pulling him into a passionate embrace. He was shocked to think that he had actually succeeded in distressing the Vampire. For a while he had let himself begin to think that Rayne was immune to mortal emotions.
Okay... he was passionate, and he knew how to feed a guy's hunger like no other lover (male or female) that Kevan could recall. But he was always so remote. Sometimes getting inside his head was like breaking and entering Fort Knox. Kevan had never seen him cry, not even the time when one of his 'domination games' got out of control and he backhanded the Vampire so hard that Rayne was knocked to the floor. He had been furious, but controlled his anger until Kevan had finished 'raping' him, when he quietly and calmly said; "If you ever try anything like that again, I will break your fucking neck. Do you understand me?"
He could do it. Kev had no doubt at all in his mind.
What he could not get his head around was why his lover was so upset right now.
He made love to the young man, slowly and tenderly, feeling Rayne respond to his caresses and the steady pulsing of his cock, loving the whisper of silk under his hands, When he could feel that Ray was more aroused than unhappy, he quickened the tempo and they rolled across the low, white-shrouded bed and onto the floor. Kevan slipped out of him and rose quickly, pushing his mate down urgently on the mattress. Kneeling on the bare boards behind Rayne he thrust into the Vampire's wetly-enveloping anus quickly and roughly until his partner was gasping involuntarily at each vigorous stroke.
"You are so fucking beautiful," Kev breathed in his lover's ear as he knelt astride the lean, silk-clad Vampire, kissing his neck and shoulders passionately whilst they fucked. "Thank you so much. This is unbelievably good for me."
Rayne said nothing... only slumped into the softness of the duvet with his head cradled in his arms.
"I don't understand why you feel the need to do it, that's all," he murmured, much later when they were both naked and exhausted, lying wrapped around one-another in the crumpled bedclothes. Kevan held him close, breathing in the warm, clean, familiar scent of his hair and body, feeling enervated and blissfully happy. It was as if an irritating itch had finally been scratched, after years of being out of reach. Ray's absolute perfection was a part of it, of course. Kevan had never known anyone so beautiful, or so compliant in bed.
He had been genuinely surprised by the Vampire's reluctance to humour him tonight. Rayne had so much potential. He was shamelessly vain and could preen in front of the mirror for hours, touching up eye-shadow and lip gloss. For as long as Kevan had known him (all of thirteen weeks!) he had flirted with androgyny, dressing on the borderlines of his sexuality, without actually crossing over.
Having seen him sartorially transformed tonight, Kevan understood his potential. Ray was not just a pretty boy dressing up, he could be a real beauty queen given the encouragement. With the proper guidance, he could be incandescent. He just needed to feel that he was not alone. Kevan knew that he could provide that reassurance.
Persuading the Vampire to take the next step was a battle. Kevan coaxed and cajoled. He bought outfits, which Rayne Wylde hurled back at him in outright denial. In a fit of desperation, the other man offered to take him shopping.
"Don't be ludicrous!" Rayne told him when he suggested it. "I am not going to spend the afternoon trying on dresses just to satisfy some... 'fetish' of yours!"
Kevan remained calm. "Ray, you've made it plain that I've no taste when it comes to buying you clothes," he said magnanimously. A vast sigh escaped him though. "At least do me the very great pleasure of being able to purchase something that you like. Something that looks so good on you that you can't resist."
The Vampire frowned at him suspiciously. "You're up to something!"
"I want to spoil you. Is that unreasonable?" Kevan demanded impatiently. "I like you loads, Ray. What's wrong with my wanting to buy you stuff?"
"This relationship is getting... strange," Rayne snapped back at him, "that's what!"
"Ray..." the big man reached out towards him and pulled his lean, fretful lover into his arms, kissing him quickly and fiercely. Rayne put up a brief display of resistance, then yielded. Somehow Kevan's mouth on his own always subdued him. Warm, powerful hands rose to the nape of his neck and stroked down slowly to the small of his back, two powerfully sensitive zones - as Kevan Delaney knew from their frequent, frenzied lovemaking.
His lips parted soundlessly from Rayne's and Kev whispered; "I want you!"
"A minute ago you wanted to go shopping." Rayne was going to be hard to convince.
"I can't help it, I just got this mental picture of you in ivory silk and tight leather!" Kevan sighed reverentially. "Just think of it, darlin'... the hint of a silk stocking top under a tight leather miniskirt."
Rayne Wylde fired a glare like battery acid in his direction. "I'm dating some kind of pervert!"
"You never complain when I'm giving you my cock!" Kev told him, rather bluntly.
"I'm not a woman, Kevan! You can't turn me into something I'm not." The Vampire held out his hands, gazing at his lover with imploring eyes. "You're an absolute sweetheart. I'd do almost anything to make you happy... but this gives me the creeps. I don't 'want' to be a woman, Kev."
"But you're happy enough taking my dick, all right!" Kevan pointed out bitterly.
"That doesn't mean I want to be female. It's got nothing to do with my gender, Kevan!"
"Nor has wearing a skirt," Kev argued. "You're still a man, Rayne. Underneath it you're still a man! I just want to see you looking beautiful. I find the thought of it exciting, darlin'. Is that so very painful?"
Rayne looked down awkwardly at his long-boned hands. In a small voice he said; "It feels wrong."
"Please...." Kevan begged him. "Try it. Just this once. For me darlin'."
Kevan parked his 1986 Saab 900 on a meter just off Oldham Street, between Piccadilly and Great Ancoats. The site was an old market square, mainly deserted in this modern age of superstores and shopping malls, but ringed about by specialist boutiques; bespoke tailors and less salubrious venues. Next door to a small bookmaker's shop stood a three-storey, faceless, grey tenement block, split into retail units. A sign over one of the plain, grey-green doors at ground level read; 'Amberley's Bizarre'.
Rayne wondered silently if it was a spelling mistake. Once they got inside, he quickly figured that it was not.
Within the doorway, stone steps ran up to the next level or down into the basement. There seemed to be nothing at all on the level of the street, as if this was a portal to another world.