3. Warmth
It all started off with a severe snowstorm which took out the entirety of New York population. . .
At least that was what he theorized must be the case, considering there was absolutely no indication of any human being save for them, or any life form for that matter. Even the plants appeared to have given up and expired at some point in the course of the night.
He woke up that day, staggered to discover what seemed to be the heaviest blizzard of the century right outside their bedside window. He was confident of it because regardless of how much he narrowed his eyes and wished for heat vision, he couldn't spot a damn thing behind the awful lot of snow that was flurrying exterior to their bedroom. It was a complete whiteout.
While trying not to panic, he slowly unfastened himself from the fatally unyielding encirclement of his debatably agreeable companion, terrified of what might occur if the said individual woke up and bellyached and he would have to imminently do a horrible deed to him as it was the only way to terminate his own exasperation, which was terribly likely to result in himself leaving all alone in this godforsaken, dilapidated frozen planet.
Sauntering and shivering butt-naked into the living room presuming their loyal TV could bestow him some explanation as to what the hell was going on, his ill-equipped for an apocalyptic incident self supposed it was a good thing they had bought approximately ten tons of food the previous day because they were sure to be stuck inside their minuscule apartment for god knew how long as the streets were buried deep in a cosmic quantity of white and it unquestionably would take weeks before any rescue team knew there were survivors left in this underprivileged side of the city.
He curled up in a tight ball on the couch, watching the news channel's maddening pain in the ass divulging that nearly every commonsensical person in New York had departed south since yesterday's forewarning. Which warning? How come he wasn't aware of any of it? The government should not regard itself as giving a warning if its reach didn't incorporate a couple of citizens who had lost their consciousness due to numerous remorseless rounds of vigorous fucking.
"Mickey, what are you doing up in the middle of the night?" A mushily throaty voice inquired. Its owner was gradually emerging out of the bedroom, comfortably cocooned in their warm blanket.
"It's almost noon." Mickey asserted in an uproariously composed manner, glancing at his gullibly delectable Ian a bit before his eyes snapped back to the flat screen.
"It's still dark outside." Ian turned to squint out the kitchen window, then walked towards it at a snail's pace and reached his hand out.
"Don't!"
They curled up in a tight ball on their bed, insulated from the unsympathetic wintry weather by the majority of the clothes they possessed. The living room/kitchen was proved uninhabitable at the moment owing to the snow Ian managed to allow into their dwelling prior to Mickey's breakneck reaction.
"I'm sorry I created a fridge out of our apartment." Ian's words warranted puckered brows from Mickey. "Let me make us dinner."
"The fuck are you waiting for? I'm starving." Mickey uttered that while gnashing his teeth and squeezing Ian tighter. Talk about a contradiction.
"I'll be back soon, I promise." The younger guy spoke softly, kissed his dearly loved Mickey once and got off the bed.
It took a combination of two jackets, a parka, two pairs of pants and jeans, a pair of combat shoes, half a dozen gloves and mittens, and three scarves to protect Ian from the arctic precinct that was formerly their kitchen. Crestfallen by his futile attempt to plough the snow out using a pancake flipper, he now concentrated on thawing some eggs and a loaf of bread to make French toasts.
"Are you trying to trap a freaking penguin out there? Just grab the microwave and a few packs of frozen food then get your ass in here." Mickey shouted through the bedroom door, which made Ian curse at his ice-cold brain for not coming up with that idea in the first place.
They sat on the bedroom floor looking at the spinning plate glowing in front of them. Mickey, who still couldn't bother with putting on clothes, swaddled himself in an armor of blankets while Ian nestled him from behind with all his limbs. By the time their foods were done, Ian was already out of his clothes and in the blankets with Mickey, squashing the older guy in a massive hug.
He couldn't justify himself for letting Gallagher snuggle him like this but it felt. . . nice. He felt so cozy and warm and relaxed and, as much as he hated to acknowledge it, loved. He still couldn't figure out how firecrotch was able to make such a simple act so special but he found it impossible not to fall for him, not that he hadn't all these years. Thank god Gallagher couldn't read his mind. His life would be really difficult if Ian decided to hold on to him and never let go. But then again he wouldn't mind that, not in the slightest.
Ian tried his hardest to moderate his grin as his cheek was really starting to hurt. He didn't know if Mickey knew this, but the only place he had ever felt truly safe and peaceful was around Mickey. To the rest of the world, oh, screw the rest of the world. In fact, the world could go fuck itself and he wouldn't even care. Anyone else, including their family, was sure not to realize that Mickey could be fantastically affectionate when it came to him. Like now while they were eating, Mickey would lean back when he nuzzled him, push his head away from time to time to steal his bite, smirk at him with food in his mouth when he succeeded, pull a funny face when he responded with a kiss, and shove food in his mouth to make him stop laughing, he wouldn't trade any of that for the universe. He didn't know what he had done to deserve all this but he certainly wouldn't give it up, not in his lifetime.
If he could have it his way, they would stay like this forever.
A hand started toying with his nipples, followed by another grabbing onto his dick as soon as the food was gone. Then a raucously crooked voice whispered to him, "Fuck me."
Mickey turned sideways to narrow his eyes at Ian. "Make me."
Ian smiled cunningly as he relocated himself and claimed his position on Mickey's lap, securing him with his arms and legs. He then slumped to the floor on his back, hauling the older guy down with him in a mesmerizing bodily embrace, and began sucking his face while kneading their crotches together compulsively.
Mickey slid his arms under Ian's shoulder blades, lifted him up, and drove them towards the bed so that Ian's back rested against it. Then he picked the younger guy up by the ass and settled them on the mattress, not breaking their kiss at any point in the process.
After Ian coated him with some lube from the nightstand, Mickey positioned them and then leisurely pushed inside, taking pleasure from the luscious sound of Ian's moan. He had to admit fucking while being wrapped in blankets felt strangely good even though they couldn't move as freely as they normally could have.
"Oh, Mick, I-"
"I know this goes without saying, but if you say those words again, I'll reduce you to Jell-O."
Ian just beamed at him and said, "I love you, Mick." His smile grew even wider as Mickey narrowed his eyes. "That being said, I'm sure I'll make your fine Jell-O."
He loved Mickey, that was the fact, and judging from those deep, soul-crushing blue eyes that were looking into his, there was no doubt Mickey loved him too.
And for the record, Ian did make Mickey's excellent Jell-O.