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The apartment’s quiet. Too quiet.
No TV, no music, just the low hum of the fridge and the occasional thumping from the next-door neighbours. Mickey’s on the couch, scrolling through shit he’s not really reading.
Ian’s in the kitchen, not slamming things around like he did earlier, just…there. Doing something. Avoiding. They haven’t said more than two words since the fight they had in the car. Mickey’s not even sure what started it anymore. Something about the job, or the hours, or him being a dick. Probably all of it
He hears the kettle click off. A minute later, Ian sets a mug down next to him on the table. Earl Grey. Splash of milk. Exactly how he likes it.
Mickey doesn’t acknowledge it, just stares at his phone like he didn’t notice. But his hand wraps around the mug anyway. He feels the warmth heating his frigid, cold hands.
A beat later, Mickey feels the couch dip as Ian takes a seat next to him, just far enough not to touch. Wordlessly, Mickey reaches for the remote and puts on an episode of Young Royals, Ian’s current obsession that Mickey refused to partake in because he didn't wanna watch this ‘gay European shit.’
They stay like that for a while. No talking. No apology. Mickey figures that for now, this is enough. Tentatively, Ian nudges his knee towards Mickey. Just barely touching. Mickey lets him, feeling his shoulders loosen slightly from the tension he was carrying.
When Ian suddenly gets up, Mickey sits up straighter, his eyes tracking his husband's movement as he steps across the room.
“Where you going?” Mickey blurts out, heart beating in his chest, and he watches Ian disappear into their shared bedroom
Moments later, Ian emerges, this time with a thin blanket in his arms. Mickey instantly recognizes it as the overpriced piece that Ian found at Homesense, wanting to ‘spruce up their bedroom.’
Mickey cranes his neck to look right up at Ian as he quietly drops the blanket straight onto his lap, before running a hand through his soft curls without so much as a glance. He expects him to say something, but he silently sits back on the couch and spreads the blanket to fit over both of them.
Mickey looks over to find Ian’s eyes stuck back to the screen in front, not even bothering to look his way. Mickey has known his husband for a very long time, and he knows exactly what this is. A silent protest.
Well, if Ian thinks that Mickey is going to entertain this, he’s mistaken. As if his soft touch and small attention to detail were going to break Mickey. Fuck that. If Ian wants to sit there and pout like a child, then so be it. They can sit here in silence for all he cares.
Mickey scowls deeper, crossing his arms across his chest and sinking back further into the couch, not even pretending to watch whatever is on the screen.
A minute goes by. Then another 5.
“Fuck you,” Mickey says suddenly. He looks at Ian, who continues to watch whatever bullshit is on the screen, as if he didn’t hear anything. He shuffles a bit on the couch, moving the blanket higher on his chest and his leg further away from Mickey.
Mickey already misses his touch. He clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to reach out for him. A moment later, he hears a faint sigh and notices Ian’s mouth twinge slightly downwards. He’s upset.
Fuck it. Fine, he’ll let him win this one.
“Sorry,” Mickey mutters quietly. His eyes focused on the ground in front of him. He hears the noise from the TV pause, but still no response.
“For you know...”, Mickey continues, “being a dick earlier, long day shouldn't have taken it out on you.”
Ian hums in response, “You called me a ‘shit-for-brains bitch’ , he quotes with slight amusement.
Mickey can feel his lips purse into a pout as he glares at the floor underneath like it personally offended him, “Yeah… didn't mean it.”
Mickey feels Ian shift, and then a big, strong hand comes up to lightly grip one of his thighs,“I’m sorry, too.” Ian responds. Mickey forces his head back up to find Ian with a soft smile on his face, his eyes shining bright from the lamp on the table beside him.
“Come here,” Ian states, his hand moving up to Mickey’s shoulder, lightly urging him towards his chest. His touch and gaze are gentle, as if he’s handling something precious. As if Mickey’s something precious.
