Chapter 54: 7.3.3 x
while koen is sucking gabriel off, gabriel pulls koen off and turns koen’s head and then pushes back in not into koen’s mouth but instead into koen’s ear to fuck his brain directly
The bathroom was a sanctuary of white tile and chrome, already hazy with steam from Gabriel’s earlier adjustment of the water. Koen drifted just inside the doorway, watching as Gabriel tested the spray with a hand. The sound was a constant, soothing rush. To Koen, it was just noise. The steam curled through his form, a faint, tingling sensation, but the heat and pressure of the water were as intangible as everything else.
“See?” Gabriel said, stepping under the spray. He tipped his head back, letting the water slick his blonde hair dark. “Steam. Condensation. It should help you… coalesce.”
Koen shrugged, a loose, liquid motion. His form was still soft at the edges, his details blurry like a statue worn by time. “Feels like a cold breeze going through a sieve,” he mumbled, his voice gaining strength but still carrying a drugged cadence. He hovered closer, the mist beading on his translucent skin but not sticking. He watched the water cascade over Gabriel’s shoulders, down the lean muscles of his back, tracing the valley of his spine.
Gabriel turned, water sluicing down his chest. He looked at Koen, really looked, his blue eyes assessing. “You’re clearer. The eyes are sharp again.”
“Thanks to you,” Koen said, a slow smirk forming. “And your… thorough methods.”
“Don’t start,” Gabriel warned, but there was no heat in it. He reached for the soap. “Just stand there. Let the steam do its work.”
Koen tried. He really did. He focused on the feeling of the vapor thickening the air, on the way it seemed to cling to the outline of his form, giving him a faint, shimmering halo. But his attention, perpetually unruly, kept snagging on Gabriel. On the way the soap moved over his skin, the bunch and play of muscle in his forearm, the dark gold trail of hair leading down from his navel. Gabriel was so solid, so present.
A familiar, aching warmth kindled in his core. It wasn’t just lust, though that was a big part of it. It was envy. A deep, hollow need to feel that solidity, to be grounded by something other than this endless, weightless drift.
“This is boring,” Koen announced, his voice cutting through the steam.
Gabriel didn’t open his eyes as he rinsed his hair. “Meditate.”
“Can’t. Brain’s too… fizzy.” Koen drifted closer, until he was just outside the direct spray. The water passed through him, a phantom rain. He could see every droplet beading on Gabriel’s eyelashes. “You look good wet.”
“I look acceptable dry,” Gabriel replied, one eye cracking open. “What do you want, Koen?”
“You know what I want.”
“You’re supposed to be recuperating.”
“Sucking you off is recuperating. For my soul. It’s… therapeutic.”
Gabriel snorted, a faint, amused sound lost in the shower’s noise. He finished rinsing and turned, leaning back against the tile, the water pounding against his chest. He looked at Koen, his gaze dropping pointedly to Koen’s mouth, then back up. A silent challenge.
That was all the invitation Koen needed. He sank to his knees, the action smooth and weightless. He floated forward, into the spray. The water poured through his face, a bizarre sensation of pressure without wetness. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was Gabriel, standing before him, his cock already half-hard from the heat and, Koen liked to think, the anticipation.
He didn’t tease. He went straight for it, leaning in and taking the head into his mouth. The taste was clean, soap and skin and something uniquely, electrically Gabriel. It was the most real taste in his world. He swirled his tongue around the crown, savoring the salt and the subtle jump of the muscle beneath his lips. Gabriel let out a slow breath above him, his head tipping back against the tile with a soft thud.
Koen took him deeper. His ghostly throat offered no resistance, just a cool, perfect tightness that made Gabriel’s hips jerk forward. Koen hummed, the vibration traveling straight up Gabriel’s spine. He set a rhythm, working his mouth up and down the length, his hands coming up to cradle Gabriel’s balls, his cool fingers rolling them gently. He could feel the tension coiling in Gabriel’s thighs, the way his abdominals clenched.
“Fuck,” Gabriel groaned, his voice ragged. One hand came down, settling on the top of Koen’s head. Not to guide, just to hold on. “Just like that.”
Koen felt a surge of power, heady and bright. He had this. He could reduce the mighty archangel to a trembling, cursing mess with just his mouth. He took him deeper, until his nose reached the coarse hair at the base. He breathed in Gabriel’s scent, drowned in it. His own form began to thrum, the pleasure of giving pleasure making his edges vibrate.
