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Nickovich (pt 8 - nsfw)

“How long are you gonna leave him waiting?”

“I dunno. Until I clear you outta smokes most likely.”

Mickey shrugs and grabs another card from the pile. Nicky rolls her eyes and lightly tosses the rest of her pack into his lap.

“There. Congratulations. Now go do whatever it is that you guys do. Go claim your man.”

“He’s not my man.”

Mickey snaps, toying with one folded corner of silver foil at the edge of the box. He’s been playing cards with Nicky for nearly four hours and he knows that Ian has been at the hotel for at least three and a half of those because that was when the first text arrived telling Mickey the address, the room number and the fake name to use.

“Oh no, definitely. I think Trevor might be the one for him. That’s most likely why he booked a room for you two within minutes of you telling him to, dashed across town to get here and has been calling you constantly.”

“Fuck off.”

Mickey mutters but his heart isn’t in it. Truth be told he’s actually just really nervous to go in there and face what he knows is going to be the final show down with Ian Gallagher. Either they will work their shit out and make this thing official or they will go their separate ways and most likely never see each other again.

“He’s gonna be pissed as Hell that you’ve left him waiting so long in there.”

Nicky sing-songs her voice in that annoying way that Mandy used to use on him when they were playing video games and Mickey musters up a pretty good glare.

“Let him be fuckin’ pissed then. Like I give a shit! Asshole deserves to sweat it out.”

“Yeah but what if he sweats too much and decides he needs a cooler climate? Quit being a tropical bitch and go in there before it’s too late!”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I compulsively take care of others when I can’t take care of myself.”

Nicky winks at him and reaches over to take a cigarette from the pile at Mickey’s feet.

“And because it’s like living in a TV show. You love him, you hate him, you want him so badly it’s gonna kill you if you don’t get him … shit. It’s primetime worthy, man.”

Mickey flips her off and stuffs a few of the cigarettes in the box before grabbing his beanie, which is really Nicky’s beanie, and his dark glasses.

“Probably just want me outta here so you can flick your bean all over everything anyway.”

“Oh yeah, I’m gonna use your stick shift to get off and wipe it up with YOUR favourite vest for a change.”

“That’s what you get for leaving your shit all over someone else’s van. Anyway I already said I was sorry.”

Mickey shrugs, his eyes flicking guiltily to the little scrap of black vest that Nicky had fished out from behind the make-shift shelving.

“Still gross. Now please go away and remember, I want a blanket, a shower …”

“Pillows and tiny soaps … yeah, I got it.”

Mickey hates being rushed but Nicky’s quip about Ian leaving has made him prickly.

“And be gentle. You ever watch Beauty and Beast as a kid?”

“Yeah … I guess. That the one with the fuckin’ rose?”

“Yes and the talking teapot and candlestick. I’m the teapot, you’re the beast and he’s …”

“I know.”

Mickey says flatly, his heart already fluttering at the thought of emerald eyes and gorgeously freckled skin.

“Right. And the teapot tells the beast to be gentle because that is what beauty responds to. Be gentle, Abe.”

Nicky squints through the spy hole and then rests her hands on Mickey’s shoulders.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Mickey gives her a very small smile and shoves the van doors open. He crosses the parking lot quickly and enters the hotel. It’s basic, clean and discreet and once he gives the name Ian has supplied he is offered a worn keycard, an easy smile and pointed toward the elevator.

Mickey makes an effort not to fidget too much in case he draws attention to himself but his fingers drum nervously against his thigh and he realises that he is making a sort of low humming noise at the back of his throat.

He exits the elevator on the fourth floor and stares down the rows of identical doors. A little gold edged sign states that room 409 is to his right. Mickey hesitates outside the door. Gentle. How the fuck is he supposed to be gentle? He’s never been the most patient person in the world and after this morning … shit. Well they’ll just have to figure it as they go because if Mickey waits any longer he’s going to bail.

He removes his cap and glasses, swipes the key-card and pushes the door open. There is a furiously snarled question that Mickey doesn’t have time to process before a familiar fist wraps in his shirt and drags him into the room and he is launched unceremoniously across it and sent sprawling onto the bed.

“What the fuck?!”

Mickey shoves himself up out of the rumpled quilt and glares around at Ian who is looming over him, fists clenched at his sides.

“Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been waiting for hours! I was fucking worried about you, asshole!”

Mickey rolls himself off the mattress and lifts a nonchalant eyebrow at Ian.

“None of your damn business where I’ve been.”

The redhead is all blazing eyes and jutting jaw and Mickey’s dick is pressing painfully against his jeans, inappropriately but completely aroused by the larger man’s fury.

“And you lay hands on me like you did just now again and I’m gonna break your fuckin’ arms.”

“Oh fuck you. You’re lucky I tossed your late ass on the bed not into a wall.”

Ian snaps and Mickey’s heart flutters gently, out of rhythm with the thick waves of adrenaline coursing through his body. Ian was never afraid of him, occasionally cautious, but never afraid and he still isn’t and that fact pleases Mickey more than he is willing to admit.

“I thought you got caught or some shit.”

Ian’s words are clipped and short, each one like a whip-crack in the lightly fragrant air of the room.

“Well clearly I didn’t.”

“So where were you? I lied to my boss, took off from work ...”

“Like any of that’s my problem, bitch.”

Mickey scoffs, picking up the TV remote and turning it over in his hand as if considering turning the device on. Predictably, Ian lunges forward and snatches it from his hand, throwing it across the room in absolute fury.

“I swear to God, Mickey ...”

“What? What the fuck are you gonna do?”

Mickey looks Ian up and down, his eyes raking over the planes of his body as his lip curls in smugly and Ian narrowly resists the urge to slap the shit out of him, deciding to try a different tact.

“Look, I am sorry about today. About Trevor. I know you must be pissed …”

Mickey gives a small humourless laugh and lets his head tilt forward until his chin touches his chest.

Gentle.

“And I know I didn’t handle it well. I shouldn’t have frozen like that …”

Gen-fuckin’-tle

“But it was kind of a shock. You’ve been away a while Mickey and I wasn’t sure what to do…”

Mickey is biting the inside of his cheeks hard enough to raise little blisters in the delicate lining, his body going almost unnaturally still and the more he doesn’t react, the more Ian’s mind spirals and his temper, already high, frays even further.

“Jesus. Are you going to speak at all? If you want to vent about him…”

Fuck it. Gentle is overrated.

“It’s not about him! It’s about you! Last I fuckin’ checked you were gonna wait for me, not shack up with some curly haired little prick with creepy boy-band fluff on his chin.”

“We’re not … It’s not like we live together or anything. He’s just … we hang out and stuff …”

Ian fumbles for an explanation and Mickey sucks his teeth contemptuously.

“And fuck too?”

“Yes! Okay, yes, he fucks me!”

Ian hadn’t meant to say that but feels a grim satisfaction in watching Mickey’s jaw drop as he stares at Ian in open horror

“He … You let him put his dick up your ass? Since when are you a damn Bottom?”

“It’s … complicated. Trevor is Trans so it’s not like … I mean … Wait. Why am I telling you this?”

Ian stammers to a stop with that confused and earnest look on his face that used to make Mickey want to kiss him right on his stupid frowning face but right now it just make him roll his eyes.

“Because you got a big fuckin’ mouth and are shitty with other people’s secrets. Jesus. So are you Bi now or something?”

“No! … well I guess I did have sex with a woman but ...”

“Ugh. You know what? Stop. I don’t wanna know.”

“Fine. But you really wanna try and tell me you haven’t fucked anyone else?”

Mickey hesitates. He fucked a few dudes but not that many and it was mostly just to prove a point to some uppity little prick or another who thought Mickey might be easy to turn into a bitch.

“I mostly got along with my hand. Cleaner and tighter than most of those jail-skanks anyway. And it don’t come whinin’ for favours later either.”

Ian snorts and then juts his chin out realising that his question has not been answered. He has no right to be jealous but he is. In that moment, he is jealous of everyone who has even dared to look in Mickey Milkovich’s direction.

“So there has been no one? No one at all?”

“No chicks or chicks with dicks or any of that freaky shit! And no one I started calling my boyfriend!”

Mickey snaps and Ian folds his arms defensively

“Well it’s different for you. You hate labelling things you never …”

“What? What do I never do?”

