She said she wasn't mad. He really doubted that but would take it at face value for now. She forgave his other violent episodes and actions without much fuss. He pushed it aside. Not ready to deal with most of what he was sure she was still angry about anyway. He also had to push away the thoughts of what he knew he needed to tell her, things he hadn't been allowed to talk about before.
"Would you mind taking me on a tour of the rest of the house? I can do it by myself, but it's easier with a guide."
"Hmmm? Yeah sure, babe. I'd love ta give ya the grand tour."
Stiffly, he stood and took half a step to the couch, standing just out of her field of vision. Betelgeuse gave himself a little shake then stretched out his neck before slowly reaching out to lightly touch her shoulder and offer her his hand.
"I haven't been here with any regularity in the last century. Lemme open up the rooms n' we can see what we've got."
He was relieved when she took his hand and allowed him to help her stand. He noticed she was still hauling around the blanket from the night before and remembered that the house never really got warm. Sighing, irritated with himself, he conjured a heavy fur-lined robe and slippers in his bride's customary black. The new clothes, like all the other items he clothed her in, wrapped around her small form perfectly.
"Last night ya said ya only saw… what? Three rooms? Ya didn't see the kitchen did ya?"
For some silly reason, it made her blush to take his arm and stroll with him again. Maybe it was the returning feeling of security. Lydia was proud, didn't like to let her fears or inadequacies be known. It meant something that she could let that guard down, admit she would have an easier time with his help, and that he would then offer and she accept without any friction or tension in between. The robe made it easier to walk around with not having to carry the blanket but Lydia's appreciation went unspoken.
He kept doing little favors and things for her that her "thank you's" were beginning to fall flat on her own ears.
"No, I didn't."
Together, they mozied through their now shared home and to the kitchen, where he lingered at the doorway while Lydia performed her ritualistic mapping routine he was now familiar with. The lights in the fridge were bright, and she winced away from them, but powered through long enough to pull out a beer and investigate. The entire fridge was full of nothing but beer.
"I'm assuming this isn't rootbeer?" She teased, not taking the time it would take to read the label before putting the bottle back.
"I'm not too good at cooking on the stovetop because it's hard for me to tell when meat is cooked through right, but I'm good at baking. Kneading dough and mixing batter, that's easy 'cause it's all about getting the texture right."
She found a dusty kitchen-aid on the counter and was impressed he was even equipped with one.
"What's your favorite kind of cake? I want to make us a wedding cake later, we didn't have one…"
The statement brought a lot of things into focus. There were a lot of things their wedding didn't have‒ namely her consent. She frowned at the way she inadvertently brought the subject up again, shutting the cabinet she was exploring.
"Or chocolate braids. I could make those. I'm really good at those."
Betelgeuse lounged in the doorway smoking and watching Lydia explore the kitchen. He almost never came into this room when he was in residence. Eating didn't hold much appeal for him. He couldn't remember when it had last but knew it hadn't been in this century or the last.
When she mentioned the wedding cake, her face fell and it made his chest hurt. He pushed off the door frame and flicked the spent cigarette away, making it disappear before it hit the checkered floor.
"C'mon, Bunny. I got a better room t'show ya."
He moved up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, gently guiding her out of the kitchen and down the hall past the library and bedroom. At the far end and down several steps was the door that led out to the greenhouse. Before pushing it open and allowing her outside, he conjured a pair of dark tinted glasses for her, not sure how the weird orange twilight would bother her eyes. The door didn't open directly outside but into a large solarium.
The rectangular room was made entirely out of stained glass and was filled with built-in shelving and long low tables entirely filled with plants. Climbing vines crawled up one of the walls, large green leafy plants interspersed amongst the smaller flowering plants. The flowers were every color imaginable and in every variety, things that hadn't been seen in the land of the living in a millennium. All of them in full bloom perfuming the warm humid air. At the far end of the room sat an arrangement of plush chairs and a lounge. Betelgeuse ushered her through the doorway to the indoor garden, his arm around her shoulders.
"I was savin' this room for last since I fucked up the last opportunity ya had to experience bloomin' flowers." He gave her a light squeeze and stepped back to allow her to explore the room.
"We're still in the same place right?"
Betelgeuse had a history of displacing her without telling her where she was or where they were going. The atmosphere here was so different, it was necessary to clarify. It was warmer, and brighter in a way that didn't hurt and rendered the glasses he gave her useless‒ but she very much appreciated the thought. The smell was spicy and sweet, like how she imagined a far away tropical island might smell on a hot, humid day.
"I was savin' 'this room for last since I fucked up the last opportunity ya had to experience bloomin' flowers."
She turned from the crimson basketball-sized flora whose burst of petals she was admiring to spare him a sweet smile. She wasn't mad. How could she be in this place?
