These questions kept making him uncomfortable. There was no way in hell he was ever going to talk about that. Not the original incident, not any of the things that came after. In part, because it was so long ago and those memories were very hazy, and also because his silence was part of the terms of his name being bound.
"I'll meet you in the attic, tell me about it there. I need a shower."
Who the fuck did she think she was? No one ever told him where to go or what to do. Besides, if she was going to be naked and wet, he knew exactly where he was going to be.
"Sure thing babes, see ya' upstairs‒"
And he disappeared, not to the attic as requested but to the far corner of the bathroom, making sure that he was invisible and that she wouldn't be able to hear him. She was already in the shower, the water running, and steam began to fill the room. Thankful then for her limited sight. he made the curtain move just enough to catch another glimpse of what she had under all those layers of clothing. At first, it was just her slim back facing him, and through the steam he could just see the curves of her ass, his fingers aching to touch that soft flesh. When she turned to rinse out her hair, he groaned. Her breasts were small with perfect pink nipples. Knowing what little he did about her made him cast aside the idea of joining her in the shower.
He would have time for that later.
As soon as she reached for the faucet he was gone. She needed to think he had been upstairs the whole time. The furniture was moved back to its original position, the heavy curtains were drawn over the windows, and a multitude of candles were conjured up and set alight.
When he finished and she still hadn't made it up the stairs, he pulled his jacket off and tossed it over the back of his chair, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and loosened his tie. He busied himself arranging a few choice boxes closer to the lounge, then relaxed into his chair.
"Sorry I took so long. Now which of these boxes has the coolest stuff in it?"
"I already got ya' a few picked out. 'M not too sure what's in any of 'em but feel free," he gestured towards the lounge and the boxes he moved for her.
"I would have brought my records," she informed minutes into snooping, "but… you know."
He did. Those were another luxury on the long list of confiscated items. It didn't matter. It didn't take Lydia long at all to find a box of albums and she squeaked happily at the discovery, grabbing a nearby candle and kneeling right on the dusty ground to investigate. Whoever these belonged to had decent taste; Harry Belafonte, Bob Marley, The Grateful Dead, The Beatles.
She never asked for his help, never asked him to tell her what any of the things she was examining were, or to read the covers for her‒ and he never offered. That was important. Worse than being ignored was being babied. When a Sam Cooke record was found lurking at the bottom of the box, she sighed fondly.
Now to find the record player. She remembered hearing it from the other side of the large miniature town dead center of the room, which she used as a guiding post on her way to the desk.
"Whoa, it's all right,
It's all right,
It's all right,
Honey, it's all right,
Long as I know, long as I know that you love me,
Honey, it's all right…"
Her head was lax and tilted back in enjoyment of the music, eyes closed, face serene.
"Do you know whose stuff this is? They had good taste in music."
He had been thinking about her in the shower when she finally made it to the attic, and hadn't really looked at her when he directed her towards his selection of boxes. When he finally did take notice, he also hadn't expected her to be dressed the way she was. Thus far, she always wore shapeless dresses with layers, her small form hidden. Today, her outfit accentuated tender curves, the skin on her shoulders reflecting the candle light. Once again he was thankful for her limited sight and that she was so focused on the boxes of junk, didn't notice him palm himself through the front of his slacks.
She seemed very happy and content going through the boxes. Now and then, she would make a comment or observation about an item of interest while he slouched in his chair smoking cigarettes, watching her move with smooth grace around the attic. It made his chest tighten when her face lit up and a joyous noise escaped her when she found a box of records.
Downstairs he could feel her parents moving about. They had started to remodel the house and there was a fair amount of noise and activity even this early in the day. He shut his eyes to listen to what Charles was saying on the phone but couldn't quite make it out as Lydia started the record player.
"Do you know whose stuff this is? They had good taste in music."
"Sorry, sweet cheeks. All this shit was here when I got here, no breathers." Moving to stand up, he flicked his cigarette away as he took the few short steps to her, his hand stealing hers.
"You know how to dance, babes?"
The look on her face was precious. He must have been teasing her. She shrunk as he pulled her close, handling her gently but not really taking no for an answer if she was in a mind to give it as one.
"Of course I don't know how to dance."
His palm and fingers engulfed hers. A second huge hand settled easily on her hip. Her knees actually buckled. Before anything could even happen between them, Lydia felt like a flushing, sweating mess. Butterflies were doing somersaults in her tummy and if she opened her mouth to talk, only stuttering gibberish would come out, she just knew it. No one had ever touched her like this. Only him. It was different last night when she was full of liquor and tired, and he was convenient and comfortable.
