Archive of Our Own ^beta

1.

Ian feels like a big fat cliché when the first day of his new job starts with him spilling his morning coffee on his best pants he purchased specially for the occasion. 

He can’t even blame anyone else for that. No one pushed him on the L, no one bumped into him on the short walk from the station to the office building. He was the one to trip over his own legs while going through the glass door. A Gallagher’s first step into the corporate world is signified by an embarrassment — what a surprise. It’s so hilariously stereotypical, he doesn’t even waste time on being mad. When has anything been fair in his life? 

“Good morning, Ian, it’s a- oh my,” his manager greets him at the door of her office, her eyes immediately snapping to the brown stains on his otherwise light grey slacks. “In a bit of a rush to get here, sweetheart?” she laughs, filling the corridor with her unapologetically loud voice. 

”Good morning to you too, Elisa,” Ian answers. He met her at the second round of his interviews and immediately liked her positive attitude and mother-hen vibes. So he doesn’t hesitate before complaining: “Yeah, yeah, laugh at my uncaffeinated ass.” 

Elisa’s face morphs into pity as she takes in his pathetic state. She throws a quick look at her wrist watch and pushes her thick-framed glasses up her nose.

“We still have fifteen minutes until the morning sync, we could go get coffee for you,” she offers.

“Could we?” Ian asks with hope in his voice. He’s not sure what the morning sync is but he needs caffeine to be able to follow.

“Of course. I would have to show it to you anyway.” Elisa pauses dramatically. 

“It?” Ian plays along.

“The cafeteria!” his manager proclaims. “Come on!”

They get to the ground floor to get to the cafeteria. It’s a bright space with many little tables and a counter with coffee and pastry. The prices are not as painful as Ian would’ve expected from a big office building like that, so he immediately decides that although they have a break room with a half-decent coffee machine on their floor, he’ll be getting his morning coffee here at least once a week as a reward for landing a job he would have never thought he could be doing.

There aren’t many people there, considering the work day has just started. The line for the coffee consists of only two people — some seemingly high-earning office lady with an expensive bag, and a guy that immediately distracts Ian’s attention from the pastry display. 

Delightfully short, with dark hair and heavy boots that make him look more badass than anyone should be in the office cafeteria line at barely nine am. 

Of course, Ian also notices the nice ass hugged by the black jeans as soon as he and Elisa get behind him. However, it’s the bright eyes that seal the deal for him when the man throws an attentive and, honestly, pretty intimidating glare at them, skipping over Elisa and landing on Ian for a few long moments. In retrospect, the moments were probably absolutely normal, but it was enough for Ian to decide that he has found his work crush. Ian opens his mouth before he knows what he’s going to say, but…

“Morning, Mickey,” the young guy behind the counter says after handing the chic lady her coffee, stopping Ian from undoubtedly making a fool of himself. “Your usual?”

“Morning,” the man, Mickey apparently, drops. “Don’t need to ask, you know exactly how I like it.” He gives the guy a wicked grin, getting him to blush as he rushes to the coffee machine.

Oh, so he’s a flirt.

The lady who’s still standing next to the condiment table huffs while pouring sugar into her cup.

“The hell are you snuffling about?” Mickey barks at her.

“A little on the nose, don’t you think?” she says, unfazed about his tone.

“Be quiet, Melanie,” Mickey answers. “I know you wanna hit it too.” He gives her another one of his grins and oh.

Oh, he's got an attitude.

The lady puffs at him again. 

“As if,” she pronounces, walking past them towards the door, her high heels clattering on the tile floor.

Elisa giggles at the interaction, like it’s something she witnesses every morning. Her laugh attracts Mickey’s attention who turns back to them.

“What is it, bring your kid to work day?” he asks Elisa, nodding at Ian. “I must’ve missed the memo.”

“Don’t be silly,” Elisa titters and waves her hand at him. “This is our customer care trainee, Ian. He’s pretty good. It’s his first day today.”

“Oh yeah?” The guy looks over to Ian, a healthy mix of curiosity and skepticism in his voice. “How do you know he’s good then?” he asks, his eyes running all over Ian’s frame, landing and stopping on his crotch area.

Elisa is answering something, but Ian is too busy squirming under Mickey's gaze to hear her. Why is he staring down there so blatantly? Shit, is he checking out his dick print? 

Ian’s about to stand up straighter to give him a better look and say something flirty and hopefully appropriately corporate when he remembers that the entire front of his pants looks like he had either pissed himself or jumped around in mud. 

He blushes furiously when Mickey’s eyes return to Ian’ face, this time with a sparkle of laughter in them. All thoughts of flirting with him fly out of Ian’s head. Wow, what a great first impression he’s just made. Embarrassed, he hunches his shoulders, awaiting a taunt.

“Your coffee, Mickey.” The barista saves Ian’s ass again.

“Thanks,” the guy answers simply, wrapping a hand around the cup. Ian takes a quick note of the tattoos on his knuckles. It sends a weird swoop to his stomach, especially when Mickey immediately establishes eye contact again.

“Welcome to Q Logistics, I guess,” he tells Ian while dumping four spoons of sugar in his coffee. “Don’t come anywhere close to my floor until you’re at least a month out of your probation period.”

“Ian won’t start working with other departments until I say so, Mickey,” says Elisa. “There’ll be no issue, no doubt.” 

“We’ll see about that, Glasses,” Mickey answers Elisa and turns away before Ian can talk for himself. He walks past them without saying goodbye. 

Okay, so he’s kind of a dick, too. Sadly, it doesn’t help Ian’s attraction as he watches him swagger away, his short stature oozing attitude as he goes. Fuck, Ian’s into it.

Elisa doesn’t pay attention to Mickey’s rudeness, seemingly accustomed to that. She orders her coffee and waits until Ian puts himself together enough to ask for his.

Half intrigued, half afraid that he'll have to work with him eventually, Ian can’t help but ask:

“So he's kind of a big deal?”

“Who, Mickey?” asks Elisa.

“Yes.”

“He’s not a manager, just one of the seniors.” Elisa shrugs. “But he has our whole CRM system running, so the boss lets him do his own thing.”

Ian nods.

“He seems a bit…” He makes a face, not knowing how to express his thoughts without sounding unprofessional. 

