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Not-so-silent Treatment

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Ian was having a bit of a snit. Mickey chewed his cereal thoughtfully and watched his boyfriend storm around their apartment, muttering beneath his breath. If Mickey had any doubt that he was at the root of Ian’s problem, that was laid to rest by the numerous death glares being sent his way whenever Mickey looked up. 

Ian had been in said snit from the night before, to the point where they almost didn't have sex. Mickey had had to tough it out a bit, but Ian had eventually forgotten himself, relaxed and rolled right over onto a waiting Mick. That lapse had only served to make Ian madder when he woke up after a very fitful night the following morning.

Mickey took a quick mental inventory to try and figure out what he could have possibly done to piss off his boyfriend this much. He was drawing a blank. Short of leaving some clothes on their bedroom floor and weaseling out of washing the dishes this past week, he had pretty much been a model boyfriend. As such, he simply shrugged, ate his Lucky Charms and watched Gallagher work himself into a fine lather. A pissed off Firecrotch was a cute Firecrotch after all. Still, when Mickey saw that Ian was packing for school with the obvious intention of leaving the house hours too early, he decided it was time to investigate. He ambled into the bedroom and leaned against the door frame, watching as Ian angrily jammed books into his bag.

“We having a problem, Gallagher?” Mickey asked innocently and raised his eyebrows when Ian snorted.

“I don’t know, Milkovich, are we?” Ian responded tightly. Mickey rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Well, at least it wasn't the silent treatment. He swore sometimes that Ian was just a fifteen year old drama queen trapped in the body of a swimsuit model. Mickey was never interested in playing these games and they shortened his patience considerably.

“What’s your problem, Firecrotch?”

Ian stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder before facing his boyfriend defiantly. “ I don’t have a problem, Mick. I know exactly who I am and what I’m doing here and what I was getting into when I made certain decisions. If there is a problem here, I’m not the one who has it.”

Mickey felt that there may have been some clues embedded somewhere in Ian’s little bitch-fest, but he was still coming up empty. He sighed, closed the bedroom door and leaned back against it; blocking Ian from leaving the room.

“I have school, Mick. Move…”

“Your first class isn't for another four hours. We got nothing but time,” Mickey said nonchalantly, knowing it would only piss Ian off ever more, “so let’s try this again.”

“Get out of my way, Mickey,” Ian straightened up to his full height, glowering at his boyfriend who only stared back at him indolently.

“Pay the toll or kill the troll, Gallagher,” Mickey clicked his tongue, “your choice.”

Ian dropped his school bag and gave Mickey one last warning glare. The brunet just flexed his neck muscles, loosened himself up and waited for Ian to burst out the gate. Without further warning, Ian clapped his hands down on Mickey’s chest, grabbing two fistfuls of the brunet’s shirt and yanked hard in an attempt to toss the shorter man out of his way. Mickey was anticipating the move, however, and grabbed on to Ian’s shirt in turn. When Ian tossed him, he didn't resist it, but didn't relax his grip on the redhead and ended up taking Ian down with him. They hit the floor in a tangle of limbs and a couple of painful thuds.

Ian tried to disengage himself from the scrimmage, swearing the entire time, but Mickey was already moving with a set purpose. He delivered a hard, sharp elbow to Ian’s ribs and sent the redhead sliding off him with a grunt and quickly moved to straddle his back before the other man could get to his feet. Ian reared up anyway, managing to struggle to standing position with Mickey clinging to his back like some sort of demented monkey. “Jesus, the fucker’s strong,”   Mickey thought as he struggled to hang on and tire Ian out. It was like riding Godzilla. Ian drove himself backwards, slamming Mickey into the bedroom wall with enough force to dislodge pictures.

