Giving Up the Ghost Read online

  “Should have been here last night,” John mumbled into Nick’s hair. Hoping that Nick didn’t mind being used as a hot water bottle, he pressed their bodies together from shoulders to toes, needing the feel of Nick’s skin on his. Nick’s shiver in response seemed to be down to John’s cold hands on his back, rather than the dream, which was something. “Didn’t think you’d want me driving, though, and if I’d tried walking I’d probably have been blown out to sea. Wild night.” Without thinking, his hand stroked lower, over Nick’s backside, the shape of it familiar now, but all the more arousing for that. “What had you dreaming? The wind howling around the house?”

  Nick shook his head, his mouth warm against John’s neck, but he’d gone tense again and John didn’t think it was his touch that had caused it. “No,” he said. “I’m glad you didn’t drive. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” He was already relaxing, moving his hands over John’s skin, wrapping himself around John. “But I missed you. I’m glad you’re home now.”

  “So am I.” John blew out a puff of air to dislodge a strand of Nick’s hair that was tickling his cheek, following it with a kiss that landed in about the same place as his goodbye kiss had the night before. Nick didn’t feel distant and closed-off now, though. “Sheila’s kids are hell to wake up to, did you know that?”

  “Not from personal experience.” John could feel the smile in Nick’s voice as Nick’s lips brushed against his ear. “It doesn’t surprise me, though. They’re supposed to need more sleep than adults, but I’ve always thought that sounded suspicious.”

  Nick’s hand ran down the outside of John’s thigh, then up the front of it teasingly.

  “What about me? I hope I’m not hell to wake up to.” Nick slid down beneath the covers, breath hot against John’s skin. His mouth closed around John, who gasped at the wet heat, cock beginning to harden at once.

  “I’d say more like heaven, but you don’t have a saint’s mouth.” John bit down on his lip. “God, Nick ‑‑”

  He rolled to his back, his hand on Nick’s shoulder, keeping them together, spreading his legs and murmuring appreciatively as Nick settled between them. The thought crossed his mind that Nick hadn’t told him what he’d been dreaming about, but it was impossible to concentrate on anything but what Nick was doing to him.

  If he’d been able to concentrate, he might have thought about the way Nick seemed more like a talented professional in bed than a lover, these days. But Nick’s lips and tongue and hands were too distracting, taking away conscious thought and leaving John groaning and aching, fingers tight in Nick’s hair. He kept at it until John was shuddering, then found the lube and slicked his cock, pressing it to John’s opening.

  With Nick above him, eyes dark, it was easy to pretend that nothing was wrong. “This is how much I missed you,” Nick murmured, pushing just the tip of his erection inside John, making him gasp. “Did you think about me last night?”

  “Aye,” John whispered, trying to get more from Nick; more of his cock, maddeningly there, but not enough, more of his attention, just more ‑‑ “Wanted you with me. Always do.” His hands caught at Nick’s hips, tugging him forward, getting a welcome inch or two more of Nick’s cock buried in him. Nick smiled, rocking his hips within John’s slackening grip, pushing deeper.

  It felt good, always did, but John felt frustration build within him, even as Nick began to fuck him in smooth, perfectly angled thrusts, his eyes on John’s face, watching him too carefully. Nick hadn’t kissed him, or let John touch him, not really. Nick was just giving John what he thought John wanted; buying some uninterrupted hours for writing with his body.

  “Now you’ve got me.” Nick shifted his weight and thrust deeper. “God, you feel good. So good, and ‑‑ “ Nick gasped, shutting his eyes and pausing for a second. When he opened his eyes again, his expression was one of shocked pleasure, more genuine than John had seen in weeks.

  John stared up at him, troubled by the realization that their relationship had narrowed until this, just this, was the only way they had of connecting. He ran his hands over Nick’s skin in rough, pleading caresses that asked for something he wasn’t sure he could put into words, not even with Nick.

  Especially not with Nick.

  His body, less concerned with emotion than sensation, was responding eagerly enough to Nick’s enthusiasm, his cock jerking, hard and slick against his belly, barely needing the hand Nick wrapped deftly around it to bring him to a climax.

