Work Text:
Mickey groans as he cycles through Netflix for what feels like the thousandth time that night. He's pretty sure he has finished the entire app. It's only been two hours since he came home to an empty apartment, but Mickey is steadily losing his mind. There are a couple of empty Old Styles and a half-filled ashtray on the coffee table in front of him. It's a Saturday night and aren't couples supposed to hang out or whatever the fuck?
It was one of those days where Mickey and Ian’s schedules just didn’t line up. By the time Mickey was done with the bar and got back to the apartment, Ian had already left for work. It didn’t happen that often, but when it did it sucked.
He grows more restless, lights up another cigarette, and checks his phone for the time also noting that he doesn't have any new messages. Mickey even texted Sandy earlier under the guise of seeing how she was to try and relieve his boredom, but she hasn’t responded. It seems like everyone has plans except for him.
He opens the Messages app and clicks on the conversation that has a small circle with Ian’s smiling face in it. Mickey bites his lip and starts typing.
Mickey (11:37pm): Tell me again why you’re doing an overnight
Ian (11:37pm): 🙄 June’s kid is sick so I said I’d cover tonight and Sue’s gonna cover tomorrow
Mickey (11:38pm): It’s gonna fuck up your sleep
Ian (11:38pm): It’s one night
Mickey (11:38pm): You must not be very busy to respond this quick
Ian (11:39pm): Why would you say that?? You cursed it
Mickey (11:39pm): Whatever man
Mickey (11:41pm): It's boring here
Ian (11:41pm): Aww, do you miss me?
Mickey (11:41pm): Fuck you’s what I miss
Mickey (11:42pm): Whatever go back to not working
Ian (11:43pm): I miss you too
He feels kind of pathetic but their brief interaction has Mickey grinning at his phone. Sometimes he grows frustrated with Ian’s do-good nature even though he knows it's a cornerstone of the redhead’s personality.
Mickey groans once more leaning back dramatically and blowing smoke towards the ceiling.
Around 1am, he gets an idea. It took a few minutes to decide whether or not it was a good one, but eventually, he figures: what the hell. Mickey gets up, goes into their bedroom to get himself ready, grabs his wallet and keys from the kitchen table, and heads out.
For some, walking around the Back of the Yards neighborhood alone at night would be undesirable, to say the least, but for Mickey, it's just home. After spending his entire life here, Mickey has learned that being poor as fuck isn't always synonymous with being a threat.
Mickey lights up a cigarette as he walks towards a 24-hour convenience store. It's still warm outside, but the humidity of summer is fading. Mickey opted for a black tank top putting a black button-down that had thin white vertical stripes over it. Of course, the sleeves had been ripped off (“What do you have against sleeves, Mick?”). Most of the streetlights are busted making the store's fluorescent lighting stand out in the darkness.
Approaching the door, he takes one last hit before flicking his smoke on the ground. He walks inside, eyes taking a second to adjust to the brightness. He walks towards the back wall of the store where the coffee pots are. Mickey grabs a styrofoam cup filling it to the brim. Unlike himself, Gallagher takes his coffee black. He pops a lid on and goes to the counter to pay for it.
“Kinda late for coffee,” the clerk comments through the bulletproof glass.
“Yeah,” Mickey responds uninterested. He has never put much value into small talk.
At the last minute, Mickey grabs a Snickers bar adding it to his transaction. He hands the clerk a five and pockets the change.
Although the buses are still running, he decides to walk towards the station. It wasn’t that far, only ten or twelve blocks, and Mickey enjoys walking the neighborhood. It's familiar and gives him time to think. At one point, Ian and Mickey had discussed leaving Chicago, but neither one was sure if the other actually meant it. Maybe they did or maybe they just liked thinking about it; what would it be like to live in a city or a town where the names Gallagher and Milkovich didn’t come with so many assumptions or baggage?
Mickey starts second guessing himself the minute the station comes into view. He isn't one for grand gestures, but everyone is quickly realizing that Ian is the exception to most of the arbitrary rules he makes for himself.
He bites his lip psyching himself up to knock on the door.
A few seconds after his knuckles rapped against the metal, he's greeted by a guy about Ian’s height with brown hair wearing the same familiar light blue uniform. He figures this must be Woody. Ian has mentioned him a couple of times.
“Can I help you?”
“Uh, yeah… Is Gallagher around?”
Woody quickly looks Mickey up and down not sure what to make of the small Southside thug in front of him.
