Warnings: Fighting and rough, unprotected sex. Kind of all at the same time. As befits Mickey and Ian. Oh and lots and lots of swearing.
Author's Note: Okay, so I've written way too many Ian/Mickey stories. This one was actually written before season 6 started and there's 3 chapters, although I think chapter one stands on its own.
Season 6 aside: As much as I try to like Caleb, he's just so so so boring. I mean, Ian was paired with probably one of the most interesting fictional TV characters ever written (up there with Omar Little from The Wire) and then after him, he's paired with like this pedantic do-gooding guy who lectures Ian all the time about how to act like a yuppie. I hate him even though I'm really trying not to. Are we supposed to like him? I can't even tell. I can't even tell if Ian likes him. So I wrote this before I had the dubious joy of meeting Caleb, but Chris is pretty much exactly like Caleb, so I could probably change his name to Caleb and no one would think anything of it.
Note about my depiction of Bipolar: It is mainly based on the way it is discussed on the show, not any research or personal experience. So hopefully it is not offensive to anyone.
Mickey had a drink in the Alibi every once and a while, but his days of sitting on the sofa at his house drinking beer until he passed out were long over. And he couldn't say he missed those days, normally. Which wasn't to say that he wouldn't welcome oblivion right now.
"What the hell is that?"
"It's an engagement ring," Ian said.
"Pretty fuckin' girly, don't you think?" Mickey said. He wasn't exactly a style guru himself, but it was a fucking man-gagement ring with a diamond. He'd been around gay culture enough these days to know that it was indeed, pretty fuckin' girly, even for what it was.
"I like it," Ian said. He looked at it critically, twisting his left hand around so that the small diamond sparkled. He looked up and seemed to note Kev's sceptical look and Mickey's open distaste, and shrugged. "The ring isn't important. I'm getting married. That's what matters."
"I guess," Mickey said. "Fuckin' ring makes you look like the little woman in the relationship, though. You marrying some sugar daddy?"
"No. I mean, he's a bit older, but we're within a decade of each other," Ian said. "It's Chris. You've met Chris. And he does okay but he's not a millionaire or anything."
"Why you getting married if you're both so young and fancy fuckin' free?" Mickey said.
"Why do you care?" Ian said. He took a swig of his beer. He was on bipolar medication these days so drank his beer slowly out of a juice glass, and he confined himself to one or two little glasses a night. After several years of this, the rest of the Alibi patrons had almost stopped ribbing him about it.
"We're friends, aren't we?" Mickey asked.
They were, although they weren't good friends anymore. The distance created by Ian breaking up with Mickey and Mickey spending nearly four years in jail for what he'd done to Sammy had allowed them to get past any resentment they'd felt towards each other about their former relationship. They got together sometimes to hang out, watch movies and shit, but they'd never really talked about or discussed what had gone wrong with them. And neither one of them was good at listening to the other talk about the guy they were seeing, so they worked more as acquaintances than friends.
Mickey and Svetlana had gotten a divorce as soon as Svetlana had become a citizen. They were pretty friendly now. Svetlana liked that Mickey had gotten job training in prison, worked as an electrician, paid his child support on time and brought Yev back from their weekends together alive and happy; Mickey liked that Svetlana wasn't a whore anymore, was a good mom, and stayed out of his business.
"Being married sucks, man," Mickey said. "Being divorced however, is fuckin' awesome. If you do get married, I recommend you get divorced as soon as it's feasible to do so."
"How would you know? You've never been married to someone you wanted to be married to. Might be different, then," Ian said.
Mickey shrugged. He couldn't help but remember when he and Ian had been 'ghetto' married. It had been pretty perfect, in a lot of ways. But then he'd been fooling himself, hadn't he? He'd been the only one in that relationship who had really wanted it to work. Mickey had been so in love and Ian hadn't cared enough to even stay faithful, let alone stick around. Mickey hadn't really been surprised when the other shoe had dropped, though. No one like Ian Gallagher could ever love someone like him for long.
"Gotta get going. Work in the morning," Mickey said.
"You're killing me, Mickey. Your family used to spend thousands in this bar. Now you're the only one who comes in and I'm lucky to sell you one beer a week. Tell me you're not doing all your drinking in some fancy gay speakeasy or something," Kev said.
"I do trivia night with some friends in Boystown once a week, Kev, but other than that, you've got my complete loyalty. Just don't drink like I used to," Mickey said. "Don't want to end up like my old man."
