GALLAVICH EVERYTHING

Dirty

Source: Tumblr

Blog: withoutbringingmedreams

Word Count: 575

Random ficlet. Probably not what you're thinking it is :P

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"Jesus, Mickey, you're a fucking mess." Ian reached out to smack some of the filth off Mickey's face.

"Maybe that's because your damn attic is disgusting. Why the hell're you guys even keeping all this baby shit in there?" Mickey held up a folding stroller and a dust-covered bag of old toys.

"I dunno.." Ian shrugged and again attempted to swipe Mickey's face, though Mickey quickly ducked out of reach. "Guess we just figured...one of us was bound to either knock up some chick or get knocked up eventually...me excluded, of course."

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Fuckin' irony. Now we're the jackasses stuck with a fuckin' baby half the day."

Ian let out one of his short, bright laughs and stepped closer to Mickey, tucking his hands into Mickey's belt loops. "I'd kiss you now if your face wasn't so fucking dirty."

"Man, shut up." Mickey pushed him away. "Little dirt never hurt no one."

"This isn't a little dirt. This is like a full-on mask." Ian licked his thumb and made another attempt to rub Mickey's face. "Though it sorta reminds me of how you looked when we first started hooking up."

"Touch me with that slobbered-on finger and I'll break it." Mickey took off down the hallway to the sound of Ian's laughter. He entered the upstairs bathroom with Ian close on his heels.

"Hey, why were you always so dirty?" Ian asked, wide grin splitting his face. Teasing an annoyed Mickey was just too easy, and way too much fun. "Allergic to soap? Or were you one of those kids who hates showers?"

Mickey glared at him through the mirror and grabbed a towel to scrub his face. He winced when he brushed over his right eye, where he had a decent shiner that wasn't yet healed, courtesy of his brothers. He'd thrown the first punch, of course, but only in response to them calling him a fag.

"I had my fuckin' reasons," Mickey growled, wetting down the towel to dab more gently at the bruised area.

Ian tilted his head and peered at Mickey's reflection. The right side of his face was mostly clean now, but with the dark bruise staining his skin, it almost matched the still-dirty left.

And a thought struck Ian then...maybe Mickey's reasons weren't quite as funny as he'd thought.

"Hey, you didn't...you didn't leave all that dirt all over 'cause Terry'd...'cause you were trying to hide your—"

"If you want a place to put your dick tonight, you'll shut your damn mouth." Mickey finished wiping his face and tossed the towel on the ground. "Let's get the shit and get back home before the bitch freaks that we're late."

Ian nodded. He knew from experience sometimes it was just best to let the matter drop–Mickey would share when he was ready.

But he did block the door before Mickey could leave. "Hold it, I owe you something."

He forced Mickey into a kiss and held it until he felt Mickey's resistance melt away—lips softening and eager hands drawing Ian in closer so their chests touched.

"All right, all right," Mickey said, still close enough that his lips brushed Ian's. "Cut it out, or we'll never make it back."

"Yeah?" Ian stepped forward, forcing Mickey towards the sink. "You sure we don't have time for a quicky?"

Mickey groaned. "Dammit, Ian. You're such a bad fuckin' influence."

Ian kicked the bathroom door shut behind him. "Sure. I'm the bad influence."

Pants fell to the floor as Ian kissed Mickey's bruised face once again.