Letting out a happy sigh at her agreement, something clicked into place in his chest. The deal was struck, blood freely offered.
He leaned up to kiss her, touching her almost lazily, he started moving over her body. Soft kind kisses, gentle touches. His tongue darted out to taste her skin, her warmth like a drug. He could smell her, her arousal drawing him down to replace his hand with his face, fingers with tongue.
If the last time it seemed like he was trying to eat her, this time was like a long languid kiss. He kneaded her curves as well as supported her against his mouth, a long snake-like tongue caressing her warmth. Relishing every last drop of his drug of choice, he realised he was drunk on her; her heat, the taste of her, her scent. He would promise her the world but right now, she was his whole world. This felt so good, so right, and she was the one who let him out.
Lydia didn't know it could be like this. The servings of pleasure he had dished up thus far were nothing like this. When he touched her intimately, there was usually something mean to it. A bite here, a harsh suckle there, pinches and squeezes and rough groping that brought pink and purple hues to her snowy flesh. She had come to accept and appreciate it as part of the process.
It wasn't that she disliked the little stings and how they contrasted melodically with waves of euphoria… but what he was doing to her now was from another realm. This was pure and gentle, divine. Gracefully, with a talent crafted through the centuries, he eased her into one, two, three orgasms, each of which had her inflicting pain upon herself.
She pulled her hair, ground her ass down into his massaging claws to encourage him to squeeze harder. The last climax he wrought had her biting hard into the palm of her hand to quiet the explosive cry that wanted out.
It wouldn't do to get caught. That was not the kind of revenge she wanted to deal out to her father and that woman.
He helped to pull her through her third orgasm before pillowing his head on her thigh, laying there a moment to just savor her. She was in a new state of glorious ruin. After collecting his thoughts, he crawled along her body to nuzzle and nip at her neck softly, hands still exploring exposed flesh.
"So the opera huh? Where at sweetheart? London? Paris? Sydney?" He settled alongside her, her body pressed in a line to his, fingertips dancing along her skin. With a sigh he propped himself up on one arm to look down at her and brushed a sweet kiss along her lips.
"Though, I s'pose before that we should do the spell…"
The palm trailing along her curves suddenly held a small silver blade that was not there before.
"Paris," she sighed blissfully, still caught in a post orgasmic haze while he traced her silhouette. Her pronunciation was proper, with a silent "s" and long "e". French was Lydia's elective language, and with her better than average hearing and superior auditory memory, she took to it with the ease of a natural born European.
"I've always wanted to visit France. The language is so beautiful... Mieux vaut tard que jamais."
Lydia remembered distinctly visiting the New York Philharmonic Symphony with her Mother when she was little and had been blown away, even at that young age, by the complex, heart-stoppingly beautiful sounds the instruments were able to create when working in harmony with one another. The opera must have been similarly marvelous, she hypothesized, having only her records and CD's as a frame of reference.
"But… I don't have any money, Beej."
The music was already beginning to fade in her mind while a frown crept over her face.
"We don't have anywhere to stay out there… I don't even know where they keep my I.D. or birth certificate, or any of the important stuff."
Maybe running away wasn't such a good idea after all. She felt cool metal tracing her skin, remembered her acquiescence to giving him blood, and suddenly it seemed like an even worse idea.
"What if someone calls your name and I'm just… stuck? Without you? I don't know anymore, Beej…"
"But… I don't have any money, Beej."
As he pressed the handle of the knife into her palm, a thick wad of bills was conjured with a cock of his eyebrow from elsewhere in the world and pressed into her other hand.
"Ya don't need ta have any," he ghosted a kiss along her cheekbone, "I got more'n enough to take care o' ya."
He rolled to his back and pulled her on top of him, helping her to straddle his stomach. She looked very much the wild faery queen today, her starlight hair mussed and skin dusted pink from their activities.
"Paris sounds great, ma petite…" the french dripped from his tongue, "don't worry 'bout yer papers. I can find 'em a'fore we leave."
He already had a fairly good idea where Chuck had them stashed in his study, and it wasn't like he couldn't just produce new identification and paperwork if necessary. It was something he had done in life that he only got better at it in death.
