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It’s got to the stage where Ian doesn’t even raise an eyebrow when he comes down into the living room and finds Mandy there, sprawled out somewhere with Lip barely an arm's length away. At least they’re just playing video games this time - he never needs to see his brother wrapped up in Mandy's thighs again, thank you - and barely pay him enough attention to mumble more than a “hey” as he passes through to the kitchen.
He’s on his second glass of juice, extra-credit English assignment half-finished, when they peel themselves off the couch and join him. Mandy smiles, reaching out to steal the rest of his drink, and sits down on the stool next to him. “You gonna come later?”
“Uh, what?” Ian replies, pen skidding across the paper.
Mandy rolls her eyes. “Are you gonna come with me to pick up Mickey from juvie? He gets out at 3.”
Oh. Ian had made it a point not to think about Mickey over the past few weeks, but it still makes his stomach clench to think that he's coming home. And that Ian'd forgotten. “I, uh, I don’t think he’ll particularly wanna see me.”
Ian keeps his head down, but he can feel Lip’s gaze burning into the back of his neck. Mandy just hmms and gulps down the last of his OJ.
“Well I think you should go. To keep Mandy company, if nothing else.” When Ian whirls round, Lip isn't even looking at him, he's just rooting through the minimal contents of the fridge. He glares at Lip’s back anyway, biting back a sigh when he turns and meets Mandy's hopeful gaze.
“I guess I could tag along."
“Great!”
Ian valiantly doesn’t shove Lip's hand away when it claps him on the shoulder.
It’s a familiar scene at the CC juvenile detention center when Mickey emerges, except this time there’s no sibling violence or any yelling of obscenities. He just accepts his bag of belongings and then jumps down the short staircase. He's already lit a cigarette and taken in a deep drag before he spots them, and Ian sees him pause for a second. Mandy’s slouched against the railing, staring down at her shoes, and Ian nudges her awkwardly. She catches sight of Mickey as soon as she looks up.
“Hey dick face!” She rushes forward to hug him, and Ian watches Mickey bury his face in her hair. He's bulked up a little since he last saw him, as well as having shaved and let his hair grow out. He’s still as pale as ever, with dark shadows under his eyes that Ian suspects will take more than a good night’s sleep to clear. He's careful not to look at Ian again, and as soon as Mandy lets go, he steps back and hunches his shoulders.
Mandy looks stricken for a horrible second, so Ian clears his throat. "Glad you're back, man. Mandy might finally spend a night away from my house."
That earns him a shove, but she doesn't hit him so he knows she isn't too mad. Mickey quirks an eyebrow, but just takes another drag of his cigarette.
The El ride back to their neighborhood is quiet. Mandy's claimed a double seat to stretch her legs out, her thumbs clicking rapidly on her phone the entire time, so Ian just slides in beside Mickey, ignoring the odd look he gets for it. Mickey doesn't say anything though, just sighs and rests his forehead against the cool glass, staring out at the Chicago skyline. Ian gives him a minute, and then tilts to the side to press their shoulders together.
“Scale of 1 to 10, how bad was it this time?”
A laugh startles out of Mickey, but it's harsh and ugly. His face is carefully blank when he turns to face Ian fully, but his eyes are bright. “I can take care of myself, Firecrotch.”
Ian swallows hard at the old nickname. They don't say anything else, just stare at each other for several long seconds, and Ian can't work out the emotion swirling in Mickey's eyes is. He opens his mouth to say-- He doesn't know what, anything, but Mickey turns back to the window before he can. Ian leans back so they aren't pressed together anymore, giving him space, but he sees Mickey tense up as soon as they're no longer touching. His hands are clenched so tight around the bag on his lap that his knuckles - littered with little scrapes - have gone white.
Ian doesn't over think it, just twists more to the left so that he can knock their knees together. When he doesn't break that contact, Mickey's grip on his bag relaxes. And when Ian stays like that for another long minute, he starts to breathe a little easier.
It makes Ian's head hurt.
Ian’s distracted. He stares unblinkingly at the ceiling, frowning at the ridiculous chandelier hanging in the center of the room, even as Lloyd presses soft kisses down the skin of his neck and along his shoulders.
