Work Text:
It was the perfect hide. An ancient stone house, maybe an old hunting lodge or summer home; abandoned for so long that nobody was even trying to sell it. It was off the map, off the grid, off everything. Overtaken by the forest, it wasn’t even visible on satellite images. Roland only knew about it himself because a childhood friend, who’d grown up in the area, had shown it to him on some school break a lifetime ago. They’d laughed about it being haunted, but they hadn’t been brave enough to go further than the main hall, or to stay after dark. That was about to change; the moss-covered manse was going to be ‘home’ for the next few weeks—until the money was clean enough to share out.
The night was warm, sultry, even for July. His face was sweaty and grimy, and his shirt was soaked through where his pack rested on his back. As he pushed open the ancient, creaking door, the still cool air within was a relief. He paused a moment on the threshold, listening for signs of life. He’d made a couple of visits leading up to the job—bringing in supplies, making sure the place was neglected as he remembered. It was; but it never hurt to be careful.
The light was slipping from the windowsills, so he quickly set about lighting his hurricane lamps, and figuring out the camp stove so he could enjoy his supper of tinned beans in tomato sauce. Roland had never been the ‘roughing it’ type, but it was all going to be worth it. A few weeks of beans for a lifetime of caviar, maybe on his own private island… He wondered what his ex-wife would think when she read about it in the news. He felt a twinge of loneliness and regret at the thought of her, but swallowed it back down as he put out the lanterns and pulled his sleeping bag tight around him.
Sleep, however, did not come easily. Maybe it was leftover nerves and lingering adrenaline, or maybe it was the beans; but every time he was on the brink of dropping off, something jolted him awake. He fancied he could hear noises from the floor above: a quiet rustling, a thump, a scrape, a creak that sounded disturbingly like a footstep... Animals; it had to be. He wadded up some tissue and crammed it in his ears; but then he wasn’t sure whether he was hearing things or imagining them; and that was even worse. Just before five, a cold draft pulled the kitchen door shut, and that was the end of trying to rest.
Breakfast was a meagre affair consisting of a packet of instant oatmeal and a few strips of jerky, washed down with a mug of tea that tipped the dining experience from ‘dismal’ to ‘somewhat passable’. Once the caffeine did its work, he decided that the first order of business would be to evict the creatures that had so rudely kept him awake, whatever those might be. They had sounded too big to be mice or rats… Maybe some particularly chubby squirrels? Considering his options, he picked up a rusted ash rake from the fireplace before heading up the stairs.
The first floor was somehow cooler than the one below. Roland told himself it must be because there were more broken windows, or gaps in the stone letting in the night air. Those animals had to be getting in somewhere, after all.
The first room he tried was empty save for a thick carpeting of dust and a tipped over wooden chair, but the second went a long way toward confirming his suspicions—some of the plaster had crumbled away from the wall, leaving a gap enlarged by the work of small claws; and he found an abandoned squirrel’s nest inside a shabby hutch. The third room, however—the one he judged to be just above where he’d slept—was different. Unlike the rest of the house, which had long been picked bare of anything worth taking, this room looked ready for its previous occupant to return. There was a dressing table with a chair tucked neatly in, a well-finished wardrobe, and, dominating the space, a large four poster bed. It was even made up, piled high with pillows at the head. But the most uncanny thing was how clean it was; as though no dust had dared to settle on its surfaces. The short hairs on the back of his neck stood on end; he smoothed them back down with a nervous hand. Maybe someone had been staying here—but no, there would have been some other sign… wouldn’t there?
His curiosity piqued, he stepped inside and opened the wardrobe. There was a waft of air from within as he pulled on the door, soft like a sigh, and carrying a faint scent of something floral. The closet was otherwise empty, save for a brass locket hanging from a hook at the back. He reached for it without thinking, and spent a moment just looking at it; feeling its weight settle into his palm. It was about the size of a walnut, flattened to a quarter inch or so in thickness.He ran his thumb over the smooth patina, his nail finding the seam where the two halves met, and flicking it open. On the left side was a faded portrait in miniature of a young woman with soft brown curls with warm, enticing eyes. The opposite side had once held a matching picture, but the face had been roughly scratched away, leaving only some anonymous scraps of painted clothes.