Neither of them would look Mickey in the eye. He wasn't sure why; Terry had come at him in prison and they'd gotten into it; Terry had gone down, hit his head, become comatose and later died. So he'd kind of killed his own dad. What the fuck ever. It's not like Terry was worth crying over. Mickey was just glad it had happened almost as soon as he'd arrived in the prison, so everyone had thought he was tough shit and he hadn't had to watch his ass the whole time he'd been inside. Most openly gay guys in prison, especially little dudes like him, had it a whole lot worse than he'd had it. There'd been witnesses who'd seen that he hadn't killed Terry intentionally so he hadn't had to serve too much additional time because of it, and surprisingly, his brothers were still talking to him.
Mickey pretty much called the entire thing a win, at least in the privacy of his own head.
"Trivia night in Boystown?" Ian asked. "Who are you?"
Mickey had long-since stopped caring if Ian or anyone else found him bad-ass enough. He took one last swig of his beer, slammed the bottle on the bar, and said, "Later, losers."
He'd been home a couple of hours when he heard his doorbell.
He let Ian in and went to get him a beer, then rethought it. "Can I get you anything?" he asked.
"Well aren't you Miss Manners," Ian smirked.
"Is there some reason you got to put me down for being nice, Ian? Yeah, I fuckin' changed. I know I'm different now. You don't need to comment on it all the fucking time," Mickey said.
Ian seemed to pale at his words, then cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to be mean," he said. "I actually came to ask you a favor. Should I even bother or are you too pissed at me?"
Mickey shrugged. "What's the favor?"
Ian twisted the diamond on his finger. "I'm not sure I want to get married. It's like, Chris is great. We've lived together for a while. He has a good job. I take care of the house and work my shitty job. We've made plans, you know? We might travel, or maybe adopt a kid from China. Things are really great between us."
Mickey sighed. "Yeah, you know, I assumed as much when I saw the ring on your finger. So what's the favor?
"Well, like I said, things are really great between Chris and me. And I mean, our sex life is awesome—"
"Ian, tell me the fuckin' favor or get out."
"I'm not trying to hurt you by saying this. I mean, the only thing that's keeping me from saying yes to Chris is that…I…nothing seems to hold a candle to the way it was between you and me. Hanging out. Scamming people. Raising Yevgeny together. And Jesus Christ. The sex."
Mickey smiled slightly. "First love and all that. Probably if we could go back in time the way we lived back then would horrify us, you know?"
Ian shrugged. "Yeah. Probably."
"Probably? I used to shower like twice a month," Mickey said. Ian laughed and Mickey took his hand. "Maybe it's better to have like, a companion. A partner. We had passion, yeah, but it burned out. So marry this guy and have a nice life."
"I told him I had to think about things. Take a break. Be apart and do some soul-searching. Like, that I'd either come back fully committed to being his husband or I'd give him back the ring and we'd break up."
"Just fucking say what you mean, Ian. What's this got to do with me? I don't do subtext," Mickey said.
"I just thought if we fucked, I could see if there's still something there. Like if it's still as good between us," Ian said.
Mickey froze. Yeah, he thought about Ian sometimes. He thought about how what they'd had had been amazing and something neither of them would ever find with anyone else. He'd thought about what a fucking waste it had been for Ian to turn away from something like that. He thought about how hard it was sometimes to be with Ian without being with him. He wasn't sure he could let Ian fuck him as a way to confirm his commitment to some jerk Mickey had barely even met, even if being with Ian even for one night was pretty much irresistible to him.
Besides, god knows Mickey had never really had much luck saying no to Ian Gallagher.
"Like, now?" Mickey asked.
"I don't know. You smell like aftershave and cigarettes. Maybe you should stop washing and we can pick this up in a week or two," Ian said.
Mickey glared. "You wanna fuck me or not? I got shit to do later," he said.
Ian leaned down and Mickey tilted his mouth up to meet Ian's. The kiss was sweet at first, but then more demanding. It didn't feel familiar. It had been so long they'd forgotten the taste of each other. And everything else seemed a bit awkward, too. They both raised their arms at the same time and knocked hands, Mickey muttering, "Sorry" while Ian tried to deepen the kiss. It left Mickey sputtering and he was pretty sure he bit Ian's tongue a little.
"Maybe if we lie down," Ian said.
