Moonlight Becomes You
Title: Moonlight Becomes You
Rating: R for a relatively mild (by Allegrita standards) sex scene
Disclaimer: Moonlight, and the characters of Mick and Beth, belong to Silver Pictures. I'm just borrowing them for a while. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: This is (almost--I changed it a little) my entry for the MoonlightCon fanfic contest. By the way, the Sky Room, at the top of the Breakers Hotel, is a real place in Long Beach, CA. http://www.theskyroom.com
Here's the scene from Road to Morocco when Bing romances Dorothy in the garden: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dUmkz95E7mw
My phone rang at sunset.
“Hey.” (I think that’ll be our phone greeting forever.)
“Hi, beautiful. Let’s go dancing.”
“Sure! What should I wear?”
“Something slinky. We’re going to the Sky Room.”
“Ooh, I’ve always wanted to go! Pick me up in an hour.”
I rushed to get ready. I had the perfect dress-silk satin, a gorgeous seafoam color with a sweetheart neckline and a bias-cut skirt that swished when I turned. I felt like Ginger Rogers in that dress, and Mick hadn’t seen it. I decided to go for the 40’s look all over, with seamed stockings and my hair in a chignon, with just a few tendrils around the sides to soften the look. Dark red lipstick and lots of eye makeup for glamour, and the highest heels I could dance in. My grandmother left me a gorgeous Art Deco rhinestone set of long earrings and a necklace. They added just the right touch.
He arrived just as I was checking to see if my seams were straight. I went to the door, and Mick was standing there in the hall in a vintage tuxedo. Lord, that man knows how to dress. He handed me a single red rose.
“Look at you!” he said, his eyes sweeping me up and down. I could almost feel his gaze, it was so smoldering. I twirled for him, and the heavy silk skirt flared out and then wrapped around my thighs as I stopped.
“Do I dare kiss you? I don’t want to spoil your makeup, but you are so kissable right now…”
“Don’t worry, this is indestructible lipstick. You need major chemicals to get it off!” I laughed, and he captured my smiling mouth in a gentle kiss. We lost ourselves for a few minutes in the pleasure of exchanging kisses, and then Mick came to himself.
“We’d better go, dear heart, we have reservations.”
He held my shawl for me and kept his hand at the small of my back as he accompanied me out the door and down the stairs to the car. I carried the rose with me. It had a tiny vial of water to keep it fresh.
Normally, I’d be sorry to have the top up on the Mercedes, but for the sake of my hairdo I was glad tonight. There was very little traffic on the way to Long Beach, and we soon arrived at The Breakers Hotel.
“What a beautiful building!” I exclaimed.
“Yeah, it opened in 1926. Conrad Hilton bought it in ‘38 and opened the Sky Room soon after. I used to play here right after the war,” Mick said. He pulled into the valet parking area, and we strolled into the hotel. We were met by a guy in a top hat and tails, who looked like he’d been transported from Hollywood’s Golden Age by some kind of time machine. He escorted us to the most beautiful Deco-style elevator and whisked us up to the restaurant at the top of the hotel. When the elevator opened, I gasped in awe at the beautiful view of the harbor.
“Mick, it’s gorgeous!” I couldn’t help staring out at the view.
“I’m so glad you like it,” he said, steering me toward the bar.
We were seated at a table near the window. A waiter appeared as if by magic, and Mick looked at me with a smile.
“May I order you a martini, my sweet?”
“Yes, please. Bombay Sapphire, very dry, with a twist.”
“Make it two, please,” he told the waiter. We sat and watched the city lights while we waited for our drinks to arrive. Mick leaned back in his chair and looked at me with those gorgeous, changeable eyes.
“You look like a siren of the Silver Screen in that dress, Beth,” he said, his voice deeper than usual.
“I take it you like this look.” I batted my eyes at him.
“Uh…yeah. You nearly dissuaded me from going anywhere when I saw you in the doorway tonight,” he replied. I played with my rose, not quite sure how to respond. Then something he’d said came back to me.
“You said you played here. I forgot you were in a band.”
