Текст книги "The Haunted Pub"

Автор книги: Melanie Tushmore

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tears at the thought. He didn’t want to think about Ash.

“So, who are you?” he asked again.

“He’s an old pervert, that’s who,” said a new voice. Fizz looked to the door, seeing the figure of a

much taller, broader man. Fizz knew instantly that his was the same gruff voice that had spoken

before, and this vision was even stranger. He was in some kind of uniform, like a soldier. Fizz didn’t

know what era the uniform was from; the jacket was dark green and dusty, with brass buttons over it.

The soldier was definitely older in appearance, his face worn and haggard. He was also scowling hard.

“Oh, Martin, you’re such a bore,” the young man told him. “I’m going to banish you from my room

now.”

“You need to stop this,” the soldier said.

“Pish!” The young man stood from his invisible chair, and appeared to dust himself down. Fine

bursts of dust motes dispersed through the air at his action, and Fizz could smell something sharp and

acrid tickle his nose. He watched the two visions, intrigued more than scared.

“You’ll get in trouble again,” the soldier said. “They’ll put you in the wall.”

“Never.” Black vapour seeped from the young man’s eyes, clouding them completely. “Leave,

Martin.” He held out his hand, palm spread up. Fizz next looked for the soldier, but he had

disappeared. Vanished completely.

“Where did –” Fizz paused. He heard footsteps echo down the hall, hurrying away. So, at least the

soldier was all right, Fizz thought. Trust him to have a crazy hallucination. He frowned in thought, a

memory from earlier pushing to the front of his mind. “You...you’re Finlay, aren’t you?”

“Well, upon my soul!” the young man said snidely. “Not a complete fool then.”

Fizz looked up at him. Reality tried to catch up with his pill-fogged senses. There was something

about this man that seemed familiar, something that made a shiver break out over his skin. The cool,

chiding tone of that voice sounded like those whispers in his ear. The chill that ran over his skin was

the same icy touch that had tickled his neck many times before, and that sense of being watched...

Fizz gasped. “You’re real?”

“As real as I can be.” His lips curved up in a mean smile. “Thanks to you.”

“You’re real,” Fizz repeated. “I’m not mad?”

Finlay shuddered, and disappeared. Fizz stared at the empty space, then jumped at the words spoken

directly into his ear. “Who can say?” Finlay crouched next to him. Fizz scrabbled away in fright,

knocking his head against the wall. There was nowhere to run. Cold sweat broke over his skin as his

heart resumed its pounding.

Finlay smiled lazily, half closing his eyes. He drew in a languorous breath like he was scenting the

air, and let it out with a sigh. Fizz could feel the cold breath blow right through him, and recognised

the smell as sulphur.

“You feed me.”

“Wha– what?”

Finlay opened his eyes, pools of black vapour seeping out of them. “Feed me. I need more. You

have everything, while I’m trapped in here.”

“Please,” Fizz whispered. “Don’t –”

“It won’t hurt.” His voice was soft, soothing. “I’ve been stealing your energy since you woke me.

Carefully, carefully. This is my room, little boy. My place.” He glanced away, wistful. “We all have

our place.”

“I – I didn’t mean to,” Fizz said. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, but I’m so pleased you did.” Those black eyes fixed on him. Through the vapour, Fizz could

see their true colour was a soft hazel.

“I can – I can go,” he said. “I’ll leave you in peace, I won’t bother you again.”

“You’re not leaving. Until I find a way to escape this wretched building, I’m trapped here.” He

inched closer, smiling. “Unless I have a some body to leave with.”

Fizz felt his chest constrict, his breathing quicken. Dully, he realised he was on the verge of a panic

attack. The pills must have staved it off so far. He forced himself to ask, “W-why are you here?”

“They killed me.”

“Who?”

“Men.” Finlay’s eyes blinked away the blackness, for a moment shining clear brown and bright. He

looked so young then, young and vulnerable. “Soldiers, here in the barracks. Before the new building

went up. They killed me.”

Fizz swallowed hard. “I-I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” Finlay’s face darkened, his eyes clouding again to black. “The major sent them for me,

that bastard. He was jealous because I wouldn’t see him anymore. It’s not fair.”