“Oh, he's a little troublemaker, this one, ha-ha,” she lets out a chesty laugh. “Developers are an annoying bunch. But don’t worry about him, darling. He’s a good kid if you don’t mess up the work. I’ll be running all the communication with their department until you’re ready,” she explains, taking the coffee the barista put on the counter.

“Does he-” Ian starts.

“Enough talk now,” Elisa interrupts, an unexpected strictness to her voice. “I have never been late to a morning sync in my eight years of working here and I’m not about to be. Let’s go, Chatterbox, we need to introduce you to everyone.”

Ian follows her, but his thoughts stay with the guy he has just met.

2.

The first couple of months are the hardest, says Elisa. And Fiona. Ian remembers her first time working a corporate job, how absent she was from their lives when she was going through the adjustment process, and how easily she crashed later. So Ian tries taking it easy. He cooks lunches to take to the office - usually some simple wraps or sandwiches, but he’s proud of that. He pays close attention to his routines, stays on top of his journaling and keeps up with the meds. 

It’s going well so far. He’s still a bit of an errand boy for his department but he’s learning. He’s used to it, working hard and learning new things. The paychecks also don’t hurt. He can finally rely on the steady income and know for sure that he won’t need to go hungry for days because his older siblings didn’t manage to earn enough. He promises himself to not be as careless as his sister and fuck it all up for himself. 

It’s another month until he gets the permanent position, and then he can start a savings account, how wild is that?

The office that he shares with Elisa and their co-worker, Dan, is nice enough that he doesn’t feel as trapped as he imagines he would be in a cubicle. The window is big and there are a couple of plants, so he can’t complain. Of course, sitting on his ass in an office chair wasn’t how he imagined his days to go as he was growing up, but he needs to get on his feet first before he makes any ambitious moves. 

So he doesn’t complain as another Friday drags by with him balls deep in some customer’s problem report he needs to understand and solve.

He’s typing out a polite answer when Elisa sighs aggressively and takes off her glasses to rub at her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Ian asks, ignoring Dan talking into his headset in the background.

“It’s Mickey,” she complains. “I've been waiting since yesterday for him to send me the statistics for Mr. Vogel’s client. I've already called him, sent him two Slack messages and an email — no luck. I can see that his ass is online but he’s not answering.”

Mickey. Ian has seen Mickey a couple of times since their initial meeting at the cafeteria and even gotten signs of recognition, but the guy works on a different floor and he hasn’t had a chance to interact with him more.

“Huh,” he reacts. “Do you want me to go ask him?”

Both of his co-workers share a look and turn to stare at him like he's gone mad. 

“What?” he asks, watching Dan push one of the ears of his headset to the side to follow their conversation better.

“He can be, let’s say, complicated,” says Elisa, pushing her glasses up. “You must’ve gotten an impression already.”

“You telling me I should be scared of him?” Ian asks with a smile. Sometimes he forgets that he works with office dwellers from the suburbs who haven’t been in an actually scary situation in their lives.

“Go if you want to.” Elisa shrugs. “But it won’t be a pleasant experience.”

“I met the guy, I think I’ll be fine,” Ian decides, getting up from his table. Sure, Mickey was intimidating, but Ian is a damn Southsider. What is he gonna do, shoot him? “Where does he sit?” 

“You need to go to the third floor,” his manager tells him. “Room 51. It’s the third door on the left from the elevator.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you the statistics and then I’m going on my break,” he informs Elisa as he opens the door.

“Good luck, man,” Dan adds, covering the microphone with his palm.

Ian’s stomach flutters suspiciously during the short ride in the elevator. He’s excited to see Mickey again. Thinking back to their first interaction, Ian makes sure to look at himself in the elevator mirror, checking for any unexpected stains or other reasons to be embarrassed. The situation can’t repeat itself. He also doesn’t waste a chance to fix his hair and smooth out his shirt, because who knows?

Finding Mickey’s room is easy. Apparently, he's important enough to get his own little office with a sign that just says ‘Senior Developer’. Ian can make out Mickey’s silhouette through the milk glass plate next to a solid door.

He knocks before entering without waiting for an answer. That earns him an impressive eyebrow raise from Mickey who drags his eyes away from two monitors and an opened laptop to look at him. His face is somehow more handsome than Ian remembers, and that gives him a pause.

“Can I fucking help you?” Mickey prompts, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

Okay, he is rude, but nothing unexpected. Fuck, his arms in that shirt though…

“Elisa sent me. She needs some statistics from you.”

“And what are you, an errand boy?” Mickey asks, not moving a muscle.

Ian breathes out through his nose and takes a step closer to the table.

“No, but I was free to go and talk to you,” he explains calmly.

“She could’ve sent me an email.”

“She did, you’re just ignoring them.”

Mickey’s quiet for a second, looking Ian up and down with an unclear emotion. Then he moves back to the table.

“Tell her to calm down, I’ll send it over when I have time,” he dismisses and gets back to whatever he’s been doing on the laptop, clicking with a mouse.

“She needs it today,” Ian presses, slowly starting to get pissed at the indifference. His eyes follow Mickey’s nimble fingers typing away. What do his tattoos say? U-something?

“Fine, I’ll send it today. Now scram.” 

“You sure you’ll remember to do that?” Ian asks. FUCK. FUCK U-UP they say. Jesus Christ.

“I’ve been working in this shithole for years and somehow managed without your reminders. So get the fuck out of here and let me do my job, Irish Spring.” With these words Mickey waves him off, not even looking away from the laptop.

Now Ian’s getting angry. And well, he got warned — the guy’s an asshole. But if he thinks that Ian’s going to roll over and do whatever he says, he’s in for a surprise.

In two quick strides Ian reaches the table and slams Mickey’s laptop shut while his fingers are off the keyboard. That gets the little shit to snap his eyes to him, his whole frame freezing in surprise.

“You don’t talk to me like that,” Ian says firmly, towering over him. “Ever. You understand?”

Mickey’s eyes are wide as he blinks at Ian, and so fucking blue.  

“Damn, kid,” he reacts.

“I’m not a kid,” Ian says, keeping a firm tone. “You’re not much older than me. I’m also your colleague, and you will talk to me like to a fucking colleague. You get me?” 

Mickey doesn’t say anything, digging his teeth into his bottom lip instead.

It feels fucking good to stand his ground, and Ian allows himself to raise his eyebrows at Mickey, prompting an agreement.