“Yes, I once had serious aspirations as a musician. I played guitar and keyboards, and sang. Coming here brings back a lot of memories.” His one-sided smile told me his memories weren’t all happy.
“What happened, sweetie?” I asked, gently. The waiter appeared with our drinks, and Mick waited until he left to answer.
“I fell in love with a vampire,” he said, looking out the window. I could tell he wasn’t seeing the view. This was one of those times I almost wished I’d had better aim that night I staked her. Not that I wanted her death on my conscience, but to see the pain Mick was still going through because of her…well, it didn’t seem fair somehow. I needed to change the mood, and fast.
“Hey.” I picked up my glass and smiled at him. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”
He smiled and picked up his own glass. “To the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” We clinked our glasses and I took a sip of my ice-cold martini. It was delicious, and I knew it was going to go straight to my head.
Our attention was caught by the sound of swing music.
“They still have a band?”
“Yes, that’s part of the reason I wanted to bring you. I come from the era when everyone knew how to dance. Let’s see if you can keep up with me,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.
“Just try me, Buster.” Thank god for those swing lessons in college. I just hoped my feet remembered the steps.
Mick rose and pulled out my chair. I put my hand in his, and he led me out to the dance floor. The band was playing something catchy that I didn’t recognize.
“What is this song?” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksrDTZ1Oy0E
“‘King Porter Stomp,’ by Benny Goodman,” Mick said, effortlessly guiding me into the steps. I shouldn’t have worried; even if I hadn’t had lessons, he was such a good leader that I’d have been able to follow him. He led me through a few simple moves and then looked at me with a new respect in his eyes.
“I see that I underestimated you again, Miss Turner,” he said, with that patented one-eyebrow look. “I think it’s time to up the ante a little,” and he led me into an intricate combo that I barely managed to navigate.
I pretended it was nothing special, but I’m sure he knew otherwise. Thank goodness I hadn’t had more than a sip or two of that Sapphire martini. I needed all of my faculties to keep up with him. It was fun, and challenging, and amazing. It was the most fun I’d had with him (outside of bed), well…ever.
As he continued to lead me through complex swing moves, I relaxed into that wonderful, unspoken communication that dancing requires. We were a good team…but I already knew that.
After several dances, I was flushed and laughing, and panting. Mick took pity on me and led me back to our table. Our martinis were still cold, and I took a deep sip of mine. Maybe a mistake, but tonight was magical; I wasn’t going to play it safe.
I toed off my left shoe and reached my stocking-clad foot toward his ankle. His face registered a little surprise at the sensation, and then he joined the game, moving his legs forward to give me free access. My foot crept up his shin outside his pant leg and perched on his knee. He reached down and massaged my toes, then moved up toward the arch of my foot.
“What a forward little screen siren you are,” he said, a chuckle in his voice. He stroked my ankle.
“Mmm, yes, I am,” I said, trying to look sultry. My foot crept up his thigh a couple of inches. He continued to massage my ankle and calf, leaning back in his chair and smiling at me with that vampire-cool look he has.
We continued to play our silent game for a little while, listening to the band. My foot crept farther and farther up his thigh as we sipped our martinis and admired the view.
Suddenly, Mick sat up straight, breaking the mood.
“What is it?” I asked, fearing the worst. What had he heard with those amazing ears?
“I think they may be playing our song,” Mick said, and he rose to his feet. The band was playing the opening bars of something slow that I didn’t recognize.
“We have a song?” I hastily searched for my shoe.
“Perhaps. May I have this dance?” Mick asked, his hand on my chair back.
“But of course,” I said, playing along with his mood. He pulled out my chair as I stood and took his hand. He guided me to the dance floor and twirled me into his arms. I could follow his steps without thinking, we were so connected. A singer had joined the band, and he started singing in the style of Bing Crosby.
Moonlight becomes you,
It goes with your hair;
You certainly know the right things to wear...
I glanced out the window. A full moon was floating over the city.
“This is too perfect. How did you pull it off?” I asked him.
“This one is all luck,” he admitted. “I didn’t order the moon, and I didn’t know they had this in their repertoire.” He dipped me.
“This has to be from a Road movie,” I said.
