Thawby Nomelon Characters: Mick/Beth
~~~ They're supposed to be researching. They've already exhausted both their online options and Mick's small but knowledgeable network of contacts and come up empty, so now they're hitting the hard copy. Dusty old tomes to match the pair of dusty old vampires wreaking havoc on the city as they lock horns in their personal vendetta with one another. A little insight is needed into their history, so Mick and Beth are reading up on some of the old Northern European vampire clans, their ancient blood feuds started up over god alone knows what, and it all goes back hundreds of years. The books (temporarily "borrowed" from their rightful owners) are heavy and bound in leather. Mick can smell the weight of the years in them, thick and musty on his senses. Their pages are tissue paper thin and the typeface is tiny. It's slow going to say the least. It's quiet in Mick's apartment; the fire flickering silently in the background. Only the turning of pages masks the soft sound of Beth's breathing, the thump-rush of her pulse, the occasional gurgle of her stomach. Mick is usually better at filtering out all these little background noises of humanity, but it's Beth. He's always been too aware of Beth. He knows the question's coming before she's said a word. She's been chewing on her pen for the past twenty minutes, and she has that look in her eye. The one that usually appears when she's getting her teeth into a new story. "Okay," she says, like she's psyching herself up. "Okay." The pen gets tapped rapidly on the coffee table about a dozen times before it's discarded. Mick wonders if maybe he should start making sure that there's more for her to drink in his apartment than just black coffee. And strawberries. He should definitely get some of them, too, because he just loves to watch Beth eat strawberries. "I get the drinking blood thing," she's saying. "I get the healing, the not aging. I get the silver, the stakes, the sunlight. I even get those gravity-defying leaps you do. All of it. It all makes a crazy kind of sense." "It does?" "Sure. You've got your hyped-up vampire physiology to work with. I can come up with a reasonably plausible explanation for all of it. Even the fangs and way your eyes change." "You don't say." "Hey, I could be way off base, but I've done a little research into vampire lore. It's kind of hard to separate fact from fiction -- trust me, I've seen more Buffy websites than any one person ever needs to -- but I know I could at least make it sound good." Mick smiles. He can't help himself in the face of her enthusiasm to dig up more of his secrets. It's good to see her smiling again, to see her happy about the little things. It's been too long. He sets down the book he was pretending to read while he very definitely wasn't listening to the sounds of her body, of her fragile, beautiful, human life, and he gives her an indulgent little sigh. "But...?" he prompts. "But you sleep in a freezer. This makes no sense to me. What do you do if there's a heat wave? A power cut? What if there's no handy ice machine around? Mick, what the hell did they do before there were freezers? Before electricity?" "It's good to see you're so focused on what we're doing here." "Don't change the subject," she says with a sly grin, narrowing her eyes. "You said they wouldn't face off again until the new moon. They're all about the tradition, right?" "Right." "So that's two weeks away." She sits forward, elbows on her knees, looking eager and young; a lock of blonde hair falling forward over one shoulder. "Spill. Why a freezer? Isn't that really uncomfortable?" Mick shifts in his chair, enjoying himself, spinning the moment out like he always does when she wants a straight answer out of him. "The opposite, actually. It's most definitely a comfort thing." "A comfort thing," she repeats, clearly doubtful. "Sleeping in a freezer is a comfort thing." "I've gone without a few times over the years. It's not the end of the world. It just means I don't get any rest." Beth doesn't take her eyes off him as she picks up her coffee mug, cradling it with both hands. She takes a sip and grimaces, setting it back down. The mug has been sitting untouched for half an hour at least. It's long since cold. He glances at the abandoned mug. Under the strong scent of the coffee, it'll smell like her until he washes it: her lipstick, her saliva, her skin. Beth's scent reminds him of crushed rose petals. It lingers on his clothes and on his couch where she sits. Traces of Beth remain in his apartment for days after one of her visits. "I don't follow you," she says, all wide eyes and genuine interest. "Vamps don't have body heat, but we run pretty hot, in a manner