Work Text:
Mickey doesn’t anticipate seeing Gallagher on his first day as a free man and he certainly doesn’t except him to be waiting there next to Mandy, fresh-faced and bright-eyed. Mickey plays it off like he doesn’t care, like he doesn’t feel a jolt to his dick as Gallagher’s eyes so obviously roam over his body. He tries to avert his gaze as much as he can in front of Mandy, but he can’t help it; Gallagher has filled out and it makes Mickey’s mouth water and his dick throb. He doesn’t push off Gallagher’s touch, not right away, just lets it envelope him until it’s too long, too much for ‘Mickey Milkovich’ to accept without jerking away.
Gallagher has a smile that could blind. Mickey never expected to see something like that directed at him, thought it was a fluke the first time it happened. Then it happened again, and again, and it became clear that it wasn't just after fucking. No, was present in the evasive way he’d ask Mickey if he wanted to get together, or after he’d say ‘I miss you’ and make Mickey’s throat clench with an emotion he didn’t think his body possessed.
Mickey loves that smile, loves the way it starts small, stretching over his lips and then reaching his eyes, making them crinkle. Today, there's been a ton of small, secretive smiles when no one else is looking and Mickey can’t help letting loose and grinning back. It’s just a twitch at the corner of his mouth, but it’s something.
His skin feels too tight as they sit in his living room where nothing has changed in the months he’s been gone. Even his bedroom is exactly the same as he left it, right down to the dirty underwear on the floor. When Mandy begs off to a party, Mickey’s gotta move, the air stagnant around him. It won’t be much better outside, but at least his dad won’t be wandering around half-naked out there and reminding him with silent looks that he’s a fuck-up and always will be.
So he packs some beers and some other items and they walk through the sweltering streets.
“Place hasn’t changed one fuckin’ bit,” Mickey says as they pass drug dealers and general gang related activity.
Gallagher just snorts. “Where we goin’ anyway?”
Mickey shrugs, although he knows where he wants to be. He leads Gallagher to his old baseball field as they talk about nothin’. Mickey makes small talk the best way he knows how but Gallagher’s interested in deeper conversation, like geometry and chemistry and a bunch of classes he shouldn’t be taking when school is fucking out. Gallagher’s two years younger than him but he certainly doesn’t act it. For some reason, that unsettles him to his core.
Then he’s going on about the Army, and Mickey’s gut churns when he hears the word ‘officer.’ This isn’t just some fuckin’ pipe dream, Gallagher doesn’t do pipe dreams. He knows what he wants and he goes after it. He’s fucked a married guy with kids and he challenged Mickey with a crowbar and he’s said things like I miss you and now he’s gonna get himself into West Point while Mickey has a rap sheet at seventeen and is fucked for life.
He shakes off the thoughts and decides to just do what he wants right now; and he wants is a beer. He’s not sure what makes him do a shotgun. There’s no real reason. They both could have easily chugged the shit. His skin tingles from where Gallagher’s hand covers his own and at the sight of his mouth pressed against the can. He can’t stop looking at Gallagher’s face, his arms, and his chest. He looks crazy hot in white, the way it contrasts with his hair, the way his muscles fill out the shoulders. He grins when Gallagher coughs and stares openly, mouth practically watering as he goes from half to fully hard in a matter of seconds. He clicks his tongue against his teeth and when Gallagher starts to talk again, he can’t handle it, just comes right out and says it.
He drags his teeth over his bottom lip and waits, watches that slow, simmering smile spread over Gallagher’s face. He nearly sighs in relief as quickly work at their jeans.
The rest of it all occurs in a sex-induced haze. He hates how desperate he is for it, but it’s the pathetic truth. Gallagher’s tongue inside him nearly makes him come right then and there. They’ve only done that once or twice before; it’s even better than he remembers. When Gallagher’s finally inside him, he can’t stop himself from moaning loudly and reaching for every inch of skin he can, feeling his arms, the bunch of his muscles.
Afterwards, he feels practically giddy from the rush of it all and he still can’t take his eyes off Gallagher. The cut of his body assaults him; he’s no longer a boy but a fucking man. The way he looks as he does pull-ups nearly undoes him and makes him need to do some of his own, show off a little bit as he thinks about the downright sweet way Gallagher just said played baseball with him. He doesn’t really remember him, only recalls some pushing of Gallagher into lockers and cursing at him in the halls. It’s only been the past year that he’d actually began to notice his sweet ass and frankly, he thinks that a moral win in his favor. He could probably get arrested for statutory rape for all he knows, another brilliant shining mark to add to his record. He’s sheepish afterwards, though, and his mouth tugs into a genuine smile as he says, “Not much to do in the joint but work out.”