“I think it’s from Road to Morocco. I remember that Bing was wandering in the garden outside Dorothy Lamour’s bedroom, and he enticed her out to walk with him. In her nightgown.”
“Ah, to be Dorothy Lamour,” I sighed.
“Tell me you didn’t have a crush on Bing Crosby!”
“I admit it, I’m a sucker for his voice,” I said, rubbing my hand against his arm.
“You know, Bing always got the girl.”
“Well, it only makes sense. Bob was the funny one, Bing was the dreamy one.” Mick dipped me again. I think he liked the fact that I thought Bing was dreamy.
He brought me back up and enfolded me in his arms again, and started to sing softly into my ear. Everything else fell away.
You're all dressed up to go dreaming,
Now don't tell me I'm wrong.
And what a night to go dreaming;
Mind if I tag along?
If I say I love you,
I want you to know
It's not just because there's moonlight,
Although…moonlight becomes you so.
“I had no idea you could channel Bing Crosby,” I murmured. I was absolutely turning to jelly in his arms, what with the martini and the singing and the full moon.
“He’s the dreamy one,” he answered, with a smile in his beautiful eyes. I put my head on his shoulder.
“It figures,” I said simply. Of course he’d channel Bing.
We danced in silence for a few more minutes. Mick held me close, his dark head bent above me, his lips against my temple.
“Hey…do you mind if we call it a night?” His voice was rumbly and low.
“Nope.”
He effortlessly handled paying the tab, and before I knew it we were riding down the elevator to the lobby. I leaned against Mick, playing with my rose, as we waited for the car to be brought around.
Once we were in the Mercedes, I missed the moon. “Would you mind putting the top down?” I asked.
“Not at all-if you don’t mind having your hair blown around.”
“If you don’t mind, I don’t,” I said.
In answer, Mick pulled to the side of the road and took the top down. In no time we were heading south, down the coast. My hairdo began to pull loose in the breeze of our passage. I reached up and started pulling out bobby pins.
Mick pulled the Mercedes off the coast highway, onto a secluded stretch of frontage road. I guess it pays to have historical knowledge. I wonder if anybody knows about that place any more.
He looked at me for a moment, then drew me into his arms. He kissed me as if it were really the 40’s and we were on a date, and he was breaking all the rules of etiquette.
I’m a New Millennium girl. I reached straight for his crotch. He laughed a little and shook his head. He kissed my hand and laid it on the car seat next to me. Then he started stroking my legs, moving his hands upwards, pushing the silk of my dress aside.
I’m not the type to let a guy make love to me without reciprocating, but this was what Mick wanted. Every time I tried to touch him, he stopped me. This was all about him giving to me, and somehow deriving pleasure from the giving. That idea was foreign to me, but without saying anything, he made me understand how important it was to him. And I can’t lie, it was absolutely delicious to just accept those caresses with no obligation to do anything but react.
He found the tops of my stockings. My heart skipped at least two beats, then started again at double time. He unhooked my garters one-handed. Cool move.
“I should’ve known you’d have these things figured out,” I said, gasping a little at the sensation of his cool hands making their way up my thighs.
“Just like riding a bike.” Those hands kept moving up, and I lost the ability to form words.
“Beth, you're a screen siren right down to your underwear. Wherever did you get a pair of tap pants?” Mick had a laugh and a growl in his voice at the same time. His hands slid up into the loose legs of my quasi-underwear and soon found their way to my most intimate places. He stroked me beneath the satin of my skirt. I was completely clothed, except that he could reach every part of me that he wanted to reach. I melted against the leather seat, looking at the moon, losing myself in the sensation of Mick’s clever, cool fingers playing me like a guitar. Or maybe a piano. As long as he was playing, I didn’t care which instrument I was. I relaxed into the moment and let Mick pleasure me with his hands and, later, his mouth, bathed in the light of the moon.
At the last, I was writhing against the leather seat and gasping his name as he brought me to the pinnacle of ecstasy. Afterwards, we sat holding hands and watching the moon in the sky-inscrutable, serene. The opposite of me.
“Moonlight does become you, Beth. Thank you for a perfect evening,” he said, lifting my hand to his lips.
