Giving Up the Ghost (12 page)

“This is going to be bad,” he said, going inside. He paced in circles, waiting for it to hit. The door clicked shut -- if only it could keep everything out -- and he sat down on the end of the bed, then immediately got up again. “It doesn’t happen like this. They’re almost never this strong, and they don’t leave their…John…”

“Right here.” John went to him, standing close but not touching him. Nick couldn’t blame him. John didn’t see or hear the ghosts, not really, but he picked up on them enough to be, well, spooked, and the feelings usually intensified when he was in contact with Nick.

Not that it had ever stopped John giving Nick a hug when he needed it.

“Is he talking to you yet?”

John and he had developed a routine of sorts, with Nick finding that if he split his attention between John and the ghost, initially at least, he stayed in control more.

Giving in wasn’t usually the best tactic; not when you were dealing with spirits who defined pissed off at times. This one, though…

Nick inhaled and his perspective changed, like the view from a camera’s lens circling. He followed it, spinning, and then the spirit was there, black and full of hatred. It felt like it was clawing at him, and he jerked backwards away from it. “Don’t touch me,” he warned John. “This is…just don’t.” He didn’t want John to feel this.

Seething hatred like nothing he’d ever known. There was terror threaded through and behind it, but the anger was so much stronger. He couldn’t
see
the ghost, and somehow that made it more upsetting because he knew he couldn’t turn his back on it. It had been behind him, following them, all this time, and he hadn’t wanted to know, and now…now he had to watch it and he couldn’t
see
it.

Nick knew he had to try to explain to John what was going on. “He’s here. He’s…God, he’s so mad. Furious. He wants to --”

“Not be dead?” It wasn’t a frivolous question; some ghosts were ghosts just because of their inability to accept their deaths.

“Maybe.” It wasn’t a real answer because Nick didn’t have one; the spirit wasn’t just angry at the circumstances, it felt like it was angry at
him
. “He thinks it’s me. Who did whatever made things go wrong, and he’s…No. No! I’m just someone you can talk to, or through, that’s
all
. I wasn’t even there.”

The ghost -- Grant, his name was Grant, was that a first name or a last name? -- didn’t believe him. There was a weird sound, like Nick’s ears had popped, and then something that felt like a hand shoved him and he stumbled backwards.

Oh shit. He hadn’t been counting on a physical manifestation.

“Get out of here,” he hissed at John, hoping he’d understand it was him and not the ghost being spoken to. If this angry spirit did something to hurt John, Nick would never forgive himself, never.

“Not a chance in hell.” John shook his head, standing his ground. “Not this time.” He looked as solid as the rock of the island he came from, his blue eyes dark with determination. “Keep talking to him, love. Make him see.”

“I can’t, not and worry about you, too,” Nick said, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle on that front. “At least keep back. Get against a wall or something.”

He couldn’t tell if John obeyed, too caught up in what the ghost was bombarding him with to spare any more thought to his partner. Grant was shouting at him inside his head -- not with any words that Nick could understand, just a senseless barrage of furious sound. It
hurt
. He moved back, trying to put some distance between them, not that he could see Grant nor did he think it would really do any good, and the ghost shoved him again. This time, already moving, he lost his balance and fell.

“I want to help you!” he cried, resisting the impulse to cover his ears because it wouldn’t make any difference.

This is all your fault!
The words were such a shock that Nick recoiled, almost overwhelmed.
Why did you do this to me?

“I didn’t! I didn’t have anything to do with it, I swear. I can hear you, that’s all. I can help if you tell me what you want.”

I want you to take back what you did. Undo it!

“I
can’t
,” Nick said desperately. “I would if I could, but I didn’t do any of this. You were on a plane when it crashed.” He was nothing if not an expert on how to say these things. “No one survived. No one.”

Grant roared; the room seemed to tremble with it.
No! No
.

“I’m sorry.” Before Nick had even finished, though, his ears popped again, painfully this time, and he collapsed forward onto the rug, knowing only that the spirit had fled. “He’s gone. Not for good, I don’t think. He wouldn’t listen.” The carpeted surface felt solid and comforting underneath him.

John was there, kneeling beside him, before Nick had chance to do more than catch his breath, pulling him up into his arms in an awkward hug, with Nick sprawled half across John’s lap. It wasn’t an ideal position, but Nick wasn’t complaining. John felt pretty comforting, too, right then.

