#hooooooo

Randy has experienced impossibly high highs and some true lows, the emotional roller coaster of it all was a lot to handle but also, shamefully, addicting as hell. 

He didn’t know that there could be so much sexual enjoyment derived from such typically and previously negatively associated feeling, particularly, humiliation. He had experienced plenty of humiliation over the years and it always, well, fucking sucked but for some reason, when it cropped up again from that tape and subsequent threesomes with Mickey, it made his heart race in a different way, a much better, albeit, confusing way. 

When he first was confronted with that tape he was a mess, when you eventually pulled out what was wrong he was still a total mess, and during that first threesome, he was even more of one. Mickey was an almost intolerable asshole but he had to admit, the things he did to you, the view and picture you both provided him, undeniably hot, much better than any bargain basement dumpster porn tape he ever watched by far. He hated that every boundary he tried to lay down, like Mickey wearing a condom, was ignored. Even further, the disrespecting of said boundaries were usually encouraged by you, as you seemingly craved it too. The shared wants between you and Mickey took precedence over his comfort and boundaries, he certainly didn’t do much to dissuade you both when he let it keep happening, especially when the evidence of how hard it made him was clear as day.

And the rules Mickey did agree to? It turns out he was lying, placating Randy to gain consent and access to you to then do what he wanted in the end. The worst of the worst is that when Randy had you afterwards, totally messy and stuffed with cum, literally subjected to Mickey’s sloppy seconds. It felt so fucking good that he couldn’t bring himself to have a single negative thing to say, any complaints die on his tongue as he buries his face into your neck and himself inside you to the hilt. 

Mickey said he would pull out, Mickey was apparently a fucking liar and when Randy was on his back afterwards, sweat slick and panting, still dizzy and high off the hardest orgasm he had in recent memory, he wanted to fucking thank the guy for making him do this and see how good it was. He would never actually thank him, Mickey’s ego was already approaching the size of a supernova from this situation as it was, he is sure if he thanked him for cumming in you when he asked him not to? He cannot imagine how much worse he would become. It doesn’t matter that true the experience was fucking great, the ignoring of his consent was screwed up, thanking him further sends the wrong message. 

So Randy put up with Mickey’s comments and overall attitude, he says he puts up with, but really he enjoys it, mostly secretly, he downplays his enjoyment but that damn knowing smirk of Mickey’s makes him think he isn’t as good an actor as he wants to be. 

This has been going on for a month. 

A glorious, confusion littered, fuck centered, sweat soaked and embarrassment filled month. In the moment and with his dick in his hand it is easier to take, he gets swept up in how filthy it is, finds himself consumed with your new relationship dynamic constantly. In the quiet moments between doing other things his mind wanders to either your last hookup or what might potentially happen in the next one. 

The last one he keeps on thinking about is a rather risky semi-public hookup, it was late, rushed, in the stairwell leading up to Randy’s apartment. The sight is burned into his mind, Mickey leaning against the wall, his fingers in your hair as he leads you while you are on your knees, blowing him, right in front of Randy. It is all so striking, so clear, as if it is still happening right in front of Randy when he thinks of it, the low light, the way Mickey’s head tips back and rests against the concrete wall. A bead of sweat rolls down the column of his throat, along with the bob of his Adam's apple from a heavy swallow he took after a harsh inhale of air. He hears the quiet moan, the curse that spills out as he rocks his hips to force himself deeper into your mouth, you gag, Mickey laughs breathlessly with that half sideways smirk and then, he looks at him. Mickey’s head no longer rests and instead brown eyes meet blue and that smile grows into an outright sadistic grin as he drives forward harder, more purposefully and the moan you let around the shaft invading your mouth makes Randy ache in his jeans.

Someone speaks to him, asks him a question and it pulls him out of his head, Christ, he wasn’t listening and he is far too hard over his walk down memory lane while stuck in class still. He needs to stop, he fucking hates himself for thinking and feeling like this so often. He especially hates himself for how he couldn’t wait and ended up cumming in that same stairwell a week previous during that hookup he was just pouring over, he has to fight back the urge to cringe thinking about whatever poor sap had to clean that up.  