“Mickey?” a familiar voice questions from somewhere deeper in the station. Before he knows it, Ian is in the doorway, hand on Woody’s shoulder, and smiling at Mickey in a shocked sort of way. He's wearing his short-sleeve EMT shirt tucked into his black pants. His bright hair is cut so the top is longer than the sides, but it's not slicked back as much as Ian sometimes did.
“Hey Gallagher,” Mickey says shyly.
Ian steps back, taking Woody with him to make room for Mickey to enter the station. Mickey looks around taking in the metal lockers with wooden benches in between them, and a couple of ambulances parked near their respective garage doors.
“Woody, this is my husband, Mickey,” Ian smiles at him. Although they had been married more than half a year, Mickey still gets butterflies whenever Ian introduces him like that.
“Oh shit, hey. It’s nice to finally meet you,” Woody says, reaching out to shake Mickey’s hand. Mickey tries his best not to make a face and briefly takes the other man’s hand in his. “Ian’s told us a lot about you.”
Mickey smirks at Ian, “Is that right?” Ian blushes.
Realizing they probably want privacy, Woody excuses himself and heads back to the staff lounge.
Ian moves in closer to Mickey. Although Mickey has made leaps and bounds in his comfortability in showing Ian affection in public, Ian still wasn’t sure how he’d respond in this situation. Every instinct in his body is telling him to pull Mickey in for a heated kiss, but he settles for resting his left hand against Mickey’s waist.
“What’re you doing here, Mick?” Ian asks through a grin.
“I, uh, I thought I’d bring you some coffee since, ya know, you’re here another 6 hours,” Mickey replies shyly, his cheeks taking on the slightest hint of pink, holding up the cup. “It probably sucks, but whatever. It’s not like some fucking organic coffee place is open at 1am.” He snarks and holds it out for Ian to take.
Ian looks down at the cup before turning his eyes back to Mickey. He catches Mickey staring at his lips. Ian leans down as Mickey leans up for a kiss. It was relatively quick and chaste, but it was what both men had been craving all day.
“Thank you,” Ian says softly against Mickey’s lips when they pulled apart.
It wasn’t lost on either of them that Mickey has never been to the station before. Ian has been to the Alibi countless times while Mickey was working (and when he wasn’t), but this was unchartered territory. Mickey looks around again.
“You gonna show me around or what?”
“Yeah,” Ian nods.
And with that Ian starts giving him a tour. He starts with his locker. Mickey can’t help but smile when he sees a picture of them held up by a magnet on the inside of the door. It was a candid shot from their wedding. They had their arms around each other’s shoulders, drinks in-hand, as they kicked their legs in the air. Both of them remembered that moment well. After a day filled with stress and death threats, they were finally able to just be Ian and Mickey.
As they walk through the space, Ian gestures to the showers bitching about the water pressure and telling him about how uncomfortable the cots are (“They can’t be worse than the joint.” “They’re still pretty bad.”) Ian also shows Mickey a few large metal cabinets that hold extra medical supplies and the dry erase board used to document rig checks.
Ian then brings them into the staff lounge area. On one side there was a small kitchenette with all the basics: refrigerator, sink, toaster, and, naturally, a coffee maker. On the other side was a small table with four chairs. Just past the kitchenette was a space Mickey can only describe as a makeshift living room. There was a couch, a few comfortable looking chairs, and a television. Woody was laying on the couch watching a show that Mickey didn’t recognize.
As he looks around, he sees traces of Ian everywhere. There's an Alibi magnet on the refrigerator undoubtedly from Kev’s latest marketing attempt. His lunch bag is on the counter and his EMT jacket is draped over the back of one of the chairs. He knew being an EMT is important to Ian, but Mickey didn’t realize just how much until that moment.
Mickey watches Ian as he takes a sip of the coffee. He doesn't even try to hide his grimace, which makes Mickey huff out a laugh.
“I told you it would be shitty,” he snarks.
“This might be an ‘it’s the thought that counts’ situation,” Ian says dramatically, sticking out his tongue seemingly to get rid of the bitter taste. He sets it down on the counter walking towards Mickey. Ian gets close enough that Mickey’s eyes shift towards Woody.
Mickey sniffs and thumbs at the side of his nose before suggesting, “Why don’t you show me the ambulance, Red.”
Ian gently smiles and nods, “Okay.”
Ian can’t help but chuckle when he notices Mickey doesn’t have to crouch down when he hops into the ambulance; he’s able to stand up straight with a few inches of clearance between his head and the roof.
