DISCLAIMER: Ghost, Steve, Ann and any other characters mentioned here belong to Poppy Z Brite. No copyright infringement is intended.
RATING: R
AUTHOR: Cassie
TITLE: The thread that binds (Ch. 1)
SUMMARY: How would things have turned out if Ann had lived? This fic takes place the winter after "Lost Souls".
In the house on Burnt Church Road there are three hearts, bruised but not yet broken. Will love provide the thread that binds them together and mends their open wounds?
Winter in Missing Mile this year was bitterly cold. In the old house out on Burnt Church Road, Ghost shifted restlessly under a tangle of musty-rose-scented blankets, eyes wide open and staring at the painted stars on his ceiling. Nights like these were hard to sleep through. The wind outside rose up in violent gusts, throwing dead leaves and heavy drops of rain at the window panes. The masking tape Steve had placed over the hole in the glass crackled, its edges curling over with condensation.
Ghost shuddered, remembering how that hole had come about, punched out by the Slugger sailing through the air that fateful fall day when Nothing and the vampires had stepped into their lives. He knew Steve tried not to think of that day and the ones that followed it, when their world was spun upside down and the foundations of everything they believed in were shaken to the core. And for Ann, who'd moved in with them soon after returning from New Orleans, the events of the fall were so caught up in a confusing haze of bewitchment and fever, that she was unsure of what had really happened and what she'd only dreamed.
But Ghost remembered, as clearly as if it was yesterday. They'd come across something tangibly evil, something that was still out there in the world. And he, Ghost, couldn't do anything about it. Couldn't do anything about the evil he'd discovered they were all, everyone of them, intrinsically capable of. Because you couldn't draw an absolute line between good and evil and no one had the right to say what either consisted of exactly. It was something he would have to learn to live with. Just like he'd have to learn to live with his love for Steve.
He sighed into the darkness. Steve loved him, he knew. But not the way Ghost wanted him to, not the way Ghost needed him to. Those fall days in New Orleans had been an awakening for Ghost. A burning need, to feel Steve's arms around him, to feel his mouth against his, to feel his cock inside him, had sprung up in Ghost's heart. And it hadn't receded over the passing months. It was still there gnawing at the corners of his being, flaring up with agonising intensity on those nights when he crept into Steve's bed to hold him and chase the nightmares away.
Ghost closed his eyes at the familiar prickling of unshed tears. Holding Steve was not enough. Ghost wanted to get closer, somehow merge together so their hearts could be joined and neither would ever have to feel the bitter loneliness that tortured Ghost so this night. He choked down a sob rising like bile in his throat. Hot tears of frustration ran down his face and tangled in his pale hair. Ghost threw back the blankets to let the cold night air soothe his burning skin. He thought of how he'd often held Steve passed out and drunk in his arms, breathing in his familiar scent of beer and dirty hair, pressed up against the warm sweaty skin of his torso. Steve would drool into Ghost's hair and his sparse dark chest hairs would tickle Ghost's nose. And Ghost would lie there awake for hours, sleep evading him, just wishing Steve would open his eyes and roll on top of him. And then their mouths would join and everything Ghost achingly wished for would happen. But Steve would only mumble and twitch in his sleep and Ghost would have to gently pull away so Steve wouldn't wake up and feel his hard-on pressing against him, embarrassing them both.
As Ghost lay in the thrall of these thoughts, his hand crept unbidden down his belly and gently started stoking his cock. He sobbed louder, as fear boiled up inside him. Fear that his feelings would never be reconciliated, or, worse still, that longing for Steve would eventually drive them apart. As his hand pumped faster, the void of loneliness and despair which Ghost saw opening up below him, gaped wider.
And then, the noise of his bedroom door being swung open made him jump out of his revelry, and he was momentarily blinded by the sudden invasion of light from the hallway. As his eyes adjusted, he saw it was Ann. He berated himself for being so wrapped up in self-pity that he'd failed to sense her presence until now, and then, realising the precariousness of his position, hastened to pull the blankets over his nakedness. But Ann had already taken in the scene and was halfway across the room before Ghost started to react. Reaching the bed, she stayed his hands, and bent down to brush his lips with the softest of kisses. "I heard you crying. What is it Ghost?"
Since the fall, Ann had become gentler and quieter. Ghost sensed she blamed herself for a lot of what had happened, especially her father's death. When the pain got too much for her at night, he let her crawl into his bed, welcoming the warmth of her small body and the soothing caresses they exchanged. In those instances he almost forgot about his aching for Steve. Almost, but not quite. Ghost knew Ann still loved Steve, but she was afraid of him. She wouldn't let him touch her or share his bed. It drove Steve crazy, but Ghost knew he was prepared to wait. Seeing Ann stuck full of tubes in a hospital bed, her life nearly bled away, had been enough for Steve's self-professed hatred of her to crumble and unveil the love it had always masqueraded.
Ann trusted and loved Ghost, and that was enough to keep her with them. It was the reason she had sold Simon Bransby's house and come to live at Burnt Church Road and take up residence on their couch. And Ghost loved Ann, not with the same intensity with which he loved Steve, but it was love nonetheless. It was why he turned to her now in his misery and pulled her down on the bed next to him, wrapping his arms around her and sobbing into her hair. Trivialities like nakedness were forgotten, and Ann embraced him back. "It's Steve isn't it?" Her hands, cool and soft, caressed Ghost's back. "Oh Ann," Ghost gasped "I love him so much, but it'll never, never…" Ann hushed him with another feather-light kiss. "He loves you too. He just doesn't realise how much yet. But it's there, Ghost. Everything you're feeling is there in Steve, just waiting to wake up." Ghost sniffed. "But what about you Ann?" he had to ask, though he was afraid of the answer. She sighed, shifting slightly in his arms. "I don't know anymore. I'm afraid to trust Steve again after- well, after what happened. But I know I love him. And I love you Ghost. And deep down I know everything's going to be okay." Ghost wasn't so sure, but he uncoiled slightly under Ann's touch, felt her warm tongue lick away his tears.
"Let me comfort you tonight, Ghost," she whispered. Ghost, touched by her kindness, nodded and found her lips with his. Under Ann's guidance, he rolled over so she spooned against his back. Her arm snaked over his side and he sighed as her hand caressed his chest and belly. Her fingers drifted down and encircled his cock gently. Ghost felt his muscles unbunch, let himself be taken up by the rhythm of Ann's practised caresses. It felt so good, to unwind and let go under someone else's hands. And then he was coming, and Ann held him as he shook and trembled and whispered Steve's name.
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