Disclaimer: I don't own Beetlejuice or Lydia, obviously.
Up In Smoke
Two years of waiting for his number to be called. One of which was spent restoring his shrunken head to its normal size. That damn head-hunter shaman had done one hell of a job.
Four years of punishment, of being sentenced to a small cell in which his magic was useless, where not even the shadows dared to slither into the neat little cage Juno had made just for him.
Another four years of filling out and filing paperwork.
One last signature and he was a free man again, cautioned that his trickery would not be tolerated should he decide to try another con involving a human. Especially Lydia Deetz.
Whatever. Like it really mattered what he was told or what sort of contracts he had signed in order to be free again, to be back in the model in the attic in the old Maitland house. He'd waited ten long years to be where he was now, to be in a position where he could pay her back for the last decade of his unlife.
She came into the attic as if on cue after his initial arrival. He gaped from his seat on the small grave. She was older. A young woman now. Quite a lovely young woman, too. A vision from his darkest nightmares.
That was about the time he decided to take caution – and throw it to the wind.
He started out small, doing the things typical poltergeists did; he hid her valuable belongings, moved random objects in places impossible to reach, turned the lights on and off in a maddening manner at the most inconvenient times, appeared as orbs or thick streams of ectoplasm in the photographs she took.
Once he waited until she sat at her ebony vanity, applying her make-up, then distorted her reflection for the fraction of a second. Lydia's mirror self was pale and the dark eyeshadow on her eyelids pooled around her sudden sunken, dead eyes. When she stood and backed away from the large mirror, her reflection returned to normal. Another time, when she was finished raking up the fallen autumn leaves in back of the house and had tossed a few matches into the pile, he manipulated the fire. He created demonic faces in the flames and the dead leaves screamed something shrill and heart-stopping. The faces in the fire vanished as she staggered back (whether she did so out of fear or simply because she didn't want to be burned was anyone's guess), but the agonized moaning didn't stop until the leaves were but a pile of hot ash, soon swept away on the cool October breeze, and she was rushing back inside the house.
A few more tricks of his trade over the next few weeks and he had her looking over her shoulders at night to make sure nothing otherworldly was stalking her. Sometimes she would even call out to the shadows, asking if anyone was there. Sometimes, the shadows replied in a whisper, yes... And he loved watching her shiver in reaction, sensing her warm blood running cold for a moment.
He had her on her guard now. No more kid games, it was time to really give her a scare.
He'd found it in the attic, in a little chest under the table the model was on. It was neatly folded and it smelled faintly of detergent. Not only had she kept it, but she had washed it at least once or twice over the last ten years. He figured she would have gotten rid of it, but he wasn't about to start asking questions, wondering why she had kept it. The point was: she still had it, and now it was in his possession.
He was pleasantly surprised to hear her let out a gasp of pure horror as she opened up her closet and red lace fell at her feet. She looked around the room with wide eyes as she bent to pick up the wedding dress. "Betel–"she whispered, horrified and disgusted, then she slapped a hand over her mouth, silencing herself before she said his name.
He had never expected the shock to cause her to almost say his name. He had almost moaned because it felt so damn good to have the first two syllables of his name roll off her tongue. Almost moaned because she almost said his name. Unfortunately, almost wasn't good enough. But that would change in due time, because now that she knew he was back, he intended to let the haunting become much more...personal.
He watched her sleeping. In a sense, it was a shame she decided to sleep Halloween away, she so suited for the holiday. In another sense, he couldn't have asked for a better setting: a full moon shining brightly outside, and a sleeping human, susceptible to the workings of his wicked ways.
He crept over to her, cocking his head to one side as he brushed her hair out of her face. Such a dark beauty. With the flick of his wrist, the covers were thrown off of her and her sleepwear vanished. Grinning sinfully, he levitated over her naked body for a minute or so before lowering himself and kneeling between her legs, after he had spread them with another flick of his wrist.
Lydia writhed under the cool touch of his hands on her neck, then her breasts. He could feel her heartbeat, so strong and pounding harder by the second. He bent to kiss her left breast, lips lingering over her heart. Damnit, he could practically taste her liveliness. He wanted to bite down, right into her heart and let it bleed out as he sucked that wonderful life out of her.
But no, his mouth moved lower, his tongue tracing patterns against her rib cage and stomach. Lower, and then he stopped as he faced her flushed nether regions, glistening and sticky with desire.
Lydia arched her back and her eyes shot open wide, fists clenching against black silk sheets. His tongue plunged inside her, thick and long and violating her center. She couldn't see him, because he chose to remain invisible, but she gasped his name regardless.
He grinned against her sex and drove his tongue in deep one last time before pulling it out and licking the insides of her thighs. "Again," he said, knowing she could hear him. "Say it again, Babes."
"M-make me," Lydia snapped. He made certain she instantly regretted those words.
"You got it," he purred as he thrust his fingers inside now, feeling her need. She gasped and arched again, cursing him. She had such a dirty mouth when she was motivated to use it.
He curled his fingers and rubbed against her sweet spot.
"One more time," he said loudly as he pulled his fingers out and once again used his tongue on her. She was so wet now, so needy. So close. He loved the way she clenched around his tongue as she was reaching her peak.
They would definitely have to do this again some time.
Those slick walls of flesh suddenly started to spasm, contracting violently, and she moaned his name loudly in protest as she came.
Lydia woke with a fright, eyes wide and her insides trembling. She threw the silk sheet off of her in a panic. Thankfully, she was still clothed. Her eyes then darted around the room, searching for him. She saw nothing, still she couldn't relax. That nightmare had felt far too real.
What if she had said his name out loud?
No, she told herself. He would have made himself known by now.
He watched her with pure amusement as she headed for the attic in nothing short of blind paranoia.
He wasn't that bad of a guy, was he?
...who was he trying to kid?
The moment the doorknob turned, he returned to the little model and waited patiently by the grave with his name on it. She came close to the model but never close enough to actually see him. He didn't need her to see him – he knew she knew he was there, waiting, watching her.
"You asshole," she muttered and shook her head before heading back to the door. She didn't sound angry, though. She sounded...disappointed.
Well, if she wasn't pleased with his performance, then he'd just have to try something different tomorrow night. And he would continue to go to her every night and pleasure her until she couldn't stand it anymore and called him out, if only to tear him a new one for pestering her and driving her insane with otherworldly pleasure.
It was the least he could do to start getting even with her. He'd make her want him in return for betraying him ten years ago. Then he would up the stakes by wooing her and making her marry him in the near future. He was going to make the rest of her life as bittersweet as he possibly could. Then, when she was old and gray and dying, he would guide her to the afterlife and continue to pester her for the rest of eternity...
He was looking forward to it. To devoting the rest of his afterlife to her.
Ten years had been a long time to plan this scheme, a long time think of nothing other than Lydia Deetz. It started out malicious, a cruel twist in fate that would drive her to the brink of insanity, where she would beg him to take her to the otherside, the way she had years ago...
But now, after tonight...
He knew why she kept the wedding dress.