round and round

Who: Mickey and December
Where: Her shop
When: evening
(briefly nsfw)

He’d tried to stay away. Maybe what Eily had said was right, maybe it was a bad idea, but he’d thought about it all day, even when there were other distractions, reading the articles in the paper over and over again had him too worried about her to leave it alone. Knowing that he’d spoken with the Tyger was unsettling enough, knowing he’d killed again... Mickey knew well enough that there was a small window to get to December before she shut down for good and he couldn’t miss that.

It wasn’t surprising that the door to her place was locked, but after looking at it for a moment it only took a screw driver to take the handle off and open the door. “December?” he called once he was inside, but already started heading towards the stairs.

She was where he'd seen her last. In bed. She had the world shut out for the most part, and was asleep. She'd been called in to look over Eric's latest work. That had been a special treat. He certainly liked setting people on fucking fire, didn't he. Which was horrifying. There were levels of suffering in there that she couldn't get past. She could even see putting someone down, but setting them on fire? Yeah. No. Just fucking no. So she'd gone in, done her best, and been told to take the night off. So she was sleeping. She'd been sleeping for hours, a blessing in her head.

She didn't actually hear it when he called for her, but she heard it when there were footsteps on the stairs. She stirred, and frowned, heart leaping to her throat. Her head was hazy--probably from the fifth of vodka she'd downed to help her out in that whole 'sleep' endeavor she'd taken up.

Stairs weren’t something that Mickey was able to take quickly, ever. He did the best he could, letting himself into her bedroom and seeing her there in bed. “December?” he called again, softer this time, making his way towards the bed.

She recognized the voice. And she reacted. That reaction was grabbing the nearest object and hurling it at him as hard as she could. It happened to be the empty bottle. "I locked my fucking door!" she snapped, not even a little sure what to do or what to think of this.

Mickey managed to move enough that the bottle only clipped his shoulder as he shook his head. “I know. I’ll put the knob back on. Promise.” He reached for her, tugging at the blankets to pull them down. “Come on, get up.”

"Fuck you, no." December said, kicking at his hands, though she wasn't exactly spot on with her targeting. "And you took the--could you just get out? I thought I was clear about things last time I talked to you! I wanted you the fuck gone, remember?" she asked, positive it hadn't slipped his mind. No, this was Mickey, deciding he was going to 'fix' her. She was some goddamn charity case now, and he was going to try to make it all better and there wasn't any making this shit better. End of story.

“Sorry sweetie,” Mickey said, catching one of her legs as she kicked at him. He pulled at her a little more, tugging her more out of the bed. “I remember all of that, but I’m not very smart remember? So here I am, getting you out of this bed, away from the booze.” She wasn’t going to shut him out or throw him out again. He wouldn’t stand for it.

December was a small girl. So when he got hold of a leg and pulled, she went, whether she wanted to or not. She tried to kick his hand with her free foot, but it was difficult and awkward at best to try. She threw the pillow at him instead, with better aim than before. "I am not 'sweetie'! Not to you or anyone the fuck else, and I'm tired, and I like the booze, and it's none of your business in the first fucking place because I dropped your sorry ass! And I expect it to stay the fuck dropped, now leave!"

The pillow hit him in the face which had Mickey faltering for a moment, but not enough to let go of her. Once she was close enough he was lifting her up. “Right well you dropped me, but I’m not dropping you. I tried, I thought about it, got lectured to, but apparently you got under my skin.”

She was on her feet, giving him a dark if pouty sort of look as she leveled her gaze on him. She narrowed her eyes, said nothing for a moment, and then tried a different tactic. "Michael." she said, voice switching from abrasive to overly patient. "I am in desperate need of you to listen to me, and understand what I'm saying. And while I'm aware it isn't your strong suit, I'm going to need you to leave, and forget we ever spoke. You fix people. It's what you do. I do not wish to be fixed. I don't actually think it's possible. And this isn't one of those dime store novels where in the end, you really will pull through, and there'll be sweetness, and light, and everything'll work out just duckie because good wins in the end. This is one of those times where Mr. Fixit finds his ass someone else to go spend time with, and Ms. Pincushion goes back to her world after a failed attempt at something different." she told him. "So. With that in mind, turn around, leave, and I'll figure out how to get my door fixed on my own."

Mickey looked at her for a long moment, watching her eyes. “I’m not here to fix you,” he told her. “Except maybe the immediate fix of getting you out of bed and convincing you to stop drinking your body weight counts.” He looked above her, not hard when that was just his eye level. “I am here because...you know me. Other people don’t. I’ve been around you for almost no time, but you know me better than my oldest friends. That I’m not walking away from. Not when the someone else’s all have someone else.”

"Well, all that is ruined, and sucks, because You're--okay, I know you just told me that you're not here to fix me, but can you really say that's true?" she asked, huffing a moment and she climbed up onto the bed so she could meet that eye level thing. "Don't lie to me. You're going to do it. You're going to want to keep..." she made a vague flaily gesture. "...meddling to try and improve things. And if that isn't fixing someone or trying to, I don't know what is."

He looked at her, smiling just slightly as she moved herself up to eye level. There was something about that, the desire to climb up to eye level. It amused him. “December, give me a damn chance. Meddling also means I give a damn about you. How is that suddenly the worst thing that could happen?”

"The last person who 'gave a damn' about me wound up being an atrocious serial killer with a penchant for gutting folks and setting people on fire?" December suggested, not letting her gaze waver from his for even a second. No, that was a solid point she had, so she needed him to know she was serious about it.

“I’m gonna let you have that. I am. But I’m going to say it again, and again, and again. I am not that. I’m as far from that as it gets December.” He touched her arms, not enough to be holding on to her, but there nonetheless.

When he touched her, she really had problems. It looked like she was about to say something, but that abruptly changed when he brushed her arms. Then she just reacted, planting a foot in his midsection and pushing hard, wanting him as far away as possible as she scrambled backwards hard, til she slammed her back against the headboard.

The, for all intensive purposes, kick knocked the wind of out Mickey and he stumbled back a few steps, doubling over slightly as he caught his balance, just barely missing falling backwards. The only thing working for him was the size difference, that even with a lot of force she was still a good bit smaller than him. Looking up at her, he fought for his breath for a moment. “What the hell?” he managed though it was a touch strained as he started to stand up again.

"Don't touch me." she said, holding up her hand to ward off any attempts to get closer to her. "Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me." she rambled, looking around in a near panic, for something sharp. A weapon, a blade, anything. Sadly, she came up a little short, but if he kept getting closer she was going to break a window and use glass shards.

Slowly he was getting his breath and wits back. “Don’t...Jesus Christ. Excuse my language but did you miss the part where you were crawling all over me the other day?” he asked. He took one step closer, not sure what the hell was going on.

December scrambled back again, this time trying to get down on the floor, maybe behind the nightstand. Only there was the nightstand of it all, so it was a bit of a failed thing. It meant she knocked everything off of the top of it, she fell, glass broke from a bottle she'd forgotten down there, and there was a truly frightened sort of bent to her actions. Her heart was threadding in her chest, and she hated it. Especially because part of her knew it was crazy. She had been 'all over' him the other day. (though part of her hated hearing it like that. It reminded her just how unwelcome it had been) She pulled the drawer from the stand, and held it between them, like some poor man's shield. "I don't like to be touched." she said, and she didn't like how her voice sounded. It sounded scared, or hurt, or...something that wasn't a description she wanted attached to herself in any way.

The difference, the complete difference in everything had Mickey slowing. When everything crashed to the ground he slowed his movements, kneeling across from her, putting him at eye level and holding his hands up in surrender. There was no point in fighting over this, something like this. Something had her scared, that was what mattered. “Alright, no touching. I won’t. I’ll stay right here. But you’re inches from broken glass and I’d rather you not get hurt.”

She didn't move. She kept the drawer between them, even with the knowledge that it was stupid and wouldn't stop anything. "I'm fine." she said. "Just go. Go and don't come back, okay?" she said, wincing internally with her phrasing. It wasn't a demand, it was a question, and she hadn't meant to word it like that. But she was a little frazzled, and she couldn't help it.

Mickey was already shaking his head, not making any move to go. “I’m not. You’re scared. And you don’t need to be.”

"How do you know?!" She abruptly shouted at him. Her voice was ragged. "How the fuck do you know what I do and don't need to be scared of? And I'm not! I just--I just--" she lost it, and sank back, looking at the side of her bed, not really seeing it. "Please just go." she said, voice very soft. A bare, light whisper. "Don't make me beg."

“Because I know me December. I know that I couldn’t hurt you,” he said softly, meaning it to his very core. “Don’t make me beg December. Don’t shut me out. I need you.” The words tumbled out, but it was true. He couldn’t walk away, not because she was something that he could fix, but because she was someone that could fix him.

She still didn't look at him. "You don't need me." she said, after a long few moments. "You just need someone who asks. Find someone else. I can't be the only woman in this godforsaken city that asks the right questions." Keeping the drawer in front of her, but resting on her lap more instead of holding it out in front of her, she still didn't avert her gaze from a middle distance. It was a little like a doll couldn't change their gaze, it was fixed where it was. That was a lot how she looked right then. Like a doll, discarded on the floor, slumped back against the wall with the rest of the mess. "And you don't know you can't hurt me. You can't, I won't let you. You're not allowed."

