Giving Up the Ghost (3 page)

“Aye, and he’ll be leaving in --” Sheila glanced behind her at the clock on the mantel. “Five minutes, so if you’re not wanting to walk to the pub to retrieve your car you’d best be ready to go with him.” It had been a while since John had seen Sheila first thing in the morning, and he couldn’t say he was pleased about the reminder. He much preferred Nick’s quiet smiles and coaxing hands.

Knowing that Nick would still be fast asleep, John shook his head. “I’ll walk. It’ll do me good.”

“I won’t argue with that,” Sheila said with a sniff. She perched on the edge of the sofa, her face softening a little. “You know I don’t mind Michael going out every once in a while, and I’m glad you’re not so caught up in Nick that you’re neglecting your old friends, but I’ll tell you straight, he can’t afford to be down the pub with you every other night. If you want to go out, it should be with Nick. He’s your man, isn’t he?”

John took a last gulp of his tea and put the mug down on the coffee table, making sure it went on a coaster. “It’s too damn early for this.”

Sheila’s lips firmed in a tight line. “Fine. I’ve said my piece. Now get off my sofa, will you? There’s toast on the table --”

“I don’t want any.”

“Then take your shoes, and your coat, and your leave.”

John nodded, regretting it as his head swam, and stood. “I’ll do that.”

He started to gather up the quilt and pillow he’d used, folding them as neatly as he could, regretting his sharp words, although he and Sheila had been friends for too many years for them to watch their tongues around each other.

“Oh, give them here,” Sheila said, taking them out of his arms and giving him a forgiving nudge with her shoulder. “I’ll need to wash them, anyway.”

“You’re a good lass.” John gave her a rare kiss on the cheek as he headed for the hall.

“Go and sweet talk your Nick!” she called after him. “I’m spoken for.”

* * * * *

The wind was cold, cutting right through him despite his heavy jacket. He wished he’d thought to bundle up properly, with a scarf and the thick, soft hat Nick had given him at the beginning of the winter.

The walk gave him time to think, but it was time that he didn’t use. Instead, John concentrated on the rhythm of walking, one foot in front of the other. The ground beneath him was rock-hard, making his shins ache with each jarring step. His ears were half frozen by the time he got to the pub, with the sun just starting to peer above the horizon. Predictably, the car didn’t start to warm him until he’d pulled into their drive. He crept into the house as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake Nick if he was still sleeping, deliberately blocking the door with his foot to keep it from slamming. It was a sharp contrast to his behavior the night before, and John felt more than a bit guilty as he latched the door and took off his shoes and jacket, rubbing his hands together to warm them as he started up the stairs, carefully avoiding the one that creaked.

The curtains were drawn in the bedroom, the room dark. Nick was lying on John’s side of the bed, arm curled around John’s pillow, face hidden. John paused in the doorway and Nick twitched, then made a small sound that was a protest, as if he were dreaming.

John started to get undressed, knowing he should shower to scour the stink of smoke and beer from his body and hair before getting in beside Nick. He didn’t want to, though. Not with Nick there waiting for him in their bed. He dropped his clothes onto a chair, moving quietly, and was halfway to the door when Nick moaned again, this time sounding distressed.

Abandoning his plan to shower, John went over to the bed, staring down at Nick, whose head was moving restlessly against the pillow, chewing his lip in thought. If it was just a dream, there’d be no harm done in waking Nick, easing him out of the nightmare with soft, murmured words and kisses, holding him close, until Nick stopped shaking.

If it was more than that -- well, sometimes it was better to let Nick work through it himself, or so Nick said. John never had, though. He couldn’t see Nick like this and not go to comfort him.

Kneeling by the bed, he passed his hand lightly over Nick’s hair, slipping it down until it was cupping Nick’s face. Nick felt warm, but not feverish, the rasp of stubble on his chin prickling John’s palm. “Nick? It’s me, lad. It’s John.”

Nick twitched again, pressing his face to the pillow and closing his eyes more tightly. He whimpered, and the sound went right to John’s heart.

“Love? Nick, wake up.”

A shudder went through Nick; his eyes opened, and he jerked upright, gasping.

John reached out to him, rubbing his hands over Nick’s upper arms, letting Nick know that he was real. The bedroom was lightening slowly as the sun rose, but it was still dim enough for Nick’s face to be indistinct, blurred by shadow. John could feel the tension in Nick’s rigid body, a tension that melted into a convulsive shudder as Nick’s open, unfocused eyes cleared.

“Move over,” John told him, shivering himself in the cool air. “Let me get beside you.”

Nick swallowed, blinked, and then nodded. “God, you’re freezing,” he said, sliding over and relinquishing the blissfully warm spot to John. Nick’s arms went around John, holding him close, his face finding the crook of John’s neck and hiding there. “You’re home.” Nick sounded relieved.

“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 on, 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.”