Title: After/Before [Shameless]
Title: After/Before
Author: Pairatime
Fandom: Shameless
Word Count:
Challenge: thekinkroom Big Bang for 2014-2015.
Rating: NC-17 or FRAO
Genre: D/S AU
Characters/Pairings: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich with Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich/Tony Markovich
Contains: slash, bdsm, ropes, impact play, dom/sub, threesome, domestic submission
Series: It will become one yes
Summary: Mickey has been Ian’s sub for a couple of years but always in private, always alone but Ian’s had enough of that. So Mickey gets owned publicly at a party but when it’s over it’s time to go home. Only home and family just makes everything more complicated, especially when he might have more family than he thought.
Author's Notes: First off, this is set after/during the loft party that takes place in
4x8 all events on the show that happen after, meaning Ian’s bipolarness are ignored. This was written at two main chunks, part one was written then after a break part two. This is why the tone and feel of them changes a little. Second, I had not planned on Tony. He just kind of happened and for a sub he’s rather pushy it seems.
Author’s note2: The art, created by the talented froggyfun365 is just perfect and fits the story so well. I hope you enjoy it as you read the story.
Link to fic master post: LJ | AO3
Link to art master post:Pinding
***Prolog: The Club***
Ian was smirking at him.
Ian was smirking at him and there were faggots and homos everywhere.
Mickey had been in the club for almost half an hour and he hadn’t really…hadn’t seen…
Men were dancing on the bars with shorts so skimpy- well Mickey had underwear with more fabric to them. Two men were grinding on each other, hard…everyone here was gay…everyone was a fucking ‘mo.
Just like them….and they wouldn’t care what he and Ian did…fuck, half of them wanted Ian to sub for them and the other half probably wanted him to dom the fuck out of them, fucking backwards pricks.
Mickey pulled his gaze back to Ian…standing there and smirking like he always did when he knew he was going to win…fucker tried to kiss him in public and then just….smirked.
But Mickey wanted it too, fuck him but he did…he fucking wanted it…he wanted everything that Ian was offering, had, offered, was always offering and more. He wanted it all, everything.
And for at least this one night he was going to let himself have it, Mickey promised himself. He gave the club one more look, taking it all in. Then Mickey turned his focus to Ian, grabbing his redhead by the neck and kissing him.
Nice and intense and unlike every kiss they’d had before. The kiss was slow and cool. They took their time. It was rarely done between them. It had always been hungry passion and frantic action before time ran out. But this time…this time was different. Open, erotic, sensual, and drawn out. Like they had all the time in the world and wanted to use it all on just this one kiss.
And in front of every fucking queer boy in the club. For once, for once not giving a shit what they thought of him because they didn’t matter. Not tonight.
This night was his, it was Ian’s.
It was theirs.
***The Morning After***
Mickey watched as the man walked away before turning to give Ian a long look.
The redhead was still passed out on the other half of the bed where he’d put him only a few hours before, almost completely unmoved. Mickey could even still see the creases in Ian’s sleeve from where he had been holding his dom; holding him the whole time they slept side by side. Mickey couldn’t remember the last time he’s slept that long and deep in an unknown place, open and filled with strangers as well.
But he had, he had last night because of…because Gallagher. “Yo, dude,” Mickey called out, turning back toward the party’s host, now in the kitchen area. “Gallagher likes pancakes, and throw in some fruit shit if you got it,” Mickey added, pushing himself up from the pullout bed, his gaze traveling back to Ian as he did.
“Fruit shit,” Brian said, and Mickey could hear the amusement in his voice. It was almost enough to make him want to turn around and knock out the guy’s teeth, but Ian wouldn’t like that. “I’ll have to see what I have, there might be leftover strawberries from the daiquiris. You still just want eggs? Coffee?”
The additional questions were finally enough for Mickey to turn from Ian and toward the kitchen, his focus tracking the host and the others milling around enjoying the morning, some still kissing, holding hands and all that faggoty shit before they landed on the coffee maker. “Fucking definitely.” He answered, heading right for it, stopping to glare at it when he realized it was one of those fancy yuppie one-cup-at-a-time machines.
He could only stare at it. “Fucking hell, you can’t even have real fucking coffee?” Mickey questioned, unsure where to start as he continued to look at it, remembering the weird beers from the night before. Not even sure where to begin, Mickey started flicking his way through the small stack of flavored cups, tossing them about trying to find something that wasn’t gay. No way was he starting his day with some caramel vanilla cream crap.
“It’s so hot that it’s not an act,” Brian commented to one of the other guest before coming over to stand next to Mickey. “We’ll use French Roast. It’s as close to regular coffee as you’ll find,” he said, picking one of the plastic cups up and sliding it into the coffee maker.
From there it looked normal enough, water drained from the tank in the back and light caramel color liquid dripped into the plain red mug. “Thanks,” Mickey said, frowning as he mentally reviewed the steps so he could make the second cup if he needed.
He watched as Brian smiled at him before heading back over to the stove where most of the burners seemed to have the different breakfast options on them. Mickey looked on as Brian poured the yellow egg mixture into one pan before flipping the golden pancakes on another griddle while checking the egg-soaked toast on the third. It only took another moment for him to tell that Brian was doing it all on his own.
Mickey panned around at the near two dozen men still hanging around the loft, while a handful-- like Ian-- were still sleeping. Most of the men were out and up, moving around, chatting with one another, and even with Brian, eating the food Brian was cooking, and in the case of one pair enjoying some morning play. The one thing none of them were doing was helping with the cooking.
“You’re a Dom, right? I mean I was pretty sure you are. You did tie up those guys real well and then spank the shit out of them last night. That was you, right? You’re not one of those fucking weird service tops are you?” Mickey asked bluntly, looking back at Brian while thinking of the party the night before.
“You mean like Ian?”
Mickey wanted to scowl at the amused tone in Brian’s voice, almost as much as he wanted to at the idea of Ian being a service top, which he wasn’t, not really. “That fucking shit is just for work, if he wasn’t getting paid for it he wouldn’t be giving them the time of day. Ian does not get his rocks off pleasing other guys like some subby Dom,” Mickey spat out aggressively, defending Ian.
“Whoa there, didn’t mean to dis your Dom,” Brian said, the amusement not leaving his voice as Mickey watched him flip the toast. “I know he’s not a service top. And as for me, well I’m a bondage Dom. I get my rocks off tying them up. I may play a bit with them, mostly my hand or a paddle, but my love is in the rope work.”
Brian kept talking. And from the near giddiness Mickey heard as he listened to the guy, Mickey got just how much he had to love it. How much he had to love putting out and using the ropes on a sub, and given what he’d seen last night…the guy had skills to back up his lust.
***The Night Before***
Mickey smacked his lips as he tasted the second beer, some fucking winter wheat crap. But he had to admit, even if only to himself, that it wasn’t that bad. He’d had worse anyways, most of it at the Alibi Room.
Mickey leaned into Ian as he took in the party, he’d been to worse parties too, switching his glance to his redhead before looking back toward the show that held Ian’s--and everyone else’s--attention.
Strung up by ropes hanging from the ceiling, a lanky ebony-skinned man spun and twisted as the host, Brian, slowly played with the toy, adding ropes to move and shift arms and legs while tightening or loosening others to change the pose. Alternating between snapping photos and using his hand or a small collection of tools to change the shade of his subject’s ass or back every few minutes as he did so.
