Chapter 10
Mickey was making tea in the kitchen when Ian came downstairs, wearing loose jeans and a hoodie that made him look like a teenager. Mickey wished he could run his fingers through his unstyled chestnut hair, push it off his forehead and drop a kiss right there. His cheeks were slightly tinged with pink, probably from the warm water, and he looked a lot more relaxed, though there were still vestiges of wariness visible if you looked close enough.
"Hey," Ian mumbled walking towards him.
Mickey smiled sweetly. "Hey. I just made tea," he said as he took the teabags out of the teapot, before he set it on a tray with a couple of cups. "Would you like some?"
"Sure," Ian replied, sounding uncertain.
"Let's go to the living room," Mickey exited the kitchen with the tray and Ian followed. "I just talked to mom on the phone. I offered to help with some party stuff when she comes home." He sat on the couch and offered the first cup to Ian, who accepted it with a little smile. "If you're too tired, don't feel like you have to help. Iggyand I will be fine on our own."
"It's okay, I want to help," Ian said, sipping his tea carefully. "What sort of stuff does she need help with?"
"No idea, but I'm sure she'll enlighten us as soon as she comes in the door," Mickey sat back comfortably, unable to take his eyes off Ian. He was beautiful and Mickey was dying to kiss him, but wasn't sure if Ian would want him to. "Was your bath okay?"
"Heavenly," Ian answered with a grateful smile. "Thank you."
"No need to thank me," Mickey shrugged. "It was nothing."
Ian looked at him, those intense blue eyes fixed on him, as if he was trying to find a way to say something without words. Mickey was about to ask if he wanted to talk when they heard the front door, and a few seconds later, Iggyentered the living room with a dazzling smile.
"Boys! Ask me where I was!" He said, with the enthusiasm of a child who just returned from a trip to the zoo.
Mickey dropped his head onto the back of the couch, groaning in annoyance.
Ian, however, decided to indulge him, trying hard to bite back a smile. "Where were you today, Iggy?"
"I went to the mall, to get a new tie for the party," Iggy sat on the couch, wedging himself the two of them, with a determined wiggle. "You know, one that would really accentuate my eyes and set off my defined, sexy jaw…" Mickey snorted next to him, but Iggyignored him. "There was an adorable girl at the shop who kept watching me while I was trying them on in front of the mirror, but I thought nothing of it, because it's quite common for women to just stare at me, you know. I can't help I'm so handsome," Iggysaid apologetically to Ian, as if he felt bad that his brother's boyfriend couldn't be as attractive as him. "Anyway, I was trying on this fantastic blue tie that made my eyes pop like they were two huge, blinding sapphires…"
"Oh my god, I can't listen to this…" Mickey buried his face against the couch and covered his head with a pillow.
"…when she approached me, all cute and bashful…" Iggypaused for dramatic effect. "And she asked if I was the guy from the credit commercials! Did you hear that, Mickey?" Iggywhacked his brother's pillow for effect. "Your brother is a celebrity in Ohio, now, too!"
Ian laughed, covering his mouth with his hand to hide it. Mickey refused to even acknowledge his brother, even when Iggystarted poking him in his side to make him come out from under the pillow and face him.
"Paul," Iggywhined, pouting. "Your boyfriend's an idiot who won't admit how remarkable I am!"
"Don't worry, Iggy, I'm sure Mickey is very proud of you," Ian assured him, trying – and failing – to remain completely serious. He nudged Mickey's foot with his. "Aren't you, Mickey?"
"No," Mickey muttered, voice muffled by the pillow. It looked like he was trying to suffocate himself with it.
"It's fine, I get it," Iggysaid airily, shrugging elegantly. "Mickey's just jealous because by this time next year I'll be on the cover of People Magazine, frolicking shirtless on a beach and women and gay men will be swooning nonstop over the most attractive man in North America."
"Ugh, Iggy. You're not the most attractive man in the country," Mickey sat up just enough to push his brother away. "If your ego keeps growing at this rate, you won't fit into the house anymore!"
"He's jealous, I'm telling you," Iggymurmured to Ian, in a stage undertone. "He's always been jealous, because I'm taller and so much more handsome."
"I'm this close to punching you," Mickey glared at him, sounding more annoyed.
"Don't worry, Mickey. You're cute, in a garden-gnome kind of way," Iggysaid condescendingly, patting Mickey's head. Mickey swatted his hand away. "I'm sure Paul would love to carry you around in his pocket."
Ian rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous! He's not that short."
"Why do we always end up talking about you?" Mickey groaned, head lolling back against the couch again. "You're so annoying."