“Oh, fuck you, Gallagher,” Mickey groans and quickly hits Ian in the arm.
“I didn’t fucking say anything!” Ian protests while laughing and rubbing his arm.
Ian also hops up immediately bowing his head and grabbing the handrail near the roof as he makes his way closer to the front. He starts showing Mickey all of the medical supplies and he includes little stories here and there. Like the first time he used the defibrillator on a patient shocking her back to life or when he soothed a panicking child as he was strapped down to the spinal board. He also avoided telling stories that still keep him up some nights. Like his first patient who ever died or the woman he lifted the restraints on and who jumped out the back.
Mickey hums along pretending to act interested, but he doesn’t know what any of this shit is and frankly, he doesn’t really care; he has other plans.
“This is the infusion syringe pump so we can essentially inject or withdraw any liquid from a patient’sー,” Ian is cut off when he hears the door of the ambulance shut. Before he even realizes what’s happening, Mickey has his hand on the side of his face pulling him into a fiery kiss. Unlike their kiss at the door, this one has intention behind it.
Ian places his hand on the side of Mickey’s neck deepening the kiss. It’s awkward because Ian is crouching more than usual, but he stops caring once he feels Mickey’s tongue running along his bottom lip. Without hesitation, Ian opens his mouth letting their tongues intertwine. He’s always amazed at how warm and velvety Mickey’s feels against his own.
Mickey is the first to pull away jokingly telling Ian, “That coffee is pretty shitty.”
Ian starts to roll his eyes when he’s roughly pushed down onto the gurney. He barely has time to adjust to the new position when Mickey slides in between his legs. Mickey palms at Ian’s cock as he leans in to meet his lips again. Ian moans into the kiss as what feels like all of the blood in his body is rushing down to dick at once, wrapping his arms around Mickey.
Mickey can feel Ian getting hard under his black pants. His playful biting at Ian’s lips turns into a breathy “ohhh” as Ian’s warm hands settle on his back, one on his shoulder and the other just above his waistband, pulling their bodies closer to allow them to grind against each other.
They both know that this is risky. Ian has only been back at MCE for two months and being caught making out with his husband in the back of the rig wouldn’t inspire confidence in his ability to follow the rules. Mickey pulls away from Ian’s mouth and untucks his work shirt. He works both of his hands up Ian’s chest feeling his abs over the blue fabric.
Mickey looks into Ian’s eyes as he begins to unbutton the shirt. He’s silently asking for permission but he already knows Ian is onboard. Mickey places wet kisses against Ian’s chest as he gets the first few buttons undone. He loves that Ian no longer waxes his chest; he loves how the coarse hair feels against his lips.
As he exposes more and more of Ian’s torso, Mickey kisses and runs his tongue along Ian’s abs leaving a damp trail. Mickey used to feel self-conscious about how great of shape Ian was in comparison to himself, but he’s come to accept it over the years. Ian frequently reminds him that he loves every inch of his body the way it is. Mickey runs his hands up Ian’s stomach and chest pushing the shirt off to his sides.
He sighs under Mickey’s touch. By this point, his cock is pressing against his pants. It’s just this side of uncomfortable and he’s grateful his boxer briefs are creating a barrier against the zipper. He quickly pulls Mickey up to meet his mouth once more. Their tongues clash and slide against each other in a slow rhythm.
Ian’s lips leave Mickey’s as he searches out that spot he knows makes Mickey shiver. He presses wet kisses up the side of Mickey’s neck until he reaches the soft area just behind his ear. The redhead smiles as he hears a whimper, gently grazing his teeth against the spot before placing another sucking kiss.
Ian could listen to Mickey whimper and moan forever, and he fully intends to do just that. He’s working on a small hickey when Mickey’s brain seemingly comes back online pulling away and putting both his hands on either side of Ian’s face giving him more leverage to take back control of the kiss.
They’re sharing the same breath when Mickey whispers, “Wanna suck your dick” causing Ian to stop breathing altogether.
One of Mickey’s hands moves to the side of Ian’s neck where it connects with his shoulder while he waits for a response. Ian wordlessly nods making Mickey grin.
One of the most intimate parts of fooling around, at least in Mickey’s opinion, is unbuckling Ian’s belt. He gets a rush every time he works the leather through the buckle watching it separate and hearing the clink. He pulls the zipper down seeing the outline of Ian’s cock pushing against his black boxer briefs. Mickey can’t resist kissing it over the cloth, making Ian moan.
