Gallavitch Oneshots

You Can't Always Get What You Want(p3)

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

Chapter 3: You Get What You Need
     Ian discovers that when Mickey said he didn't want him to leave, he really meant it. Like not leave his side—at all. He won't even entertain the idea of Ian quickly running downstairs to his own apartment for more blankets and sheets so they can freshen up Mickey's bed which is now covered in sweat, cum, and Mickey's slick.

"No," Mickey shakes his head furiously between drags of his much needed cigarette when Ian suggests it. "No way. You ain't fuckin' leaving," he declares, nostrils flared and his eyebrows nearly touching his hairline.

"Okay, okay," Ian immediately tries to placate, hands up. "You don't have to worry. I'm not going anywhere." He tries to reach out for Mickey to caress his shoulder in comfort, but the dark-haired man is already turning on his heel and stalking away—then doubling back after a few steps to grab Ian roughly by the wrist and drag him along to the bathroom, snuffing out his cigarette on the way.

Mickey lets the shower run until it turns warm and then climbs in, leading Ian in behind him. They both feel an immediate relief they didn't even know they needed as the hot water licks at their bodies, relaxing sore muscles and cleansing wounds. They take turns quickly rinsing off and then Ian steps back and lets Mickey linger under the spray first. He groans loudly and almost whimpers with how good the water feels on his exhausted body, his head tilted back and his eyes closed.

Ian smiles softly, taking this opportunity to just admire Mickey's beautiful features, enjoying the pleasant pull he feels in his chest as he watches Mickey's lips part in a sigh and the last bit of tension drain out of his face. As he reaches for one of the washcloths Mickey had brought into the shower with them he is thinking idly how this is probably the most relaxed he's ever seen the omega look in the short time they have known each other, and he thinks it is beautiful. He applies some body wash to the cloth and lathers it up, still smiling contentedly when he starts to wash Mickey's chest with gentle pressure.

"Aye, the fuck you think you're doing?" Mickey starts, grabbing Ian's wrist.

"Uh, I think that's pretty obvious..." Ian pulls out of Mickey's grasp, frowning down at him. He feels a chill creeping up his spine, despite the heat of the steam trapped with them behind the shower curtain. "What the hell is your problem, Mick?"

"Mick?" The shorter man scoffs in surprise, his dark eyebrows shooting up and then pulling down, furrowing his brow. "So what, you just got a nickname for me now? Like we're old friends or some shit?"

"Are you fucking serious right now?" Ian's irritation is growing fast and he can't keep it out of his voice.

"We ain't boyfriend and girlfriend here," Mickey gestures between them aggressively. "I'm a grown-ass man, I don't need you fuckin' bathing me."

Ian grits his teeth, seething, finding it more than a little ridiculous that they're having this fight while standing naked and wet in the middle of the shower that Mickey had literally dragged him into not even five minutes before.

"Seriously?" Ian puffs out loudly and then lowers his voice. "Just shut the fuck up," he sighs out the words, shaking his head incredulously.

"Ex-cuse me?"

Mickey's eyebrows are flying again as Ian's chin juts out defiantly.

"I said: Shut. The fuck. Up."

Ian grabs Mickey by the shoulders suddenly and shoves him back against the cool tiles, pressing the full length of his naked body against Mickey's wet and slippery one, his chest and hips pinning Mickey in place. Mickey reaches up to grab onto Ian's biceps, Ian's forearms flush against the wall on either side of his head, boxing him in, and Mickey just looks up at him—eyes wide, mouth open—momentarily stunned.