Oh, shut up, you star-fucker, he told himself crossly. Just cos he’s famous, you’ve started to obsess about him. That’s all it is, a celebrity crush. Been there, done that, now move on and stop imagining that he’ll come back here in his silly yellow car that cost more than someone’s house, and sweep you off your feet like Prince Charming and Cinderella—
‘Heya,’ said a familiar voice, and Andy, who had been absorbed in thought, his head ducked over his iPad, looked up to see Wayne Burns standing in front of him, a shy smile on his face.
For a split-second, Andy actually thought he was hallucinating, that somehow he had managed to call up an image of Wayne, incredibly lifelike, wearing a leather jacket and jeans, his hands shoved in his pockets, head ducked forward, showing a faint thinning of his hair on his scalp which, for some reason, made Andy feel oddly tender and protective. But I couldn’t make that up. I wouldn’t imagine that he was going bald...
Darting his head sideways, he saw the yellow Lamborghini, its driver’s door open and hovering over the body of the car like a wing as the parking valet climbed inside. Dazed, he looked back at Wayne, knowing that his mouth was hanging open in shock, trying to come up with something to say, but utterly failing.
‘Uh, I remembered that when I was here for Mr Khalovsky’s party, you said that there were quite a few apartments here for sale,’ Wayne said loudly, for the benefit of Kevin on reception and the security guards who were gawping at him. ‘And that you might show me round a couple. I was thinking they’d be a good investment. Well, I was in the area and thought this might be a good time... are you busy?’
It was the most carefully prepared, fake-casual speech Andy had ever heard. Lucky Wayne’s a footballer, he found himself thinking. He’d never have made it as an actor.
‘No, it’s fine,’ Andy said, his mind racing as he stood up. ‘Happy to show you round, Mr Burns. I’ll just grab my master key.’
‘Oh, call me Wayne, please,’ Wayne said quickly, as Andy went over to the reception desk to sign the master key out.
‘Jammy bastard!’ Kevin hissed at him as he handed over the key card. ‘ “Call me Wayne”!’
God, if you knew, Andy thought frantically. Calling him by his first name’s the least of it...
‘Right, follow me,’ he said to Wayne, his voice as loud and falsely casual as Wayne’s. ‘We’ll go up to the high floors – those apartments are the ones with the really nice terraces and balconies. The security here is excellent,’ he added pointedly as he pressed the lift button and the doors of one car pinged open immediately. ‘Cameras everywhere. Everywhere,’ he added, nodding up to the corner of the car, as they stepped in and the doors closed behind them.
Wayne, who had been leaning towards Andy, his hands coming out of his jeans pockets, promptly shoved them back again, as if he couldn’t trust them merely to hang by his side.
‘Is there sound recording as well?’ he asked.
Andy didn’t dare to look at him.
‘No,’ he said, and it came out as a gasp.
‘I can’t stop thinking about you,’ Wayne said. ‘What we did. It was brilliant. I want to do it again.’
Andy heard himself giggle like a madman at Wayne’s bluntness.
‘Ooh, you sweet talker!’ he said.
‘I’m not good with words,’ Wayne admitted, ducking his head in embarrassment. ‘I just mean what I say, that’s all.’
‘I didn’t mean to take the piss,’ Andy said quickly, turning to glance at him. ‘I was just teasing you. I feel the same, honestly I do.’
Wayne swallowed hard as the lift doors opened and Andy stepped out, the key card so sweaty in his hand that it almost slipped out of his grasp. The corridor seemed endlessly long, and Andy walked faster and faster in his eagerness to reach the apartment he’d chosen, until his pace became a trot, and then almost a canter; Wayne, behind him, was moving just as fast, and almost tumbled into him when Andy came to a halt in front of the door and slid the key into the slot. It whirred, a light flashed green.
