"Give your heart and soul to me,
And life will always be,
'La vie en rose',"
— La Vie En Rose
Louis Armstrong
In the days leading up to New Year's Eve, Betelgeuse was ravenous. He ate her out at least once a day as if convinced his saliva had healing properties. Unsatisfied until she was begging for mercy, he feasted of her, often insisting upon her returning the favor.
Therefore, when the ending of the year came upon them, Lydia was exhausted. Little voices began fussing from their crib far too early in the morning and she groaned, pulling a thick pillow over her head. She knew that cry. This was something Betelgeuse could take care of on his own just fine. Besides, after the way he forced his cock down her throat the previous night while she was tied up and helpless, she deserved a few extra hours of sleep.
"Beej," she whined, pushing feebly at his chubby back. "They need changes. Pleeeaaase."
He was ecstatic to have some way of making love to his wife again. No matter how rough he was on her, everything he did had love behind it. Even tying her up and fucking her throat.
He groaned when she woke him but dutifully rolled out of bed to change tiny diapers, kiss tiny cheeks, and pop levitating bottles into tiny mouths. Today was the day. Time to see if Chuck was ready. With a round of kisses, all three girls were put into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Dressed in his green suit with a snap, he made his way down to the cellar bedroom. He let himself in, clearing his throat. "Deetz. Feelin' ready? Sober?"
Charles was sleeping on the floor. He didn't remember falling asleep. He remembered pacing the bland carpet over and over and over again, committed to reteaching himself how to walk in a straight line. He was pretty sure he had it down, but he was also pretty sure he was losing his fucking mind.
Human beings were not meant to be sequestered from civilization like this. This would be considered "cruel and unusual punishment" to any judge. In his time since their last visit, he had read and memorized the fronts and backs of all the cheap, off-brand soap bottles in the bathroom, gorged himself on whatever meals he could think of as a form of entertainment— was he gaining weight? How dreadfully unfair— and looked over every single photo of his daughter and grandbabies that the ghoul had been kind— cruel— enough to leave behind.
He was ready. He had to be ready. At the telltale sound of the lock unclicking, he was wide awake, standing up and alert to prove his sobriety to his loathsome son-in-law.
"Z, Y, X, W, V, U, T, S, R, Q..."
In lieu of a standard greeting, Charles jumped right into the dog and pony show. After fully reciting the alphabet in reverse, he proceeded to walk in a perfectly straight line across the width of the room not once, not twice as, but three times, all while touching two fingers to the tip of his nose.
"There," he finished, bubbling with excitement and trying his best to bury the hatred he harbored for his jailer. "I'm sober. Thanks for rehab. Now let me see my daughter."
"Not even a hello? It's the holidays, Chuck. Don't be so cold."
He wasn't impressed by the show. Sober wasn't enough. He had to be really ready. He had to be sure that Charles deserved to see his family. They were too good for him. Always would be.
While Betelgeuse leaned against the wall to light a cigarette, a lit cigar appeared in Charles' hand.
"Slow yer roll, Daddikins. I'm still not sure you're ready." The reaction he got was bordering on violent, and he shot him a look. It wouldn't do to have him swinging fists again. "Maybe ya need another week."
Part of this was retribution. He wanted Chuck to suffer the way he let his daughter and her mother suffer. Just because he was dead didn't mean he deserved to rest in peace. He took a deep drag of his cigarette, then spoke again.
"Yeah. I think a week'll do it. I'll come check on ya then."
"No, no nono— NO!"
It was too late. The door was shut and the poltergeist was gone.
"COME BACK! COME BACK, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"
He yelled and screamed for he didn't know how long, beating relentlessly at the unfinished door until his blues fists turned violet splintered.
"Come back… come back…"
On a whim, he tried the handle, only for his still heart to jump into his throat. It was unlocked. Betelgeuse forgot. He forgot!
It took everything Charles had to keep from yanking it open and running for freedom. He had to be smart about this. If he just went prancing off and was caught, he would be back here with even more time tacked onto his sentence‒ or worse. No, he had to wait. Bide his time. Leave at the right moment.
