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Ian’s got that look on his face, the one that always tells Mickey that Mickey’s about to be down on his knees with his pants around his ankles in about two minutes, either sucking Ian off and jerking himself or with Ian’s big cock in his ass, getting good and fucked. It’s in the way Ian holds his mouth, like he’s thinking about running his lips over Mickey’s skin, and the little lift that his eyebrows do whenever he glances Mickey’s way. It’s fucking hot is what it is. Mickey squirms on the bed and tries to cover by moving his leg, as if that had been his only problem. Ian gives him a glance and flips a page of his magazine, still pretending that he’s reading and not thinking about bending Mickey over. Fuck…
It’s not like they can do anything, though, right? It’s the middle of the fucking day and not only is Fiona skulking around downstairs, Ian’s future serial killer of a little brother is sitting on the other side of the room, popping the heads off of his sister’s old dolls. Creepy little fucker. Mickey’s gonna have mad respect for his work some day. The baby’s also kicking around somewhere and they are dead in the water as far as options go. It’s not even fucking noon yet.
Last year, Mickey wouldn’t have even stepped foot into Ian’s house without some kind of excuse, let alone sat on Ian’s bed. In his mind, that would have been going too fucking far, but now look at him. He is practically living in Ian’s bedroom and he and Ian have even fucked on the bed a few times. The first time, Mickey had been dead asleep and had woken up to Ian’s lips on his ear and hand on his cock. Mickey had come so quick, it’d been fucking embarrassing, and he’d tried to make it up to Ian by disappearing under the covers for awhile and swallowing the mess. Then there was the time that the kids had been at school…
Fuck, but Mickey’s hard. He wants to reach down and stroke it, ease the pressure if nothing else, but he doesn’t dare. If he starts, he might just have to finish. He spreads his legs to give himself a little room and regrets ever leaving that shitshow job at the Kash and Grab because that cooler was awfully damn convenient at times. The pay had been shit and dealing with people’s crap had been worse but when there was nothing going on, deader than a doornail, and Ian had locked the door and given Mickey the look, it had almost been worth it.
Mickey glances at Ian’s crotch and bites back a moan. He wants it bad; he doesn’t even care how Ian wants him, if he wants Mickey to suck it or fucking take it because right now Mickey just wants it in him. His tongue flicks out to lick his lips. It’s all he can think about now: Ian on his knees in front of him or over him, pressing him down onto what flat surface they stumbled across, or Ian behind him, slamming into him while his big hands hold Mickey in place… Mickey gets up and heads out of the room because he needs to put some space between him and Ian before he ends up mounting Ian, curious rugrats be damned.
Mickey gets as far as the bathroom before Ian catches him, arms wrapping around Mickey and thick cock grinding against the crack of Mickey’s ass through two layers of sweats. Mickey pushes back into Ian, his knees going weak, and then remembers where they are. “Shit, Ian,” he whispers. He tries to pull away but Ian forces him to the side, shoving him into the bathroom. The door closes behind them, but that’s nothing because the only lock that works in the entire fucking house is the one on Debbie’s door. Ian pushes Mickey against the sink and all sorts of shit goes clattering to the floor as the faucet presses into Mickey’s back and they’re going to have everyone in the house outside the door wondering what’s going on. “We can’t—”
Ian kisses him, his tongue licking at Mickey’s lips and then forcing its way inside, and Mickey’s brain spins out, stuck in a loop of Ian, fuck, and yes. Mickey rolls his hips against Ian’s stomach, rubbing his cock against Ian’s body, as Ian’s hands dig into his ass. Okay, Mickey thinks. Okay, as long as they’re quiet and quick, this is fine, right? Hell, they’d already fucked under the bleachers at school and this was at least a little more private. Just as long as the rest of the house doesn’t know, this is still good. It’s got to be because like hell is he stopping Ian now.
“Down,” Ian whispers and Mickey blinks at him stupidly, not understanding. They’re off to such a great start—It comes to him when Ian jerks him forward and shoves him to his knees. Right. Mickey licks his lips and glances up at Ian who’s panting above him, but trying hard not to make any noise. Ian strips off his shirt then fists his hands in Mickey’s hair to yank him forward and grind Mickey’s face against his cock. Mickey breathes in deep, smelling Ian under the cheap laundry soap and mouths him through the sweatpants. The feeling of running his lips over Ian’s still covered dick is enough to send a shudder through him and Mickey reaches down between his own legs to grab himself. Sometimes, he thinks he could get off just from sucking Ian’s cock. He thinks that he’d like to try some day—some day when they had the house to themselves and Mickey had the time to go down on Ian for hours.
