Fizz bounded up to the bar, a smile on his face. "Ryan? I wouldn't wake anyone up if I had a shower, would I?"
"Huh?" Ryan blinked, trying to concentrate. "Um, no?"
"The toilet doesn't seem to be making a noise now," Fizz said. "That's a relief. I always thought those pipes were gonna break or something! Seem to be fine now."
"Oh... yeah, that is good."
"So, I can have a shower?" Fizz asked.
"Yes, of course."
"Okay. Thanks!" He shot Ryan a happy grin, squeezed past him, and disappeared through the staff door. His light footsteps skipped upstairs. Ryan raised an eyebrow. Well, at least someone was happy.
Resentment clawed at Ryan's insides, trying to turn his thoughts sour. Did this mean that he'd lose one of his very best friends, Ash, to loved-up coupledom? Bleh. Certainly seemed that way. But hadn't Ryan been the one to encourage it? All for his own gain, of course. Ryan wasn't sure what he'd hoped to gain. Things didn't seem as clear as they had a few weeks ago.
"Ryan?" Beth's voice startled him, and he jumped. "Sorry," she said. She placed her hand on his shoulder. Ryan almost wanted to snap at her, but managed to hold it in. It wasn't Beth he was angry at, after all. He wasn't entirely sure who he was angry at.
Beth seemed to understand. After a gentle squeeze, she pulled back, and settled herself on a bar stool. "Want to talk about it?"
"Hah." A humourless laugh escaped. "Not really."
"It might make you feel better?"
Ryan wasn't so sure. Yet the images burned in his mind anyway; he couldn't exactly ignore them. It was like remembering the scenes of a particularly nasty horror movie. He sighed heavily.
"It... it sounds... kinda stupid."
"Stupid?" Beth raised a blonde eyebrow, then smiled with understanding. "Ryan, this is me you're talking to. I promise, nothing will sound stupid. Just try me. Why don't we have a drink? It might help."
"Hn." Ryan nodded in agreement. At this rate, though, he may well end up being an alcoholic.
After choosing their drinks, a gin and tonic for Beth, a whiskey and Coke for Ryan, he sat on the stool next to Beth, leaning his arms on the bar. He told Beth everything, from the weird noises when they'd first opened the pigeon loft, to Fizz moving in, everyone acting out of character, up to last Saturday night, when everything seemed to blow up his in face.
He gulped down his drink, then described what had happened in Fizz's room, with the visions of blood, the way he—or whatever had been in Fizz—had tried to take Ginger from him, and how Ryan had reacted. The unexplained cuts on his face, the way that person had attacked him with visions. Ryan told Beth that it had seemed like the spirit, or whatever he was, had been trying to justify his actions and by showing Fizz, then Ryan, a vision, had hoped to gain sympathy.
Ryan wasn't quite sure. "I think the guy was warped, but what they did to him was fucking horrible," he concluded, knocking back the last of his drink. "And now it's all in my head, and I can't... I can't not think about it."
Beth nodded, placing her hand over Ryan's. "I'm so sorry, Ryan. I wish I'd known of this earlier, I truly do. You've been through a lot."
"Hah. Yeah, I guess. And Sammy's arm is broken. I mean, God. And Fizz almost died.... I can't get over it. I'm just... I dunno. I don't know what to think."
"It's okay." Beth's hand squeezed his tightly. "You've all been through a lot. I'm going to be here, and I'll keep a close eye on things from now on. This place had always been a hot-bed of energy. I guess I hadn't realised just how much, because... well, usually 'cause I'm pretty drunk when I come in here." She winked at him.
Ryan smiled weakly.
"Seriously, though," Beth said. "Sometimes, bad things happen in life, and it's all part of existence. There are horrible things out there, and it's crap that we have to experience them. However, it's important not to let it drag you down. I know it's a cliché, but when they say count your blessings, it really does help to do so. You're all alive, you all made it through. With the exception of Sammy, who unfortunately got a broken arm, but he'll pull through. You're all very strong people. Sometimes..." She paused, breathing in. Her hand left Ryan's, and made it up to his shoulder, rubbing gently. Heat seemed to radiate in from her hand. "Sometimes," she said, "bad things can make us appreciate the good things in life. Know what I mean?"
A calming heat warmed Ryan's skin. He nodded. "Yeah, I know what you're saying."
