"Workin' 9 to 5, what a way to make a livin',
Barely gettin' by, it's all takin' and no givin',"
—9 to 5
Dolly Parton
Lydia awoke well-rested and spritely, ready to take on the day. She didn't even remember her night terror‒ not for lack of mental capacity but for simple insignificance. There was no reason to dwell on such nastiness when she had Percy wrapped around her head, baby Bubby tucked under her chin, Tilly cuddled in her arms, and Betelgeuse plastered to her back; surrounded by love from every angle.
She would have stayed right there until Betelgeuse woke up, savoring every second of it, but Beelzebub was beginning to stir.
"Good morning, baby," she whispered as his little eyes opened, then pecked his wet nose. At the sound of her voice, a pair of glacial blue eyes popped open serenely, as though Tilly was awake the whole time and just faking it.
"C'mon," she urged, still whispering, and gestured that the beasts should get out of the bed. "Let's go potty. Don't wake up Daddy."
Though Matilda knew better, she humored Mistress and very gently tip-toed off the bed as Lydia carefully extricated herself from her husband's limp embrace, puppy in arms. Percy also knowing better made sure to swipe his long sleek tail under Betelgeuse's nostrils before pouncing from the bed.
"Percy," Lydia chided with a scowl, shifting Bubby from one arm to another as she pulled on her robe, then cracked the door open. "Come on, you big bully, or you won't get any breakfast."
Betel cracked open one eye to watch his wife smoothly slide out of bed. How was it she looked so good doing mundane things like stepping out of bed? It was completely unfair.
He waited for her to disappear from sight before slipping on a pair of boxers and following her outside. He leaned in the doorway to watch her with the dogs before sliding in behind her. He plopped his face into her neck, still faking tiredness as he groaned softly and pressed kisses to the soft skin.
"Mmm…. why'd ya get up? Bed got cold without ya…" His hands roamed her hips and up over her stomach gently. "How'd ya sleep? Better after we all cuddled up? Ya know ya mighta convinced me on the dogs in the bed thing…"
Wispy giggles bubbled up her throat as he kissed and pawed at her gently, no sexual intent behind the gestures. Initially, she had jumped at his silent approach and capture but quickly went soft again.
"Beeeej," she play-whined, leaning into his hold, sliding her small hand over his as it caressed her belly through the thin satin of her nightie. "You weren't supposed to wake up. I was going to make you breakfast in bed."
Her sweet smile deepened at the memory of how he'd once tried to do the same for her to catastrophic results.
"But... without destroying the kitchen or burning down the house," she added teasingly, unable to help herself. "You might even have gotten some head out of it."
That was vulgar and out of character for the usually meek and submissive Lydia, but the playful mood from yesterday seemed to have carried over to today.
"I slept good. That bed is so comfy. Tilly might be a better cuddle than you. I was thinking biscuits and sausage gravy for breakfast. How does that sound?"
"Blasphemy. Nobody's a better cuddle than me." He licked his lips at her bold reminder of their kitchen tryst and sighed, putting on a playful pout.
"Sounds great to me, kitten. Ya know I love her cooking… Hey is that head still on the table? I woke up with a hankerin'…" He pressed against her, letting him feel his supposed morning wood.
His hand slipped up her thigh, under her nightie. "Mmm. I could always return the favor…" She pressed back, and he was just about to get a finger into her when she pulled away completely.
"Aw, come on! Babes, I'm dyin' here!"
"All good things to those who wait," she sing-songed, skipping away toward the patio door. It wasn't nice to tease, but it was definitely fun. Betelgeuse didn't seem too terribly put out.
It was time to fall back into the routine that they established before he took his extended leave looking for Mother. After breakfast, Betelgeuse set up camp on a lounge in the backyard with a tobacco pipe and a hunk of wood. While smoking, he used a vicious looking switchblade to whittle the wood down, carving something. She couldn't quite tell what yet.
Ordinarily, Lydia would read in the library and wait for him to come to her if he wanted something, content with the knowledge that he was present. Still scarred and clingy, afraid of hallucinations, she carried several books, a drawing pad, and a collection of pencils outside to sit on the soft grass next to him, where he could occasionally run his palm over the top of her head as he worked.
The beasts milled about the yard freely, always in sight with the exception of Tilly who appeared to be stalking the perimeter of the entire property, on the lookout for threats.
"Can I see?" Lydia peeked over his lap, referencing the knife and not the still unrecognizable figurine. Easily, he passed it down to her and she turned it over in her small hands, admiring the craftsmanship of the handle. "Cool."
With that, she gave it back and continued doodling. Dresses upon dresses littered the pages, everything from extravagant ball gowns to skimpy cocktail numbers Betelgeuse would probably like. The book she had with her was all about sewing and seamstressing, a skill she only dabbled in but recently found herself re-inspired thanks to the beautiful, talented spider that spun her wardrobe. She would never be that talented, but she could try.
He took another look at his carving, a dismembered foot, and then glanced down to see Lydia holding his knife. He smirked softly. Her tiny hands looked strange holding the blade, but the thought of her using it … that was enticing.
He puffed at his pipe, peering over her shoulder at her drawings. "Well, now… who knew I got a regular Versace over here." He gestured for the book, his hand grabbing at air. "Lemme see that."
She handed it over readily and he ran his fingers through her hair in praise. "Mm. Good girl." He took his time flipping through the pages, acrid smoke wafting from his pipe as he studied her designs. "These are real good babes… you could do this for a livin'."
Just then an idea struck him. "Say… that ain't a half-bad thought. Ginger's been beggin' for an assistant for.. god, decades! Babes… how's about daddy gets ya a job with Ginge and you can make some of these up for real? Can't hurt ya to get out of the house, anyway…" And it would give him time to visit Greg without the risk of her following.
"It's perfect!"
Lydia practically purred as he pet her, praising her a good girl as he looked over her drawings. She was nervous to let him see, but this gesture calmed any fear of criticism. As it was, there was nothing to worry about. Versace. He really thought she was that good?
Biting her lip, she rose to her knees to lean over the arm of his chair and watch as he flipped through.
"That one's based on Christine's Marguerite dress," she pointed out a macabre version of the gown, one that placed little spiders throughout the model's hair rather than star-shaped pins. His suggestion made her eyes go wide.
"No," she rejected at first, shaking her head, "she could… she wouldn't want me. I don't have any experience or— or anything! And she's so good. I would probably just slow her down."
Still fretting over the idea, she took the pad back and returned to her doodles, shading in a couture creation with a curling, exorbitant tail at the end of the gown.
"The only job I've ever had was working the drive-through at a McDonald's, and I got fired on my third day because a customer said they didn't want me touching their food. Didn't even get trained on the grill," she scowled down at the paper, scribbling harder until the tip of her pencil broke, turning her scowl into a frown.
"… but I guess I could work the register… and hang dresses… if she wanted me to…"
He raised an eyebrow as she started to protest, his hand coming to rest at the back of her neck. "I think she'd love to have ya. You know she loves ya."
He ran his thumb slowly up and down her neck, smirking to himself. "Here. Why don't you go get dressed and we can take your book over to the shop and see what she says."
He leaned around her for a kiss, holding onto her possessively. His little stint in the cellar had him more attached to her than ever, and he was going to make damn sure that Green got what was coming.
"Go on. I'll meet ya out front with Doomie."
