((OOC Author's Note: Chronologically, this takes place before both Vengeance Be Mine and Reunion of Brothers. If you're interested in this story or haven't read any of them yet, you probably want to read them in order. Thanks for looking!))
Four pm was a bad time of day. Any time of day beyond the hour or so that he got just always blew. He had been gone for a few hours, which maybe was the ghost equivalent for sleeping. Once he was aware again he found himself dressed, sitting in the passenger seat next to Ian. That was one of the things he didn't like. He missed his red Subaru and being behind the wheel. Reaching over, he changed the radio station on the car so that Ian would get that he was there before he rested his left hand atop the boy's thigh.
Without having gotten a cigarette, he realized he felt one in his hand and was smoking. "Where are we going?" He didn't know how clearly he'd be heard at this hour, or if it was even 'hearing' that Ian experienced when he spoke. All he knew was that the kid seemed to pick up on him.
Some of those intervening hours were okay. Okayish, anyway. Waking up with the weight of Jay's arm around him, for instance. The impression of his lover's chest pressed firmly against his back, the pressure of thighs against thighs. Ian never slept in clothes anymore, and he never slept alone. In those pre-conscious hours, just like at twilight, it was almost easy to forget, to feel like nothing had changed.
The road spooled out ahead of them, falling away under the wheels of the borrowed car. He tapped his fingers absently to the beat of the song on the radio, analyzing scenarios in his mind. If A, then B. If C, then X. If X, go with A. Lost in thought and only somewhat paying attention to his immediate surroundings, Ian became aware of the change in station, the hand on his thigh and the voice beside him all at once.
The kid smiled, pulling one hand off the wheel to rest lightly over Mac's. To an outside observer, it would seem strange: the way his hand seemed to hover a couple of inches above his own leg, suspended there like he'd gotten distracted, forgotten what he was doing. "To see Ezra," he responded, glancing at the passenger seat out of the corner of his eye, trying to catch that gossamer glimpse of his boyfriend. "Missed you."
The edge of his fedora. Nothing. Always like a trick of an outline, a thought or memory. Always less substantial the more Ian actually put his gaze in his direction. Mac's image was the most crisp in Ian's peripheral vision. Still, it was hard as hell not to turn your head, or look, when you thought you saw something there.
"Good," to the news of seeing Ezra. It had been something nagging at him. Mac's impatience hadn't changed much after dying. There was still a sense of urgency in him. Things needed to happen, now, and they needed to be right. Ian's thigh felt the pressure of his hand squeezing after he rested his hand atop of his. Missed. He smiles, and even though Ian can't see it, he probably hears it in his voice, "How long was I gone?"
Those times when Jay was gone from him completely, when he 'slept' or 'rested' or whatever it was that ghosts did, those were the worst. Them, and those first five miserable, awful minutes after their one perfect, golden hour together. Ian was still a fiercely independent, individual thing - it wasn't that he couldn't enjoy the reprieve for what it was, the moments truly alone to get things done without being second guessed. But he couldn't help the panicky, restless edge that absence opened in his belly, that deepset, unsettled anxiety that overtook him as he waited for the ghost to return.
Hoped the ghost would return.
Ian closed his fingers over that unseen hand even as it squeezed his thigh, letting the relief that, one more time, it hadn't been the last time after all wash over him. His grip tightening, he lifted it to his lips, turning that hand over so he could press a light kiss to its palm. I'm so glad you're back. Good thing they weren't in bumper to bumper traffic.
"Couple of hours," said the kid, glancing at the display on the car's dashboard console. "Since lunchtime," he corrected. Three hours, not two. "We're almost there - you missed the stupid... portal thing."
He'd kept telling himself that it would be the last time. Just one more time. One more kiss, one more ****, and he'd somehow be less wanting of him. Like an addict, getting more never sated the urge but built a bonfire for it. It was easier when he couldn't look at Ian to believe that. But when he was there, when he had to see his face and come up with a reason to discard him? He'd **** failed at that **** left and right and still couldn't really explain why it had been like that except that he wanted him. Over and over in ways that evolved and became more reckless.
Ian's lips pressed into his palm. Jay's thumb moved over his lips to outline them. stopping at his lip piercing to more gingerly circle around it. The stupid portal thing. At the end of the day, it had all been about those portals. About Rhy'Din being desirable as a port of trade to control and tax. "Goddamn portals."
It wasn't the same, this shadow touch. There was a whisper of the grave in it, a frosty chill along the edges of intimately familiar contact. Still, it was better than not touching him, than meeting no resistance, than passing through when he reached for him.
