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The sun was just starting to break the horizon in the distance but the Pad was still a mess. Peter and Davy were both passed out even though they had promised to help clean up. Mike grumbled as he and Micky worked together to carry them into their room, Micky grabbing them under their arms and Mike grabbing their feet. Depositing them into their respective beds, Micky tucking them in to the best of his abilities.
“I’m not even upset, I knew Davy was too drunk to help clean up, but it’s really also having to carry him back to his room.” Mike was doing his best to keep himself calm, grumbling ever so slightly and things got sorted into the trash and sink and other various piles things got moved into when they were in the process of being put away.
Micky wasn’t helping much. Laid out on the floor like a starfish as Mike tried to tidy up enough that critters wouldn’t start climbing in through the windows or if the landlord came knocking in the morning the fact that they had had a party wasn’t too painfully obvious. His presence was still appreciated. “Oh but I am sure in the morning he is going to have those big sorry eyes where he looks like a puppy dog and he promises that he will wash the dishes for a month to make up for it but inevitably he will forget one night and then Peter will wash them for him to help but you know Peter, he always feels so guilty about that sort of thing that he would probably apologize to Davy about it and then we would step out to give them their space and wait until we saw them giggling and dancing in the living room before we came back inside and then the sink will be full of dishes and everything would be back to normal.”
There was a healthy amount of yawns in his ramble, a number that put Mike at ease. That Micky might still get some sleep after this.
Sometimes he didn’t sleep after parties, to high energy and worked up. Mike could tell when he would lie about sleeping. When he would wake up in the morning and he was still stroking his hair in the same manner he fell asleep to.
“I said I don’t even care about him not cleaning up, it’s the carrying him back to his room.” Mike stood over Micky, the smile on his face impossible to keep back.
“We could have just left them in the living room.” Micky said, smiling back up at him.
“Well I didn’t want to wake him or Peter up while we were cleaning.” Mike was kneeling down next to Micky, pulling at his arm as forcing him to sit up. Kissing him like it was an essential task for him to get any other tidying up done.
“Bleh.” Micky said with an exaggerated look on his face. “You taste like cigarettes.”
It earned him an eyeroll from Mike, “And you taste like cheap beer.” It was unclear who pulled who in after that, but the kiss did continue. Sweet and practiced and comfortable. The kind that made both of them feel like real people with hearts and hopes and dreams and not just tools. The kind that pulled each other closer almost on instinct. “You better have a real good argument for me to stay here and not go back to tidying up.” Mike’s face had barely put space between their faces but still technically space.
“Davy was going to clean up, remember? I’m keeping you distracted so that he can clean up like he promised.” Micky clinged to Mike for support to keep upright, waiting patiently for Mike to kiss him again.
Mike gave him a short kiss, closer to a peck really, “I never cared about the cleaning up.” Mike got up from the ground. Micky knew he should have seen it coming, but he still thought it was worth a shot though.
Instead he opted to also get to his feet, following Mike to whatever thing he started to do next, stealing kisses in between. “I can’t believe you are still up. I mean, you never stay up this late.”
“Well it was a party, not very polite for me to go to bed during a party.” Mike was happy to play into Micky’s little indulgences. The ‘stolen’ kisses and the arms wrapped around his waist. The meandering ramblings that he would inevitably end up on. Stories that would start and turn rapidly and unexpectedly that Mike couldn’t help but be enamored by. Micky had a way of talking, even when he was talking about nothing, that seemed to cast a spell over Mike.
“What if I built us new patio furniture? You know, so that there were more places to sit, I know we have all the bench seats, but I am thinking something like a porch swing. I know we don’t really have any of the normal things for it like the beams or the overhang, but you know, I think I want a porch swing, or at least I think I want one in the future.”
