Title: A Step Forward
Pairing: Mike "The Miz" Mizanin and Alex Riley aka Mizley aka the best thing ever in the history of anything!
Rating: T
Summary: It's Mike's Christmas party and he can cry if he wants to…just as long as Alex is there to comfort him.
Disclaimer: WWE owns the characters, I own the rest.
A/N: I was wondering how long it would take before I wrote my first post-Convergence fic…and what it'd be about…and now I know.
A curved path is drawn – invisible, yet known. It separates those who prefer to mingle from those who choose to dance.
Mike walks this line, casually and deliberately sipping on his eggnog as he stares at a man at the center of the floor, dancing like he doesn't have a care in the world.
The cold, rich, silky, milky liquid rolls over his warm tongue as if he'd rather absorb it instead of consume it. He swims in this moment as long as he can, overtaken by vivid memories of passionate exchanges that arrest his every thought. A slight pressure is applied, the edge of the glass pressing to the inside of his bottom lip, letting it tug on him; wanting it not to be the glass. There's a certain glint in his eye he knows he has to hide, so he reluctantly peels his gaze away. Steps back from the line and heads towards a small group engaged in idle prattle. The confidence he was feeling fizzles, his cool demeanor diminishing. Although, no one would notice because he's able to mask the disappointment he's currently feeling behind a smile he's spent years perfecting.
As far as Christmas parties go, Mike would rank the one he's currently hosting as, well, to put it lightly, not what he envisioned. Of course, if any of his friends or co-workers would ask him, he'd proclaim it as the absolute best, boasting that no other party could compare, but inside, he knows it could be better. And he knows why. He knows exactly what's missing.
And because of that clawing, gnawing knowledge, he can't help but glance back towards the center of the room, to the man who always manages to steal his full and undivided attention. He stretches the momentary glance into a full-on fixation. At least Alex is enjoying himself and the practiced smile he's grown all too accustomed to over the years is replaced with a genuine one. One that's reserved only for his boyfriend.
He watches the man he loves bounce to the beat of a raucous version of some Christmas song. He should know the name of it since he personally added it to an extended playlist earlier in the week, but seeing Alex so happy makes it hard for him to concentrate on anything else. If not for his hosting duties, he likes to think he'd be out there, too, carving a path as close to Alex as he could possibly get without revealing his true motives. But instead, he watches from a distance, swaying his body automatically, complementary, as if there's no space between them.
There's a voracious yearning inside for Alex to look up at him and that silent summons is quickly obeyed, their magnetic blues locking on tight. Burning shock of electric light! As if that wasn't enough, Mike's equilibrium is knocked off kilter when the handsome man shoots a smile his way – dimples and all. It's absolutely contagious, causing Mike to grin so hard it makes his cheeks sore. This kind of emotion is much harder to hide, but he tries. Another sip of his eggnog should do the trick. He brings the glass up to his mouth, the edge of it clanking against his teeth as he attempts to conceal his elation.
Seeing the effect he has on Mike and knowing how Mike affects him forces Alex to look away and focus on the woman in front of him, as if she's the one who's made him smile. And Mike understands why he must, but that smile is meant for him and always will be. Nothing will ever change that.
He continues sipping on his eggnog as he pretends to listen to the conversation buzzing all around him, but really, he's lost in the dance he's secretly sharing with Alex.
The song comes to an end and fades into the next. But it's softer. You can't jump around to this one. As if they're programmed to do so, every man and every woman on the open floor move a step closer to their designated partner. Everyone except for Alex. He looks to Mike again and with a slight hesitation – if only to create anticipation – he, too, takes a step forward and then another and another. Mike's held captive, watching in awe as Alex cuts straight through the couples, straight through to him, never once averting his steady, determined gaze. He enters Mike's personal space and Mike can feel his core temperature skyrocket, his custom made suit proving to be an all too effective insulator. He feels a peppery burn in his eyes and in the bridge of his nose as his vision ripples with unfiltered emotion.
