Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ian's roommate is a mystery.

The guy – Mickey, short for something Ian can't pronounce that he's only ever seen written out on the lease they now share for the next eleven months – seems to spend every moment locked away in his room. The room in question is a tiny second bedroom that a more honest landlord would describe as an office. Ian can not, for the life of him, imagine how a grown man could live within its meager confines without going insane, but somehow Mickey manages it. Ian has caught only glimpses of his roommate since the day he moved in the month prior, usually going to or from the bathroom wearing oversized hoodies that make him look endearingly small. Mickey had brought only a handful of boxes with him when he moved in, so Ian assumes he's some kind of militant minimalist spending his days meditating or some shit.

Like every big city, Chicago has its share of weirdos.

Logically, Ian knows the guy must come out to eat and do laundry, but Mickey frustratingly seems to perform all of his daily tasks on an “avoid Ian” schedule, so he's never around to see it. Ian's never even seen him leave for work, if he even has a job to go to.

Whatever. As long as his half of the rent gets paid, it's none of Ian's business.

Still, it'd be nice to know something about the man who shares an apartment with him. Even just to assuage the sneaking fear that Mickey is some kind of nutjob who's going to snap one day and take Ian out in a fit of spectacular rage that reclusive, antisocial white men seem to be so prone to displaying.

Again, the city's got enough weirdos to go around.

It's one of Ian's precious days off when he has nowhere to be, no appointments to get out of bed for, and no plans with family or friends, so naturally, he decides to start the morning by jerking off in bed. If his roommate can spend all his time in his room like a hermit, Ian's certainly not going to feel guilty for staying in bed past ten. His usual spankbank sources include everything from gay porn subreddits to the more classic video sites, but something about the lack of rush inherent in the free and easy day ahead of him puts him in an exploratory mood. He's sitting back against his headboard, phone in hand, when he recalls a friend raving about the quality of material he's found on Tumblr, of all sites.

It's not a site Ian is first-handedly familiar with, though he's of course aware of its existence. Everyone who's spent any time at all online knows that it's the source of a large percentage of the internet's cringiest text post content. Porn, though? Ian's never considered it.

What the hell, he thinks as he types the URL in his phone's browser. Not knowing what the search function is like, he plays it safe and searches “gay.”

It's definitely not a site made for this kind of thing. He's greeted with a random assortment of posts, mostly related to K-Pop celebrities he's only tangentially aware of and some G-rated digital art. He scrolls and comes across a shot of a large, hairy belly also tagged “bear” and “cub” and yeah, not his scene but at least it's closer to what he's looking for. Scrolling further, he finds a few shots of shirtless, muscled 20-somethings in athletic wear. Pretty vanilla, nothing worth chubbing up for, in his opinion.

Ian clicks through a couple more tags, finding nothing spectacular in the first few scrolls through of “gayboy,” “men,” or “gay gpoy,” and he's about to leave and open up his favorite subreddit when something catches his eye.

It's a body shot of a shirtless man sitting down, leaning back against a nondescript wall with legs bent and booted feet in focus. The man is wearing tight black pants and a leather-and-chain cuff on his wrist, one hand propped against his bent knee and the other placed suggestively in front of his groin. The only skin on show is a bit of belly – not flabby but nothing like the muscle men Ian had scrolled past – and one nipple with a silver ring dangling just out of shadow. The picture cuts off at the collarbone, no neck or face in view, but Ian doesn't need to see the face to know exactly who he's looking at.

The hands give it away – or rather, the fingers do. The fingers, dangling casually in full view, sporting the simple black lettering spelling out “FUCK U-UP.” Ian had seen those fingers signing a lease, he'd seen those fingers carrying five or six unlabeled boxes into the apartment's tiny second bedroom, and he'd definitely seen those fingers peeking out from the sleeves of a too-big hoodie as the door to that bedroom opens and then quickly closes behind them.

Holy fuck, it's Mickey.

His mysterious, reclusive roommate has a blog where he posts shirtless pictures of himself and tags them with gay hashtags.

His mysterious roommate is a gay internet thot.

With a pierced nipple.

Ian can't decide which part is most surprising. Unable to resist the curiosity, he clicks the blog at the top of the post and almost laughs out loud at the URL – 'hornygaythug,' really?

There's nothing in the short blog description (“gay. 20s. not telling you fuckers where i live”) that gives away Mickey's identity, and the profile photo (a pair of legs wearing the same black combat boots in the photo post, one hand gripping black skinny jeans pulled down to the knees revealing the white lace panties that came down with them) gives away even less. Still, how many men are walking around with FUCK U-UP tattooed across their knuckles? It has to be him.

