Friday 30 July 8pm
Charlie had a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach as he walked into the pub McManus had nominated for this evening's rendezvous (it was an odd word to use, he thought, but he could hardly call it a date, and he refused to call it a trick). The instructions that he had been given that afternoon hadn't sounded too bad - wear his leather trousers and a bit of eyeliner - but then he hadn't realised what sort of bar it was going to be. It was a proper pub: not a night club, not a tarted-up wine or cocktail bar, but a beer-and-whisky bar; a working class bar. Charlie wouldn't mind that, normally - he'd been in plenty - but it wasn't the sort of bar that welcomed young men of indeterminate sexuality wearing leather and make-up. In retrospect, he thought that adding a little body glitter was a Bad Idea.
It didn't take a genius to work out that this was punishment for last night, and Charlie hoped with all his might that McManus would turn up and they could leave before he was beaten to a pulp. On the other hand, Chris had specifically told Charlie he was to wait until McManus got there, even if he was late, so the man might have planned this - he might want him to be beaten up. He hoped not, but Liam had told him some of the rumours concerning the Shark's activities in Glasgow, and even if they were only half-true (surely he hadn't actually thrown a kid off a balcony?), they were enough to make even a brave man think twice about getting on McManus's wrong side. Charlie didn't feel very brave right now.
He swallowed, crossed his fingers, and walked up to the bar. "I'll have a pint of lager, thanks."
The barman pulled the pint with a practised hand and placed the glass on the bar. "That'll be one pound fifty."
Charlie handed him the coins and took a sip of the beer. It was good, no doubt about that, and he hoped he'd get to finish it - he certainly couldn't afford to buy beer every night, even at such a good price, let alone buy it and then not drink it.
He took a couple more sips, looking around at the décor (dark, heavy wood, a few old sporting prints yellowed with age and nicotine, various stains on the floorboards that suggested more than spilt beer, and he would much rather not examine them at close range, thank you very much) and trying not to catch the eye of anyone bigger than him... which, in effect, meant anyone at all.
Several men looked at him and muttered among themselves. They were very different from the people he'd seen on the two previous two nights. These were men who were paid by the hour, who worked in the factories and on the roads, in dirty messy jobs that strengthened their arms and rotted their brains. These were men for whom "normality" was a creed, men who stuck fast to the old ways, who carried with them the old village prejudices of "us" and "them". Charlie, being half-Irish, middle-class and gay, knew he was definitely "them".
He silently cursed McManus for ordering him here, and cursed himself for not acting on his instincts and getting out of there fast. He cursed his own stupidity for breaking Liam's arm, and then, for good measure, cursed Liam for getting them into this mess in the first place. If he got out of here with just a beating he'd be lucky.
A large shadow loomed over him and his heart sank.
"I haven't seen you in here before." The speaker was a tall man, around 45 or so, thick-set, unshaven, flannel shirt - classic homophobe, thought Charlie.
"No, well I haven't been in here before." He felt that some more explanation was needed, and added "I'm meeting someone."
"Your girlfriend, perhaps?"
He shook his head. "A bloke."
"Boyfriend, maybe?"
Shit, shit, shit, Charlie thought. "No! That is... I don’t have a boyfriend, of course I don't, I have a girlfriend, she's just not here. No, I'm just meeting a bloke for business." He gave a mental wince at how weak and pathetic he sounded.
"Business? And what sort of business takes you into pubs all dressed up like that?" The man leaned in a little closer.
One of the man's friends wandered over. He was slightly younger, wearing a shirt with torn-off sleeves over a black tank top. "What have we got here, Dan?" he asked.
"We've got a boy meeting someone on business. Dressed like that."
Dan's friend looked at him with the air of a wolf eyeing a new-born lamb. "I have a feeling I don't like your sort of business, nancy-boy. Your sort of business gives places like this a bad name."
Oh fuck, I'm going to die, thought Charlie. I'm going to be beaten up and raped and then they’re going to kill me. He really, really wanted to kick this guy in the balls and then run away as fast as he could, hoping that none of them could catch him, but then McManus would be even more angry and he hated to think of what McManus might think up as a punishment for that. Still, he couldn't help backing away slightly.
