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Thad was no stranger to waking up in the middle of the night.
He had no trouble falling asleep. Even when he was certain that it was the kind of night that would keep him up for hours on end; the kinds of nights that had been happening lately, with all the death and murder and evidence that was surrounding him, he still fell asleep after a few minutes of no lights, his head on his pillow, and Liz wrapped around him. That was the easy part. The hard part, for Thad, had always been staying asleep. He was always waking up because of something. One of the twins crying. Something thudding on the roof. The wind howling against the windows. A bad dream. The dreams more than anything woke Thad up. Especially lately. Bad dreams. Insane dreams. Bloody dreams. Messed up dreams. Just- completely fucked dreams. Dreams that made Thad want to curl up in bed and never leave. Dreams that Thad couldn’t stop thinking about once he woke up, picking them apart. Dreams that Thad just couldn’t explain.
Of course, Thad could explain this dream. He just didn’t want to.
It hadn’t been a bad dream, exactly. Wholly bad dreams were easier to deal with. Dreams with blood, and murder, and skeletons. Dreams that were confusing, and uneasy, and completely unpleasant. As confusing and unexplainable as those dreams were- they were also easy. A nightmare, plain and simple. When he woke up- it was screaming. Or if he wasn’t screaming, at least he was mumbling. Twitching in his sleep, Liz said. And he always woke up feeling terrible as all hell. It wasn’t nice, having those dreams, Thad wasn’t saying that. He wished he didn’t have those dreams at all, really. A dreamless night was a good night, as far as Thad was concerned. But if Thad had to dream- and if Thad had to dream about George Stark particularly- couldn’t he at least keep having those easy, nasty dreams? The dreams that made his stomach turn. The dreams that made him scream. The dreams that were nightmares, plain and simple.
This dream? It wasn’t plain or simple. It wasn’t a bad dream, not like his nightmares usually were. But it also wasn’t a good dream. No. There was just no way to call it a good dream, either. It was somewhere in that liminal gray space of dreams. Not exactly a good dream: no lollipops, no unicorns, no sunshine. But not exactly a bad dream, either: no skeletons, no dead bodies littering every corner of the dream, no riddles or threats. He hadn’t been happy when he’d woken up- not like he was when he dreamed of Liz, or when he dreamed of a nice day at the beach with twins, or when he dreamed of his old pet dog from when he was a kid. But he hadn’t been scared, either, like when he had those dreams of ghosts, or haunting meadows, or of things that George Stark would eat up eagerly. There had been touches of George Stark in this dream, though. Gruesome things, dark things, yet- things that hadn’t seemed so bad, in the dream. So, yeah, it was a gray area sort of dream. Not a pleasant dream, but not a nightmare either. He hadn’t woken up smiling. And he hadn’t woken up screaming and crying. Instead-
Instead, he had woken up with a boner. And- he wasn’t a stranger to waking up to a boner before, obviously. He wasn’t some preteen, unused to his suddenly changing body, or some shit. He wasn’t a stranger to his dick, and he wasn’t a stranger to morning wood, and he definitely wasn’t a stranger to wet dreams. But he was a stranger to waking up from a nightmare with a boner. Not that- not that what he had had was a nightmare. It had been scary in parts, but it had been nice in parts, too. That was what made the dream so scary. Thad knew how to handle good dreams. Thad knew how to handle bad dreams. But what Thad didn’t know how to handle was a bloody, nasty, murderous dream that had somehow made Thad feel so safe. And wake up with a fucking boner. How the hell was he supposed to handle that?
Apparently, the answer was to leave his bed.
He didn’t even notice, really, that he was standing up, until he was almost out of his room entirely. He didn’t know where he was headed- he just knew that he didn’t want to be in bed with Liz right now. For a reason that Thad didn’t really know, he couldn’t be in bed with Liz. He gave her one last glance through the darkness, at her still asleep form, her hair splayed across her pillow, and then- And then he left, closing the door quietly behind him, with an odd sense of dread in his stomach. There was nothing wrong with getting up for a second just to- to take a breather. Get some air. Maybe take a cold shower. Thad didn’t really know where he was going, just that he was walking out of the room and down the hall. He just let his feet take him wherever he needed to go, too tired and wound up to really care where he was going. Just one foot in front of the other, down the hall, and-
Somehow, Thad ended up in his study.
He didn’t really remember deciding to go there, but somehow that was where he was. He had closed the door behind him, and Thad was pretty sure he had locked the door, too, for some reason. And now he was sitting in his desk chair. At first Thad thought that he was going to write, pull out his typewriter and get whatever was in that dream out of his head and onto paper. And then he had the, worse, thought that he was instead going to grab one of those pencils in the container, and let George Stark’s words come out of his hand instead. But neither of those things happened. He was at his study, but he wasn’t there to write. Instead- instead, Thad found himself lowering the waist of his sleep pants, the faded ones that he had had since college, and his underwear, and pulling his dick out over the top of them.
