by Jane Davitt
It’d been months since John had kissed someone, and it hadn’t been like this when he had; a hasty, perfunctory crush of mouth on mouth, both of them tasting of whiskey and really not wanting to do more than get off, eyes closed because faces didn’t matter.
This was different. If his eyes closed as Nick’s tongue slipped inside his mouth, it was so he could concentrate on the taste of him, and he could see the green of Nick’s eyes even in the dark, limned on the inside of his eyelids, bright and dazzling.
He shifted, tugging Nick closer still, dragging a hand through Nick’s hair and groaning with arousal as Nick bit down on his lip, flicking his tongue over the spot a second later to soothe the sharp sting, and then doing it again, harder.
“Fuck,” Nick muttered, wrapping an arm around him. “John ... you don’t want to get involved with me.” It was a fairly unconvincing argument, being immediately followed by a kiss so fierce they gasped into it.
“I’m giving that impression, am I?” John managed to say. “Sorry about that ‑‑”
He captured Nick’s earlobe between his teeth and then kissed down the line of his neck, nuzzling into his collarbone and tasting salt on Nick’s skin, left there by the sea breezes. “Want this.” He formed the words with difficulty because his mouth didn’t want to be talking. “Want you ‑‑”
Nick moaned softly, the sound of it doing things to John he wasn’t sure had ever been done to him before. A warm hand slid up underneath the waistband of John’s sweater and rested on his back, and Nick’s mouth found his again, insistent, before moving down to kiss his throat. “There’s a perfectly good bed in here, you know,” Nick murmured.
“I know.” John tipped his head back and yielded to the onslaught of gentle and not-so-gentle kisses. He brought his hand up inside Nick’s sweatshirt, caressing him with an urgent haste, wanting more, when an hour ago this would’ve been enough. “I made it for you yesterday, remember, and left you to sleep in it alone when all I wanted to do was to crawl in naked beside you.”
“Oh God.” Nick shuddered, pressing his mouth to John’s pulse point. “But that was before you knew. It’s not enough to scare you away?”
“Does it look as if it is?” John asked him, tracing the fine line of hair on Nick’s stomach, following it up and spreading his hand flat on Nick’s chest, feeling the thud of his heart. “I can’t say I like that you have to go through this, but now I’ve had time to get used to the idea I’m not planning on doing any more fleeing in terror, and I’d be grateful if you’d forget that I ever did.” He caught the hard bump of Nick’s nipple between thumb and finger and teased it harder. “And I was in more of a temper than anything, to be honest.”
They were both on their knees; Nick’s arm around his back tightened, trapping John’s hand between them, but John didn’t care because it also meant that their lower bodies were touching, rubbing against each other. “John ...” Nick’s voice was low and desperate.
“Right here.” John tried to tug up Nick’s sweatshirt with his free hand and failed. “God, will you just get out of these fucking clothes so I can get my hands on you? Please?”
“Here, just ...” With the two of them working at it, they managed to get Nick’s sweatshirt off over his head without disturbing his bandage, and then John’s sweater off, as well. Nick ran a hand down along John’s chest with a great deal more patience than John was feeling just then, tracing over his stomach and then lower, over the thin, worn fabric of his old jeans.
“I can feel that,” John said through gritted teeth, unable to keep his hips from pushing forward eagerly, shamelessly hungry for more. “And I’m all out of spare jeans, so will you stop it until I take these off?”
“Let me do it.” Nick kissed him again. There was something knowing about him, as if he could see things in John that he liked, things that he wanted ... or maybe that was just a fancy of John’s brought on by the fact that the man was unfastening his jeans and sliding a hand inside over bare skin that twitched and throbbed.
John brought his hand smacking down around Nick’s wrist. “Stop it,” he growled, feeling his skin tighten and heat as if he’d stepped under a scalding shower. “God, will you stop that?” He tugged Nick’s hand out, gasping at the drag of Nick’s hand over his cock, and held their linked hands out to the side, meeting Nick’s unrepentant grin with a stern, utterly unconvincing look. “Right.” He reached out to deal with the button and zip on Nick’s jeans. “See how you like it, then ...”
