ellieet: (Simon and Mickey)
[personal profile] ellieet
Here we have it, the first piece in the "Keep Calm..." multifandom series. Erm... hooray.

Prompt: Freak Out and Throw Stuff

Fandom: Beautiful People

Spoilers: Series 2, How I Got My Gash.

Rating: PG

‘Hello lover, get down,’ is all Simon says pleasantly before putting a hand to Mickey’s back and pulling him to the ground just in time to avoid a clattering of cutlery that hits the wall over their heads, courtesy of a very angry Kylie.

‘I’m only five minutes late,' Mickey blinks, even as he’s clutching his motorcycle helmet just a little bit tighter because Kylie is not going to throw that around the room, he’s just not; it took sacrificing a ticket to his fourth Take That concert to buy and he wouldn’t put it past his fiancée (somewhere in the back of his mind there’s a still a voice that gasps the whisper of ‘I can’t believe it,’ and he can still hear them singing on the roof) to ignore him for a month if he throttled Kylie and messed up his hair.

Simon’s shoulders shake with a single chuckle in response to his confusion as he balances his clipboard on his knees, talking over the bumps and bangs and crashes of the room being turned upside down.

‘Our beautiful bridesmaid is ever so slightly pissed that we can’t get the dress he wants in yellow,’ he explains, tapping with his pen the picture pinned to the top of his list, ‘take a gander.’

So Mickey, pulling off his leather gloves, promptly does so and has to take an intake of breath, because it really is a great dress and it would look just stunning on Kylie. But – crisis. If they can’t get it in yellow... and not just any yellow, a really precise lemon light kind of yellow...

‘...he’ll pull out,’ Simon informs him, eyes on his face as he’s making to stand to stand and glancing up, Mickey barely has time to yank him back down by the tie as the phone takes an unexpected amateur flying-lesson across the room.

‘Please, lover, don’t stretch the tie,’ Simon brackets smoothly, rubbing it down, ‘And if we don’t get him sorted...’ he jabs an index finger neatly at his best friend; Mickey, getting a glance of teeth, rather has the impression of a fully-grown Simba and can’t help thinking that if Jayeson Jackson and all those other knobheads had seen this, they would have steered well clear of them at school, ‘... Then it’s no bridesmaid. And,’ he adds, offering him a certain look, ‘If we don’t have a bridesmaid, then we don’t have a wedding.’

There’s a beat of silence in the glance they share (he’s serious) and then Mickey is ripping his leather jacket off with one hand and the other is tugging his phone out of his pocket.

‘Gimme the number, I’ll get it sorted – oi!’ He’s too slow to stop Kylie, eyes scanning the room wildly for something new, from snatching his motorbike keys and promptly chucking them. Rolling his eyes, Mickey dials the number as he flattens down his hair with the other hand, getting, as his fiancée would call it, in the mood to schmooze.

One hour, three long phonecalls, two bribes, a threat, a promise of a surrogate mother in the form of Ashlene and allowing Kylie to scream down the line later, the problem is solved; the dress is to be delivered first thing Monday morning and Mickey hangs up, satisfied as Simon looks as he ticks the box before looping both of his arms around his neck while Kylie downs a huge Gin and Tonic in the corner, fanning himself with a copy of Heat in between frantic post-diva tantrum gasps.

‘My hero,’ Simon beams, ‘my gorgeous, leather clad fiancée of a hero.’ He kisses his face, kisses his smile, eyes a proud glimmer and it’s moments like this that Mickey remembers the wonderful reality that he’ll be able to have this for the rest of his life and not to take it for granted.

‘Just hope he doesn’t mind a Size Ten,’ he murmurs, hands on Simon’s waist as he nods his head in Kylie’s direction but they both hear him and the room freezes. Simon only has time to groan his name (‘Mickeeey...’) and rest his head on his shoulder in resignation as the screaming of ‘Size Ten? I wanted Size Eight!!! I can’t walk up the aisle in a Size Ten, girlfriend, it’ll hang off me!’ begins, swiftly followed by the alarm-clock.

Mickey can only groan as he and Simon hit the floor once more, his fiancée giving him a look as he tugs out his phone and dials again.

‘This’ll probably take a while,’ he mumbles. Really, what he’s prepared to do for Simon...

*
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