Work Text:
When the text from the unknown number comes in, Ian is about halfway through his Chill Out playlist in his room, his phone lighting up where he’s stretched out on his bed.
'blowing a second chance is about the dumbest shit you can pull val. you got til tomorrow. don’t make it three.'
It’s decidedly not Chill Out material, but has him rereading it all the same, his mouth twisting with morbid curiosity that’s borne from not nearly enough stimulation in the past hour.
An ultimatum, huh?
Sounds serious.
He should text back.
'not val. got the wrong number.'
Imagine if he was though.
Mystifyingly - excitingly, his phone lights back up.
'don’t gimme that shit. keep dodging this and my tire iron’s gonna come have a chat with your kneecaps.'
Ian’s eyebrows arch.
'yikes.' he types. 'still not val tho.'
And the resulting response time is so quick that it becomes clear now what he has to do.
'enough. you got til tomorrow or its gonna get real fucking uncomfortable for you.'
Ian huffs out a long sigh through his nose, thumbing open his camera and angling his phone over his head. He throws up a lazy backwards peace sign. Takes the selfie without smiling and sends it off.
Proof. Undeniable.
'not val'
A handful of seconds pass and it’s radio silence. Nothing.
And then…
'oh'
'yeah. good luck with the kneecaps tho.'
He sends it off and then scrolls through the messages one more time, lazily soaking up every last bit of enrichment before exiting out and tossing his phone to the end of his bed.
Around him, the end of a song feeds into the next. Perfect overlay. He puts a little too much effort into that shit, but it makes the transition seamless enough that the ping of his phone going off is crystal clear.
Oh.
With a grunt, Ian sits up, keeping his posture slumped as he thumbs open the new message.
It’s from the same person.
'how do i know youre not just covering for him'
Ian blinks. Lets his gaze wander out to the rest of his room as he ponders that.
And you know what? Yeah. He can play with this a little more.
Being Val’s accomplice sounds fun.
He’s gonna be Val’s accomplice.
He starts laying groundwork for his scheme, his posture straightening to bring his phone into his lap as he types his answers in.
'hm…'
'idk'
'does kinda sound like something i’d do'
Another handful of seconds pass. And then:
'alright forget it'
Ian frowns. '?'
'youre not involved. aint no way val would run with someone like you'
And wait just a fucking second. 'whats that mean?'
'you don’t think he’d like me?'
'hell no'
'why not?'
'too soft'
Ian huffs, insulted for a reason he can’t explain. '☹️'
'exactly'
Well damn. Fine. 'if im so soft then why are you still talking to me?' Clearly this person’s got scarier people to chat up. People who blow first and second and possibly third chances.
But when he gets his answer, it’s the absolute last thing he expects.
'maybe you aint too bad to look at or smth'
Because wait a second. That’s… 'you think im hot?'
'or smth'
Ian’s tummy flips. Brows rise in interest, his eyes darting around the room for someone to bear witness, remembering just a touch too late that he’s alone.
He swipes up their conversation. Stalls on the picture he sent - just a little refresher.
Barring the fact that he’s technically shirtless, it’s not even that great of a selfie. He didn’t even smile. But this apparent criminal thinks he’s hot?
His fingers tap mindlessly on the side of his phone as he debates whether or not to ask.
Yeah. He’s gonna. 'you a girl?'
Because they’re usually a girl.
Historically.
Not that Ian’s out here getting a lot of death-threats from the ladies - but in the real world it’s more often than not a-
His phone lights up.
The message pops down.
'guy. that a fucking problem?'
Ian’s tummy flips again, only this time it’s stoked by his ever-present interest in flirting with boys. Mysterious boys, even.
Criminals.
Shit. His night just got ten times more interesting, didn’t it?
'opposite of a problem actually 😏', he sends.
'yeah you give off that vibe', he gets back.
And… Hm! Okay, they’re really doing this, aren’t they?
Ian gathers himself to lean back against his headboard, kicking his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles.
'i feel like i should be insulted by that'
'should i be insulted?'
'be whatever youre gonna be'
'inspiring!' Truly! Even if it clearly wasn’t meant like that. He’s just riding high off the fact that this is all still going. Because they’re really picking up speed now. Almost no time between each text. 'im ian btw'
'great'
'whats your name'
'don’t worry bout that'
'seriously?'
'after you threaten my kneecaps?'
'three chances is kinda a lot btw don’t you think?'
'that wasn’t for you that was for val'
'your precious kneecaps are safe'
'for now'
'still wanna know who im talkin to tho'
'cope'
Ugh, fine. He guesses he’ll accept that.
For now.
The knock on his door has Ian looking up, Trevor popping his head through curls-first.
“Gonna pack a bowl. You interested?”
“Oh uhh, yeah. Be out in a sec.”
At the disappearance of his roommate, Ian slips right back to his criminal correspondence. He’s not gonna get a name. But that doesn’t mean he can’t get anything.
'how old are you at least?'
There’s a pause. Like the lull in his response time is transferring.
But then he gets a text back.
'23'
'like actually or are you fucking with me'
'actually'
Ian smiles, giddy with it. 'im 22!'
'great!'
Definitely a sarcastic exclamation point. He’s being made fun of. 'you don’t think that’s ironic?'
'no?'
It is. It’s fate. 'you also in chicago?'
