"If I had a heart I could love you,
If I had a voice I would sing.
After the night when I wake up,
I'll see what tomorrow brings."

—If I Had a Heart
Fever Ray

His pace and fervor increased when he heard Charles and Delia downstairs. He worked her closer and closer, determined to make her cum before they were–

Oh. There it was.

Aaand Delia was screaming. Good.

He retracted himself from his wife and peered around her bare waist at her parents. "What's got into you, Delia? Never seen a woman get eaten out before?" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head slowly. "Do your fuckin' job, Charles."

Charles Deetz prided himself on being a calm man. But nothing… nothing got away with doing harm to his daughter while she was under his roof.

"LYDIA. Where have you been!" His voice bellowed through the small room, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

Betelgeuse politely tugged her skirt back down over her ass, patting it fondly as he sat up. "Well, as much fun as it is meeting the inlaws… I think we oughta get out of here. Agreed?" He snapped and they were suddenly in a very different bedroom.

Their bedroom was a wash of dark woods and reds. He really had outdone himself on this one. "Well. Not that that's out of the way." He went to lift her skirt again. He was stopped by a sharp, stinging slap to his hand. "Ow! Come on, kitten… you were so close!"

"No! No, you— stop that!"

Lydia scrambled off of him in a tizzy, rapidly assessing the change in scenery. Her vanity was fit perfectly in the corner next to a pair of French doors. This… was the house from the pictures. Their house. She recognized that fireplace, this bed. Now that she had a closer view, she could see that yes, the stuffed rug laid out in front of the furnace was a werewolf. Or at least, something werewolf-like.

"You knew they were coming!" She accused down at the stoic-faced poltergeist still lazing about the bed. He seemed completely unfazed, inspecting his ragged, filthy nails as though he was rather proud of them. "You did that on purpose!"

Cold fury tinged with betrayal flowed through her, all of her plans ruined. They were supposed to suffer. They were never, ever, ever supposed to find out what happened to her unless it was to learn of her death, and now that was all gone out the window. Now she was the one who looked stupid; showing her ass like that, running off with the ghost that nearly took them all out along with the house. It wasn't fair! They didn't get to know about this.

"No!" She denied him again, giving his wrist another sharp slap when he came reaching for her in the midst of her pacing. "No more sex! No more cutesy stuff! No nothing! I rescind my permission until further notice!"

He frowned when she moved away from him, setting about pacing the room. He had never seen her so angry. It was… strangely intimidating. "Lyds, I didn't! I swear I didn't hear 'em. I kinda had your thighs over my ears, so."

He reached for her only to be slapped away. He hissed, his eyebrows furrowing sharply.

No more sex! No more cutesy stuff! No nothing! I rescind my permission until further notice!

He scoffed. "That's cute. That you think you get to do that." He crossed his arms over his chest, watching her fume about the room. The room he'd decorated and painstakingly restored. For her. He sneered, not moving from his place on the bed.

"Hey. Quit the fuckin' pacing you're gonna ruin the carpet. Sit the fuck down and listen, will ya?"

He sat up, leaning against the headboard. "You got nothin' to be mad about. Your dad and Delia know you're fuckin' me. So what. For all they know you're dead, right? We were just gettin' nostalgic. I don't know why you're so pissed at me. I'm tryin' to give ya everything ya want!"

Liar. He did know and Lydia wasn't about to hear anything to the contrary. He was far, far, far too smug about the entire ordeal to not have had a hand in orchestrating it. Maybe he didn't plan it, but he let it happen which was as good as in Lydia's book. Unable to ignore a direct order in that authoritative tone, she seethed and plopped her sore backside down right on the mantle of the fireplace, arms crossed stiffly as she worked up into a tremendous fit.

She didn't even get off. Unfair.

So what? I'm tryin' to give ya everything ya want!

"So," she corrected imperiously, glaring at the stuffed were-rug, "they were supposed to be haunted by it. It was supposed to be a mystery. They were supposed to toss and turn at night. Lose sleep. Think about it for the rest of their fucking lives until the not knowing tore them up inside— and now it's all ruined!"

This was the best case scenario. In reality, she doubted she was ever that important to any of her parental figures, biological or step-in. The reminder that he was trying his best— never mind that his best was falling miserably flat— made her drop her face into her palms with a frustrated sigh. Maybe she was being unreasonable. It didn't feel like it, but… maybe.

"I just…" That headache was coming back. "I just need a minute. That was really fucked up. The house is pretty. Thank you."

I just need a minute.

"Fine." He got off the bed, purposefully zipping his fly and holding his hands out to the sides. "Glad I spent so much fuckin' time on this house for you to wander around it by yourself."

He snatched his hat off her head, putting it on himself. He took hold of her jaw, just one side of too rough as he planted a kiss on her forehead. "You want Charles to suffer? Huh? I can arrange that."

He made for the mirror, absolutely fuming. He was just trying to be a good husband. To be the man people told him he couldn't be. Well if she saw him as a monster, then he'd be a monster.

His grubby boots stepped up onto her vanity and he gave a mock salute as he disappeared through the mirror back into her bedroom. He could hear Charles still shouting downstairs, and found the cat puffed up and yowling next to the door.

