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It had been three weeks after his discharge from the hospital that Ian had announced that he was moving back in with Mickey. Mickey couldn’t say he had a problem; he’d been working towards asking Ian anyway. Sure, his house was crowded as fuck, what with Svetlana, Yev and a few of the Rub and Tug girls occupying Terry’s old room, Iggy and Colin on the sofas and Mandy in her room, but Mickey figured one more couldn’t hurt. Svet hadn’t been particularly enthusiastic as she had often been on the receiving end of Ian’s mania induced rages, but there was fuck all she could do about it. Ian would just have to do a little grovelling. Maybe some cooking. And diaper changing.
“It’s a fucking pig sty, Mick!”
Ian was standing in the doorway, staring in horror at the culmination of detritus on Mickey’s bedroom floor. Mickey rolled his eyes and dumped Ian’s bag on the bed.
“Calm your tits, Cinderella, some of it’s yours.”
Ian glared at him, “Bullshit, I’ve not been here!”
Mickey stooped and extracted a green shirt and a pair of jeans from the rubble, “Whose is this then, hm?”
Ian snatched the garments and dropped them on top of his bag, “Fuck you.”
“Promises, promises.”
Ian groaned and shoved him, “I’m not having sex with you in this pit. Clean it.”
Mickey sighed wearily. They’d been there for five seconds and Ian was already bitching. Mickey always likened it to a dog marking its territory but where a dog would piss, Ian unleashed a torrent of complaints. He supposed it was Ian’s way of welcoming himself home.
“Seriously, Mick?” Ian dangled a pair of boxers from his finger, “These have a hole in them. And the elastic’s snapped.”
Mickey looked heavenward; what had he done to deserve Ian coming in like a mess opposed wrecking ball? Had he always been this nightmarish? Mickey couldn’t remember. Ian had too many levels of bitchiness, directed at a vast spectrum of things.
“Jesus, you should go into housekeeping,” Mickey muttered, taking the offending boxers and tossing them into the trash bag that had appeared out of nowhere.
Ian glowered and continued extracted items of clothing; tossing them haphazardly towards the trash bag.
“Hey!” Mickey protested as a pair of his jeans went sailing past, “Those are fine!”
“They’re fucking filthy,” Ian snapped, hurling yet another t-shirt across to the steadily growing pile of clothes.
“Put them in the fucking laundry pile then!”
Ian glowered at him, “There’s only one pile, asshole. Sort out through the stuff you want to keep.”
“You’re a fucking monster,” Mickey griped, stooping down and beginning to salvage his clothes, “For fuck’s sake, this is Hugo Boss!”
He shook out the sweatshirt and placed it reverently on the laundry pile.
Ian scoffed, “What, the one you stole?”
“Hey, man,” Mickey shrugged indifferently, “Times are tough. And that douche was rich as shit.”
“Didn’t you put him in the hospital?”
Mickey wracked his brains, “Can’t remember. Broke his ribs, I think.”
Ian sniffed, “That’s a yes, then.”
Mickey shrugged again but neglected to comment. It was probably better not to further engage; not now that Ian was in burning martyr mode. He didn’t want to scald himself.
“Are these Yevgeny’s?” Ian held up a pair of booties. Mickey stared at him incredulously.
“Well unless my fucking shoes shrunk in the wash, I’d assume so.”
Ian muttered something before setting the booties down on the bedside table. Oh, so Yevgeny’s clothes got preferential treatment while Mickey’s got tossed in the trash? Nice.
“You’re a bitch,” Mickey grumbled, finally managing to separate the dirty items from the apparently hazardous ones.
Ian scowled, “Takes one to know one, Mick. Still, ‘least you’ve been domesticated.”
“Fuck you,” Mickey retorted, getting to his feet and depositing the pile of dirty clothes in the laundry basket, “I’m not a fucking dog.”
“I beg to differ,” came a voice from the doorway. Mickey groaned.
“Skank, who asked you?”
Mandy rolled her eyes, leaning nonchalantly against the door frame, “Calling it like I see it, Mick.”
