Work Text:
“Mama!” Yevgeny cried excitedly, scrambling up from his spot on the living room floor in a pile of blankets and toys.
He raced over to his mother, who scooped him up and planted a big kiss on him, murmuring Russian things into his dark hair. Ian, who was in the kitchen making iced tea, came out wiping his hands on a dish towel.
“Hey, 'Lana,” he greeted, and gave her a quick peck on the lips.
“What is he wearing?” Svetlana asked, looking at her son who was dressed in a neon orange t-shirt with a hole in the armpit and olive green sweat pants that were too small.
“Mickey dressed him,” Ian said with a grin, his eyebrows raised.
Mickey came out of the bathroom, zipping his pants.
“Kid's not goin' anywhere,” he defended. “Why's he gotta look nice to hang around the apartment watchin' cartoons?”
Svetlana kissed his temple and ruffled his hair.
“Is okay,” she told him. “He is clean and happy and loves his papas and that's what counts, yeah?”
She tickled the toddler and he laughed.
“Like our Christmas tree?” Mickey asked, nodding his heads towards the shedding tree that was poorly decorated.
Svetlana nodded.
“There's gonna be presents under the tree,” Yevgeny said. “And Santa's gonna bring me presents at Daddy's house and Mama's house.”
Svetlana told Yevgeny something in Russian and set him down. He went back to his nest of blankets on the floor, chewing on the tail of a stuffed dinosaur watching something on television.
Svetlana nodded at Ian and Mickey to follow her into the dining room/kitchen. They did so.
“I know what I want for Christmas,” she said simply, sitting down at the table. Ian fixed her a glass of tea and handed it to her, taking a seat across from her.
“I want another baby,” she said.
Mickey and Ian looked at each other.
“You fucking kidding?” Mickey asked her.
“I miss the days when Yevgeny was small enough to hold in arms and had that powder baby smell,” she explained. “He is old enough now to want playmate.”
Mickey sighed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, so you wanna buy a turkey baster and me fill it up or do they do this shit at the clinic or what?”
His ex-wife smiled sweetly at him, and then narrowed her gaze to Ian.
“I want orange hair baby,” she said.
Ian straightened his posture, looking at Mickey. Mickey looked at Svetlana.
“You want his sperm?” He asked.
She nodded. “He has pretty eyes, pretty hair. He'd make pretty girl. Or boy. Doesn't matter.”
“I don't know,” Ian said, running his hands through his hair self-consciously, but Mickey surprised him.
“Fuck yeah,” he said. “Let's do it.”
“Really?” Ian and Svetlana asked together.
“No need for clinic,” she said. “Turkey baster work fine.”
“Mickey...” Ian said, giving him a look.
Mickey knew that look said 'bipolar, remember?'
“Maybe we can talk about it some more over dinner,” Mickey told her. “You stickin' around or takin' Yevvie right now?”
Svetlana stood up and said, “I can stay for dinner. We talk. But I take Yevgeny to get hair cut.”
She scuffed Mickey on the back of his head.
“Ow!” He said.
“Why you let his hair get like that?” She demanded. “And his clothes? You take him out in public like that? I hope not!”
Ian laughed at their banter and Mickey flipped him off and then Svetlana. Yevgeny wandered into the kitchen and hugged onto his mother's waist.
“Mama...” he whined. “We go to your house, Mama?”
“After dinner.” She picked him up. “We go get hair cut.”
She traveled to the toddler's bedroom to get him a change of clothes. Ian and Mickey looked at each other. Ian sighed.
“Do you really want to?” He asked.
Mickey shrugged. “I dunno. Do you?”
“I would love another baby,” Ian confessed. “I love babies.”
“Yev would have some kid to pick on,” Mickey half joked. “It'd be loud.”
“It'd be really loud,” Ian agreed, smiling. He nudged Mickey's shoulder with his own and said, “Maybe we'd get a girl.”
“Fuck that. Girls are crazy as shit and they stay in the bathroom for like eight hours at a time plucking their eyebrows,” Mickey said, and Ian laughed and shoved him away from him.
It was a quiet four days without Yevgeny. Ian went to school and work, Mickey went to work. When they were home together, it was nice to get more intimate time without the two-year old underfoot wanting to be wherever they were, but it was always a little less fun.