Fizz took a gasping breath as an overwhelming wave of despair hit him. They were feelings he

recognised, but they weren’t his own. The first sting of tears blurred his vision. He blinked, letting

them fall down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” he said, for he truly was.

The young man glared at him. “Do you want to know what they did? It happened in this very room.”

He crawled forward, leaning into Fizz. The bruises on his face swelled, and his skin darkened with

colour. Blood spilled forth from his head, matting his hair, streaming down his face in bright red

rivers. The cut on his lip split wide as he smiled, blood oozing between his teeth.

“Do you want me to show you?”

Chapter Thirteen

Ryan heard the side door slam. Assuming it was Ginger, he raced around the bar, and into the

stairwell. No one was there, but the door was only just closing, like someone had recently walked

through it. There wasn’t a sound on the staircase, so whoever it was must have gone outside. Ryan

opened the door and stuck his head out. He looked right, seeing only a young couple with a push-chair

down the road. He looked left, and saw Ash walking away briskly.

“Ash?” he called out. “Ash!”

He didn’t turn around. Maybe he didn’t hear? He was quite a way off, almost at the traffic lights

now. Ryan stared after him, as realisation dawned. If Ash was storming away in a huff, then where was

Fizz?

Ryan dashed back in, yanking the door shut. “Rachel! I’m just going upstairs!”

He didn’t wait for her reply. The bar wasn’t busy, and Rachel could cope. Ryan took off, climbing

the stairs two at a time. Why did he have a bad feeling about whatever this was? His heart pounded; he

told himself it was just the exertion of running. After the two flights of stairs, he paused. Music was

coming from the pub kitchen down the hall, but it wasn’t Matt’s usual aggressive black metal.

It sounded like pop music.

If he hadn’t been in a hurry, Ryan might have gone to check on that. As it was, he kept going. He

punched in the security code on the staff door, leaving it open in his haste. He took a deep breath, and

ran up the next flight of stairs.

“Fizz?” he called when he reached the top, only slightly out of breath. The TV was on in the

kitchen. Ryan hurried inside. It smelt of coffee and spice, but there was no one here. He turned and ran

back down the hall, into the pigeon loft, then Fizz’s room. His relief at seeing Fizz lying on his bed

was quickly overshadowed by concern. When Fizz was in bed, he usually curled up on his side,

listening to his music.

Right now, the boy was sprawled on his back, one arm flung out, as if he’d fallen there.

Heart in his throat, Ryan burst into the room. It felt cold; usually it was hot and stuffy in here. A

chill brushed over his bare arms. “Fizz?” Ryan crouched beside him, checked his face, his pulse. Fizz

was breathing – thank God – though the breaths sounded wheezy. Fizz wasn’t asthmatic, was he? Ryan

tried to think. No, he was sure Ginger would have mentioned it if he was.

“Fizz?” Ryan cupped his cheek, surprised at how cold his skin felt. “Fizz, are you okay?”

The boy’s eyelids fluttered.

“Fizz?”

“Ash,” he breathed. “Tell Ash...”

“Yes?”

“Tell Ash...I’m sorry.”

“What?” Ryan’s mind jumped to a hundred conclusions at once. He tried to keep a hold of his

panic. “Fizz, what happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words barely a whisper. “He’s here...he...” His breathing was ragged, like

he was struggling for air. Ryan thought he saw mist coming out of Fizz’s mouth. Was he cold? Was

the room cold? But this place was usually so hot.

Oh no, Ryan thought. He’s ill. He’d caught some sort of fever. They never should have put him in

this stupid pigeon loft. Ryan pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. He’d have to call Ginger.

Maybe he could leave out the part about Ash storming off. Why on earth would Ash leave Fizz like

this?

Ryan didn’t get it. There had to be more to it than he realised, but he could deal with that later. He

pressed his speed dial. The screen on his phone crackled, then blipped before disappearing entirely.

Even holding down the power button wouldn’t bring it back to life. Ryan couldn’t believe it. Did his

phone need charging? He’d have to use the phone downstairs.

Well, first things first, he wanted to get Fizz out of this God-awful room. Ryan slipped his phone

away, then grabbed Fizz’s arm, trying to loop it over his neck to support him. “Fizz, hold onto me.

Can you walk?”

Fizz moaned in reply. Ryan tried to yank him up, as gently as he could. The boy’s eyes opened,

staring around blindly before he focussed on Ryan. “Oh,” he said, a smile curving his lips. “Where are

we going?”

