"A long night spent with your most obvious weakness,
You start shaking at the thought,
You are everything I want,
'Cause you are everything I'm not,"
—MakeDamnSure
Taking Back Sunday
For the next three days— or what felt like three days, time was a difficult construct to keep track of in the Neitherworld— they existed in a state of domestic bliss. Lydia was actually eating three square meals a day, rather than starving throughout the day and barely picking at her dinner, the way she had been going about things in the living realm. After all, if she didn't cook, Betelgeuse took it upon himself to and that never ended well. More than once, he had been chased out of Lydia's kitchen by his knife-wielding wife so that she could fix whatever horrendous mess he had caused. Something told her he was getting off on watching her perform menial chores.
If he was, it didn't show. Since their bout in the kitchen that morning, he hadn't touched her except to cuddle or kiss. Even then, whenever things started to get heated he would gently disengage her, distract her somehow, usually by torturing her with an onslaught of merciless tickling. It hadn't taken him long at all to discover how ticklish she was.
Lydia didn't mind. Cuddling and kissing were nice on their own, and she couldn't expect him to throw down with her every day, could she? He'd be back eventually. Multiple times throughout the day, he would reiterate his love to her verbally, as if worried she might forget if he didn't hammer the message in. "Love ya, kitten," was the first thing she heard in the morning and the last thing she heard before falling into dreams every night, a honeyed growled against her ear, usually followed by a sweet, lingering kiss to her neck at the spot he claimed her, which was beginning to fade with each day.
He never pressured her to return the verbal gesture and she was thankful for it, unsure of her feelings and unwilling to give false information about something so serious. She wouldn't toy with his feelings, not after everything he had given her.
Like this library.
Currently, Lydia had her nose stuffed deep into a thick tome all about Neitherworld law. She'd been at it for hours, a dictionary at her side to help her decipher some of the antiquated dialect used in the texts. She wasn't looking for any information in particular, so much as all of it. The Neitherworld was fascinating and she wanted to know all about her new home. Betelgeuse didn't usually tread for too long in here, much preferring the stimulating lights and color of television to Lydia's nerdy, bookish pursuits. Therefore it was a surprise to her when she went to rub her stressed eyes and caught sight of that familiar pattern of bold black and white stripes. She jolted on the chaise lounge, startling Percy from her lap and nearly losing her place in Justice for the Unjust: A History of Neitherworld Law.
"Beej!" She began, giddy over her discoveries. "Why didn't you tell me there was a monarchy here? That's insane! Did you know that like, a gazillion years ago this Queen Illya woman tried to 'obliterate the barrier between the realm of the living and that of the dead'," she was quoting directly from a passage, "because she thought she was hot shit and should be ruling things over there too? They cut off her head and mounted it in a bathroom in the royal palace and it's still there. She's supposedly very chatty… how long have I been in here? Is it dinner time?"
A thinner book she intended to read later was used as a makeshift bookmark to mark her spot, then she passed it off to join the pile that was building up on the side table.
"I'll take care of it. Please tell me you didn't already start on something."
By the end of the third day he'd completely forgotten why he was torturing himself by abstaining from absolutely ravishing his wife. Sure, the domestic thing was fun. But he was starting to reach the end of his patience. He loved the way a smile would slip over her face when he woke her with gentle kisses and an I love ya so much, Lydia.
He really shouldn't have given her the library. Or he should have at least checked the content of some of these books before he left her alone in here. He was hovering at the edge of the room as she read, his face gaunt.
The book was about Netherworld history and law. The royal family featured heavily and he was suddenly worried-no. Afraid. That she would decide to leave him to be a courtier. She would be a magnificent queen. Of course, she would.
Suddenly she was speaking, and he was snapped out of his thoughts. He put his usual smirk on his face, disguising the doubt underneath it as she went on about her book.
Please tell me you didn't already start on something.
He chuckled softly, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulled her close, pressing a firm kiss to her lips. "Actually… I thought it was high time that I took ya out. Court ya real proper and all that…"
"Out?"
She blinked, his words not quite processing for a moment. After spending this many days in a row comfortable and hermitted in their home, playing house and settling the place in, the concept of leaving was at once both intimidating and exciting.
"Court? Like… a date?"
The prospect of a romantic outing was similarly foreign, confusing, and intriguing. Lydia had never been on a date before. The only parts of the Neitherworld she had seen were sleazy business strips, only marginally different from any other corrupt corner of the living world.
"And do what? Go where?" She tampered her sudden thirst for adventure, realizing her string of questions were coming off brusque and she hadn't even accepted yet. "I— yeah, sure, let's go. I don't think I have anything appropriate to wear for anything fancy though."
