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"what if i bleached my hair?" mickey asks as he scrutinises himself in the bathroom mirror.
ian spits out his toothpaste and rubs his mouth with the back of his hand. “absolutely fuckin’ not, you were constantly on my ass about shaving my head.” he snatches a towel out of mickey’s grip, throwing the fabric back at him once he wipes the saliva off of himself.
mickey wraps his arms around ian’s waist, “i needed somethin’ to grip when you’re goin’ down on me,” he raises his eyebrows in quick succession and tugs on the back of ian’s head.
“alright, alright,” ian pulls away, slowly backing out of his husband’s grip. “whatever you want, but shit better not look like piss when it’s done.”