by; everybreathagift
Summary:
The size difference between them is very important to Ian. So is seeing Mickey in his clothes.
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Ian is still completely dumbfounded how a family of three manage to pile up so many dishes. It's not like they even cook big meals but somehow, the sink is practically overflowing which is why he's up at eight in the morning on his off day cleaning the kitchen.
Fiona and Liam are dropping by today to bring Yevgeny back home and regardless that the Gallagher house is always messy, he doesn't want her to come in and give him the mom look. Which is shitty because Mickey is still in bed, naked , and Ian would much rather be curled around him than wondering why there's an entire piece of mushy bread in his sink. What the fuck does Yev do when he comes home from school?
Finally, the dishes are clean and the counters aren't a total wreck. It only took him forty-five minutes. He starts drying his hands, ready to wake Mickey up with his mouth. Or his cock. Fingers, even, whatever it takes to get Mickey to make those noises Ian loves so much.
"Why'd you get up?"
Mickey's voice has that sexy, husky quality that it always has in the morning. Soft and kind of quiet. Ian's already smiling before he even turns around.
"Because our house is an atr-"
Ian can't finish his sentence because he suddenly can't breathe. Mickey is standing in their kitchen, wearing one of Ian's button down flannels. Only Ian's button down flannel. It's almost too big on Ian, which means it's fucking huge on Mickey. It hangs to his thighs, the sleeves swallow his hands, and the top three buttons are undone. His hair is messy and he's rubbing his eyes with one hand, bare feet curling against the linoleum.
"The fuck are you lookin' at?" Mickey says, not really grumpy but trying to be anyway, walking forward to place a hand on Ian's waist. Mickey looks up at him, gentle and sleepy and the absolute sexiest fucking thing Ian has ever seen in his goddamned life. "You feelin' okay?"
Ian realizes he must look like he's lost his mind, jaw hanging open and unable to speak, staring down at Mickey with wide eyes. He can't decide if he wants to keep staring, or bend Mickey over the counter to find out for sure if he's really got nothing underneath.
"You look so fucking good in my shirt," is all Ian can manage, sounding like he's had the wind knocked out of him. Kind of feels that way, too.
Mickey's ears turn pink but he rolls his eyes, stepping even closer. "Shut up and come back to bed."
Ian licks his lips and finally gets his arms to work, groaning loudly when he runs his hands up Mickey's thighs to his bare ass. "Fuck. You're really only wearing my shirt."
Mickey grins up at him and arches back a little, pressing into Ian's grip on his ass. "Gonna fuckin' come back to bed now ?"
"Just..." Ian walks Mickey backward a little so he can switch their position, pushing Mickey into the counter and curving himself over Mickey's back. "Just give me a minute."
"Fuck, Gallagher, I would've put on one of your shirts sooner if I'd have known you got a thing for it."
"I didn't know I had a thing for it," Ian murmurs, stepping away slightly so he can stare, practically drooling, as Mickey slowly and intentionally bends over the counter, arching his back and pressing up on his toes a little. "Holy fuck, Mick."
"You just gonna stand there and stare?"
"Unless you're gonna let me grab my phone so I can take a picture."
