Chapter Text
Somewhere on the Southside of Chicago, two brothers sit side by side on the front porch of their family home enjoying a mild autumn afternoon. The first of the two, 28-year-old Philip, sports a fresh black eye and a new SCRAM bracelet. The rubber wrist band of the device is giving him a rash from water getting trapped under it every time he washes his hands, but it's better than an ankle monitor because it's virtually indistinguishable from a regular smartwatch like all of his co-workers wear. It's also much better than the jail time he was nearly sentenced to after getting a third DUI. He doesn’t live in the family home anymore, but spends a lot of time back on South Wallace; having his own studio apartment brings all kinds of freedoms but it can also be too quiet and boring as hell.
In spite of all his legal troubles, past and present, he is on the cusp of a wildly successful career in tech. His boss openly favors him over most of the others at the start-up firm and believes in his potential so much that he put up his second home on the lake as collateral with the court to secure his release. While Philip, or Lip, as he is known, chain-smokes from a pack of Marlboros, the second brother lights a joint and inhales down to his toes. His chest expands and he barely flinches as his lungs crackle and burn from holding onto the smoke.
Both shorter and younger than Lip, Carl has a sizable rap sheet that would almost be impressive given his age. By contrast, he has no older benefactors who believe in his potential. No, Carl only has his siblings and a few associates to rely upon for bail money and life essentials. Still, he gets by just fine for a 17-year-old kid with absentee parents, no resources and a crappy public school education.
The front door creaks open and slams shut a few moments later announcing the presence of Ian, the middle child of the Gallagher six, or rather, the third oldest. Lip looks up with a slight turn of his head and acknowledges Ian with a quick nod as he takes another drag of his smoke. Lip and Carl are both wearing white t-shirts and pajama pants; plain grey and red with Spongebob Squarepants, respectively. Ian is wearing dark denim with a green and black Buffalo check button down. The collar of a black t-shirt peeks out from under the open top buttons. He has rolled the sleeves up to the elbow revealing his freckled forearms. His bright red hair is hidden by a grey knit beanie.
"Ey," Carl says and holds the joint out to Ian. "Shit's fire, you wanna hit it?"
Ian shakes his head and wedges himself between his brothers on the stairs. He rests his elbows on the stairs behind him and looks out at the neighborhood in front of them.
It's not much to look at. In fact, outsiders would probably describe it as depressing, but it was home. As was occurring in less desirable areas all over America, gentrification was creeping in from all directions. Juice bars and yoga studios, organic grocery stores and coffee shops were cropping up all over the Southside but had yet to penetrate their particular section of the Back of the Yards.
If their father, Frank, was to be believed, their heritage is woven into the fabric of the city. There ought to be a fifth red star on the city's official flag bearing the name of Gallagher according to the grizzled patriarch and he regularly launches into long screeds decrying the changes to the city.
“As per usual, the government is coming in to scrape the riffraff off the streets to make the world a safer place for Starbucks – but lest ye forget my humble offspring – we’re the unwelcome riffraff and we’ll have nowhere to go once the stormtroopers march in! Beware the gentrifiers, even when they bring gifts of ethically farmed, sustainable coffee and warm baked goods.”
Because of his lengthy track record of being a completely unreliable, barely functional alcoholic they mostly let his lectures go in one ear and out the other but lately, everyone is starting to notice that houses are selling in pairs and threes and being renovated into nicer but comically unaffordable condos. Fiona, the eldest, is concerned. She’s been the legal guardian of her younger siblings since she was 19. She sincerely hopes that their cousin Patrick, the legal owner of the house they live in, has some sort of conscience and won’t put them out on the street if he’s approached by developers.
Carl wordlessly offers the joint to Ian, who again refuses. Finding it odd, Lip nudges him.
“Y’alright? You’re quiet.”
Ian nods, grunts.
Lip leans forward and finds Carl already looking his way. Ian is many things, quiet is not one of them. Lip nudges Ian again, a little more forcefully.
“Ey, spill it. Something’s not right.”
“No, nothing,” Ian says at last. “Just thinking. That guy I went out with last night.”
Lip exhales heavily. “Hot date?”
“Nah,” Carl replies with a cough, a thick cloud of smoke exiting his mouth and nose. “He wouldn’t be home if it was, right?”
Ian waves the smoke away with his hand to avoid the contact high, Lip doesn’t bother.
“Right. It was really bad. Like, I’ve been on bad dates before but…he was just weird.”
“Anybody can seem normal on an app for ten minutes, Ian.” Lip flicks his butt out on the grass in front of them.
“I chatted with him longer than ten minutes, thanks,” Ian says. “I thought we had a connection. Then he shows up to dinner late in a wolf t-shirt tucked into jean shorts. Tape on his glasses. All he talked about was government conspiracies. It’s like he wasn’t even the same human I talked to!”
“Dj’you still catch head?” Lip teased. Ian paused, the tips of his ears went pink, and he smirked.
“S’besides the point. I gotta buckle down and find somebody. No more of this screwing around with apps and shit.” Ian waves his hands emphatically in punctuation.
“Why?” Carl asks. “You’re like, only 27, why you wanna settle down and shit?”
Ian doesn’t respond at first. It slowly dawns on him that he doesn’t have a real explanation for why he so badly wants to be in a relationship. Nobody in the family including his parents have great relationships to envy or emulate. Everyone reminds him all the time not to rush into things but shit, 30 is right around the corner, he doesn’t feel as young as everyone is always telling him he is. It doesn’t feel like he has all the time in the world.
Perhaps that’s why. Maybe he wants to have that true, lasting love that is eluding everyone around him. Fiona is the fighter; everyone’s ride-or-die. Lip is the smartest. Carl is resourceful. Debbie (a year older than Carl) is a teen mom to three-year-old Franny. Liam (9) is the baby. Having absolutely nothing to do with being the only gay one, Ian has always felt like the lost sibling. He’s the least problematic, the only one to actually finish high school rather than getting a GED. None of that is good enough for him. He wants to be the one who’s lucky in love. Ian wants to have that true, lasting love that is eluding everyone else.
“Get your lanky white ass out my house!”
“C’mon V – I said I was sorry!”
“You’re on my last damn nerve – now get the hell out!”
Their neighbor Kevin runs down the stairs of the house directly next door holding some clothes in front of him with one hand and shielding the back of his head from anything his wife Veronica might throw at him. He stops in the middle of the street, hopefully out of her throwing range, and hops into a pair of jeans one leg at a time.
