Chapter 12:

The lights were on full blast and Ian was walking around his room, flinging random items of clothing, which he had obviously thrown around to look for something to wear after Mickey had woken him up, into his closet. Mickey lay stomach down on Ian's bed, his head resting in his hands, elbows leaning into the bed, watching him with some intent.

Ian's movements were like fluid. He moved with a kind of grace that Mickey had never seen anyone else move with. It reminded Mickey of the way the trees danced to-and-fro in the light breeze, so gentle and docile, but still strong and grounded.

Also, Ian was wearing really tight pants again. They left so little to the imagination in the rear area and Mickey felt a little dazed as he watched him drifting across the room, his hips twisting, his entire backside defined by the thin layer of tight, tight material that covered it.

"You should stop cleaning and come over here," Mickey told Ian, his eyes caressing the soft curve of Ian's hips, the slant of his back and where it fell down into the swell of his taut, round—

"What?" Ian said, knocking him from his reverie, but Mickey didn't drop his gaze. "Sorry, I didn't hear you."

"I said," Mickey said sitting up and crossing his legs, because he did not want Ian to see what was happening in his nether regions. "Stop cleaning and come here."

Ian stopped still and turned to face him. Mickey frowned because it was as if he had been denied access to viewing Ian's ass. He shouldn't have been as interested as he was, but tonight he was giving in to himself, just for this one night.

Mickey's day had gone pretty badly. After school, he had gone home and his parents were fighting again. It was nothing new, really, but his mom was crying and his dad was shouting and the intensity of it all had sent him flying over the edge. His father had threatened so many things in the past, but it had seemed as if he had finally snapped, because Mickey had had to wrestle him away from the cabinets where they kept the kitchen knives. He knew, deep down, that his father wouldn't really do anything with them, but the entire situation had been so frantic and frightening that he just could not risk it.

It had rattled him to the core. His body had shook, his head ached and he fought the urge to cry. His dad looked deranged, sitting there on the couch looking angered one minute and jumping up out of his seat and racing into the kitchen, shouting numerous threats the next.

It had probably been the worst day of his entire life.

His dad had left the house, slamming the door, sending a large tremor through the hallway and all through Mickey. Mickey made sure his mother had taken her medication, before placing her in bed, then he left the house, angry, confused and scared. He had had enough. He was tired of fighting, tired of pretending, tired of everything.

And that was what had made him do what he did for Ian. He had planned on simply calling him that night, wishing him a happy birthday and leaving it at that, but he felt like he needed to do more, because Ian deserved more.

The entire charade at home had left him far too tired to keep his guard up. He just wanted to let go for a while, so he'd gone to the mall and picked out the bracelet and had it engraved and then he'd driven aimlessly for a while, trying to plan out what he would do. When he had decided, he'd gone home to check on his mom. There was a voice message on the machine from his dad, saying he wouldn't be home tonight, which made Mickey feel better about leaving his mother alone. Then he'd waited it out and packed his things into the car and gone over to Ian's.

"But I'm almost done," Ian told him, his hands resting gently on those hips of his.

"Come on, Ian," Mickey said, careful to use his first name. "I don't care what your room looks like, I just want you to stop pacing back and forth like a father expecting his first born."

It wasn't that it wasn't a pretty sight, Mickey just wanted to touch him with his hands instead of watching him with his eyes.

"Fine," Ian muttered, closing his closet door. He switched out the light, leaving them almost in complete darkness. The light of the moon slipped in the small windows and a small lamp was still lit in the corner. Ian walked back across the room, then his eyes found Mickey's and he smirked. "Were you just checking out my ass?"

He was busted once again.

"Hard not to when you're walking around like that," Mickey admitted, smirking, too. "How on earth do you get into those things?"

"It takes extreme skill," Ian gave him a wink, then continued walking towards the bed. Mickey's hand shot out before he could stop himself and he was pulling Ian back by the belt loop of his pants. Ian made a small gasping sound as Mickey pulled him down to kneel next to him on the bed. "What are you doing?"

"Getting a closer look," Mickey told him and he saw Ian frown and then smile in the space of two seconds.

"I am strictly 'look but don't touch', Milkovich," Ian informed him, nose in the air. "So don't even think about i—ahh!"

Mickey had tugged Ian by the arm so that he fell forward. he caught his lips with his and pulled him down on top of him. Ian didn't protest, he simply kissed him back and Mickey wished he could do this forever, just kiss Ian and not have to worry about the consequences, or what it meant, or what people would think. He just wanted to kiss him and let himself go for a little while.

Somehow, Mickey's hands had subconsciously crawled down Ian's back and found the swell of his backside. He could feel the outline of Ian's underwear beneath them, his fingers moving slowly back and forth across the lines and the creases and the parting in the middle and God, those were some sinful sounds escaping Ian's mouth every time Mickey brought a finger slowly along the line where the crack of his ass was situated. He did it again and again, just so that he could make Ian emit that sound again.

