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lupeloto · 14 days ago

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you should see the other guys fic

basically mickey is slightly injured after a fight and only trusts his husband to take care of him. a very reckless man who thinks he's indestructible and his flustered husband who very much knows he is not

you can find it here on ao3! very whumpy and toothrotting fluff... yo you been warned (also available to read below :p)

Ian stumbles awake as the remote teetering towards the edge of his grasp finally crashes to the ground. He rubs his eyes furiously and begrudgingly pulls himself upright. His eyes adjust to the clock below the TV reading ten past eleven. He had fallen asleep with late-night cartoons practically blasting on the television and a crushed energy drink can lying on the coffee table, trying and failing to aid him in waiting for Mickey to get home. There is a small pool of drool at the hem of his dark grey tank-top that he looks at with a bit of a scowl in disgust. Mickey had gone out to do some “motorcycle thing” as he half-assed explained it, with Lip. Ian grilled him on it only slightly to ensure no sketchy shit was going down that would land Mickey in jail with a bond they couldn’t afford, and therefore land himself at Lip’s doorstep with a lecture and the threat of beatdown that he would never follow through with.. Mickey had told him he would be home by ten, so Ian gathers himself off the couch, tossing the tattered forest green blanket across the armchair and heads to the bedroom to check for him. It happens a lot with one of them passing out on the couch and the other not bothering to wake them as whoever it is is usually met with a grumble and refusal to move. He rounds the corner into their bedroom, his hand nicking on a chip in the wooden doorframe, he curses to himself before smiling at the memory of two too many whiskeys and the best sex he’s ever had. Mickey is nowhere to be found, the bed untouched with tight corners pulled taut and not a wrinkle present in the dark navy comforter. It’s been a habit of Ian’s since ROTC, one Mickey found incredibly irritating and moderately endearing. Distant police sirens simultaneously hum in his years. He doesn’t think much of it until they get closer and louder as the seconds pass. At home, he wouldn’t think twice but police sirens on the West Side are few and far between, especially along their street. He curses to himself as he considers the very real possibility that Lip has gotten Mickey involved in more of his idiotic bullshit that would be impossible to pull off without his husband’s years of expertise in the field of delinquency.

He throws a pair of shorts over Mickey’s tight checkered blue boxers that he stole, hugging his thighs a bit more than they did Mickey’s. The sirens come to a halt in front of the apartment complex as he flies down the stairs and out the front door, meeting an officer, young and fit with ashy blonde hair whose charm is completely obliterated by his profession. An older, gray-haired one sits in the driver’s seat of the car behind him, scrolling on his phone without a single glance up.

“You’re Ian Gallagher?” he asks, resting his thumbs in his belt.

“Yeah? Is everything okay?” Ian asks, his skin beginning to crawl as his heart rate skyrockets.

“Well we found your-” Behind the cop, a battered and bruised Mickey stumbles out of the back of the cop car with a shit-eating grin on his face the minute he lays eyes on Ian.

Ian cuts him off, brushing past him immediately to Mickey’s side, “What the fuck happened to you?” His voice is stern yet soft as he stabilizes a stumbling Mickey, gripping onto his forearm and shoulder with a gentle strength so as not to cause further damage, “What the fuck happened to him?” His tone is now sharper, harsher as he directs his attention towards the cops, puffing his chest, straightening his posture and stepping in front of Mickey.

“It’s alright, Ian,” Mickey huffs, “You should see the other guys.”

The older cop scoffs and rolls his eyes as the handsome one glides over the comment with ease, “He got into a brawl with a couple of guys, refused to let us bring him to a hospital, said his husband was an EMT and could patch him up.” The man tilts his head to seek confirmation from Ian. Ian shuts his eyes and smiles very faintly to himself, “Yeah, I can patch him up.”

Mickey smirks, leaning faintly on Ian, “Told ya,” he heads for the door, his left foot carrying his weight as he tries desperately to hide the pain in his right ankle, “Come on, I’m fucking starving.” Ian races to help him up the few steps to the front door but he refuses, “I got it, i’m fucking fine.”

The officer pulls Ian aside as Mickey slowly makes his way up the steps, “He was jumped by a few guys trying to harass this girl. He won’t give any information about their appearance or anything. We just wanna help find these guys.”

Ian nods. “Thank you, officer.”

“You two have a nice night. Be safe.” He returns to the passenger side of the car, the other man barely looking up from his phone as he drives them away.

Ian rushes to open the door for Mickey, ignoring his protests and giving the back of his neck a light squeeze and rub, “Jesus Christ, Mick. What the hell happened?”

Mickey mumbles in response, clearly desperate for solace on their sofa, so Ian halts the interrogation until they make it back into the apartment. They reach the door, Ian keeping one hand on Mickey’s shoulder and the other hovering behind him. Mickey leans into the supporting hand as they pass the threshold of the doorway, practically collapsing on the counter in relief before Ian ushers him to the couch.