It always warmed Mike’s heart to hear Micky talk about the future. Hear him talk about making a future. Talk about their future. Micky these days seemed so sure that there was a future to be had. The house had been slowly decorated at all of their hands, but there was something about Micky bringing home a poster or sign or some kind of knick knack that sometimes almost brought Mike to tears. He never tried to make a big deal about it. But watching Micky become comfortable in existing, in living, felt like an honor. Watching Micky steal his clothes and start to have a wardrobe of his own. Watching him have opinions on groceries and furniture and hearing him occasionally whine when they had to leave the house all made Mike believe all that more that Micky was in fact happy staying one spot.
Sometimes Mike had his doubts, his worries, there had been moments where he thought that Micky was destroying himself to stay.
The bed was cold when Mike woke up. Cold and empty. Not uncommon, not common either. Mike would reach for the other lump in the bed and normally with one gentle tug there would be arms wrapped around him within moments.
That didn’t happen this time. This time the bed was empty. Which was fine, Micky was probably using the bathroom or getting water or something, but Mike’s mind started to wander the longer and longer he laid in bed. His mind started to wander to worst cast scenarios.
Micky was sick, downstairs, all alone in the bathroom, throwing up and curled up on the floor. Shaking and sweating and shivering as he hallucinated through a fever.
Micky was hurt, had fallen down the stairs, was too prideful to call out for help not wanting to wake anyone so he tended to his wounds all alone.
Micky was gone. An apology waiting for him downstairs that he just couldn’t sit still anymore.
Mike tried to not let himself think like that. He never liked thinking that Micky might leave. In fact he hated the thought. He hated the thought more than anything. He wanted more than anything to be able to trust with every cell in his being that Micky would still be there in the morning.
It was hard, though. Hard for him to think people wouldn’t leave. Far too many times far too young had people walked away. That’s what people did. That’s what adults did. You could get them to stay for a little longer if you were on your best behavior but it was silly to think they would stick around.
Like a cat with a deathwish, Mike made his way out of bed. Slippers and housecoat on, he was careful as he went down the stairs. The spiral staircase even more dangerous in the dark.
For a moment, he saw nothing, empty, yawning and tired. He thought about going back to bed, Micky would find his way back to bed eventually. That or Mike would wake up alone and he probably wouldn’t be able to get himself out of bed until Davy lured him out. If Davy was even still there to lure him out. Then he saw a shift outside the window. Micky was outside, sitting on the bench, smoking a cigarette and looking out to the ocean.
Mike silently sat down next to him, letting himself cuddle up close, his hand slowly running up Micky’s arm until it reached his face and Mike pulled the cigarette from his lips before kissing him.
He meant for it to be short, Micky held on through. Begging practically. Kissing Mike like it was his only tether to reality. Not the first time something like that had happened. Both of them had a tendency to reach for each other and beg. Beg to be loved, beg to be touched, beg to be wanted.
“What are you doing out here all alone smoking my cigarettes?” Mike asked quietly as slowly took a drag off of what had been left.
“Couldn’t sleep.” Micky let his head fall to Mike’s shoulder. “Been having a lot of trouble sleeping recently.” Mike let his arm wrap around Micky, “I feel like I say it all the time, I don’t want to leave, I don’t, but I don’t know how to stay anywhere, but I’m staying here, and everytime I feel like I am figuring it out I get this itch, this burn, and not in the same way I did, more like I am waiting for it to happen. Like if I don’t move it’s going to start soon. It's going to hurt you and Peter and Davy, somehow I’m going to hurt you, and Peter, and Davy, and I don’t want to do that again Mike, I don’t want to leave, but I should be able to get it through my head, shouldn’t I?” it was more frustration than anything. Anxious rants that at one point were filled with fearful promises now filled with frustration. “I don’t like this feeling, because I want this, I want you, I want this life more than anything, I’ve said it so many times Mike, I want to stay, I want to be here, and I choose to stay, every single night and morning, I can’t leave you or Davy or Peter, I won’t, but sometimes, sometimes it feels like someday I just won’t have that choice, that I’ll have to, I’ll have to and it will kill me. It would destroy me,” Mike held tighter as the sniffles.
