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Dream was bored out of his goddamn mind.
He tried to console himself with the fact that the house was a big one, as he watched the family of mice that had made a nest in one of the many rooms. He’d probably have gone insane by now if he didn’t have the option to wander the gardens, explore (and re-explore) every nook and cranny of this place, and revisit the memories of his living days.
He just wished he’d kicked the bucket somewhere there were actual people. Or that someone moved in after he died, at least. It was lonely living by himself, watching his beautiful mansion, his home, fall into disrepair from the neglect over years.
Especially since he couldn’t do anything about it.
While over the decades he’d found he was able to influence the living world in small ways, flickering lights weren’t going to trim back the hedges or fix a leak in the roof.
That all changed when George moved in.
One day, there’d been a rattling noise at the door. The sound of someone trying to fit a key into the old lock- and fighting the rust to turn it. Dream had dashed over, just in time to see this cute brunette fall through the suddenly-open door and nearly faceplant.
It would be both the most endearing thing Dream had ever seen, and the first human he'd seen in years.
The man picked himself back up, brushing off the dust from his pants, (there had to be a layer an inch thick throughout the house), and cursed.
George. George. How could Dream even put him into words?
It was like his very presence had reinvigorated the manor, colour and life breathed back into it after what felt like a lifetime of drabness. His smile lit up the room, and his voice was like a choir of angels that sang so beautifully it brought tears to the eye.
Or maybe Dream just missed hearing another human's voice that bad.
His eyes looked so kind when he first appeared, even if there were bags beneath them. George must have travelled a long way, he looked exhausted. He was hauling two giant suitcases behind him as he entered the house, staring in awe at the grand staircase and lavish (if slightly- okay, majorly- decrepit) decorations in the foyer.
Suddenly, Dream was terrified the man was only visiting. He didn’t seem to have a moving truck or any boxes that would be a marker of someone moving in- just the suitcases.
Fuck, man, he finally had someone over and they probably weren’t even going to stay? Life was cruel. Or the afterlife. Whatever.
At least he presumably would be staying a while- this was more than just a weekend trip. Dream revelled in the idea of having company of any kind.
George was a rather…strange individual. He talked to (and complained to) himself often, probably more than the average person, but Dream wasn’t complaining. It was nice to hear a voice other than his own so consistently. Not that Dream even had the grounds to complain- he was constantly talking to himself and the things around him to fill the empty space.
Probably a coping mechanism born out of being isolated for so long.
Sometimes Dream would talk to George when he was mumbling to himself and pretend they were having a conversation. It’s not like there was anyone to judge him for it.
The first day or so were full of the new resident making an attempt at getting the mansion into a liveable condition. Brushing the carpet of dust off surfaces and into trash bags, replacing the sheets on one of the beds, getting the electricity working in the kitchen properly, putting away clothes into the wardrobe.
Then George had left, and Dream had tried to follow, only to be repelled by the property line. He wasn’t going to admit he’d cried, then, to anyone.
Luckily, George had returned a scant hour or two later, laden with groceries and cleaning supplies and a strange box labelled ‘modem and router set’.
Dream could have fuckin’ sung, he was so relieved. In only the morning they’d spent together, he’d gotten attached.
George just, god . He was so endearing. Everything he did only made Dream like him more. The way he’d walked through the halls, using his feet to drag lines in the dust. The way he’d smiled when he saw how the old roses in the garden still attracted fat little bumblebees, their overgrown state not detracting from the fragrance and beauty of the flowers.
The way he’d tilt his head and tisk when he couldn’t get the fridge working. The way he’d slide down the bannister of the stairs, laughing all the way. The way he’d brush the hair out of his eyes as he worked, the sweat glistening on his brow. The way he took the time to stop and take a moment to appreciate the paintings on the walls. The way he wore almost exclusively shirts and sweaters that were too big for him, the sleeves swallowing his hands.
Dream wished so badly he could touch him- put a hand on George's shoulder, sit beside him on the couch as he drank his tea. He missed human touch maybe most of all, all those casual brushes and the warmth of someone else near him.
