A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 04

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“In Chapter Four Ant discovers that Rayne does have quite a past, and finding out about it gives him a boner that just won’t go down. After the nastiness of Chapter Three I thought it would be pleasant for Ray to have a little holiday, so our heroes are off to the South of France to try and make some money in the European Porno Movie industry.” xxx.Sadie

(All characters and stories are copyright of Sadie Rose Bermingham 1999-2005 – any unauthorised use of these stories will be treated as an infringement of copyright.)



Ant juggled the change in his trouser pocket as he waited for the receiver to pick up on the other end of the line. He had been walking all night and now, as the sun rose over this decrepit, graffiti riddled call box on Limehouse Reach, he was nearing his wit’s end. The idea of leaving Rayne alone with Rabid John was still making him grind his teeth with frustration. The boy had looked so exhausted and defeated last night as he stood in the doorway, calling John off in order to save Ant’s skin. Now the older man knew that there was no way he could turn his back on his beautiful young friend. If he left Rayne in Mile End the boy would be dead within a year, he was sure of it. Either the drugs or some crazy person would see him off, and that was if he did not succumb to AIDS.

Last night, not one of the bastards at that Gym had bothered with rubbers, in so far as he could tell. Ant wondered grimly how many times the younger man had consented to unprotected sex. The odds were not good for him.

He was about to hang up and try someone else when the line clicked softly and a cultured, sleepy, English voice said; “Who the fuck is ringing me at this time of the morning?”

“Daniel! I’m sorry, I know it’s early,” he apologised at once. “It’s me… Ant. I need a really big favour. I need somewhere to crash out for a little while, and I’m going to bring a friend with me. You’re not fully booked this weekend are you?”

“As a matter of fact, I was planning to have a few people over, but I suppose I can always make room for one or two more. What’s the great urgency, Anthony?” Dan sounded bemused. He was one of Ant’s oldest friends but they had seen one another rarely since Daniel Leland emigrated to the French Mediterranean. He lived on a seventy-foot cruiser at the Cap d’Agde for much of the year, a lifestyle Ant could easily appreciate.

“We just need to keep our heads down for a little while, and maybe earn a bit of cash, if you could arrange something…?” Ant bit his lip, fishing for coins and shovelling them into the machine as the credit dipped rapidly. “My friend… I reckon he could do a bit of photographic work, you know. I’m sure he’s your type.”

There was a pensive silence on the line, then Dan asked; “He’s not jailbait, Ant? You’re not hiding out from his parents and the police?”

“He’s twenty,” Ant pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. “He’s really pretty, Dan and red hot in bed. You’re gonna love him, I’m certain. He’s a little goldmine!”

Daniel sighed and stifled a yawn. “I suppose so. He’d better behave though. I’m getting too old for teenage tearaways and the marina authorities won’t stand for any funny business, you understand?”

“I get it,” Ant nodded eagerly.

“When are you coming down?”

“In a couple of days, I just need to sort a few things out,” Ant said, experiencing a flood of relief. “I’ll ring you again before we set off.”

He returned to the boat once he had spoken to Daniel and took a long shower. The last couple of days had left him feeling gritty and corrupted. A glance in the mirror showed him a body that had not yet succumbed to middle aged spread though he was definitely far from scrawny; not short, although he had always wished he were taller. He owned a face that many still found handsome and a nice, long meaty cock that certainly won him plenty of admiration from both sexes. His dark blond hair flopped across his brow, still thick and full, devoid of grey and he contemplated getting it cut before they set out for France then decided that it looked quite bohemian as it was. Once he had shaved and scrubbed himself clean he dropped the black out shutters in his bedroom and set about developing the pictures he had taken of Rayne Wilde in his bed on Thursday. Satisfyingly, his initial belief that the boy would be stunning on camera seemed to be borne out by the prints he produced. He looked younger still on film, captured in random moments of seductively innocent posing. So often he seemed to lift his beautiful eyes to the lens just as the shutter clicked. There was something in that wide, upturned gaze that seemed naïve, even when he was masturbating himself openly or riding Ant’s toys and his cock. Ant turned on the lights now and fetched a dildo to help in his admiration of the prints.

He lay down, staring at a sexy little shot of the naked youngster with his wrists manacled behind him and his legs lifted and spread, a ball gag in his mouth and the self almanbahis yeni giriş same big dildo protruding from his pink, stretched anus. Ant lubed the toy up thoroughly and eased it into his rectum, working it deeper and faster into himself then resting his cheeks against the footboard of the bed and riding against it as he began to jerk himself off with a slippery hand.