This man I love, he teaches me new things every day.
<>
Rating: R for a relatively mild (by Allegrita standards) sex scene
Disclaimer: Moonlight, and the characters of Mick and Beth, belong to Silver Pictures. I'm just borrowing them for a while. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: This is (almost--I changed it a little) my entry for the MoonlightCon fanfic contest. By the way, the Sky Room, at the top of the Breakers Hotel, is a real place in Long Beach, CA. http://www.theskyroom.com
Here's the scene from Road to Morocco when Bing romances Dorothy in the garden: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dUmkz95E7mw
My phone rang at sunset.
“Hey.” (I think that’ll be our phone greeting forever.)
“Hi, beautiful. Let’s go dancing.”
“Sure! What should I wear?”
“Something slinky. We’re going to the Sky Room.”
“Ooh, I’ve always wanted to go! Pick me up in an hour.”
I rushed to get ready. I had the perfect dress-silk satin, a gorgeous seafoam color with a sweetheart neckline and a bias-cut skirt that swished when I turned. I felt like Ginger Rogers in that dress, and Mick hadn’t seen it. I decided to go for the 40’s look all over, with seamed stockings and my hair in a chignon, with just a few tendrils around the sides to soften the look. Dark red lipstick and lots of eye makeup for glamour, and the highest heels I could dance in. My grandmother left me a gorgeous Art Deco rhinestone set of long earrings and a necklace. They added just the right touch.
He arrived just as I was checking to see if my seams were straight. I went to the door, and Mick was standing there in the hall in a vintage tuxedo. Lord, that man knows how to dress. He handed me a single red rose.
“Look at you!” he said, his eyes sweeping me up and down. I could almost feel his gaze, it was so smoldering. I twirled for him, and the heavy silk skirt flared out and then wrapped around my thighs as I stopped.
“Do I dare kiss you? I don’t want to spoil your makeup, but you are so kissable right now…”
“Don’t worry, this is indestructible lipstick. You need major chemicals to get it off!” I laughed, and he captured my smiling mouth in a gentle kiss. We lost ourselves for a few minutes in the pleasure of exchanging kisses, and then Mick came to himself.
“We’d better go, dear heart, we have reservations.”
He held my shawl for me and kept his hand at the small of my back as he accompanied me out the door and down the stairs to the car. I carried the rose with me. It had a tiny vial of water to keep it fresh.
Normally, I’d be sorry to have the top up on the Mercedes, but for the sake of my hairdo I was glad tonight. There was very little traffic on the way to Long Beach, and we soon arrived at The Breakers Hotel.
“What a beautiful building!” I exclaimed.
“Yeah, it opened in 1926. Conrad Hilton bought it in ‘38 and opened the Sky Room soon after. I used to play here right after the war,” Mick said. He pulled into the valet parking area, and we strolled into the hotel. We were met by a guy in a top hat and tails, who looked like he’d been transported from Hollywood’s Golden Age by some kind of time machine. He escorted us to the most beautiful Deco-style elevator and whisked us up to the restaurant at the top of the hotel. When the elevator opened, I gasped in awe at the beautiful view of the harbor.
“Mick, it’s gorgeous!” I couldn’t help staring out at the view.
“I’m so glad you like it,” he said, steering me toward the bar.
We were seated at a table near the window. A waiter appeared as if by magic, and Mick looked at me with a smile.
“May I order you a martini, my sweet?”
“Yes, please. Bombay Sapphire, very dry, with a twist.”
“Make it two, please,” he told the waiter. We sat and watched the city lights while we waited for our drinks to arrive. Mick leaned back in his chair and looked at me with those gorgeous, changeable eyes.
“You look like a siren of the Silver Screen in that dress, Beth,” he said, his voice deeper than usual.
“I take it you like this look.” I batted my eyes at him.
“Uh…yeah. You nearly dissuaded me from going anywhere when I saw you in the doorway tonight,” he replied. I played with my rose, not quite sure how to respond. Then something he’d said came back to me.
“You said you played here. I forgot you were in a band.”
“Yes, I once had serious aspirations as a musician. I played guitar and keyboards, and sang. Coming here brings back a lot of memories.” His one-sided smile told me his memories weren’t all happy.
