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fairytales-and-folklore · 2 months ago

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To His Heart's Content

Moonlight » Mick x Josef

Title: To His Heart's Content

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Moonlight (Masterlist)

Relationship: Mick St. John x Josef Kostan

AO3 Rating: Mature (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Mick St. John is drunk at a party, lamenting the fact that he's secretly in love with his best friend, and can't seem to work up the nerve to ever tell him.

It didn't seem fair that someone so irritatingly immature and self-confident to the point of arrogance could be so ridiculously charming. Always well-dressed, swathed in expensive black and gray suits garnished with splashes of scarlet, burgundy, and violet, with button-up shirts that clung a little too tightly to his finely chiseled chest. Eyes like dark chocolate and espresso all swirled together into one ambrosial concoction, comforting and calming and intoxicating. Devastatingly witty remarks born out of a maverick-minded sense of humor dripping from his soft pink lips, adorned with a heart-clenching pout or a devilish smirk that could bring the entire world to its knees. Mick was always so close, so close to telling him, to inviting the possibility of pressing those lips against his own, but there was never an opportune time. Before he could even work up the nerve to open his mouth, something always came between them, and the moment disappeared, twisting into smoke, another chance lost.

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"Those are headlights. I'm going to die!" Mick exclaimed, but as tragedy would have it, no one could hear him, his cries drowned out by the horrible excuse for music issuing from the speakers in the corner of his best friend's living room.

His vision swerved, as it had been doing for the vast majority of that night, and when he confirmed that he was not, in fact, sitting in the front seat of a car plummeting toward his untimely death, and that the lights shining down from the ceiling were not headlights (or the fires of hell) he stumbled toward the nearest piece of furniture and clung to it like an awkward boyfriend.

"Excuse me, ma'am, where's Josef?" Mick addressed this query to the lampshade standing beside him, whose expensive fabric and tassels did very little to shield Mick's eyes from the blinding golden light emanating from underneath them.

Why he had his head upside down, rudely searching for his best friend under what he thought was a young woman's dress, he wasn't certain. Blame it on the several dozen Kamikazes he'd just downed.

"You look lovely, by the way. Have you lost weight?" he asked the lampshade, his head tilted to the side in concern.

In a rare moment of confidence, and an attempt to mimic what he thought Josef might do in a situation like this, Mick attempted to casually throw an arm around its slender metallic body, but missed by several inches, plummeting to the floor in one very ungraceful stagger, his face colliding with its polished walnut surface with a resounding thwack.

"Shit," he groaned as his drink crashed to the floor beside him, scattering shards of crystal dripping with vodka and triple sec like a halo of shattered ice around his head. It was sheer dumb luck that he hadn't garnered a single cut.

Unsticking his cheek from the floor, Mick made to sit back up, shoulders pressed against the wall, swaying slightly as the lights up above his head swirled in a beautiful, nauseating haze.

The smell of douchebag deodorant and noxious perfume mingled with sweat and vodka issuing from the party guests grinding up against one another in the middle of the dance floor was positively suffocating.

Mick glared at them, envious of the fact that they could freely be with whomever they wanted, damn the consequences. Malcontent with all manner of melancholy thoughts racing through his brain, threatening to kill his buzz, with the world spinning around him in a flurry of fragmented conversation and pulsating, disjointed beats, Mick couldn't help but laugh at his own misfortune.

Here he was, plastered off his ass, and still he couldn't push these torturous thoughts from his mind. He found it troubling. Had alcohol lost its point, if escapism was no longer a valid option? Mick, you shameless alcoholic, he mused.

His laughter escalated into a giggling fit, and, dizzy, he slumped back down onto the floor, laying his head against the gleaming floorboards.

"Mick St. John, truly a man of sophistication," Josef's playfully snarky tone was unmistakable.

Mick's eyes snapped open and he sat up rather quickly, feeling diluted blood filter from his brain. Sure enough, there he was, signature smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he held out his hand for Mick to grasp, lifting him up off the floor in one swift, fluid motion.

"You're drunk," Josef teased, throwing an arm around Mick's shoulders.

"Am not," Mick protested, unable to suppress the fresh bout of giggles that had escaped his lips, especially now that Josef's face was so close in proximity to his own.

He attempted, rather unsuccessfully, to smooth back his disheveled dark brown hair in what he imagined was an offhand, casual way, but it merely flopped back into his eyes and made him feel more stupid than ever before. His insides contracted with the dreadful combination of anxiousness and alcohol. One should never mix poisons.

Josef, noticing that Mick's legs had gone slack, dragged him over to the nearest piece of unoccupied furniture and set him down gently, immediately taking the seat right beside him, and altogether forgetting his drink and the brunette he'd been chatting up just a moment before.

Josef placed the back of his hand against Mick's forehead, a worried crease set in his own.

"Mick, you're burning up," he said, frowning.

Josef trailed his hand along the side of Mick's face, studying the curves and freckles he'd come to memorize after fifty years' friendship.

Mick opened his eyes and turned to stare at Josef, blinking several times until he finally came into focus. Josef breathed a sigh of relief as Mick's lips twisted into a sloppy grin, the lights overhead glinting off his bright white teeth.

"Let's get you some fresh air," Josef said, helping Mick to his feet and snaking an arm around his waist for support.

Mick wondered whether he should feel pathetic for practically being carried around like a child, until he remembered the number of nights he had done the same for Josef. Although, hopefully, this night wouldn't end with his head in the toilet.

In the middle of the wall at the far end of Josef's apartment stood a handsome set of frosted glass doors, leading out onto a wrought-iron balcony that overlooked the entire city. It was nearly dusk now, strokes of grapefruit and blood orange strewn across a smoky sea of charcoal gray, punctuated with the glimmering city lights of Los Angeles.

After all the nightclubs had closed, and flights from lengthy business trips all across the world had brought them back home, this was the place they would always haunt, chasing down whiskey with shots of O-positive, laughing and reminiscing to their hearts' content.

Out on the balcony, with the cool rush of winter air blowing back his loose curls, sweat on the edge of his skin frozen to the back of his neck, Mick felt himself finally start to sober up, if ever so slightly.

