Talking Point -- PG-13
Posted: Wed Aug 08, 2012 3:59 am
Disclaimer: Mick and Beth, not mine. ‘K?
AN: Just a trifle...hope you enjoy!
Talking Point
Beth rolled over, snuggling her shoulder under the down comforter, and regarded Mick’s unconscious form. She knew that it wasn't comfortable for him to share a bed with her in the long run, and she treasured these times when they turned the air conditioning down to what she considered arctic levels, and he rested beside her for a few hours. It wasn't really sleeping, not as humans know it, but there was something very intimate in knowing that Mick trusted her to be with him when he was so vulnerable. Leaning up on one elbow, she took the time to drink in the sight of his long lean body stretched on the mattress. He lay on his back, naked, hands by his side, as unmoving as any of the corpses down on Guillermo’s slabs in the morgue. It should have been unnerving. Still, he was beautiful. Beth resisted the temptation to reach out and run her fingertips over his face, tracing each perfect feature, brushing lightly across his lips perhaps, the coiled arch of his ear. She loved the way his dark hair waved back from his face, loved the way the ends curled around his neck. She supposed he had had a lot of hairstyles, over the years, but she couldn't imagine that any of them had been more becoming.
She sighed. She’d found a gray hair the night before, while peering into her mirror. Among the gold, it was hard to spot the occasional silver strand, but it happened. She'd hesitated just a moment, remembering her mother laughing at her own gray hairs, and saying, "You know, Bethie, for every one you pull out, five more come in.” Superstition, sure, but it slowed her hand. In the end, though, she'd gone ahead and plucked it. Mick’s eyes were just too damn sharp for her to take the risk.
Their situation was, if not unique, at least unusual, and although Mick had done everything in his power to reassure her that she would always be beautiful to him, Beth couldn't help the occasional pang of misgiving. They were fine now, but how long could it last, really? She remembered a little conversation, only a few words, that had passed between them early on. They'd been riding in his car, not long after she found out he was a vampire.
“I know you must be older, but you look about 30,” she’d said.
“That's how old I was when I was turned,” he’d replied.
“Wow. So when I was two—“
He’d smiled, a little ruefully. “I looked 30. When you're 82, I'm still gonna look 30.”
At the time, all she thought was that it must be wonderful not to age. She hadn't understood that there might be drawbacks. Say, like your girlfriend getting old on you. There was another voice in her head, too. Sure, Lola had been trying to drive a wedge between them, but it didn't mean there wasn't any truth in it. “You’re young,” she’d said, “but in a year or two, when he stops coming around and you look in the mirror…” She hadn't needed to finish the sentence. Beth knew what she meant.
So now it was a few years later, and the prediction was coming true. Mick hadn't changed, not hair, not a scar, not a line on his beautiful face. And he never would. Beth felt her heart constrict in her chest. She wasn’t sure, even now, what she wanted. What he wanted. But –
Night was falling. Mick stirred, turning his head to catch her watching him. "Evening, sweetheart," he said. "You look serious."
She nodded. "Mick," she said, "we need to talk."
AN: Just a trifle...hope you enjoy!
Talking Point
Beth rolled over, snuggling her shoulder under the down comforter, and regarded Mick’s unconscious form. She knew that it wasn't comfortable for him to share a bed with her in the long run, and she treasured these times when they turned the air conditioning down to what she considered arctic levels, and he rested beside her for a few hours. It wasn't really sleeping, not as humans know it, but there was something very intimate in knowing that Mick trusted her to be with him when he was so vulnerable. Leaning up on one elbow, she took the time to drink in the sight of his long lean body stretched on the mattress. He lay on his back, naked, hands by his side, as unmoving as any of the corpses down on Guillermo’s slabs in the morgue. It should have been unnerving. Still, he was beautiful. Beth resisted the temptation to reach out and run her fingertips over his face, tracing each perfect feature, brushing lightly across his lips perhaps, the coiled arch of his ear. She loved the way his dark hair waved back from his face, loved the way the ends curled around his neck. She supposed he had had a lot of hairstyles, over the years, but she couldn't imagine that any of them had been more becoming.
She sighed. She’d found a gray hair the night before, while peering into her mirror. Among the gold, it was hard to spot the occasional silver strand, but it happened. She'd hesitated just a moment, remembering her mother laughing at her own gray hairs, and saying, "You know, Bethie, for every one you pull out, five more come in.” Superstition, sure, but it slowed her hand. In the end, though, she'd gone ahead and plucked it. Mick’s eyes were just too damn sharp for her to take the risk.
Their situation was, if not unique, at least unusual, and although Mick had done everything in his power to reassure her that she would always be beautiful to him, Beth couldn't help the occasional pang of misgiving. They were fine now, but how long could it last, really? She remembered a little conversation, only a few words, that had passed between them early on. They'd been riding in his car, not long after she found out he was a vampire.
“I know you must be older, but you look about 30,” she’d said.
“That's how old I was when I was turned,” he’d replied.
“Wow. So when I was two—“
He’d smiled, a little ruefully. “I looked 30. When you're 82, I'm still gonna look 30.”
At the time, all she thought was that it must be wonderful not to age. She hadn't understood that there might be drawbacks. Say, like your girlfriend getting old on you. There was another voice in her head, too. Sure, Lola had been trying to drive a wedge between them, but it didn't mean there wasn't any truth in it. “You’re young,” she’d said, “but in a year or two, when he stops coming around and you look in the mirror…” She hadn't needed to finish the sentence. Beth knew what she meant.
So now it was a few years later, and the prediction was coming true. Mick hadn't changed, not hair, not a scar, not a line on his beautiful face. And he never would. Beth felt her heart constrict in her chest. She wasn’t sure, even now, what she wanted. What he wanted. But –
Night was falling. Mick stirred, turning his head to catch her watching him. "Evening, sweetheart," he said. "You look serious."
She nodded. "Mick," she said, "we need to talk."