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Hands dug into Randy’s hips as he dragged the man further into his apartment. The man, whose name was… he wanted to guess John? Josh? It didn’t matter; the vessel never did.
“Fuck, you’re so good…” Josh (John?) whispered against Randy’s lips, his hands slipping onto the other’s ass, groping and grasping at the flesh. Randy forced out a porny moan. He just needed to get him inside.
Pulling him by his belt loops, Randy walked backwards into his bedroom. It was just as small and threadbare as the rest of the apartment: a soft comforter, a few band posters, some clothes on the floor, and the really useful item, a large mirror by the bed. His real personal items were hidden under the bed; he hated the vessels touching them.
Randy pushed Josh onto the bed and stepped back, ignoring Josh’s confusion as he turned off the lights.
“Another one?” The familiar voice echoed from the mirror. Randy just nodded, straddling Josh’s lap. The man smiled, unaware of the voyeur standing before them.
Even after a barrage of bullets, Benson looked beautiful in the shadows, illuminated only by the tiny trickle of moonlight escaping through the crack of the blackout curtains. Rubble and blood stained his scruffy dark waves and facial hair. The bullet holes were still there, forever slick with blood, but it didn’t hurt anymore. Benson felt more alive than he ever had with a beating heart. Although the sight of Randy with another should fill him with envy, there was something utterly beautiful about watching Randy try and fail to find pleasure in anyone but him.
“Clothes off. Jesus, you’re not an amateur.” Benson clapped, the sound making Randy jolt. Josh gave him a look, but he shut him up by jamming their mouths together.
“Now there’s a show! Bite him a bit, babe. Use your teeth.”
Randy nipped at Josh’s bottom lip with his teeth, pulling on it for just a moment as he yanked the zipper of his jeans down. Clothes rustled loudly as the two stripped, rutting on each other like dogs in heat.
Josh shoved his hand between them, rubbing wildly. It felt like he was trying to operate Randy’s cunt like an Xbox controller.
“Oh, fuck,” Benson barked out a laugh, meeting Randy’s unimpressed face over Josh’s shoulder. “Jesus Christ. That’s fuckin’ pathetic. That feel good, Randy?”
Randy shook his head. He let out a yelp as Josh tried to shove two fingers in dry. His mind wandered, trying to pretend the flesh on his body wasn’t a random man. He imagined Benson’s blood-soaked fingers, thrashing in and out with purposeful intensity. It felt rough and wild because it was meant to be, not just because Josh was horrible at fingering.
The roughness went from carelessness to intentional cruelty, the only thing that properly got Randy off nowadays. He rutted into the touch, imagining the day his life fell apart. He imagined the day Benson dragged him to the back of Burgers Burgers Burgers, the stench of the bodies. Metallic blood filled the room. He pictured Benson, alive Benson, with real flesh and blood, dipping his fingers into the gaping wound in Chris’ stomach, collecting the blood, shoving them in–
“Don’t finish, Randy,” Benson interrupted, forcing Randy out of his daydreaming. “Don’t you fucking dare."
“Fuck…” Randy groaned. He hated the denial, and that only spurred Benson on. Hot tears formed in his sad eyes, threatening to burst past. His lip quivered, but he had to listen.
“Get off of him, dipshit. Now!” Benson barked, and Randy finally relented. He let out a fake porny moan, leaning his head back.
“I came,” Randy lied and pulled back, pushing himself to his knees. Josh didn’t complain; the vessel was hard as a rock, thankfully.
“You wanna ride?” Josh huffed. Randy looked up to the mirror, and Benson just nodded, palming himself through his bloodstained pants.
“Uh-huh,” Randy huffed, straddling the vessel. He fumbled his underwear down to his knees and kicked them away, ignoring how horribly awkward the struggle was. He lined himself up, making eye contact with Benson over Josh’s shoulder.
“Go slow,” The ghost instructed, and Randy listened. He lowered himself down gently, grasping at Josh’s shoulders. He leaned into the vessel’s neck, but the smell was different. Too different. “You can speed up a bit now. Find a good pace. You know how I like it.”
Randy went up and down, knees shaking lightly. He pictured Benson’s smell. Gunpowder. Dried, metallic blood. Undertones of a washed-out, woody body wash. Thick sweat. Diner food. Salt. Cigarette ash.
“Fuck! Fuck! Close, oh fuck, baby-” Josh moaned into Randy’s ear, jolting him back into focus. “Do you want me to come inside?”
Randy looked up at Benson, but the ghost shook his head. He tapped two fingers to his lips with a wide grin.
“N- no, mouth,” Randy huffed, pulling out with a little groan. He flopped back, positioning his face before Josh’s cock, and took it in his mouth quickly. His face pressed down to the vessel’s stomach, and the smell almost made Randy nauseous.
Clean sheets. Ocean-inspired body wash. Freshly washed denim. Nothing reminded him of Benson here, besides the sudden smell of salty cum as Josh quickly came, right down Randy’s throat. He pulled up just in time, just to get a bit on his face, splattered on his cheeks and lips. Randy coughed and choked, but he managed to swallow it back, wiping his face and licking his hand.
The two men flopped back on their respective sides of the old mattress, chests heaving.
