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Chris knew.
Having an interest in the macabre ever since he could fathom the idea, Chris had always taken a liking to the darker topics that life – and even death, could offer. He’d written about them in songs, read about them in books, entranced himself with films. In the beginning, it’d been something to laugh at, something to roll his eyes at before going to sleep unfazed. Tales of ghosts and demons lurking in a realm between the afterlife and Earth were bullshit… and yet, when he’d seen his friend’s eyes; a shadow of haze and confusion over them, he knew something had happened. He’d noticed the way Eddie’s skin prickled with each passing touch, had felt an air of something off as they walked through his home, and most telling was the circles of exhaustion that’d encircled his eyes. Chris had remembered the same sunkenness around his own when he’d begun to dream.
He hoped they were dreams at least. He couldn’t remember when the first one had happened – a year had to have passed since then, right? While the time was foggy, the visions were still seared into his brain. Whispers of shadows that swirled in his mind, always calling to him, tempting him with something just out of reach. They’d been bodiless at first, formless smoke that’d writhe against his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Maybe Chris had never admitted to himself that he’d always been a little scared of the dark; waking himself before monsters could escape the shadows. It wasn’t long before he started sleeping with a light on, childish fears put to rest as long as there was something to keep the dark at bay. And then they’d found a way around that too.
They’d always been close. Since day one, Eddie had been a soft spot for Chris. They found one another at the most crucial point in their lives; Eddie the new guy in town, looking for someone to guide him through this new shitstorm of a life and Chris, someone aching to fill a space that’d been punched through his chest. It didn’t take very long for them to become attached at the hip. And not long after that for Chris to begin to view him a little more fondly, although he would bury such thoughts deep down. Years later, their bond had only gotten stronger as they continued to lean on one another through their struggles and triumphs. No one knew Chris better than Eddie… except maybe the shadows.
He remembers that dream the most, even though it’d been nearly a year since it first happened. Familiar formless smoke tracing along his walls, lurking near the bed, but not yet reaching for him. He’d come to accept this nightmarish routine, mentally pulling his sheets just a little tighter and humming softly in an attempt to distract himself. And just beneath his hums came the first whisper of his name. Eyes shooting open, he’d been too scared to move, instead holding his breath and waiting to see if he’d imagined it. Then it came again. Warmer this time, as if it was the comforting baritone of Eddie’s voice beckoning him. He’d looked around the room, brow furrowing in confusion at the normalcy of this dream room. Was he awake? He’d struggled to tell the difference lately. Then he’d seen the silhouette in the corner.
He’d looked smaller in the corner of the room, sitting so still that Chris would’ve overlooked him entirely if the hall light hadn’t been peeking around the door, illuminating him just enough. His hair had still been just above his shoulders, slicked back in an attempt to tame his frizzy curls. Eddie had been insisting he was gonna chop his hair off soon, tired of constantly pushing it from his face. It suddenly felt harder to breathe, each breath tainted with a subtle spice, like cinnamon and clove. Chris blinked a few times, yet the Eddie doppelganger remained, still staring intently as if trying to gauge Chris’ reaction. Thinking back, it’d felt like hours had passed in mere minutes, before Chris had finally spoken.
“You’re not real.”
Goosebumps still raise along his skin when he thinks about the way the being had answered, a teasing echo of his friend’s voice.
“I could be.”
It’d been hard to sleep the next few weeks after that. He kept himself in a realm that seemed unreachable, between sleep and awake. A place where the shadows seemed to leave him be and he wouldn’t be completely exhausted the next day. He’d even switched around his schedule, staying up during night time and crawling into bed as the sun crested over the horizon. It wasn’t easy, but it was manageable and few had questioned the dark circles that were beginning to circle his eyes and the way his face had grown thinner. He busied himself with recording his own solo music, the macabreness of his life beginning to manifest itself in his work. He could only keep up his charade for so long.
