#Mickey has a crush on Ian

[nostalgicmania]

Now why would you keep saying "his eyes were so blue" again and again and again

Okey we get it his eyes are blue just stop itttttt

Or maybe I have a fucking problem with blue eyes because they haunts me on a daily basis

[softmick]

autistic mickey thoughts i’m chewing on:

hyposensitive bby mickey walking into things, stomping around, wrestling with his brothers - things he never grows out of.

he loves to shoulder check people. he loves wearing heavy boots and his heels slamming into the ground. he loves the deep pressure and slamming of bodies. fighting is fun! he’s not even that mad like that, it just makes him feel right somehow.

hyposensitive bby mickey infuriating terry because he doesn’t react to pain like the other kids. it takes a lot to make him cry, physically anyway, and maybe it scares terry at first… to go so far. but then it’s a challenge. and maybe this is just another little reason mickey downplays what happens to him. because it doesn’t really hurt that bad.

little hyposensitive mickey falling asleep to screaming, neighbors partying, gunshots, flashing lights who grows up and needs a weighted blanket and ian and the pressure of the wall at his back and white noise and flickering light to sleep on the west side.

lil mickey who hates vegetables because they all come from a can (soft) or the freezer (squeaky). and ian who realizes mickey loves pickles and gets onions on his sandwiches and has a little lightbulb moment and just gives mickey a raw carrot. and it turns out he does like vegetables and then he snacks like a rabbit for a while because CRUNCH

mickey who has lackluster sexual experiences before/outside of ian because the girls he’s with are young (like him) and kind of passive. or he hooks up with guys and does his best not to touch too much and decides it’s just kind of blah. but then he and ian fight and fuck and it just lights up his world. because he needs a LOT of sensory input. and ian is willing to put in work!!

lil dirty mickey hating lukewarm/cold water and the weird way his clothes smell like nothing with their shitty (nonexistent?) laundry detergent but loving scalding hot water and strong perfumed soaps and fabric softener. mickey who isn’t crazy about baths but loves a hot tub/jetted tub.

mickey being much more accommodating/open to new things when he can bring his headphones and blast music into his ears. yoga? sure, but only if he can listen to his music.

mickey who very reluctantly agrees to stop shooting without ear protection. but only if there’s more recoil.

mickey loving color and obnoxious patterns because he is sensory seeking babey

mickey and ian having a code word or phrase for when mickey is crawling out of his skin that he uses right before tackling ian.

the gallaghers learning that if they want to show mickey affection it’s better to grip his shoulder or his arm tight than try for some light one armed hug shit. except for debbie who doesn’t give up hugging and just tries to her best to crush him.

idk man. just mickey okay? i love him

[ninoochat]

did mickey knew ian was gay before they hooked up? *cracks knuckles* alright sit down let's unpack this shit because yesterday for dinner ive had 4 snickers and im still not down from that sugar high. shutup

in 1x6 he's waiting outside kash and grab to beat up ian. why is he nervous? he beat up lip a few days ago, he beats up dudes on the regular. s1 ian isnt exactly intimidating (sorry ian). is he wary of linda because she has more balls than her husband? sure but he wouldn't be smoking and biting his nails. as a former smoker and nail biter, you don't usually do both unless you’re S T R E S S E D. he’s there alone this time. why did he call off his cousins? maybe stalking the store so much made him notice what was going on with kash *spits on the ground*. maybe he overheard when ian told mandy he was gay right outside their house in 1x3. i don't think mandy told him but she could have.

so back to 1x6. mickey cleans up (a little) and goes to the store to provoke ian. "i forgot the dip" no you didnt, you just needed an excuse to go back in because ian showed up. ian says to kash *burns sage to cleanse myself* "what, so you're just going to let him keep coming in here, and take what he wants?" uh oh actually, yes he will! oops getting sidetracked. mickey tells him "you know where i live if you have a problem". *gestures vaguely* if not gay then why everything? to me, this is textbook boy at school pulling on pigtails and running because he has a big crush. and i mean how many opportunities are there for a closeted gay kid in this neighborhood? ian is cute as a button, he's probably checked him out. "where's firecrotch?!" sir have you put much thoughts into that part of his anatomy? we know he likes redheads...

fast forward to 1x7, that scene (changed my life tbh). mickey's probably loving how fearless ian is. there's only so much grunting and physical contact he can take before he folds (ask ancient romans). he's about 16 in season 1, he's probably climbing up the walls horny and ian gave him the look™ (ian u big hoe) and yet i firmly believe he would have never made a move if he didn't know. hell no, no way! and risk having ian yell something with terry in the next room? with how terrified he is about his father?

what do you think? did he know or did he just went for it?

[sluttygallavich]

Ian spits on mickeys hole and they both enjoy it 🤝

The first time it happens, it’s out of pure necessity.

They’ve just chased each other across half of South Side and up six flights of crumbling stairs, blood pumping and hearts racing. By the time they get to the mattress they have set up behind a half-collapsed wall near Ian’s makeshift training course they’re both practically out of their minds and completely desperate for it.

“Get the shit, Gallagher.”

Mickey already has his jeans pulled down to his knees and is looking back over his shoulder at him expectantly when the crushing realization hits.

Shit.

Mickey’s eyebrows furrow at Ian’s stricken expression. “The fuck, Gallagher. You didn’t come prepared?”

And no, actually, he hadn’t come prepared for Mickey to materialize in the middle of a busy street and crash his…whatever with Ned, and he sure as fuck hadn’t been planning on letting things with Ned go any further than a couple of drinks and maybe a hurried hand job if the old guy was really insistent. So no, he is in no way prepared for the situation he finds himself in now—ass naked but for his socks and rock hard, with his sorta boyfr– with Mickey’s perfect pale cheeks just begging to be spread.

He huffs, cheeks pinkening under Mickey’s accusatory stare.

“Get on your back, I’ll blow you instead.” Ian tries not to let on how disappointed he is, even as he suggests it, but it doesn’t seem to matter because Mickey makes no move to roll over. Instead, he bites at his bottom lip, considering.

“You gonna keep sticking it in that geriatric pedo?” he asks finally, voice gruff but eyes darting around, betraying his nerves.

And Ian’s first instinct is to roll his eyes and protest at that, but, well… yeah, okay.

His second instinct is to turn the question around and ask if Mickey’s going to keep sticking it in Angie Zago or whatever other neighbourhood slut is willing, but, well…

This is Mickey sort of trying, isn’t it? This is missed ya under the bleachers, and this is helping Ian train for West Point nearly every day since he’s been back, and this is the mattress that “fell off the back of a truck” after Ian complained about the concrete floor fucking up his knees. This is following him today and beating the shit out of that geriatric pedo in the middle of the street because he was jealous but couldn’t just say it.

This is Mickey staking a claim, maybe.

“No,” Ian answers, heart racing at what he thinks might be happening—what he thinks Mickey might be proposing. And he wasn’t going to ask, but as he shuffles closer on the mattress, he finds that he just needs to know. He needs to hear it too. “Are you?”

Mickey snorts, turning his head back around so Ian can no longer see his face.

“Am I gonna stick my dick in that grandpa’s wrinkly old ass? Nah man, you don’t gotta worry about that.”

Ian reaches out then, just a single hand brushing lightly at Mickey’s hip, and he realizes it’s the first time they’ve touched since rushing up here, too frantic earlier to do anything but tear at their own clothes.

