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hoodoo12 · 2 years ago

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Innued-NO

ngl, this is a story I wrote and posted over 2 years ago for the holiday seasons. But I was going back through my stuff and this one actually feeds into the "bad pick up lines" so it's time to revive it.

NSFW. Beetlejuice/f!reader. Basically PWP and Beetlejuice being a brat.

Enjoy!

Under your skirt, a cold hand slipped from your upper thigh to your ass.

“No panties? That’s dirty.”

You tried to stand up, hissing, “That was a surprise for later, Beej! Now leave me alone, I need to get back–”

He didn’t move away and put his other hand in the middle of your back, pinning you in place. “Nope. I wanna take full advantage of this surprise right now.”

Despite feeling both hands on you, you heard the unmistakable sound of his pants unfastening. Panic made your mouth dry.

Speaking of which–

He’d caught you in the kitchen, bent over and looking for a serving spoon in a drawer. The room was a mess from all the meal prep; you never bothered about cleaning as you cooked because your kitchen had doors to close it off from the dining room. You loved old houses for their character, now with Beetlejuice holding you in place, kicking open your legs, and lifting your skirt over your hips you were doubly glad you shunned “open concept”!

You should stop him. You could hear muted conversation and the ‘tink’ of silverware on plates from the dining room. You should get away, tell him to leave you alone, tell him to come back later. But even if he listened–and the chance of that was slim to none–there was no guarantee he’d truly obey. Now that he knew you weren’t wearing anything under your skirt, what if he agreed, only to show up under the table? What if he shoved his face between your legs while you were actually having dinner?!

The chuckle Beetlejuice gave at your movement tickled you, and he ate you like he was starving. He licked through your folds till you were sopping, then shoved his tongue into you as hard as he could as if to taste you from the inside. The position and pressure he used put his chin in direct contact with your clit, and his scruff rubbed against that most sensitive bundle of nerves to the point of almost overstimulation. You whined into your palm, working hard to be as silent as possible.

“I know today’s about the bird, but I’m only really hungry for pussy,” he said, and before you could say or do anything, he crouched and dropped his mouth between your legs, managing a combination of lick and suck that made you cry out.

You covered your mouth with your hand to keep more noises from escaping. That was a mistake, because losing one arm for support made you unbalanced. You had to lean more forward towards the countertop to steady yourself, and not, you lied to yourself, to push yourself up on tiptoes and lift your hips to present more of your pussy to him.

He, however, knew you were trying to keep quiet, which only spurred him to try and get you to make noise.

When your legs started to tremble and you were almost at the point of actively trying to get away, croaking, “Beej, it’s t-too much, Beej–” he let up. Not to completely respect your boundaries–because he was like that–but to instead use his lips and tongue on your clit instead.

The juxtaposition of his facial hair and now the softness of his mouth made you arch your back and cry out again. This time he didn’t stop, even when you begged, and you came in an embarrassingly short amount of time. You could feel him grin–when you could feel anything besides pleasure radiating throughout your body–against your pussy as you came back down from that high.

Somehow, he still hadn’t released you; one hand had planted itself on your spine, and that’s where it stayed. He stood up again and as you heard his trousers drop, you glanced back. The wandering hand that had started this whole thing by discovering your naughty secret now held his cock, and he dragged the head through the wet folds of your pussy.

It felt impossibly hard against your softness.

“That’s my girl,” he cooed, “taking this pecker like that. No more … fowl language, okay?”

“People want turkey for the holiday, but you seem excited for this cock.”

You groaned again, a combination of desire and exasperation. “You’ve gotta stop talking, Beej.”

“What, am I ruining the mood?”

It was on the tip of your tongue to snap back that no, what was ruining the mood was him deciding right here and now was the perfect time to get it on with you, but the tip of his cock slipped into your cunt before words could actually make their way out.

Instead, you gave a long low moan the entire time it took for him to sheathe himself inside you completely.

“Oh, fuck you,” you groaned weakly.

“Yes ma’am, if you insist–”

He made good on that. His hips slammed into yours, knocking you painfully against the edge of the counter with each thrust. You did your damn best to keep quiet but weren’t entirely sure you were successful; each time he bottomed out and his balls slapped against your clit you squeaked. Once it was clear you weren’t going anywhere, he moved the hand pinning you to your hip. His other large hand massaged your ass, but it didn’t seem to occur to him to spank you. Thank heaven for small favors.

