Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1541294.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Shameless_(US)
  Relationship:
      Ian_Gallagher/Mickey_Milkovich
  Character:
      Mickey_Milkovich, Ian_Gallagher, Mandy_Milkovich
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-04-29 Words: 6584
****** Sweet ass frappuchino's ******
by Rococo92
Summary
     All Mickey wants is a frappuchino and then he gets hit on by this
     redhead barista, who also happens to work at the Kash and Grab. Sort
     of AU in how they meet. Underage warning because Ian's not 18 in this
     fic.
Mickey's so done with this shit. Up since fuckin' 8 in the morning making
collections for his dad with a hangover is a sure-fire way to piss him off.
It's four in the afternoon now and he's still gotta make the trip back home
with El. He puffs on what must be his 20th cigarette of the day as he crosses
the street, barely dodging a car in the process. Jesus fuck, he hadn't even
seen it coming. He sniffs, rubbing at his tired eyes. He needs coffee, badly,
if he's gonna have to scare some people into giving him money. Right near the
stairs to the El sits a Starbucks. He usually avoids coffee places; prefers to
drink his coffee at home, because drinking out means drinking alcohol, damnit.
Starbucks is the fucking snobbiest of coffee places too, selling their fake
Euro shit for way too much money.
Thing is, Mickey kinda has a thing for their fuckin' sweet-ass frappuchinos and
if that don't just make him gay as fuck...He's running on fumes, though, and
his pride will just have to take a hit. He takes one last drag of his
cigarette, then tosses it onto the sidewalk. He pushes open the heavy doors and
a heavenly smell of coffee just hits him straight in the face. The place isn't
all that crowded for once, because this is still Southside and people can't
generally afford expensive coffee.
A cheery blonde calls out to him;"What will it be today, Sir?" Signing off his
tough-guy act, Mickey orders a large (he's not gonna call that crap Grande or
whatever the fuck it's called) caramel frappuchino with an extra shot of
espresso. He pays the girl with grimy, crumpled-up bills, ignores the disgusted
look on her face as she accepts the money and directs him towards the end of
the bar. He shoves his way through the small crowd of hipsters gathered there
and leans his elbows on the bar as he waits for his drink. A freckly redhead is
working the machines- actually, that's Ian fuckin'Gallagher. He knows him
vaguely from school, always hanging around Lip as he collects his money for his
essays. The kid doesn't look up from what he's doing and Mickey stares some
more.
He's filled out a bit since the last time Mickey saw him, a couple of months
ago, and looks like he's taller too. Probably taller than Mickey himself, now.
He unconciously shoves himself up straight, attempting to gain a few more
inches on someone who hasn't even seen him yet. He doesn't know if Gallagher
would recognise him anyway; not expecting a Milkovich in a Starbucks. The kid
looks around his workarea, frowning slightly. He turns around and bends over in
front of the fridge, giving Mickey a clear view of his ass. Well, fuck him,
Gallagher's got a pretty decent one on him.
Suddenly, Gallagher looks up at him, asking "You had the caramel-coffee frap
with extra espresso, right?" Mickey nods his affirmative and Gallagher asks
"What's your name?"
"Mickey," Mickey grumbles, just wanting the kid to hurry it up already. He can
see his fucking cup right in front of him, waiting for the finishing touches.
"And what's your number?" Gallagher asks, a sly grin on his face. Mickey gives
him a side-eye, like what the fuck, he can't even order coffee without some fag
hitting on him? He's never gonna be able to come here again, bye-bye delicious
as fuck frappuchinos. Gallagher notices the look on his face immidiately and
scrambles for an explanation that sounds incredibly half-assed.
"I need a baby-sitter. My little brother. He, uh. Fuck. Sorry, man." Gallagher
manages to get out and goes back to fixing his drink.
"I'm no good with kids, man." Mickey offers, surprising both himself and
Gallagher. Since when does he not get a kick out of making other people feel
uncomfortable?
"It's fine, don't worry about it." Gallagher says, smiling at him while he
places the lid on top of his cup. "I won't," Mickey says, feeling a bit out of
place at the receiving end of that grin, makes him want to slap-or fuck- that
stupid smile right of Gallagher's face. As it is, the grin slips off
Gallagher's face at Mickey's gruff reply and he shoves the drink on top the
bar. "Here you go. Have a nice day." It's pretty clear he doesn't mean it.