Mickey's mouth felt tired, but he didn't want to stop kissing Ian, because every time they stopped, they seemed to look at each other with a smile, which would soon fade to a frown, as they both realised that this was a mistake and that it wasn't supposed to be. It never felt like a mistake, at least not any more and as for meant to be..

Mickey's right hand had slid around the front of Ian's pants and was unclasping the button at the top. Ian was making no attempts to pull away and Mickey just wanted to feel Ian's bare skin beneath his touch. He felt dizzy and giddy and he just couldn't pull back, couldn't bring himself to stop doing this. He wanted it and he wasn't going to fight himself, not this time. He would deal with the consequences when he crossed that bridge later.

He pushed the tight fitted pants downwards and Ian's hips were grinding lightly against his own and oh, Ian was semi-hard and Mickey was, too and the friction was perfect and he needed more, he wasn't sure how much more, he just knew that he did.

Mickey's hands slid Ian's briefs down, they followed the same route as the pants and then Mickey pushed them past Ian's ankles and they fell to the carpeted floor. Mickey hands quickly found their way back on to Ian's back side and his fingers repeated the same patterns he had made when the pants had been in place. Now Ian was really making some sinful sounds. Sinful didn't even begin to explain it.

"Mickey," Ian breathed against Mickey's lips. "Mickey, please."

"What?" Mickey asked, voice unsteady. "What do you want me to do?"

Ian arched his back, his ass pushing against Mickey's hands and Mickey was confused for a moment, until he felt Ian pushing himself against his finger and wow, suddenly the idea of his fingers inside Ian was very appealing indeed.

"Oh," Mickey panted. "Oh, okay. I've never.. I mean.." he trailed off.

"I know," Ian told him, leaning away. Mickey sat up in protest, but Ian had only leaned across to the side table. He came back, his body falling against Mickey's again, sending small electric shocks all through Mickey's body and handed him a small bottle.

Mickey contorted his face in confusion, then it dawned on him. That was lube.

"Oh," he said, again, feeling stupid, but Ian didn't seem to notice. Mickey took the bottle from him, hands shaking.

"You don't have to," Ian reminded him.

"I want to," he said and he really did want to, more than anything else at that moment.

"Mickey," Ian whispered, lips close to his again. "Do you think you could.. maybe lose the shirt, or something? Just so that I don't feel too.. exposed, or.. or whatever?"

Mickey didn't think twice, he simply raised himself upwards and tugged the shirt off over his head, before flinging it away into the darkness. Mickey sat back and uncapped the bottle. His heart was beating wildly as he turned the bottle upside down and pressed a small blob onto his finger.

"You don't have to," Ian said, again.

"I want to," Mickey repeated. "I just—I need your help. I've never done anything like—like this."

Ian gave a small nod and Mickey lowered his hand, his eyes never leaving Ian's. Ian's blue eyes were a shade darker in the light of the small lamp. Mickey felt Ian's hips shifting, his legs on either side of Mickey's own hips and he realised Ian was spreading himself for his hand.

"Oh, God," Mickey exhaled, as he pressed the tip of his first finger to Ian's opening.

"You're sure about this?" Ian asked in a strangled voice.

Mickey didn't want these doubts in his mind. He just wanted to do whatever he felt like doing. He gave Ian a nod and concentrated on pushing his finger past the first ring of muscle. It felt strange and good and all these things he couldn't explain.

Ian was letting out little moans and grunts as Mickey watched him in awe, his finger still pushing through. Ian's expression was one of rapt and his eyes were shut tight, pale lashes fluttering a little, his lips parted, small sounds escaping them.

"Can I try a second or is this..?"

"Yes," Ian hissed. "Please. Yes."

He used the lube again and worked in a second finger. This was all so new. Ian talked him through it, telling him to scissor his fingers and to crook them here and bend them there and when Mickey crooked, Ian tightened and he let out this sound that made Mickey want to drop to his knees and laugh or cry or scream or do something crazy, because this was really happening and he'd be damned if he said he didn't like it.

Mickey didn't want to cry, or do anything dumb, so he caught Ian's open mouth with his own and sucked his swelled bottom lip. Ian was panting against Mickey's mouth and Mickey was still moving and Ian looked and felt and sounded amazing and Mickey was losing it, his own erection straining inside his pants.

"Ian," Mickey found himself saying. "I want you. I just—I want you."

Ian froze and pulled back from Mickey's mouth, his dilated eyes bright and studious and Mickey was breathing too quickly and everything felt like a blur, yet very real at the same time.

"Wh-what do you want?" Ian asked, in a hushed tone.

"You," Mickey told him. "Please Ian."

Ian gasped as Mickey raised his hips and ground himself against his. Mickey slipped his fingers out of Ian's body and Ian sat back on his knees and raised his own shirt, now sticking to his body, over his head. He was completely naked now and Mickey could only stare up at him, open mouthed. Ian was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and there was no point in denying it. The light of the moon cascaded across his already pale skin, casting a luminous glow down his chest and across his legs and God, Mickey couldn't remember the last time he had felt so turned on.