"Do you only turn into a snake when you're angry?"
Moving on down the line, fingertips trailing vines and leaves as she went, she wondered after her husband and his many faults and advantages. In Lydia's opinion, the pros far outweighed the cons.
"It's a shame if so. I like snakes."
So he had a temper. Many men did. He would use that same untempered rage to fight, kill, and die for her if the last weren't already checked off the list. What most men didn't do was transform into a majestic beast whenever they went off on a tangent.
"I used to keep a pet California King named Rex, but he got out once and Delia made me give him up after she found him in her underwear drawer… Is this a trait all reptiles share?"
The smile she gave him when she looked away from the flowers melted him down to his boots. He missed that smile, missed how it made her whole face light up and her eyes shine.
"Hmmmm? Oh, no. I can turn inta one whenever." He scratched at a spot on his chin.
Betelgeuse followed a few steps behind his wife, hands in his pockets. He wasn't mad back when he changed at the house, he just figured it was the best way to torment the in-laws. Thinking back though, by the time she experienced him in that form things had escalated. In the garden it hadn't been a choice, and rather than enraged he was hurt.
Fucking disgusting, processing emotions. He had fallen so out of practice. The more he whittled away at his soul the easier it was to let go of those basic human things.
"I used to keep a pet California King named Rex, but he got out once and Delia made me give him up after she found him in her underwear drawer. Is this a trait all reptiles share?"
"Sounds like my kinda snake, babes… well aside from bein' in Red's underwear drawer. Gotta say, makes me think yer old man is either brave or stupid venturing into them strange lands." He stopped to move one of the larger potted plants back in line with its fellows.
"The light isn't botherin' ya out here, baby-doll?" He kept an eye on her progress down the corridor of plants. She'd tucked the glasses away in the pocket of the robe almost immediately. The stained glass probably helped, but he could make it dimmer without affecting the plants.
"No. I'm fine, thank you."
When he asked, she paused her journey down the living gallery, waiting for him to catch up.
"I've never told you, and I know you're going to brush it off or say it's no big deal but…"
She turned to face him head on, chin tilted up to meet his gaze as they were close enough to allow it. He was a blurry distorted mess to her, but she had learned where to find the color of his irises among the chaos.
"I really… really appreciate the way you… you're always making sure I'm comfortable. Because of… my eyes, I mean."
It was humbling for her to bring attention to the constant glaring elephant in the room. He did so much. Always without a thought as if it were second nature. She almost never wore veils when she was with him unless they were going out. A good portion of his haunting entailed blowing out the lights in any room she happened to be in moments before she stepped foot there. It was no wonder Delia blamed her for his misdeeds.
"No one's ever done that for me. I've always done it for myself… except for my Mama."
He could count on one hand the times she spoke about her vision. Usually because he'd said or done something stupid that made her have to talk about it. This time thought he didn't feel like he'd made her dredge up something distasteful. What was that warm feeling spreading in his chest? Good god he hadn't expected being able to feel like this again just because he got a little bit of a soul back. He gave himself a little shake before answering.
"It's… eh, it's my pleasure, Sweetheart." It came out awkwardly. He cleared his throat and caught up to her. "If the light out here ain't botherin' yer eyes, we can maybe open up some o' the curtains. The music room don't have much of a view but the glasswork in there is nice."
He stopped to lean against one of the raised beds she was meticulously inspecting, and watched her. The way her fingers flitted over the petals and leaves and how she leaned in to see was fascinating to him. As she leaned forward a swath of spun silk hair dropped over her shoulder nearly into the soil. He reached out and brushed it back behind her ear, cool fingers lingering against her skin just a moment longer than they should have. He pulled a cigarette out of the air and took a long drag on it contemplating the stained glass ceiling panels.
"We could get ya some songbirds fer in here, a snake too if ya'd like that. It'd have t'be a small snake though so I don't get jealous." He grinned at her, tossing in a wink he knew wouldn't land.
Music room. That visibly piqued her interest but she shelved it for later, too caught up in the magic of the greenhouse. The piano was another joy of hers, but she was no Master. Practice would make perfect, and it's not as though she had much else to do as his wife. She assumed school was out of the question, especially considering how things went with her last tutor.
His fingers brushed her ear, and her cheeks turned that fine shade of cotton candy pink he was familiar with. "We could get ya some songbirds fer in here, a snake too if ya'd like that. It'd have to be a small snake though so I don't get jealous."
"Is there room for them to fly?" She looked up, unable to gauge the depth from the ceiling. "Only if they can fly and be happy. I think it's cruel to break a bird's wings and keep it locked up where it can't fly."
The vaguely phallic snake joke had her giggling, playing girlishly with the same lock of hair he so intimately stroked just moments before.
