The next morning, Mickey's eyes fluttered open to find Ian adorably nuzzling and sprinkling kisses on his neck. "What're you doing?" he grumbled, reaching up to dig his fingers in Ian's hair.
"Tryin' to get frisky," Ian whispered, not wanting to wake his sleeping brothers.
"Can we get frisky a little later, please? I'm tryna sleep," Mickey groused. "It's not even fuckin' light outside yet." He let out a chuckle as Ian playfully nosed at his neck. "What time is it, anyway?"
"Time for you to stop talking," Ian whispered hotly against Mickey's ear. He grabbed Mickey's hand and guided it down under the blanket to allow Mickey to feel his hard dick pressing against his sweatpants. "See how hard you make me?" he murmured. "You make me so fuckin' hard, Mick."
Mickey licked his lips as he stroked Ian's dick through his sweats. "Jesus, man, this fuckin' cock," he breathed before turning his head and capturing Ian's lips in a searing kiss.
Ian groaned his approval into Mickey's mouth and shifted onto his back, pulling Mickey halfway on top of him.
Mickey continued kissing him lazily as he ran his hand along Ian's bare torso, his fingers feathering over his chest and abs before slipping his hand under the waistband of Ian's sweats. "This what you want, huh?" he asked against Ian's lips. "My hand wrapped around your cock?"
Ian arched his back and gasped into Mickey's mouth as he stroked him.
"Feel good?" Mickey asked as he flicked his wrist and rounded his palm over the tip of Ian's dick.
"So fuckin' good," Ian said before Mickey's mouth was back on his, their tongues tangling as Mickey jerked him off.
"Love makin' you come," Mickey muttered into the kiss. "Love how fuckin' wrecked you get."
Ian clung to him and trembled as the kiss deepened.
Mickey swallowed Ian's gasps and moans as he stroked him vigorously from base to tip, flicking his wrist the way he knew Ian loved. He didn't pull back from the kiss or slow his strokes until Ian came in his hand. He gave a few more flicks of his wrist until Ian was practically whimpering beneath him. He pulled back and smirked down at him. "You good?" he asked, a bit smugly.
"Yeah," Ian choked, his eyes still closed. "Mm-hm, yep, all good."
"Good," Mickey said with a grin as he wiped his hand off on the side of the bed. "Can I go back to sleep now, please?"
"Yeah, you do that," Ian said before leaning up to peck him softly on the lips. "I'm gonna go take a shower. I'm all sticky now."
Mickey murmured a response as he relaxed against the pillows, his eyes drooping.
Ian watched for a few beats as Mickey slept, tracing his nose, cheekbone, and jawline with the tips of his fingers before leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. He then crawled out of bed and headed to the bathroom for that much-needed shower.
After his shower, Ian poked his head into the bedroom, finding Mickey still sound asleep with the pillow clutched protectively to his chest.
He still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Mickey was there, in his house, sleeping in his bed with witnesses around. He knew it was a huge deal in Mickey's eyes, and he knew it meant something important. They had yet to discuss what that something important was, but he was intent not to rush anything. He didn't want to push Mickey while everything was still so new and fragile.
He smiled to himself as he watched Mickey for a few seconds more, his heart fluttering in his chest, before pulling the door shut and making his way down to the kitchen to get coffee.
Fiona was at the counter, getting the kids' bagged lunches ready for school. She glanced up and smiled at him. "Hey, you're up early. You usually don't get up until seven on school days."
Ian knew his sister would rather not hear about the handjob Mickey had given him, so he said, "Couldn't sleep." He walked around the counter, pulled Fiona close, and pressed a kiss to her temple.
"The hell was that for?" she asked, looking pleased with the sweet gesture.
"I know I've been a miserable little shit these past couple weeks," he explained as he reached into a cupboard for a coffee mug. "Wanted to say sorry."
"It's okay, we all have our moments," she said, a delicate smile still on her face. "You seem to be in a good mood now, though?"
"Uh-huh."
"I'm guessin' Mickey has a lot to do with that?" she asked after a few beats, her tone careful.
After pouring his coffee, Ian turned and rested his butt against the counter. "Uh-huh," he answered tentatively, not knowing if he was ready for that conversation so early in the morning.
Fiona seemed to take a moment to process his answer before saying, "Be careful, okay?"
Ian sighed against the rim of his mug; he definitely wasn't ready for that conversation. "Fiona."
