
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9300362.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Shameless_(US)
  Relationship:
      Ian_Gallagher/Mickey_Milkovich
  Character:
      Ian_Gallagher, Mickey_Milkovich
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Mild_Voyeurism, Anal_Sex, idk_what_this_is, Age_Difference,
      teenage!Ian, older!Mickey
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-01-12 Words: 3594
****** beware the wandering eye ******
by takesguts
Summary
     What's the cost of peeping on your neighbors?
Notes
     I'M NOT DEAD. Just lazy, with fluctuating inspiration. This isn't
     that good, but I wanted to do something.
See the end of the work for more notes
For the first time in his life, Mickey has neighbors.
 
 
 
Not just the people that live in the house on either side of him, but honest to
fuck neighbors. The kind that wave brightly to him while they leave for school
in the morning, and have stopped over a few times with platefuls of extra
pancakes and lasagna or some shit. He knows it's mostly because of his weekends
with Yevgeny - there's no doubt in his mind he looks like Single Father
Struggle Friday evenings to Sunday afternoons.
 
 

It's the youngest girl, that stops by with the food mostly, and always demands
in a particularly adult and certain tone that he let his son come over to play
sometimes. They have a youngest sibling, who is a little older then Yev and
curiously enough, black. Before everything, Mickey might have never even
considered the option of allowing that, determined to make it fighting tooth
and nail just them against everything.
 
 

Now he can appreciate the offer, see the good in it. It's a weird feeling.
 
 

Babysitting he's alright with, gives him a couple of hours to get things done
that he can't while having to monitor a child.
 
 
He draws the line at paying teenage boys to shovel his driveway, however. Which
is exactly what happens one morning, in the midst of his once a week pros and
cons list about moving into an actual house. Fucking Mandy, fucking Svetlana,
making a big fucking deal about how it's the next step, he's twenty eight, Yev
is only getting bigger.
 
 
"For twenty bucks," a voice says to his left, "I'll do that for you."
 
 
Snapping his head over, Mickey sees one of the Gallagher boy's - Ian, he thinks
his name is, though they really haven't been properly introduced. Fiona had
mainly rattled off a list of names in a hurricane of movement upon their
initial meeting.
 
 
"Do I look like I need fucking help?" Mickey can't help but bark, a little
peeved by the boy's insinuation. He's not that fucking old, he can manage to
shovel a damn driveway and not throw his fucking back out.
 
 
"Nah," Ian says breezily, stuffing his hands into his coat pocket, "just tryna
make twenty bucks."
 
 
Mickey's surprised by his honesty, wonders if it's maybe a little rude. Then he
thinks about teenage Mickey, how he would have scammed some pathetic sap like
himself at least fifteen times over already, and figures that's probably way
worse.
 
 

"Twenty bucks is a little steep," Mickey comments, raising his eyebrows.
 
 

"It's a big driveway," he replies, not missing a beat.
 
 

Mickey snorts, "your case needs work. You tryna get some beer?" He hazards a
guess, considers what his seventeen year old self would have needed twenty
bucks for if he was bold enough to go asking for it.
 
 
Ian slides his gaze away, shrugs ineffectually, "something like that."
 
 

If Mickey was good at this sort of thing, he would almost think that Ian looks
a little guilty, or uncomfortable. As it is, though, he doesn't really care
that much and he's not gonna pay the kid.
 
 
"Sorry man," he says, "I'm good," there's no way he's going to be able to cage
his pride in enough to let this transaction happen, "but I know two blocks
over, the purple house, the lady there likes payin young guys for handiwork, if
you catch my drift." He bounces his eyebrows, grinning kind of obnoxiously.
 
 

Laughing, Ian takes a step backward, "Cool, man, thanks for the heads up."
 
 

Mickey doesn't say you're welcome or bye, just nods and promptly forgets about
the whole thing later when he's sipping a beer and crawling on the floor with
his son.
 
 
- - - - - - -
 
 
Later, much later, he is promptly reminded of it, of Ian, when he happens to
glance out his bedroom window as he's getting changed for bed. It's a split
second, luck of the fucking draw or something, he supposes, but he happens to
look up at the precise moment he sees Ian push someone down onto a mattress
before following in suit.
 
