Reckless Harmony

Fucking Gallagher

The deal had gone down without any big blow-ups or disagreements; instead, it was all about the silent language of suspicious glances exchanged between the sellers and buyers. The folks had a vibe that screamed Russian, or at least they sounded like it. When it comes to deciphering languages, Mickey's no expert.

In the mix was this leader dude, a big tattooed behemoth who clearly spent his quality time in the gym. The dude had a gnarly scar slashing across his face, covering up a good chunk of his cheek. And if that weren't enough, there were a couple of junkies and a pair of ladies pulling double duty-helping out with the stash count and whatever else needed doing.

Fast forward to Mickey in the shower, replaying the scenes from the night before on repeat in his head. Try as he might, he can't shake the memories loose. They're stuck, playing on a loop in his mind. What is it about the redhead that's got him so hooked? Mickey finds himself entangled in something he can't quite put into words. Maybe it's those long fingers that traced down his face or the mesmerizing green eyes that locked onto his own while they were tangled up in bed.

And of course, there's the matter of what he's packing. Shit, that definitely doesn't have Mickey feeling too confident about his own. He glances over at the locked bathroom door, lost in contemplation. He thinks back to Ian on his knees for Mickey, taking him so well in his mouth while finger fucking him and then moaning like crazy when he gets overtaken by his orgasm.

Mickey feels himself start to rise.

The steam from the shower's fogging up the mirror. Mickey's working himself furiously like a man on a mission. But as he picks up speed his hand starts to cramp. He needs something more, something stronger. Mickey reflects on the secret stash hidden deep within the floorboards, a promise made to himself a year ago, swearing off its use. However, frustration leads him back to retrieve it, leaving wet footprints on the wooden floor as he sneaks back into the bathroom. Illuminated by the dim lamp's glow, he reveals his makeshift solution-a dildo. One that he'd picked up during a blackout night, finding himself waking up in an alley with mysterious substances near his mouth. Mickey curses silently but proceeds to slick it up. With one hand braced against the tiles, he holds the toy in place, realizing it's too late to turn back.

As Mickey pushes it in, memories flood back from the night before. The intense sensation of Ian entering him, the stinging stroke that nearly made him black out. He moves the toy in and out, recalling the enticing sounds Ian had made and the exquisite drag of Ian's member against his prostate. The redhead's skill at hitting the right spots plays vividly in Mickey's mind. He groans as the dildo hits deep, holding it in place. Speeding up, thrusting it faster inside and out. His little gasps get louder with each precise hit to that sweet spot. Biting his lip, he loses himself in thoughts of those damn green eyes, that fiery red hair, and those soft lips that had skillfully kissed his own-softly, roughly, passionately. Ian...

"Ah, fuck." Mickey moans as the intensity of his orgasm takes over, waves crashing over him like tsunamis, one after another. "Jesus..." He releases the breath he's been holding as the tumult finally calms into a gentle shore. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, the aftermath of pleasure lingering in the air. Mickey pulls the dildo out, feeling a mix of satisfaction and frustration. He turns off the water and steps out of the shower. The cool air hits his damp skin, and he towels off quickly. Mickey glances at himself in the foggy mirror.

"Fuck," he mutters to no one in particular. "What the hell is wrong with me..."

Mickey tosses the towel aside, getting dressed with a mix of annoyance and confusion. Giving a frustrated sigh, he half-smirks, half-grumbles, "Fucking Gallagher," realizing that, for better or worse, Ian has managed to burrow his way into Mickey's head in more ways than one.