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It was cold. Very fucking cold to be exact. Mickey could feel his feet getting numb and wiggled them closer towards Ian, tucking them in between the taller man’s calves.
Ian immediately jumped with a start and flipped to face him.
“Why the hell are your feet so cold?!”
“Because it’s fucking February?” Mickey opted for moving his head in a quick motion towards the frosted window rather than removing his arms from beneath the blanket.
“Have you never heard of socks?”
“I’m not wearing socks to bed. The fact that you wear socks to bed makes me wonder how the hell you ever got laid.”
“Maybe the guys I got with just feel lucky to have me.”
“Or they have such low standards that your copper cock could be nine inches or three and they’d still fuck ya. You fuckin' struck gold with me.” Mickey smiled when Ian playfully glared at him but let out a shocked gasp when the asshole yanked the blanket from him completely.
“Fine fine! Everyone has a crush on your ginger ass and your fuckin' socks. C’mere.” Mickey tried pulling Ian toward him but he just ended up sliding himself closer when he pulled on Ian’s hips. Damn giant. Ian relented and cacooned Mickey back under the blankets, pressing the shorter man onto his chest.
“That’s pretty accurate, actually,” Ian started, “I actually fucked my first crush. So science says that it’s a fact.”
“You fucked your fir- who was your first crush?” Mickey was a little surprised and impressed. Not jealous. Not jealous at all.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Ian is smirking and scoots lower on the bed so they’re at eye level.
“Fuck off and tell me.”
“Guess.” Oh. So Ian felt like bein’ coy and shit. Yeah. Not happenin’.
“Mark Lowndes.” Ok. Guess it is happenin'.
“Nope. Hot, but no.”
“Mack Wright.”
“I don’t think I could ever fuck a guy whose first name is Mackenzie.”
“Adam Lamere.”
“Nope. But hint: the guy played football with Adam.” Ian wiggled his eyebrows and smiled when he saw the realization dawn on Mickey’s face.
“…. Not Roger Spikey.”
“Yes Roger Spikey.”
Mickey sat up on one elbow. Holy shit.
“Holy shit. Donkey dick Roger Spikey? That fuckhead? How the hell did you have a crush on that dickweed?!” Fuck that ‘not being jealous’ shit.
“Because I’m sure your first crush was of the highest breed. Grade A.” Ian smiled and rolled his eyes. Mickey stopped immediately. His panic must have shown because Ian’s eyes went from amused to elated in a split second as he joined Mickey on his elbow.
“Oh my god. Who? WHO?” Ian was having way too much fun with this shit. No way was he tellin’ him shit. He was a fortress. He was gonna be the fuckin’ City of Troy from that movie with this secret.
“I… don’t remember his name.” Mickey tried looking Ian directly in the eyes to sell it. Liars don't look people in the eyes, right? Or do they so they don't look like they're liars? Fuck. Mickey unconsciously bit his lip.
“Bullshit you don’t remember. You literally just listed four people from high school and you went there maybe thirty times.” Ian looked at Mickey's lips and back towards his eyes. Well fuckin’ excuse him for remembering dudes with nice faces, great asses, and donkey dicks. Damn that sounded gay as fuck.
Ian raises his eyebrows when the silence stretches. Mandy keeps saying Ian acts more and more like Mickey the more time they spend together and he kinda loves it.
Mickey looks away and back towards Ian. He feels like being an asshole about this now.
“Guess,” He says. Might as well throw that shit back at him. Ian huffed.
“Any of the guys you said?” Ian asked.
“Fuck naw. None of them.” Mickey went back down onto his side because he got the feeling this wouldn’t be guessed so easy and he wasn’t giving no fuckin’ hints.
“Eric Dweyer? No. You probably got a thing for redheads. You and Mandy actually have similar tastes, but her first crush was Lip, so-“
Mickey felt like someone just threw him into a snow bank. HOLY FUCKING SHIT HOW. IN. THE. HELL? Apparently his poker face was absolute shit because how the fucking fuck did he guess on his goddamn first try?!
Ian was jaw-dropped and a dead silence overtook the room for so long that Mickey could probably hear the mice in the walls takin’ a shit if he listened hard enough for it.
“You’re fucking with me.” Ian had never sounded so affronted in the time they’d been together. Mickey couldn’t even draw breath to answer or lie. Ian's unhinged jaw on the floor was probably takin' up all the goddamn oxygen in the room.
“You’re fucking kidding me!” Now he sounded pissed beyond belief and that kinda startled Mickey out of the brain-dead impression he was doing.
“It was fuckin’ forever ago, man.” He tried to be dismissive about it, but it was a no-go.
“What do you mean you have a crush on my brother?!” Ian sat up and brought the covers with him, forcing Mickey to mirror him to keep warm.
“’HAD’ a crush on your brother. And what’s it fucking matter. You dated my sister, man.”
“That’s totally different considering she has a vagina. And don’t side track. You have a crush on fucking LIP?” Mickey would literally rather talk about his sister’s vagina than have this conversation.
“Are you deaf or something? HAD. As in used to. As in not any-fucking-more.”
“Crushes don’t just disappear like nothin’, Mick!”
“They do when your fuckhead brother runs his mouth.”
