"Want me to suck you off?" the boy asks, his pupils blown wide, eyelids drooping.
Lip takes a drag on his cigarette. "I'm good. Thanks." By now, he isn't even fazed by the array of male hookers that hang about this street corner. He's never here for them and they don't hassle him when he politely turns them down, offers up his cigarettes when they ask if they can bum a smoke. He has Ian to thank for this particular area of desensitisation; he works bar at some sketchy as fuck strip club not too far from Lip's apartment and Lip hasn't lost his protective big brother streak just yet, doesn't let Ian walk to the El on his own.
"Hey Red, you finally gonna fuck me or what?"
Smiling at James' usual request, Ian quickly walks over to Lip. The idiot isn't wearing gloves or anything, his thin hoodie not nearly enough to protect him from the harsh cold (and he fucking wonders why he gets "man-flu" so often).
"Nah, it's a little late," Ian says, winking at James, "maybe tomorrow."
James dramatically deflates against the wall, sighing. "Promises, promises."
Lip pats Ian on the back when he reaches him, tugs on the drawstring of his hoodie. "Want pneumonia for Christmas?"
"Wasn't this cold earlier." He breathes out into the night air, watching his breath swirl white before it disappears. "Plus I gotta get a new coat and won't have enough money for it for another week."
Money is always a problem. Always. Even when it seems like their situation has gotten better something shitty comes along and it's back to being poor again. Lip is used to it, knows no different, and so are his siblings but they shouldn't be. Having to wear your scarf and three sweaters to bed because nobody could afford to pay for the heating isn't something that should fucking happen; learning techniques to get away with stealing so that you have something substantial to eat for dinner is not something that should happen. And yet Lip is all too familiar with the feeling of waking up freezing cold, of distracting the local store owners so his younger siblings could sneakily raid the aisles.
College was always a distant possibility for him and he never pretended like he didn't know he was more than smart enough for it. His problem had nothing to do with his intelligence but his family. Because leaving them meant one less person to help look after the younger kids, putting even more responsibility on Fiona's weighed down soldiers.
He left, though. Stayed in Chicago but worked out it was cheaper and easier to rent a place closer to the campus than stay at home. Shortly after Ian left, too, moving closer to Lip but not as far away from the family home. He works two jobs now and does online courses, sends back as much money to Fiona as he can afford. Lip does the same. It's still barely enough.
Lip takes a long drag on his cigarette, holds it in his lungs until they begin to burn and blows it through his nostrils. "Come back to mine tonight, be reminded of what it's like to sleep in the warmth."
For once, Ian doesn't argue. Says, "Yeah, okay. So long as I don't have the sound of you and Mandy to send me to sleep," with a shit-eating grin.
Lip snorts. "Nah, she's pissed off at me again so it's just me and my hand for the foreseeable future."
"How tragic."
"I give it 24 hours, she's hornier than I am," Lips says, exhaling smoke through his nostrils.
Ian is silent beside him, probably put off by the mention of straight sex.
...
Despite how late it is, Mandy's still awake, sat cross-legged on the couch with the laptop. She looks up at the sound of the front door closing, smiling when she spots Ian behind him.
"Stayin' over?" she asks, doing a perfect job of ignoring Lip
Lip gives her a flat look then heads for the kitchen when she doesn't bother acknowledging his existence. He hasn't actually done a thing wrong; how is it his fault that his ex decided to send him a postcard from France? Answer: it fucking isn't. Neither is it his fault that Mandy's as possessive as they come and doesn't understand what "I don't fuck around" means.
Their fridge, he finds, is mostly empty. He lets it shut with a sigh, leaning back against it; maybe if he does the shopping tomorrow Mandy will deem him worthy enough to talk to.
"Lip!" she calls, "Go get the spare sheets and shit for Ian!"
He feels like telling her to get off her ass and do it her fucking self because he hates when arguments come to a standstill, feels like he has to try to make it right and then, if that fails, to think 'fuck it' and make it all worse.
He's tired, though. From college and his shitty part-time job and Ian always gets weird when he and Mandy argue in front of him, so instead he skulks to their room and gets the spare sheets, blanket and pillows.
Mandy shuts the laptop and stands, making space for him to drop everything. "Wanna borrow a t-shirt or something?" he asks Ian.
"Nah," Ian answers, looking up from where he's undoing his shoes, "it's okay."
With nothing left to do, Lip gives him a lazy salute, says, "Night," and heads back to the bedroom. He strips out of his jacket, hangs it on the back of the door then kicks off his boots. Mandy's pretty lax about the place being tidy. Clean, yes, but she's cool with things being all over the place, sometimes having to search for the keys before going out. Lip doesn't know how he'd function if Mandy made him tidy away all of his clothes at night when all he wants to do is collapse onto his bed.