George fell into a routine rather quickly. He’d wake up late, stumble down the stairs to the kitchen, and make himself breakfast, which he ate still in the kitchen or in the tea room. Never the dining room though - Dream suspected it was because of the large table and all its empty seats made for a lonely eating experience.
He’d spend time on his computer, watching videos, browsing websites. And man, his computer was so small it could fit in his lap! Dream couldn’t help but get excited over how much technology had advanced since his death. Dream had watched George buy something on his computer, only to arrive in a package on his doorstep the next day. It was amazing!
And George bought a lot of stuff. From new silverware to replacement pillows to new light bulbs, all sorts of things would emerge from those cardboard boxes. Dream especially liked the new lights- they were so much brighter and could turn different colours and didn’t make noise unlike the old bulbs in the house, of which many had fried or sputtered out, either from age or from Dream messing with them.
George seemed to put up with Dream’s light flickering - audibly chalking it up to the ‘fucky wiring’ of the house. It was nice to be acknowledged like that, even if it was in a derogatory way.
George often stayed up into the ungodly hours of the night, and Dream would flash the lights at him till he went to bed. George lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling, and he’d say “Goodnight, house!” and Dream couldn’t help that was meant to be for him, in a roundabout way.
It soon became obvious that George had no plans to leave. He was ingraining himself into the house more and more, settling down like a plant digging roots into a new bed of soil. Though he made little effort to fix or refurbish anything, he’d bought new appliances and such, things you wouldn't do for a place you were staying at temporarily.
He’d even cleaned out an extra room, adding some pretty strips of lights. Maybe someone else would be moving in too, soon? It was exciting- Dream would do anything to have more company. He scoffed, thinking back at the horror movies he’d seen in the theatres and the books he’d read; the ghosts always seemed to want people in their house out . It didn’t make any sense; why would they want to be alone?
And then one day, George’s routine changed.
A few packages arrived at his door- and that wasn’t the unusual part, no, but rather what the packages contained.
The camera, the strange circle light. Pretty standard, neither something Dream would have batted an eye at.
It was well… the third package. Dream had hovered eagerly over George’s shoulder much like he had for the others, before George actually cut open the box.
Because Dream was pretty sure those were…sex toys. Which, he wasn’t going to judge, but. He was really not expecting that. Especially not so…so many. And so many different types.
He’d found out why soon enough. He hadn’t connected the dots, even when George set up a filming studio in the extra bedroom he’d cleaned out and but the boxes of sex toys in it. Who could blame him? Sex work was considered a completely taboo thing when he was alive; condemned as a fake job for degenerates. He was never one to believe that kind of thing and judge others, but it still wasn't considered commonplace.
Dream had thought he’d just been recording, but George had started nervously talking to the camera, and on his computer’s screen, text scrolled by- presumably messages from other people, based on the content.
He spent the start of that first stream investigating George’s camera and laptop. He wasn't really paying attention to what George was doing until the man started to take his clothes off, and watching George make a show out of it made Dream’s cheeks burn.
It only worsened when the real content started.
He’d never before seen anything that… lewd, outside of the occasional magazine. And even then there wasn’t movement. Or sound. Or George’s pretty expressions, obscured from the camera by the framing, for his eyes only. Or the way his thighs trembled as his hole took the large, thick silicone toy and stretched to fit around it. Or the sight of his pretty slim fingers playing with his own body, fondling his nipples and squeezing his pudgy skin.
After the first stream, it was impossible to deny.
He was being watched live, like it was the 7 o’clock news. Dream couldn’t help but wonder what kind of audience he had- was sex work more generally acceptable now? Or was George broadcasting to some hidden corner of what he’d called the internet? The world wide web had certainly evolved since Dream’s days; George didn’t even have to dial up or anything.
Dream shook his head. He wasn’t sure if he could still blush (it wasn’t like he could look at himself in a mirror), but if could , he definitely was.
Dream had to finally admit it to himself after that: he had a massive crush on George. An infatuation, a flame- and Dream couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. First person to move into his house since he dies, and he falls head over heels for them. He was probably just lonely.
The shows became pretty regular after a shaky start, happening weekly with an on the dot kind of schedule. It seemed after George had found his routine, he was happy to stick with it.
