Archive of Our Own

The house they park the van in front of is one of the more ordinary looking ones. There are no boarded up windows or broken front steps to set the stage and warn of anything supernatural lurking behind the front door. By all means, at a glance, the house looks just like any of the neighbouring homes on the street, and Grian hums to himself thoughtfully as Scar turns off the engine and pulls up the parking brake.

“I’ll get the sound sensors,” he announces with a grin, pocketing the van keys while Grian unbuckles himself and elbows open the passenger side door. It’s a warm summer evening outside, the sky above them streaked red and orange under a smattering of clouds. He can hear crickets in the bushes surrounding the front garden, a pleasant chorus to their eerie evening.

“Not starting with motion sensors this time?” He teases mildly.

“It’s important to switch things up from time to time, G,” Scar says, chuckling. “Keep it fresh.”

Shaking his head fondly Grian heads towards the back of the van, opening the rear doors and stepping into their base of operations. It’s a cramped, cluttered space, but it still somehow manages to feel pleasant. The majority of their equipment is hung on a pegboard bolted to the inside wall of the van, with their radio station and monitors sat facing it on a low desk. He’ll admit, he’s a little nervous. This is the first job he and Scar have officially taken solo—no Skizz or Impulse around to guide them. The two older, experienced ghost hunters had assured them both that this was an easy case—that they were more than skilled enough to handle it on their own—but Grian can’t help the twist of anxiety that settles in his gut anyways.

“Do you think I should grab a camera too?” Scar asks from next to him, arms already full with three sound sensors.

Grian sighs. “I think you should take a torch with you so you’re not faffing about when the lights inevitably go out.”

“C’mon, G. I don’t need a flashlight when I have you,” Scar says, beaming. “Light of my life.”

“I’m going to leave you in the dark at the first sign of trouble,” Grian mutters, blunt, maintaining his indifferent facade even as Scar lets out a scandalised cry, mock-offended in a way that has a grin threatening at the corners of his mouth.

He turns away so that Scar doesn’t see his smile, refocusing his attention on organising the supplies they’ll need for the job. He grabs a torch, an EMF, and a thermometer, tucking them into the deep pockets of his jacket—all of them essential for the initial zeroing of any alleged ghost’s location.

“Ready up, Scar. From the reports we got from the homeowners, we only have an hour or so after sunset to set up before things get weird in there. We don’t want to miss our chance to prep the space.”

At a glance the house doesn’t look haunted. A two-storey home at the end of an unremarkable street with a large front and back yard. Grian leaves the van and together they do their usual perimeter check, ruling out all the obvious: overhanging tree branches that might scrape along the shingles or bump the walls to sound like knocking, and any visible rodent holes leading into the walls.

Scar lets himself in the front door with a key they find stashed under the mat, grinning at Grian as he sweeps his arm aside to usher him in.

“After you.”

Grian smothers another smile, trying to stay serious and focused on the job as he steps into the home. It’s no use, however. Not when he has Scar following right behind him, calling out into the entryway.

“Hellooooo ghosts.”

Grian’s used to this—Scar’s endless good humour when it comes to their investigations. It makes Grian look dry in comparison, practical and focused as he steps into the house, casting around for the light switch.

They manage all of three seconds of light before the overhead lamps flicker out, an act he’s all too familiar with.

“Nice place,” Scar remarks to the darkness as Grian reaches for his torch and thumbs it on, casting a pale beam of light across the floor. “Real homey.”

“The homeowners said the majority of the activity happens right outside their bedroom upstairs. If you head up with the gear, I’ll go find the breaker and get the power back,” Grian instructs, wasting no time. It causes Scar to quirk an eyebrow, grinning at him in a cheeky way.

“Someone’s focused today.”

“We don’t have Imp and Skizz to keep us on track,” Grian sighs, sounding matter-of-fact. “If I’m not firm with you then we’re never gonna get anything done.”

He’s not expecting the way Scar’s expression sparks at that, green eyes glimmering as he smiles, flirtatious, leaning in and closing the distance between them to whisper in his ear.

“Well, you know I love it when you’re firm with me…”

Grian can instantly feel his face heat with a blush, blustering slightly as he looks up at Scar.

“We’re working, Scar.”

Scar laughs, bright and mischievous, winking at him like he’s letting Grian in on a secret. Grian can’t help but feel the magnetic captivation of his presence, lured in by whatever charm Scar has that forever works in his favour.

“Well, what Imp and Skizz don’t know won’t hurt ‘em,” he mumbles, still curved into Grian’s space, a hand settling on shoulder, drawing him in deep, deeper...

Unconsciously, Grian wets his lower lip, breath catching in his throat as he leans closer to Scar. The temptation of a kiss, however unprofessional, is too much to resist, even though he knows he knows better.

There’s a moment where it seems almost impossible, like Scar is going to make him close the distance entirely on his own—or worse, beg for it—when a loud thump sounds from upstairs, so abrupt and sudden that it makes them both jump.

“Did you hear that?” Scar asks, immediately distracted, all the smouldering charm from a second before entirely evaporated. “Someone knows we’re here.”

Grian hangs back in the doorway, too flustered to change focus, and Scar is already halfway up the stairs before he notices he’s not being followed.

“C’mon, G,” he calls, casting his attention back towards where Grian is standing. “We got ghosts to hunt.”

Grian clears his throat, making sure none of the weakness he feels in his knees comes out in his voice when he speaks. “The breaker,” he repeats, knowing he sounds silly as he repeats it.

“The breaker,” Scar agrees with an agreeable hum, continuing up the stairs while Grian gathers himself up and heads towards what he assumes must be the basement door.

There used to be a time when Grian was scared of ghost hunting. He’d run at the first sign of paranormal activity and refuse to do anything that required directly interacting with any of the spirits they encountered. He’s not quite sure exactly when his instinctive fear wore off, but he knows that the version of himself that started at this job would never have dared head into the basement on his own.

There’s a mark of pride to his steps because of it, as he descends down. The wooden stairs creak under his feet, and he shines his torch ahead of him to make sure he doesn’t stumble and break his neck by accident. What an embarrassing way that would be to go. Though, he supposes he could at least haunt Scar for his troubles.

As expected, the breaker box is set in the wall just at the base of the stairs. Tucking his flashlight under his arm, he pops open the cover and switches on the flipped breakers, waiting for a moment before he pulls out his walkie talkie.

“Lights are on,” he chirps.

“Oh good,” comes Scar’s reply, somewhat garbled over the radio. “Does that mean heat is too? This place is freezing.”

Grian frowns. While the basement is a little chilly, he wouldn’t call it freezing, and he certainly can’t imagine any of the rooms upstairs being any colder than that.

