Ghost of a Chance Read online

  James pulled across the finish line and triumphant music played. He looked over at Ryan and grinned. “Well, let's try it again, then, shall we?” He leaned close. “I can take it easy on you if you like."

  "Arrogant prick. Start it up again,” he said.

  James raised an eyebrow, and started the game again. “You choose the track this time,” he said. He kept the same car. “And you might want to pick a different car. That one isn't good for beginners."

  Ryan laughed. “Fine. What car should I pick?” he asked. He scooted a little closer to James on the floor and picked what looked like a simple track.

  James looked at the screen as Ryan went through the cars. “Keep going through ... wait, go back ... no, not that one.” With a small noise of impatience he leaned over and put his hands on Ryan's, directing him to the right car.

  Ryan glanced sideways at James. The way he got impatient and frustrated was kind of cute. “Thanks,” he said softly.

  James smiled at Ryan. “Just want you to have a chance,” he said, then pulled back. “Ready?"

  "As ready as I'll ever be,” he said.

  James hit start and they were off. He drove a little less aggressively this time, and Ryan was doing better, but it still wasn't close at all. After Ryan crashed spectacularly, he mused, “Remind me never to let you drive."

  Ryan laughed again. “Yeah, you and all my family and friends.” He shook his head a little. “I don't really drive that bad.” He produced a different game, and waved it around. “Best of five?” he asked, since he'd already lost two.

  James looked at the fighting game. “Why not? What does the winner get?"

  "Hmm. Um ... What do you want if you win?” he asked, tipping his head to the side.

  "Um ... I don't know. What do you want?"

  Ryan thought about it for a minute. “Okay, if I win, you cook me dinner here for a week on the days you're not working.” He smiled shyly. He didn't think it was too selfish. James seemed to like to cook, and he said he didn't do it just for himself.

  "I was planning to do that anyway,” he said. “You might starve otherwise."

  Ryan laughed. “Okay, so that was easy. You're probably having difficulty thinking of something because I seem useless.” He grinned. “But I can actually do some things. Um. I'm really good at backrubs. Um. And manicures. Aaaannd. Hm. Singing. Maybe I am kinda useless."

  James just stared at him for a long moment. “I'll take the backrub,” he said. “I'll need it after working on your car."

  "Wow, so it's a win-win for me,” he said. He popped the new disk in and started the game up, choosing his character.

  The game started and it was obvious that Ryan had a lot more experience with this type. He attacked madly, pushing buttons like a man possessed.

  James was not bad at fighting games, but they weren't his specialty. Ryan was either very good, or extraordinarily lucky. Soon, James was desperately defending himself, and it wasn't looking like he was going to win a backrub.

  Within a few minutes, Ryan dealt the death blow to James’ warrior in a haze of blood spurting everywhere. “Yesss,” Ryan said, laughing and bumping James’ shoulder.

  "Fuck,” muttered James. “You're too good at this. Best of five, though,” he reminded him, and restarted the game.

  "You're goin’ down,” he said, flexing his fingers. He almost felt like he was still home. The game started again and he was off. James seemed to have recovered from the initial onslaught, however, and Ryan found his warrior stumbling a little.

  James was warming up a little, getting used to his character. But it wasn't good enough. Ryan's warrior stunned James', and before he could get up Ryan was on him, finishing him off. “You're brutal!” he complained as his character's lifeblood flowed away.

  "Well, I had to make up for my inferior driving skills,” Ryan said, still giggling. “Last chance for redemption,” he said, wiggling his perfectly shaped eyebrows at his opponent. “Ready? Or do you need a minute?” he teased.

  James frowned good-naturedly. “I'm so ready,” he shot back, starting the next game as he jostled Ryan's arm deliberately.

  Ryan started off strong as he had in the other two games, but he couldn't help thinking about massaging those straight shoulders. He wasn't trying to lose, but the image broke his concentration just a little.

  By then James figured out his character's super combo almost by accident, and after applying it twice, Ryan's character was dead. James stared at the screen. “I won!” he said wonderingly.