“Mick…”

And he must hear something in Ian’s voice then, because when Mickey speaks again the derisiveness of a moment before is gone. He just sounds desperate again. Pleading, even.

“C’mon, Ian, just get in me.”

And it’s not exactly an answer, is it? But it’s Ian instead of Gallagher, and it’s the vulnerability he can feel rolling off Mickey in this moment, and it’s trust, really. And Ian finds that’s good enough for now.

He grips Mickey’s ass with both hands and relishes in the heavy exhale it pulls from him, almost like Mickey had been holding his breath. Like relief. And Ian feels it too. So strongly he’s almost faint with it. He spreads Mickey wide and pets at his hole with his thumb, mouth falling open as he watches it flutter and try to pull him in.

“Fuck, Mick,” he groans. He feels even more wild than he did a few minutes ago. “Still don’t have any lube though.”

Mickey’s head drops down between his shoulders as Ian presses just the tip of his thumb inside him, dry.

“Just spit on it, Gallagher, Jesus.”

And Ian feels like he’s been kicked in the back, all the air rushing out of his lungs at once.

“Are– are you sure?”

“Holy fuck, yes, yes, I’m sure,” Mickey huffs. “You need to see it in fuckin’ writing or what?”

Ian doesn’t react to that, too used to Mickey’s impatience and bluster for it to faze him anymore and still far too preoccupied with Mickey’s clenching hole and the prospect of covering it in his spit, which suddenly seems like the hottest thing he’s ever considered.

Mickey’s spit-slicked hole and Ian’s bare cock sinking into it. Fuck. He prays he lasts longer than two sad pumps.

He knees at Mickey’s legs and gets him to spread them wider, running his nails up Mickey’s back before forcing his upper body down to the mattress, leaving just Mickey’s ass sticking up in the air for Ian to do with as he pleases. He gathers as much saliva in his mouth as he can and leans closer, spreading Mickey’s cheeks again and spitting directly on his puckered rim, the sound loud and obscene in the quiet of the abandoned rubble.

“Oh fuck…” Ian whispers, immediately dragging his thumb through the warm spit and pushing into Mickey’s hole. “Oh fuck, Mick.”

Mickey just groans, pushing back against Ian’s hands, encouraging more.

Ian spits again, this time slowly pushing two fingers into Mickey’s heat, just to the first knuckles, just to see, but Mickey’s demand for more has him quickly pushing in the rest of the way, stretching and fucking him open until his hole is gaping, just a little, and fuck, what if he spit right inside of him?

He chokes off a moan at the thought and continues getting Mickey prepped, but once the idea has been raised in his mind it latches on and he can’t let it go.

Mickey’s pushing back against his fingers, three buried instead him now. “C’mon, Gallagher, while we’re still young,” he grouses, though the effect is somewhat lessened by how fucked out he sounds.

Ian reaches a hand around Mickey’s compact body and presents it palm up and slightly cupped in front of Mickey’s face.

“You too,” Ian manages to get out. “Spit.”

Mickey attempts a laugh, but now that Ian’s nailing his prostate with every other thrust of his fingers it sounds more like it’s been punched out him.

“You’re a freak, Gallagher.” But he doesn’t hesitate to do as he’s told, and now Ian’s using Mickey’s spit to slick up his own cock and shit, maybe he won’t even make it to two sad pumps.

He squeezes at the head of his cock, clear beads gathering at the tip, and Ian’s usually pretty impressive self-control immediately snaps. He pulls his fingers out of Mickey’s ass and spits directly into his empty hole. Mickey lets out a breathy “Fuck,”and it’s all somehow even hotter than Ian was just imagining.

“Ready?” he can’t help but ask, dragging his throbbing cock through the mess he’s made, his own precum only adding to the wet slick. He half expects another snarky response, and when he doesn’t get one, he knows Mickey is just as a far gone as he is.

“Yeah, ready, yes,” Mickey babbles. “Fuck yes…”

Ian keeps a steady grip on Mickey’s hip, his other hand slowly guiding himself inside, and shit it’s tight. And hot. It’s hot and tight and so, so much that Ian swears his vision darkens at the edges a little bit. He remembers then to breathe at the same time that Mickey moans—moans! Mickey never moans!—and tries to press back against him. There’s more resistance than Ian’s used to, but the feeling of being inside Mickey with nothing between them more than makes up for the lack of lube.

Ian can’t look away from where they’re connected, skin to skin. He’s practically panting like a dog, his tongue feeling parched and dry, but he gathers as much saliva as he can and spits one last time, watching it pool around where his shaft disappears into the tight ring of Mickey’s hole before pressing the rest of the way in.

“Shit, Gallagher, need you to move.”

Ian’s let himself slump forward across Mickey’s back, his forehead pressing between his shoulder blades.

“Need…a minute,” he breathes into Mickey’s skin, eyes squeezed shut. “Jesus Mick, you feel so fucking tight. Not gonna last.”

Never one to be kept waiting, Mickey starts up a slow roll of his hips. “Don’t worry, Firecrotch,” he says, rocking back and forth on Ian’s cock. “Ain’t gonna last either. Better make the next thirty seconds count.”

Ian huffs out a laugh and pushes himself up off Mickey’s back so he can piston into the older boy the way he knows he likes. His belly swoops at the way his bare cock looks drilling into Mickey, and truthfully, it’s not much more than a minute or two later when he feels that familiar tingling in his balls that lets him know he’s about to bust. And shit, he hasn’t really thought this far ahead. Should he pull out? Is Mickey going to let him—

“Oh fuck. Mick, I’m gonna– Shit, I’m–” He’s the one babbling now. He feels panicked, knowing the clock is quickly running down. Finally, he manages a complete thought. “Mickey, where should I come?”

Mickey is working his own cock furiously in his fist, his breathing labored around his moans. Ian’s never heard him be this vocal. His balls are drawing up at the sound of Mickey’s pleasure, but still Mickey hasn’t given him an answer.

“Mick, please…oh god, oh fuck…where should I–”

“Come inside me.”

“Oh god…”

Ian only hears a ringing in his ears after that. Without thinking he wraps his arms around Mickey’s torso and hauls him up so that his back is pressed firm against Ian’s chest. He holds him tight and buries his face in Mickey’s neck as his release crashes through him, lighting up every inch of his skin that’s connected to Mickey’s, that’s in Mickey.

Dimly he’s aware of Mickey crying out and shuddering around him, his head tipping back to rest against Ian’s, and he’s struck, suddenly, by the intimacy of it all—they’ve never been closer, he thinks—before they’re both pitching forward and collapsing together, Ian slipping from Mickey’s body as they come to settle next to each other on their sides.

They’re both quiet, save for their ragged breathing, as they slowly come down from their highs. Mickey’s shirt is still on, but Ian watches his back rise and fall, admires the faint freckles on his exposed shoulder, follows a bead of sweat meandering down Mickey’s neck from his hairline and has to restrain himself from licking the rivulet it leaves in its wake.

Eventually his gaze drifts lower, and despite coming harder than he ever has in his life less than two minutes ago, he’s hit with an intense wave of emotion—arousal, definitely, but something else too—that has his dick twitching and his pulse kicking right back up. It’s a mess of cum and sweat and spit, and it should be gross, maybe, but all Ian can think is that it’s them. He closes his eyes and smiles.

The first time it happens, it’s the start of something new.

[kandyzee]

Imagine how mickey felt when Terry walked in on them literally days after he finally kisses Ian.

