#but he keeps getting distracted by Mickeys eyes and lips and body during training | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oforamuse · 4 years

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sun in my eyes

it’s moments like this, when they’re alone and mickey’s walls slowly, slowly start to come down, when he smiles at one of ian’s jokes, when he opens up about something unexpected, something personal, when he passes him a cigarette to put between his lips that’s still wet from being between his, that makes it all worth it.

or, a missing moment during ian and mickey's summer together in season 2 inspired by davenzi’s first kiss // read and comment on ao3

It’s hot. It’s really fucking hot.

Ian’s exhausted and feels gross. Sticky. He barely slept at all last night - a bedroom with three sweaty boys and no working AC unit to relieve them sucks at the best of times, let alone during a hot summer night. He’d spent most of it sitting at the window with a cigarette, hoping to entice some sort of breeze their way.

It didn’t work.

Summers in Chicago are brutal. The heat, the humidity, the constant sweat dripping down the back of your shirt.

It’s unbearable.

Ian presses his forehead against the cool glass of the Kash and Grab’s drink fridge, a crate of mismatched beers resting on his hip as he takes a moment to breathe whilst restocking.

He’s there for a moment, possibly longer - in this heat he can’t tell, time moves by so fucking slowly - when Mickey slumps against the door next to him.

‘You good?’ Mickey says, his back pressed against the glass. He smells of smoke, sweat and the cheap brand of detergent the Milkoviches use, when they use it, all balled into one.

‘Hot.’ Ian groans, twisting his head away from the glass and pulling himself upwards, leaving behind a smeared sheen of sweat where his forehead had just been.

Mickey eyes him, ‘Fuckin’ gross, man.’

‘Fuck off, it’s too fucking hot.’ Ian wipes a hand across his moist forehead, already missing the cool relief from the glass of the fridge door.

He watches as Mickey pushes himself off the door and twists, pulling it open and grabbing a chilled beer from the back. He presses it against his forehead, just as Ian had done with the door, Mickey’s eyes are closed for that brief second of can against skin contact and Ian allows himself that moment to look, unbeknownst to the other man. Mickey’s got a shine on his forehead that follows down his neck, he’d been unloading boxes from a delivery just before - clearly it took it out of him. He’s wearing a threadbare tank top which sticks to his torso in a couple of places, the left side of his ribcage, his upper chest, and it’s all he can do to chew the inside of his mouth to stop him from doing something stupid like moaning out loud.

Mickey’s eyes open and he averts his gaze quickly - getting caught staring isn’t worth the shit talking afterwards. It’s easier this way, he’s learnt now, stealing his gazes secretly and in small doses.

Mickey twists the bottle cap off deftly and chugs half of it down in a single fluid motion.

‘You gonna pay for that?’ Ian asks, forcing himself to look away from the way Mickey’s throat moves as the liquid goes down. He steps past him and leans his back against the store’s counter, crossing his arms over his chest, steadying himself. ‘I’m the one who’s gonna have to make up for that.’

Mickey shrugs, and moves the bottle from his lips and burps loudly, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘Wanna get out of here?’ He asks, ignoring Ian’s question with a grin - which is pretty much what he expected, really, because Mickey likes to take his liberties where he can - especially when it comes to taking free shit from work.

Ian pulls a face at the suggestion - it catches him off guard slightly so it’s a quick reaction, but it doesn’t completely throw him off balance. He’s used to being caught off guard by Mickey these days. He shrugs and sighs, ‘We’ve got like an hour until we close up- it’ll be my ass gettin’ shit if Linda finds out we bounced.’

‘I can’t spend another minute in this shithole, I’m sweatin’ my balls off man.’

Ian scoffs, toes the line, flirts maybe, ‘Your balls seemed pretty okay an hour ago.’

An hour ago when he’d been down on his knees giving Mickey head in the back of the store’s cooler. It was too hot to fuck fuck, they soon quickly realised after a miserable attempt - two sweaty, overheated bodies are worse than one and decidedly they settled on mutual blowjobs.

Mickey swipes at his lip, ‘Whatever- there must be some sort of fuckin’ human rights violation makin’ us work in this.’