"Paris' got a real nice nightlife, not just the opera," he loosened his tie as he was speaking and was quickly unbuttoning his shirt, "ya got anywhere else in Paris ya wanna go?"
Once his shirt was completely open, he took her hands in his, took the knife back, and had her drop the bills onto the bed next to them.
"Once we do this spell, sweets, no one'll be able to take me away. Ya ain't gonna get stuck nowhere without me," he pressed her hand to his chest, where his heart should have been. His voice was soft and kind, his touch a soft caress.
"Ya ready Lyds?"
"Ya got anywhere else in Paris ya wanna go?"
"The Notre Dame Cathedral, to hear the bells…"
By no means was Lydia religious, nor could she appreciate the stunning architecture‒ but the acoustics were legendary. He spoke like he had been there partying before, which was better for Lydia because she wasn't particularly interested in fumbling the streets of Paris with an equally clueless guide.
"Maybe le Cimetière du Père-Lachaise… I read that it's the biggest in the world. I like walking in cemeteries. They're always so quiet and peaceful…"
Lydia didn't feel so peaceful right now. Her heart was hammering, breath short and fingers trembling over his heart. Get it together, Lydia. It was just a little blood. Or maybe it was the fear of actually going through with it, running away into the unknown… with a man‒ a man who already owned her virginity never minding that they hadn't ever fucked properly. Who else could it ever belong to besides him? Definitely not Mr. Howard.
"I'm ready," she lied with a gulp, mentally psyching herself up for the cut. "Just‒ just do it. I don't want to think about it anymore."
The handle of the little knife was pressed into her right hand again and he directed her so that the blade was positioned on his chest.
"Ya gotta help me a lil, sweetheart…"
He helped to guide her hand and the knife along his chest, leaving a long empty hole above his heart. There was no blood, no mess. Just skin parting easily under the blade. Softly taking her left hand in his and claiming the knife from her right, he pressed the sharp edge to her palm, making a small red line across her skin. The blade was so sharp that the cut was bleeding before she even felt the sting.
Working quickly, he pressed the two wounds together until they could both feel their auras crashing in against them. The base of the magic Betelgeuse used, no matter how simple the spell, always required one of the three components of the dark trinity: blood, terror, lust.
Here with Lydia, he had all three.
While this made for a powerful and effective hex, it now meant that conducting what should have been a simple, painless spell ended up being far from it. The bubble of fear from Lydia and the lust from both of them mingled with the power of their joining blood and sent a bolt of pain through them both. Betelgeuse had called up far more power than necessary and as the magic snapped into place he realized just how tightly he bound himself to Lydia.
Unlike the pain that settled into his bones with every other binding that had been put on him, this one felt more like slipping into a well-fitted pair of boots. It was a comfortable caress rather than a painful cage.
Firstly, he checked to make sure her hand healed the same as his chest. Satisfied with what he saw, he then leaned up to cup her face and kiss her soundly before laying back against her pillows again, a pleased sound escaping him. The leftover magic in the room made their skins buzz.
"Now, baby cakes, we can go to Paris," his voice was cheerful and pleasant, "n' we can go visit all the sites, whatever ya' wanna do."
Not expecting it due to his lies, Lydia was shocked by the wave of disorienting agony. It only lasted for a moment but it was strong and full-bodied, leaving her writhing atop him in the aftermath, palm obediently sealed to his chest throughout the ordeal. She wouldn't want to have to do this again if breaking the seal botched the ritual.
She caught her breath around the same time he came back to himself, and was awed when those ragged claws of his trailed over her perfectly healed palm, as if nothing had occurred between them.
"You said‒!"
He didn't say it wouldn't hurt, did he? Just that he only needed a little blood.
"... nevermind."
She supposed it didn't really matter. She couldn't feel the hurt anymore, and if that was what was necessary for them to have their fun on an inter-continental field trip, then that was that. Lydia would pay the price over tenfold if she needed to. It was time to go. No more time for waiting and thinking and hesitating and talking herself out of it, not anymore.