“Ey! Can I get my shoes?!” He yells at the closed door. As he buttons his fly, a pair of dirty black and white tennis shoes come flying at him from an upstairs window. The three Gallaghers watch Kevin pull a white tank top over his head and try to push his feet into his shoes.
“V! Ey, V – it’s fuckin’ cold out here – can I get my jacket?”
As if they are watching a tennis match, the Gallaghers all turn to the house expectantly, but nothing happens. They look back to Kevin, still standing in the middle of the street. He only has one shoe on and struggles untying the laces of the other with his teeth. The tennis shoe dangles from his mouth when he calls back to his angry wife.
“Veronica, I’m cold!”
There is a brief pause but then the front door opens again. A bulky dark olive-green coat flies onto the grass. Kevin hop-walks to retrieve it, still carrying one shoe by the hopelessly knotted laces.
He drops the shoe to the walkway and apparently giving up, he shoves his foot into it and presses his heel into the back rim until it folds under. As he puts on his coat, a puff of small white feathers surrounds him and flutters down to the ground. He groans when he realizes that Veronica cut one of the sleeves off.
Carl snorts with laughter that only gets louder when Kevin gets hit in the face by the missing sleeve.
“Really?” Kevin asks Veronica, holding the limp fabric tube shedding copious feathers. “You cut up my jacket?!”
“Kiss my entire ass, Kev!” As if she has planned the entire exchange in her head way in advance, Veronica is prepared. She flings a metal container, Frisbee-style at him. He blocks it with his bare arm and upon impact, sewing supplies pop out of the cookie tin and she slams the door for the final time.
“Yeah, Whatever.” Kevin half-heartedly responds. He glares defiantly and pushes his arm into the sleeve, stretching it to meet the fabric at his shoulder. It flops back down his arm as soon as he lets go.
By now, all three Gallaghers are unable to control their jeering laughter and it draws Kevin’s attention. He flips them off and moves towards them, but trips over his feet in doing so and falls. Humbled by the last few minutes, he hobbles around through their chain link gate where he joins them on the stairs. Lip offers him a smoke and Carl gives him a lighter. He enjoys the first inhale and flips the lighter end over end a few times in his hand before anyone speaks.
“How bad did you screw up this time?” Ian asks.
Kevin hand gesture says ‘I don’t know.’
“What’d you do?” Lip prods.
“Nothin’,” Kevin responds, but it’s clear to all of them that he did ‘something.’
“That’s what you want, Ian? Some bitch yelling at you for nothing for the rest of your life?” Carl points in the general direction of Kevin and Veronica’s house.
“Carl,” Kevin says, an angry calmness coloring his tone. “You have exactly 10 seconds to take that back. V isn’t a –“
“Ok, ok, I’m sorry. But you just said you didn’t do anything and she kicked you out of the house and cut up your coat!” The teenager grinds the roach down into the wooden step he’s sitting on.
“Of course I did something. I’m an idiot,” Kevin says. “I forgot to pay the rent again, now we got another late fee and I didn’t stop at the store last night to get milk and diapers for the twins. Of course it’s me. That woman in there is a saint.”
Ian’s dubious about Veronica’s canonization but he’s grown up living next door to them. He knows how much they love each other and nobody has ever been down for their partner more than Kevin and Veronica Ball.
“So Ian’s got a new guy?” Kevin asks, thinking he’s interpreting the context correctly.
“Nope. Quite the opposite.” Ian asks Lip for a drag.
“You’ll find him,” Kevin says reassuringly. “What’s your rush though? There’s so much bussy out there Ian – go get your share before you’re stuck with the same wrinkly ball bag for the rest of your life.”
“That’s what I told him!” Carl says.
Uncomfortable with both the conversation and the close quarters on the stairs, Ian rises and stands on the asphalt walkway in front of them.
“Guys, I get it. All I’m saying,” Ian says patiently. “Wouldn’t it be nice to find the right guy now instead of in 10 years?”
When no one responds with an emphatic affirmative, Ian throws up his hands.
“We just want different things.” He maneuvers between them all and climbs the stairs.
“For what it’s worth, Ian – I support you. If I could go back in time and meet my wife a year sooner than I did, I’d jump at the chance. We fight and shit, but I’d be lost without V.”
“You’re goddamned right, you would.”
The group of men simultaneously turn towards the house next door to find Veronica half hanging out of an open upstairs window where she has been eavesdropping. One of the chubby twins is perched on her hip playing with her long locs.
“Mama – hungry! Huuuuungry! Jemma hungry!” The toddler chants.
“Hey Kev, if you’re back from the store in 10 minutes or less, I’ll let you make it up to me.” She gives him a salacious smile and winks as flicks the tip of her tongue against one of her canines. Kevin jumps to his feet and with one shoe still only half-on, he starts walking in the direction of the corner bodega.
“And get some more K-Y!” Veronica shouts after her husband and sees him wave back at her, indicating he’d heard, then she speaks to Ian. “Ian, baby, you’re one of the good ones,” She places Jemma down on the floor beside her and rests both hands on the window ledge so she can lean out further. “When you meet the right guy, you’ll just know. Deep down in the bone marrow. You’ll just know it.”
“Thanks, V.” Ian waves, offers a tight-lipped smile and heads back inside. He climbs the stairs to his room, the one he shares with only Carl and Liam now that Lip has his own place.
He flops down on his twin bed, which is honestly too small for his six-foot frame and rests one hand behind his head while he flicks through his latest Grindr matches one-by-one.
“No. No. No. Too much teeth. You’ve got a five-head. Weird gum-to-teeth ratio. You immediately sent me a butthole pic. No. You’re a walking red flag. Ew. No…”
It’s very disheartening and eventually, he closes the dating app altogether and opens a gaming app. It’s one of the many he has downloaded that promised to have large pay-outs just for playing. In the six months since he’s been using it, he’s only made about $50 but it’s better than nothing. He turns the volume all the way down before starting a new game because the ads are obnoxiously loud and unpredictable. He taps and swipes his finger across the screen matching colored jewels into rows and columns. He’s on a roll, having earned fifty cents in a short time. He’s about to connect a line of five red diamonds when an ad begins.
