The air was stale in the backroom of the store. Every time he breathed in, all he could taste was dust and cigarettes; but underneath that if anyone bothered to try and find it, there was the smell of come and sweat. And if someone really focussed, they would be able to smell hints of lime body wash and cheap shampoo.

Splayed flat on the floor with his legs hooked over Ian's hips and his ankles locked at the base of his spine, Mickey pressed his face into the side of Ian's neck and in between pants drew that faint smell of lime into his lungs, held it there until he didn't think he'd ever be able to forget it. The dust was kicked up and swirling around them and the tiny room was filled with the sounds of grunts and low moans, choked off by teeth clamping down onto flesh and faces pressed against skin.

This was one of their rare moments where Mickey could almost let himself think that maybe they wouldn't be so bad at the whole couples shit. They talked. They'd been talking before this while they waited for Linda to go off to a doctor's appointment, something even she couldn't avoid given how pregnant she was. So they were left alone and it was one of their stolen moments and it wasn't beautiful, it was messy and raw and a little bit disgusting given the smell in the backroom and all the dust, but neither of them were going to be picky.

Ian had his hands under Mickey's back, pulling them close together as he pounded into Mickey over and over again, his hips snapping forwards and hitting a place inside of the ex-con that made him want to scream. He didn't, but that didn't mean that he didn't want to. Ian's cheek was pressed against Mickey's temple and he was panting in his ear, occasionally muttering words that only turned Mickey on more. Like that was even possible.

And a part of him thought he should complain, because this wasn't what he thought of when he thought of people fucking. It wasn't what he wanted, or at least it wasn't what he told himself he wanted. This wasn't a nameless fuck, this wasn't meaningless. Even Mickey could acknowledge that; because who the hell fucked someone like this when they meant nothing to each other.

There was only so much that Mickey could lie, even to himself.

"Fuck Mick," Ian choked out when Mickey's teeth clamped down on his shoulder, biting hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to muffle the moan that bubbled up out of his throat.

It felt like Ian was fucking breaking him. It felt like he was shattering a piece of Mickey with every single thrust. Like he was just adding fuel to that fire that had always seemed to burn underneath Mickey's skin. And when Ian shifted his hips just slightly and started hitting his prostate with every goddamn thrust, Mickey was pretty sure that he was seeing stars being his tightly closed eyelids.

And if he smiled against Ian's neck, so what, it wasn't like anyone could see him do it.

He dug his broken, ragged nails into Ian's back, scratched along his spine, clutching at flesh to try and find some sort of purchase. They'd taken advantage of the fact they were completely alone, locked in that little room. Normally it was just a matter of pushing down their pants, but right then they were completely naked. All that Mickey could feel was the hard, cold floor pressed against his back and the rest of him was blanketed by Ian's hot flesh. Flesh that was slick with sweat Mickey's come because the kid was a fucking overachiever and he was already forcing Mickey on towards his second orgasm.

And it was too soon, it was far too fucking soon even though he knew that they'd been going like this for a while now. He didn't have much concept of time, especially not when Ian was grinding his hips down against Mickey's ass and Mickey's dick was rubbing against the coarse hair of Ian's happy trail. It could have been days, it could have been minutes. Right then he didn't give a shit.

All he cared about was the dick sliding in and out of his ass, brushing against his prostate, slamming against it now. All he cared about was the flesh he could dig his teeth and nails into, that he could grab at and hold onto because if he didn't he thought he might just slip through the cracks in the earth. Mickey had always been broken, he'd always been incomplete, but there was just something about Ian Gallagher that seemed to pick up all of the pieces and paste him back together, even as he tore him apart in a completely new way.

He made Mickey feel, which wasn't a good concept, but he couldn't run from it even if he tried. And God, he'd tried. He'd run from it, run from Ian, but in the end he always came looping back around to the redhead. He always ended up right back where he'd started, where he wanted to be, with Ian between his thighs and his heartbeat pounding against Mickey's chest frantically.

