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hoodoo12 · 4 years

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Ménage (13/13ish)

NSFW. Lovely threesome smut. Long chapter.

@janitor-boy @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @dilfyjuice @yogsathot @thewolfisapartofmysoul @beejiesbitch

The sounds of the two of them kissing, murmuring above her, filled her with a deep undercurrent of heat, something she couldn’t explain or quantify, something completely new. The idea of the two of them with her was intoxicating, but the idea of the two of them together sent prickles of pleasure across her skin, the space they occupied in the bed growing steadily warmer. Her heart began to race, skin flush with breathless anticipation.

Dewey’s lips were warm on her skin, her head falling back against Beetlejuice’s shoulder as his tongue dragged across her pulse. Her hand slipped to the demon’s naked thigh, sliding up the pale skin, pressing inward, but never quite where she knew he wanted her most. The last thing she wanted was to start too soon, end too soon. Molly wanted this moment to last.

And then she was handed the reins, looking first into a pair of mahogany eyes, then up into honey. She bit her lip, her mind racing with possibilities. She took a deep breath, and sat up, turning to look at Beetlejuice.

“Can . . . can you lie down in the middle? I’d like to . . . s-sit on your face, if that's okay.”

She blushed at her request, still a bit shy to ask for what she wanted despite everything the three of them had been through.

“Then maybe Dewey could . . . use his mouth on you?”

She looked to Dewey for approval, who nodded enthusiastically.

Beetlejuice groaned in anticipation of what she laid out. The angel seemed eager too.

"You know I can't say no to an offer like that," he told her, nipping her upper arm affectionately. "You wanna ride my tongue facing Dewey so you can see him, or do you wanna hold onto the head board and show him how nice your ass is?"

"Facing Dewey," she said quickly, her grin widening at the nip he gave her.

She pulled herself up to kneel at the head of the bed, off to the side so that Beej could lie comfortably in the middle. Arousal rolled and twisted warm in her midsection at the prospect of not only feeling that sinful mouth between her legs again, but of watching Dewey pleasure him at the same time. Almost as an afterthought, as if she'd forgotten they were there, she slipped her shorts off, tossing them without a second thought behind her shoulder to the other side of the room.

Moving cautiously, still unsure of any sore spots or injured areas he may have, she threw one leg over him, straddling his head and bracing her palms against his chest, her fingers rubbing lightly over his nipples, tugging gently at the piercings.

"Dew, why don't you go ahead and get those pants off? I don't think you'll have much use for them."

The angel hurriedly slid off the end of the bed at her suggestion, shucking out of his pants, nearly losing his balance when his left leg got tangled up. He swore under his breath, his knees wobbling when he saw Molly naked for the first time, saw the blankets pulled back to reveal the demon's nakedness. He steadied himself, feeling hot arousal sweep through him and knocking the strength out of him; he knew for sure he had never been this turned on as an angel, had he ever been so excited as a human?

"I haven't done this in a while," he muttered, chewing nervously on the inside of his lip as he climbed back onto the bed, settling down between the demon's pale thighs. "I might be a bit rusty . . . "

He remembered the basics, hoped the finer techniques would come with practice, and dragged his mouth up the inner face of first one thigh, then the other. A hand that still bore the calluses from years of guitar playing wrapped around the base of his cock, giving him a slow stroke as if in greeting before guiding him into his mouth.

As Molly sat up and got out of his way, Beetlejuice kicked her sheets and blankets away. Settling into the spot she directed him, he watched with hungry eyes as she stripped, then reached for her to guide her over him.

The scent of her pussy made him groan, and even though she held herself up a little while she situated herself, he lifted his head and gave her a preliminary lick. He was interrupted by sparks of achy pleasure that erupted in his chest as she played with his piercings, and he heard her instruct Dewey to lose his trousers.

He snorted a chuckle. The angel wasn't naked yet? How was he thinking this was going to go down? Unless that was a kink of his, being clothed while--

The mattress shifted near his legs and his thought was cut off as he felt Dewey settle between his thighs. He jerked at the feeling of a soft mouth on the delicate skin of one inner thigh, then the other, and then slightly rough fingers wrapped around his erection, giving him a delicious pull. The mattress shifted again as Dewey hiked himself up a little bit, hovering over him.

He groaned. He knew what was coming next and willed his hips to stay in place even through his anticipation, especially as Dewey's soft words of concern filtered through him.

He felt the ghost of warm damp breath along his shaft and he tensed, and just as the angel's mouth closed over the head of his cock, Molly dropped her hips. His open mouthed cry of pleasure morphed into a groan as the taste of her flooded him again, and with bliss at his groin and a sweet pussy in his mouth, Beetlejuice writhed, caught between them.

A tingle went up her spine at that first welcoming lick, humming softly as she carefully lowered herself, head falling forward as the soft brush of his tongue greeted her. She left off teasing his nipples for the time being, simply letting her hands slide along his torso as she watched Dewey crawl up the bed and take Beetlejuice into his mouth. It was odd, to see an angel performing such an act; odd, but thrilling.

Molly could feel as well as hear the demon’s sound of pleasure, the muffled groans buzzing against her steadily warming flesh. He squirmed beneath her hands, unable to keep completely still, his hips jerking as if they ached to thrust upward into the wet heat around his cock. She smiled, pleased by his positive reaction, and leaned down to press little kisses to the gentle curve of his belly.

She swore under her breath as his tongue twisted deeper, graduating from gentle caresses of his skin to light, teasing scratches, nails scraping up his sides as her hips began to rock against his mouth.

“Fuck, Beej . . . yes, honey, just like that . . .”

Unlike Molly, Dewey did have experience in this arena, and the difference between the two was evident as he showed no signs of hesitation, no doubt or uncertainty as he suckled gently at the swollen head. His memories were muddled, like snapshots foxed and faded with age and neglect, but the taste, the familiar slide of rigid flesh against his tongue, was like a whetstone, sharpening his instincts. His hand continued to pump at the base as his head bobbed, brown curls falling over his eyes. Occasionally, he would glance up to see Molly, perched upon the demon’s face like a goddess on her throne, and he would groan at the sight, his own cock nearly fully hard.

As he worked the cock in his mouth, his wings unfurled, the tips of the snow-white feathers shaking slightly as they brushed up Beej’s thighs, soft and warm and comforting. He liked the sensation of skin sliding against them, was amazed at just how sensitive to touch they were, goosebumps prickling up his arms at the feeling. What an unexpected surprise, to enjoy touching a demon so much, to even have the opportunity to touch and taste and delight. While he could have gone without the fighting and the initial territorial bitterness, ultimately Dewey was glad that circumstances had aligned to bring the three of them together.

His free hand slipped down lower between the demon’s legs, and for a moment he nearly paused to ask if any further exploration was okay. He did slide his mouth off of his cock, but only to swirl his tongue around the head, to massage his frenulum with the ball of his thumb, before relaxing his throat and sliding him deeper, the lower of his hands gingerly cupping and rubbing his balls.

Like completing a circuit, with his mouth full of pussy and his cock being swallowed, Beetlejuice would have folded in the middle if he hadn’t been pinned by the two of them. As it were, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so physically close to one person, let alone two.

He tried to concentrate on Molly, lapping at her from clit to cunt, dragging his tongue through her folds repeatedly just to hear her gasps each time he did it. Then he focused on her clit, using the tip of his tongue to worry little circles around it, flicking it, sucking the nub between his lips for variety.

When her hands tightened on his chest, signaling either too much or too close to coming, he chuckled a little, and let her have a break; he wanted to both edge her so when she climaxed it’d be powerful, but he also wanted her to come multiple times. He decided he could do both.

Lifting his chin put him in a slightly different position. His tongue slipped into her and the sweet taste of her filled his mouth. She bucked and he wrapped his arms around her thighs to keep her tight to him. The new position also pushed the scruff on his chin against her clit, and driving his tongue into her moved his jaw minutely, giving her most sensitive spot a slight massage as well.

She didn’t seem able not to writhe again but kept herself exactly where he wanted her: directly on his face. Under his hands, her legs started to tremble and he heard the pitch of her voice ratchet higher. This time he didn’t let her go, wanting her to come on his mouth.

He told her so, a phantom voice against her ear,

“That’s a good girl, baby girl, I wanna feel your pussy come on my tongue--”

He’d have kept it up as long as it took, if Dewey wasn’t performing the most sinful acts on his cock.

The angel’s mouth was as hot and warm as a human’s, and when there was a slight pause of readjustment, it was difficult not to slam his hips upward, chasing the heat.

His hands, too, fondling his balls, stimulating more nerve-endings . . . that, and the brief thought that maybe Dewey would work a little further south made him groan deep in his chest. The brush of feathers on his skin was a new sensation that both tickled and inflamed him. When Dewey took him deeper in his mouth, with his tongue laving around his shaft alternating with suction, Beetlejuice had to release on of Molly’s legs and groped for the angel’s head. His fingers tangled into the mess of curls and held tight.

With the most extreme feat of concentration he’d ever attempted during sex, he whispered to Dewey too,

“Fuck--fuck--Dewey, you’re so good, your mouth so good, I’m gonna come, oh shit, gimme a second I’m gonna come--”

Caught in a loop of euphoria building in his gut courtesy of Dewey and the taste of Molly flooding him, Beetlejuice was forced to stop talking and just allow everything to happen.

As much as she didn’t want to hurt him, wanted her touches to remain gentle and measured, when his tongue slipped through her folds, up and down, warm from the heat of her, her hands tightened, her nails digging into his skin a little deeper than she would have liked. Molly couldn’t help it--it just felt so damn good. It completely blew her mind how quickly he could get her to whimper when his tongue circled her clit. She was close to orgasm in just a few minutes, but he backed off, letting her calm before wrapping his lips around her clit again, drawing a cry of bliss from her. Molly wasn’t sure if he was purposefully edging her, or if he was just losing concentration from time to time, but she was too brain-fogged to care.

Any further contemplation on the subject was tossed quickly aside as his neck bent, changing the angle of his mouth against her as he pushed his tongue inside, strong arms wrapped around her spread thighs. The rasp of his stubble against her clit made her squeal, high keening sounds of utter helplessness as he drove her closer and closer to orgasm. The purr of his voice in her ear made her tremble, and she couldn’t do anything but obey, to let herself be tugged over that razor’s edge with a cry of his name. Adrift as she was in her own pleasure, she couldn’t be sure if her orgasm was longer than usual, or if she experienced multiple consecutively.

When she came back to herself, Beej let her shaking thighs loose, and she carefully swung herself back down onto the bed beside him, hearing him whisper to the angel but unable to see his lips moving. She settled down to let her breathing slow, pulling his head into her lap and bending at the middle to kiss him, her fingers stroking through his hair.

Molly lifting herself off him gave him the opportunity to throw his head back even as she cradled his head. She even kissed him before he could wipe his face, and he tried to return it between the gasps Dewey was drawing out of him.

Her eyes lifted and met Dewey’s, a smile on her face as she saw pale fingers tangling in his hair, that soft brown gaze mirroring her smile back at her.

The deep sounds of pleasure rumbling above him when Dewey’s hand gingerly massaged his balls granted him the dual satisfaction of knowing that his skill hadn’t completely dulled over the years, and that what he was doing definitely felt good. His eyes were rapt, watching Molly like a hawk as she came, his cock throbbing with each sound she made, helplessly leaking onto the bed as he listened to her cry out.

Goosebumps pebbled his flesh when he heard that desperate whisper in his ear, so close, as if Beetlejuice had his lips pressed there, and let his hand drift a little further down, rubbing two fingertips gently over the textured ring, adding an extra layer of stimulation to make him go cross-eyed as he tipped over the edge. He expected the spend to taste different, to burn or freeze him, but as the demon came with a cry.

“Come for him, Beej, sweetheart, come on.”

Being so close already, he didn’t need much more urging than that.

The angel's fingers pressed against his most intimate area, he gave a full body spasm, which heralded his end. With Molly's encouragement and the tight heat of Dewey's mouth around his cock, Beetlejuice came, arching his back enough that it made his wounded shoulder ache. As he drifted back to his senses, he realized he'd tightened his fingers in Dewey's hair, and it took a second to unfold them.

When at last he was still, she lifted her gaze again, beckoning with a crooked finger at the angel.

“Come on up, honey. Your turn for some attention.”

Molly invited the angel up then, and tentatively he'd settled next to her. The tips of his wings dragged across Beetlejuice's thighs and stomach, and maybe it was just being sensitive after an orgasm, but maybe it was a lingering celestial bliss that made tingling trails in their wake.

Sitting up a little, Dewey couldn’t help but look a touch smug as he licked his lips, wings ruffling proudly. So much for all angels being awful, or whatever Beej had said. Then, Molly beckoned to him, her voice sweet and soft, and he felt something clench in his gut.

Oh God, he wanted it, wanted to feel their hands on him, their kisses, hear their voices in his ear, but he feared he was too close already, the head of his cock flushed and rosy as it bobbed against his stomach. Nevertheless, he did as she asked, crawling up the bed to lie next to her, resting his head on her shoulder and grounding himself in the smell of her hair.

He let out a soft cry as he felt her hand wrap around his cock and give a gentle pull, his hand fisting in the rumpled bedsheets. She was so warm, her skin so soft, he could hardly stand it. If Beetlejuice were to join, he’d surely be done for.

“T-Take it easy on me,” he gasped, looking at them both with wide eyes. “It’s . . . t’s been a long time for me, and I’m . . . I’m . . .”

He couldn’t bring himself to say it, coherent speech dissolving into a whimper as she stroked him again.

Molly shifted enough to reach the angel's groin, and the whimpers from Dewey's mouth made Beetlejuice's eyes widen in desire. As the soft protest continued while Molly was so soft with him, he surged upward to capture Dewey's mouth.

Under the earthy taste of his own come the thin honey sweetness was still present on the angel's lips, and Beetlejuice wondered if that was just a normal thing. If it was, he was going to spend a lot of time exploring this mouth. Since Molly had taken first dibs on Dewey where he wouldn't mind being, Beetlejuice caressed his wings, learning the contours of each. He grinned as Dewey had to jerk away and gasp and the combined stimulation.

"What do you want us to do to you, baby?" he asked as the angel fought to look at them both and not simply close his eyes at the pleasure. Beetlejuice looked over to Molly himself and smirked, then addressed her. "We're going to have fun with him, aren't we, beautiful?"

Oh heavens, it was too much, it was going to drive him to madness, the gentle strokes of their hands across arguably the two most sensitive parts of his body. His wings shuddered and shivered, curling around the three of them as if inviting Beetlejuice to touch more, to explore each feather. He had no idea they would respond this way to touch; no one had ever touched them before, and it hadn’t even crossed his mind to try. His head fell back against Molly’s shoulder as he surrendered to their touches, limp and helpless, his mind so fogged over that he barely registered that he’d been asked a question.

“I . . . I’m not s-sure,” he confessed, his cheeks bright red.

He had never really been on the receiving end in life, never really had the attention of a partner focused on him, let alone two. There were so many things he wanted; to follow in the demon’s footsteps and bury his mouth between Molly’s legs, to push his fingers inside her soft warmth, to kiss Beetlejuice until they were both breathless, to rock his hips against a thigh, to rut and taste and spill. There were so many things he wanted to do, he couldn’t possibly figure out where to start.

He did lift his hand to cup the side of the demon’s face, the stubble on his cheek rasping against his palm, and draw him down for another kiss. This was perhaps what he had missed most of all about being alive, about being with someone. And not to blaspheme, but goddamn, was that demon good at it.

Molly’s lips curled in a smile in answer to Beetlejuice’s question, and she nodded. The hand not lazily stroking his cock reached up to run through his tousled hair, watching with loving eyes as her demon and her angel kissed. She still couldn’t quite fully wrap her head around the idea. They were hers, and she was theirs. She pressed herself closer to the two of them, smiling when she felt Dewey’s hips buck up into her hand; he was hot as a flame and hard as iron, and she could tell he wouldn’t last long.

“Beej, why don’t you take over stroking him off?” His hands were much bigger than hers, rougher, and combined with a sudden change in temperature might prove more pleasurable than what she could do.

She shifted to curl around him, his torso leaned back against her as her arms went around him, fingers deftly teasing and rolling the pebbles of his nipples. Her mouth brushed along his neck in a chain of gentle kisses, liking the thrum of his vocal cords against her lips when he moaned or cried out. She wanted him to feel surrounded, to feel safe, to feel wrapped up and secure and able to fully let himself go with them. Molly had a feeling that he hadn’t felt safe enough to be himself in a long, long time.

“Does it feel good, honey?” She murmured against the curve between neck and shoulder, gently letting her teeth scrape against his skin. “Come whenever you want, Dew, we want to repay the favor.”

Once again, Dewey's mouth on his was a treat and this time he tested some boundaries, boldly pushing his tongue past the angel's soft lips to dip inside. He lapped at his tongue and lightly explored behind his teeth--he wasn't sure if angels needed to breathe so he pulled back a little in the same time frame he'd give a breather. He stayed close though, his eyes closed but a grin on his face, and surged forward again.

His next attempt at a kiss was interrupted as Molly took his hand and wrapped it around Dewey's cock. His couldn't tear his gaze away from her directing them until she let go and shifted to a new position on the bed, behind Dewey. There was another shudder from the angel, and he didn't know if it was because of the preliminary stroke he gave him or because Molly was pressed naked against his wings. Maybe a combination of the two? Molly's repositioning sandwiched Dewey between them and put him belly to belly with the angel, on his aching shoulder. He could continue to ignore it for the sake of this.

Beetlejuice licked his lips and glanced back up at Dewey's face. The angel had his eyes screwed shut and was biting his lower lip while whining though his teeth.

After the initial pull, Beetlejuice released his cock for a second, earning a whine in a different tone. He reached down and grabbed the back of Dewey's leg to hoist and position over his own, and pressed his thigh up into the angel's groin. Hands were good, but if Dewey wanted something more solid to rut against--

Without having to explain it, that's exactly what the happened: Dewey clamped down on the leg between his and his hips pushed semi-impotently for whatever friction he could find. Beetlejuice chuckled low in his throat.

"Baby, you're so eager," he whispered, not unkindly. "Let me help."

As Molly continued to kiss the nape of his neck and her hands caressed his chest, Beetlejuice took his cock again and started a slow rhythm, to gauge reactions. Dewey arched as much as he could between them, crying out at even this minor touch.

Beetlejuice wondered how long it'd been since anyone had done anything like this to him; was celibacy expected of angels? Was it forced on them? No matter now; he and Molly had lots of time to play.

He felt helpless, out of control, his body moving at the whims of his pleasure, desperate whines and whimpers spilling out of his mouth. Molly felt so warm against his back, her bare chest tantalizingly soft against the base of his wings, her hands gently exploring his chest, content to touch every inch of him, and he nearly sobbed at the sensation. How many nights had he imagined those hands on him, doing just as they were doing now? How long had he spent wondering how soft her kisses would be, only to find them trailing up his neck? That would have been enough for him, content to lie back in her arms and indulge, but then there was the demon, all purrs and pleasure and syrupy sweet sin.

It was obvious Dewey wasn't going to last long. He cried out and shook and his hands didn't seem to know what to do, grasping the bed linens in twisting fistfuls, to reaching behind to clutch at Molly, to wrapping one around Beetlejuice's neck to keep him close.

For her ears only, Beetlejuice whispered to Molly, "Baby girl, give me your hand."

To her credit, she didn't hesitate. Her upper hand slipped from Dewey's nipple down to his belly, and Beetlejuice re-wrapped it around the angel's cock, before folding his hand around hers. He hoped her softer hand and the heavier pressure of his would be enjoyable, and he directed the movements to tug upward on Dewey. The angel bucked and cried out.

Grinning, Beetlejuice said quietly, "Dewey, baby, open your eyes."

With effort, the angel obeyed. The demon flicked his amber gaze downward and Dewey followed suit, then his eyes were riveted to his groin as they continued to stroke him together.

"This is just an appetizer, baby," Beetlejuice said quietly, "just a teaser. We're gonna make you feel so good--whatever you want, Dew, my cock, Molly's pussy, our hands, our mouths, they're yours now. You're going to feel so good--"

His soliloquy was cut off as Dewey stilled completely. His voice ratcheted to a strangled noise, and with an involuntary juttering of his hips he came over their fists and onto his stomach.

His thigh pressed insistently between his legs, Dewey’s hips rolling mindlessly, eyelids fluttering as if they couldn’t decide to open or close. He was eager, his body writhing, each nerve coming to life to respond to the pleasure centered at his groin, his legs beginning to shake. He was getting close too soon, far too soon, he wanted to last longer, he never wanted this to end. But then the pressure around his cock lifted for only a moment, then Molly’s hand curled around him, joined by the heavy press of Beetlejuice’s hand over hers. He cried out, clutched at them, looked down to see their hands on him, feeling as if he would drown in the sweet promises dripping from the demon’s lips, and then--!

Dewey couldn’t have stopped it even if he had possessed the strength to do so, his orgasm washing over him like a tidal wave, crushing and suffocating. Through the ringing in his ears, he wasn’t sure if he was yelling or whimpering or making any noise at all, his lower half trembling as he felt a gentle, if too quick, kiss press against his mouth. His eyes stung, overwhelmed by so much sensation after decades of nothing, and as the pleasure faded, tears took its place, gathering first in his eyes then trickling down his cheeks.

The demon chuckled, a little. "Sorry, baby. I meant that to last a little longer."

He pressed a quick kiss to Dewey's open mouth, although he did not receive a kiss in return; the angel was still too far lost in pleasure.

Gasping, his hand slid from its curled position around the nape of Beej’s neck to slide up through his hair, his head turning to bury his face in Molly’s neck. His flushed skin darkened a shade, and his embarrassment at having come so soon did nothing to stem the flood of sudden, rather alarming tears.

“I’m s-s-sorry, I . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

Molly practically beamed as she felt him coming, his cock twitching in her hand as his release splashed over their curled fingers and across his front. She could feel how violently he shook, heard the strangled sounds of his pleasure, and felt grateful that she could help grant him this, grateful that she was there to witness something so powerful that it could make an angel tremble. Judging from the feline grin on his face, Beetlejuice was enjoying it as well.

Thusly, she was surprised when she heard a slight sob, felt him turn to press his face into her neck and the slide of warm tears down her skin.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly, lifting her clean hand to stroke through his hair. “Please don’t be upset, we wanted you to come.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet the demon’s glowing amber, as if suggesting he offer support to their angel as well.

“We’ve got all the time in the world now, honey,” she soothed, settling back against the headboard and holding him, hooking her ankle around Beej’s leg to keep him close.

Sighing, she lifted her hand to her mouth and licked her fingers clean, tasting a slight sweetness, that same thin honey that the demon tasted in his kisses. When her hand was clean, she wrapped both arms around the angel, holding him tight. With her inexperience, she couldn’t be sure if a reaction like this was commonplace or not, but instinct told her that he’d come around, ready to go again soon, and that for now he just needed to purge whatever had overwhelmed him. She had waited years for something like this. She could wait a few moments more.

Tears weren't unusual; he was quite proud of being able to reduce someone to them. If they were produced due to pleasure that was just validation and made him puff up with pride. An apology, though . . . that was something else all together.

Molly's quiet reassurances and her leg locking over his to keep him tangled between Dewey's thighs, plus the expression that he easily read as, "do not be a dick about this," on her face made him press a kiss to the angel's shoulder. He wasn't wracked with sobs, which Beetlejuice was glad for. He might not be great with comfort, but he could say things quietly.

"She's right, baby," he agreed. "That was always going to be the end result. Nothin' to be sorry about. Well, I do, I guess--I should've warned you my hands were wicked."

He caught Molly rolling her eyes but with a slight smile on her face in response to his light tease and bad joke. Dewey managed a weepy chuckle and Beetlejuice nipped then kissed his shoulder again. Although more words were behind his teeth, he kept them there. Dewey needed support and reassurance, not more quips or digs.

The three of them lay pressed against each other for a moment. Molly lifted her hand and licked her fingers clean; that was one of the sexiest things he thought he'd ever had the pleasure of seeing. She probably had to get started with her day, but with the two of them holding the angel who seemed to simply want to be embraced, he was loathe to be the first to break away. Settling his cheek comfortably against Dewey's warm skin, he relaxed, wondering what it was going to be like, having and sharing an existence with the two of them.

It would be good, he hoped.

fin!

(Dear reader, the ‘fin’ and the chapter count do not correlate. ‘Fin’ is to indicated the end of this delightful rp with @monsterlovinghours. There are, however, three additional supplemental standalone chapters to be posted, because Beej and Angel Dewey are too much fun. So look for those soon! Thanks for reading!)

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Dewey Finn #Beetlejuice x OC #Dewey Finn x OC #Beetlejuice x Dewey Finn #rp #AU #Beetlejuice based on blumjuice

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

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Blum!Beetlejuice and The Jockey definitely have a big brother-little sister relationship change my mind

#based on how much of a big brother will is with presley #listen. i love them both. so much #beetlejuice #beetlejuice the broadway musical #beetlejuice the musical #blumjuice #the jockey

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theblumjuicezone · 4 years

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As a huge Will Blum fan, I'm so glad to see this blog! I have some pics of him that are rarer that I am happy to share, if you'd like. And what about Beetlejuice-based-on-Blum's-portrayal fanfiction? Are you okay with story submissions?

Thanks so much for the ask! We would love photos and more rare pics of Blumjuice if you'd be willing to share here!

In terms of fanfiction, we aren't taking any nsfw submissions right now, but any sfw writings are okay. We review submissions before they go out, and we are trying to keep the place positive overall, but other than that it's all good! ♡

#blumjuice ask #ask #mod sol #fanfic question #hoodoo12

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

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Ménage (4/13ish)

NSFW, masturbation with an audience, first blow jobs, learning boundaries

A shift of his hips brought her back to task; she was focusing on the entirely wrong part of his statement. Molly licked her lips, feeling both excited and a little nervous, and stood on legs that trembled a little, letting him up before spreading herself out on the couch. She worked her shorts and panties off, kicking them aside before setting one foot on the floor, the other draped across the top of the couch to give him a good view. Then, with a soft sigh, she leaned back into the cushions and let her hand drift between her thighs, her fingers stroking over her lips before sliding between them.

"Is this . . . okay?"

"Ghost, demon . . . is that the point here, babydoll?"

But before she answered, she took his suggestion and he watched her situate herself back on the couch, away from him. For someone who professed to never have done this before, she draped herself in a very fine way to be on display for him. He couldn't take his eyes off her fingers, dipping dangerously into her pussy as he croaked out,

"That is more than okay. Fuck. Show me how you get yourself off."

She could practically feel his eyes on her, as tactile as a caress, hot and piercing as she circled her clit, her touches light at first, then pressing more firmly. Her eyes wanted to slip shut, lashes fluttering, but she kept them open, not wanting to miss a moment of the wolfish hunger in his stare, his voice low and raspy. Did the sight of her arouse him that much? A thrill of something like pride ran through her, and she smiled, liking the notion that she could be attractive, sexy even.

Her fingers soon began to slip lower, teasing her entrance, gasping a little as she felt just how slick she was. Not once in her life had she ever been this wet, and she told him as much, a shy blush darkening her cheeks. He had barely touched her, yet here she was, the sound of her finger sliding through her slick clearly audible in the room, the sound more prominent as another joined it. The heel of her hand pressed hard to her clit, fingers effortlessly finding that sweet spot within and stroking, pressing, teasing. It felt good, as good as it always did, but she didn't let her pleasure progress. If she was going to come, it would be around his fingers, not hers.

The sight of her pleasuring herself so intimately yet so brazenly while he sat across the cushions from her still have dressed made him groan.

He watched all of her: the way her toes pointed, the tremble in her thighs, her fingers delving into herself so slickly, the tiny bit of sheen on her chest, the blush creeping up her cheeks.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," he told her, after swallowing to relieve his dry throat.

His cock throbbed, and he couldn't stand it any longer; he fumbled his fly open and released it, even though he didn't push his trousers completely off. It made him look like a creep, watching a woman pleasure herself while he was more dressed than not, his cock in his hand. but he was well past the point of caring about that.

He stroked himself slowly, his eyes riveted to her pussy again. He timed his hand with hers, and moaned.

Her breath caught in her throat as he praised her, his fingers dipping between his own legs to open his pants, producing himself. Molly groaned low in her throat when she saw him, a hot flush creeping from her chest to her cheeks.

"Baby," she whispered, echoing his pet name for her, reaching for him with her free hand, "please, closer. Let me touch you."

Her hands physically itched with the need to touch him, the hand between her thighs slowing, hair spread across the couch cushion as she beckoned to him with a crooked finger. Another pearl of blood welled up on her lip, unable to keep her teeth from worrying the spot; it was an old habit of hers, that spot on her lip perpetually scarred from anxious picking and biting.

Beetlejuice grinned at her request, but shook his head.

“Why don’t you come here, babydoll,” he suggested instead. “Crawl right over to me on this couch. That’ll put you in perfect position to give me a little kiss--”

He paused for a millisecond, gesturing with his chin to his cock, still slowly being stroked.

“--right here.”

If she was as inexperienced as she said she was, he didn’t expect, or truly, want much by way of her mouth on his cock. But she’d made her lip bleed again, and that little bit of extra life force would send warm shivers of bliss straight up him if it met the head of his cock. It was too tempting to pass up, and then he silently vowed to do what she asked. She could touch him and he’d touch her, and--

He grinned at his own dirty thoughts as to what would happen then.

Her hand slowed, then stopped, resting on her thigh as she sat back up, pulling her legs together. The idea made her nervous; she didn't have the first clue on how to give a passable blowjob. Porn was one thing, real life was another. His grin, though not reassuring and definitely not gentle, did a little to ease her worry, and she nodded. As if drawn by magnets, she did as he asked, hair spilling around her and brushing his thighs as she lowered herself, blue against the black and white.

Her cheek pressed to the fabric of his trousers, able to feel the tense muscle of his thigh beneath, and sighed.

"You'll tell me what feels good?"

Her eyes looked up at him from beneath her lashes and she crawled deeper into his lap. Slowly, hoping she was doing it right, she pressed her lips to the tip of his cock in a soft kiss, relieved when it didn't feel as strange was she feared it would. More kisses followed, trailing down the length of him, the final kiss ending at the knuckles of the hand he grasped himself with.

Her following his instruction and crawling to him, her teal hair spilling over her shoulders and first brushing then spilling over his thighs--that all made him give himself a squeeze that was just a little on this side of painful instead of nice, just to keep from blowing his load right then.

Her soft kisses, made more interesting by the slight abrasiveness of her bitten lip and that tiny bit of blood that made warmth follow where she put her mouth on him, made it very difficult not to simply take the back of her head and give her non-verbal instructions on how to suck his cock while he used his hand to jerk off into her mouth. But she hadn't lied about being new at this, and that'd be the most prickish move ever, if he did.

Instead, he praised her. "That's good, baby--your mouth feels good . . . I'm gonna let you in on a secret, beautiful. Anything you do, sans actual biting, is going to feel amazing. No guy, living or dead, is gonna turn down your pretty lips around his cock.

"You wanna open up a little bit, see how I feel on your tongue?"

His praise made her smile, grateful that was doing something that he liked. Again, rather than speaking out loud, she nodded, lips parting to lick a stripe up the path her lips had taken. She tasted traces of the iron and salt of her own blood, but beneath that was just him, and it wasn't anything she could immediately describe, but she'd be damned if she didn't like it.

