XLII

This was nice.

Nearly two months had passed since returning from their honeymoon, and things were positively cozy. Lydia was such a good wife. Perfect. He'd done well trusting his gut with that decision. They settled into a tentative routine. On nights that she didn't indulge the Maitlands by letting them parent her, she cooked him dinner. In truth, she cooked herself dinner and indulged him by making enough so that he could eat as well, even going the extra mile by serving him before herself- like a proper wife.

The worst parts of his day were the several hours she dedicated to her education. Most of the time it wasn't that bad. She would curl up next to him on the couch and seamlessly divide her concentration between him, the television, and her laptop. Other days, she would find it all too much of a distraction- locking herself up in her bedroom for the privacy it provided to complete her schoolwork- and Betelgeuse was forced to find entertainment elsewhere.

Today was one of the nice days. It was her bleeding time, to his delight and her discontent. That morning, he cleaned her with his tongue before she could even wake and discover her monthly vexation. Then, he drew her a bath, joining her for this one, and fucked her the way he wanted to the last time he tasted her blood. Currently, she was lying across the couch in her plush bathrobe, leisurely popping down truffles one at a time. The laptop sat forgotten in her bedroom, education momentarily deemed unworthy of her time and consideration. Sensing her mistress' discomfort, Luna had curled herself up into a ball on Lydia's belly. The kitten's pitch-black fur blended flawlessly with the robe. A persistent purr and the occasional flash of viridian were all that gave away her presence.

Lydia's head rested on his thigh. His fingers pet across her hair; air dried, unbrushed, and sprawled across his lap in a sweet-smelling heap. When a smidge of white chocolate dried above her upper lip, she absent-mindedly extended her tongue to rub it away, right before pushing another little white ball passed her perfect pink lips.

"Beej?" She questioned, slightly garbled with a mouth full of melting chocolate. If she wasn't careful, he was going to have to fuck her again.

"Yeah, baby?" He drawled, catching her gaze as it flickered up to find him watching her. She swallowed, licked her lips, and held yet another round piece of chocolate up to her mouth without blushing. He couldn't tell if she was oblivious to his want or if she was doing this on purpose.

"I don't feel like cooking," she informed simply, twisting around until she was laying on her back, staring straight up at him, "and I don't want to bother Barbara." He didn't interrupt her to say that the Maitland woman would probably relish the opportunity to play mom. "Or go anywhere. Or get off the couch at all. Would you poof dinner please?" She hadn't asked him to conjure food for her since they were on the island, but she always did it so politely that he couldn't help but indulge the request with vigor.

"Abso-fuckin'-lutely! Whatcha feelin', babes? Sushi? Lobster? Steak? Escargot?" A silver platter materialized on the coffee table before them, its contents changing with each rapid-fire suggestion. Lydia laughed, reaching out to examine a steaming snail curiously.

"Maybe some other time." After returning the unfortunate mollusk to its place and settling her head back in his lap, she considered him intently, teeth digging into her lip. When she deigned to request food of him, her suggestions had become increasingly elaborate and precise, purely to test him. He had yet to fail meeting her exact specifications. "How about… a wood-baked flatbread pizza… with goat cheese, sliced golden cherry tomatoes, fresh basil, and porcini mushrooms… and raspberry lemonade to go with!" She finished with a rush as if this was some kind of challenge.

Angling an eyebrow down at her, the requested meal appeared with a quirk of his finger. There were even whole raspberries in her lemonade, pinkish red bleeding into the fresh-squeezed pale yellow. "Anythin' else, your highness?"

Now she flushed, sitting up to dig into the tempting meal. Luna scurried away at the movement. "You can't blame me," she returned after swallowing her first bite of pizza. "It's neat seeing what you can do. Us puny mortals have to work and go to the store to get the things we want. I can't just blink and make things appear." She smiled and glanced at him through her lashes, knee pressing on top of his thigh as she settled into a cross-legged position. "It's cool." Lydia didn't often comment on his ability, but when she did, it went straight to his head. "If only you used your juice to wash the dishes sometime," she muttered as an afterthought, killing his musings of self-glory.

Lydia had made good on her promise to keep the roadhouse clean. Though he never asked her to, she took it upon herself to delegate an hour or so of her time every day to tidying their home. Few sights were more arousing than that of his wife in a pair of dirty jeans, on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor. The living room and his bedroom were nearly spotless now. The garage was going to be her next big project. She didn't ask for access to the basement, for more reasons than that she had correctly inferred he would deny it.