Dream grew to look forward to them, if he was being honest. Who wouldn’t? George was gorgeous. It wasn’t surprising that his audience grew every day, even breaking ten thousand at one point.
—
George was going out. This wouldn’t be unusual, George went out all the time- But he was leaving late. He wasn’t just dressed casually for a late-night trip to the store, he had a proper… attractive outfit on.
At the forefront of his mind, he couldn't help but absentmindedly point out the unfamiliar, skin tight fabric, as if that's what he was focusing on rather than how well the style of the future hugged all of George's curves.
The crimson red shorts he was wearing left his thighs on full display, fabric barely covering the curve from the top of his thighs to his ass. Black fishnets did the covering work for them, rolled up just to his mid-thigh. It seemed the goal of the outfit was to show as much skin as possible without being naked, and Dream was rudely aware of that. His eyes couldn't help but trail up to George's smooth, flat stomach, cut off from going any further by a baby blue crop top with big, puffy sleeves.
The blue and red theme was joined by white too, a cute set of mushroom earrings clipped in George's ears with a white fur coat and a pair of matching boots. Even pulling his eyelids and skin every which way to apply eyeliner and lipstick in the mirror, George was absolutely stunning.
Dream had watched him looking up local bars over the past few weeks, and especially often in the last few days. He looked…. excited, too. Nervous, almost, though - he’d been biting his lip bloody, talking to himself less, seemingly caught up in his own head recently.
Fingers tapping at every surface. He was anxious , anticipatory.
Dream could only think of one logical option.
George was going on a date .
(Okay, maybe he was going on a sex work gig, considering… but that didn’t feel right. George never showed his face in his streams - why would he agree to meeting up with someone for work if he valued his anonymity so much?)
Dream couldn’t help the flare of jealousy burning in his gut. It was so unfair . He didn’t even- couldn’t even ever have a chance with George. Even if George knew he existed, they would never be able to talk to each other. Or touch each other.
Hell, the man probably wasn’t even gay , considering Dream’s abysmal luck. Even though he definitely dressed like he was. Maybe styles had just changed while Dream was dead, he shouldn’t assume.
Dream hovered by the door (no he was not sulking, shut up) as George seemed to hype himself up.
“This is going to go fine, it’s going to go fine,” George mumbled to himself under his breath as he adjusted his fur coat. Dream sighed. On some level, he hoped the date did go well; George deserved to be happy, after all. But the envy still festered.
Dream followed George to the property line like a lost puppy. God, he wished he could go with him - but he could only watch as George walked away. At least it wasn’t a bad view.
He goes up to his study in the attic after standing at the gates for far too long. If the study has a view down to the street where he could easily keep an eye out for George returning, well, that’s just a happy coincidence.
Ugh. Dream had almost forgotten what it was like to be alone with no one to listen to. What the hell was he meant to do now? He watched cars drive down the quickly-darkening street, watching the corner for any hint of George returning. There wasn’t any.
Fucckkkk. Dream laid down- well, floated in the air horizontally- staring at the ceiling. George still hadn’t found the hidden ladder up to here, so it remained his own private space; spiderwebs still littering the rafters above him. George had cleaned those out best he could throughout the rest of the house.
Sometimes he wished George would discover this place. That he’d see his journals and half-finished projects, get to actually get to know him, see his life told through the pictures on the walls. On the other hand, he was terrified that George, if he ever came up here, would just- disregard his journals, and sell his projects for scrap. Maybe it was for the best that he never found it.
Dream’s heart soared as he finally spotted George coming around the street corner, laughing, only for him to choke on it when he saw him hanging off a man's arm. He tried to remind himself to be happy for his- friend?— and not get jealous over something he could never have.
Touch he could never provide.
But fuck, did seeing George stumble through the front door and pin the stranger he’d brought home against a wall hurt.
Even so, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Being stuck in a house for decades wasn't nothing but cripplingly lonely, Dream hadn't gotten off to anything since George's moving in. He was barely used to the sight of his living housemate playing with himself, much less go at it with another person. Dream felt like he couldn't miss a single second, and the mixed emotions for this stranger swirled with invasive curiosity that formed an unmistakable pressure bubbling in his lower stomach.
