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Mickey shakes his head, rolling his eyes, as some random asshole on the street yells his name.
"Mad Dog!! Yo! Mad Dog Mick!" the guy screams, waving his arms like a lunatic. He's sprinting in Mickey's direction, making a total fool of himself. Mickey stops walking, plastering his best 'Public Persona" smile on his face and turning around. He was literal steps from his house, but it would be a prick move to ignore the guy.
"Hey." Mickey said, smiling.
"Dude!" the guy says. His whole face is bright red and he's smiling like a lunatic. Mickey just stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets, waiting. "I am such a huge fan! Your show is hilarious. Way better than Stern, if you ask me. That bit you did with the strippers the other day, oh man. My ol' lady was so pissed, said a gay dude should know better than to objectify women. Whatever that means."
Mickey just nodded. 'Strip Club Horror Stories' - That bit had gone over better than he anticipated. Funny shit happens at strip clubs, everyone knows that, right?
"Thanks man." Mickey said, still smiling, even though all he wanted to do was go home and have a beer. Working in radio, he had long, irregular hours. Sometimes staying late to prerecord bits so they could be edited for a later show. Not everything is live, like everyone seems to think. "Can't go wrong with strippers, right?" he added on, knowing these kinds of fans well. He counts himself lucky to still hold a major portion of the 'straight males under 30' demographic, after telling Chicago and the world that he himself was a big ol' moe.
His managers had told him to keep a lid on his sexuality. Said it would hurt his image as a tough as nails south side brawler turned DJ. Said he'd lose his hard rock edge, and his listeners. But he was done fucking hiding. He spent his whole life in the closet. First, he did it to survive. Then he did it to keep what he earned. Radio wasn't easy. It was pretty much a big popularity contest, and there was always some asshole coming up trying to take your spot at the top.
But Mickey didn't want to live a lie anymore. If he could stand up to his asshole homophobe father, he could tell his fans he liked dick.
So he did.
It had ended up being a non-issue anyway. It's the 21st century for fuck's sake. If there are people out there that stopped listening to Mad Dog Mick just because he's into dudes, the numbers aren't showing it. If anything, his little coming out has boosted his ratings. His podcast numbers alone have doubled since he outed himself in an interview with Perry Ferrell from Jane addiction.
It had started out with just Perry discussing his own bisexuality, and culminated with Mickey openly admitting to hundreds of thousands of listeners that he too prefers the company of men.
Mickey had never felt more free. Not even when he told his father he sucked dick and liked it.
His father's a non-issue these days too. Doing life in prison for murder. Good riddance.
Mickey's life is not what he'd expected it to be. He never thought he'd live past is twenty first birthday. Or if he did, he'd be in jail like his brothers.
But everything changed for him during his last stint in juvie. He'd been thirteen, doing six months for a grisly assault. He'd been following his father's orders when he broke that guy's kneecaps, but Mickey had hated himself the entire time.
He didn't want to be his father's henchman. He didn't want to hurt other people, or risk getting his own head bashed in.
He wanted something better. But he didn't know how to get it.
His counselor at the detention center asked him what he was good at. He said 'Talking.', like the smart ass he was. But the counselor had run with it, and Mickey had gotten swept up in her enthusiasm. When he'd wrapped his bid, his dad was already locked up for the murder that would keep him behind bars until the day he died. So Mickey had moved in with his Aunt Rand. It was just him, his sister and his aunt, all her own kids were grown by then.
Mickey had been on probation for his assault charge, and a stipulation was that he go back to school. So he did. Without his father around to fuck his shit up, he got good grades, and graduated. A year late, but that shit didn't matter. He fucking did it. After that he went on to community college (first Milkovich to do that, thank you very much.) as a communications major.
He got an internship at WROX in his senior year, and caught the eye of one of the uppity ups at the top of the food chain.
And Mad Dog Mick was born.
People loved his brashness. His no-bullshit attitude. His incredible taste in music. His sick sense of humor.
He was the total package, and he knew it.
Okay, he may be a little cocky, but he's come a long fucking way, and he thinks he's allowed to be a little full of himself these days.
The fan is still yammering on about the newest album of a band Mickey has no interest in. He just wants to go home to his swanky new condo and get plastered in his underwear like any other regular guy. It's Friday night and he's overdue for some booze and good tunes.
"Thanks man." Mickey said, effectively ending the conversation. He gives a little wave and dodges the guy's outstretched hand as he finally makes his way to the door of his condo complex.
He sighs in relief as he saunters through the lobby toward the elevator.
He just closed on his condo a couple weeks ago. It was a big fucking deal for him. He never thought he'd be a homeowner. Life is so fucked up sometimes. Except now, Mickey kinda likes the way life is fucking him up.
He's still getting used to the building. People are so different on the north side. Nice, sometimes. Nosy, most of the time. Mickey supposes it has something to do with the fact that he's 'famous', even though he detests the word. He's not fucking famous. He's just a guy with a show people like to listen to.
So he tries his best to be polite, when his first instinct is and probably always will be to be rude. He smiles instead of telling his neighbors to fuck off. He waves instead of giving them the finger. He answers inane, stupid questions like 'how about that sox game?' He tires to play the part of 'nice neighbor', even when he'd rather just keep his distance.
Like right now.
He's in the elevator. The doors are about to close when a man's hand stops the doors from sliding together.
"Hold the elevator!" a shrill voice calls from the other side.
Mickey sighs, pressing the 'door open' button. The door slides back open and two men are standing on the other side.
Mickey can tell right away that they are gay, and together. It's not like he has fail-proof built in gaydar or anything. The guys are holding fucking hands, standing so close that their hips are touching. Mickey's long gotten used to open displays of affection between men. With college and the fruity clubs he frequents to get his rocks off, he's seen it all. So two dudes canoodling in the elevator doesn't bother him in the slightest.
He takes a moment to pat himself on the back for losing all his stupid Terry-induced hangups. It took a long ass time to accept his own gayness, never mind the blatant gayness of random strangers. His younger self would be swinging by now, ready to make these brazen faggots bleed.
But instead, he just smiles, backing up against the far wall so the couple can join him in the elevator.
"Thank you!" the shorter one says. He looks like your textbook twink. Blond, longish hair styled into some kind of pompadour. He's wearing skin tight slacks and a floral blouse. God, Mickey's never seen anyone gayer. It's kind of hilarious.
The second guy looks more like a normal dude, whatever that means. Dark hair swept off his face, old t shirt, leather jacket, jeans just the right side of tight. If he wasn't obviously with Captain Queer, Mickey might hit on him.
No. Stop that. The last thing he needs is to get mixed up with one of his new neighbors. Mickey doesn't have an aversion to relationships, and he's even more open to string-free fucking, but hooking up with a neighbor is a no-go. Because when it goes south, (which it will) there is nowhere to hide. Everywhere you look, you will see your mistake staring back at you. He doesn't need to be reminded of his indiscretions when he's checking his mail.
The taller guy looks up when Mick's phone beeps. Mickey looks down, seeing a text from his sister. Before he can start typing out a reply, the guy gasps.
"Mad Dog?" he says, tapping his boyfriend on the shoulder. "Cal, baby, it's Mad Dog Mick!"
