Work Text:
Chicago heat is a motherfucker. Ian hasn't worn a shirt in the last week, except when he has to go to work. He barely wears pants, moseying around the apartment in his boxers, standing in front of the open refrigerator for minutes at a time, even though Mickey gets irritated with him when he does, like he’s going to let all the cool air out or something. It’s like the air conditioners can’t get cool enough, and no matter how much Ian tries to cool down, it’s not happening.
With heat, comes frustration, comes floating somewhere between constantly bickering with Mickey over stupid shit, and wanting to fuck the ever-loving life out of him, constantly. Usually both. Sometimes at the same time. Fucking Chicago heat, man. Fucks you up.
As soon as Ian walks into the his and Mickey’s apartment, he peels his shirt off, tossing it on the floor, because right now he doesn’t really care, he just want’s it the fuck off. He can hear the bedroom AC window unit whirring loudly; Mickey’s got the thing cranked up all the way, thank fucking god. The heat worked it’s way under Ian’s skin, spreading out everywhere.
“Mick?” Ian calls, going for his belt. He just needs all of it off. All of it. The only response he gets in a distracted hum, coming from the bedroom. Ian frowns, toeing off his shoes and socks, and dropping his pants on the way, leaving him in his boxers.
“Oh,” he breathes a laugh, walking through the bedroom door. Mickey is sprawled out on his stomach, on the bed, propped up on his elbows, leafing through a magazine. Just like Ian, he’s in his underwear, set up on the bed directly across from the AC unit.
Ian makes his way over and reaches down, because he can’t resist, slipping his hand between his boyfriend’s parted legs, touching him through his boxers, sliding his hand up over the curve of his (honestly, perfect) ass. “Hey,” he says again, grinning when Mickey shifts a little from his touch, his legs widening just barely. “What’re you reading?”
“Eh,” Mickey grunted. “This dude’s cheating on his wife again.”
Ian snorted a laugh, climbing onto the bed, settling behind Mickey, moving his legs a little more so he had room. The cool air from the window unit was slow (they really needed to replace it; right now it was their best working one), but it felt good; he wondered how long Mickey had been laying here.
“Which dude?” Ian asked, staring at his boyfriend’s body from this angle.
Fuck, Mickey’s ass was just… it was Ian’s weakness. Thick, perfect, soft. Mickey’s dark blue boxers were kind of bunched up right under his ass, making it look extra fucking good. Yeah, between the heat and Mickey’s ass, Ian didn’t have a chance in the word. His body was already reacting, needing to put his mouth everywhere on the other man.
He suppressed a groan, sliding his hands up the backs of Mickey’s legs. His skin was so damn soft, felt so good under his hands. When Ian brushed his fingers against the outside of Mickey’s thighs, the brunette shifted again, his hips rocking just barely.
“The dude from that movie,” Mickey, still distracted, replied. “The cop movie. With the… you know, the hooker?”
Ian smirked, not really caring about which actor was stepping out on his wife. He moved his hands, sliding them to wrap around the front of Mickey’s thighs, gently pulling him back. Just a little, so that he was almost in Ian’s lap, and when Ian leaned forward, he was tightly pressing right up against him.
It might have been a tiny bit of an awkward angle, but Mickey was so used to Ian moving him around like this and pressing against him, so he just let it happen. Thank god. Ian knew how fucking lucky he was that his boyfriend was fully aware and normally one-hundred-percent supportive of his Mickey Ass Addiction.
“Tryna read this,” Mickey mumbled, but his hips pressed down, legs tensing up on either side of Ian, just a little.
Ian couldn’t keep his eyes off of Mickey, hands running up and down his back, his sides, hips, thighs, lightly scratching at him. Just enough to draw a soft sigh from the brunette.
“Keep reading,” Ian said. He leaned forward, pressing himself against Mickey’s ass, moving to hover over his back. He pressed his face to the soft skin, taking a deep breath. Soap and cigarettes. “You shower?”
“Yeah,” Mickey replied. “I was covered in fucking grease. New guy was up my fucking ass all day. Hate training these fuckers.”