It was as compelling as it was peculiar. He wondered if this had been the woman’s room, decades—or centuries—earlier; and who had been roughly erased from the locket. A relative? Suitor? Husband? Uncharacteristically lost in thought, he found himself sitting down on the bed, still clutching the pendant, sinking into a thick feather mattress. He would have expected at least a musty smell, but there was only another breath of that same fragrance. It seemed very natural to swing his legs up onto the bed and lie back against the pillows. It was much softer than he usually preferred, but it was a damn sight nicer than a sleeping bag on the floor. As the down warmed to his body, his eyelids grew heavy, and he began to doze off, still holding the necklace.
When he awoke, he was not alone. A woman stood in front of the wardrobe with her back toward him, her bare skin glowing in the warm afternoon light. Slowly, she turned to face him, smiling sweetly. It was unmistakably the woman from the locket—the same chestnut waves bouncing around her bare shoulders, the same enticing smile—but she was so much more beautiful than any still image could convey. Her eyes were a deep golden brown, fringed by long, thick lashes, and sparkling with laughter. And her body… she was amply curved, pleasantly soft to look at, generous in the hips and thighs. Her breasts were not especially large, but well shaped and rounded, begging to have hands cupped around them. Roland knew he was staring, but she didn’t seem to care.
“Am I… Am I dreaming?” His voice sounded thick and distant.
She giggled, a warm, musical sound. “Does it matter?”
It didn’t.
She clasped her hands together in front of her, framing the short tawny curls between her thighs. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she sighed. “It’s been so long… so long since I took a new lover…” Something about the way her lips formed that word made his mouth water, and his cock twitch. “Nobody comes to see me anymore.” She pouted, and that was positively lascivious.
“I can’t imagine why not.” He swallowed hard.
She laughed again, and climbed onto the bed. Slowly, she crawled over him, sliding a knee between his legs, holding herself so that her nipples barely brushed his chest, while her hair curtained his face, redolent of that same perfume. His hands found their way up her thighs unbidden, reveling in the feeling of soft, yielding flesh beneath them. Dream or not, this was the closest he’d been to a woman since Vivian had left, and the most action he’d had since well before that. Heat pooled in the pit of his stomach as his cock swelled. She bent to kiss him, her mouth finding his first with tenderness, then with lust. Her tongue slid against his, hot and wet and hungry . His hand moved up to her breast, lightly squeezing, teasing, rubbing his thumb over the hard pink little nipple, gratified by the sharp little gasp of delight she let out when he pinched it.
He was throbbing now, his dick straining against his underwear and trousers. Suddenly, her hand was between his thighs, palming him through the fabric. Roland moaned into her mouth, not even caring how desperate it sounded.
“I don’t even know your name…”
“Shh. There will be plenty of time for that,” she purred, as her lips traced a searing line down his neck. She reached into his pants, wrapping her sweet, soft fingers around his aching cock at last. “I just need you to love me now,” she breathed into his ear. With agonizing slowness, she stroked up and down his length, drawing out a groan of pleasure. “You will love me, won’t you?”
“Yes,” he panted. “I’ll do anything you say. God.” Her hand was so soft and warm and she felt so damn good —
She bit him. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it was hard enough to give him a start. To break the spell. In the blink of an eye, she was gone. The room was dark—he had been dreaming; it was well past sunset now, and he had nothing to show for his day but a bit of costume jewelry and an aching hard-on. He swore under his breath. It would have been nice if his subconscious would have at least let him hold on to the fantasy until he finished. He tried to reach down to take care of the problem, but his arm refused to move. Bewildered, he glared down at the offending limb. His hand lay at his side, fingers still loosely curled around the locket, still as a corpse’s. Panic rising in his throat, he tried to sit up. Nothing below his neck worked.
“What… what the…” he stammered. His useless words hung as mist in the chilled air. When had it gotten so cold? From the space beside his pillow, he heard a laugh— her laugh, that same sweet voice now tinged with menace. He whipped his head round, but there was no-one to see.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the mattress between his spread legs sank, as though someone was kneeling there. A deep depression appeared next to his waist, as though someone was crawling over him. He began to sweat, despite the cold. He could feel her presence above him; Christ, he could smell her. With a mixture of horror and fascination he watched something unseen tug the waistband of his pants away from his body; then felt a warm hand curl around his still-hard dick. He half yelped, half gasped; his brain struggling to separate dread from ecstasy. God help him, it still felt amazing.