It was like an itch under his skin; not enough to become irritating, but noticeable if he sat still for too long. At first, he thought the lack of sleep was to blame, his half assed attempts finally catching up to his brain. But this was different, it was slowly growing stronger with each night. An anxiousness that had wormed its way under his skin, making him tense if he didn’t get up and move every so often. He’d taken to damn near chain smoking, hoping the nicotine would ease his mind, but instead it made him more aware of this itch that he couldn’t scratch. He’d grown frustrated, feeling like the shadows of the night were laughing at him as he’d sit hunched over the sound board, meticulously scanning over every layer in every track. And that’s where they’d found him the next time; his eyes bleary with sleep as he was laid back in his chair.
He remembered the warmth that’d settled over his skin, a gentle pressure all around that made him feel like he was sinking into his bed after a long day. He sighed with contentment as the tension ebbed from his muscles, the itch beneath his skin turning into a tingle. His brain felt like a static hum, no fear, no frustration, no worries, nothing at all. Nothing except the heat beginning to blossom in his stomach – just enough to make his lips part with a hum. The hair on his arms stood up as a wisp of air brushed against his crotch, just enough to get the slightest twitch in response. It felt good.
His eyes opened slowly to stare at the ceiling, the soft warm glow of his desk lamp giving him a sense of security in the dark. He hadn’t registered where his hand lay till he shifted his hips, feeling the metal teeth of his zipper against his fingertips. The temptation of it pulled at his stomach, urging him to continue. The buzzing beneath his skin persisted, not anxiousness, but excitement. For once, he felt a sense of ease fall over him, each breath allowing him to settle further into the chair. His fingers popped the button loose from his pants before slowly lowering the zipper, as if sudden movements might break the trance he’d seemed to fall under.
It was the closest to normal he’d felt in awhile. Chest heaving as his fist pumped along his cock, an orgasmic heat building rapidly. He couldn’t remember the last time something had felt so good, moans tumbling from his lips as he writhed against the leather seat. His eyes were squeezed shut, unaware of the shadows that began to pulse around him. Almost there. He thrashed around, head lolling to the side and exposing a thin sheen of sweat begging to be lapped up along his neck. He hadn’t noticed at first, the gentle pressure against his jaw, like soft lips trailing along his skin. It felt like he was on fire, precum slicking his strokes so much that he was nearly embarrassed by how turned on he was. The air that traced along his forearm was subtle, no stronger than someone blowing with their mouth. Yet, enough for him to open his eyes for just a moment.
A twang broke the silence of his empty room, startling Chris from his thoughts. He frowned as he looked down, an untuned guitar and the broken string that’d freed him of his memory. It was harder to stay out of his own head these days; between touring and practicing and the occasional meal with friends, there was nothing else to do but sleep and think. Two of the worst things he could do while being hunted. Hunted. The word left a familiar taste in his mouth – the taste of cinnamon and clove. Maybe it was a strong word to use, but how else was he supposed to feel when he couldn’t even rest his eyes without fearing whatever cruel images might appear next?
It’d been nearing a month since his last dream, but the underlying feeling of paranoia never went away. After the first week of nightmare-less sleep, he’d begun to think that his months of torment had finally been put behind him. But the memories never faded and the shadows still lurked in the dark corners of his room. And then he’d seen the way Eddie’s eyes looked a little darker… just a little more gray than blue, and when they hugged goodbye, he’d felt the miniscule tense in Eddie’s arms and knew. Could almost smell it, this subtle spice that clung to his skin and it made his stomach churn and his face warm. When they separated and he looked at his friend once more he felt the unfamiliar emotion rear its ugly head and realized the knot in his chest was jealousy.