“Stay where you are,” he instructs. “I’m coming up with the thermometer.”

“My hero,” Scar coos over the walkie and Grian can’t help but roll his eyes, smiling to himself as he makes his way back up the stairs.

It’s just as he’s about to step up onto the main floor that the door slams shut in front of him with a loud bang that nearly clips him in the face.

Grian abruptly stills, frozen with a start as a creeping sensation travels slowly up from the base of his spine. There’s that instinctive fear of his returning; a warning sign from his animal brain as he tries to resist his body’s natural urge to run.

He breathes out, slow, trying to calm himself. In the light cast by his torch, he can see his breath.

The area’s gone cold.

Suddenly, a touch, like fingertips caressing the nape of his neck, brushes against him. Grian clenches his jaw, trying his utmost not to make a noise. Idly, those same fingertips ghost against his jaw, his lips, their touches fleeting and swift. The caress reads more curious than hostile, but Grian refuses to test the theory by moving or speaking aloud. He has nothing in-hand to gauge what type of ghost this is and whether or not it’s malevolent. A single slip-up could cost him dearly.

“Sound sensors all set,” sings Scar’s voice through the walkie, and abruptly the moment is broken. The chill around him fades in an instant, the hairs on the back of his neck calming as the presence disappears from where he stands.

“Hello to you too,” Grian mutters under his breath before he pushes open the basement door and steps out in one fluid motion, unwilling to linger on the stairs alone any longer.

“I’m on my way,” he replies into the radio, making his way up to Scar.

He finds Scar waiting for him just outside the bedroom upstairs, their gear organised neatly on a side table in the hall. A part of him preens—there was a time when Scar struggled his way through every house call and investigation, clinging to Grian’s sleeve, overwhelmed, and hopelessly muddled by their gear and equipment. Now he works with competence and control, more delighted by the haunts they surround themselves with than terrified by them.

“Wow,” Grian purrs appreciatively as he sidles up close to him, angling himself between Scar’s torso and the edge of the side table. Scar greets him with a smile, something mischievous passing over his face as Grian grins up at him.

“Admiring the spread?”

“Not just the one on the table.”

It’s a bold line, something Grian wouldn’t dare say if he knew they weren’t working alone. It has the desired effect though, catching Scar entirely off guard, his eyes opening wide before his cheeks brighten with a blush.

“Gosh, what’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” he asks with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

“Nothing,” Grian insists, smothering his grin as best he can. “Just a little friendly banter between coworkers, you know how it is.”

Grian can tell that Scar is at war with himself, struggling between his professionalism and the temptation to act on the obvious invitation Grian is giving him. Teasingly he bumps his shin against Scar’s side. He feels a thrill go through him as Scar allows himself to be corralled closer, leaning in to rest a hand on the side table, and putting his chest nearly flush to Grian’s.

However, before either of them can act any further, the door to the bedroom behind them swings open, the lights overhead flickering ominously.

For a moment they both stand still and breathless, waiting for further movement. When none comes, Scar lets his breath out in a rush, managing a quiet chuckle despite himself.

“The owners weren’t kidding about the activity in this place,” he says, stepping away from the table and leaving Grian feeling oddly exposed in his departure. “It’s off the charts. What are we thinking here—poltergeist?”

Grian muses for a moment then shakes his head, “They didn’t mention anything about it tossing things around. Wasn’t there one that fiddles with doors a lot, though? What was it called…?”

“Dunno,” Scar shrugs, unbothered as he starts picking items up off the table. “But while you figure that out, I’m gonna put down some motion sensors. Maybe even a crucifix for good measure.”

“Take the thermometer with you,” Grian insists, pushing it into Scar’s hand. “Find out if it’s really freezing or you’re just running cold. I’ll grab some salt and check through the notes Impulse left us to see if I can’t narrow things down a little.”

“Roger that,” Scar says, pausing awkwardly before he adds, “I’d salute but my arms are kinda—”

“Go, Scar.”

“Alright, alright!”

Grian watches Scar leave with a soft smile on his face before turning his attention to the gear Scar helpfully brought out from the van. A short perusal produces Impulse’s notebook, a compendium of over a decade and a half’s experience of professional ghost hunting, packed to the brim with notes on every ghost-type and spirit he’s ever encountered. Grian picks it up, flicking his fingers over the dozens of colourful sticky notes poking out over the edges of the covers before he cracks it open and begins flipping through the pages.

He skims through it as best he can, and then looks it over more in-depth when his first glance doesn’t yield any results. On the second go, he finds a page detailing what Impulse has scribbled down as a ‘Yurei,’ a type of ghost that’s been known to open and shut doors. Encouraged, Grian reads a little further, making note of its behaviours and habits and what they’ll need to do to deal with it.

Excitement courses through him as he spots a note about freezing temperatures. If the bedroom is as cold as Scar claims, between that and the doors, they may be onto something.

“All set!” Scar’s voice calls cheerfully, crackling through the walkie even though he’s just down the hall. “Put down the thermometer too, but it’s hanging around at like four degrees.”

“Give it some time. I think we may be onto something,” Grian encourages.

“Whatever you say, boss,” Scar quips, pausing for a moment before his voice goes low and sultry, “So, on another note… what’re you wearing?”

Grian can’t help the laugh that automatically bubbles up in his chest, “Scar, really? Over the walkies?”

“Hey, a guy’s gotta keep himself entertained somehow, Gri.”

“Uh huh,” Grian replies, rolling his eyes but still smiling. “You’ve seen what I’m wearing already.”

“No I haven’t,” Scar insists. “I’m calling you for the first time after you gave me your number at the bar. You could be buck naked for all I know.”

“And if I was, I wouldn’t tell you. We only just met, after all.”

“Grian,” Scar whines, and Grian can very clearly picture him pouting into the radio. He’s about to give in and play along with the story Scar is weaving, when the walkie suddenly crackles with a loud burst of static.

Unable to stop himself he yelps, dropping the walkie onto the side table, where it continues to make noise—or… not noise. It almost sounds like something that could be considered words…

Against his better judgement, Grian leans in over the radio, straining his ears as he tries to make sense of the garbled chatter.

‘Hello,’ comes a sudden whisper, the sound clear as day, accompanied by a subtle touch against the inside of his thigh that has Grian jumping in place and letting out a surprised yelp.

It’s not unpleasant, really. The gentle caress trailing up the inseam of his leg. Incredibly, after his surprise wears off, his instinct isn’t to shy away from it. In fact, he finds his body has gone perfectly still, his breath catching in his throat as he holds it and waits.

