"Tonight you're mine, completely,
You give your love so sweetly,
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes,
But will you love me tomorrow...?"
—Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow
Ben E. King
The thunderous slam of that large oak door shook the house, and Lydia cringed terribly. Approximately three seconds later, she fell into a collapsed heap on the ground, sobbing inconsolably. She slept on the couch that night, unable to bring herself to crawl much further than that. The next morning saw her nursing an emotional hangover more brutal and crippling than anything alcohol could ever induce.
Betelgeuse came bearing the truth. She knew that now. Mother was so far removed from reality and tortured by the ghost of sensation, hurt and longing and guilt, without the mercy of memory to why it was there that she took her own life. Betelgeuse had no reason to lie to her about this. It was wrong of her to lash out at him that way— killing the messenger with such cruelty and carelessness.
Though she had come to the conclusion she was wrong, it was still too raw, the big, locked door at the end of the hallway too intimidating. Cowardly, she thought surely he would come to her. Eventually. Then she slept alone again in their made bed, every bit of her lovingly shaved, primped, and plucked for his enjoyment, ready to accept his love. It never came. The next day saw her cleaning the house top to bottom; dusting, sweeping, mopping, putting everything out of order back in its place with obsessive precision until one could hardly tell anyone lived there.
Really, she was the only one living there. And Percy, of course.
House tidied to a proper perfectionist's predilections, it was time to try again. More seriously this time. She couldn't sleep alone again. In an attempt to fake color and liveliness, her lips were rouged with tinted balm and lashes thickened with mascara. She even went as far as to throw on one of those luxurious nighties he procured for her, a short, silky, lacy green affair. No underwear.
A sandwich made with the utmost care and attention to detail was put together for him, thick and hearty with all the trappings she'd learned he enjoyed. Along with this, she grabbed one of the beers he seemed to prefer and soldiered up the stairs, determined to see her husband. Unfortunately, the big oak door at the end of the hallway didn't care how brave she thought she was. It remained locked when she gulped and staggered through juggling the plate and bottle into one arm and jingling the handle.
Knock, knock.
"Beej…?"
Silence.
"I made you a sandwich."
Time passed. The stack of files shortened but seemed to never end. He'd heard his wife moving about the house, but until she was calm and ready to think rationally he wouldn't seek her out. Let her be the one to patch things up this time. When the knock came he was startled out of his focus, turning to look at the heavy oak. Oh. It was locked, wasn't it? He waved a hand and the heavy metal lock slid out of place.
He was slouched in his desk chair, his jacket long abandoned and his half-moon reading glasses settled at the end of his nose. He sighed, settling his current case file on his desk and turned toward the door.
"Come on in, Lydia."
With all the timidity of a rabbit pitter-pattering into a fox den, she took his invitation and shouldered the door open. Then, very carefully tiptoed across the sea of crimson carpet to place the peace offering before him to the side of the paperwork he was working on.
It was not lost on her that she wasn't on the receiving end of one of his sweet nicknames. The loss twisted up her insides and she almost abandoned the endeavor completely, even more ready to turn tail and run when he didn't say anything or look at her, stuck monotonously filling out paperwork. Then she saw her name scrawled among all those lines of text.
"What… what are you doing…?"
He glanced up when the sandwich was put in front of him. He didn't want to look at her yet, anger still burning under his skin. She'd hurt him, which was difficult to do and even more difficult to fix. Her tiny body leaned over his desk, peeking at his paperwork. He slapped the file closed, fixing her with a stern look.
"I'm upholding my end of my deal with Juno. This was the exchange for goin to see your mom." He gestured roughly to the stack of paperwork.
He turned slightly to look at her. She wasn't sleeping well, he could tell. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them despite the mascara she'd applied to try and hide it. Her lips were a deeper pink than her natural color, revealing her use of lipstick to try and entice him. His eyes then found her chest, her soft flesh threatening to spill out of the lace of the nightie. One he'd bought her.
"What are you doing?"
With big, bloodshot eyes and a heartbroken frown, she shrunk back, discouraged by his cold reception. She deserved it. What did she expect?
"… trying to apologize."
The prospect of spending another cold, desperate night without him was worse than suffering his burning glare, but not by far. She peaked enough of the files to notice that his script was messy and scrawled, barely legible.
"Can I help?" She thought to offer on a leap of courage, grasping at straws. "I have good handwriting." Her lashes fluttered, blinking away moisture at the thought he might reject her again. "Please. I'm lonely."
He glanced at her again, double-taking at the moisture gathered in her eyes. He didn't like making her hurt, but maybe she deserved it.
He sighed. "Fine. Can't read my own chicken scratch anyway." He pushed back from the desk, patting his thigh gently. "Come up here, kitten."
He pulled her up onto his lap, handing her his fountain pen. There were some things he just couldn't give up for the modern age. He let his hand rest lovingly on her thigh. He really had missed her. He pressed his face to her neck, taking in her warmth after so many days apart.
Lydia scampered to settle on his knee, eager to snatch up whatever affection he was willing to dole out. This was good. This was working. Before carefully flipping the folder open to start in where he left off, she went soft and pliant in his arms while he held her, releasing a long painful sigh. Waiting for this had been awful. She had been so vicious to him, a terrible wife.
"I'm sorry," she intoned with heavy guilt, hugging his arms tighter around her to encourage the embrace. They stayed like this until Lydia gently directed him to lean back and accept his sandwich and beer, take a well-earned break. He didn't need the sustenance, she knew, but this was what she had to offer and he deserved her best effort.
Scooting forward to balance on the precipice of his knee, thighs banded firm around each side of the sturdy limb and back arched, she focused everything she had on the task at hand. Very quickly, she grew frustrated by the tiny print and legal jargon, the text difficult to decipher without any of the resources from the library. Stubborn and dedicated, Lydia refused to show weakness, squinting harder and forcing herself to chew through each word.
Luckily, it mostly seemed to be requesting trivial data; date of birth, full name, etc. Normal questions. Then things turned more in line with what she was expecting; date of death, cause of death, fatal impairments and disabilities, soul identification number, so on and so forth, becoming increasingly ridiculous and over Lydia's head. Eventually, she just started marking N/A where it seemed appropriate.
"I'm probably not filling these out right…" she admitted as she moved on down to the fourth page and he finished up his sandwich. "Sorry if you have to redo them. I'll look over them again tomorrow. I don't understand some of these questions… what should I put under species? Human? Homo sapien? Alive?"
He was content for once to settle back and let her do her best to apologize without his assistance. She picked at the paperwork, a soft frown forming on her face the further she got.
"Human comma mortal. That's your species." He set aside the now empty plate and bottle, letting out a belch that was far from attractive. He patted her thigh gently.
"Good lunch, babes. Thanks." He supposed that they had both earned a break. He carefully closed the file and set it on the stack that had yet to be completed, pushing at his wife until she was facing him. "Now... I think we need to talk. Don't you?"
"You really blew up at me back there... I was just tryin' to do what you asked me to. You weren't my sweet girl... I don't know what happened, but I need you to talk me through it."
Lydia shrunk further but was good and docile for him. She allowed him to manipulate her until she was tucked back into the crux of his lap, a thick arm slung around her hips, one of those hands she loved so much sunk against her thigh where his thumb could rub soothing circles.