Now three weeks later, the feeling had only grown. He was jealous, but of what he couldn’t be sure. So he lay and let the feeling consume him, threw himself into practicing his songs, and focused on writing new ones. The shadows were beginning to take interest again; almost laughing as they waited for his resolve to break. He’d woken more often than not with an unrelenting itch beneath his skin, energy that was begging to be released. He found himself wondering if giving in might finally bring him relief. Wondering if Eddie had given in. Wondering why the idea of it bothered him so much. He set the guitar down, laying back against the sheets of his bed, that feeling of restlessness nestled into his bones once more. His eyes scanned the ceiling, the slow graying blue that was beginning to fade into the edges of the darkness. He wasn’t sure what time it was, losing himself in the memories that had been plaguing him in the past months. His eyelids drifted close as he allowed himself to ponder another memory.
It was one of the last dreams he’d had. At first, the veil between sleep and awake was so thin, that he’d almost believed it was real. Laying there as gentle fingers trailed along his skin, as if trying to wake him. It was a vulnerable moment and a soft warmth filled the room as he let himself be caressed. He relaxed further against the mattress, soothed by the tingles that spread along his skin. He hadn’t acknowledged how much he ached to be touched till he felt a twitch within his boxers, a lewd interruption to this intimate moment. The Chris that lay there remembering tried to still the anticipation that was beginning to twist in his stomach, unaware of the way the shadows around him perked in interest.
In his memory, he felt rough callused fingers slowly coming around his waist, teasing the sliver of skin that was exposed from beneath his tank top, he remembered the way he tried to keep his hips from wriggling. A gentle noise worked its way from his lips, or was that his memory? He found himself uncaring, enticed by the way realities were beginning to blur. He could almost feel that same warmth within the room now. In his memory, his chest squeezed at the first brush of curls against his shoulder, he remembers the sweet taste of cinnamon and clove filling his mouth as he breathed in, mouth falling open as a hand brushed against his crotch. It was all so real, the touch of it satiated the itch that had been burrowed beneath his skin for months. He felt his own hand moving, tentatively replicating the movements from his dream.
It was intoxicating. Each drag of his palm against his groin set his nerves aflame, his hips pushing up for even more. His legs fell open, the fabric of the other’s briefs brushing against his thigh. In his mind, he recalled how these sensations had taken over his senses. The drunkenness he felt as he writhed against the bedsheets, aching for more. Aching to feel those curls tangled in his fingers. Aching to feel those lips against his skin. Aching to feel that hand wrap around his cock. His hand. His–
“Eddie…” The moan was loud in the quiet room. The early dawn illuminated the silhouette of Chris’ hand working steadily beneath his boxers. He was drunk once more, greedily breathing in the scent that filled the room. He felt the weight against his side just as he had that night and knew that if he opened his eyes he’d see those same curls – slightly longer now than they’d been then. He felt the brush of lips against his neck and tried not to acknowledge them, tried to not give in fully. After all, he’d always been afraid of the dark. Always been afraid to admit to himself why he was jealous.
“I know why you think of him.” It’d scared Chris the first time, hearing his voice and knowing it wasn’t real. It’d have almost been comforting if not for the way it teased him.
“You wanna fuck him, don’t you? Wanna fuck me?” Chris’ breath broke off into a low moan, betraying his feelings as another hand slid into his boxers, hovering just near his cock, but not joining in. His brow pulled into a frown, his mind struggling between wanting to give in and the morality of it. Had Eddie been torn in this same way?
“Ask for my help and I’ll tell you.” Blue eyes slowly opened, once more in the present as Chris gazed into the eyes of the man above him. It had always made his heart race, how alike he was, how real he felt, he was almost high off of it, lips parting as if trying to drink him in. Eddie smiled in return, leaning down to hold his lips a breath from Chris’. His fingers sliding just a bit further, smearing a drop of precum that’d fell from Chris’ cock. It was a cruel game, both tip toeing the edge of temptation for months, Chris refusing to give in to… these dreams? These thoughts? These visions? Images began to swirl in his mind; images that made his stomach twist with arousal and envy. The figure above him shook with anticipation, nearly tasting the bitter saltiness on his tongue as Chris let out a whimper.
“Please touch me.”
