six times they never got married
title: six times they never got married
pairing: ian/mickey
rating: pg-13+
summary: "we ain't fuckin' married. i'm not gonna kiss you or hold your hand or any of that shit. got it?"
With Mickey's hands still shaking and his head still heavy from coming, he can see Ian making these stupid half-glances at him, can see his eyes dilating and can practically hear how badly he wants to kiss him, and Mickey kind of needs to stop this shit before it even starts.
He presses his fingers to Ian's waist and shoves him back against the wall, covering his mouth with his free hand. "Listen, Gallagher."
Ian makes a faint noise that really shouldn't be going straight to Mickey's balls, but it does. Fuck.
"We ain't boyfriends," he says, close enough to where he can count each individual freckle on his face. "We ain't fuckin' married. I'm not gonna kiss you or hold your hand or any of that shit. Got it?"
Ian's breath is warm where it hits Mickey's palm and he nods, slowly, and Mickey doesn't even notice if his cheeks go red. He pulls back for long enough to watch that stupid as shit smile spread across Ian's face, and by that point he's realized this is going to become an issue, but he can't even fucking stop it if he wanted to.
"Shut the fuck up." Ian's smile flickers, but not enough, and the corners of Mickey's lips turn up just a crack.
…
Mickey's parents have been divorced for as long as he can remember, but mom still comes around every once in a while, tries to pretend like she didn't totally fail as a mother by buying groceries every couple of months and picking up his brothers from juvie. He thinks it's better off this way. Dad's at the Alibi Room when she comes by, always stinking of meth and cheap perfume and some old guy's cologne, trying to be a mom.
Ian's never met Mickey's mom, except for maybe once when he was a baby but can't remember, back when Mom used to show up to Mickey's little league games. It's probably a good thing. Ian would probably start pitying him, giving him sad, faggoty looks, and fuck if Mickey was gonna go through that.
"They're better off divorced anyway," says Mickey, when he's too high to figure out that he doesn't even fucking want Ian Gallagher to know about his goddamn mother. "Wonder why they got married in the first place."
"They loved each other?"
"Fuck off." Mom can't really love anyone but herself - that's what Dad says. "People get married for the money and insurance and shit. They were probably drunk, probably had that pedo-priest sign them off for a couple of bills."
Ian rolls over. His face is close enough to Mickey's dick for it to start taking interest, and he wriggles up his thighs until his breath is hitting Mickey's stomach where his shirt has ridden up. "Kev says Monica married Frank 'cause they were in love."
Mickey fuckin' hates this kid sometimes. "Yeah, and they're so fucking happy now."
Ian shuts up; Mickey hit a nerve, but he doesn't apologize. He's not sorry for telling the truth, and Ian'll still suck his dick anyway, and by the next day everything will be forgotten, and Ian might not even remember about Mickey's mom and how she was better off not even meeting his dad. Better off being fucking dead.
…
When Mickey's mom actually dies, he has no fucking clue how he feels about it.
Mandy tells Ian, because Mickey didn't even bother to - he wanted to get fucked and forget about it because he knew that if he thought about his mom, he'd want to kill someone. Dad says it was bad coke, or bad meth, or bad something, but he said it with a smile on his lips and laughter growing ugly and malicious behind his teeth, so it might as well been good coke.
"Why didn't you tell me about your mom?" Ian's hand is touching the scar on Mickey's thigh. It's still sort of there, ugly and small, but Ian likes to grab it when they're fucking, press down on it when Mickey isn't paying attention, like it belongs to him in some weird, perverse way.
Mickey bats his hand away. "Doesn't fucking matter. I hated that cunt."
Before she left, she used to let him take sips of her beer on the front porch, back when everyone smiled a lot more and Mandy was still crawling around in a bundle of pink. Dad was happier. Maybe it was love, after all.
"Mickey."
The way Ian says his name really pisses him off. "Gallagher."
"I have a name."
Mickey closes his eyes. "Ian."
He doesn't even want to have this conversation. There's a reason why Mickey doesn't talk about his fucking mom. She's better off dead, better off not doing shit for them, because she only came by when she wanted money or felt bad, and it didn't even fucking matter to her.
Ian's voice is distant and hot and Mickey hates him. "You can talk to me about, like, anything. I don't give a shit."
The truth is that Ian does give a shit, and that's what makes Mickey so fucking scared. "What the fuck is your problem? We ain't married, Gallagher, and I don't give a shit about what happened to my fucking mom, fuck."