“Fuck Gallagher!” Mickey hissed and tightened his sleeper hold before the whole thing got out of hand. Ian managed to stumble forward a bit before taking a nosedive onto the bed, already too low on energy to resist the hold. Mickey loosened his grip and swiftly twisted Ian’s arm behind his back as extra insurance, “you give?” Ian wriggled ineffectually for a bit, too tired to give it his all anyway. He stayed stubbornly silent for a while as Mickey slowly increased pressure on his captured wrist. He finally relented. “Give, Jesus.”

Mickey clicked his tongue disapprovingly, not ready to release Ian just yet, “all that muscle and army training and you still get your ass handed to you by some Southside hood?”

“I hate you sometimes, Mickey, I really do.” Ian panted as his boyfriend’s full weight settled on the small of his back.

“No you don’t,” Mickey slapped Ian’s ass before rolling off his back and lying next to him. He grinned back as Ian glared at him, and licked his bottom lip suggestively, “hard?”

“Fuck you,” Ian groused and, yes, he totally was because he was a perpetually horny idiot in a fucked up relationship with a perpetually horny psychopath.

“Want me to handle it for ya?” Mickey offered generously as he scooted closer to Ian. The ginger sighed, seemed to weigh his options for a bit and finally asked his burning question.

“Why were you down at the docks last night?” Ian asked quietly and watched with a sinking feeling in his stomach as Mickey’s eyes went wide.

The docks in question were little more than an assembly point for hookers of all varieties and their johns and Ian had a few friends who made full use of the eclectic services offered there. If Mickey had wanted anonymity, he had chosen the wrong spot.

“Who told you I was there?” Mickey asked, backing off from Ian and the distrust in his eyes.

“Pete saw you,” Ian answered thickly, referring to Mandy’s new co-bartender, “wondered why you’d need to go to a place like that.”

“Well, Pete is a snitch and maybe the two of you should mind your own goddamned business!”

Ian sighed in disgust and shoved off the bed, preparing to storm out of the room and the apartment. Mickey scrambled and cut him off before he made it to the bedroom door. “Alright, okay, alright,” Mickey relented as he stopped Ian from leaving. “It’s like a Mexican soap opera with you sometimes, I swear to God.”

Ian only stared down at him, his mouth a hard line and his chin raised—the official start to the silent treatment. Mickey sighed and rubbed an agitated hand through his hair. “Alright, Jesus…Lana has a sister down there.”

That was the last name Ian expected to hear and it shocked him into speech, “Svetlana? Svetlana has a sister?!”

“Yeah, she walks her stroll down by the docks here,” Mickey mumbled, thumbing his lip has he looked up sheepishly at a thoroughly confused Ian.

“You’re fucking Svetlana’s sister?!”

“No, I’m not fucking her sister, you fucking retard,” Mickey answered, exasperated, “they meet up. Svetlana sometimes comes down here, Sasha might head into the Southside once in a while… I give her a little money for the kid.”

Ian took his time processing everything, “Svetlana’s kid?” Mickey rolled his eyes heavenward at Ian’s question. What other kid was there?

Ian eyed his boyfriend dubiously, “it’s not even your kid.”

“Yeah well, kid’s still gotta eat whether it’s a Milkovich or not. Plus I did kinda leave Lana high and dry when I ran out here with your ambitious ass.”

Ian shifted awkwardly, mollified, but still uncertain how to proceed with all this new information. “Why didn't you just tell me?”

“You tend to freak out whenever I bring up her up, Firecrotch,” Mickey pointed out patiently. Ian sniffed at that. He did not freak out; he just had strong opinions where the Russian was concerned. After being cussed out and chased with a hammer by the woman who married the love of his life in front of him, he was well within his rights to have very strong opinions.

“I’m not going to flip out on you for helping out her kid, Mick. I’m not a monster.”

Mickey smiled and relaxed, “didn't think you were, just didn't want you getting weirded out.”

They stayed in silence for a while before Ian tentatively spoke up. “Well, I still have like two and a half hours till class and my dick’s still hard. So…”

Ian always knew the best way to wave the white flag.