Ian double checks the address on his phone, before walking up to the front door and knocking on it aggressively. A dark-haired boy answers it after he waits there for about a minute, with his hands in his pockets, and holds it open to let him inside. Ian doesn’t ask if Josh is his real name or not, and he doesn’t really give a fuck. His own profile says that his name is Curtis.
“Thanks” he says as he comes inside, panting slightly from exertion. Something Josh doesn’t fail to notice. “Jesus, did you run here or something? Couldn’t get here fast enough?” Josh winks at him.
“Sure, whatever. We doing this in your room, or here?” Ian asks as he glances around, knowing he probably sounds like an asshole. But he just doesn’t care. Josh just laughs, apparently unfazed by Ian’s obviously foul mood. Maybe he’s one of those guys that gets off on comforting strangers, Ian wonders briefly. Josh reaches over and yanks his jacket off, “Well if you’re in such a hurry, here will do”.
He leans in to kiss Ian, but he turns his head, avoiding it. Josh frowns slightly but lets it go, “You not much of a kisser Curtis?” he asks, as he undoes his pants. Ian shakes his head as he undoes his own belt.
He pulls down his boxers partway and spits into his hand a few times before putting his hand to his own cock. It twitches in interest after a moment and starts to harden, and he tips his head at Josh, indicating he should lean up against the closed front door, feeling like he’s underwater. Josh starts some dirty talk, trying to egg him on, but Ian’s ears are ringing and he’s not hearing anything anymore, as he grabs a condom from his wallet. He tears it open and slides the condom on, pressing one hand into Josh’s shoulder as he leans up behind him, getting ready to fuck him.
He pauses, looking at Josh squirm slightly in anticipation below him.
He looks at the back of Josh’s dark head, and finally notices that his hair isn’t naturally black, not like Mickey’s.
He suddenly feels sick to his stomach and he backs away from Josh, picking up his jeans as he does.
Josh turns around in confusion and disappointment, “What are you doing?” Ian shakes his head harshly, “I can’t do this right now, I’m sorry”. He yanks his jacket back on and pulls open the front door roughly, ignoring Josh’s what the fuck expression as he runs past him out of the house and into the night.
He is almost sobbing by the time that he gets home, he is so angry and pained, and he sees a figure sitting in the dark on the front porch as he approaches, a haze of smoke around them. “Mickey?” he calls, his voice strained. “Uh, no? Just me”.
It’s Lip, Ian sees as he gets closer. Sitting out there having a cigarette. He looks up at him from the porch step in concern, “What the fuck happened to you?”
Ian looks up at the dimly lit house and then down at his older brother, “I… fucked up. I almost fucked someone”. Lip looks confused, by both the almost, and the fact that fucking someone could be a problem, “Uh…?”
He tries to explain, “Not the person I told you about, the person I, have feelings for”. Lip turns his hands up slightly, “So? You’re not dating”.
Ian swallows hard, “It feels wrong”. It did, every nerve in his body was buzzing with agitation, like he had offended them in some way.
“Then why’d you almost do it?” Lip asks, handing him a cigarette. Ian shakes his head at the offering, turning it down, “I was pissed off”.
“Well, it sounds like you have some weird fucking thing going on. But a chick that doesn’t put out can’t tell you not to fuck anyone else either, little bro”.
Ian almost laughs, this conversation is so fucked up, but then he feels slightly sick again as he thinks of Mickey’s face, how he looked at the dugout tonight. “How am I supposed to tell them what I did?” Lip butts out his cigarette, “You don’t. You don’t owe her anything if you’re not dating. Forget about it, it’s not like you actually did anything”.
Ian’s heart rate starts to settle as he considers this. If he could avoid talking about this with Mickey, would that be so bad? Lip had a point, they weren’t dating… but he knew it would change things anyways between them if he told Mickey. Still, he didn’t actually go through with it. For once, he’s glad for the radio silence between him and Mickey. He doesn’t text him that night at all, instead letting his mind flood him with guilt over what he'd almost done, and the look that had been on Mickey’s face, while he had yelled at him in the baseball field.
To his surprise though, when he comes outside in the morning to go to school, Mickey’s sitting there, smoking a Marlboro on the porch, just like any other day.
Mickey turns at the sound of the door opening, “Ian”. He stands up and then reaches back down for the two to-go coffees he had resting on the stoop beside himself. “Got you a coffee” he says, offering it to him. Ian takes it uncertainly, “Uh… thanks”. He walks down the rest of the steps, “I gotta go to school”.
Mickey looks back at the house, “Is Lip going to school today?” He shrugs, “Nah, he’s still sleeping”. Ian’s not sure if he would rather have Lip here or not right now, because he’s pretty sure Mickey is about to give him shit for the way he acted last night. Not that he can blame him, but he’s scared Mickey will tell him he doesn’t want to hang out with him anymore, if he can’t keep his feelings to himself. And he really doesn’t know if he can do that. He keeps trying, and failing.
Mickey nods, “I’ll walk with you”. Ian glances at him, “Okay”.
He takes a tentative sip from the coffee Mickey brought him as he settles into a steady pace beside him, gripping his fingers into the protective sleeve. Ian looks at the ground, ignoring the embarrassment he feels, as he opens his mouth to apologize- “I’m sorry about yesterday”. They both said it at the exact same time, and him and Mickey turn to each other in confusion.