“Uh oh,” Ian grinned, taking another deep breath, kissing Mickey’s soft skin, slow. “That’s my job,” he added, accentuating his words with a little roll of his hips.
That got a little laugh out of the brunette; he turned the page of his magazine, still acting like he was unaffected by Ian pressing against him and touching him, and kissing on his skin. Like Ian didn’t notice how Mickey’s hips were very subtly rocking, seeking friction for himself. Ian almost rolled his eyes at his boyfriend.
“How was work?” Mickey asked him, all casual.
“Boring,” that time Ian did roll his eyes; moving down Mickey’s back, dropping feathery light kisses behind him.
He grinned though, when Mickey let out another one of those little sighs, his legs widening a tiny bit more, giving Ian more room. Ian sat back on his heels again, looking down at Mickey, dragging his fingers down his boyfriend’s back, hooking them under the band of his boxers, tugging on them, just a little, not pulling them down yet. Just enough. He traced over those two little dimples in his lower back, grabbed at his boyfriends hips, gripping him.
Mickey looked over his shoulder at Ian, raising a brow, “Heat getting to you again, tough guy?”
Ian groaned through a laugh, his body tightening, heating up. He let go of his hips, sliding his hands down so he had two handfuls of ass, gripping there instead, “Can’t just lay out like this and expect me to just not wanna play.”
“What’s that shit your sister is always saying?” Mickey grinned, lifting and pushing his ass back a little when Ian slid one of his hands around his hip, to the front of his boxers. The brunette let out a heavy exhale when Ian blindly cupped him through the cotton. “I think… fuck, I think you’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?” Ian asked, still cupping and rubbing at Mickey while his other hand started to tug the back of his boxers down. He had no idea what Mickey was talking about —honestly, barely cared. All he could think about was the steadily swelling erection in Mickey’s boxers, and getting his mouth on this fucking ass as soon as possible.
“Uhm,” Mickey took a deep breath, letting the magazine fall from the bed. His head fell forward, between his shoulders, hips canting under Ian’s touch. “That fucking… that thing —slut shaming.”
Ian snorted a laugh, removing his hand from the front of Mickey’s boxers, scooting back a little so he could tug the boxers down fully, to take them off. He needed that ass. He fucking needed it. “You think I’m slut shaming you?”
He tossed Mickey’s boxers behind him somewhere, mouth watering at the sight of his boyfriend’s ass, presented and ready to be fucking feasted on. Jesus. Christ. Ian took a deep breath, brushing his fingers down the curve of Mickey’s ass, then back up, feeling the soft skin.
“Isn’t that what it’s called?” Mickey murmured.
Ian smirked, situating himself perfectly behind Mickey, between his legs, trailing kisses from the dimples in his lower back, going down further. Soft, slow kisses that made his boyfriend shiver, made him pant heavy and whisper under his breath.
There was a faded red mark just under Mickey’s ass. Ian kisses it, licks at it, dragging his tongue slow, marks him again. A hickey from a few nights ago, when they were bickering about going to dinner with Lip and his new girlfriend —Mickey hadn’t wanted to go. Ian had to negotiate.
“Yeah, but you are a slut, so…” Ian teased, breathing hotly against Mickey’s skin.
“And you’re a fucking dick,” Mickey breathes a laugh. “And a tease.”
Ian hums, running his hands up the backs of Mickey’s thighs, gripping him under his ass, his thumbs pressing into his inner thighs. His skin is so soft, like silk and velvet. And when Ian presses into Mickey’s inner thighs, he draws out broken sigh, an arching back. Mickey is sexy. He doesn’t try to be, doesn’t move the way he moves because he is trying to seduce Ian even more. He just… moves. Arches his back, his ass pushing out, legs tense in anticipation. Ian’s practically drooling.
“God damn,” Ian whispers, just staring at his boyfriend’s ass. Not opened up for him, not yet, but it’s perfect and the truth is, if Ian could sit here all fucking day just to watch, he would.