of speaking." She frowns. "Still not following." Mick looks at her steadily, his expression giving nothing away. "You remember what it was like." He says it quietly, and she has the good grace to blush. Neither one of them has ever mentioned that night. The way he held her under the shower, cold water making her shiver and writhe against him. The way she begged him over and over and over again to turn her. Her hand in his hair, her face turned into his throat, whispering pleas and entreaties against his skin... Some things are better left unsaid. "Full throttle," he says, keeping his voice low because that seems right somehow. "All the time. There's so much going on. That feeling of being connected to everything. So we need our rest. The cold just helps... slow everything down. It feels good if I've been out in the sun too long. It lets me sleep. Without it..." Without it he gets too much time alone inside his own head. Without it the dreams come. Without it he gets no peace. He gives her a little one-shouldered shrug. "Sleep deprived vampires can get really cranky." It's a hell of an understatement, but she gives him a considering little nod as she weighs up what he's told her, and he knows she gets it. "So you're cold-blooded. Like a lizard." He snorts. "Something like that." "Let me see." She shifts to the end of the couch nearest him and holds out her hand. Mick hesitates, but lets her examine him, her thumb running over his palm, her fingers pressed to the pulse point of his wrist. She cocks her head like she's listening. "So strange." She grins suddenly. "You are so strange, freezer guy." He smirks, but breaks their gaze, because it's hard looking at Beth too long sometimes. He'd throw out some well-worn cliché about it being like staring into the sun, but he's just not that kind of vampire. So instead he stares down at their joined hands and gives another little shrug. "You know, it's funny. I kept the bed. I don't know why." As soon as he's said it, it feels like a mistake, a big one, like suddenly there's an elephant in the room. He grits his teeth to stop from grimacing, or from glancing up at her to gauge her reaction, or doing any of the other stupid things that he's promised himself a hundred times he wouldn't do. Her thumb has stilled against his skin; the weight of her gaze heavy on him. He shifts again in his seat when the moment stretches on too long, because they're sitting here, leaning towards one another, basically holding hands, and that old tug of attraction between them never really goes away. It just lays low, needling at him, surging to the surface every now and again to make his life hell. Beth's not stupid. She knows what she does to him. Every time they get close like this, she burrows a little deeper under his skin. Sometimes he can't help but see her as that scared little girl, pale and terrified, trembling in his arms, but she's not a child. She hasn't been for a long time. She's a grown woman, and she's been having this affect on him ever since he saw her walking barefoot through that fountain in the middle of the night. "Mick..." she murmurs, but still he doesn't look up. Already this is playing with fire. He can't look her in the eye because she'll be able to see right through him, just like always. She knows him. She sees past his defences, past his bullshit, past his cool vampire exterior, and she knows him. It's not just the mention of him having a bed: a stupid reaction because "bed" doesn't automatically equal "sex", but apparently even someone as old as Mick can still have a teenager's response to certain things, because right now all he can think about is Beth's hair spread out over his pillows, her skin slick with sweat, her hands clenched into fists on his sheets. It's not just about that. It's everything the bed signifies, and he doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to talk about how he got Josef to turn him. Doesn't want to talk about why he did it, or everything he gave up for her. Doesn't want to admit that if he had to, he'd do it all again. No question. He doesn't want to talk about how often he thinks of their day together on the beach. How much he misses coffee and donuts, the sun on his face, waking up in a warm bed with the early morning shining in through his window. How badly he wanted to cook her that dinner, to hear her laugh at his awful cooking, to enjoy it with her. How he wanted to grow old with her. To really live with her. How it breaks his heart to think of losing her one day at a time. He curls his fingers around her thumb to stop her, just stop her, and turns her hand so their palms are touching. He slides his hand a little higher and ghosts a touch over the twin puncture