Sex in the Sky

“Very special thanks to rgraham666 for his helpful info on mind-altering substances. And my most profound gratitude to Snoopdog for his invaluable translations. Danke, gentlemen!”

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*What Happened–Arthur*

I like twinks. I mean I really like them. I’m fatally attracted to boyish good looks and sleek physiques. And yeah, I enjoy feeling protective and dominant over some little guy. Not that I want him to swoon over my muscles and keep house for me. I just want him to enjoy being lifted into my arms and coddled.

Unfortunately, my track record with twinks isn’t so good. They flirt with me, all coy and shy at first and completely at my service in bed. A date or two down the line, however, and they drop the pretence. “Why are you looking at that guy? You should be looking at me,” they pout. And “I don’t want to go out tonight,” or “I hate this place. Take me somewhere better.” Once it starts, there’s no stopping it: “I didn’t order this,” “I’m bored,” “I’ve changed my mind….”

The ones that are constantly fishing for stokes are the worst: “I know I’m not very sexy…” or “Sometimes I think people stare at me because they hate me…” Gah! They say things like that and I know I’m going to be spending the rest of the night reassuring them of their beauty and desirability and wonderful personality.

I suppose it has less to do with twinkness than with the fact that I always go for the beauty queens. Self-centered brats who think their desirability entitles them to use and abuse others…and to be a general pain-in-the-ass. Which was why, at the time this all started, I was searching for Mr. Low-Maintenance. Not zero-maintenance. I didn’t want a boy who had no opinions or needs. But I was sick to death of the spoilt princes who kept asking if our relationship was “there” yet. Couldn’t they just enjoy the ride?

Enter Eric.

The answer to my prayers, though I didn’t know it. When I first met him, I hardly gave him a second look. Even after he started hanging out with us, I barely realized he was there. One minute I’d be sure there was four of us at the table, then, with a blink, I’d realize we were five. I’d forgotten to include Eric.

That’s how quiet, how self-effacing he was. Finally, I got curious and put an effort into seeing him. He was a smallish, fragile-thin, skater- twink, which was certainly my type, but average in looks. I didn’t date average. My competitive streak wouldn’t let me. I always went for the prize: the boy with the sultry eyes or a dimple in the chin, the teasing heart-breaker every stud was hoping to fuck.

Eric was…well, nothing special. Still, the more I actually saw of him, the more interested I got. His big, guileless eyes were so honest, and I liked his shy smile, the way he turned his head to hide it. What struck me most, however, was the way he listened. I’ve never met anyone who hung on words as much as he did. He never entered the conversation, but he took it in, laughing quietly at the jokes.

He was also a darn good driver, able to slip effortlessly in and out of traffic, and parallel park in the tightest of spaces. Maybe that shouldn’t have meant anything, but it became symbolic to me. Especially given that he never hotdogged or raced. He was always careful as well as competent, so much so that the rest of us could sit back and enjoy the ride.

I was really glad when he turned this talent for driving into a business. And seeing him at work is what finally opened my eyes to him. I remember this one rainy night in particular: I’d been doing some late-night shopping, and was about to cross the street when it started to really pour. So I took refuge under department store awning and that’s when I saw Eric’s van. It was parked before a supper club. Eric, an umbrella in hand, was trying to help out a trio of middle-aged women. They were dressed to the nines and anxiously eying the water rushing up over the curb.

“Hang on a minute, Ms. Anders,” Eric said to the bleached blond woman in front. “Hold the umbrella and allow me.” He passed the handle to her, and then he put an arm about her and swung her over the rush of gutter water onto the wet sidewalk. Taking back the umbrella, he escorted her to the entrance with its overhang, then went back and did the same with the other two ladies. All of the women were larger and heavier than him, but he put all of his upper body strength into it, and got them down smoothly. Of course, he ended up half-soaked, but that only made the act more gallant.

“I haven’t had a man cop a feel like that since my ex carried me over the threshold.” The blond laughed as he brought up the last of the trio.

“Uh-oh, I’ve been found out,” Eric said.

“Isn’t it time you stopped trying to pass for gay? Be my houseboy, Eric, I swear, I’ll spoil you rotten.”

I’d caught glimpses of Eric’s shy smiles, but never anything like the genuine grin he beamed at that woman. “That wouldn’t be fair to you, Ms. Anders. You deserve a really robust houseboy. Not a wimp like me.”

The women chuckled and Eric opened the door for them. “I’ll be back to pick you up, ladies. Have a great evening.”

I won’t say it was a whole different Eric, but it certainly wasn’t the same, silent boy who hung out with me and my friends. This one had natural charm, and a vibe that was almost custodial, as if his passengers were his sacred charge. It intrigued me.

So, I started to really watch Eric, and I began to notice a few things. Like he was always the one who took on the nasty job of looking after the drunk.

“Hey, there fella, easy does it,” he’d say when a guy in our group had one-too-many. And he’d assist the poor bastard to the toilet. I remember seeing him once, holding John’s head as he upchucked. Eric had even gotten some paper towels and set them down on the floor so John wouldn’t dirty his pants as he knelt before the porcelain altar.

Ditto when he drove us home. “Let me help ya—” he’d say, when one of us couldn’t quite manage to walk straight. And then he’d put his shoulder under the arm of a bruiser like Bob, who was twice his size, and assist him up two flights of stairs.

And why the fuck were we putting that on Eric? He was the smallest guy in our group. He shouldn’t be the one to haul us to our doors.

He fetched us our drinks if there wasn’t a waiter, or extra chairs if more were needed. He shifted tables, and even got our coats for us. He called ahead to make reservations at the pizza parlor or to check and see when a band was playing. Yet he never helped himself to a slice of that pizza, never got himself a ticket to the concert.

And the worst thing was: no one noticed. It wasn’t as if the guys expected Eric to open the door for them, but they didn’t thank him when he did. I don’t think they even saw him. It gave me a weird feeling to watch it. Like he was trying to impress us and couldn’t. Or like….

…like he knew he was replaceable. Like if he ever did less than his best, we’d finally notice and give him the boot.

I considered pointing this out to the guys, but I was hardly in a position to cast stones. Time and again, Eric had driven me and some beauty queen home, and each and every time I’d shamelessly made out with my new boy in the backseat. I mean, how brutal was that? “Hey, Eric, take a look at this hottie; let me give you a preview of the amazing sex we’re going to have. Too bad you can’t even get a mercy fuck.”

Okay. So mistakes had been made; time to fix them. I started by trying to engage Eric in conversation. This turned out to be harder than I thought. He was pathetically eager to listen to what I had to say, but he never had much to say in return. Not, that is, until I finally asked him for driving tips.