 
It's a man. A much older man.
 
 

Immediately, Mickey turns around, and his heart is racing for some reason.
 
 
It feels like catching yourself right before you fall down the stairs. Or
finding out a secret about someone that leaves you absolutely floored. Which is
what is actually fucking happening.
 
 
Ian is gay - there's a gay guy living on his street. Another gay guy, his mind
supplies, peeved at the notion it's like finding a rare species. For him, it
is. After a brief, but spectacular, whirlwind of nameless guys for a few months
a couple of years back following his father's death Mickey knocked it off with
that shit real quick. Chlamydia and the return of your baby mama and kid into
your life will make sure of that.
 
 
He's not ashamed, not anymore, but he sure as fuck can't be sleeping around
like that with Yevgeny in his life now. Dating requires time and patience,
which he has very little of (and perhaps, maybe too much pride). Not to mention
he wouldn't even know how to attempt to even start.
 
 
So he's a little shocked, whatever. It's not any of his business, what the kid
does or whom he does it with. Even if it makes him uneasy at the thought of how
old that man was. He chalks it up to parental concern, the rolling of his
stomach. Some creepy old fuck touching a teenager like that.
 
 
It takes every ounce of willpower not to glance back through the window, and he
forces himself to lay on his bed, body burning. Sleep does not come easy that
night.
 
 

- - - - - - - -
Over the next two weeks, Mickey is pretty mortified by his newly developed
habit of peeking over into Ian's room. He's mildly surprised he never noticed
how clearly he can see into the room before, but then again, he's not. Until
the one night, there had never been anything to see.
 
 
He feels like the worst kind of person, peeping on some teenager like this. A
large part of him swears it's a reasonable adult thing to do, make sure the kid
isn't getting in any trouble or being harmed. There's a smaller part, though,
just a murmur, but there nonetheless that suggests there's some mild perversion
going on as well. Ian is gay, Ian is good looking - taller then Mickey, even at
seventeen. The red hair and broad shoulders certainly help; Mickey has a type,
what the fuck ever. The guy jogs every morning, obviously he takes care of
himself; Mickey sees him on his way to work. Something he also never noticed
before until the incident. It's like Ian is everywhere, now that Mickey knows.
 
 
A bit shamefully, he's aware it's cause he's seeking him out now. Trying to
find something out, see if Ian knows about him, if there's one man or many men.
He doesn't jerk off to it, or anything - not even when he sees Ian in just a
pair of boxer briefs, lounging around his room a few times or right after he's
showered. He doesn't even stare that long, just a glimpse or two here and
there.
 
 
Since that night, though, there hasn't been anyone else. They also haven't
interacted again, outside of nods of acknowledgement in passing, but Mickey
isn't sure how he would be able to talk to him anyway. Doesn't trust himself
not to act like an asshole, despite the one million questions he's been
obsessing over. That's his M.O, of course, living in his metaphorical closet.
Almost thirty fucking years old and jealous over the blatant confidence this
kid seems to have in himself, to just be who he is. Have men over and fuck them
at his house, like it's not a big deal.
 
 
Even if Mickey isn't ashamed, it's never still felt quite right. A lingering
sense of wishing it could have been another way.
 
 

- - - - - -
 
 
A decision is made for him, it seems - not that he really knew there was one to
be made. There was no real plan, no certain intention.
 
 
Until Ian Gallagher shows up at his front door, like he's done it a thousand
times before.
 
 
"Uh," Mickey says, ever eloquent, and the brightness of Ian's smile is damn
near blinding.
 
 
"Hello, neighbor," he says, as if Mickey isn't staring at him dumbly, "I was
wondering if I could borrow a cup of sugar."
 
 
What the fuck?
 
 
Sputtering, Mickey gives him an sharp look, "Are you fucking serious?"
 
 
Ian seems to consider this, squinting his eyes aa bit and glancing upward. His
mouth twitches, "No, not really. I just wanted an excuse to get into your
house. It's fucking cold out, so do you mind?"
 
