"You do know you just beat up Ian's boyfriend, right?" Katy asked, because of course she was oblivious, to everything. Mickey loved her, because someone had to, but she was still oblivious. But then, in that moment, it seemed like everyone but Lip was. Lip just looked smug in that way that only a Gallagher could really pull off.
Mickey shrugged, "I was aware, yeah."
He didn't think he wanted to expand on that if he was being honest. He didn't want to have this conversation because he didn't want to own up to anything that he shouldn't. He knew from the look in Lip's eyes that he was telling him to be careful. The arch of his eyebrows, the set of his mouth, it was a warning and Mickey wondered when he'd started to learn things like that about Lip.
"Isn't he going to be pissed about that?" Tessa asked, handing him a large shot of vodka to help numb the pain in Mickey's jaw. Cole could fight, he'd give the guy that. But he fought reasonably fair, which for a complete scum bag – who deserved to die painfully in a hole all alone where no one would ever find him ever again, not that Mickey was biased or had been thinking about it or anything – was strange. Mickey had never been a fair fighter though, growing up in Southside Chicago, where nobody was fair about anything, it had been necessary to learn how to see any openings possible. And he'd learnt and it had come in useful. More than useful.
The satisfaction that he was feeling was unnatural. It was almost like he'd been waiting for that one fight for all of his life. Like he'd been waiting for the chance to defend Ian in front of him for all of his life. What he had already done to defend Ian, that didn't count. Because Ian didn't know about it, hopefully would never know about it and Mickey wasn't quite sure if he was proud of it or not. He tended not to think about shit like that. But this, Mickey was definitely proud of this.
It felt fucking amazing to be able to think that he'd kicked Cole's ass.
What didn't feel amazing was the confusion over Tessa's question. He didn't know whether or not Ian would be pissed. He had seemed like he almost wanted it to happen before the fight had taken place, but now Mickey wasn't sure if that had changed. Ian wasn't anywhere to be seen, hadn't been sitting with the others when Mickey had come back out from cleaning up and resetting his dislocated finger.
So he just shrugged, "No clue, probably."
Although the look on Lip's face suggested that maybe Mickey had been wrong thinking that. And that made him feel better, that made him almost want to smile. He didn't, but he almost wanted to. Instead he just smirked into the pint Tessa gave him.
The rest of the night passed just like all of the others had done. It was relaxed, easy, almost too easy. Except that there was always those thoughts hovering on the edge of Mickey's mind. Thoughts of Ian. Ponderings. He wondered where Cole was, if Ian was with him now, if Ian was tending to him, kissing him better. He wondered what Ian was thinking, if he hated Mickey now. He wondered where they stood now, where they had even stood before. He wondered what he wanted to do, whether or not he should just run and be done with it. He wondered and wondered and wondered and he could feel himself going mad from the pressure of his own thoughts.
Mickey tensed up when someone latched onto him from behind, except that his body instinctively knew that touch. Ian propped his elbow on Mickey's shoulder, his fingers pushing into the top of Mickey's hair and the other arm came down over Mickey's other shoulder, Ian's fingers curling around his side. Gallagher pressed his cheek against the side of Mickey's neck and breathed heavily, sighing.
Mandy laughed at the sight of them and when the others turned around, they did as well. Lip just smirked. "How much have you had to drink?" Mickey asked the redhead, not really complaining in the slightest what was happening, even though he knew he should because Ian's battered boyfriend was around here somewhere. He couldn't help but feel smug though that Gallagher was here with him and not Cole, even if it was just for the time being.
He thought it was weird asking that question because he knew that Gallagher was drunk just from the fact he was touching Mickey in public, from the fact he was being that daring, but he couldn't remember seeing Ian drink anything more than a beer. Although, that had been from across the room when he'd been getting into the cage and who knew where Ian had been after the fight, or what he had been drinking during it.