Mickey hangs his head, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. He figured he wouldn't have much time before his neighbors figured out who he was, but he's only been living in the building for a few days. Now that his secret was out, he doubted he'd get a moment's peace. Why people thought you'd be open for conversation just because you were famous, Mickey had no idea.
"Oh my god!" the shorter one squealed. Cal, apparently, started doing this weird little jig around the cramped compartment. "Are you 8C??" he asked. "Cuz we saw the moving vans and I just knew! I told you, didn't I, Teddy? Anyone who has a 'Tommy' pinball machine has to be fucking awesome."
"You guys casin' me?" Mickey asks before he can stop himself. A small smile splits his lips as Cal's whole face pales. "Cuz I've got insurance, but I'd hate to have to make a claim."
"What? No! Oh god. I'd never. We'd never." Cal stammered. "I am a law abiding citizen. We're on the neighborhood watch."
"Baby, I think he's teasing you." Teddy said, putting a gentle hand on his husband's shoulder.
Cal's pale face breaks out in a bright red blush. "Oh." he says quietly. "Of course."
Mickey takes pity on him. "Yeah, just moved in. Nice building. Neighbors are...friendly." he says, still smiling.
"We're big fans, man." Teddy says, extending his hand. "When you came out on air, it was a big deal for all of us." Mickey actually shakes his hand. This guy doesn't seem so bad.
"Thanks." Mickey says as the doors open and he steps out. The two men follow him. They must live on his floor. "I didn't think too much of how it was gonna go with the public. I just didn't want to lie anymore." he's not sure why he's being so honest with two people he doesn't even know. But there's no reason to hide, not anymore.
Mickey smiles at the thought.
"Well, it's just awesome to have you in the building." Teddy says, wrapping his arm around Cal and steering him toward their door. "We'll have to have you over for drinks some night."
"Sure. Sounds good." Mickey agrees, cuz why the fuck not? Even if fucking was off the table, it never hurt to be friendly, right?
Mickey turns and unlocks his door. As he steps over the threshold, he hears Cal whispering loudly.
"Oh baby, wait 'til I tell Ian. He's gonna DIE!"
-------------------------------------------
Mickey hadn't thought much about the 'Ian' Cal had mentioned. From the way the man talked, he knew everyone in the building, all forty residents. So he could have been talking about someone that would interest Mickey, or the geriatric fucker who always seemed to be walking to or from the laundry. Mickey had no way of knowing.
There was one neighbor he might not mind getting to know better.
The one he was currently sharing the elevator with.
He'd seen him one other time since he'd moved in, at the mailboxes. Hot ginger motherfucker. Wore the hell outta a suit, that's for sure.
Mickey had been keeping his eyes peeled since the mail box sighting, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man in the building, but had struck out until just now.
It was a little after five on a Friday, and Mickey had plans with his sister. He was just stopping by his condo to change out of his work shit and throw on something a little more appropriate. He didn't want to go to some stupid dinner at some ridiculously overpriced restaurant to meet Mandy's jackass boyfriend, but since Mickey was all the family she had, it fell to him to vet these pricks. Mandy had notoriously shitty taste in men, and Mickey often had to weed out the bad apples.
So he didn't mind buying her dinner, as long as he got to scope out the dude who was trying to bang her, put the fear of god into him.
Mickey was tucked into the back of the elevator, going over some notes for an interview he was doing next week. The doors of the lift were just closing when long, freckly arm shot between them. A muffled 'ouch' could be heard on the other side, causing Mickey to chuckle to himself.
The doors slid back open and Mickey glanced up over his device.
Holy hell.
Mickey was floored. It was Mailbox Guy. Shit, he was even hotter up close. Tall and muscular, looking downright edible in a dress shirt and tie. Red hair highlighted his pale face, which was framed with adorable little black-rimmed glasses. Mickey never thought he'd find the nerdy type sexy, but damn, this guy was making him rethink his whole rating system.
He kept his cool, though. He didn't know this guy from Adam, and Mickey was not the kind of guy to just hit on random people who may or may not be his neighbor. He just moved into this building. He kind of wanted to feel the place out before he started wagging his dick at any hot piece of ass he came across.
Mickey chuckled a little at his own ridiculous thought.
He chances a glance up and Mr. Hot As Fuck is staring right at him, mouth flopping like a fish, like he's about to say something. Mickey's lips quirk up.
The sexy ginger seems to be a little tongue tied, but he smiles back. Mickey thinks he's kinda cute, acting all coy and shit. The guy opens his mouth again, and Mickey's interested in what he's going to say, but before he can utter a word, the elevator doors open again and on hops Ted.
Of course.
Ted squeezes himself into the small space between Mickey and the hot guy. Mickey leaned up against the far wall, listening to Ted tell Ian (Ian was his name? The same Ian Cal had mentioned? Well, that's interesting.) about some queer sale at Macy's. Cashmere sweaters or something else Mickey doesn't give a shit about.
He chides himself silently for not starting a conversation with Ian sooner. He's oddly drawn to the guy, which is strange since he's only seen him a handful of times. He inexplicably wants to get to know him better, which is a revelation in an of itself. Mickey is usually a 'fuck and fuck off' kind of guy, never really giving a shit about getting to know the dudes he's screwed. Hell, he's not even banging this guy, and he's thinking about him more than guys he's actually fucked.
Ian's the kinda guy Mickey would break his 'no neighbors' policy for. Rules are made to be broken, after all.
The elevator gets to their floor, and Mickey leaves the pair hauling bags toward the opposite end of the hall. He listens to them talking about random happenings around the apartment building. Mickey likes the sound of Ian's voice. It's deep and warm. He kinda wants to have his own conversations with the guy. See if his personality can measure up to his banging body and sexy voice.
Mickey shrugged it off, it's not like he wouldn't see Ian again. They did live in the same building, after all.
----------------------------------------
And he did see Ian. Quite a lot.
But Mickey couldn't figure him out, so he kept his distance.
He got a weird vibe from Ian. Mickey can't read him. When he sees him in the lobby, Ian keeps his head down, shooting Mickey furtive glances like he's afraid Mickey's going to rob him or something. Other times he'll pass him in the hall, and Ian will straight up undress him with his eyes. Staring at him with this hungry, lustful expression when he thinks Mickey's not looking.
Mickey can't make heads or tails of it, so he hangs back, waiting to see if the beautiful ginger will make his intentions clear.
It goes on like that for a while. Chance encounters that amount to nothing every time. Mickey wants to make a move, but he kind of likes playing this little game with Ian. He wants to see how long it will take for one of them to finally break.
He's not even sure he's going to like Ian, like as a person or whatever. But he can't help but feel drawn to him, for whatever reason.
He's sure the sex would be incredible. At least it is, in his mind, when he's stroking his cock, imagining the perplexing redhead plowing him.
A few weeks after Mickey moved into the building, he found his way down to the gym in the basement. He had a membership at a gym downtown, but this shit was included in his HOA fees, and they had a sauna.
No brainer, really.
He wandered into the gym one night just after the news ended. He wanted to check the place out when no one else was down there. His neighbors were cool. Some of them were a little star-struck, however. And when Mickey wanted to work up a sweat, he didn't want to have to make small talk or sign autographs. He figured the gym would be deserted at this time of night.
And it was. Almost.
