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“Mikey. Give me the damn bottle.”
Trevor’s voice pulled Michael out of his drunken daze. His eyes darted over to the slumping figure on the sofa next to him, with one foot upon the cushions, holding out his hand to get what he asked for. After all that whiskey, he was starting to slur his words a little, eyes glazed and out of focus.
After pushing the bottle into Trevor’s hand, he started observing the smashed Impotent Rage statue on the kitchen counter, but quickly lost interest. With the amount of alcohol in his system, he found he no longer minded how grimy the trailer was, and that Trevor’s boots were touching where they sat. The cheap pizza they’d had while watching a rerun of Haines’ ridiculous show didn’t feel as heavy in his stomach, and pissing in a stinky toilet didn’t feel like the end of the world.
No, he really didn’t mind this now; his elbow pressed to Trevor’s leg, rock music playing in another trailer on low volume in the background, and an ashtray right under his hand. Hanging out together like this – just like the old times – was good enough. He wasn’t willing to go on killing streaks, and Trevor sure as hell wasn’t going to accept dining at fancy restaurants, so this was probably their best shot for now, and they both seemed to agree that it was a good compromise.
He lit up another cigarette, bringing it to his lips and sucking in the smoke. The air was already stuffy and humid inside the trailer, and the open windows weren’t helping much. Fucking Sandy Shores weather. He held his breath for a few seconds before parting his lips, exhaling the smoke slow and steady.
“How come it’s okay you smoke that, but me smoking crystal’s a big deal? Double standards,” Trevor mumbled from the side.
Michael sharply turned to him, draped his arm over the back of the sofa. “This kills you in 50 years, meth does it in 5. There’s a difference. I’ll be dead in 50 years either way.”
Trevor groaned a bit, taking another sip of the whiskey. “You don’t know that. What if you get lung cancer?”
“What if?” Michael questioned cynically. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t be smoking if my thought process worked like that.”
Trevor straightened up, rubbing his face with a hand. “I thought you wanted to quit.”
“In theory, yes.” He took another drag, crossing his legs at his ankles. “It’s not as easy as it looks. I’ve tried before. At least I can say that.”
For a moment, Trevor went quiet, only the sound of his breathing audible. Then, he sighed heavily. “I’ve tried, too.”
It was the first time he was hearing about this. “When?” asked Michael, astonished.
“Couple of months ago.” He sniffled, then wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Before Tracey’s wedding. It’s impossible.”
Looking down at the cigarette, Michael blinked a few times, a frown settling on his face. He flicked the ashes. “We could get you into rehab.”
“No fucking way. What am I, a good-girl-gone-bad Vinewood actress case? I’m not going into rehab… unless you’re coming with me.” He held out the bottle for Michael.
“Why the fuck would I do that?” Michael hissed, snatching it from him and taking a swig, feeling his throat burn as the liquor went down.
Trevor chuckled, low and husky. He licked his lips, amused by Michael’s reaction. “You think you’re above it, huh? You could quit smoking, for starters, you dickhead.”
Michael gave him a nasty look. “I don’t need rehab to quit smoking.”
“Drinking?”
“I don’t drink that much,” he grumbled, setting the bottle in his hand on the floor. “Can we stop talking about my vices now?”
Trevor hummed, ignoring the request. “You do drink that much, but whatever. What else… Killing? Stealing. Kidnapping rich assholes who are too big for their britches. Well, that was technically only once, but still counts. We’ve got options!”
Michael shook his head, unable to hold back his laughter. “The correct facility to quit those would be prison, not rehabilitation center, buddy.”
Trevor raised his brows, leaning to his side and resting his elbow on the back of the sofa. “The penitentiary is not far from here. I could get you signed up right now. Don’t worry, Mikey, I wouldn’t miss the visiting days. Wouldn’t want you to get… lonely. What are best friends for?”