Ian would probably feel worse about violating his roommate's privacy if he knew the guy even a little bit. If they were friends, there's no way Ian would knowingly peruse the dude's amateur softcore porn. He would click away immediately if he had any incentive to protect his relationship with the man. That's what he tells himself as he begins to scroll through the blog, searching for more glimpses of those inked knuckles.

The truth is, finding a piece to the Mickey puzzle is too tantalizing to pass up.

The harsher truth is, Ian's dick has been steadily filling since he saw that first photo, and his upstairs brain isn't entirely calling the shots anymore.

Mickey doesn't seem to post images of his face anywhere on the blog. Ian finds a picture of a lit cigarette held carelessly between those fingers, right in front of that shiny nipple ring, and a shot of those hands crossed behind a pale back, held tight by leather cuffs. He finds blurry, back-lit nudes that cut off at the shoulders and keep everything X-rated in shadow, several images of those booted feet in various states of unlacing, and even a side view close-up of a red hand print on a surprisingly perky asscheek, but nothing showing Mickey's face. If Ian hadn't seen those knuckles in person, he'd have no way of knowing the man in those images is the same man who currently resides within the same apartment.

More than the pictures, though, the blog is littered with horny, anonymous fan messages to which Mickey replies with a level of snark and irreverence that Ian can only admire and be ridiculously, nonsensically turned on by.

“you wanna come sit on this dick baby?” One anonymous follower asks, to which Mickey responds, “you wanna send me a picture so i can see if it's worth my time?”

“i would make you scream,” another follower asserts. Mickey responds with, “you'd make me laugh, watching you try.”

Not all of his followers are that pathetic. Ian comes across some genuinely complimentary and even polite messages, to which Mickey gives the most minimal level of care in responding. One such fan asks about Mickey's type. The answer makes the breath catch in Ian's throat.

“tall, built, redhead. dick big enough to turn me inside out.”

Holy fuck.

Ian is, without patting himself on the back too much, a tall, built, redhead, and while his dick has never literally turned anyone inside out, it's been known to make a bed partner or two cry.

Holy fuck, he's Mickey's type.

That's what does it. That's what takes him from aroused and interested to holy-fuck-I-need-a-hand-on-my-dick-now, and he can't help but imagine that it's Mickey's tattooed fingers wrapping around him instead of his own, much larger hand.

Maybe he has a bit of an ego when it comes to sex, so what? The thought of Mickey sitting in his room less than twenty feet away, telling his horny followers that he's looking to get dicked down by a guy that fits Ian's exact description is too good. The blog's posts don't have timestamps that Ian can see, but he hadn't had to scroll far to see that message. If Mickey is as active on the blog as it seems, he had to have answered that question after moving in. He had to have posted about his type after meeting Ian.

Ian settles on the original image that brought him to the blog with the ridiculous name as he strokes himself. He stretches out a bit, opens his legs wider so he can thrust shallowly into his fist. He imagines Mickey astride him, no more shadows or tight pants to hide the wholeness of his naked body, and that tantalizing nipple ring dangling right in front of Ian's face. Ian imagines bending forward to flick it with his tongue, pull it between his lips so he can suck and roll it around his mouth. He's never fucked anyone with a nipple piercing, but he remembers the taste and feel of a metal bar through one hook-up's tongue and the way it had clinked against his teeth when they made out. He imagines laving over Mickey's metal-adorned nipple with the same enthusiasm he had done to that one night stand's pierced tongue.

What sort of sounds would Mickey make? Would he be as hard to please as his responses to his overly confident fans make him seem, or would he groan in pleasure-pain as he finally seated himself fully onto Ian's dick?

It's Ian's fantasy, so he's going to go with the latter. Mickey has only said a handful of words to him during the one month they've lived together so far, so it's not like Ian can reliably conjure up the exact sound of Mickey's voice. He doesn't need to have the guy's exact vocal inflections memorized, however, in order to imagine Mickey grinding out little uh-uh-uh's as he fucks himself back onto Ian's turgid cock, or mutters fuck-fuck-fuck in an ever rising tone as Ian sucks a hickey onto his pierced tit, or even gasps in surprise as Ian smacks another red hand print, larger this time, onto his pale, bouncing asscheek. Post that picture to his blog, let all Mickey's horny little followers know his ass just got bred.

