Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5808166.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Panic!_at_the_Disco
  Relationship:
      Ryan_Ross/Brendon_Urie, Brendon_Urie/Dallon_Weekes
  Character:
      Ryan_Ross, Brendon_Urie, Dallon_Weekes
  Additional Tags:
      Urm_slight_incest_cos_Dallon_and_Brendon_were_cousins_but_there's_nothing
      graphic_concerning_them, its_compicated_-_Freeform, hinted_non_con
      because_no_one_actually_gives_their_consent_in_this, Brendon_is_a_ghost,
      and_rlly_likes_sex
  Series:
      Part 2 of Supernatural_bandom_boys_falling_in_love
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-01-24 Words: 1615
****** Ghost ******
by Heavydirtys0ul
Summary
     "And at most I'm sleeping all these demons away,
     but your ghost, the ghost of you,
     it keeps me awake,"
Ryan had vivid dreams, dreams that made his stomach twist and body lurch and
abdomen contract with lust. He has dreams so vivid that the outlines of a face
could be sketched straight into existence at the mere thought; these dreams
were induced during the night by single touches too his skin of something that
doesn’t really exist. Ryan is glad he lives alone, and simultaneously terrified
at the thought of such a large and dark house with such a strange power within
it’s all-seeing walls when he wakes up to wet pants and a pounding heart.
There’s something in Ryan’s house, something that touches him in his sleep and
doesn’t at all scare him. For a while he wondered if it were an Incubus, but
no, an Incubus would not come so often just too him with no summons, and so it
didn’t make sense. Of course the conclusion he did come too was just as
strange. There was a ghost in his home. A ghost that delighted itself in his
body every night during his dreams and sometimes when he hadn’t yet sealed his
eyes closed. He could see it- beautiful porcelain skin, sharp and highlighted
cheekbones, luscious dark hair, beautiful soulful brown eyes. And he hadn’t a
complaint too it’s eagerness to his virtue.
“Oh…G-God,” He whispered, head thrown back as a cold hand brushed along his
pale thigh, circling his nerves with long, talented fingertips. “Wh-Who are
you?” He whispers, hips arching off the bed, crying for attention as the hand
retreats as if burnt. There’s no reply, but he feels bloodless lips decorate
his veins inside his thighs. “What are you?” Is the next question, and the
gentle brushes of soft lips falter, and seem to retreat for a second. He’s not
asleep, he’s sure. But the soft eyes flicker into view and Ryan hums
appraisingly- glad he can see his midnight lover.
“Brendon-I-my name…’s Brendon,” Ryan become aware that this boy or whatever the
label appeared to be, was no older than him, about 20-21, and very naked,
straddling his lap. “I’m dead, I guess,” this doesn’t surprise him as much as
he should as the boy with blood still in his veins reaches to caress the cold
skin of the other’s thigh. He leans into the touch and presses the almost pale
blue lips too his own, pressing his naked length into Ryan’s hip. The man
whines and arches his back, searching friction himself. They both align their
thighs between each other’s and shift timidly.
“If you’re dead how can you…like how does the blood…” Ryan pauses, the question
suddenly much more pressing as gentle fingertips liberate him of his shirt,
watching the soft material crumple on the floor elsewhere.
“I…I don’t know actually, I think it’s just something other than blood?”
They don’t talk for a while, simply shifting against each other, listening to
soft pants and moans, until Brendon slides down and disappears between the
other’s legs, pressing soft kisses too his inner thighs once more. Distantly,
Ryan wonders why he wasn’t freaked out, after the first few months of this
situation he’d stopped being surprised. However this was the first time it had
been so real, whether it was a dream or reality; there was a dead ghost boy
with cold lips around his hard cock trying to pleasure him. Which he never
actually gave his consent for, but Brendon’s a ghost it doesn’t seem to matter,
you can’t file a sexual assault complaint for a dead boy.
The touch of such cold lips should shock him, but instead he bucks into the
tight sensation, allowing the other to become his personal fetish. His eyes
close and his body trembles, hands winding through the bed sheets as his heart
pounds. “O-Oh God…” He whines, gasping for air. “Just...Oh God,” His body
convulses and he releases into the other’s mouth, before everything goes black.
