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The first thing Buck noticed about the apartment was: it was new. Like really, really new.
New floors, new paint, new appliances still humming like they were straight out of the box. The stale air was thick with the chemical scent of paint and plastic, on top of a coldness that seemed to have nothing to do with the weather.
The second thing was: it was too clean. It smelled like that weird fake-lemon cleaner landlords love but dialled up to eleven. The kind of intensity that you only get when something bad happened and someone’s trying to cover it up.
And the third thing?
It was fucking haunted.
Having been practically homeless in his early twenties, Buck wasn’t exactly the most paranoid guy around but what was he supposed to think when weird, inexplicable things happened?
Lights would flicker randomly despite the wiring being relatively new; faucets leaked whenever they liked, making him look like an idiot in front of the plumber; random things were left in the sink or on top of the coffee table despite him being sure that he’d already done the dishes.
The last straw was him finding strands of dark hair on his pillow.
His pillow! Buck lived alone and he had never brought any hookups home!
See, Buck wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed but he knew when something’s wrong, okay?
When he asked the landlord, that guy immediately turned mute, so he had to resort to befriending the increasingly invasive old lady who lived a few doors down to his. Apparently, his apartment looked weirdly new because there was a fire a while ago. It used to be normal but after they fixed the place up, no one wanted to stay more than a few weeks there. Every time, without fail, the previous tenant would break off their leash within the first month.
Rumours spread that this place was haunted.
“But is it?” He asked, kinda creeped out by the whole thing. The lady only shrugged.
For a minute, Buck contemplated just leaving the building all together but one glance at his bank account balance sobered him up. Oh, yeah, who was he kidding? The LA housing market was a nightmare he didn’t want to navigate anytime soon.
Who cared about ghosts? They hadn’t been too… obstructive for the past few days. Besides, aside from being incorporeal and nonhuman, the ghost was no worse than his annoying housemates at the frat house. At least with this one, he didn’t have to hide his food just so they wouldn’t eat it when they got high or have to watch out for guys who jacked off in the shower and didn’t rinse it down. A little hair and some creepy plumbing had nothing on that.
Besides, Buck told himself as he flopped onto his brand-new mattress, the ghost clearly didn’t want him gone or it could’ve gone full poltergeist on him.
(Though, if anyone were to ask, Buck wouldn’t admit he was lonely enough that a little haunting felt better than the silence.)
Push come shove, he’d just move back into the frat house or something.
---
Of course, that was right about when things got weird.
On the very night after he spoke to the old lady, the ghost made its move. Buck woke up on his side with a chill down his spine and the prickling feeling of being watched. He could feel the presence of something other behind him but when he tried to move, his limbs felt like they weighted a hundred tons. Not in a “I woke up sweating and feverish from flu” way, but in a “ice in his veins, can’t move a muscle, oh my god is this sleep paralysis” way.
Fuck.
Buck swam in and out of sleep, his eyes barely open. His lungs worked in short little bursts, heart pounding like someone jabbed him with an adrenaline shot,
That was when he felt it. A hand trailing down his spine, stopping at the small of his back before repeating the motion. His stomach tightened as the hand travelled to his navel, gentle caresses as solid as a human touch. It lingered there, a small petting motion that felt hesitant but also weirdly nice.
Man, he really needed to get laid.
Then, the hand suddenly held the base of his dick in a barely-there touch, knuckles pressing on his balls. His brain shouted bad idea, bad idea, this is how horror movies start, but his dick clearly hadn’t gotten the memo.
When the ghost finally squeezed him through his sweats, Buck made a sound he really hoped the neighbours didn’t hear—he whimpered.
Look, Buck was a healthy, hotblooded young guy who hadn’t gotten laid since his captain threatened to fire him if he couldn’t keep it in his pants and this ghost was touching all the right places. The ghost moved slowly, cool fingers tugging his dick, rubbing its thumb against the slit until he was leaking precum. It used the slickness to smooth the caress up and down his length, squeezing periodically as if to test what made Buck tick.
It didn’t take much for him to cum.
---
If he thought that was the end of it, he was very wrong. The next few nights were… well, let’s just say he wasn’t getting much sleep.
