Chapter 23:

"Not that I'm complaining, or anything," Frank began, studying Ian with curious eyes. "But what are you so happy about?"

Ian smiled up at his dad. "No reason."

Frank did not look convinced, as he wiped his hands on his thighs. "You've got a bruised everything and you're sitting there smiling like you found a million dollars lying outside on the doorstep. What gives?"

Ian rolled his eyes, still smiling. "Dad," he said. "If I found a million dollars outside on the doorstep I would hand it over to the police."

When Ian was growing up, he had never really had any friends. At school, there were a couple of kids he talked to sometimes, but outside school, there wasn't anyone he could hang out with. Because of this, his dad was his best friend, the one that was always there. His dad probably knew him better than anyone else in the world. Which is why Frank sat down on the couch next to his son and hit the mute button on the TV remote.

Ian looked around in protest. "I was watching tha—"

"You can watch TV any old day," Frank informed him. "Seeing you smiling like that is something that can't be seen any old day."

Ian looked up at his dad, smiling at him and then he smiled, too.

"So, what's happened?" Frank asked.

Ian sighed and sat up straight. "Well—"

But Frank cut him off mid-sentence, frowning very slightly. "This has to do with that Mickey kid, doesn't it?"

Ian's mouth developed into a small 'o' shape and his blue eyes widened. Did his dad know everything? "How did you..?" Ian asked, trailing off at the end.

"Because I know you," Frank replied. "Look, Ian, you can't let him keep leading you on like this. He's got a girlfriend, even if he does care about you. Fair enough if he still wants to be friends, but—"

"He doesn't have a girlfriend," Ian shook his head. It was true, in a way. Quinn was only his pretend girlfriend. It didn't mean anything and even if they couldn't tell anybody, Mickey was making him happy.

"He doesn't?"

"They broke up and um," Ian stuttered. He hadn't told anyone this yet and he probably wouldn't for a long time. "We're sort of.. Together."

"Sort of together?" Frank looked sceptical.

Ian nodded. "Look, dad, he's not ready to come out. He's not. He has a lot to deal with, what with his friends and his status and his dad—especially his dad. I can't force him out of the closet just because I want him to admit to the world that he likes me." Loves me, Ian thought, silently. "I'm okay with keeping it a secret. He'll come round, I know he will. He's getting so much better at it and—"

"Look, Ian," Frank said, tiredly. "I'm happy that you're happy, don't get me wrong and he's a good kid, but I just.. I think you deserve more, you know? I think you deserve someone who's not afraid, who's as brave and as confident as you are."

Ian sighed. "Dad," he said. "It took me time to get to where I am today and I'm really only just finding myself now. Mickey's only at the beginning, he still has a long way to go. And I like him, dad, I really like him."

Ian didn't want to tell his dad that he loved him. Yes, he had told him before that he might be in love with him, but now it all felt that much more real. Mickey was telling him he loved him every so often. He looked a little awkward while doing it, but the sentiment was still there and Ian hadn't said it back yet, because despite the fact that he knew Mickey was very much into him, he couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't all the way out of the woods yet. Mickey still had a lot going on and who knew what he would do? If Ian gave him everything, his heart, those three words, then he would have all of him and Ian would have been happy giving Mickey his all if things hadn't been the way they were. He would say it back some day, but today was not that day.

"You think you and him can come out winning on the other side of—of all that?" Frank asked.

Ian shrugged. He wasn't sure. He hoped so and Mickey seemed hopeful, but you didn't always get everything you wanted.

"Maybe," Ian said, toying with the bracelet on his left wrist. He never took it off. "I hope so. We—he—I think we're good together. We're happy, anyway."

It had been a week since they had decided on the whole 'boyfriends' thing. It had started off a little bit awkward, but they were more comfortable together now.

"You should bring him over."

"I should do what?" Ian asked, sitting up a little. "Why? You've met him already."

"I met him as the asshole you were helping out, then I met him as a kid that just cared about your well-being," Frank pointed out. "Now I want to meet him as your, y'know, boyfriend."