His attention was drawn immediately, as it always was, to the man standing beside him. Josef looked thoughtful, perfectly at ease with his arms thrown casually over the ledge, fingers occasionally smoothing back unruly tufts of caramel hair, while Mick pretended to gaze out onto the beautiful California skyline, hoping his impaired senses wouldn't give him away.

It didn't seem fair that someone so irritatingly immature and self-confident to the point of arrogance could be so ridiculously charming.

Always well-dressed, a smug reminder of his lavish success, swathed in expensive black and gray suits garnished with splashes of scarlet, burgundy, and violet, with button-up shirts that clung a little too tightly to his finely chiseled chest.

Eyes like dark chocolate and espresso all swirled together into one ambrosial concoction, comforting and calming and intoxicating.

Devastatingly witty remarks born out of a maverick-minded sense of humor dripping from his soft pink lips, adorned with a heart-clenching pout or a devilish smirk that could bring the entire world to its knees.

Mick was always so close, so close to telling him, to inviting the possibility of pressing those lips against his own, but there was never an opportune time. Before he could even work up the nerve to open his mouth, something always came between them, and the moment disappeared, twisting into smoke, another chance lost.

He knew it couldn't go on like this, letting these feelings devour him so completely. Couldn't stand to watch Josef walk away with yet another woman he barely knew, one that would only satisfy his needs for a fortnight until he grew bored of them and started hunting for new prospects.

How little Josef knew, all he ever needed in a companion was standing right beside him, the space between them growing so fine that Mick could almost taste his inviting scent.

Suddenly, Mick felt Josef shift closer, felt his arm brush up against his jacket, and his heart vaulted into his throat. His mind reacted instinctively, queries and curiosities racing anew, so loud and insistent that he was surprised Josef couldn't hear his mind whirring inside his head.

Is this too close? Should I move?

He doesn't know. He can't know.

It would ruin us. I can't lose him.

But I need to tell him. It's killing me.

All it would take is one simple moment, the right words strung together into the perfect pattern, to change absolutely everything between them, for better or for worse.

In direct defiance of his shaking hands, of the clamor his heart made as it crashed against his ribcage, Mick put his tongue to his teeth, poised on the edge of confessing his best kept secret, and got as far Josef, there's something I've been meaning to— before the frosted glass doors slid open behind them.

Mick let out a gust of breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding in, lowering his head at the sound of her voice.

"Hey, sweetheart. Sorry I'm late. Maureen gave me a lead on this new murder case, and I managed to get a last-minute interview at the morgue. But I hurried over as soon as I could. Oh— am I interrupting something? Hello again, Mick."

She said his name with as much venom as she could muster without it looking too suspicious. Mick didn't even bother to turn around, content with a simple wave to the annoying blonde reporter that Josef had met a few weeks prior, scowling down at all the people going about their happy, uncomplicated lives amidst a sea of bright lights scattered across the map of the bustling city below.

"Hello, love. No, you aren't interrupting anything," Josef responded hastily, his tone dripping with sweet insincerity. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Yes, please," Beth practically moaned.

Mick grimaced. Even without his heightened sense of smell, he could tell that she had absolutely bathed herself in Chanel. And judging by the pheromones, the hastily applied lipstick, and the forced amount of cleavage spilling out over the top of her dress, Mick guessed that she would be expecting a whole lot more than a drink with Josef tonight (and judging by his reputation, she wouldn't be disappointed.)

Lucky bitch.

With a wide, cheeky smile, Beth leaned forward to kiss Josef full on the mouth, before slipping back inside, swaying her hips to the beat of the music. Josef watched her go, shaking his head and sighing heavily. He chanced a glance over at Mick, who hadn't moved an inch from where he was standing.

There was a look in Josef's eyes that Mick couldn't quite decipher. It was deeper than sadness and stronger than disappointment, lost somewhere between regret, anger, and forfeit. But then, like the flicker of a flame, it disappeared, replaced with the same carefully crafted façade of casual indifference that Josef had worn for years.

"I'm sorry, Mick," he said around a forced chuckle. "But Beth gets upset if I leave her waiting too long, so I guess I'm going to have to cut this short. You understand, right?"

Josef hesitated for a fraction of a second, seemingly waiting for a response, perhaps for Mick to protest, to beg him not to go, to tangle him up in a pointless argument that would keep them in each other's company for just a little while longer.

But Mick remained silent, staring straight ahead into the blinding lights of a city grasping at its very last seconds of sleep, pretending not to notice as Josef breathed a heavy sigh and turned away from him, slipping through the sliding glass doors, no doubt in search of his latest conquest.

Mick bit his lip, stomach twisting like he'd just swallowed acid, sick with envy at the thought of the pair of them together. Unbidden, all manner of uninvited thoughts tore through his mind, hard as he tried not to imagine it. He knew how this would all play out.

Long after everyone else had gone home, after the music had died down to a soft lull and the lights had dimmed, Josef would whisper something clever into her ear, and she'd follow him back to his bedroom with a smile worthy of a minx, crimson kisses staining the length of Josef's neck, scarlet painted fingernails clawing at the canvas of his chest as she writhed against him.

Josef would revel in the thrill of sleeping with yet another perfect stranger, running his hands along her form-fitting dress, telling her charming little lies about how she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, all the while wishing he could be with someone else, with someone who actually meant something to him.

And it was all in Mick's head, racing through his mind like sick, twisted phantasmagoria as he stood in the biting December air, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the balcony, but he knew, deep down, that that's exactly how this would all end. Hard as he tried to convince himself otherwise, pathetically clinging to a shred of hope, Mick knew the bitter truth of it.

Josef wouldn't think of Mick tonight.

He wouldn't think of him at all.

#moonlight #mick x josef #mick/josef #mick st. john #josef kostan #moonlight fanfiction #to his heart's content #fairytalesandfolklore #fairytales-and-folklore #fairytalesandfolklore moonlight #fairytalesandfolklore fanfiction

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fairytales-and-folklore · 2 months ago

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Dreading Bells

Moonlight » Mick x Josef

Title: Dreading Bells

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Moonlight (Masterlist)

Relationship: Mick St. John x Josef Kostan

AO3 Rating: Mature (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Mick St. John is getting married, but his heart belongs to someone else.