“Scar,” Grian breathes as the touch finally vanishes, trying not to sound too overwhelmed as the seconds tick by. “If that was you—”

The radio crackles with something soft and indiscernible. A sigh, maybe, seeping out of the walkie and pooling on the side table’s surface, making the air feel gummy and electric.

An animal instinct keeps Grian’s body unmoving. Not afraid, but refusing to budge, frozen in place as an unfamiliar sensation once again prickles against his skin. It’s like a body, but he knows there is no body. A chest pressing to his shoulders. The warm line of a stranger settling flush against him.

As clearly as if it was corporeal, he feels a breath on the back of his neck, soft and warm. Hands he can’t see are pulling at his hips, easing him back into the cradle of a stranger’s pelvis with a pointed, direct tug.

With a gasp the tension snaps, and all at once Grian finds he can turn around. His heart is in his throat, preparing to face something—someone—hoping to find Scar’s familiar smile, and dreading the face of someone unknown.

The hallway meets him. Empty.

He’s alone.

“What was that, G?” Scar asks, his voice coming clear through the radio. It pulls Grian back into the moment, his heart beating rabbit-fast in his chest. “You broke up for a second there.”

“Nothing,” Grian manages to choke out. His entire body feels hot, like he’s been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. It’s incriminating and illicit, but secretly not entirely unpalatable. Unconsciously he pushes a hand up into his hair, finding beads of sweat prickling along his temple.

“Doing nothing or wearing nothing?” Scar’s voice teases through the radio, flirty and charming.

Grian can’t help but smile.

Good, old, reliable Scar.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Grian still feels a little off-center and out of his element, but he supposes that’s to be expected when dealing with the supernatural. He shakes off his nerves the best he can and eyes the side table once more, grabbing the spirit box before heading down the hall to join Scar. While Impulse’s book indicated that messing with electronic equipment was a good indicator for a spirit called a ‘Raiju,’ something in Grian’s gut tells him that the ghost is trying to communicate. And if that’s the case, what better way to do so than with a tool specifically designed for the job?

It’s a relief to see Scar standing in the bedroom at the end of the hall, waving absently to Grian as he steps in to join him. The phantom touch is still lingering in his mind, so having another solid, corporeal being in front of him is reassuring. Grian makes his way over to Scar, careful not to bump into any of the sensors he’s set up around the perimeter of the room.

“How’s that temp looking?”

“Still nothing,” Scar says, shaking his head. “Got a little warmer when you cut off on the radio, but it went back to Chillsville right after.”

It’s a bit of a disappointment to have no strong hunch yet, but Grian reminds himself that their investigation is only just getting started. He’s been basing his guess on two short events—nothing profound and concrete. With a sigh, he takes out the EMF detector and places it on the mattress, keeping the spirit box in hand as he turns towards Scar.

“I have another idea,” he relays. “I’ve got a feeling this ghoulie wants to chat, so I’m going to try and use the spirit box with it. While I do that, I need you to go grab one of the notebooks we keep for ghost writing—just in case that works better.”

Scar nods, all business. “On it.”

Grian is focused on the spirit box in his hand when Scar moves to step around him. He feels it a second before it happens—the telltale prickle of the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, warning him someone is about to enter his personal space. Unconsciously he pulls in a quick breath to brace himself.

Except this time, instead of a phantom figment running its hands over him, the person who makes the move is familiar, solid, and real.

“Oops—”

It’s the only warning Grian gets before Scar is nudging up against him, arm slipping confidently around his middle in order to hold him close.

“Scar—”

“These uneven wooden floors,” Scar murmurs as Grian finds himself tucked in close to his chest. Familiar territory in an unfamiliar environment. “Got me tripping all over you.”

It’s cozy, being in Scar’s arms. Of course they’ve flirted while on assignments before. Endless fawning compliments, fleeting glances, and word play—Scar’s fondness for innuendos prompting endless eye-rolls from Impulse and delighted, scandalised laughter from Skizz over the years they’ve all worked together. He and Scar have never indulged in anything further than brief, fleeting touches, however. Not when there’s a job to do and the potential of two coworkers walking in on them at any moment.

Just the two of them working alone opens up new potentials, however…

Though Grian supposes they could argue about how truly alone they are while in a house so clearly haunted.

“Is that the best pickup line you’ve got?” he finds himself asking, turning a coy grin up in Scar’s direction. “Faulty floorboards?”

“Yeah,” Scar agrees easily, leaning in close. “Works every time, too.”

Grian feels the warmth of Scar’s breath on his face, the sensation sending a shiver up his spine. Then Scar is closing the distance between them, lips tenderly brushing against his, a tentative request followed by an immediately more determined kiss.

The thrill of what’s happening runs through Grian like something electric. Scar’s lips are against his, kissing him, kissing him more. Immediately, Grian’s priorities shift, the investigation slipping to the side as he kisses Scar back almost on instinct.

Scar’s comforting, large, warm hands rest at the base of his spine, lingering for a moment before his palms slide up underneath the back of his shirt. The calloused pads of his thumbs trace soft, slow circles into his skin, a gentle massage that makes Grian shiver.

Not to be out-done, he brazenly tosses the spirit box down onto the mattress next to the EMF, freeing up his hands to indulge. Placing his hands on Scar’s hips, Grian grips him firmly as he drags him closer, pushing himself up on his toes in order to kiss Scar harder.

The way Scar sighs and parts his lips is a victory, and Grian relishes in his prize, licking into Scar’s mouth with a smug satisfaction. He kisses him deeply, satisfying the latent desire that has been building from their very first flirtation in the doorway. It’s certainly not the first time they’ve done this, but there’s a newness in the thrill of being intimate somewhere he knows they shouldn’t be.

Scar’s touch descends, slow, eventually settling over the curve of his ass. Grian allows it, cheeky, until Scar boldly squeezes him through his trousers and laughter works its way out of him.

“Scar,” he admonishes, “We can’t get carried away.”

“Why not?” Scar challenges, a devilish smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Because the house is haunted and we have a job to do,” he replies, wry, and when Scar looks unaffected by the reminder, Grian sighs and adds, “We can’t get careless just because it hasn’t acted hostile yet. Can you imagine Skizz and Impulse finding out we got trounced by a ghost just because it caught us with our pants around our ankles?”

“They’d be good sports about it!”

“If by ‘good sports’ you mean cackling through a eulogy about how we died in gruesome detail to a gathering of all our loved ones.”

“We’re not gonna die, Gri,” Scar insists. “I’ve got a feeling that this is a friendly ghost, anyway.”

“And how do you figure that?”

As if on cue, the spirit box resting on the mattress starts to crackle, its small LED screen lighting up as it strobes through radio channels, causing them both to jump.

Grian can’t help himself, holding tight to Scar as he asks, “Did you turn that on?”

