I'm feeling very soft for Angel!Dewey and I was wondering if I could get some soft/romantic stuff from the fluffy boy. Maybe a soft, wine drunk, s/o because am I projecting? No! If you feel like tossing incubeej in there you know how I feel about poly but don't feel pressured

*spongebob narrator voice* one thousand years later...

The rain that pattered and tapped against the glass panes of the semi-open window didn't match the rhythm and tempo of the gentle music he had put on for her, but it didn't deter her from dancing, from holding out her hands and insistently tugging him to his feet to dance along with her. Dewey Finn didn't dance, at least not in any way that could be considered "good," but the call of her embrace was too sweet to ignore, and with her tipsy on good wine, she would barely notice if all he did was sway with her in his arms. It was warm here in her kitchen, the only light coming from the various scented candles she'd strewn around the counters and his own golden aura. There was hardly a sight he loved more than to see his halo reflected in her eyes, even if they were a little hazy. It had been a long week-a long month, if he were being honest-and he had all but forced her to take a night off, to let him take care of her and relax. At first, she had balked, insisting that she didn't need to be taken care of, that she wasn't some delicate flower on the verge of wilting, but Dewey had assured her that taking a break wasn't a sign of weakness, that letting yourself be cared for didn't mean you couldn't take care of yourself. Finally, she had relented, though it had taken her a while to actually relax enough to let go and enjoy herself as Dewey showered her with affection and tenderness, pampered her and wouldn't let her lift a finger for herself the entire evening.

As always seemed to be the case with humans, food helped ease her anxiety, dinner brought in from her favorite place. That seemed to be the final blow to her barriers, though the wine didn't hurt. Fed and tipsy, she had crawled into his lap and asked him for music, and he had had to stretch out the tips of his wings to knock the needle onto the spinning record. Slow love songs filled the room, and while he was expecting her to start theatrically gagging as she usually did when such music was played, she only snuggled closer, pushing her face into the side of his neck and humming softly. Dewey sang the bits he knew in her ear-admittedly, love songs weren’t his forte, and he wasn’t as well-versed as he perhaps ought to have been. Still, she didn’t seem to notice when he stumbled over a lyric here and there, and soon began to unfurl herself from his lap to get to her feet and dance. Which is where they found themselves now. 

She kissed him, her lips tasting of wine and warmth, lingering against his as her fingers wove into the curls at the nape of his neck, sending the lightest of shivers down his spine. There was no way she could fully know the effect she had on him; how could she? The lightest scratch of her fingernails on his skin felt as monumental as the cosmic match struck to light the universe's very first star, the hum of her sleep-heavy voice in his ear like the thrum of macrocosmic gravity. Though her life was fleeting and his unending, when he was in her arms, Dewey couldn't help but feel made anew, an infant universe wrapped in the embrace of its creator. She was stars and void and infinity and unfathomable space contained in flesh and blood. How could his clumsy tongue possibly find the grace to tell her this?

Instead, he kissed her back, pressing forward as his hands slid into her waist, palms pulsing warm against her skin as they slipped beneath her shirt to press against her back. The worn vinyl tile of the kitchen floor creaked beneath them as they swayed to the music, until her mouth broke from his and her head drooped onto his shoulder. Her body felt pleasantly heavy in his arms, her lashes brushing against his neck as her eyes fluttered shut, trusting him to hold her upright. Smiling tenderly, he gathered her close, drowsy protests and all, and carried her back into the living room. By the time he had them settled on the couch, her body folded comfortably in his lap, she was asleep, breath deep and even and untroubled.

They hadn't moved an inch when a shift in air pressure announced the return of the third member of their living arrangement, eyes glowing faintly in the semi-darkness as his tail twitched at his side, fangs exposed in a smile at the sight that greeted him. Beetlejuice could smell the alcohol lingering in her bloodstream, heard the reassuring, steady thudding of her heartbeat, and a gentle, loving purr rumbled in his chest at the sight of her curled up so sweetly in the angel's arms. 

"Ain't that cute?"

Dewey smiled back at the incubus, stroking a strand of hair off of her forehead. "Wine knocked her out," he whispered as Beetlejuice crossed the room to kneel in front of them. It didnt escape his attention that Dewey's grip didnt tighten instinctively as he drew nearer, as it certainly would have earlier in their arrangement. The angel would likely deny it if asked, but after months of living and loving alongside what was meant to be his adversary, he had grown to trust and even become fond of the semi-feral demon. Beetlejuice ran his fingers down her arm, his chilled touch leaving goosebumps across her skin even in her sleep. 

“You think she’ll be waking up anytime soon? I’m starved.”

Unable to hold back a soft snort, Dewey shook his head. “Of course you are. No, I think she’s down for the count.”

Despite his apparent hunger, the demon didn’t seem to be upset at being unable to access his most convenient food source. “Ah well. S’pose we should get her to bed.” He reached out to pull her gently from Dewey’s embrace, and his tail curled in satisfaction when the angel released her without complaint. He followed quietly as the demon carried her into the bedroom, settling her among the pile of soft pillows and tugging a blanket over her still form. She had barely stirred or made a sound, so deep asleep beneath the safety of her lover’s watch. Beetlejuice straightened, and for a moment, the two just stood and watched her, watched the minute rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the subtle tremor of body with each gentle heartbeat. Then the demon broke the silence, murmuring gently.

“We’re a couple lucky sons of bitches, you know?”

Dewey couldn’t help a smile at that. “We are,” he readily agreed. He sighed, then glanced up at Beetlejuice, whose green-hued hair was beginning to dull a shade or two, a sure sign of impending starvation. “So you’re just gonna go hungry?”

A smile of a different sort curled on the incubus’s mouth, fangs catching the low light as his eyes pulsed with a greenish glow, the tips of his horns and the roots of his hair fading into a suggestive magenta. “I didn’t say that. You’re not planning on going anywhere tonight, are you, twinkle-toes?”

A flush crept from his ears to his cheeks and down his neck as he slowly shook his head. Beetlejuice grinned and pointedly let his long, striped tongue curl around one of his fangs, licking his teeth with a low, grating purr. “Perfect. Out in the living room, and be quiet about it. Don’t wanna wake Sleeping Beauty, do we?”