"Let me get dressed."
Unfortunately, Lydia's closet was not equipped with anything that she thought worthy of an evening at a Parisian opera house. Frowning, she ran her fingers across each plain black cotton item of clothing, rejecting each one as it fell through her touch. They were all so… simple. Boring. At the very end hung the sheer slip he conjured that got her into so much trouble all those months ago.
"Beej?" Still entirely naked, she peered back unseeing around the frame of the closet to get his attention.
"You wouldn't mind… If it's not too much trouble, I mean…" It seemed silly and trivial to request this of him.
"You couldn't just poof me an outfit could you? I don't think I have anything… magnifique."
Watching her naked form move around in the candlelit twilight, he decided, was quickly becoming one of his favorite past times. When she hurried to the closed, he rolled onto his side just in time to watch her disappear inside.
"You couldn't just poof me an outfit could you? I don't think I have anything… magnifique."
As if pulled by strings, he was off the bed in a flash but once one his feet hit the floor he was back to that slow lazy energy he'd been exuding. Strolling slowly over to her, he pulled her against his still naked chest, palms caressing down her sides.
"Êtes-vous sûr de ne pas vouloir simplement faire comme ça?"
His voice held the hint of a smile and he pressed a kiss to her hair before stepping back, spinning her by the hand like they'd been dancing rather than just standing there. As she spun, it was as if pale strands of moonlight started to collect around her body. The dress solidified around her, silken sheer layers of ivory and pale blue blush fabric floating around in a voluminous skirt. The bodice of the dress hugged her frail upper body, cradling her small breasts, the deep V of the neckline meeting at her waist with the skirt. Flowing down the gown was a texture of embroidered flowers and leaves fit for his faery queen.
As he finished the slow spin, she could feel her hair being piled on top of her head, all the long locks back and away, leaving the clean soft lines of her face visible. Delicate strands of pearls woven into her hair with small bundles of baby's breath and large lillies were interspersed through piles of curls. A delicate sheer veil with scalloped lace edges was attached to one of the lines of pearls and fell to her cheek bones. A choker of even more pearls appeared dark against the column of her pale throat. Delicate silk flats with matching embroidery solidified on her dainty feet.
He reached up to pin the veil back with a long silver hair pin, the head in the shape of a beetle, then spun her another half a turn to get her to face a full length antique mirror he conjured close to her. The candlelight caused a luminous effect on the dress, her skin, and her hair.
"Well? Is this whatcha' were thinkin', ma petite?" He lit a cigarette and had his hands resting on her shoulders. Leaning down to nuzzle at her neck, his hand coming up to remove the cigarette from his lips to keep it from touching her.
"I think folks're gonna have a problem focusing on the opera when we get there, mon coeur," he kissed her neck softly, "Though I think ya were just as stunnin' before I dressed ya'."
He spun her back to face him and pressed a kiss to her lips as they popped out of existence in her bedroom. They settled back into reality in a dimly lit corner of a rather elegant lobby. Betelgeuse pressed a hand to the small of Lydia's back directing her around to a set of stairs.
"Welcome to Paris, darlin'."
The gown was so light and sheer, Lydia almost felt naked and feared for a moment he had put her in another see-through thing‒ but no, he wouldn't, not for a public outing. She would trust him.
"Well? Is this whatcha' were thinkin', ma petite?"
"I think so?"
Her legs weakened while he pawed at her, praising her alleged beauty, and Lydia suddenly didn't care anymore how much skin she was or wasn't showing, not if it meant he would touch her and talk to her like that. Like she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
"It's perfect."
The world displaced when his lips landed on hers and in a moment they were not where they were before. Hushed voices could be heard a ways away whispering in French. It was dim enough for Lydia to make out the deep crimson shade of the plush carpet beneath them that led toward a grand staircase, opulent golden statues of nude specimens of the human form lining the walls.
When she moved with him as he led her through the opera house, the whispering fabric of her gown felt like wind on her legs. Excitement bubbled higher with each step, and by the time he was ushering her into their own private box, she had a hand plastered over her mouth to help conceal giddy sounds. She didn't know which opera they were going to see‒ he would be the only one "seeing" it‒ but Lydia didn't care.
