Mickey and Ian lay wrapped up in each other's arms, basking in the sweaty aftermath of round number three while lazily passing a cigarette back and forth between them.
"Man, that was good," Mickey said with a satisfied sigh.
As Ian dragged on the cigarette, he sent a wink in Mickey's direction.
"Don't get cocky now, asshole," Mickey teased, squeezing Ian's freckled shoulder affectionately.
Ian laughed as he handed the cigarette back to Mickey. "With the way that you were scratchin' my back and the sounds you were making, I think I'm allowed to be a little cocky, don't you?"
"Fuck off," Mickey mumbled, bringing the cigarette to his lips.
"I wanna know more about you," Ian blurted after a few beats with his cheek pressed warmly against Mickey's chest. He lazily doodled shapes on Mickey's stomach with his fingertips as he waited for him to answer.
"You wanna know more about me, huh?" Mickey asked. "Shouldn't you get to know more about a person before you bang 'em?"
"Shut up." Ian laughed before saying, "I just wanna know more about you. Is that so fuckin' wrong?"
"You already know my name and dick size," Mickey muttered, his nose buried in Ian's hair, and his lips pressed against the top of his head. "What else is there to know?"
"I dunno," Ian said distractedly as he continued feathering his fingertips over Mickey's skin. "Stuff."
"Stuff, huh?"
"Yeah, like, what's your favorite color," Ian elaborated. "Shit like that."
"Favorite color is black."
"That was prob'ly a stupid question."
Mickey could sense Ian's disappointment in his lack of participation, so he relented. "Fuck, ask me whatever."
Ian was silent for a moment before asking, "What's your favorite movie?"
Mickey gnawed on his bottom lip before saying, "You want the generic answer or the real answer?"
"Either, both."
"Generic answer is Under Siege."
"Right, I forgot about your boner for Seagal," Ian said, grinning against Mickey's chest. He didn't even have to look; he already knew Mickey was rolling his eyes. "What's the real answer?"
"Promise me you won't fuckin' laugh."
"Promise I won't laugh."
Mickey sighed heavily before saying, "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory."
Ian lifted his head from Mickey's chest and laughed right in his face, despite his promise. "Willy Wonka? Mickey Milkovich, big bad thug man's favorite movie is Willy fuckin' Wonka? That's amazing."
"Fuck you, man, you said you wouldn't laugh," Mickey said with a chortle. "What's your favorite movie?"
"Generic answer?" On Mickey's nod, he said, "The Goonies."
"Heeey, you guys!" Mickey bellowed in Sloth's voice, causing him and Ian to burst into a fit of childish laughter. "Alright, that's acceptable," he said once their chuckles subsided. "What's the real answer?"
"Dirty Dancing," Ian said before shamefully burying his face in Mickey's chest.
"Dirty Dancing?" Mickey retorted. "The fuck? You get on my ass about Willy Wonka, and your favorite movie is Dirty Dancing?"
Ian laughed. "Two words: Patrick Swayze."
"Yeah? I got two words for you," Mickey said. "Fuckin' lame."
"Fuck you," Ian said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled up at him. "He was hot."
"Mullets and tight pants get you goin' huh, Gallagher?" Mickey teased before gasping when Ian tickled his side without warning. "Quit it, asshole!" he exclaimed as he playfully grabbed for Ian's roaming hand.
Ian leaned in and kissed him even as they continued to laugh. He then settled back against Mickey's chest, the smile still on his face.
They fell into silence then, both listening to the steady sound of the other breathing and secretly taking comfort in it.
"Maybe we don't have to go back at all," Ian muttered, breaking the contented silence after a while. "Maybe we can just run off to New York or California and start new lives together. We can pick up odd jobs, save up some money, get a shitty apartment somewhere…"
Mickey knew Ian wasn't being completely serious, but still, the idea of leaving his shitty life behind and starting a new one far away from his homophobic father and asshole brothers and that shithole town had a certain fucking appeal to it.
"Yeah, 'cause that's realistic," he said with a snort before inhaling the cigarette.
"Don't laugh at me, asshole."
"I'm just fuckin' saying," Mickey continued as he reached over and snubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray. "We shouldn't be wastin' our time talkin' about fairytales right now. We got actual bullshit to deal with and solutions to come up with."
