Chapter 3: Mark Me

Chapter Summary: Mickey marks Ian, so Ian retaliates.

Ian's right hand gripped tightly around Mickey's hip, holding him steady while Ian pounded into the older boy. His left hand was linked over Mickey's fingers, which clutched the metal fence of the dugouts. The way Ian was fucking Mickey, it was all the brunette could do to keep from being pushed face-first into the fence.

The last time they'd fucked in the dugouts had been the day Mickey had gotten out of Juvie. Even though it was the middle of the night, the air was thick with the humidity typical of a Chicago summer. Ian was coated with a layer of sweat, slamming into Mickey with everything he had because the brunette wanted it hard, rough and fast.

After almost two years of hooking up with him, Ian knew exactly which position he needed to be in in order to make Mickey moan, and like clockwork, the brunette was panting, gasping for air on each well-aimed thrust.

"Fuck, fuck..." Mickey huffed.

"I'm close," Ian said between breaths. Mickey let out a low grunt in time with each of Ian's deep thrusts, providing further motivation for the redhead to continue his steady assault.

Ian felt that familiar tug in his lower abdomen right before his orgasm hit. He closed his eyes as his body began to spasm, the sensation overwhelming, and all he could do was tighten his grip on Mickey as he shot his seed into the brunette's ass.

It was only after he had pulled out of Mickey and dragged his jeans up that Ian felt the pain on his arm. Confused, he looked at his forearm in the moonlight and saw a crescent shaped welt there.

"Did you... bite me?"

"The fuck you talkin' bout, Gallagher?"

Ian held his arm out, showing Mickey the red mark. "It's bleeding!" he said with an incredulous laugh, but the older boy just shook his head in denial.

Mickey sat up on the ledge, leaning back against the cold metal of the fence and wiped the sweat off his brow. He lit a cigarette, taking a few puffs before passing it to the redhead. Ian accepted the cigarette but kept his eyes trained on Mickey, deep in thought. The bite didn't hurt that badly... honestly, he was just surprised that Mickey had marked him.

"Yo, d'you bring the beer?"

Ian nodded and reached for his backpack, grabbed two cans and passed one to Mickey. The boys spent the next half hour smoking and finishing off the beer Ian had brought along, talking about nothing in particular, but content nevertheless.

"You ready to go again?" Mickey asked as he killed the last can and crushed it under his boot. Ian got up, grinned, and started opening his pants enthusiastically.

This time around, he found it hard to fuck Mickey with the same intensity he'd had during their first round. He settled for strong, albeit slow thrusts. It wasn't like Mickey was complaining—his shallow breathing and small sighs evidence of just how good it felt.

Ian leaned forward so that his chest was flush with Mickey's sweat-slicked back. He shifted his arms to wrap around Mickey's chest, practically hugging the older boy while pulling his pale body towards his own freckled one.

He rested his forehead on Mickey's shoulder, exhausted from pushing so deeply into the older boy. Ian turned his head and licked a stripe up from Mickey's shoulder to the back of his ear. Mickey shivered.

Ian tentatively kissed the underside of Mickey's chin. When he didn't get pushed away, he deepened the kiss, gently sucking on Mickey's neck. Mickey reached back with one hand and grabbed Ian's head, fingers holding onto the redhead's short hair while Ian continued caressing him.

The next day, Mickey walked into the Kash and Grab with an attitude. "You're a fucking ass," he spat, glaring at Ian who sat behind the register.

"What's up?" Ian asked. He watched the brunette put on the Security jacket he'd cut the sleeves off of, noticing that Mickey hadn't shaved.

"Don't act all innocent. You know what's up," he shot back.

Ian ducked his head and tried to hide his smile from the scruffy brunette. As he'd lain in bed the night before, running his index finger over the bite mark on his arm, he'd wondered how pissed Mickey was going to be the following morning when he noticed the hickey on his neck.

"Asshole."

Mickey let his beard grow out over the next few days, and Ian would have been lying if he said the older boy's new look didn't turn him on.