“You can always come back.” Not a future he liked to entertain but one that he had to. One where Micky left again. But he would rather have Micky leave and call crying for help a thousand times then think about him being gone. “And if it destroys you, I’ll help put you back together, if you’ll let me.” Micky nodded as much as he could against him. “My first-aid skills are not as good as yours, but I can try to patch you up.” And Micky was crying against him, “As many times as you need.” Anxieties that they soothed in each other time after time after time. But Mike would do it every day for the rest of his life if it meant keeping Micky around.
“I don’t deserve you.” Micky choked out between sniffles.
“Yes you do,” Mike said without hesitation. “You deserve so much more than me.”
Arms were wrapped around each other for a long time. Long enough for Mike to consider lighting another cigarette. The words, “I’m cold.” stopping him though. Micky shivering in his arms.
“Do you want to come keep me warm in bed then?” Mike asked, and Micky nodded. Letting Mike take him by the hand and lead him up to bed like he had done so many times before. Letting Mike undress him and help him into pajamas like he had anytime that it was too much for Micky think about. Letting Mike make it all better.
“I think a porch swing would be lovely.” and Micky’s eyes lit up. Glittering and sparkling with hope and wonder. New ramblings about his plans, loose plans that still wandered and wavered and weaved into stories. Some that Mike had heard before but that he loved hearing.
Micky never complained about Mike staying up late after parties and cleaning up, sometimes he would mention bed to Mike, see if he would take the bait and make the choice on his own, but he was more than happy to stay up with Mike. Keep him company as he tidied, he knew Mike couldn’t help it, he had far more respect for their living space than the rest of them combined, and he would rather keep him company than think about Mike downstairs all night cleaning the guilt of having a party until the morning. Occasionally he helped put things back on shelves or in drawers when Mike handed them to him. Comments on every single item Mike handed over.
“We should get some more real plates,” about the cleaned paper ones that all went into the box.
“Did we take these from that hotel?” about the towels that Mike asked him to go put in the laundry basket.
“What if we got married?” said completely unprompted as Mike returned from taking out the garbage.
Mike stood in the doorway, mouth open, trying to make sure he was hearing things right. “Can you say that one more time?
Micky was pulling at his hand, “We don’t have to, but, I don’t know, we could.”
“We could what?” Mike just needed to hear it again.
“Get married.” Micky said it like it was obvious. “I know it’s late, or early, or whatever we want to call it, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and, we can talk about more later, but I was just thinking about it and wanted to know if you had any thoughts about it.”
Mike blinked a few times, “Micky, we can’t get married.” And it hurt Mike to say. “I wish we could, but we can’t.”
“Well why not?”
“Well I don’t think the government will give us a marriage licence.” Mike said it gently. Letting his hand find his face and running a thumb over his cheek.
Micky was pulling Mike’s hand from his face, “Government shmoverment, we don’t need a marriage licence,” and Micky was stepping closer. “We just need us, right? We just need to agree that’s what we want, and we can decide that we're married.”
Mike was at a loss for words. Stuttering and mumbling like he had never considered the notion. But he really hadn’t. Marriage was never in his cards. He never thought it would be. He had always had other commitments and responsibilities. Even when he was younger. A family to take care of. He didn’t have time to think about frivolous things like dating, let alone marriage. Which never bothered him at the time, there were never any girls that caught his eye back home. Sure he had friends, girls he had gone to school with who came around the house and helped out from time to time. Who might have been fishing for invites to the movies or to prom. Some of his younger siblings would ask if she was his girlfriend, but he would give the same answer as always, a friend who was a girl. And once he got to California and certain dispositions came to light, marriage wouldn’t be an option with that either. And that never bothered him. Already selfish enough for him to be out on his own dating around, selfish enough he was looking for comfort where he knew he wasn’t supposed to be in the arms of other men, best that he didn’t have something like marriage be an option on the table.