"Any other snakes out there your size would try to eat me!" A sudden morbid thought killed her giggles and she turned on him with wide eyes. "Beej…? Have you ever… eaten anyone? Wait!"
She clasped both hands over her ears and turned her back on him, striding too confidently on down the aisle.
"Nevermind! I don't want to know!"
Unfortunately for Lydia, she was a bit too quick and couldn't have seen the tiny rock in the path that knocked off her footing, sent her legs tripping around the skirt of her nightgown.
Her giggles were exactly what he'd been aiming for. It was like music. Better than the cathedral. He felt lighter, his grin widening as he took another drag off his smoke and flicked ash to the floor.
"Beej…? Have you ever… eaten anyone? Wait!"
The way her voice squeaked when she said 'wait' made him laugh. The full joyful laugh rattled out of him as she took off down the walkway little hands over her ears. He doubled over as she rescinded her question, hands on his thighs. As soon as he heard the distressed noise she made as she tripped, his head snapped up. She fell sprawled out on the walkway, and she wasn't able to catch herself because she had her ears covered. He was next to her in an instant helping her to sit up. The soft scent of blood was in the air and it caused him to panic.
"Lyds, are ya okay?"
His hands were cupping her face looking for injuries, and when he didn't find anything of note he moved on. As he pulled up the long skirt of her nightgown, he noted the dirty hem. He wouldn't be making her skirts that long again. Finally finding fresh scrapes on her knees he set about examining them to make sure they were just small superficial wounds.
Groaning in embarrassment, she sat up with his help, flushing further at the familiar touch of his large hands moving up her calves for such an innocent reason.
"I'm uhm… I'm okay."
The pink dusting on her cheeks turned a shade of full blown ripe strawberry. Once he was satisfied that her little fall hadn't done anything serious, he stood gripping her hand and had her up alongside him with a single strong tug. She was kicking herself internally for getting so cocky. A simple fall like that over a rock could have happened to anyone, but Lydia took these mishaps personally.
The good thing to come of this was that now he had an excuse to touch her again. With her twig of an arm cradled in his,elbows locked, he escorted her to the lounge. The area was bathed in a gradient of cool hues from an overhanging stained glass scene that depicted merfolk and other sea creatures frolicking. Hangings planters were arranged to mimic seaweed from a ground perspective. All of this beauty was lost on Lydia, but the bewitchment this room meant to cast landed nonetheless.
"I'll take it slower next time," she reassured, sensing his lingering unease. He cared so much.
Her poor knees were so marked up, at first he'd thought it had all been from this fall but then he realised that they were scabbed over. Then he noticed how not all the bruises on her legs‒ and she had bruises‒ were the deep purple of a new bruise. There were bruises in all stages of healing, ranging from the gold-green of mostly healed to the flowering violet of brand new. Tapping each knee lightly the fresh wounds were cleaned and bandaged.
He caught her hands next and checked her palms. They both too were marked up, one's cuts were old and the other's were fresh. The sleeve over her elbow on the side that was fresh was ripped from the fall and he could see how scraped that was too. Her palms were then bandaged. He inspected the hole in the sleeves of her robe and nightgown before sighing. He snapped his fingers and the nightgown was gone, the robe mended. The robe had much looser sleeves than the night gown and he was able to push it up and inspect her elbow. Only for him to notice that her bicep was covered in a large hand shaped bruise, it had the red tinge to it that marked it as deep tissue. He got her elbow patched up before his hands started shaking too badly and he licked his lips and rolled his eyes up to her face.
On the way up he noticed how badly marked up her collarbone and neck were. In the back of his mind he'd known he'd marked her up when they were being intimate but this looked like she was beaten and strangled. His eyes flicked closed and he took a deep breath, his hands shaking slightly as he touched her collar bone. Finally he forced his eyes open and looked at her.
"Lydia… did I…" He paused and took another shaky breath. "Those are all from me aren't they?"
He didn't deserve to touch her. She didn't deserve this, to be stuck here with him in the hereafter. Juno was right. It was only a matter of time before his fucked up head got her killed. He pulled his hand back in a quick jerky movement. He didn't remember her having nearly that many marks the last time he'd seen her naked. He also hadn't seen her unclothed since…
No. Don't think about it now. Wait until she sleeps again. Then you can fall apart.
Again, her flush deepened when her nightgown poofed away, and Lydia thought she would burn up on the spot. It wasn't fair how much he affected her. She didn't understand what he was doing until his fingers began to press gently over places on her that were tender or torn open; her knees, her palms and up to the still-healing cut in her forearm. His silence weighed heavy, taking her emotions in a different direction from silly schoolgirl bashfulness.
"Those are all from me aren't they?"
