mickey let out a sigh as he checked his watch. it had been 9 minutes since ian had gone next door to borrow a wine opener from kev and v, and he still wasn’t back. his chatty ass husband must have gotten caught up talking about dispensary runs, or amy’s school play or some other dumb shit. he glared down at the half opened bottle of pino grigio- beer didn’t give you this much trouble, damn wine with its stupid fucking cork. his thoughts of cracking the bottle open were interrupted by a creak on the stairs, accompanied by a soft sniffle.
mickey turned to see his niece standing on the bottom step, clutching her blanket to her chest. he softened at the sight of franny’s pink, tear stained cheeks.
“hey kiddo, what’s wrong?”
franny let out a wet cough between sniffles. “is mommy home yet?”
he shook his head, “she hasn’t gotten back yet. s’just me and uncle ian- he went over to borrow something from v. you okay? bad dream?”
franny nodded her head, messy braids flopping against her neck. her tears resumed in full force as she managed to choke out a response, “a scary dream, uncle mickey.”
mickey scratched at his eyebrow, weighing his options. he could wait for ian to get back and let him take the lead, but it looked like franny needed comfort now. he sent a silent ‘fuck you’ to terry, in whatever afterlife he got stuck in, for not giving him any frame of reference for how to deal with this. none of the milkovich kids would’ve dared to approach their father after a nightmare. they learned from an early age that a pissed off, startled awake terry was way worse than any bad dream.
mickey thought about what ian would do in this situation- he’s seen ian comfort franny over skinned knees and arguments with those little third grade bitches at the pool.
he lets out a breath, following his gut and grumbling out a quiet, “c’mere, kid.”
franny shuffles around the couch, climbing up into the seat next to mickey. without a moment of hesitation, she’s wedging herself under mickey’s arm, curling into his side. he feels her tears start to soak through his shirt from where she’s pressing her face against his chest, still sniffling. he runs a hand over her hair and wipes her tears away, allowing her to cuddle against him.
“s’okay franny, it’s just a dream. It’s over now.”
“can I stay here with you uncle mickey?”
mickey’s heart clenches at his niece’s trust in him. he’s been living with her for over a year, he’s put franny to bed before, he knows that she likes cuddling, stories about pirates and the ratty patchwork blanket she’s currently holding. even so, it never fails to shock him that he makes this kid feel safe.
“‘course you can… as long as you want.”
they born turn their attention back to the shitty made for tv movie that ian had put on, and settled into a comfortable silence. only a few minutes had passed before mickey heard franny’s breathing even out, her body fully relaxing against him. he pulls the blanket off the back of the couch to drape over her, sheltering franny from the house’s ever-spotty heating.
after significantly longer than it takes to borrow a wine opener, ian returns. he softens his greeting to a whisper upon seeing his niece asleep, face still resting against mickey’s chest. mickey rolls his eyes at the fond grin on his husband’s face.
“she had a nightmare.”
“she okay?” ian asks, eyes warm and searching, still giving him that damn soft smile.
mickey hums in affirmation, nodding gently, as to not jostle the sleeping kid at his side. ian, brandishing the borrowed wine opener, finally manages to uncork the bottle and pours two healthy glasses.
“want me to get her off of you? take her to bed?”
mickey glances down at franny, her tears had dried and her flushed cheeks had faded.
“nah man,” he replies. “she’s fine, she can stay down here for a while, right?”
ian settles onto the cushion next to mickey, kissing the top of mickey’s head.
alright pals, i know that t-gives is a complicated holiday for americans, as well as for the gallaghers, so all good if you don't want to engage BUT this timely & tender prompt came again from anna of @rereadanon, who's as big-brained as she is big-hearted, so she's getting a day-early-double-whammy. seriously, anna's ending fucking wrecks me!!!
read 2.1k words of the first thanksgiving at the gallagher-milkovich household here on a03 or below! it's fluffy, with a little hurt/comfort & a whole lotta love 🖤
- - -
“Yes, hello?” Ian said into the phone, panic rising in his throat. “Ah— Fuck, they put me on hold.”