Drawing in a deep breath, Andy pushed the door open, holding it for Wayne, standing back as professionally as he could as Wayne passed through. He smelt of soap and aftershave, his cheeks showed signs that a razor had been applied to them very recently: for me, Andy thought with a burst of pride. He’s scrubbed himself up all nice to come and see me—
The door swung shut. Wayne promptly turned and flung himself on Andy, kissing him with such enthusiasm that Andy staggered back under Wayne’s solid weight, his back slamming into the door. Their mouths locked, they pulled at each other’s clothing, Wayne tearing at the buttons of Andy’s uniform jacket, dragging it open, fumbling with the buttons of Andy’s shirt, pulling that out of the waistband of his trousers, sliding his big hands over Andy’s smooth chest and stomach. Andy groaned deep in his throat, kissing Wayne so hard he actually couldn’t breathe for a long moment; then, as Wayne practically ripped his trousers open, tugging them down, lifting Andy’s silky Hom briefs up and over the prong of his cock, Andy almost wailed in anticipation. Because Wayne had dropped to his knees, taken Andy’s balls in one hand, the base of his cock in the other, and was engulfing Andy’s cock in his mouth.
Andy braced himself against the door, grateful for its support; his head was spinning, his cock was bobbing between Wayne’s lips, and the door was all that was keeping him upright. Remembering how Wayne had responded to dirty talk last time, Andy gave vent to the words that were on the tip of his tongue.
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘that’s right, suck that dick like you’re starving. Take it all, suck it right down – I want to feel it shoving the back of your throat, come on, take it all—’
Reaching down, he took Wayne’s head in his hands, cupping his ears, jerking his hips, sending his cock in and out of Wayne’s mouth; despite his words, Andy was careful not to push it too far, to force Wayne to go faster than he knew how. Last thing I want’s him gagging on my cock – let him get used to it, learn how to work his reflex back there in his own time—
Wayne had started moaning in pleasure at Andy’s dirty talk, the vibration in his throat an extra stimulus against Andy’s eager dick head. It was amazing. But it still wasn’t quite enough. Andy had been fantasising about this ever since Boxing Day, had knocked himself off again and again to one specific image, and he wanted to recreate that now.
Who knows if I’ll get another chance? Who knows if he’ll ever come back? If this is the last time, I don’t want to let him go without fucking him properly...
Gently, he pulled back from Wayne’s mouth, holding Wayne’s head still, looking down at his face; Andy couldn’t resist taking his cock and whipping it back and forth over Wayne’s lips, watching Wayne dart his tongue to lick it, his eyes wide and bright with pleasure.
‘Can I fuck you?’ Andy said, his voice so guttural he hardly recognised it. ‘I’m dying to fuck you...’
His cock had actually swelled at the words, and Wayne licked off the drops of pre-come.
‘I want to be inside you so badly,’ Andy said, his voice heartfelt.
The apartment had been closed up for months, all its furniture covered in dust sheets; but looking around him, Andy saw a huge L-shaped sofa across the room below the central staircase. Bending down, he grabbed Wayne’s arm, pulling him up.
‘Come on,’ he said, guiding him over to the sofa, pushing him down. Weirdly, it was the only piece of furniture not shrouded by a dust sheet, and despite that it was shiny, as free of dust as if it had only just been cleaned.
Wayne was unzipping his jeans, pulling them and his plaid boxers down.
‘Jesus,’ Andy said devoutly, ‘we need to get you some better underwear. Those are granddad pants.’
‘They’re from M&S!’ Wayne said, embarrassed.
Andy grimaced.
‘Exactly.’
Wayne, shrugging off his jacket, took a packet of condoms out of his pocket.
‘I brought them,’ he said. ‘In case.’ He was very re
d now. ‘But I haven’t – I haven’t ever—’ He swallowed. ‘This is my first time,’ he admitted.
‘Fuck!’ Andy, who had snatched the condoms from him and ripped one of the packets open, stopped dead, his cock throbbing impatiently. He remembered speculating that this might be the case, from what Wayne had said on Boxing Day, but had completely forgotten in the heat of the moment. ‘Really?’
Wayne nodded sheepishly.
‘Did you bring any lube?’
Wayne bit his lip. ‘I didn’t think of it,’ he mumbled. ‘But I want you to fuck me!’ he said quickly, seeing Andy’s face fall. ‘I’ve been thinking about this so much – I really want you to—’
Andy dropped to the sofa next to him, taking his face in his hands, kissing him.
‘I want to as well! So much! I just don’t want to hurt you on your first time— ’
‘No, please! I want you to,’ Wayne said, his voice impassioned. ‘I don’t care if it hurts a bit.’
He took the condom from Andy and started rolling it over Andy’s cock. Behind the sofa, the sheet hanging over the balustrade of the staircase rustled slightly, as if in a breeze.