When a sharp bite to the collarbone doesn't get a reaction, Lloyd pulls away. The sudden lack of body heat against his side startles Ian, and he can only blink at Lloyd for a few seconds before he registers that he's probably been spaced out for quite a while. Lloyd doesn't look mad though, just concerned. “Everything okay?”
Ian sighs, bringing both hands up to link behind his head. “Do you remember when I said that I, uh, had a sort-of-boyfriend?”
Lloyd shrugs a shoulder, dropping his hand so that his thumb can sweep back and forth over the skin of Ian's hip. "Yes. Ah, Mike, something?”
"Mickey," Ian corrects. He shifts until he's up on his elbows, bringing his face closer to Lloyd's when the older man doesn't move away. “Anyway, he's uh, he's back in town.”
“Oh.” Lloyd does shift away, but his hand drops back to the bed. Ian focuses on the tanned skin of Lloyd's shoulder; doesn't want to see the look on his face, nor have Lloyd see his own. They stay that way for a minute, neither of them speaking, until Lloyd clears his throat. “So you'd like for us to stop seeing each other, then?"
That wasn't what Ian expected, so his gaze flies to Lloyd's face. He still isn't mad though, just has a raised eyebrow and a somewhat sad quirk to his lips. He can’t help but compare that to Mickey's angry sneers and challenging eyes; the luxury of this hotel room compared to cramped, rushed fucks in not-very-private places. He thinks of the shame Mickey couldn't quite hide. About “you’re nothing but a warm mouth to me”.
Ian leans up to kiss Lloyd. "No. No I don't want that."
He’s browsing through a magazine when he next sees Mickey. It's that awkward mid-morning shift and the store is completely empty. The door jingles as he's flicking past a spread on the Kardashians, and he looks up automatically, thankful for the interruption. When he sees it's Mickey, his breath catches.
“Hey.”
Mickey doesn't say anything back, just nods heads down to the fridges. Ian keeps watching as Mickey tucks a case of cheap beer under his arm and picks up a random selection of chips, dip and those horrid mini pretzels that Mandy adores. He makes sure to look back down at the magazine when Mickey eventually moves back up towards the register, but his hand goes automatically behind him and he places three cartons of Marlboro Reds on the counter.
Mickey doesn't comment, and the silence is a little awkward as Ian slides his magazine away and starts packing everything in to a box. He's almost done when Mickey clears his throat, and he can't help but jump. Mickey isn't looking at him though, instead gazing out the window at the road.
“So, uh, Mandy’s throwing me this shitty birthday thing on Thursday.” Ian's hands grip the box hard enough that the edges of the cardboard dig grooves into his palm and start to bend inwards. He's caught off guard, he didn't know it was Mickey's birthday. Mickey keeps talking, unaware, eyes still fixed on the window. “She's already invited your brother, and I figured, you know, she’d probably like if you came too. Or whatever.”
Ian shuts his mouth with a clack. It takes a few seconds before he processes all of that. “Mandy would like it?”
Mickey swipes a hand across his mouth, finally looking at Ian. “Fuck off. Just, you should come. It’ll be dull as shit, probably, but—”
“I’ll love to.” Ian's stomach swoops as the words burst out, but Mickey just rolls his eyes. He doesn't duck his head quick enough to stop Ian seeing the grin that quirks the left side of his mouth as he grabs the box and slaps some crumpled notes on the counter, though.
"Right. Okay. Later, Firecrotch.”
It's only once the door has slammed shut behind Mickey that Ian moves. He drops forward, resting his elbows on the counter and tries to wonder what the fuck just happened.
Mickey’s "shitty birthday thing" is his just him, his brothers, a few guys he worked construction with, Mandy and her friends, Lip and Ian, all gathered in the Milkovich’s surprisingly clean backyard around a plastic table that is teeming with cheap beer and food thrown into plastic bowls. There are no decorations proclaiming this as anything other than an excuse to get wasted, and he smiles as he accepts the red plastic cup thrust at him from Mandy when they arrive.
