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Tate watched invisible as the new occupant of the house entered the bedroom, dumping a satchel on the desk they had built over the weekend and flopping onto the messy bed.
They had only moved in last week, just a dad and his teenage son. So far the ghosts had let them be, too busy with their own drama to be bothered by the dad who had so far only been home once and the son who never left his room. Tate, excluded from these conversations, had found himself resting against walls watching as the young man painted or did homework to a soundtrack of whiney rock tate had never heard before. Listening to shit music was better than being bored.
As the sun went down and the rooms occupant flipped on the christmas lights above his bed tate knew what was coming. The boxers were removed, the music was turned up and the young man got comfy, wrapping his hand around his dick and beginning a gentle pace.
It had happened every night since the small family moved in, and always had the same result. Tate had felt like a creep the first night, almost leaving the room but letting his curiosity get the best of him.
The man began moving faster, almost desperately, a pained look on his face.
Tate sat silent on the desk chair, watching with intrigue.
Then it all suddenly stopped, the hand falling still, the breaths slowing, all without the desired result. The young man clenched his fists, throwing his head against the pillow with a pained sigh.
Tate had seen this every night, he had a problem with finishing.
"damn meds"
Tate watched as the bottle of pills was scooped off the bedside table and thrown across the room with a clatter, tears gathering in the young man's eyes.
Tate felt bad for him, he could see the frustration building more every night. The tears were new but not unexpected.
He had curled up now, a pillow hugged to his chest. Tate looked down at him, having walked closer to the guy when he closed his eyes. Gently moving a piece of damp hair out of his eyes tate knew what he had to do.
Dark eyes were the first thing y/n saw in the hazy dream, followed by blonde locks as the picture got clearer and a wave of pleasure. He let out a soft moan and the guy smiled although proud of himself. y/n felt a hand moving faster around his dick.
"that's it, let me take care of you"
The guy pressed his mouth to y/ns neck and sucked before biting the tendon, causing y/ns dick to twitch and a groan to leave his lips.
The blonde raised a hand to y/ns hair and pulled, the hand on his dick speeding up.
"I want you to cum for me."
It was whispered into his ear quietly.
Y/n knew it was impossible but still nodded sleepily, his head throbbing from the hand in his hair and his breaths short.
"good boy. "
And with that y/n awoke, his eyes shooting open, his sheets sticky and his head still throbbing.
He slid out of bed and walked across the room, grabbing his smokes and a lighter from his desk and lighting one.
He was glad that he had finally gotten off but something was bugging him.
Why the hell was he having wet dreams about a fucking school shooter.
He had seen the plaque on his first day, the names of the victims, and had looked into it immediately, finding the yearbooks with the name Tate Langdon and a face blacked out in marker. This had lead him to google where he had first seen the blonde.
He had always found an interest in morbid things, true crime and such, but this was the first time he had seen one of them in a dream.
It was weird but not out of the ordinary, he didn't want to call a murderer hot but Tate wasn't unattractive. The dark eyes, the grundgey dress sense, it was kinda y/ns type. Y/n shook his head and stubbed the cigarette out on a plate he had forgotten to take out of his room days ago, letting the butt join the others that had gathered there.
It was too early for this shit yet now y/n was awake he probably wasn't sleeping much more. He shoved a cd into his player and collapsed onto his bed, shoving another cigarette between his chapped lips.
Tate didn't know how to feel about what he did, the guy needed some help but tate had never even thought about touching another man before.
He was crouched on the windowsill opposite the bed, listening to whatever the guy had stuck on at a low volume.
The guy was typing on his laptop in deep thought so tate had zoned out, until he heard his name.
It was a woman on some video, he hopped down and sat gently on the bed, the guy turned suddenly as if he could see tate before looking back at the video.
"tate langdon left the school grounds but was found in his home, the house commonly referred to as the murder house, and was cornered by police in his bedroom on the top floor where he was shot in an altercation."
Sounded pretty accurate, although tate had no idea where this woman had heard about this. He was almost caught be surprise when the guy shut the laptop and shoved it on a nearby shelf before beginning to tug clothes on.
It was morning and soon the house would be empty for the day.
The guy reluctantly dug through the shit on the floor to find the pills he had thrown the night before and upon finding them swallowed two dry, shoving them onto a random surface.
As he left the room the guy looked in the mirror to fix his hair and adjust the beanie he had shoved on. Tate noticed a pause in movement and watched the guy press a few fingers to the bruise on his neck.
"what the.." he shook his head and left the room.
Later that day y/n returned, just after sunset. He could smell the weed on his own clothes but didn't care, knowing his dad probably wasn't home. The bruise had been on his mind all day, not even the half gram he had smoked could draw his thoughts from the light teethmarks. A couple of the guys in his class had pointed it out, teasing that he had finally found a girl. He went along with it because really he had no explanation.
He dumped his satchel on the desk and collapsed onto the bed, shuffling as one of the old springs dug into his back.
Was the dream a sign, that maybe his problem was over?
He had been prescribed with antidepressants a couple months ago, and since then he had been struggling to get off, no one but him was affected as no one would even think of getting with him but it still made him ashamed. Not to mention the stress that had been building after the first couple weeks of failed attempts.
