2. Encounters of the paranormal sort #2
I’m used to showering with twenty-something guys, as part of the rugby team, but I’m wholly unprepared when James takes his clothes off.
He’s heavily tattooed, not only on his neck but on his arms, chest, and back.
They are quite artful. There is a snake, a spider lily, and Japanese tattoos.
He’s surprisingly fit, too, though not as bulky as I am.
He’s on the leaner side and his muscles are well defined.
My body flushes all over, and I turn my back to him. As a gay man in sports, I’m used to controlling my erections around naked men. But it probably helps that my teammates aren’t usually my type. James is... dangerously close to being my type.
Oh fuck fuck fuck. Keep it together, Ewan. Think about ghosts.
A vision of the Burning Crone, the skin melting off her face, is enough to get my lust under control.
I take my clothes off and step inside one of the stalls, goosebumps pebbling my skin.
The back of my neck prickles, and I can feel eyes on me.
Is James checking me out, too? Probably not.
Guys like him are usually straight. And even if he isn’t, I’m certainly not what he’s looking for.
A giant like me, they all expect me to be dominant, to use my large hands to hold them down and fuck them and—
I sigh. I’m not really like that...
I turn the water on and wait for it to warm up.
James has taken the stall beside mine, on my right, and the shower is already running.
I need to hurry or he’ll leave without me.
I groan as I walk into the hot spray, the tension finally leaving my shoulders.
I didn’t realise how wired I’ve been since the Burning Crone’s attack.
James chuckles from the other side of the wall. “Having fun, big guy?”
I blush. “No... I mean, yes... I’m just tired...”
He doesn’t say another word, and I slather my hands in shampoo, close my eyes, and rub it into my hair.
What a night...
Then I feel the flutter of touch on my left leg. I look down, confused. A wee hand has reached from the gap under the stall on my other side. The skin is pale, almost gray, and the nails have a bluish tint to them. It grabs my ankle, grasp as cold as death.
I blink. Stare. Then scream.
I step away and fall backwards through the door of the stall as it slams open.
My ass hits the green tiles, and the impact makes my teeth rattle.
I scramble away until my back slams against the sink behind me.
A little boy is staring at me from the shadows in the next stall.
His dark hair is plastered to his face and his torn clothes are dripping water on the floor.
His eyes are wide and black, and his lips are blue.
When he opens his mouth to talk, water spills out instead of words.
The Urchin... Lana’s notes said he might have been a boy who drowned in the Water of Leith, the river that crosses Edinburgh, during the eighteenth century. A boy who never had the chance to grow older, now haunting Lynch Hostel.
James comes out of his stall naked and soapy. “What?” he roars. He’s brandishing his bottle of shampoo like a weapon.
I point towards the dark shower stall. Without hesitation, he throws the bottle at the threat—funny how he’s so good at throwing things, maybe he should join a sport team. The shampoo explodes on the tiles, the Urchin is gone.
“What was it?” he asks, helping me to my feet with a firm hand.
I’m shaking all over—again. “Did you see him?”
James shakes his head. “It wasn’t the Crone?”
“No... It was the child... the Urchin. I think.”
He glowers at the empty stall. “Well then, you’re the next one on our shit list, kid! Tomorrow, we’re coming for you!”
I gape, impressed by how brave—or crazy—he is.
That’s when I realise we’re both entirely naked and wet, and I’m still clutching his hand.
“Sorry...” I say, letting him go. I focus my eyes on his collarbone to avoid looking at his cock. Don’t make things weird, Ewan. You’re used to it, just picture him as one of your teammates.
I’m about to step back into the stall and finish showering, but I can’t bring myself to. What if the ghost grabs me again?
James witnesses my hesitation. “Come on, we’ll use another stall and we can shower together. Would that make you feel safer?”
My brain short circuits instantly. “Shower... together?”
He chuckles. “I meant take turns, obviously. There’s no way we can both fit in there. And I’m not rubbing your back, big guy.”
Oh, right.
I’ll feel safer with James but... What if I get hard just thinking about him watching me? Oh god, I can already feel blood rushing to my groin.
Think of the Burning Crone... think of the Burning Crone, Ewan...
James leads the way, and my eyes must be bulging as they land on his perfect ass.
Suds run down his legs, and I have the most inappropriate vision of rubbing my face on them.
His skin is smooth and golden all over, and he has almost no body hair.
He looks so good. I tear my eyes away out of self-preservation.
He points to the last stall, “You go first, I’ll keep watch.”
“Are—are you sure? Aren’t you cold?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I can survive being wet for a few more minutes. Come on, hurry.” He nods towards the shower and hands me his bottle of shampoo. “I’d like to be in bed before the curfews up and the early risers see us.”
He’s extremely bossy, and I wish it wasn’t doing things for me.
I turn the shower on and step under the spray when it’s warm enough, keeping my back to him.
I’ve managed not to gawk at his cock yet, but better not tempt the devil.
I make quick work of rinsing the shampoo from my hair and washing.
To my delight, James hands me my towel when I step out, and I wrap it around my waist quickly.
“Thank you,” I say with a smile.
“Yeah, yeah. Now move, let me shower.” He puts his hand between my shoulder blades and pushes me out of the way. Long after he’s let go, I can still feel warmth where he touched me.
I take my watch very seriously, and I scan the darkness in the other shower stalls dutifully. The little ghost doesn’t make a reappearance. I’m not sure what I'd have done if he did. Scream some more, I’m guessing. What a poor ghost hunter I make.
James finishes washing, and he snorts when I offer him his towel, just like he did for me. We both dress quickly—I keep my eyes averted as much as I can—and together we make our way back to the room.
A cat is waiting for us in front of our door, the white one, Misty. She meows once before walking away, white tail swaying like a flag in the wind. We watch as she gets swallowed by the darkness down the hallway, fading like a ghost.
“Alrighty,” James mutters.
He appears more spooked by the cats than the spirits we faced tonight. We get into our cramped room and close the door behind us. James drops his bag on the floor and falls on his double bed heavily with a sigh.
“What a night...” I say out loud this time.
He snorts. “Understatement of the century. What a nightmare. We had enough encounters of the paranormal sort for a lifetime.”
I sit on my air mattress and it dips under my weight. “And yet you weren't scared.”
He smiles. “I was scared, I just do well under pressure.”
“I don’t...” I whisper.
He opens one eye to look at me. “You almost shat your pants, big guy.”
I flush. “I’m... sorry...”
“Teasing you feels like kicking a puppy.” He props his arm under his head.
“You did well, all things considered. You’re the one who asked the Burning Crone to go away politely, and she obeyed.
Maybe you’re the ghost whisperer of this team, and I should be the muscle.
Your bodyguard.” He laughs at the irony.
But unexpected pleasure shoots right to my groin. I quickly slide under the blanket.
My... bodyguard? Yes, please.
Due to my size and body type, people always expect me to be a fighter. Women in my life, and even the gay men I dated, wanted me to protect them, to make decisions and lead the way. But that’s not me. I’m just—
“Well then, goodnight,” James says, turning off the light with the switch by his bed with a flippant gesture.
He falls asleep in minutes, his breathing settling into a deep rhythm, as if he didn’t just grab me by the dick with his words.