Between Ghosts

by Garrett Leigh

  “Yeah?” Connor squirmed in Nat’s grip, shuddering as Nat’s cock hardened against his back. In another life—because nothing before he’d come to Iraq felt like it had happened to him—he’d often been most at ease as a dominant lover, but Nat made him weak at the knees. “What have you got in mind?”

  Nat didn’t answer verbally. Instead, he raided Connor’s pocket for the K-Y Jelly and undid his own fatigues.

  Connor held his breath. If Nat wasn’t going to fuck him, what was he going to do? A dozen scenarios ran through his mind, but none that involved the dizzyingly light graze of Nat’s fingertip along his spine. “Fuck.”

  Nat chuckled. “Not quite, but how about this?”

  He slipped Connor’s trousers over his hips and slid a careful, probing finger inside him, just far enough to make his eyes roll. And then he did it again, and again, circling and sweeping, twisting and stroking, until Connor cried out and bit down on his own arm. “Bloody sadist.”

  “Says you.” Nat pressed himself against Connor. “Do you have any idea how much I want to fuck you right now?”

  Connor had a pretty good idea. “Let me touch you.”

  “Not yet. You first.”

  Connor groaned as Nat resumed his gentle torture. He could come from Nat’s finger inside him alone, but Nat seemed to have other ideas. He gripped Connor’s cock with a slick hand, and twisted, jacking Connor faster and faster, and setting every part of him on fire. Jesus fucking Christ, each and every time they touched, Connor couldn’t feel more . . . couldn’t feel hotter, or come harder. Couldn’t be any more consumed by the man who kissed him so sweetly as release swept over him.

  Connor came with a yell, muffled only by Nat’s mouth on his. The force of his release rocked him, messing with his equilibrium, but there was no time to correct it as he dropped to his knees. “Your turn.”

  Nat grunted and shoved his cock in Connor’s mouth, bracing himself against the wall. He was hard and throbbing, heat thrumming in every thrust down Connor’s throat, until he stilled, and let out a low, gravelly moan that rattled Connor’s bones.

  For a moment, a blissful, oblivious silence hung over them, punctuated only by their laboured, panting breaths. But it didn’t last long—nothing in this place ever did. Nat pulled his fatigues up, then gripped Connor under his shoulders and heaved him to his feet.

  “All right?”

  Connor shrugged, putting himself back together, physically, at least. “I want to interview you.”

  “That’s what you’re thinking about?”

  It hadn’t been, but Connor decided to roll with it. It wasn’t often he caught Nat willing to even discuss Connor’s work on a personal level. “I’ve interviewed every other fucker here. I want to interview you, Nat.”

  Nat sighed. “What the fuck for?”

  “Why the fuck not?”

  “I don’t see what difference it makes. Who cares what my favourite colour is and what food I miss from home? Doesn’t mean anything, Connor.”

  “Not to you, maybe. But who knows? You might enjoy it. The others seemed to.”

  “They enjoy anything that ain’t hard work.”

  Connor let that hang. He knew as well as Nat that Charlie-3 was the hardest working crew on the base. “So what do you miss from home?”

  “Really?” Nat glared. “If you must know, it’s the eggs my neighbour leaves on my doorstep every morning. She has a gazillion rescue chickens, and she keeps me in eggs to make up for them jumping the fence and crapping all over my garden.”

  It was the most Nat had ever revealed about himself at any one time. Connor stared at him, half amazed and half so choked with a day—a month of pent-up emotion that he could hardly speak.

  Nat tilted his head to one side. His skin caught the light, and Connor frowned. Nat’s complexion seemed more flushed than simple exertion would cause. Connor touched his face. “You feel hot.”

  “Only with you.” Nat grinned, though his gaze remained inscrutable, but then something changed, and he wrapped Connor in the embrace Connor knew would comfort him forever, even long after this was over, when he’d never see Nat again. “Ask me whatever you want, Connor. Can’t promise I’ll answer, but I’ll give it a good bloody go.”

  “Tell me about your nan.”

  Nat pulled back. “My nan?”

  “Yeah. You said she used to lock you under the stairs.”