True, while he is caught up in his head and consumed with all of this often, filled to the brim with negativity more than he’d like to be, things with you had gotten infinitely better. Your sex life together had gotten downright incredible in his opinion, he relishes the time he can be alone just you and himself without Mickey around. It isn’t as dirty as the threesomes you have, it’s softer, sweeter, more intimate and not as intense but he thinks you both need that. He has taken Mickey’s advice to heart and his fingering and oral skills have improved leaps and bounds, he loves when he is able to pull a sound out of you that reminds him of one Mickey has made you gasp out previously.  

He wasn’t sure how long this could or would go on for, it couldn’t last forever but this didn’t have to stop anytime soon, there wasn’t any reason to rush, right? Not when it felt so good and it seemed to be actively bettering and strengthening your relationship as opposed to harming it. So the worries are shoved aside, pushed to the back of his mind, a problem for future him.

Mickey is positively elated over how this has all panned out so far. He knew this stage would be fun, he just didn’t count on how much fun it could be. He got to not only fuck you, he got to humiliate Randy while he did it, being balls deep in you while you were moaning like a total whore and your pathetic cuck of a boyfriend was jerking off to it, making eye contact with the sad little redhead in that moment? Making him truly be confronted with the sight of what he could do to you? My lord, he is sure he will never need viagra when he is fifty plus, he can just recall that memory and be good to go. 

You were just so intoxicating, he thought he had it bad for you before he got to fuck you that first night Randy pissed you off but he was so wrong, it only got worse when he got to know you in the biblical sense. Now that he knows how you sound when he has two fingers angled just right inside of you, or how you feel when you are cumming on him, his interest grew into a full on crush and became infinitely worse. He couldn’t get you out of his head, how could he push it out of his mind or forget such an experience?

You were a delight, a joy to be around, so funny, so filthy and ready, willing and open. You got him, understood him, the sexual compatibility was a massive plus of course but it was more than that. It was the hushed whispers during class of dumb jokes that make you stifle laughter, it was shared lunches, and those times where you and he would end up crashing together post threesome and wake up side by side before Randy did. He knew you felt more for him than you were saying, the moments you would hold his hand when Randy wasn’t around told him that, the way you looked at him, would brighten when seeing him, it all tattled on your true feelings. He was sure of how you felt. 

Christ, he couldn’t wait until he could have you all to himself as opposed to having to carve out these small moments whenever Randy wasn’t hanging off you like he was doing his best impression of a koala bear. 

It was so soon. Mickey could hardly contain himself. The last thing standing between you and him being together is your boyfriend that you were still holding onto for some reason. Clearly it was out of some sense of loyalty, he liked that quality about you. So it means that he has to get rid of him and then you will be able to get with him guilt free, it’s the only thing that makes sense. The single option. 

You are more than worth him doing this, uprooting and changing his whole plan, Nancy had to go. She just did, no way would she understand or be on board, she was just a means to an end really, she bankrolled him sure but it isn’t like he was attached to her. He believed in his motive, in what he wanted but now that he had you, the idea of risking going to jail wasn’t high on his list of to-do’s. Maybe he could keep a low profile, maybe he would be satisfied being with you, having you and quietly killing people to satisfy those parts of himself from time to time. If he did go through with the original plan there is still a chance it might fail. Was he willing to risk even a slight chance of being separated from you? 

He is sure that the high he would get if he could pull it off, kill and spill his guts, blame the violence of movies and not go to jail would be immense, but then that part of his life would be over, that chapter closed. No way he could keep killing. Or, maybe he could, if he could keep getting away with it after that it would be amazing, however if caught that same plea wouldn’t work twice.

Perhaps the real high could be in never, ever getting caught. 

Between that and you, he might be just fine. 

