Trikey Apologist @sugartitstownley - Tumblr Blog

Jan 25, 2024

Hay I love your blog!!!

Could you do some relationship preferences for michael and trevor being together cute/hot or just cute?

ABC’s of Trikey

Thanks for the ask! I’m glad you like my blog!! I took some creative liberties with this and ran with it since I’ve been wanting to do the ABC prompt. So I hope you don’t mind. :) I did the fluff version [source], but I’d be open to doing the NSFW version too if someone would want that.

Warnings: Not a lot this time. Typical GTA-esque themes. There is a brief mention in the last letter (Z) about child abuse, but that’s about it. Mostly fluffy stuff.

A is for animals [Do they have pets? What type?]

No, they don’t have any pets. Neither of them feel too strongly about having them, but the topic has came up once or twice — Michael being the most reluctant.

“It’d be like having another kid,” Michael gripes. “We’d have to clean its shit and make sure it doesn’t tear the house up.”

“But maybe it could teach you a thing or two about loyalty, you snake,” Trevor shoots back. “Plus, it’d give Chop a friend.”

“Can you honesty promise I wouldn’t come home one day to a mutilated dog after it chewed the fuck out of your clothes or bit you?”

“Well, I can’t promise I won’t mutilate you one day, but I still keep you around.”

That didn’t convince Michael. So no, they don’t have pets. They’ll stick to chaperoned visits with Franklin, Lamar, and Chop.

B is for bathroom [What are their bathroom habits? Do they brush teeth at the same time? Fight about the toilet? Shower together? Have weird toiletries?]

Their bathroom habits are definitely a little bit opposing. Michael, unless he’s in one of his truly depressive episodes, is fairly clean. He often opts for the same routine every day: wake up, shower, shave (unless he’s growing it out, which sometimes he does), brush teeth, put on deodorant, spray on fancy cologne he spent way too much on, and leave.

Trevor, however, has less of a set schedule. He frequently chooses to forgo the traditional approach to “getting ready” unless Michael gets on him about it.

Once they start living together, though, Trevor does start to actively seek out a good shower quite often — if only so he can join his partner in a little morning rendezvous, which, of course, Michael is happy to indulge him in.

They don’t fight too much over bathroom etiquette, but, well, Trevor is still Trevor, so it’s inevitable sometimes.

“Oh, the fuck is this?” Michael mumbles, peering into the toilet below him. “Trevor!”

Mere seconds later, Trevor’s head is popping through the bathroom door. “Mm, morning to you too, sugar.”

“Tell me what I’m looking at here.”

“That,” Trevor follows his partner’s gaze to look inside the toilet bowl, “looks like a finger.”

“Yep, it does,” Michael nods along. “Why the fuck is it in our toilet?”

Trevor raises his hands in surrender. “Excuse me, I tried to get his arm down in one go, but people don’t flush like they used to. Ya know, I think it’s all the healthy shit people eat in LS. Makes their body more immune.”

“Jesus Christ.”

C is for children [Do they have kids? Adopted or biological? What are their names? Any random head canons you have?]

Michael obviously has Tracey and Jimmy, so that’s really enough for them. Michael knows he’s already a shit father, so there’s no need to bring any more children into his world. Plus, Trevor loves both of those kids like they’re his own anyway.

And, all things considered, they both have Franklin too. Their surrogate child. Sure, Franklin pretends to be slightly disturbed at that mental image, but both men are sure he’s still happy to have them around.

Sometimes, when he’s really trying to embarrass Franklin, Trevor will talk about him to strangers like he’s their child. Michael tries to get him to stop — for the youngest boy’s sake — but he secretly finds it both endearing and funny. So, against his better judgement, Michael joins in sometimes.

“Kids are a handful, huh?”

The woman looks up from the screaming baby in her arms to Trevor, who’s talking over her shoulder. She looks slightly uncomfortable at his proximity, like she wants to push away the cart full of baby items in front of her and make a run for it, but she nods instead.

“They sure are. Got any?”

Trevor mirrors her nod before pointing over at Franklin. “Our baby boy is right there.”

Trevor can see Franklin shrink behind Michael, trying to get out of sight, while Michael stands there smirking.

“He’s just precious,” Trevor continues, his voice cracking with a faux sob. “They grow up so fast. Right in front of your eyes.”

The woman glances at Michael, almost like she’s hoping he’ll save her, but he only puts a hand to his heart and smiles. “They never stop melting your heart, though.”

As soon as the cashier yells “next,” the woman is rushing to the counter, and the two older men are left laughing as Franklin finally moves into sight.

“Fuck you both,” he grumbles.

D is for dates [First date? Do they go out together regularly? Who usually plans?]

Their first date was definitely weird. Not in the “we shouldn’t be doing this” way. But in the “this feels like our first date and 50th simultaneously” way.

Back in North Yankton, neither of them really went on “first dates” — with each other or other people. A date feels more like a planned time to be romantic, but their relationship was anything but planned. In fact, everything often felt rushed and spontaneous, like neither knew when their life would suddenly end by imprisonment or death.

Now, as older men who feel way too past their prime and have way too much history among them to be going out on said “first dates,” the idea feels a little juvenile and silly.

Nonetheless, they do it. They do it if only for the sake of not being able to do it before. They go out on a first date — paired with nervous sweating, awkward conversations, and careful skirting over any past issues that could put a damper on the evening. It’s a simple dinner at an upscale restaurant in Vinewood, much to Trevor’s initial dismay.

“Out of all of San Andreas, this is where you pick, Mikey?”

“It’s a nice place, T.”

“Shocker that you think that, Mr. Plastic Pants,” Trevor says mockingly. “This place is full of fake celebrities and plastic surgeons. I feel like I’m about to slip and fall and accidentally get a boob job.”

“Can you just humor me for once? Please?”