Alex holds out his hand, palm up, empty and waiting. "May I have this dance, my love?"
Mike catches his breath. He wants to look around, wants to see how people are reacting to this courageous display of affection, but it doesn't matter. He smiles that smile that's reserved only for Alex and places his hand in his. Together, they walk out to the center of the floor, the other couples courteously stepping aside and stopping to watch the pair as they make their way to the same spot where they shared their previous dance, but this time people can see it. As Alex pulls him close, Mike wonders if everyone is staring at them in the same way it feels like they are – like they approve. But he wouldn't dare break his hold on Alex to find out.
The two men move with each other; gracefully. Swaying together, turning with the clock ever so slightly with each step. Their essence, their being, showcased as one for everyone to witness. It's a complete surrendering – Mike releasing every fear and doubt he's clamped down on for as long as he's known Alex. So safe in these arms, so protected. Why would he ever want to leave? But then he has no choice. With a spontaneous twirl, Alex spins his partner outwards. The euphoric rush makes Mike laugh out loud – Alex, too – and the grand gesture of pulling him back in is met with jubilant applause and overwhelming vocalized support – louder than he's ever received during any match. But then the clapping is deafening and right next to his ear, jarring enough to rip his attention away from his partner. With a defensive scowl, he looks over to find Dolph Ziggler in exaggerated hysterics.
"That's classic, man!"
"What?"
"Nice one, dude," the annoying superstar mocks, pointing to Mike's chest. "You didn't even notice you spilled your drink."
Mike grimaces as he looks down to his belly wet and sticky from his eggnog. "Dick," he growls, tersely excoriating Ziggler for his incessant snickering. But he's confused and embarrassed–
His glass…it's in his hand.
But the dance. He doesn't remember holding his drink while he was dancing. Though, when he thinks about it, he doesn't remember ever putting it down either.
He looks up to the center of the large room, realizing he never crossed that dividing line to the dance floor. That heaviness he thought he finally freed himself of pushes down on him as he spots Alex and his face drops; feels that burning in his eyes again, but this time it's really happening. His boyfriend is dancing with the same woman as before, his strong arms loosely wrapped around the slim waist of the unwanted stand-in as they rock back and forth to the same song he was just dancing to. But now he knows that never happened.
Responding to Mike's unspoken plea again, Alex looks up and just as his sights fall on his boyfriend's aching expression, Mike turns around and storms out of the room.
The aggrieved host escapes to his den. Opens the massive double doors feeling angry with himself for drifting off into a daydream of something that could never happen. He should know better than to allow such an impossibility to enter his headspace. Nothing good ever comes of it. And now he's just made a fool out of himself in front of everyone.
After shutting the doors behind him, he mopes into the room. Sets his glass down on the coffee table and removes his suit jacket with an audible huff. He studies the stain. So small compared to the amount of trouble it's spawned. Carefully, he dabs the excess spillage with a couple tissues, wouldn't want to make it worse, and wonders if he'll be able to wear it for the remainder of the evening. If it were any other suit, he wouldn't give it a second thought. He'd change and that would be that, but it's not just any other suit. He's bummed because it's his favorite suit and he wore it for a reason. Wanted to look his best, wanted to be taken seriously. But even then, it was all for Alex. It's only his favorite suit because it's Alex's favorite suit.
He drapes his jacket over the back of the couch and then takes a seat, sure to collect his eggnog before he sinks into the inviting cushions. After all, there's no reason it should go to waste just because he accidentally spilled some on himself. He sips it, taking advantage of the much needed timeout. But the clock starts again with a sudden burst of the double doors. An exceedingly enthusiastic group of his friends and colleagues bombard him – Alex front and center, flanked by Ziggler and that woman he'd been dancing with.
Mike's surprised, didn't think anyone would know where his secret hiding place was located. Although, Alex would.
