Author’s Notes – All characters and situations in this story belong to me, GhostHelwig, and darthelwig. Absolutely no reproduction of any kind, okay? Not without both of us giving our express permission. Thank you.

Rated R for sexual situations and hints of almost-slash (if you kinda squint, over there... no, there! *lol*).

If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I’m not sure how clear the situation is just from what I wrote here...

If you'd like to see darthelwig's pics of Ghost (http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/15910727/) or Andrea (http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/9515146/), just copy and paste the links I tried to provide if they don’t show up as links. Or simply head on over to the Renderings section. ^_^ Her pictures are very, very beautiful, and I urge anyone, even if you hate this story, to check out her artwork...

As I’m sure I mentioned somewhere before, my pen name was taken from one of the boys in this story. Just so there’s no confusion...

Anyway, enjoy. Peace, all.

A Beautiful Hell

by Ghost Helwig

It was a nightmare.

He told himself it was okay, she was with him, he didn’t care, but then-

But then.

He dreamed.

Long, dark hair caught between slender, pale fingers – not his, which were larger, blunter, less refined. Sweaty, heaving body writhing under the gentle ministrations of an equally sweaty, heaving body – also not his, for it was far too thin, more soft and sweet than he could ever hope to be, even when he was making love to her.

It could have been beautiful, had he not known precisely who he was seeing. It really could have been.

But it was his wife, his Andrea, trembling under the kiss and caress of his best friend, his Ghost. Wrong, so wrong. But so fucking pretty.

Hell really was a glorious sight to behold.

She was moaning, in his head, moaning and glowing and bucking upwards, drawing Ghost deeper into her. And he was crying out, kissing her neck, forceful in a way Wood had never before seen him.

The fact that it was all in his mind failed to alter how much it hurt.

And if it also turned him on, just a little, well, that just made it hurt even more.

Because now they were in a different position, Ghost on his back, Andrea on top of him, bent over him, riding him hard. Her nails dug into the flesh of his arms, a tiny bite of pain within the pleasure – Wood knew that, knew how it felt, how badly that little touch could turn him on. And Ghost’s cheeks, usually so pale, were flushed with passion, a look that would ignite a priest. How could they stand sleeping together? Wouldn’t it just be too much?

Or maybe it was only him who couldn’t handle it. It seemed he couldn’t handle many things.

Like seeing his wife sob out her pleasure as she had wild, uninhibited sex with his best friend.

There was, in Wood’s waking mind, no doubt about who had initiated their sexual encounter. Something like that just would not occur to Ghost – at least, not to the Ghost he knew, the one he’d grown up with, had hugged and kissed and slept beside. But then, who knew how much of that Ghost remained within the hollowed out shell he knew his friend was becoming?

Still, he knew it was his beloved, his Andrea, who had started things. But it was so much easier to blame Ghost, to call him a slut and a whore and yell out his betrayal to the wind, than to admit that if he hadn’t left Andrea, if he and Andros had not both abandoned their lovers, none of this would have happened.

It was easier to call his weeping best friend a whore than to blame himself for this.

But in his head, in his heart, in his dreams, he held to no lies, no falsehoods. What he saw was the truth as he felt it; no more than that. He didn’t doubt that things had not happened quite like this. But he also didn’t doubt that they had.

A slightly different position, Ghost’s knee bent upwards as he lay on his back, Andrea facing away from him, still writhing against him but sitting at an angle now, her body rubbing against his leg as she rode him. She was moaning, Ghost was moaning, and even in his sleep Wood thought he might be crying.

He could see the instant the orgasm hit her, watch her slender throat convulsing, her whole body stiffening with release. He knew that look – he’d seen it, brought it to her, more times than he could count.

And then, something he’d never seen, but had dreamed about only once before – Ghost’s body trembling in climax, pale lips parted, eyes that saw more than they should gone blind with his need.

Even in his dreams, he knew Ghost would make it good for his wife, wouldn’t come until she had, would bring her pleasure again and again...

And sure enough, it was happening again.

Because this was hell.

As the dream lovers found a new position, with Andrea bent over the bed and Ghost taking her from behind, Wood forced himself to wake up, to climb out of this nightmare he’d made for himself-

But not before he saw Andrea’s hands clenched in the bedsheets, fingers clawing, nipples hardening as sweat dripped off of her smooth skin-

Not before he saw Ghost’s hands gripping his wife’s hips, fingers gentle but claiming, sweat teasing its way down his chest and trailing all the way down into the light splattering of pale blond hair down between his legs-

Not before he saw, though he couldn’t possibly have seen, Ghost actually entering Andrea’s body, again and again.

Wood woke up sweaty, tangled in the sheets-

And sticky. Far too sticky for simple sweat.

He was disgusted with himself, but that was hardly a new state of being. And as he climbed into the shower, determined to get all evidence of his sin off of him, he knew without a doubt that though this was the first time he had dreamed of such a thing-

It would hardly be the last.

And when he was toweling himself down, he finally realized the worst thing of all-

He couldn’t even tell if he considered that to be so terrible.