"You taste good, honey," she murmured before licking around the head, liking the way the ridges slid against her tongue. Her hands first gripped his thighs, then ventured higher, sliding over his soft stomach and up to give his nipples a teasing flick, eyes darting up to his as her tongue mimicked the motion of her fingers against the head of his cock.

Molly didn't know what she was doing, but his encouragement helped, as did the grounding press of his skin against her palms.

"Put your hand in my hair," she murmured, wrapping her lips around the head and sucking softly as she pulled back.

Try as he might, he simply could not prevent himself from a little upward jerk as her tongue dragged itself up his shaft, then licked a slow circle around the head of his cock. If he didn’t know better, the word “cocktease” would slip out of his mouth, but he wasn’t sure if she’d understand it was meant as a compliment, so he kept it in his head.

It almost, almost passed his lips as she moved her hands up his stomach and flicked his piercings and she kept eye contact with him. He gave a low moan instead. And her innocent request to hold her hair? His hand was there almost before she finished her sentence, gathering locks of blue into an untidy pile in his fist to keep it away from her face. Some escaped, of course, framing everything--fuck, did she know how fucking gorgeous she looked, her lips wrapped around the head of his cock, her hair messy, her eyes dark as she looked up at him?

Beetlejuice groaned again. “You’re doing so well, babydoll. Your mouth is so hot--take me in a little more? A little more? D-don’t push it--I won’t be able to . . . I won’t be able to last very long--”

Did he just admit it’d been forever since he’d had a beautiful woman suck his dick? He didn’t care. What he did care about was not just coming in her mouth or on her face like a horny teenager.

Her eyes spoke volumes, big and bright, the honey and emerald a thin ring around the blown pupils. The jerk of his hips didn’t frighten her, his moans fanned the tiny, smoldering spark of confidence in her, and the drag of his hands through her hair sent goosebumps rippling down her arms.

Molly did as he asked, so polite despite the strain in his voice and his rather impatient nature. It took her a bit to figure out how to flatten her tongue against her mouth, but she worked him in deeper, careful to avoid triggering her gag reflex. His girth stretched her jaw, but she was able to get most of him inside her mouth regardless, lips wrapped tight and warm around him. Slowly, she slid back up, sucking as she went and lingering on the tip; beads of precum gathered at his slit, and she lapped them up, humming at the taste.

Kisses dripped like rain from her lips over his stomach and the smooth skin around the base of his cock as she gave her jaw a break.

"I don't mind if you want to come in my mouth," she murmured, glancing up at him. "Just . . . don't choke me? Not with your dick, anyway."

She was a quick learner. He wanted to watch, but as she slowly took him in, his head lolled and he groaned. He didn't presume to set any kind of pace, but did pull her hair a bit as she came back up.

He managed to look at her again as her tongue lapped at the tip of his cock. Licks were different than suction, but not unwelcome.

Her kisses to his belly were nice too. He did use her grip on her hair to keep her head up to look at him.

"Is your mouth my only option, babydoll?" he asked with a smirk. Then the rest of her sentences found purchase in his brain and he cocked his head as he looked at her. "But . . . choking?"

"Not the only option, no." Licking her lips, she moved back, his fingers falling from her hair as she sat back on her heels, tousled waves falling back around her shoulders. "I'm flexible and open to suggestions."

A smirk touched her mouth, flirty and playful, feeling bold and oddly relaxed around him, as if they had known each other for more than the hour or so he'd been in her home.

Nodding, she took his hand in both of hers, noting the black of his nails, the long and somehow delicate looking fingers, the smooth back, the lined palm.

"I happen to think you have very attractive hands," she confessed, her lips still curled in a soft smile. "And I think I'd like to feel them around my neck. Not hard, just a little pressure."

She lifted her eyebrow, pulling his hand to rest palm down just below her collarbones. "Like I said, dangerous or not, you have my consent."

Her sudden boldness surprised and delighted him. He watched her examine his hand, and didn’t stop her from placing it on her throat, but he didn’t tighten it at all. He felt her swallow.

“You say dangerous or not, but you also weren’t expecting something like me to arrive,” he told her quietly, his eyes flicking from her throat, passed her parted lips, to meet her gaze. “Choking is much better done here.”

He slid his hand up so the crook between his thumb and first finger were tight under her jaw, while his other digits wrapped the side of her neck. He felt her swallow again, more quickly this time, and her tongue wet her lips.

He left his hand in place for a moment, to see if she had second thoughts. When she didn’t, he did.

Releasing her throat, he shook his head. “Sorry, babydoll. No breathplay on the first date.”

It’d be some time before he’d tell her about his reluctance for it, if ever.

“I hope this isn’t too much a consolation prize,” he told her, “but I was really hoping to fuck you. If that suits?”

Offhandedly, Molly wondered if he could hear the way her heart began to race when his hand wrapped around her throat; she liked the fit, liked the pressure, but what didn't care for was the faraway look in his eyes, as if reliving a bad memory. She nodded in understanding when he let go of her neck, leaning forward to kiss him gently.

"No problem, sugar, just a suggestion."

Molly got to her feet and stretched, legs a little cramped from. being confined to the couch, and reached for his hands, pulling him to stand with her. Pushing the suspenders from his shoulders, a quick couple of tugs at his shirt and pants left him equally naked before her, her hands sliding up his torso.

"That's what I want," she murmured, her body pressing flush to his. "I want you, Beej, in whatever way you'll let me have you."

Her hands took his, pulling him down the short hallway to her bedroom, the air inside scented with the smoky perfume of incense, the bed piled high with soft pillows in shades of green and purple. A Gordian knot of equal parts nerves and excitement twisted in her stomach, and she embraced him, arms around his middle, her hips pressed to his as her head fell back, looking up at him.

"Where do we start?"

He'd have played off the sudden eruption of goosebumps as chill when she stripped him, but he was room temperature to begin with. He followed along eagerly as she took him to her bedroom. When she stepped up against him, so warm, he smiled down at her.

"Where do we start? Baby girl, this is well past the beginning," he teased, dipping to kiss her lightly on the lips. "But I have some ideas."

He looked over the room, weighing options in his mind, before turning his amber eyes back to her. He twirled a little of her hair between his fingers.

"I'd really love to see you on your back, with this gorgeous hair spread out around you," he murmured, lifting a lock to smell it. "But this is your first time? I think I'm gonna prefer you on top of me, and I'll have to make do with your hair just spilled down your front and watching your tits bounce as you ride me. You get to be in control. Set the pace. It'd be best for you."

Molly paused, a tingle running across her skin as he twisted a lock of her hair around his finger.

"Thank you," she said suddenly, lifting her hands to cradle his face, thumbs rasping against his stubble. "This entire time, you've been so careful about going easy on me since this is my first time, and I . . . I really appreciate that. It means a lot to me."

Her lips lingered against his perhaps a second too long, the kiss sweet and gentle, before she pulled back, dropping her hands.

"Hop on," she said with a lopsided smile, gesturing toward the bed. "You can always put me on my back the next round, sweetheart."

tbc . . .

@beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @thewolfisapartofmysoul @dilfyjuice @janitor-boy

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice x OC #rp #Beetlejuice based on blumjuice

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

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Familial Ties (And How to Break Them) 1/?

Based on a rp that the witty and talented @turtlepated and I did over several months. NSFW, Beetlejuice/OC f!character, actual plot, world building, Latin, other demons, violence, smut. Enjoy! ~

Pate sighed, shifting the heavy sealed plastic box in her arms as she padded down the dimly lit hallway. It was long after closing time at the archives, but her boss had wheedled her into staying late to assess some new arrivals. She shouldered open the swinging door into a restoration office, depositing her load on a sterile work bench and gathering up supplies: pen and notebook, cotton gloves to protect the delicate velum pages, the assorted cleaning tools, and laying them neatly at her station before opening the box. Inside were half a dozen leather bound volumes, purchased by her boss on a recent trip to Europe. She lifted them out one by one and looked them over, judging that most were in decent enough shape to be worth salvaging.

One, she noted with a puzzled frown, appeared to be in the worst condition of the lot. And strangest of all, there was a thick metal clasp complete with an ancient padlock holding the book shut.

She set the padlocked tome aside and quickly made notations and catalogued the other books, banal volumes of religious writings for the most part, and in good enough shape not to require much attention from her. Finally she was left with only the poorly locked book, taking it gently in her gloved hands and turning it around to get a better look. From what she could tell at a cursory inspection of the cracked and worm-eaten spine, it appeared to be a collection of astronomical dissertations.

She tried the lock, tugging on it as sharply as she dared with the state of the book.

⁂

Out of the ether, a deep thrumming startled him. It was almost too faint to be felt at first, but it grew in intensity.

"There's something I never expected to feel again," Beetlejuice thought, shaking his head of the literal cobwebs.

⁂

The rusty lock refused to give, and Pate gave it one more frustrated rattle against the metal loop. She had just decided to simply discard the thing into the shelf of other moldering texts when, with no warning, the centuries-old binding ripped free and the entire block slid right out of the leather coverings. Heart leaping into her throat, Pate just managed to catch it before it hit the ground, cradling the bundle of loose leaves against her chest as she set the now empty cover back on the bench.

"Shit, Paul's gonna kill me," she grumbled.

⁂

A minor jolt went through him, like someone had run their warm, living fingers down his spine. It was just a fleeting touch, but he grinned.

⁂

Sighing harshly, Pate lay the block on the table and examined the most recent damage with a twinge of guilt. The backing and both end papers had completely torn away from the block, still hanging on the cover. She frowned at the exposed title page, wrinkled by long-dried water, the ink faded and difficult to make out. It took a few minutes to discern the title stamped into the parchment, but as best as she could tell the book was entitled "Ens entium collectio infernalia". Since her forte was restoring old books and not reading or translating them, she turned to Google.

"Being a collection of entities most infernal," she read aloud from her phone screen. But wasn't this a book about astronomy?

Frowning in thought, Pate pulled the text block closer and began leafing through the pages. They came away stiff, some sticking together after who knew how much time spent with the book tightly shut and locked. She carefully separated pages from one another, eyes roving writing that she could not read. Instead of star charts or graphs, there were woodcut illustrations of monstrous creatures, hand-drawn sigils in iron gall ink that had browned with age.

"What the hell...?" Pate murmured to herself, flipping the block closed and reaching for the empty boards that once held it all together.

Something caught her eye on the back cover, where the pastedown ripped harshly when the block detached from the spine. There appeared to be another page tucked under the end paper.

Peeling away the pastedown, Pate took hold of the folded corner of parchment and gently tugged it free, not wanting to risk ripping it before she got a look at it. It was folded several times over, so she pushed the text block and cover across the workbench to have room to lay it down and open it out. Going slowly, the parchment crinkling like dead leaves each time she touched it, Pate carefully unfolded the bit of parchment to reveal a page. It looked different to the simple black and white woodblock illustrations in the book; this was in color, and appeared to have been rendered by hand. It depicted a male figure dressed in a strange black and white striped tunic and leggings. On his face was a devilish grin, a peculiar pointed tongue protruding from between his leering lips. The unkempt hair on his head had been colored green, and he appeared to be holding some sort of bizarre black and white snake with two heads? Pate's eyes narrowed as she leaned closer to inspect it, though it was hardly the strangest medieval illumination she'd ever seen. Next to the grinning, green haired person in his striped garments were a few lines of slightly smeared text.

⁂

Beetlejuice shivered. That was closer. That was closer.

⁂

Pate squinted harder at the splotchy lines of ink, trying to make sense of it or at least figure out what language it was written in. One thing she was certain of: this page had been torn from a completely different book that the one she found it in. It was much older, smaller than the pages of the rest of the text block. And why had someone gone to the trouble of hiding it? Whoever had written... whatever was written next to the strange illumination had very shaky handwriting, which didn't make it any easier to decipher.

"Bhet el.... What's that last thing there?" She thumbed through the internet browser on her phone, comparing text to find a match. "Bhet, el, juz? Is that it?"

⁂

"Oh, shit," he groaned. This was happening? Out of nowhere, this was happening?!

⁂

Sitting back in her chair, Pate took the torn-out page and held it at arms' length, pondering the three peculiar syllables and wondering why they sounded familiar.

"Bhet el juz…." she murmured. It does sound different, taking a shorter pause between. It was on the tip of her tongue, teasing at the outermost edge of recognition.

⁂

Oh fuck

Electricity flooded him, making him jitter. It had to be a joke, couldn't be true; he rocked on the balls of his feet, which helped release some nervous energy and also shifted his involuntarily hard-on to a more comfortable position behind his fly.

⁂

Sighing tiredly, Pate laid the page back on the workbench and looked at the time on her phone. Had she really spent an hour and a half picking apart the enigma of the locked book? And what had she really learned? Snorting softly through her nose, Pate wheeled the chair forward to prop her elbows atop the bench, resting her chin in her hand and regarding the striped tongue snaking out of the figure's mouth.

"Bheteljuz, what's your deal, huh?" she asked no one.

At least the dirt on his pants would hide the wet spot if he came right here and now. Like a grappling hook had been driven into his gut, he was pulled through the ether to whomever called him.

When he landed, bent knees and feeling better than he'd had in forever, he threw his arms out and shouted, "Suus 'showtime!"

There was a breather here, of course, surrounded by dusty books.

"Quis es?" he asked excitedly, eager to meet this woman who so thoughtfully released him. "Gratias tibi! Gratias tibi tam! Fortuna, suus 'sit bonum, de iterum.Quis es tibi nomen?"

Pate frowned at a sudden, short lived gust of wind that ruffled the torn out page and whipped loose tendrils of hair around her face, but before she had time to wonder at it a sudden voice made her yelp and spin in her chair so fast that she nearly tipped right over.

Standing before her was quite possibly the strangest looking person she'd ever seen: a man dressed in a rather shabby and grimy looking black-and-white-striped suit, a tangled rat's nest of verdant green hair on his head and a broad, toothy grin on his face. She blinked stupidly, sure that she must be seeing things.

"Who... who are you?" she asked, pausing to clear her throat when the question came out a tad squeaky. "How'd you get in here?"

Beetlejuice shook his head.

"ENGLISH," he crowed, like he'd solved a mystery. "I saw the books and thought some goddamn alchemist had called me up again, but the fluorescent lights should've given it away."

He took a parody breath, like this air was fresh and clean, and gave his best grin to the breather. The one that he hoped didn't look too much like he wanted to take a bite out of someone.

"What's your name, beautiful?"

Completely taken aback, Pate answered without even thinking,

"My name . . .? I'm Pate, but . . . who--?"

She cut herself off, answering her own question even as she asked it, glancing from the illumination on the orphaned page to the man standing before her and making the connection.

"This is . . . is this you?" she asked, holding it up to show him.

He grabbed it out of her hand for a closer look, breaking into a wider grin.

"Oh yeah, baby, that's me! Good thing someone beautiful and smart called me up! So. What's your pleasure? Who do I have to kill?"

Pate's eyebrows shot up, her mouth falling open.

"Kill?" she squeaked. "No! Nobody! What? Called you? How?"

Questions spun through her mind too fast for her tongue to keep up and she leaned against the bench, tenting her fingers together and pressing them to her face as she breathed deeply.

"Ooookay, this is obviously some sort of . . . stress-induced hallucination."

His brow wrinkled.

"Nobody ever wants me to kill anybody," he groused. "Hey. Hey. Pate? Sweetie, you don't look so good. Almost as pale as me! Why don'tcha sit down, m'kay? Don't need a smart one like you falling over and injuring that big brain of yours."

He stepped up to take her elbow, and really fought down the urge to give her a peek at his brain and its resident maggots, to demonstrate the worst that could happen.

Pate peeked out from behind her hands enough to see him take a step closer, one hand extending towards her in an admittedly non-threatening way but she couldn't contain the tiny frightened gasp that escaped her as she backed a step away, bumping into her chair and sending it skittering across the linoleum floor.

"That's . . . ahem . . . i's fine, I'm fine," she said, making an effort to keep her voice conversationally polite even while her mind was screaming, overwrought and uncomprehending of what was happening. "Now you said I called you? How, exactly?"

Beetlejuice frowned. "Come on, beaut. I said you were smart! You picked up my flyer. Where was it?" He spied the destroyed book and picked some of it up. "Oh! Ens entium collectio infernalia". Good old Deitrich Fuchs. Herr Fucks had to hide this book so the church didn't know it was about demons."

He chuckled. "Herr Fuchs," he repeated, like a 12-year-old boy. Then he shook himself and got back to the question at hand.

"You read my flyer--such a sweet voice, like a nightingale!--and here I am, the Netherworld's leading, and only, bio-exorcist, at your service. Don't confuse me for a genie, though. Those guys think they're so great, what with that fucking Disney movie making them out to be fun and funky playmates, but a couple of things. One, they stink. Cooped up in a lamp? Come one. Two. They're cranky assholes, because you guessed it: they're stuck in lamps. Three? They can't show you the same kind of good time that I can, baby. If you catch my drift. And I think you do."

He clicked his tongue and winked.

"So if I'm not killing anyone, is that what you're after? I can most certainly accommodate you there too. There's usually this other guy that gets called more than me, but you've obviously got better taste calling me instead."

There was definitely a tension headache working its way into her temples as Pate blinked dumbly at the onslaught of words, only half of which her brain managed to process and understand. His flyer? Had he hidden the page in the book himself? But if that were the case . . . Like a lightbulb switching on, it suddenly clicked. That word! Bhetlejuz! She couldn't explain how, not even to herself, but somehow or another saying it out loud had brought him here! But from where?

Before a new flood of questions had time to wash over her, his innuendo filtered into her consciousness and she stiffened, mortified to feel warmth in her face that she hoped the overhead fluorescence would bleach out before he noticed. Clearing her throat, she made a valiant effort to steer the conversation back to a more . . . professional topic.

"Wait, are you saying you actually knew the author? But that would make you . . . " She did the math in her head, guestimating the age of the tome itself. "Almost five hundred years old?"

He didn't miss the color that rose in her cheeks.

"Now you're looking a little flushed, sugar," he remarked, and sidled closer again, even though she'd rebuffed him before. His voice dropped. "It looks good on you. I'd be interested in seeing if that pretty blush shows up anywhere else . . ."

He cleared his throat and twisted his hips just a tad; it'd been a while since he'd been near, well, anyone, and having a raging boner wouldn't endear him to her! She didn't look like she'd appreciate a femur as a joke at the moment, either. He switched topics, for her sake.

"Let's table that and revisit it later, okay? Your question about Herr . . . Fuchs? Christ that guy should've changed his name. Nice guy. Nervous. Well, he would've been tortured and probably drawn and quartered, so I guess he had reason to me. But yeah! Well, I'm more like six hundred-ish, but what's a century or two?"

Her blush only deepened when he called her out because of course he'd noticed.... She tensed at the close proximity and the blatant flirting, but she still had questions.

"This book," she said, turning to the side to heft the flayed text block into her hands. "Did you say it was about demons? How did Fuchs know about them?"

Pate ignored the snicker at the author's name. "Did you help him write it?" Her curiosity was getting the better of her now, replacing the fear and the uncertainty of this whole strange turn of events.

"How the Fuchs indeed," he chortled. Her query sobered him up a little bit, however. "I'm not at huge liberty to divulge past summoner's requests. Well, mainly I don't want to. I will say that now that I think about it, Fuchs might have earned that surname fair and square. Foolin' around with a demon--even one as handsome as myself--would also earn you a stake in the middle of a bonfire, if you know what I mean."

Despite herself, Pate couldn't help but chuckle at the idea of a demon abiding by a client confidentiality clause. This whole ordeal was simply too surreal, part of her still wondered if she wasn't dreaming.

"I suppose that's understandable," she conceded.

The sound of voices filtering down the hall interrupted her chain of thought. Someone was coming! But who'd be here at this time of night? Pate fumbled for her phone and checked the time.

"Holy shit! It's almost 7! The first shift is coming in!" She turned, looking from the dismantled tome to the demon leaning against the work bench.

"Oh . . . were you doing something naughty down here you don't want them to find?" Beetlejuice asked. Then something occurred to him. "Wait! It's me, isn't it!"

"Well, not to be blunt, but yes! Can you... I dunno, hide or something?" she asked, scooping up the flier and the sad remnants of the demon bestiary.

"Why would I want to hide this prime specimen of demonhood?" he retorted, offended. Seeing the panic on her face, however, he downgraded his response. "Don't worry that pretty little head of yours, sugar. I can be discreet."

Pate rolled her eyes at his bravado, sliding the text block carefully back into its cover and stashing the whole thing in her bag. It was unlikely to be missed, but it wasn't something she wanted to leave lying around. And, if she were honest with herself, she was fascinated by it and unable to resist the temptation of taking it home for a closer look.

Bheteljuz, which she assumed now must be his name, was nowhere in sight when she next looked but she got the distinct impression that he hadn't gone far.

The first shift crew came in then, surprised to see her still in the office but not enough to raise alarm bells. Gripping the strap of her shoulder bag protectively in both hands, Pate did her best to play it cool and bid them all goodnight, exiting the parking lot with a stolen 15th century book of demonology and an invisible demon? ghost? man? at her heels.

tbc

#writing #fanfiction #beetlejuice #beetlejuice x oc #rp #Beetlejuice based on blumjuice

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

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Ménage (1/13ish)

Based on a rp I’ve done with the insanely talented @monsterlovinghours , here’s 13 chapters + 2 supplemental stories featuring my Beetlejuice, her OC, and a surprise guest star . . .

SFW and NSFW chapters, Beetlejuice/f!OC, smut, trespassers, violence, comfort and care

Enjoy!

@beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @dilfyjuice @thewolfisapartofmysoul

The air felt charged, heavy with static and anticipation as she set the final pieces of her altar in place. Herbs to attract, to sanctify the space and make the veil between the living world and the next paper-thin, easily breached. Incense, to purify. Sigils to charge her magic, like amplifiers drawn in white chalk to channel and to cast. Lastly, she set three tapered candles in separate jars, evenly spaced, and lit them from right to left. First, the black candle, for grounding and focus. Then, the green, for good fortune in her endeavor. And finally, the white, for goodness and purity. There was no way the ritual could fail. Right?

Molly took a deep breath, in for three, and out for five. The incantation she had spent the entire day memorizing ran through her head, line by line; she knew it by heart, but even so, her heart wavered. There was no guarantee it would work the way she wanted to, or even work at all; magic was tricky that way, she had found. Spells of this magnitude were just a little beyond her pay grade; she had stuck mostly to kitchen magic, green magic, safe magic. Things to help her garden grow, to bring a sense of peace into her empty home.

Empty.

She cleared her throat. Steeled her resolve. She had faith in her ability, and if there was anything her home needed, it was a good spirit to help fill it. Another deep breath, and the spell began to spill from her lips, palms placed flat upon the altar. The words filled the quiet space, gathering momentum, until the final syllable dropped like a guillotine, and the candles blew out, plunging the room into the darkness.

Did it work?

As always, there was the bittersweet taste in his mouth and a pressure in his gut that made him want to curl up and stretch at the same time. He grimaced at first, but the sweet grew stronger than the bitter with each recitation of his name, and by third syllable of the third repeat, he felt like he could take on the world.

With an ecstatic laugh, Beetlejuice stepped out of the nowhere and into here, wherever here was. His amber eyes landed on the breather who'd been so kind as to call him.

"Baby, you have made my day!" he crowed, and swept towards her, arms open wide for a hug.

She screamed. She couldn't help it. The laugh was answer enough that her spell had worked, jarring and maybe just a little bit unhinged. Not the gentle chill or whisper that she had been expecting. And then, to see something so very solid and un-spiritlike come charging out of the darkness, arms open as its eyes and teeth glittered in equal measure? She scrambled backward, heart hammering in her chest. That was not the result she had been hoping to yield.

Pressed to the wall, she paused a moment, willing herself to settle down; there was no reason to believe she was in any immediate danger. After all, it had called her baby, seemed practically giddy to be here in her living room, and had approached her with gratitude. Very intimidating gratitude.

"Wh . . . who are you?"

Her heart still galloping in her chest, she fumbled for the light switch, flooding the room with light and getting a better look at her new houseguest. At first glances, yes, he seemed terrifying. But, as she looked closer, the less imposing he seemed. Tall, wearing a dingy, threadbare suit in garish black and white carnival stripes, chipped nails a dull black, his hair a mossy green.

"Are you . . . you're not a spirit, are you?"

"What is that, sage?" Beetlejuice asked the woman who was half cowering against the wall. "Smells good, baby, but not as good as you, I bet."

He winked and swooped in, giving her a hug that squeezed her arms to her sides. She was cute. To be polite, he should answer her questions.

"Am I a spirit?" he replied. "Like the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come? Nah. More like the Ghost with the Most. The spirit of here and now and let's have some fun, ya know? But first things first--you called me up. Who do I need to kill?"

Before she could reply that yes, that was sage, sage and lavender and palo santo and a host of other herbs, he had swept her up into a bone-crushing hug that nearly pushed the air out of her lungs. Her spine creaked in protest, groaning as the smell of him surrounded her, wet earth and moss and a hint of something sulphuric. Unusual, but not altogether unpleasant. And there was that pet name again; he certainly was a flirtatious . . . whatever he was.

Her eyes widened when she heard the word kill leave his mouth, and she frantically shook her head.

"No! No, no, no one, no one needs killing!"

Despite her arms being pinned, she did her best to grasp at him, managing to grab his hips and try to push him back just enough to allow her to take a full breath.

"Let's . . . whoa, okay, slow down a second. So you are a ghost? You seem pretty solid to me." The Ghost of Here and Now, he had called himself, and she didn't want to think about the kind of fun he was alluding to.

"And you don't have to call me baby. My name is Molly."

Her hands on his hips were a trigger to press into her more tightly. He couldn't help it; it just felt right.

He barely listened to her list of whatever ingredients she was talking about, but his ears perked up at the word "kill", only to realize that once again, that was off the table. As to her other question, the one she seemed stuck on, he replied,

"Ghost, spirit, demon . . . Does that really matter? You called. I, uh, came. And I like calling you baby. If that doesn't vibe with you, there's always ‘baby girl.’ How's that for a compromise?"

He grinned at her, and tried not to show too many pointed teeth.

Now not only were his arms pinning her, his body was as well, crushing her against the wall. Okay. Wrong place to grab. Molly instead wriggled her arms up to press against his chest, hoping to push him back a hair so she could breathe.

"'Baby' is fine," she muttered in defeat; 'baby girl' was a realm she was not comfortable stepping into only knowing him for a minute and a half at most. "And no, I . . . I suppose it doesn't matter."

She sighed in defeat; the spell had done its job, and it wasn't her guest's fault she didn't specify exactly what kind of spirit she wanted.

"Can, um, can you let up a bit? I'm getting lightheaded."

Her gaze lifted to his face, noticing now that there were patches of green on his jaw and by his nose. Moss? Mold? Rot? Each possibility seemed more disturbing than the last. Yet, past the unidentifiable substances, he wasn't half-bad on the eyes. Eyes the color of honey, framed by dark lashes. Grinning lips that held a distinct purplish hue, and rather sharp teeth. Huh. Surprisingly enough, she wasn't afraid of his inhuman appearance, no small amount of fascination creeping into her gaze. Well, he may not be the spirit she had wanted, but she could be happy with what she got.

"Is there something I can call you?"

Her wiggling felt nice, until he remembered breathers needed to breathe, and he relaxed his grip. He only took half a step away, though, she was too warm to just let go!

"What to call me?" Beetlejuice mused, licking his teeth. "Honey or lover are good. Sweetheart. Love of my life! Don't laugh, but I'm a little partial to lambkins, even if it's from like the fifteenth century. "

He'd seen the slow interest growing in her eyes disappear like candy floss in water, and reined it in.

"You can call me BJ. Or Beej," he quickly amended. "So what made someone sweet as you call up someone like me?

Much needed oxygen filled her lungs as he took a half-step back, his arms still pressed around her. That was fine, as long as she could breathe. As it was, her hands were still on his chest, despite the sought-after distance. It was just . . . nice. Despite the lack of warmth or discernible heartbeat, it was nice to touch and be touched. When was the last time she had actually experienced deliberate touch?

Molly couldn't help it; at the offered pet names, she let out a short laugh.

"Sorry, wow, but lambkins?" She hadn't meant to laugh; it had slipped out before she could catch it, and for the first time since his arrival, she was able to slip into a small smile. "Beej is good. Or, y'know, I used to call people 'honey' all the time anyway. That's fine with me.

"Well," she started, nodding to what remained of her altar; she had accidentally kicked it as she had scrambled backward, knocking the candles and half the herbs to the floor, "I was attempting to summon a spirit that would be good for my home, a . . . calming presence. I don't think I did it right."

She sighed. "Still learning the big stuff. But you're here anyway, and honestly? It's just . . . it's nice to hear someone else's voice."

It may have been a trick of the light, but what could have been hope glinted in her eyes as she looked up at him. "So, I mean, even though you're not what I meant to summon, you're welcome to stay, if you'd like."

Beetlejuice smiled as she laughed, even at his expense. It had been a while since he'd spent time with a warm living person, and the fact that she hadn't actively pushed him away was nice. Nice enough that she was going to feel the effect she was having on the ol' Sandworm in his pants, if he couldn't will it away.

"You have a pretty voice," he told her, before shaking his head. "A calming spirit? Like a brownie, uh, house spirit or some kind of fey? What the hell for? Those things aren't calming, they're like goddamn raccoons on speed, getting into all your stuff. And if you invite them in, then piss them off?! They'll make your life a living hell, baby."

He stared off into the middle distance for a second, then gave himself a shake.

"So. Yeah. You're lucky you got me instead! You did a good job wrapping your tongue around those syllables . . . I bet it'd be good wrapped around other things too."

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

Despite the alarming oddness of her current situation, the compliment caused a petal-pink blush to spread across her cheeks, eyes dropping as he admonished her against inviting spirits into her home. At least, the troublesome sort, of which she was not fully convinced he was not.

The pink quickly flushed to red at his very thinly veiled innuendo, choking on air at the insinuation and the suggestive arch of his brow.

"U-Uh . . . " She had nothing. Not a single response. Her brain short circuited at the thought. "Well, th-that . . . is not outside the realm of possibility, but . . . Jesus, I haven't even talked to another person face to face in almost two years. Let me get to know you a little better before I wrap my tongue around anything, huh?"

Her hands gave his chest a gentle pat, then dropped, indicating that she wanted to move from her spot against the wall. "Do you wanna go sit down? Personally I could use a drink. Do you drink? Can you drink?"

His eyes flicked from her lips to the color on her cheeks and back to her lips again, amused at her cute flustered stuttering. The rest of it though; he pursed his own lips for a moment and cocked his head.

"You haven't spoken to anyone in almost two years? Did you take some vow of silence? Did talking to me break that vow, and--" he dropped his voice in a conspiratorial whisper, "--now you're going to hell? Let me tell you, it's totally worth it, minus the smell. All the demon dick or snatch you might want. Everybody swings both ways, sexually."

In case she wasn't one hundred percent sure what he meant, he released her and made two hand gestures, one to each side to give a visual demonstration. He glanced back up at her with a smirk before it came to him he may have overstepped a little, and he reeled it back in.

"But you know what? You've probably got your reasons," he said, waving the whole thing off. "What've you got to drink? Absinthe? Gin? Corked wine? I'm not too picky."

