A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 08

"Which is a terr-ible waste, seeing as one doesn't need the sun and the other doesn't even know what to do with it!" the twin barked.

They rolled around together on the lower deck, obviously finding this observation too hysterical for words. Rayne surveyed them impassively through his shades. Aldo sighed wearily.

"What the fuck has the cat dragged in?" the English boy asked, just loud enough to carry.

"Craig and Neil Dupont," Aldo said by way of introduction. "Famous for their thirty minute mutual jerk-off scene in 'Brothers Are Doin' It For Themselves'."

"Oh," Rayne said with a little nod. "The Terrible Tosser Twins! God help us!"

Aldo snickered at this.

"Well hark at Laydee High and Mighty!" one of the twins crooned, pushing back his stetson to scowl at Rayne. "Little Miss 'I got double-ended five fuckin' years ago and never worked again'!"

"Mine was catchier," Rayne told him, without moving from his post on the guard-rail. "Are you Crepe or Nellie? Not that I can be bothered telling you apart!"

"Gawd, you're such a hoot!" the other twin jeered up at him. "And I just lu-urve your candy stripes, laydee!"

"And I just 'lurve' the fact that you both fanny on in spastic cowboy mode when you're plainly a pair of skinny little twats from Essex!" Rayne Wilde pushed himself up from the rail and hopped to his feet, staring down on them defiantly. "Go an' hotwire a Ford Escort or something!"

"Get Her!" the second twin laughed, shaking his tush vigorously.

"'Aah'd you know we're from Essex?" the first demanded indignantly, dropping his fake Texan camp like a hot brick.

*

The twins were a little more subdued below deck with Dan's beady eye on them. Rayne quickly ascertained that the elderly pornographer was no keener on Crepe and Nellie than Aldo or himself had been. In fact, most of the boys he worked with seemed to be a trial to Daniel Leland. Aldo poured a glass of juice and spring water from one of the tall, chilled jugs set around the day room and settled on the futon glowering darkly at the two teenage boys. Rayne took the adjacent corner of the bed, between his new friend and Ant who was sitting in an armchair looking decidedly uneasy.

Arturo, who seemed to be in charge of both the Twins and Aldo, had been talking to Daniel when they came back down and now one of the younger boys asked; "When's Paddy getting here, Arty?"

"This afternoon," the elder Italian responded. His accent was thicker than Aldo's but his English was still very good. "No doubt there will be a party this evening."

"I'm sure," Daniel said dryly. "We have a booking at La Fenix."

"Paddy's parties are cool!" the other Twin enthused.

"He'll shut Princess Candy-Stripes up tonight, that's for sure," the first giggled nastily.

"Or make her scream her cunting head off!" Number Two sniggered into his hands like a child.

Rayne said; "Will someone gag those two Chelmsford fuckwits before I kill them both!"

Twin One opened his mouth but a look from Dan Leland was enough to make him shut it again without uttering so much as a squeak. Rayne's smile bordered on malevolent.

"I'm going for a shower," he said, pushing himself to his feet.

Aldo moved to follow but Ant was faster.

"I'll come with you," he said gravely. "We need to talk."

UNDER THE SPRAY:

"Who's Paddy?" Rayne asked once he and Ant were in the shower room together and the cool water was taking some of the heat from his face.

His older lover soaped his back and bottom gently, then moved in closer so that his wet body curved around Rayne's. "Patrick McNamara," he elaborated in the boy's ear. "Only one of the biggest names in the movie game. Are you telling me seriously you've never heard of him?"

"Nope," Rayne said cheerfully, leaning back into his arms. "Should I have?"

"Since you're going to work with him, I guess so," Ant told him. "They call him the Irish National Stud. He's an actor, backer, producer, director; you name it he's done it."

"Sounds impressive," Rayne admitted, lifting his hands and looping his arms around Ant's neck, locking his fingers together there. "This boat's getting pretty crowded though."

"Oh, Patrick will bring his own boat, and his own entourage," Ant promised. "He doesn't go anywhere without a bodyguard."

"Big cheese!" Rayne chuckled. "No wonder the Tithead Twins were wetting their proverbial knickers."

"He's a big boy in every sense of the word," Ant murmured. The older man was rubbing himself between Rayne's cheeks now, growing steadily more aroused though he had promised himself that he would try and behave until his lover's results came back. Although that was probably a case of bolting the barn door after the pigeons had flown. "He's rumoured to have the biggest cock in the Business."