Ian had learned to live with the cold.
Lips subtly parted as those ephemeral fingers moved over them, a grin snagging the corners of his mouth when his lip ring clinked faintly against his teeth. The boy nodded his assent: goddamn portals indeed.
He glanced down at his phone. It was balanced on his left thigh, the map application pulled open and directing them to the agreed upon meeting point. It was far enough away from where Silas currently had the MacIntosh boys camped that Ezra wouldn't be followed, close enough that he could get back quickly in case he found himself being missed. The exit he needed had come up sooner than he anticipated, and he released his hold on Jay's hand so he could signal with the indicator, twisting in his seat to check his blind spot before he changed several lanes to the right.
Suddenly, and apparently apropos of absolutely nothing, the kid had a question. "When is--er, was, I guess -- your birthday?" It was funny how you could know someone so completely without knowing the little details.
It was Jena's Sportsgrill and Bar. All sports grill places looked the same. Dark walls with random memorabilia decorating the walls, acting like pops of color against the dark backdrop. This spot wasn't enormous, but it still managed to have three enormous televisions lighting up the walls. There was one old pool table in the back. A long, dark stained bar dominated a wall with the center space filled with high tables with even higher chairs. Along the right hand side wall were about eight booths, one of which was occupied by Ezra.
He was there, eating lemon pepper chicken wings with his beer and trying not to look nervous about it. His forty five was holstered behind his back under the belt, same way that Mac did it.
"My birthday?" Mac's laugh reaches around the air of the car as Ian navigates the way to Ezra. There is a pause, hanging there between them until he answers, "December Fifth. I don't do birthdays." Not really, not anything more than everyone grabbing a few beers together.
His attention split between the road and the phone in his lap, Ian navigated the car off the highway and into the parking lot for the sports bar, his nose wrinkling a little at how generic it was. It didn't matter what it was called: it would look the same on the inside, have the same menu, as any other sports bar in the world. It could be anywhere and it could be nowhere. That was one thing that could be said for Rhydin - at least the place had character.
Finding a parking spot that faced the street and not the restaurant, the kid pulled smoothly into it, letting the engine idle. He nodded to show that he'd heard, a dim smile touching his mouth. Turning the ignition off, he pulled the keys and shoved them in his pocket, shifting in the seat to make that happen. I don't do birthdays. Neither did Mark--whose imminent birthday had prompted the question in the first place. "Just wondering," he said at last, his eyes shifting briefly up to the rear view mirror, like he might be able to see Jay reflected in its surface. "Seemed like a thing I should know."
Taking a breath, the kid raked his fingers through dark waves, tugged once on his lip ring to re-seat it against his teeth, and then he shoved the driver's side door open. Before he got out, though, he turned toward the apparently-empty passenger seat, that same dim smile surfacing. "...Kiss me for luck?"
"You can only **** for luck," his laugh punches the air then fades. It seems he'd gone, just up until the moment that his lips join Ian's. Half of the time he had to think about just being able to kiss him. It tempered his motions, making them more deliberate and contrived.
It was easy enough, though. He just had to roll over, setting one of his knees in his seat, the other near the gear shift so that the bulk of is form could hover near. There. Not there. His right hand crossed over, gripping the side of Ian's neck with the meeting of their lips. His short, assertive and undeniably possessive gestures unaffected by death. When his mouth broke from Ian's he spoke, "Don't let Ezra or any of those **** give you excuses. This **** is happening and I don't care what goddamn moon has to be moved for it."
"Yeah, but we don't have time for that just yet." Ian's smile answered that laugh, but he waited. For a moment, there was nothing, and then there was that strong, familiar grasp on his neck, pulling him forward into a kiss. He grinned against unseen lips, using the kiss to guide his fingers against his lover's chest.
The kiss ended sooner than he wanted it to, but then it always did. The kid nodded again. He'd grown more patient with Jay's impatience, understanding at last that it was a reflex of needing to feel in control of something. "It's happening," he agreed, searching for one of Mac's hands and squeezing it lightly before he turned to get out of the car.
Rising, the kid squared his shoulders, pulled at the hem of the shirt he wore to make sure it settled right over his waistband. It was one of Josh's, so it was a little bit too big on him, the holes where the sleeves had been gaping away from him more than they had on Mac. The effect made both the slowly scarring bullet wound and the tattoo that almost perfectly matched Ezra's at least partially visible, and that had been deliberate.