Rather than the usual junk trying to entice players to download another game with a comically exaggerated payout (“play for only two minutes and win THOUSANDS!!”) it’s for a dating site he’s never heard of.
A gay dating site he’s never of.
He watches, rapt. Two of the most attractive men Ian’s ever seen are walking hand in hand down a white sand beach. One has the classic All-American white boy next door look; like he hopped right out of an Abercrombie & Fitch ad from the 90’s. The other is darker, exotic. Ian thinks he’s Mediterannean or North African. They’re both model good-looking with athletic bodies, gleaming white teeth and cultivated stubble. He feels pathetic, if he’s honest with himself, as it’s pretty obvious they’re actors and not actually a couple in real life but damn if it doesn’t look appealing as all fuck. He pushes the volume up button and listens to the tail end of the ad:
“…the love of your life may be waiting for you across the world. Join HotPinkInternational! to meet the hottest gay singles all over the globe!”
HotPinkInternational!. With the exclamation point as part of the name. Ugh.
It’s kinda insulting. He resents the whole gay = pink thing. It feels like more and more businesses are pandering to the LGBT community with rainbow consumerism and having a “pink” option just for the gays.
And anyway, it’s an international site. Ian’s never been on an airplane. He’s never even been to another state, even though you can fucking see three of them from the top of the Sears Tower.
He hasn’t gone up there, either.
Nor does he own a car.
He frowns and continues playing his mindless mobile game. Swipe left, swipe up, swipe down.
The second time the ad for HotPinkInternational! plays, Ian raises the volume at the beginning. The music underscoring the ad swells as the actors, who are sitting on a generic park bench, flirt and whisper, letting their cheeks brush softly. The camera zooms in on their fingers interlacing and pans up to the dreamy look in their eyes. A jumpcut shows the pair cuddled close in front of a fireplace sharing a bowl of popcorn as the voiceover declares that 80% of subscribers are in a relationship when they delete their account.
“…meet the hottest gay singles all over the globe!”
It’s then that Ian makes the fateful decision to fall victim to targeted advertising. He taps his thumb on the screen and is redirected to the download screen. After few more taps and some personal information, Ian has set up his own account on HotPinkInternational!.
About 35 seconds later, he clicks over to redtube.com/gay and wiggles under the covers. He clicks over to a video he’s watched a number of times (well, most of it). It consists of a single camera POV shot aimed at a dark-haired man giving a very enthusiastic blowjob. The way he firmly grips the other man’s shaft and bobs his head, swirling his tongue and flicking his eyes upward makes Ian clench his pelvic floor and spread his toes.
Ian has seen this actor, who goes by the name of Raj, in several other videos but this one is his favorite. Raj hums and grunts through it with thick saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth and dribbling down his chin. Ian watches, completely engrossed, as his nostrils flare every time he needs to breathe. He looks almost angry that he has to momentarily pause the task at hand to do something as mundane and unsexy as breathing. He’s beautiful; with a gorgeous dark olive complexion.
An off-camera hand reaches into the frame and threads its fingers through Raj’s hair and closes into a fist. Ian coughs a quiet moan and speeds up his hand, bringing his phone to his face for a closer look. The off-camera hand has a firm grip on Raj’s hair and begins thrusting forcefully into his mouth. Raj’s jaw is slack, and his face gets redder and redder as he takes it, a wet gagging sound punctuates each push down his throat. The camera shakes, a sure sign that the man holding it is the one receiving head.
“Yeah, fuck, yeah…” a disembodied voice barks.
Ian’s about ready to blow; the wet squelch of the gloriously sloppy blowjob is quickly getting him there.
“Take this shit.” The voice speaks again, and the camera suddenly jerks as a previously unforeseen person grabs it. This new camera operator pulls slightly back. Now, Raj has one hand fiercely gripping his hair and another squeezing his throat. Ian bites his lip, knowing he might climax at the same time as the man on the screen.
“Fuck, that mouth is magic -” It’s not the same voice that spoke before. Whenever he’s watched this video before, he assumes it belongs to the new cameraman.
“It is. Fuck - it is. I’m gonna come all over his face - fuck!”
A sudden kick in his stomach sends Ian right over. He paints his lower stomach and fist but continues working himself through it. He closes his eyes and his head lulls backwards. He hears the loud orgasm coming from his phone and he looks back at the screen in time to see his favorite part of the video.
Raj’s face is sweaty, his shaggy hair plastered messily to his forehead. His own saliva, his co-star’s jizz cover his face adding to the post-sex sheen. He smirks at the camera and wipes his face off with his t-shirt.
Ian moves to click away from the video when he hears more dialogue. He’s never seen the rest of the video - the first six and a half minutes is usually enough for him. For whatever reason, on this night, he decides to keep watching.
“You’re so good at that, you little cumslut,” the actor who just got off says; his face still unseen.
“I know,” Raj replies. “Your turn.” He begins to deliver a second and equally impressive blowjob to the man who took over the camera work from the first. For the first time since he discovered the video, Ian sees the other performer’s face. He’s young and blond, has a strong jawline dotted with about a day’s worth of gingery stubble. Hot in his own way, but he’s not as attractive as Raj. While he devours the cock of the cameraman, the first one he blew slides underneath Raj and licks at his balls and asshole. Raj rides his face humming his pleasure, never stopping for more than a few seconds to breathe.
“Holy shit,” Ian says to himself as he starts to get hard again. He has always had a very healthy refresh rate but rarely as fast as this. He jerks off a second time while watching the beautiful dark-skinned man get choked, fucked, licked and creampied. As if he’d just been on the receiving end of what he’d watched, Ian’s wrecked and drenched by the end of it, the distinct scent of sex sweat hovering low in the bedroom around him. There are still 20 seconds left of the video, so he watches it; the decision influenced in no small part by the fact that he hasn’t fully regained muscle control. The three men are shown side-by-side wrapped in black terrycloth robes sitting together on a gray tufted bench. Raj is situated in the middle and rests his arms on the back of the bench, more or less around the other two. They all look satisfied and comfortable with each other, sweaty and sated. A new offscreen voice addresses them.
“Raj, you look like a happy guy.”
Ian’s porn crush flashes a bright smile and slightly rolls his eyes. He looks like someone Ian could meet at a bar in Boystown, there’s an innocence about him that definitely isn’t there when he’s performing.
“Obviously,” he says back. “These two never disappoint.”
Ian tilts his head. He’s never noticed Raj’s accent before and it makes him so much hotter.