With that, he finally backed away, spinning on his heel to investigate the room she'd called him too. He knelt and picked up a candle that had fallen to the ground, the green one, and twirled it between his fingers. He pinched some of the scattered plant material he found too, and sniffed it; to his disappointment it was not weed. Standing again, he righted all the candles and set the green one in its place.

"How'd you find my name, anyway?" he asked casually, lighting the green candle from the tip of his finger, and then extinguishing the flame again. "Usually people pronounce it differently and, uh, get this shorter version. Of me."

He lit the candle again, then smashed the flame between his thumb and fingers peevishly, imagining it was the other guy's face. Suddenly, though, he whipped around to her.

"Where are my manners? What's your name, baby?" he asked, as if he'd been horribly rude.

The gesture made her flush deepen a shade, a strange knot forming low in her belly, and she shook her head.

"No . . . no, no vow of silence. It's . . . well, it's a long story, and I'd prefer to have liquor in me if I'm gonna unpack all of that." She took a deep breath, willing the burning in her cheeks to fade before starting for the kitchen. "I have strawberry whiskey. Pink as French whore but it kicks like a rifle. Or I have regular whiskey, but that's not as fun."

She quickly poured drinks, the familiar sound of ice crackling as she poured whiskey over it into two glasses helping her calm back down. Okay. She had a ghost in her living room. A very solid, very bold, and admittedly very handsome ghost. This was fine. This was good. This was basically what she wanted, and the fact that she could touch her guest? A perk.

She came back out with glasses in hand to find him at the altar, settling the candles back in place, lighting one only to snuff it out again. Apparently he can produce fire from his fingertips. Neat.

"Well . . . I had to do some digging, but . . ." She sighed and handed him his drink. "This is embarrassing. I searched for a spell that would attract a good spirit . . . to a lonely soul." She grimaced and jerked her thumb toward herself. "Three guesses who that is.

"And my name is Molly. Nice to official meet you, honey." With a smirk, even daring a wink at the suggested nickname, she sank onto the couch and indicated that he should do the same.

Beetlejuice accepted the glass and sniffed the pink liquid in it suspiciously.

"It's a nice color," he told her. "Matches that pretty blush of yours.”

It smelled like alcohol, with a faint top note of sweet, so he shrugged and threw it back. The familiar burn of booze gave him faux warmth on its way down. Then the ice hit his teeth and it dawned on him people put ice in drinks that were to be sipped. Breathers and their weird social rules.

"Molly. Nice to meet you too, baby," he said, holding up his now empty glass in a toast. He sank onto the couch, like this was a proper social visit. "Lonely? A hot babe like you? I have a hard time believing that. But--"

He paused and dropped his gaze to the glass in his hand.

"--it's something I'm familiar with. That spell might've worked just fine, baby. Connected two lonely people. Brought 'em together."

That was a little more personal than he tended to get. He'd toss it off as an effect of the booze, if she asked, but one glass of whiskey wasn't enough to affect him. It was just her and the fact she called him.

He lifted his eyes to hers again, although he didn't pick up his head, gazing at her from slightly under his brows, slightly from the side.

"So, Molly, what were you hoping would come out of inviting a spirit into your place?"

Hot babe? She scoffed derisively, sipping her drink as he settled into the couch beside her. "Dunno what's hot about a social recluse with emotional baggage, but whatever you say, hon."

Her brow raised as he admitted that her spell might have worked better than she thought, that he was just as starved for company as she was. Did ghosts get lonely? Where were all the other dead people? Molly couldn't help a small smile, her heart feeling tugged toward him. When he cast his gaze at her, looking aside as if afraid to face her directly, she scooted closer, cross-legged on the couch facing him.

"Mostly I was hoping to feel less alone. I cut off contact with people for my own reasons, but that doesn’t keep me from getting lonely. I figured if not the living, try the dead." Gently, her touch feather light, she reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Honestly? I wasn't expecting to have a guest I could touch. So I'm glad I got you."

It was foreign to him why someone would purposefully choose to not be with people. That was a driving force in his existence; a need that was only marginally met, and usually only a fraction of the time he wanted it.

He lifted his head more properly and looked her over more fully. No matter how she scoffed her own personal opinion of herself, she was pretty.

Her shifting closer on the cushions and even going so far as to put one of her hands on him sent a thin electric jolt through him. He could even imagine the warmth of her palm seeping through his jacket sleeve.

"A guest you could touch, huh? Some beings can become corporeal, baby, but not all of them are willing to let humans touch them. You're lucky you didn't call something celestial," he said with a grin. "Luckily, I'm not one of them."

Her grin seemed to mirror his, though hers was decidedly less sharp.

"Honey, I'm still small time, I don’t think I have the juice to call something celestial."

Her hand rubbed his arm, noting the interesting texture of his suit, ragged and coarse. Already, the house felt less cavernous, less empty, less haunted with him here, and how was that for irony? It may take some adjusting, but she was looking forward to him staying here.

If he even intended to stay.

Her hand faltered a bit at the thought. No one stayed. That was the point. As if wrapped in iron bands, her chest suddenly felt tight, and she looked down as if noticing his empty glass for the first time.

"Let me top you off," she said quietly, taking the glass, the ice inside barely melted, since there was no body heat to warm the glass. "You wanna try regular whiskey this time or are we sticking with the pink stuff?"

The petting was nice. Even if it was to just feel the texture of his suit, he could imagine it was for him.

"Don't think you couldn't catch the attention of something celestial, baby," he told her sincerely, before dropping his voice as if maybe one of them was listening in. "Like demons, they're whores. Always looking for attention. But with their aversion to being touched by a human, they're more Dommy than anything else."

He threw her a wink, but his smile faded at her sudden change in demeanor. She'd become smaller, somehow, as she took his glass. Still, he couldn't help but try again.

"You can definitely top me, Molly," he replied as he gave up the glass, deliberately leaving any reference to drink out.

His bold joke made her somber expression break into laughter suddenly, a quick chuff as she hid pinked cheeks behind her hand. Molly pretended to scold him, though her eyes smiled, a grin twitching on her mouth.

"Behave."

In the kitchen, she poured him a measure of the regular whiskey, which unfortunately was cheap. The plastic jug it came in sloshd half-empty as she filled his glass. His various suggestive comments and innuendos hadn’t gone unnoticed, or, frankly, unappreciated. The thought, ghost or not, made heat shiver down her spine, a feeling she was very unfamiliar with. But still, Molly remained doubtful that he could actually mean it. Sure, it was all fun and games until he figured out her story, understood the weight of the burden he'd be taking on with her.

Why was she even worrying about this? He was dead. What higher standard could he possibly have? Molly rolled her eyes and took a swig straight from the jug, grimacing at the bitterness. She'd spend all night in the kitchen fretting at this rate.

Refreshed drinks in hand, she settled back on the couch, in the same position as he before, her folded knees brushing his thigh. Her unoccupied hand reached for his, the chill of his flesh less of a shock now, with the warmth of the liquor in her blood.

tbc

#writing #fanfiction #beetlejuice #Beetlejuice x OC #rp #Beetlejuice based on blumjuice

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

Text

Familial Ties (And How To Break Them) 8/14

NSFW. Care/comfort and s-e-x ~

Pate kept an arm around Beetlejuice’s waist as they hustled down the sidewalk, drawing only minimal strange looks from fellow pedestrians. Even the demon shuffling along beside her, with his dilapidated suit of carnival stripes speckled with moss and his gravity-defying hair that had become an odd shade of washed out grey barely made a blip in the loud and clamorous ambiance that was Las Vegas.

Pate frowned worriedly. Beej was being uncharacteristically quiet, his lips pressed together in a hard line. His dark blood--did demons bleed? He certainly seemed to be--continued to ooze sluggishly from the punctures hidden beneath the soiled sleeve of his jacket.

Spotting a small chain drug store Pate stopped him with a hand to his chest, steered him into the building and left him propped against a vacant register counter with whispered promises to be right back, dashing into the aisles to collect gauze, bandages, antiseptic, whatever she thought might help him. The bored college age kid at the open checkout rang her up and she collected her companion, letting out a relieved sigh when the brightly lit neon lotus outside their hotel came into view. In no time at all she was shouldering open their door, instructing Beetlejuice to seat himself on a bed while she opened the medical supplies.

He didn’t remember much of the walk back to the hotel. His mind was fuzzy from the poison he’d taken in; somewhere in the recesses of his mind he remembered it wasn’t a poison meant to kill but paralyze so the ‘hound(s) could make a victim suffer was they were dragged into the Netherworld or played with until they were torn to pieces.

The pain in his shoulder, however, that fought the numbness. It ached down to the bone.

He was vaguely aware of being in a place where the lights were so white they hurt his eyes. Pate had left him, left him and that made him try to call after her, but although he was screaming inside no one reacted to him, so it must have been nothing on the outside. Then she was back and he found himself out on the street again. Her arm around his waist grounded him.

Then time shifted and they were in the hotel room. Pate was pulling at his jacket and that hurt, hurt, and from somewhere down a tunnel she was telling him she was sorry but it needed to come off, she needed to see the damage--

--time shifted again and he was no longer wearing his jacket, tie, or shirt. His suspenders were at either side of him, like flaccid wings. Pate was nowhere to be seen, but that was because--

“OUCH!” Beetlejuice complained, flinching away from the new pain that she was inflicting on him. He was suddenly more awake and aware.

Pate was behind him on the mattress, doing her best to clean the ugly wound in his shoulder with one of the hotel’s hand towels. Despite his protest, she continued to pick fabric out of the injury, telling him that she needed to get it all out before she really cleaned it and patched it up.

He liked it better when he was dull, but the agony of her working on his shoulder won the battle against the poison. He gritted his teeth and bore it, hissing random cuss words or jerking when there was a particularly sharp stab of pain.

When Pate asked that he tell her about the Dziban, he knew it was to distract him. He countered that her boobs would probably work better, but her silence after that grunted tease made him sigh.

“They’re another demon,” he sighed. “But lesser, lesser--jesus! Did you stick your whole finger in there?!--demons, so they can be bound to a higher ranking demon. My delightful brother Rigel must have called them up to do some of his dirty work. They travel in pairs, like you saw, and they’re . . . I don’t know, clones or replicants or something. They share a hivemind, like, so what one feels the other does too.” He broke off to arch his back and yelp; he grabbed a pillow and bit it at the wracking pain. When he could speak again, he twisted to say angrily, “Seriously?! Are you pouring fucking alcohol on my back?!”

She confirmed she was cleaning his shoulder with alcohol.

“That’s a fucking waste of good alcohol,” he replied.

He was informed drily that it was rubbing alcohol, not whiskey. This wasn’t the Old West, she reminded him sharply.

“I’m gonna heal faster than you expect, baby,” Beetlejuice retorted.

He could already feel the tissue start to knit back together, deep in the wound, and he’d outlasted the effects of the poison. Still, he had to admit that her taking care of him was unexpected and not unwelcome, now that he could start to compartmentalize and keep the pain from being everything in the world. Despite what felt like steelwool scraping against him -- “This hotel needs to use fabric softener!” he complained -- she was actually trying to be gentle as she wrapped his shoulder awkwardly in the bandaging she’d bought.

Pate breathed a sigh of relief when Beetlejuice began to come around from whatever daze had fallen over him. She went as gently as she could, swabbing away the dark stains on his skin, covering it in gauze and finally wrapping it with the bandage.

"I think that's about all the damage I can do," she told him, rolling up the used and bloodied wads of cotton balls and the hotel towel into a ball. "How're you feeling? You seem more like yourself."

"I could use a drink. Wanna raid the minibar?"

She laughed softly through her nose. He was definitely back to his old self. Sliding all the first aid paraphernalia into her arms, she carelessly deposited it on the table by the TV stand and bent over, opening the small refrigerator.

"You've earned it," she replied, withdrawing two bottles from inside and returning to sit next to him on the bed, passing him one.

Beetlejuice opened his and immediately took a long pull, Pate's fingers tapping idly on the neck of her bottle. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the swath of bandages around his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "Going after the holy water was my idea, and you got hurt and then the water was a total bust."

The beer was cold. That was the best thing that could be said for it, but he chugged it anyway.

"It's okay, baby," he assured her, even as he winced a little, testing the range of motion in it. "Now we know that the church is lying about their holy water and that Rigel is willing to play dirty."

He tipped the beer back, and found it empty. It dawned on him she hadn't had any of hers, and even worse, he'd been so out of it he didn't know how she was doing. A forbidden book, calling two demons, traveling across the country, breaking into a church, being attacked by Dziban . . . he cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Are you okay? Did you get hurt? You need something stronger than this beer that’s so weak it could probably legally drive in some states?"

Her hands were getting cold from holding the beer bottle. She set it on the nightstand and didn't answer right away, mulling over his questions.

Was she okay? Sure, considering the unprecedented turn her life had taken in a very short span of time. After accidentally summoning not one but two demons, she thought she'd handled things rather well. Was she hurt? A little scuffed up maybe, after jumping out of a window onto pavement, but she hardly noticed the minor scrapes and bumps. Which just left the question of what she needed. What did she need?

Pate turned her head to look at him, studying the expectant look on his face, his honey colored eyes and the long lashes. She remembered the way fear had punched her in the gut when she watched him fall to his knees with the hellhound's teeth in him, the fury that had seized her when she all but threw herself into the fray armed with nothing but a flagpole. She swallowed, realizing almost as if for the first time that he was sitting there beside her shirtless. When she was tugging his clothing off him to assess his injury it hadn't even occurred to her, but now the close proximity to his naked torso was sending little shivers down her spine, heat blooming outward from the points of contact between them.

What did she need?

Still saying nothing yet, Pate rose to her feet and moved to stand between his knees, smiling softly when he blinked up at her.

"I think I just need you," she said, hands moving to either side of his face as she leaned down to kiss him.

When she got off the mattress, he figured she was moving to the other bed. Then he was surprised by her nudging his knees apart and stepping in between his legs. When she said she needed him, and went so far as to kiss him, his jaw loosened at the pressure of her mouth on his but he sat dumbly, unsure what to think. His tongue was more responsive, touching hers softly, but after a few moments of soft give and take she pulled back just a bit and he realized he was still holding the beer bottle in one hand.

He dropped it; it landed with a quiet sound on the carpet as he took her waist.

"Pate . . . this is just adrenaline. You don't need to do this . . ." he muttered, wishing he could just pull her down into his lap.

Her smile widened and she hummed appreciatively when his hands found her waist. His hesitation was understandable, considering the disaster she'd made of things the last time they found themselves in bed together. She shook her head once firmly, leaning in to press her lips softly to his forehead, his temple, while one hand curled around his neck to thread her fingers through the hair at his nape, the other lightly scratching the scruff on his jaw with her short, blunt nails.

"I let myself get scared before," she said, pausing to pepper the other side of his face with short, sweet kisses. "But I'm not scared anymore. I want this. I want you." As he had done before, she backed away a bit, giving him some room to think, giving him an out if he wanted it. "Do you?"

Gods, he could drift forever while her fingers scratched his scalp and jaw. Her lips were warm and each place she pressed them it felt like she'd touched him with a flame. His head lolled a little, trying to tag along as her lips left his skin the last time and his shoulder seized up. It made him gasp, but it was exactly at the same time she whispered the three other words he loved to hear so much, and were much more rare, "I want you", so he prayed he played the pain off as surprised desire.

He looked directly up at her, noticing for the first time the green in her eyes.

"How could I not?" he replied breathlessly, pulling her back in closer to him, wanting her bodily against him. "Yes, Pate. I do!"

She giggled when he tugged her in close, her arms winding naturally around his neck as she grinned, chewing softly on her bottom lip. Another shiver of delight went down her back at the chill of his naked chest flush against her. Mindful of his injury she leaned in, kissing a line from the corner of his mouth across his cheekbone to his ear. Taking his earlobe gently between her teeth, she let go after just a moment to whisper,

"Well then what're you waiting for?" hoping it was all the permission he'd need.

Even separated by her clothing he could feel the heat of her. He threw any remaining caution to the wind; she wouldn't be kissing him and --oh gods! -- nipping his ear if she wasn't serious about this. With a playful growl at her compliance, he tightened his hold on her and used his lower center of gravity to twist her off her feet, throwing her to the mattress beside him but leaving her legs draped over his lap. He moved with her and he ended up still chest to chest with her, slightly above because he propped himself up on an elbow while his other hand, the one with the injured shoulder that he actively tried to ignore, slipped up the back of her thigh to her ass to steady her in her precarious, awkward position.

Before she could protest or complain about that, he leaned down and captured her mouth with more vigor than the soft, tentative kisses they'd just shared.

Pate laughed aloud, a bright and enthusiastic sound as he literally swept her off her feet. She bounced once on the springy mattress before he pressed her down into the comforter. She got another tantalizing glimpse of the silver nipple piercings before she lost sight of them as he lowered himself over her, twisting at the waist to face her while her legs lay over his thighs. Even with the barrier of her jeans still between them she sighed and hummed at the feeling when his hand moved up her leg to grasp her butt, her mouth immediately occupied with his. Her lips parted for him, soft sounds escaping her as his tongue slid in, one hand carding through his hair while the other curled around the side of his neck, holding him close.

At the noise she made, a laugh that faded to a soft, needy sigh, he growled again, still playful but tinted with possessiveness. Any beautiful woman who allowed him to bodily move her and was so responsive to his advances kicked him into higher gear, and arousal flooded him. He sucked her tongue, his hand slipped under her shirt to inch its way upward along her ribs to encounter the fabric and underwire of her bra, which he also tried to wiggle his fingertips under. Stymied by its fit, he dragged his fingernails back downward and squeezed her ass before that was too little as well.

Between kisses--her fingers accidentally, slightly pulling his hair when they tried to slip though knots made him gasp, which broke their lip lock--he murmured into her mouth,

“Too much clothing. Let’s get naked.”

Pate shivered again at that throaty, primal sound rumbling from deep in his chest. Warmth pooled in the floor of her pelvis, her hand gliding down his neck, over his collarbone to rest on his chest while the other continued winding in his surprisingly soft hair. She moaned against his mouth, feeling heat prickling when his cool fingers shimmied their way under her shirt to skate up her body.

Her back arched and she moaned louder when his hand slid back down, his nails raking over her skin and causing goosebumps to erupt from her scalp all the way down to her toes it seemed. She felt her fingers catch in his hair, heard him gasp. Panting, she chased his mouth with her own as he drew back, his pupils blown wide and a grin on his face.

At his words, Pate grinned, too, feeling heat in her cheeks.

"Thought you'd never ask," she joked.

He grinned. "Then what're you waiting for?"

But as she struggled to get up and off him to comply, he didn't release her. As a matter of fact, he held her more tightly, just to hear her laugh of protest as she pushed against his chest.

"Watch the nips," he told her, as they were caught under her palms, even though the pressure and slight tug against them sent tendrils of pleasure through his chest. But he softened the warning with a tease, "What's wrong, Pate? Can't get up? I thought you wanted this, but not getting naked after you said you wanted to? That's just downright rude. Do I have to do all the work around here?"

And before she could actually get angry, with a thought all the clothing, sans the satin panties he'd nicked from her, between them disappeared. It was a cheap parlor trick, but it never failed to make people gasp in surprise. It worked but it was on him too; a suddenly naked woman pressed against him and over his lap was not how he'd expected this night to go. He drank in the sight of her hungrily.

Pate couldn't help the tiny exclamation when every scrap of her clothing simply winked out of existence. A flush bloomed in her cheeks, both from the complete exposure to Beetlejuice's eyes and hands and also from the sensation: his skin against hers, cooler but gradually warming as it leeched body heat from her.

Her tongue darted out, swiping across her parted lips as she watched his face, his eyes roving over every bit of her that he could see. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her stomach cutting backflips as she let her hands roam over his chest and shoulders, taking care not to stray too close to the bandages.

She traced the pads of her fingers through the tufts of green hair that dusted his pecs, nibbling on her bottom lip again as she made wide circles around his nipples. The piercings, she could now see, were circular shields shaped like serpents, biting their own tails.

Skin to skin with her made him shudder and moan. Her hands on him, now not corralled by clothing, made his eyes close and him moan obscenely.

His hand wasn't idle. Stretching it too far up her body made his shoulder ache, and too much of that was the exact opposite of what he wanted right now, so he left his hand on her thigh and hip. She'd arched so prettily for him before; he wanted to see her do it again. His fingers brushed across her stomach low enough to brush the thatch of hair at his ultimate goal.

Although her hands were still on his chest, he dipped his head and caught the side of her neck in a kiss that included a little teeth, because he wanted a mark on her skin.

God, how had she never realized before that hearing somebody else moan because of her was so hot? In the past, she'd kept quiet while tending to herself. She'd been relatively quiet thus far. But between his fingertips coming so close to where she most wanted them and his lips and teeth on her neck and the sharp, chilly crush of his nipple piercings against her that sent tiny forks of electricity shooting across her skin, Pate gasped loudly, her eyes fluttering closed while her hands curled reflexively between them, scratching his chest. Her thighs squeezed together in his lap and she turned her head, giving him more room at her neck.

"Mm, Beej . . . baby . . ." she sighed, unable to find any more words than that. For all that he'd called her smart and brainy, just at the moment her mind was swirling in a haze of need and want and desire.

He felt her tremble and the flex of her legs, bringing them together, seeking friction. He knew the feeling, but his cock still trapped behind wine-colored satin gave him some pleasurable ache for the moment.

He chuckled and told her quietly, "That's the exact opposite of what I want, baby. Spread those thighs."

He tapped at her, right on her pubic bone, as if to add weight to the request.

When he laughed she felt it rumble through his chest, vibrating against her. His breath ghosted across the dampened and sensitized skin up the side of her neck and Pate hummed at the tingle that went down her back straight to her crotch. Wriggling one hand from between them to brace against the mattress, she shifted her hips to accommodate his request, though it was difficult to open her legs much due to the position.

She scooted herself back as much as she could to make enough room to bring one leg between them, hooking it around his waist and tugging herself back close to him. Her breathing picked up a bit now that he was between her legs properly, reaching up to thread her fingers through the hair at his temple. Her other hand remained on his chest, stroking lightly in random patterns and shapes, brushing his nipple every other pass or so.

"This more what you had in mind?" she asked, grinning.

Her shifting to get one leg around him was not what he had in mind; it was infinitely better. Her spread legs put her on beautiful display, and immediately, like he was hypnotized, he dropped his hand to her pussy. His fingers slipped easily down through her folds. Christ, he’d forgotten how nice it was to fondle a wet pussy, and he brought his hand back up to his mouth for a taste of her.

He groaned around his own fingers at the flavor of her, and he glanced back up to her face, pupils blown wide.

She moaned and writhed when his fingers finally finally pressed into the wet heat between her thighs, the leg around him jerking as if to pull him in even closer.

"Fuck!" she rasped, one hand grasping at the back of his neck while the other snaked under his arm to clasp at his shoulder blade.

She let out a pitiful whine when she felt his fingers leave her, opening her eyes and watching, riveted, as he brought the slick-coated digits to his mouth, groaning at the taste. Holy shit did she love it when he made that sound, feeling muscles in her nether regions clench in anticipation. Pate swallowed, licking her parted lips.

"Can I have a taste?" she asked.

He winced at the tug on his shoulder; even though it wasn't the injured one it rippled to it. But he ignored it, and at her request, he grinned.

With a quick swipe through her pussy again, he stuck one finger back into his mouth, then offered his digits for her to suck. Even as she opened her mouth and he pressed two into her mouth, however, he leaned in close. When her lips closed on his fingers, he moaned.

She caught the minute pained grimace that crossed his face, quick as thought, and moved her hand from his shoulder further down to the bottom of his ribs. She shivered again when his fingers moved through her folds, sighing deeply when she took his fingers into her mouth.

Smiling around them at the delicious moan that he let out, Pate sucked on his fingers, laving her tongue over the pads, scraping ever-so-slightly with her teeth at the soft skin between his first and second knuckles. She wanted to make him make that sound again. The hand on his side gave his love handle a squeeze while she dragged the other from his neck, over his chest to play with that piercing again, thumbing it gently.

"Oh fuck," Beetlejuice groaned as she put pressure on his fingers. He could only imagine what her mouth would feel like around his cock, which still strained in her panties.

And when Pate squeezed him and gave some attention to his nipple, he gave a full-body shudder.

"How do you want this, baby? Tell me what you want me to do to you?" he gasped, suddenly needy.

The groan, the way he shivered against her, the desperate edge to his voice had her blood racing, scorching hot in her veins. She let his fingers go with a soft pop!, holding his gaze fast as she reached to catch his hand with hers, holding it in place as she pressed her lips to his knuckles while her other hand roamed lower down his body, up and over his hip, scratching and kneading at the small of his back, watching his eyelashes flutter so beautifully, his mouth dropping slightly open.

Her fingers met scratchy lace and smooth satin and she grinned, copying his move from before and working her fingers under the elastic band to tease at the top of one ass cheek. Craning her neck to kiss his slackened mouth, Pate pressed her forehead against his cheek.

"I want you inside me, baby," she murmured. "Tongue, fingers, cock, whichever you want, but I need you, Beej. Please."

He panted, not out of necessity, but because that was what breathers expected and it conveyed his deep need. Her fingers were sinful and when she snapped the elastic of her own underwear, he jerked forward. He could feel the damp patch on the satin and he could drive nails with his cock it was so hard.

She said she wanted it all; he wanted it all, and all at once. Without further ado, he slipped his hand back to her pussy, still wet from spit, and he didn't hesitate to slip one finger inside her, while applying steady pressure on her clit with the meat of his palm.

Pate arched up against him, letting her head drop back against the mattress with a moan as his finger entered her. When he pressed down against her clit with the flat of his palm her eyes squeezed shut and she hissed through her teeth at the crackling pleasure radiating outward from her pussy. Her hips jerked upward against his hand, her own hands raking across his chest and further down to give his ass an encouraging squeeze.

She was melting, it seemed, but it felt so wonderful, so perfect. She breathed his name, careful to limit herself to her chosen nickname for him.

"That good, baby? That's just one finger, and your pussy's so tight," he growled, then yelped a little at the scratches she gave him. Her hand on his ass made him gasp; she pulled so many noises from him, including another moan at his name from her lips.

He dipped his head to plant a sloppy kiss on her chest, then nipped the spot. He did not remove his finger, but curled it up into her, maintaining that pressure on her clit.

He was going to need to get out of these panties and fast, or the friction of them was going to make him jizz before he was ready!

She bucked harder under him as his finger moved inside her.

"Ah! Beej, oh, fuck!" With his head lowered to her chest, worrying the flesh between his teeth, his tongue lapping at the mark, she rubbed her cheek against the crown of his head, first one and then the other letting out soft whimpers as she did.

"What . . ." she gasped, a thought occurring to her. "What about you?"

To emphasize her point, the hand on his ass moved upward, dragging her nails against him while she bent her knee to trace her heel up his hamstring.

Hooking her leg up higher gave him freer access between her thighs. What about him? He still wanted it all, and nothing was moving quickly enough.

Without a word of warning he removed his hand and bodily swung her into a less awkward position on the bed, onto her back, smiling at her gasp of surprise. He went between her legs and now, with more freedom of movement, pulled one of her nipples into his mouth. He rolled it between his teeth until it was tight, then he nipped his way down her body, looking up at her occasionally to make sure she was fine with it all, before settling between her thighs.

Her pussy was wet and inviting, and he flicked his eyes up to hers, holding them as he dragged his tongue upward through her heat. The tip of his tongue found the nub of her clit, and he lapped it softly, learning what she liked best.

Pate gasped in surprise and excitement when he jostled her to a new position, keening when his mouth found one of her nipples and teased it to hardness with his teeth. She dipped her chin to watch him, chewing on her own lip as he left a trail of soft, tantalizing bites down her torso. Between him locking eyes with her as his tongue dipped into her folds and the ripple of pleasure that clenched in her gut as he licked at the sensitive nerve bundle a loud moan was pulled from her throat. Her fingers twisted in the bedspread as her mouth fell open, but she didn't look away from him.

She had offered him his choice of what to fuck her with, and she was thrilled but not surprised to see that he'd evidently decided to go with all three.

Oh fuck the taste of her made him drool. Beetlejuice sucked her clit, then licked her from top to bottom, then repeated the sequence. He slipped his tongue into her, but fingers were better for that, so he focused on her clit while he put two fingers into her cunt. He watched her throw her head back at the double stimulation, then let his own eyes fall shut as he continued.

Focusing on her helped make him ignore the ache in his own groin, but his hips couldn't stop from rutting into the bedspread. It wasn't perfect, but it did give him some friction that his cock was so desperately demanding. He wanted to make her come, however, so he kept up what he was doing as her voice hitched higher and her thighs started to tremble.

Pressure was building between her legs, her head tossing side to side as Beetlejuice fingerfucked her with gusto, his tongue lavishing her clit with unwavering attention. She tried not to actively hump his face, the stubble on his chin and cheeks scraping against her in a way that only accelerated her approaching climax. She gasped and moaned wantonly, one hand now squeezing at her own breast in time with his thrusting fingers while the other reached down, fumbling, to bury in Beej's hair.

"Beej, I'm, mmmmm! I'm so close, baby," she whined.

"Then come for me, baby," he whispered in her ear, while his mouth was occupied.

His voice, husky and rich and so close to her ear, was all it took to tip her over the edge.

Pate came with a cry, her core muscles tightening and raising her slightly off the bed while her thighs pressed Beetlejuice's head between them. Like a breaking wave, pleasure crashed over her in an undulating tide that seemed to drag her out of her own body for a moment before she came back to herself, leaving behind a fuzzy, bubbly warmth that traveled up her back and made her shiver as she panted, lying flat against the mattress again to catch her breath, feeling Beej's fingers still buried in her pussy, his licking slowed but not stopped as she rode out her orgasm.

Her head rolled to one side, a lazy smile on her face as she caught his glittering golden eyes.

Her cry and her thighs capturing his head made him grin. The tightening of her pussy, awash with wetness, made him continue to lap at her as she enjoyed her pleasure. Not until she relaxed and was able to look at him again did he stop, easing his fingers out of her and giving her one last quick swipe with his tongue just to feel her jump again. Then he sat back with a grin on his face as he wiped a little of the wetness off his face and beard.

"That was hot as fuck, sugar," he praised.

There was a sheen of sweat on her skin, she could feel it, but it didn't stop him from looking at her like he was a starving man before a banquet table. Pate laughed softly, tousling her damp hair before sitting up, her muscles already burning pleasantly with exertion.

"That felt hot as fuck, Love Bug," she teased back, crooking her finger at him much the way he had curled his own in her cunt a short while ago. "C'mere and let me love on you now."

He raised his eyebrows and smirked.

"Sounds good, baby."

Pressing kisses to random spots on her body as he went, Beetlejuice slowly climbed back onto the mattress on top of her. When she could reach, Pate swept both hands up his arms, from wrists to shoulders, though she was still careful of his injury before cupping his face with one and slipping the other around him.

"You made me feel so good, Bug," she cooed when his face was again level with hers, lifting her head to kiss him wherever she could, sweeping one hand through his hair, tugging gently on the silky strands that had turned a brilliant hot pink. "I wanna make you feel good."

Her other hand she smoothed down the curve of his spine, taking her time to scratch little circles between his shoulder blades, over the back of his ribs and his hip until she caught the elastic waistband of her underwear once more.

