"Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair!
Down we plunge to the prison of my mind!
Down that path into darkness, deep as hell!"
—The Phantom of the Opera; "Down Once More/Music of the Night Reprise"
Andrew Lloyd Webber

Stuff I need for work.

He was the bad guy. Lydia had never had any illusions about this. Nevertheless, the confirmation that there was a torture chamber in their home for the sole purpose of "bio-exorcising" was daunting all the same. She shivered, not from the cold, and obeyed his order. It wasn't as though there was anything she could say or do to get him to switch professions. He did bad things, and he did them well. He couldn't change any more than she could.

Then and there, she decided he was right. She didn't want to know.

"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation,
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination,"

This scene in particular never failed to give Lydia chills. The phantom's leather-clad hands took Christine and spun her abruptly, almost roughly, pulling her flush against him— then softening so that he could trail them all along the silhouette of her pure, white dress and the gentle curves that lay beneath it. Unbeknownst to Lydia, her pupils had begun to dilate, an almost imperceptible flush rising to her cheeks. With slightly shorter breaths now, she squirmed just a bit in Betelgeuse's lap; thighs squeezing together, gripping at the lapels of his suit more firmly.

"He loves her so much," she whispered, awed. "I'm gonna cry at the end, I just know it."

Having successfully turned her attention away from his more… private rooms, Betel was happy to hold her as she went back to her film. He found most cinema boring, but knew that his wife loved it, so here they were. He watched as the monster on screen took the lithe, dark-haired beauty into his hold. Imperceptibly, he pulled his own beauty closer, not lost on the irony of the two of them watching this story play out.

He loves her so much…

He smiled, bringing his hands up to mimic those of the Phantom on Christine. He nuzzled into the soft skin under her ear, singing along with the next few lines…

"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams,
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before,
Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar,
And you'll live as you've never lived before…"

He wasn't much of a singer, but the words resonated nonetheless, his hands sliding over her hungrily. One came to rest on a thigh, the other on her small, pert breast.

"This is what I was tryin' to say before. I love you like this, baby…"

He wasn't a dreadful singer. Certainly, he could carry a tune but he was no Michael Crawford. Nevertheless, Lydia was beyond seduced, the baby hairs on her arms sticking upright as his gravelly voice warbled the words to such a darkly sensual song. Liquid heat pooled in her belly and everywhere his touch trailed was hypersensitive. Her breath hitched as he squeezed her in places, making that fever build higher and hotter.

Untried and innocent in the realms of being wooed, Lydia was unable to recognize how corny the moves he was pulling on her truly were, or that he was just taking advantage of her pre-existing film-induced arousal. Everything he did was new and exciting, and this was no different.

I love you like this, baby…

"Beej," she giggled as though he must have been joking, breathy and nervous, stiffening just so as a roaming hand slowly started to pull up the train of her dress beneath the blanket. How many times would he have to take her around the merry-go-round before she lost this virginal quality? She almost argued that no, there was no way he could love her like that. But then, she considered the parallels. He would kill for her, was already planning on it. If he had a life to give, would he die for her too? She held little doubt that the answer was yes. He had watched after her, lusted for her in secret, even attempted to marry her via coercion and pressing circumstances. Was that love? If she considered it love for the phantom and his soprano, then it must be love when applied here as well.

"Beej," she repeated, huskier than before as those grimy teeth scraped the delicate flesh below her ear, talons catching on the hem of her dress and pulling up.

Oh, she shivered so nicely in his hold. His fingers easily drew up the hem of her dress, pooling the cotton at her hips as he explored the inside of her thighs gently. Poor, naive Lydia. Wasn't her naïveté what got her into this mess in the first place? She'd truly believed him when he'd said that marrying him was the only way to save the Maitlands. She seemed to believe anything he told her, with a grain of salt.

He grinned against her neck, nipping at the soft skin. He paused in his explorations to grab one of his sharp talons and snap it off. It wouldn't do to hurt her when she was so soft and pliant in his hold. Another followed, and the fingers were back at her core, rubbing and teasing along the edge of her panties.