He would see his daughter.
Betelgeuse would be the first to admit that fatherhood made him tired. He had gotten sloppy, though he didn't realize, and no one was stupid enough to say so.
When he got back to the bedroom, the twins needed changing. Again. So he did that, took the empty bottles, dressed them, then woke them with kisses to their foreheads before climbing in behind his wife and lifting her sleep as well. He knew she'd likely continue snoozing anyway without his influence.
He had plans for today. Ginger was coming to watch the twins so that he could take his girl out on the town. She deserved a night of pampering, and to get out of their house for once. Ginger was trustworthy. The dogs were protective. It was going to be fine.
True to his prediction, Lydia slept until the crack of noon, when Ivy and Holly became dissatisfied with their father's attention alone. They obviously loved him, but he couldn't replace their Mommy's soft, warm skin and sweet voice.
"Oh, Beej," she sighed with love over them as they suckled at her, admiring the plump cheeks, silken hair, and thick, dark lashes. They only grew more beautiful with each passing day.
"I don't know if I'm ready to leave them yet. What if something happens? What if they need us?"
It was Betelgeuse's idea to get them out of the house for the New Year, to party until midnight and have a good fun adult time, but Lydia was wrought with anxiety over the proposition, much too attached to her babies. They'd scarcely been separated a moment since coming into this world in a torrent of blood and snow and joy and death.
"Ginger doesn't know which toys are their favorites, or which blanket is whose. What if they don't want to take the bottle from her? What if they start crying and don't stop? What if they use their powers on her and no one's there to take care of them and they're all alone? I saw this documentary once about a woman who died in her sleep and her toddler was left all alone in their apartment for days until someone found them and— oh God, it was just awful."
"Baby, baby... that ain't gonna happen. First off, Ginge is already dead. N' we can walk through favorite toys n' all that shit when she gets here."
He wasn't really ready either, but he trusted Ginger to call if something went wrong, and he especially trusted Tilly.
"Look. Tilly will come get us wherever we are if she thinks somethin' is wrong. N' Ginger can call me. My name might not summon me for anyone but you, but it still hurts like hell when someone says it." He kissed her cheek gently.
"I just don't want ya to feel stuck here in the house. We earned a night out. Just one. Then we can come home n' snuggle our girls to our heart's delight." Holly was done eating and staring at her father in the way that meant she would like to be burped, so he took her and brought her to his shoulder, patting her back gently until she let out a belch.
"That's my girl... good job, Buggy."
"They're just so small…"
While her husband cared for Holly, Lydia burped little Ivy, whose tiny pointed ears and little claws were the only physical attributes she had that marked her as not completely human.
"I guess you're right…" she conceded with a frown. It was easier letting him have his way. Ginger adored the babes, and none of the beasts would ever let anything happen to them.
When it came time for them to leave, Lydia wasn't any less anxious than before, walking Ginger through any and every detail no less than three times. It was incredibly important the spider knew that Holly preferred the stuffed hellhound while Ivy preferred the bat. If there was a mix-up, the consequences could be catastrophic.
For the occasion, Lydia wore ruby earrings shaped like beetles, the ones Betelgeuse gifted her on the night of the twins' conception, as well as the emerald bracelet from Christmas. Oodles of raven hair were piled atop her head in an intricate chiffon bun, held together by the ruby hair ornament he gave her to wear on their first date. The dress she wore was made of a glimmering material akin to woven moonbeams and clung to her curves, no back or sleeves to speak of. Betelgeuse had only gotten glimpses of it, the dark fur-lined jacket of her own creation cloaking her from view.
"Ivy likes her milk warmed up, but Holly prefers it cold straight from the fridge." Ginger nodded, having already highlighted this on the long, long, long list of to-do's Lydia had typed and printed out for her.
"They do everything together. They sleep together, they wake up together, they eat together. If one needs a diaper change, you can bet the other one will too… Are you sure you can do this? It's okay if you can't, Beej and I can stay home, it's really not a big deal."
