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There are mornings when he and Ian both will wake up at the same time with raging erections tenting the sheets and neither man can even bother himself to brush his teeth before attacking the other. When Mickey will wake up and Ian is still sleeping, Mickey will watch Ian for a few minutes, even when he’s horny. He’ll take his time counting the redhead’s freckles. Sometimes his count will be different than the last time and he finds himself kissing each and every new dot. Or Mickey will stare at the rays of sun that make it past the blinds, mesmerized by the dust floating around and illuminated by the light, eyes drifting down and down until he’ll inevitably find himself having to catch his breath at the even more dazzling sight of Ian’s hair in the sunlight. It’ll be almost as if he is glowing. Mickey sometimes likes to think of Ian as an angel, but most of the time he just snorts quietly to himself. (Ian’s his person and all but they both grew up in the Southside and the dude’s no angel).
When Ian will wake up and Mickey is still snoring, sometimes drooling (Ian will scrunch up his nose momentarily before grabbing one of the shirts on the floor by the bed and gently wiping Mickey’s face and the small puddle beneath it) he will stretch his lengthy arms above his head as far as he can, cracking his back and hoping the sound’s not too loud. He’ll look over at the man he loves and run the palms of his hands into his eyes to clear the blur while he yawns. When his mouth closes again and his eyes open, vision finally clearing, Ian will occasionally just gaze down at Mickey curled in a fetal position and facing him. Just gaze at him with an unconscious smile playing at his lips all the while, eyes following the comforting rise and fall of Mickey’s chest. Mickey is breathing and his and safe and he loves him. Ian will scratch his nose and he will feel something resembling happy.
One winter morning, Mickey wakes up blearily facing the wall. He frowns deeply, feeling angry and not knowing why. He just knows he feels empty and aching somewhere far deeper than any surface bruise can reach. Ian is a decent distance away on the other side of the bed, still sleeping and dreaming, comforter twisted around him. Mickey has only one foot still covered and he realizes he’s shivering. Annoyed, Mickey grumbles under his breath, turns around and scoots closer to his boyfriend. Ian is on his side, not facing Mickey, and when Mickey comes up behind him it all of a sudden hits him what it is he needs. It’s something his body needs. Something his heart needs.
Mickey stares at the dust tumbling around in the rays of sun and softly kisses Ian’s glowing red hair. He traces his fingers down Ian’s bicep, up and down, up and down, fingers barely pressing down. Ian finally stirs after a minute or two of this ticklish onslaught. He turns his head to the side and finds Mickey looking at him reverently, with a sad look in his eyes, as his tracing draws to a stop somewhere around the middle of Ian’s arm. Not breaking eye contact, Mickey lowers his head and drops a kiss to Ian’s shoulder.
Oh. Ian smiles, sitting up to kiss Mickey full on the lips hard. He starts to rut against him and moves to turn Mickey around when Mickey shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. Ian draws back, confused eyes meeting embarrassed ones. Mickey breaks eye contact quickly, looking sheepish and scratching his nose with his thumb. Ian brings up a hand to cup Mickey’s left cheek. He thinks he knows what it is Mickey wants. Him not wanting to fuck happens sometimes, happens when what Mickey needs is…is…
Ian leans down to brush his lips against Mickey’s forehead momentarily before sliding a hand to the back of his neck and bringing Mickey’s head against his chest. Ian helps Mickey climb into his lap and then he wraps his arms around Mickey, cradling him. Mickey’s arms wrap tightly around Ian’s wide back and he lets out a sigh, relieved, so relieved. Ian rests his chin on Mickey’s dark hair and feels hot tears on his chest. Ian runs his hands over Mickey’s softly heaving back, up and down, up and down, hands smoothing and soothing and pressing down hard enough to keep Mickey right where Mickey needs. Right where he needs Mickey.
Ian watches the floating dust in the shooting sun rays and Mickey still aches but much, much less. Ian has Mickey cradled protectively in his strong grip and Mickey clings to him, grateful. He is no longer shivering, for all of Ian’s warmth encasing him. Mickey licks at the salt now on Ian’s chest and imagines a time when he won’t need this anymore. He can’t imagine it.
Ian hugs Mickey all morning, and they both watch the sun rays shift and eventually dissipate as the light fills the room, and they breathe, together.