
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4391342.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Shameless_(US)
  Relationship:
      Ian_Gallagher/Mickey_Milkovich, Ian_Gallagher_&_Mickey_Milkovich, Iggy
      Milkovich/Mickey_Milkovich, Joey_Milkovich/Mickey_Milkovich, Mickey
      Milkovich/Iggy_Milkovich/Joey_Milkovich
  Character:
      Mickey_Milkovich, Ian_Gallagher, Joey_Milkovich, Iggy_Milkovich, Frank
      Gallagher
  Additional Tags:
      Canon_Related, Canon_Rewrite, Season/Series_02, Episode_Related,
      Parenthood, POV_Mickey_Milkovich, Guns, Gang_Violence, Brothers, Insecure
      Mickey, Anger, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Blow_Jobs, First_Time_Blow_Jobs,
      Anal_Fingering, Anal_Sex, Smut, Workplace_Sex, Internalized_Homophobia,
      Worried_Mickey, Drug_Dealing, Attempted_Murder, Implied/Referenced_Rape/
      Non-con, Smoking
  Series:
      Part 9 of Dirtiest_white_boy_in_America
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-26 Words: 4957
****** Parenthood ******
by Enochianess
Summary
     Season 2 Episode 8 - Mickey focused
     "If my dad finds out about this, he will kill me himself." Mickey
     says. Why won't the kid fucking listen to him? "I've been to 16 bars,
     the homeless shelter, shantytown under the L, your house, batty
     Sheila's... where the fuck is he?" He exclaims, his voice rising in
     desperation, becoming more and more shaky the longer he talks. He
     grabs Ian's shoulder and spins him around.
     "I don't know!" Ian replies, his own voice louder now.
     "Bullshit!" Mickey yells, the fear and rage beginning to seep out.
     He stares at the redhead for a moment, and then something clicks. He
     can't help but laugh at the idiocy of this kid. "You warned him."
Notes
     I can't get enough of Mickey Milkovich and I don't think his side of
     the story was explored enough on the show, so I'm writing his story
     canonically episode by episode and adding and expanding upon the
     scenes as I see fit (And yes, this does include smut, because their
     kiss and sex scenes were virtually nonexistent). All the works will
     be named after the episodes in the show.
     *Gives you the bird because we're in the shameless fandom and this is
     the best way of expressing my affection and love for you all*
See the end of the work for more notes
Mickey’s day had been going well so far. He’d been standing at his usual spot,
grumbling to himself about how he’d be spending the whole day freezing his
bollocks off, when a North Side kid showed up, stuttering out about wanting to
buy some Special K. It was fucking weird the way the asshole said it, his voice
quivering but still somehow leaking a profound superiority complex, and Mickey
can tell it’s the first time he’s done this. Mickey is tempted to make a smart-
ass remark, is nearly bursting with the need to, but then the kid hands over a
wad of cash, $500 if he's counting right, and Mickey makes sure to keep his
trashcan of a mouth snapped shut, responding with a nod of thanks instead.
He didn’t usually make that kind of money in a whole day of slummin’ it in the
alleyways with crack-heads, let alone in one fucking transaction. He figures
this means he can bail and head to the Kash ‘n Grab for a couple hours. Half a
grand would keep his dad off his ass until tomorrow and he could finally put
some hours in at the store. It was fucking difficult, née impossible, to
balance his two blossoming careers. If he didn’t bring home a minimum of $300 a
day, his dad would lose his shit, and that meant some days he had to skip work
at the store. But, every time he skipped, Linda was on his ass about reporting
him to his probation officer. It was a shit-show.
 
Mickey's not sure how much more he can take. Ian's been hunched over his
Algebra textbook for the past hour, his forehead wrinkled in concentration, and
he hasn't stopped biting at his bottom lip the whole damn time. Mickey's been
leaning over the counter opposite, pretending to flick through a magazine, but
mostly just watching the redhead instead. He doesn't understand how the kid can
stay so focused and motivated all the time. It's annoying as fuck.
"What do you want, Mick?" Ian asks suddenly, his eyes still following the
equations on the page.
