Chapter Seven
Ghost sat in the darkness for a long time, teetering on the knife edge of breakdown. He drove the heels of his palms into the boney rim of his eyes and stretched the skin tight over his forehead as he fought for control.
It was a process he'd devised organically: a barrier against the undulating flow of pain and tedium that had defined his youth. Where he had no control over the world, he controlled himself: focusing his breathing until it was slow and steady. Each inhalation and exhalation was a measured effort until he didn't have to do it consciously anymore. He withdrew into himself and existed only in the ebb and flow of air from his body.
Finally, he jerked awake as his elbow slipped. For a moment, he lolled unsteadily, blinking away the grit from his eyes and then he caught his balance. He was exhausted, but he was calm; the danger had passed. The emotions still lingered, specters of their former raging selves like the lightening of a distant storm flickering on the horizon. He sighed and flopped backwards, landing with his arms spread wide. The bed was soft, but the linen was cold beneath his skin. He shivered. He hadn't noticed, but the room was freezing.
There was no light from under the door leading to Roach's room, he had obviously gone to sleep and left Ghost to his own devices. In the silent coolness, Ghost felt Roach's palpable absence for the first time. Previously, he'd never had anything to measure his own loneliness against: he couldn't miss what he'd never had. Now he felt like part of him had been cut away.
He sat up again and looked at the door. It was all that was keeping him from going to Roach, a thin barrier that he could force down with a single kick, if he wanted. He had left Roach, pushing away his embrace to lick his own wounds, alone. For the first time it occurred to him in his vulnerability, Roach hadn't stuck in the knife as Ghost had expected. He had been patient, and kind.
I don't blame you. It doesn't change what I think. A sudden tightness constricted his throat. He closed his eyes and froze, holding the quickening tension and then exhaled, letting it flow away. Roach's concern was genuine, and it was almost too much for Ghost to bear.
Roach is my friend. He felt comfortable enough naming him as that now and nothing more, but in doing so, he bequeathed himself new responsibilities. Roach was his friend, and Ghost had let him down.
I wish you'd told me. I wish I could get you to see that you can talk to me. He wished he had now, because then he might not be nursing a black eye in the cold dark of his hotel room. He remembered the feeling of Roach's warm skin against his own, and the sensation of his arm around his body. It had felt good. He shivered. He was tired of being cold, and of being alone. He stood up and went to the door.
Roach's room was in pitch darkness. A faint glow from the clock on the television showed him the edge of the bed and the suggestion of his body beneath the sheets, slumped onto his side. Ghost stood still in the doorway, listening to Roach as he breathed. He was asleep.
Ghost walked carefully, silently, across the carpet until he was standing by the edge of the bed. He had been trained to creep undetected through forests and across deserts, but climbing into a bed without waking the occupant had not been part of the curriculum. He cursed inwardly as he realised that it might have made more sense to leave his clothes in his own room. The belt buckle clinked as it hit the floor, but there was no response from Roach. Gently, with the minimum of movement, Ghost pulled back the sheets and sat gingerly down on the edge of the mattress. Roach didn't stir as he twisted and pulled his legs up and into the bed, replacing the sheets over his naked form.
The heat radiated from Roach's body. Ghost wanted to touch him, but his fingers were cold and he knew that it would probably wake him. Instead he slid his hand to the warm patch of sheet just behind Roach's head and tried to steal some of the heat. Suddenly Roach snuffled, and then with the slow, mighty effort of a whale breaching, he rolled over, his face knocking against Ghost's before he could jerk away. Roach made a brief whimpering noise, pushing his head back into some free space on the pillow.
Roach moved sleepily, sliding his hand around Ghost's body and shifting closer, until he was resting on Ghost's chest. Ghost froze and Roach settled, his warm face nuzzling against Ghost's cold skin. Ghost exhaled slowly, but Roach had fallen back into his dreams. In the dark, Ghost lay still, his heart fluttering in his chest. He knew then, as Roach's breath blew softly across his skin he'd made the right decision, this was where he wanted to be.
The next morning, Ghost awoke to the sound of water running and faintly audible singing. Roach was gone, and he presumed that this was related to the noise that he could hear. He rubbed his eyes, wincing when he touched the bruised part of his face. He groaned. The scab was rough under his fingertips, but he could at least open his eye and see properly, which was a small blessing.
