Chapter Text
February 2019
They only made it a month before Mickey nervously backed Ian against the door while he was leaving for the day to suggest he pick up the rest of his stuff from his family’s house and bring it over. That night they sat on Mickey’s bed and looked at couches on facebook marketplace, Mickey agreed to adding a little more furniture, and that Ian could pay for wi-fi and utilities, but Mickey insisted on ‘getting’ the TV.
(“I know a guy,” he had said,
“What guy?” Ian asked suspiciously.
“I know someone who can get us a discounted TV.”
“What? Does he work at Best Buy or something?”
“Or something, okay?”
“Mick, if you go to jail I’ll get myself thrown in with you, just so you know. Is that something you want to do to me?”)
It was weird living with Mickey, Ian realized. Mickey was kind of a weird guy. Of course Ian always knew that on some level. But now he knew that Mickey took cold baths and only liked apples with the skin peeled off, that he sometimes got heartburn and kept butter out in the cabinet instead of in the refrigerator.
He thought it was weird when he brushed his teeth standing next to Mickey while he shaved and realized Mickey just ran a disposable razor over his face with bar soap lather and called it a night.
“What else would I do?” Mickey asked seriously.
“Shaving cream? Aftershave? Moisturizer?” Ian gestured wildly. “I don’t understand, you don’t take care of your skin and I’ve never seen a pimple on your fucking face. You use 3 in 1 shampoo and you have the softest hair I’ve ever felt, you eat like shit and barely ever gain weight,” Ian whined.
“It’s just the genetic lottery, you win some and lose some,” Mickey shrugged.
“Okay, genetic propensity for mental illness aside, I have stolen hundreds of dollars worth of skin and hair care products and I still get razor burn and my hair feels like steel wool,” Ian insisted.
“Well, why don’t you stroke your fucking nine inch cock and cry about it,” Mickey bitched back, moving on to rinse his face and start flossing. Ian made a snarky face in the mirror and Mickey rolled his eyes at it, and they went on with their night.
The weirdest thing, Ian decided, was the way he watched TV. Or maybe, the TV he watched and how much he fucking loved it. Mickey liked the same, bottom tier movies Ian liked. Overdone action and cheesy comedy, the only Oscar nominated movie they both liked was Brokeback Mountain, ‘cause who wouldn’t like gay cowboys?
But Mickey liked good quality TV. He loved The Wire and the Sopranos, apparently had for years, but once they got streaming services he really dove in.
Ian noticed, so he asked Mickey if he wanted to see some new, artsy A24 movie one weekend and got a scowl, “I don’t want to see that boring ass bullshit.” Which left Ian sincerely confused, because he was ready to smash the TV in boredom when Mickey was making his way through West Wing.
It’s not like Mickey was ignoring him or just getting home and zoning out all night. Usually it was Ian wanting to watch some trashy reality TV game show with Mickey tucked up under his arm, drawing on his tablet. It was only when Ian worked late and he was left home alone that Mickey indulged in his favorites.
Ian worked mostly reasonable hours except on Sundays and Tuesdays, when he got off around eight at night, he would come home to dinner waiting in the oven and Mickey absolutely engrossed in whatever show he was watching.
One night in the dead of winter though, Ian had a proposition when he got home from work. He’d been restless all day. A weird, uncomfortable squirmy feeling settled in his stomach as he drove around the city with Sue in the passenger seat. He was a little horny, for one, waking up with Mickey wrapped around him, rubbing firm morning wood against the small of his back and pressing his soft cheek gently against Ian’s neck.
Ian thought that being forced out of their warm bed to go work was just about the most evil thing he could possibly imagine. So yeah, he was in a bad mood all day, and a little horny. But where that would usually make him want to run home and rail Mickey into their mattress, his mind drifted to more unusual territory.
Ian stripped out of his uniform, stalking over to a completely oblivious Mickey on the couch.
“Hey Ian, there’s some lasagna in the oven,” Mickey murmured.
Ian rushed to straddle him, jumping so that Mickey suddenly and inexplicably had a lap full of his oversized boyfriend. Ian snatched the remote and turned off the TV, blanketing the room in silence.