Ian lifted his head and propped his chin on Mickey's chest, gazing up at him with a frown. "What's so unrealistic about it, huh? We've been doin' fine so far in a new town, just the two of us these past couple weeks."
"You're kiddin' me, right?" Mickey asked. "You really think we could just pick up and move to Fucksville, USA and start a new life together? Christ, man. We've known each other for barely two weeks. What, you think we're gonna fuckin' ride off into the sunset? Leave all our problems behind? This ain't some Julia Roberts' bitch flick."
"It's not entirely impossible," Ian sighed. "That's all I'm saying."
"Come on, man. What about your family, huh? You guys are like the fuckin' ghetto Brady Bunch," Mickey said. As an afterthought, he added, "I got a family too, you know."
"Some family," Ian retorted, his cheeks flushing with frustration.
"Hey, they're still my fuckin' family."
Ian smirked at that before continuing, "All I'm sayin' is that we can go—"
"Drop it, Gallagher, it's not gonna happen," Mickey chided. He wanted to drop the subject before he even allowed himself to hope or dream. He didn't share Ian's optimism on the matter.
"Okay, got it." Ian nodded and sat up, letting the sheet fall from his naked body. "It was a stupid idea."
Mickey watched as Ian crawled off the bed in all his naked glory, knowing he hurt him. "Fuck," he breathed.
Ian grabbed his jeans from the floor and tugged them on.
Mickey watched him for a few beats before saying, "Look, I ain't sayin' the idea isn't appealing, alright? I'm tryin' to stay realistic here. One of us fuckin' has to."
"No, I get it," Ian said as he tugged his shirt on, covering up the red scratch marks on his back and the hickeys on his collarbone. "You're right. It was a stupid idea. Besides, as much as you and me fight, we'd kill each other before we even crossed the state border. It'd never work. We would never work. I dunno what the hell I was thinking."
Mickey sighed. "I don't wanna fight about this."
"No one's fighting," Ian said with a shrug, even though his jaw remained flexed.
"It kinda fuckin' seems like we are."
Ian walked over to the table and rummaged through their junk food supply, his back to him. "Nope," he said with a pop of his mouth.
"Look, get your ass back in bed," Mickey said, patting the space beside him.
"I don't feel like comin' back to bed."
"Quit bein' so dramatic and get back over here," Mickey snapped, sitting up.
"No one's bein' dramatic," Ian said as he tore open a Snickers bar.
Mickey sighed before crawling off the bed and walking over to Ian. He wrapped his arms around him from behind. "Come back to bed," he murmured against the crook of Ian's neck. "I'll blow you."
"Fuck you."
"Or we can do that."
"No, I mean fuck you, Mickey."
Mickey kissed a trail up to Ian's ear. "Come back to bed."
Ian was still holding strong as he chewed his candy bar. "It took me how long to get your ass into bed, now I'm gonna have to start beating you off with a stick?"
Mickey said nothing to that as he grabbed the bottom of Ian's shirt, tugging the garment up and off slowly before tossing it to the side.
Ian remained steadfast in his stubbornness as he enjoyed his candy, pretending to be unaffected by Mickey's advances.
"What can I say?" Mickey mumbled as he wrapped his arms around Ian's waist from behind and slipped his FUCK hand down the front of Ian's pants to grab his dick, while his other hand rubbed across Ian's firm chest and pinched his nipple. "Can't get enough of you."
Ian moaned and leaned back into him, allowing his head to roll back against Mickey's shoulder. "That feels good. Hate you and your stupid hand."
"You love my hand."
"The hell I do."
"You do," Mickey muttered against his ear as Ian's cock grew firmer in his hand with each stroke. "I can tell you do."
"Such an asshole," Ian said, his tone no longer vindictive.
Mickey smiled against his shoulder as he continued stroking him. "Still mad at me?"
"Yes," Ian said, trying to keep up his tough-guy act but failing miserably as he melted in Mickey's arms.
Mickey continued peppering soft, moist kisses on Ian's neck as he flicked his thumb over the head of Ian's cock, causing him to moan. "Still mad?"
"Maybe."
Mickey nipped Ian's neck and stifled his own moan as Ian began thrusting into his hand, making some incredible fucking noises. "Would it make you feel better if I let you fuck me hard, bent over the table? Would that make up for me bein' an asshole?"
Ian groaned at that before spinning around and surging forward to press his lips against Mickey's.