Ian’s dick springs free of his underwear as Mickey roughly shoves them down, slapping against Mickey’s cheek and Mickey turns his head to draw his lips over the shaft. Ian’s hips stutter forward and Mickey presses his face against the red curls of Ian’s crotch, taking another deep breath. His tongue flicks out to lick at the base of Ian’s dick and Ian’s fists tighten in his hair. “Yeah…” Mickey rests a hand against Ian’s stomach—fucking tight abs, like he does nothing but sit-ups all fucking day—and lets his eyes trail back upward. He likes seeing the emotions and pleasure flicker across Ian’s face; they let him know that he’s doing something right for once.
Ian tosses his head back as Mickey takes him in his mouth, panting at the ceiling, and Mickey swallows him down. He nearly fits the whole thing in his throat before he chokes and has to pull off, but he goes right back to it. Ian deliberately loosens his hold on Mickey’s hair, each hand reluctantly releasing its grip, and moves his hands down Mickey’s neck, fingers spreading out against Mickey’s cheeks, before finally slipping to Mickey’s shoulders. Mickey wishes that they’d go back to pulling his hair because he likes it, but he doesn’t have the balls to tell Ian that. He’s not a girl—and if confessed to that, he might also confess to liking his nipples sucked and there were fucking lines, man. Mickey wraps a hand around Ian’s dick and bobs his head, throwing himself into the task at hand.
A glass vial of something or other goes rolling across the floor when Mickey accidently nudges it with his knee as his legs spread farther apart. A tube twists under his ankle and Mickey kicks it away, sending it towards the tub. Above him, Ian’s got his eyes closed and his mouth open and every now and then, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips like he wants to be kissed. Mickey’s heart does a funny little flip in his chest that’s been getting to be a familiar feeling since he found Ian again. Mickey’s not going to call it love out loud, but he’s not stupid enough to lie to himself and say that it’s not. He pulls off of Ian’s dick and teases the head with his tongue, liking the way that it makes Ian tremble. He’s not an expert, but he’s going to make this good for Ian. He’s learned a few things here and there and Mickey likes it when he makes Ian come—likes it even better when he gets to watch. There’s always a few seconds of Ian looking at Mickey like Mickey could move goddamned mountains and it does funny things to Mickey’s insides. He moves to Ian’s balls, sucking them in one at a time because it makes Ian moan, then goes back to trying to swallow Ian’s dick whole.
Ian gasps, his one hand going back to Mickey’s hair. His hips thrust forward, ramming his cock into Mickey’s throat before he gets them back under control. “Sorry,” Ian mutters as Mickey pulls off, his gag reflex kicking in with a vengeance. Mickey wretches involuntarily and Ian gently slides his fingers through Mickey’s hair until Mickey’s feeling good enough to try again.
Mickey swallows and braces a hand against Ian’s hip to hold him still. “Better be,” he mumbles, just because he feels he has to say something and not because he particularly cares. He’s not going to tell Ian, but it kind of gets Mickey hot when Ian loses himself enough to fuck Mickey’s mouth. Ian’s so sweet, he usually tries to be all considerate and shit, but sometimes he just grabs Mickey’s head and makes him take it. Having Ian’s cock pump in and out of his mouth with him getting little say in the matter gets Mickey hard for whatever fucked up reason. Mickey goes back to sucking, staying near the head, though, instead of trying to deep throat. It’s a skill that he’s going to have work on.
Ian starts to tremble, his breath turning harsh and raspy, and Mickey guesses that he’s close. A shiver ripples down Mickey’s spine. When he’d given his first blowjob, he’d had an anxious moment of wondering if he was going to spit or swallow. Would it be too gay to swallow? Would Ian be pissed at him for making a mess on the floor? What would it taste like? Would he even be able to taste it if Ian shot it down his throat? In the end, he hadn’t had a choice at all as Ian had pulled out and spooged on his chest with a stuttering apology instead. Now, Mickey doesn’t even need to think about it. He just goes for it. “Mickey…” Ian pulls at Mickey’s hair, making Mickey moan softly. Christ, he loves it when Ian does that. “Mickey…” Mickey rubs a hand over Ian’s stomach and sucks harder on Ian’s dick, trying to encourage him, let him know that it’s okay, that Mickey wants it.
