Laying a Ghost

by Jane Davitt

  John leaned forward just a little and brushed his lips against Nick’s cheek. “Thank you,” he said quietly, meaning it as much as any words he’d ever spoken. He let Nick help him out of the car and then leaned against it, studying his house. The windows were dark, which hopefully meant that his mother hadn’t used her key and was sitting in there waiting for him, and as far as he could see, his prediction of vandalism, never really seriously meant, hadn’t come true.

  “I’m going to sleep this off.” Nick was watching him in silence, some color returning to his face. “I want to talk to you, but I’m in no fit state right now. Can I ‑‑?” John hesitated. He’d been about to ask Nick if he could come to him later but maybe Nick wanted to be alone? Too tired to be diplomatic, and sick of evasions, he said simply, “If you’d prefer I kept away, tonight or any night, you’ve only to say, but if I’m sober enough later, do you mind if I come over?”

  “I’ll come in and get you settled.” Nick didn’t sound as if he’d accept a refusal. “I want to make sure you’re okay. Plus I don’t think you’ll be in any shape to come over to my place, driving or walking. Come on; you should probably drink some water before you do anything else.”

  “You could be right,” John admitted, a wave of dizziness hitting him, accompanied by a prickle of sweat breaking out on his forehead. “But I think you’d better wait until I’ve finished throwing up before you give me any water.”

  He made it to the bathroom. Barely. After that it all got a little blurred around the edges until he found himself in bed, with what felt like a gallon of cool water and two aspirin inside him, the curtains drawn against the long twilight, and Nick’s hand stroking his head as he drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Nick sat on the edge of John’s bed for the first half hour, running his hand gently over John’s hair until he was sure the man was asleep. The bed was big enough for two, but somehow it didn’t feel right to lie down with him, so he moved a chair over near it and sat, watching John’s face as the room slowly darkened.

  He’d spent the day thinking, so there wasn’t a lot to go over now. He didn’t want to leave the island unless John did, and he didn’t care what people he barely knew said about them being together. He did care about people knowing he was psychic, but there wasn’t much chance that he’d be able to hide it long term, so he’d just do what he could and try not to worry about it too much. As a method of dealing with frightening situations, it was one that seemed to serve him well ‑‑ he’d been terrified when he’d gotten behind the wheel of John’s car and started it up, the butterflies in his stomach violent enough that he’d been more concerned that he might throw up than that John would, but he’d done his best not to think about what might happen and tried to concentrate on the mechanics.

  He hadn’t killed either of them, so it was an improvement over the last time he’d driven. The one thing he couldn’t help worrying about was that he was pretty sure that the ghost that had turned up earlier in his own kitchen was John’s father, and he had no idea how to tell John.

  Because the ghost had turned up when John’s mother had been there, Nick had to assume that it had something to say to her. He didn’t want the added complication of this issue on top of the fact that Anne was already unhappy about his relationship with her son, and again there was nothing he could do about it except hope that the ghost wouldn’t get too stubborn before a good time to bring up the topic rolled around.

  The room was dark now. On the bed, John stirred and groaned softly, and Nick got up and moved back over to sit beside him, rubbing his shoulder. “Shh. It’s okay.”

  John rolled over and snuggled against Nick’s leg, not looking anything like fully awake, his forehead furrowed as if even asleep he’d taken his problems with him. He made an indeterminate sound that didn’t really sound like a word and then suddenly jerked awake, lifting his head and blinking up at Nick, looking startled.

  “Nick?” It came out in a croak and Nick reached out for the glass of water he’d put by the bed and held it where John could take a gulp of it.

  “Thanks.” John rubbed his hand across his face and yawned. “God, I’ve felt better, I can tell you.” He shifted position until he was sitting beside Nick with a pillow behind his head and then sighed and reached for Nick’s hand. “This is the part where I apologize for putting you through one hell of a day, right?”

