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The first time Gally sees him, is on a Saturday afternoon.
He is talking to someone – mostly scowling – drink in his left hand and a cigarette in his right, and he alternates between taking a sip and taking a drag every few minutes.
“Who’s that?” he asks Newt, nodding in the guy’s direction. Newt follows his gaze and shrugs, a silent how am I supposed to know, and Gally shrugs back, a silent whatever, I don’t care.
He doesn’t care about strangers.
**
He sees him again.
The guy reminds Gally of that little black spot on the ceiling that you haven’t noticed in fifteen years, but then all of a sudden you spot it and can’t stop looking at it. Once you know it’s there, you can’t stop staring.
The same way Gally can’t stop staring at him. He isn’t always around, just shows up every few days, orders enough drinks to start slurring (not enough to lose his balance) and leaves again. Sometimes he takes someone with him. Usually he leaves alone.
And Gally just watches, hiding behind his own drink and pretending to be busy with his friends. Laughing at jokes and listening to stories he’s heard ten times before, but his mind is elsewhere. His focus is on someone else.
**
“Four beers. Who is he?” Gally tries again a few weeks later, this time asking the guy behind the bar when it’s his turn to order.
“Who?”
“The guy,” Gally says, trying to point at him without being obvious. “Short. Dark hair, green shirt.”
“Mickey?” The man snorts, shakes his head. “Nothing but trouble, dude. Stay away from the Milkoviches.”
Gally nods, paying for the drinks. “Wasn’t gonna do anything,” he mutters before turning around, walking back to his friends.
A Milkovich.
**
Gally watches him over the rim of his glass, trying to be as discreet as possible. It’s crowded and noisy and he’s alone, seated in a corner of the bar. Mickey’s on the other side, chatting up some random girl Gally has never seen before. It doesn’t look like he’s making a big effort; but then again, it also doesn’t look like he’d need to. She’s been smirking at him for the past fifteen minutes and Gally knows they’ll leave for the bathroom together before midnight.
He shouldn’t be doing this, he knows that. Shouldn’t be staring at one of the Milkoviches in some shady bar, shouldn’t pay any attention to them. He’s heard the trouble about all of them – the other brothers, the youngest girl. Not to mention their father. And who knows what else there is. He expects not even half of the things they’ve done have come to light, and he doesn’t want to find out about them either.
So he can’t really why he’s doing this.
Maybe he’s bored.
Maybe there’s something about this guy that has captivated him and doesn’t want to let him go.
Either way, it’s probably going to end badly. Everything always ends badly if there’s a Milkovich involved.
**
He runs into Mickey two weeks later, and he really wishes he hadn’t.
Although maybe it can’t really be called running into someone when you walk into a bathroom and find out two guys making out.
Mickey is kissing a guy. Some strange guy, taller than him, with short, dark hair.
Gally blinks, jaw dropping in shock. “Jesus,” he hisses, looking between both guys. The tall one just seems annoyed, irritated at being caught. Mickey looks… scared. And angry.
“The fuck you doing here?” he growls.
Gally takes a step back, the door handle digging into his back. “Nothing,” he stammers, “I just… I’m sorry.”
Without saying another word, he turns around and walks out, rushing away and out of the building, onto the street, and breathes in.
He saw Mickey kissing a boy.
He hears someone shout behind him, but refuses to listen. Instead he runs off, down the street, getting lost in the city and searching for his way home, though the image of Mickey never leaves him.
**
He doesn’t visit the bar again.
There are other ways to get drunk; ways that don’t involve being afraid of seeing Mickey.
And he manages to keep that up for ten days, and then Newt is calling him, telling him they’re meeting up with the gang and if Gally isn’t there, he’ll drag him out himself.
So Gally does what he does best – he hopes Mickey won’t be there that night, and if he is, he hopes he won’t notice him, and if he does, he hopes his friends will be enough to keep him away.
