Chapter 9:

"I—can't, we—can't," Mickey said, sliding his hand out from underneath Ian 's shirt, the tips of his fingers placing tiny butterfly kisses all along Ian 's stomach as he went, sending small electric shocks all along his skin.

"Okay," Ian breathed, flopping back against Mickey 's pillows, his vision ever so slightly blurred. His lips felt bruised and his heart was beating wildly in his chest. "Okay."

Mickey fell back, too, his head flat on the bed rather than resting on the pillows. Ian found it a little amusing that Mickey had broken away first, saying they couldn't, since Mickey had been the one doing all the touching. Ian had simply sat with his back to Mickey 's headboard, his fingers entwined in those silky curls and allowed Mickey 's hands to explore various areas of his exposed skin, his fingers moving slowly and cautiously.

They lay there, breathing for a long time and then Ian sat up and looked down at the other boy, his letterman jacket now in a pile on the floor, his cheeks flushed a dusty shade of pink. Mickey stared up at him through a canopy of full, dark lashes, those golden brown eyes dilated and bright. Ian smiled, sadly, because Mickey looked so vulnerable like this. He liked when Mickey was vulnerable and real with him. Moments like these helped ease Ian 's mind every time he questioned himself about why he kept forgiving Mickey time and time again. When he thought of Mickey like this, he knew he wasn't making a mistake—or at least, he hoped he wasn't.

"Are you okay?" Ian asked, softly.

"Yeah, it's just—that keeps happening," he said a little breathlessly. "Doesn't it?"

Ian chuckled and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "It seems like it. Is it time for you to jump up and panic and then run out of the house?"

Mickey twisted his face in confusion, but he was smiling, which was a good sign and definitely an improvement to previous reactions.

"No," he informed Ian . "Besides, this is my house, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Ian found himself grinning. He felt relieved that Mickey hadn't reacted badly and demanded he leave. "I remember now," Ian said, grabbing the stiff schedule with his picture in the corner and holding it up for Mickey to see. "I definitely don't have this stuck to any walls in my house."

Mickey 's jaw dropped open and he laughed. He leaned up and snatched the piece of paper from Ian and smoothened it out. Ian watched as he climbed off the bed and went towards his notice board. He pinned it back where it had been before. Ian raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Mickey said, sitting back down, his face a mask of innocence."I'm too used to having it there, now, so there it will stay," he declared.

Ian 's heart leapt a little as he nodded and smiled, timidly. Something about Mickey having his picture, even a picture that was faded and creased, filled him with some sort of pleasure and happiness.

"So, I don't mean to be a stick in the mud, here, or whatever," Ian said, then, his voice a little hoarse. He cleared his throat, then continued. "But how are you going to tell your—friends about you joining glee?"

Mickey 's head shot up, quickly, his eyes widening with alarm.

"I hadn't thought of that," he said, voice catching. "Shit."

"Milkovich!" Mickey heard a voice echoing down the hallways of McKinley. He turned to see Puckerman running towards him, shoving kids out of the way. Mickey knew what was coming, he felt his heart beat speeding up. He took a deep breath and waited for Puck to reach him. When he did, he gave Mickey a quizzical expression. "Well?" he said. "What's this I hear about you joining those glee losers?"

Mickey sighed and slammed his locker shut.

"I didn't want to," Mickey told him, hoping he sounded convincing enough. "It's my dad," he explained. "He doesn't think I'm involved in enough 'extra-curricular activities'," he twisted his fingers into air quotes and shook his head. "He said I need to join something else so that my college applications look better, or something. I had no choice, man."

He felt sickened with himself that he had fabricated that ridiculous tale.

"But why glee?"

"What else am I supposed to join?" Mickey asked, matter-of-factly. "I am not playing chess, I suck at science and hockey is obviously out." There was a lot of bad feeling between the footballers and the hockey players. Basically, they despised one another. "What else is left? Cheerios?" he asked, trying to add a sprig of humour to the mix.

"I guess," Puck said, with a frown.

"Dude, relax," Mickey said. "I'll hardly even go, it'll be fine."