And Trevor did because, truth be told, he’d go anywhere with Michael. Their first date was good all things considered, but they don’t make it a habit to go out often. It’s just not in their style — unless you count Trevor beating Michael at golf or them chasing down bikers a date, then sure.

When they do officially go out on dates, especially for important dates like anniversaries, it’s usually Michael who plans them. He’s much more of a classic date — dinner and a movie — kind of guy. He likely gets that from the movies he watches.

E is for embarrassment [Does one get embarrassed by PDA? Do they say things to rile each other up?]

Michael does, at times, get embarrassed by Trevor’s public displays. It’s not that he’s ashamed of Trevor; it’s just harder to kick that religious guilt he’s used to. It has caused a rift a few times when Michael would flinch at Trevor calling him “baby” around strangers or throwing his arms around him and kissing his neck — especially since Michael can see their unapproving reactions in his peripheral vision.

Trevor, usually, reacts angrily — no doubt believing that his partner is embarrassed by him and their relationship. But Michael continues to reassure him until the issue is dropped.

After a few years, and a bit more therapy, the judging glances no longer irk him like they used to. And, as a result, he’ll let Trevor’s fingers snake through his or let his touch linger, even with the prying eyes of Los Santos City.

When they’re in an argument, however, Trevor does take a few liberties now and then to rile him up.

“Fine, Burger Shot it is. But when we get home, I want a blowjob.”

“Oh, Christ,” Michael groans, looking around to see how many people heard Trevor’s loud mouth.

Trevor grins. “Hopefully, I’ll be saying that soon too.”

F is for fights [Do they bicker a lot? About trivial things? How do they make up after a large fight?]

They bicker a lot. About trivial things. About important things. About everything. But that’s them. It’s how it’s always been, and just because they’re in love, doesn’t mean it’s going to stop.

But, at least for Michael, he almost enjoys fighting with Trevor. Fighting with him only reminds him how much he’s devoted to the guy — how much he devastatingly loves the man.

With Amanda, they loved each other, but they weren’t in love with each other. So when they fought, it left him feeling bitter and lonely. But with Trevor, every fight is born out of caring about his relationship, about Trevor’s health, about their past, about their future. He just cares so violently — both of them do — that every fight starts and ends with him being in love. At least, for the most part.

G is for gifts [Do they give gifts often? Big things or small things?]

Yes, quite often. Michael is a lavish giver, even if he knows Trevor doesn’t really care one way or another about material possessions. If Michael can gift him an “Impotent Rage” comic because he used to have it as a child, even if it’s rare now and worth thousands, he’ll do it. He wants Trevor to have nice things, and he has no problem spending money in order to make that happen.

Trevor, on the opposite side, doesn’t give material gifts very often. Not really seeing the value for himself, he doesn’t much care to buy them for others either. Even so, that doesn’t mean he’s not a gift giver in his own way. Trevor will often show his giving side by actions: making sure the new movie Michael wanted to watch is rented when he comes home, cooking something for dinner (with no eyelids, he promises!), cleaning himself up, going to events he hates just because Michael loves them, and so on.

They have their own ways, and it works for them.

H is for home [Where do they live? When did they move in together?]

They have several different residencies. Several.

After the divorce was finalized, Amanda moved out to leave for the beachfront property that she desperately craved — and asked for — all throughout their time in LS.

Michael kept the house in Rockford Hills and decided to stay there. Despite some gentle coaxing, Trevor refused to give up his trailer in Sandy Shores, but Michael was secretly happy since it gave them an excuse to drive up there and sit by the Alamo Sea.

Trevor also ended up keeping the Vanilla Unicorn, at least for the time being. Neither man makes too many appearances there anymore, but Trevor’s back office does make for a good bed if he’s mad at Michael.

Officially, though, they live in Michael’s place in Rockford Hills. It’s close to where they need to go, Michael can commute fairly easily to Solomon’s studio, and Trevor is at a perfect distance to wreck havoc in whatever part of the state he chooses day to day. Michael, in the future, would be happy to consider moving somewhere else with his partner. But right now, he’s just happy Trevor agreed to stay with him.

“T, you listening?”

“Huh? Yeah, Mikey. What is it?”

Michael grabs the remote out of the other man’s hand and forces his eyes to leave the TV. “Trevor, ‘m serious.”

“Okay, okay,” Trevor relents. “I’m all ears, pork chop.”

“How would you feel about staying here?”

“Well, considering I’ve already drove halfway across the city, drank a shit ton, and planned to strip you naked later, I’d say I feel pretty good about staying tonight.”

Michael smirks a little. “As sweet as that is, I meant more than just tonight. Like, ya know, stay. Live here.”

“Live here,” Trevor repeats slowly, his attention clearly on Michael completely now. “With you. In Rockford Hills. Here.”

“Yes,” Michael nods, but it comes out more like a question — not sure if Trevor really wants to live here with him.

“Okay,” Trevor agrees.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Okay.

The sides of Michael’s mouth tick up into a small smile. “Okay.”

I is for illness [Do they care for each other when they’re sick?]

They’ll definitely care for each other no matter the illness, but their reactions certainly differ depending on the illness at hand.

If it’s the common cold, they’ll both gripe at each other about how “babyish” the other is being. That won’t stop them from picking up medicine, tissues, water, or anything else the other may need to feel better. Some playful banter is just to be expected.

If it’s a more “serious” sickness, a little bit lot more worry and anger is involved.

Trevor growls. “Fucking lay down. I told you smoking all those Redwoods would kill you one day.”

Michael follows his partner’s orders and leans back onto the bed, his mouth open, trying to breathe any air he can get without coughing. “I’m fine, asshole. ‘s just a bug.”

“It’s not just a bug,” Trevor huffs, laying down next to him. “Doctor said it’s bronchitis. That can be bad, Mikey.”