The sound of a singular treadmill filled the small room. Mickey didn't glance over. He was here to work out. If he kept his head down and just went about his business, whoever was on the treadmill probably wouldn't even notice him.
He walked over to a weight bench against the far wall. He grabbed a couple weights, sliding them along the bar. Once he was satisfied with the weight on the bar, he laid down on the bench and reached up, gripping the bar and pushing it up and bringing it down. He let it hover just above his chest for a moment before raising it back up slowly. He huffed out a harsh breath at the effort. Shit was heavier than he anticipated.
He did as many reps as he could without a spotter, replacing the bar and moving on to the next set of equipment. The entire time he was lifting, he listened to the constant thud of feet hitting the treadmill across the room.
Mickey was almost done with his workout. Just a few squats on that last piece of machinery and he could hit the sauna. God, that was the best part of the workout. That hot steam, soaking into his skin and pushing out all the sweat and impurities. So relaxing. Mickey's not sure how he went twenty-plus years without a sauna, but now that he knows what he's been missing, he's never going without again.
He's such a spoiled little bitch these days, but he can't say he regrets the change.
Mickey grunts, bending his knees as far as they will go before pushing back to a standing position. He has to use all his strength to get that last squat in, but he does it. His thighs and ass are burning, and he knows he's hit his limit.
He does his final squat, replacing the bar on it's station, and leaning over to grab his water bottle. He takes a long, satisfying sip before turning toward the sauna.
As he saunters across the room, he finally looks over toward the treadmills, finally discovering the identity of his late-night gym buddy.
It's none other than Mr. Hot-as-fuck. His enigmatic neighbor he can't get out of his head.
Ian.
Mickey's caught Ian in an awkward position. His eyes were glued to Mickey's backside like the answers to all life's mysteries were printed across Mickey's ass cheeks.
Well then.
Mickey took another sip of his water, maybe making a bit of a show of closing his lips around the spout. He smirked at the red head, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead. Mickey licked his lips, still smiling. He was toying with the idea of just going over there and saying something. Ending this stupid little stand off between them.
But just as the idea crossed his mind, Ian waved. Ian waved, then lost his footing on the treadmill and went careening off the back of the machine. His back connected with the wall hard and he crumpled to the floor with a pained groan.
Mickey's mouth hung open, shocked and a little worried. But Ian just cursed under his breath, pulling the safety key from the treadmill, and covering his reddened face with his hand.
Mickey chuckled, turning back toward the sauna. The moment was lost, and Mickey's sure Ian's pretty fucking embarrassed right now. Best thing to do would be to retreat and regroup. There's no way the other man would be open to talking right now. Not after making a fool of himself in such spectacular fashion.
So Mickey leaves him to pick himself and his dignity off the floor, wandering into the sauna. He drops a ladle of water onto the rocks before situating himself along the bench.
Mickey sits there for a while, just trying to figure Ian out.
Is he into Mickey? Interested in him as a person? Does he want him?
Or is he just another star-struck fan, getting all goofy and tongue-tied around a famous person?
There's no real way for Mickey to know. It's not like Ian's giving him much to go on. Every time they see each other it's this weird, super awkward encounter, and Mickey can't make heads or tails out of any of it.
Hell, they've never even spoken.
Mickey usually doesn't have this problem. Usually he doesn't even care. He keeps his sexual encounters clinical and anonymous. It's just how he's always done it. He's not opposed to the idea of dating, he's just never felt the desire to get to know anyone past their dick size, and the way it feels inside his body. No one has ever charmed him the way Ian does, even if he's not giving Mickey much to work with.
There's just something about the nerdy, nervous red head. Mickey can't figure it out, and that only intrigues him more.
He bangs his head lightly against the sauna wall. If this is what it's like to have a crush, Mickey's not impressed.
------------------------------------------
It was a rare Monday off for Mickey, and he was ready to just hang out in his sweats and do nothing all day.
Well, almost nothing.
He had to walk Diesel, his rescue pittie. When Mickey was a kid, he'd wanted a dog so bad. He guesses that's a thing most kids want, but it just wasn't an option for him. They were too poor, they lived to dangerously. There was no continuity or routine growing up in the Milkovich family, two things you needed to have a pet. Not to mention it wouldn't have been safe. Terry had no problem beating the shit out of his kids, it's not really a mystery what he would have done to a defenseless animal.
And Aunt Rand was allergic...
So Mickey had never had a dog. Until now that is.
He hadn't really been in the market for a pet, it just kind of happened. WROX was doing a charity event with Chicago Saves, a non-profit, no kill shelter that was often the last resort for animals that were on euthanization lists at other shelters. Mickey had been at the shelter, doing a live show as part of the fundraiser. It was a big success, raising thousands of dollars for the shelter, and getting a lot of animals adopted. It was close to the end of the event, and Mickey and his crew were gathering up their shit to head back to the station. Mickey had walked by the now empty cages, until his eye caught on the cage at the very end.
Behind the wire mesh, laying on the concrete floor was a gray dog with blue eyes. He seemed to be staring at Mickey.
"What's up with this one?" Mickey asked Troy, the volunteer they'd been working with all day.
"Looks like D didn't garner any interest today." Troy said sadly. "Pit bulls get a bad wrap, but they're great dogs. Rumors can be viscous, though, and people scare easily." Troy shrugged. "He'll stay with us until we find someone willing to look beyond they scary stories they've heard, and see that D's just a big ol' bundle of love, huh D?" Troy had laughed, opening the enclosure to lead the dog back to his regular cage. The dog had rolled onto his back, exposing his belly for Troy to pet.
Troy's words had stuck with Mickey. The dog had a bad rap, because of his breed. The dog looked scary and intimidating, but just wanted to be loved. Mickey's not one to look too deeply into shit like that, but he could certainly relate to the dog's plight. Mickey had gotten a bad wrap his whole life. His attitude and his family name scared people off, until one person looked beyond that shit and gave Mickey a chance.
Mickey's whole life had changed because of that one person. That one chance.
"What kind of name is D for a dog?" Mickey had asked, following Troy and the dog down the hall. Why he followed, he didn't know.
"His name's Diesel, but we just call him D." Troy had said. He led the dog back to his enclosure, and Mickey watched as the dog got comfy on his little bed in the corner.
Mickey walked back down the hall, looking over his shoulder every few steps. Diesel was watching him the whole time.
Mickey had gone back to Chicago Saves two days later. And that's how Diesel became a Milkovich.
Mickey had been worried when he moved into the condo, that it wouldn't be enough space for D, but the dog had acclimated quickly. As long as he got his two walks a day, Diesel was a happy camper.
So Mickey threw on a light jacket and his sneakers, leashing up his dog and heading out of his apartment.
He was exiting the front of the building when he ran into Cal, who was walking with some high maintenance looking bitch. She had one of those huge purses, and even bigger sunglasses.
"Mickey, hey." Cal smiled, but blanched a little when he saw D. "Oh dear. That's quite a dog." he said, taking a step back.
"He's harmless, Cal." Mickey laughed. "You probably scare him more than he scares you."
"I doubt that." Cal said quietly. The girl squeezed Cal's shoulder, walking past him and further into the building. Cal seemed to calm a little, pushing his sunglasses up on his forehead so he could look at Mickey. "I heard you ran into Ian in the gym."
