As Ian runs towards Rogers Street after school, leaving without Mickey for one of the very first times since they became close, and climbs over the small piles of rubble in the abandoned mess of construction as he approaches the spray-painted building, his heart is pumping a million fucking miles a minute.
He trips more than once, and picks himself right back up, ignoring how one of his knees throbs slightly from the repeated contact with the ground.
Mickey’s name and the fucking thought of him floods through all of his veins and thoughts in tandem, seizing every movement he makes and propelling him forwards to where he knows Mickey will be waiting for him. He practically slides into the concrete building with fuck spray-painted over it when he finally gets there.
He sees Mickey inside from where he stands in the doorway, standing and leaning against the cracked back wall, a cigarette pressed to his perfect lips. He doesn’t look nervous anymore. Ian stops and pauses there, his chest still heaving from his rush to get there, as he stares at the dark-haired boy.
He watches as Mickey immediately throws his half finished cigarette to the damp ground and strides towards him, “Tell me Mickey, tell me you-“ Mickey grabs his face and pulls him in, cutting him off, and their lips come crashing together after so many weeks of one them or the other fucking fighting it.
Ian’s brain instantly sparks at the contact, every nerve in his body humming with appreciative electricity as Mickey Milkovich holds him in his strong arms like he never wants to let him go, and kisses him like he can’t breathe without Ian as his air. But it’s not enough, “Tell me” he gasps.
“I’ll be more, Ian” Mickey finally murmurs into his lips, breaking the kiss, “I’ll be whatever you fucking want me to be”. Ian runs his hand around behind Mickey’s strong neck, anchoring himself in, as he presses his lips against Mickey’s neck, comforted by the promise. “I want you to be you”.
Mickey laughs softly and pulls himself away just slightly from the embrace to look into Ian’s heavy green eyes, “I can do that. I don’t know why you fucking want that, but I can do it”. He looks so doubtful in himself, and it makes Ian’s chest hurt.
He licks his lips slightly, “You have no fucking idea, do you Mick? What you are”. He shakes his head in disbelief, “You really don’t”. Before Mickey can even try to respond to that, Ian’s phone starts to ring, and he looks down towards the sound of the harsh tone, yanked out of his reverie.
His screen is lit up impatiently, flashing repeatedly with, Kash & Grab- Calling
“Fuck” Ian curses, jamming his phone in his pocket, “I totally fucking forgot, I’m late for my shift!” Mickey’s eyes widen in disappointment at this news, “You’re fucking leaving?”
Ian looks at him, painfully telling him, “I have to Mick. I can’t lose this job, I’m already on thin ice with my boss. I’ll text you on my break”. He leans in to kiss Mickey goodbye but Mickey prevents him from leaving after just a quick peck, and deepens the kiss.
He looks down at Ian’s belt, “I want you, so fuckin bad”. He grinds slightly against Ian’s leg, and Ian feels Mickey’s erection pressing into him urgently, as he looks back up towards him, his eyes filled with need.
“Fuck… Mick. Don’t make this harder for me", Ian forces his eyes away from Mickey’s blue ones. His own head is swimming with arousal, but he forcibly jams his thoughts of responsibility over it.
He gives Mickey another quick kiss and then tears out of the collapsing concrete building, yelling behind himself, “I’ll text you!”, as he makes a mad break for his part time job.
He arrives, sweaty and panting, almost half an hour late for his shift, his cheeks flushed from the cold fall air. Kash glares at him as he comes charging inside, “Ian, I was supposed to take the boys to their soccer game! Now Linda is giving me massive amounts of shit. Do you not care about this job?”
He doesn’t add, do you not care about me?
Ian bites his tongue, knowing damn well that if he was still fucking Kash he wouldn’t be making half as big a deal out of this. He’d been late before. He’d quit right fucking now if he didn’t NEED to help Fiona keep their fucking electricity going, and his responsibility to his family keeps his mouth shut.
He ignores Kash bitterly throughout his shift, thinking of how he had to leave Mickey standing there like an idiot after he made him confess his fucking feelings to him. He pinches the bridge of his nose in agitation just picturing it. He fucking hopes Mickey understands, and isn’t too pissed off at him. He takes his break as soon as he is allowed, at seven thirty, and immediately checks his phone, seeing that he has one message from Mickey.
A picture message.
Ian feels a hot flush rise over himself, knowing what it probably contains. He quickly goes into the stock room after locking the front door, Kash now having had retreated to his home above the shop, means he has complete privacy. He closes his eyes tightly, and says a quick and frantic prayer to God, asking for it to please be a nude.
He hesitates for a moment. Is that sacrilegious?
But then he shakes his head vehemently, who the fuck cares? He was never fucking religious anyways.
The picture loads.
Fuck. Maybe he’s religious now.
Mickey’s face isn’t in the picture, which Ian would have liked, but it’s still amazing. It’s a shot from below, his thick cock is in the forefront with his hand wrapped tightly around it, filling most of the camera’s view with FUCK spelled out over his fingers.
Ian can still see Mickey’s perfect chest and stomach behind it all though, and he isn’t sure where to look first, his eyes darting around the entire picture, taking it in greedily. His own dick is now straining against his jeans.