“Fuck,” Ian whispers and lets it go. Mickey swallows, his hand milking Ian’s cock with hard strokes until he’s sure that he’s got it all. Ian curls over him, his hips rocking, then gives one last shudder. “Yeah…” He unfists his hands, turning his hard grip into soft, pliable pets, fingers carding through Mickey’s hair. Mickey sucks on Ian’s cock a bit more to make doubly sure he’s got everything and because he’s not ready to let go just yet. Ian moans again. “Jesus, Mickey.” When Ian pulls his cock out of Mickey’s mouth, Mickey follows him a little, holding it as long as he can before it finally brushes over his lips and hangs limply between Ian’s legs.
Mickey leans forward and puts his nose back against Ian’s groin as his hand reaches for his cock. He’s going to come so fucking hard. He trails his fingers up and down his shaft, teasing himself and sending a shiver rippling through his body.
Hard hands close on Mickey’s upper arms, dragging him upward. Mickey stumbles and catches himself against Ian. “What the fuck?” Ian pulls his shirt off over his head and then spins him and shoves him toward the sink. “Fucking, Jesus,” Mickey says as Ian pushes Mickey’s sweats down to the floor and makes him step out of them, leaving Mickey stark-fucking naked. Mickey’s okay with this too. “You’re ready again?” That’s got to be, like, some kind of record. Gold medal in the Sex Olympics, right? Ian has always recovered fast, but this was just fucking ridiculous. Ian pushes him down, making him brace himself against the sink and Mickey bows his head in anticipation. He spreads his legs to give Ian more space. “Oh, fuck, yeah. Yeah, go for it…”
“Just hold still,” Ian tells him and like fucking right Mickey’s going anywhere. No, he’s staying right where he is and letting Ian shove that big cock of his wherever he wants. Mickey’s not stupid.
Ian’s hands push at Mickey’s ass, spreading him open, and a finger teases at his hole. Mickey grips the sides of the sink and fights for control. He was so close before. He doesn’t know how long he’s going to last now, only hopes that he’ll at least make it through a few good thrusts. Mickey always seems to come harder when Ian’s fucking him.
There’s no initial push in, though—no big cock demanding he spread—and Mickey’s confused. He raises his head and shifts his weight to look behind him as Ian kneels down instead. “Ian?”
“Hold still,” Ian says. “You’ll like this.” He spreads Mickey’s cheeks and presses his face between. Something warm and wet wiggles against Mickey’s ass, licking at the rim, and holy fucking Christ. Mickey’s head drops back down and he can’t stop the moan that breaks in his throat. Ian just licked his ass. Oh, that was so fucking dirty. So fucking dirty. Mickey’s turned on and freaked out at the same time, and he doesn’t know which one to go with. His mind’s stuck on the fact that Ian’s tongue is where a tongue shouldn’t go because, Christ, that is his mouth and Mickey often kisses that mouth, but his cock is all fucking for it.
“Christ, Ian, what the hell are you doing?” He tries to flip around but Ian pushes him back, keeping him where he is. Mickey reaches back, his fingers brushing against Ian’s face.
“Told you you’d like it,” Ian says, like it’s no big fucking deal that his tongue was just pushing into Mickey’s ass. “Now hold still.” Ian goes back at it, giving Mickey’s hole another long lick and it feels so good that Mickey just decides to go with it. Fuck it, it isn’t his tongue, is it? If Ian wants to do this, Mickey’s going to damn well let him.
He just might not be kissing Ian any time soon.
Ian’s tongue is softer than his cock, more forgiving than his fingers, and it sets Mickey’s entire body on fire. His arms are shaking, threatening to send him crashing into the sink, but at least his knees are locked. Ian’s warm and solid, pressing as deep as he can and sending sparks rocketing up Mickey’s spine. Mickey’s mouth drops open, his tongue continuously licking at his lips, mirroring Ian’s movements behind him. “Fuck…”
A warm hand wraps around his cock and Mickey’s knees buckle. He catches himself on the sink, knocking over the soap. “Fuck!” he hisses. Ian chuckles and presses his tongue inside Mickey while his hand strokes Mickey slow and hard. Mickey whines, trying to deal with the dual assault, but he just can’t. He’s lost in pleasure, pushing back against Ian’s tongue as Ian pumps his cock.
Mickey bites his lip to muffle himself as he comes. His hips jerk forward and jizz goes everywhere—Ian’s hand, the floor… His right arm gives out and he goes down to his elbow. Christ. His heart’s thumping like a jackhammer in his chest and he can’t stop trembling. Mickey brings his head up, breath fogging up the mirror. He can see Ian’s hand and the top of his head, still up in there.
