#anyway yeah the aftercare that ian gets involves mickey feeding him little bits of candy because it's cute and i say so

[catgrassplantdad]

I would like to hear about Ians aftercare. I love mickey aftercare but everyone tell me how Mickey acts post sex towards him 🥹

☀️ hi, anon! i love this! the plan was to just give a brief description of the headcanons i have about this, but then it spiraled. so here's a short drabble about ian receiving aftercare from mickey. 💫

The blindfold is carefully slipped off of him, and Ian opens his eyes, squinting against the low lamp light. He's still dazed, and there's hot, lingering pleasure still warming him, everything just now starting to recede out of him. He's laying flat on his back, loose-limbed, sweat making him stick to the sheets. There's all kinds of shuffling beside him as he takes his shuddering, uneven breaths, and he sees that it's Mickey stacking pillows against the headboard.

Mickey pulls a towel off the nightstand where it had been waiting for them, and then he's right beside him again, blessedly close and comforting, kneeling over him and so, so gently wiping him down. Slow drags on his skin, the softest touch he can manage. Ian hisses when he dabs around his cock, still so sensitive, and Mickey soothes him with a hand on his stomach, murmuring, "sorry, I got you..."

When Mickey leans away to drop the towel onto the floor and rummage around on the nightstand, Ian brings his hands up to his face, closing his eyes and wiping away sweat. He groans when he gets the spins to a surprisingly unbearable degree, opening his eyes back up quickly and trying to focus his vision on a single point on the ceiling, trying to ground himself. His head is all cottony. There's a dull ringing in his ears.

He doesn't normally go completely nonverbal the way Mickey so often does, so he's able to mumble "C'mere, please," and bat a hand out toward his husband, smacking the mattress.

"I'm comin'," Mickey assures him, shuffling over with a water bottle in hand. He drops it on the mattress to take Ian's face in his hands, cradling him sweetly, his touch so warm. "Wanna sit up for me?"

"Mmm," Ian grunts agreeably. Yeah, he wants to sit up. So he can drink the water Mickey has for him. He wants to feel more steady. He wants...ah. He wants a fucking hug.

He groggily heaves himself up, and then Mickey's helping him ease back against the pillows he's stacked for him, all nestled and propped up and cozy. His husband slides into his lap, straddling him and pressed so close, all warm and soft and so lovely and loving. His arms wrap around Ian's shoulders, and Ian buries himself in him. Yes, this is it. Such a good fucking hug. He lets his hands rest on Mickey's hips, his face pressed against his neck, breathing in that warm, slightly musky smell of him, familiar and beautiful. They sit like this for a moment, and his head begins to clear.

He peers over Mickey's shoulder and sees the cuffs lying unbuckled on the bed, the blindfold discarded beside them. He wraps his arms tighter around Mickey, taking one wrist in hand against Mickey's lower back and rubbing it tenderly, remembering. He felt so good. He feels so good.

"Here, drink," Mickey says softly, leaning away to grab the water, Ian unwinding his arms from around him. He unscrews the cap and hands it over, and Ian carefully takes it from him. He holds it with both hands, not trusting his trembling fingers to grasp it with just one. He takes a couple of sips, and fuck, that feels good on his raw throat. It cools him down.

Mickey watches him drink it, then takes it from him when he's done.

"Feelin' alright, tough guy?" he asks sweetly. Ian nods. "Want a snack?" And how is that so cute?

"Yeah." Ian nods again.

Staying firmly seated on Ian, Mickey leans aside again and grabs the little packet on the nightstand. It's trail mix, but it's the kind that's mostly chocolate. Just a bag of candy, really. Ian's got a hell of a sweet tooth, especially after this kind of exertion, and Mickey knows it. He's prepared.

Ian smiles as Mickey carefully rips open the bag and reaches in. He holds up an m&m, and Ian opens his mouth, still smiling. He lets Mickey feed him, laughing a little bit.

"You're cute," he says as he chews.

"Fuck off," Mickey replies, no heat to it. And then, "You're fuckin' cute."

He feeds him another piece of chocolate.

"I can do this part, baby," Ian says as Mickey digs into the bag again. "Can feed myself." Not that he minds, really. He likes this kind of attention.

And Mickey looks at him all soft then, in that way that he does sometimes when he's about to be earnest and sweet, and it's got Ian melting a little bit already.

"I wanna do it," he says. Ian's heart clenches.

"Okay."

He lounges there, leaning back against pillows that his husband piled up for him so he would be comfy, said husband in his lap and being the perfect grounding weight and presence, eating chocolate that his husband slips between his lips with fingers that had only just been wrecking and unraveling him. And he enjoys feeling wholly treasured, entirely taken care of.