Betelgeuse had responsibilities of his own to attend to. After a nasty letter from the Homeowners' Association entitled to one Benjamin Geist showed up on his porch in the Outerworld he discovered that yes, he did have to mow the lawn. Lydia had begun as though she meant to, but he shut that down real quick. He couldn't allow her to stain her fair complexion with such a gruff chore, especially when she was seeing to her wifely duties so diligently. So it commenced that every Sunday morning, sunglasses adorned and beer in hand, he rolled a disguised Doomie back and forth across the expansive property, quickly growing a reputation for owning the fastest grass cutter in Winter River. Accordingly, Lydia thanked him with a sandwich and fellatio whenever he finished.

She was sweet like that. It wasn't uncommon for her to surprise him with excessive shows of affection- whatever she thought would make him happy. Not only him, the Maitland chumps as well. When she noticed that Adam was running low on the type of paint he used on his little buildings, Lydia went out of her way to ask her husband for a substantial amount of money. Of course, Betelgeuse took great pleasure in both giving it to her and teasing her for why she wanted it at all. His fiendish joy quickly deteriorated when she finally imparted that she wanted to buy Maitland Hardware out of all their paint- the Maitlands' paint- and anything else they might want or need.

"Fuck that, babe," he'd told her, scowling darkly at the favor he was being forced to do. "Let's cut out the middleman."

And that's how Benjamin Geist became the owner of Maitland Hardware. As staff was already established and the Maitlands were all too eager to manage any paperwork involved with running the business, Betelgeuse was the owner in name only. It was a fair exchange as far as the poltergeist was concerned. They got to have something that resembled control over their life, even in death, and he got to gloat that he was the real boss.

To celebrate what a success he was as a living man- having collected a wife, job, and house all in the span of just a couple months- he took the missus on that coveted trip to Vegas. She humored him for a while; trailing after him, taking photos, gambling a little herself. She even indulged his fantasy of sitting on his lap through a game of poker that he knew she found exceedingly boring. After day two, however, she was content to stay cooped up in the hotel room while he reveled, worn out from exposure to so much noise and people. She didn't have to complain. He could tell. Didn't bitch the whole week. As a matter of fact, she didn't gripe when they were on the gulf either. Not that she didn't have a good time there, but sun, sand, and heat did not necessarily appeal to Lydia's predilections.

As it was, he found himself bored without his creamy little wife at his side mere hours sans her presence. Pathetically, he was forced to carry out the week pretending to have fun gambling alone before joining his introverted bride in their suite at night. He couldn't have her knowing just how thoroughly whipped he was. It wasn't good for his image. Every time, she welcomed him with a kiss, asked him if he had a good time, and pulled him into bed to sleep with her- the meaning of the word changing depending on how tired she was.

He had her every day, in some way, at least once. At least. Lydia only ever turned him away if she was tired or sore. When she was tender, he would please her with his tongue and take pains to be gentle with her the following days... unless she did something to try his patience. In those instances, he was rather certain she was looking for the abuse.

She didn't complain then, either.

His thoughts were disrupted when she stretched, moving as though she meant to get off the couch.

"Where you goin'," he growled into her mess of hair after grabbing hold of her hips, pulling her back down into his lap, and grinding her backside against his erection. It was maintained by her show of lip licking and his own deviant thoughts. Even through his suit, her robe and nightgown, he could feel how fucking hot she was. There was just something about her when she was like this. Her scent was deeper, her taste sharper, her aura more vibrant. It made him want to swallow her whole.

"The bathroom," she giggled, squirming out of his reluctant grasp, "and to get some ice cream."

Ice cream? Lydia's sweet tooth apparently peaked around this time, especially in regards to chocolate. So much sugar didn't usually appeal to her. "Eye scream," he whispered aloud to the empty room, the notion hitting him like a slap to the face. Why hadn't he taken her to see more of the Neitherworld? It wasn't as though she hadn't earned it. She'd shown more than enough patience for his wanderlust, dedicating herself to her self-appointed schoolwork and chores, submitting to his insatiable libido, not once voicing the desire to explore her kingdom that he knew she had. What a selfish ass he had been.

"Beej," her sweet voice called from the kitchen, once again knocking him out of his reverie, "do you want a strawberry shortcake bar or a fudge pop?"

"Sure you don't wanna go out tonight, babe?"

She frowned at him from around the edge of the freezer door, an unopened fudge pop dangling from her fingers. "Not really. I think it's daytime up there."

The way she assumed he meant to take her above twisted the knife of guilt further. "Nah, not there. Here."

That grin he loved, the one that never failed to knock stagnant oxygen from his inert lungs, spread across her face. "Why? Where do you want to go?"

With a gesture from him, the frozen treats she held returned to the freezer and her appearance shifted. Unruly raven tresses detangled and straightened until they fell passed her navel in a glossy cascade, as though they had been run through with a hot iron. The dress he put her in kept both their needs in mind. The light, flowing fabric would caress her skin like water and leave her sensitive midsection unencumbered. Its Grecian design offered a deceptive modesty. When she stood still, only her arms and shoulders were bared to the eye, but when she walked, plum silk would part to reveal milky legs up to the thigh. Gold and emerald gleamed from her wrists and upper arms where Cleopatra's bands had found their home. As usual, a shroud of magic protected her from the Neitherworld's chill.

