Chapter 6:

Mickey opened his eyes and the first thing he realised was that he was hard. The second thing he realised was that there was someone in bed next to him and before he knew what he was doing he was pushing himself on top of that person and plunging his tongue past their lips. Blue eyes met his own and he deepened the kiss, his cock growing harder, then reached down and grabbed the hand that was curling around his hip. He moved it until it rested against his erection, fingers curling to encompass it.

"God, Ian."

Ian.

He sprang back, almost falling over the side of the bed, his fingers gripping the bed clothes to keep himself upright. He stared at Ian in horror, his heart thumping wildly against his ribs. It hit him then what had happened the previous night.

He'd given Ian a blow job.

He began to mutter obscenities under his breath. Ian watched him, a look of concern on his face. It was a long time before he spoke.

"Mickey ," he said, softly. "Mickey , relax. Lie back down, you're going to give yourself a heart attack."

Mickey lay back down, because laying back down sounded good. His head was spinning and all he wanted to do was lie back down and close his eyes. He felt as if he couldn't breathe properly and he didn't dare speak, because he was afraid of what he might say. But he was still hard and it wasn't going away any time soon and he needed to solve it, or he might possibly cry, because everything was so wrong and he shouldn't want what he wanted.

"Mickey ," Ian said, looking down at them with those bright, cyan eyes. "It's okay to want things."

And then Ian was reaching down and curling his fingers back around Mickey 's cock, his eyes never leaving Mickey 's face and Mickey simply could not push him away.

"Please," he whispered so quietly, that he wasn't sure Ian had heard him.

Only he had, because he began thrusting his hand up and down over Mickey 's cock, pre-come spilling from the tip, making Ian's strokes easier and faster. Mickey was moaning quietly, his breaths coming faster with Ian's movements. It wasn't long before Mickey was coming, white streaks hitting his chest and Ian's arm. Ian continued to pump on it until Mickey was done, then he let him go and reached down onto the ground. He sat back up and wiped his t-shirt across Mickey 's chest, then along his own arm.

Mickey lay there staring at the ceiling, the realisation of everything suddenly hitting him. His mind couldn't handle everything. There was no real explanation for everything. Sure, he'd been drunk the night before, but that didn't make any excuses for what had just happened. It certainly made no excuses for why he had wanted it to happen, nor did it make any excuses for why he could not take his eyes off of Ian's bare chest. He wanted to scream. He opened his mouth, but it never came.

"This isn't happening," he whispered to the ceiling.

"I'd love to tell you that it didn't happen," Ian told him. "But it did."

"Not helping."

"Sorry."

He shut his eyes tight and promised a million and one things if God, or whoever was up there, would just make everything that had happened in the past 24 hours go away. Nothing went away.

"I won't tell a soul," Ian told him, after a while.

Mickey twisted his neck to look up at him.

"Y—you won't?" he asked, in an almost whisper.

"No," Ian shook his head.

"Why would you do that?" he asked. He should have just taken it and been thankful, but something inside him had to know. "You could destroy me. I've treated you like crap. Why wouldn't you take that opportunity?"

Ian tilted his head and studied Mickey for a few heart beats. Mickey frowned because he didn't know what else to do.

"I could destroy you, that's true," he began and Mickey 's heart sank a little. "But, I don't believe in outing, no matter what the circumstances."

"I'm not gay."

Ian didn't look at all convinced. To be fair, he had good reason.

"Maybe," he said. "But you're obviously going through some things you need to work out and even though you're an asshole most of the time, I think you're a good guy underneath all that. So, no, I'm not going to tell anyone what happened."

Mickey felt relief sweeping into his body, but the entire weight had not been lifted.

"Thanks," he managed to choke out.

"No problem," Ian shrugged. "So, do you want to go, um, shower? I need to tell my dad you're here—"

"But you said—"

"I said I need to tell him you're here. I don't plan on telling him what happened during your stay."

"Oh," Mickey said, feeling stupid. He was so paranoid right now. His entire body was shaking and that feeling was still in the pit of his stomach, swirling around and making him want to vomit, just to get rid of it. But he knew it wouldn't go away. He took his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down, pushing away the tears that were welling up in his eyes, a lump forming in his throat.

Ian stood up then and Mickey tried to avert his eyes from his naked body, but he couldn't resist a glance.

"Oh, no."

Ian raised an eyebrow at him.

"What?"

Mickey buried his head in his hands.

"Go look in a mirror."

He stayed like that for a few seconds, until he heard Ian make a small gasping sound.

"Did I..?" Mickey trailed off then, because it was a ridiculous question.