It would always be like this. This confusion, this tension, consuming them both, digging at their hearts, testing their restraint. Mick would swallow his unexplored feelings along with his pride, stubbornly loyal to the woman who held only half of his heart, and Josef would leave for Los Angeles the next morning, taking the other half with him, masking his feelings with sarcasm and cynicism. Over the years, over the centuries, encompassing their entire existence as immortal beings, no matter what distance came between them, their feelings would always remain, connecting them by an impenetrable heartstring.

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Twelve rows of silk-swathed church pews ranged like crooked teeth in the cathedral's extravagant wedding hall, velvet carpet rolling out over the polished, cherry oak floor like a massive red tongue.

Swarms of snapdragons, larkspur, and lilacs in valentine hues hung like floral daggers from the vaulted ceiling. Queen Anne's lace and baby's breath wove in and out of long, glossy tendrils of hair that had been twisted, curled, flattened, and tousled to perfection.

Five bridesmaids traipsed carelessly throughout the aisles, giggling and shrieking with delight as their ruby stilettos clicked along the hardwood floor, glasses of champagne held high in their manicured hands. Their gowns were the color of sangria; simple yet elegant in their design, cascading to their feet like scarlet waterfalls.

The entire room, with its guests filing in from their respective bedrooms, fidgeting in their seats, filling the silence with distasteful babble, and occasionally glaring daggers at Mick, was waiting to swallow him whole.

He was sweating. There was no chance in hell that the setting sun could reach him from where he stood at the altar, because Beth had, of course, ensured that little detail, and yet, Mick St. John was sweating.

Nerves. Of course I'm nervous, he thought bitterly, biting back a memory of what his first wedding had been like, trying to reassure himself that tonight couldn't possibly be any worse than his wedding night with his ex-wife Coraline had been.

Beth was different. For one thing, she wasn't a fucking vampire.

Well…not yet, anyway. Their agreement, after many long, agonizing discussions, was that Mick was supposed to turn her. Tonight.

It seemed oddly familiar, and horribly ironic that his second wedding night would so painfully parallel his first, only this time he'd be the sire. But at least Beth would know what was coming. She actually wanted it, and Mick was growing tired of denying her.

He thought that it would get easier, as time went on. Thought that if he just gave in and agreed to give her what she so desperately wanted, he would eventually learn to be okay with it. Thought he'd given himself plenty of time to get used to the idea of damning the woman he loved to the same fate that had been forced upon him. Thought he would be ready, even willing, when the date finally arrived.

But the moment he'd woken up this morning, he'd been a war of head versus heart, and as the seconds ticked down to the moment that would forever seal his fate, he'd been plagued by all manner of unwelcome thoughts more fiercely than ever before.

This is wrong. She doesn't deserve to become a monster. You're taking her life, stealing her humanity, subjecting her to a fate worse than death in the worst way imaginable, the logical side of his brain that argued morals and scruples would scold.

But then the other side, the slightly selfish, emotionally overworked, detail dissecting side of his brain would chime in; Mick, you're being stupid. This is your wedding day, stop sulking. If you truly love her, why wouldn't you want to spend the rest of forever with her? Isn't that what you promised her when you asked her to marry you? Or what, were you just going to marry Beth and then let her wither away, while you perpetually remain thirty?

He wasn't entirely sure which side served as the angel and which served as the devil, but he was fairly certain that he hated both of them, and had the overwhelming desire to chuck the nonexistent bastards off of his shoulders and into the nearest bin.

If he was being honest, it had been like this for months, just quietly stewing in the back of his mind on a low simmer, but of course it came full fledged on the day he was finally meant to do it. He wanted to cry out in frustration, to bang his head against the old stone wall repeatedly until the torturous and confusing conversations in his mind ceased to exist.

He almost wished that he had met someone else, someone who was already a vampire, just so he wouldn't have to deal with the trauma of having to inflict that kind of agony and inevitable regret onto an untainted, innocent life.

The transformation itself was bad enough, never mind the hiding, the scrounging, the bloodlust, losing everything and everyone you ever held dear. Mick remembered it well, and the thought of having to subject someone else to that was absolutely killing him.

But Beth had reassured him countless times now that this is what she wanted, and decent vamps worth the trouble of romantic entanglement were few and far between, anyway.

They were either exceptionally arrogant, backstabbing monsters who betrayed their own kind and killed them for profit, like Lola, or complete lunatics who turned people without their consent and kidnapped children in the dead of night, like Coraline.

In fact, there was only one vampire that Mick could tolerate on a daily basis, and that vampire had survived over four hundred years of this damnable existence without letting it go to his head.

Well, mostly.

Speaking of whom…

Mick began searching the crowd for the one person who always knew how to calm him down. He'd be easy enough to spot; just look for the most attractive of Beth's cousins, and you'll find Josef, turning on the charm.

But everywhere his eyes roamed, even after he'd given up on being discreet about it, Mick just couldn't seem to find him. Even more disconcerting was the fact that Josef wasn't up front, standing next to Mick at the altar, giving him advice and cracking sarcastic jokes to quell his nerves, like he was supposed to be. What was the point of having a best man if he was nowhere to be found an hour before the wedding?

Sunlight poured through the massive stained glass window over the mouth of the aisle like a ripened blood orange, bathing the wedding hall in hues of crimson and gold, and making the cramped, raucous room uncomfortably warm.

After ten minutes of intense internal debate, Mick decided that what he truly needed was to get the fuck out of there, at least for a little while. He needed to clear his head, and he couldn't manage the task with all of Beth's relatives constantly staring him down.

Not to mention, he still had a killer hangover from his bachelor party the night before. Vodka fucking sucks, Mick thought bitterly as he made his way down the aisle and out into the reception hall. He breathed a sigh of relief as the cool air cascaded over his face, and the cacophony of conversations was drowned out by the rattling air conditioner above his head.