Shoving the car door closed once he'd hit the button to lock it, Ian moved across the parking lot and into the restaurant's interior.
Four pm was a bad time of day. Any time of day beyond the hour or so that he got just always blew. He had been gone for a few hours, which maybe was the ghost equivalent for sleeping. Once he was aware again he found himself dressed, sitting in the passenger seat next to Ian. That was one of the things he didn't like. He missed his red Subaru and being behind the wheel. Reaching over, he changed the radio station on the car so that Ian would get that he was there before he rested his left hand atop the boy's thigh.
Without having gotten a cigarette, he realized he felt one in his hand and was smoking. "Where are we going?" He didn't know how clearly he'd be heard at this hour, or if it was even 'hearing' that Ian experienced when he spoke. All he knew was that the kid seemed to pick up on him.
Some of those intervening hours were okay. Okayish, anyway. Waking up with the weight of Jay's arm around him, for instance. The impression of his lover's chest pressed firmly against his back, the pressure of thighs against thighs. Ian never slept in clothes anymore, and he never slept alone. In those pre-conscious hours, just like at twilight, it was almost easy to forget, to feel like nothing had changed.
The road spooled out ahead of them, falling away under the wheels of the borrowed car. He tapped his fingers absently to the beat of the song on the radio, analyzing scenarios in his mind. If A, then B. If C, then X. If X, go with A. Lost in thought and only somewhat paying attention to his immediate surroundings, Ian became aware of the change in station, the hand on his thigh and the voice beside him all at once.
The kid smiled, pulling one hand off the wheel to rest lightly over Mac's. To an outside observer, it would seem strange: the way his hand seemed to hover a couple of inches above his own leg, suspended there like he'd gotten distracted, forgotten what he was doing. "To see Ezra," he responded, glancing at the passenger seat out of the corner of his eye, trying to catch that gossamer glimpse of his boyfriend. "Missed you."
The edge of his fedora. Nothing. Always like a trick of an outline, a thought or memory. Always less substantial the more Ian actually put his gaze in his direction. Mac's image was the most crisp in Ian's peripheral vision. Still, it was hard as hell not to turn your head, or look, when you thought you saw something there.
"Good," to the news of seeing Ezra. It had been something nagging at him. Mac's impatience hadn't changed much after dying. There was still a sense of urgency in him. Things needed to happen, now, and they needed to be right. Ian's thigh felt the pressure of his hand squeezing after he rested his hand atop of his. Missed. He smiles, and even though Ian can't see it, he probably hears it in his voice, "How long was I gone?"
Those times when Jay was gone from him completely, when he 'slept' or 'rested' or whatever it was that ghosts did, those were the worst. Them, and those first five miserable, awful minutes after their one perfect, golden hour together. Ian was still a fiercely independent, individual thing - it wasn't that he couldn't enjoy the reprieve for what it was, the moments truly alone to get things done without being second guessed. But he couldn't help the panicky, restless edge that absence opened in his belly, that deepset, unsettled anxiety that overtook him as he waited for the ghost to return.
Hoped the ghost would return.
Ian closed his fingers over that unseen hand even as it squeezed his thigh, letting the relief that, one more time, it hadn't been the last time after all wash over him. His grip tightening, he lifted it to his lips, turning that hand over so he could press a light kiss to its palm. I'm so glad you're back. Good thing they weren't in bumper to bumper traffic.
"Couple of hours," said the kid, glancing at the display on the car's dashboard console. "Since lunchtime," he corrected. Three hours, not two. "We're almost there - you missed the stupid... portal thing."
He'd kept telling himself that it would be the last time. Just one more time. One more kiss, one more ****, and he'd somehow be less wanting of him. Like an addict, getting more never sated the urge but built a bonfire for it. It was easier when he couldn't look at Ian to believe that. But when he was there, when he had to see his face and come up with a reason to discard him? He'd **** failed at that **** left and right and still couldn't really explain why it had been like that except that he wanted him. Over and over in ways that evolved and became more reckless.
Ian's lips pressed into his palm. Jay's thumb moved over his lips to outline them. stopping at his lip piercing to more gingerly circle around it. The stupid portal thing. At the end of the day, it had all been about those portals. About Rhy'Din being desirable as a port of trade to control and tax. "Goddamn portals."
It wasn't the same, this shadow touch. There was a whisper of the grave in it, a frosty chill along the edges of intimately familiar contact. Still, it was better than not touching him, than meeting no resistance, than passing through when he reached for him.
Ian had learned to live with the cold.