"I hope so, Milkovich," Puck shook his head. "For your sake, I really, really hope so."

Puck stalked off down the hall and Mickey pressed his back to his locker, taking comfort in the cool metal against the back of his head.

He hoped so, too.

"Ian ," a muffled voice said on the other end of Ian 's phone. "K—Ian , I'm outside your—your house."

Ian sighed.

"Mickey ," he said, patiently. "Mickey are you—who am I kidding? Of course, you are. You're drunk."

"Only a little—little bit!" he protested. "Ian , let me in? Which one's your—your window, again, Ian ? Ian ? Ian !"

"Okay, okay!" Ian hissed. "My dad's sleeping, you need to stay quiet, okay?"

"Quiet?" Mickey shouted into Ian 's ear and he had to hold the phone away a couple of inches. "Did you say quiet, Ian ?"

"Mickey ," Ian said, quietly. "I'm not opening the door until you're completely silent."

Mickey said nothing. Ian waited a minute, then rolled his eyes and started up the stairs.

"Come to the door, but keep quiet," he said into the phone, before pressing the 'end call' button.

He crept out into the hallway and unlocked the front door. He opened it slowly, so that it didn't make too much noise. He opened it all the way and Mickey was standing there grinning at him. Ian raised a finger to his lips to remind Mickey to stay quiet, then stepped back and Mickey shuffled inside. Ian closed the door and locked up again, before gesturing for Mickey to follow him.

Mickey followed closely behind him, in complete silence, only the sound of his breathing audible. They finally reached Ian 's room in the basement. Ian closed the door behind them, quietly and tiptoed down the stairs, to find Mickey lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was singing quietly to himself.

"So," Ian said, unable to resist the smile dancing on his lips, as he sat down on the bed next to him. Mickey was pretty adorable like this, he had to admit. "Where have you been?"

"Someone's birthday," he told Ian , a goofy grin spreading across his face. "You should have come. Itsucked."

"Why would I come if it sucked?" Ian asked, watching Mickey in amusement. Small tendrils lay across Mickey 's forehead. His eyes were wide and bright and his face was flushed. The light of Ian 's lamp cast an illumination across Mickey 's head, causing slivers of Mickey 's hair to appear white. Ian fought the urge to reach across and push his hair away from his face.

"Because if you'd been there, it wouldn't have sucked any more, duh!" Mickey rolled his dark eyes.

"Of course," Ian smirked. "So, what are you doing here?"

Mickey tilted his head, still smiling and looked up at Ian curiously.

"I felt like looking at your face."

Ian raised an eyebrow and cursed the fact that his heart beat had sped up again. He knew for a fact that his was the alcohol talking, but it was still touching for some reason.

"What were you doing before I got here?"

"Looking for a song."

"Why?"

"Because of our glee assignment, remember?" Ian asked. Mickey had been in glee club for three weeks now and he still hadn't grasped the fact that they had assignments every week.

Mickey sat up, his movements slow and grinned lopsidedly at Ian .

"I'm finally going to get to hear you sing?"

"Maybe," Ian said. He was nervous about singing in front of Mickey . He wasn't sure why. He'd done it in front of the entire glee club, more than once by now, yet the idea of singing while Mickey was present made his hands sweat and his head spin. Mickey seemed to bring it up a lot, which made Ian feel even more nervous. "We'll see."

"Ian ," Mickey said and it sounded like a question. Ian responded with a little 'hmm' sound, as he climbed to his feet and switched off his iPod, which was still playing music through his head phones, then slid it inside a drawer. "Why aren't you kissing me?"

Ian stopped still and took a couple of breaths, before turning to face Mickey . He tried to act calm and collected, but his heart had stopped briefly in his chest and he could almost feel the blood rushing through his veins.

"I kiss you, like, every day," Ian said, forcing a smile. "Actually, correction: You kiss me, every day."

Ian didn't like to instigate anything between himself and Mickey , because he never really knew where he stood when it came to their situation. Sometimes, Mickey would give in and just kiss him and even smile afterwards, which always made Ian smile, too. Other times, he would go silent and bury his head in his hands and that always made Ian feel sick. It was probably stupid, getting worked up because of Mickey Milkovich, but it happened regardless.