--
That night, Mickey can't get that fucker Gallagher out of his head. He thinks
about how it would be, the redhead holding him up with those strong arms while
fucking into him from behind. He lazily tugs at his cock, imagining it's
Gallagher's hand there instead, the kid grinning down at him as he squeezes and
slides his hand up and down. It's the memory of that grin that does it in the
end, causes him to spill in his own hand with a stifled groan. He wipes his
sticky hand on his boxers and turns over on his side, his head blessfully clear
and hazy at the same time. He falls asleep within minutes.
=
 
Ian's fucking tired of this job. The pay's alright, but it takes twice as long
to get here as it does to the Kash and Grab, where he works mostly during the
week. The Squirrel-fund needs funding, though, so he sticks with it, and at
least it's nice and cool inside. He's concentrating on mixing the frappuchino
in front of him, looking up from under his lashes at the group of hipsters in
front of him. They probably weren't the ones to order this though, already
'over the hype' of the frappuchino, which is frankly ridiculous because those
things are the best.
He notices the rough-looking guy leaning on the bar, clearly not part of that
group. He's slightly dirty and clearly high-strung. He keeps biting his lip as
his eyes bounce all around the coffee-shop, finally landing on Ian. He quickly
looks back down, busying himself with finding the milk. He straightens up,
fills up the cup with milk, coffee and ice and sticks in the mixer. He looks up
at the guy, and asks him if he's the one with the frapp. The guy just gives him
a tight nod so he asks for his name ( "Mickey") and before he can stop himself
he's asking the guy for his number.
The guy gets this look on his face that's familiar, tilts his head and squints
at him just like Mandy's older brother Mickey Milkovich does- and he's so
fuckin' dead because that is Mickey fuckin' Milkovich ordering a fuckin'
frappuchino at his Starbucks. He makes up some lame excuse, baby-sitting for
his brother; like they don't have enough Gallaghers running around to split the
job between them. Mickey doesn't look like he's really buying it, either, but
at least he hasn't punched Ian yet.
Ian shoots him a grin and suddenly Mickey's expressions sours even more, if
that's possible, "I won't," Mickey grumbles. Well, fuck you, Mickey Milkovich,
who apparently likes sweet cold-coffee drinks. Ian sets down his cup, none too
gently, and wishes him a nice day. He hopes that guy gets hit by a fucking car
on his way home, moody fucker.
--
When Ian finally makes it home from his shift, he's practically dead on his
feet and all he wants is to collapse on his fucking bed and sleep for a day or
two. Unfortunately, Lip's sitting on his bed, holding a lit joint. Ian works
his way free from his shirt, throwing it in with the mess already on the floor,
clothes from Carl, Lip and Ian slowly turning into an unidentifiable mush.
"Lip, I'm way too tired to smoke, man." Ian says as Lip just keeps sitting
there, watching him in between drags of his joint. He shucks his pants and
starts making his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he comes back,
Lip is in the exact same position, still watching him.
"I got a blowie today," Lip says, grin a little too wide from all of the weed
he's been smoking. Ian raises his eyebrows; "Oh really, from who?" He sits down
next to his brother on the bed, accepting he's probably not going to get to
sleep any time soon.
"Karen Jackson. I was tutoring her and she just starts blowing me under the
table with her mom right there in the fuckin' kitchen," Lip huffs out a laugh.
"Thought I was gonna get caught for sure."
"That's awesome man," Ian says, yawning and sneaking a longing glance towards
his pillow.
"You ever get a blowjob?" Lip asks, in between puffs on his joint.
"Yeah, a couple." Ian shrugs. He's not about to tell Lip about them, though.
The first was from Roger Spikey, not all that great, and the others are from
Kash, who he obviously can't talk about either.
"How come you never told me? You're not embarrased or something, right?" Lip
seems to be getting to some kind of point here and Ian eyes him warily.
"Naw, man. Just wasn't that big of a deal."
"Or maybe because you got them from other dudes, hmm?" Lip seems to have
decided to cut the crap. He reaches under his legs and pulls out his porn-mag-
or no, hold on, that's Ian's with all of the dudes glued in instead. Ian
watches it fall onto his own lap, scared to look at Lip now. Sure, Lip's never
really seemed like the guy to give a flying fuck about who Ian bangs, but
still, this is the Southside.
