AN: This piece, I have to warn, may be triggering for some people. It references the sexual abuse of a child, although I would say the details are not graphic. The child isn't Conrad, and it isn't Worth. This story, for the most part, isn't supernatural for all that the source material deals with such things. This piece in particular includes a ghost character, and is sort of my nod to the fact that the comic is a fantasy. When I posted this to ygal, I used non-gender-specific pronouns to refer to the ghost, but this is the non-censored version which uses female pronouns. I wasn't sure if this would be too much female for ygal. Anyway, those are all the weird bits. Hanna is Not a Boy's Name is still the property of the marvelous Tessa Stone; I am making no money and mean no offense.

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PSYCHOLOGY OF A HUMMINGBIRD

-by: Lira-

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.007. - "Fantasy" - .Spirits Slowly Rising.

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The sun had been setting when they left and it was almost full dark when Luce pulled into the parking lot. Conrad had told him several times that didn't he remember Conrad had to get home before too late? The old church was spooky in the dark, just this black, looming shape against the purpling sky and Conrad didn't know if it even still had a congregation. Luce didn't either, when he asked, only shooed him from the car and into walking.

"Luce, I don't like this, why are we even-" Conrad began, trying yet again to make the blonde see sense.

"Hush Connie," Luce cut him off, and for once the hand Luce had placed on his back was not a reassurance.

Conrad hushed, but he didn't like it. Luce led him down a gravel path behind the church, and that was when Conrad really saw the graveyard. It had a low wooden fence, so old that some of the slats were rotten, and some had rotted clean away. Luce stepped right over it, and Conrad had no choice but to scramble over behind him. After that they were right among the tombstones, and Conrad had the feeling that in the daytime, it would be a place he'd love to sketch, lots of loving drawings that contained the shapes of the stones and the play of the light. At present, it was eerie and Conrad's skin was starting to crawl.

Conrad had already concluded that this was another one of Luce's little psychological tests of him. He just didn't know what he was supposed to be proving. His eyes were darting around the cemetery, taking in the headstones and the way they only seemed to loom larger as the light faded almost completely. Luce's hand on his back slid up to his shoulder, fingers curling around and pulling Conrad close against Luce's side. Conrad wanted to believe that this was for his benefit, Luce trying to soothe his anxiety over whatever it was they were doing. But his eyes were adjusting to the dark, and when he looked up he could see Luce's characteristic smirk still resting upon his lips.

"Yeh scared kiddo?" Luce asked, voice pitched low in the silence.

"N-No," Conrad tried, stumbling.

"Aye think yer lyin' ter me," Luce told him.

Mystifyingly, Luce almost sounded... Pleased by Conrad's dishonesty.

"Yeh wan' me ter distract yeh, Connie?" Luce asked.

Oh. /Oh./ Was this one of Luce's other weird... Fetishes or kinks or whatever it was, Conrad had thought he couldn't be surprised any more by the older man. He thought he was finally comfortable, having come to enjoy Luce's happy whims. Oh yes, his body liked those things too well. But that was what else Luce wanted. To tilt him off-balance, no matter how hard he tried to keep up.

Conrad slanted his gaze to the side, sure Luce could see that he was not meeting the man's eyes. He didn't want to admit that yes, /yes/ he wanted to be distracted, please, he could still imagine the tombstones crowding closer around him, like demons in the dark. Conrad had never had a problem with graveyards before, but that was likely because he'd never been in one before. Now that he was experiencing the location first-hand, his overactive imagination was painting a creepy medley of terrors onto the situation.

Conrad could imagine the ground opening up beneath him, swallowing him even as Luce watched. He could imagine the taste of the dirt, crumbling but rich with the flavor of rotting flesh, from all of the corpses that had decomposed to become part of it. He could even imagine the suffocation, the air becoming tight and close and the grit and dirt being sucked down his throat into his lungs as he struggled to attain his last precious gasps of oxygen. He realized that he was starting to hyperventilate, his breath coming faster and faster as if it was really happening.

And then Luce's mouth was on his, lighter than their usual, slow open-mouthed kisses where Luce would break away every couple seconds to make sure Conrad's breathing was not getting worse. It worked. Conrad focused on Luce's mouth instead of the feeling of dirt scraping against his tongue, that imaginary sensation replaced by the very real sensation of Luce's tongue finally choosing to invade. Luce's arm was wrapped around him, but even as they kissed Luce's free hand slid under the hem of Conrad's shirt, fingers trailing over the soft flesh of his stomach and up across his chest. He gasped into Luce's mouth when the man tweaked his left nipple with two fingers.