It is possible for vampires to get drunk, just not very common. Given the choice, most vampires would prefer blood to a Bloody Mary. Vampires have a much higher tolerance for alcohol than humans do, which is why Mick had had to down about twenty shots of Smirnoff before he'd even felt buzzed.

He hadn't even wanted to go out in the first place, but Josef had managed to coax him into accompanying him to an obscure little strip club in downtown London. The Modern Rouge, an obvious rip-off of the Parisian original, was a smoky little place with a small stage where vivacious young women dressed like harlots and harlequins coiled themselves around poles, shoving their breasts in the faces of lonely alcoholics and acne-ridden adolescents who had managed to slip past security with poorly-crafted fake IDs.

By the time Mick was about forty shots in, and the bartender was eyeing him up with equal parts admiration and concern for his health and sanity, Josef had another nightmarish surprise for him. Snapping his fingers like an impatient director, he called over one of the women they'd seen dancing on the stage earlier in the night.

A coquettish smile curled across her scarlet painted lips as she caught sight of her favorite client. Slowly, in what she probably imagined was a seductive sort of way that Mick simply couldn't appreciate, she strolled toward their table, swathed in the tightest blood red corset that Mick had ever seen, black fishnet tights spider-webbing up her long, tanned legs.

Up close, she had the complexion of an orange that had sat out in the sun for far longer than was necessary, her strawberry blonde hair done up in infantile pigtails that spilled across the curves of her collarbones.

"Treat him well, Rosaline," Josef teased as he slipped her a hundred pound note and gestured in the general direction of Mick's lap.

"Oh no, really, that's okay," Mick said hastily, pouring every ounce of his concentration into collecting the salt that licked the edge of Josef's margarita glass on the tips of his tequila-moistened fingers.

The small, chipped wooden table between them was scattered with empty margarita and martini glasses, decorated shot glasses, and drained mugs of Sex On The Beach. He was definitely starting to feel it: the dizziness, the swaying, the stupidity. He was even starting to forget what Beth looked like. This had to stop.

"Mick, come on. It's your last night as a free vamp— I mean, a free man. Are you really going to deny this lovely woman the pleasure of your last night as a bachelor?" Josef asked around a melodramatic pout as he pretended to look offended.

"Josef, no. That's enough," Mick said firmly, slurring the last few words as his vision swerved. Josef rolled his eyes and then shot Rosaline an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, love. I guess matrimonial commitment can make a man lose his sanity. Promise you'll save me some for later?" he teased, squeezing her waist before he let her go, which made her giggle uncontrollably.

As she slipped around the corner and out of earshot, Josef turned to face Mick, a suggestive smirk poised on his lips.

"Need a drink?" Josef asked, his eyebrows arched. Mick nodded vigorously, understanding that Josef was referring to a very different, and infinitely lovelier type of drink than the ones they had been consuming all night. One that was definitely not served at any of the local bars. At least, not legally.

Shaking off blurred memories of the night before, Mick stared around the vast reception hall, trying to decide which corridor he wanted to take. During his stay at the cathedral, he had explored as much of the inside of it as he possibly could, fascinated by its age, by all of the history it must hold.

After all, he couldn't exactly go outside. The sun was shining brighter than usual today, reflecting off the freshly fallen December snow, hammering in through the stained glass windows of the corridors, glaring at Mick as he tried to dodge it behind corners and down dark passageways like a twisted game of hide and seek.

Still, despite his pounding headache and miserable disposition, he couldn't help but notice just how beautiful it was on the inside. It was built differently than other European cathedrals, and perhaps that was why Mick appreciated it.

Unique in its features, this particular cathedral was comprised of a multitude of magnificent ceremonial halls, as well as three additional floors acting as an old monastery, all in one colossal cathedral. No longer in use for religious purposes, it had essentially become a tourist attraction, its ceremonial halls playing host to all manner of celebrations, its old bedchambers serving as luxurious hotel rooms. And Josef had reserved not just the wedding hall, but the entire cathedral, as a special treat for everyone involved in the wedding party.

It was easy enough for him, as were most of his monetary conquests, given that he was one of the most powerful men in Los Angeles, and wealthy beyond belief. It was sentimental to Josef; his parents had been married in this church, back when it was first built in the 1600's. He had even attended masses here.

That was, of course, before he became a vampire, back when he was a good little boy living in England with his mummy and daddy. It was no surprise that he wanted his best friend to get married in a place that held so much meaning to him, considering that it was very unlikely that the perpetually single, shamelessly promiscuous Josef Kostan would be getting down on one knee any time soon.

Mick wandered the darkened hallways, dimly lit by flickering candles, through ancient mahogany doors with huge, rusting metal knockers in the shape of lion's heads that lead into lavish bedchambers, having once belonged to the sisters of the convent, but that now housed several of his wedding guests.

He became lost in corridors and up winding stairways that felt like they were stolen from a castle in a fairytale. That's kind of what Beth and I are, he mused. A strange, warped fairytale, where she's the princess and I'm the monster.

His hands began to shake again, and though he tried to shrug off the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of what he'd promised to do tonight, he just couldn't. He tried to steady his mind, to think of anything else other than the thought of turning Beth. Oddly enough, it worked, though not exactly in the way he'd expected.

A cascade of memories flashed across his mind: the first time they'd ever met, the first time they shared drinks and stories of their lives before they'd been turned, the first time they got so drunk they'd ended up on Mick's rooftop back in Los Angeles, spilling every secret they'd ever kept locked away from the rest of the world, the first time they both realized that they could trust one another completely. All of his fears, his worries, his issues with trust dissipating at the realization that, after all this time, he'd finally found the one person on whom he could thoroughly rely.

And after tonight, after Beth quit Buzzwire and Mick retired from his life as a private investigator, and they moved to the quiet, modest cottage that Beth had selected for them in Stratford-Upon-Avon, Mick would scarcely be able to see him. He hated how much it tore him apart.