Mickey looked up at Cal, crossing his arms over his chest. Diesel was whining, trying to pull Mickey out the front door, but Mickey wasn't quite done with his neighbor. "And how the fuck did you hear that?"
"Ian told me, obviously." Cal said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "How else would I know? He told me he made a total fool of himself. But boys will often do that when faced with the object of their affection." Cal smirked.
Mickey's eyebrows shot to his hairline. This guy was such a little shit-stirrer. "You sayin' he's got a boner for me, Cal?" Mickey asked, pulling Diesel's leash back as his dog tried yet again to make for the door. Cal laughed, blushing a little at Mickey's vulgar language. He nodded, still smirking.
"You didn't hear this from me, obviously." Cal said, finally making his way toward his friend, who was still waiting by the elevator. "But that boy's got it bad for you."
"Yeah, okay." Mickey said, turning his back on his nosy neighbor and finally getting his dog out of the building.
The entire time Mickey was walking D, he couldn't get what Cal had said out of his head. If Ian was so interested in him, why has he still not even introduced himself? It makes no sense. It has to be one of those celebrity crush things. Maybe Ian likes his show personality, and his body, but has no interest in pursuing him beyond the fantasy.
Mickey's not sure how he feels about any of this. He's not used to this shit. This crushing-from-afar, dancing around each other bullshit. Maybe he should just make a move, figure out what's really going on once and for all. If Ian's interested, he's got a funny way of showing it.
But Mickey's determined to figure it out, one way or the other. Either he'll get in the sexy ginger's pants, or he'll put the whole idea to bed and find somewhere else to stick his dick.
The idea of abandoning 'Operation Ian' gives Mickey a strange feeling in his gut. He doesn't like it at all.
Diesel barks loudly, and takes off running down the street after a bike messenger. Mickey trips over his feet, but stays upright, flailing down the sidewalk at the mercy of his stupid dog.
As he sprints after D, barely able to hold onto the leash, Mickey's focus is drawn away from his red-headed problem. For now, anyway.
---------------------------------------------
About an hour later, Mickey is back from his walk. Diesel is asleep in his bed and Mickey is mixing himself a drink to take up to the roof terrace. He's got some files he needs to read for a story the show is doing next week.
He likes to work up on the roof. It's quiet, especially during the day, when all the other poor saps are at their 9-5 office jobs. Mickey's glad he can do all his off-air work at home. He's pretty fucking lucky.
He finds his favorite chair, one of those lounge things, and drops his drink onto the side table. He swings his legs onto the chair and puts his headphones in. He opens up the file he's supposed to be reading on his tablet, then opens up his Pandora, setting up his favorite 90's rock station. Rock was so much better, back in the day.
Nine Inch Nails comes on. 'Closer', to be specific. Mickey tries to focus on the words he's reading and not the words he's hearing, but the lyrics of the song keep pulling his brain in a totally different direction.
Of course, his traitorous mind conjures up images of his elusive neighbor to go along with the dark, dirty lyrics he's hearing.
You let me violate you
You let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you
You let me complicate you
Mickey lets the filthy lyrics flow over him, as his brain draws up debauched images in his mind's eye. He'd let Ian do all those things to him. He's positive Ian would complicate him to no end. Mickey's already all twisted up in the guy and he's yet to introduce himself. He's feeling all kinds of ways over a guy he doesn't even know. He's used to being the object of random crushes from strangers, he's not used to being the one obsessing over a guy he doesn't even know.
He chides himself silently for going down this road again, but loses his battle with himself as the chorus of the song starts up, and just like that, he's drawn back into his salacious fantasies.
I want to fuck you like an animal
I want to feel you from the inside
I want to fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to god
Mickey groans low in his throat, thankful to be alone on the terrace at the moment. He slides his hand across his stomach, gingerly pressing against his swelling cock, willing his body to calm the fuck down. This is not the time or the place for a fucking boner. Jesus.
It's just, he can't seem to control his thoughts. He can't stop from wondering what kind of lover Ian would be. Would he fuck Mickey like an animal? Totally own him? Mickey has a feeling Ian knows what he's doing in the bedroom. He'd bet his next check that Ian is a god damn beast in the sheets. Mickey suspects that whole 'shy innocent' act evaporates the minute Ian's dick gets hard, and Mickey would love to see that transformation with his own eyes.
As the song continues, Mickey closes his eyes, his hands are gripping the armrests of the chair so tight, just so he won't reach down and palm himself.
He should probably go back to his apartment, take care of this problem that has arisen. Jesus, he feels fifteen all over again, crushing on some hot shithead, unable to control his own body. Popping ambush boners is such a rookie move, you'd think this was his first day as a gay boy.
God damn it.
Mickey's eyes are still squeezed shut. He's breathing deeply through his nose, concentrating on getting his dick to deflate enough so he can waddle back to his apartment and jerk off in peace. He's about halfway there when his whole world catches fire.
Suddenly, hot liquid is falling on him from above. His eyes shoot open and land on his crotch. He's covered in scalding hot coffee.
His previous dick problem is immediately replaced with another, much more pressing one.
"What the fuck." Mickey screams, his hands flying to his burned body.
Fuck. Fuck, that hurts.
Mickey jumps up from his seat, pulling his earbuds out of his ears. He looks down at his arms, which are covered in red welts. They are also all over his legs. He wishes he'd been wearing a shirt, because more red splotches are splayed across his chest, abs and hips. God only knows what his poor dick looks like.
Mickey finally looks over to confront his assailant.
None other that Ian Gallagher. Of fucking course. Why would it be anyone else?
Ian is just standing there, all pale-faced and shell shocked. He's staring at Mickey with wide, scared eyes. His mouth is moving, but no sound is coming out.
"Dude, you fucking burned me." Mickey spat, holding his arms away from his body so Ian could see the extent of the damage he'd caused. Mickey wasn't mad at first. Accidents happen, and all that shit. But the longer Ian just stood there gaping at him, the more incensed Mickey became.
What was this guy's deal? Mickey is getting so tired of this shit. Any and all thoughts he'd had about being nice went right out the fucking window as Ian just stood there, blushing like a fucking tomato and staring at Mickey like he was some kind of demon.
Mickey closed the distance between them, getting right in Ian's face. "Hello?" he said, waiving a hand in front of Ian's face. "Anybody home?"
When his neighbor still didn't move or speak, Mickey threw his hands up in the air. "What the fuck ever, asshole." he spat, turning on his heel. He grabbed up his tablet and his headphones in one hand, and his half-drunk drink in the other. He tipped the glass back and swallowed down the rest of the booze before storming past Ian and back into the building.
"Mute fucking asshole, burned my dick. Can't even apologize. Whatever, I don't give a shit. Fuck him." Mickey muttered, just loud enough for Ian to hear him. He hoped he did. Mickey's been playing this game with this prick for long enough. Ian obviously doesn't want anything from Mickey. If he did, he's had plenty of opportunities to at least say hello.
This coffee assault is the last straw. If the dude can give him third degree burns on his cock, and not even bother to apologize, Mickey is fucking done. No matter how pretty his face is, or how hard his body is, if the guy doesn't even want to talk to him, Mickey can't waste any more energy on it.