Currently, she wore a baggy pair of monochrome plaid fleece pants, a black tank top, and her ridiculous fuzzy cat slippers, copious hair thrown into a messy bun and not an iota of makeup on her face— the picture of comfort and laziness. This was a girl who wasn't ready to go anywhere.
He smiled at her interest, leaning against a bookshelf and lighting himself a cigarette. "Like a date. Exactly. And I thought we could make a day of it. Start at the shocking mall to get that closet of yours filled up and then have dinner.. maybe some drinks. I wanna show you off, kitten…"
He winked at her and her lazy clothes disappeared, replaced with a tight black dress, the bodice of which was made from a lace mimicking a sparkling silver spiderweb that peeked through to a deep red satin beneath it. It was strapless, hugging her curves until it met her knee and ended. Her hair was pulled up onto the top of her head in a pretty knot, thin whisps falling down to frame her face. The whole thing was topped with a sparkling ruby hair comb that he may or may not have lifted out of a wealthy queen's grave. He offered his arm playfully.
"M'lady. May I escort you?"
Oh. He realized suddenly that she had yet to meet Doomie. Standing on their front porch, he whistled loudly between his teeth and the bouncy automobile answered with delighted honking, tearing up the road toward them. He went to open her door, bending at the waist in a teasing bow, a grin solidly overtaking his face.
"Princess. Your chariot awaits."
Lydia wasn't sure exactly what he thought he was going to show off. She was so goddamn short most people looked right through or over her. Evidently, Betelgeuse didn't care about her diminutive height seeing as he defaulted to replacing her cat slippers with a pair of black ballerina flats, ribbon crisscrossing over the tops of her feet to meet behind the ankle in a petite bow.
The dress was without a doubt the tightest, most revealing thing she had ever worn in her life, with the exception of her only swimsuit— plain, one-piece, black, and never worn due to Lydia's unfortunately heliophobic flesh. With the lack of sunlight in the Neitherworld, there was no need to hide away beneath sunhats, veils, and long sleeves. Despite this newfound freedom to display herself more liberally, she was still self-conscious and uncomfortable with how much the dress exposed. At least most of her bruises had faded by now, so everyone they encountered wouldn't be immediately disclosed on the intimate details of their sexual dalliances.
"Beej," she questioned meekly as he escorted her toward the front door and toward the animated car, cautious of appearing ungrateful, "can I have a shawl or a jacket or something, please? This is a bit much."
She was correspondingly uncomfortable with the idea of letting him waste oodles of money on her for something as trivial as clothing but knew better than to debate. His mind was clearly made up. "Doomie" meep-meeped as they approached, its front bracket twisting into a friendly grin. One headlight blinked on an off in a winking gesture.
"Hello," she greeted the cognizant vehicle with a sweet, wondrous smile, charmed by his very existence, then pet his hood like she would Percy. Like Percy, Doomie purred for her, revving up fully once she was seated and reaching for her buckle— there wasn't one— and Betelgeuse was sliding into the driver's side. It wasn't until they were taking off and her seat was rumbling beneath her that she realized she wasn't wearing any underwear.
He smiled as he closed the door behind her, hopping over his door to get into the driver's seat. "It's not that cold, babes. You'll be fine."
In moments they were tearing off down the road. He glanced at his wife, seeing her face blushing a soft pink as Doomie rumbled along. She must have realized just what he hadn't conjured her.
She really did look like a million bucks. He was struck again by just how lucky he was. He leaned back in his seat, putting one hand on her thigh gently as they drove up to the Shocking Mall. He'd assumed a habit of having a hand on her at all times.
He was grateful that he'd thought to pick up some spare cash the last time he was out. If someone was dumb enough to leave their wallet in their back pocket it wasn't his problem.
He was out of the car quickly, ready to help her out of the car. "Here we go, sugar. Let's go getcha some pretty things to wear. Shall we?"
Unlike showing off skin, his touch was something she had acclimated to, so Lydia thought nothing of it as he kept a gruff palm resting on her thigh the entire right, the thumb rubbing slow circles on the outer side, the other fingers occasionally dipping closer to the impossibly softer, more delicate flesh of the inner parts. The sights kept her enraptured. Most of the drive was spent in the Neitherwoods— due to her reading, she now knew what the call the forests that surrounded her home— but soon, trees began to bleed into a more urban setting, and before too long they were pulling up outside of a truly massive building painted electric blue. Shocking Mall read a giant, blinking sign above the automatic doors as Betelgeuse escorted his awed wife along.
Aside from the dead people and monsters that traipsed about everywhere— shopping, chatting, hanging out, living— the storefronts kept her in rapt attention. It was less rude to stare at those. There was a shop called Spines & Spirits that appeared to sell alcoholic beverages, as well as spare bones. From what Lydia had gathered from her time here, misplacing one's bones was apparently a common problem. The beauty salon, Curl Up and Die, catered to all different manner of clientele; rewraps for mummies, fang-bleaching treatments for sharp-toothed damsels, and waxing packages for even the hairiest of dames. Lydia was enchanted.