He grunted, scruffing the cat and thrusting it through the mirror. "Here. Your mistress needs ya."

He was out of the house in an instant, headed for the graveyard and his empty, pathetic grave. He grimaced at the sight of it, sinking into the ground where a clean-up crew was trying to repair the tomb he'd shattered when Lydia had called him.

He paced, throwing anything he could get his hands on at the grimy dirt walls of his prison cell turned hideout.

He was just trying to make her happy. Why didn't she see that? How could she not see that he'd do anything to keep her safe and content? He'd bought a fucking house!

He kicked at the wall, cursing when his leg snapped then reformed. Shit, that was annoying. Self-harm was never his style.

Oh shit. Lydia was alone.

"No— wait—"

Betelgeuse was beyond hearing her, even as she stammered out a placating half-genuine apology in an attempt to still his blustering. She didn't want him to go. She was just mad. Why didn't he understand? Roughly, he stole his hat back and her heart clenched at the lack of its weight atop her head.

"Please don't go—" she pled, making a timid grab for his arm as he brushed past her only to be callously shrugged off.

"You want Charles to suffer? Huh? I can arrange that."

Oh no. What had she done?! Didn't she know better than to voice her grievances for others around Betelgeuse by now?

"Don't leave—" me alone. A beat later, he was gone. A beat after that and a very upset Percy was shoved through the mirror-turned-portal. When she tried to push at the surface and go through on her own, all she found was solid glass.

"Come back," she begged the mirror, tugging Percy up into her arms for the comfort his fluff provided. "Please come back."

Tears started to fall, catching on a swathe of black fur, and they didn't stop. She spent the first hour waiting for his return in their bedroom, assuming it was still "theirs." He'd probably have divorce papers ready for her when he came back. She was too much work. Too high maintenance. Too many issues. Not worth it, after all.

As comfy as the bed was, she wasn't getting any sleep any time soon, torrid emotions still festering in her gut like rotten meat. The next hour was spent drifting listlessly about the house from room to room, "wandering by herself" just like he said she would. It was beautiful, more beautiful than mere pictures could denote. More beautiful than she deserved. This was a Manor, one that deserved to be looked after by a Lady of grace and class— not an ugly, loathsome little bastard like her.

Betelgeuse could do better.

She spent an indeterminable amount of time trying to lose herself in the books in the library— he could really do better— but the words blurred together through her tears, becoming unreadable, and she eventually abandoned that too. Every new room she found was haunted by the ghost of the marriage that would have been— if only she wasn't a godawful bitch. The kitchen carried the scents of dinners she hadn't yet cooked that Betelgeuse might have been polite enough to pick at if offered a plate. The faint sound of laughter and gasps echoed through the home theatre, taunting her with the promise of movies she would never enjoy with him.

Ultimately, she found herself slipping outside to the terrace, where an in-ground pool and hot tub duo resided. The door was left closed behind her to keep Percy locked up safe, the girl heeding Betelgeuse's warning about lurking monsters. There weren't any fences to keep any big baddies out. If anything wanted to come take her, here she was. She stayed out there until the vivid sky began to darken, announcing what passed for night in the Neitherworld. The water was too cold to swim, but that didn't stop Lydia from dropping to the edge and dipping her legs in. It stung at first, but it didn't take long for them to numb.

She deserved at least one swim in the pool in the house she was supposed to share with her husband before getting the boot, right?

Right. Without stripping, she slipped right in, immediately submerging all the way and staying there until she couldn't hold her breath anymore. Like her legs, the rest of her body quickly numbed. Her insides, however, still curdled rebelliously.

"Oh, all the money that e'er I spent,
I spent it in good company,"

She floated along on the surface, a swirling, inky shadow of misery, and let her voice carry on the night breeze.

"And all the harm that e'er I've done,
Alas, it was to none but me,"

Her lilting soprano quivered as she shook with the cold, but Lydia was beyond noticing, more content to focus on feeling nothing.

"And all I've done for want of wit,
To memory now I can't recall,
So fill to me the parting glass,
Good night and joy be with you all…"

Betelgeuse spent hours in his grave working out every bit of frustration and annoyance he possibly could before realizing that he'd left without hearing her out fully. Damn it. His short fuse had gotten the better of him yet again.

He made his way back to the house slowly, deigning to walk instead of his usual teleportation. Soon he was crawling back through the mirror into their bedroom. The bedding was disturbed but his wife wasn't present. He frowned. He shouldn't have left. He should have stayed and let her see him rage so that they could move past it.

He wandered the house, looking for her without making a scene of it. The more rooms he found empty the more worried he got. What kind of idiot left his suicidal wife at home to throw a hissy fit?

Then he heard the damn cat. He was clawing at his back door, pacing and meowing loudly. He followed the sound, letting himself out onto the patio, scowling. He glanced around the back yard, seeing nothing until–

God, no.

She was floating in the pool, not moving, her eyes closed. He panicked.

"LYDIA!"

He was in the water before he could think about it, catching her around the waist and hauling her out of the pool. "Lyds! Shit, are ya okay beautiful? Goddamn, I shouldn'ta left."