A quick sideways glance at Tessa made it clear that she hadn't been supplying him with the alcohol, which made Mickey wonder. But he didn't say anything. He didn't think it was his place, because he'd lost count of the number of times Mickey had been drunk or high off of his ass in front of Gallagher. Admittedly though, they had been teenagers, so it had been a little different.
"Jus' a lil' bit," Ian slurred out, his mouth right by Mickey's ear and his voice doing things to Mickey that should have been fucking illegal.
"Where's your boyfriend Ian?" he asked, trying to stop this shit before it even fucking started. He had to remind himself not to smile, because they were in fucking public and his sister was right there. He hated that it was difficult.
Ian made a disgruntled sort of noise in Mickey's ear and Mickey smirked so that he wouldn't smile. "Fucker wen' t' the 'mergency room," he mumbled, leaning on Mickey almost completely for support now. Mickey didn't mind at all, but he tried to pretend he did, even though that was stupid because everyone knew that if he had given a shit he would have just pushed Gallagher's ass onto the floor.
"Pussy," Mickey muttered and Ian laughed, which wasn't very subtle at all as to his feelings towards his boyfriend. He wondered – not for the first time – why the hell Ian was even with him. He was guessing it was for a completely fucked up reason.
"Yup," Ian giggled, actually giggled and Mickey groaned inwardly as something in his head clicked. Something in his memories.
He twisted, hearing Ian whimper as he moved out of his grasp, but Mickey turned quickly enough that Gallagher didn't fall over. Or at least that Mickey caught him when he stared too. Ian put his hands on Mickey's shoulders and Mickey held his face firmly, staring into Ian's eyes. Ian giggled again and Mickey swore under his breath. "Seriously, Gallagher?" he asked, rolling his eyes, "How high are you, scale of one to ten, seriously?"
And he knew he wasn't going to get a serious answer, he just knew it. He could see the logic in Ian's expression starting to fade. Because there was a thing that not many people knew about Ian and that was that while the guy just got relaxed and fucking hot looking when he was high, all red-faced and glassy-eyed. When he'd smoked a lot and it was mixed with alcohol, specifically whiskey, Gallagher got fucking loopy. It was something about that particular combination, just something about it that made Ian lose his marbles. He went all giggly and got ridiculously clingy and if Mickey was mean, he cried. Like actually cried. It had only happened once before, during that kind of nice phase they'd been through when Mickey had been out of Juvie the first time and working at the store. They'd gone to the dugouts, but ended up lying on the grass of the baseball diamond getting high and drinking a bottle of Jack Daniels that Mickey had swiped.
It had tasted horrible, or at least that was Mickey's opinion, because he fucking hated the taste of whiskey, but it was booze, so he drank it. He drank it, but he didn't fucking guzzle it like Ian had done that night. It was only when Ian had started laughing, all out of control and stupid like that Mickey realised he was something more than just high. Because yeah, they'd smoked a couple of joints as well, just because they had them and if they didn't smoke them then, some fucker from one of their families was going to swipe them. That was just the way it went.
Gallagher had laughed and then curled up against Mickey, cuddling, there was no other word for it. And in true Mickey style, he'd freaked out because he didn't know how to deal with that. Except when he'd gotten up, yelling, "What the fuck!" Ian had proceeded to burst into tears. And because Mickey was stupid and not quite cruel enough to leave him alone there like that because there was no way Gallagher would be able to find his way home in that state, he went back to Ian and as soon as he'd sat back down next to him, Ian had been fine again. Just like that. Simple as.
And after that, after sneaking a giggling and giddy Ian into his room during the early hours of the morning and letting him curl up around Mickey, cuddling again, Mickey made sure to never let Gallagher near any Jack Daniels ever again. Whiskey was off the cards, completely off the table. As in, never being drunk in Mickey's presence ever again. He didn't think his sanity had been able to cope with that, even though Ian was actually pretty funny when he was in that state. He had a habit of biting and coming up with completely random excuses as to why the hell he was biting Mickey. Which was fine, because the biting kind of turned Mickey on and it had led to some amazing sex, but they didn't have that anymore. They weren't in that position anymore, so while the randomness could happen, Mickey felt an ache at thinking that nothing else was going to.
