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Chapter Text

Ian had always loved driving. 

Maybe it was because his family had seldom had their own transportation growing up. He and his siblings had relied heavily on public transportation and their own two feet to get them wherever they needed to go. He’d never minded it much as a kid. Some of his favorite memories were causing trouble with his older brother, Lip, as they cut through yards and parking lots on their way to and from school. They’d trounce through freshly mown grass, steal cigarettes from back porch ash trays, and sometimes stop so that Lip could get a blowjob from Karen Jackson. Walking around South Side Chicago with his older brother always felt like an adventure.

Something in his brain chemistry had altered when he was first given the chance to sit behind the wheel of Jimmy-Steve’s Audi A5 Coupe all those years ago. Back when Fiona still thought he was the one and Ian didn’t mind grand theft auto tendencies in his sister’s suitors. Back before he even had a driver’s license. 

“You like that?” Jimmy-Steve had asked, watching as Ian eyed the vehicle. It looked so out of place sitting on the curb in their run down neighborhood. Ian knew the car was stolen, but it was likely to be stolen again if it sat here for too long.

“Here, climb on in.” Jimmy-Steve tossed Ian the keys and slipped into the passenger seat next to him. “This baby has a four-cylinder turbocharged engine and a 7-speed S tronic dual-clutch automatic transmission.” 

Ian didn’t know what the fuck any of that meant, but he loved the feel of sitting behind the wheel regardless.

He remembers slipping into those soft, leather-upholstered seats and taking the steering wheel into his hands, knowing that he now had the power to go anywhere. 

Maybe that’s what did it for him. The ability to just  go.

He wasn’t a “car guy.” Not really. He just loved driving. 

These days Ian drove his own sleek, black Chevrolet Suburban rather than a luxury car lifted in a parking lot for resell. The size of the Suburban was rather impressive, housing three rows of leather trimmed seats that could comfortably fit 9 passengers. Perfect for his large family - siblings, nieces, and nephews - but also perfect for his livelihood. 

To pay his bills, Ian did the only thing he ever really enjoyed doing. 

He drove.

He worked contract for an upscale transportation company - Timothy and Irene Transportation Services.

“TITS?” Lip had asked when Ian had first accepted the position last year. He took another puff of his cigarette, chuckled, and passed it to Ian. “Do you know how ironic it is that my gay brother works for a company whose acronym spells out ‘tits?’”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Your gay brother just wants you to be happy for him.” 

Lip plucked his cigarette back from Ian. “Fuck. I am, man. Just….tits?” 

The two brothers laughed well into the night, chain smoking and shoving one another on the back porch of the old Gallagher house. 

***

Ian had the opportunity to transport clients in his own personal vehicle (if it passed a safety and appearance inspection) or a company vehicle. Ian, of course, chose to transport clients in his Suburban. 

He loved his car. He didn’t even mind the fact that he was wracking up extra miles on it by using it for work, because he got to drive it around all day. He’d worked his ass of to purchase it, working multiple serving jobs during and after high school and saving as much as humanly possible. He'd been able to put a considerable amount down on the gently preowned vehicle and finance the rest. He kept up with his monthly payments and couldn’t wait until the vehicle fully and completely belonged to him.

His siblings had differing opinions on the matter.

“Shit, Ian. You’re one of the best of us. Don’t you have better prospects for yourself than driving rich fucks around Chicago in your own ride all day?” Lip had asked as he ran a thumb along the sleek black exterior of Ian’s new SUV for the first time.

“Pays pretty good,” Ian assured, watching his brother like a hawk too ensure he didn’t scratch the paint. “And better than slinging beers for the rest of my life. No offense, Kev.”

Kev, a longtime neighbor and friend of the Gallagher family, waved his hand dismissively. “None taken. Hell, if I could afford one of these, I’d drive yuppie pricks around the city for the rest of my life.”

“Exactly,” said Ian. “See. Kev gets it.”

“He just wants you to let him drive it,” Lip laughed, lighting a cigarette and a taking in a slow, steady drag. 

“Can I drive it?” Asked Carl, climbing out of the vehicle after his self guided tour of the inside. 

“Absolutely fucking not,” Ian said, shaking his head and holding out his hand to Lip in hopes that he’d share his smoke. Carl was growing up. He had a full time job in a local warehouse and had even recently obtained his own driver’s license. But to Ian he would always be his irresponsible, shit-head younger brother.

“If this makes you happy, then we’re happy for you, sweet face,” Fiona smiled, wrapping an arm lovingly around her brother.

And he was. He was happy.

***

He started small. Irene ( the Irene from Timothy and Irene Transportation Services) set him up with a few one off clients as a sort of trial period. 

“Driving isn’t just driving,” she’d told Ian during his official onboarding. “The most successful drivers we have are likable. Can make good conversation. Most clients like that.”

Ian had always considered himself easy to talk to. He was decent at making friends and was, for the most part, a friendly guy. After years of serving and bartending, he was used to chatting it up with strangers in hopes for a better tip. 

“Flirt a little with the older ladies,” she commented as she made a copy of Ian’s driver’s license, car insurance, and social security card for the company’s records. 

Ian had been out for years, but it still made him nervous to define his sexuality aloud sometimes. Especially to potentially homophobic employers. But if that were the case, he’d rather find out now.

“I, uh, don’t really swing that way. Ma’am.” 

Irene slid his personal identification cards across her desk. She raised an eyebrow at Ian. At least it looked like she was raising an eyebrow- they were so translucently blonde that Ian found it hard to tell. 

“Oh. Well flirt with the gentlemen, then.”

Ian smiled. He could do this. He knew he could. 

His very first clients were a middle aged couple who often used Timothy and Irene’s as transportation to and from dinner when they felt like indulging in a few date night cocktails.

Ian had dropped them at the curb of a fairly expensive restaurant in the city and told them he’d meet them in the same spot an hour later. The couple had thanked him and handed him a 50 dollar bill as a tip. 

He wasn’t sure if they were generous, too drunk, or both, but they handed him another one as he dropped them back at home later that evening. 

Not everyone was that generous, of course. His second client was a strawberry blonde businesswoman who argued over her cell phone for the entire duration of the ride and seemed to have a permanent scowl on her face. She had thrown a wad of one dollar bills him and didn’t utter so much as a ‘thank you’ when they’d reached her destination.

He’d gained his first regular in his third ever client, Mrs. Springs. Mrs. Springs was an elderly widow who needed transportation to a weekly doctor’s appointment on Wednesdays at noon. Her son lived several states away and had set up transportation for his aging mother via Timothy and Irene’s. 

Ian had clambered out of the vehicle when he noticed the elderly woman struggling to make it down her walkway. 

“Hi there,” he’d said, approaching her and holding out an arm. “I’m Ian. I’m your driver today. Can I help you to the car?” 

Mrs. Springs reached out and clutched Ian’s arm. “Thank you so much,” she beamed. “You sure are a handsome young man.”

Ian decided if any woman as allowed to flirt with him, it was Mrs. Springs. 

That same evening, Ian received notification that the Springs family had requested his services every Wednesday at noon for the foreseeable future. Ian happily accepted.

***

Ian often found himself enjoying a beer at The Alibi after a long day of driving. Kev would knowingly pour him half, aware that too much alcohol did not mix well with Ian’s medication. 

His life was simple. Work, beer, home. Sometimes just work and home. But he couldn’t complain.

“How was that date last weekend?” Asked Kev as he gave the bar a quick wipe.

Ian sighed. “Not great. Guy was weird.”

“Define ‘weird’ for me.”

Ian swallowed a mouthful of his half-full beer. “Wouldn’t shut the fuck up about his cats. Got to the point where I took him to the bathroom and shoved my dick down his throat just so I wouldn’t have to hear about Fluffy and Mr. Whiskers anymore.”

Kev grimaced. “Maybe less about where you put your dick, man. You’re like my little brother.”

Ian grinned. “Why’d you ask if you didn’t want all the explicit details?”

Kev swatted Ian’s head with a rag and turned to help another customer. Ian’s phone pinged.

Irene (7:03PM): Hey, Lambert had to cancel her 8AM tomorrow morning.

Ian ‘liked’ the message and pocketed his phone, momentarily excited to grab an extra hour of sleep in the morning when his phone chimed again.

Irene (7:04PM): You’re picking up a new client instead. Mandy M.

Irene (7:05PM): Assuming that’s okay with you.

Ian really didn’t mind. The extra hour of sleep would have been nice, but he enjoyed his job and didn’t mind picking up new clients here and there, even though his days mostly consisted of regulars as of late.

Ian (7:06PM): Of course. 

Irene (7:09PM): You’re the best. I’ll upload details to your account in the app.

Ian flagged Kev down and paid his tab, figuring he ought to be on his way.

***

Ian awoke to his alarm the following morning. He liked routine. Thrived in it, really. 

He started every morning with a quick jog around his apartment complex, a steaming cup of black coffee, and a hot shower. It helped him to get in the groove of the day before leaving for work. This morning, he completed a couple extra laps around the complex. He wasn’t sure why but picking up a brand new client in just a few hours had him a little antsy. Luckily, running always seemed to put his mind at ease.

After washing the evidence of his workout away in the shower, Ian took his morning meds and threw on a simple pair of khaki pants and a fitted black button up shirt. There wasn’t a uniform to drive for Timothy and Irene’s, but he knew he was expected to look nice.

As Irene always said, “Nobody wants their driver to look too comfortable.”

Ian filled his reusable coffee tumblr to the brim, grabbed his keys, and headed out the door.

***

Ian pulled off to the side of the road in front of an expensive looking luxury apartment building. His GPS chimed and indicated that he had arrived at his destination. He double checked the TITS app (damn Lip for putting that acronym in his head) and confirmed the name and destination of his client. 

Mandy M.

Destination: Sunset Talent Agency Office Building

Ian popped the talent agency into his GPS. A 17 minute drive. Could be worse. 

He fiddled with his radio for a moment, wondering if Mandy would enjoy music softly playing in the background. He usually left the radio alone until he got to know his clients a little better. He switched it off.

He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel and glanced at the front door of the apartment building. He could see a doorman standing there, clad in the apartment’s apparent uniform and logo. 

The clock read 8:06. He had to get Mandy M. to her destination soon, or he would be completely thrown off of his schedule for the day. He thought about calling Irene and explaining that the girl was a no show so that he could be on his way. But he’d never ditched a client before. In fact, he was one of the only driver’s at Timothy and Irene’s with a perfect, 5 star rating. He didn’t want to jeopardize that for one late client. 

8:08.

Ian unhooked his cell phone from its holder on the dash and flipped over to his work app. Clients had the capability to message him here if necessary. Most of the time, clients who were running late at least had the common courtesy to let him know. He did have a schedule to keep, after all. Perhaps this Mandy M. was too old to know how to work modern day cell phone applications. A lot of his client base did swing on the older end of things, after all. But even Mrs. Springs, his oldest passenger, had managed to figure out the basics of communicating with Ian.

Okay. Fuck it. 

Ian turned the key in the ignition until the familiar rumble of the vehicle halted. He pocketed the key and opened his car door, fully prepared to charge into the fancy apartment building and demand that the mysterious Mandy M. be summoned downstairs immediately so they could be on their way. He had taken three steps toward the building when the doorman pulled the front door open. 

“Good morning,” the doorman greeted enthusiastically. “Just on time. I believe your car is here.”

“Finally,” Ian murmured as he sighed in relief. He wanted to yell out to the doorman that 11 minutes late was certainly not on time, but he refrained. He stepped back to the Suburban and opened the back door, preparing to load his client and speed through Chicago traffic to make up for lost time. As he kept his eyes glued on the door, he couldn’t help but notice that the elusive Mandy M. was nowhere in sight. 

“Please let me assist you, Mr. Milkovich,” the doorman pleaded. 

Mister?

Ian heard him before he saw him. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jerry. I’m a big boy and I can get myself through the fucking door on my own.” 

“But, please, sir-”

“Fuck off, Jerry.”

Ian’s eyes grew wide. First, there was no way this could be the client he was waiting for. He was clearly waiting for a Mandy and the deep voice simply couldn’t belong to a Mandy. Second, he had driven unpleasant clients before, but never clients with so much hostility. He wondered what the body attached to the belligerent voice would look like. He imagined a daddy’s money, prep school, bleach blonde type with a permanent scowl on his face. He imagined a skinny, weasel looking character with more money than he knew what to do with. He imagined everything and everyone. But the man who walked through the front door of the apartment building still managed to be a complete surprise. 

Well, walked was a generous word. 

Hobbled was more like it. 

The man was on crutches, a bright blue cast binding his left foot and ankle. He appeared to be similar in age to Ian. He wore a classic black two-piece business suit with a slightly disheveled white dress shirt underneath. It was unbuttoned at the top and the man wore no tie. On his uninjured foot, he wore a simple black dress shoe. A black messenger bag was slung over his shoulder, partially unzipped and knocking against his crutches as he walked.

Although disheveled in appearance, the suit was beautifully tailored and slim around the waist. Most noticeable, though, were the man’s striking features. Stark black hair. Piercing blue eyes. 

“Mr. Milkovich, you cannot expect me to allow you to carry that bag while on crutches,” the man - Jerry - asserted as he grabbed for the bag. 

“For fuck’s sake, Jerry!” Mr. Milkovich leaned on his good foot and swatted at the doorman with one of his crutches. “I got it, man. Here.” 

The injured man reached into his pocket and produced a wrinkled 20 dollar bill, which he promptly handed to the doorman. “Here’s a tip to not worry so damn much.”

The doorman pocketed the tip and returned to his station at the front door, seemingly giving up. He glanced up at Ian as if to say, “Your turn.” 

Mr. Milkovich half hopped and half hobbled to the Suburban. For the first time, his eyes met Ian’s. 

“You my ride?” He asked. 

Ian was flabbergasted. He had had his share of beautiful men before. He’d flirted with, dated, and fucked more handsome men than he could count on his fingers and toes, but something about this man rendered him completely speechless.

He looked the man up and down. He was undoubtedly Ian's type. Broad shoulders, muscular, but noticeably shorter than Ian. He liked that. He couldn’t help but wonder what the man was hiding under those crisp, well tailored dress pants.

“You fuckin’ mute, Red?”

Ian gulped in a breath and tried to get his bearings. He hoped he hadn’t been visibly drooling.

The man was undeniably attractive and while Ian would have loved to clock out for the day and invite the man into the back seat of his Suburban for some extracurricular fun, he knew he had a job to do. This man wasn’t who he was waiting for.

“Uh, Mandy. I’m waiting for a Mandy.” Ian shot a glance at the doorman, whose attention was already on someone else. “You must be looking for another driver.”

“That’s my sister,” the man assured. “Ordered me a car because the bitch thinks I can’t drive myself in my 'state of distress.'”

Mandy M. 

Mandy Milkovich.

“I see,” Ian said. He groaned internally. He hoped the man, apparently his client, hadn’t noticed Ian eye-fucking him just moments earlier. He tried to keep things professional. “Well, can I help you into the ca-”

Ian didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Mr. Milkovich was tossing his messenger bag and crutches hastily into the Suburban.

“I’ll stop ya right there, firecrotch. Just because I have a bum foot doesn’t mean I’m not capable of climbing into a fuckin’ car on my own. So why don’t you just climb around into the driver’s seat, throw on your paper boy cap, and rev the engine?”

Ian pursed his lips. Sure, the guy was hot. But he was also apparently an asshole.

His South Side upbringing begged him to retort something equally as snarky, or better yet punch the guy in the face, but his love for his job and his perfect client rating kept him silent. He nodded his head and clambered into the driver’s seat, shutting the door behind him. It caused him the tiniest bit of joy that it took Mr. Milkovich almost two minutes to get himself settled into the car on his own. 

Once the angry man had adjusted himself in the spacious back seat of the Suburban, he looked up at Ian expectantly. The car was still very much in park. 

“‘Ey, Mr. Driver. Not sure if you know this or not, but the car has to be turned on in order to, ya know, go.” 

Ian twisted his torso and placed a hand on the center console. 

“My apologies, Mr. Milkovich,” Ian began, with a look in his eye that was anything but apologetic. He loved his job. He wanted a good client rating. But he also couldn’t resist the opportunity to toy with the rude man just a little before pulling away from the curb. 

“It’s just that, company policy states that passengers must be fully buckled into the vehicle before we can proceed with the drive. Safety first. Surely you understand.”

Ian watched as Mr. Milkovich reluctantly reached up and tugged the seat belt down across his middle, securing it into place with tattooed fingers before meeting Ian’s gaze.

“There. Happy?”

Ian turned around and placed the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life. 

“Just ecstatic, Mr. Milkovich.” 

They rode in silence for the first minute or so of the journey before Ian attempted to make small talk. That was, as explained by Irene, just a part of the gig.

“So, where am I taking you today?” He asked.

“Figured somebody would have given you the address,” spoke Mr. Milkovich from the back seat.

“I have the address,” Ian clarified. “I just meant, like, where are you headed this morning?”

Silence. Ian wondered momentarily if the man had heard him. He considered repeating himself when the man finally spoke.

“The fuck do you care, man?”

Ian furrowed his brow. This clearly wasn’t going well.

“Just making small talk,” he commented. 

“Well, don’t” Mr. Milkovich chided. “Jesus. Can you not get me where I need to go without running your mouth the whole time?”

Ian felt his patience evaporate from his body.

“I don’t know. Can you not make it 10 minutes without being a fucking prick?”

Fuck. 

The two men didn’t speak for the rest of the journey and Ian didn’t offer to help as Mr. Milkovich struggled to remove himself from the vehicle. 

***

Ian pushed the door of his apartment open, ignoring the obnoxious squeal of the hinges. He’d promised himself on more than one occasion that he’d look into fixing his noisy front door, but it had been six months of living here and no home improvement efforts had been made as of yet. 

The apartment was incredibly small- just a living room, kitchen, bedroom, and small bathroom. 600 square feet if Ian was being generous.

But it was all Ian needed. And it was his. The apartment was South Side, just about a 6 minute drive from his childhood home where most of his family still resided. It was South Side, but it was nice. Homey. Ian’s.

He flopped down on his worn sofa, placing his feet on the coffee table. Sometimes he found the quiet of his new apartment jarring after growing up with so many siblings in one house. Aside from the occasional late night gunshot, his apartment was peaceful. 

His peace was interrupted by the sound of an incoming text message. 

Irene (6:13PM): I just received some feedback from your new client this morning. 

Fuck. She could only be referring to Milkovich. All of Ian’s other clients today were regulars or semi-regulars. He could only imagine the feedback he had received. Perhaps Milkovich had complained about the seat belt snark, his poor small talk skills, his blatant insult, or how late they arrived (although that last one was not Ian’s fault at all). Ian felt his five star rating plummeting in mid air. He sighed and shot back a reply. He just knew he was in trouble.

Ian (6:15PM): Okay. What was it? 

Irene (6:17PM): Client has requested your services for transportation twice daily for the next 6 weeks.

What the fuck?  

Ian didn’t understand. The ride hadn’t been pleasant. It hadn’t necessarily been unpleasant either, but he and the angry Mr. Milkovich didn’t exactly mesh well together. He seemed to exist in a constant state of sarcasm and snark. He reminded Ian of boys he’d grown up with on the South Side. He couldn’t have grown up here, though. 

South Siders did well for themselves sometimes. Some of them had jobs and families and bank accounts. Hell, some of them even got out. But no South Sider that he knew of had ever gotten out and gotten rich. That required too much luck and there wasn’t much of that to go around.

Ian didn’t know if he wanted to take on Mr. Milkovich as a client. Normally he had a choice in these things. He thought of his regular 8AM client who had canceled this morning, Mrs. Lambert. She wasn’t his favorite client by any means. She was an overweight elderly woman who could never decide if she wanted the temperature of the Suburban hotter or colder. But perhaps Ian could get out of adding Milkovich to his regular client roster if he expressed a sort of loyalty to Mrs. Lambert.

Ian (6:20PM): What about my regular that canceled this morning? I can't cancel on her. Can’t someone else take on the new client?

The response was immediate.

Irene (6:20PM): I’ll find a replacement for your regular. Milkovich requested you specifically. We will accommodate the Milkovich family however we can.

Ian was full of questions. Who the fuck was this family? Why was his entire schedule being shifted for the wishes of a brand new client? He’d have to try a new tactic.

Ian (6:21PM): Look, I don’t even think this new guy likes me very much.

His phone pinged again. It was a screenshot of the rating system from his company’s app. A “Mikhailo Milkovich” had assigned him a rating of 5 stars. No notes or commentary were attached to the rating, but Ian could see that a $100 tip had been added to this morning’s service after the fact. 

He could hardly believe it. A perfect rating and a huge tip? After he’d quite literally insulted the guy?

Irene (6:23PM): Good work, Ian. Keep him happy. 

Ian vowed to try.

Chapter Text

Ian woke up the following morning even more anxious than he had been the previous day. Now that he knew he’d have to endure 6 more weeks of Mr. Milkovich’s bitching and unpleasant behavior, he figured he’d have to start waking up earlier to get in some longer runs.

He was confused by the strange man’s behavior. Most clients would have been positively scandalized by Ian’s blatant use of the phrase ‘fucking prick,” but it hadn’t seemed to hurt Milkovich’s feelings all that much. If the rating and tip were any indication, he’d even seemed to enjoy it. Maybe the guy was some kind of weirdo masochist who enjoyed being verbally abused by his driver. If that were the case, Ian was sure he could think of more to say.

It was Wednesday, meaning that he would be seeing Mrs. Springs for her weekly doctor’s appointment today. He’d really taken a liking to the old woman. He found himself excited to see her each week, even when she told him the same stories twice. Or three times. Sometimes he even drove her the long way hon to extend their time together when he was able. She never seemed to mind the company.

But in order to get to the familiar routine of Mrs. Springs, he had to survive his first morning with Mr. Milkovich as his official driver. He threw on some athletic shorts and prepared for a long, long run.

***

Ian didn’t make any moves to exit the Suburban when he saw Mr. Milkovich (Mikhailo?) shuffling out of the apartment building a few hours later. Jerry The Doorman seemed to be fussing over him again. Mr. Milkovich looked pissed off. Ian guessed this interaction was a routine one.

“Good morning,” he greeted as the man climbed into the back seat, struggling with his crutches. 

“Good and morning don’t belong in the same fucking sentence,” Mr. Milkovich spat as he finally closed the door behind him and sank into his seat with a huff.

Ian sat with his hands in his lap, peering at his passenger in the rear view mirror.

“Gonna go?” The dark haired man asked with a raise of his eyebrow.

Ian considered leaving well enough alone. Although he was usually a rule follower, he had primarily demanded the man’s seat belt be buckled yesterday because of his jackass behavior. There probably wouldn’t be any harm in letting the man go unbuckled. The destination wasn’t far and Ian’s driving record was squeaky clean. There was no chance he’d get pulled over. But something in the back of Ian’s mind told him that letting the guy get away with driving unbuckled would be to admit some type of defeat. And Ian didn’t like to lose.

“Not until you’re buckled. Rules are rules.”

“For fuck’s sake, Red.” 

“I have to make sure you get to your destination safely, Mr. Milkovich.” Ian shrugged his shoulders. He could wait. To win this battle, he could wait. 

“Don’t fuckin’ ‘Mr. Milkovich’ me, man. Hate that shit. It’s just Mickey.” And then, as if it were an afterthought, Ian heard the sound of a seatbelt buckle clicking closed.

Satisfied with his win, Ian shifted the Suburban into drive and merged into traffic. He wasn’t feeling great about Mr. Milkovich - Mickey - but he was at least reclaiming a little bit of the power he’d lost the previous day.

Ian swerved expertly in and out of the familiar Chicago traffic, following along with his GPS as it once again led him to Mr. Milkovich’s destination.

Sunset Talent Agency.

He wondered what Mr. Milkovich did there. He wondered if the angry little man was some rich executive or casting agent. Ian knew very little about him based on their two interactions, but he couldn’t imagine Mickey to be much of a creative. Ian assumed you had to have some basic human empathy to work in a creative field and something told Ian his client was severely lacking in that department.

“So,” Ian began, deciding to press his luck with the small talk despite it not going so well the day before. “What kind of work do you-”

Ian didn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Hello?” Mr. Milkovich spoke from the back seat. Ian was momentarily confused before he glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the man pressing an iPhone to his ear.

Clients taking phone calls in the car was a secret pet peeve of Ian’s, but he figured in this scenario it may actually be a blessing in disguise. At least it would stop him from actually having to talk to the man. He couldn’t quite hear what the caller was saying, but the muffled voice sounded high pitched.

“Practice some patience, Mandy. I’m on my way. Can’t climb in the guy’s lap and make him drive any faster.”

The comment wasn’t meant to be sexual, but Ian flushed anyway. He hoped his passenger didn’t notice.

Ian noted the name. Mandy.

His sister, he remembered. The one who booked Ian to begin with. 

“Do not sign anything without me there, Mandy. I swear to god. Last time you did that, I spent a month having to weasel you out of showing your bare tits onscreen. Shit was practically a porno.”

The voice over the phone rose in volume.

“Never said you were stupid. You just don’t read the shit before you sign it. Stay there and keep your name off that fuckin’ contract.”

Mr. Milkovich let the cell phone clatter to the seat beside him. It bounced slightly before resting next to his leg, Ian noted through the rear view mirror.

Ian let the silence rest for a few moments before trying again.

“So, what kind of work do you do?”

Mickey sighed. “Look, man. Not really in the mood to answer questions.”

And since the man had managed to express his desire for Ian to pipe down without insulting the driver, Ian respected his wishes. He let the sound of honking and Chicago traffic fill the rest of the car ride.

***

Ian pulled into Mrs. Springs’ driveway and parked the Suburban. It had been eight months of driving the woman to her weekly appointment every Wednesday. Ian had never missed a Wednesday and Mrs. Springs had never canceled. It had become a welcome and consistent addition to Ian’s schedule. Ian quite liked the old woman. He had even taken to retrieving her from inside her home and escorting her to the vehicle instead of waiting for her on the curb as he was accustomed to doing with most of his passengers.

He politely knocked on the pale yellow door. Mrs. Springs’ home could only be described as a cottage. It was a charming little one bedroom home on a rather quiet West Side street. The home was much more modest than most of his clients’ digs, but Ian’s services were paid for by the woman’s distant son. Mrs. Springs talked about him sometimes. He was some kind of doctor. She seemed proud.

Ian knocked again. The old woman was a little hard of hearing. “Mrs. Springs,” he called. “It’s Ian.”

“Come in,” a voice called from inside the cottage.

Ian opened the door and stepped inside, removing his shoes before entering the home. He’d only made the mistake of wearing his shoes inside Mrs. Springs’ home one time. The woman had swatted him with a newspaper so hard that a pink welt had formed on his arm. Ian would place money on her in a fight any day. 

He’d learned his lesson, though. No shoes.

He found Mrs. Springs sipping tea from a dainty floral mug at her kitchen table. “Ian, dear,” she smiled. “Would you like some tea?”

Ian shook his head. “I’m good for today, Mrs. Springs.”

The old woman stood and placed her cup in the sink.

“How many times have I asked you to call me Abigail?”

Ian grinned. “About a thousand times, Mrs. Springs.”

“And how many more times until it sticks?”

“At least a thousand more, Mrs. Springs.”

Mrs. Springs sighed, slipped on her sandals, and took Ian’s arm, which he’d already extended in her direction. Their weekly interaction was almost always the same, and it pulled on Ian’s heartstrings each and every time.

“I think your muscles have grown since last week,” Mrs. Springs noted. Ian just laughed and shuffled her to the car.  

***

Mr. Milkovich was his final client of the day. It was like the wild gentleman was bookending Ian’s work day in a chaotic, foul mouthed little bow.

He pulled to the curb in front of the Sunset office building, flipping on his hazards. A concerned looking office receptionist had run out to the Suburban almost immediately upon Ian’s arrival and demanded that he move, stating that parking in front of the building wasn’t permitted. Her tune changed completely when Ian noted he was there to pick up Mr. Milkovich.

“Mr. Milkovich? I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll alert him that you’ve arrived.”

Ian had no idea what Milkovich’s exact role in this talent company was, aside from the fact that his sister was somehow involved. He wondered what kind of pull he had to be treated like such a god? It sure did make Ian’s life easier not having to find parking on the incredibly busy street, though.

He waited just a few more minutes before the dark haired man made his appearance, crutches and all. He struggled through the front door of the office building, clearly declining help from the concerned looking office receptionist from earlier.

He crawled into the back seat moments later, looking exasperated. Ian couldn’t help himself.

“Good afternoon, sir. Do you need any assistance buckling up, today?”

Mr. Milkovich breathed heavily and shot Ian daggers through the rear view mirror. Ian couldn’t help but notice how truly striking the man’s eyes were, even when severely pissed off.

Mr. Milkovich said nothing but the buckle clicked closed.

Ian pulled away from the curb and began their 17 minute journey back to the man’s apartment. “I hope you had a good day at work, Mr. Milkovich.” He didn’t phrase it as a question because he knew his passenger wasn’t prone to answering those. But he felt like it was his job to attempt some type of pleasantry, even if he knew his client would probably prefer his silence. 

“What’d I fuckin’ tell you, man?” Milkovich started from the back seat. “ It’s Mickey.”

Ian grabbed at the opportunity to pull more information out of the mysterious passenger. Not only was he naturally curious, but his siblings would also tell you that the middle Gallagher child could never tell when it was time to stop pushing someone’s buttons.

“Surely employees at you office call you Mr. Milkovich,” Ian prodded.

“Not unless they want me to rip their tongues out of the their head,” he remarked.

Ian chuckled. Maybe Mickey was the “all bark and no bite” type. Hell, if Ian wasn’t technically working for him, he’d probably find the aggressive commentary made by a small man bound to crutches for the next several weeks a little endearing. 

“Let me guess,” Ian began. “Mr. Milkovich was your dad.”

Mickey let out a startled choke. “Nah, man. My dad didn’t deserve that title. All that fucker deserved was the bullet that ended up in his skull. Now he’s six feet under where he belongs.”

Ian’s blood ran cold. Fuck, did Mickey shoot his own father? Was he transporting a murderer across town for the next six weeks? Ian knew he was being nosy and probably overstepping his boundaries, but he was curious.

“How, uh, I mean who-”

Fuck, he was floundering. 

Speak words, Ian. Words.

“How did it happen?” He finally asked. 

He was surprised Mickey was being a so forthcoming with personal family information. He sure wasn’t itching to share information about Monica and Frank with near strangers. 

“Family used to run shit to some local dealers. Drugs. Guns. My dad pissed off the wrong couple ‘a guys.”

“Oh,” Ian stuttered. “I’m so sorry.”

Mickey scoffed. “Don’t be. S’what happens who you run illegal shit on the South Side.”

Ian almost collided with a little red convertible in front of him that had come to a sudden stop at the approaching red light. His tires squealed and Ian threw his hand out to secure his coffee cup from this morning in the center cup holder.

“Fuck!” Mickey called from the backseat. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Ian sputtered. “The car - I, I was surprised when you said - fuck, are you okay? Need me to pull over?” 

Ian had crossed boundaries with his questions, said fuck twice, and nearly crashed his car with a brand new (apparently high profile) client in the back seat. He was really pushing his luck with this one.

“Nah, man,” Mickey spoke from the back seat. “S’all good.”

The light turned green and little red convertible sped away. Ian hoped the driver hadn’t noticed how closely he’d come to rear ending them. Ian pushed the gas peddle down and continued his route. 

“So sorry, again. Was just surprised. You’re South Side?”

“Yeah. Figured you could tell.” Mickey gave a little chuckle. The first one Ian had ever heard him utter. “I don’t exactly act like a North Sider, do I?”

“Guess not,” Ian admitted. “Guess I figured you were one of those North Side, pretend to be a badass, never been in real fight types.”

Mickey scoffed but stayed silent. 

“I’m South Side too.”

Once again, no response. 

“Hey, at least you were buckled, right?”

“Go fuck yourself, Red.” 

“It’s Ian. Not ‘Red.’”

“Alright,” Mickey confirmed. “Go fuck yourself, Ian.” 

The two men were silent for the rest of the ride.

***

He met Lip and Debbie for a beer at the Alibi later that evening.

“Hey Debs,” Ian grinned. “Where’s Franny?”

“Carl is babysitting,” she replied with an eye roll. “We’ll see how much I regret that later.”

Kev poured the siblings their drinks - two regular beers and one half-full. It was nice to catch up. Ian was, so far, the only Gallagher sibling to move out of their childhood home. He enjoyed his independence and was proud of his moves toward true adulthood, but sometimes it was hard being the only sibling out of the loop. He no longer knew each detail and intricacy of his siblings’ lives. Similarly, they didn’t know his. 

“So how is my favorite nephew?” Ian asked, nursing his beer slowly.

“Mostly just crying, sleeping, and shitting,” Lip assured. “You’re not missing very much. Although I’m sure he’d love an evening with Uncle Ian to give me and Tami a break.”

The Gallagher house was at full capacity, even without Ian living there. His old room was now occupied by Lip, Lip’s girlfriend, and their newborn son.

“I think I can handle that,” Ian smiled. “Anything for my favorite nephew.”

“Don’t give a shit about how your favorite brother is doing?” Lip asked with a grin.

“Oh, shit. How insensitive of me. How is Liam doing these days?”

Lip gave Ian a playful punch in the arm. Ian responded with a shove. Before Lip could throw in a shove of his own, Kev threw his arms around the brothers. 

“Alright, Gallaghers. Enough before you start a brawl that I’ll have to finish.”

“How have you been?” Debbie questioned, ignoring the brotherly scuffle that she had become so accustomed to over the years. “How is Chicago’s favorite driver?”

“Same old, same old.” And then, before he thought better of it. “I do have a new client, though. Twice a day for the next six weeks. Works at some kind of talent agency. Kind of a prick. Says he used to be South Side.”

“No way any of your yuppie clients used to be South Side,” Lip surmised. “What’s his name?”

“Mickey Milkovich. Has a sister named-”

“Mandy Milkovich!” Debbie interjected. 

Ian frowned. “What, you know her?” 

Debbie straightened up excitedly. “Well, not personally. I mean. God. I wish I knew her.”

“Milkovich….fuck, that sounds so familiar,” Kev pondered as he wiped down the bar and turned his attention to another customer.

“Can you clue me in here, Debs?” Ian requested. “All I know about this girl is that her brother is a South Sider turned North Sider with an attitude problem.”

“I’m surprised you don’t remember them from school,” Debbie continued. “Mandy Milkovich. Lived just a few blocks over from us. Anyway, she’s like a big movie star now.”

“Big movie star, huh?” Lip doubted. 

“Well. Up and coming.”

“Would I have seen her in anything?” Ian asked, taking another small sip of his beer. He wondered what part Mickey Milkovich played in his sister’s rising stardom. 

“Not unless you like princesses,” spoke Debbie. “She played this badass, gothic princess named Seraphina Nocturne. It was feminist as fuck. Franny loves that movie.”

“Yeah, not so sure that one kids movie makes someone a big star, Debs,” Lip noted.

“Whatever. She’s doing better than the girl from school who became a porn star.”

The three siblings laughed together. Ian missed that the most about living at home. The talks. The laughter. 

“Milkovich!” Kev bellowed. “I knew I’d heard that name before.”

“We figured it out, Kev,” said Lip. “Used to be South Side. Sister is an actress now.”

“No, no, no,” Kev countered. “I mean, yes. But no. I know that family. Total shit show.”

Ian perked up at this. His new client wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information, so he wanted to absorb all of the details he possibly could. Even if the details were bar gossip.

“Their dad used to come here sometimes for a drink when he wasn’t locked up or running some illegal shit. Real asshole. Pretty sure his kids got the worst of it. Heard he used to beat the shit out of ‘em. Maybe even worse to the girl.”

“Jesus,” Debbie mumbled. “Makes Frank look like father of the year.”

Ian was pretty sure he already knew what Kev was going to say next. 

“Somebody emptied a clip in his head a couple years ago, though. Some kind of deal gone wrong.”

The three siblings sipped their beers in silence for a few moments.

“Kind of a downer, Kev,” Lip said with a grimace. 

“My bad,” Kev replied sheepishly, before turning his glance to Ian.

“Hey! You should ask Ian about the cat guy he went out with. I heard he had a great time.”

***

Ian picked Mickey up from the front of his apartment building the next morning. He’d checked the TITS app before leaving home and discovered that another $100 tip had been loaded onto his account from a Mr. Mikhailo Milkovich. Maybe the man didn’t understand that such large tips weren’t required of his service. Ian would feel bad if the man felt obligated to tip him so much every day for several weeks, even if he was an asshole in person. He resolved to mention it today.

Unlike the previous two days, Mickey was already waiting on the sidewalk when Ian arrived. He made quick work of climbing into the Suburban, almost as if he had been contemplating the quickest and easiest way to do it while waiting for his ride.

“Good mor-” Ian caught himself. “Uh. Hey, Mickey.”

“‘Ey,” Mickey replied, buckling his seat belt without having to be asked. Or forced. Ian wasn’t sure if the man was finally following the rules, or if he was just scared that Ian might try to fling him from the car again by not paying attention.

Ian had completed half of their morning drive before either of them spoke again. “Listen, Mr. Mil- Mickey, I mean. I just wanted to let you know that you don’t have to tip me every day.”

Mickey said nothing. Ian worried he had offended him.

“I mean, I appreciate it and all. It’s just that you don’t have to. Tip me. If you don’t want to. You’re not obligated.”

There. He’d said it. He assumed the high dollar tipping would slow down now.

“I don’t tip anyone I don’t want to, Red.”

Oh.

“So you can fuck off with your ‘not obligated’ bullshit.”

Ian decided to backtrack a little. “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I really do appreciate it.”

Mickey scoffed. “You didn’t. Just drop it.”

Ian dropped it.

They continued like this for several more days. Ian would transport Mickey twice daily, sometimes in complete silence. Sometimes Mickey would talk on his phone for the duration of the trip. Sometimes, although infrequently, they’d chat. Those chats were few and far between and somehow always ended up with Mickey instructing Ian to go fuck himself.

Each and every day, Ian wracked up another $100 tip.

It didn’t take long for Irene to notice. 

Irene (9:37PM): Damn, kid. Don’t know what you’re doing on your drives with Milkovich but keep doing it. 

Ian didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t doing anything special. Hell, he was hardly doing his job to the best of his ability at all.

But he pocketed the tips and accepted the praise anyway. 

***

It had been just over two weeks of transporting Mickey consistently when it happened. Ian pulled off to the side of the road in front of the apartment building just minutes before 8, as usual. He threw his hazards on and waited for Mickey to crutch his way to the Suburban.

Only Mickey never showed up.

8:03.

8:05.

8:09.

Ian checked his company’s app for any indication of a cancellation or perhaps a message from Mickey that he was running late this morning. Nothing.

8:11.

8:13.

Except for that very first day, it wasn’t like Mickey to be late. Ian watched a few of the apartment building’s residents exit the building to start their days. None of them looked familiar.

8:15.

Had Mickey mentioned catching a ride from someone else today? Ian wracked his brain but came up with no helpful information.

8:17.

Maybe he should call Irene. 

8:19.

Maybe he should leave.

8:20.

Fuck it.

Ian yanked the key from the ignition and exited the vehicle. Jerry, the concerned doorman, received him at the apartment’s entrance.

“Good morning, Mr. Driver,” Jerry greeted cheerfully. He was an older gentleman with graying hair and soft wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. From Ian’s observations, he seemed to really enjoy his job.

Ian extended his hand.

“Ian Gallagher, Timothy and Irene Transportation Services.” 

