Okay, so this is the last chapter. I'm kind of sad to finish this, but I can't possibly drag it out anymore. . . I don't know how the ending turned out tbh, but I couldn't think of another way to end it that I was happy with. So please leave me comments and thank you so much for everyone that read and reviewed up till now. I know I haven't been great at updating this regularly :/ enjoy. . .

Mickey had to keep kicking Ian under the table of the little diner they went to. The guy kept grinning like an idiot and it was distracting. Mickey couldn't quite work out what the hell had happened, not that he'd say he was sorry for it. They'd fucked, that bit he didn't mind in the slightest and then suddenly Gallagher went from spewing a load of crap about how Mickey was going to want to pretend that that had all never happened and then he was apparently putting the pieces together and calling Mickey out on what he had done.

It had left Mickey reeling, especially given that he'd expected Ian to be disgusted, to storm off, to hate him. But no, Gallagher was apparently still as fucked in the head as ever because all he'd done was kiss Mickey like his entire life depended on that action. And, Mickey knew it was probably the gayest thing ever, but he didn't care. Not right then, because it felt like the entire world was slipping back into place.

And really, who wouldn't think that when they had a naked Ian Gallagher trying to kiss all the oxygen straight out of his lungs. They'd fucked again, apparently both still having the recovery time off teenagers. It had been fast and hard and dirty against the bathroom wall, with Ian biting down on Mickey's shoulder and Mickey biting down on his own forearm. It had been exactly like all those years ago, except it hadn't been the same at all.

And eventually they'd made it to the diner Mickey had mentioned and both were demolishing stacks of pancakes from the all-day breakfast menu. It was weirdly domestic and perfect and it had something coiling inside of Mickey's stomach. He would have thought it was him wanting to hurl, but he thought maybe it was contentment. Because, this was actually what he'd always wanted, even if he'd never admitted that.

Just him and Ian, no bullshit and no pretences. At least not between the two of them. Sure, to the outside world they probably just looked like friends and they'd never be the sort of couple to ruin that image. They'd never walk down the street holding hands, they'd never do anything outrightly gay in public, but that was because what they had was their business. It was theirs and theirs alone. It wasn't worth ruining over anything stupid.

Even Mickey could acknowledge that.

"Fuck off," Ian snapped at him, hitting his forearm with a sticky spoon when Mickey leant across the table to try and swipe Ian's last pancake.

Mickey scowled at him when Ian rammed the whole thing in his mouth, syrup dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. He sucked the stickiness of his forearm with his eyes on Ian and something seemed to crackle in the air between them that had them both smiling.

"So," Ian said, smirking ever so slightly, "What do you think of kissing now?"

He settled back into his seat and looked at Mickey over his coffee cup, obviously not thinking that Mickey was going to answer if the look on his face was anything to go by. "We're really having that fucking conversation?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and seriously having to resist the urge to snort.

Ian shrugged, "Couldn't think of another topic."

"So naturally you just decided you were going to talk about something random," Mickey replied and it wasn't a question. He already knew that Ian had some serious issues when it came to silence. He'd long since resigned himself to the fact that being near Ian Gallagher was most likely going to result in serious earache, but the guy made up for it in other ways and if Mickey was being completely honest, he didn't mind how much Ian talked.

Ian pulled a face at him and Mickey kicked him under the table, because he couldn't quite decide if that had been childish or just really fucking gay. "So right," Ian said, apparently having come up with a new topic in the space of a minute – surprise surprise – "I was thinking I might stick around here you know, New York I mean, because I don't exactly want to be working at the Kash and Grab for the rest of my life and fighting pays better than most other jobs I can think of."

Mickey stared at him and he wouldn't admit that this time the reason he didn't open his mouth was because he was too afraid of what he'd say when he did. He wanted to ask if that meant Ian was sticking around. He wanted to ask what the hell that meant for the two of them. Except, he didn't want to ask those questions at all. Just like he didn't want to ask about what was happening with Cole or how Ian felt or any shit like that. Mickey was all for burying his head in the sand and only having to deal with shit when it actually had the balls to come up and bite him in the ass.

Problem was, Gallagher always seemed to be one for having balls where other people wouldn't – surprisingly no pun intended – and he definitely had no problem biting Mickey in the ass.

And those really weren't thoughts he wanted to be having in the middle of a diner for fuck's sake because he was started to get a damn boner. He swore there was just something about Ian that made him feel like a teenager all over again. It was stupid.

"You have a weird look on your face," Ian commented, chewing at his bottom lip, "Does that mean you'd rather I didn't stay here, because I mean I get that, it's been a while and you have your own life here now and you probably don't want me bursting in and messing everything up, which is fine, I completely understand and everything. It was just an idea. I completely get that you wouldn't want me working with you either, because I mean that's probably too much of me or something."

Mickey just stared at him. "What the fuck are you talking about, Firecrotch?" he asked, wondering if reaching across the table and banging Ian's head against the wall would get them kicked out, "We've worked together before and besides, thought we already had a conversation about you saying stupid shit."

Ian blinked, "Wait so you wouldn't mind if I moved to New York then?"