He feels like an asshole as soon as Ian says, “You could read.” The deflection and self-pity starts to set in, immediately, and he barely recognizes the fact that Gallagher just asked him to the Sox game before he’s running his mouth off, unable to stop himself. Gallagher drops MLK like it’s the most natural thing in the world, not realizing how the thought makes Mickey’s stomach lurch.
“Why the fuck are we talkin’ about community college right now?” he asks, frustrated, sneaking a look at Gallagher. He feels lost at just the thought of it. He and Gallagher might be from similar backgrounds but Gallagher doesn’t have a record yet and he’s so fucking smart and he’ll get a free ride wherever the fuck he ends up. The thing is he’s not even jealous; he just feels like he’ll never be good enough for him.
“What, you wanna spread out a blanket and look for shooting stars next?” The joke of it all is he’s almost waiting for Gallagher to look back at him and say, ‘yes.’ Instead, he gets another smile. A smile that says, “yeah, like that’ll ever happen." It hits him hard and the thought flashes through his mind, unbidden: I fucking would.
Gallagher’s face turns serious again, says he’ll talk to Linda. Mickey’s incredulous at first but then image of them working together consumes him and he can’t brush it off.
“What would I be doin’?” he asks, quietly, as if raising his voice louder would make Gallagher rethink the offer.
“Helping,” he says, and looks a little impressed that Mickey’s actually considering it.
“I ain’t cleanin’ up after people.”
Ian smirks. “It’s a pretty clean store, Mickey.”
“What about security?” he says, a little hopeful. He sees the light die out in Gallagher’s eyes, like Mickey’s said something again to fuck it up. He lets himself go on about it, his voice becoming a little teasing, his gaze raking over Gallagher’s body again.
“Shoplifting’s been down since your shooting,” he says, pointedly. He looks annoyed now, like the mere mention of the incident pisses him off, like Mickey is pissing him off.
Mickey nearly sighs. “Do whatever you want, man, you brought it up.
“Alright,” Gallagher says, voice a little huffy, resigned.
Mickey can’t have that, can’t take the way Gallagher’s looking at him like he’s rethinking his offer already, like he’s a world away dreaming of West Point. He’ll go there, he’ll become an officer, he’ll fuck other guys and Mickey and this shit-hole will be a blip in his memory.
His dad would call him a fag if he knew he was thinking things like this; his brothers would kick the shit out of him. He can’t help it, though. Being locked up gave him a lot of time to reflect and the one sad fact he came up with was this: Gallagher was the one good thing in his shitty life.
If there’s one thing Mickey’s good at, it’s compartmentalizing for a period of time. He shakes the thoughts off and looks pointedly at Gallagher. “You ready to go again or uh, you need some time, fire crotch?”
That smile creeps out again, and Mickey’s own resonates in response, open-mouthed and laughing. By the time Gallagher’s hands are on him, he’s smiling so widely and Mickey feels he can breathe easier again.
The second fuck is even better than the first, if that’s possible. They walk home together. They need to pass Gallagher’s house on the way back. With everything they did tonight, and now essentially walking Gallagher back to his house, they might as well have gone star-gazing.
Two days later Mickey’s got a fancy little jacket and he’s threatening kids who steal candy. It feels good. He also gets to sneak looks at Gallagher all day long while Linda bugs them every two minutes.
He’s not sure why he feels the need to offer up drugs to help Lip out. Lip’s kind of a cool guy and he knows he and Ian are tight. When Lip mentions geometry theorems it hits Mickey like a punch to the gut again: this is real, it’s something he wants. Gallagher wasn’t just sitting around playing with himself and waiting for Mickey to get out, regardless of his surprise greeting the other day.
“Geometry theorems?” he nearly scoffs, but he doesn’t want to hear about it, even as the words leave his lips.
Ian sounds entirely too patient and placating in response. He’s focused though, intent. Once Frank starts in though, he shuts down and Mickey watches the clench of his jaw and the annoyance gather in his eyes. He stops Frank from leaving, throws around whatever authority he has. He’s not even cut from Frank’s words, could give two shits. Gallagher gives him an exasperated look at the end of it all but it’s also somewhat fond.
He can’t help bringing up the Army again and sort of loves that Gallagher turns the subject around to sex, voice playful just like that smile now pulling at his lips. Mickey thinks maybe he’ll start counting how many times he can get Gallagher to look at him like that. Before he goes.
The thing is, Mickey knows he’ll fuck this up. He knows he won’t say what he’s thinking and will scoff at the mention of dates and he’ll never go back to school and he’ll never make anything of himself. He knows Gallagher will get tired of him eventually, even if the sex is insane. He wants this for as long as he can have it, but he’s his own worst enemy.
His tongue fights with his heart every time he looks at Gallagher.
The wrong muscle is winning.
[end]