At that point it was easy for Luce to lower him to the ground, Conrad bending where he was bid and dropping down without once breaking contact. Some part of his mind still knew that he was stretching out on a grave, and the grass that had grown over the plot was nothing like a bed or a couch or anywhere else he and Luce had fucked in the past. But for that moment Conrad could ignore the implication, could wrap his arms around Luce's neck and hold on, aware of Luce's long fingers moving at his belt.

Conrad blinked open his eyes, blearily, needing the reassurance of seeing Luce crouched over him. He hadn't even noticed when he'd shut them in the first place. For a second all he could see were Luce's eyes, filling his field of vision, but as his gaze focused he could see a faint silvery light from over Luce's shoulder. Startled, he bit down on Luce's tongue, thinking it was someone taking care of the church who had heard them, who would kick them out, call the police. Luce only hummed at what should have been pain, drawing his tongue back from between Conrad's teeth with exaggerated care.

Conrad remembered, belatedly, that Luce would like that.

Luce leaned away, but still Conrad couldn't quite focus, seeing as Luce's hand had managed to wrap around his cock with that familiar firm grip.

"That... Light!" Conrad gasped, trying to follow the will-o-the-wisp with his eyes as it moved closer. It was difficult with Luce stroking him like that, slow but painfully persistent.

"Wot?" Luce asked, so that Conrad thought he registered a hint of real confusion.

"Luce," Conrad whined. "Someone's... Please! ...I think someone's coming."

"Wot are yeh talkin' abou'?" Luce asked, going from faintly confused to just disbelieving. "'S dark as pitch, Connie, no one's here."

Conrad blinked back at Luce, dumbly, silenced by the distraction of Luce's hand coupled with the fact that Luce was clearly wrong. Was Luce just messing with him? Was this part of Luce's game, of the festivities for that night – was it maybe Lamont approaching and this was some sort of surprise for him?

If it was, Conrad didn't like it very well. The graveyard was unsettling enough to him, he really just wanted Luce to make him feel better and right then Lamont's presence would only make it worse. Luce seemed to think the matter was settled, because his hand was moving faster, insistent, and then his other hand started tugging Conrad's pants lower.

Conrad could still see the light. Luce's way with him was familiar enough that it was no longer a distraction, and instead he was focusing on the fact that he could now see a slender hand wrapped around an old-time lantern, the flame inside flickering but bright. It was followed by the rest of a figure, like the person was stepping out from behind a curtain, their form solidifying within Conrad's gaze. Solidifying wasn't quite the right word, though, because as Conrad watched the girl's nightgown flutter, he realized that he could see right through it, could read the inscription of the tombstone behind her with the aide of her unearthly light.

The girl came up right behind Luce, peering over his shoulder and down at Conrad. She looked no older than twelve, but if the motion of Luce's hand or the glimpse of Conrad's cock meant anything to her, it was not evident upon her face. Her features only registered polite interest, as if she was waiting for a pause in the festivities after which she might speak. Even without processing anything further than /someone watching,/ Conrad began to deflate, softening a bit in Luce's hand.

Luce's response was to grip him harder and go faster, as if personally offended that his techniques could fail. He varied the motion of his hand, twisting on the upstroke and grazing his thumb across the head, teasingly.

"Luce," Conrad tried again, lowering his volume to a whisper.

Her gaze was still on him, steady and unwavering, and that was unnerving him almost more than the fact that she was a ghost, he knew she was a ghost.

"Yer not still on abou' tha' are yeh?" Luce asked, more irritated this time. "Connie, 's fine. Calm down pup, yeh know Aye ain't gunna let anythin' happen 'ere."

For Luce, that was a lot, such a concession to Conrad's troubled state of mind. Conrad could not appreciate it. He was trembling, just slightly, not meeting Luce's eyes because his gaze was locked with that of the ghost girl. He raised one hand from where it had tangled in the grass, pointing behind Luce, bidding him look without words. Conrad couldn't say it, couldn't try and explain. He just needed Luce to understand, as if Luce could banish their specter of a spectator and make everything okay once again.

Even more of a concession, Luce complied, jerking his head around impatiently. For a few long seconds he remained that way, poised over Conrad but looking behind himself. And then he turned back, expression perplexed. His hand had ceased fully then, but his stilled grip was tighter than even before, and that was how Conrad knew that Luce was not at all pleased.