“You’re the only one so far,” Mickey told her, trying to inch towards her again, slowly. “I don’t know if I can wait years to find someone else, knowing you’re right here, needing someone too.” He hated seeing her like this. In that instant he wanted nothing more than to protect her, scoop her up off the floor and protect her from everything. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I couldn’t bear to hurt you.”

"I don't need anyone." she told him. "I don't. I was fine before." she said, at long last looking over at him again. Though it was more his movement than caught her attention than his words. "Stay. Back." she said firmly, sounding more confident at least for those two words. "I was fine before." she continued. "I have my work. I have lots of work. Three jobs. I'm busy. I don't need anyone. And this whole shit with Eric, and you? Just shows me loud and goddamn clear that I was right all along. That me being on my own is the way to go. Nothing bad happens when I'm alone. And I don't know who killed the people on my slab and I don't have to think about what that looked like, or anything. If I don't know anyone, then I never have to wonder."

Mickey stopped moving, sinking to the floor, watching her. “That’s no way to live. That’s worse than me. Everyone’s at arm’s length but at least they are there. How is that so wrong for me, but you shutting everyone out right for you?” His tone was quiet, not accusing, and laced with concern. “What shit with me?”

"Because we are different people. And you're one of those normal types. You're a good fucking Samaritan, and you help people and go to church and do normal shit. And I cut up dead people, give myself piercings when I'm having a bad day, and kinda like it when people hurt me. Physically, that is. Not emotionally. But you didn't know that. You should, though. I'm positive you wouldn't be able to do that without being wholly creeped out, because let's be real here--it's creepy. And so is everything about me. That isn't an accident, I'm not misunderstood. I'm creepy. And I like it that way. And it isn't going to change, and neither am I. My life works for me." she said, really wanting to put those squicky details in there because she knew they would probably at least turn him off if not turn his stomach.

It did freak him out. There was no good way that he could explain why she would want to be hurt. Though the piercings, the tattoos, all of that sort of tied in with all that he guessed. “And mine works for me,” he told her, looking away and shaking his head. “But I don’t want to leave December.” Something he couldn’t explain was keeping him here, maybe it was the loneliness, the need for someone close by that he’d gotten from her.

"Well, sucks to be you, then. Because I want you to. Look, here's how this would go. I'll save you the trouble. Even if I agreed to not keep throwing you out, there's the other night to look at. What happened there. That? Was a disaster. For a number of reasons, but they don't really matter in the end. The point is the disaster of it all. And there's the me, and everything that happens with me, and things end with heartache and bitterness, with bad things darkening every little corner of your life. It's a bad way to go, Michael. Okay? Just...see it. Take a look, and see it for what it is." she told him, sighing.

“It wasn’t a complete disaster,” Mickey corrected, frowning. It hadn’t gone well but disaster wasn’t the word he would have used. Still, he tried to see it her way, tried to wrap his head around things, knowing what he knew about her and what he knew about himself. It didn’t seem to make sense, the two of them. But at the moment? It was still the closest thing he had. “So I get up and I go back to helping women who wind up choosing old boyfriends who, weirdly enough, walk with a limp too, but dress better? It’s not like I’m much better off.”

"...old boyfriends with a limp who--" she started, confusion twisting her features, but she shook her head, warding off the question she was about to ask. She was officially Not Interested. Because she wasn't going to be a part of his life, and she was throwing him out and he needed to stay gone. It was just hard to curb the natural tendency to want to know what the fuck that was about. "Yes. That's what you go back to. And one day, you'll find a girl who had a limp fetish, and who asks questions, or hangs on every word, or what the fuck ever, and you'll get married and have a million fucking babies, because you're Catholic, and whatever. You'll have a life and I'll just be some half forgotten memory of when you went 'dark' for a few days."

“Yes. That.” Mickey made a face shaking his head. “It was a great night, you kicking me out and being told I wasn’t the guy.” She might not have asked, but it wasn’t like he’d talked to anyone else about it. “That whole little life you have planned for me, it would sound much more appealing if it didn’t sound like you disapproved of it so.”

"I do disapprove of it--for me." December said, clearly cutting herself off from addressing the first part. At least this time she'd caught the question before she started saying it, but it was on the tip of her tongue. Then she ruined it by sort of throwing her response into the rest of her argument. "So, whatever, fuck that chick. Find someone else. Someone who wants that fluffy fucking sunshiney life and you'll be deliriously happy and whatever. The end."

Mickey ran his hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. “Someone else. I’m already down two options in less than a week. I think maybe you were on to something better, just keeping on my own. I was fine before too.” He still didn’t get up to leave. He should, but he still couldn’t bring himself to get up and go.

"Two options?" she asked, then gave a little half growl at herself. That was asking. Continuing the conversation. What the fuck was wrong with her? She wanted him to go, not stay to talk it out. "Nevermind. I don't want to know." she said. "And if you were fine before, then why are you still here, telling me bullshit like you need me?"

He almost laughed, smirking just a touch. “Yes two. Unless whatever happened between us was really nothing.” Which just thinking about sucked enough for him to look away from her. Being used would be the definition of what he didn’t want to happen. “Because I feel better with you around. I’m fine on my own, but not good. I guess you just take fine though.”

"What happened between us you freaked out over!" she said hotly, unable to stop the outburst. Then she dragged her fingers through her hair and did that little growl again, realizing she was getting wrapped up in the wrong things, but whatever, fuck it, she was talking about it now. "I haven't ever felt as unwelcome as I did right then, and that's coming from me! The girl who deliberately makes herself unwelcome places! How does that even a little bit translate to you losing something or someone or whatever, when you were the one who flipped out?!"

“I didn’t freak out,” Mickey countered, not quite meeting her tone, but getting defensive all the same. “I got surprised sure, but there wasn’t a complete freak out. And if I remember correctly, I tried to get you to stay! But you threw me out because of one misstep. So yes, I did lose someone or something or whatever. I had no intention of making you feel unwelcome. That wasn’t what I wanted.”

"Well, what you wanted sure as hell wasn't me. So, whatever. And yes, you did freak. Or twitch, or whatever, but it was extremely clear that the idea of me being even with many layers of clothing up close and personal with you was not wanted. Plus, apparently you had some other chick you were with, so..." she squeezed her eyes shut and thunked her head back against the wall. "What do you want from me, huh? Seriously, just--what?"

“You don’t know what I want. I was there wasn’t I? I’m here now. I twitched sure, but what you did not being wanted, that’s not the right away to say it. Maybe you surprised me yes, maybe I wasn’t quite ready for that, but it wasn’t that you weren’t wanted. Don’t think that.” Mickey shook his head, leaning back so his head rested against the bed. “I wasn’t with her. We just went out a few times. She obviously wasn’t with just me either. As for you...I just want to be around you. I don’t want you curled in a corner hiding from me.”

"Being around me sucks. And it's going to continue to suck. I'm done. This whole...whatever it was, me actually talking to people? It sucks. The entire experience has been humiliating, and horrifying for me. It's reinforced everything I ever thought about the human race. It's very blatantly reminded me why I avoid it. And if it was wanted, you have a remarkably opposite way of showing it. No, I know what I experienced there. So...you can say what you want. You can call it whatever you want. I know what it felt like." She looked down, not knowing what else to say.

“I don’t think being around you sucks. This moment isn’t fun, but being around you hasn’t ever been a bad thing. It’s always been interesting.” Rolling his head to look at her Mickey frowned. “I never want to humiliate you.” Shifting he held a hand out to her, palm out not touching her, just offering something between them. “Give me a chance to prove you wrong. Once chance.”

December rolled her eyes. "'hasn't ever'." she repeated. "It was one day. And a very bad night. So far? Our track record is leaning towards the awful, not the positive." she told him. "I don't want to be touched. See...this?" she gestured towards herself. "This is me, normal. This is how I usually react, really. You got a pass, because things were...i don't know. It was a weird day. I'm chalking it up to temporary insanity." She sighed. "Why should I give you a chance?"

Mickey shook his head again. "It was one day that bled into a night. And the bad night wasn't all bad. There were a few moments." Like her hands on his shoulder, kissing her. "Though technically, our track record has just balanced itself out. That's all. One good, one bad as you call it. Not swing towards awful." He withdrew his hand, but didn't pull it all the way back, just letting it drop between them. "Alright, then it was momentarily different. But it wasn't just one day." Pushing the unruly curls out of his eyes, Mickey wanted to shrug. To tell her that she had no good reason not to give him a chance, but he guessed she'd come up with something in response to that. "Because I really do want it. I hated leaving the other night. Once I was gone, it took everything to keep from coming right back."

"Well, that depends on your point of view, doesn't it." muttered December. She watched him, not sure what to say to that. "Why did you hate leaving? What makes you want to keep trying with me when it's clear I don't want the same thing?" she asked.

Mickey thought about it before answering, going over the night in his head. "Because I don't like giving up on people. And knew that if you shut me out you were going to shut everyone out." He looked down at his hands, still slightly dirty from work, but when were they not these days? "I know you're upset, you have every right to be upset, but I didn't want you to be alone in it."