She would have preferred to just pretend this never happened. To continue mourning Mother in silence the way she always had and blot out this moment in the story of her life just like so many others had been erased. Nevertheless, her selfishness had a victim this time; his feelings.
"When I was little," she began after thinking fiercely for several beats of silence where her husband questioned she would even cooperate, "before they took me away… she promised me she would come back for me..."
As well everything else such a miraculous feat would entail.
"And I always thought… that she would. Ghosts are real. You're real. This is real. Why couldn't that be real too?"
Her voice wavered with emotion, but Lydia had cried all the tears she had left. Her ducts were simply exhausted.
"I'm sorry," she parroted, chin dropped shamefully to her collarbone to shield her guilty face from view. "I waited for you to come back for so long… I used you. You love me and I used you and yelled at you and said horrible things and you should hate me. You're supposed to hate me. You're supposed to be the bad guy. I guess that's why I thought it was okay to use you… I'm sorry…"
He listened, letting her get it all off her chest, and then staying silent a few moments more. He knew, in the end, that she was using him as a means to an end. He'd hoped, however, that she'd at least started to feel for him.
You're supposed to be the bad guy.
"I am the bad guy... Always. Always the guy that's been so... fucked up that it's okay to hurt me." He felt like he was breaking into pieces. If all of this was a front to get to her mother, then he had truly been fooled. He couldn't believe he was stupid enough to fall in love again. "I do love ya, Lyds... I just..."
"You're not the first, you know. You probably won't be the last. I'm an easy guy to fool, I guess. 'Specially with a pretty face." He chuckled, a weak, faked sound. "And you do got that."
He reached into his pocket and produced the photo of Lydia and her mother. Handing it back to her, he carefully lifted her, settling her in his chair as he started to pace. "So what now? Now that you know? You'll... what? File for divorce? They'd give it to ya. The paperwork is on my desk. It's what they want us to do. "
He ran a hand through his hair, gritting his teeth. "Fuck, how could I be so stupid?"
Probably wouldn't be the last? Divorce?! Lydia panicked immediately and jumped up from where he set her to still his pacing, stepping in his way and ineffectively grasping at those meaty biceps.
"No! I want to stay with you, Beej!"
It was a visceral gut, reaction, the mere thought of anything else making her sick to her stomach.
"I don't want you to love anyone else ever again! Just me." She declared possessively, aghast at his hurtful suggestions. He was hers! "Why would you say that?! Please don't say things like that, B," she begged, calming herself as well as him.
"I don't… love is a complicated concept," she settled finally once reassured, finding the bravery to look him in the eyes while speaking candidly about the feelings she harbored. "… and I don't want to say the wrong thing for the wrong reasons at the wrong time and ruin something beautiful. You've done this so many times, right? I haven't. You're all I know."
I don't want you to love anyone else ever again! Just me!
He stared at her for a long moment, watching as she worked out what she wanted to say. He was confused. She'd admitted to using him, wanting him to find her mother and then being finished and now... she was pleading with him not to leave? He cupped her jaw gently in one large hand, bending until they were eye to eye.
"I've never done this before either, kitten. Never loved anyone the way I love you and that's fucking terrifying. You could hurt me with one flick of a dainty little finger. Ain't nobody got that power over me. Cept you."
He could see past what she was saying on the surface. Somewhere, deep down, she loved him too. What a horrifying concept. They were each the others' greatest weakness.
"After I lost Sarah... to the ice... I swore I would never fall in love again. I fought it, for... centuries. But I couldn't stop it when it came to you, Lydia... you're the only person this stupid, broken heart's ever beat for." He brought her hand to his chest, his eyes fixed firmly on her own.
"I don't want you to love anyone else... ever again. Just me... okay?"
"Nobody else. Just you. Until death and beyond," she agreed, quoting the priest who officiated their wedding, the finality of the vow imprinted in her mind. She couldn't give him the straightforward confession he wanted, but she could give him this oath.
"I'm so sorry I hurt you, Beej," she reiterated her deep sense of regret, holding him close as best she could with her short stature and diminutive strength. "I was confused and hurt and I wanted you to hurt too. It was really shitty and unfair. I missed you so, so bad."
Getting wrapped up tight in these arms again gave her brain a straight shot of serotonin, her touch-starved skin soaking in the attention greedily. Ever eager for more, she stretched up along his solid form, choking a whimper when he came to grab her bare backside under the short negligée.
"I was going crazy. I thought maybe you killed me on our wedding night like you were supposed to and I was stuck in a tourist trap." The horrible, embarrassing confession was whispered in a rush against his ear as she kneaded into the knots at his neck dutifully just to feel him shudder against her.
A tourist trap? Oh god.
He'd been putting her through hell... making her think that she'd been trapped without him for good. He blinked, holding her closer still as the weight of her confession dawned on him.
"No... no, baby, you're alive and well..." He pressed his forehead to hers, his hands still cupping her soft backside. The touch wasn't sexual, per se, more comforting. Familiar. He pulled, scooping her easily into his arms.
"I gotta get outta this office. God, I'm so sorry kitten." He pressed a lingering, pain-filled kiss to her temple before leaving the office, kicking the heavy door closed behind him. He took the stairs slowly, fully aware that he could transport them in an instant to the destination but craving the prolonged closeness.
Upon entering their bedroom the fireplace roared to life as it had not done in the nights he was gone. From his place on the bed, Percy meowed and came to greet them, weaving between his legs as he settle his shaken wife on the fur rug in front of the mantle. He ran a cursory hand over the cat, appeasing him for the moment. Master was back, mistress would be happy again, Percy's work was done. He trotted off to some corner that only cats could know about.
Betelgeuse turned his attention back to his beloved, his hands shaking as they framed her face. "Ti amo, Lydia... Mia cara. Mi tesoro..." He littered her face with kisses, his hands weaving through raven locks.
Each familiar touch came new and electric against her wanting flesh, all of them an unquestionable reminder that he was here, and it was okay. She trembled beautifully under his touch, coming to grasp his broad shoulders tight for purchase as he laid her out over the rug. They were barely doing anything, but this was all so intense. Was it because it had been so long? Or perhaps it was the shared understanding of their mutual desire to only belong to the other?
Sweet little tears managed to rise and kiss her lashes despite her body's dehydration, trailing over her cheeks to dampen his kisses. Only a few, the young girl overwhelmed by his gentle, reverent handling.
"Don't be sorry," she hushed, working to absolve him of any misplaced blame. "You've always been so good to me. You didn't do anything wrong. It's not… not your fault I'm crazy. Just please don't leave for that long ever, ever again. Let me come with you… I can be good…"
She was rambling now, her desperate tone becoming increasingly heated as his lips moved down toward the cage of her pounding heart.
"I'll do whatever you say. Whatever you want. Just please don't leave me here without you. It gets so lonely..."
His reverent kisses continued along the edge of the deep green lace, his chest heaving with unwarranted breaths that accompanied the surge of emotion in him.
"Never, baby... never gonna leave ya alone again." He mouthed gently over the top of one milky white breast, his lips gentle where they pulled against her skin.
"You don't gotta be good for that... you're always so good... so perfect for me, Lyds..." His hands found her silk covered hips, drawing her up against him as he settled over her, his body angled almost as though he were shielding her from the outside world.
