by; everybreathagift
Summary:
Soft Mickey is really important to me, okay? I feel like he would totally be the gentle, loving one in the relationship if he hadn't been written into a terrible world by terrible writers that hated him. Wow, is my bitter showing? Sorry 'bout that.
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Mickey leans on the counter of the Gallagher kitchen, rolling his neck and wishing it didn't ache like a motherfucker. That bed is ridiculous. It's not even a bed, really. It's like some sort of fucked up bunker. It's too fucking small and Ian is a lanky bastard that likes to take up what little space there is.
He cringes as he turns to start the coffee, then grumbles because being in pain all day is gonna fucking suck.
The rest of the house is quiet; Ian is still sleeping, and the only other siblings here are Fiona and Lip, either sleeping as well or left early as fuck. And it's nice, the silent stillness. That's why he'll keep putting up with that stupid fucking so-called bed.
"Morning," Ian says from behind him, slow and groggy, his hands immediately wrapping around Mickey's middle. "Why'd you leave the bed?" Ian rests his head against Mickey's shoulder, lips pressed to his skin.
"It's not a fuckin' bed," Mickey responds, still annoyed but melting back into Ian regardless because he feels nice and whatever, Mickey's allowed to be a little soft in the mornings. "It's a two by four with sheets. Neck is fuckin' killin' me."
"Sorry, Mick. We could always take over Debbie's room. Or go to your-"
"No," Mickey cuts him off. "Look, it's fine. I'm just in a shit mood this morning."
Ian sighs, making Mickey shiver when it hits his throat. He closes his eyes and focuses on the hands gripping his hips and the soft breathing in his ear. Tries not to think about the twinge in his neck or the anxiety building in chest over Ian's next doctor's appointment or the weird squishy sound he heard when Yev laughed against his cheek while they were playing yesterday. He's just gonna not fucking think for awhile, and enjoy the attention because he's fucking allowed to. He's earned it.
Ian spins him around and Mickey's knees buckle a little when he's kissed. It's gentle and everything Mickey needs this morning. Then, Ian's hands shift from his waist to the back of his thighs, and he braces for what he fucking knows is coming because it's become a thing.
It's stupid hot how Ian can lift him so easily, place him so effortlessly on the counter. Ian hums against his lips as he moves forward to stand between Mickey's spread legs.
"Is your mood improving?" Ian whispers, moving his mouth over Mickey's cheek and down his throat.
Mickey smirks, wrapping his arms around Ian's bare shoulders. "It's gettin' there."
"Let me take you back to bed and I promise you, it'll get a fuckton better."
Mickey groans a little, tangling his fingers in Ian's hair, still messy from sleep and getting messier by the second.
"Can't," Mickey says regretfully, squirming a bit as Ian's hands drag up his thighs to his hips again. "Fuckin' keep me there all day."
Ian bites at his collarbone. "I only need ten minutes."
"Fuck you," Mickey laughs, a little breathless and getting hard. His head drops back against the cabinets, eyes closed and he doesn't even feel the pain in his neck anymore. All of his blood is traveling south real fucking fast.
"Christ, I love the way you feel," Ian groans, pulling Mickey's ass closer to the edge and fitting snugly against him. "C'mon, Mick, let's go back upstairs. Please?"
"Don't give me the puppy dog eyes, man, that's cheating," Mickey whispers, pressing his forehead to Ian's as they rock slowly against one another.
He's already panting a little, and slowly but surely, he can feel his resolve crumbling under the weight of Ian biting his lip and staring down at Mickey's body like it's something fucking precious. They're gonna wind up spending the whole fucking day in bed and Mickey can't remember why that would be a bad thing.
"Jesus, Ian, you have a bedroom, you know?" He hears Fiona say as she walks into the kitchen but she doesn't sound annoyed. Mickey opens his eyes to see her staring with a look of confusion on her face. Maybe even a little shock.
"Where you think I'm trying to get him?" Ian replies, never moving from his position. Mickey's not really inclined to fucking let him, anyway.
"He forgets we're adults that should be doing somethin' productive or some shit," Mickey tells her, but he's too busy grinning against Ian's mouth to really look at her anymore.
"Oh, we're banging on the kitchen counter now?" Lip appears from the back stairs, looking like he might still be drunk. "That's a thing we're doing?"
"There's way too many of you fuckin' Gallaghers, you know that?" Mickey whispers in Ian's ear, biting down and then smiling wide when he hears Ian's quiet whimper. "Coffee's done."
"Okay, fuck this," Ian breathes, lifting Mickey from the counter completely, like he fucking weighs nothing. Mickey tightens his hold by wrapping his legs around Ian's waist, beaming at Ian like a fucking idiot as he's carried toward the stairs.
"Just want you to know you've officially lost all your street cred," Lip yells.
"Mickey Milkovich is a big ole' softy," Fiona sing-songs.
Mickey flips them off. "Say that shit again when I come back down. Get your fuckin' teeth knocked out."
Ian laughs all the way up the stairs.