He learned this guy's name pretty quickly, from all of George's dirty whispering. Karl was tall, shorter than him but easily had a few inches on George. Dream couldn't get a good look at the guy's face, constantly clicking teeth with George and getting his carefully applied lipstick rubbed off, but Karl's hair was a light chestnut colour, and his clothes.. were coming off much faster than Dream expected.
It seemed that between sloppy, desperate kisses, George and Karl were trying to multitask in the worst way possible. Karl had thrown George's coat off and slipped his fingers beneath George's crop top, while George was keeping his lips busy and unbuttoning his shirt to slide his palms down Karl's chest.
Their knees were knocking together as they stumbled down the hallways in the direction of George's room, and just when Dream thought they were going to get somewhere, Karl's back slammed against a wall again and George was jumping into his arms with a muffled giggle. They were laughing and kissing, George throwing his top off and Karl getting rid of his jacket and shirt before they were on the way again. The clothes were left behind like a trail, and Dream could barely hear George mumble 'straight ahead' before they were off again.
It was too much. Between the whispers he didn't want to get close enough to hear, the way they refused to be two centimetres away from breathing down each other's necks, the half finished tasks and desperate touches as if they were on a timer.. it was almost feral.
And God, Dream was so fucking envious.
He wished he could feel and experience half as much as that, nevermind with George . They seemed so absolutely enraptured with sex that it was making his brain foggy with lust and his heart beat with jealousy. He bit his nail as George dug his nails into Karl's skin, clinging to him as they finally reached George's bed and collapsed together. They stripped just as energetically as they stumbled here, clothes thrown in whichever direction would get the skin of the other back on their palm the fastest.
George reached over and dug through the top drawer of the bedside table, pulling out a bottle of lube and passing it to his partner.
Karl made the first move, and George easily accepted his beginning position of the night as one beneath the other man. Karl moved his lips from George's to his cheek, then beneath his ear, to his jawline down to his chin, nipping at George's skin once he reached his neck. He spent time there, and Dream watched George's eyelids flutter closed as he hooked his arms around Karl's neck, pulling him closer. Pleased hums and little whines left his prettily parted lips, carefully painted lipstick all smudged to hell. The sudden intrusive thought of those plush red lips around his cock made Dream blink for what he thinks was the first time in too long.
Karl left ugly marks of red and purple across George's neck, meeting his lips once more after he was finished. He murmured compliments to George that made Dream's thighs clench subconsciously, and kept eye contact with him until he disappeared with George's lower body and a bottle of lube beneath a thin white sheet.
Seconds later, George's head had thrown back with a breathy moan. It didn't take two brain cells to rub together to figure out that Karl was giving George head now, likely planning to stretch George out while he was at it. Dream couldn't help his hand dipping between his thighs at this point. He was suffocating his fingers as if that would stop him from touching himself, already dispoven since his hips had begun rutting forward, pressing the tent in his jeans into his palm.
He imagined that was him for a moment as George's moans grew louder. George stuttered out Karls name and gripped his hair from above the sheet, legs wobbling and twitching. Dream's other hand came up to his mouth, ghosting over it as it opened, aiding Dream in his fantasy. He closed his eyes.
Him pleasing George like that, eagerly taking him down the throat and listening to his sweet moans. Dream could see himself kissing George's inner thighs, tempted to bite and suck and bruise the skin there to mark his territory. The grip in his hair tightening and loosening sporadically as he swirled his tongue around George's cock, maybe even teasing him a bit to make him beg to cum. Lubing a finger while he kept George busy with his mouth, sending a shiver down George's back as he circled his finger around the rim of his hole. One becoming two, and two becoming three as he slowly stretched the boy out to take him.
“fuck, fuck- fuckfuckfuck— KARL-!”
George's final yell before he came snapped Dream out of it, enough for him to snap his eyes open and see the absolutely blissed out face of his crush. Karl came out from beneath the sheet with his hair a mess, licking his lips. As expected, three fingers were slick with lube, clutching George's inner thigh with a suggestive look.
“Wait wait wait- you sucked me off, babes. Let me do the work and ride you, okay?”