'jesus christ you just love givin your info out to strangers dont you red'
‘Red’. Nicknames already! 'youre not a stranger anymore. i feel very bonded to you.'
'thats the gayest shit i ever heard'
Ian chuckles to himself. Shoots him a '💚'. Laughs again at what he gets back.
'christ'
This guy is fun. He’s having fun.
'so i take it you wont send me a pic'
'of what'
'you'
'fuck no'
Yeah, he didn’t think so. 'how bout where you are rn?'
'the fuck for'
'because im bored 😞'
'and thats my problem because…'
'because you started this and got me interested and now you gotta entertain me'
'you serious rn?'
'yes 😠 gimme something to work with here'
Ian sends it off and throws his legs over the side of his bed. He doesn’t know if he’s gonna get anything. And if he does, he doesn’t know what to expect.
All he knows is it’s probably gonna take a second. So into the living room he goes.
Trevor’s already on the couch when he gets there, flipping through the TV. On the coffee table in front of him, the pipe sits packed and ready.
“Go ‘head,” he says, using the remote to motion toward it without looking.
Ian slumps down onto the other end of the couch, “Thanks.” Scoops the pipe and the lighter up, taking a small hit and breathing it into his lungs.
He lets it go right as he hears the ping coming from his sweats pocket.
Oh fuck yeah…
Ian pulls his phone out, his attention glued to it as he passes the stuff over to Trevor.
[Unknown Contact has sent a photo (less than a minute ago)]
Fuck yes. He actually did it.
“Care if I put the debate on?” Trevor asks, but Ian’s so far up his phone’s ass that he can’t be bothered to answer with more than a wave-off.
Because the photo is loading, dark and a little grungy.
Low lighting. Neon signs on the back wall.
On the chipped wood table is a beer bottle, the guy’s pale hand resting next to it and damn, wait a second - he’s got knuckle tattoos?
Ian’s pulse picks up, attraction ebbing through his chest and a little lower as he tries to make out the letters.
He can’t. It’s too dark in the bar.
Speaking of which…
'woof. out by your lonesome?'
Because there's for sure no one else framed in that shot. Ian makes sure of it.
'who says im alone'
'waitin for someone'
'who?'
'your mom.'
And as depressingly funny as that is, Ian doesn’t wanna let this go. 'gonna be waiting a long ass time if thats true.' Decides to prod. 'friend?' he asks. 'date?'
'sorta'
'which one. friend or date.'
And then it hits him. 'oh its a hookup.'
And then it hits him, hits him. 'you threatened to smash someones kneecaps in while you wait for your hookup?'
'i multitask'
Ian breathes out a laugh, the voices on the TV competing for his attention and losing hard, despite Trevor’s insistence on bumping the volume up a few clicks.
'got that on your grindr profile i bet'
'23. Multitasker. Don’t ask my name 🔪'
'yep nosy you got me'
'i knew it.' He’s funny! 'id tap that'
'too late'
'he didn’t show yet right?'
'i’d say i got time'
Ian takes another hit. Offers it and then sets it back down on the coffee table so he can get back to his phone and shoot his shot.
'your tattoos are cool'
'bet they look good wrapped around a tire iron'
A beat passes.
Intrigue.
'that a dick joke?'
'not if my knee caps are in danger'
Another beat.
Intrigue compounding.
'knee caps are fine red'
'for now'
He beams, bringing his phone in a little closer as he fires off a storm of hearts. '💚💚💚'
“Alright, Dimples…”
Ian looks up, blinking owlishly at his roommate. “Who.”
“You, dummy.” Oh. “Who’s got you smiling so hard?”
He glances back down to the conversation in question, mouth open, but words difficult. “Oh, uh…” how the fuck does he explain this? “I…dunno.”
Trevor’s brows pinch. “Whaddaya mean?”
“I dunno who I’m talking to.”
A beat. Tone shifting. “Whaddaya mean?”
“It’s-... Don’t worry about it.” He waves him off again. Directs it towards the TV. “Watch your...thing…”
He’s got shit to do. Mysterious boys to pull. Because he’s got a new message, the sight of it stoking that intrigue inside him like it never left.
'again with the hearts'
Not an emoji user, then. That’s fine. Ian can be the one handling all the hearts. 'im a loving guy'
'uh huh'
'go send that shit to your bf, loving guy'
'don’t got one atm'
'wonder why that is'
Ian pauses. Flicks his eyes upward to make sure Trevor’s attention is finally off him - back down when it is.
'most likely same reason as you. you know since youre the one waiting on grindr dick right now'
'hes probably totally ditching you btw'
'nah he’s here'
Ian’s head rears back at it.
Because wait. His hookup is there? '??? since when?'
'idk like ten min ago?'
'?????????'
'ok the ??? shit is worse than the hearts'
'go back to lover boy mode'
And yeah fine - okay. But can you blame him? Ten whole minutes.
And don’t think that little “loverboy” comment didn’t spark a few things inside him. 'just shocked youre still talking to me now that hes here'
He…kinda assumed he was just a distraction. Something to pass the time with while this guy waited. But no. He’s still talking to Ian.
'i multitask', he says.
And it’s got a smile dancing across his face. Giddy nerves.
'ahhh right. i forgot!'
Silly him.
