Disclaimer: Beetlejuice and Co is the brilliant creation of David Geffen, brought into cultural icon status by the excellent Michael Keaton. I do not own; i simply, um, 'borrow.' Heh.

AN: Written to "Fix You" by Coldplay—go to Napster and you can listen.

This chapter is rated M for Mature. M, I tell you. So if you don't want to know how it is possible, I promise that you won't be missing any important plot points if you hit the back button. Hugs and kisses, this is dedicated to WitchyWanda, mywickedlyweirdnature, Dr. Strangelove Lover, and Spiderjuice—you rock my world. The Epilogue.

Chapter 26: Possession

It wasn't her dorm room that he took her to, but his own home. She staggered a little breathlessly after the world realigned itself, because crossing over the boundary between his world and hers had been even more violent that she had previously experienced. He held her steadily until she regained herself, and then led her gently to the bed. She couldn't see a lot in the darkness, except for the glow of the large mirror set on the opposite wall. "Is this where you live, B?" He nodded, not taking his eyes off her.

Beetlejuice sat gracefully down on the bed next to her, and Lydia was overcome with shyness, sudden and paralyzing. "B, you know that this is all new to me. I mean, not just the ghost part." Her voice was rough-edged from the long night of laughing and dancing, and her hands fluttered nervously to the back of her neck in a half-stretch.

"Poltergeist," he chuckled, and she swatted him in mock censure, but her shoulders relaxed at this familiar jibe. He caught one of her hands in his and kissed her palm. "Lyds, this'll surprise you, but it's new to me, too. I've never been here…" His fingers ghosted against her lips. "An I've never been here…" His thumb curved over her surely-audible heart. "So far as I see it, there's only one question that the answer matters." He paused, his eyes flicking away from her face to her hands.

"What?" she prompted.

He didn't look up, and his voice was quiet. "Do you want me? Because I'm yours if you do. Hell, I'm yours if you don't, though I hate to admit it. Hell on my reputation, an all." He tried to shelter his vulnerability from her, but she saw it, all the same. And she realized that they were both laid bare in the face of the other. Big bad poltergeist and a pale, dark-haired girl. And he would stay or go on her word.

She lifted her hand, still entwined in his, to the smooth hollow of his cheek. Her fingertips trailed over the abrupt line of his jaw, and down the finely delineated muscle of his neck. His eyes, so intent upon her, fluttered closed, and in that moment, she knew why she had kept his ring, knew why she had worn those striped pants, knew why she had called his name on that first dark night.

"Of course I do, you infuriating, beautiful, exasperati—" But his hand was on her lips, and his smile was unfocused and gentle.

"Beautiful?" He was so close now that she could see the subtle play of light beneath the surface of his skin. She nodded, her throat closing up a bit.

"Infuriating was… first…" She allowed him to lift her gently into his lap and when he kissed her, she was already easing his coat off of his shoulders. The vest followed, and thankfully there were no buttons, because she didn't want to have to repair Henry Morgan's finest silk coat. His hands settled on her hips, his thumbs pressing low into her belly as she tugged his linen shirt the rest of the way out. But rather than move his hands, he just phased out and the shirt passed right through him. Lydia laughed despite the fluttering heat where his hands rested on her. "Full of tricks."

"Matter of convenience, babe." He glimmered at her, and she realized she had never seen so much of him exposed at once. Her fingers hesitantly sought out his curves and hollows, the fine muscle structure of his chest and back, and the clean line between his stomach and hips, just above his breeches. As she explored him, his head sunk to her shoulder, and he twitched and trembled against her.

"Gods, B," she whispered into his throat. "Your skin is glowing like a fire opal."

When he raised his head to look at her, his eyes had gone dark with some deep, flickering fire, and his teeth were bared with an emotion that she had no problem naming at all. But still, with great effort, he held himself back.

"Are you afraid, still, Lydia?"

She grinned, showing more teeth than usual. "Since when have I been afraid of you?"

He mirrored her, wild and hungry. "Since you met me." His hands undid the clasp of her jacket and tugged it off her shoulders, leaving her bare to him, her skin glowing blue in the pale reflection of him.

"Full of yourself…" But he couldn't play anymore, and though a tiny corner of his mind registered that she had one-upped him, the rest of him didn't give a damn. Whatever had held them an inch away from each other snapped like a thread, and they crashed together, two ocean swells into one, lips to teeth and warm breast to cool. He wrapped her up, tasting her cheek, her throat, her breasts, and her belly until she was grasping desperately at his arms. "Gods, Beetlejuice, please!" His teeth closed gently on her hip and she whimpered wordlessly. He forced himself to stop for a moment, and he caught her hand and kissed it.

"Lydia, this is going to hurt but it'll be quick, I promise you." Her fingers curled around his chin and brought him back up to her mouth, kissing him with a depth of desire that he had never experienced, in all his long life.

"B, just, please, or I'll…" she gasped, "have to kill you."

"Your wish is my—oof! Okay, okay!" He flicked his fingers and there was nothing between them now. They both fell silent, each savoring the feel of the other, for just a moment, and then he gently pushed past her defenses, and she savored the pain too, and he, all of him, was hers to the core.

She rocked him like she was the ocean, and he the boat, her hands tugging against his slender hips. He rode the wave of her, never as lost as he was in that moment, feeling her heat building, and remembering the storm in the crater now. She was radiant beneath him, smiling and arching against him, and when he bent to kiss her he felt her teeth against his throat, and she was surging, the storm, the golden red fire from the belly of the earth crashing through her and through him, and she was keening his name and he hers, until there was nothing left but the heat and the blinding aurora glow.

Lydia clutched at his neck, and she was weeping, the deep spring of her soul set free by the joy of him against her, and he was the one that rocked her now, gentle like the lapping waves against the shore. And if he might have leaked a few tears too, who would notice? A shuddering breath, and another, and she calmed in his embrace, until he rolled underneath her, and she settled against his shoulder, completely undone.

"I didn't hurt you, did I, Lyds?" he murmured against the top of her head. She stirred, and then propped herself up on her elbows.

"No." And her confidence was so complete that he smiled, and it was genuine happiness, so unlike him. She grinned back at him. "But I thought for a moment there you were going to vanish in a lightstorm of epic proportions."

"Nah. I was totally in control." His voice was a bit unsteady, and she raised an eyebrow at him and peered around the room, which was lit in an aurora so vibrant that it would be visible for a hundred miles. He followed her gaze, and his smile turned a little goofy. "Well, mostly."

"Uh huh." But she let him have his dignity, for the moment. He squeezed her tight, reveling in her lazy heat, and she slowly sank into sleep.

"Lydia?" She didn't answer. He sighed and kissed her forehead gently. "I… love you, Lyds."

She stirred, but didn't open her eyes. Her breathing was deep and even. He relaxed, and promised himself he would tell her some day when she was awake. Some day.

Lydia smiled very slightly. She would let him keep his dignity.

:fin: