All of Mickey's strength left him. He succumbed and then he collapsed.

He felt dizzy and light-headed.

Mickey was finding it difficult to breathe. He knew he should give up smoking, but what the fuck.

His chest was heaving.

He could feel the heated flush on his neck.

He could see the splash of red which deluged Ian's face, neck, chest and ribs. Even his bellybutton was tinged.

Mickey's hole stung; but in a good way. A fucking real good way.

Mickey waited for his vision to clear completely.

He wanted to look at his red-head again.

He wanted to squeeze his target nipple with precision.

Fucking Ian just got better and better.

He was beginning to lose track of time.

To lose his inhibitions.

To scream.



In his post-shag haze, he needed something to help with his comedown.

He needed something through his lips.

He craved a kiss.

Ian seemed to sense this and shuffled near. Movement hampered by twisted jeans.

He leant in.

Moved closer.

Breathed on Mickey's near open mouth.

Mickey in turn gazed at Ian's lips.

Licked his own.

Felt the pulse in his tongue.

Brought his head to within pecking distance and then swiftly reached behind Ian in the storeroom to grab - a Snickers bar.

There was no way he was kissing Ian Clayton Gallagher.

That would just be too super-fucking-gay.


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