"Okay…" She agreed hesitantly, intimidated by the entire idea, but intrigued all the same. "If you say so…"
Looking to flatter and put on her best face, Lydia wore one of Ginger's creations; a long-sleeved body-con dress in a deep shade of magenta, too purple to be pink and very close to the spider's natural coloring. The hem was professional, dipping below her knees, and she finished the look off with a pair of heels— a rarity on Lydia. Her makeup was also done meticulously; pink and purple blended eyeshadow with a black-painted upper lip. That wild mane of hers was carefully brushed and tamed into a high, neat bun.
There. She considered her reflection in the vanity, pulling on a pair of spider-shaped dangly earrings for good measure. If Ginger didn't want to hire her, maybe she could appreciate the homage to the creator of her gown.
"I'm ready!" She called down the driveway to her awaiting husband as she emerged through the front door with an armful of notebooks filled with years of archived designs. At the very least, maybe Ginger could draw some inspiration from some of them. The more Lydia considered the possibility of working there, the more excited she became, heart pounding in her chest at the possibilities.
He leaned against Doomie's hold and considered his next move with Greg. Maybe he'd start taking skin off of things. Or lighting things on fire. He had to be careful. He didn't want this bastard to get the pleasure of sitting in a waiting room with other people.
No, Greg was going to go straight to the cubicles and face what he'd done. Even if Betelgeuse had to revive him to get it to happen.
He looked up as his excited bride appeared and hurried to help her down the stairs, a hand firmly on her elbow to steady her. "Wow. Ya look like a million bucks babes. Ginger won't know what hit her!"
He helped her to the car, pulling the door open for her before slipping into the driver's side. His hand found hers in her lap and before anything more could be said, they were taking off up the road toward the Shocking Mall.
The entire drive had Lydia a nervous wreck in the passenger seat, shooting all manner of questions at her remarkably easygoing husband. Fear of rejection was at war with hope and excitement. Was it possible? Could she actually really be an honest to God fashion designer? It didn't seem real, but then again neither did any of the other aspects of her current life.
For all her excitement, cold feet set in once they reached the sliding glass doors outside the Shocking Mall. She froze, eyes large and stacks of notebooks hugged close to her chest.
"This is a bad idea," she determined, biting fiercely at her unpainted bottom lip again. "Bubby needs me home to train him, he's just a baby. I can't expect you to just pick me up and drop me off every day, it's just not practical."
Betelgeuse didn't seem at all concerned with her misgivings, loping a heavy arm around her shoulders and muscling her through the doors on toward the boutique— mindful of her heels.
"Beej," she whined, dragging her feet, "come on! I don't to hear her say no, it'll suck."
It was cute when was nervous. He pulled her closer for a firm kiss to her temple and hauled her off toward Ginger's store.
"First of all, Bubby has Tilly to train him. He'll be fine. Second, I'm happy to pick ya up, I ain't got nothin else goin on. And finally…" He turned her toward him then, pulling her into a firm kiss. "She ain't gonna say no, because your designs are great."
Striding into the shop, he whistled, startling the magenta insect from where she was putting together a ball gown in the back of the shop. "Hey, Ginge. I found ya an assistant."
Ginger scuttled from her hiding place, scowling. "I am not gonna hire yah again, BJ! I'm still washin' goo off the— Oh, Lydia! You look so nice! I just knew that dress would suit you!"
Ginger was the coolest person Lydia had ever met in her life. Except maybe Betelgeuse. It was a close tie. She owned her own business, made her own clothing, wasn't afraid to tell Betelgeuse what was what, and she was a spider. Literally nothing could be done to improve upon her. Therefore, it was only natural for Lydia to clam up once they crossed the threshold into the store, complexion paling to true white.
"Hi." She stated simply, after awkwardly struggling for several beats to find something to say. How she ever got that job at McDonald's was a mystery. "I, uhm, I mean— thank you. Thank you, since, you know… it's your work."
"Don't mention it!" Ginger waved off the gracefully, like a woman used to hearing things like this. "Now, what's this about an assistant? You interested? I gotta tell ya, you got no idea how hard it is finding good help around these parts."
Encouraged, Lydia found the bravery to push forward.
"I know how to work a register," she opened with that, thinking it her most valuable asset in a business such as this, "and I have open availability. I don't need money so I'll take whatever you can pay me, and I would do literally anything you asked me to do." Too much, Lydia. Dial it back. "I've been learning how to sew and I've made a few things; dolls and blankets, nothing too complicated, but I want to learn more. Also—"
She juggled the armful of notebooks awkwardly, searching for her best, most recent work and passing it off to one of Ginger's spindly arms.
"Beej thought you could do something with these. Obviously, they're not as great as anything you've done but—"
"You're hired."
The arachnid was flipping through the pages rapidly, eyes alight with awe, legs twitching with inspiration, and silk budding in her thorax in her excitement to make some of these designs come to life.
"When can ya start?"
Beej leaned against a wall while the girls chatted, rolling his eyes when Lydia first offered to run a register. He pointed to the book, a sloppy grin on his face. "Ain't she good, Ginge? Tell her."
He stepped forward and slung an arm around her waist when she was asked about starting. "I'm thinkin' a part-time thing to start. Maybe a ten ta four situation. You can pay her twelve an hour and I'll be by to pick her up. On time."
He pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek firmly before slapping her ass. "Have fun, kitten. Ginge. Treat her right or I'll step on ya!"
Ginger rolled her eyes and reached up to take Lydia's hand. "Come on, sugah lets get ya started!"
"I'll do ya one better," Ginger insisted, dealing with Betelgeuse directly now as though they were negotiating a custody arrangement over his wife. In a way, they were. "Twelve plus forty percent commission for each of her designs that sell. Credit where credit is due, of course."
With a wink and a shake, the deal was struck, Betelgeuse took his leave and a parting kiss, and Lydia was left to her first day on the job. Ginger was itching to get to work actualizing her designs and quickly churned out a little over a dozen while Lydia took care of customers.
According to the spider, it wasn't common for so many men to come in; dawdling about, trying and failing to get Lydia's attention before ultimately faltering to buy something for an alleged wife or girlfriend.
"Everyone's so nice!" Lydia had exclaimed after leaving her fifth customer with a bright smile and a thank you, come again!
"Nice," Ginger scoffed in response, spindling out another of Lydia's design. Watching her creations come to life was satisfying in a way Lydia would never have words for. "Yeah, they're real nice until they see the size o' that rock you're wearin'."
The girl had dithered, brushing off the silly insinuation. That is until the next customer left his number on the back of a hundred dollar bill, twenty dollars more expensive than the lingerie set he bought. One in her size.
"Oh."
Ginger could only shake her head as Lydia realized that it was her, not an imaginary woman, that men were coming in for.
"Well, sugah you're good for business just standin' they-uh!" She finished another of Lydia's designs and hung it on the rack holding the rest. A sign was plopped on top. Brand new designs from and up and coming designer.
By the time four o'clock rolled around, Ginger was ecstatic with the days sales to the point that she didn't even mind when Betelgeuse came in smoking a cigarette.
"Woah. You girls been busy! I see ya sold half the fuckin' store. Good job, kitten." He watched as a man approached the store, staring at Lydia before catching his eye and hurrying to leave again. Well. That was going to be a problem.
"Beej!" His wife squealed, abandoning the counter to rush and give him an enormous hug and smooch on the cheek. The shop had been too busy for her to bother with missing him, but now that he was here his absence was hitting her.
"Look! Ginger made them. They're real."
She dragged him over to the rack of her dresses like a begging child showing their parent a desperately desired toy.
"She works so fast, I'll never be that quick. But she showed me how to make a cross-stitch, and a running stitch, and backstitch, and a zig-zag, and— oh, so many of my designs sold! I don't know what I'm going to do with my first paycheck!"
