Chapter 1: let them see
Summary:
Prompt: Exhibitionism
Ian can only joke around and insinuate “showing them how it’s done” so many times before Mickey just has to ask if he’s serious, if he’d be into that kind of thing. Because to his own surprise, Mickey could definitely be into that kind of thing.
Notes:
Coming up with a scenario to make this idea work was so silly, but I'm so into it. I hope you guys are too!
More tags will be added with each installment.
Enjoy, beloveds <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Looking back, they probably could have been a little bit more discerning when they decided to participate in that orgy.
Not that they regretted it, necessarily. They were safe, they had fun, they did it together the way that they said they’d do these things, they went home and talked about it and promptly decided that they’d probably never do it like that again.
It was just that they didn’t really like those guys. And it’s sort of like, who cares in the long run, right? It’s just sex. Sex with people they hopefully never have to see again. But something about it left a bad taste in their mouths.
There were the hand jobs at the gym that morning, too, and that was fun. A little more disconnected, a little more impersonal. It was hot, and it felt good. But then there was the orgy.
They’d had a lot of sex with a lot of people that day, and it was a fun and interesting experiment, but it sort of left them wanting. Like they needed to figure out how to properly direct that surge of energy they get when they’re around other people. People they find hot, people they might be into, people who’ll give them attention.
A chance encounter while out one night that started as a mild irritation ended up being a gift deposited gracelessly in their laps, as far as these things go. Mickey was standing alone at the bar for all of forty five seconds before he was being hit on by someone admittedly stupid hot, and then another minute and a half and one threat from an especially scary Ian later, and there were sincere apologies, genuine attempts at conversation-making, and before the night was up they were drinking with Josh and his hot, funny friends and invited to leave the bar and come to a house party they were heading to.
Neither one could tell you what possessed them to go, parties with fancy gay strangers being something they’ve come to be suspicious of, but something about Josh’s vibe was comfortable. His friends were welcoming and raunchy and funny as fuck, and yeah, the fact that they were hot didn’t hurt.
And the party was kind of insane.
The flowing drinks, the pockets of people in every corner, and the low, thumping music were all things to be expected. But the music mixing with the arousing din of the noises coming from unseen rooms was decidedly a surprise.
Josh’s friend Walt - older, gorgeous, worldly, kind of over everything and resigned to a life of indulgence – was throwing the party, and he has a pretty big house. Four bedrooms, with a living space divided into the living and dining room but kept quite open. A couple of bathrooms, a huge chef’s kitchen, a deck the size of a second living space, and a loft. All modern fixtures and décor, with lighting kept extra low for party purposes, and Ian and Mickey were both struck by its imposing beauty. There was a lot about the house and its gracious host to appreciate.
Those noises, though. It was like they were being beckoned.
They’d followed their hearts and their ears down the hallway to where three of the bedrooms are, and found themselves stopped in the doorway of a room where two beautiful men, presumably friends of Walt’s, were shamelessly fucking on the bed. With the door wide open, and with a rather enthusiastic audience.
“Oh, so it is that kind of party,” Ian had noted quietly, eyes enormous and breath quickening.
Before Mickey could ask him what the fuck kind of parties he was talking about, it became very clear that someone was about to cum. And Mickey was there to witness it, so he shut his mouth and paid attention.
It was overwhelming at first, but the free show was undeniably tantalizing.
Not everyone at the party seemed to be there for watching or participating in these activities. There wasn’t any kind of pressure. So they held it together, not wanting to jump into anything with other people this time, and they watched. Jaws slack, mouths dry, hardly able to sip the drinks Walt had supplied them with as soon as they’d entered his home.
It seemed like these activities were localized to specific parts of the house, but it felt like it was everywhere. Definitely in the bedrooms. One of the bathrooms, but that may have been incidental. On their way out, they saw one of Josh’s friends from the bar bent over a lawn chair and getting his ass eaten outside on the fucking deck, so. It was a lot.
They fucked like feral animals when they got home.
And really, Ian can only joke around and insinuate “showing them how it’s done” so many times before Mickey just has to ask if he’s serious, if he’d be into that kind of thing. Because to his own surprise, Mickey could definitely be into that kind of thing.
Numbers had been exchanged. They met up at the bar with Josh’s friend group a couple more times just to hang out. A few weeks later, they were invited to the next party, this time with a heads up. And that meant that there was some preparation to be done. Because yes, they were doing this. Could turn out to be a bad idea, but why not find out for themselves? They just had to try. They had to see.
That’s how Mickey finds himself sequestered away in a near-stranger’s bathroom tonight, back at Walt’s beautiful home in the midst of another bacchanal-esque gathering with a dizzying number of people, bent over the sink with his pants and boxers around his ankles. He’s just now gotten up to three fingers inside himself, spurred by his excitement and the knowledge that Ian is waiting for him.
It was decided when they talked about it that this is how they’d do it, he’d get himself ready just beforehand. So when they get started, Ian can just get right inside. Nice and easy.
Mickey’s heart pounds. His knees feel weak. The atmosphere of the party has already gotten him in the right sort of headspace for this, low lights and loud music and beautiful people everywhere and his husband looking hot as hell in the middle of it all, but it’s hard not to be nervous, too. Group sex is different from this. Being a part of something with everyone in the room is one thing. Being the center of attention is something entirely different. Something a little scary, as much as the notion entices him.
He blows out a breath, pulsing his fingers inside himself, just trying to loosen up. He lifts his gaze up to the mirror, gearing up for whatever kind of fucked-up pep talk he may need from himself right now, but when he catches his reflection he stills.
He’d styled his hair neatly, but now it’s falling over his forehead in a way that he thinks looks pretty sexy. His eyes are darkened, his pupils blown. His lips are pink and bitten, and he thinks he looks hot. He feels fucking hot.
He watches the movement of his shoulder as he starts pulsing his fingers again, and yeah. He wants to be seen.
That was all the pep talk he needs.
He feels inside himself, really sliding his fingers and twisting them, feeling out how loosened he’s made himself, and he deems himself done with this part.
He washes his hands. He gets his pants back up, ignoring how slippery he feels between his cheeks and how it’s probably getting on his underwear.
Ian’s waiting in the hallway when he opens the door, chatting with someone, and there are a few other guys milling around or walking past.
They catch each other’s eye, and silent communication passes between them that lasts about two seconds. Cocked eyebrows ask you ready? Matching smirks confirm that yes, yes they are ready to show them.
Mickey’s hand in Ian’s, he’s led down the hall to one of the bedrooms.
It’s mostly empty, a seemingly rare occurrence at these parties.
That’s about to change, if this goes the way they want it to.
They glance down the hall towards the living room to make sure that people see them entering, and Mickey catches Josh motioning to a couple of guys he was chatting with to follow him. Ian must’ve clued him in. Good.
The bedroom’s a decent enough size. There are lamps that have the room lit quite brightly without being overbearing. There’s a dark blue comforter on the queen-size bed, and all Mickey can think about is how it’s going to look when all is said and done.
Whatever. He’s not the one who decided to throw these…sex parties, or whatever. The comforter’s not his problem.
They come to stand at the foot of the bed, and Mickey becomes aware of the movement around him. God, there are people in here. He’s about to be naked in front of them. He’s about to have sex with his husband, and they’re all here to see it happen, and he can’t remember the last time his body felt this weak with nerves and excitement about something, palms sweating and knees trembling.
He doesn’t look around the room at them, though. Not yet. It’s all peripheral right now. Right now, he needs to just look at Ian. And Ian looks just as excited as he is. He fucking loves this.
His heart is pounding when Ian reaches for him and pulls his shirt over his head. It’s happening. It’s starting, Ian’s undressing him gently, and now he’s the only bare-chested person in the room, and the thought thrills him.
The air pulses around him with something electric. Music pumps loudly the living room, drifting in down the hall and vibrating the walls. There are shuffling feet around him.
His shirt is dropped on the floor, and in an instant Ian is pushing at his chest and shoving him backwards onto the bed.
He lands with a bounce, and Ian’s undoing his pants before he can even get his bearings. He watches him, head spinning, taking in the determined look on his face, the undeniable hunger there, that I’m going to eat you alive energy radiating off of him and draping itself all the fuck over Mickey and making his belly swoop so fucking hard so quickly, he’s a little dizzy with it.
When Ian yanks his jeans and boxers down he has to pull his shoes off with them, and he does it so swiftly, dropping everything in a pile on the floor beside his feet.
And now Mickey’s the only completely undressed person in the room, lying naked on the bed, Ian standing over him like he’s looming, with who knows how many other sets of eyes on him, and it’s possible he’s never been harder in his life.
Ian gets as far as toeing off his shoes and pulling his shirt off before he falls over Mickey, dropping his clothed crotch to Mickey’s bare cock and pushing against him in a little grind.
There’s muttered conversation around them. Mickey can hear them, but he can’t make out what anyone’s saying. What comments they must be making. The rushing in his ears is too loud, the hissing between his teeth drowning it out, losing it in his tunnel vision.
Ian’s jeans are rough on him in a way that’s distracting him, and he wants them off. He manages to get his hands between their bodies, just beginning to unbutton, when Ian pushes his hands away, stopping him.
Mickey sends him an annoyed, questioning look. He’s perfectly happy to let Ian take the lead here, but he’s gotta have some say in how this goes, too. Ian gives him a soft little peck on the lips, like he’s urging him to understand. And then he slowly sits up, kneeling between Mickey’s open legs. He takes a tiny bottle of lube out of his pocket and drops it on the bed. And then he reaches for the button of his jeans.
It’s lame as fuck, but Mickey knows exactly what he’s doing. He gets it, though. People are gonna want to see this.
He lives with that cock, he sees it every day, but it doesn’t matter. He’s enrapt as Ian works his jeans open. Not necessarily slowly, but definitely with intention. Drawing all the attention he can to this.
Finally, he starts sliding his jeans down his hips.
Finally, he reaches into his underwear and pulls his hard cock out.
There are, predictably, some delighted murmurs of appreciation. There’s at least one incredulous “holy shit” muttered from somewhere. Mickey has to huff a laugh at that, and he’s not the only one. And it’s satisfying, everyone here on the same page and enjoying this.
And holy shit is right. Ian finishes getting naked, dropping everything to the floor, and then he’s kneeling between Mickey’s legs, sitting up and looking like the fucking Adonis that he is, huge and strong and ridiculously hung and so, so gorgeous, and Mickey gets to have him inside him and all these suckers can do is watch it happen.
He needs him in his mouth. Unthinking, he sits up and crawls closer, staying on all fours and taking Ian all the way to the back of his throat like he’s dying for it, and he is a little bit.
Holy fuck, this feels good. Immediately, fucking immediately, it all rushes to his head, to his cock, feeling like they’re fucking claiming each other in front of people, marking their territory and showing the fuck off in a way they’ve never gotten to do before, and Mickey can’t help but wonder why they’ve never thought to do something like this before. This feels so fundamentally like them, so very right, the most obnoxious couple in the room more obsessed with each other than anyone else could ever possibly be, and no one fucks like they do, and they’re going to make them see.
As much fun as Mickey’s already having, he needs to know Ian’s into it, too. The way he starts moaning immediately is one thing to measure this by, but meeting his eyes to actually ask him is another. So Mickey sloppily pulls off of him and wraps a hand around him, sitting back a bit to look at him.
Jesus, the heat there in his eyes, like he’s shifted into this mode so easily. It puts Mickey even more at ease, feeling even more like he’s got his husband’s lead to follow should he start losing his way here. It’s such a comfort.
“Why’d you stop, baby?” is what Ian asks with that smirk, and okay. They’re definitely on the same wavelength here.
So Mickey just cocks an eyebrow at him, bends back over and gets him back in his mouth.
This feels like power. That surge of energy, the one that they both feel when they’re around other people, it’s there. He feels it, and it’s being directed differently than it has been before, and fuck, it’s such a good feeling. This is amazing.
Ian’s hands slip up and down his back, warm and soothing, then one to the back of his head, guiding him. Just for another moment, and Mickey indulges in Ian’s low, breathy sounds. And then he’s being gently pushed back.
He takes a deep breath and lays back down, arranged on his back, and he pulls himself open. He gets his hands behind his knees and folds himself as much as he can, showing, enticing. He’s resolutely looking directly at Ian, but this is for everyone’s benefit. He knows how good he looks like this.
Ian’s between his legs again, breathing heavily through his nose and getting his cock slicked up.
“C’mon, tough guy,” Mickey teases quietly. Just for Ian. “Hurry up. C’mere.”
To his excitement, Ian falls over him. He reaches down and presses himself against Mickey’s hole, and Mickey’s breath catches. His cock twitches, his hole clenches. He wants him inside.
Something so, so hot flickers between them, that energy exchange caught in their gaze, their shared breaths, their faces so close together. Mickey’s face is so slack with the continuously flooding arousal dropping down through his body and setting in so warm between his legs, but Ian’s got this darkened expression, a little devious, and it’s so sexy.
He tastes so good. The kiss is sudden and wet and open, Ian’s cock still held in place and nudging him where he’s slick and prepped, so close to dipping inside, and their lips are barely touching but their tongues can’t stop pressing and slipping, tasting. Mickey’s hands move from behind his knees to Ian’s back, to the back of his neck, urging him on, holding him close with all his limbs, breathing him in.
Ian’s not even in him yet, and this feels, without a doubt, like the sexiest thing that has ever happened to him. He’s so fucking hard it has him lightheaded, just from the exposure, from the kisses, from sucking his dick, from all those eyes on them. It’s an atmosphere he’s never experienced before, kind of debaucherous, like something he’d hear about or just see in porn, like something just for fantasizing about, but fuck, they’re doing it. It’s happening, and they’re at the center of it, and it stuns him that they’ve ended up here. He licks into Ian’s mouth with more fervor, gasping, clutching at him, mind spinning and spinning.
Ian surges inside of him in one long, steady push. All the way in.
Mickey’s head drops back, his eyes roll back, and he moans out an uninhibited, “Ohh!”
If others in the house didn’t know what was happening in this room before, they were certainly aware now.