**
Gally thinks he’s safe at first. He can’t spot Mickey anywhere, which is good, and after two hours he starts to relax, the alcohol running through his system being a big help in that.
Talking to his friends is always easy, and he’s grateful for that. They distract him, and it’s all good, and the later it gets, the more he forgets what he was scared of in the first place.
That is until he feels a hand on his shoulder and turns around, coming face to face with –
Mickey Milkovich.
“Shit,” he breathes out.
Mickey glares at him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “You and I? We need to have a conversation,” he starts.
Something tells Gally he won’t particularly enjoy this conversation.
“Look,” he says, trying to soothe him, “about… about what I saw…”
“What you saw?” Mickey interrupts him, glancing around and back at Gally. “You saw nothing.”
“Exactly, I—”
That’s as far as Gally gets before Mickey’s punched him, fist connection to his jaw, and Gally stumbles back in shock.
Someone screams, and he feels one of his friends sliding his hands up his back, probably to keep him steady, but it doesn’t help. Not when Mickey’s aimed again, another blow to his face, and Gally does the first thing he can think of.
He hits Mickey.
He hears him curse and there’s a dull pain in his hand, fingers throbbing from the blow, and Mickey is looking at him like he’s ready to kill him. Half his face is covered in blood and he’s clutching his nose with one hand, probably trying to make the bleeding stop.
Gally manages to dodge the next hit, but then Mickey aims lower and punches him in the stomach, making Gally collapse, and before he knows it the other is on top of him and they’re both punching blindly, not caring where they hit or how much damage they cause.
They’re forced to break apart when two men grip Mickey and pull him off, drag him away from Gally, who stares up in shock. His ribs hurt, and he’s pretty sure there are going to be bruises on his shoulder and chest – not to mention the black eye Mickey gave him.
Another curse, one of the guys telling Mickey to go outside and fuck off, and Gally can just see how Mickey spits a mouthful of blood on the floor and glares at him. “You stay the fuck away from me,” Mickey yells after him before he’s pushed towards the door, and Gally doesn’t think he’ll have a problem with that.
**
It takes a few days for the swelling on his eye to go away, and then a couple more for his ribs to stop hurting, but eventually Gally can move again without sparks of pain going through him. The bruises are still visible, now vaguely purple-yellow-green colored, but he suspects they’ll be gone too soon.
What is more annoying is that his friends keep bugging him, telling him to go out with them, even though Gally has said he wouldn’t go back to the bar again.
“You can’t let him do this to you, Gally,” Newt said, which made Gally shrugs because he obviously could. And Gally doesn’t mind finding another place to hang out. There are more bars.
But his friends think that’s bullshit and he should be allowed to do as he pleases – and that’s the same thing Gally would have said to them if the roles had been reversed, so he can’t even be mad about that.
(He still thinks it’s annoying though.)
So he gives in to them. Again.
Apparently he doesn’t have a backbone when his friends are considered, but everyone in the bar acts friendly to him the moment he enters, and no one brings up the fight.
No one except for the barman.
“Back again?” he asks with a well-intended smile, and Gally nods, although maybe a bit guiltily.
“Don’t sweat,” he continues, “you’re not the first person to fight in here. Hell, you’re not even the first person to fight with Milkovich. There’s been more than I can count. He’s even been going at it tonight?”
Gally looks up, bites the inside of his cheek. “Mickey’s been in a fight tonight?”
The guy nods. “Yeah. Not too long ago. No real harm done, he’ll probably be back here soon. Might want to stay on the down low,” he adds with a wink in Gally’s direction, who can feel the blood drain from his face.
He clears his throat and gets up. “I… bathroom,” he mumbles, and slips away without waiting for an answer.
Mickey’s going to come back.
Mickey’s going to come back and find him and punch his brains in, for real this time.
Gally feels something close to panic rise in his throat, and he decides that he should leave as soon as possible.
After he’s returned he’s going to say goodbye to his friends and leave, go back home. That’s the safest thing he can do right now – and it’s not like he cares much for this bar anyway. He’s okay with staying at home.