“Ian - dinner!” Debbie shouts from the bottom of the stairs.
He finally clicks away from the video and gets himself together. Fiona calls for him, louder than Debbie had, when he’s washing his hands.
“Be right down! Don’t wait for me!” He shouts over his shoulder loudly enough for her to hear him down in the kitchen. He fans himself with his hands, hoping the just-jerked-off-twice pink blush to fade from his cheeks before he sits down to eat.
There’s a steaming pile of spaghetti and meatballs waiting for him at his usual seat at the table and he digs in with gusto. Debbie offers him garlic bread and he nods with long strands of pasta hanging down his chin. She holds out the plate for him and he grunts his thanks while taking two pieces from it. While slurping up his food, his white undershirt gets stained with dots of Fiona’s homemade sauce.
Fiona and Debbie take notice of his less than stellar table manners and share some giggles that barely register with Ian.
“Um, Kev and V are coming over with the kids later. Lip, too. No dates tonight?” Fiona asks with a teasing lilt in her tone. Ian swallows and wipes his mouth on a napkin. He shakes his head.
“Nah. I’ll be home. I’ve dated every gay dude in America and most of the bi-curious ones. They all suck.”
Fiona nods in sympathy. “Yeah, well, the straight ones aren’t any better.”
“Time for you two to take it international,” Liam quips. Fiona laughs and bites into a meatball.
Ian drops his fork at the comment. Liam’s joking, of course he is. On any other day, Ian would have chuckled and mocked agreement. but given that he’s just signed up for an international dating site, he takes it as a sign and it sets his brain wheeling.
What if Liam’s right? Maybe Ian’s perfect man isn’t in Chicago or Illinois or even in the United States? He continues eating, still thinking about it even as the conversation drifts towards a problem Debbie’s having with a mean girl at school. He reasons that he can’t possibly get worse results from the new app than he had with any of the others. He takes a long gulp of water thinking about Raj’s dark brown eyes, jet black hair and all that gorgeous skin. If he could get with a guy he liked who even remotely resembled Raj, with or without his sexual prowess, he might settle down and never need another dating app.
Maybe the distance of an international relationship would deepen their connection because they couldn’t go too fast and skip to the physical part. They’d get to know each other intimately before even being in the same room.
“Hello, hell-o!” Veronica calls from the front door. Fiona smiles and wipes some sauce from her chin.
“In here!” She gets up from the table and meets her best friend at the doorway from the living room into the kitchen. Jemma and Amy squeal for Debbie and she runs to greet them.
“Wassup, Gallaghers?!” Kevin calls as he enters the room. The six-foot-plus man instantly makes the room feel smaller. He holds up a 30 rack of beer with both hands and it catches Carl’s eye.
“Oh, hell yeah!” Carl jumps from his seat and runs to Kevin.
“Carl-” Fiona admonishes him. He deflates a little but looks imploringly at Kevin.
The tall man looks towards Fiona and Veroncia and seeing that they’re becoming engrossed with making sangria, he leans down to speak confidentially.
“You got pit hair yet?”
Carl smirks. “Yeah, a couple.”
Kevin nods and opens the case of beer, he winks and hands one to Carl.
“If you puke, you didn’t get this from me.”
Carl pops the can and takes a long drink. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve, then burps loudly enough to get Fiona’s attention.
“Carl!”
“Kev!” Veronica aims her scolding at her husband, but he shrugs both shoulders.
“He’s a Gallagher- don’t pretend it’s his first beer.”
While both women are still clearly irritated, neither pursues the argument or voices opposition, though Veronica gives him a glare and slaps the back of his head.
“Sup, Ian? Deep in thought?” Kevin says, nudging Ian’s arm with a cold can.
“Sorry, yeah. Thanks.” Ian accepts the beer and opens it. They clink cans together and sip.
“What’s on your mind, man?” Kevin tilts a kitchen chair onto one leg and spins it around to sit like a middle-aged teacher trying to look cool and approachable. He sips at his beer, resting his long forearm on the back of the chair, now in front of him. He leans in and burps into his fist.
“Nothing, Kev. I’m good.” Ian mops up the remaining sauce on his plate with he crust of his garlic bread.
“Guy problems?” Kevin reaches for another beer. He winces when he pops open the can, the skin having pulled away from underneath his fingernail when he pulled on the metal tab.
“Sorta. Not really.”
Kevin nods, looking like he had more to say but instead offers Ian a fist bump. Just as he’s getting up, Ian stops him.
“Kev - have you ever dated somebody not from here?”
The older man is confused by the question,
“Not from here like- not from Southside?”
In that moment, it occurs to Ian that perhaps Kevin isn’t the most travelled and worldly person he knows. Come to think of it, he’s not sure he can name anyone he’d really describe that way. Kevin is still looking at him, awaiting clarification, when he waves him off.
“Never mind. I joined an international dating site, that’s all. I was just wondering.”
“International dating site?” Veronica exclaims, probably loudly enough to be heard a block or two over. She playfully pushes her husband out of the way and holds her hand out. Ian raises an eyebrow, questioning.
“Phone, please! Let’s see some hot international men! Fi - get over here!”
Fiona finishes stirring the pitcher of sangria and carries it over to the table with a stack of mismatched plastic cups.
“C’mon Liam,” Kevin picks up the case of beer and waves the boy out of the kitchen. “This is about to not be a place for kids.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to look at a buncha dudes either!” Carl says, getting out of his chair. He starts to follow Kevin and Liam out of the room. Kevin stops, blocking his way.
“Wash the dishes for your sister first.” Kevin winks. Carl begins to protest but Kevin isn’t having it. “Fiona cooked, you clean.”
“Why me? Debbie should help.”
Kevin shifts his grip on the cardboard box to balance it on one hip. “You like girls, right?”
“Yeah I like girls,” Carl snarks.
“Girls like guys who clean.”
The boys’ expression changes like a lightbulb turned on behind his eyes. “Really?”
“Heck yeah. Watch-” Kevin turns to his wife. “V- can you take the AM shift at the Alibi tomorrow? Can you ask your mom if she’ll watch the girls?”
Veronica rolls her eyes. “And why the hell would I do that, Kev?”
“You don’t have to, I just thought I’d clean the kitchen and the bathroom. Put some laundry in while I’m at it.”
