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Mickey had truly never seen a more beautiful man.
Eyes of blue mixed with specks of gold surrounded by fair skin and freckles. His favorite, though, was the fiery red hair that adorned his head.
Ian Gallagher, Mickey’s dream guy. His soulmate. His husband.
God, it leaves a wonderful feeling sitting at the bottom of his gut that he married the man he had always dreamed of being with, the man he fought so hard to have. Ian broke him out of the shell of a hardened, closed off, closeted boy into the man he sees when he looks in the mirror. Someone proud of who they are, someone finally happy and allowed to hold that emotion instead of hiding it.
Mickey thinks all of this over as he lay in bed beside his husband, the dull whirr of the fan being the only noise aside from the soft snores coming from the redhead. Ian’s arm was softly thrown around Mickey’s waist, his face smushed into the pillow, chaotic and peaceful in a way that was totally Ian. He was gorgeous.
It was still early, their alarms not due to go off for hours. The sun hadn’t even begun poking through the blinds yet, but Mickey was up. He was up and completely enamored with the man beside him. He sat up, wanting to take him in longer but the need to use the bathroom and have a cigarette on the balcony overcame him. Mickey tried not to stir Ian as he gently moved his arm to his side of the bed. Ian just grumbled and flipped onto his back, still fast asleep.
Mickey paused next to the bed, he raised his hand and gently ran his hands through the red strands in front of him. He moved his hand down softly, so much as he was barely touching his skin. Mickey ghosted his hand over his husband’s cheek, his lips, before retreating to the bathroom. Mickey was so far gone on him.
By the time Mickey returned, Ian was sitting up in bed. His hair was mussed, and he didn’t look like he was fully awake. He eyed blearily at Mickey for a moment, before reaching his arms out, motioning for him to come back to bed.
Mickey pulled himself into the bed and got under the covers, where Ian immediately pulled him into his side. Ian kissed the top of Mickey’s head before resting his cheek atop of his hair and grabbing the remote off the nightstand. Soft hues from the television illuminated the room, as Ian put on something for them to drift off to in the background. It was peaceful, it was quiet with just the soft sounds of the television. Just Ian being himself made Mickey feel so loved. Ian knew it was hard for him to sleep in their Westside apartment sometimes, and he found the television to be a necessity to have something to listen to amongst the eerie quietness of the night that he was still, to this day, trying to get used to.
Mickey looked up at Ian, who glanced down on him with such a soft and sincere smile that he couldn’t resist pressing his lips to Ian’s. He loved him so much.
When he awoke later on, Ian was already out of bed.
Wandering out into the kitchen of their apartment, he caught sight of broad, bare shoulders and boxers hung low on his husband standing in front of the coffee pot. He already made one for Mickey, just the way he likes it.
Mickey walks up behind Ian, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing kisses into his shoulders, appreciating the way the warmth of his man’s abdomen was warming his freezing fingers on a cold December morning.
“Morning, baby.” Ian said lowly, his voice still soft with sleep but gruff in a way that made Mickey want to kiss him every time.
“Mmm, morning husband.” Mickey mumbled lowly, his tone also still riddled with sleep. “I love that I get to say that.” He pressed a kiss between Ian’s freckled shoulders and stayed there for a moment.
Ian laughed. “Mick, we’ve been married for five years. You’d think you were used to it.”
“Every single one of those days I’ve been proud to say it and I’ll be proud forever.”
Mickey’s words hung in the air for a moment, neither man sure where the deep words had come from. Ian softened, and turned in his husband’s hold. He gazed into the blue eyes in front of him, the ones that held so many emotions.
“I love you so fucking much, Mick.”
“I love you too, Handsome. Now, what do we got on the menu this morning? I’m starvin’.” Mickey pressed a kiss to Ian’s lips before pulling the bread and eggs out of the fridge.
After their breakfast, they still had an hour before they had to get ready for work. Ian flopped on the couch and turned to a crime documentary. Mickey chose not to get his own seat, instead he crawled into his man’s lap.
Ian’s arms wrapped around him, and he found himself with both hands on Mickey’s ass. Mickey sighed, resting his head on Ian’s shoulder. He dozed in and out, listening to the television and Ian’s breathing. He smelled like coffee, cigarettes, and Mickey’s favorite cologne. Not on him, though. It was a scent that was purely Ian and drove him wild.
Mickey never would have imagined his life being like this, in a softly lit apartment with barely there rays of sun beginning to peak through the dark clouds. Their Christmas tree casted a soft blue hue on the entire room. Ian’s hands held him in place while his thumbs rubbed small circles on his skin.
Seventeen year old Mickey would have hit you in the face for saying that he lived this gay life. Probably would have called you a faggot and moved on about his day.
This Mickey, though, could never imagine anything different with anyone different. He was home and he was in love and he was going to spend the rest of his life with the gentle ginger giant beside him. And for the first time in a long time, Mickey knew he wouldn’t have to worry about anything.
As long as he has Ian.