"I promise... you can come with me from now on. Even if it's dangerous..."
"You make everything better…"
When she was with him, the vile voices in her head were silenced, unable to stand up to the absolute authority of his growled praise. She had come to yearn for the warmth his words gave her from within even as his touch chilled her body, though the roaring fire was doing well to banish that. She didn't know how much she missed that as well until he gave it back to her.
Lydia reveled in the cage of his arms, giving just as much of herself over as he was willing to take.
"I'm so sorry, baby," she purred with a bittersweet echo of agony, pain rapidly healing the longer he touched her. That filthy mouth easily pushed delicate lace filigree out of the way to suckle at her breasts, molding across the unmarked, porcelain flesh there with savoring slowness.
"I'll be better for you, I promise. I can be better… I can… ah…"
His passions intensified, cutting off her useless, repetitive pleas for forgiveness, his wife clearly desperate to make it all better again.
His poor sweet girl. It was clear she'd been eating herself alive over his supposed abandonment.
His mouth stayed firmly interested in her soft breasts as his hands slipped the lacy garment from her shoulders, his taloned fingers trailing over silky skin until they found her hips, pulling her off the rug and against him. At the same time their hips met, his suit was gone. Both bare, he couldn't help but snicker, landing a particularly sharp nip on her nipple.
"Missed you, kitten... you're so good. So fucking soft." He could bury his face into Lydia's chest and die again, quite happily. He was sure it'd be a good way to go.
He pulled back to look at her, taking in the way her dark hair was spread about her like a halo, her chest heaving with emotion... or arousal... perhaps both.
"You are... my everything. Ya know that right?"
She couldn't possibly be everything. She used him, hurt him, let him keep these feelings for her festered inside until the gasket blew. He went from denying her demand for a divorce to bringing up the dysmal suggestion on his own, and that alone was terrifying. The possibility of losing him was still fresh on her troubled mind, made worse by the memory of haunting their home without her husband there to haunt with her.
By no means was she a good wife, or worthy of being his "everything." But, he didn't like it when she argued with him and so she zipped her lips, instead answering his heart-wrenching question with a deep, passionate kiss, one that ended with their intimate bits lined up perfectly.
"I'm yours," she insisted because he obviously needed a reminder, using the leverage of a leg around his hip to grind her smoothly shaved, dripping entrance along his shaft. "I waited for you every night. I touched myself. I wanted you to come for me so bad. My heart hurt."
Her lips returned to his, frenzied almost, drunk on the sensation of finally being where she wanted to be; tangled in her husband's lustful embrace and on the brink of being his, fully, again.
"Please take me. I'm yours. Take me," she seduced, rolling her nude body against his, gasping as if in the midst of an orgasm that hadn't been delivered yet. "Please! I need you."
He painted against her as she rocked up against him, the smooth, wet heat of her core rubbing against his cock deliciously.
How was he supposed to deny her when she'd been waiting so long? Had pleaded so nicely? Another night he might have insisted that she show him just how she'd waited, spreading her legs and settling in to watch her please herself but... tonight wasn't the time. She needed him close, gentle.
He pressed his forehead to hers instead, his rough fingers sliding over them smoothly shaved skin. "Really? You did all this for me?" His rough, callused fingertips trailed over her slit, teasing minutely.
He quickly took mercy, on both Lydia and himself, pulling her legs up and over his shoulders as he pressed into her. They'd never gone so long without sex— nearly two weeks of solo performances had him dangerously close to the edge at the first pulsing of her hot flesh around him.
"Lydia... fuck... missed you. Missed this..."
Really? You did all this for me?
"Uh-huh," she answered wordlessly, nodding, then bit her lip to suppress a cry as he tortured her just a bit. This was fine. He earned this. She was his, completely, and if he wanted her to atone for her sins that way, then he could have it. Her need was great, but her desire to please him was greater. Lydia was beyond denying him anything at this juncture. Fortunately, he didn't seem to be in any mood to deny himself either.
Impatiently, he muscled her legs onto his shoulders until her ankles were kissing his mossy neck and wasted no more time in pushing into her, cursing and grunting his adoration as he hunched over her constricted form. She was just as tight as always and had come to expect the delicious ache of taking him on, so when it came she moaned beautifully at the fulfillment rather than wincing or tensing up as she had in the past.
There was less friction with how smoothly her bits were shaved, their joining only seeing a catch as he surged forward and internal muscles tightened snug around him, pulling deeper. He followed her body's insistence, bending her in half to get closer to her face as more and more of him was sucked in, until there was nothing left to give and no room for her to take anything else. Through it all, she remained lax and euphoric, staring up at her beastly husband with a look of intense yearning and humbled awe.
"Never leave me again," she begged again despite his promises that he wouldn't, short of breath, needy and possessive even as she had all of him for her own. Impaled, full to bursting, and bent in half, she was speaking with borrowed breath. "I know I say stupid things… I'm sorry… Just yell at me. Tell me I'm being stupid. Don't let me push you away... Please."
Folded up as he had her, Lydia looked somehow even smaller than usual, her delicate ankles bumped his neck as he sunk into her, letting gravity and her pleading body take control of the speed. Finally, fully seated within her he struggled to keep himself still. After two weeks she was just as tight as she'd been their wedding night, and it took everything in him not to just take her all over again.
Then she was pleading again, making demands that he'd already conceded to.
"Baby... Lyds... stop talkin'." He pressed a bruising kiss to her lips, rocking his hips slowly in the first semblances of thrusting.
Ever obedient, she complied. There wasn't much choice with him kissing her like that, grinding their hips together indulgently and swallowing her resulting gasps, as if he needed them to survive the same way she needed air. He was so big, dominating her completely without even trying. It was a good thing the werewolf's fur was so soft or the way he was crushing her onto its pelt would surely have resulted in some carpet burn. Most likely, he probably had something like this in mind when he was picking it out.
His tongue mimicked his cock, slithering through her mouth toward the back of her throat and staying there, pushing her limits, as if eager to get as much of himself inside her as possible. Lydia didn't have any complaints. She wanted him there just as badly. She would have happily let him suffocate her this way until she died, but Betelgeuse probably wasn't willing to give her up to the darkness of unconsciousness. Nevertheless, oxygen deprivation made her grip on his back and hair weak, and if he didn't part from this desperate, ravaging kiss soon she was sure to be taken by mortal folly.
He pulled back just as she was about to blackout, his attention turned to her neck and shoulders as he worked large, dark bruises onto her milky skin. She felt just as good as she always did, but something in the way she was so desperately trying to please him had him more aroused than ever.
He began a slow, steady pace of thrusting into her, her little legs shaking on each in beat where they were still wrapping around his neck, his hands clawing hungrily down the backs of her thighs until he could grip her ass, manhandling into helping him fuck her as deep as he could get.
She gasped desperately in reflex when he finally saw fit to release her mouth, chest heaving as she drew in droves of the oxygen she needed to live. Unburdened by mortal needs, Betelgeuse never paused, seamlessly moving his heated assault down her décolletage and leaving blooming discolorations in his wake to replace the ones that had faded with time.
A good girl to the bittersweet end, Lydia took his order to "stop talking" with utmost seriousness. She gave him only what her lungs couldn't keep inside, forced out by his rhythmic, brutal pumping; breathy and increasing in pitch as he kept up a primal pace. They were beyond words. Plenty enough had been said.
