TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE. NOT ROMANTIC BUT THEY CHAT AND STUFF. I’M AWARE I’M GOING TO HELL.... Read more
If anyone asks, Mickey just tripped and fell against Ian’s mouth. Repeatedly. Then fell over with him.
Not that anyone’s going to ask, but if they do, that’s the story Mickey plans on sticking with before bashing the inquiring kid in the head so he forgets he heard or saw anything. Mickey hates having to be careful. He skulks around all day and feels like shit whenever he’s in a crowd. He wants to lash out and punch the laughing morons who surround him and go to a corner where there’s absolutely no one and just stand there until he feels alright again.
Ian calms him down like that too but it’s really fucking gay to ask a guy to just come lay with you for twenty minutes so you can clear your head long enough to fucking focus so he doesn’t. He locks his bedroom door and sits on his mattress for a few moments before Mandy’s banging on the door and telling him to rejoin the party. He calls her a shitdick and tells her to leave him alone.
He can still hear the music and the drunken laughter but isn’t interrupted for another ten minutes. When there’s a knock he wrenches open the door, prepared to cuss Mandy out but comes face-to-face with the fucking asshole on his mind.
“Dude, I gotta piss.” Ian says and shoves past him.
That’s an excuse, of course. When the doors shut and locked Ian lays on Mickey’s bed, hands flopping behind his head. “I am so drunk.” He mumbles.
Mickey can tell because Ian never just lays on his bed without some sort of invitation. He knows how anxious Mickey gets over any sort of semblance that Ian’s starting to get comfortable.
“How drunk?” Mickey asks.
“I’ll be out in like ten minutes.” Ian mumbles. “Don’t push me off the bed, it’s so comfo—comf—nice.” Ian can’t even talk normally. His speech is stunted and slurred.
Mickey uses this as an opportunity. He straddles Ian swiftly and the boy has his hands on Mickey’s hip, a slight sigh escaping his mouth quickly as Mickey settles his weight on top of the boy.
Ian won’t remember it, so Mickey kisses him.
He holds his face and waits till Ian opens his mouth.
Ian sighs again and it’s a tired sound.
Mickey feels hands gripping at his ass as his heart rate begins to pick up, as his mind clears he hears Ian moan.
All too quickly he feels better and pulls away.
Ian just threw a wadded up pair of socks at Mickey. He knew he meant to grab the plastic snow globe sitting beside the socks but in his rage he ended up throwing the socks. The socks don’t match and aren’t actually folded up together, they’re the socks Mickey uses to wipe up his…well, yeah. Don’t judge, you don’t know tired until you’ve experienced having just zip bam boomed and have nothing around ya but a mangled duo of socks and hell, that’s better than nothing.
Mickey’s been meaning to toss the socks in the laundry. They hit him in the face and it makes him angrier than Ian understands because he doesn’t know that he just threw Mickey’s cum-sock at his face.
That just makes him yell louder. Ian’s pissed Mickey stood him up the other night. Turns out it had been three months since Mickey had been in trouble with any sort of authority figure and it was also sort of their one-year-oh-hey-you’re-gay-too-let’s-fuck-not-fight if you exclude the six months in prison. Ian didn’t have to tell Mickey, he had been counting down towards it.
He wanted to see if Ian would do anything and sure enough the kid invited him over to his house. His house of all places with the sixteen other lunatics that lived there and the crazy neighbors and that fucking Karen girl skulking around with Lip. They’d probably stare and make jokes and Mickey wasn’t prepared.
The next day Ian had shown up. Apparently Fiona had made lasagna and Lip promised to be on his best behavior. Mickey didn’t know how many people knew about his little arrangement with Ian but lately it seemed that more and more were popping up on his growing hit list.
He shouted at Ian who shoved him against the door. Mickey shoved him back, and Ian’s eyes flamed.
And yeah, maybe Mickey was a day late but he made sure to get Ian on his bed and nearly recreate that first encounter.
He’s smoking his tenth cigarette, sitting on a swing in the park six blocks over from his house.
Today is the day Mickey is breaking up with Ian and he feels like he’s ready. You can’t even call it breaking up since they’re not dating, they’re just having orgasms at the same time in the same room. It doesn’t mean fucking shit, it doesn’t mean Ian makes him happy or Ian asks to see him more, there’s nothing like that at all. It’s just sex.
Mickey knows that that sort of reasoning should mean that there’s no logical reason to tell him to fuck off but the kid’s getting under his skin and Mickey’s too stubborn to admit that to himself. When he started wishing Ian would stay longer after they fucked he knew it was time for the kid to go.
He glances up at the sound of footsteps. Ian’s walking towards him, arms shoved into the pockets of his coat and arm pressed hard against his body to stop the cold from getting to the warmth underneath. His hair is windblown and when he meets MIckey’s eyes he grins and it stretches his face, his dimples poking out at the corner of his mouth and making Mickey swallow roughly.
“Hey.” Ian pipes and it’s sort of louder than necessary and he starts walking faster.
“Hey, loser.” Mickey smiles and glances around just before Ian reaches him.
No one’s around and it’s nearly six o’ clock, so he knows almost everyone’s got their shades shut. He reaches up and grabs Ian’s shirt, pulling himself off the swing and kissing Ian hard.
When he pulls back, Ian’s staring and Mickey’s nervous. He thinks maybe he’ll wait one more day to end it.
First part is in first person. I know not many people are a fan of that, but stick with it!... Read more