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He knows it's him immediately, and he's not even facing him, but he's taken aback at first. His brain registers the major fucking difference, but his heart beats faster because it's Ian finally in the flesh. But he doesn't have time to really dwell on it because Ian is being felt up and fed something Mickey wouldn't even take if one of his brothers handed it to him. He moves fast to stop whatever the fuck is going on and it doesn't quite go how he'd expect. Ian is acting different and it's not just the new hair. Eventually the only way he agrees to talk is if he's paid to work, so that's what Mickey does. And yeah, it's a little distracting. He doesn't know how many times he's jacked off to the image of Ian grinding in his lap, but it's really the long hair that's making it difficult to say what he needs to say to snap Ian out of his little fantasy world. Ian is moving on him, giving cool answers and barely looking at him with unfocused eyes. Mickey's hands automatically find Ian's bare thighs and brush against his ass. He's gotta make it look like a real transaction, right? But Ian's hair swings over his face when he gets close and it's soft and smells good like it always did, but it's just...longer now. Suddenly Mickey's words stutter and his face heats up, and all he wants to do is touch it...grab it...pull on it. He remembers what Ian's hair used to look like when he was a little shit fucking him like a man. It was a bit long around his ears and some bits even curled back to their baby-Ian form. But it's straighter, as it tickles his cheek and neck, like how Mandy's looks when she uses her neon pink flat-iron. He hates that he notices the heat-treated silkiness because it puts new images in his head of Ian in a mirror spending time on it. Some bits are damp from sweat around his neck and Mickey wants to know what it looks like wet.
Then Ian's up and going again and he has to chase him like he wouldn't let himself that day he really should've. He knows he has no right to Ian giving him the time of day, but he knows there's one thing he'll always go back to; his family. Shit's fucked up at the Gallagher's and Ian seems to be the glue that held them all together. He certainly was the only thing in Mickey's life making it worth living. He doesn't say all this, but he thinks something finally clicks when Ian actually looks at him. He sighs, raking his hair back off his face but it falls to one side like a cascade of fire. It's so sexy and beautiful, the simple movement, that Mickey steps closer. He's drawn to it. The lights hit it nicely.
He stays the whole night and ends up doing some real white-knight shit, ushering a limp Ian into a truck then depositing him on his bed for the night. Mickey's so happy to have him back, he can't stop the smile. It almost brings him to tears. Ian is sprawled out, his hair tucked neatly behind his ear because Mickey couldn't help himself.
***
Relationship issues runs in Mickey’s head as he considers if Ian was serious with his bullshit ultimatum. Even if he wasn't, Mickey knows without a doubt he'd do it. He'd do anything for Ian at this point even if he didn't ask like an arrogant douchebag. The casual flip of his hair in quick dismissal is like a dagger to Mickey’s heart, but his dick feels tighter in his jeans too. It's not as sleek as the night before but Mickey still wants to touch it. He wants to push it back from Ian’s face, as he writes about whatever he's got so much to fucking jot down, but instead he admits how much he's become his bitch.
God, he's so eager, he'll have bruises on his knees from dropping to them so fast. His fingers practically claw at Ian's pants, and he doesn’t need to look up to see the smug look on his face. He hears it in the first moan that leaves his mouth, as Mickey swallows him down without a second thought. He's out of practice. He gags more than he wants to but that's because he just wants all of Ian at once. He can tell when Ian looks down at what he's doing because he can feel his long hair tickle the back of his neck. Mickey shivers and lets out a low hum, looking up at Ian. His eyes are intense but somehow far away. It makes Mickey pause for nine-sixteenths of a second. Ian sweeps his hair back and raises an eyebrow at him, challenging him to get on with it already. So he sucks harder, bobs faster, flicks his tongue quicker. He lifts a hand to cover what he can't but Ian smacks it away. He cups the back of Mickey’s neck so he can't pull away, but he doesn’t thrust. He wants Mickey to make him come with just his mouth and he wants him to feel it in his jaw and throat for the next twenty-four hours at least. Mickey is so hard he palms himself but doesn't let up on Ian’s dick until he can barely keep his hips down. He blows his load and Mickey swallows it all, licking his swollen lips. Ian lets out a satisfied laugh with his head back and eyes closed. His hair is behind him, swaying gently. When he leans forward, he grins widely at Mickey and says he'll think about coming back.
