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Words Written On Will Bleed Too	By : Genderless Category: M through R > Poppy Z. Brite Views: 1875 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Poppy Z Brite series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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- 1-Words Written On Will Bleed Too
- 1
Words Written On Will Bleed Too

He had had a nightmare.
It wasn’t much of a terror, but it had crept in through the little cracks and it gripped him, even now, on the fringes of his mind where he didn’t have the same control.
But that wasn’t why Steve was there, sharing his warmth, holding him.
He’d deny it, he always denied it, but he had come looking for warmth and companionship tonight, and hearing Ghost’s faint trembling cries had drawn him in, provided excuse enough to squeeze onto the bed and wrap his arms around the smaller man.
Ghost didn’t need the comfort. He’d seen so much on the dark screens of his eyelids, so many shadows, beautiful things, dark things, anything and everything that he really shouldn’t see, except that it was the path of his destiny.
But he wasn’t going to push Steve away. He never pushed Steve away. He let the other man brush a calloused hand through his hair, down his neck, over his back in restless motion that soothed Steve more the Ghost, that was little more then a weight on the pale man’s back. Because Steve was haunted. Once again.
Ghost closed his eyes, burying his face into the warm, clean (for once) tee that Steve was wearing, felt the answering, shuddering sigh that accompanied this, felt Steve’s body relax just a little.
But not enough. Ghost needed him to sleep. Steve needed to rest.
So small slim hands crept up Steve’s chest, a definite presence, brushing perhaps to much over sensitive, thinly veiled skin, stubby nipples, but Ghost could only do so much and in this awkward position, it was far less. Not that he would move, not that he would push Steve away. He liked having him close. He just hated the falsity in Steve. The man still clung to the hope that he could hide from Ghost, pretend that the other man didn’t see so much of his soul laid out before him for inspection and absolution; gladly given.
He let the hands rest on the larger chest, feeling the breath behind them hitch a little because Ghost never let himself be ignored. He could fade into the background, become part of the world as a whole, but he could never be pushed aside, forgotten. His carapace may have been slight, but those pale eyes and that open soul that stretched his figure to greater heights prevented any but those of the strongest will from overlooking him. He marked every mind even as he glimpsed them just a little, peeking in, eyes dragged forward before he could reign them in. Never too far, he would not invade other’s privacy like that, but just a little, because it was too much a part of who he was to not.
Steve might have been lost in his own phantoms, but Ghost was there and Steve could feel him, against his body, in his head, if only a probing touch because, although Steve would never admit it, he found it somewhat comforting to have Ghost that close. It meant that for sure, without a doubt, he was not alone.
The hands continued up again, slipping around Steve’s neck, inciting the other man to lower his head to nestle it at Ghost ear. Every breath wrote hesitant statements over the pale man’s skin, twined excuses and pleas through his hair, and Ghost merely dismissed them, hugging tighter, sighing himself, letting Steve know, that he would never ask, he would never question, that he was here, for ever. That he wouldn't fade.
Unwilling, but curious, Ghost probed a little deeper into Steve’s mind, smoothing and soothing out the wrinkles in his consciousness, cupping the shadows in his head in his soft ethereal essence. Steve relaxed further, his grip loosening, but never dying, his hand’s movement becoming gentler as his mind calmed a little more.
Spread before Ghost, visions of Laura danced. She had arrived new in town, with thick brown hair and the deepest green eyes anyone had ever seen an easy smile and an honesty that was fast becoming rare.
She had met Steve whilst he had been working at the Yew; they had struck up a conversation about farm animals and that had lead on to Steve inviting her to the show that night.
She’d been impressed by the performance, had graciously shook Ghost’s hand.
She had laughed and smiled and touched Steve’s arm. She had told him his voice sucked and he had laughed.
They’d spent other nights together, warm or cold, friendly or so much closer and Ghost always knew when he had to disappear, when he had to return to pick Steve up after another stumble in his drunken stupor.
