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His hands were shaking with anticipation as he closed the taxi car door. By some miracle, Ian had managed to be able to come home a day early –the day before Thanksgiving. He had a thirty day leave before he had to go back.
Tomorrow was going to be hectic, and as much as he was looking forward to seeing his family, he really just needed to come home early to spend his first night with Mickey. God, he missed him so much. Carrying around a little folded up picture was nice to look at… butobviously it just wan’t the same.
Ian inhaled deep when he walked into their apartment, smelling that home scent that he couldn’t begin to describe even if you paid him. Mickey wasn’t back from work yet –wouldn’t be for another hour or so. That was okay though, it gave Ian time to take a shower, shave off his scruff and throw on some nicer clothes.
The anticipation was nerve-racking. He was nervous to see Mickey, but didn’t really know why. It’s just… it had been about twelve months. Twelve months of phone calls and Skype calls and if Ian was lucky, Mickey would sit down and write him a letter by hand. It wasn’t really Mickey’s thing though, so Ian didn’t push it. But he saved every letter Mickey sent, could probably recite them because he’d read them over and over so many times.
But Ian didn’t get the chance to take a shower or shave. Mickey came home early (fucker); Ian rushed into their bedroom when he heard the key slide into the lock and Mickey struggle with the janky-ass door handle (that should have been fixed when they first moved in, but the fucking landlord was a nightmare). His breath caught in his throat, hearing Mickey padding around, talking on his phone to someone.
“Yes, I know Philip, but I’m telling you, he doesn’t actually fuckin’ like that sweet potato shit,” Mickey’s voice filtered in from the kitchen. Then came the rattling of the refrigerator, followed by the sound of Mickey cracking open a bottle of beer.
Ian shook his head and grinned, listening to his boyfriend continue.
“I know because he fuckin’ told me!”
Ian had to cover his mouth to stop himself from laughing. His eyes stung sweetly, listening to Mickey’s voice. He missed hearing his voice in person, wanted so badly to walk out to the kitchen and surprise Mickey, but his brother didn’t know that he was home yet either, and Ian wanted to keep it that way.
“Yeah. Yes, I know… okay,” Mickey ended the call, letting out a long, drawn out sigh after he hung up, “Dick.”
Ian took a deep breath and walked out of his and Mickey’s bedroom, down the short hallway and peered around the corner, being as quiet as he could.
Mickey didn’t see him; he was halfway turned away from him, completely distracted by whatever was going through his mind. He leaned against the kitchen counter, running a hand over his dark hair. Damn, he was so beautiful, looked so good in that black shirt. Ian took his time just looking at him. His chest went all warm and achey, watching the way Mickey shoved off the kitchen counter and set his beer down.
Twelve months. Could have been worse –some go longer than that.
Still dressed in his ACU’s, Ian stepped around the corner, holding his breath.
Slowly, like he just realized someone else was in the apartment, Mickey turned his head, his blue eyes landing on Ian. Both of them stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Mickey’s eyes grew wide and red around the edges, his mouth working open and closed.
“Hey Mick,” Ian’s voice came out shaky and broken, trying to keep down the urge to fall to his knees right then and there. Fuck, he just couldn’t even think, he missed Mickey so damn much.
Finally, Mickey’s open mouth cracked wide into one of those heart-stopping smiles. Ian smiled back, laughing as he met Mickey halfway. They clung to each other, Ian burying his face into Mickey’s shoulder, taking deep breaths of his scent. That Mickey smell, Ian wanted to live in that smell.
Mickey’s hold was bruising, one hand settled on the back of Ian’s neck, fingers playing at his hairline; Ian knew his hold was as bruising well. He didn’t want to let go, thought that if he did, he’d wake up and be back at base.
They held each other for a long time, breathing each other in. Ian didn’t stop the tears from leaking from his eyes, didn’t stop his body from shaking against Mickey as he let go, let being home and being in Mickey’s arms wash over him. He’d dreamt of this so many times, but dreams were shit compared to the real thing.
Ian leaned back, pressing his forehead against Mickey’s looking into those baby blue’s he missed so fucking much. They were rimmed in red, tears gathered at the corners, clinging to the dark lashes, but they were beautiful.
Mickey grabbed Ian’s face, flattening his palms against his cheeks, thumbs wiping under his eyes, “Fuckin’ asshole.”
Ian punched out a laugh, “Couldn’t wait another day, had to see you.”
“This is for real?” Mickey breathed. “You’re home early?”
Ian grinned though his tears and reached out, pulling Mickey against him; he wrapped both arms around the shorter man’s waist. Mickey reached up and tugged Ian’s hat off, tossing it towards the couch, but his eyes never left Ian’s face.
Not being able to wait another second, Ian pressed his lips against Mickey’s, sighing into the kiss. He tried to kiss him gently, he tried to draw it out slow and sweet, he really did. But twelve months of not having Mickey’s mouth on his mouth did things to Ian. He kissed him with twelve months of hunger, twelve months of I miss you and I love you.
“It’s for real,” Ian murmured against Mickey’s lips.