"I'm not sayin' any of this to get under your skin, I'm saying it because I love you, and I worry about you," she said, her eyes full of emotion. "Just be careful with Mickey. We don't want you gettin' hurt again. I know you don't wanna hear it, but given the circumstances of what brought you together in the first place—"
"I think he might love me," Ian mumbled, cutting her off.
Fiona was quiet for a beat before asking, "Has he said that?"
"No," he answered while rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding her eyes. "But I don't think he has to."
After a stretch of silence, Fiona reached up and touched his cheek. "I hope he does. I really hope he does. Just remember, he's still a Milkovich."
Ian watched as she went back to packing the bagged lunches, his good mood suddenly shattered.
Ian and Mickey hid behind a thick oak tree as they kissed.
Ian knew he was already late for his first-period class, but he wasn't about to turn down free kisses as long as Mickey was willing to dish them out.
"I really have to go, Mick," Ian breathed, breaking away from the hungry kiss and pressing his forehead to Mickey's.
"Can't you ditch again today? Who needs school, anyway?" Mickey asked before leaning in to capture Ian's swollen bottom lip between his teeth. He ran his tongue against it teasingly, causing Ian to grin into the kiss, which in turn caused Mickey to smile.
"Can't," Ian murmured.
Mickey pulled back a bit and ran his fingers through Ian's hair from the top of his head down to the nape of his neck. He pulled him in for another deep kiss. "Get back here," he muttered right before their lips met.
Their tongues tangled slowly as they both moaned inside each other's mouths, neither of them able to get enough of the other.
Eventually, Ian forced himself to pull away, backing up a few inches only to have Mickey chase him with his mouth. He laughed as he pressed a hand to Mickey's chest. "I seriously have to go, Mick. I already skipped school yesterday, remember?"
"I vaguely remember there being a couch."
Ian smirked before continuing, "I'm finally startin' to get my grades back to where they used to be."
Mickey gripped his way down Ian's biceps and slid his hands down Ian's forearms before linking their fingers together. "Alright, fuck," he relented. "You gonna meet me after school, at the field like we talked about?"
"I'll be there."
"Better be," Mickey said, trailing his eyes down the length of Ian's body as he reluctantly stepped away, their hands still linked until they were forced to break apart.
Ian kept walking backward, a grin slowly spreading across his face.
Mickey smiled back, feeling like a complete and total fucking idiot but not giving a shit at the moment. He was allowing himself to be happy for once.
Iggy walked into the Milkovich house and halted in his tracks when he found his father sitting on the couch staring straight ahead at nothing, with a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand. He could tell the old man was blitzed out and in a daze. That couldn't be good.
"You okay, Pops?" Iggy asked, afraid of the answer.
Terry said nothing at first. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a swig. "I'm gonna need your help with something, son."
Iggy nodded, always eager and willing to please his father. "Absolutely, you know I'm on it. We goin' on a run? Should I get my luger?"
Terry turned his bloodshot eyes on Iggy. "You know your brother's been screwin' that ranga Gallagher kid?"
Iggy went stock-still, suddenly forgetting how to breathe. The venom in his father's voice was enough to send a chill down his spine. He'd had a feeling that something was going on between Mickey and Gallagher, but he hadn't known for sure. The fact that his father was privy to that information meant something seriously fucked up was about to go down, and he had unknowingly agreed to go along with it.
"Your brother's a fuckin' queer," Terry snarled. "How 'bout that?"
Iggy stood still, his heart racing, not knowing what to say.
Terry stood up suddenly. "Come on," he growled as he headed towards the door. "We have a redheaded fairy to round up. We're gonna finish what we fuckin' started."
Ian was casually walking down the street, his good mood unwavering.
It was an unseasonably warm day out for December in Chicago, and it was a rare day that he didn't have ROTC right after school. He couldn't wait to get home, shower, and meet up with Mickey at the baseball field. As he thought about Mickey, he hung his head and smiled, feeling happier than he had in a long time.
He was wearing earbuds that were blasting Five Finger Death Punch into his head as he walked, so he didn't see or hear the Milkovich beater slowly roll up behind him. He didn't hear the sound of a door opening, or the heavy footsteps briskly coming up behind him.
Suddenly, a large calloused hand covered his mouth, and a strong arm was tugging him backward as he struggled with everything in him to break free. Before he could even comprehend what was happening to him, he was being tossed carelessly into a trunk of a car.
The last thing he saw before the darkness surrounded him was Terry Milkovich's menacing face leering down at him.
