yoooo bein single is a scary life to me rn because everyone wants u but only want to fuck u to the point u don’t have any feelings and kiss u with endless half ass done promises and....
other shit but can’t think cause 2 high
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Here is a possible prompt- It has been an insane week for Ian and Mickey, Mickey has been busy training their new hires, Ian has been running their pick ups, they haven’t spent any time together. It’s finally Friday and it’s time to unwind. What do they do?
Oooh this was a fun first prompt 😊 Thank you so much for popping by! I hope this is what you had in mind.
Drown In You
Friday - 5:45PM
Ian’s got an extra pep in his step, and it’s only partly down to the free edible gummy samples from his last drop off of the day. He uses the tip of his tongue to fish out a piece of lemon drop from between his back teeth as he pulls the ambulance into the apartment parking complex. There’s still a pack of medicated cola cubes in his pocket, and it’s only because they’re Mickey’s favourite that there’s any left at all.
The business has been doing great. So great that they’ve taken on more staff and a second ambulance, all of which has been under Mickey’s command while Ian’s been trying to single handedly run the show on their regular pickups. It’s great, the expansion, really, it is - but they’ve been apart all week, barely catching glimpses of each other at the end of the day as they pass to and fro between the kitchen and bathroom, and Ian misses Mickey something terrible. He misses his stupid jokes and his obnoxious giggle, misses waking up to Mickey’s little protective paw on his shoulder or hip. He misses having Mickey all to himself.
At the thought of his husband, Ian hops down from the ambulance and power walks to the elevator. He’s excited for the weekend ahead, mostly because they’re not doing a single damn thing. Nope. Nada. Nothing. The exact opposite from this crazy week of hell, and he can’t wait to hang out with Mickey for two whole days.
“Mick, I’m home!” Ian calls as he shoulders the door open, bags of snacks and edible goodies in his arms. The apartment smells so good, like garlic and carbs, and the smell hits Ian at the exact same moment as his last edible, making him salivate. “Holy fuck, it smells good in here.”
Mickey shuffles in from the living room in sweats and socks and an old blue tank top, an open drink in one hand and a full beer in the other. He looks pleased, even possibly relieved, like Ian might have any other reaction than utter joy to coming home to his husband and a home cooked meal after a stressful week.
“Thought your gigantor ass deserved a decent meal after living off cereal and microwave pizzas all week.” Mickey hands over the beer as Ian drops the bags onto the counter.
“Fuck, I missed you,” Ian sighs, grabbing the beer and then quickly pulling in his husband along with it.
Mickey grins, leaning close for a kiss before suddenly pausing. “You smell like sugar and bong water,” he accuses. “You were at HighLyfe weren’t you?” Ian gives an innocent shrug, dipping his hand back into the bag to pull out the baggie of cola cubes. Mickey snatches at it, “Fuck yes! Gimme!”
Snatching the baggie back, Ian takes out a single cube and holds it between his own teeth, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at Mickey.
Mickey snorts and calls him a dork under his breath, but still dives for Ian’s mouth.
Saturday 2:15AM
Ian’s lips are so kiss swollen and bitten they buzz beneath another onslaught of Mickey’s kisses. He’s got each of his long limbs curled around his husband’s compact body as they make out aimlessly on the couch, never mustering more than the occasional crotch grind. The edibles have weighed their bodies beneath a thick amber blanket of bliss, pleasantly trapped in a cycle of lips and breaths.
The TV screen is blank, and all that can be heard above the low crackle of the fire is sticky sweet kisses and soft little pants.
They’ve been at this for hours, after dinner and dessert and a movie and more dessert. Just kisses upon kisses, getting lost in the wet familiar warmth of each other’s mouths. Ian can still taste the cola cubes at the back of Mickey’s mouth, and he’s determined to lick at it until all he can taste is himself.
Later they’ll sleep, coiled together like nestling springs, and after that they’ll fuck for hours until they’re hungry again, but for now this is all they want. It’s all Ian needs to breathe, the weight of his husband on his chest, mouth covering his, hands on Mickey’s cheeks as Mickey’s fingers cling to Ian’s hair.
Tonight and for the rest of the weekend they’ll soak in each other, recharge and reflood each other’s senses, and Ian’s never been more happy to drown.
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