“What do you want?” Mickey snapped, slamming the basket lid shut with far more force than was necessary. Jesus Christ, what did a guy have to do to get laid in this fucking place? Apart from spring fucking clean and entertain his bitch sister?
“Came to say hi to the psycho,” she grinned over at Ian who flipped her off before crossing the room to hug her.
“Hey, babe,” he mumbled into her hair. Mickey made vomiting noises.
“You look good,” she cupped his face with both hands and turned it gently from side to side, “Still pretty.”
“You hitting on me, Milkovich?”
Mandy punched him lightly in the arm, “Asshole. You scared me, you know.”
“I know.”
“Please,” Mickey was somewhat shocked to see tears in her eyes. Mandy never cried, “Don’t do anything like that again.”
Ian pulled her against him and nuzzled the top of her head, “I won’t. I promise.”
“Better not,” Mandy sniffed, “Or I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” Ian kissed her forehead, “You’re stuck with me, I swear.”
“Good,” Mandy said, disentangling herself and shoving him playfully before looking pointedly at Mickey, “Keep an eye on him, capisce?”
Mickey clicked his tongue impatiently, “Jesus, you want me to put him on a fucking leash?”
“Whoa,” Mandy held her hands up, eyebrows raised, “Don’t need to hear about your kinks.”
“My fucking…Christ, can you leave now?”
“Ok, I’m going, jeez,” she snapped before leaning up to kiss Ian’s cheek, “Good to have you back.”
Ian smiled, “Good to be back.”
With a last final glare at Mickey, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the room outside. Mickey made a point of slamming the door shut behind her; distantly wondering whether his ‘keep the fuck out’ sign would ever actually deter any intruders. Fat fucking chance, given the sheer number of people in the house. Fucker’s didn’t even have the common courtesy to knock before bursting in.
He turned to face Ian, whose head was cocked slightly to the side, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a half smile. Mickey swallowed. God fucking damn it there was that look again. The look that sent his irritation running for the fucking hills as an overwhelming hunger took up residence. The expression that transported him back to last winter; when he stood on the dance floor of a piece of shit club; looking like a rabbit in fucking headlights as he scanned the space. The expression that removed any sense of judgement or shame. Ian silently challenging him to…
Mickey was barely aware of his decision to lunge forward. All he was aware of was the hot slide of Ian’s lips against his and the dips and juts of wood imprinting themselves along his back as he was propelled against the door. Ian pressed his body against Mickey’s, thigh easing between his legs as he lay siege to Mickey’s mouth, jaw and throat.
Mickey could barely keep up; helpless to the savage onslaught of teeth and tongue. He fisted a hand in Ian’s hair and yanked his head back; latching on to the base of Ian’s throat and sucking hard in retaliation. Ian hissed and dug his fingers in Mickey’s hips as he continued to bite and suck at the already purple bruise.
“Fuck…” Ian moaned as Mickey shoved a hand between them and cupped the hard outline of Ian’s cock. Heat and the soft cotton of Ian’s sweatpants pushed against his hand as Ian’s hips instinctively jerked forward. Mickey slid his other hand around the back of Ian’s neck and pulled him down for another kiss.
It was as violent and sloppy as the last; tongues probing and entwining, teeth clashing and scraping. Ian seized the hem of Mickey’s shirt; toying with it before pulling it over his head and off. Mickey responded in kind, nearly tearing Ian’s tee in his enthusiasm.
Ian plunged his hand down to grope Mickey’s ass and tug him forward.
“Bed, now,” he gasped against Mickey’s lips. Mickey nodded frantically, grasping Ian’s hips and walking him backwards.
Ian winced as Mickey shoved him down, his long legs colliding with the wooden bed frame. Mickey quickly covered Ian’s mouth with his own to stall the complaint he knew was coming. Ian sighed in defeat, pulling Mickey’s body flat against his once more and rutting against him.
