Dirtiest White Boy In America
A Gallavich FanFiction
Ian might never get under Mickey's skin, but it sure would be nice to see some of it
:-:
After the first, okay – several rounds of sex, they hadn't bothered to get dressed; they had the Milkovich house to themselves after all.
It was the only time they had been completely naked together since the initiation with the crowbar, and to say they were both a bit nervous was an understatement – not that they were going to let on or anything. So here they were, sitting together on the couch, hiding behind nothing but a couple of beers (and in Mickey's case a thin layer of dirt).
Not that Mickey was really paying attention to himself; he was too busy checking out as much of Ian as he could in each surreptitious glance. He was getting hard from things as stupid as Ian's ankles, and from the fire reaching up to Ian's hips.
Unable to take it any longer, he reached one tattooed hand towards Ian's cock. The movement was so smooth that he managed to whack his head on Ian's beer bottle and spill his own all down the redhead.
"Jesus Mickey!"
"Oh shit," Mickey cursed, throwing both bottles down onto the floor and trying desperately hard not to look sheepish.
Ian went to stand up, probably to fetch a towel or some shit, but there was no way Mickey was letting the boy out of his sight.
So in a move that was not gay whatsoever, Mickey swung himself into Ian's lap, grabbed Ian's hands and threw them up above their heads. Fingers entwining, Mickey cocked an eyebrow and then moved to lick the beer from Ian's neck.
It was slow and torturous, something Mickey would never agree to usually, but he was taking his sweet time in getting to know Firecrotch by heart. Or at least by tongue anyway. Finding Ian's collarbone with his mouth, Mickey licked up to Ian's jugular and then repeated the same on the opposite side.
He was bloody grateful Gallagher wasn't saying anything or he would be chickening out by now instead of finding Ian's nipples with his mouth and swirling them in ways he would no way be confessing to later.
Ian's breathing was coming faster and faster but, instead of making him want to get on with it, the sound made Mickey want to take forever on his task of licking Gallagher clean. It had nothing to do with the hot breath in his hair or the fingers latched firmly in his.
In fact Mickey loosened his grip on Ian's hands so he could move downwards – feeling biceps beneath his fingers and abs beneath his tongue.
Finally, after what seemed like an age, he reached Gallagher's cock. Then, looking Ian straight in the eyes, breathed over the head "Fuck me."
And in one swift move, Ian had flipped Mickey onto his back, lifted Milkovich's thighs and dove straight into him.
Mickey began a noise like a scream, but it soon transformed into a moan as Ian sucked on his earlobe. There had been enough action in the last few hours that, after the initial push, Mickey was more than ready for him.
Ian must have been frustrated with the speed of the foreplay because, now that he was in charge, they were fucking fast enough to break records.
Mickey came first - this was usual, not that he was admitting it. Ian was never far behind mind; that look of ecstasy on Mickey's face always enough to tip him over the edge.
Pulling out, Ian collapsed atop Mickey, leaving Milkovich with the feeling that not one part of their bodies weren't touching. He was happy with the naked thing now – Ian was hot, damp and smelled of sex, and all of it was crushing down onto Mickey.
He should have known it was too good to last.
Ian pushed himself up onto his hands, hovering above Mickey. Instinctively, Mickey moved his own hands to the redhead's waist – it wasn't cuddling per say; just ensuring that what he wanted stayed exactly where it was.
Ian breathed into Mickey's face; his breath ghosting over the other's lips – and Mickey knew if he were to lick them, he would taste Ian.
Which was when he realised he wanted to. Ian was about to kiss him, and fuck it! Mickey wanted him to, damn the consequences.
Just Gallagher didn't kiss him, instead pushing himself off the couch altogether and out of Mickey's grasp.
"Where the fuck are you going?" Mickey asked, before he could stop himself.
"Shower," Ian explained, heading for the bathroom.
"I thought I took care of that," Mickey smirked; running his tongue over his teeth in a way he was sure would have Gallagher back on him in seconds. When that didn't work, he sat up and reached out to pull Ian closer, but was swatted away.
"Unlike you Mickey, I actually like showers."
"Shit," Mickey muttered, leaning his head forward to rest against the 'FUCK' on his hand as Ian disappeared from sight.
To hell with this.
By the time he reached the bathroom door the water was already running – it wasn't like Ian had had to waste time getting undressed first.
He watched Ian's silhouette through the curtain for a few minutes, and was just wondering if he should leave, when Ian stopped humming long enough to pull the plastic aside and smirk in Mickey's direction.
"Get in here."
It was almost embarrassing how quickly Mickey moved – ignoring the water in favour of pressing Ian's body up against the tiles.
And there it was again: that overwhelming ecstasy of having all of Ian pressed up against him; of resting his head on Gallagher's shoulder and breathing in his skin.
Ian moved his hands up and down Mickey's back, feeling the flesh expose itself beneath his fingertips. Ian dipped his head.
"Are we cuddling?"
"Fuck no," Mickey responded without moving –the touch of Ian's hands was becoming addictive and no Milkovich had ever denied themselves a habit.
Ian moved his hands lower to Mickey's arse, gently grazing his fingers over the stitches there.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not really thought about it," Mickey answered honestly – his mind had definitely been elsewhere tonight. Taking advantage of Ian's momentary silence, Mickey spun them round so Ian's hands were crushed between Mickey's cheeks and the wall.
The water slid between the boys, leaving rivets of clean skin down Mickey's torso. Sliding his hands from Mickey's arse, Ian ran his fingers across the pale chest before him. Mickey raised an eyebrow.
"Are you gonna wash me or fucking kiss me?"
And as Ian leaned in to finally close the gap between their mouths, he thought Mickey had never looked more gorgeous.