Hello can I ask for gallavich + 36 for the kisses prompt? Thank you 😄
Hello!!! Yes yes of course!
36. ...to give up control
Mickey didn't think the whole kiss thing would be a big deal.
Well, okay, scratch that. He’d known it would be a big deal. It had been a big deal. Had been a huge fucking deal and had left his heart racing and his lungs hitching and his lips tingling for hours afterwards, even through the chaos of getting shot in the fucking ass.
But it wasn’t like– it wasn't some big thing. He just did it to prove a point, to prove he could, to get a one up on that creepy ass pedo hanging around Ian and taking him on dates and ordering him fucking room service.
Except now he hasn’t been able to get it out of his head since. And he hasn't seen Ian since. And he’s kinda driving himself fucking insane.
It wasn't even an actual proper fucking kiss. No tongue action, no biting, no hot and heavy groaning. Just their lips smashed together awkwardly in the driveway of that fuckwad’s house, Mickey’s brothers just yards away. If that had been enough to get Mickey this worked up, what the fuck will it be like when they kiss for real?
If they kiss for real.
They probably will.
Fuck.
Mickey gets all tangled up in himself, the way he always does when it comes to stupid shit like this, stuff that shouldn’t mean anything but actually means everything and could absolutely get him killed but actually makes him feel more alive than he’s ever felt. He’s jittery when he goes in for his shift– the first one he’s working since being shot (again). He jumps at the sound of the bell chiming above his head. Tenses as he sees Ian’s head whip around towards the door.
“Mick!”
Mickey makes some non-committal grunting sound and beelines towards the donut case.
For the first few hours, it's fine. Ian doesn't bring it up, doesn't even hint at it. He’s got way bigger shit going down with his family to deal with. The stupid kiss probably isn't even a blip on his radar.
They end up in the freezer like they always do. They can’t fuck with Mickey’s bullet wounds, but he gets Ian off with his hands and Ian gets him off with his mouth, and it’s not as good as fucking but it gets the job done.
After, as they’re both grinning and panting and getting their belts situated, Ian tries to kiss him.
When Mickey pushes him away, it’s more out of habit than anything. He flushes, feeling stupid as hell, but Ian’s already smiling sheepishly and pulling away.
“Sorry. Should probably brush my teeth or something, huh?”
Mickey shrugs at him. Gnaws at his lower lip. Feels his breath hitch as Ian’s gaze darts down to his mouth.
Ian turns away and heads back up front.
+++
It keeps happening. The second time Mickey pushes him away–( when Ian tries to give him a fucking goodbye kiss like they’re fucking boyfriend and girlfriend)– Ian goes all quiet and sullen and mopey.
The third time, he gets pissed.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
They’re in the freezer again. They’d only just stumbled in. Up until a second ago, Ian had been pressed up against him, hands groping every part of Mickey he could reach.
“What?” Mickey snaps, cheeks burning against the cold air, scowl firmly in place. He didn't even push him away this time! He made sure he didn’t, made damn well sure to keep his reflexes on lockdown, but he must have let some little twitch or flinch slip through the cracks because now Ian’s pulling back to glare at him.
“I am such an idiot,” Ian mutters. Mickey is inclined to agree. “I should have known better.”
Mickey bristles. “The fuck are you going on about now?”
“Oh please, you fucking know–”
Mickey gathers his wits and his guts and shuts him up with a kiss.
Ian tenses, then melts, lips softening under Mickey’s, bigass hands coming up to slide through Mickey’s hair.
Mickey’s breath hitches. He lets out this weird little noise. He pulls back.
Ian’s lips chase after his, and Mickey flinches, and just like that Ian’s tense again. “Stop doing that–”
“I’m not fucking flinching like a little bitch on purpose–”
“Not that,” Ian scoffs. He tightens his fingers in Mickey’s hair when Mickey tries to pull away. “Stop kissing me just to prove a fucking point!”
“I thought you wanted me to kiss you–”
“I want you to want to kiss me! I want it to mean something! Instead you’re just using it to– to– to try and fucking gain control–”
“Jesus fucking christ, Ian, stop being such a girl!”
Ian huffs and pulls away, and he’s right, he is an idiot, because how can he not fucking get it?
“It’s not– I’m not–” Mickey cuts off with a low growl. Scrubs hard at his mouth, trying to force the words out, because he knows he can barely fucking offer Ian anything but he’s gotta at least give him something. “When I– When I kiss you, or whatever,” Mickey starts again, skin hot and face flushed and every bone in his body protesting, “I’m not tryna fucking control you.”
There’s more he could say. Like how every time he kisses Ian he’s giving up the meager amount of control he has, how that fucking scares him and exhilarates him and maybe that makes him a pussy but its the fucking truth, how he’s trying, really fucking trying, and he needs Ian to see that.
He doesn't say any of that shit. But he thinks Ian gets it anyways.
Ian stares at him for a long moment with that weirdass intense look he sometimes gets in his eyes. “So you do want to kiss me?”
Mickey rolls his eyes and tries not to squirm. “The fuck do you think?”
“And you want me to kiss you?”
Mickey shrugs. Nods, just once, the movement sharp and short and jerky.
Ian squints at him for another eternity before taking a deep breath. He brings his hands up slow, works his fingers into Mickey’s hair again, and when he leans in Mickey still flinches except this time Ian doesn’t stop. He seals their lips together, steady and sure, and doesn’t give Mickey more than a split second to adjust before darting his tongue out.
Mickey gasps, just a bit. It’s enough to give Ian the leeway he needs to work Mickey’s mouth open further.
Holy fuck.
Mickey gets his hands on Ian’s hips to wrench him closer. Ian retaliates by yanking on Mickey’s hair, tugging until Mickey’s head is angled just right, and Mickey has to pull back enough to suck in a sharp breath.
“Fuck, Mickey,” Ian hums. “You taste so fucking good.”
Mickey sincerely fucking doubts that– knows for a fact that his mouth tastes like cigarettes and burnt coffee and the chocolate bar he scarfed down earlier– but then Ian bites down hard on Mickey’s lower lip and Mickey loses his train of thought.
And maybe kissing ain’t such a big fucking deal afterall. And maybe, just maybe, it’s a huge fucking deal.
send me a number~
