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Ian Gallagher had a hard time believing that Mickey Milkovich was finally his husband.
As he stands in the back of The Polish Doll leaning up against the wall with Lip, sharing a cigarette and admiring his husband in the middle of the dance floor, he’s reminiscent of all the years he’s dreamt of this very moment. This moment where Mickey is happy, so truly happy, for the first time in his life, and isn’t afraid to show it. Ian enjoys moments like these -- seeing Mickey let loose and unabashedly be himself. He’s caught glimpses of Mickey’s freedom over the years in their intimate times together, but something about their wedding day makes the pride he feels for his liberation even more exhilarating.
“You gonna go dance with him again before the night is over?” Lip asks, taking a drag of his cigarette and breaking Ian’s reverie.
Ian chuckles with a smile ever so soft, “Yeah, but I kinda want to see where this goes for a little bit longer.”
On the other side of the room, Mickey is plastered, but in the best possible way. He’s drunk, but not sloppy drunk. He’s the kind of happy drunk that makes his eyes sparkle like a child in the glow of new discovery; a happy drunk who’s high on life and in love with absolutely everyone and everything. He’s so drunk that he feels the music move through him on a cellular level, anticipating every beat and drop before it hits, completely engrossed by the harmonies and rhythms and flowing between them effortlessly.
Of course, that’s what it feels like to Mickey. But to Ian, he can only look on as his lovable dork dances some combination of cabbage patch and shopping cart, peppered with fist pumps throughout every song that plays. To his favorite ones, Mickey finds himself directing short choreographies with Liam, as if they’re about to compete in a talent show and need their timings to be impeccable. However, they don’t make much progress because every 20 seconds or so, Franny tugs at the bottom of Mickey’s disheveled suit jacket, indicating she wants him to spin her like a ballerina. Franny makes herself dizzy just being a pirouetting princesses under Uncle Mickey’s lead, and of course, he does so without question every time. After each twirl, Mickey, ever the gentleman, deeply bows before his royalty, thanking her for gracing him with her presence, and Franny returns the gesture with a sophisticated curtsey.
Ian and Lip exist for some time in this tranquil reflection they've created in an otherwise deafening room. Mickey is completely unaware that he's being observed, so lost in the music and wrapped up in smiles and giggles he’s sharing with his new niece and nephew. Like budding petals searching for sunlight at the first thawing of spring, a flowering delight blooms forth from Ian’s chest as he watches his husband dazzle under the spotlight.
Mickey spends the next 15 minutes immersed in the uplifting melodies of pop hits from the last decade, clumsily shuffling along with his clunky dress shoes that are just a touch too big for his small feet. All the alcohol is making his head swim, and he comes dangerously close to tripping over himself and landing on his ass more times than Ian can count.
He’s on cloud nine, grooving to blaring trap beats and bright major chords, heart racing to match the driving tempos, so when the DJ starts to end the synthpop wave he’s soaring and transitions into Love is a Battlefield, his demeanor totally shifts. The Mickey that was loving just feeling like a kid again goofing off with Liam and Franny, is suddenly extremely aware and unsatisfied that his other half is missing from his side.
“G-Gallagher?” Mickey’s slurred cries fill the dance hall as he stumbles around the dance floor searching for his man. Aimlessly spinning in circles, his blurred vision prevents him from focusing on anyone in the venue and threatens to make him sick all over his polished new shoes.
“Gallagher? Where are you? ‘S our song, man! Come dance!” Mickey’s desperate by now. He can’t possibly bear the thought of missing the opportunity to dance with his husband to their song on their wedding night. “‘Ey! Where are you?! Dance with me!”
Across the room, an amused Ian laughs quietly and hands the cigarette from which he just took a drag back to Lip, “Guess that’s my cue.” He moves his way through the thin crowd of guests as Mickey continues to bellow with worry, hoping he gets to his husband quick enough before he loses his goddamn mind.
Mickey barely has enough time to yell out another “Dance with meee” before Ian is suddenly pressed up against him from behind, his arms wrapped tightly around his lover’s waist and chin resting firmly on his shoulder, swaying in time as Pat Benatar comes in with her first verse. The swift and sexy move awakens every nerve buried in Mickey’s skin and has his body buzzing electric while the contentedness of being enveloped by his man radiates a yellow warmth from his chest.
Eyes closed, totally entranced by the lightning coursing through their veins and embracing every fleeting second, they share a few measures like this, until Ian moves his chin from Mickey’s shoulder and noses gently into his hair, revelling in the pungent scent of sweat and alcohol pouring out of his lover with each deep inhale. In the same beat, Mickey reaches his hand back to grab Ian’s neck from behind, bringing him closer still.
