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Summary
There were good points to having a five hundred year old vampire as a boyfriend but Mickey honestly couldn’t remember a single one not when he was trying to sleep and Ian was poking him in the side at…Mickey raised his head to see the clock…three in the fucking morning.
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“Ian, why the fuck is my TV smoking?”
Ian turned on him with what Mickey guessed that the pointy-toothed bastard thought was an innocent look.
“I was trying to commune with the ancestors and the demons became enraged,” he offered up.
Mickey narrowed his eyes as he glowered at Ian, “There’s a fucking remote in my TV screen.”