Chapter Text
She comes to you a wild thing, a wolf in a girl’s outdated clothing. Hmm, scratch that. It’s an insult to wolves, who at least have dignity. No, she’s more of a dog, nipping at your heels and then panting at your door. One part domesticated to two parts feral, emotions barely leashed. The promise of sharp teeth glinting through that muzzle. Always, always loyal.
All the more fun for you.
She prowls right up to the steps of your throne, and you track her path with lazy interest. She didn’t exactly catch your attention last time, not like the other one did, all laced-up propriety that you dreamed of taking a claw to. But now… Oh, her bark’s not too bad, but the bite’s looking pret-ty promising.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” you tell your claws, kicking a leg over the side of your throne.
Bared teeth. Crossed arms. “Yeah, dead funny, that.”
“I try. Do you come up to just any king and insult their jokes, or am I that special?”
“You wish.” But something’s knocked the fight right out of her, her shoulders drawing in, hunched and defensive. “This was a bloody stupid idea. I shouldn’t have come.”
“Not disagreeing here, but why did you?” You tip her a smile, just to be nice. “I’d make a joke about my curiosity, but low-hanging fruit, or whatever.”
Impossibly, she laughs a little. It transforms her entire face, brightens it up, until you can almost (almost) understand that thirty-year-long clusterfuck. “I thought… you made Edith realize she’s gay in the first place. So I might as well come to the source, innit?”
You tuck that little tidbit away with well-practiced ease, to take out and savor like something sweet and heady, to bask in like a late-afternoon sunbeam. For now – “Oh, babe, did you come to me for your lesbian experiment phase? I’m honored.”
“Bugger off, it’s not like that.” She’s back to bristling, nice and familiar. “I know I fancy girls too. I definitely fancy Edith. But I’ve never…”
“Never fucked a girl?”
Color, high on ghostly cheeks. “Never fucked anyone.”
Well, now.
If you were nice, you’d tell her that fumbling through the first few times is basically a sacred part of being sapphic. You’d remind her that her girl loves her a sickening amount (gag), that she wouldn’t mind showing her the ropes (literal or otherwise), that the two of them will probably do something sappy and perfectly them, like figuring it all out together. You’d send her on her merry way with nothing but a pep talk, and maybe in 3 to 5 business days, you’d get a fucking fruit basket signed by the two of them.
Lucky thing you’re not nice, because that? Sounds boring as fuck.
You straighten up and spread your legs, noting how her eyes follow the motion. “So I teach you how to have sex, and… what? What exactly am I getting out of this deal, huh?”
Her eyebrows draw together. “I’m going to be having sex with you. Is an orgasm not enough?”
You laugh, low and dirty. “Sweetheart, if you think one orgasm is enough, you have a lot to learn.”
“Even better for you, then,” she says brusquely, like that will hide the way she shivered. “You’ll be getting my virginity, too. Don’t that count for something?”
“Oh, virginity is a social construct, haven’t you heard? But sexual pleasure, hmm, that is the good stuff. Would you let me use you?”
That blush might be permanent, now. Her chest heaves with quick breaths. “What if I say no?”
“Then we find something else to pass the time.” You rake your gaze over her. Let it linger in choice areas. “But I don’t think you want that. Do you?”
“I – bloody hell, fine. You teach me, and in return you can… use me.”
“Deal.” You hold your hand out for good measure, and when she takes it, use it to pull her into your lap. She doesn’t land neatly, a sharp sound of surprise spilling from her mouth, but it ends with her knees on either side of your thighs and her hands braced on your shoulders, spectral energy nearly warm, and what more can you ask for? “Let’s start.”
“What, now? Here?”
“No time like the present.” You glance around the cannery. Your subjects are laying on every available surface, but they’ve seen you do way worse. They even took their latest meal outside, so it’s practically fit for a king. Another king. But the throne, that’s the biggest (or smallest, actually) problem. Nothing wrong with throne sex, but maybe not for a little ghostie’s first time. “Not here, though.”
A tip of your head. The world blurs. You tumble onto your bed, complete with a pretty girl in your lap.
“Figure we’ll start off easy. You have fingered yourself, right?”
She bristles. Another thing about her that’s easy. “’Course I have.”
