Chapter 53: 7.3.2 x
The city was a wet, grumbling beast. Rain streaked the windows of Gabriel’s apartment, blurring the distant skyline into a watercolor smear of grey and dull neon. Inside, the air was dry and still, heavy with the scent of old paper and the peculiar, ozone-like freshness that clung to Koen. Gabriel stood at the window, a ledger in his hand, trying to focus on the quarterly accounting of answered prayers (miracles, subsection B, items 1-457). The numbers bled together.
He was… distracted.
A cool, insubstantial pressure had been ghosting along the back of his neck for the past ten minutes. He ignored it.
The pressure dipped lower, tracing the line of his spine through his crisp white shirt.
“I know you’re there,” Gabriel said, not turning from the window.
Koen materialized beside him, leaning against the glass. The rain fell through him. “Bored,” he announced, popping the ‘p’.
“Read a book.”
“Can’t turn the pages. Tried. My finger goes right through. It’s bullshit.” Koen’s form shimmered, a petulant frown on his face. He’d been like this for days—a restless, horny phantom haunting Gabriel’s every moment. The punishment-aftermath of the bookshelf incident had only seemed to fuel him. He followed Gabriel from room to room, a silent, smirking presence. He’d taken to whispering filthy suggestions while Gabriel was on important calls, or manifesting just enough to let his cool, spectral tongue flick against Gabriel’s earlobe.
“Then find a way to amuse yourself that doesn’t involve my cock,” Gabriel replied, his tone dry. He turned a page.
Koen’s eyes lit up. “But that’s the only thing that’s fun.”
“Then you are easily amused.”
“Says the guy who gets hard when I breathe on his neck.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened. He refused to give him the satisfaction. He closed the ledger with a definitive thump. “I have to go out. A conclave. Downtown.”
“Ooh, a meeting. Sounds thrilling.”
“It’s procedural. Tedious.” Gabriel walked to the closet, selecting a tailored grey coat. “You will stay here.”
“Or what?” Koen drifted closer, his form a chill in the warm room.
Gabriel turned, his blue eyes glacial. “Or I will leave you anchored to this spot, unable to move, for the next eight hours. I can do that. The bond permits it.”
Koen’s bravado faltered for a second. Being truly stuck, alone with his thoughts, was his one real fear. He recovered with a shrug, the motion fluid and slightly too fluid to be human. “Fine. Be a bore. I’ll just… haunt the kitchen. Remember how to not make bread.”
Gabriel left, the click of the lock echoing in the silent apartment. Koen waited a full minute, counting in his head. Then he grinned, a flash of sharp canines.
The tether wasn’t a leash. It was a connection. And connections worked both ways.
The subway car was a study in purgatorial discomfort. It was the tail end of rush hour, the carriage packed with damp, weary bodies smelling of wet wool, cheap perfume, and despair. Gabriel stood near the doors, one hand on a pole, his other holding his briefcase. He had his human disguise firmly in place—just a tall, uncomfortably handsome man in an expensive coat. His grace was a low hum beneath his skin, a dull ache of divine irritation.
He felt the shift before he saw anything. A familiar chill seeped up from the floor, curling around his ankles. He stiffened.
No.
A whisper, for his ears only, brushed against the shell of his ear. “Procedural, huh? Looks fucking riveting.”
Gabriel didn’t move. He stared straight ahead at an advertisement for fungal cream.
A cool, invisible hand slid up the inside of his thigh. Gabriel’s breath hitched. He couldn’t react. Not here. Not surrounded by fifty oblivious humans. The hand—Koen’s hand—cupped him through his trousers, fingers curling around the hardening shape of him. A thumb rubbed slow, deliberate circles over the head of his cock.
“Stop,” Gabriel murmured, the word lost in the screech of the train on the rails.
“Make me,” Koen’s voice vibrated directly into his skull. The ghost was a master of this now, focusing his will to speak only to Gabriel, to touch only Gabriel. The hand squeezed, a jolt of electric cold that made Gabriel’s knees weaken.
