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Michael,
I think you’ve finally lost your mind. Your recent behavior and the company you’ve been keeping already had me very concerned. Now you’ve attacked my Fabian who is a close friend, and then Jimmy said you took drugs while driving him in the car. We have decided to move out for a while. You promised me you’d change, and you haven’t changed a bit! I know you say I always act like I’m in a movie, well, this isn’t that! I think I’m going to speak to a lawyer. I’m just really confused. Please don’t try to contact us, and try not to get yourself killed!
Amanda
Crumpling the note into a ball, Michael chucked it across the room without thinking, cursing loudly. It didn’t matter that there was no one around to hear – the anger and revulsion was filling up his body like hot, explosive air, and without an outlet, he knew it was going to cause some serious damage.
“Fuck!” He said again, feeling as his entire body tensed with his fists balling up tightly at his sides. His stomach churned nauseatingly, and his jaw tightened uncomfortably. His heartbeat pounded in his throat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
So this is how it was going to be, huh? Michael wasn’t about to claim to be a perfect man, oh, he knew he was far from it, but he gave up his entire world to build a new life for his family here in Los Santos, and what does he get for it? A son who drugs him and leaves him in the street to die? A wife who would rather sleep with every instructor in the city before saying one kind word to him? A daughter who won’t even speak to him?
Everything he gave up – his whole life with Trevor – for nothing.
God, Trevor…
Michael couldn’t get that look out of his head. Trevor, showing up out of the blue, standing there in his kitchen like a ghost from his former life, staring at him like… He couldn’t quite place it. Guarded, maybe, but there was a little bit of hurt there. He’d like to think he knows his friend well enough to at least tell that, even a decade later.
But he did give him up too, didn’t he? To keep his family safe?
Before Michael could think to stop himself, the phone was already dialing.
Trevor, of course, picked up near instantly, before Michael had the chance to psych himself out of this insanity. Only one ring before he could hear his breathing made mechanical over the airwaves. Had he been waiting by the phone?
“Hey T, it’s me.” Michael hardly recognizes his own voice as it comes out of him. His throat still feels a little tight, like pushing himself too hard might result in either tears or more cursing, but he wills himself to keep speaking anyways. “What’s going on? You up to anything? Wanna hang out?”
“Uhh…” Trevor’s usually gravelly voice sounds all tinny and hesitant through the phone. For a minute, Michael was suddenly struck with the fear that even he didn’t want to see him, only for him to continue, “Okay then, sure, why not? Make a change from missing you.”
Michael, ignoring the strange pang he felt in his chest, swallowed audibly. “Cool… I’m, uh, on my way.”
He didn’t leave right away, however, instead choosing to face his attention toward a mirror that was hanging on the wall just a few steps from the front door. He had scoffed at it when Tracey first insisted she needed a way to check her hair before leaving, but now, as he smooths back a few stray hairs in that almost-nervous way that she always does, he found it quite helpful, actually. He hoped he didn’t look as disheveled as he felt.
His old jacket was hanging in a closet by the door. He wasn’t sure what brought it to mind now – he hadn’t worn that thing in probably ten years – but Michael found himself shrugging it on anyways. It was a little tight in the arms, which Trevor will no doubt have something to say about, but he keeps it on anyways. For old time’s sake, maybe.
—
He saw Trevor first, before the mean old bastard had the decency to look. Maybe he didn’t recognize the vehicle – thanks to that little bastard Jimmy stealing his Tailgater, he was stuck driving this eyesore of a Declasse Premier, a tiny little red car with seats too low to be truly comfortable – because he didn’t turn immediately when Michael pulled up. His eyes remained glued on road, watching intently as cars whizzed past them way too fast for this commercial road.
He looked… clean, surprisingly. Usually when Michael saw him these days, he was wearing some variant of a bloodstained t-shirt and ratty jeans, but today he had on that fleece-lined jean jacket and dark pants that almost made him look respectable. Even his hair seemed somewhat kempt.