Ian forgets that they aren't supposed to give a shit about each other's problems. Mickey isn't supposed to want to slaughter Lip for being a jackass, and Ian isn't supposed to want to comfort Mickey or some shit about his slut of a mom. It was supposed to be about Ian's hands in his hair and his teeth on his shoulder, but they both had a problem with keeping it to just that, both forgot the rules before they were even made.
So Mickey says, "Just - fuck me, okay?" and Ian knows better than to ask about the trembling behind his voice and the way he doesn't even stop him when Ian goes in for a kiss.
…
Mickey knows he shouldn't even be pissed, fuck. He's not Ian's boyfriend and Ian doesn't owe him a goddamn thing. He should be allowed to fuck who he wants while Mickey rots in a jail cell, because Mickey put himself there and brought this whole thing upon himself.
So when he gets out, and they inevitably end up back at that goddamn dug-out, on a night where it's too cold to fuck but they do it anyway, he notices the bruises on Ian's waist and feels something stupid and angry in his stomach.
"Fuckin' someone else?"
Ian glances down, then back up, then everywhere but at Mickey. There's something ugly and mean in his voice when he goes, "We're not married, Mickey," like a secret venom that Mickey didn't even know he had.
Mickey feels like a fucking idiot when his face goes hot and he can't even say a goddamn word. "Fuck you, Gallagher, that's not what I fucking meant."
Ian didn't owe him shit while he was away, and his face says that he knows it was exactly what Mickey meant. Mickey suddenly feels very small and stupid and lonely. "Fuck you," he says again, and Ian doesn't even say a word, and he knows that this is his fault, but fuck it if he was ever going to fucking admit it.
Mickey touches the bruises on Ian's hips and pushes him against the mesh and kisses him in the faint glow of the floodlights, and he tastes like smoke and spearmint and Mickey can smell another dude's cologne on his clothes and all of a sudden, he knows this was never about him.
…
When Ian leaves for the first time, he says it's only gonna be six months, maybe eight, and Mickey kind of wonders if this is how Ian felt when Mickey went away to juvie twice in two years. Like he never had enough time in his hands.
There's a huddled group of guys in camo by the terminal and Mickey shoves his hands in his pockets, feeling like a total idiot because he can't even work out how to tell the kid that he's gonna miss him. It isn't that long, shorter than some of Mickey's visits to jail, but Mickey's turned into such a little faggot lately that he can't even handle Ian leaving for six fucking months.
"It's not that long," Ian says, stupidly, "and I'll call."
Mickey hates knowing how obvious it is that he's going to be moping around like a lost puppy for the entirety of the time that Ian's gone. "Don't you fucking get blown up or some shit, I don't wanna be getting a dumb letter in the mail about it."
Ian makes a face. "They only do that for like, boyfriends and husbands."
They're not either of those things - Mickey knows it. Boyfriends implied something that Mickey was so not ready to imply, and he never wants to get married, not to Ian or anyone else. "Fuck you; you know what I mean."
"I'll call," Ian says again, and he doesn't even hug him or anything, which Mickey is grateful for, because he would probably start doing something dumb like, crying or hugging him back.
Mickey shrugs. "Whatever." But he watches Ian go and feels kind of so supremely shitty about it, that he wishes Ian had gone for that stupid hug.
…
Ian gets back way longer than he said he would be - it takes a full year and a month for him to come trudging back in at the airport, and Mickey is waiting for him like the fucking sap that he is these days. Ian was gonna try to surprise Fiona by showing up unannounced, and it's Mickey's job to get him there, and fuck if Mickey was going to wait around while Ian was finally back in town.
Mickey still isn't gay enough to come running up to Ian in slow-motion with all that flowery music playing in the background, so he waits until Ian is inches away before he even dares to touch him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pushing his face into his neck. Fuck you, it's been a full year, and Mickey fucking missed him - shit.
For a few moments Ian stands completely still, and Mickey jerks back just far enough to count every goddamn freckle on his stupid face. "Shut the fuck up," he says, and closes the space between their faces with a kiss, one after another, noses awkwardly shoving together and hands still curled into his camo uniform.
Ian lets out a stuttered breath. "Hi."
"I love you," Mickey says before he can lose his nerve, all in a quick breath. "Fuck you," he adds, as an afterthought.
Ian doesn't even breathe. "Okay."
"But I don't want to fucking get married, or have kids with you, or any of that super gay shit. Got it?"
