#titanic au: mickey x apollo

[kalimuses]

     Mickey wasn’t a good father. Being softer than Terrance Milkovich didn’t make him even halfway to decent, it just made him marginally better and still miles away from good. He’d scarcely held his son since his birth, barely brought himself to truly look at him. Every time he did, he remembered the feeling of a pistol-butt, belting the skin of his face wide open until he was his consciousness came in and out like an indecisive pet, the memory would play out torturously until the shot rung out in his head and Ian Gallagher was dead all over again. He looked at the women on either side of him with varying levels of resentment. Svetlana, his wife and warden turned tentative comrade and Brandi, who’d shamelessly used the baby in her arms for a chance at survival. He wanted to hate her for it, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. Svetlana had negotiated his position onto this boat, who she had bribed, fucked or maimed he didn’t know but he supposed he should be grateful. He knew she did it out of necessity rather than any love she bore for him; after all, she knew her husband's inclinations and his uselessness as a father. His survival meant was a cash sum figure to her, knowing that as long as Mickey was living, he would feel compelled to provide.

Before this ship, before any of this fucking mess, he’d been resigned to live a strangers life. To force himself to love a woman as god and his father intended. He hadn’t meant to stray. But Apollo reawakened something that Mikhalio had been missing for the past twenty-six months; his desire. Not just for flesh or love, but life and everything that had come with it. The Ship of Dreams made good on it’s promise before it had succumed to the nightmare he should’ve been wary enough to anticipate. He’d begged him to go, to care for his son and take the chance he’d been offered. To look in on Bambi if he could. Though he hadn’t said anything outright, his apprehension of his wife’s maternal instinct was clear as day. Mickey could still feel the roaming of his hands, the fog on the glass of some aristocrats car that would surely be horrified if they knew the buggery that had taken part inside its doors. Should Mickey live, it would be a lifetime of lies with a son he couldn’t stomach and a wife who could scarcely tolerate him.

He looked at the women once more, daring only a half glance at the blonde boy who shielded his face from the cold in the fur coat his mother wore- when had she stolen that? He almost smiled. The life boat jolted aggressively and the men yelled to steady it and he found himself scanning the faces of the resigned passengers until he landed on the one he searched for. Apollo’s eyes were lit up in the low lights the boat provided and he offered Mickey a watery smile. A soft goodbye that set a fire under him as he stood abruptly, ignoring Svetlana’s clawing hand. Mickey was a criminal, an outlaw, a wanted man. She would have an easier life on shore without him, free to marry a man of merit that she would surely swindle. He caught her agitated fingers and met her enraged eyes with a softer expression than any his time with her had produced. “Write to my fathers lawyer. He’ll help you with a life insurance forgery.” He didn’t love her, he never would. But it would help, though not nearly as much as the jewellery stuffed pockets he noted. He could hear Apollo’s voice, loud and agitated. She grabbed for him again but he shifted, gaging the jump for only a second, ignoring fear in his throat at the height before pushing his weight off over the side.

He barely managed to pull himself onboard, but the moment he did his feet took of running. His breaths were ragged, thick with exhaustion and emotion as he bolted for the upper level. Apollo was already on the steps, fleeing down towards him. They collided, half enraged and devastatingly in love. Mickey couldn’t tell if the man meant to strike him or kiss him. “You’re so stupid! why’d you do that, huh?!” Apollo declared loudly, one of his hands shoving Mick back a pace before dragging him back against him as the Milkovich’s hands grabbed his shirt with desperate fists. “You’re so stupid Mickey!” His voice was thick and trembling.

All Mickey could think was how glad he was to see him again. No matter what happened, no matter what consequences came with it, this was the best choice he’d ever made. “Why’d you do that? Why?” He demanded again, tears in his eyes as Mickey ignored the way his shoulders were being shaken and took his face between his hands. A boy who loves boys was a dead boy unless he kept his mouth shut. But they were on a sinking ship, in the middle of a freezing ocean. He was surrounded by future dead boys and Terrance Milkovich couldn’t touch him now. Mickey leaned forwards, fear clawing at his throat as he did something he would have previously been to afraid to even fantasize about doing. He kissed the man, long and hard with a reckless abandon. Who cares who saw, who cares who said a damn thing. If these were their final hours, what difference did it make?

“You jump, I jump, bitch.” He mumbled against the others lips, his own eyes wet without permission. “Or don’t you remember, huh?” Apollo pulled back, staring at him dubiously while Mickey’s shaking hands remained on his face, holding on to him like his life depended on it. “Right?” He asked, as the other pulled him closer still.

“Right.” He responded in disbelief, before pressing another angry kiss against his stupid love’s lips.