Mornin' Mister Milkovich

mickey's face hardens again, and the fist ian's seen him use to punch the lights out of so many guys clenches into a fist.

"what the fuck."

"listen, it would be completely innocent and purely transactional--"

"you wanna rub dicks with me, orange boy? you touch my dick, i break both your arms."

"what? no, no! that won't be necessary, believe me. i'm not gonna touch you, i promise. it'd just be a paper, so they'd let you stay here. because if we marry, you get to stay. you understand what i'm saying?"

"yes. i understand," mickey replies slowly, his expression still deeply distrusting. "but. you wanna marry me. why?"

ian's mouth uselessly opens and closes. after some deliberation, he answers, "because i think you deserve a chance. and i... enjoy your company." he shoots mickey a tentative smile. "don't know if you're aware of this, but you're quite the conversationalist."

mickey looks at him for a minute, then shakes his head, mutters something under his breath in ukranian, and huffs out a laugh.

"you use big words and confuse me, orange boy."

ian's smile grows wider. "is that a yes, i'll marry you, ian, that i hear?"

mickey rolls his eyes. "yes, i marry you," he says, then adds a mumbled, much quieter, "orange idiot."

it turns out actually saying those words out loud is not the craziest thing ian will have to do that day. because once mickey's shift ends and they sit down in a diner for an early breakfast to put their plan into motion, ian has to convince his brother lip to help him fill out and backdate some necessary documents--and also borrow his suit.

when ian passes his siblings in the gallagher house kitchen with a pair of suits in his arms, he just blurts out, "i'm marrying a ukranian bouncer called mickey, so that he can get a green card and stay here and fall in love with me. don't ask!" by way of explaining, and runs out of the house before they can stop him.

---

"we'll have to look like we're in love. and we'll have to kiss."

ian tries to sound casual about it when they sit in the courtroom hallway, but his bouncing knees give away his nerves.

mickey lands his hand on ian's thigh with a smack, catches ian's eyes.

"one kiss is fine. but no tongue. you touch me with tongue and i--"

"yeah, i know. you break both of my arms."

"no. i break your face," mickey corrects him with a smile.

the ceremony goes off without a hitch. and when ian cradles mickey's face in his palms and gives him a gentle kiss, he realizes he's in deep, deep shit.

---

their first marital spat is over the fact that ian's tiny apartment only has one bed and no couch, so they have no other choice but to share it.

"you try rubbing dicks with me while i sleep?" mickey accuses ian after he gives the place a quick scope.

"what? no, of course not! in fact, they'll be no dick-rubbing in this bed whatsoever," ian assures him. "i'll do all my dick-rubbing... in the bathroom!"

mickey nods and empties the trash bag full of his earthly possessions on the floor, muttering something in ukranian. ian thinks he clearly hears him say orange idiot in there somewhere.

ian heats them two dinners for one in the microwave, and they eat it seated side-by-side in the bed. then, they both go to work, sporting a pair of matching rings.

---

after ian catches mickey supposedly learning english by watching trashy reality tv on his laptop, he starts leaving post-it notes with english names for the things in their apartment.

mickey hates it--and hates even more than it's actually helpful.

still, one morning, ian wakes up with a post-it stuck to his forehead that simply says dikhed.

---

and while ian helps mickey with his english, mickey does his best to prepare ian for his GED exam.

like, seriously, he tries.

"what is capital of ukraine?"

"uh, minsk?"

"stupid american. kyiv."

"hey. you don't know that much about america, either."

"i know more than i want. who is ukranian president?"

"none of these questions are going to be on the exam."

"do not care. what is my name?"

ian pauses. turns his head to give mickey, who's lying next to him on the bed, a confused look. "mickey?"

"no, stupid american. is mikhailo."

"oh. why don't i call you that?"

"my father called me that. you are not my father."

ian can't say that he totally understands what that means, but he still promises to never call him by that name.

---

a guy called gerry or harold or maybe walter drops ian off at the club one night in his lexus, and it sure looks like mickey, who's minding the front door queue that night, doesn't like what he sees, because he catches up with ian not too long after that in the locker room and his fist is clenched into a fist again.