"As good as these look on you, they'd look better on the floor."

"I'm glad you liked them," Beetlejuice groaned with a smile as she caught her panties in her fingers. "They might not, uh, fit you well any more, though. Sorry babe. We'll get some others."

He lifted his hips to help her shimmy them off. His cock thanked her for so many reasons.

Pate raised an eyebrow archly at him, but couldn't hold it for long before a grin split her face. She was anxious to feel him, to touch him there, she'd come so close before she was desperate to go all the way now. Reaching for him she pulled him down to her, her arms coming around his neck as she kissed him deeply, rolling them both slightly to their sides while their legs tangled together. She sighed through her nose at the feel of his erect member against her abdomen, snaking one hand down his front, dragging her nails lightly down his chest, across the softness of his stomach, heading south to take his shaft in a loose grip.

With her tongue in his mouth he moaned in his throat instead as her fingernails scratched down his front to her hand’s final destination: his throbbing cock. Embarrassingly, he’d have rutted against her stomach if she hadn’t; the constriction of her panties had been nice and then frustrating, and her loose grip on him made him tremble and only want more.

“Please, Pate,” he begged shamelessly between bouts of capturing her mouth. “I want--I wanna--please!”

He was inarticulate and needy, pressed so tightly against her warm body. Her nipples were hard nubs against his chest, his were erect because she’d inadvertently rubbed against his piercings, she was only lightly holding his cock, and she didn’t know it, but she also held all the cards here. A sudden, horrible thought occurred to him. Desperately, he blurted,

“Pate, baby--remember I told you it wasn’t smart to cocktease a demon? Fucking--don’t do that, don’t do that to me, baby, please, please--” He broke himself off with an involuntary thrust of his hips.

He was so beautiful it physically ached, their bodies flush together, needy open-mouthed kisses to whatever bit of skin they happened to land on. All his little sounds sent bolts of warmth shooting through her, from the center of her chest to her throbbing pussy.

To hear him plead and beg, this specter, this demon, this being whose power she couldn't even fully fathom, for him to think she could deny him anything was heartbreaking. But after their last failed foray into intimacy, why shouldn't he worry? Catching the back of his neck with her free hand Pate tugged his face to hers for a quick, fierce kiss, pumping her loose fist up and down his hard cock.

"Of course not, sweetheart," she promised. "Go ahead, Beej. I want you to."

Hoping the gesture would convince him where words might not, she extricated one of her legs from between his and wrapped it around his hips, pressing her pelvis invitingly forward against him.

He almost sobbed at her promise, and her lifting her leg to drape around him. This position, side by side, was a little awkward but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. His injured shoulder protested as he wriggled that arm between them. He ignored it. He slipped his fingers through her pussy again, a little to make her squeal and a little more to figure out exactly where he needed to be, then he shook her hand off him--that was so difficult!--and grabbed himself by the base of his cock.

With a little shifting and a little mutual coordination, he managed to finally slip into her pussy.

The sweet sensation of it made him shudder. She made some noise too, but there was a ringing in his ears that made it impossible for him to tell exactly what it was. He gave a small thrust of his hips, entering her a little deeper, and couldn’t help but try it again with a larger movement.

That was a mistake. Their position didn’t allow for either as deep as he was driven to do, or much movement, and that would never do. Not this time. Maybe this was her favorite position, and he was failing her test. Still, he said in a choked voice,

“New plan. On your back, baby. Please?”

She hurried to do as he asked, which gave him some relief. From his knees, he dragged his gaze up her body, drinking in the sight of her, before settling between her legs. This was much better. He was still pressed against her, could still kiss her, and with only minor adjustment this time, he smoothly rocked forward and his cock filled her pussy with ease.

He bit his lower lip as molten heat engulfed him. She was divine. He thrust into her, and pulled back, creating the most delicious friction. She cried out too, that beautiful sound, and her hands gripped him tightly where they held, on his hips and ass. Pleasure built in his gut, he moaned her name, he tried to kiss her but that was too much, too many nerve-endings, it was going to overwhelm him and he was going to--

--the ache in his shoulder suddenly flared into a blistering tsunami of pain. He’d been holding himself up with a rigid arm and immediately dropped to his elbow on that side, but that only made the pain move like some sadistic parasite under his skin. His cries of pleasure took a turn south and he had to stop, no matter how much Pate’s hips continued to rock up towards him, no matter how her own cries faltered at the realization something was wrong.

Shooting stars seemed to burst behind her eyes when she felt him slide into her, her arms wrapping as far around him as she could when he trembled against her at the shared sensation. Pate bit down on her lip at the burn as he stretched her, sighing as she gradually relaxed around his girth. It was so foreign at first, the feeling of his length inside her, but when he began to move she moaned into the side of his neck.

It wasn't the ideal position, so she was only too happy to oblige his request to change it up, grinning at him as he moved to reposition himself and pressed into her pulsating heat again. Her eyes shut and her mouth opened, falling back against the bed as he set the pace, a notch above slow and sensual but softer than outright rutting. It felt like a spring was coiling in her pelvis, tighter and tighter as he continued to thrust and moan and sigh her name, his lips finding hers in a sloppy, fleeting kiss.

Her hands weren't idle, skating up his neck to hold his face, into his hair, down his back, petting, stroking, squeezing. His moans choked off into a hiss and he stilled between her legs and collapsed atop her, his arm folding under him. It took her a beat to realize he hadn't finished, that his face was contorted in pain not pleasure.

"Shit, Beej!" she gasped, her breathing still elevated. "Baby, are you okay?"

He wanted nothing more than to continue; he should be able to power through the pain, but he simply couldn't.

"I'm sorry, baby!" he apologized into the side of her neck. It made him ashamed that he couldn't even look her in the face too, but to admit a demon couldn't perform because he hurt was too embarrassing. "I can't . . . this position isn't . . . I mean, I like it, I love it, you feel so fucking amazing, but . . . my shoulder . . ."

His voice dropped to a near inaudible whisper as he confessed the problem.

Pate wrapped her arms around his head and neck, pressing kisses into his hair while she shushed him softly.

"You don't have to apologize, Bug," she cooed reassuringly. "I didn't think about that, I'm sorry." She continued to pet his hair while she thought, pecking his temple and saying, "Sit up, baby. Let's try something else."

He nodded against her, gasping when he pulled out of her and balanced himself on his knees and one hand.

A mournful moan tried to work its way out of her at the feeling of absence, but she ignored it and made sure Beetlejuice was comfortably seated, his legs stretched out in front of him. He wore an uncertain expression, as if he had doubts about her intentions, but the tension left his face when she crawled over to him on her knees and straddled his waist, keeping a light hand on his good shoulder to keep her balance.

Reaching between them, she found his cock again, still slick from being inside her twice already, and guided it once more to her entrance. Pate sighed through parted lips as she lowered herself down until seated on his thighs, feeling him shudder against her again. She folded her legs around his lower back, her hands coming to rest on his chest so she could scratch her nails soothingly through the patch of hair there.

"How's that, baby? Will this be okay?"

He let her manipulate him into whatever position she wanted, although it surprised him it simply wasn’t doggy style. He figured since he’d failed fucking her in two different positions, though, that she’d take matters into her own hands.

What he didn’t expect was this new position, no pressure at all on his shoulder, facing her so he could see and kiss her, her legs wrapped around him, her seated so snugly in the cradle of his pelvis and his cock so deep inside her that he knew now he wasn’t going to last long.

He tested moving. There wasn’t much, but he didn’t mind it. Her pussy was still hot and tight around his cock, and being able to gently lean forward to find her mouth was an unexpected but wonderful bonus. From her gasps, Pate didn’t seem to mind that there was very little actual fucking either. Her fingers scratched sweet lines on his chest and he moaned. He wasn’t sure what the limitations of this new position were, but he should do something for her, because in another twenty seconds or so he was going to lose it.

“Could you, could you lay back?” he asked in a rush. “This is good, this is great, but I’d love to be able to finger your clit too, to make you feel good, baby. If you want. Only if you want! This feels so good, gods I love this--”

If his moans and the rocking of his hips were any indicator, Beetlejuice seemed to take a liking to her suggested arrangement. The actual sex part was largely relegated to simply rocking against one another, but the trade-off was that both their hands were free to explore one another's bodies.

She sighed against his lips when he kissed her, tracing whorls in his chest hair and around and over his nipple piercings, leaning in to kiss up and down his neck, feeling the vibrations in her ribcage when he moaned. She blinked, his words taking a moment to break through the fog of pleasure clouding her brain, but then she smiled.

"Anything for you, Love Bug," she purred, giving him another peck on the lips before leaning back to lay over the top of his legs, her own still wrapped around his waist.

Her compliance gave him a different sort of thrill; someone trusted and liked him enough to agree! He kissed her feverishly before she eased herself backwards to lay over his legs.

"Gods, you're fucking beautiful," he breathed, drinking the sight of her in.

The position arched her back a little, and her tits jiggled. He loved seeing her hip bones. And now he had access to her pussy, and the sight of the two of them, joined . . . he groaned. It was too much. All of this was too much.

After licking his fingers, he dropped his hand to her clit to rub it lightly. She bucked towards him, just a little at the pressure he applied, and he came undone.

Beetlejuice grabbed her thigh with the hand not already occupied as he climaxed. He couldn't keep his eyes open and he keened as he came inside her.

As he drifted back from the waves of pleasure, it occurred to him he should've asked if that was okay; he should have known her preference, and guilt immediately nipped the heels of the lingering bliss.

Still sensitive from having come once already, Pate gasped and moaned at the gentle touch of his fingers against her clit, her hips jerking reflexively into him. She felt the muscles in his legs tense under her, his free hand grasping desperately and landing on her thigh as he finally came himself. It was breathtaking to behold, his eyes shut, his mouth agape as a loud, needful sound forced its way out.

The feel of his cock twitching inside her, pumping her full; the feather-light press of his fingers against her clit, the blissed-out look on his face as he rode out his release, it all combined, twisting the spring tighter and tighter in her pelvis until, with a harsh gasp and a cry, she came again as well, her hands fumbling for something to hold onto, gripping the outside of his thigh, twining her fingers into his hand still resting on her leg. Her muscles all relaxed in the post-orgasm come down, feeling like she was sinking into the mattress, her chest heaving for breath. She curled her fingers with his.

Beetlejuice managed to pry his eyes open just as Pate was coming down from her own peak. He was happy he made her feel so good. She was gorgeous splayed out in before him, and her reaching for and holding his hand made a sweeter connection than the sex they’d just shared. The last residual pulses of pleasure wound down, and he squeezed her hand.

"Want help back up, baby?” he asked quietly. It couldn’t be super comfortable in that position, laying back against his legs, and he told her so. “I love seeing you like that, but you’re gonna be sore if you fall asleep like that.”

Pate chuckled tiredly, feeling her heartbeat and breathing returning to normal even as the last flutters of orgasm thrummed through her, leaving her satiated, content, and sleepy. Truth be told, she was starting to feel the strain in her back and her hips so she nodded with an agreeable hum, tightening her hand around his and giving his thigh one last squeeze before letting go to reach for him.

"If you don't mind," she giggled. "Don't strain your shoulder, though."

He helped her sit up, using only one arm at her insistence. Back upright and pressed against him again, he stole another deep kiss before she moved off him completely. She left a smear of wet on his thigh, but that was only fair.

He flopped back onto the bed, yelped because he'd managed to forget about his shoulder injury for a hot second, and went back to his side.

"What now? Room service? Crappy TV? Gonna take a shower? Or do you just wanna sleep, baby?" he asked, peppering her with questions. He felt lazy and sated.

Pate sat where she was and didn't answer right away, grinning at him as he rattled off suggestions. She raised herself onto all fours and crawled to him, fitting herself snuggly against him with a long sigh.

"You had me at sleep," she mumbled, nuzzling her face into the hollow of his throat and pressing a few small, warm kisses there. "Will you be ok? Like this?"

She made a vague gesture down their bodies, still nude.

"Should I throw something back on?" She didn't want to drop off and leave him in distress, but she also didn't want to move to the other bed.

"Wanna be close to you," she breathed, finding it harder and harder to keep her eyes open.

"You think I'm gonna turn down being next to a naked woman in a bed that smells like sex? You don't know me very well, baby," he teased.

He did, however, move away to turn the lights off, and helped her under the blankets before joining her again. She was very warm, countering his chill, and he sighed as she snuggled against him. He watched over her as she fell asleep, and then let himself drift in the dark too, feeling content.

tbc

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice x OC #rp #Beetlejuice based on blumjuice

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

Text

Ménage (3/13ish)

NSFW, tentative start, desire, bold suggestion

It was gentle, that first intimate contact, and she let her eyes slip closed. The coolness of his lips helped the sting, and if her mouth hadn’t been occupied she would have told him that for this, for him, she didn’t mind a little pain. During the kiss, she inched closer, felt a pull in her gut she couldn’t ignore, craving more touches, more kisses, more of him.

The slightly salty taste of the blood on her lips made him groan deep in his throat. He was no vampire or incubus, but the taste of it excited him too; breathers had no clue about how intoxicating it could be.

He couldn't help wanting more, and his tongue slipped through her lips, delving a little deeper, wanting not just a lick of salt but the underlying taste of her. His free hand came up and half caught the nape of her neck and half threaded into her hair, keeping her close, while the hand that had grown still on her thigh gave her a squeeze and inched slightly higher, to the junction between her legs.

The rumble of that deep, throaty groan buzzed against her lips, seeming to reach down into her and set her bones to vibrating, nerves strummed like guitar strings. Molly pressed closer, parting her lips for him, goosebumps prickling across her skin as his hand settled against the side of her neck, fingers twisted in her Mediterranean blue hair. She wasn't sure if this was how all first kisses were supposed to feel, or if he was just especially good, but for all the heartache that preceded it, she was glad that he had been the first to kiss her.

A jolt went through her as his fingers crept inward, pressing lightly between her legs, cold meeting warm, Atlantic meeting the Caribbean. The soft noise she made melted like sugar between their tongues, her hands fumbling at the knot of his tie, pulling it loose before smoothing down his chest, flicking open the first couple of buttons on his shirt. It was only fair she get a head start, with him in a suit and her only in a t-shirt and shorts.

Her fingers loosened his tie and popped the buttons on his shirt quickly; lewdly he wondered if they were going to be nimble enough to undo a zipper that was being strained by his hard on. He also wondered, despite her seeming to like this kiss, if she was going to pull away or slap him if his hand moved in closer--

--nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Beetlejuice lightly, delicately, drew his fingers up the seam of her shorts, right over her pussy. It was a light enough touch that he could feign innocence if she asked, but his grin through the kiss would give him away.

It may have been her imagination, or perhaps her hands getting used to the temperature of his skin, but he seemed warmer below the collarbones, her hands gently nudging his shirt aside to feel the smooth slide of her palms against him. What was it about skin to skin contact that felt so nice? Her head tilted, changing the angle of the kiss, adjusting to the taste of earth and cigarette smoke and cheap whiskey...not an entire unpleasant combination.

Her back stiffened, her lips breaking from his in a soft gasp as his fingers traced so lightly over her, the touch gentle but deliberate. Though their mouths weren't connected, she could nonetheless feel his grin, could practically hear the creak of dead skin stretching. There should have been hesitation, even dread, a moment of please wait I don't know if this is what I want.

But there wasn't.

Molly gently pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, worried that he would take this pause for displeasure. In an echo from when he had first drawn his fingers across her skin, she whispered, "Do that again."

Her hands left fire in their wake as her palms went down his chest; he felt the warmth of them settle deeply inside, and it fanned the flames of desire. They never knew he’d just revel in simple touch, if they let him--not that he complained when they wanted more!

A chuckle came more from his throat than his mouth at her request.

“Do it again, babydoll?” he asked, even as his fingers complied, drawing up her most intimate area with a little more pressure. The warmth from her hands was nothing compared to the heat between her legs, and he licked his teeth. “And again? Again?”

With each query he repeated the motion, adding more force, with each pass. He paused then, his hand fully cupping her mound; his palm pressed to the top while his fingers were lower between her legs. He used just the tips to stroke her steadily, without moving his hand from this position. He grinned again, and darted forward to kiss her again, less easy now, more demand and expectation.

Again, that laugh like distant thunder, reverberating through her despite its softness. She nodded, not trusting her lungs to fill enough to reply as his fingers traced over her, up and down, pressing the pads more firmly against her until he held her, quite literally, in the palm of his hands. The gentle stroke of his fingertips accompanied by the press if his palm was maddening, and she let out an soft whimper.

His lips smothered the sound, the kiss deeper, hungrier. She had to get closer, might die if she didn’t, and moving carefully to keep from dislodging his hand, she all but climbed into his lap, opening the rest of his buttons and pressing herself to his bare chest, fingers locked together behind his neck.

"Beej . . . oh honey . . . please don't stop."

Her bold move was sexy, and he told her so.

"I like a woman who knows what she wants, beautiful," he murmured, and continued to stroke her through her shorts. "Any chance you'd lose your shirt for me? This is a perfect position for me to . . ."

He pursed his lips before touching the tip of his tongue to the center of his upper lip, and deliberately dropped his gaze to her chest to make his meaning clear. If she pulled her shirt over her head and reached behind herself to unclasp her bra, her hair may move forward to her chest. Then he'd get the pretty picture of blue locks over her tits, like a mermaid--or more realistically, a siren. More practically, it'd shift her away from his crotch for a moment; he'd love a second to readjust himself.

His question, and the following lewd gaze and flicker of his tongue across his lip, made her bite her lip, sore spot be damned. A shiver rippled down her spine, and she was honestly surprised the force of it didn't shake her off his lap.

"God, yes," she breathed.

Molly was half tempted to make him take it off of her, but she was not about to let him gain his hand back from its position between her thighs. Leaning back a bit, she reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head, revealing a lack of a bra; she rarely wore them much anymore, finding them uncomfortable and confining. The scrap of fabric was tossed aside, her hair spilling over her shoulders in gentle waves like the ocean its color mimicked.

Her hands cradled his head, pressed softly to his cheeks before sliding down his neck, her touch deliberate and slow, as much for him to enjoy as for her. Gently, if a bit insistently, she pushed the suit jacket from his shoulders, helping him shed it entirely before tugging his shirt open. Had she noticed the little silver piercings in his nipples before? Surely not, or she would have felt the same tingle of heat in her belly as she did now, letting her fingertips lightly graze over the metal.

She shrugged out of her shirt and he got a tantalizing glimpse of her tits bouncing before her hair covered them, just as he expected and wanted.

Her hands brushed over his scruff and neck and he groaned at the heat of them, then when she made it to his shoulders and it was clear she wanted his jacket off him, he briefly considered simply making it disappear. But who was he to deny a woman stripping him? So he shifted awkwardly to help facilitate removing it, surging upward from his core and managing to kiss her as she shoved his frayed jacket off his shoulders. As he fell back, leaving it crushed underneath him, he murmured how sweet her mouth was, and reached up to the side of her neck to pull her to him again, for another taste.

While his tongue lapped at hers, the act of getting his arms out of the sleeves meant he had to move his hand off its new favorite spot from between her legs, but that also gave him a moment to rock his hips and realign his cock so it lay slightly more comfortably behind his fly.

He watched her fingers finish popping the chipped buttons on his shirt, and when they discovered and she lightly rubbed his piercings, he jumped.

His eyes flicked to hers before they were drawn back to her hands on his nipples. Mimicking her earlier request, he asked in a breathy moan, "Do that again, baby?"

Would she ever get tired of the way he kissed her? Would each brush of his lips against hers continue to throw sparks, like she were flint, and he steel?

A soft whine left her as the pressure of his hand between her legs disappeared, but the moan he gave her in response to her fingertips on his nipples and his breathless request more than made up for it. She smiled as she thumbed his nipples, stroking back and forth in a steady rhythm, her thumbnail flicking the piercings with every other pass or so.

"I like it when you moan," she confessed, chancing a glance down to see how the front of his pants seemed to bulge alarmingly. Shifting forward, she pressed her hips to his, a sigh of pleasure escaping at the feeling of him, still confined, rubbing against her through thin cotton. "I like making you moan."

Her hand settled against his cheek; as if magnetized, it always seemed to drift back there, no matter where she placed her hands.

"Sweetheart," she murmured gently, leaning in to press a kiss between his brows, "please, touch me."

Her fingers, strumming his piercings? It was a good thing she confessed liking to hear him moan, because he had no control over it when she played with them like that. Her mouth would be even better--

That thought was derailed as she adjusted her position in his lap and settled heavily onto his trapped and aching cock. It might have been his imagination, but he would swear he could feel the heat of her pussy through the layers of fabric.

At her request, he licked his lower lip, and when he replied, his voice dropped a measure, making it deep.

"Tell me where and how, baby. You want my mouth on those beautiful tits? Do you want me to lick each and every bit of ink you've got on you? I like this one--" he dragged his fingers up her left thigh, over the permanent words there, "--even though I'm no angel. You want my fingers against your pussy again? You called me up, tell me what you want best."

Her hair brushed against his skin as Molly leaned forward, hands flat on his chest, his nipples hard tips against her palms.

"I want all of it, Beej. Touch me however, wherever." Her hands slipped lower, over the rounded curve of his belly, the texture of the sparse hair tantalizing. "You've got my consent, honey, you don't have to wait for me to tell you what to do."

She could feel the phantom trace of his fingers up her thigh, and suddenly wished she had more tattoos, more hidden artwork for him to discover, to trace, to run his tongue over.

"Besides," she added, "I get the feeling that not a lot of people ask you what you want. You're not . . ." Her forehead pressed to his as she sighed, searching for the words. "You're not a genie, I don't want you to have to follow orders."

Her fingers pushed through his hair, which wasn't stiff or wiry like she had expected, but thick and oddly soft.

Beetlejuice groaned as her hands moved from chest to abdomen and practically purred with her nails on his scalp. His head lolled at the soft massage. The physical touch plus someone who granted him consent? If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.

Her forehead on his made her too close to see clearly, but he didn’t need to see to reach further back along her leg, to the swell of her ass. He slipped a finger, then all of them, under the soft elastic of her panties at her upper thigh, and stretching a little further, he managed to dip his finger into her pussy from behind.

The heat of it made him groan.

He licked his lips. He wanted to touch her everywhere, lick every inch of her body, rut into her, fill her with come--then he remembered she’d mentioned never having done any of this before. It didn’t dump ice water on him completely, but he should probably not just fuck her like an animal.

So. Slight change in plans.

“Molly, babydoll . . . granting a demon consent and permission is a dangerous thing,” he told her quietly, “but I’m not going to decline. What I want is for you to lay back on this couch and finger yourself. Show me what you do when you’re touching yourself. Show me how you like it.”

He lifted his hips a little, to both press up into her, exactly where he wanted to be, and to unseat her.

The icy shock of his fingers dipping into the scorching silk of her wetness made her jolt forward, into him, moaning as her head fell to his shoulder, breasts pressed to his bare chest as she buried her face in his neck. Her head didn’t remain there for long, lifting when she heard the word "demon." Hadn't he professed to being a ghost?

"So you're a demon?" Her tone was even, without a trace of fear or surprise. She supposed it made sense, with his inhuman features and disdain for celestial beings. Then, a smile broke over her face. "I actually summoned a demon? Holy shit. Is it weird that I feel kind of honored that you answered?"

tbc . . .

@beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @thewolfisapartofmysoul @dilfyjuice @janitor-boy

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice x OC #rp #Beetlejuice based on blumjuice

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

Text

Familial Ties (And How To Break Them) 13/14

NSFW! ~

They were much more conspicuous strolling through the lobby coated in filth than they had been when they first arrived, even with Beetlejuice's striped suit and green hair. When the elevator doors opened and the two of them shuffled inside, none of the others waiting to go up stepped forward to join them. As the doors slid shut and the elevator began to ascend, Pate and Beetlejuice looked at one another for a long moment before she simply burst out laughing, unable to contain it anymore.

Nothing was particularly funny. She was sore and achy, scuffed and bruised, but still basking in the knowledge that they'd done what they set out to do. It was over and Beetlejuice was with her. She leaned into his side, her arm slipping around his waist.

"You saved me again," she said, smiling. "I'll have to come up with some way to reward you. That's how it always goes in the movies, right? Luke blew up the Death Star and then he got a medal?" Pate tipped her head back to meet his eyes, grinning. "I don't have a medal, but maybe I can think of something else?"

"Reward? Like cleaning out the mini bar and getting tickets to see Cher?" he asked innocently, but with raised eyebrows and a smirk.

Pate huffed a laugh through her nose, letting her head nod back against his chest and bringing up her other arm around his middle to give him a squeeze, humming contentedly.

“I feel like you’re joking, but in all seriousness, Beej, if that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.”

She felt his chuckle rumbling against her cheek. Pate stepped around in front of him to meet his eyes, a delicate fluttery warmth blossoming inside her at the look on his face; the confident, crooked grin, the half-lidded amber eyes with their long lashes, glittering with promise.

“You’ve taken such good care of me, Beej,” she said softly. “You’ve helped me, protected me, forgiven me, comforted me. You rode across the country with me and fought demons with me. I never could have done any of this without you. And really… you didn’t have to, not any of it. But you did anyway. So tonight, I wanna take care of you.”

As she spoke, her arms came from around him, her hands trailing from his back to his sides in tender caresses.

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that her life had been completely transformed by his presence in it. He made her feel braver, stronger, like she could take on anything as long as he was with her. As strange and unusual and recent as their meeting had been, Pate honestly couldn’t imagine being without him now. She opened her mouth to say so, but the elevator stilled and chimed as it arrived at their floor, so instead she smiled at him again and took his wrist in both hands, backing into the hall and tugging him with her. It would be much more fun to show him instead.

“Let’s see about that shower first, and then we’ll go see Cher.”

He followed along with a goofy smile. It had been a long time since he'd been sincerely appreciated; he didn't think that Pate was lying about anything she just said, and that was almost enough to make the cold dead fist sized lump in his chest start beating again. He couldn't help but wince a little as she tugged him through the door of their room; she inadvertently gave him a little extra jerk and that made his shoulder flare in pain again, but he covered it by surging forward and planting a kiss on her mouth.

That contact made his libido kick his painful shoulder to the curb, for the moment.

"I'll have these clothes off us in a second, baby," he muttered against her lips.

Her fingers still interlocked with his, Pate reached through the open door to switch on the bathroom light, turning back around just in time to find him moving in to capture her lips with his. She let his momentum propel them both back through the doorway into the gleaming tiled bathroom, sighing deeply and angling her head, squeezing his hand with her own while the other pressed to his stomach, sliding up towards his chest.

When he broke away just enough to speak she opened her eyes and saw him raising his free hand, preparing to snap their clothing away. The hand on his chest darted out and clasped around his fingers. His head turned to look, first at their hands and then at her face, bemused. Pate smiled and shook her head simply.

"Uh-uh," she teased. "No magic snapping tonight. I'm taking care of you, remember?"

She pressed a few more soft kisses to his stubbly chin and his mouth, reaching up with both hands to loosen his tie before slipping it off over his head and depositing it on the counter beside her.

Mindful of his injured shoulder, she slid her hands up his chest, over his collarbones to shuck his jacket, letting it drop to the floor. She raised her eyes to his face, watching intently and nibbling on her bottom lip as she began undoing the buttons of his shirt. In between she paused, leaning in to favor each bit of newly revealed skin with a warm, wet kiss starting at the hollow of his throat and progressing slowly but steadily down his chest, stopping just above his naval and the waistband of his trousers.

She was serious about this 'taking care of' thing. He stood, mostly passively, as she worked knots and buttons loose and open, as she carefully exposed his skin. It ached to twist his shoulder out of his jacket sleeve; he could only imagine what fully removing his shirt was going to feel like.

"Not gonna just let me keep this shirt on till my shoulder's better? It could use a wash under the shower too--" he said, half-joking. She ignored his attempt at humor and he interrupted himself as she popped the buttons. "--oh! I guess this is nice too--"

For a second time he cut into his own sentence, but this time to groan as her mouth sucked gentle marks down his torso. He didn't know what to do with his hands, so he stood awkwardly with them half raised. When she made it just to the top of his trousers, he brushed her hair out of her face and held it messily in his fist. He urged her back up for a kiss.

"This is a fancy Las Vegas bathroom, baby, but the bed's pretty fancy too. Sure you don't just want to make housekeeping earn a big tip?"

Pate grinned against his soft stomach as he moaned, the deep sound vibrating through him and subsequently through her lips as she kissed her way downwards. She took note of the reluctant tone to his rapid-fire jabbering, humming appreciatively when she felt his hands sweeping her hair back and bunching it between his fists, tugging her back up and into his hungry mouth. Her hands traveled up with her, snaking up his sides, across his chest and over the piercings still concealed by his shirt before slipping up either side of his neck to the base of his skull. Her fingers delved into his hair, scratching lightly at the scalp while she slotted her mouth with his, shivering at the press of his cold lips and tongue probing at her warmth.

She huffed a breathless laugh at his suggestion.

“Well, this is Vegas, so I’m sure they’ve seen worse,” she quipped. “But I don’t know that I could cover the gratuity if we made too big of a mess.”

Her arms still draped around his neck, Pate continued dragging her nails through his hair, massaging his scalp as she smiled at him, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“But tonight is for you. So you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I, however, am gonna hop in the shower.”

Taking a step away from him, Pate hoisted her shirt off and dropped it to the floor, keeping her eyes on his as she shimmied out of her probably ruined jeans and quickly divested herself of her underthings.

Tiptoeing around him to the open shower she turned on the water and stood with her back to him, waiting for it to warm to her liking before stepping under the spray, letting it sluice over her head and shoulders, tipping her head back under the water. Even with the bathroom door standing open the mirror began to fog. Pate hummed tunelessly as she squirted body wash onto her loofa, working it into a lather between her hands. She smiled as she dragged the sudsy sponge up her arms, feeling his eyes watching her.

She left him standing there mostly dressed with half a boner while she coyly stepped into the open shower. And now she was making a show of cleaning herself: the water spraying, suds, throwing her head back to expose her throat while pushing her wet hair back, accidently-on-purpose turning her back to him as she bent over to wash her legs . . .

That half boner evolved into a raging hard on seeing her there.

Fuck it.

She said she wanted to take care of him. Toeing off his shoes took another few moments, then Beetlejuice stepped into the shower, still mostly clothed, with her.

Pate was still humming to herself, in no particular hurry as she rinsed suds off her body just under the showerhead. She did wonder how long it would take him to crack, grinning privately. She had noticed that he showed . . . not trepidation about water or baths in general, more of a genuine disinterest. She supposed it was a demon thing.

Her small, secret smile widened into a full grin when she felt him move in behind her. His arms circled her middle, one hand raising to fondle her breast, his head dipping to press his open mouth to the curve of her naked shoulder. She could feel his erection through the clothes he hadn't bothered with taking off, sending a delighted shudder up her spine as she leaned back into him, reaching behind her with one hand and sliding her wet fingers up his neck and into his hair.

"Changed your mind?" she teased, wrapping her other arm around his.

"Mmmphff," he replied, through a mouthful of water that he'd gotten from kissing her facing the spray.

