Fifteen days passed by in a blur. Two weeks and one day in which Ian and Mickey met up almost every day after Ian got out of school and hid out in the privacy and safety of the van in the Gallaghers' backyard. It wasn't always the ideal situation, given it was the middle of winter, and they saw their breath every time they talked (or panted), but they were both willing to put up with it to be together.
It was their safe place.
On one particular evening, Ian pulled out of Mickey with a satisfied groan and collapsed beside him on the old dirty mattress, his body glistening with sweat. He pulled his coat up around them to shield their damp bodies from the cold.
"That was fuckin' good," Mickey mumbled as he snuggled deeper under the coat with Ian.
"It always is with us," Ian said, leaning in and muttering the words against Mickey's sweaty forehead. "It's why we keep each other around, isn't it?" he teased.
Mickey hummed, closed his eyes, and pressed closer to Ian's warmth. He was past the point of caring about how lame something felt. With Ian, he was learning how to just be. He'd never felt happier or better.
After a few beats of contented silence, Mickey's rumbling stomach cut through the quiet.
Ian laughed and kissed his forehead again. "Worked up an appetite, huh? I'm gonna go grab us something to eat. Don't go anywhere. After goin' three rounds yesterday, you spoiled me, so you better be ready for round two when I get back."
"Where the fuck am I gonna go?" Mickey groused, looking as if he was on the verge of sleep. "I can't even fuckin' move right now."
Ian grinned at him, pleased with himself that he could wear Mickey out.
"Grab a blanket while you're in there, s'fuckin' cold," Mickey grumbled as Ian got dressed, his voice muffled beneath Ian's coat.
Ian smiled to himself and shook his head before sliding the van door open and hopping out, quickly closing it behind him so he didn't let in any more cold air.
Once Mickey was alone, he pushed Ian's coat away and sat up. He ran a hand down his face before twisting and turning, searching for his own coat that Ian had peeled off and tossed aside as soon as he'd entered the van earlier, before Ian and his tongue had bombarded him.
He found his coat wedged under the passenger seat and grunted as he reached to grab it. He fumbled with it before reaching inside the front pocket and pulling out the small box with shaky fingers. He tossed the coat aside and looked down at the small silver box, his heart hammering in his throat as he did so. He knew it was stupid and corny -probably the most ridiculous fucking thing he'd ever done- yet he still wanted to do it. Ian made him do things he never would have thought he'd do before; he made him feel things he'd never felt before.
All too soon, the door to the van slid open again, and Ian hopped inside, out of breath, not noticing the way Mickey's hand flew behind his back, hiding the box from view.
"Fuck, that was fast," Mickey breathed. "Did you fuckin' run?"
Ian slid the door shut before settling down across from him. He presented a canister of barbecue Pringles and two boxes of apple juice. "This was all I could find," he said before tossing the threadbare blanket he'd grabbed from the back of the couch onto Mickey's lap. "I had to be quick. I didn't wanna run into anyone and answer questions."
"Thanks," Mickey grumbled as he eyed Ian up, watching as he opened the tube of chips and chomped on a few. "Barbecue Pringles are my favorite."
"I know," Ian said as he obnoxiously chewed. "You told me. It was one of our first nights in the motel, remember? We were bored and playin' twenty questions. Well, I was playin' twenty questions, you were grunting out answers here and there just to shut me up. You told me that barbecue Pringles are, and I quote, 'the best things to have ever been mass-fucking-produced', and you want them served at your funeral."
"You remember that shit?"
"Yeah," Ian shrugged. "I remember everything you told me."
Mickey swallowed the lump in his throat as he nervously fumbled with the box behind his back. He eventually gained enough nerve and tossed the box carelessly into Ian's lap. "Well, I remember you tellin' me it's your birthday tomorrow, so I got you something."
Ian stared down at the box before looking back up at him as he slowly swallowed his food. "You got me something?"
"Don't make it into a big deal," Mickey said with a suck of his teeth, pretending he was irritated to cover up his nervousness. He rubbed nervously at his mouth before waving his hand dismissively. "It's not a big deal, it's whatever."
Ian picked up the box and stared down at it.
"Jesus. Just open it, starin' at it won't do anything," Mickey snapped. "It's not the fuckin' One Ring to rule them all." He swallowed thickly as he watched Ian open the box.
Ian fingered the object inside before lifting it out of the box. "They're dog tags."
"Look at you, Captain fuckin' Obvious."
Ian held the dog tags in the air to get a better look, a smile tugging at his mouth as his heart fluttered in his chest. On the back of one tag was an engraved message, three simple symbols that meant more to him than Mickey probably knew: I & M.
Mickey watched with bated breath as Ian inspected the gift as if it was some expensive, irreplaceable object when it hadn't cost him much at all, only a couple Andrew Jacksons and a few grams of weed. Still, the fact that Ian seemed so touched by it meant more to Mickey than he was willing to let on.