He was a 17 year old boy, before this he had gotten himself of far more than what was necessary, suddenly stopping that had not exactly made him feel good. Add on top of that the stress of being forced to move across the country and he was not exactly doing well.
Why a school shooter from the 90s had finally been the thing to solve that he had no idea. It was actually kind of concerning, because it almost confirmed y/ns suspicions.
Y/n had suspected the house was haunted, moving from so far he hadn't known the history of the house but at school that day he had googled it. A wikipedia list of crimes had filled his phone screen, from 1920s abortions all the way to the familiar name. That would explain the shit being moved and the creaks he would hear in the night.
The thing that freaked y/n out the most however was the article on tate himself, the video had been right with the bedroom, and crime scene photos confirmed that tate had died where y/n was currently sat, the same bedframe and everything.
He knew he shouldn't even think of it but the concept was kinda hot, the possibility of tate being there and watching y/n in his most private moments.
Y/n felt his dick start to fill at the thought of it, damn his voyeuristic tendencies.
He looked around, praying he was alone, before turning on some midwest emo and pulling of his clothes, chucking them onto the growing pile on the floor.
He spat on his hand and wrapped it around his dick beginning to move slowly.
Since the start of his problem he didn't last very long, getting close in minutes before being physically unable to cum.
Today was the same, no matter how fast his hand moved and his hips bucked up, he couldnt get over the edge. He panted letting out a desperate cry.
Thats when he felt it, a presence, followed by a cold hand running up his side.
He whined moving into the feeling despite how weird he knew it was.
"tate?"
He barely blinked before a figure appeared along with a weight on his lap.
"you know my name."
Tates hands didn't stop moving, only one coming to pause on y/ns waist as he straddled him.
"do I scare you?"
Y/n looked into his dark eyes, letting out gaspy breaths.
"no." he was telling the truth.
"good."
Tate could feel the warmth coming from the alive body beneath him, watching the chest move with rapid breaths.
"I'm gonna help you."
The man beneath him nodded and tate took this as a sign to move his hands onto the guys cock, pumping until it was fully hard.
"are you a virgin?"
"yeah-"
"so was I until recently, don't worry I'll take care of you."
Tate moved his hand round to grab y/ns ass, lightly brushing his fingers over his hole and feeling the muscles flex beneath his touch.
"I- I have lube, in the drawer,"
"I know, I've been watching love."
Tate felt y/ns dick twitch in his hand and smiled a little.
He moved away for a moment, hearing a whine that almost made him blush, and opened the drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube and squirting some onto his fingers.
Tate honestly had no idea what he was doing but he knew he would need lube.
He inserted one finger, having watched y/n do it a few days before. The man beneath him let out a quiet moan, his eyes glued to tates.
Y/n was tight and hot, and the young man was constantly letting out noise as tate inserted another finger and began moving them slowly.
Tate almost worried that he would break y/n, with all the man's wriggling and gasping. But tates doubts were removed when y/n came with a loud groan, cum covering the guys abdomen.
Tate began to remove his fingers when y/n let out a desperate "no, please, I need you"
He drew out his fingers completely, feeling y/n clench as though he didn't want them to leave.
"shh it's okay, I'm just getting more lube."
Tate wiped off his fingers before hastily unbuttoning his baggy jeans. He had started getting hard the moment he had heard the breathy gasp of his name and by now his dick was fully erect. He chucked his jeans on the floor, yanking his other layers off and tugging down his boxers as quickly as he could. Y/n was looking at him with wide eyes and tate didn't know what to do other than to pull him into a messy kiss.
"I think it's gonna hurt a bit,"
"I don't care."
Y/n was still out of breath and trying to pull tate down on top of him causing a smile to grace tates face.
"gimme a sec babe. "
Tate grabbed more lube, rubbing it over his dick and y/ns hole before leaning over y/n and lining up.
"just lift your hips up a little- there you go."
It came out slightly strained as the head of tates cock slipped into y/n, the younger man clenching around him.
"fuck."
"that feeling ok?"
Y/n nodded, attempting to pull tate closer as the rest of tate slid in.
Finally fully sheathed tate couldn't quite describe the feeling, he was so tight it almost hurt but at the same time it felt so good.
"can you move, please"
"of course love."
Tate began thrusting sloppily, his energy making up for his lack of expirience. He moved his hand to grab at y/ns already messy hair.
This was so much better than fucking girls.
"tate I- can you,"
"I can do whatever you want baby, what is it?"
Y/n blushed, still panting out moans.
"can you bite me again, mark me,"
Tate barely let him finish his sentence, pulling his head up by his hair to latch onto his neck, nearly breaking the skin.
Y/n moaned so loud tate worried one of the other ghosts would think he was killing again, and a moment later y/n clenched, cumming over both of their stomachs. Tate managed one more stuttery thrust before cumming inside y/n, hearing him let out one last quiet groan.
"holy shit."
Tate could barely hear the words through the heavy breathing as he slipped out, curiously watching y/n clench around nothing.
"yeah."
"do you smoke?"
They both took a cigarette.