“Yeah,” Mickey says, almost whispers. 

“Good.” Ian nods, noticing the way Mickey inhales at the word. “Now send Elisa the statistics she needs.” 

“Tell Glasses I’ll send her stuff over in twenty, ‘kay?” Mickey finds his voice again. “I need to finish a report.”

Ian clenches his fists on the surface of the table and shakes his head.

“She’s been waiting on you the whole morning. You’re going to do it now because it’ll take you one second.”

Mickey’s eyes flash with something akin to anger but he keeps his mouth shut, staring up at Ian instead. Ian can’t help but notice that they’re both breathing heavily. A moment of tension stretches on, neither of them looking away. The heat in Ian’s stomach coils, flaring up when Mickey suddenly licks his lips.

Fuck. Mickey’s feeling it too, right? It’s not just wishful thinking?

Should he say something? Shoot his shot now, while the sparks are crackling?

A cough coming from the door makes them both snap their heads to look at the guy who Ian got to know as the product manager’s secretary. Ian hurries to push himself off the table to stop looming over Mickey and tries conjuring a polite smile.

“H-hey,” the secretary says, looking between them with uncertainty. “Mick, I’m heading out for lunch, you want anything?”

It takes Mickey a moment to answer. Ian realizes that they’re both startled, as if they were caught doing something they were not supposed to.

He doesn’t know why it feels as exciting as it does. 

“Get me a cheeseburger from John’s, yeah? Fries and coke, the usual,” Mickey says, earning himself a thumbs up from the secretary. 

When the guy closes the door, they turn back to each other. The moment is broken though. Ian’s still pissed at Mickey’s attitude but he keeps quiet, waiting for him to utter the first words. 

“I’ll do it right now, okay?” Mickey says. “Will you get out of my fucking hair if I send her the stuff right now?”

“Yes. Yes, I will,” Ian tells Mickey.

Mickey nods at him, opens up his laptop that Ian slammed close and starts clicking.

That brings Ian back to the whole reason for him being in Mickey’s office, on this floor. He swallows, takes another step back.

“Done,” Mickey says after less than a minute.

“Good,” Ian answers. “See? Took you a second.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, his attitude coming back full force.

“Okay, colleague, now go. I have stuff to finish before lunch.”

“Sure.” Ian nods.

He takes a deep breath after he closes the door. Shit, he got really pissed, didn’t he? Should he feel guilty? Standing his ground felt too damn good, though. And Mickey’s reaction was absolutely worth it. Kind of hot too. So no, he probably shouldn’t.  

He looks at his own reflection in the mirror when he enters the elevator, his cheeks still pink from the anger outburst, and grins at himself. Still got it.

3.

It all goes to shit after the third month. He has just earned his permanent position, which also means he now deals with a shit ton of stuff. He’s ready though, he has learned and he knows what to do. The nightmare begins when Dan gets two weeks off for his long-planned vacation and Elisa calls in sick on Monday with the prospect of staying home until the end of the work week. And since Ian’s the only person left in his department, the whole workload falls onto his shoulders.

He has just gotten off the phone with one of their B2B clients who busted his balls for about an hour about little details no other person in the world would care about, and now he has to finish the presentation that Elisa started last week before the monthly meeting with the e-commerce managers. If only he could download this shit from their corporate drive…

“Shit, shit, shit,” he keeps whispering while clicking with his mouse so desperately, he doesn’t notice someone appearing in the doorway until he hears a voice.

“Hey colleague, where’s your mama?”

“What?” Ian asks and drags his panicked eyes from the program that keeps crashing on him.

It’s Mickey, leaning on the doorframe with a little smile on his lips. He looks good, of course he does, in one of his tight shirts and dark jeans. His sleeves are rolled up today, exposing a tattoo on his forearm. So damn attractive. Only Ian doesn't have time to get distracted today, he’s in a life or death situation. 

“Elisa,” Mickey explains. “I need her opinion on the most recent purchase, looks suspicious to me.” 

“She called in sick today,” Ian answers and looks back at the monitor.

“Huh,” Mickey reacts. He doesn’t say anything else but Ian still sees him standing in the doorway out of the corner of his eye.

On the screen, the program crashes again.

“Fuck,” Ian whispers with heat.

“What, lost in Solitaire again?” Mickey queries, prompting Ian to shoot him a nasty look.

“No, Mickey,” he denies harshly. “I'm not playing fucking Solitaire. Why don’t you go bother someone else?”

“Okay, relax,” Mickey says, kicking his heavy boot against the frame. “What’s wrong? You drowning?”

Ian sighs and rubs his burning eyes.

“I need to finish Elisa’s presentation for the meeting. She does her slides in inDesign, who fucking does that, right? I have like…an hour. And I still haven’t gotten this shit to start. Melanie's gonna have my ass.”

He feels bad right after he vents. Why the hell did he tell all that to the corporate bully of a guy? Now he has exposed himself as an incompetent worker and the rumors will start going around, eventually reaching his manager, then his boss…

Ian forces himself to concentrate on the screen. There's a pause in which the only sound is the sporadic clicking of his mouse. Then Mickey steps into the room.

“Move,” he orders, coming around the table.

“What?” 

“C’mon, Irish Spring,” he says and pushes at Ian’s shoulder. “Move over.”

Confused, Ian rolls his chair to the side while Mickey leans down to the table and opens the command centre. As his fingers run over Ian’s keyboard, Ian can’t help but notice how small and delicate his hands are. He wonders how it would feel to hold Mickey’s hand. Would Mickey like that Ian’s hand is much bigger? Guys that Ian fucks are usually into it. 

Ian knows that he’s going too far in his thoughts but the proximity doesn’t help at all, because of course Mickey smells amazing, the combination of his soap and his natural smell making Ian squirm in his seat. Shit, is he being creepy? It’s hard not to be creepy when the guy is that close, his muscled shoulder almost touching Ian’s…

“There you go,” Mickey’s voice brings him back to reality. Ian turns his eyes to the screen to see the completed download. He clicks on the file, everything opening perfectly fine. 

“Oh shit. Thank you. Shit! Thank you so much, Mickey,” he sputters. 

“Your security settings were wrong and it didn't let you do anything. Next time just send a ticket to IT.”

