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It had taken longer than it should have for Casper to realize what was going on. With his nose buried deep in his research, desperately trying to figure out what was going on with this strange mortal he’d been assigned to, he had been ready to brush off the first noticeable ghostly touch as the hallucination of an overly tired mind. He hadn’t exactly been sleeping well lately, and one would never be able to guess who’s fault that was.
The second time a set of ghostly fingers brushed across his inner thigh, it was a little harder to ignore.
And the third time, now paired with the feeling of a soft hand running over his chest to squeeze at flesh he didn’t have? He had to accept that whatever this was, it wasn’t his exhausted mind. By the third time the touch was firmer, more real. Casper looked around, trying to see if the source of this strange intrusion could be found in his room. It wasn’t a spirit, they could not reach him here, and he knew no other Grim Reaper would dare pull something like this.
He could only think of one explanation, though he wasn’t exactly sure how it could be possible. Somehow, he was feeling his sunshine touch herself. It would explain the how some of the sensations didn’t quite map to the topography of his form, though he was feeling them anyways.
But what was he supposed to do about it?
He should tell her, right? He should do something to stop her, surely she would be horrified to know that he could sense what she was doing. Surely the last thing she’d want was for him to be involved in this in any way, shape or form. She'd probably forgotten they had anything really tying them together anyways, with how bad her memory seemed to be - and the fact that he'd promised he couldn't spy on her (which hadn't been a lie, because even he'd had no idea something like this could happen).
But then he felt the sensation again, and even as phantom touches her hands were so soft, and he couldn't help the way his skin prickled immediately.
'To figure out what was going on', he told himself, even though he knew that was mostly a lie, 'I won't tell her, because if she stops I won't know why I can feel her like this at all.'
Laying down on his bed, Casper closed his eyes. He wasn't actively trying to reach out through that little piece of himself he'd left in her (he needed to find a better way to phrase that, because now it felt especially lewd.) He wasn't even sure if he could, since they'd ended the connection days ago, and she wasn't here to stare into his eyes again (he barely knew how he'd managed to keep his cool through all that the first time), and the last thing he wanted was to risk fracturing her. She was too precious necessary to his work for that.
Had he accidentally given up another piece of his soul to her when he'd gone to see her tonight? He didn't think he could have, but suddenly he wasn't sure. Had she given something back to him, when her soft hands had brushed his while she took the sunflowers? (He could still see the look of surprised adoration in her eyes, and it felt so unfair to him that someone so infuriating could be so beautiful.) He was feeling so much better than he had been when he'd left to go see her, which had been a fascinating piece of proof for his working hypothesis, but now -
But now it was getting harder and harder to concentrate, as the ghostly touches moved lower and lower. Casper parted his legs out of instinct - who's instinct he didn't know - and had to cover his mouth to suppress a moan as he felt her hand slip below her (his? both of their?) pants.
His own pants were very quickly growing uncomfortably tight, and he was once again overwhelmed with guilt, a brand new feeling for him. This was wrong, he shouldn't be doing this, he should tell her so -
Casper.
He could hear her voice clear as day in his head, just like the night she'd let him in. But it didn't feel like she was trying to talk to him, like she knew he was there. Her tone was too light, breathless and without direction.
Was she - fantasizing about him?
Please - just like that.
Oh. Oh fuck.
Casper's cheeks burned at the realization, even as the ghostly sensations of his mortal touching herself sparked nerve endings he'd almost forgotten he had. He couldn't take it anymore.
Desperately scrambling to tear his pants off, his cock bobbed in the air as it was freed from its fabric prison, hard and desperately leaking. He wrapped a cool hand around his length, and had to bite down on his free hand to stifle his moan, not wanting anyone else to know what he was doing. It was embarrassing. It was illegal. Somehow that made it hotter.
He tried to start slow, using his own precum as lube as he jerked himself off, but the dual sensations of being able to feel her pleasure layered on top of his meant soon he was moving his hand desperately, hips twitching to try and fuck into himself.
He couldn't help but picture her. How would she react if she found him like this, laid out and desperately trying to get himself off to the thought of her. She'd make fun of him for sure, tease him for being so gross and needy and for getting caught in such a compromising position (and would any of that be so bad? He kind of liked it when she was a little mean to him, even if he'd never admit it out loud and give her that much power). The idea of her catching him spying should have brought shame or guilt or both, but instead it made his cheeks burn and his hips buck as he pictured her, one eyebrow raised as he fucked into his hand, all the more exposed in front of her.
Would she sit back and watch? Make him perform, get himself off under her gaze while he hoped to do a good enough job to earn a reward? Would she join in? Saunter over and wrap her hand around him to jerk him off herself? Her hands were so soft and warm compared to his, he could tell from even the slight touch he'd gotten earlier, he couldn't imagine that he'd be able to last long with her touching him like this.
He could picture it in his head, her next to him in bed, jerking him off slowly, teasing him as he moaned. Her free hand wandering, pushing up his shirt – the thought of her mouth on his chest made him want to combust, and he instinctively reached his free hand down to twist at his nipple at almost the exact same time that the ghost of her hand touched the exact same spot on her own body.
He was so close, and he was certain she was too. Casper had given up on trying to hide his moans, too busy fucking himself so hard and so fast that it was making the bed shake, mind full of nothing but images of her, of her hands around his cock, of her between his legs with his dick in her mouth, of her sinking down into his lap and feeling the hot wet heat of her cunt wrap around him – something he'd never experienced, and had no idea how he'd control himself if he ever got the chance. He could imagine wrapping his hands around her waist, her putting her hands on his chest to hold him down as she rode him, telling him how pretty was like this, how good he was being for her – would she just let him cum or would she make him wait and beg for it. He knew the answer instinctively, knew that she’d make him beg in that sugar-sweet voice of hers while she shone bright as she sun above him.
Fuck – sunshine –
Casper!
The feeling of her orgasm searing across his nerves pushed him over the edge, back arching as he came with a cry, cum splattering across his chest. His hand didn’t stop, trying to ride out the pleasure for as long as possible, until his entire body was shaking and the muscles in his arm burned from the prolonged use. He only stopped when he became so overstimulated that it hurt, and he dropped his hand away, full body shaking from the force of their shared orgasm. Every breath was long and shaky, and coming back down to earth and back into his body was a slow process.
It had been a long time since he had touched himself, and he certainly didn’t remember it being like that.
By the time he had finally stopped shaking and fully come back to himself, the phantom sensations were gone, as was her voice in his head, almost like it had never been there in the first place. He would have thought he dreamed the whole thing, if not for the ache in his arm and the now drying cum on his skin that needed cleaning.
Reaching over for a tissue, Casper’s eyes momentarily landed on his laptop, and realized that sooner rather than later, he was going to have to face his mortal down in a video call again, and pretend like he hadn’t heard her moaning his name as she came – and like he hadn’t envisioned her pinning him down to have her way with him. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the silly little application he’d made was ringing for a video call at that very moment, but thankfully it was listing her as offline.
He had some time to collect himself.
The tomes he had been using for research were still piled on his desk, the one he’d been working from still open to the page he’d been on when he’d been – uh – distracted, and he knew he should go back to them, try to finally get to the bottom of all of this mess.
But lying in his bed felt comfortable, and warm, and he’d been working on overdrive the past few days, and even though he was feeling better after the impromptu flower delivery he wasn’t at 100% - he was still tired, and trying to justify it to himself. He could have a little nap. That would be fine, and then he could be well rested and ready to work or read or whatever the day brought to him.
Goodnight sunshine, he thought to himself, settling down properly and closing his eyes. Figuring all of this out could be, as she would put it, a tomorrow problem.