“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.”