“I’ll be okay,” Michael mumbles, giving Trevor’s hand a squeeze to reassure him. “A lot of people get it.”

“A lot of people die from it, too. Especially if it’s chronic. More than 300 people.”

“That’s not a lot, T,” Michael reasons, shutting his eyes. “Mm, plus, doc said she doesn’t think it’s chronic.”

“Doesn’t think,” Trevor growls. “Fucking doctors. They don’t know shit until you’re dead.”

At that, Michael opens his eyes. “Calm down, T. It’s not that serious.”

“It is, Michael,” he says, spitting out his name. “I don’t want to lose your fat ass just because you can’t let go of your stupid habits, and the doctors in this city are too lazy to give a shit!”

Finally realizing the issue, Michael turns over in the bed to cuddle into Trevor’s side. “You won’t lose me, baby.”

“You don’t know that. I have before.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But I’m here for the long haul now. You’re stuck with me.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

And when Michael stops smoking — for the most part — and convinces Trevor to try and get clean from the drugs — again, for the most part — he’s there with him every step of the way through the withdrawal symptoms.

The nightmares, lack of sleep, paranoia, irritability — all of it. Those months are probably the most Michael has ever cried, or seen Trevor cry, but it’s worth it in the end when they’re both a lot happier.

J is for jokes [Do they tease each other a lot? Do they have inside jokes nobody else gets?]

They definitely tease each other a lot. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell whether they’re teasing or bickering unless you really know them since most of their teasing is harsher words paired with playful undertones.

“I had an idea for our next anniversary.”

Trevor smirks. “Not sure if you’ll make it to our next anniversary, you fat fuck.”

“Nice outfit, T. I can see you’re finally embracing the ‘I liked it before it was cool’ lifestyle.”

“Fuck off, Townley.”

K is for kisses [First kiss? Do they kiss a lot?]

Their first kiss was long ago, back in North Yankton. It was after one particularly good job in ‘86. They came away with more money than they’d ever gotten together, and it took them half the time it usually does to ward off police presence and make it back to their motel.

“Fuckin’ A,” Michael shouts as soon as the motel door is closed. “We did it!”

“Fuck yeah!”

Both boys laugh, their hearts still pumping with adrenaline. Suddenly, Michael is overcome by the excitement of the success of the job or the smile on Trevor’s face, and so he pushes him against the motel door and kisses him roughly.

The kiss only realistically lasts around five seconds, but it’s enough.

“What the fuck was that?” Trevor asks once they part.

“What?”

“You kissed me.”

Michael nods and shrugs a bit, trying not to blush. “Yeah, so what?”

Trevor doesn’t say anything. In fact, the room is deadly silent for several seconds before Trevor lunges forward and captures Michael’s mouth again.

Between then and the time he meets Amanda, Michael kisses Trevor a lot. If he’s being honest, he kisses Trevor a lot after he meets Amanda too.

When they officially reconcile their relationship and decide to give being together a real shot after the Union Depository job, they — of course — kiss a lot. They have to make up for lost time after all.

L is for love [Who said ‘I love you’ first? How do they show their love?]

Although Michael kissed him first, Trevor said “I love you” first. This, too, was back in North Yankton after a night full of celebratory drinking and sex after a big job.

However, after their reconciliation in 2013, Trevor, once again, was the one to take the lead. When it comes to emotions, Trevor’s always said exactly what he was thinking. Where Michael struggles with expressing himself, Trevor does nothing but express himself.

“What?”

Trevor shakes his head lightly at Michael’s questioning. “Nothing.”

“No, come on,” Michael pushes. “You’re lookin’ at me funny.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Trevor sighs, glancing around the restaurant they’re currently sat in. “Can’t we eat?”

“You don’t want to tell me? When have you ever held your tongue? About literally anything?”

“Maybe I’m holding my tongue because I’m reluctant to say anything since last time I said it, it must have not meant shit because you married a stripper.”

“T, things with Amanda were complicated, you know that,” Michael says, grabbing his partner’s hand that’s resting on their table. “But it’s different now.”

Trevor gives a slight nod of agreement. “Yeah. It is.”

“So? What do you want to tell me?”

“I- I love you.”

Michael looks momentarily shocked, but he quickly recovers and breathes out a chuckle. “Oh.”

“You better say it back, Townley. You’re too old to have second thoughts.”

Despite Trevor’s quip, Michael grins. “I was just hoping I’d get to say it first this time. I love you too.”

M is for meals [Who cooks?]

Surprisingly, Trevor usually cooks. Or, rather, they do it together. Trevor likes the company, and Michael likes the assurance that no part of the food is human.

Trevor is a pretty good cook since he took care of his mom a lot when he was young between her copious amounts of “male friends.”

Although Michael usually is reluctant to relinquish control on a lot of things, he’s happy to sit back and watch Trevor cook, only helping when needed.

And if he gets to kiss the chef while he cooks, well, that’s just a bonus.

N is for nicknames [Do they shorten their names? Pet names?]

God, they never end — at least for Trevor. Michael does use the usual nicknames for his partner: T or Trev. After they started dating, “baby” will become a frequent contender.

For Trevor, he never stops coming up with nicknames — most of them being for his own amusement. Mikey, Mike, M, sugar, sugar tits, pork chop.

Some of them are more on-the-whim ideas: Mr. Plastic City and moneybags being quite popular.

Michael has asked Trevor to cool it down, but he doesn’t have much luck on that part.

“Get in, sugar tits.”

Michael climbs into the Bodhi, shooting Trevor a glare. “Can you stop calling me that?”

“I’m getting déjà vu. Thought we’ve had this conversation before, and I said no.”

“We have,” Michael rolls his eyes. “But I thought that once we, you know, started being together — you’d stop.”

