by; stubliminalmessaging
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"You should shower more often," Ian commented offhandedly, surprisingly thoughtful as he pulled Mickey back onto his dick.
"...is this really the time, firecrotch?" Mickey asked, a bit breathless.
"Good a time as any," Ian offered, rocking his hips almost absent-mindedly.
"Pretty much any other time would be better than this," Mickey said, letting out a long breath through his teeth. "Hurry up. You're fuckin' killing me."
"Nah. You're way more agreeable when you've got a dick in you," Ian disagreed, completely ignoring Mickey's request (order, more like).
"Well don't just put it in me, fuckin' do something with it," Mickey grumbled. He couldn't be less interested in this conversation if he tried, especially not right now.
Ian went quiet then but Mickey could tell he wasn't done talking about it because he was still distracted, not fucking Mickey in such a focused way as he usually did, which was beyond unacceptable.
"If I say I will, will you stop fuckin' around and do me proper?" Mickey asked, pushing back against Ian when he paused. He made a frustrated little growl which Ian privately thought was beyond-adorable.
"Only if you actually do," Ian said. He squeezed Mickey's hips and watched him. He still faced away from Ian, so he was just looking at the back of Mickey's head and those deliciously built shoulders of his. He stroked a hand up Mickey's back, delighting in the shiver he got in response.
"Why? You try'na say somethin'?" Mickey asked and Ian couldn't help but laugh. Of course Mickey would get defensive.
"I'm just saying it would be nice if you were clean more often," Ian said, going for dismissive. "I'd be a little more motivated to put my mouth if certain places if they were clean."
He could hear the sounds of Mickey swallowing and his throat working as if he was struggling with a response, willing words not to tumble out and Ian knew he had him. He tried not to smile too openly.
"But whatever. I can't make you do anything," Ian said with a shrug and before Mickey could say anything he resumed fucking him hard. He was rendered incapable of anything other than cursing and moaning and growling and Ian was perfectly okay with that. Mickey was pretty much allergic to verbal resolution, but Ian had planted the seed and knew it would sprout before long.
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Suffice it to say, the next day when Mickey came in to work his hair was damp and he smelled clean. Ian thought that maybe he'd even worn clean clothes, and he couldn't help the little smirk he had every time Mickey leaned in close to him so that clean smell washed over him.