It was pretty and hypnotic and unlike any beating Mickey had ever seen. Brian cared for his toy. His hands may have been inflicting pain or shifting ropes but his lips were flowing with encouragement and praise, when they weren’t lightly kissing the dark skin of his sub and toy
And every time the sub’s face turned toward them, Mickey could see only bliss on his expression, his slack face somehow still smiling, his eyes blown so wide Mickey could see it from across the loft. The guy was loving every second of it, and the Dom hadn’t even touched the sub’s jockstrap-clad cock.
“God, he looks fucking amazing.”
Ian’s whispered words drew Mickey’s eyes from the display to the redhead standing beside him. “Yeah,” because Mickey couldn’t disagree at all, the pair did look fucking amazing to borrow his guy’s words. “You wanna do something? With, not me but…not that you should be looking at other--it’s hot right?” Mickey rambled before shoving his bottle between his lips to shut himself up, cursing himself.
“Fuck yes I want to do that, but not with just anyone,” Ian said his voice and breathe suddenly very close to Mickey’s ear.
The soft tone and puff of warm moist air barely inches from his skin sent a shiver right through Mickey. He shut his eye and he let out a groan, fighting the urge to lean into Ian. Fighting it until he remembered the kiss in the club and the promise he made to himself to be bold tonight, to be himself.
He leaned into Ian.
He forced himself to open his eyes and not resist when he felt Ian’s hands on his shoulders. Ian slid around behind Mickey. “Only with someone special.” Another shiver went though him at the seductive voice from Ian even as the other man’s hands moved down his arms, just light enough for Mickey to tell they were there until they firmly clasped his wrist before slowly pulling them behind him, “someone I know I can really call mine.”
“Fuck, Gallagher,” Mickey hissed, pulling his ear away from the teeth that had just bitten lightly into it. “We’re in public,” Mickey added, trying not to think about just how hard he was in his jeans, and how nice the rock solid press of Ian’s cock felt grinding into his ass.
“I know, it’s hotter isn’t it?”
Mickey wanted to say no. Say that it wasn’t fucking hotter, that it wasn’t making him harder and pushing fucking buttons he didn’t even know he had. But as he felt Ian slowly slide a hand around to his front, feeling the redhead’s thin wiry fingers wrap themselves around his jean covered cock, he couldn’t. He couldn’t even think, he was so lost in the sensation. Every touch, every bit of his skin Ian’s own skin brushed, every word whispered into his ear…all felt so damn good.
Ian’s hand pushing him to his knees while slowly turning him around. Ian’s groin with its scent, an aroma of sweat and gas station soap that was all Ian, filling his nose, the coarse fabric of his pants with its tiny zipper pressed to his own pale skin, the only thing dulling the smell, blocking the source.
He wanted it. He wanted Ian and for-maybe not the first time but one of the few times in his life-- he didn’t give a fuck who knew and who saw.
“I said anytime I wanted, and you agreed, Mickey.” The voice ringing in his ears, a hand roughly pulling at his hair, forcing him to look up at his…his Ian while the standing man’s other hand freed his cock, letting the smell redouble in potency. “Now suck me off, boy.”
Mickey couldn’t do anything but obey when he was pulled onto the cock even as it was thrust into him, past his lips and tongue, right to the back of his throat. Closing his eyes, breathing through his nose, flooding his mind with more of Ian’s scent as he complied.
And for one of the few times in his life…he felt right.
***The Morning After***
Mickey had to admit it was good food as he sat back on the bed next to Ian, shoving another forkful of scramble eggs into his mouth while snuggles--that is settling-- next to Ian again.
And they weren’t the crappy dry as fuck eggs and milk he and Mandy grew up with. Having to fend for themselves as soon as they could reach the stovetop meant they had to learn how to cook young by necessity. It had been about survival so they learned just enough to get by so neither of them had ever gotten any good at it. This guy, though? Brian’s skill clearly went beyond rope work. Mickey had been skeptical when he saw him dump the peppers and cheese into the pan with the eggs, but goddamn if it wasn’t the best fucking thing Mickey had eaten in a long time. Brian was just as skilled with his kitchen as with his ropes.
And Brian had to love it almost as much as his other skills. That had to be why the guy was cooking it himself when he had at least a half dozen subs around him, willing to do whatever he asked of them, Mickey thought as he watched Brian cooking up a plate for another one of his guests while chatting with the men standing and sitting around the kitchen space, hanging on their host’s every word while they patiently waited for their food to be served.
“But why the fuck? Dom’s don’t cook,” Mickey muttered to himself as he watched the others still in the kitchen before glancing down at his plate.
“If you think that, you really need to spend a few days at my place.”
Mickey jumped at the sudden voice beside him as Ian turned, still nuzzling into Mickey’s coat, which he’d been using for a pillow. “What, fuck Gallagher, how long have you been awake? Let a guy know,” he complained, reaching over to smack Ian lightly on the shoulder.
“But I like watching you, its fun.”
“Fun, right,” Mickey grumbled, only just keeping himself from smiling as he felt Ian push himself up before draping himself partially onto Mickey. That’s when he spotted one of Ian’s fingers going for one of the larger egg chucks on his plate. “Go and get your own plate, fire-crotch,” he said, blocking the fingers and moving the plate.
“He has eggs for me? Cool,” Ian said, jumping off the foldout bed.
“Pancakes, I told him you like pancakes…you do, right?” Mickey asked. He hated not knowing for sure, and he’d really hate it if he had to share his eggs because he got it wrong.
“Pancakes, awesome.”
Mickey felt himself relax at the obvious excitement in his Ian’s voice; he hadn’t been wrong, good.
“Yeah, and I told him you like that fruit shit in your pancakes too,” Mickey added with a smile, putting his plate aside and getting up to follow Ian over to the kitchen area.
The grin Mickey saw play across Ian’s lips and the delight in his eyes at the statement did something to Mickey. It made him feel happier, felt good. “The guy even has all this fancy ass yuppie one cup at a time coffee shit with all these damn flavors, fucking flavors for your coffee,” he added, heading toward the coffee maker.
Mickey cut the line with a glare, the other guys at the party were fucking pussies, and stared at the device, walking himself through the steps before glancing at the pile of flavor cups. “What fucking flavor you want?” he asked, flicking his way through the pile seeing what all was there and if anything would stand out as clearly Ian.
“Caramel mocha, or just caramel,” Ian answered back.
He didn’t give the white cups more then a glance but Mickey didn’t miss the way Ian’s gaze slowly traveled up his body…fuck he wasn’t normally the one getting cruised.
Fighting the blush he could feel beginning, Mickey flicked the non-caramel cups out of the way, hunting for a caramel mocha one, grabbing it and slipping the plastic into the maker and going through the steps to make it. Moments later when the light brown liquid started dripping into the black mug Mickey didn’t even try and stop himself from smiling. He’d remembered how all on his own.
The smile wanted to turn into a scowl the moment he looked toward Ian to see his...his man chatting with the host, and getting far to close and friendly for Mickey’s liking. But he didn’t let himself; the guy wasn’t going to get between Ian and him. But no reason not to make that clear to the dude.
“Ian, coffee,” he said, cutting off whatever Brian had been saying, handing the mug to Ian. “Caramel mocha, all fresh and shit. Not sure what’s wrong with plain old cup of Joe,” Mickey said, trying to not grin too much at the smile Ian gave him after his first mouthful.
“Thanks Mickey,” Ian’s response was low and playful.
Just as playful as the hand that snaked Mickey’s neck, sliding up until Ian’s fingers were woven between the strands of Mickey’s dark hair, using them to force Mickey closer to him, not that Mickey needed much of a push. But without another word Mickey was so close he could feel the heat coming off Ian, smell the caramel on his lips, feel how hard and horny Ian was.