Lydia was jarred violently from the melancholy peace of her headspace. Sputtering, she was forced to rejoin reality when Betelgeuse dragged her out of the pool and back to land with a fierce urgency, legitimate fear coloring his tone.

"I'm o-okay…" She stuttered once she was settled on the concrete, wide eyes unblinking on him. Her lips were turning an unhealthy shade of blue. Uncontrollable shivers wracked her entire form. She had herself so convinced that he wasn't coming back with anything good to say that the sight of him fussing over her, taken with panic, was surreal.

"D-did you k-kill m-my Dad?"

Could she forgive him if he did? She wasn't sure. So much time had been spent yearning for his return that a sick part of her thought yes. Betelgeuse's touch didn't feel icy anymore. She was numb to it, just as she was the frozen waters. How long had she been floating out here? The sky was a different color than when she began. His thumb crawled along her colorless cheek and her eyes began to sting. Hot tears welled up at the lip of her eyelids before spilling over, burning her overchilled flesh.

"I'm s-s-sorry," she sobbed out abruptly, throwing her sopping, trembling form into his arms. "I'm s-sorry. I w-was j-just so m-mad… P-pease don't b-be mad at m-me…"

"What? No… Lyds I didn't go anywhere near dad I was just… I went back to the grave." He ran his hands over her frantically. She was so cold. He was taken aback when she threw herself into his arms.

I'm s-sorry. I w-was j-just so m-mad… P-pease don't b-be mad at m-me…

"No. No, kitten I'm not mad. Not at you. Mad at myself." He pressed kisses to her face rapidly, trying to hold onto her tight enough to make the shaking stop. He scooped her up and blinked them back into the bedroom where he set about removing her frozen, soaking dress and boots. "Lydia… god, baby you could have died." He carried her into the bathroom, the tub already full of hot water and Epsom. He banished his clothes and stepped into the tub, hissing as the water came in contact with his skin.

He ignored it, settling into the warmth with his wife cradled to his chest. He pressed desperate kisses to her face, rocking her in his hold. "You're okay, baby… it's okay… I'm here. You're gonna be okay, Lyds…"

She whimpered and fresh tears sprung anew as they lowered into the warm water. In truth, it was nowhere near as hot as Lydia usually ran her baths, but to her frozen flesh, it might as well have been boiling. His touch was so good. It reminded her of everything she'd forgotten in his brief absence; He was here. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. He would take care of her. It was okay.

Lydia didn't want to believe it. After all, if she fell into the fantasy he was trying to spin, where would it leave her when the rug was inevitably pulled out from under her? Could she bear the pain this would one day bring her if those promises were lies? Then again, he was taking a bath. For her. Thus far, he'd shown about the same contempt for water as Percy when he was getting a flea bath. Why was she so certain he was full of shit? Maybe, just this once, the universe wasn't out to fuck her. Could she take that bet?

Did she have a choice?

Thinking hurt, but sensation was slowly returning to her limbs, color peaking in her cheeks and lips. It was easier to fall back into the safety net of his arms and just shut her brain off.

"W-wasn't trying to kill m-myself…" She informed, in case he had the wrong idea. Of course, it would have been a happy accident had she died, but it wasn't the goal of the excursion. "J-just wanted…"

What? What could she possibly have been hoping to gain from self-induced hypothermia other than death? To forget. To stop feeling. To let it all go, just as easily as she was letting go right here, in the tub with him.

"Just wanted g-go for a s-swim…"

He rocked her, wincing through the sting of the salt against his skin. He couldn't do much but hold her, fighting off the panic and hurt in his chest. This was all too familiar.

He kept his hand pressed to her chest, feeling her heartbeat and her lungs move. She was alive. She wasn't going to leave him any time soon. He was gentle, making sure that where he touched her his skin just barely floated over hers, not wanting to cause her any discomfort.

Just wanted g-go for a s-swim…

"Little cold for that, baby… shoulda waited. No. Not your fault. This is my fault. " His voice broke as he said it. He pressed his face into her hair, trying desperately to steady himself. She was so fragile, so precious. He couldn't let anything happen to her.

"I'm sorry, Lydia… I'm so sorry. You deserve so much more than me. I don't know how to give it to you."

He was reliving the events leading up to his death. The pale face of Lydia blending and twisting with that of her. The one he couldn't save.

"Ha," she brushed off his insistence that this was his fault, that she "deserved more" with a short, bitter laugh that wasn't really a laugh at all. "I suck. I'm a flat-chested midget with too many issues to fit in a magazine stand. You could do better." With time, her shivers had lessened to the occasional twitch, stutters disappearing along with her gooseflesh. "S'not your fault. If it wasn't this, it would just be something else."

Misery loved Lydia. It was only a matter of time until it called her up for another date.

"I love the house." She was motionless on his chest, calmed by that persistent rocking. No harm would come to her here in his arms— not unless she wanted it. "It's beautiful."

The compliment seemed cheap and inelegant, unlike the Manor itself, making Lydia feel even more inadequate to hold the title of its Lady. Miraculously, however, Betelgeuse appeared to still want her in the position. She wasn't about to debate that with him when he was enduring the evils of bath water for her, shaken and panic-stricken. He almost seemed in worse shape than her. Concerned, she thought to lift her gaze and check on him, only to find his own jade eyes clenched shut, his features twisted with discomfort.

