FIC: "Redemption" FRAO Nate Fisher/OC (Six Feet Under)

[helenkacan]

TITLE: "Redemption"
AUTHOR: Helena K.
RATING: FRAO
PAIRINGS: Nate Fisher/OC
CHARACTERS: Nate Fisher/John L.
DEDICATION: A Happy New Year to my dearest friend, John.
WARNING: M/M paranormal slash relationship!
SUMMARY: John tries to contact Nate but learns that he has died.
TIMELINE: S5, AU
NOTE: "Speech"
Emphasis
//Thoughts//
DISCLAIMER: The characters of Six Feet Under belong to HBO and a whole bunch of alphabetical entities. I know the Polish alphabet. Not the same thing. Not for profit, just fun.
DISTRIBUTION: Posted to my LJ and possibly others; anybody else, please ask.
A/N: My second ever fic in Six Feet Under. Any misunderstandings entirely mine. Oh, what I do for my friends!


Disappointment seared through John like a laser scalpel, cauterizing his emotions. He'd so hoped he could see Nate again. But, when he'd called, he learned the horrible truth. Nate was gone.

He was troubled by the implications of Nate's death. Because John still felt there had been a connection established. //Okay, maybe only on my side ... but, still.// There was yet a warmth in the pit of his stomach, grounding him, telling him he wasn't mistaken. Which didn't make sense. Because Nate was gone. Or was he?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A few months had passed as John went about his daily routine. He had his close circle of friends and the discipline from the ashram ... but he still wondered what might have happened if he'd had the chance to connect with Nate.

In the middle of the night, John awoke suddenly, feeling a presence in the room. As his senses returned to him, he noted that his cats had all bounded away, far from the light and warmth emanating from the apparition ... of Nate Fisher.

With a sigh of relief, John called out to his cats, reassuring them that everything was alright, that this was a ... friend.

The ghost moved toward John and sat on the bed. "It's all so fucked up."

John replied, cautious, "Is that why you're here?"

Nate's ghost raised an eyebrow. "You tell me. You're the one who wanted ... wants me."

"Well, okay, in the flesh. But I've never had a relationship with somebody who's crossed over."

"Crossed over. Huh, what a load of shit that is. There's nothing here. I just sleep most of the time and then go back and haunt them. The family. You can imagine how satisfying that is, seeing them fuck things up." The sarcasm in his voice was brutal. And Nate boasted a twisted, feral smile. It was not a pleasant sight.

"Maybe you haven't crossed over because you're still too involved in their lives. You've got to start detaching. Moving on. To a new path. A new reality."

Nate sighed. "I don't think I'm ready to do that."

John nearly rolled his eyes in exasperation. "What are you going to do in the meantime?"

Nate looked long at John. "Hang around here?"

"What, haunting me?"

"No, I thought I might expand my horizons. And, shit, David would so have my ass if he heard me saying this. But you've got a way of looking at death that makes me want to be here ... with you."

John lay back on the bed, propping the pillow up so that he could be more comfortable. He waited and watched as Nate's ghost moved over to straddle his hips, settling down. There was a delicious sensation of weight – not what Nate would have weighed in life – but still something. And heat, pulsing down through his own body, arousing him, noticeably.

John quirked an eyebrow. "So, how do you propose we do things?"

"Fuck it, I can't do anything. That's the problem. But you, you can do anything and release enough energy that I can feel it ... feel you."

If John's eyebrow could have gone any higher, it would be nudging his hairline. "You're not seriously asking me to jack off in front of you. You're more twisted than I imagined."

Nate's face filled with anguish. "Don't tell me about twisted. Our fucking family invented the word. I'm just trying to get back to seriously screwed." Nate's eyes were pleading and John was a sucker for those eyes. The whispered "Please" was barely necessary.

But it was appreciated.

John threw off the covers and got out of bed, naked. "Stay there. I'll be back."

Nate looked around the place, seeing its minimalism through new eyes. Interesting how spirits weren't bound by physical reality, because here he was with all his organs intact. Well, not all functioning as he would have liked, but still there. As he glanced about, he wondered if John's way of living had something to do with retreating from possessions in order to focus on developing a greater appreciation of an esoteric reality.

John returned, wearing pale blue drawstring pants and an unbuttoned ivory shirt with a peacock embroidered on the back. He carried a large bowl half filled with water, holding three lit pillar candles. After setting the bowl on the table next to the bed, John crawled on top of the covers and settled down, with his back against the pillow.

"Come here." John pointed to his lap.

Nate moved up, covering John's thighs.

"Do you have to wear clothes?"

Nate look confused. "I don't know. I've never tried changing them."

John had a determined edge to his voice. "Try now. You're not doing much for me dressed in a suit."