"The fuck you on about?" Mickey replies gruffly, his eyes flicking back down to
the magazine. Shit, was he reading US Weekly? 
"I can feel you staring." 
Mickey scoffs, resting his elbows on the countertop and dropping his chin into
the palms of his hands. "Fuck off. I ain't starin' at nothin'."
He watches as a smirk twitches onto Ian's face, one corner of his mouth lifting
as if there's a fishhook pulling at it. Mickey wants to punch him. He closes
his eyes for a moment, scratches at his beard, and is surprised when he opens
them again to find Ian gazing intently back at him, his textbook now closed and
pushed to one side. 
"What?" He snaps out, nervous under the redhead's sudden scrutiny.
"You're here." Ian replies dumbly.
"You only just figurin' that out now, freckles? How is it I had to repeat ninth
grade and you didn't?"
Ian just smiled wider and Mickey had to resist the urge to face palm. This
fucking kid.
"You've not come in all week. Linda's gonna have your ass when she sees you."
Mickey shrugs nonchalantly. "Ain't nothin' new."
"You been out on a run or something?" 
"Not exactly." Mickey grumbled. He really shouldn't be telling Gallagher any of
this. It was none of his fucking business. "My dad fucked something up and said
we gotta get some serious dough, so I've been out on the streets."
"What, are you a hooker now?" Ian asked.
Mickey stared at him for a second. "No, asswipe, I've been dealin',sellin'.
Y'know, venturing out a little, up to the North Side and wherever the money's
rollin'."
Ian laughed and hid his face behind his hands. "Shit."
"Just because you're a little twink, don't mean the rest of us are."
"Hey! I've never fucked for money, asshole." Ian exclaimed, but Mickey could
tell he wasn't really offended.
"You saying you wouldn't?" Mickey asked, eyebrows raised in challenge. "You're
not exactly hard to get are you?"
"Maybe I'm just easy for the right person."
And Mickey couldn't help the way the breath whooshed out of him a little, the
smirk falling from his face.
"That right, huh?" 
Ian nodded, his eyes mischievous. "Wanna find out?"
Mickey swallowed thickly. Yeah, he wanted to find out.
 
Mickey shifts awkwardly from foot to foot when him and Ian get into the
backroom. Usually he walks straight over to their usual spot and yanks his
pants down, more than ready to just get the fucking show on the road. But, he's
been thinking about something a lot lately, something Ian's done for him plenty
of times but he's never reciprocated, and it won't get out of his fucking head.
He's been jerking off to the thought of it, biting down on his fist to stop the
moan of Ian's name from reaching the ears of everyone else in the Milkovich
house. He wants it, despite how much he's tried to convince himself otherwise.
He just wished he knew how to ask for it.
He swallows thickly. He had to do it now. There wasn't gonna be any better time
to make a fucking idiot out of himself.
He really hopes Ian can't tell how nervous he's feeling, but he's sure it must
be fucking obvious. 
"Mick?" Ian says, the question in his voice clear.
"I wanna blow you." Mickey blurts out, heat rising in his cheeks. Yeah- real
smooth, Mick.
Ian's eyebrows shoot up so high they're nearly in his hairline. "Wha-"
"Come 'ere." He orders, his voice only a little shaky.
Ian stares at him a moment, mouth hanging open like a gormless fish, and then
scrambles over. He immediately grips at Mickey's shoulders, pushing off his
Security jacket and pressing his lips to Mickey's neck. The redhead had been
doing that a lot recently, ever since Mickey had got out of Juvie, and Mickey
found himself wanting it more and more. He was grateful that Ian never pushed
any further, that he seemed to understand Mickey couldn't give anything other
than what he already had. Kissing was just too intimate for him. To him, it
just screamed of relationship, of something more than just a simple fuck. It
was one of the only barriers Ian was yet to break down, and Mickey was
frightened of what it would mean for them if he did. It felt like they were
hanging over some sort of precipice as it was, and Mickey didn't want to
disturb the careful balance. He didn't want to risk it. Despite how he acted,
he didn't want to lose Ian.