"Well, yeah," Ian said, studying the purplish bruise on the side of his neck. "I didn't have a heavy make out session before I bumped into you last night, you know."

Mickey flinched at that. He still couldn't process entirely the fact that he had done what he had done with Ian. And now there was evidence in the form of a hickey on Ian's pale skin. He would be reminded of it every time he looked at him for the next while.

"It'll be okay," Ian said, swinging around and opening his closet. He dug around inside and pulled out pants and a shirt. Mickey watched in a daze as he tugged them on. It was pointless to look away now, he supposed. Finally, Ian grabbed a scarf and draped it around his neck, covering the mark. He turned to look at Mickey .

"See?" he smiled, brightly. Mickey dropped his gaze. "Can't even notice it!"

Mickey gave a small nod. Ian stared at him for a while. He could feel the ice blue gaze on him and he didn't dare look up, not into those eyes.

"Well," Ian said, after a while. "You can borrow some underwear if you want."

"I've got my ow—oh. Right," Mickey felt his face flushing. "Um, thanks."

Ian gave him a smile, then.

"I'll be right back."

The second Ian left the room, Mickey went into extreme panic mode.

"Hey, kiddo," Frank said when Ian walked into the kitchen moments later. "How was the party?"

Frank was buttering toast at the kitchen table. Ian took a seat next to him.

"Uh, okay," Ian lied. "Dad, a friend of mine—well, not really a friend, I'm just partnered with him for English and we don't even really like each other that much—"

"Ian."

"What?"

"Spit it out."

Frank had stopped spreading the butter across the toast and was staring at Ian like he was crazy.

"Oh," he paused a minute, to gather his thoughts, then went on. "So, this kid, Mickey , he got crazy drunk and I sort of had to.. take him home with me. Because I was the only one not drinking, so I was the only one that could drive—"

"So, you had to take this—this friend home with you? To sleep in your room?" Frank asked, giving Ian an accusative glare. He had laid the toast and knife down completely now.

Ian shook his head. If his dad really knew what had happened.. well, Ian didn't know what he would do, but Mickey wouldn't have gotten off without one hell of a verbal grilling and Ian didn't want to go there.

"Dad," he stated, trying to remain calm, but it was hard to stay calm when he thought about everything that had occurred.. "He's not even a friend, okay? He's just an acquaintance, but I had to. I didn't know what else to do."

"You couldn't take him home?"

"I overheard his girlfriend shouting at him," Ian explained. "She said that if he went home in that state, his dad would beat him up. I'm not sure how serious she was, but I wasn't sure I should take that chance."

"His girlfriend?"

Ian nodded and he saw Frank's face soften a little.

"Quinn," Ian clarified.

"So, you're just friends with this—this.."

"Mickey ," Ian nodded. "And yeah, sort of. Friends might be pushing it. He's sort of an ass."

Frank chuckled, then and retrieved the knife and toast.

"Alright, thanks for telling me," he said, giving Ian a pat on the shoulder. "Now go get your ass of a friend and eat some breakfast. I need to leave soon."

"Okay, dad."

"I'm not meeting your dad, Gallagher," Mickey shook his head, adamantly. "I don't care if it's part of the terms to keep you quiet, I won't do it."

He'd finished showering and changing and was sitting on the edge of Ian's bed examining his room. It was very... stylish, Mickey guessed. It looked like something out of one of those interior design magazines his mom had lying around. Everything seemed to match and compliment one another. He conceded that Ian was probably the most stereotypical gay alive.

"You're an asshole, Mickey ," Ian told him, folding his arms and frowning at him. "He just wants to know who spent the night in his son's room, that's all. It's nothing formal."

Mickey shook his head again. He was playing it down, but he felt like screaming. He couldn't understand what had happened, or why it had happened, or why he had wanted it to happen. He just didn't know any more.

"Still not doing it."

"He'll come down here, you know," Ian said.

Mickey scowled at Ian, who simply raised a thin eyebrow. Mickey sighed. He didn't want to see Ian's father in the room that they'd.. done what they had done. He felt as if he might be able to sense it if he came in.

"God, fine," he groaned, hoping he was appearing as normal as humanly possible. "I'll have breakfast with the Gallaghers, will that satisfy you?"

Ian smirked, then and Mickey blushed.

"I have a condition."

"I'm not sure you're at liberty to make conditions, Mickey ," Ian said, with a smile.

Mickey tried to protest, but Ian shook his head.

"I was kidding, I said I wouldn't tell anyone and I won't, okay?" he assured him. "Now tell me you're condition so my dad can leave for work and we can leave for school."

Mickey thought for a moment. The condition was that they never talk about what had happened ever again, but he wondered if that was a wise thing to ask. Maybe he would need to talk about it. Maybe he would want to some day. Mickey shook his head.