A boutique called Terrifyingly Intimate appeared to be their destination. As soon as they crossed the threshold, they were greeted by the most beautiful woman Lydia had ever seen.
"Welcome!" A fuchsia spider the size of a large dog gifted her with an enormous, fangy grin, batting long spindly lashes on her humanoid eyes. "Is the-uh anythin' I can do ta… help... you…?" The sales associate's enthusiasm waned, her bright pink gaze catching sight of the girl's— the living girl's— monstrous companion.
"B-Betel!" She sputtered, suddenly terrified, and Lydia leveled her husband with a vaguely dirty look. That his presence alone was enough to shock the beautiful spider into a state of terror was damning evidence of past misbehavior on his part. Surprise, surprise. "Wh-what are you doin' he-uh? I don' really got anythin' you'd be interested in… unless you're wantin' somethin' fuh ya cute lil friend?"
He watched her eyes widen with a smirk. She seemed impressed so far, thank god. If she were any other girl he wouldn't have brought her somewhere so… normal. But being alive in a necropolis made everything infinitely more interesting.
He led her through the mall, a hand firmly on the small of her back. When they reached Terrifyingly Intimate he finally let her go, trusting her to look around in here in a way he didn't out in the mall itself. He didn't the thought of her wandering off.
He nodded to the spider when she turned to finally see who was there, his smirk returning in full force.
"Hey there, Ging. I'm here for her. She needs a new wardrobe." He leaned in to press a firm kiss to her cheek, winking at his former roommate. "This is Lydia. My wife."
He waited for the reaction of disgust he knew was coming. He ignored it, turning to peruse a rack of lace corsetry that had caught his eyes. "Get anythin' you want baby girl Ginger here owes me for lettin' her live in my house rent-free." He shot the arachnid a look that said she was in for a wild ride while the couple was in the store.
"Wife…?"
Ginger mouthed the impossible word without speaking, thoroughly befuddled. Jesus Christ, he actually did it. The spider hadn't thought him desperate enough for freedom to actually tie himself down in such a way, much less honor a relationship of that nature, but here he was. With his wife, proud as any dirty old man with a sweet, young thing on his arm. The girl in question was clearly little more than a child, despite the fact that her ghoulish husband had her dressed in all the trappings of a high-class piece of tail. No amount of winged liner or crimson lipstick would sharpen the baby soft roundness of those youthful cheeks.
Struck with sudden, fierce maternal instinct, Ginger was ready to do what she could to make this girl— and by extension, her terrifying husband— happy.
"I've got just the thing!" She extolled, putting on a cheery face to mask her lingering trepidation and hopefully comfort the child. "How do ya feel about green, honey?" A spindly leg drew a long satin gown of emerald from a rack to display. "I think this shade would really make those gawrgeous eyes o' yours pop!"
"It's beautiful, really, but…"
It was. Lydia wasn't as confident as the beautiful spider that she could do such a dress any justice, but when her eyes scanned the high number on the price tag, she rediscovered her humility. Granted, she didn't know anything about Neitherworld money or which numbers meant what, but this looked expensive. Betelgeuse was comfortable bullying Ginger into giving merchandise away for free, but Lydia was not. She glanced around, and not seeing her husband over the racks, disclosed to Ginger very quietly.
"You don't have to show me your really pricey stuff. I'll be fine with whatever's on the clearance rack."
Adorable. If she wasn't charmed before, Ginger certainly was now.
"Don't worry about it, honey!" She laughed and took it upon herself to string the gown over one of her eight, hairy arms for Lydia to try on. "These are all completely, one-hundred percent homemade by yours truly, and I only produce the highest-quality silk. 'Clearance' is not a word in my vocabulary. Whatevuh you get I'll just replace latuh after the shop closes, so go crazy! Now how do ya feel about purple? I think this one would pull out the blue tones in that pretty hair ya got..."
Betel smirked as his bride was whisked away to shop. He did like the colors that Ginger was offering, but he knew that she wasn't likely to pick them. She was a monochromatic kind of girl.
He licked his lips as he pulled out some of his own choices for her to try on. A formfitting teddy of red lace was first, followed closely by a rather… artistic rendition of a school uniform- blue plaid, naturally.
He looked to where the girls were fawning over the silks, a soft smile coming to his face. As much as Ginger annoyed him it would be nice for Lydia to make friends. After all, if she was going to spend her eternity with him, she'd need somewhere to go when she got sick of him.
He handed her his choices, adding a deep emerald flapper style dress to the pile and kissing her cheek, then her neck firmly. "I like the purple, baby. Ya ready to go try these things on? Daddy wants to see ya all dressed up."