Mickey has spent ages scared to kiss Ian, to let him in. Not kissing Ian protected him, and he finally gets over that fear after AGES. Then his worst fear comes true days later, Terry finds out.

All that they had been working towards all that fucking emotional growth crushed. His fears are validated in the most horrible and traumatic way.

And he still goes to find Ian. He still kisses him after that. The fact he was able to do that is fucking amazing.

[ange1sang]

kinktober d.3: gallavich + oral fixation

minors + under 18s pls do not interact ty

gallavich (ian x mickey); 2k words, smut, college au, crushes, blowjobs, oral fixation

a/n: this one's an au but i swear it's good so pls give it a chance!! <3

Mickey’s never been one to stare. He knows how to mind his own business, fuck you very much, and on top of that he doesn’t find most people all that interesting. Some of them are hot, some of them are boring, but most of them land somewhere in the middle that warrants a few glances at most before he makes a move or leaves them alone. He’s a direct person, for better or worse, and doesn’t find much fun in the whole playing footsie under the table and biting your lip at each other. If he’s into someone he’ll come out and say it, so no, he doesn’t spend much of his time staring at people. But this one ginger fuck — well, he’s an exception.

Mickey sees him for the first time in his Entrepreneurship class. This shouldn’t mean anything, really, because there are at least three hundred people crammed into the lecture hall, but the redhead is hot and sitting a row down just to Mickey’s right so that he’s got a good view of him. He’s hot enough that Mickey considers asking if he’ll be at the student bar later, but instead he finds himself watching him the whole class. In particular, he finds him watching his mouth.

The whole class, the redhead has something between his lips. At first he’s chewing gum, which he neatly folds away in a piece of scrap paper ten minutes into the lecture and replaces with the end of his pen. At first he’s just running it back and forth across his lips, almost like he’s flirting subconsciously with someone, but eventually he starts chewing on the plastic, teeth digging into little grooves already formed there. Even during the break when he’s chatting idly with the person sat next to him he runs his tongue along his bottom lip between sentences, bites at his top lip so that it’s slick with spit when he starts to speak again. Mickey’s captivated, and by the time he’s packing his notebook away he realises he didn’t learn much of anything from the lecture.

Next lecture, he looks around for the ginger head of hair and sits behind him again. He tells himself this time he’ll ask where he’s staying, find something to talk about that makes it clear he wants to hang out, but then the redhead unwraps a lollipop and all of those thoughts vanish. It’d be one thing if he just sucked on it like a normal person, but every few minutes he grabs a hold of the stick and rubs it back and forth over his lips like he’s applying gloss. Once again, an hour and forty five minutes are lost to watching this guy’s mouth. Watching how he leaves his lips shiny with sugar for a second or two before licking it away, over and over until the lollipop is gone. Even then he keeps the stick in his mouth, moving it up and down then side to side with his tongue. Mickey’s glad the pull up desk is close enough to his lap that no one can see the boner he spends all class willing away.

This happens again, and again, until Mickey feels like he’s going insane. He hasn’t mapped out anybody’s face this well, couldn’t tell you if his flatmate had any beauty marks, but he’s got the freckles on this guy’s face committed to memory. And his mouth. He has an embarrassing amount of daydreams (and real dreams) about his fucking mouth. It’s a nightmare. Every time he checks his timetable and sees Entrepreneurship his stomach does a little flip-flop of anticipation. And if Mickey’s never been one for staring, he’s definitely never been one for stomach flip-flops.

It’s the eighth lecture when he gets to class and doesn’t spot the redhead there, which unnerves him slightly because he’s always weirdly early. But whatever. The lectures aren’t mandatory and with the amount of people in the class it’d be impossible to see the same people every time. He sits down towards the back and pulls out his notebook and pen (free of teeth marks, unlike that redheaded fuck’s). It’s almost like clockwork, what happens next. As soon as the cap on his pen comes off, the seat next to his is being pushed down and— shit.

“Cool if I sit here?” the redhead asks, even though he’s already sat down, pulling out a notebook and his signature chewed up pen.

“Guess so,” Mickey mumbles, and realises far too late that he’s been staring at him. He’s gotten so used to doing it that it’s almost like second nature, but now that the guy’s sitting close enough that he can feel the warmth coming off of his arm it’s painfully obvious that he’s looking at him and his mouth.

They sit in silence until the lecture starts, at which point the redhead leans into him and speaks softly around the pen cap between his lips.

“My name’s Ian,” he whispers. Mickey glances at him and instantly feels a familiar warmth in his stomach when he twists the pen cap back and forth between his lips.

“Mickey,” he whispers back, averting his eyes before he digs himself any further into this hole.

“My friend said you were staring last lecture,” Ian goes on, voice taking on a teasing lilt that has Mickey cussing under his breath. “And the one before that, and the one before?”

He phrases it like a question, like Mickey should say something to defend himself before he jumps to conclusions. There isn’t much to say though, not when the conclusions are probably accurate, so he just shrugs.

“You’ve always got shit in your mouth, man,” he mumbles back, meeting Ian’s eyes for a split second and then looking down at where he’s sucking on his bottom lip for what he hopes is just a split second. “’S fuckin’ weird.”

“Weird?” Ian whispers, breaking off into a giggle just loud enough to make someone in the row ahead of them turn around. Mickey nods, even though he can feel warmth climbing his cheeks to the tips of his ears, watching how the other wipes the spit from his bottom lip with his thumb. “Sure it’s not ‘cause you want to put something else in my mouth?”

If Mickey hadn’t already given himself a Pavlovian reaction to this godforsaken class that sentence alone would definitely be enough to do it.

“Maybe,” he gets out without sounding too embarrassed. He looks at Ian and finds him with the end of his pen between his teeth, tongue running along the bite marks on the end of it. Paired with the knowing smile on his lips it’s enough to give him a semi. “You gonna do somethin’ about it, red?”

“Soon as class is over,” Ian says, grinning like he’s told a joke. Mickey feels like he’s been handed a sentence instead, checking the time on his phone and realising there’s an hour and a half left of class.

.

The second they’re out of the lecture hall Ian’s grinning at him all over again. Mickey chooses to ignore how his cheeks are burning in favour of rummaging around in his bag for his cigarettes.

“Don’t light anything, my place is just across the street,” Ian says, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him towards the exit. Mickey raises an eyebrow.

“You’re eager,” he comments, which makes Ian snort.

“Like you said, I’ve always got stuff in my mouth,” he replies like it’s nothing.

Ian’s place is a cramped studio, about as disorganised as any college student’s place, but Mickey doesn’t get to look around for more than a couple of seconds before Ian’s reaching for his jeans, deftly unbuttoning and unzipping them without looking. His mouth is centimetres from Mickey’s, and even now he’s got his bottom lip between his teeth, smiling at Mickey as he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers.

“Wanna sit on my bed?” he asks, even as he’s pushing Mickey’s jeans down his legs.

“Yeah, whatever,” Mickey shrugs. He couldn’t care less where he’s standing or sitting as long as he finally gets to feel this guy’s fucking mouth on him. He doesn’t have to worry or wait much longer because as soon as he’s siting down Ian’s got his pants around his ankles and leans forward to land an open-mouthed kiss on the head of his dick.

He doesn’t start stroking him to get him hard like Mickey half-expects him to do. Instead he runs his tongue all over him, licking up along one of the veins on the side of his length and swirling his tongue around the head, flicking it against the frenulum and moving his face down to suck on his balls. He barely uses his hands and yet he has Mickey’s dick spit-coated and hard in nearly record time.