Suddenly, Mickey feels the urge to shove away. To make a fuss, to tell Ian to fuck off and go hide somewhere. Just a couple of years ago, he would have. But now, he feels the weight of his wedding band on his finger, feels his husband's attention on him. Not pushing, but waiting patiently. Mickey’s reminded that he’s not 16 anymore, that he’s a grown man. That no one can hurt him. That Ian won’t leave, no matter how much he pushes back.
Almost involuntarily, his body moves closer to Ian, and he feels an arm coming across his lower back as he settles his head in the crook of Ian’s neck. As if they’re two magnets, fated to come together time and time again. Whether they like it or not.
“Clingy bitch,” Mickey eventually blurts out, coming out way softer than he meant it to be. He feels Ian let out a huff of amusement.
“So, are we going to talk about it?” Ian says, pulling away slightly from Mickey and caressing the back of his head affectionately
Mickey should have seen this coming. Of course, Ian can’t just move on from anything these days. Always stressing the importance of ‘communicating’ and ‘understanding each other's feelings’
Mickey slips his hand underneath Ian’s shirt, letting it rest on the toned chest. “Or we could do something else,” Mickey responds, dragging his hand further down until it slips just underneath the elastic band of Ian’s boxers.
Ian suddenly grabs his wrist, holding it with a tight grip. “Mick...” he says sternly. Mickey rolls his eyes in return and lets his hand move back up.
“There’s nothing to talk about, just a long day. I got bitchy, and then you got bitchy. Let's just bang it out,” Mickey says, not wanting this conversation to delve any further.
“You were fine the whole day until it came to our last delivery,” Ian questions, with a raised eyebrow. Because, of course, no one knew him better and paid more attention to him than the man sitting right in front of him.
“Just drop it,” Mickey argues back, scowling up at him, suddenly back in a bad mood as he recounts why he got mad in the first place.
“Mick, just tell me what got you so worked up,” Ian asks, running a soothing hand up and down his thigh. “Come on, baby, I can’t fix anything if you don’t tell me.”
Mickey lets out a sigh. His eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “It was just—the guy there pissed me off.”
Ian tilts his head in confusion. “You mean Jason?”
“Yeah, fucking Jason.” Mickey scowls, pulling slightly away from Ian and crossing his arms. “Fucker walks around like he invented oxygen, and you just laugh at all his dumbass stories.”
Ian simply shrugs in response, “He's a nice guy, we have a lot in common.”
“Why don’t you go fuck him then?” Mickey snaps.
“Oh”, Ian replies, like he’s finally connected the dots, before throwing his head back and letting out a laugh, clearly finding amusement in Mickey’s distress.
Mickey’s scowl runs deeper. “Fuck off.”
Ian grabs at the wrist before he can get any further away. “No, Mick, I’m sorry, I just really think you’re reading this wrong,” Ian says lightheartedly.
Mickey looks back at Ian and clenches his jaw. “Please, he was staring at you like you hung the fuckin’ moon, and you were just standing there like you were about to bend him over.”
Just like that, that soft gaze is back in Ian’s eyes as he brings his hand up to gently hold Mickey's face, caressing his cheekbones with his thumb.“Baby, you have nothing to worry about. I won't even talk to him next time.”
Ian brings his thumb down to touch lightly at his bottom lip before capturing it with his mouth in a soft kiss. No matter how many times Mickey kisses his man, it always feels the same. Like he’s coming home.
“Whatever,” Mickey says as Ian pulls back. “Next time, imma just knock his teeth out.”
“You wanna know something?” Ian says in a gravelly voice, biting his lip lightly. To which Mickey replies with a raised eyebrow
Ian picks up Mickey’s hand and places it right over his crotch. Mickey instinctively presses down, feeling Ian get harder at his touch. “I’ve always kinda had a thing for when you get all jealous.”
Mickey can't help the smile that graces his face. “You’re a freak, man.”
“Your freak,” Ian replies, pushing Mickey down on the couch before capturing his lips.
Mickey lets out a quiet snort, arms looping lazily around Ian’s waist as they sink into the cushions, “Yeah..I know.”