#can we spice up the 'never as good as bonnie' situations cause we could be so fucking funny about it

[monty-glasses-roxy]

This might be the illness talking, but I want a 'Monty feeling like he's not as good as bonnie' where Roxy comforts him but it's just Roxy being 100% brutally fucking honest about it.

Monty: I'LL NEVER BE AS GOOD AS BONNIE!!

Roxy: HELL YEAH

Monty: Wh-

Roxy: Bonnie fucking SUCKED!!! It's about time we had a good bass player!!

Monty: Rox what- I thought he was ya friend????

Roxy: Yeah but that doesn't mean he could play for shit.

Monty: ?????????

Bonus if this happens in front of Freddy and Chica and they're a combination of offended on Bonnie's behalf, kinda in agreement that he did kinda suck at it, and just astounded by the sheer balls on this dog for saying it like she did with his bestie and fucking boyfriend in the room.

Roxy and Bonnie were besties but she won't lie for him even after deactivation lmao

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

words: 1.5k rating: m additional tags: canon compliant, mentions of mexico, mentions of trevor (but not by name), late s10, mickey's pov, spoiler alert: ian wants mickey to top him for the first time and he feels weird asking, they don't fuck yet - it's the convo and a lil lead-up to separate spice

summary: one night while sitting on the couch, ian's got a proposition for his husband. and it's got nothing to do with the year-round holiday tree lip and tammi are doing.

✨ just a lil sumn sumn to get the writing juices flowing ✨

“So I’ve been thinking…”

The wave of dread that surges through Mickey escapes him in a long, drawn out sigh. 

“Christ, Ian - thought we vetoed this shit like an hour ago.” (They did.) “Just ‘cause Lip’s doin’ the whole ‘christmas tree for every holiday’ schtick that doesn’t mean we gotta.”

The look Ian sends him from the other side of the couch is irritated, but has cooled off considerably from when they discussed this topic at length this afternoon. 

He hasn’t reached The Chin status. 

Yet. 

“You can relax, alright? I’m not talking about that.”

The mindless little thumb stroke he’s been working over Mickey’s ankle bone as they watch TV, however, falls still. Now it’s just a big, heavy hand where Mickey’s socked feet rest in his lap. 

Suspicious. 

Alright.

“Whatchya thinkin’ ‘bout then,” Mickey tries.

He waits, for a good few beats of the Bob’s Burgers intro.

When he doesn’t get an answer he wiggles his foot, bringing Ian’s hand along for the ride. “...‘ay…”  

Ian’s eyebrows jump lightly as he’s pulled out of his thoughts, then mellow out while he just barely glances at Mickey and then back toward the TV. “Nothin’...” he says. “Never mind.”

Oh.

Well that’s just not gonna fucking happen, is it?

Mickey grumbles, turning his foot again. But this time it’s to dig his toes annoyingly into Ian’s belly. “...‘nothing’, my ass. Spill it.” 

His foot is already being dragged away by the ankle and out of belly range. But the tiny crease in Ian’s brow is obvious. 

Oh yeah. It’s definitely something. “Ain’t ‘nothing’, so you might as well tell me before I break out the big guns.”

Mickey’s not super sure what ‘the big guns’ are in this situation. But his husband seems to know exactly what ‘the big guns’ are over there, judging by the tightness of his jaw. “Fucking annoying…” 

“Yup,” Mickey confirms with a serious, unsmiling nod. Even holds his hand up to flash his wedding band as a little reminder that his dumb ass recently married him, so who’s the sucker here? “Now talk.”

Another moment passes. 

Up in the air.

It could really go either way.

And then… 

“You know Mexico…?”

The knee-jerk reaction to patch over the sting with a joke will probably go away with time, but it still kicks up hard whenever that stretch of time gets brought up. “Heard of it, yeah.” 

There’s a reason Ian’s bringing it up, though. There always is. 

He says it carefully, his hand heavy where it’s still draped over Mickey. “‘Member how I said we could switch shit up…? …if we ever wanted to…?” 

Mickey blinks.

He does remember that. Just as much as he remembers how they did not do that. Even a little bit.  

It’s not that they were actively avoiding it. Some things just slip through the cracks when you’re barreling toward the border to escape the law like goddamn Queer Bonnie and Clyde. 

And yeah… They’re not running anymore. They’ve got time to do whatever the fuck they want now. That little suggestion just got shoved back into the corner of Mickey’s brain with the rest of the Mexico shit, is all. And Ian hasn’t said shit about it since. 

Until now.

Mickey fixes his eyes on the carefully projected pride that puffs out his husband’s chest. 

Ahh. He gets it now.

“...you tryna bottom for me, Gallagher?”

Ian doesn’t look at him. “Why the hell not?”