“Feel as good as you thought it would?” he asks while he’s rubbing the slit against his lips, smearing precum across them like it’s lip gloss. Mickey’s reminded of him doing the same thing with his lollipop in the second lecture they shared and groans.

“Fuck yeah,” is all he gets out before Ian starts sucking him off in earnest and god fucking damn. All that staring did nothing to prepare Mickey for how the redhead takes him to the hilt like it’s nothing, drooling all over his dick and coming up for air with strings of spit still connecting them. Ian smiles at him with an oddly out of place schoolboy charm, and leans in to suck along the side of his cock.

His tongue is skilled, which Mickey had already figured, but the way it drags along his skin has his brain melting, first the tip tracing along every sensitive spot he can find and then pressed flat against the underside of his dick as he leans down and takes him all the way. Mickey finds himself unable to do much other than swear as Ian stays down for longer than should be possible, nose buried in his pubes as he swallows around his dick.

“Motherfucker,” Mickey grits out through clenched teeth, letting his head fall back when Ian finally comes up to breathe. Even as he catches his breath he doesn’t stop, running his lips and tongue over every inch of him until he’s covered in a thick, sticky layer of saliva. It doesn’t put Ian off either — if anything he’s more excited about lapping up all of the precum and spit on Mickey’s skin.

“Tell me when you’re gonna cum,” he demands suddenly, voice just a little rough, and it’s all Mickey can do not to laugh.

“Any fuckin’ second,” he admits, earning him a grin from the redhead before he’s bobbing his head again. He feels like heaven, Mickey thinks for a split second, and then his tongue is rubbing right against his frenulum and good fucking God. He moans embarrassingly loud and Ian seems to get the cue because he pulls up just in time to catch every spurt of cum on his tongue.

Mickey watches, captivated like he always is by Ian’s mouth, as the redhead used the head of his dick to spread cum evenly over his lips and then licks it all away and swallows.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You’re fuckin’ good at that.”

Ian shrugs, sitting back and taking a deep breath. Mickey keeps watching for a moment, notices how for the first time since he’s seen him his mouth stays totally still. No lip licking or biting, no fingertip stuck between his teeth to chew on. He’s surprised — pleasantly or otherwise, he’s not sure.

“How come you’re always putting shit in your mouth anyway?” he asks. The question instantly has Ian’s tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip.

“It’s an anxiety thing. Nervous tic or something,” he says, looking flustered for the first time. Mickey smirks.

“You stopped doing it for a minute there, y’know,” he states, and watches as his freckled cheeks turn pink.

“Yeah, well don’t get ahead of yourself, we haven’t been on a date or anything,” he says with a smile, getting up and throwing a towel in Mickey’s direction.

Mickey stifles a laugh. At least he knows what he’s asking him next lecture.

[fictionalcharactersaremypassion]

Yev's Mosquito Bite

“Dad, Ian; You guys should really go on a date sometime,” were the first words Yev said to them when he came home from school on a nice, breezy afternoon. “It’s been way too long since you’ve had some time to yourselves.” 

Ian shared a glance of amusement with his husband. Yev didn’t give two shits about them having alone time, he was usually complaining about them being too openly affectionate in front of him. “Oh, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Yev dropped his backpack on the floor, only to pick it back up with a sheepish smile when Mickey shot him a look. He draped it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “I mean, when was the last time you guys just had a night or-” he shrugged, taking on a tone that was far from nonchalantly, “afternoon out?” 

“You know,” Ian feigned a thoughtful voice, “now that you mention it, it has been a while.” Yev nodded eagerly. “I could always take the day off sometime soon. We could stay here all day.” 

Mickey smirked when Yev deflated. He grabbed Ian by his belt loops, gently pulling him closer. “I like the way you think, Gallagher. Hit the shower with me later?” 

“Fuck yeah,” Ian grinned, widening when Yev groaned loudly. 

“God, you guys are gross.” 

“Why do you want us out of the house, Yev?” Ian got straight to the point, one hand reaching back to thread his fingers through Mickey’s hair. It was a little longer nowadays, not quite the same length when he broke out of prison but close. 

“No reason,” Yev muttered. 

“No reason?” Mickey repeated, arching his brow. “Kid, if you’re planning on drinking, you’d better do it with us here.” 

Yev rolled his eyes. “Your beer sucks ass. You can keep it.” 

“Fuck you,” Mickey said with no heat. “You got shitty taste just like your mother.” 

“Mick,” Ian nudged him. 

“What? Don’t tell me you’re gonna start defending Mother Russia now.” 

“You shouldn’t talk about her like that,” Ian said calmly, taking an onion to start chopping for dinner. 

“Eh, it’s okay,” Yev shrugged again. “She says worse about Dad.” 

This had Mickey narrowing his eyes. “The fuck does she say about me?” 

Yev just gave his father a smirk of his own, and it looked just like Mickey’s, no doubt that he was his son. 

“Stop getting off track,” Ian scolded them both. He then addressed his son. “You wanna tell us why you’re trying to get rid of us?” 

“Not really,” Yev turned to grab a soda from the fridge, giving both of his fathers a full view of the two hickies on the side of his neck. 

Mickey snickered. “I think I know why.” 

Even Ian couldn’t hide the grin that spread over his face. “Is there someone you’re not telling us about, Yev?” 

Yev had gone very still. “No,” he mumbled. 

In other circumstances, Ian would be against trying to embarrass his child, remembering from experience how uncomfortable it could be to have someone in your business like that. Whoever had given it to him was obviously his first crush and if he wanted to keep communication between all three of them open and honest, he should let it rest. 

But after all the shit Yev gave him and Mickey, this was much deserved payback. 

“Yeah?” Mickey said slyly, “that why you got a couple of hickeys?” 

Ian had never seen Yev go so red before. Completely embarrassed, he cleared his throat, ducking his head, looking like he desperately wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “I’m going to my room.” 

“Oh, no way, Little Man,” Mickey yanked him by the back of his shirt.

“You’re gonna stay here.” 

“Why?” Yev whined. “They’re not even hickeys!” 

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. 

“Oh, they ain’t, huh?” Mickey snorted. 

“They’re mosquito bites, Dad.” 

“Oh, really?” Mickey said sarcastically. He brushed a finger over the spots, making Yev flinch. “Must have got you pretty good then.” 

“Must be really biting this time of year,” Ian remarked. 

Yev’s lips pressed together. “Yeah...” 

“That’s weird because I don’t remember you having any bites this morning,” Ian continued. 

“Must have happened when I was walking back,” Yev said quickly. 

Ian felt the laughter in his chest, threatening to come out. He managed to hold himself together, nodding like he believed the shit that was coming out of his mouth.  Mickey looked seconds away from calling him out on the bullshit too, but Ian just laid a hand on his lower back, his silent way of telling him to wait. 

“You should put a warm compress on those,” Ian advised. “It’ll help with the blood flow.” 

“Okay,” Yev grabbed his backpack, still holding his soda in his hand and made a beeline for his bedroom. 

“He thinks we’re fucking stupid,” Mickey chuckled. “How long you think it’ll be before we see whoever left ‘em?” 

Ian looped an arm around his husband’s shoulders. “I don’t know. Think we should go easy on him when he introduces us?” 

“Fuck no,” Mickey said and they both laughed. 

As it turns out, they would be introduced to the girl in question a couple of days later when Yev brought her home to work on a project together. 