"Beej?" She started up at the sight of it, instantly alert. He shouldn't be making faces like that. He was invincible. It was wrong, like watching a wounded lion. She turned until she was on her knees between his legs, taking each of his stubbly, chubby cheeks in her pruney palms to force his attention "What's wrong? I'm okay, see? I promise I wasn't trying to kill myself. Don't be upset."

He could barely hear her anymore. His eyes flew open when she moved, his brow furrowed. "What? No.. no, I'm fine. Not upset with you, Lyds." He put his forehead against hers, his hands resting at her waist.

"You're not… you don't suck. You… you're perfect. To me." He tried again to steady himself. He was worrying her. He didn't want that. He rubbed his hands over her hips and up her back, relishing in the warmth that was returning to her skin.

"I'm so glad you like the house, baby. I know it's… it's kind of a lot. It's probably more than we need, but. When I found it I knew I could make it what we needed. I.. I never got to build a home before." He shook his head, frowning. He was letting on too much of his pain. Stupid.

"How are you feeling? Are you still cold? I… I could get us a pot of tea. Or… you haven't eaten in a while. Are you hungry?" He was pulling anything he could think of out. He didn't like the way her big brown eyes were looking at him. Like she could see through him to where he was vulnerable.

He shoved hard at the memories that were trying to surface, forcing a smile to his face. "Let me take care of you… okay?"

The water was getting rather cold the longer they carried on, drawing Lydia's attention to the fact that it was firstly, not as hot as she preferred and secondly, that Betelgeuse seemed to be operating as an ice cube in the tepid water, cooling it rapidly the longer he remained.

Let me take care of you… okay?

"Okay," she agreed, nestled atop his belly, brows still furrowed with concern. His behavior was off. Well. He did just come back to find her wafting fully clothed and half-dead in their pool. That was probably an upsetting sight when the floater was someone you proclaimed to love. Though, she doubted she'd react any better if she ever found him in a similarly incapacitated state. Was that love?

For someone like Betelgeuse, who was very much accustomed to the sight of a human corpse and had manufactured a few of his own, it was probably as close to love as one could get. Still, something was bothering him further than this incident alone, that much was clear to Lydia.

"Tea sounds good," she agreed, already rising to her knees to get out of the tub. She had every intention of helping Betelgeuse out, seeing as he seemed terribly awkward and uncomfortable, but he was out and assisting her before she could even get to her feet, happy for the excuse to remove himself from the cursed water. Ever polite, she muttered a quick thank you, then another when he came to wrap a soft, plush terrycloth bathrobe around her shoulders. It was long, thick, and covered everything— the exact opposite of everything else he'd ever dressed her in, except maybe her wedding dress from part I. In tandem with his tastes, it was a nice deep shade of bloody red.

It wasn't until he mentioned it that she realized that no, she hadn't eaten anything, too swept up in the events of the day. She hadn't even bothered exploring the pantry downstairs to see if it was stocked.

"I could eat. I'm a good cook." This was probably the first positive thing Lydia had ever said about herself in his presence. "Bet you didn't know that, Mr. I-Know-Everything-About-Everything."

"Baby you just almost died, I don't know if cooking should be the top of your priority list." He rubbed his hands over the terrycloth of her robe slowly, trying to warm her despite his own frigid temperature.

He donned a robe of his own, a filthy ragged thing compared to hers, and pulled her back into his arms, brushing her long hair back and off her shoulders. "I won't stop ya though. I know ya like to cook. Just didn' know you were good at it."

He smiled, pressing a short kiss to her forehead. "I'll do tea. You do dinner? Maybe I should set myself an alarm. Can't forget to feed my wife, after all." He took her hand as they made their way into the spacious kitchen. It was a mixture of Victorian and modern influences, with wood-paneled appliances tucked into one side and a wood-burning stove in the other. He set about lighting the stove now, eager for both the warmth and the ability to make tea the way he knew how.

A metal tea kettle was lovingly filled and settled on the stove to boil before he turned and took her hand again, tugging her out into the hall where a massive china cabinet was waiting, filled with multiple sets of fine china dishes and service wear.

"Pick us a teapot, baby. Whichever you like."

Drowning in her robe, but quickly warming wrapped up so snug in its comfort, her shivers had almost completely subsided. As if unwilling to let her traipse out of his reach, he kept her close as they walked barefoot through the house together in their robes, a heavy arm strung around her shoulders. He separated briefly to prepare the stove and set the kettle, but was back quickly to usher her toward the expansive china cabinet.

Each pot was more beautiful than the last. Lydia had never had loose tea leaves steeped in a real teapot before. Only neat disposable bags in oversized mugs, which was fine, but this was much fancier and therefore novel.

"That one," she pointed toward a black set that boasted a delicate pattern of golden, intertwining roses that looked to be hand-painted. It was up too high for her to reach so she didn't even try, huddling close to her husband's side as he retrieved it without even having to stretch. "It's pretty."

