
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2150703.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Shameless_(US)
  Relationship:
      Ian_Gallagher/Mickey_Milkovich
  Character:
      Ian_Gallagher, Mickey_Milkovich, Iggy_Milkovich_(briefly), Colin
      Milkovich_(briefly), Lip_Gallagher_(briefly)
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, movie_theater_AU, different_first_meeting, Different
      Shared_History, Same_Old_Dorks, Not_Canon_Compliant
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-08-21 Words: 3507
****** Just Your Friendly Neighborhood Bully ******
by eleanorknows
Summary
     Movie Theater AU. The Milkoviches run some of their businesses at the
     local movie theater where Mickey is a bully, but mainly just to Ian
     Gallagher.
Notes
     This does not follow canon. Think of it as the same Southside with
     the same characters, but no Ian x Mickey storyline.
     Well, this is me givin' it a go! It's been a long while since I've
     written something like this so...haha, I guess you'll see.
See the end of the work for more notes
Ian is seething by the time he makes it to the neighborhood movie theater on
4thStreet, a real shitty old place run by distant relatives of the Milkoviches.
Standards operations are drug and weapons in the back and X-rated shows in one
of the two screening rooms all day, every day for all the soft dicks of
Southside Chicago.
Even Lip dragged him to an afternoon show once, back when he was twelve and
still trusted the places his brother took him. They sat there amongst all the
other underage neighborhood boys, except Carl who wasn't yet old enough to
include boobies in repertoire of general destruction and chaos. Otherwise, this
wasn't and still ain’t the type of place to be carding or caring but more fuck
you, fuck your grandma, and fuck the popo!  The Milkovich brothers were also
there chucking popcorn at each other and showering regularly back when they
still had a mom. Then Lip grinned conspiringly at him as the movie started in
all its ‘90s glory with a lot of girl-on-girl action and Ian had his well holy
shit, guess I'm gaymoment. He glanced around but everyone was earnestly
engrossed.
Except a pair of blue eyes. Mickey Milkovich's.
The brunette scowled heavily in return as if they weren’t both scanning the
room out of boredom and it was somehow all Ian’s fault. Then just like that
Mickey was back to watching the screen with a rigid expression, almost like
he’s enduring something damn tedious. So out of incredibly suicidal curiosity,
Ian kept watching him; a realization that caused the older boy to grow red
splotches all over his neck and face. The minute it ended, Mickey promptly
kicked the back of Ian’s chair with a forceful vengeance as the Milkoviches
bulldozed past everyone else to get out first. To top it off, he tossed an
empty soda cup onto the redhead’s lap and walked off with a middle finger held
up behind him.
That’s how they met for the first time. And probably why Mickey never left Ian
alone after that.
But that’s digressing. What matters is right now, Ian extremely pissed off to
be stuck in this heat sweating his balls off in the middle of July in front of
Mickey Milkovich and his goon brothers. So there's three of them and one of
him. So he didn’t think this through. Okay so maybe he didn't really think at
all. Still, Ian stands his ground with arms crossed and probably the best bitch
face he’s ever put on. If he could, he’d probably high-five himself right now.
“The fuck you want, Gallagher?” Mickey eyes him up and down, pausing to spit
out the corner of his mouth before continuing, “Backdoor bitches: Revenge of
the Hoes started 15 minutes ago, a fiver for entry."
Shaking people down for an entry fee outside and then again inside for a movie
fee – welcome to the neighborhood! Ian rolls his eyes, "Definitely no."
Raising an eyebrow, Mickey studies him for another beat, "Well shit, didn't
take you for a total fag but there's a fucking rom-com playing in the other
room for three bucks."
The brothers snicker and Mickey smirks even wider, his chest puffed out like a
proud rooster.
Cocka-fucking-doodledoo. Ian narrows his eyes and purses his dry lips, "The
watch, Mickey, I want it back.”
The menacing grin gets even wider as Mickey strides directly forward, stopping
inches from redhead’s face. For a prolonged second he doesn't say anything,
just stands there with their bodies so close to touching and they're sharing
the same air.
“Gonna make me, asshole?” He dares the younger boy with a raised eyebrow.
Exhaling a puff of hot air, Ian pauses before squaring his jaw, “It's not even
real, a bad imitation Frank bought from a street corner. Why do you even want
it anyways?"
“You trying to tell me what to do with my fucking property, tough guy?” Mickey
grinds out low and dangerous.
Ian knows that if Lip was here, he'd say something obnoxiously on point like
compare it to stealing candy from a baby and challenge the main thing of value
around here, manhood. Then they'd probably get their asses kicked but get some
punches in anyways. If they're really lucky, they'd end up with the watch if it
falls out of the right pocket at the right time. But it’s just him and he
doesn’t feel like a trip to the ER.