“I don't think I want to give Svetlana a baby,” Ian said suddenly after they were done with a round in the sheets. First round anyway, and no sheets-in their clumsiness they'd kicked the sheets and comforter off of the bed so they were just lying on top of a fitted sheet that was coming loose from the corner of the mattress.
“Oh yeah?” Mickey panted. “How come?”
“My genetics,” Ian said. “I couldn't do that to a kid.”
Mickey didn't say anything for several seconds and Ian stared at him. When Mickey still didn't say anything, Ian wriggled his way under his husband's arm, his ear in the perfect spot to hear his heartbeat.
“Would you do it for me?” Mickey finally asked, rubbing circles half on Ian's back, half on his side.
“Do you really want that?” Ian asked instead of answering.
Mickey kissed his hair and said quietly, “Fuck yes.”
He gave Ian's side a little squeeze and growled playfully, “Fuuuuccckkk yeesssss.”
Ian couldn't help but laugh and climbed on top of him, ready for round two.
“Daddy!” Yevgeny sobbed, following Mickey around the apartment. “Hold me!”
“For Christ's sake!” Mickey snarled, scooping him up. “Ian better get his ass home from school. You're working my fucking nerves, Yevvie.”
It had been a hectic day for Mickey at work at the plant and Svetlana had dropped Yevgeny off fussy and out of sorts. Mickey carried him into the bathroom and retrieved the thermometer from the cabinet above the cluttered counter top. Yev was clad only in a t-shirt and underwear and his short dark hair was a mess.
“Let me put you down,” Mickey said when Yevgeny clung to him like a monkey. “I have to take your temp, Kid.”
Yevgeny kicked and pounded his feet against the counter he was set on, clawing for his father.
“Daddy, hold me!” He shrieked, bouncing up and down.
“Alright!” Mickey barked, picking him back up. He stood there for a few minutes, letting the toddler hiccup and whimper into his shirt, making a nice snotty wet spot near his collarbone.
“Do you wanna go lay in the bed?” Mickey asked him, more softly this time.
“Mmhmm,” Yev said. “With you.”
Mickey took Yevgeny to the master bedroom and laid his son down. He laid next to him and Yevgeny snuggled up to him.
“Now can I take your temperature?” Mickey asked, taking the thermometer and sticking it under the toddler's arm.
Yevgeny put his thumb in his mouth and waited for the thermometer to beep. When it did, Mickey looked at it and said, “Oh, yeah. You're sick. 100.4.”
He texted this to Ian and Ian texted back that under the arm, a degree gets added to the reading. Mickey mouthed a foul word and stroked some of his son's hair.
“Ian's bringing you some medicine and popsicles,” he said. “Wanna take a little nap?”
“Yes.” Yevgeny nodded and drifted off to sleep almost instantly.
An hour later, the sound of the front door unlocking startled Mickey out a half snooze and he got up to meet Ian in the kitchen. He helped him to unload groceries.
“I got him some popsicles, cold medicine to help the fever, and some chicken and stars soup,” he told Mickey.
“I can't believe in nine months we're gonna have another one of those things,” Mickey half-joked. “He wanted me to hold him all afternoon.”
“He doesn't feel good, Mick,” Ian reminded him. “And he's little, and he's your son-”
“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey said, swatting at him.
“Daddy!” Yevgeny wailed from the bedroom. “Where you go?!”
Mickey looked at Ian and Ian nodded, heading into the bedroom. Mickey could hear him climb onto the bed, talking to Yevvie in that sweet voice he saved for small children, and soon came out carrying their son.
“And after we give you medicine,” Ian was telling him, moving around the kitchen. “We'll get a popsicle and sit on the couch with the big blanket off of Daddy's bed and watch a movie.”
He set Yevgeny down to measure the cough syrup and Yevgeny started hopping up and down angrily, tugging on Ian's legs.
“Yeah, have fun with that,” Mickey said.
By the time it was dark outside, Yevgeny was still feeling under the weather, but he was not as clingy anymore and mostly just laid on the couch watching television. Ian and Mickey took turns taking his temperature and giving him water and apple juice. They let him sleep in the bed with them, and just as he started to snore, Ian said, “I'm glad we're having another kid. When he's older, we'll miss this.”