It felt- it felt almost like cheating, leaving his bed in the middle of the night, locked in his study where his wife didn’t know where he was, just to jerk off. Not that it was cheating, obviously. It wasn’t like there was anyone else in the room with Thad. Even if- even if he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was. He was just tired. And all wound up from his dream. That was it. There was- there was nothing wrong with Thad doing this. There was nothing wrong with Thad needing to do this, alone. In the darkness of his study. He hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lamp. But it wasn’t- it wasn’t shameful, or anything. Or a secret. He just needed to do this alone. And there definitely wasn’t anyone in the room with Thad. He looked around one more time. He was alone. Despite the weird tingling in his neck like someone’s eyes were on him- he was alone. He was alone, and he was fine, and he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He just needed a minute, that was all.
His hand started moving without Thad thinking about it. Not even a split second of thought. Thad blinked, and then suddenly his hand was on his dick, stroking. And stroking. And stroking. And- And, well, it was rougher, than Thad normally did this. Although, it wasn’t like Thad did this by himself all that often. He was busy with his teaching, and with his writing, and with the twins. And if he did happen to have a moment to himself, why would he spend it jerking off in a dark room by himself? Especially when he had Liz. But he was familiar with how he normally jerked himself off and this- this wasn’t it. This was rough. Quick. Not giving himself a second to breathe, or get used to it. He hadn’t even spat on his hand, for some reason, so it was pretty dry, too. Dry, and rough, and- and oddly good. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep, or the weird fuzziness in his head after the dream, but-
But it felt good. Thad couldn’t deny it. It felt good.
Even if there was still that weird- that weird little niggling feeling in the back of Thad’s head that this was wrong, for a reason that he couldn’t place, it felt good. And even if it was rougher than he was ever used to doing, it felt good. Even if Thad felt a little bit nauseous at the thought of doing this without Liz, with Liz in the other room, asleep, it felt good. That was one thing Thad couldn’t deny. It felt good. It felt really fucking good. His hand moving up and down, steadily, without Thad even having to put so much as a thought into it. His hand was just moving, practically on its own accord, in a way that made Thad think that he had never felt so good before. He was- he was making these little whimpers, as his hand continued moving, and he suddenly felt self conscious. But he couldn’t stop his hand. And why should he?
With all the hell he had been put through over these past few days- didn’t Thad deserve to feel good?
“ Yeah ,” a voice said, in Thad’s head. A voice that didn’t sound much like Thad’s at all. It had a southern drawl, and a sarcastic lilt to it, and it was deeper than Thad’s, too. “ You deserve to feel good, old hoss .”
Thad paused. He knew, instinctively, without ever having really heard the voice, whose voice it was. How impossible it was for him to be hearing that voice.
“ Stop thinkin’ so hard, ” George Stark said in Thad’s mind, like he was whispering in his ear. “ And just let yourself enjoy it. ”
Thad’s hand was still moving. Thad just stared at it.
“ Come on, old hoss ,” George Stark whispered. “ Relax. Where’re those whimpers I was hearin’ before ?”
Thad was just tired. Thad was still dreaming. Thad- Thad whimpered, uncontrollably, when he felt a tug on his nipple. He looked down, but nothing was there.
“ That’s better,” George Stark said. “ Enjoy it. ”
“It’s hard to enjoy it when there’s a killer in my head,” Thad muttered to himself.
Because he was talking to himself. Just himself. George Stark wasn’t there, in his head or otherwise. He just wasn’t.
“If I’m a killer, so are you, old hoss, ” George Stark drawled. “ Now stop getting your panties in a bunch and just relax already .”
For some godforsaken reason, Thad listened. He forced himself to melt into his desk chair and just relax, focusing on the feelings and- regrettably- the voice in his head. His hand moved quickly again, fast and rough against his dick. He wasn’t thinking about anything, not even moving his hand. It was just him, writhing into his office chair, losing his mind. George Stark- because it had to be George Stark- was still babbling in his mind, little sentences that barely made sense and Thad didn’t have to answer. Grunts, moans, harmonizing with Thad’s own, even, like he was jerking off too. Thad didn’t think about that for too long, though. He didn’t think about anything. The hand on his dick was too quick for him to be able to think about anything, which- after the time he’s had, he didn’t want to be thinking about anything. He just wanted to stay in this moment forever, with those grunts echoing in his mind.
“ Tell me how it feels, ” George Stark said, in Thad’s mind.