He was trapped. The press of bodies meant he couldn’t move away. A woman’s shopping bag nudged his hip. A man’s briefcase jabbed his calf. And all the while, the cool, insolent pressure on his cock grew more insistent. Koen was kneeling, Gabriel realized. On the filthy floor of the subway car, unseen by anyone, his phantom mouth was level with Gabriel’s groin.
“Koen,” he warned, his voice a strained thread.
The response was a damp, shocking warmth that bloomed through the fabric of his trousers. Koen’s mouth. His tongue, a firm, wet stripe along the length of him. Gabriel gripped the pole so tight the metal groaned faintly.
“You’re insane,” Gabriel thought-spoke, the mental connection a desperate, silent snarl.
“Bored,” came the cheerful reply.
Then the pressure vanished. For a second, Gabriel felt a surge of relief. It was short-lived. He felt his fly being undone, the zipper easing down with a stealth no human hand could manage. Cool air touched his skin. Then a different, more profound coolness enveloped him.
Koen had taken him into his mouth.
It was impossibly deep, impossibly wet. The sensation wasn’t human—it was a perfect, suctioning void, a concentrated essence of mouth that throbbed with Koen’s mischievous intent. Gabriel’s head snapped back, thumping against the subway car window. His eyes screwed shut. Sweat beaded on his temple.
No one saw. No one knew. A teenager across the aisle stared at his phone, headphones blaring tinny music. An old man dozed, his head lolling. Gabriel Delano, Archangel of the Annunciation, was being expertly, silently blown by a ghost in a packed subway car.
Koen’s technique was devastating. He hollowed his cheeks, applying a rhythmic, pulsating pressure. His tongue swirled around the head, teasing the slit. He took Gabriel all the way to the root, his non-corporeal throat offering no resistance, only a silken, cool tightness. Gabriel’s hips gave a minute, involuntary jerk forward.
A soft, static-filled chuckle vibrated through his cock. “See? Not so bored now.”
Gabriel opened his eyes. His reflection in the dark window was a mask of tortured restraint. His cheeks were flushed. His lips were parted. He looked utterly debauched. He watched, helpless, as the Koen-shaped space in the world before him worked him over. He could see the faintest distortion in the air, a heat-haze shimmer around his own groin where Koen’s focused existence warped reality.
The train swayed, jostling him deeper into that impossible mouth. A low groan escaped him, strangled and desperate. The woman next to him glanced over, frowning. Gabriel coughed, turning it into a fit.
Koen picked up the pace. He was a relentless, shameless rhythm. His hands—Gabriel could feel them now—came up to cradle his balls, cool fingers rolling them with just the right amount of pressure. Every nerve in Gabriel’s body was screaming, coiled tight. His grace was a turbulent storm inside him, burning white-hot with suppressed power and even more suppressed pleasure.
“I’m going to come,” Gabriel thought, the message laced with panic and raw need.
“Good.” The word was a lick of lightning up his spine.
Gabriel’s control shattered. His climax ripped through him, silent, violent, utterly profound. He spilled into that cool, accepting void, his seed lost to the ghost’s insubstantial form. His body shook with the force of it, every muscle locked. He saw stars, celestial patterns that had nothing to do with the subway’s flickering lights.
Slowly, gently, Koen released him. Gabriel felt himself being tucked back into his trousers, the zipper drawn up with meticulous care. He was panting, his forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window, utterly spent.
Koen materialized leaning against the pole next to him, fully formed but transparent. He was grinning, a shit-eating, triumphant grin. He looked… satiated. More solid than before.
The train slowed for a station. The doors chimed open. A wave of people pushed in, another wave pushed out.
Gabriel, moving on autopilot, stumbled out onto the platform. The cool station air hit him like a physical blow. Koen drifted beside him, a smug, flickering shadow.
They walked in silence to the end of the platform, away from the crowd. Gabriel stopped in a dimly lit alcove beside a broken vending machine. He turned to Koen. His expression was unreadable.
“Well?” Koen said, his bravado tinged with a flicker of uncertainty. “Gonna anchor me to this shitty tile floor?”
Gabriel reached out. His hand didn’t grab Koen’s throat. It sank into it, his fingers closing around the cool, vibrating core of him—his soul-anchor. He pulled Koen close until their faces were inches apart.