Lydia marveled, running fingers through her hair. She hadn't bothered with straightening it in years, not up for the hassle. It was perceptively longer like this. Meanwhile, Betelgeuse was appraising her regretfully. It was painful how lovely she was. Couldn't he have dressed her down some? Not that it would have mattered. She could drown herself in one of those black shrouds she favored and still turn heads. Ultimately, his greed to have her ornamented like the Queen he knew she was trumped his distaste for letting others see her this way.

"Beej," she chastised lightly upon sighting the bangles and fingered them bashfully, as though she meant to take them off.

"Nope!" She startled at his abruptness, eyes widening a fraction. "Don't you dare! You're gonna wear em n' you're gonna like it cause they're pretty n' all girls like pretty things- don't gimme that face, they do- n' all that aside, you know that deep down inside ya really wanna." After a beat, her hands fell away from the baubles and settled on her hips, a tiny smile curling her mouth.

"... and why can't I have my fudge pop?" She queried, keeping up a show of feigned indignation and choosing not to comment further on the outfit. Betelgeuse had taken liberties with her appearance enough times now that she didn't question it. He had decent enough tastes, if vulgar. At least this one left a little to the imagination. Some of the cocktail dresses he summoned for her in Vegas had required alterations upon her insistence. Even then, the short hems and dipping necklines hindered her need to flash her brand new fake I.D.

"Cause then ya won't have room for the triple scoop sundae I'm 'bout ta buy ya."

"Buy?!"

Betelgeuse scowled. She didn't have to look so shocked. "Shut up, pipsqueak, n' go get in the car."

The Shocking Mall was everything Lydia hoped it would be in the wake of the sneak peaks she'd been getting from watching Neitherworldian television- with several added surprises. Curious honey eyes scanned the storefronts, soaking it all in with avid interest. There was a shop called Spines & Spirits that appeared to sell alcoholic beverages, as well as spare bones. From what Lydia had gathered from her time here, misplacing one's bones was apparently a common problem. The beauty salon, Curl Up and Die, catered to all different types of clientele; rewraps for mummies, fang-bleaching treatments for sharp-toothed damsels, and waxing packages for even the hairiest of gals. Lydia was enchanted. Absently, she wondered if Ginger frequented an establishment like that and what kind of treatments she got if she did. A mental note was made to ask the next time she saw her.

She tried not to appear overly interested in any one item she saw in the shop windows, not wishing for Betelgeuse to ruin their rare outing in a misguided attempt at gallantry. However, she was unable to keep her eyes from lingering on a blood-red cloak adorning a skeletal model- the Neitherworld's alternative to mannequins. It graced the front of Terrifyingly Intimate, what appeared to be a boutique for high-brow couture and lingerie. Crimson fabric draped bleached white bones, an intricate webbing pattern curling down toward the hem in delicate tendrils. The stitching was immaculate and precise, obviously spun by limbs that homo sapiens lacked. Hastily, Lydia tore her eyes away, but not before her ogling was noticed.

"Want it?"

"No," Lydia lied insistently, grabbing his hand and dragging them toward the Eye Scream Shoppe before he could be tempted. Alas, the damage was done.

"Hello," she greeted the girl behind the counter brightly, anticipating her husband's impending rudeness and overcompensating with her own natural charm.

"What can I getcha, honey?"Did everyone in this part of the Neitherworld talk like that? Or was it a side effect of being dead for a certain number of years? The dead girl returned Lydia's infectious smile, only sparing Betelgeuse a cursory, wary glance. It was immediately apparent to Lydia that she not only knew who he was- she was scared of him. "We've got rotberry sneezecake, cooties n' scream, malted roach crunch, snail slime ripple, death by chocolate-"

"That one!" Lydia pounced on the first safe-sounding option. "I'll have that one, please!"

"No. Ya won't," Betelgeuse cut in, drumming his claws on the counter and twitching an eye at the shop girl as though she were somehow responsible for his wife's ignorance. "That's prolly the only thing on the menu that could actually kill ya, babes. The missus'll have a triple scoop cooties n' scream sundae, extra whipped scream on that, n' I'll be wantin' a malted roach crunch in a hot sludge dip, double scoop… er..." He hesitated, glancing shiftily from his wallet to Lydia to the eye scream girl. Finally, he grumbled inaudibly, passing a handful of oddly shaped coins and some crumpled purple bills across the counter. "Make that last one a single."

Lydia started, tugging at his cuff. "Beeeej! Get a double, I don't need a triple! I won't eat it all anyway, it's not a big deal."