They find an unoccupied couple of chairs near the back and sit once Mandy's effectively smeared her lipstick all over Lip's mouth, and it's weirdly nice, with the radio blasting from inside the house and the sun beating down. He’s barely made it halfway through his first beer before Lip turns to him, interrogation face firmly in place.
“So, what the fuck's going on with you two now?”
Ian considers playing dumb for a quick minute, then decides against it. Lip's a stubborn ass when he wants to be. So he just sighs and tells the truth. “Nothing.”
He gets a raised eyebrow. “Bullshit. Seriously? Ian, the dude invites you to his fucking birthday party and you expect me to believe he was just being neighborly? Come on, man, you're totally still hitting that right?”
Ian frowns, looking around himself to make sure no-one, especially Mickey, heard that. “No. We haven't since he got out of juvie and we're not— Ugh, fuck, I don’t even know what we are. But he’s been... better.”
“Better?” Lip raises a skeptical eyebrow.
“Or, different, whatever. I don't—” Ian breaks off as he looks up and finds Mickey staring over at them. His face is soft, and he raises his bottle in greeting. Ian can't help but smile back, waving his cup and watches as Mickey nods, satisfied, before turning back to his brother.
Lip’s watching him intently when Ian finally looks back. He inclines his head pointedly in Mickey's direction, and scoffs. "Yeah, sure, that's nothing.” He’s walked off to get another beer before Ian can think of a reply.
Ian lets his shoulder bump against Lloyd’s as they walk from the station to their regular hotel. There's a van parked across the street from them, and it’s fairly inconspicuous, white with ‘Turner & Son Construction’ emblazoned in red on the side, but as the back door swings open, Ian stops walking abruptly. Mickey's the first one out, lips pursed around a cigarette. He gets handed an envelope, slapped on the back and then he's calling out a goodbye and— Making his way across the street. Towards Ian. Towards Ian and Lloyd.
Fuck.
Ian steps back, tempted to physically run back into the nearest bar so there's no chance of Mickey spotting them. He jumps when Lloyd puts a hand on his arm, effectively stopping any such escape. “Ian? What’s wrong?”
And then before Ian has a chance to answer, Mickey looks up. He stops short a few feet in front of them, obviously as shocked to see him in this part of town as Ian is, mouth going slack.
Ian recovers first, taking a halting step forward and letting Lloyd's hand slide off his arm, a move that doesn't escape Mickey's attention. “Hey.”
Mickey nods, dropping his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his work boot. His forehead is creased in a frown, and his eyes still linger on Ian's arm.
Ian glances to the side to find Lloyd already looking at him, a twinkle in his eye. Before Ian can say anything, he’s talking. “Ah. I'm going to presume this is the elusive Mickey?" At the sound of his name, Mickey snaps his gaze to Lloyd. It's all the conformation Lloyd needs, and before Ian can interrupt, he's stepping forward, arm out stretched for a handshake. "I’m Lloyd. Ian’s told me all about you.”
Mickey gives it a confused look before grudgingly shaking it. He raises an eyebrow at Ian. “Is that right?”
Lloyd chuckles, turning back to Ian. “Oh, Ian, don't be rude. Why don't you invite your boyfriend to join us. There's plenty of room at my hotel."
Ian thinks oh shit just as Mickey takes a step back and huffs out an incredulous laugh. “What did you just call me?” Lloyd places a hand on Ian’s hip, and Ian watches as Mickey’s eyes zero in on it. “Are you serious? You're-- This guy?” Mickey looks straight at Ian, eyes blazing, mouth twisted in an ugly smirk.
“Excuse me.” Lloyd’s voice is hard and mocking as he gives Mickey a condescending once over.
Ian doesn’t have to see Mickey's shoulders tense up, or see his eyes darken in fury; he knows as soon as the words leave Lloyd’s mouth what’s about to happen. “Mickey, wait, listen— " But Mickey’s already stepping forward and slamming his forehead against Lloyd’s.
Lloyd crashes to the ground.
"Jesus Christ, Mickey!” Ian moves so that he's standing between them, hands outstretched to forcibly shove Mickey back if he goes for Lloyd again. His heart is racing. Mickey won't meet his eyes, just stares down at Lloyd, hands flexing in and out of tightly clenched fists.
