ellieet: (Simon and Mickey)
[personal profile] ellieet
And now for a bit of life reflecting art... or art reflecting life... same thing. Inspired by my... interesting ordeal (read: "night from Hell") in an American airport last week, I bring you this, just something quick. And yes, the choice of song is completely deliberate.

Title: After the Snow-Storm
Fandom: Beautiful People
Pairing: Simon/Mickey
Rating: PG

*

Simon is laying the table for dinner when Mickey suddenly wraps his arms firmly around him from behind, clasping his hands over his heart and buries his face in his neck.

‘I think I might hate snow,’ he mumbles; chuckling, Simon puts the cutlery aside and turns his attention to him, holding Mickey’s face delicately with one hand as he presses a kiss to his cheek.

‘Not as much as I hate totally clueless airport staff, thankyou very much,’ he counters, locking his fingers together around his shoulders. ‘They can’t seem to grasp the simple factor of “Man flirting harmlessly with people on duty at the gate simply so he can get home to his gorgeous partner”.’ He presses another kiss on Mickey’s temple. ‘Took me three goes to get it right and then they thought I was asking for a screwdriver as well as a standby; why are straight people so unwise?’

‘No idea, you’re absolutely gorgeous,’ Mickey shrugs as he smiles, not removing his hands for anything. Not after all that, not after three days of lonely breakfasts and three long nights where Simon should have been lying next to him, but wasn’t – all because of the worst winter weather they’ve ever had.

As far as first private Christmases go, Mickey thinks, resting his head against his husband’s shoulder, this could have been a hell of a lot better. He’s not bitter, he knows that; having his partner back (even though he knows New York is far from an alien city to Simon, even though he knew he was staying over with Kylie, even though he knew he was safe and sound... the first thing Simon noted when he came through the Arrivals Gate at Heathrow, finally, on Christmas morning was how dark the bags underneath Mickey’s eyes were) – well, it’s the best present of all.

He says nothing, just rocks Simon from side to side for a moment, kisses his neck and holds him tight. Curses the snow silently, just like he’s been cursing it since he rolled across in bed on Monday night to answer the phone: Simon, a bag of multi-coloured necessities weighing down one shoulder (rollers, feather boas, hair-clips, condoms, you name it), half a world away and alone, in a crowded, chaotic airport amidst a hubbub of hysteria, ruined Christmas plans at every turn.

Next time, Mickey thinks furiously – although he’ll come to his senses later, he will, it’s just days and hour after empty hour of missing his Simon like crazy – he doesn’t care what he has to do. The next time Simon goes back to New York to resolve some business issues at Barneys – with a few visits to friends and one or two sneaky shopping-trips squeezed in on the side – he’s bloody well going with him.

*
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