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Gallavich mpreg

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“I’m going to pump you full of cum, your stomach will be round and beautiful” Ian whispers into his ear, spit-slicked lips sticking to the warm shell. Mickey should have noticed then, it was the first sign, but he was too busy with his man between his legs, rubbing and squeezing, and fucking him like it was their last fuck ever.
He should’ve realized when he noticed the slightly erratic behaviour and jerky movements while they were preparing food or playing with Yevy, but he hasn’t because recently he’s been working so hard that he is exhausted 24/7, and he falls asleep the second his head hits a pillow. Or a table, anything works. So he should have noticed, and he is sure that Ian’s family will have a whole lot to say about it, but he finds it hard to feel guilty. He can’t worry about his boyfriend all the time, it’s a sure way to run both of them mad.
Ian thinks he is sneaky, taking off the condom when Mickey is on all fours, thinking that he won’t notice. But he does notice, he hears the distinct snap, he can tell the difference when Ian slides back into him, latex-free. He definitely feels it when Ian’s cum leaks out of his stretched ass and adds to the huge mess they already made.
His partner never liked using condoms, so Mickey thought that all that talking about ‘filling him to the brim’ was just a newfound kink. He is on a pill anyway, he wouldn’t risk it. Children should be planned, he doesn’t want to end up like eighty percent of their neighbours, kids all over the place and no means to support them. Between the two of them they are doing really good, but he doesn’t feel ready. Truth to be told, he doesn’t think he will ever be ready. The thought of pregnancy scares him shitless, and he would be the second worst father in the universe, right after Terry. He can’t imagine taking care of a kid for at least eighteen years, and he doesn’t really want to. He doesn’t believe in this whole ‘passing on the family name’, there will be more than enough Milkoviches anyway, whether he has kids or not. And there shouldn’t be, God knows they don’t get anything right, ever.
He finally notices that something is wrong when Ian hurts him. He comes home after twelve hours of work with only one break because someone messed up the documents of one of their biggest clients, and he doesn’t know if he wants sleep or food more. He doesn’t even consider showering, it won’t kill him if he does it in the morning.
He almost walks into the bathroom door. Sleep it is.
He is already sleeping when Ian barges in and doesn’t even try to be gentle when he starts ripping his t-shirt and boxers off.
“Come on, I’m exhausted,” he groans, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed. He can feel Ian’s lips stretch in a smile where they are pressed against his throat, but it’s not supposed to be a game. He is not playing coy or hard to get. Sex is the last thing on his mind right now, he is sure his dick won’t even get up if he doesn’t get solid eight hours of sleep.
But Ian’s hands keep roaming all over his body, trying to spread his legs. He fights it, but he is too tired to put up a real fight, so Ian shimmies between his legs and ignores it when Mickey clenches, when he tries to put a dry finger in his hole. “I told you to leave it.”
“You won’t have to do anything,” the redhead promises, and Mickey never thought he would have to explain to his boyfriend that it’s not how sex works, he is not a blow up doll that can be used for its holes.
There is a perfectly good bottle of lube on the nightstand, but Ian fucking spits on his finger in his haste to fuck Mickey. And before he can really digest the whole thing, there are two fingers up his ass, stretching him open. Thanks to the vast experience he has it’s not exactly painful, just mildly uncomfortable, but he knows it’s about to get worse when Ian’s dick joins the party, so he reaches for the lube, but his boyfriend slaps his hand away.
“Get the lube, bitch,” he says, but Ian just grins at him and says, “I’ll slick you up, alright.”
Mickey grunts in pain when a hard dick slides inside him, and it feels so much bigger than it already is. He almost shouts, unused to the dry penetration. He thinks he can feel the skin dragging. Maybe he could adjust to it, but Ian doesn’t give him a chance. He starts pounding him like they’re doing a porno, pressing him into the bed when he starts squirming.
“Slow down, baby, come on, it hurts,” he begs, but it falls on deaf ears, Ian’s too lost in his own pleasure to even notice that something is wrong.