The stretcher Ian is laying on is in the lounger position giving him the perfect view. “Fuck,” Ian moans as he feels Mickey’s tongue press harder against the wet spot at his tip.
Mickey can tell how worked up the redhead already is by how much his legs are squirming under his touch. “Good?” he asks in a quiet voice. Ian nods his head rapidly. His face snaps back so he’s groaning towards the metal roof as Mickey tongues the spot again. Mickey begins to pull down his pants and underwear, Ian slightly lifting his hips to make it easier.
Mickey can’t help but clench his lip between his teeth to hold back from groaning when Ian’s cock bounces out. “Your fucking dick, man,” he sighs, feeling his own throb at the sight. He doesn’t have a whole lot to compare it to but still, he’s certain it’s the best cock he’s ever seen. He pulls Ian’s pants down just enough to get them out of the way, which ends up being around his knees, the fabric scratching against the sensitive skin on the redhead’s thighs. He leaves his hands on the top of Ian’s thighs and licks the head of his cock. He looks up taking in Ian’s bright green eyes and face that has taken on a red hue.
Ian reaches his right hand down running his fingers through the dark black hair. Mickey drags his tongue up the side of Ian’s hard cock. Their locked eyes communicating more than either of them ever could with words. He gently takes the head into his mouth pushing his tongue against the slit. Mickey rubs at Ian’s thighs before reaching to massage his balls rolling them in his hand. He lightly pulls on them making Ian groan.
Mickey moves his other hand to the base slowly twisting while flattening his tongue around the underside of Ian’s cock. He moves up and down getting everything wet with spit. It’s a relaxed blowjob, the kind they never got to indulge in during the early years of their relationship. Mickey slides off Ian’s cock jerking it a couple of times so he can smear the spit along the entire length.
Wrapping his hand around the base again, Mickey starts sucking Ian in earnest. He hollows out his cheeks moving up and down. The ambulance is filled with wet slurping sounds and moans as Ian moves his other hand into Mickey’s hair as well. He isn’t pushing down or even guiding Mickey’s head; he’s just resting them there. “Fuck, Mickey… ugh, you’re so fucking good at this,” Ian breaths out heavily.
The hands entangled in Mickey’s hair encourage him even more. He moves his hand further down the base, taking more of Ian’s cock into his mouth; he can’t believe there was a time that he hesitated to do this. When the head hits Mickey’s soft palate, Ian arches his back, eyes rolling back as his head hits the gurney.
Ian squeezes his eyes shut tight as he tries his hardest not to thrust, but then he feels a hand nudge against his thigh. His head snaps up. The redhead is convinced that Mickey can read his mind. Taking that as an invitation, Ian starts to propel himself into Mickey’s perfect mouth. He’s rendered breathless as he watches his cock slide in and out, Mickey’s full lips stretched around him.
It’s near impossible for your self-esteem not to skyrocket when the love of your life is falling apart underneath you. It has Mickey reaching down to adjust his own cock, which has been rapidly filling.
After one particularly deep thrust, Mickey’s gag reflex kicks in and he quickly grips onto Ian’s hip in an attempt to gain control. He’s still honing his deepthroating skills because fuck, it’s not his fault Gallagher’s dick is unreal. Ian quietly apologizes, but Mickey shakes it off; even though his stomach churns, he prides himself on being able to make the redhead’s brain short circuit.
Ian’s fingers tighten as Mickey moves down to suck at his balls. “I’m fucking close…” Ian warns thighs quivering. If Mickey’s mouth wasn’t full, he would be smirking. He licks up between Ian’s balls all the way to the tip of his cock before sliding off completely. Ian looks downward wondering why he stopped.
Making direct eye contact, Mickey sticks out his tongue and uses his grip on Ian’s cock to tap the head against it. The wet smacking sound has Ian’s stomach muscles clenching. “Jesus Christ,” Ian slurs, overwhelmed, and doing his best to keep from cumming. “Oh shit, oh shit... you’re s-so fucking hot, Mick.”
Mickey kisses the head again savoring the taste of Ian’s salty precum. He licks at the sensitive spot just under the head which makes Ian’s legs twitch. He chuckles against Ian’s cock giving it one last kiss. For the next few seconds, Mickey focuses on catching his breath, Ian attempting the same.
When Ian frees his fingers from the black strands, he tugs Mickey so they’re face-to-face. They have no idea who leans in first, but their teeth and tongues clash. He can just barely taste himself on Mickey’s tongue and he kind of loves it. It makes his head spin to know that Mickey loves sucking his dick and making him feel good.
