Mickey returned to the room a few minutes later and was bombarded by an excited Ian, who had a grin spread across his freckled face.

"We did it, Mickey!" Ian exclaimed as Mickey shut the door behind him. "We fuckin' did it!"

Mickey glanced up at him and grinned despite himself as he waved the handful of cash around. "Fuck yeah, we did. Got two grand. Got the asshole's phone number and address, too, so the bitch ain't talking."

Before Ian could think about what he was doing, he clutched the collar of Mickey's brown sweater with both hands and pushed him back against the door, knocking the wind out of him. His breath was warm and sweet on Mickey's face as he leaned in closer. "It's too bad you're not gay," he murmured, theirs noses bumping. "I'd suck your dick so hard right now. What you did was so fuckin' hot."

Mickey stared back at him, visibly swallowing as he tried to process it all. After a few beats, he pressed a hand to Ian's solid chest and pushed him back a few feet. "Easy, tough guy."

Ian sighed and ran a hand over his head. "Sorry, but… fuck, Mickey. The way you handled that guy and stuck up for me was so fuckin' hot."

"Alright, keep your dick in your pants," Mickey said before turning away from Ian. He pretended to count the money and acted as if he wasn't fazed by any of it, even though his cock was responding against his will, and his heartbeat had noticeably quickened.

Ian sat down on the edge of the bed, looking flustered.

"So, uh, everything went cool with the guy?" Mickey asked as nonchalantly as possible, as he continued counting the money for a third time, having lost count the first two times. "He didn't give you any trouble? Didn't try anything stupid?"

Ian shrugged, deciding to leave out the part about how the guy had practically molested him before they'd even made it out of the parking lot. "Nah, it was pretty cut and dry. He wanted to blow me as soon as he saw me. It wasn't hard to get him to follow me back."

Mickey scoffed at that. "You coulda at least picked a better-looking douchebag than that geriatric viagroid."

Ian smirked. "Why, it's not like I was gonna fuck the guy. If I was actually lookin' for someone to fuck, he woulda had a better body, and he woulda definitely been blond."

"Blond?" Mickey retorted, wanting to ignore the unexpected jealousy that flared in his chest. "You like fuckin' blonds?"

"Yeah," Ian lied before standing and turning around with a smirk on his face, loving the reaction he was getting from Mickey. "Brunets don't really do it for me." He entered the bathroom and shut the door behind him, but not before glimpsing the look of frustration on Mickey's face.

They were in bed, lying feet-to-head as they had the night before. They were quiet and pretending to be asleep, both lost deep in their own thoughts.

Ian was staring into the darkness, trying to get his mind to stop racing so he could fall asleep. He'd called Fiona right before bed to assure her that he was fine and not to worry, and he'd hung up before she could argue or ask more questions. He hadn't realized how homesick he was until that night. He'd do anything to be back home in his cramped single bed, with Lip snoring obnoxiously a few feet away, Carl unsuccessfully pretending not to masturbate under the covers, and Liam throwing toys at him from his crib.

He couldn't help but wonder for the umpteenth time how it would all play out. Would Terry forgive everything and let it go? Would Terry be so infuriated about being disobeyed that he'd kill him, anyway? Would he kill Mickey, too, his own son? Growing up on the South Side, he'd heard stories about Terry Milkovich; he had no doubt in his mind that the man was pure fucking evil.

He sighed heavily and squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stop thinking and fall asleep. "Fuck."

"The fuck's wrong?"

"I have so much shit on my mind right now," Ian griped, running a hand over his face. "I can't sleep."

"Well, try fuckin' harder," Mickey groused with a tug on the blanket. "Gimme some covers, asshole."

Ian exhaled dramatically before complying.

"Go to sleep."

"I can't. I keep thinkin' about everything, about how all of this is gonna go down once we get back home," Ian continued, realizing he sounded like a fucking kid.

"Look, it'll all work out," Mickey said after a beat, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "If things keep happenin' the way they did tonight, we'll have the money in no time."

After a beat, Ian asked, "You really think your dad will let this go?"

Mickey said nothing.

"Mickey?"

"Go to sleep, Gallagher."

Ian sighed in frustration and bit his lower lip as silence ensued. Another reason he couldn't sleep was the fact that Mickey was lying close to him, heat radiating off his body. Their bodies were so close, he could practically feel the hairs on Mickey's legs tickling his skin.

To put it mildly, he was fucking horny. Ever since witnessing Mickey fly off the handle and beat the shit out of that guy earlier that night, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Watching Mickey protect him had been one of the hottest things he'd ever seen.

Without thinking much about it, he let out a deep exhale and slowly reached his hand under the blankets until the tips of his fingers touched Mickey's upper thigh. Mickey was wearing only boxer shorts that were, luckily for Ian, bunching up.

Ian could hear him suck in a sharp breath.

"The fuck are you doin', Gallagher?" Mickey asked, his entire body stilling as Ian's fingertips lightly grazed his thigh back and forth, slowly torturing him.

"Nothing," Ian whispered back into the dark.

"Yeah?" Mickey breathed. "Sure as fuck doesn't feel like nothing."