Betel couldn't wait to give his beautiful wife a night on the town. She was a vision in all the jewels he bought for her, and that dress... that was a keeper for sure, and he had only seen part of it. He wrapped his arm around her waist as she went over things with Ginger for what had to be the third time.
"C'mon, baby. We got tickets." He'd found a jazz dinner club he thought she would really like and had gone through the trouble of getting them on a list.
"Ginger. Anything seems off ya call me, we'll be right home. Otherwise, we'll see ya in the morning." With that, he steered his wife into his arms and transported them to the promised club, where Ella Fitzgerald herself was crooning onstage.
"Ya look great, baby girl. I'm glad we're doin' this."
"Oh, Beej," she gasped in that way he loved, stars lighting up her eyes as she took in the romantic, star-studded atmosphere. Only the crème of the deceased crop was here. Elvis and Marilyn Monroe were cozied up in a booth in the corner while Frank Sinatra put the moves on Katherine Hepburn at the bar, anybody who was anybody getting their thrills and rubbing elbows. A marquee next to the stage said that Louis Armstrong would be up next after Ella was done with her set.
Betelgeuse handed the host a generous tip right after Lydia passed off her jacket, allowing her husband to pull her deeper into the exclusive club. It was like the joint he once took her to on their first date, but quieter, more intimate. There was still gambling going on in certain corners, but it was the classy kind; where they took you out to the alley to bust your knee caps if you welched on a game rather than doing it right there on the floor.
Anxiety forgotten, taken by the romance of it all, she pulled him toward the floor for a dance before even getting any alcohol in her system, not wanting to miss the opportunity.
"I love this song," she purred, plastering against him fully, swaying in time with the slow, heady beat.
"Stars shining bright above you,
Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you",
Birds singing in the sycamore trees,
Dream a little dream of me…"
It had been far too long since he got to dance with his wife. When they were newlyweds he thought that maybe they would find time to dance once a week, but that certainly hadn't happened. He hummed in his usual gruff, off-key voice, his hand splayed against her lower back as they swayed. He led her across the bar and closer to the stage, nodding to the singer. He'd put in a request. As the song ended the next started and a grin spread over his face as he started to croon along with Ella, low enough for only Lydia to hear and giggle.
"You make me feel so young,
You make me feel as though spring has sprung,
And every time I see you grin,
I'm such a happy individual.
The moment that you speak,
I wanna go play hide and seek,
I wanna go and bounce the moon,
Just like a toy balloon…"
As his request ended, he spun her toward the bar, settling her into a stool and waving down the bartender.
Lydia loved his voice. It was horrible and off-key, but undeniably attractive to his wife. He didn't sing often, but when he did it always managed to pull her into a trance. Swept up in a whimsical daze, lighter than air, she swayed and whirled at his direction, twirling in a circle for him with a joyous, laughing smile when he drew her arm up over her head. At the end of the song, he escorted her to the bar like any other gentleman of class, pulling out a stool for her and ordering them both champagne with fresh cut strawberries.
The bubbly brought a pink glow to her cheeks, and after taking a bite from the alcohol-soaked berry, she pressed a kiss to her husband's lips so he could taste the sweet juices too.
"I didn't know how badly I needed this, Beej," she hushed, overcome with love and gratitude, taking the cigarette he passed her way. "You know I love you and the girls more than anything… but I'm so young, you know? I never thought I'd be a teen mom. I never went to prom, or college, or dumb house parties, or any of the stuff I was always told I was supposed to do before getting here."
Tapping ash from the end of her smoke, she leaned closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Sometimes I'm feeding them and it's just so surreal. It's like… I skipped all the messy bits and dove headfirst into the best parts of adulthood. It's like I cheated. Does that make any sense?"
"Well if anyone deserved to skip the shitty parts, it's you."
Their glasses clinked together, then magically refilled. He leaned into her gentle embrace, relishing the time alone without the kids. He adored them, but also liked to have his wife all to himself.
