Trevor shifted in his seat, glancing down at his phone to check the time.
8:27
He grimaced, looking around the dimly lit bar for any sign of his so called “date”. Not that Michael really knew it was a date. Trevor had called him last night, asking to meet for drinks at a place much fancier than the two would usually spend their time together.
“Drinks? You’re kidding.” Michael sighed.
“Not in the slightest, sweetheart,” Trevor said, a little too chipper, “c’mon, it’s not like you’ve got anything better to do.” he added more aggressively.
“Actually I do,” Michael griped back, “and I’m tired of gettin’ dragged to whatever dinky little shack you’ll call a bar for the night!”
“Like what?” Trevor laughed, “Chain smoke by the pool? Listen to your wife get porked by the pool boy because she doesn’t even like you enough to let you watch? Besides, it’s a nice place, ya ungrateful fuck.”
“A nice place?” This seemed to pique Michaels interest enough for him to forget the prior insult, “I’d like to see your idea of a nice place.”
Trevor growled, “Oh you will!” he shouted quickly “I’ll send you the address, be there at eight.” with that, he hung up before Michael could protest, or before he could piss him off even more.
Trevors leg started to bounce and he twitched as he waited, thinking about their last phone call. Sure Michael hadn’t said yes, but he didn’t say no either, and he did say he wanted to see his idea of a nice place, did he show up and decide it wasn’t nice enough? it wasn’t the fucking Ritz, but it was a nice club on Vinewood, a change from the small, smoke and violence filled bars the two were used to. As hard as he tried to stay calm, it was useless. The minutes passing by felt like hours, and Trevor was not a patient man.
A server timidly approached the table, hoping to not make eye contact with him. Luckily for her, he was spaced out, his feet propped on the table, fidgeting with the hem of the red dress that barely made it to his mid thigh.
“Sir? Could I.. uh could I get you anything to drink?”she managed, her eyes trained on the blood stained work boots resting atop the table, clearly terrified.
Trevor’s head snapped up at the sound of another voice, and he glared up at her for a second, “Sure. Sure, yeah yeah yeah, whatever” he spat quickly, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture “ugh, just fucking whiskey, neat. And keep ‘em comin”
As the server scurried off without another word, Trevor stood up, took another strained look around the bar, and then made his way to the bathroom. When he got in, the two men, and the couple making out in there quickly cleared out, and as soon as they did, Trevor pulled his phone from the small purse he’d resigned himself to carrying tonight, given his lack of pockets, and tried to call Michael.
After several rings, Michaels voice came through “You’ve reached Michael De Santa, leave a message.” it said, confidently
Trevor’s grip on his phone tightened, “Heeeey, you fat fucking snaaaake, it’s me!” he began, dragging out his words in a sickeningly sweet tone, one that was specifically designed to incite fear and make his offenders skin crawl. The sweetness in his voice didn’t last, and he said the rest through gritted teeth, “The best friend you’ve left waiting at the bar, either call me back or get here, prick.” he hung up, and tried to call again. After several more tries, and strongly worded voicemails, he gave up, looking at himself in the mirror and sighing loudly. The plan was meant to be simple, ask Mikey out for drinks, take him somewhere nice, show up all dolled up, maybe a handy or two under the table, and ignite something deeper than the rocky friendship they’d been navigating since reuniting. Something like what they had back in North Yankton.
A neat glass of whiskey was waiting in the center of Trevor’s table when he got back. Not even bothering to look around again, he sat down and took a drink, savoring the slight burning in his throat. Soon, his drink was empty, and just as requested, he was brought another.
A few drinks turned into several, and after a while Trevor was looking far more disheveled than usual, slumped down in his chair, with hot silent tears streaming down his face, which was slightly smeared with the lipstick he’d stolen from the drugstore on his way into town. The thin straps of his dress fell off his shoulders a bit ago, and his dress had rode down, allowing more of his hairy chest to peek out. Normally he’d have been kicked out well before this point, but he’d actually been relatively well behaved even without Michaels presence, the most he’d done in the past few hours was hit on a few other patrons who quickly passed him by, and mumble strings of profanities directed at his traitorous friend.
A loud crash suddenly rang through the still busy club. Trevor’s empty glass was now shattered on the floor, and he was making his was towards the exit with a few worried staff on his tail shouting something about bills and damages. A firm hand landed on his shoulder when he passed the door.
“Hey, fruitca-”
Before the bouncer could even finish his insult, Trevor spun on his heel and connected their foreheads with a loud crack, sending the other man crumpling to the ground.
When Trevor finally found his truck, he at least managed to fumble his keys out of his bag and get them into the ignition before everything around him faded to black.
When semi-proper consciousness and sight finally returned to him, all Trevor could see was the shattered remains of his Bodhi’s windshield, and the large, dented, metal gate just ahead of him. Letting his eyes drift shut and his head fall to the steering wheel, he didn’t bother looking up when he heard quick footsteps paired with his best friends broken voice, nor when three more equally worried and irritating voices broke through his haze. He felt too heavy to move, and suddenly wasn’t sure what he’d say even if he could, so instead he let the heavy fog in his mind take his body over yet again.
Summary: Trevor drags Mikey out for a night of fun on Halloween, it goes about as well as you’d expect.
Words: 3,822
ao3 link!
Trevor crouched within the tall brush, staying hidden and waiting for his moment to strike.
The Vinewood Hills area was always bustling with life, but tonight it was especially busy, crawling with children of all ages dressed for the occasion, most of which accompanied by a parent or older sibling. Trevor grimaced at all of the happy families walking down the sidewalk. His childhood Halloweens never consisted of family time or even lone trick-or-treating, instead, he always opted for wreaking havoc on the townspeople and stealing candy from the weak. This year, although it had been some time since he even bothered to “celebrate”, wasn’t any different, and Trevor had a plan.
Any parent willing enough to take their kids out tonight would always put up a fight or give chase, and an unaccompanied group of young kids was too easy of a target, it was literally taking candy from a baby. Tonight, Trevor had his sights set on ruining the holiday of some poor teenager trying to grasp onto the remaining shred of their youth.
Just as Trevor started to grow impatient, wondering if his plan might’ve fallen through, his eyes caught a familiar black Obey Tailgater rolling slowly down the road, as if it were looking for something. As the Tailgater grew closer, and Trevor saw that to his (and only his) luck, the driver's side window was rolled down, he decided that now was his chance.
Launching himself from the brush, Trevor threw his hands up and let out a loud, guttural scream. In front of him stood a terrified child dressed in a poorly made sheet-ghost costume, and another in an expensive looking superhero costume, neither of which could’ve been older than fourteen. The one closest to Trevor jumped back and yelped, trying to keep a hold on his candy-filled pillowcase as the scary old man grabbed it from his hands.
As soon as Trevor had ahold on the big bag of candy, he shoved his hand in, and threw a few large pieces in his mouth, wrapper and all, before throwing another small handful in the child’s face, adding insult to injury. Before anybody else around them had time to fully react to his misdeeds, Trevor took a few running steps in the direction of Michaels car, which he had stopped to see what exactly his friend thought he was doing, and took a dive through the drivers window, only his front half successfully making it in. When Michael didn’t immediately put the car into motion, the other spoke up.
“STEP ON IT, FATASS!” Trevor screamed, from michaels lap, not even bothering to get his legs into the car first.
Before he could really think about it, Michael did as he was told. The tires screeched for a moment before the two took off, much faster than they probably should’ve on a dark, busy road.
For a few blocks, Michael was too stunned to speak, focusing only on leaving the neighborhood as fast as possible without any casualties as Trevor shimmied into the passenger seat, and piecing together the utter fuckery he was just roped into.
“Did you,” Michael hesitated, not sure whether he should laugh or scream, “Did you just text me to be your get away driver so that you could rob some fucking kids?”
A deranged wheeze escaped Trevor’s lips, “Get away driver?? I coulda outran those little goblins, I didn’t need a fucking driver, I called you so you could come have a little fun..” Trevor trailed off, muttering something about Michael being an ungrateful bastard.
“Fun?” Michael gawked at Trevor. “Fuckin’ a, T, l’m a father, snatchin’ some kids candy is not my idea of fun.” he finished sternly, looking back at the road and shaking his head.
Trevor stared at him for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Before Mike could notice, Trevors hand was back in the bag, and he launched a large handful of candy at the side of the others head. This surprised Michael enough that he jerked the car to the side, just barely hitting the curb as he did.
As he went to scold his friend about road safety, Michael was cut off by another high-pitched, maniacal laugh.
When the laughter didn’t die down quick enough, an admittedly terrible idea formed itself in Michaels head, and before he could think any better of it he was jerking the steering wheel again, this time on purpose. The car briefly swerved to one side, catching Trevor off guard, his head smacking against the window with a small thunk.
It was Michaels turn to laugh now, but as he did, he noticed Trevor had gone quiet. Too quiet, and when he finally snuck a glance at his now silently seething friend, he could see those glassy eyes glaring through him.
“That… hurt, Michael.” Trevor said slowly through gritted teeth.
“Oh bullshit that fuckin’ hurt-“
“Not my head, Mikey, no no nonono, that hurt,” Trevor hesitated for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists in a poor attempt to soothe himself, “my fuckin’ feelings.