"Floating, falling sweet intoxication,
Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation,
Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in..."

She was really eating this cheesy shit up.

They came to stretch out, Betelgeuse curved into the nook of the couch near the arm with Lydia lying almost completely on top of him, her legs spread over his bent and parted knees, backside cushioned firmly against his erection while he played with her. She was burning. Her hands twitched and fiddled, not knowing what to do, until they eventually came to a decision and gripped the edge of the blanket, pulling it up tight under her chin.

Calloused fingertips toyed over her covered mound, plying light, teasing pressure until a damp spot appeared over the soft cotton. They were a plain, simple pair without any lace or frill, thrown on without a thought for his opinion when she was still reeling from the damned album he placed in her arms, the monumental favor he had actually had the audacity to ask.

But that was then, and this was now. His gritty baritone fell off as Gerard Butler's buttery tenor soared over the last dissonant chords of the song, the ghoul knowing better than to even try. He had more interesting things to focus on anyway, like carefully scooting the edge of her panties to the side so that the crux between her thighs was open for his exploration. His blunted digits delicately slipped between her slick lips, nestling against the hot little bead of nerves above her entrance.

Her hips jolted at the electric sensation, pushing her sore, fucked ass harder against the rigid bulge in his pants. Lydia wasn't even paying any attention to the movie anymore, head lolled back onto his shoulder, eyes closed to embrace the darkness as he fondled her silken folds at his leisure.

Betelgeuse watched, his eyes dark and lidded as Lydia writhed above him. It was always an achievement to be able to distract her from her favorite things. After all, he should be her favorite thing, and right now it seemed he'd taken the position firmly away from the screen.

He traced lightly over her sweet, wet flesh, his rough fingertips dragging against the bundle of nerves that made her arch and rock against his cock so deliciously. He pinched gently, a malicious smirk set comfortably on his face.

"How's that feel, kitten? Hmm? Feel good?" He didn't really have to ask, but confirmation and praise never hurt anything. His hand trailed back, along her lips and back up, one blunted finger pressing into her in one thrust.

"Ooh… wow. You know, no matter how many times… or how hard I fuck you… you're still so tight. How'd ya do that?"

"Nnnggh—" She made a tortured sound at his first question rhetorical as it was, finding it very difficult to string together sentences when he was touching her like that, chapped lips brushing her ear and cold breath ghosting over her shoulder.

"Yeah," she huffed, biting her lip, spread legs trembling, "good."

Then, once he deemed her wet enough, one of those thick fingers plunged within her, forcing a tiny surprised cry past her lips as its width stretched at the clinging muscles he was in awe of. The things he said were always so filthy. Lydia didn't think she would ever be in the same league as him when it came to dirty talk. It wasn't just what he said, it was how he said it, each word coated in filth and sex, perfectly assured in his desire and intent. It made her burn. She just didn't have that kind of confidence, but she could try. For his sake.

"I dunno," she slurred as if drunk though she hadn't had a drop, intoxicated on his touch alone. He was prodding, stimulating at something inside of her that made her speech falter, but she soldiered on, determined to return the favor. "I dunno— you're so… ah— uh… so big… hurts… but feels good… dunno how you even fit…"

He grinned at the way she stuttered out her attempt at dirty talk, stroking his ego beautifully. He pressed his finger in as deep as he could get it, his rough palm rubbing against her clit.

"Aw, you're so sweet kitten. Really know how to make a guy feel special." A second finger was introduced shortly, the slick clenching of her muscles making him groan. "Feel that? The way you're clenchin' around me? Fuck… you got no idea how good that feels on my cock."

He twisted and spread his fingers, curling them to try and find the one place that would really send her into fits. He kissed up her neck, his free hand curling around her to grip her breast, kneading and massaging the soft flesh.

"Ya know I really oughtta show ya what's behind one o' those doors… I think you'll really like it…" He snickered, nipping at her neck firmly.