‘You want a working AC? You pay for it. Linda sure as hell won’t.’

‘Can’t be fuckin’ legal.’ Mickey grumbles, throwing the empty beer bottle in the trash with an exaggerated toss. ‘Fuckin’ criminal.’

Ian rolls his eyes and gets back to restocking shit in the fridges - there’s only a few more crates to get through anyway - then he can get back home and more importantly, the above ground pool with his name on.

It only takes another ten more minutes of sluggish working, the sweat dripping down his back doubling, for Ian to consider Mickey’s offer. Hardly anyone has stopped by the store today - they had a small barbecue rush when they first opened up, but as the day got warmer, customers coming by to pick up beer, ice or snacks dried up.

Neither one of them had bothered to unlock the door after they’d gone out back, Ian realises now and no one’s knocked in the last hour, so it’s not like there are people lining up outside wanting to spend a dollar or two. Linda’s busy with the new kid, so he knows she hasn’t been watching the cameras recently…

He drops his empty crate next to where Mickey’s situated himself at the counter - apparently given up on his jobs for the day a while ago.

‘Alright, where do you wanna go?’

Mickey looks up from where he’s been flicking through a magazine, his left eyebrow quirked upwards.

‘Changed your fuckin’ tune.’

‘Let’s just get out of here.’

They gather their shit quickly and Ian shuts everything official down, dumping the cash from the day into the safe underneath the till. He’ll double count it tomorrow. Linda won’t know.

Once they step out onto the humid street, with the store’s lights switched off, deliveries shoved to the side for tomorrow and the door locked behind them, Ian turns to Mickey.

‘Dugouts?’ He suggests, tipping his head in the direction they’d take - it’s become their usual spot this summer, they’ve spent a couple nights fucking against the chain link fence, sharing beers, cigarettes and laughs.

Mickey looks at him for a moment, considering, then says,

‘Nah man.’ shaking his head and chucking a thumb over his shoulder, ‘This way.’

He follows Mickey’s lead up the steps into the station and they jump over the turnstiles to the L, ducking onto the first train that pulls onto the platform. It’s the middle of the work day still so it’s pretty empty and somehow, by some miracle, they managed to snag a carriage with a working AC.

They don’t speak for most of the ride, Ian periodically looking up at Mickey at every stop until eventually he gets distracted from keeping track. They finally pull into a station about 20 minutes later and Mickey grunts out a gruff ‘Gallagher.’ and he has to pull himself up and out of the doors before they close.

Mickey leads them half a mile or so down a few blocks and Ian can feel the sun burning down on the exposed skin at the nape of his neck - he’ll regret his lack of sunblock later when he’s dealing with Fiona’s disapproving glare at the pinked skin, he knows it.

‘What are we doing walkin’ so far in this heat?’ Ian says, though lets it trail off as Mickey stops abruptly, pausing on the sidewalk.

They’ve stopped in front of a tall, locked metal gate with a PRIVATE PROPERTY sign hooked over the top - there’s a giant padlock on the front but a couple bars have been bent out of shape, presumably to bypass without a key. Ian looks up at it, craning his head slightly to get a good look behind. It seems like it opens into a dim shady alleyway between two buildings, even in the yellow haze of summer it gives him the creeps.

Ian’s about to ask why they fuck he brought him here when he’s stopped by Mickey pulling himself up and over the fence, the muscles working in his arms as he goes. It’s a bit clumsy and when he drops down into the alley on the other side, he loses his balance slightly but recovers quickly in his cool but cocky Mickey like fashion.

He smirks at Ian, a challenge burning in his eyes and even more so in his tone when he says, ‘You comin’?’

It’s on.

Ian drops his cigarette to the ground wordlessly and reaches up to grip the top. He hooks his foot onto one of the metal bars that’s slightly curved inwards and launches himself over the top. He drops down next to Mickey with an edge more grace than Mickey did - it’s the ROTC training in him, he quirks his eyebrow.