Ziggler, in rare form, apologizes profusely for his asinine behavior – so contrite it's hard for Mike to begrudge the man. Besides, if the tables were turned, he can't pretend like he wouldn't have been the first one to shine a spotlight on Ziggler's ineptitude. So, he lets it go. And then that woman, that woman Mike actually considers to be a close friend, comes right up to him and grabs him by the arm and pulls him to his feet.
"It should have been you," she declares, apologizing to Mike for stealing his dance partner and graciously guiding him over to the man. Everyone gathers around like hyper kids outside an ice cream truck – Mike and Alex at the center where they belong – and the woman reaches up high.
Mike looks up with a broad smile, feels like laughing and he can't help but to do so. She's dangling a bundle of mistletoe right over his head. And over Alex's head. She wants the lovers to kiss, and to Mike's astonishment, everyone else does, too. A multitude of interwoven shouts makes it difficult for him to decipher anything remotely coherent and then all the voices organize into a single thought spoken in lyrical cadence. It's a chant unlike anything he's ever heard directed towards him in the ring before. They're chanting for him to kiss Alex.
All he can think of is how much of a relief it is to know that everyone knows and not casting judgment on him. It's light. It's freeing. It's soaring above the tree tops, the mountain tops, already halfway to the stars. It's weightless exhilaration. And it more than makes up for his pratfall earlier.
The hands on his shoulder, on his back, on his arms, nudge him closer to Alex. Ha! As if he needs nudging. Happily, he leans into the beaming man standing across from him, meeting him midway, and as their lips press against one another, the door opens again. It's startling and forces him to his feet. This time only one person enters the room, a person he thought was already in the room – the person he thought he'd been kissing.
"Oh, Mike," Alex says, making a beeline towards his devastated boyfriend. "I'm so sorry. She came over to me while I was dancing and then that slow song came on and-"
With a heavy sigh – directed mostly to himself for drifting off again – Mike interrupts Alex's unnecessary explanation. "I'm not mad at you for dancing with her."
"You're not?"
Mike shakes his head, looking down into his glass. Half-full, half-empty. "I'm mad that it can't be me."
The pain Mike emotes is visceral. Alex can't help but feel it, too. Right in the pit of his knotted gut and the center of his tightening chest. "Babe…" The barely audible whisper is followed by a kiss that he hopes will comfort his boyfriend and let him know that he's there, but in doing so, his attention is slightly diverted. "Wow," he exclaims, wide-eyed as he licks the remnants of Mike's kiss from his lips. He reaches for the guy's glass, tilts it and peers inside. "What'd you put in this?"
Mike sighs and lazily rolls his eyes because he resents having added any extra spirit to the holiday drink at all. Should have left well enough alone and enjoyed the party for what it is and not dwell on what it isn't.
Alex takes a swig and makes a funny face as the creamy intoxicant floods his system. "How many of these have you had?"
"Too many, apparently."
"You don't usually do that," Alex remarks solemnly, setting down the glass, but Mike doesn't respond. He just walks over to the fireplace and strikes a long, slender match instead. Gently touches it to a pile of unused logs.
He leans against the mantle, staring into the growing fire. Watches as the embers flicker. Its crackling sound and growing warmth further adding to the soothing ambiance of the space. "I love this room. It's my favorite room in the whole house," he confides, turning around to face Alex who's entranced by his every utterance. "It's actually the reason I bought it. The rest of the house was a mess, at least in my eyes. I had to renovate whole sections to get it how I wanted it. Remember? I had to replace the light fixtures, redo the floors and the countertops. Paint the walls."
"You even switched out the doorknobs," Alex interjects with a breathy chuckle.
