#I don't wanna be selfish | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whatthebodygraspsnot · 2 years

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✨ part two of Ian Wanting Mickey To Top Him Please ✨

words: 5,800 rating: e additional tags: canon compliant, late s10, (first time in relationship) top mickey, (first time in relationship) bottom ian, Communication Station, ian advocates for himself!, dom!mickey/sub!ian undertones, but some allusions to the other way around because i think they contain multitudes in the bedroom

summary: it's next time. for this all to go down, mickey only wants two things - for ian to talk, and for ian to breathe. guess which two things ian struggles with?

‘Next time’ can’t come sooner.

And not just because Mickey’s trying to get his dick wet, but also so Ian can finally settle the hell down.

He’s been moving around the apartment fixing shit. Tightening wobbly chair legs. Changing light bulbs. Stopping leaks that Mickey’s pretty sure he created just to fix.

It’s not a meds thing - that shit’s real easy to differentiate.

It’s not a macho compensation thing - Ian’s not the type to feel emasculated enough about taking it up the ass to go around being all Tough Guy Mr. Fix It.

It’s nervous energy. Butterflies. Like that morning before he sprang his tattoo appointment to get Mickey’s name over his heart so they can match.

Same shit.

So Mickey leaves him the hell alone and lets him work through it, with only minor teasing on his end. And that’s only because Ian can’t expect to be bent over the sink without getting his ass smacked into next Tuesday.

Eventually, the tool box gets stored away and the sun drops below the horizon line and it’s Mickey’s turn to start making some moves, a candle in each hand as he posts up in front of their nightstand.

He looks them over with a frown to the tune of the shower’s spray floating under their bathroom door.

Lavender or rose. Two options. One’s for ‘calm the hell down’ time and one’s definitely for fucking. But shit, which is which.

The shower knob squeaks and Mickey brings the light purple candle up for a sniff, memories of sweatpants and laundry detergent and warm bed sheets.

Nope.

He sniffs the red one.

Has a That’s So Raven moment of Ian spitting and then shoving a ball gag into his open mouth.

Yep.

Rose, is it.

The wick is just catching fire off his lighter when the bathroom door opens, steam pouring out to blanket each of Ian’s squeaky clean steps like some sort of Renaissance painting come to life.

Mickey turns, taking in every inch that towel doesn’t cover with an admiring eye - the flex of bicep as Ian slicks his wet bangs back off his forehead.

God damn.

He whistles lowly, and it earns him a little amused eye roll on the way - the makings of a smirk - the candle forgotten entirely now that Mickey’s found something more important to pursue.

He asks it through an intrigued grin - his approach to where his husband has stopped in front of their dresser. “All-a this for me…?”

Ian doesn’t turn. “Maybe. If you’re nice to me.”

“That right…?” Mickey crowds into his space from behind, both hands snaking up to palm Ian’s ass through his towel and get a good grab. “All of it…?”

He can hear the thick swallow as it works down Ian’s throat.

Feels him pressing back, just a little, into Mickey’s hands.

Tastes the glow of his skin, still warm from the shower, as Mickey presses his mouth to his shoulder from behind.

But Ian doesn’t answer. He doesn’t say anything.

Until he does.

“You know…we don’t gotta do this… If you don’t want...”

Mickey’s mouth stills, something in his brain flagging that immediately.

He slips his hands up to Ian’s hips instead. Asks, but keeps it playful. Light. “Fuck are you sayin’ that for…?”

“Because we don’t? I’m not forcing us to do this, Mick.”

It’s an answer that’s too at-the-ready. Rehearsed too well. Compensation, and this time as a result of knowing too much. Ghosts from a time Mickey doesn’t ask about and Ian doesn’t share.

Metaphorical quarter flips.

Mickey frowns. “Ian, you ain’t forcin’ us to do shit.”

A beat of silence. “...okay.”

“You feel like you’re forcin’ us?”

“No?” Another beat. “I dunno?”

Mickey steels himself with a quick nod of commitment and then turns Ian to face him, because alright. This is about to get fixed here and now.

