Laying a Ghost

by Jane Davitt

  “I don’t want to love anyone else.”

  I don’t think it’s up to you. Fergus’s voice was getting thinner, harder to understand. Love doesn’t work like that, does it, John? John felt Nick’s hand tighten on his. Be happy, lad. All of you.

  His mother was weeping quietly, and after a few more seconds Nick’s shoulders slumped. “He’s gone.”

  John released Nick’s hand and pulled his mother to him, cradling her against his chest as she cried and feeling the tension leave her until she finally lifted her head and stared up at him. “I don’t ‑‑ I don’t know what to say,” she whispered. She freed herself from his grip, patting his arm and then, with a sorrowful look passing over her face, stroking his cheek, where the imprint of her hand was still, John guessed, clearly visible. “I’m sorry for that, John. I’ve never struck you in anger. Never. I’m ... I’m sorry.”

  He caught her hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly. “It doesn’t matter, Mam.”

  “It does,” she insisted and then swallowed and turned to Nick. “It hasn’t changed my mind. About you two. I can’t be ... glad. I just can’t. It’s not what I’d have wished for him, and I’ll not lie and say it is. But what you just did ‑‑” Her eyes filled again, and she took a stumbling step towards Nick and hugged him. “Thank you.” The words were almost inaudible. Nick hugged her back, a little uncertainly, and she looked up at him and brushed the tears from his face with her fingers. “Too many tears.” Anne gave a determined sniff, stepping away from them and sitting down heavily. “John, lad, will you no’ be putting the kettle on? I think Mr. Kelley would like a nice cup of tea.”

  “I’d like you to call me Nick.”

  Anne gave him a level look and then smiled. “Do you take sugar, then, Nick?”

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  “Thank God,” Nick said fervently, shutting and double latching the hotel door behind them as John went over and dropped his suitcase and travel bag down next to the armchair. They’d been on the plane for the better part of the day, and now all he wanted to do was wash off the worst of the grime and collapse into bed.

  Being back in America was ... weird. Familiar, but not in the way he’d expected it would be. Part of it was being with John, of course, and part of it was that he’d gotten so used to being in Scotland. Used to hearing everyone’s accents ‑‑ and John swore that Nick was starting to develop a bit of one himself, although Nick wasn’t sure that he could hear it in his own voice. Americans sounded flat in comparison.

  Nick manhandled his suitcase into the closet area and rubbed his hand over his face wearily. “Want to take a shower?”

  “You go first.” John headed to the window. “I just want to look at the view.”

  It was nine at night, which meant that there wasn’t much to see apart from a very ordinary town street, but John had stepped off the plane and immediately turned into a rubbernecking tourist, wide-eyed and enthusiastic over each unfamiliar sight.

  Nick went over and stood behind him, slipping an arm around John’s waist and pulling him back until he was leaning against Nick’s chest. He nuzzled John’s ear gently. “Does it really look that different?”

  “You know it does.” John relaxed against him. “Christ, you could fit the biggest town on Traighshee inside that shopping center ‑‑ mall ‑‑ we passed, and lose it.” He turned his head away slightly, exposing his neck for Nick to kiss. “I told you I hadn’t seen much of the world. Do you want me to pretend I’m not impressed?”

  “I don’t want you to pretend anything.” Nick kissed the soft skin of John’s neck and felt the rumble as John murmured appreciatively. “But it’ll still be there in the morning. Come shower with me.” He wasn’t thinking about tomorrow, not yet, and he wanted the distraction of John’s naked form against his.

  John turned and wrapped his arms around Nick, smiling at him. “Aye, it will. And so will you, come to that, but no matter what side of the Atlantic we’re on, I’ll take looking at you over cars and shops every time.” He took a handful of Nick’s shirt and tugged at it gently, pulling it free of his pants. “Especially if you’re wearing nothing but water.”

  They made their way into the bathroom, slowly undressing each other between kisses and then needing to stop while Nick fiddled with the unfamiliar shower controls, John’s hands distracting him as he tried to adjust the water to the right temperature. They were kissing again before they were even under the spray, teasing each other with light touches that they’d perfected over the months they’d been together.