Ian said nothing as he bit his lip and kept going.

"You mind takin' your hand off me?" Mickey said after a few more strokes, but there was no edge to his tone.

Ian didn't listen. Instead, he shifted over a tad more and moved his fingers even higher up Mickey's thigh until his fingertips lightly grazed Mickey's crotch over his cotton boxers. He heard Mickey suck in another breath.

"Just let me do this," he whispered. "Let me do this. No one will ever have to know, Mickey. I promise."

"Are you outta your fuckin' mind?" Mickey hissed, even though Ian could swear he spread his legs open a little wider.

Ian skimmed the palm of his hand over Mickey's boxers, pleased that Mickey's dick seemed to be as hard as his own. "I wanna make you feel good."

"Fuck, Gallagher, don't," Mickey muttered unconvincingly, his breath hitching. "You keep going, I'll break every knuckle on your hand."

"Doesn't it feel good?" Ian asked as he continued hesitantly palming Mickey over the cotton fabric.

"Course it feels good," Mickey choked. "It's a fuckin' hand on my dick."

As Ian kept gripping Mickey's cock with his left hand, he reached down and tugged his own dick out of his boxers.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Mickey asked, but he still made no move to push Ian's hand away.

"Now who's talkin' too much?" Ian breathed as he stroked his own dick. He decided to be brave and endure any repercussions as he slipped his fingers inside the slit of Mickey's boxers.

Mickey instantly stopped him by roughly grabbing his wrist.

Their heavy panting was the only sound in the room.

Finally, after what seemed like forever in Ian's mind, the fingers around his wrist relaxed. He took that as an invitation. He pulled Mickey's dick from his boxers and started jerking him off with the same even strokes he was performing on his own cock.

"Fuck," he heard Mickey sigh into the dark, and it was the sexiest sound Ian had ever heard in his life.

Mickey dug his feet into the pillow next to Ian's head, his toes curling. He moaned, his fingers still loosely wrapped around Ian's wrist as Ian jerked him off.

"Feel good?" Ian whispered as he continued stroking both cocks steadily. He was already close to coming and felt determined to get Mickey there, too.

"Stop talking," Mickey snapped before groaning when Ian's palm rounded over the sensitive head of his leaking dick. "Fuck…"

With Mickey's sighs, curses, and moans spurring him on, Ian arched his back and groaned as he came and, only a half a dozen upstrokes later, he felt Mickey's warm jizz spurting through his fingers. He gave both their dicks a few lazy tugs before removing his hands. "Shit, Mickey," he murmured, trying to get his body to float back down to earth.

Mickey said nothing. He eventually let go of Ian's wrist and rolled over onto his side, away from him.

"You okay?" Ian whispered into the dark after a few beats. "Mickey?"

"Go to sleep, Gallagher."

Mickey was a wreck.

He'd woken up first, feeling as if he'd gotten no sleep at all. As he got out of bed, he was careful not to wake Ian; the last thing he wanted to do was confront him. He grabbed random clothes from the floor and tugged the garments on before leaving the room and closing the door quietly behind him. Once outside, he lit a cigarette and took a long drag, his fingers shaking slightly. He rubbed his left eye with the palm of his hand and let out a shaky exhale.

"Fuck."

A week ago, he was at home, living his normal fucked-up life without a care in the fucking world. Now he was in a weird fucking town in a shithole motel helping some kid escape his dad's wrath and getting handjobs from him in the middle of the night. He still couldn't wrap his mind around any of it.

The things Ian made him think and feel made absolutely no fucking sense to him, yet he couldn't seem to stop thinking about the guy, or sneaking peeks at him while he wasn't looking, or worrying about his well-being. He couldn't seem to stop wanting to be around him; that scared him more than anything.

He didn't know what to do. He had tried to ignore the stupid redhead, but Ian always seemed to find his way back into his head and under his skin.

He had a feeling that no matter what he did or how things played out, he was fucked no matter what.

Ian's head shot up when Mickey entered the room a short while later. "You gotta stop disappearing like that."

"I needed a fuckin' smoke, is that alright with you?" Mickey spat. He tore off his coat and tossed it onto the green chair. Before Ian could say anything else, he spoke, "So, are you gonna go back out tonight and hit someone else up? Maybe we can get two guys tonight, quicken this shit up a bit so we can get the hell outta here."

Ian's shoulders slumped. He'd already figured that Mickey wouldn't want to talk about what happened the night before, but the fact that he was already pushing him to go out and rope another guy stung a little. After a beat, he said, "Yeah, I'll go out and find another guy tonight." He swallowed hard before adding, "If that's what you want me to do."

"Yeah, that's what I want you to do, the fuck else would you do?" Mickey snapped. "The sooner we get the money, the sooner this shit can all be over."

"Right," Ian said with an affirmative nod of his head, even though his chest felt heavy. "I'm gonna go take a shower," he mumbled before flinging the covers away from his body and heading to the bathroom.

Only when the bathroom door shut did Mickey melt with a sigh and lean back against the wall. He didn't want to be mean to Ian, but there was no other way.

He was doing them both a favor by pushing Ian away.