He should feel worse, shouldn’t he? The thought was on his mind as he was cleaning his knife in the sink after putting an end to Nancy, he should feel something, but he just didn’t. Honestly seeing the look of betrayal on her face was priceless, she never would have thought Mickey would do this to her. She sobbed and begged, going on about how could Mickey do this to her, she needed to avenge her “sweet baby boy-” and yeah, he wasn’t going to listen to her go on about that. He didn’t waste much time on her, didn’t linger or monologue or go on and on, he made it relatively painless and pretty quick. 

The important thing is she was gone and now he could focus on killing Randy. 

Unlike his previous and now dead partner, he wanted to make it hurt, he wanted to destroy Randy, make him unrecognisable, but he knew that might not be best. Logical thought doesn't usually win out in these situations however. He hated how Randy took you for granted, he hated how you looked at him, that you insisted on staying together, hated every time he watched you kiss or anything else, he wanted to stab the knife into his chest, pierce his heart and twist. Wanted to watch him gasp, struggle, and bleed. 

He had a good handle on Randy’s schedule because of your arrangement, he is coming back from a late class, going back to his apartment while Mickey follows far enough behind to not alert him, yet. 

Ol’ Randy was so oblivious, he was going to make this way too easy. Mickey felt his anticipation grow with every single step, every heavy footfall makes his mind run with possibility and pure excitement.

He wanted to rush him, tackle him to the ground, end it right here out in the open but that is stupid and way too risky, it still doesn’t stop how his hands itch, he craved to have his knife in his grip, to bury it in something. The urge to penetrate in a violent sense and in a sexual sense are not that different and Mickey finds it so hard to ignore either of those urges. Soon it is just right, soon Randy is unlocking the door to his apartment building and Mickey picks up the pace, he runs forward, he timed it just right, the door opens and he knocks into Randy, causing him to stumble into the building with a shocked, “Woah!” 

With him totally off balance Mickey takes the opportunity, hand gripping the collar of his shirt behind his neck, he moves him, comes forward, hauling Randy along, he bursts into the stairwell door in the lobby, that same one that you all hooked up in. He is quickly throwing him with all of his strength against the stairs. It hurts his spine, knocks the wind out of him, he groans feeling slightly dazed and when his eyes open he sees the figure clad in that all too familiar black robe and white mask and his heart drops. Eyes widen and he curses, trying to scramble back on the stairs, “Shit, fuck-”

God he loved that look. Pure and unadulterated terror, totally horrified, there was only one way to make it better, Mickey pulled the knife out, the glint of the blade in the low light flashes over his face, it made Randy’s breath catch. He tried to bolt, tried to turn to launch himself up the stairs, towards the safety of his apartment, away from his would-be attacker and that wasn’t going to happen. Mickey was on him too fast, one hand threads in short red hair and he jerks his head back, making it slam on the concrete, the sound was sickening and it made his struggle so much weaker immediately. Mickey sat on his stomach, knees on either side of him, he took in the view below him. Randy was already bleeding from his head wound, scarlet starting to stain the concrete, holding his own head up weakly, his other hand reaching out, trying to push on Mickey’s torso feebly. 

He enjoyed this immensely. He watches him for a moment before it starts, it’s like the calm before a storm, like in the summer when you can feel a thunderstorm brewing, something in the air telling you what is to come, as if you can feel the electricity threatening to crackle and break though. 

He lingers for only a moment more, he knows he is pushing it, but fuck, he has wanted this for so long and when he started he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. 

Finally the moment is just right, he raises the knife and there is zero hesitation, it comes down and comes down hard. It embeds into his shoulder first, the air is practically sucked out of Randy, eyes wide, his hand comes up to clutch near the blade but Mickey didn’t take too kindly to that. He twists it and a choked off whimper left Randy and then he yanks the knife up, pulling the blade out, the body below him moving with the force of it, back arching as the struggle to remove steel is won quickly. 

