Epilogue

Ian's moan echoed across the pitch as he came. Flushed, he loosened his grip on Mickey's waist.

"Well. That was different," he half-laughed, as his heart-rate started to level out again.

Mickey was still breathing hard from exertion. "Yeah." He rubbed the hand that wasn't holding himself up over his face, wiping off the sweat and flicking it away, droplets splattering over the second-base plate.

"This doesn't make me your bitch now. Just so you know," Ian said with as much post-orgasm mocking as he could muster, as Mickey pulled out.

Mickey playfully punched him in the stomach, causing Ian to double up, laughing, as Mickey rolled away, pulling off the condom and slinging it.

"Just 'cause I prefer not to do it, doesn't mean I never do," he said, lighting up a cigarette and taking a drag.

"Oh I know," Ian nodded, "I remember that first time." He reached and took the cigarette from Mickey's mouth, a smile forming at how Mickey just let him take it now - no complaints when his fingers grazed Mickey's lips.

"Oh yeah," Mickey grinned wide at the memory. "You were definitely my bitch that day!"

Blowing out a stream of smoke, Ian rolled over to face Mickey. "You wish, Milkovich!"

He poked Mickey in the side. Mickey flinched and let out a distinctly unmanly yelp. Both men laughed as they wrestled with each other.

Ian threw the cigarette aside and pinned Mickey beneath him, latching his teeth into the soft part of Mickey's neck where it joined his shoulder. Mickey let out a hiss and tilted his head back to let Ian get better access.

Ian sucked a mark into Mickey's skin, "Now you're mine." He murmured against the bruise.

Mickey took hold of Ian's hair pulling him up to kiss him, and even though he was the smaller of the two, he managed to flip them so he was on top. He licked into Ian's mouth for a moment, tasting.

Gripping Ian's face gently with his tattooed hand he tilted his jaw upwards and nipped lightly along Ian's jawline. As he did so, he glanced at the "FUCK" on his knuckles and recalled telling Ian once before that he was fucked for life. It was true. He had been completely fucked as soon as Ian Gallagher had come barging into his bedroom with a tire iron. Once he was in your system, there was no getting him out and there was nothing Mickey would or could change about it. Fucked for life, but in the best possible way.

He moved his head down to Ian's neck, pressing kisses to the skin there at which point the kiss was interrupted by a low chuckle erupting from low in Ian's throat.

"Way to spoil the romance, Gallagher." Mickey huffed, pulling back.

Something in that sentence made Ian start to laugh harder.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?"

Between bouts of near-hysterics, Ian managed to get out, "I think I just saw a shooting star!" his voice laced with a sort of sarcastic glee.

"What are you talking about?" Mickey looked pissed as he lit up another cigarette, and took a long drag.

Still heaving with laughter, Ian pointed down at what they were lying on.

When they'd arrived at the baseball pitch – for old times' sake - Ian had brought the beers and Mickey had brought condoms, lube, his attitude... and a blanket.

Mickey looked down at the moth-eaten graying blanket, that was ruched up beneath them. "Yeah? So? You think I'm getting down on my knees on the home plate without something under them, you got another thing coming- what is so fuckin' funny?!"

Ian was laughing so hard now that tears were actually starting to spill onto his cheeks. Mickey took another drag from his cigarette and pitched it away, sparks flying, then he clambered over Ian's body, straddling him and pinning him down.

"Tell me, Gallagher, before I fuckin' force it out of you."

Ian's laughter subsided, and after a few deep breaths to compose himself, he asked, "You don't remember then?"

"Remember what?" Mickey sat back on his heels.

Doing his best impression of Mickey, Ian said "'You wanna spread out a blanket and look for shooting stars?'" He was smiling now, waiting for Mickey to respond.

A slow, smug grin of recollection spread across Mickey's face. "Over there, right?" He pointed over his shoulder toward the dugout.

Ian nodded, "Right after you made me shotgun that beer with you, and I almost choked on the foam."

"Oh yeah." Mickey sniggered, "Then I made you choke on something else, right?"

"Jesus Mickey, you're still so disgusting!" Ian laughed, his blush obvious even in the darkness.

"You still love it," Mickey replied, still smirking, "I think we've proved that much." He flicked one of Ian's ears which were now as red as his face.

Ian couldn't disagree, "Yeah okay, I guess some things don't change."

"Well, now you see, Ian, that's not true." Mickey was serious now, leaning over Ian again, holding himself up on his forearms, their faces level. He looked into Ian's eyes. "A lot can change when you get something back that you thought you'd never have again."

"Yeah, you got that right." Ian replied, and wrapping his hand around Mickey's neck, he pulled their mouths together.

fin