Chapter 33:

"Proms," Ian declared, as they stepped inside the elevator up to Mickey's hotel room, which was on the sixth floor. "Are so overrated."

Mickey's liquid eyes fell on him, a flash of hurt hidden behind the dark, golden colour. "Did you hate it?"

Ian looked up at him. "No," he shook his head. "I just meant that there's all this hype built up beforehand, then you go and you realise you don't like half the people there and they don't like you and you just stay there for too many hours, feeling uncomfortable and wishing you had stayed home, but you don't want to leave in case something happens, but nothing does." Ian paused and Mickey was nodding, slowly and in silence. "I didn't mean you!" Ian said, quickly. "This has nothing to do with you. If you hadn't been there, I would have been bored out of my mind."

"I shouldn't have made you go."

"I agreed to going, remember?" Ian corrected. "Mickey, you've got to—" Ian stopped mid-sentence, because his phone started to vibrate in the inside pocket of his jacket. "Sorry," he mumbled, as he reached inside and pulled it out. "Dad" flashed across the screen and he hit the receive button. "Hello?"

"Ian?"

"Hi, dad," he said, glancing across at Mickey, who was staring at the buttons by the door that were lighting up one after the other, as they went up each floor.

"Having a good time?"

"I was just telling Mickey how despite proms being massively overrated," he looked sideways at Mickey, whose interest seemed to have grown, his eyes shifting to look across at Ian. "I actually had a great night. I mean, the décor was tacky and the finger food sucked, but it actually went really well. We even slow danced and no one called the hetero police!" Ian saw Mickey stifle a smile at that.

"That's great, Ian, real great," Frank said, happily. "Where are you now? Are you still there?"

Ian took a deep breath. "Here's the thing," he said. "Mickey has been staying at this hotel in town and—"

"Say no more!" Frank said, quickly.

"Dad," Ian smiled. "We're in an elevator and besides, Mickey and I aren't even together any more." He saw Mickey frowning again. "Nothing is going to happen, okay?"

Which was probably a lie, because being in an empty hotel room with Mickey Milkovich was something one did not just pass up.

"Well, okay," Frank said, but he didn't sound at all convinced. "I'll see you tomorrow, kid. Say hi to Mickey for me."

"Will do, dad," Ian said. "Bye!"

He slipped his phone back inside his pocket and the elevator came to a halt. The door opened with a small ringing sound and they stepped out onto the long, narrow corridor.

"My dad says hi," Ian told Mickey, as he followed him to his room.

Mickey nodded a bit and stopped at room 669 (Ian giggled, very quietly—and obviously very maturely—at that) and slipped the room card key into the small slot, then slid it back out, quickly, as he pushed the door handle down. He pushed the door open and stood back for Ian to walk inside.

"Do you want me to leave?" Ian asked, as Mickey closed the door behind them. "Because I can just go, if you want."

Mickey sighed and flung the card onto a small, round table. "When in my life have I ever wanted you to leave anywhere?"

"Okay," Ian said, carefully. "Well, we can clean up your room, then we can talk about this."

"Why do we have to cl—"

"Mickey."

"Okay," Mickey said, tiredly and he bent to pick up a shirt off the floor. "Fine."

It took them ten minutes to take all the clothes and shoes and put them inside the closet and to make the place look neat. Ian closed the closet and stood back to inspect the room. It looked fine. He looked across at Mickey then, who was smoothening out the bed, looking as if he had the world's worries on his shoulders. His eyes were concentrated on the bed and he didn't notice when Ian crossed the room, until he had reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.

Mickey turned to look at Ian. He gestured behind him at the bed. "I was just—"

"It's fine," Ian said, reaching out for Mickey's hand. "Are we okay?"

"Yeah," Mickey nodded, twisting his hand to entwine his fingers with Ian's. "Sorry, I just—I'm sorry."

"I get it," Ian said, softly.

"No," Mickey said, eyes wide and filled with hurt. "You don't."

"I.. I don't?"

Mickey shook his head and crawled across to sit up against the pillows. He patted the bed next to him and Ian followed suit, sitting down next to him.