“Hey,” Ian grinned.
“Hey lover,” Mickey grinned back, pulling at the back of Ian’s head so he would lean down and kiss him, before letting his arms travel down and wrap around Ian’s lower back. Ian pulled away and Mickey kissed the center of his chest, right on the pomegranate. “What’s got you all riled up?”
“I uh-” Ian stuttered shyly. “I want you to fuck me.”
Mickeys brow furrowed and Ian could see the gears tuning in his head, “fuck you-fuck you like top you?”
Ian nodded down at him.
“Why?” Mickey asked, incredulously.
“Why not?” Ian shot back.
“That’s just not generally how we do things,” Mickey saw that his answer wasn’t going to be satisfactory for Ian. “I like getting fucked and you like fucking, why mess with a good thing?”
“‘Cause you have a perfectly good dick,” Ian pointed out, reaching between them to grasp at Mickey as if to prove his point. “And I woke up to it pressed against me this morning and it gave me some ideas.”
“Can I ask, um” he was quickly losing his train of thought, with Ian rubbing himself all over his torso. “Can I ask what brought this on?”
“I’ve thought about it before,” Ian replied quietly, between kisses. “And I just want to. I’m in a mood.”
Mickey grinned against his mouth, “okay, alright tough guy.” He used his grip to haul Ian onto his back so he could lay between his legs, grinding gently and kissing until they were both whining and grunting with the need of it.
“I um, I’m going to shower off real quick” Ian stammered.
“Okay,” Mickey nodded with a grin. “Stuff is under the sink if you need it.”
“Ah, stuff” Ian agreed, narrowly missing the door frame as he stumbled into the bathroom. “Thank you, I’ll- Yeah.”
He could hear Mickey laughing from behind the closed door. But when he opened it back up he could just hear the slight panting from where Mickey was laying on their bed, lubed up and messaging his cock idly.
Something about his relaxed pace, the way he was laid out in the rumple of their sheets and the warm glow of their bedside lamp calmed all the nerves that had built up in Ian’s chest while frantically trying to battle with Mickey’s stupid little turkey baster douche.
He came to lay half on top of Mickey again, flesh on flesh causing something bright and joyful to well up in Ian’s chest. He nuzzled himself into Mickey’s throat, breathing him in and kissing gently at the skin there.
“Is it,” Mickey started, “you’re not allowed to fucking laugh at me - is it weird that I kind of feel like a virgin? Like I’ve fucked people before, but it’s weird thinking about fucking you.”
“Yeah, it’s fucking weird, Mick” Ian replied sarcastically. “Come on, get on me asshole.”
Mickey got out from under him and shimmied down the bed, rolling Ian gently onto his stomach. He got both hands on Ian’s ass and kneaded it, face inches from his skin. “How have I never noticed how fucking hairy your ass is?”
“Fuck you,” Ian groaned. “I’ve never actually, uh- no one’s-”
“You want me to?” Mickey asked hesitantly.
“I want,” Ian stuttered. “Yeah, yeah go ahead.”
He kept making these strange noises of surprise as Mickey patiently and methodically licked into him, face buried in the fat of his ass and not coming up for air. Ian could feel the bed giving under the both of them humping absentmindedly against the mattress.
Mickey got a couple fingers in him, lubed up and probing firmly, hooking his fingers down and assaulting Ian’s prostate until he made a horrifying slew of high pitch whines.
“Come on, come up here,” Ian urged, grabbing Mickey’s arm and pulling him to lay spooned together, just like how they woke up. “Like this? Can we do it like this?”
“Yeah,” Mickey agreed, but it came out shaky. Ian reached down and grabbed Mickey’s hand, mouthing at it gently before arching back to kiss him while Mickey pushed in gently. So gently, like he really did think Ian would break, or get hurt, and he wanted to be sweet.
It was as alien as it always was, getting fucked. Although it would never be his preference, feeling full and penetrated by Mickey’s body had him ready to cry. Mickey was holding onto him tightly, strong arms securing him with a firm grip while his hips pushed Ian’s to open a little against the bed, curving them both into this joined, twisting thing.
