Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/711305.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Shameless_(US), Shameless_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Ian_Gallagher/Mickey_Milkovich
  Character:
      Ian_Gallagher, Mickey_Milkovich
  Additional Tags:
      First_Kiss, Slash, Declarations_Of_Love, Anal_Sex, Not_Beta_Read, Not
      Canon_Compliant, Fluff, Podfic_Welcome
  Collections:
      Numerous_OTPS_Infinite_Fandoms
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-07 Words: 2877
****** Study Break ******
by MaddietheMuse
Summary
     Ian's cramming for mid-terms when Mickey bursts in with something he
     needs to say. Things sort of snowball from there.
Notes
     This hasn't been pre-read or beta read as I don't actually know
     anyone invested in this fandom. If there are any glaring errors,
     please let me know.
     This is my first foray into the Shameless universe. I'm not even
     caught up with the series (still making my way through season 2).
     This is non-canon, obviously. Just a little something that popped
     into my head after S1E7.
See the end of the work for more notes
The house was quiet for a change. The house was never quiet. I was sitting at
the desk in our room reviewing for midterms when the door flew open and banged
against the wall. I turned around to see a tense and breathless Mickey standing
there; his eyes darting around frantically, refusing to meet mine.
 
"Jesus, Mick, what the hell's wrong with you?" I snapped. So much for it being
quiet; I could think of a lot worse distractions than Mickey Milkovitch, but
I’d even told him that I was staying in to study. Things had been really
fucking weird between us lately, anyway. We fought a lot more than had become
our normal, more like things had been when we first started...whatever it was
that we were doing.
 
That was the root of the problem, really. I wanted more than he was willing to
give me, and all I was asking for was a title to put on this thing happening
between us. I knew I couldn't even hope to call him my boyfriend, not openly
anyway, but I wanted something more than to just be the recipient of his booty
call whims.
 
"Get up," he barked, stalking across the room at me.
 
"What?"
 
"Get the fuck up, Gallagher," he insisted, grabbing me roughly by the arm and
hauling me out of the chair. He yanked the chair up as soon as my ass was no
longer in it and walked back across the room, closing the door and shoving the
chair under the doorknob. He still looked spooked when he turned around and
leaned against the frame of the barred door.
 
"What's the matter with you?" I questioned him, wondering if we needed to be
making an escape plan from whoever it was he expected to be following him into
my bedroom.
 
"Nothing...just give me a fucking second," he snapped. He rubbed his hand
roughly over his face, pinched the bridge of his nose and clenched his eyes
tightly closed.
 
I leaned on the edge of the desk, crossed my arms and waited for him to get on
with it. I was sick of his drama.
 
"Right," he said, his tongue darting into the corner of his mouth—that nervous
little tick of his made my dick twitch every fucking time. "Okay, Gallagher, do
it," he fired off at me, raising his head defiantly and taking a deep breath.
 
"Do what?" I asked, honestly dumbfounded by his cryptic demand.
 
"Get the fuck over here and do what your fairy ass has wanted to do since the
first time I let you fuck me," he replied, his voice shaking a little, at
complete odds with his attempt at being aloof and fearless.
 
Mickey Milkovich was asking me—well, no, ordering me really—to kiss him.
 
It was about fucking time.
 
I had wanted to kiss him since that first time in his room when we had gone
from beating each other to tearing each other's clothes off in a split second.
I would have done it then if he hadn't threatened to cut my tongue out of my
head. I'd wanted to kiss him every single time since then too; so many times
that I'd lost count. He was fine taking me up the ass, but would hardly let me
touch him except to hold on while I pounded him and he threatened me with
bodily harm the second my mouth got anywhere near him—just one of the many
mixed signals he'd been giving me for months. Yet, here he was, locking us in
my bedroom, and asking me for it.
 
"No." I said shaking my head. I couldn't keep the smirk off my face. He still
hadn’t exactly said that he wanted to kiss me, and I wasn’t going to let him
get away without at least that much. We had played this stupid game by his
rules and there was no way I was going to make this easy on him now that I had
something he wanted.
 
"What the fuck you mean, no? Get your freckled ass over here and kiss me," he
sneered, pushing his shoulders off the door to stand up straight.
 
I couldn't resist teasing him just a little after he'd led me on so long. "No,
Mick. You want it so bad, you can come over here and take it for yourself." I
quirked my eyebrow at him; punctuating the challenge I’d thrown down.
 
He stared at me with fire in his eyes a second, before he was stalking back
across the room toward me. I could see his pulse racing his neck as he stood
right in front of me. He looked up at me a second before leaning in and
hesitantly brushing his lips to mine briefly.
 
"That's what you came all the way over here to interrupt me with," I scoffed,
hoping like hell that egging him on would work in my favor and not earn me a
black eye.
 