"Some of us have to see things we don't want to see," Beth said. "Sometimes it's inescapable. But, eventually, the memory of it fades, and we can get by without remembering. It's fresh in your mind now, but it will fade."
"I hope so."
"It will." Beth smiled at him, a smile that told him she believed he'd be okay. "If you do find you're struggling, though, just come and find me. My door is always open to you."
"Thanks, Beth." Ryan managed to smile back. "You've... well, you've been great."
"No probs." Her smile became shy, and she hopped down from her stool. "Well, I have to get going. I'm meeting some friends in the park. They're doing poi. Wanna come?"
"Nah, thanks." Ryan stood, picking up their empty glasses. "I think we're opening today, so there's still a lot of cleaning to do."
Beth nodded. "Sure thing. Well, when we're done, maybe we'll come back in here for a drink."
"That'd be good. I think we owe you a few pints, at the very least." After placing the glasses in the glass washer, Ryan went to the door, unlocking it so Beth could leave.
"Beth...thank you."
"My pleasure." She stepped through the door, smiling over her shoulder. "See you later."
Chapter 23
After eleven, Ryan went back upstairs. He stopped in on Matt in his kitchen, who was busy getting everything cooked. Ryan noticed Matt was a little distracted, and decided to leave him be. He seemed to be making a dessert, which was strange, as the pub menu rarely had desserts.
On the second floor, Ryan went into the domestic kitchen. He disposed of his untouched coffee, and set the kettle to boil anew. It felt calm in here, and not stuffy, which was a blessed relief. All the windows were open, as it was a muggy day, and the breeze from outside blew in, fresh and sweet.
Ryan could hear the odd footfall on floorboards above, but he felt almost certain that was Fizz. Nothing seemed to feel... creepy any more.
What a relief.
No one was awake though, besides Fizz and Matt. If the pub was going to open, they only had about an hour to do so on time. As the kettle boiled, Ryan strolled out to the hall. He flicked a wary glance left, at the pigeon loft. The door was shut; bolted and locked, with an official notice on it from the gas board, deeming it safe, but still under further inspection.
Ryan hoped the damn place stayed shut. He tore his eyes away and walked up the three steps, past the bathroom—which smelt warm and freshly-scented after Fizz's shower—toward the living room. Since being discharged from hospital, and having the pigeon loft shut, Ginger had insisted that Fizz have his bedroom. Last night, Fizz had slept in Ginger's room, and Ginger had slept in the living room.
All while Ryan had slept alone in his double bed. It seemed like such a waste. The living room was right next to his bedroom, and Ryan had stared at the wall for much of the night, wondering if Ginger was asleep or awake.
Peeping his head in the living room, he looked to the couch. The curtains were drawn, but sunlight found its way in. Ginger was sprawled on the couch, one arm flung out, red hair all a mess and hanging over the armrest. He wore a white vest, and his pyjama bottoms were visible, as he'd kicked away the covers in his sleep. He snored quietly, from being in the likely-uncomfortable position.
Ryan wasn't sure what to do. He was less afraid of waking Ginger than he was of waking Pete, but if Ginger needed the sleep, maybe he should leave him be? They'd just have to open the pub late, if at all. Sighing to himself, Ryan left the room. This was Ginger's first night home since leaving the hospital, and a small part of Ryan worried that he
might not wake at all.
In the kitchen once again, Ryan made a new cafetière of fresh coffee. While it brewed, he turned on the TV and tuned into a morning chat show. He just needed some bland and inoffensive chatter to wash over him, make him stop thinking.
* * * *
Using a rolling pin, Matt pounded the crap out of a packet of biscuits. It was a good way to release some pent-up frustration. He'd planned to make banoffie pie. It was Sammy's favourite, or it was, last Matt knew of it. He hoped it still was. If he hurried, it would be ready in time for when Sammy came back this afternoon.
His stereo played in the background. Matt couldn't bear to listen to the radio right now; it seemed too jolly, too inane. He'd forgone his usual loud black metal though, and picked out a CD of slower, chilled-out music.
Biscuits thoroughly crushed, Matt threw down his pin, and set to shaking out the biscuit crumbs into a dish. He'd already made the cake mixture from scratch, using bananas he'd bought that morning, and melting the toffee fudge he'd bought especially from the sweet shop. He'd gone all-out with the double cream as well. Matt wasn't usually into making desserts, as he didn't have a sweet tooth, but today, he felt a real passion for it.
