Who To Trust

Summary: Written in response to two prompts for the Gallavich Gift Exchange: "trust" and "someone slipping Mickey a roofie at the club and taking the basically unconscious man away to do bad things to him and Ian finding them at the last second and saving the day."

Disclaimer: I don't own Shameless.

AU in which Ian isn't bipolar

I researched the effects of roofies for this. Apparently, it makes you not only just sleepy, but also it makes you not care and completely okay with everything that's happening.

Also, this happens in an AU in which Ian isn't bipolar, if they were allowed to progress with their relationship normally after the events of 4x11.

Things changed after Ian and Mickey became an official couple. For the first time in either of their lives, they were happy and in a committed relationship. They were so used to hiding their true feelings and keeping secrets from the world that finally being open about it felt a little strange. It didn't always come easy. They had to work on building trust in each other and their suddenly stable life together.

After Mickey came out to his dad and the asshole was sent back to jail for trying to beat the shit out of him, Ian moved into the Milkovich house for good. He helped take care of Yevgeny sometimes. He even pitched in money for food and rent whenever he could by working extra hours at the club.

Ian still had the same job as before, dancing for strangers, but he stopped letting customers touch him. Only Mickey was allowed that luxury. Unfortunately, being so tantalizingly unavailable only made some of the customers want him even more. Mickey spent most nights at the club protecting his boyfriend from admirers like a loyal watch dog.

Incidentally, Mickey also managed to attract a lot of fans. Since he came to the club so often, people started to recognize him as the mysterious thug who seemed to have a hopeless crush on one of the dancers. No one had ever successfully gotten as much as a name out of him, and he developed a reputation for being dark, handsome, and hard to get.

One guy in particular made it his mission to win Mickey over. He just wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Hey, handsome," he said to Mickey. "Back so soon?" That was the third time this week that the guy had talked to him. Mickey was starting to get annoyed.

"What part of 'fuck off' don't you get, asshole?" he growled. He turned away and took a swig of his beer. The guy didn't seem fazed and shoved himself right back in Mickey's face.

"I keep telling you: my name is Phil," he said, wiggling his eyebrows. "Short, sweet and easy to remember when screaming it out in bed."

Mickey shot him a look of disgust. "In your fuckin' dreams," he grumbled, turning his eyes back to Ian dismissively.

Phil followed his gaze and sighed. "You're wasting your time with that one, you know," he said warningly. "That dancer never sleeps with customers. You should just come have a good time with me, instead."

Mickey smirked a little at that. "I'm more than a fuckin' customer," he said proudly.

Phil was taken aback. "What, you're like his boyfriend or something?" He laughed in disbelief when Mickey didn't bother to deny it. "You two don't look like a match at all."

Mickey grimaced. He hated when people acted like they knew more about his relationship than he did. He grabbed his almost empty glass of beer and got up to leave before he lost his temper.

Phil forcefully grabbed his arm to stop him. "Come on," he whispered into Mickey's ear insistently. "I know you want to pound my tight ass, you little slut."

Mickey raised his eyebrows and laughed like he'd just heard a funny joke. "Don't act like you fuckin' know me!" He shoved Phil over, sending him toppling to the ground.

Everyone in range turned to stare at Mickey. Most people didn't look sympathetic to Phil at all. He should've known better than to bother one of the toughest guys in the place.

A bouncer who worked there named Malik sighed and walked over to make sure everything was okay. He was a big, muscly black man who was generally pretty quiet and intimidating. Not too many people knew much about him, but Mickey actually kinda appreciated him being around due to all the times he'd had his back.

"This guy bothering you again?" Malik asked guardedly.

"Nothin' I ain't got under control," Mickey shrugged. Malik took one last cautious look at the man on the ground and nodded approvingly. He stalked away to survey the rest of the bar for trouble, content that Mickey was fine.

Mickey followed suit and stomped away from all the people staring at him. He pushed through the crowd to get himself another drink.

When he made it to the bar, he sat down in front of the bartender and swallowed the rest of his beer.

The bartender watched him with an amused smirk. "Saw what you did to that guy," he said, sounding impressed. "That dumbass had it comin'. Your next drink's on me."

"Thanks," Mickey replied. "I'll have another Corona."

"Finally someone who drinks real alcohol around here," the bartender laughed. He handed Mickey his beer with a grin.

Mickey instantly relaxed. The bartender didn't seem like one of the usual prissy guys that came to the club. In fact, he looked like a fellow South Sider, someone that Mickey might actually be able to get along with.