At first, it didn't really register in his mind where his wandering had led him, whose bedroom he now stood mere meters from. As though he had sensed that Mick was out here, lurking in the candlelit corridor, thoughts of the pair of them burning in his mind like a wildfire, there he was, rounding the corner and whistling a cheerful theme to a show that he probably imagined he was the star of.

"Mick," he gasped, coming to a halt, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Josef, I…I was just taking a walk to—"

"Clear your head. Yeah, I figured."

Of course he knew. Josef always knew.

"Actually, I was sort of looking for you. I was downstairs, and you were—"

"Up here. Just casually prowling the corridors like a lion on the hunt," Josef joked with a half-hearted attempt at a smirk.

"I was starting to get worried you weren't—"

"Coming? Come on, Mick, give me a little credit," he scoffed, mock offended. "You think I'm the flight risk? You're the one getting married in under an hour, yet you're nowhere near the ceremonial hall."

He sneered the word married like it was a death sentence. Mick merely stared at him, his lips pressed into a hard, thin line. Josef sighed, smirk fading to something more solemn as he took in the sight of Mick's anguished expression.

"Need to talk?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Mick nodded resolutely, looking for all the world like a lost puppydog. Josef heaved another great sigh, before slinging an arm around Mick's shoulders and leading him through the massive oak door at the end of the hallway.

Josef's bedroom suited him well. Lit up by a string of bright red paper lanterns dangling from the ceiling, the only source of light aside from the ever-growing shadow of the setting sun in the stained glass window above his gigantic four-poster bed.

The bed itself sat untouched, perfectly pristine beside its rival, a stainless steel industrial freezer, laid open, swirls of icy current circling above it like smoke. Josef strolled across the hardwood floor and promptly shut the lid of his bed, cursing lightly as he did so.

Mick couldn't help but smile as he took in the sight of it all. Being in Josef's room again felt just as comfortable and inviting as it had the night before.

After Mick and Josef had left The Modern Rouge, they had waltzed their way through the heart of the bright and bustling city of London, homesick for Los Angeles. Josef had swiped a bottle of whiskey from the bar and was taking hearty gulps of it, swaying about as he danced clumsily in the streets, singing Fly Me To The Moon at the top of his lungs, and trying to convince Mick that he'd thought up the lyrics before Frank had.

Mick merely chuckled and shook his head, wrapping his leather jacket tightly around his shoulders and frowning at the thought of never hearing Josef's atrocious singing voice ever again. At least, not nearly as much.

They'd promised to visit each other as often as they could, of course, but Mick knew the chances of that were one in a million. He would be occupied with taming a very feral Beth through her first years as a newly turned vampire, and Josef was a busy man.

Somehow, they had made it back to the cathedral and up three flights of stairs to Josef's bedroom. There, they split tall glasses of Scotch, followed by chasers of A and O positive from the large stock Josef had packed for the weekend.

After that, the night became increasingly more difficult to remember. All Mick could recall with absolute certainty was laughing his ass off with Josef, arguing over the differences in blood type between blondes and redheads, and making fun of pop culture's ridiculous images of vampires over the decades.

Dracula, they'd decided, was mind-numbingly dull (Josef could attest to that. He had actually met him, after all.) Spike and Angel were lovesick fools fighting over a hunter who wouldn't hesitate to do them in if they ever even thought of stepping out of line. And Twilight…well, they certainly had a hearty chuckle over those sparkly bastards.

Together, they collapsed backward onto the soft silken comforter of Josef's king-sized bed, bursts of laughter punctuated with contented sighs, reminiscing over all of their misadventures over the past fifty years.

At around 5AM, Josef had half-walked, half-carried Mick back to his bedroom on the second floor, propping him up against the door, and wishing him luck for the following evening.

For a few moments, they had simply stared at one another, neither of them willing to depart company just yet, Josef still giggling, Mick half-asleep, slumping to his knees in the corridor.

And then, without word or warning, Josef had wrapped his arms around Mick's shoulders and placed a gentle kiss to the top of his forehead, whispering please don't leave me, before retreating to his own chambers, watching over his shoulder as Mick clumsily grasped the door handle and shuffled his way into his bedroom to fall asleep next to his fiancée.

But of course, this last little detail, Mick could not remember in the slightest.

"Hung over?" Josef asked, smirking at Mick's frustrated expression.

"Unless jackhammers have taken up permanent residence inside my head, then yes," he replied, rubbing his forehead gingerly.

"Yeah, me too…whiskey?" Josef chuckled, already pouring himself a glass.

For a moment, Mick looked as though he was about to argue, to scold Josef for being such a shameless lush…but then his features fell, and he gave a half-hearted shrug instead.

"Eh, why not?" Mick sighed, accepting the snifter from Josef's outstretched hands. He sipped it lightly, distracted. Josef took his own glass, walked over to the bed and sat down along the edge, one arm outstretched, supporting his weight. He waved his glass in Mick's direction, motioning for him to speak.

"I know you need to rant," he said. "So, whenever you're ready, I'll be over here, pretending to listen."

Mick laughed, sighed heavily, and placed his glass of whiskey on the floor. He began pacing, the glow of the sunset following him, casting his shadow like a silent monster lurking behind him, and blurted out the thoughts that were gaining too much weight to fit into the cramped confines of his mind.

"Josef, I'm such an idiot. How can I marry her? Our kinds don't mix. Look, I know. I know. You can have your little freshies every once in a while, and that's fine, but that's not me and…she wants me to turn her, Josef! Tonight. How can I even begin to…I have no idea how to…I'm not even sure if I want to. Not because I don't love her. I do. I mean…no, I do. I love her. And of course I want to spend the rest of my life with her. It's just…it totally fucking parallels my wedding night, you know? It's been bringing back all of these horrible memories for me ever since I first agreed to it. And I can't, Josef, I just can't…"

Mick collapsed to the floor, scraping his shoulders along the jagged stone wall near the door of Josef's bedroom, tears trailing down his face. He hadn't even realized he'd started crying until he felt the moisture seep into the fabric of his black dress jacket. Hadn't even realized that Josef had moved before he was crouching down beside him, draping his arms around Mick's shoulders and holding him close.