“Nope,” Scar says, voice high-pitched, a note of fear sneaking into it.

They continue to stare at the spirit box as it cycles through radio waves and static, gibberish filtering out through the speakers. The EMF just a few feet from it spikes, hitting a five and emitting a shrill alert to warn them. Grian clings to Scar and Scar clings right back, both of them frozen in place like novices dealing with paranormal activity for the first time.

It’s clear whatever spirit is in the house is trying to communicate with them, but it’s still a surprise when the words ‘Am—friendly—’ comes through the garbled mishmash of distorted radio voices.

Grian exchanges a look with Scar. “Was it answering my question?”

“Seems like it,” Scar whispers, and then breaks away from Grian, nudging him towards the box. “Try it again.”

With a steadying breath, Grian shakes out his hands and limbers himself up, trying to push the initial rush of fear from his system. He flicks off the EMF to mute the continuous alarm, and then reaches out and picks up the spirit box.

“Where are you?” he asks, and there’s no time for him to add his usual punchline before the spirit box is flicking through channels again.

‘Right—here—’ it says, and behind him Scar lets out a nervous laugh.

Their eyes meet, a flicker of understanding passing between them.

“Are you friendly?” Grian asks again, more directly this time.

The spirit box crackles, strobing through channels until it hits an emphatic ‘yes,’ the confirmation trailing off into a hiss of unintelligible static.

Grian feels warm, overwhelmed by the desire to confirm what happened back on the basement stairs.

“Was it you downstairs?” he asks, teeth snagging momentarily on his bottom lip before he presses, quieter, “With me?”

He can feel Scar’s eyes on him, not judging, but curious. Static rattles through the spirit box, snatches and bursts of incomprehensible sound petering off into nothing. He’s starting to worry that they’ve already lost the connection when two words burst out loud and clear over the radio.

“Cute,” it blusters, a wave of crackling resolving a second later with, “Guy.”

Grian knows he’s blushing, the incriminating warmth spreading across his cheeks as he ducks his head down, spirit box clutched tight in his hand.

“Oh?” Scar asks, the edge of the word curling around a smile. “What’s this?”

“It’s—” Grian begins, not knowing how to start in a way that doesn’t sound absurd. “We had a… moment.”

“We?” Scar echoes, eyebrows raised.

“The ghost and I.”

“The ghost and you,” Scar repeats, and it’s mortifying how clearly delighted he is by this information.

Carefully, his hand slides up Grian’s side to settle alongside his jaw, a crooked finger hooking under his chin as he guides Grian to look up at him.

“What kind of moment?” he asks, low in the way that presses all the right buttons in Grian’s brain. His head feels full of just as much static as the spirit box. He swallows thick as he struggles against the traitorous heat pooling in his stomach, the giddy-anxious fluttering in his chest short circuiting his common sense.

“Are you saying we have an audience?” Scar presses, and Grian feels himself edging past the point of no return, the gentle curiosity from earlier dipping deep into something much more intentional.

“Hello,” the spirit box crackles.

Grian can’t deny the coil of desire twisting up inside him. Scar is close and his body is warm. It feels silly, really. Harmless in a way Grian finds he enjoys. The ghost’s compliment lingers in his mind, making him feel loose and confident. Cautious, he dips his chin down, turning his face to nuzzle into the curve of Scar’s palm where it still cups his jaw.

“Kiss him,” the radio skips through various stations, voices of women and men overlapping one another. “Please.”

“Isn’t this cool?” Scar asks, the hazy desire of the moment brushing aside as he breaks character long enough to be endearingly genuine. “We’ve never had consistent spirit box activity like this before. This one’s invested.”

“Scar,” Grian sighs alongside radio static that sounds like laughter. “Can you just do what you’re told?”

Scar chuckles, dipping down and speaking against Grian’s lips, “I certainly can.”

They kiss anew, this time with the intimate knowledge of being watched. It should make him shy away, but something about the whole thing only makes Grian want it more now, and he wraps his arms around Scar to draw him in closer. There’s a whisper of a touch across his back, far from where Scar’s hands rest on his hips. Grian shivers, face hot, and then gasps into Scar’s mouth when the touch abruptly drops much, much lower.

“Mmn.”

It’s an embarrassing noise to be caught making, but the spirit box soothes in with what sounds like a coo. Bold, Scar’s tongue tangles with his, more brazen now than he’d been earlier. The combination of stimulus has Grian starting to firm up within the confines of his trousers. He doesn’t think he’s ever gotten worked up so quickly before, and it’s with chagrin that he realises he might like being watched far more than he ever could’ve imagined.

There’s a part of his brain that rings with alarm—a reminder that he should be fearful of what’s happening. There’s no knowing what lowering their guard could bring upon them, especially when he’s had multiple close encounters with deadly apparitions prior to this. Yet, with the cold touch of the ghost’s palms working their way under his shirt, rubbing curiously at his skin and brushing against his nipples, he feels that maybe this could be worth the risk.

They continue to kiss, Grian’s body alight with the unseen touches from their ghostly companion, until suddenly Scar breaks away from him with a stuttered laugh.

“Well hello there.”

Grian furrows his brows at him, confused.

“I guess our friend decided to share its attention,” Scar explains, cheeks bright red as he gestures down to where his trousers have been unbuttoned. “I think maybe it wants us to take things a little further, G...”

As if in response, the spirit box flickers alive once more, cycling through channels before settling on a very blunt, “Bed.”

Grian would laugh, but something about the short instruction sends an electric tingle down his spine, making his cock twitch in interest.

“Someone’s a little bossy,” Scar remarks, turning an amused grin Grian’s way before adding, with the hint of a tease, “Though after all our time together, I guess I’m used to that.”

“You love it,” Grian purrs, demure.

In lieu of a response, Scar kisses him again, smiling against his mouth as he pushes Grian back onto the mattress behind him.

The bed is firm under him when Grian tips back, the mattress barely dipping beneath their weight as Scar’s hands settle on either side of his hips. Scar looms over him, a soft smile on his face. It’s a sight Grian is intimately familiar with, and yet in this moment it feels entirely new, reworked into something exciting and fresh by the unfamiliar bedroom and the unseen presence lingering all around them.

Scar leans forward and kisses him again and Grian allows himself to sink back under the weight of Scar’s body pressing down against his. His legs fall open easily, letting Scar settle between them as their bodies settle together. Grian’s always loved this—Scar above him, lips against his, tongue between his teeth as he reaches up, eager arms twisting around his broad shoulders.

