Don't Run, Stop Holding Your Tongue
Title: Don't Run, Stop Holding Your Tongue
Pairing: Ian/Mickey
Timeline: Season three
Rating: PG13
Words: 815 (eight drabbles + one sentence)
Summary: When Mickey tells Ian that he missed that first time, it only feels like half a victory
A/N: I guess I'm posting this here to keep everything together. On AO3.
When Mickey tells Ian that he missed him that first time, it only feels like half a victory. The other half is heavy on his tongue, weighed down by a combination of fear and fuckin’ Milkovich pride. He talks about how it’s nice to finally switch back and doesn’t watch Ian’s expression turn to stone from the corner of his eye. Instead, Mickey fills his lungs with smoke and exhales with phantom words that could’ve been said, if only. He hands Ian his cigarette and not once does Mickey say what he’d been thinking while doing fuck all at juvie.
*
Something inside Mickey awakens at Ian’s words, it seizes in his throat, settles in his stomach. A desperate need to fulfil what Mickey himself has been yearning all along. So Mickey cranes his neck and kisses Ian for the first time in a stolen white van, Ian holding a cigarette. He wants to tell Gallagher to fuckin’ shut up, but Ian hadn’t said anything so Mickey flips him off instead, resists the urge to grin too wide on his way inside. Hell, if actions speak louder than words then Mickey’s on top of a roof with a sore fuckin’ throat.
*
When his brothers mentioned a run outta town, Mickey had thought about it in that way he sometimes does, like a thought in between an intention and a daydream. Ian fucking him hard against Mickey’s own mattress or walking around naked like he owns the place. Fuck, he had even pictured a sleeping Gallagher, and then snorted at the idea of dishevelled red hair and drool. So Mickey tells Ian, “Fuck you is what you were invited to” and ducks out to the backroom. He doesn’t miss Gallagher’s surprised, almost giddy laugh and Mickey feels like he’s doing something right.
*
“So thanks to me, you’ve been pistol whipped and shot in the ass”. Mickey doesn’t reply, doesn’t know how to. Hell, he doesn’t even want to. What the fuck else have they got left to say? He keeps missing his shot as Ian talks about wanting to make sure Mickey’s okay, how he can’t stop thinking about it. Mickey doesn’t reply to that either, feels the weight of a weapon heavy in his hands and shoots. Misses. His hands hadn’t shaken while gripping the Russian whore’s naked waist but they’re shaking now as Gallagher walks off. Fuck you, he thinks.
*
The Russian and her friends are talking about bridesmaid dresses when Mickey just gets up and leaves. Terry isn’t there so the eyes on the back of his neck don’t mean shit to him. His legs feel heavy while they take a familiar route to an abandon building he has grown to hate. Gallagher finds him just as Mickey’s about to take another swig, and Mickey doesn’t even ignore the way his heart lurches up to his throat at the sight of him. Gallagher, he looks fucking all right. He’s angry and fuming but he’s clean faced and it’s good.
“Oh! He speaks!” Gallagher says, no - he fucking shouts. Mickey gets up, staggers, and can almost feel the heaviness of alcohol thrumming through his veins. Ian follows him outside, talks about how if Mickey wants to fag bash he should go ahead. Talks about how Mickey loves him and how he’s gay, just to admit it. Mickey doesn’t admit it and instead leaves Ian fucking Gallagher lying on the ground, his clean face is bloody and bruised. “Feel better now,” Mickey says. He spits on the ground after Ian’s out of sight and imagines the taste of a little blood.
*
Gallagher speaks around his cigarette; the smoke gets all up in Mickey’s face. Mickey takes it from him almost gratefully and asks Ian to wait for him while he gets all this wedding shit over with. Can’t take more than an hour, right? But Ian’s frowning and then he’s fucking shouting. Mickey knows that everything’s going to shit, and he knows that Gallagher just doesn’t get it. “Not everybody just gets to blurt out how they fuckin’ feel every minute,” Mickey says, and it’s the truest fucking thing he’s ever said. He does give half a shit about Ian Gallagher.
*
When Mickey tells Ian that he wants to show him something it’s a lie and they know it. He hears Ian’s footsteps follow and Mickey doesn’t smile when Gallagher stops at the doorway, even though he really fucking wants to. Ian’s quiet until he starts saying things like “fours years, minimum” and that’s when something clutches at Mickey’s throat, fucking burns the backs of his eyes. He straight out tells Gallagher he’s not some bitch, won’t tell Ian not to go. But then he almost does and Mickey fucking chokes, taking a stuttering breath that does nothing for his lungs.
