Chapter Text
A sweet summer breeze, the rhythmic clinking rotation of smoldering ice cubes, a single glass brimmed with whiskey in close proximity. A hovering projector peacefully played re-runs of an old black-and-white TV show, dramatic sound-effects lingering overhead as whimsy characters playfully danced on-screen. A slamming car door broke the preemptive silence. A groan, escaped Michael's lips as he tugged at the remote, fingers lazily pecking at the buttons as he increased the volume, ignoring the questioning thoughts flooding in the back of his mind. Heavy-set feet clambering up the entrance way, bawled fists jutting against the wooden door as eyes peered in from behind the decorative glass. Peace was abruptly disturbed as careless hands swung the heavy-set door open. Material grazing the wall, scratching the edge of a family picture frame. Paintings shook on their nails as the door slammed back into place, a wide-set panic took over as Michael launched from his seat, a familiar pair of hazel eyes turning the corner.
"Fuckin' A!" Michael barked angrily, hands bawled at his sides unconsciously. The taller criminal's presence wasn't unusual, but the lack of peculiarity and insults was. The towering figure paced, shadowing the screen as he continuously blocked the projector. "Can't warn me, T?" He added with a huff, darting for the abandoned glass of whiskey.
"Warn you?" Trevor lulled with aggravation, situation at hand momentarily forgotten as he barred his teeth. "Why?" He interjected, response hanging in the air as Michael crossed his arms. "You ran off for ten years without a fuckin' word." He reminded, cocking an eyebrow as he jabbed a finger at the other, "I dont wanna hear it, sugar." Trevor finalized, a familiar flame in his eyes as he eyed Michael curiously.
"Fuck you." Michael barked coldly. Trevor had a knack for brining pack the past, no matter the situation, he made a mistake, they both did, but neither of them could manage to forgive each other or let the other forget. "Why are you here." He added coldly. A curious stare passing over Trevor's pacing figure as he brought the glass to his lips.
"I need your help." Trevor called almost immediately. Feet complacent on the ground as nervous hands writhed together. Trevor was complex, he knew that much, but apathy was rarely an emotion he had the pleasure of experiencing. Taking a lengthy sip Michael silently offered the glass over. Trevor was quick to handle it as he guzzled down the contents carelessly before handing the cup back. "I'm in real shit, M." He added, lips smacking together, freshly coated with whiskey.
"What now?" Michael lulled with annoyance, leather shoes echoing against the wooden floor as he strided away from the living room. "If it's more of those fuckin' Altruists you're on your own." Michael prodded. A shiver of disgust running the length of his spine as he recalled their last encounter with the elderly cultists. "Can't stand those streakin' fuckers." Michael added hoarsely.
"No, no." Trevor groaned. Words stuck in his throat as he hovered in place. If he was in trouble he was quick to admit it, this wasn't trouble, yes, it was troubling, but nothing close to a gang heist or shoot-out. "It's, my mother." He finally admitted. An instant shade of crimson throwing off his pale complexion.
"Mrs. Phillips?" Michael chuckled, returning the glass to the porcelain sink with a chortle. Trevor was ridiculous. A monster physically able to murder (and devour) an entire biker gang but afraid of his own mother. "That's what this is about?" He laughed coldly, turning he instantly regretted it. Eyes sad, avoiding Michael's gaze as they scanned the wooden floor. Yes, Mrs. Philips was the reasoning, but another unknown factor was at large.
"Told er' I got hitched." Trevor began, moving to pace as he writhed his hands together. Michael only stood, confused, amused. He wanted to laugh, he really did, but for his friend's sanity and his own safety he held it together. "Made up the worst fuckin' lie possible to keep er' away." Trevor continued, head shaking sadly as he regretted his actions.
"Who's the lucky gal?" Michael pestered, amused with the fabricated tale Trevor had pieced together. Thoughts festered within his mind as he thought of the possibilities. "Mary Anne?" Michael listed with a smirk. Vague memories of the psychotic women's actions that similarly matched Trevor's. No, not even Mary Anne would stoop to that level. "One of those expensive strippers, how much you payin' her?" Michael added with an audible laugh. Trevor was strangely silent. Eyes hovered over the room, momentarily connecting with Michael's before jutting away.
"You." Trevor admitted finally, cheeks a deeper shade as his embarrassment furthered. The word hung in the air as the two silently clenched their fists. Michael was awestruck, he couldn't of heard him correctly. Trevor was a trickster. It was a ruse, a sick fucking ruse.