"Ian, I don't care who you fuck, okay. Just wish you woulda told me." Lip says
carefully, clutching a hand on Ian's bare shoulder. Ian looks up at him, sees
the smile on Lip's face.
"Yeah, I know..." he shrugs. "Just wasn't ready to like, talk about it, I
guess." Lip stands up from his bed, stretches his arms above his head in
visible relief.
"Well, you can, if you wanna. Just don't give me any details, man."
Ian snorts. "I won't."
--
Monday means work for the rest of the week at the Kash and Grab and Ian is
happy to take that chance to forget all about Mickey fucking Milkovich and his
fucking sweet tooth. Unfortunately, it seems that Mickey has also taken to
robbing the place whenever he feels like it. On Tuesday, Kash is sitting
dejectedly behind the counter, marking inventory. Linda is yelling at him not
to be such a fucking pussy and stand up to the neighbourhood kids who keeps
stealing candy. After she leaves, Ian quirks a brow at Kash, who's never really
seemed like a tough guy, but isn't exactly a pussy either.
"You're not scared of a couple of twelve year olds, are ya?" He says, stocking
some Snickers bars. They're getting empty on those a lot, these days.
"Not the twelve year olds, no," Kash grumbles. "It's those fucking Milkoviches.
Looks like they decided our stock was better than the last place they shopped."

Just as he's about to start his epic rant on one particular Milkovich, Mickey
and Mandy walk in.
 
"Christ, Gallagher, you work here, too?" Mickey sneers as he pushes him away
from the Snickers, sticking a few in his pockets.
"Some of us like to pay for groceries, Mickey." Ian throws back, looking at the
other guy's bulging pockets.
"Well, that's just fuckin' stupid." Mickey heads over to the chips aisle,
starts stacking Pringles. "Hey, you got any more barbeque Pringles, towelhead?"

Kash just sits behind the counter, ignoring the shoplifting taking place right
in front of his nose. Ian sighs, guesses it's up to him now. He walks over the
chips aisle, running into Mandy instead of Mickey.
"Hiya Gallagher," She says, twirling her around her finger. "Whatcha doin?"
"Trying to work, actually," He says, cringes immidiately after. Fuck. He's
gonna get a beatdown for sure now.
Behind him, Mickey barks out a laugh. "C'mon Mandy, pretty sure he's not
interested in your dirty vag." Ian spins around, finds Mickey looking at him, a
strange glint his eyes that says he's pretty sure what Ian is interested in.
Mandy storms past him, grabs Mickey by the lapel of his big coat and drags him
out of the store.
"Mickey knows you're gay?" Kash asks, astonished. Ian looks back at him, just
as surprised.
"Seems like it."
"Better start bringing a bat to work, then," Kash jokes, but Ian finds it very
difficult to laugh right now. First the thing at Starbucks and now this shit?
He's so fucked.
"You ever gonna stop him from stealing?" Ian retorts, very much aware that he's
being a bit of a bitch but not really giving a fuck, considering he's probably
going to die this week.
--
 
Suprisingly, Ian is still alive on Saturday, right on time for his shift at
Starbucks. He hasn't seen Mickey all week. (Spent every time he was outside
looking over his shoulder like Frank when he's made a bad bet) He secures the
apron around his waist and steps behind the counter, working the machines
again. He prefers making coffee over dealing with the orders, as people
apparently haven't quite gotten the hang of ordering coffee yet. The drinks are
listed right above the cash register, for fuck's sake.
So yeah, he's a bit surprised when a Frappuchino order for Mickey comes sliding
his way. He tries to look up discreetly, but the Milkovich boy is looking right
at him.
"Gallagher," Mickey grunts, lifting his elbows onto the countertop. His jacket
looks filthy as fuck and he can his coworkers are looking at the smudges
Mickey's leaving behind.
"Mickey," Ian replies warily, focusing on pouring the milk in without spilling
it.
"Relax, Gallagher, I'm not gonna kill you or anything." Mickey chuckles lowly.
Ian squints at him, not quite believing a Milkovich is denying any sort of
inclination towards violence.
"Really? Just, the thing at Kash and Grab with your sister..." Ian trails off.
"Seems like the kinda thing you'd beat a guy up for."
