Chapter Text
As you complicate things greatly
Since you came into my life
Old veneers and stately postures
Wax minute within your sigh
It was hard for Mike to change his point of view on things. He supposed that was part of growing up in Texas. He was raised to believe that they did everything right, and anybody who said different was wrong. Tea was meant to be served with a healthy amount of sugar on fresh ice, and anybody who preferred unsweet tea was crazy. If you ask for a Coke, the waiter should say “what kind?” back to you, not bring you a Coca-Cola. It’s plain good manners to wave hello to everyone you see on the street, and rude to not even smile. Perhaps the biggest shock to his senses was Micky. The first time they met - Davy had led Mike into the pad only to be greeted by a smiling Micky, wearing what appeared to be a tablecloth as a shirt - Mike knew he was in for a wild ride.
Micky had successfully managed to tweak Mike’s view on many things over the months they’d been living together. All the guys had, really. Peter’s carefree way of living was something Mike would’ve judged harshly back in Texas, but he had come to appreciate some grass and a sunny afternoon at the beach. Texas Mike would have hesitated before taking a girl to bed before marriage - he would’ve, and he did, but there would be weeks of thought beforehand. Malibu Mike would bring a couple girls home over the span of a week without thought and without guilt; something he’d learned from Davy. Micky, though, was the one who taught him the most.
It was Micky who had given him the courage to try new things. He never would’ve taken a drag from Peter’s joint for the first time had Micky not been there to encourage him, never would’ve invited a girl home for the first time had Micky not offered to introduce them. Micky had brought such levity and joy into Mike’s world, and for that Mike was forever grateful. However, Mike was also more confused now than he had ever been before. Micky was the reason Mike had started taking guys home, too, and he hadn’t quite figured out how to deal with that.
He was always cautious bringing a guy home, and more often than not he would go to their place instead. Sometimes, though, when Mike was absolutely sure the guys - his guys, Davy, Peter, and Micky - would be out for the entire night, Mike would bring his hookups home. He knew his guys wouldn’t care, he knew that he would be far from the first to bring another man home, but there was an internal shame he couldn’t get over. That wasn’t how things worked in Texas, that wasn’t how he was raised. Mike had never once thought he could feel that way about a man until he’d met Micky, but things were changing. Sorta. Mike really didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop feeling the crushing guilt that washed over him every time he slept with another man and yet, he kept doing it. He would never, ever admit this out loud - hell, he could barely admit it to himself - but every time, he found himself wishing it was Micky.
Mike could hear the familiar sound of Beatle boots plodding towards the door, and mentally prepared himself for Davy’s questions. No, he did not want to go out tonight. He was tired and he had to get some songwriting done so they could practice tomorrow. Yes, he would be fine alone by himself, yes he would stay awake to make sure everyone got home alright. He was prepared to say all this to Davy before the short bastard could talk him into changing his mind.
But when Micky opened the door, Mike was so shocked he lost his defenses.
“Are you going out with us tonight?” Micky asked, face flush with joy, as he walked to Mike’s bed and sat down. “Davy lent me his Beatle boots, and I wanna wear them with my poncho.”
“You mean your tablecloth, shotgun?” Mike grinned, ducking as Micky swatted at him. “Where are y’all goin’?”
“Friend of Peter’s,” Micky shrugged. “Somewhere in L.A.”
This, ideally, is where Mike would’ve rattled off his prepared speech. He didn’t mind going out, but some nights he wanted to himself. But since it was Micky who asked, well, Mike couldn’t say no.
“Sure,” Mike said, “long as I don’t have to drive. I’m aimin’ to have a good time if I go out.”
“Already taken care of. Davy offered, says he’s a better dancer sober,” Micky grinned, and it was then that Mike knew he had been set up. Davy did stay sober if he planned to dance, that much was true, but he hated driving and rarely offered to. The guys must really want him to go out with them tonight.
“Alright, you sold me,” Mike sighed, and Micky practically jumped up with excitement.
“It’ll be groovy, babe,” Micky said, his curls brushing against Mike’s forehead as he pressed a kiss between the Texan’s eyebrows. It was a brief kiss, an expression of friendship and appreciation more than anything, but a moment Mike would think about, late at night.
“Peter wants to leave at 7,” Micky said, getting up to leave. “And try to wear something fun, Mike, or you’ll stand out like a sore thumb. You can borrow anything from my closet that you like.” And with that, Micky was bouncing back down to eat whatever was being made for dinner.
Just as he thought that, Mike smelled something and sat straight up. It was Peter’s turn to cook, and Mike could smell something burning. He sighed, swung his legs off the bed, and went to the kitchen to save the day.
A few hours later, Mike was glad that he’d agreed to go to Peter’s friend’s party. Parties were a bit of a paradox for Mike: he didn’t like being with so many strange people, he didn’t like feeling like he always had to be talking to someone, he didn’t like not feeling totally in control of himself. But he liked the sort of freedom that being drunk allowed him. So what if he was more touchy than normal, or if he spent a little too long trying to get a glimpse of Micky’s ass under that poncho? He was drunk.
He was on the rooftop with Peter and Peter’s friend - Stephen, Mike had to keep reminding himself Peter’s friend had an actual name - and Peter was rolling a joint. Mike grinned in anticipation. There were few things he loved more than to be a little buzzed, smoke some grass, and relax with some music. It was a pleasure he allowed himself rarely - the feeling was so nice that Mike felt he could quite easily get addicted - and tonight was one of those nights. It was good stuff, too, Mike felt it rush to his head almost immediately, and against his will he let out a giggle. Weed made him feel soft and floaty, made him feel content. He enjoyed the peace of the roof for a few minutes, gazing out at the scene unfolding before him.
He couldn’t see Davy, who must be inside the house, but Micky had gathered a crowd and was telling a very animated story.
Mike was mesmerized by the curly-headed boy, even from afar. He always was, but he didn’t like to admit that to himself. Admitting you had feelings for somebody made things complicated, especially if that person was your friend who you also shared a bedroom with. When he was sober, those thoughts would rarely enter his head. He couldn’t allow himself to imagine what it would be like to have a life with Micky. When he was drunk, though, any self restraint he had went right out the window.
Suddenly, Mike found himself unable to stay away from Micky. He managed to get himself down from the roof just fine, although Peter looked terrified the whole time. He stumbled a little bit as he wove through the crowd. Mike had taken another shot or two before smoking, and it was hitting him now. He floated over to Micky, feeling breathless.
“Can we talk?” Mike said, and didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed Micky by the hand and pulled him into the house, poking through the rooms until he found a small closet that was out of the way and unoccupied. Mike’s heart was beating out of his chest. He absolutely could not believe he was actually doing this. It didn’t even feel like it was him making the decisions, it felt like his body was on autopilot and his brain was left trying to catch up.
“Mike, what-“ Micky began, but before he could finish, Mike’s lips were pressed against his. For a moment, Micky didn’t do anything in response, and Mike felt his heart stop.
He’d ruined everything.
And then Micky kissed him back, matching Mike’s intensity.
Micky made a noise, a half-sigh half-moan, and everything clicked for Mike. Jesus, if this could make both of them feel this good, even the Texan in him couldn’t argue. Another gasp from Micky, and Mike could practically feel his perspective on everything he’d known shift. Kissing Micky made him feel more alive than he ever had before, and he never wanted it to stop.