
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4693580.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Shameless_(US)
  Relationship:
      Ian_Gallagher/Mickey_Milkovich
  Character:
      Ian_Gallagher, Mickey_Milkovich
  Additional Tags:
      Trans_Character, Trans_Male_Character, ftm_Mickey, Explicit_Sexual
      Content, Anal_Sex
  Series:
      Part 4 of the_right_track, Part 4 of A.U.gust_2015
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-08-31 Words: 2415
****** stay the fuck out ******
by stubliminalmessaging
Summary
     Ian didn’t think he really needed to bring the tire iron into the
     Milkovich house, but he did know that if he kept up that mindset he
     would be better off. (1x07 equivalent fic)
                Ian didn’t think he really needed to bring the tire iron into
the Milkovich house, but he did know that if he kept up that mindset he would
be better off. He stalked in as quietly as he could, tiptoeing through the
house. He heard someone snoring on the couch in the living room and knew he was
in even deeper shit if this went south.
 
                He only knew where Mickey’s room was because of all the times
he’d visited Mandy and had to venture through Mickey’s room to go to the
bathroom. He was usually thankful that Mickey didn’t hang around at home much
because he didn’t really want to encounter him, but he figured chances were
good enough given how early it was the morning after a Milkovich rager. His
suspicions proved true when he pushed the door open to find Mickey passed out
face-down on the bed.
 
                Ian tried not to spend too much time admiring how good Mickey
looked face-down in a pair of ratty sweatpants and steeled his resolve before
he leaned down to prod Mickey in the back with the tire iron.
 
                “What the fuck?” Mickey groaned, voice gruff with sleep and a
bolstering hangover.
 
                “I want the gun back, Mickey,” Ian said, struggling to keep his
voice firm and brandishing the tire iron at him again, hoping he came off as
even a little bit threatening.
 
                “Gallagher?” Mickey asked, looking over his shoulder at Ian and
yeah, Ian could really get to like seeing Mickey in that position. He turned
onto his side and Ian tried not to step back. He couldn’t let Mickey know just
how intimidated he was. Being scared shitless helped get rid of his
inappropriate boner, at least.
 
                “The gun,” Ian repeated, going for tough and feeling victorious
when Mickey held up a hand in supposed surrender and rubbed at his sleepy eyes.
He shifted his legs over the side of the bed and looked like he was going to
sit up and cooperate so Ian dropped his guard and let his makeshift weapon rest
at his side.
 
                Mickey lashed out suddenly and threw Ian against the wall. Ian
landed on the bed and Mickey was on top of him the next second, taking hold of
his right arm and knocking his hand against the wall until he dropped the tire
iron. Ian rolled as best he could to try and buck his hips and throw Mickey off
but Mickey just got a grip on him around his neck from behind, holding on like
an angry little lemur as Ian swung him around and tried to break his grip.
 
                He succeeded finally and threw Mickey down on the couch along
the opposite wall of his bedroom but he didn’t have time to celebrate that
minor victory because Mickey was back on his feet before Ian could get in a
breath. Mickey came at Ian again and Ian shoved him back against the dresser
next to the door. While Mickey was coming back at him Ian turned and went for
the tire iron where it had fallen on the bed.
 
                He grabbed for it but Mickey pushed at him and he missed, and
they grappled for another moment before Mickey came out victorious, a knee on
either side of Ian’s neck and his weight holding Ian’s body down. He held the
tire iron above his head, poised to bash Ian’s face in.
 
                Something came over them then, as Mickey straddled Ian and Ian
laid there terrified with a facefull of Mickey’s crotch, both panting and hot
and tense. Ian stared into Mickey’s eyes and it was like something snapped in
them; Mickey dropped the tire iron and sat back, bouncing a little on the bed
as he struggled to strip his shirt off. Ian pushed at him frantically in an
effort to get free enough to take his own clothes off and Mickey fell
backwards, tossing his shirt aside. As soon as he did that he froze and Ian did
too. A beat later Mickey scrambled to pull his tank back on but Ian took his
hands gently but firmly, eyes locked on the grubby white binding top Mickey was
wearing. He carefully eased the shirt Mickey had been wearing from his fingers
and tossed it to the floor.
 