Hmm. Working through her feelings, constantly around their focus? You can only imagine how many times she slunk off with some half-baked excuse and fucked herself until she couldn’t take it anymore, all the while fantasizing about someone else’s long fingers. What a thought that is. “Okay, sweetheart, whatever you say. Wanna put your money where your mouth is, or…?”
“My mouth’s not –” she splutters, but she doesn’t hesitate, you’ll give her that. Goes immediately for the fly of your leather pants, wrestles it down without finesse (you could help, but where’s the fun in that?), and going appropriately speechless at the fact that you’re commando underneath.
But then she just has to fuck it all up.
“Hey, hold it,” you tell her adventurous fingers. “You can’t just fucking – stick them in, that’s no way to treat a lady.”
“Wasn’t aware you counted as one, was I?” she snarks.
“And here I thought I’m just the stand-in. You better treat your girl right or I might just come rescue her.” Your voice has gone sugary-sweet, the way poisonous animals wear the most colours. “Now stop acting like a straight boy. Have you seriously never heard of foreplay?”
You should’ve known better to lay down so obvious a challenge, but it still catches you by surprise when she kisses you. It’s an awful, messy sort of kiss. Her lips catch on your fangs. Your fingers catch on her hips. There’s a brief confusion of tongues when you both try to push yours down each other’s throat, before you win and swallow down her needy little groans at the root.
In other words, for the two of you, it’s perfect.
“There, is that – bloody well –” she gasps out, breathless and challenging, but you don’t even care because her fingers have found your nipples and they’re biting in a little meanly – your fucking Kryptonite. “Good enough for you yet?” she asks, and her face is way too smug, you need to do something about that, stat.
“You’re getting there,” you say casually, like you aren’t well on your way to soaking a wet spot in your sheets. “More is more, okay. Don’t you ever do this for yourself?”
“Not – not really? When I start wanking, I’m usually already, er…”
“…wet?” you purr. “You get wet that easily, babe?” A flash of thought has your eyes flaring wide. “Are you wet right now?”
Her silence says it all. You tug at her pants, quickly decide you’re too impatient to bother, and remove them with a moment’s concentration – difficult enough when she’s got both hands on your nipples, now. You get her shirt off while you’re at it, drinking in the sight of miles of smooth skin, interrupted only by her boxers. There’s a darker patch forming on the front.
You drag her in by two handfuls of bony hips, get her situated on one thigh, and push up against her. Oh, she’s wet, alright. “Just from a kiss? You are easy, sweetheart.”
“I’m not – oh,” she starts to protest, then stutters when you rock her hips against your thigh, just enough friction to make her eyes flutter half-closed. “Oh, oh fuck –”
You push her off your thigh and in-between your legs, which you spread wide. “I thought I was the one getting pleasure out of the deal? Or do I have to do everything myself?”
“Nah-nah-nah,” she says, catching your hand before it can reach your cunt, replacing it with her own. “I got this.”
And, surprisingly enough, she does. She kisses and bites her way down your neck, your collarbone, to your tits, near-worshiping them with lips and teeth and tongue. Clearly, the mesh shirt was the right choice for today. At the same time, those long fingers trace slowly down your stomach, playing a little with the hair there, before dipping all the way down. She goes slow, stroking through your folds, circling your clit once, twice, before starting to push a finger into your cunt.
Slow enough for most people. Too slow for you. “I have been fucked before, you know. Go faster.”
She surfaces from your chest, lips kiss-bruised and slick. “Only promised sexual pleasure, didn’t I? You never said anything about timing.”
“And you said I could use you,” you fire back. You close a hand around her wrist and thrust her finger sharply into yourself, exhaling at that small relief. It’s an inelegant rhythm you set, rocking against her hand, but it’s something.
She watches the place where she disappears into you raptly, then starts matching your pace. It’s teetering on the edge of just enough – then suddenly, the furthest thing from it.
“Another,” you tell her, not caring that you’re nearly begging. “Add another finger, c’mon.” Sex has always brought out your pathetic side.
Her finger withdraws, leaving you painfully empty and whining with it, until two thrust back in. She’s picked up the pace, finally, fucking you nice and fast. Her dark eyebrows are furrowed, teeth buried in her lower lip, concentration like she’s studying for a fucking test (a fucking test, ha), and she’s so cute that you could just eat her up.