They moved from where they'd been standing in the hallway by the door of Mickey's apartment to Mickey's bed and laid down, fully clothed, on their sides, facing each other. Ian ran his palm down Mickey's arm. Mickey might have taken the gesture for smooth or loving once, but it just seemed cheesy now.
What the fuck were they doing?
Mickey closed his eyes, kind of disappointed in himself for not stopping this, and Ian kissed him lightly. Ian's tentativeness didn't do anything for him; it only served as a reminder that they really had no business being in bed together. Nevertheless, Ian's softly skillful lips were turning him on a little, now, so he tried to relax into the feeling.
That was when Ian shifted his position slightly and accidently punched Mickey in the balls.
"What the fuck, man?" Mickey asked, pushing Ian away.
"Shit," Ian said. He swiped at his mouth quickly, wiping away some moisture. "We got to forget about this. Apparently we're over each other."
Mickey watched as Ian sat up and adjusted his clothing, wincing and rubbing his junk, although the injury was more annoying than painful. "You couldn't figure that out before you punched me in the nuts?"
Ian smiled. "Nope," he said.
Mickey rolled his eyes at Ian's cute, unrepentant smile. He'd always secretly loved Ian's playful side. No one had ever teased Mickey the way Ian had. Everyone else had been afraid to. But something about Ian's smile was starting to ring alarm bells for Mickey. What the fuck was he so gleeful for?
"You that fuckin' happy about settling for this Chris guy?" Mickey asked.
"I think things'll change for us, now that I know it's really over between you and me," Ian said.
"So happy to have been of service," Mickey muttered. He watched Ian run his fingers through his hair in the bedroom mirror. Vain fucker. But something about Ian's smile was still bothering him. He followed Ian back into the other room and watched him put on his winter coat. Suddenly, the half-developed thought crystalized, and Mickey shoved Ian hard. "You fucker. Don't you dare fucking use me like that."
Ian pushed himself away from the wall, wincing as he rubbed his shoulder. "Jesus, Mickey. We're consenting adults and we only kissed a little. If I'd known you were so sensitive I wouldn't have asked."
"I'm not pissed about that, Ian. I'm pissed because you weren't honest about what you're doing here. I mean, for a minute there I thought you actually wanted me back. I thought you'd realized how good it was between us and what a fool you were to dump me. I should have known better, huh? Stupid. Fucking stupid," Mickey said, shaking his head.
"I never promised you anything, Mick. And I'm pretty sure I never said that was what this was about," Ian said. His face had gone red with anger and his fists were clenched, but he was staying, apparently, because he took off his winter coat and threw it on the sofa so violently Mickey half-expected it to bounce.
"No, you said it was about your feelings for this Chris guy. But it's not about your feelings for him, and it's not about your feelings for me. It's all just a goddamned excuse to go off your medication," Mickey said.
Ian threw his hands in the air. "And people say I'm crazy! What the fuck are you talking about?"
If Mickey hadn't known Ian so well, he would have been fooled. But there was a guilty twitch near Ian's lip and he wouldn't meet Mickey's eyes. "You think the reason you don't love this Chris guy the way you loved me is because you can't really love anyone on the pills, right? You're going to use this little fucking experiment to justify stopping your medication."
"It's just like you to play the 'Ian's unstable' card, just because you're hurt, Mickey. Fuck you. It's none of your business what I do."
"You made it my business when you decided to use this shitty night as a justification to ruin your whole life. Maybe you and Chad do have a good relationship. I don't doubt that. But going off your meds when they're working great won't make it even better. It'll make you do crazy shit and fuck around on him and maybe even ruin your health or get in trouble with the law. It's not the answer. If you don't love him, move the fuck on."
"You're wrong. You don't know anything about my life," Ian said. He shoved Mickey and Mickey shoved him back, then he pulled his fist back to punch Ian.
Ian leaned in, putting his arm around Mickey in a wrestler's hold so Mickey couldn't get the leverage to hit him properly. Mickey shifted his weight and pushed Ian against the back of the sofa. Ian looked like he fell heavily despite the padding on the sofa. He touched his ribs and scowled. "Fuck off, Mickey," he yelled.
Ian ran at Mickey recklessly and grabbed him around the waist in a football tackle. Mickey landed heavily on the floor, knowing the impact would hurt in a minute, but using their shared momentum to roll them so he was on top. He finally had the leverage to pull a punch, and he hit Ian in the face hard, then hit him again before Ian could react or Mickey could have time to register the pain in his hand.