Ian's hands were fumbling with Mickey's jeans and it took him a few minutes to get them off entirely. He slid his underwear off, then, too and Mickey felt exposed and as if a weight had been lifted off. It was strange and wonderful and painful and beautiful and scary and gorgeous and all of these words that suddenly had little meaning because Ian's light touch was surrounding his throbbing cock. Mickey gasped and then whined and Ian's movements were coming harder and faster and Mickey just needed him, all of him, in every single way possible.

Suddenly, all Mickey could think about was Ian inside him, Ian moving above him, Ian pushing himself back and forth, in and out of the shadows, into the light and back out again.

"Ian, please," he said, not for the first time that day. "I need you. Want you."

"What.. what do you want?" Ian asked again. "You have to.. just tell me. I don't know what you want."

"You," Mickey hissed into Ian's ear. "I want you."

Ian seemed to figure out exactly what Mickey meant by that, because he went still.

"Are—you're sure?"

"Never been more sure about anything," Mickey affirmed. "Please."

Ian watched him, that ice blue gaze sweeping over him and Mickey shuddered. Then Ian finally spoke.

"Okay."

Ian's fingers were working their way back and forth, in and out of Mickey's tight opening. They were moving easily, now, the lube doing its job. Ian watched Mickey fucking himself down on his fingers in what could only be described as amazement. He could hardly believe this was really happening and everything felt sort of like a dream.

There were no real words to describe just how Mickey Milkovich looked writhing beneath him on his bed, with Ian's fingers sliding in and out of him. Ian tried to think, but words escaped him and what few words that he could think of seemed senseless and meaningless and who even needed words when things like this were possible?

Mickey's head was thrown back, his eyes half-lidded, those dark lashes shivering with his every movement. His chest was rising and falling quickly and his lips were parted and his hands were gripping the material of the bedclothes beneath them.

"I-I'm ready," Mickey choked out after a while. "Please, Ian. God, I'm ready."

Ian's heart was hammering in his chest at the thought of what was about to happen. He was going to push himself inside of Mickey Milkovich. The idea made him want to laugh, or maybe cry, because he really, really wanted this and yes, maybe that was crazy and naive of him, but it wasn't as if he could help it, especially not when Mickey looked like he did.

Ian retracted his fingers and Mickey cried out at the loss of contact. Ian rolled the condom on, then took the lube again and coated it over his twitching cock, some of it dropping onto his thighs like a frozen kiss hitting his skin. He spread it over his length, then moved to line himself up with Mickey's stretched opening. He took a deep breath, looked down into Mickey's honey coloured eyes. They were glazed and wide and he gave a small nod. Ian took this as a signal to move forward, so he did, very slowly, almost painfully so. He kept moving, until Mickey cried out in protest.

"Sorry," Ian muttered, his body aching. He just needed to tilt his hips and he would be all the way in. It was frustrating, he didn't want to push him, didn't want to hurt him, but God, he looked so.. so—hot. Yes, he couldn't deny it, Mickey Milkovich was the hottest thing he had ever encountered and if he didn't—

Mickey pushed himself forward and Ian was suddenly buried deep inside him.

"Jesus, Mickey," Ian said, his voice coming out guttural. "Warn a guy."

Mickey was groaning quietly, his head thrown further back now, his eyes shut tightly. Ian looked down at him in concern, his length still throbbing painfully.

"Are you okay? How do you feel?" Ian asked, swallowing hard. Mickey looked more perfect than anything he had ever seen in his entire life. Ian knew he was being stupid, allowing this to happen, allowing himself to do this with Mickey, because tomorrow, things would be go back to being the same, maybe worse. But he couldn't say no, not when Mickey looked like he did and not when those words, pleading and begging and so needy were escaping his swelled mouth. Ian had given in without so much as a second thought.

He was waiting, waiting for him to settle and get used to the feeling and Ian just needed him to give him the go ahead because the tightness and the warmth of Mickey around was enough to send even the most patient of guys over the edge.

"I—full. Like, really full, but—yeah," Mickey nodded, eyes shutting tightly and then opening again. "I'm okay, just—don't move, okay?"

Ian nodded, mentally groaning. Mickey was all shadows in the light of the moon and the glowing lamp light and Ian couldn't take his eyes off of him. Mickey's eyes weren't bright, they were dark and filled with something Ian couldn't quite place. They were shining in the opalescent light and Ian thought again that he had never seen anybody look more beautiful.

"Okay," Mickey said, soon after. "Can we go like—really slowly?"

"Definitely," Ian nodded and eased himself backwards. Mickey held his breath, until Ian slid back in. They repeated this for a long time, until Ian was moving more freely and Mickey wasn't protesting as much and he didn't feel like he was putting him through too much torture any more. Ian moved then, harder and faster and Mickey was thrusting his hips forward to meet Ian and soon they had found a rhythm and their mouths were emitting these sounds that could have passed for both pleasure and pain, their moans mingling and Ian felt dizzy and the world was spinning and his mind and heart and the blood in his veins were racing and he could feel the climax building and building and building and God, he was so, so close.