Jerry shook his hand. “Got a firm handshake, Mr. Gallagher. That says a lot about a person. I assume you’re here for Mr. Milkovich?”

Ian nodded. “I am. You seen him this morning?”

Jerry shook his head. “Can’t say I have. But you’re welcome to go knock on his door. Wouldn’t want that nice car of your to get towed by sitting here too long.”

That would be just what Ian needed. For his livelihood to be temporarily impounded.

“Can you tell me, uh, which door to knock on?”

“Top floor. Unit B.”

Ian thanked the man and made his way to a nearby elevator. He didn’t really know why he was doing this. He wasn’t obligated to retrieve his clients from their doorsteps. Hell, he knew of other drivers who had left their passengers stranded for less.

But he found himself standing in front of Unit B on the apartment’s top floor several minutes later regardless. 

Ian knocked gently.

“Mr. Milkovich,” he called.

Silence. Ian knocked louder.

“Mickey,” he shouted. “It’s Ian. I’m here to take you to your office.”

Nothing. 

Ian turned away, having given up, when he heard a muffled cry come from inside the apartment.

Ian whipped his head around. He couldn’t tell who exactly the cry came from or what they said, but at least Ian knew someone was home. He knocked again.

“Mickey,” he called. “C’mon, man. Let’s get going.”

The muffled cry sounded again.

Ian wasn’t sure what had come over him, but he felt himself reaching up and twisting the door handle of Unit B. It was unlocked. He pushed the door gently open.

Ian rationalized that maybe someone inside was severely injured and in need of help. Anything to make the trespassing he was doing seem a bit more valid.

The apartment was nice. Modern. The place wasn’t huge, but it felt open - likely due to the tall windows spilling the early morning’s light onto the beautiful hardwood floors.

“Mickey,” he called once more. “It’s Ian. Can I come in?

He heard the response more clearly this time.

“In here,” the voice, now clearly identifiable as Mickey, rang out. Ian followed the voice. He passed several closets and what appeared to be a bedroom before coming to a closed door at the end of a short hallway.

“Mickey?” He asked. “You in there?”

“Where the fuck else would I be?” Mickey retorted, his voice coated in hostility.

Ian was confused. “I’m sorry,” he answered. “Did you not need a ride to work today?”

He was met with silence. He was going to repeat his question when Mickey spoke again.

“Mmtuk.”

“What?”

“Mmstuk.”

“I’m sorry, come again?”

Mickey sighed. “I’m stuck, man. I’m fucking stuck.”

Ian’s eyes widened. So the man really was in distress.

“How did you…how did you get stuck?” Ian asked, fully prepared for Mickey to tell him to fuck off and shoo him away for the morning.

Another sigh. “My cast got wedged between the side of the tub and the cabinet as I was getting out of the shower.”

Ian pressed his hand against his mouth, suppressing an audible laugh. 

“I’m fuckin’ stuck, man. Don’t think I’m getting out of here anytime soon. I’ll just see you tomorrow, okay?”

Ian didn’t feel right about leaving an injured man stuck between a bathtub and a sink.

“Can I….I mean, do you….do you need help?” He asked.

“Can’t ask you to do that, dude.” Mickey answered. 

“I really don’t mind.”

“Man, I’m- fuck, I mean I don’t have any clothes on. Got stuck before I got dressed. Left my phone in the other room or I would have told ya to go on home.”

Oh.

Oh.

Ian really didn’t feel right about leaving an injured, fully naked man stuck between a bathtub and a sink.

“Look,” he started. “I really don’t think I can just leave you in there. Maybe I should call for a paramedic or something.”

“Fuck no,” Mickey bellowed. “No paramedic. I’m not hurt. Just stuck.”

Ian didn’t know what else to do. Mickey didn’t want a paramedic and he was sure he wouldn’t want his sister to see him in this state either. He could call for Jerry the Doorman, but something told Ian that would be just as awkward if not more so. But he couldn’t just leave the guy on his bathroom floor.

“I’m gonna come in and help you,” he asserted.

“I just told you my fuckin’ dick is out in here,” Mickey said, a hint of panic in his voice.

Ian scoffed. “I promise not to eyeball your dick. But I’m going to come and help you stand up. Okay?”

“…Yeah, okay.”

Ian took a deep breath and pushed the bathroom door open. The floor was pooled with water. 

Ian spied Mickey on the floor next to the bathtub, right where he’d said he would be. He was sprawled on his back with his good foot dangling inside the tub. His other foot was covered in a piece of plastic and appeared to be tightly wedged between the tub and the sink. His black hair was dripping wet and he was very, very naked. Ian’s eyes took in Mickey’s broad chest, which was lean and defined. His pectorals rose and fell with his staggered breathing, a faint trail of damp hair leading from his chest down to his well toned stomach.

Ian couldn’t help but take in the sight of the man’s bare pelvic region. His dick was gently nestled on a bed of stark black pubic hair, and wow. In any other situation, Ian would beg to touch it.

Mickey’s face was flushed a furious shade of red.

Ian gaped at him. “How did you…”

“I. Don’t. Know. Please just pull my foot out of here so I can put some fuckin’ pants on.”

Ian moved towards the incapacitated man and hovered over him, willing himself not to look down. He didn’t want to cause any more injury to the guy’s foot than what was already present.

“Alright. I’m going to wiggle the sink and you pull at the same time. On three.”

Ian counted. On three, Mickey wildly wiggled his foot and, with the new space Ian had created by shifting the sink, pulled his leg free.

“Oh, thank Christ,” Mickey sighed.

“Here, let me help.” Ian bent down and placed his hands on Mickey’s arms, helping him to stand.

Mickey surprisingly accepted the help, using Ian’s body to lean against as he stood. Ian couldn’t help but wonder how long the other man had been on the bathroom floor. For the first time that morning, Mickey’s icy blue eyes met Ian’s. 

And then he felt it. A growing hardness digging into his hip. Mickey’s eyes grew wide.

“Okay, can you hand me my crutches and fuck off so I can put some goddamn clothes on?”

Ian happily complied, shutting the bathroom door behind him. He trekked to the open living room area and sank down onto Mickey’s couch. It wasn’t all that comfortable, but Ian hoped he wouldn’t be staying for very long.

Ian’s dating life had been rather slow as of late. Aside from the hasty bathroom blow job given to him by the cat guy, it had been a while. He wondered how long it would take his brain to forget the image of a damp, naked Mickey Milkovich.

Five minutes later, Mickey emerged from the bathroom fully clothed and ready to go. The two men avoided direct eye contact.

“You sure you aren’t hurt?” Ian asked.

Mickey stopped in his tracks. “You don’t mention this to anyone. Ever.”

Ian nodded. He couldn’t think of a single person to whom he’d want to recount the events of this morning.

***

Ian thought only of a much needed release as he parked in a dimly lit parking lot in Boystown later that evening.

He’d managed to keep his behavior professional for the duration of his work day, but something about seeing Mickey in such a state of undress this morning had his cock practically twitching. Something about feeling the bulge of his client’s straining erection against his hip had him desperately yanking open the door of the Fairy Tale and claiming a seat at the bar. 

He didn’t frequent these spots often, but he knew how this worked. He ordered a jack and coke from the bar, taking occasional sips but mostly just swirling it around in his glass. It didn’t take long for him to catch someone’s attention. 

A tall, blonde man in a sports jacket sat down next to him. Not exactly Ian’s type, but he would do.

“Hey there,” the man began. “Here all alone?”

Ian simply nodded. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“Well, maybe I can keep you company.” He gestured at Ian’s glass. “Can I buy you another one?”

“How about we skip the pleasantries and go somewhere a little more private?” Ian propositioned with a raise of his eyebrow. 

“Well, shit.” The man began. “Didn’t make me work for it all, did ya?”

Twenty minutes later, when Ian was coming down the man’s throat in a bathroom stall littered with graffiti, he imagined striking black hair and piercing blue eyes.

The man called out to give Ian his phone number as he was working to button his own pants minutes later, but Ian had already gone.

Chapter Text

Ian wasn’t snooping.

He really wasn’t.

He had the right to know information about his clients. After all, he was transporting these people in his own personal vehicle daily. He had to make sure they were safe.

He could check up on anyone he wanted in his company’s database as long as he didn’t share the information with anyone else. He could check up on, say, the wealthy North Side couple that he drove to brunch every Thursday while they got handsy in the backseat. They could have something sketchy going on.

Or Mrs. Springs. She could be a deranged psycho killer with a lengthy arrest record for all he knew. He was entitled to this information.

At least, this is what he told himself the next day as he walked into the office hub of Timothy and Irene’s. 

Mickey had canceled his services for both yesterday evening and this morning, meaning the last time Ian had seen the man was their awkward bathroom encounter from the previous morning and the silent ride to work that had followed. His mind was racing. Why did Mickey keep canceling? Was it because he was embarrassed? Or offended? Ian figured doing a little research on the guy would at least give his brain something to do.

“Hey, stud,” Irene greeted him from behind the front counter. “Didn’t expect you in here today.”

“Got about an hour before my next pick up,” Ian shrugged. “Figured I’d drop by.”

“Well, you’re always welcome,” Irene smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

Ian leaned against the counter and made pleasant small talk for as long as he could stand.

Nice weather today.

Gearing up for a cold winter.

Any new drivers?

Take on any interesting clients lately?

“Speaking of clients,” Ian said, clearing his throat. “Mind if I take a peek at some client files while I’m here?”

“Ah,” Irene said with a knowing smirk. “So you didn’t come to see me after all.”

Ian looked at his shoes.

“Who you checking up on?” Irene asked.

And, well, what was the use of lying? “Milkovich,” Ian admitted.

Ian was genuinely curious about the guy. South Side turned North Side, and all. And sure, maybe Ian was attracted to him, too. Who could blame him? He was a young, red-blooded man. Nothing wrong with admiring other attractive men. 

Attractive clients.

Attractive clients who got stuck in their bathroom and needed help standing up.

Attractive clients whose bare erection dug into Ian’s hip yesterday.

Stop thinking about Milkovich’s cock with your boss standing right in front of you, Ian.

Irene nodded her head. “Wondered when you’d start asking questions about that one. Hard nuts to crack, the Milkovich family.” Ian wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but the phone rang before he could get the words out.

“Timothy and Irene Transportation Services,” Irene spoke into the receiver. “How can I help you today?” 

Irene pointed at a closed door at the other end of the room, mouthing ‘go ahead’ to Ian.

Ian crossed the length of the small office in four quick strides, stepping into the records room and closing the door gently behind him. He thought about locking it, but decided against it. It wasn’t like Irene hadn’t already seen whatever information Ian was about to see.

Ian sat down at the company’s old, dinosaur computer where client records were housed. Apparently the record room used to contain folders upon folders of physical documents, but Irene had improved their documentation system a few years back. Ian wasn’t sure how much of an improvement the old, slow computer had given them, but at least the system was digitized now.

Ian wiggled the mouse and the computer came to life. No password required. He made a mental note to add one later.

There were just two folders on the desktop. One of them was titled “A-L” and the other was titled “M-Z.” Ian clicked on the second folder and scrolled until he found the name was he was looking for.

Milkovich.

Ian double clicked.

A file folder with 8 documents appeared. Ian glanced at the titles.

Contact information, social security card, driver’s license, address, emergency contacts, payment, usernames and passwords, and criminal records.

Criminal records.

Ian’s conscience ate at him. Was he really about to sit here and read through Mickey’s criminal history? God knows he wouldn’t want anyone to dig through his messy background. He’d done some things he wasn’t proud of back when he was manic and unmedicated. 

But wasn’t most criminal and arrest history public information anyway? He could probably just type “Milkovich” in on Google and most of the stuff in these files would show up.

So, he rationalized, he wasn’t really doing anything wrong.

He held his breath and clicked on “criminal records.”

The first thing to pop up was a document detailing Mickey’s involvement in a South Side mini mart robbery from 8 years ago. Ian didn’t recognize the name of the store, but from the looks of the address, it couldn’t have been very far from Ian’s old high school workplace, the Kash and Grab. The robbery had landed him a brief stint in juvie, but he’d been released after only two months due to overcrowding and good behavior.

The second document detailed an event about a year after the robbery where Mickey had gotten into some kind of physical altercation with a homeless guy on the side of the road. It seemed he’d only gotten a slap on the wrist for that one. He’d been arrested but there was no information about any legal repercussions or time served. 

The third and final document wasn’t a police report, but a newspaper article dated November 9th, 2014.

South Side Altercation Leads to Arrest in Alleged Hate-Motivated Assault

A violent altercation between a father and son in the Canaryville neighborhood on Friday night has resulted in one man being taken into police custody.

According to officers at the scene, 49 year old Terry Milkovich was arrested after assaulting his 18 year old son, Mikhailo Milkovich, in what officials are referring to as a “domestic altercation with potential hate-motivated undertones.”

Witnesses reported hearing shouting and loud, banging noises from inside the Milkovich home around midnight. When officers arrived, both Terry and Mikhailo were injured with visible signs of a physical struggle. Paramedics treated both on the scene.

Sources from the scene of the altercation say that the physical struggle began when Mr. Milkovich discovered his son in an intimate sexual situation with another unnamed male individual. No charges have been officially filed, but preliminary reports suggest that the confrontation was fueled by familial tensions caused by homophobia.

While both parties sustained mild injuries, police at the scene determined that Mr. Terry Milkovich was the primary aggressor and his son, Mikhailo, was released without charges.

The name of the other young man involved in the incident has not been released. The Milkovich family is well known in the area for past run-ins with law enforcement.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

Ian didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. He’d had his run in with homophobia in the past, but he’d always considered himself lucky that the people who really mattered, his family, were tolerant and accepting. He couldn’t imagine being attacked by his own family just for being gay.

He decided he’d had enough. He didn’t want to read anymore.

He exited out of the article and clicked the ‘back’ arrow. Just before he shut the computer down entirely, he glanced through Mickey’s information one more time.

Phone number.

Mickey’s phone number was right there.

He didn’t exactly feel right about it, but what harm could it do to jot down the man’s phone number now that Ian probably knew about Mickey’s most vulnerable moment?

Before he could think better of it, he took out his phone and plugged the phone number into a new contact.

Mickey Milkovich.

Then, deciding he’d done enough damage to his brain for one day, he shut the computer off and exited the room. Irene was still talking on the phone as he took his leave.

Ian didn’t know how he would ever look Mickey in the eyes again, knowing what he now knew.

***

“You’re quiet today, Ian dear,” Mrs. Springs noted from the backseat later that day. He loved his weekly chats with the old woman. It had become one of his favorite parts of his work week. 

But he couldn’t stop thinking about the article from Mickey’s file. It was like the words were seared into his brain. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them.

Hate-motivated assault.

Violent altercation between father and son.

Intimate sexual situation with another unnamed male.

“Sorry, Mrs. Springs. Got a lot on my mind.”

“You know, dear,” Mrs. Springs encouraged. “I often find that talking about my thoughts helps me to process them.”

Ian considered. He did trust Mrs. Springs. He valued her opinion and enjoyed their time together. He couldn’t share Mickey’s detailed information with her, but maybe it would help him to get some of those feelings off his chest.

“Have you ever known something about someone? Something that they didn’t know that you knew?”

Mrs. Springs took a moment to think. “I’ve lived many years. I’ve known a lot of things about a lot of people.”

“Right,” Ian began. “What I mean is….what if you knew a secret about someone’s past? A bad one. Maybe something really bad happened to them. And you don’t even know them that well to begin with but you know this really bad thing and you just feel terrible about it. Like, terrible that it happened but also you feel terrible that you know this intimate detail about this person when they aren’t the ones that shared it with you. And now you aren’t sure how you can talk to them again without thinking about this awful thing.”

Silence.

He may have overshared a bit.

“Sorry for….all that.” Ian apologized. 

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart.” Mrs. Springs insisted. “But it sounds like you just need to be patient. This is your friend’s trauma. Not yours. They’ll share it with you when they’re ready.”

Ian knew she was right.

“Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh. “I mean, I hardly know the guy. But just imagining what he went through…it’s a lot.”

“You’re a sweet boy,” Mrs. Springs complimented. “I know if your friend needs someone, you’ll be there.”

Ian glanced at his GPS. Three more miles until they reached their destination.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” she began. “Is this young man a special friend?”

Ian gawked. “You know? That I’m…you know that I’m gay?”

“Oh, Ian.” Mrs. Springs laughed. “You’re about as subtle as a marching band in a library.”

***

Mickey was Ian’s last client of the day, and Ian was worried that he’d really struggle to keep his composure during the drive. He wondered how he’d managed to go his entire life and not hear about a homophobic attack so close to his childhood home, especially being one of very few out gay kids on the South Side.

He had only driven about a mile in the direction of Mickey’s office when he received a message from Irene.

Irene (4:46PM): Hey. Don’t worry about Milkovich this afternoon. He canceled again.

Fuck. Why did he keep canceling? Ian was starting to think that he really had offended the guy. Hell, maybe he was even trying to secure another driver.

Ian had come to enjoy his drives with Mickey. Even when the guy was being a asshole, something about him felt comfortable. Maybe it was the shared South Side history. Ian had never lost a client before.

Ian pulled to the side of the road before answering. 

Ian (4:48PM): He say why?

Irene (4:50PM): Just said something came up. Said he was still good for tomorrow though.

Ian sighed and resolved to just pick up a burger and head home for the evening.

Before he could pull away from the side of the road, he received a notification from his company’s app.

Mikhailo M. has loaded a tip in the amount of $300 to your account.

$300. 

$100 for each of the three rides Ian hadn’t even provided due to Mickey canceling. 

$300 to not do his job.

Ian pursed his lips and threw his phone down onto the passenger’s seat a little harder than intended. The overly generous tip had bruised his ego.

This had to stop. The large tips that Mickey gave him for completed services was already too much, but receiving tips for no service at all made him feel like a complete charity case. 

Ian worked hard and did well for himself. There was no need for this. He decided to tell Mickey as soon as possible. 

He’d be more firm this time. More clear.

He drove directly home, forgetting to stop for his burger.

***

The next morning, Ian completed an extra long run and tried to practice some deep breathing prior to getting into the driver’s seat of the Suburban. Not only was he armed with information he probably shouldn’t have about his client, but he’d also seen the man’s dick two days before. And he had to convince the man to stop giving so much unnecessary extra cash. He felt like a walking time bomb of embarrassment. What mortifying thing would leave his mouth today?

Good morning, Mr. Milkovich. Say. You get your cast stuck anywhere today?

Get into any fights with homophobic family members recently? Oh, by the way, I know you’re gay. You didn’t tell me but I did some digging and I know that about you now.

Any reason why you’re treating me like a sugar baby? I’m certainly not doing the work for it although I really wouldn’t mind.

How’s your extremely attractive dick doing under those clothes?

Not to be dramatic, but he kind of wanted to die a little bit.

He could do this, he assured himself. He could do his job, drive his client, lay down the law, and not make a complete ass of himself.

Mickey was waiting on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building when Ian arrived, but he wasn’t alone. A pretty young woman with similar black hair to Mickey’s stood to his right. She wore a pair of sunglasses with matte black frames on the bridge of her nose and a large, oversized hoodie.

Ian had never met her, but he assumed the stranger was Mickey’s sister, Mandy. The two did look strikingly similar, especially standing directly next to each other.

Ian pulled to the curb and threw the SUV into park. Both Mickey and the young woman - possibly Mandy - approached the car.

Would he be driving them both today?

Mickey opened the car door and threw his crutches inside.

“Can you hurry up, ass face?” The young woman nagged, impatiently waiting her turn to  get into the Suburban. “We don’t have all day, ya know.” 

“I have a broken foot, you bitch. Gonna have to give me a few seconds.”

The duo chaotically settled themselves into the vehicle and closed the door behind them.

“Hey, Mickey.” Ian greeted. He knew his face was already flushed pink. He hoped Mickey couldn’t see from where he was sitting.

“‘Ey,” said Mickey. 

There was no way he’d be able to discuss what he’d intended to talk about with another person in the car. He’d just have to wait.

“So, uh. To whom do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, pulling away from the curb and beginning the drive.

“Oh,” Mickey replied, as if realizing that it was his job to make the introduction between the two parties. “Mandy, this is Ian. Ian, this is my sister, Mandy.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mandy said sweetly, reaching up and patting Ian’s shoulder. “So you’re the one who has to deal with my least favorite brother every day, huh?”

Ian didn’t even have time to respond. Not that he would have known what to say.

“Fuck you. Ain’t no way any of our other idiot brothers are your favorite. And buckle your fuckin’ seatbelt, why don’t you?”

Ian’s lips curled up in a smile at Mickey’s demand. He heard Mandy’s seatbelt snap closed.

“Listen, Mick,” Mandy began. “I really think we should sign the contract as is.”

Mickey sighed. Ian could practically hear the man’s eyes rolling. “They aren’t offering you enough money, Mandy. Don’t wanna keep havin’ this same conversation with you.”

“It’s not always about the money, you fuck. Sometimes it’s about exposure. I don’t always want to do kids movies, Mick. This could be something big for me. For us.”

“Yeah? Well they’re offering you half of what I know that shit-for-brains, beefcake co-star of yours would be getting. You think that’s fair?”

Mandy sighed. “Of course not. But you have to start somewhere.”

As a driver, Ian was used to tuning out conversations that didn’t concern him. For some reason, however, he was having a hard time tuning out this one. He made the mistake of glancing into the rear view mirror, where he made indirect eye contact with Mickey.

“Well,” Mickey huffed. “Why don’t we get a second opinion. Ian. Should my sister sign a contract to star in a movie when her co-star is getting paid double what she’s being offered?”

Ian’s eyes widened. Oh, he so did not want to be in the middle of this.

“I, uh, hardly think it’s my place to say.”

“It’s your place to say if I ask your opinion,” Mickey countered.

“Yeah,” agreed Mandy. “Ian, can you please tell my brother that money isn’t always the most important thing in the world?”

Ian floundered for something to say. He didn’t particularly want to piss off either of the angry Milkovich siblings in his back seat.

“Well,” Ian faltered. “I mean, I guess I can see where Mandy is coming from.”

“Hah!” Mandy snapped.

“But,” he continued. “Ya know, if you set the precedent that you’ll accept less payment, people might take advantage of you. In the future, I mean. I don’t know. I’m not, like, in the entertainment industry. Or whatever. I’m sure there’s a lot that I don’t understand.”

Ian hoped that answer would do. He really didn’t want to say anything more.

“Thank you,” Mickey resounded. “I’m your manager, Mandy. Please let me handle this.”

Mandy grumbled something in response that Ian couldn’t quite make out, but he thought it was probably another insult. 

“Sorry for canceling yesterday,” Mickey said, seemingly ignoring his sister’s potential insult. “Mandy here had us practically sleeping at the office trying to figure this shit out.”

“I’m the money maker, Mick. Gotta do what we have to do.”

“Bitch, if it weren’t for me, you’d be doing these shit movies for free. Hell, they’d probably convince you to pay them. They’d put it in your contract, which you’d sign with a smile because you don’t fuckin’ read shit.”

Ian pulled the Suburban to the curb upon their arrival and watched as the two siblings crawled out of the back seat. He couldn’t say he was upset to see them go. Mandy was loud and Mickey was even more volatile than usual with his sister in the car.

“Nice to meet you,” Mandy chirped. Ian was thankful she wasn’t holding his take on her contract situation against him. He watched as Mickey pulled his crutches out of the vehicle and positioned them underneath his armpits.

“You were right,” Ian heard Mandy say. “He is really fucking hot.”

“Mandy, can you please shut the fuck up?” Mickey growled, slamming the car door closed.

There was really no way they could be talking about him, Ian thought. Could they?

At least he now knew that Mickey’s back to back cancellations weren’t about him, but about his work with Mandy. He hadn’t been able to discuss what he’d needed to with the other man, but he did feel somewhat better about the situation knowing that Mickey wasn’t intentionally avoiding him and essentially paying extra not to see him.

Mickey was a whirlwind. He never knew quite how to act or what to think when he was around. One second the man was pissing him off, the next minute he was making him laugh, and somewhere in there he was finding the energy to also make Ian sexually frustrated. 

Ian hoped he would make it to the end of this six week contract in one piece and with his dignity intact.

***

Ian made it a point to clean the inside of the Suburban every other day or so. Part of the gig was making sure the car was clean for his clients. And for himself, since he did spend the majority of his days in the vehicle. 

That evening, as he was cleaning out the back seat, he noticed something on the floorboard. It was shoved underneath the driver’s seat and partially hidden. Ian was surprised he’d even noticed it.

He picked it up. It was a wallet. One of his clients must have dropped it today. He checked his watch. 

7:56.

Still early. Plenty of time to contact whoever this belonged to and return it. He opened the wallet to identify who the item belonged to.

Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.

There, in the little window sleeve on the left hand side, was a driver’s license that clearly belonged to one Mikhailo Milkovich.

Ian could just wait and give the wallet back tomorrow, he thought. After all, it wasn’t as though he didn’t see the man twice daily on week days.

But what if he canceled again tomorrow morning? And what if he needed his wallet? Mickey seemed like a busy guy, with his fancy apartment on the North Side and talent manager job. 

No.

He could wait.

Ian locked the Suburban and climbed the three stories to his apartment. He sat the wallet on his kitchen counter, popped a frozen dinner in the microwave, and tried to take his mind off of work, clients, and naked passengers with a generous tipping streak for the evening.

He had taken approximately 1.5 bites of his dinner when his brain wandered back to the wallet.

Was it okay to just keep a man’s wallet on his counter for the next 12 hours? 

Identification cards, credit cards, maybe cash…Ian wasn’t sure, he hadn’t investigated the wallet past the initial glance that told him who it belonged to.

It would be fine. He took another bite and plopped down on his worn couch, turning on the TV. He flipped through a couple channels as he chewed. 

Game network.

Food network.

ESPN.

His eyes flitted back to the wallet on the counter.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He did have Mickey’s phone number now (even if it made Ian feel a little gross for obtaining it the way he did). If it would ease his mind for the evening, maybe he could just shoot Mickey a text and let him know he’d found his wallet. He wouldn’t need to return it immediately. He would just send a quick message and then continue on with his evening. Yes, that would definitely make him feel better.

He took his phone out of his pocket and entered his password, swiping to Mickey’s contact that he’d created that morning.

He began typing a message.

Ian (8:13PM): Hey. It’s Ian. Found your wallet in my car. Just wanted to let you know.

There. That should do it. He sat his phone down next to him on the couch. Before he could raise his fork to his lips to take another bite of his dinner, the phone vibrated.

It probably wasn’t even Mickey, Ian thought. It was probably Irene. Or the Gallagher family group chat.

Mickey (8:14PM): Oh thank fuck. Thought it was gone for good. Can I get that back?

Ian (8:14PM): Yeah, of course. I can bring it in the morning.

Ian sat his phone down again, determined to actually finish his dinner before it got cold. He shoveled in a few more bites and tried to focus on the commercial currently playing on the TV. Mickey probably wouldn’t respond. There was no reason to respond, right? Ian would give him his wallet back in the morning. End of discussion.

Ian’s phone buzzed.

Mickey (8:22PM): Any way I could get it back tonight?

Oh. Okay.

Ian (8:23PM): Yeah, sure. Want me to run it to your apartment real fast?

Mickey (8:25PM): I’m actually having a drink right now. Want to meet me here?

Mickey (8:26PM): I’ll buy ya a drink for not robbing me since I’m here by myself.

Mickey (8:26PM): Assuming everything is still in there when you give it back, Firecrotch.

Ian couldn’t help himself from the snarky remark that followed.

Ian (8:28PM): Why would I need to steal from you when you empty your entire fucking bank account into my tip jar every day?

There. Ian was positive his petulant text would piss the man off. Maybe he’d retract his invitation and Ian would be free to stay in after all.

Mickey (8:30PM): Good point. I’ll be waiting.

And. Well. Alright then.

Ian had just finished buttoning his jeans and throwing on a light jacket when Mickey texted him his location. It wasn’t far from Ian’s apartment. Maybe a 6 minute drive. Ian wondered what Mickey Milkovich was doing at a bar alone on the South Side.

He wondered all the way there.

***

The bar was a total dive. Maybe even more so than the Alibi. 

It was a tiny, hole in the wall place with a tattered awning that read, “The Bar.” Ian guessed the owners weren’t great with words. It was nearly empty when Ian entered. A bored looking middle aged woman stood behind the bar texting on her cell phone. A few stragglers sat in front of her nursing beers, primarily older looking men with crow’s feet and graying hair.

He spied Mickey at a booth in the corner. His crutches were leaning against the wall next to his seat. The two men made eye contact and Mickey waved him over.

“Hey,” Ian said, hesitantly sitting across from Mickey.

“Hey. Went ahead and got you a beer. I can get you something else if that’s not your thing, though.”

“Uh, no. Beer is good. Thanks.”

Ian took a small sip as if to say, “See, this is fine.”

“Oh,” Ian said, remembering why he had come here in the first place. “Here.”

He pulled Mickey’s wallet out of his pocket and sat it on the sticky table in front of them. Mickey slid the wallet over to his side.

“Thanks, Red. ‘Preciate it.”

“Wanna check it? Make sure everything is there?”

“Nah. I’m sure it is.”

“I dunno,” said Ian. “Seems to me you must think I’m pretty desperate, what with all the extra money you give me.”

Mickey didn’t say anything, choosing instead of fidget with his glass.

“Well,” Ian said. “Thanks for the beer. I’ll just finish it and get out of your hair.”

Mickey frowned. “Oh. Alright. Yeah. Sounds good.”

Ian downed a few more gulps of his beer. More than he’d normally drink given his medication, but he didn’t want to be rude. Ian stood.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess,” he said with a nod.

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed. “Yeah.”

He turned to leave.

“Wait,” Mickey said so quietly that Ian thought he’d misheard. “Hang on.”

Ian turned back. “Yeah?”

If Ian didn’t know better, he’d think that Mickey looked nervous. His hands were still fidgeting around his glass and he bit gently at his lower lip. 

“It’s just,” Mickey said. “I thought maybe you could stay. For a bit. Have another beer. If you want. I mean, fuck. If you need to get home or have somewhere to be…”

Ian was surprised. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the man was enjoying his company. But that couldn’t be the case. Maybe someone had canceled on him and he was too proud to sit here alone.

“No,” Ian marveled. “I don’t have anywhere to be. I can, uh. I can stay.” He returned to his seat.

Neither of the men said anything for a few moments. This was the first time they were speaking without Ian’s Suburban in the equation as a buffer. At least when he was driving Mickey to and from work, he had a job to do that he could focus on when the silence became too loud.

Fuck, this was awkward.

“So,” Ian started, looking down at his hands. “Tell me about your work.”

Mickey gave a low chuckle. “Figured you had figured all that out. With me and my sister arguing in your back seat.”

Ian nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I know what you do. I think. Vaguely. But tell me anyway. I’ve been curious.”

I also know about your tumultuous past with your homophobic, piece of shit father.

“Alright,” Mickey said with a shrug. “It’s honestly pretty straight forward. Mandy’s the talent. The face. And I’m the behind the scenes guy making sure that she doesn’t get fucked over.”

“So you’re like her agent?”

“Agent. Manager. Whatever you want to call it. I helped keep her out of trouble when she first got signed to those stupid fuckin’ princess movies a couple years ago. Figured I was pretty good at it. Just never stopped.”

Ian remembered Debbie mentioning the princess movies. Serephina Something or Other, he thought. “Oh yeah. My niece loves those movies. At least, that’s what my sister tells me.”

Mickey smiled. “Yeah, kids come up to Mandy all the time. Pretty damn cute until their parent overhears her talkin’ like a sailor. Bitch is loud.”

If Mandy’s single ride in Ian’s Suburban was any indication of her typical volume, Mickey was correct.

“So. You only got the one sister?” Mickey asked, finishing off his beer.

“Nah,” Ian answered. “Two sisters. Debbie is my younger sister, she’s the one with the kid. Frannie. And my older sister, Fiona, she practically raised all of us. Absent parents and all that. And I’ve got three brothers. Lip, Carl, and Liam. Lip has a baby now too.”

“Geez. Sounds like my house growing up. Guess us South Siders have nothin’ better to do than reproduce.”

Ian agreed. 

“Hey,” Mickey said. “Maybe Mandy could come see your niece sometime. Since she likes her movies and all. Mandy splits her time between here and LA, but she really does like kids. For some fuckin’ reason.”

He wasn’t sure what Mickey’s angle was here. He’d never seen a side of his client that wasn’t rude and abrasive. “That would be…really nice of her.”

Ian needed some air.

“Hey, let me grab us another round.”

Mickey grabbed for his wallet which still sat on the table.

“It’s on me this time,” Ian asserted.

“You sure, Red?”

“Least I can do to make up for all those tips you keep leaving me.”

Mickey smiled, but didn’t comment.

Ian approached the bar and ordered two more beers. He hadn’t completely finished his first one, but he didn’t want to divulge his medical history to Mickey this evening. The effects of alcohol on his medication didn’t seem like a hot topic of conversation between friends. Is that what they were? Were they friends? Or was this a strange, one off meeting that would never happen again?

Ian returned to the table moments later, sitting Mickey’s beer down in front of him. He spied the crutches still propped against the wall next to their booth. “How’d you hurt your foot? If you don’t mind me asking?”

Mickey sighed. “Wondered when you’d ask. Whole thing was fuckin’ stupid.”

“As stupid as getting your cast stuck in the bathroom?”

Mickey’s eyes widened. “Thought I told you not to bring that up,” he hissed. “Shit was embarrassing.”

“Okay, okay. But really, how’d you break it?”

Ian knew he didn’t have the right to ask questions like this, but hell. It hadn’t stopped him so far. 

“Got in a fight. If ya think I look bad, should see the other guy.”

Maybe the other man had a little more South Side left in him than just trash talking.

“Really?”

“Nah. Kicked the shit out of my coffee table in the dark one night and then tripped over some Amazon boxes.”

Ian snorted. “Man, you should stick with the first story.”

Mickey flipped him off. “Fuck you is what I gotta stick to.”

Ian was surprised at how easy it was to talk to the other man after the initial awkwardness of the evening had worn off. He really was having a good time. He checked his phone. 11:06. Fuck. He should have taken his nighttime meds 6 minutes ago.

“Hey,” he began. “This has been fun. Really. Thanks for the beer. But I gotta head home.”

Mickey’s face fell. “Oh. You, uh. Got someone waitin’ for ya at home?”

Was Mickey digging for information? Was he just as curious as Ian was?

“Nah. Nobody at home. Just have to work in the morning.” Ian figured that response would do. It was true. He did have to work in the morning. Mickey should know this to be true since he was Ian’s first pickup of the day.

“Fuck,” Mickey cursed. “Sorry, man. I forget that some people actually sleep at night. I’ll order an Uber. You head on.”

Ian wanted to ask what Mickey meant by ‘some people actually sleep at night,’ but the man’s comment about ordering an Uber found itself front and center in Ian’s mind. “You’re ordering an Uber?”

Mickey continued typing on his phone. “Yeah, man. Got a broken foot. How’d you think I got here?”

“Uber is the worst,” Ian said with disgust. “Completely devalues my profession. I mean, their standards for driver and passenger safety is bottom of the barrel.”

“Alright, Miss Daisy.” Mickey scoffed. 

“Miss Daisy was the passenger in the movie. So you’d be Miss Daisy. Technically I’d be Morgan Freeman’s character.”

“I am not Miss Daisy.” Mickey griped.

“Okay. Neither of us are Miss Daisy. I’m Ian. You’re Mickey. And you are not taking an Uber home.”

Mickey looked at Ian incredulously. “How the fuck am I supposed to get home, then?”

Ian stood, pocketing his phone. He grabbed Mickey’s crutches from their spot against the wall and handed them over. “C’mon. I’ll drive you.”

“You really don’t have to do that, Red,” Mickey sighed.

“And you really don’t have to tip me a stupid amount of money every day like some South Side charity case. Guess we’re both in the habit of doing things we don’t have to do.”

With that, Ian turned and exited the small dive bar. He wasn’t sure if Mickey would follow or not, but he needed a cigarette. Maybe he was being a little sensitive about the money thing, but it was hard not to take it personally.

He leaned up against the side of the brick building, lighting his cigarette and taking a slow drag. He’d gotten used to not smoking for most of the day, as he didn’t allow smoking in his vehicle. But sometimes, when the air around him seemed too thick or his brain got too foggy, he craved one. He closed his eyes, exhaling the smoke through his nose.

He heard Mickey before he saw him. The crutches weren’t exactly subtle. 

“Fuck, man.” Mickey said, clearly exasperated. “It’s hard to keep up on these things.”

Ian kept his eyes closed, enjoying the warm feel of the smoke. Familiar. Calming. “Wasn’t gonna leave ya,” he said. “Just grabbing some air.”

“I don’t give a fuck about that. Just wanted to tell you that I don’t think you’re a charity case.”

Ian opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings. Mickey stood a considerable distance away. There were no streetlights. No visible stars. All he could see of the other man was an outline.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Ian admitted. “Don’t even know why I did. It’s really not a big deal. You’re my client. You’re generous. I appreciate it.”

“It’s not that, though.” Mickey came closer. “You’re really good at your job. And you put up with my ass every single day which is more than I can say for most people.”

Closer.

“And you give it back to me when I’m an asshole instead of just taking my shit and I love that. Ever since my sister got big and we have more fuckin’ money than we know what to do with, everybody treats me like I’m something special. Like I’m special just because I live on the North Side and can afford stupid shit I don’t need.”

Closer.

“But that’s not fuckin’ me, man. That’s never been me. I just want somebody to treat me like a normal person and you do. And you work hard. You deserve those tips, man. So please don’t think it’s because I’m trying to flex my bank account or because I feel sorry for you because that couldn’t be farther from the-”

And then Ian was kissing him.

Ian’s mouth moved hungrily against Mickey’s. His lips were soft. Warm. Inviting. Nothing at all like the cold exterior that Mickey exuded daily in the back seat of Ian’s Suburban. Ian slid his tongue gently against Mickey’s mouth. A question that was answered as Mickey parted his lips and met Ian’s tongue with his own. 

Ian groaned, cupping the other man’s face in his hands. He thought that he could stay like this forever, kissing Mickey against this unfamiliar brick wall. Ian reached down and palmed Mickey’s dick through his jeans. It was half hard already and god Ian wanted to see it again. 

Mickey placed a hand on Ian’s chest and gave him a gentle push.

“Wait,” he gasped, catching his breath. “Hang on a minute, Red.”

Ian paused, eyes widening. Maybe he had misread the situation. Maybe Mickey didn’t want his hands roaming that low. Maybe he’d fucked everything up.

“Oh god,” Ian sputtered. “I’m so sorry. You kissed me back so I thought…I thought you wanted to.” He combed a hand through his red hair nervously. 

“I do,” Mickey started. “Fuck. I want it. You. But I need. I need you to. I can’t.” 

Ian furrowed his brow. In this moment, he’d give Mickey anything he wanted. He just had to figure out what that was first. 

“Anything,” Ian said. “What do you need?”

Mickey’s cheeks flushed pink. “I don’t know how much longer I can stand here. ‘Cause of my foot.”

Oh. 

“Fuck, Mick. I’m so sorry,” Ian floundered. Mickey must think he was an animal, attaching himself to the injured man’s mouth and pushing him up against a wall without a care in the world. “Look, we don’t have to do this. Let me take you home-”

“Jesus, Firecrotch.” Mickey huffed. “Shut the fuck up for a second.”

Ian did.

“I just need to sit down is all.”

