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It feels so warm. Feels all-encompassing, overflowing to every crevice of their bedroom, of himself, positively everywhere. Sometimes Mickey feels so much bigger to Ian than he must seem to others. It’s the space he takes up in his heart, the enormity of his presence, how his energy spills out, the way he radiates.
Being on Ian like this, feels like he’s taking up every inch of space behind him, covering him so completely with how he’s loving him.
They’re scratching that rare itch. It’s occasional, so Ian really doesn’t find himself like this often, the one to be sprawled out on his front and waiting, the one spread wide open with a leg bent up, the one catching himself from drooling on the bedding. But right now he’s here, giving it all up into his husband’s capable hands, and it’s such a fucking blessing because he just really needed this. It felt like they both did. They fell into it tonight easily, naturally. He couldn’t exactly tell you why, but then why does anyone want to be fucked? Sometimes he wants to feel good in this way, to feel Mickey in this way.
His fingers curl against the sheets. Mickey’s over him, against his back, feeling like he’s somehow so much, feeling so big, fucking him up with the way his cock is sliding between his cheeks. Teasing unbearably, catching on his rim.
Already open, he’s slick now between his cheeks from where Mickey had fingered him. He’d lain himself out on his stomach all stretched out, and Mickey had dipped two wet fingers in, over and over, slicking him up inside and opening him up for him. It’s been a while since they’ve done this and he so appreciated the way Mickey gently coached him through the flinching, through forgetting to breathe, through the way he kept tightening himself involuntarily. He was sweet and he was teasing. Come on, you ‘member how to take it. Right, tough guy? Relax. There you go. Feel good?
And then…and then just so fucking good. So, so fucking good. He forgets sometimes, just how good it feels. That melty, honeyed warmth spreading inside. Thick, hot arousal amplified with the way Mickey’s fingers press and press and fucking massage in that way that only he can do because he’s so good.
And now this, the torment, Mickey humping against him but not inside, weaponizing one of his own favorite teasing moves against him. He keeps pressing his ass back but it’s no use, doesn’t spur Mickey on at all.
It makes sense to stop trying to urge him along and just lie there, he knows. He knows that once he can show that he can be patient, Mickey’s going to sink inside and give it to him. But something in his lizard brain keeps sending his hips automatically up and back, up and back, arching his back further and popping his ass out like his life depends on it, and really, he needs to get it together.
Amazingly, he manages a deep, even breath. Mickey fucks up against him. Breathes heavy against his upper back. Ian inhales. Exhales through pursed lips. Steady, steady. Mickey’s breath behind him washes over him, and he focuses on how warm that feels. The slight shakiness of it, no doubt from holding back, from the way he’s teasing both of them.
Just as Ian’s settling down and gathering himself, Mickey pauses and reaches aside, pulling back and sitting up.
“Come on,” Ian whines, slurring, fucked up, petulant.
“Hold on, I’m comin’,” Mickey soothes. There’s obvious wet sounds coming from behind him. He can see just enough in his peripheral vision, and he knows Mickey’s slicking himself back up, reapplying lube and getting himself wet for him.
It only takes him a second, but it’s still got anticipation running rampant in Ian’s veins, getting him shaky with need, limbs a little trembly. Can’t believe how intense the need is, can’t believe it’s him who’s feeling this.
Fucking finally. Fucking finally Mickey’s lining back up and it feels this time like it’s with intention, like he’s gonna-
“Oh, fuck” Ian moans, and he gets himself to stay still somehow through the slight burn. He tries to relax as Mickey fucks just the head of his cock inside.
“Fuckin’ tight,” Mickey whispers harshly. There’s something so sexy about that, about Mickey feeling him like this, about his body affecting him like this. It goes to Ian’s head, to his groin, and he exhales carefully as Mickey pushes in a little further. A little further.
“God,” Ian chokes out, because it hurts a little and it feels so fucking good to be getting it, to be feeling it, to be taking him inside like this, slowly and carefully and intentionally feeding his cock into him.