Mickey places his hands on Ian's narrow hips and pushes him back against the
shelving unit, crowding him until there is very little space between them. He
notices how Ian's gaze drops to his mouth for a moment before flicking back up.
Mickey licks his lips, letting a shuddering breath escape him, and then leans
up to whisper in his redhead's ear.
"Time to return the favour, right?"
Ian gasps as Mickey drops to his knees. "Mick, you don't have to-"
"You're damn right I don't. Now shut the fuck up." He grumbles. If he doesn't
get this shit started now, he's not gonna be able to do it. He can't back out.
Mickey was not a fucking coward.
He tugs on Ian's zipper, undoes the button, and then pulls his pants down to
his ankles. He eyes the bulge in front of him, smirks up at Ian when he notices
it twitch and harden without even being touched. 
"I hate you." He thinks he hears the redhead murmur.
He palms him gently through his boxers for a moment, letting his nerves
dissipate a little, and then hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls
them down too. He jerks back at the way Ian's cock bounces up, almost hitting
him in the face. And, of fucking course, Ian's laughing at him. Mickey scowls
up at him, mildly satisfied that the kid has the decency to look at least
somewhat apologetic. 
Mickey wrapped his hand around the base of Ian's cock, took a deep breath to
steady himself, and then licked tentatively at the head. He watched with
pleasure as Ian's eyes fell shut, his head tilting back slightly. It's the
confidence Mickey needs, and he opens his mouth wide and slowly sinks down,
moaning at the taste of pre-come on his tongue. He takes Ian as deeply as he
can, testing out his gag reflex, and then pulls off again, pressing a gentle
kiss to the tip. 
"Mick, don't- again- please-" Ian stutters above him, his fingers threading
into Mickey's dark hair. 
When Mickey doesn't move, Ian opens his eyes and looks down at him, his eyes
imploring. Mickey wraps his lips around the head, tonguing at the slit, and
swallowed him down again. Ian tugged at his hair and Mickey hummed around him,
taken a little bit by surprise by how much he liked it. He'd never thought much
about how he enjoyed hair-pulling when he was being fucked, but he was starting
to wonder if he had a bit of a kink. He bobbed his head faster, spurred on by
the sounds of pleasure Ian was making, and sucked at him hungrily, if a little
messily. He figured he was doing okay for his first time. Hell, Ian certainly
seemed to think so. The redhead was shuddering above him, his hips rocking
forward slightly of their own accord. Mickey squeezed the hand still on Ian's
hip, silently reminding him not to move. He wasn't sure he was ready for Ian to
fuck his face yet, but he'd be lying if he said his dick didn't twitch at the
thought of it.
"Mick- Mickey, get up here. Wanna fuck you." Gallagher moaned, fingers tugging
sharply at his hair.
Mickey growled in pleasure, pulling off slowly and tonguing once more at the
slit, indulging in the taste of the pre-come beading there. He got shakily to
his feet, his eyes scrunching shut when Ian pushed him back against the
shelves, yanked his pants down and stuck his hand into his boxers, immediately
gripping and tugging him. Mickey was so hard he jolted away from the sensation
for a second, before happily thrusting forward into it. 
"Get 'em off." He ordered, trying desperately to push his underwear down
without losing the contact of Ian's hand. 
Ian helped him, his hands shaking in his haste. He stopped stroking Mickey's
cock, shushing him when Mickey whimpered, and grabbed hold of his thigh until
he'd hitched it around his hip. Mickey's head fell back, his mouth dropping
open, when Ian started to grind their bare cocks together, the soft, silky skin
gliding effortlessly with the moisture of their pre-come. It was the most
they'd ever done face-to-face, and Mickey would probably be freaking out about
that and how intimate it was, but it felt too fucking good for him to give a
shit. 
"Lu- lube. We need lube." Mickey grunted, his arms wound around Ian's shoulders
to give him the leverage to thrust back.
Ian pushed his face into Mickey's neck, his breath hot and damp against the
already sweaty skin. Mickey wanted to push him away, tell him to stop being
such a fucking girl, but he couldn't, because he didn't really want him to. He
moaned when Ian's teeth sunk down into the flesh, his tongue soothing the mark
afterwards. 