So he sucks it up, grimacing briefly at the prospect before sighing, "It's
fucking important to my sister Debbie and Carl really shouldn't have traded it
for a gun so I need it back. I’ll return the glock."
"What the fuck, Colin?" Mickey glares incredulously back at one of his
brothers, arms gesturing angrily, "You didn't even look at the watch when your
bitch-ass traded for it?"
Shrugging indifferently as Iggy shoves him on the arm, Colin reaches into one
of his pockets and tosses the offending watch to the head thug.
Exasperated, Mickey puts his empty palm out in Ian's direction and glowers even
harder when the other boy just stares back at him, "The gun, give me the
fucking gun before we're all up shit creek. Come the fuck on!"
"Give me the watch then," Ian challenges, his eyes never leaving the prized
possession casually dangling in the other boy's hand.
Mickey grabs a handful of Ian’s sweaty t-shirt and pulls him close, their noses
almost touching and their mouths line up with each other, “How about I just
beat the shit out of you and take what I want? Trust me, you ain’t gonna like
that. Me? I’m gonna enjoy it very fucking much.”
The older boy runs a tongue across his own lips, probably to quench them from
the blazing heat because why else would he? Ian starts to breathe harder,
swallowing thickly and he wants to believe it’s from fear but that’s definitely
not it. This makes him search those blue eyes for an answer and he almost finds
what he’s looking for, his stare returned with an equal intensity that burns
and starts to turn his stomach. But Mickey glances away first, choosing to
focus on Ian’s left shoulder instead.
"Just give me the damn gun before my dad does his afternoon count in a few
minutes and realize a glock is missing and there’s no fucking payment. You
really don't wanna know, Ian."
The cagey fear in Mickey is real. Ian has always known Terry to be one scary-
ass motherfucker but for his own son to be so terrified? That makes the redhead
incredibly sad. He feels cold chills down his back even with the searing sun
beating down on his skin. With an acknowledging nod and quick explanation, Ian
jogs back half a block and feels in the bushes where he buried the gun. Once
his hand touches unfamiliar metal, he rushes back with it and shoves the weapon
into Mickey's hand. Like a schoolyard game of hot potato, Mickey passes it onto
Iggy and then his two brothers are gone.
Now it’s just the two of them and it could easily be awkward, but it isn’t.
Mainly because Ian is strangely not intimidated of or disgusted by Mickey’s
presence. Most people are, which makes this something like a one in a thousand
chance, odds that are still way better than winning the lottery – not that he
secretly feels like he did. And not that a Milkovich has got any fucking good
karma or luck to win anything in this life, that’s from first-hand experience
right there. So he allows it, this moment.
They end up sharing a smoke, leaning against the deserted side of the old
building for shade.
Ian feels like smiling so he does, widely with probably too much giddy while
his hands slide into the front pockets of his jeans. A fallback habit that
keeps his fingers contained instead of fidgeting at his sides. Except the hot
weather causes denim stick to his skin like glue and shoving his hands into the
pockets makes that whole frontal area even tighter than he realizes.
But Mickey notices, stealing furtive glances and gradually shifting from one
foot to the other. It gets too difficult to keep looking so he stares off into
the distance, feigning indifference even though he’s listening to every word.
He’s even saying a few things himself and damn, they’re having an actual
conversation that’s not regarding the conditions of a trade. There might even
be a part of him that secretly wants to do this every second of every day, but
he quickly crushes that like a bug.
“Remember how much bullshit you used to give me whenever show up here?” Ian
suddenly asks with a curious side-glance, “Until last year when I got too busy
with ROTC and work after school.”
Of course Mickey remembers. His stomach did all these weird lurches whenever
the redhead showed up with his siblings all playful smiles and uncomplicated
joy. It made him want to follow behind like a lost puppy and he did just that,
except with a special Milkovich flair. Like an old, territorial dog eager to
bite.
Like purposefully sitting in the seat directly behind Ian’s, tapping the back
of the chair relentlessly just so the younger boy had to turn around and scowl
at him. On good days, they even got into arguments when Gallagher felt
particularly fed up and his cute face turned a perfect tomato red to match his
hair which Mickey definitely did not notice. Like grabbing the empty spot next
to him midway through a movie and shoving a tattooed hand into the younger
boy’s popcorn bag, leaving behind a complete mess as he walked off munching
loudly. 
Like carding only Ian for a Disney movie and keeping the i.d. just to be a
total bastard, not because he really liked the picture and kept it hidden in
his wallet behind his own. Like running out of creative ways to be a bully so
they just sat, heckled the film like little shits and chased all the others
out. It was both easier and harder once Ian stopped coming around – it became
both less complicated and kind of fucking devastating. So he locked the feeling
away.