 
Again with the honesty; Mickey blinks, a bit perturbed and doesn't do a damn
thing. Rolling his eyes, Ian shoves past him and strolls into his house.
 
 
"I thought about coming over here with a bat," he's saying, walking further
down the front hall, glancing around. It takes Mickey an embarrassing amount of
time to manage to shut his door and follow him; he should be busting this kids
knees in for this shit, coming in uninvited. Maybe he really is getting old.
 
 
Ian stops in his living room and turns around to face him, "But then I did the
math. Single dad, lives alone, never has any women over." He says all this,
ticking the comments off on his fingers as he peers haughtily at Mickey, "You
want to know what I came up with?"
 
 
Blood is rushing in Mickey's ears; he knows, this kid fucking knows. He's seen
Mickey watching him, caught him at some point. Fuck, fucking shit.
 
 
"You're a big fucking homo," Ian says gleefully, "who apparently likes to spy
on teenage boys, but that's okay. You've got a type." He pauses, expression
turning something lecherous, "I happen to also have a type."
 
 
"Geriatric patients?" Mickey finds himself saying, his traitorous mouth
speaking the words before he can even really process them. It's always been a
problem of his; react first, deal with the consequences later. Realistically,
he shouldn't be baiting the kid, not if he didn't want the fucking cops called
on him.
 
 
But Ian only seems delighted, and he snickers at Mickey's comment like it's
actually funny, and not the result of Mickey being a lurking peeping tom.
 
 
Suddenly, Ian's face changes back, eyes darkening and Mickey feels hot all
over. There's no way, no way this is happening. Shit like this doesn't happen
to Mickey, ever.
 
 
"What's that make you then?" He inquires, voice curling like smoke around the
words.
 
 
Mickey swallows, Ian smirks.
 
 
"What the - "
 
 
"Been such a naughty thing, haven't you?" Ian continues, taking a few strides
toward Mickey, sure and steady. It should sound ridiculous, what he's saying,
he's a fucking teenager and Mickey should be stopping him, kicking him out.
Should try to come up with some excuse, tell him he's a private detective or
some shit and is following the guy he brought home the other week.
 
 
He should not be letting Ian step up in his space, looking down at him. It's
only a few inches, but it feels like Ian is practically looming over him,
surrounding his prey.
 
 
"Fucking," Mickey swears, "what the fuck are you doing?"
 
 
"What's it look like," Ian deadpans, snorting, "I'll give you three guesses."
 
 
Mickey's racking his brain, trying to think of anything to get out of this, he
swears he used to be quicker then this. Gone soft, apparently. He thinks it's
the being a home owner
 
.
Ian's apparently bluffing though, because it's only a matter of seconds before
Mickey finds himself bent over the arm of his couch. Ian's got one hand on the
small of his back, the other smoothing across his ass; his grip is tight, but
not too forceful. He's giving Mickey an opportunity to back out.
 
 
Ian is gay, and likes older men; Ian wants to fuck him.
 
 
Jaw clenching, Mickey refrains from the whole body shudder that threatens to
move through him. It's really been a long time.
 
 
His silence must speak for him; Ian's palming his ass in earnest now, fingers
squeezing tighter around the curve of his cheeks and then pressing up.
 
 
"So cute," he murmurs behind Mickey, and Mickey's face burns with equal parts
embarrassment and arousal. He isn't fully hard yet, but his body is telling him
it's definitely going to happen. There's no reason for Ian to be this sexy,
Mickey certainly fucking wasn't at his age. "Would you pull them down for me?"
 
 
Once upon a time, Mickey would have responded with a scathing fuck off, not
remotely interested in playing around with guys like that. But Ian is good at
it - sounds appreciative and polite, even though he's actually demanding. Hands
trembling, just a bit, Mickey wriggles his hands under his pelvis to awkwardly
undo his pants and shove them down far enough that they slip down from his
thighs.
 
 
"Really cute," Ian amends, groaning throatily, the sound so masculine that
Mickey's toes curl into his carpet. "Just look at that, do you work out?"
 
 
"Shut the fuck up," Mickey snaps, but it's useless, he knows. Not when he's
still bent over, not when it comes out so breathless.
 
