Written for the rounds of kink comm on El Jay.
Title: Set Me Free (Why Don't You)
Pairing/character: Jake/Mickey, Past Jake/Ricky
Rating: FRM
Prompt: Desperation
Kink: drunken!kiss
Word Count: 773
Notes/Warnings: Strong language, Slash. Set After Age of Steel, but before Doomsday.
So I drank one
It became four
And when I fell on the floor ...
I drank more
Marc Ronson – "Stop Me"
Jake didn't believe in doing things by halves. If you're going to do a job, you might as well do it properly. So when the Geordie man went out with the sole purpose of getting drunk, he got totally shit-faced; knowing full well he'll end up in one of two places: on Ricky's couch, or in Ricky's bed. With Ricky. Usually naked and pleasantly sore.
When Ricky died, the drinking-to-get-shit-faced stopped. Jake didn't have a reason to do it any more. Ricky wasn't there to roll his eyes at his antics, or growl at him when he started flirting with other men, or carry him home when he was too drunk to walk on his own. He wasn't there to tell him that it was his own fault when he moaned at how shit he felt. He wasn't there to hand him a glass of water and a couple of painkillers when he finished throwing up over the toilet.
It was Mickey now, not Ricky. They travelled around the globe on their self-appointed Mission to rid the world of the emotionless metal monsters, but it was Mickey and not Ricky that stood beside him and watched as each being dropped to the ground, twitching and writhing in pain. It was Mickey that stood by him as their screams pierced the air like a chorus of wrong notes from a choir of demons.
They were different, and yet so very much the same that for one blissful moment Jake would think that it was Ricky again. Then Mickey would say something and the moment would snap in two, the beautiful illusion shattered once more. On those nights Jake grabbed whatever alcohol he could get his hands on and drank to his own misery and loss. Not quite rat-arsed, but drunk enough not to notice the tears that rolled down his cheeks.
It did get easier. When the immediate threat of Cybus Industries and the Cybermen was taken care of, both Mickey and Jake found themselves recruited by Torchwood. Jake didn't kid himself; it wasn't a regular desk job, and the blonde wouldn't have accepted the position if it was, but it was something at least and had a decent wage. He even found the time to go out again, when he wasn't on a mission or filling in paperwork.
Declaring they needed a night off, Mickey promptly dragged Jake to a club in the heart of London. It was the first time in the three years since Ricky's death that Jake got so drunk he couldn't stand. He drank and danced and sang and Jake felt like the last three years had been a bad dream. Mickey had carried him home that night, unconsciously mirroring his counter-parts actions, and settled him down on the couch.
Slowly, Jake and Mickey's outings became a regular occurrence. Alcohol flowed, music deafened and everything suddenly became hilariously funny again. In the morning, Jake usually found himself in one of two places: His own bed or Mickey's couch. There was even one time when he found himself in Mickey's bathtub with no recollection of how he got there.
There were still times, however, when Jake looked at Mickey and saw Ricky. This was one of those nights. The world was fuzzy and tilted on its axis and Mickey's (Ricky's?) hands felt warm and familiar on his shoulder and arm. He let his head fall on Ricky's (Mickey's?) shoulder as he tried to walk straight.
"Ricky..." He slurred, his drunken state making his thick accent even thicker.
"Mickey." The other man corrected, steadying Jake as he swayed heavily. The blonde shook his head dramatically and disagreed with the correction.
"Nnnugh, Ricky."
His step faltered and the arm around his back tightened in order to keep him upright. They stopped walking and Jake lifted his head to find out why.
"You're so pissed," The amused voice said. Jake shook his head, ready to deny the statement, but his mouth couldn't form the words.
"Nnnugh." He said again. "Ricky."
"I'm not Ricky, Jake, you know that."
In a desperate drunken haze, Jake pressed his lips to the other man's, trying to prove that was indeed Ricky. When the body beside him tensed and the lips didn't kiss back, Jake realised his mistake and made detached himself from Mickey (not Ricky). Before he left, though, the lips pressed back; just a soft return of pressure that made Jake giddy. Slowly the mouth opened under his and Jake's tongue stroked across Mickey's; emboldened by the alcohol in his system. It ended as quickly as it started though, with Mickey pulling back first. They stared at each other for a long minute, confusion and sadness passing between them. Jake pulled back too quickly and stumbled, nearly landing him on the floor. Mickey's quick reflexes stopped that from happening.
"Come on, let's get you home, yeah." Mickey sighed, starting to walk down the street again.
Jake didn't remember much after that.
Reviews are LOVE