He couldn't help the adoring expression that came to his face. The longer they went on like this, the more likely he was to lose his hardened edge. He'd been so angry with her. Disgusted that she not only had accused him of lying but that she was so disrespectful. She was his. To the core of their relationship, he owned her. Mind, body, and soul.
Clearly, he needed to remind of that. His pace picked up, his hips slapping crudely against her as he thrust into her, working himself as deep as he could get with each motion. No words passed between them, only his soft grunting and her sweet, high-pitched whimpers.
Finally, he could take it no longer. He had to hear her sweet voice.
"Tell me who loves ya, Lyds... who's your favorite guy in the whole world, huh? Fuck... you feel good baby? Bet ya do... who d'ya belong to, kitten?"
His voice hit her ears like molasses, sending a fresh gush of moisture to coat his ever-pumping cock.
"You," she gasped, lashes fluttering, swollen, saliva-slicked lips parted. With great effort, she clawed into his back to hold on for the ride, finding stability enough now to land a dreamy, lidded gaze solidly on her husband. "You— love— me!"
Of course he loved her. Probably always had. He was just that kind of guy, all or nothing— and he wanted all of her.
"Favorite," she trilled with song-like intonation, then paused to strain closer through the adamant fucking and press a wet kiss to his strung taut neck. "The best… Just you… M'yours… Betelgeuse!"
This was the right thing to say. He growled fiercely, bearing down on her with a force and speed that quickly brought her to a shattering peak, one that had her filling the master suite with the kind of music it had sorely been missing.
Well, that certainly seemed to hit the spot. He grinned as she was tipped over the edge, the sounds of her orgasm pushing him into his own finish.
He'd dearly missed her sounds. Not just in orgasming, but when he pressed his lips just so behind her ear, or he gave her a particularly nice groping. Even the sound of her just breathing was like music: His office had been deadly silent, lacking the sounds of her living-ness that he'd so dearly come to love.
He pressed his face to her neck as he came down, loathe to leave her tight, comforting embrace. The benefit of death was that he was completely in control of his erection. There was no blood flow to ebb away, and he stayed hard as ever inside of her, rocking slowly.
"Fuck. You feel so good, kitten... I love ya so much... god I missed ya..."
"Missed you so much," she sobbed without tears, arms laying above her head from where she'd released him mid-orgasm to grasp at the werewolf's thick mane. "Waited for you every day…"
Once the twitching aftershocks subsided, she stretched her legs straight, grabbing for her ankles and pressing the point of her arched feet smoothly to the polished wood above her head, beyond the rug. She held herself like this, breathing deeply as he fucked her through it, giving her cramped limbs the deep stretch they needed after staying so long curled limp over his shoulders.
"I'm going to help you with the paperwork," she insisted breathily, as he kept working at her in a soft humping motion that squeezed her sweat-dampened tits against his hairy chest, his weight gently pushing air from her lungs. "Promise… Just need… some books from the library…. S'my fault… I'll do all of it if you want…"
He ran his hands up the backs of her legs gently, rocking into her steadily. He didn't want her to be too sore tomorrow, but she certainly was going to feel it. He'd make sure of that. Then she was muttering on about the damn paperwork again.
"God, Lyds. Stop talking."
She went to open her mouth again and he snapped his fingers, a hard rubber ball gag appearing in her mouth. He chuckled.
"Well now that's a pretty sight... stop worrying and just relax, kitten... let daddy take care of ya and we can worry about the paperwork tomorrow."
I'm sorry, she choked ineffectively behind the gag with furrowed brows, still holding herself spread eagle for him. Just couldn't help herself, could she? It was better this way. Now she wouldn't have to worry about making yet another misstep.
Using her own hands as bounds, she continued to keep her legs taut and extended as he rutted into her with slow, deep thrusts. The pace was easy enough to allow her to keep holding herself compact for him, but only just so. Her abs and lower back ached from staying bent and pounded against for so long, but he seemed so happy.
He had full freedom to caress whatever he wanted to in this position and had been taking perverse advantage of it. Stubborn, eager to please, she breathed slowly, forcing herself to relax into the elongated imprisonment of her own making.
She was so pretty all trussed up for him. He made a mental note to explore more of her flexibility when given the time.
His hand lazily found her hip, his thumb coming to rub gently over her clit. He knew she could cum again. What was their record now... three? He could do better.
He leaned down to kiss her cheek, effectively squishing her even tighter under him, whispering into her ear hotly. "You like that, baby? Like havin' yer mouth stopped for a minute so you can just enjoy... god, yer the best, Lyds..."
"Mm… mmf," she nodded her ascent to his growled query, wet lips slicked around her red, plastic muffle, and focused on breathing. If she wanted to, she could let loose the ironclad grip on her ankles and release the ball gag, but why on Earth would she ever want to do such a thing? Every time she spoke she only ended up troubling them both further with her messy, emotional burden. Now was a time for carnal pleasure. He was better at dirty talk anyway.
It became very difficult to keep holding herself so rigidly restrained for him when his calloused thumb started circling the area above where they were joined, his superior weight simultaneously pressing her punishingly into the pelt. Nostrils at the end of her delicate nose flared, powerfully sucking in air to little relief. There simply wasn't room enough.
Quite abruptly, after little more attention like this, her face turned a lovely shade of rose, a stream of high-pitched hums were gargled on the dripping ball, and her choked, suffocated insides began to flutter around his cock, milking, inviting him impossibly deeper and deeper.
Still, even as she came explosively beneath him, maintaining adoring contact with that diabolical gaze as her vision grew fuzzy, his wife remained dutifully "bound", never breaking form. However, it was inevitable that she would have to let go eventually.
She was so good for him... so perfect. He had her totally bound without ever taking a binding to her skin. She dutifully held position, her delicate, fragile body shaking as he rocked her through a second orgasm.
Her hold was going to slip any moment. He took over for her, grunting and huffing as he fucked her through her climax. "Fuck.. god damn you're so good..."
He pulled free of her, reaching up to pop the gag out of her mouth, his lips descending on her in its place. His fingers sought out her dripping heat, pushing into her and crooking, seeking out the place that would make her scream for him.
The delirious joy it was giving her just to be doing this again, to be under his control and back in his good graces, overrode instincts to surrender to hypersensitivity or lightheadedness. Instead, she bucked on his clipped talons when they came thrusting three at a time, slick and comfortable with the reduced girth.
Grateful for the freedom to move her jaw again, she returned his kisses with a more practiced technique, one that had been carefully cultivated by his tutoring. Similarly relieved, her well-stretched thighs took up residence spread wide and plastered around his broad waist.
Lithe, pale arms snaked around his neck, warm digits seeking out the matted hair at the nape to scratch and scrape and comb in a gesture of love and care. All the while her short human tongue was doing its best to keep up with the serpentine appendage making a nest of her mouth.
He wanted her well and fucked out, she'd clearly not been sleeping without him and she always slept better after an orgasm or three. Their tongues tangled in her mouth, his own long inhuman one wrapping around and squeezing at the pink flesh of hers. His fingers worked in her viciously, the slick sound alone bringing him closer to another finish.
He pulled away from her to attack her chest with his lips, kissing and nipping and leaving yet another round of hickeys for himself to enjoy later. She really was the perfect wife. Obedient, smart, sexy as all hell... and desperate to please him in a way no woman had been before.