"What about what I want?" she asked. It was a simple question. And she didn't have any idea what he might have to say to it. But she gave him the shot to answer.

There was a long pause, something inside Mickey warring with what was right and what he wanted. "If you really hate being around me that much and you want me gone, then I'll probably go." He'd hate it but he'd go. "It has to be for the right reasons though. Not just because you think this is nothing but wrong, or because you're difficult to be around. Not for decisions you've made for me, assumptions about how I should react to things." His eyes weren't as bright, the confusion between what he wanted and what he should be doing evident in his features. There was no point in forcing her hand, but at the same time he didn't want her to just dismiss him just to get rid of him because what was going on might be difficult.

"And what would the 'right' reasons be in your estimation?" She asked, arching a brow. She could see he was conflicted, and did wonder what that was about. But asking would keep this going. It was apparently one of the things he liked about her. In the end, though, she sighed and asked anyways. "And you look like you're struggling. So what the fuck is that about?"

"That I've got nothing to offer in our situation. That you really do find me annoying and don't want to be around me at all," Mickey offered as acceptable reasons, but wishing she hadn't asked. It felt like giving her ideas more than anything else. "And I'm struggling because I know it's not right to make you do something you don't want, but at the same time I'm having a hard time letting go of what I want."

"And what do you want?" December asked. She'd asked him already, but this seemed more specific. And really, if there was ever a time to get specific, it was right now. It was curious, though, despite her not really wanting anything to do with anyone, and being in a bad place. That someone like him was actually having problems with desire versus the right thing. It meant he recognized there was a difference, and he was having problems going with what she imagined was his usual route.

That was something Mickey wasn't sure he had a specific answer for. At least, probably not in the nature she was asking. Looking down he tried to figure out how to word things, how to say what he wanted when he wasn't still entirely sure what what was. "I liked being your distraction," he admitted, not looking up at her. That was what it boiled down to. She needed something else, someone else to think about and she'd wound up with him. He was different from Eric, different from everything else in her life and she'd let him have those moments. In a way he'd been used and though he realized it he wouldn't say it out loud. He'd enjoyed being wanted, that puzzling moment where she'd left him hanging with the thought that if she hadn't wanted him in some way she would have pushed him aside, would have ended things long before they started.

That...was definitely not what she had thought he was going to say. But after he said it, she wasn't even thinking about what she'd expected, she was busy staring at him. "You liked being my distraction." she repeated. "You want to be my distraction again? Or keep being a distraction?" she asked, because the question had been what he really wanted. And that was sort of an answer but not a definitive one.

He'd expected a lecture. Something about letting her use him but instead he got her staring at him. Already he was thinking it might have been the wrong thing to tell her, that she'd take it the wrong was but it was too late. He was nodding as soon as she asked the question. "Yeah. Yeah I would." There was no definition for what it might entail, but it was better than leaving and right now he was trying not to leave.

"You realize that's...that's fucked, right?" December asked him, tone strange. She didn't know what to do with him right now. She honestly didn't have any clue how to react to that. So, she was just latching onto the first thing she could think of, which was he really needed to not just want to be a distraction in some fucked up girls life he just met.

That was the reaction he'd been expecting, but for some reason it didn't bite like he'd been sure seconds ago it would. "Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I'm getting something else out of it too." Taking a leap he shifted closer, hand out to her again, not reaching, just offering. "But, to use your words, it's fucked on my end, not yours. You don't need to worry about it."

"Why would I not need to worry about it?" she asked. "I'm not that cold. I mean, I'm a bitch, and I hate people, and I don't do fluffy bullshit, but..." she shook her head. She leaned forward and she crossed her arms on the mattress, resting her head down. She had a massive headache. "What are you getting out of it?"

"Because I told you not to worry about it?" Mickey said, voice slightly sterner than before. "I'm not as lonely. I have a few instances of being wanted rather than the best friend who gets patted lightly on the head. Simple things."

"Well, it's fucked, and as someone who started out this ridiculous thing with you the other day, I have to tell you it's fucked. You can't just...sign on to be someone's distraction. That's like holding up a big sign that says 'use me!'. It's not a workable thing. Even if I wanted it to be, and I don't, it's not a thing I would do." December admitted. She wasn't going to be like that. Even if it sort of maybe sounded nice. Like there could be no strings or something. But that brought her back to the idea of the rejection, and how much 'distraction' was he going to be providing anyways?

“Why don't you want it to be? It was fine the other night. You wanted it then?" Mickey said, hating that somewhere in his voice there was his own feeling of rejection. What had changed about him that had her suddenly not wanting him? Pushing that feeling aside he watched her, waiting for something. "So what if it's giving you a chance to use me? Someone else is going to anyway if you're right, at least this time I'm making the decision on my own."

"Because it's pathetic, and you're better than that?" she suggested. "Look, this conversation is making me feel like I managed to corrupt you to epic proportions in a ridiculously short span of time." she told him, looking up at him. "I'm sorry. I didn't actually mean to do that. That wasn't what I wanted." she continued. "And it was fine the other night because I was in the most vulnerable, awful place I've ever been in my life. And I really needed to get taken out of my own head for a little while. I needed to not think. About anything. And you were there, and there was...I don't know, a spark or something, and it felt good, and I just...that doesn't make it okay."

"According to you, I'm better than every aspect of my life," Mickey pointed out and shook his head. "You didn't corrupt me December. Promise. You just…shed some light on something else. Something I tend to ignore." He dared to inch closer, hand reaching out to her, but not quite close enough to touch her arm. "You weren't the only one feeling sparks."

"Well, then why did you stop everything?" she asked, realizing she was fully into this conversation now, apparently. She didn't want to be--she truly didn't--but there she was. Talking about it. She knew he kept getting closer, but she didn't reciprocate. She still wasn't sure she was ready to feel contact of any kind. So she wasn't pushing it, even if he was, a little at a time. "And what did I shed light on?"

"You stopped everything. I twitched and tried to get caught up." He shook his head again, feeling like that was all he was doing. "I would have caught up or tried to slow down so I could catch up, but then you were gone and done with me." She wasn't giving in to his movements, but she wasn't pulling away. Still, Mickey didn't risk actually touching her, not right now. The violent reaction from before was still present in his mind. "That what I want might matter too."

"I heard you protest. Actually, once, I heard you protest, I just cut you off by kissing you." she said, recalling that. It hadn't exactly been a huge bit 'no stop!' or anything. Just her name, but she heard it. She'd merely ignored it. Probably a bad thing. "You pulled away. It was clear." She exhaled in a rush. "And what you want does matter. It just...shouldn't be anything to do with me." she told him, looking over at him again.

"I wasn't protesting so much after you kissed me," Mickey pointed out, but she was right, he'd pulled away, somewhat, trying to get his bearings. "I was just confused. Surprised. A million things that I wasn't entirely ready for." He couldn't not touch her, not when she said the things she was saying, so he gave in, fingers lightly grazing her arm for an instant. "Can't tell me what and what not to want. Sorry."

She'd been half expecting the touch for a while now, so it was probably lame that she jumped when he made the contact. But it was normal for her. It was how she operated. Whatever magical stay of execution he'd had before had evaporated, at least for now. But she didn't react like last time, at least. "And you're still not ready for them. Remember?" she asked. "Catholic. Not into things like physical intimacy. Though...I don't know. That is what it sounds like you want."

When she jumped he sighed, pulling his hand back slight and clenching his fist to keep from touching her again. It wasn’t wanted, no matter how much he wanted it to be. “I’m not into casual sex. I’m of the belief that it should wait until you’ve found the right person,” Mickey explained, realizing he’d never really explained any of it before. “I’m also of the firm belief that it shouldn’t hinder me from getting close to someone. I’m not a saint, December. I still want things. All people want things.”

"I didn't. Not til Eric, and look where that landed me." she muttered. "So, you're not a saint. I thought we discussed before that you were going to wait until you were married." she added. She'd spent a lot of time trying to convince him that doing that was ridiculous.

“That would be the ideal situation yes,” Mickey said with a small nod. “That’s all I’m good for? Because that doesn’t make me feel bad at all...”

Frowning slightly, December turned a mildly confused look on Mickey. "...I missed something. What do you mean?" she asked. "What, that I'm saying all you're good for is sex that you aren't going to be handing out? Even if we're sitting here talking about desire and wanting things and you volunteering to be used by me?"

Mickey was quiet, wrestling with his own thoughts. He looked over at her after a moment, hand reaching out without touching her, just the blankets near her arm. “I want..” he wasn’t sure how to say it, not even sure what it meant. “I like being with you. There has to be something I can do that’s enough.”

She wondered if he was going to touch her again, but he didn't. So at least he was showing a little restraint there. Her attention, however, was more on him, what he was saying. With his phrasing, she realized something. "This isn't--" she started, exhaling as she shifted, forgotten glass on the floor biting into her calf, and she hissed, looking down. Then she started to pick up the shards, because that had been stupid. It didn't mean she lost her train of thought, however. "This isn't about you. It's not even that you wouldn't be enough or...whatever it is you think. I'm not entirely certain."