He spreads Mickey’s legs a little wider, bending one of his knees, pulling his leg out to the side, getting closer, breath bleeding across Mickey’s pale skin. Mickey’s whispering under his breath again, hips still rocking down against the mattress, just barely, just enough to ease him for now. Ian kisses the inside of his thighs, tasting his warm skin, scraping his teeth against that mark from before.
“Ian,” Mickey shudders. “Ian, please…”
Ian wets his lips as he pulls Mickey apart, fingers digging into his skin, opening him up nice and slow. He takes his time, dragging his tongue over Mickey, pressing against him until the brunette lets out a long, quiet moan.
Mickey’s ass is as sensitive as it is great to look at. Ian takes advantage of this, gripping each cheek in his hands, dragging his tongue over his tight ring of nerves. Over and over, torturously slow, wetly lapping at him. Ian grunts and breathes hard against Mickey’s ass; he can’t help it. He loves doing this for his boyfriend, drawing out those fucking noises.
“Fuck,” Mickey drags out the word, back arching, pushing his ass more into Ian’s hands. Ian drags his tongue down over Mickey’s perineum, back up, back down. Over and over, lapping and pushing and gently sucking, groaning against him.
And then that sound fills the air of their bedroom, almost drowning out the whirring of the air conditioner unit. The wet sound of Ian’s mouth, his tongue, working against Mickey, pulling him to pieces. By now Ian’s mouth and chin are messy with his own spit, his cock hard and aching, straining against his boxers. He wishes he could wrap his hand around himself, but he doesn’t want to move, down’t want to take his hands off of his boyfriend’s ass.
Ian kisses him over and over, working his tongue against Mickey’s hole, pressing, panting, returning his boyfriend’s long, drawn out moans. Mickey is keening, moaning every profanity ever created, and it’s fucking glorious.
“Fuck yeah —like that, like that,” Mickey chants; he’s shaking. Ian grips his ass harder, spreading him open, pressing his tongue harder against Mickey, prodding at him, pulling him apart. “Oh my god… oh shit, don’t stop,” Mickey whines; tenses up, pushes back. “Motherfucker, fuckfuckfuck.”
He breathes hard against the brunette, quickly moving both of them, sitting up on his knees, getting Mickey to raise up on his too —ass up in the air for Ian, ready and waiting. Mickey’s hands are fisted tightly in the sheets, the side of his face pressed against the bed, breath harsh. Skin flushed. He’s so fucking gone.
Ian gets back to work, not letting up until Mickey is shaking and on the verge of sobbing out strained noises. His jaw is aching badly, but he’s got this rhythm that Mickey is falling apart over. So Ian grips his boyfriend’s ass harder, keeping him open for him, tongue prodding and pushing against Mickey’s hole. Feasting on him until Mickey’s so gone that he’s reduced to weak keening, and yes, and good.
Ian gives himself a breath, replacing his mouth and tongue with his fingers, rubbing in long, slow strokes, “Still with me, big guy?” he asks at Mickey’s mostly silence now. Just heavy breath and little moaning noises here and there.
“Mmhm,” was his only response.
“Fucking love your ass,” Ian murmured, dropping a simple kiss to the faded scars on Mickey’s ass cheek. “Doing so good for me, baby. Letting me play like this, so so good for me.”
“Wanna…” Mickey mumbles weakly. “I wanna… I wanna come.”
Ian smirks, pressing a finger into Mickey. Slow, real slow, real careful. “Yeah?” He asks, sinking further. He reaches over with his other hand to their nightstand, blindly getting the lube out of the drawer.
“Yeah,” Mickey pants heavy. “Fuck —wanna come so fucking bad.”
Ian tells his boyfriend to turn over, easing out his finger. Mickey turns, and Ian grins at the state of him. Flushed skin, a little damp with sweat. Mickey is breathing hard, hand going for his cock, wrapping around himself tightly, thumb moving over the leaking tip. Mickey smirks at him, pink tongue darting out to let his bottom lip, because he knows that Ian is temporarily paralyzed from watching his boyfriend get himself off. His FUCK hand glides up and down, then cupping his balls for a second before going back to his rhythm.
