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Confessions

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Mick and Len was sitting at a bar in the nineteen fifties. The smoke filled air made Len's nose itch and the thumping base of rock music made his head hurt, but that wasn't what had his attention.

Mick was sitting next to him, downing shots. Len watched as Mick's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. A bead of sweat slid down his throat and Len wanted to chase it with his tongue, but he just held onto his glass of beer and took a drink. The cold glass chilled his fingers and the cold liquid sliding down throat cleared his head.

'Come on, let's go home,' Len said after Mick had downed yet another shot.

Mick laughed. 'You really think the Waverunner is home?'

Len shrugged. As long as he was with Mick everywhere was home. Not that he would ever say that. It was for the best if he kept his feelings to himself, that was the only thing (that didn't involve stealing) that he learned from his bastard of a father.

They walked out of the bar and made their way out onto the city streets. The air was cold and the smell of snow was in the air. No matter what time they were in, ice and snow were always the same.

Mick was stumbling and he leaned against Len. Even though he was wearing his parka, Len could still feel the warmth from Mick's body. If he didn't know better, he would think that Mick was made of fire and ash instead of blood and bone.

As they walked, Len was lost in thought. Like most things, his thoughts centered around Mick.

Once they made it back to the Waverunner, Len lead Mick to his room.

The room was dark, but Len knew exactly where to go. The room was as familiar as his own.

He thought about helping Mick out of his clothes, but he knew it would be too much of a pain. Instead, he lead Mick to the bed and Mick collapsed onto the bed (and Len)

Mick was heavy and he nuzzled Len's neck. Len knew he shouldn't be enjoying it as much as he was. He also knew that he should roll Mick over and go to his own room, but he couldn't bring himself to do that either.

'Love you,' Mick said through his drunken haze. The smell of alcohol was on his breath.

'Go to sleep, Mick.'

Len just laid there and gripped Mick's shoulder. He was heavy and warm and Len should have been uncomfortable, but he wasn't. He felt like he was under a warm Mick shaped blanket.

'I love you too, Mick,' Len said as he rubbed Mick's back.

Mick made a happy noise and nuzzled Len's even more.

Len thought about telling Mick he loved him when Mick was sober, but he could never work up the guts.

He only said it because a drunk Mick wouldn't remember in the morning. He never did.