Hours
It was hours before he stopped thinking of Mickey as "that idiot who got Rickey killed". But he did. He watched while Mickey saved his life, both their lives, all their lives. While he was clever. And then he'd hugged him- not the way he'd hugged Rickey, all skin and sweat and lust, but something different. Something new, something...happier. When he'd hugged Rickey he'd felt bliss. A raging, lusting bliss, hungry for more. When he hugged Mickey he felt happy. Just happy. And he was happy, still, when he and Mickey sat in the van, hours later. And he cursed himself for thinking he liked it.