"Yeah, I'm personally more interested in seeing the tie you bought. What shade of blue is it?" Ian asked, looking around in search of any shopping bags Iggymight have carried into the living room with him.
"Again, with the jealousy! I can understand that you want to be more like me. I'm a very talented actor with an exciting career and dating life," Iggygrinned, looking prepared to pose for a magazine. "Did you know Mickey wanted to be a performer too, Paul? He was more inclined towards musical theatre, but he still wanted to be an actor just like me."
"Not just like you," Mickey corrected, irritated. "I just liked performing on a stage."
"I didn't know that," Ian said, eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked at Mickey.
"Yeah. I loved theatre and Glee club when I was in high school. I thought about pursuing entertainment for a living, but in the end I realized it was more like a hobby," Mickey shrugged. "I like what I do now a lot better."
"I wanted to join Glee club when I was in high school, too," Ian commented, still looking at Mickey with interest. "But the club didn't get much support from the school and there were only five people who signed up, so it fizzled out after about a week. We would've never made it to any competitions anyway…"
"I didn't know you could sing," Mickey said, sounding equally surprised, but he should have guessed. Ian's speaking voice was so melodious, so it was only logical that he had a nice singing voice, too.
"Oh," Ian's eyes widened for a moment, as if realizing he'd said more than he intended to. "Yeah, I can sing."
Mickey wanted to say that he'd love to hear him sing someday, but he wasn't sure how Ian would react. There was something sad in Ian's eyes, evoked as soon as he mentioned high school, and Mickey didn't want to linger on a topic that upset him, especially not in front of Iggy.
"I have to say, I was a little disappointed when you became a kindergarten teacher," Iggyadmitted, giving both Ian and Mickey a chance to avoid what they didn't want to talk about. "I always thought we could've formed a really awesome Duran Duran tribute band and tour around the country."
"I'm pretty sure we would've killed each other one week into the tour," Mickey chuckled, rolling his eyes.
"Oh, I don't know. You haven't killed any of those little ankle-biters who stain your clothes with snot and finger paint," Iggywatched him, as if he seriously expected Mickey to suddenly drop his career and join his brother to make his dreams come true.
"Hey, don't talk about my kids like that. They're really great," Mickey said, pointing a finger at Iggyseverely. "There's nothing more rewarding than working with children. I'm helping to shape a little human being."
"I think it's a little creepy, how you call them your kids and you make weird sock puppets to represent them…" Iggystudied him with an eyebrow perfectly arched.
"You're impossible," Mickey huffed.
"I think teaching children is a wonderful fit," Ian interrupted softly, making the other two turn to look at him. "Mickey's the sweetest guy I've ever met; of course he's a kindergarten teacher."
Mickey's heart thumped loudly in his chest, and he felt a delighted smile appear on his face. "You think I'm sweet?"
Ian smiled back at him, and nodded almost timidly.
Iggysnorted mockingly. "Jesus. You two are actually the worst lovebirds. It's like watching two middle school kids with their first crush."
Mickey punched his brother in the arm, but didn't say anything. He was too busy admiring the beautiful rosy glow in Ian's usually pale cheeks.
Grace returned a few minutes later and instantly recruited Ian to help her with some last minute decorations, saying she could really use his good taste. Ian blushed slightly, but Mickey could see how please he was that Grace wanted his opinion, but also seemed to enjoy his company a lot.
Mickey and Iggywere charged with going to the local winery in Westerville to pick up the cases of wine and champagne Terry had ordered for the party. If there was one thing the Milkovichs were kind of snobby about, it was their wine. They knew what they liked, and they hadn't allowed the catering company to supply any beverages. So Mickey drove them along the wet, slippery streets, all the while arguing with Iggy, who wouldn't settle on a damn radio station.
In the end, Iggydecided to turn it off and turned to look at his brother.
"If you're going to insist on…" Mickey began saying, rolling his eyes.
"Nope, I have something else I want to talk about now," Iggymuttered. He was staring at him with a smirk.
"Then, what?" Mickey asked, confused.
"You and Paul," Iggystarted, pausing to choose his words. "You really do love him, don't you?"
Mickey blinked, not knowing what to say.
It felt weird hearing his brother talking about Paul, a guy who hardly even registered anymore, instead of talking about Ian, who was suddenly so much more real. It upset him, being unable to use Ian's real name, as if it were some sort of terrible betrayal. Ian deserved better than being considered a stand-in.
The problem was, Mickey didn't think it was a stand-in anymore, and he wasn't sure how he would ever begin to explain the whole story – the true story – to his family. Because he knew that, at some point, he would need to come clean and tell them the truth, because he was hoping to keep Ian in his life even after the weekend came to an end.
