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[y0itsbri]

kinktober day 13 - thigh riding @gallavichthings

the ink under my skin

alternative universe w/ tattoo artist! mickey

ian is a goddamn piece of work, but mickey is ready to turn him into a piece of art.

words: 5.2k

"get the fuck out of my store, man," mickey rubbed his eyebrow in irritation at the nuisance wasting his time.

"you said that you tattoo anything!" the man pleaded. pleaded. god this was fucking pathetic.

"i tattoo anything that's not a stupid fucking idea. if you don't leave by the time i turn around i'll chop off your nuts. maybe keep them in a jar next to your dick."

mickey didn't have to turn around to hear the gasp that the man let out. pussy. god, he probably would have passed out under his needle.

he heard the door open and close again as the man left. mickey continued rifling through his sketchbook when he felt a smack to his neck and a shrill voice pierce his ears, "stupid!"

"who me?"

"yes, you!"

"the fuck did i do?!"

mandy glared at him.

"maybe we would actually be booked if you didn't threaten every idiot who wants a stupid tattoo."

"i ain't gonna be responsible for that shit. it's bad advertising."

"i don't see why you couldn't have just given it to him anyways. he was cute."

"i'm not tattooing people just because you want to fuck them."

she paused, smirked.

"fine, tattoo them because you want to fuck them."

mickey choked.

"excuse me?"

"you heard me. you're bitchy when you don't get laid and you nearly snapped my neck this morning because you dropped your waffle."

"it was the last chocolate chip waffle, bitch, and you fuckin' know it!"

mandy bit her lip, stifling a laugh as the silence lulled over them for a minute.

after mickey no longer bordered on homicidal over his unfortunate breakfast, he sighed.

"hey," mandy squeezed his shoulder, "show me that new shit you were working on."

---

"ian, you can't be fucking serious!"

"what? it was a good idea!"

"in what fucking world!" fiona flicked his forehead from across the counter before returning to dish duty.

ian sighed, relented. "fine, it may not have been my best moment, but it didn't deserve that reaction! my nuts, fi, my nuts!"

"help me with these dishes or i'll chop 'em off myself," she pointed a spatula at him as threateningly as she could manage. despite the choice of utensil, the look she gave to accompany it was more than enough.

ian brought his plate to the sink and took over. fi leaned against the counter, sipping on her soda.

"you know, i think your heart was in the right place, but please ian, for the love of god, do not get monica's face tattooed on that set of horrendous tits."

---

mickey was halfway through an old client's new tattoo when the door swung open. when he saw who it was he jumped and nearly fucked up his lines.

"what the fuck, mick?" rossi grumbled from the table.

"my bad. take a break, i gotta take care of something."

when a milkovich said they had to take care of something, you knew better than to ask questions. rossi had been around the block enough to know better. he pulled out his phone, eager to avoid whatever confrontation the red-headed idiot was about to endure. poor bastard.

"get the fuck out."

"i just got here?" the man questioned, eyebrows furrowed.

"yeah, i know who you are, tits." mickey leaned against the countertop.

"okay, maybe we didn't get off on the right foot, but my name is ian, not tits."

mickey stared daggers into the idiot man standing in front of him, noting how his eyes seemed to look mickey once over from top to bottom and up again. mickey normally would make good on his promises of nut chopping if anyone looked at him the way ian was looking at him, and the urge was real strong, but he couldn't help but give a bit. bend until you break or some type of shit. and he was bending real hard.

"what do you want? another nudie?"

"i see how out of line i was with the whole situation. i thought maybe it would be perfect to commemorate my mother--"

"hold up, your mom?" mickey laughed, more amused than annoyed at this point, "that's fucked up, dude."

"yeah, i thought you were listening to me yesterday."

"nah, man. my brain shut off immediately after i heard the word tit."

a stare-down.

"i wanted to fix the tits." he said at last.

"so the tits are already there."

"yes." ian sighed, exasperated.

the guy reached to pull down his tee shirt, the fabric popping a bit with the stretch. mickey's stomach twisted as skin was being exposed bit by bit... until he saw the atrocity.

"no. fuckin'. way. not only is that an awful sketch, but the technique..." mickey cringed. he's seen a lot of shit, and even though this wasn't his art, he couldn't stand the sight of it on the beautiful man in front of him.

"so? will you help?"

"yeah, we're absolutely covering this shit. gonna have to pay me extra to stare at tits for fucking hours though."

"extra, huh?" ian's eyebrows furrowed again, trying to reason why any straight man would oppose to staring at the objectively decent rack imprinted in his skin. unless.

mickey had grown fidgety. he wasn't for sure that this guy was gay and even though his shop sported a rainbow flag in the front window, he still felt nervous just saying shit like that.

"uh, anyways, got any ideas of what you might want?"

"i was kinda hoping you could help with that."

"i can try, but i don't know your mom, dude. i don't wanna go all therapy in this bitch, but like, maybe we can talk between my appointments whenever you're free?"

ian perked up. was he making a move?

"but i'll be here. always here."

--

ian came into the shop a couple times. okay 'a few times' was maybe laying it casual. he was there everyday. sometimes twice a day. bringing mickey snacks for his breaks after learning that the man's healthy eating habits were practically non-existent. he shuddered at the thought.

ian had learned to look past the menacing front that was the threatening man with a tattoo gun. he saw mickey in his element, quiet and thoughtful. passionate and precise.

the more time that ian spent there, the more he understood that the messy décor of the shop wasn't simply clutter. it was clean and homely, in a way that felt very distinctly mickey.

mickey's sister, mandy, was there most times when he came in. she exclusively did piercings and bookings, so she didn't need to be there quite as often. usually whenever ian came in, she accepted whatever drink he brought her with a smile and a lingering touch before disappearing into the backroom for the remainder of the time.

ian didn't know much about businesses, but it assumed she was running numbers or some shit. he couldn't really care less.

mickey seemed to genuinely want to know about monica, asking about her life and their favorite times together. it was so odd to talk about her so freely with someone who had no prior judgement or hatred. he realized how deeply he missed talking about her. mickey occasionally made eye contact, looking up from whatever task he had busied himself with, eyes soft.

a few times, they had met out back, lighting up two cigarettes and sitting in relative silence. mickey looked like he had a million thoughts twisting in his head, but sometimes ian just being there seemed to calm him. towards the end of these breaks, mickey would stub out the remains of his smoke and indulge ian into a bit of his brain's workings from 'my brothers are idiots.' to 'what the fuck am i doing here?'

ian was too busy admiring mickey's profile that he didn't notice his cigarette burn to the end of the filter, slightly burning his fingertips. he dropped it with a yelp.

mickey's head snapped towards ian's then, eyes panicked before he saw ian cradling his hurt finger. he shuffled his boot towards the butt of the cigarette, crushing out the smoke, and in a move that completely shocked ian, he grabbed ian's hurt hand. mickey studied the fingers, bending them and straightening them again before kissing his fingertips. once. twice. he stood and wordlessly headed back into the shop while ian was left breathless leaning against the concrete.