“Can you stand?” Ryan asked. “Lean on me.”

“Mmm, with pleasure,” he murmured. His arms wrapped around Ryan, holding on tight. Ryan was

about to put all his effort into hoisting Fizz up, when Fizz surprised him by covering his mouth with

his, tongue slipping in to taste him. With a squeal, Ryan dropped Fizz back on the mattress, and

almost fell on top of him. Fizz held onto him, trying to pull him down.

“Fizz! What the hell?” Ryan struggled away. Fizz laid back, stretching his arms out over his head.

He chuckled, low and dirty. Ryan stilled, his confusion making him slow.

What the hell’s going on?

As he stared at Fizz, the edges of his body looked blurry. But that couldn’t be real, could it? Unless

whatever was in this room was making Ryan ill, too? Affecting his sight?

A shiver passed over him, jump-starting his reactions. Ryan hated leaving Fizz here, but he needed

help. He stood, and hurried out of the pigeon loft without looking back. He went down the stairs,

through the open door. Taking several deep breaths, he quickly walked along the hall to the pub

kitchen, trying to get his thoughts in order.

“Matt?” he said, pushing open the swing door. “Are you –”

Matt was there, with Sammy. They’d obviously been standing close together, in the midst of some

deep discussion, but as soon as Ryan entered, they flew apart. Ryan didn’t have the wherewithal to

decipher what that meant.

“Matt,” he said again. “Can you...can you come and help me a second?”

Matt’s cheeks flushed. “Can’t it wait?”

“No,” Ryan said firmly. “No, it really can’t.”

“It’s fine,” Sammy mumbled. Matt looked at Sammy, an undecipherable look passing between

them.

Ryan didn’t have time to stand around debating this. “Matt. Please.”

“All right, all right,” Matt said, moving into action. Ryan held the door open for him, then dashed

back along the hall. Matt sensed his haste, and hurried to catch up. “What’s going on?”

“There’s something wrong with Fizz,” Ryan said over his shoulder. They passed through the staff

door, then up the stairs.

“Wrong? What do you mean, wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Ryan said. “I just want to get him out of that room.”

They reached the top of the stairs, and stood at the threshold to the pigeon loft. Matt gazed into it

with a frown. “And put him where, exactly?”

“Anywhere but there,” Ryan said. “I don’t know. We can put him in my room.”

Matt’s frown intensified. “What happened?”

“Look, I don’t know, okay? I think he’s ill or something, caught some kind of bug. Come on.” Ryan

steadied himself, then strode back into the pigeon loft. Having Matt close behind him steeled his

nerves. “There.” Ryan pointed at Fizz, still lying on his bed. The boy wheezed his breaths, laying quite

still.

Matt was hesitant. “So, you want me to just pick him up, or what?”

“Yeah.” Ryan swallowed. “I tried to, but I couldn’t do it. I’m not strong enough to lift him.”

Rolling his eyes, Matt huffed out a breath. “All right. If I catch this cold, I’m blaming you, Ryan.”

It was on the tip of Ryan’s tongue to reassure Matt, but his words stuck. Please, he thought, please

don’t let this be contagious.

Matt approached the mattress, bent his knee, and gathered Fizz into his arms. He rose up, lifting

Fizz with ease. “Great,” Ryan said in relief. “Let’s go.” He walked backwards out of the room,

watching as Matt followed.

Matt muttered under his breath, walking carefully. He manoeuvred Fizz through the doorway, then

along the hall. Fizz sighed, squirming against him. Ryan hoped he’d stay asleep just a little longer.

Ryan was first out of the pigeon loft. He kept walking backwards, watching what Matt was doing. The

last thing they needed was for Matt to trip.

Matt crossed the threshold, stepping down into the stairwell with Ryan. “Great, okay,” Ryan said.

“Now just –” He paused as Fizz stirred, winding his arms around Matt’s neck. Ryan watched Fizz

press his face close, his tongue darting out to lick a long line from Matt’s thick neck, all the way up to

his cheek.

Matt froze, his face a study in shock.

If the whole situation hadn’t been quite so worrying, Ryan might have laughed.