  It was good, aye. It just wasn’t good enough.

  But hot release rushed over him all the same, fluid wetting Nick’s hand as John groaned and closed his eyes, helpless to achieve what he’d been hoping for even as pleasure shook his body. Nick came a few thrusts later, almost silently, and fell down on top of John, who welcomed the contact. “I love you,” Nick whispered against John’s collarbone, and his voice didn’t sound quite right.

  “Nick…” John sighed, holding Nick to him. “Love…” He broke off, but he’d said enough to get a kiss, the first he’d had that morning. Nick’s lips moved on his, swift and briefly, and then he pulled out and away, leaving John feeling bereft rather than satisfied.

  “You should go back to sleep,” Nick said. “You’re exhausted.”

  John rolled onto his side, propping his head on one hand and watching as Nick sat up. “I was hoping to persuade you to stay with me.”

  The look Nick gave him was regretful; it was clear from the dark circles under his eyes that he was the one who’d been sleeping neither well nor enough. “I’m sorry. I’ve just really got to get to work. This weekend we’ll spend half a day in bed if you want to, I promise.”

  “I want to spend half, hell, all of today in bed with you.” John eyed Nick coolly. “But I can see fine that it’s not going to happen.”

  He waited for Nick to give him something ‑‑ an apology, another promise, no matter how empty ‑‑ but all he got was a distracted smile, and then Nick was leaving.

  A few fitful hours dozing in bed didn’t improve John’s mood. By the time he’d showered and gone downstairs, Nick was already lost in his work. He barely glanced up when John came into the kitchen.

  John got himself breakfast in silence, pushing some ham between two slices of bread and washing it down with a cup of tea. The clouds outside had lifted, blown away by the tag end of the storm, and a pale, washed-out blue sky held out the promise of a few hours of sunshine at least.

  “We could take the boat out,” John said suddenly. “Not for long, no, but maybe an hour or two. Might be the last chance we get; I should bring her in for the winter at the weekend.”

  He waited for Nick to react to the “we” but got no more than a grunt. Nick was scribbling something on a piece of paper, his gaze flicking between two books open on the table and the computer screen.

  “You could take a break. Come with me,” John went on, pushing his words into the silence, hearing the acceptance of defeat in them, because he knew what Nick would say. “You’re not sleeping well, and it’s probably down to spending every hour God sends sitting at that fucking table.” His voice rose and cracked on the last words and he stepped forward and gave the table leg a kick with a booted foot, sending a book sliding down to crash on the floor, pages splayed.

  Nick jumped and looked up at him, startled. There was a hint of fear in his eyes, and John felt like kicking himself for having put it there, but then Nick’s eyes hardened. “What the hell is your problem?”

  “My problem?” John rubbed at his eyes, feeling weary from more than a lack of sleep. “God, Nick, if you have to ask ‑‑ it’s you. It’s that fucking book. It’s being pushed away until I canna get to you anymore.”

  “You were the one who pushed me into starting it in the first place!” Nick protested, which was true enough. He got up, pausing to carefully bookmark the pages in the opened books on the tabletop first, and that only made John’s temper flare hotter. “And now that I have something ‑‑ something that I can work o
n, something to keep me from going fucking crazy, something I’m good at ‑‑ you want me to stop?” He shook his head. “Forget it.”

  “I want you to be reasonable about it.” John tried to keep his voice level. “Not come to bed at two in the morning. Not eat with your head in a book. Not miss my niece’s bloody birthday party because you’ve made a fucking breakthrough.”

  “You have no idea what it’s like!” Nick was frowning, full of righteous anger but not shouting, not yet. “I need this. There’s ‑‑ you don’t know what it’s like, being me. Being…this. Sometimes I just…I need to be something else, someone else, and I can’t…” He offered John a strained smile, obviously trying. “I’m gonna go for a walk or something. Clear my head. I don’t want to fight, okay? I can’t. There’s too much…”

  “I know there’s too much!” John didn’t step aside, not happy to let it drop. Not now. Not now he’d got Nick talking to him. “This isn’t the first morning you’ve woken up like that, as if you’re fighting something in your dreams. As far as I know ‑‑ and I’m thinking you’d tell me about that, even if you can hardly bear to spare me a word ‑‑ you haven’t seen a spirit for months now, so it can’t be that troubling you.” He bent to pick up the fallen book, smoothing the crumpled pages flat in an unspoken apology. “It’s just that damn book.”