"Yeah, I think I might," Mickey whispered, choosing his words carefully. "With him… I don't know. I've never felt like I do with him. And I'm not belittling my other relationships; I think I was truly in love with my ex-boyfriends too, but I… there's something different… special about him. I can't explain it. But when he smiles… it's like everything is right with the world."
"Aww, B. Aren't you sweet," Iggymumbled, pressing his hands against his chest.
Mickey rolled his eyes again. He really was spending too much time with Ian. "Why'd you even ask if you're going to mock me?"
"I'm not mocking you," Iggyshifted in his seat, getting comfortable. "I just wasn't expecting you to be so… honest, open. But I'm happy for you, little brother. You deserve someone who's gonna make you happy, and I think Paul is doing a wonderful job of that."
Mickey smiled, forcing himself not to cringe at the name. It wasn't Iggy's fault that he had gotten them into this stupid situation. It was his own for not coming clean, unwilling to admit to his family that he'd been dumped again. But, if he'd done that, Ian wouldn't even be in the picture now, so maybe it hadn't been such a bad idea, after all.
"So, are you going to ask him to marry you any time soon?"
Mickey almost crashed the car, Iggy's question had so completely shocked him. "What?"
"Oh, I know Dad has been meaning to give you Nana's ring," Iggyshrugged. "I think they've given up on ever getting grandchildren from me."
"I… grandchildren…" Mickey felt a little dizzy. Yes, his father had mentioned the engagement ring a couple of times. He knew his parents were hoping for him to find a man and start a family. Grace had said more than once that she wanted grandchildren while she was still young enough to enjoy them. But how had the previously faceless image of his fiancé and husband gained Ian's features? It was ridiculous. It was too soon and stupid, and if Ian had even the slightest idea about what Mickey was fantasizing about, he would run for cover as quickly as he could.
"I want to help you with the proposal. It should be awe-inspiring and perfectly romantic. You're lucky you have me here to help you write a speech. I'm great with speeches. I had to audition for a role in a play, where the main character proposes to his long-time girlfriend and I was so good in it, I swear, everyone cried. That's how good it was, Mickey."
"I'm sure it was, Coop," Mickey mumbled, not exactly paying attention.
"Here, listen to this and weep, B."
Iggybegan reciting the proposal from the play but Mickey tuned him out. He wanted to get married as much as his parents wanted him to. But as he became older, he realized marriage wasn't as simple as he had thought it was when he was a teenager. Love at first sight was just an illusion, created by Disney movies and Broadway shows. Mickey had been terribly disappointed, when he finally realized he would never be wooed by a white knight. He would never find a man who would take his breath away, who he would feel an instant connection to; a man who would love him passionately, ready to run into the sunset with him at the blink of an eye.
Fairy tales were just that, fairy tales. But Mickey still strongly believed in the power of love. He had put all his faith in love and he was positive it would happen for him eventually. He just wished it wasn't so complicated sometimes.
They were busy all day, and the most they could share were longing glances and soft touches here and there. Grace had monopolized Ian, and Mickey and Iggywere mostly stuck following orders from them for the rest of the afternoon.
Every now and then, when Grace stepped aside to take a phone call, Ian and Mickey would stand close together, hands bumping together, fingers shyly tracing the other's knuckles as if asking for permission. There weren't any kisses – frankly Mickey felt too nervous to try it. He would have to get over it, because he was sure Ian would never take the first step. But even without kissing Ian's perfect pink lips, he was okay. Just standing by his side was enough to make him happy for now.
Iggyhad somehow managed to drop a whole box full of table centerpieces on his foot and was whining that if he couldn't ever walk again it would cost him his career. Mickey left him complaining and made his way to Ian, who was double checking the number of plates for the buffet.
"Exactly how many people are coming to this party?" Ian asked distractedly as he wrote down the final count on a list Grace had given him.
"I don't know for sure. My parents have lots of friends, so… maybe fifty?" Mickey replied thoughtfully, though he couldn't care less. Right now, Ian's profile was a lot more enticing than rearranging place cards at the chairs. Some hair had fallen on his forehead and his eyes were a particularly bright green in that moment. Mickey reached to gently brush back the hair, allowing his hand to linger for a bit, trailing his fingertips down the contour of Ian's face. "I'm really sorry that my mom has decided to make you her personal slave today."
"I don't mind," Ian shrugged. He smile slightly and his head tilted, leaning into Mickey's touch. "She's fantastic. You're lucky to have her."
The way he said it saddened Mickey, but he managed to hide it. He wasn't supposed to know about Ian losing his parents, and once again he felt guilty for having broken Ian's trust like that.
