Chapter Text
It wasn't as if Hudson was lurking on those kinds of sites. He was just browsing when the ad caught his eye. It wasn’t even particularly graphic, but one look at the description had his face burning. He found himself glancing over his shoulder at the door of his empty apartment, feeling irrationally guilty.
The embarrassment didn't stem from the toy itself, but from the fact that Connor’s face and body flashed in his mind the second he saw it.
He told himself he shouldn’t do it. Their friendship was the most important thing in his life. They survived the dizzying highs and absolute hell of the industry together, forming an unbreakable, soul-deep bond that only the two of them could truly understand. He didn't want to tarnish that. But a darker, more selfish part of him whispered that as long as Connor never found out, it wasn't hurting anyone.
Four weeks later, a nondescript box was left on his doorstep. Hudson grabbed it and ducked inside, despite the packaging being totally discreet.
After a quick dinner he could not even taste, Hudson finally broke the seal. The compressed material expanded the moment the lid was off, startling him as it took shape on his floor. He expected to be a little disappointed since this was only a toy, of course but the sight of it actually made him lightheaded.
He provided a brief physical description and one clear photo. The result was a hauntingly perfect replica of Connor.
His heart hammered against his ribs as he picked the doll up and carried it toward his bedroom.
Across the border in LA, Connor was leaning into a rare night of doing absolutely nothing. His schedule was usually a nightmare, so sitting on his couch with the TV on was a luxury.
He was just reaching for the remote to flip the channel when he felt a strange, exploratory sensation against his skin. He bolted upright, looking around the room. He was alone. He wondered for a second if he was just hallucinating from sheer sleep deprivation where his mind was playing tricks on him after weeks of eighteen-hour days.
He sat perfectly still, waiting. Maybe he just drifted off for a second and imagined it.
But then it happened again. It felt like hands were smoothing down his torso. He choked on a breath when fingers began to pluck gently at his nipples. Connor broke into a cold sweat as a sudden, sharp heat flared in his gut.
He slumped back against the cushions, unable to stop the small whine that caught in his throat. He never considered himself particularly sensitive there, but the invisible brushing and pinching had him half-hard in minutes.
He remembered someone mentioning a rumor that his apartment was haunted, but he laughed it off. Now, he wasn't so sure.
Great, he thought, a hysterical bubble of laughter rising in his chest. I’ve finally lost it. I’m actually getting turned on by a fucking ghost. He squeezed his eyes shut. Am I really this touch-starved? Is this my life now? Haunted and horny?
He pulled his oversized shirt up to his armpits, staring down at his own chest. His nipples were flushed and stiff, reacting to hands that weren't there. Then, just as he was getting used to the rhythm, it stopped.
Connor stayed there, panting and feeling a hollow ache of disappointment. He reached up to touch himself, but the moment he did, a new sensation hit him. Something damp was brushing against his hole.
His eyes went wide.
A finger pressed in. Connor, of course had experimented with fingers and a purple plastic dick on his own before, but the slick, shallow slide of this ghostly finger felt different. He squirmed and bit back a whine as he widened his knees, making room for... no one. He felt himself opening up as the finger worked deeper and deeper with every thrust.
He was fully hard now, his breath coming in ragged hitches. He was just about to shove his sweatpants down when the finger curled, hooking against the bundle of nerves deep inside him.
“ahh” Connor cried out, the sound echoing in the empty room. He shoved his shorts and boxers down to his knees, freeing his cock as it began to leak.
Then, the finger pulled out and didn't return. Connor could have cried. It had felt so wonderful, and now his hole just clenched and fluttered around empty air, feeling damp and hollow.
Grumbling to himself, Connor sat up slightly to push his underwear and shorts the rest of the way down, but they had only made it to his knees when something much longer and wider nudged at his entrance. Before he could even draw air into his lungs, it pushed all the way in.
Connor let out a choked scream, flopping back onto the cushions as the invisible dick, it had to be a dick, plunged into him. He writhed, clutching at the sofa as his insides were stretched to the limit. He kicked his shorts off his ankle, pulling his legs up to try and accommodate the staggering fullness of it.
It felt like it went on forever, the ghost-cock molding his insides until he felt stuffed and perfect. He looked down to see he was leaking all over his own stomach. He tried not to think of anyone specific, but with this ecstatic pressure filling him, all he could picture was Hudson’s cock splitting him open, that smug, familiar grin on his face.
A single tear tracked down his temple. He squeezed his eyes shut, imagining Hudson over him, and that’s when the dick inside him pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back in with bruising force.
Connor moaned, his voice cracking as the invisible dick began to fuck him hard.
Despite Connor lying perfectly still, flat on his back against the cushions, the angle seemed to shift on its own. It searched until it was satisfied, finding the exact depth needed to nail that bundle of nerves with every second thrust. Connor keened, his head falling back against the sofa as his fist worked furiously at his own throbbing length.
The pressure was building too fast to stop. He couldn't hold out any longer; he broke, coming hard all over his own stomach. The friction didn't stop, though, and Connor whimpered as his hole went hyper-sensitive under the relentless pace. Finally, the cock buried itself deep and throbbed, filling him with the staggering sensation of hot, wet cum.
He lay there stunned for several minutes, staring at the ceiling and trying to catch his breath before he felt the fluid beginning to leak from his ass.
Panicked, he scrambled up, kicking his shorts off his ankle and waddling quickly toward the bathroom. A frantic bit of investigation revealed that nothing was actually dripping from his hole despite how vivid the feeling was, though the rim was undeniably puffy and sensitive.
“I’m such a freak” he muttered. “Did I just cum from being fucked by a ghost?”
Connor was a mess. His stomach, chest, and thighs were coated with his own cum, the aftermath of what was easily the best orgasm of his life. Still shaking, he stripped off his baggy t-shirt and stepped into the shower