Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1915809.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Shameless_(US)
  Relationship:
      Ian_Gallagher/Mickey_Milkovich
  Character:
      Ian_Gallagher, Mickey_Milkovich
  Additional Tags:
      Fluff_and_Smut
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-07 Words: 1124
****** Inches ******
by espritdescalier
Summary
     Ostensibly about Ian's physical growth and their widening height
     difference, but really about Mickey's emotional growth.
5’9”
“Grhhhhhhuh…” The firm grip on his hips grounded him through orgasm, freckled
fingers pressing into his pale skin. Skin that would be shadowed with eight
small, round bruises in two neat lines along his hipbones come morning.
Mickey’s grunt faded to a sigh.
Ian drew a slow, final stroke before extracting himself from between the
yielding cheeks. Mickey leaned into the bare chest behind him. Ian’s mouth
dropped against the spot where Mickey’s clavicle met shoulder in a motion only
halfway to kiss.
The warmth that seeped from skin to skin turned Mickey’s muscles to
marshmallow. It wasn’t a thermodynamic energy that melted away his deeply
rooted tension, but that mysterious ether that flows between the dermises of
people partial to each other. Not that Mickey believed in any spiritual
horseshit, he just knew that Ian’s touch pacified his body in a way nothing
else ever had.
“Shit, Gallagher; we gotta find more opportunity to get actual nude.” Mickey
tipped his head back against Ian’s shoulder. “I’m sick of this shitty choice
between fucking out in the open or rushing to finish before someone walks in.”
Ian lifted his mouth away from the reddened skin and replaced it with his chin.
“Says the guy who used to refuse to take his damn sweater off.”
“Fuck you,” Mickey exclaimed with mock indignation. “That was because we were
fucking in a goddamn refrigerator!”
“I would’ve kept you warm.” Ian pressed his chest tighter to Mickey’s back and
draped his arms around his waist, pulling him close from head to toe.
 
5’10”
“Mick, wait.” Ian said softly, as his hips stilled.  “This isn’t working.”
“What are you talking about? Your dick’s in my ass. What about that isn’t
working?”
“I have to bend my knees too much. My thighs are burning.”
“You work out; your thighs are fine.” Mickey bobbed about, trying to urge Ian
back into a rhythm. “C’mon, don’t stop.”
“Mickey…”
“Fine.” He disengaged himself from Ian’s cock. “What instead?”
“There’s a perfectly good bed right over there.”
Mickey hesitated, chewing his lip. Ian grasped his bicep and squeezed it
gently, comfortingly.
“We have time. Your brothers are on a run. Mandy won’t be back for awhile. And
she wouldn’t care, anyway.”
Mickey climbed on his bed and knelt along the edge, facing the blankets bunched
against the wall. Ian stood behind him. He skimmed his hands down past Mickey’s
chest, leaving one set of fingers resting in the dark sprinkling of hair just
below Mickey’s navel while the other five wrapped around his cock and stroked
the inches slowly.
“Why don’t you lie down, like, on your back?”
“You gonna fuck me like a virgin on her wedding night?”
“Nah, I’m gonna fuck you like a man.” Ian dropped his voice an octave. “I’m
gonna fuck you hard and rough and senseless. You’re not gonna be able to get up
when we’re done.”
“Fuckin’ hell, Ian. Don’t write checks your dick can’t cash.” Mickey chuckled.
He scooted toward the middle of the bed.
Steady hands slid over Mickey’s calves and maneuvered his legs apart as Ian
settled on his knees between them. They slipped around to the back of his
thighs, lifting up the limbs so that Ian could shuffle closer until the head of
his cock butted against Mickey, smearing a small wet spot against the skin.
Ian dipped forward and hoisted Mickey’s right leg onto his shoulder. Mickey
watched Ian’s face intently while he was distracted using his free hand to
guide his cock into position. He relished the way the freckled brow furrowed
and his tongue slipped between his lips in concentration. Ian’s eyes flicked up
to meet Mickey’s as the shaft breached him. Mickey pulled in a deep breath
while Ian filled him.
Ian was peering down at him with that look he got sometimes. The look involved
a hint of smile, especially tinging the green eyes, despite the fact that it
was a deadly serious in its intensity. Half of Mickey wanted to punch the look
off Ian’s face, while his other half struggled against the urge to smother the
look with his own face, lips-first.
The pace had started steady, but soon Ian was pounding into him at a rapid
clip. Frustrated by his slipping leg, Ian swiftly tucked both of Mickey’s
calves onto his shoulders and leaned over, folding Mickey in half, holding his
gaze. As Mickey’s ass lifted into the air, Ian went from pleasantly grazing his
prostate to thoroughly galvanizing the spot with every pass. The penetrating
green eyes were too much to take on top the rest of the stimulation that
prickled Mickey’s body. He broke the impromptu staring contest, letting his
head fall back and squeezing his eyes shut. A desperate noise emanated from his
throat of its own accord.
Five strong fingers and a warm palm found Mickey’s cock. Within a minute, his
breath was coming fast and shallow; his muscles clenched with rising tension.
Mickey’s toes curled as the crest of orgasm washed over him. The waves turned
to ripples as Ian issued his own grunts of release.
Ian let Mickey’s legs slide free. He flopped down next to him, propped against
the wall due to the narrowness of the bed. Both men gulped air. Mickey absently
used the sheet to wipe himself free of semen. When he thought that enough blood
had returned to its proper place that he could be vertical, Mickey sat up and
dangled his knees over the edge.
Ian placed a hand on Mickey’s back. “Where’re you going?”
“Gotta get my smokes; left ’em in the kitchen.”
Mickey paused by the door and looked back. His eyes trailed up over the long
expanse of naked flesh in his bed and met Ian’s.
“You didn’t quite fuck me into paralysis, big boy, but it was close. You’ll
have to try again later.” He walked out of the room with a flounce.
 
5’11”
Mickey straddled Ian, pressing his palms to the freckled chest to get leverage
as he bounced a steady rhythm. Ian’s larger hands blanketed the tattooed
fingers, cradling them against his skin.
Ian groaned. “Holy shit, Mickey. I should have passed the reins to you a long
time ago.”
Ian’s face was eclipsed by that distinctive look again, but, by now, Mickey
knew exactly what the look meant. He flashed a grin, his eyes crinkling at the
corners.
“You’re just saying that because I’m doing all the work.”
“Oh yeah?” Ian bent his knees, planted his feet, and began thrusting up in
harmony. Ian moved his hands to Mickey’s outer thighs, steadying him while
appreciating the muscles at work there.
“Prove me wrong, tough guy.” Mickey leaned down and pressed his mouth to his
boyfriend’s.
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