"Aren't you getting tired?" Mickey asked, wanting to change the course of the conversation. "I can ask my mom to leave you alone for a while and we can go watch a movie or something."
"No, no, I'm fine," Ian smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry about me."
"Okay," Mickey nodded and let his hand fall, instantly missing the softness of Ian's skin against his fingertips. "Uhm. I was thinking… if you want…"
When Mickey didn't seem to be able to find the right words, Ian looked at him curiously and tilted his head. "Yes?"
"I was wondering if you'd like to go out for a drink or something tonight," Mickey muttered, hoping he wasn't blushing as much as he thought he was. "Just the two of us. I'd like to spend some time with you without my family constantly interrupting. Would that be okay?"
There was a good chance Ian would say no. He could be tired, or maybe he didn't want to spend any more time with Mickey than necessary. There was a chance that Mickey had read everything wrong and he was making a big mistake. But he had to ask, because he really, really wanted this.
Ian smiled a little brighter and clasped his hands together in front of him. "I'd love to."
Mickey's answering smile must have been incredibly wide and happy, because Iggyforgot for a moment about complaining that all this labor meant for untalented, unattractive men was going to ruin him forever, and wolf-whistled from across the room.
"Don't pay any attention to him," Mickey said quickly, before his brother could say something embarrassing. "He's an idiot."
Grace called Ian then, inquiring about the plates. Ian hesitated for a second, but then leaned towards Mickey and kissed his cheek quickly. His own cheeks were bright red when he pulled away, and he muttered softly: "I guess I'll see you tonight, then."
Mickey smiled for the rest of the day, even though Iggywouldn't stop teasing him about it.
Ian stood in front of the mirror and stared at himself appraisingly. He straightened the shirt he was wearing – a vivid purple one he'd always adored but was getting a bit worn – and a pair of equally worn white jeans. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone shopping. The pants had been flatteringly snug on him when he had bought them years ago, but now they seemed loose in some places, though they still hugged his thighs quite nicely.
He was a little apprehensive – he hadn't had a reason to dress up or want to look nice in so long. It was strange looking in the mirror, hoping to be pleased with what he was seeing. He remembered a time when he would spend hours and hours planning his outfits and browsing the internet for designer clothes that he could afford. Now, he didn't feel any pleasure in dressing himself, after so long throwing clothes on to cover the jutting bones and angry marks of cruel or careless customers.
Ian did the best with what he had, though. All his clothes were well-cared for and clean, to make up for how old they were. He glanced at his reflection once again and thought there was something missing. He wished he had a nice scarf – maybe one in a shade of blue or green, or one with a nice pattern in several colors. He used to have several beautiful designer scarves, but he had had to sell them in a consignment store. Instead, he left the two top buttons open and made sure his hair was impeccable.
It was sort of thrilling, having someone to look nice for, someone who made him want to dress nicely. It had been so, so long…
There was a quick knock on the bedroom door and Ian looked over his shoulder just as Mickey peeked in carefully.
"Ian? Can I come in?"
"Yes, sure, come in," Ian said, as a little smile made its way onto his lips, and warmth down his spine. It was weird, the way he couldn't help but smile around Mickey.
Mickey stepped into the room and immediately smiled as well. "You look great. That color looks amazing on you."
Ian looked down at his shoes and bit his bottom lip. "Thank you." He raised his eyes and glanced at Mickey, taking in the beautiful red shirt and slim black pants he was wearing. He'd worn a bowtie with an exquisite pattern in red and navy that made him look young and adorable. The way the shirt hugged his frame, though, made his shoulders look broad compared to his narrow waist, and so incredibly attractive that Ian couldn't help staring for a moment.
He felt a little prickle going down his spine, something he hadn't felt since he was a teenager, long before his father died and he still had an interest in boys. It was raw attraction in its purest state. It relieved Ian enormously that he was still able to feel that. He hadn't been attracted to anyone in years. The men that had crossed his path only disgusted him. But Mickey… Mickey was different.
He was caring, gentle and selfless. Ian hadn't believed men like him still existed. He thought that specie had become extinct with the death of his father.
"You look great, too. I love your bowtie," Ian said, pointing at it, awkwardly. He was extremely out of practice when it came to these things…
"Thanks. My mom made it for my last birthday. She's given me one each year since I was a thirteen," Mickey said, touching the carefully placed bowtie with reverent fingers. "I've always loved them."
"Not everyone can pull it off, but you make them work," Ian answered honestly and the delighted grin Mickey sent his way made something inside of him melt.
"Are you ready to go?" Mickey asked, gesturing towards the door.
"Yeah, I…" Ian turned, briefly eyeing himself critically in the mirror. Mickey looked so nice, his clothes clearly new and expensive. Ian felt that, despite the compliment Mickey had paid him, he looked ridiculously outclassed next to him.