"You, uh, you like 'em?" he asked as he rubbed his lower lip apprehensively. "If not, I can take the shit back. I can get you some smokes or a six-pack of beer or some shit."
Ian placed the dog tags around his neck before lifting his eyes to meet Mickey's, unable to suppress his grin. "Are you fuckin' kidding me? I love 'em," he said before leaning across the two feet that separated them and kissing him.
The kiss started out slow and tentative; it was a simple thank you. It soon turned into much more, hot and hungry and dominating as they both poured what they couldn't say into it.
Just as he'd found himself not an hour before, Mickey was on his back with Ian above him, their tongues slowly tangling, and their hands groping.
"Time to give you a proper thank you," Ian murmured into the kiss as he reached down and gripped Mickey's dick, feeling it respond to him almost immediately despite being spent just fifteen minutes before.
Mickey grunted and bucked into Ian's hand. "Mm, that feels fuckin' good."
"You feel good," Ian muttered against Mickey's mouth. "You always feel so good." He stroked him a few more times before moving his hand even lower down between Mickey's legs. When Mickey spread open for him, he pushed a finger into his still-stretched hole and fingered him a few times before pulling back. He unzipped his fly and pushed his jeans down enough to remove his cock, keeping his ass covered against the cold.
He went to work rolling on a condom. They both kept the van stocked with condoms and lube for occasions such as this, which, truth be told, was every time they were in the van.
Once the condom was on, Ian stroked himself with a lubed-up hand to full hardness before pushing into Mickey's tight hole. He buried his face in the crook of Mickey's neck. "Shit, Mickey, your ass."
Mickey wrapped himself around Ian as he adjusted. He playfully nipped Ian's earlobe and grinned towards the ceiling of the van when Ian groaned in pleasure. "You gonna move sometime fuckin' today, Gallagher?" he grumbled affectionately against Ian's ear, once the fullness became almost too much to bear.
"I'll never get used to how good you feel," Ian groaned as he pushed himself up on his arms. He smiled down at Mickey lustfully when he gripped Ian's biceps and hummed. Among the other things he'd learned Mickey enjoyed doing during sex, he found that Mickey had a thing for his arms; he liked grabbing and feeling them, even bit them a time or two as he came. He locked eyes with Mickey as he began rolling his hips in earnest, thrusting in and out of him, hard and deep. Between them, Ian's dog tags swung back and forth, grazing Mickey's face with every thrust.
"Sorry," he said through his panting as he reached for the chain around his neck. "I'll take 'em off for now."
"No, don't," Mickey blurted, breathless. "I kinda like it."
Ian grinned before bracing himself on his arms again, giving himself leverage to pound in and out of the boy beneath him.
Mickey canted his hips and dug his fingernails into Ian's back under his shirt. When Ian practically growled, he knew it was painful, but he also knew Ian enough by then to know that he liked a bit of pain during sex, so he dug his fingers in a little harder and gnawed on his bottom lip as he took everything Ian was giving him.
Ian rolled his hips and leaned down to capture Mickey's lower lip in his mouth, biting it roughly. He then slotted his mouth against Mickey's, and they grunted and panted and moaned inside each other's mouths as they met each other thrust for thrust.
Mickey reached between them and jerked his dick, already feeling his orgasm nearing. "Fuck, Ian," he gasped into Ian's mouth. "Feels so good. Fuck me with that cock."
"You like my cock, don't you?" Ian groaned as he removed his mouth from Mickey's and buried his face in his neck, nipping at the skin behind Mickey's ear. "You fuckin' love it."
"Fuck, yeah, I love… Love it," Mickey breathed as he wrapped his legs tighter around Ian's waist and canted his hips up higher, taking Ian in as deep as he could. He tugged desperately at his dick. Ian's dog tags slid across his face and neck; he fucking loved every second.
Ian froze and buried his cock deep inside Mickey with one last thrust before coming hard with a groan.
Mickey held onto him tighter and thrust up, fucking himself on Ian's dick for a few thrusts before finally shooting his jizz into his hand between their bodies.
Ian rode his orgasm out and didn't even bother pulling out of Mickey as he collapsed on top of him, completely spent. Having two orgasms in less than an hour was exhausting, even for a seventeen-year-old boy.
Mickey wrapped an arm around him and turned their bodies so they were lying on their sides, wrapped around each other. He kissed Ian's sweaty forehead, allowing his lips to linger on his damp skin as he muttered, "Happy early Birthday, shithead."
"Mm," Ian hummed, unable to form words at the moment. He pulled the blanket he'd brought out from the house up and around them before closing his eyes to sleep.
Mickey watched him as he slept, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leaned in and kissed Ian's forehead once more before allowing himself to succumb to sleep.
No, he'd never felt better.