“Hey,” he demands, but it’s soft. And he only continues when he’s got Ian looking at him - connecting in the small space between them. “I been into this the second it came outta your mouth last night, alright?” And just to make sure he’s hearing him: “Alright?”

Ian nods, those big glossy eyes warming over.

Just like Mickey’s aiming for. “Only person you’d be forcin’ here is yourself.”

The tiny huff of a laugh isn’t expected, but it’s music to his ears. And nothing can beat how Ian’s tone lowers with his ease back into Mickey’s space. “Well I’m definitely not forcing myself.”

A contagious smirk. “No…?”

“Uh-uh.”

Their lips brush lightly. A tease, strung along into another tease. “You been thinkin’ about this all day, huh…?”

Ian wraps his arms around him. Has, ‘what, like you haven’t?’ on his tongue - Mickey can practically taste it. But what he says instead is this. “I trust you.”

And how the hell is that getting Mickey going just as easily as dirty talk?

Ian trusts him. To do this. To take care of him.

Jesus Christ, this man.

When they lean back for a breath, Mickey slips a hand against Ian’s cheek, running his thumb over the corner of his mouth before giving him a gentle pat. “Go lay down,” he says. “Towel off.”

But Ian’s sneaking his mouth over to plant a kiss into Mickey’s palm before he can pull away. “Mm… Was kinda hopin’ you’d do it...”

It tickles Mickey’s hand. Warm lips against sensitive skin. “Ohh, so you’re lookin’ for the full treatment, huh…? That what you’re tellin’ me?” As if this hasn’t been his plan from the very start.

Ian must know it too. Because he’s Ian. Because he’s smirking, his hand gliding up Mickey’s forearm to hang onto his wrist, keeping that hand snug against the side of his mouth. He leaves another kiss without looking away.

And really, how is Mickey supposed to deny that face?

He lets Ian hang onto him, but hooks his fingers shallowly into the front of the towel with his other hand. It’s not to pull it open. It’s to direct him. To lead him on, their path to the bed a short one, but elongated by their slow steps.

“Our candle…” croons Ian as they pass the flickering light.

Rose.

Melodramatically romantic.

Mickey hums in victory all the same. “Who loves ya…” And then he’s guiding them down onto the bed before Ian can answer.

Because Ian doesn’t need to answer. As usual, his hands are speaking for him - reaching out to pull Mickey down on top of him.

When they kiss, it’s without a hurry. They take their time, letting themselves melt with the liquid hot wax that pools in the center of the candle’s glass.

It’s the lead-up. It’s easy. Even with how Ian seems to think he’s hiding the fluster behind every drag of his lips.

He’s antsy. Time to get this started.

Mickey grinds himself down into Ian’s lap, testing the waters.

He gets a groan. Tilted hips.

Good.

Mickey nips at his bottom lip. “Hard already…”

Ian nods in approval. Big hands pull Mickey back down onto his lap. To grind up into him. To prove it.

He’s ready for more, and it’s got Mickey smirking. “You gonna let me eat you out…?”

A moment passes, lost in the upward sway of hips, and then Ian nods again.

It’s enough for the time-being - Mickey will accept it - but not without mentioning it as he starts making moves down his husband’s body. “Gonna need some-a these to be out loud soon.”

Because that’s how they do this shit. Both of them. No matter who’s checking in with who.

And Ian knows that.

“Sorry.” His exhale is light-hearted though, as he tracks Mickey’s descent with a steadily craning neck. “Think I’m a little nervous…”

Mickey nods, because yeah. He gets it. And he gets that it’s not this next step he’s talking about. Getting his ass eaten isn’t new for Ian. But the motive behind it tonight is.

Mickey confirms it as gently as possible, “Yeah, think you’re a lil’ nervous too,” then lets the confidence steer them back forward. “But that’s why you’re gonna keep talkin’ to me. Right?”

Ian nods. Smiles with Mickey’s double eyebrow raise as he catches himself. “Right,” he corrects. Then, “Sir, yes sir.”

