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The Last Supper

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Ian sat on the cold, steel bench poking what was supposed to be meatloaf around his plate with his spork. Ha, spork. God, he couldn’t wait to use a real fucking fork again. He gave up on the meatloaf and rested his head on his hand, elbow on the table. Mickey was engaged in a conversation with another inmate trying to guess the ingredients in the meatloaf. Right now they were debating whether the white chunks were onion or garlic. As if it mattered.

This was Ian’s last night in the joint and he wasn’t yet sure how to feel about it. On the one hand, he was ready to be a new uncle again, to be back at the house with his family. To be contributing. On the other, it meant leaving Mickey. Again. It felt like he just got him back, like he only just turned around from laying his prison issued bed clothes on his bunk to see Mickey standing at the door explaining how he’d rolled on the cartel. After leaving him at the border, he really thought that was it for them. His life since then had been a never ending attempt to move on, to figure out who Ian Gallagher was without Mickey Milkovich. Ian chuckled quietly to himself, stabbing again at his food, thinking that yeah, that worked out real well, didn’t it? A few failed relationships and a manic episode later and here he was in MCC. Despite his best efforts to figure out who Ian Gallagher was, he still ended up back with Mickey. It was like even the universe knew he couldn’t be without him.

“No, fuckwad, it is garlic! Look at it! It’s not transparent like onion!”, Mickey scoffed at his fellow inmate.

“Transparent, huh? Thats a big word for such a little guy there, Milkovich.” the inmate laughed while slapping Mickey on the shoulder, the other guys at the table chuckling quietly to themselves.

Unimpressed, Mickey turned to look his table mate in the eye and grabbing a handful of his own crotch spitting, “Little guy?! I’ll fucking show you ‘little’…”

Ian jumped in at this point grabbing him by the arm and pulling him up and away from the table, Mickey protesting and shaking his arm out of Ian’s grip.

“The fuck, Gallagher?”

“I’d rather not spend my last night in here with you watching you fondle your junk in front of a bunch of other guys.” Ian was walking away from their table with his tray in his hands, ready to dispose of the meatloaf in question.

“Hmm” Mickey, trying to keep up with Ian, his own tray in his hands. Meatloaf gone, barring a few white bits on his plate that had been thoroughly sniffed, tasted, and mashed. “You uh, you wanna watch me fondle it in front of just you then?”

“I’d rather fondle it myself, honestly.” Ian admitted in a low voice, setting his tray on the counter with a clank. He looked at Mickey with folded arms, eyes slowly travelling downwards over his boyfriend’s jumpsuit-clad body. Fuck, those thighs looked unnaturally good in that God forsaken yellow suit. They filled out the pant legs just the right amount. He imagined kneeling down, running his hands over Mickey’s legs, squeezing and feeling every inch of his thick thighs. He was getting hard and this was not the time or the place. He quickly brought his eyes upward, looking at the ceiling, willing his cock to behave.

“You alright there, firecrotch?” Mickey was looking at him with an amused smirk on his face, knowing exactly what was going through his head.

“Yeah, just great. Good. Fantastic, even.” Ian wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.

“Mhmm, looks it. Let’s go back to our room, I’m done with this fuck-loaf anyway. Only meat I want is leaving here in less than 12 hours.”

By this time Mickey was already walking away from the counter with his usual swagger, blowing a goodbye kiss to their dinner mates, laughing as they all threw him a barrage of middle fingers.

“Romantic.” Ian pushed himself off the counter and started following his boyfriend up the metal staircase to their cell.


As they reached their cell, Mickey walked through the doorway, already peeling the top part of his jumpsuit off his arms and rolling it around his waist. He stretched his arms, flexing them out to the sides and turning his head to crack his neck.

Ian walked in behind him, closing their door, and watching Mickey’s little show. His biceps were definitely benefiting from the daily workouts in the yard.

Mickey turned around, facing Ian and slowly started to walk towards him, pushing him against the cement wall. Ian bowed his head to look at him, realizing this was the last time for a while that he would get to be this close to him.

It took him so long to finally have Mickey, HIS Mickey, back. Even if it was completely surreal and unexpected to Ian. Having them come back together in such a way that they knew they would be free together on the outside was still barely comprehensible to Ian. He figured if Mickey were ever to get caught, he’d surely serve a life sentence for breaking out. But that wasn’t the case. Mickey did come back for him and he did negotiate with the Feds. He would be out soon, too. But it wasn’t soon enough. Not after Ian became used to having him in his arms again at night, curled into his man's body in front of him, Ian pressed against his back seeking the little warmth they could in this place.

As he looked at Mickey, he couldn’t help saying how he truly felt about his release tomorrow.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

Mickey pulled back, a look of disappointment and sadness in his eyes.

“Ay, we’ve been through this Ian” he said, pressing his hand to Ian’s cheek, caressing it softly. Ian’s eyes dropped, head turning down to the side to avoid eye contact.

“Ian, look at me.” Mickey tipped Ian’s chin up to make him look directly into his eyes. Ian’s were glossy, tears gathering in the corners threatening to spill over. “Ian, I’ll be out of here soon enough. I shouldn’t even be getting out this soon. If I hadn’t broke the fuck out and had to spill on the cartel to get a deal, I’d still be sitting my ass in here rotting for the next decade. Everything that happened, that brought us back together, means we get to be on the outside. We didn’t have that chance before. You gotta remember that, man.”

Mickey was right. Ian knew that if Mickey hadn’t broken out, he’d still be serving his original sentence. Mickey’s break out and subsequent cartel intel lead to them actually having a future together. A legal future. An out future. But Ian, being Ian, wanted more. He couldn’t be fully happy with what would be. He wanted it to be now. He wanted Mickey to be leaving with him.