He opens the door to the bathroom and lets it fall shut behind him once he’s inside; wants to turn to the sink to splash some water in his face, and there he is.
Looking down, Mickey has his eyes closed and he is gripping the edges of the sink, and Gally thinks he has about four seconds to slip away unseen, but he’s nailed to the floor and has forgotten how to move, how to breathe, and then he’s looking up and glancing into the mirror and he’s spotted Gally behind him and all Gally can do is meet his eyes through his reflection in the mirror.
“Shit,” he mumbles, his body going cold.
“Fuck, do you always show up where I am?” Mickey mumbles, but there’s no bite behind his words. More like he’s tired, like he’s not up for another fight.
“I’ll leave,” Gally says immediately, rather pleased with Mickey’s behavior. At least he’s not hammering in on him again. He can deal with this.
“You do that,” Mickey deadpans, already seemingly ignoring Gally, but right before he’s about to open the door, he speaks up again. “And you better keep your mouth shut.”
Gally looks around again, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I wasn’t gonna say anything,” he finally replies. He’s not sure if he has to convince Mickey of that, since the guy probably won’t believe him either way, but he feels like he has to say it anyway. He’s not the type of guy to just spill anyone’s secrets like that – and certainly not things like this, or things about Mickey Milkovich. He’s smarter than that.
Mickeys turns around as well, looking Gally up and down. “You better not,” he mumbles in the end, “you know what’s gonna happen if you talk.”
“Yeah. You’re gonna get your hands on me.”
Mickey’s eyes widen a fraction, and Gally feels his jaw drop as he realizes his choice of words. “I mean…”
“You wish,” Mickey then mutters, looking anywhere but at Gally. Maybe Gally’s imagining things, but he thinks there’s a blush darkening Mickey’s cheeks, and he feels something in his stomach stir – coming to life, maybe.
He clears his throat, getting Mickey’s attention again. “Seems like you wish,” he says slowly.
The blush on Mickey’s face gets stronger, and he’s clenching his hands into fists and stepping closer to Gally again. “You fucking…” he mumbles, reaching out and ready to hit him, but Gally’s quicker.
He curls his fingers around Mickey’s wrist and dodges his punch, using his other hand to shove his shoulder and make him stumble backwards, until his back hits the wall and Gally gasps in surprise.
They stare at each other for only a second, just that, and Gally isn’t sure how it happens or who moves, but all of a sudden Mickey’s lips are against his and he’s clutching his hips and one of Gally’s own hands has disappeared into Mickey’s hair and he’s tugging it just enough to make him keen, and there’s an edge of frustration in their kiss and anger and something else that Gally can’t quite place but it makes him pull Mickey closer until they are as close as they can get.
Gally thinks he curses, but he’s not quite sure of that since he can’t remember breaking the kiss – he only feels Mickey’s hands on him, sneaking underneath his shirt and feeling up and down his spine, and he smirks against Gally’s lips.
Maybe he should be worried about someone walking in, but Gally finds he doesn’t really care. He presses back against Mickey, pinning him to the wall with his hips and his hands, revels in the way Mickey arches forward to feel more of him.
He reaches out, wanting to tug off Mickey’s shirt to feel him all over, get more of him, but Mickey stops him with a pitiful noise and a dark look in his eyes.
“Not here,” he mumbles.
Gally makes a noise of protest. “You didn’t have a problem with that last time.”
Mickey laughs, licks his already wet lips. “I learned since last time. Not gonna let someone walk in on me again, fuck’s sake,” he mumbles, already pushing Gally off and fixing his clothes. Gally sees him reach down to adjust himself in his pants.
“Then… what?” he asks unsurely; not knowing if Mickey is flipping him off completely or just postponing things.
“Mandy’s out tonight. Come over. After eleven.”
And with that, Mickey fishes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lights one, and walks out again, leaving Gally confused and slightly breathless and still half-hard in his pants.
