After settling on the first shitty diner they came across and sitting down in a booth towards the back, Ian peered over the top of the sticky menu at Mickey. Unable to take the silence any longer, he asked, "You good? You haven't said two words to me since we got here."
"I'm lookin' at the goddamn menu, is that alright with you?"
"Yeah," Ian said with a sigh before placing the menu down. He decided to go the teasing route to break the tension. "I just thought maybe you were capable of readin' and talkin' at the same time."
"Fuck off," Mickey snapped, in no mood for jokes.
"Alright, will you tell me what the hell's goin' on with you?" Ian exclaimed. "I thought we were havin' a good day today?"
Mickey continued staring at the same spot on the menu, his anger stewing, wanting to tell Ian exactly why he felt upset. He was mad because while he'd been thinking about how good of a time he'd been having, and about how carefree he felt for the first time in a long-ass fucking time, Ian had only been thinking about shaking his ass in other dudes' faces. That's why he was pissed the fuck off, not that he would tell Ian that.
"Is this about the whole me-wanting-to-dance-for-money thing?"
"The hell do I care?" Mickey retorted. "Do whatever the fuck you want with your body."
"Oh, I plan on it," Ian said, unintentionally throwing fuel to the fire.
"Then shut the fuck up and let me read the goddamn menu."
Ian sat back haughtily and crossed his arms over his chest just as the waitress came over to take their order.
After they ate their meals in silence and left, they made their way back through the blistering cold to their motel room.
"I don't even know what you're upset about," Ian said to Mickey's back since Mickey was grumpily walking five steps ahead of him. "It's just dancing."
Mickey said nothing.
"It's not like I'm gonna be shovin' my dick in some guy's hole."
"I don't care about you or your dick, Gallagher," Mickey said. "Shove it in any fuckin' hole you want."
"See, that's what I'm talkin' about!" Ian exclaimed as he took long strides to catch up to him. "You claim not to care about me or what I do, but it kinda seems like you do. Why else would you get so upset?"
Mickey spun and grabbed Ian by the collar of his coat. He pressed Ian back against the brick building they were in front of. It was dark out, and at the moment, no one was around.
Ian held his breath as he stared back at Mickey and waited.
Mickey loosened his grip a bit, his anger and jealousy dissipating with one look in Ian's eyes. "If you know I fuckin' care, why the hell would you even suggest it?"
"Because, Mickey. I'm tryin' to do what's best for us," Ian said, shrugging his shoulders to straighten his coat when Mickey let him go. "It's not that big of a deal. It's only dancing. No one will touch me, and you'll be there to keep an eye on things. It's a lot fuckin' safer than holdin' up a gas station at gunpoint!"
Mickey took a few steps back and let out a shaky exhale, his breath projecting into the chilly night air in a white poof.
Ian smiled and stepped towards him. He grabbed Mickey by the front of his coat and pulled him closer. "So, you kinda just admitted you care about me."
"Yeah, what the fuck ever."
"You gonna take it back this time?"
"Fuck you," Mickey said, although his tone remained soft.
Ian snaked his hands inside the top of Mickey's coat and cupped his hands around his neck. He pressed his thumbs to Mickey's jaw to tip his head back. "You're so hot when you're jealous, you know that," he said, leaning in to whisper his words against Mickey's lips.
"What the fuck," Mickey hissed in a panic as he pulled away and looked around the nearly deserted street. When he saw that the closest witness was more than three blocks away -an old lady walking her dog with a little sweater- he turned his eyes back to Ian, who was watching him intently.
Ian gasped in surprise when Mickey suddenly pushed him back against the wall, knocking the wind out of him.
"And you're hot, even when you're irritating as shit," Mickey grumbled.
Ian smiled as he slowly unzipped Mickey's coat. "Oh, really?"
"Yes, fuckin' really." Mickey leaned in closer and pressed the palms of his hands against the brick wall behind Ian, caging him in. He touched his forehead to Ian's and bit back a moan as Ian's finger hooked under the waistline of his jeans, tugging him forward a little. "Asshole."
Ian licked his lips and began undoing Mickey's button and zipper. He angled his head, trailing his nose along Mickey's jaw before nipping playfully at his earlobe. "Looks like you're already hard for me," he muttered hotly against Mickey's ear as he cupped Mickey's erection through his jeans.
"We can't do this here," Mickey murmured, even though what Ian was doing to him felt so fucking good. Still, it was barely 8 o'clock on a Friday night and, even though no one was around at the moment, he knew they couldn't take the chance. He reluctantly pulled away and zipped himself up.