"Connie, d'yeh think tha's funny?" Luce asked flatly.

Conrad shook his head back and forth, but was unable to do any more, because the girl had smiled at him, and placed one slender finger to her lips.

"Fuck," Luce muttered then, shifting over Conrad, calling Conrad's attention to the bulge in the front of the older man's jeans.

Conrad felt guilty then; even if he was having trouble focusing with the girl there, Luce couldn't see her and Luce clearly still wanted to do this. It would be the least he could do, just to do his best to focus on Luce and not... Not ruin this for the man, when Luce had worked so carefully to arrange everything.

Conrad raised one hand blindly, groping for the front of Luce's pants even as he was unable to rip his gaze away from the ghost girl. Luce gave a slight hiss when Conrad's hand fumbled against him, before growing impatient with Conrad's uncoordinated fumbling and opening his fly himself. Conrad's hand was still there, and as soon as Luce pulled himself out of his jeans, Conrad's fingers curled falteringly around Luce's length.

"Fuck, Connie," Luce muttered, so that it was part of a hissing intake of breath.

Encouraged, Conrad stroked quickly twice before he was derailed by the tittering of the girl's laughter. He jerked his hand away from Luce as if burned, and Luce offered him a frustrated growl for his troubles.

After that Luce went after Conrad's pants in their entirety, tugging down on them until they cleared Conrad's ass, sunk past his knees, and finally bunched together around his ankles where his shoes prevented them from going further. Luce nudged Conrad's legs apart as far as they would go, his knees drawing up defensively in the face of this abrupt treatment. Luce merely hovered in between Conrad's knees, one hand initiating a death grip around his dick, stroking slowly every so often but mostly squeezing tightly enough to make Conrad cringe, when he looked towards Luce's crotch.

"Yeh'll be plenty distracted once we start goin'," Luce told him, confidently.

Conrad would have liked it if Luce was right.

The ghost girl had drifted over beside Conrad, kneeling on the ground to his right. Or rather, it looked as if she was kneeling, but if Conrad rolled his head to the side and looked more carefully, he could tell that she was still floating an inch above the grass. She smiled at Conrad again, and set her lantern down on what should have been the ground, but was only air.

"You're a funny one," Conrad heard, and it took him a moment to realize that the girl was actually talking to him.

She was talking to him, and Luce had a slicked finger pressed inside of him, and Conrad just couldn't tell which issue was more pressing at that moment. He squirmed beneath Luce's careful invasion, and the girl laughed at him yet again.

"I think someone might have done that to me, once," the girl murmured, just thoughtfully, like it was an ordinary comment.

If Conrad hadn't been having difficulty with the way his attention was being divided already, that would have killed things in a heartbeat. As it was, he stiffened in place, even as Luce's finger crooked inside of him. He knew he himself was young, some people might say too young, that all of these things he did with Luce were not what he wanted. But hearing that childish, ethereal voice – never mind how the ghost looked, her dress girlishly old-fashioned – casually commenting on Luce /invading/ him so carefully? It made Conrad's stomach turn over heavily, a cold shiver traveling up the length of his spine.

"Luce," Conrad said, this time his voice tight and scared enough to capture even Luce's interest back.

If Conrad hadn't been so unsettled, he might have made more of the fact that Luce only became more persistent when he resisted the man's ministrations. Conrad was too reliant on that touch, found it too easy those days to lean into Luce's hand the moment it was outstretched. He should have marveled at being able to make Luce work, to see Luce trying to undo /him,/ instead of Conrad struggling to even affect Luce, just a little.

"/Luce,/" Conrad said again, more forcefully, swearing he could feel the girl's fingers against his arm like ice. He swallowed tightly, trying to keep his gaze on Luce even as it would skitter to the side, checking to make sure the girl was still there.

And then a pulse of anger, at her, for trying to compare herself to Conrad. He had quite enough of that already. Everyone at school, they could never say a damned nice thing, all those comparisons where Conrad would come out the loser time and time again. He didn't want his potential failures juxtaposed with what he had with Luce, not that strongly, not when the implication seemed to be that he could be dead and cold so easily. He shook his head lightly, the motion directed at the girl. He didn't care what had happened to her. He turned his gaze back to Luce, fully.

"I thought you said you were going to distract me," Conrad murmured, voice low but heated, combating the chill of the ghost girl clinging to his arm. "H-Hurry up. It's okay. M... M-Make it hurt."