“Okay, I will do that.” Ian nods. “Now I only need to finish the slides in fifty minutes… My brain is fucking scrambled today.”

“You can do it,” Mickey says, his tone a mix between firm and reassuring, which has a horrifying effect of sending a tingly shiver down Ian's spine. “S’just a tough day.”

Ian looks up at Mickey who’s still standing next to him. He emanates such a confident, competent aura, Ian can’t believe how attractive he finds him in this moment. He really wants Mickey to stay. It’s the first time he’s alone in his office, and if he could persuade Mickey to spend more time here, he could use that time to get to know him. Maybe try to charm him a little bit, figure out if he’d be interested…

Ian doesn’t have time though. The clock is ticking, and he really needs to finish this if he wants to keep his job.

“Thanks again, Mick,” he tells him sincerely. “You really saved my ass.”

Surprisingly, that makes Mickey hide his eyes and thumb at the corner of his lips.

“S’whatever, man,” he mumbles. 

Ian grins. God, he’s adorable. But it’s really time to get down to business.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll let Elisa know that you needed her when she comes back.”

Mickey nods and moves away from Ian’s table. Assuming that that’s the end of the conversation, Ian rolls his chair back and starts figuring out the layout of the presentation. Elisa will have to pay him back for the inDesign bullshit.

“Hey, when are you, uh, taking a break?” Mickey asks suddenly.

“Oh, I’m not taking a break today,” Ian answers, not tearing his eyes away from the program. “I haven’t had time to visit the bathroom since the morning sync. I’m going straight to the e-commerce meeting and then I have a scheduled call with a client.”

“Sounds like fun. Good luck with that.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Ian says distractedly, barely noticing Mickey leave his office.

It’s only when he falls into the bed that night, absolutely exhausted, that he thinks about their last interaction. Was Mickey trying to invite him to have lunch together? Did he want to hang out during Ian’s break?

There’s no way. Ian probably misunderstood him. He shouldn't make a fool of himself and ask, because what if he’s wrong? Hey, when you asked me when I was going on my break yesterday, didn't you by any chance mean that you wanted to hang out? That would be the most embarrassing assumption. 

He forces himself to stop thinking about it and falls asleep after a minute. 

The workload doesn’t get smaller the next day, so Ian pretty much forgets about Mickey’s question.

4.

When Elisa and Dan come back, Ian feels like the weight of the whole world is lifted off his shoulders. Nevermind that he still has to deal with a little downswing afterwards that stretches on for over half a month. Not a lying-down-unable-to-shower kind of downswing, but a heavy one nonetheless. He thought he was ready to take on more responsibility but he didn’t expect it to be that draining. Very quickly Ian develops a massive appreciation for his co-workers and an unexpected understanding for Fiona. 

Ian tries not to be too hard on himself for being knocked off balance. It’s easier said than done though. He was being so good, staying on top of his mental and physical health, it was that much more upsetting how little it took for his stability to go to shit. Just another reminder how simple it is to slip and ruin everything he’s been working on, and how right his therapist is all about the importance of the routines.

So Ian doubles down on it. It doesn’t hurt that he has adult money trickling into his bank account. He can afford nice running shoes and a gym membership now. He has his eyes on a food processor too, but it’s a far-fetched dream. He has to work with what he has.

One of his favorite things is having control over what and how much he eats. Packing his own lunches is something he’s especially proud of. Isn’t it amazing how much more precious the food gets when you make it yourself? He works out regularly again, slowly bulking up, and he knows he needs more than a piece of cheese on toast bread. Plus, it’s spring time, which means that he gets to indulge in strolling through the nearby farmer's market some mornings before work. He hasn’t yet turned into a organic-loving hipster just because he now usually has a fifty left in his pocket at the end of the month, but he enjoys getting a little something every now and then. Makes him feel prosperous, alive.

Overall, spring is a wonderful time. Ian feels it especially strongly this Wednesday during his lunch. He was going to eat outside but decided against spending half of his break in search of a bench to eat on. He takes his time preparing his food in the break room instead, displaying the two beautiful burritos he made the day before and the fresh cherries he picked out at the market this morning. Ready to indulge, he sits down with a glass of water.

The window in the break room is wide open, letting in sunshine, fresh air, and that special pre-summer feeling. Peaceful and light. It seems like the few people in the room sense it too. The graphic designer guy is basking in the sunshine with a cup of coffee, their product manager is reading a newspaper instead of barking orders into his phone, and even the marketing girls are talking quietly in the corner without shrieking with laughter as usual.

The peace is interrupted when a pissed off Mickey charges through the door. Without any word, he stomps over to the refrigerator and throws the door open. He spends a moment rummaging through its insides during which Ian has time to exchange bewildered looks with one of the girls.

“Who the fuck took my food?” Mickey questions loudly, turning to the room of relaxing people. “It was fucking labeled.”

“Why do you think it’s here?” the graphic designer asks him. “You never eat on our floor.”

“Because I already fucking looked in the other break room, Colin,” Mickey snaps, managing to make the guy’s name sound like an insult. “Someone took my food and if I find out who did it, I’ll crack their skull on the pavement!” he threatens the room, trying to catch everyone’s eyes.

“Yeah, that really motivates everyone to confess,” Colin quips and gets back to staring out of the window, not noticing a middle finger aimed at the back of his head.

Ian stifles a laugh, attracting Mickey’s attention. The guy shoots a suspicious glance at Ian’s plate, disappointed when that doesn’t confirm the theft.

“What the fuck did you have for lunch?” He turns to the product manager, pointing an accusatory finger at him. 

“I’m on a no-salt, no-sugar diet because of my blood pressure,” the man answers proudly, patting down his greying hair. “I wouldn’t take anyone’s food, especially yours.”

“Maybe someone confused their food with yours? Or didn’t notice your label?” Ian suggests before Mickey attacks anyone else.

“It clearly said ‘fuck off’ on it,” Mickey replies, scratching his nose. “How the fuck do you confuse that?”

Of course it did, Ian thinks unexpectedly fondly. It’s unfair how entertaining he finds the guy.

“We should have cameras in this shit,” Mickey says meanwhile, inspecting the ceiling. “Why the fuck aren’t there cameras?”

“Because someone doesn’t want to be filmed while eating, Mickey,” answers one of the girls. “Just go get something else to eat and write a complaint to the HR.”

