"I don't know all the people," Mickey said, his voice slicker than oil. "I don't know all the places." He looked Sorin over, pretty, thin, pale, gaunt Sorin, Mickey's look giving suggestions of I don't know you and where you'd take me.
It was like slipping into an old coat, Mickey found. He wasn't sure if he wanted to again -- after Leon, this felt shallow, hollow. But it also felt good. Like his heart had forgotten what it was good for, but now it felt those things again. Excitement. Attraction. Randiness. Good things, not just torn.
Sorin wasn't Leon, but Leon didn't want him, and Sorin didn't have to be.
Mickey drew closer, his dark eyes on Sorin as he crowded the boy, their bodies almost sparking with contact. His voice low, Mickey said: "Would you like to explore further? In private?"