Less than a minute, and he was already mostly soaked. He shivered at her fingers dug into his hair, then moaned as she wiggled her ass against his groin. The water was surprisingly warm too; he'd forgotten how nice it was to have external warmth surrounding him. At that, he turned her she faced him and also that his back was to the spray, absorbing the majority of it. Then he hissed, having forgotten that water on the shoulder that'd been torn open wasn't going to feel great.

He shifted so that shoulder wasn't hit directly by the hard spray, and ignored that his shirt stuck unpleasantly to his back. He kissed Pate, keeping her held tightly to his front. Her skin felt slick under his hands, and they moved smoothly from the nape of her neck to the swell of her ass, giving it an appreciative squeeze.

Pate grimaced at the pained sound he made, shuffling accommodatingly with him when he maneuvered them to keep his shoulder out from under the spray.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she murmured against his mouth, pressing as closely as she could against him while his hands glided over her body, down her back to her butt. She hummed happily as his fingers kneaded the flesh, peppering the open neck of his dress shirt with kisses to the moistened skin that was warming in the water.

His clothes were soaked through, the striped shirt practically see-through now, showing off his shields and stiff nipples. Smiling, she slid her palms up his torso to circle her fingertips around and around the hardening buds through his shirt.

"I think we can probably lose this now, don't you?" she asked with another impish grin, tugging the hem free of his waistband.

She unhooked his suspenders rather than drag the one over his shoulder, taking great care to peel the sodden shirt off him one arm at a time to minimize the stress on his injury. All the while an almost endless and largely meaningless stream of praise and soothing words left her lips in between gentle kisses pressed to his chest, his neck, his bicep, wherever they happened to land.

At length they got his shirt off and tossed it carelessly to the back of the shower stall. Pate reached up with both hands and swept his drenched hair back out of his face, sweeping it straight back over the crown of his head.

"Not so bad, right?" she asked, hands trailing from his head down to cup his jaw between them. "Is your shoulder okay? I hoped maybe the heat might help it some."

He let her strip him, stealing kisses when he could. Her fingers were nice on his piercings; what was nicer were her palms, applying a little more pressure to them, sending spikes of pleasure into his chest. He returned the favor, rolling her nipples between his thumb and finger, and even interrupting her attempt to get him naked by bending over and taking one into his mouth. Her skin was warm, of course, and the inside of his mouth as he suckled wasn't. He liked the contrast and didn't release her until she forced his head away.

She pushed his soaked hair back and up, and he shook his head like a dog, flinging more water everywhere. As his hair was immediately drenched again it was futile, and it tweaked his shoulder a little, so he didn't repeat it.

"It'll be fine. It's good," he fibbed, more interested in other, more carnal things at the moment than his dumb injured shoulder. "It seems there's one thing missing from this shower, Pate."

He gave her a second to look around them, brow furrowed, before answering himself, with a devilish grin.

"There's no bed in here. How'm I supposed to fuck you through the mattress if there's no bed in here?"

With his fingers teasing her nipples into points, as pleasurable as it was (and it was pleasurable), Pate steadfastly continued her attempts to at least rinse the worst of the grime off him. When he took it upon himself to latch onto a breast with his mouth she gasped and arched at the sensation; the steaming water and her own heated skin contrasted with his cool tongue and lips had arousal pooling in the pit of her stomach, thumping in her pulse points and in between her legs.

Judging by the strained fabric at the front of Beetlejuice's pants, he was more than ready to go. And truthfully, so was she, but she wanted to take her time this round, to show him what he meant to her and how glad she was to have him in her life. Which meant she was going to need to cool them both down, just a little bit, to make this last. Breathing deeply, willing herself to remain composed she smiled up at his observation.

"Don't you worry, Bug," she cooed, her thumbs circling the points of his hips. "We'll have plenty of time for that. We've got all the time we want."

She turned off the water and grabbed a couple towels from the shelf mounted next to the shower. Briskly drying herself, Pate also toweled off Beetlejuice's hair while he wriggled his way at last out of his drenched and clinging pants. His hardened cock sprang free as he slid his tatty boxer-briefs down, nestled in pubic hair that was tinted distinctly pink, like the rest of his hair. Smiling at him, both of them still slightly damp and warm, Pate gripped his waist and pulled herself flush against him for another kiss.

"Go lay down for me?" she murmured into his mouth. "Let me take care of you?"

After a rough toweling and his cock being trapped against her, he'd have done just about anything she'd asked. He nodded feverishly at her request even if he wasn't quite sure what she meant, and led the way back to the bedroom, flopping down onto the mattress.

She giggled as he bounced on the bed, his damp hair fluffy as bird's down. Pink was crawling up the soft green strands from the roots, darkening even as she padded over and seated herself, still every bit as naked as he was, on the bed next to him. Pate smiled fondly down at him, his lips slightly parted in anticipation, eyes riveted to her face as she stroked a hand through his hair. Even the minimal washing had made it so much softer, silky between her fingers, and her smile widened when he let his head roll to the side, into her touch.

Shifting closer, her leg bent under her while the other dangled off the edge of the mattress, Pate leaned in to press her mouth to his again, supporting her weight on her elbow so she could keep her hand in his hair while the other wandered his body; her thumb brushing across the apple of his cheek, stroking his scruffy jaw and down his neck, scratching lightly through his chest hair.

"I wanna make you feel so good, Bug," she breathed against him in between hot presses of their lips against one another. "I wish I'd done it sooner."

She let her head fall next to his, lavishing hot open mouth kisses to the side of his neck while her scratching fingers roamed lower, following the wispy trail of hair from his belly to his groin.

She felt him tense, heard him gasp as she just grazed the head of his cock. "I wanna taste you, baby. Would you like that?"

He was already losing the heat he'd gained from the shower, so it was nice Pate snuggled into his side. Her hand and fingers felt good too, scratching along his skin, tickling him in the best way. He couldn't help but moan at something as simple as her nails in his scruff; that particular caress happened so few and far between he never remembered how much he liked that until someone did it.

He could pound nails with his cock, and nothing had really even happened yet. Needily, he opened his mouth against hers, straining upward to keep the contact as long as he could when she pulled back to breathe.

Her words too, sent a shiver through him. It was rare enough to be non-existent that someone wanted to take care of him that he wasn't quite sure what to say or do. He thought he should touch her, return the caresses, just fling her over and go to town rutting, but she settled even more comfortably with her head against his.

"Y-yes?" he faltered. He cleared his throat and tried again, as difficult as that was when her hand brushed his cock. "Yes, please, fuck, Pate!"

Random monosyllabic words should convey it, right?

His enthusiastic consent, slightly raspy and edged with desperation, excited her. She sucked delicately on the sensitive skin just behind his ear, kissing her way around to his face as she raised herself onto her knees. Pate giggled when he sat up as much as he could to keep their mouths in contact as she moved away, her hands trailing down his body as she went. Finally he collapsed back into the pillows, watching her with lust blown eyes as she settled herself between his legs.

There really was no more point in teasing him, he was already so hard. She could see a glistening bead of pre-cum at the slit. Her heart hammering in her chest, as much with nerves as with arousal, she stroked her hands up and down his thighs and made a confession.

"I've, um . . . never actually done this before. So you'll let me know if I'm doing it right?"

She'd held him in her hand already, so she wasn't too shy to settle in and wrap her hand around him. At her touch, Beetlejuice let out the most gorgeous cross between a gasp and a moan and the sound went straight to her pussy. She could feel the wet heat between her own legs but that could wait.

Keeping her eyes on his face, watching for his reactions to see what he liked, Pate started out slowly, simply kissing up the underside of his shaft along the thick vein that ran there. When she got to the head, she lapped at the precariously perched drop of fluid and then experimentally took him in her mouth, just a bit, to get used to the feel and the taste of him.

It took a lot of willpower not to buck up against the moist wet heat of her mouth. But after her confession, he didn't want to do anything brash like gag her and turn her off it completely. Still, he couldn't help reaching down and catching the side of her head as she made it to the top of his shaft and put her lips around him. When her tongue lapped at him, caught between her lips, he closed his eyes and groaned. He forced himself to hold very still.

She stopped, and he opened his eyes again to look down at her, looking up at him with a slightly worried look on her face.

"Don't tease," he warned lightly, but with a smile, interpreting her expression that maybe she'd done something wrong. "You're doing fine, baby. Your mouth feels so good, I just had to concentrate on something else for a sec. You know, think about baseball stats and Sandworm incubation facts and stuff like that."

He brushed the hair off her forehead, then thought that maybe holding her head was going to be too presumptuous, so he released her and put that hand to his side.

Pate smiled around his cock when his fingers found their way into her hair and the delicious moan that escaped him. She could feel the tension in his thighs, the muscle taut and straining and she worried for a moment that she'd hurt him. At his smile and words of reassurance, it occurred to her that it was the other way round: once again he was taking her feelings into consideration ahead of his own. She'd already admitted her lack of experience, he must be restraining himself so as not to spook her.

Though she didn't think she was quite ready to take him all the way down, she was determined to return the consideration. Taking him in her mouth again, a little further this time, running her tongue around and around him, hollowing her cheeks, she then got her hands involved as well. She grasped his shaft lightly in one hand, pumping minutely while the other reached up to locate his hand. Catching his fingers, Pate tugged his hand back down and pressed it to her head. It was nice to have the guiding contact, helping her find the rhythm he wanted. When his hand curled once more into her hair, she let her own fall from his and trailed her fingers down his hip, giving his balls a gentle exploratory tug.

That wet heat made him groan again; so similar and different than a pussy, all at the same time. Her tongue never stopped, and when she applied some suction, he clenched his fists into the bed linens while his thighs tensed. She hadn't taken her hand off him either, and that added a little extra novel stimulation too.

Her reaching for his hand and prying it off the sheets made him open his eyes and watch her put it back into her hair, and with her permission now he had her bob at a little faster pace.

"Fuck, baby," he moaned, "your mouth feels so good--I fucking love it--use your hand a little more, give me a little squeeze--ah--!"

The unexpected fondle on his balls made him jump. His fingers slipped out of her hair to her jaw, and he lifted her head just a little so she'd look at him. She did not take her mouth off him.

"Hah--easy, easy down there, baby," he chuckled. "A little bit goes a long way, 'kay?"

Her nod made his cock slide into her mouth again, and he couldn't help but moan wordlessly at the sight. His free hand went to the same side's nipple, and he rubbed his piercing to make pleasure slip through his body from both erogenous zones.

She may say she was inexperienced, but he wasn't going to last long.

All his little moans and gasps, his fingers twitching against her scalp, his legs taut as bowstrings to either side of her while she stroked and sucked him. He looked so good like this and Pate found herself torn. Part of her was eager to see how much more he could take, how many more sounds she could coax from him, if she could make him tremble and shake. She felt sure that she could, he was clearly very close already.

But goddamn did she want him inside her. She wanted his arms around her and hers around him. She wanted his mouth on her, she didn’t even care what part. Though her cunt was aching dully, neglected while she devoted all her attention to him. Since she had made up her mind that this was his night, Pate decided to leave it up to him. She took him in as deep as she could, drawing slowly back until he slid from between her lips and leaving his cock coated in saliva as she idly continued stroking with one hand. Smiling as she watched him play with his own nipple, her other hand traced up and down his forearm.

“How bout it, Beej?” she asked. “Want me to keep going or would you like a break?”

A break. A break was good. Good--

The climb up the ladder was bliss, but it got more precarious the closer he got to the top, and he wasn't sure he'd have been able to prevent coming if Pate hadn't taken it upon herself to give him a second to recoup.

He picked up his head and looked down at her, smiling up at him coyly, her lips shiny from spit. Idly she pulled his cock like it was nothing, like she didn't realize her hand was of the best things in the fucking world at the moment and she was going to make him come in a just a few more stokes--or maybe she did--

"Pate, baby, please, your mouth--please?" he begged, sounding needy in his own ears. "It was so good, it is so good--!"

He cut himself off with a keening whine as she took pity on him and closed her mouth over him again.

His voice, desperate and needful, begging for her, made her throbbing pussy clench. Dutifully she bent back to her task, sighing in gratification at the high-pitched whine he let out as her lips encircled him. She didn’t suck too hard, wanting to savor seeing him coming apart for her like this, but she did bob her head, laving the underside of his shaft with the flat of her tongue, flicking at the flared head. He seemed to enjoy the additional stimulation provided by her hands, so she let them roam as far as they could reach; up his inner thighs, over his hip bones, dragging her nails over his stomach.

Despite the fact that Beetlejuice didn’t need to breathe, he was panting, his mouth open and his eyes tightly shut. He continued mercilessly teasing one of his pierced nipples, now a hard, bright red bud. She moaned against him in her mouth, the vibration making his hips move in a frantically aborted jerk as he keened right along with her. He was close, then, so close, but there was one more thing she wanted to do.

Slipping one hand up to his chest, she palmed his neglected nipple, scratching around the shield while she moved her mouth off his cock and replaced it at once with her other hand when he whined again at the loss of contact. His entire groin was slick with her saliva, so she continued pumping him with her hand, nosing at the hot pink nest of pubic hair before taking his balls between her lips, first one and then the other, sucking gently.

Pleasure was a solid mass in him, expanding to fill each and every inch. He was rapidly losing the ability to think coherently. His chest was on fire; Pate wasn’t overly gentle as her hand went to his nipple and stimulation to his piercings made them ache in the most delicious way.

He whined at the loss of her mouth and she immediately stroked him by hand, that was good, good, her mouth had wet heat but her hand had pressure--she slipped further down, out of the reach of all but the tips of his fingers, he managed to pick up his head to see what she was doing--all the hair on his body was as flamingo pink, like he’d been spray painted--then her glorious mouth was on his balls and that was a fourth spot that threw fuel on the blaze of euphoria inside him--

Through the unending moans, he managed to babble, “Fuck-fuck-fuck--Pate, I’m gonna come--I’m gonna come--” to warn her.

It wasn’t soon enough. That pleasure was at its tipping point. He tensed involuntarily and cried out as he came. A rope of jizz exploded from his cock onto his belly; her fist had been high on his shaft and got covered too.

For a second he was lost in himself, riding the wave of pleasure. Everything in the universe seemed to pause and he drifted back to reality slowly, gradually realizing Pate was still between his thighs.

He groaned and tightened his fingers in the hair on her head that he could reach, urging without words for her to come back up.

Pate’s ministrations slowed but did not stop as Beetlejuice went rigid all over, his cock twitching in her hand as he found his release and spurted translucent cum over his stomach. She kept stroking and sucking while he rode it out, drinking in his ecstatic cry and the reedy moans that followed that initial spike of pleasure. When he finally went slack, sagging heavily into the bedspread she sat upright between his legs, smiling at him. Every bit of hair on his body was bright pink, his amber eyes glassy and a drunken grin on his face. Her hand was still curled loosely around him, growing soft but still dripping. She leaned into his reaching fingers for a moment, humming happily, before dipping her head to take his cock between her lips once more, eliciting a whimper at the contact to his already overstimulated head.

She didn’t suck hard or go down far, just enough to catch the trailing rivulets of cum before they slid down his shaft into his hair. Pulling back up and releasing him with a soft pop! she repeated the process on her own hand, keeping her eyes on his as she licked away the sticky residue.

“We made a bit of a mess, didn’t we?” she purred, her pussy fluttering excitedly at the look on his face as she raised herself onto her hands and knees and began crawling over him. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Watching his expression as long as possible while she lowered her head to his soft, rounded belly, Pate pushed her hair back with one hand while she lapped at the spattered release dotted across his abdomen.

The taste of it was salty and earthy on her tongue, almost like grass or moss with a tinge of something slightly acrid. A long, low moan left him as she dragged her tongue and lips over his skin, wicking away the chilly smears with her mouth and working her way up his chest where she paused long enough to press a soft, warm kiss to his red and stiff nipple before settling finally at his side, nuzzling into the side of his face.

“I take it you liked that?” she giggled.

Her soft tongue dragging itself over his skin, through the hair on his belly, lapping up his come, seared itself into his mind's eye as one of the sexiest fucking things he'd ever seen. Top five, easily.

And the soft kiss on his overworked nipple made him twitch. He nodded in response to her question, and caught the back of her head to pull her in for a deep kiss. The taste of himself in her mouth made him groan deep in his chest, and his free hand roamed down her body, making a pit stop to cup and knead her breast and roll her nipple to a hard nub.

When she needed air, he still kept her close.

"It's not gonna take long for me to be ready for you again," he muttered into her open mouth, dropping his eyes to indicate his groin. "But what would you like to do in the meantime? What would you like me to do to you, baby, or is it dealer's choice?"

Pate sighed through her nose, letting herself melt into him as their mouths moved against one another. She moaned when his hand found her breast, kneading the pliable flesh and teasing her nipple. Her leg draped across his thigh, hooking her foot around his calf while one hand pressed flat to his chest. Coming up to breathe was annoying but necessary, her hand gliding up his sternum to cup his jaw while she panted against his lips, their eyes locked together at least until his darted downward toward his crotch.

His murmured words made her shiver, the throbbing heat between her legs not abated in the least, and she chuckled.

"Well, we are in Vegas," she replied. "People come here to gamble and, I gotta admit, I'm feeling pretty lucky." She leaned in to pepper his neck with more soft, wet kisses. "I'm game with whatever you wanna throw at me, Beej. I trust you."

Her leg over his pressed her groin to his thigh, and from the heat of her pussy it was more than obvious she’d been turned on without him doing anything more than laying back and letting her have her way with him. The least he could do was return the favor.

He glanced up and back to take stock of the headboard of the bed. Bolted to the wall, it seemed, and that was perfect. Twisting without telling her his intentions, Beetlejuice tossed the pillows off the bed, and then turned his attention back to her.

Drawing a hand down her side and stretching to reach the lower swell of her ass, he pulled upward as he said,

“I think I’m the lucky one. Come on baby. Crawl up me and have a seat right here.”

He licked his lips through a smile and raised his eyebrows so there was no mistaking exactly where he meant.

She gave an appreciative purr against the column of his throat when Beetlejuice's hand slid down to grab at her ass, tugging insistently for her to reposition herself. The unmistakably suggestive smile, his tongue gliding over his lips and the desire smoldering in his amber eyes had her insides squirming again, arousal bubbling low in her gut like molten metal, threatening to overflow.

A little uncertain, Pate got her limbs underneath her and rose up onto her knees beside him. Bracing herself with one hand to the headboard, Beetlejuice's own hands coming up to grip her hips and help keep her steady, she positioned herself so that she straddled his head. Her heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of her ribs, keeping one hand on the headboard as she looked down the length of her body at his face. His eyes were practically glued to her pussy, but she reached down with her free hand to run her fingers through his hair and get his attention.

"Don't-don't let me hurt you, okay?" she said, her voice faltering on her a bit. "If you need to stop, you stop."

The pressure of her thighs around his head, the intoxicating heat of her, her most intimate area practically in his mouth -- it took him a second of her applying increasing pressure pulling his hair for him to break his gaze on her pussy and look up her body to her eyes.

Her legs trembled, and he wasn't sure if it was from anticipation or from the effort of keeping herself up off him. From the look of apprehension on her face, it was probably the latter.

"You can't hurt me, baby," he told her. "Non-breathing, remember? But if you need a break, if you to tap out, you're gonna have to let me know--"

With that, without waiting for a reply, he lifted his head the short distance between them and closed his mouth over her pussy.

She was going to point out that with his injured shoulder, yes, in fact she could hurt him without meaning to, particularly with the position they were in. But any words that may have tried to form were lost in the surprised yelp that forced its way out as he dove right in, finally finally touching her where she was most desperate for him.

Pate fought to keep herself from going totally slack against him and depositing her full weight on his face, even as her head lolled back and her eyes slid shut at the feeling of his lips working against her, his tongue delving into her folds.

The hand still in his hair tightened into a fist, tugging the soft, bright pink locks while the arm on the headboard went ramrod straight as her thighs continued to strain and shake around his head.

"Ohhh, fuck, Beeeeeej," she moaned. "Baby, that feels so good."

The taste of her flooded his mouth and he groaned his appreciation. After first trying to cover the entirety of her and hearing her yelp as he did, he grinned and relaxed, licking her slowly from cunt to clit, over and over.

He tried to watch her but she’d arched a little backwards so he had no view of her face. Closing his eyes instead, he focused on her in his mouth. He explored her, and learned what she liked: dipping his tongue into her like a thinner, more mobile cock, sucking her folds, discovering her clit and using a combination of suction and lapping and humming so his mouth vibrated against her.

Her hand tight in his hair helped guide him to what she wanted.

One thing he didn’t like was her still trying to be considerate and hold herself up a little. Taking her by the hips, he pulled her down forcefully onto him, chuckling as she gasped and struggled for a moment, before he made her moan from pleasure again.

“You taste so good, baby,” he said in her ear, even though his mouth was fully occupied.

She had already been so wet, so ready for him that now with his tongue prodding in and out of her entrance and circling her clit, ecstasy was pulsing from her cunt outward into her furthest nerve endings like bolts of lightning. He surprised her when he yanked her down onto him, his big hands and long fingers grasping her by the hips to hold her in place.

When he chuckled the vibration tingled through her entire groin and she whimpered, biting at her bottom lip while her hand carded through his hair. Hearing his voice in her ear while his lips and tongue were buried in her pussy made her groan as a shudder went down her spine, her hips rolling slightly against his mouth.

“God, Beej, I'm close," she rasped, and it was true. That tightly wound spring in the pit of her stomach was going to give any second.

She'd finally stopped struggling to stay off him, and even rocked her pelvis harder onto him, which made him grin. Her fingers tightened in his hair, a good ache, and he focused on her clit, holding it lightly between his lips and applying steady pressure with the flat of his tongue. Occasionally he shook his head minutely, for some variance.

When her thighs trembled around his head and she cried that she was close, he was relentless, increasing the pressure, the suction, on her.

Into her ear he whispered, "That's good baby--come for me? Come on my mouth, come in my mouth--such a good girl--"

Gripping her tightly, he kept her in place.

She felt his hands grip her harder, fingers pressing into the flesh as he ravished her clit with single-minded attention. A high, strangled cry escaped her, core muscles tightening and arching her forward to watch him, panting and moaning breathlessly as he egged her closer and closer to the edge.

"Beej, shit! AH!" she whined, burying both hands in his magenta hair while her hips juddered against his mouth.

She didn't want to go too hard, but she was so close now it was almost agony. She raked her nails over his scalp, whimpering as she teetered there on the precipice. She felt him hum against her, his eyes opening and raising to meet hers and the coiled spring snapped at last. Pate let out a wordless cry as she came against his mouth, bracing her hands against the headboard again as pleasure wracked her body in wave after wave, each a little gentler than the last until they subsided and left her trembling, nearly bent double over Beetlejuice's head between her thighs.

"Baby, oh my god," she whispered, almost close enough to kiss his hairline.

Pate's cries of pleasure were muffled, but there was no denying her body's reaction. He grinned as wetness flooded his mouth and chin, and as she couldn't contain herself, squeezing her thighs around his head and fingers gripping his hair so hard it hurt until she had to support herself against the headboard.

He stayed in place, continuing to lap at her swollen clit gently, wanting to draw out her orgasm as long as she could stand it.

It took her a little time, but eventually she moved herself up and away from his mouth. He did stretch upward to plant one more kiss on her pussy as she did, smiling impishly.

"I guess that was okay then, baby?" he asked while she panted and continued to tremble over him.

Difficult as it was to lift herself off him with legs turned to rubber, Pate eased back down to the mattress beside him, propping on one elbow so she could lean in to kiss him. She moaned into his mouth at the taste of herself on his lips and tongue, her hands unable to keep from cupping his face between them, tracing through his hair, down his neck, skating over his chest.

She huffed a breathless laugh at his self-satisfied question, but try as she might she couldn't come up with anything clever to say back. Just as he'd predicted, though, Beetlejuice was indeed growing hard again, she could already tell. Smirking at him, Pate kissed a trail from his lips, pecking his chin and his neck all the way down his chest to a nipple where she proceeded to wrap her lips around one of the shields, strumming the rosy bud with the tip of her tongue and humming against the silver circle.

Teasing and using their mouths all night? He could get behind that. Her kisses were nice; he arched his back and hissed as her mouth closed over a piercing.

His cock throbbed though, and he wondered if she wanted something a little more than just what they'd already done. Despite quite enjoying her playing on his chest, he caught her hair in his fingers and urged her back up to his mouth. When she complied, he kissed her deeply. As she relaxed into it, he grinned impishly and without preamble flipped her to her back so he was finally on top of her.

At her gasp due to the sudden change in position he grinned even more widely and leaned down to kiss her again. That move strained his healing shoulder, so he went to an elbow on that side and did his best to ignore it.

She could have happily continued mouthing at his nipples for a good long while, particularly when the sensation made him arch so prettily off the bed. But Beetlejuice seemed to have had enough of teasing for the time being, and Pate’s surprised gasp turned into a delighted laugh when he abruptly rolled them over and pressed her to the bedspread, pinning her under his body. The feel of him, every inch of him, crushed against her made her heart race again, that squirming, fluttering starting up in the pit of her stomach once more.

Pate smiled against his mouth when he dipped his head to catch her lips in another deep kiss, running her fingers through the short, fine hair at the base of his skull while she wiggled into a more comfortable position underneath him, dragging the heel of one foot up the back of his leg. His erection, sandwiched between them and digging into her abdomen, made the muscles in her pelvic floor clench.

“I take it this means you’re ready to go again?” she giggled, nipping softly at the juncture of his jaw and his neck.

She'd laughed and wiggled so teasingly under him. She'd also kept him close by wrapping her leg over his.

"I think you already know the answer to that, babydoll," he groaned.

He shifted, pushing himself upward just a little off her. Walking his hand down her side, making a pit stop to cup her tit and plucking her nipple to a peak, he slipped his hand between their bellies and took his cock by the base. Rocking his hips back, it was easy to drag the head of his cock along her slit. Just that felt good, so he did it again, and again. pausing each time as though he was about to slip into her. If he wasn't pressed so tightly to her, he'd have watched his own hand, but as it were, he watched her expressions as he teased.

He repeated her question back to her. "You ready to go again, baby?"

A tiny, breathless moan left her when his tip brushed along the length of her lips. Tingling heat prickled her skin, from scalp to toes, as he repeated the motion several more times and she gasped with each tantalizing pass, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. The warm tingling settled in her nether region, pulsing anxiously at Beetlejuice's teasing.

Between that, the bite of the chilly nipple shields that periodically grazed so perfectly against her own nipples, his husky voice tickling her skin . . . it was almost too much to take. Pate arched up against him, angling for a kiss but missing the mark and pressing her forehead to his brow, her parted lips gasping against the corner of his mouth.

"Fuck, Beej, yes need you so bad, baby," she all but whined, her hands grasping at his neck, the side of his head, his upper arm braced against the mattress.

He chuckled, about to tease her for her neediness, but she'd be able to turn that right back on him too if she wanted. So this time, when his cock slipped smoothly down her folds, he hesitated only another moment before rocking his hips forward, dipping the tip into her pussy.

The immediate heat made him groan, and he pushed forward. There was a little resistance--he could've used a little spit for lube--but the friction was divine and he didn't stop until he was buried fully inside her.

Beetlejuice moaned, a long thin sound as his groin met hers. He paused, and held himself up off her with one solid and one shaky arm.

"Fuck, baby--you feel so fucking good--" he panted.

Pate bit back a whimper at the pressure as he pushed himself inside, gradually relaxing around his length once he was fully hilted. She sighed at his moan, at the sublime feeling of fullness in her pussy and his body flush against hers, reaching up to press a hand to his cheek. His stubble scratched at her palm, her thumb brushing the curve of his jaw while the pads of her fingers rubbed idly at the soft, delicate skin behind his ear. She smiled at his breathless words.

“So do you, sweetheart,” she murmured. “God, I love how it feels to have you inside me.”

She turned her head, pressing kisses to his bicep up toward the front of his shoulder, about to hoist her legs around his waist and assure him that it was okay to start moving. But she paused a moment, feeling the tremble in the taut muscle against her lips, and just like that she remembered his injury.

“Beej, are you okay like this?” she asked, concerned, bringing up her other hand to hold his face. “Do we need to move? It’s fine if you can’t stay like this, honey, we’ll work it out.”

He couldn’t still his hips; the drive to thrust into her was a primal need. He was able to simply rock them, however, smaller, more delicate movements that still made bliss flare inside him. At Pate’s questions, he stopped again, buried deep inside her. That might have been a poor choice, because the tight heat of her pussy threatened to shut down higher brain function.

He pushed himself up a little off her and looked down. She was beautiful under him, her eyes dark with arousal and pleasure, her lips shiny. Her chest heaved from her breaths and her tits were perfect. Her belly pressed against his and her legs wrapped around his waist and thighs; this was sublime. She was perfection below him.

In the precious seconds it took to be able to try and answer her his injured arm started to shake.

Despite the obvious physical response to her question, he shook his head.

“No, no--I want this, I wanted you under me, I wanted to do the work--” he groaned. “I want to make you feel good, baby--”

He cut himself off with another groan.

Truth be told, she wanted this, too. The weight of him on top of her, pressing her down into the mattress, the delicious friction produced when his hips rocked so gently into her. It was all so damn good. She was desperate for more and she wished she could just wrap her limbs around him and take whatever he had to give, to give him everything she had to offer. But the pinched, pained flicker that crossed his face, the tremor that shook his rigid arm as he held himself up, trying so hard to solider on despite the obvious pain he must be in, all for her. Her thumping heart seemed to swell inside her chest, her hand idly stroking the side of his face as an idea began to form.

“Hey, what about your tentacles?” she suggested.

It felt like such a weird thing to say aloud in a sexual situation, but at the same time she felt dumb for not having thought of it sooner. At his questioning look Pate elaborated, tracing her other hand down the back of his upper arm as she said,

“That way you can relax your shoulder and we can still stay like we are. Because as much as I like having you on top of me, I don’t want it causing you pain.”

She traced his bottom lip with the pad of her thumb, eyes searching his face.

“How’s that sound, Bug?”

Her suggestion cut through the pleasure and the ache. He stopped completely, and stared down at her with wide eyes. There was no way he'd heard her correctly.

"My--what? W-what?" he stuttered.

When he stammered like he'd misunderstood and went stock still, she did worry that she might've totally ruined the mood. She craned her head up, pressing her lips to his in soft, warm kisses, trailing across his cheek, tugging his head down to reach his forehead with her mouth, doing her best to soothe the distress from his features.

"You don't have to if you don't want," she assured him first and foremost. "It was just an idea, take the weight off your arm, use one of your tentacles to hold yourself up. I want this to be good for you, too, sweet boy."

Even surprise didn't prevent him from automatically returning her kisses, but he didn't close his eyes as he tried to wrap his head around what she'd said.

His shadow mass? His tentacles? They were frightening appendages. No one who saw them wanted to see them again; usually they never wanted to see him again. He'd been sent away more than once when a breather got a look at them, and him looking more demonic than not. And Pate suggested them?

He said, "Pate, baby . . . I . . ."

Then he was stuck. They were monstrous. He was monstrous with them.

". . . I . . . that's not . . . I mean. You'd be . . . okay with that?"

Pate laughed lightly through her nose, tilting her head and taking the mixture of awe and disbelief on his face. She smiled warmly up at him, lightly stroking her fingers up and down his jaw, brushing the corner of his lips with her thumb. Her fond smile only widened when he leaned into her touch, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it.

