Rentboy (2 page)

With one foot Fox kicked the duvet back and then threw his leg over Edward’s. He closed his hand around Edward’s penis. The cry that erupted from Edward’s chest both shocked and embarrassed him. It filled the room so completely that when it ceased, the silence was sudden and heavy. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Dude, take a chill pill,” Fox said calmly.

Squeezing firmly, the young man began a slow, steady massage up and down the length of Edward’s willy. Scarcely able to breathe for a moment, Edward forced himself to take a long breath and allow his stiff muscles to soften. The heat of the hand on his shaft and the enticing warmth of the boy beside him made self-control impossible. His pleasure escalated swiftly, concentrating in his penis and testicles until they felt ready to explode. The only orgasms he had ever experienced were self-inflicted, and they did not come close to the magnitude of the one that rocked his body under the fast-moving hand of this pale young stranger.

Unable to stifle his cries, Edward gave them full vent, even as his hips rose up from the bed and thumped down again repeatedly until his pleasure subsided.

Breathing heavily, Edward lay still while his body vibrated from head to foot. At least it felt like it was vibrating, but he was actually more tranquil and peaceful than he had ever been in his life. Even his thoughts, often confused and erratic when not dealing with scientific formulas, seemed ordered. For a moment everything made sense. The world was falling into place.

“How was that, Eddie?” Fox’s words were so full of sureness that, had Edward been able to make out his features in the dark, he was certain he would catch the young man smiling.

“Excellent, thank you.” A rumble of laughter erupted from Fox, but Edward had no idea what was so funny. “No one’s ever called me Eddie before, except my sister.”

Fox dragged the duvet back over them, wiping his hand on his hip as he did so. “What does your mum and dad call you?”

“Edward, and they call my sister Nicoletta. Neither of them are the type to use pet names. What do your parents call you?” A pause alerted Edward to a possible faux pas. “Oh, I’m sorry. You don’t live with them. You live in a box.”

“Good job my name’s not Jack, isn’t it?”

Edward turned on his side to face Fox. “Why?” Suddenly he got it. “Oh!” For several minutes he clutched his stomach, laughter racking his body until he realized Fox was not laughing and began to wonder if he had been inappropriate. Abruptly he stopped. “Sorry, did I offend you?”

“Eddie, you are so—”

But Edward cut him off. “Weird. Yes, so you said. But it was a joke, wasn’t it? Jack in the box?”

“Yeah. It just wasn’t that funny. I mean, it was funnyish, but not belly-laughing funny.”

“Oh.” He’d done that before, laughed hysterically at something everyone else thought only vaguely amusing and then not laughed at all when everyone else was in stitches. Why was life so awkward, so difficult to understand? “What about Fox in a box?”

Fox giggled. “That is quite funny.”

“Is it? Do you want me to do something to you?”

“I’m the rentboy, remember?” Fox said.

That was true. He felt so comfortable with Fox he’d forgotten he was paying for this. “Would you like me to pay you now? Do you want to leave?”

The young man’s voice was small when he asked, “Can I sleep the night?”

“I don’t know, can you?” Edward chuckled.

“What?”

“It’s what my English master used to say at boarding school. One is supposed to say
may I
, not
can I
.”

“Oh, well, pardon my fucking English.” Fox rolled onto his back.

“Sorry, it was a joke.” Edward’s jokes always fell flat. “Of course you can stay. Please stay. I want you to.” The very thought of sending the young man back to his box, even on a warm night like this, was more than Edward could stand. “So…do you want me to do something to you? I’ll still pay you.”

After more than a minute, Fox rolled onto his side to face Edward again. Quietly he said, “Gimme a hug.”

“Oh, certainly.” Relieved and surprised, Edward pulled the young man into his arms. Fox snuggled in close, and Edward held him tight, reveling in the closeness and comfort of having a man in his arms at last. “Am I doing it right, Fox?”

“You’re doing great.”

After several minutes, Edward said, “Would you like me to touch your penis?” He’d never said
cock
in his life, though he could probably manage
dick
in a pinch. He’d always said
willy
when he talked about it at all. Silence greeted the question. Fox was fast asleep. For a long time Edward lay awake, stroking Fox’s smooth skin and soft black hair.

