#bfdc

heres the page of the comic btw

“Holy shit, Mickey!”

“Huh?” Mickey mumbles sleepily, smacking his lips together and taking huge, deep breaths. “S’goin on?”

“She’s back!” Ian says, sitting fully upright in the bed in his excitement. “Finally!”

Mickey rubs at his eyes to clear away some of the sleep. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“Wake up!” Ian shoves at his… well, not his boyfriend, he guesses. His situationship. The guy he’s pretty much obsessed with but can’t admit to it. 

Mickey finally does wake up, and it’s weird, because he swears he literally just said goodbye to Ian. He’d given his first ever blowjob, and now they were—where the hell were they?

Mickey looks around in the dark room, which he notices is illuminated only by a computer screen sat atop a desk. “Where the fuck are we?”

“I think we’re in her room,” Ian says, voice lowering to a whisper. 

It’s then that the two really take stock of where they are. 

On a bed with a hideous floral bedspread. Random artwork adorn the walls. There’s two sleeping cats at the foot of the bed. A white cat, and an older, bigger, tabby. 

“Look!” Ian says, voice hushed and pointing at the computer.

It’s a mostly blank page, words quickly flying across the screen. The two approach the computer and read.

“What the fuck?” Mickey whispers. “It’s—it’s us?!”

“Yeah, look,” Ian gasps. “It’s writing as I’m talking!”

“This is weird as shit—fuck, it’s doing it to me too!” Mickey shoves Ian out of the way to get a closer look. “Are we in some kind of weird time loop? How the fuck is this happening right now?!”

“I don’t know,” Ian says slowly, and then notices Mickey reading back the page.

“Ooh, lookie here,” Mickey snickers. “You’re obsessed with me, huh?”

“Oh, shut up!” Ian scoffs, rolling his eyes. It’s unfortunately completely belied by the flush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck.

Mickey snorts loudly as the two continue to read the ever expanding page. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Ian sighs.

“Cat’s out of the bag, now, Gallagher,” Mickey grins at him, taking way too much pleasure in whatever the fuck is happening right now. Never mind the fact that he was probably just as obsessed with Ian, if not more. Wait… no—shit—he can’t be thinking like this right now, because—

“AHA!” Ian yells, pointing at the screen, and it’s much too late. “You’re obsessed with me too!”

“What the fuck ever,” Mickey grouses. “I need a cigarette.”

He looks away from Ian, a weird feeling blooming in his belly at being caught out as he looks around the room for a lighter, a pack of smokes—anything really to take his mind off the fact that Ian looks good as fuck—

“Mickey,” Ian straight up giggles. “It’s still writing your thoughts, you know.”

“Fuck—who gives a shit!?” Mickey harrumphs. “Just—just stop reading that shit—”

“You read like such a brat on here,” Ian carries on, thoroughly enjoying the unfolding events. “This is so weird. I don’t think we’re supposed to be here right now. What do you remember?”

“It was your birthday,” Mickey says, abandoning his search for cigarettes to sit on the edge of the bed. The cats don’t wake up, even when Mickey reaches out to scratch behind the tabby’s ears. “You just left my place.”

“Oh yeah,” Ian says, remembering. “It was Chapter 8. I climbed out of your window.”

“I gave you a blowjob,” Mickey looks at him, and finally, Ian looks away from the screen. When their eyes connect, Mickey feels it—that intensity that he’s quickly getting used to feeling around the redhead. 

“Yeah,” Ian says, eyes dark. “It was fucking amazing.”

This time, Mickey’s the one to blush and turn away. “If you say so.”

“Hm,” Ian muses as he comes to sit next to Mickey on the bed. “I do say, actually. It was good. Maybe we should try it again.”

“What, here?” Mickey looks around. “We’re in her room. What if she sees?” 

Ian looks at the screen. “I think she’s busy writing this scene. Maybe she wants us to?”

Mickey’s unconvinced. Ian leans forwards to read the words.

“It makes sense, Mick,” Ian looks back at him. “Why would she be writing it this way, if she didn’t want us to fuck around?"

“You think she knows we’re here?”

“I don’t know,” Ian settles back on the bed, which creaks slightly under his weight. “Maybe we should do it, though.”

“We’re in a chicks room,” Mickey points out. “We’re not exactly equipped to fuck, are we?”

It’s then that Ian notices a very familiar lube bottle that seems to have materialised out of thin air on the desk.