He got back to his apartment and immediately stripped off his wet clothes. He got in the shower, letting the cool water sooth his inflamed skin. He looked over his body for any real injuries, and finding none, he let out a relieved sigh. He had no real burns or blisters, just a bit of pain. Nothing some ibuprofen and a shot of Jack won't fix.
As the cool water runs down his back, he lets his mind wander back to that song. Back to what he wanted to do to Ian. Mickey can't help but wonder what Ian's deal is. The coffee incident was an accident, obviously. But then why did the guy clam up like that when Mickey tried to talk to him?
As he twists his body under the spray, he feels all his anger and indignation bleeding out of him.
Mickey kind of feels like an asshole for yelling at him. Even though he was the one that got burned, he could see the mortification and embarrassment on Ian's face, plain as day. Maybe Mickey should have been nicer to him.
Yeah, he probably should have.
He's going to have to say he's sorry. Even if Ian doesn't want anything to do with him, and they stay in the awkward silent stand off forever, Mickey doesn't want to be a dick to the guy. He also doesn't want to start out his new life in this complex with a neighbor war. So yeah, he's gonna have to sack up and apologize for snapping at him. Burned ball sack or not, Mickey was kind of a dick.
Mickey grabs up his washcloth, squirting some body wash into it and running the cloth over his tender, burned skin. He tips his head back, savoring the feeling of the slippery bubbles on his sore body.
Mickey's mind wanders from planning an apology to Ian for his harsh words, to what he'd do if Ian forgave him. Things he'd do with his tongue, things he'd do with his body. Things he'd like Ian to do to him.
As Mickey takes his swollen cock in his hand and starts to pull, images of Ian flooding his mind, he takes a moment to be thankful that Ian did not, in fact, give him third degree burns on his cock.
----------------------------------------------
Days go by, and Ian is nowhere to be found. Mickey's not searching for him, per say, but he keeps his eyes open around the building, and doesn't catch a single glimpse of his hot neighbor anywhere. It's weird, since he will usually see Ian at least once a day, just around the building. But Ian has apparently gone to ground after The Coffee Incident.
It's Friday night, and Mickey had plans to meet up with some guy he met at the coffee shop. The guy was a fan of the show, but not the obnoxious type, and was a strong seven in the looks department.
Mickey wasn't really feeling it, for whatever reason. He's usually all about hooking up with willing guys, no string attached, but tonight he just wasn't into it.
He refused to think too deeply on it. Afraid that his red-headed problem may be at the root of his reticence. So when Cal and Teddy called him, asking him to stop over for that drink, Mickey jumped at the chance to stay in the building. He'd called his date to cancel, giving no reason, and wandered down the hall to 8G. He knocked and waited.
Teddy answered the door and ushered Mickey inside. Before he knew what was what, Cal was leading him to the living room, and placing a nice cold beer in his hand.
"So nice to finally have you over, Mickey." Cal said, smiling.
"Thanks for having me." Mickey replied.
Teddy wandered back into the room with a beer of his own, sitting down next to his husband. Mickey's show was playing on the laptop, and Mickey smiled. "Got a couple'a fanboys on my hands?" he asked, motioning toward the laptop with his beer.
"Nah." Cal smirked. "Ian sent me that."
Mickey's eyes widened, his eyebrows raised. "What now?"
"Oh yeah." Teddy nodded, smiling. "Ian's always sending Cal segments he likes. He's the real fangirl of the building. And he's totally enamored with you, buddy."
Mickey nodded, unsure what to do with this new information. "What's his deal?" Mickey finally asked. If anyone in the building knew what Ian's issue was, it was going to be Cal. That guy knew everything about everyone. Hell, he knew the Morgans were divorcing before the poor schmuck got served. He knew Mr. Benson had a tax problem before the IRS put a lien on his condo. He knew Amy in 4H was pregnant before he husband did. If there was any kind of dirt on Ian Gallagher in 8E, Cal would know it.
"What do you mean?" Cal asked, feigning ignorance. Mickey watched Teddy roll his eyes, and Mickey fought the urge to roll his own.
"I mean, what's the guy's deal." Mickey took a long pull off his beer, leveling Cal with a glare. "He's weird. I've seen him around the building a handful of times, but he never says a word. At the beginning of the week, he spilled hot coffee all over me, didn't even apologize. Just stared at me until I walked away. Is he mute? Does he not want me in the building? Is he afraid of my dog, like you are? What's his fucking deal??" Mickey let all that out in one long breath. He didn't realize how much this was bothering him until he said it all out loud.
Cal was giving him this look. A mixture of amusement and confusion. He shook his head, smiling. Cal laid a hand on his husband's knee, shrugging his shoulders. "Ian's shy." he finally said. "Like, really, super shy. He wasn't always. But some shit went down in his life, and he kinda folded in on himself."
"What kinda shit?" Mickey asked, suddenly very curious.
"I can't tell you that." Cal shook his head, his smile fading a bit. "But you should just talk to him, y'know? I know he can be kinda awkward at first, and he's pretty unsure of himself, but if you can get past that shitty first impression, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. Ian's a great guy, isn't he Teddy?"
Teddy nodded his head enthusiastically. "He is. And he's a dream with numbers. Did our taxes for free last year. Our return was amazing."
"Baby, I don't think it's his taxes Mickey wants Ian to do." Cal laughed.
Mickey blushed like a fucking idiot, bringing his beer to his lips to hide his shocked smile.
"Well, okay then." Teddy chuckled. "Mickey, tell me about this dog of yours. Where'd you get him? I was thinking about getting Cal a little furbaby, so he'll stop talking about adopting a foreign infant." Teddy said, effectively ending the embarrassing conversation.
"Those babies need love, Ted. Who has more love than two fabulous gay men?"
"Baby, I get that, but...." Mickey tuned out the rest of the conversation. He was stuck on what Cal and Teddy had said about Ian.
Could it be true? Was he just a shy little fucker that couldn't function around a guy he liked? Mickey went over all their interactions in his head, filing it all out in order and dissecting each encounter.
Yeah, it could be true.
Suddenly, every glance, every barely there smile, every embarrassing moment made sense. Ian was unsure of himself. Mickey made him nervous.
Why did that idea make Mickey so hot?
Mickey forced himself to pay attention to his neighbors then. He told them about Chicago Saves, and the other animals they had available. He gave Ted Troy's number, and told him to tell Troy Mickey sent them.
They talked for another hour or so, about Diesel and the building, Cal's neighbor gossip, and Mickey's show. Cal and Teddy were cool dudes, and Mickey's glad he came over.
But the entire time they are talking, Ian doesn't leave his mind. He decides in that moment that if Ian won't come to him, he's going to go to Ian. Enough of this stupid game. Mickey needs to know if there's more between them than this weird spark, and awkward sexual tension.
He says goodbye to his neighbors, making plans to come by later in the week for dinner. He can see himself becoming good friends with those dudes. Teddy especially. He's laid back and funny and has a little bit of an attitude that Mickey can appreciate.
Mickey's never had a lot of friends, so this is just another thing he adds to the list. Shit he never thought he'd do, that he's glad he finally did.
He opens the door to his apartment, patting an eager Diesel on the head as he closes the door behind him and wanders into the apartment. He grabs a beer and throws himself down on the couch.