“Look so good,” Ian finally breathes, bottle of lube still in his hand. He palms himself over his boxers, watching Mickey. Fuck, it’s so hot. It’s so fucking hot, and Mickey’s hips are rocking up into his grip, his breath all ragged and broken. “So fucking hot, Mick.”
Mickey opens his mouth to say something, but Ian is already moving, already tossing the tube of lube to the side, replacing Mickey’s hand with his own, bending down to draw the brunette’s cock into his mouth.
“Shit,” Mickey hisses, back arching.
Ian chases his hand with his mouth, tight, deep, taking all of Mickey into his mouth, groaning around him when he feels fingers tugging at his hair, holding the back of his head. Mickey taste so good, feels so good filling up his mouth like that, stretching out his jaw. Ian keeps groaning around his boyfriend, taking him deep.
“Ian… wait, fuck, I’m gonna…” Mickey trails off, hips bucking up into Ian’s mouth, into his hand. “Ian, I’m… fuck I’m gonna come —wait, wait—”
Ian shifts to lay on his stomach, between Mickey’s legs, sliding his lips off of his cock with a loud, playful popping sound that makes the brunette huff a exasperated little laugh. He pushes Mickey’s legs up to get back to that ass, dragging his tongue down his perineum to his hole, lapping at him again, prodding and making Mickey squirm above him.
“Shit, that’s good,” Mickey gritted through his teeth, one his of his hands coming down to fist into the top of Ian’s hair. “Fucking killing me.”
He could do this for a lot longer, but Mickey’s shaking and gasping for breath. And as much as Ian would love to get his boyfriend to come from just this, he has other plans. So he grabs for the lube again, moving his boyfriend (who is nearly boneless, letting Ian manhandle him without protest) to lay under Ian, legs open and waiting. His chest heaves with every breath, eyes unfocused, a slight smirk in the corner of his mouth.
Mickey looks so fucking good, and Ian can’t help but let out a little growl, pressing against his boyfriend’s hip, mouth seeking out his neck, kissing and tonguing at his heated skin. Mickey shivers, and it makes Ian grin wide, grin wild, as he slicks his fingers up.
“I love those noises,” Ian whispers, reaching his hand between Mickey’s legs, further down so he can sliding his lubed up fingers from Mickey’s perineum to his hole. He breathes a laugh when his boyfriend shudders, then starts working in a finger, pressing and prodding carefully. “And that look on your face when you can’t think straight.”
Mickey groans, biting down on his bottom lip, “Come on,” he all but whines.
“Impatient,” Ian comments, pressing a kiss to the side of Mickey’s head; he took a deep breath, inhaling Mickey’s scent, felt all warm inside.
Mickey looks at him, brows arched, “Listen, I can always go fuck myself, if you’re not —ah shit, Gallagher!”
Ian grinned, his finger pressing inside Mickey, seeking out his sweet spot like a fucking missile. “What was that?” he teased, rubbing at the bundle of nerves. “Didn’t hear you.”
“Ah, fuck,” Mickey punches out a noise, his whole body tensing up, eyes shut tight.
Ian keeps at it, brushing over Mickey’s prostate, the heel of his hand pressing against his perineum, mouth breathing against his ear. “Relax, baby… lemme hear you,” he whispers.
His finger sinks in, pulls out, sinks back in. He does that for a while, pushing against Mickey’s prostate while he kisses at his neck, whispers in his ear, telling him how good he is. Mickey needs that, like Ian needs this. Making his boyfriend feel good, making him moan loud, and grab at Ian —making him shake and gasp. That’s it, right there.
Ian kisses at Mickey’s neck, pressing his erection against his hip while his fingers pull Mickey apart. By the time he adds a second, Mickey is punching out strained noises, like he’s trying to hold it in. His hand keeps reaching down to wrap around his cock, but he pulls back, reaching for Ian’s hair instead, pulling him close.
Then Mickey catches Ian’s eyes, this desperate look on his face, flushed and damp from sweat. Ian presses a second finger into him, massaging gently against his prostate, watching Mickey’s mouth open and close a few times, tongue wetting his lips, eyes roll back while he lets his head tip back into the mattress.
