Thanks for all the lovely reviews! I'm sorry in advanced for the way this turned out.


Mickey punched one of the concrete pillars under the bridge.

He hated Ian Gallagher.

He hated his stupid face, his fucked up grin and the way he never shut his mouth. He hated how he snored and the way Mickey would wake up to find him pressed up against him. He hated how Ian would tangle his legs with Mickey's as if to say, Mickey belonged to him.

Mickey had shoved Ian awake and told him never to pull shit like that the first couple of times. But Ian still did it and Mickey had grown tired of giving him a dead arm every morning. Especially if it meant that he wouldn't get a quick hand job before Ian snuck out of his window.

And Mickey hated Ian's hair. How it stood out so much, like it was fucking proud to be different. Mickey didn't like being different. He hated it. He hated the fact that he automatically jumped every time his dad came into his room because maybe that was the day Frank had opened his big fat mouth. He hated that he wasn't in control. Because Mickey Milkovich was always in control.

But mostly, he hated that he had ever fucked Ian Gallagher. Because ever since then everything had fucked up. He wasn't supposed to give a shit about anyone. He was meant to be unapproachable. Tough. A Milkovich. Everyone used to be scared of him. Not anymore. Not since Ian. Even Lip Gallagher seemed to think that they were friends or some shit.

For some reason Ian just grinned when Mickey threatened hm. Like he didn't believe for one single moment that Mickey would actually take a swing at him now they were fucking. Even though Mickey had put enough people in hospital to even count on two hands. The scary thing was, Mickey didn't know if he could actually fuck Ian up anymore. He didn't know that he would ever want to. He'd pussied out of killing Frank just because Ian had told him to. The boy had completed fucked with his head.

Mickey punched the pillar again because it was all so stupid. Ian didn't want him around. Mickey didn't blame him. He'd always wondered why Ian hung about for so long. And even though Ian was younger than him, from day one Mickey could tell that Ian knew exactly what he was doing. At first it was fucking awesome because Mickey didn't know what he liked. It wasn't like he had been parading his gayness to the rest of the world so it was probably obvious to Ian that it had been Mickey's first time. Not that he didn't give as good as he got. Mickey may have only fucked one guy in his life, but from the noises Ian made, he knew he wasn't bad at it.

But now Mickey wondered if Ian had found someone else. Someone who fucked better. Someone who gave better head. Mickey kind of wanted to throw up at the thought of Ian's dick up someone else's ass. He wondered just how many guys Ian had had in the last six months.

Breathing heavily, Mickey leant against the concrete and inspected his knuckles. He was bleeding and one knuckle was so swollen that it was more than likely he had broken it. But he didn't have time to inspect it further as he heard an all too familiar voice.

"You're bleeding."

Ian Gallagher was walking towards him. Mickey didn't want him to. Mickey didn't want him to even be there. Ian had told him to stay away from him so why the fuck had Gallagher come looking for him.

"I don't give a shit," he replied as steadily as he could while his knuckles throbbed.

Mickey didn't expect Ian to take his shirt off and throw it over. The Milkovich boy stared at the black clothing before looking up. He regretted it instantly. How was he meant to keep hating the guy when he stood there looking so fuckable?

Ian gave him a small smile. "I do. Put it around your hand."

Mickey paused for a few seconds, wondering what it was about Ian that stopped him thinking straight. He threw the shirt back and shook his head slightly before walked away in the opposite direction. He didn't count on Ian grabbing his good wrist and to try and stop him.

"Don't touch me," he growled dangerously. Mickey wasn't in the mood to play. Fuck. All he wanted to do was raid the store down on 9th Avenue and get off his face on Vodka.

"Come on, Mick-"

And that was another thing that Mickey hated. Ian calling him Mick. Everyone else called him Mickey or Milkovich but it was like Ian thought he knew Mickey better than anyone else. For a fleeting moment Mickey wondered why he'd never called Gallagher out on that shit before but he stopped himself. He decided he didn't want to know.

Mickey clenched his jaw cracking his neck on either side to show that he wasn't messing. "Drop the fucking hand."

"No," Ian said defiantly. They both knew Mickey wasn't going to take a swing at him, no matter how much he wanted to. And Ian took this as leverage to shove Mickey hard enough so that he would fall onto the soft grass below.

Mickey yelped and cursed loudly as Ian pinned him down, wrists above his head and while Ian sat on his thighs. Somewhere in the back of Mickey's mind, he was kind of impressed. The little fucker ROTC training was paying off. But Mickey didn't take the pinning down lightly. He twisted and wriggled and when that didn't work he hacked up a ball of spit and aimed straight for Gallagher's face. Unfortunately, it only caught his shoulder.

Ian smirked down at him. "Classy."

"Fuck you," Mickey retorted as he struggled again. But he instinctively stopped as Ian leaned down closer, his mouth close to Mickey's right ear.

"Why didn't you kill Frank?" Ian's voice was low. Lower than his usual register. The vibrations went straight to Mickey's dick.

"Get the fuck off of me!" Mickey shouted, trying again.

"Tell me why you didn't kill Frank, and I will." Ian's face was now inches from his. Mickey could feel Ian's disgustingly blue eyes bore into his.

It was fucked.

The whole situation was fucked.

And it was all Gallagher's fault.

And if Mickey was a pussy he might have said that they shared a moment or some shit. Because the way Gallagher was looking at him was all kinds of fucked up. Mickey didn't stop staring back. And Ian was still waiting for his answer. So Mickey gave him one. "Figured that punching a cop looked better than murder on my resume."

Ian blinked once before his face split into one of those stupid grins. Mickey scowled. In fact he was so busy scowling that he didn't register that Ian had closed the gap between them with a soft kiss.

The next thing Mickey felt was Ian jumping off of him, still grinning like a fucking moron.

"Did you just fucking kiss me?" Mickey asked half in shock and half impressed that Ian had the guts to go there.

"Yeah," Ian said without regret.

Mickey leaned up onto his elbows and narrowed his eyes. "Do that again, and I'll-"

Ian cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows. "Rip my fucking tongue out?"

Mickey clenched his jaw but said nothing as he picked up Ian's t-shirt and wrapped it around his hand. It wasn't the best bandage but it would do for now. He could see Ian staring at him, the little prick was still smiling.

Mickey didn't know when he had turned such a fucking girl but he allowed himself to smirk back for just one second. Mickey watched as Ian glanced at his crotch area before looking back up at Mickey's face. The blood flow to his dick increased tenfold.

Ian walked closer and leaned down, enough to get a grip on Mickey's belt buckle. "So how about that blow you wanted?"


Even I can't take the amount of sappiness in this.

The kiss wasn't meant to be there but I couldn't help it. And obviously Mickey didn't admit that he cared because well he's Mickey, but Ian knew anyway.

Please review, even if it was to tell me how much of a disappointment the second half was :P