“So-… I’m sorry, why again are you texting this stranger?” Comes Trevor’s voice once more. It’s not judgy. He’s just high and trying to follow the thread, the droning debate on the TV clearly no longer doing it for him.
Ian doesn’t blame him. He’s having the time of his life over here. “Wrong number. Kinda spiraled.”
“You or them?”
“Him. Thought I was some dude named Val.” Ian leans forward to grab the pipe and lighter, concentrating on not getting a headrush in the process. “Lot nicer when he’s calling me hot and not threatening me with a tire iron.”
“...right.” He can feel the eyes on him the entire time he takes a hit. Trying to dissect. “And…how’s he know what you look like?”
“Oh,” Ian blows out, voice a little ragged. “I sent him a selfie.”
Another handful of seconds tick by in silence. Predictably. And then, “You don’t need me to tell you that’s weird, right?”
“No, I don’t need you to tell me that's weird. I know it’s weird.”
“Okay.”
“I just know he’s hot, Trev. I can fucking feel it.” In his dick. “My dick knows-”
“Okay.” And with that, Trevor turns bodily back to the TV, putting an end to the investigation as he must sense the direction it’s heading. “Alright. Sorry I asked.”
But Ian doesn’t let it put a damper on his high. He’s having fun. He doesn’t need other people to understand. Just mystery guy.
And speaking of…
'so now that your hookup's here, what’s the call?'
He gets a response almost instantly. 'call on what'
And all it does is fuel his fire.
'whos hotter'
'him or me'
The anticipation is good and tasty. And the results? Fucking delicious.
'you'
'no contest'
Another little thrill works through his tummy, even as a third message falls in.
'he talks less tho'
Ian grins to himself. 'sounds boring'
'knows how to shut the fuck up'
Uh huh. 'if you don’t like me you can just stop talking to me you know'
'fuck you'
'i know'
'so you like me then 😎'
He’s pushing it a little and he knows it - bravery from behind the safety of his phone. But he’ll stop when this guy stops responding so well to everything he says. How about that?
'remember that thing i said about knowing how to shut the fuck up?'
'uh huh'
'choosing to focus on remembering how you said im hotter 😎'
Because he did say that. Let’s be clear. He just openly admitted that he thinks Ian is better-looking than the guy he’s supposed to be hooking up with.
Man, Ian’s getting hooked so fast.
He needs more. Anything he can get.
'are you seriously not gonna tell me your name?'
Maybe he can weasel it outta him if he asks real nice.
'mickey'
'lol'
'come on i told you mine. it’s only fair.'
'just fucking told you'
Ian blinks, his brows furrowing for half a second while it sinks in, because… 'wait it’s actually mickey?' Oh holy shit… 'wtf thats adorable'
Not at all what he was expecting from this guy’s vibe-
'well red hope you appreciated your kneecaps while you had em'
Ah, there it is!
'i’d love to see you try, mickey!'
'if that IS your real name'
Groundbreaking! Holy shit, this rush of dopamine is something serious.
Ian’s gotta retreat to his room with this very important information before his smiley ass gets called out again.
When he slides back down onto his bed, his Chill Out playlist is still in full swing. A glorious contrast to the sound of old dudes talking over each other about nothing.
It gives Ian space to breathe. To ponder. To delight in this new discovery.
'ian and mickey', he writes. 'that actually sounds really good together. i like that.'
It’s nice, right?
'guess so'
It is. It’s fate. 'whats grindr guy’s name'
'why'
'science'
'jeff'
Ian pulls a face, his grimace blasted back to him in the reflection of his screen.
'ew'
'mickey and jeff 🤢'
Gross. Not like theirs.
'❤️ ian and mickey ❤️'
God that’s good.
'are you fucking high'
Ian takes a second to self-asses. Nods, off-handedly, to no one. 'oh yeah pretty high'
Which is good, you know? It’s okay to feel a little silly sometimes, right? Especially when it means he gets to flirt with someone who’s clearly interested in him, even through that cranky exterior.
'dont gotta be tho to see our names roll off the tongue way better'
'i bet he agrees. wanna ask him?'
'no i dont wanna ask him'
'why because you know im right?'
Ian smirks to himself, letting the tingle of pride and excitement naturally work through him as he continues. 'think he’ll be jealous im doing a better job flirting with you than he is?'
'oh. this is you flirting?'
'you're tellin me you dont feel flirted with?'
'better than him i guess'
Ian huffs a laugh. Feels his nose crinkle. 'jeff 🤢'
Can’t help the silly rush of excitement when he finally gets an emoji back. '🤢'
And god, he could do this shit all night. Just lay here and talk to this guy, each new piece that’s revealed to him feeling like a tiny reward. Baiting him into wanting the next one. It’s a slippery slope he doesn’t mind sliding down one fucking bit.
In fact, more please.
'what color are your eyes mickey'
'more of that flirting huh'
'im curious'
'you don’t wanna send me a selfie yet so i gotta paint a picture for myself in the meantime'
'blue'
'dreamy'
'hair?'
'yes'
'nice! what color?'
'black'
It’s enough to give Ian a slight pause. 'you serious? or are you fucking with me again?'
'bc badboy types are my weakness and youre kinda tickin all the boxes rn'
Black hair. Blue eyes. Tattoos. God damn, if his hopes aren’t getting strung up like crazy right now…
'not fucking with you'
Ian leans back with a long breath out through his nose, nodding slowly to himself. He lets his phone rest on his chest. Just needs a fucking second, too many stars aligning. “Okay…” he murmurs.