“People think you can’t get on the freeways after three o’clock,” he explained, quite seriously, “But that’s not really true. There’s this break in the traffic that comes at around four-thirty if you’re heading west. East is murder, but west is smooth sailing for about an hour. Then it clogs up again.”

“Why do you suppose that is?”

“The three o’clock traffic sends commuters running for the side streets. Which, then loosens up the freeway. Funny, huh?”

There was that confidence again. I wondered what it might be like to travel with him across country. Or better yet, to take him to Germany with me and introduce him to the Autobahn. God, wouldn’t he love that? I found myself watching his nimble hands, so sure on the wheel. What would they’d feel like cupping my ass?

“Check this out,” Eric said another night, one of the few times he actually spoke first. We were heading down Newberry Blvd., the hellish part that ran through the commercial district. It had recently been repaved and given islands of concrete and trees, which had significantly improved the traffic.

“Look at the way the islands change the flow. They’re still connected to the main thoroughfare, but they create private lanes for those wanting the stores. So there’s no interference with the main drag.” His eyes glowed with admiration. “Such a simple solution. I love it.”

A guy who found beauty in traffic flow. How could I not be charmed? Even my initial impression of his attractiveness shifted, going all the way from indifferent to obsessed. What did he look like naked? And would he jump or moan if his nipples were tweaked? Night after night, I’d lie in bed, stroking my stiff cock and dreaming of his bubble butt exposed. I’d imagine myself impaling him, envision the wiry muscles of his back rippling as he undulated.

From the looks Eric gave me, I knew he’d be willing and interested. But his natural reticence made me hesitate. Was it shyness or something more?

“So, what’s your type?” I finally asked with false casualness. I was alone with him in the front seat. We were picking up the guys for Bob’s birthday celebration and I was the first stop.

He shrugged and kept his eyes on the road. “I’m not picky.”

“Come on, Eric. What are you into? Hairy bears? Sculpted jocks?”

He went silent on me, as if he thought I was poking fun at him.

“How about this,” I tried, “tell me about the last guy you were with. What was he like?”

I saw his hands tighten on the wheel. “That was a while ago. A one night thing.”

A one night thing? I didn’t like the sound of that. I wanted Eric for several nights, maybe longer.

“What was he like?”

“Sexy. Rough,” he said, and that was pretty much all I got out of him.

We picked up the rest of the gang and drove to a Latin club. Bob had arranged for an intimate bash with an exclusive, curtained booth. There were flights of tequila waiting, four shots for each of us in little flared glasses. They ranged from light to dark gold in color. As we threw back the first of these, my mind wandered back to what Eric had said. I kept replaying it as the waiter brought over small plates of Oaxaca cuisine.

Sexy I could do. And rough if that’s what he was into. It wasn’t my usual thing, but why not? I watched Eric sipping at his club soda while the rest of us did our second and third shots and nibbled on the food. The servings of petite empanadas and tamales with mole sauce were barely large enough to give each of us a bite, but Eric never asked for his share. He was playing the invisible man again, and doing it all too well. Which, for some reason, angered me.

Down went the last and darkest tequila shot. Damn. That was a good one. We decided it was time to get in some dancing and left the booth. There was a Salsa beat pounding away and we all took our turns partnering with Bob. I bumped up behind him and he laughingly wiggled his ass into me until John stole him away.

I tangoed with a few other guys and a couple of girls, enjoying that wonderful mix of endorphins, tequila and the throb of the music. I was about partner up with Bob again when I saw Eric standing on the sidelines. He had a wistful smile on his face, as if he were imagining himself out there with us.

I swung on over and nabbed him. His eyes widened. “Oh, no, Arthur, I can’t—”

“You’re going to have to,” I said, spinning him into the middle of that writhing crowd. I got my arm around his waist and pulled him close. He was wearing a thin, designer tee and I could feel the tension in his back, his ribs expanding and contracting with panicked breath. His hands held to my shoulders for balance. I could feel the heat of his palms through my sleeves.

“There you see,” I murmured, as he started to match my steps. “You can dance.” Actually, he could. Not brilliantly, but he was keeping up and he wasn’t stepping on my toes. I could smell his clean sweat, see it trickling down from his temples. My shirt was unbuttoned at the top, and I could feel his breath on my skin. I willed him to lean in, to kiss my chest. But he didn’t. His head was turned away, as if he were trying to avoid touching his nose to my collarbone.

I ground my hips into his, and was rewarded with the cubby I felt growing there, right down the left thigh. I was reaching to cup and squeeze his butt when the music ended. There was applause, and I heard Eric swallowing hard. His trembling hands fled from my shoulders and I reluctantly let him go.

“Th-the guys are going back to the booth,” he pointed out.

Fuck them, I wanted to say. I had a dozen ideas in my head, from dragging Eric to a men’s room stall to taking him out into the alley, all of them ending with him on his knees and my cock in his mouth. His expression, diffident and afraid, made me check those notions. I wanted to make love to Eric, not be serviced by him.

There was a second flight of shots waiting at the table, four tastes of a different tequila. Us drinkers gave each shot it’s due: a lick of salt before we tossed it down, and then a bite of lime to finish it. My aggressive, lustful attitude notched up with each belt.

As we finished up, the waiter brought over a flan with a candle in it. We all sang “Happy Birthday.” Bob blew out the flame and got his cheers. He passed around the dessert and Eric got slighted, of course. I saw his gaze shift away. Shit, he didn’t even expect to be given a bite!

“Here,” I said, spooning some up. I held it out to him, insistent. I couldn’t read the look in those gray eyes, disbelief maybe, but Eric took what was offered. The way he licked his lips had me wanting to suck on his mouth and tongue.

“Gentlemen,” Bob got our attention by tapping a knife on his plate. “In honor of me, we are all going to have one last shot. A shot of something very special.” The bottle he produced was small. It had an odd label, hand drawn and haphazardly glued on: a winged serpent that looked like it came from an Aztec temple. Inside was a clear, pale, yellowy brew.

“That better not be urine,” John quipped and we all laughed. It’s what we were all thinking.

“It’s mescal.”

“Where’s the warm?” Yoshi asked, peering at the bottom of the bottle. “I mean, worm. Where’s the worm?”

“Technically, mescal does not contain a worm. It contains a caterpillar. And the guy who makes this stuff strains out the worms and sells them separately, the greedy bastard.”

“Oh.” Yoshi was disappointed.

“My uncle gave it to me a few years ago,” Bob went on, “He got it in this village that can only be reached by burro. Rumor goes this place makes the most potent mescal on earth. I don’t even know if it’s legal.”

“So it’s liquid peyote?” I asked.