There are phantom touches, feather-soft and explorative, roving across his body as they kiss. Fingertips he can’t see smooth over his sensitive skin and push his shirt up to expose his bare chest. They’re curious, seeking out the places that make Grian shift and sigh as they map his body. It’s exciting—the grounding presence of Scar coupled with the eager exploration of a stranger’s touch mixing together in a way that pleasantly clouds Grian’s mind, making him feel wanted and warm.

The gentle back and forth of Scar’s kisses unroll comfortably between them, languid and unhurried, until finally an unfamiliar hand slips between their bodies, determined. Invisible fingers seek out the front of his trousers and curl around the curve of Grian’s arousal, stroking him tantalising and slow through the denim of his jeans, pulling an immediate moan out of him.

“Oh—” the sound breaks unbidden from between Grian’s lips, his hips bucking up on instinct, chasing the phantom touch.

“Eager,” Scar teases, the word husked against his throat as his kisses move down his neck. All the same, he lets his hips rock forward, moving against Grian’s body in a way that doubles the sensation of the invisible hand already on him.

“Oh, Scar,” Grian sighs, breathy as his hips hitch up again, chasing the exploratory friction. Wanting more.

“G,” Scar mumbles, teeth grazing the sensitive crook of his neck before he sucks a small, teasing nip at his throat. “How far do you want to go?”

It’s a considerate question, the kind thing that makes Grian get fond and sentimental. It’s also delivered with a slow, intentional roll of Scar’s hips against his that make it clear just how interested he is in what they’re doing. A part of Grian knows that they shouldn’t get carried away… that at the end of the day, they have a job to do.

“More,” the spirit box hisses from somewhere next to him on the bed.

“Well, you heard them,” Grian mumbles, hands seeking out the hem of Scar’s shirt and pulling it up in an effort to yank it off over his head. “More.”

Scar puts his arms up, helping Grian along in undressing him. The second his shirt is divested, Scar kisses him again, falling back only to push Grian’s own t-shirt up over his head. There’s a tug of longing in Grian’s chest as he pauses to take a good look at Scar, eyes roving over the plains of his body. Every part of him easy on the eyes.

Grian knows he’s not too shabby either—he’s not the thin, gangly teen he was in his youth. He’s filled out and he’s no pushover when it comes to holding his own, but somehow it still doesn’t compare to how attractive the cut of Scar’s body looks; especially when he’s on top of him like this. He’s never really considered himself a superficial guy, but there’s no denying the way his body responds when he’s got Scar bare and grinning above him.

The next few moments are a jumble of limbs as the two of them shuck off their remaining clothes, Grian shimmying out of his jeans as best he can while still laying down, while Scar sits up and does the same. All the while, the feeling of being watched grows more and more potent. Something in the air tingles with it, electric. The room feels eager and warm, choked with an energy he’s never felt before.

“Grian,” Scar calls out, soft and endearing. “Still with me?”

He holds out his arms, and immediately Scar sinks into them, pressing a tender kiss to Grian’s jaw. With nothing to impede them, he allows himself the luxury of gathering them both up in one large palm, Grian sighing low as Scar strokes them both, building up a casual rhythm.

He doesn’t want to think too hard about what it says about him that he wants more already.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any lube on you…?” Scar asks, a quiet question, as if reading his mind.

Grian laughs in response. “Do you think I just carry it around in my back pocket?”

“Not think,” Scar defends, “Hope is probably the better word for it.”

Yet again, like the helpful voyeur that it is, the ghost speaks through the spirit box. “Bottom drawer.”

“You can’t be serious,” Grian says, flat. “We are not stealing the client’s lube!”

“Why not?” Scar asks, and Grian can feel the smile on his face as he kisses his neck. “We’re already having sex on their bed.”

Grian sputters, face flaming, but no real argument coming to mind in response to that.

Scar hums a triumphant sound, releasing them before he twists onto his side and leans over the edge of the bed, arm stretched out as he reaches for the drawer.

Grian can’t help but stare at him. The long lines of his body, muscles tensing and flexing as he grasps for the knob.

He’s caught up in admiring the sinew stretch of him when he feels it, subtle and unmistakable—a hand spreading the cheeks of his ass apart and an unseen fingertip tracing the rim of his hole.

His hiss is automatic and unmistakable, Scar glancing at him over the curve of his arm as he roots around in the side drawer, his eyes bright.

“Sounds like somebody’s impatient.”

Grian closes his eyes, breathing his way through the sensation. It’s not unpleasant, on account of the fact that there’s nothing physically there. All the same he can undeniably feel his rim being teased by the cool pad of an incorporeal finger, the sensation sending blood rushing through his ears.

Dimly he registers the sound of rollers as the drawer is shut. The spirit box is all but quiet—a soft background sizzle of static. The bed springs squeak slightly as Scar moves to settle himself back in place beside him, accompanied by the telltale sound of a plastic cap clicking shut.

“Excuse me if I’m interrupting,” Scar murmurs, breath hot against Grian’s ear as he wraps his arm around his waist, holding him snug to his chest. Two slick fingers dip down low, lower, past the small of his back, playfully toying against him.

“One at a time,” Grian reminds, the words coming out small as Scar teases him, not yet pressing in. He’s talking to Scar, not wanting to be stretched too wide by both his fingers at once, but he can tell immediately that their ghostly companion has misunderstood, nudging against him impatiently when Scar finally slips in, easing in up to his first knuckle.

“How’s that?” Scar asks, lips pressed to his skull, and Grian barely manages a nod before Scar is suddenly sinking deeper, pulling a choked moan from his lips.

“Scar!”

“It wasn’t me!” Scar insists. His wrist bends, but his hand doesn’t move, held in place by a force neither of them can see.

“More,” the spirit box crackles. “More, more, more.”

“Grian,” Scar says, and Grian can hear the worry in his voice. Can hear the implicit question of, ‘Is this okay?’. He knows what would happen next if he said this was too much. They’d pivot into an exorcism and cut their experiment short.

However the truth of the matter is… Grian doesn’t mind it at all. He’s more surprised than uncomfortable. While it’s certainly a stretch, it’s not painful. In fact, the sudden rush of it all has filled his cock out considerably, arousal flooding south at the manhandling, leaving him hard enough to feel like his body is aching.

“It’s okay,” he admits, the words leaving him in a breathless rush. “I’m fine—it’s good.”

“That’s strike one though, buddy,” he adds, scolding their interloper, proud of the way he keeps his voice steady despite how he can feel a whine threatening at the back of his throat. “Two more and you’re out of here.”

It feels a little ridiculous to be reprimanding a ghost. Every other spirit they’ve encountered has been out for either mischief or blood, needing assistance or demanding vengeful retribution for the cause that led them to their death. A rare handful have been shy, staying out of their way entirely and actively avoiding their investigation. Still, none of them have ever been involved like this. It’s unfamiliar territory, and he’s unsure how far he can push things without risking agitating the spirit.