Mickey brought one of his hands down to Ian’s cock, stroking lightly, idly, then harder, then lightly again. He wasn’t teasing, really, Ian figured he was just getting distracted by it all. Still, when Ian came it was like a tidal wave, and Mickey took that as all the permission he needed to follow right after.
Mickey was breathing harshly against his back, face pressed between Ian’s shoulder blades. He took a beat before pulling out, but once he did Ian flopped over inelegantly, inexplicably shocked by the wetness between his cheeks, ignoring it in favor of kissing Mickey, slow and dirty and deep.
“That was pretty good,” Ian complimented, “for a virgin.”
“Fuck off,” Mickey groaned. “Don’t get too excited about it, you’re still here to top me. If you’re nice you’ll get it on your birthday.”
Ian pushed at him, “got get me a towel you lazy fuck.”
Mickey groaned, making a big show of strutting off to the bathroom and cleaning the cum from Ian’s body and hands, still being insufferably gentle despite his attitude.
“So,” Mickey started, laying back down in Ian’s arms. “Do you want to tell me what really brought that on?”
“Just wanted to feel you, like that” Ian shrugged. “I don’t think I’m smart enough to understand why we want what we want with love and sex. I love you so much I wanted your dick in my ass, that makes no fucking sense. But here we are.”
Mickey didn’t say anything to that. Ian wondered how much time he had spent wondering why he loved what he loved, he tightened his grip and kissed Mickey’s temple, feeling the slightly raised skin there where it was scarred over.
“We should flip fuck next time, share the love,” Mickey teased half-heartedly, clearly half unconscious.
May 2019
Ian crashed a week before his birthday. There had been signs for a few days, but sometimes he had little ripples in his mood and energy level and it was smarter to just see what would happen for a couple days before breaking out the heavy medication.
It could be easy to forget he’s bipolar, momentarily. Fiona once confided drunkenly that out of all of them she was glad it was him who had it, because he was the only one disciplined enough to handle it in the long run.
As insulting as it was, Ian thought she was probably right, he was good at taking his pills on time, taking care of himself and monitoring his moods. Sure he had to take nine pills a day to keep him sane, but most days he just sat down for breakfast with his dose and made a joke about vitamins.
So when he woke up one morning after a fitful night’s sleep, he tagged along with Mickey to the gym, figuring it would be a good way to burn off steam since running alone could get pretty boring when he was manic. It started off fine, Ian thought. Both of them on separate bags, quick rounds of rapid fire punches actually tired him out for a second. Mickey got out a jump rope and Ian got to watch him bounce for a couple minutes before suggesting they spar with a playful glint in his eye.
It was fucking fun, they were having fun. Mickey was shirtless and they were basically alone in the gym so he didn’t fix his gym shorts right away when they slipped a little over the swell of his ass and he caught Ian staring. They wrestled on the ground, pinned each other down before getting back up.
Ian still doesn’t fully remember what happened, but one minute they were both grinning and throwing light, careless shots and the next Mickey was laying on the ground, holding his bloody nose and mouth. He realized Mickey had been telling him to stop, Ian was excited, like they were playing, but he landed a couple of solid punches at Mickey’s face and torso.
“Oh my god! Mickey hold on,” Ian dropped down frantically, blood rushing in his ears at the sight, but stopped when Mickey flinched away. Dorian, the gym owner came over to check on them, eyeing Ian warily and getting Mickey to sit up.
“Move your hand man, let me see” he urged, and Ian waited with bated breath. When Mickey finally did move it wasn’t as bad as he expected, just a split lip and bloody nose, he’d definitely had a lot worse, but it didn’t do much to ease his guilt.
“Ian,” Mickey spoke up from where he was sitting, his voice was thick with blood and he wouldn’t look up at Ian. “Can you grab our shit?”
Mickey called a cab to take them back to the apartment, giving the driver a withering glare when it looked like he was going to say something about the bloody rag cupped to his face. He didn’t say anything for a while, Ian knew that Mickey could get short tempered and scared when he was hypomanic. He tried really hard not to show it in a monumental feat of his usually limited self restraint, but he would get quiet when Ian was bugging him, or scaring him, or driving him crazy.
