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Ian can tell when Mickey’s having trouble sleeping. It’s not like it’s hard and he does feel bad when it happens, but it still makes Ian want to laugh a little.
Mickey doesn’t toss and turn, preferring to pick a position and stick with it. Like when they have sex, although Ian’s working on changing that. No, he actually tries really hard not to move the bed so much. It’s sweet in Mickey’s own way, silently and slowly shifting his weight so as not to wake his husband. And most of the time it doesn’t disturb Ian all that much and he goes back to sleep once he knows Mickey’s at least gotten comfortable. But then there are nights like this where Mickey is obviously getting more frustrated and anxious the more time passes. Ian is definitely familiar with the restless, irritated, annoyed feeling making things worse.
Mickey sighs behind him and attempts to readjust the covers caught between his and Ian’s legs.
Ian moves so Mickey can straighten out the tangled mess, and he can tell he’s scared Mickey just a little.
“Sorry, you good?” He asks the darkness above where Ian is lying next to him.
Ian turns over, looking up to where Mickey’s voice came from and instinctively finding his arm. “Are you?”
“Fine, just…think I had too much caffeine or something.”
“Probably should’ve rethought that third energy drink during our run,” Ian says, slightly teasingly.
But Mickey just nods, easily conceding to the comment instead of saying something Mickey-ish.
“Something on your mind?” Something else he’s working on with the man beside him, getting him to open up first before the cussing and fists.
Mickey runs a hand through his hair and rubs at his eyes. “Yeah, how many hours of sleep I’d get if I could just fucking do it.”
Ian hums, playing with the hair on Mickey’s arm and lightly tracing his tattoo. “Want some help? I remember a few things my therapist taught me. If you want,” he offers.
Mickey shrugs, thinking for a moment. “They actually work?”
“Sometimes,”
“What I gotta do?”
“Get comfy and close your eyes,” Ian instructs, helping Mickey pull the covers up over himself. “Okay, now pick a letter and only think of things that fit that letter.”
“Like how?”
“Umm, like, ‘M’...monkey, money, Monica…uh, bad example, but like that. It’s supposed to get your brain off trying to solve a problem and onto something boring. Less activity,” Ian explains, trying to recall the exact phrasing his therapist used. He didn’t want to think about where his mom’s name came from at that moment, so he focused back on Mickey.
“Cock, cum, cream pie…”
Ian snorts, tickling Mickey’s stomach and making him laugh too. “C’mon. I thought you wanted to get some sleep, Mick.”
“What? I always get sleepy after those things. And trying to think of stuff is hard, pretty sure my pea-brain is working overtime now.”
“Hmm, yeah, seems like that would exacerbate things, what with your only two cells left,” Ian pokes at Mickey’s temple.
“Ha fucking ha. Nice SAT word, nerd,” Mickey brings the covers up over his head and lets out a groan. “I don’t even think I’m tired.”
“So, don’t sleep then.”
“The fuck you mean? I have to sleep, Ian.”
“Who says?”
Mickey screws his face up, looking at Ian in the dark. “Science or some shit.”
Ian shakes his head, “I just mean, don’t try. Just stay up and sleep when you sleep. Worked for me when I was at the club.”
“You were on fucking drugs,”
“I was also manic as fuck,” Ian leans into it. He knows his past and he knows Mickey didn’t say it against him.
“So what am I supposed to do?” Mickey asks, pulling the covers down so he can breathe. He stares up at their ceiling fan that broke two weeks after they moved in.
Ian is quiet for a minute. Then leans closer to Mickey and gently pulls his face to meet his. He plants a kiss on his lips softly mushing them together. He does it a couple times and loves that Mickey is immediately responsive. He lets his thumb rest on the corner of his mouth, as he keeps kissing him consistently.
Finally Mickey pulls back, a big smile creeping onto his face. “Is this going somewhere?”
Ian smiles, pressing a few quick kisses on Mickey’s parted mouth. “I can’t just make out with my husband?”
Mickey doesn’t hold back the giggle that escapes. “Make out? What are we, fifteen?”
“You didn’t kiss me until I was almost seventeen, Mick,”
“I remember,” Mickey pulls Ian in this time, catching his lips and kissing him, “...was fuckin’ nervous.”
Ian hums, also remembering that day, as he lets Mickey kiss him. They don’t make it intense or speed up, just content to feel each other and keep it going. It’s actually really nice.
They keep at it for a while, touching their foreheads together and laughing every time they need to come up for air. Ian keeps on Mickey, realizing just how much he loves kissing his man.
Mickey sighs, stopping their kissing to yawn. They try to start back up again, but he lets out another yawn.
Ian smiles, pressing one last kiss to Mickey’s cheek and forehead. His hair smells like their shampoo. “Time for your beauty rest, Mr. Gallagher,” he teases quietly, yawning himself.
“I love you,” Mickey says, taking the other man’s hand and wrapping it around himself. He links their fingers together and brings their hands close to his chest.
“I love you too.”
Ian forces himself to stay awake until he feels Mickey’s body relax against his and go limp.