“It’s really good coffee,” Ian added, taking another sip before pulling Mickey the rest of the way toward him, locking their lips.
It was hot, and not sexy hot but really fucking hot as the splashes of coffee spilled from Ian’s mouth to his own along with the tongue that seemed everywhere at once. He had to swallow the drink just to keep breathing and he could feel it heating up his throat and everything else as it went.
But as Ian broke the kiss and smirked at him Mickey had to admit, damn it was good coffee, especially mixed with Ian. But then he just loved that particular flavor.
***The Night Before***
Salt on his tongue, fingers digging into his scalp and panting moans, low and throaty, filling his ears. Mickey felt good.
Even as Ian slid out and the hands were no longer in his hair he still felt good leaning against Ian’s leg, resting and trusting his…trusting Ian. It felt right.
“That’s my good boy Mickey,” the soft words from Ian, and the light brush of fingers through his hair, heated up his face, hell his whole body. Hearing the word boy from anyone else’s lips made him want to fucking punch their lights out, make them bleed but from Ian…it was so different. He felt…happy, fucking happy, even if he hadn’t gotten off.
“When’s… fuck,” fuck what was wrong with his voice Mickey thought, clearing his throat. “When’s it’s my fucking turn…” He was so hard in his pants.
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t even taken his dick out yet. It wouldn’t take Ian more then a moment to bring him off. “I’m going to fucking shoot right in my jeans like a highschool bitch if we don’t do something soon,” Mickey complained, pushing himself off Ian enough so he’s be able to reach his crotch, grabbing for the zipper.
“No!” Ian’s tone was blunt and direct. And it went right from Mickey’s ear directly to his cock even as the rest of his body seemed to lock up, bypassing his brain as it obeyed.
“Fuck?” Mickey said, looking up at Ian, his hands, fuck the rest of his body unable to move. “I need to blow a load, like now. Trust me it won’t take me long,” Mickey assured his lover. “like one two pumps,” Or you just touching it, Mickey added to himself.
“No.” Ian repeated, and again the tone, the feeling behind it, did things to Mickey. His entire body felt tight and ready to burst at the sound, not just his cock.
“What the fuck? You got off-” He complained, stopping at the feel-warm, soft yet firm--and smell-dollar store soap and sweat--of Ian’s hand covering his mouth.
“I want you hard Mickey.” Ian started as he leaned low, as low as his voice, “I want you hard when I strip you. I want you hard when I pull the ropes tight and hang you in the air,” Ian went on as he took Mickey by the shoulders and turned him back around to where Brian was removing the bindings from his boy one by one, still having fun and making a game of freeing the toy.
Mickey’s breath caught in his throat as he realized where this was going. He let his gaze travel around the room, remembering all the other people again. He felt like everyone had to be looking at him, had been as he sucked off Ian, as Ian told him he wasn’t getting off and fuck if that didn’t push buttons making him harder. Fuck, how hard can a guy get before he just loses it.
“I want you hard when I open that ass and I want you hard when I fuck the come out of you Mickey. While everyone watches. Like the sound of that, boy?” Ian stated, his hands taking control of Mickey’s again, pulling them behind him.
He wanted it. He wanted Ian to do that, he fucking needed it, “Fuck yeah. Do that to me,” Mickey almost couldn’t believe he was asking for it. He was really asking for it, fuck he never wanted it before, never for more then a moments daydream he knew could never fucking happen anyways. But now, fuck.
Mickey couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but what Ian wanted as Ian guided him to the center of the play space.
***The Morning After***
“Damn that’s hot.” Someone who wasn’t Ian said.
Mickey blinked for a moment and had to shake his head before remembering that he and Ian weren’t alone, cranking his neck to see who has made the comment. It was the guy that had kept wanting to talk to him about being a pimp for some fucking school thing, Gabe or some shit. And he was eyeing Ian way too closely.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Mickey stated, glaring at Gabe, or whatever his name was, and anyone else who liked to be to interested in Ian, which seemed to be everyone, fuck they need to back off Mickey added to himself, pulling himself closer to his guy.
Mickey frowned a bit at the chuckle he felt, and heard, from Ian, “And just what ideas are you afraid he’ll get? Think he wants some coffee?” Ian offered, looking at the guy, “Want to try some Gabriel? It’s really good coffee. Taste almost as good as Mickey, and together….” the redhead commented with a smirk, taking another mouthful from his mug, eyeing Gabriel.
And Mickey wasn’t sure if the feeling that flushed through him was from the remark about his taste or the jealousy at Ian making the other guy blush, because the bastard was blushing, but only one of them was getting him worked up, or mattered at all. “You get I don’t share. I mean, what’s mine is mine. You get that right?” Mickey demanded refocusing his attention on Ian and blocking out the rest of the room. “If I’m in this, you’re mine.”
“I think you have this backwards.”
Mickey had barely heard the words before his world went spinning. Ian’s hands on him, pushing him into the kitchen counter, the air being forced out of him as his stomach was shoved into the black marble top, bending him over. He wrestled back at first, his gut telling him he had to, but his heart and dick slowed him down until he felt himself being pushed into the counter, a plate half under one side and a glass right there when he opened his eyes. But it was Ian’s familiar weight pressing into his back, fingers wrapped around his wrists, it all just felt… so good.
“You’re mine, got it, Mickey?” The words were whispered right into his ears, and bypassed everything as they went right to his dick making him fucking hard all over again. Mickey wasn’t sure if he was ever really going to be soft around Ian again, not that he had been often before but, fuck, it wasn’t this damn hard before.
“Got it, Mickey? You’re mine, say it.” Ian’s voice, Ian’s mouth, was right there by his ear and fuck.
When the words, question, fucking order-because that’s what it sure as shit felt like it was-came the second time he wanted to answer. It was almost a need but somehow he couldn’t. He couldn’t say anything, he could barely groan. He was barely able to think.
“You remember who’s in charge here, Mickey? You said it last night, acted like you meant it this morning, say it again, Mickey.”
He swallowed hard, craning his neck to look up at Ian. He tried speaking but…he still didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t even sure he could say anything but if he did speak he…he wanted to tell Ian to fuck off, that he’d said it because he wanted to be fucked, he wanted to get off. But part of him…part of him knew that wasn’t the truth. Knew he had wanted to say it then, knew he wanted to be able to just stay it again. Like the night before. A part off him knew he meant every word he had said the night before. And that even if he couldn’t say it now, he still meant it.
And fuck it all, Mickey wanted to fucking say it.
***The Night Before***
He relaxed into the ropes, into Ian, and let go.
“Yeah that’s right, Mickey, I’ve got you.”
Mickey let the words flow over him just as he let the ropes glide over the skin of his bare chest, pulling tight the farther from the ceiling he dropped letting himself sink into Ian’s arms.
Then he felt the other rope, the one around his neck, drawing tighter. The moment he felt it biting he stopped, pushing himself up with his legs, away from Ian until the rope was slack. And all Mickey could see was the disappointment in Ian’s eyes.
“Trust me, boy. Be mine, Mickey, be mine.”
Mickey heard the words but it was the look. He wanted to please Ian, he wanted Ian to smile at him. “Ian-”
“Trust me.” The words cut what he was going to say. Not that it mattered. The hand that accompanied them, the hand that ran across his face and through his hair, kept him from even being able to think. He could only focus on Ian’s heat. The hand on him and the body before him.
He closed his eyes, letting himself focus on the hand. The way it cupped the side of his face, the way the thumb brushed the skin of his check right under his eye. The way his hair felt as Ian’s fingers ruffled through them. The warmth, heat, coming from Ian’s palm. Matched by the heat coming from Ian himself, just inches away. The way it felt was just amazing, the way it all felt so right, so good. He didn’t want it to stop.