"Mmmhhh..." Rayne chuckled. "Sounds interesting."

Ant shook his head.

"You're in an amazingly good mood this morning."

"What's to be miserable about? The sun's shining, we're in the South of France, we're on a boat and..." Rayne stopped and turned to face him, dropping the faux vivacious act abruptly. His eyes were wide and unblinking. "What if...?"

Ant put a hand over his mouth at once, shaking his head more vigorously.

"Shhhh. Don't even think about it. You'll get the results as soon as the tests are done. Until then there's no point worrying."

The boy stared back at him, his eyes suddenly huge and scared. Ant felt a lump of ice start to melt in his belly. Up until this moment he had seriously believed that Rayne did not give a damn whether he lived or died. Now he was not so sure. Sometimes his lover was so self assured that it made his head ache and then he went and did something that reminded Ant how young he still was.

"It'll be okay," he promised, wishing words could make it so.

Rayne tried a shrug but it did not quite come off.

"Bet you wish you'd never fished me out of the snow now," he said with a grimace.

"Seriously? If I had the chance to walk on by and leave you there..." Ant straightened, looking solemnly down on him. Then he weakened; "...naw, I'd have done the same thing. I guess I've always been a sucker."

Rayne's hands slid up his chest to the back of his neck again and the boy pulled himself up on his toes and kissed Ant softly on the lips. His lean body swayed against Ant's chest and belly under the fine drizzle of cool water.

"You're not a sucker, Ant," he said magnanimously. "Shame more people aren't like you, really."

"Do you wish I'd not got you into this?" the other man asked, still preoccupied.

Rayne leaned against him, his left cheek resting on Ant's breast, slim arms still wrapped around his neck. Ant gently caressed his back and buttocks under the shower unable to disguise his arousal any longer.

"If the only other option is staying with John and flogging my arse then... no, I guess it's a good move," he said thoughtfully, at last.

"Why did you never just go home?" Ant breathed, burying his face in Rayne's wet hair.

"There never seemed much point," Rayne Wilde said neutrally.

They had been here before, but this time the boy seemed less hostile to the idea. Ant hoped that he would at least consider it. Daniel's offer was a good stop-gap but even Ant hated the idea that Rayne might get sucked back into the movie industry. Dan looked after his lads but it was a rough and nasty way to make a living however you looked at it. Aldo and the twins were not much older than Rayne but they seemed so hard somehow. He could not imagine any of them settling to a life that allowed them love and peace.

"It might give you some time to get your head together," Ant suggested.

"Are you saying that you've brought me all the way down here and introduced me to people and got me AIDS tested and now you don't think it was the right thing to do?" Rayne pushed away from him, looking up quizzically into his face. A small frown brought his angular brows down into an elegant arrowhead at the bridge of his tip-tilted nose.

Ant opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"I think you can do better for yourself than this," he said at last, diplomatically.

Rayne's lips attempted a smile but the frown was still in place. He shook his head slowly, wandering out from under the showerhead. As Ant followed him the water ceased immediately and the warm air began to billow over their damp skin.

"You were fine about 'this' until last night. The idea of me in films was giving you a perfect boner the other day, now you're thinking I can do better! What's going on, Ant?" the boy demanded. "Is it the idea that I might have given you a fuckin' disease? What am I gonna do if I'm infected? You didn't think about that before, huh?"

"That's not what I mean," Ant protested but some of his own anxiety must have showed on his face. As he was quickly discovering, Rayne did not need much in the way of clues when it came to personal feelings. He was quite a connoisseur of human emotions, even though he kept his own under pretty tight wraps most of the time.

"Or maybe you're jealous. Is that it?" the boy ploughed on, twisting the knife in another tender spot. He retrieved his plaited bracelets and the little pouch he wore around his neck and pulled them back on, shaking droplets of water out of his hair. "Are you jealous that someone else gets to fuck me? You think I'll get one shot at this Paddy bloke and I'll be off again before I've paid you back? Jesus, Ant!"

"I don't think that," Ant lied valiantly.

"Well don't worry. You'll get your fucking money!" Rayne snapped at him and stalked out into the corridor.

"It's not about the money!" Ant yelled after him but there was no answer.