But now Micky was standing in front of him, the kind of guy who doesn’t stick around, eyes sparkling in the early morning sun, asking his thoughts on marriage. Arguing for it. Wanting to make it work. To build him, them, patio furniture. To build a future together. A real future and set it in concrete, to seal it with gold rings. And Mike didn’t know what to think. He was fairly certain he didn’t know how to think. He was pretty sure he didn’t know how to breathe anymore.
“We don’t have to,” Micky said softly, leaving a kiss on Mike’s cheek. Not disappointed, not sad, just letting him know. “You’re still stuck with me either way.” Soft touches up his arm to help ground Mike back in reality, “Come on, how about you come to bed with me.” And all Mike could do was follow Micky up to the bedroom. Up to their bedroom. Being led to bed as he had so many other times. So aware of every small little thing Micky did. Watching as Micky closed the bedroom window, jamming it with a stick. Not because they thought they would get robbed but to put Mike at ease, so that he wouldn’t have any lingering thoughts that Micky might leave. Watching as Micky changed into one of Mike’s shirts to sleep in, giving Mike a wink as soon as he noticed Mike staring.
It wasn’t long before the room felt like it was spinning around him, like he was watching himself in slow motion crawl into bed, crawl into Micky’s arms. Getting care and comfort in the forms of kisses and caresses and quiet ‘I love you’s whispered against his skin. It wasn’t long before the world was spinning him into some sort of ill-fitting sleep. Not quite a nightmare, but somewhere close.
“I’m going to go start some coffee,” They were the first words Mike heard so many mornings. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since they laid down but he knew Micky, he was either going to be up for the day or sleep all the way through it. “Do you want me to bring you up a cup once it’s ready?” Mike knew he should have gotten up. But his bones felt heavy and his muscles felt weak. He didn’t know why, they just did. All he could get himself to do was whine. Weak and pathetic. He didn’t want this right now, he didn’t want to be tired and useless and exhausted. He tried to get up, he really did, but it practically hurt. “I’ll be right back.” It was a kiss left on his forehead, the door being left open so he could hear him downstairs. He could hear Davy and Peter too. Nothing distinct, nothing concrete, just that they were having a conversation. That there was some laughing.
A few words stuck out, a groan from Davy, “What’s he upset about? I weigh probably seven stone and I’ve seen him throw you over his shoulder.” And that gave him some sort of warm feeling. It made it easier to settle into the bed, easier to let his bones be heavy, even if it still made him feel guilty to stay in bed like that.
Micky brought him coffee and oatmeal. Sat next to the bed and made sure he ate something, made sure he drank something, made sure he laughed. A morning that should have been impossible for Mike, that should have left him curled up in his blankets for days on end, now somehow possible.
“I think the party just wore me out, it was fun, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I have too much fun and I just get sick from it.” Mike had a habit of looking for excuses. For reasons he got the way he did. And there were times where Micky would challenge it, tell him it was okay, that he didn’t need to have an excuse, but Micky knew how to pick his battles. And right now he just held Mike’s hand and asked if he wanted another cup of coffee when he got up to go get another one for himself.
“I don’t deserve you.” Mike said quietly as Micky pulled away from a kiss.
“Yes you do.” Micky said it like a promise. A hand on Mike’s cheek and another quick kiss, “You deserve so much more than me. And I’ll tell you it for as long as you let me.”
Mike got out of bed and followed him to the door, stopping him before he left the bedroom. He wanted to say something, he just didn’t know how to say it. He didn’t even really know what he wanted to say. Just that it was something. It was easier to just hold onto his hand and let Micky pull him downstairs for more coffee.
The topic never came up again. But it sat in Mike’s mind. He would see Micky across the room and the words would play again in his mind, ‘What if we got married?’ And Mike would find himself stuck in place. Mouth dry and heart beating fast. At a complete loss for words. Until someone shook him from his daze.