In a couple of days, all being well, he would have Rayne on a sun-kissed deck, out at sea, slim, tanned and stark naked, whilst Daniel Leland, one of Europe’s premiere Pornographers took the pictures. Ant pulled himself to a massive, breathless, satisfying climax in minutes thinking of it and rubbed the spill of hot semen all over his naked belly and chest, panting appreciatively.


On Monday morning the bank staff were helpful but ultimately apologetic. They were quite willing to lend him money against his boat but the credit check would take a little time; time Ant did not have. He made arrangements to withdraw as much of his savings as he dared to and they promised to have the money ready for him in the afternoon. Whilst he was waiting, he called in at the post office and picked up a couple of forms, then he went down to the marina at Tower Bridge and spoke to one of the guys he knew who worked there renovating small pleasure cruisers and carrying out maintenance. They chatted about the boats for a while, which ones were regularly out on the river and which seemed to have been neglected. Then he returned to the shopping arcade and had copies of some of his old keys cut.

He filled out the forms, which were for the British Waterways Licensing Department. A few subtle alterations would take care of the primary details. Then he went back to the bank and collected a thousand pounds in cash.

Ant felt self conscious about walking through the East End with so much money, but he had dressed down deliberately and only the occasional passer by glanced his way. He caught the District Line up to Mile End tube station and managed to find his way back to the house on Canal Road without too much difficulty. The door was shut and the place looked abandoned but he climbed the steps and knocked loudly all the same.

After a while of this, someone peeked out through the boards over the front window. He thought he recognised the thin, sullen girl from his previous visit. The door was wrestled open and she peered up at him solemnly.

“You’d better ‘ave his money,” she warned.

“Is Rayne okay?” he wanted to know.

Before she could speak, a husky voice somewhere in the hall behind her said; “What do you expect? What the fuck are you doing back here?”

The door opened wider. Rayne looked pale and there were dark circles under his huge green eyes but he was up and dressed. He moved awkwardly as if he was still in some pain.

“I’ve got some cash for your Pimp and a deal, if he’s interested.” Ant tried not to show his annoyance at this offhand greeting.

“You are such a fucking idiot!” Rayne shook his head and limped into the downstairs front room where he slumped into the decrepit armchair closing his eyes. Ant followed with a studied frown on his face.

“Is trying to get you out of this shithole such a stupid thing to do then?” he demanded.

Rayne opened one eye and surveyed him listlessly. “I dunno why you’re botherin’, to be honest!”

Ant took in the ripped, rumpled jeans and the same gauzy shirt he had been wearing on Friday night. One sleeve was rolled up and there was a small, dark, painful looking bruise in the crook of his right arm. He curled up in the chair now, hugging his knees miserably and refusing to look at Ant.

“Do you think I want you to kill yourself?” the older man asked him vehemently. “Do you think I can, with all conscience, leave you here knowing that you’re just going to get yourself deeper and deeper in a mess that you can’t get out of?”

“I don’t fuckin’ care what you think!” Rayne lifted his hands to his ears and huddled up like an ammonite. “Leave me alone. You can’t ‘do’ anythin’! John’ll find a way to get me back, whatever. He’s right, I can’t manage without him. I can’t do anythin’!”

“And you believe that, do you?” Ant moved around to the side of the chair and crouched down, reaching gently for the boy’s hands. Rayne pulled away, curling up tighter. He made a little gurgling sound in the back of his throat, shaking his head. The girl watched them impassively from the doorway.

“Listen to me,” Ant said more firmly. “The other night I watched you get up on stage and you played and you sang and you were fucking great, so don’t tell me that you can’t do anything. You’re a gorgeous kid, you’re smart, you’re mouthy and you could do so much with your life. Just let me get you out of here. Let me get you off the poison he’s been filling your damned veins with.”

Vivid, venomous green eyes stared out from the darkness between Rayne’s skinny forearms. A tight little voice hissed; “It hurts too much. When I take Junk it stops it hurting for almanbahis giriş a while. I ‘need’ it.”

“No you don’t,” Ant insisted in a gentler voice. “Trust me, Rayne. There are other ways to stop the pain, less lethal ways.”

“They don’t work,” the boy looked down again, his forehead resting on the ripped knees of his jeans. Through the rents in the denim, Ant could see that his legs were still raw and scabbed. He ached to fold his arms around Rayne and just carry him out of here. “Nothin’ works… nothin’ else.”