“Aw,” Trevor smiles, linking their fingers together as he pulls out of the driveway. “No such luck, sugar tits.”

O is for outsiders [What do other people think about their relationship?]

Their relationship is a paradox to most — both surprising and not surprising in the slightest.

Amanda, who’s known them the longest outside of Lester, was initially shocked. With the way Michael talked about Trevor if she ever brought him up, it usually seemed like a one-sided friendship that was destined to end.

Though, when she looks back on it after the divorce, she’s not all that surprised after all.

“I should’ve known.”

Michael pauses before giving a half shrug to his soon-to-be ex wife. “I barely knew. It’s just always been … complicated.”

Amanda snorts. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it, Michael. Still, you just … never wanted to talk about him. Even after everything — especially not after everything.”

“I know, Mand.”

“I always thought that maybe it was just because you felt guilty, but, well,” she trails off. “You loved — love — him.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “Yeah, I do.”

Lester was even easier. He knew from beginning that the boys had a long history, and even after all the years apart, he knew the barely functioning friendship between Michael and Trevor was just years of pent up sexual tension, betrayals, and love waiting to topple over.

Franklin and Lamar were equally supportive, but Lamar did ask a lot of questions that made Franklin gently kick him under the table.

“Yo, so you and crazy dude are in love?” Lamar asks. “For real? This whole time?”

Michael glances at Franklin, who’s smirking at the exchange, before he meets Lamar’s eyes again and nods. “Yeah, we are.”

Lamar chuckles. “Good luck, homie. Bet that dude is into some freaky shit in bed.”

“What he means to say is that we’re happy for you, dog,” Franklin says while nudging Lamar. “Maybe now I won’t have to hear T bitch about you every time we grab a drink.”

“Yeah, doubtful,” Michael smirks. “I’m sure he’ll find somethin’ new to complain about.”

“Yeah, like how your ass is too fat to get in the sex swing I ordered.”

All three boys whip their heads around to see Trevor stalking up and plopping into the seat next to Michael.

“That’s not- he’s kidding,” Michael fumbles.

Franklin, looking caught between amusement and horror, just nods. “Sure, whatever you say, homie.”

P is for proposal [Who proposed first? How did they do it? A lot of planning?]

Michael proposed first. He values the traditional act of marriage a little more. Not to mention, Trevor didn’t want to ruin their relationship or scare Mike off since he only just got him back. If it was up to Trevor, though, they would have just got hitched immediately.

Although Michael considers himself a bit of a romantic with his partner — a cliché, in Trevor’s words — he didn’t plan a fancy proposal paired with dinner, a moonlit walk down Vespucci Beach, and skywriting asking the big question. No, instead, he just looked at Trevor one night and asked. He asked right then and there because, for once in his life, he just let his emotions take over.

“I understand how economics work and what the working class needs! They want a six pack of beer! An eager girl in their pickup truck! And a depressing folk tune playing on the radio!”

Michael faintly hears the voice of Impotent Rage coming from the TV in front of him, but he’s barely listening as his eyes keep glancing over at Trevor, who’s sitting next to him under their blanket, munching on a bowl of popcorn and watching the superhero chant with full attention.

A soft smile tugs at his lips as he listens to Trevor belt out a laugh at whatever’s happening in the show, and suddenly, he’s speaking without even realizing.

“T.”

“Hm?”

The man’s eyes don’t move from the television, so Michael tries again. “Trevor.”

Finally, his partner’s eyes peel away from the screen and look his way. “What, Mikey? I’m missing good TV here.”

Michael watches him for several seconds, the small smile from before still present. “Marry me.”

At that, the show fades into the background completely, and Trevor’s attention is focused. “You’re gonna have to repeat that, sugar. Think I misheard you.”

“I said, ‘Marry me.’”

“Jesus,” Trevor shuts the TV off and turns to face Michael, the blanket falling off them to their feet. “You serious? You better not be fucking with me.”

“I’m not,” Michael shakes his head, taking Trevor’s hands in his. “We should do it. Get married.”

There’s a long gap of silence where Michael’s not sure if Trevor’s going to laugh at him, punch him, or have another overt reaction. But in the end, he feels his partner’s body slam into his as they topple over onto the couch. And it takes a few seconds for it to register that Trevor is hugging him.

Michael laughs. “Is this a yes?”

“Fuck yes.”

And if Trevor cried a little too that night, well, that’s their business.

Q is for quest [Have they ever been on a quest together? Has one done something completely crazy for the other?]

Honestly, their whole lives together have been nothing but a series of quests. But, outside of the normal robbery, revenge, avoid-dying quests, they’ll absolutely go on day-to-day missions for the other — especially Trevor.

Is Michael out of that one specific product he uses for his hair and no store in Los Santos seems to carry it? Trevor will find it.

Have one of the actors on set gone missing? Trevor’s already got their location.

It doesn’t matter how utterly dumb he thinks Michael is for caring about certain things, he’ll get it done. Somehow, some way.

“You’re welcome,” Trevor says, sitting down the black, sleek bottle on the kitchen counter. “Only one I could find, Mr. Suede Bucks.”

“You got the cologne? The fuck did you find this? It ain’t been at Ponsonbys forever.”

Trevor leans down and kisses Michael, smiling proudly. “I know. It wasn’t easy.”

“Yeah, I bet, it wa-” Michael stops. “Uh, Trev?”

Trevor walks over to the fridge and pulls out a beer. “Yeah?”

Michael wipes at the bottle before holding up a red-coated finger to Trevor. “Is this blood?”

Trevor pretends to inspect it before shrugging. “Not sure.”

“Oh, really? This just happened to be here?”

“Don’t ask too many questions, Mikey. Just accept the gift.”

“I didn’t want it that bad,” Michael protests. “Not at some poor bastard’s expense.”