While under her husband's care, she hadn't wanted for anything, aside from his company. According to him, there weren't any bills that needed taking care of, and whatever food she wanted always seemed to just be there, so no need to invest in groceries. Ginger told her she would make her any dress or piece of clothing she wanted free of charge, so no need to spend it on stuffing her already full closet.
"I was thinking I could get Percy a cat tower. And a big, luxury dog house for the puppies. What do you think?"
"I think it's yer money and you can do whatcha want." He wrapped her up in his arms, her excitement contagious. "God yer cute."
He dutifully looked through the rack, smiling as she pointed out designs he'd seen in her book. "Yer gonna keep some, ain't ya?"
He kissed her again, deeper this time. "I'm so proud of you, babes… now let's get home and get ya some dinner. I'll even rub yer feet. Those heels gotta be killin' ya."
He led her out to Doomie who beeped excitedly to see her. "How was yer first day? Other than sellin' half the store? It's neat she's teaching ya to sew. Maybe you could design me a new suit."
"They are," Lydia bemoaned, shifting her weight to alleviate some of the pressure on her feet. "Bye, Ginge! See you tomorrow! Thanks for everything!"
As soon as she was settled in Doomie's passenger seat, the side lever was adjusted to let her sink back and relax, and her heels were kicked off to the floor.
"Mm," she hummed pleasantly as a breeze rolled in through the window. "Can I have a cigarette?… Thanks."
The nicotine rush was heavenly and exactly what she needed after such a fast-paced shift.
"It was busy. I was always doing something; sewing, or helping customers, or restocking. Oh yeah," she giggled, still reeling from the absurdity of it. "I got a twenty-dollar tip because some dude thought I was cute. This guy came in, bought a lingerie set in my size, and left his number on the back of the bill he was overpaying with. Me and Ginger split it and I went next door and got us sundaes."
It seemed unwise to mention all of the other alleged flirters that came in to chat her up. If Betelgeuse felt too threatened, he might not want her to keep working there. Besides, Lydia wasn't convinced they were all just there for her. The lingerie man couldn't be ignored, though.
"Maybe I'd get more tips if I left my wedding ring at home…"
The way the corner of her lips were lifted in a tiny smile belied that this was meant as a tease, but who knew if that would get through to the driving Betelgeuse.
He didn't want to hear all this. He was a jealous man at his very core, and he didn't appreciate the thought of over men so much as looking at his wife.
Maybe I'd get more tips if I left my wedding ring at home…
His eyes snapped to her, a growl leaving his throat. "Don't. Even. Ya can't take it off anyways." His hand found her thigh possessively, squeezing and rubbing at the soft flesh.
When they pulled up to the house, there was a very large white cat was sitting on the porch. "Oh yeah, forgot to tell ya. We got a Puća livin here now. Tilly brought her in from the woods."
He smirked, knowing that she'd be thrilled. He hadn't intended to find another cat so soon, but as always Tilly was an overachiever. If Mistress wanted a white odd-puppy then she'd have it.
"Púca?"
Lydia didn't know what that was, but then she saw the long-furred bobcat-sized feline lounging across the porch with a foul expression, as though it was having a very bad day. As far as Lydia was concerned, "púca" must have just been another synonym for "baby."
However, this baby didn't seem very happy, and so she showed caution as she approached the cobblestone steps barefoot and gentle in her mannerisms. This was a big cat. She would have to use both arms to hold her… if they ever got that far.
"Hi, pretty," she tried, settling herself down three steps away when its fur bristled. "Wow, you're gorgeous. Did that mean old doggy drag you in from the woods?"
Lydia didn't actually hold anything against Tilly, but she was willing to try anything to win over this majestic creature. Carefully, she offered a palm up for a sniff, but the snowy cat rebuffed her, turning her pink nose up. Lydia frowned and stood.
"Well, you don't have to stay if you don't want. But if you do, you'll always have someone who loves you and meals you don't have to hunt."
With that, she made to leave but was halted by a sudden voice erupting in her head. It was smooth as honey, yet sharp as the edge of a honed sword.
Luna likes to hunt.
Gasping, she whipped back around to stare wide-eyed at the smirking cat who stood stretching from her sunbathing spot to come and weave around Lydia's legs.
But you make a convincing argument, human. Luna agrees to your bargain.
Betelgeuse rolled his eyes. "Great. We're all acquainted. Let's get in the house already. I got some feet to fix from a long day." He leaned down to pat the white beast and opened the door, letting both girls move past him.
Tilly saw them first, bounding over to jump at her master and lick his face as though they'd been gone for hours. Bubby was right behind her, his whole body shaking along with his stubby tail. Percy hung back, watching the other cat curiously.
Beej grunted and shoved Tilly down. "God, I left for half an hour. Go love yer mother." She complied easily, much gentler in the way she leaned into Lydia's side. Betel flopped onto the couch and patted his lap. "Come here, kitten. Let me rub yer sore muscles."
"Hello! Yes, I missed you so much, yes I did!"
Lydia dropped to her knees so Bubby could reach her and both dogs immediately lathed her with drooling affection. Luna locked fierce gold eyes on Percy, and there appeared to be some form of communication happening for a beat or two. Then, Percy took off, the larger white cat following behind him seemingly so that he could give her a tour of the abode.
As soon as the dogs were loved to a degree that Lydia was happy with, she followed Betelgeuse's demand and flopped back onto the couch, letting her petite, overworked feet rest in his lap.
"Today was fun, but tiring. I'm thinking flats tomorrow." Had she known she was going to start immediately, she would have chosen more sensible shoes, but she'd been looking to impress.
"Can we drink tonight? Celebrate? Maybe soak in the hot tub a little? That sounds perfect."
At the request, a glass of wine appeared in her hand. He smirked and set to work on her feet, his thumbs pressing into the arches and up over the ball firmly.
"Of course we can. I'm so proud of ya… my little workin' girl." He leaned over to kiss her gently. "We can get yer feet feelin' good, then hit up the hot tub. Get to Uh… celebratin'…"
He worked over her feet, then to her ankles and on until he was pressing his fingers into her thighs. "I vote skinny dipping. But first, dinner. Let me get it for ya… anything ya want."
"Ohhh…"
Lydia was quickly reduced to a moaning puddle of lax muscles as he worked at her, banishing the tension she accumulated standing, crouching, and bending over the past few hours.
"Pizza…" she purred without any further coaxing, stretching back into the couch. With a tug, her neat, pretty little bun was released, letting waves of ebony down to pool over her shoulders and the edge of the cushions. Lydia didn't mind cooking, but if he was going to offer up a magic meal, she wasn't about to turn it down.
"Cheese pizza. With alfredo sauce. And stuffed crust. Riccotta and feta and parmesan and all the good cheeses… mm… and marinara to dip it in…"
The more she described it, the more her mouth watered.
He smiled as she easily gave in to his offer, her eyes half-closed as he worked her over. The meal appeared at the table in the dining room, just within view.
"Anything else? Dessert? Drink requests?" He was eager to please. After forcing her into a drop in the office he was anxious to make it up to her any way he could.
He moved her feet aside before scooping her up and making for the dinner table. Everything was there, just as she'd described it and ready for her critique.
He sat beside her, conjuring himself a beer to tap to her wine glass. "Cheers to yer new job, yer new success, and yer smokin' hot bod."
Anything else? What more could she possibly ask for?
"No," she shook her head, smiling into his jacket as he carried her to the dining room, "everything's perfect."
Perfect house, perfect pets, perfect job, perfect husband. Now, she had a perfect dinner paired with a perfect wine and would soon be soaking in a perfect hot tub with the previously named perfect husband. Glass clinked against aluminum as they toasted, and Lydia felt she might cry.
