Work Text:
To Change Together
RedStarFiction
Mickey cried off of the evening collection, saying he felt sick. Terry had been a little pissed but it was a small time nobody who already text to say he had all the cash and goods so he hadn't given Mickey too hard a time for it.
With the house quiet except for some shitty pop music coming from Mandy's room, Mickey eased his bedroom door shut and lay back on his bed. His fingers located the cigarette easily and he withdrew it from its hiding place, glancing at the door as if his guilt was enough to summon his Dad into being.
With no sign of anyone intruding on him, he turned his attention back to the smoke. Mickey put it between his lips and closed his eyes, remembering Ian stood naked in his room, no fear, no shame, just stood there completely comfortable with himself, that same smoke hanging from his lip. Mickey began to work himself with his palm, his mind on Ian. All of Ian. His stupid smile, his fucking carrot top hair, skinny fucking hips and those damn grabby hands that were broadening into a man’s hands.
Gallagher was going to be a big fucker, Mickey just knew it. They were going to change together and Mickey might get to see, smell, and feel every one of those fuckin’ changes. In the split second before he came, Mickey imagined Ian’s body protectively covering his own and kissed his lips around the filter of his unlit smoke.
Blinking into the semi-darkness of his room, his heart still beating wildly in his chest, Mickey felt excitement and fear bubble up in his chest in equal measure. He knew people imagine some weird, crazy shit when they jerked off, Iggy once said he’d been banging a chick with a spider man mask on, but all that stuff Mickey just imagined with Gallagher? Fuck.
He lit the cigarette and smoked it almost aggressively, inhaling as much as he could, sucking the filter compulsively and allowing smoke to billow out of his nostrils until nothing was left. Finishing the thing made him feel a little better but he was still left with the niggling sensation that rather than an end, this was only the fuckin’ beginning.
Tomorrow, and the Next Day
J_Q
Ian dropped the gun down on the the counter between an unopened box of Snickers and the ancient cash register. He shook his head at Kash, wondering what he ever saw in the guy. He didn't have broad shoulders, his eyes didn't eat up a room, he sure as hell didn't take it like a fucking rock star.
He told Kash he was taking the night off and headed home. Walking through the back door, he ignored Fi's question about why he was home so early. He needed to be alone--well, he needed to be with Mickey but he knew that wasn't gonna happen again today. Maybe tomorrow. Yeah, definitely tomorrow, and the next day.
Ian could feel his heart picking up speed as he shut the bedroom door behind him. Pushing an old kitchen chair covered in dirty clothes in front of the door would at least give him a head's up if someone tried to come in. Sure, it wouldn't be the first time one of them jerked off in this room, in fact, he shuddered at the amount of jerking off that had occurred. But this was special jerking off, not just random, passing the time jerking off. Ian nodded to himself, this was romantic jerking off. Cause he was sure he was in loooooove.
Removing his jacket, he pulled an old ratty tshirt from the pocket before throwing the jacket onto the pile of dirty clothes at the bedroom door. He brought the tshirt up to his nose and sniffed. Fuck! He didn't think there would be must jerking off going on cause if he just kept sniffing the shirt, he'd probably come standing in the middle of the room.
But this was supposed to be romantic, so he pulled his own tshirt over his head and removed his pants, then lay down on his bed. First, he closed his eyes and replayed the events, but his brain kept fast forwarding to the feel of being inside Mickey. He was trying valiantly to slow it all down and relive it. But he figured maybe he should just jerk it and then he could try this romantic thing again. So he pushed the cool fabric into his face and palmed his dick and immediately came.
Well, shit, he thought, he definitely liked the way Mickey smelled.
Remnants of Dirt and Blood
Nicrenkel
Iggy picked at the cuts on his knuckles, smiling at the recent memory of the BEAT DOWN he'd just delivered, wondering if the inevitable scars would mess with his tattooed lettering. Deciding to let Jamie tattoo over them if need be, he shrugged and stuck his middle knuckle in his mouth.
Further down the road, he could see the redhead that had barely escaped a Milkovich style beat down of his own power walking up to the house, climb the stairs, and pause to grab the tire iron Iggy had left out earlier. He lit a cigarette and maintained his pace; if Gallagher was looking for a fight, Mickey sure as hell wasn't going to need any backup. If anything, the younger brother would probably need Iggy to dump the body after.
By the time he'd made it past the red ribbon tape and tipped solo cups adorning the entrance to the porch, he could hear signs of a struggle through the open window. Stepping one foot onto the top step, he paused, the hairs on the back of his neck raised. Those weren't sounds of a struggle... and he would fuckin' know. The sounds he drew from women were etched into his memory like the broken record of a spank bank that they were-- and those sounds were coming from his brother.
He pivoted slowly to sit down upon the step, raising arched eyebrows of confusion as he scanned the sidewalk in front of him. He leaned forward, elbows resting above bent knees, eyes peeled for movement. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, and exhaled. A minivan drove by, and he steeled his spine and stared the passing driver down with narrowed eyes. Placing his sliced knuckle back into his mouth, he ran his tongue over the cut, tasting the remnants of dirt and blood.
A while later, Iggy was reclined backwards, one hand propping him up from behind, the other scrolling indifferently through his shoplifted Android. The fuck is a sync account?
The whining squeal of brake pedals worn far beyond their use split through the air like a warning. He bolted forward off of the steps, shoving the phone into his pocket as he ran towards the worn down heap of junk his dad called a car. Sprinting into the middle of the street, he threw himself upon the hood, banging a closed fist rapidly onto the dented metal.
"THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?" Terry shouted, sticking his head out of the driver side window. Keeping his feet rooted in place, Iggy waved his arms above his head. "Yo, it's that fuckin' towelhead." His father's brows crept closer together, and Iggy continued. "At the Kash 'n Grab? Yeah, said he was gonna start selling horse to all our regulars." Terry's scowl deepened, and he beckoned Iggy closer. Throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, he walked over and leaned into where Terry was seated. "What regulars?" Iggy puckered his lips in consideration. "Uh... he said he was gonna kick your ass, Pops. Said he could beat down all of us Milkoviches with his hands tied behind his back."
"That goatfucker said WHAT? Get the fuck in the car!" Iggy slid over the hood and hopped in as the battered vehichle did a U-turn and peeled off down the road. He risked a glance over his shoulder, and saw the ginger kid hurrying down the steps, Mickey hovering in the doorway behind him. Iggy let out a deep exhale, and reached into his pocket, fishing around for his brass knuckles. Accepting that he'd have deeper cuts to tend to later, Iggy smiled contentedly to himself.