“This is Emily,” their son said, fidgeting slightly. “Those are my dads; Mickey and Ian.” 

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Emily said politely. 

“You too,” Ian smiled warmly. 

“Yeah,” Mickey said with a nod. “So, you and the kid have a project together?” 

“Yes,” Emily said. “It’s for our history class. We’re supposed to take an event that happened and discuss the consequences of it.” 

“You can go ahead to my room,” Yev said hurriedly, probably to save himself from Ian or Mickey saying anything else. “It’s at the end of the hall. I’ll get us a drink.” 

“Okay,” Emily gave him and Mickey one last smile before going back there.  

Ian leaned against the countertop, watching Yev grab a couple cans of soda. “She’s pretty.” 

“Please don’t,” Yev cringed. 

“Ay, you like this girl?” Mickey asked. 

Yev’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“That’s a yes,” Mickey and Ian said simultaneously. 

“Can we not?” 

“I think we should have Emily stay for dinner,” Ian said to his husband. “Get to know her a little better.” 

“No!” Yev said in horror. 

“Sure. I think Lana sent over some of his baby pictures over.” 

“We have a whole album,” Ian reminded him. 

“Oh my God-” 

Mickey nodded seriously, barely keeping a straight face as is. “You remember that one year he wore a tiger costume for Halloween and refused to take it off?” 

“That was pretty damn cute,” Ian chuckled. He meant that too. Yev had gone around trying to roar at everybody to scare them for at least two weeks after Halloween ended. 

“Bet Emily would like it,” Mickey teased. 

“Dad!” Yev whisper-yelled, a mixture of disbelief and equal parts irritation. He looked at Ian for help, but he was trying to quell his laughter so he was useless. “I fucking hate you both.” 

“Ay, watch your fucking language,” Mickey hit him lightly upside the head. 

“I’m going to room,” Yev said, aiming a glare at both of them. 

He started to walk, with Ian giving his husband a wink, calling for his son to wait. 

“What?” 

“Is your window open?” Ian said. 

“Yeah...” Yev said, agitatedly. “Why?”  

Ian threw him a bottle that he caught. 

“Bug spray,” he read off the title in bewilderment. “What the hell is this for?” 

“You know, for the mosquitoes,” Ian said calmly. Him and Mickey dissolved into loud laughter after that. 

“Ugh,” Yev snapped, looking like he wanted to throw the bottle at them. “I hope your dicks stay limp.” 

He stomped to his room after that, while his fathers tried to catch their breath. 

[gallawitchxx]

hi beeee!! i hope you're doing okay 💖💖💖

ooohohohoho okay for the kiss thingy: god knows why cuz it sounds potentially very painful but i feel so compelled to request 28 🙏

sweet deanna! i'm hanging in, thanks love! 💖 so you & @lingy910y both requested #28 & i want to fill both of your prompts. but because you were (rightfully) afraid of pain, i gave you one that's a bit strange, but has a promisingly happy ending? you can be the judge! xx

- - - - -

send me a number & i'll write you a smoocheroo 😚

- - - - -

#28: ...as a lie ps. this is inspired by this post about dealer!mickey & insomniac!ian, who have now rotted my brain.

Ian hasn’t slept in days.

It’s happened before—endless energy is one of his tried-and-true symptoms of mania—but this isn’t that. He’s taking his meds, his skin isn’t crawling and his mind is fairly quiet. Quiet enough to frustrate him as he tosses and turns and wonders what the fuck’s going on.

His schedule has been all over the place lately; his normal routine lost to the endless cycles of employment and Gallagher family responsibilities. He’d been hoping to add school to the mix this semester so that he could have other, less hectic options than a rig-riding EMT, but he’d pushed it off. A pity, now that all-nighters are apparently his thing.

Night two, he googles a few things, which is a huge mistake. Who can fall asleep after reading about how even just twenty-four hours without sleep can begin to derail your bodily systems? Sleep deprivation can cause or worsen conditions like Type 2 diabetes, High blood pressure, Stroke, Heart attack—his pulse leaps as his phone clatters to the ground.

Night three, he takes to the streets, running around the Southside until his lungs burn and his knees wobble. As he passes the clinic that gave his seventeen-year-old self a lifetime prescription for antipsychotics, he knows that if this lasts much longer, he should call his doctor. Tell them his nighttime meds aren’t putting him to sleep anymore. Nip this insomnia thing in the bud before it can overthrow the delicate balance he’s worked so hard to maintain.

Night four, desperate and a bit delusion, he pulls up a number he hasn’t used in years, saved under a contact labeled, DO NOT TEXT.

He breaks his own rule: Hey. Still making house calls?

The response is almost immediate: the fuck u care for?

Ian rolls his bloodshot eyes, typing: It’s an emergency.

Three little dots herald a response that makes him laugh: a weed emergency?

He stays strong: Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it.

The next text makes his chest clench: u ok?

He decides to keep it vague—I can’t sleep, but it’s not what you think.—and hopes he doesn’t have to explain further and is relieved to read: u want ur usual?

Another clench: Indica

Two texts arrive in rapid succession: what else do u want? can i give u head while u smoke or no?

There it is: the reason Ian doesn’t use this number anymore.

Maybe in another life it would be a blessing to have a weed dealer to lovers arc with your childhood crush, but in this one, it was a curse. A curse that lasted almost a whole year, bringing with it an endless bouquet of blissful fucks and free weed, and a million moments of tenderness Ian knew nobody else was getting out of the guy. A curse that eventually came to collect payment in the form of bloodied knuckles, broken hearts and ego wounds. A curse that still clings to Ian’s psyche, filling his dreams with gentle, tattooed fingers and bright blue eyes and a sweet and savory scent that can only be described as Mickey.

Mickey, now DO NOT TEXT.

On second thought, maybe he should never sleep again.

The knock at the door makes him hard—a Pavlovian response that irks him more than the three sleepless nights he’s suffered so far. Three raps, one right after the other. The last one no more than a brush of his hand.

Ian adjusts himself and answers the door.

Fuck, one look at that smug asshole and he’s immediately right back in it. Lust and like and maybe even a little bit of reckless fucking love fill his body, rising to the surface like sweet cream. A layer of fat on the roof of one’s mouth; a treat to lick later, a reminder that they didn’t end things because they weren’t insanely hot for one another and potentially soulmates. They were just idiots. Stubborn, petty dicks.

Oh Pride, the great slayer of men.

Jesus, he needs to sleep.

“First one’s on the house,” Mickey says as he crosses the threshold, a joint held tightly between C and K.

Hours slip by. They laugh, they smoke. It feels like old times. Ian’s body is loose in a way it hasn’t been in years. It feels good. Like maybe-he-could-sleep-tonight good. And as he melts further into the couch, he starts to get a little horny too. Because Mickey’s yapping on and on about some asshole that frequents the bar he works at, and Ian’s listening, he swears he’s listening, but he’s also staring at Mickey’s mouth like he wants to take Mickey up on that text message and shut him the fuck up with his dick.

Like he wants to taste the stale smoke of his tongue.

Wants him to stay the night.

Forever, maybe.

Mickey finishes his story. His eyes go soft and he drums his fingers against his knee. “Should get outta your hair, Gallagher,” he says. “Letcha sleep.”

That’s the last thing Ian wants.

“Not tired,” he fibs.

Mickey cocks an eyebrow. “You’re not? ’S been days, man. This shit’s gotta be hittin’ ya by now.”