The spirit box flickers rapidly through channels, and something about it gives Grian the impression that the ghost is chagrined. It cycles through static before Scar’s fingers slacken within him alongside a disjointed, ‘Sorry.’

That should be it, but then a gentle, much more timid caress touches his rear once more, followed by a plaintive, ‘Please?’ from the spirit box.

Scar exchanges a glance with him, and Grian can read the amusement clear on his face, barely managing to hold back a bubble of laughter. Grian cracks a smile as well.

“I’m not saying no,” he explains, well aware of how utterly unreal it is to be speaking like this to a ghost while Scar’s finger wiggles around inside him. “I’m just gonna need a minute to warm up without you trying to cop a cheeky feel in there.”

“Maybe they could jerk you off in the meantime,” Scar adds helpfully, bending forward to plant a kiss on the back of Grian’s shoulder. “Or touch your chest. Or stick their fingers in your mouth, that always gets you—”

“Yes, thank you, Scar. That’s enough, I think,” Grian interrupts quickly, cheeks hot.

The spirit box stays silent, and in the hush that follows Grian begins to feel a bit self conscious. He can’t tell if they’ve been rejected, or if the ghost is simply doing what they asked and giving him space. His head spins even as he continues to be eased open by Scar’s diligent fingers.

“I hope we didn’t hurt its feelings,” Scar says at last, voicing Grian’s thoughts out loud. He’s about to respond when Scar slips a second finger in alongside his first, stretching Grian slowly, relaxed in a way that has him keening with a whine. “I like seeing how worked up you get when you have someone watching…” he adds, teasing in a way that lights up a part of Grian’s brain he never knew he had.

Grian’s cheeks are humiliatingly hot, face pressed down into the mattress, wishing it would open up and swallow him whole. He can feel how incriminatingly hard he is, pre tacky and dribbling down his length where it presses up against his stomach, painfully neglected as Scar continues to work him open.

He’s close to begging, to asking for something, when sudden unseen lips press against the tip of his cock. He gasps, surprised by the sensation, his body jerking as the ghost lathers kisses against him. And then, almost without warning, it opens up and takes the head of his dick into a mouth he can’t see.

“Oh—”

The sound is pulled out of his throat, raw and gasping around the edges as an invisible tongue works against him, exploring the sensitive underside of his shaft. He can feel Scar’s eyes on him, curious at his reaction, but words have escaped him for the moment. He can feel the unseen mouth flexing around him, sucking greedily and swallowing deep, and he moans helplessly as he ruts himself forward. He’s never been in a position like this before, caught between two points of pleasure. He doesn’t know which way to move, whether to push forward or press back, chest rising and falling quickly as he feels himself taken deeper, the over-sensitive head of his dick pressing against the back of a ghostly throat.

“Shit,” Scar husks out, and Grian can hear from the sounds in the room that he’s jerking himself off, free hand wrapped around his own dick, wrist moving in quick strokes as he watches Grian keenly. “Whatever it’s doing to you is so hot, G...”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of Grian’s mouth, stubble prickly against the soft skin of Grian’s jaw. Grian tries to open up and kiss him back, but it’s an uncoordinated, sloppy motion that entirely misses the mark, lips catching mostly air as he keens with another desperate moan.

“I’m gonna put it in, okay?” Scar asks, panting into the bend of his shoulder. As he says the words, he tentatively adds the tip of his ring finger alongside his other two, stretching Grian wider as he shuffles Grian’s hips forward into the apex of his thighs, their bodies fitting snugly together, the head of his dick nudging between the cleft of Grian’s ass.

“Please,” Grian gasps, hips hitching up, rutting shameless into the ghost’s mouth as it continues sucking him, fast and greedy. “Scar, please—”

It’s satisfying in a way he can’t quite verbalise when Scar pushes into him all at once. He doesn’t bother with slow inches, knowing Grian’s body and his desires well enough by now to know how much he can take. In one thrust Scar bottoms out inside of him with a muffled groan into the side of his neck, and the only thing that keeps Grian from crying out is the way another lengthy lave over his length from the ghost robs him of air.

Lightheaded and short of breath, Grian loses himself in bliss. The warm, familiar feeling of being full playing against the unfamiliar coolness of the apparition’s mouth on his cock. Both sensations bloom arousal low in his belly, making him keen and whine. He’s well aware of the way pre continues to dribble from him, lapped up by their unlikely third. If he hadn’t given himself over so thoroughly to the pleasure, he might wonder where it goes when swallowed by a form that’s decidedly incorporeal, but he doesn’t have the sense in him to ask.

“Do you want to come?” Scar asks, murmuring into Grian’s hair as he begins to make shallow thrusts inside of him, hands gripping his hips as he pulls him into each of his motions.

Grian shakes his head, adamant. “Not yet—I want it to last longer. Please…”

Scar hums his acknowledgement, leaning down to kiss him, slow and sweet, before getting properly back up on his knees. He holds Grian tight, pulling partway out for each thrust before fucking into him all at once—all while avoiding that spot inside of him that makes him see stars. At the same time, the spirit slows its eager toying with Grian’s length, playing into Grian’s desire to stay on the edge and let the moment last.

It feels good.

It feels amazing.

Grian hangs there between the two of them, body wound up with lust as they take what they want from him. The ghost’s touches are curious, reaching over and around his body in a way that would make no sense for a human. With their mouth still on him, teasing kitten licks all over his length, their hands toy with his chest, thumbing over his nipples, and stray down his sides, dragging short nails against his skin. Meanwhile, Scar continues to rut into him over and over, the generous size of him stretching Grian out in a way that makes him dizzy with satisfaction.

“How’re we doing?” Scar asks along with the punctuation of another thrust, this one ripping a moan, low, out of Grian’s throat.

“Good,” he croaks, eyelids fluttering closed and back arching as tries to feel everything all at once. “More—god, I want more.”

“Move with me,” Scar instructs, the request sending sparks skittering across Grian’s brain, nodding eagerly as Scar slips out of him, his large hands lifting him up. He shifts obediently, letting Scar rearrange their bodies on the bed, Scar laying out beneath him while Grian settles back in place straddling his hips, legs spread wide across Scar’s waist.

It’s not the first time Grian’s ridden Scar—far from it—but something about this time feels different, knowing they have a third in the room with them. Grian doesn’t feel self conscious so much as he feels on display, shifting himself up several inches as he guides Scar back inside, his length slipping in easily as the sensation of being filled again pulls a breathy sigh out of Grian’s lungs.