“Oh, fuck you.” He burned out the cigarette. “I’ve been to prison twice. It’s you who needs to go if we’re evening our scores.”
Trevor huffed mockingly. “And do what there, hm? Prison has nothing to teach me.”
“Last time I checked, they weren’t throwing people in there to give them an education.”
“What then? To smuggle drugs? Eat shitty food and fuck each other ‘cause they’re denied of their fundamental right of having access to hookers?” He paused for a few seconds, picking at the inner side of his arm. “Been there, done that. It’s all bullshit. Tell me one thing I don’t do here that prison can offer me.”
Michael mused on it as he absent-mindedly watched Trevor form a new mark on his skin. It was such a long time ago, he could barely remember what prison had been, and thinking hard about such a trivial thing felt too big of a task right now. “I don’t know, a prison tattoo?” He blurted indifferently.
Trevor put his foot down on the floor, leaning towards Michael, movements a bit wobbly. It seemed to have piqued his interest. “You can get a prison tattoo outside of prison.”
“No,” Michael corrected. “Doesn’t count. It’s not a prison tattoo unless you get it in prison.”
With a dismissive gesture of his hand, Trevor objected. “I don’t care where it’s made. I mean the style, the handmade tattoo gun. You know how to make one of those, dontcha?”
“Depends on why you’re asking,” Michael cautiously said.
Trevor gave him a sly smile. “I think you know why I’m asking.”
He got to his feet, boots thumping on the ground. He nearly knocked over the whiskey bottle, but Michael dragged it to the side at the last second.
“Sit down, Trevor, you’re drunk.” He rolled his eyes, contemplating whether he should light another cigarette or not.
“Nah, just a bit tipsy.” He tottered forward a few steps, opening one of the kitchen cabinets. “Don’t just sit there, start making the gun. Fuck, I’ve been thinkin’ about getting another tattoo. What are the odds.”
“As if you don’t have enough of them already.”
With a snigger, Trevor replied cheekily, “You can never have enough tattoos, Mikey.”
“I am not going to give you a tattoo. Are you out of your mind? Go to a professional, like normal people do,” Michael lectured him – knowing fully well that it was a futile attempt.
Trevor clicked his tongue a few times as he rummaged through the cupboard. “Little Trace told me about your adventures with that closeted TV presenter. You’ll tattoo him, but not me?”
Michael took a sip from the whiskey, then pulled another cigarette out of the pack. “I drew a dick on his back. If that’s what you want, sure, I’ll do it.”
“C’mon, don’t be a pussy.” He finally pulled out a small plastic bottle, grinning triumphantly. “I’ve never gotten a prison tattoo, okay? I want it. Inmate style.”
“Inmate style? You do realize we really aren’t in prison, right?” His nose crinkled in disgust as Trevor set the bottle on the filthy counter. “Jesus, even prison had better hygiene standards.”
“I don’t care. I’m not getting myself busted for a fucking tattoo. Pretend we’re in a dirty little cell.”
Michael glanced at the bottle again, unsure why Trevor even had it in the first place. “What’s next in the fake prison experience? You’re gonna drop the soap too?”
Trevor turned on his heel after closing the cabinet, leaning back with his hands on the counter. “Joke’s on you, I don’t use soap.”
Hah. He wasn’t even going to dignify that with a reply.
As he smoked his cigarette, he watched Trevor toss away his tank top, revealing his chest. Michael had seen him shirtless many times before, but he hadn’t gotten a chance to check out the newer tattoos. He beckoned him to come closer, not peeling his eyes off his chest as he approached.
Trevor came to a stop right in front of him. Still holding the cigarette between his fingers, he brushed his thumb against the cut mark on Trevor’s stomach, right below his fuck cops tattoo. Though he’d asked multiple times, he’d never gotten a clear explanation, but he could tell it once had been a considerably deep wound.
Trevor suddenly stole away his cigarette and put it down. “Enough with your smoking. You’re like a fucking chimney.”
Michael glanced up threateningly, seeing a hint of irritation in Trevor’s eyes. Despite that, his lips were slightly parted, breaths coming out faster, distracting him from making a snide remark. His touches started wandering on Trevor’s stomach, feeling the fine hairs going all the way up to his chest. His palm lay flat right above his heart, feeling it beat. “What did you have in mind?” He murmured.
Trevor’s voice was deep and gruff. “I want you to decide. Could be anything.”
Michael looked up incredulously, finding it odd that Trevor trusted him with the decision. “How about a tramp stamp?” He joked.
Trevor grinned widely. “Property of Townley. I like it.” Of course, he’d take it seriously.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Michael laughed, feeling somewhat giddy from the exchange, and maybe a bit from touching him. He reached for Trevor’s hands next, holding them up to see the tattoos on his fingers. “I can’t do anything like this.”
“I don’t mind.”
While still holding his hands, his gaze explored Trevor’s arms, the memorial tattoo that he always tried so hard to ignore. Then, they lingered on his neck, settling on cut here. “When did you get that?”
It took Trevor a few seconds to pick up on what Michael was talking about, and the look in his eyes changed when he did. His brows furrowed; expression unreadable. “Don’t know. It’s been a while.”
“You didn’t have it when we were young,” Michael grumbled, pursing his lips. “It’s gruesome.”
Trevor’s lips twitched as he snorted. “It was either gonna be this, or do not resuscitate.”
Silence fell as Michael didn’t know what to say, and Trevor simply pulled away his hands, leaned down, and grabbed the bottle again, taking a gulp.
“So, you’ll do it?”
He let out a sigh. Trevor would never let him hear the end of this if he didn’t. A part of him, and certainly not the part that was capable of rational thinking, found the idea of marking Trevor’s skin thrilling.
Though he’d rather do it when they were sober… well, he didn’t seem to have a choice. “I suppose you don’t have a trimmer lying around?”
“Uhh, I have a razor in the bathroom."
“No, it’s for the gun.”
Trevor handed him the bottle, turning away. “Ah. In that case, give me a minute.”
His steps weren’t stable, but he somehow managed to stagger out of the trailer without knocking anything down. While he was gone, Michael started collecting some objects he needed from around the trailer: a pen, the sewing kit Mrs. Madrazo had left, some tape, and a toothbrush he felt lucky to have found in this place.
Trevor was back shortly after he sunk back into the sofa to begin working on the gun. He barely remembered how to make it, but that was what they had Eyefind for. As he worked, Trevor watched his hands with interest from where he sat on the floor, making a comment or asking questions every now and then.
Towards the end, he ran into a bit of trouble wiring the batteries, momentarily afraid he’d disappoint Trevor. But he managed it eventually, and even he was surprised to see that the gun worked flawlessly.
Trevor let out a triumphant roar, slapping Michael’s knee. “That’s it, baby. Now, let’s get to work. Decided what you’re gonna do?”
“It’s your tattoo. You decide.” Michael was still testing the gun in the air with squinted eyes to see if the needle moved smoothly enough. “Fuck, I’m getting old. My time for prescription glasses might have come.”
“Glasses, huh? Could be hot.” He wiggled his brows, which Michael found amusing rather than gross under the circumstances. “Fine. Tattoo my ass.”
“I’m not tattooing your ass,” Michael grunted tiredly, putting the gun down after he deemed it safe to use. “Sit down.”
“Yeah?” Trevor whistled, eyeing him from head to toe. “Hmm. Bossy.”
Michael guided him to sit between his legs on the ground with his back to him, lips twitching at the ridiculous gesture. “This is your final chance if you wanna change your mind,” he warned while he prepared to get started, knowing well that Trevor wouldn’t.
“Just fucking do it, Michael.”
So did Michael start. He first poured a bit of the whiskey on the nape of Trevor’s neck, ignoring Trevor’s complaints – that was as sanitary as it would get in this dump. Trevor was already going to bleed a lot because of the drinking, he just hoped he wouldn’t give him an infection as well.
