Work Text:
Mickey paused on the front steps and stared suspiciously at the box on the ground in front of the door. There was an envelope on the top of it with Mickey’s name in Ian’s familiar scrawl. He pulled his cigarette from his mouth and blew out the smoke before squatting down. The envelope was sealed with candle wax with a skull – or he assumed it was a skull – carved into it.
“Really, Gallagher?”
He shook his head and opened the envelope. There was a note on thick paper that Ian had probably stolen from the office he was working at now. There was no writing, instead there were cut out letters from magazines. Jesus. Mickey was dating a child.
Who will be the last man standing?
Mickey rolled his eyes and grabbed the box, tearing off the three small strips of duct tape that held the flaps closed. Inside were two small Nerf guns and a fucking ammo belt.
“Are you serious?” Mickey asked, voice raised.
“Chicken?” Ian’s voice came from inside the house. “Is that what I’m hearing?”
“Fuck you.”
“Gotta get me first.”
Mickey rolled his eyes. “You’re a pain my ass, Gallagher.”
“Hell yeah. That’s why you like me.”
Mickey pushed the box aside with his foot and looped the ammo belt over his shoulder. There was no guarantee that Ian was similarly armed. For all Mickey knew, Ian had a stockpile of weapons. Ian didn’t always play fair. “You’re going down.”
“Think that’s you in this relationship.”
“That so?” Mickey raised his eyebrow sharply, slowly edging away from the door to the window on the right side of it. “I’m positive it wasn’t me on my knees last night. All that pretty begging was coming from you.” He knelt down and looked under the edge of the ragged curtain. He didn’t see any movement, so he carefully moved to the other window. “More, Mickey. Please. God, more. Deeper. Harder.”
“You’re not going to distract me.”
Mickey peered carefully around the window frame. The curtain moved slightly and then a Nerf bullet whizzed through the open window, hitting the railing of the porch and bouncing off in a bright orange arc. “Missed me.”
Another bullet flew through the window at a different angle, but Mickey stepped back just in time. He heard the slide of the gun and laughed. “What’s so funny?” Ian snapped.
“You’ve got a fucking sub-machine gun in there or something, don’t you? And I’ve got two fucking handguns. You that scared of me?”
“Well, come on. You’re the great and powerful Mickey fucking Milkovich, right?’ Mickey heard the laughter in Ian’s voice and couldn’t help but smile. “I heard you killed a man by looking at him wrong.”
“Yeah. Shot a man in Chicago just to watch him die.” He moved quickly and shot a round into the open window. Ian muttered a quiet fuck, but Mickey could tell he got out of the way.
“Missed me, missed me. Now you gotta kiss me.”
Mickey walked away from the window and opened the front door carefully, not letting it swing all the way open so that he could keep the telltale squeak from letting Ian know exactly where he was. He could hear Ian’s steps – fucking giant couldn’t be quiet if his life depended on it, which it did – heading down the hallway toward the living room. Mickey pressed up against the wall and aimed, waiting for Ian to come around the corner.
He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and ducked down, going onto one knee and firing. Ian cackled as he tossed the pillow he’d been holding as a decoy out of his way and then nailed Mickey in the chest. Only instead of Nerf bullets, Mickey got hit by a stream of freezing water.
“What the fuck, Gallagher!” He stood up, his shirt drenched. Goosebumps raised on his arms and he shivered as the water soaked through to his skin and headed south to where his shirt was tucked into his jeans. “That’s not a fucking Nerf gun.”
Ian smiled widely. “I never said it was.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Ian paused and tilted his head before smiling at Mickey and nodding. “Yup.”
Mickey raised his guns and fired off three bullets, hitting Ian on the chest, in the throat, and on the nose. Ian’s mouth opened and then closed, lips wrinkling as his eyes narrowed. He hit Mickey with another stream of water, this time right in the face.
“Oh. Now it’s fucking on.”
Ian laughed. “That so?”
Mickey launched himself at Ian, sending them both tumbling to the floor. Ian hit the ground hard, huffing out a rough breath as he landed. Mickey straddled him and pinned Ian’s wrists with one hand, using the other to push the Super-Soaker away and then start patting Ian down for any other weapons. “You done?”
“With you?” Ian smiled up at Mickey, eyes bright. “Not even close.”
“Good.” Mickey leaned back as soon as he was sure Ian was unarmed, then grabbed the Super-Soaker just before Ian reached for it again. He put the muzzle against Ian’s forehead. “Now, we can play this two ways. One, I get up without shooting you, we go into the bedroom, and you get me out of these wet clothes.”
“Interesting. What’s the other?”
“I’m gonna shove this gun in your mouth and spray until you’re choking and begging for mercy.” Mickey smiled. “Your choice.”
“I love it when you talk dirty.”
“Option one or option two? Clock’s ticking.”
Ian reached up and wrapped his hand around the muzzle of the gun and eased it away from his forehead. He rose up on his elbows and grabbed Mickey’s wet shirt, pulling him down to kiss. “For today. Just remember, you may have won the battle, but you sure as fuck haven’t won the war.”
“Yeah, okay, John Wayne.” Mickey rocked back onto his heels and then stood up, offering a hand to Ian. “How about we leave the bullshit posturing out here and go in the bedroom where you can ride my ass?”
“Are those the terms of my surrender?”
“Goddamn it, Ian. If you don’t get your ass off the floor and in the bedroom, I’ll just find something else and fuck myself.”
“Right.” Ian held up his hands and started walking toward the bedroom. “Just remember the Geneva Convention.”
Mickey snorted. “Like you don’t get all hot and bothered by cruel and unusual punishment.”