Gay

Keywords: Ch., Boy, Cold, Who, 12, from, In, the, Came, A,

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"You have not read the Treatment?" Aldo sounded a little surprised and Rayne's eyes flickered up to find his face at once.

"No... Terry was gonna get me a copy. Have 'you' read it?"

Aldo half-smiled; "Of course!"

Something in the way he said that tightened all the muscles in Rayne's chest and stomach. He wanted to be sick but he just took another sip from his cooling coffee, never taking his eyes off Aldo.

"Has 'everyone else' read it?"

Aldo's expression sobered.

"I guess so," he said cautiously.

Rayne finally averted his gaze. His thoughts were in turmoil but uppermost among them was a desire to kill Daniel Leland. The old goon had done this on purpose! He just wanted to see his nemesis fall flat on his arse, preferably in front of P J McNamara.


"You can read mine," his friend volunteered stoically.

"I will," Rayne said, with a scowl of defiance.

He was still reading as Terry shepherded them both down from the roof to make their ablutions. Aldo still watched him warily as he chewed on his lips, pale eyes growing darker and more appalled with every page. He knew that this was a particularly detailed Treatment. Some ran to no more than a single sheet of paper. Leland's was twelve whole pages, annotated with speculative camera directions. Rayne Wilde was no prude but by the time Terence Goodwill called them down his face was scarlet.

"You know what to do, eh?" the big Londoner grinned at him as he returned to the Day Room with his breakfast untouched, an utterly unreadable expression on his face.

Rayne just looked at him. If looks had power, Terry would have been a dead man right then and there. As it was, he just flashed that too-knowing grin and walked away while Rayne fumed impotently behind him.

ANT:

For most of the evening, once Dan had steered Rayne away into his bedroom, Ant had simply felt sick. He did not know whether to be angry, or hurt or just downright dismayed by the scene that had erupted between himself and the boy he had hauled out of the snow. A part of his mind was telling him that Daniel had been right. Rayne would never be grateful to him. The little bitch had no idea 'how' to say thank you. His cock, and some overriding impulse to hurt people and drive them away, governed him. He had tried his hardest to penetrate the tough veneer that shrugged off any show of concern but Rayne was having none of it. Ant had hoped at the very least that beating the crap out of Christophe would win him brownie points but apparently it was not to be so. Rayne was impervious to any offer of help. He just took it for granted as if it was some God-given right.

Ant closed his eyes and tried to shut out the memories of his beautiful, defensive, angry young face. He could not bring himself to speak to anyone just yet so he had gone up onto the roof deck and was lying under the stars with a glass in his hand, wishing that tonight had gone differently. If only he had been a bit less hasty, Rayne might be here with him, curled against his side, maybe stroking or sucking him as he ran his hands through the boy's silky hair. Ant might have gently seduced him until they were both making love fiercely beneath the bright heavens, instead of which he was here alone, seething to himself.

He silently cursed Paddy McNamara to a fiery hell. Everything had been fine until the Irish National Stud stuck his great big oar in. Rayne had been... if not happy, then at least satisfied with his lot. Ant never had the impression that Rayne Wilde was happy but he had at least seemed to be settling down before McNamara and his crew arrived. And that had been the catalyst.

He knew that Rayne was utterly unimpressed by fame, Daniel and the whole movie business rolled off his back like water in the shower, but maybe it was something about the allure of men with big cocks. Ant gritted his teeth at the idea of it. Finding Rayne curled up with McNamara on the sofa the other morning had almost been the final straw. Until then he had been able to kid himself that the boy was easily seduced; after all, they had got him very drunk the night before. It was easy enough to fall into the nearest bed... but to want to stay there the morning after. McNamara must have been some stud between the sheets because he had never known Rayne to be as animated as he was on that morning when the letter with his results arrived.

And since then he had endured the nightmare of not knowing whether his young mate had fled completely, or been abducted. In a way it had been almost a relief to know that Christophe might have taken him. At least it meant that he could do something. And punching the French pervert's lights out had been immensely satisfying.