They changed positions quickly, making sure they didn't leave out any messy kisses if their faces were close enough.
Watching George's gorgeous, slim figure straddle Karl? He wished those ghost movies hadn't lied about being able to possess people, because the view from that angle had to be glorious. He fished his dick from his jeans as George slid his hands down Karl's chest, and started to pump it lazily while George was sinking down on his cock.
The nearly harmonised groans of pleasure were like music to Dream's ears, and he got off just as eagerly as George was bouncing on Karl. Dream was so close, so fucking ready to cum right along with them, as George’s hands slid casually from Karl’s shoulders to his neck.
And started squeezing.
Dream watched with surprise as Karl gasped, arching his back into George. His eyes opened suddenly with a mix of shock and exhilaration on his face, cheeks becoming more red every second George restricted his airflow. He has never viewed choking as something pleasant, but it seemed it was, and he couldn't help but let his free hand ghost over his throat as he sought to experience it.
Within the minute however, Karl’s brow crinkled. He gently nudged George's hand, even squeezed his wrist, but he didn't let up. Karl's face morphed into confusion, soon devolving into panic as George only squeezed harder, refusing to release him.
Dream didn't need to breathe, but he found himself taking in a breath just to remind himself he still could, leaning forwards to see what was happening better. What was happening? Didn’t George realise…?
Dream sensed something in the air change with George's expression. It was no longer one of bliss as he continued to bounce on Karl, ignoring him like he wasn't scrabbling at George's wrists. He eventually stopped moving in order to focus his weight into choking Karl, leaning down with a.. smile..?
Oh.
Oh.
This was intentional.
George was pressing so hard against his skin that bruises were already starting to blossom. Karl's choked breaths and gargled voice, sound snuffed out by George's hands, felt like alarm bells right next to Dream's ear. What the fuck. What the fuck. What was George doing? He couldn't- he couldn't do anything? Dream tried to push George’s hands away, getting the uncomfortable feeling of passing through an object as his only response. The lights began to flicker, but that wouldn't free Karl of the tight grasp against his neck. Even as drool slipped from his mouth and his face became paler, George seemed to get more excited. His smile grew manic when Karl's eyelids began to flutter, then became wide and unfocused as he fought to stay awake.
Dream knew full well his voice would only reach deaf ears, but he couldn't help the desperation crawling up his throat.
“George- you gotta let go.”
Karl's finger twitched.
“George, let go, he can't breathe.”
George giggled. Karl gurgled.
“George I don't know what you're doing but you have to- he's going to die if you keep-”
Karl's grip on George's wrists was gradually slackening. The angry red lines and slightly bloody cuts in his pale skin from Karl's nails must've hurt, but George didn't seem to care.
“George— GEORGE! HIS FACE IS TURNING- LET GO! LET GO! YOU HAVE TO LET GO OF HIM—”
Karl's eyes were quickly losing focus. He wasn't looking at George anymore. He wasn't looking. He wasn't seeing anything. He wasn't holding onto George anymore.
“PLEASE- PLEASE! GEORGE PLEASE LET GO OF HIM HE'S GOING TO DIE- ”
Dream yelled and screamed until his voice went raw, and George did not listen until Karl's head lolled to the side. His eyes were open, still unseeing, and George seemed to hold on for just a minute more to make sure the deed was really done.
George let go, but it was much, much too late.
He leaned down, resting his head on Karl's chest, and Dream could only assume he was listening for a heartbeat. The ghost would also like to think he was laughing because he found one, but that was just wishful thinking on his part.
There was a moment of silence.
“.. Are you watching us have sex?”
If Dream had bones in his body, he's sure he would be able to hear his neck cracking as he turned to the voice- Karl's voice, and found the guy.. floating next to him? He couldn't muster up anything to respond, but he didn't think he had to when Karl's eyes trailed to the bed, where George had continued riding his dead body at some point. He looked like he was having more fun with that than he did when he was riding Karl alive, and that realisation made Dream want to throw up the stomach he didn't have.
“Uh.. I think you're dead.”
Karl’s voice was shrill and hysterical.
“Oh.. you think ?”