(originally written as part of this prompt challenge)
“Why’s your stupid brother not pickin’ the flowers for his damn wedding himself, again?”
Ian sighs. “He’s got a lot on his plate already, Mick, that’s why I said we’d do this. Figured you did such a good job with our wedding… plus, I wanted to see you in action again.” He smirks at Mickey, knowing he’s won when he sees the proud, shy smile blooming on his husband’s face.
“Alright, alright, let’s just get this the fuck over with. Hopefully there won’t be another homophobic hag serving us this time.”
Ian snorts at the notion. He’s also very much hoping they won’t have a repeat of that day.
They enter the store, and Mickey immediately seems to let go of at least some of his grumpiness. He looks at the displayed flowers appreciatively, nodding and humming to himself when he spots something that particularly catches his eye.
“I’ll tell you one thing, this wedding ain’t gonna be shit compared to ours. It doesn’t get any better than stargazer lilies and gold chiavari chairs, that’s for fuckin’ sure.”
Ian smiles, proud and fond as he remembers how pretty everything Mickey picked for them had looked. His husband certainly has an eye for this stuff. Lip and Tami should have probably asked him to plan the whole thing, instead of Tami’s uppity cousin.
They move up to the counter, where an elderly white lady stands with a big smile directed at them.
“Here we fucking go,” mutters Mickey, already over whatever homophobic bullshit this one will have to spout.
“Mick, it’s a completely different store. She might just be a nice old lady. We don’t know that she has a problem with gay people,” Ian whispers.
Mickey looks at her suspiciously and turns back to Ian. “Yeah, you wanna bet?”
Ian frowns at him, then turns to the florist with his flashiest smile. “Hi, there. We’re looking for some floral arrangements for a wedding.”
The woman’s smile grows. “Oh, we can certainly help you gentlemen with that!” She looks them over appraisingly. “Is one of you the groom, or… Oh–No, no. I can see you’re both wearing wedding rings, so you clearly already have two beautiful wives at home!” She keeps grinning, fake-pleasant as ever, while Ian tenses up.
Mickey raises his eyebrows and makes eye-contact with Ian, his face clearly saying See? I fucking told you so. Ian, for his part, is still optimistic the woman is just assuming, but isn’t actually a homophobe after all.
Or maybe he’s just petty and doesn’t want to admit to Mickey he was right.
He clears his throat. “Um, no, in fact, we don’t have two beautiful wives at home. We both wear these rings because we’re married to each other.” Ian levels her with a withering stare as he says it, daring her to make any kind of remark that isn’t one hundred percent cordial and supportive.
The lady seems taken aback at the revelation. “Oh,” she says slowly, while Ian and Mickey wait for the inevitable. “So you’re… homosexuals?”
Jesus Christ. Mickey’s heard of history repeating itself, but this is a bit fucking ridiculous.
“Yeah,” Ian says, equally slowly, this time taking the reins of his and Mickey’s joint indignation. “We are. Is that a problem?” He’s clenching his teeth now, seething with frustration, because really? How is this happening again?
She clears her throat. “In this establishment we believe that’s a sin, and choose not to do business with people who engage in that kind of lifestyle.” The statement sounds clearly rehearsed, though her voice betrays nervousness, behind all the self-righteousness.
Ian wouldn’t hurt an old lady, obviously. But he’s definitely getting the urge to do some damage to her.
“That kind of lifestyle?! Are you fucking kidding me?” he belts out, before Mickey reaches out to placate him and quickly escort him off the premises.
“Calm down, Gallagher. She ain’t worth it. Let’s just go.” Mickey thinks it’s a good fucking thing one of them’s always the voice of reason when the other one flips the fuck out at some homophobe. Otherwise, a lot more prissy old broads might have gotten what was coming to them–and the two of them would probably be right back in jail right now.
They exit the store in a frenzy–Ian still fuming and ranting irritably.
“What the fuck? Is every flower shop in this whole city a den of goddamn bigots? Are they all part of a secret society of flower-pushing, Trump-loving pieces of shit? Is it like a Mafia thing? What?”
Mickey can’t help but laugh. Ian is less than amused by this reaction and glares at him.
“I‘m sorry, ‘m sorry, it ain’t fuckin’ funny.” He snickers again, then holds his hands up in defense. “It’s a little bit funny, though! As in fuckin’ comical, just ‘cause it’s so damn ridiculous.”
Ian nods jerkily, still worked up, but then huffs a tired laugh as the absurdity of the situation fully hits him. “Like… what are the fucking chances of this happening to us twice?” He shakes his head, disbelieving.
“I dunno, man. But like I said before, how can you sell fucking flowers and not do business with the gays? Makes no fuckin’ sense to me. They gotta be losing money with this shit.”
Ian laughs harder now–a release as his body loosens up from all the tension. “It wasn’t even a gay wedding this time!”
Mickey laughs with him, then straightens up and pats Ian’s back. “Come on, let’s go sit down somewhere, get something to eat. We can Google, like, ‘gay-friendly flower shops in Chicago’ or some shit. There must be at least one left in the whole fucking city, right?”
Ian chuckles. “You’d fuckin’ think.”
Mickey grins and wiggles his eyebrows. “Then later we’ll go home and give ol’ saggy tits something to really clutch her pearls about.”
Ian smirks at his husband. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.
thanks to @shameless-notashamed for reading this over!
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