“y’know, to think I invited my supposed best friend out to have a good- no no, a fucking great time, and all he does is belittle and fuckin’ abuse me,”
Trevor continued his rant while Michael tried to squeeze in half-hearted, and mostly insincere apologies with little to no luck.
When Trevor finally wore himself out yelling, the silence didn’t last very long.
“Seriously, Trev, I’m sorry, I was just messin’ with ya,” Michael said gently, trying to smooth things over with the favored nickname from their golden days, but when Trevor still didn’t respond, Mikey decided on another route, “Hey, why don’t we go do somethin’? Like uh,” he trailed off for a second before a great idea popped into his head, “like a haunted house! I haven’t been to one of those since the kids were little!” he finished with an excited chuckle.
“Ya mean since they started hating you?” Trevor muttered an irritated response, not even bothering to entertain Michaels childish idea.
Michael opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t. In truth, that comment had stung more than he’d like to let on, as he had a haunted house in mind; one he’d seen advertised on LifeInvader and had practically begged both of the kids to go with him. Obviously they had better things to do than entertain their washed up criminal of a father, as Jimmy had said, and refused. He shook his head, dismissing the memory and sighed, deciding it best to keep the peace.
“C’mon, it’s Halloween, we oughtta do something fun, or were you just planning on traumatizing some kids and calling it a night?” He finally said, leaning back smirking, keeping one hand on the wheel, the other reaching down to playfully smack Trevor’s thigh.
Glaring down at the large hand that was lingering on his leg, Trevor scoffed, “It builds character, can’t handle a little robbery? Ya won’t make it fucking anywhere in life.” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in an erratic motion.
“Yeah, yeah,” Michael laughed again “you’ve got plenty of character, huh?
“Oh-ho, you know it sugar tits,”
Michael grimaced a little at the choice of nickname, but remained silent until pulling up in front of a run down, tin looking warehouse wrapped up in one of the many industrial sections of Los Santos
“What the shit is this?” Trevor gruffed,
“A haunted house!” Mikey said excitedly, “What, scared?” he challenged.
Trevor didn’t move his head, but his crazed gaze slowly trained on Michael, lingering uncomfortably before he jumped towards him in his seat, his hands landing on either side. “Scared?” he leaned in, lowering his voice, “Oh I’ll show you fucking scared, Michael.”
Michaels breath hitched and something in his stomach stirred. Unsure if it was nerves or arousal, he refused to give it much thought.
“Then show me,” he smirked, reaching for the car door handle. It was a dangerous game he was playing, sure, but Michael had never been too afraid of a little danger, and as of lately, it was something he’d even craved.
Stepping out of the car, he didn’t really bother waiting for Trevor, only listening for the sound of the door slamming, which came about as late as Michael expected.
Jogging to catch up, Trevor grimaced at the thoroughly decorated warehouse when a slightly too realistic skeleton jester animatronic peeking over the roof ledge caught his eye. Looking anywhere else, he pressed on as he clenched his fists. His gaze landed on the back of Michaels head and stayed there as they walked up the porch steps and paid their way in, with only a few crabby comments from Trevor about how ashamed Michael should feel paying that much just to walk through a “cardboard maze”.
Immediately upon entering, any light left from the street lamps outside was gone, replaced by extremely dim, occasionally flashing fluorescent lights overhead. The two made little conversation as they slowly made their way through, Trevor always a little ahead of Michael, hoping to get out as soon as possible. The jester out front had put Trevor’s irrational fear at the forefront of his mind, and while he’d never admit it, the idea of even one clown within his general vicinity made him wish he’d put up more of a fight when Michael made the suggestion. It also made him keep a hand on the pistol tucked into the side of his jeans; for a haunted house in such a big city, it sure did have some shitty security measures.
When the first haunt actor made an appearance, Trevor shut the idea down quickly, lunging at the masked man wielding a plastic chainsaw, and snapping his teeth at him like a rabid dog.
“yo, the fuck-“ The young man yelled, breaking character as he jumped back, using his prop to shield himself.
Michael didn’t take long to at least try to restrain Trevor, grabbing him by a firm bicep, he pulled him away from the nearly cowering worker, insisting that it was their jobs to jump out at them. Of course Trevor knew that, but he was already on edge, and he’d be damned if he was going to let something, especially some kid in a cheap costume, catch him off guard.
Pulling Trevor with him, Michael continued through the makeshift hallways. Most of the actors close ahead had heard or seen the previous altercation, and knew better than to make an appearance beyond standing there creepily, in fact some had even remained in their hiding places all together. This made for a peaceful couple of minutes, mostly Michael though, as the other was busy sending threatening glares towards the already terrified workers and patrons.