“What happened, sweetie?” I asked, gently. The waiter appeared with our drinks, and Mick waited until he left to answer.
“I fell in love with a vampire,” he said, looking out the window. I could tell he wasn’t seeing the view. This was one of those times I almost wished I’d had better aim that night I staked her. Not that I wanted her death on my conscience, but to see the pain Mick was still going through because of her…well, it didn’t seem fair somehow. I needed to change the mood, and fast.
“Hey.” I picked up my glass and smiled at him. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”
He smiled and picked up his own glass. “To the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” We clinked our glasses and I took a sip of my ice-cold martini. It was delicious, and I knew it was going to go straight to my head.
Our attention was caught by the sound of swing music.
“They still have a band?”
“Yes, that’s part of the reason I wanted to bring you. I come from the era when everyone knew how to dance. Let’s see if you can keep up with me,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.
“Just try me, Buster.” Thank god for those swing lessons in college. I just hoped my feet remembered the steps.
Mick rose and pulled out my chair. I put my hand in his, and he led me out to the dance floor. The band was playing something catchy that I didn’t recognize.
“What is this song?” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksrDTZ1Oy0E
“‘King Porter Stomp,’ by Benny Goodman,” Mick said, effortlessly guiding me into the steps. I shouldn’t have worried; even if I hadn’t had lessons, he was such a good leader that I’d have been able to follow him. He led me through a few simple moves and then looked at me with a new respect in his eyes.
“I see that I underestimated you again, Miss Turner,” he said, with that patented one-eyebrow look. “I think it’s time to up the ante a little,” and he led me into an intricate combo that I barely managed to navigate.
I pretended it was nothing special, but I’m sure he knew otherwise. Thank goodness I hadn’t had more than a sip or two of that Sapphire martini. I needed all of my faculties to keep up with him. It was fun, and challenging, and amazing. It was the most fun I’d had with him (outside of bed), well…ever.
As he continued to lead me through complex swing moves, I relaxed into that wonderful, unspoken communication that dancing requires. We were a good team…but I already knew that.
After several dances, I was flushed and laughing, and panting. Mick took pity on me and led me back to our table. Our martinis were still cold, and I took a deep sip of mine. Maybe a mistake, but tonight was magical; I wasn’t going to play it safe.
I toed off my left shoe and reached my stocking-clad foot toward his ankle. His face registered a little surprise at the sensation, and then he joined the game, moving his legs forward to give me free access. My foot crept up his shin outside his pant leg and perched on his knee. He reached down and massaged my toes, then moved up toward the arch of my foot.
“What a forward little screen siren you are,” he said, a chuckle in his voice. He stroked my ankle.
“Mmm, yes, I am,” I said, trying to look sultry. My foot crept up his thigh a couple of inches. He continued to massage my ankle and calf, leaning back in his chair and smiling at me with that vampire-cool look he has.
We continued to play our silent game for a little while, listening to the band. My foot crept farther and farther up his thigh as we sipped our martinis and admired the view.
Suddenly, Mick sat up straight, breaking the mood.
“What is it?” I asked, fearing the worst. What had he heard with those amazing ears?
“I think they may be playing our song,” Mick said, and he rose to his feet. The band was playing the opening bars of something slow that I didn’t recognize.
“We have a song?” I hastily searched for my shoe.
“Perhaps. May I have this dance?” Mick asked, his hand on my chair back.
“But of course,” I said, playing along with his mood. He pulled out my chair as I stood and took his hand. He guided me to the dance floor and twirled me into his arms. I could follow his steps without thinking, we were so connected. A singer had joined the band, and he started singing in the style of Bing Crosby.
Moonlight becomes you,
It goes with your hair;
You certainly know the right things to wear...
I glanced out the window. A full moon was floating over the city.
“This is too perfect. How did you pull it off?” I asked him.
“This one is all luck,” he admitted. “I didn’t order the moon, and I didn’t know they had this in their repertoire.” He dipped me.
“This has to be from a Road movie,” I said.