The first night was quick and dirty. Fingers wrapped him up tight, pumping him fast enough that Buck barely got the chance to gasp before he was shooting all over his stomach. The ghost didn’t even stop there, just kept going like it was taking notes on what Buck’s dick could endure before he was whining and begging for mercy, thighs trembling and the sheets sticking to his sweat soaked back.
The second night, the ghost did a full 180 and made it slow, torturously edging Buck until his flaxen eyelashes clump together with tears. A hand would curl around him, squeezing just below the head whenever Buck got too close, smearing his truly copious amount of precum—he wasn’t called Firehose for nothing—with lazy strokes that went nowhere. Buck spent an hour groaning into his pillow, rutting desperately into an invisible fist that refused to give him what he wanted. When he finally came—after a humiliating amount of pleading to the empty air—it was so intense he almost blacked out.
By the third night, he realised that the ghost was practicing, maybe even experimenting. Just imagining a clumsy ghost woman who was so repressed or lonely she only got to release her inner freak from the other side of the veil? Weirdly hot.
It didn’t take much to make him cum and every time he did, the ghost felt almost curious, placing its hands on his shaking thighs and tight navel like it was cataloguing each shiver, every twitch and every noise he made.
But as Buck laid panting on his bed, a deep sense of shame made him want to scream into his pillow. Was he so desperate for attention that he couldn’t even keep it in his pants when faced with a horny supernatural entity?
Yeah, he was never telling anyone about this. Ever.
---
“I think my apartment is haunted,” he said breezily, plopping down between Hen and Chimney on the loft’s couch. The two barely budged, more focused on the video game they were playing. Buck pouted and placed his foot on Chimney’s lap, dislodging his controller and making him lose the game. Hen cheered while Chimney groaned, shoving Buck away.
“Hey! What gives?”
“I said I’m being haunted.”
Game abandoned, they shared a look over Buck’s head before turning to him in sync, like a pair of twins from a horror movie. It was kinda creepy.
“And you think so because…?”
Something cold and lonely in his heart warmed when they didn’t immediately dismiss him. Suddenly embarrassed, Buck pretended he was too busy dipping his celery in the peanut butter jar before he gathered enough courage to look at Hen's sceptical face.
“I’ve been experiencing… things.”
This time, it was Chimney’s turn to ask. “Things? Like what?”
“Like… erotic things.” Everyone groaned and Buck immediately launched back to his story. “No, listen! I, uh, my neighbour—yes, the same kooky woman who told me my guardian angel forgave me for killing him, ugh—she already warned me about the apartment being haunted. At first, I didn’t really believe it but then one night… something—someone touched my uh, down there. I couldn’t move because of the sleep paralysis so I just… let it be. It was crazy.”
“Sleep paralysis?” Chimney repeated, elbows on his knees as he urged Buck to elaborate. However, Hen looked concerned. “Woah hold on, are you sure it was a ghost? Because that was…”
His face burned. “No, no, it’s not like that. It was a ghost, I swear!”
The two paramedics shared a look again. “Is this the first time it happened?”
When he stayed silent, Hen sighed. “Okay, well, that sucks. When are you planning to move out?”
“…”
“You’re not?”
“…”
“Oh my god, you like it!”
Buck’s face burned in embarrassment. See, the problem was: it was kinda hot. Not gonna like, it did freak him out a little but the more he sat on it, the hornier he got. A sexy, promiscuous ghost woman—don’t ask him how he knew—jerking him off voluntarily?
Well, Hen did say he would fuck anything that moved and apparently that included those who no longer have a pulse. He just wished it was a sexy vampire instead, the whole thing would feel way less creepy if he could see her.
Hen pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, let me get this straight. You’re living with a horny ghost who… touches you, but you’re not moving out because you don’t mind it—or like it enough to not care.”
“It—they’re really good at handjobs!” Buck blurted out, immediately regretting it when Chimney collapsed against the sofa in wheezing laughter.
“Oh my god, Buck’s getting freaked-and-geeked by Casper the Friendly Ghost,” Chimney gasped, wiping his eyes. “No offence man but you’re such a whore.”
Buck rolled his eyes. “You’re just jealous my sex life’s more active than yours. Even when I didn’t go looking, I still get laid—I’m just that hot.”
Chimney mocked his words but Hen just sighed, softening slightly. “Look, I don’t know what’s happening here but you have to check for CO level and mould. It’s not like I don’t believe you but just be careful, okay?”