“Got all night,” Ian whispered, nuzzling his nose against the underside of Mickey’s jaw. He works his fingers in and out of his boyfriend. Takes them out, pushes them back in. Mickey whines and shudders, and it’s fucking beautiful.
It takes him a while to respond, but Mickey finally finds his words, all slurred and strung out like he’s been on a week long bender, “Not gonna fuck me?”
Ian grins down at his boyfriend, turning two fingers into three, all slow and careful. Mickey’s more than relaxed, but Ian doesn’t want to chance it, doesn’t want to ever hurt him, “Could fuck you… could make you come like this.”
Mickey groaned, long and loud, hips canting upwards; this time when he reached down for his cock, he gave in, hissing when he wrapped his tattooed fingers around himself.
Ian kisses the side of Mickey’s head one more time, before he slides his fingers out of him (a disappointed sigh from the other man), then moves to settle between his legs again, sitting back on his heels. He reaches for the bottle of lube, dripping some on Mickey’s cock, his fingers, letting the brunette’s grip slide easier. Mickey’s whole body shuddered as he got himself off, eyes glued on Ian.
“Both,” Mickey says.
Ian arches a brow at his boyfriend while he slicks his fingers up again, “Sure?”
Mickey bites his bottom lip, nodding as his hand slides up and down his cock. He looks ten kinds of fucked, ten kinds of gone. It’s beautiful. So Ian smirks at his boyfriend, scooting up closer, so that the backs of Mickey’s thighs are resting on the fronts of his thighs, knees bent, legs spread for him, waiting. He reaches down between them and sinks his fingers back into the brunette. Slow. First one, then two, then three, stretching him out, massaging his insides.
“Fuck,” Mickey mouths silently, eyes fluttering closed. His grip on his cock is tight and unmoving, like he’s trying to stave off his orgasm.
“Like that?” Ian asks, seeking out his prostate again. His own cock is so hard, leaking, straining almost painfully against his boxers. He wants to touch it, but he knows if he does, he’ll be done before he even has the chance to fuck his boyfriend, so he leaves it alone. Instead he busies his free hand with trailing his fingers up and down Mickey’s thighs, his stomach, his chest, tugging at his nipples, wrapping around his throat.
“So good,” Mickey groans. “Feels so fucking good.”
“Yeah?” Ian swallows hard, putting heavier pressure on his prostate, dragging his hand down Mickey’s chest, his stomach, down to his cock. He carefully uncurls Mickey’s hand from himself, replacing it with his own, stroking him slow.
His boyfriend gets loud like this. Profanities spilling from his throat like a fountain, his hips bucking up into Ian’s grip, tattooed fingers clutching at sheets. Mickey is a fucking work of art, especially like this. Scrunched up face, frowning eyebrows, and all. A fucking masterpiece.
“C’mon,” Ian urges him on. He eases off Mickey’s prostate, then goes back to it, rubbing and pushing. His other hand’s grip tightens just a little, speeds up just a little. “Come for me.”
Mickey nods fast, gulps down air like he’s dying, “I’m… fuck! Ian, I’m…”
“Let me see those eyes,” Ian breathes. Fuck, he’s so hard. Wants to sink into his boyfriend so fucking bad.
The thought of fucking Mickey when he’s all sensitive and relaxed… it may seem weird, but it’s kind of special like that. When Mickey’s all fucked out, but still giving his body to Ian like that, still taking care of him… it’s intimate, in a way.
The first time Mickey took Ian after he’d already come, Ian had been nervous, slow, didn’t want to hurt him or make him too uncomfortable (he's still kind of like that, really). But Mickey grabbed him by the back of the neck, kissed him hard, and told him that he loved him —that it was okay. Told him to “get fucking to it.” Ian grinned at the memory.
Mickey opens his eyes, looking straight at him, full bottom lip caught between his teeth. He’s holding his breath, Ian can tell. Trying to hold it back, hold back all the noises and hold back from coming. Ian strokes him faster; wants to hear him, wants to watch him come.