“What the fuck is this?” someone demanded. Ryan turned at the sound, seeing Sammy halfway up

the stairs below them. He was glaring ahead, his eyes fixed on Matt and Fizz.

Oh brother. Ryan finally put two and two together. “Sammy,” he said carefully. “We’ve just – I

mean – Well, there’s something wrong with Fizz.”

“Yeah, I’ll fucking say!” Sammy scowled furiously. “What the fuck is up with him?”

Ryan was taken aback at the ferocity of Sammy’s words. Matt too, was still in shock as Fizz

continued to lick and kiss his neck.

“Matt.” Ryan indicated frantically. “Come on, put him in my room. Then you can put him down.”

Matt’s eyes were wild with panic, but he kept hold of Fizz and followed Ryan along the hall.

Sammy followed them. “What the hell’s going on, Ryan? And where’s Ash? I thought this little emo

prick was with him?”

“Sammy, calm down,” Ryan pleaded. “Go and call Ginger, I need him back here.”

“Why should I? Moody git practically bit my head off earlier.”

“And you deserved it!” Ryan snapped, as Sammy started back in surprise.

“Ryan.” Matt said warningly. “Ease off, okay?”

Ryan glanced at Matt, seeing the genuine concern behind the frown on his face. Feeling guilty and

self-conscious, Ryan mumbled, “I’m sorry, Sammy.”

Sammy only raised an eyebrow. He folded his arms and watched them. Matt stumbled the last few

steps into Ryan’s bedroom, managing to deposit Fizz on the bed with a grunt. Ryan was right beside

them, trying to untangle Fizz’s arms from Matt’s neck.

“Get him off me,” Matt hissed.

“I’m trying,” Ryan hissed back. “What’s going on with you and Sammy?”

Matt floundered. “We – it’s – What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Sorry I asked.” Ryan succeeded in freeing Matt, who took several paces back. Ryan turned his

attention to Fizz. The boy’s eyes were open, and he gripped onto Ryan’s wrists with surprising

strength.

“Ash,” he breathed. “Where’s Ash?”

“I don’t know.” Ryan tried to prise his wrists free but it wasn’t working. He twisted his head to look

at Matt. “Call Ginger. Get him back here. Please.”

Matt nodded slowly. Sammy poked his head around the door, glaring daggers. “That brat is bad

news.”

* * *

Matt stepped into the hall, averting his eyes from the fierce gaze one very pissed off Sammy. “Can

I...er, can I borrow your phone? Mine’s still missing.”

Sammy’s glare intensified. “So is mine. If you want to tell me where you put it, you can use it.”

“Huh?” Matt blinked at him. “Sammy, I never took your phone.”

Sammy directed his glare toward Ryan’s room, and the occupants inside. “Well, somebody did.”

Through the open door, they could hear Ryan trying to placate Fizz. “Matt!” he called out.

“Seriously, can one of you guys call Ginger? Like, now!”

Matt ran a hand through his hair nervously. “Look, come on. I’ll use the phone downstairs.”

Sammy moved aside to let him pass. Matt wasn’t sure if Sammy would follow or not, but he had to

get to a phone. If anything, someone had to help Ryan deal with Fizz, and he’d rather that someone

was Ginger.

As he rounded the bannister and stepped onto the stairs, Matt glanced up at Sammy, waiting. He

was surprised how much the hurt look on Sammy’s face affected him. His chest felt tight, his heart

hammered away.

Sammy stared back at him, but his glower lost its strength. He huffed out a breath, and made to

follow. Matt was relieved. They walked down the stairs together, quickly, but in silence. Matt tried to

think of what to say as he concentrated on where he was going.

The nearest phone was in the bar. Sammy waited out in the stairwell, while Matt slipped into the

back bar. The music was playing, as normal, and Rachel was leaning on the bar, chatting to two of the

regulars, totally oblivious to what went on upstairs.

Matt picked up the phone, and opened the pub’s diary on the counter to locate Ginger’s number. He

dialled, and the phone rang. Matt knew Ginger would always pick up a call from the pub. He was

practically married to this place.

After four rings, Ginger’s voice grumbled, “What?”

“It’s Matt. I think you need to get back here, quick.”

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“Fizz is ill or something.”

“Ill?” Ginger repeated. “Ill, how?”

“Don’t know,” Matt said honestly. “He’s acting really strange. Wheezy breaths, sleepy, and...er,

yeah, just kinda weird.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“Where are you?” Matt asked.