Whatever she was saying, or going to say was forgotten when she got cut on the glass. As if waking up out of his own head, Mickey was moving forward, ignoring that she didn’t want him to touch her and reaching for her leg, looking at the blood there. “Here,” he said pulling out a bandanna from a pocket and pushing it against her leg. Then he was cleaning up, the mess himself. “I think part of it is about me. Maybe not. If I’m so wrong tell me.”

"I've already told you, you just appear to have extremely selective hearing. And I've got it." She said, scowling a little, even as she held the bandanna to her leg. "You don't have to clean up after me. You aren't my maid." she told him. Leaning her shoulder against the bed, she kept her eyes on him, not sure what to say for a moment. Then she just started talking. "I told you before that I'm fucked up. That was true. This isn't some failing of yours. It's a failing of mine. You're not at fault here. It's nothing you did wrong."

Mickey took the glass to a small trashcan, bringing it back over to grab the last of it. “I know I’m not your maid. But my hands are better suited for this.” He picked up a few more pieces, putting them in the trash can. “I did something wrong when I hurt you enough that you threw me out of your place.”

"Not really, they're all dirty. If you get cut, that's an infection waiting to happen." she pointed out. "And why the hell would my hands not be suited for it? You remember I spend my nights slicing up corpses, right?" she posed, even if it so wasn't the point. "Rejection isn't actually doing something wrong. It's your right. Or stopping things, or what the fuck ever. I didn't react so well. Again--my failing, not yours. I don't usually feel bad about making anyone feel bad, but in this case, I do. This wasn't meant to make you..." she made a vague gesture at him. "I don't know. Doubt yourself or whatever it is you're doing."

“Dirty maybe, but their so calloused it takes a bit to break the skin. Work with my hands remember?” He held one up, palm flat to show her. “I never meant to hurt you. And you leaving hurt too so yeah, failing on both parts.” He shook his head as he picked up more glass, not looking up at her even if this was the closest he’d been to her. “I don’t think I’m entirely doubting myself. Or I wasn’t until you kicked me.”

She didn't have to look at his palm. She remembered the callouses there, when he touched her. Which wasn't a memory she needed to be thinking about right now. Instead, she crawled back up onto the bed, and pulled the covers over herself. "The kick didn't have anything to do with you either. Besides. You're a big boy. You fight people now and then. I'm sure you've had worse." she told him, voice mildly muffled.

He picked up the last of the glass and put the trashcan aside moving so he was closer to her, able to see what of her was still visible. “I have had worse, but that one hurt a little deeper than just physically.”

She heard him closer, but didn't look up at him. Didn't move the blanket so she could see him. She was well aware of the physical proximity. "Well, I'm twitchy, and don't like to be touched. Other people have gotten way worse than that. People in the carnival learned really fast not to touch me at all. The fact that I let you at all at any point is a minor miracle. It isn't personal."

Mickey leaned back against the bed, sighing a little. “Why did you?” he asked. “For some reason...you did. Before the other stuff, before the tattoo. In the bar, you let me touch your arm.” He believed her that it wasn’t personal, but it had felt that way at the time.

Don't forget we danced together. December almost said but didn't. That would be encouraging him, or something. She shifted, curling up on her side beneath the blanket, though it was getting stuffy under there so she peeked her head out, looking at him sideways. "You felt safe enough at the time. And it was a night of whims. That was one of my whims. Letting someone touch me."

When she peeked her head out he turned so he could see her face, watching her eyes for a moment. “And I don’t feel safe now?” he ventured. “You said we wouldn’t go backwards. That you wouldn’t want to. This is going backwards.”

She had been maintaining eye contact, but she broke it when he asked the question. "Nothing feels safe anymore." she said softly. It was much more quiet than she wanted it to be, but the gravity of the situation hit her in that moment again. 'Safe' was a word that she was positive had lost all meaning to her. With the situation with Eric...she was sure she'd never really feel safe again, with anyone. With her self. It was all fucked, from here on out.

Mickey hated hearing that, but forced himself to breath slowly, dragging his fingers through his hair to keep from dragging them through hers. “What...what would? Feel safe. If something could feel safe, how would it?”

"I don't know. I don't think it exists." December said, voice still soft. She closed her eyes, feeling the need to shut out the visual spectrum of her world. Narrow it down farther than it already was. She was going to leave it at that, but didn't. "Sometimes things break. And you can't put them back together again. Like the lamp. Or a light bulb, I guess, would be a better example. You can't put that back together. It's never going to be whole or work again. I feel like that. Or maybe not even just me in general. Maybe I just feel...I feel like there are fundamental parts of my world view that just got shattered. I believed I was smarter than I've been. I thought I was more perceptive. And I wasn't. And I keep coming back to it. I was with someone who killed people. People I had to take apart to find out what happened to them. And I did find out. I went through, spent time with his victims, and...I used to think things made sense. And they just....don't anymore. 'Safe' isn't something I think exists. Not now. Not anymore."

Mickey shifted, watching her even if her eyes were closed. “Safe can exist. You are still smarter than most, you’re smarter than me for sure, probably the smartest person I’ve ever met. And you still see things that others don’t. We talked about this, if you missed something it was because you cared about him, you wanted him to be what you wanted.” He let out a small sigh, shifting again to rested his arm on the bed, chin on his arm. “Start with a new foundation. New concrete ideas and truths and build up again.”

"Even if what you said is true, that I missed something because I wanted him to be what I wanted, that makes it worse." she said. "Because that means my judgment is suspect. It means I can't be trusted. My perceptions are wrong. I color the world how I want to see it, just like everyone else. Only most everyone else doesn't have to worry about the shit I do." She was quiet for a moment, then shook her head slightly. "I don't have a new foundation. I can't just pretend, and start over. That would be just as idiotic as everything else. If I sweep everything away and decided to build anew or whatever...those who don't remember history are doomed to repeat it, or whatever the saying is." She sighed, and opened her eyes briefly. “Besides, I’m no good at forgetting things.”

“I didn’t say anything about forgetting. No one would expect you to forget what happened, even with a bad memory,” Mickey explained slowly. “But you can’t stay like this. You need to build yourself back up again December. You have to know that you, like this, wallowing, hiding, drinking too much, you have to know it’s a waste.” He sighed softly, looking away as she opened her eyes. “I had a conversation the night you threw me out, and I got asked what I wanted, and I found myself thinking of you. No matter how complicated it was, how bad it screwed up, or how hard I tried to justify things stopping between us with doing the right thing...” He trailed off not sure where he was intending to go, words just tumbling out of him for a moment. “This is wasting what you have, giving up like this. You don’t have to want me or even want me around, but I can’t let you do this to yourself.”

"I'm still doing what I'm good at." she told him. "I went in this morning, to look over Eric's latest work. I'll go in tomorrow. And the next day, and the next day, and I'll keep doing my job. That's what I'm good at. So, nothing'll be wasted. You can rest assured that I will keep doing what I'm good for." Part of her wanted to talk about what else he said. About how he had been thinking that he wanted her. That was just too complicated.

“I wasn’t talking about your job. I’m talking about the rest of your life,” Mickey pointed out, but kept quiet after that. She hadn’t mentioned the rest, the unsolicited confession that had really been the root of why he was here in the first place, risking her yelling at him and calling him names to remind her that she couldn’t give up.

"And we're back to the conversation we've already had. Where I tell you that some people are meant to be alone, and other people aren't. I'm clearly the former." she told him, propping herself up on her elbow as she watched his eyes. "I know you're trying to help me. That for some reason you're invested in me." She leaned closer. "But what you're looking for isn't here. Okay? I'm not the girl you want me to be."

Mickey shook his head, but only slightly. “I don’t agree with that,” he told her. When she leaned in closer, Mickey stayed where he was, letting her come to him if that was what she wanted. It was better than her jumping when he touched her at least. “Never asked you to be something other than you remember? No lies, no bullshit.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, not even sure what to say. Everything was going in circles. Round and round and round, she felt like she was getting nowhere. She was exhausted, she felt too drained to be dealing with this, and he was putting up one hell of a fight. "Maybe the me you met doesn't live here anymore." she said quietly.

Moving so he was sitting up more, Mickey was easily eye level with her. “I hope that’s not the case. I’d miss the hell out of her,” he answered just as quietly. He was tired too, but this was who he was, steadfast and unyielding.

December looked at him again, watching his eyes from closer than she thought was altogether safe. It was sweet, what he said. She liked the idea of someone missing her. She didn't have anyone else in her life she thought that would. She didn't even think Brett would. And at any rate, he'd have to notice first. "What was so great about her?" she asked.

That got a smile out of Mickey, something softer, easing the tension in his features. “She listens when you speak and doesn’t judge people for what makes them different. She seems to like the things that I worry are the worst parts of me.” Like the darkness that he’d held onto over his dead and missing family members.

For a brief instant, December liked that smile. It actually almost got one out of her in return, the twitch of her lips, but it never quite appeared. There was a flicker behind her eyes, though, before the darkness settled back in. "Is that it?" she asked. Though she wasn't referring to that being the entirety of what he liked. Instead, she was digging for more information, without catching herself this time. "I accept and even like what you think are your worst traits? Is that what really drew you in?"