“I don’t have time to go out!” Mickey exclaims. “For once I fucking- ah, whatever,” he sighs, the fight seemingly leaving him. 

His last words sound a bit too crestfallen for Ian’s liking, so without thinking about it, he grabs Mickey’s forearm when he walks past his table, ready to leave the room. That earns Ian an impressive eyebrow arch and a tingling in his fingertips when he feels how warm and solid Mickey’s arm is. 

“Hey, you wanna share these?” Ian asks, letting go of him and pointing at his food.

Mickey frowns, no doubt preparing to refuse, but the grumbling of his stomach destroys his pretence.

“The fuck is this?” he asks.

“Vegetarian burritos with melted cheese,” Ian explains, suppressing a laugh at Mickey’s reaction to the word ‘vegetarian’.

“Is there any of that fake meat shit in it?” he asks suspiciously.

“No, Mick, none of it,” Ian smiles and pushes the plate to the middle of the little table. “Just try. You don’t have to finish it if you don’t like it.”

“Of course I fucking don’t,” Mickey grumbles, sitting across from Ian.

They both bite into their burritos, Ian trying not to stare at the strand of hair falling onto Mickey’s forehead or his pecs stretching out his black t-shirt under an unbuttoned shirt. He generally tries not to stare at the guy.

“Shid, dat’s good,” Mickey proclaims with a full mouth. “Where did you ged deese?”

“Made them,” Ian says, trying not to beam at the unintended compliment.

“No shit?” Mickey asks, giving Ian an impressed look. “You cook?”

“No cooking, just wrapped some veggies in a tortilla,” Ian answers, his cheeks starting to hurt from all the smiling he seems to be doing around Mickey.

“Tastes bedder dan takeout,” Mickey says through another mouthful. “My food never tastes good.”

“Oh, you cook?” Ian teases.

Mickey gives him a playful eye roll.

“I usually don't. I did yesterday though,” he admits carefully. “S’just sucks when the only time I bothered, someone stole it. I would’ve gone out and gotten me a dog but I only have twenty minutes of my break left.”

“Yeah, the line alone would’ve taken you fifteen,” Ian sympathizes. "Good thing I shared, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.” Mickey nods with a genuine smile.

Damn. That’s a nice smile. Kind of makes Ian want to make him smile more.

They eat the rest in silence, the peaceful mood slowly coming back. Seems to be working on Mickey too, because the guy’s shoulders relax and he slows down, just sitting there and enjoying the food.

The longer they sit together, the more hyper-aware of their closeness Ian gets. Their knees are almost touching, and one of Mickey’s small hands is lying on the table right next to Ian. He could just cover it with his, trace the letters on his knuckles…

Ian forces himself to look away and notices that they both have finished their food. Mickey is looking at him like he has seen him staring. He kind of wants Mickey to realize that he’s checking him out but he’s not sure how the guy will react. They had moments before though, hadn’t they? Ian’s not just reading into it? God, this guy makes him nervous.

He searches for something to say, the little bowl of cherries that he brought catching his attention.

“You want to try the cherries?” he asks Mickey.

Predictably, Mickey makes a face. Ian thinks he starts to understand his I-hate-trying-new-things vibe.

“I hate sour shit,” Mickey says.

“They’re not sour, they’re sweet,” Ian retorts. “I picked them myself today.”

“Shit, you got into someone’s garden before work, for real?” 

Mickey sounds so impressed, Ian has to laugh.

“No, I picked them out on the market.”

That gets Mickey to frown again.

“You sure you’re not just a grandma in a dude’s body?” he queries. 

“Will you just shut up and try them?” Ian presses, exasperated by Mickey’s constant attitude.

That actually gets Mickey to shut up. That also gets Ian an intrigued look that reminds him of one of their first interactions in Mickey’s office. Interesting. This is the second time he’s managed to tame Mickey by adding some authority to his voice. Ian makes a note of it.

And then he absolutely loses track of his thought, because Mickey closes his mouth around a cherry and bites, the juice staining his unfairly attractive lips. As if it wasn’t enough, Mickey chases the red on his lips with his tongue, pink and flexible, and fuck. Okay. Ian has had a grip on this situation so far, but now he’s losing it.

He knows that he’s staring, his mouth ajar, like he’s never seen a man eat a cherry before. He can’t help it though. He’s memorising how it looked, immediately knowing that he will be thinking about it later in the privacy of his room, and he’ll definitely get hard about it in the future. Multiple times. There’s no doubt.

“Mmm,” Mickey practically moans, winding Ian up further. “You were right. They’re sweet.” 

“Yeah?” Ian rasps, throat suddenly dry.

“Mmm-hm. I like ‘em sweet,” Mickey says, his eyes finding Ian’s and keeping the contact as he licks a bit of juice from his thumb. “Do you?”

“Oh-” Ian reacts, scrambling to get some brain cells together. “I uh- I don’t mind as long as I like how they taste.”

Mickey seems to like his answer, sending him a devilish grin.

They’re still talking about cherries, aren’t they?

Mindlessly, Ian also takes a cherry and puts it in his mouth. He’s sure he’s not doing it as sensual as Mickey, but the guy stares at him like he is.

God. Should Ian go for it? Should he at least try shooting his shot?

Ask him for his number. Just fucking ask him.

But what if he’s reading into it too much? He could be wrong. Maybe Mickey’s being friendly and Ian’s just being a creep. It could all be in his head. 

Carl has just been telling him about that guy he knows who got slammed with a sexual harassment case because he thought a girl at work has been flirting with him and kissed her in the maintainance room. If something like that happens to Ian and he gets fired, his life will be fucked again. 

He realizes that kissing someone spontaneously is miles away from asking for a guy’s number, but what if Mickey refuses? What if Mickey’s just a flirty but painfully straight guy? Ian will still have to work with him afterwards, see him every day after unsuccessfully hitting on him… That would be awful.

The clock is ticking and the right moment seems to pass when Mickey throws a glance at the big clock on the wall.

“Gotta go,” he says, looking back at Ian.

Another moment passes.

“Ah, yes. See you later,” Ian answers, forcing a friendly smile.

He’s not sure he’s imagining a hint of disappointment on Mickey’s face when he gets up from the table.

“Thanks for the food,” Mickey tells him, thumbing at his bottom lip.