"Everything hit me today," he told Ian. "When we were dancing, I felt weird—not in a bad way! I just—I love you more than anything else in the entire world and even though my life is a huge mess, the thing that hurts me more than anything else, is the idea of losing you, which I think I told you already, but Ian, I feel—I feel like something's tearing me up, like my insides are being torn to shreds and all I can do is accept it. Everything got worse today, Ian and I just—it frustrated me, so I just—I got a little insecure and..."

"Okay," Ian nodded. "I get it, now."

"I wanted us to be able to remember tonight," Mickey said, voice breaking a bit. "I just wanted it to be memorable—a good memory, something you can think back on when I'm just a distant memory."

"You'll never be just a distant memory," Ian assured him.

Mickey shrugged. "You know what I mean," he said. "I just wanted everything about tonight to be perfect."

Ian leaned closer, then, his eyes a shade darker than usual. His voice came out in a slow whisper then.

"Tonight's not over yet," he said and pressed his mouth down softly over Mickey's and Mickey sighed against Ian's lips and he felt his lungs deflating and his body went limp in the arms of the boy with the bright blue eyes.

They hadn't ever been like this before, moving so slowly and so carefully, as if they were afraid they would break one another. Ian removed the last layer of material keeping them from one another and he pulled Mickey closer, slipping his arms around him, like he was trying to keep him together, to make sure he remained in one piece.

It was different, this situation, because usually they shared the control they had with one another, they moved as equals, both as strong as each other, but tonight, Ian had the upper hand and Mickey was laying back, letting him move him any way he wanted.

Mickey looked up from where he lay against the pillows, his eyes wide and shining, his mouth set in a thin line, like he was trying not to cry. Ian fell down next to him and ignored the way that his body was yearning for relief. He laid his head down beside Mickey's and Mickey twisted around to face him.

"It hurts," Mickey uttered, quietly.

Ian nodded, slowly. "It hurts for me, too," he told him. "I try to be strong about it and I see you breaking in front of my eyes and I figure it's time for me to stop being strong and just break with you."

"You can't be expected to be strong all the time," Mickey told him. "Sometimes you have to just let it all out, because if you don't, at some point it'll all come flooding out all at once and you'll break, permanently and nothing and no one will be able to put you back together again."

Ian nodded and wondered if Mickey believed he was broken with no chance to be fixed. He hoped not. He leaned up and moved to hover over Mickey, who was looking up at him, his breaths coming out uneven and occasionally, in small sobs. Ian dropped down and caught Mickey's lips with his own and then they were lost in one another, their bodies flush together, hands exploring every inch of skin, every crevice and curve, every dip and angle. Ian felt Mickey's breath coming in stutters as he ran a hand slowly over his chest.

"It's okay," he whispered, softly.

Ian reached down and wrapped his hand gently around Mickey's erection. Mickey sighed and reached up and placed his hand against Ian's cheek. A second later, he pulled him down for another kiss and Ian began to pump his hand up on down on Mickey, sending small whimpers from his mouth and into Ian's.

Ian felt something cool and hard pressing against his lower back and he pulled his lips off of Mickey's and gasped a bit. Mickey's lips curled up into a smile, then, sending small jolts of electricity all through Ian's veins. Mickey lifted his hand from Ian's back and held it up for him to see. It had been the bracelet. Ian chuckled and closed the space between their lips again and then the cool bracelet was back against his body, only lower down now, on his backside, soft fingertips kissing his skin, making him shiver.

They stayed like that for a long time, their mouths conjoined, Ian's hand working back and forth on Mickey's cock, Mickey's warm fingertips dancing across Ian's skin. After a while, Ian felt Mickey shifting beneath him, his mouth breaking away. Ian sat up and looked down at him, trying to figure out what had happened, but Mickey only smiled a bit and pushed himself into a seated position.

Mickey rested one hand on Ian's thigh as he leaned across to the side table and pulled the drawer open. Ian watched as he reached inside and pulled out a small bottle. Mickey held it up, smiling slightly and Ian saw what it was.

"You bought lube," he said, a little incredulously. "Wait, why do you have lube? We broke up."

Mickey's cheeks flushed a bright pink and he smiled shyly.

"Mickey Milkovich!" Ian exploded, a wide grin spread across his face. "Have you been practicing without me?"