*
The next time he sees Ian Gallagher, Mickey has learned not to waste his words.
Pairing: Ian/Mickey
Timeline: Season three
Rating: PG13
Words: 815 (eight drabbles + one sentence)
Summary: When Mickey tells Ian that he missed that first time, it only feels like half a victory
A/N: I guess I'm posting this here to keep everything together. On AO3.
When Mickey tells Ian that he missed him that first time, it only feels like half a victory. The other half is heavy on his tongue, weighed down by a combination of fear and fuckin’ Milkovich pride. He talks about how it’s nice to finally switch back and doesn’t watch Ian’s expression turn to stone from the corner of his eye. Instead, Mickey fills his lungs with smoke and exhales with phantom words that could’ve been said, if only. He hands Ian his cigarette and not once does Mickey say what he’d been thinking while doing fuck all at juvie.
*
Something inside Mickey awakens at Ian’s words, it seizes in his throat, settles in his stomach. A desperate need to fulfil what Mickey himself has been yearning all along. So Mickey cranes his neck and kisses Ian for the first time in a stolen white van, Ian holding a cigarette. He wants to tell Gallagher to fuckin’ shut up, but Ian hadn’t said anything so Mickey flips him off instead, resists the urge to grin too wide on his way inside. Hell, if actions speak louder than words then Mickey’s on top of a roof with a sore fuckin’ throat.
*
When his brothers mentioned a run outta town, Mickey had thought about it in that way he sometimes does, like a thought in between an intention and a daydream. Ian fucking him hard against Mickey’s own mattress or walking around naked like he owns the place. Fuck, he had even pictured a sleeping Gallagher, and then snorted at the idea of dishevelled red hair and drool. So Mickey tells Ian, “Fuck you is what you were invited to” and ducks out to the backroom. He doesn’t miss Gallagher’s surprised, almost giddy laugh and Mickey feels like he’s doing something right.
*
“So thanks to me, you’ve been pistol whipped and shot in the ass”. Mickey doesn’t reply, doesn’t know how to. Hell, he doesn’t even want to. What the fuck else have they got left to say? He keeps missing his shot as Ian talks about wanting to make sure Mickey’s okay, how he can’t stop thinking about it. Mickey doesn’t reply to that either, feels the weight of a weapon heavy in his hands and shoots. Misses. His hands hadn’t shaken while gripping the Russian whore’s naked waist but they’re shaking now as Gallagher walks off. Fuck you, he thinks.
*
The Russian and her friends are talking about bridesmaid dresses when Mickey just gets up and leaves. Terry isn’t there so the eyes on the back of his neck don’t mean shit to him. His legs feel heavy while they take a familiar route to an abandon building he has grown to hate. Gallagher finds him just as Mickey’s about to take another swig, and Mickey doesn’t even ignore the way his heart lurches up to his throat at the sight of him. Gallagher, he looks fucking all right. He’s angry and fuming but he’s clean faced and it’s good.
“Oh! He speaks!” Gallagher says, no - he fucking shouts. Mickey gets up, staggers, and can almost feel the heaviness of alcohol thrumming through his veins. Ian follows him outside, talks about how if Mickey wants to fag bash he should go ahead. Talks about how Mickey loves him and how he’s gay, just to admit it. Mickey doesn’t admit it and instead leaves Ian fucking Gallagher lying on the ground, his clean face is bloody and bruised. “Feel better now,” Mickey says. He spits on the ground after Ian’s out of sight and imagines the taste of a little blood.
*
Gallagher speaks around his cigarette; the smoke gets all up in Mickey’s face. Mickey takes it from him almost gratefully and asks Ian to wait for him while he gets all this wedding shit over with. Can’t take more than an hour, right? But Ian’s frowning and then he’s fucking shouting. Mickey knows that everything’s going to shit, and he knows that Gallagher just doesn’t get it. “Not everybody just gets to blurt out how they fuckin’ feel every minute,” Mickey says, and it’s the truest fucking thing he’s ever said. He does give half a shit about Ian Gallagher.
*
When Mickey tells Ian that he wants to show him something it’s a lie and they know it. He hears Ian’s footsteps follow and Mickey doesn’t smile when Gallagher stops at the doorway, even though he really fucking wants to. Ian’s quiet until he starts saying things like “fours years, minimum” and that’s when something clutches at Mickey’s throat, fucking burns the backs of his eyes. He straight out tells Gallagher he’s not some bitch, won’t tell Ian not to go. But then he almost does and Mickey fucking chokes, taking a stuttering breath that does nothing for his lungs.
*
The next time he sees Ian Gallagher, Mickey has learned not to waste his words.