--

at first ian had told himself that he was stopping by so often just to check in to see if mickey was there -- making good on his promise of being always here, though ian was growingly feeling dependent on whatever it was that they had going. something that felt caring and natural. something that brightened up his day.

and mickey had mostly held through on his original promise, but once ian just ran into mandy, his eyes lingering towards the backroom.

"he left early."

"you don't even know who i was here for."

mandy sighed as she laid herself across the counter, boots stacking on top of each other. "ian, you're not slick. you're a love-sick idiot. i know you wanna bang my brother."

ian's face flushed. she wasn't wrong, but he also didn't expect this kind of confrontation today.

"actually, i just thought about an idea for my tattoo and wanted to run it by him."

"phones exist?"

oh my god, ian didn't even have his phone number.

"uh, right. what's his number?'

mandy pointed to the sign with their business numbers. she smirked. "don't worry, it's his cell. can only afford one line and fucker wanted to look 'professional'." she put air quotes around the word.

"right," ian tapped the number into his phone, setting the contact name as 'mickey 🔗🥀' and then continued staring at the poster like mickey himself would just pop out of it. wondering if he would make fun of his for that contact name. wondering if he would even save ian's number.

"ian?" mandy called, halfway to the backroom already, leaving him alone in the shop.

"yeah?"

"text him!"

"right."

"fuckin' men," mandy muttered under her breath. "idiots can't even think for themselves."

ian smiled. she reminded him a bit of fiona.

--

[unknown number]: hey mickey. mandy told me to text you

[unknown number]: this is ian btw

mickey 🔗🥀: why the fuck is my sister telling you shit?

mickey 🔗🥀: what did she say?

ian 🚬: just that i could text you if youre not in the store. i came in today and you werent here

mickey 🔗🥀: shit yeah sorry man smth came up

ian 🚬: i need to see you

mickey 🔗🥀: oh?

ian 🚬: i think i have an idea

ian 🚬: for the tattoo thing

mickey 🔗🥀: i dont trust you. meet me at the shop later

ian 🚬: what time is later?

mickey 🔗🥀: i'll text you

--

ian paced in front of his cell phone for the next few hours. checking and double checking that his ringer was on. maybe he should just wait across the street from the store. no, then that would seem desperate. they were just talking. but who just talked after hours? oh no.

mickey 🔗🥀: ready now

ian was out the door so fast that the doorframe rattled and he heard something clang off the wall. that was a problem for later.

--

the front door to the store was unlocked, but the only light that was on was the one in the backroom. ian followed the trail of low orange light to a more private room that looked like if a teenager decorated an office space. which, in truth, wasn't too far from reality.

ian knocked on the door and mickey looked up with a smirk.

"suddenly had a tattoo revelation today, huh?" mickey questioned, walking closer to where ian was leaning in the doorframe.

"totally." ian cleared his throat and stared down at mickey's icy blue eyes.

"what was it?"

"what was what?" ian pushed off the frame, closer to mickey.

mickey chuckled, "the fuckin' tattoo, you idiot."

"right." he brought his hand up to his face, pretending to remember an idea that he never had. "there's no idea."

"i figured as much." he stepped closer so that they were practically breathing the same air at this point.

mickey raked his hands through ian's hair, somehow glowing even more vibrant in the orange lighting of his office.

he softly ran his hands down ian's chest, drawing a whimper out of the other man.

"mmm, would be fun to pierce those."

ian cringed, "uh... ouch?"

"but it'd be so hot." mickey countered with a lopsided grin plastered to his face.

ian considered. he brought his fingers up to trace mickey's own piercings on his eyebrow, nose, lip. mickey opened his mouth with the motion. heat electrifying ian's fingers. mickey's tongue licked out and swirled around his fingertip and ian melted.

mickey gently pushed ian backwards onto the couch. "here." he straddled one of this thighs as he focused his attention on where the imaginary piercings would be

"see, would this be so bad?" ian gasped as mickey's fingertips worked some kind of magic that ian was sure it couldn't be human. he was almost oblivious to the world under mickey's ministrations when he felt a pressure rocking against his thigh.

mickey tilted his head back, eyes squeezing shut. feeling the rhythm, ian knew exactly mickey was after. he rutted his leg up countering mickey.

"goddamn, gallagher." it was strained. oh my god.

ian lifted his hips off the couch, angling his thighs to where mickey was mindlessly aiming.

ian prided himself on his stamina, but the way that this infuriatingly small, tough-but-soft, incredibly grumpy tattoo artist nearly making him cream his pants like a fucking teenager just by grinding against his leg was ridiculous.

ian flipped them so mickey's back bounced off the couch. he scrunched his eyebrows, confused, worried? ian hooked his fingers in the beltloops of his own jeans and tugged down halfway before dropping to press his lips on mickey's neck.

despite heartbeats racing and nearly pounding out of their chests, ian felt mickey relax into the couch, up into him. his hand snaked between them, yanking down his own pants the best he could under ian's weight. ian laughed and sat up on his knees and then off the couch entirely, maneuvering himself so that mickey could get his goddamn pants off.

mickey flushed a deep red, but chuckled beside himself. ian allowed himself a moment to appreciate the fair bare skin before him, watching mickey's flush spread down his body.

ian leaned down and pressed kisses up mickey's ankles, knees, thighs, hips, stomach. mickey squirmed a bit, but his eyes held a curious gaze. ian gave one last sucking kiss to his navel before settling on the couch above him, meeting each other in the middle, building their connection towards their inevitable release with each grind.

--

ian's chest heaved as he diddled his fingers across his chest. after the moment had passed, ian wasn't sure where he stood. if mickey was a one and done type of hook-up guy. if he actually had any chance of getting his tattoo fixed. if he ever had a chance of getting his tattoo fixed.