They came to settle toward the back of the store where the changing rooms were located. Betelgeuse got nice and cozy in a chair that would allow him full, centerstage view of his wife as she emerged in each outfit, Ginger even going as far to provide him with an ashtray, knowing he was going to smoke in the store with or without her say so.
Lydia presented herself to him in gown after gown after gown, growing increasingly confident with each one. Ginger was right. She did look good in green. And purple. Of course, the thoughtful spider still added little black numbers into the queue here and there, pinpointing the girl's tastes. For the time being, Lydia had removed the pretty hair comb so that the rubies— were they real? They looked real— wouldn't clash with each ensemble.
Soon, a large pile built up on the chair next to her husband as he approved literally everything she tried on. Apparently, he was easy to please. After a while, all that was left to try on were the raunchier outfits he had handpicked— hanging off to the side, pointedly avoided. Most of these, the gowns included, she couldn't see herself wearing anywhere. However, she would humor him. "Sugar Daddy & Sugar Baby" was a new game, but it was one Betelgeuse appeared to be having entirely too much fun playing.
"I am not wearing this out there!"
She objected in no uncertain terms, calling over the door. It was the red lace teddy he'd picked out. It was entirely backless, so little material left over for the ass that it just wedged up between her cheeks to form a thong. The front dipped down past her navel, stopping just above her nethers, a tiny red bow below her bust the only thing keeping her breasts from spilling out.
Betel was more than happy to lounge back in the armchair provided, chain-smoking cigarettes as he watched her come out in gown after gorgeous gown. Of course, any that she wanted she was going to get. Why not take advantage of his chance to play sugar daddy?
I am not wearing this out there.
Ah, good. They'd reached his picks. He was out of the chair in a single bound, sliding into her dressing room and closing the door behind him.
"Woah… look at you baby girl. Now we're fuckin' talkin'…" He let his hands roam over the soft red lace hungrily, pulling her flush against him as his fingers slid down to tease between her cheeks.
"This one is definitely a keeper…"
Lydia startled when he invaded the tiny dressing room so boldly, not expecting a move like that. Then, he was on her, in a way he hadn't been in days. There was unmistakable intent behind the way he was pawing at her, squeezing, dipping his claws between her cheeks until they snagged on the delicate material wedged there. That was new. Her ass was without a doubt his favorite place to grab, but he'd never ventured that far before.
She grabbed at the lapels of his suit as he kept at her, staring with a hint of trepidation as he grinned down mischievously, eyes dark with lust.
"Beej," she whispered, gaze flickering between him and the door, "not here. Later."
"Later, she says. God damn Lyds how am I supposed to resist ya when I know you got this just waitin' for me to peel it off?"
He nipped at the shell of her ear, all but purring. "At least let me eat ya out… it's been too long. I've been real good…"
He didn't push, despite his pleading, his hands staying relatively innocent as he slid them up and over her ribs. He knew that by now Ginger had likely closed the store, expecting them to take their time.
"Did ya see the other one? Throw your Miss Shannon's sweater over that baby and we're talkin' a livin' breathin' wet dream from back in the attic… I swear to god, sendin' ya to private school is the best thing yer dad ever did, baby…"
He was begging again. Lydia wasn't good at saying no when he begged like that. As endeared as she was to that talented tongue of his, there was no way he could bring her to completion without her natural sounds of enthusiasm alerting the beautiful spider. Nevertheless, something had to be done to sate him or he would likely just have his way with her in the parking lot in Doomie's backseat. A dressing room was better than that at least, right? Right? His hunger had been building, and it was just her luck that it chose now to unleash itself.
"Okay, okay, okay," she hushed, wary of eavesdroppers, "but not that. Too loud. Just— just— here."
Coming to a decision, she dropped to her knees, forcing him to pause his fondling, and rushed through unzipping his pants without any further direction. Immediately, his rigid girth jutted forward without needing to be fished out, a drop of precum leaking at the tip. This was her first time partaking in this act without any alcohol in her system, but hopefully, she did okay. If humping her leg through his boxers could get him off, this would definitely have him taken care of.
Still with a facet of hurry in her motions, she took hold of him at the base and swallowed down as much as she could in one stroke. There was a pause while she tongued at it, undulating her cheek muscles to provide more saliva and lubricate the intrusion, but then she was back to moving; bobbing her head back and forth in a quick succession meant to get him off as soon as possible, sucking down hard, big eyes locked on his expression to discern whether or not she was getting the job done.
Well, fuck.
His eyes went wide as his beautiful wife dropped to her knees, tugging at his fly. This was new, and he felt a rush of excitement run through him as she tenderly took him into her hot, wet mouth.
He moaned, tangling a hand in her hair as she started to work him over. "Fuck, kitten that's good.. how are you so good at that? Not real fair…" He let his head fall back against the wall of the dressing room.