He grins, “Babe, reach over and get the thing,” he tells him.
“Wha—?” Mickey slurs out, eyes blinking fast. He’s all tense, clamping down on Ian’s fingers, knuckles turning white as he grips the sheets hard. “The fuck? Wha—”
Ian eases off his prostate again, pulling his fingers out, then slipping them back in. Mickey punches out a strained moan, back arching. “Vibrator,” he tells him.
Mickey is clumsy as he reaches over, hand slapping against the wooden table, hooking a finger in the handle of the drawer. He takes about three more seconds to find the toy, tossing it over to Ian, “Gonna fucking come,” he pants.
“I know,” Ian nods. “Gonna make it so fucking good, baby. Take care of you good, okay?”
Mickey nods back at him, “I know.”
Ian unwraps his hand from Mickey’s cock, wetting his lips when his boyfriend reaches down to take over the job again. Mickey gets himself off with a tight grip, maybe even too tight —Ian doesn’t hold him like that, at least. But Mickey knows himself, and knows how to get himself there fast, so Ian doesn’t ever question it.
“Ready?” Ian asks, grabbing the vibrator, turning it on.
Again, Mickey nods, “Hurry.”
Quickly, he presses the vibrating toy against Mickey’s perineum, fingers rubbing quickly against his prostate. It’s nearly instant. Mickey’s back is arching off the bed, a loud “Fuck!” bursts from his mouth. The brunette shakes as he comes over his hand, over his stomach. He comes hard, breathes hard, keens loud. These little desperate noises that no one would ever guess that Mikey Milkovich would ever make. Little whines, shaking legs, painful sounding gasps for breath. It's amazing to watch.
“That’s it,” Ian says quietly. “That’s it, baby, just like that. Fuck, you’re so beautiful, baby. Just like that…”
He’s babbling nonsense, and Ian feels warmth flood his body. He takes the vibrator away, clicking it off, tossing it to the side, gently easing his fingers from his boyfriend. Mickey shudders, but reaches for Ian. Doesn’t matter that he’s got come on his fingers and stomach, Ian goes to him, laying over him, kissing him slow. Mickey breathes hard against his mouth, sounds exhausted, but doesn’t stop, doesn’t do anything but wrap his shaking legs around Ian’s waist.
“You sure?” Ian asks him, can’t help but not.
Mickey reaches between them, pushes Ian’s boxers down his his as well as he can, takes Ian’s hard cock in his hand. He’s quiet, heavy eyes staring into Ian’s as he slowly moves his hand up and down Ian’s shaft, thumb rubbing over his leaking head.
“Mick?” Ian moans, eyes wanting to roll back. Mickey’s so fucking good with his hands, it’s criminal.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Mickey whispers. His legs hitch higher on Ian’s hips as he guides Ian, making the head of his cock brush against his slicked, ready hole. “Want you. Want you to fill me up.”
Jesus. Ian lets his head drop down, mouth going for the side of Mickey’s neck. He pushed into his boyfriend’s sensitive body. Goes easy, pushing until he can’t push anymore. Mickey’s so worked open already, so ready, so fucking wet down there. Ian moans at how easy it is. Feels so fucking good.
Mickey’s arms wrap around him, holding onto him tightly, fingers digging into his back. Ian’s whole body feels white hot. His hips move slow at first, in and out, in and out, listening to Mickey’s heavy breath. Ian kisses at his neck, sucking little marks, scraping his teeth against him. He’s getting a little overwhelmed, and part of him wants to hold Mickey down like he knows he likes, fuck him into the mattress, see if he can actually make him come twice in a row. Pipe dream, but how fucking hot would that be?
“C’mon,” Mickey whispers. “Thought you wanted to fuck me?”
Ian grins against Mickey’s neck, pushing deep into him, taking his breath away for a second. “Trying to go easy on you.”
He can hear Mickey’s half-frustrated sigh. The brunette pushes at his chest, pushing Ian to sit back on his heels again, and Ian almost pulls out of him, but the look Mickey gives him tells him to stay. So he does.