He looked good, Michael realized, feeling a little warm. He grabbed at the collar of his shirt and tugged. God, when was the last time Trevor had made an effort like this?
Ten years ago, he brain reminds him, and suddenly he feels funny all over again.
He honked the car horn twice in quick succession, and Trevor’s head whipped around to stare him down with those intense eyes of his, dark and knowing. Still – and though it was blink-and-you-miss-it – Michael could have sworn he saw a smile tugging at the corner of his lips before he moved to get in the passenger seat.
“Michael, man…” Trevor said, turning his face as he shut the car door. “It’s good to see you.”
Unable to properly express the enormity of how he felt – a veritable cocktail of anger, guilt, and despair that swirled uncomfortably with whatever the fuck he felt about his old friend here – Michael simply hummed in response, forcing his eyes back onto the road as he started driving again. “You too, man.” Then, abrubtly, “I need a drink.”
To this, Trevor’s face did break out into a grin – Michael could see it in the rear-view mirror every time he stole a glance. “Now you’re speaking my language, amigo.”
For a few minutes, they drove in comfortable silence. The radio – set to some station that advertised only the best of classic rock – was quietly singing something about remembering what you had and what you lost as the skyscrapers of Los Santos flew past them. The rapidly setting sun glittered like diamonds on the passing windows, and the sky grew pinker by the second.
“Tell you what, Mikey…” Trevor finally said, breaking their silence as his smile began to sour. “I can tell why you like Vinewood so much.”
Michael couldn’t help but laugh, something full-bellied and true. “I know – it’s fantastic, isn’t it? I mean…” He smiled to himself, quietly reminiscing on some of the happier times from the last 10 years. “I’m just sort of happy here, even when I’m really depressed.”
Trevor scowled. “No, sugartits.” Another comment about his body – fat like a tit, and bad for people like sugar, he had explained once. His own little personal affectionate insult. This tone didn’t seem particularly affectionate, though. Prickly and guarded. Michael, though, couldn’t find himself to hate it – the tone or the nickname. “You like it because it’s just like you… plastic and fake. The world champion of phoniness has come to the world capitol of fakeness and.. What a surprise – you fit right in.”
Not having it in himself to argue, not after everything that went down today, Michael just nodded and said, “Hah, sure. Whatever you say, T. I’m a fake, you’re real… That’s cool.”
“Oh, don’t get all passive on me, cupcake.” Michael could feel Trevor staring at him, but he didn’t dare divert his eyes from the road long enough to look. “No one likes being called out on their bullshit, but it’s true.”
Chuckling, Michael replied, “Of course it is. Whatever you say, T, whatever you say.”
He pulls the car into the bar’s parking lot just as the sun disappeared over the horizon, and turned the engine off. For a moment, the silence between them was enormous. Trevor, staring at him with those hazel eyes of his, unblinkingly, waiting for him to make his move, though whether he was looking for an argument or an apology was beyond him.
He could, was the thing. Apologize. Say, sorry for dumping you like trash, old pal. Right here, in this rental car, parked in the darkest part of the lot, he could tell Trevor all about how awful he felt throwing away their life together, and how much he regretted it now. He could tell him all that mushy bullshit.
Instead, he said, “We’re here.”
The bar itself is nothing special – a little hole-in-the-wall place not too far from his place in West Vinewood with wooden fixtures and cheesy, acquired pictures tacked up seemingly randomly on the walls – but the liquor was cheap and the patrons didn’t ask questions, so it would do just fine. Trevor doesn’t seem to mind the lapse in quality one bit, as he followed Michael in without question, immediately accepting the shot of whiskey that he pushed into his hand.
Trevor grinned, then took it like a champ. “My man!”
Michael, unable and unwilling to confront the warmth in his chest from seeing his friend smile, drank the other two shots on top of the bar in quick succession, one, two.
Amanda always hated when he would drink. He kept the good alcohol in the house, careful not to spend too much of their money on drinks that nobody but him would be drinking, but she would always turn her nose up at him anyways, calling him a pathetic drunkard every time he would crawl his way back to their bed. The older Tracey and Jimmy got, they started to hate it too. Said he really must be a shitty dad if he had to be drinking all the time.