Immediately, Ian’s fucking him. And immediately, Mickey’s slipping under and overtaken by the headiest, heaviest pleasure swimming through his body and clouding his brain, that familiar feeling, only amplified.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it, baby,” Ian’s saying so low, it’s possible no one else can hear him. His voice is quiet and there’s the music coming thumping through the house, and the sounds of their bodies connecting are already so loud, and Mickey’s own little moans are cutting in and out, anything Ian’s whispering has got to be covered up.
Mickey’s hands drop overhead, suddenly too slackened to do anything but just take it, Ian’s hips pounding against his ass so hard, his cock stretching him out and moving so slick and hot in him, working him open, fucking him up.
He knows there are things being said around him. He can’t quite focus on them, but he’s aware of them. Enthusiastic remarks about each of them, about how good he takes it, about Ian’s prowess, about how hot they are. All it does is fuel how good he feels here in his body and with his husband, somehow working to make him so feel connected to Ian.
There’s a change in angle when Ian shifts up, and Mickey jerks and shakes. Ian pushes on his thighs, trying to lift his hips more, trying to grab a pillow that’s just out of reach.
Someone fucking hands it to him. Amazingly unfazed by this, Ian unceremoniously pulls out and sets in to shove it under Mickey’s hips.
It’s someone being so close to them that gets Mickey to take a quick glance around the room as Ian gets him settled, his hips propped up high and cock pushing back in.
He’s pretty sure there weren’t this many guys in here a minute ago.
He has no idea how many people it is. His eyes are too busy glazing over and watering from the way Ian’s stroking in and out and holding his thighs wide open to be able to focus on what he sees.
But there is a tangible effect on him. Makes that desire to be seen and watched ratchet up so hard. Makes him want to show and he doesn’t know what else he could possibly do to make himself any more exposed.
His hands spread over his ass, and he can’t be any more open but it doesn’t matter, he holds onto himself and watches Ian plunge in and out and directs attention right fucking there with the way he grips himself and strokes over his damp skin and moans at it all, at how good it feels and how fucking spread he is.
His breath catches when Ian’s hand slips up his torso, wrapping around him at his shoulder and his collar bone, not quite at his neck, just enough pressure to make him feel held down. He has to move his hands out of the way when Ian’s deep, even pumps become pounding thrusts into him, pushing sharp, desperate cries out of him.
“Jesus christ, Ian. Fuck. Fuck!” Little words pouring out like he can’t stop them, and Ian’s answering in a low, dirty voice, fucking him up so bad and going straight to his head.
“Yeah? Like that? You want it harder?” Still so quiet, his voice is just for Mickey, and he’s smiling like he’s having the best time. He fucking loves this, and goddamn, Mickey’s never been happier.
And yeah, he wants it harder.
“Yeah, fuckin’ give it to me.”
“Fuckin’ take it.” Ian’s hands grip his hips and he sits up to fuck him with all he has, slamming in, sending him up and down the mattress with each slap of their hips, and the bed’s hitting the wall and oh fuck, Ian is nailing his prostate and it’s so, so good and makes him tingle and feel so warm, and his toes are curling so hard and his eyes are rolling back again. The stupid pillow is just in the way now, so Ian tears it out from under him and keeps going, keeps going.
“Holy shit,” Mickey pants. “Oh fuck, holy shit…” He grabs his cock and starts stroking lightly just around the head, and it’s insane to think that he hasn’t touched himself yet. He’s so hard, it shocks him.
“Yeah, yeah, fuckin’ take it. Feels good, right?”
God, yes, of course it does.
“Ian,” he chokes out. “Jesus, fuck, yes…”
He keeps taking it, and keeps taking it, just for a couple of minutes. Because he has to stop stroking his cock. He has to stop letting Ian pound inside him like this. He has to slow down if he doesn’t want to cum yet. And he definitely doesn’t want to cum yet. He’s just getting started.
“Unh…ah! Ian…Ian Ian Ian wait, oh my god…” He starts batting at his hands where he’s still got that iron grip, dropping his legs and trying to scoot away. Because he has an idea. And he thinks it’ll translate real well to that powerful desire he’s got stirring in him, that desire to be seen and appreciated.
Ian enthusiastically lets himself be pushed over, still with that excited, heavy-lidded smile, his cock so hard and so red and twitching in bounces, and Mickey’s far too empty to sit back and admire how hot he looks.
There’s some excited murmuring around them when he climbs on, straddling Ian and reaching back to grip him. It gets his blood pumping faster and harder, gets him sending Ian a matching smile. They spur him on and inspire him to arch his back and pop his ass back. Holding Ian’s slick cock in place. Rubbing up and down on it, along his crack, moving in a dirty grind. Teasing himself, teasing Ian. Fuck, teasing everyone in the fucking room.
Until finally he shoves it back in. Sits all the way down on it, letting it sink in slowly. He drops his head back and lets out a filthy cry at how satisfying it is, Ian reaching so deep in his body, stretching him, filling him all the way the fuck up.
Ian’s fucking growling, gritting out sounds and digging his fingers so hard into Mickey’s hips, tensing up like he wants to fuck up into him but is desperately trying to hold back to let Mickey do his thing. And oh, the effect that has…
Gasping, chest heaving, Mickey rewards that restraint with the way he starts moving, shifting and swiveling his hips, working Ian’s cock expertly and drawing the dirtiest sounds out of him. He braces a hand on Ian’s chest and reaches back with the other hand, holding his cheek and pulling himself spread, showing, showing. He knows how good Ian’s cock looks when it’s stretching him and pumping in and out of him. He knows how good his ass looks when it’s getting fucked. He shows. He loves this.
He rides harder. Both hands on Ian’s chest, eyes shut, mouth dropped open, panting so hard, he fucks himself on Ian’s cock like the world is ending.
It gets him the exact reaction he was hoping for. He feels their eyes on him like a physical touch, and he hears voices, disembodied in the way his tunnel vision has only Ian in his sights, making stunned remarks in hushed tones. They’re getting more and more excited and vocal as they go. So fuckin’ hot and look how he takes it and drawing attention to his ass and finding themselves in states of arousal that apparently need to be addressed.
It charges him up, goes straight to his cock, to his ego, gets him sitting up straight and moving more and more sensually, trying to send it into Ian, wanting him to feel it, how good he feels.
The eye contact between them is a tether. Mooring him to his body and to Ian’s body and what they’re doing, how synced up they are. Something floats between them, some of that silent communication they’re so good at. An increase in temperature. Drifting, drifting. They keep moving. Ian’s eyes darken.
His hips buck up hard, knocking Mickey off his rhythm.
It’s sudden and it’s rough, rough as the sound rending from Mickey’s chest and through the room, bouncing off the walls in a display of the sheer force of his lungs.
He lets Ian take over. He has to. If he tries to rein control back in he won’t get to cum right fucking now the way that he suddenly feels like he’s going to.
Oh fuck, he’s going to cum.
“Oh shit, oh shit,” he hisses, he can’t stop, the way his body is being ragdolled with the force of Ian’s thrusts, his prostate being hit like this in a way that’s almost overstimulating, but it’s going to make him cum without having to touch his cock and it’s going to be fucking powerful. “Please, please, I’m gonna…” Gasping, trying to cling on, fingers digging Ian’s chest. But Ian’s just fucking him like he can’t take it anymore either, like everything happening is too much to just exist within, like he has to take control.
It's plummeted so hard down between Mickey’s legs, all the heat in his body, hotter than he thought imaginable, and it makes him grit his teeth and tense up, makes his ass clench around Ian, and his ears are ringing so loudly so he can’t understand the voices around him steadily growing in volume and amusement.
The voices. The eyes. Other people. Watching them. He’s about to cum so hard and they’re all going to see. Yes. He focuses on that. Focuses on the thought of that, people seeing him like this. People seeing how they are together, how good Ian gets him.
His eyes squeeze shut. He gasps, and gasps, and finally grabs his pulsing cock. Lightning shoots through his nerves, Ian still fucking him with abandon like the machine he so often seems to be, and Mickey’s somehow aware of the slide of every inch in and out of his ass with every thrust, like his pleasure has slowed time down, like the growing heat thudding in him is making him more and more sensitive. Making his orgasm more and more intense. And it hasn’t even happened yet.
It barrels into him with such intensity, he expects it to knock him out. But instead he’s conscious for all of it, forced to feel it all, the insane way it shoots out of him and onto Ian’s chest and neck, the inhuman shout he unleashes, the excited voices around him, the sheer fucking euphoria cranked up inside his body like something’s broken in him. It pulses and pulses in his ass and his cock and his very soul, and Ian keeps fucking him through it. It’s too much.
“Ah! Ah, please, okay, okay…” he huffs, dying, Ian still with that determined furrow of his brow, finally slowing as everything inside of Mickey ebbs away. The lightning flashes of overwhelming pleasure and the pulsing inside of him ease and dim, leaving him worn and dizzy.
Ian hasn’t cum yet. He fucked him like that just to get him there, and it hits Mickey that this isn’t over and all these people are going to see just how much he can handle from his husband. His stomach swoops at the realization, not quite in arousal, but in something like the sensation of freefalling.
Ian senses it like an animal smelling fear, and fuck, the way he visibly latches onto it has Mickey’s heart pounding.
“C’mere,” Ian grits out, and then Mickey’s being rolled over until he’s on his back, Ian huge and hard over him, Mickey’s cum dripping off of his chest. There’s something he does, something in the way he grips Mickey’s wrist and ankle and flips him over almost violently, grabbing his hips and getting him into place, and Mickey doesn’t know how he does it. He’s so fucking strong and all Mickey can do is push his ass back like this is all he knows, all he’s made for. Being like this. Like he didn’t just cum so hard he thought he was going to die.
He’s got his face pressed down. His ass is up and back. And Ian’s getting him wet with lube again, quickly and efficiently, before tapping his cock against his hole. Gripping one of his cheeks and pulling him open. He’s so open. Ian’s gripping so hard. Releasing him and spanking him, just once, but the sound cracks through the room so fucking loudly, and Mickey’s mouth drops open on a shocked gasp. And then Ian’s getting back inside and fucking him hard.
Slamming in and out again. Holding him in place. Groaning out dirty words while Mickey gasps and writhes and pushes back on him, meeting him in the middle and making the wettest sounds. His head is turned with his cheek pressed into the mattress, and he tries to internalize what he’s seeing through teary vision. The people around him. He can only see one side of the room like this, but he’s facing the doorway, and there’s a few people gathered there. Fuck, they saw Ian make him cum. They saw. And now they’re going to see Ian use him to cum.
He feels so fucked out. It hurts, Ian moving in him so hard and rough like this, too much in that way that he loves. In that way that he knows, he knows in the right conditions could get him there again right fucking away. He doesn’t know if these are the right conditions, but he lets himself be here, in these feelings flowing through him and giving him goosebumps across his sweaty skin, Ian loving on him with his cock and his quiet words and his big hands on his back and now one in his hair, fingers wrapped and keeping Mickey nice and still for him.
Ian’s going to cum, he can feel it. Finally. His movements are getting stuttery, his voice is getting rougher. He sounds more and more desperate.
“Bein’ so fucking good, fuck,” Ian gasps out. “Feels so good. Like this, huh? All the attention? Who knew you’d be such an attention whore… Oh, shit…fuck.”
He absolutely pounds against Mickey’s ass, stills, and then leaves him empty when he pulls out. Mickey pushes back, moaning, knowing what’s happening, that he’s playing this up and giving them a show instead of staying inside and pumping Mickey full like he loves. He knows he’s about to feel Ian’s warm cum land on his heated skin as Ian finally reaches his peak.
He does, it happens, Ian groaning through gritted teeth, his cum flowing down Mickey’s cheeks and along his inner thighs when it hits him. He lets out his own soft sound at how gloriously filthy it feels, eyes drifting shut, listening to Ian breathe, breathe, so heavy. Listening to the voices around him express their own enjoyment of this.
Ian helps him collapse onto his side, and Mickey takes a deep breath as he starts to try to find himself.
But he doesn’t get far. Ian pushes his knee and his shoulder, and Mickey flops onto his back in confusion.
And how Ian could still look so ravenous after finishing so intensely, Mickey will never, ever understand or fathom. His machine of a husband.
He thought they were done. They were wrapping it up, they were going to get their applause or whatever the fuck and have a couple drinks and start fucking recovering. But the fingers pushing into him clue him into the fact that something else is apparently going to happen, and he’s a big part of it. The main event, even.
Head tossed back, shouting so loud at the overstimulation, he takes it as Ian rubs inside him, his other hand loosely holding Mickey’s cock.
He’s sort of hard, but he doesn’t think he could ejaculate again. There’s too much happening to his nerves, his prostate being massaged surprisingly delicately for all of Ian’s ferocious enthusiasm. His rim feels raw with how stretched he is. Even his cheeks sting from Ian’s hips slapping against him so much.
But shit, it does feel good. Ian in him always feels good. He always knows how to do it. Paying such intense attention to his reactions, his sounds, his muscles fluttering inside, his open thighs twitching. Fuck, his husband is so good to him.
Mickey feels it so deep, the growing pleasure, the warmth making him see sparks, his eyes scrunched shut. When he opens them, everything is washed out and bluish-white, like someone’s turned the contrast down on his vision. His cheeks are positively flaming. And he glances around. At everyone. Watching his husband fuck him so good with his fingers. Paying such close attention to him.
It’s so hot, so fucking, fucking hot, and Mickey is so far beyond gone yet again. He shudders and hisses. He brings his arms overhead. He lifts his legs a little bit, so spread open. And Ian’s there between his legs saying, “Take it. Yeah. Show ‘em, Mick. Show ‘em how you can do it. Come on.” His voice is a little louder than before, nearly at full volume. So they can all hear him coaxing, gentle, fucking feral. Guiding Mickey through it while they take it in.
He lies there for all of them, moaning continuously, whimpering, feeling it come over him. Building and building. Taking it. Ian’s fingers drawing gentle circles inside him, just the way he likes. Exact pressure.
He spasms. Again. Again.
“Oh…oh, fuck.” His voice cracks. Feels himself breaking.
It keeps building.
“Come on. So close, I can feel it. Come on.” Ian’s sweet voice. And others encouraging. A growing chorus.
It hits him. Sucks him under. It’s obliterating, the way it makes his body shake, the way it makes his knees fall inward. The way it feels like it’s never-ending, the way he can hear everyone losing their damn minds over his orgasm, the way he chokes on his own voice and cums silently for a fucking eternity.