“God. Every time you do that, I just -- God --” John was shaking, his hands hard, painfully tight on Nick’s arms, his eyes scanning Nick’s face anxiously. “Tell me you’re okay.”

The first time Nick had kissed John had been moments after he’d dealt with a ghost. The memory of his bedroom back home, sunlit and cool, swam into Nick’s head. They’d kissed, and, yeah, they’d been on the floor, then, too, grabbing at each other, desperate as hell to touch and feel and fuck, and it’d all been new and a little bit scary…

Nick twisted around as John’s grip slackened until he was straddling John, kneeling across him. The room was very quiet now, the hotel all but empty of guests at this time of day; the cleaning staff had been and gone. Just him and John and an ache of need to get something back under his control amongst the chaos his life had become in the last few days. Longer.

He wanted John. He
needed
John, and he hadn’t kissed him properly for so long, hadn’t fucked him without thinking, always, about the dreams. The man John had turned to didn’t matter right then. Never had mattered to John, if what he’d said could be trusted, and Nick did trust him. Always.

“I’m okay,” Nick said, reassured by the words even as he took John’s face, his beloved, stalwart face, between his hands. “He’ll be back -- he’s too strong not to -- but he’s gone for now. It’s just us.” He kissed John, hard, wishing that there was a way to crawl inside him and be safe, and stay safe. “I want you. John, please. Please.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, as if John was thinking about all that they hadn’t had time to work through, and then he made a small, soft noise in the back of his throat that sounded like agreement to Nick, and opened his mouth as Nick kissed him again.

John’s tongue was warm against Nick’s, his hands reassuring and at the same time powerfully arousing even though all they were doing was holding onto Nick’s waist. Nick delved into John’s mouth again and again, desperately eager, anxious for more.

“There’s a perfectly good bed over there,” John said finally, murmuring the words against Nick’s throat as he bit down gently, sending a pleasurable chill over Nick.

They’d said that to each other that summer afternoon, as well, and a dozen times since. It was good to smile, remembering.

“Okay,” Nick said, “Okay, okay. Come on, we can --” That was all he could manage between kisses, but somehow they got from the floor to the bed, and somehow Nick managed to get John’s shirt off him along the way. He pushed John down onto his back and ran his lips from throat to collarbone and then down to one nipple, worrying at it with his teeth and loving the way it made John squirm.

“Ahh…” John was already voiceless and pliant, everything about the way he was moving telling Nick he could do what the hell he wanted and get nothing but John pressing against him, eager and ready for more. They weren’t into anything extreme, and didn’t really care who was giving and who was getting. They let their moods guide them, rarely needing to discuss what they’d do; their lovemaking moved toward a common goal and how they achieved it seemed to fall naturally into place.

Like now. When Nick wanted this; claiming John back as his own, making John feel wanted again, because he knew damn well he’d neglected him. Not that it made what John had done right, but Nick could understand it, at least.

He sat up, stripping off his own shirt and capturing John’s hands as they rose to skim over his chest.

“No,” Nick said, but he bent to kiss John in apology even as he pushed John’s hands down to rest at his sides. “Let me do this.” He didn’t wait for an answer; just dove back in, worshipping John’s skin with his hands and his mouth until John was gasping and helpless.

Nick licked his way down to the waistband of John’s slacks, fingers fumbling the button free and sliding down the zipper. He slid his hand inside and grasped John’s erection, smiled against John’s stomach when John groaned.

The early afternoon sun was pouring through the window, painting the pale skin of John’s stomach gold, hazing each crisply curling hair with light. Skin that covered hard flat muscles, bunching and tensing under Nick’s questing, teasing fingers and tongue. It was a rediscovery, a revelation, as if the times he’d been with John recently had been a dream, imperfectly remembered and fading fast.

This was real. Nick’s tongue had the taste of John’s skin on it; his nails were raising faint marks as he scored them with a slow deliberation across the smooth skin of John’s inner thigh, revealed inch by inch as Nick worked John’s slacks down and off, his other hand returning to curl loosely around John’s shaft, feeling it quiver and fill, hard and ready in moments.