A pair of hands settled on his hips lightly, and Mickey's face appeared next to his shoulder in the mirror. He seemed hesitant, as if he wasn't sure if touching Ian was allowed or not, but his smile was as warm as usual. "Whatever is worrying you… forget it. You are beautiful, Ian."
Ian watched as his cheeks colored in bashfulness, but basked in how good this moment felt. He didn't think he was beautiful, but if Mickey said so, he could pretend to be. At least for tonight.
"Now come on," Mickey grabbed his hand and tugged on it gently. "Let's go."
Ian followed him out of the room and down the stairs without another glance at the mirror. The weight of Mickey's hand in his was distracting, and he intertwined their fingers together, loving how amazingly well they fit.
"You guys going out?" Iggyasked as he walked towards the kitchen.
"Yeah. We should be back in a few hours," Mickey answered, grabbing his car keys from the bowl on the table by the front door.
"Have fun!" Iggyexclaimed and threw them a wink just before they closed the door behind them.
"I'm losing hope that Iggywill ever grow up one day," Mickey said, rolling his eyes as they walked towards his car. "I'm sorry about him."
"Don't be. He's not that bad," Ian shrugged as he climbed onto the passenger seat. "He's just… you know, a little bit egocentric."
"A little bit? Ian, he thinks the solar system rotates around him," Mickey murmured with a chuckle.
"Yes, but he is a good guy, and that counts for a lot, even if he can't get his head out of his own ass for ten minutes," Ian replied as Mickey turned the engine on and pulled away from the driveway.
"Aw, you're warming up to him," Mickey cooed, teasingly. "I thought you hated him."
"He's not the only one I'm warming up to," Ian muttered under his breath.
Mickey's face softened into a loving smile and reached for Ian's hand, giving it a quick squeeze.
Ian had the feeling that it was going to be an amazing night.
The bar Mickey took him to was in downtown Westerville, and he assured Ian that it was a pretty accepting place; he'd seen same sex couples there a few times before, when he'd had a drink with Iggy. Ian relaxed, glad he didn't have to be constantly looking over his shoulder tonight and waiting for something terrible to happen. He owed himself a good time; he hadn't had fun in so many years…
Mickey guided him to the bar with a hand on the small of his back so they wouldn't get separated in the crowd. It was a full house and there was music playing loudly, a lot of people dancing to some pop song Ian didn't recognize. They found two empty stools side by side and got comfortable, people watching for a bit while they waited for the bartender to get to them.
"What would you like to drink?" Mickey had to lean over and talk into his ear so Ian would understand his question.
"Uhm, I'm not sure! I'm not much of a drinker. What would you recommend?" Ian asked, his eyes wandering behind the bar, to the bottles lined up against the opposite wall.
"Rum and Coke? You can never go wrong with that!" Mickey suggested.
Once they both had their drinks, they spotted a recently vacated table by the end of the bar, so they hurried to get it before someone else took it. It was a little farther away from the speakers, so they could still listen to the music playing without it drowning out their conversation. Mickey shifted his chair a little closer to Ian's, which made Ian smile into his drink.
When Mickey put his own glass down on the table after taking a sip from it, his hand fell close to Ian's, fingers brushing against the other's unconsciously. However, he didn't pull away when he felt the whisper of Ian's skin on his.
Ian stared down at their fingers. Mickey's were a little thicker and slightly shorter than his. The back of his hand was dusted with very thin, dark hair. They looked like strong hands, and Ian liked that about him. Those hands made him feel as if, when they were within reach, Ian was safe. It was so incredibly unfamiliar to feel safe.
"Okay, so I have a question…" Mickey said, leaning on his elbows to get closer, voice barely audible over the music, his eyes intensely fixed on Ian's. Ian couldn't help but stiffen for a moment, not sure what he was going to say. "What's your favorite song?"
Ian blinked, slightly confused. "I… what?" That wasn't what he had been expecting at all.
"I know there's a jukebox in this place, so I want to find the one song you can't resist dancing to so you'll dance with me. So, what's your favorite song?" There was a playful twinkle in Mickey's hazel eyes that made Ian relax immediately.
"I'm not much of a dancer," Ian muttered, shrugging in apology.
"Somehow, I don't really believe that," Mickey said thoughtfully. "So. Favorite song?"
Ian leaned back in his seat and sipped at his drink, his eyes fixed somewhere behind Mickey. "Uhm…" He thought for a moment. "I… couldn't tell you right now. I haven't paid much attention to music in a very long time. But I've always loved anything by the Beatles and Broadway musicals."
