I apologize in advance for any and all punctuation abuse. Oh, and tense abuse. It's been a while.


When Ian sees Mickey hanging outside Lip's ice cream truck again, he knows he should be worried. Those two getting friendly (or as friendly as either really gets outside of family) can only mean danger. Lip and Mickey are both as close to grinning as either of them gets when they're (mostly) sober. What's the expression? Cat who ate the canary? That's those two. But Lip and Ian aren't fucking housecats with bells on their collars. They're like snow leopards. Just cause they're smaller than the other big cats doesn't mean you shouldn't be scared shitless when you see one of them looking at you - especially when it's as predatorily as Mickey was looking at Ian.

Lip's gaze wasn't much more comforting. He gets this look in his eyes after the second joint of the day - like he can see right through you and the only reason you're still standing is because he allows it - that makes Ian want to hide in the shade under the slide like he used to when he imagined that Fiona could see the future and Lip could hear all his thoughts.

Usually Ian can get past the way Lip always looks at him as if he's simultaneously expecting something to happen and disappointed in how it turned out. Maybe Lip, with all his smarts, sees all the possibilities and hopes for the best or most exciting outcome even though he knows - and is always proven correct - that shit stays the same.

Ian doesn't really know what Mickey is doing hanging around Lip. All the two of them have in common is their shared "fuck it all" attitude - the world doesn't give a shit about them, so why bother?

Well... they've got that, and they've got Ian.

Ian and Lip have always been close. There's no denying that finding out about being cousins and Ian being gay has brought them even closer - you don't go through that sort of shit with someone without ending up a little bit more connected.

Mickey and Ian are pretty close too. Mickey doesn't say it, he tries not to show it, but Ian can see it. When Mickey's hand stays a few seconds longer than it has to when passing a cigarette, and when the corner of his mouth twitches upward after making eye contact across the room, and when he looks away, laughs, and then tucks his chin into his chest after mocking Ian about his latest attempt to be remotely affectionate; that's when Ian can see it. Mickey's pretty shit at emotions but whatever the two of them have going on, Ian's not in it alone.

"Hey," Lip pulls Ian out of his musings, "how's it hangin'?"

Mickey looks pointedly to Ian's groin and then back up to make eye contact while he takes a long drag from his cigarette.

Ian's 'it' wasn't anywhere close to 'hanging' at this point - it's a hot summer day and Mickey's wearing a tank that clings in all the right places...

Lip grins in the way that only a really close brother can when he sees Ian's cheeks flush slightly at the question.

"Mind your own damn business and gimme a beer," he deflects.

A beeping comes from the front of the truck and Lip almost bashes his head on a shelf lunging for the cop-detector in the front seat.

"God damn fuckin' fifth time today. Dickheaded motherfuh..." He shut the alarm off and stuck his head back out the selling window. "Jump on in. Too many cops out today and it's almost sunset anyway. I'm gonna park it and start fresh tomorrow. Help me unload and you each can have a few from the truck. On me." Lip starts closing the window before Ian can finish complaining that Lip should give him a few no matter what, them being brothers (Or cousins. Whatever.) and all.

Mickey hops in shotgun with a shit-eating grin on his face, leaving Ian to hop in the back and hang on for dear life as they drive over the sorry pot-hole-ridden excuse for roads that make up their city.

Back in the secluded empty lot a few blocks over from the Gallaghers' house, Mickey, Ian and Lip were just chilling on the dilapidated furniture that's all just sort of accumulated there over the years.

Mickey was on his fourth or fifth can of the night and he was almost to the point where he'd let his lewd glances to Ian last longer than a second, and those extra seconds were more intoxicating to Ian than the joint and two beers he'd already had. He loved watching the way Mickey's muscles rippled when he stretched his arms out after he belched, and the way his entire torso arched in slow motion as he was gulping down more cheap beer in the fading light.

The sexual tension between the two was always pretty palpable (though usually they disguised it as distaste or violent loathing... you know, testosterone shit and all that), but now. Well, now it was fucking solid.

Ian couldn't stop thinking about what they were going to do later that night. Where precisely or when didn't really matter at that point. They were going to fuck, and Mickey would let go, just for a while, and the sounds - the inarticulate requests and demands, the needy gasps - would be exquisite.

Fuck.

Ian had been semi-hard all night, but as Mickey bent over to grab his next drink and his jeans slid just a little lower ... Ian was ready and rearing to go. Mickey looked up to see Ian staring, and smirked - Mickey loved catching Ian paying attention to him and trying to make him feel ashamed of it. Probably almost as much as Mickey loved the attention in the first place.

Lip tossed his empty bottle to the corner of the lot and the crashing glass snapped Ian's attention away from Mickey and back to his brother. Thoughts of sex were temporarily pushed slightly back by the realization that Lip was still there, which may or may not have been why he tossed the bottle so vigorously in the first place.

The way Lip was lounging on that lawn chair, with sweat beading where his hip bone juts out just above his waistline, and the way his lips wrapped around the head of his beer bottle and his head tilted back to smoothly swallow half the contents in one go... well, let's just say that sex wasn't out of Ian's mind for long at all.

Ian swallowed hard and focused on finishing his drink, too nervous by the feeling growing in him to look at either Lip or Mickey. But that didn't stop the two of them from noticing that something was up. Ian didn't usually go that long without talking to one of them, but for him to not be talking to either of them? Never happens.

He could feel their stares, and glanced up quickly.

Big mistake. Lip was absentmindedly rubbing the dip in his chest between his collar bone and his shoulder, looking right at Ian. That expectant look and that motion, after the thoughts he'd just had? Not. Fucking. Fair. Damn it.

He looked quickly to Mickey, hoping for some confirmation that he hadn't just obviously ogled the guy he shared a bedroom with. Mickey caught on right away, though. For a guy who was "fucked for life" as he often said, Mickey could be damn perceptive. Ian wasn't sure, though, because all Mickey did was stab a hole in the bottom of his can and start to guzzle.

Ian wondered if maybe he hadn't noticed, but then Mickey started to make /those/ sounds as he was still drinking. There Mickey Milkovich was, standing in an empty lot with two Gallagher boys, grunting and moaning like he was in a damn porno while shotgunning a beer.

Lip stared for a second - something actually surprised him tonight - but then finished his drink and grabbed a can from the cooler.

Ian couldn't keep his eyes off Mickey, and he walked over when Mickey gestured to take the can from him and finish it off. Their hands touched for a second and when Mickey gasped for breath, his hips briefly brushed against Ian's. Jesus, Ian couldn't possibly get any harder.

Ian was gulping down the rest of that first can, when he nearly choked - there were those sounds again, but this time Lip was making them! Quiet mixed gasps and groans through his nose as he shotgunned the whole can.

The redhead gaped as Lip stood too and joined them. His pants hung on his hips like they were melting off him, and Ian couldn't help but admire how damn fit his brother (Cousin. It's better if he's a cousin. Right? Ah, fuck it.) was.

But what killed him, what made Ian sure that this was a night he'd never come back from, was the way Mickey was looking at Lip - it was the way Mickey looked at Ian when he thinks no one is watching. Mickey has this way of looking up and down a person's body as if he wants to take that person to a semi-public place and do unimaginable things with him. Possesive, predatory, and so tense. Like he's just gonna pounce.

Ian knew he should feel jealous, but it just turned him on. Jesus. He can see Mickey's predatory side from this angle, and he wonders, not for the first time, what Mickey would look like topping.

Lip wouldn't go for that. Although ... the way Lip stared straight back at Mickey as he tossed his recently emptied can aside made Ian wonder.


This was originally written as a kinkmeme fill on livejournal.