“It’s making you ill,” he protested weakly. “You need a break from it. I ‘can’ help you, you know. If you’ll let me I can help you.”

“You all want something from me! You’re all as bad as one another!” Rayne’s voice cracked and he made a little choking, sobbing noise and wrapped his arms tightly around his head, swaying back and forth frantically in the chair.

“I don’t want anything,” Ant lied, feeling somewhat guilty but unable to say anything else that would help. “I only want you to get better and sort yourself out.”

“Leave me alone. I wanna die.” Rayne sniffed hard and refused to uncurl himself.

“Someone wants his medicine,” said a knowing voice from the hallway.

Ant looked up to discover that the despondent looking girl had vanished. Rabid John was watching him expectantly in the doorway. Behind him was the tall, thin carrot-haired youngster who had accompanied Ant to the bank on Saturday morning, and chased him out with a knife in the small hours of Sunday. Now Ant rose to his feet, folding his arms defensively.

“If you kept him off it for a while he might try and kick the habit on his own,” he pointed out.

“He’d be a pain in the arse, though,” Johnno remarked, shaking his ratty mane. “Easier to give the little bitch what he wants. He works harder when he’s a bit wired.” He grinned lopsidedly. “You got my money, Big Fella?”

Ant shrugged; “Kind of.”

“Kind of i’nt good enough,” John flashed back. “You either got it or you ‘aven’t. What’s it to be?”

“I’ve got five hundred, and security up to another fifteen…mmmm… twenty grand,” Ant promised him, reaching for the backpack slung over his shoulder.

Johnno’s dark, shrewish eyes narrowed speculatively. “What ‘kind’ of security?”

“I’ve got a boat, down at Commodity Quay. She’s not been on the water for a bit but she’s sound. I’ll give you the keys and paperwork,” he said fishing in the bag for the forms he had doctored during the morning.

“What am ‘I’ gonna do with a fuckin’ boat?” Johnno laughed, shaking his head. “Can’t eat a boat, mate. It won’t pay Sheila’s Dealer!”

Ant kept his cool, producing the long, official looking envelope with the Waterways embossed stamp on it, into which he had slipped his faked documents. “She’ll pay your interest for a fortnight, plus some. If we can’t raise the rest of the cash in that time, you can sell her. I’m not bullshitting here, that vessel’s worth at least fifteen grand.”

He was aware that Rayne had unfurled and was looking at him with some bewilderment now. The boy’s eyes were red, he had clearly been crying. Ant took a deep breath and handed him the document wallet. Then he produced a plain, A5 manila envelope and tossed it over towards Johnno. “There’s five hundred quid in there. Take it or leave it.”

“Fifteen grand?” John looked sceptical. He did not pick up the envelope, though the red-haired youth grabbed for it and began to count the cash at once. “What’s the fucking catch, mate?”

“No catch. I tried to raise the money against another craft but it was going to take too long. I thought you’d rather do this the easy way. The fifteen’s to cover your expenditure whilst you’re looking for a buyer. It’s up to you, of course. I can take her back.” He reached for the envelope in Rayne’s hands. The boy was already looking through the contents and he drew them out of Ant’s reach automatically.

“He’s not spinning, John. This is… there’s keys and everythin’. There’s transfer documents and whatnot… Fuck!” He shook his head slowly. “Ant…!”

John came over and inspected the paperwork closely. He frowned a little, clearly not comprehending what he was looking at, but interested all the same.

“What do I do?”

“Just fill in the bits with a cross next to them and I’ll send them off to the proper authorities,” Ant said reasonably. “You’ll get a certificate back in about a week confirming the ownership. Then you can do whatever you like with her, mate.”

“Show me this fuckin’ boat,” John growled softly. “This bit of paper could be anythin’.”


Ant and Rayne left John admiring the little cruiser in the Upper Pool and walked slowly back down towards Greenwich Reach as the afternoon turned steadily towards evening and the shadows lengthened. The boy looked rather perplexed but said very little. He did not look well, Ant thought and he wanted to get the kid settled for the night. They had a busy day ahead of them tomorrow and he did not want Rayne to be under the almanbahis güvenilirmi weather.

“What exactly happened there?” the youngster asked him, once they were well away from Tower Bridge and Ant had begun to whistle cheerfully to himself. “Did you ‘really’ trade him a boat for me?”

“Kind of…” Ant told him with a little smile. “He thinks so, anyway. By the time he realises it’s not his, we’ll be well out of here.”