Ian nods, and their foreheads bump together stupidly, and mostly nobody is even looking at them, and Mickey's smile is small enough for it to feel like a secret.
pairing: ian/mickey
rating: pg-13+
summary: "we ain't fuckin' married. i'm not gonna kiss you or hold your hand or any of that shit. got it?"
With Mickey's hands still shaking and his head still heavy from coming, he can see Ian making these stupid half-glances at him, can see his eyes dilating and can practically hear how badly he wants to kiss him, and Mickey kind of needs to stop this shit before it even starts.
He presses his fingers to Ian's waist and shoves him back against the wall, covering his mouth with his free hand. "Listen, Gallagher."
Ian makes a faint noise that really shouldn't be going straight to Mickey's balls, but it does. Fuck.
"We ain't boyfriends," he says, close enough to where he can count each individual freckle on his face. "We ain't fuckin' married. I'm not gonna kiss you or hold your hand or any of that shit. Got it?"
Ian's breath is warm where it hits Mickey's palm and he nods, slowly, and Mickey doesn't even notice if his cheeks go red. He pulls back for long enough to watch that stupid as shit smile spread across Ian's face, and by that point he's realized this is going to become an issue, but he can't even fucking stop it if he wanted to.
"Shut the fuck up." Ian's smile flickers, but not enough, and the corners of Mickey's lips turn up just a crack.
…
Mickey's parents have been divorced for as long as he can remember, but mom still comes around every once in a while, tries to pretend like she didn't totally fail as a mother by buying groceries every couple of months and picking up his brothers from juvie. He thinks it's better off this way. Dad's at the Alibi Room when she comes by, always stinking of meth and cheap perfume and some old guy's cologne, trying to be a mom.
Ian's never met Mickey's mom, except for maybe once when he was a baby but can't remember, back when Mom used to show up to Mickey's little league games. It's probably a good thing. Ian would probably start pitying him, giving him sad, faggoty looks, and fuck if Mickey was gonna go through that.
"They're better off divorced anyway," says Mickey, when he's too high to figure out that he doesn't even fucking want Ian Gallagher to know about his goddamn mother. "Wonder why they got married in the first place."
"They loved each other?"
"Fuck off." Mom can't really love anyone but herself - that's what Dad says. "People get married for the money and insurance and shit. They were probably drunk, probably had that pedo-priest sign them off for a couple of bills."
Ian rolls over. His face is close enough to Mickey's dick for it to start taking interest, and he wriggles up his thighs until his breath is hitting Mickey's stomach where his shirt has ridden up. "Kev says Monica married Frank 'cause they were in love."
Mickey fuckin' hates this kid sometimes. "Yeah, and they're so fucking happy now."
Ian shuts up; Mickey hit a nerve, but he doesn't apologize. He's not sorry for telling the truth, and Ian'll still suck his dick anyway, and by the next day everything will be forgotten, and Ian might not even remember about Mickey's mom and how she was better off not even meeting his dad. Better off being fucking dead.
…
When Mickey's mom actually dies, he has no fucking clue how he feels about it.
Mandy tells Ian, because Mickey didn't even bother to - he wanted to get fucked and forget about it because he knew that if he thought about his mom, he'd want to kill someone. Dad says it was bad coke, or bad meth, or bad something, but he said it with a smile on his lips and laughter growing ugly and malicious behind his teeth, so it might as well been good coke.
"Why didn't you tell me about your mom?" Ian's hand is touching the scar on Mickey's thigh. It's still sort of there, ugly and small, but Ian likes to grab it when they're fucking, press down on it when Mickey isn't paying attention, like it belongs to him in some weird, perverse way.
Mickey bats his hand away. "Doesn't fucking matter. I hated that cunt."
Before she left, she used to let him take sips of her beer on the front porch, back when everyone smiled a lot more and Mandy was still crawling around in a bundle of pink. Dad was happier. Maybe it was love, after all.
"Mickey."
The way Ian says his name really pisses him off. "Gallagher."
"I have a name."
Mickey closes his eyes. "Ian."
He doesn't even want to have this conversation. There's a reason why Mickey doesn't talk about his fucking mom. She's better off dead, better off not doing shit for them, because she only came by when she wanted money or felt bad, and it didn't even fucking matter to her.
Ian's voice is distant and hot and Mickey hates him. "You can talk to me about, like, anything. I don't give a shit."
The truth is that Ian does give a shit, and that's what makes Mickey so fucking scared. "What the fuck is your problem? We ain't married, Gallagher, and I don't give a shit about what happened to my fucking mom, fuck."