"You taste good." Ian sighed, his grip tightening around Mickey's thigh whilst
his other drifted down until he could drag a dry finger over his hole. 
"Ian! Lube!" Mickey demanded. He was going fucking insane.
Ian rummaged around the shelf behind Mickey's head, looking for the small tub
they kept stashed away there. They were lucky Linda hadn't found it yet. She'd
bust a fucking nut. 
Mickey tried to turn around, thinking Ian would release his hold on his leg,
but Ian just pressed him harder against the shelving unit, his head shaking
minutely from side to side. Mickey's pulse raced, his breathing picking up as
he watched Ian slick up his fingers with more concentration than was required.
He didn't like this position, felt too vulnerable, and he didn't understand why
Ian wanted to do things differently. What they usually did worked. Why change
anything now? He thought maybe it was his own fault for giving the fucker a
hummer. 
"Relax. I got you." Ian whispered lowly in his ear, the soft tickle of his
breath making Mickey shiver. "It's just me."
"Fu- fuck." Mickey choked out when Ian pushed a finger inside him, his insides
clenching around the intrusion.
The angle was different, Ian's finger not reaching quite as deeply inside him,
but rubbing more forcefully against his prostate. He rocked his hips back onto
it, his nails digging into Ian's shoulder blades when the redhead added a
second and started scissoring him open. 
"Just fuck me already." He whimpered, the constant pressure on his sweet-spot
almost painful. Usually Ian would open him up with at least three fingers
before he fucked him, but Mickey couldn't wait that long. He would be just
loose enough and no more, and that was fucking fine by him. 
"Okay." Ian rasped, pulling his fingers out and finally letting go of Mickey's
thigh. 
Mickey span round, sticking his ass out wantonly, whilst Ian slicked himself
up, grunting as he stroked his cock. Mickey had only just grabbed hold of the
unit in front of him when he felt Ian's fingers begin to massage at his hip,
his cock brushing over his hole. It felt like he was choking on the very air he
breathed when Ian pushed inside Mickey in one, long, slow thrust of his hips.
Mickey didn't think he'd ever get tired of feeling the way Ian stretched and
filled him. He was sure nothing else in the fucking world could compare. He
rolled his hips back when Ian started thrusting, meeting in the middle,
building a steady rhythm that had them both grunting and groaning in no time.
He thought it was strange how they seemed to know each other's bodies so well
already. Though, he supposed, they'd been going at this thing a lot longer than
he'd like to remember. Ian knew exactly when to pull at his hair, bite at his
neck, back, shoulder, when to twist at his nipple or whisper dirty promises in
his ear. Each fuck, each earth-shattering climax they shared, made it more and
more difficult for him to walk away. Why walk away when it was the only fucking
good thing he had going for him?
"Hello, boys."
Mickey and Ian jolted apart, knocking a couple of glass jars off the shelves to
smash at their feet. They both turned sharply to look at the intruder, ready to
attack if they needed to, but it was just fucking Frank, and he didn't look
like he was gonna pummel them. 
"The front door was locked, so... I came in the back- no pun intended. You
might want to check the locks." The old man said with a smirk.
The freezer door swung shut and they both scrambled to pull their clothes back
on. Mickey could hear Frank rummaging around the store, the clinking of glass
bottles and the chime as the till shot open. 
"Um, I see that you're preoccupied, so why don't we put this little loan on my
tab?"
Mickey followed Ian back out into the store, still too cotton-brained from
being interrupted mid-fuck to do much else than follow the redhead's lead. The
kid looked pretty calm, if not a little pissed off. Meanwhile, Mickey was
scared fucking shitless. Why was no one throwing punches? Why weren't they dead
yet? Holy fuck, if it had been Terry who'd caught them...
"As you were, sailors." Frank said, saluting them before walking out the store
with his stolen groceries.
Mickey stared at Ian.
What the fuck were they gonna do now?