He was lost in the rhythm, in the taste, in the building pressure of Gabriel’s hand tightening in his hair. He felt the telltale tension, the way Gabriel’s cock swelled even fuller against his tongue. He was ready for the finish, prepared to swallow.
That’s when Gabriel moved.
His hand, which had been fisted in Koen’s hair, wrenched him backwards. The sudden motion tore Koen’s mouth off with a wet, obscene pop. Koen gasped, disoriented, blinking up through the steam. “Wha—?”
Gabriel’s face was a mask of intense, predatory focus. His blue eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. Without a word, he manhandled Koen, his grip unyielding. He turned Koen’s head to the side, exposing his ear. Koen had a fraction of a second to process the intent, a memory of soul-deep violation and unbearable pleasure flashing through his mind.
“No, wait, not agai—” Koen’s plea was cut off as Gabriel pushed forward.
He didn’t enter Koen’s mouth. He aimed lower, to the side. The broad, slick head of his cock pressed not against lips, but against the whorl of Koen’s ear.
There was no physical entrance, no canal that could accommodate him. It was a metaphysical breach, a bending of reality itself. Gabriel pushed, and his cock sank into Koen’s perception.
The world dissolved.
Sound became texture—the rush of the shower was a rough wool blanket scraping against his mind. And Gabriel… Gabriel was everything. Koen felt him not in his ear, but in the very architecture of his consciousness. It was an intrusion so profound it bypassed everything except raw, unmediated sensation.
It was a fucking, but not of the body. It was his mind being split open with an inexorable, divine pressure. Gabriel’s presence filled him, a hot, living spear of thought and will and desire pistonning into the core of his being. Koen’s back arched violently, a silent scream tearing from a throat that no longer felt like his own. His form flickered, threatening to disintegrate into the steam.
Gabriel held him there, one hand clamped on the side of his head, the other braced against the shower wall. His own eyes were squeezed shut, his face a grimace of ecstatic effort. He wasn’t just fucking Koen; he was claiming a territory, stamping his presence onto the very essence of the ghost.
Koen came first. His climax was not a physical spasm but a psychic detonation. His consciousness shattered into a thousand points of white-hot light, a silent supernova within the confines of his skull. His form blazed with a sudden, brief opacity, every detail snapping into hyper-realistic focus before dissolving into a blurry, vibrating mess.
That pulse, that catastrophic release of spectral energy, triggered Gabriel’s own end. With a guttural shout that was swallowed by the shower’s roar, he came. His release was not a liquid, but a pure surge of power, a shockwave of grace and ownership that flooded into Koen’s fractured mind. It was light and heat and a terrifying, absolute sense of mine.
Gabriel withdrew.
Koen collapsed. Or he would have, if he had bones to collapse with. He slumped into a hazy puddle of himself on the shower floor, his form spread like spilled ink, barely holding the shape of a person. He was non-verbal, beyond thought. Pleasure wasn’t even the right word. It was annihilation, followed by a soft, glowing reassembly where every particle hummed with Gabriel’s signature.
gabriel coaxes the blurry form of koen to follow him to bed. koen just floats above the bed, gabriel tries to cuddle koen but with koen so far gone his form isn’t focused enough
The steady drum of the shower on tile finally registered in Gabriel’s mind again, a sound separate from the pounding of his own blood. He looked down. Koen was a smeared watermark on the floor of the stall, a human-shaped puddle of faintly glowing mist. His edges bled into the streaming water, losing definition with each second. The hum of Gabriel’s own power, the residual energy of the act, still vibrated in the air between them, a taut string plucked and left to quiver.
“Koen.” His voice was gravel. He switched the water off.
The silence was abrupt, broken only by dripping taps and their own breathing—his, heavy; Koen’s, nonexistent. The ghost didn’t move. His form pulsed softly, a dim echo of the earlier explosion. Gabriel knelt, the cold tiles biting into his knees. He reached a hand into the cloud that was Koen’s chest. His fingers sank into the cool, jelly-like ectoplasm, seeking the denser, warmer core of his soul. It throbbed against his touch, a frantic, rabbit-quick beat.
“Come on,” Gabriel murmured, his command softened by a thread of something else. “You can’t stay here.”