Without opening his eyes, he leaned toward that heat, toward Ian. He felt the rope pull tight into his neck again, “Ian…” He didn’t like how his voiced sounded, hesitant…maybe…fuck it sounded scared, but he couldn’t help it. He was scared. He didn’t know if he could…
“For me, Mickey, for me.”
For you, Mickey thought, lifting his feet and letting himself tip over into Ian, the rope tightening, forcing him to breathe slowly, “Ian…Sir,” Mickey gasped, floating in the air. Fighting the impulse to panic, to fight to ropes and get his feet back on the ground. But he shoved it down and focused on the hand, light against his check, on Ian, on his Sir.
“That’s my good boy.”
Mickey relaxed and let himself go as the voice washed over him. Trusting in the feel of Ian’s hands slowly gliding down his neck and over his body; along his back, he could feel Ian’s fingers running over his hips and down his legs, pulling them apart, then he felt the teeth. “Fuck, Ian.”
“Is it really me you want fucked Mickey?” The words, whispered in his ear, were accompanied by a… finger? Thumb? Running along his ass, pushing against his hole, just enough to make him feel it, before moving away. “Or should someone else be fucked?”
“Fuck, Christ… Ian-Sir,” Mickey panted. He tried to push back toward Ian, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do much of anything but hang there, dependant on Ian. And fuck if that didn’t make him even harder. “Get your fucking dick in me already,” he ordered.
Only it wasn’t a dick but the palm of Ian’s hand he felt a moment later, and it wasn’t on his asshole but his ass. “Shit, Ian,” he shouted, his eyes popping open in surprise at the jolt. He closed them moments later to keep himself from getting dizzy as the world spun from the force of the spanking, but they were open long enough for Mickey to realize that others were watching them. Watching him. Watching Ian play with him, use him and…and he loved it. He wanted them to see. He’d never wanted that before…
“I know what you want, Mickey,” Ian whispered before nipping, his teeth, pushing against and then into Mickey’s skin. “And to get it,” Ian paused, trailing his tongue over Mickey’s nipple, sucking, and then closing his teeth around it, leaving it wet and moist in the open air when he moved on. Trailing lower, Ian didn’t say anything for a beat, and then he skimmed his lips higher again, kissing Mickey’s neck. “All you have to do is ask, Mickey.” The warm breath on Mickey’s skin was a soft counterpoint to the feel of Ian’s teeth that quickly followed. Mickey gasped, arching against the rope. “Tell me what you are, Mickey.”
Mickey forced himself to pause, not to beg as Ian was still asking, still saying what he wanted but as soon as Ian was done…Mickey wanted Ian, wanted to be Ian’s. And for once he didn’t care if Ian, or anyone else, knew.
“Fuck me, Sir. I’m yours and,” Mickey said, swallowing hard before going on, his voice trembling as he did. “I just want you to fuck me, please, Ian. I need it.”
There was no answer at first, nothing. He didn’t feel or hear anything. Even when he opened his eyes he didn’t see anything that answered his plea, all he saw was Brian and a few of the others watching him, but no sign of Ian.
Then he felt it. The cool slick drizzle along his ass followed by fingers pushing into him. With a deep breath he relaxed. Doing his best to let Ian’s finger inside. Shivering at the pleasure when the cool finger explored him.
And then a few minutes later, Ian taking him. Making him feel whole, complete, and content while everyone else looked on. Seeing how much he belonged to Ian. How much he was Ian’s. It felt right, he felt right. He felt…owned; wanted, loved.
He was Ian’s.
***The Morning After***
“Say it again now, Mickey. I mean it. I want to hear it.”
They were so close Mickey knew he could have whispered it and Ian would be able to near it loud and clear…but it wasn’t just for Ian. He didn’t want to just tell Ian. That wasn’t what he promised last night, what he felt last night.
“Yours,” Mickey blurted out, barely loud enough for him to be able to hear it over the pounding rushing surging of his heartbeat, filling his ears. It was only a single word but it felt like a damn breaking. “Yours,” he said again louder then the pounding. It felt like a shout, and from the way some of the other guys jumped it may have been, and it felt good. As did seeing the smile on Ian’s lips.
“You’re in charge. You Sir,” Mickey added after clearing his throat. Smiling at himself. He’d finally been able to say it. He called Ian Sir and they weren’t having sex…that…that was a first and he thought it felt fucking fantastic. “I’m yours, always,” he finished, leaning in for a kiss.
He has planned for a short kiss but when Ian’s hands hooked around his neck, keeping him close. He didn’t fight it, he went with it. He let himself enjoy the longer kiss. Mickey could still taste the coffee on Ian’s lips, on his tongue as it dominated his mouth. He might have to start springing for the overpriced faggoty coffee for his place if it meant Ian would kiss him like this more often.
“Mine.” Ian’s voice was rough, husky when he broke the kiss. And it went straight to Mickey’s already hard cock.
“Yours,” Mickey echoed, loving how good it felt to hear-say--those words. To know that someone wanted him, planned on keeping him. “Always yours,” he whispered this time, as he buried his face in the folds of Ian’s shirt.
Mickey let out a sigh at the feel of Ian’s fingers running through his hair, slowly pushing him downward until his knees touched the ground. “That’s right, Mickey. You’re mine. Just mine.” He knew the words weren’t directed only at him, as he turned his head he could see that everyone in the loft was still watching them.
It made Mickey want to hug Ian’s legs closer to him and shout his as he threaten to beat the fucking shit out of each and every one of them…but Mickey stopped himself. That wasn’t his job, his role. He had to leave that to Ian, who was doing a damn fine job.
“And I though last night was the climax. Who needs some ice water, because I know I do,” Brian said before draining the glass of water in his hand, “Fuck, you need to stop hiding him, Ian. Bring him to all the parties,” Brian added, sliding a plate piled with strawberry pancakes toward Ian.
“I think I will,” Ian responded, taking the fork and spearing a larger strawberry while his other hand reached down rubs circles across Mickey’s back.
Mickey let out a pleasurable murmur, pressing into the hand that felt so good on his back. What a difference a night makes. Mickey though to himself.
He never though he’d be able to do this. Letting go and enjoying it all. Letting someone else-- fuck that, it was Ian and only Ian-- take the lead. Damn he wished he’d known how much he’d enjoy it years before. He would have stopped playing dom long ago.
He hoped Ian never got tried of him.
***The Night Before***
Breathe, he just had to breathe.
In…out….in…out…in…out.
“You okay there boy?”
Mickey blinked open his eyes, winching at the light but looking toward the voice anyways, toward Ian who was kneeling over him. Holding onto his hand, grounding him, “Yes Sir, I’m good, I’m…” amazing, that was the only word he could think of for how he felt.
Being completely depended on Ian as he hung there…as Ian played with and enjoyed him, fuck that has been one of the best fucks of his life. He’s never let go like that, just given in, fuck he didn’t even remember getting down Mickey added to himself, glancing around him at the pull out sofa he and Ian were on.
Yeah, he only had the vaguest fucking clue how’d they’d gotten there. He remembered something about being lowered to his knees and being carried, Ian could lift him? It must have been someone else but damn it all if he cared right then. Mickey stopped thinking about it and snuggled close to Ian, wrapping an arm around Ian. “Yours,” he mumbled, burying his head into Ian’s jean covered leg.
“Mine,” He head Ian say above him as he felt his dom’s hand in his hair. God it felt so good, he wanted the night to never end. He wanted to be like this forever.