This was going to be the best banoffie pie ever.
* * * *
Tomorrow night, the text read. Meet me at Pavilion gate after your shift. I'm taking you to the pier ;p x
The winking face and kiss at the end of the text were enough to make Fizz almost pass out from happiness. He simply couldn't recall ever feeling like this, like he was walking on air, or not so much walking as... soaring. Soaring with happy.
The pier. With Ash, like a date. Fizz waited for the anxiety to hit him, but...nothing. Small butterflies in his stomach, yet they weren't quite the same. He didn't even mind feeling them, they were so light. His heart thudded in anticipation of seeing Ash again. One whole day! How could he possibly wait that long?
* * * *
Pressing down on the plunger, the aromatic scent of coffee wafted up, hitting Ryan's nose. Nothing could beat fresh coffee in the morning. He poured some of the hot liquid into his favourite Transformers mug.
Footsteps creaked along the hall, and Ryan heard the bathroom door shut. He wondered who that was. Ginger, maybe? If it had been Fizz or Pete, surely he would have heard them coming down the stairs first? Well, he'd find out soon enough. Ryan heaped two spoonfuls of sugar into his mug, then added milk. He stirred, watching the coffee swirl from darkest brown to golden. The scent was rich, and a little sweet.
The toilet in the bathroom flushed. No pipes rattled, however. Not a honk to be heard. Even when the water rushed through the pipes behind the walls, it all sounded normal. Ryan breathed in relief. No more foghorns, no more creepy laughing.
Footsteps approached the kitchen, creaking on the floorboards. Ryan's heart pounded. He tried to act casual. Just as he went to take his first sip of coffee, Ginger appeared in the doorway, looking all sleep-mussed and sexy. Ryan's fingers trembled, so he lowered his mug to the counter. "Hey," he said quietly. "You, um, want some coffee?"
Ginger shook his head, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He strode into the kitchen, somewhat dazed, and headed for the fridge.
"Or, um, tea?" Ryan offered weakly. He watched Ginger pull on the fridge door. Bottles clinked together as the door was yanked, and Ginger left it open as he uncapped the litre bottle of lemonade and gulped straight from the bottle. His long hair hung down his back, sunlight catching all the different shades of red. Ryan's eyes roved over him, so relieved that Ginger was here, awake. His eyes fell to Ginger's hips, to those low-slung pyjama bottoms that hugged his figure so well.
Oh.
Ryan tried not to notice, then couldn't help but stare at the tell-tale bulge of morning wood under thin pyjamas. Oh, God. Ryan tore his eyes away, facing the counter and his coffee. Torture me, why don't you? His cock stirred as his mind raced away with images of Ginger naked. He tried to rein himself in. It's just morning wood. It wasn't like he came in here to see me.
The fridge door slammed shut. Ryan dared a glance back, trying to keep his eyes aimed up, out of the danger zone. He failed. As Ginger walked toward him, Ryan's gaze skimmed over the man's figure, appreciating everything he saw. Belatedly, Ryan realised Ginger was headed straight for him. Was he in the way? Maybe Ginger did want coffee after all.
"Sorry," he mumbled, not quite sure what Ginger needed at the counter. Ryan went to side step. Ginger's hand shot out and gripped his wrist, holding him still. Ryan froze, panicking. His eyes fixed on Ginger's arm, to the all-too-familiar tattoos there. Ginger came closer, pressing his body into Ryan's.
Ryan tried not to glance down, but couldn't help himself. That bulge was beautifully obscene; how he wanted to dip his hands into those cotton pyjamas and trail his fingers over the sharp hip bones just peeking out. His cock throbbed at the thought. God, what's happening here?
"Ry, look at me."
"Hm?" Ryan obediently looked up. He gazed into hazel brown eyes, willingly losing himself in their depths. Ginger looked back at him, with the slightest frown, like he was searching for something.
"Ry... I want... I mean, would you—"
The movement of lips as he spoke drew Ryan's gaze to that pretty mouth. Ryan wasn't sure what came over him; heat flooded his senses. Before Ginger could finish, Ryan leapt forward, threw his arms around Ginger's neck, and kissed him.