"Love ya Lyds... so much. You're the perfect woman isweartagod..."
"Ungh!"
His fingers weren't as thick or long as his manhood, the thrusts not as deep or heavy, but they were quicker, more pin-pointed. Each time his fist beat against her sopping, still tight mound, it felt as though he were mashing a cracked, abused button.
I can't! She bit her lip, refusing to say it. Not again!
She could and she would. Nothing but the best for her husband. He was working so hard, every bit of himself dedicated to wrenching yet another orgasm from her, his mouth spewing love and praise in an endless stream when it wasn't bruising and biting.
When her peak came, it was savage. She screamed, soaking his arm with her release until it was dripping from his elbow. Tiny, usually harmless nails now chipped and unmaintained with her recent depression dug into his biceps in a way that would have drawn blood on a living man. He refused to let up and her body didn't back down in response, pulling this orgasm into another and another and another.
"Please!"
She begged as he kept on obsessively, never wavering. Much like they begun the night, she was weak and shaken beneath him, but for much better reasons now. She would never deny him again, never say "stop" but she would plead and play on whatever scrap of mercy he had left.
"Daddy, please!"
Dripping in his wife's cum, he could feel his mood shifting, becoming more feral. He wasn't about to let up on her over a silly thing like sensitivity.
Daddy, please!
"Ah... there's my girl... come on kitten, use your words. What do you want from daddy? Huh? Want me to stop?"
He cackled cruelly, his pace increasing. Her delicate hands were gripping him, her body convulsing and spawning under his touch. He could easily make her pass out from the onslaught, but he knew that she'd feel like hell when she woke up so he eased up, only slightly.
"Come on Lydia... beg."
He wanted her… to beg him to stop? That was dirty, but nothing lower than what she had come to expect from him. It gave her permission and so she let loose, playing the part he clearly wanted her to play.
"No more," she huffed, boneless and shaking beneath him, thankful for the barely perceptible slowing in pace that let her perpetual orgasm calm just a little. Nonetheless, the threat for more torture remained if she didn't beg well enough.
"Please stop," she pled piteously to her cruel husband, cheeks already wet with what could be sweat or tears. "I'm sorry," she repeated for the last time that night lest he decide to gag her with something else. "Don't wanna do it anymore."
Mercilessly, he continued to bounce her on his knuckles while she talked, even as she keened, arched, and did her best to squirm away from her punishment without crossing the line into outright disobedience.
"Feels too good, Daddy," she uttered with a hush, a splinter of fright, "like I might die. I don't want to die anymore… Not when I'm with you."
Her twisting and keening were exactly what he needed. He brought his free hand to his cock, stroking roughly as he fucked his hand against her soft, soaking mound.
"That's right baby... daddy's never gonna letcha die on my watch. You're not dyin' but I am gonna take ya to heaven."
His fingers were removed as he dropped onto his front, burying his face between her legs and laving his tongue over her hungrily. Her nonstop orgasming had left her sopping with cum and he eagerly cleaned it away, moaning.
"That's it, baby. Beg. Yer almost done... promise."
His actions betrayed his words. He was trying to kill her. Rambling breathlessly, she stretched for the werewolf's open maw and grasped at its dulled teeth, pulling for a futile escape.
Betelgeuse kept her pinned effortlessly with one hand on her hip. The other flew along his length at a rapid speed while he drank from his tortured wife, running the exorbitant rope of his slimy, cold tongue all along her hot, beating clit in slow, malicious swipes.
"No," she shook, head tilting side to side, agitating her sweat-slicked bangs. "No, no no no no—"
She looked a wreck, trembling and repeating that word in a mimic of the unfortunate night he told her of Mother's ultimate fate. Lydia was too far gone to recognize the parallels, but her husband might.
"Stop, stop!" This plea didn't stop him when he dropped her father from the top of the banister and it didn't stop him here, but she still put in her best effort. "Please stop! I'll do anything! I'm yours! No one else's! Ever again! Don't— Daddy— Stop—!"
He growled, nipping at one sweet, abused lip before sitting up, hauling her back in against him. He licked his lips, surveying his work. She was well and thoroughly debauched, her nightie still scrunched about her waist. Her neck and chest were littered with love bites that would bruise quickly, and between her legs... god, she was a mess.
She was still dripping in a filthy mix of their releases, her sweet, shaven cunny swollen and pink from overuse. He loved it. With a flash, her polaroid camera was in his hands, and he snapped a picture of her stretched out on the fur rug.
His hand was a blur on his cock, soft grunts and curses leaving him as he worked himself toward a second orgasm. "Fuck, baby... look at ya... I'm gonna cum, kitten... shit‒ fuck!"
Rope after rope of cold, white release shot across her lower half, some landing across her soft belly, and others landing directly on her abused puss, cold to the touch and sticky. He grunted like a boar, his unoccupied hand gripping her hip punishingly.
Lydia was so relieved by the freedom from his excessive torture that she didn't react at all to him dousing her, except to twinge and gasp when the cold stream hit her abused, enflamed, hot to the touch mound. The last especially powerful spurts splashed across her pearlescent, bruised breasts, just a little bit hitting her cheek, and still she remained motionless save her deep breathing, exhausted and indifferent to the degradation.
However, a modicum of shame did darken her big eyes when she was finally able to crack them open, the familiar whirr and hiss of her camera shutter rousing her to awareness. The sound came several more times in quick succession as she lay there, allowing him to capture the moment without complaint. The thought of pictures like this existing filled her with a sort of helpless dread, but there was nothing to be done. She would just have to trust Betelgeuse to handle them responsibly.
"Are you mad at me…?"
She whispered very quietly once he seemed satisfied with her photoshoot, standing over her with fierce entitlement so he could snag a couple from an aerial perspective. He wasn't acting like he was… but he often confused her, saying one thing and doing another. His skewed motivations and emotional dishonesty were a constant source of anxiety to his troubled, empathetic wife, and now was no different. He could love her and be mad at her. If he was still mad at her, she hoped he would be kind and lie, if only for the sake of letting her sleep peacefully tonight.
"Maybe you should wear more white, baby. Sure looks good on ya." He grinned as he continued his little photo op, picture after picture fluttering from the camera and disappearing to places unknown. When he was satisfied, he set it aside and flopped into one of the wing backed armchairs on either side of the rug.
Are you mad at me?
He considered the question for a moment. He certainly had been angry with her. But he wasn't sure that that was what he was feeling anymore. He was shit at this emotional crap.
"Mm. No, baby. I don't think I am. You were hurt and ya lashed out. It's understandable." He summoned a cigarette for himself, slouching in the chair and scratching at his round gut. "Ya really known how to make it up to a guy too. Damn."
He grinned at her sloppily, his eyes half kissed. "How ya feelin'? Too much?" He secretly hoped that the answer was yes, and every time she closed her legs for the next week she'd be reminded of this moment. How he'd taken his recompense out of her flesh.
Good. With the confirmation her defiance had been mostly probably forgiven, Lydia fully surrendered to post-sex lethargy. Soaked, sticky, and quivering, aching for closeness the way many women did after liaisons like that, she scrounged up the wherewithal to crawl on shaking knees the short distance to the chair Betelgeuse chose as a throne.