He knew she wanted to be quiet, but he rarely stopped his mouth, especially in the throws of intimacy. After all, if he didn't tell her how well she was doing, how would she know?
His eyes stayed locked on her sweet pink lips, painted in red lipstick that was now being spread up the length of his cock. How pretty. "Lyds… fuck I ain't gonna last long…"
Good.
Compliments of this nature from a man as worldly and experienced as her husband made warmth flower in her belly, leading her to somewhat regret her refusal of his generous offer. Later. Unlike Betelgeuse, Lydia was far more adept at practicing patience. Her bobbing slicked him up nice and good, giving her hand the wetness necessary to squeeze and slide the parts she couldn't fit in her mouth. She vaguely remembered the scratch of his pubic hair against her lips as she took it all, bent over backward and deprived use of her hands. However, when she tried now, she could only get a couple of inches or so to stretch past the tight ring of her throat muscles.
Maybe she wasn't relaxed enough? Drunk enough? Or maybe it was the positioning? In either case, Lydia found herself frustrated by her inability despite his loving praise and worked all the harder to make up for it. The hand that wasn't working faithfully to help her mouth out in getting him off crept up his chest, fisting into the off-white material of his white button-up to provide leverage as she swallowed him down with zeal.
True to his word, he soon busted into her mouth in a cool, slightly sweet rush. Eager to prove herself in light of her shortcoming, she kept sucking and bobbing all through his orgasm, eventually taking it as deep as she could go and staying there to let the last ropes of his cum drip down her throat. Very slowly, still sucking hard, she pulled back until he was released from her lipstick-smudged mouth with a pop. His cock was only slightly damp, bereft of almost any evidence that she had even been there.
Panting just a little slower than him, she fell back until she was sitting on her feet, relieving pressure from her knees.
"I'm hungry," she informed petulantly after swallowing down the last remnants of his release, well aware of the double meaning. "Do you think we can finish up our date now without you molesting me in a closet? I think I have enough clothes."
He leaned back, groaning as she cleaned him off, those plush lips leaving him with a sinful sound of suction being released. He looked down at her with hooded eyes, a hunger still sitting behind them as he took her in.
"Yeah, yeah… let's finish our date… You gonna wear that out or ya gonna put on a dress?" He teased her gently, offering a hand to help her to her feet. He cleared his throat, tucking his cock away and zipping his fly. He kissed her gently, reveling in the taste of himself on her lips.
"I'll be right outside. Just gonna make sure we got everything." He slipped out of the tiny room, waving Ginger down and slipping her some money. It wasn't really enough to cover what he was getting, but the thought was nice.
When his wife emerged he offered her his hand, her clothes having already been sent back to her closet. "Shall we, mia bella? I have somewhere I want to show you."
Before exiting the changing room, Lydia swiped all along the edges of her mouth to clear away any evidence of their liaison. Luckily, Ginger seemed none the wiser as they approached.
"Thank you." Not one to forget her manners, Lydia made sure to give her thanks to the beautiful spider before joining her husband at the doors. "Your work is stunning, really, I loved them all. And you, you're just… amazing," she gushed, exposing her fascination with the humanoid spider-woman. "I wish I had my camera, I bet you're incredibly photogenic."
"Well gawrsh," Ginger dithered, flushing a furious shade of pink at the sweet living girl's fawning and wondering not for the first time how Betelgeuse managed to rope a girl like this into a deal like that. "Ain't you just the sweetest? Don't mention it, honey, n' come back any time! I'd be glad to make you an original if you're evah on the lookout for somethin' specific."
"I'll keep that in mind," Lydia grinned, "and thanks again!"
Betelgeuse was waiting for her with a grimy palm outstretched. Mia Bella. Foreign terms of endearment like that growled out on a mouth that dirty only aggravated the pangs of arousal in her belly.
"I'm all yours." Her tinier, softer hand slipped into his, and then they were gone.
Leading her back to Doomie, he summoned a picnic basket to sit in her lap as he took off again. The drive took a while, but before long they were pulling off the road to the edge of a high cliff.
Beneath them appeared to be a tideless ocean, swirling and shifting with unnatural light and energy. If one watched long enough they could see faces moving in the dark water, mouths wide with unheard cries.
He summoned them a blanket- soft velvet on one side and a sturdy fleece on the other- and spread it out on the edge of the cliff before reaching for the basket. "Here we are, mi tesoro."
He pulled their spread from the basket, fresh strawberries and melon carefully cut into cubes for easy consumption. Following that was a tray of charcuterie and a loaf of fresh, soft bread. A wheel of brie was set beside them and finally, a bottle of wine and two glasses completed their meal.