Eventually, finally, he exhales his completion, rough and loud and dropping his legs down dramatically, making Ian pull away.
His chest heaves with his panting breaths. A sated smile spreads across his face.
He’s out of his fucking mind with the hormone rush, but he still laughs when he hears a couple guys actually clap in astonishment. Ian’s laughing too while he rubs Mickey’s legs and murmurs to him sweetly.
“That was so hot, Mick! Holy shit, I love you. Did so good. You okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, still smiling, wiping his hands up and down his face. He’s never been better. “I’m okay.” He blows out a breath, chuckling. “Jesus christ.”
There’s still a bunch of people around. He’s not sure what to do with this part. He’s very much done being looked at, but they’re still here.
He sits up and looks around blearily. He doesn’t count how many men there are, some of them shuffling out and some kind of milling around now, not exactly paying attention to him. But he still wants everybody out. So he supposes he should just say so.
“Alright, party’s over,” he barks. “Out. Yes, thank you, thank you, alright, get out. Bye.” He points to the doorway as the remaining few make their way out respectfully, giving them their privacy.
Once they’re alone, Ian gets up and closes the door.
There’s a lot Mickey could say right now, but what he goes with is, “Feel fuckin’ disgusting, man,” He looks down at himself. He’s pretty sticky. Ian isn’t doing much better, Mickey’s cum still all over his chest.
“Good thing there’s this,” Ian says, making his way over to the desk. Whoever was standing over there before was blocking their view of the toiletry basket neatly arranged there, complete with towels, wipes, hand sanitizer, and other sanitary accoutrements. Man, Walt is the best.
“No shit?” Mickey says, reaching out for it. “Bring it over.”
They check in as they tidy up and get dressed.
“What’d you think? You like it?” Ian asks while stepping into his pants. He grabs their tiny, now slightly slimy lube bottle off the bed and pockets it.
Mickey scoffs. “Understatement.”
“Really?”
“What, ya couldn’t tell?” Mickey pulls his shirt on, still sitting on the bed, and leans over to grab his pants.
“Hm, guess it was pretty obvious,” Ian says. “You were like, wild for it. It was pretty hot.”
He likes hearing that. He smiles to himself as he lays down on the bed and lifts his hips to pulls his pants all the way up his hips. He’s still feeling it too much to stand up.
“Seemed to be pretty into it yourself.”
“I was,” Ian admits eagerly. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Would you?”
“Yeah,” Mickey says thoughtfully after a moment, shrugging. He sits up, comes to the edge of the bed and sits with his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, that shit was hot.” The thought of doing it again gets his heart racing all over again.
Ian comes over and stands in front of him. He takes his chin between his thumb and forefinger, and Mickey looks up at him.
He’s gazing at him with the exact kind of warmth and affection he needs right now.
Ian bends down and lightly kisses him, just a soft little press. Almost chaste, after everything they’ve just done.
“Love you,” he whispers, smiling.
“Mm, love you, too,” Mickey replies, voice so soft.
“Wanna get back out there now?”
“Don’t wanna stand up yet,” Mickey admits. “Gave it to me too good, tough guy.”
“Oh? Is that so?” Ian teases. He runs his fingers through Mickey’s hair, standing all the way up again before him.
“Mhm, you fuckin’ animal. Give me a minute.”
Ian does. He plays with Mickey’s hair, scratching his scalp soothingly, and Mickey shuts his eyes, basking in the affection.
He feels so good here. Here in his body, recovering after this, connected to Ian. Powerful and in love and sexy, and god, if Mickey ten years ago could see Mickey now. Married to his crush and doing what he wants and having sex so adventurous he probably couldn’t have conceived of it then. Unimaginable growth.
He wonders if anyone noticed their rings. He wonders if anyone saw the tattoo on his chest and heard him saying Ian’s name, if they made the connection. He hopes they know. He wants it to be obvious. He thinks it might be, but he hopes.
When eventually he feels like his knees aren’t going to collapse under him, he stands up.
He wants a drink. He wants to have more fun with his husband.
He takes Ian’s hand, and together they rejoin the party.
Notes:
Hope you enjoyed! Comments are always treasured and appreciated.
Chapter 2: beauty in simplicity
Summary:
Prompt: Domestic
Sometimes the best way to start your morning is to get right to making a meal of your husband's ass before the coffee's even done brewing.
Notes:
Relevant tags: Rimming, fingering, spit, masturbation, cum marking
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Ian couldn’t tell you what it is about being here, but keeping his hands off Mickey has been impossible since they moved into the house. It’s been two days and it feels like they’ve barely unpacked, because every time he so much as looks at him, sees him moving through and existing in a space that’s theirs, that’s cozy and homey and has a little yard and two bathrooms and an extra bedroom for a possible future endeavor and all their stuff in it and no one can take it from them, and they did this together and they did it right, something so powerful surges in his chest, makes it clench in overwhelming love and desire, and he has to get his hands on him. He has to hold him, he has to kiss him. And maybe that’s turned to sex only slightly more frequently than normal.
The kitchen is unpacked, though. Ian insisted on that one right away, because he didn’t want to be digging around boxes for pots and pans every time he wanted to cook something. And there’s something about a kitchen that makes him feel settled and centered. He just wanted it to be ready. The bathrooms are pretty much all set, too. The rest of the house is getting there, kind of.
With the kitchen all unpacked, Ian was able to get coffee brewing when he got up this morning. It’s just getting started when his ears perk up, the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs alerting him to Mickey’s presence.
“Mornin’,” Mickey grouses, shuffling into the kitchen and flopping into one of the chairs at their new table, just enough room for two to sit and eat at comfortably.
“Good morning,” Ian replies, endeared as he watches his husband sleepily rub a hand over his face and let out a huge yawn. “Coffee’s on.”
“Great.” He props his chin in his hand and shuts his eyes. “Kept me up way too fuckin’ late, man.”
That’s fair enough. Ian held Mickey’s ass hostage for an excessively long late-night session that involved fingering, fucking, and then an unreasonable amount of even more fingering, which seems absurd in retrospect because he’d also fucked him on the new couch yesterday afternoon and sucked his dick in the shower that morning. But it can’t be helped. So they did it yet again, and he has no idea when they finally went to sleep.
Ian’s feeling pretty damn refreshed this morning, though. Well-rested and ready to tackle the day. And…he can feel it happening again. He shifts his stance. There’s desire coursing through him, swirling downward.
It’s just that Mickey tastes so good. And he smells so good. And fuck, he looks so good in this house, right now in this kitchen all bright and sunny with the morning light coming through the window beside him, with the smell of the coffee brewing, the way he’s sitting at this little table in his cozy robe with his hair mussed from sleep. He looks so warm and inviting, grumpy morning countenance be damned. He’s adorable and Ian is weak.
“Could’ve slept in,” Ian reminds him.
“You know that doesn’t fuckin’ work anymore,” Mickey grumbles. And yeah, Ian gets that. Either just from getting older and their sleep cycles changing or whatever, or from becoming so used to getting an early start on their route, neither one of them finds it easy to sleep in past eight anymore.
“Yeah…sorry,” Ian offers.
But then he cuts him a look, a grin he knows is obnoxious.
“You like it, though.”
It earns him a smile.
“Sore as hell,” Mickey says.
Oh, well Ian just might have to take care of that somehow. He might have to be extra nice to him. Give him something soft and gentle. He can do that. He wants to do that.
He rounds the kitchen counter that’s separating them, approaching in a measured way that he hopes is maybe a little seductive, in a way that he knows Mickey can see right through.
“I might be able to help with that,” he says, and he reaches out, Mickey looking too irresistible for him to not be touching him right now. He strokes his fingers through the hair at his temple, and he feels so warm. Everything about him is so inviting right now.
“How’s that gonna be helpful, dumbass?” Mickey huffs, still smiling, understandably jumping to conclusions. “Stay outta my ass.”
“Don’t have to be in your ass,” Ian says, trying to keep that seductive lilt without rolling his eyes at him. “Had something else in mind.”
“Oh yeah?” He’s acting annoyed, or he’s at least trying to. But fuck, he looks so fond. Makes him even more irresistible. He’s cute as hell right now.
Ian gets closer, bending down. Close to his face. He wants to kiss him.
So he does, just a sweet little peck that Mickey helplessly leans into, just like he knew he would.
He smells so good up close. Ian wants to bury himself in him. He wants to be as close as he can.
“Wanna eat you out,” he says playfully.
“Oh, is that it?” Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Yeah, think it’ll feel real nice.” He keeps his voice low.
“Uh huh, ya think so?”
“Mhm.” He draws himself away, standing up at full height. He takes Mickey’s hands. “C’mere.”
Mickey goes willingly, like Ian knew he would. He rises.
And Ian has a decision to make here. Is he going to lead him to the living room or the bedroom or somewhere else? Is there any reason to leave this room at all? Come to think of it, they haven’t had any kind of sex in the kitchen yet. They’ve lived in the house for like 48 hours and they’ve yet to christen this room, and it’s an oversight they’re going to have to remedy immediately, Ian decides.
On the table. Mickey spread out on it for him. Maybe an overindulgent breakfast to start his day with, but that’s alright.
There’s a couple of pieces of paper on the table, some important house documents they should file away somewhere safe. Ian puts them on the counter for now, just to get them out of the way.
Watching him, Mickey chuckles.
He carefully climbs on and leans back without saying anything. He needed no prompting, reading Ian’s mind. Goddamn, Ian loves that.
He knows there’s nothing on underneath the robe Mickey’s wearing. A gift from him to replace the old, ratty grandpa robe, this is something much more comfy. Charcoal gray and some kind of extra-plush microfiber situation, he loves wearing it with nothing underneath so it’s right against his skin. And Ian loves opening it like a gift. Like he’s going to do right now.
He reaches right for the tie around his waist. He works it open. And slowly, slowly, he parts either side. Dragging the softness of it against a sighing Mickey, all along his skin.
He spreads it open, and finally bares his husband’s sleep-warm body to him.
He was right, there was nothing underneath. Just pale skin, his chest rapidly rising and falling with his breaths growing heavier. Lit up by the sun. Gorgeous.
Mickey’s head is hanging off the edge of the table. So, beautiful as Mickey looks here, Ian wonders for a moment about moving this to somewhere else. Even if it’s just to the bigger table in the dining room. They don’t have to be doing this in here.
But Mickey doesn’t seem to mind. And he looks so sexy like this, throat bared. The robe spread under him, something soft for him to lay on, his arms still in the sleeves. Legs pulling up, cock filling slowly at the way Ian’s mindlessly started to touch along the crease of his groin with teasing fingertips. Little sighs from that bared throat. He seems perfectly content. He’d say so otherwise, Ian knows.
He’s getting weak in the knees, so he gets on the floor.
Knelt on one knee, he spreads his hands over Mickey’s ass, grabbing him appreciatively, squeezing. What a fucking view. Mouthwatering.
He leans forward. Mouth open. Tongue out, just enough. Wet. He wants to give him something delicate. But still indulgent.
Fuck, he tastes so good. His moan is gorgeous. The way he shifts is so cute, his feet kicking up the tiniest bit.
Ian licks him so softly, his tongue relaxed. He doesn’t point it, he doesn’t press too hard. Wants it to feel so, so soft on him. Back and forth, letting himself salivate, getting Mickey so wet, he’s dripping.
As expected, with as much as Ian had fucked him last night, he’s a little loosened from it, a little softened. So Ian’s able to curl his tongue carefully and push his spit into him easily. Keeping it all so unbearably soft.
“Ah…hahhh, fuck…” Breathy, blissed out. “Said you weren’t gonna get in me,” Mickey manages to push out.
Smirking, Ian pulls back with a suctiony sound.
“Didn’t think this would count,” he retorts, and gets his mouth back on him.
There’s no argument from Mickey after that.
He does keep it soft, though. He wants it to feel good. He wants it to feel soothing on his tender skin. He doesn’t want him to ache, doesn’t want to worsen his soreness, doesn’t want him to hurt in any way.
He loves this. Just licking him like this, over and over. Upward licks, nice and measured. Then in soft swirls that push in, just the tiniest bit. Swirling, swirling, inside. Lapping at him wetly, getting spit dripping down his skin, dampened from Ian’s warm breath. All of it drawing the sweetest sounds from him.
Sealing his lips over him carefully, he sucks. Still so gentle. Mickey’s breath catches. Ian knows he loves when he does this for him. He loves this sensation. Sucking at his rim, wet kissing sounds from Ian’s lips, little moans from Mickey.
“Fuck, Ian…” Mickey sighs. “Fuck, that’s so good.”
Ian loves hearing that. He hums against Mickey’s skin. He keeps sucking, mindful, trying to keep it light.
Giving it to him like this is so good. Slow and thick and warm. Ian makes a meal of his husband, slipping wet lips up and giving his rim a moment of reprieve so he can mouth at his perineum. Pressing his tongue against him firmly here. Pressing, licking.
He lets his eyes travel along him from down here, gorgeous and lit up in the streaming sunlight, bathed in it. He’s so hard, and he watches as one of Mickey's hands takes hold of himself, squeezing, then stroking evenly, chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths. Ian’s hard too, unbearably so. But he holds off. Mickey’s going to get all of his attention first.
Slipping back down to his hole, he licks him thickly, then pulls back. His hands keep him spread. He’s gotten Mickey so wet here. He can feel it on his chin, too. His rim is so pink. It looks so slick.
Fingers continuing to keep him pried open, he lets one touch him carefully, right in the center and then down over the muscle. Mickey’s reaction has Ian’s vision going blurry, the way he gasps, the way his hole clenches. Ian touches him again, just a fingertip. In, not even a millimeter, then pressing lightly on his rim as he pulls out, rubbing.
Mickey’s moaning above him, Oh, fuck, fuck, gaspy and deep and it’s got Ian’s cock pulsing, his stomach flipping. All of this, it’s too enticing. His cheeks must be so red, they feel so hot. He’s breathing so heavy through his nose and he’s sweating and he’s never been more determined to keep his focus. To keep it up.