“I got you the cologne,” Trevor says pointedly. “Just be happy, you miserable fuck.”

Rolling his eyes, Michael smiles and leans up to connect their lips again. “Well, thank you.”

R is for rainy day [What do they do when it’s raining outside?]

What better way to spend a rainy day than a movie session that your boyfriend forces you into? Right?

Michael loves to watch movies — that much is obvious. And, since Trevor loves him, he’ll indulge him on days where it’s too wet to do anything else.

Plus, a bonus of staying indoors all day is more time for … extracurricular activities.

S is for secrets [Do they keep secrets from each other?]

Trevor’s not the type to keep secrets, so anything he does, says, or thinks pretty much goes straight to Michael.

For Mike, though, he has trouble not keeping secrets. It’s not that he actively wants to lie to people, especially those he loves, but he’s done it for so long that it’s become second nature. So much so that he even expressed the worry to his new therapist.

“I don’t want to lie to anyone, ‘specially not Trevor,” Michael admits. “But it’s like I don’t know how to stop!”

“What exactly do you lie about?”

He glances around the office, shrugging. “I don’t know. The way I feel sometimes. What I want. What I don’t want. Christ, I don’t know if I’m lying or if I just don’t know the answers.”

“I think you know the answers, Michael.”

“Maybe. I just … don’t ever want to hurt Trevor again.”

Months in therapy with an actual qualified doctor — unlike Dr. Friedlander — helped Michael find new ways to cope with his knee jerk reaction to lie.

So, no, they both try not to keep anymore secrets between the two of them.

T is for travelling [Do they go on holiday together? On journeys?]

They don’t get away very often. It’s not that they don’t have the money because obviously they do. But they’re busy with their respective jobs. Michael is often working on a movie set these days, and that can take up a lot of time. And Trevor can be found running TPI, the Vanilla Unicorn, and — of course — getting up to various shenanigans.

In a last ditch effort to connect to his kids, he did invite them on a small trip, where they ended up going to the zoo alongside Trevor.

“Ew, daddy, what is that?”

Before Michael can answer Tracey’s question, he sees her reach out toward the animal. “Trace! Don’t fuckin’ touch it!”

“Hey, you better watch out, kid, or it’ll eat you,” Trevor says, putting his arm around Tracey.

“You’d save her, uncle T,” Jimmy pipes up.

Trevor smirks. “We’d just sacrifice your dad. He’d take one for the team.”

Tracey giggles, nodding. “Totes.”

Michael pulls Trevor’s arm off of Tracey before giving him a playful shove. “Yeah, fuck you. If anything, we’d sacrifice your ass. With the way you smell, it’d probably think you’re a dead animal anyway.”

“As if you’d give me up that easily,” Trevor says, brushing their hands together as they walk along the zoo path. “You love me, Michael Townley.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Besides that, they mostly stick with San Andreas. But Michael’s been thinking about planning a trip back to North Yankton. He knows Trevor misses the Midwest, and he thinks they’re grown enough now in their relationship to relive nostalgic, good memories while there instead of being thrown back into painful ones.

U is for urges [Do they pine after each other? How often to they think about each other?]

They do pine — in their own ways. For Trevor, it’s more blatant, obvious longing.

Before getting together officially, Trevor made it a point to drudge up the past or make snippy comments about how much Michael’s changed. Under all the semi-faux anger, all he wanted was for Michael to realize how much he’s missed him.

As for Michael himself, his pining came in the form of silence. He didn’t want to ever talk about Trevor, or hear about him, or think about him. He missed him too, but every thought surrounding the man was laced with guilt.

“We did it, T!” Michael cheers. “Fuckin’ A. Pulled off the Big One.”

“Sure did, Mikey,” Trevor smiles slightly as he whips the car down the LS Freeway. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I know. I figured we’d be settling into prison by now if we ever attempted it. I mean, we-”

“No,” Trevor stops him. “Never thought I’d see the day since you were dead.”

The air in the car grows thicker than it usually does with Trevor’s quips as Michael struggles with how to respond.

Eventually, Michael sighs. “Thought you said we were good.”

“We are.”

“Then why do you have to bring it up? Can’t we have one decent conversation without you always having to mention it? Jesus Christ, T.”

Trevor grinds his teeth, facing Michael with an accusatory finger as the car comes to a stop on the side of the road. “Fuck you! I’m going to bring it up until you’re so sick and tired of hearing about it that you rip your own ears off!”

“Oh, well, if I’d known that was all it’d take to shut your ass up, I would’ve ripped ‘em off months ago!”

“Good! I wish you fucking would!”

Both of them lean back into the silence as Trevor slams on the gas and buzzes past the cars around them.

After pulling into his driveway, Michael gets out and slams the door behind him, leaving Trevor in the car without another word. He slowly starts the trek up to his door, suddenly realizing that — once the door shuts — he’s going to be alone once again.

Chancing a look back, he checks to see if Trevor’s still sitting in the car, and he is — unmoving.

Michael turns around and makes his way to the window, not even having to knock before Trevor’s rolling it down.

Michael gestures vaguely. “Want to come in?”

Trevor gives a curt nod and moves to get out of the car. “You better have beer.”

After popping open a few drinks and settling onto the couch, Trevor’s voice fills the otherwise quiet room. “Look, ‘m sorry. Okay? I know we’re trying to move on. But fuck, Michael. It’s hard. You … you left me, and you didn’t even think twice.”

“Didn’t think twice? You kidding me? I thought twice. I thought three times, four times, a hundred times. But I had a family, and I didn’t know what else to do. I messed up. I know that. And I’ve had to live with that every day. Every day, I thought about you — hoped that you weren’t dead, or when I was really fuckin’ depressed, hoped that you were so I didn’t have to feel so damn guilty. So don’t tell me that I didn’t think twice, asshole.”