“You specifically? Nah, man. I pissed off everyone, gotta live up to the family
name,” Mickey wipes at the corner of his mouth with his thumb, then pulls out
another cigarette.
“Oh,” the taller boy responds with a disappointed half-shrug, almost saying
something (Did you miss me then?) and then deciding against it, “Well, you
definitely lived up to it. Mickey Milkovich, just your friendly neighborhood
bully. Like Spiderman, but the complete opposite!”  
Mickey laughs, not sure if he's tickled by the idea or just because it's
Gallagher saying it, "Damn right, and I don't even need a fucking costume so
you're welcome, everyone!"
Firecrotch turns to face him with a side leaned against the wall and it makes
Mickey’s skin crawl to suddenly have complete attention fixated on him. And
that smile is still there, so unabashed and thrilled. Ian declines another
smoke because they’ve had too many and even the sun slinked away hours ago. The
theater also cleared out and closed down for the night. Mickey lights one for
himself, feeling like he needs something to focus on doing.
“It’s getting late. I should go home before Fiona starts to seriously worry,"
Ian murmurs even though there’s no one else around so Mickey has no choice
really but to lean in closer to catch the words.
“It’s only fucking midnight and it’s summer so there’s not even lame-ass school
the next day,” Mickey retorts with a quick look at the watch that started it
all, on his wrist out of convenience, “You need to be tucked in and read a
fucking bedtime story too? How ‘bout it, Cinderella?”
His words are meant to be harsh because that’s the only language he speaks yet
somehow it comes out more playful than malicious. It makes Ian laugh and Mickey
really likes that. He moves in closer once more, his own side now also against
the wall. Why, ‘cause he fucking feels like it and somehow the darkened sky
makes it more okay. Grinning leisurely, he takes another huff of smoke before
blowing it teasingly into the redhead’s face. Ian looks at Mickey’s lips an
extra second too long and they’re both acutely aware of it. So the older boy
continues and the younger boy watches raptly; inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
When the last cigarette between Mickey’s fingers finally go out, it’s Ian’s
turn to lick his lips and watch as the empty carton hit the ground with a
lackluster bounce. The air is heavier now that they have nothing besides each
other to concentrate on and even the shared looks carry a more loaded
message. The brunette is motivated by urges beyond even his usual iron-grip
control to suppress them, his teeth clamping down on his bottom lip like a last
chance wake-up call before he does this next idiotic thing. But Ian’s watching
him with these hazed bedroom eyes and, oh shit, it’s all fucked already.
“How bad do you want it?” Mickey challenges slyly and holds up the wrist with
the watch, “I'm in the mood to negotiate favors, lucky you.” And lucky me.
They stare at each other with the same look, special grins forming.
“I want it fucking badly,” Ian delivers with his usual understated emphasis but
very clear purpose, his fingers already unbuttoning the brunette’s jeans and
dragging the zipper down, cupping his palm against a half hardened cock through
thin boxer fabric, “I want what’s mine.”
Mickey’s so damn turned on but the argumentative thug in him is about to object
peevishly; pretty sure what’s in his possession is definitely fucking his
regardless of how-oh wait, is Gallagher not talking about the watch and really-
 
A warm, wet mouth takes him whole as both underwear and jeans pool down around
his ankles, Ian hard at play stroking heavenly movements with his puckered lips
and flickering tongue. Mickey lets out some embarrassingly whiny gasps
and choked hisses, suddenly forgetting how to even think or function or pretty
much anything. The younger boy’s hands grip tightly and domineeringly onto his
ass, feeling up the supple fullness of both cheeks. A set of slender fingers
slip away to wrap around the base of his cock, a thumb pad rubbing circular
motions against his balls and he can't even begin to describe how good it
feels. The night air hugs his bare skin, helping to cool down the heat
traveling up his neck and face and just fucking everywhere.
Ian continues lapping a eager tongue along the length of the shaft, swirling
heavy lines across the slit as pre-cum mixes in with his saliva. His lips
stretch even thinner as he pushes the whole cock in as far as possible, deep-
throating with low sounds that vibrates through what feels like the older boy’s
entire body. Chancing a look, Mickey gazes down with half-lidded eyes and the
image draws out pathetic noises he can’t even suppress in time. This causes Ian
to peer up, dark lustful expression like he can’t get enough and Mickey groans
achingly as the redhead doubles in speed with greedy touches of his fingers
claiming any exposed area. His tongue drags a steady, purposeful line down the
underside of the cock to the base before holding it in place against the
brunette’s taut stomach. His attention refocusing on sucking gratuitously on
each ball, plopping them in and out of his mouth with loud slurps.