"you good, man?" mickey asked from across the room, sparking up a cigarette, the cherry glowing amber.

"yeah." was all he could muster. neutral.

he made the mistake of looking over at mickey, eyes glassy and hazed, but not from the smoke.

"wanna watch an episode of friends? i still gotta lock the front door." he zipped up his fly. "hopefully tina didn't get an earful."

"tina?"

"she doesn't have a place to sleep. stays in mandy's office sometimes." mickey shrugged as if that was completely normal. and maybe it was.

--

"to be perfectly clear," mickey noted as the credits rolled across the screen, both their bodies too heavy to move from their position on the couch, slouched together, "the nipple piercings would be free." he smirked lazily up at ian.

ian chuckled, the breaths causing mickey's head to rise and fall with it, "yeah, great. i was really worried about paying full price for your fantasy."

mickey lifted his head just enough to give ian a stern look, "i ain't paying for your titty tattoo cover up, though. that's still on you, asshole."

ian grinned.

"wouldn't have it any other way."

mickey yawned and in a move dangerously intimate for what they were, they tucked into each other, sitcom laugh soundtracks coloring their night.

--

ian woke to the sound of something crashing to the ground followed by a "jesus fucking christ can you fuckin' cooperate for one goddamn day?"

he stretched his legs and let out an involuntary groan as he tried to figure out where the fuck he was.

"ah shit, did i wake you?" mickey asked, eyes wild but surprisingly apologetic.

"no." ian mumbled, sleepy heavy words riddling his mouth.

"liar," mickey walked over to the couch and ruffled his hair, paused a moment, placed a kiss on his forehead.

ian melted into the couch as he let the morning settle around him.

maybe they were something, now. maybe they had been for awhile.

"what're you doing?"

"had some ideas. mocked up some tattoo ideas for the dumbest kid i know."

"oh, who?"

mickey stared.

"right, got it."

"wanna come look?" he almost sounded nervous.

ian made grabby hands. mickey rolled his eyes and brought the book to him. his sleepy fog faded quick when he saw what mickey had been doing.

"holy shit, mickey. this is incredible." he paused, looked at the eagerness in mickey's eyes. the way that he was obviously so proud of himself but would never say it. ian would say it for him. "you're incredible."

the blush that ian had been so accustomed to the last few weeks made it's way onto mickey's cheeks again. he didn't try to deny it like ian thought he might, but he didn't accept it either. ian noticed.

"mickey," ian dropped the book in his lap, turning his full attention to mickey, caressing the side of his face with his freckled hand, "you know that, right?"

the glassiness in his eyes returned, but this time ian was there to catch the wetness. he swiped the droplet with the pad of his finger.

"you're kind." tina. "you're attentive." rossi. "you're strong." mandy. "you're hot." last night. he smiled. "you're incredible." all the time.

mickey had the softest look glazed upon his face. it twitched slightly. all his instincts told him to school it. bottle it. toughen up. but he didn't want to. he wanted to hear the words that ian told him and he wanted to believe them.

mickey brought his hand up to his cheek, pulling ian's from his face and kissing his knuckles. "fuckin' dork." no heat in it. ian grinned.

"which design do you like best?" mickey questioned, returning to the book.

mickey thought of it last night, staring at the light of his cigarette, the smoke hazy in the room, the television pixels cutting in and out, the heavy breaths and sex-sweat lingering from the man sharing his couch, pants still on the floor.

desire.

maybe ian's demons weren't his own, but hearing stories of his last few years, of his fleeting mother, he knew for sure that desire was something that ran hot in his veins as well. a desire for a better future, maybe. it was hopeful.

on the page was nearly half a dozen variations of flowers on fire. and ian had still stayed silent. fuck.

"if you don't dig the idea, i can do something else."

"how the fuck are you so good at drawing flowers?"

mickey laughed. "it's my literal job, bitch. now which flower do you want on your skin forever."

"anything will beat the titties."

"obviously anything will beat the titties. but which flowers do you like?"

after a minute, ian pointed. "these are cool."

stargazer lilies. mickey's mom's favorite. well if that wasn't a goddamn sign, he didn't know what was.

"why are they on fire, mick?" he whispered, the curiosity of a kid seeping through his voice. because yeah, that's what this is about, isn't it? the inner child making piece with the loss of a mother he never had. the woman who had accepted him when others didn't know what to do. the woman who would be so proud of where he is right now, even if neither of them knew how to support each other in the way that they needed. despite being so similar.

mickey thought about it. he had no problem baring his dick, but baring his soul was a little more than he had anticipated for the night. but hell, ian had already bared a soul and a half to him, the almost naive trust of someone who craved it.

"because it's beautiful -- the flowers, y'know. they're supposed to last forever if you take care of 'em -- press them in a big ass book or some shit. but lighting them on fire. maybe it was a choice. maybe it was by accident. and some may say they're dead, they're ruined. but they're not. they're even brighter than before. and the flowers still live on, if you look past the flames, the smoke. they may be burned, but they're still beautiful, ya know? the fire doesn't change its ability to be beautiful."

ian sat wide-eyed, clinging onto all of mickey's words like they held the secrets to the universe. like he hadn't thought mickey was actually remembering all his rambles from the past weeks.

"it's perfect," he whispered.

mickey smiled and draped himself over ian's lap, nuzzling closer because he finally could. and it was more than okay.

-

mickey had texted mandy to pick up extra bagels on her way to work. ian heard a ping from his pant's pocket across the floor. another. another.

he sighed and got off the couch to pick it up.

"mandy wants to know what kind of bagel i want." ian smirked.

"nosy fucker." he snorted.

ian smiled.

---

"okay, you're not going to pass out on me are you? drink enough water? eat enough food?"

"mickey, i've seen more needles in my life than your average client. and you literally watched me eat today."

mickey crossed his arms, unimpressed. "'nough of this big talk. tell me if you start feeling faint, yeah?"

"yes, sir." he saluted.

"cut that shit out," he huffed a laugh.

mickey shoved a shirtless ian onto the table, stomach first. it was after hours because mickey just fucking felt like it, okay? maybe he wanted to take his time. maybe he wanted to suck kisses onto the shoulder he wasn't tattooing whenever he wanted. and maybe he didn't want an audience today.

mickey could be professional, and he would be when it came to the things that count, but, with a heave, he perched himself up on the table, legs straddling ian's ass, crotch rubbing against his lower back.

"comfy back there?" came ian's muffled voice.