"You did the right thing, you know," the guy pointed out, nodding over to where Phil was sitting with his friends in the corner. "Fruity assholes like that usually just want you more if you ignore them."

Mickey snorted sarcastically. "Thanks for the tip."

The bartender smiled at Mickey's bad attitude. "You know, you don't really seem like the type that usually comes to this place," he commented.

"Neither do you," Mickey replied back.

The bartender just shrugged. "Yeah, well, I gotta listen to shitty music all night, but it's not the worst place I've ever worked." He grinned as a well-toned guy walked past them with his shirt off. Mickey just smirked at the happy look that spread across the bartender's face and took another swig of his beer.

"I'm kinda new here, but I haven't really seen you around. You just here tonight lookin' to get laid or somethin'?" the guy asked curiously.

Mickey shook his head. "Nah. My boyfriend's one of the dancers."

The bartender's mouth hung open in amazement. "The guy you've been staring at? You're dating him?"

"Yup," Mickey replied, grinning in Ian's direction. Ian seemed to notice Mickey staring at him and grinned back, dancing like Mickey was the only one he was trying to please.

"I thought I heard somethin' 'bout one of the dancers havin' a clingy boyfriend," the bartender sniggered.

Mickey glared, finally taking his eyes away from the redhead across the room. "Fuck you. I ain't clingy," he muttered grumpily.

The bartender grinned at his reaction. "Isn't he the one named Ian? Dancers come and go so much here, it's hard to keep track."

Mickey was surprised that someone actually knew Ian's name. Even Ian's boss always referred to him as Curtis. "Uh… yeah," he replied hesitantly.

"What about you? What's your name?" the guy asked curiously.

For some reason, Mickey felt like he could trust the guy enough to actually tell someone his name for once. "Mickey," he answered.

"Cool. I'm Mark."

Mickey just nodded to show that he heard him.

"You sure come to this place a lot for someone who hates being here, Mickey," Mark observed.

"Wherever Ian goes, I go," Mickey replied simply.

Mark laughed. "Awh, how fuckin' gay. I think I'm gonna barf."

"Ey, fuck you," Mickey chuckled in response.

The two of them chatted for the rest of Ian's shift. For once, being in that shitty club wasn't so bad. Ever since Mickey'd come out to the whole world, he'd been struggling to figure out where he fit in. Maybe by actually making friends with Mark, he'd find a place in the gay community that he didn't actually fucking hate.

On a random night about a week later, Ian and Mickey got tired of just staring at each other from across the dance floor and snuck off to fuck during Ian's break. Their lips crashed together hurriedly as soon as they thought they were alone, and Ian led Mickey stumbling backwards into the dancers' small dressing room.

The area was cramped and not very classy. There was only one short, wobbly bench to sit on and a row of beat-up lockers in the middle of the room. They both tripped and clung to each other heatedly as they weaved in between a haphazard pile of janitorial supplies and a single full-length mirror that was behind the lockers for privacy.

As soon as they were hidden from the sight of anyone who might happen to open the door, Ian forced Mickey to turn around and pressed him into the wall. "I've been waiting to fuck you all night," he groaned.

"Hurry up and get in me then," Mickey demanded, arching his back and gasping as Ian kissed down his neck.

Ian wasted no time and quickly got down on his knees, shoving Mickey's pants to the floor along with him. He reached in Mickey's pocket to pull out a bottle of lube and squirted it out on his fingers.

"Relax," he said soothingly.

Mickey sighed and did as he was told, giving in to the familiar feeling of Ian rubbing cold liquid over his entrance. Wet fingers slid and moved around inside of him, one after the other until Mickey was wide open and stuffed. Ian arched his fingers and pushed them in farther like he was trying to dig deep inside. Mickey writhed and struggled to keep his breathing in check, yearning for more.

Ian couldn't resist the sight in front of him and leaned in to lick around the rim of Mickey's hole. His warm tongue slithered and swirled, coating Mickey with saliva. Mickey grunted in desperation.

"You really about to rim me right now? This is supposed to be a quickie." Mickey growled impatiently. "Seriously, I'm good to go here. Just get your cock inside me."

Ian smirked. Getting just as impatient, he didn't bother to argue. He shoved down his gold shorts and directed his dick to the place where it would finally fit inside of the man in front of him. Mickey used his arms to brace himself against the wall in anticipation. One initial push was all it took before Ian breached Mickey's tight heat.

They both shuddered at how good it felt. Ian buried his head in the crook of Mickey's neck as he gave him time to adjust.

But Mickey was not in the mood for wasting time.

He pushed back against Ian, trying to shove as much of the redhead's cock inside of himself as possible. Ian took the hint and quickened his pace, fucking into Mickey again and again.