“You can curl your fingers a little –” you tell her, trailing off in a moan when she immediately does. Good at taking instructions, this one. Who’d’ve thought? “Play with my clit – Yeah. Fuck, yeah, yeah, right there –”
“You’re loud during,” she observes, but it’s a lost cause. If she wants to play the cool detective, she should focus on sounding a little less breathless.
“Are you complaining? I don’t see you doing anything about it.” You tap one claw, mock-thoughtful, at your lips.
She kisses you again. It’s still a surprise.
But you give even better than you get, and soon enough it turns into making out, your hands on her tits and her fingers in your cunt, thumb circling your clit and quickly driving you crazy, and when the next thrust feels so full that she must’ve gone for three fingers without you even needing to ask for it –
Well. It might just be a good thing you’ve got her mouth to muffle you, or you’d bring the fucking roof down.
“You’re bloody loud,” she says, amused, withdrawing her lips and fingers at once.
You whine, grabbing her wrist, keeping her in place while the last couple of aftershocks sweep through you. “Aw, babe, you should hear me when I get fucked real good.” You flash your fangs, enjoying how she shivers.
“Then show me how,” she challenges immediately. “C’mon, got your side of the bargain to hold up, don’t you?”
“If I taught you everything I know about sex,” you say, “we wouldn’t be done in a century. But alright, my young padawan, now is when you learn the art of eating pussy.”
She snorts. “You do not call it that.”
“I do what I want.” You spread your legs, use your fingers to spread your cunt. She goes nicely quiet and wide-eyed at the sight of it – all pink and slick and pretty, begging for a kiss. “Are you getting in here, or do I have time to take a nap first?”
“Shut it, Whiskers.” She does move – but not where you want her. Instead she’s aimed at your neck, kissing leisurely along the length of it, occasionally biting down. As if her blunt teeth have anything on yours.
“The fuck are you doing? I didn’t mean eating this pussy.”
“You were the one slagging me off about foreplay,” she says, half-muffled between your tits, and if you arch into the touch, then it’s just your body being a fucking traitor again.
“I think the foreplay got covered back in round one, babe.” But she’s nosing her way down to the curve of your stomach, and you’re losing more than a little of your breath at the touch.
“Nah, that’s no way to treat a lady, now is it?” She shoots you an absolutely filthy grin, finally settling between your legs. Except that she hesitates a breath away from your cunt, uncertainty shading across her face like a sunrise. Her eyes dart up to meet yours, then completely away.
Funny, how the usual first time jitters make you feel better. She’s been so confident this whole time, you almost forgot there’s something behind the mask. Good to know she still needs you for something. You rest your hand on the nape of her neck, thumbing at where undercut gives way to smooth skin, and try to gentle your voice. “Don’t overthink it, sweetheart, it’s just like a kiss. Give it a try, and if you don’t like it, we can try something else.”
“A kiss,” she says, throaty. “Yeah. Alright.” And then she fucking – goes for it. What a girl, seriously. Her first touch is too careful, almost hesitant, but she groans, drawing back a little, and her eyes were already dark but you’re pretty sure they’re all pupil now. Let’s just say you’re not too worried about her not liking it. Not much of a surprise, come to think of it. Just look at her.
You keep your hand on her nape as she kisses your cunt again and then just keeps going. She figures out how well French kissing transfers real quick, between your pointers and her exploration and your helpless moans, not to mention the effect of brushing her nose and then her tongue over your hard clit. You must whisper four lifetimes’ secrets into her ears, which are worth way more than sweet nothings, in your expert opinion. All the tricks of the trade, the sort of things it would take other people decades of constant fucking to even begin to learn. Lucky for her you’re just asking for some good sex in return. Fuck, but you’re weak for a pretty girl.
Of course, she only applies about half of what you tell her, but it’s more than enough. There’s something about her, as annoying as it is hot – the way she can get away with being inexperienced, with not always following advice, just because she’s so fucking enthusiastic about the whole thing. She’s moaning just about every time she licks into you, like you’re the most delicious thing she’s ever tasted, her hands on your hips only tugging you closer, taking full advantage of her lack of lungs to stay between your thighs longer than humanly possibly. It’s fucking heady, is what it is, getting worshiped with such fervor.