‘Ah, shit,’ Andy sighed. ‘That feels so good... ’ He looked at Wayne’s imploring face. ‘OK. I’ll go really slowly, I promise.’ He kissed Wayne’s mouth, hard. ‘Get on your knees,’ he said, enjoying the way Wayne’s eyes glazed with passion when Andy talked dirty to him. ‘Hold onto the back of the sofa.’
Wayne scrambled to obey; he was kneeling on the L of the sofa, with plenty of room behind him. His arse was firm and round, deliciously hairy, and Andy licked his fingers, running it down Wayne’s crack, around his bum, wetting him again and again with his spit, running his thumb around in a circle, teasing him, sliding in and out of him first with his thumb, then with two fingers, then three, opening him up, getting him to relax, until Wayne, braced against the back of the sofa, was bucking like a bronco and yelling for Andy to do it, do it now, that he was going fucking mad—
Positioning himself against Wayne’s bum, his whole body arching with the need to do it, to fill him up, Andy rubbed the head of his cock against Wayne, pushed it in just a fraction, gave Wayne a chance to pull back, to change his mind, decide that he wasn’t ready...
But with the full force of his stocky, muscly body, Wayne tightened his hold on the back of the sofa, arched his back, and jammed his buttocks so strongly back towards Andy that he drove himself almost fully onto Andy’s cock.
‘Fuck!’ he shouted. ‘Fucking ’ell!’
Andy thought he would explode then and there.
‘Fuck!’ he yelled too, his hands digging into Wayne’s round, hard glutes for dear life; he might be on top, but Wayne, one of the top athletes in the British Isles, was using everything he had to prove to Andy how much he wanted this, how eager he was that Andy shouldn’t hold back. It was like being on top of a bucking bronco, riding a mechanical bull: Wayne reared up against the sofa, his arse pumping back and forth, his huge thighs bulging with the effort. All Andy could do was hold on for dear life, and look down to marvel at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of Wayne, his hands splayed, gripping Wayne’s arse, the wonderful deep dimples at the top of his bum. He’d fucked a lot of muscly boys – that was his type, hard-muscled white boys, Celtic for preference, freckled, ginger, and stocky – and many of the gym rats were in amazing shape. But there was a real difference between muscles for show and ones developed for work. The sheer power of Wayne’s body, even on his knees, was extraordinary.
He’s as strong as a horse! Andy thought, imagining the positions being reversed – him on his back on the sofa, legs in the air, Wayne on top of him, pumping away, those thick arms bracing on either side of Andy’s body. The image was too much, too powerful for him to stand. God, that’s it, that’s too much. I can’t hold out any longer—
Yelling with the force of his release, he felt his body give it up, his cock blissfully, ecstatically, flooding the condom. Desperately, he collapsed on Wayne’s broad, sweaty back, as big and solid as a table, reaching round Wayne’s hips to find his cock; the moment Andy wrapped his hand around it, he felt Wayne let go too, pushing back to look down at Andy’s fingers clasped around his dick, groaning in sheer pleasure at the sight, spurting hot come over his lover’s hand and onto the sofa below.
Thank God it’s leather! Andy thought, his head spinning, as, with extreme reluctance, he eased his cock out of Wayne, pulling off the condom, curling up around Wayne’s wide back, wrapping his arms around him.
‘Mate,’ he said contentedly, ‘I’ve had power bottoms before, but you’re something else, you know that?’
Wayne wriggled to face him, kissing Andy on the lips.
‘What’s that then?’ he asked. ‘A power bottom?’
Andy kissed him back on the tip of his blunt little nose.
‘You’ve got so much to learn,’ he said. ‘A power bottom sort of leads the way from below, if you know what I mean.’
‘I don’t just want to do that, though,’ Wayne said quickly. ‘I want to fuck you too. Is that okay? Do you—’
‘You bloody bet I do!’ Andy said, kissing his nose again. ‘Show me no mercy.’
Wayne shivered from head to toe.
‘I’ve been thinking about this so much,’ he confessed. ‘Being with another man, doing everything. All of this and more.’
‘I can’t believe you never did anything like this,’ Andy said, shaking his head in wonderment.
