Mickey was the first to stir the next morning. He dug his face into the lumpy 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 never slept better.
He lifted his heavy head and glanced back at the ancient alarm clock on the bedside table with a squinted eye, realizing they'd slept for nearly twelve hours. He then averted his eyes to the lump under the covers at the other end of the bed. He pushed himself into a sitting position and rubbed at his sleepy right eye with the heel of his hand. He found Ian's sleeping face amid all the blankets. His hand froze as he watched him. Ian was prettier than any guy had a right to be; he hated himself for thinking such things.
He stared for a few beats longer than necessary before nudging Ian in the hip with his knee. "Yo, sleepyface, time to get your ass up."
"Mm, what?" Ian grumbled as he lifted his head, looking around through hooded eyes. "Time is it?"
"Time for you to get your ass up, man," Mickey said as he got out of bed to head to the bathroom. "We got shit to do today. We already wasted too much time."
Ian reluctantly dragged himself out from under the warm blankets and sat against the cold headboard as a yawn took over his entire face. He watched as Mickey returned from the bathroom, secretly admiring the fact that he wasn't wearing a shirt. Mickey was hot and exactly his type, which made Ian's entire situation even harder than it had to be.
"Are we good?" he asked after tearing his eyes away from Mickey's torso. "I don't want things to be weird. We have enough weird shit to deal with as it is."
"Things ain't fuckin' weird, alright?" Mickey snapped harder than he'd wanted to, but he needed Ian to drop it. He was dead set on getting shit done and going back to his life; a life without Ian Gallagher.
"Alright," Ian said, nodding firmly and running a hand over his messy hair. "Well, uh, if we're gonna do this thing, I'm gonna need 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 seduce guys wearin' sweatpants and combat boots, Mick."
Mickey took that information in as he lazily brushed his teeth, thinking (against his better judgment) 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 retorted. "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. I'm sure there'll be some horny, rich men with deep-seated fantasies for teenage boys stoppin' for drinks somewhere."
Mickey finished brushing his teeth and wiped his chin with the back of his hand before joining Ian in the bedroom. "You 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 hell to go along with someone else's.
"Yeah, I'm sure," Ian confirmed 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 him and ran a hand over his face.
"—Then you'll jump out to take the picture, and we'll blackmail the poor bastard into givin' us money. Hell, there's an ATM right outside. It's perfect." Ian grinned, looking proud of himself.
"You have this shit all figured out, don't you?"
"Yeah, pretty much," Ian said smugly, crossing his arms.
"What if we don't have anything to blackmail the guy with?" Mickey asked. "What if the asshole doesn't have a family? Doesn't have a wife or kids?"
Ian smirked as he grabbed his coat and a few crumpled bills from the table. "Please, there's always a wife and kids."
Mickey didn't want to think too much about how he knew such things. He watched as Ian left through the door. He sighed and rubbed 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 lying 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 about to doze off when Ian finally exited the bathroom.
"About fuckin' time, you take longer than a damn chick." He looked away from the TV and stared at Ian, momentarily dumbstruck. He wore dark jeans, nice shoes, and a burgundy sweater that hugged him in all the right places. He had gelled and combed his hair back, and he'd buzzed the sides. In a word, Ian looked in-fucking-credible.
"So, how do I look?" Ian asked as he held his hand to his chest to attach his watch, unaware of the effect he was having on Mickey.
"Like a douchebag," Mickey answered thickly before tearing his eyes away and looking back at the TV.
Ian laughed and sat down on the bed next to him. "Fuck you, asshole."
Mickey caught a whiff of Ian's cheap cologne and closed his eyes, willing himself not to feel affected.
"I'm gonna head out in a few minutes."
"You know I'm comin' with you, right?" Mickey blurted, his brows shooting up, daring Ian to argue.
"What?" Ian asked, amused. "No, you gotta stay here. You have to hide out."
"I'm comin' with you, asshole," Mickey snapped.
"No, you gotta stay here. 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 sighed and carefully chose his next words. "I just don't think it's right that you go to a fuckin' bar and pick up some random-ass dude you don't even know. What if on the way here somethin' goes wrong, huh? Then what?"
Ian rolled his eyes. "Nothing's gonna happen to me, Mickey. I can handle myself just fine."
"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 above his head.
"Scrawny, huh?" Ian stared down at him, a smug smirk pulling at his lips as he searched Mickey's eyes. "You were saying?"
Mickey licked his lips and silently berated himself for even having a reaction. He bucked his hips, taking Ian by surprise, and flipped over in one fluid motion until he had Ian 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. He grinned. "I was goin' easy on you the first couple times."