As quick as you came on his mouth, he seemed like he was following suit. Beetlejuice fucked you so hard, so quick, that it was obvious he wasn’t going to last long. Each thrust made him grunt, and his fingers began to pinch, holding you so tightly.

In only another few moments, his rhythm became uneven and he pushed into you so hard you gasped as he came deep inside you.

For a bit he leaned heavily atop you as you panted for breath, your cheek on the counter. Finally he eased back away from you, and you whined at the feeling of emptiness as he pulled out. He helped you stand upright again and turned you to finally face him.

“Don’t tell anyone you had dessert before the meal, baby,” he said with a grin.

You rolled your eyes as you straightened your skirt back into some semblance of respectable. “Give me a paper towel.”

“What for?”

“So I can shove it between my legs and not have your jizz running down my thighs!”

He snorted and handed you one, then hiked up his trousers. “You better get in there before your family comes looking for you.”

“Yes, I know!” you groused. “It wasn’t my fault I’m late for dinner!”

Beetlejuice chuckled. “You loved it.”

That cocky self-assured smirk made you roll your eyes again, even as you couldn’t help but smile. You kissed him lightly.

“Now get out of here! Come back after everyone has left!”

He touched two fingers to his forehead in a sarcastic salute, then made to refasten his pants. You shook your head and stepped sideways to extract yourself from between him and the counter.

“Did you really hate the innuendos, baby?”

You fixed him with a stare.

“‘Cause I’ve got lots of other ones for Christmas time, when your family comes for the next big meal. Wanna suck my peppermint stick? I’m gonna stuff your stocking. I’ll make sure you don’t have a silent night. When I think about you I touch my elf–”

You burst into laughter, which made him grin. Still laughing, you gave him one last kiss, even as your family started calling for you to come back to the table. You squeezed his fingers as you walked away, swinging your hips and knowing he couldn’t help but watch you go.

You knew he’d be back for round two after everyone else was gone.

fin!

#Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice x reader #brightjuice #blumjuice #koberjuice #mattoxjuice #collettejuice #ALL THE JUICES #writing #fanfiction

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hoodoo12 · 2 years ago

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Selfsame

"Beetlejuice in a dress" occupied a lot of the brain, it is simply too difficult to get these out. They creep around the edges, you see. Skulking. Lying in wait.

Ready to pounce.

I only regret this had been finished on Elliott Maddox's birthday, but 2 days late isn't too bad. Thanks to the fantabulous @turtlepated and @seddoesstuff for doing a collab. It rocked.

NSFW. Mattoxjuice x reader.

Enjoy!

You come home from work tired, irritated, later than usual. It's dark in your apartment when you walk in, but you're familiar with the layout of course so it's no trouble to make your way to the kitchen to deposit your bags on the counter.

All you want now is to kick off your shoes, change into your PJs, order some food and just become one with the couch until bedtime.

It's dark in your room as well, but there's light coming in through the window from the lampposts outside. You slide your feet out of your shoes, unbuttoning your pants and letting them drop to the floor while stripping your shirt off over your head. Stepping out of your pants and tossing your discarded shirt to the floor, you reach around to unhook your bra.

No sooner have you divested yourself of it than the air behind you shifts as a solid form just . . . appears where moments before there was nothing. Before you even have time to gasp, let alone turn to see what's there, a body is pressed fully against your back, and the feeling of the clothing against your bare skin makes you shiver as arms come around you, chilly but dexterous hands unapologetically fondling your breasts as the something, the someone presses their face into the side of your neck and gives a lascivious and deep inhale, letting it out in a long sigh.

"Hi, baby. Miss me?"

The unexpected touch and bodily press had your heart in your throat, too startled to even cry out. The voice from the darkness was just this side of familiar. So were the hands groping you.

You wanted to be scared, should be scared, but you’d had enough past experience with that touch that it negates a scream, even if that was what he wanted.

One strong arm--a third, technically--drags your hips back, forming a bar that traps you against the figure behind you. Drawing quick breaths, your heart beating too fast against your ribs, your lungs fill with old scents, almost familiar scents, though they had never been so . . . saturated.