His eyes flicked frantically over me again and he clamped his hand around the
back of my neck. He hauled my face down to his, taking my mouth in a brutal,
hard, bruising kiss.
 
Finally.
 
Months I'd waited to taste his mouth. That first taste was like a drug and I
was already addicted. I couldn't help the little hitching sigh that caught in
my throat as I uncrossed my arms and grabbed onto him. His mouth was
unforgiving; lips and tongue and teeth fighting against mine; claiming me. I
gave everything back to him just as hard.
 
I pulled him forward, pressing him against me, feeling his hard body grabbing
and pushing into mine. I snaked my hand down his back to his ass and pulled him
even tighter, letting him feel the effect he was having on my dick.
 
"Fuck," he gasped at the friction to his own hard-on, only to attack my mouth
again a second later, harder this time if that was even possible.
 
I was done playing by his rules. If he was going to come and barricade us in my
room and launch himself at me this way, there's no way I was going to let him
shut this down now. The house was empty, or as empty as we could ever fucking
hope for. I pushed off the desk and started walking him toward my bed; he
didn't fight me. His hand mirrored mine as I tore at his belt and the buttons
of his jeans. I tore my mouth from his when we reached the edge of the mattress
and pulled his shirt over his head. I grabbed him by the hip to turn him
around; I was fucking impatient and wanted to be inside him before he came to
his fucking senses.
 
His body froze rigid and he broke away from me, panting. "No," he shook his
head. His eyes flicked quickly between mine, searching for something; his
pupils blown wide and his lids heavy. Fuck, I really hoped he wasn't shutting
this down already.
 
He sat on the bed and scooted back, pulling me with him.
 
Kissing was one thing, but there was no fucking way Mickey was going to let me
fuck him face to face. Was there?
 
Sure enough, his hand was at the back of my neck pulling my head down to his
again as he laid back on my bed.
 
"Like this," he said before his lips met mine again, his voice barely a
whisper. I hadn't ever seen Mickey so vulnerable, not even when he'd been shot;
it made me want to give him anything he asked for; especially when what he was
currently asking for was what I had been craving myself—more.
 
I don't know what I'd done to whom to deserve such a fucking gift. I didn't
waste any more time thinking on it though; I couldn't really do much in the way
of thinking the way his hands were running freely over me. I had never been so
thankful for having the house to myself than right then because the noises he
was pulling from me would be fucking embarrassing if anyone were to hear them.
 
I reached over to the dresser next to my bed and fumbled around in a drawer
until I came up with a condom and the lube. I looked down at him a second after
I’d rolled the condom on. His glazed eyes staring back at me as gripped his leg
behind the knee and raised his leg, running my slick fingers over his hole.
 
"Alright, Gallagher, enough fucking teasing; let's fucking do this, already,"
he panted. The return of Mickey's typical irritable demeanor wasn't a shock; I
was surprised it had taken so long, honestly. He still wasn't shoving me off
him or turning over though so I took my time easing into him, watching him as I
did.
 
I'd never seen Mickey's face while I fucked him; he usually kept his head down
facing away from me. Watching him throw his head back as his mouth fell open
and his eyes rolled back was fascinating. Fuck, I wasn't going to be able to go
back to not seeing him after that, go back to not touching him, not kissing
him. As if he could read my mind, he reached his hand back around my neck and
pulled me down to him, his hot mouth taking mine again.
 
I am totally fucked.
 
"Fuck me, Ian," he spoke huskily into my mouth. Hearing him use my name was
nearly enough to make me blow. I clamped down on the overwhelming sensation
threatening to overtake me and fucked him. Not hard and fast like normal—like
he usually demanded—but slow and deep. He clawed at my skin and held my neck
and it was so fucking intense I thought I must be fucking dreaming.
 
It didn't last long; there's no way that level of intensity could be sustained.
He was teetering on the edge of falling apart when he locked eyes with me. I
could feel the words he was thinking and as much as I wanted to hear him say
them out loud, they scared the shit out of me. I couldn't let him make that
declaration no matter how much I wanted him to.
 
"Don't, Mick," I breathed raggedly, "You can't take that shit back," I warned.
I picked up the pace of my thrusts, hoping to distract him; racing to the
finish line like usual. Only this time I was racing to make him come before I
did rather than wanting to finish before he pushed me away.
 
He bucked up into me, moaning loudly and exploding. He gasped and spurt come
across his stomach and chest.
 
I could pretend that his throaty moan wasn't a jumble of words strung together.
I could tell myself that he hadn't made a totally fucking vulnerable confession
as he came undone around me. I could deny that he hadn't whispered that he
loved me, but I'd be fucking lying to myself.
 