Buck immediately pouted. “Aye-aye, captain,” he muttered, shoving another stick of celery in his mouth.
---
Buck had a problem.
A big, throbbing, incredibly embarrassing problem.
See, remember when he said he was a hot-blooded young man with the libido to match? Yeah. The ghost was aware of that too. It hadn’t let up all week, and every time he got off, it just came back the next night with some new tricks. In comparison, Buck’s own hand was a sad, boring downgrade. By the second week, he felt like a walking erection, almost like his body was trained to be so sensitive that he could go from soft to hard in a blink of an eye.
So yeah, he caved. As soon as his twenty-four was over, he drove to a club far enough he won’t risk bumping into his coworkers, found a pretty girl with a nice smile and an even nicer pair of legs, and followed her home.
It was… good.
Great, even. She was warm and wet with a level of flexibility Buck could only dream about. Didn’t even kick him out immediately or something, just left him on the bed with a kiss and a whispered, ‘shower’.
No, she wasn’t the problem.
Buck was the problem. For all her skilful hands and pretty green eyes, he couldn’t stop himself from comparing. Every time she touched him, he’d think about the ghost’s cooler, firmer hands pressing him down with surprising strength. Every time she brought him closer to an orgasm, he’d think about how the ghost would know to press on his perineum while squeezing his glans. Every time, he’d think about how the ghost probably knew his body better than he did.
So, he made some excuses about feeding a cat, tried not to feel anything when she didn’t offer her number, then went home.
Stumbling into his empty apartment, he began to strip down as he walked into the bedroom, dropping his clothes at the foot of his bed for sober Buck to deal with in the morning. The cool, night air ghosted over his skin (ha, ghosted), making his nipples tighten into hard numbs as a shiver ran down his spine.
Turning toward the closet, he froze when he caught sight of himself in the mirror—chest flushed, eyes bright in a post orgasm way—and groaned. Getting turned on again at the mere thought of being alone in his apartment like some Pavlov’s dog? Maybe Chimney was onto something when he called Buck a whore.
I’m doing freaky shit again, he thought, looking at his briefs covered chub in the mirror.
In a fit of insanity, Buck decided he didn’t need pyjamas anymore actually, despite his habits of wearing socks and a hoodie due to having a body that got cold so easily. Flinging his underwear away, Buck flopped into the bed naked as the day he was born, dick out and bobbing as he laid on his back.
Oh no, I sure hope a hot, sexy ghost doesn’t come and suck my dick tonight, he thought absently. He waited for a few minutes in the shivering cold before his erection began to flag. Sleep tugged him to bury himself underneath the blanket but just as he rolled on his side, a cool hand held his hip.
Buck willed his body to relax, sparks of anticipatory pleasure travelling up his spine as he waited for the hand to cup his dick.
It never came. Instead, the hand trailed down to the cleft of his ass, caressing the soft flesh with light touches. Then, a thumb dug into his inner cheek and lifted, exposing his hole to the air.
He was fully awake now, ass clenching instinctively as something cool and slick pressed against his rim. “Holy shit,” he gasped, every part in his body locking when the finger popped past the tight ring of muscles. It didn’t go deeper than a dip, sliding along his crease, teasing, circling his hole like it was testing waters.
It felt… weird.
The ghost was tentative at first, slow and careful as if it wasn’t sure it was allowed but Buck’s cock twitched at the idea of the ghost learning something new again. He had a few hookups that would squeeze his ass while he fucked them, had seen a few porn videos that focused on the girl’s butthole a little too long but anal wasn’t something he’d ever done to a girl, let alone himself.
The stretch took a bit to get used to. Buck bit his tongue lightly to keep from making a noise, forcing himself to stay pliant instead of clenching down. What else could he do? Roll over, confront his horny supernatural roommate mid-fingerbang and risk the ghost stop touching him ever again?
Call him crazy but no way.
From the tentative pressure, careful circling, little stop-and-start hesitations, he could tell that the ghost was still experimenting. It was figuring out what did and didn’t make him flinch, and yet—god help him—it was already beginning to feel good. Every time it slid deeper, Buck’s cock would twitch, beads of precum smearing his navel.
Then, it happened.
