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Fidgeting on the pavement outside Stars of Wonder, the Chinese all-you-can-eat he had been told was the venue for the blind date Fiona had set up for him, Ian felt apprehensive. It was freezing cold and the leather jacket he had put on, in order to add to the image of glory he had perfected over the span of two hours, was not helping to ward off the dropping temperature or the bite of the wind as it flew down his dress shirt. To make him all the more annoyed, his date was late, and by twenty minutes if his watch was working correctly.
Ian ducked his head to cover his chin a little more with his collar and sighed deeply, wondering if he should high tail it and refuse to answer any phone calls or questions Fiona would rain on him. Glancing up the street, his eyes fell on a short man trudging his way towards him with an incinerating scowl peering over the thick scarf tucked into his enormous winter coat. Was this lout, hands stuffed into his pockets, slicked hair that shone under the street lights, radiating aggression like a sonar, his date?
“The fuck you lookin' at?” he grouched when he drew close, his deep timbre catching Ian off guard for a second as he stopped. He gave Ian a once over, and seemed to come to some sort of agreement within himself as he pulled a face and his right eyebrow drew high, before yanking the restaurant door open and disappearing into the noise and warmth without any further interaction.
“Obviously not him,” Ian whispered into his collar, breathing easier now he was alone again.
“Ian? Oh man, I am sorry dude, got caught up and lost track of time. You know how it is, right?” came from his right and Ian turned to see a blond man grinning at him, fluffy hair catching the cold wind though he appeared completely ignorant of the cold weather as he stood in an open trench coat with a black three piece suit on underneath. Arrogant.
“Yeah, no problem,” Ian smiled easily, instantly disliking the guy for no other reason than that he was clearly used to other people doing whatever he asked of them, even if it was waiting in the freezing cold while he did whatever the hell he wanted. Rich bastard. “How'd you know it was me?”
“Ah,” he clapped his hands together gleefully, “Red hair. Fiona said you were tall and had shocking hair, besides that, who else would come here?” he sniffed, looking up at the brightly lit sign, scrunching his bent nose as it flashed from red to yellow to blue.
“Meaning?” Ian bit, hackles raising at the insinuation hidden there, “Riff-raff perhaps? Southside lackeys? What, huh?”
“Oh, no, I meant kids, youths, you know?” he chuckled, waving his hand rapidly as Ian straightened up to his full height, a head taller than the idiot. Ian sighed, knowing he was lying, and turned to go in, his older date following on his heels, “I'm Darran, by the way.”
“After you,” Ian said cheerily as he held the door, his faux-happiness stumping the blond for a second,“Darran.”
–
Ian smiled as Darran got up from their table to go use the bathroom, and as soon as he was through the restaurant and out of sight, he groaned and tipped his head back, staring hopelessly at the artex ceiling.
“That bad, huh?”
Ian's head snapped back and he glanced around for the voice but no one was looking at him or in his direction. The couple sat behind him were kissing loudly and the table opposite was empty. He frowned and looked down at his lap instead, seriously contemplating making a run for it as he shifted his napkin back and forth over his denim-clad thighs.
“You should tell him a joke before he starts talkin' about himself some more, you know, if you have a voice, 'cause I ain't heard it yet. If you don't get a word in within the first minute, I swear to fuckin' God, I will stab him with my chopsticks, the self-centred prick,” grumbled the voice again and Ian jumped around in his seat to catch the owner of it. His eyes fell on a booth two tables over to his right, under a steamed up window filled with stuck-up menus and Chinese new year decorations. The lone occupant sat in the middle and behind a newspaper, occasionally sticking his hand out to snatch up a prawn cracker before grunting and chewing it noisily.
“Hey!” Darran drawled, gliding his hands over Ian's shoulders as he walked past and sat back down, “You know I was telling you about Bert in web design? Well, guess what?” he said all too enthusiastic for Ian's liking, and before he could even begin to ask, the man slammed his hands on the table and started cackling, throwing his yellowed hair back. Ian was very aware of eyes on them, from everywhere, and he was sure he heard a low growl coming from his right.
“Darran,” Ian began, trying to hush him, but it did nothing.