The locked doors? What did that have to do with this? Lydia was at a complete loss, and couldn't trouble herself to acknowledge the strange admission further than a perplexed, throaty "what?" as he increased the fervor of his finger fucking, effectively silencing any silly questions. She arched and cried out, undulating her hips against his hand as though she were riding his cock instead, tilting and gyrating in a fruitless effort to get more. The motions made her supple backside— fleshier than it used to be with her weight gain— grind deliciously onto his rigid phallus, twitching and hungry for more beneath the cage of his zipper.

"I love— your hands—" she panted as the praised limbs continued their worship of her. Another attempt at dirty talk? Or just another thoughtless, charmingly innocent quip in the same vein as her drunken insistence that his cum tasted like whip cream?

It was entirely too hot. Unable to stand it a second longer, Lydia tossed the blanket to the ground, relishing the rush of cool air over her searing flesh. Hands freed, she slid one along his side until it slipped beneath the waistband of his trousers, providing her purchase to more fluidly rut against his fist. The other very gently came to rest over his groping palm as it manipulated her tit; not hindering his course or adding to what he was doing, just feeling, appreciating the contact with the beloved extremity beneath her featherlight touch.

"— and your arms," she continued her verbal adoration of his physical attributes as he handled her just a bit more roughly, the sting of a bite to her already marked neck adding to her masochistic pleasure. "So muscular… tall… sexy…"

He watched as she arched and twisted under him, loving the way her pretty brown eyes opened and shut as though she couldn't decide which was better… pleasurable darkness or viewing its source.

He paused in his efforts to let her throw away their coverings, grinning when she went right back to arching against him. She was spouting adorations, but for the strangest things. Maybe it was a kink. He let his fingers press into her particularly deep, humming into her ear.

"This hand, baby? Or just the one buried in your sweet cunt?"

He couldn't help but flex the muscles of his arms, drawing her closer still. All this praise could be bad for him. Give him a head too big for his shoulders. He ground against her soft, pert ass, memories of the night before flooding him. Had there been a day, save the three at the beginning of their marriage, that he hadn't had her any way he wanted?

"You're so good to me, baby… how'd an asshole like me get such a perfect wife? Huh? What'd I do to deserve you? I sure as hell don't know."

"Not— not perfect," she disagreed stutteringly, on the precipice of orgasm. A masterful crook of his fingers sent her crashing over the edge. Time slowed to a standstill as Lydia came apart atop him, head thrashing side to side, her lithe body bucking and straining beneath the burning swell of hot, pulsating pleasure. Her heart was still pounding in her chest as she came down from such an explosive peak. Lashes fluttering as her vision spiraled, she eventually settled into a panting, sweating mass as he carefully withdrew his soaked digits.

Judging by where the film was at, that hadn't taken them very long at all. Minnie Driver a la La Carlotta was being prepped for the lead in Il Muto against the phantom's wishes, the bouncing, whimsical notes of Prima Donna filling the room.

"M'not perfect," she repeated once she had her faculties again, flipping over with a huff until they were laying front to front, scorching little puffs of air hitting his ear as she snuggled against his shoulder. "I'm short. And Pasty. And flat-chested. And I don't know how to roller skate."

This wasn't a fish for compliments so much as a succinct list of facts that Lydia had long since resigned herself to.

"I'm good at ice skating, though," she admitted, cutting herself a little slack. Little baby kisses were pressed to his neck and jawline as she laid there in post-orgasmic bliss, pawing at him gently. "You're hard," she whispered bashfully as if he didn't already know. "I want to help."

He couldn't help but grin up at her as she fell apart, riding his hand like it would save her life. Well, in a way it had. As long as she was having a good time, he hoped she'd forget about offing herself. At least until he could find her mother and take care of Greg.

He glanced at the screen, sneering. That bitch with the high-pitched voice was annoying. He didn't get why she liked this shit. He was pulled away from the thought by Lydia protesting his compliments…. again. He scowled, sliding his hands up and down her back as she spoke.

"Stop that. You keep sayin' that shit… makes no god damn sense to me." He urged her upward just enough to take her breasts into his hands and squeeze. "Baby, this look flat to you? Look how nice you fill up my hands…. and I got big hands, don't I, kitten?"