Mickey laughed into the chocolaty kiss and groaned when Ian pulled away suddenly and forced him to turn around.
Ian gripped him by the nape of the neck and bent him over the table, causing the table to skid, their precious food supply scattering.
"Fuck," Mickey breathed, insanely turned on by Ian's aggressiveness. The slow, sensual sex had been fucking awesome (he wouldn't lie), but he was looking forward to Ian giving it to him good and hard.
Luckily for Ian, there was an unopened pack of condoms and a tube of lube within his reach on the table. While he kept a hold on the back of Mickey's neck with his left hand, he grabbed the pack of condoms with his right hand and fumbled with the box before removing one and ripping it open with his teeth. "You sure you want it like this? Sure you want it hard?"
"Yes," Mickey gasped. "Fuck yeah, I want it like this. Get the fuck on me."
Ian released his hold on Mickey's neck and went to work rolling on the condom. He lubed himself up and, not being particularly gentle, he eased two slicked fingers inside Mickey and scissored a few times before positioning the head of his dick against the puckered hole.
Mickey was bent over the table, his breathing sharp and unsteady as he waited.
Ian pressed against the tight ring of muscle and sank in deep with a groan. He gripped the back of Mickey's neck with one hand and grabbed his hip with the other as he began thrusting in and out of him deeply, loving the sounds spilling from Mickey's mouth.
When they fucked the first three times, Mickey's grunts and moans had been drawn out and breathless. As Ian pounded in and out of him then, perhaps maybe taking some pent-up frustration out on the other boy, Mickey was practically gasping and hissing in pleasure. The neighbors were definitely getting an earful.
"Ian, fuck me," Mickey gasped as he reached across the table to grip the edge, his knuckles turning white.
Ian stared down at Mickey's sweaty, taut back, watched as his muscles clenched and tightened as he continued to pound in and out of him. He dug his fingers roughly into Mickey's hips, knowing he would leave marks, but he kind of liked the thought of leaving his marks on Mickey. "Feels so good." He reached down with a slicked hand and wrapped it around Mickey's dick, tugging it in time with his thrusts.
It didn't take long before Mickey was coming with a shout and a punch to the table, his jizz shooting into Ian's fist and through his fingers.
Ian shuddered through his orgasm a dozen thrusts later. He buckled against Mickey, his whole body reeling from the intensity of it all.
Mickey gasped for air as Ian's limp body pinned him to the table. "Goddamn, Gallagher," he breathed. "Fuck, I oughta get you pissed off more often."
Ian eventually pulled himself off Mickey and removed his dick with a soft hiss. When Mickey straightened up and turned in his arms, Ian accepted his sweet kiss, their sweaty bodies molding together.
"Did I hurt you?" Ian asked when he pulled away, pushing Mickey's hair away from his forehead.
"Fuck no, you didn't hurt me," Mickey assured him with a grin. "In fact, when we bang from now on, I want it just like that."
"From now on, huh?" Ian asked.
Mickey sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Fuck, I didn't mean—"
"Sorry," Ian said, pulling away from the embrace. "I know. I know what this is. We're not boyfriends. I won't try to make it more."
Mickey watched helplessly as Ian walked to the bathroom to clean himself up. Suddenly, the idea of running away together sounded like fucking heaven.
Ian came out a minute later and grabbed a clean shirt from the ugly green chair.
Mickey watched him, not knowing what to say.
"I've been doin' some thinkin' on where we can get the rest of the money," Ian said before Mickey could think of something to say, as he tugged his shirt on. "It's kind of a last resort thing, but we don't have much of a choice right now since runnin' away together is apparently outta the question."
"I'm listening," Mickey said, his brows shooting up as he stood there naked. He ignored the fact that an unknown emotion clutched at his heart at the thought that maybe they would finally get the money and go home, something he wasn't prepared for yet, no matter how many times he told himself he was. A small part of him (okay - a huge fucking part) had been hoping it would take at least another week to come up with the money.
"I was thinkin' about goin' to talk to my dad about givin' me the money."
"Your dad?" Mickey asked, genuinely confused. "You mean Frank? I thought we'd already established that Frank's a piece of shit who isn't gonna help?"
"No, not Frank," Ian said, running a hand through his hair and lifting his eyes to meet Mickey's. "Clayton, my real father."