I have no idea what happened because I haven't written anything in completion in ages but then this idea popped into my mind and I just had to. Takes place in season three (and I use this setting very liberally; really, I just needed a time before Ian left) before Terry finds them. I didn't edit this so I apologise in advance for any errors.
there's a love between us still
but something's changed and i don't know why
Their relationship — if it can even be called that — is one built upon anger and passion and the desire to feel something more. They're all teeth and knuckles and elbows when they're lying in Mickey's bed when his brothers and dad are all out, or in the dugout at the baseball diamond. The bruises and scrapes along their bodies is the only piece of evidence that what they have is real — something tangible. What they have isn't fleeting and short-lived; instead, the scars and bruises scream permanence, despite Mickey's insistence that this was nothing more than an easy fuck.
When Mickey gets out of juvie for the second time, they fall back into their old routine of fucking hard and fast, their bodies slick with sweat and smoke, pretending the thick silence surrounding them afterwards isn't filled with unspoken thoughts. Mickey knew what they were doing was more than a dirty fuck when he landed in juvie for the second time because he would find his thoughts consumed with the redhead's easy smiles and bright green eyes whenever he found himself alone in his cell. He knew that nothing good could ever come from their relationship since, hell, most people didn't even consider two guys fucking "natural," and the beating from his dad and brothers would probably leave him six feet under.
But then he thinks of Ian's humour and infectious laughter and the way Ian's hands would grip his waist when he slams into him, and the way Ian's mouth would leave crescent shaped bite marks on the back of his neck — and thinks fuck it, because he would go to hell and back if it allowed him to even be near Gallagher. But it's okay if he's selfish once in a while, because small moments with Ian Gallagher are the only things that keep him sane and happy.
Mickey knows he isn't the greatest catch; he's sullen and unresponsive to Ian's attempts at pushing their relationship forward; he's crass and violent and too hotheaded for his own good and knows Ian could do infinitely better than the closeted South Side thug who failed the ninth grade more times than he'd care to admit. But Mickey's going to be selfish and allow himself to be with Ian even though he's no good for the redhead, even though Ian Gallagher deserves the best the world can offer and he sure as hell is not the best.
Their quick and dirty fucks progress to something more, a stage which neither boy is willing to address. The word "fucking" seems too shallow and empty to describe what they have. They no longer redress immediately after sex; they linger, hands brushing and bodies lying close enough that they can hear each other's heartbeat in the dead silence of the night.
Mickey looks at Ian, his blue eyes following the sharp planes of the redhead's face, tracing down the fine line of his nose and the way his eyelashes rest against his angled cheekbones, and he feels his chest swell up with an indescribable emotion. That's when Mickey Milkovich realises he's falling in love with the freckle-faced boy lying beside him. And he's okay with it.
The Mickey Milkovich from two years ago would have smarted at such a realisation; probably throw out a punch or two before bolting from the scene and repressing his feelings even more. But now? He lets his heart beat calm down after the revelation and leans over to place a slow, languid kiss on Ian's lips, trying to put the words he couldn't say into that one gesture.
It's unlike most of their other kisses — it's not quick and short, nor is it hot and openmouthed with their tongues fighting for dominance. It's soft and sweet and makes Mickey's heart swell with emotion so the only thing running through his mind, following the thump thump of his heartbeat, is Ian Ian Ian Ian. He's like a raging fire and seems to consume him, and it takes immense will power to not grab onto Ian and never let go.
Mickey coaxes Ian's mouth open gently with his tongue, sweeping it across Ian's full lower lip and feels Ian smiling against his mouth before kissing him back. He tastes faintly like cigarettes and caramel chocolate and something that's so distinctly Ian. Mickey feels Ian's warm hands curling around the back of his neck, and their kiss intensifies. Mickey traces the planes of Ian's abdomen, before pressing himself right up against his body. Ian's hands circle Mickey's hips, attempting to pull the dark-haired boy closer. They lie there, kissing as if they have all the time in the world, before Ian gently pulls away, taking a ragged breath. It takes Mickey all of his self-control to not whine at the loss of Ian's lips on his.
"What was that for?" Ian asks, his green eyes probing into Mickey's.
I think I love you, that's what.
Mickey shrugs, not meeting Ian's eyes and stretches his lips in a cocky smile. "Don't need you running away because I won't kiss you like those geriatrics," he says nonchalantly. Ian's smile falters a bit and Mickey feels a pang in his chest.
Fucking idiot, stop being a goddamn asshole. Mickey tries smiling to lighten the mood.
Ian doesn't reply and instead wraps his hands around Mickey's wrists and flips him over suddenly. Mickey lets out a groan as the two of them tumble off Ian's small twin bed and land on the floor.
"Think you can hurt me, eh tough guy?" Mickey asks, his eyebrows quirking upwards. Ian lets out short laugh before interlacing his fingers with Mickey's.
"I'm sure it'd take a lot more than flipping you off a bed to hurt you," he replies with a grin, his gaze zeroing in on Mickey's lips. Mickey feels a strange ache in his chest and he pushes it down, focusing on a freckle on Ian's collarbone instead.