They liked each other a lot, and everyone in the town agreed that it was great that Steve was moving on finally, after everything that had happened to Ann. But even though Steve had looked so at peace with her, Ghost could see the turmoil inside, the guilt he still harboured and his fear that he would be no better with Laura then he had been with Ann.
So Ghost soothed him, built up his confidence, was an unfaltering presence. Always there.
The dream that persisted in Steve’s mind started with Laura. Stared with things that Ghost knew he should not let himself witness and he felt embarrassed to see her, alive and panting, spread, soft and ripe before Steve. He tried to pull back then, but instead he was sucked deeper, his need, or Steve’s pulling him on, begging he find the problem and make it go away, like he always did.
Past the supple flesh of Laura, came white figures, came spectre grey shapes that circled and laughed with eyes bright and burning, eyes green and damning and they resolved into familiar faces, familiar smiles and wicked senses of humour with grace and splendour belonging to the stars that hung above Ghost’s bed, that hung in his head.
Three figures at first, the usual suspects, with reaching hands and lapping tongues, already wearing bloody makeup that made them even more intoxicating, that tried to drag Ghost forward to meet slick lips and warmth coated hands.
But there were others, there were two more, hanging back, slipping behind, catching up the pink skin of Laura and dragging her forward into the shadows, holding her tightly and she didn’t fight, just sat there, just smiled, exactly like the predatory curve the luminous figures wore, even as the two that held her went to their knees to nip at her neck.
The first three laughed louder and the floor was soaked in Laura’s blood but she still smiled as she tossed and turned, in the throes of ecstasy as her neck withered to just ropey strands of tendon and coils of muscle, the bone of her spine licked a blinding white by demanding tongues.
No blood dripped down her shoulders, no blood touched any part of her flawless skin, but still the floor was a lake of it, and looking down Ghost feared he could drown in it, pulled down by the shadows cast across it, his own shadow clutching his heels.
The three humours figures paused and the smallest drifted forward, drifted through Ghost, those wicked eyes burning into him before turning away in arrogance.
Ghost spun to watch as the spectre knelt before Laura, between her spread legs, ran a hand up her thigh, the skin whitening where it’s hand passed, riding and rippling as if scars were born there.
On it’s knees, the shade lapped at the inside of a thigh, leaving a mound of pale skin as if the whole area had been skinned and yet new flesh grew.
The head turned and lost it’s nose in the warm parting between Laura’s legs, nipping and bringing her to knew heights as her mouth opened, her pink tongue running over her lips restlessly, begging to be touched by something equally warm, begging to be filled and satisfied.
She bucked up into the warm orifice on her sex, her legs drawing together to push it deeper then away to give greater access, ceaseless motion like a sea buffeted by winds.
She threw her head back, an impossible feat with the little material left of her neck, her hips lifting off the floor and her toes curling, clear tears running from und er her eyes, skin flushing then paling as the spectre slipped up her form, running hands over her, seeming to lack a physical weight and yet possessing as heavy and oppressing an air as any corporeal thing.
It’s body was black, no hint that it was covered in garments from neck to wrist, the billowing around it almost folds of it’s own blackened flesh, almost wings.
Laura arched again, and Ghost could tell that she had been entered, parted by the need of the shade. He wondered in a distracted way if it was black also, or white like what he knew must be the skin of the thing’s hands, face.
Still no sound but the continued laughter of the two behind him, heavy breaths as well; no doubt they enjoyed the spectacle.
Laura tossed and turned, arms wrapped around the spectre, clutching it to her desperately, demanding, even as the shadowed figures at her shoulders turned their mouths on hers, licking at her lips, dipping their tongues in and sucking away spit and, ghost realised with a grimace, shreds of her tongue and the soft pink flesh of her mouth.