“Do not insult my magical mescal!” Bob haughtily retorted. “This is not just peyote. If it’s as advertised, then there are rare, rainforest herbs and medicines in it.”

“Dude,” Yoshi was skeptical. “I do not want to puke up my guts while having sweat lodge visions of leopards and shit.”

Bob snorted. “You wish.” He started to pour it out. “I’ve been saving this for years, so don’t even try to get out of it. Eric,” he added, “you’ll make sure we don’t jump off a building or cut out people’s hearts?”

“I’ll do my best,” he said with a smile.

Yeah, like scrawny Eric could stop us if we decided to go on a rampage. But I doubted Bob’s mescal was going to be all that astonishing. And what the hell? It was only a shot.

A shot, I should have remembered, that was going to cap the series of tequila shots we’d been swallowing down all evening.

“To my friends,” Bob said, lifting his glass. “Thanks for sharing this with me.”

“To Bob for taking us tripping,” John joked. “Thanks a lot, friend!” We laughed, clinked glasses, and down went the mescal. It tasted pretty much like tequila, though there must have been some truth to Bob’s claims. The flavor hinted of herbs, and something earthy like mushroom.

“I’m not seeing dog yet.” Yoshi put down his empty glass. “I mean God. I’m not seeing God.”

“Give it time,” Bob said, and we went back to shooting the shit. Yoshi was slurring his words and John was swaying in his seat, which after nine belts of hard liquor, was to be expected. Still, we all knew who we were, where we were and what we were. No one stripped off his clothing and ran out in search of the mothership.

The mescal, alas, had just made us drunker. Nothing more. Or so I thought.

And then I got the telescoping effect. It appeared quite suddenly. One minute I didn’t have it, then I did. As if I’d gotten taller and more remote. I was quite pleased with this new ability, and I quickly made use of it…on Eric. It was like having an eye doctor click lenses into place. I saw how thick his eyelashes were, the hint of shadow on his chin. I could even see flashes of the future: Eric under me, squirming and moaning, Eric swallowing down every inch of my powerful cock.

The languid lust I’d been feeling turned into a sexual blaze.

John was half asleep by now, and Yoshi was barely able to talk sense. Time to head home. The bill was paid and Eric took care of the valet parking. All we had to do was pile in. To my annoyance, Eric tried to drop me off first.

“I’m not ready to go in,” I announced. How could he be so stupid! He knew what I had in mind. He knew I had to be last. I crossed my arms, making it clear I wasn’t about to budge.

Eric frowned, shook his head, then dutifully took the others home.

“I know your flavor,” I murmured to him on the way. He gave me an anxious look, as if worried that anyone should know him so intimately. He helped John and Yoshi to their doors, and separated out the right key for Bob. Then he drove me back home.

“Here we are,” he said, pulling up to the curve.

I smirked to myself. Eric thought he was getting out of this. He was wrong. I deliberately stumbled, making like I couldn’t walk. As expected, Eric’s expression went from anxious to concerned. He hurried around and came up under my arm. Then he hauled me up the stairs to my studio apartment. I leaned on him heavily, and passed him my keys.

“T-there—” he got the door opened.

That’s when I shoved him in. HA! I shut and locked the door behind us.

To my delight, Eric was already on his hands and knees! How thoughtful of him! I unbuckled and unzipped, letting my trousers drop.

“Damn it, Arthur,” Eric said, scrambled up, “I know you’re drunk but—”

That’s when he saw my hard on. It was so stiff it nearly ripped apart my shorts. The expression on Eric’s face was gratifyingly awed.

“You’re going to beg for this, little puppy,” I told him with a leer and tugged at his jacket.

“Okay. Okay.” The jacket came off and he backed away. “I-I-I’m going to get some caffeine into you. You should take a shower…”

He fled into the kitchen. I laughed, then kicked off my shoes and the trousers, got out of my socks and shorts. Then, as a finale, I tore open the shirt. It was absolutely great to do that. Just pull it apart. Like Superman. Buttons flew and clattered across the floor.

I glanced down at my naked self. My solid pecs and rock-hard abs. My glorious cock, which was stiff as a pistol.

Noriko, perching on the arm of the sofa beside the singer, crossed impossibly long legs, in thigh-high white PVC boots that rose almost to the hem of her short black and white, oriental cut dress. Beneath them she wore metallic purple stockings. She folded her arms across her tiny breasts and tossed her long fall of sleek, vivid pink hair, impatient with the boys and their lack of impetus. In spite of her appearance Noriko was older than any of her fellow band members by a couple of years (and about a century when it came to common sense!)

“Get the door guys to flank him, put him in a cab, the scum try to chase him, get bored and go home,” she elaborated. “Then ‘we’ can leave.”

“Cheers Niko,” Rayne muttered without opening his eyes. “Throw me to the fuckin’ dogs why don’t you?”

“They won’t get near. There is less traffic now,” she pointed out. “If a cab comes, and they get you into it, you can go home safely. We give it a few minutes and then we can walk out of here. It is a good plan.”

“I’ve no money though,” Rayne Wylde crooned in a broken imitation of her sing-song voice. He tilted his head back to look up at her, one eye still closed.

By way of a response to this she uncrossed her legs, hooked up the front of her skirt, oblivious to the stares of the non-Whipsnade occupants of the Ritz Lounge and retrieved a folded £20 note from the tiny, lacy condom pocket on the front of her purple thong panties. Without a word she passed it down to him.

“I’ll remember that,” he told her knowingly, taking the warm, slightly moist note and pressing it to his nose with a grin, inhaling her scent.

“Touch my moneymaker and you’ll die horribly. Being ripped apart by the press will seem like a holiday,” she warned, adjusting her skirt again. She was standing now and the long pink tail of hair cascaded forward over one shoulder as she bent to this task. Rayne caught it and towed her lips down to meet his own.

“Come with me,” he whispered huskily into her mouth.

“My husband is home,” Noriko said with a brisk shake of her head. “He is taking me out for dinner, if I ever get back tonight!”

“Fuck me in the cab, I’ll drop you off,” Rayne promised, brushing his lips against hers, tasting her magenta lipstick.

“Dirty pig!” she laughed with another shake of her hair as she pulled free of him. “Get your skinny ass out of here, Wylde. Let us go home!”

Rayne just managed a wicked chuckle as he levered himself into a sitting position and ignored the dagger-glares he was getting from Matt. As the plucky doorman returned to let them know a taxi was stopping, Rayne Wylde rose stiffly to his feet. He ran a bold hand over Noriko’s pert arse as he passed her. She dealt him a slap to the rear in return.