Seconds later, the air is knocked out of Michael as Trevor pushes his lips roughly against his. He lets out a small hiss when he feels Trevor bite down on his bottom lip before his tongue brushes against his.

“I’ve missed you,” Michael breathes out against Trevor’s lips.

“I’ve missed you too, sugar.”

V is for virtues [What’s their favourite thing about each other?]

Trevor loves that Michael is, well, Michael. Despite the long list of qualities he could ramble off that he doesn’t like about him: constant sarcasm, hypocritical, arrogant …

He’s also fond of those qualities because that’s who Michael is. He’s an asshole, and Trevor likes him that way. Secretly.

Michael, on the other hand, has a distinct quality of Trevor that he’s most fond of — loyalty. Michael himself has never been loyal. He’s cheated, lied, hurt, coerced, and backstabbed almost everyone he’s ever known. Although Trevor’s physically hurt his fair share of people, his loyalty to his friends is unshakable.

Michael almost hates that about him too. He’ll often wish Trevor gave less of a shit about him because, maybe then, their past wouldn’t cut as deep.

Still, Michael will hold tightly on to every last bit of loyalty Trevor’s willing to give him now.

W is for wedding [Who plans it? Big or small? Does it go smooth?]

It’s a pretty small event considering Michael’s already done the whole marriage thing before. Neither of them really care about a monumental party paired with dancing, catering, and people galore. They really only want to get hitched for the sake of being together forever and, as Trevor jokes, so it’s practically legally required for them to love one another.

Does it go smooth? Ha! If you asked anyone — anyone — that they know if anything ever has gone smooth when it comes to Michael and Trevor, they’d laugh.

It wasn’t a total disaster or anything, but there were certainly hiccups along the way.

“The fuck do you mean he’s missing?” Michael pulls the phone away from his ear as the lady on the other end tries to explain the whereabouts of his suit tailor. “Trevor!”

“But I assure you that we’re trying to find him, Mr. De Santa.”

Michael barely catches the end of what she’s saying as he pushes the phone back against his ear. “Look, lady. I don’t give a shit where your boss is. Do you have my suit?”

“We don’t have it here with us,” she explains. “He likely took it home, but I assure you-”

Michael hangs up the phone as Trevor finally comes strutting into the kitchen.

“What’s up, pork chop? Trouble at the studio?”

“No, trouble with the suit guy. Apparently, he’s gone missing.”

“Huh.”

Michael narrows his eyes. “That was a short answer. And ya don’t seem that shocked.”

“It’s Los Santos,” Trevor shrugs. “People go missing all the time. He probably found the one hot broad in this city that likes 50-year-old men with braces and hit the road with her.”

“How did you know he had braces? I’ve never hold you that.”

“What the fuck is this, Mikey? An interrogation?”

Michael steps around the kitchen table until he’s face to face with his partner, giving him a sharp, piercing look. “Trevor.”

“Fine! I met the guy for a bit,” Trevor relents. “Went to talk to him about fixing up my outfit as well, but we didn’t see eye to eye.”

“Oh, God. What does that mean?”

Trevor’s eyes shine in light amusement. “I think we’re going to have to look for someone else.”

X is for xenia [What’s it like to be their guest?]

Well, they don’t really have a lot of people over. The only people who ever visit them are Franklin and Lamar, sometimes Tracey and Jimmy, and on the rarest occasions, Lester. But that’s usually only if he needs something.

When they’re in Sandy Shores, they’ll have Ron over, and occasionally, they’ll bring Wade when Trevor wants to get him out of the strip club.

Being their guest is like going to a haunted house. It can be fun, but you have a chance of getting traumatized in some way.

“Hey, do y’all two have any-” Franklin stops, throwing his hands over his eyes as he jumps back into the hallway. “What the fuck?”

Trevor’s laughter fills in the room as Michael blushes, fumbling for the zipper on his pants before pulling Trevor up from his knees.

“Fuck,” Michael starts. “Sorry. We ain’t doing anything. I promise.”

“Yeah, whatever you say, dog,” Franklin shudders, finally peaking through his fingers. “Look, I just came to ask if y’all had any beer. But I can see you’re busy.”

“We weren’t …” Michael trails off, knowing there’s no point in denying it. “I’ll show you where it is.”

The three boys walk downstairs, Trevor still snickering to himself as Michael nudges him every so often to try and get him to quit.

“Maybe next time, wait for your guests to leave before you start messing around up there,” Franklin chuckles.

The boys’ heads glance over when Lamar pipes up beside them, apparently catching the end of the conversation. “Yo, you and crazy dude was fuckin’ up there?”

“Kill me,” Michael mumbles while Trevor cackles beside him.

Yeah, they don’t have guests over very often anymore.

Y is for yearly [Any traditions? Anniversaries?]

They’ve picked up some new traditions and brought back some old. Back in North Yankton, before Michael ever met Amanda, there were several years that he and Trevor would bake holiday cookies for Christmas. Were they good at it? No. But that never stopped them. Neither of them grew up in particularly warm households, so it was up to them to create some kind of holiday cheer.

Plus, when Tracey was born, she loved to help out. Oftentimes, you could find her in Trevor’s arms as they used cookie cutters to make the dough into little trees and reindeer.

Deciding to carry that tradition into their relationship and marriage, every Christmas they bake cookies, and every year, they taste a little like shit. But they both love it.

“Merry Christmas, daddy,” Tracey says, hugging Michael and Trevor. “Merry Christmas, uncle T.”

“Merry Christmas, kid,” Trevor pats her back before going to grab a few of the supplies needed for the recipe they’re making.

Michael hands her a bowl for the dough. “Merry Christmas, Trace. Glad you could come over. How’s college going?”

“Good! Classes, like, totally rock!”