His hands went back to her hips and back when she started to litter him with kisses. He groaned softly, licking his lips as she all but pleaded with him to let her take care of his erection. It hadn't flagged since the first time she'd rocked back against him.

"Yeah, yeah… I'm real hard, baby. All for you…" He squeezed her ass firmly. "Help me out how? You gonna suck me again? God, that was so good…"

He made a valid argument. She couldn't poke any holes in it. Those hands she loved so much were big, big enough to envelop her own entirely when they were clasped. When he grasped her breasts, squeezing indulgently, the snowy, still-covered mounds fit them perfectly— even overflowed just a bit. Maybe Claire Brewster and all those other taunting girls from her past schools were just full of shit.

She sat up fully as he pushed her to get at her chest. Lydia knew what was expected of her. He wouldn't be satisfied until he was touching her flesh-to-flesh, she knew, so demurely she set about undoing the line of small buttons that ran up the front her dress. This one was also simple, black, and made of plain material, a relic of her past life. She'd yet to touch any of the luxurious ensembles he bought on their date. They were still hanging in the closet, begging to be worn.

Despite the revelation that she, in fact, might not have been "flat-chested", she was still far from perfect. Far from worthy of traipsing about like some well-bred Lady of class and grace in this Manor she called her home. She just wasn't this perfect girl he thought she was. Nevertheless, he was a good man in defiance of all his more monstrous traits, and he treated her well. She could humor him— and herself— and pretend to be deserving of all this love.

You gonna suck me again? God, that was so good…

"Maybe," she teased, averting her gaze coquettishly as black cotton parted to reveal her breasts to his greedy hands and eyes. "If you want. Can we try something?"

This was her first time suggesting new moves, and the boldness of such a proposition from his meek wife certainly piqued his interest. She blushed beautifully before continuing with her idea, adding to the flush from her explosive peak.

"Uhm… Sixty-nining?"

He watched hungrily as she undressed, his hands easily sliding back onto her tits. "Mm. Damn. I love yer tits baby…" He was getting ready to go at them when she spoke, shyly making her request.

"Oh ho…. well. Little Lydia's been watchin' porn again, aincha?" He grinned, pulling her into a rough kiss. "Let's do that…. yeah. Sixty-nining." Such a silly way of putting it.

He nipped at her neck before guiding her to turn around. He pressed at the back of her neck, bending her over him, before pulling her back to be able to reach her pussy with his questing tongue. He ran said appendage over her eagerly, groaning at the taste of her release on his tongue.

She fumbled through unbuckling, unbuttoning, and unzipping until his eager cock was jutting up toward her mouth, clumsy and distracted by his lips, teeth, and tongue's eager ravaging of her dripping pussy. He was ravenous, seeing no need to wait until she was pleasuring him to get to work on her.

In contrast to his enthusiastic devouring, Lydia was able to take her time here for once. She wasn't bound and at the mercy of his lust, or rushing to make him cum before they were discovered by a wandering store clerk. They were in the comfort of their own home, enjoying each other's bodies as husband and wife at perfect leisure and on equal footing. Here, she could experiment.

Humming as his tongue came to lash at her overly-sensitive clit, she began the task of slicking up his thick shaft with soft, sweet licks. The fat head was already leaking pre for her, and she lapped it up dutifully, gasping hot breath against his length as his mouth did well to worship her. Only once it was good and wet did she fully take him into the sizzling softness of her mouth, a little pink tongue swirling maddening circles around the mushroom tip.

He was more than happy to dive into pleasing her again. After all, she was much more difficult to get going than he was, and much more fun to take apart. He moaned when her soft lips met his cock, shooting a glance between them to watch her taking him into her mouth. He was temporarily distracted from his duty by watching her, his mouth hanging open as her tiny pink tongue worked him over.

"Fuck… baby, that's nice…"

He went back to his task, slipping his tongue into her and curling, the serpentine flesh twisting inside of her.

She moaned beautifully as he set to work fucking her again, with his tongue this time, and the sound was muffled by his thick girth. Not that this made it any less lovely on the ghoul's ears. If anything, to hear her cries of pleasure choked on a piece of him she was servicing— of her own volition, on her own suggestion, with hardly any coercion on his part— only made it that much lovelier.