Alcohol couldn't be used as an excuse here. She liked him and he would see it and there wasn't anywhere she could run or hide if he said anything about it. That was scarier than any parlor trick he could have played on her.
It didn't matter that she didn't know how to dance. He was patient, and swayed her through the whole rest of this song and into the beginning of the next. It took a lot to lend her trust over like this. With him leading their gentle two-step, she didn't really know where she was in the room anymore. He was her goal post, the only object she had to keep her center, and found she didn't mind that at all. This was too much fun. Still, he was a chaotic creature, and through a nervous, blinding smile, she ventured to ask;
"Please don't let me trip... okay?"
"Of course I don't know how to dance."
She came to him easily as he guided her through the first few steps. He could feel her body heat pressed against his chest, and he shut his eyes for a moment to savor the warmth. When he looked down into her face, he could see her cheeks were getting that wonderful dusting of pink. He could almost taste that faint bite of fear coming off of her.
When the opening notes of the next song rang out, he smiled and pulled her a little closer, leading her through the opening steps of a waltz. With a nod of his head, all the furniture and items she unpacked moved enough to clear them a decent sized dance floor.
"Please don't let me trip...okay?"
"Wouldn't dream of it, babe. Sure ya dunno how ta dance? 'Cause yer doin' a real good job of it."
As the song wound down, he braced her back and lowered her into a graceful dip, leaning with her until their lips were almost touching.
"Thanks for the dance, baby doll. Ya did real good."
Her fingers were digging too hard into his bicep, but she didn't know how to make herself stop. Couldn't slow down the furious pounding in her chest either, which was currently pressed up so close to his that he must have been able to feel it.
"You're welcome," she whimpered, breath hot against his cool mouth. He was so close, she thought she might die. They were too near for her to see much more than his eyes but what she saw kept her enraptured. Deep pools of jade lost in dark shadowy pits, splinters of citrine and emerald fracturing the surface of his irises.
"Your eyes are green." Is the dumb way she complimented them, at a loss for words at their beauty. The kinds of feelings he inspired were why she had dared to show these flashes of skin, to wear uncomfortable lace panties so that if on the slim off flaky chance he was able to seduce her out of her skirt, she wouldn't be a complete disappointment.
He pulled them back up in the silence between songs, a firm hand on her back keeping her close in tandem with her clutching onto his suit so needfully.
"You don't have to lie. If you weren't leading, I probably would have fallen and snapped my neck."
Fuck, she was intoxicating. So fucking alive. From the way her warm little body melted against his to how he could feel her racing pulse wherever their skin touched. He couldn't get enough of her lilac and vanilla scent with just a hint of fear, couldn't take his eyes off her lips.
"Your eyes are green."
It took him a moment to come back to himself and focus on what she was saying. Blinking slowly, he licked his lips as he set her back on her feet.
"Are they? Honestly, I can't remember what I look like. Been dead a long time, n' well. No reflection." His voice was low and raspier than normal.
"I probably would have fallen and snapped my neck."
"Doubt that. You followed me step for step."
He cupped her face in his left hand, his thumb rubbing along her lower lip. His right hand sliding up her side from where it rested on her hip grazing the side of her breast through her shirt. Deciding right then that he needed to know exactly how soft and warm her lips were, he dipped his head in and pressed his mouth to hers, his hand sliding over to cup her breast giving it a tender squeeze.
Since meeting him, Lydia had been questioning it, but now there was no more doubt in her mind. She had snapped. Everyone was right. She was crazy and she had imagined him and he was perfect. They were going to send her off in a pristine white jacket, lock her in a tidy white room, feed her little white pills for the rest of her life, and she didn't even care because at least her wonderful imaginary friend would be there to keep her company.
When his lips touched hers, she gasped, taken completely by surprise. The hand on her breast made her freeze in abject terror, but did nothing to cool the volcano erupting in her belly. The fingers digging into his bicep were beginning to turn pink and numb. They released, and then so did her breath. A snake-like tongue took advantage to slither and nest in her mouth‒ there went her legs. A sturdy arm was there around her waist to crush her against him selfishly as he lost some of his restraint, introducing his teeth to the equation and nibbling her lips greedly.
So swept up in the moment, she didn't realize she was grabbing him back, kissing him back‒ messy and unpracticed, but passionate as any lover. Her nipple hardened under his palm through her thin blouse and she choked on a moan into his mouth before turning her face away sharply, his attention undeterred moving to the swanlike column of her throat. The dash of fear in her scent took a delicious spike.