“You know you want it,” he murmured teasingly. “You want to hump that tight oriental pussy on my hard cock. Again!”

“Like, fat chance you’ll be hard tonight!” Noriko flashed back cheekily, blowing him a kiss. “No way you’re getting a boner today, honey!”

And then four burly, top-hatted doormen were flanking him, shielding the singer with their bodies and virtually racing him through the double doors and out through the chaos on the concourse where they hustled him into a stationary cab.

THE BOY WHO CAME BACK FROM THE DEAD:

“Drive!” the skinny, black-clad creature yelled huskily as he tumbled into the back of the taxi and the kerb-side rear door slammed shut behind him.

For a nanosecond the cab driver looked over his shoulder from one man to the other then, as the horde of paparazzi surged around his vehicle, scrabbling for the door handles he seemed to reach an executive decision. He flicked the internal locks on and floored the accelerator, scattering howling journalists like confetti.

“Fuckin’ hell!” Rayne Wylde exclaimed enthusiastically. “That’s more like it! Mow the cunts down!”

At about the same moment he seemed to realise that he had company after all. Simultaneously Ant Wright recognised his fellow passenger with a sudden, painful jolt of emotion.

“You…” he wavered helplessly. So many times he had rehearsed what he would say if he ever saw Rayne again. Even so, all that finally came out of his mouth was one word. “You…”

“What the fuck are you doin’ in my cab?” Rayne croaked, a brief flash of panic animating his ashen face. “Are you a fuckin’ journalist?”

Ant stared at him. He wanted to laugh… or cry, in that split second he was not sure which.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked, his voice barely audible. “You’ve forgotten. Me… Agde… everything!” Ant looked away, shaking his head. “No surprise, I guess. You’ve moved on in the world since you dumped me!”

Rayne’s ice green eyes widened automatically. The instant of recognition froze him in his seat.

“Fuck! It’s ‘you’ isn’t it? Jesus fuckin’ Christ! What ‘are’ you doing in my cab?” he demanded more boldly now.

“Actually…” Ant pointed out, growing increasingly annoyed with this line of enquiry. “I think you’ll find it’s my cab. I was here first.”

“You’ll have to get another,” Rayne protested, grabbing the handle above the door as they skimmed around Hyde Park Corner, leaving the pursuing press pack well behind. “I mean… we’ll drop you at the Dorchester, right? You can get another taxi easy enough there.”

“No.” Ant countered, his temper beginning to fray. “Bloody Hell, Rayne! What is it? Ten years? And you still can’t just say ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘I’m sorry, Ant. I fucked you over!’ You can’t say it can you?”

“I ‘paid’ you!” Rayne snapped back at him, his voice cracking with the effort. He coughed painfully, shaking his head so that his dark hair flew like the tendrils of some dark sea anemone. “I gave you your money back, you bastard. With interest! I didn’t take a penny for myself.”

“Don’t you get it?” Ant yelled in response. “I didn’t ‘want’ any money from you. I wouldn’t have cared if you ‘never’ paid me back. That’s not what I wanted Rayne!”

Fear glittered in the wide, expressive eyes that turned back towards him then. Automatically, Rayne wriggled back towards the door, groping blindly for the handle. The locks stayed down and he banged a fist against the panel in his frustration. He was like a hunted animal, Ant thought miserably. That much had not changed.

“What ‘do’ you want?” the singer pleaded huskily in a brittle, tortured voice. He sounded tired and ill and suddenly Ant just wanted to pick him up and take him somewhere warm and safe where he could rest and relax. It seemed wrong that he was still so scared after all he had been through. “What do you want to stop stalking me and just leave me alone?”

“I’m not fucking stalking you!” Ant reached for one of the overhead safety handles beyond the singer’s head and pulled himself across the back seat until he was close enough to touch Rayne. Still the smaller man pulled away from him, his back pressed against the door. Those fierce green eyes were screened behind his hair, hiding his emotions. His breath came in short, desperate bursts. “I haven’t been near you since you walked out on me in France. I didn’t even know if you were still alive until a couple of years ago when I saw your face in a magazine. Do you know how that made me feel?”

He rested one careful hand on the young man’s lean, black-clad thigh and lowered the other from the door handle to run it gently through Rayne’s sleek, ebony hair. He felt the singer quiver furiously under his touch, too scared and angry to speak.

“You ‘know’ what I want,” Ant whispered to him, leaning close enough to feel Rayne’s rapid breath on his face. His hand glided slowly up the boy’s inside leg. “God almighty, you’re still so beautiful. Even now!”

Rayne closed his eyes and groaned quietly as Ant’s searching hand cupped his balls through the tight black crotch of his trousers, squeezing and rubbing him firmly until he felt the beginnings of an erection tenting the material. Biting down on both lips the younger man squirmed and moaned under his touch, reluctantly aroused. Ant unfastened the button and zipper awkwardly as the restrictive garment impeded nature’s course. His hand eased steadily into the front of Rayne’s snug-fitting pants and he groped Whipsnade’s sexy vocalist shamelessly, delighted to discover that Rayne still went commando after all this time. The young man would not look at him but he did not push Ant away.

Ant fondled his freed cock for a little while, until Rayne was panting urgently in his loose embrace. Keeping his left hand at the base of Rayne’s skull, supporting his head, he stroked the other slowly up over the singer’s heaving belly and chest, caressing the soft material of his black shirt, reaching for the triangle of pale skin at his throat. He let his fingers slide up under Rayne’s chin and pressed his thumb against the younger man’s soft, full lips. They parted wordlessly around it, taking it into his mouth. Rayne sucked on his thumb and fingers, reaching a hand down between his legs to rub on his neglected cock as the cab lurched through the rainy night.

There was a little silver stud in the tip of his tongue now.

Ant drew his thumb out of the singer’s mouth and reached down to unzip his own pants. At the same time Rayne leaned towards him uncertainly. Their lips met and Rayne kissed him hungrily. He tasted nicotine and marijuana on the singer’s lashing tongue.

“Touch me!” he panted into Rayne’s mouth, before easing his own tongue between the young man’s cold, wet lips and returning his right hand to Rayne’s twitching cock.

For the first time Rayne turned those huge, icy-green eyes up towards him as they kissed again. The pupils were like needle-points. He still had not said a word since Ant began to seduce him.

“Are you all right?” Ant asked him now, suddenly wary of the wide-eyed, slightly feral gaze that was fixed on his face.

Rayne blinked once, never taking his eyes off Ant. He nodded his head briefly.

Ant groaned deep in his throat as he felt long, slender, chilly fingers slide into his open fly and close around his stiffening member. The stoned, sexy youth fisted his erection vigorously as their lips met again, surging and parting. Rayne’s tongue entered his mouth and he sucked on the tiny stud, catching it lightly between his teeth, trapping the boy’s lips against his own. His thumb rolled slowly over the slick, leaking head of his lover’s pulsing hard-on and he felt Rayne’s lithe body arc upward, towards him as the young man whimpered with pleasure.

“Christ, guys! Get a fuckin’ room or somthin’!” the cabbie growled at last, reminding them that they were not alone.

His words briefly broke the spell that held them. They moved apart unwillingly, both panting and still hard. Ant’s heart was pounding eagerly and Rayne’s beautiful green eyes glittered like jewels in the winking light from the street-lamps and storefronts they passed. His full, wet lips were as tempting as original sin as he struggled to force his cock back into his pants.

The cab driver’s eyes flickered back and forth from the mirror to the road, watching Rayne’s impossibly pretty face.

“You’re that singer, aren’t you?” he queried at last, unable to resist. “The one what decked that photographer bloke in Ireland?”

“Yeah!” Rayne told him huskily, a little smile tugging at his lips.

“Thought so.” The cabbie began to look happier now that he had some juicy gossip to relay to future customers.

Ant could almost hear him; ‘Yeah… I ‘ad that Rayne Wylde in the back of my cab the other day. Randy as a bitch on heat! Getting it on with some bloke he only just met!’

He moved his hand possessively down Rayne’s spine and back up again to the nape of his neck. The singer was still so slender that he felt the curve of each individual vertebra through the fine material of his summer jacket. His fingers crept back over Rayne’s collar beneath his dark, shoulder-length spill of sable hair. The skin there was sweat-damp but surprisingly cool. Ant watched him close his eyes again and suck in a long shuddering breath, remembering how the boy loved to be touched in certain places.

“Where you going?” the driver asked now.

Rayne said nothing. His trembling fingers moved up to the neckline of his gauzy black shirt and tugged on it so that the buttons peeled free and it fell open, baring his pale torso and belly. He tilted his head back into Ant’s caressing hand. It was such a trusting, submissive gesture that the older man stiffened again for him.

“King’s Road,” Ant said quietly now, glancing at his companion to see if he had any objection. When none was forthcoming, he eased his right hand back inside Rayne’s shirt and began to twist his small, firm nipples lightly between his forefinger and thumb. The boy’s lips parted around a sudden moan of delight; a little sound exhaled forcefully as he was teased.

“Yeah… right… thought so!” the driver said again, in a strained voice, his eyes moving rapidly in the mirror, unable to look away as the singer writhed in the back of his cab with his shirt and pants undone, succumbing to his companion’s touch. “Saw your picture in a magazine the other day. Stark bollock naked with a load of chains and a couple of big black panthers. What was that all about, eh?”

Rayne laughed breathlessly, never opening his eyes. Ant’s hand eased down his backbone again, curling under the tail of his shirt and sliding down easily into his pants to explore that final erogenous zone beneath the very end of his tail bone; the small, round hollow at the top of his sexy arse-crack. It was still there, and Ant slipped the tip of his middle finger into it, feeling Rayne squirm restlessly under his hands.

“It’s… uhhhhh… it’s about…. About how I’m a… ahhhh… a total slave to huhhh… hot, black pussy!” he panted as Ant’s head went down and the older man began to suck and nibble on his erect nipples.

Ant snorted with amusement, the sound muffled against his chest. Rayne pulled on his hair roughly, recovering his breath enough to declare; “It ‘is’!”

“Yeah, right!” Ant whispered, kissing his way back up to Rayne’s throat. At the same time his probing finger moved lower, circling the singer’s puckered ring and pressing down on it firmly. He felt Rayne’s breathing quicken against his left ear and the younger man struggled in his arms as Ant’s finger breached his tight, hot rectum and thrust deeper into his writhing body. “Hot black pussy, my arse!” Ant chuckled softly against his skin, as the cab turned right onto the King’s Road.

“Where’re you guys getting off?” the cabbie grunted, sounding increasingly uncomfortable with the behaviour on the back seat of his vehicle.

‘Right here, if you don’t get a fuckin’ move on!’ Ant thought as Rayne began to hump his intrusive finger eagerly, gasping and panting in his embrace. He lifted his head and peered out through the steamed up window.

“Next block will do,” he replied to their driver’s obvious relief.

He paid the cab driver, struggling to keep his pants up as Rayne lolled against the side of the car, oblivious of his half-dressed state. Fortunately it was late and quiet down this end of the road and he was able to steer the singer down the alleyway to the little courtyard, which allowed access to his temporary residence, before he exposed himself to some unsuspecting passer-by. The flat belonged to a friend of a friend but he was often away in Portugal on business and had no objection to Ant staying over there on his visits to London. Only as he struggled to get the singer up the stairs to the front door did Ant realise just how stoned and sleepy Rayne was. In the end he hoisted the boy over one shoulder in a fireman’s lift and carried him up, letting himself into the warmth of the kitchen. He strode through to the lounge and dumped Rayne Wylde onto the black leather sofa there shaking his head at the way the slender youth sank into the soft embrace of the yielding cushions. He could not stop thinking how easy it would be to rip Rayne’s clothes off and fuck him hard right now.

Déjà vu was kicking in. A little over ten years ago he had carried Rayne back to his boat in a similar state. The memories were still etched vividly on his mind. Rayne lying on his couch, cold and wet, unsure of where he was. It had taken him a little while to pluck up the courage to touch the boy back then. Now he knew what he wanted. He just hoped that Rayne wanted the same thing.

“I’ll get you some coffee,” he said, controlling himself sternly. If they made out tonight he wanted the singer to remember it.

“You got any vodka?” his guest crooned huskily, without opening his eyes.

“You’re wasted enough,” Ant called back from the kitchen where he was already putting the percolator on. “What is it this time? Drink or Drugs?”

“Bit of both!” Rayne admitted, struggling to sit up for a few seconds then giving in and flopping back down onto the couch.

“I wasted my time trying to clean you up then?” Ant came back to the doorway, unfastening his shirt and shrugging it off.

The younger man was watching him from the sofa, where he sprawled languidly in a state of semi-undress. Ant let his trousers drop to the floor and stepped out of them, toeing off his shoes and socks. He pushed down his underpants and pulled on his half-erect cock.

“Once a junkie, always a junkie,” Rayne agreed sleepily. “You living ‘ere then?”

“It’s not mine, I’ve just borrowed it,” Ant wandered back through to the kitchen and hunted out a pair of coffee mugs.

“It’s nice,” his guest assured him, raising his voice to be heard in the next room. “Very… comfortable.”

“Are you still living in London?” Ant asked as he busied himself with the cups.

