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Ian opened her eyes and stretched her arms over her head, yawning as the first rays of sunlight creeped in through the break in the window curtains. According to the clock on the nightstand, it was still pretty early—not even 7:15—but Ian couldn't help the smile that grew on her face when she looked over and saw her sleeping wife.
Mickey. Her wife. Even two months after their near disaster of a wedding, the idea that they were married, silver rings and all, made Ian's stomach swoop with butterflies and left her giddy. She didn't know how she could have ever second-guessed the decision to marry Mickey, because now? Things seemed perfect.
She watched quietly as Mickey slumbered on, her mouth slightly open and her long eyelashes brushing against the faint freckles on her cheeks. It couldn't be helped, Ian had to reach out and brush the backs of her fingers against Mickey's skin, soft in a way Mickey herself wasn't. Ian liked the fact that she was the only one to see this side of her wife; Mickey had never let anyone else get close enough. Only Ian.
Carefully, she leaned in and pressed her lips oh so gently to Mickey's own. Ian grinned when Mickey's eyelashes fluttered and she made a low, grumbling noise in the back of her throat, stretching to where her black tank top started to ride up along her stomach. And Ian was only human, so she couldn't really help it if she stared at the skin revealed there.
“The fuck you doin’, Gallagher?” Mickey said, her voice all gravelly from sleep, even as her expression was both soft and grumpy in equal measure. It was adorable as fuck. Mickey was the cutest right when she woke up, but she hated when Ian called her cute. More reason to do it, really.
“Just looking at my wife, that's all,” Ian said quietly, brushing her thumb over Mickey's cheek. “She's pretty hot—I can't really help myself.”
Mickey smiled back at her in spite of herself. “Fuckin’ creeper,” she said, voice fond. “Starin’ at people while they're trying to get some sleep.”
“Can't help it,” Ian said again, leaning in for a brief kiss. Mickey's lips were soft, her hand coming up to card through Ian's wild mess of hair. Ever since the start, Mickey had always loved Ian's hair, even when she couldn't admit it out loud. When they were teenagers Mickey was always looking for an excuse to touch her hair, not even just during sex. She'd pull at Ian's ponytail, would call her “firecrotch” and make jokes about how the carpet matched the drapes; when they were living together, both at the Gallagher and Milkovich houses, Ian loved when they would lie in bed together, Mickey combing her fingers through Ian's hair, playing with it and kissing the back of her neck.
Now they were here, they were married, and Ian couldn't get enough of Mickey's touches, her kisses, her sleep soft smile as she leaned in to kiss Ian again and again, just tiny pecks on her lips and cheeks. The fact that she let Ian see her like this was a treasure that Ian knew she'd been a fool to ever take for granted. It was her intention to spend the rest of their lives making up for that lost time.
Mickey propped herself up on her elbow, letting her other hand travel down from Ian's hair and along her shoulder, across her collarbone, down to the scoop neck of her tank top that she'd worn to bed. It sent a shiver up Ian's spine when Mickey's small, slender fingers trailed along the cleft between Ian's breasts, Mickey's breath hitching at almost the same time as Ian's own. Ian knew she'd never get tired of this, not even when they were old and gray-haired.
“Mickey…” Ian breathed, earning her a low chuckle from her wife.
“What's that, babe?” Mickey said, tracing her fingers down Ian's belly, till she hit the hemline of her shirt. Those clever fingers slid under the material, along the soft planes of Ian's stomach, the touch so soft it made Ian's muscles twitch. A smile grew on her lips, and she grabbed Mickey's hands, using her height to her advantage so she could flip them over on the bed. Ian laced their fingers together but her thighs had Mickey pinned—not that she'd ever complained about being underneath Ian, of course—and Mickey only smirked up at her. “I touch a nerve or something there, Gallagher?”
“Nah,” Ian said, giving Mickey a cocky grin of her own. “But we're both awake now, so we oughta make the most of it.” She leaned in, nuzzling against the crook of Mickey's neck and nipping at her skin playfully. It earned her a small gasp, even in spite of Mickey's cockiness. Score one for Ian Gallagher.
“Oh, yeah? And what'd you have in mind?”
“Mmm…” Ian didn't answer right away, just breathed in the scent of their shared apple shampoo from Mickey's hair. “I kinda figured I'd have some breakfast in bed.”
“Fuck, you're such a corny bitch,” Mickey said, even as her breath hitched when Ian brought her hand down and started to traced along the top line of her panties, and slowly, slowly tugging them down off her hips. “You gonna get moving any time soon, or what?”
Ian laughed, pressing more kisses against Mickey's lips and jaw, moving her other hand to Mickey's hair. The undercut part of her head was freshly shaved, Ian having helped her do it just a few nights ago when Mickey had been complaining about it getting long. Ian loved the texture of it, the contrast between the shorter part and her longer, fine black hair that fell in waves around Mickey's shoulders. “Kinda felt like taking it slow,” she admitted. “Wanna see how many times I can make you come before breakfast and coffee.”
Mickey smirked, but it broke into a moan when Ian's hand finally dipped under the elastic waistline of her panties. “Ah, fuck, Ian-”
“Gotta be quiet, Mick,” Ian said, emphasizing her wife's name with a kiss before she began to move her way down along Mickey's body.
“Try and make me scream, bitch,” Mickey huffed out, already breathing slightly shallow. “Bet I can last longer than you.”
Ian looked forward to seeing how quickly she could win that bet.