“I should go to my family’s for a little bit, I think, I’ll take one of the mild sedatives and see if that works,” Ian said morosely. “Just until I’m better.”
Mickey heaved a deep, wet sigh, moving the towel from his face, “you can. If you think that’s what you need to do. But if you want to stay here I can call off tomorrow and help get you sorted out.”
Ian wanted to cry. He didn’t say anything else until they got back to the apartment, Mickey got into the shower without a word and when he got out Ian was sitting on the bed, still fully dressed.
“Stop beating yourself up, it was a mistake, we were just fucking around and you got too rough,” Mickey soothed.
“I hit you,” Ian insisted, voice wobbling, “I kept hitting you.”
“You’ve done a lot fucking worse before,” Mickey pointed out.
“But we don’t do that anymore,” Ian insisted. “I would never want-”
“Yeah well, you didn’t mean it, and you won’t do it again right?” Mickey cut him off, moving to the dresser to slide on some sweatpants.
Ian nodded, he felt nauseous and tired, “‘m sorry.”
Mickey just kissed his head and helped him lay down, moving around in the kitchen and after a while Ian was faintly aware of a glass of water and a pack of Fig Newtons being placed on the bedside table.
It only took a couple days for Ian to be up and about again, and by that time Mickey was back at work all day and they had formed a tentative peace. Ian had been mad the second day, bitter and angry as much as he could be while staring down that vast emptiness inside of him.
He was mad at himself every time he saw the faint bruises on Mickeys face but it translated into a lot of “leave me alone’s” and “fuck offs”. Finally by the late evening they’d had enough and Mickey shouted that Ian couldn’t punish him for choosing to stick around.
Ian woke up the next morning a little better, a little less foggy and a lot less angry so he sheepishly apologized again and deep cleaned the house while Mickey went to work.
Four days before his birthday, Ian went back to work. Mickey got up with him to make breakfast and send him off. While Ian was eating Mickey sat across from him and nursed his coffee.
“Hey, what do you want for your birthday?” Mickey asked all of the sudden.
“You’re supposed to come up with that yourself,” Ian pointed out.
“Yeah I know, but I’m shit at gifts so help me out, unless you want a repeat of Christmas,” Mickey threatened.
“Okay,” Ian agreed. “I want a tattoo.”
“A tattoo?” Ian nodded. “Well shit man, as much as I love a cheap date, I’ll tattoo you whenever you want.”
Ian shook his head, “no, it’s not just a tattoo, I want both of us to get them. Matching tattoos, I get one for you and you get one for me.”
Mickey scowled, “seriously?”
“Yeah, Mick. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, I can come up with something else but that’s what I really want.”
Blowing out a resigned sigh, Mickey leaned back “you have anything specific you want us to get?”
That’s how Ian ended up sitting back in Mickey’s station at the shop on his birthday, everyone else had gone for the day and they were supposed to meet at the Gallaghers for dinner later. The big empty room was quiet and clean, sunlight filtered in through the drawn shades.
“Will we have enough time?” Ian asked nervously while he sat down in the chair.
“Yeah, I’ll be really simple,” Mickey explained, setting his station up with fast, careful movements. “Okay, since they’re going on our forearms mine has to go on the right so I can ink it with my left, which one do you want yours on?”
“Left, please” Ian replied, offering his left arm once Mickey rolled his little stool over.
“Okay, get ready”
“Ready for what-”
Ian was cut off by the realization that his boyfriend was biting his arm like a dog. It didn’t hurt especially, he wasn’t biting hard enough to break skin, he was just holding firm, insistent pressure even while Ian was putting up a futile effort to dislodge him.
Finally he came up for air and grabbed Ian’s arm with one hand and a pen in the other. Ian was about to yell at him, call him a fuckin’ barbarian when he realized Mickey had set to work illustrating the reddish indentations left by his teeth.
“Seriously?” Ian asked, amused.
“Said I could do whatever I wanted, no take backs bitch. Besides, you get to bite me next.”