Ian grits his teeth and drops his phone, eyes closed as he concentrates entirely on the mental image his brain is so helpfully supplying. His free hand, now bereft of his phone, moves to cup his heavy balls as he continues to stroke himself firmly with the other. He imagines the tight grip of Mickey's slick hole, the stench of sex surrounding them as their movements become more frantic and desperate, chasing release in each other's bodies. He imagines gripping Mickey's hips, pulling him off and throwing him down on the bed so Ian can re-enter him from behind, force Mickey to arch his back like a slut who gets off on posting masturbatory fodder on the internet for all to see, like the goddamn slut he clearly is. Ian imagines stretching out a hand to grip Mickey's neck tightly, squeezing just right, just enough to make the edges of Mickey's vision blur just like his out-of-focus nudes. Ian imagines Mickey gasping out a choked “Ian” as he comes, asshole spasming perfectly around the cock inside of it as he unloads onto the bed beneath them. Ian imagines fucking him through it, not stopping until he nuts into Mickey's fucked-out hole and pins him down into Mickey's own puddle of come.

“Fuckin' – ugh,” Ian groans to himself as he comes in his hand. His mind's eye still swims with fantastical images of Mickey's red rim winking closed after Ian's done with him, letting pearly white release slowly spill out from where Ian had painted his guts. He pants and grins to himself. “Jesus Christ.”

Ian's roommate is still a mystery. Fuck, is Ian going to have a good time cracking him open.

Chapter Text

Ian makes a Tumblr account.

He has no intention of actually starting a blog, or following anyone other than hornygaythug, but it makes cyberstalking his unsuspecting roommate easier.

Moral grey area? Yes, Ian has considered it, and moved on from it. Mickey's blog is public, and Ian doesn't have any reason to believe that Mickey would be traumatized by the idea of Ian finding it. From the way Mickey talks online, he's not exactly a shy virgin on the down-low.

Ian learns, from perusing old text posts and responses to fan messages, that Mickey is single, he works remotely, and he has little patience for dating. In one post, he laments that he can't order hook-ups by their measurements.

if he's less than 6 inches taller than me and he's packing less than 8 inches where it counts, he's a waste of my time, Mickey writes. why can't any apps make that shit a download requirement?

Mickey's photos run the range from low effort, blurry nudes to clearly staged shots complete with expert lighting and props. His text posts are usually short, informal, and personal without giving away identifying information. Sometimes he posts reviews of sex toys – always complete with a link to an Amazon wishlist, so his followers can send him new toys to try and review. Ian is a pretty sexually adventurous man, but even he is shocked by the amount of anal play products there are on Amazon, of all places. Every day Mickey brushes off anonymous messages as if he doesn't do everything for the attention – as if he doesn't live for those horny fans trying desperately to impress him with their cheap words.

Mickey is cocky, obnoxious, and seemingly impossible to please. His attitude should be a complete turn off, but for Ian (and clearly for the droves of people liking every post), it only serves to make Mickey more appealing. Ian becomes consumed with the idea of fucking the brattiness right out of the man.

Now that he has his own account, Ian can send Mickey messages of his own. He does it anonymously, despite having no identifying information on his dummy account, for no reason other than it somehow feels less embarrassing that way.

Anonymous asked: what makes you notice a guy?

hornygaythug: you guys already know my type. tall, big dick. preferably ginger but that's just a bonus.

Anonymous asked: what does a guy have to do to get you into bed?

hornygaythug: be confident. don't dick around. not looking to chit chat, i just want a guy to get on me.

Anonymous asked: what's the hottest thing a guy could wear to turn you on?

hornygaythug: duh. grey sweatpants, no shirt.

Ian doesn't know what makes him do it, but after spending way too much time on Mickey's blog and becoming borderline obsessed with bedding the man, he asks:

would you ever fuck a roommate?

He feels stupid and pathetic immediately after sending the message. Mickey is going to know it's him. He's going to laugh at how desperate Ian is, to be sending anonymous messages to his damn blog while he could have made a move in person any time over the last month.

Ian closes out of the app. He needs to take a break from being the kind of loser who pines over an internet hoe, especially when said internet hoe is literally feet away from him.

He is about to pull on a t-shirt for the day when he pauses.

grey sweatpants, no shirt.

Fucking hell.

Before thinking too much about it, Ian opens his bottom drawer and pulls out a pair of sweats, old and practically threadbare and heather fucking grey. He pulls them on, forgoing his usual boxer briefs, and leaves his room without pulling on a shirt.

Mickey is locked away in his own room, as usual. Ian feels like a dumbass as he pads over to the kitchen in bare feet and grabs a box of cereal off the top of the refrigerator. He pours himself a bowl and can't help but stare at Mickey's closed door as he starts to eat, leaning slightly against the counter. He looks down at himself, at the goosebumps prickling up all over his torso and the very obvious bulge of his free-swinging dick in his old sweatpants, and thinks, you really trying to seduce your roommate like this, Gallagher?

