This work of fiction is set approximately nine years after the end of season two, i.e. season three hasn't happened at all (Which makes writing it quite hard whilst watching!)

The original timeline is canon - with a few little additions from me - and everything after that is made up! (Or takes inspiration from cast information about upcoming episodes or from watching season three.

(Approximate ages for reference: Liam 10, Carl 19, Debbie 21, Ian 25, Lip 26, Fiona 30)

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, only my feels, my ideas and my OCs.

Prologue

A warm hand awoke him from his dream, shaking him. Well, he called it a dream, but it seemed more like a series of images and sounds all mashed together; tattooed knuckles running over his body, a dark head of hair between his legs, skin on skin, eyes looking up at him, all of it pervading his senses so that when he opened his eyes, for just a moment he didn't know where he was until he heard a voice, grounding him.

The hand gently shook his shoulder again. "Ian? Are you okay? You're all hot. Bad dream?" The hand ran down over his chest, then slowly, tentatively lower. Slight fingers found his half-hard cock. "Hmm." He heard the smile in the voice, "I guess it wasn't all bad! What were you dreaming about huh?"

Ian blinked a couple of times, and licked his lips to moisten them, before shuffling onto his side to face his wife.

"I can't really remember. Must've been a good one though." He smiled back at her in the darkness as she continued her ministrations, his cock hardening at her touch.

"Mmm. I can tell." Vicki asked, still stroking, "You want me to carry on?"

Ian glanced back over his shoulder at the brightly glowing clock beside the bed. 2.17am. "You've got to be up in three hours," he pointed out.

Vicki groaned, a mixture of agreement and disappointment, but she took her hand away anyway. "Ugh. You're right. You're always right. Rain check." She leaned over him and kissed his chest, his neck, then his lips, and he returned her kiss, before she turned away onto her side and made herself comfortable.

Ian rolled onto his back again, and tried to organise his thoughts. What the hell had made those images – no, those memories - come flooding back into his brain tonight? He shut his eyes and those blue ones appeared again, hooded, blown pupils, full of lust. Ian's lids snapped back open in shock, but he couldn't stop his hand drifting down to his now fully hard cock. Those eyes. He'd not forgotten them, how could he? He'd just pushed them to the back of his mind along with everything else when he'd moved away. Moved on.

No, you never forgot your first. Well, okay your second. And damn it all if it wasn't all coming screaming back to him.

Mickey fucking Milkovich.