They’ve been having a lot of sex.
They always had, before, in between, after. The marriage that is. Sex has always been their love language. Happy? Fuck. Sad? Fuck. Angry? Fuck, fuck fuck. Bored? Fuck some more. It’s just their way.
But the thing about Ian, that no one really knows except for Mickey, is that the normal occasional grunts and heavy sighs during sex escalate to deep animal like moans and loud grunts of dirty talk when he’s high. Mickey on the other hand, who is the more vocal one in the bedroom, takes it up about 9 notches that even a ball gag can’t silence. And that’s all fine and good. Right? But the problem is, they’ve been high a lot. Almost every night lately. But how could they not be?
They work in weed. And yeah a portion of their combined wages for the week usually result in a nice full hefty bag of contraband at a discounted price. But fuck it. They earned it. They deserve it. And almost every night after a day in Camo gear in the blazing Chicago heat, they crank the AC up and lay in their boxers and smoke. They munch on whatever leftovers there are from the night before or order GrubHub and one of them answers the door in their boxers, eyes glassy and bloodshot and give someone, girl, guy, an eyeful as they take the bag and kindly slam the door back in their face.
They eat on the floor even though they have a perfectly functioning table to eat at, and a coffee table at that, but they sprawl out on the floor with the food and giggle and feed each other Wontons or french fries. Whatever their high asses seem to want to eat that night. It's not every night. But lately, it's been most nights.
They fill their stomachs and pass another joint between them as they lay on the hardwood floor of their apartment; an apartment they earned. An apartment that is theirs, and theirs alone. And maybe that’s why they do it so much. Because they can. And that, to them, is the best feeling in the world.
But once they have fully transcended to some other plain of existence, that’s when the hornyness kicks in. Their married, young, gay libidos rear their beautiful heads and they fuck like animals on the living room floor. Sweaty skin slapping and being pushed against hardwood. No pun intended. Bruised knees and asses. Hickeys from North to South. Stains in places Ian will be cleaning up the next morning wondering how Mickey shot that far in the first place.
And the noise. Holy God, the noises they make. You’d think someone was getting murdered with how loud they can be. Mickey with his constant moan and occasional scream as Ian rails into him in every position they can get into that's humanly possible. And some that shouldn't be. Ian, with his nasty mouth and constant chant of ‘take it, take it like a good boy’ over and over that brings Mickey to the edge 2 maybe 3 times before Ian unravels and unloads so deep in him, he sees it down Mickey’s legs in the shower the next morning.
It’s them. It's love. It's freedom. It’s marriage. It’s everything.
And it’s a problem for their neighbors.
Ian knows they can be loud. But Rita, the woman upstairs with the three kids, sounds like a fucking elephant march until almost midnight every night. And John, down the hall, with his jazz music that he insists on trying to mimic with his saxophone. And don’t get them started on the couple right next door that scream and slam doors all hours of the night. So fuck it, maybe they are loud during sex, but they pay to be loud.
And it really isn't a problem. Until one day it is.
Ian is coming out of the shower when he hears Mickey’s voice, his South Side thug voice in full effect, echoing down the hallway. Ian wraps a towel around his waist to find Mickey standing at their apartment door, frowning and eyebrow raised at an uppity looking lady, holding a clipboard.
“The fuck you mean noise complaint? No one is complaining in here.”
Ian sighs heavily and pushes Mickey back behind him as he tries to access the damage already done.
“Hi, I’m Ian Gallagher-Milkovich. What seems to be the problem?”
“Well,” The woman clears his throat, eyeing Mickey carefully behind Ian. “I was just telling your...he…”
“Husband. Lover. Bottom. Spit it the fuck out lady.” Mickey growls. Ian shoots him his irritated ‘would you just let me handle this’ look.
“Um, yes, husband, that we have been receiving a few complaints from the other tenants about the noise coming from this apartment.” The woman finally finishes.
“What kind of noise?” Ian asks.
“I think she means the fucking.” Mickey chimes in and Ian closes his eyes and sighs.
“Well, no one has exactly put it that way, but it would be safe to assume they mean sexual intercourse.”
“Sexual intercourse? What is this 5th grade health class. You can say it lady. Fucking. Slipping the hot beef injection. Riding his disco stick. Simone Biles’ing that dick-”
Ian whips his head to look at his husband. “No one says that.”
“That fag Cole you brought to that club did.”
“When? What did he say to you?”
“Gentleman, I think we are getting off track here.” The woman interrupts. “All we ask is that you keep it down with your...your…”
“Fucking.” Mickey smirks.
“Um, right.” The woman blushes deeply and refuses to make eye contact with Mickey. Now it’s Ian’s turn to smirk.
“So let me get this straight, “ Ian begins. “John can play his God Damn saxophone all hours of the night when some people have to work in the morning. Or we can listen to that toxic couple next door, screaming and cursing all night. I’m pretty sure he’s beating the shit out of her, by the way. And Rita plus eight upstairs can run a fucking daycare, but my husband and I can’t partake in sex every now and then?”
“It’s every night. And from the complaints we’ve been getting, apparently it sounds like someone is getting murdered in here.” The woman states matter of factly.
“How about I murder you-” Mickey tries to push past Ian but Ian practically clotheslines him to get him to step back.
“There is nothing wrong with having a healthy sex life. You can’t tell us how to have sex.”
The woman straightens and adjusts her glasses. “If the noise continues you will be given a citation. 3 citations and that’s grounds for eviction.”
“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Mickey murmurs. “Fucking West Side assholes. Maybe you need a good dicking lady. Maybe then you won’t worry so much about how much other people are fucking.”
“Tell you what,” Ian leans against the doorjamb, his skin still wet from the shower and knowing damn well how good he looks in the moment, “My husband and I will stop fucking so loud when you find someone to jam that stick farther up your ass. You should try it. I bet you’d like it.”
Mickey brings his hands about 9 inches apart to emphasize Ian’s words and winks at the woman who is now clutching her clipboard to her chest and has her lips pursed so tightly, they are turning white.
“Have a nice day now.” Ian steps back and slams the door right in her face. He turns to face Mickey who is shaking his head and thumbing at his bottom lip.
“Didn't know you had it in you, Gallagher.”
“Sure you did. I have it in you every fucking night.” Ian grabs him by the waist and pulls Mickey flush against his naked body. His towel flutters to the floor and Mickey’s hand slides down Ian’s abs to grab a hold of his already half hard cock.
“Putting that bitch in her place gets you all worked up, tough guy?”
“Maybe. Wanna work on the first citation?” Ian licks the salt off the skin on Mickey’s neck and even though they aren't high at the moment, Mickey lets out a noise that would wake a hibernating bear.
“Mmm.” Mickey slides down Ian’s body onto his knees and Ian leans back against the door of their apartment. If they are going to get kicked out for having sex, they might as well go out with a bang. Which is exactly what his head does against the wood door as soon as Mickey takes Ian’s cock deep into his throat with one audible swallow.