Hell, who the fuck was he kidding, the only thing he cared about completely was in this room. Family didn't count, or at least Mandy didn't count. He was obligated to care about her, to love her. Doing that was easy. Mickey liked easy, he liked simple things. And yet, Ian Gallagher was anything but simple. He was his sister's fake boyfriend for fuck's sake. The fake boyfriend she was blatantly in love with.

And yet, that didn't stop him. It didn't stop Mickey from barrelling on towards the end, towards that cliff that he was inevitably going to fall off of. He was going too fast, always had been. He was going to fast with nowhere to go at all and eventually, he was just doomed to crash. He was doomed to collide and this was all doomed to end. He'd faced that fact a long time ago. Did he like that fact? No. No he didn't. Not that he'd say so ever.

But the way Mickey figured it was that he was fucked for life anyway. He was destined to live short and fast, so he might as well enjoy this while he could. He just had to make sure he was the only one who knew about what was going on inside his head, otherwise he was going to tumble over that cliff early. Far too early.

Ian's hips jerked inside him and his moan was low and guttural as he licked a stripe up the side of Mickey's neck for no reason at all. His rhythm stuttered and faded out, disappearing until it was replaced by erratic, jerky thrusts. He could feel the moment when Ian came, knew with the way that he tensed up, his spine snapping straight as his head tipped back. He moaned and his hands pressed into Mickey's back, causing him to arch up.

He breathed out Mickey's name and that, that right there was what shoved Mickey over the edge right along with him. It wasn't even a push, it was a forceful shove and it was the closest thing to perfection that Mickey was ever going to come to. His dick jerked between them, hot ribbons of his come spilling up between their stomachs, a sticky mess that practically glued them together.

They stayed like that for a while, panting against each other's flesh, too boneless to think about moving straight away. Ian was the first one to pull back, the cold air rushing in between their bodies, flooding a space that hadn't been there before. Mickey shivered.

Ian grinned down at him, overconfident and stupidly beautiful, his face flushed and his eyes shining. His skin was glistening with sweat and his lips with spit and Mickey had to look away because if he didn't, he knew he wouldn't ever be able to. But that didn't stop their eyes from meeting for a long minute and it felt like Ian was staring straight through into his soul. The guy only seemed to smile all the wider.

"Get the fuck off me then," Mickey barked, rolling his eyes, but the command came out breathless. He didn't think he could be blamed after that.

Ian just laughed and knocked their foreheads together clumsily before pulling out and standing up. Mickey shivered for a new reason, his body feeling stupid empty, a weight seeming to settle back down onto him now. Ian reached down a hand and pulled him up, smiling still at whatever he saw in Mickey's expression.

"Shut up," Mickey muttered even though Ian hadn't said a single word. But then, just like always his words were written all over his fucking face anyway. Mickey hated the fact that he supposed he was probably exactly the same.

-000-

Mickey woke up with a shuddering moan, a name on his lips that he didn't speak, because he knew that the images in his head were ones he was supposed to have forgotten. He knew they were the past, but that didn't stop him craving for one stupid minute that they could be the present.

Hands curled around his wrist, fluttered across his neck and then finally skimming over his cheek. He opened his eyes to see Tegan's wide blue eyes staring down at him. For the first time in a long time, he met someone's eyes and she just crumpled. She fell against him and curled up against his side, saying nothing, just sobbing, her tears dropping against Mickey's skin.

He'd never been a big fan of words, never knew the right ones to say and he definitely didn't then. But more to the point, he didn't need them. So he just curled the one arm that wasn't throbbing with a dull pain around Tegan's back and hugged her closer to him, letting her cling to him with weak, boneless fingers because really, he knew that the only thing they really had anymore was each other.

But what Mickey also knew, what he'd also seen in Tegan's eyes other than heartstopping, overwhelming pain and sadness, was relief. Because even with everything they'd lost, it was over. They didn't have to run anymore.