“Only at The Druids. Give me ten.” Ginger hung up. Matt replaced the handset, and sighed in relief.

Ginger was their first aider. If anyone knew what to do, he would. Beyond applying a plaster to cut

fingers, Matt didn’t have a clue about illnesses.

Now that was taken care of, Matt knew he had to speak to Sammy. He edged his way into the

stairwell. Sammy was still there, leaning against the bannister, pretending to fiddle with the bracelets

on his wrist.

Matt could tell he was upset, it was written all over his face. There had been a time when that sulky

pout would have irritated Matt, but...not now. He’d put that pout there. The knowledge that Sammy

was jealous over him made Matt feel several things at once; guilty, nervous, and a small, tiny amount

of hopeful.

“Sammy?” Matt moved closer.

Even standing on the first step, Sammy was still shorter than him. Sammy looked up, his green-blue

eyes shining. Matt wasn’t sure what to do. He had an overwhelming urge to pull Sammy against him,

but he wasn’t sure such a gesture would be welcomed. The last thing he wanted was to annoy Sammy

further.

Matt played it safe, and reached out his hand. He gently touched Sammy’s wrist, to stop him from

fiddling with his bracelets. Sammy allowed the touch. He glanced down, looking at their hands. Matt

couldn’t guess what he was thinking. He rehearsed his words in his head, to think of what to say before

he spoke, when Sammy twisted his hand in Matt’s grasp, locking their fingers together.

“I think I over reacted,” he said quietly.

“Huh? No, no,” Matt said. “I mean, well...I don’t know. That was all really weird. I didn’t know

what the hell Fizz was doing, but Ryan asked me to pick him up. I didn’t want to, or anything.”

Sammy smiled wryly, still gazing down at their hands. “I kinda hate that kid, you know? It was

weird to see him try to make out with you, right after we.... Well, after you made out with me.”

Matt squeezed his hand. “Sammy, I wasn’t– I mean, I wouldn’t. That wasn’t making out. Not like –”

His words faltered.

Sammy met his gaze. “Not like what?”

“Like us, I mean.”

“What is this, Matt?” Sammy asked, searching his eyes. “I need to know.”

Matt acted on instinct, and pulled Sammy close. He curved a hand behind Sammy’s neck without

thinking about it; he simply had to touch, to reassure. He gazed into Sammy’s eyes. What is this? He’d

been asking himself the same question since their first kiss. Matt didn’t have all the answers, but he

felt he had a pretty good one when he looked into Sammy’s green-blue eyes.

“This is, you and me,” he said, trying not to wince at how lame that sounded to his ears.

“Yeah, you and me what?”

“That’s what I mean,” Matt’s voice lowered. “You and me.”

Sammy’s eyes widened slightly. Matt almost became worried, then he saw the corners of Sammy’s

lips turn up. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Huh?” Matt felt his stomach free-fall. The shock must have shown on his face, as Sammy smiled

wider.

“I meant, you’ve going to have to convince me first, Matthew.” He tugged on Matt’s sleeve, pulling

him in. Matt went willingly. As Sammy tilted his face up to meet him, Matt placed a kiss on his lips,

almost hesitant. Sammy pressed into him, fitting their mouths together. Matt sighed into the kiss,

opening his jaw. Sammy followed his movement, allowing Matt to thrust his tongue inside and claim

his mouth. Matt’s sigh stretched into a groan as he pressed Sammy against the bannisters. He could

feel himself growing hard the deeper the kiss got.

The sound of someone clearing their throat was like ice water over his arousal.

“Don’t mind me.” Rachel chuckled, as they flew apart. “I was just wondering where Ryan’s gone.

He’s left me on my own.”

“He, um, he’s upstairs.” Matt felt himself flushing. “Er, Fizz isn’t feeling well.”

“Not feeling well? I hope it’s not that lurgy going around,” Rachel said. “Okay, well it’s quiet for

now, but now the sun’s out, it might get busy soon.”

“Er, okay,” Matt said reluctantly. “We’ll, er, go tell him.”

“Thanks.” Rachel smirked over her shoulder at them as she went back to the bar.

“I suppose we’d better tell Ryan that Ginger’s on his way, too,” Matt said to Sammy.