Mickey's hand reached down to grasp his own hard cock, now resting against his stomach and Ian could only stare as he moved his hand back and forth with an almost practiced ease and in the midst of everything, Ian wondered if Mickey had ever done this and imagined Ian above him, or below him, or just anywhere near him really, because all that mattered to Ian was that he even thought of him at all.

He knew Mickey was close then when his hips started to move more quickly, jerking randomly every few moments and his legs tightened around Ian's waist. Ian was close, too, his stomach clenching and unclenching and just looking down at Mickey was pushing him closer and closer to that point. Every time Ian inched forward and hit that spot, Mickey whined almost distressingly and it made Ian crazy, just to hear him making those sounds and it made him even crazier when he reminded himself that he was making those sounds because of him.

Mickey came first, with a groan that sounded suspiciously like Ian's name and he was shooting white streams all up his own chest and on Ian's, too and the sight of this brought Ian almost instantly into full orgasm. He felt the world whitening around the edges, his mind going fuzzy, his blood running like electricity through his veins and he was coming, his hips plunging back and forth rapidly and Mickey was crying out and Ian heard Mickey's name being called, before realising he had been the one to call it and then their movements had slowed and they were breathing heavily, the heat between their bodies almost stifling.

Ian eased himself out of Mickey, who looked worn out, his eyes closed, the lick of moonlight caressing his milky eyelids and those long, thick lashes. Ian grabbed a handful of tissues from his side table and cleaned both of them off, before wrapping the used condom in the tissue and flinging it across the room towards the bin. He couldn't find the strength to stand and make sure it had made it.

"Are you okay?" Ian asked again, laying down next to Mickey, his body tired.

"I'm okay," Mickey replied, breathlessly. "I'm okay."

Mickey felt the brisk cold against his skin and he snapped his eyes open. He sat up in the dark, the lamp no longer lighting (he thought Ian must have turned it off) and the light slipping through the windows was brighter now than it had been earlier.

Mickey tilted his head to the side to look at Ian sleeping there, next to him, both of them naked and very white in the light of the moon, both laying over the covers. Mickey was freezing and figured Ian must be, too, so he reached around him and tried to pull the covers so that they both ended up underneath.

Ian woke suddenly, his eyes blinking frantically open.

"Sorry," Mickey muttered, pulling the covers around them.

He lay back and breathed, his mind recalling everything that had gone on just hours before. Panic was setting in now and Mickey sat up, eyes wide.

"Shit," he muttered. "I can't believe—we—I mean.."

"Mickey?" Ian sat up, too, eyes filled with concern.

"We—we had—"

"Sex, yeah," Ian said and even he sounded a little stunned.

"That wasn't supposed to hap—I mean. I don't know what I mean." It was strange. Regret wasn't the right word. He wasn't sure he regretted it, as such. He simply wasn't sure why or how it had happened. Mickey's heart was thumping against his ribcage in time with the small, short breaths escaping his mouth. This was bad, really, really bad.

"Why didn't you say you didn't want it?" Ian asked and Mickey detected something in his voice. Hurt, he thought. "I asked you and you said you were sure. If you weren't sure you should have—"

"I know," Mickey said and he did know. He should have said no. Why hadn't he said no? "God, this is a mess. How do we fix this? What am I saying? We can't fix this. It—Oh, God."

Ian sighed and looked down at his hands and Mickey was too afraid and shocked, but he still wanted to tell him to look up and not look so beat up about it all. He had a feeling Ian was upset for different reasons. Mickey shifted a little and the burning pain shot through him.

"Fuck," he hissed. "Oh, God. I just realised I lost my virginity. Again."

"Me, too," Ian said, quietly. "But for the first time."

Mickey turned his head to look at him. Suddenly things seemed a million times worse.

"I—I took your virginity?" Mickey asked, softly and Ian nodded, his gaze locked on his hands still. Mickey looked down at Ian's hands, too, the bracelet he had given him resting softly on Ian's small wrist. "I'm a horrible person," he realised.

Ian didn't object, or say anything in response at all.

"Ian," Mickey moved to face him, ignoring the discomfort as best as he could. "I'm sorry. This—I mean, losing.. itis supposed to mean something, right? I mean, for me it didn't, but for you. It's supposed to, isn't it?"

Ian only shrugged. Ian deserved better than this, deserved all the good things in the world.

"I'm sorry I freaked out," Mickey told him, truthfully. He felt awful. "And it's your birthday, too."

Ian still remained silent, so Mickey went on.

"You lost your virginity on your birthday and I reacted like an idiot," Mickey shook his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't think. I shouldn't have said all that, I—"

"All you had to do was say no," Ian said. "If you didn't want to, you should have just said no."

"Except I did want it, didn't I?" Mickey said, feeling a little ill, because it was true. "Clearly. I mean, I sort of asked you to.."

"Begged feels like a more accurate word."

"Did you want to?" Mickey asked, curiously.

"If I hadn't, I wouldn't have done it."