"Beej," she grinned brightly after swallowing down several bites of melty cheese on golden crust. "I'm a fashion designer."
Claire Brewster would be shitting her pants if she knew.
He looked up at his name, watching as she grinned into her dinner. He smiled. He'd had no idea that getting her the job would make her so damn happy. He couldn't help but pat himself on the back.
"Hell yeah you are, kitten. Gonna be one of the greats, I can tell." He leaned over to kiss her, taking another swig of his beer. Her wine was low. He refilled it. The drunker she was, the more likely he'd get laid.
He slipped a hand onto her thigh as she seemed to have finished. "Ready for that skinny dipping?" His long tongue rolled out of his mouth. "Ya better beat me to the tub or I'm gonna ravish ya on the way. I'll give a head start."
"Eek!"
Lydia squealed at the threat and took off, leaping over a sleeping Tilly in the hall on her way. By her count, it had been well over twenty-four hours since last they made love— a record. This in tandem with her cruel teasing that morning before breakfast, he was sure to be ravenous.
"Don't you dare!" She huffed, breaking past a sharp corner, feeling his presence looming just behind her. She couldn't hear any footsteps, but she wasn't stupid enough to spare a precious second and look.
"I want to relax, damnit!"
Shakily, she fumbled through unlocking the patio doors and almost dunked into the hot tub without removing her dress. With a frustrated cry, she started peeling the skintight thing off, only for a pair of hairy, burly arms to wrap around her middle as the magenta fabric caught over her head.
"No fair! I got here first! Cheater!"
He grinned as she took off. He loved a game of chase. One of these days he was going to take her into the woods for a real hunt, but as she said. She wanted to relax.
He floated after her, his footfalls making no sound as he stepped in time with her, just behind her the whole way onto the patio. When she stopped to strip he caught her in his arms, tugging the dress the rest of the way off with a chuckle.
"Ah ah… I didn't cheat. I said beat me to the tub. Ya ain't in it." He pushed her forward gently, forcing her to brace herself at the edge of the tub. His hands roamed over her body, slipping to the edge of her panties hungrily.
"Let daddy help ya with those…"
Still panting from the chase, she braced herself on the steaming pool's brick edge, legs spread just so as if he was officer frisking her.
"Yeah, but you used your juice," she accused accurately, knees shaking and voice wavering as the calloused pads of his fingertips slipped past the elastic band of her satin thong. It was black and made of the thinnest, weakest material so as to not show any lines through her tight dress.
"If you raced me properly, I would've beat you because you're an old man. Nyahh."
A childish tongue poke accompanied the juvenile sound.
He growled softly, bringing his hand down on her ass firmly. "You know that ain't true…I think ya wanted to get caught." He pressed a kiss to her cheek gently, his hand squeezing and massaging her ass as he did.
"You're bein' a little sassy tonight… donno What got into ya but I like it."
His hand slipped between her spread legs to tease over her pussy, his tongue flicking out over his lips. "I do know what's gonna get into you though…and I can't fuckin' wait."
Still, she wanted to relax so he stepped back, giving her one last firm squeeze before starting to shed his own clothes, his suit tossed haphazardly across the deck. "Get yer ass in the hot tub already."
He shook his head as he climbed into the hot water, hissing slightly. "Ugh. I'm gonna get slimy again. You signed up for this. Remember that."
Lydia was fairly certain he didn't want to know what had gotten into her. Apparently, dead men liked her a lot. A lot. Now that she'd had time to reflect on the day, it was clear that what she had initially misconstrued as indecisiveness from many of her customers was nervousness. What she thought was charisma or maybe an attempt to break the ice from kindly strangers was flirting.
Yes, she felt like a hot commodity indeed.
"No one's forcing you to soak, BJ."
She gave this nickname with filthy intonation as she bypassed the stepping stones altogether to fluidly pull herself up and over the taller edge, sinking long, pale legs into the bubbling water once she was done showing off. This is what Ginger called him, and Lydia was eager to appropriate the moniker for her own lewd usage. Betelgeuse was a bad influence on her.
Without needing to see, she knew that her hair was bouncing and full of big curls from staying bound in a bun all day, and was hesitant to ruin the effect by getting it wet. Therefore, she lingered sitting on the stone precipice, legs spread boldly, everything on display.
"You could always go lounge in your old man chair. Whittle another foot."
Pale little toes crawled up his thigh as she said this, a mean smirk curling her dual-shaded lips.
"Are you trying to tell me something with that?"
Fucking tease.
He watched her spread out on the edge of the tub, her legs spread and put her whole self on display. She was cocky. Bold in a way he wasn't used to seeing her. It was hot.
He took hold of her ankle as her tiny toes bumped his rising cock, giving her a stern look. "I ain't tellin ya shit. I'm not into that." He moved closer, licking his lips as he admired her sweet pussy peeking from between her spread legs.
"Ya shouldn't sit like that… ya look like yer waitin' to get fucked." He cackled and rose onto his knees, pulling her closer to the edge so he could press soft kisses along her inner thighs.
"Ah…"
Her back arched beautifully as he started in with wet open-mouthed kisses at the inner curve of her knee working up toward her thigh, his chill starkly contrasting the heat of the water.
"I read somewhere that people with foot fetishes are just a few crossed wires in their brain away from being necrophiliacs."
Where exactly she had read this, she couldn't recall, but it seemed like something that would spark his interest.
"Feet move less than any other part of the body. Most known necrophiliacs on record started off with a foot fetish, then… escalated."
One of her wet, petite feet slid over his shoulder blade, pushing his mouth toward the goal.
"Don't worry. I'm not into that either. But I think I might technically be a necrophiliac. Just thought you might find that interesting."
"Yer ramblin' babes. And yeah… I guess you are a necrophiliac. Huh."
He continued his gentle kisses, her foot insistent on his back. She was playing at being in control. How cute. He kissed up until his cool breath was just ghosting over her hot core, his tongue reaching out to run up the seam of her once before he pulled away.
Swimming to the other side of the tub, he settled himself in front of a jet and let out a sigh. It was hitting just where his back eternally pained him, relieving it however briefly. His hard cock bobbed with the current of the water but was easily ignored.
He winked at her from across the small pool, his arms stretched out to rest on the edges of the hot tub quite comfortably. This was a test. Who here was going to reach for the other first?
Lydia's expression fell first in confusion as he pulled away from her, then settled into one of slight hurt as he made his stance clear at the opposite end of the tub. Was this a rejection? Was she being too… much?
Hiding the glimpse of weakness showing through, she turned her back to him, threw her still dry hair into a messy, but elegant up do that left several long strands down to frame her face, and arched over the edge of the hot tub, reaching for the bottle of wine and pack of cigarettes that had made themselves a home on the nearby step.
She didn't bother with a glass, taking a chug right from the bottle like it was some cheap swill and she was a depressed Charles Deetz. Then, she sunk into the water to mirror her husband, an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips.
No one had spoken yet. The air was tense with something. What kind of game was this?
"A clown named Scuzzo came into the shop today," she offered up the nonsequitor after lighting her cigarette, twin streams of smoke seeping out her nostrils. "Offered me free juggling lessons. He said a pretty girl like you ought to know how to handle a pair of balls… come to think of it, I don't think he was talking about circus tricks."
He watched her, licking his lips and summoned a cigarette to him, taking a deep drag as she pulled her hair onto her head, revealing still more of her silky skin to his gaze.
At the mention of the clown his smirk fell from his face. "You don't talk to Scuzzo. That guy's bad news." He could picture the greasy beast now, grinning over the counter at his wife.