He lounged back on the basket, lighting a cigarette and passing one to his wife with a wink. "Eat up, sugar. I wantcha to have the energy to go dancin'."
The view was stunning. Doubtlessly the most mysterious and beautiful sight that had ever befallen her gaze. Fearless of the fatal drop, she stayed standing at the cliff's edge for long moments, taking it all in with eyes and mouth agape. Nothing she had seen above or below in any of her short years could possibly compare.
"What is this place…?" She breathed, taken in by the supernatural beauty. Eventually, she settled herself right at the lip of the blanket nearest to the cliff's edge, legs bent and splayed to the side so that he couldn't get a peek up her dress, pantiless as she was, as the skirt rode up her thighs. Yes, he'd already seen everything she had to offer, but this didn't eradicate what little was left of her chastity.
"Dance?!" Lydia nearly choked on the piece of bread she'd spread some brie and a bit of smoked meat on. Good God, he was serious. "I can't dance!"
Ballet wasn't the same as writhing on some dance floor with a man. It was structured and disciplined, each move carefully crafted and executed in a manner to make it appear effortless. She had yet to even advance far enough in the art to be good enough to practice with a partner, and she'd been at it for years. Lydia doubted he intended on bringing her to a ballet studio, though the mental image of him prancing about in tights and ballet slippers did give her an internal giggle.
Initially, she eyed the wine suspiciously before daring to take a tentative sip from the glass he poured for her. Her intake of the devil-water would have to be carefully watched. Alcohol was dangerous, she had learned.
"This is my first date, you know," she informed casually as if he wasn't already aware. "Miss Shannon says that 'ladies aren't supposed to kiss until the third date', but I think she's an uptight prude that hasn't gotten laid since the Great Depression."
He smiled. "Yeah, dancing. And you don't gotta be a good dancer to dance. Though I bet you're great. He took a drink of his wine, looking down into the soul-ridden waters.
"This is a popular place for when people first die. Thought you'd like to see it considering how into mythology you are. That's the river Styx. Look." He pointed out a small boat that was moving sluggishly across the water. "Ferry service. Costs out the ass. Isn't worth it."
He tilted his head as she confessed that this was her first date. He shook his head. "You're really blowin' my mind, kid. I can't believe I get to be all these firsts for ya. Those mortal men must be fuckin' blind. And I think you're right on ol' Shannon. Her legs are closed so tight they've started to fuse."
He smirked, letting his hand settle on her calf gently. "But oh well. All the better for me, huh?" He pressed a kiss to her cheek gently. "How's the food? I do okay? I didn't want us to have to use silverware. Hard to do when you're not at the table."
He snagged a spider that was passing by, popping it into his mouth with a crunch. "Hmm. That was a good one."
The River Styx.
"Bullshit," she denied flatly, grinning, believing him completely. "It is not!"
Still, she leaned forward over the edge as he pointed out Charon's boat in the distance, noting the skeletal creature cloaked all in black as it rowed across the river of souls. He looked tall from Lydia's vantage point, meaning he likely towered when brought to scale.
"Deadly-voo…"
Considering her recent meeting with such a delightful talking spider, Lydia felt a pang watching him eat one, but held her tongue. He wasn't touching the picnic bounty, and he deserved to have a good time too.
"The food's perfect, thank you. Everything is, really" she assured, bringing a strawberry to her lips. "I don't really like melon." This wasn't a complaint, so much as a practical fact; information about herself given freely for the sake of letting him know her more fully. "But I don't need anything else, this is plenty."
She was already starting to gain weight from her time with him. If she wasn't careful, she would get fat, and then she'd see how quickly those admissions of love dried up. Shaking away the pessimistic thought, she leaned more fully against him as he settled near, content to relax in his embrace and watch the tortured souls down below.
"If this is real… then what about God? And Hell? And Heaven? Don't tell me the Christians were actually onto something."
He happily cuddled into her, taking up the bowl of melon for himself. He popped a bite into his mouth and pressed his sticky lips to her cheek.
He ran his hand gently over her stomach, enjoying the fact that she was finally putting some meat on her bones. She'd been unhealthily thin when she'd called him, a consequence of depression eating away at her will to live. Now, she was vibrant and eating and bouncy. It made his old, twisted heart do strange things in his chest.
"Nah, the Christians just like to have someone to blame. And the Styx is more like a… a tourist trap. People who wanna believe in it do. We wouldn't be here if you didn't believe it existed. That's how death works.. intent is power."
He set the fruit aside, deciding he'd rather fill his time with her soft skin. He mouthed over her neck, sucking gently at her pulse point. "So… you wanna tell me about your mom? If I'm gonna look for her it might help me to know some stuff." He was sure she'd thought he'd forgotten.
Lydia never talked about her mother. Therefore, it was only natural for her to go quiet when he asked, contemplating how best to respond, which details about Mother were important and which weren't.