“Want you to fuck me,” Mickey tells him. “So fuck me like you know how to fuck.”
Ian can’t help but grin at that, sliding his hands down the brunette’s thighs, then to the backs, hooking under his knees, pushing his legs up; with Mickey’s ankles resting on Ian’s shoulders, they’re quite a sight. The brunette smirks up at him. Ian smirks back, moving forward, carefully planting his hands on either side of Mickey.
“One day I’m gonna get you to come twice in a row,” Ian tells him.
Mickey wets his lips, taking a deep breath, “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Ian says. “You good?”
Mickey nods, “Been okay. You okay?”
“Yeah,” Ian breathes a laugh.
He still goes slow at first, watching the way Mickeys face frowns a little, but he still moans a little, still whines here and there. Ian tries not to hit his sensitive prostate, he really does. But he knows that he’s probably hitting it anyway. Mickey will tell him if he can’t take it. Mickey can take a lot though.
And then he feels Mickey’s hands wrap around to the back of his thighs, pulling him closer, and Ian’s whole body screams to give Mickey what he’s asking for. So he does. He pushes harder, faster, keeping an eye on Mickey’s face. He’s okay; he’d tell Ian if he wasn’t.
“C’mon,” Mickey urges.
Ian kisses his boyfriend hard, letting Mickey’s legs fall back to his hips. He rolls his hips deep, rolls them hard, fucking into his boyfriend. It’s so good. It’s so fucking perfect. Mickey’s perfect, moaning against his mouth, fisting his hands in Ian’s hair, cursing softly against his lips.
It’s sticky between them, from Mickey’s come. Ian doesn’t give a shit, and neither does Mickey. They’re already flushed, kinda sweaty, lube sticking between their fingers. Who fucking cares about any of that, at this point. Adds to it, if anything.
“Yeah,” Mickey gasps. “Fuck, Ian… fuck.”
Ian bites at Mickey’s shoulder, pumping his hips faster, ears flooded with the sound of skin hitting skin. So fucking filthy. Ian loves it. Every time he buries himself deep inside Mickey, his body shudders with warmth, with that need to come.
He knew he wasn’t going to last long. After pulling Mickey apart for that long, watching him come, being inside him when he’s like this… Ian knew it wasn’t going to be long before his body couldn’t take it anymore. He was already so fucking worked up.
But it hit him hard, pushing deep inside Mickey, Ian let go, punching out a low moan, clinging to his boyfriend. Mickey’s hands were everywhere while he whispered to him, easing him through it, probably knowing how hard it hit.
“Breathe, babe,” Mickey panted, kissing at the corner of his mouth.
Ian kissed him sloppily, pushing his tongue into Mickey’s mouth, tasting him, moaning into the kiss. He shifted just enough to ease out of the brunette. Both of them shivered. And Ian, still caught up in this moment, this shared love of filth and claiming his boyfriend like this, reached down between them, between Mickey’s legs. He sunk two fingers into Mickey’s ass, feeling his release. Warm. Slick. Marked. His.
Mickey shivered, making a noise in the back of his throat. “Shit,” he hissed softly, his hips rolling against Ian’s had, like he was trying to fuck himself on his fingers.
Again, Ian kissed him. Swallowing up his gasps, his fingers easing out of him, gathering Mickey in his arms. He pulled his boyfriend up so he was straddling his lap. Mickey let Ian move him like this, let him pull on him and maneuver them so Ian was leaning against the headboard, Mickey in his lap. Still kissing. Lazy, sloppy kissing. Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian’s neck; Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey’s waist, pulling him close, pulling him tight.
“I wanna go again,” Mickey whispered against Ian’s mouth. He sucked on his bottom lip, then bit at it. “Wanna keep going.”
Ian breathed a soft laugh, “Your ass isn’t tired?”
“No,” Mickey replied.
“It’s the heat,” Ian said, tilting his head back when Mickey went for his throat, kissing and tonguing at his skin there. “Fucking with us.”
“Let it,” Mickey murmured. “Let me know when you’re good to go, so I can ride you into this mattress.”