Despite all the doom and gloom, Lydia was at the very heart of her being a girly girl, and the sight of all those polished, fragile tea sets had her near-giddy internally. She must have missed it on her first walk-through. Very badly, she wanted to take inventory of the pantry and break in her new kitchen, prepare a hearty, savory meal and try out all the shiny, unused cooking ware. But, Betelgeuse was right. She didn't have it in her for that kind of labor. A sandwich would have to do.

"Do you want one…?" She offered hesitantly, spreading mustard across both pieces of honey wheat before carefully beginning to layer ham and cheddar, folding the slices so there wouldn't be any bites without bread, meat, and cheese. The kettle was just beginning to whistle. Barbara and Adam ate human food sometimes, so it stood to reason that he might too. Though, Lydia had never seen him eat anything that had less than six legs before.

He smiled at the light in her eyes as she saw the china. He reached down the requested pot and two matching teacups and luncheon plates, setting them on the small kitchen table before going to warm the pot.

He glanced over his shoulder when she offered the sandwich. He eyed it a moment before answering. "Sure. Thanks, babes." He didn't need to eat, but now that they were married he found that his taste had returned. It was worth a try. Besides, when your sixteen-year-old wife offered you a sandwich with big brown eyes, you took it.

He poured them each a cup of tea when it was ready, setting them on the table before realizing just how domestic the whole thing was. His wife in her bathrobe at the kitchen counter, making them lunch while he made tea. Disgustingly cute.

He slid his arm around her waist, stepping in close. This was what he'd wanted when he'd found the answer to his imprisonment. He'd always wanted a wife. Someone to take care of and take care of him in return. It was a dream he'd thought he'd left back in life.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her neck, brushing her hair out of the way. "Thanks, sugar. You're the best…"

With the confirmation that he wanted a sandwich too, Lydia bothered going out of her way to beef it up a little. He was a big guy, after all. Big man needed a big sandwich. He got an extra slab of meat and slice of cheese than she did, and she took the extra step to slice up a tomato, pickle, and some lettuce to carefully layer it on top. He came to lathe her with more affection then, holding her close at the counter's edge, plying sweet kisses at her neck.

"It's— it's just a sandwich…"

She was stuttering again, but not from the cold. God, he really loved her, didn't he? For a moment, things were still and peaceful as she abandoned the sandwiches to melt back into his embrace and let him "take care of her." When her stomach grumbled, he let off and she carefully removed herself from his arms to deliver the sandwiches to the table where two pretty cups of tea sat steaming.

It smelled delicious, the inhaled steam warming her from within before she ever took her first sip. Chamomile, sweetened with honey and a dab of cream. Betelgeuse had been paying attention.

"How is this going to work?" She questioned shyly minutes later, after half her sandwich was gone, the stab of hunger was dulled, and Betelgeuse began preparing her a second cup. "Are there bills? Do you have a job? Do you need a job? Do I need a job? Or… what?"

It seemed as though they were set up to play house indefinitely and live sappily ever after out in the woods. Percy hopped up to her lap while she was talking, and she came to scratch behind his ears in an innate gesture. The cat eyed her plate enviously. Prone to spoiling the thing, she extricated a half-eaten slice of meat to begin peeling off bits for him.

"Percy's hungry. Need to get cat food. And the rest of my stuff."

He tucked into his meal happily, groaning at the taste on his tongue. When was the last time he'd had food?

He shrugged at her questions, licking his lips free of crumbs. "Well, the house is paid for. And I can juice up all the energy we need. So no, no one needs a job. I may end up taking one though. I am a bio-exorcist by trade."

He raised an eyebrow as she started to feed the cat. He guessed that he couldn't be too mad at it anymore. It had alerted him to her floating in the pool.

"Let me take care of that stuff, babe. You need to rest and get your strength back." He snapped his fingers and an ornate silver bowl appeared on the floor, full of cat food. "It's the kind that was at your place. I assume he likes it."

Once the piece of ham was gone, Percy let loose a happy little mew and made for his shiny, new bowl.

"That's what you do?" A warm gaze following the cat as it indulged. "Barb and Adam wouldn't tell me anything about you, or this place."

Bio-exorcist. She'd heard the phrase hushed in the attic late at night when they were under the mistaken impression she was asleep or out of earshot, and had drawn her own conclusions as to what it meant. After managing one more bite of her sandwich, she pushed the remaining bit aside, signifying she was done.

"It's like… being a professional ghost, right? Scaring people out? Is that what you were going to do to us?"

"That's right. I get rid of breathers so that newlydeads can enjoy their house arrest." He took another large bite of his food.

"Adam and Babs tell you anything about that? I dunno what all you know. Or wanna know. But you can ask me whatever."

He reached a foot out to nudge hers under the table. "I just won't answer everything. You know how it is. Painful memories and such," he sniffled dramatically.

She had so many questions.

What all can you do? How does one become a "bio-exorcist"? What happens if you can't scare someone out? What are your qualifications? Does it pay well?

Obviously, it did, judging by their accouterments. Too tired to bother opening that can of worms, Lydia shelved her curiosity for another day. It could wait. Instead, she rose from the table, Betelgeuse following her lead and sticking close to her side as he had since his return, and together they began to make their way back toward the staircase that led to the master bedroom.