“He only bagged advertising from fucking Google, the son of a bitch!” Darran yelled, laughing even more with delight and Ian rubbed his cheek as he got irritated.
“Chopstick, I swear to-”
“So, what do you call a man who rolls around in leaves?” Ian rushed, smiling brightly at Darran's obvious confusion.
“Excuse me?” he bleated, frowning.
“I said, what do you call a man who rolls around in leaves?” Ian flashed his brows up as a prompt and Darran pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering 'I don't know' tiredly, “Russell.” Though Darran did not react past a heavy groan, there was a giggle from the girl to Ian's back and a snort from behind the newspaper.
“Are you done?” his date asked and Ian shrugged, grinning now he knew he was pissing the man off a bit. He was too old for him, well, he wasn't really, more his usual rich-egocentric type, but he was too in love with himself and his bank account. Little did the douche know, but the date had been over the second he appeared.
“Maybe. What, you don't like jokes?” he asked sweetly, picking up a spring roll and dunking it in the sweet chilli bowl.
“If they're funny enough,” Darran sighed, sipping his wine while watching Ian lick the dribbling sticky sauce off his fingers, “Always so messy?”
“Nah, but this isn't your usual high class establishment now is it? You know, youths and all of that,” Ian sassed, chewing on his snack, “Why did the fusili get arrested for hiding in the penne jar?”
Darran rolled his eyes but indulged Ian with a dip of his head, “I have no idea.”
“Because he was an im-pasta,” Ian tried not to grin too much with his mouth full, but it was hard not to when the newspaper sneak started chuckling, muttering 'oh my god'. Darran only coughed and shifted in his seat.
“So,” he started, “Bert was saying how, by next month, our revenue would be triple what we already have which means I can buy the beach house I was telling you about, that one in Cali? Means, you know, if you fancy it, I could take you there and lay you out like the buffet-”
“Can I refill your glass, Sir?” saved from the derailment of his happy train, Ian smiled up at the waitress and gave her his glass as Darran waved her off. The newspaper crinkled like it was being gripped too tight.
“Coke, please?” he asked and she dipped a little, smiling as she left, “Thank you!”
“Why thank them? It's their job,” Darran sniffed, toying with the tablecloth and wincing when Ian levelled him with a cold stare.
“Motherfu-”
“So, a bra, a car battery and a set of jump leads walk into a bar,” Ian ground out, his eyes hard on Darran fidgeting in his seat while newspaper sneak ruffled his paper and cleared his throat. “The bra asks for three beers and the bartender says 'Not serving you.' So the bra asks why not, and he says-” Ian starts sniggering despite the annoyance sitting opposite him, “'Well, for one, you're completely off your tits and your mates look like they're about to start something!'”
“Fuck me, you really are a child aren't you?” Darran's snide mouth cut into Ian even though those within hearing range were openly laughing at his joke.
“Excuse me?” Ian asked slowly, and from Darran's glare, his face must have been clearly showing how irritated and insulted he was feeling.
“Drinking coke, spitting lame as shit jokes, eating with your goddamn fingers in a place that shouts that you're fucking poor as hell,” Darran leered, “God, I thought I'd just pretty you up with some food and wax poetic about my wallet, seeing as you are poor, and we'd be fucking in my car by now. Jesus, you're hard work.”
Ian was steadily losing his shit, hands balling in his lap as his lip curled, but before he could react, there was the sound of someone slamming their hands on the table, tearing a newspaper with a snarl before shoving out from behind a fixed table, the plates and glasses protesting the lurch. Ian looked up to see the scowling man from before, looming over the table with his arms crossed, feet planted wide, with such a furious stare that Ian had to stop himself breaking a grin as Darran shrank in his seat.
“Excuse you, Britney, and as much as I would like to smash your leathered face into that china plate there, I rather like eating in this poor-people joint and I don't want to get banned. Apologise to the kid, fuck-face, before I drag your lame-as-fuck, thou-art-holier-than, smug-ass, rich, limp dicked self outside to spread across the street,” he seethed, his voice deep and calm even though his body was practically screaming that he was going to turn Darran into lemon curd if he so much as blinked before apologising.
“It's fine, honestly,” Ian soothed, reaching to put his hand on the guy's arm but stopping short in case he got the smack in the mouth by accident. The guy looked like he would whale on the president without a second thought right now.
