sleepless secrets
sleepless secrets
2,208 words • gabe/william • ghost!sex • nc-17
i gotta stop asking crimson for ideas on AUs when i'm in a mood to write :x blame her for the whack3d!out-ness of this. kekeke.
For the past few nights, William has had trouble sleeping. It’s not that he’s not tired, because he is. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable, because he is. It’s just that lately, despite being within the safety of his own home, with his parents just down the hall, he’s felt... strange. Scared. Like there’s something that shouldn’t be.
But it sounds stupid, right? He supposes it does, when he thinks about it, which is why he hasn’t told anyone. He’s just... stressing out because of school. Yeah. That’s all.
Most nights when he can’t sleep, he’ll get up and turn on his laptop, maybe plug some earphones into his amp and play guitar until his fingers are numb and his mind is blank from everything but the music. But he just has to get up tomorrow morning, he has to make it to school on time, so he stays in bed with the blankets up to his chin to hope that sleep will eventually overcome him.
Tonight feels different from the past few, though. He can’t put his finger on it, but it feels as if there’s a breeze, or maybe some kind of unnatural presence. But just to be sure, he pulls the blankets down so he can sit up and look over to the window.
He never does find out whether or not the window is open, because when he’s sat up in bed, all he can see are eyes in front of him. He wonders if his little sister has played a joke and set a mirror at the end of his bed, but when he looks down, he can see and feel when the bed dips from a newly added weight. William looks back up at the eyes, frozen solid in his pyjamas when he watches them blink, then as a face slowly begins to materialise around them.
William can’t even swallow the lump in his throat and instead it ends up stuck there, almost making him choke as this half-transparent figure crawls closer to him on his bed. When his muscles decide to work, he quickly lifts both hands to cover his eyes, only then being able to feel how much his hands are shaking.
After what has to be a minute, the weight doesn’t go away and he’s only just managed to swallow that lump. So nervously, hesitantly, he takes his hands away to see the figure still sat there on William’s knees, this time sat up rather than on his hands and knees.
William knows this can’t be a mirror, because the figure looks nothing like him. It’s a boy, a tall boy, maybe a few years older than him. Twenty-one, maybe twenty-two years old. A young, but tired face. A somewhat amazed smile on his face as he gradually leans in closer.
“You can see me,” they whisper, the hushed sound sending a shiver down William’s spine. His voice sounds as transparent as he; like he caught the wind with his fingers and weaved it into words. “You can finally see me.”
“Wh-wh-who are you,” William finally spits, his voice shaken from the fear that he hadn’t realised what there. “What are you?! How did you get into my room? My bed?”
The boy’s eyes widen when William’s whisper slowly rises in volume along with his words, so he suddenly reaches out to press his hand to William’s mouth. The contact is cold, barely there, like a cold breath is being constantly breathed against William’s lips, so he yelps. He doesn’t think, he just does; confused by how something can seem to exist but feel completely otherwise.
William blinks and the boy, man, whatever he was, is gone. He slumps back against his headboard and tries to breath in and out, evenly and slowly as he stares at the space where he once had been. William doesn’t realise that someone had been walking towards his room until his door opens and his mother peers inside; her eyes half closed in her half asleep state.
“Is everything alright?” She asks him, taking in the way her son is sat, somewhat nervously in his bed.
William takes another look at where the man had been before nodding at his mother. “I had a nightmare,” he explains, giving her a smile as his breathing calms. “Sorry to wake you. I’m alright.”
She nods and blows him a kiss before shutting his door and walking back to her room. William relaxes, ready to lay back and get some proper sleep, when the face suddenly appears again with the rest of the man’s body along with it.
William opens his mouth, ready to shout again, but the transparent man crawls higher up his lap, and soon enough, the cold touch of his barely-there skin consumes him until he forgets how to make noise.
“My name is Gabe,” the man says, his face getting closer with every word as his smile softens. “I lived here in 1987. I was in the kitchen one day, trying to find something to eat, when I fell from the counter.” His smile grows as he speaks, but William’s shrinks until he’s wearing nothing but a weary frown. “All I remember is a shooting pain down my neck, but I’ve been here ever since.”