“Mmm,” Rayne made an affirmative noise. “Not in a squat though, now. I’ve got my own place.”

“You must be doing well then.”

“I’m doin’ okay,” Rayne said casually.

Ant carried the mugs through into the long, low-ceilinged lounge area and smiled when he observed Rayne stroking himself lazily as he waited. The younger man had eased his pants down around his thighs and peeled off his long black coat. It hung over the back of the sofa like a charred corspe. His filmy black shirt hung off the narrow wings of his pale shoulders and his head was tipped back into the soft, leather cushions of the low sofa. Long, dark eyelashes fanned his cheeks seductively. His tongue flickered between his lips as he pulled on his cock and balls with both hands.

“It looks that way,” Ant told him, smiling. His own penis stiffened appreciatively at the thought of those soft lips around his aching shaft. “Would you like some sugar or cream with that?”

Green eyes opened and surveyed him silently. Rayne managed a lazy smile. It bared the longest, sharpest dog-teeth Ant had ever seen. He felt his pulse race at the sight. At the same time he wondered how he had not noticed them when he was kissing the boy urgently in the cab.

“Jesus Christ! When did you get those done?” he laughed quickly, to hide the shock.

Rayne licked one of the long canines, taking his time, running the studded tip of his tongue down the outer curve like an invitation. At last he leaned back again with a little sigh.

“Do you like them?” he breathed, wriggling seductively on the sofa.

“They’re amazing!” Ant nodded, setting down the cups and coming to sit beside him. “Do you bite people with them?”

Rayne Wylde eased his slight weight onto one hip and leaned forward so that his tip-tilted nose touched Ant’s. He let the tip of his tongue run over Ant’s lips, then traced a cool, wet trail to his lover’s right ear, licking his face and neck like a dog. He shuddered again, as he had in the car. Ant pulled him closer, running his hands up under the gauzy shirt as he towed the slender singer into his lap and kissed his neck. His fingers crept back down to Rayne’s hips, gripping and parting his firm, white cheeks as they nuzzled one another breathlessly.

“I want you,” Ant whispered to him at last. “I want to fuck you. I want to feel your mouth around my dick.”

Rayne kissed his bare chest, open-mouthed. He nipped Ant’s teats between his small, white incisors and licked at them greedily.

“You taste good,” the singer purred huskily. “I want to make you bleed. Can I bite you?”

Ant felt his cock lurch at the idea. A jewel of semen leaked from the glans and he nodded eagerly.

“Yeah!”

Rayne needed no more invitation than that. He bent his head again and bit down harder, worrying Ant’s left nipple with his front teeth until the tender flesh ruptured and yielded a little blood. Ant moaned appreciatively at the sharp, stinging sensation in his breast. Rayne’s lips encircled the wounded bud and he sucked gently on his lover’s pierced flesh. The seductive brush of his cold, wet tongue on that sore, sensitive nipple was enough to make Ant tremble eagerly.

“Mmmmhhhh… so good!” Rayne crooned with his eyes closed.

He lowered his mouth to the other nipple and bit down hard. Ant yelped out loud, but the boy’s clever hand was already curling around his cock, placating him as he began to suck. Under him, Ant moaned with mingled pain and pleasure. His nipples were on fire and his balls were throbbing urgently. Rayne moved between his thighs and slid down fluidly to the polished wooden floor, on his knees. His hands firmly parted Ant’s legs as wide as they would go and he bent his head, wordlessly taking the crown of his lover’s pulsating sex into his mouth. His lips were impossibly cold as if he had been drinking iced water. It felt amazing and Ant did not resist as the beautiful young man took him deeper. His studded tongue flickered deftly over the underside of Ant’s erect shaft and teased him mercilessly.

“Uuuhhhh…” Ant groaned. “You’re still good at that! It’s even better than I remembered.”

His fingers groped for Rayne’s head and closed in a silky mass of black tresses. Ant urged his hips up from the sofa, thrusting impulsively into his lover’s mouth between those long, sharp canines. A dimly heeded part of his brain did suggest that such an act was rash in the extreme but he ignored it. Rayne’s teeth and studded tongue felt delicious on his aching cock. He was going to explode at any moment. He could not remember ever wanting so badly to come.

Rayne tilted his head slightly. His eyes were still closed reverently and those long lashes fanned his cheeks as he sucked. With his hair longer and a dusting of glittery makeup on his cheeks and eyelids he was even prettier now than Ant remembered from ten years ago. It was hard to believe that he was nearly thirty. He was still as slender and beautiful as a teenage girl.

Ant felt him check and swallow urgently as the head of his mate’s long hard cock pushed against the back of his throat. Rayne knelt up a little higher, nodding down more energetically on the leaking tool in his mouth and pharynx. His wet lips caressed the base of Ant’s prick and the older man rested both hands on his dark head now, pressing down and thrusting his crotch upward more vigorously.

“Ohhhh… yeah!” he exhaled, as the singer nuzzled his exposed groin, unfazed by the change of pace. His head was still canted to one side so that Ant could watch the way his full, sexy lips worked industriously on that pulsing bone. Pale, solemn eyes opened briefly and the pupils flickered up to meet his earnest, needy gaze. Ant felt and saw the mischievous smile that tugged Rayne’s mouth tight around his cock as it had on the beach that night before the boy walked out of his life. He lost control right then and there.

Rayne knelt back and opened his mouth wider to take the lavish spray of rich, salty ejaculate on his tongue. As he did so, Ant bucked and roared like a wounded bull, overwhelmed by the surge of glorious, pulsing pleasure gushing from his balls. The younger man rolled the foreskin right back with his fingers and caressed Ant’s leaking helmet with his lips, kissing and lapping at the fat, spongy, purple head like the consummate professional he was; teasing the last droplets of satisfaction from it. Maybe Ant was getting used to them, because Rayne’s dog-teeth did not look nearly so long or scary as they had when he first set eyes on them. He pulled the young man up into his arms and kissed him, sliding his tongue between those cool, salty lips.

“So-o-o-o tasty,” Rayne whispered into his mouth.

Ant was overwhelmed. He distantly recalled the boy murmuring something similar to him when they made out for the last time back in Adge, with the sea rolling restlessly behind them. His rage was subsiding now. There seemed no point in being angry, not with Rayne curled up in his arms looking eminently fuckable.

“Have you got a boyfriend?” he asked with a twinge of jealousy.

“Have you?” Rayne asked him coyly, licking the tip of Ant’s nose and kissing him softly on the lips.

“I’m engaged,” Ant said, finding it hard to think of his relatively normal life with Elaine sitting here with Rayne in his lap.

