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Mickey groaned, pushing himself away from the warm body below him, eyes fluttering beyond his lashes as he winced and adjusted to the morning light.
Sitting up, he found himself silent for a moment, looking down at the sleeping and rather comfortable ginger cuddled in sheets below him. They’d curled up comfortably the night before, watching stupid shows and Ian giggling like a giddy teenage girl everytime Mickey scooted closer. A huff of air left his nose and he smiled, heaving himself slowly downward and gently tapping his husband’s shoulder.
”C’mon, Liam’s first day of eighth grade. Promised Fiona you’d get pictures to send to her. We gotta take him.”
Ian huffed, a soft outburst of breath seeming to cause him great exhaust and he yawned out a great, big, soft, “No, ‘m tired. Sleepin’.”
“Mumbles.” Mickey pried gently, planting a soft kiss to Ian’s cheekbone. “We gotta go. Can’t leave em.”
When Ian didn’t respond and started to doze off again, Mickey sang in a teasing tone, “Fiona’d be pissed if you didn’t get up early just in case the pictures don’t turn out the way she wants ‘em.”
“Fuck Fiona, ‘m so sleepy. Need my pretty husband to give in, please.” Ian pleaded, batting his long pretty eyelashes.
Mickey snorted, “Flattering.”
“Mick, please,” The younger practically whined, his hands on Mickey’s waist tightened. He looked up with drowsy green eyes and his stupid dorky bedhead. “Little bit more.”
God Mickey fucking wanted to dive down and capture those lips in his own and make out all morning, soft and gentle.
Mickey sighed, blue eyes glancing up at the clock. Sure, they had some time, they’d just rush out the door; fix in the car. When he didn’t answer, Ian pulled him closer to his chest, soft snores sounding like a rumbling and soothing purr, persuading him to not move a muscle. “Stay with me, Mick..”
Ian’s voice was small as he finally drifted off into sleep again, nose buried in Mickey’s hair, smelling both smoke from cigarettes and the very faint smell of strawberry shampoo—Ian insisted he used it. Mickey smelt so good afterwards. God, he loved Mickey’s smell.
After a moment, Mickey’s lips pursed into a loving smirk, glad to be coddled over by his husband at last. “Not goin’ anywhere, Gallagher.”
He curled into Ian’s chest, rubbing his face along Ian’s shirt as he whispered out what seemed to be an echo, “Not goin’ anywhere…”