"She was young when she had me. Seventeen." Relating the topic back to herself made this easier. "She and my Dad weren't serious at all. Barely even a fling, but more than a one-night stand— from what I can gather, anyway. She was new to the states and just having fun living it up in the big city, and he was still in school. She came over from Russia to study to be a doctor… but that never happened. Obviously." Because of me.
"Dad wanted her to get an abortion, but she came from a really traditional family so that never happened either." That Lydia knew this at all was troubling on the face of it to her husband. Small children should never be made aware of the burden of their existence. "So she had me, and they stopped seeing each other before I was even born. For a while, it was just me and her, and everything was good."
Those were Lydia's happiest memories, hazy as they were. Mother never had much money, despite the generous, timely child support payments, but she made it work as best she could for as long as she could. However, Natalya was a delicate creature not built for the hardships of poverty and single motherhood.
"But then she met this guy…" Her voice floated away from her just a bit, gaze glazing over as she paused to sip down the last of her wine. "Got heavy into heroin; using and selling."
These were the parts her mind had worked at erasing for her. She didn't remember what color the walls were in her sad, windowless bedroom, but she remembered that Mommy had given it to her, choosing instead to sleep on the old beat up couch in the living room.
"Heroin is bullshit. She didn't… she stopped being her. I got too skinny, and I was walking to school by myself and showing up in dirty clothes. They ended up sending a social worker on a surprise visit one day and found her passed out on the couch with a needle in her arm. I didn't even know what she was doing was wrong. I thought all adults did it. You know… little kid logic. I didn't understand why they took me away. They brought me to this stranger who claimed to be my father and set me up in what I thought was a fucking mansion at the time. I had everything a little girl could ever want or need but I hated it. I hated them. All I wanted was to go back to that roach-infested hole and be with my Mommy."
She laughed here, obscenely so, shaking her head at her own ridiculousness. "Stupid."
He listened obediently, his hand at her thigh and rubbing soothing circles as she spoke. All of this was royally fucked. No wonder his precious wife had so much emotional baggage. Had struggled the way she had for any ounce of attention she could get.
He frowned at the mention of her mother's boyfriend. He'd have to circle back to that. When he was sure she was done talking he took her face in his hands, kissing her firmly. "Shut up. You're not stupid…"
So Charles wasn't in her life to start out with. It was odd to him that they'd grown as close as they were, considering. He felt rage burning in his throat at the thought of a little Lydia, alone in a house with her mother passed out on drugs. Unfed and under cared for. It was a wonder she had lived to ever meet him.
"That's not… none of that shit was your fault. Your parents fucked up. Your dad… he shoulda been there for you as soon as he found out you existed!" In his time there were no such things as absent fathers. If you knocked a woman up she was your wife, no questions asked.
"I am.. I'm so sorry you had ya go through that, mi Tesoro." His hands gentled where they were holding her, his forehead pressing to hers as he tried to calm the swelling rage within him.
"Your Mom's boyfriend… tell me about him. He couldn't get his head outta his ass long enough to feed ya? To make sure his lover's child wasn't gonna die on his watch?"
He couldn't begin to fathom it. He'd dated women with kids before. Hell, there were a few brats running around the netherworld that still got deathday gifts every year from their Uncle BJ. If he had found out any one of those kids was in danger he'd be there in an instant. Her mom couldn't be that for her? Her father? The boyfriend?
Fine, he thought. She's mine now. She doesn't need them.
Betelgeuse was being so sweet, so attentive, holding her and petting and listening intently to everything she had to say. There wasn't any underlying sexual intent behind his touches, no ulterior motive to be unburied. They were meant solely for her comfort and she felt it in her soul, sinking deeper into his embrace so that he might carry the weight of her troubles.
He shoulda been there for you as soon as he found out you existed!
"That's not fair, Beej," she disagreed gently in direct contrast to his audible distaste. Who would have thought deadbeat dads were a hot-button issue for him? "He was just a kid. At least he paid child support and took me in after she got locked up. He didn't have to do that. He could have just let me go to foster care. Probably would have made Delia happier if he had. That's more than a lot of fathers do." Unfortunately.
He began apologizing for her experiences then, the hands that held her shaking as he husked out another loving pet name in a language she didn't speak. It sounded Italian. Was he Italian? Or did he just speak it? In either case, she loved it. It reminded her of being small and watching the Addams Family, seeing how much Gomez loved Morticia and dreaming of a love like that for her own one day.
Your Mom's boyfriend… tell me about him.
"Fuck him," Lydia spat with sudden, uncharacteristic vehemence, before catching herself. "I mean… sure, yeah, he gave me candy sometimes. Brought me toys. Babysat. Was… present. He just— he… I guess he was," she swallowed, "nice enough. But he's just the son of a bitch who got my mom hooked on heroin, so I don't really want to talk about him if you don't mind. He's not important."