William manages to choke out, before he can stop himself, “You’re a ghost.”
Gabe leans in closer, his hands lifting to touch as William’s chest, palms pressed to his collar bone and cold fingers touching his neck. “This was my studio,” he murmurs. “It’s my favourite room in the house.” William feels himself subconsciously trying to lean back with every millimetre that Gabe takes from between them, but his back is already pressed against the hard wood of the headboard. “So I stayed in here, and just kind of.. Wanted to see how you treated it.”
“You watch me?” William manages to whisper.
“There’s nothing else to do,” Gabe tells him, casually, as if it excuses the total creepiness of everything that’s been said. He looks down to where William’s hands are fisted in the bedsheets, then back up to his face with a slightly cheekier grin. “I love watching you dream.”
“What do you want from me?” William whimpers, unable to help but feel like this is a scene from some B-grade sci-fi movie, because in the back of his head, he’s just dreaming. He’s got to be.
It’s a shock when Gabe leans in closer still, catching William off guard entirely when he whispers that ghostly breath to his ear, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to be able to see me, how long I’ve wanted to do this.” At the last word, William’s whole body feels overcome by that horrifying but tantalising cold, as Gabe’s lips press harshly to William’s. He’s opened their mouths before William realises it, and there’s a tongue inside his mouth. How, he doesn’t know, but he can’t remember how to shut his jaw when he feels that slick, cold tongue against his own. It doesn’t feel real, and he’s sure it can’t be, but Gabe is putting pressure against his crotch and he can’t think of a way that this is a dream. That feels too real.
Gabe grabs the sheets and pulls them back, mesmerising William for a moment when they seem to fly to the end of the bed with a seamless grace. It’s then that he realises what’s happening, when Gabe hooks his icy fingers under the waist band of his boxers and pulls, bringing them down in the same manner as the sheets. Gabe’s mouth returns to his to avoid any kind of scream or yelp, while his hands help position William’s legs up and apart.
“Wh-what are you doing?” William stammers while his fists twist around the bedsheets. Gabe doesn’t even take the time to respond, just pushes down his pants enough for him to take his dick from his boxers. It’s that what proves this to be a dream in William’s eyes, because there’s no possible way a ghost could just come into his room and have a way with him, right?
Gabe takes no time to prepare him or touch him in any way, but instead just sits himself forward, lines up and thrusts himself inside. William throws his head back, eyes blown wide as he bites hard on his tongue, the pain so overwhelming that he feels unable to make a sound.
Gabe’s hands seem to slither up William’s body, under his pyjama shirt to run his palms over his nipples, as if he knows William’s body all by heart. It’s a scary thought that he just might, considering that Gabe could have been present all those times William masturbated when his parents weren’t home, or the simpler times of getting dried and dressed after a shower. Still, all William can seem to feel is an envelope of the prickling breeze flowing up and down his body with every stroke of Gabe’s hands.
Gabe’s dick inside him doesn’t feel.. right. Perhaps it’s why he can’t scream, why he feels unable and why he doesn’t really want to. While he feels the burn of an unprepared fuck present, that ghostly skin seems to counteract it, in the way that Gabe’s dick isn’t really there, like a cold remedy being put on burnt skin to ease the pain, just inside him.
When Gabe pulls his hips out then rocks them forward once more, it feels different. William feels less stretched and more full, like puzzle pieces, like some fucked up mix and match game where Gabe picked the right piece to fit to the boy beneath him. On the third thrust, the feeling only increases in intensity, until William is being constantly pressed with a soft but firm mass of good feeling.
He doesn’t even think that Gabe has come close to finding his prostate yet, considering how violently he’s started to rock his hips, but the dragging of his dick inside of William just feels gentle, contradicting everything happening on the outside. William’s fingernails dig into his palms and his head keeps bumping the headboard. Gabe’s hands hold him tighter, which is starting to hurt, like the prickles from his breezy fingers are growing to the size of spikes, like Gabe has William held in a vice like grip with claws sprouting from each finger.
