Mickey Milkovich plopped down on the bed, pulled off his t-shirt, and threw it into a corner. The mirror opposite reflected the patches of purplish-red hickeys scattered all over his body, especially on his chest. He gritted his teeth, letting out a low hiss.
"Fuckin' asshole... told him a hundred times not to leave marks."
From the very beginning, he and lan had an agreement: it was just for "getting off," absolutely no mushy hugging and kissing crap. But every time, lan either forgot or deliberately ignored it, kissing him until his skin was red all over, like he was trying to mark his territory.
The result was that Mickey didn't even dare to be shirtless in his own house.
If Terry or anyone else noticed, he'd be dead. Every time he looked in the mirror, he felt a mix of anger and irritation. But to say he was truly furious wasn't entirely accurate. Eighty percent was anger, but there was a small part, a tiny excuse, that let the redhead get away with comforting him later.
lan was a patient guy, but the past week had felt like a year. Every time he tried to find Mickey, he was brushed off sharply, not given a single chance to even touch him. Tired from working all day and then having to endure the cold shoulder from the person he loved, lan was going crazy.
That night, he couldn't take it anymore. lan rushed over to the Milkovich house, not really understanding what he'd done wrong, but going anyway. All he knew was that Mickey was mad, and the only thing he wanted to do was make it better, no matter what.
But to say he was truly furious wasn't entirely accurate. Eighty percent was anger, but there was a small part, a tiny excuse, that let the redhead get away with comforting him later.
lan was a patient guy, but the past week had felt like a year. Every time he tried to find Mickey, he was brushed off sharply, not given a single chance to even touch him. Tired from working all day and then having to endure the cold shoulder from the person he loved, lan was going crazy.
That night, he couldn't take it anymore. lan rushed over to the Milkovich house, not really understanding what he'd done wrong, but going anyway. All he knew was that Mickey was mad, and the only thing he wanted to do was make it better, no matter what.
"I'm sorry, Mickey... please don't be mad anymore,"
lan rushed out, his voice cracking.
Mickey looked at his flustered appearance, the corner of his mouth quirking up involuntarily. He reached out and ruffled lan's hair, the gesture both gentle and teasing.
Mickey scoffed, his tone still carrying a hint of annoyance.
"Next time you leave a mark, I'll break your fuckin' neck."
But in the depths of his eyes, the softness was all too clear. Mickey was just about to turn back inside when lan suddenly sprang up, pushed the door open, and barged straight into the house. He didn't bother waiting for an invitation, immediately wrapping his arms around Mickey in a tight hug, his mouth pressing down on Mickey's in a hurried, desperate kiss.
"You fuckin' psycho! Who said you could "
Mickey didn't get to finish his sentence before his voice got caught by lan's hot breath. He raised his hands to push him away, but lan only held on tighter. Every time Mickey tried to resist, lan's lips blocked his, so fierce that Mickey felt his heartbeat go erratic.
The grumbling gradually turned into ragged breaths. Mickey stopped scolding. His hands, which had been pushing against lan, now clenched onto lan's shirt, pulling him closer.
The two of them stumbled backward into the house, kissing without breaking contact, not even noticing the front door was wide open. Mickey's back bumped lightly against the wall, then lan pulled him along further. They were tangled up together, lips locked, until finally, the door to Mickey's room was pushed open.
In that brief moment, Mickey managed to shoot lan a look that screamed "you're a pain in my ass," but the corners of his mouth were stuck to the kiss, unable to hide the sweetness of being both coerced and willing.
lan had just pulled his t-shirt over his head, not even having tossed it aside yet, when Mickey narrowed his eyes, his voice hoarse, cutting through the air.
"Listen up, and listen good, Red."
"No marks this time. Got it?"
lan paused, nodded slightly, that obedient look making him seem like a puppy. He spoke softly, his eyes not leaving Mickey.
"I'll listen to whatever you say..."
Mickey smirked, leaned down, and bit down hard on lan's neck. lan gasped softly, his heart pounding. Mickey whispered, his hot breath right against lan's ear.