Moss and freshly disturbed gravedirt. A certain brand of cigarette that hasn't been sold in this world for at least fifty years. Something that carries a hint of the darkest part of the night, and sandalwood. Frankincense. Incenses burned for remembrance. For funerals. For death. The scents are so strong they almost feel like a thick film over your tongue.

But it's impossible. It's been years--years, and this is impossible.

He's been gone for too long. Hasn't answered any calls, no séance, no summoning. You've met your share of demons trying to find him again.

How is he here now? Now, long after you've given up any hope of seeing him again? How the hell is he here now?

A greedy hand cups the mound between your legs, freezing, cold as the grave. Twisting in his grasp, wanting to lay eyes on the specter who’d disappeared out of your life just when you were getting used to the idea of maybe, possibly, having a real thing with him, just when the idea of agreeing to marry him didn’t seem so implausible. It had to have been more than just lust. Lust didn’t make you truly consider giving him what he wanted. Lust wouldn’t have hurt so bad when he skipped out. Neither the hands on you or the tepid mouth on your skin wanted to release their hold, but you struggled enough to loosen them. Well, reaching backwards to grab his ass in return made him chuckle, and that helped too. It took longest to peel the fingers out from between your legs. The light from outside filtering through the curtains dimmed everything. Once finally managing to turn to face him, he looked different. Maybe your memory played tricks on you; it had been some time, after all. His beard was patchy again, not like a growth of moss on his jaw. He looked younger, somehow, too. Softer. And hadn’t his eyes been dark? His expression, however, surprised you most of all. He looked like he did when you first met him, ready to pounce, wanting any attention he could get. Now he still looked ready to pounce, but with less desperation. He looked hungry. Your stunned vocal cords managed to allow a croak of a word passed. “Beetlejuice . . . ?”

If you'd needed any confirmation of the identity of your spectre, the shudder that ran through his body at those syllables was it. His hands, having refound their purchase on your hips as if he couldn't bear to let you go, gripped you tighter, tight enough that you feel the cracked edges of his nails bite into your skin. A growl rumbled from his chest, and those eyes gleamed like terror in the dark.

You can't believe it. You can't, can't fathom this, cannot wrap your mind around it. You can't believe that he's back.

Your hand trembled as you raised it, hesitant to brush your fingers down his cheek. Round. Softer, not as gaunt, and his beard prickly under your fingertips. Emboldened by the gesture you caught the side of his face against your palm, and then raised the other, caught his face between your hands so that you could stare into him.

"Beej, fuck, what--"

"S'the plan, babe. So why don't we--" He leered forward, avaricious hands all over you again, clutching at every curve as if he could consume you by touch. By scent, as he buried his face against your neck, sucked breath after breath of you into his lungs. By taste, his tongue laved against your pulse and up your jaw.

You held one another in identical poses now, mirrored, each one's hands gripping the other's face as if neither of you could bear to let go.

There was starvation in his eyes, as he stared into yours. He licked his lips.

"Fuck," you say again, a whisper. "Fuck, Beej, I--"

"--missed you so fucking much," you spoke over each other in rushed whispers, taut in the dimness of your apartment.

The moment hung. Stretched, suspended between you, between the intensity in both your gazes. And then it broke, as with a quiet roar, Beetlejuice crashed his mouth into yours.

Despite the difference in appearance between the specter standing before you and the one in your memory, the eagerness spiked with a drop of frantic in the kiss was the same. Once upon a time you’d gotten him to understand that softer kisses offered an intimacy that, while soft, conveyed just as much as raunchy shoving-a-tongue-as-far-down-someone’s-throat that he thought everyone expected. He’d regressed; he did his best to lick your tonsils.

No matter. You wanted the same: to consume him. Only your pesky need for air forced you to take breaks, but after sipping just enough oxygen to keep you going you gave as good as you got: licking, sucking, moaning, wanting answers but not wanting to stop for them.

Eventually the tiny breaths you stole couldn’t keep up with Beetlejuice’s relentlessness and dizziness forced you to slow. You clutched at him to remain upright.

He continued to nuzzle close, his lips and tongue unable to stop. He did seem to remember that you needed to catch your breath.