It was hard to say it. Right then he even wanted it, it wasn't because Conrad thought Luce would approve of this. And because he was so aware of just what he was asking for, he managed to catch the appraising look that briefly flickered to life in Luce's eyes. Acceptance came too quickly after, and Conrad scooted his body closer to Luce, legs already drawn up in further invitation.

Luce's hand pulled away from him, and Conrad just focused on his face. Ignored the girl. Ignored the feel of the grass beneath him, the open sky above with stars obscured by light pollution and cloud cover. Ignored, or tried so hard to, all the lurking fears that tried so hard to protect him. And then it was fast, as fast as he could have hoped for, Luce's cock nudged up against him and shoving in. It did hurt, and he wasn't quite ready, but he only clamped his legs tight around Luce's torso and held on.

Take him for a ride. Wasn't that the point? Toss him out of his comfort zone and ride him hard enough to leave him breathless.

"I don't think that ever happened to me," the ghost-girl whispered, from just above Conrad.

He ignored her.

Luce went hard right from the start, but it felt almost like a test. Like Luce was saying that Conrad should really consider what he was asking for, because he was going to get it. Okay, okay, he could deal with it. Just so long as Luce took him away from that voice. Conrad reached for Luce, catching onto the sleeves of Luce's shirt, reaching up higher to wrap his hands around Luce's shoulders. He held himself up from the ground, poised in the air between Luce and the grass.

Luce continued to thrust into him, steadily, an even rhythm that left no room for mistake, and Conrad marveled at the fact that it no longer hurt. It was kind of like flying, with Luce his only point of contact. Save for his tailbone braced against the ground, Luce really was the only thing he was touching.

Luce and the girl. She was wrapping her fingers around his neck from behind him, the chill again invading.

"No, this isn't quite what happened to me," she murmured, sounding distracted.

"Luce," Conrad moaned out again, the only thing he could think, somewhere between fear and need.

"Ah," the girl murmured, as Conrad watched Luce's expression shift, pleasure morphing into something almost more on the man's face. "I remember. He shoved in higher."

If Conrad realized what she meant, he paid no heed. Luce's hand was on him again, as sure as ever, tight grasp and firm strokes.

"Please," Conrad whispered, brokenly.

And when Conrad finally managed to come, Luce's hand or Luce's cock, he didn't know any more, all of the disturbing things he'd heard simply whited out. He wasn't sure when Luce finished. Luce kept going, that Conrad knew, all of the sensations continuing, overwhelming, even as his body insisted it was quite finished. But he'd asked for it to hurt, so even when the pain rolled back in and he was no longer basked in light and steady pleasure, he held on. It was only fair, after all.

Conrad knew when things were well and truly over, though, because Luce settled him back into the grass, dislodging Conrad's hands from where they'd clawed into the flesh of Luce's shoulders. Conrad let go sheepishly, disentangling himself from the older male. He was embarrassed then, unable to fully think over everything that had gone wrong during their encounter. Oh god. He needed to get out of there.

"I, uh, still need to get home," Conrad muttered, ducking his head even as he looked up at Luce, a compromise to the part of him that was insisting he turn away.

Clearly he had lucked out, because after only brief scrutiny, Luce rose to his knees and stood up, dragging Conrad up with him. Luce began to lead him back out of the graveyard, and Conrad could feel his spirits slowly rising, his heart emerging from the pit of his stomach. Almost over, it was almost over.

Just once, Conrad glanced behind him. The ghost girl was standing next to a tombstone with an angel perched atop it, the sculpture only then illuminated by the girl's unearthly glow. She offered Conrad a coy little wave, lifting her lantern in her other hand.

"Next time, don't let him do that to you on my grave," she whispered, but Conrad heard her perfectly. "I hate remembering. It's so messy."

And when she went to brush imagined soil off of the hem of her dress, Conrad could have sworn that it was his come that went spattering free. He turned away again in a hurry, grabbing onto Luce's arm harder and speeding his steps. His action was met by Luce's loud laughter.

"Yer such a fuckin' fag Connie," Luce told him cheerfully, pulling Conrad over the rotting fence.

Conrad chose, that once, to ignore it. Not to feel hurt, or irritated, or really anything except relief, the emotion bubbling up in him as soon as he was safely inside Luce's car and they were whizzing past streetlights on the way home, those lights completely earthly and reassuring as his own steady heartbeat.