So a couple of people have asked me for this and I'm trying to get back into writing my fics again, so I thought I'd finally get around to doing it. I don't know how it's turned out. I haven't read it through again and it's not edited. I'll get to that later. But I hope you enjoy and please tell me what you think. You guys are all amazing and thank you to everyone who has ever read my fics, whether or not you've reviewed them. It means a lot!
The light filtering through the curtains kept catching on Ian's face in a way that made his eyelashes look like they were glowing gold. It happened every morning and still, every morning when Mickey opened his eyes, he was amazed at the sight of it. He was amazed at what was lying next to him. From the stupid, slack-mouthed look and the little bit of drool, right down to the way his lashes were temporarily tipped with gold, the sight of Ian made the breath hitch in Mickey's chest.
He rolled onto his side, slowly so as not to wake the other man and leant over him slightly. He traced the silvering circle on Ian's shoulder that he'd put there with his teeth. He ran his finger up over the tendons of Ian's neck and scratched lightly at the flaking drool on his cheek.
Those golden eyelashes fluttered, the gold sliding away as the light shifted and green met blue. Ian stretched, a movement that required his whole body, spine arching in a way that was positively filthy. Mickey took the moment to stare and didn't bother wiping the expression off his face that he knew must be there.
They were safe here. He didn't have to hide here.
"Hey," Ian said softly, voice rough with sleep and still utterly flawless.
He slipped a hand behind Mickey's neck, blunt nails scratching at the hair there as he pulled him in closer. Everything narrowed into a delicious point as Ian's tongue slipped into his mouth. Mickey pressed forwards to licked the sour morning taste straight out of Ian's mouth until it didn't matter anymore.
He crawled over him, revelling in the hard lines of the body underneath his. Ian let his legs fall open and Mickey ground downwards. He didn't know when his cock had started to fatten or if he'd just woken up hard already. He supposed it didn't matter, it was just the effect Ian had on him.
Big palms on his ass guiding him forwards into a delicious roll of burning friction.
The air was hot and slightly stale with the Chicago summer and Ian's body was wonderfully sticky where it counted. His tongue was cool when it carved a path of fire down Mickey's neck and Ian's cock was like a brand pressing into his. It was all flawless and familiar.
He didn't want it to end. He wanted to drag the seconds on until they burst apart into years. He wanted an infinity inside this bedroom. It was what they deserved after all the hell they'd been through, wasn't it? Just a little infinity for themselves.
Ian's fingers slipped down to where he was still slick and a little open from last night. They pushed inside, scissoring as he rolled them, making room for his cock. And then there it was, blunt head pushing forwards and spearing him open in all the right ways.
He let himself fall back into the plushness of Ian's pillow; the fucker always stole the best one. He hitched his legs up around Ian's hips, urging him on with a heel to the base of his spine and then he just let himself enjoy the ride. He almost didn't recognise the noises tumbling out of his mouth, uncaring of volume or anything as stupid as that anymore. Ian always seemed to surprise him with the sounds he could carve out of Mickey's chest, but the redhead as usual just drank it all up like it was the greatest gift.
Above him, Ian's face was split into a wide grin. Like he knew how he was taking Mickey apart and he loved that he had that control. That only he had that control.
Mickey scratched his fingers against Ian's pale chest, thumbed at a nipple until Ian grabbed his hands and pinned them above his head. Just on the right side of rough, he arched up into it, biting at Ian's mouth and letting himself say something desperate and stupid and "Please, fuck, Gallagher… please."
Ian laughed and drove down into him harder, but not faster. Like they had all the time in the world. His eyelashes were catching the light right again, his whole face glowing with it. He whispered a kiss into Mickey's hairline and dropped the grip on his wrists so that he could drop down and slide their bodies closerclosercloser.
He mouthed at Mickey's ear, laugh still rich and perfect and hitching just a little as his orgasm closed in.
Mickey reached out, anchored himself with his hands pressed against Ian's shoulder-blades even as he could feel himself shattering apart and floating away and… Mickey's breath stuttered out of his chest as something like a sob as his world broke apart around him. He opened his eyes to the white of a ceiling. Flat on his back, he twisted his head and jumped when Ian's face was closer than he thought it was going to be.
"Come on," Ian said, dragging him up far too soon. He forced him under the spray of the shower and it was wonderful being caught between the cold of the tiles and the heat of Ian's body.
"You sure you're ready for this?" he asked, frowning.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"You just washed your hair twice."
Ian blinked and lowered his hands from scrubbing at the bubbles in his cropped hair. He pulled a face. "It says rinse and repeat, Mickey."
"Whatever cock-breath, rinse and waste shampoo on your own time."
Abstractly, Mickey understood. He did. He wasn't so insensitive that he couldn't grasp what Ian's problem was. He just didn't think it was that big of a deal. His family was trying a big reunion situation, suggested by Fiona, planned by Debbie and wanted by probably more of them than were willing to admit it.
As far as Mickey could remember, the oldest had adopted the youngest and was still in semi-contact with Debbie and the little psycho, Carl. Lip was off doing who knows what where and Ian was with him. So it wasn't so much a reunion as, let's have an excuse to force Lip and Ian into the same room under a name that'd make it look shitty if one of them backed out.
