Work Text:
Mickey Milkovich was living the dream.
Sure, he wasn't a billionaire, he wasn't a business tycoon drowning in opportunities, and he sure as hell wasn't a drug kingpin. Far from it—he was a poor, gay man living on the Westside, hardly scraping by.
But he was a happy, poor gay man living on the Westside, hardly scraping by.
Honestly, things could be worse.
He might not live in Los Angeles, sipping margaritas with ten-inch cocks a call away, but he was married to the love of his life, something that beat anything LA had to offer.
Mickey didn't know many people that could claim to share the same overwhelming joy that he had, especially if they were in the same situation, and he tried not to take it for granted. He knew how lucky he was.
Speaking of the love of his life, Ian Gallagher's body pressed into Mickey's back, his head dipping to drop another lazy kiss into Mickey's neck.
They'd been standing in the same position for the past five minutes, Mickey sipping coffee and facing the porch window as Ian peppered him with soft kisses from behind, the afternoon sun gently filtering through the curtains, dancing along the floor and leaving indiscernible patterns wherever it went.
Mickey hadn't intended to stand there for so long, but he felt content and Ian was making him feel good, anchoring him down with two huge arms wrapped around his waist as he trailed his lips over Mickey's heated skin.
It was a rare off-day for the two, and they'd taken advantage of it, screwing in bed throughout the morning before heading out to complete some much-needed errands. It was getting closer to bedtime, but Mickey couldn't help 'smelling the roses' and just enjoying life for a minute, in the arms of his lover.
He moaned, a sweet, happy sound, tilting his head forward to give Ian more leverage. Ian moved with him, his cloud-like mouth opening just a bit wider to allow his teeth to sink into Mickey's neck.
It was a classic Ian move that always left Mickey breathless, and this time was no different, a squeak of surprise escaping his lips as Ian lapped wetly at the red mark left behind.
"F-fuck." Mickey breathed out, his stomach tightening with desire. Ian's member had been pressing into his back for quite a while now, but until then Mickey had ignored it, focusing instead on his husband's unrivaled kissing skills.
Well, screw that, because Mickey felt his own sex press against his jeans, getting harder and harder by the second. He tried to twist around, wanting to kiss Ian or at least do something about both their erections, but Ian's arms tightened their grip, keeping Mickey in place.
"Stay. Still." he ordered into Mickey's ear, which flamed brilliant red at contact.
Mickey froze, knowing what his husband wanted the second the words flowed from his lips. Oh, he was about to fucked, and fucked good.
Ian pulled back from Mickey, still holding his waist as he unceremoniously dragged him into their bedroom and practically tossed him onto the bed, somehow rescuing the mug of coffee from spilling everywhere and dropping it neatly on the bedside table.
He turned to Mickey, standing over him, a towering beast completely transformed from the doting lover he'd been just seconds before.
Ian's random sexual desires would be always be an anomaly to Mickey, but they were usually fun as fuck, and he didn't mind the look on Ian's face. It made something in the pit of his stomach stir, awakening a hunger within. A primitive hunger that he would describe as the need to get his ass pounded into.
Ian's hazel eyes ran over Mickey's body as he spoke sternly. "Strip."
"This isn't fuckin' Fifty Shades of Grey, Ian..." Mickey muttered, tugging off his shirt anyway.
He felt like that girl...what's her name? Anne? Elena? Anastasia? Whatever the fuck her name was, he felt rather similar to her, remembering the movie vaguely as he clambered out of his jeans, a familiar yet foreign sense of nervousness making him weak to his knees.
"That's Fifty Shades of Gallagher to you, Milkovich." Ian declared, both men sharing an amused grin at the joke.
Mickey was tempted to tease his husband, but he decided the time for laughs was after he'd been properly sexed up.
He tossed his clothes in a heap on the floor, stark naked, sitting cross-legged on the bed as he waited for whatever Ian had planned next. It seemed that Ian was at a loss for ideas, and they stared at each other, neither of them really sure what to do but knowing they were both equally as horny as the other.
"Touch yourself. Like whatever shit you do when I'm not home." Ian said suddenly.