“Now, don't know what kinda thing this is, or who he is to you, but he's a fuckin' dick and he's talkin' shit to you when you've clearly made an effort for him and stayed put even after all the self-lovin' bullshit he's come out with. Doesn't deserve you stickin' up for him, least of all your time, the shitbag. Insulting you and the staff,” the man growled, eyes on Ian for a while longer than necessary before turning that blazing blue gaze back on Darran, “the fuck you think you are, huh? Apologise, assface.”
“There's no need-”
“You know him, Ian?” Darran cut him off before he could try to calm the irate fellow further, “This what you do? Have a heavy around, huh? You know, so you can rinse a guy and go home without giving it up and if shit goes down, your boy kicks their balls in? Punk.”
“Oh my fucking-” Darran had little less than second before he was hauled from his seat by the lapels of his jacket.
“Whoa, don't!” Ian shouted, shoving out of his seat quickly to pull the guy's fists off the pressed suit, “Seriously, let go yeah? Leave now Darran, you're an asshole,” he spat, pushing the blue-eyed guy back towards his table with a thankful smile before turning back and scowling at the blond dick hurriedly putting his trench coat on.
“You're a fucking cock-teasing little shit!”
“Careful there dude, I might just let my 'boy' here follow you out,” Ian said coolly as Darran threw money on the table, all fifteen dollars, “Better yet, wait until you see Fiona yeah? I'll be sure to tell her I rinsed you out of your pocket money while teasing your viagra-fuelled cock with lame humour. Oh, before you go, another joke, fucker – what's the difference between you and tampon? Nothing! You're both stuck up cunts!”
“Fuckin' burn, bitch!” came the deep chuckle from his back and Ian started laughing as Darran growled and stormed out.
“Sorry,” Ian said softly to the couple, then a little louder for the rest of the customers and staff staring at him. They all chuckled to themselves and nodded as if to collectively say 'no, he deserved that'.
“Seeing as I kinda bulldozed on your date there, do you want to sit with me while you finish eatin'? Be wrong to skip out on food 'cause of that prick,” piped his gruff saviour as he slid back into his booth. Ian turned and rubbed the back of his neck in thought before nodding and taking a seat, his coke placed down a moment later.
Ian beamed at her, “Thank you,” and turned to the shredded newspaper sneak and and gave him the brightness of his smile, making him shift and duck to hide his blush, “You too. Didn't need to-”
“So, I ain't goin' to carry on like that inconsiderate fuck because I'm poor too and I'm a sucker for jokes, so, fire,” he sniffed, scratching his nose as Ian stared at him curiously, “Mickey, by the way.”
“Ian.”
“Know that,” Mickey looked away to hide his smirk but Ian caught it, “Joke, numb nuts, ain't waitin' forever. I got dumplings to chow and I won't be a happy camper if you make me choke on them with your lame-as-shit comedy. Shoot.”
Ian sniggered and thought for a second while fresh plates of prawn toast and spring rolls were brought to him with a new plate for the buffet, “A guy shows up late for work, his boss yells 'You should have been here at 8:30!' and the guy says, 'Why, what happened at 8:30?!'”
Mickey shook his head, fighting the smile trying to break his face, “Oh my god, knew I liked the look of you outside.”
“You like the look of me?” Ian asked before stuffing toast in his mouth, a little surprised by the admission as he was sure Mickey had been bent on taking his knees out if he breathed in his direction.
“Fuck you is what I like,” Mickey muttered, sipping on his coke and pushing the torn paper off the table to the seat next to him. His eyes were glued to the way Ian licked the sweet chilli off his wrist when he doused the spring roll in it, distracted by the way Mickey's open collar allowed his throat to catch the low light. When he looked up at his face, Mickey's eyes where heavy and his mouth parted a little.
“Could happen if that's your kind of after-dinner thing,” Ian said and Mickey blinked at him, his cheeks burning bright through his pale skin. Ian hummed as he sucked his pinky finger clean and Mickey swallowed.
“Oh, yeah?” he asked quietly, “Let's see if you can get me cryin' with the rib-rupturing punch line I just know you got hidden in that pretty redhead of yours, joker.”