Dan's friend leered at him. "Scared, nancy-boy? You should be. We don't like your kind in here."
Charlie swallowed, and put his glass down on the bar.
"Now then, Bob," the barman interrupted, "we don't want no trouble in here. Leave the boy alone."
Bob grabbed Charlie's shirt and pulled him forward. "No trouble at all, mate. We're just going to have a little chat about business... outside."
"Now look, mate," Charlie was panicking now, and all thoughts of waiting for McManus had vanished - all he wanted to do was get as far away from these thugs as possible. "I don't know what your problem is. I haven't done anything. If you don't want me here I'll just go, OK?
Unfortunately, Bob and Dan weren't listening. Dan grabbed Charlie's arm and twisted it up behind him, while Bob maintained his grip on the front of his shirt. The two of them practically carried Charlie towards the front entrance, which, he tried to tell himself, was a good thing, because even if they gave him a few punches, they weren't likely to rape him or kill him out there on the street. He revised this thought as the men walked a few steps further and turned into the service alley that ran up the centre of the block. It stank of refuse and stale urine, and he suddenly felt very, very sick.
I'm going to die, he thought, as he was shoved up against the wall of the pub, held upright only by Bob's fist on his shirt. His head ached with the force of impact, and his eyes closed, so he didn't see the punch that was coming: it landed in his stomach, winding him badly. He barely heard the men laughing over his head; he was too busy trying to breathe.
Bob forced him upright again. "Liked that, did you, you fucking poofter?"
"Fuck off." Charlie wheezed, knowing it was the wrong thing to say but beyond caring. He was going to die anyway, so he might as well take what little dignity he had left with him.
Dan laughed. "I like a bit of spirit. Makes it more sporting, like." He grabbed Charlie's hair and forced him to look up. "You're going to wish you’d never been born, son," he cackled.
Bob drew back to give him another punch. The man's face was alight with a feral joy, and Charlie realised that this wasn't going to stop until he lay dead or dying. The punch landed with nearly as much force as the first, and for a few seconds he wasn't sure if he was going to pass out from lack of breath or vomit from the impact. He felt helpless. There was no way he could wriggle out from their grasp, and he certainly couldn't run, not when it took so much effort simply to breathe. He was pulled upright by Dan, who pushed him back against the wall and the back of his head hit the bricks again, on the same spot as before.
He was starting to panic - there really was no way out of this. He heard Bob laughing as he gave him another blow to the stomach and he tried, once more, to bend over and give his muscles some relief, but couldn't. He was going to be sick and then they'd kill him and it would all be over...
"Is there a problem here?"
The voice came from Charlie's right, and he turned his head slightly. It was McManus, standing at the entrance to the alley, and behind him were Chris and Ken. He felt almost faint with relief - salvation in the form of a Glasgow tough was unexpected, but still salvation. His knees sagged, but Dan was still holding him up.
Bob looked at the small man, unimpressed. "Nothing to do with you, mate. Just cleaning out the rubbish."
"Rubbish, eh? Not the way I like to hear my people described." McManus walked a little closer.
"Your people? Who the hell are you?"
"No one you want to mess with."
"Oh yeah?" Bob took a step towards the intruders, but stopped suddenly. Charlie wondered what was happening, but forcing air in and out of his lungs was taking up all his concentration. At least Dan had slackened his grip and he was able to bend over to ease the pain in his chest and stomach.
"Yes." The single word carried conviction. McManus had moved steadily into the alley as he spoke, and Dan and Bob were starting to back off.
"Think you're some sort of hero with that knife, do you? Think you're tough?" Bob taunted - though he, like Dan, had taken a few steps back from the group.
McManus looked at him steadily. "You think you're tough, taking on an unarmed boy, do you? You wouldn't last three minutes where I grew up."
"I'm not afraid of some Scottish git with a knife that's bigger than his prick."
McManus smiled: that feral Shark smile that Charlie had only seen once before, and which, even now, send a cold trickle down his spine. "Come and get me, then. If you're not afraid."