"yes, sir." mickey teased and shifted his weight on ian's cheeks.

ian grumbled something, but mickey seemed satisfied enough. they had already placed the template over the so-called "atrocious titties of ghosts' past," in mickey's humble opinion. the skin was disinfected and mickey had his favorite playlist, some space-themed shit that he made when he was high and honestly vibed to when he wasn't.

mickey brought the tattoo gun closer to ian's skin and was suddenly hit with the realization that this was the dorky kid he turned down a few weeks earlier. literally threatening to cut off his dick and balls. now laid comfortably and trusting under his own weight. he paused the gun, and pressed a kiss into the hairs at the back of ian's neck. his face turned, exposing this cheek. mickey kissed there too.

"suddenly sentimental over the tittie tat, mick?"

mickey bounced his weight, slightly crushing ian with a gasp of air.

"no."

ian frowned. mickey kissed his pouty lips.

"just can't believe this."

"hmm? getting to tattoo the hottest guy you've ever seen?"

"oh fuck off, you're not harry fuckin' styles."

"harry styles, huh?" ian teased with an eyebrow raise.

mickey flipped him off, then brought his hands to ian's lower back, massaging the muscle with the hand that wasn't currently holding the gun.

"just you. this. us?" mickey whispered.

"same." ian admitted, voice muffled again. he groaned when mickey smoothed out his muscles.

"ready, firecrotch?"

"damn straight, milkovich."

--

ian had always liked the sensation of getting a new tattoo. given that he only has two, he doesn't have much reference, but it was enough.

but having mickey be the one behind the gun was almost too much to bear. the man who he couldn't get out of his head, his heart, his space. the man who was so much tougher and softer than anyone he had even met. who understood him without words. who brought comfort to his days. who made fun of him without any trace of actual agitation. having his art on his skin, by his own unwavering hands, was something ian would treasure, lock in his heart.

call it masochism, but ian would do anything, be anything, for mickey.

--

after a few hours and a few snack breaks later, mickey wiped the tattoo one final time and sealed it.

"fuckin' sick."

mickey smiled, proud. because this was way better than the titties. this was ian. and his mother. and himself. and them together. in whatever little universe that may be where nurturing parents exist and love is real. he's already halfway there, though he wouldn't admit it to himself just yet.

"i do have one thing i still want to do." ian lowered the hand mirror, done checking out his new ink.

"what's that?" mickey took the mirror back, fingers lingering along ian's in the process. the corner of his lips quipped up.

"i've never given a tattoo before. you just gave me one... seeing that it's only fair..."

"and you're paying me for this, remember? or did we accidentally poke your brains out in the process?"

"no, i know," ian rolled his eyes, "but still. would be fun."

"for you. shit hurts when you don't know how to hold a gun."

"i did rotc, i know how to shoot shit."

"oh, then you're perfectly qualified. here ya go, ya g.i. joe looking motherfucker." mickey handed the tattoo gun over. ian started it with a startling buzz, nearly dropping it.

"christ, man. okay, fuck. here." he pulled out his fake skin, "trace this shit twenty times then we'll talk."

ian shrugged because, yeah. fair enough. he set the gun down for now and sat back on the table, pulling mickey's hip flush against his widened legs as they melted into each other, orange lights flickering in the backroom of the otherwise abandoned shop.

--

"mick!" ian busted down the door to mickey's office where he had previously been taking a midday nap, reruns of george lopez running on the old tv.

"the fuck?" he rubbed his eyes, disoriented for a moment before recognizing the eager eyes of his boyfriend.

"i did it."

"good job.... what did you do?"

ian chucked a piece of skin onto mickey's lap. "a circle."

"congratu-fucking-lations." mickey popped an unlit cigarette in his lips.

"can i do it now?" ian lit mickey's cig.

"do what?"

"your tattoo."

a puff. two. "fuck it. said i would. let's do it."

"now?"

"yes, now. before i change my mind."

"what do you want?"

"surprise me."

"really?"

"yeah, just no genitals. too many of those tattooed between the two of us, man."

"there was only one." ian rolled his eyes.

"that's one too many."

--

ian laid the template on the back of mickey's neck because, to quote mickey, "if you fuck up, at least i won't have to look at it everyday," which, yeah. fair enough.

ian had meant to straddle mickey the same way that mickey straddled him for the burning flowers tattoo, but it turned out that ian did not have the same steady hand that mickey did, despite having drawn twenty perfect fucking circles.

"you got it, ian. you can go over lines again later." his voice was surprisingly calm even with ian nervous-sweating a foot above him, as if it wasn't the consequences of his own goddamn actions.

he switched the gun off.

that was enough for mickey to sit up.

"hey," he managed to catch ian's eyes that were otherwise refusing to look at anything in particular. "you did your fucking circles. you can do this. i trust you." he brought his hand up to ian's cheek, brushing back into his copper hair.

"i trust you, too."

"then trust me when i say you got this."

ian nodded. yeah. okay. a breath.

they settled and ian turned the gun on again, this time making contact with the skin on the back of mickey's neck, slightly sunburned from summer's years ago. a couple freckles hidden in his hairline endearingly sweet.

mickey didn't even flinch as ian traced and retraced over his design. as much as mickey wanted it to be a surprise, he could feel it. the curves and point. he could feel it in his skin. he could feel it in his own heart. now shared. now open. he felt warm and safe, despite the sting of the tattoo and ian's mumbled stress cursing.

in a copy of the show from when ian got his tattoo, he handed mickey the hand mirror.

"wanna see?" a bashful blush. corny motherfucker.

mickey took the mirror, but didn't hold it up. he knew where his heart was.

he brought his lips to ian's. ian's hand brushed against his ear then paused before his neck.

"fuck, i don't wanna fuck it up."

mickey smiled against his lips, leaning into his body further.

"i love you too, you dork."

"you do?"

"of fuckin' course. you're literally under my skin, man."

ian smirked. "yeah, i guess you're under mine, too."

mickey pushed ian back onto the table. it's only fair that they copy this part of their tattoo ritual.

--

mickey might not be able to see his tattoo everyday, but he feels it. he feels it under ian's kisses as they move against each other. he feels it lingering touches in the kitchen when ian passes behind him. he feels it when he looks at the love of his goddamn life and thinks about how their love became permanent long before rings and vows were exchanged. how both the ink and the love grew over time. new memories and declarations etched into each other, woven into them. mickey looks into the eyes of his husband, chatting with mandy behind the counter of their tattoo shop, and he thanks the lord for one god-awful pair of titties.