"Me, too, I guess," Mickey said, thoughtfully. "I didn't know you were a virgin beforehand. I wouldn't have panicked so much, I would have—I don't know. I just don't want you to feel bad about it, because it's supposed to be, like, you know—um, special, or whatever. Plus, it's your birthday. I just—I'm sorry I overreacted."

"It's okay."

"It's not," Mickey declared. "I feel horrible now."

"Mickey, it's okay—"

"Come here," Mickey pressed his hands into the sheets and found Ian's lips with his own and he could not shake the feeling that something had finally clicked. He wasn't sure what, but something was different now, within him, though he couldn't have said what.

"If you had it back," Ian asked, in a whisper, his breath warm against Mickey's lips. "Would you have said no?"

Mickey thought about it for a long time, working everything out in his head, before answering, truthfully and from the bottom of his heart.

"No," he said. "I would have done exactly the same thing."

He lay back down and gestured for Ian to do the same. He did and they lay facing each other. Ian's face was so pale and smooth and the moon light was very flattering on him. Mickey smiled and moved in closer, until all that was left to do was to place an arm around Ian's waist and pull him close to him. He did so cautiously and Ian smiled at him, the smile evident in his cyan blue gaze and Mickey thought to himself that he would wrap his arms around Ian time and time again, if only it meant that he would continue to smile at him like that.

Mickey's fingers flitted across the smooth, pale skin stretched over the bones of Ian's back. His back was unblemished, flawless and ashen, like cream, as Mickey ran his hand gently across the sharp peaks of his shoulder blades. His back was rising and falling evenly, as he breathed in his sleep, his body humming a little, small snoring sounds slipping from his mouth.

Ian was lying on his stomach, his head turned sideways, facing Mickey and he could not tear his gaze from him. No one else in the world was like Ian, nobody.

Mickey's fingers continued to dance across the other boy's pale skin, lightly kissing it with his finger tips. Ian opened his eyes, slowly, his light coloured lashes fluttering as he blinked himself awake. There was something about the way that Ian blinked that just did something to Mickey. It was a stupid little detail, probably a creepy thing to notice, but when Ian blinked he did it slowly and almost in slow motion, it was as if when he closed his eyes he had a million and one secrets hidden behind those wan lids, secrets no one could see, secrets that would never slip out because he blinked so slowly and carefully that they couldn't get past his watchful gaze. It was ridiculous, but it was as if he blinked with the same grace that his body moved when he walked.

"Hi," Mickey whispered.

Mickey saw the realisation spill onto Ian's face, his mouth, which had been in a neutral position, developed into a frown, his eyes saddened and he shifted his body away from Mickey's touch. Mickey gave him a perplexed look.

"Don't pretend like it's okay just to make me feel better," Ian said, shaking his head adamantly and sitting up straight. He pulled the covers up covering his unflawed chest.

"Ian, I—"

"Go ahead and freak out," Ian said. "I can see the panic in your eyes, Mickey, so just get it over with, so we can add it to the ever-growing list of bad things that keep on happening between us."

"But Ian—"

"Also, this," Ian said and he unclasped the bracelet from around his wrist and dropped in on top of Mickey's covered legs. It spilled down into a silver pile. "You should take this back and—I don't know, give it to yourgirlfriend."

Ian flung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. His legs wobbled a little and then he crossed the room and produced a pair of briefs from his drawer and pulled them on. Mickey sat up.

"Ian, I—"

"Don't want to hear it," Ian said, now holding a pile of clothes and walking inside the bathroom. He closed the door with a slam.

Mickey sat there for another few moments, thinking, twisting the silver bracelet between his fingers. He needed to put Ian straight, tell him how it really was. If he could just get him to listen to him.

Ian opened the bathroom door after standing there taking deep breaths for ten minutes. He walked out and Mickey was sitting on the edge of his now made bed, wearing just his jeans. Ian turned his gaze away from him and he heard Mickey sigh. Ian walked past him, rolling his blue eyes. Mickey stood up and followed him.

"Ian—"

"Don't," Ian warned, as Mickey's hand came down on his shoulder.

"Can you just listen to me for a minute?" Mickey asked, sighing again. Ian shrugged him off and started rooting around his room, looking for nothing in particular, but he needed to look busy. "Ian, just—I—look, don't be like this."

"Don't be like what, Mickey?" Ian snapped, moving bottles and containers around on his dresser. "Don't get mad because you change like the weather? Don't act like I made the biggest mistake of my life last night?"

"Don't say that," Mickey whispered.

"Why not?" Ian said. "That's what it was, wasn't it? A mistake? Like every single thing that happens between us? All one big mistake."

"No," Mickey said. "No. Maybe at first it was a mistake, when we started—well. Whatever this is. But not last night," Mickey went on and Ian stopped shuffling through his things. He stood still, facing the wall. "Last night wasn't a mistake."

Ian was stuck to the spot. His insides were whirling and he felt dizzy.

"What was it then?" he asked, quietly.

He felt Mickey's hands coming down on his arms, gently and he turned him to face him.