Ian's skin began to hum every time he connected Mickey and the word 'boyfriend'. He hadn't ever really had a boyfriend (Evan didn't count and he hadn't ever referred to him as his boyfriend anyway, except for that one time when he'd been trying to piss that one guy at his old school off) and sometimes, he wanted to tell everyone, to just scream it from the rooftops that Mickey Milkovich was his boyfriend.

"I—um, okay?" Ian made it a question.

"Bring him over for dinner tomorrow," Frank smiled and Ian could tell he was really trying, because he had seen how much Mickey meant to Ian.

"All right, cool," Ian beamed. "I'll call him." Because Ian would take any excuse to call Mickey.

"Yeah, you do that," Frank nodded. "But first, I gotta tell you something."

"Finn Hudson's mom."

"What?" Mickey asked, when he answered the phone.

"My dad," Ian said, slowly. "Is dating Finn Hudson's mom."

Mickey sank back on his pillows and smiled. He could always smell Ian's on his things these days, that smell of soap and vanilla and an array of other things he could never quite place. Mickey loved how dramatic Ian was about everything, how he made everything so much more interesting just by the tone in which he said it.

"Is that bad?" Mickey asked.

"No," Ian told him. "But of all the people in town, he's dating Finn's mom. How uncanny is that?"

"I've never seen Finn's mom," Mickey realised. "And now all I can picture is Finn Hudson with a wig and in a dress. I'm so creeped out right now."

"Oh my God, Mickey," Ian gasped, faux horror in his voice. "Never say that again."

Mickey chuckled. "Sorry," he smiled. "So, other than Finn Hudson in heels, what's going on?"

"Heels," Ian breathed and Mickey laughed. "Actually, I sort of told my dad about us."

"Oh," Mickey said, quietly.

"Should I not have?"

"Oh, no," Mickey said, quickly. "No, I didn't mean that. I just meant, you know, I—he's thinking exactly what I am: That you deserve better than me, that you deserve someone who's not afraid to walk down the street holding your hand."

Mickey hated doing this to Ian, hated that he couldn't just tell the world that he had him. He was so tired of pretending, but too afraid to let the truth come out, even if sometimes that was all he wanted.

"I don't want anyone else," Ian told him.

Ian said things like that sometimes, romantic things that should have made him smile and they did, at first, but then he would remember that he wasn't giving him everything, wasn't giving him all the things he deserved from the guy that claimed to love him. And he did love Ian, a lot, more than he had ever loved anyone.

"You're an idiot, then," Mickey sighed, but he was smiling.

"Anyway," Ian said. "He wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow. Does that weird you out?"

"Not as much as Finn Hudson in a dress," Mickey quipped back and he heard Ian scoffing on the other end. "But yeah, I don't know. I guess it makes me a little nervous, but I'll do it. I owe you this."

"You don't owe me anything, Mickey," Ian sighed, tiredly. "And if you don't want to come, just say so and we'll forget about it."

"No," Mickey said, sitting up, his heart sinking a little. "No, Ian, stop. Look, I'm coming. I want to. I do. I want to come, I promise."

"No, you don't," Ian told him.

"I do," he assured him. "I just—I'm scared of messing this up, is all. I don't want to screw up what we have. Not ever."

"And you won't," Ian said, happily. "At least not as a result of meeting my dad."

Mickey didn't say so, but he wasn't convinced. He had this knack of ruining everything that he touched. He hoped to God that this would be the turning point, that he would never screw up again, because if he hurt Ian again, he would never forgive himself.

"You," Mickey smirked. "Have far too much faith in me."

"You're always putting yourself down," Ian said and Mickey could hear him smiling, but he was being serious. "You'll be fine, Mickey."

"I hope," Mickey told him. "So, what time do you want me and what should I wear?"

"Ooh," Ian hummed and Mickey realised he could have worded that better. "How about in ten minutes time in your field and wearing nothing?"

"I meant tomorrow, dork," Mickey grinned. "But that does sound tempting."

"Oh my God," Ian said, when he opened the door and saw Mickey standing there. "You look petrified."

