Between the Lines Ch. 01

"But you don't believe I'm here."

"I know you're not. Doesn't mean I'm not happy to have you back again."

This is not the first time in the last two years I've felt this presence beside me. The first time was the night I lay wondering if I had the courage to send Jeff Williams copies of Ron's scripts. It has visited me sporadically since, offering comfort, solace, guidance—release. I've been grateful, even as I wondered if I was losing my mind, wondering, too, why I wasn't more terrified by that possibility.

His sweet, gentle touch slides across my hip to brush teasingly against my cock, which twitches happily in greeting. It knows those fingers, recognizes them as old friends. The arm beneath my other side tightens; firm lips feather down my spine.

"So, what brings me to you this evening?"

Odd way of putting it. "At a guess? My inability to let you go after thirty years."

"Wrong answer, Romeo." He briefly stops petting my cock to tweak my nipple, drawing an involuntary hiss of pleasure out of me. "You're fretting about something. I could always tell when you were fretting, remember."

"I don't need to be reminded." I think for a moment while he thrusts softly against me, slicking me up with his fluid. My own juice is already flowing freely around his fingers as he strokes me in rhythm.Don't stop.

"It must be the composer," I finally conclude. "Scott's friend. Something about his request."

His cock pushes into me a little harder. "Go on. What about it?"

"Scott likes him. Pushed him to come to the premiere. Gave him a script. He obviously trusts him with your plays. God, that feels good."

"So what's the problem?"


"Can I trust him with your work?"

The thrusting eases off. I wriggle back against him, wordlessly asking for more, but he seems to be preoccupied, thinking it through. Do ghosts cogitate?

"You trusted Jeff."

"I knew Jeff."

He silently lifts my leg, opening my ass further to his inquisitive cock head, and resumes thrusting, now right against the sensitive skin of my hole.

"So get to know Doug. Find out if he deserves the same trust."

Ah, God, that's so good. Keep going, babe.

"I feel like I'm losing you," I protest.

He kisses my shoulder, the back of my head. "That'll never happen, Larry. I've always been yours. Always will be. You're just sharing me with a few more people these days, that's all. And about time you did, too."

"But..."

"Enough waffling, lover. Relax. Let it happen."

I'm already on the edge, gasping with pleasure. He's breathing hard through his nose, his thrusts hard and purposeful. I wish he were truly inside me, but we're both too close and too needy to take the time for that now.

My orgasm hits just as he cries out and bites my shoulder. I'm soaked in cum from both sides, his covering my buttocks and the small of my back, my own trailing up my stomach toward my chest. Our chests heave in unison.

"Ron..." I groan.

But there's no answer. Already my eyes are opening to the morning light, finding the room just as I remember it from the night before. I'm back in the real world. Back in my pajamas, which are currently being tented by a fierce piss hard-on. Back in a neat, pristine hotel bed, unsullied by sweat or cum or the scent of a long-dead lover.

Alone.

Again.