Chapter Text
Ian's driver opened his door, letting him out into the crisp air of a Chicago winter. He had called the council earlier to inform them about the meeting.
This meeting is extremely important. Most people consider the Irish Mob practically extinct. They believe that after the St. Valentine's Day Massacre in 19-fucking-29, they left Chicago and hid until there weren't any traces of the Irish Mob left.
But that isn't true, they're still here.
Still thriving.
Well for the most part.
Ian had been The Captain for a few years now, and they aren't going anywhere.
Not forward.
Not backward.
They're just sitting there; still.
But today, Ian would make sure the council listened to him. There would be no convincing him to drop it or change his mind.
Ian walked into Kelly's Pub. Kelly's was where their meetings usually went down. He took off his suit coat and hung it up.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Gallagher," the owner's niece, Anya Kelly, said when she spotted the tall ginger.
"Good afternoon to you as well, and Anya please call me Ian," He replied quite chipper.
"You seem more excited than usual," Anya continued while wiping down the bar, "does it happen to have anything to do with the four men in fancy-ass suits that are in our basement?"
"As a matter of fact, it does," Ian continued as he made his way down to the basement, which used to be a speakeasy back in the day. "Enjoy the rest of your afternoon Anya."
Ian entered the room and saw everyone sitting at the small rectangular table. He greeted everyone, respectfully. Walking down to the end of the table, taking a seat.
"Thank you all for being here on time," Ian paused looking around the table at Lip, Kenny, Ryan, and Andrew, "I know I've mentioned this before, and you all thought it was a terrible idea, but I think we really need to consider this."
"Ian, we know what you're gonna say, and it's not a goo-," Lip started before Ian stood up and cut him off.
"Look Lip, I know you're older than me and all that shit, but if you don't shut the fuck up and listen to me for once," Ian spoke harshly looking down at Lip. He just leaned back against his chair giving full attention to his younger brother. "We are at a fucking standstill, meaning we aren't moving, we're just stuck, and I'm changing that. We're having a blowout," he paused briefly before continuing, "tonight."
"The hell you mean tonight," Kenny Abraham, the clan chief, interrupted. Kenny could be a conceited defiant piece of shit sometimes, but he knows how to get a job done right. Crisp, sharp, and clean. If you could call their job clean.
He was the first person Ian let into his inner circle of the mob, aside from Lip, of course. Before Kenny became the clan chief he slightly helped out with public affairs. Until one week Ian's meds went out of balance and he was at an all time low, around it being the 8th year since Fiona was murdered, Kenny stepped in till Ian got better.
Everyone stared at Kenny waiting for him to continue. "So you just planned this shit without going over it with us first," he barked out, his face turning as red as his hair.
"Kenny don't pull that shit with me. I've brought this up before, but you all shot me down, made me feel like a fucking dumbass," Ian stated aggressively.
"Listen, Ian, you're not thinking clearly. I-," Kenny tried to reason, but Ian wasn't having it.
"I'm thinking crystal-fucking-clear. Seriously, drop it. I made up my mind, and I'm not changing it. I'll call around. It’s gonna be at the mansion," Ian said, the last part more to Lip than anyone else, as he sat down. Lip just nodded at his stubborn brother.
"Yeah aight faggot," Kenny mumbled as he stormed out of the basement, leaving Ian with a smirk across his face.
Ian took out his phone and called Marko Stelmach, the Ukrainian Mafia Capo. Marko answered with a gruff, "Hello," his Ukrainian accent strong.
"Marko. Hey, It's Ian Gallagher."
"Ahh, Babyface. What can I do for you?"
"I'm having a blowout tonight. I wanted to let you know that you and a few of your men are invited."
Mickey sat down on his bed breathing out a deep sigh. He had just finished an arms deal in Lincoln Park when he got a phone call from Marko Stelmach.
"Good Afternoon, Mr. Stelmach."
"Mikhailo, I’ve been thinking, and how would you feel about doing a personal job for me?"
"I would love to, Sir."
"I was hoping you'd say that. I need you to go to Ian Gallagher's blowout in Near North Side and set up an arms deal."