Mickey cocks his head to the side, smiles crookedly. "Usually, maybe. I'm
willing to make an exception."
It sounds like "I'm gonna make you an offer you can't refuse." Without the
douchy accent, of course.
--
Mickey rolls his eyes. Either he's read this Gallagher kid all wrong, or he's
just really fucking stupid.
"Just gimme my fuckin' frappuchino, alright." He huffs. Seems like getting
Gallagher into bed is gonna take a bit more work.
Later that week, he stops by the Kash and Grab again for supplies. He's
planning on getting high as a kite tonight and thank fuck for Barbeque Pringles
and Snickers. Kash eyes him up as he fills up a box with chips and other crappy
food and he's nearly out the door when Towelhead says:"You gotta pay for that,
Mickey."
He sets down the box on the floor and spins around. Towelhead's got a gun
pointed at him, hands shaking like a fucking leaf. He steps closer to the
counter, gives the guy a menacing grin.
"You ready to use that thing, Kash? If not, you better put it away before I
take it from ya." He cracks his knuckles, which always seems to scare the crap
out of people.
Kash is no different, hands shaking even more, but the guy seems to resolve
himself and lifts the gun again. His finger isn't even on the fucking trigger,
so Mickey grabs his wrists and wrestles the gun away from the coward without
much trouble.
"Thanks man, I didn't have this one yet." He waves the gun around with a smile.
"Say hi to Firecrotch for me, yeah?" He can't help but yell as he leaves the
store, gun safely in the box with his loot.
Once he gets home, he stores the gun safely in his drawer and rolls a spliff.
Collections were good this week and every once in a while he likes to get the
good stuff to celebrate. He sniffs himself and jumps into the shower quickly.
He likes getting high pretty much any time, but after a shower it feels so much
better, his body already warm and relaxed.
He throws himself down on his bed and sticks the joint between his lips,
lighting it quickly. The first drag always catches in his throat and he coughs
for a bit. No one's home to hear him, anyway.
The second drag is better and by the fifth he can already feel the mellow
warmth settling in his belly. He leans his head back on his pillow, staring at
the ceiling. He thinks about Ian Gallagher, wonders if he'd like to get high
with Mickey sometimes. Fucking while high is something Mickey has never really
tried, because it makes him too languid to do much work, but Gallagher looks
like he could keep Mickey upright nice and proper. His dick starts to harden in
his jogging pants and he rubs the heel of his hand over it, barely any
coördination or rhythm. He swirls the smoke in his mouth, lets it escape in a
hazy cloud. Gallagher better get the fucking point quick, or Mickey was gonna
have to let all subtlety go out of the window.
He takes one last drag of the joint before grounding it out in his ashtray,
saving the rest for later. He needs to come, first.
He slips a hand inside of his joggers, under which he hasn't bothered to put
boxers after his shower, wraps it around his dick and starts caressing slowly.
He imagines Gallagher's large hands down there, thinks he's probably pretty
good at giving handjobs, or fuck, even blowjobs. He pictures Gallagher on his
knees, sucking his dick like his life depends on it. He takes back his hand and
spits on it a couple times, mouth pretty dry after that joint. His slick hand
makes it easier to pretend it's Gallagher's mouth and he rubs his thumb on his
head a couple times, coaxing precome from the slit. He's usually too sensitive
for it, but the weed has dulled his senses a bit and now it just feels fucking
awesome. He sticks his left middle finger in his mouth, swirls it around for a
bit to gather enough spit. He sits up and turns around on his stomach. He slips
his jogging pants just beneath his ass and slips in his middle finger, just
teasing around his rim a little. He can never really get as deep as he likes,
himself, but he can usually manage to reach his prostate if he tries hard
enough.
It takes him a couple tries, but finally he brushes over it and he keens
softly, letting the sound slip without really meaning to. It's been a while
since anyone's fucked him and that wait always makes him that much more
sensitive. He rubs at his prostate with his finger, his other hand jacking
furiously at his dick. He feels his balls draw up and tighten as he fucks
himself back on his finger, breath coming out in harsh pants on his pillow.
With a groan, he spills himself all over his hand, luckily containing most of
the mess there instead of on his bedsheets. He just changed those two weeks ago
and he fucking hates doing it.
