hang it in the louvre

hahaha

Shane with a lily tattoo on his heart!!!!!! He's been driving me insane!!!!

Sure. This story is about Mickey explaining his childhood to his daughter Lily.

Lily lay curled up beside Mickey on the porch swing, wrapped in a blanket that smelled like his cologne and marshmallows they had shared earlier in s’mores.

She was quiet for a long time.

Then, softly: “Do you think Grandma Laura would’ve liked me?”

Mickey didn’t answer right away.

He looked out at the lake, at the moonlight dancing on the water, it was a peaceful place.

“She would’ve adored you,” he said finally. “Like, obnoxiously. Like, ‘buy you a pony just because you pouted adored.”

Lily giggled. “Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Mickey said. “She’d have been the kind of grandma who showed up to school plays and asked about boys .She woulda been on your side probably even against me and daddy.”

Lily smiled.

“She’d teach you how to dance in the kitchen,” Mickey continued. “Not real dancing. Laura dancing. Wild, barefoot spinning with a wooden spoon microphone.”

“What would she call me?” Lily asked.

Mickey thought for a moment. “Probably something ridiculous, like ‘Queen of Sass.’ She had a nickname for everyone. Mine was ‘Trouble with a capital T.’”

Lily punched his arm and stole more of the blanket. “That fits.”

“She’d spoil you rotten,” Mickey said. “But she’d also tell you the truth. She didn’t sugarcoat shit.She’d sit you down and say, ‘Listen, Lily, life is hard but don’t let it make you that way.”

He paused and chewed on his bottom lip, ran his hand through his hair. “ she would tell me that everytime Terry was a prick which was almost everyday. “ He hugged Lily tightly. “ Fuck , I forgot about that . Can still hear her , saying that while patching me up.”

Lily’s eyes were wet with tears.

“She’d cry at your cheer,” Mickey said. “She’d cry at your birthday cards. She’d cry just watching you sleep because she’d be so overwhelmed that someone like you existed.”

Lily leaned her head on Mickey’s shoulder. “I wish I could’ve met her.”

Mickey wrapped his arm around her. “You did. In a way.”

“What do you mean?”

Mickey was sprawled out on the bed next to Ian, one hand in Ian’s hair, the other behind his own head. Ian had his arm draped loosely around Mickey’s shoulders, his free hand on Mickey’s hip. The sweat on their skin was cooling beneath the open window, hot from the Chicago summer air and the rounds of fucking fantastic sex they’d just had. Now they lay, half awake, sated and enjoying each other’s company, too hot to spoon but still longing for each other. Ian turned and kissed Mickey on the cheek. Mickey smiled at it and nuzzled his cheek against Ian’s nose.

“Fuckin love you, man,” Mickey murmured absently, running his fingers through Ian’s hair. Ian smiled and kissed his shoulder.

“I love you too.”

He ran his hand over the tattoo of his name on Mickey’s chest, sweat sliding onto his finger. Mickey was beautiful, eyes deep blue and dreamy and half closed, right now, but they’d be so full of love when he looked at Ian, hair messed and sticky with sweat and jet black against pale skin, dark, rough tattoos popping out, each one a reminder of who his husband really was, toned in his arms and chest, droplets of sweat gathering there. Ian leaned down further and licked the sweat off his chest, salty on his tongue. Mickey chuckled.

“Freak,” he said lightly. Ian nosed at his ear.