When they reached a point where the actors were once again blissfully unaware of the true horror trudging through their halls, and one particularly brave werewolf girl bared her faux fangs at the two, Mike, who had stayed much closer to Trevor than before, grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him closer before he could make another scene, or worse. Unfortunately, the moment Trevor stumbled back towards his friend, a second hidden actor seized his opportunity to scare the life out of what he assumed were two completely normal men. It was a sturdy framed man in a brightly colored, fake blood stained clown suit, sporting streaky face paint barley visible in the intentionally poor, flashy lighting.
Now in Trevor’s mind, what happened next was nobody’s fault, it was simply the worst possible person at the worst possible moment; just bad circumstances. The kid was just making ends meet, and happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Trevor, well it obviously wasn’t his fault he had decades upon decades worth of mental and emotional issues he’d never work through. No no, if anyone was to blame, it was the sick fucks who run this joint, exposing their desperate workers to unsafe conditions, and clearly even unsafer people.
None of that mattered in the end though, not when Trevor was sending his skull into the much larger man’s, or when he reached for his gun when he didn’t go down fast enough for Trevor’s liking. Nothing mattered but the white hot fear coursing through Trevor’s veins and the red clouding his vision. He might as well have been a stranger in his own body the way it moved on its own, without even an initial thought, let alone a second one. Screams rang out in every direction, mixing with the piercing sound of the repeated gunshots that sat heavy in the air, still echoing off of the metal ceiling above.
Even throughout Michaels panic he was able to recognize the sound of heavy footsteps and gruff voices approaching. Of course security cares now. He thought for just a moment; there was bound to be cameras and plenty of witnesses, if either fled, they’d be wanted criminals, not a problem nor a rarity for Trevor, but Michael had been so well behaved lately. Of course he could just leave him here and hope security got to him before he got to Michael, he’d always had a knack for self preservation. Then a twinge of guilt set in, growing every painful millisecond that he didn’t move. Memories of every job gone south flooded his head as he forced his legs forwards, grabbing Trevor’s arm again.
“T- fuck, we gotta move,” he said just loud enough for Trevor to hear over the girl wailing above her fallen coworker.
Snapping out of his fear driven haze, Trevor took a few stumbling steps forward before properly gathering himself and taking off, only looking back to check that Mike was close behind him. When he noticed the three larger men gaining on him, he stopped in his tracks, reached back and grabbed Michaels wrist, hoping to speed him up, or at the very least ensure he’d be there if one of these infinitely more fit men were to get too close. The pair had no such luck though, Trevor had a bad habit of miscalculating his strength, and this was no exception. Michael took a tumble, immediately scrambling back up to his feet, making sure to curse at the other on his way up. Unfortunately his curses were drowned out by three more bullets being fired down the hallway, and two heavy thuds against the floor.
“M, buddy, we have got to get you some cardio in-“
Without responding, or even looking back at the carnage, Michael booked it down the dark path, hardly even waiting for Trevor anymore. They finally neared the exit, spotting a busy doorway at the end of the hall when Trevor fired the remainder of his ammo vaguely into the crowd. To neithers surprise, his method worked, and the group, which Michael wasn’t sure was actually after them, quickly dispersed in all directions, allowing the two to leave, making their way around the few limp bodies that hadn’t made it out of the crowd.
The street was nearly deserted by the time they reached the front of the building again, but the shouts that still echoed from inside the building and the wailing of sirens in the distance promised trouble if they stuck around any longer.
As they drove off, Michael struggled getting his heart rate back into the recommended range, meanwhile Trevor looked right as rain; slouched in his seat with his freshly bloodied boots against the dash, dumping an entire fun sized bag of P’s&Q’s into his mouth. Michael couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, not a good laugh, but one that came out angry, disgusted even.
“How many fuckin’ people did you just kill back there? Innocent people, and you’re sittin there with your feet up eating candy.” Michael waved an angry hand in Trevor’s direction as he chastised him, a habit he carried from years of yelling at two inconsiderate teenagers.
Trevor held his hands up defensively, as if he didn’t know what he’d done wrong, “Five, six maybe?” he thought for a moment before shaking his head dismissively, “Oh, don’t act all high and fucking mighty now that you’ve got an “honest living” pumping out two hours of garbage every so often” he mocked
“I don’t have to act high and mighty, I’m not the grown ass man who just massacred at least five people over what? A fear of party clowns?”
“HE WAS NOT,” Trevor cried, sitting up and slamming a palm down on the dash. “A PARTY CLOWN-“
Michael snorted, unintentionally cutting off Trevor’s tirade. He couldn’t help it, even through his anger and disbelief, something about the awfully familiar banter just felt right.
“What’s so fuckin’ funny, huh?”
“Oh nothing, not a thing about this is funny, T.” Michael replied as he pinched the bridge of his nose, still quietly chuckling. “Not the people you killed, definitely not all the kids you traumatized-“
“Christ, we’ve been through this, Mikey; besides, nothings illegal on Halloween if it’s objectively funny.”
