Rayne leaned his insubstantial weight into the wall and pushed back against him, feeling hot, firm hands on his hips as the other man began to bang him hard. He was not gentle, nor did he touch Rayne anywhere save to hold him as he buggered the boy raw. His powerful cock sawed in and out, vigorously stimulating his young mate who was erect and leaking within moments of being entered. Whilst he was selling himself he was more often than not subjected to this kind of quick, urgent, stand-up fuck, in a toilet or a darkened backstreet. It was generally over in a matter of minutes and he always got hard and usually needed a wank when it was done.
He was not going to have to resort to his hand today. Well before Giovanni began to grunt and spurt he felt his balls contract and pressed his cheek against the smooth golden bum of the boy on the wall as he squirted a hot jet of cum against the lilac paintwork. Three more good blasts of spunk followed as the Italian rammed his huge fuck-pole deep into Rayne’s yielding passage and filled him with liquid, latin heat.
“Ahhhhh… Jesus!” Rayne hissed through his teeth and the Italian groaned a similarly profane curse in his mother tongue as his muscles relaxed and he sagged against his mate briefly, hot hands stroking the boy’s thighs and bum.
“Mmmhhhhh… bellisimo,” Giovanni muttered now, pulling out of him and washing his cock at the basin, casual as you like, before towelling it off and stuffing it back into his pants. “You’re a sweet boy, Rayne. Sweet and hot.”
Rayne looked at him expectantly, his head on one side. He was clenching his rectal muscles steadily, conscious of the sticky wetness of Giovanni’s hot cum inside him, trickling down.
“Two ounces,” he reminded the Italian now.
“Mmmmh?” Dark eyes met his over the towel as the fellow washed his hands and splashed his face, then dried himself off.
“Don’t fuck me about. Two ounces, you said. If I fuck you…”
“Shhhh… so hasty.” Giovanni turned and touched a finger to his lips. “I said, and I meant. Giovanni keeps his word. But you think I walk about with such a thing in my pockets, huh? I do not have it here.”
“We’ll go and get it then.” Rayne felt his pulse quicken. He knew that his cheeks were flushed; he could feel the heat beneath his skin.
“I have to work now. You come back here this evening and I will have your gift for you.” The Italian stroked his face, his expression tolerant and slightly angelic.
“I need it now.” Rayne’s breathing had quickened with his heartbeat. The promise of a fix had sustained him this far but now he could feel himself losing it slightly. “You promised.”
“And I will keep my promise. Come back here tonight after 11 o’ clock and you will have your reward.” He bent his head and touched his mouth to Rayne’s trembling lips, tasting his frustration and impotent fury. “So sweet.”
“You’d better!” Rayne exhaled helplessly, an empty threat. It was all he could do not to weep with disappointment, but he steeled himself and walked out of the Gents with his head held high. As he walked back through the bar and out into sunlight that was painfully bright after the subdued illumination of the W.C. he sensed that Giovanni rejoined his colleague at the bar and they were laughing together quietly. His cheeks blazed more furiously at that but he did not look back.
‘Idiot!’ he cursed himself silently. ‘You are such a fuckin’ idiot!’
He sat on the beach alone with his frustration for a while, close to the waterline, letting the uncomfortable trickle of wetness dissipate and wash away with the waves between his cheeks. Now to compound his misery he had a bag full of cigarettes that he could not smoke and his arsehole was twitching and throbbing incessantly, refusing to let him forget what a fool he had just been.
Finally he pushed himself to his feet and trudged back sullenly through the arcade, ignoring the throngs of happy people all around him. It seemed to take forever to find his way back through the warren of walkways and passages to the harbour. Somehow, this morning, the journey up to the beach had passed by in a pleasant blur. Now he was hot and tired and intensely irritable and to make matters worse he suspected that he was lost.
Just as he was feeling the urge to scream at the next person who jostled past him, a quiet voice spoke his name. He was so immersed in his own dark thoughts that it took a second, “Rayne?” before he looked up.
Thierry was already bronzed, and naked except for a pair of black espadrilles and a black leather dog collar with rounded chromium plates and a silver nametag that hung in the hollow of his collarbones. A pair of dark sunglasses sat on top of his head in stark contrast to his short, white blond hair. Huge blue eyes met his own, filled with a curious tenderness that only made Rayne feel more spiteful.
“Are you all right?” Thierry asked him in a solicitous tone. “You look un’appy.”
“”I’m fine,” Rayne told him shortly. “Fuckin’ delirious, in fact. Where’s your handler? I didn’t think he’d let you off the leash out ‘ere.”
“You are ‘still’ angry at everyone?” Thierry asked in a mildly incredulous tone as though he could not understand how anyone could possibly feel that way here.
“What do you think, Sherlock?” Rayne turned on his heel and walked away. To his annoyance, Thierry only trailed after him like a lost puppy.
“You are mad. You come to a place like this and you are just angry all the time. You should relax. Go to the clubs, get drunk and dance. Have sex, ” he suggested unhelpfully.
“Fuck off!” Rayne did not look round at him.
“I do not understand you, my friend,” Thierry said sadly, then skidded to a halt and took three steps back as the Englishman turned on him, green eyes blazing.
“Fuck. Off. Now!” he snarled, every muscle in his body shaking with the effort it took not to just punch his shadow’s lights out. “You are not my fuckin’ friend. All right? Go back to your fuckin’ boyfriend and do… whatever it is you do with him! Just leave me alone or I’ll fuckin’ kill you and dump you in the harbour, okay!”
For a moment Thierry just stared at him, shaking his head slowly, his face a picture of pity and contempt. Rayne hated him for it. He hated everyone for it. Wordlessly he turned his back and walked off. This time the boy did not follow him. Several pairs of curious eyes did, however. He sensed that he was watched all the way back to Ambonne. Great… just great, now he was the subject of every gossipmonger in the Cap, on top of everything else.
“Where the hell have you been?” Ant wanted to know when he finally got back to the boat.
His head ached and so did his feet and he just wanted to have a cold shower and go back to bed but clearly the Anglo-Franglais Inquisition had other ideas. Rayne dumped his shopping bag in the middle of the day room and folded his arms wearily across his chest. The population of the boat had swollen since the morning and now he had an audience for his impending tantrum. An older man, who might once have been a body-builder but was now merely portly and swathed in greying fur that covered him from his neck to his ankles, occupied the futon. He kept company with two younger lads, who were lithe and hairless, save for the closely cropped dark wedges on top of their heads. They might have been art-deco bookends, for they were virtually identical. Rayne guessed that they were both around eighteen.