It didn't matter that she wouldn't know the story, or understand the language, or even get to see the phenomenal set and costume design. This was about the experience. She felt like a princess, loved and important and worthy. Lydia had been prepared to settle upright and proper like a lady in her‒ she assumed‒ beautiful dress but Betelgeuse pulled her down comfortably in his lap before she could pick a seat of her own. This pulled forth a new string of giggles but she managed to quiet them as the room around them hushed, and an array of light shone through the darkness signifying the curtains rising.
She still didn't know what show they were seeing and was too embarrassed to ask at this point. A high soprano rang soft throughout the auditorium before crescendoing to a peak. It was so pure and beautiful, the clarity of the sound brought an emotional, awed tear to her icy blue eye. A pale hand squeezed Betelgeuse's tight beneath white lace fingerless gloves. The woman singing finally stopped to take a breath, and Lydia released hers.
Once she relaxed back into him, he nuzzled her neck and whispered into her ear.
"I got ya the box with the best acoustics," he pressed a program he magicked braille onto into her hand, the title La Boheme stamped across the front.
He wasn't interested in the music, or the performance. The only show he was interested in was sitting in his lap; cheeks flushed, breathing hitched, the sound of her pulse lulling him. He pressed his lips to her neck, settled them into the seat more comfortably, and popped his shiny dress shoes up on the edge of the balcony, lighting a cigarette.
This wasn't his favorite suit but he didn't want to ruin Lydia's experience. He had even donned a glamor making him look as he had in life, and thanks to the blood freely given he even had the illusion of a reflection. His hand trailed lazily along her body and he enjoyed her enjoying the opera.
He had more plans for her this evening. Hopefully, by the end of the night she wouldn't want to go back to that house.
The first two acts went by with Lydia a gasping, smiling hodge podge of sensitivity and emotion in his arms but she wasn't at the edge of her seat. There was no point. Her sight being what it was, she was free to let her eyes shut in relaxation while melting into her date's arms, and just experience the music.
The notes caressed her like a hug. At times, it felt as though she were on stage with them and the show was happening all around her. Intermission rolled around and she shot to her feet against Betelgeuse's stubborn hold, clapping so loudly and enthusiastically her palms ached, but she didn't care and kept right on. Her ivory-shrouded form was a beacon of light from the balcony drawing other patrons to stare at the poltergeist's prize‒ and even a few cast members from backstage peaking through the curtain.
Lydia didn't know how she shone, and maybe that made her more luminous.
"Oh, Beej," she gasped, turning from her admirers, "it's wonderful! Just wonderful!"
True, she had no idea what was going on in terms of the plot but she could feel the emotion behind every line, every risen and fallen pitch. Experiencing this kind of high art through her stereo just wasn't going to cut it anymore now that she knew what she was missing.
"It's just intermission, right? It's not over yet?"
When she insisted to stand and applaud at intermission she pulled him to the edge of his seat, making sure she didn't get too excited so close to the balcony's edge. He was leaning forward, elbows on knees when she turned back to him, face beaming like the moon.
"It's wonderful! Just wonderful!"
He smiled and caught her hand, pulling her back to him from where she escaped.
"I'm glad you like it, sweets," his hands circled her waist, "just intermission, I think the program said forty-five minutes?"
He leaned back into his seat, pulling her onto his lap again, and tapped the side table, making a bottle of wine and two glasses appear. Pouring her a glass, he pressed it into her fingers.
"I'm thinkin' dinner after this, whaddya say?" He slid a cool hand up along her leg under the voluminous skirt, his lips gliding along her neck, "n' maybe after we go have some fun explorin' we can have dessert," he nipped at her creamy skin.
Heat furled in her belly at his words and antics. It felt very much to Lydia as though enough was enough and tonight would be the night she would lose herself to him completely. It gave her a thrill of anticipation paired with the natural fear and reservations of an inexperienced young lamb in a wolf's clutches.
"I could eat."
