I try not to think about 3x06. I mean, they just couldn't catch a break, could they? The kiss in 3x05 was long overdue, and I thought Terry was going to kill Ian in the promo. Turns out he was just calling a prostitute, but the look on Ian's face made me think he'd rather want to be killed than watching Mickey got raped. When did Mickey get this sloppy?
Another thing. I got so annoyed out of my mind when I learned that Mickey still didn't top even when he got his ass shot. And Ian didn't say a damn thing about it. Come on!
All in all, Ian should know that there is absolutely nothing wrong with asking, and Mickey sure should take more responsibility for a certain task.
5. Request
Insanity, Mickey reflected despairingly, really enjoyed his company, and did so with immense passion.
It was one thing that he had been stuck with this stupid, absurd, annoyingly optimistic maniac, probably for the rest of his fucking life (during which he wouldn't ever admit out loud that it wasn't against his will). But this? This fucking nonsense, he could not stand. And with supreme certainty he would make damn sure that firecrotch wouldn't bitch about this ever again.
[Flashback]
After a surprisingly brief shower, and, needless to say, some unavoidably extended rounds of fucking, the two of them rematerialized from their bedroom fully clad. Their neighbor's state of mind seemed to have recovered (not that he gave a fuck) and she was sitting on their couch (that he gave a slight fuck), watching their TV (the fuck he gave was growing) and eating their food (that he sure gave a goddamn big-ass fuck!).
"Welcome back, boys. Glad to see you guys dressed up properly. Hope you don't mind me making us dinner." She said smilingly, gesturing to a big bowl of some yucky slush on the coffee table. Apparently, she had taken it upon herself to raid their fridge. She then had the nerve to pat the cushion beside her as an invitation for them to sit on their own fucking couch! (The couch was mostly for fucking to be honest. In fact, every horizontal surface in their tattered apartment had been used as a fucking spot at least twice as of the very day.)
He was about to jump in and maim her when firecrotch locked an arm around his neck, steered him to the couch, hauled him down to a sitting position and simply shove a spoonful of whatever that slimy mud was into his mouth. "Not at all, Penny." Firecrotch was too polite for his own good.
Distracted by the shit-eating grin that was directed at his face, it took him over half a minute to realize that the food wasn't that bad despite its awful appearance. For all he knew, it probably was a failed attempt for spaghetti and/or gumbo, however, to his utmost surprise, that uncivilized chick could cook. Though not as good as firecrotch's cooking, it could still curdle his empty stomach and, without further ado, he gave in and started gobbling it. (To his credit, he was severely low on functioning brain cells. The last bj firecrotch gave him was very intense it used up every bit of strength in his body not to pass out. His brain almost malfunctioned for fuck's sake! It would take at least half an hour for his body to stop tingling, and more for his senses to recondition. Fuck, who would have thought firecrotch would become a certified professional dick sucker in the few years of blowing him. And he would be lying if he said he hadn't thanked every existing divine being that firecrotch had chosen him as his subject.)
Things were like that for a while. They were eating, and watching some shit on the news. Then followed slouching and chitchatting.
Then laughing.
Lots of laughing.
More shitchatting.
Until his ears threatened to fall off.
With all due honesty, he would have considered it a mercy if they had just brought out a gun and shot a big hole in his head.
Then he heard something about fixing and radiator. Next thing he knew, they were in the blond chick's apartment and firecrotch was trying (and undoubtedly failing) to repair a fucking unsophisticated piece of junk. There were lots of swearing, sighing and firecrotch cussing the damn machine for interfering with their fucking life (i.e., sex life).
Then it was all coming clear to him. All the time they could have used for fucking was wasted on the bitch that had fucking appeared out of nowhere and firecrotch was too kind to kick her out into the cold. He didn't recall much about what happened next but said bitch was thanking him for some reason shortly after that.
The last thing he remembered was being thrown to the bed and then it all went blank. His best guess was that his mind probably just shut itself down, leaving his spinal cord in control of his body for an indeterminate amount of time.
[End flashback]
And now firecrotch was moping.
Come to think of it, his vague mind started to remember being fucked and blown countless times by a ferocious creature that he supposed was firecrotch.
Okay, okay, those were outright lies. He remembered rather clearly about what happened. He just didn't want to admit that he had been acting like a mellow fucktard, all right?
Anyway, firecrotch was moping. WHY WAS HIS FUCKBUDDY MOPING WHEN THEY SHOULD BE FUCKING RIGHT THEN AND THERE? He mentally yelled, knowing firecrotch would probably hear it if he weren't too busy moping.
It wasn't even noon and he was already in a bad mood. Imagine how he felt waking up to an empty bed, dragged his sore (yet satisfied) ass to the bathroom, took a piss, washed his hands (he had some sense of hygiene, too, you know), yawned, blinked a few times, and then ran out to the living room when he realized firecrotch wasn't anywhere to be seen, only to find a naked body sprawling motionless on the couch.
His blue eyes glared into those green ones that were staring up right back at him. Those blank, emotionless, almost completely dead eyes. Firecrotch's gaze went straight through his exposed form. It would be much easier to continue the staring contest if firecrotch's arms and legs weren't spread so wide, looking so alluring with his body sunk back against that upholstered piece of furniture.
Dear fuck, firecrotch was gorgeous even while pretending to be dead. (Firecrotch could pretend all he wanted, but there was a certain part of him, namely his fire crotch, that couldn't be controlled whenever he was near him.)
Mickey felt his legs walking, his body being drawn, his hand reaching out to what used to be his enthusiastic fuckbuddy (and his own dick unavoidably getting hard).
And then he smacked Ian's head.
.oOo.