“So, what, you don’t think he’s cute anymore?”
“Jesus christ, Ian, are you fuckin' twelve?! NO. I don’t. Not like he fitted me with a goddamn glass slipper and I was star-struck or some shit before the carriage turned back into a pumpkin. I was fuckin’ EIGHT. He always talked back to this dumbass teacher. It was funny. Then he talked to me and I wanted to shove a 64-pack of fuckin’ Crayola’s down his throat to make him stop.” He looked away towards the wall with a pout. Like he wanted that pussy ass college fuck anywhere near his cock.
Ian was silent for a while before speaking again.
“You’ve seen Cinderella, Mick?” The amount of humor in Ian's voice was almost worse than the goddamn conversation.
Mickey’s head swivels towards Ian so fast his neck cracks.
“THAT’S your fuckin’ take-away?! Seriously?”
“No,” Ian starts, “but did you cry when she finally got the prince, Mick? I feel like you totally cried.” Ian placed his hand on Mickey's right shoulder and tilted his head in mock-sympathy.
“You’re a dick. I’m gonna fucking 300 your ass off this bed if you don’t shut up.” Mickey slaps the hand from his shoulder and crosses his arms.
“Awww, Mick! Don’t try and use manly movies to cover this up!”
“Weren’t we talking about the crush I have on your damn brother?”
“HAD, Mick. As in used to. As in not any-fucking-more.”
“I don’t know, Ian. You have a thing for older dudes. Maybe I got a thing for Gallagher boys. The creepy fuckin’ lemur look is the new Firecrotch this season.” Mickey fails to hide the amusement in his voice.
Ian slaps Mickey’s arm and smirks.
“Oh, Lucifer, you mean old thing!” Ian quotes in a high-pitched voice. The redhead chokes on his laugh when Mickey punches him lightly in the stomach.
“I can’t fuckin’ quote the damn movie, dickhead!” Mickey plops back down onto the bed and watches Ian's freckled shoulders and back as they shake with quiet laughter.
They both laugh quietly into the darkness before a comfortable silence settles into the room.
Ian suddenly rolls over and on top of Mickey, his elbows resting on either side of Mickey’s face as he straddles his boyfriend.
“I’m not actually worried, Mick.” Ian smiles and begins twisting Mickey’s hair between the fingers of his left hand.
“You shouldn’t be. I got eyes on one Gallagher. You’re the only Irish piece of shit I’d go to bat for.” Mickey looks down to their connecting chests like their tandem heartbeats are what translate his feelings into words.
“I know. That’s why I love you.” Ian doesn’t wait for Mickey to not be able to say it back. But he really does love Mickey. He gently presses his lips to Mickey’s and absorbs the hesitation before it can oxidize and rust this feeling. They continue kissing before Ian breaks away and rolls back to his side, still facing Mickey. The dark haired man is still lying on his back, eyes to the popcorn ceiling like it’s the Sistine Chapel. Ian watches Mickey’s blue eyes crawl across the grooves and dark spots before trailing down the walls like raindrops on a windshield while chewing his bottom lip, lightly peeling the skin away in his worry.
Mickey’s eyes eventually setting onto Ian’s and the silence holds its breath to offer them a moment of respectful contemplation. Mickey’s nose whistles a little when he intakes a deep breath before scooting closer to Ian. His left hand reaches out on its own and intertwines with Ian’s right while Mickey watches the mutiny with interest.
“You,” Mickey starts but licks his lips and clears his throat like his pounding heart needs the mic tested before performing. “You know that… I love you too, right?”
Honestly, it surprised Ian. Ian had no clue how he would feel when he heard those words. Giddy? Like a Han Solo “I know” kind of feeling? He expected a “me too” before the actual words. And right now his heart is banging against the walls of his chest like a kid rattling a fucking Christmas present. But he sees the conviction in Mickey’s eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes are writing sonnets and even though Lip wasn’t around to help him interpret the meaning, Ian knows.
“You really do, don’t you?” Ian can’t seem to catch the emotion that spills into his voice.
“Yeah. You’ve kinda grown on me.” Mickey is still smiling when he leans forward and gently kisses Ian’s lips again. They twist together, bodies finding each other with practiced ease, hands grasping.
Ian smiles at Mickey, pulling the man closer towards his chest, their hands connected still. Confessions are fucking exhausting and it’s gotta be, like, four in the morning by now.
“God, I fuckin’ love you, Mick.” Ian presses a kiss to Mickey’s drooping eyelids.
“I love you too, Ian.” Mickey shimmies closer until they’re wrapped in each other and his head is rested in the crook of the taller man’s neck.
They sit comfortably in the silence. A chorus of drunken cheers outside unknowingly applauds the development in their bedroom. Mickey gives a jaw-popping yawn and sigh of contentment before he burrows closer towards Ian’s warmth.
“Night, Mick.”
“Night, Ian.”
“Sweet dreams.”
“Fuckin’ nerd.”
“Yeah, but I’m your fucking nerd.”
“You are.”
Ian can feel Mickey drifting off and can’t help himself as he starts to hum A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes before he feels Mickey shift backward, a foot connect with his stomach, and finds himself tumbling to the cold floor, laughing at the grumbling love of his life.