"Call it even." lan let out a soft laugh, his hands tightening on Mickey's waist to pull him closer, but Mickey was faster. He pushed lan down onto the mattress, his eyes darkening.
"I'm leadin' this time. Hear me?"
lan gave a slight smile, lying obediently beneath him.
"Whatever... I'll let you have your way today."
Mickey let out a dismissive sound, but his hands gripping lan's shoulders trembled with tension. He leaned down, his lips brushing from lan's neck to his chest, then looked up at him, his gaze full of arrogance.
"Good attitude..." With the first few thrusts, Mickey pressed down, pinning lan's wrists. The rhythm was slow, heavy, as if wanting to brand every inch of skin. lan tilted his head back, biting his lip, letting out soft moans. He wanted to buck his hips faster, harder, but Mickey held him back each time.
Mickey's voice was a low growl, his breath ragged but firm. lan bit the bedsheet, his eyes wet. He wasn't used to being forced to follow this pace, but Mickey's eyes shone with satisfaction.
"How's that, Gallagher... fuck, so good.."
Mickey whispered, biting lan's lip, his hands pressing firmly on lan's chest, maintaining the slow, deliberate pace.
"Fuckin' boring..." "... you're weird, you know that?"
The room was filled with heavy breathing. lan trembled, his whole body burning hot, sweat beading. He held back, but the feeling of being restrained was making his body increasingly restless.
lan endured each sweet, torturous thrust, his hands gripping the sheets until his knuckles were white. But when Mickey thrust deeper, a moan escaped his lips, and lan lost all restraint.
In an instant, lan surged up. Mickey's body was flipped over onto the mattress, his arms pinned down to his sides.
Before Mickey could react, he saw the blazing look in lan's eyes right up close.
"Enough. My turn now." lan's voice was husky, with a hint of frustration. Not giving Mickey a chance, lan started thrusting hard, fast, and relentless. All the pent-up moments from being held back came pouring out in every drive. The bed creaked, the air shattered by choked moans.
Mickey shuddered violently, his back arching, his mouth starting to let out a stream of curses. lan didn't let him catch his breath anymore; the rhythm was now frantic, overwhelming, powerful to the point of suffocation.
With each of lan's thrusts, his hot breath fanned Mickey's ear, his voice guttural, mixed with soft laughter.
"Gonna tease me again? Huh, Mick?"
"Ah~ f-fuck you.." Mickey bit his lip, his voice hoarse, letting out fragmented, broken moans. His body shook with each of lan's relentless thrusts, completely out of control.
lan leaned down low, his mouth crashing onto Mickey's, swallowing his cries whole. His hands gripped Mickey's hips, driving into him to the hilt, with a force that seemed to want to claim everything.
Moans mingled, the bed shook violently. Sweat, breath, skin all tangled together. Now, lan was fully in control, and Mickey was completely pliant under that savage rhythm.
lan pinned Mickey's hands to the mattress, each thrust feeling like it wanted to shatter the bed itself. The rhythm was hard, fast, relentless to the point where Mickey couldn't even breathe evenly. "Mick... you have any idea how long I've waited for this?"
lan growled softly in his ear, his voice thick and raspy, speaking between powerful thrusts that forced moans from Mickey.
Mickey could only arch his back, bite his lip hard, yet still couldn't stop the hoarse moans from escaping, broken and ragged. Each of lan's thrusts was a wave sweeping him away, his whole body burning, the fire blazing to the point of paralysis.
lan laughed hoarsely, his hips still pounding like a storm. Mickey couldn't answer, his eyes squeezed shut, head shaking slightly, only choked, sobbing moans remaining.
Every muscle fiber trembled violently, sweat streaming down his temples, his lips curling in pleasure.
lan tightened his grip on Mickey's waist, thrusting continuously, his breath hot against Mickey's ear.
"Mine. All of it... you're mine."
Mickey felt like he was falling into an abyss, pleasure so intense he couldn't think of anything else. He threw his head back, a moan ripping from his throat, his voice rough.