**
He still leaves soon after exiting the bathroom, with the excuse that he isn’t feeling comfortable with Mickey around, which is only half a lie.
He’s anxious, not sure what to expect or what Mickey might do to him. Maybe it’s all an act and he’s going to attack Gally the moment he enters the house. Or maybe this is truly happening, which is almost equally as bizarre and certainly equally nerve-racking.
So he empties his drink and says goodbye to his friends and walks home, playing the moment in that bathroom over and over in his head. If he closes his eyes, he can almost feel Mickey’s hands on his hips again, can faintly remember how he tasted like beer and smoke and how it was all so intoxicating, and time goes by too slowly for his liking.
It takes forever until eleven o’clock and he spends most of his time waiting and drinking, needing something to calm him down and take the edge of it, but he still feels way too sober when he walks up to the Milkovich house and rings the doorbell.
At first, there’s just silence, and Gally thinks he’s been stood up.
Of course it wasn’t real, he’s already telling himself.
But then he sees a light being switched on and he hears a door being slammed, and seconds later Mickey is there, grinning at him like Christmas has come early or something.
He lets Mickey drag him in and watches how he closes the door and locks it, and this time he knows what’s going to happen when Mickey pulls him closer, but the first brush of lips still surprises him; already having sort of convinced himself that what happened earlier was just his imagination.
But here Mickey is, already tugging at the edge of his shirt and pushing it up, his hands exploring Gally’s chest and stomach, and it definitely wasn’t his imagination.
Anything but.
He stumbles backwards as Mickey pushes him further into the house, tripping over whatever is on the floor – he doesn’t look, he doesn’t care.
Letting out a tiny noise into the kiss, Gally makes work of Mickey’s clothes as well, breaking away so he can pull his shirt over Mickey’s head and blatantly staring at his chest.
“Fuck,” he curses, which seems to please Mickey.
Though he grows impatient soon. “You just wanna watch or participate as well, huh?” he mutters with a smirk; like the cocky little bastard he is, and Gally pulls him closer and leans down to kiss him again, hungry and needy, biting his bottom lip until Mickey whimpers.
Sliding his hands up Mickey’s skin, he revels into finally being able to touch, to feel warm skin underneath his palms, and he keens when Mickey arches towards him, seeking more contact. Gally can feel himself get lightheaded, intoxicated by Mickey’s smell and touch and taste.
Gally isn’t quite sure how it happens, but slowly they’re going further into the house – Mickey stepping backwards and Gally whining in protest whenever there’s too much space between them, and stepping closer again. They stumble twice, only managing to not fall because they can hold on to the nearest surface, and Gally is out of breath when they finally reach the door to Mickey’s bedroom (he assumes that’s what it is anyway; and his assumptions turn out to be right when Mickey kicks the door open and Gally can catch a glimpse of a bed and a closet and an unidentified mess).
He pulls away to breathe, hands still roaming over each inch of Mickey’s uncovered skin he can find, and resting his forehead against Mickey’s temple. “Showing me your room already,” he mutters with a smirk.
Mickey laughs and nudges Gally’s hip. “Didn’t look like you had much patience,” he replies, fingers sneaking under Gally’s shirt and nails digging into his side. Gally whimpers in surprise.
“Maybe,” he mumbles, pushing Mickey backwards again, who easily steps back until his legs hit the edge of the bed.
He sinks down on the bed, fingers gripping Gally tighter to pull him down as well, on top of him, and before Gally knows it, they’re kissing again. Someone groans and Gally is aware he’s breathing heavily into Mickey’s mouth and rocking his hips down, his pants already feeling uncomfortably tight with how hard he is from anticipation. And from Mickey kissing and touching him like there’s no tomorrow.
He pulls back to shrug his shirt off, throwing it to the floor, while Mickey fumbles with the opening of his jeans, pushing the waistband down his hips maddeningly slow. “C’mon, Mickey,” Gally gasps, words muffled into Mickey’s shoulder, though the breathy chuckle indicates Mickey has heard him anyway.