The words repeated in his mind as he glanced back at Micky during a gig, Micky singing songs that Mike had written for the band. Love songs that made Peter and Davy roll their eyes and giggle. Ones Micky would have the biggest grin on his face while singing. ‘What if we got married?’ would repeat in his mind and Mike would miss a note in his riff. The others would poke fun at him afterwards, saying that he needs to not let himself get too distracted up on stage.
The words were relentless in his mind as he followed Micky down to the beach in the middle of the night. He had had a nightmare, a bad one. Worse than bad. The kind that used to make Micky want to go get his face smashed in. The kind that made him go pick fights. The kind that made him break his teeth and come home with bloody noses and busted lips. The kind that made Micky run. That pulled his chest tight and made it impossible to breathe. “I can’t be in the house, Mike.” Micky had shaken him awake, tears streaming down his face. “I don’t want to break anything or hurt anyone,” or hurt himself, “but I can’t not,” Micky was holding his fists curled into his chest, “And I don’t know what else to do.”
Mike held him as he sobbed. “What if we went down to the beach?” It was all Mike could think of in that moment. “Nice wide open space, nice soft sand,” And Micky was nodding, nodding and trying to get out of the house as fast as possible.
He was curled up in a ball on his side by the time Mike got down there. His breathing still ragged but slower, sobs still coming from him but less frequent. Micky practically crawling into his lap the moment Mike was sitting in the sand. The only phrase in Mike’s mind being, ‘What if we got married?’ as he helped Micky calm down, helped him feel like a person again. And he would have done it, right then and there. Married Micky on the beach in the middle of the night as tears rolled down his face. Kissed him and promised himself to him for the rest of their lives and whatever came next. Micky wouldn’t need to say anything. Just nod and that would be good enough for him. But it was not the right moment.
Mike didn’t know if it would ever be the right moment, or if it had already passed.
Davy found Mike in the kitchen late one night. Scratching out song lyrics by candlelight. “Burning the midnight oil?” Davy asked as he started making himself some sort of snack.
“Something like that.” Mike tapped the pencil against the notebook for a while, the tapping getting faster and faster and faster, “Davy, can I talk to you about something?” He asked before Davy could disappear again. His tone serious and anxious.
And before Mike knew it Davy was sitting across from him, a serious look on his face, a look he did not normally have. “Is something going on? Did something happen?” He was concerned. Genuinely worried. The soft light from the candle exaggerating it.
Mike took a deep breath, he hadn’t talked about it, not even to himself, just let the thoughts fester in his mind, “Micky asked me what I thought about getting married.”
And Davy’s face quickly pulled into a smile, "Congratulations!” He was trying to keep the noise down but couldn’t help but clap at least a little bit, “I’m going to be your best man, right? Or did you two already elope, you two closed door bastards, I bet you two eloped, didn’t you?”
Mike just shook his head, “No, we didn’t elope, we aren’t even engaged, we just… talked about it. We didn’t even really talk about it, Micky mentioned it. Once. Months ago. And, I don’t know, it has just itched in my skull ever since.”
Davy’s face fell back into concern. “Do you want to get married?”