To his credit, he doesn’t fire off a salute like he usually does. But that doesn’t stop Mickey from shooting him a theatrically unimpressed blink, his smile too fond to hide as he wedges a hand between his hip and the mattress. “Flip your silly ass over.”

Ian follows without complaint, the bed dipping beneath their knees as he comes to settle on his elbows and stomach.

It leaves Mickey with a magnificent view of his broad, squared shoulders. His strong back. How it tapers into that waist he can’t help but frame with his hands, pulling Ian’s hips back until he’s on his knees like he wants him. Oh yeah. Definitely the best view in the house. And it’s only gonna get better.

Mickey slowly drags his hand down the curve of Ian’s spine, watching how he arches into it like a cat. “You look awwwful good like this, lover.” His other hand disappears underneath him, following along his waist until his fingers untuck the towel near his belly button. “One-a my favorite ways to look atchya…”

Ian takes a long breath in, and a long breath out.

Steadies himself on his elbows.

Waits, patiently, his stomach muscles fluttering under Mickey’s touch as it brushes over his abdomen, the towel left hanging open.

Any other night, Mickey would be milking this for all it’s worth. He’d be dragging this shit out. Teasing over Ian’s skin with light, unpredictable touches where neither of them can see.

But tonight’s different. Ian’s already wound up tight, that much crystal clear with the way he eases back into him a little, voice quiet but not without purpose. “...Mick…”

It keeps Mickey moving in the right direction. No more detours. Just straight to the good stuff - easing the towel the rest of the way over Ian’s heated skin until it’s left forgotten on the edge of the bed.

Mickey wets his bottom lip, immediately getting two healthy handfuls of that glorious bare ass and indulging in a good squeeze. “There we go…”

It’s got Ian working his knees apart a little, his cock hard and swaying between his legs as he exhales heavily.

Mickey inches his thumbs closer and spreads his cheeks and fuck, now this is the best seat in the house.

“You know,” he supposes, “for a top, you got a real pretty hole…” how outdated that label is finally connecting for him at a snail’s pace. “Well,” he half-shrugs, “You know what I mean…”

By now Ian’s head has sunken below his strained shoulders in an attempt to bury himself, the redness that flushes the back of his neck telling on him anyway. “Mick…fuck’s sake…”

And right. No detours. Straight to the good stuff. Even if making his husband blush is way up high on Mickey’s personal Good Stuff list.

Fine.

The candle flickers with the sudden movement as Mickey leans forward to snatch their lube out of the nightstand. A thousand random things rattle around in the drawer, and it’s only when he finally lands on the familiar tube and turns toward the pillow that he sees it - Ian’s face peeking up at him over his propped up arm, those eyebrows furrowed just a bit too much for his liking.

Mickey pauses his search. “What’s the face for?”

It must come out too sudden, because Ian self-regulates at the blink of an eye. “Hm?”

“The face.”

But still he insists, brows furrowing for a different reason now. “Don’t got a face.”

Mickey could insist too. Could call him a liar. But that would be focusing on the wrong thing.

“Hold up,” he says instead, pulling his hand out of the drawer. “S’posed to be talkin’ to me, ain’tchya?” Those eyes dart around, nowhere to hide. “You wanna stop?”

“No.” His answer is immediate. Pleading, almost. “I don’t-... Can you just...finger me open…? Instead?”

Mickey searches his face. Processes. Finds it so much easier when Ian is actually looking at him and talking to him and spelling it out for him. “You want me to skip eatin’ you out?”

Ian swallows. Nods. “Just this time. I like it, just-...” He cards his bangs back where they’ve fallen over his forehead - nervous energy. “That okay…?”

And Mickey has literally never been more in love with him. “‘Course that’s fuckin’ okay.” Jesus Christ, this man. “S’always gonna be okay, Ian.” Whatever the hell it is.

Ian nods. Satisfied. Settles in a little more until they’re lying face to face on the pillow. “Can we do it like this…?”