Mickey caught it, that slight change in her, nothing that he could really pinpoint, but she’d reacted positively and that was more than he’d had before. “Of course that’s not it,” he told her, giving her another smile. “It wasn’t the only thing that drew me in, but it helped. Like the limp. You accepted it without hesitation. And not in the way that other people do where they consider themselves accepting. It was more of a ‘I’ve seen worse’ sort of thing.” He shook his head slightly again, not wanting to move away from her. “I like that you change. That in some lights you seem so much bigger than you are, expert on everything and then I can turn around and you’re something else, someone with things to learn, something...soft isn’t the right word, but it’s not like I’m a poet or something.”

It was almost surreal, hearing herself described in that fashion. Particularly because if it came from anyone else, she would have called bullshit immediately. But he had an honesty about him. He hadn't lied to her yet. She didn't think he was lying now. Even if it would be much easier for her to tell herself that and be done with it. "So you like me because I'm an unpredictable, fickle bitch?" she asked, arching a brow. And again, it was almost like there was a twitch of her lips that wanted to turn into a smirk, even if it didn't.

“No,” Mickey corrected, obviously not letting her turn his compliments into insults. “I like that there’s more to you than what’s on the surface. That you have...depth.” That didn’t quite sound like the right word, but he was trying even if it meant struggling through the words.

"Are you surrounded by such shallow people that you'd prefer unknown, clearly dark depths in someone like me than wade in the kiddie pools of them?" December asked. Part of her was wondering why she was even discussing this. Why she was continuing this conversation at all. But she was. As much as she didn't want him to, he did have her attention. "That's probably not a healthy outlook, Michael."

“Where’s the fun in the kiddie pool where the water comes up to my ankles?” Mickey asked and this time it was his turn to arch his brow at her. “And lucky for me I can swim better than I walk.” He leaned in more, watching her mouth without thinking about it, mind wandering to before, her this close to him, that waiting, unsure of what would come next.

December saw his gaze tick elsewhere. To her lips. It crossed her mind, of course. What it had felt like to kiss him. The question of distraction came up in her mind again. But that wasn't good. Or, she didn't think it was. "You know people who go swimming in unfamiliar dark waters drown, right?" she asked, not moving away, even if she was sure she was telling herself to.

That got his gaze back to her eyes, a quick look back up, realizing when he looked up that he’d looked away. “Drowning in you...” he said slowly, thinking that through. “Not all bad.”

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into." she said, without thinking. Apparently he was going to be sticking around. He was stubborn, and seemed determined to defy any attempts she made to get rid of him. For some reason, he had his heart set on this, or her, or something. She didn't know and she wasn't taking the time to examine it. But hearing him say that, she finally gave up. It would be a hell of a lot more difficult to get him out of her life than she had the energy to put in right now. She was just positive that he truly hadn't the slightest idea of what he was actually signing on for. And neither did she.

There was a hesitation on his end, certain she’d finally stopped warding him away. Maybe he hadn’t heard it right, maybe he’d heard what he wanted to hear, but after the moment it sank in and he nodded. “No probably not. But would it matter if I did? I’d still be here.”

"I think if you had half a brain and any self preservation instincts, and you knew, you would be out the door ten minutes ago. Maybe you wouldn't have shown up at all." December told him. Which was true, it was what she thought. But clearly, he wasn't going anywhere. She didn't know how to deal with that, really. What to do with him. What he wanted to do with her. Well...beyond the fact that he was in close and had been distracted by her lips a moment ago.

Mickey was thinking about touching her again, but the last thing he wanted was the ruin the balance they seemed to have found. “Lucky for you I’m an idiot then?” he asked, smirk on his lips as he reached out, stopping short before touching her cheek and making a small face. “Are you going to bite me?” he asked, watching her eyes.

She was better prepared for the contact when it happened, and at least this time she didn't flinch. "I don't know." she told him, holding the eye contact he'd initiated. "Maybe." she answered. Which probably wasn't what he wanted to hear or anything, but it was the truth. But then again, he'd said he liked that she was always changing things up.

He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment considering that. “I meant more for the touch than in general,” he wound up teasing slightly, letting his fingers trail across her cheek. “What...what would feel good now? I can stick around or...” He trailed off and confusion clouded his blue eyes for a moment. He hadn’t thought it that far out, what he was supposed to do now that he was here.

Well, she didn't bite him, at least. She allowed him the touch on her cheek without any harsh repercussions. But then he was asking her questions, and she didn't know if she had answers. "I mentioned before that nothing feels safe. Well, nothing feels good right now either. So, I don't have an answer for you." she told him. She almost wished she did. “So I guess you’re going to have to think on your feet. What are you going to do?”

Thinking on his feet wasn’t always what Mickey was best at, but he forced himself to take a step away, looking at it like any other problem. After a long moment he moved away, reaching down to unlace and kick off his boots. “Do you trust me?” he asked as he started to get up, watching her as he moved.

"That's a horrible question to ask me right now." December told him honestly, shifting to lie on her back as she watched him. "Why?" Clearly he was staying, what with him removing his boots. So, there was that. She slid her arm beneath her head, keeping her gaze locked to him, curious what he was going to do next and why it might require her trust.

“I thought it might be, but I don’t want you to kick me again,” he warned her giving her a look before moving around the bed until he could easily crawl into the spare space left there. It was slow, giving her time to get used to him being there and keeping his distance from her so there was space between them. “When she was still alive, Rose used to climb into my bed when she had nightmares. I asked her once why she figured she was safer with me, who could very well squish her if I rolled the wrong way, over our parents. She said it was because it was their job to take care of her, and my job to protect her. Apparently there was a difference.” The story wasn’t necessary, but it wasn’t something he ever talked about, even if he did dream about it and in the situation...it was what he was going for. Being something there for December to feel safe near.

Her eyes didn't leave him as he crawled into her bed, and she didn't kick him. There was an urge to pull away, to put more distance between them, but it would be pointless. So she made the conscious effort to stay put right where she was. As he spoke, she listened, actually appreciating the small story. She knew he didn't usually offer things up, so she imagined he was doing so for a reason. She thought she understood what that was. "There is a difference." she said belatedly, voice quieter than it had been. But it was true, she understood what the little girl had been getting at.

Mickey settled in, letting her keep the space between them, not even trying to get her to move closer. If she wanted to, she could. What mattered was that he was there. “An important one?” he asked, wanting her to elaborate, giving her ground to talk.

She thought about that. "Probably." She decided. "Though I don't know the real details intimately. I've never really had many people in my life that would want to do either." she admitted, which probably wasn't news. "But taking care of someone is meeting needs. It's making sure someone's healthy, maybe happy, depending on how full your range is there. It's a whole different set of motives and drives. Protecting someone...that's keeping the bad things away. Or trying to ensure the bad things never find someone in the first place. It's different."

Mickey was quiet for a moment, watching her. “Would you believe me if I told you you had someone like that now?” he ventured almost certain she wouldn’t believe him. Still, it was what he’d decided, that he was here for that, to protect her. Nodding a little, he agree with her. “Yes definitely makes sense.”

"No." she said, predictably. "I think you don't know what you want. Not really. Or, it changes. Because earlier, you were pretty much begging me to sign you on to use you. So...yeah. You telling me now that you want to protect me, I'm not sure that adds up. I guess the real issue is whether or not it matters. Doesn't seem to. I've been trying to get you to fuck off since you got here and now you're...right there." In bed with her and everything. She still wasn't quite sure how that had come about.

Mickey thought about it and wound up just settling in more. “Maybe it changes, but I think it winds up boiling down to the same thing. I want to be here. However you want me here, however you’re willing to let me stay.”

December looked at him, watching him settle in where he was. "What if I know this ends badly?" she asked. "If I know that this just...winds up twisting you up. Or both of us. What if I'm right, and you need to walk away?" she asked, shifting slightly closer.

“If I walk away now, I’m just going to wind up coming back,” he said. It was true. Even if he did leave he was sure he’d wind up wandering back here, back to her. Her shifting closer, even that tiny little bit, was huge, Mickey realized that and stayed where he was. “I think...I think it’s worth the risk.”

Sighing, she watched him, noticed he stayed put. She wondered how long that might last. Or if he was perfectly fine where he was, not wanting to get any closer. "You really are damaged, aren't you. In your own, really specific way." she noted. "Because this is all going to spiral. What are you willing to give to see it through?" She settled onto her back, and she was close enough (without any contact) that she had to look more up to catch his eyes than sideways.

“Maybe I am,” he said with a slight shrug, the position he was in not really lending to the motion. “Do I need to know up front what I’m willing to give? Do you have an idea of what’s at stake?” Not that it was going to stop him from moving away from this moment, but he was curious about what December believed he was in for if he kept at it with her.

"Faith." December told him, not really having to think about it. She did have an idea of what this actually entailed. What being around her in general entailed. "Beyond that, probably a lot else. But that's what I can see in front of us. You don't make my life better, you don't repair damage. I make your life worse." she explained.