“Hey!” Mickey whips his gaze up at the new voice, eyes snapping to somewhere over Ian’s shoulder. Ian turns to see for himself, and swears under his breath as security guard shoulders his way towards them, past a group of gawking bystanders. When he turns back around, he finds Mickey looking at him, and his eyes flash with something that makes Ian’s breath catch. It's there just for a second, before he bolts.
There's more yelling as he shoves his way through the crowds on the sidewalk, but Lloyd says "leave it, it’s fine” to the security guard before he takes off after him.
Ian helps Lloyd up, wincing as blood drips from his nose down onto his cream - and probably very expensive - jacket. “I’m so sorry.”
"Absolutely ridiculous. Are you okay, sir?" The security guard gives Ian an odd look, but keeps his face as polite as he can when he turns back to Lloyd.
Lloyd gives him a rueful smile. “I am, thank you." Then he speaks directly to Ian. "He’s, uh, quite the catch.” His voice isn’t kind.
Ian bristles, looking away just in time to see Mickey storming round the corner at the bottom of the street. “Listen, I am sorry, but I gotta—” And then he just takes off after Mickey, not thinking too hard about it, and ignores Lloyd calling out after him.
When Ian eventually catches up to Mickey, he's on the steps of his house, beer cans still littering the back yard. He’s smoking, and looks up at the sound of Ian pushing open the rusty gate, but he doesn't say anything. Just lets Ian sit down next to him and smokes the cigarette down to the filter.
The silence has stretched to being almost uncomfortable when Mickey finally stubs out the cigarette. He looks down at his feet and says, surprisingly clear: "Sorry."
Ian opens his mouth, but finds he doesn't know what to say in the face of an alarmingly frank apology, staring instead at the side of Mickey's face.
Mickey glances over and catches him at it, huffing out a weak laugh. “Yeah, I’d be shocked fucking speechless too.” His voice cracks, and it startles Ian enough to get him to talk.
“Why’d you do it, then?"
Mickey shrugs, picks at the skin of his fingers. "Guy was a douchebag." He doesn't offer anything else, just stands up and heads inside. He leaves the door open, and Ian can't help but follow, suddenly so furious his hands are shaking.
“Fuck you, you don't even know him! Don’t pull that shit with me, Mickey. You think you can just—”
“I was jealous, shithead!” Ian’s jaw snaps shut hard enough that his teeth clack together painfully. He watches the way Mickey clutches the kitchen counter, head hanging low. “You happy now? I was so fucking jealous that he could fucking put his hands on you. And than he said— I saw how he looked at me and I just couldn't not fucking hit him. He's your new... whatever, so I'm sorry for fucking that up. And I probably just fucked up my probation too. Shit.” Mickey presses the palms of his hands against his eyes, rubbing harshly.
Ian takes a deep breath. “Lloyd’s not— He's not gonna press charges.” Okay, so Ian doesn't know that for sure, but it's the only thing he can think to say, right now. And he'll beg and plead and make sure Lloyd doesn't press charges.
“He’s not.” Mickey’s voice is flat and disbelieving.
“No. I’ll, uh, I'll talk to him tomorrow. Ask him not to.” Ian actually cringes thinking about talking to Lloyd again, especially after how he just left him, bleeding in the middle of the street.
But Mickey nods tightly, almost reluctantly, and it sounds like it takes him a great effort to say: “Thank you”.
Ian watches for a few moments as Mickey turns and settles his back against the counter. He moves cautiously, like Mickey's a wild animal that might bolt at any second. “He''s not my boyfriend, you know. We’re not anything serious. He's getting divorced.” Mickey says nothing, but Ian sees his shoulders tense a little. “But we're not-- He’s just a warm mouth, really. Just a good time.”
Mickey flinches at that, unexpectedly snapping his head up and meeting Ian’s gaze. He opens his mouth, but Ian doesn't let him say anything, heart racing. “Jesus Christ, Mick, why do you make this so fucking difficult?”
