Coda to 10x11... plus a parallel to 5x10
Also, livin on a prayer by Bon Jovi, give it a listen while reading the fic, makes it even better.
—
Ian tells the soloist to cut the song short, his point has been made and as sweet as the moment is, he doesn't want to give away any more of it. That can wait for their big day.
He leans with his elbows on the table as he tightens his hold on Mickey's hands, "it's okay for you to want this too, Mick," he tells him once everyone's gone back to minding their own business, "I know you wanna piss Terry off and I'm all for it but," his eyes shift down to Mickey's ring and thumbs over it, "we deserve this too," he looks back up at him, doe eyes all sweet and warm.
It's like Ian can read his mind, of course he fucking can. He's seen Mickey stress all day and as cute as it is to see him being a groomzilla, he can always see the real motif. He can see Mickey wants this, he wants it to be perfect for them more than anything else.
Mickey snakes one hand out, taking a swing of his beer to relax himself, "I do want this, man. Why the fuck shouldn't we? Haven't we put up with enough crap to have some normal shit for once?," if not for the words then the way Mickey's body sags shows Ian just how much he does want this.
Ian nods, a toothy grin plastering his face once again. One in which he looks at Mickey in complete awe, he can't believe he gets to fucking marry him. To comfort him and even serenade him for the rest of their lives. "Let's do this this," Ian agrees, "all out. With the chairs and flowers— all that shit," he grins purposefully.
Mickey snorts, mind going back to his outburst over the mix up of chairs. So fucking what if he did? He asked for the chiavari and he'd be damned if he got some ugly fucking black chairs. "Fuck you, man. The moron said he had 'em and then said sorry when we got there knowing he was wastin' my fuckin' time," he's ranting again but this time Ian's smiling because he knows what Mickey wants and it'll be okay now.
"I need you to start using the word our, you asshole. It's our wedding, our time wasted-- our, our-"
"Our, what, huh?"
"Our everything, Mick."
Mickey's face visibly softens once again, really he hadn't even noticed what he'd been saying but it warms him completely to see how even the small things affect Ian.
"Whose the groomzilla now," he mutters under his breath jokingly, widening his eyes comically. Ian's leaning in and Mickey's ready to kiss him but instead gets shoved back by the chest. A shocked look on his face that Ian matches with a head tilt, both challenging and then they erupt into laughter. The call for another round of beers, making eyes at each other and not worrying for what tomorrow holds.
They pay their tab and head out, Mickey's planner safely in Ian's hands now as they walk back home. The night is dark and cold but the stars are out and the usual hustle and bustle of the night isn't around so they opt to enjoy it. Mickey finds it kinda romantic too but no one needs to fucking know that.
Ian's left arm curls around Mickey's shoulder and Mickey's around Ian's waist. Giggling like idiots over nothing as they stumble up the sidewalk.
"She said we gotta hooold on...." Ian whispers lowly into Mickey's ear before placing an open mouthed kiss their, "to what we gooooot," he kisses his temple, "it doesn't make a difference if we make it orrr...." his voice is low as he pauses both his singing and walking.
Mickey stops abruptly, turning his head to look up at Ian and the smile that splits his lips is because of Ian's own infectious one. "Nooot," he mumbles anyways.