The memories of the night before were still fresh in his mind. Stone cold sober, he couldn't believe he'd done it: he'd told Roach something that he'd never admitted to another soul. Sure, he had been desperate, and life had forced his hand, but he was nervous giving Roach a handhold that could be used against him. Yet the fact that he didn't have to face Manchester alone was a profound relief that washed over the mounting anxiety about admitting his history.
Ghost sat up. He stretched, his muscles whining and complaining about the sudden movement. He spotted his clothes on the floor beside the bed. Reaching down, he picked up the underwear he'd been wearing yesterday. They were from the box that Roach had bought, in the bag of flashy clothes he'd picked out for Ghost to wear.
Those are more for my benefit, he remembered being told. They were y-fronts and the waistband was embellished with a little embroidered motif of skulls and the words “Alexander McQueen”. Ghost turned them over in his hands, feeling the weight and the weave of the fabric. He would
never have picked them out himself.
He felt a guilty pang. Roach had obviously put some thought into last night, and had gone to some effort to make up for Ghost's deficiency in taste, not to mention researching the restaurants and clubs of the premier part of the gay district.
You really blew it. He thought, feeling like a fool.
“Morning!” Roach strode out of the shower, a towel carelessly slung around his shoulders. Ghost looked up and then away quickly. He was still embarrassed by Roach's unselfconscious nakedness, his brash swagger. His cock swung between his legs as he walked. Ghost tried not to look. He glanced briefly at Roach's face. His top lip looked less swollen around the stitches, and there was a dark bruise along the edge of his jaw.
“Morning.” Ghost mumbled.
Roach dropped the towel on the floor and flopped down onto the bed behind him, the mattress creaking underneath his weight.
“I'm sorry about last night.” said Ghost. He was suddenly nervous talking to Roach again.“I really fucked that up.”
“It's okay.” said Roach. “I understand now.” He felt Roach's hand slide along his side and come to rest on his hips with his fingers splayed. He patted Ghost's skin, making a soft slapping sound. Ghost could feel the emotions of the night before rising again. He wanted to shy away from Roach's touch.
“It's... I mean... It might be easy if it was someone else.” Ghost wrung the fabric of the pants across his knuckles, stretching it tight and twisting it between his fingers.
“What?”
“With anyone else, I'd know we were both just pretending. With you...” He shook his head. He couldn't make the words fit properly. “I mean... I've never even had a conversation with anyone I've been with until you. I don't do... “ he trailed off.
Roach lay in silence for a few moments. Ghost looked round. He was lying flat on his back, rubbing his left hand gently over his own stomach thoughtfully, pulling at the trail of hair that lead from his naval into the thick brush of his dark pubes. “What do you want then?” Roach asked, looking thoughtfully at the wall opposite. His right hand clawed gently over Ghost's flank, the fingers flexing and extending, the tips of his nails stroked the skin. Ghost shuddered.
“I don't know.”
“I'm not the one who can't pretend.” said Roach, suddenly. “I never had a problem having friends. Boys at school. The lads in The Regiment. We all got on. They were never my boyfriends.” Ghost winced when he said 'boyfriends'. Roach sat up and shuffled across so that he was directly behind Ghost's back. Ghost felt his hand on his shoulder and then stiff edges of the sutures on his lip scratched across his skin as Roach ran his mouth across the broad expanse of Ghost's back. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine, tensing the big muscles of his shoulders. “You're so scared of who you are, you don't let anyone get close, even if they wouldn't be interested in you that way. You think you've got your work and your sex life separate? You're kidding yourself, mate.”
Ghost knew Roach wasn't wrong and his words bit deep. Part of Ghost hated Roach, hated his gift of observation and his irritating habit of summing up Ghost's problems perfectly.
“I'm just
fucked up.” said Ghost.
“I don't think that.” said Roach. “I just think you should cut yourself some slack.”
“What if I make a mistake? What if I do something that's not right?”
“Like what? Trip and stick your cock up MacTavish's arse? Probably do him some good. He's wound pretty tight.” Roach sniggered.
“Don't.” Ghost shook his head.
“Sorry.” said Roach. “I just don't like seeing you upset. It doesn't have to be that way.”
Ghost sighed. He felt Roach slide his hands around his body, pulling him into a loose embrace. He rested his chin on Ghost's shoulder.
Ghost instantly felt the urge to push him off, to free himself of the cloying, swaddling grip, but it felt
good.