Ian sets a pillow on the coffee table and lifts the hurt leg gently to rest on it, Mickey attempting to mask his wincing with every movement , “Damn Gallagher why don’t I just get you a giant brick you can fuckin’ drop on it?”

“Drama queen,” Ian scoffs, placing his palm on top of Mickey’s head as he passes into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He hands Mickey the glass, earning a disgruntled “Thanks” in response before fetching the First-Aid duffel from under the bathroom sink. It’s bright red, alarmingly so, and about as big as an overnight bag, filled with the essentials that are often overlooked in those shitty cases you can get at the grocery store. Ian makes a point to pick apart and insult the remnants inside those drugstore kits, listing all of the missing tools and injuries that could go untreated with the contents in the case. Mickey always nods along in faux-disbelief.

Ian plops the bag on the couch next to Mickey, standing over him. His heart aches slightly at the sight, a cut above his left eyebrow whose dried blood has dripped onto his eyelid, a considerably large gash going from his lower lip to his chin, and a couple of freshly-forming bruises scattered across his cheeks and right eye. Mickey notices Ian’s furrowed brow and slight frown, “I look sexy?” He flashes a toothy grin, crimson-red blood staining his teeth.

Ian rolls his eyes, “What happened, Mick?” He daps a soft gauze with saline solution and begins with the cut on his forehead. Mickey flinches at first, yanking away from Ian’s grasp. Ian flashes his doe-eyes, warm and filled with a comfort that immediately melts Mickey, allowing his reflexes to relax and give into Ian’s soft touch.

“Just a couple’a guys bugging this girl,” his big brown eyes shifting up to meet Ian’s, “She told ‘em to fuck off, they didn’t listen. I told ‘em to fuck off…” he gestures to his face, “Well turns out there were two more of ‘em.”

Ian flashes a look of disapproval, “Jesus, Mick. Taking on four guys was fucking stupid.” He hesitates, “The girl okay?”

“Yeah, she bolted but came back to try and help me,” he cringes as Ian dabs at the gash on his lower lip, “Called the cops… didn’t need those pigs but…”

“Mhm,” Ian smiles before smacking Mickey’s uninjured arm with no real force.

“Jesus christ!” Mickey theatrically grabs his arm with the opposite hand, “Some fucking caregiver you are.”

“You were stupid to take on that many guys,” Ian casually returns to patching Mickey up, placing a small bandaid on the gash, “Could’ve ended a lot fucking worse, Mick.” He avoids eye contact as he tends to the dried blood staining his cheeks, scrubbing lightly to remove it where it resides on the smaller cuts and bruises littering his cheeks.

“I got a few good licks in, don’t worry,” Mickey grins, his attempt to lighten the mood crashing and burning within the same moment. “Hey,” he grabs Ian’s hand and guides it down slowly, “I’m okay,” he tilts Ian’s chin to meet his eyes, “I’m in one piece, I got you takin’ care of me. I couldn’t be better.”

Ian cracks instantly at Mickey’s subdued grin and soothing voice washing over him, “Still pissed at you,” he says as he applies the last few steri-strips to his lower lip.

“Mhm sure you are,” Mickey hums as Ian tucks a small tuft of his hair off his forehead and presses a delicate peck next to the cut, lightly caressing his cheek with his thumb.

Ian moves to lift Mickey’s ankle, Mickey stopping him in the process, “C’mere for a minute, I’m exhausted,” he nods his head toward the empty spot next to him on the couch.

“I gotta get this ankle looked at,” Ian insists.

“Can we do it in a little bit?” Mickey groans, noticing Ian’s hesitation and immediately whipping out the cow eyes, “Please?”

Ian caves instantly, plopping on the cushion next to Mickey. Mickey flashes his victory smile, earning an eye roll from his very amused husband. Mickey goes to remove his black tank-top, the collar now stained with blood that escaped his lip wound. He winces with each movement, Ian doing the heavy lifting and pulling it gently over his head. Mickey doesn’t resist the help, only flashing a small grin in thanks. Mickey doesn’t protest when Ian delicately pulls him in between his legs, Mickey’s bare back resting comfortably against Ian’s torso. Ian wraps his arms around Mickey’s shoulders, consuming him in a tranquil embrace that immediately relaxes both parties. Ian digs his nose into the top of Mickey’s head, placing three consecutive kisses to the tufts of his hair. Mickey squeezes his arm and rubs his thumbs softly along his hand. He rests his chin on Mickey’s head and closes his eyes, his grip tightening slightly around him as he feels Mickey’s breath even out and his limbs twitch every few seconds as he drifts into a off. Ian is not far behind him.

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