“Christ,” Ian whispered, curving his hands over Mickey’s shoulder blades and running his fingers along the edge of the bone. Mickey shivered; moaning at the insistent grind of Ian’s hard on against his. He spread his legs wider and rocked his own hips down, eliciting a grunt from Ian.
With a slide and a push, Ian was on top, hemming Mickey in with his hands either side of his head. Ian’s chest was heaving, pupils blown wide as they darted restlessly over Mickey’s face. Mickey chewed his lower lip, fighting to remain still. His cock ached, his face felt too hot and all his attention was focused on the knees either side of his thighs, on the body hovering just above his. Ian’s tongue darted out quickly to wet his lips before he seized Mickey’s jaw.
The next kiss was beyond bruising; Ian’s fingers digging painfully into Mickey’s jaw bone, teeth sinking into Mickey’s lower lip, wet lips prising Mickey’s apart, their tongues waging war on each other. It was raw, animalistic, instinctive and so fucking good. They were running on impulse; sex starved and craving satiation.
Mickey scraped his nails down the length of Ian’s back before sliding his fingers beneath the waistband of his sweat pants. Ian’s next breath was a hiss as Mickey squeezed his ass, taking care to dig his nails in a little. Ian retaliated with a sharp bite to the throat, sinking his teeth in and sucking hard enough to draw a goddamn yelp out of Mickey.
Taking care to push his tongue hard against the now throbbing bruise, Ian raised his head and gazed down at Mickey; panting, face flushed, hair in disarray. One of these days, Mickey was going to blow his load just by looking at that perfect fucking face.
Ian slid a hand between them and dug a finger under the waistband of Mickey’s jeans, “Want you to ride me.”
Mickey groaned, his cock jerking at the quiet demand, “Fuck, Ian.”
“Is that a yes?” Ian breathed, popping open the button and easing the zipper down.
“Yes, fuck, please,” Mickey’s thoughts had vacated the fucking premises, replaced with a nonsensical stream of fuckfuckfuckfuckpleasepleasepleaseneedtocomeneedtocomeneedtofuckingcome.
Ian smiled and leant down to press his mouth against Mickey’s ear, “Come so hard like that, don’t you?”
Mickey closed his eyes as Ian began to push his jeans and boxers down over his hips.
“Going to nail you so hard when you come,” Ian wrapped a hand around Mickey’s newly freed erection. Mickey bit his lip hard against a particularly mortifying moan, “Going to push you on your back and fuck you until you get hard for me again.”
“Ian, please…fuck,” Mickey writhed, his cock throbbing and pulsing; responding to the steady slide of Ian’s hand.
“Please what?” Ian twisted his wrist and increased his pace, “You going to come already?”
“Yes,” Mickey’s muscles began to tense, balls tightening, “Ian…”
Just as his orgasm was becoming inevitable, Ian abruptly stopped and removed his hand all together. Mickey groaned; both out of frustration and relief. His cock jerked like he was coming but there was no relief, no satisfaction. He was still agonisingly hard.
He glared up at Ian, who was almost intolerably smug, “Are we doing this or what?”
Ian laughed, “So long as you come when I say. We need to work on that restraint of yours.”
Mickey rolled his eyes but ran his hands up Ian’s thighs and plucked at his waistband. He frowned. “Any particular reason you’ve still got these on?”
Ian grinned and abruptly rolled off and away; swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing. Mickey struggled out of his own jeans, kicking them in the approximate direction of the laundry basket. Ian sniggered when he missed.
“Your aim is terrible,” he remarked, tugging his sweats down and off without further preamble.
Mickey sighed and didn’t bother to comment. His brain was currently residing in his dick, so it was fair to say that any kind of response would have converted to a plea. Ian was taking his merry fucking time, rifling through the bedside drawer until he retrieved the bottle of lube.
“You’re out of condoms.”
Mickey passed a hand over his face and groaned, “Ian, if you’re not in me in the next ten seconds, I swear to fucking God I will blue ball you.”
Ian sighed and muttered something about patience before climbing over to straddle Mickey’s thighs. He glared down at him as he drizzled lube onto his fingers.