His voice wavered with emotion. He wasn't touching her anymore in that way that made butterflies dance in her belly. Most of the marks he traced over Lydia was not even aware she had until he touched them and reminded her. Every time a bruise twinged, she remembered where it came from‒ the tree in the garden when he shoved her against it and forced three orgasms from her had done a number on her back and she was glad he couldn't see it for what it seemed to be doing to his poor conscience.
"Hey…" She followed after as he shrunk away, gentle hands feeling out for him. She found his leg first and used that starting point to trail up and cup his face, force his attention back to her.
"Don't do that. I don't want you to do that. I forgive you. It's okay, I promise."
He didn't believe her. What could she do? Mimicking what she had done earlier that morning sans any audience or pretext, Lydia slid into his bubble and got right at home. Her arms slithered around his neck and her head rested snug on his shoulder, entire body nested lax and warm in his lap.
"I love you, Beej…"
She said it again. She said she forgave him. How could she? How could she just brush it off like she wasn't completely covered in bruises he caused. As she climbed into his lap he moved one hand to the back of the lounge and one to the arm, gripping tight. He didn't deserve to touch her.
"I love you, Beej…"
"Why?" It wasn't more than a whisper. "How? How can you just…"
His voice shook, and he took a quivering breath. Involuntarily, he squeezed the lounge and the wood popped and cracked under his hands. Her warmth was starting to seep into him. It was spreading, more than it had before, and slowly he began to relax against her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her neck. He didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve the way she was now, sweet and snug against him. His eyes shut, head falling back as he focused on going to that still quiet place but it wouldn't come.
"I think maybe I should stop trying to give ya a beautiful time in a garden. We're two for two now on fuckin' up the visits."
He let out a harsh laugh that didn't sound like he really found any of it funny but he did eventually wrap his arms around her small form and pressed his face into the crux of her neck and shoulder. Body shaking, he sat there and cuddled her to him, the vanilla-lilac scent of her skin calming him in a way her words hadn't.
"I wouldn't say I'm not having a beautiful time," Lydia argued gently, perfectly content to stay right where she was in his arms. The way he shook broke her heart, and she sought to soothe him further petting her fingers against the softer but still scraggly hairs at the nape of his neck.
"I don't know which room I like best; here, the library, or the bedroom."
The intimate implications of her enjoying his personal private sleeping space that much were lost on Lydia, though likely wouldn't phase her if pointed out. It was clear to her that he wanted to keep the conversation light and she made it as easy as she could. No matter what he had done, he was still her love, and he was torturing himself more than she ever could or would want to.
"I've never been in a house so dark and quiet… I love it. There are candles everywhere. Is that for me or do you always have them burning?"
She kept her voice hushed low. No need to be any louder when they were so close. It felt like before, when he shattered her heart and disappeared for three months‒ an eternity to Lydia. This time he wasn't charged up with any of that nasty vindictiveness.
"I'm ready to go to the music room whenever you are. Or we can stay a little while longer. I'm not in any rush."
"There're gas lamps but the candles are fer you. I don't need the light." He kept his face buried in her shoulder, fingers playing with the ends of her long hair falling down her back, "The curtains are always pulled, though. We're way out on the end o' the neighborhood, no one comes out this way if they don't hav'ta."
He could get used to this. She was so warm and soft and felt so right pressed up against his chest. He wanted nothing more than to curl up around her right now and find the absolution of sleep. When was the last time he wanted sleep? What the fuck was happening with him?
"I'm ready to go to the music room whenever you are. Or we can stay a little while longer. I'm not in any rush."
He pulled back enough that he could press a soft kiss to her lips.
"I think I need to take you up to the Music room." Hugging her tightly, he pressed his face into her hair. "I don't even remember what I have up there."
He cleared his throat and straightened up, his hand coming up to run through her hair. His eyes slid down her body and an ankle-length red dress appeared. The skirt was made of layers of ruffles that flowed loosely around her legs, the bodice soft and fitting her like a second skin with a sweetheart neckline and long sleeves that edged all the way up to her fingers. Cream-colored stockings and shimmery red flats completed the look. Her robe was sent back to the bedroom.
He stood up from the lounge and took a step before thinking better of it and setting her down, taking her hand before leading her out of the Solarium. When they stepped back into the main house they took a right and went up a flight of stairs at the back of the house to the second floor. He led her down the broad hall and opened a door, standing back to allow her access. He motioned and the curtains pulled back to cast the eerie orange glow across a cloth and dust-covered Fortepiano. Other instruments were around the room on display and in cases, each cloaked in dust.
"I think I need to take you up to the Music room."
That kiss turned her legs to jelly and she wished he would have just carried her along to wherever they were going. Learning the path could wait. Nevertheless, she was too shy to ask aloud and he was still feeling too guilty to allow himself the impulse.