“Faith is more than service and prayers,” Mickey explained. “Faith extends to you. To trusting that you’re in my life for a reason, even if I can’t see what it is. I don’t think it’s as at risk as you believe.” That she had the answer so ready though, so right there, made him wonder if it was something she disliked about him. “That’s what you see, which is fine. But it’s not what I see.”

"So what do you see?" December asked. "How does this play out, in your eyes?" she asked. Which, really, she would be fascinated to find out. How he really saw it all. What he might want out of it. Desires usually dictated how the endgame played out in people's heads. So, what was his?

There was a long pause before Mickey spoke. It wasn’t because he was unsure of what he thought, what he saw the outcome of things was, but because he was worried she’d shoot it down faster than he could explain it. “I think I can learn something from you. About who I am, what I want and what I might need. That you’d be something that I haven’t had in my life in long while...if ever. And I think...I think I could make your life better. Not perfect, not you in white and pink and bows in your hair, but maybe some aspect of it slightly better.”

She didn't shoot it down. She listened, marking it in her mind. "What you're going to learn from me is that the world pretty much sucks, no one is what you want them to be or who you think they are, and 'happy endings' only occur in fairy tales and movies." she told him. "I tend to draw in the dark in the world, as evidenced by Eric." she added. "What do you look to improve in my life?"

“I think there’s more to learn from you than that. Something that doesn’t involve whatever the hell is going on out there.” Mickey waved towards her door. “Hell, we don’t make sense out there.” They barely made sense here, but in Mickey’s eyes it did, even if just slightly. “You drew me in, I’m not all dark.” There were aspects, but even when she had pointed them out, it was more like ‘dim’ aspects than dark. “Maybe your lack of trust in people, or anyone for that matter. Maybe just help you sleep better at night. I’m not going to make assumptions about what it would be.”

"We?" December asked, latching onto that immediately. "And how exactly are you going to help me sleep better? Also--remember I work the graveyard shift, a hell of a lot of the time, when I'm not getting a pass for having a serial killer boyfriend--I'm sleeping during the day. All vampiric and such." she added.

“We,” Mickey repeated. “Our friendship, whatever.” Taking a moment to close his eyes and rub at his forehead he tried to come up with the right thing to say that didn’t convey that she was starting to frustrate him. “Honestly I have no idea. But does it really matter when you sleep?”

"Depends on what your idea of helping me sleep entails." December told him, smirking faintly. this time it actually did manage to reach her lips, almost her eyes. She looked up at him, and kept her gaze there, a heavy, intense sort of look. She wanted to know what he'd do with it, really.

It earned her a smile, part of the frustration fading and a brief moment where Mickey looked away, somewhere above her head while he tried not to be embarrassed about it. “When you put it that way, then yeah I guess it does matter,” he said when he finally looked back down at her, eyes ticking to her mouth again before meeting her gaze.

She noticed it again--his taking his eyes off of hers to move them to her lips. "So, Michael, what is it you figure you're going to be doing to help me sleep better?" she asked, finding herself actually enjoying teasing him for the moment. Even if it was in a coy sort of way, as opposed to something meaner spirited. It wasn't intended like that. She wanted to know what he'd do. Especially since the current conversation had led him to averting his gaze, and then looking at her lips.

The fact that she was teasing him took a moment to register, that she’d taken that route after everything and for another moment Mickey fumbled mentally. “I’d say whatever you wanted, but I’m going to guess we’d be on different pages there.” It was said with a smile though, as if he could play coy as well. “That and everything that’s coming to mind runs the risk of you getting upset about me touching you.”

December's smirk got a little more pronounced. "Oh?" she asked. "What, that's on your mind right now, mr. 'can't keep his eyes on mine'?" she asked, calling him on his wandering gaze. "What exactly is coming to mind?" she asked him, not at all certain he'd entertain telling her.

That she called him got her a look, but then he was rubbing his face again. “Yes, you’re distracting when you’re this close,” he admitted. As for what was on his mind, he was sure he couldn’t blatantly admit it. “Things,” he told her instead with a teasing tone to his voice, playing like he was holding out on her so he wouldn’t have to confess anything.

She was falling into that 'distracted' sort of position again. Where it was just nice to feel something that wasn't the crushing ugly that was her world. Where she could effectively forget everything else going on, and just keep her mind on the here and now. "Things like what?" she asked. "I mean, you could tell me." she said. Which implied possibly he could do something that wasn't 'telling'.

He had an idea of what she was doing, and this time around Mickey was pretty sure he needed to not be so afraid. He wasn’t leaving. The last time he’d been here he’d considered it, but now he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Letting out a breath, he reached for her arm, running his knuckles along it gently. It was a test to see how she reacted to him touching her before he did something else. “I could tell you,” he said, watching his hand instead of her eyes.

"Are you going to?" December asked. She didn't stop him from touching her this time. There was still a part of her that tensed a little, but she was faced with a situation she wasn't controlling. Mickey was apparently a lot more stubborn than she'd realized, and he wasn't going away. That was clear. He didn't want to. And maybe there was a part of her that appreciated that. No matter if she wanted to be alone, and didn't want anything to do with anyone...maybe part of her needed someone to tell her 'no' on that.

When she didn’t pull away or freak out at his touch, Mickey made a snap decision. “Mmhmm,” he said, just barely more than a whisper, before he leaned in and kissed her. It was a soft thing, something tentative.

It was different than the other night. He was above her, they were in a bed. It was a different feel, a different tone. December was utterly unsure what she was doing here, but she didn't try and figure it out, either. Had he said something earlier about being wanted? She returned the kiss, and didn't try to change it, letting him take the lead.

That she returned the kiss gave Mickey more confidence in what he was doing. The tentative part of his actions fell away and without thinking about it he was reaching to pull her closer to him, to hold on to her. After a moment he deepened the kiss, nothing too intense, but slightly more than before.

It felt good. And when he tried to pull her closer, she made that easy for him. It was already just a small shift towards him, just closing a little bit of difference in their positions. When he deepened the kiss, she made a small almost inaudible sound into it. Distraction. He'd wanted to be one, and he was succeeding in that endeavor.

He didn’t so much hear the noise, but feel it against his mouth and for that instant he gripped her a little tighter, drawing her up off the bed just the tiniest bit. Where he was going with things though eluded and him, but Mickey stayed focused on kissing her until he had to break it off to catch his breath.

She liked his reaction. She really liked how he held her tighter, how that felt. Like it got to him, or she did. When he broke off the kiss to breathe, she drew in a bit of an unsteady breath herself, opening her eyes to look up at him. She didn't know if he was done now, if that was it, just a kiss, or if this was just the prelude.

Her looking at him like she was waiting on something left Mickey at a crossroads. He could dive in, kiss her again and hope things didn’t get out of hand, or he could stop here, save more for later. Swallowing hard he looked down at her, pressing a soft, quick kiss against her mouth before pulling away enough to speak. “Helping with sleep?”

She returned the quick kiss, and ran her tongue along her lower lip for a moment as she considered what he said. Then she shook her head. "Not especially. Sort of puts off the idea of sleep." she told him. Like, much farther away. She didn't want to sleep right now. Kissing her like that...yeah. Which she suspected he knew. So she turned the question around on him. Reaching up, she brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Are you feeling like sleeping?"

That simple touch, the way she brushed his hair out of his eyes had him shaking his head. “Not even close to sleeping,” he told her. Not with her like this, not fighting him being here. He kissed her again, drawing her up and to him and while the kiss was slightly more heated it was still controlled, still very reminiscent of Mickey himself.

She kissed him back, letting her knee slide up alongside his thigh, up to his hip. Which she was sure would get a reaction, though part of her was thinking it would be a bad one. That he would call a stop to everything immediately. She hoped not, but there was a part of her that was completely prepared for him to hit the breaks.

It got a reaction for sure, sort of an involuntary tensing of his body that wasn’t all bad. It sent blood rushing to his head, kiss slipping slightly as he reacted, but this time he managed better than before. As if to keep it in check, his hand instinctively went to her leg, gripping it somewhere around her knee and taking control of that moment. If she tried to push it farther she’d have to push against him, but at the same time he didn’t push her away.

Since he didn't push her away, and he didn't try to move her leg away, she considered that a good sign. She did push a little against him, but only the tiniest bit of pressure. Nothing huge, nothing hard or overbearing. Just a slight, light pressure. Even if he slipped in the kiss, she didn't, taking up the slack as she kissed him just a little harder.

The pressure was more welcome this time, something that got a soft noise out of him and his hand gripping at her leg. He didn’t prolong it though, already using his hand on her to guide her body back towards the bed, but not enough to stop things, just opposite pressure to what she was giving him. Her harder kissed got echoed with one of his own once he’d recovered from the way she was moving against him.

She laid back, surprised that was the direction he was pushing her. But it was appreciated, and she went with it, finding her arms going up around his neck to ensure he came with her. She really was engaged in what was happening, despite herself. He had her attention, and she didn't feel like she was unwanted or rejected like before. No, right now she felt wanted. But she wanted him with her.

He hadn’t fully expect her to pull him with her, but Mickey went, not able to resist her holding on to him like that. It was easier to go along, to feel wanted, than to fight it. He still did his best to keep at least one arm around her, kissing her until it broke off naturally and he took a moment to suck in an extra breath before pressing another kiss against her jaw.