 
“We gotta kill him." Mickey concludes, pacing agitatedly in front of the
counter, rubbing at his bottom lip like he always does when he’s anxious.
Really, there was no other option here. Frank was a drunk, notorious for
talking shit to anyone who’ll listen. Though, he supposed they'd got off
lightly. If anyone else had caught them, they'd probably be in a fucking ER
right now.
There’s a loud knocking on the door, a woman yelling, "C'mon! Open up!"
And seriously, she can fuck the hell off. He tells her so.
"Look, nobody will miss Frank, anyway. We shoot him in the head, we dump him in
the river."
"Look, he has a lousy short-term memory; he's probably already forgotten." Ian
replies calmly, leaning against the counter whilst he watched Mickey freak out.
His eyes were sincere and Mickey had to look away. No, he couldn't let the
redhead change his mind on this one.
"Can't chance that." He said.
"I'll talk to him." Ian tried to reassure him.
"Gotta cut his hands off, pull his teeth; he can't even be identified." Mickey
rambled, his mind working a mile a minute as he tried desperately to find a way
out of this hell hole they'd dug for themselves. Fuck, if Terry found out... He
couldn't help the way he zoned out, his imagination whirring out of control and
taking him some place dark and familiar.
“You stay here, watch the store. I'll take care of it.” Ian told him, his
fingertips brushing against Mickey's chest as he passed.
Mickey starts shedding out of his jacket, his mind now set. He was a Milkovich.
This was nothing he hadn't done before. “My Uncle Joe works at the foundry;
he'll dump the teeth into the chrome plating vat and it's done."
"Mickey, you need this job for your probation." Ian exclaims, his voice
desperate, his eyes frantic. He steps closer to Mickey, getting in his face as
if that'll make him listen. Mickey thinks Ian must know the effect he has on
him, how he's got Mickey wrapped around his little finger. Not today though.
Mickey can't let Terry find out. He can't let Ian get hurt, or worse, because
of this thing they've got. Shit, he was so fucking stupid to drag the kid into
all this shit.
"No, what I need is to take care of Frank and his big mouth.” He says, pushing
past Gallagher.
Ian's mouth is pulled in a thin, grim line, and Mickey hates that it's him
that's put it there. It's for his own good though. Mickey's just trying to keep
them both safe.
“Stay here. This won't take long."  
 
Joey and Iggy are playing slaps, Camouflage by Double Dagger in the background,
when Mickey strolls into the kitchen.
"Hey." He says, clicking his fingers to grab their attention. "You guys got
plans today?"
"I was gonna drop a Cialis and stroke it." Iggy replies, sticking his tongue in
his cheek.
Mickey tries his best to ignore what his brother's just said, along with the
visual that accompanies it. I mean, fuck. 
"I need help killing somebody." He says, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a
beer.
"Someone we care about?" Joey asks.
"No."
"Knife, gun or tire iron?" Iggy questions, waiting for his younger brother to
give the verdict.
"Gun's safest." Mickey decides.
Joey hums. "Not with today's forensics." 
"Fine, a knife." Mickey shrugs, taking a swig of his beer. He really couldn't
give a shit how they ganked the fucker. He just wanted him dead.
"That's a lot of blood flow. One drop left behind, that's life in the joint."
Joey adds unhelpfully. 
Mickey puts his beer down and scrubs at his nose, trying his best to keep his
temper at bay. He's just so fucking done. Done with this fucking day, his
fucking family, fucking Frank.
"Why don't you tell me, John Wayne Gacy?"
"Kidnap and strangle." Iggy tells him.
"Perfect." 
He opens the cupboard doors, his brothers following behind him, and switches
the light on. 
"Where's your rophenol?" Iggy asks Joey, taking out a gun and some ammo.
"I ran out. That quinceañera over at Jamie's." Joey explains. "I got plenty of
duct tape."
"Get it." Mickey orders.
He feels better already, now that he has some sort of plan set in motion. He
feels better now that he's got some fucking control. He's never dealt well with
vulnerability or threats. He can't deal with someone knowing this about him. No
here. Not in this neighbourhood. Not where his dad can find out. Not where
anyone can find out. Being gay was wrong. Mickey wasn't gay. He couldn't be
gay. Not here. No, he couldn't let Frank say anything. Not with Terry around.