"Never mind," he said, sounding defeated. "Let's go."

"So, Mickey ," Frank said once they were all at the kitchen table. Ian was nibbling on fruit, while Mickey munched on Corn Flakes. "Ian tells me you're workin' on some kinda project together."

"It's an assignment, dad," Ian told him.

"Right, an assignment. How's that goin'?" Frank was looking questioningly at Mickey . Ian was rolling his eyes across the table. He peeled a banana and began eating it. Mickey 's mind began to wander. Did everyone look like that while eating a banana? Were bananas just really awkward fruits that made everyone look seductive while eating one? Mickey swallowed and looked down into his cereal. It had to be the after effects of the alcohol, it just had to be.

"Um, it's going good," he said, then cleared his throat. "We're ahead of schedule."

It was easily the most awkward moment Mickey had ever endured in all his 17 years of living. His first meeting with Quinn's parents hadn't been this awkward and that had been pretty awkward.

"That's good," Frank nodded. "What's this, uh, project on?"

"Assignment, dad," Ian exhaled. Mickey glanced up, just as Ian took another bite and suddenly his head was filled with images of Ian's mouth doing things to him. This was bad. "And it's on 'Jane Eyre'."

Mickey felt the panic returning. It hadn't really left, but it had been laying dormant while he dealt with the awkwardness of meeting Ian's dad. Now, it was back with full force. His stomach and head and muscles ached and he felt sick to his stomach. He laid the spoon down, because if he ate another bite, he was going to have a repeat of the library incident in Ian's kitchen.

Frank nodded and adjusted his cap, looking as if he knew absolutely nothing about it. That was okay, that meant he wouldn't ask any more questions.

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've gotta get to the garage," Frank stood up and held a hand out to Mickey . "Nice meetin' you, Mickey ."

Mickey shook his hand.

"You, too, Mr Gallagher," he said, forcing a smile. Frank Gallagher was a nice guy, Mickey just wished they had met under different circumstances.

Frank crossed the room and gave Ian a pat on the shoulder.

"Seeya later, kid."

"Bye, dad," Ian said and Frank left the house. "We should go," Ian said, a minute later. He laid the banana peel down on the table and stood up. Mickey stood up, too.

"Yeah," was all he said in response.

"I'll take you home so you can arrive at school in your own car," Ian informed him. "And your own underpants."

Mickey stood still gaping after Ian for a minute, then followed him outside. He got the feeling that Ian would never, ever let him forget.

Ian pulled up outside the school, still thinking about what had happened with Mickey . He had pretended like it meant nothing, that he could sit back and joke about it, but he couldn't understand why or how or what had even really happened. And what he really had trouble comprehending, was why he couldn't stop thinking about Mickey , why he had liked it and why he had still wanted to lean across the kitchen table and kiss him senseless.

He didn't know why he'd given Mickey a handjob that morning, either. He hadn't meant to, but Mickey had whispered his name so quietly and with so much ardent need that something clicked inside of Ian and he had to do it. He wanted to hear Mickey making those small needy sounds because of what he was doing to him. It was stupid, really and Ian couldn't explain it, but that was just how things were.

Ian had seen the panic on Mickey 's face. He'd tried to hide it, but Ian could see it and he knew he was questioning everything he was. Ian was questioning it, too. Mickey Anderson wasn't as straight as he had initially believed, even if he was going to continue telling other people and himself, that he was.

Ian grabbed his bag from the back seat and reached for the handle of the door. Just as he began pulling the handle towards him, his phone omitted a bleeping sound: His message tone. He reached inside his pocket, fearful that his father had taken ill again and looked down at the screen. Relief soared through his body when he saw who it was from.

1 NEW MESSAGE FROM: Mickey .

Ian clicked the button in the centre and the screen loaded to reveal the message.

Use the back door.

Ian stared at the text for a good two minutes, then replied.

Why?

He wondered if it was a trap, if Mickey was getting him back for everything that had happened. Then another text came through.

Trust me?

Trust him? Ian didn't trust him. He treated him like crap just so that his friends still believed he was the tough, popular jock. No, Ian did not trust him one little bit. This was obviously a trap. He would take the front door.

He started to open his car door again when his phone made another beeping sound. He opened the text.

Maybe 'trust me' was a bad choice of words, but I just got a text and I sort of owe you for promising not to tell anyone about what happened. So, just take the back door, okay?

Ian eyed the message for a few heart beats. It had probably taken a lot for Mickey to admit he owed him. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he should take the back entrance.

Ian shoved the phone into his pocket and climbed out of his car. He locked it, then went around the side of the school, heading for the back door.