“You really are eager,” he mumbles back.
Gally doesn’t even bother replying, just rocks his hips again and drags a hand down Mickey’s body until he reaches his fly and makes quick work of popping open the button on his jeans and tugging the zipper down. He sneaks his hand inside, tugging at Mickey’s briefs to make room enough to slip his hand in and makes a loose fist around his cock.
Unable to hold back a smirk when Mickey moans, Gally starts moving his hand slowly, placing wet and sloppy kisses to Mickey’s collar bone.
“Y’feel so good,” he whispers.
Mickey laughs. “I’m getting jerked off and somehow that feels good to you?” he replies breathily, his hips jerking up so he can thrust into Gally’s hand. “That’s so fucking gay, man,” he adds after Gally nods.
Rolling his eyes, Gally tightens his grip, makes his strokes firmer, and relishes when he looks up and sees Mickey’s eyes flutter shut.
“Shit, you’re good at this.”
“I’ll take the compliment.”
Mickey opens his eyes again, positively grinning at Gally as he quirks an eyebrow. “Could take me.”
That makes Gally stop for a second. Mickey whines and attempts to buck up again, but falls still when he glances at Gally. “What?”
“You bottom?”
“Got a problem with that?”
His tone is challenging – like he’s already picking a fight with Gally even though nothings been said yet. But there’s something else in his face, something Gally can’t quite figure out, until he sees Mickey looking away and then it hits him.
It’s insecurity.
Mickey’s already closing up again because he thinks – Gally’s actually not quite sure what he thinks.
“No,” he says slowly, trying to choose his words carefully. He’s been hit by Milkovich before, and he’s not particularly looking forward to being hit again. Certainly not when he still has his hand down Mickey’s pants. “It’s just… you don’t seem very… much… like a bottom?”
Mickey’s silent for a few seconds. “Whatever,” he finally mumbles. “Just ‘cause you get to put your dick inside me, doesn’t make me your bitch.”
“Never said it did.”
“Good. Then get on with it.”
Nodding slowly, Gally pulls his hand away, unsurely hovering over Mickey for a moment. There’s an awkwardness between them that wasn’t there earlier, and Gally’s not sure if he should ignore it or acknowledge it, or how he should get rid of it, but maybe thankfully for him, Mickey takes care of it.
“For fuck’s sake,” he sighs, rolling his eyes and pushing his pants down, using his feet to kick them off completely, and Gally can’t help but stare – Mickey’s naked underneath him and it’s kind of a life altering experience because it’s Mickey Milkovich and there’s something beautiful about his body, and also it’s extremely hot.
“You’re really hot.”
“Take your fucking pants off.”
Gally shivers, lets his eyes linger for another second, and then finally does as he’s told. It takes him a few tries to wriggle out of his pants completely, and he’s glad Mickey doesn’t comment on it or raises his eyebrows pointedly, but finally he’s naked as well, and he feels his face going read when he finally looks up and Mickey, only to find out that Mickey is staring at him.
“Jesus, Gally,” he breathes out.
A tentative hand slides down his chest. Gally shudders lightly at the feeling, nerves and anticipation and want boiling in his stomach, making him wound tighter and tighter the lower Gally’s hand goes, and finally he curls his fingers around Gally’s dick and moves his hand slowly.
Gally gasps, dropping his head to Mickey’s shoulder again.
“Yeah,” he agrees, not sure what he’s agreeing with, though he suspects he’ll say yes to everything as long as Mickey keeps touching him.
He rocks down again, no doubt leaking precome over Mickey’s hand, but it only makes Mickey’s grip slicker and easier to thrust into the ring of his fingers, so Gally can’t really care about that.
For a few minutes, neither of them talks, too busy breathing together and pressing closer to each other and in Gally’s case, trying not to pass out from proximity and sheer hotness of the situation.