Teeth nipped her jugular, her fingers trembled, and she would have spilt wine onto her pristine gown if his larger hand didn't come along to correct hers and guide the lip of the glass to her mouth, encourage her to drink. The wine was sweet and heavy on her tongue, and without sight Lydia knew it was dark.
The few sips gave her a pleasant buzz. When the music returned, she was just as titillated and receptive as before, clinging desperately to her date as a sort of anchor as the emotions of each ballad poured over her. By Mimi's death at the end of the fourth act, she had been brought to silent tears, a steady crystalline stream marking each of her cheeks while a pained, pale blue gaze stared out at nothing.
"That was beautiful," she hushed into his ear, heartbroken, as people began to rise and applaud again. The show had left her too emotionally ravaged to bring herself to do the same as she had done before.
"I'm sorry," she faltered once she realized how far she was gone, gathering herself and sitting up straight to swipe wetness from her cheeks. "I don't know what's come over me‒ Must be the wine…"
He cupped her face between his hands and used his thumbs to wipe at her tears. He kissed her softly before helping her to her feet so he could stand.
"I'm just glad ya' enjoyed it, baby doll."
Pulling her in flush against himself, he gave her a squeeze. With a blink of his eye there were standing in a new dimly lit room, the smells of food drifting to them from farther into the restaurant. He kept his hand at the small of her back while he spoke with the Maitre'd. Betelgeuse understood French but when he spoke, it was slow and slightly stilted as if he had to really focus on what he was trying to say. His voice wasn't quite the same with his glamor. There was less of a growl and it sounded more hoarse but it was still the same gravely rumble.
When they were led to a private area where only candle light illuminated the room, he pulled out a chair for Lydia and helped guide her into it before seating himself across from her. He ordered himself a scotch and a bottle of wine from the waiter then gladly took the menu. He moved his chair around to sit next to Lydia pressing the now braille menu into her delicate hands.
"Whatcha hungry for, Babe?" Betelgeuse draped his arm across the back of her chair and leaned into her space, his fingers playing along her bare shoulder.
When the waiter came back with their drinks, Betelgeuse watched him with narrowed eyes. He didn't like the way the young man was eyeballing his Lydia. After the waiter poured the wine and went to leave he unexpectedly tripped on nothing. That made Betelgeuse grin as he passed Lydia her glass. They were sitting so close at this point had she not been wearing the voluminous skirt their thighs would have been touching. They were a vision in contrast, her luminessence to his darkness, the black of his suit harsh against her pale beauty.
She couldn't tell how sequestered their table was, but could feel a pleasant breeze waft by occasionally and surmised they were near an open terrace. Lydia had not missed the subtle change to his voice, but did not put a second thought to it with the wonder of the opera laid out before her. Now in the brighter candlelight, tucked underneath his arm, her chair pulled close as was comfortably possible, the bronze shade of his skin was clearer to her.
"I was wondering why no one was saying anything…"
Her fingers trailed along a severely cut cheekbone and into silky dirty blonde hair, cotton candy pink lips parted in amaze.
"You're all different."
It wasn't an insult. Or a compliment. Just an amused observation by the tickled pink girl. Literally, she was pink. The shade of her cheeks marked her changing moods visibly, giving away her emotions clear as day every time. Only a few more moments were spared to map out the contours of his strange new face before turning her attention to the menu‒ completely missing the way he sent their waiter flying.
"Whatcha hungry for, Babe?"
"Hmm…"
Head lolling onto his shoulder the way she had become accustomed to in the past couple hours at the opera, she traced through the menu, humming with hunger at all the different options.
"I don't know," she kissed beneath his jaw, taken in by the romance of it all and forgetting that she was supposed to be looking for food. It was hard to choose between all the decadent options, the choice made more difficult by her date and his distracting presence. She was hungry though. By the time she could hear the waiter returning, she perked up, aiming her face in his general direction to order in near perfect French.
The language rolled lovely and smooth off her tongue, enough to fool their server into thinking she was a kept French mistress out with her beau. Confident that Betelgeuse could cover the check, Lydia didn't hold back. She ordered everything that caught her interest, unsure if she would ever be back here again and unwilling to miss out.