Like everywhere else, Lydia explored and mapped out the music room with baby steps and gentle touches. Here, however, little bites of music followed her everywhere she went. Every instrument she picked up she would play just a little, a few melodic notes off the bat for the pleasure of letting it hitting her ears before respectfully putting it back in its place.
The last instrument on her musical tour was a long-forgotten solid gold harp over near the window. A sheet covering saved it from dust unlike many of the unfortunate instruments kept here, so Lydia didn't hesitate to ooh and ah, running her hands all over the smooth, gleaming metal.
"Betelgeuse, it's beautiful."
The way she saw it, it was anyway. Sweeping her skirts to the side, she took a seat at the velvet stool meant for the harpist, pluck plucked a handful of the strings in a random, imperfect rhythm‒ listening, getting a feel for it. Then, she began to play. It was a simple tune, Greensleeves, but she played it near-flawlessly. It was a little slow at the beginning to allow for perfection, to make sure she got it absolutely right but sped up after a few bars. As she grew more confident, her fingers extended to strum the delicate strings at the appropriate time making for a heavenly sound. Lydia sat there and played the whole song start to finish on an instrument she had never before touched in her life, a nymphish little smile plucking at her lips all the while.
"Oh, I've always wanted a harp," she sighed at the end, stroking the top lovingly in goodbye before standing to move along. "Didn't seem practical. Do you play all of these? I bet you play beautifully, you've had so long to master them."
Had he realized she was going to take to the instruments in this room as easily as she did he would have shown her this room first. He supposed it was like she had said about baking in the kitchen, that was about texture, this was about sound. Rather than wait for her to do a circuit of the whole room before she entered he strode to the Fortepiano and pulled the drop cloth from it, magicking it away, and sat upon the bench. Face rested in his hand, elbow braced on the closed fallboard, he listened to her use the harp.
He was happy she seemed so pleased with it. It was one of the newer additions to the room and once he collected it, he'd not had any interest in teaching himself to play it. The harp appeared to be made for her. It was always been too small for him to comfortably sit at but it suited her fine. Apparently, this was why he'd kept it; so it could be waiting here for her.
His eyes drifted shut as he listened to her play through the song. The further she got into the song the more sure he could hear her fingerings getting. When she finished, he opened his eyes right away, enjoying the last few notes ringing through the acoustics of the room.
"Oh, I've always wanted a harp. Didn't seem practical. Do you play all of these? I bet you play beautifully, you've had so long to master them."
"Are ya tellin' me, baby-girl, ya ain't never played a harp before?" He sat up and popped up the fallboard running his fingers across the keys‒ not playing, just reorienting himself. "Ya gotta be fuckin' with me."
He hadn't played in a long while, and he adjusted his fingers before playing the opening to Nocturne in D flat major. Playing what would have equated the first page of sheet music before stopping.
"I can play most of 'em, n' I can play some of 'em well… but not like you just did. Angel o' Music indeed, Sweetheart."
As he played, Lydia drifted closer until they were sharing the bench. Enough space was left between them for him to play comfortably, but Lydia felt the need to be as close as possible. The unknown of what her new life here with him would hold was scarier than she let on. Her brave face was immaculate but it showed cracks in the way she preferred to stay glued to his side rather than jumping to explore every room of the house‒ the way she had the house on the hill.
"Angel o' Music indeed, Sweetheart."
His praise had her glowing, scooting closer to him on the bench until their thighs touched now that he had stopped playing.
"No, I've never played it before. I play a bit of piano and the violin. I don't know, music has always come easily to me. All the pieces fall together and my body just... knows what to do…"
Lydia was not raised in an environment conducive to encouraging and honing her talents but they had budded and flourished beneath the surface of her personal glasshouse nonetheless.
"I think this might be my favorite room, actually." There was a beat of silence before she reached for his hand, laying hers atop and giving a gentle squeeze. "Can I ask you something?"
The visit from the mean old woman who woke her that morning had left a nasty taste in her mouth. The things she said, aside from the things Lydia knew to be horrible and incorrect, were worrying nonetheless.
"When that woman this morning said they were going to take you away… she was bluffing, right? You said you're not going anywhere… but who wants to take you away? Why?"
When she touched his hand, he shifted so he could drape his arm around her shoulder and tuck her in along his side.
"Yeah, o' course babe," he used his free hand to flip the fallboard shut with a click. Turning enough that he could easily look down at her, he conjured a cigarette.
"When that woman this morning said they were going to take you away… she was bluffing, right? You said you're not going anywhere… but who wants to take you away? Why?"
"They ain't gonna take me away." He gave her a squeeze and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "The powers that be don't like me much… I started learnin' dark magics n' amassin' power, that's why they bound me t'my name."