  Ryan gasped. “You bitch!” he said, laughing with surprise. Then he covered his mouth with his hand. “I mean. Good game.” He flushed a little, because he knew what was next. “So you want it now? Or after dinner while we're watching a movie?” he asked.

  "I think we should have dinner first,” he suggested. “I just have to mix the falafel, and warm the pitas. Are you hungry?” He set the controller down.

  "Yeah. Starving. Losing always makes me hungry,” he said. He climbed to his feet and held out his hand to James. “We can just eat in here, right? That dining room is kinda intimidating."

  "It's your house,” James said, accepting Ryan's hand and standing up. “You can do whatever you want.” He stood still, face just inches from Ryan's while he got his balance.

  "Yeah, but you're the guest,” he said softly. “This room, even though it's so huge, seems like the coziest one. Maybe it's the fireplace. I don't know.” He shrugged, looking down.

  "I like this room a lot,” James agreed. He stepped back a little. “Come on, come help me get everything together.” He smiled. “I'm starving, too. Of course, I'm always starving."

  Ryan followed James into the kitchen. They prepared the falafel together, and made their way back to the drawing room. They sat on the floor again, behind the low table.

  James watched Ryan as he tried the falafel. “Is it all right? Not too hot?"

  "Mm, delicious,” he said around a mouthful of food. He smiled at James and cued up the movie, hitting play.

  They settled in to watch the movie, which neither of them had seen. They soon found that they had similar tastes in humor, and they were soon making comments and criticisms to the screen.

  When he finished the delicious meal, Ryan sat back against the couch, stretching his arms above his head, then patted his flat belly. He turned to look at James for a moment. “Thanks for dinner,” he said softly and sincerely.

  "Any time,” James answered happily. “I'll cook for you, even without the bet.” He stretched, too. “Let's pause the movie so I can put stuff away, okay? You want coffee or tea?"

  Ryan paused the movie and helped James clear the stuff away. “Tea is good.” He followed him into the kitchen and started washing dishes while James put the leftovers away.

  They finished cleaning up and went back into the other room with steaming mugs of coffee and tea. Ryan started the movie again and took one of the cushions off the couch, tossing it on the floor in front of the TV. “Lie down there,” he said, smiling.

  "Um, okay,” he said, eyeing the pillow. “On my stomach? Should I take my shirt off?"

  Ryan's eyes widened a little. He hadn't really expected that, but he certainly didn't mind. “If you feel comfortable taking your shirt off, by all means, go for it. Yeah, on your stomach.” With an effort, he avoided licking his lips at the thought.

  James nodded, pulled off his t-shirt, and draped it across the arm of the couch. Then, seemingly oblivious to Ryan's gaze, he kneeled on the floor, his back to the other man, and lay down with his arms crossed on the pillow. He rested his head on his arms and looked back at Ryan. “Like this?"

  Ryan nodded. “Just like that.” He crawled across the floor and straddled James’ ass. “Just relax, okay? And if anything doesn't feel good, don't be shy.” He rubbed his hands together for a moment to warm them, and then lightly placed them on James’ bare shoulders. His skin was warm and smooth, and Ryan started to slowly massage his muscles.

  "
God that feels good,” James moaned, his voice deep and rough.

  James’ voice did things to Ryan. He felt the low vibration through James’ body and his own like a ripple through a still pool of water. And it made him think of other ways he'd like to make James moan. His hands slowly worked downward, kneading the tense muscles of James’ back, circling his thumbs in broad, firm circles down either side of his spine. Before he realized it, he started to get seriously aroused.

  Ryan wriggled a little further down James’ body until he was straddling his thighs. He worked his fingers deeply into the muscles of his lower back, keeping his touch just firm enough that he wouldn't tickle. He worked his way back up very gradually, rubbing all of James’ back in a steady sweeping motion. God, it felt so good to touch him. Ryan's heart pounded like a drum, and he swallowed hard.

  Ryan sighed a little, lost in his own thoughts—fantasies about how James would tackle him to the carpet and roll on top of him and kiss him. Suddenly he felt a very hard shove against his right shoulder, hard enough to dislodge and toss him onto the carpet beside James. James, who was still lying on his stomach, looking like he was two seconds away from falling asleep. “What the hell?"

