A/N: I changed the rating to M because they have sex and stuff, although in my opinion it is not explicit at all. Anyhow, thanks for the follows and thoughtful reviews.

After Ian kissed him, all bets were off. Mickey had tried to be smart about his feelings, but caution (or being smart) had never really been his strong suit. Mickey breathed into the kiss, loving the feeling of getting closer to someone he loved as much as loving the feeling of Ian's skilled kiss.

In a fluid motion, Mickey went from sitting beside Ian on the sofa to straddling his legs, still kissing him. Ian was touching his back and chest under his shirt, but they didn't pause to get undressed. It was like they were both worried if they broke the kiss they'd remember they weren't supposed to be doing this.

Ian undid Mickey's belt, unzipped his jeans, and nibbled on his bottom lip, then put his hand inside to cup Mickey's cock and balls. Mickey whimpered and reached for Ian through his jogging pants, and they kissed and rubbed each other until they came, messily and close together and pretty much fully clothed.

Mickey pulled back from the kiss, panting, and couldn't stop himself from kissing Ian's face. Forehead, cheek, chin, fucking nose, those little creases beside his eyes that hadn't been there before. Butterfly kisses for the creature he loved most on earth—something he'd always wanted to do but that had seemed too revealing, too real, too gay.

"That was just supposed to be a little kiss," Ian laughed.

Mickey continued kissing him on his face, saying between kisses, "A kiss is like a spark. For most people it might start a fire. Between you and me? Fuckin' spark might set off dynamite."

Ian grabbed Mickey's face and forced Mickey to look him in the eye. "I'm sorry I didn't respect what you wanted. I just—it's just hard to be smart with our feelings when I love you so fucking much," he said.

"Fuck me," Mickey breathed.

"I know," Ian murmured.

"That wasn't a fucking observation, Ian. That was a demand," Mickey said. "Or do you need more time? You are getting fucking on in years."

And he was on bipolar medication, which had once wreaked havoc on Ian's libido. But Ian was shoving Mickey off his lap and grabbing his hand, pulling Mickey upstairs and undressing on the way. Mickey followed suit and they were both naked by the time they got to the bedroom.

"I assume you have condoms and lube for your adventures with hot SWAT," Ian said.

"He change his contact info to that again? Last time he did that I changed it to SWAT twat," Mickey said.

Ian pushed Mickey on the bed roughly. "Don't fucking tell me about him. You're mine now. You fucking always were mine and you always will be," he said.

"There was never any doubt about that, Ian. Are you mine, though? All mine?" Mickey said.

"I won't fuck around this time. I promise. Jesus Christ, it feels like the last time I had sex that meant anything was with you. Losing you was the dumbest thing I ever did, and I've made some pretty bad decisions in my life, Mick."

"I don't care what you did or who you were with. You're with me now. I fucking love you," Mickey said.

"Turn over," Ian demanded. Mickey did as he was told, and the preparation seemed a bit foreign to him—Ian wasn't rough with him like he'd been when they were kids—but when Ian was inside him it was like going back in time. The rough violence of it combined with the soft words against his neck and the caresses on his back, the arm cradling his belly with a tenderness Ian often tried to hide, and the feathery kisses up and down his spine were all just the way they'd been back then.

Mickey came too soon, but nevertheless Ian soon followed him over the edge, despite the fact they'd just got off downstairs.

Mickey gulped for air and realized he was crying, sobbing, actually. Ian came out of the bathroom and saw him, and crouched beside the bed. "Jesus Mickey, did I fucking hurt you? If I hurt you I'll never forgive myself."

"I missed you so much, Ian," Mickey said. "If you fucking leave me again I'm 'a gut you like a fish."

Ian smiled tenderly. He made no promises, but got in the bed and gathered Mickey in his arms and held him for a long time, dozing and chatting and smoking the way they used to. It was still too early to really sleep, though, after a while they decided to go downstairs and watch the movie after all.

The next day at work, Mickey took some ribbing about his good mood, but he wasn't prepared to admit to anyone, even Jordan, that he'd let things with Ian go so far. He didn't regret it—he wasn't capable of regretting a night like that—but he did worry that he and Ian were both fooling themselves into thinking they could just turn back the clock and take up where they left off.

On his lunch break, Svetlana called to confirm the time he wanted the kids for Saturday. Before she hung up, Mickey said, "Listen, Ian's going to come with us. I hope that's okay with you."

"Ian Gallagher? Orange boy?" she asked.

Her accent and her English in general was a lot better these days, so it was kind of funny for him to hear her talk like that again. "Yeah, that Ian," he said. "He's not like he was, though. He's not in denial about having a problem anymore and he wouldn't do anything to hurt a kid either way. You know that."

"I don't give two shit about Ian," she said. "He used to be my friend, and he fucked us all over by leaving without a word. I don't trust him—but I trust you. You got my sister back and you helped me get through school so I could get a good job and become American citizen. And the children aren't babies. So you do what you want, Mickey. But I don't trust him not to hurt you again."