"Thanks," Mickey deadpanned.

"This is a new look," Ian said, looking over Mickey's outfit. "The bowtie." Ian chuckled. He had never seen Mickey dressed like this, he was always so busy conforming to how others expected him to dress. Ian guessed this was the real Mickey.

"What?" Mickey asked, looking alarmed. "Should I lose it?"

"No, no," Ian grinned. "It's cute."

"Okay," Mickey said, looking unsure. Then he looked up at Ian, golden eyes sweeping all the way from the boots on his feet up to his blue eyes. "You look good, but you usually do."

Ian smiled and stood back to allow him space to get in, but Mickey was Mickey so he slid in and brushed his body off Ian's as he went. Ian gasped a little at the contact, but he didn't move away.

"I'm going to kill you," Ian teased, brushing his shirt down.

"Why, did I get you hard?"

"Mickey!" Ian hissed, gesturing towards the kitchen, where his father was struggling with making dinner. "No, you did not. Come on."

Ian began walking towards the living room, Mickey following closely behind. Ian could feel him staring at him, those eyes like burning cinders locked on him as he walked.

"God," Mickey uttered. "Your butt looks so good in those jeans."

Ian swung around to look at him. He gave him a half-amused, half-bemused expression. "When you're nervous, do you always cover it up with sex?"

Mickey gave him a sheepish smile. "Not that I've noticed before now," he told him.

Ian smiled, shook his head, then continued on into the living room and sat down. Mickey took a seat next to him.

"How are the bruises doing?" he asked, turning to look at Ian.

Ian lifted his shirt to show him the faded bruises. Mickey hadn't seen his bare chest in a few days now and the bruising had gone down quite a bit since then. It didn't hurt as badly any more, either. Ian blushed as Mickey studied his torso, his eyes crinkling a little at the sides as he ran them over the pale red bruises. Ian concentrated on taking even breaths as he watched Mickey, trying to read his expression.

"They still look pretty bad," Mickey said, nibbling gently on his bottom lip.

"Yeah, but they feel a lot better," Ian told him.

"Oh."

Ian and Mickey looked around to see Frank standing in the doorway, his eyes wide and darting around a little. He was holding a red and white striped tea cloth and seemed to be wiping his hands in it. Ian blushed harder and dropped his shirt back down over his chest.

"I was just, um, showing him how the bruising has gone down," Ian explained.

"Right," Frank said, awkwardly.

There was a silence that lasted about twenty seconds long, before Mickey stood up and spoke.

"Um, hi, Mr Gallagher," he said and Ian looked up at him, eyes wide. "Thanks for inviting me over."

Frank seemed to attain his usual manner then. "No sweat, kid," he smiled. "And call me Frank. Dinner's done."

"So, you like football, Mickey," Frank said, as he scooped more peas onto his plate. Ian glanced from his dad to his boyfriend, as he poked at his side salad with the prongs of his fork.

"Um, yeah," Mickey answered. "I mean, I like watching football. Playing it is okay, just.. Not really my thing."

Ian stared at him. "But you're the quarterback of the football team," he reminded him.

"Not because I want to be," Mickey uttered, eyes on his food. He looked nervous and as if he would rather talk about anything else in the world.

It struck Ian then that he hadn't ever really asked Mickey about the whole football issue. he had just assumed he liked to do it. He realised then that Mickey only played football because that was what his dad wanted him to do. He was good at it because he had talent, but also because he pushed himself to be good, to please his father.

Ian decided to change the subject, but Frank cut in first. "Got any plans for after you finish school yet, Mickey?"

Mickey looked uncomfortable. "Um," he said. "I don't know. I thought I had it all worked out, but.. Things change, I guess." He shrugged and continued to cut his meat into small pieces.

"Ian applied to New York," Frank told him and Ian looked up at him, eyes wide, as if to ask why he would just tell him something like that. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell Mickey, or hadn't told him on purpose, it was just that they were working through a lot of things and they didn't need the stress of the future and college to sit on top of the already-large pile.

"Yeah?" Mickey looked up at Ian and smiled a little. "That's great."