Part two
Author: Pairatime
Fandom: Shameless
Word Count:
Challenge: thekinkroom Big Bang for 2014-2015.
Rating: NC-17 or FRAO
Genre: D/S AU
Characters/Pairings: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich with Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich/Tony Markovich
Contains: slash, bdsm, ropes, impact play, dom/sub, threesome, domestic submission
Series: It will become one yes
Summary: Mickey has been Ian’s sub for a couple of years but always in private, always alone but Ian’s had enough of that. So Mickey gets owned publicly at a party but when it’s over it’s time to go home. Only home and family just makes everything more complicated, especially when he might have more family than he thought.
Author's Notes: First off, this is set after/during the loft party that takes place in
4x8 all events on the show that happen after, meaning Ian’s bipolarness are ignored. This was written at two main chunks, part one was written then after a break part two. This is why the tone and feel of them changes a little. Second, I had not planned on Tony. He just kind of happened and for a sub he’s rather pushy it seems.
Author’s note2: The art, created by the talented froggyfun365 is just perfect and fits the story so well. I hope you enjoy it as you read the story.
Link to fic master post: LJ | AO3
Link to art master post:Pinding
***Prolog: The Club***
Ian was smirking at him.
Ian was smirking at him and there were faggots and homos everywhere.
Mickey had been in the club for almost half an hour and he hadn’t really…hadn’t seen…
Men were dancing on the bars with shorts so skimpy- well Mickey had underwear with more fabric to them. Two men were grinding on each other, hard…everyone here was gay…everyone was a fucking ‘mo.
Just like them….and they wouldn’t care what he and Ian did…fuck, half of them wanted Ian to sub for them and the other half probably wanted him to dom the fuck out of them, fucking backwards pricks.
Mickey pulled his gaze back to Ian…standing there and smirking like he always did when he knew he was going to win…fucker tried to kiss him in public and then just….smirked.
But Mickey wanted it too, fuck him but he did…he fucking wanted it…he wanted everything that Ian was offering, had, offered, was always offering and more. He wanted it all, everything.
And for at least this one night he was going to let himself have it, Mickey promised himself. He gave the club one more look, taking it all in. Then Mickey turned his focus to Ian, grabbing his redhead by the neck and kissing him.
Nice and intense and unlike every kiss they’d had before. The kiss was slow and cool. They took their time. It was rarely done between them. It had always been hungry passion and frantic action before time ran out. But this time…this time was different. Open, erotic, sensual, and drawn out. Like they had all the time in the world and wanted to use it all on just this one kiss.
And in front of every fucking queer boy in the club. For once, for once not giving a shit what they thought of him because they didn’t matter. Not tonight.
This night was his, it was Ian’s.
It was theirs.
***The Morning After***
Mickey watched as the man walked away before turning to give Ian a long look.
The redhead was still passed out on the other half of the bed where he’d put him only a few hours before, almost completely unmoved. Mickey could even still see the creases in Ian’s sleeve from where he had been holding his dom; holding him the whole time they slept side by side. Mickey couldn’t remember the last time he’s slept that long and deep in an unknown place, open and filled with strangers as well.
But he had, he had last night because of…because Gallagher. “Yo, dude,” Mickey called out, turning back toward the party’s host, now in the kitchen area. “Gallagher likes pancakes, and throw in some fruit shit if you got it,” Mickey added, pushing himself up from the pullout bed, his gaze traveling back to Ian as he did.
“Fruit shit,” Brian said, and Mickey could hear the amusement in his voice. It was almost enough to make him want to turn around and knock out the guy’s teeth, but Ian wouldn’t like that. “I’ll have to see what I have, there might be leftover strawberries from the daiquiris. You still just want eggs? Coffee?”
The additional questions were finally enough for Mickey to turn from Ian and toward the kitchen, his focus tracking the host and the others milling around enjoying the morning, some still kissing, holding hands and all that faggoty shit before they landed on the coffee maker. “Fucking definitely.” He answered, heading right for it, stopping to glare at it when he realized it was one of those fancy yuppie one-cup-at-a-time machines.
He could only stare at it. “Fucking hell, you can’t even have real fucking coffee?” Mickey questioned, unsure where to start as he continued to look at it, remembering the weird beers from the night before. Not even sure where to begin, Mickey started flicking his way through the small stack of flavored cups, tossing them about trying to find something that wasn’t gay. No way was he starting his day with some caramel vanilla cream crap.
“It’s so hot that it’s not an act,” Brian commented to one of the other guest before coming over to stand next to Mickey. “We’ll use French Roast. It’s as close to regular coffee as you’ll find,” he said, picking one of the plastic cups up and sliding it into the coffee maker.
From there it looked normal enough, water drained from the tank in the back and light caramel color liquid dripped into the plain red mug. “Thanks,” Mickey said, frowning as he mentally reviewed the steps so he could make the second cup if he needed.
He watched as Brian smiled at him before heading back over to the stove where most of the burners seemed to have the different breakfast options on them. Mickey looked on as Brian poured the yellow egg mixture into one pan before flipping the golden pancakes on another griddle while checking the egg-soaked toast on the third. It only took another moment for him to tell that Brian was doing it all on his own.
Mickey panned around at the near two dozen men still hanging around the loft, while a handful-- like Ian-- were still sleeping. Most of the men were out and up, moving around, chatting with one another, and even with Brian, eating the food Brian was cooking, and in the case of one pair enjoying some morning play. The one thing none of them were doing was helping with the cooking.
“You’re a Dom, right? I mean I was pretty sure you are. You did tie up those guys real well and then spank the shit out of them last night. That was you, right? You’re not one of those fucking weird service tops are you?” Mickey asked bluntly, looking back at Brian while thinking of the party the night before.
“You mean like Ian?”
Mickey wanted to scowl at the amused tone in Brian’s voice, almost as much as he wanted to at the idea of Ian being a service top, which he wasn’t, not really. “That fucking shit is just for work, if he wasn’t getting paid for it he wouldn’t be giving them the time of day. Ian does not get his rocks off pleasing other guys like some subby Dom,” Mickey spat out aggressively, defending Ian.
“Whoa there, didn’t mean to dis your Dom,” Brian said, the amusement not leaving his voice as Mickey watched him flip the toast. “I know he’s not a service top. And as for me, well I’m a bondage Dom. I get my rocks off tying them up. I may play a bit with them, mostly my hand or a paddle, but my love is in the rope work.”
Brian kept talking. And from the near giddiness Mickey heard as he listened to the guy, Mickey got just how much he had to love it. How much he had to love putting out and using the ropes on a sub, and given what he’d seen last night…the guy had skills to back up his lust.
***The Night Before***
Mickey smacked his lips as he tasted the second beer, some fucking winter wheat crap. But he had to admit, even if only to himself, that it wasn’t that bad. He’d had worse anyways, most of it at the Alibi Room.
Mickey leaned into Ian as he took in the party, he’d been to worse parties too, switching his glance to his redhead before looking back toward the show that held Ian’s--and everyone else’s--attention.
Strung up by ropes hanging from the ceiling, a lanky ebony-skinned man spun and twisted as the host, Brian, slowly played with the toy, adding ropes to move and shift arms and legs while tightening or loosening others to change the pose. Alternating between snapping photos and using his hand or a small collection of tools to change the shade of his subject’s ass or back every few minutes as he did so.