“My little breather,” he chuckled.

The old nickname sent a shiver through you that settled in your belly, fanning the flame that had nestled there, making it stronger. Although most of your clothing had been discarded and he was still dressed in his favorite threadbare suit, his arousal was much more obvious than the tightened pebbles your nipples had become.

If you had your wits about you you’d make some comment about how horny he must be, with that broomstick in his pants and all, but you were afraid the words would jumble incorrectly and he’d just laugh and disappear, then you’d wake up. Like this was all a dream that then descended into a nightmare.

Questions and explanations and words could come later. After you came. After he came. That was what you should say! Only laughter escaped made it out of your mouth, however.

Beetlejuice cocked his head, looking more feral than he had in a long time. “Let’s see what other sounds I can make you make, baby.”

He could make you make any sounds he wanted. You knew that. Hell, you thought about saying it, but words? Words were hard, and they got in the way of your tongue in his mouth, and they took so much effort to put together. He knew, anyway--prided himself on it, on the variety of noises he'd dragged from you. He seemed to delight in that. In pulling out moans and groans, eliciting whimpers and needy little cries. Equally delightful were the more embarrassing sounds--the sloppy wet sucking noises of your mouth on his cock, the gagging when he went too deep, the snort you get sometimes laughing too hard when he tickles you--any noise he can get from you.

Reminders, for him, that you're alive--alive, and his, and you chose him.

Too much thinking. Not enough thrusting. You grabbed him by the tattered lapels of his jacket and dragged him with you as you stepped backwards. You were angling for your bed, but you misjudged and wound up pressed against the wall instead. That's fine. That was more than fine.

He took the invitation without any encouragement, his hands at your hips to lift you up so that when his hips met yours, your legs wrapped easily around his waist, and his cloth-covered cock pressed against your needy core. You moaned out loud at this, and again when he ground into you, messily pressing you into the wall. You saw sparks each time the undulation of his hips into yours brought the rough edge of his fly against your clit. You tried to pull him even closer, dipping your head clumsily to kiss him. You missed the first time, landing against his cheek, the rough scratch of his beard a delightful new sensation against your lips.

When you missed again, it was on purpose. You peppered kisses down his jaw as you forked your hands through his hair, anchoring his head and adjusting him as needed as you kissed every inch of his face. His hair flickered between pink and magenta now, the colors visible even in your grey-toned room, the wild locks knotted around your fingers an uneven gradient of colour. He nuzzled into the kisses, seeming to settle down, the edge smoothing off of his eagerness--until you shifted your hips and then he flared all prickly lust and frantic need.

"Baby, babes, baby--please, s'been so long, c'mon, quit teasin', need you--" he babbled, the raspy edge to his voice rougher than usual, his hips jerking in little needy movements against yours.

You pulled his hair again so that you could kiss him, rough, hard--and he shuddered with a wild cry as you did, his entire body stiffening.

He didn't stop. In fact, coming seemed to only drive his need higher, cranked the dial a bit more, made him that much more desperate. Interesting.

Beetlejuice kissed you messily as he ground into you, his cock not even remotely softening as his teeth scraped across your lower lip. His hands on your hips moved you with him, dragged him into the rhythm he wanted.

He ground himself in long smooth strokes, rubbing the length of himself against you, and then he would pause, to rub tiny teasing circles, smirking as you panted and writhed under him, as you arched your back trying to get him exactly where you wanted. He couldn't hide the trembling, though. The way he shook to have you so close, so near, in his arms, overwhelming him with your warmth, your scent, the sweet slickness soaking your panties and leaving an even bigger damp spot on the front of his pants. It was too much and he needed more.

He stepped back, chuckled when you protested with a half-whine and a clumsy clutch at his shirt.

"Easy, baby," he said like he wasn't the one salivating and twitching like an over-eager puppy.

"Easy," he repeated, and then he dropped to his knees. He held you up with ease, one hand on each thigh, spreading your legs almost uncomfortably wide. When he licked his lips, it was loud, a noisy smacking sound. His eyes seemed to glow in the dark as he consumed you first with his eager, greedy gaze. You wanted to squirm, but couldn't--not with the grip he had on you.

