And now he didn’t want either peace or conflict, but something that took the best of both and would grant him a short space of time with nothing to do but feel.
John kissed him again, adding a final, teasing nip at Nick’s lip, his eyes gleaming as if, like Nick, he’d decided to forget everything waiting for them in favor of what they both wanted right now.
“Strip as much as you need.” John stepped back. “While I find something we can use --” He walked over to a cupboard, his hand sliding into the back pocket of his jeans and coming out with a small, foil square.
Nick grinned. “Boy Scout.” He kicked off his jeans and shorts, leaving it at that.
“Ever been fucked against a wall, Nick?” John asked without turning, reaching into the cupboard and taking out what looked like a small bottle of cooking oil. He put it on the counter and began to undo his jeans. “With your legs spread wide and the bricks tearing your hands until it’s not just come but blood you leave behind?”
He turned and held up his hand, palm towards Nick, a faint, ragged scar across it. “I have. Once. It wasn’t much fun afterwards, but at the time I damn near bit through my lip trying to keep quiet.” John pushed down his jeans, stepping out of them and his shorts, and picked up the bottle. “You know what? I don’t care how much noise you make, Nick.” He walked toward Nick, who was at the point where nothing else existed but John and what he was about to do, his heart hammering painfully in his chest and his cock as hard as it could get.
“Turn around,” John said, with his voice low but his accent strong, and Nick obeyed automatically. “Now lean over the table.”
Nick did, bracing his hands on the edge of the solid piece of furniture and gasping when he felt slick fingers touching him, and then one pushing inside him, breaching him, going deep, making him moan.
“That’s right. Make as much noise as you like,” John whispered. His chest was pressed to Nick’s back, his breath warm against Nick’s shoulder when he added a second finger.
“Please,” Nick begged. “John, please.”
The fingers left him and he took a swift breath and released it as the head of John’s cock pressed and pushed, and,
fuck,
just shoved inside him in a thrust that was never fast enough to hurt, but which didn’t stop until John was deep in him, his hands sliding under Nick’s shirt and scoring his back in a raking caress and then coming back to grip his hips.
“You feel --” John’s words ended in a gasp, and then he slid out just enough and the next thrust was one long, sweet slide with Nick crying out hoarsely as it ended, his body tightening around John’s cock, his eyes squeezed closed because he didn’t want to see anything right then.
Nick held on to the table desperately, glad that it was there to help hold him up as John slid into him again and again. He was chanting John’s name under his breath with every thrust, his cock so hard that it hurt, but he didn’t care at all about coming because that would mean this was almost over and he didn’t want that. He wanted this to go on and on.
The harsh sound of John’s breathing.
The slick sound as John’s cock thrust in and out of him.
The faint smell of the cooking oil.
“John,” Nick gasped again.
“Aye, it’s me.” John almost growled the words, his fingers sliding around to the front of Nick’s hips but never going anywhere near his cock. “Me fucking you. Me loving you. It’s always going to be me.”
Just those words were almost enough to push Nick over the edge -- as it was, he couldn’t do more than make a sound that was strangled and full of protest as he struggled not to come. John’s cock shoved into him again, hard, and the table Nick was braced against creaked and groaned, sliding half an inch with the force of their fucking. “It’s you,” he managed. “Always you. No one else.”
It was nearly terrifying how quickly that had become true.
He thought he heard John say his name, but it was lost in the blur of sensation as John’s hips jerked forward again and again, fucking him with deep, swift strokes that drove away every doubt and concern because there wasn’t room for anything in his head right then but this. John was in him and around him, the heat of his body as reassuring as the solid strength of the hands that were holding Nick in place so that every surge forward sent that perfect, tormenting shiver and spark through him.
Nick’s breathing rasped in his throat, his lungs working as hard as if he were running at top speed and his palms aching where they were pressed against the edge of the table. His fingertips were tingling and his heart was pounding, and he was, whether he wanted to admit it or not, scared, even though he couldn’t remember why. He couldn’t form a thought. He could only feel and be fucked, too far gone to do more than grunt with each delicious stroke now as he trembled.
He knew that it couldn’t last much longer, for John at least. Without anything touching his cock but air he wasn’t sure he
could
come, even though he’d never been so close for so long. There’d never been a reason to wait until John, never been a time when he’d held back to make it last longer, because getting to come had been the whole point.