And whoa - “Easy, tiger. Not fightin’ ya on it.” But Mickey has to chuckle. Can’t help the tease that slips into his tone just as easily as the lick of interest that slips up his spine. 

In fact, he should probably shut the fuck up for a second or two while it all works through his system so he doesn’t spook him. Because one look at Ian bristling over there keeps perspective real clear. 

Ian’s been working up to this. Feels like he’s gotta puff up like a damn bullfrog to save face - to keep Mickey from giving him shit. Like they didn’t just commit their entire stupid lives to each other. Like Mickey wouldn’t do fucking anything to make this man understand how gone he is for him.

“...‘ay…” Another nudge of his foot into Ian’s tummy. But it’s softer this time. Urging. “Say more-a that shit. Already into it.”

Ian chances a look over at him. Cautious eyes in flickering light. “Really?”

Too cute for his own good. Even as a bullfrog. “Really.” 

Ian’s thumb falls back into soft, mindless circles over Mickey’s ankle bone again. More soothing for himself, probably, as his brain works over the words before they trickle from his mouth. “Done it before. …few times.”

It’s a test of Mickey’s patience. A test of his self control to not launch into his ‘flipping a quarter to see who has to bottom is a red fuckin’ flag’ routine, because that’s not what this is. And he and Ian have had their own fair share of red flags throughout the years. Mickey’s just petty when it comes to the thought of other men, so fight him.

But Ian doesn’t need that from him right now.

He settles on, “Uh huh.” Sidesteps and comes back in at a safe distance. “And that was…?”

A leading question. Ian chews on it for a second with narrowed, searching eyes, before his head tilts to the side with his answer. “It was fine…”

Underwhelmed. 

Purposefully unspecific. 

Mickey brings his bottom lip in and worries at it to shut himself up. 

And it’s absolutely the right thing to do - to give him room. Because before he knows it, Ian is shifting a little to look at him, his gaze no longer lacking purpose as it locks onto him in the dark.

“Mick…I want it to be you,” he says, not looking away. “I just know it’ll be good if it’s you.”

It sends another swoop of interest blossoming inside Mickey. Arousal. Intrigue. Fucking pride.

And Ian’s still talking. “You used to top all the time, so you know what the fuck you’re doing-...” The circles over Mickey’s ankle build in pressure. “But I also know we’ve never-... Like… Even as kids. That’s not how we do it-”

“Who’re you tryna convince here? You know I’m already sold.” 

Ian swallows up whatever else he has at the ready. Whatever’s been building building building in his brain as this moment neared. 

He looks back over at him.

Mickey grins. “Yeah. It’s fuckin’ happening, so I’m not sure who all that convincin’ is for.”

A pent up breath escapes Ian’s nose, his blink heavy with obvious relief. “You’ll do it?” 

And seriously, it’s like he’s asking if Mickey will strangle a man to death for him. (Which he’ll also do, off the record. But Ian already knows that.) 

“You know, not everything’s gotta be a big goddamn negotiation, huh?” The couch creaks as Mickey pulls his feet back into himself. “Don’t gotta break out the fuckin’ quarter anymore, sweetcheeks.”

Whoops. And after all that self control, too.

Ian rolls his eyes, both hands falling into his empty lap. “Never shoulda told you that.”

But his mounting attitude is quickly snuffed out by Mickey invading his space, his grin lethal as he closes in, “Mm-mm…” and then seals the deal with a hungry, instigating kiss. “...‘course I’ll fuckin’ do it. Thought about it before, to tell ya the truth…”

Ian decompresses against him, falling into the rhythm of his breathing as he asks it. “...really…?”

“Mhm…” Mickey grins, “...fuckin’ hot…” He keeps it close. Keeps it steamy. Keeps both their mouths moving, just in different ways. “Prob’ly make the most fuckable faces with my dick in ya - huh, lover…” 

The nickname is supposed to make Ian laugh, but what he gets instead is a huffy, bitten off groan. The makings of a whine. 

And damn, that’s so much fucking better, ain’t it? This is gonna be fun.

Mickey’s grin widens at the greedy hips pressing up into him, visions of what’s to come nice and tasty as they unravel for him in his head. “You want it right now…?” He could give it to him right now. They could absolutely do this right fucking now.

But before he can get too ahead of himself, he’s being swept into a different but gloriously familiar direction, Ian’s arms wrapping around him and lugging them both up until he’s carrying him toward the back of the apartment. 

“Way too fuckin’ horny to deal with that right now,” he admits, and it’s breathless. Kinda like how Mickey’s feeling up here as Ian hurries them into the bedroom with very clear purpose.

And you know what, Mickey is A-O-Fucking-Kay with that shit. “Next time,” he promises through a kiss.

“Next time,” Ian agrees, and then dumps Mickey onto the bed and crawls on after him.