Once emerging from the perilous journey victorious, her flush cheek dropped to the top of his clawed foot to shamelessly use the bony, mossy surface as a pillow. The rest of her body went similarly limp and useless. For all intents and purposes, his wife seemed perfectly content to sleep right there on the floor, like a beat dog at their master's feet.
"Too much," she agreed softly with closed eyes, taking advantage of the implied permission to say so. Hot breath rushed over his toes with each exhale. "Need bath… Sticky…" Lydia kept to short sentences and words that wouldn't overtax her hard-working lungs or depleted mental capacities, speaking only what she considered absolutely necessary for him to know. "Too tired for bath… mm… tomorrow…"
Satisfied and simpering at his feet was a good look on Lydia. Her soft cheek cradled on top of his foot was something he had no idea he'd enjoy the way he did. He sat back in his chair, smoking his cigarette and letting her drift in and out of consciousness.
He knew logically that he should get her cleaned up. She could get sick being left in his mess, he knew, but she was so sweet and limp. He reveled in the sight a while longer, another photo adding to his collection. This was exactly how he'd wanted her to end up tonight. Weak, shaking, and obedient. No more talking back when she was too fucked out to think straight.
As the air cooled the sticky mess on her skin, he thought over how to proceed. She'd been cruel to him, had talked back and insulted him. That couldn't be allowed to stand. He still wasn't sure she had learned her lesson.
Nevertheless, he banished the mess with a wave of his hand, leaving behind the sweet red marks that would become bruises, everywhere he'd been able to reach. A slight lean forward found her core still pulsing and puffy, thoroughly abused. He smirked.
"You're a good girl, Lyds… you were real good for me tonight. But daddy should really get back his paperwork… you can be good up here and keep the bed warm, can't ya?"
Get back to paperwork… Be good… Keep the bed warm…
Only a handful of key phrases reached her fading consciousness, but they were enough to give her an instant negative reaction.
"No," she croaked, sudden and painful, panicking herself awake at the terrifying suggestion. "Please stay."
Having done her fair share of begging tonight, Lydia was in perfect form. Impossibly so, her drained, ravaged body found what it needed to pull fearful tears to the ends of her lashes. They swiped wet and hot across his foot as she blinked, nuzzling and kissing the foul skin there and holding his leg tight as she could, insisting he stay with all her unimpressive might.
"Don't leave, please don't leave," she pled, voice cracking and increasingly hysterical. As terrified as she was to go against his wishes, she was far more scarred at the prospect of spending another night alone in that bed. "I can come with you. You don't have to— I'll do the paperwork, I promise! I can sleep later!"
Each argument only sounded more and more childish, her logic unreasonably selfish, and Lydia curdled internally that all her suffering had been for naught. That he would reject her even after all this.
"Please don't leave me alone."
Oh.
Well, this wasn't the reaction he'd expected but it was certainly nice to see how eager she was for his company. Maybe if he kept her awake and wanting long enough his point would sink home.
"I can do the paperwork. But sure, you can come with me. Keep my lap nice and warm." He took her shoulders in hand, pulling until she was standing on shaking legs. "You gotta be good, though. No distracting me, and no falling asleep. Deal?"
He resummoned his clothes, shoving the remnants of her nightie off and leading her by the hand down the hall. It was slow going, her legs weak and between them sore from their frantic reunion. He refused to carry her, though. This was her punishment and she was going to take it like the good, sweet pet he knew her to be.
Back in his office, he plopped himself in his desk chair, pulling her onto his lap, facing him. "Settle in, kitten. We're gonna be here for a while. Don't move, don't talk. Don't fall asleep."
Why can't I fall asleep? Why can't I help with the paperwork? Why wouldn't you carry me? You are still mad at me, aren't you?
All the questions she wanted to ask were stuck trapped behind the quivering line of her mouth. No talking. No distractions. No curling up and trying in vain to find warmth in his cold lap. No asking what any of those words meant, or requesting permission to grab a book from the library to help her understand. Absolutely no clothing, that was clear without needing to be said.
The first hour or so‒ Lydia had no way of knowing but it felt like a good chunk of time‒ had her diligently reading along on each page and following his rigid rules, no matter how badly she wanted to scoot back just right, turn her head to kiss his jaw, and seduce him back to a night of cuddling.
The longer the night wore on, however, the clearer it became that her mortality simply wasn't going to allow her to keep doing this. Her eyes would close for long periods without her noticing until calloused claws came and pinched hard at the delicate flesh on her inner thigh, making her cry out and break the other rule.
On the verge of sobbing, she swallowed a whimper when a wave of cold tingled her spine and her stubborn body shivered. No moving. She was just a bad wife all around, wasn't she? Couldn't do anything right. None of his rules were terribly difficult to follow but here she was, disobeying him at every turn. No wonder he was punishing her like this.
Eventually, she started making a game out of holding her breath, seeing how long she could stay quiet and keep from breaking one of his rules. The answer was not long at all. She dug her own thin, weak nails into her thighs, hoping to keep herself awake and not distract him with the chore. The sting didn't even register on her half-dead face, the flush from their fucking long ago whited out.
Her blood-shot gaze faded out, her brain reserving precious energy by pausing its ability to focus on anything. Like a mantra, his laws repeated over and over in her head, with slower pace the better she got at holding her breath;
Don't move. Don't talk. Don't fall asleep.
She really was being good but, his rules were strict, and he was starting to get annoyed with having to wake her, her whimpering each time he pinched her was ultimately distracting. She was struggling and he was loving that…
Then her breathing changed. He'd been enjoying the slow, steady pace of her breaths, but then she started holding her breath. The periods of silence made his skin bristle. The whole reason he was keeping her in here was for the soothing presence of her breathing and heartbeat.
"Stop that." His hand found one soft nipple, twisting cruelly.
"You're not being very good, kitten. I don't see why you can't do this for me. The rules were simple." He pushed back from his desk, pushing her off of his lap and bending her over the desk. It was just tall enough to force her onto her tiptoes.
"Now. You stay right there and keep your breathing steady. Stay awake. You're gonna get a reckoning if ya can't. Got it?"
Lydia cringed, biting painfully into her thumb as she was manhandled onto the cold desk, Betelgeuse spitting criticisms at her over her poor performance. She just wanted to be with him. She was trying so hard. Silent as possible, she buried her face in the crook of her elbow and released a fresh onslaught of tears until there was a small puddle beneath her face on the pretty, polished desk. The way her shoulders wracked as she worked herself through this couldn't be helped, and only served to supplicate the incoming barrage of self-loathing.
He hated her. He was never going to love her again, not the way he used to. She ruined everything the way she always did. Everything she touched turned to shit.
Lydia remained this way until there was nothing left. Her body couldn't possibly produce more tears, not unless she got a glass of water in her. He never wanted to see her happy again, wasn't interested in her company unless it was to watch her beg and cry. Even then, once that was exhausted she was only worthwhile for a mediocre fuck. Could she blame him? He gave her a ring and a home, did anything she asked of him and then some, and what does she do in return? Use him. Spurn him. Hurt him.
If she didn't know he would deny the selfish request, she might beg for death again, especially if this was what their marriage was going to look like from now on. It didn't seem like there was anything good enough to win his forgiveness, and Lydia wasn't about to manipulate him with something as cruel as a poorly timed "I love you."