His fingers tapped along the edge of the hot tub, his eyes hardening where they stared at her. "And what did you tell him? I hope ya flashed yer ring and said you can handle my balls just fine."
If the likes of Scuzzo were wandering in, perhaps he didn't really want her working there. Those kind of men could be dangerous, especially if he weren't there with his girl.
"Actually," Lydia corrected, tapping her cigarette over the edge, "I didn't realize until about halfway through my shift what he meant. Silly me."
Her next drag was slow while she savored the anticipation. Betelgeuse was obviously eager to know how the rest of the conversation had gone. Maybe she should lie. No… he would see through her in an instant. Besides, what actually happened was sure to get his goat well enough.
"I thanked him kindly for the generous offer, but let him know that I have butter hands. Wouldn't be any good at it. He said not to worry, he could work with greasy palms."
Lydia kept her face stony, waiting to gauge her husband's reaction.
"After that, Ginger chased him off and had me help restock. Do you know him?"
"Yeah. I know 'im. Asshole. Pervert. And that's comin' from me. He comes in again you call me. Immediately."
He couldn't take it anymore. The jealous streak that ran through him wanted to stake a claim. Lydia was his wife. His lover. Not anyone else's. Maybe she needed to be reminded.
He stood from his seat, staring at her as he advanced across the tub, his eyes dark. He settled back in next to her, taking only a moment to look at her before diving in to bite at her neck.
"Maybe I gotta do better leavin' marks… make sure people know yer taken…" He sucked hard at her soft, human skin, encouraging a bruise to form just under her ear.
There he was. She liked him like this; hungry, eager, possessive. It seemed playing hard to get was only fun when she was doing it.
"There was another," she added on in a sultrier voice, one arm pulling her slimy husband closer around the shoulders while the other held her half-burnt cigarette limp over the edge of the tub.
"Ginger was really excited when he came in. Called himself the mayor." Blunted teeth dug in at this and she gasped, stuttering over the rest of the story. "Tried to offer me a job as his secretary. Double pay, a company car, whatever hours I wanted to work. Didn't even care when I told him I'm terrible at taking dictation."
Lydia knew she was kicking a dead horse at this point, but she was having too much fun to care. How far would he go before shutting her up?
"Said he 'was sure I'd get the hang of it if he was slow and patient.'"
"That's enough, ya little brat."
He took hold on her hip and pulled, hauling her into his lap as his mouth continued to leave deep purpling marks on the column of her neck and collar.
His hands found her ass and squeezed, hard, forcing her tight against him so that she could feel and be reminded just who's dictation she was supposed to be taking.
"Maybe that job was a bad idea, kitten… ya know I don't like other men sniffin' around what's mine."
The fingers of one hand slid down to find where she was starting to get hot and wanting, and one slipped into her firmly. Surprisingly, after more than a day apart he was met with some resistance from her tight muscles. "Relax, kitten… daddy always makes it good… don't I?"
"Beej," she whined as she was penetrated, wincing just a little at the strain. The water was washing away her natural lubrication, making the tight fit even more difficult to traverse.
"I love my job!"
God, she was so stupid. She just had to tease him, didn't she? Just had to get too big for her britches and dangle the "competition" under his big, jealous nose.
"Please don't make me quit," she begged, pouting cutely, rocking on his hand despite the conflicting friction. "I promise I'll be more careful… I didn't know they were hitting on me… Ginger had to tell me… You're the only one who's ever hit on me before…"
Desperate to save face, she dappled soft kisses along his neck, up to his jaw and cheek, ending with one on the corner of his slimy, smirking mouth.
"Pleeeeaaase," she reached between them, bypassing his length entirely to reach for uncharted territory. His balls were weightless in her hand, the water negating their heaviness, allowing her to more easily manipulate them.
"I'll be good."
Aw, she begged so sweetly. He didn't think he'd ever get enough of hearing her beg for him. He leaned in to kiss her, careful in the way his finger moved within her.
"Yer always good… god. That feels nice, babes…" He glanced down to see her tiny hand gently fondling his balls. His tongue rolled out of his mouth, slipping between her breasts and up to tease over a nipple.
He lifted her under one thigh and settled her back on the edge of the pool, following her up to keep that gentle hand on him. "Ya don't gotta quit. But ya do gotta watch out for the likes of Scuzzo. And ya do gotta let me be the only one to have ya like this…" his eyes raked over her bare form as though he could feel her just with his eyes.
"Never," she promised with dire importance, shaking her head and biting her lip, repulsed by the very idea. "Ever. Just you. No one else ever again. Remember?"
Lydia didn't like to dwell on that night as her husband's contrary actions had thoroughly confused her, put a dent in her unwavering faith in him. But, they made a promise to each other and Lydia had every intention of keeping it. She arched into his lathing tongue, bring her other hand to join its twin in caressing him. One fondled carefully at his heavy, hairy sack, weightier now that it wasn't submerged. The other did its best to wrap around his girth, pulling and stroking over the cold, wet rod of hard flesh with the same pace and intensity that his digit was fucking into her.
"I'm sorry," she kissed his forehead and temple as he continued suckling at her chest, leaving branding marks as he went. "I was just trying to make you jealous so you'd touch me. That was mean."
"Baby…" He huffed softly, leaning in to rest his forehead on hers. "Ya don't gotta try to make me jealous to touch ya… just gotta ask…"
He smiled as her wetness started to return, making the movement within her all that much easier. He added a second, hoping to stretch her just a bit so that their inevitable reunion wouldn't hurt too much.
"I am jealous, though… far more jealous than you know. I hate it when men so much as look at ya… gonna have to leave ya marked up so they know just lookin' at ya. Yer taken… more than taken… yer mine."
"I could always get a tattoo," she teased, sliding her soft cheek across his stubbly one to hush out her lewd suggestion in his ear with hot breaths. "Property of B," pearly white teeth nipped his greasy lobe, "J. Right on this tit."
She pulled his grubby mitt up to grasp her right breast and he eagerly complied.
"Wear something low-cut every day so everyone can see it… then again, that would mean everybody would be staring at my tits."
While it was clear she was just messing around, she wouldn't exactly object to getting such a thing inked onto her skin permanently if the artist was talented enough.
He groaned at the thought. Having his wife permanently branded could be a good move... maybe he should look for an artist.
He smirked and massaged her tit gently, pinching and pulling at her nipple before returning to slow languid squeezing. "That sounds fuckin' hot… and it wouldn't matter if they stared 'cause they'd see yer all mine…"
He leaned in to kiss her hungrily, his tongue slithering in to wrap around hers eagerly. His fingers were pulled free of her tight core and he sat back slightly to aim himself toward her.
"Better drop those hands if ya don't want 'em cum on… fuck, why'd we go so long? I got blue balls over here."
"I've always wanted a tattoo," she gasped against his mouth once he released her from that breath-stealing, passion-infused kiss. She actually grew wetter at the mere thought of it; her husband's name marked onto her forever right where everyone could see it. If he were anyone else, if this relationship was anything other than what it was, she would balk at the idea. In the heat of the moment, she was titillated.
At his direction, she let go, deigning to grab his biceps instead as he sunk into her.
"Ah!" It stung just a bit, but no more than what she had come to expect— crave. "Oh— oh fuck— oh baby, I missed you…"
She hugged him in close once he was fully impaled, grinding her hips slowly in an effort to pull him deeper into her choking heat and inspire more of those gritty, throaty noises she loved so much.
