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Mickey almost drops his phone on the pavement when he sees the first photo.
“…the fuck,” he says under his breath and then presses the next button to continuously look through all 17 photos of Ian fucking Gallagher that had somehow gotten on his piece of shit phone.
Jesus, Ian must’ve gotten a hold of Mickey’s phone at some point and then taken a fuck load of selfies because apparently that’s the kind of shit Gallagher does for fun. Most of them have Gallagher pulling strange faces at the camera, or posing in ways that generally involve his eyebrows. Mickey snorts at how ridiculous the guy’s expression is, Gallagher must’ve been high as fuck when he took those pictures. Either that, or he’s just plain stupid.
Mickey shakes his head and doesn’t know whether to feel fond or annoyed – ‘cause Ian shouldn’t be leaving shit like this on his phone where anyone can see. They’ve always been pretty careful with things like this, especially Mickey since it’s fuckin’ hard owning anything in the Milkovich house without anyone else getting their hands on it. Everyone’s always stealing each other’s shit, whether it’s firearms or ipods or phones. So it’s not like Mickey’s some paranoid pussy, he’s just careful.
It’s like that time Gallagher was away on some ROTC trip and Mickey had fuck all to do without him. Mickey had been complaining to Gallagher about how bored and horny he’d been lately (at that point it’d been only three days without Gallagher… but fucking several times on a daily basis has spoiled Mickey and if there’s ever a chance to complain about something, he’ll take it.) An hour or so later, Ian had texted him a get busy ;) with an attached photo. Mickey had snorted at the obnoxious winky face and then opened up the photo.
Ian had used the mirror to show off the lower half of his body, with his fucking photoshopped-lookin’ abs included, and of course, there was the main attraction – Gallagher’s dick all hard and ready. Ian had been using one hand to hold onto his cock and the other to take the photo. Mickey remembers getting hard almost instantly, but he also remembers wishing Gallagher’s stupid face was included in the picture too – and then quickly dismissed that line of thought.
Anyway, the point is that he had to delete the photo afterwards in case his brothers stole his phone to make a phone call or some shit, since Mickey has the contact details to a few of their dealers.
And yeah, Mickey wishes he’d kept that photo and every other dick shot Gallagher had sent his way, but deleting those photos is the price Mickey has to pay for wanting a clean face and bones unbroken. It’s just the way it is, Mickey’s used to it by now.
But these new photos, these photos of Gallagher are so ridiculous, and dumb, and so Ian – Mickey actually has no idea how his brothers would even react if they ever saw them. Don’t people who are just friends do shit like that all the time anyway? Mickey wouldn’t exactly know, but it’s normal and shit, right?
Looking down at Gallagher’s ridiculous face and his freckles that have faded overtime (but Mickey knows for a fact are still there), Mickey shakes his head and pockets his phone.
*
It’s only a few days later that Mickey brings it up with Ian. They’re lazing about in their little corner of the abandoned building, sharing a post-fuck cigarette when Mickey interrupts Ian mid-sentence.
“Aye, what the fuck were photos of your ugly mug doin’ in my phone?”
Ian pauses for a moment, obviously confused, before he breaks out into a huge grin and even laughs a little. “Jesus, I forgot about that. Took you a while to find them.”
Mickey only glares at him and Ian, the fucker, smiles even wider. “And I know for a fact that you don’t think I’m ugly.”
Mickey raises his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? Know that for a fact, do you?”
“Mhhm,” Gallagher says around the cigarette. “Or you wouldn’t let me do this.” He leans in and kisses Mickey, all quick and soft, before pulling back with a smug smile.
Mickey scowls and snatches the cigarette off of him. “You’re implyin’ that I care.”
Ian’s quiet for a bit and Mickey begrudgingly regrets his words. But Jesus, since when did Gallagher become a twelve-year-old schoolgirl, wanting to know if his hair looked pretty today? “All right, you’re fuckin’ hot okay? And you know it too, so shut up.”
Ian’s lips quirk and Mickey rolls his eyes, handing the smoke back to him. Gallagher takes one last drag before snubbing it out and then nudges Mickey’s shoulder with his own. “Y’know, I like your face too.” He smiles at Mickey, his expression so open. Mickey could read this kid like a book over and over again, and Mickey doesn’t even like reading.
But of course, he has no idea how to reply, so he settles for kicking Gallagher lightly on the shin. “Fuck off,” he says, but doesn’t turn away when Ian kisses him again.
*
It’s only much, much later, when the sun is setting steadily somewhere outside and Ian’s passed out on the mattress, that Mickey has an idea. He quits out of Angry Birds and finds Gallagher’s camera on his fancy iphone. No he isn’t going to take a picture of his fuckin’ face, but he has a feeling Gallagher will appreciate this photo anyways.
It takes a bit of effort, but somehow he manages to take a picture of his knuckle tattoos.
‘Cause if Mickey’s keeping those dumb photos of Gallagher, then Gallagher better keep something of Mickey. It’s only fair.