by Jane Davitt
“It’s a ghost, not buried treasure. And if you found a ghost, they’d have known about it. You’d have had to talk to it; they don’t take kindly to being ignored.” John stared out of the window, watching Caitrin and Josh walk away, their heads together and, unless he was mistaken, holding hands. Well, one of them was a fast mover, and knowing his niece as he did, he’d put money on her being the one. He trusted them both not to let things go too far; Josh would be gone soon enough, and a lovesick Caitrin didn’t bear thinking about.
“They don’t,” Nick agreed. He shivered. “God, I’m freezing.”
John turned away from the window. “Aye? Well, I’m thinking I know a way to warm you up, seeing as we’re going to be alone for an hour or two.”
“Do you? Why am I not surprised?” Nick was trying to sound lighthearted, but John could tell it was nothing but an act. He slid into an embrace willingly enough, though, and his lips met John’s as eagerly as ever.
“Your nose is cold,” John told him a few moments later.
“It always feels cold down by the sea.” Nick clung to John; his mouth had tasted faintly of salt, and the Band-Aid on his scraped hand was rough against the small of John’s back, underneath his shirt.
“I think that’s just an excuse,” John said. “You were more worried about what you might see down at those caves than you wanted to let on.”
Nick smiled. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I didn’t think there’d be anyone there.”
“Aye. We’ve been all over this island hundreds of times ‑‑ you’d have felt something long before today. That doesn’t mean you weren’t worried.”
“I think it was more being reminded of the story than anything else,” Nick said. “I mean, the thought of them being trapped in there with the water rising and no way to get out.” He shivered again.
“It’s a bad way to go, right enough, but it was a long time ago, love, and if the story’s true, they killed their mother, so…”
“It’s still not right,” Nick said, his tone vehement. “It just isn’t.”
“Nick ‑‑” John felt helpless, an emotion he loathed more than most. He’d seen Nick get like this before when a spirit’s plight had left him depressed for days, but in this case, where only a story was involved, he couldn’t see why Nick was reacting so strongly. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Nothing,” Nick said. His arms tightened around John. “Don’t say anything.”
“Mmm?” John murmured. “Just do?” He didn’t wait for an answer that he wasn’t sure he’d get; he slid his hand between their bodies and cupped Nick’s groin, getting a small, secret thrill out of the way Nick responded to the caress. After all these years, even with both of them certain of each other, secure in loving and being loved, it wouldn’t have been surprising if the heat between them had lessened, but it hadn’t. Nick could get him hard and aching with a look, sometimes, and if they weren’t close to the bedroom when that happened, well, every room in the house had walls, and he was more than happy to put Nick against one and slide to his knees. Or let it hold him up while Nick did his best to fuck him through it, with John regretting nothing but that he couldn’t see Nick’s flushed face, his green eyes glittering, his lips parted on a moan of pleasure.
“Let’s ‑‑” Nick’s breath hitched in a particularly tempting manner, one which insisted that John kiss him, and not gently, either. John did, parting Nick’s lips with his own and licking at the inside of the top one with the tip of his tongue. “God,” Nick said when he’d pulled back a bit. “Are you trying to make me forget what I was going to say?”
John smiled and rubbed his thumb along Nick’s covered erection, loving the way Nick’s eyes darkened with arousal. “Not trying, no, but I can’t say I don’t like knowing that I can.”
“What I was going to say…” Nick got John to tilt his head to the side with a nudge of his nose and applied his mouth, hot and tantalizing, to the sensitive spot just under John’s jaw, making him gasp. “Let’s go upstairs. I don’t want to be interrupted.”
More could have been said ‑‑ explanations that John didn’t need to hear, not because they would have spoiled the mood but because he didn’t need to be like Josh to know what Nick was thinking. Neither of them bothered; they just made their way to the staircase and then up it, tumbling into the room like puppies instead of the middle-aged dogs they really were. John kicked the door closed with a foot and manhandled Nick over toward the bed, laughing when Nick’s hands fumbled at the front of his jeans.