‘Yeah, yeah okay, tough guy -’

The nickname’s said mockingly, it’s a new one for him - appearing only recently after Mickey had got back from juvie - and something warm in his stomach, something not from the heat of the sun, bubbles at the idea that he cares enough, perhaps, to give him a nickname.

They walk down the alleyway, which to Ian’s surprise, opens up to a green, sparsely albeit, field lined with bare boned trees and trash. There’s a building in the middle of it, but from the outside Ian can tell it’s been a while since it saw round the clock action. There’s broken windows, peeling paint and graffiti tags smattering the outside walls. It’s the type of place Frank and his homeless friends probably come to get drunk- or teenagers to fuck, perhaps.

It’s probably what they’re here for, honestly.

‘Where the fuck are we?’ Ian asks as they walk closer, the building looking more and more worn as they approach. They share a cigarette, passing it slowly between them with clammy fingers.

‘Used to come here with my cousins, good place to smoke.’ Mickey says with an exhale, then drops the butt to the ground and snuffs it out with his heel, ‘Not this shit though.’

Ian pulls a face cause it seems like a pretty far place to come to smoke, but he doesn’t press the issue - fuck knows the Milkovich reasoning for things, and instead asks,

‘You got the weed?’

Mickey gives him a, of course I’ve got the fuckin weed, raised eyebrow.

He stops them at a basement level window - it’s covered up by a broken door - seemingly haphazardly placed there by whoever was here last. Mickey moves it out of the way, shoving it against the outer wall and creates just enough space for an averaged sized person to slip through the window and inside.

‘Hope you’ve got your shots.’ is all Mickey says before he drops down and slides through the low window. There’s a bit of shuffling, then he hears Mickey calls, ‘Gallagher.’

I hope the free clinic covered the shots for this shit, is what Ian thinks as he follows Mickey down into the building, landing with soft knees once he drops through.

Despite the high summer sun outside, it’s dark inside - almost too dark, and Ian fumbles for his lighter in his back pocket as Mickey leads them through the dark passages of what he assumes is the old building’s basement.

‘Too dark for ya?’

Ian kicks the back of Mickey’s knee and he buckles, losing his footing for a moment and placing his hand on the wall to steady himself.

‘Fuck you.’ Mickey says, there’s a little bite to it but he’s laughing, a light, chesty chuckle.

‘Too dark for ya?’ Ian imitates, waving the lit lighter in front of Mickey’s face, teasingly almost.

‘Fuck off.’ Mickey tosses back, exasperated almost, but fondly enough that it doesn’t sting.

It’s playful and easy, really, to exist in the thrumming energy they’ve grown between them. It’s easy to be around each other like this, when the weather is too hot to focus on anything except making dumb jokes, fucking and sharing a beer.

Like friends, friends and so much more.

He follows Mickey through the derelict rooms and hallways, up broken stairs into higher levels out of the basement. It’s lighter now, the sun comes through cracked windows and Ian gets to have a good look around. It’s dusty and there’s broken shit everywhere, but it’s pretty much been shelled out of anything that might’ve been left behind of worth - this is the Southside after all.

‘Fuckin’ long way to go just for a place to smoke, Mick.’ Ian says, voicing the thought he had earlier as he tucks the lighter back into his jeans now that he doesn’t need it.

Mickey slows as if they’re about to reach their destination and tips his head towards an open door on the other side of the hall, ‘Won’t be sayin’ that for long.’

They walk through the opening into-

A swimming pool?

The room is huge, with high ceilings, peeling walls and unfilled space, and in the middle there is a large rectangular swimming pool.

It’s empty, absolutely bone dry and clearly hasn’t been used in a long time.

‘Hottest day of the year and we are at a pool with no water.’ Ian comments as they walk around the edge - where you’d go to dump your stuff before jumping in, past the metal ladder. His voice echoes in the empty space, ‘Makes sense.’

Mickey flips him off, ‘Guess I’ll smoke this joint by myself then.’

‘This was a fucking great idea.’

They sit on the side of the pool, their legs dangling over the edge, nothing but warm air where the cool water should be.

It’s not as hot, thankfully, there’s even some sort of breeze whistling through and it cools the sweat dripping down the back of his neck. He leans back on his hands as Mickey rolls a blunt on his bent knee and checks the place out properly.