"I know," Mike laughs. "Almost everything about this house was wrong. But this room," he says proudly, looking around to its pleasing features, "this room was perfect. I just moved my furniture in, and my books, my music, my pictures, and it felt like home. It felt like I'd been living here my whole life." He pauses, fondly shifting his attention back to Alex. "I love making love with you in this room." He can feel the heat spread across his cheeks, knowing full well it's not the fire's doing. Especially since Alex starts to blush, too. He doesn't mean to embarrass his boyfriend, but he can't help speaking the truth and there's no part of him that regrets saying it. "Sometimes when you can't be here, instead of going upstairs, I'll sleep in here."
"I didn't know you did that."
"It makes it hurt less. See, that's how special this room is to me. So, why should it be tucked away in a back corner of my house?"
"It's not like you chose to put it back here. You didn't build it."
"No, but I bought it."
Alex shrugs, having a hard time understanding Mike's dilemma. "You have the money. Why not have it moved?"
"Because of this fireplace," Mike declares, turning back towards the prominent structure. His arm outstretched as if to display it…and so he can touch it. He runs his fingertips across the room's stunning centerpiece, tracing its edges, its texture, admiring the subtleties of its design and vibrant earthy undertones. "It's one of a kind. Each of these stones is completely unique. They were cut right out of the earth just the way you see them and then meticulously crafted together. It's an original feature of the house and I don't want to risk moving them. What if they cracked or broke in half? It's not worth it."
"I always thought you liked being nestled back here and having a place no one else knows about."
"I do, but a room like this should be shared. It should be the focal point of parties. If I could, I'd go out there right now and bring everyone back here. Just so they can have a chance to see it and experience how warm and safe it is in here."
"So, what's stopping you?"
Mike crosses his arms, pouts involuntarily. "I don't want them to laugh at me or think I'm stupid for wanting to show off a room."
"Well then, I say they're not invited to the Christmas party next year," Alex says with a charming wink.
Even though it's meant to be a joke, Mike knows, if it came down to it, Alex would abide by those words in a heartbeat. He chuckles lightly, looking down to his feet; appreciates his boyfriend's support. But then he looks back up to the man, longingly. "You're like this room."
A trigger goes off inside Alex. He reflexively buries his trembling hands in his pockets as Mike's thoughtful description of the room and the fireplace echo in his memory. His chin quivers just enough so he can feel it, but not enough to be noticed. He doesn't speak, but he does offer a sweet smile that warms Mike through and through.
"I have this amazing, wonderful, beautiful boyfriend who doesn't deserve to be treated like this. I don't want to hide you. If someone else tried pulling this kind of shit with you, I'd pummel the son of a bitch. But somehow it's okay if I do it? I mean, look at tonight. I throw this Christmas party for my friends, who I never get to see, and I end up having to invite half the roster so it doesn't draw attention to you being here. What does it say about me if I can't even share the best part of my life with my closest friends? I don't know why I bother. All I'm doing is creating memories for everyone else. And none of them are for us. We can't even have one dance together. And now all this night will be remembered for is me running off and bitching about something I'm too chicken shit to change."
It's not the first time Mike's broached the sensitive subject, but it never gets easy for Alex to see the guy beat himself up over their delicate situation. In fact, it manages to get worse each time. Knowing exactly what he needs to do next – what he's wanted to do all night – Alex walks over to Mike and holds out his hand.
Ah, so familiar. It's that same feeling as before, like this is all that matters and even with no one around to celebrate their bond, Mike swoons in spite of himself; his eyes fluttering as he pushes back a bashful smile. "That doesn't count."
Alex takes hold of Mike's hand and brings him in close, his breath next to his boyfriend's ear. "Every second with you counts."
Those words, and how they were delivered, have the power to weaken Mike and build him up all at once. He lives in those words. As they start to move, he rests his cheek against Alex's shoulder, his eyes drifting shut. And soon, Alex is nuzzling the back of Mike's head, leading them in their mellifluous dance. They glide together, effortlessly. Like they're meandering down a peaceful stream guided by a gentle breeze. Like they're listening to the same song. And even though there's no actual music playing, it sure seems like there is.