“Come on,” Mickey mutters a few seconds later. Or a few hours later. Maybe multiple days have passed and Gally hasn’t even noticed. Who cares.
“What?”
Impossibly, Gally watches as Mickey’s cheeks darken, as he looks away and bites his bottom lip.
Gally wants nothing more than to kiss him again. He stops himself from doing so.
“Say it,” he pleads instead, his voice nothing but a low murmur. It is more likely Mickey has felt Gally's breath on his skin, than it is he heard Gally’s words.
But still he replies.
“Fuck me.”
Gally has to close his eyes as a shiver snakes down his spine.
“Fuck, yes.”
Then Mickey pulls away and reaches out, and instantly Gally is scared the other boy is going to shove him off, until he notices Mickey is actually trying to reach for his pillow. Or more specific, for the bottle underneath his pillow. Gally needs a few seconds to understand he’s getting lube.
Because Gally is going to fuck him.
He moans quietly, trying to muffle the sound, except it doesn’t work and Mickey is looking at him again like he’s lost it. “The sight of lube turns you on?” he asks.
Gally shakes his head. “The thought of being inside of you does.”
“Jesus fuck,” Mickey says. Gally can see he’s trying to cover up the hitching of his breath by rolling his eyes. He smirks but doesn’t comment on it.
Sliding back into position, Mickey hitches his legs up and opens the bottle. “You ever fingerfucked a guy?”
“Um…”
“I’ll take that as a no,” he states, more matter-of-factly than Gally would have liked. “I’ll do it myself.”
Without missing a beat, he covers his fingers in clear liquid and reaches down, and Gally watches, almost in awe, as he slides one finger inside without hesitation. Mickey hisses quietly, pauses a second, and starts moving, and Gally doesn’t know what to pay attention to anymore.
He’s sure he’s gonna come way too early anyway, no matter who or what he looks at – Gally face with his eyes shut and his mouth open, gasping breathlessly; how he’s fucking himself on his fingers, opening himself up so Gally can fuck him.
“Fuck,” he curses.
Mickey makes a noise of agreement.
It doesn’t take as long as Gally expected it would, and merely minutes later, Mickey is pulling his fingers free and wrapping his legs around Gally’s hips, silently pulling him closer.
“I… um. Condom?” Gally stammers.
“I’m clean. You?”
“Me too.”
Mickey nods, smirks again. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Biting his lip, Gally lines up, gives himself three seconds to freak out and take a deep breath, and slowly pushes inside, nudging his hips forward.
They both moan at the same time.
Gally can feel Mickey’s blunt fingernails leaving marks on his skin, but it’s hard to pay attention to it when he’s bottomed out against Mickey and doesn’t remember how to breathe.
“Holy fuck,” he says again.
Mickey seems to breathless to say something, and then –
“Move.”
Slowly, Gally gives a shallow rock of his hips. His eyes nearly roll back into his skull at the sensation, and by the sounds of it, Mickey is in a similar state.
He tries picking up his pace, thrusting in firmer, leaving wet kisses on Mickey’s skin. “I… I don’t think I’m gonna last long,” he mumbles in between, and can feel Mickey’s hand in his hair, tugging weakly to make him lift his head.
“Then you better fuck me good,” Mickey mumbles, before leaning in and kissing him.
It’s too messy, they’re both too far gone to concentrate on the kiss, so it’s more of a sloppy breathing together but it’s hot nonetheless and Gally uses one hand to keep himself up, and the other to jerk Mickey off until he’s moaning his name and arching his back and clutching his shoulders and all too soon Gally’s thrusts become irregular and Mickey groans lowly, clenching impossibly tight and coming two seconds later, which triggers Gally’s own orgasm. He moans weakly, hips twitching as he rides it out.
Mickey’s still keening, trying to catch his breath while Gally slumps on top of him; and maybe Gally is hallucinating, but he’s pretty sure Mickey is stroking his back absently.
“That was good,” Mickey mumbles.
