#also the fact that he envisioned himself as a sharpshooter when imagining himself as a superhero

[l0verseyes]

YOUR MATH IS NO MATCH FOR MY GUN, YOU IDIOT!

[unbridgeabledistances]

so ik we aren’t sure if the camo kiss was cut or not, but i wrote it just in case:) this takes place directly after 11x04!

(also i am still working on prompts after a little break, those will b up soon!<3)

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Ian stumbled up the front steps of the Gallagher house, trying not to pay too much attention to the heavy metal music and the roar of the bonfire coming from the lot beside the house. He fumbled in the cheap fabric pockets of his military outfit to try and find his housekeys (Frank had started being vigilant about locking the front door since what he was calling the “Great Milkovich Invasion”). Mickey was a couple of steps behind him, stopping to lean over the chain link fence and flipping off one of his more scraggly-looking cousins who had just taken it upon himself to yell “military pussies” as Ian and Mickey walked by- honestly, not the worst insult they could have shouted, considering they’d had all day to brew up new combinations of slurs after seeing Mickey and Ian walk by in their uniforms on their way to Kev and V’s that morning.

Ian slid the key in the lock, and turned around to call to Mickey, who was still hurling insults at his bearded cousin as the moonlight bounced off his face.

“Better watch your fucking back, Gary, ‘cause my window’s right up there above you, and I’d hate to accidentally do some target practice during your little sleepover under the stars out here.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Hey, sharpshooter, you wanna come inside?”

Mickey cast one more glare at the tattered group of Milkoviches, then reached over the fence to take the can of beer one of them was holding.

“Better sleep with one eye open, assholes.”

Mickey turned and finally ambled up the creaking front steps, ducking under Ian’s arm that was holding the door open into the warm glow of the living room. Mickey kicked off his boots and threw them onto the living room floor, then took a sip of his stolen lukewarm beer and grinned, his defensive facade completely melting away now that they were safely indoors.

“Nice first day, Gallagher. Might have to give you a promotion soon.”

Ian rolled his eyes even more aggressively as he crouched down and untied the shoelaces of his bulky pleather military boots.

“Oh yeah? I don’t remember saying I was interested in being employed on a regular basis.”

Mickey took a final sip of the stolen beer and winced, then crushed the can on the back of the couch. “Well I guess today’s your lucky day then, lover. I ended your job hunt right before it even started.”

Mickey took off the flimsy camo pageboy hat and tossed it on the ground next to his shoes. “You want a beer? That shit was disgusting.”

Ian smirked, pulling off his boots and putting them by the door. “Yeah, sure.”

Mickey strode into the kitchen, while Ian scooped up Mickey’s discarded boots and hung up his hat by the door.

“I still can’t believe they had all that fucking weed just lying around, man!” Mickey called from the kitchen, opening the fridge and making the bottles clang as he fumbled for two beers.

Ian smirked and ambled into the kitchen, settling against the edge of the countertop. Mickey handed him a beer, which Ian opened on the side of the counter and slowly took a sip.

“Yeah. It’s fuckin’ crazy.”

Mickey was standing inches in front of him, twisting off the cap of his own beer and smiling with bright eyes, like he was glowing from this absurdly weird day going exactly as he had planned. Ian had the sudden thought that maybe it had- while Mickey seemed to act like he didn’t want to wear the camo gear that Ian discovered in the back corner of the dingy army supply store, Ian was starting to realize that Mickey getting him to play dress-up all day while they did the security job might have been exactly what Mickey had in mind when he was giving Ian shit at the store. As if confirming Ian’s thoughts, Mickey smiled a half-smile and poked him in the chest, giddy.

“Gallavich security, bitch. No more faking pay stubs for my P.O., the two of us are gonna make a killing just fucking hauling weed around all day.”

Ian barked out a laugh as he set his bottle down on the counter and pulled himself up to sit on the edge. “Gallavich security?”

“Fuck yeah, bitch. We’re going official. The name sounds totally badass anyways, gotta let everyone know what we mean business.”

Ian smirked. “Hm, okay. And since both of our names are in the business title, does that mean I still work for you? Or does it mean that we’re partners now?”

Mickey stepped closer, eyebrows raised and his tone playful. “Well, I don’t know. That depends on how hard you work, how you do in your employee review. You’re the one always talking about work ethic and all that shit.”

Ian rolled his eyes, but reached his arms up to comfortably rest over Mickey’s shoulders. “Oh yeah, boss? And how’d I do today?”

Mickey took a second to respond, leaning in closer now that he was ensnared in Ian’s grasp. His eyes flickered to Ian’s lips, then back up to meet Ian’s eyes with that intoxicated, heavy-lidded look he always had when Ian’s face was inches from his.

“Not sure yet. You gonna work with me again tomorrow?” Mickey retorted, a little more softly.

Ian sighed. “If I say yes, will you get off my fucking back about the fact that you have a job and I don’t?”

Mickey leaned his face in closer, then reached up and pulled Ian’s cheap camo hat off of his head.

“Deal.”

And then they were kissing, and Ian’s arms were pulling Mickey closer and cradling the back of his head in his hands—they were kissing, and for the first time in weeks they weren’t kissing because they had been fighting, or because they wanted a quick fuck and needed to blow off some steam, but because they wanted to be closer to each other, kissing because they were finally on the same team. He and Mickey were wearing matching fucking costumes, and they probably looked fucking ridiculous—but they were actually working together for once, were actually standing hand in hand in front of whoever crossed their path. While the day had begun with Ian reeling in panic that Mickey would do something illegal or stupid or both and end up in prison and away from him again, now Ian couldn’t shake the warmth that overtook him, sitting on the kitchen counter with his legs wrapped around a warm and thrumming Mickey, who had softened the second that Ian decided to get off the couch and be with him all day.

Perching on the kitchen counter, feeling his husband’s hungry lips press against his again and again, Ian couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t the way he’d envisioned wearing camo someday back when he was 16 and in ROTC; hell, he never would have imagined that he would have gone to jail someday when he was 16, or that he would preach in a church to crowds of hundreds of people, or that he would be bipolar— but the most surprising thing of all in his life was the fact that he would actually get to love Mickey Milkovich, that he was married to the dirt-smudged shit-talking teenage boy he’d spent his whole life wanting to be close to. The Gallagher kitchen had undoubtedly seen its fair share of make-out sessions, between him and Trevor or Caleb or whoever—but Ian couldn’t help but think that this moment with Mickey felt like the only kiss that mattered, the only time that Ian wasn’t putting on an act. Mickey was the only person that Ian didn’t have to pretend for, the only one who was his exact brand of crazy— Mickey was the only one Ian could think of who wouldn’t scoff at Ian’s idea of wearing matching outfits to do a security job, and instead got dressed and walked down the street beside him, got giddy at the fact they could spend the day together. Ian had never known where his life would take him, but building a business with the love of his life seemed like a pretty good start.

Ian’s hand slid from the back of Mickey’s head and down his neck, and he let his fingers rest over the camo-printed lapels of Mickey’s shirt, right in the spot he knew Mickey’s tattoo was. Mickey trailed kisses down the side of Ian’s neck, pulling him in closer.

“Love you, love you so fucking much,” Mickey mumbled as he crashed their lips together again.

And as Ian grasped the back of Mickey’s hair once more, breathing him in, he knew that this was exactly where he was supposed to be.