#mickey milkovich flirts with ian Gallagher badly

[depressedstressedlemonzest]

“Ian is gay.” Mandy said simply.

Mickey’s mind short circuited, “He’s what?” He asked unsure if he heard her right.

“He’s gay, Ian’s gay.” Mandy hissed getting annoyed.

Mickey’s eyebrows furrowed, images of Ian flashing through his mind of the different times they had interacted, a few things seeming to click into place.

“Wait if he’s gay why was he messin with you in the first place?” Mickey’s tone was more accusatory than he meant it to be.

“Well I wanted to date him, before I knew, and when I went to kiss him he dodged me. It was embarrassing and I wanted his ass kicked. Who better to ask than your big brother?” Mandy gave Mickey a little innocent grin.

Mickey tilted his head back and sighed, “Jesus Mandy, just ask me to beat the shit out of someone next time. Don’t lie about gettin messed with!”

He let his chin fall and he looked at his sister, “I have no qualms about beating the shit out of someone, at least let me know the real reason why. That way I’m not the one lookin like a fuckin tool when I’m doin it. No wonder Gallagher laughed when I said Ian messed with you, he probably knows his brother is a homo.” Mickey muttered thinking about that fucking smug Lip, he deserved a good beat down anyway, especially after insinuating that Mandy was a slut.

“Alright, alright Jeez, next time I’ll tell you specifically why I want someone beaten up. But you gotta promise Mickey that you won’t tell anyone. Ian and I are still gonna be hanging out and pretending to date.” Mandy added as she sat back at the vanity grabbing one of the eyeshadow pallets she had.

“What the fuck for?” Mickey asked rolling his eyes.

“That way people won’t know about him being gay, and guys will leave me alone.” Mandy said like it was the most obvious thing in history.

“Riiiight. Lemme know how that works out.” Mickey snorted and walked out of Mandy’s room and headed into his.

He shut the door and plopped onto the bed on his back, looking up at the ceiling.

He didn’t want to be thinking about what Mandy said, that Gallagher was queer.

He didn’t want to be thinking about Gallagher at all.

But any time his mind would focus on something concrete, it would drift back to the redhead, the freckled skin, the green eyes.

Mickey gulped hard, he felt an urge to wrap a hand around his cock just thinking about him and his stupid green eyes, and his stupid flaming hair, but that would be gay.

And he wasn’t gay, couldn’t be gay.

But Gallagher was gay.

[arrowflier]

hi arrow! can i get a fic of ian being jealous on a date (maybe someone flirts with mickey??) and mickey just loves it bc it makes ian all passive aggressive and bossy and saying 'my husband' 283949 times ❤️

Of course you can!  Or at least I tried lol, it got a little random.💖

That Green-Eyed Monster (is my husband)

They never had really gotten in the habit of going on dates, before. Not real dates at least, in public places where you could eat with utensils or sit side-by-side and pretend to watch the entertainment while you were really just watching each other. They had tried, but something always got in the way--the military, jail sentences, arrest warrants, pandemics, family emergencies--they just had shit luck, alright?

So when things got a little less crazy on the aforementioned fronts, they started trying a little bit harder. They had a designated date night, now. Sometimes they planned together, sometimes they took turns surprising each other with heartfelt (or sometimes comical) plans.

This time, it had been Mickey's turn.

“Where are we going?” Ian asked yet again from where he was blindfolded in the passenger seat of Tami’s car.  They’d usually take the ambulance, but Mickey didn’t want to stick out too much today—not in a place where an ambulance could potentially be needed.

“I still ain’t gonna tell you,” Mickey answered, but relented enough to add, “we’re almost there though, you’ll see soon.”

Sure enough, the entrance to the parking lot came up on the right, and Mickey swung in in that ridiculous little car.

As soon as Ian felt the car stop, he was reaching for his blindfold—not one of their good ones, just an old headband they had found on Debbie’s floor—but Mickey grabbed his hand before he could slip it off.

“Hey hey hey,” Mickey chastised.  “What’s the rush there, flash?”

“What, I can’t be a little eager for our date?” Ian pouted, knowing it would get Mickey to give in.  No matter how many times he tried to pretend that he wasn’t soft, Mickey always gave in to the pout.

He was right.  Gentle hands pushed the headband off of Ian’s eyes, which were immediately filled with the sight of Mickey’s own as the other man ran fingers through Ian’s hair in an attempt to smooth it down.

“Alright, come on then,” Mickey ordered, leaving one firm kiss at the corner of Ian’s lips before pulling back and getting out of the car.  “If you’re so eager, you get to pay.”

Ian chuckled as he let himself out and met Mickey around the front of the car.  “Why would I pay?” he asked jokingly.  “It’s your week to woo me, asshole, you get to foot the bill.”

“Foot the bill with your money, sure,” Mickey retorted, and Ian rolled his eyes as he automatically fell into step beside him.

“Our money,” he reminded his husband, getting an arm around his waist.  He was always surprised when Mickey let him do that—he said it felt awkward to walk with the jolly red giant suckered onto his side—but this time Mickey actually leaned into him.

He didn’t even notice where they were, outside a little building in the middle of nowhere.  He let go of Mickey to walk through the door ahead of him, fully intending to continue their playful banter, when he stopped still.

There were a lot of guns in this place.

Paintball guns, that was.

“Mickey,” Ian said slowly as his husband came up behind him, “did you bring me here to shoot me?”

