{"id":3775,"date":"2019-02-23T17:38:33","date_gmt":"2019-02-24T01:38:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/?p=3775"},"modified":"2019-02-23T17:38:43","modified_gmt":"2019-02-24T01:38:43","slug":"i-only-have-two-hands","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/?p=3775","title":{"rendered":"I Only Have Two Hands"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
A Short Gallavich (Ian Gallagher + Mickey Milkovich) Fan Fiction<\/h5>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI Only Have Two Hands\u201d<\/h1>\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Ian Gallagher hated the midnight to two a.m. shift at the Kash & Grab liquor store, but a lot of times his boss Kash liked it even less and so Ian often took his place. Kash didn\u2019t care that Ian was sixteen, that he had school in the morning, or that Ian would much rather be sleeping.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mickey Milkovich poked his head through the back door in a sleeveless, collared shirt with the word SECURITY on the breast patch. \u201cHey, you,\u201d he called in his thick Chicago accent. \u201cI\u2019m gonna grab a smoke in the alley. Cover for me, will ya\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian shot the boy he loved a hopelessly romantic look. If it weren\u2019t for Kash\u2019s security cameras trained on him, he\u2019d join Mickey in the alley. Ian shifted against the counter, tugging at his trouser front. It had been a while, and Ian wanted to sneak outside with him. Maybe, when Mickey returned he could find the sweet spot under the counter where he was invisible to the cameras.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Deep in a graphic mental fantasy, Ian flinched when the front doors banged open and an asshole in a ski mask pointed a semi-automatic handgun at Ian\u2019s nose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOpen the drawer,\u201d he demanded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian stood in the bread aisle, frozen, while Kash fired a bullet into Mickey\u2019s right thigh. Witnessing the young man he was crushing on knocked off his feet, yelling, and bleeding had no effect on Ian. Shock, he must be in shock.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Only when Kash approached Mickey, weapon still drawn, did Ian leap into motion and shield his friend.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mickey\u2019s thigh bled a lot, and Ian wanted to hug him so badly, to offer some kind of comfort, but Kash stood over his shoulder with the gun, and Mickey would never allow it. The fact that he let Ian touch his wounded leg was enough.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian began to shake. He fiddled with the buttons of the cash register, fumbling the mechanism. Ironically, the wannabe criminal on the other side of the counter was steady as a rock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere\u2019s not much.\u201d He wadded up about forty dollars\u2014the entire contents. \u201cOnly enough for, uh, change until we close.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mickey better stay outside and smoke a second cigarette. If he walked in on the robbery, his temper would get him shot. Again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The robber snatched the cash and shoved it into his pocket. \u201cFuck you.\u201d He pulled the trigger.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It all seemed to happen at once\u2014the gun popped, pain exploded across Ian\u2019s abdomen, and he flailed into a rack of liquor bottles and cases of cigarettes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Ian begged, a little too late.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Full, glass bottles of Crown Royale, Jack Daniels, and Grey Goose rained down upon his head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pain blew away as if caught in a stiff wind as darkness descended. Light dimmed. Ian blinked once, and Mickey cupped his face, his hands impossibly warm and rough against his oversensitive skin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The air stank like alcohol.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian tried to ask, What are you doing here? There\u2019s a creep with a gun. He\u2019ll hurt you<\/em>. But, \u201cWhuyaaa?\u201d was as far as he got.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShut up, dummy,\u201d Mickey said, smiling past a sheen across both eyes. \u201cIt\u2019ll only make you bleed out faster.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mickey grasped his hand, and Ian clung to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Though Mickey was out of juvie and Ian had seen him a couple times, they hadn\u2019t been together yet. Ian snuck into his yard and scratched at Mickey\u2019s bedroom window until the boy he loved slid it open.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat the fuck do you want?\u201d Mickey stood on the other side of the glass in nothing but boxer shorts.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian chipped paint off the wooden sill with his fingernail. \u201cDid the bullet wound heal right?\u201d he wanted to know. Then, on impulse, \u201cCan I see it?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t give a shit what you do.\u201d But Mickey left the window wide open when he climbed back into bed.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian slid through the portal, landing gracefully on his feet. \u201cWhat was juvie like?\u201d he whispered. In the dim light, Mickey\u2019s shape drew him like a magnet.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFucked up,\u201d Mickey grunted.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Climbing into bed beside Mickey, Ian peeled the blanket off his lower body for a better look at his bare thigh.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mickey lay real still, unnaturally still. \u201cYeah, you can suck me off while you\u2019re down there, too.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian couldn\u2019t remember what the scar looked like, but Mickey tasted like clean skin and salt. It was his first time giving a blowjob, and afterwards he sprawled across Mickey\u2019s chest, happy to doze for a few hours, but the other boy\u2019s elbow caught him sharply in the ribs.