Ian was pissed. Sure, it had all been fun at first but, after a while, it just wasn't anymore. Then he felt dejected. That was why he went out to the living room and just sank himself into the couch, hoping his boyfriend would do something about the matter.
He was glad to see Mickey run out to look for him, even more so when that delicious dick greeted him. But then. . .
"Ow!" Ian cried, sitting up right. "The fuck was that for?" He ran a hand over his head, giving Mickey one of his best puppy glares, the one that looked like Mickey just cut his kidney out.
"You were moping. I tend to smack moping people out of their moping minds."
"I wasn't moping! Even if I was, I had a fucking reason for it." He shouted wholeheartedly. Anger erupted in him when Mickey acted indifferently.
"And what the fuck might that be?" His fuck of a boyfriend's twitching eye said he'd better had a good explanation.
The question stung, nonetheless. Mickey didn't even know what the fuck was wrong. "I just realized I'm living with a lazy dick!" Ian's words echoed in their small room for a brief while.
"What?" His boyfriend frowned. Goooood.
"You heard me. You are a lazy fucking dick, Mickey. You let me do all the work. I know you love being fucked and I love fucking you, as well as blowing you and other means that get you off. But my ass has an incessant need to be fucked regularly, too!" There, he finally said it out loud. And it felt great, really great. It was like all the frustration he had been keeping in for years had gotten off his chest. Don't get him wrong. He loved to top. He was always top before Mickey, but since the first time Mickey had topped him, damn, Mickey sure knew how to fuck. And he couldn't stress that enough.
"I fuck the fuck out of you on a regular fucking basis, too, firecrotch." Mickey narrowed his eyes.
"Of course, I'm fucking aware of that. But when was the last time you offered to fuck me? I have to ask you, persuade you, ride you, and even threaten the fuck out of you sometimes. It's just not fair." Ian punctuated the last sentence out of exasperation.
"Let me get this fucking straight. You are fucking mad at me for letting you ask to be fucked?"
"You got that right, you lazy dick." He didn't know how much time he had left to live his life as Mickey launched onto him with a sadistic smirk on his lips, straddling his hips, pressing their dicks together. He gulped, but at the same time, didn't hate the look on his boyfriend's face one bit.
"Mick-" He was cut off by a brutal kiss, then let out a moan when Mickey's hand wrapped around their throbbing hard-ons. Mickey was all over him, kissing, sucking, nipping, stroking, rubbing, grinding, and many more. But just as he felt his peak drawing near, it stopped. Mickey got off of him, grabbed his shoulders, and shoved him face-plant the couch cushion. He groaned as two fingers were inserted into his entrance without any form of lubrication, stretching him for what was to come.
He didn't know how Mickey managed to coat himself in such a short time but before he knew it, those fingers were gone and Mickey pushed ball-deep into him. He didn't have time to adjust, no, not after what he said earlier. His muffled scream of pleasure filled the room as Mickey pulled out and thrust back, hitting the sweet spot inside him until he felt like his body was about to explode with ecstasy. His own hands clutched the cushion for dear life as a hand wrapped around his weeping arousal, pumping him in time with those harsh and fast thrusts.
"Fuck, Mickey." He cried out as his completion was being drawn nearer by the double sensation. But then the hand that was supposed to milk him turned into a tight grip around his aching dick.
"I'm not letting you off that easy." His eyes widened at what he just heard, before the pounding stopped and he felt another hand move to stroke him, teasing around the head.
"Fuck, Mickey!" He cried out with the phantom orgasm, his hips jerked back and his hole tightened around Mickey sharply, hoping it would get some reaction.
"And you said you didn't like asking me to fuck you." His boyfriend's voice was vicious and he could imagine the smug smirk that came with it. His erection was becoming more and more painful being clamped around its base all the while the assault on the head had grown more and more unbearable.
"I don't!" He whimpered.
"Too bad." Mickey chuckled and then rolled his hips. He moaned as his prostate was nudged again.
"Fuck." He was admitting defeat, his body felt like it was about to shatter.
"What did you just say?"
"I said FUCK, Mickey! Or I swear I won't fuck you again!" He tried to growl, but it came out as a whine, pleading with defeat in his every syllable.
"And now you're threatening me. You might as well just fucking beg, you know. But okay."
Just like that, Mickey continued his thrusts, faster and harder than before, pounding his sweet prostate relentlessly as one hand moved back to support his hips and the other wrapped around him, thumbing over the head. Almost immediately, he came harder than he ever had in his life. His mind drifted to oblivion and every muscle in his body tensed when he felt a warm sensation squirting inside him.
He flopped bonelessly onto their trustworthy couch, panting harshly. Mickey pulled out and got up, leaving him slumping like melted hot butter that he was.
Mickey sure knew how to fuck, he reflected. And anger seemed to be a good fucking fuel. He must make sure to remind himself of that ever so often from now on.
All of his thoughts were cut off when two strong hands flipped him so that he was now lying on his back. He felt his thighs being spread and a warm body nestled between. Still panting, he opened his eyes and saw Mickey's blue lustful ones staring lewdly into his.
"You didn't think I was done yet, did you?" Mickey's voice was so husky and full of desire that he almost got hard in that instant.
"Fuck me." He felt his mouth morphed into a maniacal grin before it was captured by Mickey's own.
And Mickey went on fucking him for the rest of the snow day. Yeah, right. Ian loved being top, remember? So they took turns fucking each other. And if you were wondering, no, Ian didn't mind making a request to be fucked anymore, and, yes, it took a while before he learned how to walk properly with the more increased amount of soreness in his ass that never seemed to go away. No force in the universe could stop him from thanking Mickey for that.