Shamelessly Smutty

guys like u

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Summary: Sleepover but with a twist. DCFS doesn't come. Mickey and Ian are friends. They both don't know the other is gay. Mickey thinks his lover doesn't like him back....or does he. Takes place in Gallagher's house rather than Milkovich. Literally just a sleepover between friends.

Warnings: language, oral-sex

Words: 1784

Season: 3

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"Well, I, I'd better go, it's getting kinda late and I want to get an early start at the Alibi tomorrow so..," he told Ian, getting to his feet quickly.

"Oh, I'll take you. An innocent boy like you shouldn't be walking around this late at night. Especially in this dog-eat-dog town," Ian said sarcastically, getting to his feet.

Mickey frowned to himself; he really didn't want to be alone tonight. He wanted to stay and talk to his friend, his love interest, Ian.

"Mickey, you know you don't have to leave," Ian commented casually like he was reading Mickey's mind.

"What do you mean?" he snapped, growing nervous.

"Well, we can talk, and have a sleepover, here of course. Fiona and the others are staying with Steve tonight."

Mickey grinned, "You serious?"

Ian nodded and laughed slightly, "Yeah."

Mickey thought for a moment, analyzing the proposition, the situation, and the possible outcome. Secretly wished it wouldn't turn out to be innocent.

Ian broke the silence with a small snort of laughter, "C'mon Mickey, it's not like we're gonna do make-overs or talk about boys or anything."

Mickey immediately looked up at his friend, "Oh well, we can talk about boys..."

Mickey slipped, not meaning to say what he actually said, conjuring raised eyebrows from his friend.

"I mean! I mean we can talk! That's what I meant!" Mickey tried to repair the situation as Ian laughed in amusement.

~~~

Mickey sported grey joggers he stole from Lip's dresser and a plain slightly stained tank that was under his shirt earlier. Ian was basically matching with Mickey, just rather than a tank he wore a green skin-tight t-shirt.

Ian closed his eyes softly and tipped his head back, enjoying the low volume cartoon playing on the new t.v — thanks to Steve...Jimmy...Jack?

Mickey examined the younger boy to his side, from his ginger head, all the way down to his freckled feet.

"Hey Mick, you want a drink?" Ian asked immediately, opening his eyes and getting to his feet, moving back over to the fridge.

"Sure I'll have..."

"No, I mean a real drink. Vodka and orange juice?" he smiled.

Mickey didn't say a word, which Ian took as a yes, and walked back over handing him a small glass. Ian drank it down in one gulp, as Mickey tasted it carefully, then took about half of it down. Ian snorted, bemused, and then began to talk.

"So, Mickey, I have a question," Ian said, setting his glass down on the coffee table.

"What makes you tick? What makes Mickey Milkovich tick?" he asked, sitting back waiting for an answer.

Mickey froze. How was he supposed to answer that?

After a while, Mickey answered.

"Well, I can tell ya what doesn't make me tick, well not anymore at least," Mickey began softly.