And when he’s gotten himself together, he picks his phone back up, ready with a plan. 'so i think im gonna kill jeff so i can have you to myself'
Solid.
'wow we got a tough guy on our hands'
'yeah no it’s decided'
'im gonna kill him'
'drop your location real quick?'
'nice try tough guy'
Damn. It was worth a shot, though!
'you’re lucky violence turns me on'
Ian’s stomach flips dangerously, his huff of a laugh breathy and worked up. 'of course it does 😍' Of course. He expects nothing less. 'can i at least see a better pic of your tatts?'
'which ones'
Which ones - holy shit, he’s already got him. This is just a flex now. Surely he’s gotta know that, right? He’s doing this shit on purpose?
Alright, Ian needs to take another breath. Keep it cool.
'any of em', he sends. 'i meant your knuckles but i’ll take anything'
There. Much less thirsty. …kinda.
And what he’s actually asking only dawns on him moments later - the reality of it. Because asking for a picture is very different now that he’s not alone - now that Mickey’s got someone across from him.
But if that was ever an issue in Mickey’s mind, it certainly doesn’t come across. Because after a few moments, a photo is loading in, absolutely no care given to the cropped out dude looking at their phone across from him.
And you know what? Ian doesn’t give a fuck either. Because he’s finally getting a good look at those tattoos, the way the picture’s framed perfectly showing off the dark black ink across his knuckles.
F U C K
Ian’s tummy flips again. Leads a little lower.
'god damn'
‘Fuck’ is right.
'see you got some ink yourself'
Another moment of appreciation, and then Ian’s pulling his brain up from his dick and back into his head to connect the dots.
His selfie. What set them on this path in the first place. His eagle must’ve been peeking out at the bottom or something.
'oh', he says. 'yeah.' And then he’s pulling up his camera for a better view, making sure not to look too slouchy as he takes another shot. And this time, he smiles.
He sends it off. Adds a quick disclaimer.
'long story kinda. not for rn'
Which goes over without a hitch, because what he gets in response is this:
'thats fine. aint lookin at the ink anyway'
And ooh god, if that doesn’t have his brain sinking right back into his lap… 'you checkin out another guy in front of your hookup?'
'not very nice mickey'
'multitasking'
'and dont act like your ego aint eatin that shit up IAN'
Fuck that’s good. How is that so good just in text form? 'oh yeeah you got my ego rock hard right now'
'jesus'
'quit makin me laugh. jeffs gonna start takin it personal'
Ian wets his lips, his grin so obvious that he’s glad he’s alone. Can you blame him though? 'not my fault you like me more than him'
'its completely your fault'
'fine i’ll try being less charming and interesting and handsome'
'thank you'
'you’re welcome'
'enjoy your date with….jeff 🤢'
'aint a date'
'just getting shitfaced enough to go back with him'
Right…
Ian slouches back down at the top of his bed, an arm crooked between his head and his pillow.
All preening aside, it’s none of his business. Realistically. He knows this, but the fact that Mickey’s gonna go home with Grindr Guy - he can’t exactly say he’s thrilled about it.
And he also knows he shouldn’t be trying to sabotage - knows it’s kinda fucked up of him - but like… It’d be easy. Laughably easy. He’s already pretty much got an in. 'what’s his place look like ya think'
'snooze fest i bet'
'ikea art'
A breath or two of silence, and then… 'you got ikea art?'
Ian fights down the small surge of justification at that. The push from Mickey’s end to keep it going. To bring it back to him. 'don’t think i ever been in a ikea actually' And that’s the truth.
'good'
'why'
'you wanna come over here instead mick?'
'you gonna pay for my plane ticket?'
Ah. 'so you’re not in chicago 😔'
'not right now'
Ah? 'but you are sometimes?'
'usually'
Well shit, that’s good to know, isn’t it? That’s really fucking good to know.
Shit’s really falling into place. They could actually do this. 'when are you back?'
'christ man. you that thirsty?'
'don’t know shit about me'
And that, Ian decides, sounds a whole fucking lot like a challenge.
Alright. Game on.
'your name is mickey', he types, '23. blue eyes and black hair. you have tattoos and a piss poor attitude which means i’m STUPID attracted to you and the sex would be insane'
'if i had to guess id say bitchy bottom'
'possible switch'
'am i hot or cold?'
He sends it all off without batting an eye, his confidence in reading the situation perhaps blown up a bit by the high clinging to his brain, but he means every word of it.
And it stretches out the time it takes for the response to come in, the first one more reactive - 'fuck you' - before the next pops down, more honest after a moment to settle. 'had it right the first time.'
It’s enough to have Ian grinning. To have all that confidence swirling into something thick and warm, this particular piece of information hitting just right. 'oh fuck yes', he says. 'i was hoping'
'like bitchy bottoms huh'
'not usually'
'but i like you'
'we’d get up to some good shit'
'unlike grindr guy'
'send me another pic'
Ian’s brows rise in interest. 'of what'
'idc'
'whatever'
'ok'
'but you gotta do something for me after'
'like what'
'idc'
'whatever'
'fine'
Ian resituates himself eagerly for the next picture. Frames a view of his room from where he’s sitting. Thinks on it, for a second, before lowering the angle until his lap and a little bit of his bare stomach are coming into frame at the bottom.
