Shit Reggae
Mickey tilted his head back against Gallagher's sticky leather couch and exhaled blissfully, enclosed in a comforting bubble of smoke. His eyes lulled as he felt the effects of the pot he was smoking numb his body. His inhabitations slowly left him and he felt his head nod to whatever reggae remix crap was crooning out the stereo, Ian's choice he presumed, Mickey would never usually be caught dead listening to such shit. Speaking of which, where the fuck was that ginger and his shit eating smile? Something tugged at the back of his mind as he grappled at a foggy memory of Ian, unable to shake the feeling he was meant to be doing something.
As soon as Mickeys brain flicked to Ian, all hope of remembering what was said to him was lost. A hazy image of Ian's curling lips was all he could recollect before his mind's eye began to travel down the pale muscular form appreciatively completing a dot to dot with each freckle. Too stoned to care if he was acting like a fucking faggot, Mickey sighed contently and let his mind drift off into the fog in the baking summer heat.
Ian crashed through the back door with a spare shirt draped over his arm, "Mickey? Mick?" he called , when he got no response he figured his other half was probably still sulking, smiling slightly at the image of his pouting face. "look Mick you don't have to wear a fucking suit ok, but you can't wear that damn dirty tank top to an engagement party…MICKEY WHAT THE FUCK".
Ian cast his eyes down to the sight of his dishevelled boyfriend curled up on the sofa. The dark haired boy's eyes opened "Babbeeeeeyyy" he slurred, pouting his lips at the red head.
"Mickey what the fuck?!, Fiona is gonna flip if you turn up to her party like this Jesus…wait is this Kev's reggae CD?!".
Mickey wasn't really sure what Ian was saying only that he seemed to be pissed with him, Jesus the kid needed to lighten up. "I fucking love reggae, whoooo", he slurred again grabbing onto Ians wrists and pulling himself up. He began to stumble around singing along to what he faintly recognised as that fat birds song. Angie? Adele? That shit was irrelevant.
Ian stood perplexed at the situation, his rage completely abandoning him and bee replaced with that of utter astonishment. Here was Mickey fucking Millkovich dancing around his living room to shit reggae and a face like he was daft in the head. The same Mickey Milkovich that had beat Lip to a pulp with his brothers, the same Mickey Milkovich that had been so terrified of being who he was with Ian he was prepared to kill, the same Mickey Milkovich who had slammed that shattered his own cousins kneecap in the dead of night for calling him a faggot.
Mickey felt Ians arms wrap around his waist as their hips fell into rhythm with each other rolling in time to the beat. He turned around and giggled playfully "dayum Firecrotch you got the moooves". From the look in Ians eyes he could make out that he was no longer pissed with him, and pecked his lips quickly just in case he changed his mind, one kiss from the Milkovich and the boy was whipped, and wow did Mickey know it. His bit his lips savouring the taste of the younger boy until he felt two strong arms yank him round the waste.
"Come on Bob Marley, lets get you in the shower and sobered up or Fiona will actually kill me". Ian saw the expectant look in Mickeys eyes as he licked his lips deviously and felt the need to add "no Mickey I will not be joining you no matter how 'whipped' you think I am." Ian smirked as Mickey cursed him under his breath, watching the older boys ass as he trudged up the stair he longing to stay and fuck Mickey hard to shit reggae whilst they had the house to themselves. The things he did for family.
Two hours later Mickey was sober as fuck, far more sober than he was comfortable with in the Alibi and in front of accusing eyes. It didn't help that Mandy thought it was hilarious to buy an array of extravagant cocktails for Mickey to drink, and 'embrace his new sexuality'. Ha fucking ha. It wasn't that Mickey was exactly closeted anymore all of Ian's direct family knew about them, after all he practically lived at their fucking place, but he didn't see his preferences been anyone else's business and in an atmosphere like this he felt uncomfortably exposed.
Two bottles were clunked down on the table in front of him and he looked up grinning at his boyfriend. "You are and absolute lifesaver", he mumbled. Ian didn't reply just flashed that shit eating grin, man that grin could put Mickey at ease instantly. He relaxed into his chair and guzzled his beer until his ears pricked at the sound of the next song, and he suddenly felt Ian's gaze burning into him. "No way Firecrotch" he said, "Mickey Milkovich does not dance" .
"O really, you know I remember something different happening to this song about two…", Ian smirked with his eyebrow raised before mickey lurched across the table the clamps his hand over the red heads mouth before he spilled in front of everyone. Ian instead clasped in his wrists and dragged him onto the dance floor.
"You so fucking owe for late for this" Mickey hissed, attempting to sound threatening and failing miserably. Ian merely wrapped his arms around his waist and swayed to the slower original of the song. He slowly felt Mickey relax into him as they caught rhythm together.
Mickey wrapped his arms around the taller boy's neck and let his head rest on his chest, insides swelling with an overwhelming love for Ian Gallaghers. For once he didn't care what anyone thought, instead grazing the younger boys' lips. This time their kiss was soft, passionate and explorative. Mickey wasn't good with words but he hoped that this told Ian everything he needed to know, just to be safe he whispered in his ear "I love you". If any fucker gave him shit for it later he'd merely shrug it off on the pot. Probably.