  “She did,” Nat said. “She was old school, reckoned children should be seen and not heard. I didn’t care for that, so she didn’t care for me.”

  Nat’s tone was flat. Pushing him was risky, but it wasn’t often Connor dared. “What did your mum have to say about that?”

  “Dunno. Never asked her. She had me when she was fifteen and was diagnosed bipolar not long after. It was years before I even knew who she was, and by then I didn’t care. Still don’t, to be honest.”

  Connor rubbed his palm on Nat’s rough cheek. “Is she well now?”

  “So I hear.”

  “What about your dad?”

  Nat shrugged again. “He lived across the estate from my nan. We knew who each other was, but we could pass in the street without looking. Never meant much to me.”

  Connor could believe that it meant nothing to Nat so many years later, but the thought of him growing up in a world where the people who were supposed to love him most looked the other way, broke Connor’s heart. Lord knew, he understood how that felt.

  He squeezed Nat’s hand. “Everything means something. Remember?”

  “I’m trying.”

  That was enough for Connor. A distant shout in Arabic from somewhere below returned his thoughts to the band of Iraqi teenagers he’d spent the afternoon with, and by the distant haze in Nat’s eyes, he probably wasn’t alone. He gripped Nat’s chin and forced him to meet his gaze. “You’ll be careful, won’t you? With the recruits? The others will watch your back?”

  Nat nodded, but his expression remained grave. “They can watch over me all they like. Won’t do them much good if I can’t return the favour.”

  “Are you worried they’ll get killed, like Pogo?”

  “What?”

  “Pogo. He was on your team, wasn’t he?”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  Connor shrugged, trying to ignore the sudden tension in Nat. Instinct told him he was on dangerous ground, but Nat had seemed in the mood to talk. “What happened the day he died?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  Or maybe not. “Sorry. I didn’t realise it was a secret.”

  “It’s not a secret; it’s just not relevant. You’re here to write about what’s happening now, not dig around for shit to make our day-to-day fuckups sound more interesting.”

  Nat jerked away from Connor’s touch, and his abrupt rejection stung. Connor dropped his hands and sat back, putting even more distance between them. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Or don’t you trust me enough to tell me?”

  “No, I just—” Nat blew out a breath and closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, his steely glare had softened, by Nat’s standards, at least. He held out his hand and pulled Connor close again. “Sorry, mate. It’s been a long day. Just forget it, okay? All of it. What matters is what’s happening now. Ain’t no good comes from waking old ghosts.”

  Thirteen

  Nat climbed out of Marc’s ancient Ford Fiesta and gave him the finger. “See you in the morning, mate.”

  “Not coming for a pint later? Pogo’s buying.”

  “Nah.” Nat leaned on the car’s rusted roof. “Got shit to do.”

  “Yeah? Like what? Not knocking off your neighbour again, are you?”

  “Piss off.”

  Marc put the Ford in gear and let her roll forward. “Suit yourself. Don’t say we didn’t ask when you’re gagging for a pint in the desert.”

  Nat shook his head as Marc drove away. They weren’t deploying overseas for another week, but the rest of the team had take
n it upon themselves to treat every evening between now and then like their last night on earth. Fuck that. Nat didn’t fancy invading Iraq with a bloody hangover.

  He went inside and ditched his boots in the basket by the door. A note hanging out of the letterbox caught his eye.

  Nat,

  Left you some eggs round the back.

  Irene

  Nat’s stomach rumbled. Holed up in the planning room, he’d eaten nothing but Mars Bars all day. He padded through the silent house and retrieved the bowl of fresh eggs his elderly neighbour had left on the back step. A fried egg banjo and a kip on the couch called his name, but he couldn’t rest until he’d ventured outside to inspect whatever chicken-induced damage had implored Irene to bring him some dinner.

  It didn’t take long to find the ravaged herb garden, soil kicked all over the place and every plant picked bare. Nat sighed and tried to find the will to be irritated, but it didn’t happen. How could it when the garden was doomed to the weeds anyway? The official deployment papers said the Iraq tour would last six months, but Nat had been around long enough to know he’d be lucky to eat his Christmas dinner on UK soil.