"We earned this. You more'n me. Ya pushed two kids out!"
He chuckled softly and gestured to the waiter, having a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries brought to them.
"Here, kitten. Ya still like these, don't ya?"
Ever since she'd gotten pregnant her tastes had changed. He was still catching up. Another singer took the stage and he reached for her hand, toying with her wedding ring gently.
"Ya know... I was thinking the other day... I think I love ya more than when we got married. N' I didn't think that was possible."
Lydia laughed in reminiscence, turning in her seat so her legs were curled over his knee, the thigh-high slit in her gown allowing her freedom of movement to do such a thing.
"When I called you, I was so convinced you would want to kill me. You confused me so bad that first night…"
She was referencing their wedding night, from the cheap chapel to the lusty, lovesick confessions he husked in her ear while he was balls deep and cumming.
"I didn't know what to think of you… You were so mad. I thought for sure you hated me. But then…"
Her cheeks bled darker and she drew a plump, white-chocolate dipped berry to her mouth, recalling how gently he eased her into the process, doing his best to abate her fears. Right then, he cut out the middle man, pulling her into his lap fully.
"No one's ever loved me like you have. Ever. I… I've never loved anyone like I love you. I would do anything for you, B…"
He happily received her legs into his lap and ran his hand up her thigh gently under the dress, the slit giving him ample access. He listened to her talk about their first night, reaching out to wipe away a bit of strawberry juice lingering at the corner of her mouth.
"Ya know... I was confused too. I'd become so obsessed with you after we met that you were all I could think about. Even down in my grave. I thought for sure I'd never see ya again and then..."
He chuckled softly, pulling her further into his lap. "Then I hear this sweet, soft lil' voice callin' me upstairs. N' then I was lookin' at ya and well... all the evil, nasty stuff I wanted to do to ya fell away. 'Specially when ya agreed we could try marriage over. I mean, how many Joes get that shot?"
His hands caressed up her sides and back to her hips, reverent like they'd been that first night.
"N' then the hotel room... you were so scared. N' I wanted you to enjoy it so bad... but we got there, huh?"
"You mean you haven't been doing evil, nasty stuff to me?"
Melting at his sinful, heavenly touch, she liquefied back against him, sighing at the presence of his hard-on and all it represented pressing into her fleshy backside.
"Please, don't hold back. I would hate for you to feel obligated to keep things vanilla on my account."
It was rightly awful of her to tease him like this when they were still on their strictly penetration-free sex regimen, but Lydia couldn't help herself. She never could when it came to him. The second flute of sweet, golden champagne certainly wasn't helping to hinder her loose tongue.
"Also, I reject your assessment that I was 'scared'. I wasn't scared, I was nervous. There's a difference."
He groaned as she pressed into him, his cock nestled comfortably against her ass as he held her. The reminiscing had him longing for a repeat of their honeymoon. Maybe he should tie her up and edge her until she remembered how evil he could be.
"You were scared. Don't bullshit me, it won't work."
He chuckled and rubbed his hand up her back, closing it on her throat the way he had held her when he was fucking her throat over the edge of the hotel bed.
"Maybe we should do this reminiscing somewhere more private. Ya ready to dance one on one, baby?"
"Okay, maybe I was a little scared…"
She couldn't admit things like that aloud too often or it went straight to both of his heads. When his palm closed around her throat, she shuddered, letting her head loll back over his shoulder until crimson-painted lips were brushing his stubbled jawline
"Are you sure you want to leave so early?"
Despite her half-hearted objections, her breath went short, pulse fluttering under his palm to mark her growing arousal.
"Louis hasn't finished his set yet… and what about the countdown to midnight? Just one more dance, baby? I'm having fuuun…"
On an impish whim, even though she knew it would set him up to be biased against her wishes, she nipped just below his ear, choking a gasp when this made the hand on her throat clench. It wasn't nice to tease.
Still bratty as ever, his girl. He ran his hand over her waist while the other held her throat firmly.
"Don't be a tease. You know better."