Randy is still trying to hold the wound at his shoulder but the angle is awkward and the pain is blinding, he doesn’t think anything could snap him out of the agony, his mind is running a million miles a second, synapses are firing but not connecting to anything. The urge to flee is strong but how? How can he get out, how can he get away, he is stuck, he hurts so much, what is he going to do? He thought he left all this behind in Woodsboro, he should have been more careful, he knew the threat, the risks, he should have taken that tape more seriously and realised he was being watched probably this entire time since he got said tape. 

It turns out there is one thing that can pull him out of his head and free him enough from the pain to speak, eyes come into focus as the hurt is numbed with what he is seeing. Ghostface is still seated on top of him and the fingers leave his hair, hand comes up and the mask is tugged off to reveal is pseudo sort of fuck buddy or more accurately, YOUR fuck buddy and the cucker to Randy’s cuckee’, Mickey fucking Altieri. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Randy wheezed out, a cough that sounded too wet coming out after the words left him, “Mickey?”

“Heya Randy.” He dropped the mask, gloved fingers ran through his own hair as he stared down at the body starting to struggle under him once more. It all comes to Randy at once, the cheating, the tape, the “coincidences”, the dark edges to him, the knowing looks, he is the killer, he is Ghostface. Of course he is. 

“What the fuck? Why-AHH!” Randy yelped as the knife came back down, settling in the other shoulder, he left it there, holding the handle as he said, “Oh why? Meeks wants to know why-” 

Mickey hums and grips the handle harder before starting to twist it slightly, back and forth, digging deeper. Randy is crying now, tears falling down and struggling for breath, “-lots and lots of reasons. I had this whole big motive, this crazy plan, Billy’s mom, you remember Billy’s mom, Nancy Loomis, had found me and brought me here, bankrolled my education while I was meant to do the dirty work-”

Randy could hardly believe what he was hearing over the burning and pulsing pain, Mickey kept talking, “-but thennn, you-” 

Mickey pointed down at Randy with his free hand, “-fucked up. You took your girl for granted and I got to swoop in at that party and our whole whatever the fuck you want to call it started and I realized, I don’t want to share her. I don’t want to follow through on that original plan. I just want her. But she’s-”

He ripped the knife out and Randy half screamed, blood splatters over his robe and the wall and when Randy’s scream subsided he was still holding the knife while he made air quotes as he said “-all “in love with you” for some fucking reason.” 

Mickey shakes his head, “She’s amazing, but man that shit I just do not understand. I mean look at you! No fight at all! Fuck, you are so pathetic. You find out I fucked your girlfriend and you come to my apartment begging me to do it again while you watch?! Who does that?”

He laughs with a shake of his head, “I know as long as you are around she wouldn’t dump you and I couldn’t ask her to, I would come off like a total dick and then she might push me away and end our fun. That can’t happen!”

The exclamation is loud, angry, and violent. The knife comes back down again, in the ribs and Randy’s body jerks, he coughs, blood paints his chin, he wheezes, he thinks his lung might be punctured. Mickey barks out, “Look at me, Meeks.”

Randy’s eyes open half way, he feels woozy, Mickey looks positively manic, he has leaned down closer, still holding that knife handle so tightly, “I’m doing this because it’s the only way I see that she can be all mine. I’m killing you to fix this little problem. I’m going to be there while she grieves, I’m going to be the one to help her pick up the pieces, she’s gonna cling to me and then I’m gonna have her all to myself.” 

Mickey was grinning, “Our little thing was a good time I’ll admit that but I’m ready to move up to the next level, I don’t want to be her classmate, or her friend, I don’t want to be her fuck buddy, I want to be her boyfriend. Not you.” 

Randy is shaking his head, his face is so wet, blood, sweat, drool, tears, he is mouthing something, too weak to talk, Mickey thinks it’s “No” but who cares really. 

“Yeah. It’s gonna happen and there is nothing you can do to stop it.” Mickey said in a condensing tone as he nodded, “You’re going to die, and soon it seems like!” 