"That's what Adam and Barb wanted, isn't it? You were there to do a job for them… but they changed their mind…"

No wonder they hadn't disclosed anything about their experience with the nefarious ghoul. Guilt.

He easily swept his wife up into his arms, making his way up the stairs at a leisurely pace. "Yeah. They backed out of the deal. I was supposed to get you three outta the house in exchange for them gettin' one of you to free me. Didn't work out. Once they found out you existed they weren't too keen on the whole housekeeping thing."

He laid her gently in their bed, tucking the blankets around her before shedding his robe and climbing in behind her. His lips found her neck easily, resuming the gentle kisses from the kitchen.

"Don't worry babe. I've moved past being pissed at 'em. After all, I wouldn'ta got to meet you, kitten. If they didn't fuck me over."

Drowsy as she was, Lydia was still taken aback that he stripped himself but left her wearing the plush, thick robe. Did he still think she was cold? She wasn't. Just tired. In fact, she would quickly become overheated if she left this on. With that, she pulled it off and tossed it over the edge of the frame, succumbing to his embrace once she was just as nude as him. That was better. She wasn't sure she could ever sleep alone again, not now that she was becoming used to sharing her bed with a large, cuddly lump like him.

One of his thighs slung over her hips, securing her more firmly in his hold. His erection was firm against the small of her back, but he didn't seem like he was searching for anything more than comfort with those soft, passionate kisses.

"I'm sorry I freaked you out," she breathed out into the silent room, aside from the crackling of their fireplace. It roared to life when he carried her through the threshold, providing a deeper warmth that helped combat his natural chill. A different kind of heat that had nothing to do with tea or baths or fires began to pool in her belly, liquefying whatever tension remained from the stressful day. Part of her wanted him to press for more, but she wasn't bold enough to voice this desire. Instead, she pushed back subtly until his desire was pressed cushily against her bruised backside, neck arching to allow him wider access to the expanse of flesh he was tasting.

"… and made you mad. You didn't do anything wrong."

He was content to cuddle into her, his cock hard as it always was when she was bared to him, but he didn't want to push. She needed rest. He continued his kisses happily, his hand rubbing small circles into her stomach.

She rocked back against him, making him stifle a groan into her neck. She wasn't making this easier.

I'm sorry I freaked you out.

He froze, considering his options. Maybe she deserved the truth. After all she had been nothing but open with him. After a long pause, he spoke.

"I lost someone. When… when I was alive. I can't even remember her name, but. I remember her face. Dead. She fell through the ice. I… I didn't get there in time." He pressed his face to her neck, not willing to look at her as he poured his heart out.

"I couldn't save her… and it killed me. I… I saw you floating there and I thought you were gone too. I can't lose you, Lyds…"

Oh, God. Lydia stifled a gasp of horror at his tragic tale, horrible guilt flooding her as he disclosed the abysmal details.

"That's awful," she whimpered, feeling his pain through the quiver in his growl, the tremor in the arms that held her tight. She squirmed to turn around, and his hold loosened accordingly. In the firelight, shadows cut severely across his sinuous features. His eyes were deeply sunken, his nose crooked, as though it had been broken a few times in his day. But, Lydia could see past all that. To the naked eye, he was a monster, lacking the capacity to express the depth of raw emotion he displayed now.

"I'm so… so sorry, Beej," she repeated. For everything; for that initial betrayal, for every trespass made since, and especially for forcing him to relive such a dreadful moment from his past. Taken by the moment, she did the only thing she knew how to comfort him, which was to deliver a sweet, impassioned kiss directly to his mouth. She'd never kissed him before, not like that. Thus far, he had been the aggressor in all their encounters, Lydia allowing him to just… take her.

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised once they separated, still cupping his cheeks in gentle palms like he was a disquieted child. "I'm not… I don't know how to, or if… I even can… " The words stumbled, Lydia not quite brave or confident enough in her emotions to pinpoint them for him properly. He deserved love. "But I care about you."

This, at least, she knew to be the truth. With that, she came down on him with another kiss, longer and deeper than the first, pouring all of the affection she held into it.

He was startled when she pressed the kiss to his lips. He had never expected her to initiate something like this. She was just content to deal with him.

I care about you.

That was impossible. He found himself murmuring as much into her lips, his hands shaking as they found her hips.

"None a'this is your fault, babes... you don't gotta be sorry."

He pressed into her affection readily, taking in the taste and feel of her against him. She was warm and soft, tasted like the tea they'd shared downstairs. In their kitchen. In their house.

He held her tighter, fighting off tears. He didn't cry. Hadn't cried since he was a living child. And now here he was, wrapped around his wife's tiny little finger. There was nowhere else he'd rather be.

"Lydia, I... " his voice was thick with emotion. "I love you so much. I dunno how to make ya believe me, but I do. I'm gonna keep ya safe. Forever."

Those shaking hands found her hips at the same time that Lydia found her courage and mounted him, pushing him until he was on his back and she was straddled just above his groin, their mouths still connected.

"I do care about you," she insisted, murmuring against his lips, then closed the scant distance for another ardent bout of kissing before moving lower. "I don't want you to be so angry all the time." When he was enraged, she could feel it through the walls, seeping into her bones. She followed the mossless portions of his flesh, kissing and nibbling and suckling, copying things he had done to her. "It's not good for you."