"I wanted it," Mickey told him. "I wanted you."

Ian stayed silent, a lump forming in his throat. He wouldn't cry, he would not cry.

"I know I panicked a little bit afterwards," Mickey continued speaking, his hands pinning Ian's arms to his sides. "But sometimes—most of the time—I don't understand why these things are happening and I—I'm scared. But I meant what I said last night," Mickey gave Ian an encouraging nod, his honey hazel eyes wide and locked with Ian's blue-green ones. "If I had it back, I would still do it, because—because it—I.. I liked it. You. I like you. I can't say what that means, partially because I don't know and partially because I—well, like I said, I'm scared. And I don't know what it means now, but I promise you I don't consider it a mistake or-or a regret, or whatever. I knew exactly what was happening, no excuses."

Ian let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and he felt the tears welling in his eyes. He wasn't teary eyed because he was weak, he was teary eyed because he'd lost his virginity last night and he'd thought Mickey was going to shrug it off, act like it was nothing, a mistake and when Mickey had reacted the way that he had the night before, Ian felt like he had been humiliated, but now..

"Here," Mickey said, reaching down and taking Ian's hand in his. He slipped his other hand into his pocket and pulled out the bracelet. He wrapped it around Ian's wrist again and slipped the clasp shut. "I could never give this to Quinn. It's yours."

"B-but she's your girlfriend," Ian said, voice breaking.

"She doesn't really mean anything to me," Mickey shrugged.

Ian sniffed and laughed a little.

"That's horrible," he said and Mickey smiled, his hand still entwined with Ian's.

"Maybe," he chuckled. "But it's true. I couldn't give her this," Mickey said, running his thumb over the cool metal of the bracelet. Ian shuddered as Mickey's thumb continued down onto the sensitive skin of his wrist.

Mickey's eyes fell on Ian's again and they stared at one another for a few heart beats. Mickey was smiling a little and Ian's body was surging with relief and fear and happiness and just about every emotion possible. He felt a single tear escaping his eyes and trickling down his cheek.

"Hey," Mickey reached up and caught it with his thumb. "Don't cry."

"Sorry," Ian said, looking away, embarrassed. The last thing he had wanted to do was cry in front of Mickey, whose opinion meant a lot to him, even if he didn't always want to admit it.

"Don't be sorry," Mickey said. "I'm sorry. I'm an asshole. It's your birthday and you've lost your virginity and you're crying and I just—I screw everything up, really. I don't know why you put up with me."

"Sometimes, it's worth it," Ian said, half-joking. It was true, Mickey was an asshole most of the time, but sometimes he surprised Ian and at those times, Ian found that he understood why he wanted to be near him so often. Mickey was still very much a mystery, but he was solving more clues every single day.

"What about you?" Mickey asked. "Do you regret that it was me? That I was your first?"

"No," Ian said, instantly, because he didn't, not really. Sure, he told himself he was nuts for allowing it to happen, but the truth was he had fallen for Mickey. He hadn't wanted to, because falling for Mickey was suicide, in some sort of metaphorical sense, he was sure of it, but he couldn't help it. Mickey looked like he did and sometimes he spoke beautifully and he did these romantic things and Ian liked it when they were along together. Maybe Mickey would always be the bully, the guy he had built himself up to be, but there was definitely more to him than that and now that Ian had seen this other side of him, there was no going back. He didn't even want to go back.

"You're sure?" Mickey asked.

"Yeah," Ian nodded. He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. "So, um, can you walk?"

Mickey laughed out loud, then.

"Just about," he informed him. "Hurts when I do.. well. When I do anything at all."

"Sorry," Ian gave him a sympathetic smile.

"You don't get to be sorry for this," Mickey told him. "It—it was good, right?"

Ian stifled a laugh and smiled at Mickey, who was blushing now, his cheekbones a light shade of red.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, it was good."

Mickey looked relieved, his shoulders losing some tensity.

"So, are we okay?" he asked, hopefully. "We're good?"

"Yeah," Ian nodded. "Yeah, we're good, Mickey."

"Okay, good."

"I'm sorry I cried, though," Ian said, feeling as if he should provide a reason for turning on the waterworks. "I just—everything sort of piled up on me and I lost it a bit. I don't always cry, you know."

"That's okay," Mickey said, a wide grin spreading across his face and it reached his golden eyes. "You're one of those people who look really, really pretty when you cry."

"That's a funny walk you've got there, Milkovich."

Mickey turned around in the empty hallway and saw Karofsky grinning at him from the other end. Mickey sighed and saluted him with his middle finger, before turning away and walking on, his body aching, his backside burning uncomfortably. He knew he was walking funny, he'd been telling people all day that he'd hurt himself during football.

"I didn't have Gallagher pegged for a top," Karofsky shouted and people were spilling out of classrooms now. Mickey continued walking, but Karofsky was following him, shouting after him and he just wanted to disappear, to go hide in the bathroom and stay there until it was time to go home.