Ian laughed. He watched Mickey add the last few dashes and dots, deciding on the fly what to add and what to omit before the skin was cleaned and Mickey set to work, humming as he worked. All in all the process only took around 20 minutes before he was holding up his own arm, reminding Ian quietly to be gentle.
They held eye contact while Ian pressed carefully into the muscle there, he made a fake vicious face and growled a little, which earned a fond grin from Mickey. He didn’t bother sketching it out on his own arm, just wiped it down with alcohol and started to work, half leaned over Ian’s lap.
They’d had a hard week, but Ian was suddenly reminded of where he was last year. He’d been depressed about his upcoming birthday all week, he was only turning twenty-three and already felt so tired and old.
Trevor took him out to one of his chubby chaser bars and he’d just gone home early and ate some grocery store cake over the counter. He’d thought about Mickey that night, he’d closed his eyes and imagined for a second that Mickey would stomp through the front door, ranting about whatever the fuck was pissing him off that day.
What a shock it was when a week later he ran into a very different, very real Mickey in a bar. It felt like so long ago now.
“So you think this dinner’s gonna’ be a surprise party?” Mickey asked cautiously.
“Huge blowout.” Ian replied softly, amused by how well Mickey knew his family.
“You gotta’ stop trying to touch Tami’s belly man, she fuckin’ hates it,” Mickey scolded.
“I can’t help it,” Ian whined. “That’s my baby nephew in there.”
“You’re lucky she doesn’t smack the shit out of you,” Mickey warned. “Actually, I hope she does.”
“I know you’re not ready to talk about it,” Ian started. “But it’s my birthday, so I get a pass to say I really hope that’s us someday.”
“Every time you talk about babies like that it sounds like you have no fuckin’ idea how kids are made,” Mickey sighed. “You can fuck me all you want but you’re never going to knock me up.”
“We’ll have plenty of time to save up to go the surrogacy route. Then we can use your baby batter.”
“Don’t say baby batter, and any kid would be better off without Milkovich DNA.” Mickey thought for a second, “although if we adopt from the greater Chicago area chances are the kid will have some Milkovich in him, we breed like bunnies.”
“I remember you, when we were kids,” Ian pointed out. “You were really cute, even if you looked a little feral.”
“I smelled,” Mickey corrected, nose wrinkled. “But it’s probably for the best, because I remember you and you were not cute.”
“What the fuck, Mick?” Ian replied indigently.
“You looked like a real, live fucking Chucky doll,” Mickey insisted. “I think Iggy was kind of scared of you, creepy little fucker.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you were adorable and Milkovich sperm could probably survive being left on the kitchen counter overnight, a turkey baster would be nothing.”
“Can you stop talking about my fucking sperm?” Mickey grimaced, he’d moved on from the bite to casually touching up a couple of the other tattoos on his arm.
Ian grimaced, “what’s your problem? This would be like, a decade away, maybe more.”
Mickey huffed out an uncomfortable sigh “I’d be a shitty dad man.”
Ian’s brow furrowed, “no you wouldn’t.”
“Yeah,” Mickey scoffed. “What if I get mad and like, beat it or something?”
“You wouldn’t,” Ian defended immediately. He swung his legs over the side of the table and pushed Mickey to put the gun away gently. Mickey bitched and groaned but allowed himself to get pulled into a one armed hug, both of them keeping the fresh ink safe.
“If that time ever comes, you’re going to be such a good dad,” Ian whispered into his ear. “You’re kind, and you’re gentle, and you already take such good care of me.”
When he pulled back Ian realized that Mickey had tears in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything else, just kissed his cheek and let him turn to the desk to finish cleaning and wrapping their tattoos up. That night they were welcomed to the Gallagher house with a disconnected “surprise!”
Right before they sat down to eat, there was a knock at the door, so Ian got up to answer it.
There was an incredibly beautiful young girl at the door. With a sweet face and long, curly dark red hair. Ian didn’t recognize her and saw that there was a young black guy behind her, holding a small baby and minding two children.
“Hello,” she greeted. Her voice was high and polite, twinkling like bells. “Are Kevin and Veronica Ball here?”
Ian was confused, but called out for Kev and V anyways, eyeing the little family curiously. He could hear the two of them getting up, then Kevin stopping short and making a little sound of shock.