The finger brushed on the small bundle of nerves, stilling when Buck immediately tightened. His hips twitched, an involuntary groan slipping out before he could stop it. “Fuck,” he gasped into his pillow, eyes squeezing shut as his back arched, helpless against the sensual assault on his prostate.
It was insane. He was being fingered by a ghost—a ghost that knew him well enough to figure out where to press, how to curl, how to keep him trembling on the edge without spilling over. Buck squirmed on his stomach, trapping his wet cock against the sheets. He began to rock his hips, seeking friction to reach the edge himself but suddenly, firm hands held him down and flipped him on his back.
The fingers in his ass returned, this time coupled with a hand wrapped around his cock. It didn’t take much for him to cum. Just with a few quick strokes and a firm press on his prostate, Buck was a goner.
By the time his orgasm ebbed, Buck was panting like he’d run a marathon, sweat cooling between the valley of his pecs, cock still twitching for getting edged. He blinked blearily, caught in the liminal space between exhaustion and bliss.
Moonlight streamed past the curtains and, for a brief moment, illuminated the muscular form of the hottest guy he had ever seen kneeling right between his legs. Dark hair, sharp jaw and a broad pair of shoulders that he ached to bite.
Oh.
Not a woman at all, he thought hazily before sleep dragged him under.
---
“Is it gay if I let a guy ghost finger my ass?”
“Woah, TMI!” Chimney yelled, almost choking on his salad. “This is not a dinner table topic, dude!”
Ignoring the shorter man, Buck turned toward Bobby, someone who looked disturbed but not opposed to lend a listening ear. But Hen saw him and immediately threw her hands up in the air.
“Buck, if you don’t let me finish this meal in peace, I’m going to kill you.”
Tsk.
“Noted,” Buck muttered with a pout before reluctantly going back to his potato salad.
---
Bzzt.
Buck’s phone buzzed halfway through a rescue and while he’d usually wait for the scene to be clear before checking his phone, he hadn’t had to do anything since the paramedics took over.
Unknown number: Hey, Fireman Buckley.
His eyebrows shot up. “Huh.” He read it three times, checking the number just in case it was a hook up but it’d been a while since he’d been with anyone long enough to exchange numbers. Besides, Fireman Buckley? Who the hell says that?
Buck: sorry who’s this?
Unknown number: It’s Abby, from dispatch. I recognised you on the news and you looked shaken. Thought I’d check up on you.
“What?”
Buck blinked. The sentiment was sweet but also… kinda creepy. He recognised her voice from a few rescues they’d worked with but he definitely hadn’t given her his personal number. In the end, Buck bit his tongue because hey, this is a pretty lady trying to get to know him. He’d be stupid to question it, right?
Besides, Abby was a sweet woman. A little awkward sometimes and reference things that made him vaguely aware she was probably older than anyone he’d dated but she also had a nice laugh and this sense of wisdom that made her interesting.
So he flirted back.
It was easy, slipping back into this persona that he thought he’d grown out of. Didn’t quite fit like a glove but in a few minutes, he managed to coax a few teasing lines out of her. She asked him about his day, he asked her about hers and called her “cute” when she let out something more personal. It was uncomplicated and straight-forward.
(Straight being the key word here.)
It was good. Normal. So, normal that by the end of the day he managed to score a date on the weekend. She was just as sweet in person, shyly brushing his hand with hers, laughing at the dumb jokes he stole from Chimney. Buck let himself get lost in the flow—a movie, dinner, a lingering kiss at the door that was cut short when her mom called out for her—and for a little while he forgot all about the ghost.
Nah, just kidding.
Buck stepped into the threshold with a faint click of the door closing behind him, his body humming with trained excitement. At night, in the privacy of his own bedroom, the ghost had levelled up.
“Oh my god,” he whispered into the dark, hands clutching the sheets as his hips bucked. Buck had barely gotten comfortable in bed before he felt the soft pressure of cool lips ghosting over his cock. A few days ago, the ghost had been hesitant, tentative at first but just as expected, he improved quickly.
A tongue traced the underside of his cock, cool hand pulling back his foreskin to tease the sensitive glans. Buck’s eyes flew open as the ghost took his cockhead in his mouth, sucking lightly while a thumb rubbed on his scrotum. Every touch had Buck shaking apart, every careful drag of phantom lips had him aching with need.