“No,” Gabriel said, his voice a low, dangerous rasp. “I’m going to take you home. And I am going to fuck you until you forget your own name. I am going to use you in every way your ghostly form can possibly be used. And then,” he tightened his grip, feeling Koen shiver, “I am going to do it again.”
He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of Koen’s ethereal ear.
“You wanted my attention, you little phantom? You have it. Every last bit of it.” He released him. “Now follow. And don’t speak.”
Koen, for the first time since his death, was utterly silent. He followed Gabriel up the stairs and into the rainy night, the ghost of a tremble in his translucent form. The arousal that rolled off him was a palpable, electric fog. The game had changed. Again.
koen can’t brace or lean against anything he just passes through. gabriel does exactly what he promised. fucking koen in the ass (while fucking koen in the ass koen unintentionally shifts to female), between the tits, in the pussy, in the mouth and even through the ear to fuck koen’s brain directly. by the end of it koen’s form is a bit more blurry and he’s non verbal drunk on pleasure
The apartment door hadn’t fully shut behind them before Gabriel moved.
He didn't throw Koen against the wall this time. He turned with a predator's patience and simply looked at him. The rain had soaked through Gabriel's coat, beading on the wool, but his eyes were dry ice. Koen hovered just inside the doorway, his smugness evaporating under that glacial stare, replaced by a sharp, electric anticipation.
Koen hovered just inside the doorway, his smugness evaporating under that glacial stare, replaced by a sharp, electric anticipation. Gabriel said nothing. He simply shed his wet coat, letting it fall to the floor with a heavy thud. The silence was more menacing than any threat. Then he moved, crossing the space between them in two long strides. His hands didn’t grab Koen’s shoulders; they plunged into them, fingers sinking past the translucent surface of his form, gripping the dense, jelly-like ectoplasm beneath.
He manhandled Koen backward, not towards a wall, but into the open center of the room. “You can’t brace,” Gabriel murmured, his voice a low rasp. “So you’ll have to rely on me to hold you up.” He spun Koen around, one arm locking across his chest, holding him flush against Gabriel’s own body. His other hand yanked Koen’s jeans and boxers down in one rough motion, the insubstantial fabric offering no resistance. Koen gasped, his head falling back against Gabriel’s shoulder. The angel’s cock, already hard again, pressed against the cleft of his ass.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Gabriel’s breath was hot on his neck. “To be felt.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He spat into his own hand, a crude, human gesture, and slicked himself. Then he pressed the head against Koen’s entrance. There was no preparation, no gentle breach. Gabriel drove forward, sheathing himself in one brutal, claiming thrust. Koen screamed, a sound of shock and immediate, overwhelming pleasure. His body, his ectoplasmic body, yielded perfectly around the invasion, cool and tight and vibrating.
“Fuck! Gabriel!” Koen choked out, his fingers scrambling against the arm banded across his chest. He had nothing to hold onto, nothing to push against. He was entirely Gabriel’s to support, to move, to fuck. Gabriel set a punishing rhythm, each snap of his hips jolting through Koen’s form. The sensation was everywhere, a full-body convulsion of pleasure-pain centered on that devastating point of connection. Koen’s form began to shimmer, to lose its defined edges. A strange warmth bloomed in his core, a shifting, rearranging sensation deep within his ghostly anatomy.
His hips widened. His chest swelled. The sharp lines of his jaw softened. Koen, lost in the sensation, didn’t even notice the change until Gabriel’s hand slid from his chest to cup a newly formed, full breast. His thumb brushed over a stiff nipple. Koen cried out, the pitch of his voice higher, smoother.
“Well,” Gabriel grunted, his rhythm never faltering. He plumped the breast in his hand, weighing it. “That’s new.”
He fucked her harder, deeper, his grip on her tit tightening. Koen—she—could only moan, her mind dissolving into a white static of pure sensation. Her cunt, now dripping wet, clenched violently around nothing. Gabriel growled, his own control fraying. He pistoned into her, chasing his release, feeling hers building in resonant waves. When he came, it was with a guttural shout, his seed pulsing hot inside her spectral ass. She came a second later, her form flashing with a soft, internal light, her scream soundless.