He hadn’t lost his unnatural strength, holding you off the floor in a position any living person would have struggled with. As it were, he looked up your body as if it were an altar, as if he worshipped you, even if the glint in his eyes was a touch more feral than would be considered safe. Maybe not a worshiper. Maybe more like a junkie looking for his next fix-- In the next moment, however, he proved how devoted he was as he shoved his face against your pussy. The thin satin of your panties was no deterrent. Beetlejuice sucked at your pussy through them, instantly turning them into a soggy mess. Each press of his tongue, as if doing his best to eat through them to get to you directly--not that you wanted to give him any ideas--translated into sparks of pleasure that radiated up from your groin. When he gave up trying to tongue-fuck you, he shifted his focus to finding your clit. That sent up fireworks through your gut. Realizing that the choked cry you made meant he’d found his target, he doubled down his efforts to suck and flick that nub of pure nerves. The combination of wet fabric and his determination made you writhe in his grasp. If you’d had the ability, you’d have trapped his head between your thighs, His grip spread you too widely, however. Bucking uselessly against his hands, not caring that his ragged fingernails dug into your skin, you lost balance. Only by catching yourself on his shoulders did you prevent this whole almost-impossible position from tumbling over. Now bent almost double with his face still at your pussy, you keened into his hair. “Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck fuck fuck--”“That’s the end goal, baby,” Beetlejuice replied from somewhere near your ear. His voice was as strained as yours. “But I want you to come for me first. Come on my mouth, I wanna taste you--I’ve missed eating you out--I want your pussy hot an’ wet when I fill you up--” Although he didn’t sound exactly the same as you remembered, the dirty intention matched. Somehow through the sodden fabric of your panties he managed to latch on to your clit, and the solid pressure on it undid you. Clutching his shoulders as tightly as he held your legs, you cried out wordlessly as you came.

Beej groaned through every tremor and tremble with you. His breathing was as ragged as yours, for all that it was completely unnecessary. He littered praise across your skin, some of it too distorted to make out, if it was even English at all. Knowing him, it was equally likely he had slipped into some Underdark or Eldritch tongue. So long as he kept that tongue on your skin, it didn't matter. And he was quite keen to oblige. Too keen.

It didn't take long at all until you were overestimated, half-sobbing and nails scratching at his scalp as you tried to arch your hips: into him, away from him, whatever it took to find relief from the relentless onslaught of his greedy lapping at your clit.

"Beej, Beetlejjj-- stop, stahp--"

You gasped and twitched. Each stroke and curl of his tongue sent another jolt of pleasure-pain through you, and your cheeks were streaked with tears. You could barely think, but you felt him shake his head. Despite his apparent denial, he did give you a break, changing tactics to long slow licks along your slit. He traced the flushed petals of your labia with the tip of his tongue, following each lovely curve as best he could through the sodden fabric of your ruined underwear.

The change was a relief, letting you sag back and catch your breath, though it still left you shuddering. It was a better stimulation now, building that heat up in your belly like the patient kindling of a fire. It gave you time to breathe, to whimper and moan and slowly begin to roll your hips against his face.

You can feel his grin as much as you can hear it, as he gives a happy rumble. Self-satisfied, you'd call it had you the wherewithal to remember any kind of vocabulary.

"S'right, that's right baby, you just let ol' BJ take care of you." He never seemed to start talking, kept a running commentary through every lick and suck. His voice wasn't quite familiar to your ear, but the content hadn't changed even if the quality had and it was a comfortable feeling.

You'd missed this. Missed him more than you wanted to admit. More than you cared to think about. Even if he wasn't exactly the same--and yeah, you were going to have to ask about that, among other things like where he'd been and why he'd been gone so long--it was still him, somehow. Still him, still so much the same despite how much he'd changed . . .

"You're thinkin' too much," there was an edge to his voice that lingered somewhere between amusement and disapproval, and suddenly you couldn't think at all because he'd torn through your panties with his teeth and fixed every ounce of his attention to seemingly trying to suck your clit right out of your body.

It wasn't altogether pleasant, but again--in that pleasure-pain realm that left you hazy and shuddering.

Your fingers tore at his hair, and it only seemed to encourage him. He left off your clit to lick and suck along the newly exposed skin of your pussy, not seeming to care about the shreds of material caught in his teeth.