Ian sees Mickey’s cock all the time, he knows it so well. Has it in his mouth all the time, in his grip. Feeling it inside like this, though, it’s sometimes kind of like he’s just meeting it for the first time. Especially when it’s been this long since they’ve done this. Feels fucking huge in a way that it really isn’t. He’s thick, but taking him like this makes him feel impossibly thick. Stretching him and stretching him. It zings through Ian, a sensation so satisfying he feels it absolutely everywhere, in the way it makes his toes curl, in the way it makes his fucking scalp tingle. It’s a little crazy, how it already has him sweating and gasping so quickly, keening out sounds he doesn’t often find himself making. But it’s always like this. Always this good. Always exactly what he needs when he needs it like this.
“Oh yeah? Like that?” Mickey teases, so low. Lowering himself down onto him. Holding him tight, comforting, keeping them all pressed together, exchanging body heat. Mickey kisses his upper back, a plush press of his soft lips, and it makes Ian shiver with how tender it feels. “Haven’t even gotten to the good part yet,” Mickey murmurs against his heated skin.
That anticipation dances through him anew, addictive, braced and ready for the next part. The good part. Please, his addled brain sings out. Please, please.
Mickey wraps him up, his hands tucked under him and around him, palms firm and grounding against his chest, pressing himself somehow closer. He shifts his hips, shifts his cock inside, just feeling it out, and the way it pulls his rim and presses him inside has Ian moaning out loud and shocked, has him melting down to fucking nothing. Has him disintegrating into the fucking ether.
“There ya go,” Mickey breathes against him, sounding a little cocky, a lot turned on. “Holy shit, you feel fuckin’ good. Shit…”
That tone stirs something inside Ian and just fucks him up that much more, hearing the effect it has on Mickey and how goddamn much he loves this. He loves this just as much as Ian does.
Ian’s just getting fully adjusted when Mickey fucks his hips against him properly, pushing in and getting in and against him so fucking tight, deep, and then withdrawing. Measured and hot and deliberate and careful.
“Oh! Oh, fuck, oh…” Ian gasps, and he moans against the mattress, the sound shockingly resonant for how muffled it should be. And it’s a little embarrassing, the way this makes him feel like he can’t shut up, but he can’t fucking help it.
There’s another deep plunge inside, a gasp behind Ian and against his skin, and then Mickey’s fucking him so perfect, he doesn’t know what to fucking do with himself. Fingers grabbing at the sheet, jaw dropped open, eyes scrunched shut, he keeps himself relaxed from the waist down. Concentrates on staying loose and open, on taking it and letting himself just feel it. And within moments of Mickey giving it to him, he’s overcome with a sense of being so thoroughly fucked out in a way that he’s fucking sure no one has ever felt. It must just be him. This can’t be for anyone else.
Maybe it’s the novelty of it that gets him like this, the fact that it’s not how they normally want to do it that makes it feel like this when they do. Extra dirty, almost illicit. Oh, how satisfying that is. It shouldn’t be so different from the way Mickey feels on a near-daily basis when the positions are reversed, but maybe it is. Maybe this feeling is just for Ian.
Mickey snaps his hips down into him, grunting against his back, bouncing the mattress. He hits him so good inside. Right where he needs it. Pushing against his prostate, making his cock twitch where it’s trapped between himself and the mattress.
It’s so fucking good. So good until Mickey slows and then carefully, slowly, draws himself out.
Ian whines in a pitch he doesn’t normally hear from himself when Mickey unwraps himself from him and pushes up onto his knees behind him.
“Don’t worry, not done with ya,” Mickey soothes, hands gripping Ian’s hips and tugging gently. “Here, up…yeah, on your knees…” There’s some shuffling, and Ian manages to get his knees under himself, head spinning, dizzy, feeling so goddamn exposed like this. He starts heaving himself up onto his hands, palms flat on the mattress.
“No, it’s okay, stay low like that,” Mickey instructs, and at that Ian fucking drops himself back down with his face on the mattress, ass up, relieved. Limp, eager. Mickey nudges his knees further apart so he’s lower. Lower. “Lower.” Spreads himself. Arches his back more when Mickey pushes gently on his spine, guiding him and making him dip. “Jesus, Gallagher.”