Mickey groaned in approval. He felt so full, but he wanted more. He was insatiable. His eyes closed, and he bit his bottom lip as his hips moved back to push against Ian forcefully. He became so wrapped up in the pleasure of it all that he didn't even notice when Ian's eyes flickered somewhere else: the mirror across from them.

The two boys in the reflection mimicked their every movement, fucking roughly. Ian couldn't see Mickey's face from behind, but he could see it through the mirror. The smaller boy's mouth hung open as Ian pounded into him, betraying the fact that he fucking loved it. Ian was transfixed. He couldn't look away.

"You're so fucking sexy," he groaned, leaning in and playfully nibbling at Mickey's ear. His hands gripped Mickey's hips tight, sure to leave bruises. He ravaged Mickey thoroughly, never breaking eye contact with their doppelgangers.

Mickey moaned lowly, but his eyes remained closed. That's not what Ian wanted.

Getting tired of waiting for Mickey to open his eyes, he finally grabbed the older man by the hair and forced his head to the side. "Open your eyes and watch," he ordered. "I want you to see yourself as I fuck you."

As soon as Mickey saw the mirror, he let out a burst of lust-filled laughter, but he certainly wasn't complaining. Between the view of Ian's muscled body as it jackhammered into him and the feeling of Ian's dominant grip on his hair, there was no denying that he was getting exactly what he wanted.

The two of them locked eyes, never once looking away in embarrassment. Mickey's days of being ashamed were over. Even such a blatant display of his own perversion, watching another man violating him, didn't seem to bother him anymore. He was done hiding from the world and pretending to be straight. He saw himself for who he really was, comfortable right there in Ian's arms.

Ian's cock rubbed over his prostate until he was shuddering and shaking with pleasure. His hand flew down to tug at his own cock vigorously. He wasn't going to last much longer.

Ian was getting close too. His thrusts became more frantic, and his words more erratic. "Fuck, Mick," he groaned breathily, muttering under his breath. "Love seeing you like this. So… fucking…"

Ian didn't have time to finish his thought. His mind suddenly became wonderfully blank, and he gripped Mickey tighter than ever before erupting deep inside of him.

Mickey jerked himself harder and groaned as Ian's warm, sticky sperm filled him up to the brim. It only took a second longer before he was cumming too.

After a few more thrusts, milking the moment for all it was worth, Ian finally stilled. The room became quiet, the only sounds coming from their heavy panting and the distant thumpa thumpa of the club.

Ian pulled out of Mickey slowly and watched in pride as cum dripped down his thighs. Grinning at the dazed look on Mickey's face, Ian walked over to the cleaning supplies and tore off a paper towel for the other boy to clean himself off with.

The two of them dressed themselves in contented silence. Ian looked around and found his little golden tie on the floor. He didn't even remember throwing that off.

"Gotta get back to work," he finally sighed. "We'll go for round two after I get off, okay?"

Mickey slumped down onto a little stool, catching his breath and smiling blissfully up at the taller boy. "You already got off, remember?" he teased, grinning at his own bad pun.

Ian chuckled and rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe he was actually dating such a dork. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Mickey's lips.

"See you later," he said.

Finally, he put his tie back around his neck and left out the door.

As soon as Ian was gone, Mickey lit a cigarette and allowed a dopey smile to spread even wider across his face. Smoke flowed from his nose as he exhaled, looking completely disheveled and sex happy. He hadn't said the words 'I love you' to Ian yet, but if he was being honest with himself, love was exactly what he felt in that moment.

Lately, Mickey had started thinking about those three little words whenever he was alone.

At least, he thought he was alone.

Suddenly, Mickey felt a hand wrap around one of his arms. He stood up and wheeled around, ready to fight. His heart practically jumped out of his chest.

Out of all the people it could've been, Mickey came face to face with Phil, that asshole who'd already dared to lay hands on him once before. Mickey instantly scowled.

"What the fuck?" he shouted.

"Whoa, calm down there," Phil said, putting his hands up in apology. "Didn't mean to scare you. Just wanted to talk."

"The fuck are you doing in here?" Mickey barked, taking another drag of his cigarette to calm his nerves. "Employees only, asshole. Can't you read the fuckin' sign?"

"You're not an employee," Phil argued simply.

Mickey grimaced, not in the mood for Phil's bullshit. "Well, my boyfriend is. Did I not make that fucking clear?"

"I saw you two together," Phil continued, ignoring Mickey's words. "Gotta say, I never thought you'd be a bottom, but holy fuck, you make the sexiest sounds ever. I would totally become a top just for you."