“I think it’s from Road to Morocco. I remember that Bing was wandering in the garden outside Dorothy Lamour’s bedroom, and he enticed her out to walk with him. In her nightgown.”
“Ah, to be Dorothy Lamour,” I sighed.
“Tell me you didn’t have a crush on Bing Crosby!”
“I admit it, I’m a sucker for his voice,” I said, rubbing my hand against his arm.
“You know, Bing always got the girl.”
“Well, it only makes sense. Bob was the funny one, Bing was the dreamy one.” Mick dipped me again. I think he liked the fact that I thought Bing was dreamy.
He brought me back up and enfolded me in his arms again, and started to sing softly into my ear. Everything else fell away.
You're all dressed up to go dreaming,
Now don't tell me I'm wrong.
And what a night to go dreaming;
Mind if I tag along?
If I say I love you,
I want you to know
It's not just because there's moonlight,
Although…moonlight becomes you so.
“I had no idea you could channel Bing Crosby,” I murmured. I was absolutely turning to jelly in his arms, what with the martini and the singing and the full moon.
“He’s the dreamy one,” he answered, with a smile in his beautiful eyes. I put my head on his shoulder.
“It figures,” I said simply. Of course he’d channel Bing.
We danced in silence for a few more minutes. Mick held me close, his dark head bent above me, his lips against my temple.
“Hey…do you mind if we call it a night?” His voice was rumbly and low.
“Nope.”
He effortlessly handled paying the tab, and before I knew it we were riding down the elevator to the lobby. I leaned against Mick, playing with my rose, as we waited for the car to be brought around.
Once we were in the Mercedes, I missed the moon. “Would you mind putting the top down?” I asked.
“Not at all-if you don’t mind having your hair blown around.”
“If you don’t mind, I don’t,” I said.
In answer, Mick pulled to the side of the road and took the top down. In no time we were heading south, down the coast. My hairdo began to pull loose in the breeze of our passage. I reached up and started pulling out bobby pins.
Mick pulled the Mercedes off the coast highway, onto a secluded stretch of frontage road. I guess it pays to have historical knowledge. I wonder if anybody knows about that place any more.
He looked at me for a moment, then drew me into his arms. He kissed me as if it were really the 40’s and we were on a date, and he was breaking all the rules of etiquette.
I’m a New Millennium girl. I reached straight for his crotch. He laughed a little and shook his head. He kissed my hand and laid it on the car seat next to me. Then he started stroking my legs, moving his hands upwards, pushing the silk of my dress aside.
I’m not the type to let a guy make love to me without reciprocating, but this was what Mick wanted. Every time I tried to touch him, he stopped me. This was all about him giving to me, and somehow deriving pleasure from the giving. That idea was foreign to me, but without saying anything, he made me understand how important it was to him. And I can’t lie, it was absolutely delicious to just accept those caresses with no obligation to do anything but react.
He found the tops of my stockings. My heart skipped at least two beats, then started again at double time. He unhooked my garters one-handed. Cool move.
“I should’ve known you’d have these things figured out,” I said, gasping a little at the sensation of his cool hands making their way up my thighs.
“Just like riding a bike.” Those hands kept moving up, and I lost the ability to form words.
“Beth, you're a screen siren right down to your underwear. Wherever did you get a pair of tap pants?” Mick had a laugh and a growl in his voice at the same time. His hands slid up into the loose legs of my quasi-underwear and soon found their way to my most intimate places. He stroked me beneath the satin of my skirt. I was completely clothed, except that he could reach every part of me that he wanted to reach. I melted against the leather seat, looking at the moon, losing myself in the sensation of Mick’s clever, cool fingers playing me like a guitar. Or maybe a piano. As long as he was playing, I didn’t care which instrument I was. I relaxed into the moment and let Mick pleasure me with his hands and, later, his mouth, bathed in the light of the moon.
At the last, I was writhing against the leather seat and gasping his name as he brought me to the pinnacle of ecstasy. Afterwards, we sat holding hands and watching the moon in the sky-inscrutable, serene. The opposite of me.
“Moonlight does become you, Beth. Thank you for a perfect evening,” he said, lifting my hand to his lips.
This man I love, he teaches me new things every day.
<>