“What?” Nick asked. “What’s so funny?” But he was laughing, too, and at the same time, he got John’s button and zip undone and slid his hand inside to find John’s skin. His fingers were cold but his touch no less delicious for it, and John groaned softly and caught his mouth in another kiss.
“Nothing,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “There’s nothing funny. God, Nick ‑‑”
“I know. I know. Just ‑‑”
“Get naked,” John said, not sure if it was an order, a suggestion, or a plea. It didn’t matter as long as it happened.
Nick stepped back and stood with his hands at his sides. His chin lifted in a challenge, his mouth quirked in a small smile. “You do it.”
Because he knew once he’d got Nick out of his clothes, he wouldn’t be in a fit state to deal with his own, John kept Nick waiting while he stripped, his gaze locked with Nick’s and his hands shaking slightly. When every stitch he was wearing was in a heap on the floor, discarded, tossed, or kicked away, he walked behind Nick and reached around, hooking his fingers in the open neck of Nick’s shirt.
“There was a time I’d have just ripped this off you,” he murmured into Nick’s ear, his mouth so close to it that his lips brushed the tender, soft flesh of Nick’s earlobe on every other word. He pulled at the shirt until the top button was straining, ready to pop. “But it’s just as good making you wait.” He eased his grip on the fabric and then flicked open the top button, which gave him more skin to touch. “Of course, it means I have to wait, too…”
Nick moaned and leaned back against John’s shoulder, exposing the taut, long line of his throat. John licked along it, leaving the skin shimmering for a moment, and then eased open two buttons in quick succession so that he could slide his hand inside the shirt across Nick’s chest. A soft, flat nipple became a hard point under the insistent rub of his thumb, and he smiled, nuzzling into Nick’s neck even as he pinched the tender skin with just enough force to make Nick gasp and arch into the rough caress.
“I know it shouldn’t still surprise me that you can do this to me,” Nick said. His breathing was quicker now, his body tense with desire. “But it does. All I have to do is think about you, really. And then you do things like this ‑‑ touch me, and your mouth is…” He squirmed suddenly, pressing his arse back against John’s own eager length, and begged, “Please.”
John slid Nick’s shirt down over his shoulders, baring them, and set his teeth into one, grunting as he pushed his own hips forward. He knew what Nick would feel like inside ‑‑ aye, hot and slick ‑‑ and the familiarity didn’t make him want it any less. “Ah, but you’ll have to tell me what it is you want, exactly. Otherwise, how can I give it to you?”
“You,” Nick said immediately.
“Not specific enough.” John had finished unbuttoning Nick’s shirt and slid his hand lower, but now he stopped and waited, fingertips brushing lightly enough over Nick’s stomach that he would have known the man had goose bumps even if he hasn’t been able to see them with his own eyes. “Do you want my mouth on you?” Nick whimpered softly, hips restless. “Or do you want me inside you?”
Nick nodded, turning his head in a mute plea for John’s lips. Never able to resist that request, John kissed him. “Inside me.” As a reward, John ran his palm down along Nick’s erection, and Nick gasped again. “Please, John.”
“God, it’s my pleasure,” John told him. He moved around Nick, staying close, until the
y were face to face again. “I need you naked,” he said. “I need all of you right now, every inch bare, nothing between us.”
Nick flicked at the button fastening his jeans, his eyes hazy and his mouth looking ripe for kissing. “Please,” Nick said again, as if he trusted John to translate the word into “hurry up.” He swayed where he stood, a shiver running through him.
John eased Nick’s jeans open and down, going to his knees to finish the job. Nick cooperated with him without initiating a single movement, though from the breathy, husky gasps escaping his lips, that was only through an effort of will.
John traced the strong, supple curve of Nick’s instep and watched Nick’s toes curl hard from the fleeting touch.
He couldn’t resist dragging his lips up along Nick’s thigh, or pressing them briefly to the sweet spot just beneath the head of Nick’s cock. John knew he’d linger too long if he let himself, though, so he got to his feet and kissed Nick again, the feel of all that bare skin against his own enough to make him ache with need.