Mickey thought it was all ridiculous. He'd much rather stay in and marathon Pawn Stars in his underwear with the dog and then get a lazy blowjob off Ian before they both retreated back under the spray of the shower to cool down. It was his day off, that's always what happened on his day off. It was practically fucking tradition, but noooo.
Instead, he had to get up, get dressed and attend something he wasn't even invited to because as Ian had said, "Fuck that am I going alone."
"I just, I don't really feel like I know them, you know?" Ian said an hour before they were supposed to leave, staring down into his cereal.
Mickey shrugged. "You know their names, that's more than I can say for my side."
He was pretty sure he had brothers he'd never met, let alone learnt their names. He had Mandy and that was enough; and even then it was a blurred thing where they saw each other once every few months. It was enough. A shitty breakfast in some diner somewhere followed by a beer in an equally shitty bar was more than enough to make Mickey feel like no time had passed and fill his quota of 'family bonding' for a good while.
Ian pulled a face, like being compared to the Milkovich family wasn't even remotely close to a good analogy. And okay, maybe it wasn't.
"Fuck off," Mickey muttered and went to the fridge to get a beer.
It was his day off or did you miss that part? Plus, he was pretty sure he was going to need to have at least a bit of a buzz going to get through the next couple of hours.
"Look, it'll be fine. We'll turn up, if they piss you off, we'll leave. They don't know where we live, we've both gotten pretty good at shaking a tail. It's simple. Stop stressing about it."
"I guess," Ian said reluctantly.
"And I know," he said, putting the beer down with a thunk and moving over to him. He caught Ian's face in his hands, made him look at him. "It'll be fine," he said, slowly, like Ian was retarded or some animal that needed calming down before he bit Mickey's head off.
Ian nodded, darted forwards and kissed Mickey, hotly, wetly before he went back to eating his cereal. Just like that.
The creepy one wouldn't stop staring at him.
"You ever killed anyone?" he asked, chin resting in his palm and eyes locked on Mickey's face. Just like they had been for the last hour. It'd been the longest hour of Mickey's life.
"What– no."
"You look like you've killed someone."
Mickey looked around for Ian, trying not to make it obvious that he was searching for an out. Show no fear and all that. Still, he thought you'd have to be stupid not to be wary of this kid. He smelt faintly of gasoline and ash and while Mickey'd lit his fair share of abandoned buildings on fire in the name of fun, he had a feeling this kid had probably not care if there was anyone inside or not.
He found Ian finally – like he didn't know exactly where Gallagher was at all times, pfft – leaning against a wall, talking to his oldest sister. He looked relaxed if you didn't know him, but there was tension in the rigid line of his spine and he kept picking at his cuticles.
"Just hold on a minute, kid," Mickey said, cutting Carl off halfway through a question he wasn't listening to and had no intention of answering.
He made a slight detour into the kitchen of the shabby, well-lived in house they were currently occupying, snagging a pair of beers from the fridge. He wondered idly how Fiona managed to score a place like this. It was pretty big. She was probably banging a dude for it. Ian'd kick his ass if he heard Mickey say that, but Mickey saw the way she acted. So innocent, there was just that something about her that screamed, "I'll fuck you if you'll let me." Like his own sister, only more subtle. Like she was ashamed of what she wanted.
"Hey," Mickey tapped the bottle against Ian's chest, tried not to let his gaze linger on the wet patch the condensation left against his t-shirt. Everything smelt like cigarette smoke and body odour, but the sweat smell coming off of Ian only made Mickey want to lean in and taste. It had him thinking of that morning and all the other mornings like it, when everything was hot and sticky and sweaty and great.
For reasons other than awkward as fuck family gatherings no one wanted to be attending.
Ian smiled at him gratefully, chugging down half the beer. Mickey didn't even complain when Ian settled against him a little, finger sliding through one of the belt loops on his jeans. He understood the need to ground yourself. Mickey was the familiar island in a sea full of whatthefuck.
"So… Mickey," Fiona said and if that tone didn't say it all, then Mickey didn't know what did.
He grunted, eyebrow already starting to raise.
"What do you do?"
He almost wanted to say something like, drug dealer or Russian prostitute pimp just to see what she'd say. He wanted to see the expression on her face, see if she'd dare pass judgement out loud. But it was too hot to have the energy for any of that, so instead Mickey just said, "I'm the fucker that collects your trash."
Which, he wasn't. That wasn't his route, but whatever.
Her eyes widened a little in surprise and next to him, Ian tensed. "Do you enjoy that?"
"Would you?" he scoffed. "It pays good, I get holiday. The hours aren't too bad either."
He just had to get up a little – a lot – earlier than he'd usually like, but he wasn't seventeen anymore so he got over it. Besides, it just meant he got to watch Gallagher in those moments before the fucking early riser rolled out of bed himself.
"Not like you ever smelt like roses either, huh Mick," Ian said, lip twisting into something that could have been a smile if Mickey hadn't jabbed him hard in the ribs.
"Don't hear you complainin'," he pointed out.
"Two words," Ian said. "Selective. Hearing."