He fits his fingertip inside again, just that tiny bit. Just barely there. Because he told him he wouldn’t get in him, but god, he has to touch him here. Mickey keeps stroking himself and moaning. Ian keeps panting. And he moves his fingertip, just barely. The tightest circle. He watches the almost undetectable pull of the tender muscle. He’s barely inside him, so he slips out and over his wet skin. Fits his finger back in place. Does it again. Barely moving, barely even touching him there, but driving them both out of their heads, just letting Mickey know he’s there, he’s feeling him and he’s watching him.
He licks him again, getting him wetter, dragging the flat of his tongue over him. He hears Mickey hiss between his teeth. Then he lets that fingertip draw a slow circle. So fucking slow. Around his hole, not quite on it. Not touching the furled skin. Like he’s outlining it. He watches.
“Ian, oh my god,” Mickey draws it out. “Ohh, god.” He sounds so good.
And he looks so good. This is so hot, making Ian lightheaded to watch. Playing with his softened hole, like the gentlest massage, hardly giving him anything but still driving him higher and higher.
He slips his finger aside so he can spit on him.
He gets to see Mickey’s reaction, the way his hole clenches tightly, the way his legs jerk and his toes curl. But then in an instant he’s on him again, working his tongue into him and keeping it there, fucking him, eating him and eating him and salivating like he’s never tasted anything better. Ian wants him to cum like this.
“Ahh, fuck, fuck, yes…”
Fuck, yes.
He tries to keep it so soft and thick and careful like he has been the whole time, sealing his lips over him and swirling his tongue into him intently, trying so hard not to dive in too deep. It sounds so fucking wet. Little sounds of suction where his tongue is in his hole, slick lips slipping and kissing him. Ian’s so hard, the rush of it down between his legs leaving him dizzy.
He feels Mickey clench around him. He fucking loves that. God, he must be close.
He keeps it up. Giving Mickey everything. Fucking him so attentively. Eating him and indulging in him.
And it just takes another minute. Mickey’s gasping so loud. His legs twitch. Ian changes nothing, keeps giving him what feels good. What tastes so good to him. Mickey’s tightly stroking just the head of his cock, so fucking close. Ian wants to feel him cum on his tongue.
Mickey gasps, and gasps. He freezes. Ian moans against him.
He cums with his whole body, his rim tightening rhythmically around Ian’s tongue with every wave of his orgasm, making choked off little sounds. Close as he is to him, Ian’s nose is pressed against Mickey’s perineum and he even feels it there, the pulsing and the rushing under his skin, and it’s insane, his favorite thing, knowing everything that’s happening inside him, how good he’s feeling right now as he spasms through it, trying to curl in on himself.
Ian keeps his tongue in him as he sighs through the ending of it, stilling himself and just being there. Letting Mickey come down nice and slow.
He finally slips out as the pulsing slows to an end. He admires him for a moment, stroking and squeezing his cheeks, watching his hole flutter in aftershocks. Shit, he’s gotta get a hand on himself.
He has to stand up carefully with how lightheaded he is, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. He positions himself between Mickey’s legs, and holy shit is he beautiful. Hands fallen aside, robe slipped off his shoulders, head tilted back. Knees up, toes pointed and curled. Sunlight cast over his body, splattered in cum and rising and falling with heavy breaths. Glowing.
Ian shoves his sweatpants and boxers down his hips and pulls his cock out. He brings himself close. Mickey lifts his head up to watch, and he looks a little out of it. But he focuses between Ian’s legs. And Ian’s stomach swoops.
He spits into his palm. He’s so hard, it nearly hurts when he first gets a hand around himself. But then it’s just bliss. Mickey spread out like this for him, melted down after he’s made him feel so good, is a hell of a visual aid. His blood is simmering so hot. He jacks himself at lightning speed, and it doesn’t take much. He knew it wouldn’t.
“Fuck, Mickey, so hot. So fucking hot,” he pants. “Gonna cum…”
Mickey watches closely. Eyes glazed over.
Ian gazes down at Mickey’s softened cock. The way the cum on his stomach has run down along his waist. Thinks about how he got him there, making him feel so good with his mouth, eating him on the table. Spreading him out in their kitchen. Because they can do whatever they want here. Because it’s theirs. He’s going to fuck him on every surface here.
He reaches out, getting a hand around Mickey’s shoulder, right at the juncture of his neck, just wanting to feel his warm, smooth skin illuminated in the morning light, gripping him. Mickey sighs at the contact and lets his head fall back again, and Ian has to fucking do it. It’s right there for him. So he wraps a hand around his neck, just to hold him, just to touch it. He strokes him with his thumb, applying as little pressure as possible. He’s so warm. He’s so fucking sexy.
Ian feels it coming on, tightening in his body, little pulses of it zinging through him. He holds his cock so close to Mickey’s, right over him. Wants it all to land all over him.
Fuck, it does. Ian’s orgasm hits him hard, and it lands on Mickey’s stomach, mixes with what’s there already and runs along his body. He groans at the sight of it, slipping his hand down from Mickey’s neck to his chest, digging his fingers in desperately, and Mickey lifts his head to watch as Ian shoots onto him. It pulses and pulses, hot, throbbing, so fucking good. His vision blurs but he keeps taking it in, drinking in the sight of Mickey sprawled across the table for him to cum all over, gasping.
It slows. The warmth in him eases back, stops coming in thunderous flashes between his legs. He starts catching his breath.
Deep breaths. Eyes closed. Easing, easing.
They both take a moment.
Ian opens his eyes again when Mickey carefully sits up, wincing and groaning.
“Shit, are you okay? Did I do something-”
“No, just…got my robe all wet.” Mickey makes a disgusted face and shrugs himself out of the sleeves before sliding off the table onto wobbly legs, grabbing a handful of paper towels off the counter and wiping up his torso. Ian resists telling him that he shouldn’t have gotten up, it made it drip all over him. He could’ve helped him.
“Oh…huh.” Ian says. “Robe’s seen worse, at least.” It has, and it will again, he’s sure.
Mickey balls it up and heads out of the kitchen with it in his hands. “Back in a sec. Pour me a cup, will ya?”
Ian helplessly watches his ass until he disappears around the corner.
And then he pulls his pants back up, because he’s just been standing there with them around his thighs.
And yes, the coffee’s ready. He doesn’t remember hearing it beep to signal its end, but he was a little distracted.
Dazed, he washes his hands. He fills two mugs with coffee and brings them back over to the table. He sets them down, and he sits, waiting for Mickey to make his return. He rests his forearms on the table, both hands wrapped around his mug.
The table is warm from Mickey’s body heat.
He’ll rein it in, he figures. Time will pass and just being in his house with his husband won’t always set his blood on fire the way it has the past couple of days. Someday, he’ll be able to see Mickey doing the simplest things around the house without feeling like he has to be all over him. Someday.
He lifts his head when he hears Mickey reenter the kitchen. Wearing - fuck - one of Ian’s pullover hoodies, skimming the tops of his naked thighs.
He’s not gonna get on him yet, they both need a break. His head’s still spinning, his knees are still weak.
He just knows that someday isn’t today.
Notes:
Hope you enjoyed! Comments are always treasured and appreciated.
Chapter 3: waiting in the light
Summary:
Prompts: Edging, bondage, gags, praise, sex toys.
It’s just that Ian’s brought him to the edge so many times, it’s like he can’t come back from it anymore. He’s just balanced there now, and there’s nothing he can take that won’t send him hurtling headfirst into an orgasm that he knows is going to be earthshattering.
Notes:
Relevant tags: Bondage, gags, edging, praise, toys, subspace, Dominant Ian, Submissive Mickey.
Title from "Other Language" by Deafheaven, because their lyrics always make me ache in the best way.
Chapter Text
The light’s changed. It wasn’t such an orangey glow before, when he wasn’t held down. When he could still speak. When Ian had just set in on unraveling him. The morning’s slipped past and into afternoon, and it’s getting more golden. He experiences it like a weight on him. Settled over him as part of the atmosphere, dense and palpable and soft.
He’s deep under, deep in it. Ian’s been focusing on his lower half, all his attention and his touch between Mickey’s thighs. His voice wrapping around him, his hands working in focused sweeps. So it feels so strange and confusing when Ian leans over him and fusses around with his hand, trying to get him to close his fingers around something.
He looks up to see what he’s doing. His vision is blurred with tears and a little obstructed by the harness strapped over his face, but he can still see this. Right, yes, there’s something around his wrist, dangling there alongside the cuff that’s got him fastened to the headboard. And Ian, leaning over him and looking perfect and gorgeous dressed just in his underwear, is trying to get him to hold onto it, curling his fingers. His clicker. Because he can’t use his mouth right now for anything other than drooling and making his muffled little sounds. So he needs to be able to click, just in case.
Mickey understands, and he tries to hold it. He curls his fingers around it for Ian, but he knows that it’s just going to slip out again when he inevitably starts losing track.
Ian settles back into place, kneeling before him and stroking the backs of his legs.
A part of him that’s easily accessible with the way that his legs are pulled back, fixed to the headboard, held sure and safe in soft padded leather, worn from use. Restrained with short lengths of chain. His wrists are there, too, pulled back and held him place. It’s a position that folds him in half, the pillow under his hips taking the weight off and letting him relax.
He’s not sure how long he’s been cuffed to the headboard. He’s happy like this, still quite comfortable in this position. The muscles in his legs aren’t trembling. The plug’s been in him for longer, since before they even got started, before Ian laid him down and started teasing him for this familiar game. Started drawing it out and stopping short, making him whine and wail.
There’s lube all over him. Ian keeps drizzling it over him before he slips the little bullet vibrator just under the head of his cock and circles it there, teasing him maddeningly. It’s one of those tiny ones that fastens to your finger, so it’s like Ian is just touching him with his hand because he doesn’t have to hold anything. Just stroking and stroking, swirling his finger along his slick hardness. Teasing him, fucking killing him.
There’s another vibrator on the bed that Ian hasn’t used it on him yet. It’s bigger. Ian took it out of the drawer and placed it nearby when Mickey was still unrestrained, in the midst of his whining and bouts of thrashing each time Ian stopped and pulled away. He placed it there like it was supposed to be a threat, looking at Mickey pointedly, eyebrows raised. He hasn’t used it on him yet.
He’d gagged him before he restrained him. A red ball that he fit into his mouth, held in place with the face harness buckled at the back of his head. He loves this thing. The light pressure of it around his head and the way it keeps his jaw open and shuts his brain off is always so dreamy.
Ian had left him like that for a few minutes, lying with his gag, like a reset. Letting him calm down, letting him gather himself. He didn’t touch him, he just talked to him. Soft words about how good he is, that he knows he can be even better, knows he can stop whining and lie still and take it. He knows he can do it. God, it’s got Mickey close to tears. Because he hasn’t been good, and Ian’s saying it anyway.
He’s being better now. Because Ian helped him. He has all these things assisting him. His limbs held in place. His mouth stuffed full. All done under the guise of it being a punishment, but they both know better.
Surrounded by his delirious fog, he sighs through his nose at the fingertips dragging along the backs of his thighs. The vibrator’s been slipped off Ian’s finger and set aside, he can tell. He feels all of Ian’s fingers, there’s no vibrating.
He startles when there’s a tapping inside him from Ian drumming his fingers on the base of his plug. It makes him squirm.
“Gonna switch this out,” Ian tells him simply. He grips the base and turns it inside of him, fingers slipping against Mickey’s skin, one direction and then the other. There’s way too much heat in him down there, that feels way too fucking good. “You can handle that, right? Right, baby? Gonna stay still for that?”
Yes. But, no. Fuck, he’s going to try. His limbs may be strapped back, but his hips are free, and that’s been posing a problem for him.
He nods.
“Course you are,” Ian says, like he just knows. And then there’s pressure as Ian starts working it out.
It’s big, even by Mickey’s standards. Getting this one in is never easy, getting it out sometimes just as difficult. His wrists tug helplessly on his cuffs on instinct, whimpering as he feels himself getting stretched and stretched as Ian tries to ease it out carefully. He’s mindful of his hips, trying to keep them still, trying not to wiggle or pull away.
The stretch burns so bad, though. He’s flinching, panting, his toes curling hard. He’s been hard forever and the pain of this has his erection flagging. There’s still that instinct to writhe, to pull away, but if he does…fuck, it’s just going to hurt more. The thought makes it easier to rein himself in and stay steady, his self-preservation instincts clinging on by a thread.
“Hold on, I gotcha…” Ian trails off. He stops tugging, pushing the plug back in, making Mickey gasp, the shifting pressure of it such a perfect burning pleasure.
“Ah. Easy.”
Then pulling again. Careful. So careful, but it hurts. He freezes.
“Bein’ real good,” Ian says. “Look at you.” Mickey’s tensed up, breathing harshly through the burn of it. “Staying nice and still. Relax a little, come on, baby.”
He thinks about relaxing, the concept of it floating around abstractly in his mind, the idea of letting his body take it and be a little looser, and through everything he recognizes that it’s an impossibility right now. But it’s okay. It’s getting so close, he can feel it. His body’s resistance is giving up, and it’s going to finally come out, and it fucking hurts. He wants it out, he wants this over. He wills it to happen.
“Yeah…” Ian sighs. “Almost there, baby.” Mickey can’t stop making little sounds, repetitive, drawn-out mmmm over and over, vision blurred but he can see how Ian’s watching him, how much enjoyment he’s getting out of doing this to him. And he can feel it, he knows, Ian could do this to him forever and not get tired of it.
And then finally the plug is out, and Mickey’s letting out a muffled cry and panting as it happens, clenching and releasing his fists, miraculously still holding his clicker, trying not to shift his hips, tossing his head back.
“Okay, I gotcha,” Ian says in a soothing tone, babying. “That thing’s a lot, huh? Did so good with it.” Christ, he feels empty. Yes, that thing is a lot, and it’s not in him anymore and he’s incomplete and aching with the sense of loss and…
The other vibrator is in Ian’s hand now, slicking it up. He’s getting it ready to put it in him. His head spins. The room spins.
“Think this one’s gonna feel nice,” Ian tells him, and Mickey already knows this one’s not good for this game. Ian’s right, this one is going to feel nice. Mickey knows from experience. How easily it always makes him cum. Surely, that’s exactly why Ian selected it.
A huge, thick massager of soft black silicone, with a bit that hooks over his perineum to keep it in place and push on him from the outside. Curved beautifully. And with a head that rotates inside him when switched on. Pushes so good. Right against his prostate.
