"I gotta run, Mickey, I'm going to be late for work" Ian rushes into the bedroom to grab his coat and then heads for the door.
"I thought you weren't working at Tesco's tonight?" Mickey asks, not looking up from the TV.
"Nah, not at Tesco's.." Mickey look up, surprised. Shit. He's wearing his metallic Doc Martens and he's got eyeliner on again, thought Mickey, jumping up.
"You're not going to the fucking club! I can't fucking deal with this right now!" Mickey grabbed Ian roughly by the arm, which Ian tries to shake off. Ian's usually the stronger of the two, but at this moment, Mickey was madder. He shoved Ian into the wall.
"You're not fucking going, now get that fag makeup off your face". Ian's eyes narrow. Well fuck him, thought Mickey.
"Not fucking cool, Milkovich. You do not get to choose where I do and do not go. I need to earn money and contribute to this fucking relationship as much as you do. It shouldn't matter how I get that money, I'm not going to fuck anyone". Ian managed to slip out of Mickeys grip and flings the door open, stamping out.
"Fuck!" Mickey yells. It's too bloody cold for Mickey to chase after Ian without a jacket. Instead, Mickey runs into their room and grabs a leather jacket and a beanie. Grabbing the keys that sit on the counter Mickey slam the door shut and make sure it's all locked up. Ian is flagging down a bus when Mickey catches up to him. Mickey is made, but he's not going to get them kicked off the bus. He's worked too hard to be respected in this new neighbourhood.
"What the fuck are you doing, Ian?" Mickey whispers furiously.
"You already said it, I'm being a fag for tonight. You know, a nice twink for some fat old guy with lots of money". Mickey's mouth drops open, without thinking he raises a hand to hit Ian but Ian catches it.
"Don't you fucking dare, Mickey. Grow the fuck up. Go home. Get lost. I don't care, just don't tell me I can and can't do." Ian steps over Mickey as he reaches his stop. Mickey races after him and swears at the bus driver when he closes the door before Mickey is out. Mickey can see Ian slipping inside, and he goes to follow him but the bouncer pushes Mickey back.
"Pay up, or back of the line, kid". Mickey growls at him and smacks £50 in his hand.
"Happy, dick-breath?" The bouncer wordlessly stands aside to let Mickey in. But Mickey is not 3-feet inside when Craig, Ian's manager, puts a hand on his shoulder.
"Mickey, you better not cause any trouble. You can either leave, or sit at the bar and get a drink. You're not going to stop Ian working okay? And if you're going to talk to him, you're going to pay him for his time and you're going to call him Curtis. That boy makes good money for me." Mickey doesn't have a plan, and it looks like he's not going to win, between all the security guys and with Ian not listening anyway. But if Ian is going to be there all night, Mickey is sure that he is going to wait and make sure no old trash puts their filthy hands on him.
Mickey buy a beer and waits for Ian to come out. When he does he's only wearing his gold, tight shorts and his Docs. He's also got glitter covering his chest. Mickey stand up to walk over but catches Craig's eye. Slowly, Mickey lowers himself onto his stool and orders a double vodka. As it happens, Ian comes to him.
"Hey hot stuff, want a dance?"
"No I don't want a fucking dance" but Ian starts to thrust and grind in a way that makes Mickey sick. Mickey starts to remember the rules. With Ian's hand on his chest, Mickey starts to calm down, and listens to Ian's whispers.
"Look Mickey, I know you're upset, but this is what I have to do. This pays twice as much as Tesco's and I'm not going to fuck or suck anyone here but you, got it? Tonight I'll roam, but I'll also get some cage time where men can look but can't touch. Okay? You can stay tonight, but we're going to lose money if you drink all night and pay for my dances, yeah? Now kiss me you idiot, and let me get to work". Ian stares down at Mickey, his eyes so much more prominent with the eyeliner, and his abs and his V before his shorts are almost too much for Mickey. Looking at this version of Ian, being in this club, it all makes Mickey feel gay. He hates feeling gay. Being gay. Sure, he was in love with Ian, but he's not gay for anyone else. Other guys are just people to fuck and get fucked by, Ian is the only one he cares about. Mickey manages a nod. Ian, or Curtis tonight, leans over the bar calling to the barmen.
"Keep the vodkas coming, Matt". Ian squeezes Mickey's cock and kisses him roughly on the mouth before walking away. After a few steps he pauses and turns back,
"And if you ever call me a fag again, Mickey, I swear to God we're done." Mickey gulps. He means it. Mickey takes the vodka Matt puts on the counter and slams it. And then another. After a few more doubles, Matt changes Mickey to beer, and then to light beer. But Mickey stay glued to the seat, with his eyes glued on Ian. Occasionally a guy will take the seat next to Mickey, but if Mickey's look doesn't give them the message, his "fuck off" does. As Mickey follows Ian around every moment with his eyes, Mickey finds himself pretty sure Ian was making sure he stayed within eye-sight too. As the alcohol started catching up with Mickey, he felt himself wanting it all to stop. He wanted Ian to come home. Mickey stood up and staggered towards him, but was able to take only one step when he felt the world spin and passed out.