Abs.
Grey sweatpants.
The perfect seat, should anyone need one.
'what youre currently missing in chicago'
He sends it off. Rides the thrill of anticipation that works its way down his spine and has him pulsing a little in his sweats as he waits for Mickey’s response.
It comes in quick. Two right away:
'not bad'
'no ikea shit at least'
The third padded with even more challenge: 'and you ain’t slick btw'
A callout.
And oh, the smirk that dances its way across Ian’s face… 'what'
'somethin spark your interest over there mick?'
'REALLY ain’t slick'
They both know what he’s doing. And even more than that, they both know it worked.
He hits him with a cheeky '💚'. And then…
'your turn'
It feels like it takes forever but it probably doesn’t. It’s probably just because Ian’s a little too invested. A little too turned on. He knows that, judging by the other pictures Mickey’s sent, he’s probably gonna get another hot tattoo or a shot from where he’s sitting or something like it.
But even that is getting his pulse to quicken. The promise of just a little bit more. Another tiny peek at Mr. Dark and Mysterious. His expectations are appreciative as ever but low and he knows it. Which means when the photo loads in, he’s not prepared for it in the fucking slightest.
Because it’s not another tattoo. It’s not the dark bar.
The photo loads in and it’s Mickey, framed up casually in a single grimy bathroom mirror, one inked hand wrapped around his beer, the other around the phone he’s looking into.
And…
He’s…
Holy fuck.
Ian lets out a long, heavy breath, his senses rushing back in after being sucker punched out of him so suddenly. And even now, he can’t quite process everything going on in his body because he’s-...god damn.
'are you fucking kidding me'
The lighting in the bar’s bathroom is shit - dark walls covered in chipping paint and peeling band stickers - but Ian can still make out the blue of those eyes in the mirror - his dark hair - just like he described. His ripped black tank stretches over stocky shoulders and a nice chest, and his arms…holy shit, Mickey’s arms…
'what the fuck?' How is this happening to him? Is this heaven? Did he die taking a hit without realizing it?
Ian blinks some more sense back into himself. Keeps stepping further into reality again. Jesus Christ, 'how is grindr guy not all over you rn'
'self control i think'
Wow, what a concept. 'dont know what that is'
'yeah thats pretty fucking obvious'
Ian can feel the stupefied laugh tumble out of him. Feels the heat spreading all up and down his body. Feels the burst of justification because see, Trevor? See? He fucking knew his guy was hot.
'took another one for later if you manage to earn it'
Oh god - fuck yes. ‘Earn it’, huh? 'what do i gotta do for that?'
'keep me interested'
'oh so im definitely gettin it then.'
Say fucking less.
He’s starting to get his wits about him again. Has enough bloodflow directing up to his brain to tap back into his common sense. His game.
Time to secure the bag.
'you still in the bathroom? '
A moment of silence. Then, 'table', he gets, 'headed out soon'
'that’s fine' He can do it there too. 'got a question for you'
'shoot'
'if i was there at the bar right now would you approach me?'
He sends it without hesitation. Doesn’t have to wait very long to get an answer.
'why the hell would i do that when i already got dick on lock'
‘Why’ indeed. Except Mickey already knows why. That’s the point. So, 'you tell me'
And this time, Mickey’s response doesn’t fall in right away. There’s thought behind it. Consideration.
The silence should make Ian nervous and it doesn’t. He’s too confident for that. Too certain. Too in tune with the situation, that fact confirmed when Mickey’s answer finally drops in.
'i’d let you buy me a shot'
Ian smirks to himself.
Mhm. Exactly.
'yeah? in front of jeff?'
'he don’t gotta know'
'he’s gonna know when you and me are walkin out the door together'
It’s cocky and most of all it’s correct. It’s so correct, in fact, that Mickey is probably gonna push back on it to save some face.
'ok tough guy'
'cute daydream'
'he’s here tho. youre not.'
'no but i don’t have to be do i?'
'i’m pulling you better from states away than he is on the other side of the table'
It’s delicious to think about, isn’t it? A nice tasty lick straight up Ian’s sense of pride.
And Mickey’s right along for the ride, purposefully stroking him with every message.
'god damn red, this is all just a huge ego trip for you aint it'
He smirks, their joke circling around again. 'rock hard 😏' But this time, it doesn’t end there. 'not the only thing youve got hard mick'
He palms over the crotch of his sweatpants, pleasure pooling thickly.
It’s a big step. He’ll leave it alone if Mickey doesn’t feed into it, but something tells him that’s not gonna be the case.
'dont believe you'
And there it is. Fuck. 'how you want me to convince you?'
'you know how'
'almost done with my beer'
Ian shudders, giving himself a squeeze and then pushing forward to his feet. He gently closes his door and then collapses back onto his bed, anticipation swirling chaotically in time with the horny swoop in his belly.
It’s the first time he’s sent a nude to someone knowing they’re out with someone else, and it should probably be a bit of a red flag, but fuck. Mickey wants it. He asked for it.
So the moral dilemma really isn’t one, is it?
He’s hard.
Mickey wants to see.
Forget all that unimportant stuff about not knowing each other. They just don’t know each other yet.