He’s too worked up for this. It’s all been drawn out too long. He’s not going to be able to keep it all in when that’s in him. Ian must know it.
“Gonna have to be careful with this thing,” Ian says, like he’s contemplating. And then he fits it against Mickey’s hole. His head falls back at the contact, at the notion that it’s about to be in him. “Can’t turn it on right away, I know you.” Yeah, fuck, knows him so well. “You’d fucking explode, right? Just gonna…” He slips the head in. Keeps pushing. And god, it goes in so fucking easy. One long push. Mickey moans, and moans, and christ, he keeps moaning, feeling it filling him and filling him, taking up space where the plug was pulled out and pressing inside him so nicely. “Gonna…just, yeah, leave it. Just like that.”
It's fitted in place, pressed right against his prostate.
Ian pushes it. He rocks it inside him.
“Mmf!” Muffled shouts pour out of him. He kicks his legs uselessly, his restraints jostling against the slats of the headboard, and Ian laughs darkly, a sound Mickey’s heard so many times already today. It’s just that Ian pushed it so firmly against his spot, shifting his insides, and he can’t fucking do that, he can’t… It all floods down between his legs, his cock getting back to full hardness so dizzyingly fast, it’s got him feeling faint.
“Easy, easy. Okay, baby, it’s okay.” He’s chuckling. He’s getting the little bullet on his finger again. “Gonna go back to this, gonna keep it nice and easy for ya.” And Mickey’s going to cry. This isn’t easy for him, it’s not fucking easy at all and why won’t Ian just let him cum, please…
The shock of it touching his cock again has him spasming and shouting. He can’t fucking do this anymore, it’s been way too fucking long, there’s too much building up.
There’s so much precum on his stomach, it’s been leaking out steadily, dripping all over him and mixing with the lube that’s there, what’s still wet on his skin, what’s dried and made him tacky. He’s so wet and hot and sticky and slick from all the pleasure, from all that Ian’s been doing to him. And the fucking vibrator slips over him so easily because of it. Little flicks back and forth, his cock surging against it, meeting it, begging for more when he knows it’s all just a tool of Ian’s torment. He’s just going to pull it away any second now. When he’s about to blow.
Ian builds him back up. He gets him there in moments. It feels so fucking good and he hates it, the throbbing heat of it, knowing it’s just going to be used against him.
He could click. He knows he’s not going to. He wants to be good too badly. He wants to see it through. He wants to know what’s going to happen. He wants to take it. He wants to feel it.
He positively wails around his gag when Ian pulls his hand away.
“Mhm. I know it’s hard. Just a few more, you got it, baby. You got it.”
And Mickey’s stuck there, right at the edge while Ian gives him a moment. Trying to pull himself back, fuck, he’s trying. He’s trying. Like it’s still on the verge of coming out anyway.
Deep breaths through his nose.
The weight of the fog on him. The weight of his body on the bed. Easy, easy. Like Ian says.
He pulls it back. He settles down.
“There ya go,” Ian says sweetly, so proud of him. He barely has a moment to let the words work him up like they always do.
Because it’s back on his cock a moment later. Circling, circling. Buzzing. He tenses up, he tries to hold it in.
He shakes his head wildly as he feels it barreling into him again. Pulsing heat.
“That was a fast one, huh?” Ian teases him as he pulls his hand away.
It was so fucking fast, holy shit. Too worked up. He said only a few more, right? Just a few more times? Fuck, he has to let him cum soon, he has to.
Instead, he decides to make it worse.
“Wanna turn this on.” Ian taps the base of the toy inside him and Mickey jerks at the sensation it creates inside him. “But I’m not sure what would happen. If you could do it.”
Oh. He can’t fucking say that.
“Could you do it, baby?” Ian asks.
He nods, unsure as he’s ever been, driven purely by the desire to try, to prove that he can and that he’s good. Ian said it knowing it’ll just make him try, and yeah, it worked, he’s going to try so hard.
Of course it was the right answer, and of course Ian looks so proud and pleased, and for a moment that’s all he needs. But then Ian flicks it on.
Mickey clenches his fists. He curls his toes. He stiffens all of himself.
Because when it turns on, and it starts buzzing subtly, and the head starts moving, pressing, rotating, there’s that hot wave of throbbing bliss inside him. Goddamn, his orgasm is right fucking there, but if he can just hold still and concentrate-
No. He shakes his head frantically. He spits out garbled sounds. He can’t do it, he can’t hold on. Ian’s quick to switch it off.
His pleasure burns low and heavy inside him, pumping in his veins and making him dizzy, and he’s shocked he doesn’t cum. He doesn’t know how he holds it in.
“Can’t do it, huh?” Ian says, and it’s the first time he’s sounded disappointed so far, and Mickey hates it.
It’s just that Ian’s brought him to the edge so many times, it’s like he can’t come back from it anymore. He’s just balanced there now, and there’s nothing he can take that won’t send him hurtling headfirst into an orgasm that he knows is going to be earthshattering.
Mickey writhes and he whimpers, still trying to pull himself back, knowing he sounds pathetic, knowing how Ian’s looking at him. But he’s got his eyes squeezed shut tight so he doesn’t see. He’s simultaneously restless and exhausted, heavy and leaden but his nerves are alight like a livewire, and he wonders if he’s close to the end yet. Ian had said just a few more. How much more is he going to make him take? His body doesn’t know what to do with this, all this sensation, all this denial. It’s been…fuck, surely it’s been hours.
Ian hasn’t touched him or said anything else. Mickey’s just been squirming, panting, untouched. Eyes closed. It’s been a minute, maybe. He’s settling down. His head feels so heavy. His legs are starting to feel strained.
He opens his eyes. He doesn’t expect Ian to be looking at him with such kind softness.
“Thank you for trying so hard, baby,” he says, and there’s the rush of tears again. He knows already, what a sensitive state he’s in, but his reaction reassures it for him, the way those words have him squeezing his eyes shut all over again, tears spilling. It floods him, the love behind the sentiment, the devotion he sees reflecting in his eyes, the admiration he can hear in his voice. It’s so all-encompassing, and it’s part of it, integral to his pleasure right now, building him up and cushioning him in all this care, and he feels suspended in it, held.
“Ready to finish?” The sweetest voice.
Mickey opens his eyes again. He lets the tears continue to fall. He whimpers, and he hardly nods. It’s the best he can do.
“Okay.” Still so sweet. “Got both for ya, okay? You want that?” The vibrator on his cock, and the massager in his ass. He nods again, because yes, fuck, god, the two of them together…
“Kay. You can cum.”
Ian’s smiling when he switches on the massager, like he’s excited to see how it plays out. And it already feels so good, has Mickey there in a fucking second, but then Ian’s touching the vibrator to the head of his painfully hard cock, and he lets go, and it all rushes through him like it’s trying to fucking kill him.
Sometimes, when Mickey has been on the edge for this long, he teeters there for an infinity when Ian finally lets him finish. Like his body doesn’t realize that it’s finally time, that it’s allowed to happen and to finally come bursting out in that relieving release, and he stays tensed for seconds that agonizingly stretch on forever before it finally starts happening.
That doesn’t happen this time.
Instead it plows into him in a mere instant, the immediate pulsing hitting him so powerfully it’s like he’s momentarily blinded by it, his vision whiting out in a flash.
The massager inside him pushes against his prostate. Ian covers his entire cock with his hand, and he shoots between his fingers.
The gag hardly does anything to muffle the way he shouts.
He’s not holding the clicker anymore. It’s dangling from his wrist while he clenches his hands, while his legs spasm, while his hips buck.
He shoots far. It lands on his neck. It hits the strap of leather that’s under his chin. It gathers in the hollow of his throat.
That peculiar feeling of floating while simultaneously being weighed down so heavily is one he’s intimately familiar with, one he’s been experiencing this entire time. But now, as he pulses and pulses rhythmically, as his ass keeps clenching, as his orgasm floods out of him so hard he could pass out from it, it’s just perfect, settled, heaviness. Aware of every cell of himself, the glowing warmth inside, euphoric as he pulls the cuffs. As he sinks his teeth into his gag. As his tears fall uncontrollably. Pulsing and pulsing and pulsing.
He can hear Ian’s voice when the ringing in his ears starts to subside. He can hardly make out what he’s saying, but it’s praise. It’s so loving. Tears keep falling.
Ian works quickly. Toys off, slipped away, slipped out of him. One leg released, then the other. Feet carefully lowered onto the mattress. Blood rushing. Wrists released, hands lowered. More blood rushing.
Mickey’s haze is so thick over him, so all-encompassing, he couldn’t say how Ian got him wiped clean, how he got his gag off. He just knows that now he’s lying here, naked and nothing else, still suspended in that soft feeling of care Ian’s been draping over him and cradling him with, and he’s beside him and whispering to him, and Mickey needs more of it.
A trembling hand on Ian’s shoulder, he pulls until he gets the hint and settles his body over him. Yes. This is what he needs. The weight. Grounding. Arms tucking under him and holding him. His nose against Ian’s shoulder.
His head is turned towards the window. The light is still a warm glow, mirroring himself and all he felt, flooding their bedroom, and it’s so nice. It’s so comforting.
His tears have stopped falling. He’s got Ian on him, pressing him into their bed, loving him as hard as he can, holding him so tight, he can’t imagine not carrying it with him wherever he may be.
He closes his eyes. The light keeps glowing.
Chapter 4: run away together
Summary:
Prompts: Deepthroat, 69
It’s better than Ian’s initial suggestion, which was booking a fucking bed and breakfast. They’d take an extra day off and get out of the city, and they’d spend it in the woods, for some goddamn reason. And they’d breathe fresh air and disconnect from their phones and see the stars at night. And as it turns out, it’s actually pretty nice.
Notes:
There's a pitching tents joke in here somewhere.
Relevant tags: camping, sharing clothes, oral sex, anal fingering, deepthroat, 69.
Chapter Text
For all his complaining earlier, the stargazing’s not so bad. He’s always kind of been into that, anyway.
Sleeping outside is whatever, but it’s better that Ian’s initial suggestion, which was booking a fucking bed and breakfast, the thought of which had Mickey bitching about murder-suicide situations, and Ian would apparently rather not leave that much of a mess for housekeeping.
So they compromised. They’d take an extra day off and still get out of the city, and they’d spend it in the woods, for some goddamn reason. And they’d get to breathe fresh air and disconnect from their phones and see the stars at night. And as it turns out, it’s actually pretty nice.
They’d planned ahead and got the couple of guys on their payroll to handle Friday on their own, so they could take more than just Saturday and Sunday off. Ian bought a tent, which Mickey thinks is insane because isn’t there a way they can just rent those? He stocked up on other supplies Mickey never would’ve even thought of, packed a cooler of food and drinks, and then they drove north for a couple of hours.
It’s their first night, and with the weather just starting to turn cool as fall fully rears its head, Mickey finds himself quite at peace sitting beside a dying fire and wrapped up in his husband’s flannel to combat the chill. The clear sky is wild, and he’s gazing up in awe.
The day had been surprisingly nice. The weather was gorgeous, the hike to their spot was pretty short with minimal bitching, and then they had to pitch the tent, and yeah it was low-hanging fruit, but it was still a process which called for constant jokes.
Mickey watched Ian build a fire using whatever skills he must’ve picked up in his past life as an ROTC nerd. It was hot as fuck, and it was a revelation that seeing Ian in this environment could turn him on so much. He’s acting like he really knows what he’s doing, and it’s got Mickey wondering why he ever thought this would be a bad idea. He’s having a great time watching Ian hang out in the woods, all big and manly and looking like a lumberjack with the stubble he’s got coming in lately. Fuck, he’s hot. It’s astonishing that they’ve been here as many hours as they have and Mickey hasn’t climbed him like a goddamn tree yet.
But it’s getting late. They’ll probably be going to bed any minute. How breathable are tents, Mickey wonders? It’s cool out, but is it going to get disgusting and stuffy in there with all the heavy breathing and sweat?
“Getting tired?” Ian asks, stepping in from the tree line, coming back from wherever he wandered off to take a leak.
And Mickey’s not, really. Late as it is, he’s kind of energized with the cool air and the stars and the gigantic pale moon and, admittedly, his desire to fuck out here.
Maybe they could just do it out here. Like near the fire, outside the tent. It feels like the kind of romantic shit Ian could be into, fucking under the stars next to a campfire he built.
“Nah, not really,” he admits. He stands up from the stump he’d been sitting on and stretches. “Thinkin’ of pulling one of those sleeping bags out here, though.”
Ian scrunches his eyebrows. “Like out of the tent? Why-”
Mickey fixes him with a look.
“Oh. Ohh,” Ian says, catching on. “Could just do that in the tent, though.”
That’s fair, of course.
“But I mean…” Mickey trails off.
And then he pointedly looks up. He feels a little silly doing it.
But then Ian looks up, too.
“Wow,” he breathes. And Mickey knows he got him.
So Mickey goes to the tent and starts pulling out one of their new fancy, flannel-lined sleeping bags. He unzips it all the way and lays it open like a big, soft blanket, making himself comfortable and taking his boots off. He sits with his legs crossed, and Ian does the same, sitting across from him.
“You like it out here, huh?” Ian asks.
Mickey looks around. It’s just a nice change of pace, he thinks. A change of scenery. It smells good. Ian looks good here. He bitched a lot before they got here, but he knows Ian noticed that once they got settled in, he was quiet. All his complaints dissolved away. He’s enjoying this. Like it’s fulfilling whatever escapism he sought and fantasized about when he was younger, but he doesn’t have to run away from his life to get it. They can just have this, whenever.
“Guess so,” he admits.
They’re sitting so close to each other, facing each other, knees touching, and Mickey can see the tiny reflection of the dying fire’s flickering flames and embers in Ian’s eyes. It makes him want to kiss him.
So he does, so soft.
Ian smells like the fire. But he tastes like himself when Mickey slips his tongue between his lips.
Ian pulls him closer, close as he can with the way they’re sitting. His fingers weave into his hair. And Mickey finds himself tilting.
He uncrosses his legs as Ian guides him to lie back, spreading them for him to get between. The weight of Ian falling over him while he lies against the earth is so nice. He always feels so grounding.
He cradles Ian’s face. The campfire is in his hair and his clothes, it’s reflecting in his eyes and making the side of his face glow in orange. How beautiful. He’s perfect here. He should get to be here always.