Mickey was momentarily thrown off-guard, the seductive expression he'd been wearing knocked off his face like a goddamn baseball in the ballpark. It seemed that even Ian was surprised by his request, wincing awkwardly for a second before resuming his stony expression.
"Touch myself." Mickey repeated back, an incredulous lilt to his words. Whatever he'd been expecting, it was definitely not that. He gazed up at his husband, looking as though Ian had announced they were going to make love in a playground sandbox or some shit.
The sexy mood was gone...or not. Ian quirked his eyebrows, tilting his head and looking at Mickey pointedly. Mickey raised his eyebrows right back, immediately recognizing that Look. Oh, yes, they were about to play a game.
One of Ian's favorite games: teasing Mickey into submission, playing with his body until Mickey was begging for cock. It was always drawn-out and very, very hot, the ending a satisfying one, and with the lovers equally as stubborn as the other, this was going to be a long afternoon.
Mickey was going to fight like hell to stay out of the submissive state, and Ian was going to battle back just as valiantly. It was a tug-of-war, a brawl that would prove one of them as dominant.
Of course, Ian was going to win (he always did), but it was the build-up that made it exciting each time, no matter how old it got, or how many times they played. It still amazed Mickey how comfortable and communicative he and Ian had gotten through the years, and he internally scolded his younger self for not being sexually confidant sooner.
Ian held his ground, folding his arms over his broad chest and refusing to flinch beneath Mickey's judgement. "Touch yourself. Now."
"Okay, okay, Jesus." Mickey said, spreading his legs before squeezing them back together again. He looked around the bed, not really sure what to do next. This was kind of out of his forte. He rarely got told what to do in the beginning, the whole point being that they tried to seduce the other into submission.
"Do I go on the pillows or...?"
He felt weirdly nervous. He was used to set rules, following the same formula each time. Here, they were stepping into unknown lands, blind spots for Mickey. And Ian loved blind spots.
Ian nodded, and Mickey hiked himself backward, grabbing a couple pillows as support and resting his upper body on them. He wrapped a hand around his member, which had shockingly managed to stay stiff and at attention.
Guess the idea wasn't too off-putting for his dick, which had to count for something.
Mickey wasn't sure why he felt so vulnerable as he began jacking himself off. This definitely didn't come close to some of the crazier stunts he and Ian had pulled off, but it was still...well, he wouldn't use the word uncomfortable, but there was something intimate about what he was doing that made him hyper-aware of Ian.
If he was going to reel him in, he needed to make sure he did it right.
They'd masturbated together throughout their relationship, but Mickey felt that the combination of BDSM-esque tone and his being naked while Ian was dressed was adding a layer of power play that Mickey wasn't used to.
And it made Ian kind of scary. A loin-stirringly, salacious kind of scary.
Maybe it was the fact that Ian said 'touch yourself'. Actually, it was because he'd said that. Was it a turn on? Mickey didn't know.
Nonetheless, his hand flicked up and down, moving at a leisurely pace. He wasn't using lube, so his heavy breathing was more of a show than anything else. Mickey was determined to attack with all he had, and he needed to make it as erotic as possible, weaponizing his body for his cause.
If Ian was going to make the game harder, then Mickey was going to make him harder.
It seemed that his plan was working—Ian's freckles were becoming more pronounced as his cheeks bloomed with red splotches of desire, his hand twitching (a telltale sign that he was holding himself back through willpower alone), and lips parted, tongue brushing the ridges of his teeth.
If Mickey didn't know better, he'd think Ian was about to pounce. But Ian was practiced at this game, just as much a weathered veteran as Mickey. Even with the new twist, he still knew every trick, and he definitely knew that Mickey was playing it up, making it sound better than it felt.
Mickey was aware of that, but he didn't really care, choosing to notch up the antics a bit more, throwing his head back and letting a groan roll out of him, lewd and deep. He licked the sweat droplets forming over his lips, half-lidded eyes trained on Ian.
What he did next was too much, but at that point he was too far gone in the act, his mouth falling open as he breathed out Ian's name, a high sound that was too sexual too early.
"Oh my god." Ian huffed, reaching forward and grabbing Mickey's hand. "Mickey, calm down."