He dipped the needle into the ink and started the gun. It took him a while at first to remember how he was supposed to ink the skin with that sort of gun, but he got the gist of it quickly. Despite being tipsy, he trusted his hand to be steady. He’d shot men from long distances drunk, he could manage a simple tattoo.
He only had a vague idea about what he wanted to do, and it was simple enough that he figured he could get away with winging it. It was quite literally the first thing that came to his inebriated mind, and maybe a bit ridiculous even, but he decided to do it anyway, starting from the first letter. He was keeping it small, close to the hairline. Something almost private.
Trevor had been quiet, not showing any sign of pain or discomfort. He finally asked after ten minutes, “How’s it coming together?”
“Not bad,” Michael huffed. “Can’t guarantee that this won’t kill you though.” He wiped the blood with Trevor’s discarded shirt.
“A little ink? Nah.”
“It’s the unsanitary junkyard we’re doing this in, not the ink. Or, maybe both. Where did you get this anyway?”
Trevor shifted uncomfortably, and Michael waited for him to immobilize before bringing the needle down again. “Ron stole it from the Lost.”
“Ah, great. They’re known for excellent standards of hygiene.”
Another twenty minutes, with a five-minute break in between since the gun needed to cool down, and they were pretty much done. Michael dropped the gun on the sofa, carefully pushing up Trevor’s hair to see the tattoo better.
“How does it look, Mikey?”
It certainly wasn’t anything artistic. The letters were a bit skewed, but if he had to be honest, it didn’t look that bad.
It dawned on him what he’d written when he stopped scrutinizing each line one by one. Right on the back of Trevor’s neck, it said kiss here, as if opposing the tattoo on the front, deeming it invalid.
Maybe it was his own way of trying to protect Trevor, who cared so little about what happened to him. An amulet he couldn’t see, and wouldn’t be reminded of regularly, but was still there.
His thumb brushed over it, and Trevor hissed quietly. “That bad?”
“No, it’s not bad,” he mumbled.
“Show me.”
“…How?”
“Take a fucking picture, Michael. It’s not the nineties anymore.”
If Michael hadn’t been so lost in thought, he would have come up with a retort, but he pulled out his phone without a word, opening the camera app and holding it towards the tattoo. He took one pic, then locked the screen without even checking it, throwing the device to the other side of the sofa.
Trevor twisted his body heatedly, trying to reach with his hand to get it. “You were supposed to show it to me!”
Michael suddenly swung forward to keep him in place. His arms wound around Trevor’s neck, careful not to scrape the newly tatted skin with his shirt. Trevor stilled in a matter of seconds, tensing up.
After he was sure Trevor wouldn’t go at it again, he pulled back, leaving just enough space between them to press his lips to Trevor’s shoulder. He kissed the warm skin, then rested his chin on it. Words spilled much easier from his mouth when he was drunk and high from this feeling he couldn’t name. “I don’t wanna lose you, Trevor,” he confessed, voice raspy from that last cigarette.
Trevor attempted to turn to face Michael again, but Michael’s arms kept him in place. He gave up shortly after, mumbling a simple, “Where’d that come from?”
He sighed. “I don’t wanna live in fear of finding out you overdosed, or got yourself killed in a fight. I don’t wanna have to think about that whenever you don’t pick up the phone.”
“That was always the deal with us,” Trevor replied hoarsely. “We lived knowing we could die any second. What changed now?”
“A lot of things. You don’t… you don’t have to keep doing this, T.”
Trevor’s hand lightly clasped his own over his chest. “I’m not going anywhere, sugartits. I’ll be here to torture your fat ass forever.”
But that wasn’t up to him, was it? He’d lost him once, because of his own mistake. He couldn’t afford to lose him again.
