Chapter Text
Mickey sat on the couch, arms crossed with the lamp on. He would wait as long as it took.
Ian had gone out for cigarettes three days ago. Mickey thought that maybe he was done, and was wordlessly leaving him.But Mickey saw the ambulance drive up, park outside, and he knew Ian was home. So he’d sat on the couch and crossed his arms and waited.
Suddenly, the blessed, refreshing sound of the apartment door opening floated to Mickey’s ears. He sighed in relief, but steeled himself. His face was stern, angry and serious when Ian walked in.
“Where’ve’ya been?” he asked in a flat tone. “Where the fuck ’ve ya been?”
“Canada,” replied Ian with a shrug. “Or Mexico. Or the store.”
“Don’t ya fucking play games with me,” said Mickey gruffly. “Ya disappeared on me.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ian in a soft voice, averting his eyes. Mickey didn’t stop.
“No, d’ya know what I’ve been doing, man? I’ve been waitin’ up for you every single night for three days, Ian!” he exclaimed, tears in his eyes that he ignored. “I didn’t know if ya died or some shit! I had no idea what to think! Ya had me worried out of my mind, Ian Gallagher!”
“I know,” said Ian quietly, shuffling his feet. “I went on a bender with Lip.”
“Oh, that’s fuckin’ perfect, ain’t it?” he snapped. He then sighed, and his look softened. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. Mickey sighed.
“No, no, it’s fine,” he sighed. “Let’s get to bed, okay?”
“I’m not–” Ian looked up quickly. “I’m not going to be punished?”
“Should you be?” Mickey asked, crossing his arms. Ian hung his head and nodded. “Words, baby.”
“Yes,” he said begrudgingly.
“Yes what?” Mickey asked. “Look me in the eyes, baby.”
“Yes, I deserve to be punished,” Ian said, eyes wandering back to catch his husband’s. Mickey nodded.
“C’mere, baby. Let’s get it done with, yeah?”
“How’re you going to punish me?” Ian asked.
Mickey considered this. The question had never been asked before since the beginning of their relationship; since then, it had always been a spanking. How you spanked depended on the situation, whether for punishment or for pleasure; for Ian and Mickey, spanking went both ways. But now that Ian asked, Mickey considered other options as well.
“Well . . .” he said, finally coming to a conclusion with a prideful smile. “I’m gonna give ya a warm-up, then you’re gonna sit your pretty little ass in the corner to think about what ya did. Then I’ll give you your real spanking with an implement.”
“Shit,” said Ian, who had been hoping it would only be a spanking. “Really?”
“What's so bad?” Mickey, who had never been punished to the corner, asked with a shrug. “It's just a little touch of humiliation that I think you deserve.”
“Which implement?” he asked. Mickey shrugged.
“I figured I’d let you choose,” he replied. “Paddle, belt, crop, or– hell, why not?– or that old thick wooden hairbrush you've got.”
“Which is worse?”
“You get ten with the belt, fifteen with the crop, twenty with the paddle, and twenty-five with the hairbrush,” Mickey explained. “I put 'em in order of most-to-least painful.”
“Shit,” Ian said again. “Uh, hairbrush then.”
“Good deal,” replied his husband. He then gestured with his finger. “C'mere now. Warm-up.”
Ian did as he was told, and he shuffled over. Mickey undid his jeans button and pulled the zipper, before pulling his jeans and pants down to his knees. He hauled Ian over his lap, and raised a hand high in the air.
SMACK!
It landed directly in the center of Ian’s ass, harder than he’d been expecting. Ian cried out, but didn’t object. Mickey raised his hand up again, and brought it down with the same force and precision as the first, landing it squarely in the center yet again.
SMACK! SMAACK! SMAAACKK!
The sounds echoed off of Ian’s ears, causing them to burn hotly. Ian’s ass felt warm against Mickey’s hand, the heat of it licking at his own hand. Still, he went a bit further, just to get the point across.
SMMAAACCKKKK!
“AHH!” Ian yelped out, the exact center of his ass extremely tender. With more sarcasm than necessary, he said, “Uh, ow? What the hell?”
“What’s your color?” Mickey asked gruffly, raising his hand again over the dusty pink skin.
“Gr– Green,” Ian answered. Mickey’s hand made harsh contact, and Ian yowled again.
Twelve or so smacks later, Mickey stopped. He pulled Ian up off his knee and pointed to the corner. Ian’s face burned as red as his ears and ass. He knew he should listen, but nothing could make Ian fucking Gallagher stand in the corner like a misbehaving child!
“No!” argued an, vaguely aware of how childish and tantrum-y he sounded. “No!”
“You get your ass into that corner, or I’m gettin’ the brush out, an’ we can start up again right now,” Mickey threatened, his voice low and demanding.
Ian childishly stuck out his lip and scowled. He shuffled to the corner, pants and jeans pooled around his ankles. Mickey stood up behind him, and positioned his nose directly in the crease of the corner. He gave him one last swat to the ass, and sat back down, watching.
Hot tears began to well in Ian’s eyes. They rolled down his cheeks, hot and sticky on his red face. He felt the shame rising on his face and the back of his neck, leaving red there. His shoulders shook a bit as he let out a small, silent sob. Mickey saw, but said nothing, hairbrush in hand. Mickey allowed him to cry to himself for thirty full minutes, allowing the heat on his ass to cool down just a bit.
“Time’s up,” he said after the thirty-minute mark. “Put your hands flat on the wall, bend over. I’m going to spank you standing.”
Ian found a flat bit of wall near the corner, and placed his palms on it, flat and spread. Legs spread just a bit, he bent over, allowing his hands to slide down the wall and his head to hang in between his arms. It was a position he knew: pat down for an arrest. Or the position for a serious ass beating.
“Starting,” said Mickey warningly.
The hairbrush arched through the air, and landed heavily on Ian’s ass with a whumph! He jolted forward a bit; that damn hairbrush was heavier than it seemed. And it hurt like hell!
Whumph!
“Shit, man!” Ian exclaimed. His ass felt like a sparkler had been put underneath it.
“I told ya it would be twenty-five, an’ its gonna be,” said Mickey. “Color?”
“G-Green,” Ian replied.
Whoosh! Whumph! Wooosh! WHACK! Whumph! Whumph! Whumph!
Hot tears were spilling down his face again, though they were mostly because of how much he blamed himself for doing stupid shit. If he would’ve taken his meds, he wouldn’t have gone on that bender.
Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! WHACK!
Now the tears of pain were coming. His ass was on fire. It was bad enough that he had already gotten a “warm-up” before the spanking. Ian’s ass had certainly seen better days.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHAAACK!
“Color?” Mickey asked gently, pausing for a moment. Ian could feel the soreness spreading up his knees from the position he was bent in.
“Green,” he replied, crying out as Mickey dealt another whack! as soon as he finnished speaking.
Three more were brought down, one right after the other, with no pause in between. Ian let out a few pained cries. Mickey stopped. Ian did the math in his head quickly; there were still five more that Mickey hadn’t dealt yet.
“Wh–?” he began.
“Brace yourself, Gallagher,” he said, and Ian saw him grab the paddle out of the corner of his eye. Great.
Whooooosh! CRAAACK!
“AH!” Ian cried.
Whoooosh! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
“Last one,” Mickey said. “Let’s make this one count, yeah?”
Whoooooosh!
CRAAAAACCCKK!
And then it was over. Just like that, the heavy, punishing feel of the paddle and the hairbrush were gone. Just like that, Ian was being moved gently and lovingly into the bed in Mickey’s embrace, a gentle hand stroking his hair as he finished his crying.