It’s a deep and languid kiss that Ian sweeps him up into, tongues meeting right away, pressing together as close as they can. Mickey breathes him in and it’s earthy and smoky and musky and delicious, pressing his hands to his ass and pushing himself up against him. He’s getting hard already, little beats of pleasure thumping through him down where he’s got Ian between his legs.
It’s chilly, he doesn’t want to get naked. His husband always runs hot, though. He’d fuck outside naked if it was 30 degrees out and he’d keep Mickey warm with his body heat all the while. So he’s not surprised when Ian sits up to pull off his sweatshirt and his t-shirt together.
Shit, he looks so good.
“You look cute,” Ian says. He strokes a hand over Mickey’s stomach tenderly. “All outdoorsy. In my stuff.”
“Always callin’ me cute and shit,” Mickey scoffs, resisting an eye-roll.
“Can’t help it. I like when you wear my clothes. Turns me on.”
He knows Ian goes crazy for it, and he likes it just as much. It really is such a turn-on, being wrapped up in something that belongs to Ian. He’s wearing Ian’s flannel right now, the dark blue one, but he’s also wearing his henley underneath. Hell, he might be wearing his underwear right now, too, who the fuck knows. He should get him to take his pants off and find out.
“Ya gonna do something about it?”
Ian looks at him fondly. “Suppose so.”
Mickey huffs a laugh. Sweet dork.
But then Ian’s reaching for his pants and unbuttoning them, and Mickey’s breath is catching.
He lets Ian get his pants off - and yes, it was indeed Ian’s underwear he’d been wearing - but he keeps his shirts on. He keeps his socks on, too. He imagines that if he were with anyone else besides Ian, he’d maybe feel a little silly about this state of dress. But with Ian he just feels cozy.
Ian gets naked, predictably. And it makes Mickey feel a little insane, honestly, the fact that this is the first time he’s being with him like this, seeing him like this, lit up just by the dying fire, looking at him against the backdrop of the glittering sky here in the woods, breathing this kind of air.
The heat around his cock as Ian leans down and takes him into his mouth only amplifies how chilly he feels all over, goosebumps spreading. Ian’s mouth is so warm and soft. The leaves under the sleeping bag rustle as Mickey tilts his head back.
“Fuck,” he sighs. “Fuck, that’s so…” It’s so good, pleasure pooling there, flowing and pulsing and making his toes curl in his socks. Ian’s being careful with it, deliberate and steady bobs of his head, practiced swirls of his tongue, doing it just how Mickey likes.
He pulls back a bit to stroke him, and Mickey looks down to watch. And he can see how hard Ian is, can see how his cock is all full and red and so goddamn tempting.
“Come here,” he urges.
Ian sits up further. “How do you-”
“Come here and turn around. Wanna suck you.”
It earns him a delightfully dirty smirk before Ian starts getting into place.
Mickey tilts his head back. He opens his mouth for it.
Ian lowers his hips. Mickey gently guides his cock to his lips, and he sticks his tongue out.
He licks the tip. He kisses him slowly.
And then he urges him down, both hands on his ass. And finally, Ian’s cock is filling his mouth.
Fuck, it is perfect. The taste of him, the smell of him up close, the feeling of him gliding over his tongue when he starts pumping his hips shallowly, all of it is perfect. And then he takes Mickey back into his mouth, and it’s even better.
They don’t normally do it like this, if at all. It’s easier when they’re on their sides, facing each other, both of them with the same freedom of movement. Having someone on their back for this makes more sense to Mickey when the person on top is getting their ass eaten, and even then it’s still not his favorite. But right now he can’t imagine being anywhere else. His cock in Ian’s eager throat. Ian’s cock carefully pumping into his mouth. Lying back, enjoying the cool night air, warmed by Ian over him. It’s just nice.
He lets the bliss of this moment sweep him away for a bit, doing what he can with his mouth, enjoying Ian sucking him wetly and thoroughly. But he wants Ian deeper. All the way in his throat. He appreciates him being careful when Mickey’s lying down like this, but it’s kind of killing him, not getting more. He loves this cock. He wants as much of it in him as he can take.
He pushes Ian up for a moment so he can adjust the angle of his head. And then he pulls on Ian’s hips, sighing through his nose. Ian slips in, and Mickey keeps urging him down, and Ian gets it, pulling his mouth off of Mickey’s cock with a wet slurp and pushing deep into him.
“Fuck, Mickey,” he moans. “Oh, fuck…”
He pushes in. In, slow, careful. Mickey lets his throat be open for it. His airway is cut off. Fuck, he’s long, but he’s thick, too, and taking him in like this makes his jaw ache. He loves it.
Finally, he’s in. And he starts pumping in and out of Mickey’s throat, so fucking deep, mindful not to push too hard. And it’s glorious. It’s so perfect.
He doesn’t care that Ian’s stopped sucking his dick to fuck his face. This is so fucking fulfilling.
When he opens his eyes, it’s struck by the view, and it’s unreal to see, having Ian’s legs spread on either side of him, seeing the sky stretching out over them, a canopy of bright stars. The comforting white glow of the moon. What a beautiful fucking view for this.
Ian’s cock pumps over his tongue.
In, then back. Into his throat, then out. Ian pauses and lets him take a breath.
Mickey pulls him back in when he’s had his fill of air.
“So fucking good…”
Mickey moans, and it cuts out when Ian fills his throat. He does it repeatedly, makes his noises, because he can’t help it, he tastes so good. Feels good. Filling him up. Using his mouth.
Ian keeps going. He occasionally leans down to take Mickey into his mouth, and as good as it feels it just distracts from the pumping of his hips, and that’s what Mickey really wants right now. Fucking his throat with intention, making his mouth water, making the spit gather and leak from the corners of his mouth. Ian catches on. So he gives it to him. He fucks his face.
Mickey’s eyes are watering and glazing over, but they keep falling open as he takes Ian’s cock so he can take in the sky, endless and velvety and soothing.
Some people are made to feel small by the enormity and indifference of the stars. The more Mickey looks, though, the more he feels like they’re the only two people, the only thing that matters, the most significant thing. He might feel silly when he remembers this later, but in this moment his heart clenches. He lets his hands glide along Ian’s thighs. He digs his fingers in. Like he’s trying to convey everything, just with how he touches him and sucks him.
Ian doesn’t tell him he’s going to cum, but he doesn’t have to, Mickey knows it’s there. It’s right there with the hitching of his breath and the stuttering of his hips. Mickey breathes in sharply through his nose, ready for it, wanting it to flood him, wanting it in him.
Ian sucks in a breath, pulling back so he’s just in Mickey’s mouth, like he doesn’t want to shoot right into his throat. Mickey sucks him fervently, all that he can reach, messy and eager.
He moans brokenly when he cums, filling Mickey’s mouth and making his eyes squeeze shut. He takes it all into him, sucking it out of him, swallowing twice, reveling in Ian’s sweet sighs when he finishes. He holds him in his mouth until Ian slips out, carefully easing himself aside.
For a moment, while Ian is catching his breath and then arranging himself between Mickey’s open legs, Mickey is lying there on their sleeping bag, still hard as granite, his legs open, just having swallowed his husband’s cum, uncovered to the sky stretching out overhead, and he swears he can feel the earth spinning. It might be the lightheadedness. But it’s kind of wonderful.
He’s back in Ian’s mouth again, and there’s a finger wet with spit pushing into him carefully. He gasps with it, not expecting it, and then Ian’s crooking it and stroking in little circles. He sucks him perfectly. He rubs inside him gently. Mickey writhes and he moans and he keeps his eyes open, and he takes in the tree line starkly framing his view of the sky like something out of a dream.
Ian gets him to the edge quickly. He can feel it all rushing inside him, coming to a head, getting ready to spill out into the heat of Ian’s mouth, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut as he gasps, as he’s filled with that blissful warmth.
It hits him hard, that delicious pulsing, Ian coaxing it out of him with his wet mouth and his massaging finger, swallowing around him like he’s greedy for it, because he always is, and fuck, is that hot. It’s the hottest thing, and the end of it sweeps through him so hard and with such intensity he feels like he could implode.
Finally, when it’s over, Ian eases over him, and Mickey wraps him up, holding him close with his arms and his legs. His skin is so warm. Even when he’s been naked in the cool air as long as he has been, he’s warming Mickey up.
Ian kisses him deep, licking over his tongue thoroughly in a way that has Mickey’s belly swooping again. It’s so wet and so loving, and he can taste himself.
The fire’s dead beside them. They’ll smother out the remaining embers before they go to sleep. He feels so loose and comfortable, it’s making him so tired. They’ve got to take care of it soon.
“Mm, you really like it out here, huh?” Ian says to him as he starts drifting, his mouth just a breath away from Mickey’s, fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp gently and just making him more sleepy. He’d asked him this earlier. He probably just loves hearing it.
“Yeah,” Mickey says with a drowsy smile, because there’s not a part of him that wants to deny it. He wants them to have this. He wants Ian to know. He’s blissed out here.
“Good,” Ian says, and he kisses him softly, and Mickey knows they’ll be returning. There’s nothing they have to escape from anymore. But it is nice to have the option.
Chapter 5: feels like a dream
Summary:
That tomorrow is Saturday and they can sleep as much as they want doesn’t matter much to them. They’d do the same on a Tuesday night if it felt right, if it felt like that kind of time for connection.
Notes:
Prompt: Collars
Relevant Tags: Dominant Ian Gallagher, Submissive Mickey Milkovich, Daddy Kink, Possessiveness, Fingers in Mouth, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Gentle Dom Ian, Subspace, Intimacy, Post-Canon
If you’ve read ‘and I’m your warm receiver’ you know I wrote Ian giving Mickey a collar, and it gets rough in their frenzy. I’ve been wondering for a whole year what it would be like if they got to be softer with it. So yes, I’ve written another follow-up to that fic. You don’t have to read that in order to read this.
Chapter Text
Nights like this are a gift for these two people, freedom and space, time bending around them, sleeplessness something to be embraced. Stuck in a giddy cycle of chatting, dozing, not tired enough to get any deeper than that, one of them waking again and muttering something to the other, who is obviously also awake and blinking in the blackness, until eventually they give in and let the night be what it’s trying to be.
That tomorrow is Saturday and they can sleep in as much as they want doesn’t matter much to them. They’d do the same on a Tuesday night if it felt right, if it felt like that kind of time for connection.
It’s been hours of this now, talking and laughing, voices hushed in keeping with the atmosphere, this soft, dark cocoon of early morning. The sun’s not out yet. They’re lying in opposite directions, head to foot after so much restless shifting around, propped on elbows on rumpled sheets and facing each other, Ian stirring the hairs on Mickey’s leg with each swirling stroke of his fingertips.
They couldn’t tell you how the conversation turned to this, but it was bound to happen eventually. And then reminiscing about specific favorite moments turned to ideas and suggestions, and, their time and freedom eventually occurring to them, the sentiment why not was shared in the form of heavy, heated looks and shrugged shoulders.
The collar’s been sitting in a drawer almost entirely untouched for the better part of six months, only ever taken out a couple of times and put to work in frenzied, almost frantic moments of possessive claiming. But the way it’s come up tonight, there’s no way they can let it stay there. Not right now. Right now is its moment.
So Ian is navigating in the dark, eyes adjusted just enough after hours of being awake with the lights out. He still has to feel around inside the top drawer of the dresser, reaching in the back until he feels it. The way he holds it up in victorious excitement makes Mickey smile.
The darkness has been nice, but they want to see each other for this. It’s important. Ian turns on one of their dim bedside lamps, illuminating their bedroom just enough for them to see while keeping it nice and dark. Ian’s been sleeping naked, but Mickey has boxers and a tank top to take off. He strips them off unhurriedly as Ian seats himself at the edge of the bed, both of them moving slow like they’re afraid to disrupt the still air.
Ian beckons Mickey over to him, saying “Come here” in a gentle, even voice, placing the collar on the mattress beside himself. Drawn to his husband like the collar’s already around his neck, like Ian’s words tug some invisible leash, Mickey goes.
His hands drifting to Ian’s shoulders, Ian’s to his hips, Mickey straddles him, knees spread wide, bodies exchanging warmth between them. Ian’s shoulders are so firm under his fingers, his skin is so smooth. Mickey’s soft cock is pressed against Ian’s stomach, the coarse hair against him a familiar tickle.
Ian’s hands travel up and down Mickey’s back in a soothing gesture. His eyes glimmer, meeting Mickey’s own, smiling.
He’s gorgeous in this light. He always is, but in this dim room, at this moment, the hour so early that the sun’s yet to filter any rays through the gaps in those white curtains, yes, right now, he’s perfect. Naked and close and smiling almost sleepily. Hands on him. Mickey has to kiss him.
Anticipating it, Ian’s mouth is open when they meet. Wet and soft, they lick into each other. Ian tastes like nothing but himself, purely his husband, his tongue indulgently pressing against Mickey’s, and it all goes right to his cock, all the lovely, loving feelings Ian sends into him with his mouth.
The rush of arousal is just starting to get Mickey lightheaded when Ian manages to get his tongue into his mouth, his lips wrapped around it, and he sucks.
Hips press forward of their own accord, a gasp cutting through the wet noises of their kiss.
Those lips draw back, pulling slow, releasing, then coming in to do it again. Mickey leaves his mouth open for it, holding himself in place even as he feels himself melting from it, Ian’s hands on the back of his neck keeping him close. Ian repeats the motion, melting Mickey down further, a wet suck of his tongue, so gentle, a slow withdrawal and release.
It’s amazing. It makes him salivate like crazy.
Once more, and this time it draws an involuntary whimper out of Mickey. He can’t help it, he can’t believe how good it feels right now.
Ian draws back. Mickey tilts forward, still under whatever spell Ian’s just cast over him with his mouth and completely out of his head, driven by the pure need for whatever sensation Ian would like to deliver, lips seeking him. But Ian holds him back with gentle hands on his chest, scant inches between them still letting them exchange breath.
“Tell me why you want the collar,” Ian whispers, gaze flicking between Mickey’s eyes and parted lips.