Still, William is caught between the two; the vigorous rocking of his bed in the eerily silent night, silence only broken by quiet grunts on the wind and William’s heavy breathing; and the slow motion pull-push inside of him, the down over his cold body.
So it’s not the worst experience William has had, even though it may be the strangest and perhaps not even real. But there’s something interesting in the way that this man feels. Rape or not, William hasn’t decided, he’s feeling pretty damn good, and it’s here that he’s only just realised how hard he is from all of it.
Gabe only jerks his hips in a slightly quicker, harsher way for the good feeling to go away and for William to be sucked back into reality. All he feels is the rocking bed, the fingernails in his palms and the prickling fingers on his nipples; the only sound being their breathing, William’s grunting and the gentle hum of the crickets outside his window. It was that one awkward jerk of his hips that hit William’s spot, that arches his back off the bed and makes him thrust his hips back against Gabe’s gyrating one.
All he’s got now is hard, raw and frighteningly realistic sex, rape, whatever it is, with the exception of Gabe’s cold, sweating hands and his still ghostly figure. He feels too rough to be calm, too thorough to be a figure of William’s imagination, and when they come, he’s sure he can feel Gabe’s come dripping from him long after he pulls out.
It only takes a single touch of Gabe’s prickly hand on William’s dick to have him coming as well. After that, he disappears and leaves William wondering whether he’s dreaming, but the thought is quickly wiped when he closes his eyes and unintentionally lulls himself to sleep in the afterglow.
In the morning his sheets are sticky, his brow is cold but his room feels empty. Maybe Gabe’s ghost has finally decided to leave, to give him peace and a quiet night sleep. William doesn’t think he’ll tell his friends, especially not his parents, but he’s not sure if anyone would believe him anyway. He’s not so sure he believes it himself. There’s always the chance it was an incredibly intense wet dream, so he decides to keep it to himself for the day.
What he doesn’t intend on, however, is to see Gabe’s winking eye when he’s laying in bed awake that night, dipping the weight on the mattress to return for his second round.
2,208 words • gabe/william • ghost!sex • nc-17
i gotta stop asking crimson for ideas on AUs when i'm in a mood to write :x blame her for the whack3d!out-ness of this. kekeke.
For the past few nights, William has had trouble sleeping. It’s not that he’s not tired, because he is. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable, because he is. It’s just that lately, despite being within the safety of his own home, with his parents just down the hall, he’s felt... strange. Scared. Like there’s something that shouldn’t be.
But it sounds stupid, right? He supposes it does, when he thinks about it, which is why he hasn’t told anyone. He’s just... stressing out because of school. Yeah. That’s all.
Most nights when he can’t sleep, he’ll get up and turn on his laptop, maybe plug some earphones into his amp and play guitar until his fingers are numb and his mind is blank from everything but the music. But he just has to get up tomorrow morning, he has to make it to school on time, so he stays in bed with the blankets up to his chin to hope that sleep will eventually overcome him.
Tonight feels different from the past few, though. He can’t put his finger on it, but it feels as if there’s a breeze, or maybe some kind of unnatural presence. But just to be sure, he pulls the blankets down so he can sit up and look over to the window.
He never does find out whether or not the window is open, because when he’s sat up in bed, all he can see are eyes in front of him. He wonders if his little sister has played a joke and set a mirror at the end of his bed, but when he looks down, he can see and feel when the bed dips from a newly added weight. William looks back up at the eyes, frozen solid in his pyjamas when he watches them blink, then as a face slowly begins to materialise around them.
William can’t even swallow the lump in his throat and instead it ends up stuck there, almost making him choke as this half-transparent figure crawls closer to him on his bed. When his muscles decide to work, he quickly lifts both hands to cover his eyes, only then being able to feel how much his hands are shaking.
After what has to be a minute, the weight doesn’t go away and he’s only just managed to swallow that lump. So nervously, hesitantly, he takes his hands away to see the figure still sat there on William’s knees, this time sat up rather than on his hands and knees.