  He went inside in time to hear the tail end of an answerphone message.

  “C’mon, Natty-bear. Don’t leave us hanging. It’s quiz night down the Lion, and you’re the only one who knows his onions. Get your arse down here, or I’m coming to get you.”

  “Nat.”

  Nat shot upright, pushing old ghosts aside and lashing out at the voice calling his name.

  Wedge restrained him . . . just. “Easy, mate. Not having a wet dream, were ya?”

  “Piss off.” Nat scowled and shoved Wedge away. “It’s too fucking hot down here to sleep properly anyway.”

  “Well, you have got a sweat on.”

  “Piss off. I’m not in the mood for your puerile shit.”

  Wedge scowled, but it passed quickly enough for Nat to convince himself he’d imagined it. “Just wanted to let you know I’m headed out to take the jundis into town with Echo-4. I can hang on a bit, though, if you want some more kip?”

  It dawned on Nat that Wedge had been standing over his bed, guarding him while he slept. “Don’t be bloody daft. Get down there and put your nose to the ground. Watch it, though. The kids might have mates out there, or enemies who don’t want to see them with us.”

  “Got it,” Wedge said. “Do you need anything? You look like shit.”

  Nat felt it too, but he wasn’t about to tell Wedge that, nor that he’d spent the hour before he’d fallen asleep puking his guts up. Wedge had more important things to do than take the piss out of Nat for a bout of Delhi belly.

  When Wedge had gone, Nat lay back on his bed, trying to ignore his swimming head. As had become habit of late, his thoughts turned to Connor. A few days had gone by since their recent snatched encounter on the roof, most of which Charlie-3 and Echo-4 had spent leading the Marines out to clear the area surrounding the palace compound, and training the Iraqi recruits. The separate missions had each been gruelling in their own right, but successful, relatively speaking. The palace was secure, for now, and it was time to get shit done. Shame Nat didn’t feel like doing much but closing his eyes and recalling the last real conversation he’d had with Connor a few days ago, huddled up on the roof.

  “Are you ever going to tell me how you got shot?”

  Nat glanced down at Connor, who was sprawled between his legs, his back against Nat’s chest. “I doubt it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Not much to tell. I got shot. It hurt, then it didn’t. Now I’m here.”

  Connor sighed. “You’re hard work, you know that?”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do, but I’m not heartless enough to dig at something you clearly don’t want to talk about.”

  Nat hummed, still dazed from the most intense orgasm he’d had in years. Why did they need to talk at all? Despite his insatiable curiosity, Connor was good at comfortable silences.

  “Do you wish I wasn’t here?”

  Or not. Nat combed his fingers through Connor’s silky hair. “Why the fuck would you think that?”

  “You didn’t seem too pleased to have me along when we met in Turkey. I’m wondering if I turned out to be as bad as you thought.”

  “Oh, you’re every as bit bloody irritating as I thought you’d be.” Nat silenced Connor’s protest with a brief kiss. “But I reckon that’s a good thing.”

  Connor raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

  “You make me think . . . about more than just the job, you know? I spoke to that woman at UNICEF again. She said they’ll rebuild the school if we can make the area safe for them to work. Fixing the mess we left behind didn’t bother me much before you came here. It does now.”

  Connor smiled. “You’re wrong.”

  “In what way?”

  “Everything bothers you, Nat. You just don’t let it show, even to yourself.”

  “If you say so.” Nat let it go as Connor tapped the side of his head and pulled a crazy face that made Nat laugh from deep in his belly.

  “Nat? Come on, mate.”

  Nat woke with a jump to find Marc shaking him. The remnants of a conversation he wasn’t entirely sure had happened evaporated. “What? What is it?”

  “You’re burning up.”

  “Am I?” Was he? Nat put a hand to his forehead. It seemed normal to him. “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. Half the base is down with norovirus. Have you been sick?”

  “A bit,” Nat said. “I feel all right, though.”

  He’d barely finished the sentence before he realised how untrue it was. His head was pounding, and his stomach felt like he’d been kicked by a horse.