Buck whimpered, hips bucking impatiently but it seemed that the ghost was in the mood for edging tonight. A strong forearm limited his movements, trapping Buck under his mercy and by the time he was allowed to cum, he was gasping and writhing, legs shaking from yet another amazing orgasm.
See, Abby was sweet. She felt good, a safe relationship that he could pursue without another person frowning at him about being safe or something. She felt normal.
But the ghost? The ghost was simply better.
---
Weeks blurred into each other.
He spent the days with Abby, laughing and getting lunch together under the bright sun. Then, he came home to nights with the ghost, head thrown back against the pillow and desperate pleas falling from his lips. He liked Abby—no, seriously—and he felt guilty about the ghost even though they weren’t official but he recognised this for what it was. A distraction, for both of them.
She wanted him because he was fun, he wanted her because she was normal. In another world that would’ve been enough but he’d be a fool to not recognise the look of someone who was already one foot out of the door.
So, to the ghost he went.
There was something deeply pathetic about having a ghost being the person who knew you the best but he couldn’t help it. The ghost took his time learning about him, memorising what made him flinch, what made him squirm and moan and writhe. He could command Buck’s body with a flick of a finger, like a maestro commanding his orchestra.
Having begged for scraps all his life, Buck never knew that attention could be so damn addictive.
---
48-hour shifts sucked.
Muscles screaming, Buck threw himself into the mattress with a groan. The fatigue was like a lead blanket, pressing him down. For the last few hours of the shift, he couldn’t think of anything other than collapsing face first into the blissful nothingness of sleep.
He was just drifting off when his phone buzzed.
Abby.
Buck grinned despite himself and answered the call, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he settled deeper under the covers. He let her soft voice fill the line, absentmindedly letting her exist in the forbidden space that belonged to him and his ghost. They made small talk, laughter low and easy, and the exhaustion must’ve made him crazy because it didn’t take long for the teasing to turn suggestive.
Her voice dipped, warm and sultry, and Buck’s cock stirred against his thigh. Despite the ridiculous sense of betrayal snaking in his gut, he let himself get swept into it, flirting back, words slanting toward something heavier as he cupped his clothed bulge.
Suddenly, the temperature dropped and his sensitive nipples pebbled in response. Buck’s breath stuttered as cool fingers brushed against his hip, the palm sliding up and down his thigh in a lover’s caress. He tried to keep his voice steady, tried to respond to whatever Abby had just said but it felt almost impossible. The touches were firm and sure, perhaps even possessive. He wrapped a hand around Buck’s cock coaxing it into full hardness within seconds.
“Ahn,” he bit his lip, hips canting reflexively at the familiar pleasure but before he could even get too wet, the hand retreated. Buck anticipated plush lips kissing his tip. Instead, he felt a firm pressure against his twitching hole, finger pads coating his rim before a thick finger slipped inside with practiced ease.
“Oh, fuck,” he moaned. Thankfully, Abby was gasping into the line, probably touching herself—something he’d appreciate more if he didn’t have two fingers up his ass, opening him up in a way that stole his breath.
“Mm, yeah, more,” he panted as he felt the familiar sparks of an orgasm building in his core. But just as he lost himself in the pleasure, the fingers stopped. Then, something different, bigger nudged at him, a blunt insistent pressure that made his hole twitch like it was trying to suck it in. Abby’s voice faltered and he belatedly realised he must’ve made a loud noise, which he didn’t really give a fuck about because oh my god, that’s a dick. That’s—no, I’m straight, I’m—
His thoughts splintered when the head popped past the virgin ring of muscles and the push became a slow, filling glide. Buck let out a long whine, ass up, head buried into the pillow, and phone abandoned on the pillow. After a bit, the dick moved in short thrusts, letting him get used to the stretch. It didn’t take long for his trained hole to unclench and as if waiting for that moment, the cock pulled out almost all the way out before repeatedly ramming onto his prostate. Pleasure slammed into him like a wave, forcing him to arch his back. Oh my god, it’s so good, shit, what does that mean—am I gay? Fuck—
He couldn’t think. He couldn’t do anything but pant into the phone, clutching it like a lifeline, mumbling half-responses that made no sense. Abby kept talking, her voice thinner now, confused, maybe concerned. The ghost kept moving inside him, deeper, harder, as if he was trying to—oh. He was jealous. The ghost was jealous he kept trying to talk to Abby.
