I don't even know, this had been in my head for ages so yeah.
Mickey sauntered into the Kash and Grab. He was late but he always was and this time he had an actual excuse, although getting completely wasted with his brothers and going to bed at four in the morning probably wasn't the best excuse he could have had.
"Hey," he muttered. His voice was croaky and it hurt to talk which Mickey blamed on the tequila shots he had done.
Ian was stacking shelves looking bored out of his mind and he didn't turn around when Mickey spoke but he figured Ian just hadn't heard him so went about his own business.
An hour had passed and still that silence between them remained and that was when Mickey knew he must have done something to piss the fucker off.
When the store had cleared out, Mickey wondered over to the counter and swiped up the magazine that Ian was flicking through, clearly absent-minded.
"The fuck?"The sudden movement had made Ian jump and in an attempt to grab back the magazine he lurched forward but Mickey was quicker, putting the magazine behind his back with a smirk on his face.
"You gonna stop acting like a preteen little bitch or what?"
Ian simply gave him a serious look, walked over to the magazine rack and picked up another copy of the one he was just looking through. When he sat back down he had his back to Mickey and the way he was leaning forward slightly made his black t-shirt stretch across his back and his shoulder blades protrude in a way Mickey found stupidly hot and his eyes were glued to his back for a moment too long.
He hated it when Ian was pissed purely because that meant he wouldn't be getting any, but Ian usually got pissed about the pettiest, gayest things that Mickey did, like get too hurt in a fight or kick him out of his bed too soon after sex, so his moods never lasted more than ten minutes. It was fucking dumb and unnecessary or so Mickey thought. This time, though, Ian wasn't letting whatever it was go so easily.
A short while later, Lip wandered in, stopping instantly at the scene before him: Mickey at one end of the counter near the door reading the magazine he'd swiped and Ian sat with his back to Mickey reading the same magazine.
Lip laughed a little. "Is this sexual tension I'm feeling or just your normal, run of the mill tension?" he smirked whilst he spoke.
Ian shot up, making the other two jump a little, and practically ran out back mumbling something about taking his break.
"Was it something I said?" Lip asked casually, that same smirk still resting on his face like it belonged there.
Mickey rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb. He figured if anyone would know what the hell was getting Ian's fucking panties in a twist it'd be Lip. It wasn't like it'd be the first time Mickey had asked him something concerning Ian, hell, he'd even asked Lip for present suggestions when Ian was dropping ten not so subtle hints about his damn birthday every day - doing those things wasn't half as embarrassing as having Lip walk in on he and Ian going down on each other not once, but twice.
"He's been acting like a fuckin' moody bitch all day, man," Mickey complained, leaning his elbows on the counter and rubbing his face as Lip jumped up onto it.
"Oh yeah? Well," he reached up and grabbed a packet of cigarettes, "I'm sure a repeat of last night will get you back in his good books."
Though that was supposed to help, Mickey had no idea what Lip was on about. All that had happened last night was he had gotten too drunk and high on coke to remember his own name.
"The fuck you talking about, last night?" he looked up at Lip who was counting money out to pay for his nicotine fix.
"Yeah, y'know, yours and Ian's... what, date? I don't know."
Mickey let his head fall into his hands and cursed under his breath. Vaguely, he remember Ian mentioning something about everybody being out for the night and for him to come over. Seven tequila shots and two lines of coke later, that had become a distant memory.
"Shit, I forgot," he muttered.
"Good work, dude," Lip slid off the counter and put his money down on it. "Have fun grovelling," he said, patting Mickey's shoulder then heading for the door.
"Fuck off!"
Lip simply carried on out the door, middle finger high in the air.
Great, now Mickey was going to have to apologise or some shit which is something he never did; he wondered if he would even know how to.
When Ian came back in Mickey stared directly at him trying to somehow telepathically communicate that he was sorry for not turning up - he really was sorry because fucking in an empty house meant not only that he could moan as loud as he wanted, but that he'd get to hear Ian scream out his name which was probably the best thing Ian could do with his mouth if you forgot his talent at giving head. The fact that Ian was doing his best to avoid any and all eye contact with Mickey made the job at hand impossible.
"Ian, next time you're stacking shelves keep in mind that I'm running a store, not a yard sale!" Linda yelled over the intercom when the store closed and only Ian and Mickey were left.
"Will do," Ian said back rolling his eyes as he made his way out to the back room.
Mickey was there waiting for him leaning against the wall. "Come 'ere," he said, more like demanded.
As Ian walked past, completely ignoring what he had said, Mickey took hold of his shoulder and pushed him so that he now had his back flat against the wall.
"Get the hell off of me," Ian said with a sigh, shifting slightly.
Mickey didn't even listen instead he began attacking Ian's neck with his lips and teeth, smiling at the sound of Ian's breath catching in his throat.
"If this is your attempt at apologising, it isn't working," Ian moaned out, his eyes fluttering shut.
"No?" Mickey bit down hard, drawing another moan from Ian, then stuck his hand down the front of the guy's jeans, grabbing his dick and moving his hand slowly up and down. "Now?" he asked pulling away from Ian's neck to look at him.
Ian's eyes opened as his mouth closed shut, teeth biting at his bottom lip to suppress another moan that was building up now that Mickey had quickened his pace. He shook his head.
Mickey frowned a little then dropped to his knees, never once letting go of Ian. Once there, he yanked down Ian's jeans and boxers and began to slowly flick his tongue over the tip of Ian's dick, because even though they both loved it hard and fast, he had to make this count, then lightly sucked on it.
"Fuck," Ian sighed, thrusting his hips forward a little, willing Mickey to take more of him into his mouth.
Mickey obliged and began moving his head back and forth to the same rythm as his hand and one of Ian's held onto the dark tufts of Mickey's hair. Every now and then he'd take Ian in right down to the base which caused him to moan out almost involuntarily and tighten his grip on Mickey's hair.
Ian was close, Mickey could tell by the way his breathing became erratic and so Mickey quickened his pace and tightened his grip on Ian's hip.
When Ian came, Mickey actually swallowed; he knew Ian loved the feel of it and that it prolonged his pleasure. He stood up and wiped his mouth. "How about now?" he asked with a smirk, slightly out of breath.
Ian shoved him back a little and pulled up his boxers and jeans then headed for the door.
"Hey!" Mickey called to him. "What about me?" he asked, pointing to his semi.
Ian smirked and shrugged his shoulders. "You've got a hand: use it."
And Mickey would've been worried if there hadn't been a huge smile on Ian's face as he spoke. Mickey was back in his good books, and if that meant getting fucked like it was going out of style, he didn't really want to be anywhere else.