This is just a random little sequel-type thing to My Own Form Of Therapy (though I don't think you need to have read that to get this, but it may be ever so slightly confusing if you haven't, but I'm not in the buisness of pimping out my fics, so) because I needed a break from writing my other Ian/Mickey fic and I love domestic settings because of reasons. Reviews would be much appreciated :)

When Ian wakes up, limbs still too tired to work properly and his eyes barely open, he is alone in the bed, the empty side no longer warm from Mickey's sleeping body. He shuffles into the bathroom to quickly brush his teeth - getting Kiera to wet his toothbrush in the shower so as to not turn the water ice-cold - and then follows the familiar sound of Lip and Mickey arguing over how to cook the bacon. Ian would find it funny if it weren't so childish and pointless because, more often than not, Mickey will threaten bodily harm and Lip will back down and that's that. Besides, Lip is the only one of them who likes it chewy so he never gets his way unless he cooks it himself.

The scene before him when he gets to the kitchen is so familiar that he rolls his eyes at it. Mickey is stood beside the oven, his hands gripping the counter, head bowed and shoulders hunched - the way his chest heaves as he takes deep breaths is visible even from where Ian stands - with Lip a couple of feet behind him, hands in his pockets. Both of them are topless in grey sweats that actually belong to Ian, but since both he and Lip moved in none of them rarely wear an outfit that completely belongs to themselves. Ian doesn't really have a leg to stand on as he's wearing a black pair of Mickey's.

As he walks in, Ian counts down from five in his head and when he gets to one, pouring himself a glass of orange juice, Mickey spins around with the spatula in hand and growls, "sit your fucking ass down, Gallagher", then jabs the oily utensil into Lip's chest. And because Lip isn't a total idiot, he does just that and mumbles under his breath.

Once Mickey turns back around, his form a little less tense, Ian walks over to him and rests his chin atop his bare shoulder and a hand on his hip. "Hey," he says softly into the crook of Mickey's neck.

Whilst taking the juice out of Ian's hand, Mickey grunts his reply and downs half of the drink in one go before shoving the glass back into Ian's hand. It never fails to make Ian smile how grumpy Mickey is in the morning before he eats something; becoming almost mute unless he's threatening Lip. So it is kind of surprising when Mickey says in a hushed tone, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I was gonna do you breakfast in bed or whatever, but Lip exists, so".

For a few seconds Ian is stunned into silence. Sure, Mickey has calmed down a lot over the past year, but he isn't romantic - most boyfriend-type things he does are only romantic to Ian and in the most unconventional ways - and breakfast in bed? That's all kinds of conventionally romantic. Ian quickly shakes out of his daze with a wide smile on his face, reaching to turn off the oven then twisting Mickey around so they're facing each other. Mickey won't look him in the eye though, and Ian knows it's because he's feeling uncertain and anxious, like he thinks Ian will be pissed that he wanted to bring him breakfast in bed. And fuck if that isn't a reminder of just how vulnerable Mickey really is; how little he thinks of himself beneath his cocky fa├žade. It makes Ian want to kiss him until he believes every compliment he sends his way; makes him want to strangle the life out of his dad and brothers for making Mickey think like this. Instead, he tightens his grip on Mickey's hip and moves his other hand to cup his jaw, slowly tilting his face so that Mickey finally looks at him. And really, Ian could get lost in that sea of blue and never feel like he was drowning. "Thanks," he whispers into the miniscule space between them and then leans forward and kisses him.

It's been over a year and Ian still hasn't gotten used to this: the intimacy and the trust. Mickey's hands are on his waist and they aren't rough, they aren't grabbing at skin, they simply rest there; his thumbs drawing smooth circles on his skin. Their mouths slot together perfectly as their tongues twine and explore; it's gentle, sweet even, but not without the heat that is always present with the two of them.

"Jesus, and some people pay for a show I can get for free," Lip deadpans, completely ruining the moment in his usual fashion.

Ian kisses Mickey one last time and then pulls back, willing his mind to never forget the smile Mickey is now wearing because Christ - and Mickey would kill him dead for thinking this - it's scarily beautiful. He sets about getting the cutlery out whilst Mickey reluctantly serves the bacon, giving Lip the most cooked pieces because he's a dick like that and finds it funny. With the way Lip scowls and tries to wrestle the pan from Mickey, Ian kind of thinks it is, too.

