"...That the kind of leadership you plan on bringing to the Army?"

Ian glanced quickly over at Mickey before placing Frank's twenty in the drawer. "Said last night's bottom."

"Whatever. Liking what I like don't make me a bitch." Ian looked up to find Mickey watching him and, for a moment, held his gaze. Mickey smirked and turned his attention to the magazine he'd already flipped through once, leaving Ian feeling a tiny bit flushed from his stare.

"We could always switch it up a little," Ian said with a shrug. It was something he'd caught himself thinking about during the months that Mickey was in juvie, his mind wandering at night or when he had a few extra minutes in the shower. He'd meant it to sound casual, maybe a bit teasing, but nonetheless he felt his face turning pink, his heart beating a bit faster. He chanced another glance over at Mickey and saw him freeze for a split second. His eyes rose and he met Ian's gaze, his face carefully kept blank as he took a breath before turning to the side.

Returning the magazine to the stand, Mickey paused a moment then turned back, his eyes wandering up toward the security camera above them before settling squarely on Ian's face. "Think I'm gonna go have a smoke," he said, changing the subject. "You good up here?" Without waiting for an answer, he walked to the back door and stepped out, leaving Ian rolling his eyes and fighting to focus his attention less on the idea of Mickey fucking him and more on the restock list he'd been writing up.

At the end of the night, Ian locked the front door and flipped the sign to closed. Linda had radioed and, after threatening to end lives if anything was out of place in the morning, announced that she was heading to bed. Ian counted up the drawer and headed to the back room, where he spotted Mickey leaning against a corner shelf drinking a beer, a cigarette in his other hand.

Taking the cigarette from Mickey's fingers, Ian took a drag and said, "You've gotta be kidding me."

Mickey offered Ian the beer can and belched. "What?"

"First day on the job and, all that shit she gave us about the register matching inventory, and you're back here drinking a beer?" Ian grinned and chugged half the beer, handing it to Mickey to polish off.

"Perfect way to end the longest fucking day of my life," Mickey said with a smirk, then downed the rest. He set the empty can aside and reclaimed the cigarette from Ian's hand, taking a long drag. "Anyways, what's she gonna do, call the fucking cops? Bitch has bigger things to worry right now about than a couple of beers, if you ask me." Putting the cigarette between his lips, he cracked another can open and handed it to Ian.

"She could fire you," Ian pointed out, meeting his eyes and taking a few gulps from the can. Mickey was openly watching his every move now that they were alone, his appraising gaze lingering on Ian's chest, his shoulders, his arms... Ian suddenly had to fight the ridiculous urge to flex something.

"Fuck off. We both know you're replacing these first thing in the morning anyway... 'civic pride' or some bullshit."

Ian said nothing at first, just shook his head and took one last drag off the cigarette and tossed it onto the floor, stubbing it out with his shoe. He looked back up to see Mickey setting down the beer can and shrugging off his jacket. "You know, you could stand to gain a few friends around here, Mickey. You don't have to be such a dick all the time."

Mickey snorted and tossed his jacket on the shelf behind them. "I don't need any fucking friends, Gallagher... I'm not exactly the kinda guy who has 'em."

"We're friends, though..." Ian countered, cautiously watching Mickey from the corner of his eye. "Well, sometimes it kind of feels like it, anyway."

Mickey stared silently at Ian for a moment, then said, "You keep talking like that, you're gonna find yourself laid out on the fucking floor."

"I think I could take you." Ian's responding smirk quickly turned into a grin, and he saw the hint of a smile pull at the corners of Mickey's mouth. Before he knew it, he was spun around, Mickey's forearm across his shoulder blades, pushing his chest against the shelf. "Shit," he gasped, gripping the edge of the shelf, trying to catch his breath from the sudden adrenaline he felt racing through his veins.

"Let's get one thing straight, Ian Gallagher," Mickey spoke quietly but forcefully, lips against Ian's ear. "Just because we're fucking doesn't mean I won't kick your ass." Mickey was pressed flush against Ian's back, breathing heavily into his ear, and Ian could feel him getting harder by the second. He made to step back and turn around, but was quickly stopped by Mickey's hands holding him in place, one wrapping around his and the other lightly gripping the back of his neck. "Don't fucking move," Mickey said into his ear, and Ian could hardly contain the groan building in his throat at the sound of his voice.

Mickey slid his hands down Ian's back, pulling his hips flush against his own before he reached around to unbutton Ian's jeans. He quickly had them unzipped and down around Ian's ankles along with his boxers, and Ian felt him step back for a few moments. He struggled not to turn around and look when he heard the rip of the condom wrapper and the sound of Mickey's jeans sliding down his legs.

Ian heard Mickey's breathing speeding up to match his own as he stepped closer, and he felt a shiver run up his spine when Mickey lightly gripped his hip and rested his forehead on Ian's shoulder. He wondered just how he could possibly get any harder when Mickey tightened his hold, and he could hear the strain in Mickey's voice when he whispered, "Ready?"

"Yeah," Ian nodded as his answer came out as hardly more than an exhalation. There was a pause as they both took a breath, and Ian nearly came right then at the sound from Mickey's throat when he fucking finally pushed in.

Barely a second passed before Mickey pulled back slowly and thrust back in even further. Ian could feel him practically vibrating behind him from the restraint it was taking to keep it slow. He gasped for air and pushed slightly back against him, tightening his grip on the shelf in front of him. "Fuck," Mickey ground out, almost apologetically, as he grabbed Ian's other hip and finally began to move.

Ian worked to stay quiet as his eyes shut tightly and he thought of nothing but just how fucking good it all felt - the slight ache he felt with each forward thrust, Mickey's forehead pressed hard against the back of his shoulder, the fingertips digging into his hips, their grunts and sighs in time with the creaking of the metal he was holding on to.

The hands on his hips loosened their grip, and Ian opened his eyes to see Mickey's hands reaching up alongside his own to grasp onto the shelving. Mickey moved impossibly closer and his movements became shorter, faster; Ian reached down with one hand and with a few quick strokes, came almost immediately. He vaguely felt Mickey stiffen behind him soon after, saw his knuckles turn white as his hold tightened and he let out a loud groan of release.

They stood in place for a moment, Mickey pulling out as they both fought to catch their breath. Mickey was first to move, releasing his hold on the shelving and stepping back to pull up his jeans. Buttoning his own jeans, Ian turned to see Mickey sitting on a couple cases of beer, still panting heavily and lighting up a cigarette. He glanced up at Ian, taking a long drag and gave him a cocky grin. "You don't look half bad from behind, Gallagher."