Finally. It all moved so quickly, stealing the breath from his lungs as those lips finally pressed against his. They swallowed one another down with gluttony, trying to commit the other’s taste to memory. The hand that jointly wrapped around his length was seering, pulling a gasp of surprise from Chris. The pleasure was so immense, tears built in the corner of his eyes, nearly spilling over as he bucked crazily into their hands. He fell further into the warmth, succumbing to the drunkenness that flooded his senses. Eddie pulled back, looking down at Chris with a hunger in his eyes that could only be described as ravenous.
“So close already? Is Christopher not afraid of me anymore?” Chris’ cheeks flushed at the bite of the words, the teasing making his stomach lurch with humiliation. The edge of his orgasm was rapidly approaching yet he tried to stifle it, whining in protest as Eddie’s fist tightened, swirling around the tip of his cock with a knowing smirk on his lips. “Someone liked that, yeah? Gonna come for me?”
Chris let his grip fall away, choosing instead to bury his fists in the sheets as Eddie pulled him over the edge. Sobs filled the room as a wet warmth enveloped the head of his cock, swallowing down every drop of come. Tremors ran along his limbs as he began to come down from the high, his hips pushing further into the bed as he tried to escape the overstimulation. Eddie pulled off, his lips shining with spit and come as he kissed his way back up Chris’ body, slowly opening the buttons of his own shirt as he went.
“You’re so sweet on my tongue, maybe I should fuck you instead? Open you up and make you come all over yourself…” Chris grabbed the hand that dared to slide between his thighs, his brow furrowing in confliction as he looked at the man above him. The eyes held the same blues of his friend’s, but the hunger within his gaze darkened them. The mist that had settled over his mind lifted for a single moment allowing Chris a moment of clarity. This wasn’t a dream, was it?
“You were never just a dream.”
Eddie smiled down at him, a sound akin to a laugh filling the space for a second as he pressed a kiss to Chris’ still lips.
“You knew I was real the second you smelt me on his skin.”
Chris gasped at the feeling of Eddie’s heated length sliding against his stomach as the man straddled him. He felt another cloud of smoke poking at the recesses of his mind, begging to drag him back into mindless bliss. Still a nagging itch was blossoming beneath his skin again, made worse by the jealousy that twisted in his ribs. Eddie met his glare with a look of satisfaction, intrigued by the reaction.
“You still want to know if he faced the same struggle you do?”
Chris bit back the moan that threatened to crawl up his throat as Eddie frotted against his cock. He could feel a warm slick coating his dick, the temptation to thrust into it growing with each rock of Eddie’s hips. He was already fully hard again, months of abstinence making him more sensitive to each touch. His eyes rolled back as the other kept up his ministrations, taking glee in the way Chris seemed to melt against the sheets.
Inside, the thoughts still plagued the back of his mind, the desire to know what Eddie had seen. The desire to know what happened. The desire to know if he’d found it just as hard to resist. He heard Eddie’s mocking laugh in the forefront of his mind before the weight above him shifted, lips coming to rest just beside his ear. The gyrations came to a slow stop, the tip of Chris’ shaft just barely pressing against the entrance that he so desperately wanted.
“I fucked him, ya know… I fucked him good, too.”
Eddie moaned as the length slid into him, body falling against Chris’ as the man rolled them over, pushing up onto his elbows as he began to thrust. His thighs fell wide open, mouth falling into an open cry as pleasure began to shoot up his spine. Chris let out soft gasps, the tight heat almost too overwhelming for him. He leaned down, gently biting at the throat that was bared enticingly for him, before soothing the marks with a kiss. He couldn’t stop; torn between his want to fuck and the envy that this spirit had touched Ed in ways he couldn’t admit he desired as well. He knew why the shadows came to him in this way, deep in his heart he’d known he held more than a platonic love for his friend. Had always been too scared to admit it. What used to be dreams had been a secret way to live his fantasies and now that he’d given in, why couldn’t this be good enough? He lifted his head again, looking down at the shadow of lashes that Eddie’s closed lids cast against his cheeks.