By the time they arrive at the second verse, Mickey is dying to look at Ian and drink in the cool blue light that shimmers between his fiery locks and kisses his pale cheeks; yearning to close any and all gaps between, not wanting to detect even the slightest degree of separation. He breaks free from Ian’s grasp for just a moment to spin around and face him, instantly forcing both their hips and foreheads together, one hand clutching at the back of his neck, the other holding onto his ass for dear life, aching to meld their bodies into one.
“‘Ey, where’d ya go? Missed ya,” Mickey manages to drunkenly stutter, hiccuping between every few syllables. Ian’s nostrils are burning as he breathes in the steaming booze cascading off of Mickey’s tongue and spilling over his lips.
Ian is beaming, so enamored solely by the feeling of being needed, that he bends down to tease a languid kiss and murmurs against his lover’s lips, “Just enjoying the view.”
“Mm, yeah? D’ya like whatcha see?” Mickey raises his eyebrows and smiles back with that signature cheeky expression that drives Ian mad and purrs seductively into his mouth, swirling his tongue across his bottom lip.
When he pulls back and locks eyes with Ian, he realizes they’re smoldering so much fire into each other they both could combust at any minute. Ian’s hands take their time gliding down Mickey’s waist and to his ass before roughly squeezing both cheeks, his husky retort breaking the tension, “Always.”
They grind in perfect unison for the rest of the song, groins crushed solidly into each other as the music moves them. Ian notices himself growing hard from the contact and is surprised to feel that Mickey isn’t. Normally, this type of interaction would make Mickey want to shred Ian’s clothes off right there in front of everyone. But then he remembers that Mickey’s had far too much whiskey for his body to react in the way it otherwise would, and he simply seems to enjoy the sensation of sharing this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity with his now-husband.
As their song draws to a close, Ian earnestly wonders if Mickey will want to go back to boogieing the night away with Liam and Franny when the next dance hit comes on. Their future is bound to be filled with other equally heated moments, and they have the rest of their lives to create them wherever they make their home, so he isn’t keen on taking away from Mickey’s special night. But, to his delight, once their sultry exchange seems to come to an end and Sex on Me by Goldhouse begins, the blazing look in Mickey’s eyes hasn’t subsided. In fact, Ian can swear he sees flames flicker in his irises, intently keeping his gaze on him as if there’s no one else in the room.
They spend what feels like an eternity gyrating their hips into one another, unequivocally lost in the ardor of it all. When the song transitions into another seductive number, Mickey’s inebriated lust has him craving even more, and he knows just what to do to keep Ian trapped in his aura. He abruptly removes his hands from Ian’s backside, awkwardly turns on his heel, and staggers a few steps away from him, like he’s suddenly changed his mind and no longer interested in the temptation.
Ian stands there confused, until Mickey stumbles back around with a look so goddamn alluring that it’s all he can do not to shove him back up against the wall and take control. Amazingly, he’s able to resist even as Mickey raises his index finger and licks an enticing trail between his lips, beckoning his lover to join him once more.
It only requires half a second for Ian to collapse the tense space between them, rip off Mickey’s suit jacket, untuck his shirt, and hook his index fingers into the front of his belt in one swift motion, but to Mickey, it seems like ages. He’s hungry for Ian’s touch to send his head spinning just like the liquor surging through his bloodstream. Knowing how good of a tease he is, Mickey fumbles his clumsy fingers up to Ian’s collar, unbuttons the first button and loosens the tie clinging to his throat.
Mickey’s mind is whirring rapidly, yet so agonizingly slow, he can barely form coherent sentences, “Took you so long?” His head starts to loll back but Ian catches him, cradling the base of his skull with his solid hands. Ian is obsessed with tracing the contours of Mickey’s body that fill his needy palms, and Mickey loves the way Ian’s dominant hold reminds him to whom he belongs.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?” Ian asks with feigned concern.
“Too much,” Mickey belches.
Ian can’t recall ever hearing Mickey admit to having too much of the hard stuff. “Don’t wanna forget…” Mickey’s sentence drops off as their lips brush sluggishly against one another, hot breaths tangling into each other’s mouths.
They grind in time to the rapid pulsating beats and lurking synths, beading sweat pouring down their temples. After another melody or two, however, the intensity bleeds into exhaustion, and they struggle to maintain the same fervor. Deciding it’s time to take a break before one, the other, or both of them pass out from desire, Ian takes a page from Mickey’s book and replicates the same comical moves he saw his husband busting out earlier, practically picking up exactly where he left off.
They perfect this pattern for a while, alternating between grinding and groping, silly and absurd dancing. After an hour, however, it starts getting late and the dance floor becomes less and less crowded as most of the wedding attendees begin making their way home. Pretty soon it’s just the two of them alone together, fixated on each other moving about the dance floor.