[gallavichgeek]

Can’t Touch

Part 3 in my OnlyFans series & also Day 24 in Kinktober

Summary

For their next video, Ian decides that he wants to make Mickey come untouched.

Read it here. Or start from the start here.

[gallavichmemes]

This is my entry for Gallavich Kinktober 2021

Day 25 exhibitionism

I should have waited until then to post but I couldn’t,so enjoy!

(Beta by @tumblfish ,thank you,Gina!)

@gallavichthings

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34612132

[thisdivorce]

Gallavich Kinktober Day 8 - Mirror sex

Read on AO3: Weekend Away

cc:@gallavichthings

[gallavichthings]

Only one more week of the Kinktober, but there's still time to participate!

For daily themes and general guidelines, check out this post.

[wealthy-talks]

Best History Questions for Competitive Exams

[solutionhome]

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[amit-1998]

mp police gk pdf2021, यदि आप mp पुलिस की तैयारी कर रहे है तो इन 50 सवालो का जवाब दीजिये

mp police gk pdf2021, यदि आप mp पुलिस की तैयारी कर रहे है तो इन 50 सवालो का जवाब दीजिये

राष्ट्रीय गान को गाने में अधिकतम कितने समय लगता है –  52 सेकंड । 2. कार्नवालिस द्वारा स्थाई बंदोबस्त की पद्धति कब लागू की गई –  1780 मैं 3. साइमन कमीशन कब भारत आया –  1928. 4. जलियांवाला बाग हत्याकांड कब हुआ –  13 अप्रैल 1919 में 5. अजंता की गुफाओं किस राज्य में स्थित है – महाराष्ट्र । 6. भारत छोड़ो आंदोलन कब शुरू हुआ –  8 अगस्त 1942 7. आजाद हिंद फौज की स्थापना किसने की –  सुभाष चंद्र बोस 8.…

[y0itsbri]

kinktober day 3 -- lingerie @gallavichthings

the devil in disguise

ian has a deep appreciation for mickey's halloween costume.

beta read by @mishervellous ❤️

words: 1.3k

"when you said you wanted to do a couples costume, i thought you meant with me!" ian rifled through his closet, trying to put together a last minute costume while mickey changed in the bathroom into his costume so he could coordinate with fucking tami. ian could have been an angel, but no, that simply wouldn't do.

to be fair, ian should have seen this coming after lip decided to put in an ungodly amount of extra hours at the shop. tamietti's went hard for halloween, and this year was not going to be an exception. he cursed lip for inadvertently stealing his husband away from him for the night.

this was impossible. ian banged his head against the wall.

"you die out there, firecrotch?" mickey called, voice strained.

ian was thoroughly confused with whatever elaborate feat was going on behind the closed door.

"no," he called, hopeless. he tried again, "you need any help in there?" ian reached for the knob only to find it locked. motherfucker.

"aye no peeking!"

"are you almost done? i need your help," ian sat back on their bed, sinking into their mattress and tapping his fingertips along this thigh.

he couldn't decipher all of mickey's mutterings through the wooden barrier, but the 'jesus fucking christ fucking gallagher' was unmissable.

ian grinned devilishly. he was always in the mood for a grumpy mick.

mickey unlocked the door with a click and stepped out in a red blur, discarding his old clothes on the floor in his corner of their room as if ian's world wasn't currently being absolutely rocked merely three feet away.

it took mickey a moment to realize that his normally chatty husband had yet to say a word. shit. maybe ian didn't like this kind of thing.

he bit the bullet and faced ian head on, only to meet a love-shook caricature of his husband -- wide eyes, blushing cheeks, and mouth agape, damn near salivating.

oh.

mickey smirked and flexed his arms not so subtly, "what d'ya think?"

ian unfroze from his trance, caught. he groaned and flopped back onto the bed, lifting his head and peeking at mickey between his fingers, "you're going to fucking kill me."

because there mickey was. clad in a fucking red, silk, corset cut just for his body. the red ribbons crossing in the front, carving his figure in all the right angles.

after a moment of deep appreciation and an unexpected awakening, ian allowed his eyes to scan the rest of mickey, which wasn't bearing any better for his blood pressure.

sheer, fingerless red gloves were stretched across mickey's hands, faded knuckle tattoos still visible. the glint of his ring seemed more prominent all of a sudden.

ian's eyes made their way up his arm, chest, neck. a sequined devil horn nestled into his dark hair and reflecting the low light of their bedroom lamp, giving mickey a literal red aura.

enjoying the show, mickey spun around, biting his lip. ian continued to ogle.

red fishnet stockings covered mickey's muscled thighs under almost-too-short-not-short-enough leather shorts embroidered with orange flames. pointed wings attached with some elaborate belting situation between his shoulder blades, and an arrow tail slinking around his hips.

"i think this is hell," ian closed his eyes, willing the blood to go back to his brain by the sheer power of force.

mickey chuckled darkly. "that so? ian gallagher on the naughty list?"

ian cracked an eye open, "what are you, fuckin' santa claus now?"

mickey smacked ian's stomach as he sat on the bed next to his idiot of a partner, "fuck off, ho."

"don't you mean ho ho ho?" ian couldn't resist.

"and we're done," mickey made to stand up but ian caught him by the arm, sliding his hand down until he reached the hem of the glove, inching his own fingertips underneath and sliding against his skin. his voice went deeper in the way that he knew made mickey melt.

"lemme make a deal with the devil?"

he tugged and pulled mickey onto his lap so that he was straddling him, knees digging into the soft mattress.

"what does the mere mortal have in mind?" mickey teased, voice light but eyes dark.

"kiss me and i won't tear your costume to shreds," ian ran his hand up mickey's back, catching on the wings clumsily before tracing his silk clad skin back down to his thighs. "you're looking hot as hell." the statement carried heat behind it.

mickey's breathing picked up as he considered the weight of his options.

ian grinned, trapped under mickey's control, but waiting patiently for the signal he knew he would be allowed.

a breath. two. three.