“Course.” Ian nods. “No big deal.”

“K.” Mickey shifts on his feet, sniffs. “See ya.”

“See ya,” Ian says again and then watches Mickey leave the room.

He spends the day replaying their interactions in his head, wondering if he should have gone for it or not.

5.

“Where the heck is Dan?” Elisa repeats for the third time. “He went upstairs almost an hour ago.”

“You know you can call him, right?” Ian says, finishing up the email he’s been working on for the last ten minutes.

Elisa silently points at Dan’s desk where his IPhone lies next to his coffee mug.

Ian hums. “You want me to go look for him?” he asks.

He has definitely graduated from the errand boy role he took on in the beginning but he doesn’t mind doing things for Elisa. She’s been nothing but nice to him over the past five months, and he has developed a very warm feeling for her, like for a nice aunt he’s never had.

“If you don't mind,” she says. “I want to go on my break some time today and I don't want us to miss Mr. Frey's call. No offence, darling, but you're still not fit enough to talk to him on your own.”

Ian laughs internally. If Elisa only knew that the old snob he met at one of the corporate events took a liking to Ian and very well enjoys talking to him while no one else listens. Ian probably could even convince him to spend some more money for them, but he’s not about to discuss it with her. Plus, he’s glad he won’t have to entertain that schmuck. 

“No problem, Elisa,” he says with a smile, pushing his chair off his desk. “I’ll go find him.”

“Thank you, sweetheart!” he hears Elisa call out as he leaves the room.

Upstairs seems abandoned as he goes through the corridor, looking through the office windows. He meets a couple of programmers and asks them whether they've seen Dan but no one has seen him in the last half an hour. Ian considers checking out the bathroom in case he got himself locked in a toilet stall or something when he hears cheering coming from this floor's break room.

“Come on, come on!”

“Yeah, finish him!”

“Come on, man, just a little more!”

Intrigued, he enters the room, only to come up against a surprising amount of people from the IT department clustered around one table. Using his height, Ian looks over the heads at the focus of everyone’s attention.

Of course, it’s Dan. Dan and, for some damn reason, Mickey, sitting across each other at one of the tables, and fucking arm wrestling. 

If Ian’s being honest, he gets distracted for a hot minute. He knows that Dan is fit, all he talks about apart from work is how many sets of what he does in the gym. He looks fine, Ian’s not going to lie, but Mickey is a damn smoke show. He’s been wearing those sinful tank tops of his since the beginning of the summer, seemingly not giving a shit about the corporate dress code, and making Ian’s days oh-so much harder. And now he’s seeing him in all his testosterone glory, flushed and sweaty as he is somehow beating Dan’s ass. It’s a view not for the weak, and Ian is the fucking weakest here. God, he’s very gay.

Forcing himself to tear his eyes from the show, Ian leans toward the tester guy he has had lunch with a couple of times before.

“What is happening?” he asks.

“Not sure,” the guy answers, watching on with enthusiasm. “But they were fighting about bicep curl techniques when I got here fifteen minutes ago. It escalated from there.”

Ian is about to roll his eyes when a cheer accompanies Mickey slamming Dan’s hand into the table.

“Fuck yes!” Mickey yells, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Fucking told you! Your protein shakes ain’t shit if you don’t know how to use your muscles!”

All the people start talking seemingly at the same time.

“I almost bet on you, Dan!”

“Never learn your lesson, do you, Sean?”

“Can I eat in peace now?”

“I think Mickey cheated.”

“You gonna tell him that?”

Dan puffs, rubbing his knuckles which got hit against the table surface.

“Fine, you can count that as a win,” he says, not too fazed by his loss. “I still think your way of exercising is messed up.”

Mickey, however, doesn’t seem to be satisfied by that. He seems to still be pumped on adrenaline, his eyes a little bit wild as he scans the people in the room, stopping on Ian.

“Hey, Irish Spring, c’mere,” he calls out, motioning for Ian to come closer. “Show me what you got. That way I’ll be able to say that I defeated the whole customer care department.”

“Well, you’d need to arm wrestle Elisa for that, and I don’t think you can handle that,” Dan quips, standing up from the table.

“Who says you’re defeating me anyway?” Ian questions, taking Dan’s place across from Mickey and fixing the sleeves of his henley, so they don’t get in the way.

“Confident, huh?” Mickey teases with a toothy grin, putting his elbow on the table again and offering Ian his palm. “Let’s see.”

With the arrival of summer the mood in the office has definitely changed since people don’t seem to be in a hurry to leave the room, everyone’s attention back on the table.

“Get your bets in,” Ian tells the room and takes Mickey’s hand.

As soon as their palms meet, a jolt of heat runs through Ian’s body, hitting his chest and belly. Mickey’s hand is small in his, just like he imagined it would be. God, can someone get hard just from hand contact?

He barely notices Dan covering their joined hands with his to count them off, staring at Mickey with the same intensity he’s staring back at him. He feels the tension crackling in the air.

“Go!” Dan announces.

They both snap, straining their muscles at the same time. Ian’s done his share of arm wrestling in his days, with Lip and in the army, so he’s pretty confident he can beat him. Plus, Mickey’s just had a match with Dan, he should be tired. 

He doesn’t show it if he is though. His face is excited as he grunts with exertion, teeth digging into his bottom lip. This up close Ian can see that the summer gave Mickey faint freckles on his nose and cheeks that are more visible now that the guy’s all flushed. It’s pretty distracting.

Frustrated, Ian doubles down on pushing Mickey’s arm down. He’s probably all red himself but it doesn’t matter. He gives it his all, but Mickey doesn’t budge. Then Ian makes a mistake of looking down to Mickey’s impressively bulging bicep.

Goddamn. Fuck, his arms are… the veins and the sweaty muscles… Ian wants to lick it.

Ian can hear people cheering and murmuring around him, but it all fades in the background.

Ian’s gaze slides lower. He can’t help it. Mickey’s leaning forward while wearing this damn tank top, and Ian can see his cleavage with absolutely unfair pecks dusted with fine hair, all strained…

Then, finally, he feels like he might be getting the upper hand. The cheering in the background gets louder, and Ian looks back up at Mickey.

