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This is it, thinks Mickey. This is where he wants to spend the rest of his life. Knees on the edge of the bed. Face smushed into the mattress. Hands twisted into his unwashed sheets.
“Fuck, Ian!” The rhythmic slap of Ian’s hips against his ass cheeks was intoxicating. Every thrust rubbing against his prostate, building a fiery heat that starts in the soles of feet and ends somewhere around his belly. He’s always too far gone to figure out exactly where.
He wasn’t going to last much longer. Slap slap slap. Ian wasn’t either, if the speed of his thrusts was anything to go by. Slap slap slap. His eyes scrunched closed, his knees aching with the weight of Ian against him. Slap slap slap. Fuck he was on the edge, close. So. Fucking. Close.
Slap slap slap. Slap slap slap. Slap slap slap.
“Ian!” His strangled moan filled the room as a soft hand wrapped around his cock.
It had been so long since they’d banged on a bed. Instead they’d snatch moments in the back of the Kash n Grab, the abandoned buildings or, Mickey’s favourite, behind the high school bleachers.
Slap slap slap.
It was always so good with Ian. He felt things no one else had ever made him feel. Things he pushed down so far they burned. But he couldn’t keep them down in moments like this. When Ian was pounding into him, his hands caressing his hips in a mix of hard and soft. Mickey would never admit it, but he liked the softness with Ian.
Slap slap slap.
They’d only just had their first kiss, but he knew pretty quickly that it was different with Ian. Everything was different with Ian, it was just so much.. more. Ian made him crazy. Taking risks he would never take for anyone else. Hell, they’d already been caught fucking in the Kash n Grab twice and yet when Ian locked the door and led the way back there, Mickey followed. There was no doubt in his mind, he’d always follow.
Slap slap slap.
Sweat trickled down his face. It was all too much, he needed release. Ian’s other hand shifted from his hip and slipped around his waist pulling him up. This was new.
Mickey’s back hit Ian’s chest as the redhead continued thrusting. Ian’s hand was still sliding over his cock, his pace quickening in the new position.
“Kiss me.” It was just a whisper breathed into his ear. “Please Mickey.”
He couldn’t hold back. Not now, not after the evening they’d shared, watching movies, eating pizza rolls and acting like dorky teenagers. Not after inviting Ian to a sleepover. Not after kissing Ian in that van, before running away. Pretending he was cool and calm when actually his insides were fucking dancing. A mix of euphoria and fear. It had distracted him, made him careless. Stupid grandfather clock.
He tilted his head and brought their lips together. Another softness, a heavy contrast to the deep heavy thrusts Ian was making into him.
That was it. He’d reached the end, unable to stay completely upright, his body crunching as he came over Ian’s hand. Ian held him tight through his orgasm as his own release hit, filling Mickey with warm cum.
Ian didn’t let go, his arm stayed around Mickey’s waist, cock still buried deep. They continued their kisses, prolonging the feeling for as long as possible.
Every nerve was charged, intense. Too intense. Mickey pulled away and slumped onto the mattress, the tangled sheets uncomfortable under his chest. At least he was blaming the sheets for that tight, pounding feeling.
Ian bounced down onto the bed beside him,causing it to shake. His body sticks against Mickey’s side as they press together in the small bed.
“Fuck, Mickey.” Ian pants. Mickey thought about making a joke. Again, Gallagher? But nothing came. Something in the air stopped him.
Instead he shuffled onto his side, watching Ian carefully, as he reached over and placed a soft, gentle kiss on the redhead's lips. Fuck, what was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he control himself around Ian?
Their eyes met as Mickey pulled back. Green eyes staring at him, unrelenting and intense. He knew he wasn’t hiding his feelings, those burning feelings he couldn’t yet put into words. He could see Ian’s eyes reading them, reading him. Jesus, he was fucked.
Eventually Mickey dropped back onto the bed, shuffling until he was facing the wall, his back to Ian. He just needed a minute without those eyes, that face, those looks. As he closed his own eyes he felt a hand, gentle on his hip, before sliding softly across his stomach. Then Ian’s hard body pressed against his back, breath hit his neck.
They didn’t speak. Instead, Ian’s fingers traced soft patterns across his lower stomach, lulling him to sleep.
No, this is it, thought Mickey. This is where he wants to spend the rest of his life.