It’s got a smile pulling at the corner of Mickey’s mouth - the closeness and the comfort. “‘Course.”

How that comfort is slipping into something playful now, “Can I kiss you?” Ian’s insistent nuzzling forward getting that smile to bloom in full.

“Fuck yeah, you can.”

It barely leaves his mouth before Ian’s kissing it out of him, nothing on the planet beating the feeling of that satisfied grin.

Nothing, maybe, except for how he rests their foreheads together - a moment of grounding where he asks it, completely honest. “Did I do good…?”

Because holy shit, does that do something crazy to Mickey’s heart. Something absolutely insane. “...yeah, darlin’,” he murmurs, “...you did good.”

Because he did.

Because he is.

Because it ain’t a matter of convincing and coercion and coin flips anymore and he thinks Ian is finally fucking getting that.

Mickey shifts a little with the movement of Ian reaching around his back, bringing them both to the side and then returning them to the pillow without breaking their kiss. He only does so to say it, pressing something hard against Mickey’s chest. “...‘kay, now get me ready.”

Mickey looks down at the bottle of lube.

Looks back up at his husband.

Yeah, he can fucking do that.

“And take your shirt off.”

The sudden bossiness has Mickey pausing his shift for a better angle. “Ain’t I supposed to be the one takin’ care of stuff around here?”

Ian doesn’t budge. “You want me to tell you what I want tonight, don’tchya?”

“Yeah.”

“Well I wanna see your tits.”

…alright. Clear misuse of what he meant, but you know what? Whatever. He’ll overlook that if it leads to a satisfied husband.

Mickey takes off his shirt, but he makes a big fucking deal about it, even letting out a huffy little, “Happy…?” when he lies back down.

But Ian doesn’t seem to give one single fuck about the attitude, his gaze gone dreamy as he takes in Mickey’s chest up close and personal. “Mhmm…”

Christ.

Mickey rolls his eyes, hand already reaching out to reel Ian in by the back of his neck because alright, that’s enough. And Ian’s smiling against his lips again. And it’s about fucking time he gets back to that whole No Detours business because as much as he’s learned to appreciate good communication and all that sappy shit, his dick is trying to learn how to appreciate something new too, if you catch his meaning.

So.

Mickey slides back into action without another moment wasted. Slips the hand he’s got on the back of Ian’s neck down past his shoulder…down over his side…down across the top of his thigh and then in between his legs, using the angle to part them so he can sneak his hand back where it needs to be.

Ian gets with the program despite his unwillingness to end their kiss. And yeah, it’s gonna be a little more awkward this way, but neither of them care, Ian bending his knee so his leg is propped up into a lazy triangle.

Mickey indulges in an ass squeeze. One for each cheek. Makes sure to spread the love evenly enough that Ian’s breath hitches in his throat as he takes a second to play with his balls.

“You ready there, sweetcheeks…?”

Ian’s answer is breathy but genuine, “...yeah…” spurred on by the easy pumps Mickey works over his cock.

One…

…two…

…three…

With his other hand, Mickey fishes the lube out from between them and sets to work. He warms it in his palm. Spreads it over his fingers. Keeps Ian hard, as he reaches between his legs again and slips a slick finger down between his cheeks.

Another breath catches in Ian’s lungs. Anticipatory.

Mickey’s fingered him before, but only a handful of times. Not enough for it to be familiar.

So it’s expected - his little hip jerk - when Mickey circles the pad of his middle finger around his hole. It’s slow, but consistent. Not pushing it, but not backing down, either. He’s gotta get him used to the touch. There’s just something about the way he’s been acting tonight that has Mickey's mind made up on that.

But still. “Y’alright…?”

Ian swallows. Wets his lips. “Mhm…” Lets them part in another breath as Mickey teases a little pressure around his rim. “Oh…”

There we go.

Mickey knows that ‘oh’.

That’s a good ‘oh’.