Ian bucked beneath him but Mickey wouldn't budge. Ian hadn't been in Army Army shape for years, while Mickey had been fighting for his life in jail just months ago.
Mickey looked down at Ian's face, seeing the blood blooming on Ian's lip. Mickey was sure the expression on his own face was as sad as it was confused. Why did Ian feel so compelled to fuck up all the time? Why did he want to ruin everything that was beautiful in himself? Mickey leaned down, not sure if he wanted to hit Ian again or kiss him.
Ian made the choice for him, rotating his hips upwards into Mickey's ass, not in an effort to dislodge him, but to rub against him like a cat, his pupils blown with lust. Instinctively Mickey shifted his ass on Ian's dick, causing the man below him to groan.
Mickey reached for the hem of his shirt and whipped it off. Ian was already undoing Mickey's belt. As Mickey scrambled away to get on his hands and knees, Ian grabbed on to the back of Mickey's pants and pulled them down, and then wet fingers were roughly prepping him, probably with Ian's precome and spit.
And then Ian was in him, and there was pain, but it was okay. It only lasted a minute, and then there was the excitement, and the grunts and hasty tugs at Mickey's junk and the coming almost immediately because it was too fucking good for both of them.
Ian pulled out and Mickey glanced back with a kind of horror. "You just fucked me without a condom, didn't you?"
"I've had sex with one guy in the last year, Mick. I've had all my tests and I'm clean. Chris is clean too and far too boring to cheat. I know that's no excuse. That was a fucked up thing to do. Fucking unforgivable to fuck someone without a condom, especially without talking to them about it. So fucking sorry," Ian said. He was panting and red faced and Mickey wanted to kiss him. "I lost it. I lost control."
Mickey shrugged and tried to remember where he'd put his cigarettes. He reached over the edge of the sofa, grabbed Ian's coat and pulled it down to him and sat on the floor against the back of the sofa, looking through Ian's coat pockets. He found a pack and a lighter and took out a cigarette, tapping it absently on the top of the pack before he lit it, took a drag, and handed the cig to Ian.
Ian took a long drag and handed it back. "So it's not the medication."
Mickey inhaled. "Have you considering having Chad punch you in the face before sex? It seems to get your engines revved up."
"You know his name is Chris," Ian said. He held his hand out for the cigarette and Mickey noticed his hands were shaking. "You've been calling him Chris all night."
"I didn't get raped in prison or anything. I'm not sick either," Mickey said. "If that's what you're getting so upset about."
"It's not that. Although I guess I should have thought about that, shouldn't I? I kind of wanted an excuse to quit being good and taking my meds, like you said. I mean, it wasn't like that. It was like one of my stupid manic plans, that I could stop taking my meds and suddenly all the parts of my relationship I didn't like would be all better. But then I came to you to help me make the decision, and so I guess in my heart I wanted to stay medicated. Cause no one knows me better than you, and knows how much the medication has helped me stay healthy better than you. I must have known you'd see through me. I'm upset because I've got to start all over. Single again."
"Did you already stop taking your pills?"
Ian laughed. "I used to be such a rebel, right? Now I'm scared to even be an hour late with my dosage. Big pharma saw me coming a mile away."
"So what happens now?"
Ian sighed. "I guess I'll go back to Chris and tell him it's over. Maybe I can stay on your sofa for a while."
"Lots of room on the bed."
"Would you really take me back?"
"You taught me how to love you, Ian. You never taught me how to stop loving you."
"You promise that you'll kick my ass if I hurt you again? You'll keep me in line?"
"Do not let my sex toys fool you, Ian. I'm not into that S&M shit."
"I don't mean that. I mean…I don't want to be Kenyatta. I don't want to abuse you and you put up with it because you love me and you think you're not worth anything. You're worth everything. Don't let me forget that just because you forgive me when I do the wrong thing doesn't give me the right to do it."
"You're not Kenyatta."
"You're worth everything. I fucking love you, Mick. So much. So much that I was so scared that you'd find me too difficult and leave. I was so afraid every day that day would be the day it was all too much for you. Or that I'd cheat on you or be mean to you and one day it would be one fuck-up too much and you'd hate me. I couldn't stand the suspense. I just walked away."
"Yeah, okay tough guy," Mickey said. He kissed Ian softly. "Just don't do it again."