Gallavitch Oneshots

You Can't Always Get What You Want(p2)

Original Author: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chat_Noir12/pseuds/Chat_Noir
SMUT WARNING ⚠️

Chapter 2: You Just Might Find
   Ian shoulders open the door and uses his foot to slam it shut behind him. He stands in Mickey's small entranceway for several long seconds, chest heaving and saliva pooling around his teeth as he's hit with another heavy wave of Mickey's scent. He breathes through the wild, unfamiliar feeling swirling in his gut—want, need, mine—and lets his eyes scan the room. He immediately sees Mickey lying half-naked in a pile on the kitchen floor, t-shirt obviously and literally ripped off his flushed torso, part of one of the sleeves still hanging around his right bicep.

"Oh, fuck!" Ian rushes forward, dropping everything in his hands on the kitchen table and falling to his knees next to Mickey. "Are you ok?" Ian's breathing is desperate and he's unconsciously panting.

"Are you fucking serious?!" The omega's dark hair is drenched with sweat and he's clutching his knees to his chest, but still he manages to fix Ian with a derisive glare. "Do I fucking look okay? And fuck you, using that alpha shit with me. I'll fuckin' stab you, bitch!"

"I didn't mean to," Ian tells him desperately, holding his hands out toward Mickey in surrender but being sure not to touch him. "It– it just happened. My alpha. Your smell. I mean..." Ian stutters over his words and shakes his head. "I'm sorry," he finishes lamely, but he means it, and when Mickey looks up into Ian's steady, puppy-eyed gaze he knows he means it.

"You run out of your anti-asshole juice?" Mickey keeps looking up at him through squinted lids.

"I—yeah. I did," Ian answers him honestly. "Like, two weeks ago. Think it's almost totally out of my system now." He looks down, sitting back on his knees. He can feel his pupils are pulled and he can't help his shallow panting or the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. He's sure that Mickey is aware of all of it and he feels guilty, despite knowing he has no real control over it.

Just then Mickey cries out and starts to buck in pain, the ache too intense. Having Ian right in front of him makes his omega scream, his body reacting fiercely to Ian's alpha. "Motherfucker!"

Ian's forehead creases with worry and he has to practically sit on his own hands to stop himself from reaching out and taking Mickey into his arms.

"Let me help you," Ian all but begs, his eyes trailing over Mickey's writhing, sweat-soaked body with open concern. He feels another tight pull in his chest and without meaning to, begins to send out a comforting aura that seems to fall over Mickey like a blanket. It's all instinct, and he's never experienced his body doing this before, but it feels right. Feels natural. "I won't hurt you," he promises. "And if I start to do anything you don't want me to, just tell me to stop."

"And if you can't fuckin' stop?" Mickey lifts his head off the linoleum to bark at Ian, eyebrows arched, expression fierce and accusatory. His crystal blue eyes are full of suspicion, but tight, ringed with something wild and vulnerable. Fear. 

Mickey watches as something he can't name passes behind Ian's wide, earnest eyes and his freckled face becomes, if possible, even more open and sincere, his gaze never leaving Mickey's. "Then you can stab me," Ian says with no trace of humor in his voice, and Mickey knows he means that too. Fuck.

Mickey blows out a harsh breath, rolling his eyes in resignation even as another wave of heat rolls through his guts and across his skin, setting his pores on fire. "Then get me a fuckin' knife and help me to the goddamn bed."

Ian complies immediately, getting on his haunches and scooping Mickey up, cradling him in his arms like he's wanted to since the moment he first stepped inside the apartment.