Carl marvels at Veronica’s reaction. She practically licks her lips like she’s about to pounce on him right there. Fiona raises both eyebrows looking back and forth between them.
“Trying to get your dick wet, huh?” She laughs and tops up her cup of sangria.
“If he does all that, we might have to close the bar until Monday because he won’t be able to walk,” Veronica says, playfully adjusting her bra.
“See, Carl?” Kevin looks around for him but finds the boy already at the sink elbow deep in dishwater.
Fiona mouths “thank you” to Kevin, looking impressed. She and Veronica return to swiping through the dating profiles on Ian’s phone.
“Good God!” Fiona’s eyes open wide. “Look at him!” She tilts to phone so Veronica can see it.
They take turns passing Ian’s phone back and forth ogling men with him. By the time Lip arrives, the three of them have worked their way through most of the sangria.
Lip enters the kitchen from the back door carrying his own beverage of choice, a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels.
“Got any mixers?” He asks as he opens the fridge. He finds a single, forgotten can of pop at the back of the top shelf. He retrieves it and holds it up as he asks if there are any more.
“You’re not supposed to be drinking, Lip.” Ian eyes the SCRAM tether. His older brother grins.
“I’m doing a human trial for a new product at work,” Lip says. “There’s a thin dermal patch on my wrist that the bracelet is in contact with. It’s nearly indistinguishable from my skin but won’t transmit an alcohol use alert to the court. So far, so good.” He pours some Jack into his mouth without touching his lips to the neck of the bottle and then adds some pop. He swishes both liquids around in his mouth before swallowing.
The trio at the kitchen table don’t reply; they’re fully absorbed in something and have yet to even acknowledge his presence. Lip tunes into their conversation a bit and figures out what they’re looking at. He mixes his drink and slides into an empty seat next to Ian.
“You three sound thirsty as fuck,” he laughs and squeezes Ian’s shoulder.
“Hey,” Ian smiles a dim, wine-drunk smile at him. In truth, he’s a little embarrassed. To his knowledge, Lip has never sunk to the level of online dating and in that more-than-slightly intoxicated moment, that’s exactly how Ian feels - like he’s doing some desperate shit.
“Fi, can I have my phone back, please?” He doesn’t wait for her to respond or hand it back, he reaches across the table and takes it out of her hand.
“Killjoy,” she complains, her fun being ended abruptly. She shakes her cup and tips it to nearly 90 degrees, encouraging a piece of fruit to fall into her mouth.
“Imma download that app myself,” Veronica declares. She produces her own phone from her back pocket. Ian laughs.
“You’re not a guy, gay, or single,” he says, using his long fingers to pluck a chunk of orange out of his own cup. Fiona sees him and abandons her method of fruit retrieval. She copies what Ian had done and raises a triumphant fist in the air as soon as she’s chewing on a piece of fruit.
“Didn’t say I was gonna try to meet anybody,” Veronica says while the app loads. “I just wanna look at yoked foreign dudes on my phone.” She makes Fiona swap places with her and together, they create a catfish-style dating profile. Ian and Lip mostly talk between themselves, but occasionally chime in with a detail or two for Veronica to include. When she’s finished, she reads it out loud and upon receiving the endorsement of the group via applause, she clicks to submit. She sets her fake man’s location to Chicago and names him the ultra-creative ‘Mike Smith’. The final step is to submit photos. As the app requires at least one photo to show the user’s face, this gives Veronica pause. She thinks for a minute, then opens the phone’s camera app.
“Nope, not me!” Ian playfully hides his face behind Lip’s shoulder. “I have a profile already - you’ll get me reported and banned for duplicates.”
She nods and after a second’s consideration, she pushes her tongue into her cheek.
“Lip, take one for the team. Stand up and take your shirt off!”
Fiona cackles. Lip politely declines. “Fuck no,” he laughs. “I don’t want any part of this.”
Veronica huffs but quickly moves on to another idea with a shrug. She scrolls through her photo gallery and eventually decides on a particular shirtless photo of Kevin. It’s from a few summers back, before he’d shaved his hair off. He’s cut and tan and is giving the camera his sexiest smile.
“Won’t he mind?” Fiona asks. Veronica shakes her head.
“How’in the fuck is he gonna find out about it? These guys are way the hell out there.” Veronica wiggles her fingers out to the side, generally indicating the rest of the world.
The girls spend the rest of the night alternating between dancing to loud music in the living room and responding to guys on the dating app. Lip and Ian keep mostly to themselves, talking about Lip’s latest blow-out argument with his girlfriend, Alaina.
Sometime around 1 am, The Balls carry their sleeping twins out of the Gallagher house and eventually, everyone disburses to their rooms to pass out. While she is far from sober and barely verbal, Fiona manages to convince Lip to stay the night on the sofa.
Besides the ever-responsible, mature beyond his years Liam and three year old Franny, Ian is the least intoxicated family member. He likes to drink but hates losing control, so he holds tight to a buzzed-but-not-sloppy threshold when he drinks, which isn’t often. He’s bone-tired when he slides between his sheets, still wearing his jeans and tries to get comfortable. He hasn’t had a late night like this since Lip moved out.
Feeling something poking him in the ass, he reaches down and finds his phone still in his back pocket. He grumbles and reaches over the side of his bed and feels around, trying to find the charger cable without turning on the light. He gives up, feeling exhausted.
Now he’s conflicted.
He has to work in the morning (another reason not to get too wasted) and if his phone battery dies overnight, he might not wake up on time. When he checks the battery life (it’s at 65%, more than enough to last through the night) he finds a small double-male symbol icon in the upper left corner of the screen.
He realizes he hasn’t actually checked responses to his profile, and at first glance, there are a lot of them. He chews on his lip for a second and clicks the HotPinkInternational! app open.
“Holy fuck…”
In just a couple of hours, his profile received messages from 47 individual accounts, over 70 messages and 153 eggplant emojis (the app’s not-very-subtle ‘like’ button). The app shows other users that Ian is online so even more eggplants continue to roll in.
He begins by going down the line and deleting all of the messages that contain only dick/butthole/feet pics and the ones that are requesting that he send them pics.
The unread message count drops to 23.
Next, he filters out all of the one-word messages and those with cheesy, cliched opening lines. The 23 unread message count drops to 12.
Twelve is a much more manageable number. He’s able to keep up with the undesireable messages that come in after this initial inbox clean up. He’s more methodical than he has been with other dating apps, reading the messages before looking at the profile photos and going from there. He lands on three guys who stood out from the rest.