And with that, Ian eases his sweatpants down to his knees and gives himself a healthy stroke, the visions of Mickey between his legs already getting him where he needs to be ridiculously fast.
He frames himself up. Keeps himself naturally stood between the crook of his thumb and his pointer finger, the rest spreading out so every inch of him is on display for Mickey. And then…
He takes the picture.
Swallows the excited pulse trying to jump up his throat.
Double checks and then sends it and the crazy part is, he could probably get off right now. It’s been a while since he’s been this hard. And when the response drops in, all it does is build and build.
'jesus CHRIST red…'
'where you keepin that thing'
An ego boost if he’s ever heard one.
'thats just for you mick', he teases, giving himself a lazy stroke to the thought of Mickey looking at his nude under the table. 'dont show jeff'
And when Mickey says it - 'who the fuck is jeff' - he can’t help but let out a breathy little laugh, delighted by the concept.
Exactly.
Jeff who.
They gotta keep that same energy.
And in fact, Mickey does. Because not even ten seconds pass before a picture is loading onto Ian’s screen and catching him off guard and ohhh fuck. No fucking way.
Ian immediately taps on it to zoom in, his mouth dropping open and heat rushing to his face as he takes in the photo of Mickey, still in the grimy bathroom mirror, but this time he’s turned to the side, the seat of his dark jeans lowered to show off the absolute bombshell of an ass underneath his briefs.
His beer sits on the counter, the hand not holding his phone tugging up the back of his shirt. Gorgeous profile. The perfect view for Ian’s hungry eyes.
Motherfucker.
'oh my fucking god' How is this guy real?
'no WAY i’d be able to keep my hands off you'
'oh yeah?'
He feels like he’s been suckerpunched again. 'holy fuck mickey' Can’t pull his eyes away from that cute bubble butt barely contained in his black briefs, lifted just a bit by the tight waist of his belt and jeans. 'those hug your ass so perfect'
'got another pic'
Oh fuck…
'tell me how you’d get me outta them and maybe i’ll send it'
'if i like what you say enough'
Ian reaches back down to stroke himself - he can’t help it. But it’s gotta be slow. 'you got time for that, hot stuff?'
'thought you were supposed to be leavin'
'don’t you worry bout that'
'got another beer'
Mickey’s stalling for him. And Ian will take full advantage of that.
'good'
'because i'd take my time on you'
'get you aching for it before we even get back to the bathroom'
'oh yeah? and how you think you'd do that?'
He licks his lips, parting them in a pleasant, knowing smile. 'wouldn’t really have do anything, would i? woulda been building in you the whole time. sitting there in the booth with a hard-on just from thinking about me.'
'kinda like you are right now'
'right mick?'
'fuck off'
Reactive.
Immediate.
And then, more honest after a moment to settle…another photo.
Ian’s heart lurches and drops into his stomach and holy fuck, the horny swoop - it’s dangerous - heady, Ian’s cock pulsing in his hand as he zooms in on the same setup - same pose, but this time Mickey’s got his briefs shoved down with the rest of his pants, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Ian has to pull his hand away from himself. Has to let the heat work over him as he pours over every inch of that gorgeous bare ass.
'oh fuck me mickey'
This man is unhinged. He’s perfect. He’s gorgeous, pale and plump and tempting in the low, grungy light of the bar bathroom.
'got my mouth watering' Jesus, if Ian was in there with him right now. 'the shit i would do to you if i could get you up on that sink…'
[Incoming call - Unknown Number]
Ian’s brain scratches out for a moment. Restarts. Tries to process the numbers stretching on his phone but he’s-...
He accepts the call.
Brings his phone up to his ear.
“...Mickey?”
“Keep sayin’ that shit, tough guy.”
It drop-kicks him into a swoop of arousal so deep he has to swallow it down. “Oh fuck, you sound-...” Holy shit… No. Get it together. Confidence, remember? “Where are you?”
“In the can…” His voice is drowsy but amused. Inviting, in the most obscenely dangerous way. “Ain’t that where you said you want me…?”
Ian breathes out. “Yeah…” Gets himself right. “Yeah…”
Through the line, he can hear muffled music - something hard and heavy. The din of wordless chatter. It’s all very real, very quick. And god damn does it go right to his dick.
Okay. Fuck. They’re actually doing this. “Got me so turned on - you have no idea.”
A huff of laughter. “Got a pretty good idea…” Jesus, even his voice is hot. “Could stand to convince me a little more though. You know, since I’m passin’ up perfectly good dick for you.”
Another little shudder works down Ian’s spine and it’s tasty. It’s fun. The same exact energy as when they text. “I mean, you knew this was gonna happen though… Right?”
“Did I?”
“Didn’t you?” His smile curls. Fingers curl around himself. A lazy stroke. “Didn’t you decide you were gonna ditch him for me a long time ago?”
On the other side of the call, a swell of noise surges from the bar, almost completely covering up the metal clank of what sounds like his belt buckle. “Mm. Could always hang up and go back to the table.”
Ian’s mouth twists in faux consideration. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re not gonna, though.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because you’re more attracted to me.” It’s obvious. No room to string the other along anymore. “And you know I'm gonna fuck you better than he can without even being there.”
The chuckle that floats into Ian’s ear in answer is gorgeous. Addicting. Ian wishes he could bottle this shit up and take a hit of it whenever he wants.