He only sits there for a few minutes before his thought wind back around to Ian.
Why can't he just go over there right now? If Ian's home, he can finally talk to him, try to finally figure out whatever's going on between them. And if he's not there, Mickey can still hit a club and get his dick sucked by some eager rando.
The second option isn't as appealing as the first, but Mickey's not going to sit around pining for a guy he's still not sure is even interested in him.
Mickey finishes his beer and drops it in the recycle. He feeds Diesel before grabbing his phone and keys and walking over to the door.
"Don't wait up, D." he calls over his shoulder as he leaves the apartment and locks the door behind him.
The walk to Ian's apartment is short. He only lives a few doors down after all. He stands in front of 8E, his hand hovering over the wood, ready to knock. He can hear music coming from inside. Sounds like the end of a Billy Idol song he played on the show earlier in the week. A small smile quirks his lips up, and he shakes his head. The idea that Ian listens to reruns of his show gives him that little extra boost of confidence he needs to knock.
He brings his fist down against the wood a few times, stepping back a little to wait. He's about to knock again when he hears Ian calling out from the other side.
"One second!" Ian yells. Mickey smiles again. He's excited, for whatever dumb reason.
This could still all amount to jack shit, but thinks he's allowed to hope, just a little.
The door swings open and there he is. It's looks like Ian's been sleeping. Fuck, Mickey didn't mean to disturb him.
"Hey there, Gallagher." Mickey smirks, his eyes locking with Ian's. "I didn't wake you, did I? It's not even midnight yet."
Ian surprises the shit out of him with what he does next.
"Get the fuck in here." he growls, fisting Mickey's t-shirt in his hand and dragging him into the apartment. Before Mickey can ask him what the fuck he's doing, Ian's lips are on his and they are fucking kissing!
And god, is it better than any fantasy Mickey's had. Ian's lips are soft and warm. He wraps an arm around Mickey's waist, as Mickey's hands fly up to his hair. Mickey kisses him back forcefully, shoving his tongue into his mouth, loving the taste of the other man. "I fucking knew it." Mickey muttered, smiling against Ian's lips. "Fucking knew you were into me." He pulls Ian's head back by his hair, his eyes dancing. He can't believe this shit. He had hoped Ian was interested, but he had no real way of knowing.
But this kinda put all those questions to bed, didn't it?
Ian gives him a dark smile, pulling Mickey's body impossibly closer with the arm still wrapped around his waist. He kissed him hard, working his mouth against Ian's hungrily. He licked into Ian's mouth, flexing his fingers in that gorgeous red hair. "I was starting to wonder if you'd ever make a move." he adds, because it's true, and he still can't believe Ian actually kissed him. It seems like such an out of character thing to do for the shy accountant.
Ian laughs, like he can't believe it either, going in for another kiss as he pulls Mickey further into the apartment and closes the door. He pushes Mickey up against the door, shoving his leg between Mickey's thighs as he abandons his mouth in favor of biting and sucking Mickey's pale neck.
Mickey groans, his head falling back against the door with a thud. God, everything Ian did felt so fucking good. A simple tongue on his collar bone should not send shock waves down Mickey's spine, but it does. He feels Ian everywhere. Mickey's whole body is covered in goosebumps, and his dick is filling rapidly.
Speaking of dicks, Mickey can clearly feel Ian's hard cock pressing insistently against his own as Ian rolls his hips against Mickey's.
Huh.
Mickey pushes Ian back a fraction of an inch so he can gaze down at Ian's tented sweatpants. He can feel his face splitting into a smirk.
Interesting.
"Been waiting for me?" Mickey chuckles, motioning down at Ian's hard-on, eyebrows raised. He hopes Ian's been at least thinking of him, and this boner's not due to internet porn or phone sex with some random Mickey doesn't know about.
"You have no idea." Ian smiles, kissing Mickey passionately. He finally pulled back, grinning wide as he dragged Mickey toward the back of the apartment by his wrist.
"Nice place." Mickey said, his eyes taking in the modern space. There was black leather furniture and a huge abstract art piece hanging above the gas fireplace.
"Thanks." Ian replied, turning quickly and pulling Mickey close again. "I bet yours is nicer."
Mickey laughed, stepping back so he could pull his t-shirt over his head, tossing it onto Ian's leather couch. Ian gave him a feral smile, his eyes hungry as he ran a hand down Mickey's muscular chest.
"Fuck, you're hot." Ian murmured. "I mean, I knew you were, but Jesus Christ."
"Thanks." Mickey laughed. "You're pretty fucking hot yourself, Red. Let's see whatcha working with, huh?" he smiled, tugging Ian's shirt up and over his head, throwing it to the floor carelessly.
Once Ian was naked from the waist up, he pulled Mickey toward him again. He kissed him passionately, cupping his ass with one hand as he blindly led him to the bedroom.
Ian's back hit the bedroom door, sending it flying into the wall with a thud. Ian curled his arms around Mickey's body, lifting him quickly and launching him onto the bed.
Mickey landed on the mattress on his back, looking up at Ian with a hungry, astonished smile splitting his lips as Ian knelt on the bed. He leaned over Mickey's prone form, licking his lips.
"You get your rocks off tossing dudes around?" Mickey laughed, crawling backwards on the bed until his head hit the pillows. That shit turned him on to no end. God, everything Ian did just got him harder.
"Only the ones that like to be manhandled." Ian replied, his hands flying down to Mickey's zipper. Mickey lifted his hips as Ian pulled his jeans and underwear down, tossing them aside as he moved his hand back up, running his long fingers up and down Mickey's thighs. He moved his hands along Mickey's stomach, feeling the muscles contract under his fingertips.
Mickey groaned at the feeling of Ian's hand on his stomach. So close to his dick, Mickey's whole body tensed up, his cock twitching.
"You don't know what I like." Mickey responded, although his voice came out softer than he intended it to. He sounded fucking wrecked already. Jesus. "You don't know if I like to be manhandled."
Ian gave him another hungry smile, jumping up off the bed so he could strip off his jeans. Mickey's never seen anyone lose their pants faster than Ian did in that moment.
"I wanna find out." Ian replied, falling back to the bed. He covered Mickey's naked body with his own, grinding against Mickey roughly. Mickey groaned, his hands flying up to Ian's hair again. God, that fucking hair. Mickey loved it. Loved how it felt between his fingers. Loved the color. "I wanna find out everything you like." Ian whispered, rolling his hips against Mickey's.
Mickey threw his head to the side as Ian ran his tongue along the tendon in his neck. Mickey dragged his nails down Ian's back, flattening his palm along the muscles there. He finally reached Ian's ass, cupping the muscle in his tattooed and hand squeezing. Ian growled, sinking his teeth into the meat of Mickey's shoulder.
Mickey moaned loud, his voice reverberating along the exposed brick of Ian's bedroom. Ian rolled his hips again, their leaking cocks sliding against each other easily. Ian leaned back, so they were looking into each other's eyes. Mickey was surprised to see adoration mixed in with Ian's heavy lust-filled gaze. Ian dipped his head down, kissing Mickey passionately. Mickey groaned low in his throat, his tongue tangling with Ian's outside their mouths. It was filthy, and Mickey was loving every second of it.