What the hell was I supposed to do with that?
 
There was nothing I could do but erupt and collapse against him as I crashed
back to Earth from the most intense orgasm I'd ever had. After the initial
shock wore off, I realized that Mickey hadn't pushed me away yet. I lay across
his chest, my cock still buried inside him. He stroked his hand down my sweaty
back. I could feel his lips turn up in his smirking grin against my neck.
 
It was too much. It was way too fucking unfamiliar. I had to move, or I was
going to do something we both would regret. I didn't want there to be regrets
between us—we were already dealing with enough drama about what this thing
between us was or wasn't. I pulled away from him, stood up from the bed, and
crossed the room to the desk. Depositing the condom and wrapper in a sheet of
paper and crumpling it before tossing it in the garbage can by the door.
 
My heart hammered in my chest as I sat back on the edge of the bed, but it
wasn't from exertion. I left my back to him, not able to meet his eyes. I could
feel him watching me. I could see his creased brow in my mind even before I
chanced a glance his way.
 
I don't know how long it was before he finally spoke. "I don't want to take it
back," he choked.
 
"You shouldn't have fucking said it, Mick," I protested.
 
"Why the fuck not, Gallagher?" He snapped, sitting up next to me. "I'm tired of
the fucking bullshit. I can't pretend anymore; I can't keep it inside me or it
will eat me alive. It's the fucking truth," he paused, reaching to touch my
shoulder. His touch made me burn."Look at me?" he whispered. I let my head hang
into my hands in defeat.
 
"I can't, Mickey," I sighed, turning even further away from him. If I looked at
his face and saw he meant what he was spouting I was done for; I wouldn't be
able to lie to myself anymore that he didn't mean anything to me. On the
contrary, if I looked at him and saw that he was yanking my chain I wouldn't be
able to hide my disappointment either. I wanted to believe what he said, I
wanted it with every piece of me; so much that I couldn't let my hopes rise for
a second. It was better to just look away—pretend that the last twenty minutes
hadn't happened; that he hadn't just told me that he fucking loves me.
 
"The fuck you can't," he griped, shuffling closer to me on the edge of the bed.
His firm grip on my jaw forcing my head back around was probably going to leave
a bruise. "Quit being such a fag, and look at me. It's not like I'm asking you
to fucking say it back, Gallagher. I'm not; I don't need to fucking hear it."
He put his hands on either side of my face and tried pulling my face up to his;
bending to get within my line of sight when I wouldn't be manipulated. "I just
want you to look at me so you know I'm not fucking around here, okay?"
 
"Fuck you, Mickey!" I spat. I couldn't handle the look he was giving me, I'd
never seen him look so eager and terrified and completely utterly open and
honest. It was all right there, and I couldn't believe I hadn't seen this
coming. Either he hadn't realized it himself or he was an Oscar-worthy actor
waiting to be discovered.
 
"You already did," he smirked with a little teasing wink. "Unless you think
we've got time for another go before the rest of your family shows up?"
 
God, he made me fucking crazy when he was like this. I couldn't help it, seeing
him relaxed and easygoing like this made me happy—too fucking happy. He'd tell
me I was being a fag if he knew what was going through my head. I had to get
off the bed and put some distance between us or things were going to get heated
again, and even if Lip was cool with the idea of me fucking guys I really
didn't need him or worse yet, Carl, walking in on Mickey and I going at it.
 
I stood up and grabbed my jeans off the floor, pulling them on. I tossed
Mickey's clothes at him as I yanked the chair out from under the door and put
it back at the desk, sitting down heavily with a huff.
 
"I really need to cram for this mid-term, Mickey," I mumbled quietly.
 
"That's it then, huh?" he said getting dressed.
 
"Yeah, I guess it is." I wasn't harbouring any delusions about Mickey and I. It
didn't matter what he said behind closed doors, it couldn't ever be anything
more than that. It's not like we could walk around South Side holding hands or
shit like that; not that I fucking wanted to even.
 
He rested his hands on the back of the chair and leaned into me. The heat
coming off him was like a tranquilizer. I wanted to just fucking melt into him
instead of pushing him away. "Don't fucking pretend it's not the same for you,"
he spoke softly near my ear, making the hair on the back of my neck bristle. "I
see it every time you look at me, Gallagher. I guess I finally caught up to
you." He pressed his hot lips to the side of my neck, making my breath hitch
and my eyes flutter closed. "Just don't expect me to start bringing you flowers
and candy or any of that fucking sissy shit. I may be gay but I ain't fucking
queer," he chuckled against my neck and stood up, shoving the back of my head
forward and turning to walk out of the room.
 
Mickey fucking Milkovitch was going to be the death of me, and it was going to
be a slow, deliciously painful death.
End Notes
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