Chapter Text
Shopping
Grocery shopping at the Milkovich house had been a disaster for the first couple of months after Terry’s re-incarceration, mainly because Ian had been too low at the time to do anything about it.-
On top of all the new baby shit they had to buy, getting the Milkovich siblings to become organized and pitch in for food was harder than Ian could had ever imagined. Somehow he got them all to write down what they wanted onto a grocery list that he taped to the fridge and created a rotation so that a different family member was tasked with going to the store each week.
“Where are my fuckin’ Pringles?” Mickey growled to Svetlana as he rooted through the shopping bags she’d just put onto the kitchen counter.
“It not on list. You no put on list, I no buy,” she answered him smugly. Ian watched as Svetlana handed Mandy a bag of Hershey’s Kisses with a lewd grin.
“The fuck you talkin’ about? I put it on the God-damned list,” Mickey argued, not accepting her statement.
Svetlana drew a folded piece of paper out of her jacket pocket and pressed it against her husband’s chest. “It not on list,” she repeated.
Mickey swatted her hand away but held on to the list, carefully unfolding it as Svetlana busied herself with putting the rest of the groceries away. Ian saw him scan the items from the top down until his blue eyes settled on where he’d written what he wanted.
“Gallager!”
Ian cringed, knowing what was coming. He had put a line through Mickey’s chips request and had written in “Celery and Carrots” beside it.
“The fuck, Ian? You crossed off my chips?”
Ian tried to keep a straight face but it was very hard to take Mickey seriously when he was pouting at his boyfriend the way he was.
“What makes you think it was me?” Ian asked the brunette, still playing innocent.
Mickey walked towards Ian until he was only a few inches from the redhead, completely disregarding any notion of ‘personal space.’
“You don’t think I know your fuckin’ chicken-scratch handwriting by now?”
Ian laughed at the irony of Mickey’s insult, knowing that his handwriting was a hundred times better than the older boy’s.
“You need to lay off the chips, Mick. You’re not as young as you used to be…” he teased, patting Mickey’s belly as the words rolled off his tongue.
Mickey’s eyes widened in indignation. “Fuck you, Firecrotch.”
Ian pretended to think about it and shrugged. “Okay, but maybe you should ride me. It’ll be good exercise.”
He slapped Mickey’s belly again before making a run for the bedroom.
“You’re a fuckin’ dead man!” Mickey called after him as he chased his lover, just a fraction of a second behind him.