"'m righ' up there wid da monkeys," Gallagher muttered, which of course made zero sense, but answered Mickey's question well enough. Now that they were close enough to each other, face to face, Mickey could smell exactly what Ian had been drinking.
"Gallagher, the fuck did I say about whiskey?" he asked, keeping a tight hold on Ian's head because the guy was looking like he was getting some funny ideas and he was looking at Mickey's neck again in a really weird way.
Ian blinked, trying to remember obviously. Either what Mickey had said, or maybe he was trying to remember how to talk at all. Both were viable options. "Es malo," Ian said, looking pleased with himself at his use of Spanish, which amazingly came out less slurred than English had done.
Mickey snorted.
"I wan' more, Mick," Ian told him and Mickey made sure to give him his most incredulous look.
"Not happening," he replied, more serious than he had ever been before. Because they'd been through this. This wasn't new and Mickey did not want a repeat performance of last time. "Am I the only one who remembers what fucking happened last time?"
And he wouldn't be surprised if he was, except Gallagher seemed to have the freakish ability to remember everything, no matter how drunk he got. Ian got this look on his face then that said that he knew exactly what happened last time, but he wasn't thinking about the same part Mickey was – or at least not the part Mickey wanted repeating out loud, because he'd be lying if he said he didn't think about that night, the sex had been fucking amazing – and so Mickey nipped that shit in the bud with a glare. He did not need Ian running his mouth off in this state, especially not after Mickey had just beaten his boyfriend to a pulp.
"You almost got us fucking killed, Gallagher, so you're not drinking whiskey again, ever."
And Ian looked like he wanted to argue that point, his mouth opened and closed a few times, but then he seemed to get distracted somewhere along the line and ducked in too quick for Mickey to stop him and bit down underneath Mickey's jaw. He giggled again, "Ima prinara," he muttered and Mickey rolled his eyes, "You mean a piranha," he corrected, holding Ian's head again, firmer this time.
Ian was grinning dopily and Mickey didn't even want to know how the hell that thought process had come about, although he thought it had probably had something to do with the opening and closing of his mouth. He tried to lean in closer, but when Mickey's hands on his head stopped him, Ian instead resorted to pulling Mickey closer and then murmured in his ear, "You taste nice." And he was actually quiet, it was actually a whisper, the words hardly slurred at all and Mickey had to roll his eyes, it was impossible.
"So you've said before, Firecrotch," he replied in a low voice, even though technically it had been years since Ian had said that. He didn't really think his taste had changed though, sweat was sweat at the end of the day and what Ian was definitely tasting was sweat. And then Mickey made the smart decision to take the suffering that he was no doubt about to endure out of the public eye. Even though he knew that back at the apartment it was probably only going to be worse.
"Come on," he muttered, dragging Ian's arm around his shoulders when he stood up, supporting him almost completely because Ian just seemed to forget how to stand and fall against him completely. Mickey gripped his wrist to keep him in place, probably hard enough to bruise, but Gallagher didn't complain. "I'm going to take him home," Mickey told the others, because he wasn't going to bother broaching that with Ian since it wasn't up for negotiation.
Lip nodded since he had been the one that Mickey had been looking at.
He tried not to focus on the way that Ian was absently rubbing his head against the side of Mickey's, kind of like a cat. It was weird, but not completely unwelcome, which was also weird.
"We'll stay here for a bit probably," Lip said in a tone that implied they that was exactly what they were going to do. Mickey was grateful, because it gave him a chance to detach Gallagher from him before he said anything that Mickey would regret him having said later. "It's not even that late yet."
