Mickey has thought about it. No point lying. He's thought about it a lot. But whenever he's imagined it, it has always been angry. He's doing it to wipe that goofy little puppy-dog smile off Gallagher's face or... or to stop him babbling on about West Point and being an officer and the latest time was because, in his head, Gallagher would NOT stop going on and on about how maybe they should tell people about them. Stupid fucking idiot and it was the only way to shut him up.
So when it finally happens, Mickey is unprepared. He's not angry. He's half asleep after what could almost be described as lovemaking – how the fuck did that happen? – and they are lying in his bed in the empty Milkovich house. Nobody is home and nobody is going to be home for a while. Gallagher's steady breathing is relaxing and Mickey is drifting off, when he feels the redhead shift slightly, feels his warm breath closer on his face.
Then lips press against his own, and he doesn't pull away. He doesn't move, but he doesn't pull away. Mickey thinks actually he might be dreaming.
The lips press a little harder when they don't encounter any resistance. Mickey holds his breath, but still does not. fucking. move. The pressing lips part slightly, take hold of Mickey's top one. Still Mickey stays still and quiet. Maybe if Gallagher thinks he's asleep, he'll give up.
But then a tongue comes out and runs along the underside of Mickey's lip. Mickey lets out an involuntary gasp of shock and as his mouth opens, the tongue slips in, tasting. Behind his closed (tight fucking closed) lids, Mickey's eyes roll up into his head and he makes a decision.
He thinks I'm asleep. I can pretend I'm asleep. I'll sleep-kiss him. If he asks me about it, I'll fucking deny it. As long as I keep my eyes shut. I can do this. Fuck it, I want to do this. Just... just this once.
The whole thought process takes less than a second, and without moving more than his mouth, he exhales slowly through his nose and closes his mouth around Gallagher's tongue, sucking gently.
Their lips meet. Their tongues touch. Their breath mingles. Mickey can feel the smile on the other boy's face, but he still doesn't move anything else as Gallagher insinuates his body closer. Not yet.
Gallagher's hand comes up to Mickey's face, thumb rubbing his cheek, long fingers behind his ear as the kiss deepens and Mickey can't help but push into it too. He has never been kissed like this. He wants it. More than any-fucking-thing. But he can't let Gallagher know that.
Mickey tentatively puts his hand on Gallagher's waist. Yes I could do that if I was asleep. Grabs the skin there. It's hot. Still a little sweaty from before. He is kissing harder now. And then Gallagher's hand is on the back of his head, pulling him closer, deeper. Obviously enjoying the contact.
When the other hand reaches around and takes hold of Mickey's ass, pulling their groins together, Mickey thinks the game will be up. His cock is achingly hard again, weeping for want of contact. But people get hard-ons in their sleep right?
It's at this point - even though Mickey really doesn't want this to end because, despite keeping his distance all this time, it really is fucking amazing - Mickey knows if he lets the kiss go on it will make things so much harder in the long run. He starts thinking how to finish it. The only thing he can think of is...
"Jesus! What the FUCK, Gallagher?" as he springs away from him off the bed, eyes wide in mock surprise and disgust.
Mickey watches, with something like regret, as Gallagher sighs resignedly and sits up. He doesn't even seem surprised as he reaches for his pants, then looks at Mickey sadly, "I know you were awake, Mick. Don't worry. We'll just pretend it never happened."