Behind him, John cried out, exultant and despairing, and Nick felt his body tense as John came, seeking the release that he himself had almost given up on achieving. John’s hands left Nick and smacked down on the table on either side of him, supporting John’s weight as he fell forward, covering Nick’s body with his own. Nick’s shirt had been pushed up, exposing most of his back, and he felt the beat of John’s racing heart against his skin, matching his own.
They stayed like that for a long moment, and then John brought his arm across to hug Nick to him, kissing the back of his neck “Oh, you --” he murmured. “Oh God, Nick -- Stay there, will you? Please?”
John eased out of him and pressed another kiss to the back of Nick’s neck before moving away for just long enough to deal with the condom, judging by the sound of it. Nick’s head hung down between his trembling arms and he was panting; harsh gasps as his body tried to override his will and end the torment of wanting. His cock was straining forward, blindly seeking something to rub against, flushed dark with beads of pre-come leaking from it.
His hand moved to touch it.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” John said from behind him. “I want that, too.”
“Then
take
it,” Nick snarled, some of his control slipping away, although he managed not to move. He shut his eyes tightly, taking deep, ragged breaths as he waited for John to do something, anything. “God, John, please ...”
John’s hands were on his arms, turning him around, and then one warm hand was sliding up Nick’s inner thigh until he cried out as knuckles rubbed his balls. “Hush, love.” John was murmuring his words against Nick’s mouth. Nick licked at John’s lips, shoving forward until the tip of his cock kissed John’s hip moistly. “I’ll take care of you.”
Past the point of reason, Nick pressed down on John’s shoulder, and John dropped almost immediately to his knees, opening his mouth as Nick guided the head of his cock inside.
John’s lips closed around his shaft avidly, sucking hard, with his tongue lapping at the head, swirling over it in greedy, eager swipes.
Nick slid his hands into John’s hair and pushed forward, watching his cock disappear into John’s mouth and groaning at the sight of it. John glanced up and met his eyes, and he looked ... happy.
Happy to let Nick fuck his mouth, if that was what Nick wanted to do, and there was nothing Nick wanted more.
Unfortunately, he’d been holding back long enough that he couldn’t wait -- four thrusts and Nick was crying out, shuddering, spilling himself over John’s tongue until there was nothing left but a dull weight in his groin and a very strong need
not
to be standing up. Nick wavered on his feet.
“Come here before you fall over.” John’s hand came up and encircled his wrist, pulling Nick down to straddle his lap and immediately wrapping his arms around him in a warmly protective hug with his cheek rubbing gently against Nick’s. “Are you all right?” he asked after a moment, when they were both back to breathing rather than gasping for air. “I didn’t hurt you?”
Nick wriggled a little bit -- he was sore, but not unpleasantly so. “No. What about you?” He brushed his thumb over the corner of John’s mouth tenderly.
John’s tongue ran across his lips and he smiled, stroking his hands slowly over Nick’s back. “I’m fine. More than fine.” His smile faded, without dimming the happiness in his eyes. “I love you, Nick. I’ve never had the chance or the reason to say it before, and now that I can I’ll probably say it too often, but I’m telling you anyway.”
“I’m not sure there’s any such thing as saying it too often.” Nick held John’s face between his hands and kissed him softly. “I love you. More than I thought it was possible to love someone.”
“It’s not going to be easy.” John kissed him back, matching Nick’s gentleness. “Today people weren’t sure what to think, but tomorrow -- God, I don’t want to think about that.” He leaned his forehead against Nick’s and sighed. “Let’s get up. And if it won’t hurt your feelings, I think we’d better make a fresh pot of tea. I doubt that one’s drinkable by now.”
“You’re probably fussier than I am and I
still
think you’re right.” They managed to get to their feet and Nick started to look around for his pants. “And if the tea’s no good, I’m sure the eggs are totally inedible. You make tea, I’ll make eggs, and then we’ll ...” Picking up his pants, he hesitated. “I guess I shouldn’t assume you want me to spend the night.”
John gave him a fondly exasperated look as he got dressed. “I’m thinking you don’t need to assume it.” He walked over to Nick and gave him a one-armed hug as he tucked his shirt in. “I always want to be with you, but as it’s not two minutes since I told you why that is, I’m not going to tell you again.”