You don’t let it go to your head. You’re not the one she wants to get on her knees for.
But she’s here right now, tongue-fucking your cunt and digging nails into your thighs, and it only takes a well-timed brush against your clit and a rumbling groan to tip you over the edge. You hold her in place through it all, rocking against her face, and thank fuck for the whole ghost thing, or you’d be in serious danger of suffocating her.
Ha. She’s probably into that, now that you think about it. But you’ll leave the kink for the second date. If you get one.
She’s definitely a sight when she pulls back, way more than half her face left shiny and slick, her eyes dazed when they meet yours. “Bloody hell, I didn’t realize it’d be so…”
You lean in and lick your come from her face, then kiss it into her mouth. She moans and sucks on your tongue. Even when you pull away, she follows, chasing your taste.
Fuck, you created a monster.
You couldn’t be prouder.
And she’d started out wet. “Poor baby,” you say, sounding more mocking than you feel. “Have I been neglecting you?”
“Bugger off,” she says, flushing. But when you get your hands on her waist, she lets you guide her into your lap easily enough.
The dark spot on her boxers has spread into a dark swath, to your delight. She’s soaked right though, and gasps at your lightest touch. “You’re so fucking wet,” you say. A useless observation, when you both know that intimately now, but even to your own ears you sound hungry. “You liked eating me out that much, baby?”
She doesn’t answer, too busy trying to grind against you however she can. The desperate look is very hot on her. You’re going to fuck her ‘til she screams.
Hm. Actually.
People always get curious about the shapeshifting. They want to know how you do it, if you can teach them, what the cost is. Because all magic has a cost. You can’t exactly tell them the truth – that it’s a perk of a job, and that you paid the price centuries ago but will be called to pay it once more, the final time. The difficulty of shapeshifting is not the shapeshifting: it’s choosing not to shapeshift, when it always feels like the easiest option, like the truest, when you feel like you exist more in the margins than along some neat line.
All that’s to say that it barely takes a thought to shift your body to have a cock, as pretty and pink and perfect as the cunt, in your humble opinion.
She notices something new to grind against, if nothing else, but stills at the sight of it bobbing between your legs, hard and leaking.
“I thought you might want to move on to the strap-on part of the session,” you say, trying on casual for size. “I just happen to prefer the flesh-and-blood version, they’re so fun.”
She blushes, but her eyes never leave it. “I’ve never…”
“Sweetheart, you’ve never anything. I’ll show you, just like with everything else.” You flick your eyes over her and hook a finger in the waistband of her boxers, smiling broad and dirty. “I know I said virginity is a social construct, but baby, I’m gonna pop your cherry so good.”
“Fuck,” she breathes, and sways closer.
You consider her boxers for a moment. Magic is a little overkill to get rid of them, and ripping them off her wins you such a sweet shudder. They were ruined anyway. C’mon, you’re practically doing her a favor!
Her stomach muscles twitch under your hand as you trail it down. “You – bloody hell – you’re replacing those.”
“Oh, I’ve got just the thing.” You tease your fingers through her curly bush, scratching slightly. Even with your claws sheathed (for now) she trembles at your touch, and you just can’t resist slipping a finger into her cunt. She’s so wet that there’s almost no friction, and it’s only when you add another finger that she tightens around you. “Hmm, so loose for me already, loverboy? Who’s been fucking you?”
“No – no one,” she says, stuttering when you withdraw your fingers halfway and then thrust them sharply back in. “Just fuck me already.”
“Not yet, sweet thing,” you croon, and scissor your fingers until she groans, her hips rocking helplessly against you. You pull out completely, letting her whine for you, and drag your fingers through her slick – so much slick, fuck it’s hot – before plunging back in with three fingers.
She grabs your wrist before you can do much more than that, her chest heaving with sharp breaths. You might be a teensy bit distracted, because it’s doing some great things for her tits. Honestly, who can blame you?
“Just… give me a tick,” she explains, red-faced and rough-voiced, like asking for a break during sex is something to be embarrassed of. “Your fingers are, er, loads thicker than mine, alright?”
“You can say if I’m too big for you, y’know.” You leer up at her.
She snorts. “You’re not that big. Except for your big head.”