"Stupid question," Mickey commented, slapping some money down on the table before sliding out of the booth and moving towards the door. He glanced back over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "You fucking coming or what?"

It was safe to say he'd never seen Ian move so fast in his life. Well, except maybe that time that Terry almost walked in on them and Ian literally leapt into his trousers. "So like what are we doing here exactly?" Ian asked once they were outside, pressing closer to Mickey so that he wouldn't lose him in the mayhem that was people walking. It was lunchtime for most people working – who actually had normal jobs at least – so the streets were packed. It was the only thing about New York that pissed Mickey the fuck off and he had to say it made him glad that his job allowed for him to have a viable excuse to sleep away most of the daytime hours.

"Walking," he replied sarcastically, because he didn't know how else to answer Ian's question without sounding like a complete douche. Or at least without sounding like a complete emotional douche.

Ian snorted, "You know what I meant."

And yeah, Mickey had known what he meant because for one, Mickey wasn't stupid. The only problem was that as he'd already worked out, Ian made him feel like a teenager again. And the issue with Mickey feeling like a teenager was all the stress he'd managed to get rid of just seemed to pile right back onto his shoulders again. He couldn't explain it. He thought maybe it had something to do with the fact that having Gallagher close meant he felt like someone was going to catch him out on something.

But then, he didn't know why the hell he cared. This was New York, Terry was in jail and hated the city anyway so it wasn't like he was going to catch him and Mickey was too old to be living in his father's shadow, to be living in fear of him anymore. It was as annoying as fuck, but Mickey didn't really know how to change. He supposed to first step was acknowledging that he did actually want to be able to be somebody more than a paranoid fuck when he was with Gallagher.

Although he really doubted that anything was going to change the fact that he was more than a little bit rough around the edges and Ian certainly wasn't going to turn him into someone that was polite. But there was just something about being around Ian that always brought out his better side. Or at least the best side that a Milkovich could have.

"Why the fuck are you asking me that, Gallagher, seriously?" he asked, looking sideways at Ian and trying not to see the quick flash of hurt that flickered across his features at Mickey's next words, "You're the one with the fuckhead boyfriend, not me."

And even though Mickey felt like he did have a point, that didn't stop him from wishing that for once he'd just kept his trap shut. He'd only just gotten Ian back, even if it was a small part of him and even Mickey wasn't stupid enough to want to push him away again. Or at least not intentionally. The problem was, Mickey had this habit of forgetting what words could actually hurt and which words wouldn't. It was a difficult and strange existence being a Milkovich.

The thing he was grateful for though was that while Ian seemed to have no problem taking shit from his boyfriend, he didn't let Mickey get away with much. He never had. The only time that Ian had never called Mickey out on his bullshit or punched him for being a complete dick was that one time that had ruined it all. A part of Mickey always wondered what would have happened if he hadn't said that, but then he was pretty convinced he'd be dead in a gutter so he supposed this was the better future.

Ian didn't even hesitate to drag him into an alley, forcing him up against the wall with an arm across Mickey's chest to pin him in place; and that really shouldn't have been turning Mickey on, but it did. He couldn't help it, he could get hard just seeing Gallagher. So he didn't think it was that illogical to have this sort of reaction to Ian being pressed up against him. Especially since Ian when he was angry, when he was red faced and his eyes were all wide looking, well that was just as hot as fuck.

"Fuck you," Ian snarled at him, ever the inventive one when it came to insults of jibes. . . not.

Mickey smirked, "You already did, remember, or is your memory that fucking short?"

And something in Ian's expression seemed to soften at that. Like the fact that Mickey had no problem referring to the fact they'd slept together counted as a win to him or something. Despite that softened expression though, Ian didn't let up on his hold and he even managed to pull off something close to a sneer before his mouth crashed against Mickey's. And really, Mickey would have been pissed that Gallagher was defying the fundamental rule that whatever the fuck they had had been built up on. The fact that this whole relationship or whatever was supposed to be a secret. But then he found that he couldn't really bring himself to give a shit what with how Ian's tongue was sliding past the seam of his lips, hot and demanding as it flicked into his mouth and tangled with his own tongue. It was a battle for dominance, just like everything with them seemed to be and Mickey could taste blood even after just a minute, but he didn't bother even thinking about stopping to find out who's it was. It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered, but the feel of Ian's hands on his hips, his touch practically burning. Or the way that he could feel Ian's erection pressing against him through both of their trousers. Or the fact that he could taste mint toothpaste and syrup and a hint of stale cigarettes on Ian's tongue and that it wasn't in any way disgusting like it should have been. Nothing seemed to matter except the fact that Mickey thought maybe he'd been waiting a long time for this, too long in fact and he didn't know how to admit that, but he didn't exactly know how to deny it either.

Ian laughed when Mickey moaned, dragging himself away and nipping at the exposed column of Mickey's pale throat as the ex-con tilted his head back so that it thunked against the wall behind him. They were both breathing hard and Mickey could feel Ian's breath against his cheek and jaw and Ian still hadn't let go of his hips, but then Mickey hadn't eased up on the hold he had on Ian's shirt either.