Even after everything they had been through together, even though they were lying in bed together, him literally inside her, he always seemed so certain that he was just about to be sent away. Given what she'd gleaned about his experiences before they met, Pate had no trouble understanding why, as much as it saddened her to think about.

She could understand why he would be hesitant to show his more demonic self to her again, but every time she had glimpsed it before he had been protecting her, saving her. She'd been startled by them at first, to be sure, but she was no more afraid of them now than she was of him. So she told him so.

"Of course, Love Bug," she replied, still smiling at him, still cradling the side of his face in her hand. "They're part of you. There's nothing about you that I'd be not okay with because... I like you, Beetlejuice."

She used his full name, knowing it would get his attention and hold it.

"I like you a lot. All of you. You don't have to hide anything about you from me, okay?"

It still took him several moments of trying to fully understand what she proposed and that she said she was okay with it. Those several moments made his shoulder ache so much he couldn’t control the tremor in his arm.

Pate was smiling up at him. She was still holding his face. She hadn’t kicked him off her--for which he was more than grateful, because laying atop her still buried in her heat was sublime, even if his brain was short-circuiting for a different reason than shared pleasure. He supposed there’d be plenty of time for her to plant her feet on his chest and shove him away, once she realized what she’d suggested was a mistake.

With a thought, with a sigh, Beetlejuice brought forth one tentacle from his shadow mass. A second and third followed it; releasing just one made it difficult to prevent others from slipping through the ether. With concentration, he didn’t allow others.

One, as per her suggestion, went to the mattress to bolster himself. As soon as it seemed solid, he relaxed his arm, and she was right; it helped immensely. The other two, the ones he would have preferred not to have at the moment because one was enough for a breather to try and handle, gently explored her, one at her shoulder, the other her waist. They nudged along her skin and the one higher on her body dipped down to her tit. When it realized her nipple hardened, it wrapped around the bud and seemed content to apply pressure at random intervals.

Beetlejuice had closed his eyes and his lips were a thin line. He imagined a horrified expression on her face, but she hadn’t gasped, screamed, or shoved him off her yet, so cautiously he cracked his eyelids again to look down at her.

She couldn't help the tiny surprised gasp that escaped when not one but three of the writhing tendrils of shadow appeared, as if slipping through a gap between reality and some other world. Or were they always there, albeit invisible? Pate watched curiously, fascinated by them as one pressed firmly down into the mattress by her head while the others tentatively moved around her body. Beetlejuice let out a soft, relieved sound as she saw his arm relax, the tentacle taking the weight with practically no effort.

Seeing them again with no dire life-or-death situation taking center stage, Pate wondered at them. They appeared prehensile, acting independently of one another as they glided over her skin, or perhaps they had a sort of intelligence of their own? They had a weight and a mass to them, almost like the muscled, tubular body of a snake but instead of cool scales they felt like velvet, smooth and surprisingly soft. Her questions evaporated when the tentacle exploring her upper body found her breast, curling around the nipple and squeezing much like Beetlejuice would with his own hands. She gasped again at the feeling, her hand reaching up to wrap around the black mass and hold it encouragingly in place.

Above her, Beetlejuice's expression was one of someone braced for an imminent explosion or crash, his lips pulled into a tight, thin line as he peeked at her. She grinned at him as the tentacle continued its gentle kneading, the hand still on his face skritching at his stubble.

"There now. Is that better?" she asked, glancing meaningfully at his shoulder.

“Oh baby, is it ever,” he groaned, and wondered how he could explain he meant both the ache in his shoulder and the fact that extra appendages were feeding him sensations as well.

Now his cock was deep in the wet heat of her pussy, and two tentacles were exploring her skin. It was divine. He rocked his hips, just a bit, to test his balance, and fresh pleasure bubbled up deep in his belly. Moaning, he leaned down and kissed her. It might be wrong to think about how it would feel to have more of his tentacles wrapped around her, now that it seemed she wasn’t horrified, but the inkling was there.

He thrust into her with a little more intent, and dropped his head to her neck, taking a bite of her skin between his teeth as he groaned.

Pate's eyes slid shut, humming happily and nibbling her own lip when his hips gave a small, perfunctory roll into her pelvis, feeling herself clenching minutely around him as they began working back up to the pleasure and the momentum they'd lost. She folded her arms around his neck when he dipped his head to hers, opening her mouth invitingly and sighing against him as his tongue delved in.

One of her hands slid into his hair, fingernails scratching at the back of his head to keep him close while the other wound under his arm and around his back, tracing random shapes over his skin. Likewise, the two tentacles not occupied with supporting him continued stroking along her body, the one still squeezing delightfully at her breast, the other coiling around her thigh. She hiked both legs up higher, around his waist, gasping when the shift in position actually allowed him to sink deeper into her.

"Oh, god, Beej," she moaned against his ear when his thrusting became a bit more deliberate. She hissed, tightening her grip in his hair when she felt his teeth on her neck. His groan vibrated against her skin as he began to find his rhythm and Pate moaned again, the sensations fogging her brain in need and want. His cock pumping into her, his mouth at her pulse, his clever and enthusiastic tentacles exploring her skin as if committing the shape of her to memory.

"That's it, baby," she moaned in between open mouthed kisses to the side of his head. "Oh fuck, Beej, just like that!"

Her words of encouragement fueled his hips and he drove into her. He’d ever get enough of her: her sounds, her warmth, the feel of her skin against his . . . she was a goddess and he ached for her.

Despite the fact that she obviously enjoyed having her tit manipulated, the tentacle left off. The closer he got to the pinnacle of orgasm, the harder he fucked her, and the two tentacles that had squirmed their way into existence slipped between Pate’s lower back and the mattress, elevating her hips so he could have a better angle to go deeply into her pussy.

It shifted his position too, making his pelvis cant so he had to sit up a bit. He pulled her legs to his shoulders. .

That eliminated most need for the support from the third tentacle, and it took the place of the one at her chest, a thicker section of it covering and applying pressure to her nipple, while the tip stretched upward and felt along her lower lip and corner of her mouth, before the tiniest bit of it slipped between her lips.

As his pace increased, Pate's mouth fell open and a litany of gasps, moans and broken speech spilled out. She shivered when she felt the sleek, smooth tentacles curling beneath her, lifting her off the bedspread. She gasped when he sat them more upright and slung her legs onto his chest, her feet framing his face while he held her thighs and she couldn't contain the tremulous whimper that came out when the change in angle caused his thrusting to hit dead center on a spot that took her breath away.

Her eyes closed as bliss continued to well up inside her like a pot just begging to boil over. The third tentacle, no longer necessary to support him, took to coiling itself around her breast, rhythmically squeezing while the tip played with her bottom lip. God how she wanted to kiss him, but she couldn't reach just now. So she wrapped her hand around the tentacle like she had his cock not so long ago, opening her mouth and guiding it in to explore, her other hand fumbling for and then landing on his thigh.

With her legs held to his chest, Pate could feel the bite of the cold nipple piercings against the back of her thighs, the rumbling in his torso as he moaned along with her, his hands digging into her soft flesh. She was rapidly becoming overwhelmed by the myriad of sensations building, a wave that was going to drag her under any second now. The angle of his cock driving into her hit that spot again and again and heat was flooding through her body.

"Beej! Ah! Fuck, baby, don't stop!" she cried, her own hands tightening on his thigh and the saliva-slick tentacle that continued to nudge at her face. "God, baby, I'm gonna come!"

Her laid out before him, his cock enveloped by the wet heat of her pussy and the tentacle dipping into the wet heat of her mouth for a split second, the beautiful moans from her--it was more than he could have imagined when she’d accidentally called him up so many days ago.

Even without her telling him, he knew she was close. There was a tremor in her that hadn’t been before. The hand on his leg squeezed. Her voice hitched. Her cunt tightened, relaxed, and tightened again. Through a haze of his own mounting ecstasy he let her guide him to what she needed; deep and at an angle that seemed to elicit the most pleasure in her.

He wouldn’t last much longer, but Beetlejuice kept his eyes locked on the woman below him.

“Fucking good, baby,” he praised, as he thrust into her. “Come on my cock--fuck! I wanna feel you come on my cock--”

He had to cut off his own sentence to concentrate on not coming himself, working hard to let her finish first.

His words of encouragement, hoarse and punctuated by grunts of effort, his burning amber eyes that held hers, watching her face, egging her on...

The intimacy of the steady eye contact was almost too much to stand, accompanied by the unflagging rhythm of his hips, his hands clasping at her thighs hard enough to bruise, his cock so perfectly hitting that spot with each inward thrust and his head dragging against it with each pull back. The tentacle at her chest was still at work, kneading and squeezing first one breast and then the other and then both. She moaned and whined, feeling muscles tighten in her core, in her legs, straining to reach the peak. Finally, all but screaming his name, Pate crested the wave and pleasure exploded through her body, her legs shaking against Beetlejuice's chest, her hips doing their best to move in time with him to ride it out as long as possible.

"Come with me, baby," she breathed, still adrift in the undulating ripples of euphoria, turning her ankles to curl her feet around the back of his neck.

He watched as she couldn't help break eye contact with him, as her orgasm dragged her away. His name from her lips made him smile, briefly, before his jaw loosened with the pleasure continuing to mount in him. He'd have liked to stop moving for a moment to savor the sight and feel of a beautiful woman falling apart below him, but the drive to keep fucking her was too much.

Through her orgasm, Pate's pussy contracted and released around his cock, adding increased friction. As he leaned over her, her ankles locked around the back of his neck, drawing him further down. Although two tentacles were still wrapped under the small of her back, supporting her, he slipped his weaker arm under her too, making her arch just a little more, shifting the angle of her hips and lighting up nerve endings he would have thought were already overstimulated.

He dropped his head and cried out. He was almost there, almost there--

Pate placed a palm directly over one of his piercings and squeezed, sending a shockwave of slightly painful pleasure coursing to add to the molten feeling in his belly. That, and her breathy little command were his undoing.

With a howl, Beetlejuice came deep inside her cunt, holding her tightly until his cock stopped throbbing.

Pate worried her bottom lip between her teeth, moaning and shuddering at the sensation of his cock twitching inside her as Beetlejuice followed her into bliss. She kept her hand over his nipple, kneading gently around the sensitive nub as his body began visibly relaxing against her legs still pressed to his chest.

Unhooking her ankles from around his neck, with just a little insistence he let go of her other leg and she shifted her position slightly before slipping them back around his waist, crossing them at his back and urging him closer. At the same time she levered herself upright using her legs wrapped around him as leverage and took his face in both hands, sighing contentedly at the feeling of his arms joining the tentacles around her as she slanted her mouth against his.

"What d'you think?" she gasped between hot, lazy presses of their lips together, smiling against him. "Better than Cher?"

Slowly he drifted back from his high as Pate readjusted underneath him. He'd have gotten off her completely, but she seemed content to have him lay atop her. He didn't put his full weight on her, however; he supported himself a little with his tentacles. They seemed sated too, moving lazily.

He tucked his forehead into the crook of her neck and shoulder.

"I don't know. Cher's pretty awesome," he replied, and when she flicked him with her fingers, he laughed. "It was a joke! This was a million times better than Cher."

Eventually he did move off to her side, his injured shoulder up. His tentacles retreated and he reveled in just relaxing beside her, warm and comfortable. Just being able to kiss her whenever he wanted was wonderful.

As they lazed contentedly, he mused, "I wonder what my beloved brother is doing right now."

Pate shuddered dramatically, told him to forget about his shitty family, and gave him a kiss that included some teeth on his collarbone.

Beetlejuice grinned and pinched her in retaliation. She giggled and he laughed, happy.

end

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice x OC #rp #Beetlejuice based on blumjuice

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

Text

Ménage (5/13ish)

NSFW, smut, unexpected visitor, long chapter

It was odd to see someone else in her bed, but God, was it nice. When he was settled, she crawled up into the bed, straddling his hips, his cock trapped between the slick heat of her cunt and his stomach. Her breath caught as her hips gave an experimental roll, her hands braced on his chest, her hazel pinned to his amber. With a bit of adjusting, her hand wrapped around him, holding him at her entrance and slipping him inside.

"Oh fuck," she cursed lowly, her walls stretching to accommodate him, wishing she had pushed more than just one finger into herself earlier. It didn't hurt, but there was a burning that bordered on uncomfortable. Slowly, adjusting with each rock of her hips, she edged him all the way inside, nearly whimpering in pleasure at the sensation of being so full of him. "Shit, you feel so good . . . "

Watching a woman crawl up him was a sight he'd never tire of. Holding on to her thighs, his cock in her hand while she was up on her knees hovering above him was another snapshot saved in his mind's eye, but that mental camera began short-circuiting out as she settled lowly down onto him and his cock eased into the tight heat of her pussy.

"Easy baby," he cooed, seeing a flicker of uncertainty and possible discomfort on her face. "Just go slow, it feels so good, your pussy feels so good--fuck, do you realize how fucking amazing you look? How'd I get so lucky? Oh fuck--"

He had to close his eyes for a moment as her pelvis met his. She knew that the grip of her pussy and the clench and release of it around his cock was going to be enough to make him come right now, didn't she? He had to concentrate on something else, or he was going to explode right in her, and coming before she was even fully comfortable was going to be both disappointing for her and embarrassing for him.

Still, he cranked open his eyes to look up at her again. She looked like a true siren now, superior on him, her hair falling over her tits, her lips shiny and parted with the most enticing moan escaping her.

He reached up and gave one nipple a pinch before stretching further to push some of her hair away from her cheek.

"Molly, baby," he said, a bit of a needy whine flavoring his words, "when you're ready, when you feel comfortable, I want you to fuck me."

The added stimulation of his deft fingers pinching her nipple made her hiss between her teeth, able to feel the sudden tense of her inner walls around him. He was cooler than her, but warmed quickly, so thick and pressing deliciously against her insides. The need in his voice didn’t escape her, and neither did the way his eyes threw sparks, so intense and burning Molly swore she could almost see the amber flickering, like flames behind tempered glass.

It didn't take long for the burning to subside, and she grinned, leaning over him as her hips rolled, the movement so natural.

"Like this?"

He was transparent as glass, his moans rewarding her efforts. Her lips found his, starting with a languid pace; there was no need to rush this.

The tips of her hair tickled his chest and cheeks as she leaned over him, taking his hand and pressing it into the mattress beside his head, her fingers laced with his. Her tongue and hips rolled in synchronization, lazy and indulgent.

"You feel amazing," she whispered against his lips.

"You're a fucking goddess," Beetlejuice groaned, before her mouth pressed on his.

Her movements were slow and steady, just as he'd suggested, as she got used to the feeling of a cock inside her. She held still when she'd taken him in completely, then rose up by just using her core until he hissed with worry that he'd slip out of her and lose that delicious wet heat of her pussy.

He wanted fast and hard, that's what he'd come to expect the rare times he was called. This was more deliberate, more sensual, and by god or satan it was more than he thought he could take.

His hand rested on the words cosnaíonn na haingil inked into her thigh, squeezing in time with her gentle thrusting. It amused him that a demon like him was fucking such a woman as her. Where were her angels now?

She liked kissing while she moved. It was good he didn't need to breathe; he was able to suck at her tongue and softly nip at her lower lip that she'd broken open twice in his presence tonight.

Not being able to use his mouth didn't stop him from whispering to her,

"You're a succubus, babydoll--your cunt is so tight and sweet, it feels so good around my cock, fuck-fuck-fuck me, oh fuck--"

Bliss surged through him, and suddenly he was teetering over the edge of an orgasm.

His hand tightened exponentially on her leg and he extracted his mouth from hers.

"Stop-stop! I'm gonna come--baby, stop, please--!"

Her lips curled in a smile against his at the praise, her thigh nearly buzzing under his palm, as if the words of her tattoo were vibrating beneath her skin. It all felt so good, so gentle and slow, as if nothing in the world existed but the two of them. Even the slight pain of his teeth scraping the open spot on her lip seemed muted, just a dash of salt against the sweet.

Even with his lips glued to hers, he whispered in her ear; she was practically able to feel his tickling breath. Every word he spoke sent a frisson of heat down her spine, her hand tightening around his, and she almost didn't register the way his fingers squeezed her thigh, sinking into her flesh. Then his lips tore away from her, practically begged her to stop, and she did, practically screeching to a halt as she stilled over him, afraid she had done something wrong.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, are you okay?" Her hand cupped his cheek, studying his face as if looking for signs of anger. "Do you need me to get off of you?"

He gritted his teeth and lay as still as possible under her, even though his instinct was to keep going, keep that sweet friction mounting. He wanted to rut into her, he wanted to let the rush of pleasure consume him.

He also wanted to let all this linger. A soft bed and a gorgeous woman atop him was more than he'd had in a long time, and in the back of his mind, a twittering voice reminded him she was going to send him away once she used him.

"No, I'm good, I'm good," he groaned tightly. "I don't want you to get off me--I mean, I want you to get off, but not, you know? I just . . . fuck . . . I was just going to come and . . . I needed a break."

He managed to open his eyes again to hers.

"You're too good, baby," he praised. "I don't want to come in you if you don't want, and I want you to feel good. So tell me what you want."

It calmed her a bit when he assured her he wasn't upset or in pain, and she settled down on his chest, trying to keep her lower half as still as possible.

"Take as much time as you need, honey, I'm in no rush." The backs of her fingers strummed against his cheek, kiss-swollen lips curled in a cheeky smile. "It’s nice to know it’s that good for you and that I'm not some boring virgin."

For a moment, she gave his request thought, idly stroking her fingers through his hair.

"I think I want you to come inside of me. I got an IUD put in a few years ago, so you shouldn't be able to knock me up. Can you knock me up?"

He didn't actually have an answer to her question, but with an IUD, there was no chance of finding out anyway. He was grateful she stopped and let him have a moment, and after the pleasure had slowed to a constant buzz instead of one ratcheting higher and higher, he gave her a smile.

Her hair bounced as she shook her head, getting easily distracted from the task at hand.

"Let me know when you're ready for me to start again, sugar. I love how you feel inside me, it's so fucking good . . ." Still lying over his chest, her lips pressed to the hollow of his throat, lazily trailing up his neck. "I'd really like for you to play with my tits a little, honey."

Molly sat up a bit, giving him better access to her chest, her hands reaching to grab his and place them just above her breasts.

He liked the new position she'd taken, sitting up. It angled him differently inside her, and showcased her tits. He reached to them, cupping them as she asked, before rolling each nipple to hard peaks between his thumb and first finger.

"I don't know how long I'll last, baby, but fuck me again, like you were," he asked. "Roll your hips--it's fucking divine."

Although she'd asked, he let one tit go. Her more upright position gave him a new opportunity, and he licked his fingertips, and slipped them to her clit.

While she missed being close enough to kiss him, sitting up with one hand braced behind her on his thigh had its advantages, one being a shift in angle that let the head of his cock rub against her g-spot, and she let out a near purr at the sensation, his fingertips plucking her nipples.

"Oh fuck," she breathed, that first roll of her hips making stars shoot across her vision, quickly resuming her earlier pace.

Molly was nearly disappointed when one of his hands dropped from her chest, but at the sight of his tongue dragging across his fingertips and the slick rub of them against her clit, she keened, head thrown back in pleasure.

"Shit, oh, right there, sweetheart, right fucking there."

Her hips swiveled, pivoting over his, kittenish mewls of pleasure filling the air. Warmth pooled low in her pelvis, rising and rising, the breath stolen out of her lungs.

"Beej, fuck, don't stop, I'm gonna come . . ."

There were many things to concentrate on: her heavy breast in one hand, rubbing with increasing intensity the nub of her clit, her back arching as she rocked over him, her voice alternating between praise and moans. All that, plus the hot friction she created as she fucked him made the pleasure burst in his gut. He had no reserves to talk to her.

He'd have held out longer--he wanted to hold out longer!--but her pussy was too tight for him to resist. With an entire tensing of his middle and legs, he pushed up into her and groaned through clenched teeth as he came.

His body tensed, arched, and he groaned deep as something burst within her, her walls coated with sticky release. The sound of his orgasm alone was enough to tip her into hers, but experiencing firsthand the warm spurts of his cock inside her wrenched a near scream from her, bearing down hard as her orgasm slammed into her. Taut as a wire, her entire body shook, clenched, then released as the blinding pleasure faded, leaving her draped limp and trembling over his chest.

She didn't want to move, didn't want to slide him out of her, and she never dreamed she'd like the feeling of their combined fluids leaking out around him.

"Holy shit," she muttered, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling herself close to him, needing that contact, desperate to feel grounded. "Did the Earth move? I think the Earth moved."

The sensation of her pussy clenching and unclenching around his cock kept pleasure rippling through him. Watching her come apart, her body arched above him in a beautiful display of ecstasy made him smile and groan at the same time.

When she collapsed on his chest, he pushed the hair off her sweaty forehead and cheeks and kissed her at her hairline. The heat of her soaked into his bones, and he felt sated.

He chuckled at her awe.

"That was all you, babydoll," he told her. "I didn't do much of anything. But--"

He paused to cup her chin and have her look at him.

"--that doesn't mean I can't. You want some more, beautiful? Or would you just prefer to relax and sleep after the workout you just had?"

The gentle kiss just below her hairline made her scalp prickle, and she smiled, her embrace tightening a fraction. Pleasure and passion aside, this was what she wanted most from sex. The afterglow. The calming of hurried breath and gentle kisses pressed to sweaty skin, lying tangled and satisfied.

He grabbed her chin, his voice low, nearly a purr as he asked to go again, asked if she'd like to go again. Molly smiled, nodding as best she could with her chin in his grasp.

"More, definitely. We can sleep later."

He grinned and lifted his head so he could stretch towards her and kiss her.

"That's my good girl. Now, I want to taste your pussy properly. Lay back, and get comfortable."

By now, she was expecting his kiss to send a shiver of warmth through her, gentle and sweet. What she was not expecting was the searing heat that spread across her cheeks and pooled in her belly when he called her his good girl. This was certainly a night of discovery.

She did as he instructed, slipping off of him to lie down in her bed, propping herself up on a mountain of pillows and settling in, hair falling across the pillow around her head. She couldn't tell where the residual trembling from her first orgasm stopped and the anticipatory shaking to feel his mouth on her began.

He loved that she was so uninhibited that she simply agreed to his request. She lounged before him like this was what she deserved, and by gods, she did.

Similar to what she'd graced him with earlier, he righted himself and crawled towards her on all fours to settle between her spread thighs. Her hands reached for him and he allowed her to grab him by the scruff on his cheeks to pull him in for a kiss, but he ached to have his tongue between a different set of lips so he shook her off and grinned up at her as he sunk to his chest on the mattress.

There was wet smeared between her inner thighs and he spent a moment licking it off one, then the other, before looking up her body at her. With a raised eyebrow and a smirk, he lowered his mouth to her pussy and dragged his tongue through her folds.

The combined taste of her and his come that had leaked out of her made him groan in appreciation, and he licked her again, and again, coating his tongue, lips and chin in the flavor.

The kiss was grounding, a brief touch of lips to lips before he ventured down her body, the sight of him on all fours above her igniting some long-buried primal instinct to spread herself prone for him.

The brush of his tongue, soft as could be, on her inner thighs, made her shiver and whimper longingly, his mouth so close to where she wanted it. His gaze burned up at her, mouth open and grinning when he finally--finally!--licked through her folds.

Her hands slid into his hair, not pulling or guiding just yet, needing to touch some part of him while his devilish tongue lapped up the pool of their combined fluids. Her hips arched instinctively toward his mouth, seeking pleasure, seeking him, lifting one leg to rest over his shoulder.

"Oh god, Beej, fuck . . . "

Her moans, her hands in his hair, and her lifting a leg to allow him more access was all the permission he needed. He'd let her fuck her as slow and deliberate as she wanted or needed, but now--

He shoved his face into her pussy harder, the tip of his tongue slipping upwards to find her clit in her folds. He lapped softly at the bundle of nerves, then nuzzled in further to capture it between his lips to apply a little more pressure to it.

As he did, he lifted himself up just a little so one arm could fit between his chest and the mattress, and with no resistance in her at all, he dipped two fingers back into her, knuckle deep.

Tossing his voice near her ear while his mouth was occupied, he whispered,

"Is two good, baby girl? Or would three fingers fill you up better?"

There was no slow, easy pace now, no easing her into it; her fingers tightened in his hair, somehow feeling both overwhelmed and desperate for more as his tongue lapped over her clit, his stubble scratching deliciously at her thighs and tickling her folds. Her body writhed underneath him--she couldn't help it, left sensitive from her last orgasm, it simply felt too good to stay still.

"Three," she whispered, trying not to tug too hard on his hair as he buried himself deeper between her thighs.

She was quickly falling in love with the feeling of him filling her up, stretching her, rubbing along her inner walls, and she rolled her hips up as if to beckon him deeper, inviting another finger.

"Please, please, honey, please."

"Three it is, baby," Beetlejuice chuckled in her ear, and slipped the requested digit into her. Her wet and his residual come made a passable lube.

It made her pussy that much tighter and he crooked his fingers slightly, dragging them, pads up, along her inner walls until he found a spot that made her buck just a little bit harder against him. He kept them there, and applied steady pressure.

Her hands in his hair and their insistence he bury his face as far into her pussy as possible made him smile, and he sucked and lavished attention on her clit. He moaned too, caught up in her pushing against him, her moans, her obvious pleasure.

He was going to drive her absolutely crazy, his fingers three wide and slipping into her without a single ounce of resistance, as if her body were welcoming him home. Molly expected him to drive his fingers mercilessly into her, but they bent, pressing against that spot that made her toes curl, and remained there, maddeningly still. She bucked up into his mouth, rolled against his fingers, slivers of green just barely visible above the startling whites of her eyes.

A string of curses left her, muttered in an unbroken babble as he worried her clit with his mouth, alternating between licks, sucks, and nibbles. There was no question whether or not he was enjoying himself as well; she could feel as well as hear each moan he uttered against her, the sound seemingly transmitted along her flesh. Had he broken free to breathe once?

Her orgasm hit her without warning; she couldn’t have held it off if she’d tried, and she had no breath to notify him. Her throat locked in a silent scream, not a single sound escaping her as her body jack-knifed, sitting straight up as her thighs clamped around his head. Everything except the continuing press of his fingers and the ceaseless lapping of his tongue was erased; sounds were muted, the world around her dissolving into blurs of faded color. At last she collapsed against the bed, shaking all over, breasts heaving as she panted, hair an absolute mess as it fanned across the pillows.

The sharp movements of her body could've dislodged him, but he held himself pressed in tight with his free hand wrapped under her thigh. Her voice, once so full of dirty words, gasps and moans, was gone, and her thighs suddenly locked around his head, keeping exactly where he was, exactly where he wanted to be.

He continued to move his tongue softly against her clit as her pussy clenched his fingers, and only when the muscles slowed their rhythmic contractions and she was able to loosen her legs did he slip his digits out of her. There was a small pool of her wet in his palm, and he grinned as he gave her one last quick kiss on her clit.

As he pushed himself back into an upright position with her splayed before him, he licked his hand clean of her, even though his scruff was wet with it too.

"Sorry. Made a mess of your blanket, baby girl," he said. "Should've put a towel down. What I'm not sorry for, however, is spoiling you for any breathers. Unlike yours truly, they're gonna have to take a breath every once in a while."

What goes up must come down, and so she did, the world fading back into focus around her. His voice was soothing, though it took a couple of seconds to actually process what he was saying; she was too focused on his tongue lapping her slick off his hand like the juices of an exotic fruit.

She smiled, shaking her head. "I'll throw them in the wash when I can use my legs again. Christ, you're good at that."

Her hands opened and closed as she reached for him, like a toddler demanding her favorite toy, and pulled him down to lie on top of her, his head on her chest. She'd get up and change the sheets eventually, but she wanted this first, wanted his weight and his accumulated warmth to ground her weightless soul to her body.

"Ironic, when a demon's mouth makes you see God. Someone call Alanis Morissette." Her hands stroked through his hair as she laughed breathlessly, indulging in another's presence while it lasted.

He gave her a lopsided smirk at her praise, and didn't let himself preen too much. She'd admitted she didn't have experience, after all.

After a little bit of silence, letting her breath and heart rate go back to normal, she looked down at him, her fingers still petting his hair, which was somehow more tousled and wild than before.

"Do you need clothes to sleep in, honey? I might have some some sweats that could fit you."

He fully accepted her pulling him back onto her chest. It was his favorite bit afterward, listening to a breather's heart work, and lungs fill expand and contract, and even gut noises, if his ear was on someone's belly. It soothed him. There was nothing but stillness inside him; it was nice when a partner allowed him to pretend what he heard was his too.

His fingers found and traced the lines of her ink as she stroked his hair. He could drift here a long time.

She asked him if he needed something to sleep in, however, and that surprised him. He hadn't expected to spend any more time here; he was used to being called, fulfilling a task, and being sent away. To be offered sleepwear . . .

"I, uh . . ." He found his throat suddenly dry. ". . . I . . . yes? That'd be nice?"

The stutter and hesitation gave her heart a twinge; did he expect her to send him away so soon? As long as he wanted to be here, he was welcome, and if she was being honest, she was hoping he would stay for a while. Sex aside, he was rapidly growing on her, and she liked being around him, liked the way she felt around him.

Molly brushed a soft kiss across his forehead, then gently worked her way out from underneath him, having to lean on her night table to push herself upright on legs that still trembled.

"I'm gonna clean up in the bathroom real quick, then you can go clean up and change while I throw the sheets in the wash."

She gave him a fond smile before leaving the bedroom, cleaning herself with a warm cloth before brushing out her hair and pulling it back into a ponytail.

Back in her bedroom, she rummaged through the dresser, holding out articles of clothing at random and stuffing them back in the drawers until she had a pair of black sweatpants slung over her arm.

"These should fit. I don't have a shirt for you though, you're a little more broad in the chest than I am." Laying the pants on his lap, she stroked her fingers down his cheek. "I can order you some shirts tomorrow if you want some to sleep in."

He accepted the pants and hated that his fingers trembled as he did.

“These might be too warm for me, baby. Might have to chuck them in the middle of the night, and then you’re stuck with a naked specter in your bed,” he joked, to cover his shake and to hopefully help hide the fact he was more than eager to take them.

Without waiting for her to reply, he shuffled off in the direction of she’d taken for the bathroom.

"Oh no," she moaned in mock horror, "a naked ghost in my bed? What shall become of my maiden virtue?"

Once there with the door closed, he nosed through her cabinets and toiletries without much shame. He knew she expected him to wash, and did the bare minimum--face and crotch--before pulling the offered sweatpants on. They were soft and he wasn’t sure if he liked the elastic around his ankles. He’d suffered through worse, however,

He returned to the bedroom, where Molly was finishing remaking her bed. Slipping up behind her and wrapping his hands low on her hips, he first shoved his face into her ponytail, smelling her hair, before kissing her on the exposed nape of her neck.

“Blue looks much better on you than me,” he murmured.

Molly laughed as he retreated to the bathroom to change, tearing the sheets from the bed and tossing them into the wash. A soft smile stayed present on her face as she worked, bringing down extra pillows from her closet and spreading new sheets on the bed.

For as long as she had lived alone, it surprised her that his grasp on her hips from behind didn't startle her. Rather, she leaned back against him, tugging his hands tighter around her midsection, laying her head to the side to further expose her neck.

"Its funny you should say that. I've been thinking of dyeing it green."