Too easy. Instead you say, “No, I prefer quality over quantity. Not that there’s anything wrong with quantity. Fuck, you should see the strap I gifted your girl; now that’s a beauty. And definitely too big for you.”
“Fuck off,” she gasps, and if you thought she’d been red before, it’s got nothing on now. “You can’t just –”
“I can,” you purr, “and I did. Started her on her Hot Girl Summer and everything. Wasn’t that why you came to me in the first place?”
She pins you, very suddenly, with a hard look. “That’s why you’re wallowing here, then, is it? Accepting the first offer you get? All because she won’t give you the time of day?”
You should turn her into cat food for that. Or worse, send her back home just like this, all messed-up and half-fucked and desperate, for her to find. But all you do is bare your teeth in something that might’ve evolved from a smile a couple million years ago, and say, “Just another thing we have in common, huh?”
The break was meant to relax her, but it’s done the exact opposite. You still pull out your fingers – she’s right, three fingers was a little overkill – and align her with your cock. She doesn’t say it, but she loops her arms around your shoulders, and you figure she’s not holding it against you. Much.
“Don’t get why you didn’t just put it in at the start,” she mutters.
You sigh. “I despair of you humans’ sex ed, really I do. Okay, babe, hold on, and remember – scream if it hurts. And if it doesn’t… Scream louder.”
“Yeah ri–”
You start pushing in.
“Oh,” she says, the sound punched from her throat. “Oh, bloody hell, that’s…”
“Good?” you ask, and maybe you sound a teensy bit smug, but you deserve it, actually.
“It’s so – why is it so hot?”
“Aww, thank you.”
“Not you, just – it –”
“It’s my cock, babe. Transitivity and all that. Now. You ready to rock and roll?”
“Your lines are shite,” she tells you, like she has any room to speak. But in the next moment she’s got her hands braced on your shoulders, grinding artlessly down in your lap, and your annoyance slips and blurs away like light trails.
For your part, you sit back on your hands, admiring her as she does all the work of fucking herself on your cock. “Fuck, you were just made for this, weren’t you, baby? You take me so well. I should’ve kept you in the throne room, where just anyone could walk in on the sight of you bouncing on my cock. I could make just enough trouble that your friends would have to pop by for a visit… And I bet you she’d come running.”
She makes an inarticulate, desperate noise, her rhythm starting to fall apart. You’re there to catch her, one hand digging into her hip and the other playing with her clit, grinding deep into her, while she shudders her way through what looks like an absolute earthquake of an orgasm.
Not even a token bit of resistance when you pull out and tip her over to lie down on the bed, which is how you know you gave her the fuck of an afterlifetime. You give yourself a mental pat on the back, and her a physical one. First times are quite something. Especially when it’s with you.
But you only get a few minutes of peace before her eyes flutter open (like a fucking Disney Princess, what are you even doing here) and focus on your cock, still hard and wet. “I thought you said you wanna – use me.”
“Oh, sweetheart, that’s still very much in the cards.” You consider her for a second, then think, fuck it, and sling your leg over her stomach, shuffling up until you’re straddling her chest. Her mouth drops open, maybe indignation, maybe invitation. Who can tell? You do think about fucking her face (what, you’re not a saint), but that seems like a second date activity, at least. Instead you say, “Be a dear and press your tits together for me?”
They’re a very pretty set of tits, small enough that they only barely jiggled when she was bouncing in your lap, but perfect for your purposes. And then there’s the wink of golden barbells at her nipples, the shape visible even through both her shirts, like she wants people looking. You wouldn’t put it past her, the little minx.
And now her big hands are cupping them, fingers brushing her nipples like an accident, as if you can’t see her shiver and bite her bottom lip. Sensitive nipples, huh? You’ll have to remember that. For now, you slip your cock between her tits, groaning at the exquisite friction. You’re not about to tell her, but the sight of her face under you, cheeks flushed and dark eyes caught on the places where you touch, isn’t half-bad either. You don’t rush, not with two orgasms under your belt, but it isn’t long before you’re panting and rutting against her like some desperate thing, leaking all over her sweet little tits and making those nipple piercing shine more than ever.
“C’mon, c’mon,” she says, as breathless as if she’s the one teetering on the edge, getting one hand around your cock, nudging it up just enough to brush against cold metal. Her chain necklace, unheated by her spectral body, even though she feels pretty hot to you.