Mickey’s eyes are knowing, laughing. He gives Ian a moment to feel embarrassed, and then he waggles his expressive eyebrows at him. And Ian fucking fumbles. Just for a second, but it’s enough for Mickey to use the advantage to slam Ian’s arm down.

“Hell fucking yes!” Mickey screams as soon as Ian’s knuckles hit the table, throwing his arms up and jumping up from the chair.

“Shit,” Ian swears, slamming a fist down the table.

He feels Dan slapping him on the shoulder as other people comment on Mickey’s second win. Ian lost, distracted by the flirty bastard's eyebrows. What a fucking embarassment.

“Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I?” Mickey keeps repeating breathlessly. He is grinning and boasting, so obnoxious in his celebration that Ian wants to tackle him. Throw him to the floor, maybe kiss the hell out of him so he shuts the fuck up.

God, he likes him.

He can’t help but grin back at Mickey, shaking his head in defeat.

Maybe this is the moment, he thinks. He should do it now. Invite him for a rematch at his house, following with a different kind of match. 

“Hey Mickey,” he starts.

“What?” Mickey asks.

Ian opens his mouth but stops, because…everyone is staring at them. The break room is absolutely full. Dan is here. That obnoxious older guy from QA. The junior programmer girl with the longest tongue in the world.

If he does it now, people will start talking. It’s not that he’s ashamed of hitting on a guy, but he’s at work. Isn’t it what HR warned them about in the last mandatory work ethics seminar? The sexual harassment charges are still on his mind, and he’s not about to compromise his hard-earned stability in a room full of people.

“I’m beating you next time,” he finishes clumsily, instead of saying what’s on his mind.

“Fat fucking chance,” Mickey replies.

Ian’s about to retort, but his eyes fall on the clock on the wall and he realizes that he’s been ‘searching’ for Dan for almost forty minutes already. Fu-uck.

“Dan, we need to go!” He grabs his co-worker by the forearm and drags him out of the room.

Elisa is going to fucking murder them.

+1

Ian can confidently say that he enjoys working at Q Logistics. It’s been a very successful half of a year for him and although his main goal was stability and financial flexibility, he grew to like his job and the people he’s seeing there every day. It’s the first time since the army that he feels like he belongs in a community. He actually walks into the office with a smile every morning, pleased to see his colleagues.

“Morning, Dan!” he greets, walking into his office room on Monday with a coffee cup and a pastry from the cafeteria. “Got us some croissants,” he announces, throwing the paper bag on the desk.

“Great. Thanks,” his co-worker answers dryly, not averting his eyes from the computer monitor.

Ian frowns.

“Did something happen? Mr. Vogel gave us five new clients to care about over the weekend?”

“No, nothing like that,” Dan answers and looks up. “It’s Cassidy again.”

“Oh god,” Ian complains and drops on his chair. “What now?”

Getting an email from Cassidy is always a bad sign.

Cassidy, the assistant HR manager, isn't necessarily a bad person. She isn’t mean or angry. She’s not even strict. No, she’s unbelievably bubbly and nice and full of ideas about how to improve the workers’ spirits. It’s just that her ideas are mostly getting in the way of work instead of helping in any way. She’s responsible for team building events and seminars that everyone dreads. 

“We’re having a picnic on Friday. The whole building,” Dan reports. “And it’s mandatory.”

“Shit,” Ian reacts.

“Dear colleagues,” Dan reads out in a high-pitched voice that could sound like Cassidy. “The last warm days in Chicago are here and it’s in our best interest to use them well! And what is a better way than to spend it outside, all together? I’m very excited to invite you all…blah blah blah. Stuff like that.”

“Damn. And I was hoping to finish the report on Friday,” Ian says. “Can I skip it?” 

“Did you miss the part where I said that it was mandatory?” Dan asks. “At least there’ll be food.”

“Honestly, if we’re getting a free day, I’d rather spend it eating with my family. No offense.”

“None taken. Same for me.”

They sit in silence for a moment, processing the news.

“She’ll make us play team building games again,” Dan adds sadly.

“Wonderful.”

Ian actually enjoys spending time with colleagues, socializing and stuff, but he hates being forced to do it. His frustration probably shows on his face, because Dan says:

“Mickey will be there though.”

He makes a meaningful pause.

“Why does it matter?” Ian questions defensively.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dan answers, hiding his eyes. “Just saying.”

And okay, it’s fair. Ian’s mind has been on Mickey pretty much all the time for the past couple of weeks, even more so than usual after the arm wrestling incident. He hasn’t had a chance to approach him yet, but he’s gearing up for it, okay? He just needs more time. Rejection is scary. A sexual harassment case is even scarier.

He hasn’t been sure he’s even ready to start dating again. The last guy he was with had cheated on him with a woman, and it kind of traumatized him. Ian has gone out to the clubs since then, gotten some head, given some head, hooked up in the bathrooms. The fun stuff. But nothing serious.

Mickey though… For some reason, Ian doesn’t want to fuck it up. He likes him, he thinks. He didn’t know he was so obvious though. Guess he still doesn’t know how to play it cool. 

“And how do you know he’ll be there?” he asks, instead of protesting.

“Well, it’s mandatory, isn’t it?” Dan answers. “Plus, I’ve been working with the guy for five years. Mickey would never pass up free food.”

“True.” Ian nods in thought.

Dan seems like he wants to continue talking about Mickey, and Ian braces for answering embarrassing questions, but Elisa’s arrival saves him. 

“Have you guys heard about the picnic?” she asks, putting her bag on her desk. She has a big smile on her face. “What a wonderful idea, isn’t it?”

Ian and Dan share a look, telepathically deciding to keep their mouths shut until after Friday.

The weather forecast promises a downpour on Friday. Everyone in the office talks about it, and it has even been mentioned during the morning sync on Thursday, but Cassidy wouldn’t budge.

You can’t trust the forecasts, she said. It’s so sunny today, it can’t be that bad! We’re doing it, guys!

The funniest part is that they manage to set everything up before the first raindrops fall. The picnic blankets are laid out with food on it, and the guy on the grill has just started the fire. Ian is not sure if he’s supposed to laugh or cry when in a span of five minutes the sky opens up and starts pouring buckets of water. 

It’s pure chaos. They’re in the park without any cover nearby. People are running around, trying to save whatever food they can. Plastic plates are flying around, the grill is filling up with rainwater. Ian sees multiple people slipping and falling on the grass that immediately got wet and slippery.