But Laura just mouthed moan after moan around their invading tongues, just rode the thing between her legs harder, bucking up to meet every thrust, and even though he could hear no sound from the four occupied in heat, he could almost feel the force of each inward thrust, feel the juices slackening around it, guiding it deeper, sucking it in, deeper into the warm wet cave, filling it all with heat so intense it was cold, or cold so intense it was boiled.
He could not tear his eyes away as a hungry mouth descended on hard nipples, his vantage not really supposed to show him this but he still saw, almost felt the teeth sinking in, felt exquisite pain that arched straight to his groin but lit fires of disgust on it’s way, like angry vipers they coiled in his belly.
Thrust after thrust and slowly the shade became more wild, bucked harder until finally stopped, it’s shoulders shaking as if it panted, but no sound of that, though laboured breaths drifted from behind him, and he knew that the two other observers had enjoyed the show.
The figure crouched between now bleached, uneven thighs, pulled back fading as it did, till Ghost could see through it too the opening between Laura’s legs, were the flushed flesh was now as pale as scars, a clear fluid wetting the tightly coiled pubic hairs and making them glisten in the half light whilst a whiter fluid mingled with this and ran down over once hungry lips to drip onto the floor, into the bloody lake, pooling on the surface as if the blood was solid, but it rippled under Laura’s feet as they moved, under the two that still fed on her mouth as they shifted.
Her head fell forward, away from their mouths (these fell to sucking her shoulders) and she smiled maliciously, almost innocently at Ghost, fixing his gaze in hers as her stomach began to swell.
Sickness and horror flooded Ghost and he would have vomited had he been able to. As it was, it’s weight pooled in his mouth as her stomach continued to distend, the skin stretching, still so pale and uneven, over the bulbous growth and she just kept smiling.
In short seconds it had grown to full size and her expression hadn't changed. Ghost waited wondering just what would come next; choked a little as a thin red line ran from Laura’s collar bone, down between her pert, swollen breasts, over her belly, dissecting her naval and running through her pubic thatch to stop at her still moist sex.
Her expression didn’t change, but perhaps her breathing quickened, as the thin line proved the edge, her collar and breast bone cracking apart smoothly, lifting up and out as if muscles had gone into overdrive, as if something forced it’s way out of her chest.
But all Ghost could see was the red of her insides, the pulsing of her lungs that lay heavy over her heart, the ribs pushed up and out of the way letting him glimpse all the red mess inside. But there was no blood, even as the split continued down, almost unzipping her, her stomach falling apart like a water lily flower opening, further down to break apart her pelvis, the bone forced away to reveal more redness and more softness and more velvet looking tissue.
Her head was thrown back now, more clear liquid running from her as she seemed struck by another shuddering orgasm, even as her whole body distorted, split asunder.
A figure unfolded from her stomach, spine ridges visible through the pale skin pulling the back straight lifting the head from the nest of Laura’s inner crotch, thin spidery arms stretching up in a feline gesture, hands splayed as if a deep and restful sleep had just come to an end.
The head rolled from side to side, loosening muscle before the eyes opened to look at Ghost.
Dark, bottomless eyes.
Nothing smiled from his warm home, his skin pristine, no drop of blood on him, but perhaps his lips were slicker then they should be, redder then they should be.
The head cocked, a tongue licked out to lap at lips but Ghost just stared.
His gaze was drawn to Laura’s face, her head hanging back now almost limp on the too thin column that was left of her neck. She still smiled.
The two figures lifted their heads from her shoulders and stole kisses from her, the creatures mouths meeting too to lick at each other’s lips and teeth, stealing more spit from each other.
Then they both looked at Ghost, the shadows seeming to brighten, allowing him to see their faces properly.
The one hovering at Laura’s right shoulder was Ann, her face lit by a cruel glee and feral hunger.
The other…
Ghost choked again, looking into that face and recognising it. Recognising it’s parentage, it’s human parentage.
All the spectres, the two behind, the newly formed four in front, laughed loud and long, mocking him, mocking Steve and that sound followed Ghost as he finally withdrew, could pull back into the warmth of Steve’s arms, glad that the man had woken when he had, fearing what would have become of both of them if they’d stayed in that dream for much longer.