The way Trevor was looking at him was anything but hate, though. The more they drank together, the more his eyes were shining under those yellow fluorescent bar lights, the nearby skin crinkling with frequent smiles and laughs so hearty he had to tilt his head back to let them out. Bad history be damned, they were having fun.
Beside him, Trevor gasped and clasped a strong hand on his shoulder, using his grip to steady himself. “Look, they have darts!” His words came out slurred and slow, yet filled to the brim with unfounded confidence. “Oh, I’m gonna destroy you at darts.”
Michael must have made a face, because Trevor continued dryly, “I said at, not with.”
Laughing, Michael followed him over to the dart board, equally as unsteady on his feet. The game – unsurprisingly, with their current level of hand-eye coordination abilities – went extremely poorly, with both men getting their fair share of darts stuck in the wall or forgetting how the point system worked, but damn if it wasn’t fun as hell. There was a reason that they had been so successful as a criminal duo before – despite all their flaws, their grumbling and posturing, they genuinely liked each other. Misgivings and all.
I don’t want to see you, Tracey’s voice echoed in his head. You’re such a fucking fuck, you really are… I hate you!
Jimmy’s voice wasn’t much kinder. You’re just a lame and angry psycho who does bad shit. I don’t know if I love you and I’m pretty sure I hate you a little bit.
What is wrong with you? Amanda’s voice, remembered from just a day ago, was the most cutting of all. You know, ever since that psychotic pal of yours turned up, you’ve turned into an even bigger asshole. You low-life, whore-mongering asswipe!
Out here, on the street, well-past closing time, Trevor was smiling at him. He was hunched forward, visibly struggling to keep his balance as he hovered mere inches from Michael’s face, but he was smiling nonetheless. “No, fuck you…” he said, almost affectionately. “I’m drunk, and you are definitely, definitely a dick.”
Michael was nearly drunk enough to reply that having one isn’t enough to be one, but caught himself. That was dangerous territory with Trevor. They both knew it.
Trevor let his chin fall onto Michael’s shoulder, then looked up at him with those big eyes.
Michael swallowed, suddenly feeling a little bit more sober than he had before. His whole body felt warm, which he had chosen to attribute to the massive amount of alcohol consumed. “Are you feeling tired?” he managed to ask, unable to tear his gaze away from his friend. “Should I take you home?”
Trevor thought for a moment, then nodded. “Probably for the best.”
Holding onto each other for dear life, both men stumbled their way into the rental car, fumbling awkwardly with seatbelts and door handles until they were both firmly secure in their spots.
Maybe it was the inebriation. Maybe it was the recent rejection from his family. Maybe it was just Trevor’s re-emergence in his life as a whole, sending him violently down memory lane and filling him with an intense nostalgia for a bygone era, but the closer he got to where Trevor was staying in Vespucci Beach, the slower Michael seemed to drive. He didn’t want Trevor to go and leave him all alone. Not yet.
Trevor, from the passenger seat, eyed him cautiously.
It wasn’t until they had stopped at a red light, though, that he spoke. “I tell you what, Mikey, my life now is one long orgy of easy sex, strong meth, and good times with good people, but…” He trailed off, getting an almost wistful look on his face. “I miss the good old days.”
Me too, Michael thought instantly, catching even himself by surprise.
“Oh, you do, do you?” he said instead, his tone somewhat incredulous. “What? Us always broke, on the run, crazy shit, the place always covered in snow? You miss that crap?”
Trevor nodded, looking hopeless honest for once in his life. “Sure… I miss my innocence.”
Michael couldn’t help but chuckle. That wasn’t exactly the word that tended to come to mind when you thought Trevor Philips. “Innocence? You?”
The light was still red, so Michael got a full view of the hurt expression that Trevor sent his way, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t seen from the guy in years. Ten years. “Yeah. I miss not knowing the people you liked the most turn out to be snakes.”
The signal turned green, lighting up his face even brighter.
