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“Stop doing that,” Ian said, casually pulling Mickey’s hand away from his mouth. They were sitting on the train, on their way downtown, and Ian was making an effort to not show how on-edge he really was.
Mickey didn’t say anything, just gave Ian a wide-eyed warning glare while his eyebrows arched all the way up to the middle of his forehead.
Of course, not two minutes later, he went right back to anxiously chewing on the side of his fingernail.
“Mickey…” Ian nagged, “c’mon…”
When Mickey showed no indication of heeding Ian’s words, the redhead reached for Mickey’s hand again. This time Mickey was the one to bat at Ian’s hands to get him to stop interfering.
“The fuck, Gallagher?”
“Stop biting your nails,” Ian ordered. “There’s nothing to be nervous about… It’s just dinner.” Except he knew it wasn’t just dinner. They were going to a restaurant that Ian had carefully picked out for the occasion of their first real date, and Ian was just as‒if not more ‒nervous than Mickey was. The only difference was that the brunette was shit at hiding it.
Mickey bristled at the accusation. “Who the hell said anything about being nervous?” he asked defensively.
Ian didn’t reply, just gave Mickey a small, knowing smile. He understood his boyfriend’s emotions. It was an important step for them to go on a date together, so Ian had made sure to pick a place downtown‒far from their own neighborhood‒so that it would make things just a little easier for Mickey. It would be hard enough for him to be there openly with Ian without having to worry about someone he knew seeing them.
“I’m not fuckin’ nervous,” Mickey maintained. He waited for Ian to say otherwise, but when the redhead remained silent, he added, “I’m fine,” maybe trying to convince himself more than Ian.
The El ratted on its rails as it rounded a turn in the track, and Ian inadvertently leaned against Mickey through it until he was no longer being pulled by the centrifugal force. He felt Mickey relax when their bodies touched, the warmth coming off of Ian always being enough to ease the brunette’s stress.
He straightened up and looked at the map on the wall of the train. They were only a couple of stops away. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mickey raise his finger to bite at his nail again, but the brunette became aware of what he was doing and quickly dropped his hand. Ian couldn’t help but grin at that.
“Why you actin’ like I’m the only one with nervous habits?” Mickey said then, a pathetic attempt at changing the subject by taking the focus off of himself. “Don’t forget you have your stupid hand thing.”
“What hand thing?”
Ian genuinely had no idea what Mickey was talking about.
“That thing you do with your fucking hands whenever shit hits the fan,” Mickey explained.
“What are you talking about?” the younger boy asked, turning in his seat to face Mickey.
“Oh come on… It’s the gayest thing about you.”
That had Ian interested. He didn’t think he did anything overly gay, and suddenly became very self-conscious. “What, you mean more gay than sticking my dick in your ass?” he asked in a low voice so that the few random people in the train wouldn’t overhear.
Mickey actually laughed at that, a small blush hitting his pale cheeks. “ Yeah ,” he said, visibly struggling to wipe the smile off his face. “More gay than that.”
Ian was smiling too now. “Well, why don’t you tell me what this ‘hand thing’ is that I do?”
Mickey shrugged. “I dunno how to explain it. You just do this thing with your hands whenever you’re in over your head. You lift your hands up like you’re surrendering, bended wrist and all. It’s the queerest thing ever.”
“I do not ,” Ian argued, now on the defense.
“You so do…”
Without warning, Mickey reached down and grabbed a handful of Ian’s junk, squeezing just hard enough to cause him discomfort but not quite pain.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Making a point,” Mickey answered calmly, applying more pressure.
“Mickey!” Ian gasped, his eyes starting to water. “Stop!” he demanded, but it came out as more of a plea.
The brunette didn’t let up, just squeezed tighter until Ian’s eyes were watering.
“Please stop?” Ian begged, his tone changing in the middle of his appeal to more of a question than anything else. He held up his hands up in defeat, showing Mickey that he wasn’t going to retaliate, and just wanted him to stop.
“See?! ” Mickey said, suddenly releasing his grip on Ian’s business and pointing at both of the redhead’s raised hands. “You do it every fucking time!”
Ian looked at his own hands with surprise, self-awareness dawning on him. He felt his face turning red even as he slowly lowered his arms.
“Don’t worry,” Mickey told him, reaching for Ian’s hand. He entwined their fingers and gave Ian a firm, reassuring squeeze. “Everyone’s got flaws, right?” he teased.
Ian stared down at their hands, stunned. Mickey kept hold of Ian until the train pulled in to their station and the boys reluctantly let go to get off.