 
Fingers pinch the very cleft of his left ass cheek, sharp and twisting, "That's
not how this works," he mentions calmly, but Mickey can tell it's a warning.
The hand on his back slips lower, so that he's got a grip on both of Mickey's
ass cheeks, spreading them to get a peek at his asshole, "Fuck, that looks real
good, Mick. Who knew you had such a perfect ass?"
 
 
"Get on with it," he bites, humiliated at the attention Ian is apparently set
on dishing out. He just wants to fuck, Ian doesn't have to treat him like some
chick.
 
 
Chuckling, Ian reaches over Mickey's shoulder to set down a condom and lube.
Fucker came prepared, apparently. The noise his belt buckle makes when he
undoes it has Mickey squirming, just a bit. All of his weight is resting on his
elbows, and he risks a glance over his shoulder only to find Ian staring right
at him, like he anticipated Mickey's movement.
 
 
His grin is lethal; all teeth and unholy, and he runs a hand through his rather
stylishly cut hair, which is a stupid thought to have, but Ian already knows
Mickey's checking him out, has BEEN checking him out. And that's even more
stupid.
 
 
"So pushy," he says, clucking his tongue, "awfully demanding considering the
position you're in."
 
 
Mickey growls, pushes his ass back, and that seems to work at least
momentarily. The collected demeanor Ian seems to have total control over slips
momentarily at the movement. Mickey can feel the press of Ian's cock along his
ass, hard and fucking glorious.
 
 
Mickey opts for a different tactic.
 
 
"Want your cock," he moans, maybe a little over the top, but it seems to work
because all resolve the red head seemed to have before disappears and he's left
rutting helplessly against Mickey's ass, grunting and groaning like a proper
teenager.
 
 
The next moan Mickey makes isn't fake; something about this - the way Ian's
snapping his hips, over and over, semi uncoordinated. The drag of his jeans is
distracting, and Mickey finds himself spreading his legs wider, trying to him
closer.
 
 
"Come on," he urges, whiney and desperate, "take your dick out, please, let me
feel it."
 
 
"Mickey," Ian sighs, and it's a few more desperate rolls of his pelvis before
he manages to stop himself. It's cute, how eager he is now; so boyish and
chasing his own pleasure over Mickey's. It feels so good, to let that control
be handed over.
 
 

"That's it," Mickey encourages, blinking slowly as the teenager drops his own
pants and boxers in a movement that is particularly practiced and the older man
is once again left scrambling after the redhead's sexual prowess. And perhaps
more pressingly, the size of Ian's dick; he exhales noisily.
 
 
If Ian was sure of himself before, it's nothing compared to how he is now -
smiling wide and so goddamn thrilled, a performer revealing his biggest (oh
fuck, what) trick. Without a word, Ian spreads him open again, pressing the
blunt head of his dick right against Mickey's hole. Helplessly, his jaw drops,
mouth wet and his eyes nearly crossing from the sound he's holding back in his
throat. He presses in, just barely; enough for it to burn just a bit, muscles
clenching reflexively at the pressure and Ian chuckles lowly, suddenly so close
to his ear.
 
 

"Lube," he says softly, and yet still without any room for protest, reaching
his hand over Mickey's left shoulder and wiggling his fingers for effect.
Mickey is practically panting as he pops open the cap on the bottle, drizzling
an obscene amount lube all over Ian's long, thick fingers, then his palm when
he turns his hand - it's messy, some dripping off onto his shoulder, his couch,
floor.
 
 
Two fingers replace where Ian had been resting his cock, wet and slick,
circling around Mickey's rim. He pushes two finger tips in, switching to one
when Mickey huffs a little uncertainly. It really has been awhile.
 
 
"Holy shit," Ian laughs, sliding his index finger all the way in, as deep as he
can manage, until the bottom of his palm is pressed right below his asshole,
"shit you're so tight."
 
 
"Yeah, yeah," he grunts, cheeks burning; everything Ian says is so explicit, so
comfortable talking to and about a man like this.
 