“Not that you’d care if it was,” Michael lit a cigarette as he spoke “in fact, I think you prefer doing things you’re not fuckin’ supposed to.”
“Absolutely,” Trevor finally smiled, it wasn’t a happy one, but his usual crooked, cocky smile. “it’s one of the many perks of not being constrained by your dodgy west coast morals.” he finished, pointing an accusatory finger a little too close to the others face.
Michael laughed again, even he could admit that the phrase “dodgy west coast morals” wasn’t entirely untrue.
“Right right, at least your morals aren’t dodgy, just downright sick and twisted.”
“Exactly!” Trevor seemed to relax now, thinking Michael understood his point; Michael wasn’t going to bother correcting him.
The rest of the drive was silent, Michael resisting the urge to switch the radio to the news in case they were already covering earliers massacre, Trevor watching the world pass without a care. Before he could ask where they were headed now, Michael turned into his own driveway, thankful for the lack of Amanda’s red Sentinel.
“The fuck are we doing here?” Trevor asked, stepping out of the car, abandoning his now nearly empty pillowcase of candy.
“Eh, everyone’s out right now, not like we’ve got anywhere better to be.” In truth, Michael really just wanted the two of them to lay low for the time being, and he knew he could keep Trevor from terrorizing the general public if he tried hard enough.
“Not like you’ve got anywhere better to be,” Trevor muttered, but still followed the older man inside.
The two were immediately met with bickering upon entering, Tracey and Jim fighting over the television from the living room.
“Everyone’s out, huh?” Trevor mused, actually a little excited to see his niece and nephew. Before he could be stopped, he strode into the living room, arms open. “Hey, kids, miss me?” he asked, a bright smile on his face.
Tracey launched herself up from the couch and right into her favorite uncle's arms. “Oh. Emm. Gee!” she dramaticized “Trevor? It’s been like, forever!”
“Yeah, you can thank your shithead father for that, sweetie.” He replied with a brief side eye in Michael's direction.
Jimmy stood up now, but instead of going for a hug he opted for a weird teenage boy sort of handshake that Trevor didn’t really get, but tried his best on. “Yo! uncle T! How you been?” he certainly wasn’t as elated as Tracey was, and might’ve even been a little nervous, but he was friendly nonetheless.
“Good good, just been tearin’ up a haunted house with your fat old man. What about you kids? Staying outta trouble?”
“Haunted house? The one you asked us to go to?” Tracey asked her dad, finally detaching herself from Trevor’s side.
Michael reared his head back a little at the question. “Yes, actually, you little traitors. I thought you two had better things to do than sit around the house and argue all night.” he stated bitterly.
“I did, but…” Tracey trailed off defensively.
Before anybody could press her for details, Trevor spoke up, “Hey, who fuckin’ cares? It was terrible anyways.” He glared again at Michael
“It was? Why, what happened?” She questioned, happy to have dropped the previous subject.
Michael replied before Trevor could, “Nothing, or if you find out, nothing that was my fault.”
“Daddy,” Tracey began worriedly “Mom is gonna be like, so mad if she sees you on the news again, you know-“
“I said it wasn’t-“ Michael cut her off to defend himself, but stopped with a sigh when he realized it was no use, “Speaking of, where is she?”
Tracey took a nervous breath to answer him, but paused when she heard her younger brother snort quietly behind her.
“Check her yogi's house.” Jimmy mumbled, a little too amused.
Maybe some part of him was hoping his father hadn’t heard him, because Jimmy actually looked a little afraid when Michael pointed an angry finger at him to begin his rant, and more than a little afraid when he watched the anger drain from his face as Michael realized that his son was likely right, and even worse, that he really didn’t care anymore.
Michael put his hands up, and took a breath to steady himself. “Y’know what? At least it’s not my ass she’s five feet up tonight.” With that, he made his way to the kitchen to make himself a drink.
All it took was the five minutes Michael disappeared to the kitchen for the other three to make themselves comfortable on the couch with the lights dimmed, an old, admittedly terrible scary movie playing on the TV. He didn’t say anything, just stood there in the doorway, almost admiring the scene, two neat glasses of whiskey in his hands. It had been some time since his family, even excluding Amanda, had been so peaceful. He stayed there for a few minutes until Trevor noticed, and waved him over. He sat in the space between Jimmy and Trevor, passing his friend a glass and almost automatically leaning into the arm Trevor had slung over the back of the couch.
