Sometimes he could go whole days without dreaming of Mick, sometimes. On those nights when the Mickey dreams would come, he'd make sure to pay extra attention to those small freckles across dream Mickey's back, stroke his super fair skin, his farmer's tan, his super blue eyes and smartass mouth. In the dream he'd kiss Mickey's mouth a thousand times, a thousand ways. Slow and soft, hard and fast, And always, dream Mickey would say, "You know I'd never let you do that Firecrotch." He'd wake up hard as a rock, ready to shoot off but he couldn't touch himself. He didn't dare. If he dare stroke it, he if dare acknowledge his desire for Mickey the dreams would come back twice as fierce.
Get up man, you're gonna be late! His bunkmate said.
Private Gallagher got up, ran to the shower that now only had cold water. He tried so hard to forget that dirty boy and yet his own body and dreams continued to betray him.
As he washed up he noticed that one boy, Ian thinks he name might be McDonald, a few showerheads down staring at him again. "You're like a kid going thru puberty Gallagher, always with the wet dreams."
"Why the fuck you looking at me like that McDonald?" Ian demanded.
"You know why I'm looking." the boy replied with a dark look.
Ian had suspected that about this kid, but Mickey's words about guys testing you and then wanting to pound you and not in a good way always came back to him. So Ian took a few steps towards McDonald and just as McDonald had started to smile, Ian punched him right in the face.
"What the fuck Gallagher!" McDonald shouted thru a bloody nose.
As if right on cue a two boys came in and used the toilets, Ian walked back to his showerhead, turned off his water, grabbed his towel and hightailed it out the bathroom without looking back. Nope, no matter who looked at him in the Army, he wasn't gonna let himself or his heart ever go down that road again. They both still belonged to the dirty boy on the Southside of Chicago.
Mickey wished his dreams would stop. Every single night, the same fucking thing. Ian Gallagher laughing, Ian Gallagher smiling, Ian Gallagher going down on him, Ian Gallagher kissing him. Damn, it hurt so bad! Even in a dreams the pain was so keen. Sometimes he'd even get to finish what he'd wanted to say to Ian that fateful day, "Don't leave me, I love you. Don't leave me." But every morning, he'd wake up feeling sad and alone. Never mind that his wife laid right next to him and his family was just outside the door. Today he decided he'd just stay in bed and wait till Slevana left and he'd tried to back to dreaming about Ian just for a little while. He knew Slevana was awake and she didn't want to get out of bed either. He couldn't blame her for not wanting to get up to face her miserable existence.
"Mickey", his wife said.
"What the fuck you want?" he replied without opening his eyes.
Very cautiously she replied, "I heard you say that boy's name in your sleep again."
"You heard no such thing Slevana" Mick sniped, but immediately he began to worry that she'd tell his father and then both him and Ian would die.
They both laid there, absolutely miserable and absolutely alone.
After a long while Slevana got up and got ready to go to work. Mickey just laid there, his new routine consisted of long days at the Alibi, waiting for one of the Gallaghers to show up to see if he had the courage to ask about Ian. He liked to get nice and drunk and he just sit there on his stool quietly thinking about his boy. It was not a life. But he felt his life had ended the day his carrot topped lover had left him for the army.
When he got good and drunk, he'd walk home or sit at the baseball field. "FUCK, what am I doing?!" he questioned out aloud. Sometimes he'd cry cause there was nobody there to see him. He knew he had feelings for Gallagher but he'd never thought he'd be such a bitch about. The irony was not lost on him, he knew he deserved it and he was gonna wallow in it. But every night, he dreamt with fucking Gallagher and he lived for those dreams.