Mickey woke up, lying in what looked like a locker room. He realised this was the back room for the club, where the guys all got changed and locked all their winter clothes before stripping down to their tight metallic underwear. Next to Mickey was Ian, bending down tying his shoe laces, his hair sweaty and ruffled, but his clothes back on. Mickey tried to say hello to him, but it came out as one big mumble.
"Come on you little shit, time to go home". Ian's voice was harsh, but at least he was talking, and he was coming home. Mickey went to stand up, but couldn't support himself and went down again.
"You alright Curtis? You need a hand?"
"Thanks Matt, if you could give me a hand getting him up, and I'll take it from there. You not going to David's party tonight?" Mickey felt hands underneath his arms lifting him up. Mickey leant on Ian, trying his best to stay upright.
"Nah, I gotta stay clean for a bit. Get my head straight."
"Yeah? Good on you. Wasted can be a shitty look." Even drunk Mickey knew Ian was referring to him. Ian bitching about him to his work mates with Mickey there felt shitty. But Mickey knew he'd done this to himself. There was definitely a part of Mickey that was still pissed at Ian for not caring that he would be jealous, and for working here at all anyway. But the rest of Mickey knew that this mess was mostly my fault. ' I'm just not turning out to be good enough for him' Mickey thought sadly.
When they got on the bus, Mickey leant his head on Ian's shoulder and tried not to vomit. It was only a short ride, and with a lot of stumbling on Mickey's part they got off the bus. When they got to the stairs, Ian didn't bother trying to help Mickey up. Instead he picked Mickey up over his shoulder and fire-man carried me up.
"That's my army man" Mickey whispered, and Mickey heard him let out a quick chuckle. When they got inside Mickey had just enough time to run to the bathroom and vomit in the toilet. Mickey thought Ian would leave him there, but instead Ian took off his coat, and sat next to Mickey on the floor. Rubbing Mickey's back and stroking his hair, Mickey felt that he didn't deserve any of it.
"Go to bed Ian, I'm not your mess to clean up. I've been an asshole."
"Yes you have, Mick. But I love you".
'He is calling me Mick! How does he love me right now?' thought Mickey gleefully. Mickey vomited again. And Ian stayed there. Mickey hadn't thrown up like this since he lived with Terry, before Ian had shown up in his life. When he was done, Ian helped him into the shower.
Ian looked at his mess of a boyfriend. Ian knew working at the club would upset him, but Ian hadn't seen Mickey drink like this. Ian was used to him punching somebody and messing them up, not sitting and drinking. It was too damn close to Frank's behaviour and it scared Ian. So Ian tried to take care of him. He tried to make Mickey see that he wasn't going to give up on him. Ian was used to vomit. When Mickey was done, Ian stripped him off for the shower. Mickey could only sit on the floor helplessly, so Ian crouched over him as much as he could in the cramped space, and cleaned him up. He hadn't vomited on himself, and for once there was no blood involved, so it wasn't too hard. Ian moved him to the mattress on the floor, making sure he was on his side with a bucket next to him.
"You puke, do it in the bucket". Mickey sat up and grabbed at Ian's legs.
"What is it, Mick?"
"Let me say sorry" he said, and tried to rearrange himself to suck Ian off.
"Mick! No!"
"I'm sorry Ian! Let me make it better, please! What can I do?" Ian sighed and placed him back on his side.
"You can make it better in the morning. Sleep it off for now, I'll still be here when you wake up". Ian stayed for a few minutes, stroking his back and thinking. Was it worth it to keep working at the club? The answer was still yes. They were still making rent, but Ian wanted it to be so much more than that. 'I don't want us to scrape by, I want up to be able to save and get a car, or go on a holiday, or get a better house. I wanted us to have a proper life together, to keep growing. Together' thought Ian. Once Mickey was snoring, Ian stood up and went to the kitchen. He tried not to eat before a shift so he wouldn't look bloated, and with the men buying him drinks, Ian wasn't the most sober either. Ian often would throw some up during his shift to stay with it, and if Matt could he would make sure Ian was getting water instead of liquor, but it wasn't always possible, and they both knew how messy it can get if the client finds out. Ian buttered a couple of slices of bread, and ate it leaning against the counter. 'Are Mickey and I ever going to be okay? Things seem to be getting better, he is more comfortable about being in public together, but we both just have such messy histories. And with no good role models, it's so hard to figure out what a good relationship should look like. How to make it work.' Ian finished the butter sandwich and crawled into bed. 'Tomorrow' he thought.