He is fucking manic, that’s what it is. Manic and hypersexual, treating Mickey like one of the boy toys he used to fuck in clubs. At least this time he stayed, but it’s difficult to appreciate when he feels like he is being drilled by a fucking machine. It seems to go on forever, with pills still in his system it takes Ian a bit longer to reach an orgasm. Mickey feels completely raw by the time the redhead spills inside his abused hole and falls asleep right on top of him. This part is fine, as tired as he is, he can fall asleep with added weight.
He wakes up mid another impromptu fuck. His reflexes tell him to hit whoever is doing this, and his fist collides with Ian’s cheekbone before his brain can catch up. His boyfriend cries out in pain and uses all his strength to keep him down, shoulders pressed into the mattress. It’s another round of completely impersonal sex that he suffers through with his eyes glued to Ian’s. The green-blue eyes are the same as always, but it doesn’t feel like they are connecting at all. There is lust in them, but not a whole lot of love. Maybe somewhere at the bottom, where it’s too hard to reach. For the second time this night Ian comes with a grunt before he rolls to the side. Mickey knows he should clean up, but he is already aching all over and decides to do it in the morning. If he can move.

There is a hand resting high on his thigh, right under his butt, when he wakes up. “No, stop, I can’t again.” He is not lying, when he tries to move his ass feels like it’s been burned. He has no plans of moving anytime soon, even though he has to piss.
He does move when he hears Ian sob. It’s quiet, clearly not meant for him to hear, but he immediately sits up to comfort his boyfriend. It’s a mistake, pain rips through him and he gasps, almost falling over.
“What happened?” he asks Ian, whose face is wet from tears.
“I hurt you.”
“What? No!” it’s the first thing that comes to his mind, and while technically it’s not exactly true, he is not going to admit that he’s hurt. Not when it’s clearly making Ian distressed.
“There is blood on your ass, Mick. All over your upper thighs too. I tore you.” Mickey doesn’t know what to say. It’s never happened to him, not even the first time he’s had sex with one of Iggy’s friends. He has to admit it’s a little scary. He can’t deny it either, since Ian’s already seen the damage, so he sits in silence watching the redhead cry.
“I think I need help.” He can do this, he knows how to do this. He reaches for Ian’s phone and calls his doctor making sure that his side is pressed against his boyfriend’s strong, solid body.
Three hours later they are sitting in the doctor’s office and Ian is crying again, explaining what happened. She looks at Mickey and he nods slightly, confirming that it really took place. Ian leaves with a new dose and a prescription for one more drug, but the doctor wants to chat with Mickey for a little longer. She asks him if he needs something for pain, and then if he wants her to call the police to report sexual assault.
“Fuck no, I could have stopped him if I really wanted to.”
“Mickey, I know you love him, but you can’t just keep on giving. Do you want to book a therapy session with me?” What he wants is to flip her off, but she is good for Ian, so he just scoffs and leaves. He doesn’t need therapy, he can deal with his own shit.
It takes almost two months before things come back to normal. At first Ian is adjusting to the change in meds, finally behaving like his old self. That’s the easy part. The hard part is to convince him that Mickey doesn’t want to stop having anal sex with him. He has to heal, but when he is as good as new, Ian still refuses to come anywhere near his hole. The redhead is very passionate about sucking him off, but when Mickey reaches for lube Ian almost starts panicking.
In the act of desperation he lets Ian walk in on him fucking himself with a huge, suction cup dildo and sends his boyfriend explicit sexts with images of his stretched hole attached. It finally works, and they are good again.
For about two weeks after which Mickey starts feeling like shit. His stomach aches for no reason, he gets bloated after every meal, and sometimes he even throws up after perfectly normal and fresh meals. He refuses to make Ian worried, so he goes to the clinic while his boyfriend is at work. He is back before Ian, and when the redhead comes home Mickey gives him silent treatment.
“What happened? What did I do? I’m taking my meds, I…”
“You, you, YOU! You wanted a kid so much that you kept removing fucking condoms while you were manic and got me fucking pregnant!” he finally yells, no longer able to keep his cool.
“I was manic, I...”
“Yeah, but did you… Do you want to have a baby with me, even though I said I don’t want one?”