That’s not fair, being all sexy and getting Mickey’s brain offline and then asking him stupid questions. Besides, Ian knows why. He’s known for some time, but they’ve even talked about it tonight already, with Mickey trying to be coy and sexy but ending up shyly trying to find the words to describe the fact that feeling owned by Ian is just one of his favorite feelings, that the physical presence of the collar on him settles him into those feelings in a significant way. He didn’t say it that way, he could never. There was a lot of communication just with his eyebrows, his expression, and then finally some muttered sentiments before a more clear declaration. He got it across. Ian understands.
Now, in his addled state, he keeps it simple, trying to keep it together and keep it sexy. “’Cause I wanna be yours,” he says, the truest thing in the world. His hands slip to the back of Ian’s neck, cradling. He’s smiling, some of that giddiness from hours ago finding its way back into his tone as he anticipates what’s next.
Ian likes that. He likes that a lot, Mickey knows. “Already are mine,” he reminds him, and, ah, just hearing that…fuck, it’s got him woozy, swaying in place. “Why do you want the collar?” he presses.
Mickey’s eyes are going heavy. But Ian’s gaze is prompting him to speak in a way that’s nearly physical. It’s like Mickey can feel it in him, pulling the words out.
He thinks for a moment.
“Like feeling it there. Feels fucking good.” It really, really does.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mm, yeah, like you’re touching me there.”
Oh, Ian looks so satisfied by that.
“You like when I touch your neck.”
Ian says it as a prelude to his touch, his hands sliding around Mickey’s body, and up. He gives it to him. He wraps around his neck. Moving slow. His hands are loose, but they reach all the way around, overlapping. Wrapped and stroking. Slipping, barely audible skin on skin. Feels so good. Mickey drifts around under Ian’s spell, same as those kisses had him. A dirty, dangerous touch, but so loving. He tilts his head for him, eyes falling shut.
“Love it,” he whispers.
“Want it?” Ian asks, voice rumbling so low. “Ready?”
Anxious for it now, Mickey nods slowly.
“Can you tell me with your words?” Ian asks gently, softly. Everything is staying so soft. Getting so comforting. Falling over him, holding him.
“Ahh…yeah,” Mickey sighs. “Want it on.”
“Gonna put it on you,” Ian tells him.
But he keeps stroking first. He pets his neck, all around. All around. Soft and sweeping, big hands covering, front to back. Thumbs stroking his throat. Mickey trembles. Anticipating pressure, but instead feeling the most delicate drag along his throat, admiring. God, it has his breath hitching. Ian makes him feel so good.
When Ian’s hands leave his skin, he opens his eyes. They fall on his husband, who’s looking at the collar now in his hands. And then up into Mickey’s eyes.
They watch each other as he puts it on him. How could they look away? The magnetism is unreal, something otherworldly. Something drawing them together as leather meets Mickey’s skin. As Ian works on binding him, bringing them closer to each other, keeping him under that spell.
Leather is slipped through the buckle.
Mickey’s breath catches softly.
Ian fastens it. Mickey’s body sways so, so slightly, shifting where he sits on Ian’s thighs, shifting his cock against his stomach the tiniest bit.
“Is this good?” Ian asks quietly.
“It’s perfect,” Mickey whispers. And it is, he couldn’t ask for better pressure. Safely loose, but tight enough to thrill him.
“Good.”
So good.
He sits in it for a moment, stays in this feeling, concentrating on it and appreciating it. It’s on him, wrapped around and buckled perfectly, because Ian put it on him. Because he’s Ian’s. It’s a fact he carries with him always, a feeling that buoys him when he needs it. But this kind of play, this physical reminder, right now makes this fact feel like a revelation, something sacred that he’s so, so privileged to experience. There’s nothing like it. No one else gets this. No one else has Ian. No one else belongs to Ian. Only he gets to feel this.
Mickey bites his lip, slumping slightly forward, bringing himself closer to Ian. Still that little bit of space between them, but needing to be closer. He breathes heavier, in and out through his nose. Drifting. Ian leaves him to his feelings for a moment. He strokes up and down his sides, trying to soothe.
But Ian wants to guide them along to what’s next. He wants to play.
There’s a shiny D-ring affixed to the front of the collar that’s been of particular interest to Ian before. He gently toys with it now, flicking it back and forth with a fingertip. Back and forth.
“Someday I’m gonna do it,” he starts. “I’m gonna get the leash on you and yank you around the apartment.” It pulls Mickey out of whatever reverie he’s caught in, but just barely. Ian’s words register. He’s said that to him before, but his voice wasn’t so sweet then. And he says sort of it like he’s joking, but Mickey understands that he’s serious, or is at least considering it. They do have a leash, came special with the collar. It’s always an option.
Ian doesn’t say anything else for a moment, like he’s giving Mickey time to imagine it. So he does. In his mind he sees hazy vignettes of himself being held close, held down, guided around, all by his neck. Oh, maybe affixed to the bedframe with it. Yes. All of that would be good for him. The collar being a symbol and a physical reminder, but also being a tool for their closeness and for Ian’s control. He thinks he’d like that. That would be perfect.
They’re quiet.
Hands sweep along Mickey’s body. Big and strong. A firm touch. Connecting. Mickey sways back a little, head tilting back, the collar pressing lightly into his throat as he does it. Glorious pressure.
Ian’s soft voice cuts in again.
“Do you remember what I want you to call me when you wear this?” he asks.
Of course Mickey remembers. It’s one of his favorite parts.
He finds Ian’s eyes.
“Course,” he whispers.
“What is it? Can you tell me what it is?”
Goddamn. Mickey’s eyelids slowly flutter closed. He swallows, taking a beat. He opens his eyes again. He wants to see him.
“Daddy,” he sighs, enjoying the satisfaction of watching Ian’s expression shift, watching that heat overtake him, knowing what it’s doing to him.
“That’s my baby,” Ian says, and fuck, Mickey swoons. It hits him so hard.
But it’s nothing compared to what happens next.
Strong arms wrap around him. He’s lifted and spun around. He doesn’t understand what’s happening until his back hits the mattress. It bounces under him, all the air leaving his lungs in a harsh whoosh.
It knocks him off his axis, gets his heart positively racing, immediately weakening his limbs. Ian does it like it’s nothing, and it makes Mickey’s stomach swoop so hard. This shit never fails to get Mickey so pliant, so softened into the bed, feeling how strong his husband is.
“Here, back up,” Ian murmurs, helping Mickey shift toward the head of the bed. He sinks back against his pillow, head propped up, instantly so relaxed.
“That’s it,” Ian says, hovering over him. “You look so good like this.”
Through all the weight in his limbs and in his mind, everything making his heart race, Mickey still manages to preen a little, smiling and stretching. He fucking loves Ian looking at him like this, like he’s drinking him in. His arms float up overhead, laying himself out for him.
“Yeah, that’s perfect,” Ian says. “Like this.” He takes Mickey’s hands, bringing them to the top edge of his pillow. “Hold on.” And Mickey happily grips the pillowcase loosely in his fingers, something to help him keep his hands in place for Ian.
Eyes rake over his body. He loves how this feels. Leaving himself open for Ian. Something for him to admire. His legs part automatically, slowly, responding to the way he can feel himself helplessly hardening further under Ian’s gaze, delicious heat between his legs.
Ian tracks the movement and looks to where Mickey’s spreading himself for him, his cock giving a little pulse as Ian watches. Fuck, it’s erotic, to just be here, to be watched and admired, naked for him, laid out on their bed. Mickey’s stomach clenches. His eyes drift shut. His breaths are growing heavy again, so he finds them, regulates them, in through his nose. Out through slightly parted lips.
He’s just lying here. Waiting. His cock twitches.
“Lovin’ this already, aren’t you, baby?” Ian whispers teasingly, and then brings a hand to Mickey’s thigh. He rubs softly, all along the inside, up so high. Mickey can’t help but spread himself out more. The desire to be touched is suddenly so, so urgent.
But Ian’s hand slides up. Both of them now, stroking across his stomach. Further up, kneading his chest. Air rushes out of him.
Pressure. He’s pushed down into the mattress. He moans. Shit, what…why did he like that so much? It felt so fucking good…
So much weight, just for an instant. Ian does it again, pushing him down, humming like he’s so pleased, so amused by Mickey’s reaction.
Mickey moans, again.
Hands slide up again, higher. Around his neck, touching the leather. Playing with the ring. He gasps as they wrap around him and tighten, holding him for a moment. The sensation washes through him like something cleansing.
Everything is already getting him going so good, has him slipped so far under, Ian coaxing him and melting him down into naked submission and getting his mind lain open. Already, he’s so fucked up.
“What’s your mouth hanging open for?” Ian asks sweetly, babying.
Mickey didn’t realize his mouth was open. And it’s not hanging open, not really. His lips are just parted, allowing his heavy breaths to rush out between them. Ian’s just playing it up.
“Gettin’ ready to have something in there?” Ian asks. “Is that what you want, baby?”
In his blissfully softened state, the power of persuasion here is quite potent. Because now Mickey wonders, and he thinks, oh. Yeah, maybe. Maybe that’s why his mouth is open. Because he wants something inside. Ian’s fingers, his cock. Anything. His husband in his mouth.
He drops it open a little further. He looks up into Ian’s eyes, pleading as much as he can with his expression, with the willingness of his mouth.
“Sweetheart,” Ian breathes. “That is what you want. That’s so good.” Ian’s so softened, too. Everything has reduced both of them down to this. It’s so nice.
A hand comes to Mickey’s jaw, lightly squeezing, holding him in place. “How’s this?” And then fingers slip inside.
He doesn’t dare try to close his mouth around those two fingers. Especially not with the way Ian’s holding him still with his other hand. But he does close his eyes. He does push his tongue out a little, letting it rest on his lower lip. He does moan. He’s embarrassed by how it sounds with his mouth hanging open and his tongue out. But Ian loves it so much, he knows.
“That’s it,” Ian encourages, indulgently sliding his fingers in and out, against his tongue. It all gets so wet so quickly with how this always makes him salivate. It feels so good, but he wants more. He wants to suck.
He resists the instinct. He just feels this. Just lets Ian do his thing. His fingers separate, stroking along the inside of his cheeks. They come to one side and hook slightly, pushing. Dragging. Then back along his tongue. Out to trace his upper lip. Then the tip of his tongue. So wet. Back inside.
Mickey breathes so hard, he’s getting dizzy. But he can’t help it. Can’t quite slow it down.
In and out. Ian continues. The hand on Mickey’s jaw moves up into his hair, holding gently. Mickey keeps his mouth open. He holds still. He doesn’t need Ian’s hand holding his face, he can do it himself, too. He wants to show him.
“Feels so nice,” Ian says admiringly. “Thinkin’ you need something else in there.” Yes, is he going to do it? Mickey wants him to do it so bad.
Ian touches so far back, almost into Mickey’s throat. It makes him gag, and he instinctively closes his lips around Ian as he swallows. But he corrects. He opens back up right away.
“Baby, you’re being so good,” Ian says, delighted. Mickey lights up with the praise and attention, glowing. There’s that little hitch of his breath. His fingers twist in the pillowcase.
Ian asks him, “Want more?”
Fingers withdraw from his mouth and circle his nipple. He gasps, feeling it tighten under Ian’s gentle touch, saliva quickly cooling on his skin. Eyes meet. Urgency barrels through Mickey so intensely. God, he’s so fucking hard now. He nods.
“Where’s that sweet little voice?” Ian teases.
Oh, fuck.
“You want more?” Ian asks again, giving Mickey a chance to get it right. And he does.
“Yes, Daddy.” Just a whisper.
“Mhm. I thought so.”
A finger is looped into the ring of Mickey’s collar. Ian gives it a little tug.
“Come here,” he says, a command in his gentlest voice.
Mickey happily goes. He sits up, lightheaded as ever, pushing himself up with his hands.
He moves slow, guided by his husband, and they get into place. Ian lies down and gets Mickey kneeling between his legs. Ian is hard as can be, his cock reaching up. Flushed. It must be so hot. Mickey wants that heat in his mouth.
He breathes, still so heavy, heavy.
Hands grabbing Mickey’s head, Ian urges him down.
Eagerly, blessedly, Mickey takes him into his mouth.
Ian is hot, so hot. So fucking hot in his mouth. He tastes so good. Mickey breathes deep through his nose, and he smells so good too. Bliss.
“Yeah, that’s what you wanted, huh, baby? Daddy’s cock in your mouth?” Ian teases. His hands slip from Mickey’s hair, and Mickey stills. Just holding Ian inside. “That’s all you ever want.”
The words hit him so hard. Like they reach deep inside him. Not to pull anything out, not to try to get him to answer. Just to be there for him, reminding him what he’s for. Ian. Ian’s cock.
He can’t answer like this. But yes, this is all he ever wants.
“Up and down, baby. Suck.”
Finally, Mickey takes what he needs.
But still he goes slow. It feels wrong to go any faster, time seeping through this night the way it has been. Halted and restrained. So he sucks Ian’s cock patiently, mindfully, and it makes it all the more indulgent. It makes him taste even better. So fucking heady, that clean musk, so specifically Ian.
He holds himself up with his hands on the mattress beside Ian’s hips. Ian didn’t say he could touch his cock with his hands. So when Ian falls from his mouth when he sucks on the tip too fervently, he dips his head and tilts it to take it back into his mouth. And there’s something about moving like that, tipping and tilting, using his tongue and his lips to guide Ian back inside, that feels almost embarrassing. A little humiliating.
It’s a revelation when that feeling gets his heart racing. Blood rushes in his ears. He moans, impossibly more eager.
This isn’t the time to analyze this. He’s just rolling with it, willingly along for the ride.
He doesn’t think he could get any harder.
A hand on the top of his head gets him to still his movements.
“Back up a little. Yeah, right there,” Ian instructs. He’s got a hand wrapped around his cock now.
Mickey holds himself up, but so close. So damn close to where Ian’s holding his cock aimed at Mickey’s mouth.
“Open. No, just a little. Yeah. Perfect, baby. You’re being so good.” It’s whispered. Mickey’s heart sings.
His eyes water as Ian proceeds with what comes next. As he holds Mickey’s head in place. As he traces the tip of his cock along his wet, plush upper lip, teasing his eager mouth. As he drags it down, along the tip of his tongue where it’s resting just behind his lower lip. His mouth is so wet. He blinks slowly. He drools a little, it dropping down somewhere near Ian’s balls. He can’t help it, not when he’s like this, when he’s got his mouth open and his brain empty and Ian’s cock right there.
