Thank you, @milkovetti , for this week's @galladrabbles prompt: “Double date!" Two weeks running I've set out to write either porn or angst and two weeks running I have written sappy fluff.
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Mickey reached his hand under the table and set his shaking hand on Ian's thigh, just enough contact to steady himself. He wasn't good at this whole 'normal life shit' yet but he sure as hell was trying. Across from them, the two dudes from Ian's job rambled on about some work bullshit. Mickey wasn't following and it didn't really matter; he couldn't get past pure joy in Ian's eyes when he'd said yes to going on a double date for lunch. Milkovich's don't do normal, but Mickey was all for things that made Ian smile at him like that.
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I wrote this random thing sometime after season 10 aired and had planned to make it a part of something bigger but never actually got around to it.
Takes place after Ian’s release in 10x5 and before Mickey’s release in 10x6.
He’s on hour ten of a 14 hour shift, waiting in line for some desperately needed coffee while on break, the other two paramedics waiting impatiently in the rig outside. At least Paula hasn’t stopped them from having this little bit of joy yet. She’ll probably start back charging them for breaks too before long.
And then that’ll be when I finally fucking quit. Except not because he needs the damn money.
The lady at the front seems to be attempting to win a medal for how much shit she can fit in one cup of coffee. Who the fuck even mixes peppermint with caramel?
He’s glancing around the shop when his eyes lock onto another pair staring straight at him. Ian recognizes him slightly, seen him here a few times when he comes in to grab coffee for a long shift. One of those guys who never seem to specify what exactly they do for work but somehow always have a laptop open doing something.
He’s good looking, there’s no denying that – tan skin, tight shirt, slick backed blonde hair, artsy tattoos wrapping around his biceps. Not the right kind of tattoos though. Ian offers a friendly nod in his direction, gets a heat filled leer and a grin back. He knows the look, seen it enough times from his days at the club. Hell, he’s given that look to plenty of guys himself.
Ian’s finally next in line so he drops the gaze and steps up to the counter, quickly placing an order for three coffees to go.
He’s standing off to the side waiting for them to call his name when he hears a throat clear next to him, looking over to see the guy walking up to him with a friendly smile on his face.
“Hi there. Name’s Jackson. You work around here?” Ian turns to address him, slightly caught off guard at being approached so quickly.
“Hey. Uh, the rig out there is mine,” he says, gesturing out the window to the ambulance parked out front where his two other coworkers are standing outside, one of them tapping frantically at his watch.
Jackson turns to look, nodding in recognition. “Yeah, I’ve seen you come in a few times, there some medical crisis happening around here I should know about?” he says with a rakish smile, not hiding the way he’s clearly checking out Ian, eyes lingering on his lower body.
Ian flushes slightly, skin prickling at the obvious attention. He laughs lightly, scratching the back of his head. “No, nothing like that. This coffee shop is pretty close to our route and the two out there are actual coffee snobs who won’t drink shit from Starbucks.”
Jackson laughs, a little too loudly for a joke Ian thinks isn’t all that funny.
“It’s a pretty nice neighborhood, actually. Lots of cool bars and places to hang out. I could show you around sometime if you want,” he offers, and Ian thinks he finally understands what the phrase ‘batting your eyelashes’ means.
Ian glances at him quickly, trying not to make too much eye contact. “Uh, sorry dude… I’m uh… taken. I’ve got someone.” He flushes, heat spreading through his body at his own words. Because he is. Taken. He belongs to someone.
He doesn’t think a simple sentence like I’ve got someone should be having this much of an effect on him, but he can’t help it. Mickey is his and he told him he’d wait. It’s different than the last time, when they were separated by glass and prison guards, when he had lied to his face and spiraled out into madness. They’re both so different now, it’s hard to fit those parts of his life together with his life now.
“He’s a lucky guy then. If you’re both ever looking for a good time, hit me up,” Jackson offers with an easy smile and a wink, clearly not put off by the mention of someone else. He slides a piece of paper across the counter with what Ian can only assume is his phone number. He doesn’t make an effort to take it, because he already knows the answer.
Mickey doesn’t share.
And neither does he.
A sliver of want flashes through him, images of Mickey’s shit-eating grin shining bright behind his eyes, picturing that tongue curling around his teeth when he’s feeling particularly smug. God, he misses him.
He snaps out of his daydream when he hears his name being called for his order, nodding politely at Jackson before heading up to grab the coffees.
“No thanks man, we’re good.”
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