This was it, then. The moment of truth. Ryan almost expected to be thrown off. Ginger was still only for a moment, as if stunned. Just as Ryan began to pull away, convinced he'd made a mistake, Ginger's arms locked around him, and his mouth pressed hard against his own.
As he was kissed back, it was Ryan's turn to be stunned. This was what he wanted, what he'd dreamed about for three whole years, but his brain couldn't process what was happening. It took him a long moment to realise he wasn't in a dream, that the mouth against his was real. A whimper escaped Ryan's mouth.
Ginger pulled back, still holding him close. "Ry? I'm sorry, I—"
"No, it- it's okay." Ryan dragged him back, fitting his lips on Ginger's, where they felt like they'd been made to fit. Clarity finally rang through his mind, swirling with lust. All that time spent wondering if Ginger liked guys, if Ginger would like him, and now finally, he had his answer. Ryan wasn't going to let this opportunity go to waste. Not ever.
He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, seeking a deeper kiss with his tongue. As they kissed, he slid his hands around Ginger's neck, fingers threading through soft, never-ending hair. Ginger pressed into him, pushing him against the counter. Ryan moaned when he felt Ginger's hard-on, his own cock eagerly responding. Ryan hadn't realised until now that he and Ginger were almost a perfect height match for this. His cock hardened at the thought.
"Bedroom," he breathed against Ginger's lips. "Now."
* * * *
As soon as the bedroom door closed, they were kissing again. Ryan had always thought those scenes in movies were total fantasy, where two people were so into each other that they knocked things over in their bid to get to bed. Clearly, he'd been wrong. He heard his bookshelf rattle as his backside bumped into it. A number of items fell off and crashed on the floor. Ryan couldn't have cared less. Ginger tried to stop, to check what had fallen, but Ryan wouldn't let him. He pushed Ginger toward his bed.
"Ryan, are you sure about this?" Ginger asked, their mouths close.
"Daniel, c'mon." Ryan hands circled the man's waist, pulling him close. He ground his erection into Ginger's, relishing the feel. "I—I just want...." I want something real, not dreams or nightmares that aren't even mine. I want you to make everything right, I want... Ryan took a steadying breath. "Daniel, I want you."
Ginger kissed him, and Ryan let himself be kissed. His hands delved under Ginger's vest, feeling smooth skin and the ridges of Ginger's spine. Ryan felt like he couldn't have this man close enough, that even this close was too far away. The closer he was, the safer he felt. Ryan wanted skin
against skin, as much as he could get.
His hand skimmed around Ginger's hip, down his lower belly. He delighted in the feel of the soft line of hair that trailed down, and his fingers followed the line lower. Ryan toyed with the cotton waistband of the pyjamas, worried that Ginger would ask him to stop, or wait. He could feel Ginger's erection straining against his own, and he longed to touch. His fingers tugged on the waistband, then paused. Ginger kept kissing him, didn't stop him from touching.
Ryan slipped his hand inside, grasping the long, thick cock that awaited him. His fingers acted as his eyes, feeling and marvelling all at once. Ryan squeezed the shaft gently, loving the groan that came out of Ginger's mouth. Breaking the kiss, Ryan glanced down between them. He watched his hand inside Ginger's pyjamas, stroking Ginger's cock.
Oh, God.
This was like some sort of fantasy. His arm stretching the waistband allowed for a partial view, but it wasn't enough. With his other hand, Ryan tugged, pulling the pyjamas down. The tattooed wings on Ginger's lower belly came into view, along with tattoos on his legs that Ryan had never seen. His eyes quickly scanned over them, his senses on overload as he held Ginger's cock in his hand. At the top of each thigh, in perfect symmetry, was a tattoo of a classic pin-up girl, and another tattoo of a well-muscled sailor, complete with a little white sailor hat.
Ryan's eyes flicked between the pin-ups on each thigh, then the angel wings above them, and the blonde line of hair on Ginger's lower belly. A darker thatch of blonde curls framed his perfect cock and balls. Everything about him was beautiful, from the pale cream of his skin to the slightly ruddier skin of his thick cock. Swiping his thumb over the tip, smearing the drop of precome, Ryan wanted to tell Ginger how much he adored him, how beautiful he was. He opened his mouth, desperate to say something, then faltered, instantly changing his mind.
The Haunted Pub Page 26