"Wait," she gasped, but made no move to release or push him away, her grasp as desperate as before. "I've never… This is going so fast…"
He was pleased that she didn't resist his advances. Not only that, she was returning them, and with passion. So when she exposed her neck to him, he took the invitation. Nipping softly across her delicate skin, purposefully leaving her bruised, he moved lower and lower. The hand at her waist sliding down to grab at the curves of her ass. The heady scent of her fear causing him to growl into her skin. He was drowning in her scent, her skin, the small pleasure noises she was making. The hand at her breast kneaded at the plump flesh there.
"Wait...I've never… This is going so fast…"
That made him freeze, eyes rolling up to glance at her face, a small frustrated sound escaping him.
"You want me t'stop, babes?"
His voice was barely more than a growl. His lips danced along her skin as he spoke, fingers starting to dig into her skin hard enough to bruise.
His grip tightened. She winced, but even a painful touch from him felt good. Stop?
"Please no," she begged, frazzled and torn. Was she ready to let this ancient force to be reckoned with consume her the way he threatened? There was a storm brewing within his complex aura, one that wanted to decimate everything in his path if he didn't get some form of release. It both compelled and terrified her.
What was he capable of, really?
All Lydia knew was that she would rather him keep touching her than not. Whether he loved her or not, if he was a good man or a bad man… it was all irrelevant. This might be the only opportunity she would ever have to experience this brand of human love and affection. They shared a mutual attraction, and what was the shame in indulging it?
"Don't stop. I'm just… I'm scared."
Admitting further weakness was difficult, but she couldn't lie to him.
She said she was scared. He was very aware of just how scared she was. The lust and fear made it hard for him to think, to not lose control. This wasn't like fucking some dead whore. She was small and delicate. He couldn't let himself get too carried away, he didn't want to break his new toy.
The lock on the attic door clicked as he scooped her up into his arms bridal style. He leaned down, pressing a softer kiss to her lips, taking pains to rein himself in just that much. She was carried to the lounge and laid out before he straddled her small form, nudging one of his legs between hers. Then, he knelt over her and went back to work ravishing her neck, hands now completely free to roam.
One found the bottom of her shirt and slid up along her stomach in search of his prize. He found her nipple already hard and softly rolled it between his finger and thumb. When she arched into his touch, he chuckled throatily andmoved back to her mouth, nipping her lips and asking to be let in. His other hand was under her skirt, fingers trailing up the outside of a smooth thigh, nails leaving thin red scratches as he reached for her ass.
She was beautifully nervous beneath him, clearly eager to prove herself but unsure in every step she took. It felt to her like she was supposed to be doing more, but he moved so fast and confidently that shy kisses and soft touches seemed small in comparison. His calloused mitt took up her entire cheek with only a little spillover.
Did he think she was beautiful?
He couldn't, but his mouth descended on hers once more and it became easy to pretend. He was so hungry. This intensity was what frightened her before, but she wouldn't dare stop him again. Little red and purple marks were beginning to blossom everywhere he touched too hard. She bruised like a flower. When his hand drew up her thigh, she realized for the first time that he had claws.
What kind of a ghost had claws? It was too late now to begin questioning his motives, not when her tit was bared to those very claws, its impossibly pale, tiny, pink peak caught between them. He was so heavy, his thighs splayed across her hips, a thick rod of flesh pushing insistently into her stomach.
Lydia busied her own hands with mapping out his body now that she had the chance to do so unhindered. They began trailing through his strangely textured hair, then down the sides of his face and neck, then shoulders. The journey stuttered whenever he was particularly rough, pinching or squeezing or biting too hard, but having no experience she accepted those little bites of pain as a necessary part of lovemaking and therefore beautiful.
"Betelgeuse," she moaned when he granted her a breath to speak, forgetting the rule.
Being trapped in this god forsaken house was worth it if he got to have her hot little hands on him like this, he decided. He had worked his way down her throat again and was pulling her neckline aside just as she said it.
"Betelgeuse..."
That horrific prying feeling from under his ribs came on fast. It made his movements falter. A pained grunt came from him and he leaned back enough to catch her face between his hands.
"Do not...say...my name," he ground out before taking a deep breath he didn't really need, leaning back down to press another hungry kiss to her lips. "I'll let it go this time, beautiful. Won't be so nice next time."
The scent of her fear grew thicker. She had on entirely too much clothing. With a snap of his fingers and a nasty grin, her shirt disappeared, the sight making him hiss.
