Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Ian's eyes flutter open as the early morning sun filters in through the dingy curtains hanging in the bedroom of their West Side apartment.

He runs his hand through his unkempt hair as he glances over at the source of the comforting warmth beside him. 

His husband is snoring, his chest rising and falling slowly. Ian strokes his arm, down to his hand and feels the cool metal circling his finger. Ian thinks how thankful he is that this is his life now. Their past is why they are here, but Ian is excited about the present. Life with Mickey. 

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“C’mon, Mick.” 

“You have lost your fucking mind if you think I’m going to let you pick me up and carry me across this threshold. We’ve been married for four months! Plus I’m not some little bitch.” 

“But it’s our first official night in our new apartment.” 

Ian gave Mickey the pout and the sad eyes that he knew his husband couldn’t resist.

Mickey huffed. “Fuck it, whatever.” 

Ian beamed as he picked up his husband in his strong arms. “I love you, Mick.” 

Mickey smiled. His husband was happy. That’s all that mattered to him. “Love you too, asshole.” 

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“Yeah, Mick. I’ll wait.” The last words Mickey would ever hear from the man he loved and trusted and they were a lie. So this was his life now. For fuck knows how long. Four concrete walls that closed in on him more and more with each passing day. Endless lonely days that had a vise-like grip on his throat, choking him. Dreams of red hair and freckles. Nightmares of those final words spoken over and over until he bolted upright in a sweaty heap on his cot.

Lonely days. And they were his. They were all he had left.

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Mickey watches him sleep, his body rising and falling with each breath. The love in him for Ian is so strong, he would fight anyone and anything to protect him. But how was he supposed to protect Ian from the demons in his own mind? Something intangible, something untouchable. Something too strong for Mickey to defeat. That’s what kills him the most. This thing had a hold of Ian and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing but love him unconditionally. He could definitely do that. WIth every fiber of his being, he would love him through this.

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“Look at this, Mick!”

“If it’s Jake Bass porn, I’ve already seen it. I need sleep.”

“No, this is Tumblr.”

“That’s what you pour whiskey in.”

“No! It’s a social media platform where people write these, what are they called? Drabbles?"

“That’s what old fuckers do in the nursing home.”

“That’s dribble, dumbass. Oh my god , they write about us! They’re called galladrabbles.”

“The fuck? Did you tell them about your stupid Gallavich Security idea?”

“Ooh good idea! I need to create a Tumblr page. What could we call it?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“No, that won’t work.”

“I’m divorcing you.”

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“You really think he gives a shit?”

“He’s got a big fucking mouth, Gallagher.”

“Yeah, if it affects him. What we do doesn’t.”

“We? There is no ‘we’ here.”

Ian flinches like Mickey has just slapped him, and it’s too much. He turns and leaves the store.

He can’t kill Frank. Despite what Ian says, he cares about the prick, and Mickey cares about Ian. Fuck, he doesn’t want to, but he does.

He can’t go home. Juvie would be safer than that hellhole. No one can hurt him if nobody’s able.

Blue lights flash. He hastily moves toward them.

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“Gallagher?” Mickey’s eyes go wide, panic like lightning shooting through his veins.

“Hey, Mick.” Ian looks up at him with a sexy, shy smile, hitching his back pack higher up on his shoulder. “You said I could crash at your place? Ditch the home?”  

“Oh,” Mickey stammered. “Yeah. Come in, I guess.”

“Got one of those for me?” Ian pointed at the beer in Mickey’s hand. 

Mickey nodded and headed to the kitchen. “You hungry?” 

“Fuck yeah.” 

“All the fuck we got are pizza rolls.” 

“Perfect.” 

Mickey smiled to himself as he grabbed the bag and turned on the oven. 

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“It won’t be like this for long.” Mickey runs his fingers through fire red hair, not sure who he was trying to convince more: Ian or himself.

Ian lay still as a summer noon as Mickey reminisces about simpler times back at the Kash and Grab when Ian would beam at him as the last customer left so they could sneak off to the back and bang.

And how patient Ian was with him when he still had to hide who he was.

Mickey knows how lucky he is. Ian is his.

But he would always hate the downhill slide.

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As they swayed to the song, ‘Perfect,’ Ian held a beer in one hand and caressed his new husband’s neck with the other. It felt so good to hold Mickey in his arms and know that they would never be separated again. They were bound together forever. No more bullshit. A tap on his shoulder broke him from his blissful thoughts.

“I think he’s a keeper.”

Ian turned around and gasped. “Mandy!”

They hugged as Mickey looked on with a crooked smile. “Knew you’d come, bitch,” Mickey quipped before hugging her tight.

“Wouldn’t have fucking missed this for the world.”