"How do you wanna do this?" Ian asked, leaning up on one arm so he could rifle through his nightstand drawer. Finding what he was looking for, he tossed a bottle of lube and a condom onto the bed. "I usually top, but I'd make an exception for you."
Mickey is startled by the admission. You don't find a lot of tops who are willing to switch it up like that. He files that little bit of information away for a later date, cuz fuck yeah, but that's not at all what he wants tonight.
"I like to take it." he says succinctly. He wedges his hand between their bodies, his hand wrapping around Ian's huge cock. "And I'm gonna enjoy taking this monster."
Ian gave him a dirty grin, his eyed darkening. "Fuck, that's hot."
Mickey laughed, pushing Ian off of him and sending him flying. He landed on his back on the mattress with a breathless chuckle.
"What the fuck, Mickey?" he asked, still smiling.
Mickey smirked, sitting up so he could hover over Ian's body. He dipped his head down so he could run his tongue along those delicious looking abs. He smiled against Ian's skin as Ian gasped and writhed beneath him. He sucked a deep purple mark into Ian's stomach before biting his juting hip bone. His eyes flicked up to find Ian tracking his every move with rapt attention.
"Wanna get my mouth on you first. Can't pass up this opportunity." Mickey replied, gripping Ian's thick cock in one hand and running his tongue along the head, smirking. "That cool with you?"
"Holy shit." Ian whispered. "That's more than cool with me." he nodded, his eyes still not deviating from Mickey.
Mickey grinned up at him, stroking his cock slowly before closing his lips around the head and sucking. He slid down slowly, relaxing his throat to take Ian as deep as possible. He closed his eyes, bobbing his head. He pulled up, swirling his tongue around the head, before sinking back down.
"Oh, fuck." Ian sighed, his hand coming up to tangle in Mickey's hair. The tighter he pulled, the more turned on Mickey got, and soon he was deep throating Ian every other pass. Fuck, it was good. The way his dick stretched Mickey's lips, the taste of him on Mickey's tongue, the heavy, hard weight of him in his mouth.
"Okay, c'mon. I'm gonna come." Ian whined, pushing at Mickey's shoulders with his palms.
Mickey smirked up at him, letting his dick fall out of his mouth. "Sorry. Hair trigger?"
"Oh, fuck off." Ian laughed, blushing adorably. "I'm sorry, my dreams don't come true every night."
Mickey raises his eyebrows, his smile growing. "Your dreams, huh? That your way of sayin' I'm the man of your dreams?"
Ian blushed harder, and Mickey caught a glimpse of that shy little introvert he's known Ian to be coming back to the surface. And even though it was kind of adorable, Mickey wanted to keep Ian confident and cocky. Shy Ian was cute, but he wanted to fuck Cocky Ian.
"Cuz I was hoping you'd say that." Mickey smirked, crawling up Ian's body. He straddled him, rolling his hips. He ground his ass down on Ian's dick, the spit from the blowjob easing the way. "Cuz I've been jerking my cock thinking about your ginger ass for weeks now." he laughed at Ian's astonished expression. "I was hoping the attraction wasn't one sided."
"It's not." Ian shook his head hard. "I think about you all the time."
"Good." Mickey grinned. He grabbed the lube off the blanket and shoved it into Ian's hand. "Fucking show me, then." he smiled, tipping his head down to capture Ian's lips again. They made out sloppily for a few minutes, Ian's hands gripping Mickey's ass cheeks hard.
"Hands and knees." Ian commanded, gripping Mickey around the hips and easing him off his lap.
Mickey bit his lip, nodding his head. He crawled off Ian's body and settled himself at the head of the bed on his hands and knees. Ian knelt behind him, gripping his hips. Mickey sighed, arching his back as Ian kneaded his ass cheeks.
"Fuck, your ass is amazing." Ian murmured. Mickey smiled, tucking his face against his chest as Ian leaned over and sank his teeth into Mickey's round ass cheek.
"Holy fuck!" Mickey yelped, pushing his ass back for more. Ian laughed, getting comfortable hunched over as he ran his tongue over Mickey's hole. "Oh jesus god." Mickey moaned. He usually didn't let his hook-ups eat him out. It was too personal, left him feeling too vulnerable. But the idea of telling Ian to stop never even occurred to him.
Mickey's arms gave out and he melted into the bed as Ian lapped and sucked at his rim. He ran his tongue in circles around Mickey's hole, pointing his tongue and fucking into Mickey. Mickey moans and writhes, rocking his hips back against every swipe of Ian's tongue.
"Fuck. Fuck. So good. Ian." Mickey is babbling like an idiot, but he doesn't fucking care. Nothing else matters in this moment but Ian and the way he's pulling Mickey apart with his mouth.
"I'm gonna finger you for a minute, if that's cool?" Ian says, pulling away a fraction and resting his head on Mickey's ass as he catches his breath.
"So polite." Mickey chuckles. "Do whatever you want."
His laughter dies in his throat as Ian slips a wet finger into him. A sharp gasp rips past his lips as his hips buck forward, then immediately rock back for more.
Ian just laughs, before bringing his mouth back down to join his moving finger.
Mickey lets his head hang between his shoulders as Ian fingers him. Mickey doesn't need a lot of prep, but Ian's long fingers feel so good inside him, he's not going to protest. Mickey grunts as Ian adds a second finger, all the while sucking and licking at him like Mickey is the most delicious thing he's ever tasted. Mickey realizes that all this fingering is more about foreplay than prep, and he decides he likes Ian even more.
God, it feels fucking amazing.
Mickey's hips are rocking unconsciously, his face buried in his crossed arms as little whines and moans slip past his lips unbidden. After a few long minutes of incredible torture, Mickey turns his head, a stupid, loopy smile on his face. "Yeah, okay, good. C'mon. Ready." he slurs. He sounds completely wrecked, even to his own ears, but fuck it.
Ian pulls back, his fingers slipping free. Mickey looks over his shoulder, locking eyes with Ian. He looks totally gone too. His face is flushed, his pupils blown. His skin is pink and shiny with sweat.
"Yeah? You good?" he asks, reaching for the condom.
Mickey nods, struggling to get back up to his hands. He shivers as Ian runs a hand down his back and along his stomach. He fans his fingers over his chest, swiping a nipple as he nips at Mickey's shoulder.
Mickey doesn't bother to look back, but he lets out a shaky breath as he feels the blunt head of Ian's cock pressing up against his stretched hole. Mickey continues to breath, in and out slowly as Ian pushes forward with constant, slow pressure. It feels like it takes forever for Ian to bottom out. He's fucking huge. Mickey moans, even though Ian's not moving yet. Mickey feels stretched and full in a way he's never experienced before.
He breathes and breathes. Finally, after he feels his body fully relax into the stretch, he rocks his hips back into Ian's unmoving body. "C'mon. Move." he groans.
That was all the encouragement Ian needed. He immediately adopted a blistering pace, ramming into Mickey mercilessly. He gripped Mickey by his hips, pulling him back onto his dick forcefully. Mickey moaned, throwing his ass back into each of Ian's forward thrusts.
Ian made a strangled noise in the back of his throat as Mickey flexed and clenched around him. "Holy fuck." he groaned, fingers digging into his flesh hard enough to bruise.