Sammy nodded, absently wiping his lips.

Matt wanted to kiss him again, but felt a wave of shyness descend. “Come on,” he said, starting up

the stairs.

* * *

There were some days that Ryan knew he shouldn’t have bothered getting out of bed. Well,

technically he was back in his bed now. He hadn’t managed to untangle himself from Fizz. In fact, the

boy seemed to grow distressed when Ryan tried to move away, so he had given up, and laid next to

him. Fizz was behaving like a clingy drunk; he nuzzled his face into Ryan’s neck, and murmured

things that didn’t make sense.

At first, Ryan was near paralysed with nerves. What the hell was going on anyway? Matt had gone

downstairs to call Ginger, and Sammy must have gone with him. They’d left him alone with Fizz.

Ginger.

Ryan winced at the thought of Ginger finding him like this, but what could he do? Fizz kissed his

neck, pressing himself against Ryan’s body. The longer Ryan was trapped on the bed with Fizz, the

more his nerves faded, giving way to arousal. Ryan was mortified to find himself with a hard on, and

he groaned quietly.

If only he’d gone out and got laid like he’d been telling himself to for months, maybe he wouldn’t

be feeling randy from a sick boy rutting up against him. Fizz moved his mouth, kissing along Ryan’s

jaw.

Ryan jerked his face away before Fizz could kiss him on the lips. “Fizz, give me a break,” he

muttered. “Are you on something?”

“Mmm.” Fizz’s breath fanned over his face, icy cold. “You’re a coward.”

“Huh?”

Wide, dark eyes stared back at him. “You’re a coward,” Fizz stated. He had stopped wheezing, his

voice calm and light, and...different. “You should have told him by now. I barely interfered, just a

little here and there.” His lips curved in a smile. “You, however, took any excuse to delay telling him.

Which makes you a coward.”

Ryan’s heart pounded. “Huh? I – I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Fizz still stared at him, unblinking. The smile disappeared. “Don’t fool yourself, Ryan. You’re

more perceptive than you realise. He, on the other hand, is nearly oblivious to everything. In his own

little world, isn’t he? You’ll have to be the first to make a move. But you know that already, don’t

you?”

“W-what?” Ryan tried to move away from that unblinking stare, the icy breath. “I – I don’t–”

Fizz held onto him, and the smile returned, wickedly taunting. “I wanted to be there.”

“Huh? Where?”

“For your first time. I’m sure it will be beautiful.” He pressed himself against Ryan’s body, and

Ryan was shocked to feel arousal there; a hard length mirroring his own. “I wanted to bathe in you.

It’s strong, so, so strong.”

Ryan didn’t know what to do. His hard on had clouded any sensible thought process, and his mind

raced around like a spooked chicken. What Fizz had said worried him, but the boy’s physical actions

smoothed over his worry, calling to his baser instinct. Fizz shifted his hips, aligning their groins

perfectly. A moan passed Ryan’s lips before he could stop it.

Someone cleared their throat. “Um...Ryan?”

Ryan jerked in surprise, looking up to see Matt in the doorway. “W-what?”

“I just spoke to Ginger. He’s coming straight back.”

Ryan swallowed. “Okay. Where is he?”

“Over at The Druids.”

Ryan nodded. The Druids Arms was by The Level, about halfway up London Road. Knowing

Ginger, who walked quickly anyway, he’d hopefully be back within a few minutes.

“Great,” Ryan said. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Matt retreated again. Ryan could hear his hushed words outside, talking to someone

else. Sammy, most likely. With Fizz still attached to him, Ryan wasn’t sure what he should do. What

would Ginger say when he saw him lying here with his little cousin? Would he be mad?

Well, he was bound to be mad, yet even that thought couldn’t make Ryan’s hard on disappear. In

his current state, the thought of Ginger made his cock throb harder. His limbs felt weak, his head

cloudy. Ryan groaned again in frustration, trying to edge himself away from Fizz.

If he could just escape from the full body contact, maybe that would help. He rolled onto his back,

but Fizz came with him, half lying on top of him. So that didn’t work. Ryan had to concentrate on

something else. Work. The bar. He cleared his throat and called out, “Someone should see if Rachel

needs help downstairs.”

“We already did.” That was Sammy’s voice. Ryan raised his head to see Sammy standing next to

Matt in the doorway of his room.