Mickey rips the knife out again and Randy jerks once more, nowhere near as strong, “I cannot wait. Not anymore. You should see her when we are alone, the way she looks at me, talks to me, she isn’t yours and hasn’t been for a while. I’m just helping her see it, speeding along the inevitable. She’s mine.”

The silver blade stained red cuts through the air and hits home again, lower this time and a similar reaction is drawn, weaker still, before being pulled out and then it happens again and again. Chest, ribs once more, stomach, stab, cut, rip, tear while repeating that one word over and over again. A quiet chant breathed through gritted teeth on harsh exhales from the sheer amount of exertion and effort, “Mine. Mine. Mine.” 

Randy is dead.

He didn’t get proper last words but Mickey thinks he didn’t deserve them the same way that he didn’t deserve you. Mickey is sure it happened sometime between the seventh and the seventeenth stab but it doesn’t really matter. He stays there for a moment looking down at Randy, body slowly turning cold, bloodstained and eyes lifeless. 

He sits until he is sick of looking at him and then he gets up, the robe and mask are rolled up and put into his bag. He leaves out the back way, the camera is broken on that side of the building so no one can possibly tie him to this. He left with a spring in his step and the bag under his arm and excited for the news to reach him naturally. 

The phone ringing is what wakes him up, he is wiping sleep out of his eyes as he makes his way to the kitchen, he snatches it up off of the bar and brings it up to his ear, “Lo’?” 

It’s you, the voice sounding wrecked, you barely get the words, “Randy’s dead-” before you are sobbing, he lets himself smile. You start trying to talk a mile a minute through your sobs and he listens to you go on for a minute before he cuts in asking you to take a breath before he is apologising, tell you how awful that sounds and as you are sniffing you ask quietly, “Ca-can you come over? I-I don’t wan-want to be alone.” 

 “I’ll be right there.” He assures and you tell him, “Hurry, please-”

He tells you he will be right there. He hangs up, he throws on clothes and finds himself humming on the way to your place. He shows up with coffee and breakfast, it’s stupid early and he isn’t sure when you last ate, he knocks and calls out, before he can get your name out the door is open and you are throwing your arms around his neck. He almost drops the coffee tray in one hand and the take out bag in the other but he keeps a grip on them. Your face is wet and buried in his shirt, body shaking and he says softly, “Oh hey, hey, I’m here.” 

You stand in your doorway for minutes and he doesn’t rush you, he lets you cling to him and God this is already working out so well. 

Once he manages to get you inside he sits with you, he makes sure you eat, he listens, holds the box of tissues while you lament, “I wasn’t allowed to see him but they say it was a massacre, they are talking murder Mickey-”

“Murder? Oh my God!” 

If only you knew. But you never would. 

He barely left your side. You kept asking him to stay, begging him to be close, you told him that he made you feel safe, made this easier to handle, you feared you’d fall apart without him and it made him feel so important. Your grief is intense but he loves how you are like this, how you rely on him even when things are difficult and hard to manage, he loves the desperation. He pokes, he has a small pattern, you are so raw that a small nudge makes your emotions go screwy and when you are in a deep spiral then he helps soothe you, pulls you out of it again and makes sure any positive emotion you feel during this time, no matter how small, is tied to him. 

You are so needy, but he has never felt this needed and my God is it nice to feel needed. 

No serious suspicion is thrown his way. He doesn’t kill anyone else, lets everything calm and die down and a funeral is planned and hosted for Randy over a month after he died. Everyone was just so scared that whoever it was might strike again beforehand. The fear it was Ghostface was present, kept Sidney and everyone else permanently on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop but it seemingly never does and they all have to start moving on sometime. Mickey had to fight hard to keep the act up, but inside there was such power and joy in doing the receiving line of Randy’s family, shaking hands and giving condolences, everyone unaware that he is the reason and cause of his death. He made the right call, abandoning the other plan for this was amazing. He listens as you cry your way through your turn speaking, he knows he is going to be comforting you hard after this and true, right after you finished you come over and he held your hand, giving you the pack of tissues he had in his pocket.