Ian looked to their left and right. There was nothing in the alley aside from the overflowing dumpster a few feet away from the two men. Ian couldn’t very well ravage Mickey against a grimy dumpster. And he didn’t feel right about pulling him down onto the ground, either. 

“Oh, I, uh-” Ian began. “There’s not really anywhere for you to sit but maybe I could go inside and ask for a chair or something.”

Ian mentally kicked himself. 

A chair? A fucking chair? Yes, one of your finest chairs, Barkeep. One with enough durability for some good old back alley fucking, if you don’t mind.

Mickey exhaled. “Goddamn it, Ian. Take me around to that SUV you love so much and teach me a thing or two in the back seat.”

Ian could have died. As much time as he spent in his vehicle, he’d never fucked in one. He wondered if he was a ‘car sex’ guy. Hell, he was going to find out.

Ian nodded and handed Mickey his crutches, which had clattered to the ground earlier. He led the other man around the corner to where the Suburban was parked. There were very few cars in the parking lot and not another living soul in sight. 

Thank fuck.

Ian unlocked the vehicle with the press of a button and opened the back door for Mickey. Mickey gestured to his crutches. 

“Where should I?…” 

“Oh,” Ian said. “Right. Here, let me.” 

He held out his hands for Mickey to pass the crutches over. Ian half expected Mickey to tell him to go fuck himself, but after a few moments he braced himself on the side of the car and handed the crutches over to Ian. Ian took the crutches and crossed to the back of the vehicle, where he deposited the items into the hatchback. 

When he returned, Mickey was still standing next to the SUV, bracing himself with one hand against the side of it.

Ian reached out a hand and traced it along Mickey’s jaw.

“Do you trust me, Mick?” He asked.

Mickey shrugged. “Not particularly. Only known ya for a few weeks.”

Ian laughed and, before he lost his nerve, secured his hands around Mickey’s waist and lifted.

“Hey! Fuck! Whoah! Goddamn it! Paws off!” Mickey cursed as Ian lifted his body and deposited him on the edge of the seat.

Mickey was lighter than Ian expected. Maybe it was just the adrenaline that Ian was feeling in hopes that he would get to see Mickey naked again. Here. Soon. Ian scooted Mickey’s body back until his shoulders were practically lying flush against the backseat of the car. Ian climbed in after him and shut the door behind himself, Mickey hollering all the while.

“You don’t just pick a man up, Red! Fuck! Hey, are you listening to me? Hmph-”

Ian crashed their lips together as he hovered over Mickey’s body to quiet the man. 

“Do you want to keep yelling or do you want me to suck your dick?” Ian asked, coming up for air.

Mickey faltered. “The, uh, the second one.”

Ian smirked as he trailed his hands down Mickey’s torso. He could feel the man’s toned body even underneath the sweater. His fingers continued their journey downwards. 

Down. 

Down.

Down.

His hands stopped at the waistband of Mickey’s jeans. He lifted his eyes to the dark haired man’s face, where he was watching Ian intently. He raised an eyebrow as if to ask for permission.

Mickey nodded. “Yeah, man. Fuck yeah.”

And then, almost as an afterthought.

“But ya don’t just pick a man up.”

“Okay,” Ian said as he worked at the button of Mickey’s pants. “No more picking you up.” He undid the zipper and tugged at the waistband.

“Lift,” he instructed. Mickey did.

He tugged the jeans down to Mickey’s knees and lowered his face down to the waistband of his boxers. Mickey’s arousal was evident in both the defined outline of his hardness and the slight wet spot that already formed on the gray fabric. 

Ian ghosted his hand over the shape of Mickey’s cock, earning him a breathy moan in response.

“Tease,” Mickey whispered. 

And he was right. Ian loved to tease. He loved to watch a partner’s skin prickle in anticipation of his touch. He loved to see a man’s nipples harden, legs clench, cock stiffen because of him. To Ian, the only thing better than receiving pleasure was providing it. And god was he good at providing it.

He mouthed softly over Mickey’s bulge, every so often stopping to run gentle kisses along his hip bone.

“Tell me what you want,” Ian murmured into Mickey’s skin. 

“Think you know exactly what I want, Red,” Mickey whined. 

Ian pinched the waistband of Mickey’s boxers. “I do,” Ian admitted. “Just wanna hear you say it.”

Mickey scoffed. “Cocky bastard.”

Ian shrugged. “Guess we could always go back inside and have another beer before last call.” He made to open the car door.

“Fuck,” Mickey spat. “I want you to choke on my fuckin’ cock, okay?”

Ian grinned. He’d been given his orders and he aimed to deliver. In one solid movement, he shoved Mickey’s boxers down and sank his mouth down over Mickey’s hardening length.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Mickey cried.

Ian took extra care to cover his teeth as he bobbed his head up and down. Every so often, he’d sink down as low as he could, reveling in the little noises that Mickey made as his cock bumped against the back of Ian’s throat. Mickey’s hands gripped at the seat, as though to ground himself.

Ian released himself from Mickey’s cock with a pop, replacing his mouth with his hand. He teasingly sucked and licked the tip as he stroked. He could feel his own hardness straining against his jeans.

“Fuck. Not gonna last, Red,” Mickey groaned.

“Am I that good?” Ian asked, keeping up the pace of his strokes.

“Just - fuck - just been a long time.”

Ian sank his mouth back down on Mickey’s leaking cock. He quickened his pace, humming and tracing little swirling patterns on Mickey’s hips and thighs. He gave his balls a quick squeeze, rolling them gently in his hand.

Mickey’s breath hitched. “Gotta move, Red. Not gonna last much longer.”

Ian just kept his pace. Kept tracing those patterns. Kept rolling his hands.

Mickey emitted a deep moan, his body tensing underneath Ian.

“Oh, god. Ian.”

And then he was coming, hot and fast down Ian’s throat. Ian swallowed around him, licking up every last drop.

Ian didn’t think there was anything more beautiful than Mickey’s face when he came, and when he said Ian’s name it sounded like music.

Chapter Text

Ian woke up the next morning before his alarm. He sprang out of bed and threw on a semi-clean pair of athletic shorts. He felt energized in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not “on the cusp of a manic episode” energized, but energized in a way that told him he’d had his way with a very attractive man the previous night.

Last night in the back seat of his Suburban was probably the best sex he’d had in a very long time, and technically speaking he and Mickey hadn’t even ‘had sex.” After the blow job Ian had performed, he had declined Mickey’s offer to return the favor.

He’d wanted it. God, he’d wanted it.

But he was also aware of the fact that Mickey performing oral sex in the back of a car with a broken foot might not be smart. Or safe. Or even pleasurable. So he’d asked for a rain check, drove Mickey home like a gentleman, and stuck his hands down his pants to jerk off as soon as he crossed the threshold of his apartment. 

Last night had just felt fun and right and sexy in all the best ways. Not once did he try to hurry or rush. Not once did he check his watch and wonder when he could leave to go home. If anything, he’d wished Mickey had held out for a little longer so he could have enjoyed his cock for just a few more minutes.

Ian rationalized that he’d probably last longer next time.

Next time. He was already thinking about next time.

Maybe he was being a bit presumptions, but he really did hope that there would be a next time.

When he’d dropped Mickey off at home after their backseat romp, he didn’t indicate one way or the other. He’d merely said, “Thanks, Red. See ya,” before disappearing into his apartment building, leaving Ian hard and reeling.

Ian wondered how their driver/client relationship would shift now that they were…well, now that they were what they were. Ian wasn’t a pre-teen girl with a crush. He knew that one hasty blowjob in the back of his car didn’t exactly elevate him to boyfriend status. But they had to at least be friends now, Ian thought. Friends that fuck. Or friends that hadn’t quite fucked yet but would certainly be fucking in the future if Ian had anything to say about it.

He finished up his run, took his morning meds, and dressed in a simple pair of khakis with a blue button up shirt. He didn’t know what he and Mickey would talk about during their drive this morning, but he couldn’t wait to find out.

***

He pulled to the curb, half expecting Mickey to already be waiting. 

He flipped on his hazards and glanced down the sidewalk in front of the apartment building. No Mickey, but no problem. He was early, anyhow. 

He spent a few minutes running over potential conversation scenarios in his head. He wanted to keep it at least semi-professional while still making his interest clear. Absolutely no comments about Mickey’s dick or about their recent act of fellatio while on the clock, he decided. He was deciding on a more professional way to say ‘the noises you make when you come are fucking spectacular’ when Mickey appeared, messenger bag flopping against his crutches as he struggled to the car.

Ian considered getting out and helping since their relationship had taken a bit of an intimate turn, but he figured that behavior would go against the very thing that made Ian attractive to Mickey in the first place.

That he treated him like another human being. Normal. 

Mickey opened the back door of the Suburban and struggled inside. Ian had half expected the man to claim the front seat instead of the back today. Maybe they weren’t quite there yet. He was holding his cell phone between his cheek and shoulder, clearly in the middle of a tense conversation with whoever was unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end.

“Listen, asshole. My sister ain’t signin’ shit until her contract looks more like that Dwayne Johnson-Wannabe-Excuse-For-A-Leading-Man’s contract.”

Ian decided not to interrupt the argument. Mickey seemed to have been dealing with the same issue for at least a few days now, and each day saw the man become increasingly more frustrated. He pulled away from the curb and began their drive in silence, hoping that Mickey would be able to wrap it up in enough time for them to chat just a bit.

“Mandy has more screen time than him anyway. Hell, the script is 80% Mandy Milkovich. You should be happy I’m not pushing for her to make double what that prick is making.”

Ian switched lanes, trying to mind his own business but doing a very poor job.

“Who cares if he’s a bigger fuckin’ star? Who cares that women without two brain cells to rub together will line up down the block to pay for a movie ticket to see him with his shirt off? Bitch is built like Thor, but he’s probably packin’ more Ant Man than….”

Mickey stopped, clearly searching.

“Mjölnir,” Ian offered quietly from the front seat.

“Than Mjölnir,” Mickey parroted. “Hell, Mandy’s dick is bigger than his.”

Ian held back a chuckle. Mickey’s commentary was probably more entertaining than the film he was arguing over.

“No, you cannot talk to Mandy. Anything you have to say to her goes through me. Not lettin’ you screw her over.”

And damn, if the fierce way that Mickey protected his sister wasn’t endearing. Ian was a brother himself, and he knew there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for his siblings, no matter how irritating they could get. 

“You hope I have a good day? Well, I hope you have a shitty day. Don’t call me or my sister until you have a better offer for us.”

Ian heard a clunk that could only be Mickey’s cell phone hitting the floorboard.

“Fuck,” he cursed. “Why couldn’t Mandy have chosen a normal fuckin’ career path?”

“I should start keeping track of how many times you say ‘fuck,’” Ian joked, turning on his blinker in preparation to take the next exit.

Mickey sighed. “Whatever, man. Not really in the mood to talk.”

Oh.

Ian was disappointed, but he could respect that. They two rode in silence for the rest of the short journey. Mickey had gathered his belongings and had a hand on the door handle before they had even come to a complete stop, clambering from the car as soon as Ian put it in park.

“Have a nice d-”

But the door had slammed shut before he could finish.

***

Ian had an extra long lunch break on Fridays, so he often tried to fill it by visiting his siblings. Sometimes he would go eat lunch with Liam at school. Other times he’d take Carl lunch to split at his warehouse job. Today Ian found himself sitting at the bar at Patsy’s, chatting with Fiona as she served customers.

“Here, sweet face,” she cooed, placing a large slice of strawberry pie down in front of him. “What’s on your mind?”

Ian shrugged. “What makes you think anything is on my mind?”

“I practically raised you. I know your thinking face.”

Fiona poured a mug to the brim with coffee and sat it next to his pie. Ian took a large bite, savoring the sweet flavor and the fact that he couldn’t answer Fiona’s questions if his mouth was full.

“Is it a guy?”

Ian shrugged. 

“Is it a girl?”

Ian nearly choked on his pie.

“No. Not a girl. Still gay.”

Fiona laughed. “I know, killer. Just figured that would scandalize you enough to talk to me.”

He rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee. It tasted a little old, clearly Fiona had brewed the pot this morning. But Fiona never accepted his payment at Patsy’s and he couldn’t really complain about free food.

“Messed around with a client last night,” he admitted, turning his coffee mug in his hands.

“Ian,” Fiona scolded. “Couldn’t that jeopardize your job?”

“I dunno. Wasn’t really thinking about it.”

Fiona delivered two slices of pie to a couple seated at the opposite end of the counter. “Sweet face, are you taking your meds?”

“Please don’t ask me that, Fi.”

It was always so frustrating, the way his siblings babied him regarding his mental illness. Things had been tough for Ian back in his teenage years. He’d go through weeks of mania followed by depressive episodes where he struggled to get out of bed. But things were better now that he was medicated. He regulated himself very well with very few slip ups, but his siblings always seemed so concerned about him. 

“I’m not manic. Promise.”

Fiona smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You know you can always move back in if you need to.”

“I know, but I don’t need to move back in. I like my apartment. I’m doing good, Fi.”

“Have a good one!” Fiona called to a family exiting the restaurant. She turned her attention back to Ian. “So. Tell me about the client. You into him?”

“Not sure,” Ian admitted as he took another sip of his coffee. “I mean, he’s good looking. Interesting. But he’s also confusing.”

“Confusing?” Fiona probed.

“Yeah. Like one minute he’s an asshole, then he’s all sweet and vulnerable, and then he’s all closed off again. Can’t keep up.”

“You think that’s good for you? Someone who’s so up and down all the time?”

Fiona was right, he knew. Ian thrived on routine. But something about Mickey excited Ian. Drew him in. 

“Guess I’ll find out, won’t I?”

Fiona wouldn’t let him pay his tab when he left. She never did.

***

Thank god for weekends. Ian didn’t know what he’d do if it weren’t Friday. After his lunch break with Fiona at Patsy’s, he’d transported one of his regulars to a business meeting on the North Side. He was half convinced that Irene set the guy up for weekly Friday transportation knowing that Ian would have two days to recuperate afterward.

The guy was insufferable. If Ian was late (which rarely, if ever, happened), he’d complain. If Ian was early, he’d complain. If Ian was right on time, he’d somehow find a way to complain about that too.

He demanded that he be called Mr. John, which made Ian feel like a preschool student. And he spent the majority of his time in the back seat of the Suburban complaining about ‘your generation.’ Today featured a rant that Ian had heard several times already.

“Nobody in your generation wants to work anymore. All you want are government handouts. Well, I work too hard for my tax dollars to-”

Ian tuned out the rest. He found that a nod of the head or a simple ‘mhm’ every so often was enough to appease the man and make it appear like he was listening. 

Ian’s phone buzzed from it’s perch on the dash cradle. Mickey’s name appeared on the screen. He didn’t make texting and driving a habit, but he was too curious not to look.

Mickey (4:32 PM): Hate to ask this but can you come help me carry something down from the office when you get here?

Ian gawked at the message. A chance to see inside Mickey’s office was exciting to him. He wasn’t really sure why, Mickey had told him what went down in there. Contracts. Meetings. Reading scripts. But going inside the office felt like getting to peel yet another layer away from the guarded man. 

“And that is why women should be seen rather than heard.” Mr. John finished. Ian wondered when the unpleasant gray haired man had graduated from his tirade on Generation Z and moved on to insulting women. He wondered if Mr. John had a wife. If so, he pitied the woman.

Mr. John climbed out of the Suburban upon their arrival to his weekly business meeting. Ian was incredibly grateful that Irene had arranged for another driver to transport the man home after these things. He didn’t think he could handle the man twice in one day. 

“Alright, Mr. John. Have a great weekend. See you next week.”

Mr. John threw a wadded up 5 dollar bill into the front seat and exited the car without so much as a ‘thank you.’

“Cheap bastard,” Ian grumbled.

He plucked his phone from the cradle and shot a message back to Mickey.

Ian (4:43 PM): Sure! What floor?

Mickey (4:43 PM): Top.

Luckily Mr. John’s drop off was very close to Mickey’s office building, taking Ian only about 5 minutes to arrive.

Ian was parking the Suburban in a temporary parking space when his phone buzzed one more time.

Mickey (4:48 PM): Although I’d rather be bottom. See ya soon.

God. This man was going to kill him. How was it possible to be so cold this morning, yet send text messages like that not even 8 hours later?

The office building was smaller on the inside than Ian imagined it would be. The receptionist from a few weeks ago sat at the front desk, typing away at her keyboard. She glanced up as Ian approached.

“Looking for Mr. Milkovich?” She asked, clearly recognizing him from their brief interaction on the side of the road when she panicked about his choice of parking.

Ian nodded.

“Take the elevator to the top floor.”

Ian took note of a sign outlining the layout of the building as he waited for the elevator. Each floor seemed to belong to a different group. The ground floor, where he was now, was the general reception area. The second floor belonged to a law firm. The third floor housed insurance agents. And the top floor, of course, was where Mickey and Mandy conducted their business. 

He rode the elevator alone to the top floor, taking deep breathes all the while.

This wasn’t a big deal. He was a rather accommodating guy. He helped clients with things like this all the time. Granted, most of his clients had never had their dicks in his mouth.

The elevator dinged and the double doors slid open, revealing a large open room with a conference table, a printer, and some filing cabinets. The walls were littered with posters featuring Mandy, most of them depicting her as the princess that Franny apparently loved to much. 

There was nobody in sight, but Ian heard voices coming from a closed office door to the left of the large room. He assumed he would find Mickey, and whatever he needed help carrying, in there.

He approached the unmarked door and knocked.

“Come in,” he heard Mickey say from inside the office. Ian tentatively cracked the door open, not wanting to disturb whatever conversation Mickey seemed to be having inside.

Mickey sat behind a simple wooden desk, papers strewn out in front of him. Across the desk sat an unknown man. He was a clean cut looking brunette, perhaps in his mid 30s.

“‘Ey,” Mickey greeted. “You can just sit down for a minute. We’re almost done.” He gestured to a small loveseat positioned against the wall of the office.

Ian sat.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Milkovich?” The man asked, eyeing Ian curiously. Before Ian could introduce himself, Mickey spoke up.

“Not my friend. Just my driver.”

And oh. That stung.

It wasn’t as though Ian were searching for a declaration of love after just a few weeks of knowing each other and one steamy night in the backseat of his car, but to be devalued in such a way in front of someone who Ian assumed was Mickey’s colleague was embarrassing. He felt his cheeks flush.

“Does your driver have a name?” The man asked, eyes still on the redhead.

“I’m Ian.” 

“Ian,” he repeated. “I’m Dominic. Very nice to meet you.”

Ian nodded and looked down at his lap, pretending to text on his phone to ease the awkward tension he felt in the room.

“Anyway,” spoke Mickey in an attempt to get back to whatever business he’d been conducting before Ian’s arrival. “I’m glad your team finally came up with a reasonable contract for Mandy. Like I said, she’s worth more than what you fuckheads first offered. I’ll call Mandy tonight and confirm but we can probably meet next week to sign.”

It was funny, Ian thought. Mickey was such a wildcard in his treatment of Ian from day to day, but his abrasive attitude towards everyone else was always the same. That was part of what made him so confusing.

“Sounds good,” Dominic agreed. “And it was never me trying to screw Mandy out of what she’s worth. You know that.”

“I know,” Mickey replied. “Maybe you should be in charge over there instead of that douchebag supervisor of yours that I have to deal with.”

Dominic laughed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll work on that, Milkovich.”

Dominic stood and offered Mickey his hand. They shook, and Dominic gathered the papers from the desk, paper clipping them together. “I’ll be sure to email a copy of this over for Mandy to look at this evening.”

Ian assumed that Dominic would be taking his leave, allowing him to help Mickey with whatever he needed (and maybe confront him about his behavior), but instead Dominic turned his attention to Ian.

“So,” he began. “Ian. How long have you been driving ol’ Milkovich here?”

Ian shot a glance at Mickey, wondering what the other man thought of this questioning. Mickey shrugged his shoulders.

“Just a few weeks,” Ian replied. “Since his foot is broken and all.”

“Right. Clumsy bastard,” Dominic joked.

“Watch it,” Mickey said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Dominic didn’t seem to notice. In fact, his eyes never left Ian.

“Well, maybe Milkovich will keep you around. I know for certain that I’d love to keep seeing you around.”

Ian’s eyes grew wide as Dominic crossed to the door. He turned back to look at Ian one final time before saying, “I’ve got a thing for redheads.”

And then he was gone. Ian turned back to Mickey, who was now scowling. 

“Horny fuck,” he grumbled. Mickey stood from his chair with a little difficulty and hopped over to the loveseat, sticking his head out of the office to check and confirm that Dominic was gone. Once he was sure, he sunk down next to Ian.

“Long day,” he said. “Finally got those fuckers to give Mandy a decent contract instead of the pennies they were offering her before. And managed to do it before she signed her life away.”

“Mhm,” Ian hummed, not quite sure what to say. He had been reduced to nothing but hired help by the man he was intimate with the night before and hit on by one of Mickey’s colleagues all in the span of a few minutes. Ian was starting to think that being mixed up with Mickey Milkovich was a little bit like willingly flinging yourself into a hurricane.

“But things should slow down a little bit now that we have that handled,” Mickey noted.

“Mhm. Sure.”

“How was your day? Drive any assholes?”

Ian shrugged, averting his eyes from the other man.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Mickey asked, a slight concerned undertone to his voice.

“Just your driver, huh?” Ian asked.

Mickey sighed and pinched the space between his eyebrows as though he was warding off a headache. “Look, man. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I wasn’t blowing myself in the back of my car last night, Mick.”

“If you were, I’d be impressed.”

Ian smiled despite himself. Damn Mickey’s jokes.

“Red. Ian. I just don’t like people I work with knowing my business. About my friends. Who I hang out with. That’s all. Now, you gonna help me carry this shit or what?”

About my friends.

Maybe they were friends.

Mickey took his crutches from their perch against the beige wall of the office and led Ian down a shallow hallway to what appeared to be a supply closet. He pushed it open, gesturing for Ian to follow him inside. He handed Ian a box. It wasn’t very heavy, but it was a large and awkward size. Ian could imagine it would be hard for Mickey to carry while on crutches.

“So,” Ian started as Mickey called the elevator. “Tell me about Dominic.”

“What’s there to tell? Guy works for a production company that casts Mandy in a bunch’a shit.”

“Yeah. He seemed pretty friendly.”

“Dominic will fuck anything that moves. Don’t flatter yourself, Firecrotch.”

Ian waved goodbye to the nice receptionist on their way out of the building. He loaded the box into the hatch of his SUV and noted Mickey making his way into the back seat.

“Hey,” Ian said before he lost his nerve. “Why don’t you sit in the front with me?”

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “In the front?”

“Yeah. Just thought since we’re, I guess, friends now that maybe you’d want to sit up front. Easier to talk that way.”

Mickey scrunched his eyebrows up as though he were in deep thought. And finally he said, “Yeah. Alright. Works for me.”

He stuck his crutches in the backseat and climbed into the front seat of the Suburban.

“Man. It’s like a whole new world up here, Red.”

And Ian smiled at that. Just like seeing Mickey’s workplace for the first time felt like peeling back another layer of the mysterious man, allowing Mickey to sit next to him as he drove was almost like sharing a piece of his soul.

“How’d you get into this?” Mickey asked. “Drivin’, I mean.”

“It’s a living,” Ian offered. “Nothing fancy like you do.”

Mickey scoffed. “Man, fuck that shit. Everything I do is fake anyway. And don’t fuckin’ lie. I can tell you love this car. So tell me, how’d you start? Start talkin’.”

So he did.

Once Ian started talking, he just couldn’t stop. He told Mickey about the first time he sat behind a steering wheel, the first time he drove, and the day that he officially signed the papers to buy the Suburban. He told him about loving the ability to go anywhere he wanted, the feeling of travel right at his fingertips.

Mickey didn’t laugh or roll his eyes or tell Ian how much better he could do for himself. He didn’t demoralize his job. He didn’t refer to his chosen career as a stepping stone or temporary or for now.

He listened and he nodded and occasionally he chimed in with a fuck yeah or a sounds awesome. Ian couldn’t help but notice how genuine Mickey truly sounded as he listened to Ian ramble. And when Ian stopped and apologized for being long winded, Mickey said, “Don’t apologize for liking something, man.”

Ian couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so open about driving with someone. His siblings meant well, but he often found himself defending his career around them.

Lot of mileage on your car, isn’t it?

What if you pick up a serial killer?

You’re so smart, Ian. Why not take some classes at a community college or learn a trade?

But driving was a trade and Ian was good at it. Being not only listened to, but also recognized for the care he put into his driving made Ian feel on top of the world.

They reached Mickey’s apartment building all too soon.

“Need any help?” Ian asked, unbuckling his seatbelt with the intention of carrying the box up to Mickey’s apartment. 

“Nah,” Mickey said. “Jerry can grab it.”

Ian would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed, but he tried not to show it on his face as Mickey climbed from the passenger seat and retrieved his crutches from the back. “Have a good weekend. See ya Monday.”

“Yeah. See ya, Mickey.”

Mickey waved Jerry over to retrieve the box from the Suburban’s hatch. For the first time in his life, Ian was disappointed that it was Friday.

***

Ian woke up on Saturday morning at the same time as he would get up on a weekday, choosing to maintain his routine as much as possible on weekends. He popped his morning medication and downed a granola bar before taking off for a short run.

Next to driving, running was was one of Ian’s greatest pleasures. He loved the burn he’d feel in his muscles after a few miles. The residual soreness was like his body’s little reminder that he was doing well for himself. That he was healthy.

After taking a shower and brewing a fresh pot of coffee that he fully intended to drink all on his own, Ian found himself on the couch watching reruns of the Family Feud. 

Wow. Young, single, and spending my Saturday with Steve Harvey.

During a commercial break, Ian visited his kitchen to locate some kind of snack. He opened cabinets, the pantry, and the refrigerator, hoping to find something to satiate the hunger he’d worked up during his run. He was in desperate need of a grocery store restock. Finally he settled on a half eaten bag of BBQ chips that were only moderately stale. He grabbed a Coke Zero from the fridge and returned to the couch, sinking down into the well loved cushions.

“Breakfast of champions,” he said to himself, popping a very seasoned chip and washing it down with a swig of soda.

Family Feud hadn’t returned to the TV yet, instead Ian found himself watching a commercial for Disney World. The Gallaghers, unsurprisingly, had never been to Disney World. Ian couldn’t imagine Frank or Monica planning such an expensive, extravagant vacation just to please their children. Hell, his parents could hardly manage being home at the same time as their children, let alone doing anything extra for them.

Ian watched as the main characters of the commercial, a well dressed blonde couple with an excited looking little girl in a princess dress, flounced around the park, waving hello to poor souls in costumes. The voiceover encouraged Ian to visit with his own family.

“Come experience the magic of Disney,” the faceless voice commanded. Ian rolled his eyes and popped another chip into his mouth.

The end of the commercial featured the little girl posing with Mickey Mouse. She held his giant mouse hand and giggled as he booped her nose and bent down for a hug.

“Fuckin’ creepy as shit,” Ian noted, prepared to take his attention away from the commercial completely until his show returned. But then his thoughts drifted to Mickey. He wondered what the dark haired man was doing this morning. He wondered if anyone had ever teased him by comparing him to the iconic Disney mouse.

Correction. He wondered if anyone had ever teased him by comparing him to the iconic Disney mouse and lived.

Ian pulled up the camera app on his phone, positioned it at the TV, and took a grainy photograph before the commercial switched over to something new. The photo featured the little girl and the mouse holding hands and smiling. Well, she was smiling. The mouse just had that same perpetual uncanny grin on his face. He attached the photo to a new text message.

Ian (7:49 AM): This you?

Mickey (7:53 AM): Fuck off.

Ian grinned, feeling warm inside just at having made contact with Mickey this morning, even if it was a short and teasing correspondence.

He wiped his BBQ fingers on his sweatpants and chugged the last of his soda, deciding that he needed to start his day with something productive or else he would allow himself to rot on the couch all weekend.

He did need groceries.

Ian flipped off the TV and plucked his keys from the hook hanging by the front door, locking his apartment behind him as he made his way to his Suburban. One of the perks of living in Ian’s apartment complex was its proximity to the nearest grocery store, allowing him to pull into a spot not even three minutes later.

He was surprised to see another message from Mickey as he entered the store and chose a shopping cart.

Mickey (8:05 AM): The fuck you up so early for anyway?

Ian (8:06 AM): I always get up early. Why are you up so early on a Saturday?

Mickey (8:06 AM): Couldn’t sleep.

Ian wondered if the man had slept at all or if he just couldn’t get back to sleep. He resolved to text him back after his grocery store visit.

He perused the store leisurely, restocking his lazy frozen dinners and snacks for the week. He was loading his items onto the only open check out counter when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Mickey (8:37 AM): Got plans today?

Ian considered the message. Was Mickey asking him to hang out, or was he simply curious and making conversation? Either way meant that Mickey was thinking about him to some extent this morning. The thought made Ian’s face grow hot.

Ian (8:38 AM): Just grabbing some groceries right now. No specific plans, though. Why?

Ian paid for his purchases and rolled the shopping cart out to his SUV, where he loaded the plastic bags into the hatch. He’d returned the cart and settled himself behind his steering wheel before Mickey replied.

Mickey (8:45 AM): Just wondered.

And okay. That wasn’t really the answer Ian had hoped for, but he would take it.

Several hours later found Ian sitting on his couch, scarfing down a Healthy Choice meal that he’d grabbed from the grocery store that morning, when his phone vibrated yet again.

Mickey (1:17 PM): Can’t stop thinking about the other night.

Ian gawked at that. 

Now that was unexpected.

Ian (1:19 PM): Which night would you be referring to?

Mickey (1:23 PM): You know which night. Don’t fuck around.

Ian (1:27 PM): You mean our fun and friendly beer that we shared together?

Mickey (1:29 PM): Nah. More talking about what happened after.

Ian couldn’t help it. He loved a tease.

Ian (1:31 PM): Oh! When I drove you home.

Mickey (1:35 PM): Before that.

Ian (1:37 PM): Sorry, big guy. Not really sure what you’re talking about.

Ian expected Mickey to continue their flirtatious texting thread, but he went radio silent after Ian’s final tease.

He hoped he hadn’t pissed him off.

Nah, Ian rationalized. He was probably just busy. The guy had a life outside of work, he was sure. He probably had tons of friends to occupy his time on weekends.

Ian carried on with his boring day, shuffling through TV shows and videos on his phone. Eventually he texted the Gallagher group chat, hoping that one of his siblings would be down to hang out and occupy some of his time.

Lip texted back first, letting him know that he was on Freddie duty for the evening so that Tami could have an evening out. 

Debbie was taking Franny to a birthday party, Carl was working late, and Fiona had a date.

Even Liam was going over to a friend’s house for the evening.

Fuck. He really was the only Gallagher without a life, it seemed.

Ian was on his second pass through his TV’s channel guide in search of something of substance to watch when his phone buzzed from its spot on the coffee table. He ignored it at first, assuming it was just another one of his siblings bragging about their Saturday night plans.

Simmer down, Ian. It’s not like Lip’s night is all that glamorous. 

His phone buzzed yet again. Ian sighed and picked it up, surprised when the preview screen indicated that he had two new messages from Mickey. 

He swiped up, unlocking his phone and nearly threw the device across the living room. 

The first message was innocent enough.

Mickey (6:12 PM): Thinking about you.

But the second message….the second message was downright obscene. 

The second message was a very real dick pic of a very, very hard Mickey Milkovich. The photo lit up Ian’s screen, depicting a rather close up image of Mickey’s length - hard, thick, and leaking. His hand gripped the base, the word ‘FUCK’ prominently displayed on his knuckles. It was bold. Confident. Utterly shameless.

Ian felt his own cock twitching in his pants. 

What the fuck could he even say to that? He couldn’t remain silent and allow Mickey to think he didn’t like what he saw. But he couldn’t just whip his cock out and return the favor…could he?

No. That would be too forward. 

Not any more forward than Mickey whipping his cock out in the first place.

Ian drank the picture in. Mickey was shorter than Ian’s 9 inches, but he was thick and absolutely delicious. 

Ian knew from experience. He adjusted his hardening cock in his sweatpants. As he considered his options for reply, another text message appeared underneath the photo.

Mickey (6:17 PM): Like what you see, Red?

And fuck. Mickey wasn’t just giving him something to look at while he jerked off. No, he was practically baiting Ian.

Another picture appeared at the bottom of their text log.

No, not a picture. A fucking video.

The video was short, only about 15 seconds, but it was probably the most erotic thing Ian had ever seen. It was shot from the same angle as the first picture, as though Mickey were holding the camera at his chest. The video depicted Mickey stroking himself slowly. Leisurely. Like Mickey had nowhere to be but here and now. Ian raised the volume on his phone and then he heard it.

Mickey was making these gorgeous, lustful little moans as he stroked. And that’s what really got Ian going.

He reached into his boxer’s and took his cock fully in hand, giving himself a few initial strokes. God, he was hard.

Mickey (6:25 PM): Aren’t you gonna say anything?

Fuck. He hadn’t replied to anything Mickey had texted him since this entire sex-capade had begun.  He typed back a one handed reply.

Ian (6:26 PM): Sorry. Hands were kind of busy.

Mickey (6:28 PM): Oh yeah? Wanna show me, tough guy?

Oh. 

Okay. 

Makes sense that Mickey would want one in return, Ian thought.

Ian had, surprisingly, never sent a dick pic. He’d never even had anyone ask him for one before. Granted, he’d never really been in a serious relationship and most of his hook-ups were a ‘one and done’ kind of deal, so there hadn’t been much room for anyone to request one.

He didn’t even really know how to do it. He pushed his sweats and boxers down over his hips, just enough to allow him to pull his cock out. 

He opened his camera app and gave himself a few more strokes, looking at it through his phone. It was weird to see his own dick on a screen.

What angle should the picture be taken in? Should he try a ‘top down’ situation like Mickey, or was it frowned upon to recycle the same idea as the person who initiated the sext? Should he maybe try to hold the phone as far down as possible and get his chest and face in the shot?

He turned his front camera on and took a few experimental snapshots with his dick front and center, but still capturing Ian’s face in the background. He reviewed each photo and promptly deleted every single one of them. 

“Christ, how do you even do this?” Ian muttered to himself.

What if Mickey thought he looked stupid? What if he accidentally sent his dick to the wrong person?

What if…?

Ian’s phone buzzed, the banner at the top of the screen indicating an incoming call. 

From Mickey.

He accepted the call and placed the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” He asked awkwardly, not quite sure what to expect. 

He was met with the same breathy moans from the video. “Can’t believe you don’t wanna give me any jerk off material, Gallagher.”

Goddamn it, his name sounded so good coming out of Mickey’s mouth, even over the phone.

“I was working on it,” Ian retorted. “Didn’t really expect your cock to grace my phone screen this evening.”

“Jesus, what were you tryin’ to do? Need to edit the photo to - oh, fuck - add a few inches?” Mickey taunted.

Ian scoffed. “Trust me, Mick. I don’t need any help in that department.”

Mickey’s little moans quieted. “Oh yeah?” He asked. “Why don’t you come over here and show me?”

Ian’s back straightened. Did Mickey really want him to come over? Was he just teasing? It had only been a few days since their backseat encounter, but Ian ached to be touched by the other man. He wanted to know what those tattooed hands felt like on his cock, what it felt like to be buried deep inside of Mickey.

“How ‘bout it, Red?” Mickey asked.

Ian yanked up his pants, grabbed his keys, and let Mickey know he was on his way.

Chapter Text

“Took you long enough,” Mickey snapped, gripping Ian by the collar of his shirt and all but dragging him through his front door. He gave a little hop with his good foot, bumping the front door of his apartment to close it.

“Sorry. Traffic,” Ian murmured. Ian took in Mickey’s disheveled appearance. Mussed hair, white t-shirt stained with something around the left arm, and tight boxer briefs riding low on his hips as though they’d been shoved on in a hurry. He wondered how long Mickey had been touching himself before he’d texted Ian.

 “Looks like you may have started this party without me, Mick,” he teased. “Sure you don’t want me to head out? Let you get back to business?”

Mickey snaked an arm around Ian’s back and pulled their chests together. “Can’t blame a guy for snacking before dinner when he’s hungry, Red. Been thinking about you all goddamn day.”

”I could tell. Didn’t know you were an amateur cam star, Mick. Gonna have to keep that exclusive content for the next time I’m jerkin’ it at home by myself.” 

Ian smiled, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s middle and tightening their grips on one another. Ian could feel the shorter man’s hardness against his thigh. He practically groaned just thinking about it. 

He wanted to get Mickey out of these clothes.

Now.

“Show me your bedroom,” Ian whispered, leaning down and trailing a thin line of kisses along Mickey’s jaw.

“You always this needy, Firecrotch? Or is it just me?”

“Haven’t stopped thinking about you. About this,” Ian admitted, too fucking horny to play coy. He stopped briefly to suck gently at the skin behind Mickey’s ear. “Gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

“You talk a big game,” Mickey whispered, running his hands down Ian’s back to grip and squeeze at his ass. “Hope you can live up to your word.”

“Bedroom,” Ian demanded, locking eyes with the man.

Fuck, those eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes. Ian wanted to look at Mickey’s eyes when he came. When he felt. When he begged for more.

Mickey latched on to Ian’s arm. “C’mon.”

Ian helped Mickey down the hallway to his bedroom, no crutches in sight. He wondered if Mickey used them inside at all or if he just hopped room to room.

They passed by the bathroom on their way, Ian thinking back to Mickey’s little shower mishap. How embarrassed he’d been. He considered making a joke but decided against it, not wanting to kill the mood.

Finally, Mickey ushered Ian into his bedroom. He took in his surroundings. Big king sized bed with a comfortable looking blue comforter. Today’s clothes thrown on the ground. And, on the bedside table, a box of magnum condoms and a little bottle of lube. 

How forward, Ian thought.

“Magnum?” He asked with a smirk, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling Mickey down beside him. “You must think a lot of me, Mick.”

“Shut the fuck up, man. I just fuck a lot of guys with big dicks.”

Ian didn’t believe that for a second.

And then Mickey was kissing him. Kissing him like he was thirsting to death in the desert and Ian was the first glass of water he’d had in a week. 

He slipped his tongue in and out of Ian’s mouth, tasting. Licking. Searching. His hands roamed Ian’s body. He rubbed over the redhead’s arms, stopping to appreciate the toned muscles there. His hands caressed Ian’s chest, his torso, and finally…

“Fuck,” Ian whimpered into Mickey’s mouth as the other man’s hand grazed over the bulge of his cock in his sweats.

“Why are these still on?” Mickey asked.

Ian swatted Mickey’s hand away, undoing his pants swiftly and lifting up, shoving them down. He kicked them to side. He gripped Mickey’s hand, placing it back on his groin, the only thing separating skin from skin being the thin fabric of Ian’s boxers. 

“See what you do to me?” Ian asked. “Can’t fuckin’ think straight with you around.”

“Fuck,” Mickey responded, voice raspy with want. “Knew you’d be big.” He reached hungrily into Ian’s boxers, wrapping his hand around his cock and giving it a gentle stroke. Feeling Mickey’s hand wrapped around him was everything he’d been waiting for and more. He resisted the urge to buck into Mickey’s hand, hoping to maintain some semblance of control.

Ian moaned. “Tell me what you want, Mick. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“Want to return that favor you gave me last night,” he said, still pumping Ian’s cock. “Want to taste you.”

Holy shit.

“And then?” Ian asked, wanting to hear Mickey say it. Needing to hear him say it.

