Just A Warm Mouth To Me
A Gallavich FanFiction
It was the best non-sleepover Ian had ever been invited to
:-:
I: Was I just invited to a sleepover?
M: Fuck you is what you were invited to
:-:
Just they hadn't. Fucked that is. Ian had been there four hours – that's two movies, a pack and a half of cigarettes and some shit that Milkovich had shoved in the oven. Not like he was cooking or anything because he was nobody's bitch. But by the second crate of beer Ian was wondering if this was in fact a date.
Not that he was enough of an idiot to ask.
The movie finished and Mickey switched over to the boxing. Ian wasn't watching the TV, hadn't been for a while, all he could focus on was the cigarette hanging from Mickey's lips; the top of the beer bottle he would run his tongue over.
Ever since Mickey had kissed him, he hadn't been able to think about anything else but that moment when, out of the blue, Mickey had run back to the van and pressed his lips to Ian's.
And Ian knew Mickey had been kissing the dare, not him, but it was like a line had been crossed for that single moment and now Ian was itching to get back to the other side.
Mickey drew deeply on the cigarette and removed it from his lips. Involuntarily, Ian leaned in.
"Don't even think about it," Mickey smoked out, not even moving. Ian just grinned and sat back to watch the TV.
There hadn't been a threat this time. That was a first.
Considering the fact he wasn't a fan, Ian was quite into the boxing when Mickey unexpectedly switched it off. Ian turned in his direction to find Milkovich was already staring at him. Mickey placed his bottle on the floor and rubbed his thumb over the corner of his lip, very characteristically.
He determinedly met Ian's eyes –
"I didn't kiss you 'cause of some fucking dare – I don't need to prove I'm not a fucking chicken, got it? I don't do shit I don't want to."
"So you wanted to kiss me?" Ian grinned, moving to face Mickey fully.
"Say it again Firecrotch, and I'll kill you."
"Do you wanna kiss me now?" Ian smirked, leaning in for the second time that evening.
"Fucking no Gallagher! Jesus!" Mickey exclaimed, batting the redhead off.
"Whatever," Ian smiled, reaching down for Mickey's abandoned beer.
He wasn't even close when Mickey grabbed his face and pulled Ian's lips towards his own. It was clumsy, inelegant, and hardly sexy, but it turned Ian on more than anything in his life.
Realising Mickey needed to take charge of this, Ian allowed himself to be pushed down onto the sofa, allowed his counterpart to climb on top of him – for Mickey to open Ian's lips with his tongue. Less clumsy. More sexy. Until they were writhing together; hands pulling off shirts and hips locked together in sweet frustration.
Mickey removed one hand to find the buckle on Ian's belt, stopping when the redhead grabbed his wrist and moved Mickey's fingers back up to his face.
It was a statement of how far they had come that Mickey didn't try again, instead grabbing Gallagher's short hair with both hands and kissing him more violently; caresses now turning to bites and licks to lunges. He felt Ian's lips move beneath him.
"What the fuck you smiling about Firecrotch?" He asked, wiping Ian's saliva from his bottom lip.
"You do realise we're making out, right?" Ian laughed, his hands on Mickey's stomach as he hovered about him.
Mickey smirked and moved his lips to ghost over Ian's –
"Liking what I like don't make me a bitch."