Amir is a barrister (he had to Google that one) from Turkey.
Jan is an engineer in Germany.
William is a college student in Scotland.
They each pique his interest for different reasons, but they all asked him questions and their well-crafted messages mention things he’d said in his profile, letting him know they’d actually read it.
His battery drains to 42% (still enough to make it until morning) but he wants to plug it in anyway. He searches around his bed, but it isn’t there, he assumes someone must have borrowed it.
As he’s about to retrieve Liam’s from the kitchen, his phone chimes, signalling the arrival of a live chat message from the username PiotrPiper773.
Hi Ian. It looks like you’re online, boring night at work? It’s a beautiful day here in Gdansk, Poland. I see you live in Chicago, I’ve always wanted to travel there. If you’re looking for someone to talk to, I hope you choose me. x Piotr
Ian reads Piotr’s message, backpedals to his bed, and crosses his legs underneath him as he sits. He clicks Reply, not terribly sure of what to say. He of course knows there is a country named Poland, but he’d never be able to find it on a map, if asked. For the first time since beginning this whole HotPinkInternational! experiment, he’s wondering if he really has it in him to be in a relationship with someone so far away and from a different culture. All the same, no harm could come from a conversation.
Hi Piotr - I was just checking messages before bed. I work overnight sometimes and yes, it can get boring but I’m an EMT, so a boring shift means nobody’s life needed to be saved. I’m ok with boring nights at work. Chicago’s nice. To be honest, I haven’t really explored it much outside of where I live.
Like I said, I’m off to bed but message me whenever, it’d be cool to get to know you.
He hits send without proofreading or overthinking, but once it’s sent, he re-reads it and gets a lump in his stomach.
He sounds like such a fucking loser.
There’s no way he’s going to get a response. He sighs, disappointed in himself but decides that he hadn’t really lost anything. He’d been much more articulate and thoughtful when he responded to the other guys.
Like a game show contestant taking a peek at the prize he definitely didn’t win, Ian clicks on Piotr’s profile.
And goddamn.
Like, goddamn, goddamn.
Piotr is shirtless on a boat in one photo. His body looks strong and athletic. Another photo shows him wearing a dark blue and light grey striped jersey playing soccer or maybe rugby. In the final photo, Piotr is seated on a long metal bench with five other men. They’re dressed up in expensive-looking Euro-cut suits and rich colors (Piotr’s is a dark purple). He is smiling wide and standing tall, showing off his perfectly straight, white teeth. His hair is blond, looking thick and wavy in most photos, looking like a member of a 90’s boy band.
Ian swipes through the photos again, zooming in to see Piotr’s face at different angles.
He has a day or two of beard growth in the shirtless boat photo and before long, Ian is imagining the feel of Piotr’s stubble against his cheek and his neck.
He wants to take a screenshot of each photo, but if the app announces screenshots the way Snapchat does, Ian is certain he’d die of embarrassment.
Again, he decides to get some sleep. His phone is at 31% when Piotr responds.
not saving any lives tonight, Captain America?
Ian smirks, a bit relieved his reply wasn’t so lame that Piotr wouldn’t want to talk to him. He settles back against his headboard to tap out his reply.
not tonight. Just dinner and drinks with my family.
Piotr immediately responds and they settle into a basic, innocuous conversation.
that sounds nice. do you have a large family?
pretty big, I guess. I have two sisters and three brothers. One of my sisters has a little girl.
do you all live together?
Ian starts to type out something about their deadbeat parents and Fiona getting custody of all of the underaged siblings when he was 17. He decides it’s way too much information for their first conversation.
He deletes everything and starts over.
My older brother has his own place but the rest of us are still all together. It can get a little crowded but we’re close. What do you do for work?
He hopes his question will bring the conversation somewhere more comfortable. He’d head for the hills if a guy overshared about his dead mom and his drunk, junkie dad - who, by the way, isn’t really his dad because his dead mom was also a junkie and she got knocked up by her husband’s brother at a key party, leaving him with a huge gap in his understanding of how a normal family works.
He breathes a sigh of relief when Piotr simply replies that he manages his family’s business, then he sends Ian a selfie from behind a Piotr register.
Ian’s mouth runs dry. Piotr is so fucking hot. Ian is having a very hard time not visualizing him in Raj’s place in the threesome video.
He feels his arousal building and adjusts his dick. It isn’t until Piotr sends another message that Ian realizes he hadn’t responded to the photo.
Hello? Did I something do wrong? You stop responding when I sent the picture.
Sorry! I started to fall asleep. Send all the photos you want.
LoL oh?
You’re hot as fuck.
Ian holds his breath, wondering what Piotr will say to that.
Thank you. Obviously, I think you are also. Can you send me photo?
A photo? Right now? Ian scrambles a little, switches on the lamp on his nightstand and pulls his shirt over his head. He takes a couple of pictures in selfie mode trying to look relaxed and sexy in spite of feeling tired and anxious.
He crops the photo he likes best and sends it to Piotr. He purses his lips and taps his fingers on his knee while he waits.
Ian, that very not nice of you.
You jerk
Ian stares at the messages until his vision blurs (which isn’t long, considering how tired he is at this point.) Another arrives.
Did you fall sleep?
No, I’m awake. Sorry about the photo.
There’s a pause long enough for Ian to begin to doze; his chin drops to his chest. A bright, twinkly sound startles him awake and he realizes it’s his phone. Piotr’s profile picture is center-screen - he’s calling him. He coughs the denied sleep out of his voice and answers.
“Hello?”
“Is this ok? I thought it would be easier than texting. I hope I not bothering you.”
“Yeah, no, yeah - it’s - sorry. Yeah, it’s fine to call. I didn’t know we could, I didn’t know we could call each other through the app.”
Smooth, Gallagher. Real fuckin’ smooth.
Ian clears his throat.
“It’s got rather lot of features for free app. I was using a fair few others, but I liked this one the best,” Piotr tells him.
“Have you met anyone on a dating app before?” Ian asks. The longer they talk and the more of Piotr’s voice he hears, the hotter Ian feels. If he hadn’t already removed his shirt, he’d have to take it off. He wishes he could take his skin off.
“I not met anyone in person,” Piotr says. “Just so you know. I’m talking to couple of Americans, like yourself but no one serious. How about you? Have you anyone met?”
