Dead Man and the Restless Spirits

by Harper, Lou

  The impatient wail of a car horn cut their exchange short—the light had turned green.

  "All right, I will." Bran said, putting the car in gear. "Thank you." A shy smile played on his lips as he glanced at Denton.

  Layla waited for them at the curb. When Denton hopped out of the car, she gave him a lavender-scented hug. He happily returned the embrace, then squeezed himself into the backseat so she could sit up front.

  "How was your…umm, meeting? About a merger, right?" he asked as Bran eased back into the traffic.

  She turned in her seat. "Enlightening. We found out that the accountant at the other company has been cooking the books."

  "How?" Denton had no idea witchcraft could be so useful in business dealings.

  "He admitted it during the meeting."

  "Just like that?"

  Layla winked. "It must've weighed heavily on his conscience. The copal incense burning in my client's office and a few well-placed spells helped him to unburden."

  "Ah, copal. I must remember that trick."

  They spent the rest of the trip chattering about the pros and cons of various compelling spells. Layla did most of the talking, but Denton supplied her with plenty of questions. Bran barely opened his mouth till they arrived at their destination.

  "Here we are," was all he said even then.

  ***

  They could hear the water filling up the tub from the moment they stepped through the door. Of course, the bathroom, along with the rest of the condo, still stood empty and dry as a desert. They set up in the living room. Bran and Denton had agreed to stick with the previous night's ritual, substituting graveyard dust for powdered sugar. The dirt sat in a large Tupperware container among the rest of the summoning supplies.

  Bran and Layla took their positions as observers at the sides, while Denton mentally ran through the process. He rolled his shoulders in the way of a fighter getting ready for a match. Taking a deep breath, he began the summoning. The photo of Will and Gene together went in the middle of the drop cloth. Denton encircled it with dirt and went on chanting and drawing symbols much the same as before. This time, though, when he drew the signs of conjuration in the air and demanded the spirits to appear, Will complied immediately. He popped out of thin air, semiopaque and agitated.

  "Was that the doorbell?" he started straightaway, like the broken record he was.

  He flung himself toward the door but couldn't leave the circle. He stood there in a ghostly state of bafflement.

  Denton heard Layla gasp, but he kept his eye on the ghost. "Will, do you remember me?"

  Right off, he knew it had been a mistake. Will revved up again. "What are you doing here? Where's Gene? He should be here by now."

  Denton closed his eyes to shut out the pitiful expression and anxiety of the ghost. He turned all his focus to contacting Gene. He felt a stirring in the distance, and he reached for it with his mind. He stretched as far as he could, into murky darkness, but Gene remained just outside of his grasp, and the effort drained him. Something else reached back, though, coiled around Denton's thoughts, and gave a tug. Denton didn't feel frightened, but he knew he should. Whatever had gotten hold of him didn't mean well. Before he could find out more, a solid presence materialized behind him.

  As Bran's arms encircled and anchored him, Denton felt his strength return. Concentrating hard on the image of the smiling Eugene Kent, he reached again and willed the spirit to appear. Heat and light surged through him, and the thing from the dark let go with a snap. Denton's knees buckled, but Bran held him steady.

  Denton opened his eyes and saw Gene inside the dirt circle—far more ethereal than Will but still recognizable. The two ghosts had no problem seeing each other. Bran and Denton took a couple of quiet steps backward.

  Will's happy smile made him shimmer. "You're here."

  "I said I'd come, didn't I?" Gene had a deep, resonant voice, like church bells.

  Furrows gathered on Will's forehead. "I thought…something happened and you'd never come. But I had to keep waiting." His whole figure wavered.

  Gene laid a hand on Will's shoulder. "I know, but I'm here now."

  Will stilled. "And you'll stay? For good?"

  "Yes, my love. You and I, till the end of eternity."

  "Oh, Gene, I love you so much." The soft glow around Gene got stronger and spread to Will.

  "I know." Gene stepped closer and cradled Will's face with his hands. Their eyes locked, and as they stood very still, their bodies melded into each other. Gene leaned forward. As they kissed, their bodies gradually faded away till they were no more than a wisp of smoke, and then not even that. An inexplicable breeze swept through the room, blowing out all the candles at once.

  None of them spoke for a good while, but Layla didn't try to hide her sniffles. Denton furiously avoided looking at Bran. Witnessing the intimacy of the ghostly lovers made him feel raw. Words were awkward, clumsy things, and he was afraid of saying something wrong. He needed a little time to get his balance back. Bran didn't appear any more talkative as they wrapped up their supplies and cleaned up all signs of their visit in silence.

  Denton was glad to be out of the condo and into the crisp November air. The stars twinkled in the clear night sky as much as the city's light pollution let them. Cars rushed around, and a few blocks away, an alarm wailed. Life went on.

  Layla busied herself at the back of the car, arranging things in the trunk the way she thought they ought to be, so Denton took the opportunity to steal a kiss from Bran. The trunk lid slammed shut, and they flew apart.

  "You boys did well," she said coming around the car. "I was right about you two."

  "Right about what?" Bran asked.

  "You make each other stronger. You should always remember that." She clapped her hands together. "I'm starving. Who's up for dinner? My treat."