Ian had come to terms with it now, the fact that his feelings had grown and he maybe, sort of liked Mickey as more than just a friend, or whatever they were right now. He wouldn't tell Mickey that, but he'd accepted it himself, even if he didn't like it most of the time.

"I meant," Mickey said, eyes half-lidded. "Why aren't you kissing me now?"

Oh.

"Because," Ian said, thankful for the fact that Mickey 's drunkenness probably meant he wouldn't notice that his voice was uneven as he spoke. "You smell like a liquor store."

"I know you want to kiss me," Mickey chuckled. "Ian . Ian ! You do, don't you?"

Ian folded his arms and shifted his feet and rolled his eyes in an attempt to convince Mickey that he did not want to kiss him.

"Tell you how I know?" Mickey asked, flinging his legs over the side of the bed and climbing to his feet. He wobbled a little, then caught his balance and went to stand directly in front of Ian . Ian swallowed hard. "I know because when you want to kiss me, you nibble on your bottom lip."

Ian froze, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He felt himself blushing wildly. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came, because at that moment, Mickey lost balance and his hands reached up and clasped gently onto Ian 's forearms to steady himself. Unfortunately, Ian 's knees weren't exactly sturdy enough at that moment to keep them both upright. As a result, Mickey ended up flat on his back on Ian 's bed, with Ian 's body pressed to his. Mickey smiled up at him.

"You should do it," Mickey told Ian .

"Do what?" Ian asked. He told himself to pull away from Mickey , but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Kiss me," Mickey said. "If you want to, you should."

Ian studied Mickey , then. He'd told him to do it and he really did want to, because although Mickey smelled disgusting, he was still Mickey and he still felt really good against him and his eyes were pretty gorgeous. Ian should just take him up on his offer and kiss him.

Except Ian never kissed Mickey first. Never.

"Why don't you just kiss me?" Ian asked, quietly, his breathing faster now. Being pressed against Mickey did no good for Ian 's lungs. He felt breathless and as if he might explode.

"Because I want you to kiss me."

"Why?"

"Because you want to do it," Mickey made his excuse.

"I—"

Mickey had tugged him closer and Ian could feel Mickey 's breath warm against his face. He smelled atrocious, but somehow that didn't matter.

"Kiss?" Mickey said, simply.

Ian 's heart was beating exceptionally quickly, but he could also feel Mickey 's beating almost as quickly against his chest, so he didn't feel too embarrassed about it. Mickey 's lips seemed so close to his now and they were so shiny and his eyes were so spectacular and one little kiss couldn't hurt, could it?

Ian gave in and lowered his mouth down over Mickey 's. He felt Mickey smiling against his lips as they kissed slowly and cautiously, Mickey 's hands finding the small of Ian 's back. Ian tasted the bitter, tangy taste of Mickey 's mouth, but forgot about that when Mickey slipped his tongue past Ian 's teeth, the kiss growing more hungry now. Ian was lost, then, because Mickey 's warmth against him made him feel at ease and the rapid pace both of their hearts were beating felt comforting to him. Mickey 's hands had slipped beneath his shirt now and his fingers were kneading gently up and down his back. Ian felt strange shivers flittering up and down his spine. He shivered and Mickey pushed him gently side wards, so that he ended up above Ian .

Mickey 's hands had slipped around to Ian 's front and his fingers were on his stomach now, beneath his shirt. It was too close for comfort and Ian felt himself hardening. Then he felt Mickey 's erection against his thigh and he knew he should probably stop, but Mickey 's mouth was gliding down his jaw and placing little kisses along his neck. He found Ian 's pulse then and clamped his mouth there and Ian forgot that they weren't supposed to be doing this.

Then Mickey 's fingers were hooking inside the top of Ian 's pants and they pushed downwards until Ian was naked from the waist down. He groaned as Mickey slipped his fingers between his thighs.

"I just want you," Mickey murmured against Ian 's neck.