Gabriel didn’t pull out. He held her there, impaled and trembling, for a long moment. Then he withdrew, his cock slick and glistening with her essence. He turned her to face him. Koen looked up through dazed, orange eyes, her features now undeniably feminine, her ashen hair longer, falling around her shoulders. Her form was less distinct, blurrier at the edges.
“You’re not done,” Gabriel stated, his voice rough. He guided her down to her knees. “Open.”
She did, her mouth falling open obediently. He fed his cock back into her, watching it disappear between her lips. She sucked him greedily, her tongue swirling, her throat working around him. He fisted his hands in her hair, holding her steady as he fucked her mouth. “Good girl,” he muttered, and she whimpered around his length, the vibration driving him wild.
When he was hard again, he pulled her up. “On your back,” he commanded. She lay back, floating a few inches above the rug, her form rippling like a reflection in disturbed water. Gabriel knelt between her spread legs. He pushed her thighs apart and drove into her cunt. This time the angle was different, deeper. He watched his cock disappear into her, watched her belly distort slightly with each thrust. He leaned down, capturing her nipple in his mouth, biting down until she shrieked.
He came inside her again, a hot, endless flood. Then, without pause, he slid up her body. He smeared the come leaking from her onto her tits, lubricating the valley between them. He pressed his cock between the soft mounds, fucking the cleft with short, rough strokes. Koen’s head lolled to the side, her eyes unfocused, her mouth slack. “Look at me,” Gabriel demanded.
She forced her eyes to his. He saw nothing there but drunken, blissful surrender. He groaned and spilled over her chest, painting her skin in sticky, pearlescent streaks.
He was relentless. He flipped her over, entered her ass again, and pounded into her until her cries were hoarse whispers. He pulled out and pushed two fingers into her cunt, then brought them to her lips, making her taste herself. He kissed her, deep and filthy, sharing the taste. His hands were everywhere, sinking into her, molding her, possessing her.
Finally, he pulled her up, holding her limp, blurry form against him. She was pliant, barely coherent. He tilted her head, his lips brushing her ear. “One more,” he whispered. Then he pressed the head of his cock against her ear canal.
It wasn’t physical, not in any human sense. It was a metaphysical intrusion, a bypassing of flesh to touch the very essence of her consciousness. He pushed into her perception. Koen’s back arched violently, a silent scream tearing from her throat. Her form flickered, threatening to dissolve. Inside her mind, there was only him—the feel of him, the scent of him, the relentless, driving presence of him fucking into the core of her being.
He came there, in the heart of her soul, a tidal wave of divine possession. When he withdrew, Koen collapsed. Or she would have, if she had weight. She was non-verbal, drunk on pleasure, with her form blurry.
koen is human shaped, just blurry. it takes koen awhile to become coherent again, but gabriel learns that a pleasure drunk ghost is actually very entertaining
She drifted a foot above the rug, a human-shaped smudge of cooled mist and fading light. Her edges bled into the air, soft and undefined. The fierce clarity of her features—the freckles, the sharp canines, the brilliant orange of her eyes—had dissolved into a watercolor wash. Gabriel stood over her, catching his breath, his own body humming with spent power. He watched her. A slow, wicked smile touched his lips.
“Can you form words yet?” he asked, his voice hoarse but gentle.
Koen’s blurry head turned toward the sound. A mouth-shaped shadow opened and closed. A sound like a rustle of dry leaves escaped, but no words.
“No?” Gabriel murmured. “Good.”
He knelt beside her. His fingers, still slick with their shared efforts, reached out and sank into the nebulous cloud of her thigh. He pressed, and his hand disappeared into the cool, diffuse substance up to his knuckles. It was like plunging into a bank of dense, living fog. Koen shuddered, a ripple passing through her form. A low, pleased moan finally coalesced from the static.
“There you are,” Gabriel said. He moved his hand, swirling it inside her thigh. The blurred outline of her leg wobbled, then reformed slightly tighter around his wrist. “You’re like… stirred paint.”