Mickey tossed his cigarette on the ground and stomped on it, suddenly completely beyond the point of trying to stay calm. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "You've gotta be fuckin' joking."

"Come on," Phil whined, taking a step closer. "He's not your type, trust me. Let me fuck you. You'll love it, I promise."

Mickey's face wrinkled in disgust. It was just like what Mark had said earlier: ignoring pushy assholes like this guy just didn't fucking work.

Before Phil could even react, Mickey's fist collided with his nose. Phil cried out in surprise and fell to the floor, his hands flying up to stop the bleeding.

"Listen to me very fucking carefully," Mickey roared. "You are not my fuckin' type. You're just a dumbass who doesn't even get the meaning of the word 'no.' I belong to Ian. And even if I didn't, I wouldn't fuck you ever. So back the fuck off."

Without even looking back to see Phil's reaction, Mickey turned around and stomped out of the room, back into the loud, pulsing music of the club.

He wound through the crowd of people with a scowl on his face. His previous happy attitude had crashed, and he just needed a drink. He sat down at the bar looking grumpy.

"Four shots of Jack, please," he grunted.

Mark raised an eyebrow at him. "What're you so pissed about?"

Mickey sighed. "Y'know that mook that keeps hittin' on me? Well, he snuck into the back room and managed to have himself a little peepshow."

"Peepshow?" Mark poured Mickey his shots with a look of confusion on his face.

"Yeah," Mickey said as if it was obvious. "Me and Ian. Goin' at it."

"Oh," Mark said, raising his eyebrows a bit in surprise as he suddenly understood what Mickey meant. "That sucks. He still got two working legs or should we start thinkin' of your alibi?"

"Relax, I didn't kill him," Mickey spat. "Though he woulda deserved it. Should've heard the nasty shit he said to me."

Mark shook his head, a smirk on his face.

Mickey downed all four of his shots in a row, but none of them successfully wiped the sour look from his face. "And he keeps sayin' that Ian's not my type," he continued bitterly. "Fuckin' asshole."

Mark chuckled. "Well, you gotta admit, you look like a tough, hardcore guy and Ian..."

"Ian's tough too," Mickey interrupted angrily. "He did ROTC and shit."

"Didn't say he wasn't. I was gonna say, he looks more like one of those dudes that likes to cuddle," the bartender joked.

Mickey snorted, finally settling back down. "Yup, pretty much," he admitted with a smirk. "Y'know, even when it's fuckin' balls hot outside, he smothers me like a giant blanket every night. I swear, he's like a fuckin' heater." There was nothing but pure, undeniable affection in his voice.

Mark was a bit surprised by that. "Wow, you even live together? So… you guys are actually pretty serious, huh?"

Mickey shrugged. "Yeah, it's a long story," he grumbled. "We got history."

"I get it," the bartender replied, smart enough to let it go. "Anyway, fuck that guy. Just cause he thinks you two don't fit, doesn't mean you gotta fuck him."

Mickey sniffed angrily and looked over to watch Ian dancing once again.

Mark sighed and reached for another glass. "This next one's on me," he said with a glint in his eyes. He was about to get Mickey seriously fucked up.

The next night, after Ian's shift was over, he changed into his normal clothes and went looking for Mickey. He checked the bar and all over the dance floor. He even checked the bathroom, but the other boy was nowhere in sight. Usually, Mickey jumped at the chance to go home the second Ian got off work. His absence was strange, and something didn't feel quite right.

"Hey, Malik," Ian shouted to the bouncer when he spotted him. "You seen Mickey?"

"Uh," Malik mumbled a bit hesitantly. "I don't know if you wanna know where he is."

"What're you talking about?" Ian asked. His brow furrowed in confusion.

"Last time I saw him, he was seriously drunk, leaning all over some guy… and leaving with him," Malik responded slowly, worried that Ian was going to get upset.

The redhead scoffed in disbelief. There was no way that Mickey was cheating on him. He trusted Mickey enough to know that something else was definitely going on.

"Where'd they go?" he asked.

"Over there," Malik replied, pointing to the back door. Ian nodded in thanks and quickly ran to find out what the fuck was happening.

The door took him outside and right into the faculty parking lot. There wasn't a single person in sight. Ian weaved through all the cars, eyes searching desperately for some sign of where the short brunette could have gone.

"Fuck," Ian cursed. Mickey could've been anywhere.

But then he heard it: the sound of a car door closing.