  “No, this is where you don’t apologize because none of it was your fault,” Nick said firmly. “You aren’t responsible for anyone’s reactions but your own.” He turned John’s hand in his and stroked his other hand over the palm. “Okay ... so maybe the drinking was your fault, but I’m willing to overlook it this once.” He smiled to let John know that he was kidding and bent to kiss his forehead. “You should probably just get some more sleep.”

  “I’m planning on an early night, but right now I think I want a shower and maybe some food.” John ran his tongue experimentally over his teeth. “Was that you I remember ramming a toothbrush in my mouth and scrubbing away? You’ve a brutal streak in you, did you know that?”

  His fingers closed around Nick’s hand; the way he was clinging to it was a better indication of his feelings than what he was saying.

  Nick curled himself up onto the bed and around John, holding him. “I know.”

  John turned his head into Nick’s shoulder, wrapping his arm clumsily around Nick’s waist and taking a fistful of his shirt in a convulsive grip. He was shaking, and it took Nick a while to realize that it was because he was crying, tears slipping silently from eyes closed as tightly as his lips.

  Helplessly, feeling like his heart was breaking, Nick tightened his arms and held on. “Shhh. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” Guilt swelled in his chest and he felt sick. He’d been telling the truth when he’d said that none of this was John’s fault, but he himself wasn’t so innocent, was he. He was the one who’d come out here and gotten involved, messed up John’s life. “I’m sorry,” Nick whispered into John’s hair. “God, I’m so sorry. But we’ll make it better. I promise.”

  John shook his head without speaking, and Nick had to admit that as promises went, it wasn’t an easy one to keep. They could leave if they had to, but he didn’t want to; although he’d like to travel with John sometime in the future, if they had one, John belonged here.

  With a sigh, John released his grip on Nick and rolled over, grabbing a tissue from the box by the bed and drying his face. “Sorry.” John turned back to Nick and glanced down at the damp patch on Nick’s shirt with a rueful look on his face. “And while I’m at it, I have to apologize for my mother. Driving you out of your own house like that; saying all those things. I just ‑‑ I didn’t know her, to be honest with you.” His voice deepened with indignation. “God! She was so ‑‑ there was no getting through to her. About me, about what you can do.”

  “Maybe once she has a chance to get used to the idea, it’ll be different,” Nick suggested, rubbing John’s upper arm. “It’s probably a lot to take in all at once.” As for his own abilities, he knew there were people who’d never believe.

  “Aye.” John sounded doubtful, which wasn’t surprising given what little Nick had seen of his mother. “I’m still sorry you felt you had to leave though. You should’ve just told her to get out the way I did.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’ve never fallen out with her like that before. Never spoken to her that way. My mother and Michael. If you’d have asked me last week who I could trust to stand by me in this world or the next, it’d have been those two, and now ‑‑”

  Nick wasn’t sure if he should keep encouraging John not to give up on them; would that just make it more difficult if they ended up not being able to accept John the way he was? “She’s your mother. She loves you.” He felt sure of that much, at least. “If you want to take a shower, I could make you something to eat.”

  “I’d like that. And you must be starving yourself.” John sat up, wincing slightly and rubbing his
hand over his forehead. “So while I was out getting drunk and threatening to break people’s noses for them, what did you do with yourself besides walk? And how did you find me anyway?” He frowned. “You always do. That time when you fell on the beach, you said you were looking for me but you didn’t know I’d gone out on the boat. Is that something else you can do, then? Track me?” He didn’t seem disturbed by the idea.

  “I don’t know. Every once in a while something like that would happen with Matthew, but I always thought it was one of those brain-share things. You know, because we’d been friends for so long.” Nick sat up, too, and found that he was unbuttoning the front of John’s shirt idly and one-handed, wanting to touch his skin. “I mostly just walked. And I sat on the beach for a long time. I went back to the house; I knew you wouldn’t be there.” John’s chest hair was soft under his fingers.

  “I like that.” John slipped his arm around Nick’s shoulders. “That you’ll always know where I am if you need me, or I need you. And I needed you today.” He gave Nick a searching, almost hesitant look and then leaned in slowly and kissed him, his free hand coming up to cover Nick’s where it rested against his chest.

