Disclaimer: WB owns 'Moonlight.' I make no money off this.
AN: This is set post-Sonata, after the door closes.
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"Like a bird, huh?" Beth asked wickedly, cuddling closer.
He gasped as her teeth bit into his chest.
She pulled back smugly, feeling his arm slacken around her. "I may not have a beak..."
"I know," Mick's chest rumbled under her cheek. "All right, I apologise for making you sound delicate and -"
"Feathery," she supplied.
His chest laughed; Beth felt the muscles shift, the lungs expand slightly.
"Feathery," Mick agreed. "You could be a vulture if you like. I hear they have a yen for dead things."
It was Beth's turn to gasp at his audacity. "You are not a dead thing," she refuted hotly. "Wait, what-? And you're OK with - with saying that?" She pulled her body upwards to look him in the eyes, sleepy muscles protesting.
"Undead, not dead," Mick replied, guiding one hand underneath the thin sheet she'd thrown over them so thoughtlessly.
"I have such a bad memory," she gasped, fingers speaking eloquently to him even as her words failed.
"Such a bad memory," he echoed, moving in to kiss her. "Such a beautiful face." He bit her cheek and she lost all speech. "Such a warm, soft body." His lips blew into her ear, the words washing across the tragus; his tongue followed briefly, mocking her muteness. "You have four freckles on your stomach."
She tightened her grip on him, the growl at the base of her throat pummeling through his easy reserves of patience. "Do I, Mick?"
He was bucking against her hand now, eyes flashing. That was all she could see of him - the cold vampire eyes that burned in the pitch of the room.
He had stood at her bedside earlier while she shut every door and closed every blind - she was locking out the world for him and he loved her desperately.
He didn't need to say it but he did anyway - "Stop" - as she stood poised to close the door to the tiny balcony. Beth told herself that she'd have turned anyway to watch the light catch his silhouette in her bedroom, burning the shadow into the far wall.
"You should always wear moonlight." So soft, like a silken thread pulling her, navel-first, to take command.
When she had him naked and defiant, she'd turned off the light abruptly, blinking against the darkness. This was his domain now.
"Show me, vampire."
Mick had treated the clothes as delicately as he treated her skin. Buttons undone, shoes unlaced. All she heard was the rustling of discarded clothes and whispers in an undertone; all she saw were his eyes; all she felt was the throb of newly vindicated flesh. He was cool as the sheets against her - so measured she was afraid he was bored.
But he kept moving, tugging here, unfastening there, and Beth had strained to hear him. It was as if he was in a dream world by himself. So surreal - the darkness, the muffled way his hands moved, the cryptic words, the trails of spinning desire that shallowed her breathing and flung the sounds into the room like so many birds announcing a predator.
"Mick?"
And when he'd spoken louder she realised he was whispering chords to her, and she realised why Coraline had kept that photograph.
He moved up and down her like a tuner: lingering at her sweating breasts till she was pitch-perfect with need, tracing the cords in her neck for balanced tension, fingers probing as he started to play.
Mick knew he had done this with Coraline. This was his seduction, the moment he had given in to his moon-struck madness, but it was too late. The fire was in his blood and his body was demanding a different baptism this time.
Like a virgin, almost. He chuckled ruefully, mid-chord, and felt Beth tense underneath him. The music is all wrong. Not Coraline, Beth. Beth Beth. Coraline under a gibbous moon with water colouring her skin. Sparklers in her eyes, tightness in his groin – such a fey goddess.
Fingers tight around his forearm, the slick, salty odour of her. He felt the blood map her before his eyes, a river of Beth threading every curve and crease. The real Beth. No lair or artifice, and he'd trembled with the secret power of knowledge.
She'd shuddered when Mick finally said her name, and reached up to pull his solid mass closer.
"I thought you'd forgotten all about me." And licked at the corners of his mouth. "I'm not made of wood."
He had laughed and added a third finger slowly.
"I-"
"Yes, Beth?"
"Not- highstrung...either...."
"No. Beautiful. Beautiful. My guitar never sounded this beautiful. Do you still sing?"
"Ah...mm...hmm." The syllables had vanished again.
"I'm going to teach you how to scream, star eyes."
When Beth opened the blinds next, a new wave of night's light washed over them.
He padded up behind her, taller and calmer than she remembered; closer and so infinitely familiar now. Strong arms braced themselves around her, holding her in the path of the rays.
"Moonlight and me," Mick whispered into her hair. "Promise?"