It was less of a demand and more of a request—Ian didn't want to explode right before things actually got started, and Mickey's horny face was doing things to him, pulling him to the finish line faster than he wanted.
Mickey chuckled, pulling his hand forward and dragging Ian between his legs, strategically placing his knee against his cock. "Make me." he hissed.
Mickey smirked as Ian's eyes widened, his knee unintentionally rubbing Mickey's cock, the jean material feeling fucking incredible and making Mickey whimper at contact. The sound broke Ian out of his stupor, and he chuckled, letting go of his husband's hand.
"So this is the game we're playing, huh?" he murmured, suddenly grabbing Mickey's wrists and slamming his body into the headboard. He kneed Mickey's legs open, forcing them apart until he couldn't anymore without snapping a muscle.
Mickey heaved with excitement, his body shuddering involuntarily as Ian slowly moved against him, his lips frisking Mickey's torturously. Mickey tried to move forward, desperate for more contact, but his sentence was already set in stone.
Ian was in charge, he'd won, and Mickey was going to pay the price.
He felt the mood suddenly shift. He narrowed his eyes, trying to understand what his husband wanted. He'd obviously lost, but Ian was still going at it, still teasing Mickey as though they were still in the heat of the moment. By now Mickey should have an asshole filled with Ian's cock, but he was tragically empty and cockless.
What was Ian waiting for?
"Thought you could do something, didn't you, you cock-slut?" Ian hissed down his ear, kissing the underside of Mickey's jaw. "Thought you could boss me around?"
Dirty talk was the one thing that really got Mickey's engines revving. And Ian was really going for it, using all the key words in Mickey's horny dictionary, his condescending tone making Mickey's cock twitch, precum streaming off its head as it lay touch-deprived against his stomach.
Still, it didn't add up. What was Ian's endgame here?
Ian nipped his skin, breaking Mickey right out of his train of thought and making him yelp. It was hot for Ian, but not enough—he wouldn't fuck Mickey until he was begging, crying for Ian.
He wanted to hear Mickey scream.
This really is Fifty Shades of Gallagher, he thought to himself, once again pleased by his own wit.
"I wanna hear you, Milkovich." he whispered, bringing himself back to the present. "You're not gonna get an inch of this cock until you're fucking begging for it." he bit Mickey again, his tongue washing over the wound, slurping a bit louder than necessary.
"Fuck off." Mickey scoffed, jolting into Ian whilst simultaneously trying to pull away, his body language telling how confused he was.
Ian knew what Mickey was trying to do and he decided to toss a clue his way, having mercy on the overwhelmed brunette. "You wanna work me up, don't you, you little bitch?"
Ah, there it was. Mickey tugged against Ian, catching the drift thrown his way and quickly falling into his presumed role.
It wasn't a battle of dominance anymore; it was pushing Ian into snapping, into giving him no choice but to make Mickey cum. "Yeah...you're gonna fuckin' regret this, asshole."
"I'm sure I will." Ian said, backing off and letting Mickey's hands fall to the mattress. Now that Mickey knew the objective, it was time for him to prepare.
His husband drooped against the backboard, eyes screwed closed as he inhaled, gulping down oxygen as though he hadn't breathed in years. Meanwhile Ian pulled off his shirt, throwing it to the ground along with Mickey's pile, never looking away from his lover for a second.
His pants remained on, the tent that carried his cock pointed directly at Mickey's shaking figure.
He waited until Mickey had caught his breath, finally surging forward and capturing his face in a kiss, pulling him flush against him as they slammed into the mattress, Mickey's naked body straddling Ian's stomach as he cupped Ian's jaw, their tongues dancing together.
It was violent, and it was fucking perfect.
Ian's huge hands grasped Mickey's back, his fingers digging into the pale skin as he raised his head, sucking on Mickey's lips like a fucking vampire.
Mickey's cock bounced painfully against Ian's chest, the ginger flipping them over, his thighs squeezing around Mickey's waist, teeth unforgiving as he bit and lapped at every available surface possible.
He ensnared his fingers through Mickey's, forcing them backward, revealing more skin for torture.
"Ian!" Mickey panted, fighting the urge to scream as Ian began grinding into him, his body a cruel weapon that left Mickey struggling to breathe, utterly overwhelmed by the sensations.
