His feet were half dragging on the cracked pavement, and he felt reluctant as to what he should do next, where he could go, who he could even ask. Mickey stopped, but his mind once more in its relentless need to attack him, did not. Images, sounds, words and smells came twirling around him as if he was in the center of his own tornado. He could smell him, that faint scent of his aftershave, his shampoo and nicotine. That scent was the metaphorical crowbar that wasn’t allowing him to shut the door on every minute and detailed memory he had of Ian.
He had gone through every gay bar, he could think of and then some. The strawberry smell mixed in with half naked guys shaking their junk to old fat gray haired fucking men that leered at them like they were the most delicious piece of cake they had ever seen. And knowing that Ian was in a bar like that, being looked at as if he was this thing to grab and fondle made him sick to his stomach.
The lead he had was pretty good, he knew where Ian was now, and it took him only five hours of being utterly disgusted and repulsed at everything he had seen. But there in the midst of it all, was a tiny little buzzing sound of jealousy that would creep up on him at the most unfortunate times. These men, with their almost batshit crazy outlook on what was fun and sexy, didn’t much care what anyone else thought. They had no father that was there, whether present or not, lurking at them, waiting to see them show a fragment of who they really are, and pound on them with all the fury and anger that one could imagine you would have towards your worst enemy, but with even more gore and horridness.
The flashing lights and neon sign mixed in with the mindfuckingly loud dance music was what greeted him, besides the creepy looks that were directed at him. His eyes moved frantically over every face, and each time he would see something red or orange he could feel his heart beating against his chest as if it was trying to crawl out. But not a sign of Ian, not yet.
Mickey moved his fingers through his hair in pure desperation, but he was certain now he wasn’t about to give up, there was no going back. He’d find him, he’d fucking find him even if he had to visit every glitter covered surface of the earth. The sway of bodies before him appeared almost at the treacherous surface of the ocean, and now as he felt like he was drowning and there was nothing to hold onto, he saw it, saw him.
At first it almost looked like he was naked, but than he saw the tight golden shorts and some tank top, dry humping some pervert that was all but drooling. His knuckles were wightning as he curled them up in fists, he took all the restrain he had in him not to pummel the guy until he was on the ground bloody and bashed up.
"My turn." he wrapped his fingers around the collar of this asshole and pushed him off the sofa and away from him, away from Ian. Mickey stood there between the two, ready to kick the living shit out of him if he didn’t move away. Was it the way he looked or the determined stance that made the old fart walk away, he didn’t know, and didn’t really fucking care.
Slowly he turned to Ian and felt a sensation of being lost and found at the same time. He didn’t look like himself, his pupils were dilated and he had this frantic expression etched onto his face. The sound of the music and the people all died down and it felt like the two of them were in this bubble.
Untouchable.
"Where the hell have you been?" his words didn’t come out as he planned them. It didn’t even sound like his voice, it was as if he was pretending to be someone else. The concern was evident and loud in every syllable.
"Twenty-five dollars for a dance, if you don’t want a dance, I need to keep moving."
He heard the words, but he didn’t respond, what the fuck was happening. It looked like Ian, and sounded like him, but somehow detached and alien. “I didn’t have to pay for this shit before.” he tried to pull that impenetrable mask on and pushed the money towards Ian, finally putting it down his short shorts. At that he had to roll his eyes.
Before he even knew what was happening, he was shoved down and Ian was on top of him, and no matter how insane this all appeared and was, he couldn’t help but want to move his hands and touch him, make sure this wasn’t one of those dreams that were plaguing him ever since Ian left, but he stayed put, afraid to even move.
Ian’s scent was different, something ironically fruity and foreign. "You need to come home." he tried to be a serious, and tell him that he needed to come back, but that was hard since Ian wasn’t paying much attention. And for a split second he didn’t care, his eyes roamed over his face, and even with the eye make up and that smirk he now had, he needed to look at him. It was finally Ian, it was finally him and not some crumbled up photo that he hid in the bathroom.
