there's nothing more freeing for Ghost than knowing he might never have sex with you. holding your face between his hands and kissing you without an agenda, without a reason for it, sometimes soft and gentle, sometimes hard and desperate. he likes picking you out of his teeth, likes the popcorn kernels of affection that rot down to the root leaving cavities he won't find until he's deployed and they start to ache.
he could put a ring on your finger without ever feeling your cunt wrap around him, and it isnt something so respectable as the religious fanaticism that soap has, its more akin to a whale fall. the soft critters sucking pollution out of the dead tissue, the saltwater purging contamination from the blood, food and homes found in his ribs, bones repurposed into something bigger than him.
"biblically" thats how he'd heard it described once, knowing someone biblically. but what does he need a book for? he knows the whorl of your fingerprints, the veins of your eyes, the bpm of your heart —his fingers pressed tight against your wrist counting softly in the dark, one, two, three— so what could be closer, deeper? he doesn’t want it to just be sex, he doesn’t want to end the dance, he doesn’t want to be human with you, because he has erred so much, so deeply, he is so deeply human
and he doesn’t want to have sex,
and you don't make him,
and he doesn't have to wonder why.
it's because you love him too