Ian smiled and looked away. It was early in their relationship to be thinking so far ahead, but they would have to, eventually.

"Can I ask you something?" Frank said and Ian looked up at him and tried to get him to stop, because this was quickly becoming very awkward. Frank ignored him—or didn't notice, Ian couldn't tell—and spoke after Mickey gave a small nod. "Last week, you had a girlfriend."

"Dad," Ian said, laying his fork and knife down.

"It's okay," Mickey told Ian, then looked back to Frank. "I—Quinn and I were only ever together because we were always told we should be. I sort of just—accepted that, but um, apparently, I don't even—uh, like, um, girls."

Ian gave Mickey a smile, because he knew it had been hard for him to admit that to someone that wasn't Ian. He was getting there, getting better every day.

"Okay," Frank nodded. He seemed to accept it, but Ian knew he wanted to say more. He wouldn't allow him to, because as hard as Frank tried, he didn't really understand what Mickey was going through, especially since Ian hadn't exactly told him everything. He made a mental note to talk to him about it, tell him the little details, minus all the sex, obviously.

"Um," Ian said. "Dad, I'm going to go finish my homework." He stood up and looked at Mickey, who appeared to be finished with his food. "Coming?" Ian asked.

Mickey stood up quickly and lifted his plate to take into the kitchen. "Uh, thanks Mr Hu—Frank. Dinner was great."

Frank gave him a smile and a nod and then looked at Ian, smile disintegrating. "Door stays open."

"Are you serious?" Ian asked Mickey, his eyes wide.

"Serious about what?" Mickey asked, looking confused.

"You just.. You worked that math problem out like it was nothing to you," Ian said, looking at Mickey, his face a mask of surprise. "Yet you couldn't figure out that Quinn couldn't possibly be pregnant with your baby? What is wrong with you?"

Mickey laughed and closed Ian's math book. He sat back and sighed. "I'll never get how I didn't add that up faster."

"Me neither," Ian told him, throwing his books down onto the floor and falling back next to Mickey, their heads close.

"She called me today," Mickey told Ian, smile frowning.

"Oh, yeah?" Ian asked and Mickey caught the brief flash of disappointment in his bright, blue eyes. Mickey reached down and laid a hand over his. Ian didn't respond, just allowed him to place his hand there.

"Relax," he said. "She called to remind me about the stupid Valentine's dance. Apparently, she found some kind of dress that flares out and hides her bump, or whatever. I don't know why she was telling me this, but yeah.. I have to pick her up at 7 on Saturday."

Ian just nodded and Mickey gave his hand a small squeeze. "You're coming, right?"

"No," Ian said, looking at him like he was crazy. Mickey wished he would just show him he was okay, just one teeny, tiny squeeze of his hand would stop the familiar sinking feeling in his stomach.

"What? Why not?"

"Mickey," Ian said. "You want me to go to a Valentine's dance by myself? That is beyond tragic."

Mickey chuckled. "Why?" he asked. "It's not like you're actually single, you know?"

"Regardless," Ian told him. "I don't really want to see Quinn all over you the whole night, so I'll be just fine here watching 'Hairspray' for the umpteenth time, thanks."

"You know she doesn't.." Mickey trailed off, because Ian was frowning. "Ian," Mickey said, shifting his body so that they faced one another. "Do you want me to tell her the deal's off? I'll do it. Because, okay, maybe the whole coming out thing really scares me, maybe I'm not totally ready for it, but at least the lies would be over and I'm just so tired of lying."

"Yeah," Ian said. "And then you'll get tired of the fighting, because that's what you'll be doing for the next while, you'll be fighting to show people that there's nothing wrong with you, that who you like doesn't make you a different person to who you were before you came out. You can't win, Mickey. Either way, you're going to be tired, so at least wait until you're ready for the fight. Just.. Just wait."

Mickey sighed and moved in closer to Ian. "You're always so sensible," he smiled, slightly, staring up at the white ceiling.

"One of us has to be," Ian smiled down at him.

"I still think you should come," Mickey apprised him.