Lydia fell into rhythm like she'd been doing this her whole life; rocking back and forth atop him, sucking him deep toward her throat as his tongue withdrew, then leaning back into the slimy, twisting appendage as her lips drew a heated line up to the tip of his cock. She never released him from the tight, hot crevice, applying intense suction to keep that fat head from popping out on the drawback.

Like a dedicated, loving wife, she doted on his cock with nary a thought to her own pleasure, and so it was a surprise when she came again. The rush of pleasure came on a downstroke as she worked her best to force him down her throat and the pointed tip of his tongue took advantage, coming up to draw sinful patterns over her tiny clit.

Again, his cock swallowed the outcry of euphoria as evenly as she swallowed it back, the vibrations enough for him to feel in his drawn tight sack— full to bursting.

This was by far the worst oral he'd ever given her. He was far too entranced by her soft, wet mouth moving over him like he was paying her. He moaned and rocked his hips into her, despite the efforts he was putting into holding still. He couldn't help it… the sound of her groaning and simpering around his cock was just too good.

He must have done a decent enough job, though because soon she was rocking back against his face and moaning as she came. He eagerly lapped it up, his hold on her hips becoming that much tighter as he buried his face in her. Then, she tried to take it all. He pulled back from her wet arousal with a bolt, his hips rocking up and forcing more of his cock into her tight throat.

"Fuck! God damn, Lyds who the hell taught ya to do this?"

Sure as hell wasn't him. They'd have to work on her taking it all. One hand moved to grip the back of her hair, his cock twitching excitedly in her mouth.

"Hold… Hold still… I'm gonna fuck yer face…" He snickered to himself, twisting them to put Lydia under him. "Don't bite."

"Mmmf—"

Lydia startled at the turn, unprepared, but made sure to keep her jaw stretched wide and her teeth sheathed as per his command. Her hands splayed flat against his hips as if she would even be able to push him off, but the illusion of control gave her a modicum of comfort nonetheless. This was an intimidating position to be in; forced beneath him while he straddled her face, mouth stuffed with cock and unable to voice her concerns. She'd only ever successfully pulled off what he was demanding while in a state of blackout drunkenness, only bits and pieces of that night stashed away in her memory box.

What if she messed up? What if she bit down? What if—

Tense and alarmed, too busy fretting to focus on relaxing as she should have been, she wasn't ready for the first thrust. Throat muscles taut and rigid, she choked when his girth was forced further into her mouth, gagging. There was a terrifying juncture where she panicked. She couldn't breathe. The world around her fell away and she forgot where she was, who she was, and who she with, just that she wanted to be somewhere else— anyone else. She pushed and struggled just a bit, but there was no give, the penetrator staying right where he was, savoring the moment.

Eventually, she remembered that she had nostrils and sucked in air that way. The flow of oxygen to her brain calmed the dizzying onset of panic, returning to her a sense of calm and awareness. This was okay. She was okay.

He loved her. He wouldn't hurt her unless she wanted it. He would take care of her.

He growled when the first thrust was met with a wall of tense muscle. He rocked against her, his large hand coming to her throat to rub gently over her skin with callused fingers.

"Relax, Lyds… it's okay. Daddy's gotcha… I'm not gonna hurt ya if you just relax…"

He ran the other hand through her hair, trying to be comforting even as he was thrusting again. Every few thrusts he paused, his heavy balls nearing her forehead with each bought of thrusts.

"Fuck, that's it kitten… just remember to breathe. Fuck."

He ran his hands lovingly over her face and neck, the gentle sentiment matching nothing of the hard, deep thrusts of his hips. He groaned as he felt himself approach the edge, panting softly as he pulled her in again, circling his hips against her face.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum…"

It was a trying journey getting there, but Lydia eventually found the wherewithal to relax. He was so good to her, petting and whispering sweet reassurances as he roughly used her mouth for his pleasure. One of those thick sturdy arms kept him aloft in a push-up position over her while he caressed her with the other, feeling over her throat as that thick cock pushed in and out.