Mickey struggled and almost got loose before failing. He gave up and sighed in irritation. "Alright, tough guy, you can get the fuck off me now."
Ian smiled down at him for a beat longer before climbing off him. "See, I can handle myself. 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 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 doorknob before I come in, so you know when to hide."
"Gallagher," Mickey sighed.
"I'll be fine, Mick," Ian said, smiling softly in reassurance as he opened the door.
Mickey watched him go. He then spent the next hour and sixteen minutes going out of his mind.
So far, things were going according to Ian's plan. He'd spotted a lonely, slightly attractive middle-aged man at the crowded bar and, within minutes, the guy was throwing fuck-me-eyes in his direction. Ian knew he had him in the bag without even trying.
He seductively slinked past the guy, whispered in his best sexy voice, 'I have a room down the street if you're interested,' and walked away, knowing the guy would be hot on his trail.
Once they were outside and out of view of other patrons, he hadn't expected the guy to get aggressive so fast. The stranger pressed Ian back against the cold brick wall, knocking the breath out of him. The guy's tongue was too wet in Ian's mouth when he leaned in to kiss him. Ian forced himself to go along with it; he was glad he had an awesome gag reflex.
"Not here," Ian murmured when they broke apart, pressing against the eager man, trying to appear into it even though he was far from. "Let's go back to my room. It's right down the road."
"How about we fuck right here, in my car?" the man said, leaning in and licking a gross stripe up Ian's cheek. "Hm?"
Ian resisted the urge to pull away in disgust. "Fucking in 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's dick through his jeans. For a second, Ian was afraid the guy would insist they do it right there, 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 turned his back, the smile dropped from his face, and he rolled his eyes. He then brightened up a bit when he saw that the guy drove an expensive car.
Score.
Mickey was pacing back and forth and checking his phone constantly for the time. He was on the verge of going out to find Ian, but froze when he finally heard the door handle jiggle. He fled into action and dashed to the small linen closet next to the bathroom. He 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 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, stepping aside to let the man enter. "It's not exactly the Ritz-Carlton, but it's got a bed and—" The stranger cut him off by grabbing him roughly by the nape of the neck and pulling him in for a sloppy, devouring kiss.
The man kissed Ian hungrily, biting too hard at his lips. He eagerly worked on Ian's button and zipper before shoving a rough, calloused hand inside to grope him. "Mm, 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 too rough.
"I'm gonna suck you off since you have such a nice cock, and then you're gonna fuck my brains out. How's that sound?" the man asked before dropping to his knees. He pulled Ian's pants down over his hips and immediately took his flaccid dick in his mouth, skipping right to it.
Just then, the closet door flung open, crashing hard 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 away from Ian.
Ian stepped back abruptly and pulled his pants 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?"
"Don't fuckin' worry about it. Get on the bed," Mickey ordered, tugging the guy by his hair.
The man yelped as he complied and sat down as he was told, still holding his broken nose. He glanced wildly between Ian and Mickey. "What are you gonna do? What is all this?"
"Give me your phone."
"What? My… my phone?" the man stammered. "Why do you need my phone?"
"Give… Me… Your… Phone," Mickey said, enunciating his words.
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 own phone before showing it to the man, whose eyes widened in horror. "You got a wife and kids?"
"Please, no!" the man pleaded. "They don't need to be involved in this!"
"What d'you think your wife will say when she finds out you were suckin' off a sixteen-year-old kid, huh?" Mickey asked through gritted teeth, fuming as he looked through the stranger's phone for information.
"He didn't tell me he was sixteen!"
"Yeah well, he is, dickbreath," Mickey said as he transferred the wife's number into his phone for intimidation purposes.
Ian leaned back with his butt against the table, arms crossed, a small smile on his face as he watched Mickey do his thing. He knew, even though Mickey would never admit to it, why he was so worked up.
"Please, why are you doing all this?" the man pleaded. "What do you want from me? I'll do anything."
"What did I just tell you? Shut the fuck up! Gimme your wallet."
The man reluctantly complied as he shot a baleful look in Ian's direction.
"Don't fuckin' look at him," Mickey admonished. "Keep your eyes on me." He went through the man's wallet and pulled out a few twenties. "This all you got?"
"It's all I have," the man insisted. "Please, can I go?"
"Nah, we're gonna take a trip down to the ATM, and you're gonna give us a grand," Mickey explained with a sniff, holding up the man's debit card. "That's the goin' rate for keepin' our mouths shut."
The man glared at Mickey before saying, "If you're gonna take my money, the least you could do is have the twink suck me off."
Mickey tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and laughed mirthlessly. "Is that all you think he is, some twink?" he snapped before punching the guy in the gut, causing him to double over and groan 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 and held, small smiles playing on their lips.