He closed his eyes, feeling the sensation of being held close. He felt a sudden, rushing, surge of emotion that filled his body with warmth. He wanted to turn to Roach, to place his lips on his and kiss him with a furious, burning passion, but at the same time, he couldn't. It went against everything he'd ever taught himself to believe. The stress of the division was too much to bear.
“Thanks.” He whispered, hoarsely. “Now, get off me, you soft git!” He shook Roach's arms from his shoulders and pushed him away. Roach fell back, chuckling to himself.
“Soft?” he said “Cheeky bastard!” He reached down with his left hand to grip the shaft of his semi-erect cock. He squeezed it and it visibly firmed in his hand, proudly ready between his legs.
Ghost had to laugh. “How do you even have the energy?” He shook his head. His face hurt, and his body was still complaining about the bits that had hit the ground fighting with Roach, yet the sight of Roach naked, holding himself in his hands, was enough to get his blood pumping again. He felt his own cock twitch. Despite all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, and despite his bruised jaw and burst lip, Roach was as good looking as he had been when Ghost had first seen him, and his body was still as magnificent as it had been in the lamplight of his room a week ago. Ghost couldn't resist.
“Because I'm still young?” said Roach, with a smug smile.
“Fuck off!” Ghost twisted round and pushed him, feigning anger. Roach flopped back onto the bed, giggling. The springs of the mattress creaked alarmingly under his weight as he bounced. Ghost took the initiative and jumped on top of him. “You calling me passed it?” he joked. He was straddling Roach, pinning him onto his back.
Roach grinned up at him. “What you going to do about it?” he challenged. Between Ghost's legs, he twisted his body from side to side, a deliberate and provocative motion that ground Ghost's balls between them. It was a fine line between pleasure and pain. Ghost jerked and gasped. In that instant, all his worries were forgotten. Roach wanted him still, and that was enough.
Ghost leaned forward and picked up Roach's wrists in his hands. He pushed them above his head and gripped them firmly in his left hand. With the other, he reached down and took Roach's cock firmly in his palm, squeezing, pressing his thumb over the head and sliding the foreskin down. Roach growled, his back arching as Ghost started to slowly slide his grip along the shaft. As he started to gently develop a rhythm, he relaxed and opened his eyes. Ghost squeezed the head of Roach's cock and he moaned.
Ghost was already hard. He
loved that Roach was trapped underneath him, that Ghost had complete control, but he loved it more that Roach was enjoying it, obviously excited at the prospect of Ghost doing as he pleased. He leant forward as he sped up his tugging and whispered into Roach's ear. “I'm going to fuck you, you cheeky bastard.” he growled.
Roach's responding smile sent an electric shock coursing through his body. Ghost had always want to do this, always wanted to take complete control, but had never felt like he could try it with the casual encounters. It was his ultimate fantasy, and the fact that Roach wanted it too was driving him wild. He took Roach's earlobe between his teeth and pulled it gently. Roach groaned, twisting his head towards to try to dislodge him. It was an obviously sensitive point. Ghost released his cock and brought his hand up to gently cup Roach's jaw, careful to avoid the bruises, but with just enough pressure to let him kiss under the jawline and onto the delicate skin of his neck. He felt a surge of excitement as he remembered the night in the kitchen, him clad only in a towel and Roach pinning him against the worksurface, his lips nipping and kissing along his throat. Now the tables were turned, Roach seemed to be enjoying it just as much, writhing underneath Ghost as he gave the skin his full attention.
Ghost ran his nails across the sensitive places under his arms and down his sides, feeling the power of Roach's muscles as he buckled and twisted under Ghost's thighs. He kissed down his neck, and into the hollow of his collar bone: gentle kisses that barely even touched him. His own stubble grated against Roach's freshly shaven skin. He kept his face close, feeling the brush of the dark hair that covered Roach's chest against his face as he bent to run his tongue across the nipple.
The brush of the hair against his skin excited him. For some reason, it seemed more intimate than anything else they were doing. He sat up, and took his own cock in his hand. It was rock hard now, the foreskin already straining back.
“You getting tired?” Roach goaded, smirking.
“Not even slightly.” he replied.
He released Roach's hands, continuing to grip himself as he reached for the bedside drawer. Sure enough, Roach had been organised enough to squirrel a selection of sheaths there. He grabbed one, ripped the packet open and slid it carefully over his ready cock. The anticipation of what he was going to do with Roach served only to excite him further.