You were almost there, nearly over that thin cusp, tottering so close to a second climax . . . when he stopped. You cried out in disappointment, feeling that edge slip just out of reach when he pulled back, and gave him your best wounded look--or, tried. You thought that you probably looked more dumbfounded than pouty.

Beetlejuice winked at you, and scooped you against him as he turned towards your bed.

"Sorry, babes, but I kinda wanna feel you around my cock when you come again." He didn't sound even remotely apologetic.

That ceased to matter when he laid you out on your bed, as careful as an artist laying down strokes on canvas. His hands roamed your naked body, stroked each curve and valley, with deliberate devotion. Kisses followed after, and you felt that lost orgasm building up again all too quickly.

He'd forgotten nothing: he seemed to have an uncanny sense for when you were right on that perfect tipping point, on the precipice of climax, and then the infuriating bastard would stop. Slow down. Move. Denying you release, until you felt nearly as desperate as he'd seemed before.

"Please, please, baby, I need--" you sobbed, and he swallowed it with relish, kissing you roughly and grinding his still-fucking-clothed cock against your hot core. It wasn't enough. It was not enough and he fucking knew it. You could have happily strangled him.

"Beetlejuice!" you cried out, frustrated and wanting. With the use of his full name, he stopped completely. “That’s twice now,” he rumbled in warning. Some part of your brain remained cognizant. You shot back in a sing-songy way, “Three times in a row, it must be spoken unbroken. Or did the rule change?” Beetlejuice stared down at your body splayed under him, pinned in place by his weight on your lower half. His eyes flashed--literally, a silver glimmer--and maybe you’d pushed back too hard, maybe with his physical change his attitude towards your sarcasm changed-- “You remembered.” His voice had softened. It contained a bit of wonderment, like he couldn’t quite believe someone cared enough to recall the particulars about that aspect of his personal hell, even if it was something that he told everyone all the time. “Yes . . . ?” you replied, puzzlement creeping in. The high he’d brought you too began to decline; you worried that you’d done something wrong--first by saying his name and now because for some reason knowing his rule . . . you didn’t know, broke something in him? He hadn’t stopped staring at you and a sudden jolt of fear raced through you. He was going to leave again! He was going to step into the ether, leaving your legs to drop to the floor and the only evidence that this wasn’t some kind of elaborate, explicit wet dream would be the destroyed panties still hanging in rags around your hips. Loathe to let that happen, scared that even thinking it would make it true, you locked your legs over his back and grabbed his arms. As if he couldn’t just fade at will. Your sudden movement, your octopus-like grappling him, chased whatever moment he was having away. “You’re the fuckin’ best, baby,” he cooed as if that was the sweetest endearment in the world. Giving himself a tiny shake, he returned to his lecherous self. This time he finally shredded your bra and latched on to a nipple that had softened. He teased it back to a peak with just the right amount of suction and direct pressure from his teeth. When you forced him off because it jumped the line of being too much, he left it spit-slick and aching, and then went for the other one. Although not quite as rough, he did keep the first stimulated by rolling it between his thumb and first finger, until you arched bodily and your throat was raw. He hadn’t neglected between your legs. The rough fabric of his pants rasped against your pussy; both helped and hindered by his still trapped cock. If he wasn’t careful, his demand that your next orgasm be while he was balls’ deep inside you wouldn’t happen. Keening wildly, you chased that feeling. His request wasn’t yours! He’d pushed you too far and you wanted to drop off the edge so you could free-fall in pleasure once more-- He stopped again, the bastard.

The sharp curve of his toothy grin held an edge that you couldn't identify, almost like a warning--like he knew you'd been seeking to defy him. It made you flush unexpectedly, though whether it was a fresh rush of arousal or some kind of guilt was beyond your ken at the moment.

You wriggled your hips to distract him, and gave him an arched brow.

"I thought the plan here was to fuck me . . . did you forget where it goes while you were gone?"

Beetlejuice snorted.

"Not likely," he retorted as his hands caught the curve of your ass and pulled your hips up, off of the bed, and towards his. "Like I could forget a pussy as pretty as this--look't you, all sloppy sweet for me. For me."

He echoed himself more softly, that wondering look creeping back into his face.