The pool walls are tiled blue - or at least they used to be, once, when this place was pristine and in regular use - but now there’s a few chipped away, leaving the walls a smattering of blue and white, it’s mismatched and worn.

Three lane dividers still hang from the shallow end to the deep, it’s hard to imagine that this place was used once, that people would come here regularly to exercise, swimming back and forth down each lane.

They talk about nonsensical things whilst they smoke, his stomach is warm and happy.

‘How’d you find this place?’ Ian asks after he exhales, placing the blunt into Mickey’s expectant fingers. He shifts on his ass, twisting to get a good look at the place.

It’s pretty fucking cool, he’s got to admit. There’s something about abandoned places, especially something as big as an empty swimming pool that fascinates him. Mickey was right, it was definitely worth the way to go just to smoke.

Mickey doesn’t answer for a moment and Ian watches out of the corner of his eye as he smokes.

Inhale, hold, exhale, inhale, hold, exhale.

Then, almost just as Ian forgot the question he asked, Mickey speaks.

‘Dad pissed me off one day. I left and I just walked.’ He sniffs, holding out the blunt for Ian to take. He’s not looking at him though, his eyes are glazed slightly and Ian doesn’t know if that’s the weed or…well, something else. ‘I kept walkin’ and I found this place.’

‘You walked the entire way over here?’

They must be at least an hour’s walk or so from Canaryville, it was a good 20 mins on the L - not the easiest walk you want to do by yourself.

‘Yeah.’

‘You come here a lot?’

‘Every now an’ then.’ Mickey says keeping his gaze fixed ahead of him, his voice is stiff, detached almost, and Ian finally, finally understands what he’s saying.

This isn’t where he comes to smoke weed with his cousins.

This is where he comes to escape. To hide.

This is where he brought Ian when he felt the need to get away, do you wanna get out of here?

Even if it was just from the stuffy, too hot store they both work at.

It’s moments like this, when they’re alone and Mickey’s walls slowly, slowly start to come down, when he smiles at one of Ian’s jokes, when he opens up about something unexpected, something personal, when he passes him a cigarette to put between his lips that’s still wet from being between his, that makes it all worth it.

Makes all the longing, all the kiss me and i’ll cut your fucking tongue out, all the brash, insistent arms length distance between the two of them worth it.

He knows deep down, no matter how ridiculous it may seem, one day it’ll be worth it.

Mickey’s vulnerable in that moment, guard down and beautifully open.

They’re in this weird, weed, emotion, heat heavy haze. The tension is thick and Ian feels the urge to press in closer, despite the temperature, to touch, to comfort, to get them both off, perhaps, but the moment breaks when Mickey pushes himself off the pool’s side and drops down to the tiled floor, right into where the water should be.

Ian quickly takes one last toke before stubbing the joint out, holding the weed in his lungs, his throat, and only exhaling as he drops down to meet Mickey on the pool floor.

Mickey elbows Ian in the ribs, kicking things off and they spend a few minutes chasing each other up and down the empty pool, swinging off the hanging lane dividers like kids. It’s sloped from the deep end to the shallow, so it’s more work than it looks and Mickey ends up doubled over in the deep end, catching his breath.

‘Too fuckin’ hot for that.’

‘You started it.’ Ian points out, a smug grin plastered on his face because he knows he’s faster than Mickey, could outrun him too and that’s more likely the reason Mickey wants to stop.

‘Whatever.’

‘We’re actually underwater right now.’ Ian says, feeling a little high, it’s dumb but he’s enjoying himself. The after effects of the weed buzzing warmly through his veins and perhaps there’s something more, perhaps it’s the effects of them.

He feels light, lighter than he has done in a while.

‘Shut the fuck up.’ Mickey rolls his eyes, his tone is playful though and he smirks, bringing the blunt back up to his lips. He’s amused - and just knowing that he’s the source of Mickey’s amusement, he can make Mickey laugh, gives him the push to keep going.