Tortured, worn out, it was no one's fault but her own when she went slack. Maybe if she had just been less emotional. Less crazy. The heavier end of her hips slipped lax against the wood as she lost the battle for consciousness, in doing so inviting her spited husband's wrath.
He glanced over when she started to cry, but couldn't bring himself to comfort her just yet. At least she was breathing.
He focused in on his paperwork, filing out incident reports and retelling the tale of their marriage again and again. He reached a bright red folder, the paperwork within making his chest ache. Divorce papers. He glanced at his wife, finding her collapsed and limp against the desk. Shit. When had that happened?
He pushed away from his desk, carefully pulling her across his lap, his hand gently trailing over her back. He was sure he'd fucked with her brain. He would worry, any other night, but for now, he was content to let her stew a while, silent as he pet over her soft skin.
Finally, after nearly an hour, he spoke, his fingers pressing into the tense muscle at the base of her neck. "Kitten? You still in there?" He pressed his thumb up the column of her throat, sighing softly. "Daddy's real sorry, babes… I know I was too hard on ya, I was just. Ya pissed me off."
Lydia was too far gone for what he was saying to sink in at any capacity, but her unconscious form was able to tell that it was safe and cared for. Taut muscles curled into his touch, going limp once they were sufficiently plastered and comfortable.
"Can'talk…" she slurred in a drowsy, illogical reminder to the voice hushing at her, nuzzling against his chest, pulling herself smaller and tighter against the invisible source of comfort. "Working… distract… mad at me…"
Even this far absconded from the waking realm, her number one concern was still to follow his impossible rules. In dreams, she was doing a good job; perfectly still and silent with a happy husband patting her head softly in appreciation. If only he would stop talking to her. He thought he was so clever, trying to trick her into insubordination like that. She would show him. She could be good. He would love her again.
"Sorry, Daddy…" she whispered nonsensically, irises fluttering beneath her lids. "… talk later…"
He frowned. This wasn't good. He scooped her up, carrying her toward the bedroom. She really had been good. He shouldn't have been so hard on her.
He ran his hand through her hair as he settled her, stripping down and curling in behind her. "Hey… come on baby. Come back to me… Daddy's right here. You're so good."
He littered the back of her neck with kisses, willing her to open her eyes. "We're all done working for tonight. Daddy just wants to hold you and hear ya talk to me. Can you talk to daddy, sweet girl?"
"Can't," she argued at first, balancing between realities as he plied her with kisses, the tiny, cold brushes of skin keeping her from seeping fully back into the dreamscape. "… 'gainst th'rules…"
Didn't he know that? They were his rules. The increasing persistence and pressure in his kisses was eventually able to drag her kicking and screaming back to a semi-cognizant state. She was so tired.
"Beej?" Her mouth was dry and blinking stung her eyes. Her body ached, but was comfortable where it lay— in bed, in her husband's arms. He was still peppering chilly kisses along her nape, her tangled mane brushed out of the way so he could get at her.
"What… what happened…?" The closer she came to awareness, the faster her heartbeat fluttered under her breastplate, the memory of pain and sadness returning. "Did I mess up?"
"No, no… you were perfect. You are perfect…" He pulled her closer, pressing his nose into her hair and rubbing soothing circles into her back. "You dropped pretty hard just now… I pushed it too far. I'm so sorry, baby…"
He knew he'd overstepped a boundary. They'd never discussed any of the harder core themes that found their way into their bedroom. She'd never been with anyone else, and she trusted him to keep her safe. Here he was pushing her mind into a drop when she had come crawling to try and apologize. How could he?
He held her tight, scowling to himself as the thought about how to proceed. "You didn't like it. What we did in the office… did ya?"
He could try to take feedback, for her sake. He had to keep her happy and healthy if he wanted her to stay with him. The red folder haunted the back of his mind. He'd burn them. He didn't want them so easily available.
Why did it matter if she liked it or not? It was a punishment, wasn't it? Not some kind of sex game, though the lines between those two concepts were often blurred with them.
"N-no…?" She admitted hesitantly, confused and wary of further games. Wasn't her misery the goal? When he didn't speak, just kept kissing and petting, working to calm her rising pulse, she deemed it safe to continue with the truth.
If this was another game, so be it. Every move she made was wrong, anyway.
"Just… just wanted to make you happy… and couldn't… couldn't just listen…"
If she had any tears left to drop, they would have been shedding, but all she could do was choke and dissolve in her husband's strong embrace.
"S-say you love me… but you don't. Not— not anymore. My fault. Say you're not mad at me… but you are… No— wait—" she started suddenly, eyes wide, struggling to escape his arms as if legitimately frightened. She had just called him a liar, hadn't she? In a roundabout sort of way. That kind of disrespect was what started this whole mess.
"I didn't mean it!" She insisted, pleading and trembling again. "You're not a liar, I'm just confused— tired— please don't—"
His chest constricted painfully. Sure, he'd lied about not being mad but—
"Baby, I do love you. I love you so much… like Christine and her Phantom, remember?" He was surprised to see legitimate fear in her eyes, and he let her go. Trying to ease her fears would do nothing if he was restraining her.
"Baby… baby, it's okay. Stop apologizing!" He cursed. That had been part of what sent her under in the first place. "Baby I… fuck I'm shit at this."
He cupped her cheeks gently, leaning in to kiss her forehead firmly. He pulled back to look her in the eye, searching for any sign that she could forgive him for this. "I'm not mad at you, baby… I'm just mad. But not at you.."
Like Christine and her Phantom. Lydia did remember. That night seemed so long ago. She didn't remember how scared she felt pressed beneath her lusty, shameless husband, but she remembered how happy she was wrapped up in his arms afterward, wasting the day away before his departure.
"I waited for you forever," she hushed finally many beats after his kiss to the forehead, repeating words she spoke earlier that night, staring into those concerned jade eyes like she didn't even recognize them. She was so terribly confused, so tired and muddled and drained.
"You came back… and then she was gone… and then you were gone… and I was alone again... "
Like a zombie, she recounted the events more for her own sake than his, as if to garner his reassurance that this was what actually had happened.
"We made up… but it wasn't real… and then… your office…"
She fell off, rubbing at her dry, agitated eyes and trying to make sense of everything.
"Just wanna cuddle and sleep," she pouted and whined pitifully, unsure what to say to make it all better. Every attempt she'd made that night had failed miserably. "Don't be mad," she begged once more, giving reconciliation another shot and pressing back into his embrace, the one she followed his impossible rules so stubbornly just to be a part of. "It's not good for you."
It wasn't the first time she'd given him this advice. The last was after her half-assed suicide attempt, another result of him abandoning her in an emotional fit. Maybe their next bout would see her stringing a noose around her neck, despite her promises to not commit suicide. Clearly, neither of them were any good at keeping their words.
He listened to her without objection, though he could have interceded a few times to argue that she'd been awful to him and she had come to his office to find him but he didn't bother, knowing that it would only hurt her at this point. He pulled her back into his arms, rolling until she was cradled against his furry chest, his hand running up and down her back lovingly.
"Cuddles and sleep sounds perfect. I'll work on the bein' mad thing."