“And?”

Sammy shrugged. “It’s quiet, she’s fine for now. She did say she wants help soon, though.”

“Right,” Ryan gritted out. “Well...thanks.”

Sammy muttered a reply. Matt said something to him quietly, so Ryan couldn’t make it out. He

wished they’d both go somewhere else. They weren’t exactly helping him. He just knew they were

going to hang around to see what Ginger made of all this.

Ryan sighed heavily, with Fizz leaning on his chest. “Poor Ryan,” the boy said with a chuckle. “It’s

so hard.”

Ryan groaned again. Why me?

Minutes stretched on, feeling like hours. Ryan could hear Matt and Sammy talk out in the hall, but

he couldn’t distinguish their words. Strangely, a bout of tiredness had washed over him, like his

energy had drained away. Ryan felt sleepy and, unfortunately, still very, very horny. He tried to think

of unsexy things. It didn’t help with Fizz pressed up against him, but at least the boy had appeared to

doze for now, and he wasn’t wheezing any more.

That had to be a good sign, surely?

Finally, Ryan heard the familiar sound of the staff door pull open, and footsteps thumping up the

stairs.

“Matt! What’s going on? Where’s Fizz?”

At the sound of Ginger’s voice, Ryan tensed. His hard on wasn’t quite as urgent as before, but it

was still there. He bent his legs a little, hoping the fabric of his clothes would disguise it enough. Fizz

was still laying on top of him, but if he moved away –

Oh hell, Ryan thought. This whole situation looked bad. He braced himself for the worst.

“He’s in there,” Matt’s voice said. “With Ryan.”

“What? Why?”

Ryan raised his head and saw Ginger appear in the doorway. He didn’t have a jacket on. Ryan knew

Ginger always left his jacket in the stairwell; he could just picture him flinging it over the bannister as

he’d raced up the stairs. Ginger’s hair was slightly bigger too, all tangled and windblown. Ryan loved

Ginger’s hair when it was a bit mussed like that. This isn’t helping. Ryan blinked, and tried to focus.

“Ryan?” Ginger approached the bed and stood over them. “What are you doing?” His chest rose and

fell as he took deep breaths, his cheeks flushed pink. Ryan wondered if he’d run here. In spite of the

situation, as he gazed up at Ginger, he couldn’t help think how beautiful the man looked. Golden

brown eyes locked with his, and that was all it took for Ryan’s hard on to swell once more.

Dammit.

“I...um...it wasn’t me, Daniel, he...um...”

Ginger looked from Ryan to Fizz, and back again. “What are you doing, Ryan?” he asked, irritation

lacing his voice. “Fizz, get up. What are you two playing at?”

Ryan swallowed, hoping his voice sounded normal. “He – I – I think he’s ill, Dan. Or drunk, or

taken a shit-load of E, or something.” His voice wavered, but he kept going. “He’s acting really weird,

and he gets upset if I move away, all right? So, like, I didn’t know what else to do!”

“Shit. Well, why?” Ginger knelt on the bed. The mattress shifted as it took his weight. “Fizz?” He

bent down to look at Fizz. Some of his long red hair slipped over his shoulder, brushing Ryan’s bare

arm. Ryan shivered at the contact, musing that this was one scenario he hadn’t envisioned when he’d

fantasised about Ginger on his bed.

“Jamie?” Ginger said more urgently. “Jamie, can you hear me?” He had one hand on the boy’s

throat, checking his pulse, the other hand turned Fizz’s face, then laid flat against his forehead. “He’s

not hot. Actually, he’s pretty cold.”

“That’s what I thought,” Ryan said. “He’s freezing.”

“Matt?” Ginger barked over his shoulder. “Do us a favour, and make some tea? Not all the way

boiled, just half hot, ready to drink. That might warm him up.”

“Sure,” Matt said, heading to the kitchen. Sammy followed him.

Ginger was still checking Fizz over, trying to get him to wake up. Fizz groaned, sleepily shoving at

Ginger’s hands as he snuggled into Ryan.

“Do you think he’s drunk?” Ryan asked.

“I don’t think so. I can’t smell alcohol on him. Did you say he’d taken something?”

“That was just a guess,” Ryan admitted. “I asked him, but couldn’t get any sense out of him.”