“Yeah, big surprise there, Red. Like you’re the only butterball who can’t cook a fuckin’ bird on Thanksgiving,” Mickey teased, taking a swig of his first beer of the day.
Ian shot his husband a look as he balanced the phone between his ear and his shoulder and surveyed the kitchen. Ingredients were strewn about across the countertops, a few mismatched pots bubbled on the stove, but overall things looked okay.
He shoved a wooden spoon at Mickey’s flanneled chest. “Make yourself useful, asshole. Stir something.”
Mickey rolled his eyes, but acquiesced. He knew how much this day meant to Ian, how badly he wanted it to go off without a hitch.
Thanksgiving was a touchy subject in the Gallagher household, the thought of it enough to leave a pit in any of the sibling’s stomachs. Fiona and Lip had argued for years as to whether or not to even host a dinner, and not even because of the genocidal colonization of it all—just family memories that still stung when visited for too long.
This year though, there was a Gallagher-Milkovich household, and Ian was determined to turn over a new leaf for the kids. Try and give them all something that their parents, aunts and uncles never got.
Ian put the phone on speaker and set it down amongst the mess. Tinny, classical music filled the small kitchen.
“Fuck, this shit’s annoying,” Mickey griped. “No wonder everyone’s mad by the time they talk to some Turkey Type.”
Ian turned the volume down a few clicks and pressed a kiss to Mickey’s temple.
“Debbie, Carl and Franny will be here in an hour with the green bean casserole and dessert. Lip and Tami are packing up the kids and shouldn’t be too much later than the rest—“
“They got Liam?”
Ian smiled, cozying up behind Mickey and running his big hands up and down his arms. “They’ve got Liam.”
Mickey shrugged, turning his head back so Ian could lean into a quick kiss.
A voice blared from the phone speakers: “Thank you for calling the Turkey Talk Line at Butterball, this is Mary speaking. How can I help you today?”
“Still can’t believe you fuckin’ called them—“
“Hi, yes! Hi Mary—“
“So lame, man,” Mickey laughed, thumbing at his eyebrow and taking another drink of his beer. Ian flipped him off, turning around to focus on the phone call.
“This is my first time cooking a turkey of this size and I’m just trying to make sure that it’s done done, you know?” His voice was trembling by the end, his hand rubbing anxiously at his forehead.
“Of course! I’d be happy to help you out with that today. Sir, do you have a meat thermometer by chance?”
“No, I don’t. Keep telling my husband that we should get one, but no.” Ian pouted, looking pointedly at Mickey, who stuck his pink tongue out and jerked off the air with his “FUCK” hand.
Mary laughed cordially, “That’s perfectly fine, Sir. My husband and I didn’t have one for our first Thanksgiving together either. How long have you had the turkey in the oven and how many pounds are you working with?”
Ian checked his watch. “Uh, it’s been in for about… 3 and a half hours? It’s 20 pounds and was fully thawed and brined overnight before it went in.”
“Sounds lovely! So, for a turkey that size, you’re going to want…” Her voice disappeared as Ian took the phone off speaker and returned it to his ear, grabbing a notepad from the side of the fridge and jotting a few things down. Instructions, Mickey assumed.
He set the spoon down and leaned back against the counter, watching gleefully as his husband danced around the kitchen and slipped on the oven mitts he’d insisted on buying at the Goodwill on West Washington—a luxury department store compared to the Salvation Army on the Southside. The mitts said “I’ll feed all you fuckers!” and boasted a picture of a guy grilling who looked suspiciously like Mickey. They got them for $5, but they were originally $35. Still had the tags on them, bougie ass West Siders.
Mickey smiled as Ian doted on his first home cooked turkey. Thanksgiving wasn’t a huge to-do in the Milkovich household, but add a Gallagher and Mickey thought he could find a way to enjoy himself.