Ian quickly tries to put a reply together in his head that doesn’t make him sound like a total manwhore.
“I haven’t done a lot of the online dating stuff but there hasn’t been anybody serious in a while. I thought I’d give this a try.” It’s not a lie, not exactly. He’s slept with a lot of guys but that doesn’t exactly mean he has dated them.
“If it’s ok for me to say, you’re -”
“Why’d you call me a jerk when I sent that picture?” Ian interrupts him.
Piotr laughs and Ian thinks he might have just fallen in love with the sound of it. He wants to hear it again and again. He wants to feel Piotr’s breath against his face after he makes him laugh.
“I call you a jerk for giving me a semi during my workday. Kind of rude of you, to be honest.” Piotr chuckles deep in his throat. It’s another sound Ian wants to hear more of. Ian chuckles too, but mutes himself, thinking Piotr couldn’t possibly find his goofy laugh sexy.
“Well…um…sorry? I think?”
“I like you, Ian.” Piotr tells him. Ian immediately blushes and is grateful that they’re not on video chat.
“I like you too,” he replies without a second thought.
They talk through the night. Piotr tells him Gdansk is a very old port city, rich in history. His family owns a business that caters to tourists, taking them on tours through the city center in small boats. In his mind, Ian likens it to the boats full of tourists checking out the Chicago architecture from the river. As it’s the family business to know the city inside-out, Piotr goes into great detail about his home, the history, food, music, and nightlife. He asks Ian about Chicago.
By comparison, Ian doesn’t feel like Chicago can compare. He tries to do it justice, because he does think it’s a cool city but he hasn’t actually gone to most of the places tourists go to. He’s never been up to the observation decks of the Sears Tower or the Hancock Building. He’s never been inside the Art Institute or to a fancy restaurant. He feels very poor and inexperienced describing the times he and Lip snuck into Comiskey Park and how they always tried to sit as close to the visitors’ dugout to viciously jeer the other team. As they didn’t pay for tickets to the game, they spent whatever pocket money they had to gorge on hot dogs and popcorn while stealing sips of beer from other spectators not paying attention. They’d invariably get kicked out when they drew too much attention from security and couldn’t produce any ticket stubs.
“I’ve never watched a baseball game,” Piotr tells him. “You’ll have to teach me all about it.”
Ian enthusiastically agrees.
Hours later, Ian can barely keep his eyes open.
“Piotr, I’m sorry but I have to get some sleep. I have to work in - Jesus fuck -” Ian squints at the clock. “I have to work in like, three hours.”
“Shit, I very sorry. I wasn’t thinking of how late it must be for you. Go, go get some sleep so you can be Captain America.”
“More like Captain Caffeinated,” Ian jokes, just to hear Piotr laugh one more time.
“I’ll speak to you later, yes?”
“Yes. Yes, definitely,” Ian yawns.
“Right then. Goodnight.”
“Night.” Ian settles down into his pillow imagining having his arms around someone with a remarkable laugh who smells like salt air.
They talk more in the coming days and weeks. A lot more. It feels like they spend every minute they can spare either texting or speaking on the phone. They try to video chat, but the shared Gallagher family laptop is old and the camera cuts out continually.
He hasn’t told Piotr much more about his siblings, but Piotr tells Ian more about his family and what it’s like to be gay in Poland.
“I wonder all the time if my father would have accepted me,” Piotr confesses one night (night in Poland, day in Chicago). “My mother, sort of supportive, she’s got other sons to marry girls and give grandchildren. I’ve never brought a boyfriend home, so exactly how supportive she really is remains to be seen. My brothers and sisters are progressive. Most of them knew before I told them.”
Ian can’t imagine how hard it would be for him if his own family wasn’t supportive of him. Lip’s initial reaction when he came out wasn’t awesome but when the dust cleared, it turned out he was more upset that Ian didn’t tell him and he had to find out but discovering gay porn hidden in their bedroom.
“I’m wondering something, Ian,” Piotr pauses.
“What’s that?”
“I’m wondering if -” Piotr exhales, sounding nervous. “I’m wondering if you might be the first boyfriend I introduce to my mother.”
Ian’s breath catches, he can suddenly hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. His thoughts race. Did Piotr just ask him to be his boyfriend? Are they official? How does he feel about that? Does he want to be Piotr’s boyfriend?
In the six seconds he takes to consider the latter, he concludes the answer to be a resounding yes. He wants Piotr. He’s quickly fallen for him to the point that while he got long, detailed responses from the initial three men who reached out to him and dozens more besides, Ian has only been corresponding with Piotr.
“I’d like that.” Ian feels a weight lift as he says it. “I’d like to be your boyfriend. I’d like to meet your family.”
They say goodbye shortly afterwards as Piotr is tired and Ian has to get ready for work. He can’t be late for another shift, he’s already been written up twice.
He takes his phone into the bathroom with him so he can listen to music while he showers. Once he’s finished rinsing the bodywash from his chest, he gets the idea to send Piotr a suggestive photo. Piotr didn’t ask for one, but Ian reasons that it’s normal for boyfriends to have nudes of each other. He chews his lip. Piotr was the one who used the word first; even mentioning it in the context of introducing Ian to his mother. It didn’t seem like a casual fling or online flirtation, it felt serious. He washes his hair while wondering what Piotr’s reaction would be. They’ve been talking for a while and besides a few vaguely PG-13 comments here and there, they’ve yet to talk about sex at all. They had an awkward and very (thankfully) brief, almost clinical conversation when Ian outed himself as a Gold Star top. Despite his excellent grasp of English, Piotr was not familiar with the expression. Ian explained to him what it meant and Piotr seemed to be receptive.
Other than that, they haven’t broached the subject of sex or each other’s yums and yucks at all.
But, Ian reasonsed, if they’re in a relationship now, doesn’t that mean that sex is on the horizon eventually? The distance would make that difficult, obviously one of them would have to travel to the other; but surely, phone sex would be ok now.
The water is starting to turn cold and he has patches of goosebumps cropping up all over. He grabs his phone, careful not to bring it under the showerhead. He snaps a few photos ranging from risque to pornographic. He finishes up in the bathroom and hurries back to his room. He glances at himself in the dusty mirror on the wall. He needs a haircut; his usual high and tight is lower and looser than he prefers it to be. Rivulets of water pour from the top section of his hair down his forehead, he wipes it off on the back of his arm. As he begins dressing, his phone chimes with a message from Piotr. Ian's heart gives a little kick that makes him feel foolish a second later. He opens the message and takes a deep inhale.