"Well, who doesn't love the Beatles? That's just anyone's standard reply!" Mickey chuckled. "But I love Broadway, too. What's your favorite musical?"
They spent nearly an hour gushing about Wicked, Chicago and Les Mis, mouthing the lyrics to their favorite songs together and lamenting the fact that neither had gotten the chance to see a live Broadway show so far. Mickey had seen a local production of Rent when he was still in high school and loved every minute of it, but he imagined the real Broadway experience had to be a million times better.
"So, was what Iggysaid true?" Ian asked when the conversation paused for a moment and Mickey send the waitress a gesture to ask for a refill. "About you and performing, I mean. Did you really want to be on stage?"
"Yeah, I loved singing and dancing and I think I was a pretty decent actor," Mickey explained, drawing random figures on the wet circle left behind by the condensation of his glass. "I was accepted by several colleges for performing programs when I graduated high school, but in the end, I decided against it."
"Why?" Ian put his elbow on the table and rested his cheek on his hand, looking at Mickey with interest.
"I think I got scared into playing it safe," Mickey confessed, scrunching his nose adorably. "It was a very competitive atmosphere and I didn't have enough confidence in myself right then. I applied to other programs to have a back-up plan and, when the time came, I just decided to go to the school that offered a good education program. It seemed like a good idea, and I'm glad now that I chose the route I did."
"So you don't regret not performing in the least?" Ian wanted to know every detail, every little thing, wanted to absorb every single word Mickey said.
"Nope," Mickey smiled. "I love my job, I love my kids and I don't think I could be doing anything better than this. I still love singing and dancing and I'd never pass up an opportunity to perform, but I'd rather do it for my kids in class."
Ian grinned at that. "Do you dress as a clown and sing silly songs to them?"
Mickey blushed slightly and rolled his eyes. "As a matter of fact, yes. Yes, I do."
Ian chuckled. "Well, don't worry. I'm sure you'd make the cutest clown. And they must love you too, because you're willing to do ridiculous things to make them happy."
Mickey's gaze lit up as he looked at Ian. There was something soft and warm in them as he watched him, corners of his mouth curving up gently.
Ian started squirming, checking his face and hair. "I… why are you looking at me like that? Is there something on my face?"
Mickey shook his head slowly. "No. I'm just… Ian, you surprise me. You shock me."
Ian frowned, unsure. "Uhm. Is that a bad thing?"
"It's a wonderful thing," Mickey took his hand and squeezed it, and Ian felt immediately better with the contact. "I've never met anyone like you."
Ian arched an eyebrow. There was a bitter taste in his mouth suddenly. "You mean… a prost–…?"
"No," Mickey cut him off instantly. He leaned closer to him and cupped his cheek to make him look into his earnest hazel eyes. His voice was low, comforting, like a cup of hot cocoa on a cold night. "Someone I'm never sure what he is going to say next, someone who constantly keeps me on my toes. Someone who isn't afraid to be honest and tell me when I screwed up or how stupid I am, but at the same time knows when to tell me I'm doing something right. Someone who, when we first met, claimed he hated everyone and everything, but I don't think that's true, because obviously you understand what it is like to do something you love and what that makes you feel like…"
Mickey was suddenly interrupted when a pair of lips pressed against his. He was shocked into silence, but kissed him back almost as soon as his brain processed that this was Ian kissing him.
The kiss was gentle, soft and fleeting and ended in just mere seconds, when Ian pulled away. His cheeks were slightly pink and he was biting his bottom lip, not sure if what he'd done had been okay or not.
"I… you didn't let me finish," Mickey murmured, looking a bit dazed and out of breath, even despite how quick the kiss had been.
"I think you've said enough," Ian ducked his head. Maybe to somebody else, what Mickey had said hadn't been the greatest of compliments, but to Ian… it had been years since someone had sincerely complimented him, instead of merely what he did for them. But Mickey…
"But I really wanted to finish telling you more," Mickey pouted and it was the single most adorable thing Ian had ever seen. "Especially how breathtakingly beautiful I think you are. Inside and out."
Ian's fingers tightened around Mickey's on their own accord. He didn't think he was beautiful, not at all. A doll that has been used and torn apart by careless children isn't beautiful, like the stunningly perfect porcelain dolls collected by someone who treats them as if they were the most precious thing on earth. Maybe Ian had been beautiful, at some point long ago, when he was still innocent and happy, but not now.
Mickey cupped his cheek again and looked into his eyes. "You are," he insisted, as if he knew what Ian was thinking.
Ian dropped his eyes down to their joined hands, their fingers laced together as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Mickey held them as if he didn't want Ian to fall and break even more. As if he was ready to catch him if he did.