"Why?"

"Because I like looking at you," Mickey tilted his head. "Plus, I'm pretty sure you'd get a kick out of the whole thing."

Ian moved closer still, which gave Mickey some relief. Ian sighed and placed a hand gently down on Mickey's bicep. Mickey shivered. "Let's stop talking and make out, or something."

Mickey turned his body and moved so that he was hovering over Ian. He smiled down at him. "Say you'll go."

"No," Ian said. "You can't blackmail me like that."

"Can't I?" Mickey asked, lowering his hips. He saw Ian swallowing hard as his ocean blue eyes dropped to look at Mickey's lower half meeting his own. Mickey chuckled as Ian blushed high and bright in his cheeks.

"My dad has a shot gun," Ian panted a little, eyes rolling ever-so-slightly backwards in his head as Mickey pressed his crotch into Ian's.

"Really," Mickey said, lowering his mouth down to find Ian's slender, pale neck.

"No," Ian uttered.

Mickey chuckled and grazed his dry lips all along Ian's neck, starting from the small patch behind his ear. He dragged his lips down as far as Ian's pulse and sucked his skin into his mouth. Ian shuddered beneath him.

"Mm," Mickey whispered into Ian's neck. "You taste like.. Um, something I can't put a name to, but it's gorgeous."

"Are you eating me, or kissing me—Oh!" Ian's breath caught in his throat as Mickey pressed the palm of his hand roughly against his semi-hard length. "Oh—Fuck, Mickey, why would you—damn—why would you do this while my dad is—oh!—upstairs? Dammit."

Mickey ignored his complaints and slid the zipper on Ian's jeans slowly down. In one swift movement, Mickey slid his hand past the waistband of Ian's underwear and took him in his hand.

"Will you come to the dance?" Mickey asked against Ian's lips. "Please?" He began to pump his hand back and forth along Ian's length and Ian's sparkling eyes disappeared, his milky lids concealing them like a curtain.

"No," Ian said, breathlessly, as Mickey ran his thumb over the slit. Ian was completely hard now and Mickey took so much pleasure in the small, gaspy, moaning sounds he was making.

"Really?" Mickey asked, catching his earlobe between his teeth. "Not even now?"

Ian hummed as Mickey stroked him back and forth harder and faster and Mickey knew he was close from the way his breathing had sped up and how his hips were jerking and how his eyes were rolling back and how Mickey had to close his mouth down over Ian's to swallow the loud moans he was emitting.

Mickey knew he was close, so he removed his hand.

Ian whined against Mickey's lips, his fingers gripping his shirt. He tried to speak, but his words came out in a muddle of incoherent grunts.

"Tell me you'll come to the dance," Mickey said, kissing Ian's lips once. "I promise it'll be fun."

Ian shook his head and groaned. Mickey pressed two fingers to the underside of Ian's cock and Ian moaned again.

"Please, Mickey," he panted.

"Say you'll come," Mickey urged, pushing Ian's now damp hair back from where it was sticking to his forehead. "Come on, baby. Tell me you'll come."

Baby.

That hadn't been intentional and he saw Ian react to him saying it, his blue eyes freezing for a split second and his lips pausing mid-moan. It was just that Ian did things to him, things no one had ever done to him and watching him like that, knowing he was doing this to him, making him come undone, making him unravel at the seams, made Mickey crazy. He was nuts about Ian and sometimes, it still stunned him, but when he looked at Ian, he knew there was no way he could ever be any other way than hopelessly in love with him.

"Tell me you'll come," Mickey said quietly in Ian's ear, his voice a little raspy.

"Fine," Ian broke finally. "Fine. I'll come. I'll come, okay? Just—please, Mickey."

Mickey grinned and closed his hand down over Ian's throbbing erection again. He moved his hand quickly back and forth a couple of times and then Ian was coming in his pants. Mickey didn't stop moving his hand until Ian's hips had stopped spasming. He pulled his hand out and fell back next to Ian.

"That was hot," he told him, without thinking.

Ian simply lay there, breathing, his eyes closed. A few seconds later, Ian sat up and opened the bathroom door.