Michael supposed he should be more focused on the snake part of that particular admittance, but all his brain wanted to think about was the people you liked the most. That part, his brain plays on repeat, looping liked over and over again as he struggled to come to terms with it. Trevor knew a lot of people, even back then, but Michael was his favorite? He liked him the most?
Even after everything that had happened… Trevor had seen him at his worst, and he still liked him the most. Still liked him, even after ten years of bad blood.
Still thought of him and sex in the same sentence.
Michael could barely focus on the road. At every opportunity, he glanced at Trevor through the rear-view mirror, careful to not let him see him looking. God, he’d never hear the end of it – an endless barrage of cupcakes and cocksuckers. Once, though, at another red light, he managed to work up the courage to properly look, only to find Trevor staring back at him. His mouth was hanging open slightly, and his expression was slightly glazed over. Had he ever looked away?
Caught, Michael quickly turned his attention back to the road. His face felt warm and flushed, and his heartbeat hammered in his ears. Fuck, what was that?
He’s drunk and distracted enough, lost in endless thoughts too deeply repressed to really process, that they never make it to Vespucci Beach. Instead, Michael pulled into his driveway on pure instinct, parking the vehicle just outside the front door. Why bother parking correctly? He’s the only one here now.
“This isn’t Floyd’s apartment,” Trevor slurs, obviously.
“Yeah,” Michael says, his mouth dry. “You wanna come in and have another drink?”
Trevor, leaning his head back against the headrest, stares at him strangely. “Amanda’s not going to throw a bitch fit about me being in her house?”
A low level of shame settled in Michael’s gut, and he rubbed the back of his neck self-soothingly. The words are spilling out of him before he can stop them. “Uh, Amanda and the kids don’t… live here, anymore. They left, last night.”
Again, Trevor stared at him, and Michael was so sure he was about to be ruthlessly mocked, but then the smallest smile possible appeared on his face. Genuine. He looked almost… relieved. “I can see why you wanted that drink.”
It didn’t take long to get Trevor inside. With the day he’d had, Michael had already pre-loaded the coffee table with as much liquor as he could find in the house, so all they had to do with stumble their way inside – still holding onto each other for dear life – and collapse onto that ugly white couch that Amanda had wanted so damn bad. Soon, they were pouring Jack Daniels into those expensive whiskey glasses and knocking them back, laughing and clinking glasses together just like it was the good old days again.
Trevor’s jean jacket was draped over the backside of the couch. “Too hot,” he had complained, shedding his top layer to reveal nothing but that white wifebeater underneath. His skin was flushed a very interesting shade of pink. “Doesn’t any of your money go towards AC?”
Michael laughed, and bumped their shoulders together, pointedly ignoring the way his bare skin tingled where they touched. He hadn’t felt this way, since… well…
Nostalgia was a hell of a drug.
“I mean, seriously…” Trevor complained, pushing his hands into his knees with enough pressure to force himself upright. “All this wealth, the mansion, the picket fence, but are you even satisfied with your life? The great Michael Townley, satisfied with retirement?”
Michael’s eyes slid down Trevor’s body. Was he satisfied?
Something like understanding dawns on Trevor’s face, and his expression shifts as he settles back into the couch, moving his hands from his knees so that his legs can fall open slightly. “Well?” he finally asks. “Are you?”
Michael swallows. This wasn’t a part of him he let surface very often, not… He’s still married for god’s sakes, but, with that on the rocks and Trevor sitting right in front of him, looking up at him like that? Some very pleasurable, hazy memories were springing to the surface.
Trevor, in his arms.
Trevor, on his knees.
Trevor, holding him down.
Michael blushed a very pretty shade of pink. “No…”
“Yeah?” Trevor said, licking his lips. A visible bulge had grown in his pants, straining tightly against the fabric. “So what is it that you need?”
It’s like the two were magnetized to each other, moving closer without even thinking. Soon, their knees were pressed together, facing each other, and they were talking way too close to be interpreted as platonic. Michael couldn’t help but whine. “C’mon T, don’t make me say it.”