Mike took a deep breath and all he could do was shrug. “Getting married was never one of my to-do items. For one, I didn’t have a lot of romantic prospects back home. I mean, I was busy, I was working, I was making sure breakfast and dinner were getting on the table. And so while everyone else was getting into relationships I was, well I was helping out around the house.” Mike didn’t talk about home much, but facts had slipped through. Enough pieces that Davy put something resembling a puzzle together. Maybe it didn’t have all the parts but he could squint and call it a picture. “And, well, when I wasn’t doing that anymore I was a little preoccupied with keeping myself afloat. Keeping myself fed and housed and clothed. And when I did finally start, whatever you want to call it, it wasn’t with women. At least nothing serious was with women. And I thought that meant marriage was now something I didn’t need to worry about.” Davy was getting ready to cut in, but Mike just kept on talking, “And then I met Micky, and I knew what I was getting myself into, he told me, he tried to warn me, and I accepted it, I accepted him, how ever he would let me have him, but now,” Mike was getting worked up, his breathing getting shallow, tears welling up in his eyes, “And now he’s telling me things like ‘all we need to get married is agree that’s what we want,’ and what am I supposed to do with that? What am I supposed to do with the fact that he’s been thinking about how we could possibly get married, and I have just been happy with the fact that he kisses me before he gets out of bed in the morning.” It was such a silly thing to cry over. Silly thing to be upset over. That somehow Micky had fallen more in love with Mike than Mike was with him. He didn’t think that could happen. He didn’t know how to handle it.
Davy was pushing his juice and crackers in front of Mike. A much needed snack, something to distract him enough to not cry. “Mike,” Davy spoke softer, pulling a chair up next to him. “If you don’t want to get married you don’t have to. You know, it’s just a word, and if that word isn’t for you I don’t want I am certain Micky will understand.”
“Didn’t think I would want it,” Mike ate the crackers and drank the juice, “But now, now I know it’s an option, an option he’s open to, an option he’s thought about, and I can’t stop thinking about it, and I know its stupid and selfish, I mean, it wouldn’t change anything, like you said it would be just a word.” And Mike fell silly, he felt like a lovesick school boy, like for the first time his crush was liking him back. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Micky and I have a good thing going. And I don’t want him to feel trapped. Like he has to stay.”
Davy nodded for a while, thinking, “How long have you two been together?” Davy asked as he got up and rummaged through something in the living room, flicking on lights to look for it.
It took Mike a moment to think, he didn’t know where to count from, he kept it conservative, “Coming up on three years.”
“And do you really think that Mr. Self-Identifed-Flight-Risk would even consider mentioning marriage if he was not certain about it?” Davy was walking back over, an envelope in his hand that he was handing over to Mike, “Here, take it.”
And Mike took it, opening it up and seeing a wad of cash inside. “Davy, what is this?” He was counting it up, “There’s close to two hundred dollars in here.”
“I’ve been very slowly saving up to get Peter a guitar, a new one, I’ve wanted to get him a new guitar for a while, you know, I know he likes all his used instruments, says they have character, but I think he deserves a new one.” Mike was looking up at Davy, trying to figure out why he was handing over the money to him, “Every once in a while when things are tight I’ve dipped into it, and if another dip means that my friends can get hitched, well, dip away.”
Mike stared blankly for a while before he started thumbing through the cash. Pulling out around $30 before handing back the envelope. “I’ll pay you back Davy, I promise.”
Davy just shook his head. “Just let me be your best man and we can call it even.”
Mike could barely speak after the others got back from getting some lunch. They had brought back some for Mike, he said he wasn’t feeling up to it, which was true to a certain extent. He felt nauseous and dizzy the entire time they were gone. And as soon as they were back, Mike couldn’t get himself to talk.
“You feeling alright, babe?” Micky asked as Mike sat at the table, “You’ve barely eaten any of your burger.” And all Mike could do was nod. His mouth was dry, and he couldn’t find the words even if he wanted to. “If you aren’t feeling up for band practice, we don’t have to practice.” And Micky was being gentle and considerate. Soft in a way that made Mike fall in love even more.
“No, no, I think practice will be good for me.” And Mike tried to choke down as much of his burger as he could, but he didn’t want to eat too much. The last thing he wanted to do was throw up.
It felt like a million years between them transitioning between lunch and practice. And Mike felt like he could feel every heartbeat of it. Of it being drawn out longer and longer and longer. Trying to talk as little as possible. Worried about what might come out of his mouth if he did. Maybe he would cough up his entire heart into Micky’s lap.