Mickey flipped him off, trying to resist the urge to squirm under the focussed gaze Fiona suddenly had on them.
"I was just telling Ian he should consider going back to school, what do you think Mickey?" she asked and just like that Ian's spine snapped straight again.
"Why would he want to do that?"
She looked affronted. "He could get a better education. Get a better job, a better life."
"His life's just fine," Mickey snapped. He couldn't help it and Ian didn't even seem to consider trying to stop him.
He didn't understand where these people got off on telling Ian what he could and couldn't do with his life. All those midnight phone calls with Lip where Ian thought he was whispering, no I don't want to come live with you. Yes I am happy. No I don't want a job from you. Yes I'm fine. No I don't need you to send me money. Yes I'm good with Mickey. On and on and on until you'd think they'd get the message, but no.
They hadn't been there and yes, Mickey wasn't so heartless to think that blood counted for nothing, but they. hadn't. been. there. They had had little to no effect on shaping Ian's life and now that he was free of the system that had kept them apart, Mickey didn't understand why they felt like they could do something now.
They could h
ave tried harder, or maybe they couldn't. Did it even matter anymore?
Ian was happy. Even on his darkest days, when he sat back and thought maybe he wasn't worthy of this, maybe this wasn't what was best, he could see that Ian was happy. With him, in their apartment, in their crappy little small world life, Ian was happy. Mickey was happy.
Ian wasn't happy here and it was like the Gallaghers were just trying that little bit too hard to be blind to that.
It was good they were looking out for him, it really was, but there wasn't anything they could do or that they had that Ian wanted.
"I'm just saying–"
"Well don't," Mickey cut across her. "He ain't one of your responsibilities. You're his sister, not his keeper. He's got a life and if you want to be in it, accept the way he's living it. It ain't rocket science."
Fiona blinked rapidly, like she was trying to shake off his words. Maybe she was just trying to forget them.
Mickey rolled his eyes.
"He's right, Fi, okay," Ian said and he leant over to set his beer down on the nearby mantle. "Look, thanks for having us. I think we're gonna go."
Her hand leant out, snatching at his t-shirt. "Ian, I didn't–"
Ian shook his head, gently prying her fingers loose. He cast a hand around, at the house, at his siblings that were all watching with wide, concerned eyes. Lip standing there in the doorway, just walking in.
"I love you. I love you all, but this, this isn't my life anymore. It hasn't been since I was a kid. We're never going to be a proper family under this roof again, okay? Accept that, Fi. Lip. Just accept that. I'm happy where I am and it's where I'm going to stay."
He slipped his fingers through Mickey's and Mickey let him so as not to ruin the dramatic exit Gallagher was no doubt going for. The guy couldn't do something simply if he tried.
"I want to be in your lives, I do," he said. "But it won't be like this. Call me when you realise that."
Even if he'd never admit it, Mickey knew that feeling blooming deep down somewhere uncomfortable had to be pride. It felt like Ian was picking him. He was starting to realise maybe Ian always had.
"You don't think I made a mistake, right?" Ian asked, hours later when they're curled back into their infinity. American Pickers is on in the background and it's not Pawn Stars like Mickey had planned, but it's a good enough soundtrack to what they're doing.
It's his day off done right, with Ian lounging back against his chest, long limbs seemingly everywhere at once and his words pushed right into Mickey's sternum when he speaks. It feels like he's filling Mickey up to the brim with his words. It feels like he's already fit to burst, but he's willing to chase that impossible feeling as far as it will take him. Because he's loving every minute of this particular high. Enough that he knows he never wants it to end.
He lets his fingers skim downwards from where he was counting the bumps of Ian's spine and thumbs at the dimples at the bottom of the redhead's back. There are a thousand things that he could say and there are a hundred ways he could just show it.
Instead he just snorts, reaching for a Skittle off the coffee table like his heart doesn't feel like its swelling. Like he doesn't think maybe this would be an film end moment; where the music swells and everything's sappy and perfect and fades to black so that nothing ever ends. He knows it isn't of course, he knows this life will go on and maybe it's better that way. Maybe a thousand moments is better than just a single drawn out one.
Who knows, but he gets to find out.
"What did we say about stupid questions," is what he says instead and he lets that be enough. He thinks maybe it is by the way Ian's crushing a brilliant laugh into his sternum to fit in alongside his words.
Mickey looks down at him and he can't help the smile that turns up the corners of his mouth. The one he usually doesn't let Ian see.
Ian's eyelashes are shining golden again and his leg's starting to fall asleep where Ian's lying across it. Everything is too hot and too stifling and he's realising he's already seen this episode of American Pickers twice already. In two days Fiona will ring with a mouthful of placating promises that maybe Ian will fall for or maybe he won't. Maybe there'll be another disastrous dinner and maybe Lip'll show up and finally snap, launching a pint glass at Mickey's head and screaming that it's all his fault. Or maybe Ian will just let the call ring out and he'll never know what disasters could lie ahead.
It's a world full of maybes and a part of Mickey can't wait to live out the rest of them.
He's just glad he didn't tell that giant ginger freckle of a kid to fuck off all that way back when.