Lips subtly parted as those ephemeral fingers moved over them, a grin snagging the corners of his mouth when his lip ring clinked faintly against his teeth. The boy nodded his assent: goddamn portals indeed.
He glanced down at his phone. It was balanced on his left thigh, the map application pulled open and directing them to the agreed upon meeting point. It was far enough away from where Silas currently had the MacIntosh boys camped that Ezra wouldn't be followed, close enough that he could get back quickly in case he found himself being missed. The exit he needed had come up sooner than he anticipated, and he released his hold on Jay's hand so he could signal with the indicator, twisting in his seat to check his blind spot before he changed several lanes to the right.
Suddenly, and apparently apropos of absolutely nothing, the kid had a question. "When is--er, was, I guess -- your birthday?" It was funny how you could know someone so completely without knowing the little details.
It was Jena's Sportsgrill and Bar. All sports grill places looked the same. Dark walls with random memorabilia decorating the walls, acting like pops of color against the dark backdrop. This spot wasn't enormous, but it still managed to have three enormous televisions lighting up the walls. There was one old pool table in the back. A long, dark stained bar dominated a wall with the center space filled with high tables with even higher chairs. Along the right hand side wall were about eight booths, one of which was occupied by Ezra.
He was there, eating lemon pepper chicken wings with his beer and trying not to look nervous about it. His forty five was holstered behind his back under the belt, same way that Mac did it.
"My birthday?" Mac's laugh reaches around the air of the car as Ian navigates the way to Ezra. There is a pause, hanging there between them until he answers, "December Fifth. I don't do birthdays." Not really, not anything more than everyone grabbing a few beers together.
His attention split between the road and the phone in his lap, Ian navigated the car off the highway and into the parking lot for the sports bar, his nose wrinkling a little at how generic it was. It didn't matter what it was called: it would look the same on the inside, have the same menu, as any other sports bar in the world. It could be anywhere and it could be nowhere. That was one thing that could be said for Rhydin - at least the place had character.
Finding a parking spot that faced the street and not the restaurant, the kid pulled smoothly into it, letting the engine idle. He nodded to show that he'd heard, a dim smile touching his mouth. Turning the ignition off, he pulled the keys and shoved them in his pocket, shifting in the seat to make that happen. I don't do birthdays. Neither did Mark--whose imminent birthday had prompted the question in the first place. "Just wondering," he said at last, his eyes shifting briefly up to the rear view mirror, like he might be able to see Jay reflected in its surface. "Seemed like a thing I should know."
Taking a breath, the kid raked his fingers through dark waves, tugged once on his lip ring to re-seat it against his teeth, and then he shoved the driver's side door open. Before he got out, though, he turned toward the apparently-empty passenger seat, that same dim smile surfacing. "...Kiss me for luck?"
"You can only **** for luck," his laugh punches the air then fades. It seems he'd gone, just up until the moment that his lips join Ian's. Half of the time he had to think about just being able to kiss him. It tempered his motions, making them more deliberate and contrived.
It was easy enough, though. He just had to roll over, setting one of his knees in his seat, the other near the gear shift so that the bulk of is form could hover near. There. Not there. His right hand crossed over, gripping the side of Ian's neck with the meeting of their lips. His short, assertive and undeniably possessive gestures unaffected by death. When his mouth broke from Ian's he spoke, "Don't let Ezra or any of those **** give you excuses. This **** is happening and I don't care what goddamn moon has to be moved for it."
"Yeah, but we don't have time for that just yet." Ian's smile answered that laugh, but he waited. For a moment, there was nothing, and then there was that strong, familiar grasp on his neck, pulling him forward into a kiss. He grinned against unseen lips, using the kiss to guide his fingers against his lover's chest.
The kiss ended sooner than he wanted it to, but then it always did. The kid nodded again. He'd grown more patient with Jay's impatience, understanding at last that it was a reflex of needing to feel in control of something. "It's happening," he agreed, searching for one of Mac's hands and squeezing it lightly before he turned to get out of the car.
Rising, the kid squared his shoulders, pulled at the hem of the shirt he wore to make sure it settled right over his waistband. It was one of Josh's, so it was a little bit too big on him, the holes where the sleeves had been gaping away from him more than they had on Mac. The effect made both the slowly scarring bullet wound and the tattoo that almost perfectly matched Ezra's at least partially visible, and that had been deliberate.
Shoving the car door closed once he'd hit the button to lock it, Ian moved across the parking lot and into the restaurant's interior.