Mickey reached up and flicked the light switch by the bed, leaving them in darkness, his flushed cheeks no longer visible in the light of the pale moon slipping through the half-closed blinds. "I didn't think practicing with you was an option."

Ian laughed out loud and pushed Mickey back down. "I love you, you dork," he whispered, before pressing his mouth down over Mickey's again and then they fell back into the slow, fluid movements they had been moving with each other before. Ian heard the quiet popping sound of the cap and he shuddered when he felt Mickey's cold fingers sliding across his entrance. He pushed his knees further apart and moaned into Mickey's swelled mouth as his fingers slipped in and out of him.

There was something about the darkness that made Ian more aware of all his other senses. He could hear Mickey's every breath, every small whine, every movement. He moaned a bit when Mickey's fingers disappeared, leaving him empty. Mickey reached up and placed his other hand on Ian's cheek, his fingers cool and shaking slightly.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Ian's heart only had a split second to make a flip, before his body was being flipped, Mickey turning him over gently, so that his elbows were pressed into the bed. His heart was hammering in his chest as he pushed himself up onto his knees. He felt the heat of Mickey's body coming down over his back, his breath warm against his neck. Ian shivered when Mickey pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the top of his back, just beneath the back of his neck and then his mouth was trailing downwards, following the line of his spine, his tongue leaving a wet line all down his back, the wetness drying quickly in the cool air.

Then Mickey's mouth was at his ear again, his hands on his shoulders. Mickey brushed his lips over the top of Ian's ear, then whispered, very, very quietly.

"Ready?"

Mickey's right arm was curled around his waist, his other arm stretched out above him, on top of Ian's arm. Mickey's fingers clasped tightly with Ian's, as he moved behind him, their bodies crashing together in a steady rhythm. Mickey felt dizzy, his skin hot and sticking to Ian's, the light of the moon slipping across their bodies, casting shadows all across their skin. The white light appeared blue. It bent where one body met the other and it shifted as they moved together.

Mickey slid his right hand down Ian's body and slipped it backwards until he found his cock, pressed into the covers below. Ian groaned when Mickey's hand closed around it and he stroked up and down slowly, his erection growing beneath his touch.

Mickey dropped his head down, his lips finding Ian's neck. He grazed his mouth across his smooth skin and stopped when he found his pulse. He clamped his mouth down over it and sucked on his skin, marking him, wishing he could keep him there forever and keep marking that spot every time it faded away. It wasn't fair. Ian was his. Everyone needed to know it.

Ian's head tilted until his left ear was pressed into the mattress. Mickey saw his eyes opening and resting on him. He bent and caught Ian's open mouth with his own, still pumping his hand back and forth on his cock. Ian whined into his mouth and Mickey quickened the movements of his hips as he moved in and out of Ian's still relatively tight hole. Mickey kissed him lazily, their tongues moving slowly together, Ian's eyes closing as Mickey moved faster behind him.

He was close, really close and he knew Ian was, too. He moved his arms so that they were both wrapped around Ian and began to thrust his hips harder and faster as he held onto him for dear life. He raised both of them up and Ian reached out for the head board, using it as support as Mickey literally wrapped himself around his entire body and continued to push in and out, his stomach clenching and unclenching familiarly.

Mickey saw Ian's fingers curling forward against the wooden board and he cried out as Mickey came hard and fast inside him, the world whitening around the edges, his hips stuttering forward and then Ian was crying out, needing relief. Mickey dropped onto his side, taking Ian with him, then reached down and took Ian's throbbing erection in his hand, carefully. Ian was muttering obscenities, his eyes dropping down to watch Mickey's hand pumping back and forth on him, small moans escaping his throat.

After a few more thrusts of Mickey's hand, Ian was coming, a whine that sounded suspiciously like Mickey's name tearing from his mouth, voice guttural and hoarse. Mickey fell back and Ian fell down on top of him and they just breathed for a long time, Mickey still inside Ian, his softening dick sensitive. He eased himself out and Ian was still panting. Mickey moved forward and covered half of Ian's body with his own, his mouth finding Ian's and they kissed lazily, again.

Ian was humming a bit against his lips and Mickey was overcome with emotion, as he thought about the fact that this may very well be their last time together in this way. He tried to protest when Ian pushed him gently away, because he didn't want to spend one minute without having Ian in his arms tonight.