“And then I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t remember my own name.”

And fuck. Ian could give him that. Ian would give him that.

Ian fingered the bottom of Mickey’s t-shirt, rubbing his fingers gently over Mickey’s stomach. The other man gave a little shiver. Ian tugged on the shirt, allowing Mickey to pull it over his own head and throw it to the floor. Ian eyed his newly exposed chest. “Jesus. Body is unreal.”

Mickey gave a little laugh. “Shut the fuck up, man. Not everybody can be a Calvin Klein model like you.”

Ian kissed down Mickey’s jaw, his neck, and finally onto his chest. He mouthed at the defined pectoral muscles, stopping to suck gently at one of Mickey’s nipples. He felt it harden in his mouth as the man gave a light groan.

Ian switched to the other nipple, giving this one a questioning bite. The noise Mickey made could only be described as feral. So Mickey liked teeth. Maybe appreciated a little pain. Ian stored that information for later.

“Alright, alright,” Mickey breathed. “Thought I was supposed to be the one with my mouth on you tonight.”

Ian shucked his boxers off, freeing his erection. Mickey had commented on Ian’s size when he’d felt him earlier, but this is the first time he’d seen Ian in all his glory. Ian leaned back onto the bed, propping himself up onto his shoulders. Ian was modest about his appearance, but he knew that Mickey was taking in his size as he eyed Ian’s fully nude body.

“Go ahead, killer,” Ian encouraged. “Do your worst.”

Mickey gave Ian’s cock a few encouraging strokes before leaning down and taking the tip into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around Ian’s slit, tasting Ian’s already present arousal. Ian arched into the warm heat of Mickey’s mouth.

Ian gripped at Mickey’s bedsheets as the other man sank down onto Ian’s length. He placed a hand around the base of Ian’s cock as he bobbed gently up and down.

Ian’s head tipped back for just a moment, breath catching in his throat. But then he turned his gaze back to the dark haired man. The sensation of Mickey’s mouth, his tongue, his throat - pure ecstasy. But the sight of the man between his legs, lips wrapped around him with focused, filthy intent? That was what almost sent Ian over the edge.

“Mouth made for this, Mick.” Ian whispered. “Jesus.”

Every flick of the tongue, every slow drag, almost did him in. It was absolutely dizzying. Ian could have stayed like that forever - with Mickey’s mouth on him. But he knew if he allowed Mickey to keep going, if he watched that beautiful mouth take him in too many more times, he wouldn’t be able to finish what he started.

He placed his hands on the sides of Mickey’s face, feeling the scratch of day-old stubble there. He pulled the man up from his cock and into a kiss.

“If you keep going, I won’t be able to make you forget your own name,” Ian said between kisses.

Ian pushed gently on Mickey’s chest until the other man was lying flat on his back. He ran a finger along Mickey’s irresistible, full bottom lip that was a little red and swollen thanks to Ian’s kisses. “Open,” he commanded. 

Mickey opened his mouth just enough to allow Ian’s finger entry, swirling his tongue around the slender digit. “That mouth of yours might be the death of me,” Ian admitted as he pulled his finger from Mickey’s mouth with a ‘pop.’

“Can you prop this up for me?” Ian asked, gesturing to Mickey’s uninjured leg and grinning to himself as Mickey followed his instruction. 

He wanted to give it to Mickey how he wanted it - hard, deep, and desperate. But Ian was also hyper aware that the man was injured at the moment. He vowed to make sure that he was taking care of Mickey, carefully positioning him so that his cast wouldn’t be touched.

Ian lowered his finger, still coated in Mickey’s saliva, down between Mickey’s legs.

Ian’s eyes widened as he pressed a finger against Mickey’s hole, realizing at once that it was already stretched. That Mickey must have prepped himself before Ian’s arrival. A part of him loved the idea of the other man fingering himself open in anticipation, but another part of him hated that he’d missed out on watching Mickey unravel at his touch.

“You were takin’ too long,” Mickey panted, pressing himself against Ian’s finger. “Couldn’t help myself.”

And fuck. That did something to him. He bit at Mickey’s bottom lip as he continued to circle the man’s hole with his finger.

“Tell me about it,” Ian said, a soft tease in his voice.

“C’mon, man,” Mickey groaned. “Can talk about this later. Need you to get in me.”

Ian shook his head. “Not until you tell me about it.” Ian stroked at Mickey’s leaking cock. He was so hard. They were both so, painfully hard. But Ian could wait if it meant driving his partner even crazier with desire.

With want. With need.

Mickey relented. “Prepped myself before you got here. Fingered myself open.”

“How many fingers?” Ian probed. 

“Three.” Mickey bucked into Ian’s hand.

“And what were you thinking about when you did it?”

“Fuck - you. Was thinkin’ about you, Ian.”

Ian smirked. “What about me?”

“About you inside of me. Wanted you to be inside of me, not my fingers.”

And that was enough for Ian. He reached up and plucked a foil wrapped condom from the nightstand, ripping it open with his teeth and rolling it onto his length. He squirted lube onto his hand, slicking himself up. He lined himself up with Mickey’s hole.

“Next time,” Ian growled. “Next time you wait for me. You wait for me to open you up.”

And then he was pushing into Mickey.

Slowly.

Slowly. 

Because despite his intense desire for the dark haired man, he didn’t want to hurt him. He sunk into the man as gently as possible until he was entirely surrounded by Mickey’s warmth. God, he was tight.

“Fuck, Mick. Feel so good.”

Mickey had shut his eyes. “Hey,” Ian prompted. “Look at me. Wanna know you’re okay.”

“M’okay. Not gonna break me.” He wrapped his arms around Ian’s neck, grounding himself through the touch. “Just watch the foot.”

Ian eased himself out a few inches and then ground his hips forward. Once. Twice. Again. Mickey sighed and whimpered and swore and spoke only in broken sentences.

“Fuck. Feels so good. Please. Faster. Yes.”

“Thought about this,” Ian grunted, bending down to bite at Mickey’s shoulder. “Thought about how you’d look as I fucked you. About how you’d sound.”

Mickey only whimpered in response.

Once Ian had discovered a comfortable rhythm, he reached down and began pumping Mickey’s cock.

“Look at you,” Ian said, voice dripping in admiration. “So desperate for it. You love this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Mickey responded, much to Ian’s surprise. 

“Yes, what?” Ian asked, maintaining that delicious rhythm. 

“Yes, I love it. Love your cock.”

Ian removed himself from Mickey almost completely before snapping his hips forward and slamming into his tight heat, making Mickey cry out in pleasure.

“So good,” Ian purred, removing himself and thrusting forward again.

“You take it so good for me, Mickey. Take it so good.”

And then Ian returned to their rhythm, giving Mickey exactly what he wanted when he begged for more and harder and god, right there.

Ian felt a familiar burning sensation in his thighs, muscles begging him to stop but brain saying more more more.

“So close,” Mickey choked out. “So fucking close.”

Ian resumed pumping Mickey’s cock, maintaining the pace of his thrusts until Mickey was calling out and spilling all over Ian’s hand. The clench of Mickey’s muscles around Ian’s cock was enough to send him over the edge too. Ian snapped his hips forward once, twice, three more times and then he was coming, his body pulsating.

And then it was silent aside from Ian and Mickey’s heavy breathing. 

Ian pulled himself out of Mickey, disposed of the condom, and cleaned himself up with a tissue from Mickey’s nightstand. Ian grabbed another tissue and hovered it over Mickey’s body. “Can I?” He asked.

Mickey nodded.

Sure, fucking was an intimate act. Being inside of someone, allowing someone to be inside of you, exchanging pleasure with another living, breathing soul….all intimate

But it was all of the “after” that Ian liked the best. All of the awkward, unsexy things that followed. The cleanup. The panting. The sweaty fumble to find clothing. The blissed out eye contact. And finally, the drifting off to sleep.

***

Ian was having the most delicious dream. 

It was him and it was Mickey and they were naked and there was more, more, more and yes, please and harder. It was hot. It was perfect. So it was no surprise that, as Ian opened his eyes for the first time that morning, he noticed his cock at half mast underneath the blue comforter.

Blue comforter?

His comforter was definitely not blue. And this was definitely not his room. The details of the night before came crashing back into his memory. He felt the comforting heat of another body in bed with him. He turned his head. Mickey was laying on his side facing Ian, arms cradled underneath his head. Ian couldn’t help but smile at how peaceful he looked. 

Perhaps his erotic dream had been less of a dream and more of a play-by-play of their previous evening. He hated to wake the peaceful, sleeping man, but to be so near Mickey and not touch him was torture.

He reached out and gave Mickey’s face a gentle caress. He propped up on his elbow and bent down, trailing kisses along the man’s neck.

“Mmm,” Mickey groaned. His voice was sleepy.

Ian rubbed gently at Mickey’s side and gave his earlobe a gentle suck. “Morning, Mick.”

Mickey’s eyes fluttered open. “Can’t keep your hands to yourself?”

Ian reached around and gave the man’s ass a firm squeeze. “Can you blame me? Got hard just waking up next to you.”

The sleepy, dark haired man raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? Prove it.”

Ian took Mickey’s hand in his and lowered it to his hardening cock, which was already leaking. “Proof enough for you?”

Mickey wrapped his hand around Ian’s length and gave a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know,” Mickey teased. He gave a shallow, tentative stroke. “I remember you making me beg for it last night.” Another stroke. “And making me tell you exactly what I wanted in the backseat of your car.” Stroke. Stroke. “Don’t think it’s fair for you to get your rocks off without you getting a taste of your own medicine, Red.”

And oh, Ian liked this game.

“Don’t you want to know what it tastes like, Mick?” Ian pouted, sticking out his bottom lip. Mickey wasted no time, leaning over to suck at it. He bit down. Hard. Ian squirmed.

“Don’t show me something you don’t want me to put my mouth on.”

Ian really, really liked this game. He raised his eyebrows and, in one swift motion, flung the comforter from the bed, exposing Mickey’s hand wrapped around his cock. Blue eyes met green.

“Don’t show you anything I don’t want you to put your mouth on,” Ian parroted. “Well?”

Ian knew he had won long before Mickey sunk his mouth down onto Ian’s cock.

“Fuck,” Ian sighed. Mickey’s mouth was so warm. He buried his fingers into the other man’s stark black hair, reveling in the little sound Mickey made when Ian gave his head a little tug. 

Mickey was hard, rough, and abrasive. But the way that he offered up control to his partner in the bedroom was incredible. Ian, fingers still tangled in Mickey’s hair, fucked up into his mouth, allowing Mickey the ability to concentrate on swirling his tongue deliciously on Ian’s shaft.

“Fuck, Mick. Your mouth is so good for me. Love fucking your mouth.” 

And maybe it was the dirty talk that didn’t allow the men to hear the bedroom door creak open. Or the moans. Or the sound of the headboard hitting the back wall as the bed shook with Ian’s thrusts.

“Oh. Oh! Oh, my fucking god! Jesus Christ!”

Mickey shot off of Ian’s cock like a rocket. Ian floundered, searching for something to cover himself, the comforter having been thrown too far away to reach.

Mandy stood in the doorway to Mickey’s bedroom, two Starbucks cups in hand. Her eyes were wide and her jaw was practically on the floor. It honestly looked like she was frozen in shock.

Ian could only imagine the scene that she was taking in. Bottle of lube on the nightstand, condom wrappers on the floor, clothing littering the room, and two naked men in a compromised position on the bed, one of which was her own brother. Ian, completely out of options, covered his erection with his hands.

“Mandy!” Mickey fumed, clearly not as apt to cover his nakedness as Ian. “Don’t you know how to fuckin’ knock?”

“I did knock!” Mandy sputtered, realizing that she was staring and averting her gaze to her feet. “I knocked and you didn’t answer so I figured you had slept through your alarm! And I got coffee! I didn’t realize you had…you were…I didn’t realize you were occupied.”

Mickey was fuming. “Goddamn it, Mandy. Can you fuck off so we can get dressed?” And then, almost as an afterthought. “Please?”

Mandy nodded, turning on her heels and kicking the door shut behind her.

“Fuck,” Mickey said, bringing his hands up to cover his eyes. “Can’t believe this shit. Didn’t even know she was in town this weekend.”

“It’s fine. Shit happens.”

“Nah, man. Got you all hot and bothered and then cock blocked you.”

Ian gave a low chuckle. “Don’t need to worry about that.” He gestured down to his near flaccid cock. “Random women showing up while I’m fucking? Kind of a boner killer.”

“Goddamn Mandy. Thought that bitch would stop cock blockin’ me now that we don’t live in the same house.”

Ian stood from the comfort of the mattress and located his underwear and sweats, sliding them both on. “I’ll just give you a few seconds to get dressed,” he noted. He glanced down at Mickey’s cast-clad foot. “Unless you, uh, need any help?”

Mickey shot him a warning glare. “Been takin’ care of myself just fine without any help, Red.”

Right. Ian should have known the other man was far too independent for that. Hell, he figured Mickey would crawl around his apartment on his hands and knees before asking anyone to help him.

Ian plucked his t-shirt from where it sat crumpled on a desk chair. He shrugged it on. “I’ll just…wait out here, then.”

Mickey didn’t say anything as Ian exited the room. Mandy was leaning with her back against the kitchen island. Outside of the bedroom and bathroom area, the apartment was pretty open concept.

The two made eye contact. 

“Here. Have this.” Mandy extended a Starbucks cup to Ian. “Don’t feel much like having anything. After seeing my brother with a dick in his mouth and all.”

Ian flushed. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t be. Was my fault. Shouldn’t have assumed he was alone in there.”

Ian took the cup, deciding not to argue. He pulled the stopper from the lid and took a tentative sip.

“It’s just black,” Mandy confirmed. “Mickey is the one who likes the sweet shit, but I just take mine black.”

Ian was appreciative of this fact, because he took his coffee black as well. He wasn’t a regular Starbucks patron but he was grateful for the caffeine. He continued sipping the coffee, tossing the stopper in a nearby trashcan and sitting at a stool on the other side of the kitchen island. 

“So,” Mandy began. “You and my brother, huh?”

“I guess so.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed it. Wouldn’t have guessed anyone likes my brother enough to stay the night, really. Or that my brother would fuck his driver.”

And Ian would be lying if he said that didn’t sting a little. It was one thing to pretend that they didn’t fuck around in the back of Ian’s car for kicks, but it was another to act like Ian was nothing more than a stranger. Nothing more than hired help. He wondered if that’s what he’d told Mandy, just as he’d told Dominic days before in his office. He wondered if he assured Mandy that Ian was, ‘just his driver.’

Well, aren’t you exactly that? Aren’t you hired help?

Ian shook the thought and took another sip of his coffee. “Not really sure what to say,” he admitted. “He’s a little hard to figure out.”

Mandy gave a soft laugh. “That’s my brother for ya. A hard nut to crack.”

And Ian couldn’t help but remember that Irene had referred to the Milkovich family in the same exact way. He was starting to understand.

“The fuck are you two douchebags talkin’ about out here?” Mickey, no crutches in sight, hopped from his bedroom door over to the kitchen island. Mandy handed him the second Starbucks cup.

“Here’s your liquid dessert.” 

Mickey pulled the cup from his sister’s hand and took a large gulp. Ian couldn’t help but notice how far the other man stood from him. When they were alone, it was all soft touches and sparks flying when their thighs accidentally knocked together. But with other people around, even the man’s own sister, he tried to make himself as distant as possible. 

Ian reached out a hand and placed it gently on Mickey’s arm. The man recoiled from the touch. He wondered what the point of it was. Mandy had seen them together. Had seen Ian’s dick in Mickey’s mouth. Had seen the evidence of their activities strewn about the bedroom. And she obviously knew her brother was gay. Why the touch aversion? 

Ian remembered Mickey’s statement from just days before in his office. 

I just don’t like people I work with knowing my business. About my friends. Who I hang out with.

Mandy wasn’t one of Mickey’s colleagues, she was his sister. And he’d recoiled like Ian’s hand had burned him.

But Ian knew he had no right to touch Mickey like he was his. There was no label on this. It was all brand new. For all Ian knew, Mickey could be done with him now that he’d had his fill.

His fill. Literally.

“So,” Mandy started, perhaps sensing the awkward tension in the room. “You two got any plans on this fine Sunday?”

“Uh, no” said Mickey at the exact same time that Ian said “nope, no plans.”

Ian stood. “I should actually be going.” 

He finished up the last of the Starbucks coffee and tossed the empty cup into the trash can. “Nice to see you again, Mandy. And thanks for the coffee.”

He started toward the door. 

Ian was sliding his tennis shoes onto his feet when Mandy spoke from the kitchen.

“Ian! Wait up.” She appeared just as he had finished lacing the second shoe.

“I was just stopping by to see if Mick wanted to hang today. Lunch, movie, that type of thing.”

Ian nodded, unsure of why Mickey’s sister was disclosing information about their plans for the day to him, a complete stranger for all he knew.

“Sounds fun,” he said, rising too his feet from his hunched position on the floor. “Hope you two have a great day.”

“No, dummy,” Mandy said, playfully smacking his shoulder. “I mean, you should come with us.”

“Oh,” Ian realized. He couldn’t imagine Mickey wanted him to infiltrate his day, especially with another person around. Hell, it seemed like Mickey wanted the rest of the world to think he and Ian had a strictly professional relationship. Even casual friendship seemed too much for him. It made Ian feel small. Unimportant. Unwanted. So different from how he’d felt when he’d told Mickey about his love of driving.

“I can’t,” he answered. “I mean, I couldn’t crash your day.”

“No, please come,” Mandy urged. “Mick and I are together all the time. You’d be a breath of fresh air to our day.”

Mandy was nice. Friendly. The type of person Ian could imagine himself being good friends with. He gave one final push.

“I don’t think Mickey would appreciate me coming.”

Mandy cocked her head to the side, a questioning look on her face.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and my brother, but he doesn’t invite guys into his bed that often. Please come. I want you too, and I think he does too.”

And maybe it was because he didn’t have any plans for the day. Or maybe it was the look in Mandy’s eye, or her pressing invitation.

But he found himself sayin, “Yeah. Alright. Sure.”

Fuck. What had he gotten himself into?

Chapter Text

Ian felt an overwhelming rush of shame wash over him as he pulled into his regular parking spot at his apartment.

After an incredibly awkward morning waiting around in the living room as Mickey got ready for the day and making small talk with Mandy, the three of them had ended up in the Suburban driving to Ian’s apartment. There was no way that he could spend the day with the Milkovich siblings without at least changing his clothes and taking a quick shower first. He hadn’t even brought a toothbrush with him to Mickey’s, unaware that their evening together would turn into a sleepover. He was grateful that he always kept an extra bottle of his meds in the Suburban, because he definitely didn’t make it home in time to take them last night.

He’d suggested just meeting them at whatever restaurant Mandy had chosen, but Mandy wouldn’t hear of it, claiming that it would be more efficient to all drive together.

Mickey was silent throughout all of this, saying nothing of substance when Mandy told him Ian would be spending the day with them and swiftly complying when Mandy called shotgun, banishing him and his crutches to the backseat.

Now, as Ian shifted the gear into park, he realized how sad his apartment complex must look in comparison to Mickey’s. He didn’t know what Mandy’s typical living arrangement looked like, but he had to assume it was much, much nicer than Ian’s.

He glanced around at the small complex, taking in the overgrown grass that management desperately needed to cut, the cracking sidewalks, and the grime on the side of the building that had been there for as long as Ian had lived at the place. He began to wonder if the Milkovich siblings were rethinking their choice of company for the day when Mandy unbuckled her seatbelt. 

“You mind if we come up and wait with you?” She asked, already opening the door and sliding out of the seat.

Ian hadn’t expected that, but he guessed he couldn’t make Mickey and Mandy sit in his car and wait for him while he showered. 

“Uh, sure. I’m just on the second floor,” Ian replied, noticing that Mickey had made no effort to move from his spot.

“I’ll just stay here.”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole. You’re not gonna sit in the car for half an hour while we go inside,” Mandy asserted, wrenching open the back door and pulling Mickey’s crutches out.

“How the fuck am I supposed to get up the stairs, bitch? And what man takes 30 minutes in the shower?”

Ian really didn’t want the pair of them to argue in the parking lot like this. In this neighborhood, raised voices meant domestic dispute, which would inevitably get called into Chicago PD. Ian didn’t want his first, and probably only, time hosting them at his apartment to end in a police visit.

“There’s an elevator around back,” Ian said, attempting to settle the two siblings before they got violent. “And it won’t take me 30 minutes. Maybe 10.”

“See,” Mickey snarked, a smug look on his face like he’d won. “Just 10 minutes. I’ll be fine here.”

“Fine,” Mandy huffed, tossing the crutches back inside to Mickey. “Guess you won’t mind me going upstairs with your boyfriend and asking him lots of interesting questions about you.” Mandy took off towards where Ian had indicated the elevator was without a second glance.

Ian’s face reddened as he practically ran to catch up with the dark haired woman.

A car door slammed behind them.

“Hey! Hold the fuck up!” Mickey called, traveling as quickly as he could on his crutches.

Mandy showed no sign of slowing down, instead choosing to continue barreling toward the back of the building. Ian turned and waited for Mickey to catch up. By the time he reached the redhead, Mandy was long gone.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Mickey panted. “Goddamn crutches should be included in my gym membership.”

“You have a gym membership?” Ian asked, enjoying the idea of a sweaty Mickey Milkovich doing bench presses or dead lifts.

“Hell no,” Mickey scoffed. “But if I did.”

“Hey, douchebags,” Mandy called from over the second story railing. “You gonna stand in the parking lot all day or what?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. 

“Lead the way, Gallagher.”

Ian lead Mickey around to the elevator and pressed the ‘call’ button. 

“So,” he said, ushering Mickey into the elevator once it arrived. “Your sister is kind of intense, huh?”

Mickey pursed his lips. “Understatement of the century. Imagine living with her for 18 years.” 

The elevator doors opened to reveal an impatient looking Mandy leaning against the wall between two apartment units. “Took you long enough,” she huffed. “Which one is yours?”

Ian directed the siblings to Unit 209, unlocking the door and flipping on the light switch just past the threshold. 

This was it. Mickey and Mandy Milkovich, members of North Side royalty, were about to see where he slummed it every single day. They were going to see how simple he was. Hell, the fanciest thing about Ian was his car.

“It’s not much,” Ian explained as Mickey and Mandy followed him into the apartment.

Mandy immediately flopped onto the couch and kicked her feet up on the coffee table. “This is great,” she said genuinely, grabbing for the remote and flipping on the TV. “Go do your thing. We’ll hang out in here.”

Ian stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind himself, taking a deep breath. Everything was fine. He would clean himself up, get dressed, spend a few hours with Mickey and his sister, and then continue on with his life.

He turned the shower on, brushing his teeth as the water heated up. His apartment building was rather old and it took a while for the water to reach the near boiling temperature that he preferred. 

Ian stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash over him. He always felt so relaxed surrounded by steam, the shower head raining scalding hot water over his skin. He gave himself a good scrub and washed his hair before shutting the water off and drying himself with the towel that he’d slung over the shower curtain yesterday.

And that’s when he realized he didn’t have any clothes in the bathroom with him. He never brought clothes in the bathroom during a shower. He lived alone and never saw the need. But here he was, naked and dripping wet, with no clean clothes in sight.

He supposed he could put on his old clothes from yesterday, but the thought of putting dirty, sweaty clothes on his clean body did not sound appealing.

Ian wrapped the towel around his wast and tucked it in, holding it in place. 

There.

He would just act completely natural and walk to his room with the towel covering his bottom half. This was his apartment, after all. He opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the living room. Damn whoever had designed this apartment and made the bathroom and the bedroom as far apart as humanly possible.

Mandy was still seated on the couch, flipping through channels. Mickey had taken up residence on the armchair next to the couch. He slouched into it, his crutches balancing on his knees.

Mandy saw him first.

“Holy shit,” she called, eyes firmly glues to Ian’s chest. “Did you carve those out of fucking granite?”

Ian met Mickey’s eyes. They were hungry, but they were focused on Ian’s face rather than his exposed chest. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times like he wanted to say something, but no words came out. Ian became starkly aware that the only thing covering his crotch was a thin towel. Perhaps eye fucking Mickey was not appropriate for this moment in time. As he wrenched his eyes away from the other man’s, he realized Mandy was still talking.

“You could do fucking laundry on that stomach. I mean, do your abs have abs?”

Ian’s face reddened as he made his way to his bedroom.

“Are you really tapping that, Mickey? God. You must have more game than I thought.”

He was just closing his door behind him as Mickey hissed, “Mandy, can you please shut the fuck up for once in your life?”

Well, that could have gone better.

He rifled through his dresser for a pair of clean underwear, some jeans, and simple black t-shirt. He didn’t know exactly what activities he’d be partaking in today, especially with how impulsive Mandy seemed to be, so he figured something easy and simple would do the trick.

He entered the living room once more to find Mickey scowling and Mandy suppressing a grin. He wondered what he’d missed.

“I’m good to go,” he said.

“Great,” Mandy squealed, flipping off the TV and hopping up from her seat. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”

***

Ian was surprised that Mandy suggested a little hole-in-the-wall diner not 10 minutes from Ian’s apartment. She insisted that their pancakes were to die for. They were the only three people in the restaurant when they arrived, Mickey and Mandy slipping into one side of the booth and Ian claiming the other. 

Ian was kind of surprised, and relieved, that Mandy didn’t insist that the two men share a bench seat together.

A waitress came around and collected all of their drink orders, black coffee for Ian and Mandy and some kind of latte for Mickey. Mandy and Mickey ordered banana pancakes with chocolate chips.

“And for you?” The waitress asked Ian, tilting her head to the side and twirling her hair.

Ian hadn’t really been reading the menu, so he just followed suit and ordered the same thing. The waitress reached out and squeezed Ian’s shoulder, giving him a wide smile. “You sure are easy to please,” she flirted. “I’ll have that right out for you guys.”

“Jesus,” Mandy griped once the waitress had disappeared into the back. “Could she keep her vagina in her pants?”

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?” Mickey asked, taking a large gulp of his latte.

“First of all, thank god your ass isn’t lactose intolerant with how many of those fancy coffees you drink in a day. And second, could you not see the painfully obvious flirting that waitress was doing? I bet she’d drop to her knees and blow Ian in the middle of the restaurant if he’d let her.”

Ian choked on his coffee.

“I think you’re makin’ shit up,” Mickey grumbled.

“Sure. Just wait and see, ass face.” 

The trio sipped their drinks in relative silence until the waitress returned a few minutes later, a tray in hand. She handed Mickey and Mandy their pancakes first, Mickey digging in like he was starving.

“Thanks,” Ian said as she placed his pancakes down in front of him.

“Of course,” she smiled. “Just let me know if you need anything…or everything.” And then she threw in a wink for good measure before strutting away, her hips swaying back and forth in earnest. 

Ian’s eyes widened.

“See!” Mandy said triumphantly. “Totally flirting with Ian!”

And this time, Mickey couldn’t disagree. “Whatever.”

A deep scowl set into Mickey’s face, as though he was thinking intently about something.

“So, Ian,” Mandy began, turning her attention away from the flirtatious waitress. “Tell me about your family.”

So he did. He told her exactly what he’d told Mickey at the bar last week, giving a few more details on Franny since his niece was apparently Mandy’s number one fan.

Ian’s foot bumped against Mickey’s underneath the table. He was surprised when Mickey didn’t yank his foot away, but instead allowed it to rest there against Ian’s.

“No way,” Mandy chuckled, shoveling the last bite of pancake into her mouth and then proceeding to talk with her mouth full. Yeah, Ian could see the familial resemblance. “I have to come meet your niece someday.”

“She’d love that,” Ian said as the waitress appeared with a check in hand.

She sat the check down in the middle of the table.

“How was everything, guys?” She asked, eyes only on Ian. 

“Uh, great. Thanks,” he answered, hoping that she would move along to greet the customers who had just walked in moments earlier.

“Just so you know,” she whispered to Ian. “I wrote my number on the check. If you want to give me a call.”

Ian was pondering what the fuck he was supposed to say when Mickey banged his fist on the table.

“Listen, lady,” he raged. “That redhead you’ve been eye fucking all morning is gay. A raging homosexual.”

She gawked at him, but he wasn’t finished.

“He has absolutely no interest in you whatsoever. And you wanna know how I know that? Because I had his dick in my mouth this morning. So why don’t you go find another guy to harass?”

Holy fucking shit.

Ian was baffled at Mickey’s behavior. For a guy who was so keen on secrecy, he sure did blurt out information about their sexual antics for the world to hear. There was no way that Mickey was jealous, was he? Of a woman? At this point, Mickey was well aware that Ian didn’t swing that way. He wondered what the hell had come over him.

But why else would he have exploded like that if not for jealousy?

The waitress turned on her heels with a huff and disappeared into the back once more. Mickey pulled a few twenties from his wallet and threw them down on the table. “There. Breakfast is on me.”

Ian had to admit, jealous Mickey was kind of a turn on.

“Man,” Mandy said with a smirk. “Who knew you’d admit it to a complete stranger before you told your own sister?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey argued. “Not like you didn’t see us this morning anyway.”

And maybe, Ian thought, maybe they were making some progress here.

***

The unlikely trio ended up catching a matinee of some horror movie that Mandy wanted to see.

Ian was impartial to horror and according to Mandy, Mickey hated it.

“He gets a little scared,” she taunted as they made their way into the theater, popcorn and sodas in hand.

“Bitch,” Mickey bickered. “I do not get scared. If anything, shit is just boring.”

“Whatever,” she said with a knowing grin. Ian sat in the middle of the two siblings, mostly because he figured that would be the best way to ensure they didn’t get into an all out brawl during the movie. He wondered how in the hell they managed to work together without killing each other.

They chatted throughout the previews. Mickey had relaxed significantly since this morning, allowing Ian to at least converse with him like a normal human being instead of being weird and distant. They talked about which of the preview films they wanted to see and which ones looked absolutely terrible. Mandy chimed in with her insight on some of the actors that she’d met or had yet to meet. Mickey and Ian even leaned in together and laughed as Mandy’s most recent princess film was previewed on the screen.

“And this is why I’m trying to get into adult movies. Fuck, why are they showing this before a horror film anyway? Read the goddamn room.”

When the movie opened, starting credits appearing overtop of a dreary and dark screen, Ian felt Mickey’s body tense beside him. As though the man were holding his breath in anticipation.

Scary movies never really got to Ian. He was pretty good at separating media from reality and he wasn’t the type to be intimidated by jump scares. He remembered a time during his childhood when he, Lip, and Debbie had watched The Conjuring together. Well, he and Lip had been watching it. Debbie stormed into the room, declared that she wasn’t a baby anymore, and demanded that she be permitted to watch the movie too.

He and Lip had acquiesced, not feeling like getting into it with their kid sister. Poor Debbie had sat with her knees tucked to her chest, hiding her face in her hands, and emitting little pitiful squeaks any time something remotely ominous or frightening happened onscreen. Fiona had showed up at the end of their movie night, absolutely furious that they had subjected Debbie to something that would certainly give her nightmares. 

And she was right. Debbie was terrified, crawling into bed with Fiona and snuggling into her side for weeks after the movie. Even Lip had suffered a few nightmares and some paranoia about being in the dark. But Ian had been absolutely fine. No nightmares, no paranoia, no fear.

So he would be fine to watch whatever horror movie Mandy was so adamant about watching.

The first jump scare happened about 15 minutes into the movie. The screen depicted the main character walking down a dark, narrow hallway into complete darkness.

Ian heard the faint sound of Mickey whispering to his right. “Don’t go down there, fucker.” Ian smiled. Mickey was really getting into it, it seemed. 

Suddenly a hand reached out from the darkness and grabbed at the main character. 

“Fuckin’ shit!” Mickey practically screamed, his body jumping. 

Several people in front of them turned around, scowling at the man who was screaming and cursing during the movie.

“The fuck you lookin’ at?” Mickey asked them, prompting them to turn back around. Mandy reached across Ian’s lap and swatted at her brother to quiet him.

The second jump scare was a cheap shot. No suspenseful music, no flickering lights, nothing. Just a terrifying image when the main character shut the bathroom door accompanied with a jarring violin screech. Mickey jumped, swore, and clutched onto Ian’s arm. The people in front of them kept their opinions to themselves this time around.

After realizing he was practically cuddling Ian on accident, he muttered a quick apology and scooted as far away from Ian as he could in his seat.

The third jump scare, a body falling from a tree, noose tied around the neck, nearly sent Mickey into Ian’s lap.

Ian couldn’t take this anymore. The man was going to have a heart attack if he didn’t intervene. Ian reached over and laced his fingers with Mickey’s, pulling his hand over to rest in Ian’s lap. 

“Gallagher, what the fuck are y-”

“Shh,” Ian quieted, turning his eyes back the screen. Eventually Mickey relaxes a bit, his hand still resting in Ian’s lap.

From that point forward, Ian would reach over and pull Mickey’s face into his shoulder whenever there was a jump scare. And Mickey let him. Eventually the dark haired man found himself leaning into Ian, accepting Ian’s arm around his shoulder. They stayed that way until the credits rolled and the lights came up.

Mickey didn’t jump away from Ian when the movie ended and other patrons began exiting the theater. Instead he stayed there just a few extra moments, breathing in Ian’s scent and rubbing his thumb against Ian’s palm.

“Ready to go, boys?” Mandy asked, a knowing grin on her face. 

Mickey gave Ian’s palm one final stroke with his thumb and then removed himself from the redhead’s shoulder, unlacing their fingers. Ian gathered both his own trash and Mickey’s, allowing the shorter man to focus on using his crutches.

“Not scary enough if you ask me,” Mandy commented on their way out of the theatre. “Don’t you think so, Mick?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he grumbled to his sister as they passed through the lobby and into the parking lot. They were almost to the Suburban when a child’s shrill voice pierced the air.

“Mommy!” The child called. “Mommy, look! It’s Princess Seraphina!”

Before Ian knew what was happening, a little girl with bouncing black curls bounded up to Mandy. The child looked to be around 5 or 6 years old and she wore the widest smile Ian had ever seen.

“Sarah!” Called a frazzled looking woman with similar hair to the child. “Come back here!” 

The woman ran to her child, snatching her by the arm and bending down to her level.

“Sarah, don’t you ever run away from me in a parking lot ever again. You could have gotten hurt.”

The little girl - Sarah - stuck out her bottom lip, her eyes welling with tears. “But Mommy,” she pouted. “It’s Princess Seraphina.” She pointed up at Mandy.

The woman stood, still holding onto her daughter. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. She thinks you look like…oh.” 

For the first time, the woman took in Mandy’s appearance.

“Mandy Milkovich,” Mandy whispered, shaking the woman’s hand. “Do you mind if I talk to Sarah?”

The woman, now a little star struck, just nodded her head.

“Hi, Sarah!” Mandy chimed, bending down to her knees so that she was eye level with the little girl. “My name is Princess Seraphina and I’m so excited to meet you!”

The two chatted for a few minutes, the frazzled looking mother snapping a few photos with her iPhone that would surely end up on social media later.

“Does this happen a lot?” Ian asked Mickey, watching as Mandy gave the girl one final hug and said goodbye.

“Sometimes,” Mickey answered. “S’pretty cute, isn’t it?”

“My god,” Ian laughed. “Mickey Milkovich thinks something is cute. Alert the presses.”

“Fuck off,” he whispered so as not to let the kid hear.

And if Mandy talking to a little girl who thought she was a princess was cute, Mickey quieting his swearing so the little girl wouldn’t be subjected to his profanity was adorable.

Ian thought that this day, although it had started a little chaotic, was absolutely perfect.

***

Ian couldn’t sleep that night. He had had such an incredible weekend. He’d fucked Mickey senseless and spent an entire day with the man. If Mandy hadn’t have been their, they would have been on a date.

How was he supposed to return to work the next morning and pretend that nothing had happened? It felt like every time he took a step forward with Mickey, he was forced to take two steps back. He needed to understand where their relationship stood. It was driving him crazy.

Ian (10:37 PM): Hey. You awake?

Mickey (10:38 PM): Bold of you to assume I sleep.

That wasn’t the first time Mickey had mentioned not sleeping. Ian tucked that information away in his mind to ask about later on.

Ian (10:40 PM): I had a lot fun with you today.

Ian (10:40 PM): And last night.

Mickey (10:41 PM): You tryna get me to send you another dick pic?

Ian (10:42 PM): Ha. No. But I really did have a great weekend.

Mickey (10:50 PM): Me too.

Ian (10:52 PM): So I was wondering…

Mickey (10:53 PM): Yeah?

Ian (10:54 PM): I’m not asking you to be my boyfriend or anything, but can you help me understand what we have going on here? With us?

Ian let out a deep breath. He needed to understand. Needed Mickey to spell it out for him. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous to see Mickey’s response.

Mickey (10:56 PM): Definitely not your fuckin boyfriend.

Mickey (10:57 PM): But I like you, Gallagher.

Mickey (10:58 PM): Let’s just see what happens. Okay?

Ian (10:59 PM): Okay. But no more icing me out. Gotta talk to me, especially since I’m still your driver for the next few weeks.

Mickey (11:00 PM): Fine. Have fun watching that video of me while you jerk off. I’m sure you have it saved. See you tomorrow, Red. ;)

And Ian would never give Mickey the satisfaction of knowing it, but that’s exactly what he did.

***

“You look distracted today, dear,” Mrs. Springs commented, sipping from her dainty floral mug. 

Ian had a little extra time after driving Mrs. Springs home from her Wednesday appointment and allowed the elderly woman to rope him into having tea. She had linked her frail arm around his and lead him inside, insisting that he sit down at the kitchen table while she served him. He’d felt bad at first, allowing Mrs. Springs to wait on him considering their differences in age and capability. 

But she’d seemed so happy to do it, offering him tea accompanied with little saucers of milk and sugar. Ian didn’t really like hot tea, but he’d drink it with a smile for Mrs. Springs.

“Sorry, Mrs. Springs. Just thinking.”

“Don’t apologize,” she tutted. “You look happy. You’re smiling.”

“Yeah,” Ian noted, twirling his spoon around his mug, clinking it against the sides. “I guess I am.”

“I love to see you smile, my dear.” She reached across the table and took his hand into hers. “You know, Ian. Our Wednesdays together are really special to me.”

And truly their Wednesdays were special to him too, even if he was technically employed by the old woman. Ian had never really had an adult in his life that cared about him. Fiona did her best, but at the end of the day she was his sister, not his mother. And Monica was always too busy doing coke and couch surfing to be much of a mother. 

So having Mrs. Springs care about him was new. Nice. Warm.

“They’re special to me too,” he said, clutching her hand.

“I know you know this already, but I haven’t seen my son in a long time. He makes sure I’m taken care of and sends me a check every month but it’s not the same as having him here with me.”

Ian nodded, struggling to imagine how anyone could leave their aging mother alone.

“My Thomas. I’m so proud of him. He’s an orthopedic surgeon, you know. Lives in South Carolina with his wife. No grandkids yet, but I’m hoping soon.”

Her eyes lit up as she talked about her son. She told Ian how he and his wife lived in a beautiful house on the beach and how she was going to go visit as soon as Thomas’s schedule cleared up a little bit. “He’s so busy with work,” she rationalized.

“But Ian, you’re like a son to me, too. I love you very much.”

Ian’s heart swelled. Mrs. Springs deserved the world. Ian couldn’t give her that, but he could at least give her companionship.

“You and my older sister are the closest thing to real parents I’ve ever had,” he told her. “Your son is lucky to have you as his mother.”