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Mickey blew through the door of the Gallagher house, Lip and Tami’s heads shooting up from their seats on the living room couch.

“You seen Ian?”

“Hello to you, asshole.”

“Cut the bullshit. Have you seen Ian?”

Lip leaned up to grab his pack of cigarettes and lighter. “Aren’t you his keeper now?”

“I’m not his fucking keeper, Phillip. I’m his husband.”

“Well, we haven’t seen him.”

“Was that so fucking hard?” Lip rolled his eyes. Mickey’s fist clenched. “Fuck me for thinking any of you Gallaghers give a shit.”
Mickey turned and left. Where the hell was his husband?

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Ian sat at a picnic table in the prison yard, waiting for his boyfriend to get done in the laundry. 

A huge guy named Bruno approached the table. Ian stood up, getting in defensive mode.

“Word on the street is you’re an amazing fuck. They call you Big Bang. I wanna find that shit out for myself.” 

Ian felt him before he saw him. Mickey stepped between them. 

“Get to stepping, lard ass. Or the only Big Bang you’re going to feel is my fist in your fat fucking face. By the way, his name is Ian. And he’s mine.” 

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“Fuck, I missed you.”

Ian’s eyes fell closed as Mickey’s words hit him like a boulder to his heart.

He wanted to tell him how much he missed him too. He knew all it would take was one look and two words:“Don’t go.”

He couldn’t ask Mickey to stay. Even though his heart would always be with him somewhere across that border, his head was pulling him back toward home.

So he would just lay here with him and whistle in the wind, silently wondering how he was going to say goodbye to the only man he ever loved-again.

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“Where the fuck is Apartment 42?”

He finally found it and knocked. The door was swung open by a tall, muscular redhead. “About fucking time. As long as it took you, I could’ve gone out and got the food myself.”

Mickey shoved the bag at the rude asshole. “Take your bitchin’ up with the restaurant. I’m just the delivery guy.” He turned to leave.

“You don’t want the tip?”

Mickey turned back around, seeing the guy eyeing him up and down. “I’m used to getting the whole fucking thing.”

The sexy redhead cocked his head, smirking. “That can be arranged.”

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“Pick up the pace, Gallagher.” 

“Shut the hell up, Milkovich.” 

“I got hot fries and they’re gonna be cold as fuck when the assholes finally get down here to my window.”

“Shove your fries up your ass.” 

“I’d rather shove your nine inches up there.” 

“Utility closet. NOW.” 

Mickey followed Ian, both of them throwing their headsets on the counter as they passed their befuddled co-worker. 

 “Seriously? Again??” 

“We’re taking a break!” 

“Third time this week!” 

He stepped up to the drive-thru window with a sigh. “Welcome to In-N-Out, may I take your order?” 

The irony wasn’t lost on him. 

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As his chest heaved, he held the tire iron firmly in his grip above his head. He stared down into fretful eyes. 

This boy had come uninvited into his house, voice husky and demanding. The boy who was now in his bed. 

Finally.

Mickey dreamed in this very same bed, fantasies of pale limbs tangling with his. Of finally being the real him, giving in to his forbidden desires. 

The tire iron clanged as it hit the floor, the sound like a prison cell opening. He was free from his prison of passion, free to make his dreams a reality. 

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“I got it,” Mickey said, reaching for the check on the table and hoping his boring ass blind date didn’t catch the way the sexy as fuck waiter was blatantly eye fucking him.

Mickey opened the check holder and saw scribbled across the bottom of the check, Back alley. Five minutes. He looked up.

The waiter with the fire red hair met his eyes before turning around and disappearing in the back.

Oh fuck yes.

“Gotta piss.” He threw his credit card in the holder and took off after him, his date looking confused.

Who was he to resist temptation?

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It was the usual hustle and bustle of the morning Gallagher kitchen. Mickey sat at the table nursing the coffee Ian had just poured him. If that made him smile a little to himself, so the fuck what.

Ian replaced the coffee pot, stealing a piece of toast from the pan Fiona had just retrieved from the oven. “You coming to the club tonight? It’s Temptation Tuesday.”

Hell yeah he was coming. Fucking viagroids. “You’re a temptation every goddamn day of the week.”

The whole kitchen went silent, all Gallagher eyes on him. Did he really just say that shit?

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The first notes of the song began. Perfect. Ian’s mind flitted back through all the things he and Mickey had been through, all the dumb shit they had done together and done apart. Mickey wasn’t perfect, and fuck knows Ian wasn’t either. But their love was perfect. Against all odds, they had finally made it here: their wedding day. 

He scanned the large crowd a second before their eyes met and they came together as if no one else in the room existed. They wrapped their arms around each other and swayed slightly, the song playing just for them. Perfect. 

