Without bothering to pack anything up, Mickey and Ian waited until nightfall to leave the warehouse.
Mickey remembered shortly after that he'd stupidly forgotten his gun, but it was too late to turn back. They couldn't risk returning. He hated having nothing on him as far as protection went, but he figured he could deal with that later. Right then, they needed to move.
Once they were far enough away from the building, they relaxed a bit but still kept a watchful eye around them, half-expecting to find the Milkovich brothers or Terry lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce.
"So, what now?" Ian asked as they hurriedly made their way down the street. They passed a rowdy sports bar, having to sidestep a group of drunken patrons who'd brought the party out onto the sidewalk.
Mickey took a drag off his smoke before answering on his exhale. "First, we gotta find a car. We can't get anywhere without a car." As they were walking, he casually and discreetly tested door handles.
"Find a car?" Ian asked before his eyes went wide. "You mean steal a car?"
"Don't tell me you're gonna puss out on me now, Gallagher?" Mickey asked, throwing him a disapproving look. "Now's not the time to be an upstandin' fuckin' citizen. We're in serious shit. Either you're completely in, or you're out. It's your ass on the line here, remember?"
Ian smirked. "I know, alright? I've hot-wired cars before," he assured him. "I just never drove away with a car once I hot-wired it."
Mickey hummed and glanced at Ian sideways, not knowing if he believed him; Gallagher looked as if he didn't have a rebellious bone in his body. Fucking goody-two-shoes, most likely. He went back to the task at hand and eventually found a 95 Honda Accord that was unlocked.
"Jackpot!" he exclaimed. "Leavin' your fuckin' car unlocked in this neighborhood? The asshole deserves to have their car stolen."
Ian looked around nervously as Mickey opened the door and slipped inside. "Do you really wanna do this right here, out in the open like this? Maybe we can find a car on a side street somewhere when it's darker out?"
"Gallagher?" When Ian looked at him, Mickey snapped, "Shut the fuck up. We don't have time to waste." He bent down to the wires to work his magic. Sure enough, moments later, the engine roared to life. He let out a proud whoop and slapped the steering wheel. "Benefits of a motherfuckin' misspent youth! Get in."
"But we… You can't just…"
"Gallagher?"
"What?" Ian asked, breathless.
"Get the fuck in."
Ian hurried around to the passenger side as he wildly looked around, but no one appeared suspicious from what he could tell. He got in the car and barely had the door shut before Mickey peeled out, leaving a cloud of thick exhaust fumes in their wake.
"Fuck!" Ian exclaimed, glancing out the back window. "We're so screwed if we get caught, so fuckin' screwed! We just stole a car, Mickey! If we get caught, I can kiss West Point goodbye!"
"Alright, chill the fuck out, Ronald McDonald," Mickey admonished. "We're not gonna get caught."
Once they were a safe distance away from the scene of the crime, Ian turned around in his seat and tossed a bewildered glance in Mickey's direction as he nervously attached his seatbelt. "Where are we going?"
"I was thinkin' Cicero," Mickey declared around his cigarette as he kept a watchful eye on the rearview mirror.
Ian watched him, secretly thinking to himself how sexy Mickey Milkovich looked at that moment, all badass and devil-may-care. He quickly squashed those ridiculous thoughts and grabbed onto the oh-shit handle above his head as they sped towards their destination.
After arriving in Cicero less than an hour later, Mickey and Ian ditched the shitty car on an inconspicuous side street before wiping off any areas they may have touched; Mickey's fingerprints were definitely in the criminal database, so he couldn't risk it.
They were on a busy stretch of highway and finding a motel was no problem. There were a dozen of them, all awaiting unfaithful married men and hookers alike. Ian and Mickey weren't in the mood to be picky, so they settled on the first rundown motel they stumbled across and sauntered into the drab, unwelcoming lobby, eager to get out of the cold.
The man behind the counter gave them a disapproving once-over as he chewed on a toothpick.
Mickey was stomping snow from his boots, blowing into his hands to warm them, and discreetly eyeing Ian as he did the same before looking over and doing a double-take when he realized they were being watched.
"The fuck? I know you're not givin' us the fuckin' stink eye right now," he snapped, eyeing the man disdainfully right back, his brows arched in a warning. The man was in his mid-fifties, with a typical beer belly, a stained white tank top, and a scowl. "Your motel smells like literal shit, and I've already seen two roaches since steppin' inside. You're really gonna look at us like that?"
Ian dropped his head and rubbed the back of his neck, a smirk tugging at his lips. It didn't surprise him that Mickey had no people skills.
"We only have one vacancy available, a room with a queen-sized bed," the man said, unperturbed by Mickey's attitude. "Fifty-five for the night, check out is 11:00 AM, complimentary breakfast ain't included."
Mickey scoffed, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, and tossed some wrinkled bills carelessly at the man's chest. "Fifty-five bucks for this shithole, huh? You better have a whore walkin' around givin' out free handy-jays for that price. There's enough money for two nights, dickbreath."
The man smirked, undoubtedly thinking they were two fags looking for a place to bang; he'd probably seen it all.
"And look at me like that again, I'll break both your fuckin' kneecaps," Mickey spat before pushing his way back outside.