  John reached for the small bar of complimentary soap, stripping off the paper, and then stepped under the shower, turning his face up to the water. His cock was half-hard already, and the fine, powerful spray was outlining every muscle, every hollow and curve on his body. “Come here.” He reached out for Nick, making room for him under the jet.

  There was nothing Nick wanted more ‑‑ he barely paid any attention to the hot water streaming over him as he moved closer, sighing as he ran his hands over the planes of John’s body, warm and wet. His right hand slid down to fondle John’s balls, and he felt John’s dick twitch against his wrist as John’s hands, slick with soap, slipped around to his lower back. “I want to fuck you tonight,” Nick murmured, his lips caressing John’s ear. “Want to be inside you.”

  He felt John shiver and press closer to him. “Then I’m thinking this should be a very quick shower.” John’s hand moved down to Nick’s ass and Nick gasped as John’s finger worked its way inside him, gently insistent, making Nick’s tiredness recede as arousal jolted his body awake. “Unless you were planning on doing it in here?”

  John knew exactly how to drive him crazy, Nick thought as he stroked John’s cock slowly and pressed his mouth to John’s shoulder, breathing through his nose. He groaned, stifling the sound against John’s skin, his own thumb curling over the tip of John’s cock and sliding back the foreskin. “What?” Nick muttered distractedly. “Was I ... supposed to be ... answering something?”

  He got a chuckle for an answer and felt John’s finger slip deeper and then slide back out, rubbing along the strip of skin behind Nick’s balls before he reached for the soap again. “No need. I’d rather we used the bed tonight anyway.” John tilted his hips, pushing his cock through the curl of Nick’s fingers. “Never seen one that wide ... seems a shame not to use it for more than sleeping.”

  His soapy hands moved over Nick’s skin, caressing it rather than washing it, his fingernails digging in now and then as Nick continued to touch him, their mouths meeting in a series of long kisses, tasting water and each other as their tongues explored and teased.

  John’s hands slowed and he gripped Nick’s hips, pushing him back a little, his thumbs tracing small circles against the thin skin beneath the jutting hip bones, leaving Nick shivering because his cock, which John had only touched briefly, was throbbing urgently with each slow rotation. “Nick ‑‑” John’s voice was husky, catching on each word, his eyes dark with need. “You’re clean. Can we not get out of here now? Please?”

  However Nick had managed before not to think of what was to come the next day, in the place Matthew had died, was lost to him now, his hands sliding over John’s skin with a feverish, desperate need to reassure himself that John was alive, safe. “Yes,” he gasped, doing his best to drive back the fear even as he shut off the shower with a quick wrench of his wrist and urged John out, kissing him with one hand on the back of his wet head in case he walked him into the door frame by accident.

  The bed wasn’t far from the bathroom door, and Nick didn’t care enough about towels to bother with them. At the edge of the bed he paused, trying to remember where he’d put the lube he’d packed and turning to retrieve it from the carry-on bag as soon as he had. John’s blue eyes were watching him, lips slightly swollen from the force of Nick’s kisses. “Turn around.” Nick’s lube-slick fingers found their way into John’s body before John had even settled his weight onto his h
ands and knees on the bed.

  John turned his head to glance back at Nick over his shoulder. There wasn’t any sign of protest on his face, just a faint surprise, but Nick paused, breathing quickly, waiting.

  “There’s no need to stop.” John caught his lip between his teeth, biting down hard as Nick’s fingers twisted and slid inside him. “God, Nick, what are you waiting for?” His voice was half-challenge, half-plea. “Fuck me.”

  Nick worked his fingers deeper, pressing firmly and reveling in the sound of John’s deep groan, then replaced fingers with cock and pushed forward.

  They didn’t do this all that often, with Nick the one doing the penetrating, so he had to wait, trembling, until John’s body relaxed and let him in. John was hot and slick inside, and so tight that Nick had to close his eyes, but it felt like he’d already been wanting this too long, and he clutched at John’s hips and started to fuck him hard.