The casket buried, the wake over, he is with you back at his place. You’d been wanting to spend more and more time here, you hadn’t cleared out all the little pieces of Randy from your space yet and you felt like you couldn’t face them today. Your eyes are red from the crying, your nose raw from the tissues used, sitting on his couch, heels kicked off and in your funeral dress still. You aren’t quite as sombre now, he had seen to that, he got your favourite take out just before the place closed, it was near midnight and you actually ate, half empty boxes on the coffee table along with a few empty drink cans. 

You were cradling your current drink in your hand, looking across the couch to him, you were both sitting on the same ends of the couch as before, a mirror of that night months previous that started all this. He was in the middle of telling some story that was making you laugh, the smile on your face was small but steadily growing. “She ended up not even having her wallet after all that.” 

“Holy shit, no way! So then what?” 

“What do you mean what? I sure as shit didn’t pay for her.” He laughed and you said around an amused exhale of your own, “Alright fair, especially after how she treated the cashier yeah fuck her.” 

He takes another pull from his can and you did the same before setting aside with a sigh. You rested your head on the back of the couch as you said, “Thanks for this Mick.”

A questioning hum left him paired with raised eyebrows and you elaborate, “For being here for me. I know I’ve been like a mess, understandably so but a mess all the same. I know dealing with me hasn’t been easy but just…Without your support I dunno how I would have gotten through this.” 

“Oh hey, no need to thank me. That is what a good guy does.” He said easily and you nod, “You really are, you’re so great.”

You reach out, a grabby hand gesture and he fills your need, taking your hand and you sigh. “I feel bad.” 

“For a different reason other than the funeral?” He asked and you laughed a little, “Yeah. I just…I’ve been having these thoughts that make ME feel like I’m a horrible person.”

“What thoughts could you possibly be having to make you feel like that?”  

“I dunno if I should say.” You grumbled and he said, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to but you know you can trust me. I won’t judge you and I sure as shit won’t tell anyone else.” 

You are quiet for a moment before deciding that yes, he is right, you can trust him. You might even feel better getting it out, “I loved Randy. I mean I still love Randy but…All this time I have been spending with you and everything from before, how great you are I’ve been thinking about you more than I should. In ways I probably shouldn’t.” 

He ignores the first half of your sentence, he is sure that would fade in time, he focuses on the second half, “Like how?” 

You give a half shrug and look away, gaze averted and he says your name, stretching it out, he is leaning closer and you steal a glance back at him and say, “Like…” 

The tension is thick, you’ve moved closer throughout the conversation yourself, not so much on the opposite ends of the couch now, almost on the same cushion in the middle of the couch you take a deep breath to steady yourself and you open up. You are already raw and vulnerable, why not go all in? 

“I’ll be in a class I don’t have with you and I feel this huge hole where you should be. I don’t feel like I can do anything properly while away from you, I can’t eat or focus, the weight of everything else crushes me but when you are around I have, fuck, I have hope. I think I can do this, I feel stronger and better, you do that for me!”

He keeps doing what he has for more than a month, he listens, he squeezes your hand harder and he listens to you. 

“I’ll be in bed alone and wish you were with me. My sleep schedule is wrecked but I think I could finally get some good rest with you because I swear to God, if there is one, I only feel safe around you lately.” 

You are speaking so fast now, as if you can’t communicate your intense emotion fast enough until the words stop because your other hand that isn’t in his is on his face, tugging him close to you and kissing him. It starts off hot, deep, needy and he is stunned, it takes a moment to match the energy but he lets you lead it. Fuck he has missed this, missed feeling you against him, you start to slow, he keeps pace, from all consuming open mouthed to soft brushes with laboured breathing and you pull back, “That. I have been thinking the most about doing that.” 

“And that…Makes you feel bad? Cuz it felt pretty good to me.” You laugh from the tone and his expression, the big smile that is so him, you admit, “No that did feel good but I feel bad because my boyfriend has been in the ground for less than twelve hours and I’m on your couch, kissing you and I’ve been thinking about doing it for weeks.” 