He pressed another kiss to his shoulder, closer to the tattoo this time, breathing him in. His hand went up to Trevor’s neck from the front, gently cupping it, smoothing his thumb on the older tattoo there before traveling down to brush over a nipple.
A hiss escaped Trevor’s nose. “Careful, now.”
“I’m always careful.” He then kissed beneath the tattoo. Goosebumps were visible on Trevor’s arms – he kissed a spot very close to the tender, freshly tattooed skin this time, giving his nipple a pinch at the same time.
“Do that again.” Trevor moaned quietly.
Michael wasn’t sure which one Trevor was referring to, so he switched to the other nipple while he pressed his lips to the reddened skin, trying to keep his head straight, but failing as the tiny action drew a louder groan from Trevor. He leaned further, moving to the side of his neck, grazing his teeth on his pulse before leaving another sloppy kiss. It was so rare he allowed himself to show affection this way, but Trevor didn’t sound like he was complaining at all.
His eyes darted down; Trevor’s legs were spread wide open on the ground, hand resting on his crotch, lazily rubbing and tugging himself over his pants.
Feeling the familiar heat take control of his body, Michael urged him up by the arm. “Come here.”
Trevor used Michael’s knee as leverage to stand up, quivering a little, then plopped down on the sofa, throwing one leg over Michael’s. Michael drew him closer by wrapping his arm around his shoulder, continuing his gentle kisses from his upper arm while he undid the button and zipper of his pants, then tugged them down to reveal his half-hard erection, caressing it with the back of his fingers before wrapping them around it.
“Didn’t know tattoo artists started giving happy endings,” Trevor mumbled, face dangerously close, eyes heatedly staring at his lips.
“Well,” Michael gave his cock a few short strokes, and said huskily, “It’s an extra.”
Trevor hummed, glancing at Michael’s hand for a moment. Michael brushed over the tip of his cock with his thumb while he nuzzled Trevor’s chin with his nose.
“Faster.”
“Shh.” He kissed his neck again. “Just enjoy it. Do you have any lube or lotion? I’ll go pick it up.”
“I’m not getting up, and neither are you.” He grabbed Michael’s wrist, bringing his hand to his own mouth and licking at his palm to wet it, all the while giving Michael a seductive glance before he brought it back to his cock, then dipped his head and let some spit drip down for extra lubrication. “There,” he wiped his mouth with his hand.
Michael let out a small groan. He was also getting excited, but he wanted to take care of Trevor now. Make him feel good. His touches were slow, almost lazy… they weren’t in a hurry. He wanted to take his time, something he rarely ever did.
After jerking Trevor off at a sluggish pace for a few minutes, he let go, moving his hand to his balls, fondling them in his palm. The quiet whimpers coming out of Trevor turned into full moans then, and he turned to Michael, eyes half-lidded in arousal. “Mikey.”
“Yes?” He quietly replied, a deep crease visible between his brows.
Trevor released a warm puff of breath against Michael’s lips. “What did you tattoo on my neck?”
Michael’s fingers wrapped around his cock again to distract him, playing with the tip, spreading the precum oozing out. “It’s something small. Don’t worry about it.”
“Small?” Trevor raised an amused brow. “Is it your own?”
“Fuck you, your dick jokes are not funny,” Michael grunted, loosening his grip a little, but not stopping the movements of his hand. “I wrote something.”
“Hmm.” Trevor watched his hand move on his cock, then tossed his head back slightly, closing his eyes. “Keep doing it like that, yeah.”
And Michael obeyed him, picking up the pace, twisting his wrist when he reached the top, listening for a change in Trevor’s breathing. “Good?”
“Very.” Trevor’s mouth was parted slightly. He gulped audibly before gasping, “Fuck. I wanna suck your cock.”
The idea of thrusting into Trevor’s hot, wet mouth, sliding on his tongue was enticing, and got him distracted for a second. But he wanted to finish what he started first. “Later,” he muttered.