The four remained planted on the couch for the rest of the evening; each old horror film looking worse, but also somehow better than the last. Michael basked in this rare, undisturbed peace. He wasn’t sure how long it’d last, so he let each of his worries wash away one by one and he didn’t let them return, not when his whiskey emptied and he was too comfortable to get up and make another, nor when he noticed Amanda hadn’t come home for the night as he was drifting off with his head rested on Trevor’s chest, and especially not when he felt the morning sunlight creep through his eyelids when he awoke.
Summary: When Michael sees Trevor waiting for him, it brings up old memories, and even older feelings
(Mikeys pov for all dolled up)
TW: mom and dad are fighting again :(
Words: 2,880
ao3 link!
Something in between a sigh and a laugh escaped Michaels lips as he set his phone down and dropped his head, his quiet afternoon by the pool turned bittersweet. It was true that the second he was within Trevor’s immediate vicinity, shit always seemed to hit the fan, but there was still no denying the twinge of excitement in his chest at the thought of seeing his old friend again. The last time they’d met, it had ended in a fight, considerably smaller than the ones that usually landed both men in months long brooding sessions(or benders), but still a fight.
Trevor had mentioned an upcoming score he’d just finished planning, saying he could fit another set of hands into the plan if he tried, but Michael just shook his head, wishing his friend luck, but wanting no part in his schemes. This was just enough to slowly spiral into strings of insults from the both of them before abruptly parting ways.
The next evening, Michael was standing in his side of him and Amanda’s shared closet, buttoning up a charcoal grey suit jacket when she approached him.
“And where are you off to?” she lilted, running a hand along her husbands back.
Things between them had been better lately, not perfect, but better. Michael had been working on another movie with Solomon and staying out of trouble, and Amanda had given up the comforts of coaches and pool boys. The fights hadn’t stopped, but they were few and far between, and even the kids seemed a little happier lately.
“Ah, drinks,” he hesitated, considering lying but deciding against it “with uh, trevor.” Michael held his breath, knowing what this was likely to cause, and he was right. Amanda’s hand halted and she took a step back.
“What the fuck Micheal?” she whispered slowly,
“I know-“ he tried to interrupt
“Oh, you know?” she let out an angry laugh, “No, if you knew, you wouldn’t be letting that fucking psychopath drag us back down!” she said, roughly poking at his chest.
This went on for some time, Amanda shouting continuously, Michael managing to fit a few spaced out, unheard- or just uncared for words between her tirades. Eventually though he snapped, raising his voice above hers, his tone just brutal enough to allow a firm layer of fear to settle in Amanda’s chest, and a tightness to consume her stomach and throat.
“Fuckin’ enough,” he barked “he’s my best fucking friend, Mandy, like it or not, and shit you know what? He’s one of the only people that even listens to me-“
“bullshit!” Amanda cut in,
“Bullshit? Oh, that’s rich!” Michael took a step back now, a short, breathy laugh came from his smirking mouth, “I’m not your fucking therapist, Michael!!” he mocked loudly in a high pitched voice “and god knows the kids picked that one up quick too,” he added, sounding more dejected now.
Amanda opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it, instead just staring up at Michaels teary eyes for a moment before taking a few steps back, and walking away slowly. She always seemed to run off once Micheals rage dampened, even if it was mid-fight. She sure seemed to enjoy getting a reaction out of him when she could see the fire and brimstone in his eyes, but she never quite knew what to do with his sadness- save for kicking him when he’s down- but this time, a guilty look crossed her face before she left him alone.
Micheal took a deep breath, and wiped his eyes dry with his sleeve. He took what was meant to be a quick look in the mirror, but ended up spacing out glaring at his stubble filled cheeks. The thought of shaving crossed his mind, but when he took his phone out and found he was already running more than a few minutes late, he thought against it and made his way out of his bedroom and to his black Obey Tailgater.
Different possibilities and outcomes for the night passed through Micheals head during the short drive, worries of Trevor fighting, harassing, or downright killing some random innocent plagued him. Though somehow, more than anything, he hoped the night wouldn’t end with tensions high.
Finding parking in Downtown Vinewood was never easy, and this fact held up especially tonight. After about twenty minutes of slow laps around the surrounding blocks, Micheal slammed on the gas, speeding towards a spot he seemed to noticed at the same time as another, much bigger, car. By the grace of something, he managed to swerve into the parking spot, just barely avoiding side swiping the nose of the too-late SUV. The other driver honked a couple times before moving on to continue looking. Meanwhile, Micheal sat, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady his nerves. He checked his phone and saw that it was a little past 9:00, he was later than he thought, but surely with a little half-hearted groveling, Trevor would be satisfied and forgive him. A few seconds of nervous fidgeting later, and the man was making his way towards the brightly lit up club at the end of the block.