In one swift movement, Ian had slipped out from beneath Mickey . He pushed his pants back up and stood a little away from the bed. Mickey was staring at him in confusion. Ian 's heart was hammering in his chest and he felt far too hot and his throat was dry, but he forced words anyway.

"I can't," he told Mickey .

"W—why?"

Mickey looked sort of.. hurt. Ian wished he could take that look off his face, but he couldn't. He sighed and went back to sit on the edge of the bed, his erection throbbing now. He ignored it as best as he could and turned to look at Mickey , his face a mask of seriousness. Mickey was still looking at him like he didn't understand and he probably didn't, not with all that alcohol in his body.

"Mickey , look," Ian began. "You can't get drunk and use that as an excuse to hook up with me."

"I didn't—"

"You did," Ian apprised him. "When you're not drunk and you take things to a stage that you consider 'too far', you pull yourself away and you say we can't do it." This had happened a handful of times now. They hadn't done much more than making out, at least if you didn't count the night of Puck's party. Or the morning after, but other than that, kissing was the farthest they'd gone. Sure, hands had slipped and had been pulled away just as quickly as they'd landed, but that was it. "Look, I just—Mickey . I can't be used as some sort of—experiment."

"Experiment?" Mickey asked.

"Yes," Ian nodded. "I—At the beginning, I would have gladly gone all the way with you," he said and he meant it, too. He completely would have. "Because you're—well, you're sort of gorgeous," he admitted and Mickey smiled and Ian smiled, too, because if he'd learned anything in the past few months, he'd learned that Mickey 's smile was infectious. "And I didn't really—feel anything, other than maybe, like, lust, or whatever." He paused and braced himself, because he wouldn't ever be able to reveal this to a sober Mickey . "But—not now. I—I can't just be used as some sort of—of experiment. I don't want to be the person you use to find out what you like, okay?"

"I don't get it," Mickey told him and he looked to be telling the truth.

Ian paused and tried to think of a better way to put it, a simpler way.

"Mickey , you have a girlfriend," Ian told him. "Yet, you and I—well. We do what we do. It's pretty obvious you're having sexuality issues and I just—You pull away when you're sober. Every time. But now, while you're drunk, you want to just do whatever. I feel like.. like I'm being used so that you can solve your sexuality problems, but you're too afraid to do that while you're sober, so you're getting drunk and coming to hook up, just so you can—I don't know," Ian stopped and rubbed his eyes for a minute. He found it incredibly hard to explain, especially with Mickey so close by and staring at him with those honey coloured eyes. "I just—I can't, okay?"

Mickey gave a small inclination of his head.

"Okay," he stated.

"Look," Ian swallowed, his throat dry. He felt awful, because even though this was how he felt, there was a possibility that that wasn't what Mickey was doing. "You can stay here, because—well, we're sort of friends, aren't we?" Friends who just happened to feel each other up now and again. "And I don't really want to send my—my friend out while he's in this state." Because I like looking at you for long periods of time.

Mickey nodded and gave Ian a smile, which he returned. Mickey climbed into the bed and Ian looked down at him for a couple of heart beats of silence.

"Ian ," Mickey said, then. He looked like a little boy, all innocent and wide eyed and pretty.

"Yeah?"

"Will you sleep next to me if I promise not to touch you?"

Ian wavered then. It was probably a bad idea.

"I, um—uh, okay," he breathed. "I—I guess."

Ian climbed in next to Mickey , carefully and reached across to switch off the bedside lamp. He lay there, his body rigid for a long time, until he thought Mickey was asleep. He relaxed a bit and closed his eyes and then he felt the heat coming up beside him. Suddenly, Mickey was there, next to him, their hips touching. Mickey reached down and clasped Ian 's hand in his own. Ian forgot to breath for a moment, then tried to settle, to breathe and to get himself together.

"Goodnight, Ian ," Mickey whispered next to him.

Ian shivered and he felt the tingling all along his skin on the side Mickey was closest to. He closed his eyes and listened to Mickey 's even breaths.