They sat and sipped their tea until Ian’s schedule brought their afternoon together to a close. Mrs. Springs kissed him on the cheek and told him she’d see him next week.

Ian drove away moments later with his eyes misty, hoping that Thomas Springs really was planning for his mother to visit soon.

Chapter Text

“Fuck,” Mickey groaned, bucking up into Ian’s mouth as he clutched onto the grab handle above his head. Ian was surprised he hadn’t broken the thing off yet, as this was the third backseat blow job he’d given Mickey this week. 

He’d taken to arriving 15 minutes early in the mornings, allowing him to park the two of them in a nearby parking garage that was always empty before noon every day. Spending all day on the roads of Chicago had its perks, one of which being a comprehensive knowledge of the city’s parking situation.

“Don’t fuckin’ stop,” Mickey panted, throwing his head back and accidentally bumping it against the closed window. “Ouch! Fuck!”

Ian removed his mouth from Mickey’s cock and pumped it slowly with his hand. 

“You okay?” He asked.

“Fine,” Mickey grunted. “Now put your mouth back.”

“You know, Mick,” Ian began, an underlying tease to his voice. “I really think you should stop tipping me so much. I’m starting to feel a little bit like a prostitute.”

Mickey fucked into Ian’s hand. “Gallagher, come on. I’m dyin’ here. Got a video meeting in 20 minutes.”

“It’s just that these blowjobs are starting to become a daily occurrence and I simply can’t accept money for my sexual encounters. I’m really not that kind of girl.”

Mickey reached down and took Ian’s face into his hands. “Gallagher, I’ll never fucking tip you again if you put my cock back in your mouth right now.”

“Greedy,” Ian purred as he sank back down onto Mickey’s length. He bobbed his head once, twice, three more times and then Mickey was coming, twisting his hands into Ian’s hair and emitting the lowest, hottest groan Ian had ever heard.

“It’s a shame Mandy is the movie star,” Ian said as he came up for air and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “You’d do wonders in the adult film business.”

Mickey zipped up his pants and punched Ian in the shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up and drive me to work before I’m late.”

***

Ian all but sprinted into the office of Timothy and Irene’s later that day, running desperately late for their monthly staff meeting. The meetings were hardly ever important. They were primarily just an opportunity for all of the drivers to see each other in person, since most of their business took place out on the roads. But Irene was adamant about attendance, so Ian always made sure that he was present for them.

He wrenched open the front door, a blast of heat hitting him as he entered, melting away the chilly fall air.

“Ah, he lives!” Irene called from a folding table in the corner of the room. There wasn’t normally a place for all of the driver’s to sit, but she made sure to set up a table for their meetings.

“Sorry,” he said, walking over to the table and sitting at the only available seat. He was, indeed, the last driver to arrive. “There was an accident at the corner of 3rd and Main. Cops had all of the lanes closed, had to go around.”

This story was partially true. He left out the part where he had pulled over to gawk at a steamy photograph Mickey had sent him from the bathroom of his office.

“No problem, kid,” Irene said. “We were just getting started anyway.”

Ian looked around the folding table. A man named Chester sat directly to his left. He was an older guy with a permanent scowl, but he was well known for traversing traffic with ease. Apparently he’d been one of the best taxi drivers New York City had ever seen.

Next to him was Anna, a pretty Hispanic woman who always talked about her three kids at these meetings.

Then there was Anthony, the newest driver at Timothy and Irene’s. This was actually his first staff meeting. He always looked a little sweaty and nervous. Ian wondered how long he would last.

And finally there was Barry. He probably knew the least about Barry, but he’d been with Timothy and Irene’s since they opened 5 years ago.

“Alright,” Irene said, “Let’s get this meeting started.”

“Aren’t we missing someone?” Anthony asked, his brow furrowing.

“No,” Irene answered, looking around the table. “This is everyone.”

“What about Timothy? Aren’t we waiting on him?” Anthony continued, clearly confused.

There were a few moments of silence where you could hear a pin drop, and then loud, boisterous laughter. Barry was banging his fists on the table as he gasped for air, Anna was trying her best to cover her giggle, and Chester’s scowl switched just a little.

Even Ian, who was still distracted by the photos from Mickey that were now saved to his camera roll, felt his shoulders shaking as he chuckled. 

“What?” Anthony asked, looking around the table at the outburst. “What’s so funny?”

Irene wiped a tear from her eye. “Oh, honey,” she laughed. “There is no Timothy.”

Anthony looked confused. “What do you mean? He’s in the name of the company.”

“Made him up because I thought business would do better with a man’s name in the title. It’s just me.”

Anthony’s face reddened.

Poor kid, Ian thought.

After they had all settled down and Anthony had sunk deep into his chair, a flush still on his cheeks, Irene updated them all about how business was going. She let them know that, at the rate that they were receiving inquiries, she would have to employ another driver soon.

“Things are really picking up,” she bragged. “And I couldn’t ask for a better staff. We’ve gotten some great feedback and even some high profile recommendations.”

She looked at Ian.

“Thanks to Ian, we’ve signed two new temporary contracts for next month with some rather wealthy clientele.”

“Hell yeah,” Barry nodded, reaching across the table to give Ian a pat on the shoulder. “Good job, man.”

Ian wasn’t sure what Irene was talking about. This was the first he was hearing of this.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Apparently the Milkovich family has referenced Timothy and Irene’s as the best transportation option in Chicago. With their connections in the film industry, I can only imagine what that will do for business. Shit, look what it’s already done for business.”

Ian was nonplussed by this. To be honest, he and Mickey rarely talked about work these days, resolving instead to go down on one another in empty parking decks in their spare time. But the figured Mickey would have mentioned such a recommendation to him at some point.

“Incredible,” Anna commented, giving Ian a bright smile. “That could mean big things for us!”

“I can guarantee it will,” Irene confirmed. “And I really have to hand it to Ian for doing such a great job. He’s been driving Mikhailo Milkovich and that man is about as unpleasant as they come. Not sure what you did to get on his good side, but keep it up.”

Ian bit at the inside of his lip, fidgeting with his hands. 

“Oh, he’s really not that bad,” he mumbled. “Just doing my job.”

“Don’t be modest,” Irene urged. “I always run all of the billing through his sister so I don’t have to talk to the guy. Ian’s been wracking up hundreds of dollars in tips from the guy, so he must be doing something right.”

“Damn, man,” Barry chimed in, clearly impressed. “You gotta teach me your ways! I love swindling bitchy clients out of some major tips.”

And suddenly, Ian felt horrible.

Horrible for lying to his boss, horrible for continuing to accept tips for his services when he and Mickey clearly had something more than a traditional driver/passenger relationship, but most of all he felt horrible for not sticking up for Mickey more than he had. He didn’t want any of his coworkers to catch onto the fact that he and Mickey were something more. He didn’t want to give them an avenue to ask questions. But hearing Irene talk about Mickey that way made his stomach sink down to the floor.

But what could he do, really? Tell everyone that he and Mickey were fucking and therefore they all needed to lay off? Of course not. He’d lose his job.

So instead he mustered a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he said, “I could definitely teach you a thing or two.”

***

Ian had started meeting Mickey up in his office most afternoons when he wasn’t entertaining company in person. He’d park the Suburban, wave hello to the receptionist who had introduced herself as Rachel, and make his way up to the 4th floor to see Mickey.

They hadn’t had sex since their night together in Mickey’s apartment the previous weekend, but their almost constant fooling around and flirting had carried Ian through his week. 

He was a little conflicted. On one hand, he couldn’t wait for his six week driving contract with Mickey to be over so that he could possibly explore something more with the man. But the contract gave him two solid reasons to see Mickey every day. What if Mickey was only interested in him right now because of the convenience? What if he didn’t want to pursue anything with Ian after the fact?

He tried to push these thoughts out of his head as the elevator doors slid open.

Mickey’s office door was wide open, beckoning Ian in. He was typing away at his computer when Ian entered.

“Hey,” Mickey greeted, a wide grin sweeping over his face at the sight of the redhead. “Sorry, just finishing up an email. Give me one second.”

Ian flopped onto the loveseat horizontally, propping his legs up and cradling his head in his arms. “Take all the time you need. I could probably fall asleep right here if you let me.”

And well, it had been a long day. Especially since it was Friday which meant that he had spent a less than ideal afternoon listening to Mr. John voice his problematic opinions on the American education system.

Mickey shrugged. “Go ahead and nap if you want. I got a few more emails I could send.”

Ian closed his eyes, the sound of Mickey’s keyboard lulling him to sleep.

The next thing Ian knew, he was being gently shaken awake.

“C’mon, Sleeping Beauty,” Mickey whispered as Ian’s eyes peeled open. “Let’s get you home.”

“How long was I out?” Ian asked with a groan, stretching his body. The loveseat was much too short for Ian’s tall frame, so he’d been rather scrunched for his nap.

“Just 20 minutes or so,” Mickey answered. “What’s got you so worn out today? You start blowing all of your clients or something?”

Ian shoved playfully at Mickey’s shoulder as he sat up, scooting over to allow the other man to sit next to him on the loveseat. “Shut the fuck up, asshole.”

Mickey sank back into the seat, turning to face Ian. “You got plans for the weekend?” He asked.

Ian nodded. “Gotta go to family dinner on Sunday.”

It had been a while since Ian had seen all of his siblings in one place, so he was actually looking forward to their get together this weekend. They’d all gather at the Gallagher house, grill out, drink beer, and just enjoy each other’s company. A true South Side party.

“What about the rest of the weekend?” Mickey probed, fidgeting with his shirt sleeve.

“You tryin’ to ask me out on a date, Mick?” Ian inquired, raising an eyebrow at the other man.

“Not askin’ you on a date, you sappy fuck. Just wanna know if you want to come over. Tonight.”

And fuck, of course he wanted to come over.

“You okay running by my place so I can grab a few things first?” Ian asked, standing from his seat and grabbing Mickey’s crutches. He helped the other man to his feet and passed them over.

“Ain’t got nowhere to be,” Mickey remarked.

The two men made their way outside to the Suburban, Mickey tossing his crutches into the backseat and plopping down in the front next to Ian. He got in the front without having to be prompted now. It was nice having another human being in the front with him as he drove. As much time as Ian spent with other people in the car, having someone utilize his front passenger seat didn’t happen often. 

“So,” Ian started as they neared the South Side. “Mandy finally sign her first big girl contract?”

“She did,” Mickey nodded. “Don’t know what she’d do without me. She starts filming next month.”

Ian liked how good Mickey seemed to be at his job, advocating for Mandy in any way that he could even though the two siblings almost never saw eye to eye. He did wonder how the business portion of the Milkovich relationship worked out, though.

“I’ve been wondering something.”

“Yeah? Ask away, Firecrotch.”

“Does Mandy pay you to be her assistant? Or how does that work?”

Mickey looked positively scandalized. “First of all, if you ever call me Mandy’s assistant ever again I’ll chop your dick off and feed it to you.”

Ian waved his hand, brushing off Mickey’s empty threat. “You know what I mean. Does she pay you? To do what you do for her?”

“Why do you wanna know so bad?” Mickey asked in that snarky tone of his. 

“There a problem with me trying to get to know you better?” Ian asked, throwing the same tone back at the other man. Once Ian had learned to match Mickey’s energy, communication between the two had become much better.

“Guess not,” Mickey conceded. “A percentage of all of Mandy’s contracts go to me for handling all her shit for her. It’s more of a partnership than anything else.”

“Was that so hard?” Ian ribbed. 

Mickey sighed. “No. Just fuckin’ used to keeping shit to myself, I guess.”

Ian still hadn’t let on to the fact that he knew intimate details about Mickey’s past. He wondered how the other man would feel if he admitted he’d gone into company records to find more information on him. Wondered how he’d feel if he knew Ian was aware of the situation between he and his father. Ian hoped that Mickey could trust him enough one day retell that situation in his own words.

“I just want to get to know you, Mick. If you’ll let me.”

Mickey remained silent as they pulled into the parking lot of Ian’s apartment building.

“You wanna just stay here while I run up and pack a bag?” Ian asked. “Won’t take me long.”

“Could we just stay here tonight?” Mickey asked.

And wow, that was unexpected.

“Here?” Ian sputtered, looking around the parking lot. “Why would you want to stay here?”

“You want us to get to know each other, don’t you?” Mickey asked, gesturing at the redhead. “We’ve already stayed at my place. Let’s stay at yours tonight.”

“No, Mick,” Ian insisted. “My place is small and kind of underwhelming and sometimes the neighborhood can get loud and-”

“Shut the fuck up with that,” Mickey interrupted. “You forget I was South Side my whole life up until a few years ago?”

In the back of his mind, Ian knew that. He knew that Mickey was familiar with the South Side. Hell, his living situation might have been worse than Ian’s growing up. But he couldn’t help but compare what he had to what Mickey had.

“It’s not that,” Ian sighed. “It’s just that your place is better. Why not stay in the better place? Would probably be more comfortable.”

“Don’t you want us to get to know each other, Red?”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with where we sleep?”

“The South Side is you. This apartment is you. If you expect me to share my shit with you, then I want your shit too. Now take me upstairs so I can order us a pizza. Fuckin’ starving.”

***

Half an hour later, Ian and Mickey were seated side by side on Ian’s worn couch, a large pepperoni pizza and two beers on the coffee table in front of them.

“Any movie suggestions?” Ian asked, taking a bite out of his slice of greasy pizza.

“Just no chick flicks,” Mickey demanded. “And no horror. And nothing too gay.”

Ian scowled. “Define too gay.”

Mickey shrugged his shoulders. “Like fuckin’ musicals and shit.”

Ian looked at the other man incredulously. “Watching a movie where there’s singing and dancing is too gay for you, but me shoving my dick in your ass is fine? Man, you’ve got some fucked priorities.”

Eventually they settled on Deadpool, which Ian had actually never seen.

“How the fuck have you not seen Deadpool? Best super hero movie ever,” Mickey proclaimed as the 20th Century Fox logo rolled and the movie began.

Even though Mickey had already seen the movie, he laughed at all of the film’s crude jokes as though he’d never heard them before.

Deadpool had just broken someone’s limbs in three directions while making a dick joke, and Mickey was positively howling. Like, full on belly laughing, snorting, and slapping his hands against his thigh. Ian probably only found the scene about half as funny as Mickey seemed to, but he found himself laughing heartily anyway. Something about Mickey’s laughter made him want to laugh too.

And before they knew it, they were both cackling with laughter.

Mickey wiped a stray tear from his eye, doing his best to catch his breath. “Fuck, this movie is gold.” He crammed yet another bite of pizza into his mouth, clearly having no hesitations about talking with his mouth full. “Wade Wilson is a guy I could be friends with.”

As the movie neared the end and Deadpool fought his way back to Vanessa, bloody and broken, Mickey leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and looking intently at the screen.

Ian looked over at the man. He had a smudge of marinara sauce on his chin. His work shirt, a dark blue button up, was unbuttoned at the top and ruffled about the collar. His hair was mussed after two hours of howling with laughter on the couch. Ian wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss him.

“You like a love story, huh?” Ian nudged him.

Mickey scoffed. “Nah, man. I just like watching Deadpool decapitate someone with a car door.”

But Ian didn’t quite believe that. No, he didn’t think he believed that at all.

Once the credits began to roll and the two men had polished off the pizza, Ian tossed the remote over to Mickey. “Here” he said as he began cleaning the trash from the coffee table. “Pick something else if you want.”

“Nah, man,” Mickey said as he stretched his arms above his head. “Fuckin’ tired.”

Ian realized at that moment that they hadn’t really discussed the sleeping situation for the night. Sure, he’d slept in Mickey’s bed with him the previous weekend, but they had kind of just fallen asleep there. It hadn’t been a discussion or a decision they had made together. Did friends who fucked sleep together in the same bed? Was that implied? Ian thought he’d just play it safe.

“Uh,” he began. “I can take the couch if you want my bed. Since you’ve got a broken foot and all.”

Mickey looked taken aback by that. “Kind of thought we’d share the bed,” he mumbled as though unsure. “But if you don’t want to, I can take the couch. It’s just a broken foot. I’m not in a full body cast.”

And suddenly Ian felt stupid. “No. We can share the bed.”

Mickey looked a little embarrassed. Tough, abrasive Mickey. “You sure, man?”

“Really,” Ian assured. “I want to.”

Ian beckoned Mickey into his bedroom, giving him the grand tour. “Bed. Nightstand. Dresser. And that’s about it.” Ian pulled open one of his dresser drawers and rifled through some old t-shirts and sweatpants. “Want something to sleep in?” He asked.

“Normally just sleep in boxers if that’s okay.”

Ian was grateful he was still facing the dresser, because he was positive his eyes were popping out of his head. “Of course that’s okay. Mind if I do the same?”

“Your house, man,” Mickey retorted. 

Ian excused himself to the bathroom to brush his teeth. As he swished with mouthwash, he took in his appearance in the mirror. He looked…alright for having worked a full day. Not like Mickey hadn’t seen him already today anyway. He brushed through his red hair with his fingers and splashed a little cold water on his face.

Finally, he tugged his pants and shirt off, tossing them into his dirty laundry hamper that always stayed in the corner of his bathroom.

“He’s seen you way more naked than this,” Ian whispered to himself in the mirror. 

He flipped off the bathroom light and made his way to his bedroom. What he saw when he arrived made him stop in his tracks.

Mickey was laying on Ian’s bed with his back propped up against the headboard, only clad in a pair of black boxers. It wasn’t an obscene or even a particularly sexy sight, but it was just so Mickey. Something that Ian was discovering he couldn’t get enough of.

“‘Ey,” Mickey greeted as he noticed Ian in the doorway. “Didn’t know which side was yours.”

Ian realized that he’d never shared this particular bed with anyone before. He normally just plopped right down in the middle. “Either side is fine,” he said as he approached the side Mickey wasn’t occupying and climbed under the covers.

Ian flipped off the bedside lamp, casting the room into darkness aside from the gentle glow of the nearly full moon through the window. He reached underneath his head to adjust his pillow, accidentally knocking his elbow into Mickey’s head in the process. 

“Fuck!” Mickey swore.

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry,” Ian sputtered. He instinctually attempted to reach out and touch the spot on Mickey’s head that he’d elbowed, but Mickey had shifted causing the red head to poke him directly in the eye.

“Son of a bitch!” Mickey cried. “What’d I ever do you, man?”

Mickey had been in Ian’s bed for all of 3 minutes and he’d already been injured twice. And not in a fun way.

“Goddamn it,” Ian groaned. “I didn’t mean to! Here. I’ll scoot as far away from you as possible. No way I can hurt you over here, right?” 

Ian rolled so far that he toppled to the ground. 

“Guess you can still hurt yourself over there, Red.”

Mickey must be rethinking his choice of company right about now. At least, Ian assumed as much since he’d assaulted him twice and thrown himself onto the floor.

“You gonna sleep down there?” Mickey asked when Ian didn’t make any effort to move.

“Just leave me down here so I can’t embarrass myself anymore tonight.”

Ian wondered what Mickey normally did on Friday nights. He wondered if he hung out with his sister and her special Hollywood friends. Maybe Mickey had lots of hot movie stars waiting to take him out. Maybe he could be with one of them tonight instead of fighting for his life in Ian’s bed.

“Shut the fuck up and get up here,” Mickey demanded.

Ian complied, crawling back under the comforter but keeping a safe distance from his bedmate. 

“Sorry,” Ian murmured again.

And then Mickey was laughing. Deep belly laughter that shook the bed, almost more intense than his laughter during Deadpool. Ian was glad it was dark because he was sure his face was redder than his hair.

Mickey was laughing at him.

“I can just take the couch tonight,” Ian said, his voice dripping in embarrassment. Mickey was definitely regretting his choice of company for the evening. And who could blame him?

He started to get up, but Mickey reached over and grabbed his arm, sending a jolt of electricity through Ian’s entire body.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Mickey said between laughs. “Not laughin’ at you, Red.”

“You sure?” Ian snapped. “Because I’m the only one in here making an ass of myself right now.”

Mickey pulled at Ian’s arm until he was once again lying on the bed, this time much closer to Mickey than before. 

“Calm down, Reba. I’m laughin’ at us, not just at you. At how fuckin’ awkward we are even though we’ve already banged.”

Ian felt himself relax at that. It was true. Maybe navigating something as simple as sleeping next to another man was difficult for them both. Ian wondered if Mickey was like him, fucking strangers in bars but drawing the line at inviting them home.

“Never really shared my bed with a guy before,” Ian sighed. “Normally just fuck somewhere else and come home alone.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey asked. “Why?”

“Dunno,” Ian replied. “I mean, I guess I’ve just never trusted anyone enough.”

“That mean you trust me?”

Did he trust Mickey? They’d known each other for such a short amount of time. Their friendship was complicated, especially with both of them keeping it a secret for a multitude of reasons. But Ian found himself yearning for more time with the man. He felt happy when they were together. He didn’t know if he could place all of his trust in Mickey Milkovich quite yet, but he thought that someday he could.

“I’m working on it,” he said. “But you just being here right now is a big step for me.”

“Me too, Red,” Mickey whispered so quietly that Ian could hardly hear it. The words made Ian’s heart swell. 

Mickey was quiet after that. Ian assumed he must have fallen asleep. He was just shutting his own eyes when Mickey spoke again.

“I left it on purpose,” he whispered.

Ian was confused.

“Left what?” He asked.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Ian considered repeating his question.

“My wallet,” Mickey said, twisting his body to face Ian. Ian could feel the man’s hot breath on his face. They were so close now.

“What are you talking ab….oh.”

Ian remembered their first night together. The entire reason they’d been together at that dingy bar in the first place was for Ian to return Mickey’s wallet. He’d left his wallet in the backseat of the Suburban on purpose? That didn’t make any sense. 

“I kicked it under the seat on purpose. Hoped you’d find it. Had been sittin’ at that bar for a couple hours. Was actually gonna send you a message on that stupid app asking if you’d look for it, but then you texted first.”

Ian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Mickey had orchestrated their entire first meeting outside of work? But why?

“I don’t understand,” Ian hesitated. “Why do all that?”

Mickey reached up a hand to rest on Ian’s cheek, the glow of the moonlight illuminating his tattoos just slightly. He lifted his body so that his face was above Ian’s. 

“You’re under my skin, man.”

And then Mickey was kissing him, kissing him, kissing him. Not hungry, needy kisses like they were used to. Not kissing just as an avenue for getting off, but kissing because their bodies craved a touch. A connection.

Mickey had wanted all of this just as much as Ian had. Not just the sex, but everything else that came with it too. The thought made Ian dizzy.

There was a lot that Ian wanted to say.

You drive me crazy.

I think I could touch you forever.

I want more with you. Everything with you.

But all of that could wait. There was time. They had time. And this, what they had, was good enough for now.

Because although Ian didn’t know quite what it was, he knew they had something.

Ian wrapped his hands delicately around the back of Mickey’s neck, clasping them together. He held them there as Mickey kissed him, not pressing but simply feeling the heat of Mickey’s skin beneath his fingers. 

Ian sucked at the other man’s bottom lip, nipping lightly with his teeth. Mickey groaned.

“Don’t start something you don’t want to finish, Gallagher,” Mickey panted into his mouth. He pressed his hips into Ian’s side, and oh. Mickey was hard. The only thing separating his erection from Ian’s skin being the thin fabric of his boxers. 

Ian smiled into his mouth. “What makes you think I don’t want to finish it?” He asked.

And that was all the permission Mickey needed. With his hurt foot, Ian had been the one calling the shots for most of their sexual encounters. But this time….this time he would just sit back and let Mickey have his way with him.

Mickey reached down and palmed at Ian’s clothed cock, slow and deliberate. He felt himself hardening under Mickey’s touch.

“So hot,” Mickey said, placing another kiss on Ian’s full lips. “Love touching you.”

Mickey tugged at the waistband of Ian’s boxers and Ian lifted his hips eagerly, kicking them off once they’d been lowered enough. He reached down and placed Mickey’s hand on his now bare cock.

“Eager, Red?” Mickey asked, gripping the base of Ian’s erection and beginning a slow stroke.

Ian was sure Mickey expected him to jump in with some playful banter, but instead he just planted a kiss to Mickey’s jawline and whispered, “Please.” He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. 

His hand moved on Ian’s cock in consistent movements, each pass slicking Ian’s length with the precum that was already leaking from his tip. Ian’s hips twitched and his eyes fluttered shut.

Mickey lowered his head to Ian’s ear, giving the redhead a gentle bite on his earlobe. “Is this what you need?” Mickey asked, lips brushing Ian’s skin.

Ian nodded his head, attempting to confirm but simply emitting a whimper.

Mickey removed his hand from Ian’s cock and sucked his fingers into his mouth. “You taste good,” he whispered. Ian squirmed, needing Mickey’s touch to return to his aching erection.

“Patience,” he said, spitting into his hand and reclaiming Ian’s length, giving him a few firm strokes.

Ian groaned as Mickey picked up the pace with each pump. He jerked his hips into Mickey’s hand. 

God, it felt so fucking good. Not only the feeling of Mickey’s hand on him, but also knowing that he could lay back and let the man take care of him.

“Wanna feel you,” Ian moaned. “Wanna feel you against me.”

Mickey shifted, sliding his boxers down. “C’mere,” he said, gripping Ian by the hips and pulling him over to straddle him.

“Wish I could be on top, but my foot.”

Ian couldn’t wait to see Mickey on top of him, would welcome it when it came. But for now he’d do what Mickey couldn’t.

“Let me take care of you,” Ian murmured, grinding his hips down into Mickey’s, their slick cocks sliding together. 

Ian swallowed Mickey’s moan, his tongue gliding against the other man’s as he ground his hips forward again.

Mickey was so hard. Ian reached between their bodies, taking both of their cocks in his large hand. 

He stroked them together, leisurely and without hurry, just enjoying the slick, wet heat between them.

“Ian. Fuck,” Mickey cried. “Feels so good.”

Ian quieted the man with another kiss, groaning into his mouth as he felt Mickey’s hand reach down and join Ian’s.

They stroked together, panting and whimpering and god, yes and please and so good.

“Want you to come with me,” Ian breathed. “You close?”

“So fuckin’ close,” Mickey choked.

Ian increased their pace from leisurely to desperate, chasing their release. He licked at the shell of Mickey’s ear and whispered, “Come for me, Mickey.”

And then Mickey was coming, spilling onto their hands. The combination of Mickey’s pleasured cries as he came and the feel of his climax on his skin was enough to send Ian over the edge too.

He came with Mickey’s name on his lips.

***

Ian woke up the next morning to the sound of running water. He opened his eyes, rubbing them sleepily. He reached out for the warm body that he knew should be there with him, but the other side of the bed was empty. Cold.

Mickey must be in the shower.

He had half a mind to get up and join him, but he wasn’t sure that shower sex with a broken foot in the mix would be all that successful. Hell, they might accidentally break the other foot in the process. So Ian would wait until Mickey was completely healed, and then he’d surprise him with shower sex.

It made Ian smile that he was thinking like this - about the future. He hoped that maybe one day he would have the courage to discuss it with Mickey.

He heard the shower turn off and the clunky noises of what must have been Mickey climbing out of the tub with his cast. Ian stayed where he was, knowing that if the other man needed help he would ask for it. After a few minutes of near silence, he heard the unmistakable sound of crutches traveling down the hallway.

Mickey appeared in the doorway, towel wrapped around his waist and crutches under his arms. “Stole a couple plastic bags to wrap around my cast in there,” he said. “Hope ya don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind,” Ian yawned. 

“Good. Now get the fuck up and pick out some clothes for me to borrow. You’re taking me out for coffee.”

Ian picked out a t-shirt that was a little tight on him and a pair of shorts for Mickey to borrow. He threw those items, as well as a pair of boxers, at the man to put on. “It’s kind of chilly out but all of my pants would be too long on you,” Ian explained.

It was blissfully domestic, getting ready with Mickey. Ian took a shower as Mickey got dressed and pulled out an extra toothbrush for the other man to use, smiling as Mickey placed the toothbrush in the holder on the sink next to Ian’s.

Ian reached in the cabinet above the sink and pulled down his morning meds, taking them with a cupped palmful of water from the faucet. 

“What are those pills you take?” Mickey asked.

Ian froze. Of course Mickey would ask about his medication if he so blatantly took it in front of him. He should have been more careful if he wanted to avoid this conversation. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his bipolar or even that he thought Mickey would take it poorly, it was just hard for Ian to talk about sometimes.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Mickey backtracked. “Not my business.”

“No,” Ian said. “I want to tell you. Just….can we take a rain check on that?”

Mickey laughed. “Sure, Firecrotch.”

***

“Don’t gotta open doors and shit for me, man,” Mickey grumbled as he entered into the café.

“You’re on crutches,” Ian said with an eye roll. “As soon as your foot is fixed, I’ll never do anything nice for you ever again. Now go sit the fuck down and I’ll get you one of you fancy coffees.”

Mickey crutched himself to a table in the far corner, grumbling to himself all the while. Ian smiled to himself as he went. Mickey’s grumpy demeanor was honestly kind of endearing now that he was starting to understand what was underneath. 

Ian joined the line, prepared to stand for quite a while as he realized the middle aged woman in the front appeared to be asking the poor barista to recite the entire menu. He’d get a black coffee for himself and some kind of flavored latte for Mickey. Maybe a couple pastries. He wasn’t quite sure what Mickey would want, so he planned to get a variety for the two men to pick from. He was eyeing the options in the display case when he heard a voice from behind him.

“Ian?”

Ian pulled his attention away from the croissants he was eyeballing and turned around. 

The very forward guy from Mickey’s office stood behind him. The one who worked for a production company and helped to rectify Mandy’s contract. The one who ‘had a thing for redheads.’

“Oh, hey.” He couldn’t remember the guy’s name. “Good to see you again…”

“Dominic,” he said, extending his hand. Ian shook, smiling politely. Dominic was dressed casually today. No suit jacket and tie, just jeans a red hoodie. 

“Good to see you, too. So how’s the grumpy bastard you’re driving? Giving you a hard time?”

Ian glanced over at Mickey, still sitting at the corner table. He was looking down at his phone and didn’t appear to have seen Dominic in line next to Ian. Of course the guy would ask about Mickey considering that’s the only context in which he knew Ian, but Ian knew Mickey wouldn’t want him to know the specifics of their relationship. 

“Oh, nah,” Ian chuckled. “He’s fine.”

Ian turned to face the display case again, hoping Dominic would get the hint and stop talking to him. Unfortunately he persisted. 

“You just have to give it back to him when he dishes it. That’s what I do and it hasn’t failed me yet.”

Ian simply nodded.

“So tell me a little more about Ian,” Dominic said, stepping to the red head’s side so as to better converse. 

Ian eyed the line - only two more people before he could order and go. But what if Dominic saw who he was with? Would Mickey be okay with that? 

“I’m not very interesting,” Ian deflected. 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Dominic flirted, placing a hand on Ian’s arm. Ian flinched away from the touch but Dominic didn’t seem to notice. “You look like an interesting guy.”

One more customer between Ian and the barista. 

“Let me be more specific. Tell me about what you like to do on weekends? Aside from hangout in coffee shops.” 

Okay. This was fine. Ian would just give the guy generic answers until he ordered, distract him, and hope he didn’t see Mickey. 

“Like to hangout with family mostly,” Ian explained. “Sometimes I grab a drink with friends. I go for a lot of runs. Just boring stuff, really.”

Dominic once again placed a hand on Ian’s arm. “I can tell you’re a pretty active guy,” he remarked. “Listen, maybe we could have a drink some-”

“Next customer,” the barista called, gesturing for Ian to approach the counter. 

Oh thank god. 

Ian ignored the rest of Dominic’s invitation as he stepped forward and ordered a black coffee, caramel latte, chocolate croissant, pumpkin muffin, and cinnamon roll. He pulled his wallet from his pocket, swiped his card, and stepped to the side where his order would eventually be deposited. 

Ian hoped his order would be ready by the time Dominic was able to make his way over to him, but of course he wasn’t that lucky.

“Damn,” Dominic said with a laugh. “You here with someone? Sure did order a lot.”

“Just here with a friend,” Ian said, eyes still on the pickup counter. 

“Yeah?” Dominic questioned. “Maybe I can join you for a bit.” 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Well,” Ian floundered. “I mean, my friend. He really needs to talk to me. About some stuff. So probably not.” 

Ian glanced in Mickey’s direction again. The man was still not paying any damn attention. Dominic followed Ian’s gaze, finally spotting Mickey in the corner.

“Milkovich?” He asked, a look of confusion on his face. “Your friend is Milkovich?” 

“Order for Ian!” 

The barista placed a tray loaded with all of Ian’s purchases on the pickup counter. 

“Well, looks like this is everything,” Ian said. “Gotta be going. Nice to see you!” 

Ian turned and walked away before the man could say anything else. 

Okay. So Dominic knew Ian and Mickey were here together. Not a big deal. They were friends. It was okay to be friends. Maybe he wouldn’t even come over. Maybe he’d just leave. 

“Took your ass long enough,” Mickey griped as Ian sat the tray down on their table. He grabbed his latte and took a large gulp. Ian sat down across from him, claiming his own coffee cup. 

“The hell took you so long?” Mickey asked as he tore a chunk from the chocolate croissant and popped it into his mouth. 

“Kind of ran into someone,” Ian answered. 

“Yeah?” Mickey raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Milkovich! Hey!”

Son of a bitch. 

Dominic, coffee cup in hand, approached the corner table. 

Ian saw Mickey put the pieces together as Dominic pulled up a chair between the two men. “This is who you ran into? Dominic?” Mickey asked.

Dominic clapped Mickey on the shoulder. “Yeah, man. Ran into Ian here in line. I didn’t know you two were friendly.”

“Not friendly,” Mickey corrected immediately. “Just ran into each other.” 

Dominic looked between the two men, obviously confused. “Just ran into each other? But I thought-”

“Yep,” Ian interjected. “Just ran into each other this morning.” 

And then to really sell it, he continued with, “Mickey’s such a good client, he overtips all the time. Thought I’d repay the favor and grab us breakfast.”

“Huh,” Dominic commented.

Ian silently begged for the man to cut him a break and just accept the new information he’d been fed. 

“Well, alright. Good to see you, Milkovich.”

Dominic stood, returning the chair he’d stolen from a nearby table to it’s rightful place. 

“And I really would like to buy you a drink sometime, Ian. Here.” He pulled a business card from his wallet and sat it in front of the redhead. “My cell is on that. Give me a call if you’re ever free.”

Ian watched Dominic leave, ensuring he was fully out of the café before turning back to Mickey. Mickey had an unreadable expression on his face, but it looked hard.

“The fuck?” He asked.

“Sorry,” Ian apologized, ripping a bite from the cinnamon roll. “He was behind me in line. Wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“What was he sayin’ about buying you a drink?” Mickey asked. His tone was familiar. Ian recognized it from their ‘date’ with Mandy, when Mickey lost his cool at the flirtatious waitress. Was Mickey jealous now? 

“You said he’d fuck anything with a pulse,” Ian joked, taking another bite of the pastry and extending it across the table to share. 

Mickey crossed his arms. “You gonna go?”

Ian furrowed his brow and sat the pastry down, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “Go where?”

“Out for a drink with Dominic,” Mickey responded, arms still crossed.

And okay. Mickey was jealous. But truthfully, Ian didn’t feel like Mickey had a right to be.

“Of course not,” Ian said. “I’m not interested.”

“You sure?” Mickey probed. “You were in line for a long ass time, man.”

“Mick, the people in front of me just took forever to order. That’s it. Why are you freaking out over this?”

Mickey slumped slightly in his seat. “Not freakin’ out,” he argued.

“Then what’s the problem?” Ian asked.

Mickey sighed and ran a hand through his hair, leaving several pieces sticking up. “Just,” Mickey hesitated. “Just don’t like it.”

“Like what?” Ian pressed, needing to hear him say it.

“The thought of you with other people.”

And there it was, out in the open. Mickey didn’t like the idea of Ian seeing other people. Not that Ian was seeing other people. 

“Mick,” Ian sighed. “I’m not seeing other people.”

Mickey perked up slightly at this.

“But,” Ian continued. “You won’t even tell people that we’re…that you and I are…that we’re in a…that we’re friendly.”

The other man opened his mouth as though to defend himself, but Ian held up his hands in surrender. “And that’s fine. Really. You have your reasons for keeping us quiet and so do I. I mean, I doubt my boss would like to hear that I’m fucking one of our clients. But you can’t expect people to know that I’m taken if we don’t advertise it.”

Mickey pondered this for a moment. “So you’re off the market then, Gallagher?”

Ian exhaled through his nose. “After last night? Yeah. I’m off the market. To be honest, I think I’ve been off the market since I picked you up for the first time.”

Ian knew they weren’t ready to announce themselves to the entire world, but suddenly Ian knew where he wanted to start.

“Hey,” he said. “Want to come to my family’s house with me tomorrow for dinner?”

Chapter Text

Ian found himself standing on the steps of the old Gallagher house at around 6PM on Sunday evening, the crisp fall air sending a little chill through his body. He shivered and glanced to his right where a very concerned looking Mickey Milkovich stood, crutches under his arms.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Ian began, taking in Mickey’s grave expression. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips were pursed together tightly. He definitely didn’t look thrilled to be stepping into the lion’s den of Ian’s childhood home. Maybe it was too soon for Mickey to meet his family. “If you’re not ready-”

“Fuck off, Gallagher,” Mickey interrupted, swatting at Ian’s leg with one of his crutches. “I said I wanted to come, didn’t I?”

Mickey had agreed to family dinner when Ian invited him the previous day at the coffee shop. He’d actually seemed a little taken aback at first, but then he’d settled into the idea. Ian even thought he’d seen a glint of excitement through the man’s tough exterior. 

“Yeah,” Ian hesitated. “But you can change your mind. If you want to.”

Mickey cocked his head to the side. “Is it that you don’t want me here? Is that it?”

“No,” Ian reassured. “Of course not. It’s just…my family can be a lot.”

The Gallaghers could be a lot. He hoped that Fiona and Lip didn’t grill Mickey too much, that Debbie and Carl didn’t get in a heated debate about something, and most of all, he hoped that Frank stayed passed out under the L for the duration of this party. But Frank had a way of sniffing out free booze like a bloodhound, so he was almost certain his deadbeat father would be making an appearance at some point.

“Compared to my family, I’m sure yours is a walk in the park,” Mickey stated.

And after reading his file all those weeks ago, Ian thought he was probably right.

Ian reached out and placed a hand on Mickey’s back. “Ready?” He asked.

Mickey nodded, so Ian opened the front door and ushered the other man inside.

As the two men passed the threshold of the house together for the first time, they were met with a sight that was familiar for Ian but must have been overwhelming for Mickey.

Debbie sat on the old living room sofa, entertaining Franny as she blew bubbles through a bubble wand. Tami sat on the other end of the sofa, bouncing Freddie on her knee. The toddler was mesmerized by the bubbles and looked utterly confused when they popped. Carl and Liam were sprawled out on the ground behind the couch competing in what appeared to be a contest of who could complete the most sit ups. Past the living room and into the kitchen, Ian could see Fiona and Lip preparing dinner together. It was loud and full of laughter and messy. It was home.

Franny saw them first.

“Uncle Ian!” She cried, throwing down the bubble wand and running up to her favorite uncle, arms raised. Ian reached down instinctually and plucked the tiny redhead up as though she weighed nothing. He tossed her a few inches into the air, catching her with ease as she giggled.

“How is my favorite niece?” He asked, pulling the small girl onto his hip and holding her tightly. 