"Is that too much?" She switched to English at the end of her order, turning attention to her date. She had called for several appetizers, three different entrees, and two desserts.
"Nah, Babes, that's perfect."
He switched back to French to let the waiter know that would be all. He collected her wine glass off the table and handed it to her before retrieving his own glass of scotch.
"I didn't think ya'd even notice I changed," he pressed a kiss to her cheek, and stretched out his legs in front of his seat, slouching slightly.
"Watcha think, Love? Ya likin' this so far? Y'know," he leaned in to whisper, his cool breath tickling her ear, "we never havta go back, we could do this every night…"
His hand was trailing up along the loose ruffles of her skirt, cool lips moving along her neck and shoulder. She was lucky he had big plans for this evening. He had a few more surprises planned, and he couldn't get distracted. No matter how alluring her blushes and smiles were, or how good she smelled, or how warm her little body was.
He had felt so relaxed since she released him earlier that afternoon. He wasn't sure when last he'd been this at ease but if she didn't stop being so fucking intoxicating they weren't going to make it to the rest of what he had planned. When she'd kissed his jaw, it had nearly undone him right there.
This was only temporary. Juno would realize what he'd done eventually and that would mean more trouble for both of them but if he could convince Lydia to marry him, then they would both be free. He could take care of her‒ that's what this was about. Proving to her now that he could provide and care for her.
He snapped out of his thoughts to notice that her glass was nearly empty and refilled it for her, his own liquor sitting forgotten on the table. He pressed his face into her hair inhaling her intoxicating scent. Perhaps, he liked her better this way, all shiny and happy, and not scared. Either way he couldn't wait for dinner to end. She had entirely too much clothing on for his liking.
They shared a cigarette while waiting for their extravagant order. Lydia limited herself to only sipping down one glass of wine, making that two in addition to the one she took her time with at the opera. Her previous experience chugging dark liquor with him in the attic had taught her that she was a lightweight. The last thing she wanted was to get too drunk and either ruin or forget this beautiful night.
He pet her and she pet back, her advances shy and demure while his bordered on the edge of too much. Delicate fingers traced his strange human face, his nose, lips, eyes, feeling out the details and memorizing. They moved down to his neck and shoulders, just as methodical and gentle as when she was examining the handbook.
Meanwhile, he was squeezing and groping‒ not too rough but firmly enough to speak to his desire. He seemed to relish making her pulse race by stimulating the sensitive flesh on her neck and around her ears, kissing and nipping and tickling soft baby hairs. Every few seconds, his lips would return to her jugular as if to gauge how much faster he was making her heart beat. Large hands moved possessively along her silhouette, never hesitating to stop and squeeze whatever he liked from her luscious little breast to the compact nipped in curve of her tiny waist.
By the time the server returned with their meal, that hand was making its way up her skirt and Lydia was getting nervous. Squeezing her thighs shut in an attempt to still the wriggling limb, she flashed a flustered grin in the direction of the waiter and thanked him for his service.
Lydia didn't know where to start. It all smelled so good. Salivating, she leaned far over the table to try and get a better look at everything, unable to get as close as she would really need to for a clear image, but happy to sight the blurry food anyway.
"I have no idea what any of this is and I want to eat all of it," she announced with eyes bigger than her stomach, sitting back to lick her lips. However, her hand hesitated hovering over the fork and she turned a hopeful gaze his way. "Help me? I don't uh… I can't see what I'm doing. I don't want to eat anything the wrong way."
Biting right into an escargot shell sounded like an unpleasant experience she would rather avoid.
He leaned back with a soft sigh when she snapped her knees together denying his seeking touch but stood to move and talk to the waiter when he came. It only took a few words and a substantial tip pressed into his hand to make sure that they would not be disturbed.
It gave him a small happy twinge in his chest to see the smile spread across her sweet little porcelain face as she mooned over the food. It seemed funny to him that something so simple as this could make him feel so content. For a moment he thought she was going to fall when she had leaned up on to the table to try and take a look at the spread she ordered.