  “It’s not the book!” Nick shouted, apparently having lost what little control he’d had left. “Christ, it doesn’t have anything to do with the book!”

  “Then what is it?” John yelled back, tossing the book on the table. Raising his voice after what felt like weeks of being quiet in case he disturbed Nick, was a huge relief. “Because you’re damned well not the same as you were this time last year, I know that much!”

  Nick went quiet then, wrapping his arms around himself. “I know. You’re right. But I can’t ‑‑ I just can’t.”

  “Can’t what? Christ, Nick; I want to help if I can. But give me something to do that isn’t just keeping my distance from you, because that’s the one thing I have trouble with.” He took a single step toward Nick and then stopped. “And it’s all you want from me, seemingly,” he said flatly, reading no welcome in Nick’s face.

  Nick brought a hand up and covered his face, taking a shaky breath. “It’s not that. I just…I need some space, I guess.” He looked at John, clearly upset.

  After staring at him for a long moment, John nodded and turned away. “Then I’ll give you what you want.”

  He grabbed his coat from where he’d left it just a few hours earlier, and left the house. He didn’t bother to look through the kitchen window to see what Nick was doing.

  He’d be sitting at the table, writing.

  * * * * *

  Nick managed to keep it together until John left, but it wasn’t easy. It had been getting harder and harder, actually, and from John’s outburst it was obvious that he wasn’t being fooled.

  When the car had gone, Nick sat down at the table, shaking. More than anything he wanted John to come back, to put his arms around him and hold him, but he couldn’t have that, so he needed to focus. Focus on what he’d been doing whenever John wasn’t in the house.

  The laptop was sleeping, but at least today he had an Internet connection, even if it was so slow that sometimes he wanted to scream. It was one of the first things to go when the weather was bad, and the lack of it had put him in a shitty mood on more than one occasion. And of course there was no one to take his moods out on but John, who didn’t deserve it, so Nick had been doing what he could to keep his distance. Obviously, it hadn’t been enough.

  Or maybe it had been too much.

  Steeling himself, Nick opened a browser window and started searching the news.

  Chapter Two

  John pushed open the pub door and headed for the bar. A pint, yes, because he couldn’t stand there swilling Coke like a wee kid, but he wanted something to eat more than anything. Something hot that he hadn’t had to cook himself. The sandwich he’d eaten just wasn’t enough if he was going to go out on the sea.

  It was early and the bar surface gleamed, still wet from the cursory mopping Geordie, the landlord, had given it. He glanced up as John approached, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

  “What, you again? Shall I set you a bed up in the corner, then?”

  “No,” John said shortly. “I just want something to eat.”

  “Well, Mary’s cooking up some lovely steak and kidney pies, but they won’t be ready for another twenty minutes.”

  John picked up a menu from the bar and stabbed his finger at it. “It says here that hot food is served daily from noon. It’s ‑‑”

  “Eleven fifty-eight by my watch. So you’ll have to stay hungry for another two minutes. Unless you want to share my packet of crisps?” A hand came from the left to rest on John’s shoulder for a moment, an opened bag of crisps landing on the bar, its contents spilling out onto the wood.

  Geordie smiled sourly and placed a pint in front of John. “He’d probably sooner have this.”

  John ignored him, turning to stare at the man beside him and then frowning as he tried to put a name to the smiling face. “Andy ‑‑?”

  “Thornton. Aye, it’s me.”

  “Well, I can see that.” John couldn’t stop the answering smile from spreading across his face. “What the hell are you doing back here? Thought you were like the midges, and only came to annoy us in the summer.”

  “Are you always this welcoming to people who’re willing to share their food?” Andy grinned and sat down on the stool next to where John was standing. “Here, have some crisps and tell me what you’ve been up to in the past year and a half.”

  Geordie accepted the coins John shoved across at him, and rolled his eyes. “You’re looking at a changed man.”