Mickey checked his watch (or rather - Ian's watch) for the third time and sighed in irritation; Ian should have met him at the baseball field over twenty-five minutes ago. He cursed under his breath and gulped down his beer, vowing to get Ian a fucking cell phone the first chance he could get his hands on some extra cash.
"Fuck," Ian cursed as he wildly looked around in the darkness, feeling around for a latch to get himself out. The car was an older model, so he doubted there was any. They had been driving for a good ten minutes, and the more time it took to get to wherever the hell Mickey's dad was taking him, the more terrified and hopeless he felt.
He was crying, his whole body shaking with fear as he desperately clawed and kicked at the trunk. He then stilled when the car suddenly jerked to a stop. He sucked in a deep breath and waited, his heart pounding in his ears. He heard two doors slam shut and the sounds of footsteps crunching on gravel getting closer.
His eyes widened as soon as the trunk opened. Before he could react, Terry grabbed him roughly and tugged him out of the trunk before throwing him carelessly to the ground. He gasped in pain as the toe of a boot cracked against his ribs, sending a searing pain straight down his side.
"Pick the fag up and let's go!" Terry ordered gruffly to his accomplice, and they heaved Ian off the ground.
It was the middle of December, so it was already getting dark out even though it was barely five o'clock. Ian numbly lifted his head to take in his surroundings, only glimpsing water and docked boats before he was being lugged into a rundown boathouse.
"Put him over there," Terry ordered. "Cuff his ass up."
After being pushed carelessly into a metal chair, Terry's accomplice forced Ian to bring his hands behind his back, and they fastened his wrists together with handcuffs that were closed too tight. Ian lifted his head to find that it was Iggy who was doing his father's dirty work, that time.
Iggy and Ian locked eyes for a beat before the Milkovich brother glanced away, his Adam's apple visibly bobbing.
Ian then quickly shifted his gaze to find Terry suddenly advancing on him. Without warning, Terry punched him so hard in the gut that he couldn't suck in air to breathe for a good half a minute as he doubled over in excruciating pain.
"You and your daddy thought you could get one over on me, did you, faggot?" Terry asked gruffly as he grabbed Ian's hair and tugged his head back roughly to force Ian to look up at him. "You thought you could just run off with my boy, disobey and disrespect me, come back with the money, and that everything would magically go away?"
Ian whimpered when Terry tugged his head back even harder, feeling as if his scalp was on fire and afraid his neck would snap.
"Then I come to find out you and my boy have been faggin' it up with each other." Terry bent down, still gripping Ian's hair so he could whisper in his ear. "Well, that ends today, you pole-smoking queer. I'm gonna make sure of that." He let go of Ian's hair with a hard push to his head and straightened up to turn to Iggy, who was standing awkwardly off to the side, his face pale and eyes downcast.
"Get the word out to Frank," Terry ordered. "He has until midnight tonight to get me ten grand or his fairy son here is gettin' a bullet to the brain like he should have weeks ago."
Ian breathed out an exasperated puff of air, dropped his chin to his chest, and squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body trembling and tears rolling hotly down his cheeks.
After contacting Colin to get the word out to Frank, Iggy hung up the phone with a shaky hand and looked over towards the Gallagher kid.
From what he'd gathered from the few times he had encountered the guy, Ian Gallagher seemed like a halfway decent kid; obviously, his brother was fond of him. He knew, deep down, that Gallagher didn't deserve any of it. Still, there was nothing he could do to change it; he had to do what he was told.
"Word's gettin' out to Frank," Iggy told his father dejectedly.
"Good," Terry said. "Now call your asshole brother. I'm gonna need him here for this."
"But Colin's out lookin' for Frank…"
"Not Colin, you goddamn moron," Terry snapped. "Mickey. Get him down here. I have plans for him, too."
Iggy saw Ian's head shoot up out of the corner of his eye, and he swallowed the large lump in his throat, hesitating for only a few beats before reluctantly dialing Mickey's number.
Ian was almost an hour late, and Mickey was getting pissed off.
"Christ, Ian, what the fuck," he grumbled to himself as he finished off his fourth beer and angrily crushed the can.
Just as he was about to give up and head to the Gallagher house to see if Ian had forgotten their plans, and fully intending to kick his fucking ass if he had, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He rushed to answer it, his shoulders slumping when he saw it was his asshole brother.
"Yeah?"
"Hey, Mick."
"The fuck do you want?" Mickey groused. "I'm busy."
"We're, uh, we're out at that abandoned boathouse out at Burnham Harbor," Iggy started. "You know, that place where we took that guy that one time and messed him up pretty bad?"