"It's only for a second, babe," Ian assured him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Mickey watched as Ian climbed to his feet, his legs wobbling a little, then he crossed the floor, the blue light cast from the moon licking a line across his already-pale back. Ian disappeared inside the bathroom, then came back out holding a towel. He stopped in front of Mickey, then reached down and wiped him clean. Mickey was blushing, which was ridiculous after what they had just done, but he couldn't help it. He was thankful that it could not be spotted in the dim lighting.

Ian quickly cleaned himself off, then threw the towel off to the side. He pushed the covers back on the bed, then crawled inside and waited for Mickey to join him and when he did, he went up close and wrapped his arms around Mickey's waist, his head resting in that area between his neck and shoulder. Mickey shifted his body so that he could hold onto Ian, too.

"I won't forget tonight," Ian told him, quietly, placing the smallest of kisses to his neck. "Not ever."

Mickey let out an unintentional sob against the top of Ian's head and that was when Ian lost it. He opened his mouth to tell Mickey it was okay, but a lump had formed in his throat and he couldn't bring himself to speak those words, because they were lies. He let those walls fall down the, the ones he had been trying to keep up for so long, the ones that stopped the tears from flowing and then feelings from slipping out for all to see.

"Don't cry," Mickey whispered, tightening his grip on him and when he said that, Ian realised that he had actually begun to cry, slow, warm, salty tears slipping down his face, one at a time and then they were coming faster and soon he was convulsing with sobs and tears and hurt and he just wanted to fix everything that had gone wrong.

Mickey held him there, whispering to him, telling him it was okay, but pretty soon, he had stopped and Ian realised Mickey was crying, too. He saw the tears slipping from his eyes and there weren't many and he wasn't crying hard, but they were still there. Ian guessed Mickey was all cried out after everything. He didn't want Mickey to cry any more, he knew he hated it.

"I'm sorry," he sniffled. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Ian had remained strong for far too long and Mickey knew what that was like. He knew what it was like to pretend like nothing was wrong, simply because admitting otherwise made you weak. It didn't, not really, because being able to admit to having problems and to being broken meant you were strong. Hiding it, acting like everything was perfectly fine meant you were weak, a coward, not strong enough to face reality.

They fell asleep, clinging to one another like that. Mickey didn't want the night to end, but tiredness overtook him and he slipped into the clutches of slumber and couldn't get away. The next morning, the sunlight slipped through the blinds and Mickey blinked himself awake. He felt Ian shifting next to him, his eyes still closed. He looked down at him, at his pale skin in the bright light and he asked himself for the billionth time how this boy was real, how he was the same species as everyone else, because there was no one like him, not anywhere in the world.

Ian woke up then and caught Mickey staring at him. He smiled a bit and pushed himself up to face him.

"Hey," Mickey said.

"Hi," Ian yawned. "I'm sorry I cried on you last night. I just—"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," Mickey shook his head. "I think we're close enough by now that it should be okay to just do whatever, so if you want to laugh, laugh, if you want to cry, cry. I'll love you either way."

Ian sighed and lay back. "I don't know why we broke up." Mickey didn't say anything, because he did know. "I mean, every time we're near one another we end up making out, or in bed together. What part of that makes sense?"

"None of it," Mickey nodded. "But things in my life rarely do make sense any more. I was just thinking, though. I've been going on about how my life sucks and how no one loves me and blah blah blah, but I didn't once stop and think abut how hard all this must be on you. I get to stay here, in a place I know, surrounded by all these people I know, but you're going out there blind, not knowing anyone, just hoping for the best. I'm sorry about that. I was too busy worrying about my own crap to think about that, which makes me a sucky sort-of-boyfriend."

"In your defense," Ian smiled a bit. "You are homeless and have been disowned, so I think worrying about me not making friends is acceptable."

"Totally not acceptable," Mickey disagreed. "I claim I love you—and I do—and then I go and do something like this, when love is supposed to be about two people, not just one."

"Mickey," Ian said, taking his hand. "Don't worry about it. Don't worry about anything except trying to get yourself back on track. You can't—"

"I love you."