It keeps him confident.
Keeps him bold.
“You like gettin’ your ass played with, Mick…?”
There’s static for a moment. Like something’s brushing up against the mouthpiece. And when Mickey’s voice drops back in, it’s good and interested. “Damn. Gettin’ right to it, huh Red?”
Ian grins. “Gotta. Gonna hit me with a pic that hot, I’m gonna tell you how bad I wanna bury my face in you...” It’s enough to have another curl of arousal blooming in his belly, his eyes drifting shut as he slowly strokes himself to the thought. “Get you up against the sink… Shove your pants down around your ankles so I can play with that ass all I want…”
“Oo…handsy motherfucker.” Mickey likes it. “What if I don’t plan on makin’ it so easy for ya…?”
Oh? “What, you gonna put up a fight?”
“Maybe…”
“Make me rough you up a little first?”
Another low little chuckle dances over the space. Has Mickey’s voice going liquid-smooth. “You know…I like a hand around my throat…” like maybe he’s got his eyes closed too… “Guy who ain’t afraid to use a little pressure…” Thoughts unfolding. “You hearin’ me, Red?”
“I’m hearin’ ya.” He hears him loud and fucking clear. “Doesn’t surprise me you wanna get roughed up, Mick.” Not for one second. “Fucking hot…”
“Don’t think Jeffy-boy’s got it in him, poor bastard.” It’s pity in his tone. Pity that quickly melts down and crowds in close. “Not like you.” Fuck… “Keep talkin’. Got me against the sink…”
“Got you against the sink,” he plays right along. Picks up the lead without missing another step, visions of Mickey’s last picture flooding his brain. “Looks tight in there, so I’m pressed up good and close behind you... Hand around your throat like you want…”
“Mhm…” He likes that. “Keep goin’...”
“Puttin’ up an awful big fight…but you know exactly how bad you want it, don’t you? You’re gonna gimme that ass when I tell you I want it, aren’t you Mickey?”
“Fuck…” Breathy. A smile on his lips. “Yeah…”
“Gonna let me get your knee up on the sink so I can spread those cheeks and eat you out?”
It gets another breath, and this time, Ian can hear the rumble of something deeper lurking in it. Something throaty. Is he touching himself…?
“Bet you taste so good… Gonna take as much of you as I want… Lick you up until you’re fucking dripping…” Jesus, he just knows all his problems would be fixed if he could get a little taste… “How’s that soundin’, Mick?”
Another brush of something against the mouthpiece. “Fuck…” Muffled. “Fucking good, Jesus Christ…” Mickey’s just as turned on as Ian is, and it’s got heat flooding his entire body. “Want that big cock of yours…”
Oh fuck… “You don’t get it yet. You gotta be patient.”
“I don’t gotta be nothin’. Want you to fuck me.”
“I know you do, but I’m not done playing with you.” Mickey’s a fast mover, it seems. Straight to the sex. Ian can change that. “I wanna take my time teasing your hole with my tongue and you’re gonna let me.” End of discussion. “Say ‘yes, Ian’.”
On the other end, Mickey chuckles and it’s winded in its shock - “Oh shit…” - pleasant surprise. “Fucking Christ, man…”
And it’s instantly contagious, Ian’s grin curling as he eggs it all on, “Mickey…” like he’s giving him a friendly warning, “Say it…” This shouldn’t be this fun. It shouldn’t turn him on so bad. And yet here they fucking are. “You’re gonna kneel up on that sink and let me fuck your hole with my tongue. Aren’t you.”
He gets a huff that they can both see straight through, his amusement too obvious. “Fuck… Yes, Ian - cocky motherfucker…”
It sends a shiver of delight up Ian’s spine. “Don’t act like you’re not getting off on this, Mick…”
“Bastard… Lucky you’re so fuckin’ hot…” And it’s all brought to a sudden halt with the sound of a fist banging hard against something in the background. “Jesus-...FUCK OFF. OCCUPIED.”
Ian suppresses a laugh. “Someone wants in…”
“Ain’t gonna happen…”
“Uh-uh. Can’t have you.” He flicks his wrist. Gets greedy with it. “You’re mine right now…”
And forever. If he plays his cards right.
When Mickey’s voice drops back in, it’s a little quieter. Like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear him over the muffle of music - outside the door or otherwise. “Fuckin’ wish you were here, man…”
It’s got a way of working through Ian’s rib cage and into his chest. Has him humming in agreement. “Me too…”
“Got me so fuckin’ hard right now, it’s stupid.”
Agreement - even more. Tone shifting. “Me too…”
He leans back a little more, his mattress creaking beneath him. And suddenly the reality of it all is sharpening just a bit clearer. What they’re doing. Where Mickey is.
“Gotta hurry up.” He’s not gonna wait forever. “Think you can get me off, tough guy?”
As if Ian isn’t up for the challenge. As if he isn’t so fucking sure of himself after all of this tonight that it’s downright criminal. “Know I can,” he says. “Bet you’re already getting close…”
Mickey hums and it sounds like a confirmation. Exactly what Ian thought. “Thinkin’ ‘bout that cock…”
Of course he is. “Course you are. Want it real fucking bad, don’t you Mickey…?”