He couldn't really help it. He had been angry before he died. He'd been so angry for so long that he lost sight of how to be anything else. His afterlife had been so filled with people who wanted to hurt him, use him or abuse him that he had given up much of his kindness in an attempt to preserve himself.
He was silent for a long while, thinking over the night and where he'd gone wrong. He summoned a cold bottle of water and a plate of simple foods, patting her back gently to ger her attention.
"But you gotta have some water and a snack while we cuddle. I don't want ya gettin' sick tomorrow."
Lydia was similarly burdened by an existence filled with people who wanted to see her hurt. In contrast to her husband, it served to make her extraordinarily kind and accepting, if a bit guarded. As intimately familiar with pain as she was, she never wanted anyone else to know what it felt like, to rise above and act as a shield for those that mattered to her and anyone else she could reach. Betelgeuse? He wanted to drag everyone else to his level, force them to know what it was like to feel like him.
Would they ever reach common ground?
The bottled water was delicious, and Lydia didn't know how badly she needed it until her mouth was wrapped around the lip and half the bottle was gone. The sliced crackers, cheese, and meat were also satisfying, the flavor exploding on her tongue even though they were simple choices like cheddar and honey ham. When was the last time she ate? Taking care of herself just didn't seem to matter when there wasn't anyone around to enjoy her existence.
"Beej?" She was sitting up, the blanket pooled in her lap to display her bare, bruised breasts as she picked eagerly at the food. She would be back in his arms to pass out soon, but the call of sustenance managed to jump-start her system for the time being.
"Promise," she paused, sucking a bit of oil and crumb from her finger, "promise you love me. And that you're not mad at me. Promise." Her flippant demand carried none of the weight words like that ought to. "Oh, and that this isn't a hallucination."
How many times had she chased the sound of his voice, the smell of his smoke through their house only to find herself collapsed and sobbing in an empty corridor? More times than she would ever admit aloud.
"It's important."
He reached for her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. His expression was dark and full of an unnamed emotion. "I promise. I love you… more than anything. And I am not mad at you." He kissed her gently, his empty hand trailing over her side.
Hallucination? What was she talking about? No matter. He squeezed her hip and nipped at her lower lip gently. "This is not a hallucination. I am really here… really loving you. And wanting you happy and healthy."
How long was he really gone seeing her mother? It couldn't have been that long.. could it? Maybe it could. He glanced at one of his watches, nearly choking on his tongue when he realized that had truly transpired. Between his mission to find her mother and their fight, it had been nearly a month since they'd shared their bed. No wonder she was so broken up about it. He released her jaw, trailing his hand over her neck softly.
"Now. You finish up that snack, and then I'm gonna hold ya until you tell me to stop. However long you want. Deal?"
"Deal."
Unlike any of their past deals, Lydia conceded to this one without any hesitation, eager and smiling. Warmth was slowly making a return to the twisted up, throbbing organ in her chest, stomach settling the more food filled it. The splitting ache in her temples was also ebbing away, most likely due in part to the water. Dehydration was a bitch.
She stuffed herself until she couldn't anymore, then passed the plate off to her nightstand so she could dive beneath the covers and into his open arms.
"You said you'd never leave again," she reminded, voice small and muffled into his ribs. "That you would take me with you. Even if it was dangerous."
The foolish, spiteful ghost had done a fair job pulling apart her psyche. Expertly, he managed to say everything necessary to unravel the damage done in his extended absence, only to get greedy and go too far, wind her up and tear her down all over again, nearly obliterating her unwavering faith in him.
Sensitive and frazzled as she was, even under normal circumstances, she would require reassurance until he earned her trust again.
"Was that true?"
He watched her eat her fill, his hand steadfast on her hip, just to ground them both in their togetherness. He didn't want her thinking he was a figment of her imagination again. He happily took her into his arms when she wiggled in under the blankets to be held. He tucked her in under his chin, his hand running up over her back and back down to her waist.
He considered the question a moment before cracking a playful smirk.
"Would I lie to you, babes?" He pulled her closer still, sighing softly. "I won't leave you again."
If she was going to self destruct every time he went away, then he didn't want to be without her ever again.
Lydia pouted, supremely unamused by his rhetorical, but comforted nonetheless that he felt at ease enough to crack jokes. She picked up on his emotions to see how to behave, and so when he was calm and sure of himself, it made it easier for her to find the same kind of peace. Of course, that only meant the opposite was also true. When he was having a fit, it felt as though her world was falling apart at the seams.
"Percy missed you," she informed with dream dust lacing her voice once Percy sensed it was finally safe to join Master and Mistress on the bed. He curled up on Lydia's pillow as per usual, one large yellow eye cracked suspiciously on Master. In the cat's esteemed opinion, his method of taking care of Mistress' melancholy left something to be desired.
"Every time I smoked a cigarette, he came running to see if it was you. He loves you."
Betelgeuse wasn't likely to care, but it was important that her favorite boys get along, so sharing this cute tidbit seemed imperative. Mostly, she just missed her husband and was taking any excuse to talk to him lest she fall asleep, awaken, and discover that this had all been another hyper-realistic illusion of the mind.
Betel grimaced as the cat took up residence on his wife's pillow, fixing him with a look that said that if the man were still alive, Percy would kill him in his sleep. He stuck his tongue out at the beast.
"Well, that's real sweet. Who knew, a ghost and a cat gettin' along." He reached out to scratch behind his ears where he knew he liked it. The cat glared at him through it and he was wise enough to draw his hand back before he was bitten.
"Ya know I think we need a dog. I've always wanted a hell hound… a buddy of mine said his girl had a litter a few weeks back. We could get a puppy. Raise it to eat cats." He teased, tapping the end of Percy's nose and getting a hiss in reply. "Aw, I'm only jokin' Perce. We'll teach it to eat rats."
"Puppy…?"
Like that, Lydia suddenly embodied the "little girl" so many were determined to see her as, her husband included. Her eyes remained closed, facial muscles lax, but there was a light of wonderment lifting her sleepy timbre now. She sunk deeper against him, continuing to mutter on about puppies and kittens on her way to the soothing blackness of unconsciousness.
"Always wanted a puppy… Never had room in New York… Delia doesn't like dogs… Big yard here… and Percy's a good boy… He would be nice to a puppy…"
The more she lauded on the benefits of having yet another furry ball of love in their home, the more convinced she became that this was the best idea Betelgeuse had ever had.
"I'll take care of it always, I promise," she fell back into habit, begging prettily in a breathless voice that usually got her what she wanted when he was in an agreeable enough mood. "Love it forever… Brush it and feed it and everything and you'd never have to do anything ever… Pretty, pretty please can we get a puppy, Beej? Pleeeeaaase?"
"Who gave you the right to be so fuckin' adorable? Huh?" He chuckled at the way she pleaded with him, so much like a child begging their strict father to allow a pet. "Of course I'll get ya a puppy. And hellhounds don't need all that much care…"
His hand continued its slow travel up and down her back, her warmth becoming heavier and heavier as she drifted into sleep. "You gotta sleep first, though… as long as you want. Remember, you're gonna tell me when you're done being held…"
He supposed that the beastie curled up about her head had actually done its job. The only reason he'd brought the cat over was to keep her company and offer comfort when he couldn't. In the corner of the room, a rather expensive looking dish of finely chopped tuna appeared, and if Betel winked at the cat, no one could prove it.