Steve’s hand had stopped moving altogether, merely rested on him, and Ghost could feel how he was fully relaxed now; Ghost’s endeavours into his mind having soothed him, drained the visions from his head allowing him to sleep, curled as he was around Ghost, holding Ghost with loose arms but with promise of a tower’s strength should anything try to steal Ghost away, should Ghost ever fall, or try himself to break free.
Steve didn’t understand. Steve thought, on some level he rarely visited, that Ghost had bewitched him, bound Steve to him so that Steve could barely stand to be in the next room, could never survive without him there. Steve thought Ghost had wound him tight around his finger, thought it such a powerful spell that it had even prevented Steve from being angry with this, prevented him from wanting to break away, undo the spell. Steve may have been afraid of Ghost being that close on some other level, but what ever magic Ghost had cast, Steve knew it was so strong it stopped him from truly being terrified of the bond. Of his dependency.
Basically, Steve thought Ghost had trapped him, that Ghost had all the power.
Steve was wrong.
Ghost was bound to Steve by magic far stronger then the bewitching spells they had become familiar with of late, needed Steve so much more then such a conjured obsession could engender. Ghost followed Steve, not the other way around. Ghost followed on his footfalls, looking for any scrap of attention, any minute of affection to keep him warm on the nights when Steve was off with someone else, or merely in the next room. Not that Steve wasn’t generous with it, just that it came guarded because Steve could never, never know why he was bound so fast to Ghost. The pale man knew it would break Steve if he did; he just couldn't deal with it, couldn't accept it. Ghost didn’t know why, but he would never, never, force himself on the older man. He had one kiss, one bright warm kiss and that was all he needed.
So he could lay there in Steve’s arms, doing as he’d always done, soothing and smoothing the upset seas of Steve’s mind, willing to watch what Steve would do and did do to Laura, would do to any woman that should strike his fancy (but not Ghost, never ghost) if it meant he could make Steve feel better, make him a better person, as he knew it did. You could no be exposed to the peace that rested inside Ghost and remain the same. Ghost could never corrupt.
Ghost wasn’t exactly pure, not as pure as he should be (the knife slid in so easily, he didn’t even know where the strength came from except that Steve needed it) and he admitted to himself that he couldn't do what he did for anyone; no, not just for anyone would he gladly stand aside and watch from the side lines when he knew he could offer something better, when he knew that he could do more then just heal the hurts – he could save the soul – when he could offer everything and he did, just not in so many words. Not for anyone else would he make the sacrifices he did for Steve.
Maybe the older man knew, or perhaps it was another thing he hid from himself just encase. Whatever.
Ghost had Steve’s love, even if it was incomplete. Laura would leave, had to, not because Ghost would force her away, but because there was only room in anyone’s heart for one person, and even though Steve was afraid, he’d already given the space to Ghost, a part of him nestled there where Steve wouldn't have to look it in the face. Such devotion to Ghost meant he would inevitably come up short in his duties to Laura, to any woman. Ghost wondered if one day Steve would acknowledge that all the failed relationships he’d had stemmed from the pale man, wondered if Steve would be bitter for it. Wondered if Steve would ever have the strength to do more then say the words, as truthful as they were.
But in the end, it didn’t matter so much. Ghost was bound, Ghost couldn’t leave, Ghost lived for every slight touch, for every scrap of attention and minute of affection. He was happy, serene. Because he had Steve, in the only way that really mattered. He would do this forever. Smiling.
Still, Ghost wanted, but he would not push, and as Steve cradled him and drifted off to a sleep peaceful and restive, Ghost cradled and held him, soothing and smoothing. Making him better.

A/N: Not quite sure why I wrote this. Yes, I know it doesn't go anywhere. I guess I just wanted to assure myself that Ghost could be happy. I like him.
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Words Written On Will Bleed Too