Once she settled herself back in her seat, licked her little rosebud lips, and asked so sweetly for his help, Betelgeuse knew that he would do anything she asked of him. He also knew that sitting next to her was no longer going to work for him.
Smiling, he strolled back to gather her into his arms, then sat in her now empty chair so that he could perch her on his lap. He had his arms around her waist, and pressed a quick kiss to her neck before reaching for her silverware and eyed the dishes carefully. He hadn't really paid attention to what she was ordering, but it all smelled and looked delightful. He decided against the desserts, they would keep until later. His eyes landed on a shallow dish of Soupe à l'oignon and smiled.
"Let's see..." Selecting a carefully sized bite, he blew on the steaming spoonful first before holding it to her lips.
This was not what Lydia meant when she asked for "help", and almost demanded he let her be to feed herself‒ but stopped herself. This wasn't babying. He knew she could take care of herself. He liked doing this. She asked. Ignoring the impulse to reach for her plate or silverware, she instead stilled twitching fingers and opened her mouth to receive the best bite of French onion soup she had ever had in her life.
Panera Bread didn't have shit on this. This was what food was supposed to taste like. Rich and decadent with a multitude of varying flavors that spectacularly complimented each other while melding on her tongue. The gruyere was soft and sharp, offsetting the strong flavor of onion, heady beef consume tying it all together and freshly baked croutons beneath the cheese providing texture and balance.
That was just the first bite. Lydia moaned as it slid down her throat, all too happy to let her lips drop open for him again when he returned with a second and third spoonful. The next morsel he had for her was different and she hummed in delighted surprise at the new flavors introduced to her palate.
She recognized the texture of chicken and mushroom, the protein delicate and falling apart on her tongue. It tasted as if it had been stewed in a rich, smoky sauce with tomatoes, garlic… bacon? Wine?
"What's this one," she queried in between bites, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek in silent gratitude for his feeding her. It was a unique experience, she would give it that. "It's so good."
She was so precious, his little faery queen, the way she lit up when she got that first bite. The way she squirmed in his lap, the soft pleasure noises she made, they may as well have been back in her bedroom.
He remembered enjoying food when he was alive, and knew now that he could eat if he wanted to, but after selling off so much of his soul and all the centuries of being dead, the taste was very muted. Strong liquors still held flavor for him and he enjoyed the flavor of his newest drug of choice, Lydia. She hit the spot better than any booze, or smoke he'd had, to say he was addicted was an understatement. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud.
"What's this one?"
His attention snapped back to what he'd been doing, her soft voice calling him back from his thoughts. With an arched eyebrow, he looked down at the dish he'd just been feeding her from and clicked his tongue.
"That, baby girl, is coq au vin. Smells like it anyway," his eyes landed on another dish she'd ordered and he leaned closer to the table grinning, he picked up a delicate three pronged fork and tongs, and reached for the dish.
"Ya ever tried escargot before, babe?"
He scooted the special dish holding the little shells closer to the edge of the table and pressed the fork into her hand. He used the tongs to pluck a shell out of the tray and brought it out over her plate, then helped direct her hand with the fork to draw the little chunk of flesh from inside. The warm butter and herb smell stronger now, and he offered her a small piece of bread to put it on.
"Never."
It was divine. Lydia's insides felt just as mushy and buttered up as the unfortunate snail sliding down her gullet as he continued to feed her, his large hands showing hers what to do for the more involved dishes. She had a little bit of everything, and even though he never stopped to partake, he seemed to have an intelligent grasp on which order she should try each dish, the many varying flavors never clashing from bite to bite.
Before moving onto the sweets, he urged her wine glass to her lips to clear her palate, and Lydia sipped of it deeply, the buzzing headrush she felt afterward driving her to press wine-stained lips to his. They made out for a little while then, food forgotten. He was hard in his slacks under her thigh, and Lydia pushed her weight down boldly while kissing him, purposefully stimulating where she knew he was aroused and sensitive.
"Aren't you going to eat anything?" She questioned between kisses, the words breathed gentle against his mouth. It was easy to forget that he was dead and gone and lacking biological function when he was so alive against her, his aura running so hot she could almost be fooled into thinking he had a pulse, grip tight on her hips while they canoodled in the shadowy cafe.