Tighter, harder, getting a gasp and an arch upward from John. “Nick…” It was his name and a plea, all in one.

“Shh. I’ve got you.” He slid lower, pressing his lips to the head of John’s cock before licking it slowly with his tongue, feeling the impossibly soft skin and listening to the harsh sound of John’s breathing.

Nick took him in and sucked on him gently, taking his time, careful not to provide enough stimulation to bring John any closer to the edge. When he finally released him, John brought a hand down and touched Nick’s hair; Nick lifted his face and kissed work-scarred knuckles.

He was achingly hard inside his khakis. Trying to think wasn’t working out so well for him just then, but he knew he hadn’t brought any lube, and he wasn’t sure if John had, either. Not that they couldn’t make do -- he moved lower, spreading John’s thighs wide with his hands and licking at the sensitive skin of John’s balls before sliding his tongue in a wet, lazy path to John’s entrance.

“That -- oh, God, that feels…” John’s voice trailed away to nothing, his fingers moving restlessly, softly through Nick’s hair, then moving lower, his fingertips brushing the back of Nick’s neck before cupping it firmly, sending a shiver racing down Nick’s spine. His foot nudged Nick’s leg. “Why aren’t you naked?”

“'M getting there,” Nick muttered, turning his head to scrape his teeth across John’s inner thigh. “Don’t rush me.”

John chuckled, but the sound was cut off by another gasp when Nick licked him again. He rubbed a fingertip over John’s opening, getting him good and wet, then pushed his finger inside slowly, feeling the hot clench of John’s body. John gave a low, appreciative moan and rocked his hips. Nick slid higher and took John’s cock into his mouth again, sucking it as he fucked him with one and then two fingers. He wanted to feel John come, wanted to taste the warm rush of it over his tongue.

And John was fucking him back, taking Nick’s mouth, his ass lifting to push his cock deeper, never more than Nick could take, the two of them finding a rhythm that worked. Nick was lost in the feel of John’s body drawing his fingers in, tight and welcoming, even as his lips rounded into the perfect shape for John’s cock to fuck.

Close. So close…and Nick wasn’t sure he could ignore the insistent throb from his own cock for much longer.

John gave a needy moan that verged on anguished and Nick realized that he’d speeded up without noticing, both fingers and tongue, driving John toward a climax he wasn’t trying to avoid. He felt the first warm spurt of salty fluid, then another, swallowing in frantic, greedy gulps, gasping and drowning in the taste and smell, loving the sounds John was making for him.

One final spasm of John’s body around Nick’s fingers, one last twitch of his cock between his lips, and John was spent, gasping for breath but otherwise going completely relaxed.

Desperate beyond measure now, Nick pushed up onto his knees, one hand supporting him and the other scrambling to get the front of his slacks opened; he shoved them down to mid-thigh and reared up over John. With the tip of his cock poised at John’s entrance, every muscle in his body ached from the stress of holding back. “Can I?” he asked, panting. “Please. God, say yes.”

“Why in the name of God would I say no?” John smiled up at him, a fierce, hungry smile, his hands rising to curve around Nick’s ass and pull him closer.

The sound Nick made as he slowly pushed his cock inside was a hoarse but triumphant groan; it had been so long since it had felt like this, like claiming someone that belonged to him, and he’d forgotten how perfect it was.

Pulling back a little -- and God, that was hard to do when he wanted so badly to stay inside -- he slid both hands down John’s legs to his ankles, drew them up over his shoulders so he could push deep inside again. He bent to kiss John, but ended up moaning against his lips instead when John’s hands squeezed his ass, asking for more.

Nothing but a welcome waiting…Nick sank deeper into John with every slow thrust, willing his body to wait, not wanting this to end. John was still hard, or hard again, and he was flushed, eyes half closed, his mouth parted on a panting, shuddering breath when Nick pulled back from the kiss.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he said, not thinking, just feeling the tight heat of John’s body around his cock, seeing John’s damp and swollen lips. Nick slid out, only halfway this time, and then back in again, finding a new rhythm of quicker, shorter thrusts, each one going so deep that it wrenched groans from both of them. He kissed John fiercely, his mouth hard and unforgiving, even though that wasn’t how he felt. This wasn’t about punishing John for what had happened; it was about taking him back, reclaiming him. “Oh, God.”