He wasn't supposed to take it up the ass. He wasn't supposed to let anyone have
him like that. He wasn't supposed to give like that. A Milkovich was supposed
to be tough and violent and dominant. Sex for a Milkovich was supposed to be
about taking your pleasure, having a good old fucking time. It was about
taking, claiming, owning. It wasn't about giving. But, Mickey gave. He gave and
gave and gave when it came to Ian Gallagher. He didn't seem to be able to stop
himself, or even find it within him to want to.
  
Mickey walks into the Alibi with Joey in tow, glancing over the usual drunkards
in search for Frank. The place reeked of cigarettes, booze and sweat, but it
was a strangely pleasant smell to Mickey. It gave him a weird sense of comfort,
of home, of familiarity. Although, that was probably pretty fucked up.
"Hey, what's happening, boys?" Kevin greets them, folding his dishtowel and
flipping it over his shoulder.
"You seen Frank?" Mickey asks.
"Frank who?"
"Don't give me 'Frank fucking who?' How many people come in here named Frank?"
Mickey snaps back. He wasn't in the fucking mood for this.
"Hey, don't get salty, sweetie. There's Frank Stinson, substitute math teacher
who loves Sudoku. There's Frank Salmon, comes in on Thursdays with his softball
buddies, and there's Frank Migneault, retired air traffic controller, playing
pool." Kev replies, pointing at each guy he mentions.
"Frank Gallagher."
"Check the Rusty Hammer. They got happy hour breakfast 9:00 to 11:00. He's a
bargain drinker." The barman suggests. 
Mickey turns around without any thanks and walks back out the door.
Where the fuck was the fucking fuck?
 
"Frank here?" He asks, barging into the Gallagher house the moment Ian's sister
opens the door.
"No." She replies with a frown.
"When's he going to be back?" 
"For as long as I've been alive, I haven't known the answer to that question."
Fiona says, and Mickey can tell she ain't lying. The old man was a waste of
fucking space. Of course he'd waltz in and out of his kids' lives without any
explanation or warning. The prick just wanted booze, drugs, or the cash to buy
the booze and drugs.
Mickey glanced between Fiona and Veronica and then stormed back out.
 
"Why we killing him again?" Iggy asks from beside him.
"He raped a girl." Mickey replies, eyes fixed on the Alibi, arm hanging out the
car door window.
"Statutory or catch and release?" Joey questions from the back. "Shit. He's
locking up. No Frank." 
"Shit." Mickey mumbles, dropping his cigarette butt onto the road and pressing
his foot down on the gas.
Where- the- fuck?
 
"Where is he?" He asks, slipping under the rolling grille.
"I have no idea." Ian replies, his eyes downcast.
"He's had 24 hours to run his mouth already. Where is he?"
"He won't." The redhead says, standing up from the crate he was sat on and
pulling at his cigarette.
"If my dad finds out about this, he will kill me himself." Mickey says. Why
won't the kid fucking listen to him? "I've been to 16 bars, the homeless
shelter, shantytown under the L, your house, batty Sheila's... where the fuck
is he?" He exclaims, his voice rising in desperation, becoming more and more
shaky the longer he talks. He grabs Ian's shoulder and spins him around. 
"I don't know!" Ian replies, his own voice louder now.
"Bullshit!" Mickey yells, the fear and rage beginning to seep out.
He stares at the redhead for a moment, and then something clicks. He can't help
but laugh at the idiocy of this kid. "You warned him."
"I hate him more than you do." Ian says, following Mickey when he heads behind
the till point. 
"I ain't stealing this. This is less than what I'm owed for my hours this week.
I'm done. Done... done." Mickey explains, opening the till and grabbing a
handful of notes.
"Frank's walked in on Fiona and all of her boyfriends, walked in on Lip and his
girls. We got nothing to be ashamed of." Ian exclaims desperately.
