A/N: Just wanted to say that the italics mean that this is a dream, and everything else that is normal writing is what's going on in the real world. So things will change without warning through the dream. Enjoy.

"Oh Christ, Mick." He moaned, face familiarly buried into the Mickey's back. The ex-con's face was buried into Ian's pillow, breathing in the red head's scent. Ian's nails were digging into Mickey's hips, as if they were long overdue to leave a mark.

Ian moved in and out of Mickey like their lives depended on it. It was like they needed to keep going as roughly as they could just to keep breathing.

Mickey's back was covered with bite marks that were newly made, Ian's neck covered with them as well, along with scratches on his arms from when they first started. Both boys' moans got louder as they got closer to climaxing.

"Shit, Gallagher!" The ex-con yelled as Ian hit that special spot, making Mickey's nerves explode with pleasure. Ian slowed down his thrusting, turning Mickey's head and pressing their lips together.

"I don't want to stop…" The red head whispered against his mouth.

Mickey wanted to tell him not to, but the words didn't get a chance to come out. Both boys arched, Mickey into Ian's chest, and came with the cry of each other's names. The ex-con fell limp against the bed as Firecrotch collapsed on top of him.

"So much for not stopping…" Ian muttered against his chest. Mickey wrapped an arm around Ian, brushing his fingers against the warm soft skin. He missed feeling this.

"Maybe next time, Firecrotch." Mickey stared at the ceiling, never wanting this to end.

"I love you." Ian whispered.

After a moment of silence, the ex-con opened his mouth to speak.

"I lo—"

Suddenly, the scene changed. He was standing in an airport. There were dozens of families around him, all excited and already crying though no one's come out to greet them yet.

Mickey found himself feeling nervous. He didn't do this type of shit, it made him feel faggy. At least he didn't have tears or flowers.

The doors finally opened, letting loose a grouping of soldiers, each searching for their own family. There were childish squeals around him, couples kissing. But so far, he was standing there alone.

"You actually came." A deep voice spoke behind him, causing Mickey to jump and whirl around, punching Gallagher's arm.

"Fucking asshole." Mickey glared, then shifted and rubbed his bottom lip. "Yeah, I came. Don't get too excited."

Ian grinned, snaking a hand to the back of Mickey's head and bringing their lips together. In response, Mickey gripped his arms tightly to never let go. When they pulled back, Mickey bit down on his bottom lip.

"Do that again and I'll make you regret it." Mickey whacked Ian's arm again, making the red head laugh and drape an arm around his shoulders knowing it'd annoy him.

"It's good to be home."

"It better fucking be. Making me wait around like some doting housewife for the past four years. I should make you choke on a fucking roast or somethin." Mickey muttered.

"Aw, but who would you go to for a fuck? Angie?" Ian laughed.

"Don't tempt me. There's plenty I can find." Mickey grumbled as he unlocked the car. He took Ian's duffel bag and tossed it into the back and got in, waiting for Firecrotch to get in the passenger seat.

"Oh really now?" Ian shifted so his whole body faced Mickey, amusement clear in his eyes.

"You don't believe me?" Mickey asked as he started the car. The red head leaned forward and rested his lips against Mickey's ear.

"I'm the best fuck you've had. You wouldn't trade down." Ian whispered before pulling back with a smirk. Mickey's face reddened slightly, forcing his focus on driving rather than the new hard on Ian was making appear.

"Best fuck? You wish." He muttered, not even bothering to put any conviction into it. Driving home with Gallagher was the best feeling, seeing that shit eating grin for the first time in years and hearing Firecrotch try to sing along with the radio. You'd never think they were apart.

As Mickey opened his mouth to say something, the cars seemed to stop suddenly in front of him, making the ex-con slam on his and swerve before the car jerked, unable to move. Before he had the chance to fix it, a car that hadn't stopped came barreling forward, making impact.

Then Mickey found himself in dirt and sand, the cars no longer around him. He wasn't in Chicago anymore.

Sitting up, he could hear explosions and gunshots, and most of all the shouting of orders in both English and some foreign language he would never try to learn. The sun beat down on him in such an unforgiving way, and there was nothing to see but sand, dirt, dead grass, and little hills.

Mickey stood carefully, looking around even more. He walked towards the hills, freezing when he saw what they hid. So this was it. This was where Firecrotch has been all the time.

There were men with guns everywhere; some dressed in Army uniform while the rest were dressed in shit Mickey had only seen in movies. There were Humvees and launchers, it was like seeing a full out war movie in front of his eyes.

At the sound of nearby gunshots, Mickey ducked, as if that'd help him, though they weren't shooting his way at all. He could see clusters of men and women as medics helped injured or looked at the dead. His eyes locked on a tuff on red hair, but relief arrived for only a moment as he saw it wasn't Gallagher.

With shaky legs, the ex-con stood.

"Gallagher! Gallagher!" Mickey began shouting over and over, running through the chaos, determined.

Pushing and shoving men running in his way, he kept shouting, until finally he heard a shout back.

"Mickey?!"

Mickey whirled around to find Gallagher standing there, eyes wide in horror and surprise. He couldn't help but smile in relief he found his red head, but slowly it faded. Ian slowly stumbled toward him, blood leaving his body from three different bullet holes.

Gallagher collapsed into the ex-con, who quickly fell to his knees with him, holding tightly.

"Fuck, no, Gallagher, hold on. Don't fucking die on me you son of a bitch." The words stumbled from Mickey's mouth as the red head stared up at him, giving him a weak grin.

"It's okay, Mick. You were right." A bloody hand cupped Mickey's cheek. "Just remember. We're gay, and we love each other…" The hand started to fall, but Mickey wouldn't let it, holding the hand against his own cheek. He watched as the last of Gallagher's light disappeared, until he was kneeling there holding what used to be Ian Gallagher.

"You fucking asshole." He whispered. "I love you too."

Mickey jerked awake, surging so that he was sitting up. He was drenched in sweat, and he was breathing as if he'd just run five blocks from the cops.

He rubbed his face, and then looked around to find himself still in the Gallagher house, still lying in Firecrotch's old bed. And by the looks of it, it was still late at night. Liam and Carl were both still asleep in the bunks.

"Just a fucking miserable dream." Mickey whispered to himself.

Mickey quietly got out of the bed and walked to the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself. Flicking the lights on, the ex-con just stared at his reflection, trying to understand what he just felt.

It was just a fucking dream. No, a fucking nightmare. It started like a dream, that was for sure. He looked down at his hipbones, pushing the sweats down a little lower. Nope, they were the same faded scars. Yet he could still feel Gallagher's touch everywhere. His skin felt like it was burning.

He'd never been more scared now of Ian fighting in this war. Oh, sorry, it's a "conflict" a fucking long ass one that involves war-like activity. And his Gallagher was in the middle of it.

If Ian doesn't come back…

Well, Mickey knew what he'd do on his part.