Mickey keeps stroking Ian, his hand gliding up and down the shaft easily from the spit and precum. Ian’s moans fill the ambulance, at least the ones that aren’t swallowed down by his husband in a half-hearted attempt to keep quiet. Both of their lips are starting to swell from kissing and biting and licking at each other.
“Ian,” Mickey practically purrs, his voice raspier than usual.
“Yeah?”
“Get inside me.”
Ian meets Mickey’s eyes. It’s so fucking risky, but he can’t bring himself to care.
Out of all the places they’ve had sex, the back of an ambulance really isn’t that bad. It’s cleaner than the Alibi bathroom, more secluded than the “boys’ room” in the Gallagher house, and definitely more comfortable than a convenience store stockroom. Of course, nothing is as great as their own bed but, all things considered, it’s not terrible; as long as they’re together, how could it be?
Mickey pulls away from Ian so he can stand up and work on getting his own belt undone. He does his best to balance as he simultaneously works the belt through the loops and kicks off his black Timbs. Mickey slides his pants down his legs making sure his socks get caught in them and come off too. The metal floor is cold against the bottoms of his feet, especially compared to the heat of the air. Next, he removes the sorta-vest but leaves his tank top on as he feels weird being fully naked when Gallagher is basically clothed.
“Are there condoms in this thing?” Mickey questions. Ian looks at him confused.
“Uh…” Ian stammered and sat up. “Do we need one? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“What the fuck, Gallagher, no… I just,” Mickey groans, pushing his hand against his face sliding it off to the side in a way Ian knows he only does when he’s embarrassed. “I don’t know, I thought it would make things easier?”
Ian tilts his head not fully understanding. “Easier?”
“Yeah, like, cleaning up or whatever.”
A huge grin slowly creeps across Ian’s face. “You’re so fucking cute, Mick.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey grumbles as Ian pulls at him to climb back over and straddles his hips. “It’s your stupid uniform.”
“Just how messy do you plan to get?” Ian playfully challenges.
“Fuck you, Galla-,” Mickey gets cut off when Ian wraps his arms around his waist effectively pulling him into another series of kisses; they both can’t help but smile whenever they briefly pull apart for air. Ian can feel Mickey’s hard cock rubbing against his stomach and he grinds his own against Mickey’s ass crack the best he can.
Mickey leans to get his pants, Ian holding onto his hips to keep him from falling over, getting frustrated as he tries to get something out of his pocket. When he finally does, he triumphantly holds up a small bottle of lube.
Mickey squeezes a quarter-sized amount on his fingers rubbing his thumb against them in an attempt to warm it up. He pushes up on his knees so he has room to reach around and glide his hand up and down Ian’s shaft. He incorporates twists around the head knowing it’ll pull the most amazing sounds out of the redhead. “Ohh… oh shit,” Ian moans, chest trembling.
After a few more up-and-downs, Mickey is confident Ian’s cock is well lubricated. He grabs the base the best he can and taps it against his crack. He uses his thighs to easily slide against the wet cock. Then he directs the head to his hole which flutters at the touch. Ian loves being able to feel Mickey’s furled hole against the sensitive skin on his dickhead; he’s reveling in the feeling when he realizes something…
“W-Wait, fuck,” Ian stops when Mickey rubs the head against his hole again. “Wait, I gotta…” He shuffles best he can looking for the lube causing Mickey to let go of his erection. When he finds it, he squeezes some onto his own fingers attempting to reach back so he can prep Mickey.
“I’m good, Firecrotch,” Mickey says above him. “I, uh, took care of it.”
Ian tilts his head squinting his eyes. He still uses his fingers to press against Mickey’s hole only to find that it’s more pliant than he would have expected. “Fuck, Mickey,” Ian moans, pressing one finger in, quickly realizing he can easily slide in two.
Ian imagines Mickey laying in the center of their bed, having just concocted this brilliant plan, working his hole open. He thinks about Mickey biting his lip and arching his back as he slides his own fingers in and out, dick growing harder with every stroke. He can almost hear Mickey letting out those little breathy moans as he hits that spot inside of himself and he wonders just how far Mickey got before he had to cut himself off.
“I said I’m fucking good, Gallagher,” Mickey snaps although he hasn’t been able to resist pushing back against Ian’s fingers.