“Mommy got me bubbles and Freddie likes to see them pop,” she babbled.

By this point, the rest of his family had noticed his arrival. Some of them eyed Mickey suspiciously. Ian never brought boyfriends over. Or friends for that matter.

Franny wrapped up her exciting tale of how Debbie had taken her shopping and let her pick out whichever bubble wand she wanted by the time she noticed Mickey. “Who are you?” She asked, pointing at the dark haired man.

Mickey looked panicked. Maybe Mandy did all of the interacting with children, leaving Mickey to simply watch and observe. Ian wondered how many children Mickey had ever truly interacted with in his life.

“This is my friend, Mickey,” Ian said, stepping in to help the man who still hadn’t answered the little girl.

Franny’s eyes grew wide. “Like the mouse?” She whispered, not taking her eyes off of the strange man.

Ian stifled a laugh, especially considering he’d made a similar joke to get Mickey’s attention the previous week. 

“Nope,” Mickey said, speaking for the first time since entering the Gallagher house. “Not like the mouse. Just Mickey.” And then he stuck out his hand as if to ask Franny for a handshake.

Franny, of course, didn’t know what to do with Mickey’s gesture, so she gave him a sort of high five, before squirming out of Ian’s grasp to return to her bubbles.

“Hi, sweet face!” Fiona called as she traversed from the kitchen to the living room, stepping over toys, clothes, and siblings as she went. Her hair was thrown up into a messy ponytail, curly pieces falling out of the front and framing her face. She threw Ian into a hug. 

“So good to see you,” she grinned, glancing over to Mickey. “And who is this?”

“This is my…friend. My friend, Mickey,” Ian began. “The one I told you about at Patsy’s.”

Fiona gave Ian a knowing look, certainly remembering their chat over pie and coffee. Fiona was protective, especially since she had taken over the role of matriarch of the family, but she was also supportive to a fault. Ian knew she would treat Mickey like one of her own.

“‘Ey,” Mickey greeted awkwardly, once again sticking out his hand to shake. Fiona ignored Mickey’s hand and instead stepped into the man for a hug. Mickey allowed Fiona to hug him, but didn’t hug back.

“I’m Fiona,” she said, releasing Mickey from her hold. “Ian’s older sister. We’re so happy you’re here!”

“Thanks for havin’ me,” Mickey muttered, perhaps trying his hand at small talk and formalities for the first time in his life.

“Lip and I are just prepping burger toppings in the kitchen and Kev is grilling out back. V went on a beer run. Ian, you know where everything is so…just make yourself at home!” And then Fiona was gone with a swish of her ponytail.

“Are they all gonna hug me?” Mickey asked, gesturing around to Ian’s family spread about the house.

“Only about half of ‘em,” Ian joked. “C’mon.”

Ian led Mickey over to an empty loveseat which sat catty-cornered to the sofa. He sank down onto the familiar cushions and patted the other side for Mickey to join. The other man sat, propping his crutches against the arm of the loveseat. Ian’s skin warmed at the feel of Mickey’s arm brushing gently against his as he situated himself.

“Guys,” Ian began, wanting to get out in front of one of many introductions that he planned to make throughout the evening. “This is my friend, Mickey.”

The room full of Gallaghers waved at the newest addition. “This is my brother’s better half, Tami,” Ian continued, gesturing to the blonde woman on the sofa nearest to them. “And this is my nephew, Freddie.”

Freddie made a little gurgle noise and clapped his hands together as Ian continued his introductions.

“And over there is-”

“Debbie Gallagher,” interrupted the young woman with hair of a similar color to Ian’s. “Ian’s younger sister. And you already met my daughter,” she said, gesturing to Franny who was once again enraptured in her bubble wand.

“And the two idiots doing a full workout on the floor over there are my younger brothers, Liam and Carl.”

“You’re just jealous that I can outrun you now,” Carl called from the floor.

Ian rolled his eyes. “Unlikely,” he whispered, nudging Mickey with his shoulder.

“So Mickey,” Tami began. “How’d you meet our favorite ginger here?”

Debbie scowled at her. The two of them never did get along.

Mickey looked at Ian, asking for permission to answer such a personal question. Ian just nodded as if to say ‘go ahead.’

“Ian’s been drivin’ me,” he admitted sheepishly. “Until I get this cast off.”

“Turns out you can have a lot of good conversations when you’re driving someone 10 times a week,” Ian added.

“Wait,” Debbie said, a flash of recognition washing over her features. “Mickey…Milkovich?” 

“That’s me,” Mickey confirmed.

“Ian told us about you a few weeks ago! I was the only one that remembered you living on the South Side. And Franny loves your sister,” Debbie prattled. Franny was too busy blowing bubbles at Freddie to hear anything her mother was saying. 

“But I’m kind of surprised to see you here,” she continued. 

Mickey shrugged. “Grew up here,” he reasoned.

Debbie shook her head. “No, I’m surprised to see you here with Ian. He told us you were a huge fuckin’ prick”

Ian could feel Mickey’s body stiffen next to him. Debbie never could keep her fucking mouth shut. Well, it had been a good run, Ian thought. He would drive Mickey home now that he’d been insulted by a Gallagher and he’d never hear from him again. 

Mickey’s body began to shake. Ian looked over in concern, wondering if the man was quite literally vibrating with anger. 

But Mickey was laughing. Full body, clutching at his sides laughter that even brought a tear streaming down his face. 

Debbie and Tami looked confused. Even Ian didn’t know what the fuck was going on. 

Mickey slapped at the cushions of the loveseat as he tried to regain his composure and catch his breath. 

“Mick,” Ian hesitated. “You good?”

“Yep,” Mickey gasped, wiping another tear from his eye. “It’s just true. I am a fuckin’ prick.”

Ian felt a little bad that he’d talked poorly to his family about Mickey before really getting to know him. His views on the man had clearly changed. Sure, he could still be abrasive and difficult to read, but he wasn’t a bad person. In fact, Ian thought he might be one of the best people he knew. 

“He’s not a prick,” Ian interjected. “I mean, at first he was. But not anymore.”

“Nah, Red,” Mickey laughed, finally calm enough to contribute to the conversation. “I’m a huge asshole. And it makes me feel like a fuckin’ human being when somebody has the balls to call me on it.”

Debbie eyed the two men suspiciously. She caught Ian’s eye and mouthed, ‘Red?’ Ian just shook his head at his sister.

Just then, the kitchen door banged open. Ian couldn’t quite see from his spot on the loveseat, but he recognized Kev’s voice at once.

“Burgers are ready, Gallaghers!”

Liam and Carl were up from the floor in an instant, cursing and shoving each other to be the first one in line for food. 

“Calm the hell down!” He heard Fiona call from the kitchen. “We have enough food to feed the entire South Side, everyone will get to eat!”

Tami pulled Freddie up with her as she stood from the couch, the baby gurgling all the while. 

“I’m pretty new to the Gallagher chaos myself,” she said to Mickey. “So just know you have someone in your corner. Welcome.” 

And then Ian and Mickey were alone in the living room, everyone else having fucked off to cram their faces with burgers. 

“Lady acts like I’m tryin’ to move in,” Mickey grumbled, having used his happiness quota for the evening on his laughing fit from earlier. 

“Nah. I just don’t bring people around,” Ian explained, standing from the loveseat and extending a hand to the other man to help him up. Mickey didn’t accept the hand at first, but after struggling to get up from the deep cushions with only one functional foot, he took Ian’s hand.

“So you really called me a fuckin’ prick, huh?” Mickey asked, cracking a small smile as Ian led him to the kitchen.

“Something like that,” Ian said. 

If the living room had been hectic, the kitchen was utter chaos. Fiona and Lip had set up a folding table in the corner where the washing machine sat to accommodate the vast amount of people eating dinner that evening. Carl and Liam were already seated at the folding table. Mickey thought the two must be engaging in another competition, this time to see who could make themselves vomit the fastest, because they were shoveling food into their mouths at an unnatural pace.

“Folding table is for kids,” Fiona noted, dishing a scoop of potato salad onto a plate and handing it to Tami, who was struggling to hold a squirming Freddie. “And anyone who acts like a kid.”

“Hey!” Carl called, spewing baked beans across the kitchen floor. 

“My point exactly,” Fiona sighed.

“Go sit down,” Ian instructed Mickey, figuring it would be difficult to balance a plate of food and use crutches at the same time. “I’ll get your plate.”

“I don’t need you to get-”

“Sit.”

Mickey crutched himself over to the far end of the dining room table and sat down, grumbling something about ‘not being a dog’ all the while. Ian began to fix two identical plates of food. He gave them both potato salad, baked beans, chips, and burgers piled high with toppings. He wasn’t quite sure what Mickey would want on his burger, so he just gave him a little of everything.

He deposited both plates onto the table, retrieved two beers from the fridge, and claimed a seat next to Mickey.

“Thanks,” Mickey said, peeking underneath the top bun of his burger. “Fuckin’ hate tomato, though.”

“Then pick it off,” Ian suggested, taking a huge bite of his burger, toppings spilling from the sides. 

“Goddamn, Gallagher,” Mickey commented. “You often unhinge your jaw like a snake when you eat?”

Ian thought about this as he chewed his burger and swallowed. “You complaining about the amount I can fit in my mouth, Mick?”

Mickey’s eyes widened. He said nothing more on the subject, instead choosing to take a bite of his potato salad.

Their table filled up with people, then. Ian and Mickey sat next to each other on the side nearest the wall, Kev and V sat across from them, and Lip and Fiona claimed the two ends of the table.

Debbie had chosen to sit with Franny at the kid table and Tami was feeding Freddie little pieces of baked bean at his high chair. 

“Carl,” Debbie hollered. “Can you please close your fucking mouth when you chew?”

Carl opened his mouth even wider, showing his sister the chewed up contents inside. She slapped his arm, a bright red handprint appearing there.

“Bitch,” he cursed, slapping at her arm but failing to make contact as Debbie dodged. 

“No hitting!” Franny called, baked beans all over her face.

“Some things never change,” Lip sighed, taking a bite of his food.

“So Mickey,” Fiona said. “Where do you stay now that you’ve escaped the South Side?”

Mickey’s face reddened a little. “Uh, Emerson Apartments on the North Side.”

“Shit, man,” Lip blurted. “Nice place.”

Mickey shrugged. “Just near my office. Convenient. You familiar?”

“Not really,” Lip laughed. “Banged a girl whose parents stayed there once. Not that I saw much more than her puss-”

“For fuck’s sake, Lip,” Fiona interrupted. “Real nice dinner conversation.”

Tami scowled at her boyfriend from across the room.

“Didn’t you and Jimmy-Steve fuck on the kitchen floor while we were all sleeping upstairs?”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to forgive our family, Mickey. We’re a little unorthodox.”

“I’m sure my family was worse growin’ up,” Mickey offered quietly, taking another bite of his food.

Ian thought back to that article he’d read all those weeks ago. Yes, he was positive that Mickey’s family was worse than his own. As far as families went, his was pretty great, even though they didn’t always understand him. At least they tried. 

“Yeah, I knew your dad,” Kev commented, mouth full. “Came into my bar sometimes. Terry Milkovich was a real son of a bitch.”

“That’s an understatement,” Mickey offered. 

“Terry Milkovich?” V asked incredulously. “That racist fucker that made his kids run drugs for him all over the South Side? Damn, kid. You didn’t just make it out, you really upgraded.”

Mickey didn’t say anything to this. Instead, he took a giant gulp of his beer, polishing off the bottle. Ian got up and grabbed another one from the fridge, which was now fully restocked thanks to V’s beer run. He sat the new beer in front of Mickey. The dark haired man mumbled a quiet ‘thanks’ as he opened the bottle and took a sip. 

Lip gave Ian a look, raising an eyebrow at his younger brother. 

“And you work with your sister?” Fiona continued, placing the focus back on Mickey rather than his shitty parentage. Ian was grateful for this. His older sister was great at reading the room.

“Yeah,” Mickey nodded. “Mandy’s doin’ movies now. I help her with her contracts, public image, stuff like that.”

“Man,” Kev marveled. “Two South Siders turned entertainment industry royalty.”

Mickey choked back a laugh. “Nah, man. Mandy does some kids movies here and there, tryin’ to break into some more mature stuff. Would hardly call us royalty.”

“And Ian’s been drivin’ you?” Lip asked. 

“Just ‘cause of my foot,” Mickey noted, pointing at his crutches which sat behind his chair, leaned  up against the wall.

“What’d you do to it?” Carl asked, scooping more food onto his plate from the counter. “Something badass, right?”

Mickey looked down at his plate. Ian imagined it must be difficult for Mickey Milkovich to admit what had actually happened to his foot. 

Mickey, zero. Amazon boxes, one.

“He kicked some guy’s ass who asked too many questions,” Ian contributed, shooting Carl a glare.

Mickey looked over to Ian, giving him a soft look as if to say ‘thank you.’ Ian wondered how often someone considered Mickey’s feelings.

Just as Fiona had brought out a plate of cookies, a pan of brownies, and a quart of ice cream for the crowd to share, the kitchen door banged open. A disheveled man in dirty jeans, a jean jacket covered in a dark liquid, and greasy gray hair poking out from underneath a beanie sashayed into the kitchen, paper bag covered can in hand. 

“My beautiful family all gathered together. Can’t help but notice that nobody reached out to the family patriarch to extend an invitation.”

“Fuckin’ Frank,” Ian groaned, laying his head in his hands.

“How are we supposed to invite you, Frank?” Fiona asked, taking a box of ice cream cones from the cabinet. “You have no phone and you’re never around.”

“Not that we’d want to invite you anyway,” Lip added.

“None of us are giving you any money, Frank,” Debbie called, wiping food from Franny’s face. 

Frank scoffed. “Me? Want money? From you, my loving family?” Frank gestured around at the roomful of people. “I’m just here to spend time with my loved ones. For you to insinuate I have other motives is ludicrous.”

Frank plucked a beer from the fridge and drank. “I’m here to see my children and grandchildren who continue my legacy, carrying on the Gallagher name.”

“Nobody here wants to be like you, Frank,” Carl said, rolling his eyes.

“Disrespecting your father in his own house? In front of my good friends, Kevin and Veronica?”

“You wanna discuss your outstanding bar tab while you’re here?” Kev asked, turning around to face the intruder.

“Ah, about that,” Frank explained, opening another beer even though he hadn’t quite finished the first one. “I have a job coming up soon. I’ll be able to pay my tab tenfold as soon as it’s done.” 

“Job?” Veronica scoffed. “Only jobs you have involve scheming and cheating. Who are you screwing over for cash this time, Frank?”

“Scheming? Cheating?” Frank looked positively scandalized. “I’m nothing but an honest, hardworking family man. It’s tough work taking care of 6 kids in this economy, but we get through it like we always do. Together. As a family.”

“Fiona raised all of us, asshole,” Ian piped up from his spot at the table. “Don’t walk in here and take credit for what she did.”

“Back in my day, we didn’t smart mouth our parents, Ian Clayton Gallagher,” Frank huffed, starting in on the second beer. “That’s probably my brother’s blood running through you.”

For the first time since his unplanned arrival, Frank seemed to notice Mickey’s presence.

“And to think you’d treat your father this way in front of a stranger.”

“Not a stranger, Frank,” Ian sighed. “I see Mickey a hell of a lot more than I see you.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Frank said, hopping up onto a nearby vacant barstool and crossing his legs. “Frank Gallagher. And you are?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” Ian cautioned.

“The hell he doesn’t! This is my house and I deserve to know the people within it, don’t I?” 

“Mickey Milkovich,” Mickey answered, sipping his beer and hoping that would be the end of the conversation. 

“Mickey Milkovich,” Frank parroted. “Well it’s a pleasure to meet any of my son’s boyfriends, Mickey. We are a tolerant household. Even experimented a bit myself back in my wild days.”

Mickey’s entire body stiffened. 

“Jesus, Frank,” Ian groaned. “Can you please shut the fuck up? We’re friends. That’s all.”

“Whatever you say, son. Mickey Milkovich, you said? Why does that sound so familiar?”

“His sister does movies and shit,” Debbie commented. “But don’t go asking him for any money, Frank. I’m sure Ian has warned him about you by now.”

“No, no, no,” Frank waved her off. “Milkovich. Milkovich.”

Frank appeared to be using all of his remaining brain cells to figure out why the name seemed so familiar. Suddenly, Mickey stood. 

“Gonna go smoke,” he said, grabbing his crutches.

“Milkovich!” Frank cried. “Your dad beat the shit out of you for takin’ it up the ass in your living room a couple years back, didn’t he? Pure intolerance, if you ask me!”

Mickey went white as a sheet. He sank back down into his chair.

“I remember that madness. Old bastard went away for a while and then got shot not too long after he got out.”

“Frank,” Ian warned. “That’s enough.”

He already knew all of this, but Mickey didn’t know that he knew. 

“That boy you were screwing,” Frank continued. “Or I guess I should say the boy that was screwing you. He killed himself not too long after that, didn’t he? I always did say that suicide was a pussy move.” 

Ian didn’t remember getting up. Didn’t remember walking around the table to Frank. Didn’t remember drawing back and punching his father so hard in the nose that his head snapped back, sending pans of food flying from the counter onto the floor. 

All Ian remembered was a sickening crunch, blood on his hand, and the pandemonium that followed. 

Tami screamed, plucking a crying Freddie from his high chair and taking him upstairs away from the chaos. Debbie and Fiona swore, ushering Franny away. Lip restrained Ian. Kev restrained Frank. Carl and Liam continued eating, as though this type of thing happened every day. Mickey just sat. Void. Numb. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Frank cried, blood pouring through his nose and onto his shirt. 

“Fuck you, Frank,” Ian spat. “You never can just keep your fucking mouth shut, can you?”

Frank touched his fingers delicately to his nose. “You fuckin’ broke my nose, you little shit!”

“I’ll go get my first aid kit,” V sighed, exiting through the back door. 

“I’ll break more than your nose if you keep talking,” Ian threatened. Lip tightened his grip on his brother. “You don’t just announce people’s shit like that, you asshole.”

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Frank began, flinching as Ian tensed up and made a fist with his hand that had connected with Frank’s face only moments ago. 

“You need to get out of here, Frank,” Fiona demanded quietly, wiping a tear from her misty eyes. 

“You can’t kick me out of my own-”

“Go!” Fiona exploded, slamming her hands against the kitchen table. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

Frank shook himself out of Kev’s grip, picked up his half drunk beer, and made for the front door, grumbling to himself as he went. 

Fiona rushed to Ian’s side, pulling him into a hug as though he wasn’t the primary aggressor in the brawl that had just taken place. “You okay, sweet face?” She asked, pulling back to look at his hand. 

“Fine,” Ian whispered.

“Probably gonna be swollen,” she said. “Best let V take a look at it when she gets back.”

But Ian wasn’t worried about himself. He didn’t care about his swollen hand and he certainly didn’t care about Frank’s broken nose. He only cared about Mickey. He must be so embarrassed, so mortified. Why had Ian brought him here? Why had Ian subjected him to this? 

Ian turned around to where Mickey was just moments before, but he and his crutches were gone.

***

He found Mickey sitting on the back porch steps of the Gallagher house, smoking a cigarette and bouncing his knee up and down. 

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he sat down next to the man and held his hand out for the cigarette. After taking a long drag, Mickey passed it over to Ian. 

“Sorry,” Ian finally said, exhaling smoke through his nose. 

“Can’t control what your fuckin’ parents do,” Mickey said. “I know that firsthand.” 

“Sorry for bringing you here at all,” Ian clarified.

“Why?” Mickey asked, taking his cigarette back and taking another calming puff.

“Always fucking chaotic over here,” Ian sighed. “And what Frank said. God, there’s just no excuse for that.” 

“Yeah, well,” Mickey mused. “Just hate that you had to find out that way. About my past. Was gonna tell you when I was ready.”

And it was now or never, Ian knew. He couldn’t expect to start something with Mickey - something real - while holding onto secrets.

“I already knew about what your dad did to you,” Ian confessed. “Did some digging in my company’s client files back when I first started driving you. Found an article.”

He expected Mickey to be mad. He expected the man to yell, to throw a punch, to walk away and never speak to Ian again. But he didn’t. 

“Was the worst day of my life, I think,” Mickey began. “I’d been screwin’ around with this kid from the neighborhood for a while. Around my age, kind of a tough guy. But one day we were shootin’ at some empty cans down under a bridge near my place. He said somethin' stupid or maybe I did, but we just started pushing at each other. Ended up on the ground, fightin’ over which one of us was gonna end up on top. And then I felt how hard he was. I’d never even kissed another guy at that point, but I knew what I was.”

Mickey stopped and rubbed at his face, pinching at his eyebrows as though to ward off a headache. Ian placed a hand on the man’s thigh, and Mickey allowed it to stay there. 

“Anyway we ended up screwin’ right there, under that bridge. Neither of us knew what the hell we were doin’ and it hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but from that point forward we were just always together. We were never boyfriends or nothin’ but he was probably the best friend I ever had. The only friend, maybe.”

Ian rubbed Mickey’s thigh gently. He didn’t comment, but he listened.

“So we’ve been messin’ around for a few months at this point, right? Well, one day the two of us are at my place. Alone. Mandy was at a friend’s place and my brothers were with Terry runnin’ some coke around somewhere or another. So me and this kid, we start screwin’ right there in the living room. Kid’s got me on my hands and knees, butt ass naked, ass in the air, and Terry comes in. Sees me gettin’ absolutely railed and just loses his mind. Throws the kid off me and starts beatin’ the shit out of me. I got a few good punches in myself before the neighbors heard the screamin’ and called the cops.”

Mickey pulled another cigarette from his pack, lighting it and taking a drag. “The kid was beggin’ Terry to stop, but Terry just kept tellin’ him to shut the fuck up. That after he was through with me, it’d be his turn. Luckily the cops got there before Terry could do much to him. Carted him off to jail.”

Ian squeezed Mickey’s thigh. “I’m so fucking sorry, Mick.”

Mickey laughed, cold and empty. “I wish that’s where it ended. Turns out Terry communicated with one of his drug buddies about the whole thing. Said some queer kid on the South Side was tryin’ to turn his kid gay. So this drug buddy, he starts scopin’ out the kid’s house and leavin’ threats. Kid got so scared that he slit his wrists in the bathtub one night. Died in the tub. Never even had a chance.”

And it all kind of make sense, didn’t it? Why Mickey had such a hard exterior and struggled to let anyone in. Why his go-to response to their ‘special friendship’ was secrecy. Why he hid behind scowls and jokes. 

“I didn’t know about the kid,” Ian whispered. “S’horrible.”

Ian vaguely remembered the stories in the news from years back about a boy a little older than himself committing suicide in a bathtub. But he’d never known why, and never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that it would tie back to Mickey in any way.

“He was the last guy that I was….with. For a long time. Then I started screwin’ around with strangers behind bars occasionally just to scratch an itch. But that kid…he was the only person I’ve ever been with like that. Until…”

“Until?” Ian asked. 

“Until you.”

Ian didn’t know what to say. 

It wasn’t your fault.

You deserved better.

I want to take care of you, if you’ll let me. 

So he settled on leaning over and placing a soft kiss to Mickey’s lips. 

The door behind the two men opened, and Lip stepped onto to the porch as Ian broke their kiss and leaned back into his own space.

“Hey,” Lip said, lighting up his own cigarette. “How’s your hand?”

Ian flexed his hand and wiggled his fingers. “I’ll live. I’ve had worse.”

“Better come inside and let V take a look at it,” he suggested. 

Ian shook his head. “Nah. Gonna sit out here with Mickey.”

Mickey took one final drag of his cigarette and stubbed it out on the side of the porch, flicking the butt into the yard. 

“Let’s go get your hand looked at, slugger,” he said. 

The three men re-entered the home to the sight of Fiona and Debbie cleaning up food and blood from the kitchen floor. Ian heard voices coming from upstairs, where half of the Gallagher family was now hiding out.

“Let me see your hand,” V said, having returned with her first aid kit.

Ian didn’t argue as he sat down in the chair she’d pulled out for him, dabbing specks of blood from his knuckles.

“Sorry for all this,” Ian said, gesturing to his sisters who were still cleaning. 

“Don’t apologize,” Debbie instructed, throwing a pile of ruined food into the trash can. “It’s Frank. I’m sure someone else would have done it if you hadn’t.”

Franny bounded down the stairs into the kitchen, book in hand. 

“Can you read to me, Mommy?” She asked Debbie, hopping up and down next to her mother. 

“Not right now,” Debbie answered. “Mommy has work to do.”

Franny stomped her feet. “Please,” she whined. 

“Don’t start, Francis Gallagher,” Debbie warned, hands on her hips. “Go find someone who isn’t busy to read to you. We have about a million people in this house.”

Franny scanned the room, taking in all of the members of her family who remained in the room after the incident. Finally her eyes rested on Mickey. 

She approached him tentatively, holding her book out to him with wide eyes. “Can you read to me, Mr. Mickey?” She asked.

“You don’t have to,” Debbie began. 

“Sure, kid,” Mickey said, ignoring Debbie completely. 

Franny jumped up and down happily as she led Mickey to the living room. 

“So,” Fiona said once they had gone. “What’s goin’ on with you two? And be real with me, Ian. We can all tell when you’re bullshitting.”

Ian sighed, wincing as V tested the mobility of his fingers. “I really like him, Fi. He’s just a little hard to read, I guess.”

“Hard to read?” V questioned, dabbing an antiseptic at Ian’s knuckles. “Boy is fuckin’ crazy about you.” 

Ian laughed. “I guess so. Maybe.” 

“Maybe?” Debbie pulled up a chair and sat next to her brother. “He didn’t run away after Frank aired his business for the world to hear and he let Franny rope him into story time without complaining. Safe to say he’s into you.”

Ian shrugged. “That’s beyond the point though, Debs. My work can’t know and he’s got an entire laundry list of people who he doesn’t want to find out. Right now it’s kind of like we’re each others dirty little secret.”

“Figure it out, sweet face,” Fiona plopped a motherly kiss to his forehead. “Because you look really happy.”

“And you punched Frank to defend his honor,” V offered, wrapping Ian’s hand. “Looks like you’re down bad, kiddo.”

Ian thanked V for her medical attention, promising her that he’d ice his hand when he got home, and went to find Mickey. 

He found the dark haired man sitting on the couch, Franny sitting next to him with her head on his lap. The book that Franny had so desperately wanted read to her had been thrown on the floor and forgotten. Ian just watched from the doorframe. Observing. Listening. 

“And then the little red bitch,” Mickey said. “She kept walking towards her grandma’s house or whatever.” 

“Little Red Riding Hood,” Franny corrected.

“That’s what I said,” Mickey urged. Franny just giggled.

“So she kept walking until she got to grandma’s house, right? And she sees grandma through the window. But right before she goes in, a giant fuckin’ fireball careens into the house and blows it up.”

Franny thought this was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. 

“And grandma runs out because her hair is on fire and shit,” Mickey continued. “So the red bitch beats her with a broom to put the fire out. The end.”

Franny was in stitches by this point, rolling around the couch cushion in full hysterics.

“Are you corrupting my niece’s mind?” Ian asked, making his presence known and plopping down next to Mickey on the couch. 

“Book was trash,” Mickey said, face reddening at the realization that Ian had seen his story time antics. “Had to make it more entertaining.”

“Uncle Ian,” Franny said, calming down from her laughing fit. “Uncle Mickey makes the stories funny!”

And there was really no reason to explain the intricacies of their relationship to a 5 year old, so Uncle Mickey it was.

“That’s great, kiddo,” Ian said, ruffling Franny’s hair. “But I have to get Uncle Mickey home soon.”

“But I want another story,” Franny pouted, crossing her arms and sticking out her bottom lip. 

“Next time I’ll tell ya three stories to make up for it,” Mickey said.

That seemed to please Franny, because she hopped up and skipped away to find someone else to entertain her for the evening. 

Ian and Mickey said their goodbyes, each of the Gallaghers inviting Mickey back any time. 

“So, Uncle Mickey, huh?” Ian asked as the pair made their way down the front porch steps and over to the parked Suburban. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey grumped. “The kid can call me whatever she wants.”

And as he helped Mickey into the car, threw the crutches into the backseat, and made his way out of the South Side, he knew. 

He knew that he was falling in love with Mickey Milkovich.

Chapter Text

“So Mandy starts filming soon, huh?” Ian asked as he merged into the fast lane. It was officially the beginning of his last week as Mickey’s contracted driver. It felt a little bittersweet. Just as Mickey was becoming comfortable with Ian, just as the two men were really getting to know each other, it was almost all over. 

Ian reminded himself that although their driver/passenger relationship was coming to an end, he and Mickey were really just beginning. At least he hoped that would be the case.

“Yeah, she’s flying out to L.A. in a couple days. She’ll be there a few weeks. Might need to join her at some point, but I’m not sure yet.”

“Not sure L.A. is ready for two Milkovich siblings.” Ian joked, eyeing the other man sitting in his passenger seat.    

“You just like having me around to warm your bed every night, Gallagher.”

Mickey wasn’t wrong. The two men had taken to sleeping at one another’s apartments nightly ever since the eventful Gallagher family dinner. It was nice having someone to wake up to in the morning. 

And Ian couldn’t complain about the nighttime benefits, either.

“That too,” Ian said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Gonna be a challenge to fly with that cast on?”

Mickey perked up at that. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Got a follow-up with my doctor on Friday. She thinks I might be able to get this shit off soon since the break was minor and I’ve stayed off of it.”

“Mickey with no crutches?” Ian joked. “What if I’m not attracted to you anymore once you’re all normal again?”

“Okay, you freak,” Mickey rolled his eyes. “Didn’t know you were into crutches like that.”

“Not the crutches. But I wouldn’t say no to playing doctor with you, Milkovich.”

He loved how easy it was to talk to Mickey. How natural it felt. For someone who’d only been in his life for mere weeks, he’d made such an incredible impact on Ian’s life.

“Fuck off,” Mickey said with a wide grin. 

Ian pulled up to the curb outside of Mickey’s office building, throwing the suburban into park and turning on his hazards for good measure. 

Mickey didn’t make any effort to get out. He sat still in the passenger seat, seatbelt buckled and avoiding Ian’s eyes completely. 

“You need me to carry you upstairs, Milkovich?” Ian joked, peering over at the unmoving man. “Or did you forget the way?”

Mickey didn’t return Ian’s joke with a snarky comment of his own. 

“You good, Mick?” Ian asked. 

Mickey sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Yeah, man. Just wanna ask you something.”

“Oh?” Ian questioned, raising an eyebrow. They’d already slept together. Already stayed at each other’s apartments. Hell, Mickey had already met the entire Gallagher family. What could Mickey possibly need to ask?

“You busy tonight?”

Ian grinned. “You askin’ me on a date, Mick?”

“I fuckin’ wish,” Mickey scoffed. “Mandy has this stupid dinner tonight with the production company that signed her for that new movie. Like an introductory thing for Mandy to get to know everyone or whatever. And I always go with her to stuff like that.”

“Okay?” Ian was confused. Was Mickey asking him to house sit? The thought was ridiculous. His apartment had layers upon layers of implemented security measures.

“And I was wondering if you wanted to go as Mandy’s date.”

What the fuck?

“I’m sorry,” Ian sputtered. “Come again?”

“Yeah, I know it’s weird or whatever,” Mickey fretted. “But the company’s publicist is a real cunt, man. And I think they’d go easier on Mandy if she had some company.”

It was kind of sweet, the way Mickey cared so openly about Mandy in his own unique way. But Ian wasn’t sure. This might be too weird.

“I dunno, Mick. You want to third wheel on a date between me and your sister?”

The thought made Ian squirm.

“Alright, asshole,” Mickey began, waving Ian off. “It’s not a real date. I’m not askin’ you to make out with my sister at the dinner table.”

“Good,” Ian nodded. “Because I would only agree to make out with her in the car after dinner.”

Mickey punched Ian in the arm, unbuckled his seat belt, and slipped out of the passenger seat. He reached into the back, pulling out his crutches.

“Wear something nice, Gallagher.”

Fuck. Ian wasn’t sure if he had something nice enough for a fancy dinner with a production company. 

He had to call Lip.

*** 

“So you need to borrow my clothes because you’re taking your boyfriend’s sister on a date tonight?” Lip asked, closing the hood of the car he’d been working on.

Ian had driven straight to the garage where Lip worked after Mickey had disappeared into his office building that morning.

He needed to borrow clothes, yes. But he also just needed to talk to his older brother. Lip had a way of calming Ian’s mind. He was the first person Ian had come out to as a kid, and he’d been Ian’s sounding board ever since.

“Sort of,” Ian shrugged, tossing Lip a rag to wipe the motor oil from his hands. “But that’s neither here nor there.”

“Okay,” Lip laughed, leaning against the vehicle. “Why the hell are you here then? Not that I’m not happy to see you, of course.”

Ian sighed, rolling his neck. “You promise not to give me shit?”

“I make no such promise,” Lip said. “But I do promise to be real with you.”

And honestly, what more could Ian ask for?

“Pretty sure I’m in love with Mickey.”

Lip fumbled the rag, dropping it to the floor. “Shit, man. Really?”

Ian nodded. 

“Damn. How long have you known the guy. A month?”

Ian thought about this for a moment. “Just over a month.” Lip gave him a look. “Look, I know I haven’t known him for long, but I’ve never felt like this before, Lip. Doesn’t that mean something?”

Lip pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one and taking a swift drag. “Of course it does,” Lip said honestly. He offered the cigarette to Ian. “Just don’t be surprised if it doesn’t work exactly how you plan it.”

That was the Lip that Ian knew. Practical. Calculated. 

“So is it worth it?” Lip asked. “If it doesn’t work out how you plan?”

Ian didn’t even have to consider.

“Of course it is.”

***

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Mandy purred suggestively as she greeted Ian at the door of Mickey’s apartment later that evening. She looked gorgeous, wrapped in a black silk gown that hugged her curves expertly, her black hair pulled up into a delicate bun.

“You look great,” Ian complimented, giving her a side hug as he stepped inside the apartment and closed the door behind him. “Where’s Mick?”

“My dumb brother has been getting dressed for about 20 minutes and refuses to let me help,” she said loudly, clearly wanting Mickey to hear from wherever he was in the apartment. 

“Not lettin’ my sister see me with my dick out,” Mickey yelled from several rooms away.

“Pretty sure we took baths together at some point, Mickey,” Mandy called back.

“Not the same thing, asshole.”

“Well, let Ian come help you! I’m sure he’s seen your dick far more recently than I have.”

“Don’t talk to me anymore until I’m ready to leave, Mandy.”

Mandy smirked at Ian. “I love gettin’ him all riled up.”

She pulled the redhead down onto Mickey’s very expensive looking couch, throwing her arms around him. “Better get used to me having my hands on you tonight, Ian Gallagher. I heard you’re supposed to be my date tonight.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what Mick told me.”

Mandy fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I tend to get lucky at the end of my dates.”

Ian laughed. “You’re beautiful, Mandy, but I absolutely don’t swing that way.”

Mandy swatted at Ian’s suit jacket. “Couldn’t bang you anyway. My brother is too into you. I’d feel bad.”

Ian’s cheeks heated, and before he could think of something snarky to say back to the Milkovich sister who was quickly becoming one of his favorite people, he heard the rhythmic tapping of crutches approaching the living room.

Despite the crutches and the bulky cast on his foot, Mickey was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. The black suit he wore didn’t just fit his body - it hugged. Tailored to perfection, it clung to broad shoulders and tapered down his waist like it had been stitched directly onto his body. The open collar of his white shirt exposed just enough of Mickey’s delicious skin to be distracting. And suddenly Ian wondered how the hell he was going to make it through the evening without touching the other man. Without holding him, kissing him.

He pushed Mandy away, stood from the couch, and met Mickey in the doorway of the living room.

“You look…you’re just…you…”

Mickey ran his fingers through his hair. “Damn, do I look that bad, Gallagher?”

“No,” Ian practically choked. “You look fucking amazing.”

“Nah, man,” Mickey deflected. “It’s just a fuckin’ suit.”

But Ian couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and running his fingers over Mickey’s broad shoulders, his toned arms, and finally down to his waist, which Ian snaked his arms around. “You’re incredible,” he whispered before capturing Mickey’s lips in a kiss.

“Boys,” Mandy blurted. “I hate to interrupt your moment but I’m sitting right here.”

“Perpetual cock block,” Mickey jested as he broke the kiss. “Alright, Red. Go hang on my sister’s arm and pretend to be straight for the evening.”

“I don’t know why you insisted on this arrangement,” Mandy sighed, pulling on a pair of strappy black heels and throwing her purse over her shoulder. “I’m perfectly fine attending this stupid thing on my own.”

“Looks better for you,” Mickey insisted, making his way to the door.

“Whatever,” Mandy deadpanned, holding her arm out for Ian to take. “I’m sure this evening will be an interesting one.”

***

Les Amoureux sat tucked between a boutique wine shop and an art gallery, and immediately Ian felt far too low class for this outing. The restaurant’s black awning was tastefully embroidered with pale gold script and the windows were darkly tinted, flickers of candlelight barely visible through the glass.

The odd trio pulled up to the curb and were approached by the restaurant’s valet service who offered to park the suburban.

Ian began to protest. He didn’t use valet service. He was a professional driver, for god’s sake.

“Sounds great,” Mandy spoke on his behalf, shoving a twenty dollar bill into the hand of the valet driver. “Leave the keys in the ignition,” she whispered to Ian.

And fine. He could play his part for one evening, even if that included a random valet driver behind the wheel of his pride and joy. Ian suppressed a shudder, leaving the keys in the ignition as instructed and climbing out of the SUV. 

He instinctually crossed around to the other side of the vehicle where Mickey was struggling to pull his crutches out, one of them having gotten caught on the back of the passenger’s seat. He intervened and gave the crutch a tug, handing it to Mickey. He wanted to reach out, to hold his hand as they entered into the pretentious restaurant together.

But Ian knew that wasn’t his role for the evening, so he stepped back, giving Mickey his space and allowing Mandy to take his arm.

“Alright,” Mickey said, once his crutches were positioned underneath his arms. “We go in. We pretend to enjoy ourselves. We eat their stupid expensive food. We go the fuck home.”

Inside, the atmosphere hummed with quiet luxury. The lighting was low and warm and each table was dressed in crisp white linen and adorned with vases of fresh flowers. The menu, printed on thick card stock and positioned next to the hostess stand, offered items that Ian couldn’t pronounce if he wanted to.

Waitstaff, hostesses, and sommeliers wore black on black uniforms with golden name tags. “Milkovich,” Mandy told a pretty young woman standing behind the hostess stand. 

The young woman perked up at the name. “Ah, yes. Most of your party has already arrived. We’ve put you on the rooftop garden.”

She eyed Mickey’s crutches questioningly before saying, “Follow me to the elevator.”

They trekked through the primary dining area, catching glimpses of miserable looking men with their equally miserable wives who were already three glasses of wine deep, small plates of strange looking cuisine, and well dressed wait staff with fake, uncanny valley smiles plastered to their faces. 

The elevator was positioned next to the kitchen. Ian peeked inside as they waited.

It looked so much more casual in there, without the prying eyes of wealthy patrons. Chefs and wait staff smiled at one another, exchanging jokes and chatting. Ian couldn’t help but think that he belonged in the kitchen doing the serving, not in the dining room being served.

The hostess ushered the trio into the elevator once it arrived, pressing the ‘3’ button once everyone was inside. The ride was short and the elevator opened to their destination not 15 seconds later.

And damn, the rooftop garden was the most exquisite thing Ian had ever seen aside from Mickey.