You wondered again, what he'd been doing all this time. Where'd he been. What had he been through?

"Beej . . . ?"

He shook himself, and when he flashed a grin at you this time, it was reckless and rushed. Impatient.

"How about we get you screamin' my name, huh?"

He'd shifted gears again so quickly, you weren't prepared for the rapid zip of his fly and the suddenness with which he slammed his tepid cock into your scorching depths.

"Fuckinghell!" You'd forgotten how cold he was, especially when he got you revved up this much before getting into you. He'd warm up quickly, dead flesh leeching the heat from your body, but that first stroke was a shock.

Especially when he didn't take any time about it and bottomed out with that first stroke. He moaned louder than you did. You didn't realize it at first, your focus zeroed in as it was, but then his deep rough groan was impossible to ignore. It filled your skull, sent a shudder rolling through your body, and he moaned even louder as your cunt clenched around him in response.

Beetlejuice trembled all over, and you thought that maybe he would savor this, indulge in finally finally having his cock in you, relish this the way you wanted to--

--you thought wrong.

He jerked, pulling his hips back just enough to that he could thrust forward again, seating himself deeply. Fast, hard, short strokes that kept him buried, that let him keep your slick heat wrapped around him, that left you keening and clawing at his back as the movement kept the head of his cock rubbing roughly against your inner walls.

Your climax seized you completely and with no warning, ripping your voice from your throat and causing your body to clench around him hard, fast, and inexorable. You'd swear that your vision flickered, though it could have been the shitty lights in your apartment, and your ears were filled with a dull roar. Your head felt staticky and too tight, and heat fizzled through each of your nerves in steady waves.

When you could open your eyes again, you opened them to the sight of him watching you, his face a mixture of fondness and awe.

A shaky smile managed to make its way onto your face inbetween your working for to catch your breath. Held up on rigid arms, the expression on his face was mostly lost in shadow. That would never do. He looked different, and you wanted to see him more clearly. Wiggling to dislodge him, knowing he’d never allow it if he truly didn’t want to, you promised you only wanted to return the favor; that you had so much pent-up arousal and you’d missed him so much that it would only be fair for you to do some of the work. Anything that you could think of, anything he wanted to hear just. He responded with a shit-eating grin, a “a’course, baby--you think I’m gonna miss out on the opportunity t’watch you ride my cock?” and a final thrust just because he could. Then he let you roll him over to his back. For a second you considered stripping him. To be able to see his face while you were on top of him plus the sheer debauchery of one of you being naked while the other clothed plus the incessent demand from your groin to be filled again equaled just climbing him like a striped tree to get into position. Taking his cock, slick from your pussy, you held him steady before dropping down onto him just as quickly as he’d filled you. The groan of pleasure that erupted from you rivaled his. Taking a moment just to savor the new position, you clenched his cock rhythmically just to pull more sounds from him. You then took your time to learn the limits of being atop him, using small movements. He opened his mouth to protest, starting with, “Jesus, just fuck me already--”You shoved the fingers covered with your own wet from his cock into his mouth. “Suck them,” you ordered. His eyes went wide. Even in the dim light now you could definitely tell they were a different color. No longer dark like an abyss, they were lighter. That gave you a different kind of shiver; light eyes could look just as menacing as dark, you discovered. As Beetlejuice eagerly complied with your command, licking and sucking your fingers like he’d been offered candy, you lifted yourself upward before dropping back down. This position reignited your nerve endings again, and with his cock stimulating your pussy while his tongue alighted ones in your digits, you fucked him hard and fast, just as he’d done with you.

Every rough jerk of your hips, every time you dropped down onto his cock, each tiny roll and gyration pulled a breathless sound from your throat. A whine. A moan. A full-throated groan and your head tossed backward, hair falling across your shoulders as you barreled recklessly towards climax.

Beej was torn between holding still under you, letting you use him for your pleasure, and chasing his own pleasure, jerking up into you like he couldn't hold still. Couldn't make up his mind. He sucked your fingers expertly, hungrily, coating them with his thick saliva, licking at each digit and swirling his tongue around them. You had the stray, random thought that he had to be amazing at sucking cock. Something to think about later.