marks on the inside of her wrist. The scars have faded, but he knows from experience that they'll never truly disappear. She'll wear his mark until the day she dies. Her heart speeds up, her pulse racing just under her skin, thrumming against his fingertips. He's on his feet faster than she'll be able to process, grabbing her coffee mug and heading for the kitchen. "You want a refill?" he tosses back over his shoulder, breezy and chipper and utterly transparent. She's behind him. He can feel her there, a warm shadow crowding into his personal space as he stands at the sink. A light touch on his forearm is enough to make him drop the mug in the sink and turn around to face her. She stretches up to him, leaning in with her whole body. Their lips brush and he draws back, reluctant and aching, licking the faint taste of her off his lips. "Beth, I've said no. I've said no a dozen times. This isn't a good--" "Bull. You never said no to this. Not really. You just gave me a bunch of reasons why you thought it was a bad idea." "Beth..." he says, and it turns into a groan. "You know your problem, Mick St. John? You're so busy thinking like a vampire, you forget to live in the now." It sounds so simple when she says it, like she really knows what it is she's asking for. Her face is flushed, her jaw set. This is Beth and her unshakeable faith in her own reasoning, her conviction that what she's saying is right, and that there's nothing he can do to change her mind. But he's damn well going to try. "That's all I can do: live in the now," he says, willing her to believe it. "There's no future with me." "More bull. I'd have been dead a dozen times over if it wasn't for you. Maybe the only future I have is with you, you ever think of that?" "And if you hadn't ever met me, maybe you wouldn't have needed saving in the first place. Beth, all of this. Vampires and humans... it just doesn't work. It can't. Not in the end." "Who are you to make that decision for me? You're talking lifetimes. Who's to say we'll even make it that far? We might not last a month." She smiles, and he's glad, because he hates fighting with Beth, and this is her trying to make it easier, but her smile is shaky at best, and doesn't reach her eyes. "You might get sick of me and ditch me for some hot young vampire who'll never get grey hair and wrinkles," she says, aiming for glib and missing by a mile. She's staring at his shoulder, but he wants her to look at him. He wants her to see. Knowing he shouldn't, he touches her face, sliding his fingertips into her hair so he's cradling her jaw, and he tilts her face up so she has to look him in the eye. "You know that isn't how we'd be," he says, low and serious, not letting her avoid this, not letting her try to sell it to him as anything less than it is. "This isn't some easy decision for me. Some fling. This is everything." "Don't you think I know that?" she says, her voice a hoarse whisper, her eyes damp. "Beth, I don't want to hurt you." "You're already hurting me," she says, a tear slipping free. "It hurts me not to be with you, can't you see that?" Her hands are on his chest, heat spreading over his skin like a blush, and he wants to sink into it, to soak up her softness and her warmth. "I know," he says, brushing her tear away with his thumb. "I'm sorry. I just... I just need some time to--" "I told you not to make me wait too long. I won't wait forever. I can't." "Beth," he says, and his voice breaks on the word. It takes everything he has not to just give in and close the distance between them. "I'm tired of waiting," she says, and surges up to kiss him again. Her hands close into fists on his shirt, holding him tight and close, like she thinks he's going to try and stop her, but right now stopping is the farthest thing from Mick's mind. He's too weak to say no to this when he's wanted it for so long. Beth's here, she's in his arms, and he doesn't ever want to let go. They don't make it to his bed, tucked away in the corner of the living room, just another reminder of all the things he'll never have. She won't let him stop, not even for a change of location, so he picks her up, easily supporting her weight with one hand, loving her womanly growl of satisfaction and the way she wraps her legs around his waist, holding him close with her entire body. When he sets her on the counter, the impact is just enough to break their kiss, and they stare at one another, wide-eyed and nervous. Mick keeps one hand on her face, the other on the small of her back, stroking her skin, reassuring her even as her legs tighten around him, giving the illusion of trapping him there. She stares up at him, defiant and full of hope, and with every beat of her heart he's