Ian keeps going. Circles his wet mouth. Presses against him.
“Feels so soft…” Ian sighs. “So soft on…on my…” He trails off. He sounds so dreamy. Like he can’t believe what’s happening, somehow, despite being the one to guide it.
Mickey’s arms tremble. His mouth feels so empty now. The steady air seems to pulse around them in time with his pounding heartbeat. Ian gives him more of those slow, slick drags. Letting Mickey lick him, just a little bit. Dragging against his tongue. His lips.
He pulls Mickey closer. His cock slips aside. Mickey’s eyes drift shut, welcoming it.
Against his cheek. Wet from his mouth, and so hot. So hard. A drag against his face.
“Mine.” All breath, Mickey can barely hear it. But he does hear it. It makes him heavier, makes him harder somehow. Makes him more open, his mind and his mouth and all of him.
Ian pushes back inside, cupping Mickey’s chin, guiding his face, and Mickey takes him in, dipping low, getting him into his throat. It’s so easy for him now. Two hands settle on his head, fingers gripping his hair. And he sucks with everything he has.
Still going with that slow pace, though. He keeps this burning hot, indulgent, simmering rhythm. Keeps the air around him still and steady. Doesn’t want to disrupt. Wants to keep this atmosphere. Like it’s touching him all around, keeping him comforted.
“So good,” Ian sighs. “Oh, fuck, you’re doing so good, baby.”
And he wants to say Thank you, Daddy, but his mouth is so full and he’s so busy trying to make Ian feel good. So he shows his gratitude with his little sounds, cut-off moans in the back of his throat, with the way he pauses to savor the shape and the taste in his mouth, letting his tongue press and swirl with intention against Ian’s hardness.
He’s getting deeper in, somehow. Maybe it’s the hour and his drowsiness is finally hitting him, but the way he’s floating ever deeper is making it harder and harder to keep this up. Like sinking so deep in his own body and his feelings in a way that makes it harder to move.
The satisfaction he gets from this helps him to keep going. It’s just that it’s one of his favorite things. Having Ian in his mouth like this. Pushing him into his throat. Listening to his low, rough sounds. Gagging on him. Tears spilling over cheeks that he knows are so flushed. Taking him at his own pace.
“Wanna fuck you,” Ian eventually breathes. Fingers rake through Mickey’s hair, stilling him.
Ian carefully pushes him back, getting his cock to fall from his mouth.
Mickey blearily meets his eyes. Ian’s cheeks are pink, and there’s fire in his eyes. The air shimmers around them. Or it’s the tears Mickey’s trying to blink away. But it all feels like magic.
“Do you want that?” Ian asks evenly. He holds Mickey’s face in his warm hands. “Want me to fuck you?”
Ian inside him, any way he can get him, is always welcome.
He doesn’t know how he looks, what his face is doing, but Ian takes it as an invitation to move them around and get Mickey on his back. With some shuffling into place, Ian eases him down carefully. Mickey’s so grateful for the guidance.
Over him, hovering so close and between his open legs, Ian asks again, “Do you want me to fuck you, baby? Want me inside you?” He’s holding his cock, stroking it loosely.
Mickey makes a little sound, a little mmm. He works his mouth, searching for the words. He shifts around, hands coming up to his chest, touching himself mindlessly.
His fingers brush his collar.
It’s such a presence on his body and in his heart, it’s not like he’d forgotten it was there. It’s what eased him into this state, of course. But still, he hadn’t done this yet. Touched it where it’s wrapped around him, felt it with his own fingers. What a surreal yet grounding sensation this is. This reminder that he’s right where he’s supposed to be, that he’s here with the person he gets to belong to.
“Want you to fuck me,” he finally murmurs. His knees draw up and drop open.
Ian’s expression is so warm, he’s so excited. He’s so pleased.
He leans aside to the nightstand. Mickey watches as lube is applied to Ian’s cock, and then his wet fingers reach down.
He gasps when he feels Ian there, right where he wants him inside.
Ian watches him so intently, so joyfully, as he pushes a finger into him.
“Oh, fuck, Ian,” Mickey moans. “Daddy…” He catches himself, a breathy little sigh of a correction before Ian can say anything. And Ian notices, too. He makes an appreciative sound, happy as can be, a finger deep in Mickey’s ass turning his brain to mush, shutting it down completely, and yet he’s able to correct.
Ian’s fingers are so long, he reaches so deep so easily, like it’s nothing. He reaches past Mickey’s prostate, but he strokes along it carefully, intentionally, with just enough upward pressure to get sparks to ignite inside him. A sudden and shocked sound spills from him.
“There it is,” Ian chuckles. “You like that.”
Mickey squirms as Ian pulls back, and tosses his head back as a second finger is immediately introduced, moaning at the familiar burn inside him, the collar pressing into his throat at the movement.
When Ian starts stroking his cock with a slick hand, he nearly loses it, stunned at the tightening he feels, just before the beginning waves of an orgasm that he absolutely was not expecting.
“Ah, not yet,” Ian says, his voice stern, pausing the fingers inside him and gripping the base of his cock so hard it nearly hurts.
Mickey resists thrashing at the sensation, like it’s wrong for him to move like that, like it shouldn’t be allowed in such a still space. Even now, it’s so dark and still in their room. Like the energy is something to revere. Gotta keep the spell up.
So he grips the sheets and grits his teeth, he curls his toes and knits his eyebrows, and he whines, the loudest he’s been all night. Just a high, reedy sound, desperate.
Ian gives him a moment to come down and get it together. It pulls back, the orgasm threatening to tear through him. He holds Mickey’s cock gently now, fingers back to slipping around inside him, back and forth, opening him up, scissoring carefully.
His heart is pounding. He can feel every millimeter of the slick slide inside of him, every bit of it, because Ian’s going so slow. Stretching him so, so carefully. Keeping him here, balanced, away from the edge. He can’t stop moaning, couldn’t shut up if he tried. He was so close. This feels so fucking good.
Ian’s fingers slip out. Mickey feels himself close around nothing and hates it. Breathes so heavy. Chest heaving.
Both fingers press at his hole so, so gently. Wet and softened.
They push back in all, the way. No resistance.
“Oh! Oh, fuck.” He tilts his head back, he claws at the sheets, and Ian spreads his fingers in him. Pressing against the inside of him, stretching his rim.
Then out again. He expects to feel them again, for them to plunge back inside, but Ian’s releasing his cock now and arranging himself between his open legs, and he’s lowering himself down over him and Mickey’s out of his head with the anticipation, trying to lift his hips, trying to get Ian to get in him, whining, grabbing at him, needing to fill his emptiness.
“Ready? It’s okay, calm down,” Ian soothes. “I’m here. I got you, baby.” Ian gets in nice and close over him, and they’re nose to nose and breathing the same air and it’s a comfort, it’s soothing, and Mickey pitches his hips up again, searching. Needing.
Ian reaches down between them, grasping himself and just out of reach, and Mickey wants to cry. He coughs out a little sound, and he knows he sounds pathetic and he knows Ian’s going to say something about it.
“So fuckin’ needy.” Quiet, soft. Words breathed into Mickey’s mouth. “Tell me how much you need it. Say it.” He nudges Mickey’s hole. A little slip of his cock against him. A shift of his hips. Mickey whines. “Say it, baby.”
Fuck. “Need it, Daddy,” he whispers harshly, and fuck, Ian’s pupils are so blown.
“Yeah?”
“Need it so bad. Fuck me.” Wanton, shameless, open. “Fuck me, Daddy.”
Ian does.
With a groan like he can’t take it anymore, Ian pushes into him, and Mickey’s head is tossed back again. He’s filling him up, he’s stretching him open around his cock and getting so deep in his body, and Mickey’s twitching with it, flashes of pleasure getting goosebumps trailing along him, sweat behind his knees and along his hairline, shivering and moaning and out of his mind and Ian pushes as deep as he can.
Fuck, it feels so good. Ian gets so far in him. So deep inside. So satisfying. Filling him up. Fogging up his brain, his vision, the air in the room.
He moves in him smoothly, carefully, drawing back, surging back in, angling up, a hand in Mickey’s hair. And then the other around his neck, over the collar, enveloping him. Yes, that’s so good. Holding him so close like that. And Mickey feels like he’s floating.
Ian’s lips are so close to his, like he’s drinking in Mickey’s little sounds, taking them into himself like he has to have them inside him.
“Mine,” Ian breathes into him, and it’s an exchange, the way Mickey inhales it, his own sounds escaping over and over, and Ian breathes, and Mickey breathes, and Ian keeps fucking him so, so good, sliding his cock in so fucking deep, insanely deep, Mickey can’t stop shivering with it. Pushing in, all the way, then shoving his hips against him when he’s already all the way in.
Ian keeps doing that. Over and over. They’re so close, Mickey can’t look down between them to see how much he’s leaking. But he doesn’t have to see to know. He knows it’s a lot, so fucking much being pushed out of him and dripping all over. Ian hits him so good inside, and he can fucking feel it all coming out of him, gearing him up for an orgasm that’s going to wreck him.
Ian shifts a little bit, falling the tiniest bit to the side, drawing Mickey somehow closer, pressing his lips to Mickey’s forehead so tenderly. Fucking him a little faster. Keeping himself deep, keeping himself where Mickey needs him to be, pushing his hips in not-quite snaps.
Mickey’s bliss has him drifting out of consciousness, or something like it. Like an overload on euphoria that’s been drawn out this long just has this effect, this way of making him feel like he’s floating into a dream. It goes on and on, with Ian slowing down, fucking him in drawn-out pumps, with Mickey tethered by Ian’s hold and his ownership. He’s never felt so comfortable.
He slips in and out, not quite sleeping. But something like it. Hovering in this liminal space.
Blue dawn light filters through the little gap in the curtains. He doesn’t see that, though, with his eyes closed now.
He half wonders what it would feel like to cum like this. He doesn’t think they’ve ever fucked like this, that Ian’s ever gotten him quite like this. What is it going to feel like? Is it going to jerk him awake? Is it going to get him even sleepier on his bliss, still under the spell?
He’s going to find out soon. Ian feels so good in him and over him, filling his body, holding him, loving him, he feels so warm between his legs, his cock is so hard and tight and his muscles are clenching inside and all his nerves are alight, relaxed as he is. There’s a tensing, tensing. His legs twitch. He gasps.
“Fuck, yes,” Ian breathes. He gets a hand around Mickey’s neck again. Spread over him so big, pressing his skin, pressing his collar. His face is pressed so close.
Oh, it’s washing through him so good. Building steadily. It’s going to feel so good.
He can’t make his mouth work, can’t tell his Daddy that he’s going to cum. He’s going to have to just show him.
He grips him tight, fingers digging into his shoulders. Eyebrows scrunched. Hips pulsing. Cock pulsing. Squeezing Ian’s ribs with his knees. Gasping, gasping. It keeps building and building.
“Yes, fuck, yes, do it,” Ian breathes again, encouraging, keeping it up, fucking him and fucking him. Slow and even and so deep. Pressing up, pressing against his prostate, making his cock jerk so much with how good it feels.
Mickey trembles. It’s hitting him. Wet warmth burning between his legs, tingling. Rushing from deep inside him, into all of him.
Fuck, fuck.
In his relaxed state, it flows through him sweetly, but intensely. He’s swept into it, and it’s fiercely overwhelming, and he’s just taking it, taking Ian’s movements, the pulsing of his orgasm, his heartbeat thudding in his ears.
It rips a moan out of him, he can’t hold it in, it feels too good. He has to unleash it, these airy sounds, high-pitched and euphoric. It’s so, so fucking blissful, his vision blurring, his body quaking with every rhythmic contraction.
And Ian’s there, having the best fucking time admiring him, feeling him cum around him, holding him close and watching his face from an inch away. And it makes it so much better, that he’s here, he’s doing it to him, his fucking Daddy, that he’s so damn close.
He’s still so drowsy when it ebbs away, when the pulsing stops and it’s just his legs twitching occasionally now in little aftershocks. Not a single tensed muscle. Hands limp at his sides, eyes relaxed shut. It was gorgeous.
Ian pulls back and back until he’s all the way out, and Mickey’s hips follow him a little bit, just an inch, so strange to feel empty again.
His eyes drift back open so he can see this part. And he’s so glad he does.
He’s huge and wet and leaking. He’s so hard, and he’s stroking himself now, looking down between their bodies to watch, just like Mickey.
There’s cum all over Mickey’s stomach, and now Ian’s is going to be there too, mixing with his on his skin, and he’s so happy to get to see it.
He watches and he listens. The slick sounds of Ian’s big hand on his big cock, the huffy sounds of his breath picking up, the change in pitch when he gets right there, right at the edge.
He surprises himself when he says it, just a breath. “Cum on me, Daddy.”
It seems to surprise Ian just as much. “Fuck, holy shit…”
Mickey loves watching it shoot out almost as much as he loves feeling it fill him up, almost as much as he loves swallowing it down. It’s so sexy to see it happen, the evidence of how fucking good Ian’s feeling right now. There’s so much of it, and Ian’s got himself aimed so it’s all landing on him. Just like he wanted.
Finally, Ian breathes deep, relieved. Mickey lets his eyes slip shut again. Blows out a breath.
Quiet and stillness resume.
His head feels cottony and heavy. He’s more sated and comfy than he’s ever been in his life. There’s no way he’s moving to clean himself up.
And there’s no fucking way he’s taking his collar off.
In and out he drifts. He’s unaware of Ian shutting the lamp off. He feels him wiping him down, but he doesn’t open his eyes for it. He does hear him whisper “I love you.” He does feel him kiss him softly. He stays nestled against the pillows, nestled in this soft space in his mind.
He doesn’t realize that it’s morning now, sunlight brightening and warming up in tone outside, and that Ian got up to pull the curtains more securely closed so it doesn’t wake him. He doesn’t know that he’s going to let him sleep all morning, cuddled up here with him with his head on his chest and his arm wrapped around him, a comforting weight.
Leaden limbs sunk into the mattress, feeling better than he can ever remember feeling, more connected to his husband, loved and comfy and secure and satisfied, their night finally draws to a close with the start of a new day. Together, they finally find sleep.
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