With a wave of his hand, a lush towel appeared beneath his wife in an effort to protect her from the scraping her skin was sure to endure from the bricks surrounding the hot tub. His hands slid down her thighs as he gently laid her back into the soft terry cloth.
He groaned when she started to proclaim how much she'd missed him. Only twenty-four hours without a romp and she was acting as though he'd been gone to war for six months. Not that he was complaining… or any better.
He leaned over her as he started to thrust, deep and firm motions that belied just how eager he was to be inside of her again. He pressed his face to her chest, the ends of her dainty toes dipped into the water with each thrust.
"Missed you too, kitten… god, you feel so fuckin' good… always so good for me, ain't ya Lyds?"
Lydia loved hearing his praise. It was something that was severely lacking in her life prior to handing it over to him. Her biological Daddy was more concerned with selling condos than bothering with any of her off-putting strangeness.
"Always," she huffed between thrusts, struggling to catch her breath amid the steam and pressure, "wanna make you happy…"
She laid back as he pushed forward, hiking her thighs up to wrap shapely pale legs around his waist. Without any direction from him, she took it upon herself to extend one calf up over his shoulder, forcing her already tight insides to contract and clench around him.
"I love you," she reminded, breathy and sweet and full of cock; just the way he liked her. "Fuck me," she pled even as he was doing just that, "please. Wannit harder."
"Love you too, baby… god.." He huffed through his thrusting, his eyes dark where they met hers. "You make me so happy, kitten… happy like I never had before…"
She knew just how to maneuver herself to make it so much better. He groaned at her sweet pleading, pushing his hand into the back of her thigh to spread her open even further.
His thrusts increased in fervor and pace, his hips leaving a soft clapping sound where they met hers on each vicious plunge. If his girl wanted it hard, she was gonna get it.
He slipped one hand up her back to hold onto her shoulder, pulling her down roughly to meet him roughly. "Fuck yes… that's my girl… god damn… better than any whore I ever had, I swear… nobody takes it like you, Lyds…"
Lydia was taking it alright. The towel was barely even touching her anymore, her entire being dedicated to holding on tight as he rode into her brutally, egged on by her breathy request. She was beyond speaking, reduced to staccatoed cries as his hips slapped against hers in a rapid patter, sure to leave bruises on the currently unmarred limbs.
Her loose bun fell out from the intensity of his fucking, leaving wavy strands of dry hair to tumble down and stick to damp, overheated expanses of soft flesh. Rosy pink nipples, pebbled and darkened from his abuse bounced against his hairy chest every time he pulled her down onto him, overly sensitive and aching.
When her peak came it was rapturous; violet painted nails crawling down his back while high feminine shrieks echoed throughout the nearby woods, making any creatures in the vicinity aware of the mating that was taking place.
From the very start, Lydia had always been a screamer. He fucked her right through this orgasm and into another without pause, until her throat was hoarse and she was left no choice but to whimper and shake, going boneless in his capable arms.
Lydia was the only woman he'd ever had that screamed the way she did. At first, it took him off guard, but he quickly learned that if she was screaming, he was doing something right.
She was pushed through not one, but two orgasms, and by the time she'd started to come down he was cursing and spilling into her, his cock as deep as he could get it.
"Fuck! Baby… god damn…. oooh, Lyds…"
He slouched over her limp body as he shuddered and twitched minuscule thrusts into her. He leaned down to kiss her gently, rubbing his nose along hers lovingly.
"Missed that… fuck. Only a day and ya have me cummin' like we've been dry for a year… shit."
Panting, heart fluttering, she stayed arched over the towel-covered brick for a good while, hair almost dipping far enough to brush the ground. There were stars out amid an emerald-violet sky and powdery clouds. Tilly and Bubby could be heard playing and howling in the distance.
Everything was perfect.
"I want to make a dress… that looks like that…" she whispered vaguely at one point, when he handed her a cigarette, waving a limp arm at the sky. The gears in her mind were spinning slowly, weaving a starlight gown together while she came down from the high.
Chills came to her eventually and the call of the steaming pond became too great. Inching down, she took pains to keep her frazzled, but mostly dry hair from falling in, but a few strands couldn't be helped.
"What did you do without me all day?"
He looked up at the sky when she gestured to it, the green light fading into a deep purple at the horizon, nighttime overtaking them slowly. He pulled himself away from her carefully, not wanting to cause her discomfort.
"Better make it in your size. I'd love to see ya in it."
He slipped into the pool with her when she settled, plastering himself to her side as an excuse to hold her close and enjoy their lingering afterglow.
He gazed up at the sky, suddenly realizing that he was nearly perfectly happy. It was a new sensation, even with the secret of Greg hanging over them. He pointed above them to a constellation, inversed to how it would appear on earth.
"Hey… that's me. Betelgeuse. His right shoulder… or. Left, I guess. It's the right back topside…"
He leaned his cheek onto her head, reaching down to take her hand. "Oh, I managed. Walked the dogs, dealt with Luna arriving and then trying to leave… all that. I even did a load of yer laundry. The black stuff, don't worry…"
"Did she talk to you too?"
She must have, or else he wouldn't have known her name. Talking cats were amazing, but hardly fantastic enough to shock the dazzled girl. The Neitherworld and all its wonders were constantly delighting her.
Hey… that's me. Betelgeuse. His right shoulder… or. Left, I guess. It's the right back topside…
"You're named after a star…?" She looked at him with dreamy, fascinated eyes, slipping her weightless legs over his under the water. "What does it mean? I thought… I don't know, I guess I just thought you wanted to be called that because you liked it, not because it was actually your name."
He was as mysterious as the ever-changing Neitherworld; always something new and interesting around the corner.
"Lydia means 'beautiful one' or 'from the almond tree.' Elisabeta means 'God is my oath.' I've never believed in any Gods, though. Not really."
"Well, 'beautiful one' certainly suits you…" He ran his hand down her arm, trying to remember how he got his name.
"Betelgeuse is a nickname, I think. Can't remember my real name, but… it's Arabic. And I'm not. So." He chuckled softly.
"If I remember right… it was given to me on the Silk Road. It means 'The Right Hand of the leader' or 'Central One'. Like… a confidant. Right-hand man. I worked for a guy out there who traded… something."
He scowled, trying to remember more clearly. "Weapons? Spices? Cloth? Maybe all of it… Sarah… was his daughter. Met her in Jerusalem. Remember that much."
He shook his head. "Brought her home with me to experience the western world… and she never left."
He knew so much and had been so many places. Jerusalem was worlds away to Lydia who had never so much as stepped foot outside the Northeastern portion of the United States, excepting her traverses in the realm of the dead.
Sarah. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. Lydia hated her. How dare someone else affect him so deeply? He was hers.
Suddenly possessive, his wife hauled herself into his lap, straddling, the ends of her hair carelessly whipping into the bubbling pond. Then she latched her mouth into his with passion unabashed, lashing her tongue as though she were willing it to lengthen and tangle with his like a mating pair of snakes.
Only when she couldn't ignore the call of her burning lungs did she separate, his length jutting between them, heavy on her belly.
"Do you still love her?" Lydia asked very seriously, brows straight, not even waiting to take a breath.
He was startled by her sudden possessive streak, his hands finding her hips as she staled her claim. He was starting to really get into it when she pushed him away to breathe.
Do you still love her?
He blinked. He didn't really have to think about it. He hadn't thought about Sarah in centuries until Lydia had taken her little swim. He smirked. She was cute when she was jealous.
"Absolutely not. I got you. And yer ten times the woman she was." He pulled her into another possessive kiss, his hand firm on her jaw.