A gentle nip below his earlobe punctuated her point.

I love you so much. I dunno how to make ya believe me, but I do. I'm gonna keep ya safe. Forever.

For the first time, she believed him without that nagging voice of doubt hissing derisions from the back of her skull. How could he be saying anything less than the truth after what had transpired between them tonight? After what he'd just told her? She would let him love her, and who knew? Maybe one day she could love him back.

He let out a choked growl as her soft lips wandered his body. He groaned, his hand coming to tangle in her long hair. He wasn't sure why she was doing this. She'd never shown him the kind of affection she was so freely giving now.

It made his heart ache. "I'll try not to get so mad. It's just... an instinct. I gotta keep me safe so you stay safe. You... you know?"

She was hovering over him, balanced just above his crotch. He didn't want to push this too far. She had been half dead an hour ago and now she was taking care of him? This was wrong.

"Kitten, That feels real nice but you... you don't gotta do this."

"I know— I don't have to," she muttered in-between the soft, slow kisses peppered down his neck, across his collarbone. She didn't know where she was going with this or what she would do when she got there, but she was going. "I want to."

A near dizzying wave of affection had overcome her at the sight of him so pitiful, so vulnerable. He was so real like this; not Betelgeuse, the Neitherworld's Leading Conman and Bio-Exorcist, but Betelgeuse the man, who had feelings and hurt and cried just like everyone else. He wasn't a monster. He was a product of his environment. What else could he do but fulfill everyone else's expectations of what he should be? Everybody loves a bad boy.

Even she had expected the worst of him when this all began. In her mind, he had evolved into a spited demon who would gash her throat at first sight rather than listen to any sort of reason. Little more than a tool, a means to a rather definite end. In proper Betelgeuse fashion, he turned her expectations on her head.

"I want you to be happy too, Beej."

Wounded wasn't a look she liked on him. Their intimate sections bumped as she shifted, her entrance leaving a slick gloss along his shaft. She didn't have it in her to give him one of the animalistic romps she'd become accustomed to when tumbling with him, but if he wanted it, he could have it. With more than just permission this time.

He looked up at her with wide, confused eyes. "You.. you want to? Really?" He let his hands wander her waist, sliding from her hips to her ass and back, barely touching her.

"Well, I'm all yours, kitten. Do what you wanna..." He was completely at her service. There was nothing she could ask him for that he wouldn't just then. It wasn't a common occurrence. By morning he'd be back to his normal cocky self.

Her warm, wet core slid over his cock, making him hiss. He didn't move. He didn't want to step over his bounds here. "Just take me, baby... use me." There was no one else in existence that could bring Betelgeuse under their boot like this. Lydia was the only one he was willing to drop his walls for.

He ran his hands over her thighs, shaking from the effort of staying still. "Whatever you want, Lyds... "

"Really," she breathed against his lips, before taking him back up in another slow, hot makeout session that lasted several minutes. She took her time; exploring, feeling him up in places with curious, inexpert hands. She squeezed along his biceps indulgently for a good amount of time, mapping out the bulging muscles there. He was so tense. Black-painted nailed scratched gently through his smattering of white-blond chest hair as she scraped her teeth at the spot on his neck where a pulse would beat if he had one. All the while, her hips twisted up and down along his length without penetrating herself; sliding her clit along each smooth bump and ridge, slicking him up with secretions.

Once it became unbearable, and she needed more than just that delicious, wet friction, she rose up to her knees until she was hovering over his bulbous head, its thick shaft grasped in her palm to help with positioning. This was her first time touching his cock in a hands-on way, without any barriers in their path. Her fingers couldn't completely close around its girth, straining to do so just to see if she could.

Ready now, she descended. As soon as the head popped past her battered pussy lips, she let out a deep breath at the sting of it. Wasn't this supposed to get easier the more she did it? What a crock. This was far more uncomfortable than their first time, and Betelgeuse wasn't being half as forceful. In fact, he was downright docile. Is this why he didn't take her in her bedroom at her parents' home earlier? Not some plot to embarrass her and torture them? It fit in with his M.O.

With tiny, rocking movements, she lowered further onto him, gasping and shaking with each one until she was fully impaled. For the time being, she would go back to kissing him. That was safe and comfortable. She knew how to do that. Aching and full of cock, she bent back over him until plush, milky breasts were pressed against his chest and her tongue was back to teasing his lips, gently requesting entrance.

He felt like he'd died again and this was finally what heaven looked like. He shook under her gently touches, his own coming to tangle in her long dark hair as they kissed. He rolled his hips slowly, unable to stay still.

He was floating. His cold dead heart floating in his chest as she lavished him with attention. He didn't understand how this tiny, pale human could affect him so greatly. The whole room was cast in yellow light from the fire, their shadows dancing on the walls.

Suddenly he was snapped out of his revery, her tight, wet heat sliding onto his cock. He let out a strangled moan, tightening his hold on her. "Fuck, Lyds... that's so good..." He watched her closely, her discomfort written on her face. He pulled her close, kissing her face gently. "Easy, love... don't hurt yourself. Please..."