It was pretty and hypnotic and unlike any beating Mickey had ever seen. Brian cared for his toy. His hands may have been inflicting pain or shifting ropes but his lips were flowing with encouragement and praise, when they weren’t lightly kissing the dark skin of his sub and toy
And every time the sub’s face turned toward them, Mickey could see only bliss on his expression, his slack face somehow still smiling, his eyes blown so wide Mickey could see it from across the loft. The guy was loving every second of it, and the Dom hadn’t even touched the sub’s jockstrap-clad cock.
“God, he looks fucking amazing.”
Ian’s whispered words drew Mickey’s eyes from the display to the redhead standing beside him. “Yeah,” because Mickey couldn’t disagree at all, the pair did look fucking amazing to borrow his guy’s words. “You wanna do something? With, not me but…not that you should be looking at other--it’s hot right?” Mickey rambled before shoving his bottle between his lips to shut himself up, cursing himself.
“Fuck yes I want to do that, but not with just anyone,” Ian said his voice and breathe suddenly very close to Mickey’s ear.
The soft tone and puff of warm moist air barely inches from his skin sent a shiver right through Mickey. He shut his eye and he let out a groan, fighting the urge to lean into Ian. Fighting it until he remembered the kiss in the club and the promise he made to himself to be bold tonight, to be himself.
He leaned into Ian.
He forced himself to open his eyes and not resist when he felt Ian’s hands on his shoulders. Ian slid around behind Mickey. “Only with someone special.” Another shiver went though him at the seductive voice from Ian even as the other man’s hands moved down his arms, just light enough for Mickey to tell they were there until they firmly clasped his wrist before slowly pulling them behind him, “someone I know I can really call mine.”
“Fuck, Gallagher,” Mickey hissed, pulling his ear away from the teeth that had just bitten lightly into it. “We’re in public,” Mickey added, trying not to think about just how hard he was in his jeans, and how nice the rock solid press of Ian’s cock felt grinding into his ass.
“I know, it’s hotter isn’t it?”
Mickey wanted to say no. Say that it wasn’t fucking hotter, that it wasn’t making him harder and pushing fucking buttons he didn’t even know he had. But as he felt Ian slowly slide a hand around to his front, feeling the redhead’s thin wiry fingers wrap themselves around his jean covered cock, he couldn’t. He couldn’t even think, he was so lost in the sensation. Every touch, every bit of his skin Ian’s own skin brushed, every word whispered into his ear…all felt so damn good.
Ian’s hand pushing him to his knees while slowly turning him around. Ian’s groin with its scent, an aroma of sweat and gas station soap that was all Ian, filling his nose, the coarse fabric of his pants with its tiny zipper pressed to his own pale skin, the only thing dulling the smell, blocking the source.
He wanted it. He wanted Ian and for-maybe not the first time but one of the few times in his life-- he didn’t give a fuck who knew and who saw.
“I said anytime I wanted, and you agreed, Mickey.” The voice ringing in his ears, a hand roughly pulling at his hair, forcing him to look up at his…his Ian while the standing man’s other hand freed his cock, letting the smell redouble in potency. “Now suck me off, boy.”
Mickey couldn’t do anything but obey when he was pulled onto the cock even as it was thrust into him, past his lips and tongue, right to the back of his throat. Closing his eyes, breathing through his nose, flooding his mind with more of Ian’s scent as he complied.
And for one of the few times in his life…he felt right.
***The Morning After***
Mickey had to admit it was good food as he sat back on the bed next to Ian, shoving another forkful of scramble eggs into his mouth while snuggles--that is settling-- next to Ian again.
And they weren’t the crappy dry as fuck eggs and milk he and Mandy grew up with. Having to fend for themselves as soon as they could reach the stovetop meant they had to learn how to cook young by necessity. It had been about survival so they learned just enough to get by so neither of them had ever gotten any good at it. This guy, though? Brian’s skill clearly went beyond rope work. Mickey had been skeptical when he saw him dump the peppers and cheese into the pan with the eggs, but goddamn if it wasn’t the best fucking thing Mickey had eaten in a long time. Brian was just as skilled with his kitchen as with his ropes.
And Brian had to love it almost as much as his other skills. That had to be why the guy was cooking it himself when he had at least a half dozen subs around him, willing to do whatever he asked of them, Mickey thought as he watched Brian cooking up a plate for another one of his guests while chatting with the men standing and sitting around the kitchen space, hanging on their host’s every word while they patiently waited for their food to be served.
“But why the fuck? Dom’s don’t cook,” Mickey muttered to himself as he watched the others still in the kitchen before glancing down at his plate.
“If you think that, you really need to spend a few days at my place.”
Mickey jumped at the sudden voice beside him as Ian turned, still nuzzling into Mickey’s coat, which he’d been using for a pillow. “What, fuck Gallagher, how long have you been awake? Let a guy know,” he complained, reaching over to smack Ian lightly on the shoulder.
“But I like watching you, its fun.”
“Fun, right,” Mickey grumbled, only just keeping himself from smiling as he felt Ian push himself up before draping himself partially onto Mickey. That’s when he spotted one of Ian’s fingers going for one of the larger egg chucks on his plate. “Go and get your own plate, fire-crotch,” he said, blocking the fingers and moving the plate.
“He has eggs for me? Cool,” Ian said, jumping off the foldout bed.
“Pancakes, I told him you like pancakes…you do, right?” Mickey asked. He hated not knowing for sure, and he’d really hate it if he had to share his eggs because he got it wrong.
“Pancakes, awesome.”
Mickey felt himself relax at the obvious excitement in his Ian’s voice; he hadn’t been wrong, good.
“Yeah, and I told him you like that fruit shit in your pancakes too,” Mickey added with a smile, putting his plate aside and getting up to follow Ian over to the kitchen area.
The grin Mickey saw play across Ian’s lips and the delight in his eyes at the statement did something to Mickey. It made him feel happier, felt good. “The guy even has all this fancy ass yuppie one cup at a time coffee shit with all these damn flavors, fucking flavors for your coffee,” he added, heading toward the coffee maker.
Mickey cut the line with a glare, the other guys at the party were fucking pussies, and stared at the device, walking himself through the steps before glancing at the pile of flavor cups. “What fucking flavor you want?” he asked, flicking his way through the pile seeing what all was there and if anything would stand out as clearly Ian.
“Caramel mocha, or just caramel,” Ian answered back.
He didn’t give the white cups more then a glance but Mickey didn’t miss the way Ian’s gaze slowly traveled up his body…fuck he wasn’t normally the one getting cruised.
Fighting the blush he could feel beginning, Mickey flicked the non-caramel cups out of the way, hunting for a caramel mocha one, grabbing it and slipping the plastic into the maker and going through the steps to make it. Moments later when the light brown liquid started dripping into the black mug Mickey didn’t even try and stop himself from smiling. He’d remembered how all on his own.
The smile wanted to turn into a scowl the moment he looked toward Ian to see his...his man chatting with the host, and getting far to close and friendly for Mickey’s liking. But he didn’t let himself; the guy wasn’t going to get between Ian and him. But no reason not to make that clear to the dude.
“Ian, coffee,” he said, cutting off whatever Brian had been saying, handing the mug to Ian. “Caramel mocha, all fresh and shit. Not sure what’s wrong with plain old cup of Joe,” Mickey said, trying to not grin too much at the smile Ian gave him after his first mouthful.
“Thanks Mickey,” Ian’s response was low and playful.
Just as playful as the hand that snaked Mickey’s neck, sliding up until Ian’s fingers were woven between the strands of Mickey’s dark hair, using them to force Mickey closer to him, not that Mickey needed much of a push. But without another word Mickey was so close he could feel the heat coming off Ian, smell the caramel on his lips, feel how hard and horny Ian was.