He adds his ring finger beside his middle - not pressing in, just massaging over his hole until he’s ready. “Tell me when…”

It comes sooner than expected. Sooner than the other handful of times they’ve done this for him. But Mickey doesn’t question him when he hears it - “...m’ready…” - breathy as all get-out. Because he definitely sounds like it.

Mickey slicks his fingers up again. Makes sure they’re good and wet. And when he’s back into position, he slowly presses the tip of his middle finger into Ian’s tight, tight heat.

He can hear the strain in Ian’s lungs as he inches in. The tension.

Mickey leans his head back, and it’s just in time to catch how Ian’s letting out a sharp stream of air through pursed lips, his brow knit.

“How ya doin’...?”

Ian doesn’t open his eyes. “Fucking awesome…”

And maybe if it didn’t sound like he just took a bullet to the gut, Mickey would believe him.

A little more inside. “...‘member to breathe…”

“M’breathin’...”

“Not really though.”

Ian’s eyes finally fall open to fix Mickey with a look that’s unkind. But before he can fire it off, it’s melting into something heated - a well-timed stroke over the head of his cock that leaves him groaning.

Mickey uses it to his advantage, slowly working Ian’s dick to balance out the discomfort going on behind it all.

He reminds him one more time, “...keep breathin’…” and when he hears a nice big inhale, he starts to pump his finger in and out of him.

It plucks a husky “Hhho…” from Ian on his exhale, his brows still drawn together. But this time Ian keeps his eyes open. Keeps them straight ahead, only dropping to Mickey’s mouth to watch him breathe and fall into the pattern too.

“That’s my guy…” The praise has them both licking their lips. Eager for more. “See…? Doin’ good…”

Ian’s nostrils flare as Mickey starts to finger him a little quicker - nothing crazy, but enough to have those big hands coming up to hold himself steady on the sides of Mickey’s neck. It brings them in closer. Has their breaths hot between them.

“How’s that feelin’…?”

Ian’s fingers press into his neck and it’s oddly grounding. “...g-... …gettin’ good…”

“Think you can take another here soon…?”

The way Ian clenches around his finger at the thought is instinctual, Mickey knows. But it’s also kinda sweet, in a weird sorta way. “Mm…” He’s working through it. “Mhm…”

On their nightstand, the candle’s flame crackles over burnt wick. It sets their shadow dancing across the wall. Huddled together. A mess of limbs and heavy breath.

“Keep going…”

Mickey’s gaze drifts back down to where Ian’s watching him a few inches away, all heavy eyelids and furrowed brow. “Yeah?”

He gets an easy nod. A thick swallow. Those eyes, tracking him as Mickey pulls out, circles around Ian’s slick hole, and then slowly sinks both his middle and ring fingers inside him without stopping.

Ian’s back straightens on a dime, his face scrunching up into a wince and-

“We’re breathin’, remember?”

Those big green eyes flutter open. Lips draw together to force out another sharp stream of air, even through his wince.

“There ya go…”

“Fuck…”

Mickey stills his hand, just letting Ian adjust for a second to the fingers inside him. “Talk to me.”

“F-...” Another sharp breath. “…forgot how weird this shit feels…”

And Mickey can’t help but grin because yeah, he used to think that too. A long-ass time ago. “...‘bout to get real good here soon… …you remember that...?”

Ian huffs out a wary laugh and it’s endearing as fuck. “We, uh-... Let’s skip to that part…”

Cute. “Soon,” he assures, nosing forward on the pillow. “Don’t wanna hurt ya…” And then he starts up a slow pulse of his fingers.

Ian’s mouth drops open and Mickey swallows up his breath. His broken groan. Licks into him and glides over his tongue and pumps his fingers with a little more urgency, swallowing all those noises too.

His other hand strokes over Ian’s cock as an afterthought. Lazy now.

Because soon Ian doesn’t need the distraction anymore. He’s falling into it… Taking it easier… Rolling his hips, just the slightest bit, with the rhythm that Mickey fucks his fingers into him.

His hands slide down Mickey’s neck, warm and holding onto his shoulders with more purpose now.