He's just finishing up brushing his teeth when he hears Mandy pad into their room and drop to the bed. He gargles some mouthwash before joining her. Curls up behind her body just to see if she pushes him away.
She doesn't.
"Oh, I can touch you now?" he murmurs, worming a hand up the t-shirt of his that she wears to bed.
"Whatever," she says, aiming for dismissive but Lip can read her so easy.
He scoots even closer, her ass now snug against his crotch. "Missed me?'
Twisting slightly so that Lip can see her face, Mandy raises her eyebrows. "You're not so good that after two days without I start to miss you."
"Yeah?" Lip says, the beginnings of a smile stretching his mouth. Mandy's bite and bark are equally as dangerous but sometimes her words fail to match up with her actions. Like now for instance, she's arching into his touch, her eyes dropping to linger on his mouth. "You can't lie for shit sometimes," he says quietly, bending down closer to catch her lips.
She responds instantly; her hand comes up to cradle his cheek as her lips press against his and she rolls onto her back.
Lip pulls back long enough to lay himself between her parted legs and then he goes back to kissing her. Swipes his tongue against the seam of her lips and bites back a moan when Mandy sucks it into her mouth. He loves having her like this, hands roaming all over his body, back arching so that Lip can feel the heat of her pressing against his hardening dick. When she gets desperate, she begs for it, cries out for Lip to 'just fuck me already' as he teasingly circles his tongue around her clit.
He doesn't have the patience for that tonight, just wants to slide into her and make her feel good, make himself feel good.
Mandy trails kisses across his jaw and Lip winds a hand between them and rubs a finger against Mandy's clit. She moans into his skin, rocking her hips so that Lip's fingers press down harder.
"Fuck, stop," she pants, legs beginning to shake already. Lip smiles, smug. "God, you're such a dick, just put on a condom and fuck me."
He laughs under his breath, clambering off of her to rifle through the bedside drawer. She's topless when he turns around, biting her lip and playing with herself. It's only been two days, two fucking days, yet Lip feels like he hasn't touched her in weeks.
"Lie down," she says, propping herself up on her elbows, "wanna be on top."
Mandy rides him torturously slow, grinding against him and arching her back. Quietly moaning then laughing when Lip pulls, admittedly, stupid faces.
There's no way in hell that Ian doesn't hear his shout when he comes, Mandy's cry when she follows after him. So he has a bitch fit to look forward to tomorrow; looking at Mandy falling asleep in his arms, he thinks it was worth it.
OOO
The shitty floral wallpaper peels slightly, curling in on itself. Mickey stares at it until his eyes feel like they're actually drying up.
"You want my hand, too?"
He looks down at the face hovering over his dick, the line of spit stretching from it to her bottom lip. They've been in this exact same situation dozens of times and still he doesn't know her name, doesn't know a thing about her. Fuck, he doesn't even know what her body feels like. "Yeah, whatever."
She spits onto her hand and wraps it around him. Feels good, though not as good as when her mouth joins it. Bitch could easily do this for money. Mickey isn't exactly sure if she's attractive but he figures guys who have to pay to fuck don't really give a shit about the face attached to the body they're ploughing.
Groaning quietly, he leans further back against the headboard, hand coming up to get tangled in her hair.
It's starting to get real fucking good when the noises from next door start up. At first, Mickey can't make out what's going on; there are a series of loud shouts followed by some muffled banging, nothing too suspicious. But then the shouts and bangs gets even louder, and Mickey's been involved in enough house raids to recognise one. Which would be whatever if the house next door weren't where he and his partner cook their fucking meth.
He bolts up off of the bed, accidentally chokes the girl on his dick and nearly gets it bitten the fuck off.
"Shit, fuck, fucking motherfuckers," he mutters to himself as he does up his jeans. He peers out of the window, sees the DEA and SWAT cars around the corner. They're empty but Mickey can't risk leaving through the front door.
"Hey, what's going on? I didn't even finish you off."
He shrugs her hand off his shoulder. Sure, he wants to come, but he has fucking priorities. No way is he getting busted because he was too busy getting a blowjob.
Not even sparing her a second glance, Mickey opens up her window, ignores her questions, and jumps down onto the roof of the porch. He lands awkwardly on one foot and can't keep his balance, falling to the grass beneath him with a thud.
He jumps up and ignores the pain in his back, how the world is spinning slightly, and begins to walk away as quickly as he can without looking like, y'know, he's running away from his mini meth lab that's currently being fucking raided.
Once he deems himself far enough away, he starts up a jog. That turns into a sprint until he's full on flying down the streets as if he has the DEA on his ass. He goes in the opposite direction of his house; his partner may be trustworthy enough to cook and deal with, but Mickey doesn't know him well enough to be certain he wouldn't snitch. And he sure as shit isn't gonna risk it.