  Bran grinned. "I could eat."

  ***

  They settled on an Indian restaurant half a block from Layla's hotel. A sense of accomplishment brightened their mood, and the addition of a bottle of wine unwound them even more. Bran, taking his role as the designated driver seriously, didn't drink, but even he loosened up. He and Layla didn't have a cross word the whole evening. When they walked her back to the hotel, she took her place between them, and they strolled down the street arm in arm in arm. Before saying their good-byes, she extracted a promise from both of them to visit her in LA soon.

  Denton still floated on high spirits when he and Bran got home. "You're my knight in shiny armor, you know," he said stepping out of the elevator.

  "You're drunk."

  "I'm tipsy. There's a difference. How did you know I needed your help? I don't think I could've summoned Gene without you."

  "You dropped the wand and went rigid. Plus, Mother practically shoved me at you." Bran unlocked his door. "C'mon, I'll make you coffee."

  Denton followed him into the apartment and took a deep breath. He'd started to associate the scent of herbs with home and comfort. "I should just move in. I spend most my time over here anyway," Denton said as they hung up their coats and kicked off their shoes.

  "Why don't you?" Bran asked matter-of-factly.

  Denton didn't expect that reply. Bran had struck him as someone who liked his space and privacy. "You mean it?"

  "I do. You could at least bring over more of your stuff. I'll make room."

  Bran turned into the kitchen and busied himself with the coffeemaker. Denton watched him from the doorway.

  "I don't have much stuff."

  "That'll only make it easier."

  "You're serious."

  "Sure. I'm always serious, remember?" Bran switched the machine on and turned around.

  Denton hummed. "Nah, not always. Somewhere deep down, under all the black and grim, you're a barrel of fun waiting to break out. Or was it a barrel of monkeys?"

  Bran's lips curled up. "You're a barrel of something, all right."

  Denton realized Bran had been smiling more these days—it tu
rned his normally solemn expression almost playful. Denton closed the distance between them and put both arms around Bran. "You're a beautiful man."

  It tickled him to see the blush turning Bran's olive complexion to a darker shade. Pressing his advantage, he slid his hands lower, to Bran's buttocks. "I hate these baggy jeans. I wish you wore kilts instead, like I suggested. You're part Welsh, right?"

  "One-fourth."

  "Enough. The Welsh wear kilts. I looked it up. You should try, at least at home."

  "Okay, I will. If you do too." Bran gave the picture of a man feeling rather smart and satisfied with himself.

  Denton riposted, "Deal!"

  Bran's face fell.

  "Ha! You didn't think I would agree, did you? I'm not ashamed of my body, even if it's not much."

  Bran's arms effortlessly surrounded Denton's skinny frame. "I find your body one hundred percent sexy."

  "Pervert." Denton slipped a hand into Bran's jeans to rub the base of the tail. He'd learned that its underside was especially responsive to stimulation. He needed to get Bran out of those damn jeans. "Bedroom," he commanded.

  "I thought I was the captain," Bran complained.

  "It's a mutiny. Now move." Denton pinched Bran's bum, then shoved him toward the door.

  Bran muttered something about subordination and put up a token resistance. On the way to the bedroom, it turned into a tussle and pulling at each other's clothing. They fell over onto the bed and continued to wrestle. Sort of. They would've been disqualified from any professional event and arrested for gross public indecency. In the end, Denton pinned Bran down, though simply because Bran let him. By then Denton only had his briefs and socks on. Bran's shirt lay open, revealing his naked torso, and his jeans dangled around his ankles.

  Denton straddled Bran and held his lover's wrists down, using all his negligible weight. "You're my prisoner and better do as I say, or I'll throw you in the brig. Understood?"

  Bran kept the game going. "What will you do with me?"

  "First I'll ravage you—standard procedure," Denton said with his best lecherous leer.

  Bran blinked a few times before finding his voice. "Is it what you want?"

  "It's what I'd like, but not if you don't."

  While Denton waited for a reply, he saw a jumble of emotions stir in Bran's eyes.

  Bran nodded. "Okay."

  Denton pressed a kiss on Bran's lips. "Just go with the flow, babe."

  Bran snorted, probably at the impromptu pet name.

  Denton licked and nibbled his way down Bran's chest, to the belly button, then down the aptly named treasure trail. Bran's dick strained against the cotton of the jockstrap. Denton took a mental note to look online for kinky versions of this type of underwear, maybe something in leather. He mouthed the thick shaft through the fabric at first. The growing wet spot signaled him to up the stakes. He stripped Bran naked and divested himself of his undies too, while he was at it. He kept his red-and-yellow-striped socks on. They were the same pair he'd worn when he'd first had his way with Bran—his lucky pair since.

  Denton gave Bran's dick and balls equal attention, using his tongue stud to full effect. It was his specialty, and he wanted to remind Bran how good that small piece of metal could feel at the right spot. Judging from Bran's labored breathing and hands rubbing Denton's head, he was doing well. He turned his attention to Bran's tail. Bran, who'd grown up hiding his extra appendage, had at first been shocked by Denton's interest and rather shy about it. However, Denton's insistence had worn him down.