"I'm talkin' to you, Milkovich," Karofsky said, pulling Mickey back by the collar of his jacket. Mickey winced as his body was shoved up against a locker. Everything ached.

"Get the fuck off me, Karofsky," Mickey growled. "You're forgetting I know something about you, something all of them don't know." He gestured at the other students in the hallway, some of them staring in shock as Mickey Milkovich got thrown around.

"Who are they going to believe?" Karofsky laughed, cruelly. "You've been walkin' around like you've got a pole shoved up your ass."

Mickey guessed he had a point.

"Fuck off, Karofsky," he said. "Whatever you think is going on isn't, so get the fuck off me or everyone will know about you and Gallagher in the janitor's closet and not only will they find out that you're gay," Mickey said, careful not to use the word 'faggot' because it sounded extremely offensive and he could almost feel Ian disapproving. "They'll also know that you forced yourself on him and you know, I'm pretty sure that attempted rape," Mickey lowered his voice on those words. "Is a criminal offense."

Karofsky looked flustered, then tried to retain his composure. His tightened his grip on Mickey's shoulder and snarled.

"Like I said, Milkovich," he went on. "I'm not the one goin' around walking with a limp." Karofsky's voice was raised and people were looking at them plainly now. Mickey wanted to kill him. He wanted to scream the truth, he wanted to punch him and make him pay for everything.

Then Mickey felt the sudden snap of ice hitting his face. Apparently Karofsky had been holding a slushie and Mickey hadn't noticed. Mickey Milkovich had never been slushied in his entire life. He guessed there was a first time for everything, as the ice burned into his eyes and seeped down his neck and soaked him through. Then he pushed forward and flung Karofsky onto the ground and he was punching him again, his vision blurred. He kept on hitting until someone pulled him off. People were shouting and everything was a blur. Karofsky climbed to his feet and Mickey felt hands holding him back, not allowing him to pounce back on the big asshole again. Everything really, really hurt, but he wanted to beat Karofsky until he had no more strength left in him to hit.

"Good luck choosing between gay club and football next week, Milkovich," Karofsky shouted as he turned away and began walking down the halls. "And if you do man up and decide to come to the game, which I highly doubt, make sure you haven't had a dick up your ass the night before, because we don't need our QB hobbling around the field like a fucking gay asshole."

Mickey opened his mouth to tell Karofsky his insults sucked, but he stopped.

He had a game the day of sectionals.

He was so screwed.

Ian stepped out of math class and into the hallways of McKinley High. He saw it then, the huge commotion at the end of the hall and rushed to see what had happened. His heart sank when he saw a soaking wet Mickey breathing heavily, Finn Hudson restraining him, as Karofsky walked away laughing like a rabid hyena.

People began to clear the area then and Ian waited until Finn had let Mickey go and vacated the hall. He walked up to Mickey then and frowned at him.

"Come on," he said with a sigh. "Let's go clean you up."

Mickey followed behind in silence as Ian pushed the toilet door open and walked inside. He grabbed a handful of tissues and told Mickey to take a seat on the chair which was always inexplicably by the sinks. Mickey sat and Ian ran the tissues under the running faucet, then began to clean Mickey's face, stained with red colouring.

"What happened?" he asked, softly, picking shards of ice out of his hair.

"Karofsky's an asshole, that's what happened."

"Yeah, but I was already aware of that," Ian told him. Mickey closed his eyes as Ian used a damp tissue to rub into them, removing what colouring he could. "What did he do that caused such a scene?"

"Said I was walking funny."

Ian smiled a little. "Well, you are walking funnily."

"Don't care," Mickey grunted.

"Okay, chill," Ian said, running his hands under the tap and then pressing his fingers into Mickey's sticky hair. He pushed through the confined curls and scrubbed the slushie flavouring out as best as he could. "You didn't tell everyone what he did, I assume. I mean, he looked pretty confident walking away."

"No," Mickey said. "I kept hearing you telling me how wrong it would be to out him, but I threatened it. And if he does one more fucking thing I'll do it, regardless of whether it's right or wrong. I can't stand him."

Ian smiled, sadly as he continued to run his fingers through the sticky mess in Mickey's hair. "How does it feel to be slushied?"

"Horrible," Mickey told him, eyes opened and narrowed angrily. "I'm never slushying another person again. Unless it's Karofsky."

"Really," Ian said, sceptically.

"Yeah, really," Mickey affirmed. "I'm, um, I'm sorry I ever did this to you."

Ian only waved a hand, shrugging it off. "Are you hurt?" he asked, because Mickey seemed to wince every time he moved.

"I'll be fine."

"Mickey—"

"There's a game the same day as sectionals."

Ian stopped still. This couldn't go well.

"What are you going to do?" Ian knew exactly what he was going to do, but he still hoped, because there was another side to Mickey that no one knew and at some point, it had to shine through.

The conflict in Mickey's face was palpable. He sighed and shut his eyes tightly.

"I don't know," he groaned. "I just—I can't not go to the game. My dad, the guys, everything will be.. It'll all be over. Everything will have fallen apart and then what will I have?"