Ian stands and grins at him. He holds out a messy hand as proof that he was right and Mickey shudders and looks away as the sight is enough to make his cock jump. “Wanna lick it off?”
Mickey shades his head. “Fuck, no.” Lines. He’s not fucking eating his own come just because Ian thinks that it would be hot.
Ian laughs and leans over Mickey’s back, his arms coming around either side as he sticks his sticky hand in the sink by Mickey’s face while his other reaches for the faucet. Mickey looks at the hand in front of him and stops bothering to think. He licks the side, tongue wrapping underneath to touch Ian’s palm and Ian’s gasp is enough to goad him into taking two of Ian’s fingers into his mouth to suck them clean. Ian bucks against Mickey, his cock rubbing over Mickey’s thigh and, even though his face is burning, Mickey switches to Ian’s middle finger, sucking it down like he would Ian’s cock. Ian yanks it out and shoves his index in. Mickey takes it all, then moves down and licks at Ian’s palm.
He gives Ian’s thumb a quick lick, too, then drops his head, wishing that the blush on his cheeks would fall off into the drain. He can’t believe that he just did that and he’s beginning to wonder if there are any such things as lines anymore around Ian because Mickey can’t seem to find them lately. He says that they’re there but then he only finds doors. Cripes.
Ian’s fingers press at Mickey’s ass again, making him shift back and forth as Ian inserts two inside of him and swirls them around. Mickey feels the slickness then hears the bottle hit the floor. He doesn’t even want to know what Ian just used as lube. He bends over more, folding his arms on the sink and resting his head on them. Yeah, sure, why not? It’s not like Mickey can walk right now. He doesn’t trust his legs to work right after they just tried to give out on him.
Ian grips Mickey’s hips, fingers sliding on his skin, and pushes in, his cock slowly forcing Mickey open and filling him. Mickey sucks in a harsh breath and then makes himself release it slow, still trying to keep himself quiet. Ian’s cock sinks in inch by inch and Mickey lets his body go loose to accept it until Ian finally settles snug against his ass. Mickey rubs his lips against his arms, liking the contact. “Good?” Ian asks, his hand sliding up to the small of Mickey’s back.
Mickey nods. “Yeah. You’re good.” His cock stirs between his legs.
Ian starts out slow, his hips quietly slapping against Mickey’s ass. Each little brush of his dick against Mickey’s prostate is sending shivers up Mickey’s spine. Mickey rolls his hips, stretching from side to side and making his cock bump gently against his thighs. There’s no hurry now, the edge is off, and Mickey wants to enjoy this for a good long while. He likes being fucked. He likes having Ian behind him, over him, hell even under him if he’s honest. Just as long as Ian’s dick is in him, Mickey doesn’t care. He likes the stretch of his ass, the feel of Ian thrusting, likes how he can sit back and let Ian have his way.
Ian finds a steady rhythm and keeps it. His hands run over Mickey’s back, gently pressing into the muscle. If this wasn’t the bathroom of Ian’s older sister, Mickey thinks he could stay here for hours. As it is, they’ve been lucky that they’ve had this long. Ian presses a kiss to Mickey’s shoulder and Mickey sighs.
Maybe he’ll get a hotel room one of these days—let Ian lay him out on the bed and do him as slow as Ian wants, all soft kisses and gentle touches. Maybe they’ll last until morning.
The closer that Ian gets, the faster and rougher he goes. Eventually, he stops caring about being quiet and starts slamming against Mickey’s ass. The little kisses turn to wet licks and nips and Mickey can hear him starting to pant. Mickey licks his lips, starting to feel ready again, and reaches a hand down between his legs to stroke himself but Ian beats him there. Ian knocks Mickey’s hand away and takes Mickey’s dick himself, jerking him again with hard, firm strokes. Mickey lets him and runs his fingers over Ian’s thigh instead.
Ian shoves him forward and Mickey has to think fast to keep his face out of the sink. Something else clatters to the floor. They’re going to have to pick everything up or everyone’s going to know.
The door bangs against the jam and both Mickey and Ian freeze. Ice water floods Mickey’s veins and he tries to stand up but Ian pushes him back down. All it would take would be one turn of the knob and they’d be right out in the open. “Ian, are you gonna be in there all day?” Ian’s little brother yells through the door. “I gotta take a piss.”
Mickey holds completely still and tries not to even breathe. He wonders how much the kid knows. “Mickey left, too.” Well, thank fuck for small favors. At least Carl thinks that Ian’s in here alone.