“Look!” Ian gasps, grabbing up the bottle of lube.

It’s as Mickey’s moving to get a closer look, that he feels something slide against his hand. He looks down to see a box of Trojan’s. Magnum Ecstasy. No fucking way.

“Ian,” Mickey says, holding up the box.

“Holy shit,” Ian grins. “Well now we have to, right?”

Mickey bites his lip. “Not sure how I feel about fucking in a chicks room when there’s two sleeping cats on the bed.”

“What cats?” Ian looks around.

Mickey points at the foot of the bed, only to see that the cats have mysteriously disappeared. “What the fuck. There were cats here!”

“Mickey, look,” Ian says, pointing to the ceiling. 

It’s turning black, being swallowed by some sort of void. When the blackness reaches the walls, Mickey feels a stone drop in his belly.

“Shit,” Mickey says, taking a step closer to press against Ian, who grabs his wrist. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” Ian breathes, voice panicked. “Maybe we’re astral projecting.”

“The fuck is that?”

Just then the void disappears, going as quickly as it came, and suddenly, they’re in Ian’s room.

“Woah.”

“Woah?” Mickey huffs, feeling weak in the knees with adrenaline. “What the fuck just happened?”

“I don’t know,” Ian finally lets go of his wrist. “But… we’re back to normal now, it seems.”

“Are we?” Mickey gapes at him incredulously. “That shit still happened!”

“I know,” Ian nods, finally taking a seat on his own comfortable, familiar bed. 

“It’s like we just broke the fourth wall,” Mickey sits next to him. “But for, like, life or some shit.”

“Maybe we’re just in a weird dream.”

“Who is she?” Mickey asks.

“Huh?” 

“She. You said she’s back.” 

“Oh.” 

Ian thinks, but it seems to melt out of his brain like sand through fingers. “I don’t know. There was writing on a screen… maybe she’s writing us?”

“What, like, we’re not real?”

“I don’t know,” Ian wets his lips and gives his arm a pinch, feeling grounded by the pain. “I feel real. You?”

Mickey pinches himself. Feels it. Nods. “Did we get abducted by aliens?”

“I hope not,” Ian snorts. “Besides, even if we did, I’m the only one who gets to probe you.”

“You’re not making a fuckin’ joke right now,” Mickey grins.

“Someone needs to lighten the mood,” Ian leans back on his arms and gives Mickey a heated look. “Maybe we should fuck.”

Mickey looks down at the box of condoms in his hands. “Yeah. Maybe we should.”

“It does feel like it’s been forever,” Ian cocks his head to the side. “Even though I only just left your place.”

“Feels like we’ve been asleep for months,” Mickey says, and even though it’s impossible and makes absolutely no sense, he can’t help but feel the realness of it. 

“Well, we’re awake now,” Ian says, voice dropping an octave, and Mickey knows in his bones what needs to happen. He nods, an understanding passing between them.

Together, they move in silence as they get undressed, never straying too far from one another. Gently, Ian guides Mickey under his sheets, and soon enough, their bodies are locked together, just as the universe intended.

Ian snuggles up behind Mickey, his front to Mickey’s back, and his heart feels fit to burst when the other man reaches back to weave his fingers through Ian’s hair.

They hold each other impossibly close as Ian preps him, scattering soft, wet kisses over Mickey’s neck and shoulder.

Mickey bites his lip, and it’s all he can do not to burst into flames when Ian finally, at long last, breaches his body.

“Shit—“

“Fuck—“

They swear in unison, letting out desperate twin breaths as their bodies recalibrate to each other after a long time of being in some kind of limbo sleep.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Ian breathes into Mickey’s neck and savours the wet warmth and comfort of the other man’s body. 

“I missed you, too,” Mickey whispers back, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling of Ian taking him so completely. He doesn’t even give a shit if he’s being vulnerable right now. Nothing mattered anymore.

Slowly they start to move, and it’s pure, undiluted euphoria.

Ian tangles their legs together, pushing himself up onto his arm so he can move his body to cover Mickey’s, their thrusts speeding up. It’s way too good, way too fast, but neither of them care to slow things down right now.

Ian cups Mickey’s face, and surprisingly starts to lean in, as if he’s—

“Wait.” Mickey pulls back. “What are you doing?”

“I was going to kiss you,” Ian grins, their now-sweaty bodies still moving together deliciously, turning Mickey’s brain into a puddle of mush. “If that’s okay?”