  Denton licked the length of the tail, from tip to base. He took the opportunity to steal his tongue between Bran's cheeks. The moment he touched Bran's hole, Bran went rigid, and he gripped Denton's hair. Denton, though, didn't back off, and as he continued his ministrations, the tension gradually drained from Bran's muscles. When the tip of Denton's finger slipped inside, Bran tensed only a little and soon relaxed.

  Sitting up, Denton saw Bran stretched out on the sheets, head thrown back and his arm covering his face. Denton knew how difficult this had to be for him—it must have taken all his trust to so completely give up control.

  A rush of emotions flooded Denton's chest, making it hard to breathe. He'd make this as good for Bran as he could. Instead of going for the small sachet in the pocket of his jeans, Denton took the whole bottle of lube from the night-table drawer. He opened Bran with the greatest care and gentleness, with his lips around Bran's cock or balls the whole time, for maximum distraction. Too successfully.

  Bran pulled at Denton's hair. "I'll come if you don't stop."

  Denton quickly stopped. "No. Not yet. I'm not done ravaging."

  Bran took his arm from over his eyes. "Well, get on with it already." The hoarseness of his voice belied the bold words.

  As the head of Denton's cock slipped through the first ring of resistance, Bran responded with a throaty groan. His chest rose and fell like he was running a marathon, but his breath caught as Denton hit his gland.

  Denton pulled back and pushed in again. He'd been on the receiving end of such a bonking before, so he knew how his Prince Albert—a fine curved barbell with round beads at each end—enhanced the sensation. He moved slowly at first, but then he snapped his hips forward and watched Bran's eyes roll back. It made him pretty pleased with himself.

  Something unexpected made Denton lose rhythm. He stopped midthrust as a slender but solid thing penetrated his ass. "Oh, you…" He gaped at Bran in disbelief.

  It was Bran's turn to look smug. "Go with the flow, babe," he said, as he slipped his tail farther inside Denton.

  "Mmm…there," Denton moaned as the tip found his sensitive spot.

  He made an experimental move with his hips, and it felt heavenly. In no time, they found their rhythm again. Denton knew he should've been concentrating on Bran's pleasure, but the double sensation of fucking Bran and being fucked by Bran's tail short-circuited his brain. Bran's body going taut and clamping around him proved to be the last straw, and Denton came with a loud groan too.

  ***

  "You're full of tricks, aren't you?" Denton asked once he got his breathing and heart rate back to normal.

  "Demons are tricksters, I've told you."

  Bran fished a pillow out of the tangle of bedding, folded it in half, and tucked it under his head. Denton used Bran's chest for the same purpose.

  "You're still wearing your socks," Bran said with amusement.

  Denton lifted up a foot and wiggled his toes. "They're my lucky pair."

  "Yeah, I remember. You wore them when you first ravaged me."

  "You do?" It surprised him that Bran would recall such a small detail.

  "I have a pretty good memory, and your socks are hard to forget." Bran traced the tips of his fingers up and down Denton's bicep.

  "I have a lot of them," Denton noted, lowering his foot.

  "I counted twenty-one pairs."

  "Good. You and Joy will have something to talk about when we go over for Thanksgiving dinner."

  Bran went stiff. "We do what-when-where?"

  "Oh, I thought I'd mentioned it already. Joy invited us to spend turkey day with her." Denton tilted his head to get a better view of Bran's face.

  "No, you definitely didn't mention it," Bran grumbled.

  "Well, I'm telling you now. She threatened to cook, so we better bring dessert and several bottles of wine. Oh yeah, we should also wear our new utility kilts. I found this awesome online store. We can get them in time if we order now. Might have to do express delivery."

  "I'm not going to dinner at your friend's house wearing a skirt," Bran protested.

  "Joy won't mind at all. She'll get a kick out of it, if anything."

  "No. Way."

  Denton sighed. "Fine. We'll go wearing boring old jeans. Happy?"

  "Over the moon," Bran said, giving Denton a glare full of suspicion.

  It was probably dawning on him that he'd just tacitly agreed to go to the dinner. Well played. Denton secretly
congratulated himself but kept an expression of innocence on his face. Demons weren't the only tricksters.

  Bran shook his head and rolled out of the bed. "I need a shower."

  Denton hopped after him. "I'll scrub your tail!"

  The End

  About the Author

  Under a prickly, cynical surface Lou Harper is an incorrigible romantic. Her love affair with the written word started at a tender age. There was never a time when stories weren't romping around in her head. She is currently embroiled in a ruinous romance with adjectives. In her free time Lou stalks deviant words and feral narratives.

  Lou's favorite animal is the hedgehog. She likes nature, books, movies, photography, and good food. She has a temper and mood swings.

  Lou has misspent most of her life in parts of Europe and the US, but is now firmly settled in Los Angeles and worships the sun. However, she thinks the ocean smells funny. Lou is a loner, a misfit, and a happy drunk.

  Web site: http://louharper.com

  Blog: http://louharper.blogspot.com

  Other Books by Lou Harper

  Spirit Sanguine

  © 2012 Lou Harper

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