His phone dinged in his pocket.
Ian pulled his own phone away from his face long enough to check the messages that he was also receiving. “Mick, can you see what they need?” he asked, shaking the phone at him like Mickey didn’t have ears and couldn’t hear his own damn phone.
“Yeah, yeah, calm down. I’m on it.”
There were already 6 text messages waiting for him—Debs was running late because Fran got gum stuck in her hair. Lip was pissed because Tami couldn’t find the portable part of some breast pump and was blaming him. Fiona was feeling left out because she wasn’t coming in until Christmas and was insisting that they all FaceTime her after dinner.
Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose.
1 Gallagher was fine. 10 Gallaghers were a different story.
- - - -
The table was set and Ian’s turkey was perfectly brown and cooked throughout, despite their lack of meat thermometer.
Ian had insisted on a centerpiece of a variety of gourds and tapered candles and Franny had made them all little construction paper turkey napkin rings at school. When Debs and Carl finally arrived, Mickey had ruffled Fran’s slightly shorter hair and helped her go around and decorate each of the place settings. They may have been the only thing about them that matched—the plates and cups a smattering of different colors and patterns—but with all of the food and the many opened bottles of wine, no one seemed to care.
“Speech! Speech!” Debbie yelled, clinking her knife against her wine glass and motioning for Ian to stand.
Ian blushed, but got up, clapping a hand on Mickey’s shoulder for balance and in affection. “Uh, thank you all for coming today. I know it’s the fucking West Side , but it really means a lot. I love you guys, and I’m just really grateful that we’re all together. We can go around or whatever, but wanna say that I’m thankful for my husband and for uh, fresh starts for us all. Cheers!”
A chorus of Cheers! rang out around the table.
As Ian took his seat, Mickey watched a million things flash across his face, not all of them as cheerful as his toast. He patted his thigh, comfortingly.
They locked eyes for a moment before Ian nodded him along.
“Right,” Mickey started, turning to face the family. “Y’know that I think all of this is fuckin’ stupid, but, I guess I’m thankful for… Ian. ‘Course. And for Mary at the Butterball Hotline for savin’ Ian’s bird”—that one earned him a swat on the back of the head— “‘Ey, ey, I’m extending a little gratitude here! Alright, I’m also thankful for weed, that place around the corner with the cheap beer, good lube—I’m really fuckin’ thankful for that—“
“Alright, alright, that’s enough gratitude outta you,” Ian said, putting an end to Mickey’s less-than-family-friendly list. “Debs, you go.”
Debbie smiled sweetly, “Well, I’m thankful for Franny. All of you. And I’m really thankful for that lady that hired me to do some electrical work last week—“ She put her hands over Franny’s ears, “—who tipped me well, if you know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, they did.
“Okay Franny, you’re next!” Debs prompted.
“I’m thankful for my Mommy and wrestling and playing guns with Uncle Mickey!!” Franny exclaimed, as Debs and Ian both side eyed Mickey.
“Oh please, like Carl wasn’t shootin’ up half the neighborhood cats with a real gun when he was Franny’s age!” He put his hand up for a grinning Franny to high-five. “Love you too, Little Red.”
Shrugging in tepid agreement, Carl was up. “I’m thankful for drunk cops, thick bitches and my new massage chair!”
Everyone groaned.
“Fuck you, cop!” Mickey yelled.
“Guess it’s me,” Lip started, shifting his weight in his chair. “Really thankful for Tami and our family. All of you, course… Coke—the soda. And, uh, midnight AA meetings so I don’t have to get up with the screamer over here.” He motioned to the sleeping newborn in Tami’s arms.
Tami laughed, but slugged him in the arm—carefully, as to not wake the baby. “Very funny, asshole. But I’m thankful for you, too. And modern medicine and hospital-grade pain medication!”
The guys at the table winced, but Debbie nodded in understanding.