"Um, thanks," Ian said when the guy slid the key for room 3A over to him with a sneer. He slowly turned to follow Mickey back out into the cold.
Mickey grumbled and stewed in his annoyance as they made their way across the parking lot towards their room.
"That wasn't embarrassing," Ian mumbled.
"Eat a dick."
They reached their room and slipped inside. The room smelled even worse than the lobby, like old food and sweat. Brown shag carpeting that had probably been there and uncleaned since the 70s covered the floor. The blue-flowered bedspread clashed with the dingy orange curtains.
"This is bullshit," Mickey said, closing the door behind them. "Can't believe I spent my hard-earned money on this shithole."
"Hard-earned, huh?" Ian asked with a quirked brow, knowing Mickey likely earned his money in unlawful ways.
"Fuck off."
"What? It's not that bad," Ian said with a shrug as he glanced around. "It's better than our previous digs. At least there's a bed here, and heat… and an actual fuckin' toilet."
Mickey snorted. "Leave it to your ass to see the silver fuckin' lining in this shitty situation."
Ian shrugged again as he tested the firmness of the mattress with his hand. "Someone has to."
Mickey stared at him, dumbfounded. How Ian could stay even remotely positive in the fucked-up situation was beyond him.
"D'you mind if I hop in the shower first before we sit down and brainstorm?" Ian asked as he shrugged out of his coat, breaking Mickey from his thoughts. "I haven't showered in days. I can feel the layer of dirt on my skin."
Mickey rubbed the back of his neck and nodded curtly. "Yeah, sure, the hell do I care what you do?"
Ian smiled softly in kind and nodded once before pushing away from the wall he'd been leaning against and disappearing into the small grimy bathroom.
Mickey sat down on the bed once he was alone and cracked his knuckles as he looked around disapprovingly, wondering how in the fuck he'd gotten himself into such a shitty situation. He knew his dad would be beyond furious, and he couldn't help but wonder if any of it would work out. Who knew, he and Ian might both end up dead after everything was said and done.
The shower turned on in the bathroom, breaking him from his thoughts. He averted his eyes to the bathroom door, seeing that Ian left it cracked open a few inches. He craned his neck a bit and caught sight of toned, pale, freckled skin. He swallowed hard as his eyes trailed down Ian's bare chest and over his abs. A teasing wisp of soft red hair trailed down into the waistline of his boxers. He forced himself to look away before his eyes could dip any lower.
He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and cursed under his breath. After a beat, he leaned back against the headboard and stretched out his aching legs. He retrieved the remote from the bedside table with a grunt and aimed it at the bolted-down television on the dresser. Like anyone would wanna steal the 13-inch piece of shit. Sure enough, there were no cable channels, no porn channels, only basic channels, so he settled on an old episode of Frasier he'd seen a million times before.
Minutes later, as he was dozing off, Ian exited the bathroom, shirtless and toweling his hair dry.
"It's all yours."
Mickey couldn't help but stare blankly at Ian's wet, cut, upper body. He hadn't expected all of that to be under that bulky coat. His throat suddenly felt unusually dry, and he found himself forgetting how to swallow. Before Ian could realize he was being gawked at, he tore his eyes away and stood up. He brushed past him and mumbled a grumpy "thanks" before disappearing into the privacy and safety of the bathroom.
"Just so you know, the water pressure's shit!" Ian called through the closed door.
"Yeah, got it, thanks," Mickey called back. He sighed heavily and turned to look in the cracked mirror. He swiped a hand across the fogged glass and stared at his reflection for a few beats, silently chastising himself to get a fucking grip before getting undressed, eager to get clean.
He turned on the shower and stepped under the spray, surprised to find that Ian had saved him some hot water. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, allowing the water to cascade over him. It felt fucking incredible despite the awful pressure.
He groaned and swiped a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He soaped up his hand and ran it over his chest, stomach, and then even lower until he was gripping his dick and stroking it with the soapy lather. He licked his lips as he jerked his cock, his palm rounding over the sensitive tip. He knew it wouldn't take much; it had been building up for a few days. He put his fist to his mouth and bit his hand to stifle his moans as he shot his load a few minutes later, his entire body trembling. After catching his breath and allowing the spray to clean his mess, he shut the water off and stepped out, making quick work of drying himself off and getting dressed before leaving the bathroom.
"Hey," Mickey began as he rubbed a towel over his head. "We'll stop somewhere tomorrow and grab some clothes, toothbrushes, and shit. I have a few hundred bucks on me, so that should get us through for at least a couple days." When he didn't get a reply, he looked up to find Ian fast asleep on the bed over the covers. "We can get—"
He stood frozen in place as he took in the sight before him. Ian was curled on his side in the fetal position, his hand tucked under his chin, his breathing low and steady, his lips slightly parted. He'd never seen someone look so peaceful and innocent before in his life.
Mickey ran a hand over his damp hair and glanced over towards the uncomfortable-looking chair by the window. He knew better than to take the bed with Ian and sat down in the chair, intent on getting some much-needed sleep.
He didn't want to think about the fact that he'd spent more time than he cared to admit watching Ian sleep before he finally dozed off himself.