He stands up shakily, manages to pull up his pants with just one hand and
washes his hands in the bathroom. For once, he's glad it's attached to his
room. It makes post-jerk clean-up a hell of a lot easier and less awkward.
--
 
Kash flinches as Ian opens the door to the Kash and Grab and relaxes once he
sees it's him.
"Mickey come by again?" Ian guesses. He shucks his coat and dumps it behind the
counter.
"He took the gun." Kash admits, cheeks ruddy with embarresment. Ian doesn't
blame him; he'd be ashamed too if he were Kash. Of course, he wouldn't have let
Mickey take the gun without a fight, either. He rolls his eyes at Kash.
"Seriously, Kash? You were the one with the gun. The one with the gun's the one
with the power." He scoffs, "Mickey's just a little hoodrat. How scary is he,
really?"
Okay, so, just last week Ian was the one who was cowering in front of Mickey,
but hey, Kash doesn't need to know that, right. Besides, Ian is still alive.
Mickey can't be all that bad, despite all of the rumours of his infamous
violent streak. That reputation probably means Mickey is not in fights as often
as he could be.
He doesn't know where this sudden urge to think about Mickey fuckin' Milkovich
is coming from
( "I'm willing to make an exception.") but he's gotta knock it off quick.
Thinking about a guy in that much detail usually means Ian's starting to have
thing for them and he's pretty sure he's imagined Mickey's innuendo's. Just
wishful thinking.
Still, he's also pretty pissed off that Mickey stole the gun, mostly because
he's not the only one who steals at the Kash and Grab, and one of these days
Ian's gonna be the one who needs it, not Kash. Ian at least knows how to use
it. So, he resolves to get the gun back as soon as he can.
--
He's waiting for the Milkovich house to clear out the next afternoon after
school, hoping that the inhabitants are at least awake. He sees Mandy leave
first, skipping down the steps as she meets up with her friends. Fifteen
minutes later, Terry and two of the brothers come stumbling out of the house
carrying empty gymbags and they speed off in a car that's seen better days. Ian
waits another five minutes, but he's pretty sure Mickey's not gonna come out
any time soon. Either that, or he left before Ian got there.
He takes a few deep breaths and walks up to the house. He spies a tire iron
sitting on the porch and grabs it without a second thought. He might need to do
some convincing, and despite his ROTC training, he'd still like the upper hand.

The Milkovich house is an even bigger mess than his own, empty beer bottles and
fast food packaging everywhere, cigarette butts littering the floor and there's
the distinct smell of hard liquor and hard drugs that itch his nose. The
livingroom and kitchen are both empty. He opens the first door, which looks
like it's Mandy's.
"Stay the fuck out"
Written on sloppily on a piece of cardboard, it looks like the kinda thing
Mickey would do. He pushes open the door with the tire iron, finds Mickey
asleep on his stomach. The smell of weed is strong and the room is still a bit
blue from the smoke. The other boy is probably high, which just means it'll be
easier for Ian to get the gun from him.
He takes a few cautious steps into the room, which is only marginally less
filthy than the livingroom, probably only on the account of being occupied by
one person. Fiona would never let him, Lip and Carl get away with this mess.
Terry most likely doesn't give a shit about his kids when they're not helping
him earn money and sell drugs.
He reaches the bed and pokes Mickey in the back with the tire iron. "What the
fuck..." Mickey slowly turns onto his back, glaring at Ian. "Gallagher?" The
boy wipes at his eyes, trying to clear the sleep from them. It is absolutely
not the most adorable thing Ian has ever seen, okay?
"Give me the gun back, Mickey," Ian says, still holding out the tire iron in
front of him. Mickey snorts: "What gun?" He reaches over to his bedside table
and then suddenly pulls at the tire iron, making Ian stumble towards the bed.
He refuses to let go and collapses heavily on top of Mickey, who grunts at the
impact on his stomach.
"Kash's gun, Mickey. The one you-ow- stole from him yesterday." Ian manages in
between attempting to wrestle Mickey down to the bed. He really hasn't thought
this through. Apparently, even stoned Mickey is like a fucking pitbull,
stubbornly keeping hold of the tire iron that's meant to protect Ian.
"He shouldn't have given it up so easily, then. Fucking pussy." Mickey groans
as Ian lands a hit on his thigh, about the only part he can reach right now.