“Ed…”
The man below slowly opened his eyes, the blissful pleasure making it difficult to focus. He met a gentler gaze this time, whining as the rushed thrusts eased in speed, instead beginning to go deeper. He could see the inner turmoil in Chris’ eyes; could always see the hidden shame and fear in his mind. At first the fright had been his favorite part, savoring what small tastes of energy he could get before he’d be forced out. But there was something more, a taste that he’d gotten a hint of the night he visited Eddie himself, so sweet it almost made him sick. A jolt of pleasure yanked him from his thoughts, bringing him back to Chris, who stared into his eyes only a second longer before burrowing his face in Eddie’s neck with a muffled moan.
His hands ran along Eddie’s skin, slipping beneath the open fabric of his shirt to prod at every bump and dip that molded his body. He inhaled deeply, trying to commit the scent of sweat and sex to memory as their smells melted into one another. It was beginning to be too much, the intimacy and passion felt like it was slowly prying his chest open, exposing his secrets to the being below him. He pushed even closer to the body below as if trying to mold them together into one. His bottom lip trembled as he staved off his growing orgasm, unwilling to let this moment end so soon.
“Why Eddie? Why him?”
The question pulled the spirit from the throes of pleasure. He took a moment to gather himself, his voice shaking as answered, “I wanted to know why you called his name whenever I came. You wouldn’t give in to me, but he was so easy, so trusting.”
His answer ended in a high pitched moan as Chris gave a harder thrust, putting his jealousy into every movement. He couldn’t act in hate, still unable to hurt this shadow that wore his friend’s likeness. His cock began to throb, the sounds of Eddie’s moans fanning the fire that was roaring in his stomach. He nibbled at the skin of Eddie’s jaw, trying to gather himself before speaking again.
“Will you leave him alone now?”
The man below cried in discontent as the thrusts eased into gentleness again, his own orgasm dancing on the edge by this constant back and forth. He reached to take his cock in hand, whimpering when Chris’ arm blocked him from going farther. The bitter taste of frustration filled the room, he felt like he was being engulfed by lust as Chris kept him from gaining relief.
“You don’t understand! Please Chris, make me come!”
The cries sounded like the sweetest song, he could feel the way Eddie was beginning to tighten around his cock, so ready to tip over like him.
“Now who’s scared, hm? I might keep you right here, begging for me.”
His pace picked up once more, ready to throw them both over the edge as he wrapped his hand around Eddie’s cock, reveling in the way his moans filled the room. He knew he couldn’t be so cruel, even to something not quite his friend. He basked in the way Eddie’s voice chanted his name like the most sacred prayer, breathing heavily as the band in his stomach pulled taught. The shadow beneath him trembled with pleasure so great it bordered on agony. He could feel that sick sweetness on his tongue again, could feel the way it filled the room, creating an intoxicating taste. He ached to smother it; couldn’t understand why they yearned for one another in this way.
“I’m so close, Chris please. Make us come!”
Chris’ body shuddered as he pulled out, coming with a loud cry of Eddie’s name against the sheets. The sudden stop to his stimulation sent a pang of pain through his crotch, his hardened cock twitching as semen dripped from the tip. He buried his face in the pillow beneath him, letting out a sob as the image of Eddie faded from his mind. Broken gasps shook his shoulders, his chest squeezing at the loss of another body beneath him. It was the closest he’d ever gotten.
Chris knew. Always having an interest in the macabre, he’d known the shadows of his room weren’t merely shadows. He’d known his dreams were bleeding into reality. He’d known the look in Eddie’s eyes; the look of a man who had given in. He’d wanted to give in too, wanted to have his friend in at least this one way and yet he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He rolled from the mess he’d made against the sheets, the sun beginning to cast its way into the room, catching the glisten that still coated his length. A tentative hand trailed down, softly stroking and pulling a small bead of come from the head. He raised his fingers to his mouth, curiously tasting the sweet saltiness of his own release. He took a deep breath as he relaxed against the sheets, content for now to sleep.