"Goodnight, Mickey ," he replied, quietly.

He was in deep, now and it didn't seem as if he was going to be able to get out of it any time soon.

The scariest part was that he wasn't sure he even wanted to get out.

"I'm fully clothed," Mickey said the next morning, his body running rampant with relief. "You're—we're fully clothed."

"Correct," Ian said, smiling at Mickey through the mirror. He was in the middle of his early morning skin routine.

Mickey couldn't remember much from the night before. He sat up in Ian 's bed, his mouth tasting as if he'd eaten something well past its sell by date.

"So, we didn't do anything?" he asked, heart racing. He was afraid of the answer.

"Not really," Ian told him. "Not that you didn't try."

"I.." he trailed off, unsure of whether or not he should ask what that meant. He didn't have to, because Ian told him anyway.

"I stopped it before it went too far."

Ian had stopped it. An inexplicable surge of disappointment found its way into Mickey 's body. He wished it would go away, along with what seemed to be a permanent dreaded feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Are you ever going to tell anyone what Karofsky did to you?" Mickey found himself asking out of the blue.

Ian looked at him through the mirror like he was crazy.

"Um, no."

"Why not?"

"I told you," Ian said, with a sigh. He didn't sound angry, just tired. "I'm against outing people, it's not what I do."

"So.. you think he's—gay?"

"You tell me," Ian shrugged, squeezing some sort of white cream into the palm of his hand.

"Why—why would I know?" Mickey asked, nervously. He wasn't sure why he felt nervous, he just did. Talking about things like this made him feel ill.

"You know him better than I do," Ian said.

"Oh," Mickey said, feeling stupid. "I don't know him that well. Not really."

"Well," Ian said. "For the record, I think he is gay. From what he was saying anyway."

Mickey nodded and pressed the back of his head to the cool headboard. His head was pounding.

Ian closed the lids of all of his bottles and tubs and then turned to look a Mickey . He eyed him for a moment, then spoke.

"Mickey ," he said, softly. "Don't you think you should admit it? To yourself, I mean? I'm not telling you to tell the entire world and its mother, but—I think you need to maybe.. try to accept it."

"Accept what?" Mickey asked, but he knew. Deep down, he knew good and well what Ian meant.

"You know," Ian said, folding his hands. "That you're—maybe not as straight as you've believed all along."

Mickey 's gaped at Ian , his eyes wide.

"I," he declared. "Am not gay, Gallagher."

"And we're back to the 'Gallagher'," Ian rolled his cerulean eyes. "Just when I thought we were making progress."

"Ian , then," Mickey said. "I'm—I'm not gay."

"Yeah," Ian said, not without sarcasm. "And you totally didn't pull my pants down last night."

Damn.

"I—I didn't.." Mickey said, astonishment plain on his face. He had, he knew he had. He simply didn't want to believe it.

"You did," Ian told him. "I'm just saying that you should admit it to yourself. It's the first step."

"I'm not—"

"Yeah, so you said," Ian said. "But your actions do sort of indicate otherwise, don't they? I don't know, Mickey , maybe you're bi, or maybe you just don't care about gender, I don't know. I just know that you ke—we keep on making out and we keep on ending up in these.. intimate positions and you seem totally into it, until you remind yourself that you're not supposed to be into it. That's all I'm saying. I'm not even asking you to admit it to me, just to you."

Mickey dropped his eyes to his hands and didn't tear them away for a long time. He didn't really know what to say to that, because what if Ian was right? But he couldn't be, could he?

"I'm sorry," Ian said and Mickey looked up then. "I hate labels, I don't know why I said all that. I just—Mickey , you believe that you're straight, don't you?"

Mickey just nodded, words escaping him.

"Right," Ian said. "All I meant to say was that you might feel better if you try to accept that you're—well. Not. Either way, I didn't mean to sound like I was pushing you, or whatever. Do it in your own time. Just—do you remember what happened last night? After I stopped what we were doing?"

"Vaguely."

"And are you—using me to figure it out?"

Mickey raised his eyebrows and parted his lips.