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGet the fuck outta here, asshole.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian shivered as dark spots danced like fairies in his periphery. \u201cMick?\u201d he slurred.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI told you to shut up,\u201d Mickey said, trying for levity but the tears in his eyes ruined the effect. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you ever listen to me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Though Mickey was careful, when he lifted Ian\u2019s upper body onto his lap, it hurt. The lights dimmed once more, and Ian may have passed out for a second because Mickey was shaking him and shouting again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cStop,\u201d Ian complained. He blinked the shadows away. God, he was weak. He couldn\u2019t feel his arms anymore, though he suspected his fingers were still locked between Mickey\u2019s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe cops\u2019ll be here any minute,\u201d Mickey promised.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian gazed down his torso at the bloody wound in his belly. \u201c\u2026dying\u2026\u201d Weird, how it didn\u2019t hurt anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re not fuckin\u2019 dying,\u201d Mickey snapped. \u201cThey\u2019re gonna patch you right up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian blinked, and the world went dark and silent. As quick as flipping off the light switch. Mickey moved his face directly in front of Ian\u2019s nose, jostling him. The floor tilted dangerously off balance, and Ian tumbled through a black hole.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lights flickered as people in scrubs spoke rapid gibberish across Ian\u2019s torso. His whole body jerked like stepping off a curb in a dream. Someone touched his arm roughly, possessively.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMickey?\u201d he mumbled, searching through the haze. It had to be Mickey. No one else grabbed him the same way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The dugout at night was a quiet, creepy place that smelled a bit like beer and urine.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t get any weird ideas,\u201d Mickey greeted. He was always angry, always hating someone. It excited Ian, who couldn\u2019t hold a grudge. Being with him was like being in the eye of a storm. Ian never knew, from day to day, if he\u2019d experience Mickey\u2019s fury or his protective side.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, yeah?\u201d Ian shot back. \u201cAbout what?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mickey grabbed him by the arms and forced him to sit, knees splayed, on the ancient wooden bench. \u201cThis doesn\u2019t mean anything.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

His pants and briefs slid down and Mickey buried his face between his thighs before Ian fully appreciated the gesture. Mickey liked getting fucked. He\u2019d never returned the favor before.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Is that all it was? A quid pro quo between fuckbuddies?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But then Mickey palmed his balls, and Ian didn\u2019t give a shit why.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Doors and room numbers floated past, but where was Mickey?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian heard the words surgery<\/em>, chances<\/em>, and wait<\/em>. Still no Mickey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m right here, Ian.\u201d Mickey never called him Ian. He called him shithead, dummy, fucktard, and sometimes Gallagher. Never Ian.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He opened his mouth to call for him again when the walls stopped speeding past and something sharp pricked the back of his hand. He sank down through the gurney, through the floor, through the earth itself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His age be damned, Ian loved to party. His fake ID gained him entry into every dance club on the south side. Mickey preferred a quiet beer at home. Some pot, maybe. He rarely even visited a bar.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

So, between the booze and the pills, Saturday night was veering left fast. An older guy pestered Ian right out the exit door. When he stumbled out of the club and fell somewhere down the street in the literal gutter, he didn\u2019t know what to do. If the creep followed him, he was helpless to fight him off. Ian liked fucking, but he wanted to be conscious for it.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian crawled out of the street and slumped against a brick wall, pulling his cellphone.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho the fuck is this?\u201d Mickey answered.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMick,\u201d he said, his mouth swollen and hard to control. \u201cCome get me.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGallagher?\u201d he asked, sounding astonished. \u201cWhere the fuck are you? If this is a dumbass prank\u2026\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can\u2019t get up,\u201d he whined. \u201cThere\u2019s some creep\u2026\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mickey\u2019s voice, when next he spoke turned serious. \u201cTell me where you are.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c\u2026street,\u201d he breathed. \u201cClub Smash\u2026\u201d His eyes drooped, and the phone must have fallen from his numb fingers because he never caught Mickey\u2019s response.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

