Mickey

They're lying on the grass behind the dugouts, hands lazily woven together and the air around them is just on the right side of being too warm.

Mickey loves it.

The heavy, scalding hot peak of Chicago summer went and past and the afterthought that is late September welcomed them with cozy hugs of southern winds and temperatures below what Mickey would usually describe as hotter than the fuckin' Hell. It's good. They're good, basking in marital bliss still as weeks and months go by and Mickey couldn't really wish for anything more. For anything better.

He looks at Ian, at his husband — and hell, that still didn't lose its novelty — with his eyes closed, his too-long orange hair scattered artfully through the grass, his expression sloppy with afterglow giddiness as he smiles softly to the blue, blue heavens above and Mickey may not believe in any deities but he believes in winning. And he's won. Right here and right now, he's won his happiness, he's fucking earned it and there's nothing in this world that can ever take it away from him.

And it's fucking fantastic.

Mickey slowly rises their linked hands to kiss Ian's knuckles and can hear him huff lightly when his lips touch the callused skin. It's not a full laugh per se, and Mickey damn well missed Ian laugh since the so many minutes he's heard it last. And the best way to make Ian laugh with him, the way that was always easiest for them, is teasing. Being contrary is their own brand of love language, tried and tested through Heaven and Hell and Mickey wouldn't trade it for anything. So Mickey does what he's always done best: cracks a stupid joke that wouldn't be a joke to anyone else.

"I really hope there ain't no more of your shitty exes running around," he says easily, nudging Ian in the ribs with his free hand.

"Oh yeah? Who did you meet so far?"

Amusement in Ian's voice is as clear as the sky above them and Mickey bites back a smile, congratulating himself on the choice of topic.

"Let's see. There was annoying jealousy fling—"

This time it's Ian who nudges him, eyes wide open and full of light, conspiratory smirk twisting his face. "Mickey, you love Cole. You two weirdos go out drinking every other weekend!" He does that thing when he tries — and fails miserably — to imitate Mickey's Eyebrows Of Doom look, and God. Mickey lets go of their hands to shove at this stupid, stupid, beautiful face.

"Not my point, firecrotch," he mocks.

But maybe Ian has a bit of a point here.

After that ridiculous night at the Alibi, Mickey and Cole kinda… hit it off. It was easy, just let himself be around someone so much louder and yet so much more laid-back, that Mickey didn't really want to let it go. Things rarely come to him easy. No reason to give up on those few that do.

Then there's also this… rebellious aspect to the relationship with someone like Cole that Mickey never thought he'd enjoy. Cole is freedom. He's no fucks given cockiness and unapologetic brash and that is something Mickey for all his life couldn't have. Until now.

If anyone ever told teenage Mickey, hell, even adult and gay married Mickey that on day his best bud would be flaming fucking homo fairy queen, he would've never believed it. Probably even punched the jokester in the teeth for good measure, but well. It's a thing that happened. Somehow. And Mickey'd never, ever admit it to anyone, but he's actually super fucking glad it did. Cole's a handful at his best, but he's also chill to Mickey's rage and openness to Mickey's setbacks, and as annoying as he can be with his never ending rants about clothing and men, it's nice, having a friend untouched by all of this. The South Side.

So sue him, he has every right to joke about that fucking disaster, thank you very much.

"Alright, alright! Go on, Jesus," Ian rebuts but Mickey can tell he's feigning that annoyed note so he pays him no mind.

"So the fling, that fuckin' pedo runaway bride, Mother Teresa of saint di—"

"Mickey!"

"—saint dick, even more geriatric viagroid, and the narcissistic cheater. That all?"

The way righteous indignation dissipates from Ian's face to be replaced by guilty puzzlement doesn't exactly do wonders for Mickey's nerves. This was supposed to be a light topic for them to fuck around, because now that Mickey's sure he's met and cut out all the past garbage off their lives, he's pretty sure he's earned the right to joke about it with his husband. But what if there are more skeletons in Ian's closed he doesn't know about? What the fuck then?

"Oooh," Ian coos, realization drawing on his face, and Mickey sits up abruptly, not amused anymore.

"Oooh what, Gallagher?"

Ian sits up too, immediately reaching for Mickey's hands. His expression is earnest but wary and Mickey expects some bad news. He allows the touch, though.

"Just one more, I promise," Ian says in a rather pathetic attempt to sound soothing but he isn't fooling Mickey one bit. "The closet case?" he asks.

"They were all closeted, hot shot," Mickey snaps back, trying to run mental math on when exactly Ian could fit another boyfriend. He doesn't take his hand away.

"Nah. Not the latest ones at least." Ian shakes his head, a little grin curling at the corner of his lips. Mickey doesn't like it; something's off. "This one, though? Real tough nut. Sometimes I thought he found fucking Narnia."