Once inside, Ian walked down the halls and stopped a little away from the front doors and sure enough, there they were. Karofsky, Azimio, Iggyerman and three other footballers were standing there grinning, red cups in their hands. Mickey had been telling the truth. Of course, he had realised this the second he stepped through the back doors of McKinley High, but seeing them there, looking all menacing sort of put everything into perspective. Mickey had warned him, which only caused Ian's belief that Mickey wasn't all bad to grow. Maybe he'd done it to protect himself, but even still. This was definitely progress.

"Ian, I can't thank you enough!" Rachel told him at lunch, a broad smile on her face. "Just for this, I'll allow you to sing first at glee club tomorrow!"

Ian raised an eyebrow. Rachel was probably the most annoying human being ever to have graced the planet, but she was okay, really. Just as long as you didn't have to listen to her for too long.

"So, what was it like?" Mercedes asked. "Did anyone ask what you were doing there?"

"No, surprisingly," Ian said. It had been a surprise, actually. He wondered why no one had demanded he leave. "But it was boring, really. Mostly jocks getting drunk and people dancing badly."

He wasn't lying, either. He didn't see the appeal of these ridiculous parties. Maybe it was because he didn't drink. Regardless, he'd been more bored than he ever remembered being.

"I like those parties," Brittany said, from across the table. "One time, Santana and I got locked in a closet and—"

"Okay!" Santana said, cutting her off. "No one needs to hear about that."

Everyone was busy gaping at the two cheerleaders, Santana's face flushing, Brittany staring blankly at her lunch, when Ian felt his scarf being tugged from his throat. He swung around quickly and made a grab for it, but Iggy held it high in the air.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he sneered. "Did Gallagher get himself a boyfriend?"

Ian stood up and pressed the palm of his hand over the purplish bruise on his neck. He tried to snatch the scarf back with his other hand, but Iggy just laughed and held it away from him.

"So, who was it, Gallagher?" Iggy asked and Ian's eyes found Mickey across the room. He was looking at him, his eyes filled with worry, a small crease across his forehead. Ian tried to give him an expression, assuring him that he wouldn't tell, but he didn't think it made much of an impact. "Was it—"

"Back off, Iggyerman," Ian heard from behind. He turned around to see Finn Hudson standing up. Finn was the tallest guy Ian knew and he looked pretty strong, too.

"Or what?" Iggy spat.

"Or I'll tell Beiste about those little packages you buy from Sandy Ryerson and then she won't play you any more."

That seemed to change Iggy's manner. He let go of the scarf and it fell to the ground. Ian reached down and grabbed it and wrapped it back around his neck, his cheeks a bright red. Iggy scowled at Finn before stalking off. Ian sat back down.

"Thanks, Finn," he said, watching Finn sitting back down, too.

"No problem," he shrugged. "Iggyerman's an asshole."

Ian nodded.

"So, are you going to tell us who's been sucking on your neck?" Mercedes grinned next to him.

It was going to be a long day.

"So," Iggy said, later that day at Mickey 's locker. "It looks like Gallagher found himself a boyfriend after he dropped you off last night."

Mickey glanced at Iggy as he dug in his locker. Iggy didn't look as if he knew anything, thank God. Mickey mumbled something that he hoped sounded like a yes and continued to rummage around.

"I called your house last night," Karofsky said, next to Iggy. Mickey 's heart sank. "Me and Azimio were gonna go start a bonfire and we were seeing if you wanted to come. Your mom said you weren't there. Where'd you go?"

Mickey 's eyes widened and he thought hard, trying to come up with anything that would get him out of this stupid mess. He felt so sick he just wanted to lay down and sleep for a long, long time.

"I stayed at Quinn's," he said, finally, heart thumping manically in his chest.

"Really?" Iggy asked, looking confused.

"Yeah," Mickey shrugged. "Why?"

Iggy knew, he had to know. But how could he know?

"No reason," he said. "Hey, there's Gallagher."

Mickey turned his attention back to his locker, as Iggy and Karofsky turned to look at Ian across the hallway.

"We should go ask him about his new boyfriend," Iggy grinned, eyes flashing. "It's the polite thing to do, after all."

Maybe he didn't know after all. He didn't sound as if he knew. Maybe he was just wondering why Mickey had left without Quinn. That had to be it.

"Yeah, we should," Mickey said, forcing a grin, hoping it would push any thoughts that might be in Iggy's head regarding him and Ian away. He was probably just paranoid, but it couldn't hurt to make sure.

Minutes later, Iggy, Mickey and Karofsky were circled around Ian, smiling at him. The corners of Mickey 's mouth were tilted upwards, but not by much. Ian looked distressed and tired. Mickey looked away.