Gallagher. Why did that sound so familiar.
"Of course."
"Do you have a suit from any of your previous major arms deals."
“Yeah.”
"That's good. I'll send one of my drivers down to get you at six o'clock."
And with that Mickey ended the phone call. Laying back, he tossed his phone to the side of his bed. This was gonna be a long-ass fucking day. But then again it was barely past 2:15 PM, so he decided to take a short nap.
Lip walked into Ian's room and sat down on his bed with a glass of water in his hand. Finishing getting ready, Ian slid the knot of his tie up to his neck. Ian walked into his bathroom and took out his pill container.
He walked back into his room, taking a seat next to Lip before grabbing the glass from his hand. He took his meds quietly before turning to his older brother, "It's been ten years, officially," he stated, sitting the glass down.
"Yeah, I know," Lip replied with a deep sigh. “Ian, don’t you think it’s time you let go. Y'know, let yourself live a little. Get laid."
Ian scoffed and got up planning to leave the room and distract himself with the blowout.
"Ian, I'm serious. You spent all of your teen years and early twenties stressing over a murder that happened ten fucking years ago."
"Lip, it's not just any fucking murder. It's our sister's murder!"
"You don't think I fucking know that. I was the one who came home and saw you fucking hyperventilating in the corner before I even saw our dead sister. I was the one who called the ambulance. I was the one who went to the morgue and saw her pale, lifeless body. I made sure we stayed afloat," the dirty blond said, walking in front of his fuming brother.
Lip looked deep into his brother's green eyes and grabbed his shoulders, lightly. "I'm not saying give up completely. I'm just saying you deserve a break. You've been focused on this for the better half of your life."
Ian nodded defiantly, then walked out of the room.
Ian and Mickey were at different ends of the bar, one of them wasted, the other, not so much.
Ian was standing, downing his fifth shot of whiskey. Trying to drink away the pain. The whole "it being a decade since his sister was brutally murdered" thing taking a toll on him. It didn't take much for him to start to relax. Not with his decision to drink right after taking his meds.
Mickey was sitting at the end of the bar, near the staircase leading to the upstairs bedrooms. He had done his job. He made a deal with Lip Gallagher and had a meeting with the group of pale ass fuckers, so now he was letting loose. He downed his second shot of Jameson Irish Whiskey trying to drain away thoughts of his mother on her deathbed. He looked to his right making eye contact with a tall ginger whose eyes looked like they belonged in the ocean.
Mickey gave the man a quick once-over before turning back to the front of the bar. "Can I get another round?" Mickey asked the bartender. He simply nodded and went to grab the bottle of Irish Whiskey.
Ian saw the bartender pour the smooth bitter liquor into two shot glasses. He stumbled over to Mickey, determined to get to know the raven-haired man or more so, to get into his pants. Right before the terrible pickup line left his mouth, he tripped over a bar stool, Mickey catching him.
"Woah, Woah! Hey there, tough guy," Mickey said, gripping Ian's biceps, and pushing him towards a stool. "I would offer you a shot, but uh, it looks like you might have already had one too many," he chuckled, before downing one out of his two shots.
Sitting down Ian's eyes never left the other man's face, analyzing it. Eyes trained on his throat, watching as he swallowed down the smooth liquor, feeling his dick pulse.
"The fuck you lookin' at?"
"You."
"Oh yeah? And what the fuck do you want."
"To fuck you."
Mickey licked the side of his mouth, a frequent tic of his, looking Ian up and down.
Ian stumbled to his bedroom door, dragging Mickey with him. He opened the door, letting the surprisingly shorter man into his room. After walking in and slamming his door, Ian grabbed Mickey by his waist, spinning him around and shoved him up against the door, eliciting a gasp from Mickey.
Ian leaned in to kiss Mickey's plump lips, only for the raven-haired man to turn his head, not wanting that kind of intimacy. In doing so, he gave the lust-driven man in front of him full access to his neck. Ignoring the kiss he was denied, Ian began trailing kisses from the man's jaw to his collarbone. Going back up to nibble on his earlobe, receiving an appreciative hum.