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In the dark of the back alley, a hand immediately grabbed a fistful of Mickey’s shirt and slammed him against the wall. The redhead’s nose slid along his, breathing him in, ready to devour him.

“What’s your name?”

“Mickey. You?”

“Ian.”

Warm, wet lips crashed into his, Mickey suddenly feeling exposed, like this man could see deep into his soul. It felt so right, which made no fucking sense. But somehow it made perfect sense. Strong, muscular arms engulfed his body, and he surrendered to the pleasure he knew this man was going to give him. Mickey was finally home.

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Mickey lay on the beach that should’ve been theirs. Taking pulls from his bottle of Cuervo. The moon taunts him with images of Gallagher’s perfect face. 

Their last night together, Ian fell asleep in his arms. If he’d known they wouldn’t have more nights like that, he would’ve committed to memory every line, every freckle. 

Who was he kidding? He did. 

Ian Gallagher was in his bones, under his skin. He’s with him wherever Mickey goes. 

Ian needed him now. 

Mickey stood up, throwing his empty bottle into the gulf before running off. He had a phone call to make. 

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Ian exited his house, marveling at the sight of Mickey Milkovich across the street and the sleek black Mustang he was currently leaning against. 

“Holy shit, Mickey!”

“Made a little arrangement with your….uh, Steve.” 

“His name’s Jimmy now. Well, Jimmy Steve.” 

“Don’t really give a fuck. You wanna go for a ride or not?” 

“Hell yeah!” 

Mickey reached in his pocket for the keys, throwing them at Ian. “You’re driving.” 

“Me?? Since when are you a passenger princess?” 

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up. “Say that again, I’ll kick your ass.”  

“Where are we going?” 

“Just drive, Gallagher.” 

“Let’s ride, Milkovich.” 

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Long fingers pulled roughly at his hair. Mickey gasped. With each thrust of his hips, Gallagher seemed to go harder and faster.

Mickey stroked his cock in time with Gallagher as he plunged deep inside him. 

Suddenly, something hard poked him on the back. “The fuck?” 

He looked around sleepily and saw Ian Gallagher standing in his room. 

“I want the gun back, Mickey.” 

It had all been a fantasy. He could never have anything that good. 

He turned away, pretended he was reaching for the gun, then came up swinging, back to the reality of fighting for his life. 

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Ian slammed on the gas and peeled out of Ned’s wife’s driveway.

“What was with Annie Oakley back there, huh?! Just a drunk old lady?!!” 

“That’s what Ned told me! Shit, Mickey. I don’t know!”

“You might want to tell Dr. Dickhead that his wife is a gun-toting granny!” 

Ian pulled out his phone. 

“Who the fuck you calling?” 

“Ned! My house. Now!”  

“Great, call your bougie-ass boyfriend. Tell him I said to go fuck himself.”  

“Would you rather go to the hospital?” 

Mickey grunted. 

“You’re hurt, Mickey. Let me fix it.” 

Mickey was such a goner for that redhead. 

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Mickey opened the container, his mouth dropping in horror. “The fuck is this?!”

Ian hurried to the kitchen counter. “Holy shit….”

Lip walked in. “Did you get Franny’s cake from the bakery?” Lip followed their gob smacked expressions. “What the fuck, Mickey?! You were supposed to order a princess cake!”

“I did!”

“That look like a princess to you?!”

“Get off my dick, Phillip.”

“Bad choice of words, Mick,” Ian muttered.

“It’s not my fault towelhead thought I said ‘penis’ instead of ‘princess.’ Mickey sighed. “Fuck.” He grabbed the box and headed back out the door, grumbling something about speaking English.

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Mickey sat at a long table, silently cursing his sister for signing him up for this stupid speed dating shit.

Suddenly, a six-foot-tall redhead sat down across from him, flashing him a cocky smile like he knew he could burn Mickey’s whole world down while Mickey lit the matches.

After a few minutes of easy conversation, a bell rang and all the men on either side of Ian stood up.

“Dude, move. It’s my turn,” came an impatient voice beside Ian.

“Wanna get out of here?” Ian asked Mickey with a salacious grin.

Mickey nodded toward the door.

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“You remember the safe word?” Ian's body thrummed with excitement as he peered down at the flushed skin of his husband's naked chest as it heaved with his own anticipation, the various array of toys he was about to use spread out beside them on the bed. 

“Yeah,” Mickey grunted.

Ian slowly grinned. “You gotta say it, Mick.”

“Fuck off, I'm not saying that shit. Don't need it. I can take whatever you give me.”

“Say it,” Ian said more forcefully, the change going straight to Mickey's dick. 

“Pumpkin spice,” Mickey said through gritted teeth. 

“Good boy. Now roll over.”