“Yes.”
“And didn’t you say, multiple times, that your feelings are still valid, even when you are manic?”
“Yes, but...”
“Here is your answer. Congratulations, you ruined my body.”
Ian looks on the verge of tears when he says, “You can get an abortion, right?”
“No, I can’t get a fucking abortion because the last possible date passed literally yesterday. So you will get your fucking baby.”
Mickey storms out of the flat and goes to Iggy’s, where he locks himself in the bedroom and cries. He can’t be around Ian, not when he knows that his boyfriend is happy about the child. Mickey firmly believes that his body is his own, and the fact that there is a baby in him feels like a violation.
If his mom was alive, he would call her. She wouldn’t win any best mother awards, but her heart was in the right place. Mickey doesn’t blame her for getting addicted to meth, not with a husband like Terry. But she always loved her kids, always tried to protect them. She would know what to say, how to comfort him. There is no one he can call who would understand. Mandy, once she learns, will think it’s great because she thinks that the sun shines out of Ian’s ass, and if he wants a kid then Mickey should give him one. Which he is going to do, against his will.
He spends three hours trying to compose himself, if only to trick Iggy into thinking that everything is fine. It doesn’t work, and how could it when his eyes are red and lips swollen from crying.
“Would you do something for me without asking questions?” he asks his brother, voice filled with desperation.
“What do you want me to do?” Iggy readily asks, but his face falls when Mickey explains that he wants him to hit him in the stomach, hard. Iggy might not be the brightest bulb in the bunch, but he isn’t as dumb as everyone seems to think. “I could do that, if you are sure that’s what best for you. I don’t really wanna, but if I have to… It’s Ian’s right?”
“’course it is.”
“So maybe you should think about it some more, yeah? And then come to me again.”
Two or three more days won’t make a difference, so he decides to do just that.

Days turn into weeks, and Mickey still hasn’t asked Iggy again. Not because he changed his mind, but because he googled 3 months old fetuses, and they kind of look like babies already. Alien babies, but babies all the same. So he lets it grow and avoids thinking about it. Which is surprisingly easy because Ian doesn’t mention it at all. It’s not only that. He also doesn’t make any preparations. From time to time Mickey checks their guest room, but it stays the same. There are no baby clothes or toys hidden in boxes, nothing. It’s weird, if it weren’t for a bit of sickness that still hasn’t left, Mickey would think that he isn’t pregnant at all.
Then his body starts changing, stomach growing bigger and nipples becoming more sensitive. Ian takes to sucking on them until they’re bright red and puffy. Mickey’s never been into that, but nowadays he writhes on Ian’s cock and moans like a slut. After one of their slow, lazy fucks in the middle of an equally lazy day, he quietly asks, “Why are you not preparing for the baby? You haven’t said anything about it since the day I told you.”
Ian tenses behind him, “I don’t want to upset you. The decision is yours, I thought that maybe you want to put it up for adoption.”
“And you’d be okay with that?” Mickey asks disbelievingly. He reaches for his boyfriend’s hand without even thinking about it. There is a significant difference in size, and he kind of likes it, although he would never admit it to anyone.
“Yeah… I mean. I already fucked up, I don’t want to pressure you into keeping it. I’m done with being pushy.”
“Right,” Mickey snorts. It’s the funniest thing he’s heard the whole week. “You will never not be pushy. Maybe when you’re dead, but even then… Hey!” Ian pinches his arm hard, and Mickey can feel him laughing. He moves his boyfriend’s hand towards his stomach. At first Ian is completely still, but then he slowly curls his big hand around the slight curve of Mickey’s stomach.
“I shouldn’t have said all that shit,” Mick admits. “I can’t fucking blame you for wanting a child.”
“And I can’t blame you for not wanting it,” his boyfriend is quick to add.
“Yeah. Maybe it won’t be that bad.”
“You’re going to be a great dad, baby,” Ian murmurs into his ear. “I love you so much, thank you.”
Mickey is worried. He is scared. He feels many things he’s never felt before, but with Ian behind him he thinks that maybe one day he will learn to love their baby. Maybe even as much as he loves Ian.