String lights were wrapped around the perimeter of the rooftop, emitting a soft and welcoming glow overtop of gorgeous flowerbeds. Ian didn’t know the names of the flowers, but he thought that there must be flowers of every color of the rainbow growing here.

A long, private table sat in the center of it all, already crowded with people, most of which were strangers to Ian.

He wanted nothing more than to kick everyone out and spend the evening here with Mickey. Just the two of them alone, so that Ian could pepper kisses to the sensitive spot behind the man’s ear between courses.

But instead he allowed Mandy to take him by the hand and lead him over to the table of strangers, sighing with the realization that he’d have to keep his hands off of Mickey for the entire evening.

A prim, put together brunette woman sitting at the end of the long table stood to greet them.

“Ms. Milkovich,” she greeted with a closed lip smile. “We’re so happy you could make it this evening.”

“Show time,” Mandy whispered to Ian before releasing his hand and pulling the woman into a loose, casual hug.

“Margaret,” Mandy sang with false enthusiasm. “So great to see you again.” 

Ian and Mickey waited for their awkward looking embrace to end, eying one another at Mandy’s unusually warm behavior. Mickey shrugged. Perhaps Mickey was used to Mandy ‘turning it on’ for work events, but Ian certainly wasn't. 

“Likewise,” Margaret said. “Please, introduce us to your company.”

Mandy gestured to Mickey. “Of course, you know my brother, Mickey. He handles the details of my life,” she chuckled.

“Ah, yes,” Margaret said with a grimace. “I haven’t had the pleasure myself, Mr. Milkovich, but our entire office is familiar with your…colorful vocabulary.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Well, I aim to please.”

Mandy slapped playfully at Mickey’s chest. “Colorful language, but he’s the best in the business. And I don’t just say that because he’s my brother.”

Margaret pursed her lips, nodding. “And you are?” She asked, turning her attention to Ian.

“My date,” Mandy interjected. “Ian Gallagher. Handsome, isn’t he?”

“Quite,” Margaret answered.

Ian was okay with the idea of Mandy speaking for him all evening. In fact, he thought that might be preferred. He would just sip wine, eat food he couldn’t pronounce, and smile until he was safely wrapped in Mickey’s arms later.

Margaret ushered the trio to their seats. Mandy sat in the very center of the long table, the ‘Jesus At The Last Supper’ seat. Ian sat to her left and Mickey sat directly across from Ian. It would be comforting to be able to see Mickey throughout this rather uncomfortable evening, Ian thought. 

“Allow me to introduce you all to the team,” Margaret began. “Of course, I’m Margaret Flemming. I serve as the studio’s primary publicist and I organized dinner this evening. To my left is the director of our upcoming film, Nathanial Wallace.”

Margaret gestured to a grim looking bald gentleman wearing an unflattering scarf. Ian and Mandy gave a polite wave, while Mickey simply raised his eyebrows at the man.

Margaret continued around the table, introducing producers, casting directors, screenwriters, and finally the studio’s legal department, where Ian was disappointed to see a familiar face. 

“And this is Dominic Marino. He acts as our legal representation, although I’m sure you’re all familiar with him by now.”

“Unfortunately,” Mickey scoffed, taking a rather large gulp from the glass of red wine that had been placed before him.

“I beg your pardon?” Margaret asked, an appalled look on her narrow face.

“It’s a running joke between Mick and I, Margie,” Dominic laughed. “Don’t be surprised if the old bastard and I get into it during dinner. We’re both wild cards.”

Ian hoped desperately that Dominic wouldn’t mention his run in with Ian and Mickey at the coffee shop. That would bring about some questions that he was sure Mickey wouldn’t want to answer this evening.

Margaret, nose upturned at the unwelcome nickname, rolled her eyes. “Sounds lovely, but I’d appreciate it if your banter was kept to a minimum this evening, Dominic. The purpose of this dinner is to welcome Mandy to our studio, so let’s keep the focus on her this evening, shall we?”

“Sure thing, Sergeant,” Dominic said with a little salute. 

Ian stifled a grin. Maybe Dominic wasn’t all that bad.

“So Mandy,” Margaret started. “I wanted to gather us all here this evening to discuss our vision for the film and our anticipated timeline of events.”

Mandy nodded, popping a piece of sourdough from the artisan bread board appetizer into her mouth.

Mickey leaned in to Margaret at this, clearly wanting to hear every word of what could potentially impact his sister’s future.

“As you know,” Margaret continued. “The film we are producing is a well-loved novel by a critically acclaimed author, so we want to make sure the quality is top notch. We’re hoping to work with the author on film adaptations of many of her popular works, so we really must put our best foot forward. And that starts with our lead actors and actresses. We want your introduction to Hollywood to be smooth all around.”

“This isn’t her introduction,” Mickey stated. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Mandy has been acting onscreen for a few years at this point.”

“If you’re referencing those silly children’s movies,” Margaret sniffed. “I’d hardly consider those worthy resumé builders.”

Mandy cast her eyes down at her lap. Ian couldn’t help but feel sorry for his friend. He was sure she’d worked hard on those movies, and it must be disheartening to hear a successful production company badmouth them.

“You can think they’re silly all ya want,” Mickey said. “But those movies brought in $150 million in streaming services and sold out Halloween costumes for two years straight. Every little girl in America under the age of seven idolizes my sister. So, yeah - silly works for me.”

Dominic gave a hearty chuckle. “Milkovich knows his shit, Margie.”

Margaret scowled. “Anyway,” she redirected. “We really want the film to speak to the average American family. We want every twenty-something female who watches to see herself in you.”

“Kinky,” Dominic offered.

“Dominic,” Margaret threatened.

Dominic simply popped an olive into his mouth, perhaps saving his reply for later.

“So obviously you fly out for filming in a few days,” Margaret said once she was sure Dominic was through. “But you’ll be doing more than filming of course. You’ll start with wardrobe fittings and PR training with me when you arrive, followed immediately by a table read and some press kit release things. And then actual filming will begin, but I’ll need to monitor you throughout that process to make sure that the Paparazzi don't catch you doing anything negative that they could photograph and publicize.” 

Ian felt like he should be taking notes. Just as he was starting to wrap his head around Margaret’s timeline, a line of wait staff appeared, trays in hand. They approached the table and sat a plate in front of each person.

The waiter sat Ian’s plate in front of him, saying “Filet de Boeuf au Vin Rouge,” before quickly taking his leave. Ian wished he’d had time to ask him what the fuck that meant.

The faintest curl of steam traveled to Ian’s nostrils, and good fucking lord. It smelled divine. 

On his plate sat the tiniest steak Ian had ever seen, perfectly round and glossy, and surrounded by what looked like some kind of mashed vegetable. To the side of the small steak sat a pile of carrots. At least Ian was familiar with carrots.

He looked around the table where everyone was cutting into their tiny steaks with easy, practiced motions. He attempted to do the same, accidentally sending a chunk of steak flying across the table and landing in one of the producer’s wine glasses. Margaret glared at him.

“Tell me more about this PR training bullshit,” Mickey demanded, shoveling a carrot into his mouth.

“Mick,” Mandy warned.

“PR training is standard procedure for all rising stars,” Margaret explained with ease. “She’ll learn how to handle herself. How to appear in public. Who to be seen with.”

“Let’s not discuss her like she isn’t here,” Mickey prompted. “Mandy, do you know how to handle yourself in public? Yes? Excellent. We can skip that step.”

“It’s not just about handling yourself,” Margaret argued. “Mandy needs to understand how to navigate her social life if she wants to be successful in this industry.” Her eyes darted to Ian. “She needs to understand who will benefit her socially, and who will not.”

Mickey’s eyes darkened. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Margaret pushed her food around her plate, not eating a bite. “Look, it might be best for us to have a more private conversation at a different time - you, Mandy, and myself.” 

Ian couldn’t help but notice that he was not a part of that equation. 

“Mick, maybe we shouldn’t-” Mandy fretted. 

“You planned this dinner for us to talk, so let’s talk.”

“Fine,” Margaret huffed. “I think it’s worth discussing that the road to stardom becomes much more difficult with a boyfriend, Ms. Milkovich. But since you’re here, Mr. Gallagher, I’ll need to know a little bit more about you.”

Ian’s eyes widened. 

That was unexpected.

“About…me?” Ian croaked.

“You don’t gotta say shit, Ian,” Mickey objected.

“It’s rather important to Mandy’s career that I know a little bit more about the people hanging around her. So what is it you do, Mr. Gallagher?” Margaret asked, ignoring Mickey completely. 

Aside from Margaret and Dominic, all of the other representatives from the production company seemed to be ignoring the heated conversation occurring about Ian’s personal life and history. Maybe they were used to this kind of thing. 

“I’m…I’m just a driver,” Ian answered, taking a bite of the tender meat on his plate. 

“A driver,” Margaret parroted. “And you live here on the North Side of Chicago?”

Ian felt himself shrinking, becoming smaller under Margaret’s judgmental gaze.

“I live on the South Side. In an apartment.”

“I see,” Margaret scowled. “A chauffeur from the South Side. Pardon my blunt observation, Mr. Gallagher, but you are exactly the kind of commoner that I will warn Mandy against during her PR training.

“Jesus, Margaret,” Dominic scolded. 

“The fuck did you just call him?” Mickey asked. His voice was quiet. Calculated. But a fire-like anger burned behind his eyes that Ian had never seen before. Ian didn’t want to be the cause of anything that could damage Mandy’s career, didn’t want to be the reason that Mickey fought with the unpleasant publicist.

“It’s fine, Mickey,” he said, kicking at his good foot under the table to silently beg with the man to let it go. But Mickey either didn’t get the message, or he didn’t care.

“This ‘chauffeur from the South Side’ has more intelligence in his nutsack than you do in your entire fucking body. He’s fucking smart and he works hard. He probably works harder than you’ve ever had to work in your life. But because of where he lives, we’re all better than he is? Fuck off with that shit.”

Ian was mortified. This absolutely couldn’t be happening right now. He looked to Mandy, who appeared to be just as panicked as he was.

“Mr. Gallagher is just one more piece of dirty laundry to add to my cleaning list when it comes to Ms. Milkovich,” Margaret spat, her eyes never leaving Mickey. “I already have to address her poor upbringing, abysmal parentage, and her foul mouthed, poor excuse for a manager.”

Dominic stood from his seat, knocking over his wine glass. The red wine seeped into the white tablecloth like a bloodstain. “Margaret,” he ordered. “Knock it the fuck off. We invited Mandy here to welcome her, not to chastise her.”

But Margaret was on a rampage and she couldn’t be stopped. 

“I’ve done my research into your family, Mr. Milkovich. I know all about where you come from. I know exactly who you are. What you are.” 

She leaned back into her seat, knowing she’d won. 

“How is your dear father these days?”

Mickey shoved himself back from the table as aggressively as he could with one functional foot, threw his crutches under his arms, and made his way toward the elevators. 

“Mick!” Mandy called, a tear streaming down her face. She wiped at it, smearing makeup across her cheek. But Mickey didn’t look back.

“Christ, Margaret,” Dominic said, a look of bewilderment on his face. “No need to be such a cunt. I’ll go check on him.”

“No,” Ian snapped. “I’ll go. You stay here with Mandy.” 

Ian stood, suddenly ashamed of himself for not doing more to stand up for Mickey, a man who had overcome so much. A man who would never compromise who he was to fit the standards of the industry he’d been thrust into. A man that Ian loved.

Ian loved.

Ian loved.

He looked to Margaret, who sat smugly sipping her wine, not a single shred of remorse on her pinched face.

“You can say whatever you want about me,” he said shakily. “About how I’m poor South Side trash. About how I’m just a chauffeur. But Mickey? He’s better than all of you. He made it out of our shit-hole town and he’s going to keep getting better and better, but you’ll always be someone who judges people based on where they come from.”

Ian addressed everyone at the table then. 

“And I think you’re all a bunch of pussies for sitting here and letting her treat people that way.”

Ian wasn’t sure if anyone responded. He wasn’t listening.

He had to find Mickey.

***

“Mickey,” Ian called, chasing after the man as he made his way toward the ground floor exit of Les Amoureux. For a guy on crutches, Mickey sure could move rather quickly. 

“Mick,” he called. “Wait up.” 

Patrons near the door watched inquisitively. Ian paid them no mind, as catching up with the man was his top priority. 

He caught up with Mickey outside of the restaurant, just a few doors down from the overpriced, unpleasant place that they’d spent the past hour of their lives. 

“Mick,” Ian said, reaching out to touch Mickey’s arm. “Mick, where are you going?” 

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” Mickey spat, walking as quickly as his crutches would take him. 

“Mickey,” Ian demanded. “Fuckin’ stop. Talk to me.”

Mickey turned on his heels, nearly toppling over as he did so. Ian steadied him, only to be roughly shoved away by the dark haired man. “The fuck am I supposed to say, huh? You wanna talk about how I brought you here for those rich pricks to laugh at you? Or how I’m probably screwin’ up Mandy’s career because of all that shit that happened with Terry? Is that what you need to discuss so badly?”

Mickey looked frantic, eyes darting from side to side as though looking for somewhere to escape. Ian wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him. To hold him. But he knew Mickey wouldn’t accept his touch right now. 

“I don’t care what those assholes think about me,” Ian insisted. “I couldn’t care less if I tried.”

Mickey uttered a humorless, hollow laugh. “It was my idea to bring you here. I brought you here and I couldn’t protect you. Just like I couldn’t protect…”

And Ian knew then that Mickey viewed everything that happened in his past as his fault. His fault that his father hated him so much. His fault that he got the shit beaten out of him for simply being himself. His fault that he wasn’t able to save the life if his best friend, and possibly the first boy he ever loved. 

“Mick,” Ian breathed, holding out his hand tentatively. When Mickey didn’t back away, he allowed the hand to brush gently against the man’s arm. “It’s not your fault.”

Mickey emitted a dry sob, nodding his head. “It was. It was my fault. It’s always my fault and I’ll never be able to keep you safe, Ian.”

Ian pulled Mickey tightly into his chest, allowing one of the crutches to clatter to the ground. A family passing by crossed to the other side of the road to avoid the strange pair. Ian ran his fingers through Mickey’s dark hair, breathing in his scent and touching, touching, touching. He ran his hands over Mickey’s back, rubbing gentle circles there. He wanted to hold Mickey forever. Would comfort him forever if only he’d let him. 

“All of that shit from your past,” Ian whispered into the shorter man’s hair. “None of it happened because of you, Mick. None of it is your fault.”

They stood there wrapped up in one another for what could have been seconds or hours. Time seemed to dissipate at Mickey’s touch, and Ian truly felt like he could stand on that sidewalk forever. But he knew he had to get Mickey home.

“C’mon,” Ian said, pulling away just slightly. “We’ll go inside and pay our tab, tell those assholes you’ll call them tomorrow with a clear head, and we’ll watch movies on your couch for the rest of the night.”

Mickey’s face was unreadable. 

“Can’t,” he said.

Ian furrowed his brow. “Can’t go back in? That’s fine. You can wait in the car. Won’t take me long.”

Mickey shook his head. “No, Ian. I can’t do this anymore. With you.” He gestured at the space between the two of them. 

Ian’s blood ran cold. “What are you talking about?”

“Look at me,” Mickey said, not quite meeting Ian’s eyes. “I’m a fuckin’ mess. I have all this shit goin’ through my head all the time and I just can’t keep doing this with you, man.”

Ian couldn't believe what he was hearing. He wanted everything with Mickey. He wanted a future and a family and a home, all together. 

This couldn’t be the end.

Not when they were just beginning.

“Mickey, don’t do this,” Ian pleaded. 

“I’m sorry, Red.”

And to his credit, the words certainly weren’t empty. He really did look sorry. Hell, he looked positively distraught.

“I can’t lose you like I lost him,” Mickey whispered so quietly it has barely audible.

Ian had to tell him. He had to tell him how he really felt. Maybe then he’d reconsider.

Ian reached out and took Mickey’s face in his hands, leaning down to capture the man’s lips in a hungry, desperate kiss. His tongue moved against Mickey’s fervently, and the man was kissing him back.

Kissing him back.

Kissing him back.

 “I love you,” he said, coming up for air.

Mickey didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

“I love you, Mickey,” Ian repeated.

Mickey’s eyes, somewhat misty now, met Ian’s. Blue met green.

“Loving me is fuckin’ dangerous, Ian. I’m sorry.”

And then he was gone, the sound of crutches slowly fading into nothingness until all that was left was the noises of the sidewalk and Ian’s own ragged breathing.

***

He wasn’t sure how he’d retrieved his car back from the restaurant’s valet service, but the next thing he knew he was behind the wheel of the suburban and he was driving. 

He always felt so safe behind the wheel of his SUV. Like he could go anywhere and do anything. But now he just felt numb. Stuck.

Loving me is fuckin’ dangerous, Ian. I’m sorry.

How could Mickey say that? What gave him the right to decide what was dangerous for Ian? Shouldn’t Ian decide that for himself?

He didn’t know exactly where he was going, but suddenly the streets began to feel familiar.

He was mere blocks away by the time he realized where he was.

He was on his way to Mrs. Springs’ house.

It was late in the evening and the old woman would likely be asleep, but Ian was miles away from his family’s home on the South Side. And Mrs. Springs was so kind. So understanding. Certainly she could offer him some advice, or at the very least a listening ear over a cup of tea.

Ian saw the flashing lights from nearly three blocks over. His blood ran cold. The lights couldn't be for Mrs. Springs. They just couldn’t. There were plenty of houses in this neighborhood. The lights must be for someone else.

Ian pulled up to Mrs. Springs’ cottage home moments later only to see it surrounded by emergency vehicles.

He slammed the suburban into park and shot out of the passenger seat, sprinting to the front door where he had helped the woman in and out of her home so many times before. 

“Hold up, son,” said a burly looking policeman, holding up his hands to Ian. “I’m afraid I can’t let you go in there.” 

Ian peered around the man. He needed to see Mrs. Springs. Had to see Mrs. Springs. 

“What happened? Where’s Mrs. Springs?” He asked frantically, peering around the man to try to catch a glimpse into the cottage.

“Not here,” the policeman said, wiping at his brow. “She’s already been taken by ambulance to the hospital.”

“Hospital?” Ian asked. “Why? What’s wrong with her?”

The policeman sighed, clearly becoming annoyed with Ian’s questioning. “Are you of relation to Abigail Springs?” 

Ian shook his head. “No, but I’m her driver. I’m her friend.”

The policeman waved his hand at Ian dismissively. “I can only give information to family.”

“She doesn’t have any,” Ian huffed. “Her son doesn’t live in the state and he doesn’t care about her enough to come see her. I’m all she has. Please.”

The policeman, clearly done with the conversation, walked away without another word.

Ian sank to his knees.

Defeated.

Helpless.

Alone.

Chapter Text

“Come on, sweet face,” Fiona cooed, caressing Ian’s hair as though he were a child. God, he felt like a child. Helpless.

“Sit up and take your meds.”

He hadn’t wanted to call Fiona. He hadn’t wanted to tell her about his embarrassing confession of love that had gone unreturned. He hadn’t wanted to tell her about Mrs. Springs being taken away to the hospital with nobody to hold her hand. 

But once he’d gotten himself home, dragging himself into his apartment at around midnight, he knew he couldn’t be alone. He had stared at his bottle of nighttime medication sitting so innocently on his kitchen counter and he had willed himself to take it. But even that seemed too daunting after the night Ian had endured. 

So instead of suffer an episode due to not taking his meds, he’d called Fiona.

She’d arrived at his apartment not even an hour later, bags under her eyes but a soft, kind smile on her face. He’d fallen into her arms, just like he did when he was a child, and she’d held him. She’d whispered softly to her younger brother as he drifted off to sleep. No questions. No judgement.

Ian opened his eyes, taking a moment to adjust to the bright, harsh light streaming in through the window of his bedroom. His head was pounding.

“Jesus,” he croaked. “Head is killin’ me.”

Fiona sat on the edge of Ian’s bed, nudging a glass of water into his hand.

“Drink this. And take your meds.”

Ian sat up, leaning against the headboard and pinching at the bridge of his nose. Fiona allowed him to down half of the water along with his pills before she spoke again. 

“I’m not gonna make you talk about what happened if you don’t want to. But it might help.”

Ian considered. He felt like such a fucking idiot. What kind of person falls in love with someone that they work for? What kind of person declares their love in the middle of the street for the world to hear? 

Apparently I do, Ian thought.

And Mrs. Springs. God. Mrs. Springs. Ian had to figure out where she’d been taken last night. Had to go see her.

“Everything’s just so fucked up, Fi. And I really made an ass of myself last night.”

Fiona placed a comforting hand on Ian’s arm, rubbing calming circles there. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think, sweet face. Whatever it is.”

And then he was telling Fiona everything, from the very first time he picked Mickey up from his apartment to the catastrophic events of the previous evening.

Fiona listened intently, smiling when Ian talked about what caused him to really fall in love with Mickey Milkovich and furrowing her brow at the words Margaret had spat at him at Les Amoureux.

“But Mickey,” Ian began. “Mickey stood up for me. He pretty much told Margaret to go fuck herself. That she wasn’t better than me just because of where I live and what I do for a living. And I just remember thinking that I didn’t care what anyone thought of me because Mickey really saw me, Fiona.”

“That’s beautiful,” Fiona nodded, her eyes growing misty.

Ian sighed. “But it’s not. It’s all fucked up now. I told him that I loved him. I told him that I loved him and he ended it. Left me standing there on the sidewalk.”

Ian rubbed at this temple, trying not to relive the heartbreaking moment all over again. 

Loving me is fuckin’ dangerous, Ian. I’m sorry.

“Did he tell you he didn’t feel the same way?” Fiona asked, still rubbing gentle circles on Ian’s arm. 

“No,” Ian said. “But he said he was sorry. And then he left. The message was pretty clear.”

“Clear as mud,” Fiona breathed. “Look, Ian. I only met Mickey once, but the way you two acted around each other…that’s hard to fake.”

Ian was lost. “Then what do I do, Fi?” 

Ian gave her brother a closed mouth smile, cocking her head to the side. “You give him some space. Give it some time.”

He didn’t want to give it space or time. He wanted to go knock on Mickey’s door right this minute and demand they sit down and talk. But he knew Fiona was right. Pressuring Mickey like that would probably just drive the man further away, and that was the last thing Ian wanted. 

“Anything I can help you with while I’m here?” Fiona asked. “Breakfast? Some more water?”

Ian shook his head. “No breakfast. But can you call Irene for me and tell her I need someone to cover my routes today? I have somewhere I need to go.”

***

After Fiona placed a kiss on his forehead and left for the day, promising to check in with him later, Ian did a Google search for all hospitals within 30 miles of Mrs. Springs’ home. He was going to track her down, and even if they wouldn’t allow him into the room to see the old woman, he was going to be there. 

He started with Chicago General Hospital.

“Hi, my name is Ian Gallagher. I’m trying to find an elderly woman who lives on Enochville and 35th. Her name is Abigail Springs. She was taken by ambulance last night. I’m very close with her and I just need to know if she’s okay.” Ian crossed his fingers. Maybe she’d be here. Maybe the receptionist would be forthcoming with information. Maybe Mrs. Springs was okay. 

“We have no patient by that name.”

Ian crossed Chicago General Hospital off of his list, thanking the receptionist and moving on to the next. 

Every hospital gave him the same answer. 

No patient by that name.

No patient by that name. 

Ian crossed hospital after hospital off of his list until there was only one left. He hoped for a miracle as he dialed the final number. 

“St. Anne’s Hospital, how may I help you?” Spoke a tired sounding female voice. 

“Yeah, hi,” Ian greeted. “My name is Ian. I’m trying to figure out if you have a patient by the name of Abigail Springs. She would have arrived by ambulance last night.”

Ian heard the sound of typing keys. “Springs, you said?”

Ian tensed. She was there. She had to be there. 

“Yes, Abigail Springs.”

“Unfortunately I won’t be able to give out any information over the phone, sir,” the receptionist informed. “And I can only speak to family.”

“I am family,” Ian blurted before he could stop himself.

Fuck.

“How are you of relation?” The receptionist questioned. 

“I’m, uh,” Ian floundered. “I’m her grandson.”

“I see,” the receptionist hesitated. Perhaps she didn’t believe him. He’d been told he was a pretty poor liar. “Yes, she’s here. She’s currently in the ICU.”

Ian stood from his perch on the kitchen bar stool, knocking the stool over entirely. Ian hardly noticed it clattering to the ground. 

“Thank you,” he sputtered. “Thank you so much.”

“I can’t give out any more information over the phone, but you’re more than welcome to come speak to someone in person.”

“Yes, I understand,” Ian continued, grabbing his keys and heading out the door. “I’m on my way.”

***

Ian sped to St. Anne’s Hospital, averaging 20 over the speed limit for the entire drive. He knew such a high speed was dangerous for his livelihood, as a suspended license could mean termination from Timothy and Irene’s. But every second that Ian went not knowing was unbearable. 

He parked on the bottom level of the hospital’s parking deck. His parking job was crooked, and he would normally take the time to fix it, but not now. Not today.

He followed signs around the hospital’s expansive campus until he reached a large brick building marked “Intensive Care Unit.” The automatic sliding doors blasted him with warmth as he entered, the smell of antiseptic filling his nostrils.

Ian hated hospitals. They reminded him of his childhood, Fiona packing up all of her siblings to visit Monica who had been recently committed due to a depressive episode. They reminded him of his teenage years when his own condition was unmedicated and out of control. 

He pushed thoughts of his own hospital experiences away as he approached the front desk.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m, uh, looking for my grandmother. Abigail Springs. She was committed to the ICU last night but I wasn’t able to get any information over the phone.”

The receptionist looked up from her computer, taking in the sight of him. Ian was sure he looked tired and unkempt. 

“Yes,” she acknowledged. “I believe we spoke on the phone earlier.”

Ian nodded. “Can I see her, please?”

“Of course,” she began. “I just need to see some identification first.”

Ian stiffened. Would the receptionist know that he wasn’t related to Mrs. Springs by looking at his license? Plenty of families had different last names from one another, he thought.

He pulled his wallet out of his jean pocket and handed her his driver’s license with shaky fingers.

She glanced at it, typed something into her computer, and handed it back.

“Room 117, Mr. Gallagher. You’re the first family member to show up, so I’m sure her doctor will be around to speak with you shortly. I’ll notify him that you’re here.”

Ian thanked her and went off in search of room 117, which happened to be very close to the hospital’s entrance. He stood outside of the door for a few moments before entering, taking deep, calming breathes.

He could do this. He was her friend. She would want him there, he just knew it.

He pushed the door open slowly, afraid of what he would see. Mrs. Springs was lying on her back in the hospital bed, tubes running in and out of her from every possible location on her body. Her gray hair was tangled, her forehead had a glean of sweat, and Ian couldn’t help but notice how small and frail she looked.

Her heart monitor beeped rhythmically. Her breathing sounded uneven. 

For a moment, Ian was frozen. It was so hard to see her like this. Mrs. Springs had so much life in her, and it was damn near impossible for him to look at her so near death.

It was only the thought of the woman having no one to hold her hand, no one to sit by her side and tell her everything would be okay, that pushed Ian to approach her bedside. She looked even smaller up close.

He sat in the standard issued hospital chair and took her hand in his. It was so cold.

“Hi, Mrs. Springs,” Ian whispered, rubbing her frigid hand to warm it. “It’s Ian. I’m here to see you.”

Her eyes remained closed as he spoke, but Ian remembered reading somewhere that hospitalized people liked to be talked to. Maybe she could hear him. Maybe she couldn’t. But he talked to her anyway.

“I came by your house last night and there were all these flashing lights. They wouldn’t tell me what happened to you and I was so scared. But I found you and I’m here now.”

Ian wiped the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of his sweater.

“Whenever you wake up, I’m gonna be here. I’ll make sure you get home and I’ll take care of you until you get back on your feet.”

A knock sounded at the door, and a middle aged man in a white lab coat entered before Ian could respond. Ian stood.

“Hi there,” the man greeted. “I’m Dr. Walters. Your grandmother has been in my care since she arrived last night.”

He reached out his hand to Ian, which Ian took tentatively. 

“Good to meet you,” he said.

“My staff alerted me that you were here and I wanted to take the time to come talk to you about your grandmother’s condition.”

Ian just nodded. He wondered if he should be prepared for the worst. 

“Your grandmother had an abdominal aortic aneurism last night, which caused some severe internal bleeding. Luckily, she was able to dial 911 before she lost consciousness. We were able to get her into surgery quickly and repair the artery with a graft. She’d lost a lot of blood, but she’s stable for now.”

Ian didn’t know what to say. It was as though the doctor was speaking an entirely different language than the one Ian was familiar with. He hung onto the words he could understand. 

Internal bleeding.

Surgery. 

Stable for now.

“Will she…will she get better?” Ian asked.

“Recovery will be difficult for her,” Dr. Walters sighed. “At her age, there’s an increased risk for complications such as kidney failure and clotting issues. But right now, she’s holding on.”

“That’s good,” Ian breathed. “Good that she’s holding on. Right?”

Dr. Walters smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I want to be honest with you, Ian. We’re hopeful, but we’re also preparing for all outcomes. Do you have any other family members coming to be with you during this time?”

Ian shook his head.

“No. No, it’s just me.”

Dr. Walters nodded. “Well, I’ll give you and grandma some time alone. Give me a call if you need anything.”

And then he was gone, leaving behind nothing but the old woman’s labored breathing and the sound of Ian’s heart beating out of his chest. Mrs. Springs had to be okay. She just had to be. 

Ian reclaimed his seat next to the old woman and took her hand in his once more. 

“You’re gonna be fine, Mrs. Springs,” Ian promised. “You’re going to be perfectly fine. And I’ll keep driving you every Wednesday and I’ll stay for tea every single time. And I’ll come see you on weekends too.”

Ian was so wrapped up in his promises to the elderly woman that he didn’t hear the hospital room door slowly creak open. 

“Who the fuck are you?”

Ian jumped, dropping Mrs. Springs’ hand and whipping his head around to find the source of the voice.

In the doorway stood a stranger. A dark haired man with an athletic build, a vase of flowers in his hands, and an outraged look on his face.

Ian stood, wide eyed.

It couldn’t be.

“Did you hear me?” The man asked again, louder this time. “Who the fuck are you and why are you in my mother’s hospital room?”

So it was.

Thomas Springs, elusive son of Mrs. Springs. The one that she was so proud of. The one that never visited.

“I’m Ian,” Ian finally said. There was only one exit in this room and Thomas happened to be standing in front of it.

Unless Ian wanted to go out the window, which might not be a bad option. He’d made one or two window escapes in his youth while growing up on the South Side.

“Okay, Ian, ” Thomas retorted. “I’m sure you can imagine my confusion when the front desk told me my son had already arrived to sit with my mother, especially considering I don’t have any children.”

Thomas looked angry, and Ian guessed he had a right to be. But he couldn’t have let Mrs. Springs sit in this hospital room alone by herself, not knowing if anyone was coming for her.

“So I’m going to give you two minutes to explain who you are before I call for security to remove you.”

Ian ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. What was the use of lying? The receptionist had seen his driver’s license.

“I’m Ian Gallagher,” he began. “I’m your mother’s driver. I drive her to her appointment on Wednesdays.”

Thomas looked momentarily confused. “Her driver?”

Ian nodded. “From Timothy and Irene Transportation Services.”

A look of recognition washed over the man’s features. “Oh, right. I forgot my wife set that service up for mom. But why are you here? Why are you impersonating someone that doesn’t exist?”

“I couldn’t let her lay here all alone,” Ian murmured.

“Alone?” Thomas asked. “I bought a plane ticket as soon as the hospital called me last night. What would make you think she would be here alone?”

And something in Ian just snapped. Maybe it was the grief he was feeling over losing his relationship before it had even started. Maybe it was seeing Mrs. Springs in this bed, looking so small. Maybe it was just all of the unfair and not right and fucked up in his life finally catching up with him. But something broke when Thomas asked Ian that question. 

The dam broke and there was no repairing it. 

“What would make me think she’d be alone?” Ian spat, his voice coated in hostility. “Let me think…oh, probably because you never visit her and you never call. Do you know that she spends every day of her life hoping and wishing and planning for the day that she’s finally able to spend some time with you? But you’re too busy being a self important doctor on the east coast to give your mother the time of day.”

“You don’t know shit about me, kid,” Thomas argued, fury in his eyes.

“And you don’t know shit about her,” Ian cried, gesturing to the small, frail woman in the bed. “She loves you so fucking much. Not everyone has that.”

He thought of Fiona, abandoned by her parents to raise children that weren’t hers. 

He thought of Mickey, beaten by his own father for daring to be different.

He thought of Ian. He thought of himself.

“Mrs. Springs is probably the closest thing to a mother that I’ve ever had,” Ian admitted, voice cracking. “And I’m not sorry for doing everything I could to make sure she wasn’t alone.”

Ian bent down and placed a gentle kiss to the old woman’s forehead. 

“Be thankful for her,” Ian said to Thomas. “And when she wakes up…if she wakes up. Be there for her.”

Ian made for the door, shoving past Thomas with his shoulder.

“Wait,” Thomas called. “Kid. Ian. Wait.”

But Ian didn’t want to hear anymore. He left the Intensive Care Unit holding a breath that he didn’t release until he was sitting behind the wheel of the suburban. 

***

Mickey hadn’t contacted Ian since the dinner on Monday night. To be fair, Ian hadn’t reached out to Mickey either.

But what would he say?

Hey, sorry about declaring my love for you on the sidewalk. I was just kidding. Hope we can still be friends!

Fuckin’ pathetic. 

So he thought it was the right thing to do to call Irene and request that another driver finish his Milkovich contract. He couldn’t drive Mickey after what had happened. Hell, he didn’t know if he could even look at the man right now.

“Are you sure, kid?” Irene asked over the phone, clearly concerned. “He’s been a great client for you. Nothing but rave reviews and killer tips.”

“I’m sure,” Ian declared.

“Did he say something nasty to you, Ian?” Irene pressured. “The guy can be a real asshole. Do you need me to cancel his contract completely? You know I’d do that for you.”

That’s the last thing Ian wanted.

“No,” he declined. “Not necessary. Just have some personal shit going on right now and I need to pull back on some hours.”

“Alright, kiddo,” Irene sighed. “But please give me a call if you need anything.”

Ian promised that he would.

He returned to work on Thursday, opting to take both Tuesday and Wednesday as personal days. Wednesday would have been extra depressing without Mickey and Mrs. Springs. He floated through his work day, conversing with clients as little as possible and dodging constant calls from Fiona. He loved his sister, but sometimes her care could feel a little oppressive.

He shot her a brief text to ease her worry.

Ian (3:19PM): I’m doing okay. Taking my meds. Back at work now. I love you.

By Friday afternoon, Ian felt like he’d worked a full week even though he’d truly worked very little. 

He was tired. Both physically and emotionally.

Luckily, he only had one remaining client for the week before he could crawl into his bed for the next 48 hours. Unluckily, that client happened to be Mr. John.

He was two minutes late arriving to Mr. John’s home to pick him up, and the man let him know it as soon as he climbed into the back seat. 

“It’s 3:02, if you’re not aware,” he snarked.

Oh, Ian so was not in the mood for this today. 

“I’m aware, Mr. John. There was some traffic on the way here.” He hoped this excuse would be the end of their conversation, but he knew it wouldn’t be.

“I don’t pay you to be late. You know I like to be prompt.”

“Yes,” Ian sighed. “I know.”

Ian merged onto the interstate, deciding to just tune out whatever rant the unpleasant man had picked out for the day.

He did a pretty good job of it at first, choosing to focus on cloud formations and license plates instead of whatever nonsense the old bastard was spewing. But then a certain word brought Mr. John’s tirade back into focus.

“…faggots think that they can just parade around the streets doing whatever they want. I don’t give a shit what they do behind closed doors, but to see it? Shit is disgusting.”

Racist, sexist, and homophobic. The Holy Trinity. The trifecta. 

“They don’t need an entire month to wave their faggy flags and paint their rainbows all over the city. It’s such a big joke.”

And suddenly, Ian didn’t know why he continued to do this. Why did he tolerate this treatment? This was his fucking car, after all. 

“Hey, Mr. John?” Ian asked. 

Mr. John, not used to being interrupted, just kept going. 

“It’s all just unnatural. Can you imagine being attracted to another man? It’s like a mental illness. People like that should be all locked up together so that none of us normal people have to see their immorality.”

That was enough.

Ian whipped the suburban over to the side of the road and slammed on breaks so hard that Mr. John nearly flew into the floorboard.

“Jesus fuck!” He called. “You could have killed me! I’m making a call to Timothy and Irene’s as soon as I get out of this death trap.”

Ian unbuckled his seatbelt and turned his body around to glare at the man in his backseat. 

“Listen here, you son of a bitch,” Ian began. “I’ve had one of the shittiest week of my entire fucking life, and the last thing I need is some homophobic piece of shit spewing hate in my backseat.”

Mr. John looked livid. 

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those homo sympathizers,” he grimaced. 

“First of all, the word you’re looking for is ‘ally,’” Ian said, rolling his eyes. “And second, no. That’s not what I am.”

Mr. John released a deep breath. “Good.”

“I’m not finished. That’s not what I am, because I’m just the homo. I’m a big, huge cock hound. In fact, I sucked a guy’s dick right where you’re sitting not even a week ago.”

Mr. John’s eyes grew wide. His mouth was agape.

“And after that we went back to his place and I fucked him so hard in the ass that he could feel it in his fuckin’ throat.”

Mr. John let out a nervous squeak. 

“Now get the fuck out of my car,” Ian demanded.

“W-what?” Mr. John stuttered. “We’re on the highway. We’re miles from my business meeting. I’m paying you to take me there, so do your damn job and take me there.”

Ian shook his head. “I’m not your driver anymore. Get out.”

Mr. John’s red, angry face was a mere dot in Ian’s rear view mirror when he dialed Irene’s phone number to request a temporary leave of absence from his position. 

***

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Ian,” a voice called.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Ian, c’mon. Open the door.”

Someone was knocking on his apartment door. Ian threw his legs over the side of his bed, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. 

“Ian,” the voice called again. 

“I’m coming,” Ian yelled back, stumbling to the front door, not yet fully awake. “Fucking hell, wait a goddamn minute.”

He unlocked the deadbolt and wrenched open the door. Lip stood there, hands on his hips, a look of irritation on his face. 

“You just wake up?” He asked, peering over Ian’s shoulder and into his apartment.

“Yeah, man,” Ian yawned. “Tired.”

Lip scoffed. “I’d probably feel bad about it if it wasn’t 1 in the afternoon on a Monday.”

It had been three days since the incident with Mr. John. Three days since he’d told Irene he needed some time away. She had seemed concerned instead of angry, and maybe she was right to be. 

“You can’t stay holed up in your apartment all day, Ian. It’s not good for you, even if you are taking your meds.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Which I am.”

“Even so,” Lip waved him off. “Can’t just lay in bed all day, man.”

“Alright,” Ian agreed, pinching at his temple. “Did you drive across town to tell me that?”

Lip laughed. “Nah, man. Don’t flatter yourself. I came to bring you a visitor.”

A wave of long, dark hair appeared from around the corner. 

“Mandy?” Ian asked, perhaps more surprised to see her than if Mickey had magically appeared on his doorstep. 

“Hey, Ian,” she smiled. 

And wow. The Milkovich siblings had the same smile. It made Ian ache.

“How did you…you know my brother?” 

“No,” Lip answered for them. “She tracked me down at the shop. Asked how you were. Told her I’d come bang on your door.”

