Mickey's stomach churns every time he sees Ian. Every time without fail. It churns and roils and fills with butterflies every time a smile flickers across those goddamned freckled features. And Mickey has to fight every time to hold back a smile of his own. And every time, every goddamn motherfucking time, Gallagher sees. And then smiles even more. And it makes Mickey want to punch him, hard, to get him to stop looking at him like that. But it also makes Mickey was to kiss him, so that he won't have to see that look. But Mickey won't ever kiss him, because that's not like Mickey and it would mean that Ian has one up on Mickey, which Mickey can never allow.

And then, one day, or rather one night, Mickey can't take it anymore. He can't bear the knowing smile that Ian gives him in his post-sex glow. And Mickey kisses Ian, hard and rough, unforgiving and brutal. And when he pulls back from Ian, he notes with a satisfied smirk, that Ian's knowing smile has been wiped off his face, to be replaced by a look of shock, mouth dropping open. Mickey's smirk turns into a fully blown grin and still the shock has not worn off. Mickey sniggers because now the boot is on the other foot and suddenly Mickey finds it hilarious to have shocked Ian in this way. Ian's left hand drifts up to his face, his lips, and Mickey abruptly wants to kiss him again. So he does. He pulls Ian's hand from his face and kisses him again.

This kiss is softer, slower, and Mickey has hold of Ian's hand for the whole time. Ian reciprocates, almost immediately, and Mickey feels the butterflies gather in his stomach. They pull apart, and that knowing smirk is smeared across Ian's features. Mickey frowns. "Tell anyone," he says, threateningly, "and I'll cut your tongue out." Ian just smiles more.