“What a sight,” Scar says, quietly in awe, and something deep inside Grian preens.

He’s flexing his abdomen, testing slow, practised rolls of his hips as he finds a rhythm he and Scar can settle into when he feels it, the unseen pressure of the ghost settling against his back. It makes him feel cold and warm all at once, wrapped up in invisible arms, with Scar’s hands anchored on his hips, holding him in place as he fucks up into him. The ghost’s lips play against the back of his neck, and Grian is expecting the incorporeal hands to slide down his torso, moaning as he imagines himself pushing into the curl of the ghost’s palm.

What he’s not expecting is the press of a second dick nudging up against his hole from behind, rubbing against where Scar is buried deep inside him.

“Whoa.” The remark comes from Scar as Grian gasps on reflex and pitches forward. It’s clearly the first tangibly physical thing Scar has felt of the ghost, and Grian can feel Scar’s body respond to it with enthusiasm, pushing up into him with renewed vigour as the ghost grinds against him.

“Oh my god,” Grian gasps, barely recognizing the way he sounds. He can feel the unseen cockhead slipping against him, slick with its own pre, rubbing rhythmically at the place where he and Scar are joined together. There’s no room left inside him, he’s sure of it, but that doesn’t stop the way his dick jumps traitorously at the thought of it where it lays pressed against Scar’s stomach, his body bright with desire as the ghost continues to rut against him with shallow, needy thrusts.

“Oh,” Scar murmurs, low and delighted as he puts together what’s happening. “Someone wants to share…”

“Please,” the spirit box crackles, desperation seeping into the static, as it flips through different frequencies, all instances of the same singular word. “Please, please, please…”

No noise comes out of Grian when Scar’s hands slip back behind him, massaging the small of his back before they dip down and spread him open wider, an invitation to invisible eyes.

“How about that?” Scar asks, and it’s unclear whether he’s speaking to Grian or their unseen friend. All Grian can do is keen into the hollow of Scar’s throat as he feels the ghost’s thumbs slip down and ease him open, slowly stretching him until he feels the firm pressure of the tip of the ghost’s dick pushing into him.

“Beautiful...” the spirit box crackles, sounding delighted as it shuffles through channels of static. “Good—yes, yes, yes.”

The ghost’s enthusiasm is overwhelming, and what Grian took easily from Scar, he now strains under as the ghost pushes in alongside Scar’s considerable girth. He can feel Scar’s body underneath him, trembling with the effort it’s taking to stay still and let the ghost get settled. Grian feels like he’s being split, breath gasping in and out of his lungs as he’s filled more full than he’s ever been by their incorporeal partner, who seems to have no interest in taking things slow now that they’ve gotten started.

“Feels good, right?” Scar grunts, pushing up with one small thrust as the ghost eagerly pulls back before shoving itself back in, setting a greedy pace that Grian doesn’t know he can handle, yet doesn’t want to refuse.

“More,” the spirit box rattles, a familiar word, now. “More, more, more.”

“Shit,” Scar curses, and Grian grapples for purchase against his bare chest as the apparition fucks him faster, every thrust stuffing him full and making him shiver. Even in his addled state, Grian can tell that Scar’s holding back, trying to keep himself steady while the ghost takes what it needs from Grian, using him mercilessly. Grian craves it. Wants all this and whatever Scar has to offer as well, his fingers gripping his hips tight enough that Grian’s sure his hips will bruise.

He leans forward, feeling drunk as he tries to aim for Scar’s lips and misses, body jostled by another rough thrust from behind. “Scar,” he whines—pleads—against his partner’s mouth. “Scar, I need you…”

It’s heady, the way Grian can feel Scar’s cock throb inside of him at those words. It’s even better when Scar swallows back a moan, throat bobbing. He licks his lips, nuzzling up against Scar like a cat, pushing his ass back in encouragement, left breathless when it catches another hard thrust from their guest.

“Fuck, G…” Scar sighs, low, before finally relenting and giving Grian what he wants.

Immediately, Scar starts fucking up into him in earnest, no longer holding anything back. The angle, alongside the way Grain’s stretched around both cocks, makes nearly every rock of their hips brush against his prostate. It makes Grian’s mouth go dry, breath shaky as he hangs right over the precipice of shattering, lost in how good they’re making him feel.

“Love you,” Scar rasps, the way he always does when he gets close. No matter how many times Grian’s heard it before it still makes him feel warm, giddy and shy and impassioned all at once. “Love you, Gri. God, look at you. You’re perfect. Fuck—fuck—”

Grian wants to reply, wants to return the sentiment, but he finds that he’s incapable of speech. The only sounds he can make are a few slurred words, tongue loose and breath coming in short pants as his body yearns for release. Scar and the spirit fuck him in a greedy counterpoint, never leaving him without pressure against the sensitive spot inside of him. His toes curl, his eyes shut tight, until at last he throws his head back, mouth falling open in a silent cry.

A familiar hand wraps around his dick, Scar stroking him quickly, and that would be enough to ease Grian into completion, except then another touch joins him, too cold to be human. It’s the addition of the spirit’s caress—fingertips pressing against his slit, rubbing pre over his head and toying with the areas Scar’s grasp misses on the upstroke—that undoes Grian at last.

He comes harder than he can remember ever having come before, vision blacking out for a moment as a sharp cry rips from his throat. His orgasm is full-bodied, rocking through him from head to toe. He shakes with it, warmth flooding every inch of him even while Scar relentlessly works him through it, his two bedmates continuing to fuck him as he gives in to pleasure at last.

Scar grunts, letting go of Grian’s spent dick and smearing his mess onto his hip as he grabs him by the waist and fucks up into him, his own precipice looming as his movements get desperate and sloppy.

It’s almost too much, a part of Grian unable to take in all he’s being given. His ears are ringing from the aftermath of his climax, but he can still hear the spirit box, the static forming wordless exclamations of its own. Out of nowhere he finds himself being roughly pushed down, an invisible hand spread out between his shoulder blades, pressing him flat and sandwiching him between Scar’s broad chest and the body they can’t see. He can imagine the ghost, bent over him, chasing its own peak with quick, rapid thrusts. A part of him worries—wonders if ghosts can even finish. What if he’s stuck here, trapped between these two long past the point of what he can handle?

“Grian,” Scar gasps, tone pitching up as he nears his peak. “Gri—I’m gonna—I’m coming.”

“Please,” Grian begs. He trembles between the two bodies pushing into him, grinding deep enough to stir a reaction even from his exhausted arousal. “Please, I need it. Need to feel you.”