Ian continued, his hands falling on either side of Mickey's writhing body as he moved, his body a never-ending cycle of torment for Mickey, whose eyes were beginning to water over.
Tears rolled down Mickey's cheek, his cock suffocating beneath the deliciously rough material of Ian's jeans. He tried to flip them over again, needing release, but Ian grabbed his hands, keeping him down, eyes sparkling with wicked pleasure.
"Ian, I'm gonna cum." Mickey managed to chew out, squirming beneath his husband.
Ian finally stopped, sliding off of Mickey, biting one of the countless hickeys he'd left all over Mickey, marking what was his for the millionth time.
Mickey's eyes rolled back, his hips thrusting forward as Ian's long fingers ran over them, teasing at the edge of Mickey's cock.
"Ian, Ian, please," Mickey hissed, desperation leaking into his tone as Ian continued his journey down his thighs. "P-please—PLEASE."
Ian ignored him, bending to kiss Mickey's inner thigh, his teeth brushing against an ancient scar left after one particular incident involving a gas station, a vibrator, and two very horny husbands who thought having sex on a changing station was a good idea.
"You want me to fuck you?" Ian asked softly, his voice dripping with something akin to danger as he raised his dark eyes, pupils blown out with lust.
Mickey nodded frantically, the fragment of self-dignity left inside him keeping him from voicing it aloud.
"I want you to tell me, Mikhailo. I. Want. You. To. Beg."
"Oh, shit." Mickey's head lolled backward, the words heading straight for his cock. "Shit."
Ian's lips skimmed Mickey's cock, and Mickey cried out, his chest heaving, body arching into Ian's touch.
"You little slut...you gonna tell me what you want?" Ian breathed, darting away from Mickey's shuddering body. His own cock was so hard that it was starting to hurt, so he unbuckled his jeans and thrust them away from him, not bothering to check where they landed.
His angry, huge cock was revealed, nestled in a bush of pubic hair, the perfect throne for the only thing in the world that Mickey would die for. Besides Ian, of course.
Any and all shreds of dignity were gone as though they'd never been there in the first place.
Surprising both of them, Mickey flung himself upward, grabbing Ian and knocking him down like a bowling pin, pressing their foreheads together until the only thing Ian could see was Mickey's flushed face as he mounted him for the second time.
"Ian Gallagher. Stop being a fucking child and give me your stupid dick."
It wasn't poetic by any means, but it gave his point across. Ian scoffed, his fingers digging into Mickey's scalp, holding the roots of his hair as he flopped them over, jamming his knees between Mickey's and forcing the brunette into a spread.
"You're not getting any stupid dick when you talk like that."
Mickey gulped, torn between talking like that and dick, and deciding on a healthy middle-ground. "You're taking fuckin' forever...sir."
It was a good choice of words, just the right amount of sass and submission to get things going. Ian shook his head lightly, his hands still buried into Mickey's hair, which he tugged on gently.
"Oh, yeah?"
His hips rose, hand reaching between them and grasping Mickey's cock. Mickey let out a guttural groan, head moving back and forth listlessly as Ian jerked him off, his precum the only lubricant.
Ian massaged his balls, building speed as he watched Mickey's face drip with sweat, the brunette's mouth moving wordlessly, sentences caught that were never heard but somehow Ian understood everything he was saying.
Mickey felt a familiar pooling of heat in his core, and he hunched into himself, his body going into overdrive as his balls tensed in Ian's hand, preparing for release...when Ian let go, Mickey's cock slipping from his glistening fingers and against the bed.
"Jesus Christ, Gallagher." Mickey protested, hooking an arm around Ian's neck and dragging his head forward until their foreheads were pressed together, the only thing either could see being each other.
"You want me to beg, you fucker? Fine, I'll beg. But we're doing it on my terms."
Ian grinned, loving the twists that today's session was bringing. He nodded, his body becoming loose in Mickey's arms as he waited for whatever his husband had planned. Mickey was quick to flip him over, grabbing his malnourished cock and pumping it gently as he considered the ginger before him.