You eventually pulled your slick fingers from his mouth, thickly coated and sloppy, and you ran your fingers over your own nipple. His spit left your skin slippery as you teased yourself, pinched and rolled your nipple between thumb and forefinger as Beetlejuice watched hungrily. His face was an open book, a desperate want to replace your fingers with his mouth nakedly written across the pages.

"Fuck, babes, baby--fuck me, you're so hot, got me so close, are you close? Are you gonna come for me, baby, c'mon just tell me what you need, wanna see you comin' all over my cock, just soak me baby," he rambled through panted breaths, his hands clutching your hips to help you find just the right angle, the one that let him hit that place deep in you while you ground your clit into his pelvic bone. The way that made you burn hot, hot, hotter, until you were gasping, sucking in breath after ragged breath and your eyes were rolling into the back of your skull. Until you were coming so hard that you screamed, damn what the neighbours would think, your ears ringing and your nipples so tight they ached, your whole body clenching and rippling with each wave of blinding pleasure.

By the time it settled to aftershocks, tremors and shivers of residual pleasure sneaking through each limb, you were a sweaty, sopping mess, sagged against his chest and struggling to catch your breath. He held you loosely, his own breathing shaky, and a loose tremor running through his fingers.

"Goddamn baby . . . you . . . you still got it." He laughed, soft and rough against your ear, as his arms tightened around you.

You managed a chuckle that rasped in your throat. At least the chill of his body had stayed the same, even if he seemed a close facsimile of the specter you knew. Not a twin, not a clone. Beetlejuice, but different.

Good different, since he still had all the tricks and dirty talk to get you--and keep you--going until you did just as he’d asked: drenched him in your orgasm. You could feel the wet coating your own thighs and knew from past experience he’d be dripping too.

A sudden start jerked you out of your residual bliss. You looked down at him with eyes now fully adjusted to the dark. His features were still this side of unfamiliar, but actions speak louder than words. Or bone structure.

"We aren't done yet," you purred in your sultriest voice, like he cared about that. You knew he did care, however, about the subtle gyration you made with your pelvis, keeping his cock deep inside you. "It’s your turn to come and I want it to be so good for you--"

"You think it wasn’t, sugar?" he interrupted with a grin lifting the corners of his mouth.

" . . . What?" You felt slow. Beetlejuice tugged you back down onto his chest. He pressed a kiss to your temple.

"Being back here with you, watching you above me, your sweet pussy so tight . . . baby, I already came," he replied. The eager expression on your face melted to ashamed embarrassment. Once again you pulled back enough to look him in the face.

“Oh my god. Are you serious? You're serious. You came and I didn't know?! Beej, oh my god--I'm so sorry!" He looked genuinely puzzled. "What for, baby? I loved that you were so gone you didn't notice. It was so fucking hot, you taking exactly what you wanted from me." In the dark, you searched his eyes for any inkling that was just word service. He continued with a chuckle, "I mean, not to brag or anything, but did you think all that sloppy wetness down there was from you? I busted a nut so hard I think my balls shrunk." Snorting a laugh and shaking your head, you settled back down on him. “I just like to feel you come in me, is all,” you admitted quietly. “And I didn’t get to see your face do that thing when you come.” “What thing?” “You know. It kind of wrinkles up because your eyes close so tight. And your lip always pulls up off your teeth but your jaw’s always loose.” “Sounds like something the Maitlands woulda considered a scary face.” “Yeah, they’d certainly think your ‘O’ face was terrifying.” “Hey now!” You took a chunk of his bare chest between your teeth lightly to soften the tease but you knew he wasn’t insulted when he said,

“You’ll get plenty of chances to see that again, baby. Soon, actually, if you’re gonna be ready for another go round.” That would be fun. You were tired, however. Just laying here in the dark, sweat slowly evaporating from you, your groin a sticky mess and a pleasant ache in your pussy, was more than enough at the moment.

His arms wrapped over you to keep you exactly where you were draped over him, and every now and then he kissed you. This was the perfect moment to ask where he’d been and why he’d left, and that you missed him. Eventually you'd remember you were hungry and would need to washup, but for now it was nice to just lay here. You'd stay till his cock slipped out of you, then make decisions about what was next.

fin!

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice x reader #Mattoxjuice #writing #fanfiction

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