"I can't believe you just did that with my dad upstairs," Ian shook his head. "And the door is open!"

Ian flung a towel at Mickey so that he could clean his hand off. He smiled as he did and Ian grabbed a fresh pair of underwear and jeans.

"Admit you liked the risk," Mickey teased. "Plus, now you're going to the dance!"

"Um, no," Ian said. "I'm not."

"But you said you'd come," Mickey said, face falling.

Ian chuckled and gestured towards his pants. "And I wasn't lying, was I?" he smirked. "I did come."

Ian gave Mickey a wink and then he turned and walked into the bathroom, leaving Mickey gaping after him.

To: Mickey.

Got told to pass on the message. New Directions are singing at the dance. Yay (assume sarcasm).

To: Ian.

Which means you'll have to come after all!

To: Ian.

I meant go, not come. GO.

To: Mickey.

Unfortunately, yes. This means your hand job was all for nothing.

To: Ian.

Not for nothing, no.

To: Mickey.

When did your mind get so dirty?

To: Ian.

When did yours get so clean?

To: Mickey.

It didn't.

To: Ian.

Good.

"Boy, you look good in a suit!"

"Thanks, Mercedes," Ian grinned. "Pearly purple is totally your colour."

Mercedes beamed at him and he gave hi hair a final spray, before joining her by the door.

"Ready to go?" Mercedes asked.

The dance was the last place Ian wanted to be, but part of him wanted to see how Mickey was with Quinn in public. He had seen them in the school halls, but this was different. They would have to dance here. Ian couldn't decide if it was a good idea that he was attending, or a bad idea.

Either way, he gave Mercedes his best smile.

"Ready!"

The school gym was dark and intricately decorated and Artie and Sam were singing on the raised platform that was supposed to mimic a stage. People were dancing and singing and laughing and the entire hall was an array of colours and shapes and slinking bodies.

Mickey was dancing with Quinn, because that was what he was supposed to do. She was sighing in his ear, because she was clearly as fed-up with this as he was. Her dress was red and huge. It was tight fitting around her chest, then flared out in a large netted skirt. He wondered what Ian would say if he saw it. He smiled at the thought.

Mickey couldn't tear his eyes from the entrance door. He was waiting to see that perfectly styled, sand-brown hair, those shining blue eyes, that pale, flawless, alabaster skin. He wondered, after a while, if Ian had changed his mind and decided not to come.

"Are you looking for your boyfriend?" Quinn hissed in his ear. "Because he probably won't come, you know? It would be kind of sad if he did."

"He'll be here," Mickey told her, simply.

Quinn looked up at him and rolled her eyes. Mickey sighed and looked back at the door again. He saw Mercedes and Rachel coming in the door, laughing, Mercedes dressed in purple, Rachel, in pink. Ian had to be with them, didn't he?

Mickey lingered on the spot, just swaying a little with Quinn, then he saw those searching blue eyes, saw that perfect coiff, saw that pale, almost-translucent skin. He watched him blinking, slowly and carefully, his eyes looking around the hall, studiously. Mickey felt his heart sinking as Ian turned his head to smile at Mike Chang, who had just greeted him.

When Ian smiled, it made him weak.

When Ian smiled at him, it set him alight inside.

Ian turned his head, slowly and then his eyes landed on Mickey. Ian smiled, blinked, then smiled again, followed by a couple more quick blinks. Mickey returned his smile and Ian gave him the most subtle of winks, before turning back to the rest of his friends.

"They're staring at him," Quinn said and Mickey snapped back into reality. he had forgotten she was there.

"What?" he asked, flustered. "Who?"

"Them."

Mickey looked in the direction Quinn was gesturing and saw Iggy, Kenny and Karofsky standing by the refreshments table. Iggy was frowning at Mickey. Karofsky and Kenny were looking in Ian's direction. Karofsky was scowling and Kenny was grinning from ear to ear, like the Cheshire cat. Mickey glared at them, then turned away again.

They could stare all they wanted, Ian was his and there was nothing they could do to change that.