“I don’t know,” Mickey hedges. He’s not sure why, but something about it has him feeling like he shouldn’t be crossing that line. For the life of him, he couldn’t think up a singular reason not to.

“Why not?” Ian huffs, dropping down to swipe his tongue across Mickey’s nipple, making the latter shiver. “None of this is real, anyway. We’re still in this weird plane of existence.”

“We are?”

“Can’t you hear the keyboard tapping?” 

Mickey listens, hard, but hears nothing. 

“Focus,” Ian whispers, his thrusts all but stilling inside Mickey as they catch their breath and listen.

Just when Mickey’s about to give up, he hears it. The unmistakable sound of someone typing on a keyboard. He thinks of the screen, the words filling up the page. 

Their story. Ian and Mickey. 

Why would someone be writing their story? Maybe they had a story worth telling. Maybe Mickey’s holding it back, either by his fears of what might happen or because he’s just not ready.

“What do you say, Mick?” Ian whispers, eyes glinting with something devilish. “For the plot?”

Mickey stares at him, and thinks fuck it. It’s not like kissing was a big deal. He’d done it plenty of times before. Just not with a guy. Not with Ian.

Even before their mouths meet, Mickey can feel his lips tingling, in some kind of phantom anticipation.

Slowly, their lips draw close, press together and hold.

It’s nothing at all, really. Just warmth and tingling and a wet smacking sound on the pull back.

It’s nothing. No open mouth, no tongue, no biting. If anything, it’s awkward, their lips smashing together in this completely unfamiliar way.

But it still gets to Mickey, and—completely out of his control—he reaches up, threads his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of Ian’s neck, and brings him back down.

It’s everything in the world, when it lights a fire in Mickey’s belly, warming his bones from the marrow out. 

Mickey feels tense with it at first, but he quickly melts into it, and before either of them know it, they’re going at it like crazy—biting, licking and breathing gaspy little breaths into each other’s mouths.

Mickey knows now why he was so scared to do this. Because it’s absolutely insane, the way this is making him feel. He couldn’t afford to have all these feelings, especially not from just a couple of minutes of kissing.

Mickey pushes the thoughts out of his mind and kisses Ian even harder.

“No, no,” Ian admonishes gently as he pulls back, a soft smile on his face. “Slowly. Don’t make me come already.”

Mickey huffs a stressed breath and nods. He knew he was getting away from himself. It’s probably best that Ian take the lead, at least for this.

They start up again, and somehow, even though they’ve slowed right down, it seems to incinerate Mickey’s entire being from the inside out. When Ian gently goes in with his tongue, everything goes dark.

Mickey can focus on nothing else but the feel of Ian’s soft tongue in his mouth and his huge dick sliding inside him. It’s like two points of light, and at the core of Mickey’s stomach, was the brightest light of all, connecting right in the middle of his soul.

He was completely done for. Even the sound of the moans Mickey was drawing out of the man on top of him were hot enough to send tingles popping up and down his spine.

Soon enough, their kisses once again turn desperate and frenzied as they rut against each other wildly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Mickey moans against Ian’s mouth as the redhead pounds into him with reckless abandon.

“You taste so fucking good,” Ian hisses, biting down on Mickey’s lower lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. 

The violent action triggers something in the both of them, and before long, Ian’s wooden bed frame is striking the wall loudly with the force of their fucking.

“Shit, I’m gonna come,” Mickey warns, feeling that unmistakable burn start up in his belly and spread up his spine. 

Ian’s right there with him, no doubt. He drops his weight down on Mickey, belly to belly. He seals their mouths back together—their hot, wet tongues tangling as they both hurtle towards outer space.

Mickey’s the first to go, and Ian’s not far behind when he feels the other man tense up like a coiled spring, right before he feels those warm little spurts thrumming out between their bellies.

Ian squeezes Mickey close, pressing their foreheads together as he finally falls apart himself.

After, they collapse, damp with sweat and muscles burning from overuse.

Mickey finds comfort in the weight on top of him, and when it’s time to pull apart, every cell in his body seems to protest the loss.

“That was crazy good,” Ian says as he settles on his back and blows out a breath.

“Insanely good,” Mickey agrees.

Neither of them want to do more than lay there, even when the come starts drying on their bellies and crusting up. It’s gross, but fuck it. 

They fall into a comfortable, companionable silence. Mickey could honestly fall asleep and never wake again.