Any confidence Micheal had gained during his brisk walk to the doors quickly drained the second he spotted his best friend waiting at the table. There Trevor sat, clearly impatient, sipping on a dark glass of whiskey, but his knit brow and clenched fist on the table weren’t what stopped Michael in his tracks. It was the little red dress he was sporting, with poorly applied matching lipstick. A heat ran throughout his body at the sight, turning into a chill after a couple seconds of reasoning with himself. He took a few stumbling steps backwards before turning around and running out. His hands shook and his heart was beating as fast as his mind was running as he walked down the now seemingly longer than before sidewalk. Quick flashes of his past, wanting looks and tangled lips flashed over Michaels vision as tears welled up and he stumbled off of the sidewalk, and up to his Tailgater. The second he got in, he dropped his head and banged it gently on the steering wheel a couple times before letting out a choked sob. When he got past the images of his days that were long behind him and could finally think straight, he began to sort through the possibilities. The idea of it being some kind of odd or cruel joke was ruled out quickly, Trevor wasn’t the type to do or say things without meaning them, and besides, Mike was sure he’d seen this happen before, once, back in North Yankton, minus the tight red dress, of course.
Sometime after the second or third score they’d pulled together, Trevor had invited him over, claiming to have something about the last job he wanted to go over, but when Michael walked in, he was led to a dimly lit kitchen that Trevor had converted into a little dining area, with two chairs and a small table topped with candles, wine glasses with what was very clearly just beer in them, and two plates containing slices of a once frozen, now very burnt lasagne. It was only after processing the “romantic” dinner in front of him that he noticed what trevor was wearing, and how genuinely nervous he looked. Never having seen his friend in anything formal outside of the ill-fitting suits they’d worn for one job, he was actually fairly impressed with the white dress shirt and dark blue jeans Trevor was wearing, and later that night, he was even more impressed upon taking it all off for the very first time of many.
Micheal stayed hunched over the steering wheel thinking for a little while longer. Some long buried part of him begged to rush in there, kiss him quickly, softening the angry man before he’d even have time to shout; to say he’s sorry he’s so late, and have a good night with Trevor, just like the old days, but he’d chose to force those feelings down the day he’d decided to kill Michael Townley. There were times back when he still thought trevor was dead, when things got tough with Amanda, he let his mind wander back to the cold nights they’d spent together, a time in his life where he’d felt the warmer than ever; but those days were long gone, now Trevor was back and he wasn’t the same boy who’d vomited at the scent of smoldering brains after sticking a flare gun in a man’s eye. Hell, he wasn’t even the same boy who left his “dying” ex-lover and friend behind to bleed in the snow. He was an undeniable force of terror who could kill with a look, and Michael had put those days behind them. Trevor had not.
With a shaky breath, Michael started the car and backed out, pausing in the street for a moment. He didn’t want to go home and face Amanda about this, he didn’t even know what he’d tell her at this point. As much as he craved the comforts of liquor, he didn’t want to go to a bar, he preferred solitude over anything else- just as he came to this conclusion, a long hooonk yanked him from his thoughts, so he quickly settled on just cruising the crowded streets of Los Santos.
Some time later, Michael was finally pulling back up to the familiar grey gate. He took a while before stepping out of the car, and when he did, Amanda threw opened the stained glass doors dramatically,
“So, how was Trevor then? It’s a surprise to see you back before sunrise.” she said flatly, standing in front of the now closed doors behind her and narrowing her eyes, as if she wasn’t planning on letting him through.
Michael decided that now was an appropriate time to lie, “Oh, good,” he stated carefully, but confidently enough to pass as a truth, “just, no energy for the usual stuff, turned in early.”
“uh-huh” she said slowly, nodding to herself
He now noticed the way she was nervously shuffling and looking behind her, and when he heard the faint sound of footsteps rushing from the living room and glasses clanking, he started to put the pieces together.
“Fuck me..” he muttered to himself, looking away from her and running a hand down his face.
Amanda’s eyes widened, a deer in the headlights, “Mikey, no-“
“DON’T YOU FUCKIN ‘MIKEY, NO’ ME” he roared, “I walked away from fucking everything for you, and again with this shit?” he was quieter now, but still yelling, “Who the fuck is it, huh? Fabian? That fuckin tennis prick? The “cute little gardener” I just hired, huh?” he took an angry step closer, and his voice broke a little more with each man he listed, but just before he could make it to the door to find out for himself, a deafening sound of metal scraping and tires screeching rang throughout the yard, causing Amanda to jump back flat against the doors, and Michael to spin on his heel.
The gate had been half open when Trevor slammed into it, and his red Bodhi was swerved into the outer corner, the front was pretty crumpled, but most of the damage seemed to take to the bent up bottom of the gate and the windshield. Michael wasn’t sure what damages had come from Trevor’s no doubt reckless driving on the way, and what were caused from his crash, but he didn’t dwell on it either.