  Every time he did this, he wondered why he didn’t do it more often, because there was nothing about it that he didn’t love, from the way John was clawing at the smooth, heavy cover on the bed, making sounds that might have been words at some point but which were emerging as hoarse, inarticulate cries, to the ability to make this happen just the way he wanted it to.

  It wasn’t John he was controlling; John who gave him everything he wanted, all he needed; no, it was his life, for just a few snatched moments, at least. And he didn’t do this often because these days he didn’t often feel like this. These days, he was content, relaxed, confident ... a new Nick.

  Yeah.

  And tomorrow the new and improved Nick was going to have to face something that had taken his life and twisted it viciously until it had snapped like his wrist had. It didn’t matter that what he had now was so much better; that he woke up smiling more often than not. It was a change that he’d had forced on him, and when he thought about that he needed this.

  Needed John.

  Luckily, even when he was like this, Nick never had the urge to fuck John hard enough to hurt him. It wasn’t that he was holding back, it was just that this was all he needed, all that was necessary, this and nothing more. John’s body clenched around him like a brutal fist, John’s hip bones pressed against Nick’s fingers, and he could feel his own muscles tightening up, making it harder to breathe. The cheap hotel rug was rough against his feet, and he felt the sudden urge to taste John’s skin, so he bent and licked a line up John’s spine, sweat and the metallic tang of shower water mingling to fill his senses and make him gasp.

  Nick slid his hand around and cupped John’s balls ‑‑ not touching his cock, not yet, but fondling the soft skin there at the base of it.

  He could feel the heat pooled there and he pushed inside John again, seeking it out, hearing his name spill from John’s lips with every breath he took, although he wasn’t sure John knew he was doing it.

  “Nick ‑‑ God ‑‑” John’s head sank down as Nick’s hand continued to tease him and no more, his shoulders tensed. “Please.”

  Nick groaned, letting go of John and leaning back, both hands on John’s hips again as he watched his glistening cock disappear into John’s body. They were both slick with lube, the sensations threatening to overwhelm Nick, and he didn’t care ‑‑ didn’t care about anything but how it felt.

  “Come for me.” Nick thrust deeper, and then wrapped his arms around John, pulling him up onto his knees, the angle of each stroke changed. John shuddered and turned his head for a kiss, and Nick gave it, open-mouthed and gasping as he fucked John with a rocking, knees-bent motion and his hand found John’s cock, the wet tip of it rubbing over his fingers. “Like this? Should I ‑‑ oh fuck, John ...”

  He came in a scalding rush, one hand still wrapped around John’s erection and the other on his chest, curled so that only the heel of his hand and his fingertips touched John’s skin, his tongue tracing John’s upper lip.

  The blue of John’s eyes swam behind Nick’s eyes as he squeezed them closed, unable to help it, although he didn’t want to miss anything, not when John was looking at him like that, as lost in the moment as Nick was.

  Opening his eyes with an effort, Nick eased out of John, and turned John to his back on the bed, his hand still tight around John’s cock, tense and hot against his palm. John moaned, his hips lifting off the bed a little, his eyes glazed but fixed on Nick’s face.

  Nick moved to kneel over John, kissing him as his hand began to move, slipping his arm under John’s head and holding him close.

  “Nick ‑‑ oh God ‑‑ I can’t ‑‑”

  John pulled his mouth away from Nick’s, panting, his face flushed. Nick felt the tremor that ran through John as he came, felt John’s cock jerk helplessly in his grip.

  He didn’t stop moving his hand, running it from base to tip and back again, dragging the foreskin up and down until the sound John made was more plea than pleasure. He gentled his mouth on John’s, kissing him softly. “Love you,” Nick whispered, the words as natural as breathing. “God, I love you so much. I’d do anything for you.” It was true, and he knew that John felt the same way ‑‑ his presence here was proof of it, his unfailing support of whatever Nick wanted or needed to do.