"C'mon, Mickey, don't be an ass. We need that gun more than you do." Mickey's
got Ian's head lodged between his legs and finally lets go of the tire iron.
Wasn't doing him any good anyway.
Mickey glares down at him, panting heavily. "Oh yeah? What's in it for me,
huh?"
Again with the fucking innuendos.
Ian raises his eyebrows, shoots a pointed look towards Mickey's groin where-
hold up. Where Mickey's erection is straining against the soft fabric of his
sleep pants.
Mickey raises his eyebrows right back, giving Ian a truly impressive bitchface.
Ian lets a sly grin slip on his face, places his hands tentatively on Mickey's
waist. Mickey sits up abruptly and shoots off the bed, rummages through a
drawer. Ian awkwardly climbs off the bed, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Here. Now get the fuck out." Mickey practically bristles, shoving the gun at
Ian. At least he's pointing the lethal end towards himself, Ian supposes. He's
still kinda confused as to why they're not boning right now.
"Fuck, Gallagher, it's not that complicated. Get. The. Fuck. Out." Mickey says,
punctuating each word with a push towards the door.
Ian decides to just go with it, thinking maybe he misread the signs or
something. Maybe fights just really turn Mickey on, or something, and the whole
thing had fuck all to do with Ian being there, himself.
--
 
The truth is, Mickey's pretty sure he could have gotten laid back there. He was
about to strip, too, but then he remembered his dad being asleep in the
livingroom. He's already had a couple of close calls, lately, with the late
night porn on tv where he's way more focussed on the guy's dick than on the
girl's tits. Can't have his dad coming in right when he's being fucked into the
mattrass by Ian Gallagher. He would have gotten the shit kicked out of him, for
one, and for another, he'd quite like to take his time with Gallagher.
If it's anything like he's been imagining, fucking Ian Gallagher was going to
be fucking awesome.
So yeah, now Mickey's kinda hungover and kinda horny, so he has no other option
than to rub one off in the shitty shower. At least his dad won't blame him, for
that.
After he gets out of the shower, he's having some major cravings and decides to
head over to the Kash and Grab to give himself a five finger discount on some
Snicker bars. Making Kash uncomfortable is just a bonus.
--
Ian gives Kash the gun back the next day, who tells him Mickey came over for
some snacks in the meantime. Guy just can't leave well enough alone, it seems.
Ian starts hoping he would come in again when he's the one working the
register. At least he won't be afraid to shoot the confusing fucker.
And yeah, he's kinda annoyed for getting blue balls yesterday and he's well
aware of that, thank you.
It's just that he'd never once imagined that Mickey fucking Milkovich would be
the one to get under his skin so much. It makes Ian want to do terrible,
delicious things to the other boy.
Instead of Mickey, however, he gets a different Milkovich coming in to bother
him. Mandy leans on the counter in front of him, pushing her breasts together
in a way that probably makes most teenage boys (and adult men) cream their
pants. Ian just cocks his head and lifts an eyebrow in question.
"What do you want, Mandy," he sighs, continuing to stock Marlboro's above his
head. She pops her gum at him and pouts.
"That's no way to treat a paying customer, Ian." She giggles and leans down
further. He can practically see the edge of her nipples, that is, if he were
inclined to look that closely.
As it is, he's just incredibly uncomfortable.
Suddenly, Mandy straightens up and starts laughing, like really laughing, not
that fake girly shit she usually pulls.
"Oh my god. I totally get it now," She says, point a finger at him. "You're
totally gay, aren't you? That's why you want none of this!" She grabs her own
breasts and squeezes.
"Mickey was so right about you. Man...probably shouldn't tell him that,
though."
Ian can only stare in horror. A Milkovich knowing he's gay is probably not that
healthy for, you know, his life. "Mandy, I- please don't-"
She smiles widely, saying "Relax, Ian. I've always wanted a gay best friend."
In between feeling offended and relieved, Ian finds himself agreeing to a movie
night at her place with her other girlfriends. Because apparently he has a
vagina now.
Seriously, what is his life, anyway?
 
Later that week, he turns up at the Milkovich house again, only this time not
carrying a weapon. (Just a small pocket knife, because this is still South
Side)
He knocks on the door and Mickey answers, looking confused to see him there.
Ian just fidgets in place for a few seconds, clears his throat. "Mandy invited
me to movie night?" It sounds like a question, which was not really what he was
going for, but whatever.