He puffed on his cigarette for a few moments while he gathered his thoughts, then stubbed it out in the ashtray on the edge of the fortepiano. Then, he scooted the bench back and pulled her into his lap, clutching her against him.
"Juno is hopin' I'll fuck up enough that I'll be exorcised but they'd have'ta be able to take me in first. I have no intention of lettin' that happen."
That reminded him that if Juno was able to get past the wards he needed to fix them so no one would stand a chance, especially now that Lydia was in residence.
A tiny little meep was let out when he swiped her up into his lap like a treasure in immediate danger of being stolen. She conformed easily, strangely reassured by the possessive, threatening growl he let loose. She had heard him talk this way before but this was different. Before, he sounded possessed and unsure of whether or not things would fall in his favor. Now, there was only passionate determination in him.
"Good," she responded simply, satisfied by his answers. She still didn't quite understand but if he said he wasn't going anywhere, she believed him. "You're not allowed to disappear on me again."
Once more, they found themselves tangled up in each other's embrace, them both quite unwilling to leave. Lydia knew it would have to be her that pushed for more. He was still holding himself back, punishing them both but especially himself by refusing certain affections. How could she blame him?
"I don't think I got enough sleep… take me back to bed?"
She squeezed tighter around his neck in clear indication that she was happy to be carried if it meant staying in his arms. He wasn't allowed to disappear on her? Well, he had no intention of that happening again. Not that it had really been his fault, to begin with. He still felt horrible that he left her for so long.
Knowing how he came back to her didn't make him feel much better. He couldn't see why she kept forgiving him. He had hurt her and terrified her so many times in the last few months.
"... take me back to bed?"
"O' course, baby-girl."
Another soft kiss was pressed to her temple as he stood. Rather than walk the halls with her curled up in his arms warm and comfortable he just phased them to the bedroom to set her softly among the blankets.
"Are we closin' ya in again?" He leaned on the edge of the coffin hunched slightly so that he was on eye level with her. "Or did ya get enough playin' dead last night?"
He grinned. This felt better. She would heal and it would be fine. Things were so much more relaxed than they had been this morning, and even after the hiccup in the garden. He had wards to fix, and if she was going to sleep he could take care of that. His fingers caught the back of her neck and drew her in for a chaste kiss.
"Thank you. For what ya did earlier, Bunny." His hand caught hers and squeezed. "Love ya, Sweets."
He wanted to leave her there all by herself. That wouldn't do. Didn't the man know a line when he heard one? When he brought her up for a kiss, a mitt so large and rough as his gently cradling her neck and the back of her head, Lydia whimpered against his mouth with want. The way he kept touching her was driving her mad. They weren't the crass careless touches he managed to win her heart with, but something sweeter and more appreciative of her‒ savoring rather than devouring.
"Thank you. For what ya did earlier, Bunny. Love ya, Sweets."
Her fists tightened in the lapels of his suit, refusing him distance when he made to retreat.
"You're my husband."
It was the first time she had used the word out loud. It sounded so sweet and simple on her crystal clear timbre, not at all like the dirty thing he and Juno had made it out to be through stigma of the ritual.
"No one gets to talk to you like that."
Using her grip on his suit, she pulled him back for a more intense kiss than the one he gave. This one had her warm little mouth opening to taste him, teeth nipping and tongue licking. It ended only when Lydia said it would.
"Don't leave."
The kiss had pulled him further into the coffin. She encouraged it, turning onto her side and scooting back to make room for him all without letting go of his suit for fear he might deny her.
"Stay. I want you..."
Lydia called him her husband. Something in his chest relaxed. She pulled him in hard and pressed her hot mouth to his in an open-mouthed kiss. Her forwardness sent a jolt through his system, waking up darker instincts in him. His mouth was open to meet hers, their tongues tangling. She never used her teeth on him before and he was moaning into the kiss, hands cradling her head, fingers threading through her hair.
"Stay. I want you… "
She bodily pulled him most of the way into the coffin and with that last sweet request he wasn't going to deny her. Couldn't deny her. He easily slipped in next to her, cradling her body to his. He pressed in for another languid open-mouthed kiss, large cool hands roaming through her flirty skirt.
Once he was inside, Lydia reached up to pull the coffin closed, trapped them both inside. It was perfect. No outside world or judgment or laws or family or "Juno." Just them and their weird, perfect love.
"I love you," she whispered in the dark, sighing happily as he pulled her against him. She was on top, thighs melting open to where they were closer still while they kissed. His button-up was ripped open. She took a break from kissing him to breathe, panting hot breaths over his chest while she slipped her arm between them.