When he pulled back to let her breathe he fixed her with a stern look. "You doubtin' how much I love you, kitten? After what we just did? Maybe ya need another reminder…"
Her fierce expression melted at his blunt, amused insistence that she was the only one for him. He easily dominated her in the punishing kiss that followed, using one hand to squeeze her jaw open and in place without hurting her. Lydia provided no resistance, guilt already setting in for questioning him.
When they parted, he affirmed her suspicions that she had made a mistake with a threat of further sexual activity, a familiar glint darkening his eye. Despite the heat, she shuddered, a chill crawling up her spine.
Oh, no.
"I'm sorry," she crooned, kneading at the slimy, knotted muscles at the back of his neck, then slithering the massage up into the tangled mass of his hairline. "I'm just… I'm not used to things being this nice. Is there a catch? Everything can't be perfect."
Were it not for all the alcohol in her system, her filter probably would have caught a statement like this before it could form on her lips. It was too honest, too cheesy.
He raised an eyebrow, watching as she changed her tune rather rapidly. She was being sweet on him, but the fact still remained that she'd challenged his authority, dared to question his love for her.
He chuckled at her tiny admission. She was just as scared of losing this as he was. He pulled himself up to sit at the edge of the tub, gently lowering her onto her knees in front of him.
"Ain't a catch. Now if I'm not mistaken… there's a much better way to tell daddy yer sorry."
He stroked a hand over his resurrected erection, the reaction of his skin and the water making his hand deliciously slick. "Come here, kitten."
Trembling, Lydia sunk into position with almost no hesitancy. This was about what she could have expected for making such a bratty, childish show of doubting him like that. Seeking to give recompense, she immediately set to work bobbing her head up and down over him. What she couldn't fit in her mouth was gripped and massaged with her hands.
One delicately squeezed his sack in pace with the other wrapped around his meaty base, choking it to the best of her short fingers' ability. Her tongue moved while she sucked, undulating and tracing veins. When her jaw began to ache, she pulled back and let his heavy, leaking head rest on the pillow of her tongue while her hand slicked over him as quickly as it was able, the other still gripping dedicatedly at her his balls.
"I love you," murmured wetly against his cock, staring him dead in the eye, then kept the contact as she proceeded to flutter and swirl her tongue all along the fat, sensitive tip, increasing the pace and strength of her jerking just so.
He sighed happily as she took him in, his hand tangling in her long hair at the back of her head, not pushing, but guiding her over the length of his cock.
"Fuck… look at ya… ya look so good suckin' cock, baby…" His eyes were lidded, dark with arousal and something more as he watched her work.
I love you.
The words murmured so delicately against his cock made it twitch, jerking slightly over her lips and spreading thick precum over her soft skin. "I love you, too Lyds… love ya so fuckin' much."
His head tipped back as she went back to teasing over the tip. He knew he wouldn't last… not with his cock nestled on that warm, wet tongue and her eyes on him so heavy. He grunted, his hips twitching with the effort of holding still. "Fuck… I'm gonna cum, babes…"
Despite the generous warning, his peak managed to sneak up on her while she was still delicately tonguing, jerking, squeezing, working him from three different angles in varying paces. Lydia was so caught up in the task, emboldened and spurred on by his growled praise, that she was caught a tad off guard when her means met his end.
The first cold shot splashed against her flat tongue and spilled out over her lip and chin before she caught him with her mouth. Two gulps later, he was still coming and Lydia was overwhelmed, so she released him and aimed down, letting the last couple weak bursts hit her breasts as she took in air.
"Do you forgive me?"
She was still holding his finished length while she said this, arms perched on his thighs to keep her close. Lydia already knew she had his forgiveness, but he liked it when she played dumb.
He huffed and groaned as he came, his eyes clenched shut as wave after wave of his climax washed over him. By the time he'd gathered himself enough to crack an eye open she was already staring up at him, her dark eyes wide and his cum on her chin and chest.
"Fuck… yeah. Forgiven. C'mere."
He pulled her up until he could settle her on his thigh, running a finger over the spend on her chest and offering to her. "God, Yer so good to me baby… ya about ready to call it a night?"
They'd been in the water so long that her tiny toes had started to wrinkle from being submerged. He pinched at one and shook her foot playfully. "I for one feel like I got all the energy sucked outta me."
Without hesitation, a pink tongue darted out to lap what he brought to her lips. His cum was good, but his joke was bad, earning a quirked eyebrow that somehow angled her looking down on him despite her diminutive stature. Impressively, she maintained the look all through cleaning her lips, chest, and chin of cum.
"I should probably sleep. Ginger's going to put me through the ringer tomorrow, I just know it."
If the next day was anything like this one, her paycheck would be substantial. Would she make more than Betelgeuse? Probably not, but he didn't appear to be working currently. In any case, she would have to get him something nice with her first paycheck.
"Are you enjoying being a househusband, Beej?"
Lydia was good and settled in his lap, arms secure around his neck ready to be carried to bed whenever he was ready.
"I know I like it." To be fair, she liked him most all of the time, unless he was having one of his fits. Or she was. "You give excellent foot rubs… and back rubs."
A househusband. He rolled his eyes, lifting her easily and climbing out of the tub. "I wouldn't say I'm a househusband, babes. I'm just not on a job right now."
He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "But that don't mean I won't give ya a massage. Any time you like. Though, I might need some recompense. I died with this backache, ya see… really kills sometimes."
Upon entering their bedroom, they found all four pets curled up together on the tub in front of the fireplace, Percy curled around Luna, with Bubby beside them asleep on his back. Tilly was curled around all of them, and lifted her head when they entered.
Betel set his wife on the bed and kissed her gently. "Get some sleep. I got somethin' to do." He wanted to check on Greg one more time to make sure the fluids keeping him alive were still flowing.
Died with this backache, ya see… really kills sometimes.
This joke was better than the last, so Lydia spared him a breathy chuckle as she was carried inside. With that kiss on the cheek, she was dry and dressed for bed in one of the longer nighties, one that left an excess trail of lilac satin draping over Betelgeuse's suddenly stripe-bedecked arm.
"Is that why you're always so grumpy? I would give you a backrub if you asked. I'm probably not as good at it as you are, though…"
Her poor baby. Lydia only had eyes for him, missing the rest of the babies in their heap of black and white fur on the ground as she was toted to her side of the canopy. She went to pull him into bed with her and make good on that promise of a rub down, but he was already dismissing her, claiming errands of some sort.
"But Beeeeeeej," she pouted, taking stubborn hold of his cuff to keep him tethered to the bed. "I want you here. What's so important?"
Well, maybe Greg would be fine.
With his lovely, sexy wife laying nearly naked in their bed and pleading with him to stay, how could he deny her? He could always go after she'd succumbed to the sleep already pulling at her eyes.
"Well… I guess it can wait." He climbed into the bed and flipped down onto her, using her soft chest as his pillow as he sighed contentedly. How was this even real? Had he really just fucked this magnificent woman in a hot tub, in their home?
He looked over to where Tilly was now grooming Luna, who looked greatly displeased by the development. His pets, his wife, his house. There was only one thing missing from his perfect life, but that could wait.
He squirmed down to press a kiss to her stomach before rolling off of her and onto his stomach. "That back rub still on the table?"
Lydia huffed as he dropped down on her and air was forced from her lungs, but this was what she wanted so she held him close and breathed through it, slow and shallow.
That backrub still on the table?
"Of course," she purred, crawling over to her nightstand to retrieve some cocoa butter since she didn't have magical hands that could summon lube and oil with just a snap. Then, she straddled his rump to begin untucking his button-up and wife beater, urging his jacket off and to the side. He was fully dressed, down to his perpetually grimy boots.