December tilted her head when he kissed her jaw, happy to feel that, to feel him there. Especially if he was continuing things and not stopping them cold. She supposed there was still a part of her that was waiting for him to decide it was enough. That move, though, said he wasn't. That he was continuing things. She put that pressure up again, pushing up against him, not as hard as she wanted to, but a little harder than before.

The tilt of her head urged Mickey on, sure he was doing something right for once. The extra pressure against him earned her a noise, something darker than he’d expected, muffled against her skin. His hand on her leg was inching towards her hip, just to push her back and away, but it felt more playful rather than anything else.

That sound was something she'd remember. It sent what felt like electricity up her spine. Enough so that when he pushed her back playfully, she didn't take it poorly. She took it for what it seemed to mean, and she smirked, tilting her head back again to try and get a look in his eyes. She gave an experimental push back, even as she scratched at the back of his shoulder--though she made sure it wasn't the one she'd just tattooed.

Something in what she was doing got him to look up at her, seeing that smirk there before he kissed her again. When she moved, he held her back more because he could rather than craving that pressure, which he was starting to. Before it had been shocking, but now it was slowly taking effort not to press back against her himself. “I’m pretty sure I’m stronger,” he teased lightly, voice thicker than before as he found her eyes again.

"Maybe." December agreed. "Do you want to be, though? Losing this little fight might work out better for you." she added. After all, she knew more about what she was doing in this situation than he did, even if she didn't have much experience herself. She still had more than he did.

That got a laugh out of Mickey a he kissed her again, loosening his grip on her hip slightly. “If I let you win this one are you going to hold it against me?” he asked, dropping kisses to her jaw, working towards her neck.

She smiled a little. "No." she promised. "How far are you willing to trust me?" she asked. Because that was really a pertinent question. She was aware he probably wouldn't actually go through with proper sex. That was his thing, and even if that was swiftly becoming what she wanted right now, she wasn't going to go for it. But there was a hell of a lot more to do with a man than just that.

Mickey pulled back to look at her, watching her eyes for a long moment before answering. “Probably farther than I should,” he admitted, realizing he should be bashful about that, but it wasn’t there. “Why do you ask?”

That got an evil sort of smirk out of her. "Because." she said. And she slid her hand down his chest, then lower down his stomach along the side of his ribs. "I want something. Or maybe I just want to give you something." she told him, not being specific as she traced lower, along his hip. "But, you'd have to trust me."

That smirk was trouble. The moment he saw it, Mickey knew he was in trouble. It meant she had something in mind, but at the same time it was enticing and he was going to have a hard time saying no. As her hand drifted lower he realized just how doomed he was, eyes starting to fall shut as he fought the urge to move his hips towards her hand. After a long moment he looked back up at her, nodding slightly. “Alright.”

She pushed his shoulder, up and to the side. "Then lie back." she told him. Yeah, she was winging this entire thing. But she was going with whim. That was it, really. That was exactly what she realized she was doing. What they'd agreed to do the day they met--go with the moment, go with the whim. Maybe that was how she needed to approach everything with him.

“What?” he asked, thinking of something else entirely then she was pushing on him and he moved where she directed, falling back against the bed. What she was doing had him more than confused and slightly worried, but he tried to keep it off his face as he trained his eyes on her instead.

December got onto her knees, looking down at him. Reaching up, she started to unbutton his shirt, though her eyes were mostly on his instead of her work. "Just trust me." she said. "And if at any point I cross a line, let me know." she added. Even if she hoped he didn't. Really hoped. She was going with this, and didn't want to hit another awful snag.

She might have been watching his eyes but he was watching her hands for a moment. It wasn’t until she spoke that he looked up, reaching for her wrist to slow her hand if only for a moment. “Don’t...rush to the finish line and I’ll try and keep up with you.” It was all he could promise, but it something.

"Don't worry. I know where that line is." she assured him. "But I'll take it slow until you tell me otherwise." she added--and her tone indicated that she did expect at some point he'd stop wanting anything to be 'slow'. That rushing was going to be in his agenda after a while. "Just sit back, and relax." she kept unbuttoning his shirt, til it was done, then she spread it open, so she could touch his skin, tracing from where she had curled part of the phoenix downwards, ever downwards, and she, true to her word, didn't do it quickly. Her touch was light, but it was meant to be. It was meant to bring up goosebumps.

Mickey was nodding, but really only because that was all he could muster. Sitting back and relaxing wasn’t exactly something he was capable of, already a bundle of nerves. That touch, the way it trailed down his skin was something else, getting a gasp out of him as goosebumps did follow in her fingers’ wake. His eyes fell shut, even though he fought it wanting to watch her if only to figure out what she might do before she did it.

December let her nails trail the last little distance to the button of his pants, and she undid it. She paused there, just in case he tried to stop her. She noticed, of course, that he closed his eyes, and that? Was a good thing to see. It meant she was getting to him, just like the gasp. All positive signs.

Her nails against his skin sent shivers down Mickey’s spine, stomach muscles clenching without forethought. That she undid his pants gave him an instant of pause, just like she did, giving him time to taking a long breath and look up at her. She’d asked him to trust her, which he he’d agreed to. He wanted her to trust him, which meant this was fair. And really, she hadn’t done anything too groundbreaking outside of the fact that this was new to him.

Since he didn't actually stop her, she started to ease his zipper down. It was slow, again, the same sort of pace she'd used with the slide down his chest. Slow, taking her time, eyes ticking back up to his features for a long moment. When she got that done, she tugged at his pants, with the clear indication that she wanted them out of her way.

His breathing was getting ragged, more out of knowing that something was coming but not sure what it was than anything else. Still he managed not to stop her, lifting his hips as she tugged at his pants, telling himself that they’d done this. She’d had him in his underwear that first night to do his tattoo. Of course now he wasn’t drunk and the implication was something else entirely, but for the moment if he kept those thoughts away, what she was doing was barely shocking.

She got them off of him, and dropped his pants onto the floor. Then she tugged his socks off and added them to the floor. Then she looked at him, along the line of his body, and started to crawl back up towards him, making that progression slow as well. When she got close enough to reach out and run her hand over the front of his underwear, she did.

Right, so there went most of his clothes. Mickey was starting to prop himself up, more so he could see her than anything else, when she started back towards him. He was already thinking about reaching out, wanting her back against him since she’d left him feeling exposed, especially with her eyeing him like that. Then she was...doing something else entirely and it won her a choked noise that could have been anything, but it never made it out the way it should have. “Oh God,” he managed, eyes closed again. That felt good. Which made total sense, but right, that was a good thing.

December smiled, immediately. That was what she wanted. And he wasn't stopping her. She got closer, stroking him again, watching his expression. She was still going to take things slow, and she made her movements deliberate. Pressure, but a slow stroke in itself.

He could have stopped her, probably should have stopped her but the second stroke got a shuddered breath, his hand finding her free one and pulling her closer to him. His whole body was starting to tense, but not in a bad way as it might have before.

She was a little surprised when he reached out and pulled her closer. But she didn't attempt to stop him, she didn't resist. She'd possibly had other plans, but she was willing to roll with it. She gave another stroke, before he could do anything further. She wanted to move the cloth out of the way, planned to, even. She was still clothed, of course. So technically, things were still 'safe'. Or as safe as they were going to get.

He had some idea of holding her against him, but she didn’t get far before she moved that hand again and Mickey forgot what the idea was. Without really thinking about it, his hand was twisting in strands of her hair, his head falling back as the rush of everything took him over for a moment.

When his head dropped back like that, she considered that even better a sign. She traced her fingers across his stomach again, before she slid them beneath the cloth, so she could touch him properly. Then she treated him to the same motion she had before, only this time with nothing interfering with that.

Without thinking again his hand twisted more in her hair, tugging slightly. If he’d known what he was doing he would have felt terrible about it, but at the moment he was far too lost in what she was doing. “God,” he murmured again, this time breathier as he shuddered slightly. It might be too fast, too much but he couldn’t stop her now, not more than the slight twitch that had slipped past when she first touched him.

The pull to her hair was something she appreciated, even if he wouldn't have liked that. She made a soft little appreciative sound in response to it. And she stroked again, getting a little closer to him. "Still want me to keep things slow?" she asked him, voice soft, a breath light against his neck as she said it.

He couldn’t figure out why she’d made that noise but he wanted to hear it again. At some point when he could think properly he’d ask or he’d try something. The stroke plus her breath on his skin got another choked noise out of him, but he managed a nod. Yes. Still slow. Any faster and he was going to completely forget where he was and what his name was.

She smirked at that, the fact that he didn't even answer her verbally--didn't even try. But she kept things slow. She just experimented with pressure, and she got closer to him, nuzzling against his chest a little, as she made a little move to scoot down. All while she kept up that slow pace, enjoying the power she had.

Mickey reacted accordingly, things that felt better got better reactions, but he was with her, holding on to her until she moved lower. For once he didn’t think about it, he just let her go, assuming she was getting more comfortable. His hand stayed in her hair, but otherwise he wasn’t fighting it, too distracted otherwise to think something was changing.