‘No- we are , look-’ Ian says with a chuckle, he points up towards the peeling sign above their heads that says WATER LEVEL on the tiled wall. He does this dumb movement with his arms, like he’s swimming or something, it’s goofy, but Ian doesn’t care, ‘That means we can’t breathe right now.’

‘Yeah okay- that weed got to your head.’ Mickey says, pushing himself up off the wall. ‘No more for you.’

‘Bet I can hold my breath longer than you.’

‘The fuck are you talkin’ about, man.’

‘Bet I can hold my breath longer than you can.’ It’s flirty, Ian knows it, Mickey knows it.

Ian knows he’s toeing the line of what’s acceptable and what’s not. It’s a dangerous game to play, one wrong move could send Mickey running. He’s feeling lucky.

There’s something in Mickey’s eyes and Ian wonders if the weed is getting to him too.

Or if it’s something else.

‘Yeah, yeah, okay.’

Ian pushes.

‘Let’s see then’

‘You kiddin’ me.’

‘What? Afraid you’ll lose?’ Ian smirks, he knows the way to get Mickey to play along is to test the waters of how far his ego will go.

‘Fuck off.’

They take an exaggerated deep breath at the exact same time, their cheeks inflated like they’re in some Nickelodeon cartoon.

Mickey breaks after a handful of seconds - can’t be more than 7 maximum, and Ian barks out a laugh.

‘Ha!’ He claps his hands together, ‘I told you.’

‘Fuckin’ rematch.’

‘Yeah, yeah, okay.’ Ian mocks, echoing Mickey’s earlier words. He picks up on it too, if the curved corner of his mouth is anything to go by.

They take a deep breath together again, and Mickey’s eyes are teasing, almost.

He looks so fucking good in this light, even with the shitty beard he’s trying to grow. The bright, summer evening sun beams through a broken window on the ceiling, casting a warm glow on Mickey’s face. It’s fucking ethereal.

It occurs to Ian, Mickey all playful and soft edged in the humidity and heat, at ease, that he could kiss him right now.

Wants to kiss him right now.

Wants to kiss him right now more than fucking anything.

He could step forward, press his lips to Mickey’s and deal with the consequences later. Take what he so desperately wants.

Give Mickey what he knows he wants.

Wants but will never let himself have.

Maybe. One day.

He doesn’t though. Instead, the thought catches him so off guard, distracted by the what ifs and what could possibly be, that the breath he’s been holding falls out of his mouth in a dramatic, breathy, ‘Fuck.’

Mickey holds his for a split second longer then lets out a triumphant noise, fist pumping the air for good measure when he exhales.

‘Beat you, bitch.’

The utter cocky glee on Mickey’s face makes him feel like he can fly or some shit - right out the building and into the sky. Then suddenly they’re laughing, full out body wracking laughing, it’s the weed, it’s them and they’re moving closer and closer - this is the way it goes with them, heat be damned. They’ll quickly move on to shirts off, pants down, Mickey bent forward-

There’s the bark of a dog.

They freeze. Mickey even has his hands on his belt, ready-

‘Hey! You two!’ A voice bellows and it echoes, bouncing off of the walls, cringing into their skin. Their heads snap up towards the intruder and they’re greeted by a red faced security guard and his massive dog on a leash.

It’s a fucking angry looking dog.

They book it, only stopping for a millisecond for Mickey to scoop up the rest of their stash, then they’re off, running as quickly as they can, dodging their way through the building’s twisted hallways and empty rooms.

They laugh the entire time, stumbling into each other as they scramble through the window and out onto the field.

The dog’s bark can still be heard behind them so they don’t stop, their feet pounding the dry, yellowed grass, their breath falling out in heavy and exhausted puffs.

‘Fuckin’ asshole!’ Mickey shouts over his shoulder, his voice carrying in the muggy air, picking up his speed now they’re in view of the fence.

His voice, the warm sun, the blood pumping through his veins.

It feels like bliss.

Let’s keep going, Ian thinks as he matches his speed with Mickey’s, let’s just keep fucking running.

He could run by Mickey’s side for the rest of his life.

#gallavich fic #gallavich #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless #shameless fic #davenzi #my 4 boys <3

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