As she sunk further and further onto him he couldn't help but tilt his hips upward, helping to ease her all the way to the base, her soft plump lips resting against his crotch.

He kissed her back eagerly when she bent to take his lips, a soft, desperate moan leaving him as she requested entrance. He gave it easily, his hands moving to the sheets where he could grip as hard as he wanted to. He was fighting a losing battle to stay still, but he'd asked her for this. To take control. He could do it.

Don't hurt yourself. Please.

Just as she was preparing to force herself to grit through it, bounce her hips through the pain to build up to a pace he was more comfortable with, bring him to his brink and get it over with— he hushed this out to her. Begging. It made her feel powerful, this force of nature reduced to a quivering, pleading mass beneath her. She could do this for him, comply with one more request.

Carefully, still caught in an increasingly passionate lip-lock with her momentarily complacent lover, she started to move. Her internal muscles clung tight to him, not wanting to glide with her as she rocked, but slide they did— stubborn and hesitant, choking wetly along the way. Ever so painfully slowly, she gave herself over and took some of him as her own in return.

He wanted to warm her up and the job was done. She was scorching, blood simmering hotly beneath her veins and a familiar boiling pressure building up in her belly as she continued to twist her hips, lifting and dropping, letting just a bit more of him leave her on each withdrawal the more confident she grew in her rutting. Soon she had to part from that intoxicating kiss to breathe, taking the opportunity to lift back upright so that she could attempt a different angle. With the added gravity and leverage she got from splaying her hands flat on his chest and sitting upright, her downstrokes came with a little more weight now. The change offered a deeper angle that rubbed his rigid cock in all the right place, that fat head hitting something deep inside of her that made any residual sting worth it.

"Touch me," she pled, head rolling back as she rocked, back arching, pulling weakly at an arm anchored into the sheets. "Please."

In the absence of his roving grasp, she kneaded at her own breasts; pinching and touching and pulling, once more mimicking his past moves. But, it wasn't right. Her hands were too small, too soft, and far too warm. Lydia's breasts were accustomed to a certain brand of touch.

He cursed under his breath, his knuckles somehow even whiter as he gripped the bedding. This was all about her. She was in control and he wasn't about to ruin it.

Then she moved. His resolve was wearing thin. He gritted his teeth, his hips rocking slowly with the rhythm she created, thrusting up to meet her as she dropped into his lap.

He panted, trying to keep himself steady until she said it...

Touch me... please.

His resolve was shattered. His hands were on her in a moment, sliding up over her ribs and up to take over for her own hands. He thumbed over her taut nipples, licking his lips. He thrust with her in earnest now, feeling as though he might shatter apart at any moment.

"Fuck, Lydia... God, you're so good, baby... I love you so much..."

"Oh— oh, Beej," she huffed out his nickname, a fine sheet of sweat making her glisten under the firelight as she writhed in his lap. "You're so big… Feels so good…"

The added weight of his hips lifting up to meet her downward thrusts with a strained, refined strength was pushing her on toward orgasm at an excruciating pace. Those big, gruff hands on her tits were exactly what she needed too; massaging and pulling, playing with her painfully tight little nipples. A particularly acute thrust pushed her right up to the precipice and he earned a tiny shriek, his wife shaking from the pressure she was under.

"I'm gonna—" she panted with sudden urgency, the undulations of her hip becoming less smooth as she approached her peak. "Cum with me—" she demanded, enraptured by the idea and suddenly regarding him below her with a lidded, fiery gaze. Once more, the pads of her fingertips grazed along his tense biceps, seducing him into action. "Let go, baby. Please— I'm gonna—"

He arched off the bed as she cried out, his cock twitching inside her at the sound. Oh, that was nice.

She rode him she was being paid to do it, her eyes hooded and glazed over, her lips slack with pleasure. This was good. This was how he wanted her, always. In the throws of pleasure and creeping towards the edge.

He hissed as her rhythm started to falter, his hands freeing her tits and coming to grip her hips as he fucked her off the edge. "Fuck! Fuck yeah, baby, I'm... Jesus, Lydia I'm cumin'!"

The dam broke. He let loose his hold on the leash he'd looped around his own neck, gripping her hips with unbound strength and fucking up into her like a man with nothing to lose. With a series of breathy, high-pitched moans, they came together, internal tendons squeezing and milking him for more as he pumped her full. Once the tremors calmed, she collapsed atop him in a quivering, gasping heap, still connected at the hips.

Lydia didn't know sex could be like that, not that there was anything wrong with their previous liaisons. There was something to be said for his authoritative brutality, but this was an entirely different animal. More than just physically satisfied, she felt loved and beautiful and important. The way a wife was supposed to feel when making love to her husband.

Her energy levels were failing her. It had been a terribly long day; buying a house, scarring her parents, fighting with her husband, going for a swim, then making up with her husband… Lydia was only human. She could only carry on for so long.

"My ring is pretty," she mumbled drowsily as her eyes cracked open and she caught the gleam of firelight dancing on its reflective surface. "And my house is big. And my husband is good in bed. I think…" There was a pause while she yawned, snuggling closer to the pillow of his hairy chest.

"Tomorrow is going to be a good day."