Fuck, that was so hot.
Words failed him and left him mouthing against the pillowcase in a series of whines and whimpers. In the throes of pleasure, he even forgot he was talking to someone, drowning under the relentless pulse of heat and friction.
When he finally came, it was with a ragged cry muffled against the pillow, body shaking apart as his phone slid down, the call screen black.
Abby had hung up long before.
---
The first night, Buck woke up from his post coital nap to the sensation on a firm tongue swiping over one of his nipples while fingers rolled the other one. He told himself it was because he was too tired to care, too lazy to bat off the dick rubbing on his scrotum.
By the second night, he stopped pretending. He let the ghost take him—bent over the sofa when he tried to watch TV, spread out on the counter as he cooked dinner, pinned to his own bed until he was gasping into the sheets. Every place he’d never thought twice about became another spot claimed, defiled, sanctified with sticky ropes of cum and a phantom body. He’d lost count of how many times he came, how many ways the ghost had bent, stretched, and filled him. Some of the positions he was put in were things straight out of his porn tabs late at night—things he never imagined could actually work until the ghost folded him whichever way like it was nothing.
By the fourth day, Buck could barely recognise himself. His body ached in ways he was yet familiar with, muscles he didn’t know existed trembling just from him walking down to tip the delivery guy. Beneath his hoodie and basketball shorts, his skin was a canvas of bruises and hickeys, bites alogn his throat, hips and the inside of his thighs.
Of course, his coworkers were fucking insufferable about them too.
The moment he walked out of his Jeep and into the station in full uniform, Chimney was ready to greet him with the loudest voice imaginable. “Damn, Buck,” he whistled, leaning against the gleaming fire engine. “Did you get hit by a truck? Or, ah! Did a giant deer with a vendetta chased you down?”
“More like railed,” Hen supplied dryly, emerging from behind the Korean man like a freaky twin. She eyed the constellation of marks peeking from under Buck’s collar, which made his cheeks burn in embarrassment. Scowling, Buck adjusted his shirt but the limp in his stride betrayed him. “I-I worked out too hard.”
The two paramedics shared a look before they burst out laughing.
---
“Buck, I’m sure you know how important safe sex is—”
“No, no, no, please don’t—”
“—have you thought about getting on PrEP?” Bobby continued, holding up a pamphlet like he’d been waiting for this exact scenario.
Buck was on his feet in an instant. He should’ve known nothing good came from getting called into the captain’s office. “Nope, nope, I am not having this conversation with my captain-slash-surrogate-dad, thank you very much!”
“Buck—”
“Gotta go!” Buck fast-walked out of the office, red as a fire engine, Hen and Chim practically falling over themselves trying not to cackle as he flew down the loft stairs.
Bobby just sighed, shaking his head fondly. “Kids these days.”
---
It was getting embarrassing, how much Buck thought about it. He’d catch himself zoning out during boring medical calls, then working out at the firehouse gym, sweat dripping, imagining—not a person, not a face—okay, maybe a face because holy shit his ghost was a beautiful man—but mostly a dick. A dick he couldn’t even see but could identify by the shape of the head, the curve of the shaft and the veins running down the muscles.
Which was insane. Who in their right mind could identify a ghost by its dick alone? Apparently, him. He was that guy now.
Every moment, every goddamn second his brain wasn’t occupied, he thought about surrendering again. About being stretched open, teased, destroyed, cherished—God, whatever it was. He couldn’t wait to get home and just… give in.
Only nothing happened.
Huh.
First night, fine. Ghosts had schedules too, right?
Second night, he stayed up naked under the covers, feeling very much like a fool when the dawn started bleeding into the ceiling.
Third night, he tried to sleep because fuck that ghost. Buck wasn’t so desperate that he’d wait for someone who had obviously abandoned him, so yeah. Fuck him. Buck could get any guy he wanted if he just walked into a club in those tight jeans his ex bought him because it made his ass pop.
By the fourth, Buck was spiralling. Did the ghost move on? Did it like achieve some kind of enlightenment and went to nirvana after fucking him ass into submission for four days straight? Was this whole thing about a closeted, repressed guy finally working out his issues by railing Buck through the veil of death, and now that he’d moved on to the afterlife it was all thanks for the service, see ya never?