“How ya doin’...?” Mickey asks again. Because there’s a distinct lack of wincing happening in that face over there. “Better…?”

Ian lists forward, pressing their foreheads together. “...fucking better…” he approves.

And it inspires Mickey in more ways than one. “Yeah…?” He slips his fingers all the way out to tease around his rim again, “How’s this?” and then sinks them both back inside.

Ian’s mouth drops open, a moan tumbling out of it that catches both of them by surprise.

“Ahh,” Mickey grins in discovery, his own horny swoop hitting deep in his belly. Fuck, if that’s not a tasty-ass noise. “Likin’ that, huh…?”

He does it again. Slips his fingers out and then fucks them back into him. Pulls out and fucks them back in.

Ian’s back straightens, his hole clenching around him as he fights through the sensation. “Shit-… …ohhh shit…”

And Mickey knows exactly what he means. Knows exactly how good this feels - firsthand. That blissful first sink in, but over and over again.

Apparently there are perks to fingerfucking your own self for years. Who’d have thought he’d be using it on his husband?

Mickey hums to himself, taking in said husband’s face as he uses his free hand to card his damp bangs back for him.

Gorgeous.

“Look awful good like this too, ya know…” Creased brow. Fluttering lashes. “Gonna look even better on my dick, though…”

He presses his fingers all the way inside and then curls them, delighted with how Ian falls into him again with a shaky groan.

Bingo.

“You want that…?” Their noses bump as Ian aimlessly nods, but that’s not good enough for this. “Mm…?”

“Yeah…” There it is. Hot against his mouth. “...fuckin’ want that…”

Mickey’s body flushes with heat. Anticipatory. “Then you gotta do what I tellya to do.”

“...‘kay…”

“Gonna do that for me?”

“Yeah…” He’s going under a little. Chasing after a kiss without closing it. “Yeah baby - okay…”

And as endearing as that is - as much as Mickey’d love to just lie here and melt him down into a little puddle of goo - he’s got a job to do. So he chases after the kiss Ian’s been half-assing and seals it, making it good and long to make up for how he slips his fingers out.

And when he get his hands back on him, it’s so he can flip them over, the room swirling around them until Mickey pins Ian to the mattress on his back.

It’s a headrush that brings Ian’s floaty ass back down to earth a little. Has him blinking up at Mickey, pupils blown in those big ol’ doe eyes.

Fuck. He never thought he’d say this, but Mickey absolutely cannot wait to fuck him stupid.

He nods upward, “Toss me your pillow,” waiting patiently for Ian to process before catching it.

He wedges it under Ian’s ass. Lets him situate himself down there while he situates himself up here in as few steps as possible - boxers off - lube open - kneeing back into place just as Ian settles too.

The lube pools cooly in his palm before he brings it down to stroke over his cock, and Ian is watching every second of it. Carefully. Breath picking up just a bit too quick and not quite the way it should.

Ah man…

“I gotchya, Big Guy,” Mickey assures, leaning forward to bring it in close. He bumps their noses together in a playful nudge, satisfied when Ian does it back. “You know I gotchya…”

The kiss Ian presses to his lips is long and a little bit desperate - nervous energy. But then he lets Mickey pull back, watching as he slicks himself up more and then works some over his hole until everything is damn near dripping.

Mickey’s not taking any chances.

The bed creaks with his shift to wipe one hand dry, keeping that eye contact as he lines himself up with the other. “What am I gonna say…?”

Ian swallows loudly, his chest rising in preparation despite his huffy laugh. “Breathe,” he answers.

Mickey grins, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he slips the head of his cock over that pretty hole. “Mm-hmm…” Back and forth... Up and down… A tasty buildup.

And Ian is eating all of it up. Watching, mouth hanging open, breath coming quicker. He wets his lips and keeps watching and wants it. Truly. Mickey can see the hunger in his eyes behind all the nervousness.

So when he asks it, “You ready for me…?”