Gally hums in agreement and pulls out, smiling when Mickey hisses once more at the sensation. He lets his eyes fall shut, content to lie here for however long Mickey will let him.
Which turns out to be surprisingly long. Gally loses track of time and of where his body ends and Mickey’s begins, but eventually Mickey clears his throat.
“You should go.”
The words crash over him like a cold shower, but all Gally does is nod and push himself up, out of the tangle of Mickey’s limbs. His legs feel weak, like they can’t quite support him just yet. He ignores the feeling and looks for his clothes, tugging them on as quickly as he can without looking at Mickey.
That’s why it surprises him when there’s a hand on his shoulder, and when he looks around, he sees Mickey standing in front of him, wearing only his jeans. They ride low on his hips and Gally’s mouth feels dry the longer he stares at it.
“I’ll see you around?” he tries.
There’s a split second of hesitation before Mickey nods and clears his throat.
“I’ve been with a bunch of guys,” he mutters.
Gally blinks, frowns at him, unsure of what he’s implying or what he should say. He doesn’t dare to tell Mickey that knowing how many guys he’s been with is at the bottom of his list of things he wanted to know. Then it dawns on him Mickey’s probably trying to tell him he’s just another one of those guys.
S’always been on my knees, y’know. Them pounding me.”
He hums again, already looking down and taking a step back. “Sure. Just a pounding. I should go,” he stammers.
Mickey narrows his eyes at him and sighs.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” he says.
Gally figures he doesn’t need a more obvious hint, and fifteen footsteps later, he’s standing outside and Mickey’s hovering in the doorway.
Gally notices the sun’s already coming up. He isn’t sure if that means it’s really late or really early.
“So… bye?” Mickey mumbles, but he doesn’t close the door, or make any other indication that he’s dying to get away from Gally.
“Yeah. Bye.”
So Gally takes a deep breath and turns around, walking away from the Milkovich house with his hands in his pockets and his head low, ignoring the gnawing feeling in his stomach.
Just a pounding, he tells himself. Mickey’s been with more guys. Stop thinking about it. He needs to stop thinking about it, and he definitely needs to stop imagining Mickey with other people. It’s making him sick. But he can’t help it, every time he lets his mind wander, he hears Mickey’s words again and sees a bunch of faceless guys fucking Mickey while he’s on his hands and knees and –
He stops so abruptly that a woman walking behind him nearly crashes into him, and he wants to apologize but his feet are already moving again, returning on their steps, until he’s running back to the house and cursing at himself for not realizing.
Still trying to catch his breath, he knocks on the door. The door Mickey was so reluctant to close fifteen minutes earlier, where he kept hovering and wanting to say something and not saying it.
But when Mickey appears now, he first looks annoyed, until he recognizes Gally. Then he looks confused and pissed off and hopeful and even more pissed off, in that order.
“You fucked other guys,” Gally starts.
“You came back to tell me something I already know?”
Gally ignores him and just continues. “But you were always on your hands and knees. Right? That’s what you said? You said always.”
Slowly, Mickey nods. He seems slightly less pissed off. Slightly.
“You weren’t on your hands and knees now.”
“Well noticed,” Mickey mumbles.
Gally sees that insecurity he caught a glimpse off earlier coming back, a soft kind of vulnerability that makes him want to hug Mickey.
“Is that what you were trying to say? That it’s different?”
A short pause. Mickey shuffles on his feet. “I guess.”
“I’m different?”
“If you’re trying to make me say sappy gay stuff, I’m gonna punch you.”
But Gally shakes his head with a laugh and steps closer. “You already said it.”
And before Mickey can protest, he kisses him again, shortly, with just enough tongue to tease Mickey and make him gasp when he pulls back.
“Me too,” Gally says with a smile. I’ll catch you later.”
He walks away, looking over his shoulder a last time to see if Mickey’s still standing there, and he is. Still looking confused but definitely pleased now. Gally blows him a kiss and Mickey flips him off, and he keeps on laughing until he gets home.