"So now that you're not hungry, what do you want to do?" Ian asked, his hand slipping down and squeezing Mickey through his jeans, forcing a choked noise out of the older guy.

"Stupid. Fucking. Question. Gallagher. Seriously!" Mickey snarled out, pushing Ian away from him forcefully so that he didn't come in his pants like he was still twelve or something. Ian looked shocked and maybe even a little hurt for a second before Mickey grabbed a hold of his wrist and started dragging him in the direction of his apartment.

It wasn't quite holding hands, because Mickey refused to reduce them to that level, but he still thought it fucking counted because it was close. Ian knew it was about as close as Mickey was going to ever let it get when they were walking through the streets like this. But hey, Ian knew better than anyone that if he got Mickey horny enough, he'd do a lot of things to be able to get them back to a place where they could fuck.

They didn't even make it to the door of the apartment before Ian had Mickey pressed against a wall, rutting against him in the corridor right outside, his touch branding Mickey in a way that almost felt like a mark of fucking ownership. The thing was, he was too far gone to even think to car.

He just grabbed the back of Ian's head roughly, pushing his fingers through Ian's hair and dragging him in for a brutal kiss. Because even though he'd dodged the question earlier, kissing Ian was better than he ever could have imagined it. Which was what he had been afraid of and undoubtedly why he'd been avoiding doing so for so long. It was addictive and heady and it made him so fucking needy that he felt like he was coming apart at the seams.

It was ridiculous and he couldn't get enough.

He rolled them along the wall, not even stopping kissing Ian for a minute as he fumbled with his keys and unlocked the door behind them. And then he was pushing Ian through, wanting to practically whine at the loss of contact but knowing it was necessary because soon, so amazingly soon, he was planning on having Ian spread out on his bed, cheeks flushed and eyes wide as Mickey dragged every single ounce of pleasure possible out of him. Mickey wanted to make him whine and beg and moan. He wanted to make sure Ian didn't have a chance in hell of wanting to leave.

He kicked the front door shut behind him, still panting and only just then realised that Cole had Ian pressed up against the entranceway wall, a hand around his throat. He could feel Ian gasping a little for breath, but Cole had him lifted up enough that he had to strain to still get air into his lungs. It would be so easy for Ian to push Cole off, he was stronger and he would have had the element of surprise. Except Mickey knew from experience that it when you were being strangled all instinct flew out the window and more than anything you just kept scrambling at the hand around your throat, trying to loosen it.

Just as Ian was doing right then.

It only took Cole about ten seconds to realise that Mickey had a gun pointed at his head and when he did his eyes went wide and Mickey swore he even went a little green. He laughed, the sound harsh and loud in the enclosed space of the apartment. His aim never faltered for a minute though, he never looked away from Cole even as he laughed. Mickey didn't know a lot of things, but he knew how to handle a gun and he knew how to fight. He knew how to kill; and as he'd already proved, he was more than willing to do it for Gallagher.

"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the person he could safely say he hated more than anyone else. Even Terry and that was saying something. "You don't think I know where the fuck the guns are kept in my own apartment, you really are a dumb shit, aren't you?"

Mickey lived with three above averagely attractive girls who had a tendency for getting themselves into shit. He also lived in a shitty part of New York where break-ins definitely weren't unheard of. That and he was a fucking Milkovich to top it all off. So of course he had guns stashed around the apartment and of course he fucking knew how to use them. The fact that Cole had thought even for a second it was a good idea to try and pull this sort of shit in a place Mickey was so familiar with made him even stupider than Mickey originally thought.

He was seriously starting to worry for Ian's taste in men.

"Right, so here are your fucking options," Mickey said, refusing to look at Ian because he knew if he did, he wouldn't look away and it wasn't a good idea right then to take his eyes off of Cole, "You can either fuck off and never come back or I can blow your brains out all over the wall, it's fucking up to you." And he knew that the look on his face practically said, "And if you think I won't do it, you're wrong."

It really wasn't all that much of a surprise to Mickey how quickly the fuckhead bolted. People who batted around those they were in a relationship were generally the people who were really the most cowardly fucks of society. What did surprise him was how suddenly Ian latched onto him. Arms went around his shoulders and he was jerked close to the familiar heat of Ian's body so fast that his head span.

"Jesus Christ, Gallagher, what part about this meant I was okay with soppy shit?" Mickey growled under his breath, squirming in Ian's hold and hating the fact that the guy just kept on packing on muscle more than a little bit.

Ian laughed, his voice dropping low and doing things to Mickey that the ex-con really didn't want to think too much about for the sake of his own sanity. "How about the part where I suck you off and then fuck you till you pass out?" Ian asked casually, his hands pushing up under Mickey's shirt and ragged fingernails scraping down Mickey's back, making him arch into Ian slightly.

Having to practically force himself to sound nonchalant, Mickey shrugged as best he could while plastered against Ian like he was. "Get the fuck to it then," he growled, his voice cracking just a little bit when Ian's tongue swiped a hot line across his jaw. He liked the pretend that Ian didn't notice that fact though.

But then, Mickey liked to pretend a hell of a lot of things.