"It all tastes so good," she purred, running fingers through his hair smoothly, nails scratching against his scalp in a way his true form never would have allowed with all the mold and tangles. She didn't mind the texture, but from the way his hips rocked up, a growl vibrating deep in his chest, she could surmise that he approved. She would have to try playing with his hair more when he was himself again.
"I don't want you to miss out."
"Aren't you going to eat anything?"
"I'm thinkin' about it, but I think I'm holdin' out for dessert," his mind wasn't on the delights on the table but the little cream puff in his grasp. Her wine sweetened lips affecting him more than drinking the entire bottle of wine would have.
"It all tastes so good… I don't want you to miss out."
"I ain't missin' out baby doll," her fingers in his hair were distracting. He pressed down on her hips, grinding up against her, "I get to watch ya, and besides I think you taste better anyway."
He could just have her here, fuck the rest of the evening. His hand was pulling at the layers of her skirt, finally discovering the satin of her stocking. His fingertips ghosted up her thigh, a light tickle. When he came to lace tops of the stockings, his hand moved, warm from how close he had been keeping her, to stroke her through the light silk underwear he dressed her in. Lips moving down along her neck, stopping over her pulse to bite softly.
"Ya ready for dessert yet, babes?" His low smoky voice holding a trace of laughter in it.
"Always."
A warm, shaky breath of a whimper caught on his ear when the rough tip of his finger delicately petted over the crotch of her panties, tracing the swell of her labia. Forgetting their location, her thighs melted open over his knee easily, the generous swathe of her skirts providing discretion. Her head lolled back on his shoulder, flesh electric and wrought with goosebumps from the subtle, searching touch.
This was dirty. She could hear other people nearby. Not too close, but close enough to add the thrill of getting caught to their forray. Lydia couldn't bring herself to care too much one way or the other if they were seen. What would they do? Tell her parents?
The corners of her mouth ticked upwards at the rebellious thought. It was only temporary. All this freedom and happiness couldn't possibly last forever. Best to make the most of it.
"I don't know if you know this about me…" It was husked in his ear, a flushed cheek resting on his shoulder, one of her hands laying limp‒ at first glance‒ over her breast. If one were to watch closely, they would catch her fingering her own nipple through the thin bodice.
"But I have an insatiable sweet tooth…"
His hand moved to cover hers, cupping, massaging her breast. His hips pressing up against her bottom, his fingers moving slowly but firmly against her. The cloth of her panties became damp as he pressed and rubbed at her, a grin spread across his lips as he pressed another firm kiss to her neck.
Deftly he slipped his hand to the top of her panties and pulled them from her body in a quick jerk. Once she was bare to his touch he cupped his hand down over her. He tooks his time palming her clit, his fingers gliding along her warm damp folds, and then achingly slowly he pressed one finger inside her. His hand working her slowly.
"So, baby cakes," he added a pressure to his hand and ground his hips up against her, "What bonbons do ya wanna try first? Creme brulee? Paris-Brest? Another glass of Sauternes?"
She was starting to writhe against him, the sweet little noises coming from her rose bud lips telling him she was getting close. One, two more strokes and he slowly removed his hand from her and her skirt, ignoring her distress sounds at the absence of his questing fingers. He pressed a kiss to her flushed cheek and brought the finger, damp with her to his mouth. Slowly, he pressed it into his mouth much as he'd just done to her body and sucked it clean of her. A needful contented growl coming from him at the taste, better than any wine. Pulling the finger from his mouth he let it make a small popping noise, before nuzzling her neck.
"See, babes? Told ya I ain't missin' out. Tu es délicieux bébé."
Cheerfully he picked up the dessert spoon and cracked the top of the creme brulee, the strong smell of burnt sugar and rich custard filling the air around them. He removed a spoonful of the sweet cream and dabbed her on the nose with a chuckle before offering her the bite.
"Once you finish yer bonbons, ma cherie, I have another surprise for ya. Night ain't even close to over yet."