Ian forgets that they aren't supposed to give a shit about each other's problems. Mickey isn't supposed to want to slaughter Lip for being a jackass, and Ian isn't supposed to want to comfort Mickey or some shit about his slut of a mom. It was supposed to be about Ian's hands in his hair and his teeth on his shoulder, but they both had a problem with keeping it to just that, both forgot the rules before they were even made.
So Mickey says, "Just - fuck me, okay?" and Ian knows better than to ask about the trembling behind his voice and the way he doesn't even stop him when Ian goes in for a kiss.
…
Mickey knows he shouldn't even be pissed, fuck. He's not Ian's boyfriend and Ian doesn't owe him a goddamn thing. He should be allowed to fuck who he wants while Mickey rots in a jail cell, because Mickey put himself there and brought this whole thing upon himself.
So when he gets out, and they inevitably end up back at that goddamn dug-out, on a night where it's too cold to fuck but they do it anyway, he notices the bruises on Ian's waist and feels something stupid and angry in his stomach.
"Fuckin' someone else?"
Ian glances down, then back up, then everywhere but at Mickey. There's something ugly and mean in his voice when he goes, "We're not married, Mickey," like a secret venom that Mickey didn't even know he had.
Mickey feels like a fucking idiot when his face goes hot and he can't even say a goddamn word. "Fuck you, Gallagher, that's not what I fucking meant."
Ian didn't owe him shit while he was away, and his face says that he knows it was exactly what Mickey meant. Mickey suddenly feels very small and stupid and lonely. "Fuck you," he says again, and Ian doesn't even say a word, and he knows that this is his fault, but fuck it if he was ever going to fucking admit it.
Mickey touches the bruises on Ian's hips and pushes him against the mesh and kisses him in the faint glow of the floodlights, and he tastes like smoke and spearmint and Mickey can smell another dude's cologne on his clothes and all of a sudden, he knows this was never about him.
…
When Ian leaves for the first time, he says it's only gonna be six months, maybe eight, and Mickey kind of wonders if this is how Ian felt when Mickey went away to juvie twice in two years. Like he never had enough time in his hands.
There's a huddled group of guys in camo by the terminal and Mickey shoves his hands in his pockets, feeling like a total idiot because he can't even work out how to tell the kid that he's gonna miss him. It isn't that long, shorter than some of Mickey's visits to jail, but Mickey's turned into such a little faggot lately that he can't even handle Ian leaving for six fucking months.
"It's not that long," Ian says, stupidly, "and I'll call."
Mickey hates knowing how obvious it is that he's going to be moping around like a lost puppy for the entirety of the time that Ian's gone. "Don't you fucking get blown up or some shit, I don't wanna be getting a dumb letter in the mail about it."
Ian makes a face. "They only do that for like, boyfriends and husbands."
They're not either of those things - Mickey knows it. Boyfriends implied something that Mickey was so not ready to imply, and he never wants to get married, not to Ian or anyone else. "Fuck you; you know what I mean."
"I'll call," Ian says again, and he doesn't even hug him or anything, which Mickey is grateful for, because he would probably start doing something dumb like, crying or hugging him back.
Mickey shrugs. "Whatever." But he watches Ian go and feels kind of so supremely shitty about it, that he wishes Ian had gone for that stupid hug.
…
Ian gets back way longer than he said he would be - it takes a full year and a month for him to come trudging back in at the airport, and Mickey is waiting for him like the fucking sap that he is these days. Ian was gonna try to surprise Fiona by showing up unannounced, and it's Mickey's job to get him there, and fuck if Mickey was going to wait around while Ian was finally back in town.
Mickey still isn't gay enough to come running up to Ian in slow-motion with all that flowery music playing in the background, so he waits until Ian is inches away before he even dares to touch him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pushing his face into his neck. Fuck you, it's been a full year, and Mickey fucking missed him - shit.
For a few moments Ian stands completely still, and Mickey jerks back just far enough to count every goddamn freckle on his stupid face. "Shut the fuck up," he says, and closes the space between their faces with a kiss, one after another, noses awkwardly shoving together and hands still curled into his camo uniform.
Ian lets out a stuttered breath. "Hi."
"I love you," Mickey says before he can lose his nerve, all in a quick breath. "Fuck you," he adds, as an afterthought.
Ian doesn't even breathe. "Okay."
"But I don't want to fucking get married, or have kids with you, or any of that super gay shit. Got it?"
Ian nods, and their foreheads bump together stupidly, and mostly nobody is even looking at them, and Mickey's smile is small enough for it to feel like a secret.