When Ryan awakes the next morning, he tries to decipher if it was all a figment
of a very disturbed imagination. He’s been alone even when he had people, and
never before had he had an experience like this. And yet every morning for the
last four months, he has awoken with dreams of the same boy fresh in his mind-
cold skin and dark eyes, over and over, with wet boxers clinging to damp hips;
leaving him and his shame to unpick what this must mean. Firstly, he decides to
ask the neighbours if anyone has ever died in that house. He receives a hollow
reply and a light chuckle “You know, you should see the last neighbour about
that, he was around your age, tall, lanky young boy with lovely blue eyes-
Dallon I think his name was, lived with his aunt and uncle, Mormon though,” The
disapproval in her tone is enough for him to retreat. He thinks about tracking
down this Dallon, but it’s a difficult quest. Until he finds himself in the
company of the landowner who complies without any fuss.
Soon, Ryan discovers why. At some point this boy must have been charming,
sweet, but the cerulean eyes are dull and the fingertips are jittery against
the woodwork. “That house is cursed,” He mutters over a pot of tea, the boy’s
eyes are looking everywhere at once, before the fear inside them sends Ryan
into his own internal spiral of fear. “Did you get them too?” He whispered and
pulls his knees up to his chest instinctively, making his company wince. “Every
day for months,” the Mormon boy shook his head “It was…I don’t know, I’m scared
he’ll find me again,”
“I don’t think it’s likely, he was probably just lonely,” Ryan tries to
reassure “It’s a ghost, and by the looks of it one that is so insecure that he
fucks the cute boys that inhabit the house for some fun, he didn’t want too
hurt you,” Dallon shakes his head.
“But it was weird…I felt…dirty,” It comes to some sort of low horror, that this
man is probably straight and feeling confused, perhaps violated. He’d been so
wrapped up in the positives of a sexual ghost boy that he had failed to see how
normal people with a functioning life would react to such happenings. The
thought gives him a sense of unease and he shifts slightly. “I just need some
time away from people, you know, just to collect all that’s happened,” He sets
down his teacup, which remains undrunk “His name is Brendon Urie, seventeen
years old, suicide,” He reels off the words “He was a gay kid in a Mormon
house, it was never going to end well,” Ryan closed his eyes, inhaled and
exhaled “For that I feel sorry, he’s probably compensating for the shitty life
he had,”
When Ryan gets home, he sits on the bed, sighs, pulls off his shirt. “Brendon?”
He calls, walking the suddenly loud and winding corridors. “Why? Why do this? 
Why not just talk, I’m here!” He calls out; it’s an hour before he sits atop
his messy bedsheets with his head in his hands, trying to decipher his life and
mistakes.
“You were pretty, and I like pretty things,” The voice makes him jump, but the
boy is there, lying on his bed like he owns it, staring at the glow-in-the-dark
stars that adorn his ceiling, legs are crossed and clad in only tight grey
boxers that were pointless in every way. “I kept watching you change, thinking
how much I’d love to ride you, how nice your body looks when you get out the
shower and I’d love to run my hands through your hair,” Ryan’s pants tighten,
but he’s having none of it, not right now.
“You drove him insane,” Brendon blinks, once, twice.
“Who?”
His fists clench and anger surges through him as he stands up and sighs
exasperatedly. He looks and the other and shakes his head. “The other guy who
lived here, before me? About five or so months ago before I moved in?” Ryan
snapped, he towers over Brendon, whose eyebrows raised.
“Ryan, no one has lived here since I died, I can promise, me and my cousin used
to live here together, with my parents, until I killed myself…they all moved
away,” he shook his head. “My cousin stayed a little while, no one has lived
here since, you are the first person to live here in five years,” Ryan’s knees
feel weak as he sits down, lips and mouth going very dry.
‘Should see the last neighbour…lived with his aunt and uncle…Mormon though,’
‘He was a gay boy in a Mormon family,’
“What was your cousin’s name?” Ryan says softly, eyes closing very briefly. His
jaw tenses and he meets Ryan’s eyes.
“Dallon,”
There’s a silence that sinks around them both like a haze. “He doesn’t know
he’s dead,” Ryan says softly, his fingertips playing with his bedsheets “Did
you kill him?” Brendon shakes his head, and there’s a dejected, broken look in
his brown eyes that speaks the truth. “He thinks it’s been five months since he
lived there, said he kept having dreams like mine, only his weren’t dreams were
they?” Brendon’s cheeks go a little dark, off colour and he shakes his head. It
makes little and a lot of sense at once. Two gay teenagers in a Mormon family
probably only had each other. Brendon killed himself and then Dallon couldn’t
deal with the guilt. Moved away and died, probably suicide as well.
“I’m sorry,”
“I’m ok,”
“Stay with me tonight and just…be yeah? No funny stuff?”
“Yeah, ok,”
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