Mickey shrugs and steps aside. "They're all in Mandy's room. It's opposite
mine." He plops back down on the couch and restarts his game. It's Call of Duty
Ghost, the most recent one. Ian longingly looks at the screen while slowly
making his way further into the house.
Mickey looks back up at him and grins cheekily. "If you get bored with the
chickflick, you can come shoot some fuckers with me."
--
 
Ian doesn't make it fifteen minutes into the movie.
"Mandy," he whispers, the girls all entranced with some dreamy actor.
"What?" she hisses, reaching for the popcorn that's stationed in his lap.
"Do you mind if I go and play Call of Duty with your brother instead?" he
decides to go straight (ha) towards his goal, figures Mandy will appreciate the
lack of bullshit. She tilts her head at him and studies him for a bit.
"Sure. When you're done getting slaughtered out there you can come help pick
out an outfit for school tomorrow."
Ian thinks you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth and scrambles off the
bed before Mandy's even finished talking.
--
Gallagher drops down on the couch next to Mickey with a wide grin. "Got another
controller?" Mickey pauses his game and saves it, roots under the couch for the
second controller. He starts up a multiplayer game and plants his feet on the
table in front of him.
"Let's see who dies first, eh."
Of course, Ian's ROTC training kicks in as soon as he has to start shooting
stuff and it actually takes a good five minutes before either of them get shot
but still, Mickey's the first one to go.
"Ha!" Ian crows, spinning around on the couch as both of their characters
revive on the TV screen.
"So, what's my reward?" he says, nudging Mickey with his shoulder. Mickey
presses pause and looks back at him, eyebrows raised. Really, for such a tough
guy, Mickey gives the best bitchy faces. He shoulda starred in Mean Girls or
something.
"What makes you think that was worth a reward? You got shot right after I did!"
Mickey says incredulously, point at the TV with his controller.
"Exactly, after. Meaning I lasted longer than you did," Ian says with a cheeky
grin.
Mickey narrows his eyes and before Ian even has time to think 'Uh-oh', he's
tackled to the couch by the older boy. Mickey settles on top of him, Ian's
wrists grasped firmly in his hands. Ian feels a certain deja-vu kinda feeling
coming on.
Mickey stares down at him, panting a little and biting his lips.
"You know somewhere we can go?" Mickey breathes out, softly, like he's a little
bit afraid of actually asking Ian.
Ian thinks for a moment, mind immidiately flashing to the dug-out where he and
Lip sometimes hang out.
"Baseball field. Should be empty by now." Mickey shrugs in agreement and eases
off Ian and then off the couch entirely.
"You wanna tell Mandy or just split?" Mickey asks as he fastens his shoelaces
sloppily.
"And tell her what, exactly?" Ian asks, cocking his head a little. He's still
unsure if they're actually gonna fuck this time. It seems like it, but then
again, so did it last time they were in this situation. All of the UST is
killing him.
"Wait here," Mickey says, disappearing into his room. He exits again a few
moments later, carrying a backpack that clinks a bit as he shoulders it.
"C'mon, then, Gallagher."
--
They enter the dug-out, having walked over there in silence. It wasn't really
awkward, though. Just neither of them having anything to say.
Mickey flings his bag on the ground and leans against the fence, puffing lazily
on a cigarette.
"So, you wanna fuck me?" He says, quirking a single brow at Ian.
Ian just stares for a bit and then moves forward, grasping Mickey's neck with
one hand while the other plucks the cigarette out of his mouth and flicks it on
the sandy floor.
"Sure," Ian says, before placing his mouth on Mickey's, ignoring the protesting
"Mmmph!" Mickey gives.
He sucks on a plump bottom lip and can practically feel Mickey giving in, his
stance relaxing just as his mouth opens to let Ian's tongue in. He strokes and
licks, revelling in the taste of Mickey; beer and cigarettes and something
sweet all mixed together. He runs a hand through the mess of Mickey's dark
hair, gel making it a little more difficult than he would like, but whatever,
he'll take whatever he can get.
Mickey's moan is muffled between their mouths and one hand sneaks under Ian's
shirt, caresses his hip before travelling upwards to tease a nipple. Mickey
breaks away from the kiss, panting:"Off, off, take it off." Ian happily obliges
and strips of Mickey's shirt before doing the same to his own. He presses their
chests together and works on sucking an impressive hickey on Mickey's
collarbone. Mickey is about as pale as Ian himself, which is very, seeing as
Ian's a redhead living in Chicago.
