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"I'll pay your tab," Ian whispers harshly and slides onto the stool next to some guy, "if you save me and pretend to be my boyfriend. Gayer the better."
The guy raises not one but both eyebrows, so high up on his forehead that it nearly looks painful. He looks incredulous, and Ian's stomach twists in annoyance that he'd chosen the wrong guy to help him out here. Fuck.
"Ian!" He hears, and braces himself once again for the onslaught of Tiffany Meyer's attempted affection. "Oh my god! I didn't know you'd be here!" She says and slides a long, bare leg onto the stool on his other side.
"Uh, yeah. Just... you know..." he says and waves a hand around vaguely.
"Well I'm glad I caught you! Wanna buy me a drink?" She asks and bats her long, fake lashes. She's fucking oblivious for one, dumb as hell for two, and very clearly a woman for three. He has zero interest. He's rejected her time and time again, nicely, but she just won't take a hint.
"Um..." he stumbles, because fuck, he's just too nice.
He hears a quiet chuckle next to him, low and breathy and deep, and he flares his nostrils in frustration. He'd definitely picked the wrong guy. When he turns to look at the guy, he's got a crinkled little smirk plastered on his lips as he takes a drink of his piss colored beer. Ian glares at him even though the guy's looking up at the game on the tv screen.
"Oh, who's your friend?" She asks, perfectly painted hand curling possessively over Ian's forearm.
Ian turns to look at the guy again, and this time he looks back. Ian pleads with him, fucking begs him with his eyes, looking from the drink curled in the guys tattooed fingers and back up, praying to convey that he meant it when he said he'd pay the tab. The whole fucking thing if the guy gets her off Ian's back.
"Boyfriend," the guy corrects, and Ian smiles just as brightly as he can and breathes a sigh of relief.
"Boyfriend? You're gay?" She asks Ian in disbelief.
"Well, he is. I just like having another man's dick in my ass," the guy interjects and Ian nearly chokes on his spit. "Mickey."
"Right," she frowns. "Ian, why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend?"
"How's where he puts his cock any'a your business?" The guy, Mickey, asks with a tone that's clearly telling her to back the fuck off. And, wow, apparently Ian didn't pick the wrong guy. The opposite, in fact.
"He's kinda rude, Ian."
"Ah, I dunno. He kinda grows on you once you get to know him," Ian shrugs and slings an arm around Mickey. Mickey tenses and shakes him off, and Ian laughs, undeterred.
"So... how long have you been together?" She asks, and it's clear she's struggling not to sound too rejected.
"I dunno, how long has it been, baby?" Ian asks, and glances over, loving how expressive Mickey's face is.
"Call me baby again, I'll cut your tongue outta your head."
Ian sends a subtle elbow into Mickey's ribs. After all, he's paying for this. He wants a quality fucking performance.
"Jesus Christ, I don't know. Two months or some shit," Mickey grumbles, finishes his drink and raises his glass toward the bartender for another.
"So it's still new?" Tiffany asks with renewed vigor.
"Yeah, which means we're bangin' non stop. All the time," Mickey informs her, and the way he looks back at Ian makes something in his belly start to heat up.
"But it's not, like, serious?"
"Are you fucking dumb?" Mickey snaps. "He's not gonna fuck you. He clearly doesn't want your skank ass. He's fuckin' gay. How much clearer do you need it to be spelled out?"
Tiffany sputters, looks from Ian and back to Mickey with a wide open mouth. Ian curls in on himself a little. That was... harsh, to say the least. He wouldn't have said it that way. Hell, he hasn't said it at all, really. He doesn't have it in him to be mean.
"I guess I'll... leave you to it, then..." she says and scampers off to lick her wounds.
"What the fuck was that?" Ian asks and spins his stool to face Mickey head on.
"What? Bitch wouldn't shut the fuck up. I'm trying to have my beer in peace and fucking quiet."
Ian scoffs and finishes the drink he started with and leaves it on the counter before he stands up.
"Let me know when you're ready for me to pay your tab. Thanks, I guess."
"What, you gonna make me do these shots alone?" Mickey asks, and flicks his tongue across his bottom lip.
"What shots?"
"The ones I'm about to order. You're payin'. I ain't drinkin' cheap." He smiles, something coy and mysterious, and Ian can't help but to smile back. He takes a seat and waits for Mickey to order two shots of whiskey, taking the glass in his hand and holding it out.
"To not havin' to dodge pussy," Mickey says and holds his out, too.
"To being together for two months," Ian smirks and clinks their shot glasses before Mickey can protest.
Who knows how many they’ve had. Three? Five more shots? It’s a lot, regardless, and Ian can’t remember the last time he’s been this drunk. Or had this much fun.
“She try to fuck your often?” Mickey asks and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Mm,” Ian mumbles and lights up a cigarette before he offers one to Mickey. “All the time.”
“And you don’t wanna hit that?”
“No... I uh, did I not make that clear?” Ian laughs and ashes his smoke.
“Yeah,” Mickey grins. “Guess you did. You see anyone else you’re tryin’ to take home instead?”
Ian smirks and makes a show of scanning the room. He takes his time, and truthfully, maybe there’s a couple of cute guys. He quirks a brow and cocks his head, eyes falling back to Mickey.
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Yeah? Should probably make a move, man. Last call’s comin’ up.”
“That so?” Ian asks. “How would you recommend I make a move?”
“In my experience, the more forward the better.”
“I see,” Ian nods and gets the bartender’s attention to pay his (and Mickey’s tab). “Alright then, Mickey, how ‘bout you come home with me and I’ll make sure you’re not walking right tomorrow.”
After that, Ian doesn't go to bars alone. He doesn't have to; Mickey's there with him, and there still when he wakes up in the morning.