“This can’t… can’t be real,” he muttered, “I must still be—” His words dissolved into a helpless moan as he felt the pad of a thumb roll over his tip, spreading slick precum over the exquisitely sensitive skin. Her nimble fingers stroked and teased him expertly until he was nearly on the brink, delicious heat coiling around the base of his spine, his hips jerking involuntarily in time with her movements despite his paralysis. Just as he was about to reach his peak, it stopped, leaving him fevered and aching, panting with need.
The weight below him lifted; the mattress sank on either side of him instead. Something soft and heavy settled onto his chest, shortening his breaths. He felt her hands brush over his chest, up his neck, then cup his face, tilting his chin back slightly as though to examine him.
“Love me,” he heard her say, then a quiet, breathy sigh as the hands left his head. He smelled her perfume again, then something else just as sweet. Soft, short curls brushed over his nose, and then the slick, silky folds of her sex pressed down onto his face. He no longer cared what was real or not; aware only of his own lust. He opened his lips to explore hers, pushing them apart with the tip of his tongue; prodding, swirling, tasting every inch of her. She rolled her hips against him, barely letting him breathe, but it didn’t matter. The sounds she was making were more important, her taste too intoxicating. His lips found the plump nub of her clit, and he switched between sucking it and tonguing her petaled opening until her juices ran across his jawline and dripped down his neck. It was almost better than fucking.
Suddenly, her hands gripped the sides of his head, fingers tangling and fisting roughly in his hair. She canted herself against him, dragging her clit and swollen folds over his mouth and nose with increasing ardor until all at once she cried out and jerked her hips in ecstasy, soaking his face as she quivered atop him. Just as suddenly, she was gone, the warmth gone from his face and the weight from his chest; again he was left alone, sticky yet unfulfilled.
His frustration was short-lived. There was a tugging at his waist, and his trousers and underwear slipped down past his hips, freeing his cock at last. It bobbed stiffly, desperately seeking touch, his lust untempered by the frosty air. An unseen hand gripped his base, and then a wet, welcoming heat enveloped him. In a haze of lust he watched the angle of his erection shift slightly as his invisible lover took him in, and his cock turn slick with her fluids.
“Touch me,” her voice echoed in the empty room. “Love me, now.” He realized that he could move now, but the thought of doing anything but what she asked with that freedom was inconceivable. He reached for where her hips must be, playing his hands over her skin, digging his fingers into the ample rounds of her behind, pulling her down onto him, snapping his hips up sharply. She was sopping wet, but gripped him like a satin glove. When he closed his eyes, he fancied that he could see her again.. Her face was flushed and her eyes were half lidded with pleasure as she rode him, fingering her clit with one hand while she fondled a breast with the other. “Love me,” she crooned, “and be free…”
The room was growing colder around him. He was vaguely aware that his toes and the tip of his nose were going numb, but wherever he touched her there was such a blaze of heat and pleasure that he was past caring. She rocked harder against him, faster, until she cried out and shuddered around him, her hips bucking wildly as she peaked again. The fire in his own loins coiled tighter, burned hotter, until finally he couldn’t hold on any longer; a rough cry erupting from his lips as he came harder than he thought possible, his vision going dim at the edges.
Everything was still, his laboured breathing the only sound. His lover was still warm and wet on top of him, but he felt the cold now all around, seeping into his bones. His arms felt suddenly heavy, falling limply to his sides. All his strength had left him; he couldn’t even keep his eyes open. As they fluttered shut, he saw her again, smiling sweetly, still straddling him… but she was not alone. Lining the edges of the room were men—more men than he could count at a glance; twenty, maybe more. Men of all ages, in all sorts of dress dating back to what Roland could only guess was the dark ages. They stared at him silently from the shadows, their eyes sad, empty, pitying. Dread gripped him as the cold stole into his chest.
“What have you done to me?’ he wanted to exclaim, but it came out a slurred jumble, his tongue thick and frozen.
She smiled, and leaned forward, pressing a single finger to his lips; the last thing he saw before even his mind’s eye went dark. “Shhh,” she hummed. “Quiet now. You’re free.”