“Mhm…”
“Yeah...? Wanna feel me tease against your hole after I spit all over it…” He pulses in his own hand, pleasure working up his body just from the thought of it as he quickens. “Goin’ crazy with how bad you want me to sink in and bottom out, huh?”
“Oh-ho fuck…”
“You want it?”
“Fuck yeah-”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, Ian.” Jesus Christ, it sounds so good coming outta that mouth. “Fuck yes, I want it… Better gimme that shit…”
“Gonna give it to you baby - don’t worry.” It slips out - way too easy and way too right and Ian just keeps driving forward when he doesn’t get a protest, his hand moving so quickly over himself now that it’s leaving him winded. “Gonna give you every fucking inch… Sink in slow… Fill you up right… God, I bet you feel so fucking good…”
“Jesus…” He’s losing it just as much on the other end. Maybe even a little bit more. “Keep goin’...” Heavy breaths crowded by muffled double-bass. “Want it hard…”
“Holy shit, Mick - m’gonna fuck you so hard you’re gonna feel it in your throat.” A promise. “Feel it for days…” An oath. “And you’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”
“Yes…”
“Gonna gimme that perfect fucking ass…”
“Yes, Ian… Jesus Christ-... Whatever the fuck you want, holy shit…”
Ian’s head falls back against his pillow, his eyes long since shut as he jerks himself off to all the delicious imagery. “You’re gonna feel so good around my cock when we fuck, Mickey - I just know you are.”
It’s got a loud brush of static floating in on the other side of the line, Mickey’s voice clipped off into a sharp, whispered: “Oh-... Fuck, Red - gonna cum…”
For his ears only. For Ian.
It’s almost too sexy to handle. “Want you to cum for me.” He’s getting close too. “Want you to gimme all of it, ‘kay Mick?”
“Holy shit…”
“Give it to me.”
“Ian-”
“Cum for me.”
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna c-...”
The other end muffles over with static and white noise, and all Ian can envision is the absolutely delicious thought of Mickey slumping against the door, holding back a groan as he shoots his load in the grimy bar bathroom.
It’s impossibly hot and it pulls him over the edge so quickly it’s insane, his brows pinching as he cums on his chest in long, rolling waves of pleasure.
Motherfucker…
Jesus Christ…
“Ohhh my god…”
He’s winded. Tingling. Coasting off the pleasant, pulsing tide of fresh bliss.
God damn.
On the phone, Mickey’s end brushes over again - not exactly the same setting, but definitely the same satisfaction, if Ian had to guess.
And then the banging sounds again. Three times, loudly enough against the door that it inspires Mickey’s far-off voice, echoing off the enclosed walls. “Oh for-... ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT. KEEP YOUR FUCKIN’ SHIRT ON.” Static. A moment. And then, Mickey’s voice pulling in close until it’s right in Ian’s ear like it should be. “...text ya…” he says.
And then the line goes dead.
Ian pulls his phone away from his head. Stares at his home screen with dazed, heavy blinks. Wonders, for one brief thought, if any of that was just real.
Because that was-...
Wow.
Surely he did die after that hit and this has all been his introduction to heaven.
Like…he’s not crazy in thinking that…right?
With that thought, and a few more, Ian runs a hand over his face, limbs heavy as he gathers himself. And when he hears his phone ping twice, it’s got lazy excitement rushing through him again. Like he didn’t just cum his brains out.
'back in chicago on friday if val gets his shit together'
'don’t be busy'
Ian reads it over again. Makes connections.
Friday.
Three days from now.
'is it weird that i kinda wish i WAS val?'
'so i could do the thing and get you here sooner?'
'not weird', he gets.
'real thirsty tho'
Ian grins fondly. Sends off a now trademarked '💚' before lifting himself from his bed to go get a towel. But first: 'whats on the schedule for the rest of the night?'
Because he’s curious. Because he may be self-confident - may be more than pleased with how this night turned out - but there’s a little voice in the back of his head, trying to keep things realistic.
Mickey fixes that straight away.
'sleep'
'knocked my ass out'
And oh, that shuts that little voice up just like that.
'not finishing that grindr date then'
'told his ass to beat it a long time ago'
Ian smiles softly to himself. Allows a little ego surge for a second before reeling himself back in, his chest beating proudly as he drags the towel over himself.
And…
That’s it now, right?
They’re done for the night.
Except…
'can i text you tomorrow?'
He sends it. Knows his ass is falling right into that “thirsty” category that Mickey likes to use.
But.
'you can do whatever the fuck you want red'
It hits good and deep, Ian’s chest fluttering like a fucking school boy. Exactly like it did at the beginning of all this. 'ok im gonna text you tomorrow'
If he insists.
His Chill Out playlist finally reaches its end just as Ian tosses his towel into the hamper, everything coming together right on time. And really, he can’t resist, his thumb typing in victoriously when he scoops up his phone for a final thought.
'turns out i was right btw'
'bout what'
He grins. Sets it up perfectly.
'❤️ ian and mickey ❤️'
It’s undeniable now.
It’s them - from here on out.
When Mickey’s text comes in next, it’s right away, and he can fucking hear the playfulness in his tone just from reading it. The fondness.
'yeah okay good night loverboy'
But nothing will beat this last bit. Because when Ian signs off with his heart, he doesn’t expect an answer. But an answer he gets all the same.
'💚'
'🖤🖕🏻'
Friday can’t come soon enough.