Somehow, neither Bob nor Dan seemed inclined to take up the invitation. The Shark smiled even more widely, and said, "No? Then we'll come to you." He gestured, and Chris and Ken surged forward. It took only a few seconds to dispatch the two bullies, both of McManus's men displaying surprising speed and forceful punches.
Charlie wasn't really watching - he'd bent over again, trying to ease the ache in his stomach. He felt a tap on his shoulder and twisted his head to look up. It was McManus. He looked the archetypal gangster, in his sharp suit and Italian leather shoes. As Charlie watched, he retracted the blade of his knife and put it in his pocket.
"Get up, lad."
Charlie nodded, and tried to straighten up. It took a lot of effort.
"Can you walk?" asked McManus.
Charlie nodded again, and managed to take a few steps. He glanced back at the two big men, who were smoothing their clothes and inspecting their knuckles. Ken slipped something from his hand onto his jacket pocket, which promptly sagged under the weight. A lead bar, Charlie realised. No wonder the bullies had crumpled.
McManus shepherded him out of the alley, while Chris and Ken followed behind them, smoothing their clothes. They walked a few yards down the street and into a small shopping centre car park, where the Camry was parked. Chris unlocked the car and McManus opened one of the rear doors, saying, "Get in, lad, and put your seatbelt on. And don't even think about throwing up." He moved around to the other side and got in beside Charlie, while Chris and Ken got into the front.
"Where to, boss?" asked Chris.
"My place. Drop us there, then you can sort yourselves out."
"Aye, then." Chris started the car and they drove off.
The journey took about twenty minutes, but it didn't seem that long - at least, Charlie didn't think so, though he was still in a state of shock. McManus's place turned out to be in the new development that had replaced the Grammar School at Whitefield, which surprised him - he didn't know what he had expected, exactly, but a smart flat in a respectable suburban street was certainly not what he had imagined for someone with the Shark's reputation.
The car drew up at the kerb and McManus unbuckled his seat belt.
"What time in the morning, boss?" asked Chris, looking at his boss through the rear-view mirror.
McManus ran a hand over his hair as he thought for a couple of minutes. "Better make it seven," he said eventually. "I need to be there by midday."
Chris nodded, non-committally. "Seven it is."
McManus got out, and Charlie followed, grimacing a little as he pulled himself upright. His stomach still hurt a little, but he didn't think that there was any serious damage - he'd had worse from Liam when they were younger. It was the deliberate nature of it all that had scared him; that and the feeling of being powerless.
"Still feeling sick?" asked McManus as the car drove off.
"No, I don't think I'm going to puke. Just a bit bruised, that's all." Charlie gave the man a tentative smile.
"Good." McManus turned led the way into the building.
They walked up two flights of stairs and along a short corridor to get to the front door of the flat. McManus opened the door, and led Charlie into a small hall which had a door on each side and another, smaller flight of stairs at the end of it.
The door had barely closed when Charlie found himself thrust backwards by a powerful hand. Fear flared in him again as the Shark pinned him against the door and snarled at him.
"You were told to wait for me, boy. You were told to stay put until I arrived."
"I was waiting - " Charlie tried to wriggle, but McManus was surprisingly strong.
"I had to come and find you. I had to rescue you. I had to risk my men for you, you stupid git." The anger in his voice was evident, and Charlie felt suddenly ashamed that he'd failed.
"I'm sorry," he muttered automatically.
"Sorry is fucking useless." The Shark released the pressure on Charlie's chest and took a step back, undoing his flies. "There are other ways to apologise, and you’d better make this a bloody good one."
Suddenly, Charlie realised that McManus's earlier question had had nothing to do with concern for his welfare. He bit off an angry retort - that would only make things worse - and dropped wearily to his knees. McManus had pulled his cock out himself, and Charlie could see that he was already highly aroused. Must have been the violence, he thought.
He took the reddened, engorged penis in his hand. He really didn't want to do this now. He wasn't actually feeling sick, but he was certainly feeling battered and bruised and the last thing he wanted to be doing was giving a blow job to someone.
"Get on with it," came the curt command from above his head.
Well, it wasn't up to him, was it? He'd given away any right to his own preferences for a month, and this was just part of the deal. He shuffled a little closer, opened his mouth and engulfed McManus's cock. He could taste pre-come already, and he didn't think that McManus wanted any fancy trimmings, so he just sucked and pulled and squeezed.