"Okay," Mickey drawled irritably, his eyes scanning the perimeter of the field for any sign of Ian. "The fuck are you doin' out there?"
There was a tense pause before Iggy delivered the words that knocked the breath out of Mickey and sent him dashing into action.
"He's got Ian, Mick."
Ian stared blankly at the wooden floorboards, his head, ribs, and neck throbbing in pain. The tears had finally stopped flowing, leaving his face damp and sticky. He sat frozen, afraid to move or look up, afraid to even breathe.
"Send me the Russian," Terry snapped into his phone, keeping his gun aimed at Ian the entire time. "I'm out at Burnham Harbor. I'll have my boy meet her outside… and tell her to hurry her perky ass up." Once he hung up, he walked to Ian, gripped his chin roughly, and forced him to meet his eyes. "My boy's on his way. I have a little surprise for both of you." He grinned maliciously and patted Ian's cheek hard.
Ian lifted his wet eyes when Terry turned his back, daring to sneak a look at Iggy, who glanced away before their eyes could meet. He could tell Iggy was having serious issues with all of it, but he seemed just as terrified of his father as Mickey was.
After ten minutes of eerie silence, Terry's phone buzzed. He answered with a gruff, "Hello? Good." He hung up and looked at Iggy. "The whore's here, bring her inside."
Ian's eyebrows furrowed, wondering why Terry would call for a prostitute. Suddenly, everything began falling into place in his head, and his stomach churned at the very thought. "No," he said disbelievingly, the word falling from his lips inaudibly. He then watched with a heavy heart and a sick stomach as Iggy and a tall, leggy brunette returned a minute later.
"Ah, Svetlana," Terry announced in a jovial tone, his eyes leering as he creepily eyed her up and down. "Punctual as always. That's why you're my favorite. I have an important job for you."
The woman stared blankly at a battered and tethered Ian; she was no doubt wondering what the hell she'd gotten herself into.
"No. No, please," Ian finally said, his voice coming out cracked and hollow. "Please, you can't do this! You can't!" he begged, crying openly again. "Please don't do this! Don't do this to him! He's your fuckin' kid!"
"Who said you could fucking speak!" Terry roared, stalking over to Ian and pistol-whipping him without warning.
The last thing Ian heard was Svetlana crying out in shock, and Iggy yelling 'fuck!' before everything went black.
Mickey had never been so scared for someone else in his life. His mind was blank, focused solely on getting to Ian. Not wanting to waste time finding a car or hopping on the L, he tore through town, running as fast as his legs could take him. He had tears streaming down his face as he ran, pure terror gripping at his heart. He knew the sick shit his father was capable of; he'd seen it plenty of times with his own two eyes. He could only hope Ian was still in one piece by the time he got to him.
Once he reached the marina, he raced towards the boathouse at the far end, the one tucked away out of view of the main street, far from anyone's eyes. In the dead of winter, it really was the perfect place to keep someone hostage, he thought with a sick stomach.
When he entered the boathouse, still running and gasping for air, he stopped dead in his tracks at what he saw before him. He barely registered his father, brother, and a strange woman watching him; his eyes were fixed on Ian.
He sucked in a shaky breath and blinked back tears as he took in the sight of Ian tethered to the chair. He sat chin to chest, with an ugly gash at his temple, and his face covered in blood.
"About time your ass showed up," Terry griped. "We were about to start without you."
"Pops!" Mickey wailed, his eyes still glued on Ian. He wanted nothing more than to run over to Ian and scoop him up in his arms, but he knew that was impossible. "Look, I don't know what this is about, alright, but we got you the money!" he exclaimed desperately as he finally dared to look at his father. "We gave you the fucking money!"
"You watch your fuckin' tone with me!" Terry bellowed before pointing the gun at his own son. "Forget the fuckin' money! Why don't we discuss how the two of you have been screwing each other in the asses like a couple of fuckin' queers!"
Mickey recoiled and sucked in a sharp inhale at his father's words.
Terry took in Mickey's reaction and lowered his gun, a look of pure disgust on his face. "So, it's true. You've been takin' it up the ass like some fuckin' fairy?"
"Dad," Mickey began again, his voice broken and desperate.
Terry turned the gun on Ian again and cocked it. "I should kill your little boyfriend right fuckin' now."
"Dad, no! Dad!" Mickey shouted desperately, his voice wrecked. "Please! Hold on a fuckin' second! Don't hurt him, alright? We can… We can talk about this!"
