Work Text:
It was hot.
Tight.
Suffocating.
Ian felt the heat around him pressing against his chest and back like always, so it didn’t take long before he yanked off the cotton t-shirt that irritated his skin. And maybe that’s why he was shivering so easily in that damn heat. He felt every hair on his burning skin stand on end with Mickey’s breath against his neck. His body trembled with every thrust, trying uselessly to hold on to calm, serenity, and patience.
Ian wanted to explode.
And he will.
Fuck, he’s gonna explode.
That hellish day was breaking him. His patience, his strength, all that serene, docile control he usually kept to himself, gone with one little push that made everything around him spin.
He’d slept badly, still adjusting to the last med changes a few weeks ago. That day, work had pissed him off more than usual, and even though he was glad to be a paramedic again, starting all over from scratch, not being able to just do what he already knew, but having to be a rookie again for months, retrained in a new unit as if he’d never done any of it before, just to earn the team’s trust. All that pressure, not to mention the endless nights of study so he could become a nurse like he’d recently decided he wanted, chasing a more balanced routine than working inside an ambulance.
And then that asshole showed up.
Of all days... Of all days, today, when Ian was on the verge of a stress-induced breakdown, poking at the last bit of control he had left.
Some tall, blond, musclebound prick, laying his pale claws on Ian’s husband’s back, offering help with picking fruit, like Ian wasn’t standing right there a few steps away. Flirting with Mickey with a smile that was way too wide, way too friendly, way too helpful.
No.
Fuck that.
Ian needed to get that stress out of his system.
And he only knew one way to do it.
So what if they were on the street, in the middle of a farmer’s market with hundreds of people buying fruit and flowers just a few steps away, like Ian wasn’t wrecking his husband’s tight little ass against the wall of a small building just meters from the crowd?
Mickey’s strangled voice in his ear, his thick legs wrapped around Ian’s waist, and that wicked grin on Mickey’s face only made Ian harder, angrier, more desperate with lust.
Ian was unbalanced as fuck. And maybe fucking his husband in the middle of the street wasn’t going to bring balance back, but who the hell cared? That’s what he was doing right now.
“All this… just because he touched my… back?” Mickey’s trembling, stammering, sarcastic voice brushed right against Ian’s ear. Like a breath of provocation. Ian pulled back just enough to look at his husband’s face.
Flushed, sweaty, shining.
Hot as fuck with that swollen mouth and tongue sticking out like Mickey’s own personal brand of provocation. Ian was crazy for that mouth. That tongue. That man.
Ian didn’t answer.
He just pressed his lips to Mickey’s and devoured every hot, wet corner. Sucking his tongue, biting his plump lips, lungs burning for air while Mickey clenched tighter around his cock with every movement.
His fingers dug into his husband’s thighs with force and rage, squeezing and sinking deeper, leaving marks on that soft pale skin. His cock slammed in and out of his husband’s tight, wet, sensitive hole, pinning Mickey’s small body harder against the wall of that little building just steps from the market. One hand abandoning Mickey’s support to grab his leaking cock, pumping him like crazy in a clear warning.
Mouth, ass, and cock... owned all at once.
Mine, mine, mine...
That’s all Ian could think as he felt Mickey’s body convulsing around him, his cock spilling in Ian’s hand, his greedy little ass strangling his dick, his soft mouth pressed against Ian’s, moaning into him. Even if Mickey wanted to, there was no way he could disagree. Mickey was Ian’s. All of him. Every bit. Only his. And Ian doubted his husband, especially today, wrecked after that orgasm, would argue with the mental claim Ian repeated to himself.
Mickey was his.
And if that blond prick could see his husband right now: smiling, warm, limp, and satisfied in Ian’s arms; even he would have to agree.