John intended to tease him, or better yet get another of those needy moans out of him, but the moment his hand closed on Nick’s cock, hot and hard, he was lost. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned. “Nick ‑‑”
They fell back onto the carpet, mouths avid, hands grabbing and pulling at clothes until they finally managed to free themselves from a tangle of jeans and shorts.
Side by side, they kissed frantically, taking control by turns. Nick was, more by luck than design, lying on his left side, so the hand that he had free to run over John’s body happened to be his good one. Which was something John would have, if he’d had the time or inclination, thanked God for, because there was no denying that Nick had a way of touching him that was more than a bit like magic. He slid that hand everywhere ‑‑ down along John’s bare back, over his hip, down his leg and back up along his inner thigh. It would have had John biting his lower lip if it hadn’t been already occupied.
“God,” Nick muttered into the next kiss, willingly allowing John’s tongue into his hot, slick mouth to taste him.
John’s exploring hand found the place where Nick’s back curved into his arse, running his hand over the dip and rise of it again and again as his tongue darted against Nick’s before finally letting his hand go lower to cup the hard muscle and pull Nick closer. His cock was full, aching for a touch it hadn’t had since they stripped, and he found himself jerking his hips, sliding his erection against Nick’s flat stomach and groaning at the friction, enough to tease his arousal higher, but too limited to be satisfying. He pulled back, breaking the kiss and sliding his hand between them, rubbing the back of his fingers slowly against Nick’s cock, moving it up and then slipping it behind Nick’s cock so that he could curl his hand around him.
“Touch me.” John stared into Nick’s eyes and saw the green of them darken. “God, I need your hand on me.”
Nick’s breath sounded harsh and raw in his throat as he closed his warm fingers around John’s aching cock, making John twitch. Nick was looking at him with what seemed to be smoldering arousal, and his hips rocked forward, pushing his hard cock into John’s fist. “God. John.” Nick leaned in and kissed him again, more slowly now, and with one of those little moans that John had so wanted to hear again. “There’s a perfectly good ... oh God ... and here we are on the ...” Nick gasped and pressed closer, his grip tight around John’s cock and so, so perfect.
“You want to move?” John asked incredulously, kissing him between the words, his hand busy working a cock he wanted inside him soon, wanted to taste, but knowing they’d never last that long, not this first time. His thumb, sweeping restlessly over the exposed head of Nick’s cock, was sliding over skin slicked wet with pre-come and he was close to coming himself. “You want to move now?”
“No.” Nick was laughing and kissing him at the same time. “No, not now. Couldn’t ... oh God, John ...” Nick’s cock throbbed a warning in his hand, Nick’s fingers pulling and dragging at John’s erection as Nick cried out in surprise and came in jolts of hot fluid that slicked John’s hand.
Watching Nick come would’ve been enough to have John following him; there was something so open and unguarded in his face right then that seeing it felt more intimate than what they were doing. But as Nick climaxed, his hand tightened almost painfully around John’s cock, and held in that relentless grip he came, throwing his head back, an anguished sound torn from him because it was over and he knew what a difference that could make.
While he could, before Nick mo
ved away, retreating behind a joke or a casual comment, he let his head rest against Nick’s shoulder, pressing his lips against the warm skin below it and waiting for that imperceptible tensing that told him Nick had recovered and wanted to be left alone.
Unlike the two of them, it didn’t come. Nick did uncurl his hand from around John’s softening cock and move eventually, as his breathing slowed, but he kissed John’s hair and nuzzled at it until John lifted his face and looked at him. “Mm. You okay?” Nick asked, relaxed enough that it seemed clear he expected an affirmative answer.
John smiled at him, relief warming his voice. “Never better.” He glanced down and grinned at the mess they were in without feeling particularly bothered by it. The carpet wasn’t thick enough to be comfortable and he shifted onto his back, rubbing ruefully at his hipbone, where he was probably going to have a bruise. He looked up at Nick. “Next time, we use the bed.” He made it a bit of a question, still not completely certain of himself.