"c'mere," mickey leaned.

ian crashed his lips against mickey's own, his mouth a fire hot cinnamon. ian groaned. did mickey really have a mint for this? motherfucker thought of everything.

ian traced his hands over the mickey's chest as they kissed, following the lines of silky ribbon crossing back and forth. back and forth. lower. lower. lower.

the textures of silk and leather and skin mixing together under his hands, grasping at whatever he could reach.

mickey's weight pinned him to the mattress, helpless.

he felt fingers caressing his hair as his mouth felt warmer as they melted into each other.

what felt like an eternity in damnation later, mickey broke them apart. they took a moment to assess their equally disheveled appearances while fighting to catch their breath behind a laugh.

ian made a grab to pull mickey back in, certain he would comply, but mickey was quicker.

he rolled off with a grunt, tossing a half empty water bottle at ian's still body and nudging his leg when he didn't respond.

"you ready to go?"

"go where?" ian picked up the water bottle and idly traced its shape with his fingers.

a flick. "the party? tamietti's? your sister-in-law? ring any bells?"

ian sighed as he nestled further into their bed, "i still don't have a costume."

mickey waltzed towards their dresser, a slight unbalance in his step, and flung an old flannel on the bed.

"lumberjack. you've already got the scruff, thank you very much." he added quiety, grinning lopsidedly to himself. he was genuinely so proud he had convinced ian to abandon the clean cut army man look and to not shave for a few days to see what would happen and dear god was he enjoying the consequences.

ian finally sat up and chugged the rest of water bottle in one go before setting on their nightstand. it took a moment for mickey's words to register, but when they did -- yeah.

"you're a genius."

ian leaned up to grab mickey again, but he side stepped ian's attempts and straightened his outfit. "no sir, you gotta get changed. we need to leave like... ten minutes ago. tami's gonna have my ass if we're any later."

"tami better not go anywhere near that ass," ian grumbled, but complying with mickey's requests.

"don't worry, logger, you're the only wood for me."

"oh mickey, now that was bad."

mickey grinned as he shimmied in his satin outfit, smoothing over the wrinkles that ian had put there mere minutes before.

ian could easily stare at this image of mickey all night. as he was buttoning up his flannel, he made a mental note to buy mickey some more red.

"i think red is your color, mick." ian let slip, shoving his wallet in his pocket.

"yeah?" mickey grinned, "you too, stud," he ruffled ian's hair and pushed him out the door.

[gkmaharaja]

Bihar State Gk | Bihar General Knowledge | #shorts | #shortvideo

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[crossovereddie]

Gallavich Kinktober

Day 12: Blow jobs

@gallavichthings

[gallavichmemes]

It’s raining outside,and I finally started writing my entry for Kinktober.Since English is not my first language,I’m gonna need a beta.Below is my ao3 page for whoever interested in checking my fic for me to see.❤️❤️❤️

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fat_nerd

[y0itsbri]

kinktober day 20 - blindfolded - @gallavichthings

a spark in the dark

ian and mickey have a fun night with their new purchase.

vibe beta-ed by @messedwithmandy

words: 1.9k

on ao3 here!

"what's in the bag, mick?" ian asked, chewing a piece of birthday cake leftover from freddie's second birthday party, artificial blue dye unknowingly staining the edges of his lips.

mickey paused his movements, fork midway to his mouth, never breaking contact with ian in almost an unnatural way. he narrowed his eyes.

"what bag?"

ian pointed with his fork, vaguely gesturing towards their bedroom.

"the sketchy black bag on your night stand." he leaned backwards in his chair as if he could see it better that way.

"oh." mickey shrugged, dismissing his comment.

"yeah, oh." ian mocked, only slight irritation seeping into his voice. "are you gonna tell me or am i gonna have to figure it out myself?"

mickey flushed at ian's tone. he loved riling him up. maybe holding out could be hot. "your call, man. i don't give a fuck."

ian hummed under his breath. mickey could almost smell the gears turning in his husband's head.

incognito bag. night stand. it was either a very inconspicuous late-night take-out or some sort of sex toy. and he hoped that ian was banking on the latter.

he got there.

"well i seem to have it on good authority that you do give a fuck, mr. gallagher."

ian knocked his foot into mickey's underneath the table, trailing up under his pant leg. mickey shifted in his seat. he would play along.

"is that so?"

"mhm." mickey could practically feel the silky vibrations of his voice. it took everything in him not to give in right then and there.

"might have to jog my memory a little bit," mickey teased, a slight slink in his movements as he looked over at ian with hooded eyes.

with those words of encouragement, ian shoveled cake into his face at lightning speed. his eagerness to begin their night was evident.

mickey cleared his throat. "not like you can start without me, man. might as well slow down, ya goddamn vacuum faced motherfucker."

a snort. dork.

ian let his eyes rake over mickey's body, trying to figure out what type of mood he might be into. what the mystery bag might contain. ian's knees bounced up and down at a super sonic pace.

enjoying ian's anticipation, mickey slowly dragged his tongue over the prongs on the fork. a slow torture. he smirked.

but ian would not let the fuck up.

fine.

mickey let his fork hit the plate with a clatter.

"alright, big guy, let's get it moving. can't even fuckin' eat right with your leg goin' a hundred miles an hour."

ian practically skipped to their bedroom, mickey following with an amused smirk glued to his face.

you'd think it was christmas morning with the glow ian had in his eyes. ian and mickey were no stranger to spicing up their sex lives, but ian had no idea what mickey could have gotten that they didn't already have.

he tore open the bag, haphazardly tossing the receipt to the floor. ian grabbed the smaller item loosely wrapped in tissue paper with little dicks drawn all over it.

he smirked. mickey snaked his arms around ian's torso, pressing a soothing kiss to the center of his back.

ian clawed through the paper to reveal a blindfold.

ian smoothed the thin piece of black fabric between the pads of his fingers, catching on the lace detailing across one side. almost a flowery design patterning the soft fabric. this was definitely an upgrade from their old one.

ian turned around and tilted mickey's chin upwards so they locked eyes.

"babe."

he felt him swallow.

"wanna feel you." it came out shyer than mickey had anticipated, but he felt anything but embarrassed.

ian slid his hand down mickey's neck, feeling the heartbeat in his chest, before dipping his touch down his sides. in a fluid motion, he pulled mickey closer and tugged at his shirt. mickey raised his arms, eyes still on ian. ian lifted the shirt off, careful not to let it get caught on mickey's jaw. his own shirt followed as he herded mickey back onto the pillowy cushions of their bed.

mickey sat on the edge, fingers tracing ian's hip.

ian smoothed back mickey's floppy hair before lining up the lacey blindfold to mickey's eyes. mickey exhaled deeply and squeezed ian's hip once. ian tucked a stray hair behind mickey's ear before securing the blindfold in place.