Fox left Edward Atherton’s flat in Bloomsbury just before six a.m. while the dude was still fast asleep. The air was pleasantly cool as he walked to the Underground to get the train and then a bus home, but it was still humid, promising a hot day ahead. His academic year had ended in May, but he had taken on extra classes over the summer just because he loved studying art and hated being at home.

The house was quiet when he unlocked the door and walked into the wide entrance hall with its polished hardwood floors. After spending the first fourteen years of his life living on army bases all over England and Europe, Fox had been surprised when his father had bought the big house in Finchley four years ago. William Baillie had been in Special Forces and had fought in Afghanistan and Iraq before retiring at the age of forty-eight, but how his pension had stretched to a brand-new house this size, Fox had no idea. The bastard was up to something dodgy. He always was.

“Afton!”

“Shit!” All he wanted was to check on the twins, then sneak off to his room, get into bed, and sleep for a few hours. Anything to avoid having to tell his father he had failed to get him what he wanted.

“Is that you?”

To the left of the entrance hall a double-door-sized arch led into an extensive, beautifully furnished living room. The sight that met his eyes when he walked in was the same one he witnessed every morning whether he was off to college or to his part-time job at the café. His mother was stretched out on the couch. Drunk. On the carpet beside her, several empty wine bottles lay on their sides. Fox switched off the huge wall-mounted television before wandering about the room to turn off the lamps and open the curtains.

His mother issued a cry of pain. “Leave the curtains closed. I hate daylight.” Then her voice softened. He swore she had multiple personality disorder. Sometimes it was like living with that girl from
The Exorcist
. “Afton, come here to Mum.” She held out her arms to him.

Fox remained where he was, about ten feet away. Even after a bath and a long sleep, his mum would still smell of alcohol. Her system was awash with it. If she went a week without booze, she’d still be drunk, but she couldn’t go twenty-four hours. “I’ve asked you to call me Fox.”

“Your name’s not Fox. That’s just a stupid nickname you gave yourself.”

“I didn’t give it to myself. Great Granddad called me Fox when I was little, remember?”

“He’s dead,” she said callously.

When she was drunk, she said things she later regretted. Ignoring the remark, Fox said, “Are you going to bed?”

“I think I’ll stay here and watch a bit more telly.” She reached for the remote, which was on the floor with the empty bottles, but quickly gave up. As usual she could hardly move.

“You know what dad will do if he sees you in the living room passed out.”

A wave of apprehension swept over her face.

Fox approached the couch and stretched out a hand. “Come on. I’ll help you. Let’s see if we can get you upstairs without him seeing you.”

Gratitude replacing apprehension, she allowed him to pull her to her feet. Fox wrapped his arm around her waist as she leaned heavily on him. The fumes from all the booze she’d consumed turned his stomach. It took fully ten minutes to get his mum upstairs and into her bedroom, where she fell onto the bed. Fox pulled her slippers off her feet. She was already in her silk nightgown and matching dressing gown. She rarely wore anything else these days. There was no need to dress when you never went out.

“I love you, Afton. I love you and the twins,” she slurred before going unconscious. When she was bladdered, she told him she loved him. When she was semidrunk, she hated the world and everyone in it. He hadn’t seen her sober in ten years, but she’d been a good mum once.

“If you loved us, you’d get your arse to AA.” He closed the curtains and left her alone. He loved her very much; he just hated what she had become.

Overlooking the big back garden was Fox’s bedroom, and next to it was the room the twins shared. He really did want to sleep some more, but he’d better check on them.

Wide awake in their king-size bed, the twins lay side by side in their matching Disney pajamas. They smiled when they saw him and, without a word, moved to the sides. They wanted him to get in bed with them. “How’s my favorite aliens?”

The twins smiled.

“Has he been in yet?” Fox asked as he unlaced his black Gravels and slipped them off.

In unison, the twins shook their heads. Fox crawled onto the bed between them, and they rolled into his sides, resting their heads on his shoulders while he wrapped his arms around them.

“Who’s going to be fourteen this summer?” he asked. They did not answer, and he did not expect them to. “Alder and Arden will be fourteen in August.” Fox kissed their foreheads and hugged them closer. The best present he could give them was to get their mum sober and their father into an early grave, and he was determined to do both.