Fuck. Off.
Ugh.
He tried. God, he tried. He went to a club, flirted shamelessly and followed some vaguely hot brunet to the dark alley to get a messy blowjob and a finger up his ass. It wasn’t the same. He tried girls too—different body types, different moves, different everything—but none of them compared.
So he gave up and bought a dildo, which was even sadder because halfway through fucking himself on it, he realised he was pretending it was the ghost and god did that make him feel insane and lonely and pathetic.
Fucking horny ghost and his fucking talented hands. I hope you burn in hell, he spat in his head but immediately felt bad about that. Actually, no, I hope wherever you are, you’d never forget about me. I hope you keep reminiscing about me fantastic personality and my banging body till the end of time.
He sighed and closed his eyes. Bitch.
---
“Hen, I’m serious,” Buck said, watching Hen crammed the last of the med supplies into the ambulance. “It wasn’t just good. It was life-altering. I can’t go back to regular dick. All the dicks I’ve tasted was nothing compared to his. It’s like, Michelin-star dick—hey did you know—”
Hen pinched the bridge of her nose like she had a migraine coming on. “If you say the words ghost dick one more time, I’m filing a complaint. This is harassment, this torture. You’re torturing me, Buck, how could you?”
“I’m just saying—”
“Buck,” Bobby’s voice cut across the bay, sharp and commanding. “With me. Hen too. Eddie’s back,” he said the last bit to Hen, he jumped up from the ambulance with an excited squeal. “Oh my god, did he? Why didn’t he tell us? I don’t even have a cake ready!”
Bobby said something about coming back from Texas or some other thing but Buck couldn’t be arsed, not when the older man had interrupted his rant.
Buck barely had time to pout before Bobby was shepherding them forward.
Ahead, Buck saw a man’s back—broad, solid, shoulders filling out the dark LAFD tee perfectly. The posture was perfect too, straight yet confident, betraying some sort of military background.
Something stirred in his gut, irrational and familiar. The lines of his shoulders, his trim waist and his strong neck… there was just something about this guy that made his strides smaller. He shook it off.
Then the man turned.
Buck could feel his stomach dropped out like he’d missed a rung on the ladder. His brain went blank, mind working hard to recover from the blue screen of death because—no. No way. But yes. That jawline. That incisor poking at his lip as he smiled. Those dark, kind eyes.
That was his ghost.
Blood rushed in his ears so loud he almost missed Bobby’s introduction. “This one here is our youngest, Evan Buckley. Buck, this is Eddie Diaz. He was hurt in a rescue a while back and got into a coma for some time. Recently woke up, got recertified, and we’re lucky to have him back. He’ll be your new partner.”
The world tilted. Buck bit down hard on a noise that might’ve been a whimper, might’ve been a moan. Either way, unacceptable. His ghost—the man who had fingered him, sucked him, railed him against every flat surface in his apartment—was alive, solid, standing right here.
A coma?
A thousand theories ran through his mind. Maybe he’d somehow astral projected during his coma and went to fuck Buck until he woke up. That’d explain the sudden disappearance but it felt too crazy. Maybe Buck had somehow seen Human Eddie’s picture around and was having a schizophrenic episode when he made Ghost Eddie up. Probable but Buck didn’t even want to think about that one. Maybe Eddie got kidnapped by aliens and only managed to escape after stealing Buck’s life energy through sexual intercourse.
What the fuck?
Buck was speed running through the five stages of grief when Eddie smiled at him. A real smile. Warm. Beautiful. Even more breathtaking than the half-glimpses Buck had caught in the dark. His ridiculous theories slipped through his fingers like sand. Buck never stood a chance.
“Nice to meet you,” Eddie said, sticking out a hand.
Buck hesitated only a split second before taking it. He knew the feel of Eddie’s palms when they were cool, calloused and gentle against his hips but this Eddie’s palms were large, hot and real.
His knees nearly buckled.
“Y-you too,” Buck managed, his voice cracking like he was going through puberty all over again. He swallowed hard, trying not to hyperventilate, trying not to picture that hand anywhere else when he was still reeling from whatever the hell just happened.
Oh, he was so, so screwed.