"Okay, got it," Ian said, his eyes falling to the ground.
Mickey knew Ian felt rejected, so he hooked a finger under Ian's chin and lifted his face to meet his eyes. "When we get back to the room, alright?"
Ian smiled and nodded curtly, his eyes sparkling as he jerked his head to suggest they keep walking.
They fell into step side by side that time, and when Mickey looked at him a few beats later, he did a double-take. "The fuck are you so happy about?"
"I get to go back to the room and do dirty things to you later," Ian said, grinning like an idiot. "What's not to be happy about?"
"Jesus."
Ian playfully shoved Mickey with his shoulder and laughed when he shoved him back.
"Asshole," Mickey said, his laughter carrying down the street.
Once they neared the gay club, they stopped walking, both evenly conflicted over the entire situation for different reasons.
Ian glanced over at Mickey, who was dragging anxiously on his cigarette, his eyes glued to the ground. "Mick, I don't have to do this. Just say the word, and we'll keep walking. We're in this together, right?"
Mickey finally lifted his eyes as he took another drag on his cigarette. After a few beats, he said, "Nah, man, do what you gotta do. We need the money, and I'm gonna be right there so no one fucks with you. It's cool."
Ian stepped closer and grabbed Mickey's hand discreetly. "You know you don't have to get jealous, Mick. You're the only one I want."
"You can't know that," Mickey said almost irritably. "We've only known each other for two goddamn weeks."
"I know it," Ian said, his tone stern.
Mickey didn't know how to respond to that, so he just watched as Ian turned and walked into the club, a stream of funky up-tempo pop music pouring out onto the sidewalk. He didn't realize it until a short while later, but he was secretly hoping Ian would come out with the news that the manager had turned him down.
Ten minutes later, however, Ian came walking out, his grin wide and eyes bright. "The guy said yes! I didn't even have to persuade him. Not to sound conceited, but he took one look at me and said I'm in. I had to sign a few forms, but I start in an hour. He said I can work through the weekend, said I'll bring in good business. He didn't even ask how old I was. Isn't that fuckin' insane?"
"Hi-larious."
"Look, Mickey, are you sure you're good with—"
"So, what the fuck are we gonna do for an hour, then?" Mickey asked, cutting him off, wanting to pretend he wasn't as upset as he was. He didn't want to seem like a jealous boyfriend. Ian wasn't his, and he had no right telling him what he could and couldn't do.
Ian's shoulders slumped a bit before glancing back at the club. "We can prob'ly go in and hang around for a little while until I start. I'm sure there'll be some kind of cheesy getup I'll have to wear."
Twenty minutes later, Mickey loitered awkwardly outside of the employee locker room at the back of the club. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been so uncomfortable in his life. The awful music was too loud, the flashing strobe lights were too bright, and a bunch of twinks were dancing atop stages while fat fucking faggots shoved dollar bills down their gay little shorts. He was going to kill Ian for this.
"Hi, haven't seen you here before," a husky voice said. "I like 'em a little rough."
Mickey's head and brows shot up as he eyed the chubby middle-aged man in front of him. "The fuck you just say to me?"
"I'm Scott. You wanna take off?" the man asked, purposely wrapping his gross mouth around his straw suggestively. "Go have some fun?"
"What the fu… No, I don't wanna take off!" Mickey exclaimed.
Just then, Ian came out of the locker room, eyeing the stranger disdainfully before glancing at Mickey. "Hey, sorry that took so long, Walter was showin' me around a bit."
"Oh," the man sneered at the sight of Ian. "You like 'em skinny."
"You wanna fuckin' die," Mickey snapped, advancing on the man.
The man smirked, giving Ian another disapproving look before heading off.
Mickey watched as the man sauntered off. He shook his head incredulously before looking at Ian. "I was about two seconds away from rippin' that fat fuck's dick off and shovin' it up his own ass."
"And here I thought you'd found yourself a new boy toy."
"Fuck outta here with that."
Ian laughed and rubbed Mickey's shoulder, knowing how uncomfortable it all made him. "Relax, he thought you were hot. I can't say I blame him."
Mickey pulled a hand through his hair, still smarting from his intense aggravation. He froze when he took in what Ian was wearing. "What the hell are you wearing? Are you serious right now?"
Ian took a step back and looked down at himself. He had to admit the skin-tight gold booty shorts and necklace tie were a bit over the top, but he felt hot in it. All that ROTC training and exercising he'd endured over the past several months had done his body good. "What, you don't think I look hot?"
"You look fuckin' ridiculous," Mickey snapped.