Mickey let out the smallest moan when Ian bit down on the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet while gripping his ass, rubbing their clothed groins together. Mickey moved his hands to the front of the redhead's pants working on getting his belt and his pants open. He smirked, successfully getting them open.
Ian started pulling them toward his bed as Mickey slid his hand down Ian's slacks, rubbing him through his snug briefs, feeling him harden beneath his touch. "Fuck, what's your name," he asked Mickey through a harsh breath, kicking his shoes off and pushing the blue-eyed man onto his bed.
"Mickey," he responded, crawling back towards the headboard.
"Hmm, Mickey, I like that," Ian remarked seductively. He climbed up on the bed and removed Mickey's shoes. His eyes never leaving Mickey's. Crawling towards him like a predator hunting its prey. He hovered over Mickey's clothed dick, staring up at him intensely through his eyelashes.
"Mhm, you?" Mickey hummed.
"Ian," he stated curiously, wondering how the shorter man didn't know who he was. Ian was slightly confused, but let it pass when he saw Mickey reach down and start to undo his pants. Ian shot up off the bed and went to take his pants off his body. Not having to do much thanks to Mickey.
They both started discarding the rest of their clothes till they were left in just their underwear.
Mickey was the first to pull his underwear off his body, biting back a moan as he watched Ian rub himself through his briefs. He stuck his index and middle finger between his lips lathering them up with his spit, eyes locked on Ian's body.
He took his fingers out of his mouth, bringing his hand between his legs and circling his hole with the tip of his middle finger, making his breath hitch.
Ian pushed the waistband of his underwear down. Pulling out his swollen cock, stroking it slowly as he watched Mickey. "Fuck," he stated breathlessly.
"Y-you got the stuff?" The smaller man moaned as he slipped a finger into his tight hole. Slowly beginning to stretch himself. His main focus on Ian jerking himself, ever so slowly.
"Fuck, yes."
Ian stopped and pulled his briefs off before going to one of his nightstands and grabbed the bottle of lube and a condom, tossing them both on the bed. He walked back to the end of the bed and grabbed Mickey's ankle pulling him down so his feet were dangling off the bed.
Ian ran his hands up Mickey's thighs, rubbing the delicious pale skin. Getting closer and closer to the leaking erection. Crystal blue eyes never leaving sea green as Ian grabbed the other man's dick spreading his precome around the head, making him shudder. He brought his thumb to his mouth, moaning at the taste. "Shit Mickey, turn around," the redhead urged, tapping the smaller man's hip.
Mickey complied, turning onto his knees. He pulled one of the million pillows down to him, resting his forehead against it. Ian ran his hand up the back of his thigh till he reached his ass, groping the soft flesh. Mickey let out a groan into the pillow, pushing back into the teasing man's hand.
Ian took the hint and reached over for the lube. He applied a generous amount to his fingers before he slowly inserted his index finger in curling it. Mickey hummed as he continued to stretch him looking for his prostate.
Ian quickened his pace, adding another finger to the mix and changing the angle, finding exactly what he was looking for. He continued to hit that spot over and over again, making Mickey moan into the pillow and shake under him.
Ian bent forward and nipped above Mickey's plump ass.
"Ian, shit. Get in me." Mickey blurted out, spreading his legs and arching his back. Causing Ian's fingers to go deeper.
"Fuck yes," Ian said, slipping his fingers out of Mickey's ass to grab the condom.
Ian ripped the condom open and rolled it onto his pulsing dick. He grabbed the bottle of lube and covered his dick with the substance before he aligned his tip with Mickey's rim and pushed in. He sucked in a harsh breath as he slid into the man's warm entrance.
Mickey sighed at the feeling of being full.
They moaned when Ian slid all the way in. He started with a slow pace, giving Mickey sometime to adjust to his size.
Mickey, however, didn't want to waste any time and needed to be fucked now. So he started to move back and forth at a faster pace. "F-fuck me," he stuttered between a moan when one of his rough thrusts made Ian's hard shaft hit his prostate.