Last night someone had hugged
him
. No one ever hugged him except the twins. It had been so lovely to lie in Edward Atherton’s arms for hours. Fox had drifted off to sleep, and when he woke up, Eddie was still holding him. Not one of the stupid, so-called relationships he’d ever had had been satisfying. Other blokes just wanted sex. So what was wrong with Fox for wanting love as well? For some ill-advised reason that would get him nowhere, he had really liked the dude, even if he was a total and unqualified anorak.

At the clomp of heavy boots on the landing, the twins stiffened against Fox. He swore he could feel their hearts beating faster.

The door opened and William Baillie walked in, stopped, and took in the scene. Though he was no longer in the military, camouflage trousers and a dark green T-shirt remained his daily uniform. His hair was cut in a military-style crew cut.

“You two morons get out of bed and get dressed.”

Alder and Arden scrambled from the bed, shedding their pajamas as they ran for the bathroom, their long, thick hair flying behind them. They were as blond as Fox had been before he’d dyed his hair black.

“Fox, get down to the kitchen. I want to talk to you.”

“All right.” Slowly he got up off the bed, wishing his father would leave the room so he didn’t have to pass him to get to the door. Depending on William Baillie’s mood, Fox could get a smack across the head as soon as he was within arm’s reach.

“Say ‘Yes, sir’ when you talk to me. Do you hear me, lad?”

“Yes, sir.” Cautiously he skirted the room, and when he was within reach of his father’s hand, he picked up speed and headed for the stairs, careful not to slip in his socked feet. He could hear his father laughing as he followed him downstairs.

“Make me a cup of tea, boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Without looking at him, Fox plugged in the kettle. “Do you want something to eat, sir?”

“I had my breakfast at half past five before I went out for my run.” William Baillie was extremely fit and very strong. Fox could testify to that, having been on the receiving end of his father’s fists and belt more times than he could count. But it was when his father beat the twins that Fox wanted to kill him.

In the center of the big kitchen was a large island with a counter and stools and a food-preparation area. Fox got out two bowls and filled them with cereal, then poured two glasses of milk. The twins did not like their foods touching and always ate dry cereal with their milk in a glass.

Without a sound, the twins entered the kitchen, holding hands as they always did, and barefoot, which didn’t matter since they rarely ventured beyond the garden. They wore matching jeans and black T-shirts on their thin bodies. Still damp from the shower, their long hair trailed down their backs to their waists. Two pairs of identical blue eyes glanced warily at William Baillie before the twins edged around the island to stand beside Fox.

“There’s your brekkie,” Fox said. “Get your laughing gear round that.” They sat side by side, their bodies touching as if they were conjoined, eating cereal with their hands, drinking milk between mouthfuls.

When the tea was dark and strong enough, Fox set the mug in front of his father and poured a glass of orange juice for himself. At the counter he took a knife and sliced a banana, which he set on a separate plate in front of the twins. Without acknowledging him, they began to eat the banana.

With an ugly sneer on his face, Baillie took a long slurp of tea before looking at the twins. “Fucking idiots.”

Keeping his voice carefully respectful and quiet, Fox said, “Please don’t call them that. They can hear, you know. They’re not idiots.”

“What the fuck’s wrong with them, then?” Baillie banged a thick-knuckled fist on the counter. The twins flinched and stopped eating.

“I don’t know. They should have been taken to a doctor years ago.” Fox moved over beside them, knowing they took comfort from his proximity. “Eat up,” he whispered.

“They’re not going to no fucking doctor. I don’t want everyone to know I fathered a couple of soft-brained kids.” Baillie snorted. “What happened last night? Did he show up?”

“Yes, sir. You were right. He was back at Tisbury Court looking for a rentboy.”

“Did you pick him up?”

“Yes, sir.” The offensiveness of a father sending his son out to prostitute himself was clearly lost on William Baillie.

Fox glanced at the twins. They never appeared to be listening and rarely looked directly at people, but he knew they understood more than they appeared to. Alder took the last piece of banana, bit off half, and fed the other piece to Arden.