"feel good?" he whispered in mickey's ear, warm breath causing a chill to shiver its way down mickey's spine.

"mhm." mickey's hand trailed upwards.

ian leaned over and scooted him closer to the headboard, softly laying his head on the pillow and pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. he trailed his fingers down mickey's body as he moved lower, catching on the waistband of his pants. mickey raised his hips as ian shimmied the pants off of his hips, knees, ankles, kissing the newly exposed skin as he went.

ian hummed in satisfaction, a sound that directly correlated to mickey's own arousal.

mickey felt the mattress dip and the warmth of his husband disappear. before he could fret, he heard the familiar sound of pants dropping to the floor and a drawer opening, a shuffle, and then the drawer closing again.

he couldn't help but smile a toothy grin.

mickey heard the brief flick of a lighter and could practically feel ian preening in the warmth of the candle. it was some vanilla bean crackling wick shit that ian bought at the fuckin' farmers market.

the weight of the bed dipped again and mickey felt ian's knees press into the mattress on either side of his feet. kisses were smattered in little trails up his shins, on either side of his knees, the length of his thigh, on the sensitive spot where his hip meets his stomach.

mickey's mouth fell open and he reached for ian's head, but before he entangle his fingers in his favorite locks, his leg was being hitched up onto the crook of ian's shoulder.

as he tried to adjust to the new position of his body, he felt a feather stroke on his chest, trailing towards the sides of his ribs, tickling from one side to the other. up his sternum and then down, down, oh fuck.

he squirmed, but strong hands held his hips in place, and mickey was met with the intoxicating sensation of ian's warm mouth around his dick in a practiced dance that never got boring.

mickey groaned at the contact, feeling like the wiring in his brain was electrified. the crackling of the candle was physical evidence of the sparks engulfing mickey, body and soul.

too soon, the warmth was gone and mickey's leg fell back down to the bed with a bounce. mickey twitched at the rather abrupt exposure to cold air.

"mmm c'mere," mickey lazily mumbled, not even bothering to lift his head to pretend to find his husband. ian would find him. he always does.

true to tale, almost immediately, ian rested half his weight onto his lover. mickey sloppily and eagerly kisses whatever was within reach -- his chin, his cheek, his nose. his lips. finally his lips.

somehow they felt even softer than he remembered. he gripped the back of ian's neck, dragging him closer and deepening their kiss, sweetly licking into his mouth. he grinned at how ian's mouth was still probably stupidly stained blue. ian took that moment of pause to gently bite at mickey's bottom lip, tugging it slightly before capturing his lips again in genuine.

ian covered mickey's hand with his own, unlatching the fingers from his neck and pinning mickey's wrist to the bed above his head. mickey gasped at the unexpected movement, twitching his fingers until ian intertwined them firmly.

a thin layer of sweat formed between their bodies as the passion heated up between them. their hips involuntarily rocked together in a slow rhythm as their legs intertwined, the thin prickly hairs of their legs rubbing against each other.

ian pulled back with a pop. mickey leaned to chase his lips, but he was stopped by a hand splayed across his chest.

"not yet," ian sounded as out of breath as mickey felt. maybe mickey would have complied if he wasn't as horned up as he was.

ian untangled himself for the most part and mickey frowned at the loss of contact.

"ian, please," mickey wasn't particularly fond of whining, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

he opened his mouth to speak again, but the wind was knocked out of his lungs with a yelp as ian flipped him to his stomach.

ian's voice was low and gravely in his ear, "'m not done with you yet. haven't even gotten to your backside," ian squeezed mickey's ass with one hand, "and damn, what a shame that would be."

mickey scooted backwards, presenting himself on full display in the most enticing manner he could muster.

ian's large hands steadied his hips and mickey melted into his touch. he yipped in surprise when ian bit his right ass cheek, tongue swiping over the indentations with care.

"the fuck was that for?!" mickey feigned agitation, though ian saw right through it.

"wanted to." it came out muffled as ian was still half buried in mickey's ass. ian let one hand roam up mickey's back, sensually rubbing little circles in the muscles as he went.

"wanted to. what are you, a fuckin' vampire?" mickey questioned, a gasp threatening his authority.

ian hummed in neutral acknowledgement, the vibrations radiating through mickey's body. he was glad that ian couldn't see his eyes rolling back into his head. he would never live that down.

"oh fuck, that feels good," mickey relaxed against the pillows.

ian patted one hand around the bed until he apparently found what he was looking for. mickey heard the pop! of the lube cap and he smirked.

ian soothingly scratched his dull nails against mickey's back with one hand while working him open with the other.

it was quiet except for the sounds of their heavy breaths overlapping and the crackling wick of the vanilla bean candle, scent toasty and homely in the little moment of paradise that they had created for each other.

"'m ready." mickey panted, lifting his hips weakly.

"flip." ian instructed. mickey responded quickly, and though it made ian chuckle, he was careful to make sure that mickey wouldn't simply flip himself off the bed in his eagerness.

ian finally and slowly pressed himself into mickey, emitting groans of pleasure from both men. ian tucked his face into the crevice of his neck, pressing wet kisses down the side of his neck.

soft thrusts turned into the good and hard pounding that made mickey's knees weak.

mickey's jaw hung slack as he took it, grasping onto ian's back for stability. mickey felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he thought of how ridiculous he must look.

"you look so pretty like this, baby. love watching you let loose."

and that was all it took. soon they both found their release, mickey first and ian following shortly after.

mickey felt loving scritches in his hair as ian released the silk.

the sun had long set and their room was only illuminated by the candle on their nightstand and a salt lamp on their dresser. ian quietly cleaned them both up, bringing a bottle of water to mickey's lips and then to his own, finishing it up.

there wasn't much light for mickey to adjust to, but even in the moonlight, he couldn't get over the dopey look in his husbands eyes.

mickey brought his hand up to stroke ian's cheek, ian leaning into it.

"i love you."

ian grinned like it was the first time.

"i love you, too." he pressed a kiss to mickey's awaiting lips. they melted into each other's arms, falling asleep to heartbeats.

[y0itsbri]

kinktober day 8 -- in the bathroom @gallavichthings

warmer with you

tenderness makes its way into all parts of their nightly routine.

words: 1.1k

"mick, i told you this was a bad idea!"

