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“Mick,” Ian asks just as Mickey’s gotten comfortable on the couch. “Could you make me a sandwich?”
Mickey huffs out a sigh, but heaves himself upright anyway.
Ian’s lucky, he’s seen this episode of Ice Road Truckers.
“What do you want on it?” he asks, opening the fridge and squinting at the meagre contents. Ian is usually the one to go shopping, but with his leg and ribs and all, that obviously hasn’t been happening.
“We got any peanut butter left?” Ian asks, eyes glazed where he’s staring at the television.
Mickey rolls his eyes, starting to open cupboards. “What are you five?” he asks. “Wanting PB&J.”
“I’ll have you know a poor childhood can sometimes result in lingering childish tendencies or likes,” Ian says in what Mickey always refers to as his ‘smart voice’.
“That true?” he twists around to catch sight of Ian’s smirk.
“Fuck knows.”
It probably is. Ian has the habit of reading or watching random things and then recalling the information he didn’t know he had at really random times.
“Anyway,” Ian says. “I don’t want PB&J. I just want peanut butter. Do we have any crisps?”
A few banging cupboards later, Mickey drops the sandwich and a packet of ready-salted crisps in Ian’s lap. He pulls a face as he starts to pull apart the bread, stuffing in the crisps with the peanut butter.
“I changed my mind,” Mickey decides. “You’re a pregnant woman.”
Ian snorts. “Mick, what would you know about pregnant women?”
“I stayed with Mandy for those few days, didn’t I?” he points out and then starts ticking things off on his fingers. “Eats weird shit. Doesn’t move their fat ass. Makes people do shit for them. Acts pathetic. Whines about their legs hurting. Acts like a needy bitch. Gets time off from work…” he looks up at Ian’s aggravated expression. “Anything I missed?”
“I was in a car accident, Mick,” Ian says, pushing the sandwich aside and huffing. With his arms folded across his chest, Ian looks like a toddler. Which, given how the sudden poutiness of his lips is turning Mickey on, is really fucked up. “I’m allowed to be all those things. And besides, my ass it not fat!”
Mickey laughs, moving the plate well and truly onto the floor and straddling Ian’s thighs.
With Ian’s leg in a cast, he’s been out of commission in a lot of ways. The bright side of it all – if you want to look at it like that – is that it’s been great exercise for Mickey’s leg muscles.
“That’s what you think,” he says, ducking in to bite at Ian’s pouting bottom lip.
He’s giving Mickey what he’s heard Lip refer to as ‘the chin’ so he just sucks a mark underneath Ian’s jaw and laughs lightly against the skin there.
“Fuck you, bubble butt,” Ian says, tone still annoyed even if he is pushing his hips up against Mickey.
His hands come around to cup Mickey’s ass, kneading the flesh through his sweatpants roughly. Mickey can feel Ian’s cock fattening up against him and smirks against Ian’s neck before he starts to scowl.
“I do not have a bubble butt,” he complains, pulling back to look Ian dead in the eye.
Ian laughs, slips his hands under the fabric to tease at Mickey’s crack. “Yeah you do,” he says. “But it’s okay,” he kisses Mickey quickly, distracting him from the feeling of a dry finger suddenly probing at his hole. “I like your bubble butt.”
Mickey rolls his eyes, still a little aggravated at the description, but he’ll let it go for now.
Especially when Ian’s sliding the tip of a dry finger inside of him. His head falls back on a moan and he grinds down into the touch, Ian’s cock a hot weight under his balls.
He loves this position above Ian. Although there’s always something so great about being pinned beneath the other man, caged in and fucked into roughly, softly, however Ian wants, he likes the control this gives him. He likes being able to tease Ian, back off and slow down when he wants or just ride him hard and fast and dirty straight into the mattress.
He likes to make Ian come undone, to tie his wrists against their headboard and watch him struggle to get leverage with his bad leg against the sheets as Mickey teases the head of his cock with a tongue and flutters light, slippery fingers over his hole.
“You gonna ride me, baby?” Ian breathes out between their mouths, the hand that isn’t busy teasing Mickey’s ass fumbling for the lube they keep down the side of the couch.
Mickey always overlooks the little pet names when they’re like this. He won’t admit to liking them, refuses to, but he thinks Ian knows. How could he not? He knows everything about Mickey. And it’s a little hard to miss that sometimes when Ian whispers baby or sweetheart into his ear Mickey will come so hard he blacks out a little, on command like some bitch in heat.
“Fuck yeah,” he murmurs, tearing himself away from Ian’s touch long enough to fight his way out of his sweatpants.
He drops back into Ian’s lap, something dark and primal in him loving the scratchy feel of Ian’s boxers against his ass. There’s something about Ian still being partially dressed in his t-shirt and underwear whilst Mickey’s naked above him that sets Mickey off.
Ian’s fingers press back into him and he falls forwards slightly, pushes backwards as he blindly seeks out Ian’s lips. Ian kisses him like he’s drowning, like he’s desperate for it. He kisses him hard and deep, fucking his tongue into Mickey’s mouth and completely dominating everything whilst he thrusts his fingers into Mickey’s hole.
Mickey’s almost completely useless, gasping into Ian’s mouth, barely having the ability to kiss back. He’s just slackly moving his lips, letting Ian completely control everything as he’s torn between focussing on the slick slide of Ian’s mouth and the burn of his fingers.
The hand that isn’t stretching him open grips Mickey’s jaw hard, moves his head into just the position Ian wants.
“That’s it, baby,” Ian whispers, sucking at the spot behind Mickey’s ear that makes his hips buck and his cock leak. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot, Mick. You have no idea what you fucking do to me.”