Ian grunted in response and grabbed his hips, harshly, digging his nails into the soft skin, causing half-crescent shaped marks. He started pounding into him with abandon.
The only thing being heard was skin hitting skin, Ian's groans, and Mickey's muffled moans.
Ian wanted nothing more than to hear the beautiful man's moans, not stifled by the pillow. He bent forward and bit his earlobe, "Mickey, you feel so good, fuck," he moaned, feeling Mickey clench around him. Ian threaded his fingers through the dark hair and pulled, making him groan, moving both of them up, so the other man's back was against his chest and his head laid on Ian's shoulder, never slowing his unmerciful thrusts.
The new angle allowed Ian to hit Mickey's prostate dead-on, over and over again. Mickey was shaking and biting his lip, trying to stop his whimpers from flying out. He brought his hand down to his bobbing cock and started stroking it at an unrelenting pace.
Ian's head was still resting between his shoulder and neck, moaning and cursing into Mickey's ear. "Shit, you close?" He rasped, licking a stripe on the shell of his ear.
"Fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes," he babbled as he continued to tug his leaking shaft.
When Ian bit down on the juncture that connects his shoulder and neck, yet again, the Ukrainian man lost it, "ебать, Ian!" He cursed in Ukrainian as he came in long stripes, some hitting the headboard while the rest dribbled down his hand. He went limp in the redhead's arms as he continued to fuck him, searching for his own release.
The foreign language made Ian come in an instant. "Jesus Christ," he sighed as he released into the condom. He slid out of Mickey and helped him lay on his back. Ian took off the condom and tossed it into the bin beside his bed before helping Mickey clean up.
Ian crawled up his bed and turned onto his back but kept his face towards Mickey. "What was that, Russian?" He wondered.
Mickey, not having enough energy to be his usual sarcastic self, just muttered, "Ukrainian," he corrected.
Their breaths steadied, and they both passed out, on accident.
Mickey woke up and took in his surroundings. Unaware and confused about where he was at, or who he was with. There was a strong arm draped over his side, pinning him to the mattress. He slowly and carefully brought the arm to its owner. He sat up and rubbed his eyes tiredly. The man that was just wrapped around him stirred, moving to lay on his back. Mickey took a second to take in the beautiful man next to him.
Red hair.
Babyface.
Oh shit! Mickey thought, realization dawning on him.
He slept with the fucking Irish Mob boss.
"Shit, shit, shit," Mickey whispered, getting up to find his phone, putting his clothes back on as quietly as possible, trying not to wake fucking Big Red. He found his phone next to a bottle of lube, immediately being reminded of what happened. He checked the time, it was 3am.
Mickey heard some things about the Irish Mob boss being gay, but he thought it was just something they said to try and hurt his reputation or some shit.
He made his way out of Ian's room, but not before taking one last glance at the redhead.
Fuck, he was hot. One of the finest men he'd ever slept with, though that list was little, he was at the very top.
After walking down the stairs without making one sound and seeing a man guarding the front door who looked like he was taller than fucking Giannis Antetokounmpo. He was making his way through a narrow hallway, easily getting to the back door that was located in the kitchen.
He quickly got to the CTA station and got ready for his long ride back to the South Side.
Mickey was walking home, shivering with his hands shoved down his dress pants pockets. He was really regretting not grabbing his coat before he left Ian's house, oh wait no, I'm sorry, I mean before he left the fucking Irish Mob Boss's Mansion! After sleeping with him, he wasn't even that drunk.
He walked up the steps to the only house he'd ever known and unlocked the door letting himself in.
He checked on his mom, making sure she was doing okay. He wasn't supposed to stay out this late. He's usually the only one there during the late nights that seep into early mornings, he's supposed to make sure she has everything she needs before he goes out on a job.
Iggy's always on a fucking run, getting all different types of mega fuckin' illegal drugs.
Mandy has her own apartment and has to be at the whore house 24-fucking-7 to make sure no one gets too handsy with her whores. But honestly fuck that, she hasn't visited her mom in months.
And Colin's a fucking hitman, so he's kinda always on the clock.
It's really only Mickey and his dying mother.
