Based on the 2nd episode, Ian blurts out something like, "I know you like my dick, but do you even like me," and Mickey gets all confused. For dorydafish :D

Ian watches Mickey as he settles down on the ground, his head tipped back as he blows smoke out of his nostrils and his expression more relaxed than Ian could ever remember him being. Mickey hadn't really seemed to have changed all that much since he'd gone into Juvie that second time; but he had shaved off that god awful beard, much to Ian's joy.

For just a moment Ian's heart had done some sort of weird skip in his heart when Mickey had said, "I missed ya," but it was short lived. Because of course, Mickey hadn't missed him, he'd missed fucking him. Or, as he'd so eloquently put, he'd missed being the one to get fucked. For just once, maybe just for a second, Ian wanted to be able to pretend that Mickey actually felt something for him at all.

But maybe it was like he'd said, "You're nothing but a warm mouth to me."

Mickey being here now didn't mean he'd taken that back. It didn't take the words away, didn't erase the memories. All it meant was that Ian had a choice, pretend he'd forgotten, or end this thing – whatever this thing was – with Mickey right now. He hates how just the thought of not seeing Mickey anymore makes him feel like he's choking. It's ridiculous, but really there hadn't been any looking back from the moment he'd told Lloyd, "I sort of have a boyfriend."

But that didn't change the fact that seeing Mickey now still made him feel hot and angry in the worst ways. It made his palms itch and his fingers jump where they rested against his forearm. A part of him wanted to just wrap his hands around Mickey's throat and shake him, to try and rattle the truth straight out of his bones. Would the ex-con admit to loving him then? Or would he just break Ian's heart and walk away?

"I know you like my dick, but do you even like me?" the words were out before Ian even knew he was about to speak and as soon as he saw Mickey freeze, he just wished he could reach out and grab them and stuff them back down his throat so that he didn't have to face these consequences.

Mickey snorts, scrubbing the hand not holding his cigarette through his hair. "The fuck have I told you about asking stupid questions, Gallagher," he mutters, rolling his eyes and spitting off to the side, "The hell is wrong with you?"

The words bounced around Ian's brain, amplified by anger, the baring of his teeth and the look in his eye irrational as he flew to his feet. "You are," he growls at the ex-con, wishing that he would stand up so that he could tower over him properly, but Mickey just stays there on the ground, staring up at him with wide, bewildered eyes, "You're what's wrong with me! You get under my skin like some fucking infection and you stick there and you have no idea how much I just want to cut you out."

He kicks at a discarded can and it flew noisily across the space around them, bouncing off of the crisscross of poles beneath the bleachers. When he turns back around from it, Mickey's still sitting there right where he was before. He hadn't moved in the slightest.

"You can't just pick me up and put me down Mickey," he snarls at him, wishing more than anything that this was getting some reaction, any reaction out of the other boy instead of that same blank stare. He might as well have been yelling at a brick wall for good it was doing him. Although, maybe he just needed to say this. Maybe he just needed to get this out. "You want to fuck, fine I get that, I'm fine with that," he hisses at him, lowering his voice slightly and clenching his fists by his sides, "I don't have any problem bending you over and fucking you, but I can't deal with this."

He waves a hand around him and knows he's not being all that clear, but right then he doesn't care.

"I can't deal with the 'I missed ya'," he grinds out quickly, because he's on a roll and he'll be damned if anything stops him, "I can't deal with getting my hopes up that your actually going to make me feel fucking special or something and then you just messing it all up all over again."

Mickey finally stands at that, rising up to his full height that really shouldn't have looked as impressive as it did. His eyes narrow and he takes a step closer to Ian until their almost touching. "You're the only one I've ever let fuck my ass, Gallagher, and I ain't got plans to let anyone else do it anytime soon, that fucking special enough for you?" he asks, emotions that Ian can't name flickering in his eyes even as the ex-con scowls and shoulders past him, "Now you coming or you gonna stick around here and throw your little faggy hissy fit some more?"

Ian frowns, cocking his head to the side at the expression on Mickey's face that is almost, almost something that could be classed as a smile. "Where we going?" he asks, figuring what the hell as he jogs slightly to keep up with Mickey, who of course has already started walking away again.

Mickey snorts and spits again. "I ain't spreading out a blanket with you, Firecrotch, you can nip those thoughts in the fucking bud," he mutters, not looking at Ian even though he has a feeling that he's the only thing that has Mickey's attention right now, "But I'm gonna need a fucking beer now you've thrown your faggot-y ass emotions all over me."

He glances at Ian out of the corner of his eye, smirking, "So you fucking coming, or what?"

The look on his face isn't the usual one that says he knows full well that Ian is going to. It's almost nervous, but that's something that's barely there, stamped down underneath a general bad attitude as Mickey cracks his knuckles and sneers at a group of ROTC where they're standing off to the side as they come out from under the bleachers. Ralph's amongst them and he cowers away slightly even as he frowns at Ian walking all too comfortably beside Mickey.

"Yeah okay," Ian says, knowing when to quite while he's ahead. Besides, he quite likes the idea of being the only one Mickey's ever bottomed for. It's a nice idea in his head. Almost as nice as the thought that going for a beer with Mickey is a date. He knows it's not, but he can still imagine.