They’re both broken out of the spell when a white cat suddenly hops up onto their bed with a cute little ‘brr’ sound, quickly followed by another, bigger tabby who immediately starts yowling loudly.

“Ay, they’re back,” Mickey sits up, excitedly wiggling his fingers at the tabby one, who quickly beelines for Mickey and starts purring and rubbing its chin on his fingers.

“That can’t be good,” Ian chews on his lip and tries to attract the white cat, who simply turns its back on him and starts grooming itself loudly and wetly. Ugh.

“Aw, come on,” Mickey grins, voice full of fondness. “They’re cute.”

“Yeah, but what do they mean?” Ian says, watching Mickey interact with the cat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it. If he had his phone, he’d be snapping a million pictures right now.

“Fuck knows,” Mickey muses aloud. “I think they’re her cats, though. Whoever the fuck she is.”

“The white one’s staring.” Ian notices, and Mickey turns to see that he’s right. The white cat, with its strange orange eyes, is staring at them like they’re the ones intruding.

“You think they’re really here, or are we hallucinating?” Mickey whispers, watching as the white cat slow-blinks at him. “How could they be here? Are they… magic?”

“You know what they say about cats,” Ian shrugs. “They have one foot in the physical world and one in the spiritual.”

“Which world are we in, then?”

“I’m not sure I wanna think about that too deeply,” Ian says.

“Fair,” Mickey yawns, suddenly bone-tired as he snuggles back down into the sheets and against Ian. “This day is weird as fuck.”

They both settle, tired and content for now to ignore the literal cats in the room. Soon enough, the room is darkening and dusk is falling. The typing sound is back, louder than ever, even though they both ignore it.

“Hey, Mick?” Ian says some time later, voice quiet as he draws Mickey back from the edge of slumber.

“Hm?”

“Did we kiss before?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like… was that our first kiss, or have we done it before?”

Mickey thinks it through, but he honestly can’t remember. He can’t remember a single thing about anything, come to think of it.

“I don’t know.”

“Me neither. Maybe we are real.”

Mickey looks at him, holds on to those green eyes, even in the quickly enveloping darkness. “Yeah. Maybe we are.”

have i written a single thing in the time i've been gone? no. nope. not a single damn thing. not even a word :(

secondly... the issue that made me go offline in the first place... has still not been resolved. if anything, it's 1000x worse, and i don't know how my life is going to pan out in the next couple of years. (obviously i can't give specifics, because privacy, but i have to vent somewhere... essentially the main gist of it is that i could lose everything in my life lmao... nbd)

i've had a close family member die in the time i've been gone, and i haven't even been able to grieve their death properly because of this stupid fucking issue that won't go away.

i've not done any of my hobbies. i haven't walked, i haven't illustrated, i haven't written, i haven't read any fics, i haven't come on this app, and i haven't seen many of my IRL friends. i've barely left my apartment. every time i do, i feel guilty, because it's like, this Thing™ needs to be dealt with, but i can't do more than what i'm doing (which isn't a lot because it's mostly out of my control), so it's kind of like i'm in limbo.

the only thing i've felt not-guilty for doing is eating like crap, doomscrolling on tikok, and ignoring all my personal needs. effectively, this issue has triggered a depressive episode. i've not slept a lot in the past couple of months and it's really been taking its toll. when i'm depressed the first thing that goes to shit is the cleanliness of my place and my personal hygiene.

YET... throughout it all, the thing that has been consistently on my mind is this fandom, and my fic. and also every other fic i've read and loved which triggered me to start writing in the first place. it's playing on a loop in my mind, and i physically cannot ignore it any longer. i think about this every single fucking day.

so i'm gonna try.

i'm not going to make myself any promises or put any deadlines on myself... but i'm going to try. atp, gallavich is one of the only things that makes me feel joy. i tried to pull back, because i was worried the stress of my personal issues would ruin my love of it, and i worried i wouldn't love it any more... but i do. i love it entirely.

so, here's to trying, i guess o_o

thank you to the lovely people that have sent me messages and commented on my fic and tagged me in posts. i can't tell you how good it felt to check in today and see all of that. and to that one ao3 commenter who can never be bothered to log in... you're a fucking G.

ttfn 🖤

p.s. i won't be uploading for my fic any time soon... but i will be carrying on writing it in private. when it's ready—when it's good and it's gone through rewrite after rewrite—then i'll post it. ALL OF IT. and i will finish it, because it's something that i know in my heart i have to do. somehow i feel like finishing it will heal something in me. idc if that's lame to say, it's just how i feel. i wouldn't be here today if i didn't press play on that first episode of shameless. it's fundamentally changed me and made me look at myself and my life in a deeper, richer way. it just is what it is 🤷🏻‍♂️

“You already know I’ve never tried that before,” Ian smirks as he takes the controller, unable to stop the flirting now that he’s gotten started.