He is rinsing his bowl and setting it in the sink when he hears Mickey's door open.

Ian turns, pauses. Mickey usually brushes by him without a glance whenever they cross paths in the little apartment. Few words are exchanged, if any.

That was before, though. Before Ian knew what his roommate got up to in his room all day. Mickey is wearing an over-sized black hoodie with some kind of indiscernible script running down the sleeves and dark plaid sleep pants. There's not a single inch of his body on display, but Ian can't help but think about what hides beneath all of that fabric. The desire to walk the short distance between them and rip off that giant hoodie so he can see the slim belly and nipple ring beneath it for himself has Ian's blood rushing furiously south.

“Hey,” Ian says. Mickey grunts and makes to shuffle on over to the bathroom, but he stops short when he glances Ian's way.

Ian leans back against the counter, fingers splayed against its cool surface, and juts his hips just slightly in Mickey's direction. He knows his barely clothed cock is on full display because Mickey's eyes zero in on Ian's crotch like it's calling out to him.

Neither man moves a muscle for a solid five seconds until Mickey's eyes dart back up to Ian's face and he raises a hand to swipe at his nose. He shakes his head slightly and walks the few remaining steps to their shared bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him without a word.

Ian smirks to himself and returns to his room. On a whim, he opens the Tumblr app up on his phone again and sees that Mickey has posted an answer to his last question:

Anonymous asked: would you ever fuck a roommate?

hornygaythug: maybe

-

The sweatpants become Ian's favored lounge wear. All weekend, he wears the sweatpants around the apartment. The following week, he changes into them as soon as he gets home from work each day. He forgoes wearing a shirt at all inside the walls of the apartment.

Since the first time, Mickey has gotten better at hiding his reaction. He continues to basically ignore Ian the few times they cross paths, giving no indication that he has noticed anything is different. The thing is, Ian follows his blog and sees the shit he posts.

hornygaythug: tell me why my roommate feels the need to walk around with his fucking tits out

hornygaythug: dudes with 6 packs who just sit around all day topless – overrated

Ian is living rent free in his roommate's mind, and he couldn't be happier about it.

-

While continuing his slow and careful seduction of the borderline porn star he lives with, Ian meets his needs the way he used to in his sexually promiscuous heyday – he picks up a random twink in a club in Boystown. His usual M.O. would have been a quickie in the club's bathroom, but his devious and not at all petty mind latches onto the idea of putting on a bit of a show. Naturally, he takes a guy home and fucks him loudly against every viable surface in his bedroom.

Mickey's home, he's always home. Ian thinks about Mickey sitting in his room, maybe answering asks or editing pictures, as he rails his hook-up (Troy? Troy or Tristan) against his door and makes it rattle in the hinges. He imagines Mickey freezing in realization as he hears Tristan cry out every time Ian hits his prostate just right, bent over Ian's dresser. He pictures Mickey padding slowly to his door so he can hear better as Ian grunts and growls take it as he pushes Troy's face down into his sheets. He envisions Mickey reaching down to grip his filling cock as Ian makes Tristan scream for more and not stop screaming until they both come.

Ian pulls on his discarded boxer briefs and leaves Troy panting into the rumpled sheets. He makes his way out of the room to fetch a glass of water, and runs into Mickey standing in the kitchen and looking like someone pissed in his cornflakes.

Ian runs a hand through his sweaty hair and throws out a casual “hey” on his way to the cupboard. Mickey remains silent and unmoving as Ian grabs a cup and fills it with water from the tap. He takes several long gulps before refilling it, and turning to bring it back into his room.

“Thirsty, huh?” Mickey comments, eyebrows raised higher than Ian's ever seen a human outside of cartoons manage. Ian smirks, and raises the cup.

“Gotta stay hydrated, man.”

It's a stupid thing to say, but Ian doesn't care. He's pretty sure if he's going to bag his roommate, it's not going to be for his conversational expertise.

“Gonna get back in there,” Ian says as he returns to his room, making sure to hold the door open long enough for Mickey to have a clear view of Tristan's bare body still stretched out over his bed. “Kinda feeling another round.”

He doesn't wait for a response.

-

Work takes up most of Ian's time that isn't spent stalking his roommate's blog and occasionally banging one night stands. Unlike Mickey, he doesn't have a cushy work from home job that allows him to sit around in over-sized lounge wear all day. His position as an EMT means he works long hours and is frequently exhausted when he gets home.