"You're gettin' a triple," he asserted, before sneaking a pinch to her backside that made her yelp and flush. "Now sit that sweet ass down 'fore I bend you over my knee n' give ya a spankin' right here for all that sass."

Lydia's face screwed up in annoyance and she stuck her tongue out at him in a particularly childish gesture. She was not sassing him. Well, now she was, but she wasn't before. "You're full of shit," she retorted petulantly but obeyed the order nonetheless. "Beej," she questioned once they were seated in a corner booth, "do you have any money left?"

"Ya just saw me spend it all, the fuck you think I'm made o' dough-"

"No," she interrupted his rant before it could derail. This was a sensitive subject for him. "I don't want anything. I just want to look at it. Do you have a penny? Or… I don't know, whatever passes for a penny here."

The line of his mouth wriggled uncomfortably and he started searching his pockets, dropping various rodents and scaled creatures on the table as he went. Curiosity he could work with. Inadequacy, however, he could not. "There ya go." He slid an octagonal platinum coin her way hastily, silently apology for snapping at her.

Lydia examined it attentively, carefully tracing the ridges. "Who is this?" A regal woman adorned the face, the phrase mors vincit omnia engraved above her head. "What does that mean?"

"You're full o' questions today, ya know that?" Betelgeuse shot back dismissively. The way she angled her brow at him, lips pursing, told him that she wasn't about to let this go that easily. "Death. Conquers. All," he drawled, throwing her a wink. "'Cept you, o' course. That," he reached over, scratching his claw across the woman's stunning, cold face, "would be the Queen. Don't let that pretty face fool ya. She is one nasty piece o' work."

"The Queen…" Lydia breathed, mind racing. "So… The Prince's mom? Does that… how does that work?"

Betelgeuse's head was running circles of its own, though he was careful to school his expression into one of abject boredom. "Weelllllp," he droned, turning out his trouser pockets until the stained inner lining was pulled taut, "would ya lookit that? I'm fresh outta answers. Damn shame."

"BJ," she whined her newest nickname for him. It was his personal favorite for obvious reasons. "Quid pro quo?" She tried hopefully, batting her eyes.

"Nope," he popped back without a moment's hesitation, shocking her. He'd never turned down that offer before.

"What do you mean no?" This was not an answer Lydia was accustomed to hearing from him. Despite her insolence, he found it satisfying to see the results of how very thoroughly he'd spoiled her in action.

"I meeeaaan," he slipped an arm around her shoulders and scooted further in toward her side of the booth, "N-O. Nein. Votch. Nyet, my darlin' lil creampuff pumpkin pie." That last pet name was one he used sparingly so she wouldn't catch on to his subtle game. The greedy bastard wouldn't allow her father to keep any part of her, even this inconsequential thing.

Their eye scream arrived, but even Lydia's fickle attention span would not distract her from her goal. She poked at the "eyeballs" with her spoon, inspecting him distrustfully over the exorbitant frozen mound. She knew they were safe to eat or else he wouldn't have brought her here. No, her suspicion stemmed from his unexpected denial of her whims.

"Why not?" She pouted, scooping up a spoonful of cooties- a gelatinous pink ooze that sparkled with edible glitter and tasted like raspberries. "Don't you still find me interesting and mysterious? Isn't there aaanything else you want to know about me?"

Betelgeuse lit up a cigarette, having already downed his single scoop in one bite, and leveled her with a deadpan from the other side of the table. "Uh-uh, Lyds. You ain't playin' that card. Ain't gonna work on me."

She huffed, nostrils flaring, and popped an eyeball passed her lips rebelliously. When the fleshy, slimy, sweet treat popped beneath her teeth, a high pitched scream released inside her head. It was brief, but jarring, and served to distract her from her dangerous line of questioning. "What was that?"

Her eyes were big, both hands covering her ears as she looked about, searching for the source of the sound. Betelgeuse chuckled, used a gritty claw to pierce one of the wriggling peepers right through the pupil, taking Lydia up on her unspoken offer to share. The manufactured shriek wasn't as satisfying as the real thing, but the sound of it still brought a nasty grin to his face.

"Eye. Scream."

A/N: As always, deepest apologies for the delay in updating. I know there's not a lot happening in this chapter, but I promise you, this is necessary for the sake of the progression of the plot. I have a plan. Just have to get through some obligatory exposition first. You have my eternal gratitude for your continued patience with my inconsistency. I love you all.

While you're waiting for my next update, you should go check out Thirteen Bits of Candy, my response to BD-Z's Halloween Drabble Challenge on tumblr. It's a collection of movie/toonverse drabbles, all with a Halloween theme. I had a lot of fun with it and it's my first attempt at anything toonverse, so I'm pretty proud of it.

Hate to break out this old cliche, but it's true. Reviews make me happy and happy authors write faster. :) Let me know what you think!