“To a man?” The boy snorted incredulously.

“To a woman,” Ant corrected him. “We’re getting married next year.”

“Doesn’t she mind that you fuck around?” Green eyes looked accusingly at him.

Ant stroked Rayne’s soft, pale face with both hands, brushing the dark tangled hair back from his cheeks.

“I don’t… much.”

“Yeah… right!” Rayne laughed quietly. He sat back and peeled his shirt off slowly, watching the way that Ant’s blue eyes devoured him. “I don’t go with men all that much these days,” he admitted now. “I haven’t done for ages. Not when I wasn’t on top, anyway!”

“You can be top,” Ant assured him breathlessly. “The first time, you can, at least! Then I want to fuck you.” He kissed Rayne quickly to stave off any argument. “What happened to you after you walked out on me? I’ve wondered for years.”

“I came home,” Rayne said with a little shrug. “My band split up. I hung about in Manchester for a bit. Then I came back to London. I formed another band. We got famous. The end.”

Ant looked sceptical.

“‘Are’ you with anyone?”

“I’m too busy for that.” Rayne smiled, chewing on his lower lip suggestively.

“I worried about you, you know,” the older man was stroking his neck and slim white shoulders tenderly. “I worried that you’d gone back to how it was before. I went to all the places I thought you might hang around, looking for you.”

“Yeah… I thought you might. I wasn’t there though,” Rayne said with a shake of his head. “Like I told you. I moved on.”

“So did I,” Ant told him. “Thierry came back with me, you know. He lived with me for about three years.”

Rayne laughed softly and shook his head again.

“Good for him.”

“I missed you though.” Ant smiled up at him painfully. “He was good to me, but he wasn’t you. He got homesick in the end. It was hard for him speaking English all the time. He went back to Lyon, to his family. I moved away from London and met Elaine.”

“That’s nice.” The younger man was looking at him suddenly, with an expression that said he couldn’t care less. Ant felt his heart lurch at that. It had always been a battle to keep Rayne’s attention and he was no different now. “Ant, are we gonna fuck, or what? Only I’m in the studio tomorrow, I’ve got be up early.”

Ant stared at him, unable to comprehend this. His mind could not fill in the gaps. It was as if he had seen Rayne only yesterday and yet there was a vast gulf between them now.

‘There always was!’ his conscience sneered.

“Stand up. Let me get you stripped off,” he said, ignoring it and following the urgings of his cock.

Rayne moved to his feet, swaying a little. He was still quite wrecked and unsteady as he leaned on Ant’s shoulder to wriggle his expensive looking boots off. The older man slowly pulled his tight black pants down to his ankles and helped him to step out of them. He knelt in front of Rayne and fondled the singer’s pale, hairless groin wantonly, then took the boy’s cock in his mouth. His mate uttered a small, incoherent noise as Ant swallowed and sucked him slowly, taking his time. He wanted to enjoy every minute of this and he wanted Rayne to enjoy it too. Even if his lover did not care what happened so long as he got to make his recording on time.

The singer swayed dangerously and Ant caught him as he began to tumble to the floor. He pulled the boy close and laid him down on the soft, white rug in front of the sofa. Then he spread Rayne’s legs and climbed onto him, kissing him fiercely on the mouth. They entwined like rampant vines and the singer uttered a long, low moan, deep in his chest.

“Are you all right?” Ant whispered breathlessly in his ear, still protective of him after all this time.

“I am soooooo horny!” Rayne groaned in a low, husky, tempting voice. “And sooooo hungry!”

That was a first! Ant could not recall a time when he ever got the boy to eat anything but cock without being cajoled into it. He kissed his way down the boy’s slender body, stroking and caressing him as he writhed on the soft, pale rug. His lips and tongue worked Rayne’s heavy balls for a little while as he stroked his mate’s hard, leaking cock. To his satisfaction the young man whimpered and cried out with pleasure beneath him. Ant pressed one of his knees back to his chest and wriggled his tongue up that sleek, hairless chasm between the singer’s buttocks. He still waxed himself perfectly smooth and the silky touch of his skin made Ant’s mouth water. That searching tongue lapped at his clenching orifice and tickled there until it opened up for him.

“Ah…ahhh…ahhh…ahhh…!” Rayne panted as Ant licked his way deeper into his body, alternating his fingers and tongue until the lean, naked creature was thrashing eagerly on the rug. Ant’s deft fingers rubbed and squeezed his erect cock as he probed the singer and buried his face in the lad’s crack.

“Mmmhhhh… You need a good hard fucking,” he crooned delightedly, clambering up on top of his sexy lover once more. “You want a big, fat knob in your arse, don’t you?”

Rayne’s arms moved up around his neck, towing him back down and they kissed ravenously as Ant gripped his slim thighs, lifting and spreading them so that the younger man’s pert arse was raised up off the rug in front of him and his open hole was positioned temptingly just a few inches from his dribbling cock head. He guided himself to that welcoming aperture without looking down. Rayne sucked on his tongue and clung to him fiercely as he slowly pushed his hard tool into the lad’s snug, wet chute.

“Nnnnyyyyggggghhhhh!” Rayne groaned incoherently, as Ant penetrated him, squirming and bucking on the rug beneath the older man. He planted his bare feet in the small of Ant’s back and began to ride his lover’s cock eagerly. Ant thrust himself deeper and harder into Rayne, holding that slight, pale body tightly as he pounded it. He grinned delightedly, wondering what Rayne’s army of teenage girl fans would think if they could see their idol sprawled like a slut underneath him, moaning with desire as he began to cum for the long, thick penis thrusting hard in his arsehole.

And he ‘was’ cumming. Ant felt his rectum clench and release rapidly as the pearls of spunk were ejected from his twitching slit. Rayne’s balls jumped and tightened as he began to squirt his eager load over both of them. His mate pulsed faster and deeper in his hot, wet passage and Rayne’s lips found his neck as he howled with pleasure. Ant winced briefly when Rayne Wylde bit him; not just a little nip below his left ear but a deep, probing bite that drew blood. The singer was kissing and licking him there at once.

Ant hesitated, running his hands up Rayne’s bare chest towards his face. It felt good but at the same time he was suddenly wary.

“Don’t stop,” the singer urged with his mouth full. “Fuck me, Ant!”

“You bit me!” he protested breathlessly.

“I told you, you taste good,” Rayne huffed into his ear, curling his arms around Ant’s neck and shoulders. He was wrapped around the bigger man like ribbons around a parcel, pulling himself tight against Ant, licking his neck. “Just screw me!” he muttered between strokes of his tongue. “Please!”

