His other hand explored my arm, my shoulder, my collarbone. Each touch deliberate, reverent, like he was mapping territory he'd only seen from a distance.
“What does it feel like?” I asked as I watched him discover touch.
“Like everything,” Kris breathed. “You're warm. I didn't know warm was a feeling you could have through your fingers. And your skin has texture—little bumps, soft hair, the difference between muscle and bone. And you're solid. You take up space. You're real and I can feel you and it's—”
His voice broke. When I looked at his face, he was crying, silver tears that caught the fairy lights.
“Twenty years,” he said. “Twenty years of watching, wanting, not being able to touch anything. Do you know what that's like? To see the whole world but feel nothing? And then to watch you, so beautiful, so perfect, and not be able to…”
He stopped, overcome. I reached up and cupped his face, feeling how cool his skin was compared to mine, how his tears were weird as fuck—cold, like crying ice.
“You're touching me now,” I said. “You're here. You're real.”
“I'm real,” he repeated, like he was trying to convince himself. Then he leaned down and kissed me.
If his fingers felt like discovery, his mouth was revelation. Cool but warming where our lips met, his tongue tentative at first then bolder. He tasted like static electricity and twenty years of blue balls, like every ghost story condensed into one desperate kiss.
When he pulled back, he was panting despite not needing to breathe.
“Oh,” he said simply. “Oh, that's—that's what kissing you feels like.”
“More,” I begged Eli, who had been patiently working me open while Kris and I had our moment. “Please, more.”
Eli added a third finger, slowly rotating, searching.
“Fuck!” I nearly screamed when he found that spot. “Right there, right fucking there!”
“Look at him, Kris,” Eli said, fucking me open with practiced skill. “Look how desperate he is for it. How his cock is already hard again, leaking all over his stomach.”
He was right. My cock was fully hard, the tip slick.
“Touch yourself,” Kris said, more solid now, his own hand wrapped around his cock. “Want to see you while Eli opens you up.”
I wrapped my hand around my shaft, starting to stroke in time with Eli's fingers. The dual sensation was overwhelming, Eli'sfingers stretching me, hitting that spot with every thrust, while I worked my cock.
This was incredible. The stretch of being opened by someone else's fingers, the angle that was just slightly different from my own, the way anticipation built knowing it would be a cock next, not just my fingers or toys.
My hole clenched around Eli's three fingers, trying to pull him deeper, and muscle memory flooded back. The first time I'd been fucked, nervous and eager. The best time, when a boyfriend had taken his time, made it last for hours. The last time, before Kris had decided no one was good enough.
The stretch was intense now, almost too much, preparing me for what I knew was coming, that thick cock that would fill me completely.
The clock showed 11:47. I could feel midnight approaching like electricity in the air.
“Please,” Kris whined, his hand speeding up on his cock. “Need more. Need to be ready.”
“For what?” Eli asked, though we all knew.
“For both of you,” Kris said. “Want Hunter inside me. Want you inside Hunter. Want all of us connected.”
“Virgin's first time is a threesome?” Eli grinned. “Ambitious.”
“I've been waiting twenty years,” Kris said. “I want everything.”
11:55. The air was so thick with ghost horniness I could barely breathe. Kris was completely solid now, looking exactly like a living twenty-four-year-old about to get fucked for the first time.
We arranged ourselves—me on my back, Kris straddling me, Eli behind with the lube.
“Let me open you up first,” Eli said to Kris. “You need to be ready.”