He felt almost stupid, speaking to the empty office. And yet-
“It feels good,” Thad managed to get out. “It feels- God it feels good.”
“ Better than your own little hand does? ” George Stark asked.
It made no sense, since it was Thad’s own hand, who was jerking him off, but- it felt too good for him to care. Instead, Thad just nodded, moaning again.
“ Better than your little wife makes you feel ?” George Stark asked.
Thad moaned loud enough that he had to whip his hand over his mouth to cover the sound. And then he immediately felt guilty. But- not as guilty as he should have. Instead, he just writhed in his chair.
“ Answer the question, ” George Stark hissed darkly.
“Yes,” Thad said, as loud as he dared. He didn’t want to wake up the twins, or god forbid Liz. But- “Yes. Yes. You make me feel so good, George-“
“ There we go, ” George Stark whispered, sending a chill up Thad’s spine. “ Just let me keep making you feel good, old hoss. Just like that. Keep on moving into my hand like that. ”
And there the voice in his head was again, saying that it wasn’t Thad’s hand on his dick. The thought lingered in Thad’s head. Who’s hand was it, really? Was it his own? Or was it- was it really George Stark’s?
“ Thought I told you to stop thinking, ” George Stark said.
Thad’s hand slowed down. But he didn’t mean for it to. So maybe- Maybe it wasn’t his hand that was really moving at all.
“ Stop that, ” George Stark hissed in Thad’s brain. “ I’m tryna have some fun here, old hoss, and you are acting like a real damp washcloth right now. ”
But it was bothering Thad. He wanted to know. He had to know. He- he knew how he could know for sure.
Thad took his hand off his dick, and laid it on the desk instead. His hand was- it was right there, flat on the desk, unmoving. Thad couldn’t stress that enough. He had stopped moving the hand that had been on his dick. It wasn’t even near his dick anymore. That was very important to note. He could see his hand, on the desk. And yet- and yet- it still felt there was something there. He could feel it. He could feel the slide of his hand on his dick. He could feel the electric jolts of pleasure as his hand moved, jerking him off. And yet, there was no hand there. He had stopped jerking himself off. Except, of course, for the fact that he could still feel it. He could still feel the pressure. He could still imagine his hand there. He could still see the precum leaking out of the head, being rubbed up and down on his skin by a hand that wasn’t even there. It was clearly still being pumped, he could still feel it being pumped. There wasn’t a question about that. Someone was jerking off Thad’s dick.
And yet, Thad’s hand was still sitting there. On the desk.
He didn’t know what to make of it. It was creepy, for one thing. Impossible, for another. But quite frankly, Thad was feeling like he just didn’t care. The more George Stark’s hand pumped Thad’s dick- because that was who it had to be, at this point- the more Thad couldn’t bring himself to care. It felt good. And- this was all probably just a big wet dream or something. He could feel guilty about it later, when he woke up. But right now- right now Thad was just going to let himself feel good. He let go of the questions, circling his mind. He let go of the tenseness in his shoulders. He let go of the fear, and the confusion, and the shame- and just let himself focus on the feeling of a hand on his dick, and the sound of a smooth southern accent in his head.
Or, at least, he tried to let go of it. It wasn’t like Thad could just completely ignore the fact that it was George Stark’s voice in his head, when someone had been killing in George Stark’s name and framing Thad for it. And he couldn’t ignore the fact that somebody he couldn’t see was stroking his dick, and grabbing at his nipples, and pulling his hair. It was a weird fucking feeling, watching your dick get a handjob with no hand there. He couldn’t see where the hand was moving, just feel the caresses and the tugs and random pauses that drove Thad crazy. That just wasn’t the kind of thing that he could ignore. It was crazy. Hell, Thad was probably crazy. Or dreaming. Maybe crazy and dreaming, at this point. There was a lot of evidence that said that Thad was crazy, at this point. All of it surrounding George Stark. This was just the crazy cherry on top of the crazy fucking ice cream sundae, for Thaddeus Beaumont, really. Getting jerked off by someone he couldn’t goddamn see. Fuck.
But the truth was, it felt good. And when it felt that good, Thad couldn’t really bring himself to care about the fact that this was all fucking crazy. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see the person that was pulling his hair when god having his hair pulled like that felt good. He had never thought he’d had a thing for hair pulling, but apparently he did, so long as it was done by George fucking Stark. Then again, George Stark had always made Thad like things that he hadn’t thought he’d liked. Smoking. Drinking. Writing with pencils. The idea of blood, and gore, and cutting people with straight razors. And now, apparently, rough hands on his dick and his head being pulled back in his chair, exposing his neck, as he whined and whimpered. He liked the feeling of a ghost hand on his dick. He liked the feeling of a presence he couldn’t see, yanking his hair. He liked feeling those unseeable hands everywhere, on his nipples, on his legs, gripping his chin- George Stark was everywhere, and Thad Beaumont was liking it.