*

"Patrick's arriving at seven," Daniel Leland called, without looking up from his book, as Rayne stormed between him and Arturo on the rear deck and jumped down to the jetty without a word. "You should wear a hat!" he added in a slightly louder voice but the boy had already stalked out of earshot.

Ant arrived moments later, still wet and looking flustered. Terry came through from the lounge behind him and handed him a Manhattan.

"Where did he go?" Ant demanded.

Daniel pointed wordlessly in the direction of the apartment complex around Ambonne and Ant set off in pursuit, still clutching his glass.

"Wow, I didn't know we were doing amateur dramatics!" one of the Twins remarked from up on the top deck. "It's like a Queer Sex and the City!"

Aldo, who was sprawled out beside him in shades and nothing else, shook his head irritably at the youth and returned to his sun worshipping.

A FAMILIAR FACE:

Ant thought he saw the back of Rayne's head disappearing into the colourful maze that was the marketplace but once he reached the avenue of bustling stalls and shops he lost the younger man. He walked right through to the far end of the Collines and scanned the beach, shading his eyes with his free hand. There was no sign of Rayne anywhere. At last he knocked back the cocktail in the other hand and turned back despondently towards the harbour.

As he trudged by, a voice hailed him by name from one of the bars on the boardwalk and he looked up, briefly hopeful. A familiar figure waved a hand in his direction but it was not his errant lover. Christophe was sprawled comfortably on a lounger in the shade of a huge parasol. He was nude save for a pair of wrap-around shades and a couple of dog tags on a silver chain around his neck. As Ant came closer he noted that the Frenchman was also wearing a silver cock ring. His long, brown prick lay across his right thigh, just flaccid enough to be decent. Thierry knelt at his left side in a black leather collar and a skull harness with a bit strap that pulled between his soft, pink lips, gagging him. The harness was attached to the collar with little silver rings as was the short chain leash that Christophe tugged on now, pulling him closer. The boy laid his head against Christophe's naked thigh. His eyes were closed but Ant could see the darkening bruise that ran down the right side of his face.

"Is he okay?" he asked as he came to a halt by their table.

Christophe looked dismissively at his pet then gestured to the empty seat at their table.

"Sit. How are you, mon ami? Are you enjoying the Cap?" he said as if Thierry was an irrelevance.

"I'm... yeah." Ant's gaze kept wandering to the boy, who was very still and quiet. Twin silver loops in his small, pink nipples were joined by a pair of fine chains that ran down to a pierced ring in the head of his cock. His wrists were manacled behind him with studded leather cuffs. There were more bruises on his arms and his slim thighs.

"You are alone?" Christophe enquired, taking a sip from the tall, iced glass beside him.

"Yeah. For the time being... actually I was looking for Rayne. You haven't seen him, have you?"

Christophe shook his head briskly. His expression was unreadable behind those broad, reflective lenses. Thierry's blond head turned slightly. Pale blue eyes were looking up at Ant, as solemn as an angel's. He experienced an irrational urge to stroke Thierry's icy curls as if he was a dog.

"I warned you that the little bitch would need some discipline," the older Frenchman said mildly, breaking into his distracted observation of the boy. "If you kept him leashed then you would know where he was at all times."

"He's not an animal," Ant said tersely. The other day whilst they were fucking in the toilet cubicle on the train he had been aroused by the idea of using restraints and sex toys to tame his impulsive lover. Today, with Thierry kneeling before him like a frightened cur, he was not so sure. "Does he like that?" he asked now.

"What he likes or does not like is not the issue," Christophe said in a matter-of-fact voice. "If he is a good little bitch he gets rewarded. If he is bad, then he can expect to be punished. For example, yesterday he decided to go wandering off on his own without telling me, so he was bound and gagged on his return and a number of our neighbours were invited to the apartment to use him." Christophe smiled thinly. "Today he has been a perfect angel. Good as gold, as you can see."

"Are you all right?" Ant asked Thierry solicitously, bending forward to peer at the boy.

Thierry bit down hard on the gag and nodded just once, stoically.

"Did someone hit you?"

The boy's eyes widened slightly but he shook his head, again the tiniest motion. Christophe stroked his blond hair possessively.

"He got drunk and fell down the steps in the dark, didn't you, you foolish little slut?" He insulted Thierry with such a casual air that Ant was roused to protect the boy.

"He should be resting. He's hurt, Christophe."