"Yeah," he mutters softly, before grabbing Ian's head and pulling him down to kiss him, pretending to not notice the soft look in Ian's eyes.
When he sees Ian enter his house, he notices the distant expression on his face but brushes it off. Leading Ian into his room he glances around at Svetlana's items that casually littered the room, a sense of guilt washing over him as he watches Ian's eyes scan his room.
Making up some bullshit excuse about Svetlana being out working, he asks Ian if he wants to come over the next night. Taking a drag of his cigarette, he hears Ian decline his offer.
"Leaving town."
Mickey's heart picks up a bit and he takes another drag of his cigarette, trying to calm his nerves. Making an offhand comment about a queer rally, he turns away from Ian, trying to school his expression into something that wouldn't show his panic.
"Army," he hears Ian say from the doorway. His eyes widen in slight shock, but he relaxes upon remember Ian's not eighteen yet. He still has Ian all to himself for two years. He'd deal with Ian inevitably leaving him for bigger and better things then.
But then Ian says he's found a way around and Mickey can feel the controlled expression slipping off his face and panic setting in.
The words coming out of Ian's mouth don't seem to make sense anymore, and he takes a couple of deep breaths, and can feel the tears pricking his eyes sharply, causing his throat to close up.
He feels as if he's just been hit by a freight train running at full speed, and his jaw slackens.
Mickey can feel the oxygen leaving his body and feels light-headed, so he breathes in again, trying to rationalize the situation. There's time to talk him out of this.
"Tomorrow morning," Ian adds. And Mickey knows its over. He can feel Ian slipping out of his grasp and leaving him and never coming back.
With his heart hammering, he opens his mouth to say something. I'm in love with you, Gallagher. I need you, you can't leave, please. I love your stupid freckled face and the way you smile and how you put up with my stupid shit and came back to me after my asshole of a father beat you and you came back after I beat you and you came back after I kept fucking up and couldn't accept myself for who I am. I'm sorry I can't be everything you want and deserve. Don't leave don't leave don't leave.
He wishes that he could tell Ian everything that runs through his mind, but he can't. He can't find the words because there are no words to describe how Ian makes him feel.
"Don't," is the only thing that he is capable of saying. The surreal nature of the situation causes Mickey to feel like he's watching their relationship fall apart from the perspective of another person. He hears his voice crack and even though he feels like a thirteen year old girl, he prays and prays that Ian can read into it; can understand and see how fucking much Mickey loves him.
"Don't what?" Ian cooly replies, turning back to face Mickey.
"I… just…" Mickey trails off, his heart hammering. Ian looks at him, a disappointed look etched upon his face.
Say something, you fucking pussy. Tell him that you love him; tell him that you need him more than anything in the world.
Mickey opens his mouth and closes it, rubbing his jaw, unable to formulate a coherent sentence. Ian shakes his head, and a sardonic smile flits across his feature before he turns around and leaves without another word.
Mickey's legs seem to give out from underneath him and he sags down onto his bed, crushing the beer can in his hand. He hears Mandy come up behind him and call him a pussy, and is too far gone to even notice or care that she knows that Ian and him are — were — fucking.
He doesn't reply, because Mandy's right. He's a fucking pussy. And Ian deserves so much better than his weak ass; he deserves someone whole and complete; someone who wouldn't be scared shitless to hold his hand or kiss him outside the confines of a dark bedroom.
Mickey had been shot with a fucking gun — twice. And both times, he'd grimaced through the pain and never cried despite the fact that had literally felt as if his body was being torn apart. But the pain of the gunshots was nothing like this. Ian Gallagher had wormed his way underneath Mickey's tough skin and woven himself so deeply into Mickey's life that imagining a day without him seemed damn near impossible. Knowing that he'd never see Ian's grin or hear his shitty jokes or the way he was able to make Mickey feel a thousand times better with a small touch, he felt a pain shoot through his body and make its way into his chest.
He feels wet, salty tears leaking down his face and brushes them away angrily, thinking back to the time when Ian had joked that it would take a lot more than falling off a bed to hurt Mickey Milkovich.
Mickey let out a short laugh, something akin to hysterics and desperation, before rubbing his eyes again.
Ian Gallagher was wrong. It wouldn't take more than being flipped off a bed to hurt him, Mickey thought. In fact, all it took was a few short words and a disappointed look on Ian's face that could make Mickey feel as if his chest had been cut open and his heart had been yanked out.
And so for the first time since Mickey Milkovich was a little kid having a glass bottle thrown at his head by a drunken father, he let himself cry without restraint as he felt his thick armour and the walls he had built around himself finally crack and fall apart.
i wanna touch you but it's too late
i wanna touch you but there's history
Yeah so as I mentioned before I haven't written anything proper in ages so I'm getting back into the groove so I apologise for any stylistic errors etc.
The only reason this entire fic came to be was because I became super giddy about Ian/Mickey pushing each other up against the wall and calling each other tough guy and the line "you can't hurt me" popped into my head and yeah. I hope the characterization of Mickey isn't too off with S3 Mickey but I've always figured that Mickey felt more than what he projected, especially after kissing Ian in the van.
Reviews/constructive-criticism etc would be greatly appreciated :)
*song used is called "touch" by shura