Another rustle, this time with a questioning uptick at the end.
“It’s not an insult. It’s fascinating.” He withdrew his hand and poked a finger into the hazy approximation of her stomach. It left a temporary indentation, a dimple in her mist. “You’re completely pliable.”
He leaned down, his face close to the blur where her ear should be. “Can you even understand me?” he whispered.
A nod. The motion was slow, syrupy, like a ripple moving through jelly. Then, a cold, barely-there pressure brushed against his cheek. She was trying to touch him back.
Gabriel’s smile widened. He laid down on the floor beside her, floating form, propping his head on his hand. “You are utterly wrecked,” he observed, not without a trace of pride. “And all because of me.”
A warm, honeyed sound vibrated in the air between them—her attempt at a laugh. It lacked structure but carried a dense, satisfied emotion.
“You started it,” Gabriel reminded her. “On the subway. That was a declaration of war.”
The blur that was Koen shifted, rolling onto its side to face him. A tendril of cooler mist extended, wrapping loosely around his forearm. It held on, a faint, claiming pressure.
“Oh, you’re clingy now,” he said, but he didn’t pull away. He let her hold on. Her form was beginning to firm up at the edges, the human shape reasserting itself from the inside out. The smudge of her face hinted at closed eyes, a relaxed mouth.
He watched the slow coalescence. It was like watching a photograph develop in reverse, the details emerging from a pool of grey. First the line of her nose, then the dark sweep of her lashes against her cheek. Her freckles appeared one by one, like stars winking into view. The process was hypnotic, deeply intimate. He had done this. He had scattered her to the ether with pleasure and now he got to watch her piece herself back together, tethered to him.
Her lips formed a word. It took a few tries, the sound phasing in and out. “G…ab…ri…el.”
“Welcome back,” he said softly.
Her eyes opened. They were still mostly orange light, but the pupils sharpened, focusing on him. Her brow furrowed with the immense effort of thought. “Brain… fucked,” she slurred, each word thick and slow.
“I know.”
“Good.”
“I know that too.”
She was male again, the soft curves of her earlier shift resolved back into the leaner lines he was used to. He was still blurry, translucent, but defined. His hand, the one she held, solidified enough to intertwine their fingers properly. He gave a feeble squeeze.
Gabriel returned it, a careful, measured pressure. He didn’t say anything else. He just lay there on the floor, in the quiet aftermath, holding the hand of a ghost he’d quite literally blown apart, and found he had no desire to be anywhere else. Koen’s breathing evened out into a mimicry of sleep, a slow, rhythmic pulse in his form. Gabriel watched him until his own eyes grew heavy, lulled by the peculiar peace of it.
The grey light of dawn was filtering through the windows when Koen finally spoke again. His voice was rough, but clear. “Hey.”
Gabriel, who hadn’t slept, merely rested, opened his eyes. “Hello.”
“Did you… win?”
Gabriel considered the question, looking at their joined hands, at the newly coherent ghost beside him. “I don’t think that’s the right question,” he said.
“What is?”
“Do you want to do it again?”
Koen’s laugh was weak but real. “Tomorrow.” His form flickered, a brief glitch. “My everything feels like jelly.”
“It is jelly,” Gabriel corrected, sitting up. He gently extracted his hand. “And you need to focus. You’re destabilizing.”
“M’trying,” Koen mumbled, floating upright with a slight list. He looked down at his hands, willing them to solidify. They flickered, stubbornly vague. “This is your fault.”
“Absolutely,” Gabriel agreed, standing. He offered a hand. “Come on. A shower will help. The steam… gives you something to condense around.”
Koen stared at the offered hand. “We’re gonna shower? Together?”
“Unless you plan to phase through the tiles and watch from the pipes.” Gabriel’s tone was dry, but his expression was open. “It’s just water. And it will help.”
After a long moment, Koen reached out. His hand slipped into Gabriel’s, cool and slowly firming. “Okay,” he said, and let himself be pulled to his feet, or rather, to his floating place a few inches above them. “But no funny business.”
Gabriel led him toward the bathroom, a faint, unreadable smile on his face. “No promises.”