“Let’s get you onto the bed, love,” he said, urging Nick to move with hands that trembled. It only took a few moments to pull down the covers ‑‑ only hastily pulled up that morning anyway ‑‑ and to push Nick, in all his naked glory, down onto the mattress. “God, I want you.” He climbed onto the bed as well, knelt beside Nick, and ran a hand along his skin, feeling bone and muscle and the strength that never failed to surprise him.
“Good thing I’m right here.” Nick smiled, reached for John’s cock, wrapped his hand around it, and began stroking.
John shuddered and fumbled for the bottle of lube that was tucked between the bed frame and the mattress. “Christ. I won’t last long enough to fuck you if you keep that up.”
“Oh, should I stop?” Innocently, Nick opened his hand, and John took the opportunity to shove the bottle of lube into it.
“Don’t stop; just make good use of that.”
He watched, unusually aware of the thudding of his heart in his chest, as Nick’s hand spread the slick, cool liquid along the length of his erection, fingers and thumb teasing at the head until he moaned despite himself.
“When you sound like that, I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t let you do to me,” Nick said, sounding as if he meant it.
John watched Nick’s fingers move in small circles, pressing down lightly, and fought down the need to put his hand over Nick’s and shape it to a tunnel he could fuck. Nick would let him, but it wasn’t what he’d asked for, and John loved giving Nick what he wanted, in bed and out of it, too much to deny them both a greater pleasure, no matter how good this felt.
He pushed Nick’s hand away and picked up the lube himself. “Lie back, then, because I’m going to do plenty.”
Nick sprawled out on the bed, knees up and spread wide. Without taking his gaze away from John, he ran his fingers down his thighs and over his flat stomach, teasing himself with touches that skirted the soft swell of his balls and the flushed, dark hardness of his cock.
“I don’t have the words to tell you how you look doing that,” John said to him, his voice barely a whisper. He let the lube pour out of the bottle over his fingers, heedless of the drips, and, tossing the bottle aside, moved to kneel between Nick’s legs. “And I’m not sure I even need to give you my fingers when you’re this ready for my cock, but I’m going to anyway, just to watch your face.”
He pushed two fingers into Nick, carefully and slowly enough to rob the action of any force, but pressing deep inside, and felt Nick’s body ease open for him, welcoming, demanding.
“God, yes,” Nick said thickly. “Again.”
John looked his fill at Nick’s face, contorted with pleasure now, his green eyes cloudy, half-closed, and then bent to suck at the tip of Nick’s cock, the tang of fluid sharp against his tongue. His fingers thrust again and again, too slowly to be enough for Nick, but he wasn’t inclined to rush this.
Nick groaned, the sound long and low, and lifted his hips to meet the next thrust, and then the next. His sense of rhythm was shaky at best, but his cock was hard as it moved in John’s mouth and his body clenched around John’s fingers. “Fuck,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the single syllable. “Fuck me.”
“Soon,” John told him, pulling back to speak and then applying his attention to Nick’s balls. He mouthed them wetly as he slid his fingers into Nick again, so slowly that Nick trembled and gasped. “Is that good?”
“Yes.” Nick had a handful of sheet fisted in his hand. “Yes, God.”
Nick smelled incredible ‑‑ of salt and wind and the cheap herbal shampoo he bought six bottles at a time from the big chemist’s on Mull ‑‑ and he tasted even better. John licked the tip of his cock, watched another drop form at the slit, and licked again. He rotated his wrist, dragging his knuckles across Nick’s prostate. Nick cried out sharply and lifted his hips again.
“I could come just watching you like this,” John said, his words less of an exaggeration than they sounded. Nick was close to losing every shred of control, close to begging, and John wasn’t used to that, because keeping Nick waiting just wasn’t something he did that often.