Ian gave him an intrigued look at his challenge and maybe ran his shin along Mickey's outstretched legs under the table, “Never date a tennis player, love means nothing to them.”
“Oh, come on,” Mickey chuckled, picking up a prawn cracker, “Next, firecrotch, I got dumplings to choke on remember, ribs to break?”
“Firecrotch?” Ian wondered, dipping another roll, something that Mickey was enraptured by, “I could be a bottle rouge, Mickey-blue-eyes.”
“The fuck?” Mickey pulled such a ridiculous face that Ian ended up with sauce all over his fingers from laughing, “You're gross. 'Sides, someone as pale and freckled as you ain't from no bottle. If you could get that shade of fuckin' red from a bottle, I'd have half of Chicago in my bed in a fiery flash.”
“Oh, is that right? Thing for redheads, huh?” Ian drawled, insanely pleased with himself as Mickey couldn't take his droopy eyes off of his fingers getting sucked clean.
“Next joke,” Mickey said lowly, hand twitching next to his bowl of dumplings.
“Hmm, Ok. Laughter is the best medicine they say, not so much in the face of impotence.”
Mickey took a moment to catch up, and when he did, he laughed loudly before sniggering into his shirt where his head dropped, “Jesus. Keep it going, c'mon, a lot on the line here, firecracker.”
“Full of nick-names aren't you,” Ian grinned, “What's on the line, Mick?” he drank a gulp of coke so he could continue with the saucy tease he was doing, and each time he broke Mickey's stare to make him laugh, he was overjoyed when his gaze would darken with arousal as Ian reached for the bowl each time, his attention caught completely.
“You seem like a smart boy there Ian, you work it out,” Mickey rumbled, staring him in the eye for a second before looking at his chopsticks. When Ian frowned with curiosity, Mickey stood up and leant over the table to reach for an errant piece of newspaper, his backside on display. If he wiggled it on purpose so the denim of his jeans pulled tight around the swell of his ass, Ian didn't know, but he was suddenly scouring his brain for the best joke he had ever heard.
“I was a very upbeat child, you know,” Ian started, serious for a moment as Mickey sat back and watched him closely, playing with the buttons on his black shirt.
“Oh?” Mickey seemed a little disappointed by Ian's sudden diversion from jokes to actual conversation and Ian knew he had him.
“Yeah, I mean, I used to think CCTV was a very, very positive version of Spanish television,” he finished and sat back, watching as Mickey cottoned on and dissolved into a fit of giggles that had him clutching his belly and trying not to slide sideways. The giggling turned into a full blown laugh that infected Ian until he was laughing just as bad with Mickey, dabbing at their eyes when they finally drew it out long enough to get somewhat calm, reaching for their drinks at the same time.
“All right, OK, that was fuckin' funny Red,” Mickey said on a giggle, moving his chopsticks around as he fought to calm down.
“You can eat your dumplings now, I promise not to cause any choking,” Ian smiled into his glass and Mickey glanced at him from under his lashes.
“Nah man, I'm not hungry now,” he said and stood up, fishing for his wallet, “Gotta go, somethin' else I wanna be chokin' on.”
“Oh, well, thanks for earlier and this,” Ian said, trying not to sound let down, “You didn't have to.”
“Well, you deserved a good date and better company. Don't know if I fit that, but, yeah,” Mickey sniffed and dropped a wedge of bills on the table. “I know the staff. They're good to me,” he said as he shuffled out and grabbed his coat from the booth next to theirs and began wrapping his scarf around his neck, “Get your fuckin' coat on Ian, ain't waitin' on your lanky ass. After-dinner is a-callin'.”
“What?”
Mickey smiled, a bright and sweet thing, “Don't know about you, but after this flirtin' and lickin' on fingers and that joke of yours, my ribs ache and I kind of want to see if my nick-name is correct.”
“Come again?” Ian ticked his head and frowned, not following in the slightest and Mickey laughed again, a sound Ian was steadily falling in love with.
“Promises, firecrotch,” Mickey winked, his eyes sparkling, and Ian was out of his seat and snatching his jacket up faster than Mickey had been launching himself at Darran, following the deep chuckler out the door.