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Mickey and Ian aren't in their twenties anymore, in fact Mickey's turning 40 in a few weeks. Ian's got something big planned: a huge party with their family and friends before taking Mickey one state over to the Hard Rock Casino so the man can take strangers money instead of Carl's and Tami's in their weekly at-home poker games. He wants Mickey to be excited to get older.
It seemed to Ian that every day Mickey was getting more and more grumpy looking in the mirror lately, but they're not young anymore. They chose beer over flat bellies and smiling over wrinkle-free faces. Ian looked at Mickey now the same way he looked at him when they were awkward teens. He looked at him like he was totally head over heels.
They start Mickey's special day with morning sex; slow and unhurried, hands and lips roaming familiar planes and curves. It put Mickey in a good mood, leaving them smiling as they shower together, but once Ian wiped the fog from the bathroom mirror Mickey's easy smile dropped.
"What's up?" Ian approached the shift in mood casually, knowing his husband needed him to act like he hadn't noticed the affect his appearance was having in his mood. The shorter man swallowed, his eyes misty and refusing to meet Ian's.
"Starting to look like Terry." He gestured to the strands of grey peppering his temples.
It hit Ian like a ton of bricks, looking at his husband he could see what Mickey was seeing. The Terry of his teen years who was grey haired and red faced and shouting. Terry who bashed his own son's face in for loving Ian, for accepting himself. He felt a wave of nausea that eased when his husband turned to finally meet his eye.
It wasn't Terry, not at all. Mickey's face was beautiful, his skin milky pale and ever-youthful. His face hadn't held a trace of anger or rage in years and his hands hadn't fucked anyone up in just as long. He was so much of everything Terry wasn't.
Ian cupped the back of his husband's head, running his large thumb along the short grey hairs, the proof of Mickey's life well-lived and all that he lived through.
"You look nothing like him, Mick." Ian whispered into the heaviness of condensation and conversation.
"Terry was ugly inside and out. You're gorgeous. Gonna be a silver fucking fox."
The worry fell from Mickey's face, leaving behind a flirty smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes.
"Yeah Gallagher? You into that?"
"Hell yeah Milkovich."
He was so into Mickey. At any age. Forever.