  “I don’t need anything but that.” John rubbed his face against Nick’s shoulder and then kissed it. “You loving me.” He smiled. “Well, maybe another shower.” His arms tightened around Nick, drawing him close. “But there’s no rush.”

  His mouth sought out Nick’s again, his lips warm and strong and Nick had to agree.

  No rush at all.

  * * * * *

  “I don’t know if I can do this.” Nick was driving the rental car because John had been worried about being on the other side of the road.

  “Aye, you can.” There was enough confidence in John’s voice to give the simple reassurance weight. “I’ve never known you to fail at anything you’ve put your mind to.” He grinned. “Though I’m still waiting for you to gut a fish, mind.”

  His hand came to rest on Nick’s knee for a brief moment and then he glanced out of the window, his voice hesitant now. “Are we close, do you think?”

  “Yeah.” Nick had spent some time on the airplane the day before looking at maps, figuring out exactly where his car accident with Matthew had happened and how to get back there. It looked different in the daytime ‑‑ the sun was shining, although there weren’t many other cars on the road ‑‑ but he knew he’d recognize the spot where it had happened.

  If nothing else, the tree that they’d hit would bear the scars of the crash in a more physical way than he did.

  The past year had healed him. His wrist rarely bothered him now, other than the occasional ache when a storm front was moving in, and he’d settled down psychically, too. Maybe it was having a place to call home that had helped; maybe it was having John, who’d moved in with him after deciding to let his mother rent his grandparent’s house to someone else. Anne wasn’t thrilled with their relationship, and probably never would be, but she was civil, and that was enough for Nick.

  He saw fewer ghosts now. The fact that he was on an island with a small population meant that there weren’t all that many to see.

  As Nick turned the car around the curve that led to the stretch of road where Matthew had died, he tensed. He couldn’t help it. He slowed down when the road straightened out. “Here.” He nodded with his chin. “Over there. I’m ... oh God. I have to stop.”

  Nick tried not to brake too abruptly even though he knew John was wearing his seat belt, but the front tires shifted in the loose dirt on the side of the road as the car stopped. He was out the door in a flash, holding onto the car for support as dry heaves hit him like a punch in the stomach.

  He heard John get out and come to him, moving quickly but without panic, almost as if he’d been expecting this and was prepared for it. Maybe he had been. The months that they’d been together had done nothing to lessen the strength of that initial, instant attraction and everything to deepen it. John
would know exactly how he was feeling ‑‑ would share it to a certain extent ‑‑ but with enough distance to be able to comfort Nick.

  They made a good team.

  “I’m here.” John’s arm wrapped around Nick’s shoulders. “Right here, love.”

  Swallowing and wiping at his damp eyes, Nick straightened up, grateful for John’s support. “This is why I didn’t eat anything this morning.” He was glad he hadn’t.

  “Aye, I thought so.” John moved his arm down to Nick’s waist. He turned his head and looked behind Nick. “Is that it, then?”

  Nick rotated slowly, not really wanting to see. There was a small part of him that was worried about seeing Matthew here, even though Matthew had promised him dozens of times ‑‑ often at Nick’s insistence ‑‑ that he had enough sense to move on and that he knew better than to haunt Nick. Nick didn’t have any reason not to think that was true. He knew that if there was one last thing Matthew could have given him, it would be his absence.

  The tree was half dead, scarred from the impact of the car, but otherwise it blended in with the surrounding woods well enough. Most people wouldn’t have noticed it at all. There were no tire marks on the pavement, no crosses or flowers to indicate that this was where a man had died.

  As if in a dream, Nick moved away from John and started to walk toward it.

  He’d seen it through the windshield that night, the wide, thick trunk illuminated by the fitful, dying headlights of the car. He reached it and traced his fingers over the bark, touching it and wondering if, like him, it was recovering. That it still bore leaves was a good sign, he supposed, even if the pale, bare branches jutting out here and there told another story.

  But, really, it wasn’t the tree that was important. It had signaled the end of his journey ‑‑ and Matthew’s ‑‑ that night, but he’d come here to deal with the ghost whose sudden, horrific appearance had sent him veering off the road.