Instead of answering, Mickey simply drops his eyes from Ian’s eyes to his mouth, pushes off from the counter and kisses him.
It’s not the rough, violent kiss that Ian expects. Instead, Mickey clutches hard at the back of Ian’s head, the other hand fisted in the neck of his t-shirt, and opens his mouth wide, kissing Ian deep and thoroughly. Ian can’t help but moan, both hands grabbing at Mickey’s hair and giving back as good as he gets.
They stay like that for a few minutes, kissing heatedly, before Mickey turns them to press Ian up against the counter. He pulls back as breathing becomes a necessity, lining his lips up to Ian’s ear. His voice shakes a little, deeper than usual. “I can't— I’m gonna say this once, and then we can forget about it, ‘kay?”
Ian can only nod, breathing hard.
“I missed you so fucking much.” And then Mickey drops to his knees.
Ian groans, harsh in the quiet kitchen. Mickey’s fingers are quick in undoing the buttons of his jeans and it seems like Ian barely blinks before they're down around his ankles, boxers following suit a second later.
"Fuck." Ian chokes out as Mickey swallows his half-hard dick in one swift move.
It's torture. Mickey doesn't bother with teasing licks or kisses, just pulls back to catch his breath before sinking back down. Ian throws his head back, his fingertips scrabbling against Mickey’s scalp as he gets hard so fast it makes him dizzy. When he slumps forward, chest heaving, he finds Mickey looking up at him. Ian's dick hits the back of his throat, and he actually, honest to God, moans. His hands are tight to the point of bruising on Ian’s hipbones, and Ian can’t get enough. “Shitting hell, Mick.”
Mickey hollows his cheeks, sucking hard as he moves back up. Ian can’t tear his eyes away as he starts bobbing his head; can’t stop moaning and gasping at the slick, hot feeling of Mickey’s mouth all around him. He doesn't know how long he can last, and has to bite down hard on his lip to stop from yelling out too loud as Mickey slips a hand down to cup and squeeze Ian’s balls.
He tightens his hands in Mickey's hair, tugging and gasping out a warning that he’s about to come. Mickey just hums around him and pulls back until he's sucking on the head, tongue twisting against his slit.
Ian comes with an almost guttural groan that tapers off into Mickey’s name. He feels like he’s shaking from the force of it, and he makes embarrassing mewling hiccups as Mickey swallows, pulls off and proceeds to lick him clean. “Shit." His voice is wrecked, he can't imagine what Mickey's will sound like. "Get up here.”
Mickey’s smile is wicked as Ian hauls him up into a messy kiss.
Later, after Ian’s returned the favor and they've migrated to Mickey’s messy-as-ever bedroom, Ian lays sprawled over the bed while Mickey smokes languidly out the window. He’s still breathing hard, and his fingertips tingle a little. They're pressed against the skin on Mickey's thigh, and he slides them up to fit against the bruises on Mickey's hip; he'd made sure Mickey knew he had missed him too.
Rapid beeping from his phone interrupts the comfortable silence that they've settled into, and Ian groans as he heaves himself up to root in his jeans pocket to shut it off. He flops back on the bed, and then almost drops the phone on his face when he sees it's a message from Lloyd.
no charges against your boyfriend and no permanent damage. a favor. but we're done now. don't call me again.
Ian really doesn't plan on it. He replies with a simple ‘thanks’, and then tosses the phone on to the bed. He shifts until he can lay his head on Mickey's thigh. Mickey tosses the finished cigarette out the window and drops his hand to Ian's hair. His hands aren't gentle, but it sends shivers through Ian regardless.
“That was Lloyd. He’s gonna drop the charges. And, uh, really doesn't ever want to see either of us again.”
Mickey sniffs, removes his hand from Ian's hair so that he can cross his arms over his chest. “Sorry about that. But, uh, tell him I appreciate it.” The words are clipped and rough.
Ian nods. "Already did."
"Good."
"Good. Now, are you gonna kiss me? I did just stop your ass from going back to jail."
Mickey rolls his eyes, clamps his hand in Ian's hair again and tugs him up to meet his mouth. "My ass is very grateful. Now fuck it."
Ian laughs into the kiss.