“I have to tell you something.” Nick put his arms around John, one hand sliding up to the back of John’s neck and holding on, keeping them both where they were so he didn’t have to see John’s face when he said the words. He hated himself for being such a coward. “It’s why you might not want me to stay.” He didn’t wait for John to reply. “There was another ghost, earlier today. I don’t ... I don’t know for sure, but I think ... I think it was your father.”
The arms around him tightened, and he felt John take a long, slow breath before he spoke. “My father? You saw --?” There was a pause, with John standing very still, lost in thought, as if he was replaying what had happened in the kitchen. “Aye. I remember now. You were looking over at the door, weren’t you? And you said something about ‘not now,’ but I thought you were meaning --”
John’s arms dropped away and he stepped back so that Nick had no choice but to meet his eyes. “Was it -- was it very bad?” he asked hoarsely, his eyes dark with pain. “Did he look -- God, Nick, if I have to see him looking like he did when they took him from the water, I’m not sure I can do it --” He turned on his heel, looking around the room with swift, uneasy glances. “Christ, is he here now? While we were --? God! Can you see him?” He turned back to Nick and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Tell me if he’s here!”
Nick jerked himself free and backed away, coming up against the cupboard behind him. “No.” He shook his head. “No, no, he’s not here.” John’s intensity and pain were too much, even though he’d expected them. “I think it was just because your mother was there. Maybe. I don’t know. He didn’t ... he looked fine.”
John blinked at him. “Fine? He’s a year dead! How can he -- fuck, this is insane.” He took a shaky breath, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I didn’t mean to shout at you like that.” He gave Nick an apologetic look, although Nick noticed that John made no move to close the gap between them. “It’s just -- these ghosts you see are people with problems; people who did something awful. My dad -- he wasn’t like that. He was just -- normal. Why would he be here still? Are you sure you’re not seeing someone else? If he’d a look of me, it might be a relative from years ago?”
His voice was pleading now, and it was almost more than Nick could bear to hear.
“Maybe I’m wrong.” Nick’s wrist ached suddenly and inexplicably, and his head felt like he was the one who’d had too much to drink. He felt a strong urge to walk back to Rossneath, crawl between his sheets, and stay there for the rest of his life.
Some day John would die.
“Look, I didn’t ... I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t ... that I wasn’t ...” Nick’s breath shivered. It was always going to be like this. “I’ll go home.”
“If you do, I’m coming with you.” John’s voice was so soft that Nick could barely hear it. John compressed his lips, looking like someone about to jump out of a plane without a parachute, and then walked up to Nick and held out his hand. “He’s my dad. He shouldn’t be your problem. If he’s like the rest, he’ll stay until you sort it out, whatever it is, and until that’s taken care of, I’m not leaving your side. I can’t always be holding your hand, maybe, but when he comes, you’re to tell me, you understand? And then --” John’s hand took Nick’s and squeezed it gently. “Then we’ll lay him to rest like he deserves.” John shook his head, his eyes troubled. “You shouldn’t have to do this. I’m sorry.”
“
You
shouldn’t have to do this.” Nick didn’t pull his hand away even though part of him wanted to. “You wouldn’t have to, if it weren’t for me.” He knew what John needed to hear. “I’ll tell you. If he ... God, John. Tell me you don’t hate me?”
“
Hate
you?” John sounded genuinely puzzled. “If it wasn’t for you, he’d have no one to help him, although I still can’t think what it is that’s troubling him, mind you. If you hadn’t come here, he’d just be waiting and waiting --” He looked horrified at the thought, and Nick couldn’t blame him. John’s hand came up to cup Nick’s face, caressing it gently. “Leaving aside the fact that I’m as deep in love with you as I can be, I’d have to be one hell of an ungrateful sod to hate you for preventing that.”
Nick looked into John’s blue eyes, needing more reassurance but not wanting to ask for it. John must have understood, though, because the man pulled him in close, strong arms hugging him tightly, and Nick found himself clinging to John in much the same way John had clung to him earlier. “I love you.” The words stuck in Nick’s throat. “And it scares the hell out of me. I don’t want to lose you.”