Mickey was the first to stir the next morning. He dug his face into his pillow and groaned, not wanting to get up, but knowing they had to get their asses in gear and get back to Canaryville before things snowballed even more out of control.
The bed was pretty fucking comfortable, which was surprising considering how big of a shithole the place was. He'd actually never slept better. He finally lifted his heavy head and glanced back at the clock on the bedside table with one squinted eye, realizing that they'd slept for nearly twelve hours. His eyes then averted to the lump under the covers at the other end of the bed that was in the shape of Ian. He pushed himself into a sitting position and rubbed at his sleepy eyes with the heel of his hand. He then found Ian's sleeping face amid all the blankets and his hand froze. Ian was prettier than any guy had a fucking right to be, and Mickey hated himself for even thinking such things.
Mickey stared for a few seconds longer than necessary before nudging Ian in the hip. "Ayo, sleepyface, time to get your ass up."
"Mhm, what?" Ian grumbled as he lifted his mussed head, looking around through hooded eyes. "What time is it?"
"Time for you to get your ass up, man," Mickey said as he got out of the bed to head to the bathroom. "We got shit to do."
Ian reluctantly dragged himself out from under the warm blankets and sat back against the cold headboard as a yawn took over his whole face. He watched as Mickey returned from the bathroom, secretly admiring the fact that Mickey wasn't wearing a shirt. "Are we okay?" he asked, his voice husky from sleep. "I don't want things to be weird. We have enough weird shit to deal with as it is."
"Things aren't fucking weird, alright?" Mickey snapped, harder than he wanted to, but he wanted Ian to drop it. He was dead set on getting shit done and going back to his own life, a life without Ian Gallagher.
"Okay," Ian said, nodding firmly and running a hand over his head. "Well, uh, if we're gonna do this thing, I'm gonna need some money for clothes."
"The fuck you need clothes for?" Mickey asked as he walked back into the bathroom to grab his toothbrush. "You got clothes yesterday."
Ian smirked. "I can't really seduce guys wearing sweatpants and combat boots, Mick."
Mickey took that in as he lazily brushed his teeth, thinking (against his better judgment, of course) that he saw nothing wrong with how Ian looked in sweatpants and combat boots. He spat in the sink before answering, "Fine, what the fuck ever, I'll get you some clothes."
"Thanks, sugar daddy."
"Fuck off with that shit, copperhead," Mickey snapped. "I ain't no one's sugar daddy, least of all yours."
Ian stood up and stretched his arms high over his head, unaware that Mickey was watching him in the mirror's reflection. "I might as well head out now and buy a few things so we can get this show on the road. Maybe I can hit up a happy hour at some bar somewhere. I'm sure there'll be some horny, rich men with deep-seated fantasies for teenage boys stopping for drinks after a rough day at work."
Mickey finished brushing his teeth and wiped at his chin with the back of his hand before joining Ian in the bedroom. "You're sure you wanna do this?" he asked, still not a hundred percent sold on the idea. Usually, he was the one coming up with the plans, so he was reluctant as all hell to go along with someone else's.
"Yeah, I'm sure," Ian said nonchalantly as he pulled a black t-shirt down over his head and sat down to pull on his boots. "I'll pick up a guy, bring him back here, I'll pretend I'm gonna fuck him—"
At that, Mickey turned his back to Ian and ran a hand over his face.
"—and then you'll jump out to take the picture, and we'll blackmail the poor bastard into giving us money. Hell, there's an ATM right outside. It's perfect." Ian grinned, quite proud of himself.
"You have this shit all figured out, don't you?"
"Pretty much," Ian said smugly, crossing his arms.
"What if we don't have anything to blackmail the guy with?" Mickey inquired. "What if he doesn't have a family? Doesn't have a wife or kids?"
Ian smirked as he grabbed a few crumpled bills from the table and then his coat. "Please, there's always a wife and kids."
Mickey didn't want to think too much about how Ian knew such things. He watched as Ian left through the door, his presence still lingering even after he was gone. Mickey sighed and ran a hand over his face, yet again wondering what in the hell he'd gotten himself into.
Ian returned a short time later and went to work in the bathroom, showering, shaving, and doing whatever the hell else he did to prepare for such scandalous events.
Mickey was relaxed on the bed, mindlessly watching an old rerun of COPS. He snorted in wry amusement at the Joe Dirt lookalike's futile attempt at an alibi and suppressed a yawn. He was just about to doze off when Ian finally exited the bathroom.