He considered his options. Either take her to the hotel and risk her pouting the rest of the night, or give her what she wanted. This was for her, after all.
"We could have our own countdown. But I'll give ya one more dance. Finish yer drink." He downed the rest of his own in one go, eyes dark and hungry on his wife all the while.
Lydia was too busy enjoying herself to care too much about the cost of toying with him. He was sure to be rough on her later, but for now, she would enjoy their date. A tune just as slow and sensual as everything else on the roster that night began to play, beginning with a smooth trumpet solo that had Lydia's eyes drifting shut to better savor its beauty.
"Hold me close and hold me fast,
The magic spell you cast,
This is La Vie En Rose,"
Every inch of her was pressed up against him, thin bare arms wrapped loosely around his neck so he could turn her this way and that easily. No matter which way they went, he kept their groins pressed together so she couldn't be spared the sensation of his erection pushing insistently beneath his trousers, hungry for her attention. A heavy mitt remained immovable on her ass, the other wrapped fully around her back with room to spare so he could grasp her by the nip of her waist.
Lydia hummed along with the romantic music, unconcerned with the high-class audience. They were too busy losing themselves in the decadence to pay much attention to their unlikely company, anyway. Ordinarily, Betelgeuse wouldn't have been welcome for long at a soiree of this caliber, but his lovely mortal wife seemed to be keeping the notorious trouble maker distracted and out of their hair well enough.
"When you kiss me, heaven sighs,
And though I close my eyes,
I see La Vie En Rose…"
He wasn't going to last long like this. With his wife pressed close and looking like an angel in the gossamer gown she designed, it was all he had in him to keep dancing without bending her over a table and taking her there.
He was well aware of the eyes on them, but he didn't care. These people were barely dead compared to him. Down here, he was more famous than they could ever be. However, he was grateful that his wife seemed to be having too good a time to care about their star-studded audience.
As the song came to a close he pressed his lips to hers, stilling her in the middle of the dance floor. "I love you so much, Lyds... feels like every time I look at ya I find somethin' else amazin'. How'd ya do that? I mean... I was pretty sure I knew every inch o' ya by now..."
He grinned and kissed her once more for good measure. "Ya ready to hit the hotel room? Start our countdown?"
Lydia returned his finale kiss with passion unbound, pulling him close by her grip around his neck until he grew tired of bending and just lifted her off the floor completely, taking her with him as he stood to his full height. She didn't have any answers for his terribly romantic questions, choosing instead to take him in another kiss that bordered on lewd, with her leg slipping out through the slit to band high around his waist, showcasing her flexibility for their audience.
"Take me," she said simply, more than ready for whatever he had to dish out. Maybe his goal was to make her cum ten times before midnight. In either case, they couldn't stay there a moment longer or they would surely end up giving the dead celebrities a show worth paying for.
With a gust of magic, they were swept away to their room for the night; a deluxe penthouse suite that overlooked the most populated segment of the Neitherworld, walls and walls of windows allowing them a full three-hundred and sixty-degree view of the snow-covered, partying necropolis.
"Oh, Beej," she gasped once more in awe, bypassing the large, petal-laden bed completely to press against the glass and admire the otherworldly view.
"It's so beautiful."
Take me.
He didn't need much more invitation than that. He transported them to the hotel, pleased to see it was decorated to his specifications, when... she bypassed the bed entirely and went for the windows.
He hovered behind her, letting her take in the view before starting to press soft kisses over her shoulders and down her back. His questing hands found the zipper for her dress and pulled, pale skin coming into view as he did so.
"Maybe we shoulda waited a few more weeks. I'd love to fuck ya up against these windows. Oh well... this'll have to do." He pulled the dress away entirely, gently guiding her to press her chest to the cool glass before he dropped to his knees and leaned in to kiss against her still-tender core.
Just then a searing pain shot through his skull. Staggering back, he focused on the voice shrieking through his skull.
Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse! Oh god, the babies!
"The girls." He barely had time to make eye contact with his wife before he was gone. Their daughters were in danger.