Mickey nodded and then he was moving, half dragging and half carrying Ian out of the club. He had never been more glad that he didn't live all that far away. "Mick, les' go star gazin'," Ian mumbled, pointing up at the sky, which was completely dark, not even a single star visible.
He smirked, "Not happening even if that were possible."
He was pretty sure that what he saw out of the corner of his eye was a pout.
"I wanna puppy," Ian announced next, a little louder than before. People looked at them weirdly, but whether it was Mickey's battered face or the fact he was obviously supporting Ian, Mickey didn't know, but they looked away pretty quickly.
"Well then get a fucking puppy, Gallagher," he replied, knowing from past experience that it was better to just answer Ian when he was chatting on random crap like this, "You're an adult in case you forgot, and you're more fucking responsible than Mandy is and she has a bloody kid."
Ian laughed at that, but Mickey wasn't entirely sure that he had understood what Mickey had said.
"I wanna pink one," Ian said, his speech improving a little bit, although he was dragging the words out in a way that was incredibly annoying and hilarious all at the same time.
"I don't think they do pink ones," Mickey said, hoping he sounded reasonable because he didn't need Gallagher throwing a fucking tantrum in the middle of the street or anything. They weren't far off of the apartment now anyways. Just a little longer. "How about a black one?"
It felt like he was dealing with a child; and Mickey was no good with children.
"I'ma call it Samp. . . Samp. . ." Ian frowned, for some reason not being able to say the name that was obviously going to be Sampson properly, "Ted," he settled on in the end, "I'ma call it Ted."
Mickey choked out a laugh as he pushed his key into the door and they staggered inside. "That's nice, Gallagher," he said in a low voice, kicking the door shut behind them and not letting go of Ian for even one second, "Now, we should probably try and sober you up or some shit."
He risked looking at Ian for the first time since they'd walked out of the club and noticed he was sort of pale looking, his skin taking on a green tint. He swore, pretty loudly actually and only just managed to shepherd Ian into the bathroom before he crashed to his knees in a way that had to hurt, right in front of the toilet.
Mickey pulled a face as Ian retched up the contents of his stomach, the strong acrid smell filling the room and he quickly opened the tiny window to try and help the stench. He just knew it was going to fucking linger anyway. But then he'd smelt worse living in Chicago with his Dad so it shouldn't have disgusted him that much.
He didn't know what to do, so he just stood hovering awkwardly and reached in to pat Ian on the back a few times. He averted his eyes while Ian retched, waiting until the sounds of something hitting the water inside the toilet stopped. Ian spat a few times and Mickey finally looked down at him.
Ian moaned, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand and Mickey helped him up from where he was knelt on the floor, handing him his toothbrush already laden with toothpaste and grunting, "Fucking brush, because you stink now."
And Ian didn't even seem to have the energy to argue, he just did as he was told, the sounds of running water and him brushing his teeth the only ones to fill the silence. The apartment was weirdly quiet and it sort of freaked Mickey out, except he couldn't take his eyes off of the redhead in front of him. Ian moaned in relief when he splashed water onto his face and then stumbled backwards a bit, trying to sit on the edge of the bath but ending up falling in in the end. There was a little water in the bottom, but Ian was still too out of it to notice, blinking sort of sleepily up at Mickey, looking so incredibly stupid and so damn cute all at the same time.
Mickey didn't know why he clambered into the bath after Ian, not even complaining when Ian sprawled lengthways instead of sitting awkwardly jammed up with his feet against the edge of the bath. Mickey didn't know why he lay down next to Ian on his side and true to fashion in his current state, Ian curled up against his back, throwing an arm around Mickey's waist and their legs tangling. And Mickey let him. He didn't know why he let that happen, but he blamed it on the fact that he was too fucking tired to even bother trying to move Gallagher. Especially since in the clingy mood he was in, Gallagher would have made them end up like this anyway.
He knew that. But he didn't know what the fuck that meant.