"Oh, fuck, yeah," McManus moaned, then his hands came down on either side of Charlie's head and Charlie found himself being held still as McManus fucked his mouth and throat. God, he hated this. There was nothing he could do except to tilt his head back a little so that he wasn't actually choking, and wait for it to be over. It didn't take long - less than a minute, probably, but it seemed like a very long minute to Charlie. When his throat filled up he swallowed frantically and tried to pull back, but he was held in a strong grip. He started to choke, and was feeling a little faint when McManus relaxed his grip and Charlie sat back on his heels, coughing.
He didn't move for a few seconds, just tried to control himself again - there were tears in his eyes and he wanted to get rid of them before McManus could see them. He could hear McManus breathing, but the man didn't move and didn't speak. Charlie didn't dare look up. He knew that the man would be unhappy with his performance, and he didn't know what was going to happen. He wasn't sure what to do - he figured anything he said would be wrong - so he stayed crouched on the floor trying to get his breath back.
McManus was silent for several seconds more, then Charlie heard rustling sounds as the man dressed himself. McManus put a hand gently on his shoulder, and for a second Charlie thought he might be going to apologise. Then the grip tightened and McManus said "You need a lot of fucking practice with that," before releasing him and walking away.
Charlie remained on the floor for a couple of minutes before pulling himself slowly to his feet. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt, noting absently that there were a couple of marks on it already - probably from the alley. He walked in the direction McManus had gone and found himself in a large airy kitchen.
McManus was making a pot of tea and gestured to Charlie to sit at the table in the middle of the room, which was already equipped with two mugs, a bowl of sugar, a bottle of milk and some teaspoons.
Charlie sat down heavily, and rested his head on his hands, his eyes closed. He wanted to go home, but he doubted that McManus would let him go until morning. All he could do was to wait for more orders and then try to do whatever McManus wanted. It wasn't a very attractive prospect.
"Here, lad," McManus said, his voice surprisingly calm, "get that down you. You look like you need it."
A mug of tea was pushed across the table at him, and Charlie looked up. McManus was spooning sugar into his own mug and stirring it, taking no notice of Charlie whatsoever. Charlie reached for the mug, added milk and sugar and took a sip. It was good, though a little weaker than he liked. After a moment, he added another spoonful of sugar - his frugal dinner had been several hours ago, and there'd been a lot of adrenaline rushing around since then.
They sat in silence for several minutes. Charlie could feel that McManus was watching him, but he didn't look up. He drank his tea and kept his eyes firmly on his mug.
Charlie found his thoughts returning again and again to the enigma of Rory McManus, how he could be normal - even kind - one minute, and a snarling fury the next. He wondered, with some trepidation, what he'd be like in bed. There wasn't much doubt that he was a top, so it was lucky that Charlie enjoyed bottoming, as long as it wasn't too rough. He cast an appraising eye at McManus, wondering how rough he'd be. He hadn't been too bad with the blow jobs until today, but he'd certainly shown he could be cruel when he wanted to be. Still, he looked to have calmed down a bit now. Charlie guessed that it wouldn't be long before he found out for sure.
As if McManus could read Charlie's mind he drained his mug and stood up. "Come on, lad. You look like you've recovered. Time we went upstairs."
Charlie stiffened slightly, but obediently swallowed the rest of his tea and rose to join McManus. They went up the stairs to the main bedroom, which held one queen-size divan, a wardrobe, two chairs and an overflowing bookcase.
McManus sat on the bed and looked up at Charlie. "Strip for me."
Charlie reached up and hurriedly started undoing the buttons on his shirt.
"Not that fast. Do it slowly. Put on a bit of a show for me."
Charlie gulped; he'd never done that before, not even for Richard. He wasn't even sure that he could do a proper striptease. Still, McManus was calling the tune here, so he slowed down and tried to add a little graceful flourish to each movement.
He found that he enjoyed McManus looking at him, especially when he saw that the man was getting aroused just from watching him. It felt good to have that sort of power. Charlie relaxed and let himself move a little more suggestively.