Ian rubs Mickey’s side. He probably means it to be soothing or some shit, like Mickey’s a spooked cat. Mickey kicks him in the shin. “Use the downstairs one!” Ian yells back.
“Whatever.” The kid’s footsteps thump down the stairs and Mickey finally lets out the breath that he was holding. That was too fucking close. Mickey tries to move again but Ian keeps him in place.
“Ready?” Ian asks, his hands sliding over Mickey’s skin. Mickey takes a minute to nod, because he’s surprised that he actually is still good to go. Ian goes back to pounding Mickey, but Mickey notices he’s a little quieter about it now. Mickey’s dick’s back to flying at only half mast but Ian jerks it hard and fast until it perks up again. “Yeah,” Ian says, running his lips over Mickey’s shoulder. “Yeah…”
A few more hard thrusts and Ian comes. He slams into Mickey one last time and holds it, his cock pulsing and a full-body shudder moving from his head to his toes. Mickey sighs and rocks his hips back to keep Ian inside for as long as possible.
When Ian pulls out, a trickle of come leaks down Mickey’s leg. At the moment, Mickey kind of likes it, but there’s the thought in the back of his mind that he’s going to have a bitch of a time trying to clean himself out now. Not that Mickey’s going to say anything. One, it’s fucking embarrassing to bitch about have to scrape jizz out of your ass and, two, for some fucked up reason again, Mickey likes Ian coming inside of him. It makes him feel like he belongs to Ian or some such shit. Mickey doesn’t think too hard about it.
“Your turn,” Ian says and spins Mickey around. He pushes Mickey against the sink and leans in to rub his nose against Mickey’s in a ridiculous move that has Mickey’s stomach bottoming out. Mickey considers telling Ian that he’s okay, that he doesn’t need to come again, but then Ian sinks to his knees and Mickey realizes that would be a dumb fucking move as his dick throbs. He’s pretty much good with Ian giving him orgasms whenever.
Fucking tease that he is, Ian’s got to take a minute to press a kiss to the head then pull away when Mickey tries to get him to do more. Mickey pushes his cock at Ian’s face and Ian grins. He gives Mickey’s dick a little lick, his tongue flicking at the slit, making Mickey groan. “Fucking tease…” Mickey roughs up Ian’s hair but lets him keep his games. He knows that the more he tries to force the issue, the more Ian will play around until Mickey’s ready to explode with just a look.
Ian takes the head of Mickey’s dick into his mouth and gives it a good suck that has Mickey’s knees threatening to crumble again. Mickey bites his lip and lets his head fall back. “Mmm.” His toes curl against the floor.
Ian runs a hand over Mickey’s thigh, holding the already trembling muscle. He sucks and licks like Mickey’s a fucking popsicle while Mickey drifts in the pleasure like it’s heroin. He feels drugged up and high, lost in the warms of Ian’s mouth and his orgasm takes him by surprise. One moment he’s hovering at the edge and the next, he’s pulling at Ian’s hair because he’s only got about two seconds of a warning. Ian stays where he is and Mickey pumps a load into his mouth.
Mickey’s knees finally give out, taking him to the floor. He’s face to face with Ian, who grins at him and lifts his eyebrows. Smug fucker. Mickey cups Ian’s cheek with a hand then weakly pushes him to the side. He doesn’t even have the strength to come up with an insult anymore. He’s going to need to sleep for a week to recover from this.
Ian leans forward, his mouth aiming for Mickey’s and Mickey’s brain perks up enough to raise a valid point. Mickey scoots backward until his head bumps into the sink. “Dude,” he says. “Your tongue was just in my ass.” And, yeah, Mickey enjoyed the hell of that, but, dude.
With a roll of his eyes, Ian lets Mickey know what he feels about that. He stays where he is, halfway to a kiss, until Mickey sighs. What the fuck ever. He crosses another apparently non-existent line and gives Ian the kiss that he wants. Mickey should just realize by now that there’s nothing he won’t do if Ian wants him to.
The taste of come floods Mickey’s mouth and his brow furls. What the fuck…? It’s being pushed in by Ian’s tongue because the sneaky fucker has figured out another answer to the question of spit or swallow. Mickey looks for a line, but he doesn’t find one here, either. He only finds a willingness to give in to what Ian wants and a small moan, because, like everything else lately, he thinks he likes this, too. For whatever fucked up reason. Ian moves so he’s looming over Mickey and Mickey just tilts his heads up and lets him. He sucks eagerly on Ian’s tongue and submits to Ian’s demands.
There’s nothing that Mickey won’t do for Ian. There are no lines anymore, just possibilities.