He scooped his hands under the hazy form. Koen offered no resistance, his substance molding to Gabriel’s arms like loose clay. He was heavier like this, a tangible weight of contained energy and spent pleasure. Gabriel stood, cradling him, and stepped out of the shower. Water dripped from his own body, but Koen was dry, leaving no wet imprint on Gabriel’s skin. He was a cool, nebulous burden.
Gabriel walked them to the bedroom, leaving damp footprints on the floorboards. The city’s nocturnal glow seeped around the edges of the blinds, painting the room in stripes of muted amber and deep blue. He laid Koen on the bed. Or rather, he positioned him above it. Koen’s body settled into a resting pose six inches above the rumpled duvet, defying gravity and solid matter with passive indifference.
“There,” Gabriel said, more to himself than to the unresponsive ghost. He toweled himself off hastily, the rough fabric a stark contrast to the memory of Koen’s mouth. The adrenaline was fading, leaving a hollow, aching quiet in its place. He slid under the covers, the sheets cool against his skin. He turned onto his side, facing Koen’s floating form.
He wanted to pull him close. The instinct was sharp, physical. He wanted to feel that cool, jelly-like firmness against his chest, to slot Koen’s head under his chin and wrap around him. He wanted to prove, through simple contact, that Koen was still there, still his.
He reached out. His arm slid over Koen’s waist. Or it tried to. His hand passed through Koen’s hip, sinking into the diffuse ectoplasm up to his wrist. There was no purchase, no solidity to hold. He could feel the faint thrum of Koen’s essence around his forearm, a ghostly embrace, but he couldn’t hold him. He couldn’t anchor him.
Frustration, cold and sharp, pricked behind Gabriel’s ribs. He flexed his fingers inside Koen’s form, trying to gather the substance, to coax it into cohesion. It was like trying to grip smoke. Koen’s outline shimmered, wavered, but remained stubbornly unfocused.
“Hey,” Gabriel whispered into the dim space between them. “Come back a little. Just enough.”
Koen’s head turned slowly on the pillow. His features were soft smudges of shadow and faint light. His mouth moved. A sound like rustling paper, dry and insubstantial, drifted out. It wasn’t words.
Gabriel withdrew his arm. He let his hand rest on the bed, palm up, beside Koen’s translucent hip. “Alright,” he breathed, the word a concession. “It’s alright.”
He lay still, watching the faint rise and fall of Koen’s chest—a mimicry of breath, a remembered habit. The glow from Koen’s core was a little stronger now, a steady ember in the center of the blur. Gabriel focused on that light, on the slow, rhythmic pulse of it. He didn’t try to touch him again. He just watched, and waited, and let the night settle around them both.
after a bit koen’s form comes enough back into focus for gabriel to be able to cuddle him. koen is still a pleasure drunk mess, nuzzling into gabriel as much as he can without phasing through
The faint city light traced the slow, coalescing lines of Koen’s form. It was a gradual gathering, like dust settling in a sunbeam. First, the sharp angle of a shoulder emerged from the blur. Then the strong line of a jaw, shadowed with stubble. Freckles reappeared across the bridge of his nose, distinct spots of darkness against the fading glow of his skin. His orange eyes remained closed, but the lids had definition now, lashes casting faint shadows.
Gabriel held his breath, his own body rigid with a patience he rarely exercised.
A low, contented sigh escaped Koen’s lips, now fully formed and slightly parted. His head turned on the nonexistent pillow, nuzzling unconsciously toward Gabriel’s warmth. The motion was soft, seeking. His edges were no longer bleeding into the air; they held a firm, if still translucent, boundary. He looked like a man-shaped hole cut out of the darkness, filled with gently swirling mist and faint light.
“Koen?” Gabriel’s voice was a rough scrape in the quiet room.
A hum answered him, vibrating deep in Koen’s chest. It was a sound of pure, uncomplicated satisfaction. Koen shifted again, rolling slightly onto his side. He floated closer to Gabriel, drawn by some spectral gravity. His back now faced the angel.
It was an invitation. A silent, needy offering.
Gabriel moved slowly, giving Koen’s form time to stabilize. He shifted closer on the bed, closing the narrow gap between his body and Koen’s hovering one. He lifted his arm and carefully, so carefully, draped it over Koen’s waist.
This time, his arm didn’t sink through. It settled around him, meeting the cool, jelly-like firmness of ectoplasm. There was a slight give, his fingers pressing into the substance just enough to feel its unique density, but he was holding something. He was holding him.