Mickey has some idea and he says as much as he reaches beneath himself to palm Ian’s cock. The head is peeking up out of the waistband of his boxers and Mickey wants to slink down and suck on it briefly, greet it like it deserves.
He doesn’t though, because out of all the ideas darting through his brain, there’s one in particular that’s becoming increasingly more appealing to him.
He reaches behind himself and presses Ian’s hand firmly so it’s flush against his cheeks, grinds backwards against the three fingers inside of him. Ian moans deep in his throat at the action and when he leans forwards, Mickey meets him halfway for a kiss.
He licks at the back of Ian’s teeth, runs his tongue all around the inside of Ian’s mouth, trying to taste every part of him that he can. He nips at Ian’s bottom lip, makes it red and plump and then sucks it into his mouth. He tastes Ian’s moans directly from the source. He discovered a long time ago, it’s the best way.
Eventually though, he makes himself lift up, tease Ian’s cock through the slit in the front of his boxers and then when Ian slips his hands free, he presses the head just at the rim of his hole. He smirks down at Ian, at his blown out pupils and slack mouth. He’s so gorgeous like this.
He’s gorgeous usually, but especially like this.
Mickey loves him. Fuck, but does he love him.
“Come on,” Ian whines, trying to shift his hips up and press into Mickey. Mickey moves with him though, lifting up when Ian tries to. “Mick, please. Baby…”
Mickey shushes him, kisses him gently, chastely again. “Just sit back,” he says. “Stay still.”
He runs his hands down over Ian’s shoulders, gropes the firm muscles there. He touches the scar at the base of Ian’s throat, taps his fingers against the constellation of freckles. He tugs gently at the chest hair Ian’s been letting grown in, thumbs at a nipple. He traces his fingers down Ian’s strong arms, over firm muscle and the veins that stand out on the backs of his hands. He takes Ian’s large hands in his, knits their fingers together, even sticky with lube as they are.
He stares at Ian’s face, watching everything he doesn’t need to try to memorise, because how could he ever forget? He wants Ian to know how beautiful he is, he wants to tell him, but he can’t find the words.
So he just grips Ian’s hands tight in his and holds his gaze as he sinks down onto the head of Ian’s cock. He takes just the head inside of himself, eyelashes fluttering and a small, “oh,” escaping at the feel.
He loves the feel of Ian’s fat head rubbing up against the inside of his rim, teasing at it as he shifts up and back in just these tiny, minute little movements. Ian’s gasping underneath him, staring at Mickey like he’s something wondrous and cruel. Maybe he is.
Mickey slides himself down just a small, bare inch at a time before he backs off again. He keeps the tip of Ian’s cock inside himself always, keeps them connected there and at the hands.
Ian’s grip is tight on his fingers, almost to the point of hurting, but it’s amazing grounding feeling. It’s something Mickey can concentrate on to keep from coming as he slowly slides down more and more of Ian’s cock.
When he’s finally fully seated, the cloth of Ian’s underwear against his balls, Ian lets out this noise like he’s choking. “Please, babe,” he says, whining. “Please, love.”
And Mickey takes pity on him. He tenses his thighs and lifts up, slamming himself back down sharply and then again and again and again until Ian’s head is thunking against the back of the couch and he’s crying out with each bounce of Mickey on his cock.
There’s no slap of flesh on flesh with Ian’s boxers in the way, just the slight rustle of fabric and their moans. But when Ian quiets, teeth set into his own lip and eyes screwed tight shut, Mickey can hear the wet sound of Ian sliding in and out of himself. He can hear every inch of that slickness rubbing up inside of him and it’s that that ruins him.
His movements turn jerky and erratic and he grinds down hard against Ian’s cock. “Shit, fuck,” he gasps out, chasing the orgasm that’s hovering just out of reach.
His eyes meet Ian’s again and like always, Ian knows exactly what he needs.
He untangles a hand from Mickey’s grip, let’s Mickey cup his jaw, fix their gazes together and slips the now free one behind the man on top of him. He moves his fingers over where they’re connected, fingertips rubbing slickly against Mickey’s rim and his own cock moving in and out.
Later he’ll swear he didn’t mean to, he’ll blame it on the amount of lube and Mickey’s movements, but it doesn’t matter. Just the tip of one finger slips in beside his cock, tugging tight and fitting snug against Mickey’s rim and sending a sharp, delicious burn through Mickey’s entire body.
Mickey keens, tightening around Ian’s cock and that one finger and gripping Ian’s jaw hard enough to leave a bruise. He comes, shooting long ropes of come up between them and not even caring when he falls slack against Ian’s chest, right into the mess.
He’s barely even aware of Ian finishing himself off, thrusting gently against Mickey’s ass, and then pressing in as deep as he can possibly go as he finally comes.
Mickey is useless, a deadweight against him as Ian pets his hair, whispers words neither of them can remember against his skin. “I love you,” Mickey murmurs, unable to help himself as Ian drags the blanket off the back of the couch and wraps it around them.
Ian’s cock is still resting inside his hole, soft and oversensitive now, but it’ll take more than that to draw Ian out of his body.
Ian smiles and kisses the side of his face gently, sweetly.
Mickey’s already half asleep as he replies, “I love you too, babe,” right into his ear.
It’s not necessarily the most comfortable position that they’re in, but they’re nestled in their cocoon now. Mickey is asleep and warm against his chest, panting out little puffs of air against the side of Ian’s throat and Ian couldn’t dream of moving. Even if Mickey did put his sandwich just out of reach on the floor.
He’ll just eat it later.