Mickey can feel his temper slipping as the little voice inside his head that always told him that somehow he was the reason everything went to shit, begins to awaken.

“You never want to box yourself into anything.”

Ian’s tone is soft, almost kind and it takes the fight out of Mickey a little as he shrugs and rubs the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Not with other dickheads, no, I don’t! But I don’t mind that shit with you. I’d have fuckin’ married you if you wanted it.”

Ian’s head snaps up and he looks at Mickey in an entirely new way and it irritates the Hell out of Mickey instantly.

“Don’t look at me like that! I told you already – in sickness and in health, richer and poorer, all of that. I told you and you were the one who didn’t fuckin’ want it.”

“I didn’t know you were serious.”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

Mickey doesn’t yell but only because there isn’t enough air left in his lungs to do it. Black spots appear in his vision around the edge of Ian’s head and Mickey pinches the bridge of his nose, looking down at the floor and fighting the urge to sit down on the bed and bury his face in his hands entirely.

Ian realises that he’s said completely the wrong damn thing and panic bubbles in his chest, pushing past all the rest of his emotions leaving only the thin, desperate knowledge that he doesn’t want Mickey to shut him out. No matter how much he deserves it, he doesn’t want to be shut out.

“I thought you were just tryin’ to stop me breakin’ up with you!”

Ian’s natural Southside drawl comes out more when he’s agitated and Mickey notices that his hands are shaking, large knuckles vibrating against each other.

“I fuckin’ was, asshole! But that don’t mean I didn’t want it anyway! Jesus, Ian! You’re a good fuckin’ lay but you think I would have put up with half your crazy shit if I wasn’t in it for the long haul? I could have found another guy with a monster dick just like that!”

Mickey snaps his fingers at Ian and runs a hand roughly over his face in frustration.

“Maybe not a red head but something, I could have found something …”

“I know you could and I appreciate everything you did for me back then. I really do, Mick.”

Ian doesn’t know if it’s allowed or not but he reaches out and cups Mickey’s jaw lightly in his palm. Mickey jerks backwards and Ian steps with him, moving until they come up against the bed and Mickey turns his head, glancing down at the mattress.

“You still want me, Gallagher?”

It is a softly asked question but it hits Ian like a blow and he blinks a couple of times before nodding

“I’ve always wanted you.”

He hadn’t intended to say that but the words feel right and he finally feels as though he might have said the correct thing at the correct time. Mickey’s lips pull upwards in a reluctant little smile and he presses his hand flat against the tight fabric of Ian’s shirt, stroking his thumb over the hollow of Ian’s ribcage, feeling the heavy pulse racing beneath it.

The thought of tasting a little blood, his or Ian’s, is seriously fucking appealing and only a couple of minutes ago, Mickey was more than prepared for a fight. What he isn’t prepared for is the feel of Ian’s lips against his, Ian’s tongue forcing its way into his mouth with a possessive urgency that Mickey hasn’t felt from Ian since before the bipolar tipped everything on its head. Since Ian wanted him so badly he was willing to do anything to get him.

The atmosphere has shifted and taken any ambiguity about their intentions for this hotel room with it. They both know they are going to fuck, the only question is how to find their way to it through all the other shit. But Mickey knows the answer. It’s not gentle but it will work and that is what they need.

“What about your boyfriend?”

Mickey smirks, closing his eyes as Ian’s lips trail down his neck, biting softly at the pale flesh.

“Shut up and get undressed.”

Ian pulls away just long enough to shrug out of his jacket and shove Mickey backwards onto the bed. He wants to taste Mickey’s skin and feel the curve of that sweet ass pinched between his teeth. He wants to hear the sobbing breaths wrench from between those perfect lips as he sheaths himself to the hilt again and again until they are both lost.

The continued manhandling coupled with burning kisses is almost the undoing of Mickey, but he manages another smirk and takes his time unzipping his hoodie and slipping it off his shoulders. Mickey wants the sex, he wants it so badly it is painful, but to admit that, to give it without a struggle, without being overpowered, just feels too weak. He wants Ian to take charge of him and knows he will if Mickey can prod him there firmly enough.

“In a rush, Gallagher? You gotta get back to him, huh?”

Ian tugs his shirt over his head and gives Mickey a meaningful look that makes Mickey’s stomach knot in anticipation but he presses on, determined to push Ian beyond endurance.