Mickey is sobering up now, his vision not nearly as wobbly and no longer slurring his words, but still just tipsy enough to erupt into giggles whenever Ian does something childish.
With only enough time for one more song, the DJ concludes the night by putting on a final slow number just for them. Once the warm acoustic finger-picking of First Day of My Life by Bright Eyes fades in, Ian feels his heart swell. The sunniest smile gleams across his face as he inches towards his husband and, pulling him close again, softly wraps his arms around his waist, brushing a feathery kiss atop his forehead.
Mickey slips his arms around Ian’s center, burying his face into his neck and resting his cheek on his shoulder as he hums the first verse in time. But soon his hums turn into words and before Ian knows it, he’s singing along, and is surprised to discover that Mickey knows every word.
“You know this song?” Ian whispers against the sweat-soaked ruffles in Mickey’s hair. Never in a million years would he have pegged Mickey to be a fan of folk singer-songwriters -- he thought his musical repertoire mainly consisted of classic rock and heavy metal. Yet, after nearly a decade together, he’s fascinated to learn that there are still things they don’t know about each other.
“Mm, requested it,” Mickey murmurs drowsily, sleep taking over his muscles with his buzz wearing off.
Ian is dumbstruck, and his heart flutters from the romantic gesture in the same way it always would when they were kids. Whether he was abrasively telling him to fuck off or caressing his skin with delicate fingers, Mickey was the only one who could ever send his heart into arrythmia like that. This contrast of euphoric anxiety in the midst of a gentle calm is his definition of home. Familiar comfort overtaking him, all he can do is smile to himself in response, his cheeks tingling with a creeping blush.
Mickey can practically hear Ian’s puppy dog grin unfold across his face. Sensing his husband’s astonishment, he feels compelled to explain the significance with a shrug, “Heard it on the radio once, in the Uber after rescuing your dumb ass from being groped by that geriatric queen outside the Fairy Tail. Made me think of you.” The alcohol really must be wearing off at this point because Mickey takes a thoughtful pause before divulging more, “Even made a playlist of cheesy love songs 'n shit after that.”
“You did? How did I not know this?” Ian is chuckling now, wondering how much of Mickey’s admission is from the alcohol obstructing his inhibitions or from his security in knowing he no longer has anything left to lose and everything to gain.
“‘M good at keeping secrets,” Mickey whispers into his neck before pulling away to gaze lovingly at his husband, their eyes locked in a radiant wonder.
Ian sees a coy countenance creep across Mickey’s face and decides to play along, “Secrets, huh? What else are you keeping from me?”
Without missing a beat, Mickey slides his hands down to grab Ian’s cheeks and teases, “Well...there’s this guy.”
“Go on,” Ian encourages.
“...That I sort of have a crush on,” Mickey is grinning from ear to ear and nudges his shoulder into Ian’s.
Loving this playful banter, Ian nudges back, his grin equally as wide, “Oh, really? What’s his name?”
Mickey’s sassy raised eyebrows from earlier make their reappearance, “Can’t tell you. Secrets, ‘member?” Ian nods in a playful understanding. “But I will say...I think he likes me back,” Mickey bringing one hand up to cup Ian’s cheek.
Ian could spend the rest of the night here, suspended in the spark Mickey ignites with his supple hands. “I’m sure he does. What’s not to like?”
The mood instantly changes from flirtatious to tender as Mickey thumbs Ian's rosy cheek and hums, “Who knows? Maybe I’ll even marry him one day.” The impish smirk he was wearing disappears and becomes replaced with a faint smile blanketed in utter admiration for the love of his life.
Ian likes the sound of that, so much so that he leans in for a gentle kiss that Mickey returns with unyielding passion. A lump forms in Mickey's throat remembering all of the times this happy ending seemed like a fever dream, unfounded in reality and devoid of all possibility. Their lips crash and tongues intertwine, infinitely folding over each other while the lights penetrating their closed eyelids bleed into a blossoming elysium.
Their kiss leaves them completely breathless, yet Ian musters just enough energy to whisper against Mickey’s quivering lips. “Yeah, maybe.”
Peering into their mirrored timelines, catching glimpses of fulfilled pasts and flashes of unrealized beginnings, they can’t help but be overwhelmed with emotion. Quiet tears prick into the corners of their eyes as they think back on the oscillating crests and troughs of the day, surged with waves of immense gratitude that they both finally got the happy ending they deserve.
They hold each other close and sway until the twinkling lights overhead start to dim, continuing their intimate embrace even after the guitar plucks its last chords, finding solace in knowing that their entangled future is an endless expanse just waiting to be cracked wide open.