"I'm partial to green myself," he admitted, with a chuckle, looking upward as if to see his own hair. "You look tired, babydoll. Let's lay down . . . summoning and then fucking a demon would exhaust anyone."

Her body turned in his arms, her hands lifting to stroke through his hair.

"Does your hair turn blue? Mm . . . must save you a fortune in hair dye," she murmured, starting to drift off. "So what does green mean? Happy? I thought I saw it pink in it earlier. Is that a demon thing?"

Despite the late hour and the pull of sleep on her body, she remained as full of questions as ever, curious to a fault.

He hummed in appreciation as she exposed more of her neck to him, but didn't protest as she twisted to face him.

As he settled her beside him with an arm under her neck, he quietly answered her question.

"It's a me thing, baby. A blessing and a curse, you know? I don't wear my heart on my sleeve . . . one, I don't have one, and two, my hair takes care of it for me."

She was tired; she didn't realize how much until he pulled her down into the bed, tucking his arm beneath her. Molly pressed against him and slipped her arm around his middle, her head pillowed on his bare chest as she wound her legs around his. God, it felt nice to curl up with someone.

Her fingers curled in idle patterns against his side, snuggling closer to him, undisturbed by his lack of heartbeat or respiration. He was still, peaceful, cool against her cheek. If he answered, she didn't hear, physical and emotional exhaustion dragging her into soothing, dreamless sleep, her new lover wrapped safe in her arms.

He watched as she fell asleep. It astounded him that a breather he'd just met trusted him enough to simply drift away in his presence.

He stayed with her for most of the night, listening to her breathe and basking in her warmth. Towards morning, however, he slipped out of her bed. He wanted to know more about someone who actively chose to separate herself from people, when his driving goal was to be noticed and seen.

Beetlejuice crept out of her bedroom and went to her kitchen, fully intending on digging through her things.

The night passed with hardly a stir, Molly fully knocked out by their amorous activities; at dawn, when Beetlejuice left her arms, she sighed in her sleep and snuggled against the pillows he'd been lying on, burrowing closer to his scent.

When she woke, the sun had risen, pouring golden light into her bedroom. Her hand slid across the rumpled sheets and found her bed empty, with only a clear indent of another body to prove he had been there. Her brow furrowed as she sat up, worried for a moment that he had left in the night, but then she heard footsteps and rattling come from the vicinity of her kitchen, and felt more at ease. He did seem the type to snoop.

She let him indulge his curiosity a little longer as she took a shower. Music rang from the tiles, and it took her a moment to realize that it was her. She was singing. When was the last time she had done that?

A grin spread on her face as she dried off, wrapping herself in a towel. Some coffee was definitely in order, she thought as she entered her bedroom . . . and screamed at the intruder sitting on her bed.

tbc . . .

@beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @thewolfisapartofmysoul @dilfyjuice @janitor-boy

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice x OC #rp #Beetlejuice based on blumjuice

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

Text

Ménage (7/13ish)

SFW. A human makes a rash decision. A demon and an angel talk. Continued verbal snarkiness.

@thewolfisapartofmysoul @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @dilfyjuice @yogsathot @janitor-boy Enjoy! ~

Once the room was empty of all non-human persons, Molly let the towel fall as she grasped at her chest, her heart aching behind her ribs, body responding in kind to the chaos of her current situation. What was she going to do? She wasn’t about to send Beetlejuice away, even if he was a demon; she knew the loneliness in his eyes all too well, and besides, he had been nothing but kind to her. This angel, on the other hand . . .

Her jaw set, teeth grinding together, still furious. How dare he waltz into her home like he hadn’t been standing by twiddling his thumbs while she suffered. How dare he try to make her get rid of the one thing that had made her feel less empty since her family died. How dare he try to act as if he had her best interests at heart. Hands shaking, she got dressed, towel-drying her hair and combing it out with her fingers. Molly wasn’t about to stand for this, not in her own home. If she could summon a demon, surely she could banish an angel.

It took an incredible amount of willpower to open the door and leave the relative safety of her bedroom to walk out into her living room, where the two entities stood icily surveying the other. The tension was so thick, it could be cut with a knife and spread it on toast. Without speaking to either, she went and grabbed the grimoire she used to summon Beetlejuice, flipping through the pages. Most of the herbs she had here already, the others were easy enough to find. Her eyes were uncharacteristically cold as she looked up at the angel.

⁂

Beetlejuice scratched the hair on his stomach, just to emphasize the fact that he wasn't going to cover himself just because an angel wanted him too.

"For someone who gets off watching people without them knowing, you're such a prude," he said off-handedly, then listened with faux interest about rules, procedures, and structures. He snorted wordlessly when the angel tried to collect himself and pull his "superior than thou" attitude back in place.

He didn't miss the look on the angel's face when he looked back at Molly's bedroom door. His face softened, just a little.

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes. Everybody knew angels got off on hosannas and basking in the Light, not gross icky things like physical touch.

When Molly reappeared, clothed but with her damp hair a deeper shade of blue that he associated closer to depression than not, he took some steps forward to take her hand. The set of her face, however, made him stutter step and not get too close.

“I’m not sending him away. I called him here, and I’ll take whatever consequences that comes with,” Molly announced to the room, although it was obviously directed towards the angel. “You, on the other hand, are trespassing, and if you won’t leave, then I’ll make you.”

He watched with bright eyes her going back to her altar and flipping through her grimoire, and laughed out loud when she spun on the angel who was still trying his best to be politely interested but was also obviously worried and exasperated.

Beetlejuice licked his teeth as he grinned in triumph.

"This is priceless," he crowed. "It must burn pretty bad--pun totally intended--to see how free will is a fundamental right, unlike what the Big Guy might say!

At this point, Dewey was wondering if actually strangling this demon could count as an act of holy smiting, because he was so close to doing it anyway. Especially after that crack about free will. He took a deep breath, trying to push aside his annoyance, trying to push aside the sting of Molly looking at him with near hatred in her eyes.

“Molly, sweetheart, you can’t banish me. Guardians can’t be sent away, they have to remain near their charges.”

It was written all over her face how tenuous her emotional state was, and although he wanted nothing more than to send his fist flying right into the demon’s smug, crowing face, he ruffled a hand back through his hair and forced himself to calm down.

“Let’s . . . let’s just sit down and talk. Okay?”

Molly wanted to scream that she didn’t care if the spell didn’t work, she at least had to try, but deep down, she knew the simple banishing spell in the grimoire wouldn’t be strong enough to handle any celestial, let alone her guardian angel. A sob nearly clawed its way out of her throat, but she closed the book in defeat.

“So . . . what, I’m just stuck with you? You can’t just poof yourself invisible again? I don’t see why not, you seemed so comfortable with it before.”

She couldn’t help it, her chest physically ached with the need to be near someone, and she breezed past the angel to wrap her arms around Beetlejuice’s waist.

“This is a fucking nightmare,” she murmured, her face half buried in his chest.

After a moment or two, Molly spoke again. “All right. Fine. You wanna talk? Let’s talk.”

She gently pushed on the demon’s chest, guiding him back toward the couch and sitting, curling up close to his side.

It didn’t escape him, the suggestive licking of his lips or the intimate caress of his fingers over her stomach. It also didn’t escape him that the demon was purposefully trying to provoke him, trying to lord his supposed “claim” to her over him. His cheeks flared red and hot, but he simply shot the smirking demon a glare before he sunk onto the floor, sitting cross legged, hands fidgeting in his lap. He’d been hoping just he and Molly could talk, but at this point, Dewey didn’t think he could persuade her to be alone with him. Honestly, he couldn’t blame her.

“I know this must all seem like a bit much all at once,” he began, wishing she would at least look at him, “and you have every right to be angry with me. If I was in your position, I’d be angry too. But this?” He nodded toward the demon, whose smirk was beginning to fade. “This is dangerous. I don’t think you realize how much. It’s not just your life that’s at stake here, Molly, its your soul. Demons are manipulative, they can’t be trusted, they can’t be tamed or domesticated or whatever it is you planned to do. He will end up killing you at some point, if he loses control or just gets bored. It’s what they do. It’s in their nature to crave chaos and suffering.

“And when he does kill you, after you let him mark you? You run the risk of never being able to see your family again.”

Dewey was leaning forward now, as if bowed beneath the gravity of the situation.

Molly was only half-listening, at least until the angel proclaimed that Beej would kill her. She let out a scoff and rolled her eyes; he had no idea what he was talking about. Beej had been nothing but gentle with her, asking what she wanted, looking after her comfort. He couldn’t possibly be as evil as the angel said he was. And yet . . . some little voice, no louder than a whisper but so persistent, murmured that as an angel, he would have more experience with demons. Wouldn’t he know how they operated? She hadn’t known Beetlejuice terribly long, what made her so sure he wasn’t manipulating her? Her arms tightened around him; she didn’t like having these thoughts, hated the idea that he could willfully harm her.

When he mentioned seeing her family again, her eyes finally drifted to him.

“That’s a low fucking blow,” she muttered, her heart wrenching in her chest. “So, what? I’m supposed to banish him, repent of my sins, be born again, that whole schtick?” Molly sighed, dropping her embrace to lean forward on the couch. “Look. I’m still angry with you. But I understand you may not have had a choice, either. I can’t make you leave, but I won’t make him leave; he’s got every right to be here, and I don’t regret summoning him. My life isn’t going to change just because you suddenly decided to show up.”

Beetlejuice liked that the angel sat on the ground, wings folded tightly behind his back, his hands tapping, entwining themselves, unable to be still. The pink on his cheeks, too, made him grin. An angel choosing to sit in an inferior position, blushing . . . some incredibly infernal thoughts slipped though his mind as he looked down on the uninvited guest.

Beetlejuice was brought back to the matter at hand and any naughty scenarios evaporated like vapor when the angel started talking to Molly about him, like he wasn't even present.

Okay, so he had manipulated people. He had hurt people. He had killed people. It was a little hazy in his memory if he did it because he was bored. Chaos? Yes. Control over whether or not a person goes to the Light or not, just because he'd fucked them?

Please. Nobody had that kind of power.

He growled, "I told you I didn't coerce her to come here and I actively told her to send me away!" while Molly herself jumped to his defense. Semi-defense? There was a little acknowledgment that the angel didn't have much choice in his lot, either?

His grip tightened as she accused him of playing dirty. It wasn't overtly possessive, this hug; he knew the pain of losing people you cared about. He doubted the angel could understand it.

The sting of her seeming to have some slight recognition of the angel's predicament was squashed by her conviction she wasn't going to send him away.

"Molly, baby," he said quietly, into her ear, while looking at the angel. "I've enjoyed my time with you. I think you did too. And then this angel, this appointed guardian, this holy dental dam for your soul, just shows up out of the blue? He hasn't even told you his name. He seems to expect so much instant trust from you, but he hasn't even given you that?"

Dewey wanted to be angry with the demon for insinuating that he could possibly be the manipulator, but . . . he couldn’t. As much as he hated to admit it, the demon had a point. Angels weren’t supposed to share their names with their charges--names held power, encouraged familiarity. Angels were meant to be above that. Even so, he couldn’t help himself from blurting it out.

“Dewey,” he said softly. “My name is Dewey.” In the interest of transparency, he took a deep breath, and began talking. “I died back in the seventies, I think maybe seventy-eight or seventy-nine. I fell asleep at the wheel and crashed. I was appointed to you when you were thirteen; you were my first charge.”

A rather fond smile crossed his face, thinking back to that time before tragedy touched her life, remembering her as she was and could never be again.

“I remember being proud of you for sneaking CD’s past your parents, even though I shouldn’t have been. I always felt just a little proud of you when you rebelled.”

That was a secret he had promised to keep to himself, but he wanted Molly to trust him, wanted her to know him.

Molly leaned back against her demon as the angel spoke, giving her his name, a rush of details spilling from his lips as if determined to be as forthcoming as possible. It was interesting to learn about his past, to learn that he really hadn’t been an angel for terribly long, to learn that she was his first charge. Idly, her fingers brushed back and forth across Beetlejuice’s arm, as if seeking contact subconsciously. Despite his previous absence in her life, despite his apparent hatred of the demon she had summoned and his insistence that she had made a mistake, he didn’t seem bad. Just like a regular person stuck with a bad job.

When he was finished, she raked her fingers back through her air, fluffy and waved from air drying. Conflict tugged at her heart; if they weren’t two opposing forces, she almost wouldn’t mind them both staying. If they could learn to behave, to refuse their natures for the sake of peace, then it could even be nice to have them around. Her voice was decidedly softer when she spoke again.

“Look. Either both of you go, or no one goes. Since you can’t leave, you’re just going to have to be okay with Beej being here. He could have hurt me so many times last night, but he didn’t. I don’t believe that he would. So you’re just going to have to learn to live with him.”

As if that settled the matter, she got to her feet. “I’m going to make coffee, and if anybody wants some, let me know.”

It felt odd, to just walk into her kitchen and start up the coffeemaker like it was any other morning. But with all that had transpired in the last twenty-four hours, she needed a bit of normalcy now more than ever.

Beetlejuice let her up and said that he'd like coffee, black as sin, and put it in the microwave so it'd be even hotter after it was brewed. He watched her walk out of the room with his eyes on the swing of her hips, then he turned back to the angel, still on the floor. He caught the holy being also watching Molly's ass. He cocked his head as possessive rage flared in him, but he tamped it down for the moment as things the angel had confessed drifted through his head.

A curl swept across Dewey's brow as he nodded at Molly, murmuring that he’d have whatever she was having, his eyes trailing after her like a lovesick puppy as she retreated into the kitchen. Part of him wanted to join her there, as he had done every morning she had lived in this house, but he forced himself to stay put, folded up on the floor, looking up at a glowering demon.

"You were alive," Beetlejuice said. It came out a little more accusatory than maybe he'd meant it. "I thought guardian angels--well, all angels, really--were shavings off the Big Man. I figured guardian angels were pariahs of the pack. Everyone else gets to be close to the alpha, while you're stuck slaving away near stinky, sweaty, gross humans. I never would've guessed you were alive once too."

The realization that he didn't know as much about angels as he thought--plus the more sudden, shittier realization that he probably would've taken the same deal to be close to people if it'd been offered--made him close his mouth sharply. He conjured a cigarette to cover his sudden discomfort that he could've been trapped in the same situation. Taking a drag on it, he changed his train of thought.

"So Dewey, huh? You don't look Welsh. Was that what you were actually named, or something you picked after--" He pointed upward with the cigarette between his first two fingers. "--because it sounded like something in nature, and God's all about that?"

He sighed, expecting to be repulsed by the smell of cigarette smoke but finding it oddly familiar; he didn’t remember most of his human life, but every now and then he caught snippets. Did he smoke? Perhaps he had loved someone who did.

“Most guardian angels were humans once. Most have been angels so long they’ve forgotten how to be human.” His gaze fell down to his hands, which had begun to fidget in his lap again. “The Heaven-born angels . . . kind of look down on the job. So it’s given to us.”

Spilling himself to Molly seemed to have opened some kind of floodgates, and demon or not, it was still a nice change to be able to talk to someone.

“People that are deemed worthy are given a choice when they die. Enter the Light, or become a guardian. If you become a guardian, you can’t be in the Light, so you lose your chance to reunite with passed loved ones. Most choose the Light. I didn’t have any family to speak of, and . . . being dead kind of messed me up. I just wanted to be back on earth, with people. If I’d known how lonely it was . . . ”

He stopped himself, cleared his throat. “Yeah. That was my name before I died. Dewey Finn.”

Molly could hear them speaking from the kitchen, and let loose a sigh of relief when their voices weren’t raised in anger or accusation. Perhaps they could learn to get along. Maybe this didn’t have to be the gigantic clusterfuck it had started out as. She poured a cup to Beetlejuice’s specifications, nuking it for three minutes to get it near boiling while she poured a cup for herself and Dewey, adding cream and sugar to lighten the brew. Arranging the mugs on a tray, she stopped and took a deep breath, steeling herself to return to the tension of the living room.

That tension, she was grateful to find, had eased somewhat, the two still holding a remarkably civil conversation. She set the tray on the coffee table and settled back against the demon’s side, cradling her mug in her hands like a living thing, warm and soothing. After a moment, she sighed.

“Dewey, why don’t you come up here? You don’t have to sit on the floor, there’s room on the couch.”

Molly figured that as long as he got to hold her close, Beetlejuice wouldn’t be as opposed to an angel sharing the space.

He shifted his cigarette from one hand to the other, the one over the arm of the couch he was lazing against to fold Molly back into his side. Her invitation for the angel to join them made him tense, but he'd already ignored his baser instincts to talk to him, so him sitting at the other end of the couch shouldn't be a problem. Even if it was the spot he'd asked Molly to finger herself so he could watch.

He grinned to himself at the memory as Dewey gingerly settled onto the cushions.

"Dewey the angel was just telling me about how there's uppity snobs up there, shitting on the confused, newly deceased. Making them take jobs they don't want, so they can grovel and continue to feel superior to the masses. Isn't that right, Dewey?" he said conversationally.

He took a drag, then set the cigarette down on the coffee table, lit end out as he took his scalding cup of coffee. As he brought it to his mouth, he continued,

"Kinda makes you think the angels that never had anything to do with people don't really embody the whole "forgiveness and love everyone" vibe that's supposed to be the driving force up there."

As he took a mouthful of the scalding, burnt coffee, he didn't miss Dewey's glance to the cigarette he'd put aside.

"You want a smoke?" he asked. Anyone else, he'd probably just pass the one he'd all ready taken a drag from, but he didn't think that'd fly.

Instead, he tapped his finger to his thumb and like a magic trick, a fresh cigarette appeared between them. He twirled it and offered to the angel with raised eyebrows.

He was grateful for the invitation, grateful that Molly was allowing him closer, and he smiled as he all but scrambled up onto the couch, blissfully unaware of the carnal activities that had taken place there the night previous. As soon as clothes had started coming off, he’d retreated to her basement, where he couldn’t see or hear them. In the light of the day, the action felt cowardly, especially since he’d been professing moments ago that demons only had lethal intentions for humans.

The first sip of coffee nearly made his eyes roll back in his head; he’d forgotten how much he loved the stuff, and it was all he could do not to slurp it down immediately. Over his cup, his eyes narrowed at the demon, casual insults disguised with a conversational tone. Truthfully, they didn’t sting as much as he thought they would; he wasn’t exactly wrong about the angelic hierarchy. The celestials higher on the totem pole tended to be aloof, their noses turned up at the notion of humans. It was their prerogative to look after the Boss’s favorite creation, but they always did so with an air of superiority. Dewey himself thought they were snobby and standoffish, but that wasn’t just something you said. Besides, it’s not like angels had an HR department to complain to.

“They just want what’s best,” he said in a lame attempt to defend them. “They don’t know what being human means, they don’t make mistakes or let their emotions get the better of them. They don’t understand why humans are so . . . messy. I think that’s why its people like me that get the guardian jobs. Because we do know.”

He was a bit surprised at the offering of a cigarette, even more surprised that the demon had picked up on his brief, longing look.

Dewey nodded, even managed a stiff smile as he took the offered cigarette, snapping his fingers to light it. The first drag reminded him that oh yes, he did smoke cigarettes, and the curling of smoke in his lungs plus the coffee? He almost felt human again.

“Thank you.”

Molly nearly drove her elbow into Beetlejuice’s side at the uncalled-for jab against celestials, but she let it go when Dewey didn’t seem offended beyond a half-hearted glare. He, at least, seemed to be backing down from the territorial back and forth. Then, to her surprise and relief, Beetlejuice offered a cigarette. Both sides seemed to be attempting to make peace, and she was grateful for that. Playing referee for a demon and an angel for the foreseeable future didn’t exactly sound fun.

She settled more firmly against her demon, her head against his chest as she watched Dewey take another drag from his cigarette with apparent delight.

“I’m going to have to invest in some ash trays,” she murmured off-handedly, smiling despite herself.

Perhaps this could work, and if it did . . . it would seem all the lonely souls in this house would get what they wanted. Mug half-drained, she sighed and looked at the angel, curled up into a tight ball on the opposite end of the couch.

“It’s strange that you’re still defending them,” she said lightly, not meaning to offend him but merely offering her point of view. “You don’t seem like the type of person that likes following rules, Dewey. You said yourself you were proud of me whenever I’d rebel against my parents. So why do you bend over backwards to uphold the rules of a system that looks down on you?

“Why not rebel a little yourself?”

Beetlejuice snorted into his coffee.

“Oh baby, even I know the answer to that question if everything in the Bible is 100% true. Which I'm sure it is," he smirked.

Dewey ignored the crack about the Bible, shaking his head.

“Rebellion is . . . not well received upstairs,” he said lowly, his gaze dropping to his lap as he took another drag on the cigarette. “Besides . . . ” The words seemed to catch in his throat, and again, he blushed. “I like watching over you. I like being near you. I’ve been around you for so long, watched you grow up and change . . .”

Somehow, he shrunk further into himself, his voice a barely audible murmur. “I don’t want to risk not being with you.”

He was sure it would seem like a weakness to the demon, this need to be near his charge, and oh, if only he knew the thoughts, the fantasies he’d had about her . . .

Well. Neither of them needed to know.

Molly sighed but didn’t press the subject, draining her cup and getting back to her feet.

“I’m just saying. You don’t really seem like you fit very well within their rules.”

She stretched, a slice of bare stomach visible as her shirt rode up, and pushed her hair back from her forehead, the waves spilling over her shoulder.

“I’m gonna find something you two can use as an ashtray before you track ash all over my carpet.” Her soft smile removed any sting of scold from her statement, tossed over her shoulder as she went to rummage through her kitchen for a suitable substitute ashtray.

He let his fingers trail on her as she got up again. After she'd left the room once more, he looked over at the angel shrewdly. That blush on his cheeks was back, and Beetlejuice knew he hadn't missed the familiar touch.

"Would you lose your wings? You know, if you told them to kiss your ass?" he asked. "I've seen demons with wings, but it's more an aesthetic thing. Most don't bother, or have . . . other adornments."

Like an idiot, his line of questioning left the door open for return queries of a personal nature about himself, so he interrupted it with a huge mouthful of coffee. It'd grown a little cold but he drank it anyway.

After half a second had passed with no reply--it was occasionally difficult for him to remember other beings may need some time to answer--he continued in a slightly different vein.

"I'm sure you'll think this next thing I'm gonna say this because I'll get some kind of infernal gold star or be next in line for a promotion or something, but that's not it. I'm a little outside their specific jurisdiction. So . . . if you rebel, what's stopping you from seeing her?"

The line of questioning surprised him a little, made him pause, and so left him equally unprepared to answer the second question the demon lobbed his way. His cheeks burned; he had never hated his tendency to blush under strain more. Honestly, there was so much about being an angel that was a mystery to him-by their standards, he was still considered a rookie, wet behind the ears.

“Rebelling against heaven isn’t something that should be desired,” he said, more for himself than for Beetlejuice. “But . . . if I was cast out, then I guess there wouldn’t be anything stopping me. Theoretically.”

He huffed and drained his coffee cup, chasing it immediately with a lungful of bitter smoke. “But it’s my duty to protect her. I can’t . . . I can’t leave that behind just because I . . .”

He stopped himself, cleared his throat. Better not to admit those pesky human wants and desires out loud, especially in front of the present company.

“And as far as my wings go, I’m not sure. They’re a physical part of my body, so they can’t just be stripped. They’d have to physically cut them off of me.” Dewey couldn’t help a shudder at the thought. “If the crime is particularly bad, I think they remove the wings. At the very least, you get banished to Earth permanently.”

He couldn’t be sure if it was being in the presence of a demon, or being able to talk to the woman he’d been guarding for so long, but with each moment that passed, rebelling seemed like more and more like an appealing concept. So what if he lost his wings? So what if he betrayed perhaps the highest power to ever exist? So what if he abandoned his post and lost the ability to protect her? Being able to hold her and kiss her whenever he wanted would make it all worth it.

But the sobering reality of it all was that if he did give it all up for her, he had no way of knowing if she would return his affections. What if he rebelled and she rejected him? He’d be left with nothing, with no purpose, no home, no reason for being. The risk was too high. Besides, what was he doing talking about it to a demon?

“Again, this is all hypothetical.”

tbc . . .

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Dewey Finn #Beetlejuice x OC #AU #rp #Beetlejuice based on Blumjuice

15 notes · View notes

hoodoo12 · 4 years

Text

Ménage (2/13ish)

SWF, backstory, personal hurts, connection

He listened to Molly move through her kitchen, hoping to hear her talk to herself for some more info on her. That wasn't eavesdropping, not really, he told himself; she knew he was there. But she was quiet, and quickly returned with another glass, sinking down beside him again.

He accepted the refill of this not-pink-at-all-drink, raised it properly in a toast, and liked very much that she took his hand as she settled in this time.

"So, you sound like you have a lot of experience with celestials. Is it just angels? What are they like?"

"Celestials?" he asked. "You really wanna hear about them? Pompous, jealous, dickwads? It's not just angels, either . . . anything that didn't turn away from the Light calls itself a celestial, and they're all busy jerking off to their own superiority. Sometimes they like to try and herd lesser beings back to what they think is the Way. Gets 'em brownie points or some horseshit."

He took a swig.

"Is that what you were hoping to call here?" he asked, barely keeping the distain out of his voice. "They're like Jehovah's Witnesses or fucking ringworm -- you can't get rid of them once they're here."

He extracted his hand from hers and drew his blackened fingernails through her palm and to her wrist.

"I think you'll find getting me was a much better choice, baby."

Rapt, she listened, her thumb idly brushing the side of his hand; his disdain was easy to perceive, but she was fascinated nonetheless. How many humans got an opportunity like this, to hear about the afterlife, to know even tiny details about the ever-looming What Comes Next?

"You know, I don't doubt you. I'm not exactly the religious type anyway."

The scrape of his blunt, dark nails across her palm to the delicate inner face of her wrist made her heart stutter in her chest, and goosebumps immediately raised on her arm all the way up to her shoulder. Oh. That had felt far too good.

She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks again, wondering how many times this ghost had made her blush in the half hour or so he'd been in her home. Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound. She flipped her hand over, lying it palm up on her knee, and took a long sip of her drink, draining half in one swallow.

"Do that again?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, half a smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

"This, baby?" he asked to confirm, even as he repeated the motion, first and second fingers circling in her palm, following the creases there like he was divining before dragging them to her wrist and the soft skin of her inner arm. He pulled his fingers backwards to her hand and did it again.

Without permission but with the same smirk on his face, his fingers skipped from her arm to her thigh. They were even lighter there, dragging slowly upward, even as he watched for her reaction.

If his smile wasn't enough to make her heart begin to race, the slow, deliberate drag of his fingertips across her palm certainly did the trick. There were calluses on her fingers from working in her gardens, but her palms remained soft, sensitive, and she couldn't help pinching her lower lip between her teeth to hold back a sigh. Who knew such a simple touch could have such a physical effect on her?

When his fingers migrated to her thigh, bare beneath a thin pair of cotton pajama shorts, she couldn't keep a soft moan back, shivering at the more intimate touch, sliding slowly inward. This . . . oh, it was nice but she couldn't . . . he needed to know what he would be signing up for.

"Hey," she whispered, placing her hand over his to still his progress. "This . . . look, I like you touching me. I like it a lot. But if you . . . if you want more . . . there's a few things you should know about me first."

She sighed, feeling embarrassment and anxiety creeping icy tendrils around her ribcage. "I don't . . . I . . . um, I haven’t done this. I haven't even been kissed. This is all fresh territory for me, and there's a really big reason why."

At the hesitation in her voice and her physically stopping his hand, he cocked his head. She had let the softest moan ever escape. There was the faintest tremble to the fingers atop his. Her breath had come more quickly, and that same pretty blush had darkened her cheeks again.

He didn't want to care about her reason; she was responsive and just the fact she'd called him was arousing. He sported a bit of a tent pole behind his fly, but he wasn't all demon. He knew pain. He'd caused pain gladly, sometimes. But Molly, this woman who may had inadvertently summoned him hadn't immediately banished him, so he wasn't going to do that to her.

So he stopped.

"Everyone starts somewhere, baby," he told her, hoping it sounded more philosophical and less smarmy, and then he waited.

She was grateful that he stopped, that he didnt press his hand forward, only cocked his head in response. He even spoke gently, assuring her that everyone started somewhere, and she was grateful for that too.

"I know. If it was just the virginity thing, your hand would already be in my shorts. I wouldn’t have stopped you just for that." She took a deep breath, let it out, realizing just how long it had been since she had spoken to another person about this.

"I . . . I lost my whole family when I was fifteen. All of them. My older sister was graduating high school and my parents threw a huge party for her. Everyone came, aunts, grandparents, cousins. Everyone. I was being a shitty teenager and didn't figure they'd miss me, so I took a walk, just wanting to be away from so many people asking if I was gonna graduate valedictorian like my sister. And . . . well, I grew up in a small town in the rural midwest, which means half the town made cooking meth their day job. Our neighbors happened to be cooking that day and it...went wrong. The explosion took out half the block, including the house behind it. My house." She paused. She could get through this. "No one got out but me.

"After that, it was foster homes until I could legally be on my own. I had a small fortune in inheritance, since I was the only living relative of anyone with a will. I got a shitty apartment and stewed in a delicious mix of PTSD and survivor's guilt until I turned twenty and started putting my life back together. Got my GED and a BA in journalism. Even got a girlfriend."

A short smile curled on her mouth, but it was joyless.

"Met on an online literary forum. She lived two states away, so we were long distance for a year. She was gonna drive down to spend Christmas with me, and her car . . . hit some black ice. She was killed on impact. She was still in the closet back at home, so I only found out because her best friend found my Facebook. I couldn't even go to her funeral."

"After that, I . . .I just couldn't do it. Everyone I ever loved had died, and not peacefully. I couldn't let myself be around people. I felt cursed. I still feel cursed. I bought this house and I . . . I don't leave it. That's why you're the first person I've spoken to face to face in nearly two years." Her head hung, ashamed at her own weakness, thoughts dark with the horrible memories she has dredged up from the murk.

"Still think I'm worth the trouble?"

Oh, he had some stories about his past that would rival hers, but this wasn't the time or place for one-upmanship. He could bitterly tell her that shitty things happen to everyone, and that's life: just a series of falling down to claw yourself back up again, over and over. You did it or you didn’t, and no one’s path was the right one for anybody else.

But the deep pain he’d experienced that should’ve made him calloused and sour wasn’t quite there. Hers was different, nothing like his, and that didn’t make the deep-seated anger flare.

“So you thought calling up a spirit would give you some companionship,” he said. It was a statement, not a question. His voice dropped. “And you got me instead.”

Slowly, his fingers curled in on themselves, towards his own palm, until he was no longer touching her. Gently he extracted his hand out from under hers.

He tried to chuckle, but it came out a little strained. “Second best again.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his gaze flicked downward, away from her for a moment, until he collected himself. When he did, straightening and leaving his hand on his own knee, he was able to look at her again.

“Tell me again what you wanted from the spirit you were trying to call up. I’m no good at conversation, I cheat at cards and Monopoly, I’ve eaten my fair share of puzzle pieces. TV is okay, so long as it’s reruns of the Jerry Springer Show. I’m not really suited for the quiet life that it seems like you’ve got going here--I’m more an inappropriately physical specter, if you hadn’t noticed.

“I’ve liked being here, baby, and the drinks were nice, but you might be better sending me on my way and trying your ritual again.”