"That's good, Charlie," McManus voiced his approval as Charlie's shirt was removed and thrown on the floor. "You have a good body, you shouldn’t be ashamed to show it off."
Charlie smiled and undid the buttons on his trousers. The leather was still snug against his skin, and he wasn't sure that he maintained a suitable stripper-like grace as he inched them down his thighs, but McManus wasn't complaining. At least he'd gone commando, so he didn't have to worry about elastic snagging or fabric catching in awkward places. Finally, he stood naked in the middle of the room, and he looked to McManus for guidance on what to do next.
McManus stared at him appreciatively. "Come here," he said, and reached out an arm.
Charlie walked over to the bed and stood just in front of him. McManus slid his hands around Charlie's hips and buttocks, causing Charlie to shiver. His cock was starting to harden, and McManus put one hand to it, stroking it as it filled and lengthened. Charlie was amazed at how arousing - thrilling - it was to stand here, naked, in front of a man he was a little afraid of, being stroked off only because it pleased McManus to do so. The man's other hand slid under and behind his balls, and he widened his stance to allow McManus to reach further between his legs, to rub teasingly over the sensitive skin there.
It had been months since Charlie had been to bed with anyone, and he found himself eager for this - wanting it, needing it - and was vaguely surprised to remember that only an hour earlier he'd been afraid. It was only sex, after all, and how could he not want sex?
A sticky drop of pre-come appeared at the head of his cock, and McManus smeared it around and over the glans, pushing the foreskin back, causing Charlie to throw his head back and groan. That seemed to draw McManus's attention, for he let go of Charlie's cock and leaned back on the bed. "Undress me," he commanded.
It took a few seconds for Charlie to comprehend that the stroking and rubbing had stopped. He caught his breath and dropped to his knees, wincing at the tender bruises. He undid McManus's trousers slowly and with a few teasing brushes against the considerable erection underneath the fabric.
As he eased trousers and boxers down, McManus's cock sprang free. Charlie grasped it with one hand and brought it to his mouth, but before he could do more than touch it McManus had grabbed a handful of his hair and was pulling it fiercely.
"I said undress me, not suck me. Do as you're told."
Charlie flinched as McManus let him go, and all the warm thoughts he'd been harbouring were lost as he concentrated on doing just what the man told him and nothing more. Shoes, socks, trousers and boxers were removed, then Charlie undid the shirt cuffs and buttons, spreading the shirt open to reveal a fit, muscular torso.
McManus shrugged himself out of the shirt and threw it over the end of the bed. He moved up so that his head was on the pillows and beckoned to Charlie. "Come here."
Charlie hesitated, a mulish expression on his face.
"Come here, Charlie," he said again, his voice softer and more cajoling than commanding. "I want to touch you."
Charlie crawled up the bed and lay down on his side, looking at McManus warily. The man didn't move for a few seconds, just let his gaze roam over Charlie's body. His drew one finger down Charlie's chest, stopping just below his navel, circling it, then letting his hand move, inch by inch, closer to Charlie's cock.
"I want to see you come," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Then I'm going to fuck you."
Charlie couldn't think of anything to say, not with McManus's hand starting to stroke him again, so he just nodded. He eased over onto his back and McManus followed, his hand pumping and squeezing. He tried to stay still, tried not to thrust his hips up into that warm, moist hand, but it took some effort. He concentrated on remaining still and passive, allowing the man to do what he wanted.
McManus seemed to be fascinated with the way Charlie's cock responded to his stimulation. He varied his stroke from time to time, adding a twist, or swirling his thumb over the now-copious fluid that was leaking from the head.
"Good?" he asked.
"Good," Charlie agreed, and let his head fall back onto the pillow. By now he was unable to stop his hips from moving, and McManus didn't complain, so he bent one leg and let the knee drop outward, hoping that McManus would take the hint. He did, and Charlie was soon moaning as he felt inquisitive fingers exploring his scrotum and delving further behind. It felt fantastic, and Charlie would willingly have signed up to anything as long as he was promised more of this.
"Mmm... close," he said, and started stroking his inner thigh, but McManus batted his hand away.