"What?" Michael questioned. Eyes bulbous and weary. Confused he took a step closer, looking his friend over as he thought.
"You heard me." Trevor jabbed, face expressionless as he awaited Michael's reply. "I told her I got married to you." Trevor repeated. Hidden hazel eyes finally connecting with Michael's. The room fell silent until Michael lunged for his best friend. Swinging fists Trevor easily avoided. Feet prepared, he outstepped every attack as Michael breathlessly retreated.
"Out of everyone!" Michael barked with aggravation. Fists bawled at his sides as his cheeks flushed with crimson. Trevor was insane, the very definition of the word. Signing him up for monthly Playgirl subscriptions, sending him (hopefully unused) dildos in the mail, dragging him to the locally scattered gay bars around Los Santos, but this, this took the homosexual cake. "Why not fuckin' Ron, Chef?" Michael complained, listing off other loyal candidates that would happily play along with Trevor's meth-fueled delusion.
"She's seen em' before!" Trevor spat, instantly defending his decision. Ron was a local, no doubt about it that Ms. Philips had noticed him wandering around the property. Chef. Chef was too busy, too distracted fueling Trevor's addiction, his mother would sniff out the lie from a mile away. "I needed someone she wouldn't expect!" He added dramatically as he crossed his arms.
"I'm not fuckin' doin' this." Michael interjected. Foot down, drawing the line. He'd been pulled into too many of Trevor's antics to play along, he refused. "Find someone else." He added coldly as his eyes focused on the container of whiskey he so eagerly wanted to chug.
"M!" Trevor whined, a toddler-like stomp to his feet as he pouted. Trevor wasn't cute or convincing, puppy dog eyes rarely worked. "I'll cancel the Playgirl subscription." Trevor interjected, mind askew as he thought of convincing ideals to send in Michael's direction.
"No more dildos?" Michael asked with gruff annoyance. If he had to play along with Trevor's lie he could at least get something out of it.
"No more dildos." Trevor repeated with a head nod, pinkie raised. It was a bargain, if he could lower Amanda's suspicions and save his own ass from embarrassment, he was in.
With an eye roll Michael gripped Trevor's sweating hand. A handshake to seal the deal. An instant smile spouted on Trevor's scarred lips, with open arms he engulfed Michael selfishly. Hugging the smaller man as he hoisted him into the air. Michael only groaned in response as Trevor shook him around. He was in too deep to retreat. Trevor instantly darted from the room, hand-in-hand with Michael as he pulled him along.
"Wait, now?" Michael stammered, returning to his archway to lock the door behind him before running off with Trevor. Keys returned to his lined suit pocket as he eyed Trevor curiously. He assumed Ms. Philips would be on her way in a day or two, certainly not today. "Isn't she three hours away?" Michael interjected as he slinked over to the red Bodhi.
"Three hours away two hours ago." Trevor revealed. With an eye roll Michael hopped in, closing the truck door behind him as his hands fumbled with the coiled seat-belt. Keys latched into the ignition as Trevor sped off. Wheels churning the asphalt of Michael's driveway as the familiar mansion faded into the distance.
Back roads growled happily as the dusty air whipped around them. Passing trees and trailer home's in the distance as Trevor rambled on about the lies he managed to feed his mother, how close they needed to be. Time passed slowly and Michael found himself in need of the Redwood's he managed to leave behind. With a quick diversion he pointed Trevor over to a convenience store. With a groan of annoyance he pulled in, low on gas himself he veered up to an abandoned pump, hopping out the two moved. With a set mind Michael vanished, only to come out minutes later with a fresh pack and a shiny new lighter.
"Heya' M." Trevor greeted, hands preoccupied as he forced the pump into the gas valve, a steady supply of fluid leaking into the tank as he tapped his foot impatiently. "Whatcha' thinkin' for dinner, sugar?" He teased feverishly, winking to seal the deal and further Michael's embarrassment. Trevor was a tease, and given the opportunity, he'd use Michael to his advantage.
"I doubt you have anything of nutritional value in that fuckin' fridge of yours." Michael teased as he tore open the box, shoving the contents into his mouth as he whisked forward the firey tool. "Hopefully we'll find something." He added as he cupped a hand around the small flame at the end of his ciggerette.
"Gimme' a puff." Trevor ordered, eyeing Michael as he indulged. With a chortle Michael only ignored him as he sucked on the slowly igniting stick. Minutes passed as the nozzle happily finished, locking into place as Trevor returned it to the holster. Michael stood absentmindedly, leaning against the truck's bed as he pulled smoke into his lungs. "You asked for it." Trevor chuckled, an unseen grip pulling Michael forward, mouth pressing to his as he inhaled the clouding pool of fog.