Once his peak approached, he lost himself a bit, grinding against her face with careless abandon in a way that made his hairy sack nestle over her nose, blocking her only source of oxygen. Luckily, it didn't take much longer in this form before he was busting down her throat, spilling chilled streams of white, salty-sweet cum down her constricted airway.

As he finally lifted off of her, she tried to gasp in air but choked first, coughing on the remnants of his orgasm until little white dribbles leaked out the side of her mouth. Tears she hadn't been aware she was producing wet her cheeks as well, and along with her crumpled, half-opened dress, this served to make her a tragic, ravished sight.

"Beej," she sniffled once she was able to catch her breath, somewhat shaken by the experience and wiping weakly at her face, "I don't— I don't…" She trailed off and swallowed another trail of his salty completion, not saying what she really wanted to say. He seemed so satisfied, so pleased with her. What place did she have denying him?

"... That was hard..."

He gripped her hair tightly as he came, harsh grunting sounds leaving him as pushed somehow deeper into her throat. When he finally pulled away he couldn't help but grin at the sight of her. She looked thoroughly debauched, her chest heaving as she fought to swallow down what hadn't been put straight down her throat.

That was hard.

He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. It seemed like she was dangerously close to telling him that she didn't like it. Wouldn't want to do it again. He reached down to pinch at her breast, chuckling to himself.

"Ya did a good job, kid. It'll get easier."

He rolled away from her to stand, stretching his arms over his head. Maybe the couch hadn't been the best place for this rendezvous. He carefully helped her sit up, plopping back down next to her and conjuring them each a cigarette.

Lydia sat up gracelessly with his help, accepting the cigarette he had to offer with quivering fingers. Once upright, she settled curled up into a ball in the corner of the cushions, shaking through rebuttoning her dress without letting loose her hold on the smoke. She wasn't avoiding touching him, but she wasn't not avoiding it either.

Joseph Buquet fell from the rafters. Chaos erupted throughout the opera and then Christine was dragging her stupid pretty boy up toward the roof for their uplifting, yet melancholy duet.

She remained silent through the scene, still recovering from her husband's ravaging. This part usually always brought a tear or two to her sympathetic gaze, especially when it was revealed that the murderous phantom was privy to his soprano's betrayal. As it was, her tear ducts were already leaking. Weren't they supposed to have stopped by now?

It'll get easier.

She believed him, but the threat was ominous all the same. Betelgeuse, for now, seemed tolerant of her need for space; not touching her, the shadow of his arm hanging heavy over the back of her side of the couch. The rare patience he was exhibiting wouldn't last, but she appreciated the effort. Maybe it would be nice to take a break while he was off dealing with Mother and…

"You once said," she began, breaking her mute streak, "that you were only going to let me see my mom if you thought we both deserved it." The reminder of his declaration didn't even spark any indignant rage in her like it once might have. "I think I deserve it."

He slung his arm over the back of the couch, taking the hint that she was done being touched for now. She was curled in on herself at the far end. He may have been a little rough on her, but what was she expecting? He was a monster, after all. Just like the Phantom she so adored.

He looked up when she spoke, one eyebrow rising up his forehead as he turned to look at her.

"Oh really? You think you deserve it, huh? Tell me why."

He slid down the couch toward her, licking his lips.

"Convince me. Use those debate skills. It's just like high school. I can be the teacher you be the student…Mm. Go get the skirt we bought…" He cackled, grabbing her by an ankle and pulling until she was flush against him again.

"Go on. Gimme your reasoning."

She yelped when he grabbed for her, straining to lift her half-burnt cigarette so it wouldn't singe herself or the couch.

Go on. Gimme your reasoning.

"She's my mom," the obvious answer came whimpered and confused, a sad little furrow crinkling her brow. "I married you. I—" let you do whatever you want to me. Wasn't it enough? What more did she need to sacrifice? He owned her.

"I'm good," she insisted, increasingly distraught, searching her memory bank for any recent acts of defiance. "You promised," she reminded, the blood-pumping organ in her chest fracturing further the longer he toyed with her. Then, she provided the nail in the coffin, the only reason that mattered, the only validation he should need to keep his word.

