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There were so many Christmases between them. But it was the Christmas of their 12th year together that surprised Ian the most.
Two weeks before the holiday, they were sitting in the living room, neither of them doing much of anything. Mickey was stretched out with a magazine he’d gotten from the Kash and Grab (legitimately—he’d tried to lift it, but Ian made him pay). Ian was paying bills, a pen sticking out from between his teeth as he examined their account statements and wrote out a couple of checks.
When Mickey spoke, it came completely out of the blue. “If I got you a ring for Christmas, would you wear it?”
Ian paused with the bank statement still in his hands, his heart stuttering as his mind whirled, completely taken aback. Mickey was looking at him steadily; there was no indication that he had been planning anything, much less a bombshell such as this one. It had simply come out of nowhere, as if he’d just decided to ask for no reason at all. The only sign that Mickey was aware of the enormity of his question was a flicker of emotion in his eyes that Ian recognized as nerves.
Ian opened his mouth, but only a small sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You’re asking me–“
“If I get you a ring, will you wear it,” Mickey interrupted to repeat himself. His voice was even, but now his expression was even odder; there was a tentative smile pulling at his lips that conflicted with the unease that still lurked in his eyes.
Ian laughed, warmly, under his breath. Then he put down his papers, reached over to where Mickey was sitting to grab his arm by the elbow, and pulled until Mickey was leaning over him. His hands coming up to rest on the other man’s neck, Ian said, “I’d be proud.”
Mickey looked as though he had not been expecting Ian to say that. He leaned in to kiss Ian just as the younger man surged forward to kiss him, and their noses bumped awkwardly before they laughed and angled just right to find the press of lips that was familiar after so many years. The kiss drew out longer than they had expected, long enough that Mickey made a dissatisfied sound and lowered himself to settle in Ian’s lap, fixing the discomfort of the angle at which he had been leaning down. Ian pulled him close, always eager for the extra contact, and they continued making out until Ian felt Mickey’s hips begin to rock against him, the telltale sign that his lover was beginning to get turned on (even before he would harden, he would get restless, seeking the contact almost as an emotional urge first, rather than a physical one).
“Want you,” Ian breathed, pulling Mickey impossibly closer. Mickey growled and ground against him, the movement rough, and it took Ian’s breath away. He surged into it, causing another desperate sound to leave Mickey’s mouth. All of a sudden Mickey was standing, and Ian barely had a moment to mourn the loss of their bodies tight against one another before Mickey was pulling him wordlessly toward the bedroom.
It was an odd mixture of loving and desperate, the way they shed their clothes and grabbed for one another in the late afternoon light. Ian’s eyes ran across every part of Mickey’s body as it was revealed, and for a moment he could do nothing else except stare. Memories flooded back to him as quickly as if it were his life flashing before his eyes: on each inch of exposed skin, he could visualize the long-faded remnants of their past. He saw in his mind’s eye the remembered imprints of bruises and wounds, given to him by Mickey’s father, by all the people he’d gotten into fights with, by the people who had shot him and hurt him. He looked at Mickey’s face and saw echoes of his smiles, all the different phases of them that he had seen over the course of their long time together, and he saw all the iterations of sadness and pain that had graced his features during that time as well. He saw the old, long-overcome coiled tension of his body from years ago, contrasted with the relaxed comfort in his own skin that he bore now. There were scars all over both of them, Ian thought, but scars of the good as well as the bad. Everything left its mark.
Mickey saw that something had struck Ian dumb. He came over and drew him close, leaned in to gently bite at his jaw, the action causing the younger man to hiss and melt a little in his arms. “What’re you thinking?” he asked softly.
Ian exhaled. “We could’ve been so much less lucky than we are,” he said, pulling forward another of the dozens of thoughts that had been ricocheting through his mind. “God, Mick, we went through so much shit, but look what we got from it. How the hell’d we get so lucky?”
“Hey,” Mickey said, fingers gently grazing Ian’s chin. “Guess all that shit was worth it, huh?” That was what the ring meant to him, Ian knew. It was a statement of worth, just as it was a visible mark for Ian. A sigil, and a symbol.
“Damn right,” Ian sighed, and kissed Mickey again furiously, clinging to him as they stood nearly naked in the middle of their bedroom. They only paused long enough to scramble onto the bed, pulling off the rest of their clothes as they did so, and to retrieve the lube from the bedside table; then Ian was preparing him with insistent fingers, handling him roughly but lovingly all the same, pushing just past the point of comfort but not beyond the point of pleasure. Mickey writhed, encouraging him on, drinking in every second of it.
“How do you want it?” Mickey asked, a touch of urgency in his voice from being so wound up, after Ian had gotten him ready.