And when Ian answers, just hanging on, “Yeah... Wanna feel you…” Mickey knows it’s the goddamn truth. And that makes it all the sweeter when he finally gives it to him, tilting his hips forward and slowly sinking into Ian an inch at a time.

And fuck…

“Shit, Ian…” he tries to stay steady, “...keep breathin’ for me…”

Because Ian is tight.

And Ian is not breathing.

Mickey leans forward until they’re face to face again, hips stilled, and it’s enough to get those eyes open and on him like they should be.

Ian draws in a shaky breath through his nose. Breathes it out in time with Mickey and it’s even shakier. Trembling, his brows furrowed tight as he adjusts to being filled for the first time in years.

“You okay?” Mickey gets out, satisfied enough with how Ian doesn’t look away when he nods that he says, “Li’l more…?”

Another nod.

Grip tightening.

Mouth dropping open for the breath that won’t come as Mickey inches in more and more.

But his eyes stay open this time, locked onto Mickey like he’s his lifeline. And honestly Mickey needs it just as badly because Ian is fucking tight… He doesn’t know where the fuck he’s finding this self control right now, holy shit.

“Almost there…”

Just a few inches more.

The heat is rushing through his body and uncurling in his belly and when he bottoms out, it’s with a groan from the back of his throat, his head hanging for a moment in a wild attempt to compose himself. “Fuck you feel good…”

Because Ian may not have bottomed for years, but Mickey hasn’t topped for just as long and fucking god…

The fact that it’s him…

The fact that it’s Ian…

A bitten off groan floats up from beneath him.

And Mickey gets his shit together real quick because this isn’t about him. This is about Ian. The Ian who’s looking up at him right now like he needs something to happen but he’s not sure what he needs to happen and-

“Gonna move,” Mickey decides, waiting for Ian’s almost whispered ‘...‘kay…’ before slowly easing himself out.

But he’s still watching. Noting how the sensation has Ian’s brows furrowing again. How the tight, unfamiliar sinking in has him regulating his breaths - quick ones - out through pursed lips like he apparently loves to do.

“Mmhmm,” Mickey encourages, “doin’ good…”

And when he bottoms out again and presses in deep, Ian’s head is collapsing back into the pillow, his voice strained as he groans it out, “Fuu-huuck…”

It’s cute enough that Mickey would make fun of him for it, if he wasn’t in such a vulnerable state right now. So, “Talk to me,” he says instead.

Ian keeps his head pressed back, “Fuck…”

“Mm-mm.”

“Full…” he chokes out, and that’s better. More what they’re looking for.

“That right…?” Mickey’s grinning and he knows it - falls into the role easily, despite never taking a gentle topping approach until now.

Because right now, gentle is fucking tasty. ‘Gentle’ means slowly rocking his hips and eating up how Ian’s head flies back up to find him with glossy eyes. To hang on. To work through the hyper-sensitive feeling of Mickey fucking him for the first time.

Ian’s lashes flutter, his lips parted to speak. But only breathy, suppressed noises fall from them. Like the pleasant surprise of it is leaving him breathless. All Mickey can make out is his lips wrapping around an airy, silent “...oh…”

Fucking gorgeous.

“Toldya you’d make pretty faces on my cock…” He was was right on the fucking money with that.

Ian’s eyes roll to the back of his head before they’re slipping closed, and something tells Mickey it has nothing to do with what he just said.

Because his head’s collapsing back too. His grip is loosening and he’s swinging an arm around Mickey’s neck, his breaths falling into cadence with each time that he’s filled up.

Mickey’s hum is sly. “Oh shit…” He knows that transition like the back of his fucking hand. The warm, heady slip from burn to pleasure. “Someone’s finally feelin’ it…”

Mickey rocks his hips in quicker and it’s a direct response - immediate heat, a ragged moan falling from Ian’s mouth - “Oh-... Fuck-...” Like it’s a surprise again.

It’s something Mickey’s never heard out of him before. In all these years. Ian’s loud when they fuck, but never quite like this. And damn, if he isn’t about to chase after each and every one.