  James lifted his head quickly, opening his eyes, looking around in confusion. “What? What happened?” He turned his head to see Ryan sprawled on the floor next to him. “Are you okay?"

  Ryan leaned up on his elbows. “Something pushed me. It was like there was a hand on my shoulder.” He rubbed the shoulder in question, but there was clearly no one else in the room.

  James glanced around. “It felt like someone pushed you? How weird. Are you sure you didn't just slip?"

  Ryan sat up more. “No. I didn't slip. Something definitely pushed me.” He looked around the room. “If there's a ghost in here, I don't believe in ghosts, so you're kinda wasting your time, you know?” He rolled over onto his stomach next to James and propped his chin in his hands. “I guess if someplace was gonna be haunted, this would be it, huh?"

  "It is haunted, I told you that. The locals swear by it.” He looked around the room. “There are several different ghosts here, apparently. One of them is supposed to be able to make things move."

  "Oh yeah. I remember. But I totally don't believe in ghosts, except...” He turned his head to look into James’ eyes. “Someone really pushed me, James. I swear.” He realized how close they were, and he couldn't help but lick his lips, and just slightly press his hips down against the carpeted floor.

  "I believe you,” James answered, looking into Ryan's eyes. “Are you sure you're all right?” he whispered.

  "Yeah. It was nothing. It's no big deal. I'm sure it won't happen again.” He sounded more sure of that than he really felt. It was something to think about, certainly. He turned his attention back to the movie. He leaned a little closer to James and whispered, “Was the backrub okay?"

  "God, yes,” James said. “I mean, yeah. It was great. I'll have to work hard to win more of those."

  Ryan smiled as he watched the screen. He sat up again, leaning back against the side of the couch with his knees drawn up to his chest. He had to get rid of the little butterfly feeling in his stomach. This wasn't good. Being aroused, well, he couldn't help that. James was just appealing. But the silly, hopeful infatuation had to be killed right away. He sighed a little, trying to keep his eyes off James’ still half-naked body lying in front of him. Although he knew he should stop, he couldn't help himself. “Come sit over here. I'll rub your back some more if you want.” He really just wanted to touch him again, and this was the only way he could. He might not get another chance for a long time, although James didn't seem phobic about it, at least.

  "You sure you want to risk pissing off the ghost again?” joked James, sitting up.

  "Oh, it would just figure that I'd have a repressed, homophobic ghost, wouldn't it?” he asked, with a laugh, instantly regretting drawing a comparison between backrubs and gayness. He turned sideways a little and put his hands on James’ back again. He could almost feel the tenseness that seemed to have returned since he stopped rubbing the first time. The position was awkward, but he wasn't quite bold enough to ask James to settle his fine body between his thighs.

  A small sound escaped James once again. “I could get used to this."

  Ryan's first impulse was to push. Flirt more, see how far it would go. But this wasn't Hollywood, and there weren't another half dozen gorgeous boys lingering around, waiting to be proven not-completely-straight. And he really, really liked James, way too much. It gave him pause. “Whenever you want a backrub, all you have to do is ask,” he said softly, massaging James’ muscles. He was still partially aroused from before, and again the moan ... it was torture, but he was doing it to himself, he knew.

  "I'll do that,” James whispered, leaning into the touch. “Don't tire your hands out,” he added, moaning again.

  It was so tempting, so easy to just lean in a little closer, and rest his cheek against James’ shoulder as his hands moved lower down his back. “I won't,” he said softly. And he might have touched someone just this way and meant nothing remotely sexual by it. He liked to touch people. Except in this case he was ragingly hard.

  James’ breath hitched. “You're very good at this,” he moaned. “I'm really glad we met, Ryan."

  Ryan squeezed his eyes shut. It was too late. He was already completely infatuated. There was nothing to be done about it, other than hope against hope. His hands lingered on James’ lower back, thumbs circling restlessly into the soft skin. “Me, too,” he whispered. His fingers rested just at James’ waist and then, almost without meaning to, his hands slid around, pinky fingers just skimming the edge of James’ belt.