“It’s really good coffee,” Ian added, taking another sip before pulling Mickey the rest of the way toward him, locking their lips.
It was hot, and not sexy hot but really fucking hot as the splashes of coffee spilled from Ian’s mouth to his own along with the tongue that seemed everywhere at once. He had to swallow the drink just to keep breathing and he could feel it heating up his throat and everything else as it went.
But as Ian broke the kiss and smirked at him Mickey had to admit, damn it was good coffee, especially mixed with Ian. But then he just loved that particular flavor.
***The Night Before***
Salt on his tongue, fingers digging into his scalp and panting moans, low and throaty, filling his ears. Mickey felt good.
Even as Ian slid out and the hands were no longer in his hair he still felt good leaning against Ian’s leg, resting and trusting his…trusting Ian. It felt right.
“That’s my good boy Mickey,” the soft words from Ian, and the light brush of fingers through his hair, heated up his face, hell his whole body. Hearing the word boy from anyone else’s lips made him want to fucking punch their lights out, make them bleed but from Ian…it was so different. He felt…happy, fucking happy, even if he hadn’t gotten off.
“When’s… fuck,” fuck what was wrong with his voice Mickey thought, clearing his throat. “When’s it’s my fucking turn…” He was so hard in his pants.
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t even taken his dick out yet. It wouldn’t take Ian more then a moment to bring him off. “I’m going to fucking shoot right in my jeans like a highschool bitch if we don’t do something soon,” Mickey complained, pushing himself off Ian enough so he’s be able to reach his crotch, grabbing for the zipper.
“No!” Ian’s tone was blunt and direct. And it went right from Mickey’s ear directly to his cock even as the rest of his body seemed to lock up, bypassing his brain as it obeyed.
“Fuck?” Mickey said, looking up at Ian, his hands, fuck the rest of his body unable to move. “I need to blow a load, like now. Trust me it won’t take me long,” Mickey assured his lover. “like one two pumps,” Or you just touching it, Mickey added to himself.
“No.” Ian repeated, and again the tone, the feeling behind it, did things to Mickey. His entire body felt tight and ready to burst at the sound, not just his cock.
“What the fuck? You got off-” He complained, stopping at the feel-warm, soft yet firm--and smell-dollar store soap and sweat--of Ian’s hand covering his mouth.
“I want you hard Mickey.” Ian started as he leaned low, as low as his voice, “I want you hard when I strip you. I want you hard when I pull the ropes tight and hang you in the air,” Ian went on as he took Mickey by the shoulders and turned him back around to where Brian was removing the bindings from his boy one by one, still having fun and making a game of freeing the toy.
Mickey’s breath caught in his throat as he realized where this was going. He let his gaze travel around the room, remembering all the other people again. He felt like everyone had to be looking at him, had been as he sucked off Ian, as Ian told him he wasn’t getting off and fuck if that didn’t push buttons making him harder. Fuck, how hard can a guy get before he just loses it.
“I want you hard when I open that ass and I want you hard when I fuck the come out of you Mickey. While everyone watches. Like the sound of that, boy?” Ian stated, his hands taking control of Mickey’s again, pulling them behind him.
He wanted it. He wanted Ian to do that, he fucking needed it, “Fuck yeah. Do that to me,” Mickey almost couldn’t believe he was asking for it. He was really asking for it, fuck he never wanted it before, never for more then a moments daydream he knew could never fucking happen anyways. But now, fuck.
Mickey couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but what Ian wanted as Ian guided him to the center of the play space.
***The Morning After***
“Damn that’s hot.” Someone who wasn’t Ian said.
Mickey blinked for a moment and had to shake his head before remembering that he and Ian weren’t alone, cranking his neck to see who has made the comment. It was the guy that had kept wanting to talk to him about being a pimp for some fucking school thing, Gabe or some shit. And he was eyeing Ian way too closely.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Mickey stated, glaring at Gabe, or whatever his name was, and anyone else who liked to be to interested in Ian, which seemed to be everyone, fuck they need to back off Mickey added to himself, pulling himself closer to his guy.
Mickey frowned a bit at the chuckle he felt, and heard, from Ian, “And just what ideas are you afraid he’ll get? Think he wants some coffee?” Ian offered, looking at the guy, “Want to try some Gabriel? It’s really good coffee. Taste almost as good as Mickey, and together….” the redhead commented with a smirk, taking another mouthful from his mug, eyeing Gabriel.
And Mickey wasn’t sure if the feeling that flushed through him was from the remark about his taste or the jealousy at Ian making the other guy blush, because the bastard was blushing, but only one of them was getting him worked up, or mattered at all. “You get I don’t share. I mean, what’s mine is mine. You get that right?” Mickey demanded refocusing his attention on Ian and blocking out the rest of the room. “If I’m in this, you’re mine.”
“I think you have this backwards.”
Mickey had barely heard the words before his world went spinning. Ian’s hands on him, pushing him into the kitchen counter, the air being forced out of him as his stomach was shoved into the black marble top, bending him over. He wrestled back at first, his gut telling him he had to, but his heart and dick slowed him down until he felt himself being pushed into the counter, a plate half under one side and a glass right there when he opened his eyes. But it was Ian’s familiar weight pressing into his back, fingers wrapped around his wrists, it all just felt… so good.
“You’re mine, got it, Mickey?” The words were whispered right into his ears, and bypassed everything as they went right to his dick making him fucking hard all over again. Mickey wasn’t sure if he was ever really going to be soft around Ian again, not that he had been often before but, fuck, it wasn’t this damn hard before.
“Got it, Mickey? You’re mine, say it.” Ian’s voice, Ian’s mouth, was right there by his ear and fuck.
When the words, question, fucking order-because that’s what it sure as shit felt like it was-came the second time he wanted to answer. It was almost a need but somehow he couldn’t. He couldn’t say anything, he could barely groan. He was barely able to think.
“You remember who’s in charge here, Mickey? You said it last night, acted like you meant it this morning, say it again, Mickey.”
He swallowed hard, craning his neck to look up at Ian. He tried speaking but…he still didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t even sure he could say anything but if he did speak he…he wanted to tell Ian to fuck off, that he’d said it because he wanted to be fucked, he wanted to get off. But part of him…part of him knew that wasn’t the truth. Knew he had wanted to say it then, knew he wanted to be able to just stay it again. Like the night before. A part off him knew he meant every word he had said the night before. And that even if he couldn’t say it now, he still meant it.
And fuck it all, Mickey wanted to fucking say it.
***The Night Before***
He relaxed into the ropes, into Ian, and let go.
“Yeah that’s right, Mickey, I’ve got you.”
Mickey let the words flow over him just as he let the ropes glide over the skin of his bare chest, pulling tight the farther from the ceiling he dropped letting himself sink into Ian’s arms.
Then he felt the other rope, the one around his neck, drawing tighter. The moment he felt it biting he stopped, pushing himself up with his legs, away from Ian until the rope was slack. And all Mickey could see was the disappointment in Ian’s eyes.
“Trust me, boy. Be mine, Mickey, be mine.”
Mickey heard the words but it was the look. He wanted to please Ian, he wanted Ian to smile at him. “Ian-”
“Trust me.” The words cut what he was going to say. Not that it mattered. The hand that accompanied them, the hand that ran across his face and through his hair, kept him from even being able to think. He could only focus on Ian’s heat. The hand on him and the body before him.
He closed his eyes, letting himself focus on the hand. The way it cupped the side of his face, the way the thumb brushed the skin of his check right under his eye. The way his hair felt as Ian’s fingers ruffled through them. The warmth, heat, coming from Ian’s palm. Matched by the heat coming from Ian himself, just inches away. The way it felt was just amazing, the way it all felt so right, so good. He didn’t want it to stop.
