26 June 2019

Prompt: Cleanse

Fandom: Beetlejuice

Character/Pairing: Delia Deetz, Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz

Rating: M / PG-16 / Teen

Notes: The best thing about dating a mortal is fucking with her Idiot Parents. (I'm thinking this is set when Lydia's home for a college break.)

Beetlejuice watched Delia move about the kitchen, waving a smoking bundle of dried herbs (that smelt more like pot than what he was assuming she'd been aiming for (sage)), with mystified eyes.

"What the ever-loving fuck does she think she's doing?" he asked Lydia, who was peeking around the basement door beneath him. They'd been watching Delia for about five minutes now, trying to plan their best escape.

"Well, it appears that after seven years, she's starting to wise up," Lydia said dryly. Beetlejuice squeezed her shoulder, where the hand not holding the door had been resting.

"Babes, if she wants to wise up, someone needs to tell her that's not how you use that stuff," he said. Lydia crinkled her nose.

"She said it was sage," she said. He had to bite back a laugh. Thought so.

"That is not sage!" he cackled. Delia stopped her chanting and looked around nervously.

"Can you just juice us outta here? I do not feel like getting wrapped up in this," Lydia sighed.

"No problemo, babes," he chuckled, and with a snap of his fingers they were back in her room. She sighed as she collapsed on her bed. He floated over to her and booped her nose. Just to catch her attention, of course. "So, spill. What's she wising up to, again?"

"…she's starting to suspect the house is haunted," Lydia said dryly. Beetlejuice blinked before rolling onto his back mid-air, cackling. She lifted a foot to kick his butt.

"Oh, come on, babes!" he wheezed. "That's frickin' hilarious! What made her suspect now?"

"Oh, the usual," Lydia said airily. "Cold spots, items moving on their own, strange noises…"

Her pale cheeks flushed a pretty pink, further piquing his curiosity. He rolled back over, propping his head on his folded arms to leer down at her.

"Oh?" he asked. "What kind of strange noises?"

Her face turned a darker red.

Seven years ago, when they'd first met and Lydia had been an eleven-year-old kid, he would have enunciated his point with a belch or fart or any number of well-timed, low-brow, crude body humor jokes. But that had been seven years ago. His babes wasn't a babe any more. (Well, she was still a babe, and she was still his, but she wasn't a kid. She hadn't been for a while now.)

He continued to leer down at her, his eyes raking over her flushed skin.

"Oh, you know," she said, her voice no longer as steady as she'd like. She shifted uncomfortably, amusing him even more. She averted her gaze and said, "…moaning."

He froze, a thrill running through him. It wasn't quite delight, and it wasn't quite fear. It was a strange mix of the two.

"From the basement," she added after a beat. He gulped. Surely Delia hadn't heard…they had thought she'd been out, but if she'd been home and close enough to the vent… "Last week."

Aw, shit.

"So now she's convinced a ghost lives in the kitchen and she must spiritually cleanse the space," Lydia continued quickly, looking back at him. "And since Mother and I do not discuss my sex life beyond her being vaguely aware I do have one –"

"A damn good one," he cut in, grinning down at her.

"That I have a damn good one," she conceded, rolling her eyes, "I will continue to allow her to cleanse the house with pot if she continues to let me sleep with my poltergeist boyfriend, even if she doesn't realize I'm doing so."

He laughed so hard he forgot to keep floating, though she didn't really complain when he landed on her.