Ian looked at Mickey searchingly, trying to decode what was going on in the other man’s head. If he focused, he could read the other man’s desires in the set of his face and the curve of his body. Now his eyes flickered with need at what he saw in Mickey’s features. “I know what you want,” he said in a whisper. “Like that, just like that.”
Mickey exhaled loudly, then grabbed Ian by the hips and scooted up so he was adequately positioned against the headboard. What Ian had seen in his eyes, no doubt in addition to the affection that could never quite be hidden anymore, was a slight wildness, the only visual cue that Mickey wanted something hard and rough. Once upon a time, that kind of aggressive sex came from an angry place; now, however, that rage had faded so far into the background of Mickey’s life that he could barely remember what it had felt like. When they went hard on each other now, it was part challenge, part energy release– and partly a way to express a love that Mickey felt with a force he could not understand or express any other way. He would always be unsure of his words and closed-off in his other actions (although Ian unlocked many of those barriers), but this, this was a way to communicate.
Now, these exertions caused such a small amount of pain that it was negligible. Ian pushed his fingers in again, feeling how Mickey was stretched, and then scissored them again and again while mouthing restlessly at any part of Mickey’s exposed skin that was within reach; the other man squirmed and made small noises in response, escalating as he got more and more eager to feel Ian inside him. He removed the fingers when he felt Mickey arching slightly away from him, trying to lessen the stimulation before it became too much and tipped him over the edge. Ian’s hands were in all kinds of places, drawing him closer while the older man guided the tip of Ian’s cock to rest against his hole, positioning him where he wanted him to show how ready he was. Ian closed his eyes against the sensation– already it was intense, and he hadn’t even penetrated the man yet– and then pushed his way in with a steady movement.
They rested together for only a brief moment before Ian was thrusting into him, starting a pattern that was fast and hard enough to press Mickey firmly into the mattress with each rocking motion. Mickey’s head fell back, and he pulled at Ian’s arms, adjusting the way in which they were connected until the angle was just right. The moan he made when they found the perfect configuration was delicious, and Ian memorized the position, being sure to drive into him at exactly that place as best he could. Just the feeling of Mickey warm and tight around him was giving him everything he needed.
All of a sudden, as he looked down at Mickey, a thought flickered through his head: I’ll be wearing his ring by Christmas. The sheer significance of that– the commitment they’d just made official, even though it had been a truth in their lives for some time– made him gasp, and he slowed for a second, overcome with a flood of emotion. Mickey saw it flicker through his eyes, and pulled him forcefully down for a kiss that could have bruised with its intensity. He kissed like he needed Ian’s lips on his, and Ian felt his entire focus narrow suddenly down to that one point of contact. Then Mickey’s hands pulled their hips together, and the world expanded rapidly again.
From there it accelerated quickly, a hard slide of hips together until Mickey said “Fuck, fuck, yes, there,” and when Ian aimed for the exact spot he was referring to, came with a loud cry all over his stomach. He clenched tightly around Ian, the friction just right, and Ian’s own orgasm followed a few seconds later. He seized and spilled into Mickey, pushing himself deep and feeling his own warmth course out into the already hot place in which he was currently connected to Mickey. He groaned as waves of sensitivity became a satisfaction that spread throughout his whole body; Mickey’s fucked-out expression suggested he was feeling the same way.
He pulled out, and Mickey winced, already feeling how hard Ian had gone on him. Ian swiped careful fingers over the man’s hole, checking to make sure he hadn’t been too hard, even though he knew Mickey would have told him if he had been aware of any damage being caused. His fingers encountered only the slow trickle of come out of the younger man’s hole, which spread wetly over the tender area during his explorations, causing Mickey’s entrance to flutter open and closed against him, stretched and slack and sensitive. He made a low hum of appreciation, his hand moving down to splay on Mickey’s upper thigh and massage the skin and muscle there.
Mickey’s fingers were dancing over his arms and upper body, quiet and content; his eyes were hooded, relaxed but not sleepy. It was one of Ian’s favorite expressions on Mickey, a moment when he was still and satisfied and beautiful. He let his left hand come up to the back of Mickey’s head, cupping the nape of his neck and threading fingers through his hair.
“You really mean it, Mick?” Ian asked in a quiet voice. “You wanna marry me?”
“No.” Ian blinked; that wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. He looked down at Mickey. “Don’t want to have some fucking ceremony, with vows and relatives and shit. Just wanna make it official, between us.”
Ian had been all ready to be offended, but when he took a moment to think about it, a warm feeling spread through him. Mickey wanted to affirm their relationship, to the only person he didn’t need to prove it to: Ian himself. Thinking back, he realized, that was all he really wanted. Not someone who would shout it from the rooftops, but someone who would say it quietly, in the dark of their room at night. Or who would wear a ring, to symbolize the bond.
“Then let’s do it.”
He could feel Mickey’s smile against his arm, and that…that was reward enough.