When Mickey arrived, though, he wasn\u2019t quiet or polite about it. He flung Ian against the sidewalk and kicked him in the ribs.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs this your idea of a good time?\u201d he demanded. \u201cFlirting with perverts and passing out on the street?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian started to cry.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a fuckin\u2019 disappointment,\u201d Mickey swore. \u201cGet up.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He couldn\u2019t.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mickey pulled him roughly to his feet and supported him on the walk to his pickup.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d Ian whined.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou scared the shit outta me,\u201d Mickey replied, thrusting him into the truck. \u201cI thought I was gonna find you stabbed and raped, you stupid bastard. Why are you out here alone?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian leaned his head against the cool window glass and closed his eyes. \u201cNo one to go with.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNext time you wanna party, I\u2019ll go with you,\u201d Mickey said, starting the truck. \u201cYou need a fuckin\u2019 chaperone. Might as well be me.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian woke like rising from the depths of the community center pool. First, consciousness returned in pieces before he began to flex his limbs. Finally, his vision cleared enough to recognize the person beside him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Across the narrow hospital bed, a sleeping Mickey balanced on the very edge, not an inch of him disturbing a single spot on Ian\u2019s body. It looked uncomfortable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMick?\u201d His voice was raw and throaty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The sound roused the other boy, who whipped his head up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Their eyes met, and Mickey hovered over him, his face a mask of anxiety and grief. \u201cCan you hear me? Are you awake?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He nodded because his voice was trash.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mickey hadn\u2019t tried to touch him yet, not so much as a pat on the shoulder. Probably, he stupidly worried about hurting him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian made the first move, laying his hand on Mickey\u2019s. The touch seemed to revitalize him. Mickey\u2019s features softened, and his chin wobbled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs that really you?\u201d Mickey asked. \u201c\u2019Cause you\u2019ve been opening your eyes now and then, but no one\u2019s home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just how bad was it?<\/em> \u201cIt\u2019s me, Mick,\u201d he promised. \u201cAm I dying?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, shithead. You\u2019re not that lucky.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Things must be okay if Mickey was insulting him. Ian eased deeper into the thin mattress. \u201cDid I get shot?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShot, yep.\u201d Mickey relaxed, too, curling around him. \u201cAnd your head got split open.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe bottles?\u201d Ian asked, sort of remembering all that liquor bombarding him when he fell into the shelf.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMmm-hmm.\u201d Ian shifted positions, and Mickey laid his head on his bicep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWere you worried about me?\u201d Ian teased. In truth, Mickey\u2019s shared body heat and the weight of his arm was lulling him back to sleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHell, no,\u201d Mickey said, one thumb rising to tenderly stroke his cheek. \u201cI just didn\u2019t wanna have to tell Fiona her no-good brother died.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian smiled as his eyes fluttered closed. \u201cI love you,\u201d he murmured.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a sharp intake of breath and then silence. Ian withdrew his arm and lifted his head to see into Mickey\u2019s face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Too soon<\/em>, Ian thought. He\u2019d fucked up and said it too soon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mickey bit his lower lip and then shifted around as if he couldn\u2019t get comfortable. After clearing his throat, he blurted out, \u201cI love you, too. Now, shut up and go back to sleep. You\u2019re supposed to be resting.\u201d As he said it, he pulled Ian\u2019s arm back around his ribs. \u201cDummy,\u201d he breathed into his chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDouche,\u201d Ian whispered back, resting his cheek against the top of Mickey\u2019s head. The corners of his mouth turned up, and he fell asleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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<3 Anna<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A Short Gallavich (Ian Gallagher + Mickey Milkovich) Fan Fiction \u201cI Only Have Two Hands\u201d Ian Gallagher hated the midnight to two a.m. shift at the Kash & Grab liquor store, but a lot of times his boss Kash liked it even less and so Ian often took his place. Kash didn\u2019t care that Ian […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3384,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"\"I Only Have Two Hands\" Gallavich Fan Fiction","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[826,3],"tags":[732,730,827,828],"class_list":["post-3775","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fan-fiction","category-writing","tag-fan-fiction","tag-gallavich","tag-lgbt-fiction","tag-shameless-us"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/12\/gallavich-1800x2700.jpg","views":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p2Wkl2-YT","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3775","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3775"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3775\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3777,"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3775\/revisions\/3777"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/3384"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3775"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3775"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3775"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}