#they don’t even have to resort to Crystal or Niko or Jenny - Edwin’s been researching

[sthilarions]

Asexual Charles Rowland who died a virgin (because he went to an all-boys school, of course that’s the reason - so what if most of his friends got up to things in town or on breaks). He liked looking at fit people, still does, and he liked kissing, but he just never happened to get around to doing anything else. Not for lack of wanting to, of course - of course! Just… never happened.

After his death he did try a few things but it just felt… wrong. Felt sort of like nothing and sort of, if he’s really, really honest with himself, like he remembers nausea feeling. He puts it down to ghost limitations. He can’t feel touch right, probably can’t feel anything like that right.

And then he’s with Edwin. And he can touch Edwin. He can feel Edwin. And every second his skin is against Edwin’s, it sings. So surely it must work, now?

It doesn’t.

Edwin’s hand creeps up his thigh, and it feels the same as it did on his hand (wonderful - but not special, not different, and he knows it’s supposed to feel different somehow). Maybe he just needs to go further? But as he’s moving against Edwin, and feeling sort of like nothing and sort of like everything (skin against skin still sings) and sort of like nausea, he thinks, ah. I guess it still doesn’t work, even ghost to ghost, even with someone I can feel. I guess ghosts just can’t do that.

Until he looks into Edwin’s eyes. And he realizes Edwin isn’t feeling nothing and isn’t feeling nausea. Edwin’s eyes are pupil-full, black and shining, looking up at him with feverish heat and naked pleasure.

Things Charles doesn’t feel.

Can’t feel.

And he’s run out of excuses for why.