You inhale in a way he has come to know far too intimately, that hitch that tattles on you that you are going to cry, you choke out, “How shitty of a person does that make me?” 

He lets go of your hand, his hands are on your cheeks and then tracing down to your neck, thumbs stroke over the line of your jaw and he says, “It doesn’t, hey,  you aren’t a shitty person. You’re my favourite person.” 

Your hands are on his wrists and you shake your head, “I’m pretty sure I am, I-I don’t deserve you, I didn’t deserve Randy either-”

A sniff and he assures further, “No, stop that, you deserve so much. I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t.”

It is quiet for a moment, you are trying to breathe through it and stop yourself from seriously crying, he knows just the right thing to say, “I know I’m really stupid but I have good taste.” 

You laugh. A nod as you admit, “Okay, you’re right, you do have good taste.” 

“We’re gonna ignore you not disagreeing with me calling myself stupid-” You laugh again harder, “But see! So if I have good taste that means that everything I do for you isn't a mistake, it’s not wasted, you deserve this.”

You look into his eyes and ask a bit more seriously, one of the main worries weighing on you, “Isn’t it too soon?”

It’s his turn to laugh, “What? Do you seriously think Meeks would want you to recognize Victorian mourning customs and mope around in all black for a year?” Another laugh spills out of you at the image, “Why does the timing matter on this? If you want it now, then why not now? What is waiting a few more weeks or months going to do?”

He is right. Why does it matter?

The next thing you ask is, “Am I really your favourite person?” 

“Easily. No contest.” You are still so close to each other, and you decided fuck it, why does it matter? You’ve been through so much, you are desperate and you deserve to feel good and so you give into what you have been craving. 

You kiss him again on the couch. 

Neither of you stay on the couch for very long. 

It comes out while you are in his bed, your dress on the floor and you are under him, arms wrapped around his neck, you feel like you could cry but not for any of the feelings or reasons that you had previously over this past month. You don’t want to sob because you are sad or missing Randy or anything else, you cry because fucking hell you missed this, you needed this, it feels incredible but it’s more than that. You finally realised it a while ago, but now? You are unable to ignore it, can’t hold it inside, the admission is on your tongue and has been threatening to come out between moans for minutes. Rocking with him, feverish kisses placed over the side of his face as you gasp, Mickey’s hands are all over, like he cannot get enough of you, he is buried deep and he hits that spot that makes your whole body want to shudder and at long last it comes out in a rush, overwhelmed and feeling overflows you tell him-

“I love you.”

That makes him slow, not stop, but slow, rolls of his hips are purposeful, the change in angle is fantastic, the pressure and grinding on your clit makes you want to cry all over again. He has one arm under your neck, the other one runs up your side, there is this expression on his face that can only be described as a cross between joyful disbelief and pure affection, brown eyes are warm as he asks, “What did you just say?”

You repeat it, louder, voice more sure, “I said I love you.” A harder thrust, a shared and hushed moan, your nails biting into the skin on the back of his neck, you make yourself maintain eye contact, it’s difficult  but it’s important so you manage, “I am tired of-of feeling it, fuck, and not saying it, I fucking love you.” 

He couldn’t be happier, this was better than he ever could have planned or hoped, better than any dream possible, he leans down, kisses you deeply and you return it. Eyes closed you are close in sensation and the moment, in him. He pulls back, close enough his forehead is touching yours as he breathes back the same sentiment, “I love you too, so fucking much.” 

A broken moan that could be read as the word “really” but he is picking up the pace, quicker, rougher and your hand falls back, a desperate plea of, “Mickey, fuck, don’t stop-”

As if he would ever. 

He did manage to get away with it.

It’s been over a year since Randy’s murder, you are none the wiser and you barely mention Randy anymore. Sure his birthday, his death day and your old anniversary with Meeks was hard but that was understandable and tolerable.