With her chest rising slightly in an even motion, he assumed she was asleep. Mickey was about to head to his room when he heard a soft whisper come from his mother.
"Mikhailo."
"Hey ma, do you need anything?" He asked, rushing over to her and sitting on her bed, carefully.
Mickey didn't know how much longer he would be able to speak English around her. The brain tumor she had due to her brain cancer was causing dementia. Day by day, she was forgetting more and more of the learned language. Water slipping through one's fingertips, harder and harder to grasp, in the end, they both just gave up.
She furrowed her eyebrows, looking up at her youngest son.
Mickey took in her features and asked again, "Чи тобі щось потрібно?"
She smiled at him, "Ні, ні, я просто хвилювався. Я не міг спати. Ти не робив нічого небезпечного, чи не так?" Mama Milkovich questioned him.
Mickey audibly gulped, he knew he'd fucked up, but he could handle it. Couldn't he?
"Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich!"
"Ма, заспокойся. Я добре, все добре."
"Мені потрібно тут зі мною, добре? Ви не можете поранитися. Обіцяй мені, що ти будеш у безпеці."
"я обіцяю," Mickey said, kissing his mother's forehead trying to keep his tears from falling. As much as she needed him there with her, he needed her ten times more.
Mickey left her room, cracking the door.
Once he made it to his room, he sat on his bed and lit a well-needed cigarette.
After laying in bed for about 30 minutes, he realized he probably wasn't gonna fall back asleep, so he took a shower.
Ian walked through the door of the infamous Gallagher House.
Fuzzy.
A sense of familiarity washed over him, as he through his bookbag onto a couch.
He had rushed home, he couldn't wait to tell Fiona that he had been promoted in JROTC.
She was the only one that cared. Lip thought it was just some fucking phase, a dream. A dream that was a faraway star an unreachable unachievable little dream.
"Fiona," Ian yelled loudly, looking around the front of the house. He went upstairs but didn't see her. The worried teen shouted his sister's name again.
He stood at the top of the stairs that lead to the kitchen. He felt the eerie silence pull him down the staircase.
Next to their washer and dryer, lied Fiona with her fear-filled brown eyes. Contrasting against her pale inanimate skin was the pool of blood under her.
He tried to say her name, but his words were interrupted by the vomit that forced its way out of him. He felt empty and useless. He fell to the ground. While holding the back of his hand to his mouth, he scooted back to the wall by the downstairs bathroom.
Ian couldn't stop staring at her bloody hands.
His vision was becoming cloudy. His breathing erratic. He couldn't catch his breath.
He was having a panic attack. He couldn't breathe.
He saw Lip walk into the house and then the ambulance, it only seemed like seconds, but it had to be longer than that.
His breathing still out of control.
Ian shot up in his bed catching his breath. He felt sweat drip down his back, sending shivers down his spine.
He glanced at the clock. It was only 5am.
His head was pounding, and he was slowly regretting drinking so much.
He could barely remember anything that had happened last night.
Ian vaguely remembered a body against and under him throughout the night; it was burnt into his skin.
The tall man stood up, leaving his bed. His eyes were squeezed shut. Fuck, he really needed some aspirin.
After stumbling over to the bathroom and taking two aspirin, he made his way back out to his bedroom. He saw his bottle of lube on the floor and tilted his head. Obviously not remembering that part of the night clearly, yet.
So many thoughts were rushing through his head, and it was not helping with his hangover. He needed to clear his head.
Ian threw on his winter running wear. He headed downstairs to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water, before filling up his water bottle and heading out of the house.
Mickey finished making his mom's favorite Ukrainian stew and went to go take a shower to rid himself of the fucking smoked meat smell on his body.
After he stepped out of the shower and wrapped the towel around his waist, he wiped the fog off the mirror, he looked at himself in the reflective surface and pushed a strand of hair back into place. His eyes widened as he saw a bite mark on his trapezius muscle.
He got closer to the mirror and hissed, "What the fuck, Gallagher!"