He texts Mickey, “Dick move, sending me that at work. What am I supposed to do now?”
Mickey texts back, “You left me standing there like a dick with a throbbing hard on, just thought I’d show you”.
Ian bites his lip, wondering how far he should take this while he’s here at work, “Yeah? Did you take care of yourself?”
“Am right now, why don’t you send me something to work from”. Ian hastily undoes his boxers, he’s already rock hard from the pic Mickey had sent him, and now from the thought of him stroking himself as they speak. He takes a picture of his cock and sends it to Mickey.
The responding text is appreciative, “Fuck! didn't think you actually would. Aren’t you at work?”
“I’ve got twenty minutes left of break” Ian quickly texts back.
“Jesus Gallagher. I’ll be there in five”.
Ian quickly yanks his pants up and hurries to the front of the store, peeking out from behind the partially covered windows for a sign of the dark-haired boy, but then he gets another text a few minutes later, “Back entrance! Open the fucking door!!”
Ian runs back into the stock room to hear someone hammering on the delivery door and he yanks it open, Mickey practically falling into him from behind it as he does.
Ian catches him and steadies him, and Mickey immediately turns to slide the door shut behind himself roughly. He pants as he turns back around and looks at Ian, his blue eyes lit with an unspeakable fire that gives Ian a delicious chill. He points down at himself, “Left me there, left me hard”.
Ian lifts an eyebrow, enjoying this, “I did, didn’t I? Guess I have to fix that”. He grabs the front of Mickey’s jeans and yanks him forward roughly, the other boy doing nothing to stop him. “S’only fair” Mickey smirks.
Ian stoops to his knees, and Mickey reaches down and plays with his red hair affectionately while Ian undoes his jeans and slides them down, Mickey’s boner still pitching a tent in his boxers. “You’re amazing”, Mickey says lazily, still running his fingers through Ian’s red hair. Ian kisses his dick through the fabric of his boxers and Mickey shifts in agitation from the initial contact, “Fuck Ian”.
Ian looks up, smiling, and continues to gently kiss his dick through his boxers, as Mickey looks down at him through heavy eyes. Ian reaches both hands up and slowly pulls the boxers down, letting Mickey’s exposed dick hit his lips as it bounces back upwards insistently. “I could kiss you forever” he murmurs, but instead, he opens his mouth and runs his tongue along the length of Mickey’s shaft without warning as Mickey answers with, “I’d fucking like that”.
He presses his lips back to the tip of Mickey’s dick in a kiss, but then opens his mouth to let Mickey’s dick slide in over his tongue. “God” Mickey chokes, as the foreplay quickly spins into oral, gripping into Ian’s now tousled hair more tightly. Ian gags slightly from the fullness as he takes Mickey too quickly at first, being somewhat out of practice after the several weeks of abstinence. He shivers at the feeling of Mickey’s hands pulling in his hair, a strangely pleasurable sensation.
He pulls back a bit, and finds a more comfortable depth to build a rhythm to, Mickey cursing under his breath the entire time in ecstasy. The sound fills Ian’s ears like music, spurring him on.
Ian slides his fingers over Mickey’s thick thighs to hold onto him better, and flattens his tongue against the slit of Mickey’s cock, already tasting a thick dribble of precum.
It’s been too long, too fucking long.
He feels Mickey’s thighs begin to tense underneath his fingertips after a few minutes, and Mickey’s rushed warning doesn’t come as a surprise, “I’m gonna-“ Ian grips into his thighs harder in response and doubles his speed, causing Mickey to lose his balance and fall back against the wall, loudly knocking over a stack of recycling as he spurts his release into Ian’s mouth.
Ian swallows it all, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand in victory, as he looks up at Mickey, who’s now leaning against the wall for support, his legs shaking slightly. He looks absolutely wrecked, a sight that brings Ian as much erotic pleasure as his own orgasms do. His own cock is straining against his pants, but as he quickly remembers where he is and checks his phone, he realizes he’s already well past his break, and probably pushing it.
He stands up and kisses Mickey’s lips, squeezing his strong arms as he does. Mickey presses his sweaty forehead against Ian’s weakly, a silent thank you. “I have to get back to work” Ian says gently.
Mickey looks at him apologetically, “But you didn’t get to-“ Ian cuts him off, “I can wait. I don’t want to rush it, I wanna enjoy every fucking minute when I finally get to fuck you again”. Mickey nods wordlessly, although he already looks like he’d rather not wait. “Text me when you’re done work” he says anyways, opening the back door again to leave. Ian smiles, “Course”.
Ian practically floats through the rest of his shift on cloud nine, hardly able to believe the way things can change in a matter of days.
Mickey… Mickey is his now.
Mickey Milkovich. The boy who could rule the South Side with an iron fist when he wanted to, who would never fucking back down from a fight, or back down from a challenge. The boy who seemed like he wasn’t fucking scared of anything, who seemed like he didn’t care about anything, until he met Ian.
The boy who was now his best friend, his lover, and… the boy he thought he might be falling for.