  John tasted, thankfully, of toothpaste more than anything else, and his skin was warm against Nick’s palm as they kissed. “I’m sorry ‑‑ I shouldn’t have left when I did. I should have been there with you” He kissed John again, then just looked at him, trying to figure out if this was the right time to mention his father. The thought of upsetting John made him feel awful, but it didn’t seem right not to say anything, either.

  “No. It was maybe for the best that you weren’t. This way I got to hear just what she was thinking and I’d rather be knowing the worst. It’s why I went into town, just to get it over with. Well, that and I was feeling like getting into a fight with someone I could hit.” He gave Nick a small grin. “I didn’t though. Glared at a few people but I didn’t hit one of them. I suppose that was for the best, too.”

  “Yeah.” Nick pulled his hand back out of John’s shirt and stood up, not meeting his eyes now because he didn’t want to have to tell him, and the only thing he could think of to get out of it was to put a little bit of space between them. Or, which was even more tempting with the memory of John’s skin against his hand, avoid talking by joining John in the shower and taking him back to bed afterwards. Nick reminded himself that John was still tired and that in the aftermath of sex he might find it difficult not to share his thoughts. “Go on and take your shower, and I’ll go poke around in the kitchen.”

  He could feel John’s gaze follow him as he left the room, but he didn’t look back. Not when he knew that if he did, he’d end up back on that bed kissing John some more.

  It took John about twenty minutes to shower and change, but when he came into the kitchen, where Nick was scraping scrambled eggs from a pan onto two plates, he looked reasonably alert. Nick had spent most of the time trying to find what he needed; it was frustrating, especially when he felt like he was prying somehow. It struck him that as Rossneath John never seemed to feel anything but at home, although the house was almost as new to him as it was to Nick from what he’d said.

  “You made tea?” John rested the back of his hand against the brown china teapot to test its temperature, although the steam curling out of the spout should have been indication enough. “Thanks. A few cups and I’ll be back to normal.” He smiled. “Don’t hate me for it, but I’m not one for hangovers. Michael now ‑‑” He caught himself and then carried on steadily. “He suffers terribly the next day, but me, a bit of a sleep and I’m fine.”

  Nick had been dreading them being in the same room together again, but now that John was there, he couldn’t do anything but turn to him and put his arms around him. He could feel John tense, startled, and then relax, strong arms encircling him. He couldn’t tell John about his father. Not yet. Not when John’s mouth was warm and gentle against his, John clearly aware that Nick needed him for some reason, even if he didn’t know what it was.

  Nick held on tightly and whimpered into the next kiss, trying his best not to beg for more intensity. “Please,” he whispered, giving up the attempt almost at once, wanting desperately to lose himself in an arousal that was already mounting just from kissing John. “Can we ‑‑? God, John, I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you, never needed ...” He gave up on trying to talk and just let John kiss him, John’s tongue flicking over his lips and making him shiver.

  “You want me?” John’s hand was still thrust through Nick’s hair, and he tightened his grip and turned Nick’s head a little so that he could drag his mouth up the side of Nick’s neck to his ear, biting and sucking at the lobe until it stung and throbbed hotly. “Well, you’ve got me ...” John’s hand slackened and slipped down, stroking at the back of Nick’s neck and making him shiver because the delicacy of the touch was such a contrast to the way John was kissing him now, hard, demanding kisses, with John seemingly determined to leave them both breathless. “You had me from the moment I saw you ‑‑”

  “Please.” Nick’s own hands scrabbled at the back of John’s shirt, shoving it up and out of his way so that he could touch John’s warm skin, feeling it sleek and smooth over strong muscle. His cock was already hard, aching. “Need you in me. Need you to fuck me.”