Liam was the last to go, sitting thoughtfully as everyone shared. Young, but stoic.
“Liam, you’re up bud,” Ian prompted, his eyes going soft.
“This year, I’m thankful for Lip and Tami and earplugs,” he said, getting a solid laugh from the table. “My new Playstation that Ian and Mickey got me for my birthday, and that we have a democratic president in office, even though his performance has been underwhelming.”
“Cheers!” Ian repeated, nodding proudly at Liam. “Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Let’s eat.”
“Happy Thanksgiving!”
Everyone started to dig into the food, passing plates to Lip who had offered to carve the turkey, and handing casserole dishes around the table to anyone with a free hand.
Conversation picked up naturally—Tami talking about the new baby and how Fred was handling the change, Debbie updating Lip on the house renovations, and Carl butting in to regale everyone with tales of his new basement bachelor pad. Mickey asked Liam about school, if anyone was giving him any trouble.
Ian just sat silently, a bit frozen, lost somewhere in his head, only coming to when Mickey gave his thigh a quick squeeze.
“You okay?” Mickey whispered.
“Yeah, yeah—just going to grab some more serving spoons from the kitchen,” he said, pushing away from the table and quickly getting up.
Mickey would have known It was a lie even if they did own extra serving spoons.
He waited a beat before putting his napkin down on the table and following behind. Ian was resting his hands on the ledge of the sink, his head hanging between his shoulders.
Mickey stood behind him and rubbed soothing circles on his low back.
“You did good, Gallagher. All this,” he praised.
“Thanks Mick,” Ian said softly, letting out a stilted breath.
“Thinkin’ ‘bout her?”
Ian’s shoulders raised, his back hunching slightly. “Kinda hard not to.”
“You want me to get Debs? She gets it.”
Ian shook his head. “You saw her face when Fran said she was thankful for her. Don’t wanna ruin anyone’s day.”
They were silent for a moment, both of them listening to the overlapping voices of the family in the dining room. Ian finally looked at Mickey, smiling meekly.
“C’mere,” Mickey said, reaching for Ian’s hands and turning him to face him. “Y’know, there is one more thing I’m thankful for.”
“What? Not having to live with these loud motherfuckers anymore?”
“That too, but no.” Mickey ran a hand up Ian’s neck, gripping at the back and holding him in place. “Monica, man. Without her, I wouldn’t have you.”
Mickey watched his words land, the skin between Ian’s eyebrows twitching, his face awash with both awe and grief.
Ian sniffed, breaking Mickey’s gaze to dab a bit at his eye.
“Love you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
“Love you, too.”
Ian put a hand to the back of Mickey’s head, pulling him in for a kiss—soft, sweet sips of milk and honey. Understanding. Gratitude.
“C’mon, let’s get back out there, Gallagher. It’s Thanksgiving and we’ve got a family to host.”
“You sure we can’t just sneak back to our room? See why you’re so thankful for that good lube?”
“No fuckin’ way. In fact, I’m about to eat so much food, we might not be able to bang all weekend.”
Ian shoved him back, but kept a hand on his shoulder. “Like you could hold out all weekend, Mick.”
“You’re right—might just have to top your sweet ass. Stuff you like that fuckin’ bird out there.”
“Mickey!” Ian scolded, as they both laughed and took their seats back at the table for a night of food, family, and new traditions.
The way Mickey doesn't even react to Ian gripping his thigh!! He's used to it!! He's used to Ian kissing him on the cheek, he's used to having Ian's arms around him, he's used to Ian grabbing his ass, he's used to Ian's hand on his neck and he's used to Ian's hand in his!!
