It was a rich black brocade suit with a mandarin style collar.
Definitely from the Boss.
Before Mickey got ready though, there was an intimate matter he needed to address first: his frenum piercing.
He had to take out the barbell when he went to prison, and he wondered if the hole was still open. He still had the jewelry, and he sat down on the edge of his bed and took himself in hand. He pulled his foreskin back and tilted his soft cock up to find the little hole, and he very carefully pushed the barbell through.
Ha, it still fit.
Now for the hard part. He had to screw the tiny little ball on the other end of the barbell.
The second he tried to secure it, the ball popped out from between his fingers and skittered across the floor into oblivion.
“Fuck.”
So much for that.
He didn’t have any other jewelry, and he couldn’t wear this one without both balls. He took it out and got dressed in his new suit, grumbling to himself. If he happened to splash on the cologne he knew was Roger’s favorite, it was only a coincidence.
He went out to his car, sliding in the driver’s seat and cranking it up. He raised his hand to smack the radio even though he’d fixed the loose wire years ago.
Old habits die hard, he thought, listening to the engine rumble.
Habits like hooking back up with that one person in particular he would die before ever admitting he’d laid awake every night thinking of and missing while he was in prison.
When he arrived at Cold’s estate, of course, that one particular asshole happened to be standing outside.
It was Roger.
Mickey glared, and his insides twisted up in a mix of longing and rage.
He parked and stepped out of the car, intent on walking right by and ignoring him completely. He had a party to get to, and he didn’t have time for whores.
“Who picked you up?” Roger held his head high and crossed his arms over his chest.
“The fuck do you care.” Mickey snorted, leaning his hip against the car door. He felt trapped by Roger’s intense gaze, and he tried not to stare back too hard.
Fuck, he looked good.
Time had been kind to Roger, and his thick blond hair hid any trace of grey. It was cut shorter than Mickey remembered, but there was still enough to get a good handful right on top.
The suit he was wearing was tailored to his fit body, gorgeous as ever, and Mickey was glad he had taken some extra time to get ready.
Roger was definitely checking him out too.
“You could have called me,” Roger took a few steps closer.
“And listen to you fucking Pym? No fuckin’ thanks.”
Roger groaned. “It was one fucking time!”
“It was six fucking times, you stupidwhore!” Mickey shouted. “Six fuckin’ times!”
“You were fuckin’ gone! I didn’t know for how long!” Roger yelled back as he stepped up and put himself right in Mickey’s face. “I was fucking lonely! It was a mistake! They were all mistakes, and I already tried to apologize—”
“Fuck you! Like I wasn’t fuckin’ lonely too?” Mickey grabbed Roger by his shirt and pushed him away. “I was miserable! I couldn’t even take a shit without some pig watching me! Do you know how many ways I know how to cook ramen now? Do you?”
“Huh?” Roger was bewildered. “Ramen?”