Tattooed fingers start fiddling with Ian's pants, try to open the buttons and
push inside his boxers all at the same time.
"Hold on, you take off yours, I'll take off mine, okay?" Ian says, starting to
get a little annoyed when it takes too long. They both strip until they're
completely naked and Mickey starts digging into his backpack, coming up with a
bottle of lube and a condom.
"You came prepared, huh," Ian huffs out a laugh. Mickey just shrugs and hands
him the stuff before turning around and bending over slightly at the waist.
Ian dumps out some of the lube, warms it between his fingers before pressing
one into Mickey's tight hole. Mickey groans a little, pushes back against the
finger so that it is buried until the last knuckle.
"C'mon, Gallagher."
Ian slides his finger in and out, tries to stretch Mickey as best as he can
with just the one finger, before he deems him ready for another. As a second
one joins the first, Mickey keens low in his throat. "Oh fuck, yeah."
Ian spreads his fingers a little, teases around Mickey's hole with his thumb
and tries to locate his prostate with the other two.
Seems he starts getting close as Mickey's starting to get twitchy and pushes
back on Ian's fingers a few times. Ian slips in a third finger, just wanting
Mickey to be as comfortable as possible. Ian's planning on fucking Mickey as
often as he can and a good first impression is important, here.
After a few more minutes, Mickey starts getting impatient, legs shaking a
little from the continued not-quite-enough pleasure. "Fuck, Gallagher, hurry up
and get on me, already."
Ian withdraws his fingers, watches Mickey's hole carefully as he does so. He
opens up the condom and slides it on his rock hard cock. Preparing always gets
him harder than anything else, just the anticipation of his cock eventually
replacing his fingers to sink into that tight heat.
He spreads some more lube onto the condom and lines up against Mickey's hole.
He holds onto Mickey's waist with one hand while the other guides himself
inside and it's so fucking good, that first slide inwards. Both of them groan
loudly as Ian finally bottoms out, hips pressed tighly against Mickey's ass.
He starts thrusting slowly, just getting used to the feel of Mickey's ass tight
around his cock, trying to get to know this initimate part of him. If he gets
this right, Ian figures, Mickey might let him know other parts, too.
He speeds up a little, angles his cock until Mickey moans;"Oh fuck, right
there. Keep doing that, yeah." His hips slam up and Mickey tangles his hands
into the chainlinked fence, holding himself up on shaky legs.
Ian takes his free hand and starts jerking Mickey's abandoned cock. His hand is
still slick from the lube and Mickey's precome joins the mix as he runs a thumb
over the slit. The noises Mickey's making are getting Ian closer to the edge
and he starts matching his thrusts with his strokes, determined to get Mickey
to come first. He's not usually a selfish lover, after all.
Mickey starts trembling beneath him, cursing and moaning as Ian continues to
slam into him, and it doesn't take long before Ian can feel hot come spurting
into his hand. He wipes it off against the wall beneath the fence and places it
on Mickey's other hip and starts jackhammering into him faster, right until he
feels his balls draw up and he empties into the condom.
"Oh fuck," he moans, slumping over Mickey's back, hands idly stroking the other
boys trembling legs.
Mickey barks out a laugh. "Fuck, Gallagher, I knew you'd be good at this."
Ian climbs off Mickey, pulls of the condom and tosses it a few feet away
without bothering to tie it up. Mickey gets dressed and rummages through his
backpack again, coming up with a bottle half filled with whiskey. He takes a
few sips before handing it to Ian, who gratefully accepts.
"Ah, fuck, that's strong shit." Ian coughs, always forgetting the burn that
comes along with whiskey straight. Still, it curls warmly in his belly and
makes him feel giddy almost instantly.
"Yeah, well. Wish they'd serve that with those frappuchino's at fucking
Starbucks. That shit would go good together," Mickey says, taking the bottle
from Ian and seemingly having no trouble with gulping it down.
--
The next time Ian's on shift at Starbucks, he has a small flash of whiskey in
his pocket, courtesy of Frank. (who doesn't know, obviously) Now he just has to
wait until Mickey shows up with his sweet tooth.
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