“What are you sorry for?” Mickey asks, looking at his best friend in disbelief. Ian grimaces, “You’ve told me more than once not to do that shit, but I keep trying to. I mean, it’s not surprising I pissed you off”. Mickey scratches the back of his head, “Well… you had a point last night Ian. I say that shit but then I cross those lines too, but I got rid of that picture okay? I shouldn’t have been using that”. He laughs awkwardly, clearing embarrassed.
Ian’s eyes widen and he says without thinking, “What? No Mick I wanted you to-“
He suddenly reddens as Mickey turns to him with his dark eyebrow raised, “You wanted me to wank, to pictures of you?”
They stare at each other rather seriously for a moment, and then they both break into peals of laughter. This whole thing is just ridiculous. “Well, I’m just gonna have to send you a new picture then” Ian teases, checking to see what the dark-haired boy’s reaction will be to his prodding.
His lips twitch, and his eyes flicker with an interest that he can’t hide, if he was even trying to. “Of course, I would need one in return…” Ian drawls, and Mickey jabs him in the chest with his finger playfully, before suddenly stopping on the sidewalk, “Well, have a good day. Not allowed on school grounds, so”.
He looks like he wants to say more but doesn’t, and Ian looks behind himself at the highschool, he hadn’t even realized that they were here already.
He continues to think about the look that had been on Mickey’s face before he left, like there was something just on the tip of his tongue that he couldn’t share, and it drives him nuts while Mrs. Lowry lectures the class about watersheds. His phone vibrates in his pocket while he’s in class, but she’s looking over at him too often and he can’t check it until after.
It’s from Mickey, and his eyes widen as he reads it, and then two more times, wanting to make sure he’s getting every word right. It’s probably the longest text he’s ever gotten from him.
“You were right about the rest of it too. I do wanna spend all my time with you, and I want all that other shit too. And I already fucking reprinted that picture of you, needed it haha”
Ian feels a flush of pleasure rush over himself as he tries to think of how to answer, torn between trying to get Mickey to elaborate on wanting all that other shit, and addressing ‘using’ the picture. But he’s a teenage guy, and he goes for the second one, the easier one to deal with for the time being. “I’d like a pic of you, Mick. Something for me to look at tonight”.
He sees the typing bubble appear and disappear a few times and he knows he’s gonna be late for his next class but he doesn’t give a shit, he’s almost holding his breath. “I’ll do it” appears on his screen, and then, “Like the chest one you have on your Facebook. But just for you”.
Ian doesn’t even care that it’s not going to be a full nude, the just for you part makes him hard within seconds, and he quickly types back, “Don’t know if I can wait til tonight”.
Mickey texts back, “Nice try Gallagher, not sending that shit while you’re at school”.
Ian tries to think of cats and old people and boobs and whatever else he can before he heads back into class, forcing his raging boner to take a chill pill.
He practically runs home after school, and heads right upstairs to the bathroom, breathlessly yelling hi back to Fiona as he breezes past her confused expression. He locks the door and pulls out his phone.
“I’m home” he sends Mickey.
A picture pops up on his screen a moment later and Ian frowns at it… it’s some wooden box or something…? “Think you sent the wrong pic?” he texts Mickey. He gets back, “No, that’s my chest lol”.
Ian rolls his eyes but laughs, as he hammers his thumbs into his phone, “Fuck off Mick I’m practically standing here with my dick in my hand don’t do this to me”. Another picture loads onto his screen and Ian scrambles to pull his jeans down with one hand as he grips his phone in the other. He doesn’t peel his eyes from the picture of Mick’s bare chest as he starts to stroke his cock, impatiently squeezing some lotion onto it from one of the bottle lying on the counter.
He ignores the text that pops up on his screen, “Is that one okay?”
He groans at the sensation as he begins to stroke himself with a tighter grasp, taking in every single detail of Mickey’s body like it’s a piece of precious fucking art.
Mickey’s flexing his biceps slightly in the picture, each muscle curving smoothly against his white skin. He has a stocky build, and his shoulders are broad and strong, perfect to hold onto when you’re fucking him, Ian thinks. One of his thick arms is covering his stomach partially, but not entirely, and Ian is again reminded of his strong urge to cover that fucking stomach in kisses, right down to his treasure trail and then some. But it’s his face, his fucking face, that does Ian in.
Those piercing blue eyes that could reduce someone to nothing with one glare, that mouth that could tear someone to shreds without Mickey even lifting a finger. Mickey.
“Uhh, Jesus” Ian gasps, as he shoots his load out messily onto the bathroom sink.
He’s fucking spent.
He wipes his sweaty forehead off with the back of one of his arms, and panting, turns on the sink faucet. He tries to swirl his cum down the drain with the rest of the running water, as he cleans up his mess. He finally wipes down the sink with a dry towel, and then finishes drying his hands.
“Ian?” His phone is lit up with another text.
Ian picks up his phone and texts back, “Fuck Mick, I don’t even know what to say”.
He has no way of knowing, but he’d be willing to bet any amount of money, that Mickey was sitting in his bedroom when he got that text back, and that after reading it he was blushing, with the biggest fucking grin on his face.