"Me," Ian said, without thinking and Mickey looked up at him, eyes wide and bright. "You'll still have me."

Mickey was silent for a few moments, then he exhaled heavily and flinched in pain as a result.

"You shouldn't have to deal with this."

"I don't mind," Ian said, pressing the wet paper towel to Mickey's temple, but he pushed him away, softly.

"No," he shook his head. "I mean all of this. I'm a mess, my whole life is a mess and I'm obviously not going to admit that we're doing what we are any time soon. I shouldn't expect you to put up with that."

The fact was Ian deserved better than him. He deserved someone who would be willing to walk down a hallway and proclaim to the world that he was theirs, that he got to kiss him whenever he wanted to, that he made love to him at night. Mickey could never give him that.

"Mickey, I don't—"

"No, please, just listen to me," Mickey sat up a bit, slowly, because it still hurt to move. "Regardless of what I want, I have to do what they expect me to do. I have to go to the game. I have to help them win. I have to go home with Quinn and let her do whatever the hell she wants with me because she believes in celebratory sex." He saw Ian's face twist when he said that. "I don't mean that as a stab at you, either, I mean it in that it's true. That's who I have to be, Ian. I don't get to go sing at sectionals because I enjoy it and it feels good and because I'm good at it. I don't get to walk up to you in public and talk to you, let alone anything else. I don't get to go back to your house instead of Quinn's and celebrate with you. I don't get to do any of that.

"You," Mickey went on. "You're so different to anyone I've ever met. I couldn't have admitted that a week ago, certainly not to your face and maybe not even to myself. But that's the truth. I.. I like you, Ian. I like it when we hang out and stuff and I don't know if I can bring myself to think too deeply into all that, or if I even know how to make head nor tail of it, but that's how it is. If we let this go on, I'm stopping you from actually finding someone who can walk up to you in the hallways and talk to you and even kiss you if they want. I figured we would go on as we were, but I just—it just hit me. I shouldn't have expected that, I shouldn't expect you to stick around and be the.. the.."

"The other woman?" Ian offered, his lips down turned.

"Well, sort of, though, I don't like that term, because you're not a woman, Ian," Mickey said. "I just don't think we should do this any more and it's not because I don't want to. It's because I can't. I just—it's over. It has to be over."

Ian frowned at him for a few seconds, then he dropped the tissues he had been holding into the bin.

"Okay," he said. "Fine, whatever."

"Ian, don't—"

"Don't what?" Ian asked. "Do you ever think, Mickey? Do you ever think about anyone but yourself?"

Mickey furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He had been thinking of Ian when he'd decided to put an end to this. Hell, Ian was the only thing he ever really thought about any more.

"Did you ever think that maybe I don't want to stop?"

Oh.

"Ian, look. It's for the best."

"Is it?" Ian asked. "Because do you know what this proves?"

Mickey waited for him to tell him.

"It proves that you're a bigger coward than I thought," he informed him. "It proves that you're just settling for this stupid, fake life of yours, because you're too afraid, too much of a coward to stand up and show everyone who you really are."

Mickey couldn't speak, he couldn't find words.

"Do you want me to tell you what you are, Mickey?"

He didn't want to know. He didn't want to hear it, because he knew what was coming. Ian said it anyway.

"You're gay, Mickey," he said, voice uneven. "I know that you know that already, though. But you're too afraid to come to terms with it. If you can't even tell yourself the truth, how do you expect anyone else to take you seriously? You're a joke, a coward, a fake idiot who just can't stand up and be who he really is. You're going to be miserable forever. I told you that already and I was sort of winging it when I said it back then, but now I'm absolutely sure.

"You're going to graduate, get into some big college. You're going to stay with Quinn. You're going to marry her and you're going to live in some big house in this stupid town and while you're trying on the expensive suit in the changing rooms of some big, designer store, you're going to be checking out the other guys who are trying on expensive suits, too. Or a few years down the line, you'll go to your kid's football game and you'll catch one of the other dads, another coward, like yourself, you'll catch him smiling at you and you're going to end up a cheater, Mickey. And that's a run down of how your life is going to be. So, yeah, cool. Go do that. I hope it works out for you."

Mickey stared at him, his heart racing, because suddenly everything he was saying felt entirely possible and the notion was really frightening to him. But how could it be possible? He wasn't gay. He wasn't.

"Ian—"

"I think we've said everything we have to say," Ian shook his head, talking over him. "Just—don't come near me, okay, Mickey? Just don't even look at me."

And with that, Ian spun around and walked through the toilet door, disappearing into the hallways. Mickey stayed in the chair for a long, long time, he couldn't have said how long and he tried to think, but his head was spinning and every part of him ached and he just wanted to sleep.

He stood up and went outside, then got in his car and went home to face the equally messed up home life he had left behind him the night before.

Mickey Milkovich, the boy who had everything actually, in reality, had nothing, or at least nothing good. His entire life was slipping through his fingers and falling rapidly into a dark abyss and there was nothing he could do about it.