“Just let me…” Ian continues to work his fingers in and out. Although he trusts Mickey, he doesn’t want to hurt him. Ian slides his fingers out, applies more lube, and gazes into Mickey’s eyes wordlessly asking him if he’s ready for more. Mickey seems to understand and nods. The angle is awkward and his wrist kind of hurts, but Ian works in three of his fingers. Mickey groans, lavishing at the stretch. No matter how much they fuck, Mickey’s hole is always tight.
“Gallagher!” Mickey snaps again.
After a few more seconds, Ian decides he’s satisfied and pulls his fingers out wiping the extra lube on Mickey’s thigh, earning himself a pointed look.
Mickey grabs Ian’s dick and lines it up with his hole. He slowly drops his weight until Ian’s wide head pushes past his tight ring. Ian rubs his hands up and down Mickey’s thighs encouraging him and giving him total control. Mickey slightly grimaces but continues dropping down taking Ian’s entire length. When his ass settles against Ian’s hips, he realizes that he’s been holding his breath.
Ian watches as Mickey closes his eyes and deeply exhales. Sometimes it overwhelms him that Mickey trusts him with something so intimate; that he’s willing to be so open and vulnerable.
“Okay?” Ian asks softly. Mickey keeps his eyes shut but nods his head. Ian can feel the moment Mickey starts to adjust to his size; when he starts doing little rotations with his hips. Mickey eventually reopens his eyes, blue meeting green in the most fantastic way. He uses his thigh muscles to push himself up and down, each time taking more and more of Ian’s cock.
They find a slow rhythm. Mickey raises up until just the head of Ian’s cock is in him before sliding back down. Ian watches Mickey pull his bottom lip between his teeth, breathing heavily through his nose. With Ian’s legs flat against the stretcher, he doesn’t have much leverage but he manages small thrusts every time Mickey’s ass falls against him. Mickey’s hole is warm and squeezes his cock just right; the lube making his insides slippery with the smallest amount of friction.
Mickey places one hand on Ian’s stomach and the other on his thigh. He increases the speed of their fucking, riding Ian hard. He lets out breathy whimpers as Ian’s cock starts directly hitting his prostate. Mickey’s head falls backward as he gets lost in the feeling. He alternates between slamming down and grinding back-and-forth, his cock beginning to drip precum onto Ian’s stomach.
“You feel so good,” Mickey moans out, whole body bouncing.
“You do too,” Ian replies, eyes locking onto Mickey’s elongated neck. He pulls Mickey down, loving how their bellies feel pressed against each other, and starts kissing below his ear. Although it disrupts their pace, Ian’s able to just barely keep thrusting into Mickey while he kisses down his jawline eventually making it to his lips. Their lips smack against each other and their tongues meet in between their panting.
Mickey places one last fevered kiss that has Ian’s lips chasing after him, but Mickey keeps his hands pressed firmly against the redhead’s chest forcing him to stay put. He builds their rhythm back up, driving down hard and angling his hips in a way that has Ian’s entire shaft dragging against his prostate.
At some point, Ian becomes annoyed that he can’t run his hands over Mickey’s chest. Mickey's skin is like porcelain, exceptionally pale and smooth, but it’s also soft and feels like silk under his fingers. He pushes Mickey’s tank top up until it’s scrunched under his armpits. He places both of his hands on Mickey’s pecs slowly sliding them down, thumbs grazing over his hard nipples. Reaching Mickey’s stomach, Ian realizes he might have a small obsession. He loves the soft give and feeling the quivers every time he touches him there. Eventually, Ian’s hands find themselves resting just above Mickey’s hips, thumbs pressing against the sides of his stomach as he continues to watch Mickey work his cock.
Ian bends his legs letting his feet press flat against the stretcher and grabs Mickey’s ass cheeks slightly pulling them apart. This new position gives him more leverage to aim directly at that spot inside him. “Oh, fuck, Ian…” Mickey moans in a much higher pitch than he’d ever admit. Mickey rests his hands on Ian’s knees, his cock bouncing wildly in the air between them. Ian makes an attempt to find the lube, but neither his brain nor vision are working at full capacity. Instead, he licks his palm lining it with spit before wrapping it around Mickey’s cock.
“Ian,” Mickey gasps on a particularly deep thrust. There’s no more “Gallagher” or “Firecrotch” or “Red”ーjust Ian. He craves hearing Mickey use his name while they fuck; he loves hearing him moan it or whimper it or scream it.
Ian sits up, letting go of Mickey’s cock, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s back pulling him into another kiss. Mickey continues to grind against him making both of them groan, chests rubbing against each other.