“Earth to Mike! You still with us?” Micky asked with a concerned smile. And Mike just nodded. “You sure you don’t want to go lay down for a little before practice? You’re looking a little pale.”
Mike shook his head faster than the devil, “No, no no no, I don’t need to lay down, I think if we all go practice a few songs I will feel much better.”
Micky still gave a worried look though. Trying his best to believe. Still trying to let Mike know not to push himself without making that choice for him. The air was thick for Mike as he watched Micky walk behind his drumset. It was like he was watching it in slow motion. He could tell Micky was saying something but he couldn’t hear the words. Then Micky stopped talking and made a funny face. Picking up the gold ring that Mike got from a pawn shop and had left on the seat of his drumset next to his drumsticks.
“What’s this?” Micky asked as he looked between the ring and Mike. The pieces slowly clicking together in his mind.
Mike stood a bit away from him, stiff as a crate and practically shaking. “What if we got married?” And as soon as Mike started talking he couldn’t stop, “Really, what if? You know? What if? What if we got married? What if I married the man who makes me breakfast in the morning. And kisses me goodnight no matter what. Who has loved me on my good days and my bad ones.” He had had a speech, but as he spoke the words got jumbled, and all he could do was keep talking, “You know, they say in sickness and in health, and, well, I think even on our worst days we’ve made it work. And there’s no one else I could think I want to be with on bad days. There’s no one more who I want more to have rough nights with. No one more who I want dressing my wounds when I get hurt. No one more who I want to take care of when you aren’t feeling well. No one more who I want waking me up in the middle of the night when things are just too much. And I know I’m not perfect, I’m probably the farthest thing from it, I’ve made more mistakes in my life than I can count and sometimes it feels like I have more bad days than I have good ones, but for some reason you still are sticking around, and I know it won’t really change anything, but, we have already decided that we can’t get rid of each other, so, what if we got married?” And Micky stood there silently holding the ring. “You know the first time I met you, you left me speechless, with your kindness and your care, and I know you didn’t think you were kind or caring then, but you were, even then I wanted you, I would have done anything, I still would do anything, I want to do anything. And I would be happy keeping things as they are, I would have died happy just because I had the chance to have you in my life. But if the opportunity to marry you is on the table? Well of course I want to marry you.”
Micky was practically jumping over the drumset to get to Mike, the shortest route physically possible. Grabbing Mike by the face and pulling him in. “Yes,” and Micky was practically knocking him over with how forcefully he kissed Mike. “Yes, I do, whatever you want,” holding onto him as tightly as he could. “Please, please Mike, can we?” And Micky was kissing Mike more than he wasn’t. Words barely getting out between them, muffled between lips and breath. “Please?”
Mike couldn’t help but smile, trying his best to keep them from falling over. “Yes, Micky.” Mike was barely able to get out between kisses. “Yes,” and at some point in time Mike lost his footing, both of them collapsing to the floor in a heap. And Micky paused for a moment, making sure that Mike was alright, and Mike just nodded, pulling Micky close again and kissing him softly. “Do you still have the ring?” Mike asked, and then Micky was scrambling around on the floor looking for it. Until he found it triumphantly, crawling back over to Mike. Letting Mike take it from his hand and find a finger it would fit on Micky’s hand. It wasn’t the right size, but they made it work. Cheering and clapping from behind them from Peter and Davy as they kissed again.
Mike had forgotten that they were standing right there, his cheeks growing red as he backed away from Micky, but Micky didn’t let him back away. Grabbing him by the front of the shirt and pulling him closer again. “We’re fiancé’s now, can’t I kiss you a little bit in front of our friends?”
And Mike hesitated for a moment, glancing over at Peter and Davy, both of whom had massive grins on their faces. Peter even mouthing the words, ‘kiss him,’ like he was some sort of wingman. And that anxious little bubble in Mike’s chest didn’t go away, the one that told him to keep that sort of stuff to himself, but he was able to ignore it enough to kiss Micky again. And again. And again.