"What? No!" he said, quickly. How could Ian think that? "I—Ian . I like how we are," he said, quietly. "I don't know why I like it, I just know that I do."

Ian gave him a smile and it reached his glittering eyes.

"But I'm not using you," he shook his head, hoping he was doing enough to convince Ian of the truth. "I promise, I'm not. Like you said, we're sort of friends. To be honest, you're the only—the only real friend I've got."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Mickey smiled. "I don't understand any of—this, yet, but I just know that I don't want it to stop. I meant it when I said things felt right when we—when we—"

"I get it," Ian nodded and Mickey was glad, because he wasn't sure he could finish that sentence. "And you know what? You're getting there, because a couple of days ago, you probably wouldn't have admitted that to me."

Mickey grinned, but he wasn't sure if he should feel happy about that or not.

"Now, if only we could do something about your bullying tendencies."

"Ian , you know I'm sorr—"

"Mickey , I was kidding," Ian told him. "Well, mostly kidding. I don't like it, but I get it. You'll get there, I think. I must be a good influence," he teased, winking and Mickey felt his stomach leaping. It must have been because he was hungry.

"Yeah, you must be," Mickey rolled his eyes and smiled, hoping he was doing enough to conceal the stupid feelings he was currently enduring. "Are we okay?" he asked, then, seriously, because he didn't like it when they fought.

"Yeah, we're okay," Ian assured him. "You don't look convinced."

Mickey only shrugged, because he wasn't sure where they stood with regards to everything now. Ian sighed and came and sat next to him on the bed.

"Come here," he smiled and reached across. He pulled Mickey 's head gently towards his own, until their lips met and Mickey wanted nothing more than for Ian to keep on kissing him, until he didn't have to think any more. Ian pulled back then, much to Mickey 's chagrin. He smiled and Mickey 's stomach took another leap. Obviously still hungry.

"Convinced?" Ian enquired.

Mickey took a deep breath and forced out the words he wanted to say.

"Maybe," he told Ian , then he gave in to the smile dancing on the corners of his lips. "But you should convince me one more time, just for good measure."

"Asshole," Ian said, but he leaned across and captured Mickey 's mouth with his own again. This time, Mickey wrapped an arm round his waist and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, because sometimes, when his brain told him to do things, his body ignored it and did something else, did what it wanted to do and apparently, it wanted Ian close and Mickey couldn't do anything about that, so he simply gave in.

"You know," Ian said, once they'd pulled apart a little to breathe. "I thought I had higher morals. Who would have thought I'd become the other woman?"

Mickey spluttered and pressed a single kiss to Ian 's lips again. It was pointless not doing it at this stage, they'd made out so many times and Mickey liked it, whether it had to do with the pressing need for someone to want him, or something else he didn't know and right now, he just didn't care.

"Maybe she's the other woman," he smiled against Ian 's lips, those blue eyes so dangerously close that he feared he might lose himself if he stared into them for too long.

"Yeah?" Ian asked and Mickey knew from the glint in those eyes like cyan oceans that it was more than a mere joke now.

"Yeah," he replied and he meant it, because regardless of whether he was ready to admit it to himself or not, Ian meant more to him than Quinn ever had in the entire two years they'd been dating. "But she's scary, so I'd rather she didn't know that."

"I can be scary, too, you know," Ian told him.

"Can you?" Mickey chuckled and Ian gave him a fake scowl. "I believe that, actually. Don't they always say that? That things that are beautiful have some sort of sinister side?"

Ian 's smile faded and their eyes locked and Mickey realised he'd called him beautiful. He hadn't even known himself up until that point that he considered Ian beautiful. Could another guy be beautiful?Apparently, he thought as he stared into those eyes, studying the array of colour and swirls, the mingling of the blues and greens and yellows and even oranges and yes, beautiful did sort of sum him up.

"Um," Ian said, finally. "My dad's gone to the garage already. We should go eat, or something."

Mickey agreed because eating would take away those feelings in his stomach, the leaping and the hollow feeling. He was just hungry, after all and hopefully a good breakfast would solve that.

It didn't.