Ian raised an eyebrow and studied him for a few moments, his blue eyes filled with concern. "I know," he said, carefully. "I love you, too. Are you—"

"Okay?" Mickey asked. "No, but that's nothing new."

The thing about Mickey was that he wasn't all that concerned about his lack of parental figures, nor his homelessness, because he had people to turn to. Ian leaving was different, no one could help him with that. While there would always be people willing to help a homeless teenage boy in need, there wasn't anyone who had an alternative to Ian Gallagher that they could provide him with. Yes, the other stuff bothered him, he wouldn't be human if they didn't, but he hadn't ever really had a real family, anyway, so that wasn't a huge loss.

He guessed he could have gone with Ian, but in the back of his mind, something was nagging away, telling him he needed to fix things here, because even though Mickey had been mostly independent throughout his life, they were still his parents and no kid likes not being on speaking terms with their parents. He wasn't brave enough to go back and confront them, not yet, but he would have to eventually, but by then Ian would be gone and there was no way around that.

"It's strange, isn't it?"

"What is?" Ian asked.

"Being in love."

"Um, I guess," Ian said. He hadn't ever thought of it as 'strange'. "How do you mean?"

Mickey was staring across the room at the bare wall. The light coming from the window left a white sheen across the top of his head. "I mean, sometimes I feel like saying 'I love you' isn't enough, because how can three little words that can be used with reference to—I don't know, chocolate chip cookies, equal the love I feel for you? Do you know what I'm saying?"

Ian thought for a second. "Kind of," he said. "Yeah. Yeah, I get it."

"I don't know," Mickey shrugged. "I just feel as if there should be something more. If I was a poet, I would write you a sonnet. If I was an artist, I'd paint you a masterpiece. But I'm neither of those things, so what do those of us with limited talents do to express our love?"

"You show it," Ian told him and he looked up at him, eyes filled with wonder. "In the way you act and in the things you say and do and trust me, Mickey, if we're going to base how much you love me on the things you say and do, then you must love me a whole lot."

"I do," Mickey nodded. "Then sometimes I think that sex is not enough."

"Mickey," Ian smiled and shook his head. "I get it. Nothing is ever enough with you, but sometimes things are enough. You on your own, you're enough, so forget all that. As long as I've got you, it's enough. Simple as that."

Mickey frowned. "Which isn't very long at all."

"Hey," Ian said. "You told me forever and unless my calculations are off—which is doubtful, since you're the one with the time keeping issues—forever is a heck of a long time."

"Well," Mickey said, smiling. "You know what I mean."

"I do," he nodded. "But, you know what, Mickey? Sometimes life's a bitch, but we have to get through the bad stuff to get to the good sometimes and if it's meant to be, fate'll turn it back around and we'll find ourselves face to face again."

Mickey sighed, seemingly unconvinced. "Unfortunately, Ian," he began. "Sometimes we have to make things happen by ourselves."

"You always have to go and ruin my philosophical moments with your words of wisdom," Ian grinned.

"You know I'm right," Mickey smiled. "Oh, and speaking of things that are and not supposed to happen," he said. "Good luck explaining that hickey away to your father, who, by the way, you told nothing would happen."

"Ugh," Ian grimaced. "Why do you have to be such a vampire?"

"Well, it's certainly not because I like the blood of virgins," Mickey smirked.

"Obviously not."

"I don't know, dude," Mickey said, resting his arms behind his head. "You fling your head back in the heat of the moment and your neck is just so smooth and unblemished. It's like it's just begging for me to put my mouth on it, you know?"

Ian smiled, but he knew Mickey was covering up with humour.

"I belong to you regardless of how many people know it, you know that, don't you?" he asked.

Mickey's face was a mask of sobriety, then and he tilted his head so that his hazel eyes were in line with Ian's bright, azure ones. "I know," he said, gravely. "But when you own something as precious and as perfect as you, you want to showcase it to the world."

Ian sighed, contentedly and sat back, Mickey's hand in his own. "We're going to figure this out, Mickey," Ian told him, confidently. He had no idea how, but they had to try, right? "I love you and you love me and that has to count for something."

"Yeah, but when the world tips sideways and life steps in and everything you've ever known takes a turn for the worst," Mickey began. "It turns out that, despite what you thought, love just isn't enough."