For a moment, though his eyes were downcast and his posture already shrinking back from her, Molly could see something in his eyes. Something fractured and irreparable. Raw and pained on a level she couldn't possibly begin to fathom. Then the veil dropped, the veneer smoothly tugged back into place, his voice carefully measured and cold.

"What?" It was her turn to cock her head, brow furrowing. "I don't understand, second best to who? I called a spirit and you answered. Haven't I said more than once that I'm happy you're here?"

Reining herself in before her voice got too shrill, Molly took a deep breath.

"Just like I wasn't sure what kind of spirit would answer, I wasn't sure what I'd want if they did. Different spirits have different rules." She bit harshly at her lip, tugging threads of skin loose until the spot began to bleed. "I hoped maybe we could figure it out together, but I guess I just ruined that. I want you to stay, Beej, but I won't make you. Everyone else left, so I shouldn't have assumed you wouldn't leave, too."

She shrank back against the arm of the couch, tugging her knees up protectively to her chest.

People tended to dismiss him, so that wasn't totally unexpected; it was a familiar ache. But people didn't tend to be upset that he offered to go, didn't tend to try and tuck the blame back in on themselves, and didn't tend to tell him repeatedly they wanted him to stay.

In the silence that stretched between them, he considered what she'd said. Seeing her worry her lip till the red on it wasn't lipstick, he dug around in a pocket till he found a scrap of cloth that may have been a handkerchief at one time.

"Here," he told her, shaking it out. He looked it over, reading the monogram, before offering it to her. "I can't imagine old HPL is going to mind you using this. Why the hell anyone would be buried with a snotrag is beyond me."

He left it on the cushion between them, and sighed.

"Molly, I'm sorry I'm not what you expected when you wanted someone here. But . . ." He paused and made sure she was looking at him before continuing. "None of those people in your life left you. Not voluntarily, and that's a big difference than someone choosing to go."

Now the hard part, because it was dangerous being honest; in his experience, people used it against him. "You've said you'd like me to stay. I'd like to stay too, baby. A little company and comfort? Who in their right mind would turn that down?"

His own gaze had flicked to one side, a little, but he forced it back up to hers.

Out of her peripherals, she could see him moving, and assumed he was getting off the couch to leave. So when he produced an off white square of fabric and placed it in the neutral space between them, her brow knitted in confusion. Molly reached for it; there was probably more bacteria on this handkerchief than in a public restroom, but the gesture was kind, and she held it to her bleeding lip anyway.

Hope leapt in her chest like a flame when he admitted that he'd like to stay. Unfurling from her position on the couch, she sat closer to him, and hardly believing her daring, she lifted her hand to cup her palm against his cheek, touch light in case she needed to pull away quickly.

"I was expecting at most some kind of poltergeist, something I could feel but couldn't see. Something to make the place feel less empty. But you came through, and I can talk to you and touch you . . . honey, don't apologize because you weren't what I was expecting. This is better."

Her thumb swept over the ridge of his cheekbone, secretly hoping no moss had rubbed off on her hand. "I would . . . I would really like you to stay. You're fascinating, and fun to talk to, and cute . . ." She bit her lips out of habit, wincing as her teeth raked the tender spot. "Please."

Her feather light touch made his eyelids flutter closed. It was something he could never get enough of, something he'd never tire of. He had to actively prevent himself from pushing into her like a damn cat.

When she relayed what she'd been hoping for and at her quiet admission that she'd like him to stay, he opened his eyes again and caught her gaze. He also couldn't help drop his eyes to her grabbing her lip between her teeth again. A smile grew on his face, and he hoped it distracted enough from what was growing in his pants.

Beetlejuice twisted his head under her hand a little, planting a kiss into her palm.

"I'd like to stay too, baby," he murmured against her skin, before he lifted his amber eyes to hers again. "You expected a poltergeist, but I can go bump in the night too, you know.

"If you're interested . . ."

There was something about the way his eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing his cheeks as her palm brushed his cheek, that made her insides tremble; odd how such a minuscule gesture could affect her entire body, could make her breath catch. And oh, when his eyes opened again, intense and pinned to her, missing not a single move she made, and he smiled. Molly wondered if she was supposed to feel this way, if it was the isolation talking or if it was normal to have your heart try to hammer through your ribcage.

His lips were cool, colder than the rest of his skin from the chilled liquor, but they left a spot of warmth behind, ticking her palm as he spoke softly against it. Her stomach did a somersault, then another when he caught her gaze again, that playful flicker alight in his eyes. How could she possibly say no?

"I am interested," she breathed, her hand pressing just a bit more firmly to his cheek, leaning closer. Her drink was set aside, her other hand mirroring its twin, cradling his face between them. Her hands ached with the need to bestow gentleness on him; he seemed to be in desperate need of it. "You . . . you can touch me again . . . if you want."

He didn't need any further invitation. The hand he'd teased her with before went back to her thigh, using light pressure to draw a line up it. He made it to the hem of her shorts, then eased his fingers under it before stopping.

He shifted his head in her palm, and put his teeth on the fleshy mound below her thumb even more lightly than his lips had been.

When she moved closer in, he finally moved out of her hand again.

"Never been kissed, you said?" he confirmed, his voice a tad lower than before. "That's a crime. You bit your lip, and I don't wanna hurt you, baby, but I do want a taste . . ."

He left that hanging in the air as he tilted his head and his mouth covered hers.

The skin beneath his fingers seemed to tremble at their passage, a soft rush of breath leaving her as those gentle fingertips slipped under the hem of her shorts, caressing her inner thigh but venturing no further. A hot flush crept down her neck at the sight of his teeth, the soft scrape of the sharp edges making her lips part. Such subtle touches, but God, the effect they had on her.

Like a peal of passing thunder, the last parting rumbles at the end of a clearing storm, his question was asked, and Molly shook her head to confirm that no, she had never been kissed, head tilted back slightly to bare a throat that bobbed in a heavy swallow. Her hands slid to his shoulders, digging slightly into the material of his suit to ground herself as he crooned to her, leaning closer, closer . . .

tbc

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice x OC #rp #Beetlejuice based on blumjuice

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

Text

Ménage (8/13ish)

SFW. Still snarky verbal sparring, but it’s lessening.

@beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @thewolfisapartofmysoul @dilfyjuice @janitor-boy @yogsathot

Enjoy!

She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t sit still, continually bouncing up to get something from the kitchen, drifting out of Beetlejuice’s hold even though part of her still ached to be close to him. It all just felt like too much, having gone from zero to a hundred in the attention department. It made her feel jittery, anxious, like an electric current of discomfort was buzzing just beneath her skin. Beej seemed to possessively drag his fingers over her every thirty seconds or so, and the way Dewey looked at her, turning the full force of those dark brown eyes on her, pinning her like a bug under a microscope . . . it made her uncomfortably aware of her physical self.

And then there was the apparent fondness he had for her. She supposed that angels were supposed to be fond of their charges to some degree, but the way he looked at her, the way a flush seemed to creep its way up his neck to his ears when he looked at her too long, suggested his interest was less than professional. Molly wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. He was cute, and she liked the gentle tone of his voice, and if circumstances were different then maybe she would feel more okay with the concept. But the fact remained that they weren’t different.

She sighed and refilled her coffee cup, adding a splash of cheap whiskey to the bottom before digging out a battered plastic ramekin that would suffice as an ashtray until she could get a proper one. Despite the slight tug to stay in the kitchen and hide, she came back out into the living room, setting the ramekin down on the coffee table and settling back into place on the couch. What on earth had she gotten herself into?

Molly returning interrupted Beetlejuice’s next question--something about whether angels gained wings but lost their balls in exchange, hypothetically, of course; he knew the answer, from blush that hadn’t fully ever faded and the longing looks Dewey had cast at Molly. He also wanted to ask if Molly was his only charge, or the only one he lusted after.

But she settled back against him again, and once more he felt a surge of superiority that she’d pick him over an actual angel. It was nice for a second just to revel in that.

Her heat, where the skin of her arm touched his bare stomach, was intoxicating. He resisted the urge to nuzzle into her the crook of her shoulder and neck, not because he was too shy but because he knew he’d probably moan and pop a boner in these sweatpants, and he wasn’t sure how Molly would react to that. He had a feeling she wouldn’t just be okay with heading back to the bedroom with her guardian angel wringing his hands and tutting his disapproval outside her closed door--or fuck it, open door--while they were getting it on.

Running a finger under the hem of her shirt to touch her side, soaking up the warmth there too, his train of thought jumped the track. She hadn’t seem to care, but had Molly expected him to be warm? His skin was cool . . . so was an angel’s skin warm, then? His amber eyes scanned Dewey; not much of his skin was exposed. Just his hands and neck and face, really.

Beetlejuice had a near overwhelming desire to sit up and grab Dewey’s hand, just to see if there was heat there too. He resisted the urge, of course; he’d dislodge Molly and scare them both, and probably end up with a flaming sword through his gut or something.

He didn’t need a heavenly host raining holy wrath down on him in defense of one of their own.

So instead he went back to his cigarette, looking lazily through the wisps of smoke at him.

“Well. This has been . . . something,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “You checked in on your charge. You gonna float on back up to wherever? I bet there’s a shit ton of paperwork you’ve got to get done, huh? Molly and I had a full day planned, you know. She was going to show me her gardens, we were going to take a nap . . . boring stuff that couldn’t possibly interest an angel.”

Seeing the expression on the angel’s face pinch like maybe what he’d said had hurt, then grow a touch wistful towards the end when he mentioned the most boring plans ever, Beetlejuice narrowed his eyes. He snuffed out his cigarette in the makeshift ashtray Molly had provided, and turned his attention to her.

“Molly, baby . . . do you mind giving us a few more minutes alone?” he asked.

Both the other two looked up at him in surprise. And suspicion. And protests were building up, in both of them.

He continued to address her, but kept half a glance at Dewey.

“Infernal and celestial stuff. You know. Guy talk.”

Those protests were at the backs of their teeth, ready to spill out of their mouths; he could tell. He held up a hand to continue to stall them for the moment.

“I promise no physical altercation. I won’t even raise my voice!” he promised her, before turning to Dewey to sweeten the pot for him too. “And as much as it pains me to cover this fine specimen of ghostly demonhood, I’ll put on clothes.”

He raised his eyebrows and opened his hand in a more passive gesture, glancing between the two.

“Okay? I just want to talk.”

Molly was apprehensive to say the least when Beej all but insisted that he talk alone with the angel. She opened her mouth to advise that maybe that wouldn't be such a good idea, considering she didn't want her house smashed to pieces in some sort of supernatural altercation, but he seemed serious about keeping the peace. She looked back at Dewey, who looked stunned, but nodded, and she shrugged.

"All right. I needed to tend the gardens anyway. I'll be out back if you need me."

She let her fingertips drift over Beetlejuice's cheek, even tossing a reassuring, if brief, smile over her shoulder at the angel, and tossed her hair up as she walked out the back door.

It was cool outside, overcast, the clouds silver and shifting overhead, like a portent of something to come, and she couldn't help a shiver. There was a gnawing in her gut, some sense of foreboding she couldn't put her finger on. As she pulled weeds in her gardens, she tried to push the feeling away, but it persisted. She hoped against hope that their talk went well, and this feeling would cease.

Dewey was taken aback when the demon first scrutinized his face, amber eyes narrowing as if he could see right through the angel; he supposed he was easy to read--if there was no one to see his face, there was no need to hide his expression. He was dumbstruck, however, when a demon of all people asked to talk, offered an olive branch. Even offered to put on clothes.

His first instinct was distrust, wondering what sort of hidden agenda Beetlejuice had. Get the girl out of the room, then go for the throat? As a guardian, he wasn't allowed weapons, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve that could make a demon regret pulling any hasty moves. Even Molly seemed apprehensive, but to his surprise, she stood and left the room, smiling at him over her shoulder. Did she trust them alone together? Trusted the demon not to pull anything?

Dewey sighed, his wings ruffling as he turned to face the demon on the couch. If Molly trusted him, perhaps he could take that leap of faith too. After all, besides some snarky remarks here and there, Beetlejuice had never actually threatened him.

"All right," he said, wishing he had another cigarette. "What is it you wanna talk about?"

“What do you think I want to talk about? Whether or not that Tiger King show on Netflix is worth anyone’s time,” Beetlejuice replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes. At the hardening expression on the angel’s face, he amended with, “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I wanna talk about Molly, of course.”

He stood up. “I suppose you’d prefer I not strip in front of you, right?”

Without waiting for a reply, he simply flicked his suit back on. The sweatpants were soft and comfortable, but the stripes were familiar, like stepping into his skin. It gave him a sense of power that was distinctly different than throwing his weight around half dressed because it made an angel uncomfortable.

He sat back down in the same position, leaning back against the arm of the couch, in a calculated manspread. Rolling his fingers together like before, two fresh cigarettes appeared between his fingers, and he offered one to Dewey. He even went as far as to light it for the angel, then dragged on his own.

Brown eyes narrowed at the demon's acerbic commentary; so they were already off to a bad start, it seemed. Even the display of magicking his clothes back in place seemed deliberate, a show of his ability. And, Dewey had to admit, while the stripes were shabby and threadbare, they were more intimidating than a pair of women's sweatpants.

"Are all demons so considerate?" His eyes rolled as well, though he took the offered cigarette.

"Bold of you to assume I'm a full demon," he replied mildly. He let that statement float for a moment. Once Beetlejuice had gathered a lungful of smoke, he used the cigarette to point at the angel. “You’re her guardian, but it’s more than that, isn’t it? You have actual feelings for her.”

Dewey wouldn't go so far as to thank him for the smoke yet, but his expression softened a bit, his posture loosening from its tensed state. However, when Beetlejuice pointed accusingly at him, the tip of his lit cigarette trailing a thread of grey smoke, he bristled.

"I . . . I don't know what you're talking about." He grit his teeth; even he wasn't convinced by his protests, and he hated that the demon could see through him so easily. "It's complicated."

Beetlejuice smirked at the fire he glimpsed in the angel's eyes, blew out the smoke he'd held, and brought the cigarette back to his lips.

"Thou doth protest too much, methinks. You're not very subtle. You looked like you were sunburned, blushing so much when Molly was here."

He tapped the ash off his smoke, and stared down at it in his fingers for a moment.

Dewey quirked an eyebrow at the full demon comment, but the blatant call-out of his rather embarrassing reaction to being near Molly made him, of course, flush to the tips of his ears in indignation. He could explain that he didn't have to hide anything before the demon showed up, so he hadn't ever had to be subtle before, but he took a drag off his cigarette and said nothing. No reason to give him even more ammunition.

"Hey, what do I know about angels? Maybe up there's just one big never ending orgy. In the Netherworld, everybody swings both ways; maybe it's the same up there too." He lifted his gaze to Dewey's again. "All I'm saying is that if you're having non-angelic thoughts about your charge, maybe the whole guardian angel thing isn't for you. Free will is a hell of a thing compared to blind obedience.

"Just something to consider. Something to think about."

He sighed, smoke leaving his mouth in a thin stream.

"That's the thing. Thoughts are fine, they don't hurt anything. But acting on anything . . . it's a risk. A big risk." God, Dewey wished he could be having this conversation with anyone else, or better yet, not having it at all. "I know . . . I know Molly doesn't like me. It isn't a stretch to say she hates me, and I can't exactly blame her. I couldn't be there the way she needed me to be."

His eyes fell to the floor, the hand that brought the cigarette to his lips now shaking slightly.

"If I did . . . what you're suggesting, if I rebelled to be with her, I lose everything. And the likelihood of her wanting to be with me is slim to none. Apparently, I'm not exactly her type." He gave the demon a narrowed glance, but there was no real venom in it. "It's . . . it's too big of a gamble. I'm better off just standing to the side."

Hearing that, the resignation, Beetlejuice cocked his head as if trying to see the angel from a new perspective. He knew that feeling, the feeling of being trapped, no conceivable way to change his circumstances. It was crushing, and he half wondered if angels had the option of a Lost Souls room too, because an eternity of nothingness was sometimes more appealing than an eternity of pining and slog.

As to Molly . . . he didn’t quite have an answer to that. Well, maybe.

“She was fucking lonely,” he said, in faint exasperation. “I know you’ve repeated ad nauseum about rules and restrictions and all that, but it seems like a huge flaw in that system. It taking someone so desperate for someone that they literally open their door to whatever might be strolling by to waltz right in and make itself at home before you can help is really shitty.

“She’s damn lucky there were some typos on that page and she only called up me, and not something else.”

He looked at his cigarette again, but decided he was done with it.

“I’m gonna regret this, I just know it,” he sighed, mostly to himself even as he looked up and caught the angel’s eyes again. “But if you just talk to her, if you just tell her that you wanted to do more but you were afraid for the reasons you just told me, maybe that’d convince her how sincere you actually are. Leave off the stuff about ‘saving her soul’ or whatever. As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t have near that kind of pull.”

Suddenly the lit cigarette in his hand was fascinating again.

“You tell her all that, and you won’t have anything else to worry about, Dewey,” he finished quietly. “She’ll understand and realize how much better it’ll be with you, and then she’ll send me away. You’ll win either way: she’ll be safe from me, or you’ll have a reason to stick it to the man and get to be with her.”

Dewey opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to insist that even for knowing her only half a day, he’d already helped Molly more than her own angel had done in fifteen years, but he closed it and stood.

“I’ll go talk to her.”

tbc . . .

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Dewey Finn #Beetlejuice x OC #rp #AU #Beetlejuice based on blumjuice

15 notes · View notes

hoodoo12 · 4 years

Text

Ménage (6/13ish)

SFW chapter; unexpected visitor reveals himself, anger, verbal warfare

@thewolfisapartofmysoul @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @yogsathot @dilfyjuice @janitor-boy

Enjoy!

It had been so long since he’d had a corporeal form in the human realm, he had almost forgotten what sunlight--real sunlight--felt like. It was . . . nice. Warm.

Dewey rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, nose wrinkling at the smell of demon saturating her sheets. He had hoped she wouldn’t go through with it, hoped he could influence her to see reason and say no, but her loneliness was too strong, too loud. He had nearly cursed aloud when she led the infernal spirit to her bed; becoming corporeal, unless a subject’s life was in immediate danger, was impossible, and required snipping through a bog of bureaucratic red tape. If he had known being a guardian angel came with so many regulations, he would have just stayed dead.

But looking after her had almost made it worth it. Molly was slotted for tragedy and heartache in her life, and he had walked beside her for every step of it. Dewey had kept her alive, kept her safe, out of harm’s way, and in the process, she had grown on him.

But this . . . this, he couldn’t save her from. His charge was corrupted, her soul stained with a demon’s mark. And now that he had physical form, he could speak to her, make her see sense . . . or at least bodily remove her from harm.

She walked into the bedroom, smelling of warmth and fresh roses, and he smiled. “It’s good to hear you sing again, Molly.”

He wasn’t expecting her to scream. Shit.

⁂

So far he had found an interesting collection of random bones and a book that gave off a heavy vibe that warned him off. Beetlejuice stared out her kitchen window at the extensive gardens outside her house, and wondered if she'd think him odd to want to walk through it.

His ear caught her singing over the sound of the shower running, and he thought to surprise her by stepping into her bathroom before she got out, but the water shut off before he made it back through the house.

With his hand on her bedroom door, he stopped short at the bright aura moving in ripples coming from inside.

He peeked in, and his eyes narrowed as he felt tendrils of red work their way into his hair.

A fucking angel was in her room?

⁂

She shrunk back, squeezed between the dresser and the wall, a death grip on her towel to keep it from falling as she froze. He . . . he had wings. Large, snow-white wings that were now folded snugly against his back. She was hallucinating. Had to be. She blinked. They didn’t disappear.

“Wh-Who the fuck are you? Get out!”

Through the haze of fear and shock, Molly could see his lips move and heard the sound of speech, but wasn’t quite able to process what he was saying to her. With a jolt, she remembered her other guest, and prayed he was close enough to hear her. She called his name once, only once.

⁂

How frustrating. Summoning a demon into her home had impressed and fascinated her, but an angel in her bedroom caused her to scream in terror? Dewey could have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t concerned with calming her down.

“Just take a breath and let me explain, Molly, please?”

Instead, she yelled her lover’s name, and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had hoped the two of them could talk without getting the demon involved, but he supposed everything else was going sideways, so why not this?

There was never a good time to deal with celestial beings, but Beetlejuice wasn't going to let Molly deal with this on her own, especially since she used his full name. If he didn't go in, she might mindlessly repeat it twice more and then where would he be? Plus, she'd called him accidentally; how did he know she didn't call this angel as well?

With a sigh, Beetlejuice walked into her bedroom with as much confidence as he could gather wearing women's sweatpants.

"Hey babe, good morning," he said brightly, as if seeing an angel in her bedroom was a common occurrence.

When the angel's wings spread a little bit, in a show of intimidation, he finally deigned to give him a look. Granted, he didn't make a habit of hanging around with celestials, but this angel, despite his wings, didn't look anything like he expected. Where were the shining robes? The aura of brightness, from standing so close to God? This guy didn't look like that at all. He was only moderately tall, with messy hair, and wearing a sweater vest? Beetlejuice wrinkled his nose.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you just appearing in a woman's bedroom was incredibly rude? What do they teach you, up in angel school?"

Immediately upon the demon's entrance, he bristled, wings expanding as much as they could within the confines of her room. "What, was I supposed to wait around out there to make pleasant conversation with you? I'm here to speak to her."

As soon as Beetlejuice stepped into her room, Molly moved closer to him, eyeing her new visitor with a distrustful eye. Beej didn't seem too worried at his appearance, and that set her a little more at ease. Until he said the word "angel."

"Wait . . . so . . . he's really an angel?" Her brows knit together, still a bit shaky from the initial shock and more confused than she could ever remember being. "Like, wings and halos, 'be not afraid,' actual angel?"

Suddenly, Molly remembered what Beej had said last night about summoning a celestial. "Did . . . Did I do this?"

When Dewey eyes turned to Molly, he softened, holding both hands up in a display of peace.

"Yes, Molly, I'm a real angel. Your angel, actually." For the first time since she had entered the room, he looked a bit sheepish, ruffling a hand through his messy brown hair.

"I'm...well, I'm kind of what you'd call . . . a guardian angel," he explained further. "To be specific, I'm your guardian angel. And I'm here because this," he nearly hissed, eyes narrowed as he pointed at the demon, "is a bad idea. I can't stress enough how bad an idea this is."

Beetlejuice slipped an arm around Molly's waist as she came near him, subtly laying claim that he knew didn't go unnoticed. In fact, it was probably the reason the angel's voice became a hiss, instead of staying smooth. He smirked.

"I thought guardian angels were young things. Kinda . . . " he paused and pursed his lips, as if trying to think of the term. " . . . like probationary angels? Like, not quite good enough to make it as real angels, kissing God's feet or whatever. Baby angels! Is that true? Do you have to meet some kind of quota and then you get promoted?

An angel. A real angel. Not just any run of the mill messenger of God, but her own personal guardian angel. Molly stepped out of the protective arm slung around her waist, stepping forward a bit as if to get a better look at him. She was nearly at eye level with him, and she was realizing now that aside from the wings and faint golden corona, he seemed very human.

Her hands shook as they fell by her sides, but not with fear or shock; the clench in her jaw and the sudden narrowing of her eyes gave away that they were shaking with rage.

”How fucking dare you.”

Her tone was low and venomous; the angel looked shocked, but she didn’t give him time to reply or explain.

“You mean to tell me you’ve been here this entire time, and you’ve just stood by and let all that shit happen?! What the fuck kind of guardian does that?! Where were you when my family died? Where were you when I was on my own for four years? Were you just sitting back and watching each time I tried to take my life? Where were you when Rebecca died? Did it matter at all to you how heartbroken I was? What use are you if you can’t keep me from hurting?!”

Her hands were clenched into tight fists at her side, her entire body rigid and practically thrumming with anger.

“You’re a piss-poor excuse for an angel,” she said, her tone lower but no less sharp. ”Get out of my house. I don’t want you here.”

Oh, if it wouldn’t have cost him his wings, he would have taken a swing at that smug, grinning bastard, just to wipe that smirk off his face. Hell, he still might have, if Molly hadn’t turned her wrath onto him. Dewey had been expecting it, but if he was being honest, it didn’t make her anger sting any less. He stood there and took it, looking rightfully guilty, wings folded meekly against his back.

“Sweetheart,” he started, wanting so badly to take her hands but not quite daring to, “I’m sorry. If I could have spared you all of that, I would, but my hands were tied. As long as your life wasn’t in immediate danger, I couldn’t do anything. But I promise you, I was there.”

He came closer, eyes wide and warm and earnest. “Why do you think you decided to go for a walk that day? Do you think it was an accident that each suicide attempt failed? I was there at your side the whole time. It gutted me, having to watch you suffer and knowing I couldn’t help you through it, couldn’t have done anything to help. But . . . there’s a higher plan. An order for everything.

“Which is why I’m here now.”

Again, he sent a pointed look toward the demon. “Molly, do you have any idea how dangerous he is? I can’t take corporeal form for anything less than immediate danger of death or corruption, and you’re so close to losing your soul.”

Her mouth opened as if to ask a question, but he held up a hand to stop her.

“Summoning a demon is one thing. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it’s accidental, and the demon runs off to be someone else’s problem. Keeping the demon around? Consorting with it? That’s another matter.”

Dewey turned his attention away from his charge, eyes narrowed as he addressed Beetlejuice. “Why are you still here? Hoping for one more lay before you hit the road?”

Her anger first startled, then amused him to no end. Most people were awed when they first encountered angels; celestials liked to dazzle. He wished he could just sit down and watch the show; this was prime reality TV right here.

But when this uppity angel took a step forward, right into her personal space where the rage was the strongest, Beetlejuice stepped back towards her too. She'd shaken him off, yes, and he was still only wearing sweatpants--he really should just get back into his suit, but didn't want to risk a moment's distraction--but it was obvious the angel wanted nothing more than to take Molly's hands and probably hug her, and that was not going to happen with him around.

His eyes flashed a deeper amber as accusations flew from the celestial's mouth.

"She has a point," he spit back. "You were pretty hand's off, it sounds like, and now you waltz in like you're some knight in shining armor? Molly wanted company, which if I'm understanding correctly, you knew and did absolutely nothing about!"

The angel retorted the same drivel about "his hands being tied", and he spoke over him, addressing Molly directly.

"See the difference between us, baby? Demons are straight forward. Angels fucking "watch over you", which basically means spying." He flicked a poisonous glance back at the winged being. "Don't deny you weren't watching us last night, or you wouldn't have asked me about 'one more lay'. Were you rubbing one out, watching us like your own private porn? You're jealous! You wished you'd had the balls to come down here and actually spend physical time with your charge!"

He hated to admit it, but the demon’s words stung. He was jealous. He had spent years wishing he could hold her, could stroke the tears from her cheek, could offer her any kind of comfort or support. It was forbidden, taboo, and in very bad taste, but he had also entertained less innocent thoughts about her. How her lips would feel. How soft her hair would be against his bare skin. And seeing that demon touch her? Kiss her? Stain her body? It was almost more than he could bear.

“I couldn’t watch,” he spat, his wings ruffling irritably, his cheeks reddening. “I couldn’t stand the sight of you pawing at her.”

He turned to Molly, who seemed shrunken in on herself, as if folding beneath the emotional weight of the situation. “I . . . I’m not always watching. I’ve never . . . seen anything you wouldn’t want me to see.”

That was a bit of a bend in the rules; angels were supposed to be by their charges' sides at all times, supposed to be above human urges like lust or longing, above such silly notions as embarrassment over a naked body. But he couldn’t be, not with her. It felt . . . violating, somehow.

Their voices, whether addressing her or spitting venom at each other from their respective sides of the moral spectrum, sounded muted and faint behind the pounding of her pulse in her ears. It was so much all at once; would there ever come a time in her life when she could just have peace? If she had known her little summoning spell was going to toss her right in the middle of a supernatural dick-measuring contest, she would have just left well enough alone.

A shiver trickled down her spine, and suddenly she realized how cold she was, standing in nothing but a damp towel with her wet hair stuck to the back of her neck.

“Guys,” she said softly, still unable to fully process that she was standing in her bedroom with a demon and an angel. “Can you go out into the living room or something so I can get dressed?”

Perhaps she would feel better equipped to deal with this situation once she didn’t feel quite so vulnerable.

Beetlejuice didn't want to leave her side, especially with an angel who was obviously trying to hide a holy boner over the woman standing beside him, but if it was going give him a leg up on a celestial, he'd do it.

"Sure thing, baby girl," Beetlejuice agreed, leaning into her to kiss her cheek while keeping his eyes on angel, just to see his reaction to the familiarity.

Then he left the room, confident that he would be followed. As he suspected, a faint footfall accompanied by the sound of distant bells trailed him. As soon as Molly's door was shut, he spun back on the angel.

"You fucking think you're “protecting" her?! What a line of horseshit! If you really are spying on her, then you'll know I didn't coerce her into calling me--she did that all on her own! Plus I actively tried to leave! I told her to try again, get something else here instead of me! You'd have had an open door to come to her! But you didn't. You let her feel like she was alone in this fucking void!

"Are all guardian angels," he put the two words in finger quotes, "as shittily ineffectual as you?!"

He expected some retaliation, whether verbal or physical, but didn't expect the angel's eyes to roam his body as if judging him--well, that's how angels viewed everything, really. Superior bastards.

At his last outburst, Dewey scoffed, finally allowing his eyes to roll. “You could at least put a shirt on. It’s not like it would kill you.”

"No, I'm not changing into something else," he finished, snapping the elastic at the waist of the sweatpants for emphasis. He didn't pull them out enough to showcase he wasn't wearing underwear, but he figured the angel was smart enough to figure it out. "I'm comfortable in these, so suck it!"

It was all he could do to keep his eyes from rolling when the demon cozied up to her, pressed his profane lips to her cheek in a display that was more territorial than affectionate. He nodded and followed suit behind him, shutting the door to let her have a moment’s privacy, and as expected, as soon as they were in the next room over, the demon rounded on him. His arms folded across his chest, a brow arched, like an exasperated parent waiting for a child throwing a tantrum to tire themselves out.

Now that the demon, who she had called Beetlejuice earlier, was silent, he spoke, careful to keep his tone measured and even.

“I don’t expect you to get it. There are rules, procedures, structures. We’re supposed to be silent guardians.” He smoothed some of the ruffled feathers in his wings, attempting to remain aloof. “Anyway. I don’t have to explain myself to you, and you’ll be gone soon enough.”

His eyes drifted toward Molly’s closed bedroom door, brown eyes stormy. Truth be told, he absolutely useless as an angel; if he could have been with her, held her hand, dried her tears . . . maybe none of this would have happened, and she wouldn’t have put her soul in such mortal risk. Hell, he would have settled for just being able to speak to her, to coax her to sing with him, to assure her that she wasn’t alone.

He could have been everything she needed if not for these stupid rules. Angels, he had noticed, had a habit of thinking they knew better than the humans they were placed with, and he had a feeling that if given the opportunity to appear at will, they would use it to manipulate their charges’ choices, altering the course of their life. If there was anything the Boss was a stickler for, it was maintaining free will.

tbc . . .

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice x OC #Dewey Finn #rp #Beetlejuice based on Blumjuice

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