Just as the three of them settle down to eat, Kiera saunters in wearing only high-waisted shorts and a lacy blue bra. "Morning men." Her voice is gruff and she totally fails at sounding like a man, but Ian snorts anyway and lets her kiss his cheek, unlike Mickey who pushed her face away with his palm. "Oh, you are so my favourite," she whispers to him before settling down beside Lip to eat.

The atmosphere is completely relaxed and comfortable and it takes all of Ian's concentration to not smile like an idiot because this is part of his life now; he gets to have this. Mickey is giving him a questioning look, eyebrows raised and furrowed. It would be a little more effective if he wasn't eating with absolutely no grace as usual, with grease pooling in one corner of his mouth.

Ian scrunches up his nose at him. "So attractive," he mutters sarcastically.

Not unexpectedly, Mickey doesn't reply with words, instead he opens his mouth wide then sticks out his tongue, so that they all get a view of mushed up bacon and toast, then smiles open-mouthed like a little kid who's very pleased with himself. Both Lip and Kiera share his look of fond exasperation (Lip a little more disgusted than fond, no doubt questioning Ian's sanity for being with the guy).

Attention is quickly brought to Kiera as she starts telling a story about this girl who she used to know who took acid this one time and then wouldn't stop trying to stab her because she thought she was a demon.

Ian is pretty sure Kiera's told him this story already - drunk as she was - so he goes to get another drink whilst she continues talking, her fingers tapping out a random beat on the tables surface. "And I told her, you know, that I'm not a demon and that I'm not going to drag her to Hell and after chasing me around the house for five minutes - hey Ian, can you pour me a glass - she finally passes out." Lip snorts and Mickey nods in a contemplative way, like he has vague memories of a situation like that. Ian is so happy that Mickey no longer goes out every night getting high.

He's just about to put the juice back into the fridge when Mickey says, "get me a cup, babe", and earns everyone's' shocked stares. Ian seriously considers whiplash he turned around so fast at the sound of that last word. As if sensing the stillness around him, Mickey looks up from his plate with an annoyed frown. "The fuck you all lookin' at?" he grumbles, utterly unaware.

"Uh, dude, do you know what you just said?" Lip asks, laughter clearly evident in his voice.

"Yeah, I asked for a damn unicorn for my birthday," he says sarcastically, "'course I know what I just fuckin' said." Though he clearly doesn't otherwise he'd be backpedaling like his life depended on it because Mickey and pet names go together like Frank and sobriety. He'd sooner be caught painting Kiera's nails for her than calling Ian anything like "babe" or "honey". Though calling him "firecrotch" is apparently totally fine.

Lip's eyebrows rise as his smirk gets even bigger. "Oh, you did? Right, okay. It's just, y'know, I was unaware that Ian took the time to change his name to Ian Babe Gallagher. Perhaps it's a new development."

Kiera tries, and fails, to hide her giggles behind her hand and when realisation washes over Mickey's face, she gives up completely and laughs outright and loud. It's sort of impossible not to laugh when Kiera does and so that's Ian's excuse.

However, Mickey clearly isn't amused about it at all, but he also doesn't look angry. Annoyed, perhaps? Irritated? Yeah, Ian thinks he looks irritated and it makes him smile goofily as Mickey turns to look at him briefly before focussing back on Lip. He shrugs, probably aiming for casual but landing on tense; movements so jerky Ian thinks he could've pulled something. "Whatever man, at least when I'm drunk I don't sing Justin Bieber songs to him." And that about shuts Lip up because a) he will never, ever live that down no matter what and he knows it and b) there isn't really anything any of them could do that would equal how embarrassingly shameful that night was.

Kiera puts an arm around Lip and kisses him. "Would you like me to lie and say that it was a beautiful gesture and I loved it dearly?"

"Mocking me? Really?" He stands up abruptly and then hoists Kiera's tiny frame up onto his shoulder and carries her out of the kitchen shouting, "you dare mock me!" in this deep voice that sounds only vaguely like a British accent.

Ian is still standing beside the fridge when Mickey's chair screeches across the floor before he stands and puts his plate in the sink and he doesn't quite know what to do but smile down at the floor. And then Mickey is stood in front of him saying his name.

"You tell anybody, and by that I mean my fucking sister, I will slit your throat in your sleep." And without waiting for a response, he grabs the back of Ian's neck and crushes their lips together like it pains him not to.

And though Ian's shoulders are shaking with silenced laughter and their teeth keep knocking now that Mickey is smiling too, they are so wrapped up in each other that they don't even notice the loud moans coming from Kiera's room.