“I’m close,” Ian whispers and presses their foreheads together. “Me too,” Mickey whispers back like they just exchanged secrets. Ian tilts forward, his breath warm against Mickey’s ear, “Gonna make you cum.” Mickey’s heart skips a beat.
Ian increases the speed of their fucking and Mickey meets him every thrust. He makes sure that his cock is relentless as it slams into that spot. Mickey puts his hands back on Ian’s chest as every thrust punches out a moan. Mickey’s forehead drips sweat onto Ian, but Ian knows he’s just as heated. The air around them humid and warm.
Ian takes Mickey’s cock into his hand using Mickey’s rapidly increasing precum as lube. He tightens his grip in a way he knows Mickey likes and he makes sure to press his thumb firmly on the vein on the underside.
“Ian…” Mickey warns, eyes starting to flutter and chest heaving. He feels an electric warmth surge through his stomach. “C’mon… I got you,” Ian lovingly affirms coordinating his thrusts and hand motions.
Mickey can’t hold off any longer, his thighs shaking and he unconsciously murmurs in a low tone, “Ian…oh, fuck, Ian.” His face scrunches into a silent scream as he begins to cum; his hole contracting around Ian’s cock. He paints Ian’s chest with three distinct milky stripes. Ian’s hand is dripping and there’s a pool starting to form under Mickey’s cockhead against Ian’s lower belly.
Ian lets go of Mickey’s overly sensitive dick and Mickey falls forward onto his chest. He’s panting heavily taking a few minutes to regulate his breathing, Ian’s hands caressing his sweaty back. He looks up seeking out a kiss, which Ian eagerly meets.
This time it’s Mickey who leans in to whisper against Ian’s ear, “Cum in me.” Ian gasps, his heart swelling no matter how many times he’s heard that. Mickey bites at his earlobe before pushing himself off Ian’s chest. He starts to roll his hips, silently encouraging Ian to finish.
Ian grabs a hold of Mickey’s hips and begins to thrust into him slower than before. Feeling Mickey’s insides tightly clench around his cock as he came had already brought Ian closer to the edge. Mickey grinds against Ian working the redhead’s cock with his entire body. Ian begins to speed up, closing his eyes, letting the sensations take over him as their breathing and the wet sounds from where they’re connected fill the ambulance. Mickey’s softening but still plump erection taps against Ian’s belly.
Mickey covers Ian’s hands that are gripping his hip bones with his own. They work together to bring Ian closer and closer.
When Ian cums, he stops thrusting. He’s convinced time stops and all he can feel is electricity coursing through his veins. He holds Mickey’s hips tight, fingers pressed so hard that it will leave behind small bruises for them to find later, as his balls tighten and his cock pulses. Mickey makes little rotations with his hips, slowly grinding against his husband guiding him through his orgasm. He takes in the redhead’s face: eyes squeezed shut and lips parted.
“Fuck,” Mickey admires from above; it’s always overwhelming when he feels Ian cumming inside him, marking him in a way that no one else has ever done.
Mickey leans down holding himself up with one hand against the gurney and the other on the side of Ian’s face. He runs his thumb over Ian’s cheekbone. He can feel Ian’s softening cock just barely staying inside him and the wetness threatening to escape. When Ian’s face relaxes and his eyes leisurely open, Mickey gives him a soft smile, pushing a sweaty strand of hair off his forehead.
After a few minutes, Mickey climbs off Ian, his legs wobbling as he gains his footing. They steal glances at each other as they start putting themselves back together. Mickey bends down to start digging his socks out of his pant legs as Ian sits up pushing his deflating cock back into his boxers. His eyes wander down Mickey’s body, taking in every detail. His eyes stop at the inside of Mickey’s thigh where he can see what can only be his cum slowly running down.
“Fuck, Mick…” Ian sighs. Mickey turns toward Ian noticing where the redhead’s eyes are hyper-focused.
“Told you we should have used a condom,” Mickey snarks, doing his best to keep his balance as he puts his socks back on.
“No… I like seeing it and knowing that I put it there,” Ian shakes his head while Mickey pulls up his boxers and pants cutting off his view. He steps back into his boots.
“Possessive bitch,” Mickey grins, putting his hand against Ian’s neck, kissing him quickly. He taps his fingers against Ian and pulls away to grab his vest, throwing it at Ian so he can clean the cum from his chest before it completely dries. Ian wipes himself off then gestures to Mickey wondering if he’s going to carry the cum-covered shirt all the way home; it turns out that yes, that’s exactly what he’s planning on doing.