This is why he is annoyed at Mickey when the man insists on blasting synth pop well into the wee hours of the night, after Ian just got off a 12 hour shift that involved rousing an addict from overdose who woke up throwing punches and assisting in lifting a man out of bed who couldn't have weighed less than five hundred pounds, among other hazards of the job. He is about to bang on Mickey's door and give him a piece of his mind, because hot or not and the object of Ian's fantasies of late or not, it's just rude as fuck to make this much noise in a shared apartment after a certain hour.

He pauses outside Mickey's door, however, because underneath the music he hears a very distinct, very sexual moan that couldn't have come from anything other than a man in that room right now. It is followed by a sharp noise that Ian recognizes as a hand slapping against the plaster wall.

This close to Mickey's room, Ian has to strain to hear him over the sound of the music, until the man clearly abandons all concern and starts shouting in pleasure. His voice rises in a series of breathy, punched out moans that will live in Ian's mind until the day he dies.

Fuck. Did Mickey take someone home? In the time they've lived together, Ian has never seen Mickey bring home any hook-ups. It's possible he's been getting some action while Ian's at work, but for someone who posts regularly about sex on his blog, Mickey hasn't posted about any specific incidents during the time Ian has known him.

“Fuck, yeah, fuck -” The voice shouts and cuts off with a long groan. That's an orgasm if Ian's ever heard one. He stands, still frozen just outside Mickey's door, feeling a combination of pissed, tired, and turned on that turns his body into a battlefield as each emotion fights for control. He has to scramble away when the music turns off and Ian hears bare feet shuffling in his direction, grabbing the nearest thing in the hallway, which turns out to be a lamp.

The door opens and Mickey stands before Ian in a t-shirt long enough to reach nearly to his knees, bare legs pale and surprisingly hairless. One eyebrow quirks up as he takes in the scene before him: Ian, standing in the hallway like a dumbass, with his hands wrapped around the lamp that used to stand in the corner.

“Whatcha got there, Gallagher?”

Ian's mouth opens, then closes. He looks down at the lamp. “Uh. Lamp.”

Mickey purses his lips like he's holding in a smirk, but doesn't comment. He shuffles past Ian to the bathroom, with more swing in his hips than is strictly necessary.

Ian should scuttle away in shame and pretend this interaction never happened. He should use the lamp to bludgeon himself or Mickey or both of them into a state of amnesia. He should put the goddamn lamp down and run away, just abandon all of his material possessions and break the lease and disappear into the night, never to be seen by Mickey again. All of the above would be better options than remaining glued to his spot in the hall, noticeably hard in his sweatpants, while he listens to the toilet flush and water run in the bathroom. All of the above would be better options than still being there when Mickey comes back out, but Ian frequently makes horrible choices and today is one of those days, apparently.

“You have someone over?” He asks – why? Why can't he help himself? - as Mickey passes him once again.

Mickey's mouth turns down and he shrugs. “Nah,” he says, overly casual. “Just me.”

He shuts himself away in his room again, leaving Ian to choke back a groan alone.

-

Curiosity gets the better of Ian, and he has to know what made Mickey make those sounds. He spends the next day obsessively refreshing Mickey's blog, checking it every free moment during his shift. It's not until late in the afternoon that there's a new post, which turns out to be a review of a ridiculously expensive prostate toy that Mickey has rated a 8/10. His review mentions dimensions, angles, textures, materials, and the phrase “good shit,” but what gets Ian going is how Mickey has tagged the post:

#had such a good loud nut from this thing that I broke my roommate's brain

That little shit.

It's true, but Mickey is still a shit for saying it.

Ian is thankful that the rest of his shift is chaotic, because he needs the dredges of society and their never ending medical problems to take his mind off Mickey, his penchant for loud anal orgasms, and the reality that there's no hiding Ian's interest in the man at this point.

The cat's out of the bag, and probably has been for a while. The way Ian sees it, the ball is in his court now. So, he says fuck it and sends a direct message to hornygaythug:

gingermedic96: i'm tall, built, and a redhead with a 9 inch cock. if you wanna fuck, hit me up

Then he puts his phone away and goes back to work.

-

Valiantly, Ian waits until he's home, showered, and settling into bed before he opens up the Tumblr app again. He's wearing a pair of cut off sweats this time, because he's hot from the shower and looking to get some sleep so that he's well rested for his shift the next day. He is expecting a brush off and possibly an insult from hornygaythug, but what he gets is a two-word response that has Ian sitting up in bed so hard he yanks his phone from the charger.

hornygaythug: send pics

Jesus Christ.