Cheeks lit up as eyes deviated from focus, a kiss lasting only a few seconds leaving a lingering burn on Michael's lips. Silence flooded the small parking lot as the two silently retreaded, simultaneously crawling into the hatchback as Trevor sped from the lot. Embering paper and tobacco sat between Micheal's lips as he tossed his new lighter to the dashboard. Lips pulled and parted as smoke poured, flooding overhead as it was dragged away with the moving current the vehicle supplied.
"I'm surprised ya' didn't hit me." Trevor annouced, breaking the silence as he focused on the road ahead. A smile grew on his lips as he took in the aroma of smoldering Redwood's and the dusty air of Sandy Shores.
"Surprised." Michael retorted, focused on his cigarette as he lolled his head back, skull firm against the headrest as he watched the passing scenery.
"Ciggerette tasted like shit." Trevor commented. Lips pursed as he continued. A hand raised off of the steering wheel to lunge forward. Fingers gripped the skinny paper cylinder, pulling it from Michael's mouth and tossing it out the window. "You did too." He added with a dry laugh as he noticed Michael's slack-jawed expression, the small pang of anger as he breathed out the remaining fumes.
"Dick." Michael insulted, arms crossed with a pout as he sat back. He was ridiculous about Michael's habits but oblivious to his own, honestly. "Those are expensive." Michael added as he tucked the pack into his pocket.
"Ah, fuck you." Trevor chortled as he momentarily eyed Michael's grumpy expression. "I just bought ya' ten more years." He insisted, focusing on his lingering comment as Michael worked effortlessly to get it off his mind.
"Whatever you say." Michael huffed, relaxing back into the cushion of the seat as he propped a knee up against the closed glove box. "Take another one of my cigs' and I'll torch your whole goddamm meth operation." He retorted half-heartedly, with a smirk he jerked forward, cranking the radio before getting into a more comfortable position.
Uncomfortable silence was replaced with the rhythmic hum of a Sandy Shores radio station. Why was he worried? It was a foolproof plan, tricking Ms. Phillips to seal the deal and help Trevor with his ever existant mommy issues. Folding his arms overhead he leaned into the seat, relaxing as he took in the scenery around him, for once he could finally understand why Trevor strayed so far away from Los Santos, the bustling streets and unwanted strangers were no match for the silent fields of scorching sand.
"Don't get too comfortable, sugar tits." Trevor teased, car seeming to slow down as he turned through a collection of roads, wheels churning along the sand as they rolled into place. "We're home." He added with a cocky smile as he pulled the jingling keys free. Michael, peering out from beneath a single eyelid groaned, shifting position as he stretched to regain flexibility. Reaching for the door he swung it open, quickly interrupted as Trevor turned the corner, stopping him in his tracks. With needy hands he pulled Michael into his arms, the smaller criminal swatted but to no avail as Trevor proudly bounded up the stairs with Michael in his arms. Inside the house sat the same as always. With an over-dramatic heave of breath Trevor placed Michael on his feet, whilst wiping at a nonexistent bead of sweat.
"We did it, baby." Trevor teased with a wink. Dramatically raising his hand to display a make-believe ring with a proud smile. Hand pulled at Michael's to slide on a nonexistent wedding band before doing the same to himself. "Look at these beauties." He chortled as he raised both of their hands to the yellowing trailer light.
Silence. The room flooded as Michael's hand hovered, held by Trevor, the warmth flooding his skin. He knew who he was with, who he wanted, but for some reason, Trevor changed that. He could manage on his own, obviously, but the two together formed a duo unlike any other. He felt a certain way, and he knew exactly why. Hazel eyes turned to take in his face, and suddenly he was transported to one of the many snowy nights spent in a cruddy North Yankton motel. How close they used to be, before Amanda, before family. Engulfing the taller criminal he guided the scarred hands to his hips, his own grip massaging the skin of Trevor's neck as he stared up at him. He was beautiful, in Michael's eyes. Hazel eyes and caramel skin, tattoos ghosting over his muscled body. Without hesitation Michael pulled him closer, lips grazing together as the two shared a lengthy kiss. He rarely took the first move, it was a change, one he couldn't seem to flush from his thoughts as the kiss grew in intensity.
"M." Trevor hummed as their lips departed. A shimmering glint to Michael's eyes as he worked through how to process his churning thoughts.
"Call me Mr. Philips." He purred, shooting a wink in Trevor's direction as he slowly let the other go.