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The One About Closed Mouths and Feeding

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The first thrust was perfect, as always. It hurt, but just enough that Mickey knew it was real, that it could last. Gallagher's hand skated up his spine and gripped his shoulder before he pushed in again. Ian liked to wait for fucking ever between the first pump and the second, some bullshit about letting Mickey "adjust."

"Sounds like some gay shit to me," Mickey'd shrugged, and the redhead had snorted, "'S called being considerate, Mickey. I don't wanna hurt you."

Mickey had snapped his head up and said, seriously, "you can't hurt me." Gallagher had smiled that little bullshit half smile he did when he knew Mick was full of it. "Yeah, alright."

So he didn't wait anymore. He just clamped that hand around Mickey's shoulder, sometimes hard enough to bruise, and slammed into him.

Mick gasped, then bit his lip on it till he tasted blood in his mouth. He had a love/hate relationship with the way having a cock up his ass (having this cock up his ass) blanked out his mind. There wasn't anything else when this fucking kid was inside him. No Terry, no neighborhood bullshit, no juvie record, just this. Just a thick, curving cock in him, flirting with that spot that made his bones melt every time.

Mickey let his lip go when the kid hit it the first time. He grit his teeth together and let out a sharp exhale. Gallagher started chuckling behind him, and he angled his hips away from it.

"What the fuck is so fucking funny?" Mickey gasped out, and Ian laughed some more.

"You. Y'talk so much shit out there, Mick. But in here you'll bite your lips till you bleed, so scared of what you're gonna say. What I'm gonna make you say." He only sounded slightly out of breath, the bastard. Mickey couldn't deny it though, Army training had served the kid well.

But, well fuck that. "'M not scared a you. Not scared of anything." He barked back, panting. Gallagher pulled his hand back from Mickey's shoulder, anchored it on his hip and thrust back in hard. The older man couldn't help but arch his back up into it.

"Oh yeah?" Ian spat, breath harsh, "let me hear you then, if you're not scared."

The fucking ginger kept up a brutal pace, but he was too far away from that spot and Mickey couldn't come like this. He needed a hand around his dick, and he could do it himself but he liked Ian's better: the way those long fingers stroked him up and over the edge made him crazy.

"I don't have shit to say to you," he tried, desperate because he knew he couldn't hold out.

"Just keep your mouth open, Mick. I dare you."

Mickey Milkovich had never turned down a dare in his life, and Gallagher knew that, the prick. The older man rolled his eyes, grimaced, and opened his mouth.

And just like that, Ian rolled his hips back up to the spot where Mickey wanted him, needed him damnit and the sound he made next was a moan at best, a whine at worst. He froze, pressed his lips together and braced himself against the laughter he knew was coming.

But the kid just ran his hands up and down Mickey’s sides and shushed him. “That’s it,” he murmured, sounding tender in a way that made Mickey want to puke and whimper at the same time. He let his body relax into the movements again, gasping out, “You fucking cheated.”

Ian’s hand trailed up his back again, gentle even as he fucked Mickey into the mattress, and he hummed in agreement. “Yeah, I did.”

Mickey could hardly hear him though. He could feel the pleasure building up in his stomach, the way his ass was clenching around Gallagher’s cock as he got closer and closer.

“Fuck,” he whimpered out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck…come on…”

Ian leaned in, pressed his teeth to the muscle at Mickey’s shoulder and wrapped his other arm around to grip Mickey’s cock.

“Sounds you make when you’re like this?” He breathed against the older man’s back, “They’re for me, Mick.” Mickey found himself nodding against his fucking will. “When you’re like this,” Ian continued, “You’re mine.”

And that was it. That was fucking it. Mickey came like a rocket, lights flashing behind his eyes, muscles tensing up then going slack. His blood rushed through his ears so loud that he didn’t even hear the probably mortifying, pansy ass sound he made.  

Then Gallagher grabbed him up, hauling him up on to his knees. He ripped the condom off, tossed it on the nightstand and thrust his dick into Mickey’s mouth. The older man accepted it willingly, sucking and sucking until he got past the slimy, chemical taste of latex and down to Ian.

The younger man carded his fingers through Mickey’s hair, and he should’ve cared, should’ve cared that this was maybe the gayest thing they’d ever done, but he couldn’t. He licked at sucked and worked at Ian’s balls until the younger man’s back bowed and he shouted, come spilling down Mickey’s throat.

There wasn’t an afterglow. Mickey got rid of the condom and wiped the drying come of his mouth. He tossed Ian a paper towel, and they both wiped themselves down. When he was done, Ian sprawled out on the bed, half under Mickey’s red sheets, looking like sex. The older man leaned against his chest of drawers and watched him.

“I’ll separate your balls from your body, you ever pull some shit like that again,” Mickey said, because it was what he was supposed to say. Ian snorted. “No more dick if you do that, y’know.”  Gallagher’s eyes blinked slow and heavy.

“You’re not fuckin’ fallin’ asleep here,” Mickey barked, pushing off the drawers to walk over to the bed, diving into it. “I don’t need this shit. I don’t need you. I could fuck anybody. Be fucked by anybody I want.” He threw out.

Ian turned, propping himself up on his elbow so he was looking down at Mickey. He smiled that little half smile he did when he knew Mickey was full of it. “Yeah,” he nodded, still smirking, “alright.”