The bed frame creaks under their sway, Mickey picking up the pace, waiting for the response and there it is. There’s the moan. There’s Ian trying to maintain, draping his other arm over his eyes to hide in the crook of his elbow.

But Mickey wants to see.

He wants to take all this in. Bask in it.

Ian lets him ease his arm away from his face. But he doesn’t open his eyes. “Fuck, Mick…”

And Mickey wants to see.

Wants to hear what’s going on in his head.

“Look at me…” He’s breathy too. He’s all matched up with Ian now. Punctuated by each roll of his hips.

And when those eyes open, they’re so dark that Mickey can see the candlelight flickering in it.

“...s-... …so fucking good…” Ian murmurs, heavy lids slipping closed again as he wraps his other arm around Mickey’s neck. “...knew you’d do it good, Mick… …fucking told you…”

It sends a pleasant shudder up Mickey’s spine. A surge of pride through his core. Sets him chasing after it again, fucking into Ian a little harder and a little tighter and-

“Shit…!” Ian’s so hot when he’s this breathy. “Oh-... Oh shit...”

He cranes his neck forward, brows knit and lips parted as he looks down where their bodies meet. Where Mickey’s fucking into him.

Mickey grits through a particularly killer horny swoop that’s threatening to blow his cover. Concentrates, instead, on the free entertainment of Ian watching them fuck, looking up at Mickey like he can’t believe it’s happening, and then collapsing back onto the pillow with a haggard exhale.

“Fuuuck…” he breathes out, “so hot…”

And he’s right. It is hot.

But what’s hotter are those noises Mickey’s fucking out of him, and he’s determined to pull some more before they’re through here.

Mickey drops down to hover over Ian again, fighting back a grin as his husband wasted no time in hooking both arms back around his neck.

Good. He’s gonna need it.

“Hang on, tough guy,” he murmurs against his mouth. And the rest is goddamn history.

It’s like clockwork - Ian straightening under him - breath punched out of him - mouth dropping open in shocked silence for a second and then-

“Oh-...!” There he fucking is. There’s that pleasant surprise - high and breathy and choked out. “Fuck…! Mick…!”

Mickey swallows it all up. Nice and greedy. Snaps his hips and goes for the big finish because he can feel it all building - feel it all coming to a head inside of him.

When he reaches between them, Ian’s hard as a fucking rock and all it takes is a couple strokes - “Fuck fuck fuck- Mick-” - before he’s coming all over Mickey’s hand with a groan that won’t stop until Mickey’s hips do.

But his orgasm has him tightening around his dick and Mickey’s a goner anyway, just barely pulling out before it all tips over.

He cums on Ian’s stomach - hard - his whole body trembling in a way it hasn’t in a long time. And for a moment his vision goes blurry as hell. Hazy Ian and hazy candle light and hazy hands moving up at him to hold him steady.

But when it comes to, he’s back in it.

Catching his breath with the best of them.

Taking in the absolute, undeniable satisfaction in his husband’s loud exhale - his little eyebrow raise as he looks at Mickey. “...fuck.”

It’s got that pride swelling inside him again. Has him grinning.

“And that,” Mickey says through labored breaths, “...is how it’s fuckin’ done…”

He reaches for the towel on the edge of the bed, but he only gets it draped over their mess before he’s getting reeled in by the back of the head, Ian’s long-ass arms holding him steady for a long, steamy kiss.

Mickey considers putting up a fuss but melts into it instead, his pulse getting no chance in Hell to recover.

When Ian pulls back, it’s with glossy, adoring eyes, his smile too soft for the heat packed behind his tone. “God, I fucking love you.”

Mickey fights down a smile and loses. Slips a hand up to cup Ian’s cheek, knowing full well he’ll pull it down to press a kiss into his palm. “Love ya too…”

He’s just gonna have to up a little more on his cardio, is all.

A small price to pay.

#gallavich #ray writes #this is long but im selfish and don't wanna give up the beloved feedback i get on here vs the feedback i get on ao3 #okay enjoy pls amen

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