When he looked back up, he was smiling and Mickey smiled in response. That was the most beautiful thing Ian had seen in his whole life.
"So," Mickey started, with a lighter tone. "Are you going to dance with me now, or do I have to get you another drink first to convince you?"
Ian laughed, happy and carefree, relishing the feeling of being cherished. "Fine. I'll dance with you."
"Yes!" Mickey stood immediately stood up and tugged him to the crowded dance floor. Ian usually wasn't comfortable so close to other people who could brush against him or touch him if they wanted. He didn't want bodies rubbing against him, and he didn't understand why dancing would be fun, not anymore. Not when the simplest touch of a stranger made him remember all the other times he'd had to allow strangers to touch him.
But it felt completely different dancing with Mickey. He threw his arms around Ian and tugged him close, but not enough to make him uncomfortable, just enough to make him feel like he was protected from the mass of sweaty bodies around them. Mickey was a good dancer and Ian attempted to follow, feeling a bit out of rhythm and practice.
Mickey ran a thumb down the crease of Ian's forehead, to smooth away his anxious frown. "Hey. Relax. You look worried."
"I can't really dance very well," Ian apologized sheepishly.
"You're doing great," Mickey assured him, smiling, as he moved them in sync with the song. "Dancing is about feeling, not thinking. Just forget about everything but the music and you'll do great."
Tentatively, Ian put his arms around Mickey's neck and stepped a little closer. Their bodies weren't touching – Ian wasn't sure if he could risk feeling Mickey against him, closer than ever, without triggering bad memories – but there was still a whisper of intimacy that, surprisingly, didn't discomfort Ian in the slightest.
With every song they danced to, Ian discovered that being like this with Mickey was overwhelming him, but in all the good ways. His senses were filled with the scent of Mickey's sweaty skin; the sound of his voice as he sang along to some of the lyrics; the sight of his eyes fluttering close as if he was losing himself in the pleasure of dancing, eyelashes painting shadows on his cheekbones; the touch of his hands where they were settled on his back. Ian had been a lot closer to many men than he was with Mickey now, but he'd never felt anything so intimate.
After a few more songs, Mickey leaned closer to be able to speak into Ian's ear and make himself heard over the booming music. "I'm getting dehydrated! Do you want to head over to the bar and get another drink?"
Ian nodded so Mickey took his hand to guide him out of the sea of bodies still throbbing to the music. Mickey let go when they got to the bar and leaned over the wooden counter, waving to get the bartender's attention. After being in constant contact with him for so long, Ian felt suddenly lost, as if he was adrift without Mickey's hands holding him. He felt disheveled and unkempt, his hair messy and his neck sweaty. He found his reflection on a mirror behind the bar and realized his hair was sticking up in some places and that it had fallen in others from the sweating. He needed a moment to steady himself, to get his breathing back to normal.
"Mickey?" He said, fingers brushing Mickey's arms to get his attention. When Mickey turned to him with eyebrows raised in a silent question, he murmured, "I'm going to the restroom for a sec, okay?"
"Okay," Mickey nodded. "It's right over there; you can't miss it," he added, pointing in the direction of the bathrooms. He frowned for a second, looking concerned. "You're sure you're okay?
Ian reassured him with a smile, and squeezed his arm before making his way to the bathroom. Despite how crowded the bar was, the men's restroom was practically deserted. He stood by the sink, noting the rosy pink on his cheeks and his sparkling eyes, before splashing some water on his heated face, thinking they made him look healthier and happier than he had in years. Next, he ran his fingers through his hair, trying half-heartedly to repair the damage. Was there any point if they were going to dance all night? The man that had been in one of the stalls washed his hands and left the bathroom, the door swinging closed behind him.
It opened again just a few seconds later, but Ian paid no mind to it, busy trying to stop his bangs from falling on his forehead limply. However, when he felt a big hand settling on his hip, he jumped in startled alarm and turned to the man that had slipped close behind him, unnoticed.
Ian felt all the air in his lungs abandoning him as he stared into those eyes; eyes he hadn't been able to forget and that still haunted him in nightmares almost every night. He stumbled back out of his grasp, tensing in panic. "You…"
Kash smirked as he took a step forward, back into his space. "Imagine my surprise when I was getting a beer at the bar and I see you there," he said tauntingly. His voice sent a cold shiver down Ian's spine, freezing him completely immobile, like a rabbit run down by a wolf. He put a hand on the counter next to where Ian was standing, penning him to the corner, a hand with a gold wedding band on it. "It's been quite a while since I've heard from you."
