Mahmoudi felt small, warm hands on his naked thighs as Rayne began to nod again, more quickly this time. The quiet, slippery, sucking and licking noises and the occasional throaty moan of appreciation were the only sounds in the peaceful surgery for several minutes. Now the Doctor rested both hands on Rayne’s sable hair and began to thrust steadily in time with his patient’s nodding head. Rayne moaned around the length of flesh in his mouth but he did not try to resist. One of his hands moved between Mahmoudi’s legs and began to caress his balls ever so gently at first then with increasing urgency.
His careful caresses helped to stimulate the Doctor to a speedy climax and he began to buck rapidly now, both hands tangled in Rayne’s silky black hair. He spurted, with a grunt of enthusiasm, on the outbound thrust and his semen spattered the face and hair of the young man kneeling before him. Rayne blinked and lifted a hand to wipe his nose and eyes as the Doctor reeled away behind his desk and located some more tissues to clean himself and his patient up. He was still breathing heavily once Rayne had come back from washing his face at the sluice.
“You are a professional. I like that,” the older fellow said, gesturing towards the chair in front of his desk.
Rayne sat down with a too-knowing look on his face. His green eyes were sharp and clever, the gaze of a child that has grown up too quickly.
“Then you’re not going to welch on your side of the deal, are you,” he remarked, never taking his eyes off Mahmoudi, not even for a moment.
“No,” the Doctor assured him. “But I cannot give you much. If you return to the boat incapacitated then Mr Leland will know for sure where you got the drugs.”
“You can give me a shot now and some for later,” Rayne Wilde said reasonably. “I’ll smoke the rest. I prefer it that way anyhow.”
“You will keep it a secret from our friend Mr Leland?” Mahmoudi unscrewed the lid from the little white pot and spread a napkin on the table on the measuring dish of a small electronic scale. He poured carefully as Rayne nodded, pale eyes fixed on the greyish powder that trickled out.
“I promise.”
Rayne shivered a little as Mahmoudi tightened the tourniquet around his upper arm. A small amount of heroin was cooking on a petrie dish over the bunsen burner on the Doctor’s workstation. The fumes alone were making him twitchy. Too often, Johnno had made him wait his turn whilst others got their fix. Sometimes there was next to nothing left and he had to be content with chasing the wreath of pale smoke rising from the foil. He closed his eyes again as the older man drew up the small measure into a syringe and came towards him.
“You should try to lose this habit, Rayne,” he said mildly, locating a vein at the second attempt and gently easing the point of the needle in. “It does you no favours.”
“I know,” the boy whispered, his voice barely audible. “Please…”
With a sigh, the Doctor depressed the plunger and withdrew the needle. He taped the wad of cotton wool from the earlier blood tests back over the bead of bright blood in the crook of his patient’s slender arm then removed the tourniquet. Rayne quivered again. For a little while he did not move or even talk. The sensation was like falling from a great height onto a pillow of clouds. He felt hot and cold, then intensely, profoundly still. After a moment or so he remembered how to breathe and took a long gulp of air.
“Okay?” Mahmoudi asked as if from a distance.
He nodded. This was more than okay. It was incredible. This was possibly the most amazing fix he had ever known. Mahmoudi had not lied about it being top notch stuff. For a little while he was flying; he had done it, broken the loop, no more Johnno. No more back streets and scumbags! He was in the South of France he was gonna make movies and money… more money than he would ever spend, even on Junk.
“That… that’s good gear,” he breathed when he could finally make words. The smile on his face was a brilliant, fragile thing.
“Use it sparingly,” Mahmoudi warned. “Do you want to lie down for a little while?”
Rayne shook his head. He didn’t want to lie still, he wanted to dance and laugh and tell people about this wonderful life he had discovered. Doctor Mahmoudi folded the napkin up into a small wrap and put it in his hand. He stared at it for a moment, feeling tears spring to his eyes. What a fantastic man, giving him something like this.
“Put it away,” Mahmoudi said to him. “And be careful with it.”
“I will.” Rayne unzipped the little pouch around his neck and tucked the wrap inside. He fastened it carefully as he had been told. Doctor Mahmoudi came up close behind him, rolling on a condom and bent him firmly over the desk in order to mount and penetrate him. As he sprawled on the green leather upholstered surface with the older man’s hand on the back of his neck, keeping him down, he whispered; “Thank you. Oh my god… thank you!”
ALL AT SEA:
“Everything okay?” Ant asked solicitously when Rayne got back to the boat.
The boy treated him to a beaming smile, which instantly worried the older man.
“Totally fantastic!” he chirruped. “I’ve just had a fucking AIDS test, what d’you reckon to that, eh? Rock’n’Roll or what?”
“I’m sure it’s just a precaution,” Ant said warily but his face told a different story.
*
“What are you worried about?” Daniel Leland purred from behind his newspaper when Ant voiced his concerns. “You’ve been careful, haven’t you? After all, you know his history. I’m sure the little slut will be fine. He seems quite good at taking care of himself. Maybe you should do the same.”
“Are you suggesting that ‘I’ ought to have an AIDS test?” Ant queried, mildly horrified.
“Only if you’re seriously worried my dear child,” Daniel said, without looking up at him. “I mean… you did use rubbers when you fucked the little tart, ‘didn’t’ you?”
Ant sat down rather heavily in the nearest chair and put his head in his hands.
*
“You’ll get cancer,” Aldo warned seriously as he flopped down on the sunlit deck beside Rayne. The English boy was smoking a roll up, having bought some papers and tobacco on the way back to the boat. He was sitting cross-legged on the upper deck beneath a parasol, staring out into space behind his huge, dark sunglasses. The little pad of cotton wool was still taped to his arm like a medal for valiant conduct.
“Woo Hoo,” he exhaled now, utterly deadpan. “Bring it on!”
“It’s just a precaution, the blood test,” Aldo said reassuringly from just outside the circle of shade cast by his umbrella. “You’ll be fine.”
“I bet ‘you’ hope so, after last night,” Rayne turned his face towards the Italian youth though his eyes were still invisible behind his shades.
“You could have asked me to stop if you didn’t want it,” Aldo returned, holding his gaze through the smoked glass. “You don’t have to take your frustration out on me. I told you last night, I’m on your side.”
Rayne sucked on the roach again and shrugged his shoulders slightly. He held the smoke down deep in his lungs for a little while then let it go. Aldo stretched his long, lean, well-muscled body languidly and lay back, propped up on his elbows watching the wavelets and the little cruisers bobbing in the harbour.