Thad couldn’t deny that. He liked every single thing that was happening to him.
Even if it shouldn’t have been physically possible. He didn’t care at this point, didn’t care that he was alone in the room, with one hand clutching the chair arm and the other on the desk, and yet- and yet, somehow, Thad was being jerked off all the same. It felt too good to care. Even if it was George Stark, Thad heard in his head, egging him on, whispering dirty, terrible, dangerous things in Thad’s ear. George Stark, the guy who wasn’t alive at all. George Stark, the guy who had killed multiple people, at this point, and had framed Thad for it. George Stark, the dark, twisted part of Thad, was the one jerking him off. But Thad only cared that he was being jerked off, not that it was by a killer. Even if he should have been in bed with Liz, right now, not- not doing this. It felt wrong. Hell, it was wrong, no doubt about that. It wasn’t just Thad, at this point. It was Thad and George, doing whatever the hell this was, with Liz asleep, unknowing, in the other room. It was wrong. All of it was so fucking wrong.
But Thad liked it. All of it.
He liked the mystery of not being able to see the hands that were touching him. The mystery of not knowing where those hands were going to move next. The mystery of not knowing who exactly those hands belonged to. The mystery of if those really were George Stark’s hands touching him which, at this point they had to be, how the hell were they touching Thad at all. The unknown of it added to the pleasure, for Thad, somehow. He was a teacher and an author, always writing the exam answers, always coming up with the solutions to the plots, never just enjoying them- And here George Stark was, giving Thad a break from that. Letting Thad be the one who didn’t have a fucking clue for once. It was- oddly nice, giving away the reins, for once. Just slumping in his office chair, whining and writhing, not knowing much at all, and not wanting to.
He liked the knowledge that the hands touching him, the hands he couldn’t see, were the same ones that had written all the twisted, fucked up shit that had made George Stark so famous. And not just written, at this point, Thad knew. George Stark- or someone pretending to be George Stark- or something pretending to be George Stark, had killed people. He had killed actual people. And now- now here he was, touching Thad and making him feel good like that was what mattered. It was a heady sort of feeling. Thad didn’t think he could be killed, by the hands ghosting over him, but Thad didn’t even know that for sure. And- shit- for some reason, that got Thad going too. George Stark was always there for those feelings that Thad Beaumont could never have, letting him indulge in shit he never knew he needed. And this- the feeling of a killer on his skin, was, apparently, one of those things. And Thad liked it .
He liked the twist of guilt in his stomach, even. The sickening feelings that curled up in his gut whenever he moaned and whimpered so loud he had to cover his mouth with his hand, just to keep Liz from hearing. It was getting harder and harder to keep his sounds to just whimpers, at this point. George Stark’s hand just kept getting rougher and rougher and rougher, and Thad just kept on enjoying it more and more and more. He couldn’t help but comparing the rough strokes on his dick to Liz’s soft caresses, George Stark’s callouses to to his wife’s smooth hands, Liz’s whispered assurances to the growled out insults and taunts and demands that were flowing through Thad’s head. It was so different, this feeling. And- and it was so fucking good, Thad couldn’t but admit.. The pleasure just kept building, and building, and building, as the hands of the killer haunting Thad just made him feel so fucking good and-
And- fuck- Thad came, one hand on his mouth muffling his shout of pleasure, and the other flat on the desk.
The voice disappeared from his head, Thad realised, once his head cleared. It was just silence up there, like it normally was. And yet, it was lonely. Thad was lonely, sitting in his office, with his sleep shirt covered in cum, in the dark. And Liz was asleep in the other room. Fuck. And yet, Thad wasn’t thinking about Liz, not really. Not as much as he should have been, anyway. Instead, he was thinking about George Stark. The fact that George Stark had been in his mind- or, at least, he had thought that George Stark had been talking to him. Maybe it was just Thad’s own mind, playing tricks on him. But- the fact that Thad had moved his hand away, and he’d still felt a hand? What did that mean? Maybe Thad hadn’t moved his hand at all. Maybe he’d just thought he had. Maybe- God, maybe he was going insane. Or maybe George Stark really had been there, somehow touching Thad’s body. Either way, Thad was going to hell for enjoying it. He had- he had come to the idea of George Stark, the killer, or maybe he had come to the real George Stark, somehow talking to him- But either way, he had come because of someone who was ruining Thad’s life. Fuck. He pulled off his shirt, stashed it in the bathroom, and-
And Thad slipped back into bed with Liz, pretending that it had all just been a bad dream.