I can't stop thinking about kissing you. I think I'm in love with you, Ian
He freezes, not expecting a single word in the message.
Piotr loves him? They haven't even met in person yet. The emotions and doubts come fast but none are more prominent in his mind than others, so they cancel each other out. He suddenly goes quiet inside and only one inner voice speaks to him. It says only one word: fate.
It's fate.
It's fate that he and Piotr met and now there's love. He's not sure he loves him back exactly, but he could absolutely get there. To not say it back right then might make Piotr retreat, which is the last thing he wants. His hands shake while he types.
I want to kiss you too Piotr. Among other things. I think I love you too.
He holds his breath until Piotr replies.
other things? 😈
The devil emoji is the permission he was looking for. He throws caution to the wind, sorting through the photos he’d taken in the shower and sends Piotr the least subtle one. If he's honest with himself, he's impressed with the quality of the image. It’s his lower stomach just below his navel and he's got a soft fist around his half-hard cock. He's always known he's physically gifted, but the angle makes it look even larger. He quickly crops out a spot of mold on the shower wall and sends it.
Seconds later Piotr calls and Ian is chuckling when he answers.
“Thought you were tired and going to bed.”
“Oh yes, I'm supposed to drift right off to sleep now knowing what you got waiting for me in Chicago.” Piotr sounds flustered.
“I only wanted my boyfriend to have a photo of me.” Ian flirts, doing his best to sound completely innocent.
“I'm sure that's all you wanted to do, fuck,” Piotr grunts the last word with such force it doesn't take much for Ian to imagine another context for the sound.
“How are we going to meet in real life and when?” Ian asks, hoping his use of the words ‘in real life’ doesn’t sound too cheesy or immature.
“I don't know,” Piotr replies. “Do you have a passport?”
“Nope, never been out of Illinois.” Ian says.
“Can you get one? I don’t think Americans need visas to come to my country. Do you know?”
“A visa?” Ian feels a little foolish for not thinking about that part. He hadn't ever expected to travel, let alone travel to meet a long-distance boyfriend in person for the first time. “I'm sure I could get a passport. I’ll find out about the rest.”
Piotr offers to pay for Ian’s flights. “I don't know how I'll manage to keep my hands off you until we're in private.”
Ian’s mouth curls up on one side. “Oh yeah?”
“Fuck, yeah.”
“It's hot when you swear,” Ian tells Piotr. “I like it.”
“Well get your big dick to my country and I'll give you all the fucking swears you can handle.”
As Ian gulps a breath, all the blood in his brain rushes southward and thus goes his thought filter.
“Piotr I want to fuck you for the rest of my fucking life.”
It's truly not what he meant to say. He'd been thinking of something closer to ‘I want to fuck you until we can't fuck anymore’ which is no less un-sexy than what he actually said, but again there was very little blood left in his brain.
“Did - did you just propose?” Piotr asks, laughing.
“Yeah, I sort of did, huh? I'll send you a solid gold cock ring.”
Something in the ether changes.
“Oh.” Piotr deflates.
“What?”
“No, nothing. I didn't actually think you had. I'd hope a proposal would be slightly more romantic than that only… you're going to think I'm crazy.”
“Try me,” Ian says genuinely clueless as to where this is going.
“If we were engaged, it would be the easiest way for me to go to America and be with you. It's called a fiancé visa.”
Now, Ian is really spinning out. He didn't know a person named Piotr even existed three months ago, but now Piotr is his boyfriend who says he loves him and they're discussing getting married. He knows it's too fast, he knows this he has absolutely no idea in the what in the Holy Name of fuck his family will have to say about it, but he simply gets swept up in the romance of falling for someone he's never been on the same continent with, he exhales.
“Would you marry me?”
“Don't tease.”
“I'm not. I've never known anybody like you, Piotr. You're amazing. We haven't known each other long but so what? People date for 10 years and still split up. Who says we have to do all that other shit before we get engaged?”
‘All that other shit’ includes meeting in person but he knows this and he still continues.
“If we love each other, we'll find a way to be together.”
“You love me?” Piotr asks, sounding on the verge of tears.
“I do. So, why wait?”
“I don't know what to say…”
“Say you'll marry me.”
“I will. I'll marry you.”
After some stunned silence, they laugh because it's all they can do before slowly going silent again.
“This is where we’d kiss, I think,” Piotr finally speaks.
“Is it? I've never been engaged before.” Ian smiles.
“Yeah.”
Soon after, Ian eyes the clock and notices that it's dangerously close to the time he has to catch the L or he'll be late for his shift.
“Listen,” he says struggling with the buttons of his uniform shirt. “I'll apply for my passport and I'll come see you as soon as I can, okay? Promise. I'll buy you a ring and propose in person and we’ll get you here to Chicago where we can be together.”
“You're amazing. I can't believe it. I can't. Please be real, Ian.”
“I'm very real. I promise.”
Piotr clears his throat. “One thing though.”
“Anything.”
“I'd like my family to be at our wedding. I don't know who will support us, but if I'm leaving my country to be with you…”
“No, I get it. What if we get married when I visit you? Wouldn't it be easier getting a Visa or whatever for you if we were married already?”
“I don't know, I suppose so.” Piotr sounds so excited, Ian can practically hear his heart beating.
“I don't want to like, put words in your mouth, Piotr. But if you want to marry me the first time we meet, I'll marry you. Like, like an arranged marriage except we've already gotten to know each other.” There’s a voice in the back of Ian’s mind that’s telling him to pump the brakes and to really think about this before moving forward with any plans, but he ignores it.
“I love you, my fiancé.”
“I love you, too, fiancé.” The words don’t feel entirely natural coming out of Ian’s mouth but he’s trying.
“You're going to miss your train.”
“Fuck! You're right, Fuck, shit fuck. Ok, I'll get the passport paperwork together,” Ian scans his room for his work shoes.
“And I'll start wedding planning. I love you.”
“I love you.” Ian ends the call and his whole being is buzzing. Excited electrical charges shoot down his arms and legs. He's getting married. He's marrying a gorgeous, smart, interesting man that loves him. It's everything he has ever wanted, he just has to get a passport.