“You were great,” Josh laughed. “Can I get your number?”
“Oh. Uhm…” Randy looked up at the mirror. Benson shook his head, brows furrowed. It made Randy wince; saying no felt incredibly mean. The ghost picked up on that. “Holy shit, you fucking pussy! Give him a fake one, then. Dumbfuck.”
Randy tried to ignore the way his cunt twitched at the insults.
“Y- yeah, yeah, uhm… here,” Randy smiled awkwardly, taking Josh’s phone in his shaking, sweaty hands. He typed in some random bullshit, then handed it back.
To Randy’s horror, Josh clicked the call button right in front of him. Randy’s phone stayed entirely silent.
“Hello?” Someone on the fake number answered, and Josh slammed the ‘end call’ button, standing up to grab his pants.
“Fucking asshole!” Josh groaned, kicking Randy’s bedside table as he yanked his shoes back on. “Wasn’t even that good anyway, fuckin’ whore…”
Josh got up and closed the door behind him with a loud slam, settling the room into pure silence until Benson burst out laughing.
“Holy shit!” He barked out, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Oh, fuck, Randy, that was great. Fuckin’ great.”
“It’s not that funny,” Randy huffed, face burning with humiliation.
“No, it’s hilarious, dipshit. Perfect.” His grin stretched ear to ear. He stretched out, arms wide, his bloodied shirt rising just enough to show off his happy trail. Randy wished he could smell ghosts. He settled for the next best option.
“You know what to do,” Benson said simply, and Randy did. He leaned down over the edge of the bed, ignoring Benson’s lewd whistle at the sight of his ass bent over, and grabbed his box from under the bed.
“You’re so goddamn lucky I can’t touch stuff anymore. Fuck, if I could? You wouldn’t ever sit right. Ever.” Benson taunted.
“I wish,” Randy muttered, grabbing his favorite supplies. The main one was Benson’s old, worn-out jacket, the yellow bloody cardigan that he died in. How he managed to wrangle that from the medical examiner, he barely remembered.
Randy laid back and brought the fabric to his nose. The strongest scent was blood, but Benson was undeniably there. Sweat, cigarettes, and gunpowder…
“Can you stop huffing my sweater and get on with it? You’re givin’ me blueballs, and I’m fuckin’ dead, man.” Benson snapped, shoving his hand down his pants. “Get the pink one.”
Randy scrambled up, fumbling through the various Benson memorabilia and sex toys till he found a pink vibrator. It was small, but packed an intense punch as it was a suction one.
“Put it on,” Benson commanded. “Then don’t touch it. Top speed.”
Randy slotted the suction up against his clit, starting on low. At Benson’s audible scoff, he quickly put it on high. His body tensed up, toes curling, and he grasped the jacket tightly in an attempt to keep himself calm.
“Tell me what you miss,” Benson said, slowly stroking himself. “Tell me what you’d wanna do if I was really there.”
“You are really here.”
“No shit, babe, but if I could touch you.”
Randy whimpered at the increased stimulation, taking in a heavy breath as he leaned back.
“I… I wish I could still smell you,” He started, chest heaving. “I… I want you to be gross. I know you can be gross, and fuck, I- I want it…”
“Uh-huh?” Benson huffed. “Keep goin’.”
“I wish you could hit me again.” Randy blurted out. “Like- like in the hallway. You wrapped your hands around my throat and I… I just wanted you to do it again. And again. And- and… oh fuck-”
“Hold on, baby,” Benson insisted, hissing through his teeth as he furiously jerked himself off. “Hold it.”
“Oh fuck, but- but I’m close, I-”
“Hold. On.” Benson insisted, and Randy let out a croaky little sob, whimpering uselessly. Hot tears streamed down his face, cries bursting past his bitten lips, and it only helped Benson get closer. The sight of his pretty boy, writhing and crying like a baby because he wanted to come so bad…
“Please, please, please, I- I gotta!” Randy pleaded, and Benson finally relented.
“Fine. You can, there you go…” He groaned as he finished himself off into his fist.
Randy’s orgasm was far more dramatic. His body tensed up, his vision flashing white as pathetic, whiney moans released endlessly from his lips. His hips twitched into nothing as he was carried past orgasm and into overstimulation.
“There you go, fuck… You always do so good, baby. So fuckin’ good.”
It took Randy a good minute to gather enough energy to turn off the vibe, flopping back onto the bed.
“Can I go clean myself up?” Randy sniffled, wiping the tears from his cheeks. Benson tutted, shaking his head.
“In the morning, babe. You can sleep all dirty, then shower before work.”
Randy nodded, fumbling to reach for the jacket again. He wrapped his arms around it, curling up tight with the collar against his nose.
For the rest of the night, Benson rambled on and on about random bullshit. His voice was soothing, even if he was explaining the plot of every Saw movie and mansplaining his favorite albums over and over. He only stopped when Randy fell asleep, settling back to watch the slight rise and fall of his pretty baby’s chest, the way he sniffed the jacket, the slight twitch of his hips as he dreamed.
When Randy woke up, he was alone again, but it didn’t hurt as much as it used to. He was content to finish his day, wait till night, then find some other vessel to use to impress his ghost.