He smiles, nodding approvingly. “Good.”

“What about your brother? He too good to hang out with us tonight?” Trevor jokes, setting the butter, milk, and eggs down on to the table.

Tracey giggles. “I think he’s working.”

“I’m still not used to hearing that,” Michael laughs. “What about your mom?”

“She’s good too. She’s, and I quote, ‘finally relaxed now that you’re someone else’s problem.’”

Trevor snorts. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“You wouldn’t want it any other way,” Michael shoves him lightly.

“Maybe not.”

Michael, Trevor, and Tracey work in unison for the next 20 minutes until they finally have some semi-decent cookies that are ready to be baked. Sticking them in the oven and setting a timer, they all get cleaned up and move to the living room.

Michael flops down onto the couch, and Trevor falls next to him, putting his arm around his shoulders. Tracey makes her way to the other side of the couch so she can stretch her legs as they all wait for the cookies to be done.

“We should make this a tradition again! Now that you and daddy are together, we could do this, like, every year. Remember when we used to do this when I was young, uncle T?”

“Sure do, kiddo,” Trevor grins. “With Jimmy too.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, I guess he could even come next year. What do you think?”

Michael sees that Tracey and Trevor are looking at him for an answer, so he nods. “Yeah, we could probably make that happen.”

The three of them talk about the future, Tracey mostly supplying the conversation with her babbling while Michael and Trevor happily sit back, leaning into each other as they listen.

When it comes to anniversaries, they also celebrate those every year. They’re not as uptight as some couples about them, but they tend to mean a lot to Trevor, and it’s a concrete way for Michael to show that he’s putting work into their relationship and cares about it enough to do so. So, they celebrate them every year.

Z is for Zzz [Sleep habits? Who’s the big spoon? What do they wear in bed? Are they coddlers?]

Michael’s never really gotten a perfect night’s rest — not since he was a baby presumably. He’s had okay nights and even, what he’d consider, good nights. But never perfect. Never the full eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Nightmares often plague his nighttime life. When he was a teen, it used to be flashes of his father hitting him — beating him black and blue until he was coughing blood days after. As a young adult, he dreamt of robberies gone wrong, getting shot, going to prison, and so on. As an older man, his dreams are a toss-up between his past worries and his future ones. Hurting Trevor, dying, or, most often, both.

Trevor, in the past, didn’t sleep a lot either. Some nightmares, sure, but mostly from the drugs coursing through his veins at any given time. Since Michael and him got together and he started working on being clean, he’s gotten a bit more sleep than the usual.

The same can be said for Michael, though. Sleeping next to Trevor has helped tremendously, especially for his Trevor-themed nightmares. Knowing he’ll wake up next to the man is comforting.

Because of their shaky sleep schedule, they both take turns being the big spoon/little spoon depending on who needs what.

Trevor gently nudges Michael, who’s restlessly tossing around. “Mikey … Mikey.”

Michael’s eyes fly open, and Trevor grabs his arms to stop them from reaching for the gun by the bed.

The dark room stays silent for a minute as Michael’s breathing levels out before he sighs. “Sorry. Did I wake you up?”

Trevor gives a noncommittal hum. “You haven’t had a dream like that in awhile.”

“Yeah, we’ve been sleepin’ good recently, huh?”

Trevor puts his arms around Michael, feeling his bare chest rise and fall steadily. “Yeah, sure have. What were you dreamin’ about?”

“Just … North Yankton,” Michael admits, pulling Trevor close. “Being back there — what could have happened, I guess.”

“There’s no use thinking about the past since we can’t change it. Ain’t that what your new shrink said?”

“She said I should let it go,” he corrects. “But I can’t.”

Trevor frowns, tracing circles on Michael’s chest. “Why not? Still sad you missed your opportunity to put me down?

“Knock it off,” Michael grabs his hand, scratching where Trevor was lightly brushing before. “And that ain’t funny, T.”

Trevor rolls his eyes but decides not to push it. “Look, sugar, we all have things we regret. But we’re here now, and that’s what matters, right? We’ve got your spoiled kids, Franklin, Lamar, hell, even Lester. We’re good.”

“I know,” Michael says quietly, agreeing. “I really am sorry, though. For a lot shit.”

“Yeah, me too. For a lot of shit.”

Michael leans down and kisses Trevor’s head before pulling the blankets up over them again and going back to sleep.

When they can’t sleep, it’s usually filled with just that — banter, soft comforts, and an insult or two so the other can feel right at home. It’s not always picture perfect, but they wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

#michael de santa #michael townley #trikey #trevor philips #ask response

sugartitstownley

Jan 8, 2024

The fevers, the heartaches (Trikey)

Prompt: A tiny glimpse of Michael’s first night after Ludendorff. Honestly, this is just angst. :,)

Warnings: small depictions of blood, vomit, and other gta-esque things.

I listened to this classic for the story.

The soft rumbling of cars driving by is barley noticeable over the radio being tuned in the corner. Dave Norton sits on the brown leather motel chair — a motel right off the main road in Ludendorff that he brought Michael to so both men could lay low until it was safe to relocate him and his family to Los Santos.

“Now, why won’t this stupid radio work? All I’m getting is static.”

Michael faintly hears Dave’s voice call out from his spot on the bed, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he keeps his eyes straight ahead, watching as a fly makes its way off the small boxed TV to the once-white walls that are now stained yellow and brown from ware.

“Townley, you listening?”

Michael forces himself to look at Dave, who’s now frowning in his direction. “What?”

“I don’t like that look,” Dave says. “There’s no backing out now. It’s too late. Philips is long gone. And we will be too in a few days.”

Michael gives a noncommittal hum. “And do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

“Michael — I think this is the only right thing you’ve done.”

At that, Michael just turns back to the wall, his eyes following the fly as it walks, buzzing and flying every so often. Life was so fucking easy for some creatures, he thinks.