He pulled Koen back, just an inch, until the ghost’s back pressed against his chest. Koen let out another sigh, this one deeper, more settled. He melted into the contact, his form molding against Gabriel’s solid warmth. His head lolled back, finding the hollow of Gabriel’s shoulder.
Gabriel tightened his arm, bringing his other hand up to rest on Koen’s sternum. His palm covered the center of Koen’s chest, where the soul-anchor throbbed like a quiet, steady engine. The rhythm under his hand was the most real thing in the world.
“‘M here,” Koen mumbled, the words slurred and thick with spent pleasure.
“I know you are.”
“Feels… solid.”
“You are. For now.”
Koen wriggled, pushing his ass back against Gabriel’s hips. Even through the duvet and Gabriel’s briefs, the pressure was intentional, a drowsy echo of their earlier ferocity. “Mmm. You’re solid too.”
“Don’t start.”
“Wasn’t.” Koen’s hand came up, his fingers clumsy and cool as they found Gabriel’s wrist on his chest. He held on, his grip weak but definite. “Just… noting.”
They lay like that for a long time, breathing in the quiet dark. Gabriel listened to the rhythm of Koen’s simulated breath, felt the slow, reassuring pulse beneath his palm. He buried his face in the ashen black hair, smelling ozone and something faintly sweet, like burnt sugar. This was peace. It was a ragged, stolen, impossible thing, built on psychic violation and selfish need, but it was theirs.
Koen’s consciousness floated in a warm, dark sea. Pleasure still echoed through his every particle, a resonant hum that had replaced the usual staticky buzz of his existence. He was aware of the bed below him, a distant plane of pressure. He was more acutely aware of the solid heat behind him, the arm locked around his middle, the hand splayed possessively over his core.
He felt safe. He felt owned. He felt, for the first time since he’d died, genuinely heavy.
He pushed back again, a little more insistently, grinding his ass against the firm line of Gabriel’s body. A soft groan vibrated through Gabriel’s chest and into his own back.
“Stop moving,” Gabriel murmured into his hair, but his arm tightened.
“Can’t,” Koen whispered back, his voice still rough. “Your fault. You broke my brain. All I can think about is your cock.”
“It’s thinking of you, too. That doesn’t mean we’re doing anything about it. You’re a ghost puddle. A very pretty, very fucked-out ghost puddle.”
Koen made a sound that was half-laugh, half-whimper. He arched his back, pressing the curve of his ass more firmly against Gabriel. The friction was dulled by fabric and his own insubstantiality, but the intent was clear. “Feels empty.”
“Please,” Koen breathed, the word barely audible.
Gabriel shifted, pushing down his briefs just enough to free himself. His cock, hard and aching, pressed against the cleft of Koen’s ass, still separated by the ghostly material of Koen’s jeans and his own briefs. It was a frustrating, teasing barrier.
“Get rid of these,” Gabriel commanded, tugging at Koen’s waistband.
Koen focused. With a trembling effort of will, the spectral jeans and boxers dissolved, fading into the air like smoke. His bare ass was cool against Gabriel’s stomach. Gabriel shoved his own briefs down his thighs, his cock springing free to nestle between Koen’s cheeks.
The cool, slick pressure was exquisite. Koen pushed back, and the head of Gabriel’s cock slid along his perineum, finding his entrance. There was no need for spit or preparation; Koen’s body yielded, his ectoplasm parting in a silent, welcoming invitation.
Gabriel sheathed himself in one slow, inexorable push.
they don’t fuck, gabriel just sleeps with his cock inside koen. gabriel really wants to move and koen also really wants gabriel to move, but gabriel knows if he did koen could just come apart. koen, still a bit delirious, accepts this and just enjoys the feeling of being full
He was buried to the hilt, a sudden and absolute fullness that stole the phantom breath from Koen’s lungs. Koen’s back arched, a sharp, silent gasp cracking his form. His hands flew back, fingers scrambling against Gabriel’s hip, sinking into the firm muscle there. It was an anchor. He was so full, stretched and occupied in a way that grounded him to the bed, to the moment, to the body holding him.
“Fuck,” Koen choked out, the word shredded. His head fell back against Gabriel’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. Every particle of his being was focused on that point of connection, where solid, living flesh met yielding, spectral substance.