"Mick, you'll be fine. You'll get through this," Josef reassured him.

Wrapped up in Josef's arms, Mick felt himself finally start to relax. He nodded slowly and made to get up from the hardwood floor, but the weight of Josef's embrace kept him grounded. He felt one of Josef's hands gently cradling the side of his cheek, tilting his chin up until they were face to face, eyes locked onto one another's.

The sudden closeness made a strange spark of adrenaline jolt through his chest, but he didn't pull away. He just continued to stare into Josef's vibrant hazel eyes.

He'd never truly noticed just how lovely they were. Like caramel swirled into coffee. Like finely-aged whiskey. Classic, charming, comforting.

Hell, Josef even smelled comforting, and Mick felt an odd, overwhelming desire to pull Josef's face impossibly closer to his own and just drown in it. Mick tried not to linger on that thought, because truthfully, it didn't scare him as much as it probably should have.

After a few moments, Mick shook his head, prying his eyes away from Josef's, though he remained right where he was, dipping his head into the palms of his hands, and scrubbing his fingers through his hair. Josef eased himself up off the floor, and began pacing the length of the room, just as Mick had done earlier.

He knit his brows together, tapping a finger lightly on his chin. Suddenly, he turned back to face Mick, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

"If it's the turning process you're worried about, that's easy. That is, if you actually want to succeed," Josef smirked. Mick shot him a warning glare, wiping the smile clean off of Josef's face.

"Kidding. You know that. I'm just saying, man, all of eternity is an awfully long time to spend with just one person. Unless, of course, you spend it with the right person."

He stopped pacing for a moment, fixing Mick with a pointed, expectant sort of look, seemingly waiting for Mick to arrive at some kind of grand epiphany, but Mick simply shook his head, a sorrowful expression on his face.

The faster his thoughts swirled, the harder his head pounded. He sank into reverie, replaying past conversations, painful memories, and difficult decisions that, it seemed, held no right answer.

It's time you stopped hating what you are, Josef's voice chimed in his head. It was ironic that the side of his brain that encouraged Mick to turn Beth sounded so very much like Josef, given that Josef was normally so against the idea of vampires and mortals falling in love.

But maybe it was just because he was so used to Josef's playful jabs at his own stubbornness that spurred the voice's likeness to his best friend, or the fact that Josef was always the one picking him up every time he fell down a spiral of self-loathing, reminding him of all the beauty that still existed in this dark and twisted world.

Josef typically held all the answers. He was rarely ever wrong when it came to dissecting the human psyche and getting to the heart of what Mick truly needed to hear. Not that Mick would ever openly admit that. No need to feed Josef's overgrown ego, after all.

But maybe he was right. Maybe it was okay to go against everything you ever thought you knew if it meant getting to spend the rest of forever with the right person.

And after all, it had been decades since he'd finally let Coraline go. Sure, she'd turned him on their wedding night without his knowledge or consent. And sure, she'd strung him along more times than he could count, only to cut him short and leave him high and dry to cope with the horrors and complexities of his unwanted immortality. Obviously, a traumatic experience like that was bound to leave it scars.

But she was nothing like Beth. Sweet, beautiful, confident Beth, who loved him unconditionally, loved him in spite of the fact that he was a monster.

And really, shouldn't that in itself be enough? There was no chance in hell he was ever going to find another person who loved him the way that Beth did, surely. What other reason could he possibly have for not wanting to spend the rest of his existence with her?

Mick snapped his head in Josef's direction, his mind made up.

"So, how exactly do you turn someone?" he asked.

"What?" Josef spluttered, choking on the large sip of whiskey he'd just taken.

"I need you to tell me how to turn Beth," he said slowly, measuring Josef's expression.

He knew that this was a touchy subject for Josef, given that his first attempt had rendered his past love, Sarah Whitley, unconscious, but Mick had to try. After all, Josef's second attempt had worked perfectly. Mick was living…well, un-living proof of that. Josef blinked a few times before he regained his composure, swishing the remnants of his whiskey in his glass, before downing it completely.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Josef asked, placing the empty glass on a table in the far corner. Mick stared at him for a moment, his thoughts racing, making his head spin. After what seemed like ages, he nodded. He had made a promise to Beth, and he was determined to keep it, no matter how conflicted he might feel about it.

"Look, Mick, it's not an exact science, okay? And I'm not the most experienced—"

"Josef, you're the only one I know with experience in siring. I promised her I'd do this for her, tonight. I can't risk getting it wrong," Mick pleaded, his expression solemn.

"Alright, alright, fine. If this is really what you want. But remember, after you turn her, you're stuck with her. Unless you've got a flamethrower," Josef chuckled.

Mick rolled his eyes impatiently.

"Oh, come on, Mick, grow a sense of humor. I get it. You're in love. People in love do stupid things, like get married," he scoffed. He eyed Mick up, smirking, and then added, "Weren't you the one who proposed, anyway? I haven't seen you this uptight since you dragged me along to pick out the ring."

Mick closed his eyes, his expression pained.

Josef's smile fell from his lips as he resumed his harried pacing.

"Well, to turn someone who's actually willing is relatively simple. You find the place on their body that's most vulnerable. Typically that's the neck, along the side where that big artery we love so much is. You'll be able to tell. The smell will just…anyway, sorry. Vampire bloodlust, rah rah rah. Anyway, the first step is, obviously, to administer the bite. And then, very carefully, drain their body of at least half of their blood. It's important not to drain all of it, of course, but just enough so that they're near death. Then, make an incision in your skin, preferably your forearm so it's easy to access, and then feed them your blood. That way, you've got some of theirs, they've got some of yours. It's like you're mixing both of your essences together, creating an irrevocable bond between sire and newly-turned vampire that's unlike any other."

He halted and turned to face Mick. In that moment, Josef's eyes bore into his with such an intensity that it made Mick smile. He remembered the process vaguely, having once asked Josef to re-turn him several years prior, when he had sacrificed his temporary mortal cure in order to save Beth's life. It was amusing to hear Josef describing anything, let alone the siring process, with so much passion and reverence.