He was tempted to punish Ian for the teasing, but he needed some cock in his hole, and by the looks of Ian's twitching member, he would probably agree with that sentiment.
Mickey stood up, grabbing the vanilla lube he'd gotten a few weeks ago (now ranking as their absolute favorite), and squirted it directly onto Ian's cock, not giving a flying fuck when Ian grunted at the cold liquid.
Okay, maybe he cared a little bit, because he checked on him quickly—he was fine—before wrapping his hand around Ian's cock and jerkily spreading the lube around, too anxious for sex to really care if he did a good job.
When it seemed that most of Ian was covered in enough lube to get the job done, Mickey squatted over Ian's cock, inches away from piercing himself through it. It was an unsteady position, and Ian offered his hands as support, Mickey threading their fingers together like a lifeline.
"I want you to fuck me, Ian. I want you to fuck me until everyone on this goddamn block knows I'm yours. I want the whole Chicago to know that you own me. So please, for god's sake, fuck—."
Ian pulled their hands down violently, impaling Mickey into his cock, bottoming immediately and without warning.
"Jesus CHRIST!" Mickey howled, his head flying backward as his guts were rearranged. He was still loose from that morning, so prep wasn't needed, but the depths Ian reached was mind blowing.
Mickey was so dick-dumb, he remained still for half a minute, almost paralyzed as his mind tried to understand how full he was. Ian, fortunately, did not have a cock nine inches deep into him, so he rolled Mickey over and proceeded to slide out before slamming in, his cock nailing Mickey's prostate like a bullet.
"UUnghh..." Mickey heaved, unable to comment or move as his husband pounded into him, moving at speeds comparable to a fucking jackhammer. The room filled with the sounds of breathy moans and slapping skin, the couple's favorite noises.
Ian gritted his teeth as he kept up his rhythm, hardly allowing himself to appreciate Mickey's warmth for too long before pulling out again. The teasing was over, and the main focus was getting both of them past the finish line.
"You're gonna cum with me, Mickey, you got that?" Ian ordered, his hands on either side of Mickey's face as he plowed away. Mickey didn't respond at first, his eyes screwed shut as he kept his attention wholly on their bodies connection.
"Mickey," Ian warned, slowing his pace by half a fraction. Mickey's eyes flew open, and he grabbed Ian's arm, face contorted into a desperate one.
"Yes, I'll—nnghH—cum with you, just p-please!"
It was all Ian needed. He resumed, closing his own eyes and allowing himself to submerge completely into the feelings, the only sound playing in his ears was white noise. It felt electric, Mickey's hole warm and heavenly, a pocket that captured Ian perfectly.
Mickey cried out Ian's praises and curses, sentencing him to hell whilst simultaneously showering his love. It was nonsensical, and both men were dragged into it, talking over each other as they were flooded with sensation.
Ian felt himself reaching his climax, his hips stuttering as he gained speed, muttering demands for Mickey to cum with him. Mickey agreed, his voice turning into whimpers as he reached down and grabbed his cock, pumping desperately.
"I love you." Mickey breathed out, the intimate words ultimately pushing Ian over the edge. He groaned, his hips snapping forward, connecting with Mickey one final time before he blew his load, filling Mickey's hole to the brim.
Mickey wailed, jerking frantically, seconds away from release. Ian surged forward, still buried to the hilt, kissing Mickey deeply, their tongues twirling together as Mickey finally exploded, ropes of cum painting Ian's chest.
Ian pulled himself out and off his husband, breathing heavily as he quickly got to work, cleaning them both off, wiping them down and murmuring Mickey's praises all the way. It was faster than usual; Ian felt like he was going to keel over at any moment. He pulled Mickey deeper into the bed, settling his husband's exhausted body into the pillows.
It had been taxing roleplay for both of them, and Ian lied down next to Mickey, closing his eyes. Sex usually didn't end this way for them, but Ian was too dead-tired to really do anything else, so he just lay still, drifting into oblivion.
Mickey muttered something under his breath, and Ian turned, glancing over at him. "What?"
"'Fifty Shades of Gallagher.' Sounds like those stupid sex books Mandy used to read." Mickey said, chuckling. Ian laughed.
"Yeah, that does sound pretty fucking stupid."