"Look at you," Terry spat, his face screwed up in revulsion. "Protectin' your little faggot boyfriend. You make me sick." He lowered the gun and looked over at the woman standing in the corner, her face stark white, and her wet eyes downcast. "I ain't gonna kill your pansy boyfriend yet," he snarled. "I need him to see somethin' first."
Mickey's wet eyes shot to the woman standing in the corner of the room. He then looked back at his father, his eyes widening.
"Svetlana, get over here," Terry ordered with a jerk of his gun before looking back at Mickey. "I got you a little present, boy. No son of mine is gonna be a goddamn queer." He walked over to Ian and yanked his head up by his hair. "She's gonna fuck the gay outta you, kid," he said to Mickey. "Your boyfriend's gonna watch, and you're gonna like it."
"Jesus fucking Christ," Mickey breathed, feeling like he'd gotten punched in the chest when he saw Ian's blood-streaked face.
As Terry tugged harshly on his hair, Ian slowly came to, his eyes blinking rapidly, and his face crumpling in pain. "Wake up, kid! Don't want you to miss the show. It's gonna be a good one."
"Ian," Mickey said despite himself. He watched as Ian's eyes darted slowly around the room before eventually landing on him. His chest heaved with emotion, and his eyes brimmed with tears as he stared back into those scared, hopeless green eyes, knowing there was nothing he could do to protect him, that time.
Terry turned towards Svetlana. "Strip," he ordered. As the woman began moving inertly, he waved the gun towards Mickey and said, "I want you to fuck the faggot outta him." He then looked down at Ian before gripping his chin and forcing his head back, "You're gonna watch."
Ian groaned something unintelligible, which caused Terry to smirk and slap his cheek before stepping away.
Mickey stared at his father at that moment, no longer seeing a man but a monster. He shook his head profusely and took a step back as the woman pulled off her slinky black dress as told. "No. Pops, don't fuckin' do this, please!"
"Lay down on the fuckin' ground and enjoy it like a man, you pussy!"
"Dad, no," Mickey pleaded.
Terry took a determined step towards Ian and pressed the barrel of the gun against Ian's temple. "Do it now. Don't make me say it again!"
"Fuck, please! There has to be a better fucking way! I… I'll stay away from him. I won't see him anymore!" Mickey begged desperately, choking on his sobs, and watched as his father strode over to him. Just as he was about to open his mouth, his father punched him hard in the face, causing him to gasp and double over, spitting blood onto the floor.
"I fuckin' warned you, kid," Terry snarled before aiming the gun at Ian again. "Say goodbye to your boyfriend."
"No!" Mickey cried out in sheer desperation.
Two shots fired in quick succession.
Mickey felt as if he was watching everything happen in slow motion.
One bullet hit Ian square in the left shoulder, blood immediately soaking through the green hoodie he was wearing.
"No, no, no, no," Mickey muttered in disbelief as he stood up on wobbly legs. He watched as his father fell to his knees in front of him, clutching at his side. He didn't think too much about that and quickly ran to Ian's side.
"Fuck! Ian!" he yelled. He mindlessly tossed his cell phone toward the naked prostitute. "Call 911! Now!" He ran behind Ian and found that they'd bound him with handcuffs and not rope, like the last time. His head shot up to look toward his shell-shocked brother. "Iggy! Key! Give me the goddamn key!" When Iggy didn't immediately react, he bellowed, "Now, fuckhead!"
Iggy stood stock-still, staring blankly down at his father, who was writhing on the ground in excruciating pain, blood pooling out and around his side. He then shook himself from his stunned reverie and flew into action to hand a distraught Mickey the key to the handcuffs.
"I shot him, Mick," Iggy said, sounding weak and disoriented. "I shot Pops. I tried to stop him. I tried to fuckin' stop him—"
Mickey wasn't listening.
"Hold on, Ian," he pleaded as he frantically fumbled with the key and handcuffs with trembling hands. "Hold on for me, you fuckin' hear me!"
Finally, after what seemed like way too long, he got Ian's hands uncuffed. He carefully eased Ian down onto the floor with him and cradled him between his legs, holding Ian back against his chest as he desperately placed his hands over Ian's gunshot wound, pressing down as hard as he could to stop the excessive bleeding as much as he could.
"Stay with me, Ian. Hang on," he mumbled as he rocked Ian gently. He cried and whispered unheard words of encouragement against Ian's ear as he heard sirens wailing in the distance. "Don't leave me…"