"Josef Kostan, you hopeless romantic," Mick teased, chuckling lightly. "You make it sound so intimate."

"It is intimate, Mick," Josef protested, his voice dropping to a strangled whisper.

After a moment, he cleared his throat, shook his head, and resumed his pacing, quicker and more frenzied this time. It made Mick a bit dizzy. This stop-and-go version of Josef was getting quite distracting.

"So, yeah, that's how you turn someone," Josef finished, rather lamely. He had the strangest expression on his face, and Mick couldn't quite place what it was, but he didn't have time to decipher one of Josef's random mood swings.

"Show me," Mick said, rising to his feet, draining his glass in one swallow and placing it on the table with a subtle clink next to Josef's.

A simple explanation wasn't good enough for him. He was still afraid that he would mess it up, and he couldn't risk Beth's life like that, dangling her existence between the very fine line of eternity and death like Josef had accidentally done with Sarah. He needed to feel confident, absolutely certain of what he was doing, before he took such a risk.

Josef had stopped mid-stride, looking thoroughly vexed.

"I already told you how to—"

"I know. And now I need you to show me. I'm terrified I'm gonna fuck this up, okay? I need your help," he pleaded.

With a frustrated sigh, Josef walked over to where Mick stood in the center of the room.

"Well, as I said, you grab hold of them, like this."

Josef grasped at Mick's shoulders, a little more roughly than was entirely necessary, and pulled him into his chest.

"And then you…well, you just find the vein I'm referring to."

"Which is where?" Mick asked, growing impatient with Josef's odd reluctance.

"For fuck's sake, Mick, do I have to show you everything?" Josef huffed, running a hand through his short, honey blond hair. He wrapped his arms around Mick's shoulders, leaning slowly into the curve of his neck, easily finding the place he'd described.

Suddenly, all of Mick's memories of the time that Josef had turned him flooded his mind like a forgotten dream. Last time, there was such a suffocating sense of urgency, filled with tension and anxiety, as Beth's safety had hung in the balance, pivotal on getting it just right. This time, it was slower, more precise, just how Mick had promised himself he'd do it for Beth. But this…this felt different than anything he could have ever imagined.

Josef's lips parted, his warm breath tickling the tiny hairs on the back of Mick's neck, making them stand on end. His body tensed slightly as Josef's mouth trailed along the side of his neck, fangs prodding into Mick's skin, but never piercing him.

He found himself basking in Josef's comforting scent. It held all the usual notes; cinnamon and clove, cigar smoke and cognac, but there was something deeper to it, something more than just the familiar, inviting scent that always lingered on Mick's clothing after a night spent together in Josef's apartment.

Josef's neck and his shoulders and his chest smelled just like his embrace felt: warm, comfortable, inviting, a dark sweetness that Mick had the extreme desire to melt into. With a startling jolt, Mick realized that Josef smelled like home.

Without thinking, Mick placed his lips on Josef's neck in a mirror motion, needing to bring the warmth and comfort of his best friend closer. Josef sighed softly as Mick slid his lips to the peak of Josef's neck, breathing in the smell of his hair, shivering with longing at the taste of Josef's skin against his lips. He allowed his own fangs to slide down, nibbling softly along the canvas of Josef's neck.

Josef's hands found their way into Mick's hair, fingers tangling into the disheveled, dark brown tendrils. His breathing quickened as he brushed his lips along the side of Mick's neck, teeth softly biting along his resilient skin.

A shiver ran down Mick's spine at Josef's touch, like ice had been dragged along the length of his back. Mick felt a moan escape his lips, and suddenly he could no longer taste Josef's neck, but Josef's lips against his own, rough and demanding and pleading, and yet sweet and searching all at the same time.

His thoughts pulled away from Beth entirely as he sank into the kiss, needing to deepen it, needing the warmth and the comfort he so desperately sought in the man he'd known for nearly fifty years. They poured everything, absolutely everything, every memory they'd ever shared, every night they'd ever spent in close companionship, every secret and regret, into that kiss.

He didn't understand the strange jolt he'd felt the moment Josef had touched him, like fire had been injected into his veins. He was too far gone to think about what he was doing, or why he was doing it, anymore.

All he knew was that Josef was the source of his comfort, the source of his bliss. In this moment, his heart beat for Josef, his breathing quickened at Josef's touch, his happiness tethered solely to the comforting embrace of Josef's company.

He wanted to grab him by the front of his black jacket, rip off the blood red button up shirt that constricted his chest, and push him up against the wall, pressing his body against Josef's completely. He wanted to kiss him like he'd never kissed anyone before.

And yet, all at the same time, he wanted to get the hell out of there. To hide from Josef and all of these strange, all-encompassing new feelings that were crashing down around him like ocean waves in the eye of a storm. Away from Beth and her dangerous desires. Away from this whole fucking nightmare of a wedding chapel.

Overwhelmed, he pulled suddenly from Josef's embrace. He was shaking slightly, out of breath, his heart racing faster than his thoughts could comprehend whatever the fuck had just happened between them.

He slowly lifted his head to meet Josef's eyes. They held more than their usual vibrant exuberance, but Mick couldn't quite place what exactly sparked in them. Sadness. Confusion. Desire. Lust. Love. Pain. Resentment.

His head was spinning with questions, mostly rhetorical, and once again he felt the fleeting annoyance that, even in his own head, he didn't have the appropriate space and silence to think properly, without another war raging him into insanity.

This is wrong. He's your best friend. How could you have let this happen? How could you have done this to Beth? Sweet, wonderful Beth. Ethereal angel, dressed in a wedding gown, waiting for you at the altar. You're a monster. A cheat. A scoundrel. A liar. A slew of well-deserved insults pounded through his mind. The self-inflicted verbal abuse felt like retribution.

But then, another voice spoke up, and he could almost feel the heat of the little devil skulking on his shoulder. Figments of his imagination had never felt more real. It taunted him, sneered at him, its voice like venom in his ear.

