Chapter Text
The room was dim, shadows from the streetlights filtering through the thin curtains. Mickey lay sprawled on the couch, his legs tangled in a blanket Ian had hastily thrown over him. The night had been more than Ian could handle, and now he was left staring at the ceiling in his bedroom, Trevor’s steady breathing next to him doing nothing to calm the storm in his mind.
That kiss. Trevor had kissed Mickey, and something inside Ian snapped. Not anger—not at Trevor, at least—but something primal. Something that made his chest tight and his hands curl into fists. He had been with Trevor for months, but seeing that kiss made him realize how fragile everything was. It wasn’t just jealousy. It was possessiveness. It wasn’t just about Trevor kissing Mickey. It was about Mickey.
It wasn’t just the kiss that was haunting him tonight. His thoughts flickered to something else—something that had happened before, something Ian hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. The age play. What had started as a joke, something playful to lighten the mood, had turned into something else for Ian. He remembered the way Mickey had played along, slipping into the role so naturally, so effortlessly. For Trevor, it had been funny, a lighthearted bit of teasing, but for Ian, it had awakened something deeper, something darker. The way Mickey had acted—vulnerable, just for a moment, letting Ian take control—it stirred something in Ian that he couldn’t shake.
It wasn’t just a game for Ian. He liked it. More than liked it. He wanted more of it. He hadn’t expected to feel so drawn to that side of Mickey, the side that wasn’t just the tough, brash guy who fought the world with his fists. There was something about seeing Mickey like that, more open, more trusting, that made Ian feel like he was discovering another piece of him.
Mickey had been drinking, which is why he was now passed out on the couch instead of back in his own place. But what if he remembered? What if he woke up tomorrow, hungover and furious? That thought alone kept Ian wide awake, his heart pounding in his chest. Mickey, with his volatile temper and unapologetic attitude, wouldn’t take the kiss lightly, let alone the rest. If he remembered that kiss, things could spiral out of control.
Ian shifted in bed, careful not to wake Trevor, but his thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone. Did he really love Trevor? They were good together, sure, but it wasn’t… right. There was always something missing. They weren’t even a match in the way that mattered—both tops, always jockeying for control. The passion was there, but it lacked the give-and-take that Ian could probably have with Mickey. With Mickey, there was fire, but there was also balance. A push and pull that kept them both on edge, both wanting more.
But Trevor was good for him, wasn’t he? Normal, stable, safe.
Ian sat up, running his hands over his face. He glanced at the door, torn between checking on Mickey and staying where he was. He didn’t want to leave Trevor, didn’t want to start this whole mess over again, but the weight in his chest told him that maybe it was too late.
Mickey had that effect on him. Always had.
There was a part of Ian that never stopped being drawn to Mickey. Even after everything, after all the pain and chaos, Mickey was still a part of him that he couldn’t shake. And now, seeing Trevor kiss him, seeing Mickey’s confused expression in that moment… it unsettled something deep inside Ian. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Mickey belonged to him in some unspoken way.
But did Mickey feel the same?
Ian glanced at Trevor, sleeping peacefully beside him, and then quietly slipped out of bed. The hardwood floor was cold against his feet as he padded down the hall toward the living room. Mickey was still there, his face partially hidden under the blanket, his chest rising and falling in slow, deep breaths.
Ian watched him for a moment, conflicted. What was he doing? Why was he here?
He knelt down beside the couch, studying Mickey’s face in the half-light. He looked so peaceful, so different from the hard-edged, streetwise guy Ian had fallen for. But that was the thing about Mickey—there were always layers.
Carefully, he reached out and brushed a lock of hair from Mickey’s forehead, his fingers lingering for a second longer than they should have. What was this? Was it something deeper? Something he wasn’t ready to admit?
Mickey stirred, muttering something under his breath, and Ian froze. He waited, heart in his throat, but Mickey didn’t wake up.
As he stood up, Ian felt a wave of guilt crash over him. What the hell was he doing? Trevor was in his bed, asleep, and here he was, standing over Mickey like some lovesick idiot. But he couldn’t deny the pull Mickey still had on him, even after all these years.
He walked back to his bedroom, his mind still racing. If Mickey remembered what had happened tonight, it would all come crashing down. The fragile balance he had built with Trevor, with his new life, would shatter.
But as Ian climbed back into bed, his mind drifted back to that kiss. The way it had made his heart race, the way it had shaken something loose inside him. And he couldn’t help but wonder… what if?