Rated T
Summary: An interlude of a sexual nature between Mick and Beth
Author's Note: Much thanks to Anatomy Melancholia (go read her stuff now!) and PNWgal (who should start posting here immediately) for the okay to post.
Limp, red-stained bags peeking from the incinerator pile. A ripped, stained shirt in the bathroom. The faintest flaking red on the porcelain faucet handles.
And Beth knew tonight he'd take her. At some point blood had taken the place of candy and roses.
Two glasses of riesling whistled through her. Beth's breath picked up, a traitorous knot tightened within her, begging for him. There were steps to be taken. Sliding out of unsteady heels, folding dirty clothes, circles of lotion. A silk robe roped around her flaming body. No use shredding another shirt.
Beth padded down the hall in pale imitation of his predator's stride in the deep part of night. The freezer next door shut tight. She could almost feel his restlessness, unsprung muscle, from the bedroom she'd taken, where the mishmash of her human life was stashed.
He'd left a small night light on for her and the window poured silver moonlight over him. One of her books was spread across his lap, Byron's "Don Juan." Her long ago scrawl peeked from the margins in the faint light.
"Hi, beautiful," the book snapped shut, disappearing into the shadows. The gentleman rose for the lady.
"Hi, there," Beth leaned against the door frame with a practiced ease. "Rough night?"
"You have no idea," his downcast eyes flashed.
"Did the good guys save the day?" she moved to the chair and its crushed pillows. Bent down to smooth them, a flash of honey flesh teased him.
The peek of fang pushed against his lips as sure as he swelled against the rough denim of his jeans.
"Beth," he breathed her name as a benediction, shedding pretense. The space between them vanished and his cold hands set her on fire.
Lips against lips. A pressure pulling her under, past the point of thought. Stroking her teeth, the bump of fang on gum. A deep breath of him, then wet and welcome. The tang of iron and salt.
Who did she taste tonight? The dregs of an anonymous donor, a dead body in his mouth. Or the last great howls of the wicked, fighting to the end.
He pulled her down to the bed, pants shed like lizard skin. Her silk barrier was gone. Him flush against her thigh. Her breasts crushed against him.
Away from her mouth now, to her breasts, his silver eyes chasing the rise and fall of her. The growls began. She listened for his groaning voice between the animal noises. The sighs, the hum of his lips on her.
Back up to her lips, the taste of her own salty skin and his growls in her mouth. Eyes wide open. Bruised eyes pounded her. He was there behind the beast. He was there. He was there.
Moonlight played against his features and he watched half in shadow. Beth strained her poor weak eyes for the sight of him.
"The light," she breathed, unsure whether she wanted more or less of it. He decided for her, snapping the bulb in his hand and letting the shards tinkle from his grasp. His wounds healed as his hand moved to her.
Beth lunged and licked away the traces of red. A rumble came from him and he rose up, bright shining, twin moons filling her gaze.
A prick against her lip. His tongue caught the blood before it fell and he sucked at it excitedly. The length of him slid in as the blood dried.
Beth gasped. He rocked in time with her heartbeats. Chasing the pull as her toes curled and muscles tightened. A whimper, a cracked sound from her depth.
His curls fell across the curve of her neck. The cracked lips on her collarbone, the scratch of his open mouth. From shoulder to her ear, massaging the skin with his tongue. No breath as she felt his mouth open wide, rear back.
And there, the pleasure crashing in with the pain. Every time with him, like the first time as her body flooded with the heat and burst in on itself with the beat of him in her. Drops of blood on sheets.
The sound, beneath the panting and her own thundering heartbeat, roared. The sucking, the suckling as she filled him.
The mise en scene of silver and dark overtook her. A frozen moment of him in her, her life in him. A shock of fear to be so consumed.
And then, he pulled away. Eyes of silver closed, fangs prodding his mouth open, but the hunger ebbing. She felt the retreat, yet the vampire remained.
His tongue poked between sharp points and followed the trails around her curves. His fingers traced the blood map so close to her surface and Beth shivered.
She curled against him, legs under and over his, her head tucked against his chest, knees skimming his groin. Beth's lips tickled against his chest, mouthing nonsense poetry against him. His blood and my blood, desperation and sweat, tears dark, moonlight, love light, lovely, lover of mine.
Mick's finger ran down her cheek, tucking back her hair and letting strands fall through, an endless stream of gold passing through his hand. Beth's lips stilled against him.
Her eyes drooped and soon she was dreaming darkly of blood and love in the moonlight.