“Forgot how to get here, so I did some research to find a Gallagher. Can I come in?” She asked, gesturing over Ian’s shoulder.

Fuck. His apartment was a mess. He was positive he had day old Chinese food sitting on the coffee table. 

“Uh,” Ian stuttered. “Yeah. Of course.” He looked at his brother. “You coming in too?”

Lip shook his head. “Nah, my job here is done. Come by the house later if you’re up to it. Freddie misses you.”

Mandy waved goodbye as Lip bounded down the steps. “Thanks, Phillip!” She called. 

Ian ushered her inside, moving the old food containers from the coffee table to the kitchen counter. “Sorry it’s such a mess,” he apologized, spraying some air freshener to mask the smell of sweet and sour chicken. 

Mandy only shrugged as she plopped down on the sofa. “I grew up in a house of horrors. This is squeaky clean in comparison.”

She kicked her feet up onto the coffee table and patted the couch cushion next to her. “Sit,” she instructed. Ian did.

“You look like shit,” she observed.

“I know,” Ian sighed. He didn’t know the last time he’d brushed his hair or even took a shower. 

Mandy reached out and took Ian’s hand in hers. 

“Mickey has been a mess since that night,” she said. “Like even more insufferable than usual.”

Ian should probably apologize to Mandy for that disastrous evening. He’d called everyone at Mandy’s production company a pussy and stormed off, leaving Mandy there alone to deal with the backlash. Hell, he wasn’t even sure how she got home that night. 

“Mandy, I’m so sorry about-”

“Don’t you dare fucking apologize,” Mandy interrupted. “The other night was so fucked. It was nobody’s fault except for Margaret and her complicit cronies at that company.”

“But we just left you there.”

“Dominic took me home,” Mandy assured. “After he told Margaret off for being such a bitch. Not sure she really listened, but I appreciated it nonetheless.”

“Dominic?” Ian asked, a little taken aback. 

“Yeah,” Mandy confirmed. “I know he can be an overwhelming flirt, but he’s really not a bad guy.”

Ian would have to give him a call later and thank him for getting Mandy home safely. 

“We didn’t make things difficult for you, did we? With your movie?” Ian didn’t know if he’d forgive himself if he caused a rivet in Mandy’s up and coming career.

“Please,” Mandy scoffed. “Dominic and I filed a complaint as soon as we got back to my place. Margaret might think she’s in charge, but there’s plenty of people over her head that only show their faces when they need to.”

And okay. That made Ian feel a little bit better.

“Look, I’m not here to talk about me,” Mandy continued. “I’m here for Mickey.”

Just hearing Mickey’s name was like a punch to his gut. “For Mickey?” He asked.

“My idiot brother didn’t ask me to come here or anything, so don’t get too excited. But I’ve known him for a hell of a lot longer than you have. He told me what happened between the two of you the other night. Well, I practically had to twist his nutsack for him to tell me, but I got it out of him. I think you deserve an explanation.”

Great. So Mandy knew about his embarrassing love confession. Ian sank back into the couch. “I already know about your dad catching him with that guy,” Ian said. “And what happened after.”

Mandy shook her head, “That’s not everything. Not even close.”

Ian was surprised to hear this. “What else?” He asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Mandy took a deep breath, as if preparing herself. “Mickey has always been my protector,” she began. “When we were kids, he’d practically jump in front of me if Terry started in on me. He’d take every fist he could in hopes that the son of a bitch would wear himself out before he could turn his attention back to me. But there was this one time that he couldn’t protect me. Probably the worst time.”

Ian didn’t speak, but he listened intently. 

“When I was about 13, Terry was super drunk one night,” she continued. “Mick and I were the only ones home. Brothers were off doing god knows what, probably running some illegal shit. Anyway, I was laying in my bed and I heard the door open. At first I thought it was Mickey. Sometimes he’d come sleep on my bedroom floor when shit got too serious at home. But when I opened my eyes, it was Terry. And he just looked at me, but not like he’d ever looked at me before. Like I was something to be devoured. It was fucking terrifying.”

Ian thought he knew where this story was going, but he hoped desperately that he was wrong.

“So Terry locks my door and climbs up onto my bed. The whole time, he’s just staring at me. And then he…he…”

“You don’t have to say it,” Ian comforted. He knew. He knew what Terry did.

“Well anyway,” Mandy said, wiping a tear from her eye before it fell. “I just started fucking kicking and screaming, trying to get the bastard off of me. And eventually Mickey must have heard me because he comes to my door and tries to get in. Once he realized it was locked, he starts beating on it. I thought he might really beat the door down before Terry was done.”

Ian couldn’t imagine being so young, so vulnerable and hearing your sister screaming for help through a locked door. He just couldn’t imagine. 

“Eventually Terry climbed off of me and unlocked the door. Mickey looked about ready to kill him, but we were just kids. And Terry was so much bigger. He beat the shit out of Mickey, right there in my bedroom. And then he just left. Left us both there, defeated. Empty. Wanting to die.”

“God, Mandy,” Ian whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Talking about it is hard,” she explained. “But I need you to know. I need you to know why Mickey feels like he has to protect everyone, and why he takes it so personally when he can’t.”

Ian nodded. “I get it. Really. What you guys went through…I can’t even imagine. But I don’t need to be protected, Mandy. The other night just felt like…like he didn’t love me back.”

Mandy gave him a tight lipped smile. “He’s pushing you away because he’s scared.”

“Of what?” Ian asked.

“Of how in love with you he is,” she breathed. 

And oh.

Oh.

“Terry really fucked Mickey up. He thinks that loving him - being loved by him - puts a person in the line of fire.”

Ian didn’t know what to do. How to explain to Mickey that he was safe. They were safe.

“What do I do?” Ian asked, so quietly it was barely audible.

“Don’t let him go.”

***

Ian took a shower once Mandy left. He hadn’t quite figured out his next move in his quest to get Mickey to talk to him, but he figured he could at least start by cleaning himself.

He thought of Mickey as he stood under the hot water, letting it wash over his body. He wondered what the other man was doing right now. 

Maybe he could send the man a text. No, that would be too informal.

Or maybe write him a letter outlining everything that was going on in his head. No, that would be too formal.

He was drying his body and trying to figure out the happy medium between letter and text message when he heard his cell phone ringing from the living room. It was probably just Fiona calling to check on him and make sure he had taken his meds that morning. 

He ignored the call, telling himself he’d call back later. Hell, maybe he’d even stop by the Gallagher house and bring some pizzas to thank his family for thinking about him.

The phone rang again while he was brushing his teeth. Damn, Fiona could sure be annoyingly persistent. 

It was when the phone rang for a third time that he started to grow concerned. Fiona must really, really need his attention. 

He opened the bathroom door just as the phone stopped ringing. When he looked through his missed call log, he was confused to see that the repeated calls had come from an unknown number. Just as he considered calling the number back, his phone rang for a fourth time.

Whoever this was, they needed to speak to him.

He answered.

“Hello?” He greeted tentatively.

“Is this Ian?” Asked a male voice. The voice sounded familiar, but he was having a difficult time placing it.

“Yes,” Ian confirmed. “Who is this?”

“Thomas Springs,” replied the voice.

Ian’s blood ran cold. Why would Thomas Springs be contacting him? Hell, how had he even gotten Ian’s number?

“I’m calling because…” Thomas took a wet, ragged breath, almost as though he had been crying. “Because my mother passed away this morning.“

The world around Ian went blurry. The walls seemed to cave in. He sank to his knees.

“What?” He asked. “No. No, she can’t be.”

“She had too many complications and she was just too old to bounce back,” Thomas continued.

Not Mrs. Springs. Not his Mrs. Springs.

“I’m just calling to invite you to her funeral service next week. I know she didn’t have very many friends here, but I’m sure she’d want you to be there.”

Ian wasn’t sure if Thomas provided any more details about the funeral, such as a time and place. He didn’t remember hanging up the phone. He didn’t remember pulling his clothes onto his body.

But suddenly he was behind the wheel of the suburban and he was driving.

And he knew exactly where he was going.

***

He stood outside of Mickey’s apartment door for what felt like a long time. Would Mickey even agree to see him? Would he shut the door in his face once he saw that it was Ian?

He just felt so broken right now. So vulnerable. Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion and all he wanted was to be held, to be comforted. To be with Mickey.

So he had to try. Even if the man turned him away, he had to try.

He knocked quietly, three times. And he waited. He didn’t hear anything inside. No scuffling, no rhythmic sound of crutches. Maybe his knocks were too quiet. 

He knocked again, louder this time. 

Nothing.

Maybe nobody was home. Maybe Mickey was out, or still at work. It was early in the afternoon on a week day. Not everyone was laying out of work for the time being, Ian reminded himself. 

Suddenly Ian felt tired. So fucking tired.

Maybe he could wait. Maybe he could wait right here, outside of Mickey’s apartment. Just for a while. Just to rest. 

He sank down against the wall, bringing his knees up to his chest. He rested his head in his hands. And then the sound of a lock clicked open.

“Ian?”

It was overwhelming hearing Mickey’s voice after so long. The sound of it reached inside his body and caressed his breaking heart.

“Ian? What’s wrong?”

Ian looked up, taking Mickey in for the first time in a week. He too looked tired. His hair stood up slightly in the back, like he’d allowed it to dry that way. He wore simple sweatpants and a white t-shirt. And on his foot…

“You got it off,” Ian noticed.

In place of the familiar white cast was a black walking boot. No crutches in sight. 

“Yeah,” Mickey said. “On Friday.”

It was strange to see Mickey standing on two feet. Strange to see him standing with his hands in his pockets instead of leaning on his crutches for stability. Strange to see him looking at Ian like that- with so much concern in his eyes. 

“That’s great,” Ian said.

“Ian, man,” Mickey sighed. “The fuck are you doing here?”

Suddenly Ian felt foolish. What made him think that Mickey would so willingly welcome him into his apartment after he rejected Ian the previous week? He knew what Mickey had gone through leading up to this point in his life and he knew what Mandy had said, but it wouldn't be that easy to reinsert himself in the man’s life.

Ian stood, leaning against the wall to steady himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should go.”

He turned to leave, but Mickey caught him by the hand. His touch was electric.

“Wait,” he said. “Just tell me whats’s wrong.” Mickey’s beautiful blue eyes were so full of worry.

“One of my clients,” Ian said quietly. “She died this morning.”

She was so much more than a client, Ian thought. She was a friend. A mentor. Someone who deserved so much more than she got. 

“Fuck,” Mickey muttered. “I’m so sorry.”

Ian shook his head. “It’s fine. I should really get going.”

Mickey tightened his grip on Ian’s hand. “You’re not goin’ anywhere upset like this. Come inside.”

And Ian wasn’t in the mental headspace to argue. So he allowed Mickey to pull him inside of his apartment, closing the door behind them.

“Sit down,” Mickey instructed. “Gonna get you some water.”

So Ian sat, sinking in to the expensive couch and breathing in the scene of Mickey that clung to the cushions. The scent was intoxicating. Comforting.

Mickey returned moments later with a glass of water, depositing it into Ian’s hand and sitting next to him on the sofa. “Drink,” Mickey commanded. 

Ian drained half the glass before sitting it to rest on the coffee table in front of him.

“I’m really sorry for barging in on you like this,” Ian said. “I know it probably doesn’t change anything but Mrs. Springs was the sweetest old lady. She cared about me so fucking much and I told her about you and I just didn’t know where else to go.”

“Don’t fuckin’ apoligize,” Mickey huffed. “Don’t gotta do that.”

“It’s just, you made it clear the other night. And I guess I should respect that and give you some space, but it feels like my heart is imploding right now and my chest fucking hurts and god, I missed you, Mickey.”

Mickey breathed deeply. “Ian, it’s not that I don’t…it’s just…I just can’t…”

And before Ian could stop himself, he was surging forward and capturing Mickey’s mouth in a hungry, desperate kiss. His tongue swept out and tangled with Mickey’s, and Mickey’s lips moved against his. Mickey was kissing him back and fuck, it felt so good. He’d missed this so much.

Mickey grunted, pulling back from the kiss. The loss of the man’s warm mouth was torturous. 

“Ian,” he said, panting. “I can’t.”

“I know,” Ian nodded. “But…can we just have tonight? Please?”

Ian knew it would hurt like hell in the morning, losing Mickey for a second time. But his mind and his body craved Mickey’s touch, and right now he just couldn’t think of anything else.

“Please,” he repeated.

Something on Mickey’s face melted. His blue eyes, so icy and guarded, warmed in front of Ian. Mickey stood, taking Ian by the hand and leading him into the bedroom.

The pair sank down onto Mickey’s bed, mouths attached and moving. 

Ian tugged Mickey’s shirt over his head, ghosting his fingers over the warm skin of Mickey’s chest. 

Mickey groaned into his mouth. 

“Missed you touching me, Gallagher.” 

Ian wasn’t sure when or how but suddenly his shirt was off as well, and Mickey had him pressed into the mattress, their chests touching as Mickey mouthed at this collarbone. Ian caressed Mickey’s sides, his back, his arms. He wanted to map the man’s entire body so that he could remember. Remember this. Remember him. 

Mickey ground his hips down, pressing his straining erection against Ian’s.

“Fuck,” Ian moaned, his cock begging to be released from his jeans.

“Can’t wait for you to fuck me,” Mickey whispered into Ian’s neck.

Ian tensed. His body was asking for something, craving something, but his mouth didn’t know how to ask for it. He wasn’t even sure if Mickey would give it to him if he did ask.

Mickey stopped, noticing how tense Ian was beneath him. “You good?” He asked.

“I just…” Ian began.

“Yeah?” Mickey probed. “Gotta talk to me, Red.”

“I’ve, uh, never done it before,” Ian confessed. “But I really want…I mean, I was wondering if you would top. Me.”

Mickey sat up, surprised. “You want me to…top?”

“Yeah,” Ian said, propping himself up on his elbows. “I just want to feel taken care of right now. The way I make you feel…I want you to make me feel like that.”

Mickey considered this for a moment. “Are you sure?”

Ian nodded. “Yes. I want this.”

And then Mickey was attacking his mouth again, tugging at Ian’s zipper and shucking his pants down to his ankles. Ian kicked them off, groaning as Mickey palmed at his cock through his boxers.

“Please,” Ian begged, pushing the waistband of his boxers down.

“Patience,” Mickey chuckled, but he helped Ian tug his last shred of clothing off anyway. Mickey paused now that Ian was fully bare in front of him, staring. Drinking him in.

“Fuck, Red,” he whispered, rubbing his hands delicately over Ian’s thighs. Ian’s chest rose and fell quickly at Mickey’s touch, his breath hitching as Mickey urged Ian to bend his knees. Mickey placed wet, open mouthed kisses to Ian’s waist, his thighs, and to the sensitive skin around his cock.

“You always take this long?” Ian asked, breathless.

“No,” Mickey said. “But I want your first time to feel good. Not rushed.”

Mickey reached into his bedside drawer, pulling out a small bottle of lube and dropping it onto the bed next to Ian. He kissed Ian again, soft and slow.

“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel right, okay?” He prompted, opening the cap of the lube and squirting some onto his fingers.

“I will,” Ian promised.

Mickey coated a finger and lowered it down to Ian’s hole, circling it gently. Ian’s breath hitched. He’d never bottomed before, but he’d experimented a few times on his own. He’d inserted a finger or two on occasion. It had never been painful, but he had never really seen the appeal.

That was, until Mickey slowly sank his finger into Ian. His touch was slow and deliberate, accompanied by a burning sensation. Ian writhed as Mickey sank his finger in deeper, deeper.

“Hey,” Mickey said, kissing at Ian’s jaw. “I know it’s new, but I need you to breathe for me, okay?”

So Ian breathed. In and out. In and out. And slowly, the burn eased.

“There you go,” Mickey said, moving his finger in and out of Ian. “Keep breathing for me.”

Having a part of Mickey inside of him, claiming him, made Ian forget every bad thing that had happened. There was nothing outside of these four walls, nothing except for him and Mickey.

“More,” he said quietly, reaching up to stroke Mickey’s cheek, feeling the growth of stubble that the man hadn’t bothered to shave. 

Mickey removed his finger and applied more lube to his hand, taking some time to pull off his own pants and boxers. When Mickey pressed back into him, it was with two fingers instead of one. 

Ian was panting softly now, eyes fluttering closed as Mickey’s fingers worked him open, slow and steady. 

“Talk to me,” Mickey said, scissoring his fingers inside of Ian.

Ian met Mickey’s gaze. His cheeks were flushed, lips parted. “I’m good,” he said. “It’s just a lot.”

Mickey nodded. “It is,” he agreed. “But I got you, okay?”

Ian swallowed. “Okay,” he said, voice low.

“You want a third one?” He asked, pumping his fingers in and out slowly.

Ian shook his head. “Ready. Wanna feel you.”

Mickey grabbed a condom from the bedside table, tore it open, and rolled it on. He slicked himself up and settled between Ian’s thighs, nudging his knees up a little more. He pressed in slowly, hands digging into Ian’s hips.

Ian hoped Mickey’s fingers would leave bruises, so that he could remember this for a long, long time. He fisted the sheet underneath him, knuckles turning white.

“Keep breathin’ for me,” Mickey said as he pushed in, inch by inch, until he bottomed out. “Gonna take care of you. Gonna go slow.”

Ian felt so fucking full. “Jesus,” Ian croaked, voice tight. “You’re big, Mick.”

“You’re takin’ it like a champ,” Mickey smiled, pressing their foreheads together. Mickey didn’t move for a long moment. He pressed soft kisses to Ian’s neck, his shoulders, his mouth, as Ian got used to his size.

“Move,” Ian said, finally. 

Mickey did, slowly at first. He eased out just a bit and sunk back in gently, watching Ian’s face for any signs of pain.

“You feel fuckin’ incredible,” he moaned into Ian’s ear.

Ian parted his mouth, adjusting surprisingly quickly to the new sensation, his discomfort giving way to pleasure.

“Fuck, Mickey,” he cried, clutching at the man’s arms to ground himself. “So good. Please.”

Something about Ian’s strained, broken voice pleading for Mickey’s cock broke something loose inside of Mickey. He started to move with more confidence, rocking his hips into Ian a little more quickly now. Mickey wouldn’t last long, he knew.

“Holy shit,” Ian cried out, tangling his hands into Mickey’s hair. “Please touch me, Mick. Fuck.”

Mickey happily complied, taking Ian’s leaking cock in his hand and matching his strokes with his thrusts. Their bodies moved together like they were made for each other.

“Not gonna last,” Mickey choked, tugging desperately at Ian’s cock. Wanting to make him feel so good.

“Me either,” Ian panted. “You can come, Mickey. Want you to come.”

And that was all Mickey needed. His hips sputtered and he spilled into the condom, a satisfied groan on his lips. 

He took a second to catch his breath and began to remove himself from Ian, but Ian caught his hand. 

“Stay,” he whispered. “Want you to still be inside of me when I come.”

“That’s so fuckin’ hot,” Mickey whispered as he continued stroking Ian’s length. Ian’s leaking cock glistened in the sunlight streaming through the window. Ian was so hard.

So hard.

“Glad it was you,” Ian panted. “Inside me for the first time.”

Mickey leaned into Ian’s ear and sucked the man’s earlobe into his mouth, tugging at it with his teeth. “I love how perfectly my cock fits inside of you.”

It wasn’t a confession. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear, but just to hear the word ‘love’ leave Mickey’s lips sent him straight over the edge.

Ian bucked into Mickey’s hand, crying out as he came. He closed his eyes, seeing stars.

It was Mickey. Mickey who made him feel so good, Mickey who held him so expertly in his arms, and Mickey who made him feel so warm. So safe.

“Fuck,” Ian breathed, catching his breath. “Just…fuck.”

“Stay here,” Mickey said, more of a request than a demand. “Let me take care of you.”

Mickey pulled himself out of Ian. Ian winced at the loss, suddenly feeling so empty.

“Be right back,” he promised. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Ian smiled at that. Where would he go?

Mickey returned moments later with a wet rag, which he used to clean Ian off. They didn’t speak. They didn’t redress. Mickey simply turned off the light and pulled Ian into his arms, lulling him into the most restful sleep he’d had in a while.

***

Ian awoke several hours later, the clock on Mickey’s nightstand reading 11:18PM. 

He slipped out of Mickey’s warm arms, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead and redressing quietly.

As he drove home to the South Side, he told himself that if this was the last time, it had been perfect.

Chapter Text

Ian tugged on his black suit jacket, looking at himself in his bathroom mirror. He looked…alright. He had bags under his eyes, but at least he was clean. 

He’d scrubbed himself raw in the shower, brushed his teeth, and even put some product in his unruly red hair. But there was nothing he could do to erase his sleepless nights from his face. 

He wasn’t sure if he’d make it inside the funeral home to pay his respects to Mrs. Springs, but he was going to try. Even if he just ended up sitting in the parking lot, he would try. 

After all the comfort and support she had given Ian over the past year, didn’t she deserve that?

Fiona had offered to come with him today, but he’d told her he’d rather go alone. That wasn’t quite true. But the only person that Ian really wanted to accompany him today was probably attending meetings on the North Side with a boot on his foot. 

They hadn’t spoken since that night. 

God, that night. 

He had felt Mickey for days after. The soft burn when he walked had gone away after a day or so and the gorgeous little finger shaped bruises on his hips were fading now. But Ian thought he’d remember that night forever. 

At least he hoped he would. 

“Alright, Gallagher,” he addressed himself in the mirror. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

The drive to the funeral home wasn’t long, but Ian took a detour before making his way there. 

He walked into the office of Timothy and Irene’s wrapped in nerves. He had maybe, possibly, kind of been ignoring Irene’s calls since the disastrous incident with Mr. John. Irene was on the phone when he entered.

“Yes, but this is the second time your invoice has been paid late. So I’m going to need you to-”

She saw him then, standing in the doorway and looking like a child who had done something wrong.

“Let me call you back,” Irene said, slamming the phone down and speed walking around the counter until she was standing right in front of the red head. She was much shorter than him, but she looked up at him with such a maternal, angry look that Ian felt himself shrink under her glare. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” She asked, crossing her arms. “Do you know how many times I’ve called you?”

46. Not that Ian had been counting. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. And he really was. “I know I probably put the company in a bad place by taking so much time off.”

Irene reached out and slapped his shoulder. Hard. Fuck. The tiny woman had quite an arm. 

“I don’t give a shit about the company,” Irene exclaimed. “I care about you, Ian. We had no idea where you were or if you were okay. Do you know how that feels?”

And yeah. He did. It was a horrible thing he’d done, leaving Irene hanging like that when he himself had spent an unbearable week in limbo thinking of nothing but Mrs. Springs and Mickey. 

“I was going to open your employee file and start calling emergency contacts if I didn’t hear from you today,” Irene continued. She reached out and pulled him into a hug, her head falling into his chest. 

“Sorry I made you worry,” he said, patting Irene’s back. 

“Don’t do it again, kid,” Irene said into his chest, her words muffled.

He promised he wouldn’t.

“And I’m sorry about Abigail Springs,” she continued, pulling away from their embrace. “Her son called and let me know. I know you were close.”

Ian simply nodded. 

“Do you want to explain what happened with John Spencer while you’re here?” She asked. “Because I’m sure your version of events will be different than his.”

Turns out, John had called Irene while standing on the side of the road after Ian had kicked him out of the suburban. He’d told her that Ian had verbally assaulted him out of nowhere and forced him to get out and walk. 

“Prick was going on and on about being gay. If I heard another ‘faggot’ come from my backseat I probably would have run us both into a tree. So I told him to fuck off.”

Irene pursed her lips. “I figured it was something like that. I assigned the asshole to Anna after your blow up. She drove him one time and threatened to quit.”

“Poor Anna,” Ian commented. The woman really was too sweet for her own good.

“Needless to say, we dropped him as a client.”

Ian was flabbergasted. “We…what?”

Mr. John was incredibly wealthy and influential in the city. Ian could only imagine the backlash Irene would receive for dropping him as a client completely.

“I don’t let people talk to my employees like they’re nothing, Ian. I knew the guy was an ass, but I wish you would have told me.”

And really, Ian was learning. He was learning that he didn’t always have to bear the burden of every bad thing on his shoulders by himself.

He hoped that one day, wherever he was, Mickey would learn that too.

***

The parking lot of the funeral home was nearly empty, and the thought that Mrs. Springs wouldn’t have a full house to mourn her death and celebrate her life made Ian’s heart hurt.

He had to go in. Had to be present in the same room as the old woman just one more time.

Had to tell her ‘thank you’ for all the good she’d done in his life. 

The funeral home was a small, brick building with a cracking sidewalk and green shrubs lining the walkway to the front door. A young, skinny man in an oversized black suit smiled at him as he approached. 

“Are you here for Abigail Springs?” He asked, looking more and more like a child playing dress up in his father’s closet the closer Ian got to him.

“I am,” Ian confirmed.

“My condolences,” he said, opening the door for Ian to enter. God, Ian wondered many times the poor guy was forced to say that in a day.

The funeral home smelled unnaturally clean, almost like they were overcompensating for the stench of death that probably encased the place. It looked even smaller on the inside. It was really just a room with folding chairs set up in front of a sleek, dark colored casket. A portrait of Mrs. Springs, clearly from much earlier in her life, sat next to the casket, surrounded by flowers.

Mrs. Springs really had been beautiful.

The funeral home was nearly empty, lone mourners scattered throughout the room.

Thomas sat in front of the casket, a pretty blonde woman glued to his side. 

Must be his wife, Ian thought.

Ian crossed the room in just a few strides of his long legs, tapping Thomas on the shoulder. As angry as he was with the guy for giving Mrs. Springs so little attention, he had just lost his mother.

“Hey,” Ian greeted. “Sorry for your loss.”

Thomas’s eyes were red rimmed as he looked up at Ian. Once he recognized the red head, he stood. 

“Ian,” he said, clearly surprised to see him. “Thank you so much for coming. I think…I know that my mom would have wanted you here.”

Ian cleared his throat. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he murmured. 

“Here,” Thomas began. “Come see her.”

Ian had never seen a dead body before, not even an accidental death-on-the-side-of-the-road or overdose-under-the-L that was so common on the South Side. So he was surprised to see how peaceful Mrs. Springs looked, laying so still in her casket. Her face had been painted heavily with makeup and she was dressed in her Sunday best, a delicate strand of pearls covering her neck.

Her hands had been positioned on her stomach. And Ian thought that if he tried really, really hard, he might be able to convince himself that his friend was just sleeping. 

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Thomas asked, red rimmed eyes focused on his mother.

“Stunning,” Ian whispered.

“I’ll give you some time with her,” Thomas said, and then he returned to his seat, leaving Ian alone with Mrs. Springs for the very last time. 

Ian didn’t move at first, unsure of what to do and what to say. He’d made Mrs. Springs so many promises in her little hospital room that he would never be able to fulfill. He’d never be able to visit her on weekends. He’d never be able to stay for tea on Wednesdays. He’d never be able to take care of her.

But there was one thing Ian could do that would make his friend happy, he knew.

Ian bent down and brushed a sweeping kiss to the old woman’s forehead. “Goodbye, Abigail,” he breathed. “Thank you for everything.” 

He didn’t cry as he made his way to the center of the seating area, choosing a chair about halfway between Mrs. Springs and the exit. He’d never been much of a crier, even when he was a kid.

He felt things wholly and fully and deeply, but those emotions didn’t often bring tears to his eyes.

Ian sat there for a while, watching as a few more strangers came up to pay their respects to Mrs. Springs.  A few of them wore scrubs, so he wondered if they had taken care of the old woman in the hospital. It must be so trying to watch life fade out of people that you grow to know and love every single day, Ian thought.

After about fifteen minutes, Thomas stood and welcomed the small group of people, thanking them for traveling to pay their respects to his mother. Just as he began to recount one of his favorite childhood stories, Ian felt a hand on his shoulder.

“This seat taken?” Asked the most beautiful voice that Ian had ever heard. 

No fucking way. It just couldn’t be. Yet, as Ian turned around, he saw that it was.

“Mickey?” He asked, eyes growing wide. The man wore a simple black suit, more casual than what he wore for work. His hair had been combed back and his facial hair had been shaved, but Ian couldn’t help but notice that the man’s eyes looked tired.

Just like Ian’s. 

“What are you doing here?”

Mickey claimed the empty seat next to Ian. “Couldn’t let you do this alone, Red.”

Mickey sat next to Ian, listening intently as Thomas told story after story about his mother. The pair even chuckled as he recounted a story where Mrs. Springs had shaved Thomas bald after he’d fallen asleep with gum in his mouth.

He felt safe with Mickey there by his side. Warm. And he leaned into his touch when the man reached over and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. 

Maybe it meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, but to Ian, in this very moment, it meant everything. 

He and Mickey exited the funeral service hand in hand once it had reached its conclusion, the dark haired man walking him to the suburban, boot clunking on the asphalt as they went. 

“Thanks for coming,” Ian said, leaning up against the SUV’s sleek exterior. “Didn’t have to.”

Mickey scoffed. “Course I did, asshole. You think I was gonna let you sit through this by yourself?”

“If you say so,” Ian deadpanned. And then, before he could stop himself, “You let me do everything else by myself these past few weeks.”

Mickey sighed. “Guess I deserved that,” he said.

“I’d say so,” Ian grumped.

“Look,” Mickey started. “Can we sit for a minute? To talk?”

So the pair climbed into the suburban, Ian behind the wheel and Mickey in the passenger seat. It felt so normal, so familiar. 

They sat there for a minute, not saying a word, just simply existing together in the same space.

“So you a bottom now?” Mickey asked, breaking the silence.

Ian couldn't help but laugh. “Nah,” he said. “You were great and all, but that was kind of a special circumstance.” 

Mickey smiled. “I aim to please.” 

God. That smile.

“So how have you been?” Mickey asked.

“Fine, I guess. As good as you can expect after…everything,” Ian hesitated.

“Good. That’s good. So, uh, how has work been?”

And fuck. Why was Mickey here? Why were they making small talk in his car like they weren’t both losing sleep over each other? What were they doing?

“Did you come here to ask me about work?” Ian grumbled. “Because I feel like the parking lot of a funeral home would be last on my list for locations for us to have that discussion.”

“No,” Mickey ran a hand through his hair, the way he often did when he was nervous. “I told you, I came here because-”

“Because you couldn’t let me sit through the funeral alone,” Ian interrupted. “But the funeral is over now. So why are you still here?”

Mickey picked at his fingernails. “Mandy told me she went over to your place. That she told you about…some of the stuff that happened when we were kids.”

Ian nodded. “Yeah,” he said, allowing his voice to soften a bit. “That’s horrible, what you guys went through.” 

“Terry fucked me up so bad, man,” Mickey went on. “And the bastard has been dead for a long time now, but every time I try to care about someone, it’s like he’s right there in my ear. Telling me that he’ll hurt everyone I care about.”

Ian remained silent, letting Mickey talk.

“After I left that night. After…after you told me that you…that you loved me. I just kept thinking that someone, anyone, would swoop in and hurt you the way that Terry hurt Mandy. The way that he hurt that kid.”

Mickey’s voice was rising in volume, his words growing more urgent.

“But I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. And then you came over that night and god, it felt so good. Not just the sex, but just being with you. And then I woke up, Ian. And you were fuckin’ gone and I just felt so empty and I think that’s when I realized.”

“Realized?”

“Realized that I love you too. I fuckin’ love you, man.”

And then Mickey was kissing him. And for the first time in a long time, Ian felt like he could breathe. 

I love you too.

I love you too.

I love you too.

Ian pulled back. Not because he wanted to, but because he needed Mickey to tell him that he was his. Needed to hear him say it.

“What does this mean?” He asked, looking at Mickey’s kiss swollen lips. “For us?”

Mickey looked down. “I don’t know,” he began. “I can’t promise that I’ll be a….a perfect boyfriend or whatever. Probably still be an asshole half the time, and maybe it’ll take some getting used to. But fuck, I’ll work on it, Ian. Do anything to be with you, man.”

And so would Ian.

He pressed his lips to Mickey’s again, this time with much less urgency. 

Because they really had all the time in the world, didn’t they?

A knock sounded on Ian’s window.

“Fuck,” Mickey jumped. Ian whipped his head around. Thomas was standing outside of the suburban, peering into Ian’s partially tinted windows.

“That the guy from inside?” Mickey asked.

“Yeah,” Ian answered. “Just, uh, give me a minute.”

Ian opened the driver’s side door and slipped out of his seat. Thomas caught a glance of Mickey and gave him a friendly wave before Ian closed the door of the vehicle.

“Sorry if I interrupted anything,” Thomas apologized. “It’s just, you left so fast and I needed to talk to you .”

Ian was confused. What could Thomas possibly have to say to him now? Mrs. Springs, the only connection the two men had, was gone. In Ian’s eyes, there was nothing left to say.

“About what?” He questioned.

“I wanted to start by, uh,” Thomas cleared his throat. “By thanking you. For being here. And for taking care of my mom when I wasn’t around.”

Ian didn’t need to be thanked for this. “It was the right thing to do,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Thomas agreed. “And I also wanted to tell you that you were right, the other week when you told me I didn’t…I didn’t know shit about my mother.”

“That was a fucked up thing for me to say,” Ian confessed. “I shouldn’t have said it.”

“No,” Thomas continued. “No. You were absolutely right. I didn’t know her. But you did, and I just can’t thank you enough for that.”

Maybe Ian could please the man by agreeing with him. Maybe that would satiate him enough for this awkward conversation to end.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “You’re welcome. And I really am sorry for your loss.”

Ian reached for the handle of the suburban. 

“Wait,” Thomas urged. “Please. There’s one more thing.”

Fuck, what else could there possibly be to talk about?

“My wife and I sat down with my mom’s estate attorney a few days ago to go over everything. Her belongings, her accounts, her house. That kind of thing.”

“Okay,” Ian acknowledged. But what did this have to do with him?

“And she left it to you, Ian.”

Ian was confused.

“Left what to me?”

“The house,” Thomas clarified. “It’s yours.”

Oh.

Oh.

No. This had to be a mistake.

“I don’t understand,” Ian sputtered. “That doesn’t make sense. Maybe you read it wrong.”

Thomas laughed. “It would be pretty hard to misinterpret ‘I leave my house to Ian Gallagher,’ don’t you think?”

Ian wondered why Thomas didn’t seem angry. His mother had left her most valuable asset to a near stranger instead of her son. Shouldn’t he be mad? Livid, even?

“I’m really sorry,” Ian apologized. “I promise, I had no idea. Maybe I can like…sign it over to you or something? Not really sure how that shit works.”

Thomas shook his head, as though Ian wasn’t understanding.

“I don’t mean to sound full of myself, Ian,” he began. “But I’m a medical professional and I live states away. This house would sit here and collect dust if I took it. She wanted you to have it…so I want you to have it. Okay?”

And Ian really couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Mrs. Springs had left him, her driver, her home? Her beautiful yellow cottage where they shared tea and she listened to him? It was all his? 

“That is, if you want it,” Thomas promoted. 

Fuck. Fuck, of course he wanted it. Of course he did. 

“Yes,” he choked. “Yes, I want it.”

“Great,” Thomas said. “Look, I have your number. I’ll give you a call tomorrow and we can get everything squared away.” 

Ian simply nodded, the English language completely evading him. 

“And thank you again for coming, Ian. I know it meant the world to her.”

Thomas walked away then, returning to the funeral home, his wife, and his mother’s casket. 

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve the honor of Mrs. Springs’ home. He’d done his job. He’d treated her like a person.

He’d been her friend.

Ian wrenched open the door of the suburban, elated to tell his boyfriend the news.

Chapter Text

Ian had been unpacking boxes for nearly a month, but he finally felt completely moved in. His clothes were tidily put away in the master bedroom, his toiletries were placed above the bathroom sink, and his meds were on the kitchen counter.

When he’d told Mickey about his bipolar disorder a few weeks back, he was terrified that it would ruin the relationship they had built since their unorthodox reunion at Mrs. Springs’ funeral. But Mickey always had a way of surprising him, it seemed.

“Cool,” he’d said. “Let me know if you’re ever feelin’ off, okay? Now can you please pass me the goddamn mayonnaise? I’ve asked you three times.”

Now, as he looked around the quaint little cottage, he couldn’t help but feel like he had stumbled into someone else’s life. Poor boys from the South Side didn’t live lives like this, he thought. Surely this was a dream.

As Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian from behind, he realized that he wasn’t dreaming.

“Hey,” Mickey greeted, kissing Ian’s neck. “Just because you have this house now doesn’t mean I don’t still expect some ‘backseat of the car’ blowjobs.”

Mickey wasn’t wearing the boot anymore. He was completely healed, but he’d tell anyone that would listen that his broken foot was the best thing to ever happen to him. 

It had given him Ian.

Ian turned around, wrapping his arms around Mickey, gripping at his ass. “We can still do lots of things in the backseat of the car,” he promised, bending down to capture his lips in a kiss.

“Can you not fuckin’ hump in the kitchen?” Mandy scolded, placing a tray of appetizers on the counter. “This is where people eat, you know.”

Ian smiled. “Oh, I fully plan to defile your brother on every surface of this house tonight.”

“Starting with the kitchen,” Mickey agreed.

Mandy rolled her eyes. “That poor old lady. Gave her house to a pair of fuckin’ amateur porn stars.”

Ian’s family arrived in one giant pack. They stepped into the cottage for the first time, completely awestruck at Ian’s good fortune.

“This is amazing, sweet face,” Fiona complimented, pressing a hug into his side. “I’m so proud of you.”

“And you all remember Mickey,” Ian said. “He’s my…uh, well…he’s-”

“I’m his boyfriend,” Mickey said, stepping forward to greet the crew of Gallaghers. “Good to see you all again.”

“Likewise,” Lip responded, giving Ian a knowing look and a brotherly punch on the arm for good measure.

The Gallaghers dispersed throughout the house. Carl and Liam claimed the living room couch, fighting over who would take the first turn on Mickey’s PlayStation. He’d set it up in Ian’s living room instead of his own, explaining that he’d probably hang out at Ian’s place most nights anyway.

Debbie and Tami were enthralled with the master bathroom, eyeballing the claw foot tub.

Lip held Freddie on his knee and bounced him at the kitchen table.

Fiona just circled around the home again and again, so happy and proud of her brother’s good fortune.

Franny ran directly into Mickey’s arms.

“Uncle Mickey!” She cried. “You don’t have a band aid on your foot anymore!”

“Sure don’t,” he laughed. She started to ask him if he would tell her more stories. He had promised, after all.

But then…then she saw Mandy.

Franny audibly gasped. “Uncle Mickey,” she whispered, in that adorable little kid way that isn’t really a whisper at all. “That’s Princess Seraphina.”

Mandy waved.

“Gotta tell ya a secret, kid,” Mickey said. “Princess Seraphina is my little sister.”

And that was all the attention that Mickey would get from the tiny redhead. She squirmed away from him and ran up to Mandy, wrapping her legs in a hug.

“Don’t worry,” Ian laughed. “You’re still my favorite Milkovich.”

After the last Gallagher guest had gone, and after Mandy had been pushed out of the front door by her brother, Mickey practically dragged Ian into the bedroom. 

“Thought we were gonna start with the kitchen surfaces,” Ian laughed as Mickey pulled at his belt buckle.

“Wanna start here,” he said. “Kitchen can be round two.”

And it was. The kitchen was round two, the living room was round three, and the bathroom was round four.

But his favorite round was their romp in the suburban later that evening.

The place where it had all started.

Ian had always loved driving.