                “Are you trans?” Ian asked, and Mickey was incredibly conscious
of Ian looking at him. He pulled his hands free of Ian’s grip and crossed his
arms over his chest. Ian could see him shrinking in on himself and he tried to
draw him back out. “Mickey. Are you trans?”
 
                “Yeah,” Mickey spat, tensing so his biceps flexed. “What about
it? You gonna keep fucking staring, fuckhead?”
 
                “If you’ll let me,” Ian replied. Mickey’s hackles visibly rose
and Ian rushed to explain himself before he started trying to beat Ian up
again. “I’d rather do other things though.”
 
                “...what?” Mickey asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion laced
with anger. Ian thought maybe anger was the default state of his eyebrows.
 
                 “You’re fucking hot,” Ian said, shrugging. He continued
stripping off his clothes and Mickey just kept staring at him like a startled
animal. Ian stripped off the gloves he’d been wearing with his teeth, eyes
trained solely on Mickey. He tentatively reached out and touched Mickey’s
bicep, marveling at the solidness of it. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot.”
 
Ian touched him again, with more purpose, but still avoiding touching his
chest, and Mickey accepted it this time. He felt up Mickey’s shoulder to the
back of his neck and yanked him in for a kiss which Mickey stubbornly avoided.
Ian took note of Mickey’s resistance and didn’t push for it again, instead
digging his fingers in over Mickey’s ribcage and rolling him. He pressed Mickey
down into the mattress and ground their bodies together. Because they were both
still wearing pants the friction was maddening.
 
Ian was topless by then and Mickey tried not to linger on touching his chest,
flat and muscular as it was, but it was hard not to fixate on it when he hadn’t
expected the scrawny kid to be as built. He was almost what Mickey dreamed he
could be, but less lanky. Mickey would never be limby like Ian was, which
suited him just fine. Apparently it suited Ian just fine too, if the hungry way
he was looking Mickey over was anything to go by.
 
Trying not to push Mickey too far or too fast into territory that he might not
be comfortable with sharing with another person, Ian let Mickey take the lead
on what they did as much as he could. He was still frantic and horny and so
eager to fuck Mickey that it hurt, but he made sure to respect Mickey’s
boundaries. He was flooded with relief and excitement when Mickey’s goals for
this encounter seemed to be the same as his – he pushed Ian off him for a
second and rolled over on to all fours, practically presenting his ass to Ian.
 
“Lube’s on the headboard, closest to the wall,” he grunted, voice muffled by
the pillow he propped himself up on. Ian took the instructions without
question, leaning past Mickey to grab the half-empty tube of lube from where it
hid amongst all the clutter on Mickey’s headboard. He hesitated in pulling
Mickey’s pants down and Mickey huffed impatiently, yanking them down himself
and splaying his legs open where he crouched on the bed.
 
                To say Ian was blown away would be putting it lightly. He
stared at the picture before him for long enough that Mickey sat up on his
elbows and growled ‘you gonna fuck it or are you just gonna stare at it all
day?’ over his shoulder at Ian. That got his ass in gear and soon enough Ian
had two long fingers stretching Mickey open and then, at Mickey’s muffled
breathless demand, he’d plucked a rubber out of his wallet, put it on, and
pushed into Mickey.
 
                Mickey clutched at the sheets with one hand and Ian couldn’t
tell how Mickey was doing given that he was biting the pillow to keep in his
noises (hopefully not his whimpers of agony) and Ian was a bit lost. He rocked
his hips gently, testing the waters, and Mickey reached a hand back and grabbed
at Ian’s hip, pulling at him and urging him to keep going. That and the fact
that Mickey was rocking back on each of Ian’s thrusts made him more confident,
and soon he was grunting as he fucked Mickey into the mattress, sending the
headboard thunking against the wall every other snap of his hips.
 
                Ian was relieved when he saw Mickey’s free hand worm between
his body and the mattress to get himself off while Ian fucked him. He wasn’t
sure how deep Mickey’s insecurities went and he doubted he would have been okay
with Ian touching him like that. He had a brief thought that maybe someday
Mickey would be alright with him doing that, but as he heard Mickey growl into
the pillow he picked up his pace and filed the thought away for another time in
favour of gripping Mickey’s hips and plowing him into oblivion.
 
                Stooping down to whisper into Mickey’s ear meant that Ian had
to slow down a little, but it also meant that Mickey was paying more attention
to what he was saying.
 