Without pausing to think, Ian drops his phone onto his bed and leaves his room. Plans of being a responsible adult who goes to bed early when he has another long shift tomorrow leave his head as quickly as an idea forms – enough is enough. He's going to fuck his roommate.

Mickey's door is closed and music plays softly behind it. Ian knocks with purpose, tamping down a bit of lingering nervousness with the pure confidence of a sexually experienced man about to turn out someone he knows is looking for exactly what Ian is bringing to the table.

The music lowers, and Mickey opens the door. He's dressed in a usual get-up: dark sweatshirt with some kind of abstract design that's about three sizes too big for the man's below average height. His legs are bare, like he's wearing nothing underneath it, and Ian knows he probably isn't. It spurs him to speak, thinking about his roommate's bare ass so close to Ian's fingertips.

“Figured I don't need to send you a picture when you already know what I look like.”

Mickey's eyes narrow and then widen in slow realization. There's a tense moment, a series of tense moments, where they both stand frozen only inches apart, saying nothing. Ian forces his face to remain smug and confident while his heart beats so hard from the anticipation that he can feel it pounding in his ears.

Time starts again when Mickey opens his door wider and takes a step back.

“Come on in then,” he says, clearly trying his damnedest to repress a smirk. Ian doesn't bother hiding his, just follows him in and pushes Mickey back onto the bed.

“Been wanting to do this for so long,” Ian says as he looks down at Mickey, who shuffles onto his knees.

“What took you so long?”

“Dunno, guess I'm an idiot. Thought you didn't like chit chat.”

There's those eyebrows again, raised high as can be. “I don't. Let's do this.”

Right. Later, they can have a discussion about how Ian managed to stumble across Mickey's blog and how long he's known about it and why he didn't make a move earlier. For now, Mickey is in bed in front of him for the first time, and Ian doesn't have to say anything other than fuck and reach out to touch him.

He follows Mickey's lead and crawls toward him on his knees. His eager fingers grip the loose hem of Mickey's sweatshirt and pull it up, revealing the pale, soft flesh beneath and the fucking nipple ring shining in the dim light of Mickey's room. Mickey raises his arms, lets Ian pull it off and stare for a moment at his body finally, finally nude before him.

Mickey has surprisingly little body hair. His chest and thighs are smooth, with only a sparse trail leading from his belly button down to a neatly trimmed patch of dark hair circling his cock. There's something oddly erotic about imagining Mickey manscaping, and Ian bites his lip as he gazes unashamedly at his flushed, pink cock. It's pretty, smooth and proportional to Mickey's short stature and filling before Ian's eyes. He couldn't have imagined it better.

“You gonna stare all night or what?”

Ian scoffs a laugh. “It's just, I've seen your pics. But not the whole picture.”

“Yeah, well. Not tryna get banned by posting dick pics. Nobody's into me for my cock anyway.”

It's an offhand comment, but Ian still wrinkles his brow and leans in to stroke Mickey gently, gentler than he intended this night to go. He draws a deep breath from Mickey's chest as he covers his cock effortlessly with his own big hand and brings it to full hardness. With his other hand, he rubs circles around Mickey's pierced nipple.

“I could be into you for this cock,” he says lowly. “Could be into you for all of it.” Mickey rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, sure. Now am I the only one getting naked here or are we actually gonna fuck any time soon?”

Ian drops back onto his heels and inelegantly slides off his shorts. He hadn't worn anything underneath them so Mickey gets an immediate eyeful of Ian's hard, red cock.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “Guess you weren't lyin'.”

Ian feels himself blush, stupidly. “Uh, nope. Gonna be a problem?”

“Thought you read my blog, Gallagher.” Mickey twists and reaches into his nightstand, rummaging around and bringing out a gold wrapped condom and a half full tube of lube. “Just gonna need a hell of a lotta prep for that monster.”

That's never been a problem for Ian before, and it's sure not a problem for him now. Mickey hands him the condom and lube and shifts again, turning his back to Ian so he can get into face down, ass up position. Ian clambers over him and strokes over Mickey's delightfully plump cheeks. This close, his body dwarfs Mickey's in a way that is every bit as erotic as he imagined. He is pleased to find Mickey's crack is smooth and hairless too. Clearly, the guy waxes.

“You clean?” Ian asks.

“Look, I love barebacking as much as the next guy, but we ain't - ”

“No, I mean – when'd you shower last?”

Mickey pauses to think. “Like...six hours ago.”

“Who showers in the middle of the afternoon?”

“People who work from home, bitch, what's the issue?”