Ian swallowed, his frightened eyes darting to the door behind Kash, willing someone, anyone to come into the bathroom. He thought he should scream, ask for help, but there was no point. No one would hear him over the loud music pouring from the speakers.
Kash ran a blunt finger down his chest, beginning at the open top, where the purple shirt was clinging to his skin with sweat. Ian cringed away from him, the sharp edge of the counter digging against the small of his back. Kash's eyes darkened as they wandered hungrily over Ian's body.
"You look even better now, than you did in high school," he growled, moving in closer. His finger traced the contours of Ian's ribs, down to a jutting hipbone. He put his hips against Ian's thigh, and Ian could feel the outline of his erection already pressing against him. He felt sick. "Have you raised your prices? Or is a twenty still enough to get you on your knees and put those pretty lips to work?"
Ian forced his voice to work, putting his hands up to try to push him away, even though Kash was bigger and stronger. "Leave me alone."
Kash's other hand came up and tangled his fingers into Ian's hair with a tight grip. Ian let out a soft cry of pain as he tugged, hard. "Stop pretending you never enjoyed it. I know how much you like it. You love getting your mouth stuffed, don't you? What about your little hole? Do you love it, Ian? You do, don't you? You get all hot and bothered just thinking about it, mm? You've always been such a perfect little slut…"
"Get off me," Ian desperately tried to push him away again, helpless to stop him, even though he knew there was no point. He knew how this always went. Kash had always been able to walk right over his defenses, to just take whatever he wanted.
Kash leaned even closer, mouth pressed against Ian's ear. "Sometimes, when I'm fucking my wife, I think of you."
Ian whimpered in distress, a few tears slipping down his cheeks as he realized he wouldn't ever be able to escape from him.
"Are you going to be good for me now?" Kash bit hard on his earlobe and Ian cried out in pain again, his voice weak with terror, because he knew Kash got off on hurting him. "How much do you want?"
Ian pressed his lips tightly together to hold back a sob. He'd learnt early that crying only incited him to do worse. Kash tugged on his hair again.
"Come on, tell me how much you want," Kash whispered darkly. "I want to come down your throat like that first time. I'm feeling a little nostalgic…"
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Kash's head snapped to the side to find Mickey standing at the door, eyes wide. He was clutching a drink in each hand and taking on the scene before him, narrowing on the tears trailing down Ian's cheeks.
"Get out of here, and come back in ten minutes," Kash said dismissively, turning back to Ian, clearly not interested in Mickey. "We've got business to discuss."
"Get away from him right now, or I'll call the police," Mickey snarled, putting the drinks down on the counter and stepping towards them.
Kash snorted. "No reason to get your panties in a twist. He's a whore. We're negotiating a little transaction. Now get the fuck out of here."
Mickey put his hands on Kash's chest and shoved him away from Ian with all the strength his fury had given him, in spite of being half his weight. There was fire burning in his hazel eyes and his face was strained with anger. "Don't ever touch him again!"
Suddenly released, Ian couldn't stay there for one more second. Even though his legs felt wobbly, he lurched his way out of the bathroom, fleeing from whatever Mickey was shouting to Kash, and the hateful, hurtful words Kash was spitting back. He pushed his way through the mass of people and out of the bar, gasping when the chilly air hit his face, a shocking contrast to the stuffed atmosphere in the bar. He held himself briefly against the wall and then, needing to escape, he started moving away from the entrance, to put as much distance between him and Kash as possible.
Not far from there, his shaky knees finally giving out, he slipped into the darkness of an alleyway. He crumpled to the ground and curled up, sobs wracking his body as he let them out at last.
He wasn't sure how long he was there, rocking back and forth, his arms tight around himself as if scared he would turn to ashes if he let go for just a second. Kash's words replayed in his mind, each and every one of them, cruel and true, so, so true. You're such a perfect little slut…
Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder and he flinched away from it with a whimper of terror.
"No, no, Ian…" Mickey's gentle voice reached his ears as he knelt beside him. "No, hey. It's okay. It's me. It's me."
Ian looked up at him, his eyes reflecting blind panic and filled with tears. Mickey was in anguish just looking at him.
"It's okay, Ian. I'll take you home, and you'll be safe there. It'll be okay," Mickey said soothingly, an empty promise to Ian's ears.
Ian kept rocking in desolation, even when Mickey helped him back into the car. His worst nightmare had materialized in front of him, when his guard had been lowered, after years of dreading it, and Mickey had seen every filthy second of it.
As soon as Mickey had guided him into the house and up the stairs to his bedroom, Ian rushed into the bathroom and, just like that first day – I want to come down your throat like that first time – he collapsed on the floor and emptied the contents of his stomach.
He would never stop feeling sick. He would never stop feeling unsafe.