Mickey nods because his throat feels raw and he's afraid he'll let out a noise like some bitch.
Ian tucks himself back into his pants, but he catches Mickey fixated on the way he tucks his hair behind his ear.
***
The morning goes smoothly once all the racket dies down. He listens as Ian rambles nonstop, and watches him when he’s unusually silent. He doesn’t even want to let his mind wander to what's going down at the hospital. All the swagger of the night before seems to have gone down Mickey’s throat with Ian’s cum, and he seems more like the Ian that Mickey knows only older and goddamn taller. The hair makes him look young but also way older, which is probably why he hasn't been fucking fired yet. None of the men surrounding him give a shit one way or another what his birthday is, so Mickey’s on edge. He’s out of his element. There's too much going on that he's not used to or even remotely interested in. All he wants to do is watch Ian dance, but he finds himself dancing back and forth swatting at pervs. The place is gonna have to put him on payroll for the night if he keeps it up, so he let’s some shit slide. He ducks his head and swallows down drink after drink, just enough to smudge out what he's witnessing but still be alert enough to put a stop to some bullshit.
It's so mesmerizing looking at Ian as he moves so easily. He looks so comfortable and hot. He’s even having fun. He’s fucking good, too, shoving more and more bills into his shorts. It gives Mickey ideas ranging from lucrative to lascivious. He’s far from the freckle-faced kid with dreams, as he gives looks that would make Mickey come if he weren’t so irritated by it all. The tattoo, the abs, the ass, the bulge and the hair are all working for Mickey in ways he couldn’t even imagine with his one shitty photo hidden away. He wants to take Ian somewhere and run his fingers through his hair and do whatever he says, but now he's counting his knuckles and Ian is talking about fun and leaning in. Mickey flinches because that's what keeps him alive, but the way Ian just looks at him with no other pressure than to look the fuck around.
Then he’s crashing into him, lips and teeth and tongue. It feels so good to be close to Ian like this again, kissing him and holding him. His skin is so warm and damp like the inside of his mouth. The club falls away and it's just the two of them like old times, going for it with full abandon. Ian’s hands are on him and his body is solid against him. If Ian gets sacked for this, Mickey will be all too happy. And finally, finally his fingers find long red strands. He digs into it, feeling the back of Ian’s head. Ian sighs into his mouth with a grin. Mickey tugs the tiniest bit and suddenly Ian is pushing him down onto a couch and straddling him. His hips grind into Mickey's and he laughs, which makes Mickey smile.
One minute he's kissing Ian, the next he's fielding questions about what he does for a fucking living. It surpringly doesn't bother him as much as he thought. He was tense around the shoulders but gradually settled into honestly answering shit and meeting everyone Ian introduced him to. He wasn’t remembering names to find on fucking Facebook later and he never wanted to see half the fucker again, but he found he was fine by Ian’s side or not. He took a few hits of whatever was passed around that Ian took himself and was content to chill on a nice-ass couch and watch Ian mingle like the social butterfly he'd apparently become. Ian only ever had one friend, his best friend, and Mickey knew that was Mandy. He didn’t give a fuck what the assholes thought of him, but Ian made sure to tell him that every single one of them liked him. It was really late and he was halfway through some weird craft beer, when Ian took his hand and led him to a bathroom with shiny fixtures and little candles. He backed him up against the sink and kissed him hard, tasting like too many mixed drinks and nicotine. Mickey’s hands immediately went into his hair, scratching at his scalp and pulling gently. Ian groaned, looking smug and horny, as he spun him around and began shoving at his jeans. Mickey helped and soon spit-slick fingers were fucking him fast and rough. Ian kissed and sucked Mickey’s neck and smells he worked his asshole, his hair dropping past Mickey’s shoulders. Mickey reached back to grip it, riding Ian’s hand until he was clenching and spewing his seed with a soft cry.
Ian pulled his fingers out and raked his hair back with them, giving Mickey a wink. He left him to clean himself up and Mickey found him spread across a pullout bed once he could pull himself together.
***