  Marc shook his head. “Lay back. I’m taking your temperature.”

  Nat did as he was told. Marc had his don’t-bullshit-the-doctor face on, and Nat knew better than to fuck with it.

  He didn’t have to wait long for Marc to give him the good news. “Thirty-nine degrees and you’re dehydrated to buggery. You need to come to the medical centre.”

  The medical centre? Watching every casualty go by in bits? Fuck that. “I’m fine. Just need a few hours kip.”

  Marc was a stubborn git, but Nat had a don’t-fuck-with-me face of his own. “Okay, get some rest, but I’m not signing you fit to work until your temperature drops below thirty-eight and you’ve kept a meal down. In the meantime, get these electrolytes in you.”

  Nat accepted the water and powdered hydration Marc held out. “Thanks.”

  Marc grunted. “I’d feel better if you meant it.”

  He left Nat to it, though Nat knew he wouldn’t go far. Never did when one of them needed him. Nat emptied a sachet of electrolytes into a water bottle and chugged it down. The liquid bubbled ominously in his gut. He scrambled to his feet and made it to the bathroom just in time to heave into a basin.

  A Marine shaving nearby shot him a sympathetic glance. “You too? Fecking jihadi germs. Reckon they’ve spiked the water?”

  Nat’s only answer was to purge his stomach until there was nothing left but bile. By then, the Marine had wandered off.

  Nat steadied himself on the cracked marble counter and stared at himself in the mirror. A humourless chuckle escaped him. The green pallor staining his tanned skin made him look kind of yellow. Combined with the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, it wasn’t his best day.

  He stumbled back to bed. Marc was waiting, like he’d been there all along. “Fuck this. I’m putting you on a drip.”

  Nat started to roll his eyes, but thought better of it. He lay down and held out his arm.

  Marc inserted a cannula and connected it to a bag of saline. He hung the bag on Bobs’s radio. “Rest. We’ve got you.”

  Nat didn’t have it in him to argue. He closed his eyes and slipped into a fevered doze. From time to time, he was aware of Marc moving around beside him, checking the drip, replacing his sweat-soaked pillow, but he had no idea
how long he’d been sleeping when he woke to a new set of hands on his skin, hands he’d recognise until the day he died.

  Which still felt like it would come sooner rather than later.

  Nat opened his eyes. “Connor?”

  “Yup.” Connor set his laptop aside. “You okay? You’ve been asleep for hours.”

  “What time is it?” Nat pushed himself upright. His head spun, and Connor’s face seemed a little blurred, but he was alert enough to know the warmth blooming where his leg touched Connor’s wasn’t due to the virus still boiling his blood.

  “Just after eight. Do you want some water?”

  Nat eyed the water, and then the fresh saline bag someone had attached to his IV. “Ask me later. Don’t fancy upchucking all over you just yet.”

  “Lie down then, unless you need the bog. Marc said you’re only allowed up to puke and piss.”

  “And he’s left you to be his enforcer, eh?”

  Connor grinned. “Something like that. He’s out on patrol with the others. Asked me to watch you, not that I needed much encouragement.”

  “More fool you. I look like shit.”

  Connor’s grin waned. He took a furtive glance around, then touched Nat’s cheek with fingers that were pleasantly cool on Nat’s overheated skin. “Look like you feel it, too. You sure I can’t get you anything?”

  “Nah.” Nat lay back as exhaustion washed over him again. “I’m good, honest. Wake me up in a bit. I want to read what you’re writing.”

  Connor said something, but Nat didn’t quite catch it, and it was a while before he found himself awake again. By then, Connor was elsewhere and Marc was standing over him.

  Nat shoved him aside and ran for the bathroom. Marc followed, saline bag in hand, and waited until Nat lifted his head from the sink. “Still bad, eh?”

  “You think?” Nat gave Marc the most withering stare he could manage.

  Marc chuckled. “You’re officially my worst patient. Even Wedge gives me less trouble than you.”

  “Wedge? What’s up with him?”

  “Same as you, and half the base, which is lucky for you, because it means the medical centre is full. Otherwise, I’d be dragging you there by your ear.”