Just like that, you’re gone.
It turns out she looks just as hot, lying there with her face and chest covered in your come. Maybe even hotter.
It’s fucking annoying.
Then she just has to go and thumb some of it into her mouth, making a considering face. You shouldn’t be surprised; she seems the type to enjoy the mess that comes with good sex. The opposite of her girl, there. She says, “Bit different from before, innit? Not bad, though.”
You realize she’s referring to your cunt. Not a lot of people have tasted both; not a lot of people have wanted to. Everyone has their preferences, of course.
Keep it moving. No reason to make her think she’s special. You chuck her under her chin and say, “If you’re good, I’ll come in your mouth next time,” then sit back and enjoy the show of her lips parting, her eyes glazing over. “But first –”
It’s magic, what you do. Literally. Let it never be said sex is dignified, and let it never be said that you don’t love it like that – but there are some benefits to being able to flip too-tall partners over without having to move away. Like immediately grinding against their ass. Like feeling them shiver beneath you like the sweetest prey. Like pushing their head down and pulling their hips up, until they form the perfect arch, until they can feel you deep and dirty and divine.
You keep one hand at her hip and the other on the back of her neck, leaving her arms free. “If you don’t want something, you tap out immediately. No pussyfooting around, okay?”
She just nods into the pillows, fingers clenching the sheets. No lame jokes about that last tidbit, which is a nice compliment to you. Unsurprising, but still. Your dick game is just that good.
You don’t waste any more time slipping back into her, so hot and soft and still wet from her last orgasm, and you groan when she clenches around you. But she’s not setting the rhythm this time, you are. And what a rhythm it is: deep and searching until you’ve discovered every single of her sweet spots – then hard and fast as you nail them over and over. She’s crying out at each trust, now, the pillows barely enough to muffle her. You keep your hand on her neck, half-restraint, half-anchor.
“Such a pretty little toy for me,” you coo, even as your own breathlessness works against you. You lick a stripe up her spine, layering bites over her shoulder blades, until you can barely see the old scars engraved in her skin. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you? You’d let me use you how I want, and you’d like it. That’s exactly what you were made for, baby.”
You trail your fingers down to circle her hard clit, but she hardly needs it to tip over the edge, pulsing around you with a guttural sound, rocking back so desperately that your teeth draw blood from her back. If the sheets weren’t ruined already, this would’ve done it, you think smugly.
The motion of her hips is more than enough invitation for you. You fuck her right through her aftershocks and beyond, enjoying the filthy sounds the two of you make together, the warm clutch of her around your cock like she wants to keep you in her forever, even though she’s so fucking slick that you keep almost slipping out. Only ever almost – you’re a fucking pro, after all.
In the end, it’s not all that climactic, ironically enough. Your pleasure’s been building up steadily enough, but it takes you by surprise when she clenches around you like a vice, and you come buried deep inside her. It’s fucking hot, especially when you pull out and she’s left dripping, even though you’d been meaning to mark up her back, too. Oh well, there’s plenty of time for that, still. Fun little ghosties and their lack of refractory periods – and you’re not a slouch in that department, either.
Remembering how much she’d enjoyed the mess a few orgasms ago, you swirl your fingers through your come and fuck it back into her. Then you have a brilliant idea. Oh, it’d never work on her girl (she’d roll her eyes at you at best, give you an entire fucking lecture on ghost biology at worst), but you trust your gut and let your mouth run. “Oops, guess I forgot the condom. Hope you’re on the pill, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want any… accidents, would we? Or – don’t tell me you’re into that? Dirty.” She’s squirming back against you, deliberately hiding her red cheeks in the pillows, but she’s not putting a stop to it. You lean in closer, lower your voice to a husky whisper. “Bet you your girl has some nifty little spell to get herself a real cock, too. How about that? We’d take turns with you. Fill you up until you couldn’t take any more, and you’d thank us for it. Hm?”
She finally turns her face, looking you in the eyes. Hers are wide and glossy, eyeliner smudged and running down her cheeks with overwhelmed tears; her lips are bitten red, parting slightly as she says, hoarsely, “Please.”
You slow your fingers down to a tease. Grin innocently at her outraged expression. “Please what, babe?”
“Please –”
“Thomas!”