Everything else left Michaels mind as he rushed towards the truck, who’s wheels were still screeching, a clear sign the driver was either out cold, or too fucked up to notice he’d crashed. As Michael neared the truck, the wheels stopped, and even in the dark, he could see Trevor’s head lower itself to the steering wheel.
“T?” he plead, “T, ba- buddy,” he stuttered, trying not to let his emotions completely drown out the logic he’d worked so hard on lately. The fight between him and amanda had melted away most of the resolve he’d had to seeing Trevor again, but he still knew there had to be a line in their relationship. As Michael opened the door to the Bodhi, his wife finally spoke up from behind him as she got a better look at the man slumped over in the seat. She asked something about his dress that Michael didn’t really pay attention, let alone respond to, his attention was too focused on the man in front of him. When Trevor didn’t even so much as look up at him, or do more than mumble strings of incoherent bullshit, Mikey took it upon himself to get him shifted in the seat so that he could hoist him over his shoulder. When Trevor was settled as comfortably as he could get on the bigger man’s shoulder, he finally turned to face Amanda, and their two kids, who had made their way outside when they’d heard the commotion.
He expected her to have any semblance of concern or compassion for the man who’d he still considered an uncle to their children, or at the very least to ignore him as he passed her. He was wrong. She pushed the kids, who looked more confused than anything, behind her.
“No,” she looked horrified, but somehow not surprised, “he is not welcome in my home, you-“
“My home,” He cut her off, glaring past her at the jacked up pick-up truck in the parking spot to the side house that he’d somehow missed when pulling in. If going out for drinks with Trevor, even despite their complicated history, was all it took for Amanda to start up her cheating habits again- if she’d ever even quit- he knew it would just get messier from here on out.
“Why don’t you take uh, your mystery lover and stay somewhere else tonight? His place, hotel, I don’t care.”
Amanda scoffed “You can’t choose him over your family again!”
“Again??” It was Michaels turn to scoff, “I seem to recall a time when I fuckin’ abandoned him for you!” he started to walk past her, but stopped to look back at her “and I wouldn’t choose anybody over my family, just you.”
With that, Michael made his way inside to go lay Trevor down on the couch so he could get the truck moved and the gate closed. Before he set him down though, for just a second, Mikey let himself be acutely aware of the way Trevor’s coarse skin felt underneath the hand he had placed on the back of his thigh, a brief fluttering in his stomach brought a smile to his rough face. This only lasted for a moment though.
The front door loudly swung open, and Amanda stomped up the stairs behind him; only to start kind of packing, kind of slamming or throwing expensive decor around. By the time she was back downstairs with two large suitcases packed at her sides, Michael was standing in the living room talking to Tracy and Jimmy, and Trevor was laid down on his side, a steady steam of drool soaking into the cushion underneath him. Amanda cleared her throat and looked at the kids expectantly.
Tracy glanced awkwardly between her mom and dad before speaking up, “Um, I’ve got like, dance class and stuff in the morning, so, I’m just gonna…” she trailed off, not wanting to further anger her already seething mother.
Jimmy took a half-step behind his sister, but still cut in before Amanda had a chance to argue “Yeah, and I’m still all partied out and junk from the last time we stayed at a hotel!”
Amanda nodded solemnly, and the two quickly shuffled around their mom and up the stairs, hoping to avoid the rage their father had always taken the brunt of.
Amanda avoided Michaels eyes, scanning the room as she searched for something to say to him. When she didn’t speak up in time, Michael did.
“Fuck, Mandy,” he began quietly, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “we were doing so good.”
“Were we?” she demanded
Michael shook his head, “I guess not,” his voice broke again, and tears burned the back of his eyes, another “I guess not.” was all else he could manage.
Amanda grabbed the suitcases and pulled them out behind her, but for the first time that she did this, she wasn’t leaving Michael all alone in that big, would-be-empty, house. This time, he still had his kids, something he was beyond grateful about. Although he was still feeling mildly betrayed about the trick date his friend had tried to set up, he hoped that in the morning he would also have Trevor.
For the first time that night, Michael was calm. He let the feeling wash over him like waves against hot sand as he sat down in the little armchair near the couch with a glass of whiskey in hand, half listening to the mindless television playing quietly in front of him, half to the deep snores of his closest friend, his partner in crime.
Drink Up, Handsome (a trikey christmas special!) is officially in the works!!
chapter one is up now!! here’s the ao3 link!
it’s nowhere near Christmas but i started this ages ago and am hellbent on finishing it before starting anything else. the first chapter is short as hell but the next should be finished within the next few days!
(P.S. if anyone thinks i should post the chapters individually here pls let me know, I’m just not 100% sure it’s worth the effort just to get buried in my feed. thanks for reading!! :3