“Then do it, pussy.” Trevor said, shooting him a challenging look. “Do it till you’re satisfied.”
For exactly one moment, Michael allowed himself to hesitate. Then, Trevor was looking at him with that hungry look in his eye that he used to know all too well, and suddenly Michael was hoisting himself into his friend’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck to place a sloppy kiss on his mouth. His knees bracketed both sides of Trevor’s thighs.
Trevor groaned, grabbing Michael by the waist to kiss him feverishly. “Fuck, Mikey…”
“Shut up,” Michael pleaded, burying his face into the crook of Trevor’s neck while he grinded down into his friend’s lap. Immediately, an embarrassingly pleasured moan escaped his lips, and he kissed at Trevor’s skin to muffle it.
Trevor gripped at his hips possessively. “Oh, you still like it like that, huh?”
Michael didn’t answer at first, but Trevor bucked up against him, drawing a moan out of him. “Fuck, why do you have to ask such embarrassing questions?” he asked once his head stopped spinning. “You know the answer damn well.”
“I do,” Trevor said, skimming his hand over Michael’s zipper.
Michael whimpered, and pressed his hips up and into his hand.
Knowing that was about as close to permission as he was going to get from the king of repression, Trevor quickly undid both of their zippers, pulling both of their cocks free from their respective undergarments and shoving them together.
“Huh,” Trevor said, getting that same glazed-over look on his face that he had in the car. “I’m still bigger.” Then, wrapping that big hand of his around both of them, he simultaneously gave both dicks an experimental tug.
Michael gasped. He hadn’t felt anything like this in a very long time. “Fuck, T!”
“Missed hearing that sound…” Trevor said with uneven breaths, stroking them both a little faster, slicking them both with as much pre-come as he could manage. “Thought I wasn’t gonna get to hear it again, fuck.”
Unexpectedly, Trevor twisted his hand, and as he reached the top of their cocks, pressed his thumb into Michael’s slit, causing him to let his head fall back and cry out with pleasure. “Trevor!”
“Yeah…” Trevor took his exposed neck as an opportunity to suck and bite at Michael’s pulse point, channeling every ounce of frustration over their separation into his skin. “Does that feel good, Michael?”
“Ye-e-e-es, fuck!” Michael practically sobbed, overwhelmed by the sensation. He wanted, fuck, he wanted everything that he had missed, everything Amanda was unable and unwilling to give him. Memory after memory flooded back to him, and all he wanted was to recreate it here and now. She could stay gone for all he cared – he wanted Trevor on him.
Ducking down to bite his earlobe, as if reading his mind, Trevor murmured, “It’s too bad you probably don’t keep any lube in this shithole, huh?” Then, to punctuate his point, he squeezed down hard.
Fuck, Michael was coming fast. A wave of pleasure had crashed over his spine like a tsunami, and that tell-tale coil in his gut was getting tighter and tighter. He grabbed at Trevor’s wrists, trying to tug him off. Amanda always hated when he got cum on her, back when they were still having sex. “Trev, man, I’m gonna–”
Trevor swatted his hands away, then redoubled his efforts. “Fuck off, cocksucker. Let me.”
“Fu-uck…” Michael sounded strangled. With a cry, he felt the release as he spurted cum all over Trevor’s hand, arching his back in a way his body hadn’t moved in years. “God, Trevor…”
The sight must have been something else, Michael all flushed and panting and pleasured, because Trevor was soon behind, painting his stomach with cum. Wordlessly, he slumped against him, burying his face in Michael’s neck. He was still struggling to catch his breath, his entire body heaving.
Neither spoke, for a while, just breathing and holding each other.
Finally, with his lips still pressed against Michael’s skin, Trevor asked, “You satisfied?”
There would be more questions, more arguments tomorrow. Tomorrow, they’d have to talk about the Amanda of it all, the faked death and the personal history and the abandonment of it all, but right now? Right now, Michael just hummed contentedly.
“Yeah, T, I’m satisfied.”