And I'm thinking about how he's definitely also used to Ian randomly picking him up, and Ian nuzzling into his neck and Ian kissing him on the forehead and Ian running his hands through Mickey's hair when he's resting on his lap
And I'm just so glad that he has that- he has all these constant soft, casual forms of affection in his life, that he has Ian as his best friend, and his husband, who shows him everyday just how much he's loved
idk if this is on topic for a nsfw prompt but i’d love to see some aftercare with them after they have sex!
anon: two requests based on scenes from the show pls 1. how that scene in the dugouts in where ian bends mickey over by the fence and mickey has this smug as shit look on his face bc he knows he’s about to get RAILED went. maybe i'll write that one day, anon but for now you get: 2. the kinky sex scene prior to the intro scene when we walk in on them (doing aftercare) and ian tells us to gtfo
thank you both for your requests!! i give you this fic and a tender kiss on the lips for both of you mwah 😚❤️️
It’s not often they have nights like this.
With their busy schedules and Ian’s fucked up family that never seem to have their own lives, there’s rarely a night where either of them isn’t out. Most of the time, they’re helping Lip with his renovations or babysitting one of their many younger relatives. Well, Ian’s doing that. Mickey just tags along because they’re, according to Sandy, ‘co-dependant assholes.’ Ian just likes to think they’re in love.
With their new apartment, it seems like these kinds of nights will become a regular thing. Nights where they don’t have to rush or worry about relatives overhearing or being walked in on. Nights like tonight where Ian can slap a gag and a pair of cuffs on his husband and throw him onto their shitty air mattress.
Mickey stares up at him from where he’s prone on the bed, knees spread, his dick hard and leaking against his stomach. His arms are raised above his head, cuffed wrists crossed over one another, holding the position even though Ian hasn’t ordered him to yet. Ian’s dick is half-hard in his boxers just from the sight of him, bound and gagged, eyes burning with lust.
Signs that you're in love with the prince of England:
[This has been sitting in the notes app on my phone for over a year bc I kept forgetting to format and post it]
Reminiscent of the Signs that you’re in love your roommate post that I made a few years ago
On Page 7: the first time you talk about him, you mention him jerking off (okay, I will admit this one is a bit of a stretch, but I’m just getting started)
On Page 10: you imagine “twirling around a ballroom while [he] drones sweet nothings” in your ear (and blush about it!)
On Page 11: you liken him to Prince Charming (another stretch)
On Page 14: you spend half the page describing him in quite complimentary terms (”infuriatingly symmetrical"? Really, Alex?)
On Page 14: you get upset thinking that his dancing with your sister has something to do with you
On Page 15: you clearly remember the first time you really saw him
On Page 16: you used to sneak into your sister’s room to touch his hair in a picture
On Page 16: you imagined taking said picture and keeping it in your room
On Page 16: you say he’s beautiful
On Page 18: you get defensive and upset when he insinuates that you may be obsessed with him
On Page 19: you delight in the glimpse of his personality
On Page 19: in all the wreckage, you manage to see a small cut on his cheek out of the corner of your eye
On Page 30: you already know everything about him from “hate reading” his Wikipedia page
On Page 36: you describe him poetically. Or really, the way you describe him in that entire page. His hands, his eyes…
On Page 43: you say he’s fresh and handsome and his hair looks soft
On Page 43: you say he is annoyingly attractive (and are so distracted you almost don’t hear a question you’re being asked (on television!!)