Without opening his eyes, he leaned toward that heat, toward Ian. He felt the rope pull tight into his neck again, “Ian…” He didn’t like how his voiced sounded, hesitant…maybe…fuck it sounded scared, but he couldn’t help it. He was scared. He didn’t know if he could…
“For me, Mickey, for me.”
For you, Mickey thought, lifting his feet and letting himself tip over into Ian, the rope tightening, forcing him to breathe slowly, “Ian…Sir,” Mickey gasped, floating in the air. Fighting the impulse to panic, to fight to ropes and get his feet back on the ground. But he shoved it down and focused on the hand, light against his check, on Ian, on his Sir.
“That’s my good boy.”
Mickey relaxed and let himself go as the voice washed over him. Trusting in the feel of Ian’s hands slowly gliding down his neck and over his body; along his back, he could feel Ian’s fingers running over his hips and down his legs, pulling them apart, then he felt the teeth. “Fuck, Ian.”
“Is it really me you want fucked Mickey?” The words, whispered in his ear, were accompanied by a… finger? Thumb? Running along his ass, pushing against his hole, just enough to make him feel it, before moving away. “Or should someone else be fucked?”
“Fuck, Christ… Ian-Sir,” Mickey panted. He tried to push back toward Ian, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do much of anything but hang there, dependant on Ian. And fuck if that didn’t make him even harder. “Get your fucking dick in me already,” he ordered.
Only it wasn’t a dick but the palm of Ian’s hand he felt a moment later, and it wasn’t on his asshole but his ass. “Shit, Ian,” he shouted, his eyes popping open in surprise at the jolt. He closed them moments later to keep himself from getting dizzy as the world spun from the force of the spanking, but they were open long enough for Mickey to realize that others were watching them. Watching him. Watching Ian play with him, use him and…and he loved it. He wanted them to see. He’d never wanted that before…
“I know what you want, Mickey,” Ian whispered before nipping, his teeth, pushing against and then into Mickey’s skin. “And to get it,” Ian paused, trailing his tongue over Mickey’s nipple, sucking, and then closing his teeth around it, leaving it wet and moist in the open air when he moved on. Trailing lower, Ian didn’t say anything for a beat, and then he skimmed his lips higher again, kissing Mickey’s neck. “All you have to do is ask, Mickey.” The warm breath on Mickey’s skin was a soft counterpoint to the feel of Ian’s teeth that quickly followed. Mickey gasped, arching against the rope. “Tell me what you are, Mickey.”
Mickey forced himself to pause, not to beg as Ian was still asking, still saying what he wanted but as soon as Ian was done…Mickey wanted Ian, wanted to be Ian’s. And for once he didn’t care if Ian, or anyone else, knew.
“Fuck me, Sir. I’m yours and,” Mickey said, swallowing hard before going on, his voice trembling as he did. “I just want you to fuck me, please, Ian. I need it.”
There was no answer at first, nothing. He didn’t feel or hear anything. Even when he opened his eyes he didn’t see anything that answered his plea, all he saw was Brian and a few of the others watching him, but no sign of Ian.
Then he felt it. The cool slick drizzle along his ass followed by fingers pushing into him. With a deep breath he relaxed. Doing his best to let Ian’s finger inside. Shivering at the pleasure when the cool finger explored him.
And then a few minutes later, Ian taking him. Making him feel whole, complete, and content while everyone else looked on. Seeing how much he belonged to Ian. How much he was Ian’s. It felt right, he felt right. He felt…owned; wanted, loved.
He was Ian’s.
***The Morning After***
“Say it again now, Mickey. I mean it. I want to hear it.”
They were so close Mickey knew he could have whispered it and Ian would be able to near it loud and clear…but it wasn’t just for Ian. He didn’t want to just tell Ian. That wasn’t what he promised last night, what he felt last night.
“Yours,” Mickey blurted out, barely loud enough for him to be able to hear it over the pounding rushing surging of his heartbeat, filling his ears. It was only a single word but it felt like a damn breaking. “Yours,” he said again louder then the pounding. It felt like a shout, and from the way some of the other guys jumped it may have been, and it felt good. As did seeing the smile on Ian’s lips.
“You’re in charge. You Sir,” Mickey added after clearing his throat. Smiling at himself. He’d finally been able to say it. He called Ian Sir and they weren’t having sex…that…that was a first and he thought it felt fucking fantastic. “I’m yours, always,” he finished, leaning in for a kiss.
He has planned for a short kiss but when Ian’s hands hooked around his neck, keeping him close. He didn’t fight it, he went with it. He let himself enjoy the longer kiss. Mickey could still taste the coffee on Ian’s lips, on his tongue as it dominated his mouth. He might have to start springing for the overpriced faggoty coffee for his place if it meant Ian would kiss him like this more often.
“Mine.” Ian’s voice was rough, husky when he broke the kiss. And it went straight to Mickey’s already hard cock.
“Yours,” Mickey echoed, loving how good it felt to hear-say--those words. To know that someone wanted him, planned on keeping him. “Always yours,” he whispered this time, as he buried his face in the folds of Ian’s shirt.
Mickey let out a sigh at the feel of Ian’s fingers running through his hair, slowly pushing him downward until his knees touched the ground. “That’s right, Mickey. You’re mine. Just mine.” He knew the words weren’t directed only at him, as he turned his head he could see that everyone in the loft was still watching them.
It made Mickey want to hug Ian’s legs closer to him and shout his as he threaten to beat the fucking shit out of each and every one of them…but Mickey stopped himself. That wasn’t his job, his role. He had to leave that to Ian, who was doing a damn fine job.
“And I though last night was the climax. Who needs some ice water, because I know I do,” Brian said before draining the glass of water in his hand, “Fuck, you need to stop hiding him, Ian. Bring him to all the parties,” Brian added, sliding a plate piled with strawberry pancakes toward Ian.
“I think I will,” Ian responded, taking the fork and spearing a larger strawberry while his other hand reached down rubs circles across Mickey’s back.
Mickey let out a pleasurable murmur, pressing into the hand that felt so good on his back. What a difference a night makes. Mickey though to himself.
He never though he’d be able to do this. Letting go and enjoying it all. Letting someone else-- fuck that, it was Ian and only Ian-- take the lead. Damn he wished he’d known how much he’d enjoy it years before. He would have stopped playing dom long ago.
He hoped Ian never got tried of him.
***The Night Before***
Breathe, he just had to breathe.
In…out….in…out…in…out.
“You okay there boy?”
Mickey blinked open his eyes, winching at the light but looking toward the voice anyways, toward Ian who was kneeling over him. Holding onto his hand, grounding him, “Yes Sir, I’m good, I’m…” amazing, that was the only word he could think of for how he felt.
Being completely depended on Ian as he hung there…as Ian played with and enjoyed him, fuck that has been one of the best fucks of his life. He’s never let go like that, just given in, fuck he didn’t even remember getting down Mickey added to himself, glancing around him at the pull out sofa he and Ian were on.
Yeah, he only had the vaguest fucking clue how’d they’d gotten there. He remembered something about being lowered to his knees and being carried, Ian could lift him? It must have been someone else but damn it all if he cared right then. Mickey stopped thinking about it and snuggled close to Ian, wrapping an arm around Ian. “Yours,” he mumbled, burying his head into Ian’s jean covered leg.
“Mine,” He head Ian say above him as he felt his dom’s hand in his hair. God it felt so good, he wanted the night to never end. He wanted to be like this forever.
Part two