William knows this can’t be a mirror, because the figure looks nothing like him. It’s a boy, a tall boy, maybe a few years older than him. Twenty-one, maybe twenty-two years old. A young, but tired face. A somewhat amazed smile on his face as he gradually leans in closer.
“You can see me,” they whisper, the hushed sound sending a shiver down William’s spine. His voice sounds as transparent as he; like he caught the wind with his fingers and weaved it into words. “You can finally see me.”
“Wh-wh-who are you,” William finally spits, his voice shaken from the fear that he hadn’t realised what there. “What are you?! How did you get into my room? My bed?”
The boy’s eyes widen when William’s whisper slowly rises in volume along with his words, so he suddenly reaches out to press his hand to William’s mouth. The contact is cold, barely there, like a cold breath is being constantly breathed against William’s lips, so he yelps. He doesn’t think, he just does; confused by how something can seem to exist but feel completely otherwise.
William blinks and the boy, man, whatever he was, is gone. He slumps back against his headboard and tries to breath in and out, evenly and slowly as he stares at the space where he once had been. William doesn’t realise that someone had been walking towards his room until his door opens and his mother peers inside; her eyes half closed in her half asleep state.
“Is everything alright?” She asks him, taking in the way her son is sat, somewhat nervously in his bed.
William takes another look at where the man had been before nodding at his mother. “I had a nightmare,” he explains, giving her a smile as his breathing calms. “Sorry to wake you. I’m alright.”
She nods and blows him a kiss before shutting his door and walking back to her room. William relaxes, ready to lay back and get some proper sleep, when the face suddenly appears again with the rest of the man’s body along with it.
William opens his mouth, ready to shout again, but the transparent man crawls higher up his lap, and soon enough, the cold touch of his barely-there skin consumes him until he forgets how to make noise.
“My name is Gabe,” the man says, his face getting closer with every word as his smile softens. “I lived here in 1987. I was in the kitchen one day, trying to find something to eat, when I fell from the counter.” His smile grows as he speaks, but William’s shrinks until he’s wearing nothing but a weary frown. “All I remember is a shooting pain down my neck, but I’ve been here ever since.”
William manages to choke out, before he can stop himself, “You’re a ghost.”
Gabe leans in closer, his hands lifting to touch as William’s chest, palms pressed to his collar bone and cold fingers touching his neck. “This was my studio,” he murmurs. “It’s my favourite room in the house.” William feels himself subconsciously trying to lean back with every millimetre that Gabe takes from between them, but his back is already pressed against the hard wood of the headboard. “So I stayed in here, and just kind of.. Wanted to see how you treated it.”
“You watch me?” William manages to whisper.
“There’s nothing else to do,” Gabe tells him, casually, as if it excuses the total creepiness of everything that’s been said. He looks down to where William’s hands are fisted in the bedsheets, then back up to his face with a slightly cheekier grin. “I love watching you dream.”
“What do you want from me?” William whimpers, unable to help but feel like this is a scene from some B-grade sci-fi movie, because in the back of his head, he’s just dreaming. He’s got to be.
It’s a shock when Gabe leans in closer still, catching William off guard entirely when he whispers that ghostly breath to his ear, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to be able to see me, how long I’ve wanted to do this.” At the last word, William’s whole body feels overcome by that horrifying but tantalising cold, as Gabe’s lips press harshly to William’s. He’s opened their mouths before William realises it, and there’s a tongue inside his mouth. How, he doesn’t know, but he can’t remember how to shut his jaw when he feels that slick, cold tongue against his own. It doesn’t feel real, and he’s sure it can’t be, but Gabe is putting pressure against his crotch and he can’t think of a way that this is a dream. That feels too real.
Gabe grabs the sheets and pulls them back, mesmerising William for a moment when they seem to fly to the end of the bed with a seamless grace. It’s then that he realises what’s happening, when Gabe hooks his icy fingers under the waist band of his boxers and pulls, bringing them down in the same manner as the sheets. Gabe’s mouth returns to his to avoid any kind of scream or yelp, while his hands help position William’s legs up and apart.