Much too impatient to bother with his button and zipper, she thrust her hand right past the seam, gripping him tenderly once she found him. He was hard as a rock, twitching and leaking in her palm. She kissed his chest, then up to his collarbone until she found his throat. There, she latched on, sucking like she might give him a hickey in time with little jerking motions down below.
"Take my dress off. I want to feel you…"
He let out a shaky groan and granted her wish. They were both naked in an instant. His hips jerked involuntarily into her touch. She was warm and everywhere in the confines of the coffin. His hands moved to catch the globes of her ass, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh. He used that grip to press her against him more.
The smell of her lust, pure and sweet was overwhelming to him. Adjusting his grip, he slid an arm down so he had her knee hooked over his forearm, his hand finding her warm wet core, the pads of his fingers slipping along her folds. When she came up from his neck for air he caught her lips with his, tongue requesting entrance. Fingers continued to stroke her, adding pressure the closer he got to her clit.
He gave her a husky groan every time her little hand slid across the head, his rocking hips adding to the pressure of his hand on her.
This was the most leeway he had ever given her without just flipping them over and taking charge. Lydia gave as good as she got, relishing the experience. However, she soon became bored with exploring familiar territory, hungry for a bit more. It didn't take much, she was already in the right position, legs spread over him, his claws spreadings her slick lips open and his cock heavy and ready in her hand.
With an adjustment of her wrist, he was aimed proper, the fat head pushing and kissing at her entrance. It was going to be a tight fit. Lydia didn't stop to think if she needed to ask him or say any last words. They both knew what they wanted. One hand gripping his cock, the other digging into his shoulder for purchase, she pushed herself down hard, shoving a little less than half of him into her.
There was a sharp internal pinch that made her yelp and still, her little strung tight body trembling around him. Ow.
He felt her making adjustments and hadn't thought much of it. They were locked in the coffin and it made things tight. Then, she was pressing herself onto his cock and he let out a low shout at the feeling of her tight warm body enveloping him. His hands reached out to grab whatever they could, ground himself enough to not just thrust up into her.
"Fuuuuck, Lydia…"
Her little body trembled over him, and he leaned up to press a kiss to her lips before adjusting so he could pull one of her pink pebbled nipples into his mouth. Throbbing inside of her, he waited for her body to relax around him. The sight of her above him in his coffin on his cock made his hips buck ever so slightly.
His eyes glowed but Lydia didn't hold any fear in her heart, not even when he growled and bucked prematurely, pulling more of her onto him, stretching her.
"Oh, Beej," she gasped, panting harder when he latched onto her tit and began suckling, long-clawed fingers kneading her ass to encourage her to sink lower, take more. She did, shaking and rocking and crying out all the while, little pained pleasured sounds that hit completely differently here than the sounds in Notre Dame. That was a stage. This was a hidey-hole, a cubby where everything spoken would stay locked up for eternity, for their ears only.
"Keep me with you forever," she begged once she finally had all of him buried deep, her stuffed full body laid out over him exhausted from the ordeal. "I'm yours…"
Softly rolling his hips against hers, he chucked in a purely masculine fashion that promised sinful things in dark rooms.
"Forever," he agreed, cock throbbing inside her and he rolled his hips lazily again, making her squirm. "I promise you forever, Bunny."
His touch moved along her sides, coming to cup her breasts and push her more upright as he slowly thrusting in and out, adjusting his angle so every thrust was marked with a small pleasure sound from her.
It was laughable that he assumed they would do this during that first tryst. The monster that had risen then was nowhere to be found in him tonight. She didn't smell of sadness, or pain, or fear. Just the pure vanilla lilac of her and the huskier scent of her arousal. It perfumed the air in the small space of the coffin, making him feel drunk. Pleasantly so.
He kept the pace slow, and pulled her down to his lips again.
"Oh baby," her murmur carried on the dark, "oh fuck."
Filthy words from Lydia's innocent mouth paired with sweet names like that for an ogre like him made her secret whispers doubly wrong. Tiny hands splayed flat on his chest for purchase, her finger tangled in the mossy thicket of his chest hair. Likewise, he massaged her chest, her little tits cupped perfectly soft and malleable in his rough palms. They pet her aching, tight, hard nipples in the best way, making her moan and push her chest harder into his hands.
"You're so big," she gasped breathily, having come to a point in her acceptance of him where she could bounce almost, her thighs cushioned on his and lightly thapping on each eager downstroke. Her insides clenched and pulled at him, milking, dragging him deeper even as they seemed to be trying to squeeze him out.
"An' yer so goddamned tight," he panted. He adjusted his rhythm, hands moved to her hips to press her against him with more force.
Everytime she moved against him, he was making low pleasure sounds. When she shifted forward to allow him to pull one of her perfect nipples into his mouth, he let out a low rumbling growl. His hands roamed her flesh, kneading and grabbing as he went, only ever stopping to elicit noises from his little wife.
