No Pressure
The sun was hot on Mickey's skin. He could feel its warmth soaking into him. He reached for the water bottle by Ian's backpack, thankful that the younger boy had had the foresight to bring one along.
"Can we just..." Mickey stole a glance at Ian but quickly looked away when he saw that the redhead was staring at him.
"What?" Ian asked, curious. He was sitting cross-legged on the grass, his shorts riding up just enough to reveal the pale skin on the inside of his thighs.
Mickey looked out at the lake, watching the ripples move along its surface, trying to slow his breathing down to be in time to the waves. "Nevermind."
"No, come on. Tell me what you were gonna say," Ian pushed. He put a hand on Mickey's sweaty thigh and Mickey quickly swatted it away.
"Okay, okay. Sorry," Ian said, smiling. He knew the older boy was still uncomfortable with the whole touching-in-public thing, but couldn't help testing the limits sometimes. Maybe one day his hand wouldn't get pushed away.
"That's okay, Mick. We still have another mile to run," he teased, jumping to his feet. He held out his hand for Mickey and helped pull the brunette up.
"You're an asshole," Mickey muttered.
Ian grinned. He knew Mickey well enough to know that the older boy wasn't actually angry at him—just exhausted. Ian patted Mickey on the back, trying to be as encouraging as possible. "You can ask me whatever you wanted to ask whenever you're ready. No pressure."