Ian stands up tucking his shirt back into his pants, pulling up the zipper, and securing his belt. Mickey’s the first one to head towards the back door, grabbing the handle, and opening it. A wave of cool air washes over them.
Mickey holds onto the door and jumps out with Ian following. Ian turns around to shut it, but Mickey stops him. “You might wanna let that air out,” he jokes. Ian rolls his eyes and closes it anyway.
They walk slowly towards the station’s door playfully bumping into each other and quietly joking around. When they reach it, Ian asks, “What’d you think of the tour?” Mickey snorts. Instead of a sarcastic comment mocking Ian’s dorkiness, he’s honest, “It was pretty fucking good, Gallagher.”
Mickey smiles up at him while biting his lip, a habit he does when he’s turned on or feeling exposed. Ian returns a toothy grin.
“Text me when you get home?” Ian requests expecting a snide response. Instead, he gets another shy smile and a head nod. “I will.” Ian pulls at Mickey’s belt bringing him close for one last tender kiss.
After they pull apart, Mickey opens the door and throws Gallagher one last look before walking through it.
Ian decides to rejoin Woody in the staff lounge. He eyes the long-abandoned coffee on the counter as he passes it, opting to throw himself down onto one of the recliner chairs. Woody, who is still laying on the couch with his head against a pillow and legs crossed, takes his eyes off the screen turning to look at him.
“Mickey leave?” He questions.
Ian nods, “Yeah, I gave him a tour and we talked a little bit then he took off…” knowing that’s absolutely the most reductive way to refer to how they had just spent the last hour or so. “He said it was nice meeting you though,” he lies.
“Yeah? It was cool to finally meet him too. He seems nice,” Woody responds.
Ian laughs to himself; no one has ever described meeting Mickey for the first time as “cool” or him as “nice.” Woody turns back to the television and Ian settles deeper into the chair. He can’t stop his mind from replaying the night’s events; it was certainly not how he imagined his shift going.
Suddenly, Ian’s phone lights up and vibrates against the arm of the chair. He picks it up, swiping his thumb across the notification bar.
Mickey (3:42am): Home
Ian (3:42am): Good
Ian (3:43am): See you in a few hours 😘
Mickey (3:43am): 🖤
Ian smirks at the screen before hitting the side button to lock it. Knowing Mickey made it back to their apartment safe, Ian rests his head against the chair cushion and shuts his eyes. As he drifts to sleep, he can imagine Mickey doing the same in their bed. Ian wonders if Mickey is snuggling his pillow; something he knows his husband does when he’s not there with him.
About an hour after Mickey leaves, the station gets a call. Car crash on the Dan Ryan with three injured. Ian and Woody jump up and grab their ALS bags heading towards the ambulances. Ian swipes the keys off a hook next to the rig check board.
He climbs into the driver’s seat buckling his seatbelt, Woody mirroring his actions on the passenger side. As they pull out of the garage, Woody flicks the switch that starts the lights and siren as Ian drives them east towards the expressway.
Ian is driving above the speed limit and luckily, due to the early morning hour, there aren’t many cars on the road. It’s strange for Ian to think that he used to fall asleep to the sound of sirens so loud they covered his brothers’ snores. Ian had always wondered where they were going and why. Now, years later, he’s the one behind the siren.
On a particularly sharp turn, they both hear something roll around in the back. Ian looks in the rearview mirror as Woody looks over his shoulder, both of them trying to identify the source. It sounds like something is sliding across the floor and hitting the metal sides.
“What the hell is that?” Woody questions.
“I have no idea,” Ian shakes his head, putting his eyes back on the road.
Woody unclips his seatbelt and crouches as he goes back to investigate. After a few seconds, Ian can hear him laughing. “What is it?” Ian peers into the rearview mirror again seeing Woody gripping the handrail and boisterously laughing at whatever he has in his hand. “Woody?” Ian asks more forcefully.
Woody has a shit-eating grin as he makes his way back to the passenger seat. He holds up the small bottle of lube for Ian to see. “I didn’t realize Sliquid was a standard supply for the rig nowadays,” Woody laughs near hysterically while Ian’s face flushes and he avidly avoids eye contact choosing to focus solely on the road.
Ian doesn’t have a whole lot of time to be embarrassed as they approach the scene of the accident, alternating blue and red flashing lights from multiple cop cars and firetrucks. Any self-consciousness he may have felt is washed away as his adrenaline kicks in. Throwing the ambulance in park, he grabs his bag and heads toward the wreck.