  “No, he’s looking at a hungry one,” John said, scowling. “Will you put my order in, or should I yell and hope Mary hears me?”

  “I’ll tell her to hurry,” Geordie said. “That way I’ll see the back of you sooner.”

  Honors even, he moved away, leaving John and Andy in peace.

  “I don’t remember you having such a short temper,” Andy said, but it didn’t sound like a reproach. “Here, I’ve a table over near the window ‑‑ come sit and keep me company. Unless you’ve a mind to bite my head off for the slightest thing?”

  Andy looked the same as he had the last time John had seen him, for all that more than two years had passed. The lad was a good six or seven years John’s junior, but he’d always had a world-wise air about him, and that hadn’t changed any more than his physical appearance had. As they sat down at the table, Andy picked up his own pint, half empty, and raised the glass to John before taking a sip.

  “I’ll try not to bite any of you,” John said, half regretting his choice of words when Andy’s eyes lit up with speculative amusement. Andy had made it fairly clear on his earlier visit that he’d have been happy to do more than flirt with John, but back then John had been resolute about keeping the fact that he was gay a secret. Andy on the mainland would’ve been more than tempting; on the island he’d been off limits.

  It’d taken Nick to change that, but John really didn’t want to think about Nick right then. Smiling into Andy’s brown eyes, a shade darker than his thick, straight hair, he returned the toast. “Here’s to good weather for your visit. What do you have planned?”

  “Oh, you know.” Andy shrugged as if he really didn’t know. “I mostly just wanted to get away for a week. Life’s been pretty hectic.” He leaned back in his chair, watching John with interest. They were about the same height ‑‑ John had remembered that from before ‑‑ but Andy was more solid, muscled, and the T-shirt he was wearing underneath his open leather jacket was pulled tight across his chest to emphasize the fact. “I was actually hoping I could get someone to take me out fishing, but I haven’t had a chance to ask around and see who’s doing that these days. But what about you?” Andy looked at him shrewdly. “What have you
been up to? If you don’t tell me ‑‑ even just a story, because it’s not as if I’ll know the difference, will I? ‑‑ I might get suspicious. Think that you’re hiding something.”

  Andy had always been disarmingly frank, John reflected, making up his mind how much to tell him. “You could say that the story is that I’m not hiding anything these days.” Andy made an encouraging noise and John settled back in his chair. “A year last May, I met someone and we…well, I’m living with him now, here on the island, in what used to be his uncle’s house. His name’s Nick; he’s an American.” And he sees ghosts, had me falling in love with him in under a week, and I’m losing him, John finished silently, feeling a sting of regret as he remembered how it had been for him and Nick. “So…no more hiding.”

  “But something’s not right.” Andy finished his pint and wiped his upper lip. John lifted an eyebrow at him in a question. “You’re not talking like someone who’s happy where he is. Go on, then. Tell me I’m wrong.” He said it as if he knew he were right, but not as if he got any pleasure from being so. He shifted forward in his chair, leaning against the table, watching John’s face.

  “Things change.” John took a sip of his beer, not really wanting it. “People change. It’s nothing we can’t sort out. He’s just working a wee bit much these days, that’s all.” Even he found that unconvincing, but he didn’t know Andy well enough to spill his heart to. It’d been hard enough with Michael.

  Andy just nodded. “I’m still sorry. Things aren’t always easy, are they? It’s a shame.” He looked regretfully into his empty glass. “Good to have everything out in the open, though. It must be an easier life in some ways.”

  “I wouldn’t have agreed with you at the time,” John said dryly. “And it’s not all that much better now. My mother damn near disowned me, the minister still crosses the street when he sees me coming, and if you find yourself in the gents after I’ve bought you a refill, well, there’s usually something written on the walls about me. Geordie cleans it off, but he might as well save himself the bother.” He shrugged. “But, aye. It was worth it.” He’d never doubted that. Worth it to be able to live with Nick, openly. Worth it to wake beside him in the night, with the breeze carrying the salt-scent of the sea through the window to where they lay. Worth it to walk through the town with Nick’s arm slung casually around his shoulders.