The sort of sequel to Billie/Stitchandrepair/likeacowsopinion fic Suckerdarts and Theorems. Would advise reading it first, it's awesome.
Basically, this is all just because Billie and I blatantly have the same brain :')
Everything between them felt more relaxed than Ian could ever possibly have imagined it being. Back when they'd first started it - this thing between them, whatever it was exactly - hell, even a year later, Ian never could have imagined it would be so easy to persuade Mickey to come over to his house.
It was the middle of the summer still, the air remaining heavy and sticky as Ian breathed it in. It made him smoke more, because somehow even smoke was easier to breathe in than this air.
He had a free house, everyone else out doing something and he'd taken advantage of that fact. He'd still had to assure Mickey of that, that nobody would be in, but it didn't take the amount of coaxing - or any coaxing in fact - that it would have done not too long ago.
They'd raided all the fans from around the house so that Ian's room was something of a haven from the heat, but Ian knew it was probably only a matter of time until they were just stirring up the same, heat-clogged air. Still, they both lay there in their boxers and Ian's fingers itched to touch Mickey's sweat shined skin, but the older boy hadn't made any indication that he'd only come to fuck yet and Ian didn't want to ruin that.
What Mickey had in fact brought with him was his sucker-dart crossbow and he was even letting Ian fire off the occasional shot, the only catch being that he had to be the one to get up collect them all again when they ran out.
"Jesus Christ, you're shit at this Gallagher!" Mickey laughed at him when he only managed to hit the edge of the target they'd set up on the other side of the room.
Ian rolled his eyes. "Fuck off," he muttered, "You've had a fuckload of practice and I'm used to guns."
Mickey laughed, pressing close against his side and taking the crossbow from Ian's hand. "Now, now Gallagher, no need to get bitter," he chided, lips twisted in his patent smirk. He fired the next suckerdart and hit the bull's-eye, giving Ian a cocky look. "Just because you're shit and my aim's fucking perfect."
He didn't know if he hated the day he'd found out Mickey was a competitive prick or not.
"As I said," Ian repeated, the stupidly confident smirk on Mickey's face making his dick twitch in his boxers, "You've had practice."
And actually, that had given him an idea. His dick twitching that was.
He stood, relishing the feel of Mickey's eyes on him as he got up to collect the darts. "How about a game then?" Ian asked, turning back to the bed and smiling at Mickey's cockily, flashing too many teeth he knew.
Mickey raised an eyebrow, listening.
"You make five shots out of seven and I'll fuck you," he said, moving closer to the bed and tossing the darts onto the duvet beside Mickey.
"You really think that's a challenge, Gallagher?" Mickey scoffed, "I can make seven out of seven, easy."
Ian crawled onto the bed between Mickey's legs, still grinning. "Good," he said, his fingers already moving towards the waistband of Mickey's boxers, pulling them down and off. "But just so you know," he continued, looking at Mickey's eyes, the pupil's blown wide and dark with lust. Mickey's cock was already starting to fatten and harden and Ian just loved how he could have that instant effect on Mickey. "You miss one and I stop."
And Mickey didn't have to ask what Ian meant, because he lay down between Mickey's legs and licked a long, wet stripe up the side of Mickey's cock.
Mickey's hips stuttered up slightly, pressing towards Ian's face and out of the corner of his eye, Ian was pleased to see Mickey already starting to load up the crossbow.
"This still ain't gonna be hard, Firecrotch," Mickey muttered low under his breath; and Ian closed his mouth around the head of Mickey's cock, working his tongue around the head in that way that had Mickey's breath catching in his throat.
Thunk.
"That's a fifty," Mickey told him, one of his hands coming down to pet at his hair briefly, like Ian needed praising.
Maybe he did, because he relaxed his throat for a second and sucked Mickey right down to the base. He believed Mickey about the score and ran his tongue up the vein in Mickey's cock. He rolled Mickey's balls in his palm and then deep-throated him again, intentionally gagging around Mickey's cock as he squeezed the trigger.
"Fuuuck," Mickey gasped out, dropping the crossbow onto the bed and grabbing Ian's head for a moment, thrusting up into his face. And Ian knew he'd missed just by that, but he let him do it anyway before pulling off with a grin.
"Don't miss again, Mick," he commented, shifting off to the side and feeling so fucking proud at the wrecked look on Mickey's face.
Mickey fired another dart as soon as he picked up the crossbow, hitting near the centre of the target.
Ian smiled, "That's more like it."
And for once Mickey didn't come back with any witty comments and Ian could see his brow furrowed and lips pursed in concentration as he ducked back down between Mickey's legs again.
He bit at Mickey's hipbone for a moment, scratching his nails through Mickey's short pubes as he sucked a hickey up onto his skin and thought how unfair it was that someone could have sexy hipbones.
He sucked Mickey into his mouth again, keeping his tongue pressed flat against the underside as he bobbed his head up and down. He wasn't all that surprised when Mickey made the next two shots easy enough, but he smirked as Mickey's breathing and hips both stuttered as Ian sucked on his balls briefly.
Still he made the shot hitting the edge of the target and he curled his fingers around the back of Ian's head for a minute, thumb stroking at Ian's jawline. "Fuck, Firecrotch," he breathed out, his fingers fumbling with the next dart slightly.
Ian sucked briefly on his thumb before rubbing the pad of it against Mickey's hole, pressing it in just a little right as Mickey pulled the trigger. Or maybe pulling the trigger had been an accident judging on how Mickey jumped and the shot flew wide, bouncing off the wall and hitting Ian's ankle.
"Have to make this shot," Ian reminded him, pressing his thumb further into Mickey before pulling it free completely.
"Bastard," Mickey huffed out under his breath and Ian could tell he was trying not to watch as Ian grabbed the lube from beside the bed and coated his fingers.
He shifted to lie beside Mickey, watching the way his thighs shook slightly. "Don't worry, Mick," Ian told him, letting his breath ghost over the shell of Mickey's ear, "It's your last shot; I'm not going to stop this time."
And with that he dipped his hand back between Mickey's legs and pressed two fingers into him, relishing in the way Mickey pressed back, his eyes rolling and a moan escaping from his throat that sounded as though it had been punched out of him.
Ian didn't think he'd ever looked so fucking gorgeous. All flushed and sweaty.
He worked his fingers in and out of Mickey, scissoring them and stretching him before curling them slightly to brush over his prostate.
"Fuck, I hope you make this shot," Ian muttered to him, low and husky, right in Mickey's ear, "You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now."
And Ian could practically see Mickey's pulse jump in his neck as he breathed out slowly, still pressing back onto Ian's fingers as he pulled the trigger.
Ian grinned, slow and lazy at the thunk that seemed to fill the room.
"Told you I could fucking make the shots," Mickey growled at him, tossing the crossbow aside and sliding an arm around Ian, digging blunt nails into his back as Ian pressed closer.
He pushed their mouths together, feeling the stroke of Mickey's tongue right down to his toes and he didn't know which one of them it was that whined in the back of their throat, but it could have been Mickey since Ian's fingers were still working away inside of him.
Ian bit at Mickey's lips as he pulled away, moving back enough to hook his thumbs into his boxers and push them down. He grinned at Mickey beside him and said truthfully, "Never doubted you for a second."