After a few minutes have gone by, he lets his quiet voice wash over the room. “What’s going to happen to Trevor?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“Yeah, Christ,” Michael huffs. “I mean — I guess. Shit, I don’t know. Are you going to go after him?”

“I don’t think so,” Dave shrugs, his voice quiet too. “There’s not really a point. He thinks you’re dead.”

“Yeah,” he shakily breathes out. “I think I’m gonna go shower.”

Dave barley spares him a glance, continuing to poke and prod at the radio while Michael slides off the bed, grabbing his duffle bag and making his way to the bathroom.

Once the door is closed and locked, and he’s a safe distance away from the agent, he leans back against the door. The almost numb feeling he was experiencing mere moments ago vanishes in the silence of the four walls, and the events of the past 24 hours slam into him.

Michael’s face suddenly burns with a mix of anger and overwhelming regret. Trevor’s face — his words — ring through the air like the man is standing right next to him, screaming in his ear.

“T, you gotta get out of here!”

“Ain’t gonna leave you, Mikey!”

He knows Trevor is loyal, almost to a fault. And the only reason he ended up running was because Michael pleaded at him to go, yelling that he was dying and Trevor, if he stayed, would only be next.

He has been trying with everything in him to convince himself for months that his friend was a liability — someone that would end up killing him, Amanda, and their kids. Trevor’s reckless and irresponsible behavior only worsened as Brad pushed his way into the group, and it was becoming too much to deal with.

Even now, Michael knows that Trevor would never hurt Tracey or Jimmy on purpose. And if he was being really honest — truly, truly honest — he might even admit that his disdain for Brad’s integration into their little two-man posse was mostly driven by jealously at Trevor’s infatuation with him, even if it was friendly.

It was no secret that he and Trevor were more than friends themselves. It wasn’t uncommon for Michael to find himself kissing him after a successful score or leaning up against him during a movie just to be close. Which is why, as utterly fucked up as it is, Michael told Trevor to run.

But now, as his vision swims with unshed tears, he isn’t sure if his last minute decision will bring Trevor more torment than even death would have.

Michael tries to grab the towel off the broken rack, determined to forget the mess he’s created for himself. But as Trevor’s last words to him swirl in his mind, his hand grips at the rack too forcefully, leaving a bleeding gouge from the protruding metal as he pulls his arm back .

“Fucking shit!” Michael curses, watching the blood drip to the floor beneath him.

Michael grips the towel rack that’s already pealing off the wall from use and poor upkeep and yanks on it until the paint is falling to pieces at his feet and the bar is tearing off the wall.

“Fuck you,” he spits, throwing the bar into the corner of the small bathroom, the harsh sound of metal hitting tile echoing through the otherwise quiet room. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Feeling himself losing control, something he so desperately craves, he can no longer keep the tears that threatened to fall earlier at bay.

As his muffled cries fill the room, he slumps until his back is against the wall and shoulders are hunched as if the weight of his guilt is physically pushing him down.

The silence in the bathroom suddenly feels suffocating, and Michael can’t help but clench his fists as his heart pounds so loudly that he’s surprised he can’t hear it.

Grappling with the onslaught of his sudden panic, he tries to wipe his tears, only to smear blood down his face from the open wound on his hand.

“Damn it,” he hisses.

Usually unbothered by the sight of blood, he’s not sure why the metallic smell filtering through his nose is all of a sudden becoming unbearable. Queasiness twists in his stomach, leaving him trembling and lightheaded as he pushes himself off the floor, barely making it to the toilet before he was emptying what little dinner he had.

He takes a few shallow breaths at the end, trying to get his body back in his control.

“God, I don’t know if you’re there,” Michael’s raspy voice forces out, raising his head — eyelids half open. “But please.”

Michael doesn’t know what he’s begging for. The vomiting to stop. The tears to stop. Trevor’s crushing last words to him to vanish from his mind. Or, maybe, just for God to kill him right then and there.

A man is better off dead if he’s just going to cry and whine to God every time he sins, his mom used to say. How fucking ironic.

He flushes and then lays back against the tile floor. “I’m so sorry.”

He’s not sure if he’s talking to himself, to God, or to Trevor. He briefly allows himself to wonder what the other man is doing right now. Probably, if Michael has to guess, he’s somewhere a few towns over, creating upheaval in a dingy motel — quite like Michael is now. He and Trevor can be alike in that way at times.

He grabs at the toilet paper and dabs at his blood-dried hand before pulling out his phone and looking through the last couple texts between him and Trevor.

Dont forget the beer M. Need it to celebrate after the score.

Got it already. Be back soon.

Michael hits ‘reply’ and runs his fingers over the keys, typing slowly.

Please take care of yourself. Delete.

I’m sorry. I’ll always love you. Delete.

I wish I could forget you. Delete.

Michael drops the phone on to the tile beside him, knowing he can’t send any messages, and moves to stand up. His legs feel like jelly as he starts to pull his shirt over his head and unbuckle his pants for the shower he was supposed to take fifteen minutes ago.

Reaching for the metal handle, he turns on the hot water and steps inside, reveling in the steam that nearly burns his skin.

He knows San Andreas is waiting for him, and it’s too late to back out now. It’s too late.

When Michael finally does emerge from the bathroom — clean from blood, tears, and vomit — he finds Dave still toying with the radio, pretending not to watch as Michael lays down in the motel bed.

But just as his eyes start to feel heavy and the events of the day briefly begin to fade from memory, Dave’s voice sounds softly from the other side of the room.

“Los Santos will make it easier. Forgetting will get easier.”

And, God, Michael hopes that’s true.

#I’m sorry I’m hurting about them #it’s just sad hours around here #michael de santa #michael townley #trikey #trevor philips

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