And it kills him. It kill him the way Ian's looking at him, like Mickey's
breaking his heart, like Mickey's trying to hurt him. But Mickey can't do this.
Mickey's not Ian. If Mickey's dad finds out about this, about what he is, he'll
fucking kill him. Not in the way most kids say their parents will kill them.
No, Terry would wrap his meaty hands around his throat and squeeze all the
breath out of him, hit him with his fists again and again until nobody could
even recognise him, take a knife to his chest and cut until the flesh separated
from bone. And Ian doesn't get it. He doesn't get how fucking serious this is,
how dangerous his dad is. He doesn't fucking get it because he's never had to
live through it. And maybe that's Mickey's fault. Maybe it's Mickey's fault for
not making him understand sooner. But it had all just been so fucking easy,
falling into this thing between them, letting himself believe it was something
he could have. And now- now Mickey thinks he hates himself more than ever, if
it's possible for someone to hate themselves that fucking much. 
"What fucking world do you live in?" He asks, his voice sounding defeated now.
And he was. There was no way he could fight for the redhead the way he knew Ian
needed him to.
"You can't... you can't... you know... I don't want you to..." Ian stammered,
glancing around, stepping closer and reaching out for him.
And he can hear how fucking desperate Ian is. And- and- he fucking can't. He
jumps back, arms thrown out to halt Gallagher's advances. He can't let him
touch him. If he does, he know he'll give in. He knows he'll crumble. He has to
shut it the fuck down, now.
"What did I just say to you? Done is done." He spits. "What, you think we're
boyfriend and girlfriend here? You're nothing but a warm mouth to me."
And it hurts. It hurts so fucking much as he says it, he's not sure how he can
stand it. Especially not with the way Ian's looking at him, his mouth turned
down at the corners, his eyes watery, his jaw twitching as he strains to keep
all his emotions under control.
"Sorry I gotta go kill your dad, but I'm doing a lot of people a favor,
including you." Mickey says, turning round and walking out the door.
He has to get the fuck out of there before he does something fucking stupid,
like wrap his arms around the redhead in the way his body is screaming at him
to. He has to get out. He has to. He can't- he can't- fuck.
 
"Frank's at the Alibi." Iggy says as he busts into the kitchen.
"I got this." Mickey replies, putting his beer down on the table and jumping to
his feet.
"No, we got your back." Iggy tells him.
"I know you do, but I got it."
"I hate rapists, too." Joey mumbles, standing up now as well.
"Okay, so get the next one." Mickey says.
"We're coming. Grab a mask." Joey announces, throwing a fucking Barack Obama
mask at Mickey's chest. 
 
"Run up a couple blocks. I'm gonna come from behind. I'll catch him in an alley
and get it done." Mickey says, loading his gun and sliding out the car.
He strolls across the street, his mask on top of his head, and starts trailing
an unsuspecting Frank. The old man was smoking, staggering about on the
pavement drunkenly. Mickey pulled the gun from his pocket, flicked the safety
off, and then...
I don't want you to.
I don't want you to.
I don't want you to.
And, fuck. FUCK. He can't do this. He can't. 
He pulls the mask off, leans over a trashcan. He doesn't even move when he
hears the sirens or the cop car pulling to a stop a few yards away. He rubs at
his eyes, drops the gun into the trash, and fuck.
"Hey... Officer, oink oink." He says, walking over to one of the cops and
punching him across the face. He doesn't even struggle much when the next cop
pushes him down onto the ground, yanking his hands behind his back. Instead, he
just retorts, "Does that violate my probation?"
"Shut up!" The officer yells.
Mickey laughs. He laughs because what the fuck else can he do?
He's fucked. He's so, so fucked. His whole life is fucked. And, honestly, he
can't find it in him to care. Hell, no one else fucking did. Why should they?
He was just a good-for-nothing, Southside thug. The dirtiest white boy in
fucking America.
End Notes
     Obviously I do not take credit for the dialogue from the show; I have
     simply used it to aid my own story and exploration of Mickey.
     The credit for those parts goes deservedly to the writers.
     Feel free to contact me: http://enochianess.tumblr.com
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