There was something more behind the way she lashed out at the mention of the boyfriend. He filed that one away for later, manhandling her into his lap and pulling her into a deep kiss.
"We don't gotta talk about anything. Thanks for tellin' me all this. I swear I'm gonna go look for yer mom as soon as I can."
He ran his fingers over the wispy hairs at the base of her neck, twirling them around his fingers carefully. "Anythin' ya wanna ask in return, Lyds? I know this was kind of a big ol' ask, but... I wantcha to know you can ask me anything. Okay?"
"Okay…"
She agreed, relaxing into his hold easily after that deep, almost rough kiss. He was so strong. It wasn't just his hands she loved, after all. It was the whole of both of his arms, even up to his bulky shoulders. They were cut, with a thin layer of chub that softened them enough to make them more than adequate for cuddling. She took the time she had now to feel them up through his suit; squeezing gently, mapping out the outline of his muscle definition.
"I like this suit," she admitted seemingly out of nowhere, before continuing in a soft whisper, "I'm sorry I called it ugly."
This was a throwback to their wedding night when she called him back fully intending to badger him into a murderous rage with put-upon, half-hearted insults. That turned out well, she thought with a hollow smile, enjoying the irony.
"When did you know you wanted to marry me?"
Betelgeuse was more than content to kiss away any possible memories of the man who'd abused her.
Her delicate fingers roamed his arms, a soft smirk coming over him. He remembered the way she'd stared when he was first bared to her. It was a compliment that she was so enamored. And a turn on.
I like this suit… I'm sorry I called it ugly.
"Well, we all say shit in fits of passion, kitten. I'm rather partial to the stripes myself. The question is if ya like the black tie or the navy one I know it's hard to tell but you'll have to pay attention." He winked, digging his fingers into her sides to tickle her in a way they'd become so familiar with.
They were still them even if they uprooted painful memories.
"When'd I know? Shit. Probably… that first conversation we had in the model. Or just before that… coulda been when I watched you exact revenge in all Bab's books that time ya came home from school so royally pissed. That was real hot, I gotta tell ya."
He tickled her, and she squirmed and giggled over his lap in a way that made her tight skirt ride up even more to exacerbate his increasingly amorous attitude.
"Black!" She shrieked, earning an end to her playful torture. "I like the black one! Duh!"
Lydia had long since eaten her fill of the bounty he brought out for her, but she still picked at bits of meat and the brie here and there, just to enjoy the taste of it. The single glass of wine had left her feeling pleasantly warm, but still in control of her faculties, so she left the rest alone for now. Maybe she would have another drink at whatever club he brought her to for a dance, but only if they had those delicious little green shots she remembered enjoying.
That was real hot, I gotta tell ya.
With a flush, she remembered the many temper tantrums she indulged up in the attic when she thought no one was watching her. Many of them were in response to Delia's bullshit, but some were just a release of pent up rage. The girl had an admittedly unhealthy tendency to bottle up her feelings, swallow them down until she couldn't take the pressure anymore and the top popped off. Or, something happened to push her over the edge.
It was crazy to think that she'd only been here playing this game with him for a little less than a week, and yet so much time had passed up above. Maybe the next time she went topside, her father and Delia would be severely aged crones. Or dead. It was only a matter of time until everyone she knew joined them down here. While initially, it had deeply upset her that Betelgeuse inadvertently clued them into what really happened to her, given time she was better able to appreciate what it would do to them. Now they knew that she chose to leave, to remove herself from their presence and concede to "the enemy." That could haunt them instead.
"No one makes me irrationally angry the way Delia does."
She could admit that her treatment of the despised redhead was at times… unfair. But, it never took Delia long to say or do something that solidified Lydia's distaste.
"She made a bust of your head, you know. You could probably sue."
"Yeah she certainly has a way, don't she? And I think I'll let her sculpt me if she wants. It's flattering… besides, I make a hell of a muse." He winked at her, pulling her infinitesimally closer.
"You ready to go, babe? It's late enough that the clubs should be open." He took her hand, helping her to her feet and bashing their picnic before whistling for Doomie to return.
The club he'd chosen was in downtown New Yuck. Tucked between shops and highrises it looked as though it may have once been a basement, but it had been transformed into a nightclub to rival any in the mortal world.
Old school big band music was pounding through the street as they approached, neon lights flashing from the windows advertising all sorts of alcohols and other vices. There was a pinup on the door that looked mysteriously like the woman they'd met on their wedding night. Trixie.
Over the door hung a sign in scrolling font: Club Hysteria.
He held the door for her, smiling. "You're gonna love it here, kitten. This where I come to play poker with the guys. It's real laid back."