“Whiskey dick?”
He gestured to his obvious boner. “Feel free to check for yourself.”
Trevor didn’t seem convinced, though, breath fanning Michael’s face as he leaned in closer. “What’s gotten into you then? Turning down a blowie? This isn’t you, man.”
“Just… shut up, T,” he huffed, but it was so hard to get mad at him when he was in his arms, cheeks slightly flushed as he watched his hand with fascination. “Let me take care of you.”
Fortunately, he seemed to have forgotten about the tattoo as Michael’s slick hand rubbed him, whining every once in a while for encouragement. Michael kept kissing his arm, his shoulder, wherever he could reach in laid-back drunkenness, lavishing him with the attention he more often than not held back.
Staying passive wasn’t Trevor’s strong suit, though. It never had been. So, eventually, he stretched out his hand for Michael’s boner, but Michael swatted it away, no matter how desperate he was getting for some friction. “I said let me take care of you,” he grumbled.
Trevor gave him a skeptical look, which Michael retorted with a deft movement of his hand, drawing a loud moan out of him. He sharply breathed out – the sounds Trevor made were incredibly erotic and got him harder by the second. He couldn’t help but reconsider the blowjob offer… but fuck, he wanted to get Trevor off so badly.
His hand slowed down again when he realized Trevor had thrown his head back slightly, watching the ceiling. After a minute of just watching him, he softly asked, “What are you thinking about?”
Instead of giving him a verbal reply, Trevor turned his head, meeting his gaze. There was something he hadn’t seen in a long time in those eyes, something soft and mellow. Michael felt a hand land right on his head, brushing through his hair, then slip down to the back of his neck, pulling him in.
He held his breath as Trevor’s chapped lips met his own in a tender kiss. It was more emotional than sensual at first, making him close his eyes and think of nothing else but the way their lips moved fondly over each other. It was like Trevor knew exactly what he was feeling, even though he didn’t understand it himself.
They broke the kiss merely for a second, and Trevor seized that opportunity to climb on his lap, then tugged off his shirt without sparing a second. Michael lifted his arms, letting him, and his hand found Trevor’s erection again once he was naked waist up. It was getting dry, though, so he angled his head to add more spit, coating his cock with it.
“Fuck yes,” Trevor groaned, hands clutching on his shoulders, then brought his lips down harshly over Michael’s once more, forcing their mouths to open with the pressure of the searing kiss. Their tongues brushed and twirled against each other, Trevor heatedly humming into his mouth. He tasted like whiskey, and Michael was sure he tasted like ash himself, but that didn’t stop either of them.
They kissed for a while like that, enjoying the intimacy. The next time Trevor pulled back to breathe, Michael realized he felt lightheaded. Maybe it was the atmosphere, or the booze, or whatever spell Trevor cast on him with his kisses, but he looked so fucking good like this, panting for air, neck and chest flushed as he desperately chased his release, thrusting into Michael’s fist while his ass rubbed right against Michael’s dick over his jeans.
He wanted to take them off, to let his cock slide against Trevor’s, rut against him until they both came. That would mean he’d have to stop Trevor, though. So he couldn’t help but let out a stifled moan – couldn’t do anything but slouch on the sofa, play with Trevor’s weeping cock and groan in pleasure.
It was Trevor’s turn to be in control, apparently. He was being harsher than Michael, his kisses much more aggressive like he wanted to devour Michael whole, but it was to be expected. He was a creature of violence, after all. His teeth grazed against Michael’s neck, right over his pulse, biting there, then he moaned directly into Michael’s ear, releasing his warm breath over it.
Michael shuddered violently, mouth opening, but no words came out.
“What’s that, sugar, hm?” Trevor huffed as he pulled back a little, brows furrowed in deep concentration. He was close, Michael could tell.
“You couldn’t just sit down and enjoy it, could you,” Michael said gruffly, idle hand finding Trevor’s hip to guide him.
