Gallavich Fluff & Smut

First glimpse

Dedicated to: GodRichard
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Author:
https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enochianess/pseuds/Enochianess

OR

Enochianess
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Summary:
They stared at each other, panting, eyes wide open, as Ian bottomed out. This position was different, so entirely different to everything they were used to. It was perfect. Mickey was perfect.

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"Was I just invited to a sleepover?"

"Fuck you is what you were invited to."

Ian was nervous when he knocked on the old and worn Milkovich front door. It didn't make much sense. Him and Mickey had been going at this thing for years now. But still, something about tonight felt different. It felt weighted, heavy, important. It was no small thing for Mickey Milkovich to invite him over, to choose to spend the most of his night in an empty house with Ian. It was no small thing that they were acknowledging this friendship, or whatever the fuck it was, and opting to spend their free time together, fucking or otherwise. No, it was no small thing, because tonight they were crossing all sorts of lines and barriers and whatever else it was they had built to keep this thing going on such strict terms. Tonight, they were erasing those perimeters. And it was Mickey who had initiated it.

Mickey swung the door open, a smirk already fixed on his face. Ian stared dumbly.

"Yo, Gallagher." He said loudly, a hand wafting in front of Ian's face to try and capture his attention. "What the fuck are you doing? You coming inside or you just going to stand there like a fucking ass-clown all night?"

Ian shook himself and brushed past Mickey, his face burning a little in embarrassment. 

It was strange being in the Milkovich house when there was no one else in it, no threat. It was almost eery in its peaceful quiet, the noises of the southside streets not seeming to reach inside the thin walls. There were still guns and knives strewn about, on the coffee table and the kitchen cabinets, but they no longer made Ian feel nervous. They were just something familiar. Accessories to the boy that was shifting from foot to foot as Ian surveyed the small and messy space that seemed so different when the Milkovich clan weren't there to fill it.

"Where'd you say your dad was?" Ian asked quietly, as if he expected Terry Milkovich to burst in at any moment.

"Took my brothers on a run out of town." Mickey replied. "He's gone for a couple days."

Ian looked up at him shyly, a smile tugging at his lips. "A couple days, huh?"

"Hey, I never said you can fucking move in ass-wise, so don't get any ideas." Mickey grumbled.

Ian laughed. "Well, thanks anyway. For letting me crash, I mean. That place is driving me up the fucking walls."

"You'd do the same for me, right?" He called over his shoulder as he went into the kitchen.

"Course." Ian beamed. 

"You are out of your mind." Mickey exclaimed as he walked back into the living room, hot tray in hand. "Have you seen that fucking ponytail? It's a powerful ponytail, man. That's bullshit. Segal could totally kick Van Damme's ass."