“Hey, I tried to vote for it this time. It’s not my fault that we got carried away. Well, not just my fault, anyway.” Nick was watching John a little bit warily now.
“I’m really not complaining,” John assured him. “Really not.” He propped himself up on an elbow and slipped his arm around Nick’s waist. “You ‑‑ that was ‑‑” He came to a halt and gave Nick a beseeching look. “I’m trying to tell you that that was special without scaring you off by coming on too strong. Can you fill in the blanks? Because I think you’ve reduced me to incoherence here.”
“I don’t scare that easily.” Nick traced a pattern over John’s hip with his fingertips. “You really ... you really believe me, don’t you?”
John shrugged and answered honestly. “I have to. It’s either that or think I’ve lost my mind. I can’t hear them talk to you and I can’t see them, not really, just shadows that aren’t even there when I look at them ‑‑ but I can feel them and I know something’s with us. Aye, I believe you.” He was close enough that leaning in to kiss Nick was easy; a slow kiss that had his eyes closing in pleasure as Nick’s mouth opened under his, not passionate but reassuring, which right then was even better.
The kiss ended and he smiled at Nick. “Shall we get cleaned up a bit then?”
* * * * *
Once they were cleaned up and dressed again, Nick and John went back downstairs. The house was quiet, which was a relief; Nick was trying not to think about when his next visitor would show up. He was still trying to get his head around how stupid he’d been to assume that he could just run away from his abilities, when he’d never been able to before. It was like he’d thought that Scotland ‑‑ and Traighshee specifically ‑‑ would be some kind of oasis that would shelter him from everything he’d known to be true.
And he definitely hadn’t factored someone like John into the picture. He’d basically accepted that he’d be alone for the rest of his life, living by himself like a hermit. Like his Uncle Ian, when it came right down to it. The thought that that might not be the case left him feeling stunned.
After a quick lesson in how to start a peat fire that Nick was able to actually stick around for, he sat back on his heels and looked at John, who was carefully poking at the blaze. “I’m starved. Do you want a sandwich or something?”
John nodded. “If it wouldn’t be putting you to any trouble.”
Nick wondered if he’d ever get used to how polite everyone was on the island. “Making two isn’t more trouble than making one.” He got up stiffly, stretched, and headed for the kitchen with John at his heels. “I really need to do some serious shopping.” Nick surveyed the little he had in the refrigerator. “Do most people do all their shopping here on the island? Or do they go over to Mull?”
“They make a few trips a year and really stock up,” John told him. “Fill their freezers ... and people grow their own vegetables and the like, although somehow I’m not seeing you with a spade in your hand.”
Nick took out the sliced turkey he’d had the sense to buy the day before and set the package on the counter, then turned on the water to wash his hands. “You don’t think I’m the farming type?”
John leaned back against the counter and gave him an amused look. “I do not. Am I wrong then? Can you not wait to get digging, weeding and killing slugs? You’re a little late to be planting seeds this year, but there’s nothing to stop you from trying.”
“Maybe next year.” Nick reached for a towel that had definitely seen better days. “After I’ve read about a thousand books.” He went over to the cupboard where he was sure he’d seen an unopened jar of mustard and retrieved it, and then said, raising one eyebrow, “Slugs? Really?”
“Well, yes.” John shrugged. “But they’re easy enough to get rid of. You put beer in a jam jar, bury the jar level with the ground, and they rush to it, fall in, and die happy.”
The scary thing was that Nick didn’t think that he was joking.
“Doesn’t sound like a bad way to go, if you wanted to end it all.” Nick tried to sound fairly noncommittal. He opened the bread bag and set to work making two sandwiches, assuming John would stop him if he didn’t want mustard, and wondering if there was any liquor in the house. He hadn’t thought to buy any.