“You blue ball me,” he said, warming the slick quickly as he rubbed it over his thumb and first two fingers, “And I will fucking end you.”
Mickey smiled, “You hear me complaining?”
Ian rolled his eyes but nevertheless shifted to kneel between Mickey’s legs. He traced the inside of Mickey’s thigh with his fingertips, leaving wet trails on his skin. Mickey fidgeted as they dug into the hollows of his hips and glided downwards.
“Oh god,” Mickey’s breath caught in his throat, hips jerking as Ian pushed the pad of his finger against his hole and delineated a circle, “Fuck, please…”
Ian slid his free hand up to lazily rub Mickey’s nipple; pinching hard when he abruptly pushed two fingers inside and twisted them. Mickey’s back arched, hips instinctively rocking against the currently stationary digits.
“See?” Ian kissed Mickey’s hip, “Patience is a virtue.”
Mickey couldn’t think of replying; couldn’t think of anything but the fingers currently buried in his ass. He took quick, shallow breaths, just short of panting as his body adjusted. It had been too long, way too fucking long.
He wriggled a little as Ian began to stretch him; his fingers twisting and scissoring slowly. Too slowly.
“Harder,” he murmured, reaching down to take hold of Ian’s wrist. Ian swatted at him with his free hand and delivered a sharp slap to Mickey’s thigh.
“Haven’t we been over this?” he whispered, fingers stilling just below Mickey’s prostate, “Learn a little patience.”
Mickey sucked in a breath; tried to grind down against Ian’s hand and earning himself another hard slap to his inner thigh.
“Stay still,” Ian hissed.
Mickey glowered at him but nevertheless halted the movements of his hips. Ian nodded and kissed his knee.
“Better. Now…”
“Fuck!” Mickey shoved a hand over this mouth as Ian began thrusting his fingers in and out at a blistering pace; changing the angle and rubbing his prostate until Mickey was clawing at the sheets and squirming.
Mickey drew his knees further up, dignity a foreign concept to him now. His cock pulsated, leaking against his stomach.
“Ian,” Mickey managed to grit out, “Get in me.”
Ian paused, breathing laboured, “You want it, baby?”
“What does it fucking--” Mickey gasped as Ian’s fingers slipped free, “What does it fucking look like I want?”
Ian sat back, raising his eyebrows expectantly, “Get up, then.”
Mickey heaved himself into a kneeling position as Ian shuffled around him to sit with his back against the headboard. He gave his cock a couple of lazy strokes, watching Mickey swallow convulsively through half lidded eyes.
“Hey,” Mickey crawled forward and straddled his thighs, “You can stop that shit right now.”
Ian smirked, sliding his hands up Mickey’s back and yanking him forward, “Then sit on it.”
Mickey raised himself onto his knees and shifted until he felt the wet head of Ian’s cock brush against where he needed it. He reached down and held it at the base; Ian’s sharp intake of breath sliding into a moan as he sank down.
Mickey bit his lip hard. It burnt like a motherfucker; the stretch on the cusp of being too much. He pushed through it though, taking himself down gradually, Ian’s hands gripping his hips to steady him.
“Fuck,” Ian moaned when Mickey was settled all the way down, “You look so good like this.”
Mickey shut his eyes, exhaling slowly as his body relaxed in stages. His hands relinquished their death grip on the sheets either side of him; ab muscles unclenching. He shivered as the pain slowly diminished; converting to that indescribable pleasure he had been craving for the past five fucking weeks.
Eyes fever bright, Ian watched him; a flush steadily creeping up his throat. His entire body trembled beneath Mickey, heels digging into the bed in attempt to lie still.
“Fucking desperate, aren’t you?” Mickey’s voice shook as he began to move; thighs trembling as he pulled himself up and slid down.
Ian groaned, “Almost as desperate as you.”
Mickey conceded the point with a small jerk of his head, hands sliding down Ian’s chest as he moved a little faster. Ian’s took hold of his hips once more; fingernails digging into the sharp jut of the bone. He pulled Mickey forward slightly, changing the angle in a way that had Mickey scraping welts down Ian’s chest and stomach.