"it's not a fuckin' bad idea. it's just messy." he thought for a moment. "as if we weren't already gonna get messy tonight," he waggled his eyebrows.

ian glared at him through a film of shaving cream that had been smeared across his face unceremoniously.

sure, maybe ian had suggested doing more intimate acts together. but mickey was the one who took a shaving knife to ian's face without any warning, only to get it knocked out of his hand last minute.

ian continued pouting, bordering on The Chin.

"jesus fucking christ, here, calm your tits," mickey picked up the knife from the floor and placed it on the counter with a clang. he focused his eyes on ian's, softly, trusting. "c'mon, not like i haven't done this before."

"but not like this."

"no," mickey agreed, "not like this."

ian sighed. he was going to fight it again when he felt rough fingertips pressing into the soft muscles of his hips and squeeze twice.

"ian," mickey looked so sincere it almost hurt, "i got you, man."

he did have him. metaphorically wrapped around his finger. quite literally under his palm.

ian stepped backward out of mickey's touch and hopped up on the counter, spreading his legs so mickey could fit comfortably between them. mickey assumed position, tracing the innards of ian's thighs. ian rested his arms over mickey's shoulders and held still as he skillfully and carefully brought the knife to his face, stopping every so often to rinse the knife in the sink to ian's side. water droplets tickled down his own face. ran down the length of mickey's forearm. but ian didn't notice.

ian dipped his head down to rest his forehead against mickey's, lightly. he pressed his cheek against mickey's, the cold remnants of the shaving cream making him squirm under ian.

ian smirked. deciding to be a nuisance, he buried his unshaven cheek in mickey's neck, effectively making an even bigger mess than they started with.

expecting grumbly annoyance from his beloved husband, ian was pleasantly surprised when he felt the vibration of mickey's throaty chuckle and fingers being thread into his grown out hair.

ian pressed his lips on the clean skin of mickey's exposed collar bone and mickey tipped his head back with an exhale.

ian worked his way up to mickey's jaw, drawing more and more pleasure from the lips of his lover.

lost in his warmth, ian went in for a smooch on his cheek. he noticed too late that it was a mistake when he got a tongue full of shaving cream from his previous tomfoolery. he scrunched up his face, sporting the nose crinkles that mickey is so fond of, and spat gracelessly into the sink.

"romantic," mickey teased, breathless, eyes half glazed over nonetheless.

"whatever," ian rolled his eyes. as if mickey wasn't the king of gross shit.

ian picked up a hand towel and wet it under the faucet, ready to clean up mickey's face, when mickey smacked the towel out of his hand.

"the fuck--" ian started.

"you look ridiculous with only have a face of scruff, let me finish."

"no," ian pouted, snaking his hand around mickey's hips.

mickey hopped back out of reach and gave ian a stern look. when it appeared ian had his dick in order, mickey brought the shaving knife back up to ian's face, strictly avoiding the kicked-puppy looks from his lover so he could focus with the care he wanted to give.

he stepped back again, admiring his work with something akin to pride. to devotion.

ian opened his mouth to complain about the distance between them before he noticed mickey stripping off his boxers and tank top in a quick movement, and nodding towards the shower.

ian remained on the counter.

"gotta clean both us up," mickey eyed the floor, swiped across the side of his nose.

oh. his shyness was endearing.

ian pulled off his shirt in a swift motion, mickey's eyes looking past him. over his shoulder into the mirror. ian flexed the muscles of his back in an exaggerated show.

he felt a hit to his chest, "dork."

"you still married me."

"think it's too late to take that back?" a gleam in his eye.

"i'm non-refundable, baby," ian smirked, flinging his shirt onto the tiled floor.

ian loved sharing moments like this with mickey. sometimes they teased and splashed each other, more water on their bathroom floor than inside the tub itself. sometimes they were rough and desperate. and sometimes, it was just about care and tenderness.

the sentiments fell towards the latter as mickey tugged ian's shorts down halfway and pressed a kiss onto his shoulder, nuzzling in a bit, slowly. ian kicked off his shorts the rest of the way and led mickey backwards, dipping him back under the warm spray, a cloud of steam already clinging onto their smudged mirrors.

ian followed mickey under the showerhead, only halfway closing the curtain, too eager to join mickey's unhurried rinse under the heated water.

mickey ran his hands over his face, lips parted. he let the water spill back out of his mouth. ian brought a hand up to smooth his eyebrow hairs back into place. mickey leaned against his touch and used his own thumbs to swipe the remaining shaving cream off ian's cheek, revealing his more prominent seasonal freckles.

mickey patted his cheek gently, "soft fucker."

"mhm."

mickey grabbed their body soap, some eucalyptus smelling stuff, and popped the cap open. before he could squeeze anything out, ian stole it from his hands.

he could lather up his own body, sure, but what was the fun in that when his husband was right there, practically begging to be touched with how beautiful he looked, water droplets running down the curves of his muscles.

mickey was pliant in his hands, letting ian move each limb and around his body, slowly, like he was sculpting him out of marble with each touch.

when ian moved down to mickey's legs, he felt a hand in his hair. not demanding or expecting, just assuring and warm. ian pressed a kiss to the inside of mickey's thigh, skin soft.

before he could fully stand again, he already felt mickey's hand slide from his should down the length of his arm, returning the favor and cleansing his partner as he went.

rinsing the final suds off their bodies, their touches were lingering. their brief, tender kisses turned frantic.

ian moved behind mickey, breathing in the crevice between his neck and shoulder as he snaked his hands around to mickey's front. palming the smooth skin over his stomach, massaging small circles down to his hipbones. mickey's breath hitched and he pushed back into the embrace. their mirror shadows joined together behind the smoky steam.

in the quiet of their home, they were allowed to be slow, soft. to feel each other's warmth and nothing else.

fingerprints of heat from hands gripping each other's hand, arm, back, thigh. skin on fire from kisses scattered on necks, shoulders, hair, knuckles. trust, comfort, home. they found it in each other time and time again.

when the water began chilling their skin, they clung to each other. one hand escaping their bubble, turning off the water. spotless, satiated, they let the steam escape the bathroom.

worn towels drying their bodies, wet spots trickling around their feet. lazily, they took turns at the sink brushing their teeth, taking their meds.

blissed out, feeling white and dreamy, they curled up in their bed, not bothering to put clothes on besides covering up with the thickest blanket they owned. bodies heavy and entangled, fingers tracing love songs into each other's skin, they were always warmest with each other.