Gabriel’s own groan was a raw, guttural thing. He dropped his forehead between Koen’s shoulder blades, his entire body rigid with the effort of stillness. His cock was encased in a perfect, cool tightness, a silken fist that pulsed around him with Koen’s shock. He wanted to move. His hips twitched forward with a mind of their own, a fractional thrust that punched a broken sound from Koen’s throat.
“Don’t,” Gabriel gritted out, the command aimed at himself. His arm locked like a steel band around Koen’s waist, holding them both immobile. “Don’t move.”
“Why?” Koen pleaded, voice wrecked. He pushed back instinctively, seeking friction, his ectoplasm fluttering around Gabriel’s shaft. The sensation was devastating. “Gabriel, please, just…”
“Because you’ll shatter.” Gabriel’s words were hot and pained against his spine. “I can feel it. You’re vibrating. If I fuck you now, you’ll come apart for real. Into mist. I won’t be able to pull you back.”
The truth of it vibrated between them. Koen felt it too—a precarious fragility in his core, a sense that his coherence was a soap bubble stretched thin over the burning spike of his need. One good thrust might pop it. The fear cut through the fog of his want, cold and sharp. He went utterly still.
“Oh,” he whispered.
“Yeah.” Gabriel’s breath shuddered. He forced himself to relax incrementally, though every nerve screamed to rut into that perfect, greedy heat. “Just… feel it. Just be full.”
Koen let his head loll back, surrendering to the weight of the command. The desperate edge of his arousal softened, transmuting into a deep, bone-deep ache of possession. Gabriel was inside him. Not fucking, not claiming in motion, but planted. A flag in the soil of him. The sheer, unchanging pressure was its own kind of obscenity. He’d never felt so occupied, so thoroughly owned by another being’s presence.
“Okay,” Koen breathed, the fight leaving him in a long, shaky exhale. His form settled, the violent shimmer calming to a low hum. “Okay. Yeah.”
Gabriel’s tension bled away a fraction more. He nuzzled the nape of Koen’s neck, lips brushing the sensitive skin there. His hand spread wide over Koen’s sternum, feeling the frantic flutter of his soul-anchor begin to slow into a steady, rhythmic beat. Koen’s fingers, still dug into Gabriel’s hip, loosened their death grip, shifting to a lax, trusting hold.
They lay like that, fused together in the most intimate stillness. Koen focused on the minutiae: the individual pulse of Gabriel’s cock inside him, the scrape of Gabriel’s pubic hair against his ass, the overwhelming scent of Gabriel’s skin—soap, rain, and something ancient and clean. It was more intense than any frantic coupling. There was nowhere to hide, no motion to lose himself in. He was simply a vessel, and Gabriel was the content.
“This is fucked up,” Koen mumbled after a long while, a drowsy smile in his voice.
“Profoundly,” Gabriel agreed, his own voice thick. He pressed a soft kiss to the juncture of Koen’s neck and shoulder. “Go to sleep.”
“How? You’re… you’re in me.”
“So sleep with me in you.” A quiet, possessive growl.
Koen’s laughter was a faint huff. He let his eyes close fully. The heaviness in his limbs was not fatigue, but a profound saturation. He was drunk on this, on the immobilizing fullness, on the absolute certainty of Gabriel’s control. His thoughts, usually a scattered, staticky mess, coalesced into a single, warm point of focus: Here. This.
He drifted.
Gabriel watched the city lights paint slow-moving squares across the ceiling. The want was a live wire in his gut, a relentless throb matched by the beat of his own blood. He could feel Koen’s essence wrapped around him, a cool, welcoming sheath that promised unimaginable pleasure. Every instinct demanded he take it, to grind into that perfect heat until they both broke.
He didn’t move.
He cataloged the feel of Koen’s back against his chest, the even, simulated rise and fall of his breathing. He felt the exact moment Koen slipped into whatever passed for sleep for a ghost—a gentle diminishment of awareness, a softening of the light within him. Only then did Gabriel allow himself a single, slow roll of his hips, the barest shifting of skin on inside.
Koen sighed in his sleep, a sound of pure contentment, and pushed back infinitesimally in answer.
Gabriel smiled, a private, shattered thing in the dark. He held him tighter, anchoring them both. He would stay buried here all night if that’s what it took to keep Koen whole. It was a vigil. It was a promise. It was, he realized with a jolt that had nothing to do with pleasure, everything.