Mickey hurried to his bedroom. He dried off and put on his underwear and jeans. He rummaged through his closet for anything that wasn't a suit or that had fucking cut sleeves. He moved on to his dresser and searched. He literally had about two normal t-shirts.
He finally found a black tee that barely covered the mark.
He made his way to the kitchen to make his mom a bowl of the Ukrainian dish. He inhaled the smell, making his stomach grumble. He scooped up some of the stew and blew on it, then ate it. He repeated the action till the bowl was empty. Guess he was hungrier than he thought.
He went to his mother's room and sat the bowl on the tray next to her bed. "Ма, я зробив тобі тушонку. Так само, як бабуся, коли я був молодшим" He spoke softly.
"Дякую, мій хлопче," She said, her eyes trailing from his face down to his neck. Immediately, Mickey ran his hand up to cover his neck, his face growing hot.
Mama Milkovich squinted at him before his phone rang.
"я повинен взяти це. Побачимось. Я тебе люблю." The Ukrainian spluttered, walking towards the door.
"Я теж тебе люблю." She sighed, watching her son leave the room.
Mickey answered it as he walked into his room.
"Hello?"
"Mickey Milkovich, it's Lip Gallagher. We spoke yesterday. You go by Mouse, right, Mouse Milkovich?"
"Yeah, I remember. And no, not really."
"Okay. Mickey, it is then."
"You actually need somethin' or did you just call me to ask about my name?" Mickey inclined.
"I wanted you to come over so we can talk business. Can you be over in 2 hours?"
"Yeah, I'll be there."
Mickey hung up and walked over to his dresser to grab his Glock 19 from the first drawer. He put the gun in the back of his pants. Mickey threw his shirt over it to keep it covered.
He grabbed one of his brother's coats and left his house to go run some errands around the North Side before heading to The Gallagher Mansion for his meeting with Lip.
Ian finished his run, it was now 6am. He made it back to the mansion. His thermal sweatshirt sticking to his body, strands of hair sticking to his forehead.
He ran up the steps and unlocked the door to enter his home. Lip was yelling at him before he opened the door.
"Where the fuck were you?" Lip snapped as his brother walked past him.
"The fuck does it look like?" Ian barked, turning around, looking down at his older brother, "I went on a goddamn run like I do every fucking morning."
"And you thought it was a smart idea for you not to bring any of your five fucking bodyguards."
"You mean the five guards you hired! Seriously Lip, I can protect myself." Ian exclaimed, looking extremely tense.
"Okay, okay. Ian, you good? You look really on edg-"
"I took your advice," Ian mocked, putting air quotes around the word advice.
"You got laid?"
"Yes. I think."
"Y-y-you think? Ian, how the fuck do you think you got laid."
"I was really drunk. Most of the night's a blur."
"I'm not even gonna lecture you about drinking on your meds cause we've had that conversation one too many times. I'm a little more curious about who it was. Considering you didn't leave the house last night and I was convinced most of the people here were either straight or fuckin' married."
"Lip, I actually don't remember. I mean there's like little patches, but that's really it."
"Well, what patches?"
"I'm not talking to you about the sex I had last night."
"Ian, come on! Features and shit. It was good, right? If you wanna see this guy again maybe I can help."
"I don't need your help to get laid, and that was shown last night," Ian said, but he had already listed off a few features in his head.
Black hair. Not brown like most of the people there, fuckin' Russians.
Pale soft skin, the softest he'd ever felt.
And piercing blue eyes, the bluest he'd ever seen.
"Okay, fine. You have a meeting with Mickey Milkovich in like an hour and a half."
Ian's ears perked at the name.
Mickey.
Ian tilted his head and looked at his brother through squinted eyes.
"Arms dealer. We need to bulk up."
"Lip that's not what I meant by saying we need allies. Is he a part of any organized crime or crime family?"
"I don't know. We spoke last night, and he gave me his number. Now you need to get in the shower cause that smell isn't very pleasing," Lip said, scrunching up his face in disgust.
Mickey arrived on time, which was normal for him. He's never late to anything that can keep his income steady. He was gonna get this over with, and then head back home.