There aren't many places Mickey feels safe enough to go to (he and his partner sharing the same group of friends) but he heads for his sister's place. He doesn't care if she isn't home because her boyfriend seemed alright the couple of times Mickey's met him and he knows where she keeps her spare key.
He's relieved, though, that when the front door opens it's Mandy on the other side..
"Hey," he says, breathless, barging in before she can tell him he's welcome to.
The front room looks nicer than it did he last time Mickey was here. Like, the walls are all painted the same pale blue colour and the couch doesn't look like a fucking corpse began to decompose on it anymore.
He spots Lip in the kitchen, some machinery on the table in front of him and a cigarette balanced between his lips. He heads towards him. "Yo, you buildin' a fuckin' robot?" Because that's what it looks like. And he knows Lip is like, some genius or some shit, but he thought that meant he knew geometry and theorems, boring stuff.
Lip drops the screwdriver and takes a drag of his cigarette. "Nah," he says, scratching his cheek, the smoke swirling in front of his face, "it's a -"
"Like it even matters!" Mandy interrupts. She's right behind Mickey, closer than he thought. She looks pissed. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Mickey doesn't know why she's being so dramatic; bitch needs to chill out.
A bullshit excuse is quickly forming in his head when she says, "And don't bullshit me, alright? Who were you running from?"
So no point lying then. His defensive posture turns relaxed and he walks over to the fridge. "Y'know Adam, right?" he asks, getting a bottle of beer out. Who gives a fuck if it's three in the afternoon? He opens it on the edge of the counter and takes a long sip, enjoying the obvious way Mandy grows increasingly impatient. "We been cookin' together and our place got busted."
"Shit," Lip sighs, looking at him with raised eyebrows, "how are you not in cuffs right now?"
"I was, uh-" he takes another swig, "next door."
Mandy groans. "Oh my g- seriously? You're still seeing her?"
Mickey takes the seat opposite to Lip's. "The girl who'll suck my dick and not expect anything in return? Fuck yeah, I'm still seein' her."
"Who's sucking who's dick?" comes an unfamiliar voice from behind him.
Curious, Mickey hangs his head backwards off the chair and gets an upside down view of some random, topless guy. His abs are all defined without looking like he injects steroids into his dick, a tan line round his biceps. Mickey stops staring and lifts his head back up. He hasn't been that obvious in a long time. He knows he hides it well and most of the time it isn't even on purpose; musicals and fashion and fucking Lady Gaga just aren't his thing. But when he has a hot guy half-naked just thrown in his face, sometimes he forgets to tone it down.
Thankfully nobody notices and Mandy introduces the guy as Ian, Lip's younger brother.
"Hey, man," Mickey says with a nod.
Ian gives him a friendly smile. "Hi." He gives Lip's shoulder a squeeze as he passes him to get a mug from the cupboard. "Still working on that thing?" he asks, pouring coffee into the cup.
Nodding, Lip takes another drag. "Mm, yeah," he says, a stream of smoke trailing from his nostrils, "almost finished, though." And then he starts talking about different wires and shit, how his class have been made to reconstruct some kind of laser.
Mickey's not really giving him his full attention, occupied with avoiding Mandy's glare by staring at his beer bottle. He can only take it for so long, though, before he snaps, "Fuck, what?" cutting Lip off mid-speech.
Mandy crosses her arms where she's leaning against the door jamb. "What exactly are you gonna do now? And why did you come here?"
"Probably cook by myself for a bit," Mickey sniffs, lounging back in the chair, "maybe find someone else to cook with, not sure yet. And I'm here in case Adam decides to fuckin' rat me out."
"Great, so the fucking police will come here instead?"
He rolls his eyes. "Would you relax? He don't even know I have a sister."
Mandy gives him one last glare before she leaves the room, muttering under her breath. Mickey doesn't know why she's getting all high and mighty when she's actually dealt the meth Mickey makes before, has beaten a girl up so bad that Mickey had to threaten her brothers so they didn't press charges. Seriously, talk about being a hypocrite.
He turns back to Lip, asks, "How the fuck do you put up with her?"
"You probably don't wanna hear the answer," he says around his cigarette, looking up at Mickey with a smirk.
Yeah, no. Mickey doesn't want to hear how sex calms his sister down.
"So, uh, how much of your shit have they taken?"
Mickey stretches his legs out under the table and sighs. "All of it, no doubt. About ten thousand dollars worth. Maybe more."
Lip's eyebrows rise as he slowly takes his cigarette out of his mouth. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, man. That shit is easy to make and fuckin' everybody wants in, so." It's true. Mickey makes easy, fast money, can buy whatever the fuck he wants whenever he wants. Most of the time.
Lip looks thoughtful, considering Mickey with a tilt to his head before going back to his laser.
okay so I have three other fics in the works (two one-shots and one long, multi-chap fic) so I don't know how often this'll be updated but I'll try my best!