It’s true. It has been days and this shit is hitting him. Or maybe he’s having a sleep-deprivation-induced stroke. He just knows Mickey can’t go.

“Can’t go to sleep without a goodnight kiss.”

Mickey’s already leaning in when he asks, “Then you promise you’ll hit the hay?”

Ian nods as Mickey presses a kiss to his lying lips.

[mickittotheman]

We Both Know What We Know We Know... That We Know (read on Ao3)

BUNK U-UP's submission for the Gallavich Summer Camp 2024 (courtesy of @gallavich-fic-club)

After a goddamn eternity of pining, Mickey's finally done it: he's told Ian how he feels and asked him on a date. And by some fucking miracle the universe was actually on his side for once and Ian actually said yes. Except dating Ian doesn't feel all that different than being friends with Ian. And Mickey still hasn't managed to man the fuck up enough to lay one on Ian, and Ian doesn't seem all that interested in laying one on Mickey, either. And maybe the universe actually isn't on Mickey's side afterall, because when the fuck has it ever been? Ian, meanwhile, would just like to know why the hell his best friend/completely straight secret crush/ love of his life has been acting so strange all of the sudden. Has Mickey finally put the pieces together and realized Ian's feelings for him? Is Mickey sick of Ian hanging around? Has Mickey found a girlfriend? And, most importantly, will Mickey and Ian ever be able to stop being such goddamn fucking idiots?

Writing by Bee (tumblr @mickeyheartian | ao3 lostinanalternatereality) and Jay (tumblr @thegallaviches | ao3 rwrbxgallavich) Art by Mechy (tumblr @mickittotheman) Beta read by Ash (tumblr @mickeysgaymom)

Stay tuned for more chapters (and more art)!

[em-harlsnow]

i firmly believe there’s a time when Mickey goes back to school. probably around season 3, because the courts tell him a condition of his release and probation is to go back to school. he barely turns up, only enough so his PO isn’t on his ass.

obviously, he doesn’t want to be there. so one day he’s sort of sitting in the back of some class - something like english that he doesn’t care about at all - and just goes to sleep because it’s boring. the teacher comes over, tells him off, and he just does something like flips her off and rolls his eyes, to which he obviously gets detention.

he usually wouldn’t go to detention, but he thinks he may as well because he doesn’t rlly wanna go home.

now, ian also gets detention that day, which is unusual for him. maybe he had a very public argument with Lip, calling him some names and a teacher who really hates swearing threw him in detention.

when ian walks in, mickey’s already there, leaning back on his chair. he almost falls off when he sees ian. ian will smirk and sit on the seat in front of him, not next to him. and because mickey is like a three year old with a crush half the time, he spends his time kicking the back of ian’s chair.

there’s another boy in detention, i imagine it to be a sort of American-jock type. all arrogance and self importance. he goes up to mickey and acts like their friends or some shit just because mickey dealt at a few of his parties.

“hey bro, how’ve you been?”

now mickey doesn’t really remember him, so he just sort of scowls.

“….good”

“that’s so good, bro, so, do you have anything on you i could buy?”

mickey doesn’t, actually, because he doesn’t make a habit of bringing copious amounts of drugs into a place where he could easily get caught.

“nah.”

and then it’s over and Chad or whatever goes back to his own seat. it’s then that he sees ian, and chad has some homophobic bullshit built up in his head. also, mickey’s there and he sort of wants to impress the bad boy drug dealer who won’t give him the time of day. at this point, mandy and lip are banging, so a lot of people know ian’s gay.

he goes up to ian, assuming while mickey kicks his chair and laughs when ian turns around pissed off it’s because of the same stuff he has in mind.

he calls ian something homophobic, and ian just rolls his eyes and tells him to fuck off. Chad gets mad at the indifference and slams a hand down on the desk.

“you wanna fuckin’ quit it with that?” mickey pipes up from his seat.

“you don’t got a problem with the gays, mick?” chad says and mickey instantly looks a little lost.

ian sighs and says shit like “just fuck off, Chad, I don’t have time for your bullshit.” because he doesn’t really need or expect mickey to fight his battles for him.

chad gets mad at ian again but he’s a pussy, so doesn’t outright attack him. just slams his hand down a few more times, starts yellling. ian just can’t be bothered to give a shit, is more annoyed he got in detention in the first place.

mickey stands up, because chads getting annoyed at ian’s lack of reaction and gets in chad’s face.

he says some excuse like ‘he’s friends with my sister’ but at the end of the day he shoves chad back and away.

chad tries to make some stupid joke, like ‘we were just playing’ and mickey’s having none of it.

“go sit your ass down over there you fucking pussy and leave him alone” and chad walks away with his tail between his legs.

ian sort of beams, sort of grumbles at mickey. like he smiles, but also mutters to him that he can fight his own battles, but thanks.

mickey just shrugs even though he’s blushing a bit because that sort of shows he cares, doesn’t it? but then he goes back to kicking ian’s chair and ian goes back to getting annoyed while he tries to do some homework.

they leave together and chad leaves thoroughly dejected. they go to the dugouts and ian keeps grinning at mickey and mickey keeps rolling his eyes at him and its just a bit sweet.

[blue-disco-lights]

✨ weekly tag wednesday ✨

I love this week's theme since i get to talk about this fandom and all of you 💕 thank you @jrooc @lingy910y @creepkinginc @energievie @doshiart

@suzy-queued @mybrainismelted @deedala for the tag! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

how did you get into the fandom? I learned about gallavich in a subreddit, where i hung out for a while until it started to get real toxic (too much mickey and debbie critique in there for me!). from there, i wandered to twitter, met some lovely people and that led me here to tumblr!

how long have you been here? since December 2021

what's the first fandom channel you found? (youtube, reddit, tumblr, insta, twitter, FB, other?) well as i have massive fomo, i’ll see you on most of them. but reddit was first.   

what's your favourite now? tumblr and discord

which mutual have you known the longest in the fandom? i think it’s @silvanshadow and @samantitheos from twitter! I was verrry shy to interact at all but you were both friendly and fun to talk to :)

which tumblerinos did you have your first fandom crush(es) on and wanted to get to know? the two above, but also @palepinkgoat @notherenewjersey @ms-moonlight-inn @gallawitchxx (blush but also HI 🩵)

first gallavich fan fic you read (or that blew you away that you remember)? 

Conflict of Interest by @vitalspark (is incredible) and was the first story i  left a comment on back in December ‘21 and that just started it all. 