“Ethel?” He asked, voice deep and thick.
“Hi Mr. Kevin,” she said with a grin. “Hi Ms. Veronica.”
Ian suddenly remembered a little girl in weird clothes and even weirder hair living with the Ball’s for a summer. That image was so different from the girl standing in front of him wearing a long sleeve t-shirt and jean shorts. She looked normal and happy.
Kev walked forward slowly and brought her into a hug, which she eagerly returned. Veronica stood next to Ian, grinning in disbelief.
Their little family piled in and squeezed into the living room with everyone else. Everyone was shocked, Kevin was crying quietly behind them, having just let go of Malik. “We stopped by your house,” Ethel explained. “But no one was home, and I remembered coming over here all the time so I figured someone would be around who could give us your phone number, at least.”
“Well, get comfortable,” Fiona said, out of her depth. “We’re all having dinner and cake for Ian’s birthday.”
“Oh, happy birthday!” Ethel laughed, turning back to Ian who had come to sit down next to Mickey.
They found out, over the course of the night, that Ethel and Malik settled in a town in Kansas, of all places. They lied about their
ages so they could rent a house with the rest of the weed money and Malik could go to trade school. Ethel worked part time at a grocery store, apparently, and spent the rest of her time tending to the crops she was growing on their land, the whole family trekking out to Kansas City a couple times a month to set up shop at a farmers market.
Ian got to hold baby Gabriel through most of the night, much to his excitement and Tami’s relief. He held him long enough that Mickey began to take a passing interest in the quiet baby, even going so far as to grab one absentmindedly kicking foot, holding it gently in equal parts hesitancy and wonder.
At some point, Ethel came over to take him back.
“I’m really happy you’re doing so well, Ethel,” Ian said earnestly. “We were all worried when you left.”
“Well, I had a rough few years,” she said honestly. “Once I started to realize what had happened to me, and that you all knew all along, I had to leave. Malik got me through it. I don’t need to tell you about that,” she smiled. “I remember you two hanging out all the time. I didn’t understand, but I think I get it now.”
They had take-out chicken and grocery store cake before Fiona came over with a big brown paper bag and handed it over excitedly. “We got you some real birthday presents, but this one’s kind of a gag gift.”
He opened the bag up and peered into it, sincerely confused by what he saw inside. “Thank you!” He said excitedly. “What are they?”
He reached into the bag and pulled one one deep burgundy fruit from the bag to show everyone crowded around the couch.
“They’re pomegranates!” Fiona exclaimed. “‘Cause of your tattoo, I figured you’d tried them somewhere and liked them.”
“Oh,” Ian laughed. Mickey grinned next to him, shy and quiet. “I’ve actually never had one, Mickey just said the tattoo would look good on me so I got it.”
That prompted a round of groans from everyone in the room but Ethel, who giggled quietly. Mickey nudged Liam and told him to get a knife and some newspapers from the kitchen before breaking the fruit open. It was a hack job, red juice spraying all over the newspapers laid out on the coffee table.
Mickey carefully picked up a couple of seeds, and brought them up to Ian’s mouth. They exploded against his tongue, juice bright and bitter. Ian wasn’t really sure if he liked them, but he watched Mickey quickly picking up bunches of seeds to roll around in his mouth. “They’re good right?” He asked quietly, turning to Ian.
“Great,” Ian agreed easily. Leaning forward to pick at the fruit with everyone else.
They didn’t stay very long after that. As much as Ian loved his family, he wanted to go home, smoke some of the weed Mickey bought for his birthday and watch shitty movies.
He pushed Mickey into the corner of their small couch and laid back against his chest. One of Mickey’s hands came up to play with his curls, Ian could when he would grab one and loop it around his finger for a while before moving on to the next one.
He realized he had a whole life of this to look forward to. He thought back again to the hopelessness he had been blindly steeped in just a year before, how dark his life was until Mickey flew back into it. He felt Mickey shift, both arms wrapping around Ian’s middle and his soft cheek resting against his hair, and realized the rest of his life would be defined by this warmth, like stepping everyday into the sunlight.