Roger kept fighting, snapping his head forward and cracking Mickey’s nose. “Fuck you!”
Mickey growled, his nose immediately gushing blood, and Roger seized the opportunity to break away. He tried to open the door, but Mickey snatched him up again, roughly pulling him backward. They struggled, stumbling away from the door and crashing into the coffee table.
The table collapsed from their combined weight, and they landed in a heated tangle of limbs on the floor. Mickey was trying his best to restrain Roger and not hurt him, but Roger didn’t seem to care.
Roger picked up one of the broken table legs and smacked Mickey’s injured arm with it. “Get off me!”
“Ow! Fuck! Will you quit that?” Mickey pushed himself on top of Roger and wrestled the leg away from him. “Stop it, Roger! Stop it right the fuck now!”
Roger was still fighting wildly, but he was getting out of breath and tiring out. “No! Get the fuck off of me! Mickey, I will fuckin’ kill you!”
“No.”
“Bastard!”
Mickey’s head was absolutely pounding, but he refused to let up for a second. Their bodies kept rutting together, and the fury between them was absolutely boiling. He had never seen Roger this emotional before, and he hated to see him in so much pain.
Roger’s broad chest was heaving, his fingers curling defiantly into the front of Mickey’s shirt. Roger was clearly exhausted, but he was still trying to push Mickey away. “We have to… it can’t be… she can’t be dead…”
Mickey scowled. He was doing his best to be sympathetic, but he was in a lot of pain and his patience was thinning.
Though he didn’t feel Crybaby’s loss as deeply as Roger did, he was still upset. They might have also lost Duncan tonight, and they had all walked into one hell of a nasty trap. They had to contact Cold right away, but first Mickey had to get Roger to settle down before he ran off and did something stupid.
Mickey gritted his teeth, and he kept Roger firmly held down. “I’m sorry… but she’s gone.”
“No,” Roger protested, his lips drawn back in a terrible grimace. “I should have… we have to make sure… You don’t understand! She saved me! Okay? I owe her fuckin’ everything!”
“Shut up,” Mickey soothed. “It’s done. We will live to fight another day, we will survive, and we will put a bullet in Salvatore Luchesi’s head, I swear to you.”
Roger’s eyes filled with tears, and he shook his head stubbornly. “I fucked up… I should have known… I should have known it was a trap!”
“Not even Boss Cold saw this shit show coming.” Mickey scoffed. “How the fuck could you?”
“What do I do?” Roger tried to lift himself up, desperately trying to keep fighting. “What the fuck am I supposed to do, Mickey?”
“Breathe,” Mickey ordered. “You take a fucking breath, and you get your shit together. We will figure this out.”
“Fuck you,” Roger sneered.
“No, fuck you! I am trying to be fuckin’ nice right now, and you’re being a fuckin’ asshole!”
“God, I fuckin’ hate you right now! It should have been you!”
“Shut the fuck up, you whiny bitch!”
Mickey wasn’t sure who leaned in first, but their lips were suddenly crashing in a violent kiss, Roger’s arms winding possessively around his neck. The kiss became scorching in seconds, tasting of blood and sweat, and Mickey fought for control as he slid his tongue over Roger’s soft lips.
“Fuck!” Mickey groaned sharply when their noses bumped together, and he pulled away, wincing in pain.
“What the fuck?”
“I think you broke my fuckin’ nose, you asshole.” Mickey bit at Roger’s neck hard.
Roger grunted pleasurably and nipped at Mickey’s ear. “I think it’s a fuckin’ improvement.”
“Fuck you, bitch.”
“Let’s fuckin’ go. Right now.”