"You love me."

He was more than happy to disprove her points. "Just because she's your mother don't mean she's good for ya babes… and I don't think I did make that promise."

Then she murmured the words that would likely one day be her undoing.

You love me.

His eyes narrowed as he thought over his options. He could refuse to seek her out, he was certain that the junkie had nothing to offer his wife other than pain. Or he could lie. Go for a drink and come back saying that she didn't want to see her. Neither option was appealing. Neither would keep his wife loving him the way she did. And he did want her to love him. He glanced at her out of the side of his eyes.

"Yeah. That's a good point." Smoke curled from his nose, dissipating along with his hopes of keeping Lydia to himself for another millennium at least.

"I dunno how long it's gonna take me to find her." He stood up, tucking himself back into his pants and pulling his suit back into place where it had been ruffled in their rendezvous. "I'll be back. Don't know when, but… I will. So don't worry, okay?"

I don't think I did make that promise.

Her heart stuttered, expression falling into one of wrenching despair. He hadn't, had he? He only guaranteed he would find Mother, not deliver them to one another on a silver platter. God, she was so fucking stupid. He had everything he wanted, didn't have any reason to do this for her aside from his alleged "love", though Lydia was through questioning the validity of it. While she wasn't certain this was what love was supposed to be, she knew that it was the closest he would ever come.

Those wild jade eyes narrowed at her regurgitation of his feelings, chilling her blood for reasons she couldn't place. She didn't feel unsafe, but there was nothing warm or comforting there. Then, he turned from her abruptly, righting his appearance with an impatient gesture. He seemed upset, and this only served to increase his troubled wife's anxiety.

He was leaving already? This brought an unexpected pang to her chest, convoluting her already confused emotions. Usually, he did his business while she slept and was back before she awoke. The last time he left like this was in the midst of a heated fit, leaving her alone and despondent for hours. How long would he be gone this time? They were supposed to cuddle and watch movies today. The Phantom of the Opera wasn't even over yet.

But… that was trivial. Selfish. Mother mattered more.

"It won't be more than a day or two, right?"

She rushed out before he could disappear on her, his dour energy setting her on edge. The idea of being all alone in this big house with nothing but Percy and her twisted thoughts to keep her company had her ready to cry again, but she would be good enough to save her tears until he was gone.

He looked back at her, seeing that her eyes had that wide, watery quality that she got when she was about to cry. It occurred to him just then that leaving in the middle of a supposed date night, and after a disagreement was a bad move.

He really was a terrible spouse. He sighed, cupping her cheeks and bending down to kiss her gently.

"Well… I told ya I donno. But it won't do me much good to start now. The waiting room gets crowded at night."

It was a lie. Time was irrelevant, but she seemed to want to keep him around a while. He couldn't deny her anything. He settled back on the couch and pulled her onto his lap again.

"How 'bout I leave in the morning, eh? We can finish our movie and get you a nice long soak in the tub before I go…"

His lips fell to hers and like that Lydia was his again. All trespasses forgiven. How could she be upset with him when he made her feel so loved and special and beautiful? Why was she even upset in the first place? She couldn't remember when he kissed her like this, gently plying chilled, chapped lips over her warm satin ones until her inner turbulence was calmed.

Needy for more of that addictive love of his, she followed easily when he collapsed back into the couch, curling into his lap and wrapping thin arms tight around his neck as though there was nowhere else she would rather be. For now, he was hers and she was his and the rest of the world could go fuck itself.

They watched another movie after this one ended before breaking for lunch, one of his choosing this time. The Exorcist, his "favorite comedy." Lydia had seen it before and didn't understand what was so funny about it, but his laughter was infectious and so she conceded a giggle here and there. After a lunch of soup and sandwiches, they were right back in the theater to squander the day away.

After watching another of her choices— The Pit & the Pendulum— she fell asleep in the middle of another of his— Two-Thousand Maniacs; right before their established dinner time, nestled in his lap beneath blankets, a tiny fist curled up next to her mouth as though she used to suck her thumb but had since broken the habit.