                “You close?” Ian asked, lips brushing the side of Mickey’s
neck. Mickey turned his head a little and Ian almost kissed him until he
remembered how he’d dodged Ian’s kiss earlier. Instead he nipped at Mickey’s
earlobe, smirking when the older boy’s breath hitched.
 
                “Yeah. Fuck me harder,” he instructed and so Ian did as he was
told, pressing his body down against Mickey’s and holding him firmly while he
snapped his hips brutally against Mickey’s. Based on the punched-out breathy
sounds Mickey made into the pillow Ian assumed that he was doing something
right, and he watched as the muscles of Mickey’s arm strained with how
vigorously he was touching himself.
 
                Ian had to hold on tight when Mickey’s back arched, his whole
body stiffening up and clenching down on Ian’s cock. Ian kept pumping into him
until Mickey was pushing at Ian’s hip and telling him to stop. He convulsed
under Ian for another moment before he let out a sigh, then groped around until
he had a hand wrapped around Ian’s cock, jerking him a couple of times and
making him gasp.
 
                “Take the condom off,” Mickey instructed Ian, and he hurried to
do so, tossing it across the room somewhere. Mickey would probably find it
weeks later when he stepped on it or something but Ian had trouble thinking
about that when Mickey was stroking his cock again. The angle was awkward so
Mickey couldn’t go nearly fast enough to get Ian off, so he took up the motion
himself. Mickey still touched him, fingers sometimes stroking Ian’s pelvis or
helping him jerk off but Ian liked it best when Mickey was caressing his balls,
rubbing and squeezing them. Ian tilted his head back and let out a breathy
curse to the ceiling when he finally finished, spurts of come landing in smears
and puddles on Mickey’s lower back and ass.
 
                Mickey was still for only a moment before he squirmed around
until he found his pants still tangled around one of his ankles and yanked them
back up. Then he elbowed Ian until he got off him, and rolled over onto his
back. Ian tentatively settled in next to Mickey, shivering a little in the
inadequately heated Milkovich house. Having an unheated house wasn’t an unusual
thing to him, but he still made up for it with blankets and sleeping bags on
his bed. He sat up and spotted a scratchy-looking red blanket mashed into the
bedframe at the foot of the bed. He crawled the short distance to yank it free
and then returned to Mickey’s side, throwing the blanket over them.
 
                They had barely a minute to relax and Ian was just about to
turn to Mickey and suggest a repeat performance when his life flashed before
his eyes. He wasn’t happy that he was going to die at the hands of Terry
Milkovich but he supposed it could be worse – at least he was dying right after
mind-blowing sex. Ian froze when the door opened and he could feel Mickey tense
beside him. Right as he was wondering who would write his eulogy at his funeral
Terry barely spared them a glance as he wandered through the room and into the
bathroom.
 
                He did what he had to do and walked back out of the bathroom
and to leave Mickey’s room when he paused in the doorway. He turned and looked
over his shoulder at them, squinting.
 
                “Ain’t you Mandy’s boyfriend?” he asked, slurring around his
cigarette. Ian nodded slowly, as if he was afraid any sudden movements might
spook Terry into a fit of rage. “And you’re fucking her?”
 
                Mickey’s body was wound tight as his dad misgendered him.
“Please don’t tell her,” Mickey said, and his dad snorted.
 
                “Long as I don’t have to hear her bitchin’ about it, be as
slutty as you want. Just don’t get knocked up,” Terry said, turning and
slouching out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Ian didn’t think Terry
hearing Mandy ‘bitching’ would be a problem since he didn’t really strike Ian
as the type to be a caring concerned father with an open ear to his daughter’s
relationship woes.
 
                Mickey didn’t say a word about what had just happened, just sat
up and pushed the blanket off himself, shoving at Ian until he could climb out
of the bed. He scooped a t-shirt off the floor and pulled it on as he strolled
into the bathroom. Ian watched him go, then sighed and sat up, finding his
pants on the floor.
 
                He was just zipping up his fly when Mickey came back out of the
bathroom and tossed the gun on the edge of the bed in his line of sight. Ian
paused and looked from the gun to Mickey, who bit his lip and looked like he
wanted to say something. Ian took one step closer to him and Mickey turned
away, rubbing at his mouth.
 
                “Kiss me and I’ll cut your fuckin’ tongue out,” he said,
leaving Ian to finish getting dressed alone.
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