“Yeah?” Ian breathes shakily.
“Look fuckin’ good. Goddamn.” Appreciative, loving, sincere. Ian glows with it.
And then Mickey breathes deep. He brings himself close. A warm hand on his hip. Ian trembles, breathes, breathes. And Mickey nudges against his rim again, and Ian’s breath catches. He pushes back.
In a ridiculously satisfying move, Mickey fucks himself all the way back in in one smooth, deep stroke, and god, Ian loses it. All sense of inhibition had already completely left him, but now it’s like this is all he knows. All he wants.
Both of them moan deep, both of them breathe heavy with the way Mickey starts back up, in and out of him in even pumps. Filling him up, drawing back. Back in, deep, hips pressed against his ass and then that extra nudge where he fucks against him just that little bit more, like he’s trying to get impossibly deeper, and Ian’s now drooling on the mattress. Can’t fucking stop himself.
“Faster,” he slurs out, curling his toes tight and flexing his feet, digging them into the mattress. He knows Mickey’s been enjoying this pace, being considerate and loving and letting Ian adjust while he indulges in the feeling of his tight heat, but he’s firmly past that now. He’s fucking adjusted. He wants it faster. He wants everything. “C’mon, c’mon…”
“Yeah? Faster?” Mickey breathes.
“C’mon, fuck me.”
“Want it hard?”
God, yes. “Uh huh.”
“Alright, big guy. Hold on.”
Ian does just that and fists his hands in the sheet as much as he can, melted all the way down for it and ready as fuck to feel it. Mickey holds his hips and fucks into him a couple more times, those nice, deep, thorough strokes that he can feel every inch of. So satisfying. So fulfilling.
And then he picks it up. Faster. Slapping his hips against his ass noisily, grunting with effort as he fucks Ian with all he has, and Ian is fucking lost to it.
“Oh my god,” he chokes out, his voice cracked and high, eyes watering, tingling all over. “Ah…god…” Mickey fills him so good, aiming his thrusts where he knows it’ll feel perfect, sliding against his prostate and getting him leaking, warming him from the inside out.
Hand flying down to start jacking himself, it hits Ian intensely that he’s already so close.
“Holy shit, Ian,” Mickey gasps, slowing just for a moment as he pulls back, hands coming to Ian’s ass and surely looking down to watch how he stretches him open, and it makes Ian’s head swim. Makes him feel vulnerable. Being looked at like that, Mickey seeing him like that. He keens, and Mickey pushes back in. Deep, so deep, fucking him fast, and Ian’s going to cum.
“Fuck, I’m so close,” he manages to gasp out, shifting like he can’t help it, like he’s writhing, body pitching with each thrust. “Oh, fuck, Mick…fucking christ…” Incredulous, wild with it, with how good Mickey makes him feel. How fast and how easily he gets him there when he gives him this. He does it so good.
“Gonna cum?” Mickey asks, voice low, hips pumping away.
“Yeah, gonna…”
“Want me to keep going?” Mickey teases.
“Keep fuckin’ going, keep going, fucking please.” It’s all muffled with how he has his mouth smeared against the bed, stuttering with how Mickey’s hips are hitting him, but Mickey just huffs a shaky laugh and keeps it up. Maintains that perfect pace, that flawless aim, hitting him just right, and Ian tightens his strokes on his cock. He’s so hard he could simply die, his cock is so fucking tight and hot and he needs to-
Ian gasps. Pleasure thick like warm honey seeping down through him, sudden and heavy. Feels it all drawing together, feels himself clench tight around Mickey and distantly hears him bite out a curse behind him. Unparalleled, euphoric, delicious heat flooding in him and gathering between his legs. He focuses the way his hand is stroking his cock on the sensitive head, too fucking sensitive now, about to feel it all pour out of him as it finally braces to spill out.