Taking great care to maintain the correct angle that gave him the noises he wanted from her, his hips rolled at a greater pace.
"Oh God, oh yes! Oh please," she babbled nonsensically as she rode him, hardly even aware she was talking. The joint momentum of his bruising grip on her hips, her clumsy and unpracticed yet desperate rhythm, and the countermotions of him bucking back hard and deep in at a contrarily quick, steady pace was driving her up the walls of the coffin.
Literally.
Her back hit the ceiling, arms stretching out toward the head for purchase but his questing hips just kept stroking up, fucking her into the obstacle as if she were the one underneath. Something devilish had taken hold of him but Lydia wasn't scared. Whatever pain she felt was minimal, unintentional, and only enhanced the experience.
"YES!" She screeched as she came around his insistently pounding cock, scratching down his chest and back as her vision whited out, a galaxy of stars exploding across her gaze in the perpetual darkness.
One of the few images he would cherish forever was that of her coming apart around his cock for the first time, the whole of her little body clenching and twitching. It made him groan and shift within her again, hitting deeper, coaxing him towards his own ending. He pulled her into a searing kiss, his arm hooked around her hips bracing her as he pounded up into her another handful of strokes. His tongue mirroring other body parts as he moved against her, within her.
He came in what felt like another thrust, a low dark groan escaping him, hips bucking against her as he pumped his cool release into her. He didn't try and remove himself from her, just pulling her down into his chest, hands stroking her hair, her body. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Their activities had raised the temperature inside the coffin making it comfortably warm.
"Guess ya weren't really all that tired, were ya?" His voice was low and husky and held a drunken quality.
"I wasn't," she said, sprawled out over his chest like a purring, sunbathing kitten, "but how else was I supposed to get you into bed?"
That was a rhetorical question. There were a thousand different ways Lydia could have successfully seduced him, this was just the most straightforward. Sure, they could have waited, gotten to know each other properly now that they had the time and he had the patience but Lydia was sick of waiting for her life with him to finally begin.
"I'm not a virgin anymore," she wondered aloud, squirming and wiggling just a bit to feel the difference, how slippery her insides felt. The sensation made her giggle into his neck. "That's so weird."
Despite her wise-beyond-her-years outlook on things and wifely status, Lydia was still very much a young girl. Instances like these drove that point home, the way adult prospects were novel and fresh to her, how she deferred to giggling and blushing over sensuous acknowledgment and acceptance.
"Beej? We can't really just… do whatever we want, right?"
Go to school, get good grades, go to college, get a good job, work until you died. This was the setup that Lydia was prepared for. Marriage and babies had never been on the checklist for obvious reasons. Now, her vague life plan was out the window entirely.
"I guess I don't need to go to school anymore, huh…" That made her equal parts happy and sad. She liked learning just as much as she disliked people.
"Ya sure ain't."
He made a soft noise as she wiggled around, and lifted her enough so he could slip out. Banishing their combined mess, he relaxed back into the plush of the coffin, pulling her up so her head rested on his shoulder. He desperately wanted a smoke but didn't want to open up the lid, nor did he want to hot box his little breathing wife.
"Ya can do whatever makes ya happy, Bunny."
Hands still petting down along her body, he pulled one of the blankets over them snuggling her against him. This, he could get used to. He hadn't broken her. She had invited him back into her bed. She wanted him to stay in her bed. Something warm blossomed in his chest, making his breath hitch. Another kiss was pressed to her forehead.
"I guess I don't need to go to school anymore, huh…"
"Ya don't gotta if ya don't wanna but if ya do I can find ya the best teachers for anythin'." He'd been toying with telling her he could get her tutors down here since offering to get her song birds for the garden. "Fuck, babe, I could get ya the broad that taught Hellen Keller. We could have that deaf guy come teach ya piano‒ Beethoven!" He was smiling up into the darkness and it showed in his tone.
"You can have n' do whatever ya want."
Whatever ya want. He growled it like it was a simple thing, like he wasn't offering the entire world and after up on a platter. Of everything, of all the eye-crushing landscapes she could have visited, priceless treasure she could have requested, great famous minds and people she could have met, only one piqued her interest and she already had him in her arms.
Everything else was just filler.
Languid and drained, she slid until they were face-to-face, noses touching. The gleam of his eyes refracted off of her pale blues in the perfect darkness, making her own gaze otherwordly. Warmth and love shone down on him, her fingers playing lightly with the hairs at his temple. A long, wet kiss was left on his mouth after she got her fill of searching his gaze, happy with what she found there.
This was right. This was where she was meant to be. How they got there didn't matter anymore.
"Ready for round two?"