Rayne stopped in his tracks, his mouth falling open. Ant halted and looked back at him with what he hoped was a soothing expression.

“Are you out of your mind?” the boy exploded.

“It’ll be okay, I promise. He won’t be able to touch you.”

“I wouldn’t put money on that,” Rayne exhaled, his eyes still wide and terrified. “He’s gonna kill us ‘both’ when he finds out!”

“He’ll have to find us first,” Ant pointed out.

“He came with us to your boat when I dropped my stuff off there on Saturday,” Rayne reminded him warily.

“That’s why I moved it yesterday,” Ant said, unflustered. “Come on, it’s a bit further out than it was and we’ve got a lot to do before we go.”

“Go where?” Rayne had not budged. “‘Where’ are we going?”

“I was thinking… mmmm…” Ant pretended to scratch his chin. “…maybe the South of France?”

“Are you insane?” Rayne was shaking his head warily now.

“He’s never going to think of looking for you there, is he?” Ant chuckled, refusing to be deflated.

“There’s a good reason for that. I haven’t got a fuckin’ passport!” the boy pointed out.

“Then that’s something else we’ll have to sort out in the morning,” Ant said cheerfully. “Don’t look so worried. It’ll be days before he knows we’ve ripped him off. Who knows, by then we might even be able to pay him back legitimately.”

Rayne narrowed his eyes. “You’re up to something!”

“I’m up to a lot of things, but I doubt that ‘you’ are right now, so you want to get some rest tonight. Don’t worry so much.” Ant swept an arm around him and walked him firmly back down the embankment towards Greenwich feeling immensely pleased with himself.

When they got back to the boat, Rayne shut himself in the bathroom for almost an hour and virtually exhausted the hot water supply. Ant kept busy making them both some dinner and contented himself with thoughts of France and the fun they were going to have out there. After a little while he tapped on the bathroom door but Rayne just yelled; “I won’t be long!”

He considered simply walking in and offering to wash the boy’s back for him but in the end he turned away. The memory of this morning was still quite fresh in his mind. He could not shake off the image of Rayne curled up and shaking in that huge chair, as small as a child and just as vulnerable. If he used the kid now he was just as bad as Johnno; worse, even. When Rayne was ready he would know it. Until then, he decided valiantly, he could wait.

Eventually the sound of running water ceased and after a short time the door opened and Rayne came out wearing a tired expression and Ant’s soft, green bathrobe (which trailed on the floor at his feet). The older man felt his heart lurch at the sight of him. He was so sweet and sexy, even in such neutral attire, that Ant just wanted to sweep him off to bed and make gentle love to him all night.

“All right gorgeous?” he hailed the kid with a smile. “D’you like chilli? I’ve made a veggie one. Dunno what it’ll taste like yet but you look like you could do with it.”

“I’m not really all that ‘ungry,” Rayne said, but the defensive aggression was gone. He just sounded exhausted and frail.

“Just a bit,” Ant coaxed, waving the steaming pan in a vague circle. “I can’t eat it all on my own.”

The lad offered a non-committal shrug but murmured; “I’ll just get dressed then.”

Ant left the pan to simmer and followed him into the bedroom. He hovered in the doorway for a little while as Rayne hunted through the bag they had brought from Canal Road the other night, the evening before he was repeatedly raped and abused at the gym. Now the older fellow swallowed his nausea at the thought of it. He was ashamed of himself for becoming aroused as he watched it happen. Seeing Rayne like this today hurt like a knife to the gut. He only wanted to see the boy smile again (and maybe moan with pleasure a little too).

Rayne wriggled the gown off his skinny shoulders and Ant winced at the bruises on his naked back. These were fresh blooms, inflicted since the gang-bang. Ant wanted to go right back round to Mile End and punch Johnno’s lights out. As he moved out of the doorway, Rayne froze and looked up at him, his pale eyes wide and haunted. Then they darkened and narrowed with suspicion.

“Seen enough ‘ave you?” The snarl was back in his tone, though the words were spoken quietly.

“He won’t ever do anything like that to you again,” Ant responded automatically. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“‘You’ won’t go near ‘im,” Rayne flashed back, snatching up a tee shirt and pulling it on, then stepping into a pair of unripped, black cords that hugged his skinny hips like latex. He glanced up once more as he tucked himself in rapidly then zipped and buttoned his fly. “I mean it, Ant. Stay away from him. He’s trouble, and if he gets tired of tugging your fuckin’ chain he’s gonna rip your throat out.”

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