Maybe he should make it something he did a lot, because Nick was just so fucking beautiful like this, spread out, his skin glowing and damp with sweat, the heat and need pouring off him so that John could taste it with every breath he took. If it’d been him lying there, hurting with the need to be filled and taken and fucked, John wasn’t sure he could have done it, but Nick was trying so hard to be patient…
“Don’t,” Nick managed to say, the single word carrying with it a weight of love and desperation. “In me, come in me ‑‑ John ‑‑”
“Oh, God, like I can say no to you,” John muttered. He eased his fingers free, which drew a wail of loss and anticipation combined from Nick, and replaced them with the head of his cock. He nudged against the slick, tight opening, helped by the demanding tilt up of Nick’s hips.
“Please.” Nick clutched at John’s arse, pulling him closer. “Please, please…” That was begging, sure as John had ever heard it, and the sound of it snapped whatever self-control he’d been clinging to. He plunged into Nick, who moaned, cock trapped between them giving a warning throb.
Christ, the heat of him was like something in a dream, only this was reality, with Nick’s hands sliding around to his hip bones, tracing them with a featherlight touch of his thumbs.
“Don’t stop,” Nick said. He looked blissful now, though the tightness in his jaw still hinted at his arousal. He looked like a man who’d been given everything he ever wanted, which was just how John was feeling.
He pulled back a bit and thrust in again, going about as deep as he could in this position. There was nothing like it ‑‑ he’d had a lot of sex before Nick had come into his life, and it had felt good ‑‑ hell, there’d been times it had felt great. But none of it had ever felt like it did with Nick, who gasped his name and moved with him.
John paused, trying to get some of his control back, and Nick whimpered and lifted his hips, fucking himself on John’s cock as best he could.
Oh, the hell with it. Nick wasn’t going to last much longer, and there was a fine line between spinning out pleasure and sheer, bloody torture. He moved one of Nick’s hands from his hip to Nick’s cock in an unspoken signal that he was done teasing them both.
He could feel his climax building inexorably as he began to fuck Nick in good earnest, with all his strength behind each thrust. Nick gave him one startled look and then his eyes slid closed, a look of intense concentration on his face. John felt the room blur, nothing real but Nick under him, around him, their hands bruise-tight on each other, both of them grunting with the effort of sustaining the pace John had set. Fuck, Nick was so tight around him, so slick and tight, and ‑‑ Sparks and darkness filled his vision, and he pumped into Nick, needing to feel Nick come with him, sharing the moment.
“Josh.”
John was on his own now. Nick ha
d gone still, his eyes open, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling, a frown creasing his forehead, his hands by his sides.
John came because he was on the brink and that last long, driving slam into Nick had triggered it, a chain reaction he was unable to stop, but he couldn’t say it was enjoyable, not when he was staring down at a Nick, who was there in body only.
He pulled out of Nick, feeling as if his teeth had been set on edge, every nerve screaming with disappointment, but if his body felt cheated, his thoughts were all of Nick. He knelt beside him and stroked Nick’s face with the palm of his hand. Nick’s skin was cool and damp to the touch. “Nick? Nick, love?”
There was no response.
Chapter Eight
“Are you cold?” Josh asked, glancing at Caitrin as they headed down toward the caves. It hadn’t taken much to convince him to go along, really; he actually felt better about going now that he knew Nick hadn’t seen the slightest hint of a ghost. The idea of being in a place where there were ghosts, only he couldn’t see them, had no clue what they were up to, was enough to give him goose bumps. Now, the caves were just an interesting place to explore, and he was definitely drawn to Caitrin. If she wanted to spend time with him, good. If she wanted to spend time with him somewhere private, even better.
“No.” Caitrin grinned. “Unless you’re asking because you’re going to gallantly offer me your jacket to keep me warm, in which case I might change my answer.”
Josh had been thinking about offering, because the sweater she was wearing didn’t look as warm as the one she’d had with her the night before. “You mean you’d lie to me?” he asked, splaying one hand across his chest. “I’m wounded.”
Caitrin gave him a gentle shove. “Don’t lie to me. Look, there they are.” She pointed toward the sea where some rocky outcroppings sprang up. Josh could see at least one entrance to what must be a cave.
“They’re not haunted,” Josh told her.
“Your brother might not think so, but the people who’ve grown up on this island know otherwise. Why else would that story have been passed on for generations?”