"About time, you take longer than a fuckin' chick." Mickey looked away from the TV and stared at Ian, momentarily dumbstruck. Ian was dressed in dark jeans, nice shoes, and a burgundy button-down shirt that hugged him snugly in all the right places. His hair was gelled and combed back slightly, the sides freshly buzzed. In a word, Ian looked in-fucking-credible.
"How do I look?" Ian asked as he held his hand to his chest to attach his watch, completely unaware of the effect he was having on Mickey.
"Like a douchebag," Mickey answered thickly, tearing his eyes away and looking back at the TV.
Ian laughed and sat down on the bed next to Mickey. "Fuck you, asshole."
Mickey caught a whiff of Ian's cologne, and he wanted to punch a hole through the fucking wall.
"I'm gonna head out in a few minutes."
"You know I'm coming with you, right?" Mickey blurted, his eyebrows shooting upwards, daring Ian to argue.
"What? No, you have to stay here. You have to hide out."
"I'm coming with you, asshole," Mickey snapped.
"No, you have to be here, Mickey. That's the whole point," Ian argued. "I bring the guy here, you jump out and take the picture. Why would you go with me? That makes absolutely no sense."
Mickey carefully chose his next words. "I just don't think it's right that you go to a fucking bar and pick up some random ass dude you don't even know. What if on the way here something goes wrong, huh? Then what?"
Ian rolled his eyes. "Nothing's gonna happen. I can handle myself just fine, Mickey."
"I hate to break it to you, Gallagher, but you're not as tough as you think you are."
"How would you know how tough I am, huh?" Ian asked, his eyes bright with amusement.
"The other day in the field, remember? I had your scrawny ass pinned in seconds." Before Mickey could think about what was happening, he was flung back against the mattress, and Ian was straddling him, pinning his hands down to the mattress.
"Scrawny, huh?" Ian stared down at him, a smug smirk pulling at his lips. "You were saying?"
Mickey licked his lips, and then he silently berated himself for even having a reaction, a reaction he sure as hell wasn't going to clue Ian in on. He bucked his hips up, taking Ian by surprise, and then he flipped over in one fluid motion so that Ian was now the one pinned beneath him. "You were saying?" Like a fucking moron, his eyes landed on Ian's parted lips.
Ian felt the tension loosen in Mickey as he stared down at him, and he took the opportunity to get the upper hand. He bucked up and Mickey was once again on his back within seconds and struggling to get up. They were both panting by that point. "I was going easy on you the first couple times, pal."
Mickey struggled, almost getting loose, but then failed. He finally gave up and sighed in irritation. "Okay, tough guy, you can get the fuck off me now."
Ian smiled down at Mickey for a second longer before finally climbing off him. "See? I can handle myself just fine. I don't need you to come with me."
Mickey sat up, still flustered as he tried to gather his wits. "When will you be back?" he asked nonchalantly as Ian put on his coat.
"I shouldn't be longer than an hour," Ian said. "There's a decent-looking bar right down the street. I'll jiggle the handle before I come in so you know when to hide."
"Gallagher."
"I'll be fine, Mick," Ian said, smiling softly in reassurance as he opened the door.
Mickey watched him go, and then he spent the next hour and sixteen minutes going out of his mind.
So far, things were going according to plan. Ian had spotted a lonely, slightly attractive, middle-aged man at the crowded bar and, within only minutes, the guy was throwing fuck-me-eyes in his direction, and Ian knew he had him in the bag without really trying.
Man, he was too good.
Ian seductively slinked past the guy, whispered in his best sexy voice, 'I have a room down the street if you're interested,' and he walked away, knowing the guy would be hot on his trail.
Once outside, Ian wasn't quite prepared for the guy to get so handsy so fast, and he found himself being pressed back roughly against the brick wall, surrounded by shadows and out of view from other patrons. The guy's tongue was too heavy and too wet in his mouth, and Ian forced himself to go along with it. He was just glad he had an awesome gag reflex.
"Not here," Ian slurred, pressing against the eager man, trying to seem into it. "Let's go back to my room, it's right down the street."
"How about we fuck right here, in my car?" the man said, leaning in and licking a gross, long stripe up Ian's cheek. "Hmm?"
Ian resisted the urge to pull away in disgust. "A bed is so much better, though. Gives me more room to bend," he said, silently berating himself for being so lame. The guy, apparently charmed by Ian's lameness, reached down and cupped Ian through his jeans. For a second, he was afraid the guy would insist they do it right there and then, but thankfully he came around.