Mickey just smirked as he swanned past toward the check-in desk.

“Maybe, hotshot,” he answered.  “You gonna complain?”

Ian shook his head with a shit-eating grin.  

“Hell no,” he declared.  “You better be ready for me.”

Mickey signed his name on a waiver with a flourish and took the gun handed to him by a worker, tossing it to Ian.

“Am I ever not?”

—

Ian was having a blast, pun intended, as he shot the shit out of everybody else on the range.  Mickey wasn’t faring too badly either; despite being on the opposite team, neither one of them had managed to shoot each other yet.

It didn’t hurt that Mickey looked damn good, either.  He was completely in his element out here, taking guys out left and right with perfect marksmanship and even more perfect form, his shoulders barely moving with the recoil as he shot.  Half the time, Ian missed his chance because he was too busy watching him to fire—the other half, he didn’t even want to if it meant taking Mickey out of the game and losing his eye-candy.

Finally, a break was called, and everyone filed off the course while it was reset for the next round.

Ian grabbed a bottle of water from a long table near the building, guzzling half of it in one go before looking around for his husband.

He found him quickly enough, recognizing his back immediately even in unfamiliar gear with his hair all mussed from the protective helmet they had to wear.

But he did not recognize the man standing next to Mickey, raking his eyes over Mickey’s stocky build.  

The stranger was saying something, Mickey tossing his head back in laughter, and then a hand was on Mickey’s arm and Ian suddenly found himself at Mickey’s back.

“Everything good here, fellas?” Ian asked casually, standing a couple feet away.

“Fine, Gallagher,” Mickey said with a smile.  “Johnny here was just tellin’ me he could give me some pointers before the next round.”

Ian raised his eyebrows, glancing from Mickey’s face to the stranger’s and back.

“Pointers?” he asked, voice going a touch high at the end.  Who the fuck did this guy think he was, offering shooting pointers to Mickey fucking Milkovich?  He had gotten there just in time, it seemed, because there was no way in hell Mickey would let that insult slide.

“Yeah,” Mickey said.  “Says I need to work on my form a little, widen my stance, you know.  Thought I’d give it a shot.”

Wait.  What?

“I was just telling him,” the stranger—Johnny, though how they were on a first name basis already Ian had no idea—chimed in, “that I have a lot of experience with real firearms.”

“And I was sayin’ how much I admire a military man,” Mickey interjected with a smirk, “so I might as well let him show me some moves.”

“Mickey,” Ian hissed lowly, “what are you doing?”

Mickey didn’t answer.

“You ever shot a real gun, Mick?” Johnny asked abruptly, catching on that he was missing something but determined not to lose Mickey’s attention.  

“It’s like nothing else, dude, I swear.  The feel of that smooth metal in your hands,” he continued as he moved closer, lifting a hand to Mickey’s arm again. “The way it moves with you, goes off when you,” he leaned in even closer, and added in a low voice, “pull the trigger.”

Alarm bells were ringing in Ian’s head at this point.

“Nah,” Mickey was answering, “my guy won’t let me play with the real stuff.”

“Sounds like you need a new guy, then,” Johnny murmured, and Ian had had enough.

“He’s taken,” he cut in gruffly, moving to stand by Mickey’s side.  He couldn’t hold Mickey with the gear in the way, but he got a hand on his back, at least, curling fingers into the top of his waistband.

Johnny looked at him askance, and shrugged.  

“I don’t see a ring,” he pointed out, and Ian grit his teeth.  They had taken them off before starting, for safety, and he never regretting following the rules more a day in his life.

“Besides, who are you to speak for him?” Johnny asked.

“Oh, this is Ian,” Mickey introduced quickly.  He was smiling, the asshole, like some guy wasn’t trying to steal him from right under Ian’s own nose.  “He’s my—”

“His husband,” Ian stated firmly, and watched Johnny’s eyes go wide.  “His ex-army, ex-con husband.”

“Hey man, I’m sorry,” Johnny apologized, hands up.  “I didn’t know.”

Ian nodded, ready to let it go despite his urge to send the man packing, when Johnny insisted on talking again.

“You can’t blame me though, right?” he said with a little, nervous laugh.  “I mean, he looks so damn—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, too busy keeling over with his hands on his groin after Ian shot a paintball right at his balls at point-blank range.

—

Two minutes later, Ian and Mickey were racing to the car as employees chased behind them, yelling.  Apparently it was frowned upon to shoot someone on your own team, outside the course itself, during a break.  It didn’t help that Mickey had done the same right after, just for fun.

“Hurry up, you jealous fuck,” Mickey shouted at Ian as he fumbled with the door handle.  “We gotta get outa here before they realize I gave them fake names!”

Ian fell into the car, giddy with adrenaline and laughter.

“The fuck did you do that for?” he giggled as Mickey threw the car into reverse and peeled out of the lot.

“Cause I knew you would do something stupid!” Mickey said, shoving at Ian’s shoulder with one hand when Ian just laughed harder.

Ian gather himself as they drove, and felt his heart-rate start to normalize after a few minutes on the road.  He held Mickey’s hand over the gearshift, finger rubbing over the spot where his ring should be—where it would be again as soon as they had a minute to breathe.  Then, just as he was almost calm—

“Shit, Ian,” Mickey gasped.  “We didn’t return the fucking guns.”

That set them off again, and they had to pull over halfway home until they could stop laughing and hide the paintball guns under the back seat.

Franny and Fred would love them come Christmas.