  “How much do you need it?” John asked, hooking his hand in the open vee of Nick’s shirt and using his thumb to slip the top button free. “So much that I’m wasting time doing this, when I should be just sliding your jeans down and bending you over this table or putting you up against a wall?” John tugged down sharply, freeing a few more buttons, and pushed the shirt back with impatient haste so that he could stroke his fingertips across Nick’s nipple, still with that maddeningly not-quite-enough gentleness of touch. “That much? Because I can. If it’s what you want, I can. I can fuck you fast and hard right here and never walk in this room again without remembering how I made you come screaming out my name.” He bent his head and bit down hard on the skin he’d been touching, drawing a moan from Nick. “Tell me you need me that much.” His voice was shaking and his hands were urgent and hard on Nick’s body. “Because it’s how much I want you ‑‑”

  “I do.” Nick was barely able to form the words. “Oh God, I do. That much and more.” He didn’t care at all what John did ‑‑ if he bent him over the table or pushed him down onto the floor. Neither was something he would have accepted from Matthew, despite the fact that with Matthew the sex had been about sex and nothing more, never even about their friendship, although of course they’d been friends, and he’d loved Matthew ...

  But it had been nothing like this.

  He was almost ready to come just from what they were doing, with his pants still fastened and his hands pulling John closer as best he could.

  From the way John was looking at him, he wasn’t alone in feeling like that. It’d just been too much, all of it, ever since he’d arrived on this island, the few quiet, peaceful moments lost in the storm he and John seemed to have raised.

  And now he didn’t want either peace or conflict, but something that took the best of both and would grant him a short space of time with nothing to do but feel.

  John kissed him again, adding a final, teasing nip at Nick’s lip, his eyes gleaming as if, like Nick, he’d decided to forget everything waiting for them in favor of what they both wanted right now.

  “Strip as much as you need.” John stepped back. “While I find something we can use ‑‑” He walked over to a cupboard, his hand sliding into the back pocket of his jeans and coming out with a small, foil square.

  Nick grinned. “Boy Scout.” He kicked off his jeans and shorts, leaving it at that.

  “Ever been fucked against a wall, Nick?” John asked without turning, reaching into the cupboard and taking out what looked like a small bottle of cooking oil. He put it on the counter and began to undo his jeans. “With your legs spread wide and the bricks tearing your hands until it’s not just come but blood
you leave behind?”

  He turned and held up his hand, palm towards Nick, a faint, ragged scar across it. “I have. Once. It wasn’t much fun afterwards, but at the time I damn near bit through my lip trying to keep quiet.” John pushed down his jeans, stepping out of them and his shorts, and picked up the bottle. “You know what? I don’t care how much noise you make, Nick.” He walked toward Nick, who was at the point where nothing else existed but John and what he was about to do, his heart hammering painfully in his chest and his cock as hard as it could get.

  “Turn around,” John said, with his voice low but his accent strong, and Nick obeyed automatically. “Now lean over the table.”

  Nick did, bracing his hands on the edge of the solid piece of furniture and gasping when he felt slick fingers touching him, and then one pushing inside him, breaching him, going deep, making him moan.

  “That’s right. Make as much noise as you like,” John whispered. His chest was pressed to Nick’s back, his breath warm against Nick’s shoulder when he added a second finger.

  “Please,” Nick begged. “John, please.”

  The fingers left him and he took a swift breath and released it as the head of John’s cock pressed and pushed, and, fuck, just shoved inside him in a thrust that was never fast enough to hurt, but which didn’t stop until John was deep in him, his hands sliding under Nick’s shirt and scoring his back in a raking caress and then coming back to grip his hips.

  “You feel ‑‑” John’s words ended in a gasp, and then he slid out just enough and the next thrust was one long, sweet slide with Nick crying out hoarsely as it ended, his body tightening around John’s cock, his eyes squeezed closed because he didn’t want to see anything right then.

  Nick held on to the table desperately, glad that it was there to help hold him up as John slid into him again and again. He was chanting John’s name under his breath with every thrust, his cock so hard that it hurt, but he didn’t care at all about coming because that would mean this was almost over and he didn’t want that. He wanted this to go on and on.