"lan... oh-fuck..." Lost in the heat of passion, Mickey suddenly felt a cool, wet sensation on his chest. He opened his eyes, hazily realizing: lan was doing something right on his chest.
For a moment, Mickey wanted to protest, wanted to remind him of what he'd just said, but lan was now lost in desire, not hearing anything. He bit, sucked, leaving fresh, purplish marks on his skin.
"Goddammit lan... I said-"
Mickey's words were cut off as lan thrust hard again, his voice catching, only incoherent moans escaping. The room shook with the sound of the creaking bed, mingled moans, sweat soaking the sheets. Mickey was completely wrecked by lan, eyes wet and bright, breath coming in gasps, utterly pleasured yet helplessly realizing that this redhead was still leaving marks, never having listened to him in the first place.
lan held Mickey's hips firmly, thrusting like a machine, each drive feeling like it would pierce through the mattress. He growled, his voice a hoarse, gritty sound that seemed to reverberate in Mickey's chest.
"Take it. You're gonna take it, Mick." Mickey moaned hoarsely, head thrown back, eyes wet. Each of lan's thrusts felt like it was tearing him apart, a mix of pain and pleasure, his whole body arching up helplessly. His chest heaved, his skin covered in wet, red marks left by lan.
"lan...ah d-don't go so fast..."
Mickey's voice was broken, but his hips still moved with the rhythm, unable to stop. lan gripped Mickey's wrists, pressed his face close, his teeth grazing Mickey's ear, letting out a hoarse laugh.
"You like it like this though...~"
The next thrust forced a long cry from Mickey, his whole body convulsing.
He sobbed, his vision blurring, breath coming in rapid pants, his body tense to the breaking point. And then...
A shudder ran down his spine, Mickey came with a jolt, the hot stream shooting straight onto lan's face.
lan froze for half a second, then let out a hoarse laugh, his eyes blazing. He licked the corner of his lips, leaving the fluid on his face, his voice choked but full of satisfaction.
"You're the most beautiful like this, Mick."
Mickey panted heavily, his whole body spent, sweat and pleasure leaving him nearly unconscious. He growled weakly, eyes red-rimmed, voice hoarse and trembling.
"Fuck you... I said no marks and you bit my whole chest... and you made me... come on your face... you're such a dog." lan just leaned down, gently kissing and licking the red marks on his chest, smiling.
"I like you having my marks... That way you're really mine, Mick."
Mickey didn't have the energy to argue anymore, just breathed heavily, eyes half-closed, mouthing weak curses while his body still trembled from the aftershocks.
After three consecutive rounds, the only sound left in the room was heavy breathing. Two bodies, drenched in sweat, lay sprawled across the bedsheets, their gasps for air so intense they were shaking.
Mickey's face was pale, his eyes glazed over. His entire body was covered in prominent, reddish-purple marks, his chest in particular a mess of hickeys and wet patches. Every breath he took made him shiver slightly, as if he hadn't yet recovered.
In contrast, Ian looked as fresh as if he'd just won a championship. Propping himself up on an elbow, he tilted his head to look at Mickey, a smug, wicked smile still playing on his lips—clearly satisfied after a whole week of deprivation.
Mickey's voice was tiny, shaky, and raspy from all the screaming and moaning.
"This is the last time… Gallagher."
Ian leaned in close, his lips gently brushing against the marks on Mickey's neck. He chuckled softly, his voice playful.
"Yeah… the last time today."
Mickey managed a weak glare. He wanted to curse him out, but he was completely out of breath, too exhausted to even bother. He just pulled the sheet up to his chin. Ian reached out and gently smoothed back the sweaty strands of hair stuck to Mickey's forehead, whispering.
"You look beautiful when you're tired, Mick. If I got to see this every day, I'd probably get addicted."
Mickey grunted, intending to retort, but his voice had no strength left. Ian smiled, his eyes filled with a mix of possessiveness, joy, and unmistakable adoration. He pulled Mickey tightly against his own chest, holding him close as if he never wanted to let go.
Only one thought circled in Ian's mind: You can hate me, you can yell at me, but as long as you're still in my arms... I win, Mick.
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