Ian laughs, and bends down to bite Mickey's ass cheek right to the left of his crack. It's not hard enough to really hurt, but it makes Mickey gasp and leaves a red mark behind that Ian licks over. Someday, he's going to eat this plump ass until Mickey begs, but tonight he's going to slick up his fingers and prepare it for a good, hard fuck.

For someone who has little interest in conversation, Mickey is vocal in bed. He lets out breathy little noises as Ian penetrates him with his fingers, sharp moans when Ian strokes over his prostate deliberately, and muffled curses as Ian twists and stretches his hole in a steady rhythm. He's tight but yielding, and Ian dribbles more lube onto where their bodies are joined and pushes it inside him until Mickey is dripping with it.

“Fuck, Gallagher,” Mickey pants. His hips move in slow, backwards thrusts as he meets the motion of Ian's fingers and swallows them hungrily. “Ready for ya.”

“Yeah?” Ian asks rhetorically. He withdraws his fingers and reaches for the condom, tearing it open and rolling it on expertly. He adds some more lube to his covered cock and gives Mickey's ass a light slap. “Scooch up.”

All of his online bravado gone, Mickey complies. He allows Ian to push his legs forward and raise his hips. As an afterthought, Ian takes Mickey's wrists and crosses them above his head on the pillow.

“Keep 'em there.”

Mickey nods into his pillow and wiggles his ass. Ian grins and positions himself, tapping his cock against Mickey's stretched hole a few times before slowly, gently pushing the head inside.

As Ian steadily pushes past the muscle's small amount of lingering resistance, he hovers over Mickey's back and locks his eyes onto Mickey's profile. The way he bites his lip and scrunches his eye closed on the push in makes Ian breathe harder and stroke a soothing hand down Mickey's back.

“Doin' okay?” He asks breathlessly.

Mickey opens his eye a crack and looks back at Ian. “Doin' fine, just taking a damn baseball bat up my ass.” His fingers flex above his head. “Not complainin' about it, neither, so don't fuckin' stop.”

Ian wants to kiss him, wants desperately to lean down and pepper hard little closed mouth kisses all over Mickey's back, but they're not really there yet and he doesn't want to ruin things by being too sappy, so he just bites his lip and keeps pushing forward until his hipbones press into Mickey's plush ass. He allows himself to keep stroking Mickey's back, though, and lets his hand linger on the back of Mickey's neck and squeeze just enough to promise more and harder when he's ready for it. Mickey lets him, and he lets them both pause to feel the sensation of being joined this way for the first time of what Ian hopes is many.

After a minute of breathing into still silence, Mickey gives an experimental pull and push of his hips, squeezing tantalizingly over an inch or two of Ian's desperately hard cock.

“'m good,” he breathes. “Want you to give it to me, hard.”

Those are the magic words.

Ian doesn't bother to suppress his face-splitting grin as he pulls back and shoves back in. He starts with deep, strong thrusts designed to rev Mickey up without dashing towards the finish line. Ian's been thinking about this moment for a while now, and he's not going to rush it. He's going to savor each sensation of Mickey's body's tight grip around him and each sound that Ian's slow thrusts drag out of him. He'll give it hard, but he's not planning on giving it fast.

Mickey makes frustrated little sounds when he realizes Ian isn't just going to immediately hammer him into the mattress, but his enjoyment is exposed by the way he whimpers each time Ian's thrusts push him into the headboard with only his crossed wrists to cushion his head from banging against it. He gets antsy, though, and eventually responds to Ian's slow drilling by bouncing back onto his cock.

“Come on, Gallagher. Need more.”

Ian slaps Mickey's ass, harder this time, making him yelp. “You'll take what I give you.”

It's a risk - not something he usually breaks out on the first time - but then again, before this, Ian's never read a partner's sex blog beforehand to know what they're into. He's read enough of Mickey's posts about wanting to be fucked like a slut to know that the guy isn't going to balk at Ian being too dominant because of a little spanking and top talk. In fact, if Mickey's ensuing whine is any indicator, he's definitely into it.

“How long's it been for you, huh?” Ian asks. He's curious, and he figures having Mickey speared on his cock is as good a time as any to get some answers. “All those posts about wanting some good dick, but I've never seen you bring anyone home. How long since you've had a real cock in you, and not something your followers bought for you off Amazon?”

Mickey scoffs. “Wouldn't you like to know.”

When Ian realizes he's not going to offer any more info, he pulls out and grips Mickey's shoulder so he can flip him over onto his back. Mickey makes an aborted protest, but cuts it off when Ian shoves his legs to his chest and folds his body in half so he can shove in again.

“Asked you a question,” Ian grunts out as he resumes his deep, drilling drives into Mickey at the new angle. He snakes an arm up to pinch at Mickey's pierced nipple and give it a tug. “I expect an answer.”