On Page 48: you enjoyed that slightly erotic fight you just had with him
On Page 50: you remember the first time you met him “down to the Union Jack on [his] anorak”
On Page 53: one of the first things you say after giving him your number is “no booty calls”
On Page 59: Luna doesn’t believe that you’re not into the prince
On Page 59: you stared at a photo of him for an hour
On Page 71: you have a stupid smile every time you look at your phone while texting him
On Page 73: you know he’s frowning at his phone
On Page 77: you text him every day
On Page 80: you imagine him killing you sensually (yeah, I’m reaching again but this page is great)
On Page 82: you get a big smile at something he says
On Page 83: You’re still smiling
On Page 91-92: You tell him about all your family drama/baggage
On Page 95: your sister compares your relationship with him to fake dating turned falling in love trope
On Page 96: you feel warm and nervous when your sister says you like him
On Page 98: you think he has a beautiful face
On Page 99: you really like him
On Page 101: you find him endearing
On Page 102: you feel a strange spark in your gut at the way he’s watching you
On Page 103: you feel giddy when he gets jealous of you dancing with someone else
On Page 106: You’re thinking about absorbing some of the “much” for him to help him
On Page 108: you don’t mind kissing him
On Page 108: kissing him is nothing like kissing anyone you’ve ever kissed before
On Page 109: you can’t stop thinking about the kiss
On Page 113: you think about him and something twists in your chest
On Page 113: You’re so caught caught up in thinking about his body that you trip and skin your knee
On Page 114: you’ve wanted to kiss him this entire time
On Page 115: You’re always thinking about him, no matter how hard you try to distract yourself
On Page 120: You’re Draco Malfoy level obsessed with him and have been for years
On Page 120: you long-distance flirt with him every day
On Page 120: basically everything that Nora is saying on this page about you…
On Page 124: you get pissed when you see him kissing someone else, before you calm down enough to think it through logically
On Page 129: You’re into his British accent
On Page 132: you feel lit up with a feeling that has probably always been there
On Page 135: you have to remind yourself that you don’t have feelings for him
On Page 145: you have to remind yourself not to care too much
On Page 158: You’re kind of obsessed with him
On Page 159-160: after seeing a picture of him, your heart does a weird thing (that definitely isn’t a whole thing)
On Page 160: You’re just as attracted to his dark moods as the rest of them
On Page 172: you open up to him about things you don’t say to anyone else
On Page 183: your migraine “demands soothing images of Henry looking cozy and picturesque”
On Page 198: you’ve never met a challenge you didn’t live, and he is a challenge
On Page 199: you know all his ticks
On Page 200: you wish you could wake up with him and watch him get ready for the day every morning
On Page 219-220: he plays "Your Song” and you have to tell yourself that you aren’t there to fall in love with him
On Page 227: he’s the one you want to call when you’re going through a rough time
On Page 234: it wouldn’t make a difference if you were told not to see him again
On Page 243: even after everything that has happened, you still feel like you want to know more of him
On Page 257: You’re “so in love [you] could die”
At this point he’s finally admitted it, and I could have stopped but decided to keep going:
On Page 257: you’ve been falling in love with him for years
On Page 263: you try to tell him you love him
On Page 266-267: for a full week, you go crazy after he ghosts you
On Page 267-270: you fly to a whole other country to confront him and won’t leave until he lets you in
On Page 271: you tell him you love him. Twice.
On Page 277: you feel something about him knowing how you like your coffee
On Page 283: you’ve been thinking about how a relationship with him would work since that first time he kissed you
On Page 291: you refer to him as one of your homes
On Page 302-303: you make a list of things you love about him
On Page 312: you’re willing to risk ruining your life for him
On Page 312: you’re never gonna love anyone else like you love him
On Page 328: you feel forever about him. and you’ve known it all along
what if they came back to an empty house after their engagement in 10x10? ✨
- - -
They stumble through the front door, laughing, giggles that make their entire bodies shake with it.
Ian’s hit by the dumb idea of putting all of his weight on his crutches to kick his half-functioning set of legs in the air, so he does. A hand comes to grip at his bicep and makes sure he doesn’t fall face-first on the floor or break another limb.
“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey lets out through a chuckle, following him inside. “That’s gonna help you a lot.”
Originally I was going to post this as a prompt but it kinda got away from me and I thought I might write this for Kinktober. But that didn’t work out, so here’s some dialogue of Ian and Mickey having some roleplay fun…sort of. 😅 This is free to use for anyone who feels inspired. It’s a rough draft - so it is a bit disjointed.
“You looking for something?”
“Maybe.”
“So, I’ve never done this before.”
“What..like ever? You’re a virgin?”
“No, dumbass….paid for sex.”
