Can you tell me what my heart says?

As he quickened the pace on his already leaking dick, Mickey couldn't help but think of a certain red head, as he tried his best to stifle his moans. He was the only one home at the moment, which is why he lay completely naked on his bed, but growing up in a cramped Milkovich house, made him weary of his surroundings; anyone could walk in at any time, and he really didn't want to deal with any of that tonight.

Switching hands now to stop the oncoming cramp, Mickey stopped all movement when he heard his door creak open. Before he could cover up, a very pregnant Svetlana walked into the room, confusion on her face.

"Why you no let me do my women job?" she said in her broken English as she sat on the edge of the bed facing Mickey.

"Fuck Lana! We had this conversation, you knock before you come in!" Mickey yelled, pulling his sheet over his now soft penis. His wife always managed to barge in on him at the worst possible times.

"I no need to knock. I'm wife. This my room too. "Svetlana protested, pulling herself onto her side, as she laid down, trying to get as comfortable as possible, with her stomach in the way. "And this is my women job." She said, lifting the sheet from Mickey's body, and grabbing his dick.

Shutting his eyes tightly, Mickey tried to push everything out of his mind. He hated when she touched him; it always brought back the same bad memories of red. Red hair, red blood, and red hot anger. In a way he wasn't really mad at her. She didn't know the full story to what had happened, just knew she was to fuck some guy, and get paid. That was her job that was her life. She knew nothing of the marriage, but jumped at that chance for a better life. Coming from the slums of Russia, marrying and having the son of a drug dealers son was her dream come true.

"Who is she? What is Firecrotch?" Svetlana asked, heavy accent filling the quite room as she slowly stroked Mickey up and down, watching his chest rise and fall.

Hearing his wife ask him these questions made Mickey want to cry. He tried his best not to think of Gallagher. This always ended with multiple failed attempts. You can't just quit loving someone. You can't just erase all the memories of someone. You can't just stop your mind from thinking about someone that once made you so happy, but you can try.

"It's nothing." Mickey sighed, breath catching in his throat as she picked up her pace. He wished that simple lie he told was so true. He desperately wanted Ian to be nothing. Just a distant face in a crowd, but it wasn't that simple. Whether he wanted to believe it or not, Ian was the love of Mickey's life, and he knew no one could ever fill that void.

"Then why you say it every time you sleep?" Svetlana inquired, surprisingly curious in what her happened to be thinking.

"You gonna keep chit chatting, or you gonna jack me off?" Mickey asked, finally opening his eyes to give his wife a stern look. The only thing she was good for was a quick nut. Mickey didn't care if she was carrying his son or not. He felt no love for either of them. All the love he had was wasted on a dead mother, and a bad dream, that made him see red every time he closed his eyes.

As he felt himself nearing his orgasm, Mickey's thoughts went right back to the familiar sight of red. Red head bobbing up and down as he twisted his fingers in Ian's hair, red bite marks and scratches that always stung in the best way possible, and the red that flashed past his eyes as he finally let himself go over the edge.

Catching his breath, Mickey looked over to the form next to him, and was surprised to have wide eyes facing him back.

"The things you say in your sleep, are the things your heart can't say when you're awake." Svetlana said.

As Mickey looked at her with piercing blue eyes, he didn't know if he was more amazed by the fact that that sentence was the best English she had ever spoken, or by the fact that she sounded so sure about love. Either way, he still blamed her just as much as his father for destroying his life. Destroying the only good thing he'd ever had.

"Shut the fuck up. You could never tell me what my heart says."