He was being nicely compliant, something she appreciated. As she got lower, she got closer to her work, and she let her breath ghost down across him, after she shifted his clothes just enough out of the way that she could do it. She let her breath hit first, before she did anything more, to give him that moment again, that ability to stop her if that was what he wanted to do.

It was her breath against him that had Mickey realizing just how far down his torso she’d moved and just what she was considering at the moment. His eyes went wide, propping himself up more to see her, looking at her in disbelief. “You...I...” he started, not finding the right words. Closing his eyes for a moment to compose himself he finally found the right thing to say. “That’s what you want?”

"At the moment? Yes." December answered him. "But I can always stop." Not that she wanted to. She looked up at him, and gave another slow stroke, just so she kept his attention there. She didn't want his attention to wane, after all. No sir. It needed to be focused where she wanted it to be focused. That was the physical, right now.

It was near impossible for him to think of why she would want such a thing, but Mickey was past a point of fighting it. Her movements got his attention where she wanted it and his breath shuddered again. “I know,” he murmured. “Don’t.”

The second she got the green light from him, she turned to go for what she intended. She shifted again, just enough to be comfortable, letting her breath ghost against him once more before she took a taste. This was pretty new for her too, but she was betting he was going to like this even better than what she'd already been doing. And this? He couldn't have done on his own at any point. So this was going to be new.

At more than one point in his life, Mickey’s thoughts had drifted to what was happening now in a purely hypothetical type way. What it might be like, how good it might feel, how it was likely to never happen. Only now, it was and whatever he’d thought was no prep for what was actually happening. What she did got an audible swear out of him, his hand in her hair clenching again. He might have been able to stop her before, if he’d thought he should have, but now, now there was no going back at all.

She made a sound at the clench in her hair again. That, as she was doing her thing, so the vibration of it was present. She kept things slow, like he'd requested before. She wanted to go faster, she really did, but she'd promised. Also, she was hoping he'd urge her on himself.

The noise plus the feel of it sent vibrations up Mickey’s entire body and while he’d tried to fight it his hips were pressing into her. His breath was ragged, coming in gasps, but even with that he was getting lightheaded. Somewhere he heard something that sounded like a whimper, not even realizing it was him.

She certainly heard it. It made her smile. She pulled back just enough to look back up at him, even if she didn't stop stroking. "What was that, Michael?" she asked, sounding not even a little innocent. It was probably wrong but she liked that sound. Liked the helpless whimper there.

Her moving away got a sound of protest out of him, body trying to follow her. That she was talking to him got Mickey out of his head at least slightly, mouth parted while he stared at her for an instant trying to remember what she’d said. She was torturing him, that was what this was, but he found himself letting out another needy noise, not quite the whimper from before. “Don’t...” he started not sure what word came next. Don’t stop, don’t tease, don’t torture. All of it was applicable.

She gave him that evil smile she had perfected over the years. And with that, she went back to what she was doing, still keeping it slow. He was going to have to ask for more, or urge her on other ways. It was a bit of a tease, but she was good with that. She wanted to push his buttons, push him without crossing lines. And he was allowing this, so it had to be within said lines.

In the back of his mind Mickey registered that that evil smile really wasn’t fair and came to her too easily but then she went back to it and he let himself ignore it as he fell back, groan escaping this time. There were lines he was sure of that, but somewhere he’d forgotten what they were or if they mattered at all. Biting his lip he fought another moan as the slow motion wasn’t enough, not keeping up with this heart going a million miles an hour. His hips twitched again, hand in her hair trying to move her faster.

The silent urging there, that was what she'd been waiting for. So, when he urged her faster, she complied, going faster. He just had to 'ask' and he'd get what he wanted. There was a little thrill in her from getting that from him, the man who was so reserved.

The change in pace gave him the briefest instances of release, but then that same tension was building up in him, faster and more this time. Groaning he tried to fight it, but it was obvious he wasn’t about to hold out for much longer. “Oh God,” he groaned a second time, head falling back more.

She sped up a little more, just due to the sound of his groan, the words there, really than because he was urging it. Which was possibly her just losing a little bit of control there, but she didn't think too hard about it. Instead, she kept it up, thinking he couldn't possibly hold on too long. Not with his lack of experience.

He didn’t stand a chance holding out long at all and moments later it overtook him, body going completely tight as he lost control and cried out. His hand in her hair gripped at her, not on purpose for her, but more because he had to hold on to something and the other hand tangled in the sheets wasn’t enough. The force of it shuddered through him, half curling into her for a moment before falling back and trying to catch his breath. This might have been what she meant by drowning.

She again, liked the pull at her hair, even if it wasn't hard enough for her liking. But she liked it anyhow, and she swallowed, giving him just enough room to writhe for a moment before she propped herself up on one arm, looking down at him. She didn't say anything, just waited.

It took a good moment before he could bring himself to look at her again. When he did there was sheepish look to his features, all to aware of how exposed he was, what had just happened and how it felt as if everything changed. Instead of speaking immediately he watched, thumb tracing her jaw for a moment, letting her watch him. “I...I’m out of my depth here,” he said finally, meeting her eyes.

How honest of you. she thought in response, but didn't say it. She wouldn't be able to school the sarcasm out of her voice, and she didn't really want to be a bitch to him right then. It was just typical...Mickey being honest to the point of even owning up to being lost. "That might be part of the point." she told him. "To be out of your depth. To not have your bearings for a while. Don't worry. I don't expect you to say anything inspiring or intelligent, no sparkling words of wisdom or insight. Just let yourself have this for a minute."

He let out a sigh, fighting off a feeling of letting her down and settling for pushing himself up enough to kiss her lightly. “Maybe it is. I know I like it.” The admission had been in his head, but not something he’d meant to say out loud. It just slipped, with his guard down to the point where it was.

She hadn't really been prepared for the kiss. Mostly because it hadn't occurred to her that he would want to, but beyond that, it was something sort of sweeter than she was expecting. It was light, but still surprising. "Glad you do." she said, voice a little quieter than usual, due to his proximity. She almost threw in a “I told you it was something' but didn't. Besides, she'd been talking about actual, proper sex, not what she'd just done to him. Even if they were along the same lines, there was a difference. She flopped onto her back again, curling her arm beneath her head as she looked up at him now that he was sitting up.

Mickey looked down at her once she moved, mind still reeling from everything. At least she was giving him some ground, not chastising or lecturing when he knew she had a right to. “I’m supposed to know what comes next hmm?” he asked rubbing his face with the arm that wasn’t holding him up then running his hand through his hair.

December shook her head, keeping her gaze on him. "No." she told him honestly. "You're not. I don't think there's a right answer, a set 'thing' that comes next." She definitely held that everything was different for everyone. That each experience in itself, even, was unique. What she'd just done with him was different from what she did with Eric. In the back of her mind, she wondered if that was why she'd done it. Why she'd pushed things. So the last person she was intimate with wasn't a serial killer, it was a nice guy who meant a little too well.

“That’s a relief I guess,” Mickey moving to his side and lowering back down towards the bed. He had one arm bent behind his head so he could still see her. “Tell me what you’re thinking. My head’s mostly mush.”

That actually got a hint of a smile out of her. She pulled the blanket up over both of them. "I'm thinking you're going to sleep well tonight." she told him. Which was true, he probably would. Or, she imagined he would, anyhow. After that...yeah. He'd be high on endorphins, he'd be feeling good. It was a good time to go to sleep, right after something like that.

The smile gave Mickey the guts to reach for her, pulling her towards him as he relaxed more. “I was supposed to be making you sleep well,” he reminded her softly, kissing her once more. It was still that light kiss from before. With the languid feeling in his body it was hard not to be sweet with her.

She definitely noticed that he'd become sweet here. Like he was there with his girlfriend or something. Which she wasn't. But either way, she didn't actually ruin the moment. She curled up on her side, towards him. "That was your agenda, not mine." she reminded him. She wasn't expecting him to do anything, he'd just decided he was. Just because it worked out the opposite way didn't bother her at all. "You going to close your eyes and go to sleep?" she asked. Yep. She'd definitely given up trying to make him leave. Apparently she now expected him to sleep there. Right where he was.

“True,” Mickey agreed, eyes tired as he spoke. “Next time maybe,” he added. The suggestion of sleep had him nodding, not thinking about leaving, not now. Their entire conversation had been tiring and adding in the extra curricular activities had left him exhausted, already drifting. “Not going anywhere,” he manged, answering a question she hadn’t asked.

She watched him, wondering what exactly she'd just gotten herself into. Maybe nothing. Maybe he'd wake up, and go home, and that would be that. He'd come to his senses, and leave her be. She gave him something to remember her by, so even if he still had those lingering doubts of being unwanted, that should have been dispelled, not causing issues for him later in life. He'd been wanted, he had a girl who had gotten him off at some point. Within the lines, even. "Goodnight." she said, voice quiet, mostly because it looked to her like he was already falling asleep, leaving the land of consciousness behind at a rapid rate.

Mickey inched closer, arm around her as he nodded. “Goodnight,” he told her softly, voice mumbled with sleep. Whatever was going on, whatever he was feeling he could deal with later. Right now he was just content to be here.