From this position, Ian can examine Mickey's minute facial expressions. He sees the way Mickey's lips curl into a wicked smirk, and the way his eyes gloss over as Ian continues to roughly play with the ring in his nipple.

“It's been, ugh, a few months,” Mickey concedes. “Too busy with my own shit and too sick of being disappointed by shrimp dick wannabe tops who can't give me what I need.”

One eyebrow raises in challenge when he says it. Ian meets Mickey's gaze and raises his hand from his nipple to his neck. He takes in the way Mickey's breath gets faster when Ian wraps his fingers around his throat, just tight enough to hold him firm.

“And now?”

Mickey's eyelids flutter as Ian squeezes. He gulps, and Ian feels the bob of his throat against his palm.

“You tell me,” Mickey challenges again, but with less bravado in his shaky voice. “You gonna stop this slow shit and pound me?”

“Careful what you wish for.”

Done with talking and done with Mickey's attitude, Ian throws himself into the man beneath him. He keeps his hand wrapped around Mickey's throat and lets the other grip onto one of Mickey's pale, white thighs as he picks up the pace and thrusts hard into him. He growls out non-words into the charged air between their sweating bodies as he jumps into a bruising rhythm of hard thrusts that have Mickey throwing his head back and shouting yes!

Every few minutes, Ian swivels his hips and gives Mickey something to focus on, whether it's a slap to the side of his ass or a tug to his nipple ring or a squeeze around his throat. Mickey doesn't offer any more words, only a smorgasbord of moans and groans and whimpers that have Ian's blood rushing in his ears. Ian's favorite part about fucking someone stupid is this moment, when they lose the ability to speak and become a dick drunk whore beneath him. He's never had someone do it as beautifully as Mickey.

“Fuckin' slut,” Ian chastises. “Posting yourself online, acting like you're so hard to get, sassing back when your followers hit on you.” He laughs breathily and pummels Mickey into the mattress. “They should see you now. Easy, so fuckin' easy. Where's hornygaythug now, huh, Mick? All I see is a horny faggot slut, fucked stupid.”

Mickey can only nod. The fight he had in him earlier is gone, and his pretty little cock is drooling onto his stomach, and his hole is gripping Ian on every draw back like it's trying to keep him buried inside forever. Tears form in his eyes when Ian finally touches his dick. Ian squeezes and strokes and doesn't miss a beat with the punishing, rapid thrusts that have turned Mickey into his own personal fuck doll. Ian feels his orgasm approaching, but he's not going to let himself go until the man beneath him has his own release.

“Want you to come all over yourself, Mick. Come while getting your ass pounded, whore.”

Mickey cries out, and tears are fully flowing from his scrunched closed eyes now. His chest rises and falls rapidly, and he shoots ropes of shining, pearly release all over himself, just like Ian wanted. One ambitious string of it lands on Mickey's nipple ring, and Ian can't help but lean down to suck it off.

Mickey's body is a twitching, shaking mess, and the spasms of his hole around Ian's cock have Ian following with his own orgasm mere moments later.

“Jesus Christ,” Ian growls as he pulses and presses with all his strength into the hot grip of Mickey's shuddering body. The condom keeps him from being able to paint Mickey's insides like he really wants, but even that can't stop it from being the best nut he's had in a long, long time.

He lets himself enjoy the aftershocks with lazy rolls of his hips, until it's too much and he has to pull out. Ian smirks to himself as he examines the gape he leaves behind, Mickey's fucked out hole struggling to close as it twitches hungrily on empty air.

They don't say anything for several minutes. Ian climbs off of Mickey and rolls the condom off, dropping it carelessly to the floor beside the bed. Mickey's legs fall open, body still too loose and mind still too blank to care about lying back like an undignified starfish.

Ian strokes his fingers over Mickey's throat, gentle where they were harsh just moments ago.

“You okay?” He asks. He probably shouldn't have done that, should have waited for a conversation about kinks and safewords before playing with a man's air supply. It's irresponsible at best.

Mickey huffs. His fingers twitch, and Ian could see him reaching for a cigarette if their building didn't have such a strong 'no smoking indoors' policy.

“Fuck, Gallagher. We're doing that shit again.”

He smiles, looking up into Ian's eyes with a new hunger. It's a look that says “where have you been all my life?” and “I'm not letting this be a one time thing.”

Ian returns the grin. There'll be time later to talk all the shit out that they need to talk out. For now, he's going to bask in the afterglow with a beautiful man who wants to take all Ian's able to give him.

Ian can't wait.