“Wh-what are you doing?” William stammers while his fists twist around the bedsheets. Gabe doesn’t even take the time to respond, just pushes down his pants enough for him to take his dick from his boxers. It’s that what proves this to be a dream in William’s eyes, because there’s no possible way a ghost could just come into his room and have a way with him, right?
Gabe takes no time to prepare him or touch him in any way, but instead just sits himself forward, lines up and thrusts himself inside. William throws his head back, eyes blown wide as he bites hard on his tongue, the pain so overwhelming that he feels unable to make a sound.
Gabe’s hands seem to slither up William’s body, under his pyjama shirt to run his palms over his nipples, as if he knows William’s body all by heart. It’s a scary thought that he just might, considering that Gabe could have been present all those times William masturbated when his parents weren’t home, or the simpler times of getting dried and dressed after a shower. Still, all William can seem to feel is an envelope of the prickling breeze flowing up and down his body with every stroke of Gabe’s hands.
Gabe’s dick inside him doesn’t feel.. right. Perhaps it’s why he can’t scream, why he feels unable and why he doesn’t really want to. While he feels the burn of an unprepared fuck present, that ghostly skin seems to counteract it, in the way that Gabe’s dick isn’t really there, like a cold remedy being put on burnt skin to ease the pain, just inside him.
When Gabe pulls his hips out then rocks them forward once more, it feels different. William feels less stretched and more full, like puzzle pieces, like some fucked up mix and match game where Gabe picked the right piece to fit to the boy beneath him. On the third thrust, the feeling only increases in intensity, until William is being constantly pressed with a soft but firm mass of good feeling.
He doesn’t even think that Gabe has come close to finding his prostate yet, considering how violently he’s started to rock his hips, but the dragging of his dick inside of William just feels gentle, contradicting everything happening on the outside. William’s fingernails dig into his palms and his head keeps bumping the headboard. Gabe’s hands hold him tighter, which is starting to hurt, like the prickles from his breezy fingers are growing to the size of spikes, like Gabe has William held in a vice like grip with claws sprouting from each finger.
Still, William is caught between the two; the vigorous rocking of his bed in the eerily silent night, silence only broken by quiet grunts on the wind and William’s heavy breathing; and the slow motion pull-push inside of him, the down over his cold body.
So it’s not the worst experience William has had, even though it may be the strangest and perhaps not even real. But there’s something interesting in the way that this man feels. Rape or not, William hasn’t decided, he’s feeling pretty damn good, and it’s here that he’s only just realised how hard he is from all of it.
Gabe only jerks his hips in a slightly quicker, harsher way for the good feeling to go away and for William to be sucked back into reality. All he feels is the rocking bed, the fingernails in his palms and the prickling fingers on his nipples; the only sound being their breathing, William’s grunting and the gentle hum of the crickets outside his window. It was that one awkward jerk of his hips that hit William’s spot, that arches his back off the bed and makes him thrust his hips back against Gabe’s gyrating one.
All he’s got now is hard, raw and frighteningly realistic sex, rape, whatever it is, with the exception of Gabe’s cold, sweating hands and his still ghostly figure. He feels too rough to be calm, too thorough to be a figure of William’s imagination, and when they come, he’s sure he can feel Gabe’s come dripping from him long after he pulls out.
It only takes a single touch of Gabe’s prickly hand on William’s dick to have him coming as well. After that, he disappears and leaves William wondering whether he’s dreaming, but the thought is quickly wiped when he closes his eyes and unintentionally lulls himself to sleep in the afterglow.
In the morning his sheets are sticky, his brow is cold but his room feels empty. Maybe Gabe’s ghost has finally decided to leave, to give him peace and a quiet night sleep. William doesn’t think he’ll tell his friends, especially not his parents, but he’s not sure if anyone would believe him anyway. He’s not so sure he believes it himself. There’s always the chance it was an incredibly intense wet dream, so he decides to keep it to himself for the day.
What he doesn’t intend on, however, is to see Gabe’s winking eye when he’s laying in bed awake that night, dipping the weight on the mattress to return for his second round.