"Let's go to your room," the man conceded, "Show me how much you can bend."
Ian smiled suggestively before following the man to his car. Once the guy's back was turned, the smile dropped from his face and he rolled his eyes. He then brightened up a little when he saw that the guy drove an expensive car.
Score.
Mickey was pacing back and forth, checking his phone constantly for the time, and was on the verge of going out to find Ian, but froze when he finally (fucking finally!) heard the door handle jiggle. He fled into action and ran to the small linen closet next to the bathroom and pulled the door shut with him, leaving a sliver open so he could keep an eye on things. He opened his disposable phone and got his camera ready. It wasn't the most high-tech or pixelated camera, as Ian had so teasingly pointed out earlier that day, but it would get the job done.
Ian opened the door and entered, giving the room a quick sweep with his eyes, relieved to find Mickey out of sight. "Here we are," he said lustfully, stepping aside to let the man enter. "It's not exactly the Ritz Carlton, but it's got a bed and—" He was cut off when the guy abruptly grabbed him roughly by the back of his neck and pulled him in for a sloppy, devouring kiss.
The man kissed Ian hungrily, biting too hard at his lips, and then he eagerly worked on Ian's button and zipper before shoving a rough, calloused hand inside to grope him. "You're a big boy, aren't you? Such a nice cock you got here."
Ian forced a sexy smile even though the man's grip was way too rough.
"I'm going to suck you off since you have such a nice cock, and then you're going to fuck my brains out," the man said before dropping to his knees. He pulled Ian's pants down over his hips and immediately took Ian's flaccid dick in his mouth, skipping right to it.
Just then, the closet door flung open, crashing back against the wall, and a blinding flash went off.
"Say cheese, motherfucker!" Mickey snapped before walking to the shell-shocked man, grabbing him roughly by his thinning hair, and pulling him back and away from Ian.
Ian stepped away abruptly and pulled his pants back up, watching as Mickey punched the poor bastard in the face.
The man gasped in pain, holding his bloody nose. "What the hell is going on! Who are you?"
"Get on the fucking bed," Mickey ordered, tugging the guy up roughly by his hair.
The man yelped as he complied and sat down as he was told, still holding his broken nose. He looked wildly between Ian and Mickey. "What's going on? What is all this!"
"Give me your phone."
"What? My—my phone?" the man stammered.
"Give me…your fucking…phone," Mickey snapped, enunciating his words slowly.
The man clumsily reached into his back pocket and handed Mickey his phone with a shaky hand. "Please, what is all this? I don't want any trouble. I was only looking for some fun."
"Shut the fuck up!" Mickey spat as he stared down at the sickening picture on his phone before showing it to the man, whose eyes widened in horror. "You got a wife? Kids?"
"Please, no!"
"What d'you think your wife will say when she finds out you were sucking off a sixteen-year-old kid, huh?" Mickey asked through gritted teeth, fuming.
"He—he didn't tell me he was sixteen!"
"Yeah, well…he is, dickbreath."
Ian just leaned back with his butt against the table, arms crossed, a small smile on his face. He knew, even though Mickey would never admit to it, just why he was so worked up, but he would let it go that time.
"Please, why are you doing this?" the man pleaded. "What do you want? I'll do anything."
Mickey punched the guy in the face again to shut him up. "What did I just tell you? Shut the fuck up. Now, give me your wallet."
The man reluctantly complied as he shot a dark look in Ian's direction.
"Don't look at him! Don't you fucking look at him," Mickey snapped. "Keep your fucking eyes on me," he said as he went through the man's wallet, pulling out a couple hundred dollars. "This all you got?"
"It's all I have," the man insisted. "Please, can I go?"
"No. We're gonna take a little trip down to the ATM, and you're gonna give us a grand," Mickey explained with a sniff, nudging his nose with his knuckle. "That's the going rate for keeping our mouths shut, capisce?"
The man stared at Mickey, his mouth agape. "If…If you're gonna take my money, the least you could do is have the twink suck me off."
Mickey sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and laughed a dry, humorless laugh. "Is that all you think he is? Some twink?" He then punched the guy in the gut, causing the guy to double over and shout in pain. "Rate is now two thousand, asshole. Get up!" He grabbed the man roughly by the arm, pulled him up, and shoved him towards the door.
Ian watched as Mickey escorted the man outside, but not before their eyes met, small smiles playing on their lips.