Mike loses himself in Alex's warmth; in the sanctuary of his embrace. He loses himself in him. In everything he is and everything they are. And there's not a damned thing that could ever compel him to trade this moment for either of his inebriated imaginings from earlier. But he can't shake how real they felt, how accurate a picture they painted of how he wants his life to be. "Why can't I be more like you?"
"In what way?"
"This haunts me," Mike says with an agonizing inflection. "It stalks me. But you? You just seem so content with the way things are, like it wouldn't matter one way or another if people found out."
"I wish you wouldn't let this get to you."
"You know what I wish? That we'd get caught under the mistletoe and everyone would tell us it was okay. And we kiss and the world doesn't end."
"I don't remember seeing you put up any mistletoe."
Mike shakes his head against the perceptive man. "Because I didn't."
Alex sighs empathetically. "It's okay if you're not ready."
Mike pulls back and looks Alex in the eye. "But you are. You've always been."
"I would love for the world to know how much I love you and how unbelievably happy I am every day you're in my life, but it's more important to me that you know how much I love you." He pauses, allowing Mike time to feel this truth. His hand is drawn to Mike's cheek, airbrushed a subtle shade of salmon pink. "I'd wait a hundred Christmases if that's what it takes."
They share a long moment, Mike's eyes effectively conveying what no words ever could. Then the speechless man melts back into his boyfriend, holding him tight as they continue their dance. A dance, that because of the lack of music, has no defined beginning and no true end. They're just floating somewhere in the middle.
Though Mike wishes he could stay like this forever, he knows he can't bail on his own party entirely. With great reluctance, he steps away from Alex and fetches his jacket. Takes a moment to look it over, saddened that the stain is so obvious against the dark canvas of the fabric.
Not ready to let Mike go, Alex walks up behind him and wraps his arms around the guy; nips at his neck. "Have I mentioned how incredibly sexy you looked out there tonight?"
Mike titters and before he has a chance to respond, Alex reaches for his jacket and proceeds to help him put it on. Mike turns to the man with a smirk. "That's a change of pace. Usually, you're doing everything in your power to take my clothes off."
Alex chuckles, licking his lips. "Yeah, well, it's a good suit on you."
Feeling like a failure, like he should have been more vigilant in keeping it clean, Mike looks down to his chest. "Even with this stain?"
Alex follows Mike's cue and looks down, his eyes searching and coming up empty. He furrows his brow in confusion. "What stain?"
"Don't you see it? It's right-" But Mike stops himself from pointing it out; pulls his hand back down to his side. "Never mind," he says, realizing the stain is insignificant and if he wants to wear the suit, he'll sure as hell wear the suit.
Alex brushes off Mike's shoulders, appearing quite satisfied with his partner's fashion sense, and then lightly yanks on both sides of his lapel as he looks into his piercing blue eyes. Mike could easily wait for his boyfriend to pull him into a kiss because he knows that's what's coming next, but he wants to use the opportunity to thank him for being so patient and loving, and for just being exactly what he needs without ever having to ask for it. So, in taking charge, he leans in and kisses Alex, presenting him with a mouth-watering prelude of what he can expect later on after everyone goes home.
"So, should I head out there first?" Alex asks breathlessly, feeling a bit light-headed. "Or I could wait here for a few minutes."
"No," Mike says. "We'll go back in there together."
With that, the two make their way to the large room, the backs of their hands purposely grazing one another with each stride. Mentally preparing to part once they walk into the room. But as they step under the expansive threshold and back into the party, Mike moves his hand a bit further and grabs hold of Alex's – the spiked eggnog's influence having long since worn off. Alex looks to Mike, surprised, affected. And Mike looks to Alex and smiles that smile worthy of only one person. Maybe someone will see, maybe not, but it doesn't matter. Even if no one sees, even if it lasts for only a few seconds, it's a step forward, and a lasting memory he's created meant only for them.
I can't help it. This is what Mizley does to me!
Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it.
Merry Christmas!