"Put your hands behind your head if you can't keep them still."
Charlie complied, and arched his back slightly, flaunting his reddened, swollen cock. He could see McManus looking at him, but there was no way of telling what thoughts were going through the man's head. Their eyes locked as McManus swung himself over to straddle Charlie's legs, and then Charlie was flying as both hands went to work on him. His climax was ripped out of him with a cry and he came all over McManus's fingers.
McManus watched him for a few moments more, then grabbed a tissue from the box beside the bed and wiped his hands clean. He was breathing a little heavily, and was obviously turned on by what he had just seen. Charlie essayed a smile and sat up, reaching forward to return the favour. McManus let him have a few strokes, then pulled his hand away, gasping.
"Over you go, lad. My turn now," he said, and reached over to open the top drawer of the bedside unit.
Charlie obediently rolled over onto his front and spread his legs. His stomach was still a little sore from the beating, but not so much that it would hurt him to do this. He was glad he wasn't on his back, being bent in half - that would have been difficult. On second thoughts, he grabbed one of the pillows and shoved it under his hips.
He heard McManus opening the bottle of lubricant and then felt the cold, wet fingers sliding between his buttocks. He flinched, briefly, then pushed his hips up and spread his legs further, feeling pleased when McManus murmured "Good boy," as his fingers breached and penetrated him. It stung a little, but not badly, and McManus was slow and methodical in his stretching, gently stroking his prostate and working his way up to three fingers before withdrawing. By that stage Charlie was hard again and writhing, his fists clenching the sheets with his efforts to remain passive and let himself be controlled by the man he could feel and hear but not see.
He heard a condom wrapper being torn open, and heard McManus hiss. Charlie guessed he was adding more lubricant, and very soon afterwards he felt something that was definitely not a finger start to enter him. It hurt a bit - McManus wasn't huge, but he was well-proportioned for his height, and Charlie grunted as he was filled, slowly but inexorably. Finally, McManus was as far into him as he could possibly go, and Charlie relaxed a little.
"Christ, you feel good," breathed McManus, his accent thicker and his breath tickling Charlie's neck. "So hot, so tight, so fucking good." He pulled back a little and pushed forward, not much, but enough to cause Charlie to groan.
"Am I hurting you, lad?" the voice behind him asked.
"No, not hurting. Keep going, keep moving," Charlie moaned, and was rewarded by a slow, steady in-and-out motion that McManus set up and maintained with an ease that had Charlie wondering what sort of exercise programme he had. No one had ever kept this steady, delirium-inducing rhythm for so long, and Charlie was responding with a series of groans and grunts that were getting louder and louder as he approached another orgasm. He shoved one hand underneath his hips and started to stroke himself off in time with the thrusts.
"Oh, yes, please, harder, no, don't stop, don’t stop, more, yes, yes, oh, oh, oh..." his voice trailed off as his climax broke over him, and he collapsed onto the pillows, totally exhausted and boneless. He vaguely registered that McManus had come just after he did and was now a dead weight on his back. Before it got too uncomfortable, though, McManus pulled himself off and out and rolled over to lie beside him.
"Och..." McManus groaned, as he removed the condom and threw it over towards the wastepaper bin.
"Mmm..." was Charlie's reply.
Neither of them moved for a couple of minutes, then Charlie pulled the pillow from underneath his hips. There was a large wet patch towards one edge, so he pushed it over the side of the bed. He inched across the bed, closer to McManus, and lay there, just watching him. He wasn't sure what McManus would want now - sleep, or food, or maybe a massage. He presumed that he was here for the night, but McManus might change his mind at any minute. He was just a rent-boy, after all.
After a few minutes, Charlie realised that McManus had fallen asleep and was snuffling gently. He felt a little disappointed, but told himself not to be silly. It wasn't as if they were in love. He couldn't help thinking, though, of the times that he and Richard had spent the night together, limbs entwined and bodies held close. He liked cuddling after sex, and he wasn't going to be ashamed of it. He'd just have to get used to the fact that it wasn't going to happen here.
He made his way to the ensuite bathroom and cleaned himself up a little before getting back into the bed. He turned over to face away from McManus, closed his eyes and fell asleep.