thinking, I love you. I love you. I love you. He pulls her into another kiss, open and eager, hauling her hips towards him and making them both groan when he pulls her body flush against his. Beth's hands are busy between them, pulling his shirt out of his jeans, getting some buttons undone, popping others in her haste. He doesn't stop kissing her, can't stop kissing her, learning the taste of her, coffee and sweet and Beth. Her skirt is a rumpled mess, high on her bare hips, her shirt tossed somewhere over his shoulder, skin on skin, breathy sighs and soft words, when she stops him with a shaking hand, biting down on his lip before murmuring, "Wait. Wait a second. We need... In my purse." Mick clenches his jaw. He gives her a tiny shake of his head, watching as sad realisation dawns on her face. Vampires don't need condoms; they don't carry human diseases and they can't ever have children. He can't ever give Beth children. She kisses him again, swallowing down a hiccupy little whimper, muttering, "Okay, okay, it's okay," her face closed off as she urges him closer. She arches against him as he slips a hand between their bodies, her blunt human teeth biting down on his shoulder when he touches her. She draws him in close, breathing ragged in his mouth as he nudges against her, letting him move her where he wants, letting his strength hold her up. She makes this sharp little mewling sound when he pushes inside. That sudden, hot slide of connection as he bottoms out, and he holds still, breathing against her skin. It's too much, being with her like this, her throat bared, her body laid out before him, her hand on the back of his neck. He's too close. Too much heat, too much want, and he's desperate with it. He can't stop his face from changing, and he turns his forehead against her cheek, hiding from her, his hips stuttering forward. It makes her gasp and hitch up her knees, tilting up to meet him, silently asking for more. She turns her head to kiss him, and draws in a sharp little breath when she sees his face, her body jolting, her thighs squeezing his hips. He can only look at her, ashamed and hating himself, his hair hanging in his eyes, his whole body trembling with the strain of holding back. Beth only kisses him, no hesitation, carefully touching her tongue to the sharp edge of his teeth, her eyes open and staring at him the whole time. "It's okay," she says, stroking his face, and there's no fear in the way she's looking at him, no revulsion. "It's okay." She keeps kissing him, slow and sure, coaxing him into it, and he starts to move, slow, deep strokes, stealing her breath, letting her feel all of him, wanting it to last forever. Mick knows better than most that nothing good lasts forever. They end up tangled together on the unmade bed, hidden away from the world in the dim little corner of his apartment. They're wrapped up in a couple of blankets, warm and together, trading lazy kisses, but there's an edge to it, a thread of tension running through Beth that Mick knows he can't ease. He can't remember the last time he was in bed with someone like this. Not just being together like this, comfortable and at peace. Beth turns her back and curls up against him, tiny against his chest. He knows if he teased her right now about being the little spoon he'd get an elbow in his ribs for his troubles, but he's not in the mood for teasing. He knows it would fall flat if he tried, so he just holds her, surrounded by the scent of rose petals as he listens to her body calm and tries not to think about how it makes him feel, having her under his hands like this, seeing her faith in him. He's trailing a light touch up and down her arm, shoulder to elbow, when she shifts against him and he knows the question is coming. He can't see her face when she asks, "Things'll be different now, won't they?" He knows he could say yes, and it would be the truth, because nothing will be the same after this, but it wouldn't be the yes she's looking for. Things will be different because he loves her and he won't let her go. He's too selfish to let her go. But it won't be perfect and it won't be forever and they won't get their happy ending. If he says yes she'd see right through him in a heartbeat, because he's never been able to lie to her, not really, not even half-truths to save her feelings. So instead he presses his lips to her shoulder. He wraps her up in his arms and takes solace in her warmth and her life. He won't sleep, it's too warm, his body restless, his mind racing, but Beth is already drifting, trusting him to stay with her while she sleeps. There's nowhere else he'd rather be. The end. Leave a comment in livejournal. Email the author | nevermelon AT yahoo.com |