Mickey let his hand fall to his side, lightly clasping it with Ian’s, leading him to their bunk. Putting both of his hands on Ian’s shoulders, he guided him to sit on the edge of the bed. He started slowly undoing the snaps on Ian’s jumpsuit, keeping eye contact the whole time, feeling Ian’s breathe shuddering the slightest bit under his touch. When the last snap was undone, he guided Ian’s arms out of the sleeves, pushing the top of the suit down revealing Ian’s toned torso covered by his undershirt. Even through the white fabric he could see how cut his man was. Ian’s always been obsessed with fitness, but he was admittedly more healthy now in a lot of ways. He’d been faithful to his medication regimen, he’d been seeing the prison therapist, and truthfully the routine was oddly beneficial for him. It wasn’t the ideal setting, but he’d been able to get himself back on track.

Ian felt Mickey’s gaze heavy on him. He felt his hands slide down his abs, one hand barely lifting under the hem of his tank top. The other one moving to grasp the back of his neck and bring him into a soft kiss.

Ian sighed lowly into Mickey’s mouth, his hand helping Mickey’s lift his shirt off and tossing it to the floor. Ian laid back, pulling Mickey with him, settling him on top of him, legs resting between his own. He let his hands drift down his man’s back, sliding under his jumpsuit and into his boxers, feeling the warm skin of his ass. God, that ass. He could lay here and knead that thing for the rest of his life and die a happy man. Mickey groaned, pulling up on one arm, using the other to tug at Ian’s jumpsuit. They both shuffled and grunted their way through kicking the rest of their clothing off finally feeling skin on skin.

In a less than graceful manner, Ian flipped them both over while avoiding cracking his head off the top bunk, something that had happened fairly frequently. The two men trying to keep their kiss going through their smiles and soft laughs. When Ian had successfully gotten Mickey underneath him, he pinned his shoulders to the thin mattress. He allowed himself a quick moment to just memorize Mickey's face before plunging back in for another heated kiss. He could feel Mickey's hands all over him, it was simultaneously too much and not enough. He shifted to the side, enough to hook his hand into Mickey's boxers to coax them down, watching as his cock sprung free. Ian groaned at the sight, pressing his now free hand to his own hard on to provide some relief.

As soon as Mickey finished kicking off his underwear, Ian leaned down and took him into his mouth. He could feel Mickey's hand grasping his hair and pushing his head down to take him in more. Ian looked up at Mickey through his eyelashes taking in the sight before him. Mickey's eyes were half closed, head thrown back, throat beautifully and tantalizingly exposed for the taking. His mouth opened as he let out a particularly loud keen.

Reluctantly, Ian pulled away from Mickey's cock. He slid up his man's chest, attaching himself to that neck, nipping and sucking his way to that favourite spot behind Mickey's ear. He could feel Mickey arching beneath him, his hands pressing Ian closer to seek more friction.

"Ugh, God Ian, more. I need more."

Keeping himself latched to Mickey's neck, he brought his hand to Mickey's mouth. Mickey opened eagerly, immediately sucking three of Ian's fingers into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around them, hollowing his cheeks and providing the best kind of pressure.

"Fuck, thats hot." Ian detached himself from Mickey's neck, relishing in the purple nip marks he'd left, watching the show Mickey was putting on. He took his fingers from Mickey's mouth and started circling his hole with his index finger. Mickey shivered and whined. With that, he pushed his finger in, feeling the velvet soft inner walls of his man. Seeing how ready Mick was, he immediately inserted another finger and started scissoring them, opening him up, Mickey writhing above him.

"N-now, I need you now. Can't wait." Mickey threw his head back into the pillow, thrashing it to the side, mouth wide open.

Ian took his fingers out. Making eye contact with Mickey, he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them.

"God Mick, you taste so fucking good."

He peeled his boxers off and positioned himself over his boyfriend, grasping his cock with his hand and lining himself up with his leaking hole. Achingly slow, he started to push in. Savouring each second knowing this was his last for a while. Looking down, he watched as Mickey's hole gripped his cock, the way it stretched around his length and absorbed him. Once he was fully engulfed, he just stayed there, watching his boyfriend’s blissed out face.

Slowly he started to move inside of him, leaning down and resting his hands on either side of Mickey’s face. Making eye contact, they shared a silent, knowing look. This wasn’t sex. This was memorizing each others bodies. This was, in a way, good bye. Even if only for a little while.

As Ian moved himself in and out at an achingly slow pace, he brought his lips to Mickey’s, softly seeking entrance. They let their tongues languidly dance around each other, hands roaming, touching, memorizing. Ian could feel his release gradually building but he didn’t increase his pace. He kept going slow and steady wanting this to last.

Mickey brought a hand down to his leaking cock and started lazily pumping, Ian clasping his own hand around Mickey’s. Unhurriedly they moved their hands together bringing Mickey to orgasm. Mickey convulsed, breathing out his moans in harsh whispers. Watching his man writhe through his orgasm, he allowed his own to roll through him. It wasn’t the hard, mind blowing orgasm of rough sex. It was an all consuming, deep orgasm. Every part of him stiffening and aching to feel more of Mickey. His hands needed more, his lips needed more, his cock needed more.

As they started to come down, Ian could feel Mickey caressing his cheek again, eyes squinting and threatening tears. They knew what this meant, what tomorrow would bring. But they also knew that in time, Mickey would be out too and they could finally, finally start the life they should always have been able to live. Nothing with them was simple. Nothing was easy. And maybe they needed the path they took to get here to really understand themselves and each other. They fell too hard, too fast, too young.

Ian leaned back in for another kiss.

“Huh.” Ian huffed as he pulled away from Mickey

“..what?” Mickey eyed him curiously

“Your mouth tastes like onion.” Ian smiled that stupid fucking smile

“Fuck you, firecrotch.”