Mickey’s eyelids clench shut and the back of his head tips against the wall for
support, relishing in the rush of pleasure coiling from his limbs to the
forefront and consuming his entire body. But with a jolt, he comes to instant
attention when a pair of teeth lightly scrape along the length of his cock;
nothing sharp or painful but a surprising sensation that’s so Ian, he can’t
help but adore it. But that’s his secret. Mickey glares down with his
seriously, you fucking bastardface only to see the redhead’s cheeky smile
beaming up at him. Intuitively, Mickey smiles back and can’t stop smiling.
So he run his fingers fondly through ginger hair as Ian’s back to sucking his
cock with the same inspired tenacity and rhythm that draws out more uneven,
labored pants from his raw throat. In an overwhelming fog, he feels a hand that
dips underneath his tank top and touch the tight expanse of muscles on his
stomach, dragging blunt fingernails along its pathway that circles back to an
ass cheek. His head knocks back against the wall again as the overpowering
sensation washes over him with compounding force.
Mickey grips onto the younger boy’s biceps hard, his lips swollen from
incessant biting, “Oh fuck, I’m so close, I-I’m gonna come soon.”
Ian continues sucking wantonly with hectic speed while his fingers massages the
balls with equal attention, his mouth a sloppy warm mess as Mickey’s body
tremors in strained anticipation. He's so close, so fucking close at the fringe
about to fall in and drown. But the surging climax hits hard from the pit of
his stomach and spreads like wildfire, leaving behind a path of destruction
that temporarily destroys his defensive walls of solitude. Cum from his slit is
slicked onto his cock as Ian continues his motions up and down, up and down
while Mickey rides out his orgasm with strangled noises.
With a last lick, Ian leaves him clean and tingly sensitive before sinking his
face into the crevice of the older boy’s neck, nibbling hungrily on an earlobe.
Mickey whimpers with fractured need, the unfamiliar intimacy on an area of his
body never touched that way before is almost life-changing. Then Ian’s tracing
a few lines with his tongue along the brunette’s sweat-glistened cheek as their
pulses start to return to normality. He runs his slender hand underneath the
older boy’s tank top again, across a nipple and resting against a racing heart
covered by an out-of-breath chest.
Mickey is blissed out; everything is a bit hazy except for the redhead in
fucking beautiful high definition as their sweaty foreheads lean together. Ian
readjusts enough to rub the tip of his nose against the older boy’s cheekbone
and emboldened enough to place a pressing kiss just below there, close to
another pair of lips, eliciting neither response nor rejection. His body is
flush against Mickey’s side, a very stiff erection resting snug against the
brunette’s thigh.
It’s such anIan thing to know, to understand, to nudge. He wants to kiss but is
leaving it up to Mickey who could just skip that whole gay business and go
straight into returning the favor. For a moment he imagines a reality where
they never kiss, just fuck each other on the side until Ian finds someone
better to settle with because, let’s face it, it’s never gonna be him who wants
to leave. That makes him sad, almost too irrationally upset at just the thought
of being left behind. Of a shithole movie theater waiting like a stupid bitch
for a ginger boy that never shows up anymore.
So he does it, goes against every fucking ingrained instinct for survival.
Mickey Milkovich tilts his head and leans in until their lips touch, almost
gasping in strange surprise at the initial feel until Ian starts kissing back
gently and guiding. They explore each other’s mouths with avid, sweet curiosity
and the night air is the secret keeper of the sounds they make together. Mickey
is a fast learner, kissing back fervently until they’re finding new ways to get
impossibly closer with every touch, desperately mashing lips and tongues and
teeth with impassioned enthusiasm.
It's like freedom intensified way beyond any capacity Mickey’s ever felt before
and right now, it’s the best feeling in the whole world. His fingers are buried
into Ian’s hair from the nape of his neck, moaning when the redhead sucks on
his bottom lip before joining their lips again. Two teenagers making out with
sloppy abandon and wildly intoxicated on each other, the way it should be. Even
after they separate to properly breathe, Ian’s left arm stays wrapped around
Mickey’s lower back while a gentle hand lays on his cheek and neck. Their
foreheads rest against each other again as they take in the moment.
A moment far from perfect, makes it even better than perfect, makes it real.
Mickey plants a firm, chaste kiss on Ian’s mouth because the kid’s smiling too
broadly, too open-heartedly for his general liking. He wants to be a grumpy
asshole about it and make a snide remark but he can’t even fucking begin. So he
makes an exception.
“Your turn,” Mickey cracks a genuinely happy smirk and sinks to his knees.
End Notes
     Leaving this same message in all my stuff: I get anxious and self-
     conscious about my writing so I have to actively work towards
     building up enough confidence to read/respond to comments and look at
     stats. So please don't be offended if I don't respond in this
     century, I swear I'm not ignoring you and sincere apologies. Thank
     you SO MUCH for any comments, kudos, and bookmarking!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
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