  And then everything went black and silent. Ryan raised his head and pulled away. “Oh,” he said softly.

  "What the fuck?” James gasped.

  The room was completely dark. Not even a sliver of light from the hallway. The power was out, clearly. “I think there's a flashlight in the kitchen somewhere,” James suggested.

  Ryan gasped when he felt James’ hand on his thigh for a moment before they were suddenly holding hands. “Oh. Okay.” He struggled to a kneeling position, still holding James’ hand. “We should go together.” He spoke barely above a whisper, mostly because everything seemed so freakishly quiet. He released James’ hand to pull himself to his feet, and when he reached for him again, his fingers brushed against his denim-clad hip. They were suddenly standing much closer than he'd thought, and he could feel the warmth from James’ skin. “You should put your shirt on. It might be cold wherever we have to explore for the fuse box,” he whispered.

  James laughed. “I would if I knew where the hell it was,” he replied. “Let's go find that flashlight first. I'm fine for now. Stay with me,” he said, squeezing Ryan's hand and pulling him closer. “I don't want to lose you in here."

  Stay with me, he'd said. As if Ryan could have been dragged away from him by a pack of snarling hounds straight from hell. “Okay. Let's go around the couch this way, and then I think it's a straight shot to the door,” he said quietly. He edged up to the couch, holding James’ hand in both of his behind his back, and then took small steps around the end of it. He frowned at himself as he thought that maybe he could stop short or stumble backwards just to feel what it was like to press up against him completely.

  James edged along behind Ryan, stubbing his toe on the table. “Ow. Watch out for the table,” he suggested, stretching his arm out to see if any other obstacles might jump into their path. “Maybe I should go first. I don't want you to hurt yourself."

  Ryan smiled in the dark. “We're almost in the clear,” he said. He reached back for James’ other hand and placed them on his hips so James was directly behind him. “I'll go slowly.” He was almost willing his t-shirt to ride up so he could feel James’ fingers on his skin. He was a sad, sad individual.

  Then he was around the end table. He reached out to touch the back of the couch as a reference point
and took small steps in the direction of the door.

  James’ thumbs slid into Ryan's belt loops easily as they shuffled along. “The room seems so much bigger now."

  Ryan laughed a little, hands out in front of him, reaching for the door. “Yeah, just don't think about the fucking dining room,” he said, snorting. He felt something solid in front of him and slowed to a stop as he fumbled for the door handle. He found it and opened the door. The great gaping emptiness of the foyer loomed blankly in front of him. “You're sure you saw a flashlight in the kitchen, right?"

  "Um, I think so,” said James. “But maybe there are candles. There have to be candles."

  Ryan made his way with painstaking slowness across the entry hall. It was disconcerting, because he had no idea how far he actually had to go. When he thought he was about halfway, his foot caught on a rug he hadn't noticed and he started to fall, pitching forward.

  James stepped forward and grabbed Ryan around the waist as he fell. He braced his legs to take Ryan's weight, pulling the slim man back against him. One hand went under Ryan's shirt, touching smooth, soft skin.

  Ryan whimpered before he could help himself. James’ arms were much stronger than they looked and suddenly he was pressed fully back against that lean body. James’ hand was touching him—firm, secure. He found his feet and supported himself quickly, although he didn't pull away. “Whoa,” he said softly. “Watch out for the floor.” He made a mental note never to move that rug.

  "Are you all right?” James said.

  Ryan's hands came to rest on James’ arms. “Yeah. I'm fine.” Frustrated and half-crazed with lust, but otherwise not too bad, he thought wryly. “My hero,” he added with a little smirk. Just for a second he indulged the crazy fantasies in his head and relaxed back against him, feeling the solidness of James’ body supporting him. But then he straightened up. “Sorry,” he whispered. He was could feel he was blushing fiercely, but in the dark that was his own business.

  "It's okay,” said James faintly. He stepped back. “Nothing to be sorry about.” He slid his hand down Ryan's arm to his hand, and placed it on his hip. “You follow me, now, okay?"