Roach sat up to help him, but Ghost pushed him back. “I'm not finished with you yet.” he said, squeezing a generous helping of lubricant into his hands. He went to roll Roach over, but he was stopped.
“I want to watch you.” whispered Roach.
“What?” said Ghost, confused.
“I want to see your face when we're fucking.” he elaborated. He flexed his legs, bringing them up to his chest and slid a pillow underneath his hips, giving Ghost more access.
Ghost blinked. This was new. Ghost had never looked at the guys he fucked, it was crossing an unmarked line. He suddenly felt nervous. Tentatively, stroked his hand between Roach's cheeks, rubbing his fingertips gently over the skin between them, feeling the muscles tense and relax underneath his touch. He swallowed, his throat dry. There was a gentle press of fear in the small of his back. He hesitated and looked shyly at Roach, who smiled.
You owe him this. He thought, biting his lip.
Roach sensed his anxiety and pushed himself up towards Ghost. With his free hand he reached up to Ghost's face, gently caressing him, before bringing his chin down and softly kissing him. The knots of the stitches skimmed against Ghost's lip. He wanted to respond, but he didn't want to hurt Roach more than he already had. He moved his lips gently, exerting only the barest of pressure on Roach's face.
“It's alright.” Roach whispered, his breath warm on Ghost's skin. He stroked his fingers tenderly along Ghost's neck and Ghost jerked. The gentle touch was overwhelming, almost painful. He placed his hand over Roach's and brought it to his face to kiss.
“I want you.” said Ghost. He had never been surer of anything in his life. Roach turned his hand and laced his fingers between Ghost's own. Ghost flashed onto the Sunday morning, the terror he'd felt at the same gesture and his throat constricted. His heart hammered in his chest. He dropped back into the present with a jolt, Roach's hand clasped in his. He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. He felt like he was standing at the edge of a chasm that yawned deep and terrible. He closed his eyes, and squeezed back. He felt like he was falling, and suddenly he didn't mind at all.
Roach moaned softly as he entered him, a sound that was barely audible, but still gave Ghost a thrill. His eyelids fluttered and he flopped his head back. He groaned as his back arched, a deep, growling noise of pleasure. He felt a sudden slick of joy in his stomach at the sound and then he gasped as Roach clenched the muscles of his arse around Ghost's cock. Roach laughed and their eyes locked. It was the ultimate act of intimacy and it shocked him, sending an electric pulse along his spine and coursing through his body. He felt like his soul was stripped and laid bare under Roach's gaze. He had never felt anything like it before. He had never let himself be vulnerable.
Reflexively, his body moving automatically, Ghost started to thrust slowly, gently rocking his pelvis back and forth with just enough effort that Roach moaned again, his face contorting with pleasure. Roach's cock was free between then, bobbing with the motion of Ghost's movement. Roach reached down and curled his hand around himself, rubbing along to his own rhythm as Ghost started to thrust faster.
Seeing Roach pulling at himself, seeing his toned, sculpted body underneath him, the expression on his face as Ghost fucked him, drove Ghost into a sexual frenzy. He felt himself getting closer and closer, thrusting harder and faster. He couldn't look at Roach, it was too much. Roach grunted with each effort, his body jerking with the force of Ghost driving into him as he furiously pumped his hand along his own length.
“Fucking
hell.” He moaned. “Don't stop! Oh, fucking hell I'm-” He stopped with a sharp intake of breath and growled. Ghost knew he was going to come and drove himself deeper inside, putting all his energy into the effort. Roach cried out, gripping Ghost's hand so tightly in his own that they turned white, but Ghost was too close to notice as he thrust wildly towards his own climax. He felt himself twitch, and again and then he was coming, his body spasming and jerking as the sensation overtook him, waves of pleasure coalescing into one massive, explosive burst.
“Roach! Oh God, Roach!” He heard his own voice distantly as the orgasm peaked and then he slumped, flopping down on top of Roach's body, their sweat soaked skin sliding together as he came to rest.
Lying exhausted, he felt Roach's fingers stroking along his neck, his nails gently raking the skin and ruffling the hair that covered the nape. He flexed his fingers, feeling his sweat and Roach's mingling on their touching palms. This time was different. This time he was glad.