Wayne settled back, his arm resting on Andy’s thigh. ‘I was spotted by a scout at eight,’ he explained. ‘I was playing in the Premier League at sixteen. You know? Everyone knew who I was, everyone knew my name. I couldn’t’ve got away with anything. I didn’t know who to trust. I was scared of even ordering magazines, let alone—’ he blushed – ‘a rent boy or anything. I didn’t even fancy that anyway. I wanted to meet someone I liked, not pay for it. I’d go out with the lads to the clubs and just sit in the corner, trying not to stare at the waiters.’
Andy stroked his cheek. ‘It sounds horrible,’ he said gently, wondering at the irony of the situation. ‘Poor little rich gay boy.’
Wayne made a funny snuffling noise.
‘Chantelle got ’old of me at one of those nights out,’ he said. ‘Being that way herself. Takes one to know one, I suppose. She wanted to ’ang round Corinne without anyone thinking it was a bit odd.’
‘So you were perfect cover,’ Andy said. ‘I get it.’
‘Yeah. She said if everyone thought I was shagging her, they’d never think I was...’
‘Gay,’ Andy prompted, seeing that Wayne was having problems with the word.
‘Yeah.’
‘Wayne, you’re gay!’ Andy said firmly. ‘If you can take a big black cock up your arse, you can say the word “gay”.’
Something rustled briefly in the sheets hanging down from the staircase.
‘Sounds like they’ve got a mouse,’ Wayne said, looking round. ‘Here, mousey-mousey.’
‘Wayne. Don’t change the subject. Say it,’ Andy insisted.
‘Okay. I’m gay!’ Wayne blurted out.
‘There. Doesn’t that feel better?’ Andy giggled. ‘It even rhymed! We’ll have you singing show tunes next.’
Wayne heaved out a long breath, sitting up, pulling Andy with him to curl up against the back of the sofa.
‘It feels a bit better,’ he admitted. ‘But it’s fucking scary.’
‘I know,’ Andy agreed. ‘But it’ll get easier.’
Wayne rubbed his palm over the top of Andy’s head.
‘I really like how your hair feels,’ he said. ‘It’s sort of tickly.’
‘I love your freckles,’ Andy said, not to be outdone, running his index finger over Wayne’s wide chest. ‘I want to get a marker pen and join them up, do drawings on you. Like join the dots.’
Wayne giggled happily.
‘You know,’ Andy went on, ‘I always fancied you. From afar, you might say. I’d
be sitting round with my mates, and we’d be talking about celebrities we wanted to shag, and I’d say you. Honestly.’
Wayne actually stiffened in disbelief.
‘No way,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t you pick, I dunno, some film star or singer or someone? They used to call me Potato ’ead at school!’
Andy traced a line between Wayne’s solid pectoral muscles. ‘What can I say?’ he asked. ‘You’re my type. I’ve always liked working-class white boys – Irish-looking gingers. I love Welsh boys, too. That lovely accent they’ve got.’
Wayne was shaking his head.
‘I dunno what’s weirder,’ he said. ‘That I’m your fantasy shag—’
‘Honestly,’ Andy said, bending to kiss Wayne’s neck.
‘ – or that you can sit around with your mates and just talk about men you fancy. I’ve never done that in my life.’
He took a deep breath.
‘Andy,’ he started, and there was something in his voice that alerted Andy to sit up more, so that he could see Wayne’s expression.
‘Yeah?’ he prompted.
‘I was thinking...’ Wayne began. ‘What with you doing, you know, the job you do ’ere, and what you did for Mr K – well, it’s organising, really, isn’t it? Like, at a really ’igh level,’ he hastened to clarify, in case Andy was offended.
Andy nodded. ‘Pretty much.’
‘So I was thinking – I sort of ’ave a PA, but she ain’t very good, and even if she was – well, what I mean is, you could come and work for me instead. Would you fancy that? I’ve got a ’uge place. You could live there if you wanted. Chantelle’s got ’er own wing and I don’t even know when she’s there, to be ’onest. You could travel with me – you’d ’ave anything you could want, I’ve got more money than I know what to do with—’
Excitement raced through Andy’s veins, as hard and fast as a sniff of poppers, at the idea of being with Wayne, having a job to do that would be genuinely busy, fun, exciting; travelling the world with him, finding them amazing hotels to stay in, building a life together...
But there was a catch, and Andy already knew what it was.
Bad Angels Page 39