“I know some men on the island who’re headed that way.” John grimaced. Nick gave him a questioning look and he shrugged. “Not much else to do but drink, and so that’s what they do. It all looks pretty now, and the tourists love the peace, but in the winter, it’s bleak and lonely, and dark at four ... don’t get that on any of the postcards. How do you think you’ll cope with it?”
Nick dug around in a drawer looking for a sharp knife, hoping he wouldn’t stab himself. He wondered if this was John’s way of telling him that this wasn’t anything more than a short term thing. Somehow, he found that possibility extremely depressing, even though being alone here was what he’d been anticipating. “I guess I’ll drink. And try to write a book. Matthew was always on my case about that, but we never had time. We were always too busy going from one place to the next.”
“You won’t be wanting company, then?” John’s face was blank; Nick couldn’t quite work out how serious he was. “Next door neighbors dropping by and the like? Because there’s other things to do on long winter nights than sup whiskey, but if you’re set on writing you’ll need to be by yourself, I suppose.”
“Would it look suspicious, do you think?” Nick asked, cutting the sandwiches in half neatly and putting them on plates. “Two men spending a lot of time together, alone?” He could pretend that it was just a hypothetical question.
Something changed on John’s face, making Nick realize that he’d just said something wrong “Maybe.” John’s voice was dull. “If there wasn’t a damn good reason for it. And you’ve a neighbor who’d be only too willing to agree. The minister’s not one to keep his mouth closed if he thinks the Lord wants him to be speaking out.” John glanced down at the plate beside him. “In fact, I’d best be on my way before someone starts wondering why my car’s still here when it’s too late for me to be working. I know I said I’d stay, but I’m thinking you don’t need me now that we’ve taken care of ... everything.”
“Oh.” Damn, Nick thought. He should have kept his mouth shut. Borrowing trouble, that’s what his mother would have called it. “I was hoping ... but yeah. Okay.”
John picked up his sandwich and studied it before taking a bite. “Hoping what? Is there something more needs doing?” He hesitated, looking torn. “I’ll help you, don’t worry about it. I’m just so used to being careful ‑‑ What is it?”
“No. Never mind.” Nick was selfish, was the problem. He’d gotten used to years of having Matthew there all the time, taking care of stuff for him. Sure, Nick’s abilities had provided them both with a more than comfortable living, but Nick wouldn’t have been able to do any of it on his own. He’d probably have been locked up somewhere in a straightjacket actually. That thought made him smile at the irony, and he glanced up to catc
h John watching him. “It’s okay; you’re right. I’ll be fine.”
“You were wanting me to stay, weren’t you? In case you get another visitor from over there.” John jerked his head in the direction of the graveyard. “And you’re still tired and you don’t want to be alone when you wake in the dark.”
Nick took a bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly, giving himself time to think about how to answer. “Yes,” he said finally. He wanted to tell himself that it was as simple as not wanting to be alone, but it was more than that; he wanted John there. “I’d like it if you’d stay. But I understand why you wouldn’t want to. And I don’t think you’re wrong. I’ve never ... well, you know. In my line of work, if you can even call it that, no one cares what you do in your bedroom; you’re already a freak. A freak that can help people, sure, but that doesn’t mean they don’t move away from you if you get too close. But it’s always temporary. People I hadn’t seen before and would probably never see again, so I learned not to care too much what they thought of me. I can see how it would be different for you.”
John sighed, pushing his fingers back through his hair. “First, you’re not a freak. There’s plenty on the island who’d believe what you can do besides me, and even some who might be able to see the ghosts themselves. You’re in Scotland now, remember? We grow up on tales of brownies and selkies and the like.” He nodded at Nick. “I’m guessing you got what you can do from your mother’s side, not your father’s.” He took a step closer and ran his hand up Nick’s arm until it lay warm on his shoulder. “And second, I’d never step back from you, because I like you close to me. As close as we can get suits me fine.”
Nick appreciated the reassurance, but it didn’t change the facts. “So what do we do? Make a list of excuses why we’re spending so much time together? Only see each other during the day and go our separate ways every night?” He was assuming too much and he knew it, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t hoping.