"He will be fine. I felt that he needed to take the air. I will take him back to bed when I have finished my drink, I swear to you," the older man flashed that serpentine smile again. "If I find your pretty little whore would you like me to have him tied and beaten? My friends and I have taught many hot-blooded young sluts the value of absolute submission. I will send for you so that you can watch, do not fear. You can even help us to rape and tame him, if you wish."

Ant pushed himself to his feet, torn between the urge to punch Christophe and the desire to simply pull Thierry away from him and take the child back to the boat. Instead he shook his head.

"He's not to be harmed. We're going to make a film in a few days, he's got to be fit enough for that."

"Ah yes," Christophe tilted his head back speculatively. "You are staying with Daniel Leland, non?" His smile broadened at Ant's bemused expression. "The Cap is a tightly knit community. Word travels quickly here. I had not realised before yesterday that your whore was Leland's camera fodder. Naturally you will want him unmarked."

"Just... keep your hands off him," Ant warned grimly. He turned to go but Christophe added;

"What will be my reward if we find him? Thierry needs rest tonight. May we at least gag and fuck your wanton slut before we hand him back?"

"Don't touch him!" Ant looked back over one shoulder, his eyes blazing. "Don't even 'think' of touching him!"

He wanted to ask who 'us' and 'we' were and how many of Christophe's friends had abused Thierry the other night but he knew that if the conversation went there he might wind up punching the smug smile right off the Frenchman's face. Daniel had been correct. There were some nasty pieces of work out here and Rayne was currently lost among them. Ant clenched his fists and returned to his search with a vengeance.

LUST IN THE AFTERNOON:

Phil Honeywell was just shutting up the shop for the afternoon when Rayne walked in looking wild eyed and a little bit wired. Phil closed the door and locked it without a word and pulled the other boy through to the back of the unit where Rayne sank down in a deck chair and fumbled in the pouch around his neck for cigarette papers and a twist of tobacco.

"Turn around," he said at last.

Phil raised an eyebrow but did as he was told. Behind him, Rayne unfolded the napkin from Mahmoudi's surgery in his lap and added a pinch of his stash to the roll up before tucking it away again. When he had completed the skinny joint with shaking fingers and managed to light the thing without setting fire to himself, he finally allowed his companion to turn back.

"What's going on?" Phil wanted to know. "Are you okay? You look terrible."

"Cheers," Rayne exhaled, sucking on the crumpled roll up vigorously. He could already feel the smoke soothing his ragged edges but he was too angry to speak without bursting into tears and he was not ready to do something like that in front of Phil.

"You wanna come upstairs?" the other lad asked tentatively.

"Upstairs?" green eyes flickered to his face then away as if even that contact gave up too much of him.

"To the flat. It's not the Ritz but it's nicer that this." Phil waved a hand at the stacks of shoe boxes and piles of carrier bags in the store room. There was a table by the door and a dirty looking kettle on a tray with a chipped yellow mug.

"Okay." Rayne nodded numbly and followed him out the back and up a flight of stone stairs lit by a single dim bulb.

By the time they reached Phil's flat on the second floor he had exhausted his joint and his nerves were less jangled. The apartment was painted a soothing shade of pale blue and consisted of a kitchenette with a four ring hob a microwave and fridge, a folded down sofa bed and another table. There was a small balcony beyond and Phil opened the doors onto it now, letting in some air to alleviate the sultry heat. There were shelves of books and cassettes to the left of the main door and to the right another entrance led into the smallest bathroom Rayne had ever seen. It was basically a walk in shower with a WC and a small basin. There was a long thin mirror tacked to the wall above the sink and a water cistern over the toilet.

"It's... minimalist," he said diplomatically.

Phil managed a smile.

"You want to fuck?" he asked.

Rayne sat down on the edge of the sofa bed and looked up at him warily.

"I'm waiting for some test results."

Phil shrugged slightly and stripped out of his t-shirt and shorts.

"I've got rubbers," he said amiably and fetched a box of ribbed anal condoms and a bottle of lube from the bathroom.

His companion looked up at him speculatively, then pulled him down onto the bed and they snaked around one another at once. Phil's mouth found his, hot and needy. His tongue darted between Rayne's teeth and he rolled onto his back, pulling the other youth on top of him, hands roaming eagerly over his mate's body.

"Are you sore?" he asked when Rayne broke for air. "The sunburn?"

"It's not so bad today," his companion said economically. "Hurt like hell last night."