Mickey shrugged. He was sitting alone in a crowded restaurant and she couldn't see the gesture over the phone, but he didn't know how to put how he and Ian were together into words. They hurt each other, they fucked up, they helped each other, they dragged each other down, they loved each other like crazy, but somehow they each were the best possible person to stand beside the other. "I gotta try, though. You know that," he finally said.

"I know, baby," she said gently.

He said goodbye and hung up. Apparently he'd handed his balls over to Ian a few days ago if Svetlana was calling him baby like she did her little sister.

He paid and was leaving the restaurant when his phone rang. "Shit," he said when he saw it was Lip.

"Mickey, what the fuck's happening? What kind of trouble is Ian in?"

"Lip, I gotta head back to work," Mickey said.

"Even after all this time, hearing you say you have to work just sounds wrong. And considering it's with the cops—"

"Yeah, fucking hilarious," Mickey agreed. "I gotta go."

"Fuck, Mick. Just give me a minute, will you?"

"Look Fiona tell you what Ian said? He's got a sicko boyfriend who I was investigating in my line of work," Mickey said.

"Human trafficking? Really?"

"I know. Makes you think back with a certain fondness to those creepy old dudes with the wandering hands, right?"

"So, what. You're using Ian to get to this guy? Is he in danger?"

"I wouldn't put Ian in danger, Lip. Come on. This guy was abusive. He threatened your fucking kid. He has to go down, not just because he's a scumbag, but because he hurt Ian and he's threatened to hurt people in your family to keep Ian with him."

"Scumbag is such a cop word," Lip said.

Mickey rolled his eyes. "I tell you this guy threatened your kid and you're focused on the fact that I used a cop word?"

"My child has her own bodyguard, Mick. I'm not worried about some asshole hurting her. What about Debbie's kids though? He threaten them?"

"Yeah, maybe you should invite all the Gallaghers to stay with you in your compound," Mickey said. "Keep 'em safe just in case."

"I trust that you wouldn't do anything that would put us in danger," Lip said. "But if you want me to, it's done."

"It'll make Ian feel better," Mickey said.

"You think I could come over? Talk to Ian?"

"He's trying to get his head on right before he sees anyone. He was doing great, on his meds, had a vlog about horror movies, and then this creep made him go off his meds and threatened his family if he didn't do what he said," Mickey said. "I don't think he wants to see anyone until he's like, normal again. My guess is that might take a couple of weeks for his meds to kick in. He feels really shitty about making everyone worry."

"He should feel shitty. Why didn't he just come to us for help?"

"I don't know if you know what it's like to be abused, Lip, but this guy made him feel like he was worthless had no other options. I don't think he realized any of us would help him. He thought that since he'd left us, we'd just turn our backs on him," Mickey said.

"I bet you turned your back for him quick enough," Lip teased.

"Yeah, I'm hanging up now," he said.

The meet between Ian and Phil Jorez was going down around three. Mickey had been getting increasingly nervous-sounding text messages from Ian all morning, and he had promised that he would be at home when Ian left and stay there until he returned. It had been decided that Miles would shadow Ian during the run. Mickey hated that it couldn't be him, but he liked Miles and trusted Ian with him.

Meanwhile, they'd been interviewing Jorez's wife all morning in a safe house that was currently empty. She'd taken some pictures on her phone of papers relating to the business and had been far more helpful then they'd initially thought she'd be. When Mickey got back after lunch, he asked Jessica about the code her husband's papers were in.

She laughed. "It's just a substitution cipher. There's an easy way to solve it. Just scan it into a word processer, and then find and replace each letter with the one three letters after it. Or, god knows, he might have gotten original and went four letters."

"That doesn't seem really practical," Mickey said.

"My brother is a computer programmer and made him an app where he just had to snap a photo of the sheets and it would translate. I suppose if you have access to a phone with that app, it would be even simpler to do that," she said.

Mickey just barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He'd stopped feeling bad about turning her against her own husband forty-seven sneers ago. She was kind of ballsy, though, and he couldn't imagine he would have been particularly sweet to people trying to use him against people he cared about, either.

He swung by the station and grabbed the phone the cokehead manager of the brothel where they'd found Ian had been carrying, the papers Mickey had found in the office and had been trying to decode, and his work computer.

When he got to the house, Ian was nearly frantic. He had to leave in about twenty minutes, and he was pretty worked up.

Mickey got on his knees and helped Ian take the edge off.

When he was done, Ian ran a hand through his hair. "I'm going to give myself a buzz-cut tonight. Get rid of the black. I've got red roots right now. Might look at little weird at first. Like Carl when he was a little kid."

"Can't fucking wait," Mickey said, kissing him lightly. "Redheads are fucking sexy."

"He's probably going to kiss me, Mickey," Ian said. "Might be better if my mouth didn't taste like jizz."

"Hey, you told him you were sleeping with me," Mickey said, shrugging.

Ian leaned in for a deep, thorough kiss that made Mickey even harder than sucking Gallagher off already had him. Instead of taking it any further, Ian ran up the stairs and brushed his teeth.

Ian finally left for his run, looking more solid and confident than he had when Mickey had first gotten home, and Mickey started translating the documents.