Scar ruts up into him, grinding against the ghost’s length before all at once his body spasms and he comes. Grian feels the way his dick pulses warm inside him, filling him full. The static of the spirit box pitches up, and Grian’s aware of the sound of a lightbulb shattering, as well as doors opening and slamming shut in the hall. The last few thrusts from the ghost turn bruising, pistoning into him until abruptly he feels it, the phantom’s release mixing with Scar’s come as a raw, animal noise forces itself out through his throat.

“Good,” the spirit box crackles, the ghost’s weight going slack against him as it slumps down against his back. “So good—yes, yes...”

Grian doesn’t know how much of the mess inside him is corporeal, but he feels debauched as the ghost relaxes and slowly slides out, leaving Scar alone, buried deep inside him. Phantom touches smooth down his shoulder, cold lips trailing along his spine, cooling the sweat on his over-sensitive skin. He feels like he’s run a marathon, exhausted beyond measure but innately, deeply satisfied.

Scar’s hand runs down from his hip to his thigh, caressing and comforting. “That was…”

“Amazing?” Grian asks, grinning breathlessly against his chest. He can feel the way Scar’s chest rumbles with laughter, accompanied by a hum of agreement from deep inside his ribcage.

The spirit’s touch raises higher, soft as it brushes through Grian’s hair and swipes a thumb across his lips. There’s a gentle pressure against them, cool and fleeting, until it withdraws at all once. In front of him, Scar’s face twists up in confusion for a moment, before his already flushed cheeks go a touch darker.

“Oh,” Scar laughs, bringing a free hand up to press his fingers to his lips, clearly a recipient of his own ghostly kiss. “Why, thank you.”

The spirit box crackles through channels again, searching. “Had fun.”

“Glad to hear it, pal,” Grian chuckles, energy slowly returning to him, though not enough to make him move off of Scar just yet. “Now, what’re the chances we can convince you to leave the people living here alone?”

“Always business with you,” Scar scolds. “We just had a nice romp with our new friend—now’s not the time, G.”

“If not now, then when?” Grian counters.

It’s light-hearted and fun, neither of them taking it too seriously. They’re both well aware how absurd this whole situation is, a normally routine investigation turning into a supernatural entanglement. Grian would be lying if he said it hadn’t gotten his guard down. He supposes he should consider them lucky the ghost hadn’t decided to hunt them both the second it finished.

“Had—unfinished business,” the spirit box offers, “Complete now—thank you…”

“You’re kidding me,” Grian remarks, eyes wide at the idea of expelling a ghost like this.

Scar’s hand drifts up to his ass, squeezing it meaningfully. “If that’s another way to exorcise, then we should have threesomes with ghosts more often!”

Glowering at him, Grian swats at Scar’s chest, prompting a slew of chuckled apologies and a single contrite kiss. Beside them, the spirit box cycles through several choruses of canned audience laughter, and yet again Grian can’t help but contend with how surreal the entire experience is.

The ghost’s caresses, which have thus far been continuously rubbing up and down his spine, suddenly begin to dwindle. Bolstered by his curiosity, Grian rolls off of Scar and onto his side, leaning down over the edge of the bed to grab the EMF detector that had fallen off the mattress during their engagement. Upon pressing it, the alert shows four—no longer at the high it was at when their encounter first started. As he continues to watch it, the sensor ticks down to three.

Grian turns back to Scar, “I think it’s fading.”

“Wow, really?” Scar muses. He pushes himself up on his elbows, getting into a seated position before he waves at the air. “Bye-bye. It was sure nice meeting you.”

He makes quite the picture, sitting in the buff with Grian’s come streaked across his chest, waving at empty air with a bright smile on his face. It tugs at something fond in Grian’s chest that he immediately hides away with a roll of his eyes and a snort.

The spirit box crackles one last time, the sound weaker than it has been for every interaction prior to this one. “Goodbye.”

“So long, buddy,” Grian replies, watching the EMF drop from three to two to one.

The chill in the air dissipates, warming up in increments. Both the EMF and the spirit box go silent. There is no lingering touch of the unknown, no invisible whisper of a fingertip against his skin. The ghost is well and truly gone.

Properly turning off the electronic instruments, Grian gathers them by the door before he grabs a couple of tissues from the bedside table and cleans himself off as best he can. He retrieves his clothes from where they’re strewn about on the floor next, pulling them on as Scar stretches his arms above his head and yawns before languidly getting to his feet.

“What do you suppose it was?” he asks, bending down to pick up his shirt, wiping the mess on his chest off on its sleeve.

“Dunno,” Grian hums. “If I’m remembering Impulse’s notes correctly, it would have to be a wraith, or maybe twins. Or just a plain ol’ spirit.”

“Can’t have been twins,” Scar says as he pulls on his pants and trousers in one go. “We’d have been in the middle of a foursome then.”

“Scar.”

“What, I’m serious!”

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Grian turns away from him, straightening out his shirt and preparing to do some last minute checks to make sure the apparition is well and truly gone.

“Anyways, remind me to delete all the evidence we gathered today,” Scar adds, walking up to Grian and wrapping his arms tight around him in a hug.

Grian turns his head around, meeting Scar in a kiss. “Why’s that?” He mumbles against his lips.

“Because there are sound sensors all around this room,” Scar replies brightly, unaffected by the way Grian’s jaw drops, “Don’t know about you, but I think that would certainly cross a lot of coworker boundaries if we left the recordings for Imp and Skizz to find later.”

Grian groans, holding his face in his hands as Scar laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Maybe we can save a copy just for us,” he teases, words muffled into his hair. “Have a little private debrief with our evidence later…”

His hand sneaks down cheekily, teasing beneath Grian’s waistband in a way that makes him yelp and squirm away.

“Scar!”

Scar laughs, bright and jovial as he finally bends down and gathers the rest of his clothes off the ground, pulling them on with a relaxed kind of ease.

“We should probably do something about the bed, though,” he admits, looking towards the rumpled blankets, the bedspread bunched up incriminatingly from their activities. “You think it’s fair to tell ‘em we had an unexpected ectoplasmic encounter and will pay for the laundry?”

“That’s your problem to deal with,” Grian dismisses, not wanting to think about how they’re going to explain that to their clients. “You chose the bedroom.” He tries not to focus on the stains as he reaches out and resolutely balls the blanket up, waiting while Scar gathers the rest of their equipment.

“Didn’t hear you complaining when that ghost was having its way with you,” Scar remarks casually, kissing Grian’s temple fondly. “But maybe my mics picked up something different…”

Grian feels his face heat up, ducking his head as he tucks the blanket under one arm and heads towards the bedroom door.

“Maybe we will have to review those recordings…” he admits at last, voice low, causing Scar to chuckle fondly.

“Your place or mine?” he asks, nudging Grian eagerly through the bedroom door and back towards the van.