“Oh, right. Ok.”
“I’m Dave.”
“Dave?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”
“Doesn’t suit you.”
“Well, it’s the name I picked so shut up and tell me yours.”
“It’s…Kev.”
“For fucks sake, Mickey if you’re not going to take this seriously….”
“Ok, ok, calm down. It’s……Johnny.”
“Like…a John? Maybe that should be my name, since you’re the hooker. It would be such a good pun!”
“Nope. Too late. You’re stuck with the dumbass name you picked.”
“Fine. Nice to meet you, Johnny…….Why are you laughing?”
“Nice to meet you? You’re paying to bang me.”
“I can’t be polite?”
-
“$1000 for sex”
“What?!”
“Uh, I’m really hot so…”
“Yeah, but $1000?”
“Can’t believe you’re arguing over pretend money….price is $2000 now”
“Mickey.”
“$3000.”
“Shit. Fine.”
-
“Busy night?”
“Yeah, fucked like 11 dudes”
“Jesus….11?”
“Maybe that’s too high….7? Or 5?…..Maybe 3 is better?”
“Stop saying numbers”
-
“So, you seen one this big before?”
“Yeah, all the time”
“Seriously? Those 11 dudes you fucked all had big dicks, did they?”
“Yeah, why not? Maybe I only fuck dudes with big dicks”
“How would that even work?”
“I dunno, get them to show me their dick before I let them fuck me? 7 inches and up or no deal.”
“Really?”
“I thought this was supposed to be a fantasy or whatever? So, I’m making shit up. Just….go with it.”
“Ok, ok……I should get a condom”
“What the fuck? Just get on me!”
“What? You’re Chicago’s most expensive prostitute who fucks 11 guys a night who all have to have big dicks and you let them go bareback? This is getting less and less realistic.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, please go put on a condom, oh wait! We don’t have any! Which is why I said-”
“I fucking know we don’t. But I’m like…pretending.”
“Ok, fine, put the pretend condom on.”
“Ok.”
“That’s it? Now who’s not being realistic? Like…mime doing it or whatever.”
“Mime?”
“Shut the fuck up. Stop laughing!”
“Ok, how’s….this?”
“Weird.”
“You said-”
“Ian. I’m horny and naked, get the fuck on me. Now.”
“Yeah, yeah. Oh shit….that’s…oh. Oh.”
“Fuck…just….right there.”
………..
“I get to pick next time.”
“Got any ideas?”
“I dunno, maybe I’m your boss and I’ve gotta give you an employee evaluation.”
“Hmmm, we can wear our uniforms. Maybe I’ll be an officer and…..”
“You and your fucking army kink, man. It’s my turn to pick!”
“Ok, fine…so?”
“Maybe we’re sharing a cell in prison and…”
“Oh, you want top?”
“No, was thinking…maybe I’m the new guy and you’re the guy doing hard time who tops…”
“Oh. Oh. I like that… You gonna be pissed if I call you my bitch?”
“Nah. Roleplay, right? And besides, you do that sometimes and it’s….it’s…”
“Good? Yeah, that’s obvious.”
“Fuck off. Whatever…..”
“Any other ideas?”
“Could be kinda fun to pretend to hook up at a bar or something?”
“Mmm, I like that. Are you wearing the ripped jeans?”
“Sure, you fucking weirdo. Seeing my knees does it for you, huh?”
It’s Halloween a few years after our boys move out of their west side apartment and into a neighborhood that feels a bit more suited to them. They have a kid now, a sweet little chatterbox of a three-year-old whose fierce personality may be adorable now but surely foretells future headaches in the years to come. As such, they’re trying to milk every last moment of her sweetness for all it’s worth, terrified of the day she’s suddenly fourteen and furious.
This is one of those moments, her cuteness calling for constant pictures apparently, as Ian just can’t seem to put his phone down.