More so had been the chance to hold Rayne in his arms and just make a complete fuss of the boy. He had been through a nightmare. Though he made no complaint, Ant sensed that Rayne was mortified by the experience and also in considerable pain. Later, with his nerves and impulses numbed by the drugs he was so soft and compliant that Ant could not help but want to make love to him. Somehow he had managed to hold off. It was agony, lying beside his lover and rubbing against his sleek body but unable to spread and enter him. He had never wanted a fuck so badly in his life.

The half-sentient awareness of Rayne's little chat with McNamara was the thing that completely tipped him over the edge. He could almost taste Rayne's need for the Irishman. When the boy began to beg for sex it was all that he could do not to jump up and rip P J's throat out. So it was that he could not quite believe the man's immense restraint in getting up and walking away. Had he been placed in the same position he did not know how the hell he would have kept from ripping Rayne apart with his cock. In fact he wanted to get inside his lover so much that his passions were still running high once the boy discovered that he was awake and cognisant of the facts.

That had been his last mistake. Ant had been embarrassed but curiously he sensed that Rayne was too. The scene with Paddy had not gone the way his young mate expected. And then he had been forced to explain himself.

Ant let his head fall into his hands and groaned, utterly dismayed. How the hell had he let the situation get away from him so badly? When he realised that Ant was awake, Rayne had been horny enough to let him do anything. If he had just pulled the boy into his arms, said nothing, fucked him stupid... Ant sighed wearily, disgusted with himself. Since leaving London he had managed to contain Rayne's aggression but tonight it had exploded and completely overwhelmed him. He had underestimated just how far Rayne would go to avoid confronting the truth. And now he could not even talk to the boy. He could not even say how sorry he was.

"Antoine?"

The quiet voice started him out of his agonised reflection and he peeled his hands from his eyes and looked up, blinking owlishly into Thierry's huge, blue eyes. The slender French youth was sitting beside him. He must have come up here so quietly that Ant did not even hear his bare feet on the polished deck. Now Thierry stared down at him almost helplessly and he found himself reaching up, touching a reassuring hand to the lad's bruised face.

"It's okay... I'm okay... I just... I wanted a moment."

"You want to be alone?" Thierry exhaled, almost fearfully. Ant sensed him drawing back as if he felt that he was not wanted. He curled his hand around the nape of Thierry's neck and pulled him very gently back down until he was lying across Ant's chest.


"No... I don't think anyone really wants that," he murmured reassuringly, wrapping his arms around the bewildered lad.

"It is not just you. He is angry at everyone," Thierry whispered huskily into his ear as they sprawled beneath the stars together. "I cannot understand him, Antoine."

"Then that makes two of us, Thierry," he answered disconsolately.

He had no memory of staggering back down the stairs to his room but he knew that Thierry had come with him of his own accord. They had tumbled onto the bed together, the worse for wine and emotion. Thierry's soft mouth sought out his own and they kissed long and hard, like it was something they had discovered and no one had kissed before. Ant was astonished by how proficient Thierry was; he seemed little more than a child but he kissed with a hunger that matched Ant's own.

They wound about one another in a serpentine embrace that seemed to have no beginning and no end. Thierry's hands moved constantly over his body, discovering his erogenous zones with a careful skill that Ant was envious of. In response he caressed the lad tenderly, stroking urgent fingers through his blond curls, coaxing Thierry's mouth down towards his cock as they writhed together on the bed. To his amazement the blond did not fight him; he was quietly compliant with all of Ant's desires and deliciously good at satisfying most of them too.

At some point during the night he was conscious of pulling the little blond closer to his own body, feeling Thierry straddle him willingly, rising up above his crotch and reaching back to guide Ant's pulsing member between his creamy cheeks. His sweet hole was hot and welcoming, not as tight as Rayne's but still pleasing nonetheless. Ant groaned long and loud as he drove his cock into the lad, feeling Thierry's slender legs coil around his hips as he urged his groin upward to push himself deeper, his arse rising up off the mattress, back arching as he pressed his aching tool into that delicious heat. Thierry leaned over him, gasping and crying out quietly and Ant's hands stroked his pretty face, then slid down his back to his pert bottom just as the boy's arms snaked hungrily around his shoulders. They met at all points from the lips down and Thierry rode him almost savagely as he bucked upward to meet his new lover's lean, smooth, undulating body.
Suzie seemed like the only one that was not sure.

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Keywords: Ch., Boy, Cold, Who, 12, from, In, the, Came, A,