That and You Deserve Good Things by @chat-noir12 and Like Real People Do by @gallavichy were the first I bookmarked - i remember reading those stories and just sitting in shock about how GOOOD these stories were. It was just unbelievable to me at the time. Thinking how did I go through covid times without them and generally, my whole adult life without fan fic??

first fan art that blew your mind? This is such a tough one there are SO many - but probably something by @steorie (here) @filorux (here) @psychicskulldamage (here)  

And here's a favorite from @doodlevich (here)

fanfic trope that you were sure wasn't for you but now you low key (or high key) love? never thought much about fake dating tropes, but there some great stories with that one what surprised you most about this fandom? this fandom IS SO kind, friendly and open. And the TALENT. I still can’t really believe what you all create - here’s a masterpiece I made at home on a Tuesday night, a free gift, please enjoy. you're all amazing 🤩

moment in the show (or YT vids if you're one of those) that you fell in hyperfixation with gallavich? “Don’t” - definitely. my showtime app has never had that much rewind and playback action. 

ian or mickey? oh but that’s a hard one. gotta be Mickey - i dont remember ever connecting with a TV character like this. the sass, the one-liners, the development, the facial expressions.  I could go on, but you all know. 

which gallagher or milkovich are you? maybe Sandy? I admire her for being a cool cucumber who just happens to land in the messiest, most chaotic family and seems to really enjoy having a front row seat!

tagging everyone up ⬆️ there if you'd like and would love to hear all of your stories friends: @sweetbee78 @ian-galagher @transmurderbug @spookygingerr

@solitarycreaturesthey @sgtmickeyslaughter @mmmichyyy @too-schoolforcool

@transsexual-dandelions @sleepyfacetoughguy @rereadanon @heymrspatel @michellemisfit

@darlingian @thepupperino @vintagelacerosette @mickeysgaymom @krysmiss

@callivich @sickness-health-all-that-shit @gillyp @bawlbrayker @crossmydna

@jessieoneday @em-harlsnow @reganmian @heymacy @gallavichsuperfan

@depressedstressedlemonzest @gallapiech @spacerockwriting @wehangout @burninface

[catgrassplantdad]

Ian often has an explosion of love for Mickey its just hits him, and he captures him in the strongest bear hug that almost suffocate him and buries his face in his neck and SNIFFING AND KISSING HIS LIPS AND NOSE AND CHEEKS—

Yeah it's kind of like cuteness aggression. When it hits so strong that you just have to squeeeeze, a huge surge of love overflowing and you don't know where to put it all! That happens to Ian all the time! Of course it does!

Imagine Mickey one evening, prepping dinner while Ian showers, quietly minding his own business in the kitchen. He hears Ian coming before he feels him. He swoops in behind him and wraps his arms around his middle, burying his face against his neck and just squeezes. So tight! So tight that Mickey makes a little grunting noise.

"You're gonna kill me," he gasps out.

"I don't care. You smell so good." Ian inhales deeply, his face pressed so tight against Mickey's neck it's amazing he can breathe at all.

Mickey struggles to turn in Ian's arms, and finally Ian loosens his grip just enough. But he crushes him against his body again once he's facing him, pressing and pressing like he's trying to meld into him, this edge of desperation to it, breathing him in, blatantly and kind of obnoxiously sniffing, kissing and nipping and squeezing.

Mickey just lets him. He strokes his back, resigning himself to this, smiling in amusement and laughing a little and kissing Ian back when he makes his way up his jaw and to his lips. And then his cheeks, over and over, back down to his neck, growling and squeezing him again and holy shit Mickey loves when he gets like this. He feels like he's trying to consume him, absorb him, and the pressure and attention and love are all so comforting. Like the love and affection are overtaking him, and holding him as tight as he can feels like the only thing he can do. Mickey fucking loves it. He loves him so much. He wraps him up tight and squeezes him back, and they stand there in their kitchen, two men trying to get as close as they can, breathing each other and loving each other and it's so big and so much Mickey feels like he could explode.

[redwiccanrobin]

Ian Fell First, Mickey Fell Harder (why I don’t agree)

Let me start out by saying this is not a post scolding you if you share this sentiment. At the end of the day, this statement is not inherently harmful. It’s totally fine and not problematic. I just wanted to explain where I’m coming from when I say that I don’t fall into this camp.

-Ian fell first?

With both of these statements, I understand where this is coming from. Ian was openly swooning over Mickey. A large smile on his face, a sparkle in his eye. Open to Lip about this growing relationship with Mickey. So, yeah, saying he fell first makes sense if you look at just those aspects.

But this is ignoring that Mickey was clearly just as smitten but had to hide it. Of all the trauma that Ian has, being raised by violent homophones wasn’t one of them. Mickey faced homophobic abuse by his father long before Mickey came out. It wasn’t that he was feeling things for Ian, it was that he had to hide it. He had to hide in order to survive.

Yet with the desperate attempts to hide, you still see this growing fondness that Mickey has for Ian. It’s in his eyes. It’s in the way he jokes. It’s in the way he flirts. It was there from the beginning, but it was quiet.

-Mickey fell harder?

I think it’s a bit harsh to suggest that Ian’s love isn’t as strong as Mickey’s. Because in the end, that’s simply not true. He was prepared to go to Mexico with him. Gave him all of his money so he could stay afloat. That shows the deep love and connection that he has for Mickey.

There’s also a high level of compassion and empathy that he shows Mickey. Throughout season 11 in regards to Terry, Ian does everything he can to offer a supportive ear to Mickey. He also knows when to step back and let him deal with his emotions himself. He’s also very sympathetic and understanding of Mickey’s anxiety over moving out of the Southside. He sat and listened to Mickey vent about why he was so anxious. He also set a clear boundary for Lip; hit his husband again, he’ll kill him.

I think this part of the statement is more so out of being used to one thing and not the other. We, as the audience, were accustomed to Ian’s crush turned love for Mickey from day one. Ian is someone who wears his heart on his sleeve. Where as Mickey wasn’t one who knew how to express his emotions. We watched him grow into that and it may have surprised many of us.

-Conclusion

Love, either platonic, familial, or romantic, is an intense emotion. One that can leave you breathless. But it’s not a transaction. Many’s love for another person is just as strong as the one they feel that for. On some occasions, yes, there’s someone who puts more effort into the relationship. It’s not fair to the other at all and I feel sympathy for those who feel that way. I’ve felt that way.

Mickey and Ian’s love is one of the elements of the show I love most. It’s what I’m most passionate about. Most of my metas have been about them. But that’s beside the point.

They love each other. Strongly. Passionately. Equally. They fell for each other instantaneously and remained that way throughout the years. It’s a love that has its rough exterior but soft center. And it’s a love that’s going to continue to grow for the both of them.

[sam-loves-seb]

look. I know there are probably a million and a half takes on this, but I had this thought, and it wouldn’t leave my brain, so now you have to deal with it too.

ian is not the sun.

ian is the moon, and mickey is the sun.

mickey is the sun, at least in ian’s eyes he is, because ian’s whole world starts ends and revolves around his husband. the pull mickey has on him feels like a gravitational orbit, stronger than any crush or infatuation ever has been, and no matter how much distance (physical and metaphorical) ian puts between them, he always—always—comes back to mickey. and mickey, well he burns hotter and brighter than just about anyone else they know, all barely checked temper and hot seething rage, and hell hath no fury like a mickey scorned because he will burn you faster than any fire ever could. and god, his eyes—do not get ian started on mickey’s eyes—they’re as blue as a cloudless sky on a summer’s day, all warm and wide and vast as the horizon, and ian could stare at them for hours the way he’d stare up at the sky in the backyard as a kid. and yeah, maybe sometimes you can’t look directly at mickey, like maybe you’ll get hurt if you stare for too long, but ian’s best friends are a pair of sunglasses and a bottle of spf, so he’s not exactly new to the sun game, and if he’s the only one who knows how to handle it—that’s more than fine with the both of them

and ian—ian is the moon the way mickey needs air to breathe, because yeah, maybe he’s all smiley and lukewarm to everyone he fucking meets, but that’s not ian, not the real ian, that’s just good fucking manners or whatever shit ian says, but mickey doesn’t care about that. mickey cares about the ian that’s only for him, the one that is there for him through everything, even the bad shit, like the little sliver of moonlight slipping through the curtains on a really dark night, the little bit of comfort that’s enough to get him through the dark times and keep going until morning, like the guiding light on the sidewalks when he wanders home from work or the alibi or whatever late at night when the streets are empty and he’s alone. because mickey’s never really alone, not now that’s for sure, but not even then, when there were miles (metaphorical and literal) between them, because mickey would look up at the moon through the bars on the rec room window or the patio from his apartment in mexico and he’d think of ian, and his stupid fucking lopsided curved grin creeping up on his face like a crescent moon in its own right, and it’d be enough to get him til morning. even now, when he can’t sleep and he’s restless, he still looks for the moon, only now he doesn’t look out the window—why would he when he has the real thing on the other side of his mattress—he throws an arm and a leg over his husband like he’d lasso the moon if he could, and he pulls ian closer.