He did not need urging twice. Ant’s hands forced his lover’s thighs wider and he pulled Rayne Wylde close as he began to pump away urgently at the boy’s throbbing anus. The singer threw his head back and cried out in mingled pain and pleasure. There could be no mistaking it. His long, curving fangs were fully extended and streaked with Ant’s blood. The gore ran down his chin as he writhed and twisted on the rug under his mate. He came again; the force of his orgasm milking the semen from Ant’s balls this time. Ant pressed into him as deeply as he could, shooting the heat of his passion up into Rayne’s gut as the dark haired youth towed him back down into a fierce embrace. His lips worked Ant’s neck and throat greedily. It should have been a shock but Ant had never been particularly squeamish. He knew that Rayne liked to cut himself and he guessed that this was just another fetish that had been brewing in his dark heart for a while.

They snaked around one another like dancing serpents on the rug and Rayne managed to roll the bigger, older man onto his back to lick and kiss him, his lips moving from Ant’s neck to his mouth then down to his torso, biting his nipples. He roamed back up to Ant’s throat and sank his teeth in again, mercilessly. Those bites went deep, and for the first time his lover was anxious. Surprisingly it did not hurt so much. He could feel the pressure of his mate’s jaws on his neck more than the bite itself. Rayne did not tear at him like an animal, he just bit down, puncturing the skin and licking up the residual spill greedily.

“I thought you were a vegetarian!” Ant gasped huskily, once he lifted his head again, wiping his bloody lips on the back of his hand then licking it appreciatively.

“I am,” Rayne Wylde said with a little quirk of his lips. “I don’t eat animals… or fish… but people are fair game, aren’t they?”

He winked after a moment, just as Ant was beginning to believe that he was serious about this.

His lover relaxed at once, stroking his hands up and down the young man’s slender white arms.

“You lost that nice tan,” he observed.

“I’m not made for a suntan,” Rayne told him with another little smile. “I’m a creature of the night, you know.”

He laughed at his own words as if this was some arcane joke, shaking his head quickly. Ant noticed that he seemed calmer now. His eyes were darker, the pupils more regular and less like pin holes in a skein of green silk. There was a little colour to his pale cheeks and full lips.

“I’d better not look like I’ve lost a fight with my razor blade,” Ant warned him, entranced by the young man’s unblinking stare.

Rayne licked his lips again, with a look like a sweet, satisfied little cat. He stroked his fingertips down Ant’s bare chest very slowly.

“Don’t worry… you’ll be fine in the morning. It’s only a tiny little bite. You’ll barely be able to see it,” he murmured huskily.

“You shouldn’t really draw blood from someone in this day and age,” Ant cautioned, realising as soon as he pointed it out that the advice was of little use to either of them now. “You never know what they might be carrying.”

“I’ll be fine,” Rayne said dismissively. “I ‘know’ you, Ant. You’d never hurt me, would you?”

Ant shook his head automatically.

“But what about you?” he asked in all seriousness. “The stuff I’ve read about your lifestyle…”

He got no further for the singer just made a disdainful noise, a little huff of breath between his pursed lips. Rayne touched a soft, cool hand to his cheek and pushed his face away.

“The rubbish you read in the tabloids is just that, okay? It’s garbage, Ant! I don’t shag babies.!I don’t live in a crack house and I certainly don’t spend every hour of the day off my tits on heroin! You did me ’some’ good in France. All right?”

“Okay,” he said with a small, nervous smile. “Now you’ve got that off your chest, are we going to fuck some more?”

Rayne Wylde knelt back with another knowing quirk of his soft, full lips.

“Am I on top this time?” he asked, reaching down to stroke his quickening shaft with a steady hand.

“‘This’ time, yeah!” Ant promised, letting his fears melt away in the genuine warmth of his lover’s tentative smile.

“I’d better get a move on then. I figure this could be a long night,” Rayne chuckled, parting Ant’s thighs and spitting into his hand, rubbing the wetness over his pulsing cock head.

It had been a while since Ant had submitted to another man. He was prepared for it to be uncomfortable at first but Rayne was surprisingly adept. He knelt and treated Ant to the sweetness of his tongue first of all, laving the moisture of his saliva all over his lover’s hot, twitching crevice and up into that tight, dusky rosebud. He did not use his fingers, although he stroked Ant’s stiffening cock slowly in both hands once he had eased his swollen glans into the other man and worked the leaking device carefully in and out, ensuring there was enough lubrication to avoid discomfort. His sex had grown thicker and a little longer since they were last naked together. Maturity had given his manhood more substance, but it still felt cool like the rest of his body as it began to thrust slowly into him. Ant lifted his knees and let eight inches of thick, sexy prick stretch his cock-hungry ring.

Watching Rayne’s face as the young man mounted and entered him was almost as satisfying as being fucked vigorously by the boy. His lover had such a beautiful, expressive face. There were no secrets to him during sex, as Ant already knew. He opened up and his pleasure was completely honest. From time to time his head went back and his lips parted in an astonished gasp or a trembling half-smile, weak with arousal, all his control swallowed up by that clenching sheath of muscle around his pulsing dick.

There were no words between them. Their bodies did all the talking now. Ant watched and moaned softly as he felt Rayne surge deep inside him, one knee over the boy’s slim shoulder the other leg draped loosely out to one side as his mate knelt over him, pumping it harder and faster into his chute. He felt the vigorous motion inside him, quickening and intensifying as Rayne leaned forward, his breath coming fast and hard now as he bucked more ferociously. His long fingered hands moved to Ant’s hips, constantly circling and caressing, never gripping tightly. The sensation was overwhelming. He was being stoked up inside and out.

Rayne’s eyes closed briefly every few minutes and he bit down on his lower lip, holding in a little cry of burgeoning excitement or clenched his teeth as if the pleasure was too much to bear. Ant loved to watch the quiet flashes of ecstasy on his beautiful face. When his eyes opened there was such a look of amazement in his stare that Ant wanted to catch him up and hold him tightly, never letting him go. The dark centres of his gorgeous, green eyes were huge and dark now, swollen gravid hearts in the midst of that field of emerald moonlight. He leaned forward, hands planted in the deep, white rug to either side of Ant’s shoulders and his lover stared up into his huge, emotive eyes as Rayne drove those lean hips faster and faster between his thighs.

Rayne began to groan softly as he came closer and closer to the moment of release. His head went back again and his mouth opened wide in a soundless cry. Ant undulated fiercely beneath him, on fire inside from the incessant agitation of his mate’s delicious cock. He was ready to explode and he knew from the unfocussed look in Rayne’s eyes that the boy was not far away either.

“Uuuuhhhhhh!” he moaned eagerly. “Uuuuhhhhh… yeah!”