"So, Gallagher," Iggy said, hand reaching for the scarf again. Mickey had the urge to reach across and push him away, but he couldn't. He was stuck to the floor, unable to move. Iggy slid the scarf away from Ian's neck before he could grab it back. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"Fuck you, Iggyerman," Ian spat and Mickey wished he wouldn't talk back and make things worse.

"Shut up, Gallagher!" Karofsky said, punching the locker next to Ian. Ian jumped a little and so did Mickey . He was so on edge today. He felt really sick and every little thing set his pulse racing.

"You shouldn't go round showing these things off, you know," Iggy told Ian. "We don't need to know you had some guy's dick up your ass last night, Gallagher."

Mickey flinched then, because what if it had come to that? What if things had escalated and he and Ian had.. He shook his head. That didn't bear thinking about.

"I think," Iggy went on, dropping Ian's scarf to the ground and stepping on it. "That we need to teach you a lesson."

"Look, I wore the scarf so no one would see," Ian explained, looking more than a little alarmed. "You dragged it off—"

"I said," Karofsky growled. "Shut up."

"What do you think we should do with him?" Iggy said, looking thoughtful. "We could put him under a slushie machine and turn it on. Or we could lock him inside a locker."

Karofsky hooted and began tugging a locker opened. Mickey 's stomach churned. This was a bad time for him to feel like vomiting.

"Or," Iggy said, drawing out the 'r' sound. "We could take him inside the bathroom and give him a nice swirly."

Karofsky was grinning like an animal now and Ian just looked terrified, his blue eyes wide with fear. It was strange. Ian was a highly opinionated, snarky guy when he was around Mickey , but in the presence of the guys, he fell to pieces.

"What do you think, Mickey ?"

Mickey looked up quickly, "Wh-what?" he asked.

Ian was staring at him now, eyes pleading. He had to look away.

"What do you think we should do with him?"

Mickey almost suggested letting him go, but he couldn't say that. For one, they'd think he'd gone soft and secondly, this was what he was supposed to do. He was supposed to put these kids in their places, teach them where they belonged.

"I don't know," he said, narrowing his eyes in deep thought. All of the things Iggy had suggested seemed pretty harsh. Slushies would leave Ian soaked through for the day. Being locked inside a locker had to be torture and swirlies were most definitely not pleasant. But Mickey had to choose, because if he didn't, that meant Karofsky would and he would choose the most painful, horrible method. "Slushie machine?"

"Boring," Karofsky said, face twisting. "I say locker."

"How about," Iggy said, with a smile. "We lock him in here," he thumped the locker and Ian jumped again and so did Mickey . "And we go get rid of his scarf so that he has to go round all day, showing off that big, ugly, gay hickey?"

Ian's pale face was paler than ever. He turned his eyes on Mickey , almost pleading with him to do something. Mickey looked away. There was nothing he could do, this had to be done.

"Sure," Mickey shrugged, his mouth developing into a faux smile.

Mickey pulled the scarf out of the garbage once Iggy and Karofsky had gone to class. It was covered in food. He grimaced as he walked back to the hallway where his locker stood. He felt beyond sick now and the smell of spaghetti, or whatever that was was not helping in the least. This was easily the worst week of his life and he'd had some pretty bad weeks. He opened his locker, trying to push away the memories of the night before and just everything that had gone so horribly wrong lately. He shoved the dirty scarf inside and slammed his locker shut. Then he heard the banging sounds coming from behind him.

Ian.

He moved forward and pulled the locker door open, knowing he should probably leave him in there, just in case Iggy or Karofsky found out, but he couldn't stand there and listen to him thumping away from the inside. He told himself it was because he was worried Ian would tell people what had happened if he didn't let him out, but deep down he knew that wasn't the reason. The reason was that he was weak these days, he didn't want to do this any more, even though he knew it was what he was supposed to do, but sometimes he just wanted to not be that guy, the one everyone feared and loathed, he just wanted to get through his senior year without any problems and so far, that wasn't working out too well for him.

Mickey stood back and Ian climbed out, looking distraught and as if he couldn't really breathe properly. The lockers were tight fitted spaces, of course he would have problems breathing.

"Uh," Mickey said, awkwardly. "Are you, y'know, okay and all that?"

"I'm just dandy, Mickey ," Ian said, angrily, brushing his clothes off. Mickey 's eyes found the hickey again and he felt himself blushing, remembering that he had been the one to put it there. That sinking feeling in his stomach was more prominent than ever now. "Now get the hell away from me before I say something I'm going to regret."

Mickey got out of there fast.