This, Mickey thought, eyes gazing up at the ceiling fan despairingly, was never meant to happen.
Gently scraping his nails up and down the exposed flesh of Ian’s ribcage, Mickey looked at the redhead through the corner of his eye. He was lying on his side, head next to Mickey’s on the pillow, a look of serenity on his face and his mouth parted slightly. He looked beautiful in the way that only Ian could.
Mickey hated him for that.
He hated that he thought Ian was beautiful, he hated that Ian made him think those things, hated that Ian made him feel. Because feelings were useless, that’s what his father taught him. Feelings –Emotions, they made you weak, they made you vulnerable. And Mickey couldn’t afford to be vulnerable.
So then, why was he allowing this? Why did he let Fircrotch cuddle up to him? Why did he let him fall asleep? Normally he would have kicked the redhead out after he’d caught his breath, but he noticed that gradually he’d started letting Ian stay longer and, longer.
What the fuck did he get himself into?
Turning his head, Mickey stared at Ian like he was usually too afraid to do. He took in the sight of his lips – still swollen from when they were wrapped around Mickey’s cock – his eyebrows set in a peaceful expression, and his freckles, though they were beginning to fade, Mickey could still make some of them out.
Shifting to lie on his side, he reached up, hesitating slightly, before he began to trace each freckle with his index finger. God, he was turning soft. His dad would kill him if he knew what a fag Mickey had truly become.
“It’s your fault, y’know,” Mickey murmured softly, not wanting to wake the boy next to him. Allowing himself to indulge just this once, he cupped Ian’s cheek and shifted closer. “It’s your fault I feel this shit. It’s your fault that I feel at all.”
Mickey was met with silence, but he expected that. He wouldn’t be able to do this if Ian was awake.
“You fuckin’ ruined me, man. I was fucked the minute you came barging in. You and your goddamn tire iron.”
Mickey snorted, letting his eyes fall closed. “I didn’t plan on it happening again. But you’re just so damn persistent, you know that? You just, you don’t give up. You didn’t give up, and, who am I kidding? I didn’t want you to. I don’t know where I’d be right now if you had.”
Mickey’s fingers twitched against Ian’s skin, the need for a smoke quickly arising, but he found that he didn’t want to move. “I’d probably be in jail,” He continued, in a hushed tone. “No. I’ll still wind up in jail, we both know it. I’ll be locked up and you’ll be in Iraq or some shit shootin’ people and gettin’ shot at… You know officers get shot at first, you know that. And still that’s what you want. Christ, I don’t understand you sometimes, Firecrotch.”
Tucking his head beneath Ian’s chin, Mickey draped his arm across his side, listening avidly to the beat of Ian’s heart. “I don’t understand what you’ve done to me,” He said, squeezing his eyes shut tighter, afraid that if he opened them, then this honesty spell would be broken. “You’ve changed me, you’ve changed this, this thing that’s between us into something more and the worst part is that I’m okay with it. It scares the shit outta me, but I’m okay with it.”
“Fuck,” He growled, fingers gripping the redhead tighter than he intended. “You’re gonna leave. You’re gonna fuck off to West Point, to the Army, and you’re gonna realize that you can do so much better than me. And when that happens, Firecrotch, I just hope that you come back, even if it’s not to me, I just want you to come back in one piece.”
Pressing closer still, Mickey inhaled Ian’s scent. Beneath the lingering smell of sex, was Irish Spring soap and something that was entirely Ian; Mickey just couldn’t get enough of it.
Suddenly he felt strong arms wrap around him. Mickey’s eyes shot open as he tried to push away from the warm body he was snuggled up against.
Ian wasn’t letting up, though.
“Mick,” Ian’s voice was thick, and Mickey knew from the wetness that dripped onto his neck that it wasn’t from sleep. “Mickey, I’ll always come back for you.”
Resigning himself to the fact that he wasn’t getting away, Mickey rolled his eyes. “Sure you will.”
“I will.” Ian pulled back slightly, just enough so they could be face to face. “I’ll always come back to you, just like you always came back to me. I promise, Mick. I promise.”
And Mickey didn’t want to meet Ian’s eyes, because he knew that if he did he’d see everything Ian felt written clearly in them. But despite that, he couldn’t look away.
Ian was telling the truth, Mickey could see it, could feel it in his very bones. And the fact that someone cared enough about him to want to return to him both thrilled him and scared him shitless at the same time.
Because Mickey didn’t know how to deal with feelings – He was told to dispel them since he was little, since he could remember.
Resting his forehead against Mickey’s, Ian breathed heavily, eyes wide and demanding. “Mickey,” He whispered, breath ghosting over Mickey’s mouth. “I… I love you… I won’t leave you forever. You have to believe that.”
Mickey’s eyes widened in shock. He knew to an extent that Ian cared for him, he could tell with his actions, but it was another thing entirely to for Ian to actually tell him.
Mickey didn’t know how to process this; he didn’t know how to react. No one had ever said that to him before. No one had ever told him that they loved him. Honestly the only person he could think of that did was Mandy, and even Mandy wouldn’t say that to his face. No, that’s not how their family worked.
But Ian was different. Ian wasn’t afraid to say what he felt, he wasn’t afraid to be who he truly was. Mickey always admired him for that, though, he’d never admit it aloud.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Mickey shut his eyes before closing the small distance between them and pressing his lips against Ian’s.
It had been months since their first kiss. Sure Mickey had thought about doing it again plenty of times, but he could never seem to work up the nerve. And Ian, the little shit, could tell every single time Mickey wanted to kiss him, Mickey could see it in the way that he’d grin.
The kiss was chaste; a simple press of lips upon lips, Mickey was too unsure to do much else. But when Mickey pulled back he could see the happiness in Ian’s eyes; like Mickey had just given him the whole fucking world.
“I believe you,” Mickey said, and he found that he actually meant it.
Letting his eyes fall to the redhead’s lips, he licked his own before leaning back in. This time he kisses Ian properly, their lips slotting together like they were meant for this, and goddamn he was turning into a true fag, through and through. Licking his way into the redhead’s mouth, he shivered at the moan Ian released. He felt Ian’s fingers come up and grip his hair, using it as leverage to tilt his head to an angle he wanted.
And no – he didn’t care what Ian said – he did not fucking whimper when Ian took his bottom lip into his mouth and bit down hard enough to draw blood before licking it up, and pulling away.
“Good,” Ian panted, hips thrusting against Mickey’s own involuntarily. “Because if you didn’t I’d have to prove it to you.”
Mickey bit his lip, ignoring the sting he felt as he caused more blood to slither out. “Yeah?”
“How would you do that?”
“Well,” Ian drawled, voice deepening. “I’d have to fuck you and tell you every time I slammed inside your ass, that I loved you.”
Mickey’s breath hitched, his heart suddenly speeding up. He wanted that, God did he fucking want that. “Maybe you should fuck me anyway… Y’know, just to make sure.”
Rolling Mickey onto his back, Ian smirked, eyes dancing as he looked down at him. “Maybe I should.”
Bringing his hands up to grip Ian’s back, Mickey felt himself smile. “Gallagher?”
“You know, I…”
Ian lowered himself on top of Mickey, gently nuzzling his neck. “I know, Mick. You don’t have to say it.”
And fuck Ian for knowing him so well, but honestly, Mickey wouldn’t have it any other way.