Ian ran to follow the noise, and his eyes instantly zeroed in on a glimpse of movement in one of the cars. Someone was clearly moving around in the backseat. Maybe it had nothing to do with Mickey, but he had to check, just to be sure.

And it was a good thing he did. Through the car window, Ian saw a man straddling Mickey in the backseat, fumbling to unbuckle his pants. Mickey looked almost unconscious, not even bothering to fight back as his eyes drooped closed.

Ian instantly bounded into action like the ROTC cadet he used to be. He jumped over to the attacker's side of the car and yanked the door open with all of his might.

The guy scrambled to get into the front seat of the car with his pants around his knees as soon as he realized what was happening, but Ian was too quick. Without hesitating for even a moment, he grabbed him by the ankle and tugged him backwards.

"Get the fuck away from him!" Ian shouted. He pulled the struggling man in and turned him around just enough to get a proper grip on him. Before the guy could even say a word, Ian punched him in the face and dragged him harshly out onto the ground.

The guy was out cold as soon as he hit the pavement.

Once the struggle was over, Ian actually managed to recognize the guy. It wasn't Phil or any of the other admirers that Mickey had… it was Mark, the bartender.

"Mick, are you okay?" Ian shouted, turning his attention back to his boyfriend.

Mickey could barely lift his head. "… what?"

Ian narrowed his eyes suspiciously, examining Mickey closely. "Have you been… roofied?"

"Nah, m'just… tired," Mickey responded. He was clearly drugged, but Ian wasn't about to argue with him.

"He didn't actually manage do anything to you, did he?" Ian continued, questioning him quickly and fussing over every inch of his body to check for signs of injury.

"Nah…" Mickey mumbled.

The worry on Ian's face finally faded, and even though his heart was still thumping loudly in his chest, he finally let out a relieved laugh.

"I was worried about you, asshole," Ian hissed. "Malik said you left hanging all over some guy."

Mickey's face crumpled into an upset frown. "Don't worry 'bout it," he murmured. "Mark's… my friend."

Ian sighed in frustration. "No, he's not." He pushed the unconscious bartender out of the way to make room for Mickey to walk.

Mickey looked at Ian in confusion with his eyes glazed over. "Not… what?" His mind could barely focus.

Ian shook his head with a little smile and pulled Mickey forward. "Can you stand?"

"F'course," Mickey slurred. He lifted himself up from the car seat and stood for only a second before slumping over and almost falling to the ground.

"Whoa!" Ian caught him swiftly. "I gotcha." He lowered him back down to the seat. There was no way that Mickey was walking home in his condition.

Ian chuckled and turned around, getting low to the ground and sticking his arms back. "Get on," he ordered.

"M'not gonna…" Mickey suddenly couldn't even remember the words for 'piggyback ride,' but in that moment he didn't even care enough to try. "I'll stand," he insisted with a yawn. "Just… just let me nap first…"

Ian rolled his eyes. "Stop complaining and get on. We gotta go home."

After a moment of hesitance, Mickey didn't even bother to argue anymore. He leaned against Ian's back, his eyes starting to droop closed.

Ian scooped him up and lifted him effortlessly.

"My fuckin' hero," Mickey mumbled softly, not sounding nearly as sarcastic as he had intended. "… love ya." A second later, he was snoring and fast asleep.

It wasn't exactly the three little words that Mickey had been contemplating telling Ian earlier, but it didn't matter. Mickey wouldn't remember anything about that night anyway.

A sappy, romantic grin spread across Ian's face. He hoisted Mickey up higher, bringing him in closer, and made his way back to their shared home.

Later, Ian told his boss about what Mark had done and made sure that the creep never worked in another gay bar in Boys Town ever again. It turned out that Mark had been lying the whole time. He'd grown up on the South Side with a father indebted to the Milkoviches, and once he'd recognized Mickey, he wanted nothing more than to get back at Terry once and for all by fucking his son.

At first, it had been easy for the manipulative asshole to convince their boss that nothing had happened. After all, he'd never been much of a fan of Mickey always hanging around the club, intimidating customers away from their fantasies of sleeping with Ian. But luckily, it didn't work in the end. Malik vouched for Mickey's story instantly, lamenting the fact that he hadn't recognized the situation at the time for what it was.

Mickey realized that Malik was actually an honest and gallant kind of guy, better to talk to than Mark would've ever been. At least there was one person in the club, other than Ian, that he could call his friend.

For people from the South Side, it may seem almost impossible to trust people sometimes, but every once in a while, a decent person comes along. Ian and Mickey were lucky: they'd found each other and they were never letting go.

No matter who else in their life tried to hurt them, their love and trust for each other were enough to save the day.