Mickey’s still fucking him. Still guiding it along, getting it out of him, feeling it as Ian hits the edge and squeezes around him again. The thought of it, of Mickey feeling his pleasure from the inside like this, is so sexy, it’s positively wrecking, and it finally shoves him over. His vision flashes white, and when he squeezes his eyes shut a tear rolls over the bridge of his nose with the exquisitely relieving pleasure that washes through him.
“Fuck, Ian.”
“Mick…”
It’s all he can grit out as his orgasm pulses through him, pulses out of him, helplessly and rhythmically clenching around his husband’s cock, cum shooting out onto the sheet below him. Heavy, throbbing. It goes on, extended with the way Mickey’s pushing against his prostate inside, dragging him near delirium, clawing at the bed and finally releasing his wet cock. It’s white-hot, it gets him floating, floating. He might never come back down from how good this feels. He might stay here, suspended in it, held up and hovering in it, strung up by the intensity of it.
Finally, it starts to ebb. Finally, Mickey slows inside him. The white glow behind his eyelids darkens, and it ends. Beautiful, fulfilling relief. He feels perfect.
Except Mickey’s still moving, slow as he is now, and he’s gasping behind him. The penetrating sensation of it is crossing into overstimulation with how deep he’s staying as he shifts, and Ian cries out.
“Can I-” Mickey chokes out. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna…”
Yes, fuck yes. So weakly, eagerly, “Fill me up.”
“Jesus, Ian.”
Mickey stills, holds his hips flush against Ian’s ass, pulling him back with the iron grip he has on his hips and holding him there. And with a deep, satisfied groan, he empties inside.
Ian twitches through it, gasping with how wet it feels when Mickey pulls back and then pushes in. Feels it squelch out around his cock, and it’s filthy and sexy and Ian loves it. Revels in it. Feels it drip.
Mickey carefully pulls out, and as he does, the exhaustion in Ian’s inner thighs immediately becomes apparent, and he goes to drop himself down before Mickey grabs his hips and helps him ease onto his side, avoiding the soaked spot on the sheet below him.
He gratefully lies on his side, and then carefully turns onto his back. He lets his arms go limp at his sides. He closes his eyes. He stays here for a moment, deep in his body and taking inventory of all he feels. The lingering sensations inside, the physical and otherwise. The echo of that orgasm still sitting low in him. The sensation of fullness. Wetness. Mickey’s overwhelming, intoxicating love. And he breaks into a huge, dopey grin, releasing a comically loud sigh.
Mickey wastes no time, climbing on and straddling his stomach.
When Ian opens his eyes, he’s met with a matching smile on his glowing husband.
“Christ, Mickey.”
“Was hot as fuck.”
Mickey gathers Ian’s arms and leans forward, pinning his wrists to the mattress on either side of his head. He lowers himself, bringing their sated smiles together. Ian delights in the smell of him up close, and he moans happily into their kiss.
It makes a loud smacking sound when they separate, and Mickey sits all the way back up. He strokes his warm hands over Ian’s pecs.
“Ya love that, huh?” Mickey intones sweetly, his voice extra affectionate and a little nasally with it.
“Mhm,” Ian confirms, breathing it out happily, dreamily. He feels dreamy. Loose, still a little floaty.
Mickey raises his eyebrows playfully. “Sure you don’t always wanna do it like that?”
“Fuck, no,” Ian scoffs, and he knows Mickey’s just teasing, but still. “Just, sometimes it’s…good.” The best he can do right now.
“Really good.” Still playful, sweet.
“Really fucking good, Mickey.” He sighs through his nose and lets his eyes slip shut again. He’s still smiling softly.
Mickey hums. He pets over Ian’s chest with gentle, massaging fingers for another minute, and Ian relaxes against the mattress. Lets himself melt like he’s already done so much tonight. Enjoys Mickey’s weight on him, his affection, and then his warmth when he climbs off and presses himself next to him to kiss his jaw and wrap an arm around him. Holding him, loving him. Feels important, a tender cap-off for something that tends to leave Ian feeling gloriously vulnerable. And loved. And just, good.
It’s really fucking good. And sometimes, it’s just what they need.