"The fuck are you talkin' about?"

"Sure I told you 'bout him? Small, dark and handsome, you know? Very dangerous. Been around for a long-ass time."

Yeah, something's definitely off. But Ian's eyes gleam with hidden mischief now and he wouldn't be this fucking candid about this if he didn't have any ulterior motives, Mickey's sure of that. So he just has to wait the fucker out and see where this is going before he gets up and murders someone. Easy-peasy. A walk in the park. Piece of fucking cake.

"What the fuck, Gallagher?!"

Or not.

"Oh, but don't you worry, Mick. He's not a threat anymore," Ian deadpans nonchalantly, looking utterly ridiculous with strands of grass mixed into his hair and his gangly knees tucked under his chin. It's not close to being The Chin — which gives Mickey some hope — but his overall demeanor of impish hilarity, hidden poorly behind flat tone and sparkling eyes gives Mickey a pause. So he stares.

"Relax. I'm talking about you, tough guy."

And what ever the fuck does that even mean? Mickey literally can't believe what he's hearing right now.

"Cause you're my ex, too, you know."

Definitely can't. Ian, the smug bastard, flashes him a dopey, loopy grin, like he's just pulled the most fabulous prank on planet Earth and honestly fuck that. Mickey knows Ian's not only a shitty liar, but also that his stealth skills extend only as far as he can throw. Which must be proficient enough, since Mackey apparently falls for his stupid shtick every single fucking time! He's clearly too hung up on his moron of a husband to notice the rest of the world — which, fair enough, he totally is. But fuck him sideways if it ain't a huge fucking hassle in times like this.

"Excuse me?!" he shrieks, because of course he does. Ian deserves some quality shrieking for playing him like that, the absolute clown.

Ian just grins some more. It's infuriating.

"Think about it, Mickey. You're my husband now, right? That technically makes you no longer my boyfriend." The son of a bitch has the gall to wink at him "Sooo… you're my ex-boyfriend, officially." Ian cocks an eyebrow at him and Mickey thinks about all the lame-ass jokes he had to endure through the years, about his own endless love for teasing game and how Ian finally learned how to beat him in it, and Mickey can't help but burst out laughing.

"You're such a dick, Gallagher," he snorts, exasperated affection flooding his chest.

"You like my dick, Gallagher," Ian mocks back and well. Mickey can't argue with that.

With a new surge of laughter he pushes at Ian's shoulders, knocking them both back into the ground, and goes for a kiss. He might be too old and dignified — ha! — to try and go at it twice in broad daylight on solid, unyielding ground no less, but Mickey wouldn't be himself if he didn't latch into any occasion to french his husband senseless.

It's awkward as hell, with both of them smiling into the kiss while they roll through the grass and Mickey's head feels light with happiness again. He feels high; good high. The way no drugs could ever make him feel. And it's absolutely incredible.

These days there isn't a single waking moment when he doesn't feel not hopelessly in love with Ian Gallagher and it used to scare him shitless. It used to terrify the living fucking daylights out of him, this feeling of being so completely, utterly lost in somebody else that everything else paled in comparison: his safety, his wellbeing, his fucking freedom. All the goddamned world.

It doesn't scare him anymore.

Loving Ian, being loved by Ian, the little bubble they created amongst all the carnage of their lives — that's what he lives for, that's what he is, now. And he's fiercely proud of that. Proud of them.

So when Ian finally lets go of him, Mickey doesn't protest. He allows the gentle caress of his cheek and the feather-like strokes of a thumb along his collarbone. Ian's gaze is all soft around the edges and Mickey can feel his eyes crinkle when he hides his face in Mickey's neck.

"Promise husband, now that I've gotchu all nice and locked down, no returns. Not ever," Ian says between nibbling at his delicate skin and Mickey lets out a chuckle. His own hands circle the small of Ian's back, slowly but steadily going south. He smacks him playfully on the ass when the nibbling gets a little too enthusiastic and he's rewarded with a low growl of outraged protest.

"Can I at least get a refund for sweating my balls off in this heat for you, please?" Mickey jokes, but he feels pleasantly lazy just lying together like this, cuddling.

Ian scoffs. And bites him.

"Oh, c'mon, Ian. Really?" he grunts but otherwise does nothing to stop his ridiculous husband from sucking what he already knows will be a prominent bruise on his neck. "You're a dumbass," he mutters into Ian's hair.

"You love me."

"Yeah. I guess I do."

And he really, really does.

A/N: Aaand that's it! Some sugary treat to finish the deal!

I love you all so much!

tumblr at takenene if you wanna come by and chat some :)