“Will you cut it out with that shit, man? Help me with these,” Mickey says from his place kneeling on the floor of the living room, fiddling with little wings he was trying to affix onto the back of her costume. "She doesn't need a camera in her face while I'm doin' this."
Ian relents and places his phone face down on the coffee table beside him. "I know, I just can't help it," he admitted. "She's so cute." He turns his attention to her and smiles big. "Ready to get some candy, bug?"
She responds in sweet giggles and nods. Ian knows she only has a vague idea what they're up to, but she's an enthusiastic participant nonetheless.
"Alright, then maybe if I help daddy with these wings we can get on our way sometime this year."
"Damn it, I still don't know what these things attach to. You gotta do this part," Mickey gripes and passes the little wings over to Ian.
"They don't really attach to anything, she puts her arms through like this," Ian explains, gently turning their daughter and helping her put her arms through the little bands that hold her wings on. After a few adjustments they sit perfectly, and she smiles up at her dads.
"Look at that, kiddo! Guess your pops really knows what he's doing, huh?" Mickey suggests enthusiastically as he finally stands up from his kneeling position.
"You're the cutest little bumblebee I've ever seen!" Ian can hardly contain it, feels full to bursting with fondness and love for the tiny girl in front of him. It was a chilly evening, so she had a little yellow cardigan on over her black and yellow striped costume, plus little black tights and antennae on a headband. He really did think she was the cutest thing he'd ever seen, all bias aside.
"Hey, you remember where your pumpkin bucket is, right?" Mickey asks her. "You're gonna need it since that's where all the candy goes."
"My room!" she squeaks before taking off to retrieve it.
Ian rises to stand beside Mickey. He picks up his phone and starts swiping through the photos he's already taken, grinning uncontrollably. "I wanna take some pictures of her before we leave."
"You've already taken a hundred."
"But now she has all her gear on."
"Alright, whatever. God you're such a softie for this shit."
"Of course I'm a softie for this shit." He flashes Mickey a look before turning back to his phone. "Halloween wasn't like this for us when we were kids. We get to do it totally different with Lucy. And I'm gonna document the hell out of it. It's awesome."
Mickey looks at Ian still scrolling through his phone. Reaches out and pats his cheek to get his attention and to just give him a little affection. Ian can’t help but think that way much of the time, fixated on making up for the shit that he and Mickey didn't have and making sure Lucy has everything she could ever need or want. She gets endless love and affection, all kinds of experiences, and now she has the cutest bumblebee costume Ian or Mickey has ever seen.
"I'm just teasing," Mickey assures him. "You know I like that you're soft."
Ian smiles at that just as Lucy comes running back into the living room, pumpkin bucket swinging in hand and looking nearly as big as she is. They're both watching her so they don't see how each other's faces light up at the sight of her.
"I'm ready!" she insists, spreading her arms out and looking down at herself, quite proud of this costume situation. The shutter sound goes off nearly instantly, and then Ian is kneeling to get more pictures. Mickey rolls his eyes but watches fondly.
"Look at you, bug!" Ian says, and she preens happily at the attention. “All set for trick or treating! Gonna be the cutest kid out there.” The shutter sound goes off a few more times, Ian capturing her from several angles before he finally pockets the phone and stands up. “Okay, you gotta hold my or daddy’s hand while we’re walking, alright?”
“Yeah, and you want me to hold your pumpkin bucket?” Mickey offers as they head for the door.
“No, I want to,” she states firmly, trying to hold it close as she shuffles out the door in front of Mickey.
“Alright, if you insist,” Mickey shrugs, knowing full well that after the first house he’ll be the one in charge of the pumpkin bucket.
Ian knows it too, knows that Mickey will be walking ahead of him with the bucket in one hand, her tiny hand in the other as she walks beside him, chattering away and fiddling with the antennae on her head. And if he covertly pulls his phone out to take just a few more pictures as he walks behind them, heart swelling at the wholesome sight before him, Mickey will be none the wiser.