Ian smirked and opened his mouth to retort just as Walter the manager walked out of the locker room, clapping and rubbing his hands together as he looked Ian over in a way that made Mickey sick to his stomach.
"Alright, Curtis, are you ready to show everyone what you got?"
"Yeah, let's do it," Ian declared with a determined nod of his head before moving to follow Walter towards the main floor.
Mickey followed close behind. "Curtis? That your fuckin' stage name?"
"I didn't wanna use my real name," Ian shot back with a roll of his eyes.
Mickey smirked as he followed, his irritation seething.
"This is where you stop, chief," Walter said, suddenly turning to face Mickey.
Mickey heaved a sigh of aggravation as he stopped, watching anxiously as Ian continued on without him. He watched warily as Walter leaned in and whispered something in Ian's ear, to which Ian nodded in response. Ian climbed up onto a small circular platform. Mickey shuffled from side to side uncomfortably, already not liking any of it. He eyed the crowd of men surrounding the small stage, already hooting and hollering at Ian before he'd even started dancing.
"Shit," he muttered to himself, running a hand down his face.
"He's hot, ain't he?" the sleazy guy behind him yelled to his friend above the music.
"Hell yeah, he is," the other sleazeball answered. "I wonder where they found him at?"
Mickey stood frozen in his spot, trying to keep his cool for Ian's sake. As a new song started, he glanced up at the stage to find that Ian was getting into a sultry groove, his taut, chiseled body glistening against the flashing blues, purples, and greens of the twirling strobe lights. He swallowed the thick lump in his throat as he watched Ian dance, the hollers from the men surrounding him background noise. He felt transfixed as he watched Ian move and gyrate to the beat. The guy behind him was right, Mickey gave the douchebag that much; Ian was the hottest thing he'd ever seen in his life. Maybe the shorts weren't so bad.
He felt his chest tighten as he continued to watch Ian dance, his face growing hot, and his throat feeling tight.
"Look at that tight little ass," the man behind him said lecherously. "With that face and that ass, I don't know which hole I'd rather fuck first."
Mickey abruptly turned around and grabbed the guy roughly by the front of his shirt, bringing their noses inches apart. "Watch yourself, asshole."
"What the fuck!" the man choked out, his eyes wide. "Who the hell are you, his guard dog?"
"I'm the wrong fuckin' guy to fuck with," Mickey spat. "That's who."
"Look, man, I don't know what the hell is goin' on, but I don't want any trouble—"
"You say anything like that about him again, I'll rip your balls off and shove 'em so far down your fuckin' throat, they'll come outta your ass. Got it?"
Moments later, he was being roughly pulled off the befuddled man by a bouncer.
"You're gonna have to go, pal!" the bouncer declared, towering over him. "Now!"
"Relax, Shaft, I'm going!" Mickey said as he shrugged out of the man's firm hold. But instead of heading towards the exit, he walked up the three steps onto the small platform and stopped Ian in the middle of his dance, taking his hand and tugging him offstage. "Time's up, Flashdance, let's go."
"Mickey, what the hell?" Ian asked, looking confused. "What're you doing?"
"We're leaving," Mickey said as he began pulling Ian through the crowd.
"Hey, what the hell's going on?" Walter exclaimed, suddenly sidelining them and placing a hand on Mickey's chest. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I suggest you take your fuckin' hand off me," Mickey snapped.
"Curtis agreed to dance for the week—"
"Curtis is sixteen years old," Mickey said through gritted teeth. "You really wanna go there?"
Walter looked surprised and removed his hand from Mickey's chest before holding his hands up in surrender and stepping back.
"What the fuck are you doing, Mickey?" Ian hissed, his face flushed with embarrassment as he tried to pull his arm from Mickey's grip. "That one guy was about to slip me a hundred-dollar bill!"
"I can't fuckin' do this," Mickey said as he dragged Ian back towards the locker room.
"Mick, will you hold on a fuckin' second and talk to me?"
Once they were by the locker room, where they were secluded and the music wasn't so loud, Mickey turned to Ian and pressed him back against a wall. "I don't want you doin' this, alright?" he said, closing his eyes and touching his forehead to Ian's. He hated feeling like that, so vulnerable and open and jealous, but he didn't care at that point. "Can you just… Can you please go put your fuckin' clothes back on so we can get the hell outta here?"
"Yeah, okay." Ian swallowed hard and nodded. "Okay, we can go."
Mickey stepped away and nodded curtly before pinching his nose. "Thank you!" Before Ian could turn and disappear through the door, he called out, "Keep those fuckin' shorts!" When Ian turned to look at him with an arched brow, he smirked and said, "We're gonna need 'em later."