ian goes through phases, up down then up again, and they’re manageable, almost predictable if you study it close enough, like the phases of the moon or the flow of the tide, in and out, waxing and waning, and mickey loves all versions of ian, the full bright smiles and the dark barely there days, and every variation in between. because ian is still ian, no matter what stage he’s currently in, the same way the moon is still that bright glowing rock in the sky night after night, and mickey is happy to get pushed and pulled like waves on the shore under ian’s influence.

mickey studies the galaxies printed on ian’s body, across his chest and stomach, his shoulders and his arms, even the little ones dotting the backs of ian’s hands, and mickey finds peace in the stardust that paints ian’s skin, in the constellations he maps out on ian’s face with his lips, and even tho the freckles there are more faded then when they were kids, mickey still knows where every single one of them is. he brushes his fingers over the new one above his eyebrow, the one ian got after spending a little too much time with his tomato plant the other day, and mickey feels like an astronomer discovering a new star that he just never would’ve been able to see five, ten years ago on his own personal night sky, but he’s here to see it now so he kisses his latest discovery and falls asleep dreaming of a name for his newest constellation

[onthepyre]

The six-pack clinks as Mickey walks. It's fucking annoying, if he's honest, and he'd slow down a little to get it to stop if Ian wasn't waiting for him. He is, though, and Mickey is tightly-wound and sweating in spite of the cool night air. It's been more than a week since he's seen him like this; Mickey's itching for a fix.

Ian sits in the doorway of the dugout, smoking and staring blankly out. Mickey hands over the beers, grabbing one for himself, and plucks the cigarette from Ian's mouth. He takes a drag, searching for the taste of Ian's spit within the smoke. It's hard to find, but it's there. Cigarette held between his lips, he pulls out a knife and pops the lid off the bottle, watching out of the corner of his eye as Ian does the same. Mickey waits for him to speak first.

“Been too long,” he says after a gulp of beer. He glances up at Mickey, begging for something akin to agreement

“What, you missed me? It's been, like, a week. Fuckin’ faggot.” Ian laughs, but it's dry, humorless.

“So what if I did?”

Ian looks up at the stars, but his free hand comes to his belt buckle. He undoes it like that, one-handed, staring upward instead of at Mickey. It's going to drive him insane.

“Jesus, let me at least finish my beer before you start talkin’ like that.” Mickey drops the cigarette now, crushes it under his heel. He chugs the rest of the drink while Ian leans his up against the wall of the dugout, stands, and approaches. Mickey drops the bottle on the ground and watches him. He walks slowly, intentionally, with that stupid fucking smirk on his face. Mickey has never wanted anything more in his life.

Mickey refuses to make first contact. He waits for Ian to link a finger through his belt loop and yank, knocking them together, before he braces his hands low on Ian's hips. A hand grips his hair and forces his head up, and Mickey can't keep the grin off his face.

“Yeah, I missed you,” Ian murmurs, directly into Mickey's ear. Goosebumps run along his spine.

“Get on with it, Gallagher.” He wants it to be a bark, but it comes out quieter than he means — almost pleading. He gulps, and clearly Ian hears it because he chuckles. Without his input, Mickey's fingers grip Ian's hips even tighter, and this, finally, is what gets him to shove them apart. Ian, stumbling almost backwards under the cover of the dugout, pulls off his belt and unbuttons his pants, and Mickey couldn't possibly do anything but follow him.

—

Ian's panting when they finish; he holds his position for a moment or two before shoving himself off Mickey to return to his forgotten beer. He tugs his pants back on and presses his back to the wall, sliding down it to sit on the dirt floor. Ian watches as Mickey stays put, bent over the window, trying to regulate his own breathing. He pulls his pants up but doesn't move otherwise. He wants Ian to come back.

“Maybe I missed you too,” he mumbles, unable to bite it back any longer. The shame of it burns his chest and face, but Ian can keep a secret, he knows — why not this one?

“Really?” Ian asks, incredulous. It's then that Mickey stands up and turns around, though he still keeps his eyes on the walls.

“Don't you get too fuckin’ excited, these ain't wedding vows.” Mickey reaches for another bottle and drinks about a third of it in one sip. He needs it, for the field day he's just given Ian.

“I'm not. It's just… nice to hear.” Mickey rolls his eyes, but then he finally looks directly at Ian. He's smiling from ear to ear. Yeah, right, you're not.

Mickey formulates a dozen insults, but he can't find the guts to spit any of them with the way Ian is looking at him. He sits instead, next to him but with a good few feet of space. Ian's still shirtless, and the contrast between his pale skin and the dark fabric of his jeans is definitely not driving Mickey crazy. Neither are his unreasonable pecs, or the dusting of freckles on his shoulders, and absolutely not the trail of red hair below his navel. He's struck with the urge to put his mouth to Ian's. Instead, he looks away.

Ian gets bold; this, at least, is typical despite the newness of what he does. Mickey is shocked by the sensation of something wet and hot — Ian's tongue — against his neck. He jerks away, but not too far. Ian, propped on one hand, looks up at him, a silent question.

Mickey can't help it. He nods.

Ian propels himself forward and knocks Mickey to the ground. On top of him now, Ian licks at the hollow under Mickey's ear while he clings desperately to him for some kind of stability. Mickey's gasping for air all over again, and this is a new kind of burn. With the minimal capacity of thought he has left, he wonders why they weren't doing this sooner. Ian travels lower and starts nipping at Mickey's skin.

“Don't you fuckin’ dare leave marks,” Mickey says. It comes out breathy and in a heavy stutter. The shame creeps back in, but the heat of Ian's mouth overwhelms it. Ian hums quietly and continues his work. It takes every ounce of concentration in Mickey's body not to make noise. Ian tugs the collar of his shirt to the side and hits a sensitive spot on his clavicle, and Mickey fails to suppress a whine. He doubles down, and all Mickey can do is press his bitten-down nails into Ian's back and gasp.

Ian detaches himself, and it takes mountains of self restraint for Mickey not to grab his head and put it right back where it was, or lower. But he has other ideas. Ian's got his gaze fixed on Mickey's lips, and he's leaning in. Mickey dodges.

There's hurt in Ian's eyes, though, and they're all alone, and Mickey thinks he might love him. So he takes Ian's cheeks in his hands and pulls him down.

If he's honest, Ian's breath stinks. He tastes of beer and smoke and something Mickey can't place. He's sure his own is worse, though, and none of that really matters because Ian has his tongue deep in Mickey's mouth. He kisses with a fiery urgency and Mickey can hardly keep up.

After… five minutes? An hour? Mickey has no idea how much time has passed; Ian tears his face away. He stays close enough that their noses are still touching, and he's breathing into Mickey's mouth. He feels Ian's lips move when he speaks.

“You want to go again?”

And fuck, Mickey was right, he does love him.