He stepped up to the door and knocked. Mickey waited a few seconds before the huge door swung open, and he was greeted by Lip Gallagher.
Lip let him in and said, looking at the tall-ass guards then back to Mickey, "They're gonna need to pat you down."
"What? Why?"
"You're at the... Irish Mob Boss's mansion. Did you just expect us to let you walk in here?"
Mickey took off his coat and handed it to Lip, rolling his eyes. He raised his arms and tilted his head at one of the large men.
The fucking 6 foot 11 bodyguard patted him down till he got to his waist. He stopped and lifted his shirt.
The other guard, who was much smaller, pulled the Glock out of the back of Mickey's pants.
The guy who was at least a whole body bigger than him pinned his arms to his back and shoved him against a wall.
"Why the fuck'd you bring a Glock?" Lip sighed.
"I'm a fuckin' arms dealer, you dick! What you just expected me to walk in here without a fuckin' strap," Mickey mocked, his face pressed hard against the wall.
The two bodyguards looked back at Lip for what to do next. He just sighed and flicked his arm up at them, signaling for them to let him go.
Well, this guy wasn't gonna be easy to work with.
Mickey snatched his gun back and shoved it into his pants. "So you wanna talk here, or you got an office?" He asked the dirty blond.
Lip chuckled, "The meeting's with Ian, not with me. I'll be in there but this is a business transaction between you two."
Mickey's face flushed at the thought of seeing Ian again. The redhead probably didn't even remember him, he was damn near close to blackout drunk when they met.
"C'mon, he doesn't bite," Lip smiled, walking towards Ian's office down the hall.
Mickey stood there for a second before mumbling and following Lip, "You sure 'bout that?"
When they entered Ian's office, he was going over a file and had the sexiest all-black suit on with a white tie.
"Mouse Milkovich," Ian said when the door to his office opened, "what is that, Russian?"
"Ukrainian," he corrected, "and it's Mickey."
At that Ian's head shot up, part of his memory from last night resurfacing. He stood up abruptly, muttering, "Mickey." He stuck his hand out awestricken by the man in front of him, the very familiar man in front of him. "I-I'm Ian."
Mickey gladly shook his hand.
Both of them felt the butterflies in their stomach liven and have a field day. It felt like it was just the two of them as they stood there with their hands and eyes connected.
Ian's green eyes left Mickey's blue ones immediately as he heard Lip clear his throat. He removed his hand from Mickey's tight grasp, slowly. "Please have a seat," Ian said, his hand pointing to the seat in between Lip and Kenny.
Mickey walked over to the seat and sat down. He didn't know why, but Kenny gave him an odd feeling; it was probably cause his red hair looked fake, too orangey.
As Mickey sat down the collar of his shirt moved, allowing Ian to see the raw bite mark. He gulped and his eyes widened. Ian doesn't remember much from last night, but he does remember that fucking mind-blowing orgasm and what actions happened the seconds before and after. He was slowly putting the pieces together.
Mickey caught Ian's gaze and rushed to fix his collar.
Mickey spoke first to get the meeting going, "So I usually have my purchases done in the South Side, mainly South Shore Docks. You tell me what type of guns and set a price, then I negotiate, and we get a date and time to meet."
During the meeting, they couldn't keep their eyes off each other.
Mickey's eyes traced along Ian's long fingers, which were writing down something in a notebook. Looking at his fiery red locks, his freckles everywhere.
Ian was focused on Mickey's blue eyes and pale skin, as his brother and Kenny talked business. He only threw in a word or two when they directed the conversation towards him. Lip and Kenny definitely catching on to his infatuation with the Ukrainian arms dealer
The three men in the room that weren't Ukrainian agreed on which guns to purchase. Ian said he'd pay six hundred for it all, but Mickey talked him up to seven-fifty with no problem.
They were gonna meet on Friday, which was in three days, at 7pm at the docks.
Mickey and Ian could manage this flirtatious feeling they felt towards each other, right? These were just dumb thoughts and the knowledge of, 'Oh, he's hot and get this, we've fucked," right? The familiarity of their bodies was the only thing pulling them towards each other, right?