“Is he gonna be pissed about this or is the freak house some sort of hippie commune for queers?”

Ian knows that this taunting won’t stop until Mickey gets what he wants and in a weird way, he is really glad about it because it is fuelling something within Ian as well. Something that Ian hasn’t had the opportunity to be in a long time. Dominant. Not just a little bit rough but actually in control and obeyed without question by someone who not only wants it, but fucking needs it.

“You want to call him? You can use my phone.”

Ian looks down at Mickey and his heart squeezes. Blue eyes are looking up at him and to anyone else they might just look pugnacious, maybe a little aggressive and definitely derisive but Ian sees beyond that, he is still, through some damn miracle of adoration, allowed to see beyond that.

Ian bends down and wraps his fist in Mickey’s shirt, dragging him upwards and pressing his knuckles beneath Mickey’s chin, putting them eye-to-eye, his face close enough to feel Mickey’s breath on his lips and kisses him softly, once.

“I know what you need and I’m going to give it to you, but one more snarky little comment like that and we’re done here. Do you understand?”

Mickey’s eyes narrow as he licks away the feel of Ian’s kiss on his lower lip.

“Fuc...”

Ian silences him with another kiss, this one hard enough to bruise and Mickey blinks up at him, his smirk a little less certain as he begins to yield himself.

“You wanna play rough like that huh?”

“I do. And I bought you some things ...”

Grabbing his bag, Ian rummages inside and tosses lube and condoms onto the bed followed by a pack of smokes, a joint and a clutch of Ben Wah beads and Mickey gives a startled laugh.

“Holy fuck, Firecrotch! You planned a whole fuckin’ perverts picnic!”

“I figured you wouldn’t have had … you know … the stuff you like for a while.”

Ian sounds almost shy at the admission of his own thoughtfulness and Mickey almost gives himself up right that second because Ian is right, he has not had the stuff he likes for a while. He hasn’t had it since the day Ian was dragged away by the MP’s. All the same he isn’t some whiny bitch looking for a pat on the head and he forces himself to stay cool.

He cocks his eyebrow and lets his gaze drift lazily away and then back to Ian through half-lidded eyes, his tongue rolling against his lips as if it is too large for his mouth in that arrogant gesture that Ian has loved since the first time he saw it.

“You’re bein’ a little fuckin’ presumptuous! Maybe I just want a decent night’s sleep. How about you shove those beads up your own ass, huh?”

Despite himself, Ian laughs and then hastily bites his tongue to silence it. He’d forgotten how hard it is to rattle Mickey. If he’d acted like this with any of his other lovers … well … he just wouldn’t. None of them would understand this side of him, the side that was born on the streets he grew up on and nurtured in the language of his home.

“How about you shut your mouth unless you’re gonna do something useful with it.”

He quips back and Mickey smiles at him, a genuine smile that makes Ian want to cradle him to his chest almost as badly as he wants to pound him into the bed and leave him gasping.

“Now I asked you a fucking question, Milkovich: Do you understand?”

Mickey doesn’t answer, just holds Ian’s gaze steadily. It is everything either of them need.

“Get undressed, Mick.”

He says more softly and slowly but surely, Mickey complies.

Ian pauses in taking off his belt to glance up questioningly and Mickey meets his eyes with a small smile.

“You want me to keep hold of this too?”

Ian asks softly, holding the worn old leather out for Mickey’s inspection. Mickey considers it, pinches his lip between thumb and forefinger, and then shakes his head. He can take a lot, is hoping to take a lot, but some things need to be built up to and he isn’t ready for that yet.

“Not tonight.”

Mickey presses his lips together as soon as the words leave them and busies himself with unlacing his boots, keeping his eyes on the task at hand. Despite the almost desperate longing, Mickey refuses to look up to see what effect if any those two words have had on Ian.

Ian smiles softly at the back of Mickey’s head and closes his eyes. He knows he isn’t completely forgiven for Trevor, but the possibility of forgiveness is there and that is something. The rest they will figure out. Together.

#shameless #shameless us #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #nicky nichols #gallavich #series 7 imagine #shameless fanfiction #shameless imagine #Ian loves Mickey #Mickey x Ian

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