"Goddam, baby. Could ya be any more perfect," rasped out as he leaned in to take one of her breasts into his mouth, an inhuman tongue swirling around her nipple. One hand moved down to hook one of her legs up over his hip, and he pressed against her as he worked to devour her breasts. He could feel himself getting drunk off her skin and the tangy sweet taste of her sweat.
Lydia would never forget the lesson he just taught her. When he gripped her cheeks so suddenly and pressed his nose to hers, hissing that order in a nasty voice she had never heard from him but always knew he had, she was ripped right from pleasure and thrown into terror. The visual of green and yellow fire burning down at her while he staked this dominance imprinted the message further.
She would never say his name again.
"I'm sorry," she bleated out in a whisper, eager to appease. Whether he heard the apology or not was lost, the breath of it crushed between their lips when he came crashing down again, ravishing them gratuitously. The more attention he paid, the more they swelled and blushed, darker and darker and darker pink. They were practically cherry now.
Would all of her discolor like that? She was like a blank canvas for his artistry, and he went to quick work making sure her nipples and lips would match. His hips rolled against her heavily, and Lydia couldn't muffle a throaty cry of surprised pleasure. What was that? Between her thighs was wet and uncomfortable. She worried that it was wrong and he would be disgusted when he got there, but at the moment the lubrication made the way he was rocking and sliding feel so good.
Her other leg joined its twin in wrapping around his waist. With all her might, she arched and pushed at just the right time, helping his pace. The sudden wave of sensation this brought down made her entire body shudder against him, her little fist curl in his hair while he devoured her slight bosom.
"Fuck…"
It was so quiet, so breathy and foreign on her angelic lips, the dead man couldn't be sure she actually said it.
As her body trembled against him he realised how wet she was, it made him groan into her skin. Running his tongue over her breast one last time, he started to kiss, lick, and bite his way down her body. When her skirt hindered his movements, he got rid of it with a blink of his eye. He could smell her, the heady scent of her arousal, when he slid his hands to cup her cheeks and realised that her panties had texture to them.
He stopped and took a moment to actually look at what she dressed herself in. Lace. She had dressed for him. His chest ached again at the sight and he ran his thumb over the pearl of her pleasure.
"Ya wear these for me, baby girl?" He kept up a soft pressure with his thumb. "Makes me think you were tryin' t'seduce me."
He grinned and dragged her panties aside to press a finger along her folds, brushing over her clit without anything inbetween. Palming himself through his pants, he pulled his finger back and ripped the small bit of lace from her body, leaning to bite and lick his way up her milky thigh. Finally, he ran his tongue over her folds. A rumble came from deep in his chest and he was on her like a starving man, losing himself more than he knew was necessarily safe for her.
There would be darker bruises on her hips and ass than anywhere else on her body once this ordeal was through. His claws nearly pierced skin, but he managed to keep hold of himself well enough not to break her that way yet. The hair on her pubis was just as pale and lacking melanin as the hair on her head‒ but unlike the hair on her head, this had been trimmed and tended to carefully recently.
"... makes me think you were tryin' ta' seduce me."
"I did‒ wear them for you‒"
She squirmed and writhed beneath him, expression pained. What he did now was not for her pleasure. It was selfish and greedy… but Lydia didn't know that. He suckled mercilessly, until a wrathful orgasm was wrenched from her, and she bit into her own palm to keep from screaming and alerting her parents. When he kept going, her hips bucked harshly to get him off, but he wasn't satisfied. He was bigger than her and had the advantage with his greater strength and supernatural ability. As drunk as he was on his poison of choice, it would take a strong motivator indeed to pull the fiend away.
"Beej," she pleaded, fingers gentle in his hair, the strained muscles of her caged thighs trembling in his clutch. "It's too much… It hurts…"
"Beej...It hurts."
The pain in her voice made his skin crawl. When he pulled back from his feast to look up at her he could see her body was flushed and bruised and in all states of glorious ruin. Proud of his handy work, he crawled along the edge of the lounge to get back to her face, shifting himself so he was knelt on the ground and could pillow his head on her chest, close enough for her to see him easily. Then, he began pressing light kisses along her collar bone.
"Couldn't help it babes. Hope it felt good 'fore it started t'hurt." He brushed her hair back from where it stuck to the sweat on her face, eyes closed and listening to her heart beat. "That's the best I think I've ever had babes, n' we didn't even make it to the main event."
As he climbed his feet he let out an energized, contented laugh and scooped her up, cuddling her into his lap as he moved to lounge in his favorite chair and conjuring a blanket to wrap her in. Once settled, he pressed another kiss to her temple.
"Was that all ya' wanted to get done today, Beautiful? Or were ya still wantin' to set up yer dark room?"