Nate's forehead was creased in concentration. It must have worked because he was suddenly clothed in gray sweats and a white tee.

John sighed. //Anything's better than that suit.// Satisfied, for the time being, John moved his hands, slowly hovering over the outline of Nate's body. Not too close, certainly not breaching the outline, as he had no idea what that would do to his own energy.

Then his hands fell back to the bed, slightly tingling. Without taking his eyes off Nate's face, John pulled the drawstring loose and slipped one hand in to stroke his hardening cock. //Oh, yeah. This is working.// As he didn't want to be fiddling about once he'd started, he'd quickly slicked some lotion on his hands before gathering the bowl and candles, so that he wasn't fondling himself with sandpaper hands. But, apart from that, he'd have to be wet enough ... just from the sight of Nate's body, straddling his thighs. A body that was very hot, even in a tee and sweats.

As John's other hand disappeared under the gathered waistband, Nate's body became still. He was concentrating on trying to feel the pleasure, trapped within John, trying to escape. He wanted to taste it, wallow in it, let it surge through veins that were collapsed pathways to nowhere in particular. His body was a shell and he was desperately trying to fill it. Even if it were only with John's passion. For the first and only time in his life or death, he wished he'd been fucked ... just once ... so he could carefully file away the sensation as a comfort for this afterlife.

Though John had returned to bed dressed modestly, Nate was seeing more than enough to arouse his brain. The loose fly of the pants was pushed down to allow John to touch himself freely. John's eyes were still fixed on Nate's. It was a battle of wills not to blink. John needed to see Nate to remain aroused. And Nate needed to see that John needed him.

John gasped out, "Talk to me, tell me what to do."

Nate's eyes widened, but he complied. "Take one hand away and play with your nipples. Pinch them. Harder. Imagine it's my lips and teeth sucking on them, biting them."

//Oh, yeah, Nate was good.// "More." Less a demand than a plea.

"Push the pants down. I want to think I'm pressing against your flesh, not cotton. Good. Now feel my hand squeezing your balls, gripping your dick. You're leaking and I'm spreading it all over. You're so fucking wet, I'd taste you ... if I could."

John acted immediately, the hand leaving his nipples to pull the pants down to his knees, but making sure the other hand never stopped the rocking glide and pull on his cock. He couldn't stop now ... wouldn't ... not even if there were a fire. Though that was a memory he'd rather not have at this moment. But Nate's every word was like another tree blazing in the forest. And, when Nate said he wanted to taste him, John nearly cried in frustration.

Nate could see the strain on John's face, the need to come. "What else can I do to help?"

A ragged request, "Make your clothes disappear. I want to see all of you."

Nate looked at him. The expression in John's eyes was blatantly open and honest. Begging him. Nate couldn't refuse.

John gasped at the sudden change, now sensing the bare thighs and butt grazing his own body.

"Oh, Nate, I'm so close." Too close, as just the voicing of the words started the tremors, his body on edge, finally falling into oblivion as he spurted out jolts of come through his fist and over his belly.

As John had resolutely kept his eyes open, despite the agonizing temptation to close them during his release, he saw Nate's eyes widen and fill with a look of wonder, replacing the anguish that John had witnessed when he'd last seen him alive.

John was breathing heavily whereas Nate's spirit body seemed to be vibrating as if it had really absorbed some of John's force. And apparently floating above the bed.

When John's breathing had calmed, he drew the pants all the way off and slipped out of the shirt, using it to wipe his cock, hand and belly.

Aware of Nate's floating condition, John rolled to his side and pointed in front of him. "Stay a little while. Until I fall asleep."

Nate nodded and joined John under the covers. He felt he couldn't stay long, was being drawn away. But he'd be back and they would talk ... the next time. The candles eventually flickered out, leaving the men in stillness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

John and Nate had talked the next time and often thereafter. John tried to get Nate to understand that he was free to go anywhere in the universe, that he had to stop confining himself to the earth ... and to the continuing traumatic saga of his family. So, Nate agreed to give it a try, not popping in on his family as often.

But he did come back a few times to be with John, to feel the wonder of John's face, the light in his eyes.

Then, when John embarked on a new relationship, Nate knew to draw away. John was happy with his new life. It was time for Nate to go on his own path.

Occasionally, John would wonder if he could sense Nate's presence, especially at night, but then would shake off the feeling with a small smile, turning into his lover's embrace, with the cats firmly ensconced at the foot of the bed.

John had never told anyone about his paranormal voyeur ... no, much more than that. His lover. Although there were a number of people with whom he could discuss matters of the spirit, this would be one secret that he ... and Nate would keep ... beyond the grave.

END