Your fault? Of course this isn't your fault. Josef made the first move, poisoned you with his charm and his insatiable lust. And Beth is entirely too demanding. She decided everything, mapped out your entire future without even bothering to ask if that's what you truly wanted. You know it makes you angry, but you never let it show. Mick St. John, the doormat, the carpet. Let them walk all over you…

Mick ground his teeth and felt his fingers clench into fists. He allowed the anger to surge through him, fabricating all manner of sick, twisted lies and excuses. Anger at Beth for asking him to turn her when she knew how much that would hurt him, for making him move away from the place that had been his home for more than eighty years.

Anger at Josef for forcing him to spend all of last night out on the town, resulting in a horrendous hangover. Anger at the lingering softness of Josef's lips forever etching their memory onto his own. Anger at his gentle hands, his stupid smirk, his gorgeous hazel eyes.

He wanted to hate Josef for making him feel this way. For allowing him to fuck up so completely that he very nearly damaged their friendship, his last remaining source of comfort, not to mention his relationship with Beth.

Mick stared at him, almost glaring, letting his undeserved anger and resentment consume him, blaming Josef for his inability to comprehend these foreign feelings racing through his heart and mind. Josef recoiled, his eyes wide and questioning, his mouth twitching into a frown. His sorrowful eyes never left Mick's cold glare.

The sight of it tore Mick to pieces, and just like that, the spell was broken. His expression softened immediately. He felt all of the anger pour out of him, replaced with an extreme sense of guilt that made him want to run to Josef, to hold him and protect him and kiss every inch of his face until he was sure that Josef's pain had gone.

But instead, Mick remained right where he was, frozen on the spot, and the two men simply stood there, staring at one another for what felt like ages. Neither one moving, nor blinking, as the sunset faded, sinking below the stained glass, leaving only the glow of the bright red paper lanterns suspended above them.

"Mick," Josef whispered, breaking the silence between them. "Have you ever considered the idea that maybe Beth isn't the one you're supposed to be with?"

Mick opened his mouth…once, twice, three times…but he simply couldn't bring himself to admit it. He shook his head as if to clear it, clawing his hands through his hair as he stared at Josef, completely dumbfounded.

Josef closed the space between them, grasping at the lapels of Mick's jacket and pressing his body into Mick's, sliding smoothly against him, black pinstripe mating with white. Mick held his best man in his arms, burying his face deep into Josef's neck, consuming his scent, reveling in it for what may very well be the last time.

Josef let out a sigh and nuzzled into Mick's shoulder. Mick gripped him impossibly tighter, afraid that if he let go, Josef would twist into smoke, leaving him with nothing but incoherent memories and painful longing.

It should have been simple. It should have been easy.

But nothing in this hellish afterlife ever is.

Josef closed his eyes and let out a bittersweet chuckle, his lips forcing a smile that looked about as genuine as a grimace. Mick brushed the side of Josef's cheek with the back of his hand. For a moment, as if on instinct, Josef leaned into the caress, but then froze, heaving a sigh as he carefully removed Mick's hand from his cheek, and held it briefly in his own.

"If that's a no, then I suppose…your fiancée is waiting for you," Josef whispered, his eyes still closed.

Mick opened his mouth, willing the right words to come, though he knew, deep down, that there was nothing more to be said. Their choices, pre-set and promised, sealed their very separate futures from one another.

Mick had obligations, like a living, breathing bride whom he had promised his heart to. And Josef…Josef was a complicated man, about as difficult to decipher as the scrolls of an old, dead language, and ever-changing as the currents.

How could Mick ever truly be certain that Josef wouldn't eventually grow bored of him, tired of being tied down to just one person? The idea of abandoning everything he had built with Beth, of putting all of his trust into something so new and uncertain, something that could potentially tear the last remaining threads of their friendship to pieces if it didn't live up to both of their expectations, was positively terrifying.

And yet, part of him yearned to take that leap, to throw caution to the wind and run away together, just the two of them, back home to the idyllic lights and buzz of Los Angeles, to live out the rest of their infinite days in their very own fairy tale happy ending, because if anyone was worth the risk, it was Josef, because hard as he tried to fight against it, he couldn't ignore the painful tugging in his chest, begging to pull him closer to—

Josef.

But real life wasn't anything like a fairy tale, and there was no telling how this one would end. Better to make a clean break now than set their friendship on fire and potentially watch it burn to the ground.

…wasn't it?

After several moments, Mick gave a curt nod, his smile mournful as he reached up to place a delicate kiss to the top of Josef's forehead. He ran his fingers along the edge of Josef's jacket, smoothing out imaginary ruffles and straightening his black silk tie with delicate care, grasping for a reason to stay close to him for just a little while longer.

With a heavy sigh, Mick began making his way to the edge of the room, catching a glimpse of Josef before he turned the handle, his smile faltering, his eyes questioning. Josef looked up from where he stood in the center of the room, hands shoved ungracefully into his pockets, so that he looked like a misbehaved schoolboy.

"You'll be fine," Josef reassured him, his lips pressed into a hard, thin line in a shoddy attempt at a smile. "I'll see you down there, Mick."

Mick let out a small sigh, forced another stiff nod, and finally, after what felt like ages, tore his eyes away from his best friend. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion.

He reached the threshold, slowing his steps on the off chance that Josef would come running and beg him to stay. But Josef remained right where he was, ever the man of pride and principle, his back turned to Mick, another full glass of amber whiskey in his hands, staring out through the stained glass window where the sun had just set below the horizon.

It would always be like this. This confusion, this tension, consuming them both, digging at their hearts, testing their restraint.

Mick would swallow his unexplored feelings along with his pride, stubbornly loyal to the woman who held only half of his heart, and Josef would leave for Los Angeles the next morning, taking the other half with him, masking his feelings with sarcasm and cynicism.

Over the years, over the centuries, encompassing their entire existence as immortal beings, no matter what distance came between them, their feelings would always remain, connecting them by an impenetrable heartstring.

#moonlight #mick x josef #mick/josef #mick st. john #josef kostan #moonlight fanfiction #dreading bells #fairytalesandfolklore #fairytales-and-folklore #fairytalesandfolklore moonlight #fairytalesandfolklore fanfiction

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