"Where do you think you're going off to?"
It wasn't lost on her that he didn't answer the first time she asked. If he avoided the question this time, then he was definitely keeping secrets.
"I'm either going to bed alone, or waking up alone. Sometimes both. Never neither."
Not really "never neither", but Lydia was still decidedly tipsy and struck with lingering drama and tease, making the exaggeration come easy and convincing. Really laying on the guilt, she smoothed her small, lotioned hands across the expanse of his lower back while she spoke, pressing and searching for the eternal knots he alluded to. It didn't take long to find them. With just as much love and care as she had dedicated to sucking him off, she set to work on the impossible task of banishing the tension in his dead muscles, determined to make him change his mind and stay.
He groaned as her lithe fingers pressed into his lower back, his centuries of pain there ebbing away ever so slightly. He nearly forgot to lie to her about where he was going.
"Yer new cat mentioned seeing something out along the edge of the property. I was gonna go check it out."
He moaned when she found a particularly pleasant place to work him over, his back arching into her touch. "Fuck babes… right there." He couldn't remember the last time someone had taken the time to give him something so intimate as a massage.
Luna bristled behind Lydia's back and aimed a fierce golden gaze at the lax poltergeist, hissing directly into his mind.
Do not use Luna to lie to mistress again, ghoul.
Knowing the circumstances, the wildcat would forgive such a presumptuous trespass this go around, but Betelgeuse was already on thin ice. The charming mortal and her sweet promises were the only reason she chose to stick around— that and the big dumb dog that refused to let her leave initially.
You will regret it.
Lydia was oblivious that any conversation was taking place and Betelgeuse was helpless to respond lest his wife became aware of his deceit, so the nefarious feline returned to purring and snuggling the big dumb dog. Being part of a pack had its merits.
At his direction, Lydia dug her hands in hard as she could, putting everything she had into kneading the permanent tension away. Only once her fingers and hands started to ache did she pause, frowning in disappointment down at his back.
"I can't do it anymore. My hands are tired. I'm sorry, Beej."
When she had to give up he easily rolled to one side, knocking her off his back and onto the bed. "Mm. That's okay babes… feels better already." It didn't. But she didn't need to know that. The minute her hands had left him, his muscles had clenched again.
He flipped over and pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then her lips. "Get some sleep, kitten. I worked ya hard tonight…. and you got work in the morning. I promise ya won't wake up alone."
He rubbed his hands over her back, the silky material of her nightgown aiding his movements. He really didn't like to leave her when she was like this… sweet and pliant, sleepy from sex and intimacy. But he also hated to think that Greg would die before he could get what he wanted out of him.
"Okay," she yawned, giving up the battle. She was too worn down to keep it up. A hard day's work, ravenous sex with her husband, alcohol, and a good hearty meal had her ready to pass out. Still pouting at the loss, she allowed him to tuck her in the way he liked to do. He even made sure to pull the heavy comforter up so it wasn't covering her feet, the way he had learned she liked to sleep.
"Don't take too long," she begged drowsily, well aware she would be far gone before he came back. The fire was roaring, and a beast or two would surely join her if she started looking cold, but neither flames, puppies, or kittens could replace the feeling of his frigid arms around her absorbing her warmth and slowly lowering closer to room temperature.
"Gets too hot without you…"
When it was too cold, like when he was gone, then she would have something to worry about.
He pressed gentle kisses to her neck and shoulders as she slept, waiting for her breathing to even out in the way he knew meant she was sleeping. It was strange to him, being so in tune to another person.
He'd spent so much time alone, and before that in an unhappy relationship that this was all new and somewhat frightening to him. He pressed one last kiss to her head and made his way out to the cellar, lighting a cigarette as he went.
The door opened with a heavy groan and he fixed his eyes on the pathetic being that was Greg Green. "Hey. Sorry it took me so long t'get back. I was busy fuckin' my wife. Tell me her name one more time so I know ya remember."
Salt and blood had long single congealed together, crystallizing to form a heinous sort of scab over Greg's stubbed feet, angry and swollen with infection. There was an odd discoloration around his midsection denoting a few broken ribs and perhaps some internal bleeding, a caking of dried blood beneath his bloated, cracked nostrils, and one of his eyes was so badly bruised it was swollen shut.
Betelgeuse had punched him with his ring hand there, the gem cutting across blood vessels in the process and rendering the eye useless, even if it was capable of opening. A puddle of piss, as well as a broken turd, had fallen beneath Greg onto the blood-stained concrete, his corner of the room the only sullied portion of the squeaky clean torture chamber.
The adrenalin and saline solution that had kept him awake and hydrated since last he saw his captor was almost empty. Greg had fantasized he might be allowed a moment or two of respite once it did, but that was a dream never to come to fruition. The realization brought a pitiful, mournful groan up his dry, hoarse throat.
"Lydia… Deetz…"
He sobbed, incapable of forgetting the name— as if he was in any danger of it.
"Please…" he begged and cried the way little Lyddie had so many times before, the irony not lost on him. "I'm so sorry… No more… Please God…"
"Mm. Nice of ya to remember." He snapped and the bag was replaced, a new round of heart-aching adrenaline pouring into the pervert. "Ah, shit. Ya made a mess of my floor! Asshole."
He shook his head, tapping ash from the end of his cigarette. "I think it's time ya learn a new name. Eyes up here." He waited for the man to move, and when the request wasn't filled fast enough he grabbed his jaw and forced him to look up.
"Betelgeuse. Say it with me. That's who's doin' this to ya."
He released him, letting his head slam back against the wall. "Yer lucky. I just came to check on ya. Gotta let ya heal up some before we have more fun. But you know all about that… no fun when your playthings stop responding. Right?"
He scoffed and aimed a kick at his shins, making his mangled feet twitch and drag against the ground. He put his cigarette out in his ruined eye, relishing the way he screamed. "Night night, Greg."
"B-Betel-g-geuse," Greg stuttered terribly over the name, too far gone in his torment to even think to question its strangeness. He would have time to ponder on it while he waited, stomach shrinking without food, the remains of a regurgitated mcdouble at his mutilated feet. Starvation was the least of his concerns.
There was nothing to do but wait; for the pain to stop, for more pain to come, for the end. He was already dead. The question remained when and how.
Even as he writhed in agony while the cherry sizzled out in his eye socket, he panicked that the demon— Betelgeuse— was leaving again. His departure meant more waiting, more crying, more begging for a death that refused to come.
"Kill me," he pled with everything he had to the striped monster's retreating back, growing increasingly desperate the further away he got as a fresh rush of adrenalin hit his system. "Kill me! Come back! I'm a monster! Kill me!"
Betelgeuse smirked at his pleading, looking back at the squirming beast over his shoulder. "Oh no… I don't think I will. See, I know what's on the other side. Know exactly where you'll go if I murder ya."
He turned to face him, a sick kind of glee in his yellowed eyes. "I also know where Natalya ended up. I know where my sweet Lyds is gonna end up. And I know where you're goin' too." He held his hands out like he was selling used cars and laughed. "I'm the closest thing to a God yer ever gonna see, Greg!"
He was still cackling as he left, the heavy door closing behind him. Talk about vindication. Less than a day under his house and the creep was already begging for death. Little did he know he was already there.
As promised, his bride was still asleep when he slid back into their bedroom. She'd stretched out on her back, her dark hair swirling around her like some kind of bed linen Ophelia. Her nightgown has twisted around her legs, which she would hate if she woke, so this spurred him into action. He carefully untangled the long limbs and pressed kisses to her ankles before shedding his jacket climbing into bed.