“Fuck,” Mickey stopped his desperate movements and rocked his hips in tiny increments; Ian’s cock exactly where he needed it.
“Feels good, huh?” Ian breathed, chest heaving.
“Yeah, fuck…” Mickey gasped, catching his lower lip between his teeth, “So good.”
“You close?”
Mickey clenched around him in response, whining when Ian’s hips jerked up reflectively.
“Oh god,” Ian clutched at Mickey’s straining thighs, “That’s a yes, then. What do you want, baby?”
Mickey groaned. He was beyond this; beyond taking control of the situation. Ian needed to take the reins.
“Need to be under you,” he panted, “Please.”
Patience apparently dwindling into non-existence, Ian reacted immediately and mercilessly. Mickey suddenly found himself staring at the ceiling with a hand tangling in his hair; entire body jolting as Ian shoved into him.
“Like this?” Ian hissed in his ear, “You want it like this?”
“Oh my god,” Mickey gasped, “Yes.”
“Like this?” Ian slammed into him hard, nailing him just right so his thighs shook, “This how you want it, baby?”
Mickey thrust his hand up to grip the bed post, “Yes, I want…”
The words caught in his throat, all cogent thought fleeing as Ian took him in his hand and jerked him relentlessly; matching the blistering pace of his thrusts. All Mickey could do was watch him with wide eyes, groaning and writhing as his prostate took hit after brutal hit. Ian’s grunts of exertion were loud enough to border obscene; Mickey was fairly certain everyone in the house could hear them. But as his sense of dignity and consideration had up and waltzed out the moment Ian had shoved him against the door, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Harder,” he heard himself say, “Harder…”
"Ssh," Ian whispered, "You want everyone to hear?"
"Don't give a..."
Ian kissed him, tightening his grip on Mickey’s cock whilst his other hand glided up to close around his throat. Mickey’s world narrowed to the trio of sensations; Ian’s hands, Ian’s cock, Ian mouth and felt his body begin to tense.
“Fuck,” Mickey moaned against Ian’s lips, “Don’t stop.”
“I’m not stopping,” Ian’s hand tightened around Mickey’s throat, “Going to fuck you until I’m done with you.”
Mickey’s entire body clenched as his orgasm hit like a fucking freight train. It wracked through him in waves; hijacking his synapses, igniting every damn nerve until he was so ablaze with sensation, the sheet beneath him felt like sandpaper. He gulped for air, clawing at Ian’s sweat slicked back. And still Ian didn’t let up; didn’t even slow down. Merely continued to pound away, as if Mickey wasn’t undergoing the most exquisitely excruciating orgasm of his life beneath him.
“Jesus,” Ian’s hips finally stuttered, “Fuck.”
Twisting his hands in the sheets either side of Mickey’s head, Ian squeezed his eyes shut; hips jerking once more and stilling as he came.
They stayed as they were for a moment, fused together by sweat and come. Ian let out a long breath before slowly easing out and rolling to the side. He lay on his front, face turned away.
Mickey gently carded a hand through his damp hair, “You still with me?”
Ian nodded, “Just about.”
Mickey huffed a laugh and wriggled closer, pressing a kiss to Ian’s shoulder.
“Missed that,” he confessed softly, “Missed you.”
Ian turned his head, an oddly contemplative expression on his face, “You’re doing it again.”
Mickey frowned, “Doing what?”
“Talking about your feelings. You’re making a habit of it.”
Mickey bristled slightly, “That a bad thing?”
“No,” Ian reached down and laced their fingers together, “Not at all. It’s just new.”
Mickey smiled and ran his forefinger along the curvature of Ian’s jaw; under the jut of his chin and down the column of his throat. Ian swallowed beneath the touch, studying him with wide eyes. Mickey curved his hand around the back of his neck, thumb stroking the shell of his ear before pulling him forward for a kiss.
“Don’t get too used to it, asshole,” Mickey murmured against his mouth.
Ian laughed softly, “’Course not.”