“Can’t let you have all the fun,” Trevor breathed out, eyes heavy as he started rubbing faster against him.
Michael watched him obscenely fuck his hand. He was too lost in his own pleasure, thrusting up to meet Trevor’s ass, the thought of making this only about him wholly erased from his mind, but Trevor didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he was watching Michael with a slightly amused expression, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. He knew just what he was doing.
Their lips met again, softer this time, and Trevor sucked lewdly on Michael’s tongue, breathing erratically. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.” His movements were sharp as he arched his neck, ass grinding down harder on Michael’s cock, almost like he wanted Michael to join him as he climaxed.
As Trevor’s lustful moan filled his ears, Michael felt warm cum spurting on his hand and stomach. He used it as lubrication, pumping Trevor’s cock a few more times while they rocked together before letting it go. His nose pressed to Trevor’s sweaty chest, and he hummed throatily, wrapping both of his arms around Trevor, pulling him as close as he could, Trevor’s hips still moving. God, he was close, so close, and he felt Trevor’s breath on his neck, sucking on his skin.
He came hard in his pants, shutting his eyes tightly and cursing as he squeezed Trevor’s body.
For a moment, they stayed like that. Even though he felt gross from the mess in his pants and between their stomachs, Trevor felt so right between his arms like this, and he could still feel him peppering kisses across his neck and shoulders. Oh, how the tables had turned.
“You could’ve at least let me take off my pants,” he sighed against Trevor’s skin. “I feel like a fucking teenager.”
Trevor’s hand wandered over his back, lips brushing against his skin as he spoke. “You should. You lasted about the same as one.”
Michael moved away from the hug with a frown. “And whose fault is that?”
“Mine, apparently,” Trevor raised his brows, looking pleased with himself, cheeks flushed. “I knew I was hot, but damn.”
He rolled his eyes, smiling in spite of that. His hands slipped under Trevor’s pants and groped his ass before lightly pushing Trevor to get him off his lap. Trevor chuckled as he stood up, momentarily losing his balance, but Michael supported him by his arm, pulling him back on the sofa. “Be careful. Shit, I gotta change.”
Trevor laid down in his post-orgasmic bliss, tucking himself in. “Borrow whatever.”
“If you have something clean, hopefully, I will.” He left for Trevor’s bedroom, rummaging through his clothes, and finally settled on a pair of shorts in the back that were probably washed back in the day and never been worn again. He stripped off his pants and boxers, then cleaned himself in the bathroom before putting the fresh pair on. They were a bit too tight, though… he couldn’t do the button , no matter how hard he tried, so he gave up and found a relatively clean pair of boxers, leaving the room only in them.
When he returned to Trevor, he found him staring at his phone. His brows were furrowed, one hand resting on his stomach. He didn’t acknowledge Michael coming back.
Michael didn’t know what to make of his expression. He took a seat by his feet, staring at the ashtray, and his fingers were itching to reach forward and grab the carton next to it, but he didn’t. He just waited quietly.
Trevor finally put down the phone and said calmly, “What the fuck is this, Mikey?”
“It’s… something.” He picked up the whiskey bottle from the ground, staring at Impotent Rage yet again. “I couldn’t think of anything else.”
Trevor scoffed. “You really have gone soft. Even Property of Townley would have been more masculine. At least it would let everyone know that I can take it up the ass like a real man.”
Michael stared at him like he had lost his mind, but Trevor didn’t budge. “Whatever you say,” he ended up breathing out, and took a long sip from the drink in his hand.
“Whatever I say?” Trevor repeated, putting the phone down and shifting closer to Michael. He pulled the bottle away from his lips, setting it away on the table behind himself.
Eyes sparkling with curiosity, Michael simply observed to see what he was up to.
“If that’s the case,” he purred, running his fingers down Michael’s bare chest until he reached the waistband of his boxers. “Trevor says get ready for another fucking round. I got something else for you to kiss.”