Suddenly, and without warning, Mickey stood up on his knees, almost causing Ian to go tumbling off the mattress. His hand shot back and he tangled his fingers in Ian's sweaty hair as they found a new rhythm on their knees. Ian nudged Mickey forward until he could brace himself on the wall, resuming his punishing pace in their new position. Mickey kept one hand in Ian's hair, pulling it hard as the other man drilled into him.
"You feel so fucking good. Knew you would." Ian murmured, his hand roaming along Mickey's slick chest. He wrapped his fingers around Mickey's throat, applying slight pressure as he sucked a mark behind Mickey's ear.
"Ohmygod." Mickey moaned, throwing his head back to rest on Ian's shoulder as his lover nipped and sucked at the column of his throat. "Jesus fuck, Ian. I'm close."
Mickey peeled a shaky hand off the wall so he could wrap it around his leaking cock. Ian growled against his throat, snapping his hips forward with enough force to plaster Mickey to the wall completely. Mickey turned his head, resting his overheated cheek against the cool drywall as he worked his cock in time with Ian's desperate thrusts.
"Fuck." Mickey grunted as Ian grazed his prostate. "I'm gonna come."
"Yeah." Ian sighed,wrapping his arm around Mickey's waist as he mounted his final assault.
The room was filled with the filthy sounds of sex. The bed creaked as Ian's body met Mickey's again and again. Mickey yelped when Ian sunk his teeth into his shoulder hard enough to break the skin. His back bowed and he came all over the bed beneath him.
"Fuck. Fuck." he choked out as his orgasm ripped through him. He clenched around Ian's cock, and the other man's hips stuttered. He removed his hand from the wall to curl it around Ian's hip as it moved against his ass. "C'mon. Give it to me." he sighed, pushing his ass back hard.
Ian moaned, dropping his head to Mickey's shoulder as he came hard. He continued to thrust lazily until he was completely spent. He dropped a single kiss to Mickey's sweat-slicked shoulder before gingerly pulling out and falling over sideways on the bed.
"Holy shit. That was good. " Ian chuckled. He gripped the condom at the base, sliding it off his spent dick before rolling over and rising from the bed. "Bathroom?" he asked.
Mickey was still trying to get his breathing under control. He threw a hand over his face and pointed toward the hall with the other. "By the kitchen."
"Just like my place." Ian smiled. He walked out of the room without further comment, leaving Mickey with his thoughts.
Well, that was unexpected. Mickey didn't think Ian had the balls for this kind of encounter. He always seemed so timid, so unsure of himself. All that was kind of cute, in a new born faun kind of way. Mickey found it adorable and endearing.
But the Ian Gallagher that he experienced tonight was nothing like the fumbling, nervous guy he's used to. This Ian was confident, sexy, and dominant.
Mickey wasn't sure which side of Ian he liked better. But he did know that he was totally gone on the guy, no matter which persona showed up to the party.
Mickey wasn't usually the type of guy to stick around after a fuck. He's never met anyone worth the trouble. No one ever struck his fancy enough to bother moving beyond basic introductions and dropping his pants. He had never had the urge to let anyone see beyond the carefully constructed walls he built up around himself.
He barely knew Ian. The fact that he was even entertaining these thoughts was jarring.
Mickey stood from the bed and started searching for his clothes. He found his boxers at the end of the bed and pulled them up over his ass, cringing at the come and lube that was still all over his body. He needed a shower.
But first he needed a cigarette.
He pulled on his jeans and headed out toward the living room. He saw Ian moving around in the kitchen. Ian looked up when he heard Mickey enter the room. His face fell when he saw Mickey was partially dressed.
"Going so soon?" Ian asked. "I've got beer." he held up a bottle for Mickey to see. Mickey's chest tightened at the unsurety on Ian's face.
"You want me to stick around?" Mickey asked, eyebrows raised. He's not used to that either. Guys wanting to hang out after a fuck. He grabbed his cigarettes and lit one, letting the chemicals sooth his nerves.
Uncharted territory. That's what this was.
Ian came into the living room, holding one of the beers out for Mickey to take. "I mean, yeah." Ian shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "We could watch a movie, or something." Ian had this open, hopeful look on his face, and Mickey was powerless against it.
Mickey felt his lips quirk up into a smile. "Sure." he said, dropping down on the sofa and taking the beer out of Ian's hand.
Ian beamed at him, moving to sit next to him. He sat close enough that their thighs touched, and the smile didn't leave his face for a single second.
Mickey grinned back, totally smitten with Ian's stupid face.
He was so fucked.
They watched TV silently for quite a while. It was nice. No pressure to talk, no need to fill the silence. Even though he just met Ian, he felt like he'd known him for ages.
After a while, though, Ian started fidgeting. He kept looking at Mickey like he wanted to say something, but kept chickening out at the last minute.
Finally, Mickey huffed, dropping his beer down on the coffee table and turning so he was facing Ian.
"What?"
"Uh, I was wondering, if maybe you'd want to, um, maybe...get dinner with me sometime?'" Ian stammered.
Looks like Ian's gone back to being a shy little introvert.
That just won't do.
Mickey turned to face him, smirking at him as he threw a leg over his lap so he could straddle him. He gripped the couch on either side of Ian's head, cocking his own head to the side.
"Don't get all shy on me now." he grinned. "You askin' me out on a date?"
Ian's face grew warm under Mickey's gaze, his skin blushing. But he maintained eye contact.
"Yeah. Fuck it." Ian said, his hands coming up to rest on Mickey's ass.
"You know, Cal and Teddy asked me to dinner over at their place. I could use the back up." Mickey said, slowly rotating his hips. Ian groaned, flexing his fingers on Mickey's ass and surging forward to capture his lips in a fervid kiss. "You wanna go?" Mickey asked, breathing hard against Ian's lips.
"Yeah. I'll go. Then maybe we can come back here." Ian said, smiling darkly. "We'll go, and then we'll come."
Mickey barked out a laugh, pulling back so he could pin Ian with a glare. "You are one corny motherfucker."
"You have no idea." Ian nodded eagerly. "You're gonna wish I'd stayed quiet."
Mickey shook his head, resting his forehead against Ian's. "Nah. This is much better."
Ian grinned, twisting his fingers in Mickey's hair to pull him in for another biting kiss.
Mickey kisses him back eagerly, sliding his tongue over Ian's hungrily.
As he grinds his ass against Ian's rapidly filling cock, that damn song pops into his head again.
Help me
Tear down my reason
Help me
It's your sex I can smell
Help me
You make me perfect
Help me become somebody else
It may be too soon to tell, really. But Mickey can't help but want to be closer to Ian. Do all that shit he never let himself do. He felt that Ian was worth the effort, worth the risk. That maybe if he let him in, he'd help Mickey tear down his walls, once and for all. That he'd help him become somebody else. Somebody better. He'd like that. He'd like to at least try, which was new in an of itself.
"You ready to go again?" Mickey breathed into Ian's mouth. "Or you need some time, firecrotch?"
Ian growled, which was quickly becoming Mickey's favorite sound. He stood from the couch effortlessly, still clutching Mickey under his ass. As he walked them back toward the bedroom, Mickey decided he'd play the Nine Inch Nails song on his show tomorrow, and dedicate it to his new favorite neighbor.