"you like gray pubes, yes?" mickey asks him point-blank.

ian shimmies into his gold shorts, giving mickey a curious look. "think i like platinum credit cards a little more than those, frankly."

mickey stares at him, his teeth scraping his bottom lip.

"you end things with gray pube and his credit card. now. you are my husband, i take care of you. okay?"

"okay," ian replies after a while, his heart pounding in his chest.

---

they prepare hard and long for the imminent immigration police visit.

"what will you say if they ask you when you fell in love with me?" ian asks mickey as they share a cigarette in the back ally of the club one night.

mickey seems to think about it for a bit. "i say i see you dance your little prostitute dance, and i go hard in my pants."

"mickey."

"what-ever. what is you say?"

"i'll say i liked you from the start. that i immediately saw through your tough person act and fell in love with the caring, funny person that you actually are."

"is good lie."

ian wants so badly to tell him that it's not a lie, not at all, but instead, he asks, "so, what will you say?"

"i say you are kind to me. is surprise, not many people is kind. but i also say you are orange idiot and you talk too much stupid, you make my brain hurt."

ian snorts. "okay, good. it's always more believable to mix a lie with a truth."

"is not lie," mickey shrugs before he stubs out the cigarette on the wall behind them and leaves ian standing there alone.

---

the check-in with the immigration police goes a lot smoother than they both expected--even when you take into consideration the fact that somewhere around the half an hour mark, mickey gets frustrated with all the questions and starts yelling:

"what is you want to know, huh? he takes my dick in his mouth, i take his in my ass, and we both love it. in ukraine, i take dick in my ass, my dad breaks both my arms and legs. here, i am safe. i am safe with ian. is it not enough?"

ian thinks he's got it all wrong, but doesn't know whether it's good or bad, and what it means for him.

---

later, when they get home, mickey is quiet. he goes to grab a beer from the fridge, but ian stops him when he stands behind him and draws him in a tight embrace.

"i'm really glad you're here. and that you're okay," he says into the fabric of mickey's jacket. "my husband."

he feels mickey's hand cover one of his, giving it a light squeeze. "my orange idiot."

they get drunk together after that. they sit on their bed and crack jokes and ignore the outside world, and ian really needs to kiss mickey right then and there.

he decides to do the second-best thing. he puts his bottle away, then takes mickey's and does the same with his.

"if i suck you off right now," ian starts as he strokes up and down mickey's thighs, "will you break my arms?"

mickey's face morphs into a bright smile. "no. i will not."

ian reciprocates the smile before he gets to work.

---

mickey doesn't mention anything, but it gets pretty obvious when he starts being bothered by the attention that ian gives his customers at the club.

god knows ian doesn't know what he spits at them as they pass him in the door, but he sees the looks and the clenched fist.

"you're scaring away my customers," ian admonishes mickey when he finds him nursing a drink at the bar later.

"so? get better customers. no scared little shit-in-their-pants when mean ukranian looks at them."

ian has about enough of this.

he grabs mickey by his shirt, drags him to one of the leather sofas, and pushes him to sit down on it. then, he straddles him, his hips hovering over mickey's crotch, moving into the beat.

ian puts one of mickey's hands on his ass and holds his gaze. the moment feels intense, sparkling with suppressed sexual energy, and it calls for a kiss.

and believe it, ian is hungry for it. actually, he's positive they both are, but it would not be right. and ian wants to do right by mickey.

so instead, he leans down and says into mickey's ear:

"fake marriage or not, out of all the people here, there's only one person that i want to fuck. and when i finally get to do it, i'm gonna do it in the bed that we share, in our tiny ass apartment, after he calls me an idiot and i kiss him senseless. is that alright with you?"

ian pulls back slightly to see mickey nodding his head.

"good. because i'm done jerking off in the bathroom every day just because i find my own husband hot."

he feels mickey's snorted laugh as a huff of breath on his neck.

the song changes and ian promptly jumps off mickey's lap.

"okay, now give me 25 bucks, so we don't look too obvious. i didn't really think this one through."