mickey.

                ^{mickey chuckles.     he can be a thug. he can shake a more than a few motherfuckers down— but THIS CULTURE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND HIM.             made up words to classify himself.        THE BEST DAMN BOTTOM.   “ okay okay. so you got a friend that thinks you wanna play with a rough and tumble street boy? a little thug action? you’re cute, country boy.     if you got a fetish for trash I’M DOWN TO PLAY. “}

      “I’m not sure what he was thinking but he must think we’d get along.  Or he wouldn’t have set us up.”  A fetish for trash?  What was Trent thinking about this arrangement?  Well–obviously–one of the boys at Dalton that knew him best must have thought something was going to connect the two.  Now, it was time to test his theory and figure out WHAT it was. “Come on.  It’s one night. If it works,” he shrugged sharply, “Great.  If not?  At least we gave it a go.” A thumb motioned over his shoulder in the direction of his car and he arched an eyebrow. “Mind if I drive?  There was a spot that came to mind when I texted you.  I just hope you like it.”