 
"Seriously," he says, thrusting his finger slowly, intentionally, "if I had
known about this gorgeous ass sooner, you wouldn't have had to spend all that
time spying on me."
 
 
"I wasn't-" Mickey protests, suddenly finding his voice about the whole thing
now all of all the moments, but Ian pushing in a second finger cuts his would
be explanation short. "Ohh, uhn."
 
 
"Water under the bridge," Ian replies, "you're about to make it up to me fine
enough. I'm not lying - your ass is grade A spank bank material for growing
boys."
 
 
Any retort Mickey might have had to the lewdness of that comment dissolves
pathetically at the way Ian is fingering him steadily now, in and out, in and
out; so strong and fucking sure.
 
 

"Looks different without all those wrinkles, huh," he does manage to gasp out,
even as he's rocking back eagerly, his own dick dragging against the arm of the
couch every so often.
 
 

A sharp smack lands on his left ass check and Mickey is rightfully a bit
embarrassed at the way he jumps.
 
 

More laughter, a third finger, "in case you weren't sure, your insults don't
hit home quite the way you want when I'm getting you open for my cock."
 
 

And really, Mickey has no more argument left - instead he shuffles his legs
open a little more, bending further. The onslaught of Ian's big, stupid fingers
has his knees quaking and all conversation drops when Ian finally starts
breathing heavier behind him.
 
 

"Fuck, fuck," Mickey chants, biting harshly at his lip, "fuck me, ohh, fuck
me."
 
 

"Yeah," Ian agrees, "yeah I'm gonna," his fingers are gone and Mickey can hear
the quiet, slick sound of the younger man jerking his own cock. In a swift,
hungry movement, Ian starts to push his cock in, so different from the way he
had been expertly fingering him. Mickey has a blind moment of fuckyesplease,
but -
 
 

"Condom," he pants, reaching back to swat at Ian, the package between his
fingers, "condom."
 
 

It may have been a long time, but Mickey is still the real adult here, all of
Ian's apparent experience aside.
 
 

Ian groans in disappointment, taking a second more to press in just a little
further, no doubt trying to extend the feeling of his bare cock in Mickey's
ass. Insistently, Mickey squirms, repeating himself again.
 
 

"Fuck, fine," he relents, pulling out and hurriedly taking the condom, ripping
it open and rolling it on. Clumsily, he works his dick back inside, thrusting
in sharp, short movements that seem the most uncontrolled he's been this entire
time. "Jesus, fuck, that's fucking tight, so fucking tight."
 
 
Mickey wants to say something like, haven't we established this, or shut the
hell up, or anything other then the strangled, eager noise he makes instead.
 
 
 
 
"I've never," Ian starts, a little hysterically as he starts fucking Mickey
ruthlessly, one hand curling around Mickey's hip, the other flat on the small
of his back, "never been like this, this is so good." 
 
 

"Christ," Mickey groans, annoyed - either at Ian's relentless talking or how
thoroughly he's been fucked by the teenager. "If you fucking come right now I
swear to fuck -"
 
 
There's a rush of hot air next to his ear, and it makes his whole spine tingle,
"Doubting my stamina, old man?" He breathes, low and amused, "I'm clearly not
doing a good enough job if you're able to complain. Let's see if we can fix
that."
 
 

Ian does, in fact, fix that not even three minutes later when he's rendered
Mickey into nothing but a babbling, incoherent mess, eyes wet while he moans
over and over and over. At some point, Mickey will have to actually think about
this, talk about this, but for now he's content. For someone so young, Ian sure
knows what he's doing. Mickey thinks maybe he could ask for some pointers, too.
End Notes
     SORRY THIS ENDED KINDA ABRUPTLY. As I kept writing I realized that
     even if I explicitly wrote and finish the smut, I had no real end
     game in terms of plot. It ended up having way more of that then I
     intended. All that needs to be known is: Mickey peeped, then got
     nailed. Wooooh!
      
     I am working on thingsssss. An update for dark, and heart obsessed IS
     being worked on. Slowly. As well as some companion fics. I promise
     I'm not deserting!
      
     THANKS FOR READING, LOVELIES. AND STOPPING BY. AND SAYING HI.
     namaste!
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