Mickey blinks at him, a ghost of a smile playing around his lips. 

Heedless, Ian continues. “But if it’s you handing it to me, I might be more inclined to give it a shot.”

Mickey pulls his lips into his mouth, but is unable to stop the amused huff that comes out of his nose in a puff of air. 

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey snorts. “Do you just blurt out what you fuckin’ think all the time?”

“Pretty much,” Ian feels like he’s glowing from the inside out when Mickey smiles at him, really smiles at him. 

A truly genuine, happy smile suits Mickey Milkovich down to the fucking ground and Ian wants to make it happen again and again.

Mickey sighs, and starts to set the game up for two player mode. “Whatever, man, it’s your funeral.”

***

Forty-five minutes later, Ian emerges victorious.

Ian won the first race, much to Mickey’s disappointment, but Mickey ended up winning the second and despite putting up a firm protest, Ian was secretly loving it. They’d ended up going for two out of three to see who the real winner was, only for Mickey to demand rematches when Ian kept winning. They’d played at least ten games before Mickey threw in the towel. 

“Fuck you, Gallagher!” Mickey cusses as he rounds the corner and sees the finish line, only for Ian to swoop in at the last minute and win the game.

“Anytime you want, Milkovich, just say the word,” Ian winks at him, and at Mickey’s harassed look, starts laughing. They both set down their controllers.

“Dick,” Mickey mutters, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. Ian beams at him.

“So I won,” Ian gloats and nudges Mickey’s thigh with his knee, getting a silent thrill at the contact. “What’s my prize?”

“Barely,” Mickey scoffs. “You won like one more game than me. What makes you think you’re getting a prize?” 

Mickey rolls his eyes at him and drains his beer. Gallagher was a fucking menace, but Mickey would be lying if he said he wasn’t thoroughly enjoying it.

“I think I deserve one,” Ian says softly. “Don’t you?”

Mickey shrugs, and when he responds, ignores the fact that his own voice is a little soft, a little low. “What d’ya want?”

It’s a dangerous question, for sure. Mickey’s practically levitating with this feeling inside of him. When Ian’s eyes automatically dip down to Mickey’s mouth, Mickey has to swallow and look away for fear he might evaporate in a puff of steam.

Somehow, during their gaming session, they’d drifted a little closer together, having resorted to shoving each other to try and throw each other off. The close contact was fucking with Mickey’s brain, big time.

More than anything, though, Mickey’s surprised at how easy this is. How quickly he’d melted in Ian’s presence. It should be awkward, especially after the past two weeks. But it wasn’t. Ian was extremely easy to talk to.

He’s coming in like a bad storm, and Mickey’s powerless to stop it. He’s not even sure he wants to stop it anymore.

The way Ian’s always open and kind, despite Mickey ribbing him every chance he gets. Ian takes it all in stride, not put off by it in the slightest and instead giving back as good as he got.

“Not subtle, are you?” Mickey huffs an amused breath, his blue eyes wandering all over Ian’s face.

“I know what I want,” Ian grins, something small and sweet and sincere. “I know you want it too.”

Mickey laughs. “What, like your dick is so irresistible?”

“You should know, since you’re the one who hit on me first,” Ian pokes out his tongue like a child. “I might be a little further along than you, Mick, but I know what you want. I know what you think about. Because I’m thinking about it, too. I want it too.”

“Please,” Mickey scoffs. “I want it like I want a hole in the fucking head.”

“Hm,” Ian bites his lip as he weighs his options, deciding in the end to throw caution to the wind. “If you don’t want it, then what was last week?”

Mickey says nothing, and instead crosses his arms and keeps his mouth firmly shut, deciding that ignoring the question was the best and only option here. Even if it was hard to do, what with Ian being so fucking close Mickey could feel the heat of his body and—

Ian presses a little closer, and Mickey has to hold his breath at the feel of their outer thighs pressing together.