“Oh my god, please be careful, Kathy!” Cassidy’s stressed out voice comes loud and clear. “We need to cover the chicken, guys, the chicken! Can someone get the grill?”

Ian makes sure to find Cassidy with his eyes and enjoy the view of her trying to organize the picnic evacuation with mascara running down her cheeks. It’s mean, but it’s a satisfying view. Ian doesn’t regret the inner gloating he experiences.

He only contemplates helping for a minute. He hasn’t been into the idea from the very beginning, and he did express it to Cassidy on multiple occasions, but she refused to accept common sense and the typical weather patterns of the late Chicago summer. And now she expects everyone to help out? Hell fucking no.

Ian doesn’t feel too bad when he takes out an umbrella from his backpack, grabs a handful of candy from one of the blankets and starts on his way home. He knows that both Elisa and Dan have cars and they would totally drop him off at the L station, but he’s not about to search for them with people running in all directions. So he decides to walk.

He’s walking for about five minutes when he notices a silhouette of a person with no umbrella making their way through the rain a few feet in front of him. Picking up the speed, Ian shortens the distance and squints, only to figure out that it’s Mickey, power-walking through the rain.

“Hey!” Ian calls out, attracting his attention. “Hey, Mickey!”

Mickey turns around, scowling, until he realizes that it’s Ian jogging up to him. He grunts a greeting when Ian holds an umbrella over them both. He looks like a kitten that got put under a shower spray. He also holds a whole watermelon that he obviously took from the unsuccessful picnic, which makes Ian snort in amusement.

Ian hasn’t seen him yet today, since he probably arrived fashionably late. He immediately averts his eyes from the white t-shirt Mickey’s wearing, because it became absolutely transparent from the rain, and Ian is still too weak.

“Are you going to the L?” he asks him, voice loud, so Mickey can hear him over the rain.

“Nah,” Mickey says, “Going home. I live three blocks from here.”

“Oh, okay,” Ian reacts. “I need to go to the L.”

“Go then.” Mickey nods. “I’ll be fine.”

Ian looks a soaked Mickey up and down, noting the raindrops dripping down his face, and rolls his eyes.

“Come on, at least I have an umbrella. I’ll walk you to your house and then I’ll go to the station, s’not far.”

“I’m fine, really, I don’t need-” Mickey starts but Ian interrupts him.

“Just let me get you home, Mick,” he insists. “It’s no big deal and you won’t catch a cold.”

Mickey thinks for a second, looking up at Ian. “Fine,” he agrees.

Ian smiles. “Lead the way.”  

Raindrops are hammering on the surface of the umbrella as they walk. They don’t talk, and even though Ian tries to think of something to say multiple times, the silence is not uncomfortable.

Mickey didn’t lie, they only had to walk for fifteen minutes to reach his house.

“This is me,” Mickey says, stopping in front of the door to an apartment complex. “Thanks for keeping me dry, I guess.”

“No problem,” Ian answers with a smile, still holding the umbrella over both of them.

He watches Mickey place the watermelon under one arm and push the wet hair out of his face. His exposed arms are glistening with water, the t-shirt sticking to his body. Ian tries not to look at his nipples visible under the fabric. He also has to fight a strong urge to grab him and feel up his arms and ass. 

“You want some candy?” he asks, putting his free hand in his jeans pocket instead of doing anything stupid like touch Mickey’s chest. “I stole some before running away.”

“Nah, I got this big guy,” Mickey answers, slapping the watermelon in his arms. “Almost too big for me alone,” he muses and looks up at Ian.

“Well, you don’t have to eat it all today.” Ian shrugs. “If it doesn’t fit in your refrigerator, you can cut it in pieces.”

Mickey looks at him for a long second, then sighs. He bends down to carefully put the watermelon on the ground. He stands back up, returning his gaze at the confused Ian.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking dense,” Mickey says almost in disbelief, looking him in the eyes.  

Before Ian can process the insult, Mickey steps closer, grabs the front of his t-shirt and tugs him forwards until their lips press together. Ian is not sure whether it’s him or Mickey that gasps, but the next second he realizes that he’s kissing Mickey, the cocky guy from IT who he’s had a crush on for months. 

Mickey’s lips are cold against his but the inside of his mouth is hot, and Ian hurries to wrap his free arm around him to get him closer. He almost drops the umbrella when Mickey presses his whole front to his, all damp from the rain. It’s somehow the hottest and most romantic thing that has happened to Ian in the past several years. Maybe ever.

The rain keeps bouncing off the umbrella, and Ian’s not sure what’s louder, that sound or his heartbeat. Something about how hot Mickey’s mouth is makes Ian come back for another deep kiss, and then another one, so when they separate, they’re both panting heavily.

Mickey bites at his bottom lip, rubs at his eyebrow. His facial expression is complicated. He seems thoughtful. Or conflicted? Or maybe horny? Ian really hopes Mickey is horny, because Ian sure is.

“Do you-” Mickey starts, looking in Ian’s eyes. “Do you maybe wanna come upstairs?” 

Oh, hell fucking yes. He takes a second to process it, and apparently he doesn’t answer quickly enough, because Mickey deflates and squirms, pushing at Ian’s chest in order to take a step back.

“Or maybe not if you don’t wanna. It’s whatever. You were going home, so it’s fine if you-” 

Ian tightens his arm around Mickey, tugging him back in.

“Mickey,” he says with a smile. “Do you have plans for the weekend?” 

Slowly, an answering grin is blooming on Mickey’s face.

“It’s supposed to rain, isn’t it?” he asks coyly. “I was gonna stay at home and roll around in bed all day.”

“Care if I join you?” Ian asks, his stomach flipping. God, he wants to kiss Mickey again so bad.

“Sure,” Mickey answers. “I need someone to help me with this guy anyway.” He lightly kicks the watermelon on the ground. “Could be you, I guess.” 

He pushes at Ian’s chest again, stepping back and taking his keys out of his pocket.

Ian watches his ass while he opens the door, so he almost misses when Mickey tells him, “Don’t forget the watermelon,” and walks inside.

Ian can’t keep his grin in check as he picks it up and hurries after Mickey.

Maybe this whole picnic thing wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

Maybe he won’t need to worry about playing it cool around Mickey anymore.