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trevorphilips-enthusiast · 2 years

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OHHHH god just had an idea

young Trev realizing his feelings for michael and having to come to terms with being bisexual... the ANGST

happy pride month <3

A/N: HAPPY PRIDE MONTH EVERYONE! I am in love with this idea and couldn't stop thinking about it all day so I am here to deliver :) So for this, I made up a small robbery they commit (first one they do) as it'll make for a better story line. Anyways enjoyy <3

Summary:

When Trevor and Michael are planning their very first 'big score', they happen to spend a lot of time together and even bunk in the same room. However things get a bit tense between the two when Trevor has to come to terms with his sexuality as he realises his feelings for Michael.

Contains:

ANGSTT, gay tension, fluffy ending (it will be an alternate ending), swearing, breakdowns and tantrums

Laying flat on their backs in their shared hotel room, Michael and Trevor were both engaging in some slightly weird conversation that consisted of a game called 'Shag, Marry, Avoid' which is where 3 people are named and you have to pick which one to sleep with, which one to marry and which one to avoid. . I mean, boys will be boys. It was pretty cold as it was quite close to winter and the radiators weren't working in this run down shit pit of a hotel, leaving the two young men to bask in the warmth of the small blanket which was provided.

It's been about 7 months since Trevor first met Michael at the fruitful age of 27, now barely being 28. To say that life has never been the same since for Trevor would be the biggest understatement of the year. Sure before he met Michael he was already doing some pretty shady shit but this was taking it to a whole new level. In Trevor's young mind, Michael seemed like a genius... at first. Now that they've actually gotten to know one another, he thinks he's a prick...

But he's a lovable prick.

Michael seemed to have it all. He was confident, had charisma and a gentlemanly charm yet he was also sneaky, cunning and an utter criminal genius. When he told Trevor about the latest plans for their upcoming big score, it was clear that Michael had thought about everything to make sure there were no leaks that would occur. This was just one of the many things that Trevor seemed to notice about Michael. Like... really notice.

Trevor didn't really pick up on how differently he felt about Michael until the nights where they stayed in the same room together for the last week before committing the robbery at the post office a couple streets away from the hotel. Every time Michael would laugh at one of Trevor's ridiculous comments, his heart seemed to skip a beat. It was a completely foreign and new complex feeling but Trevor loved it. However, he soon lost that and felt anger and confusion replace it. Trevor was a man and Michael was a man. This shouldn't happen... right? Even so, Michael seemed more straight than anything. Constantly talking about big-titted attractive women he saw either in the strip club or on the street. How could he be so stupid t-

"T? You cool?"

Snapping away from his distracting thoughts, Trevor turned to look from the wall to Michael who gazed back at him with slight concern as he swung his half empty beer bottle between the fingers of his right hand, his left arm now being used to help him sit up and lean on. "Yeah Mikey... I'm all right. Just got lost for a second" Trevor explained while letting out a small breath. "You know you can talk to me any time, Trevor" Michael told him while getting up from his bed to stretch his legs out.

For a minute, Trevor did contemplate whether or not to tell Michael about how he's been feeling lately. This new and completely isolating feeling that he wouldn't understand... hence why he decided against it. "Thanks but I think I'm just going to get some fresh air..." trevor announced before leaving the hotel room as quick as he could and made his way down to the lobby, his thought being his only company.

As he wandered along the dimly lit pathway through the cold crisp air, Trevor couldn't stop thinking about what this feeling was exactly. I mean, he knew he still liked women because he goes to the strip club quite often and gets random hookups yet this was slightly the same feeling except with something deeper attached and not with a women... but with a man.

Lost and seeking answers, Trevor got out his battered phone and went to the internet. With slightly shaky hands, Trevor nervously typed out "can you like both women and men?" and pressed enter. Trevor took a deep breath before reading the first result that came up.

'Bi-sexual? What the fuck is that?' Trevor thought to himself before scrolling down and looking at more answers. Turns out there's more people than he thought that felt exactly like him and were either younger, older or a similar age to him. This did make Trevor feel better about this guilty feeling eating him up. He wasn't alone and there were people who understood what he was going through. It's a difficult thing to come to terms with your sexuality, especially when you're in your late 20's and only just discovered that you can like both men and women. On top of that, there was also something else that was new that Trevor had learned about. The LGBTQIA+ community which consisted of many different sexual preferences and genders. Now he felt slightly at peace, there was one thing knocked down. He knew he wasn't alone but now he had to face Michael and either keep this to himself OR risk telling him and ruin everything he has.

Checking the time it was around 12:34 in the morning so Trevor decided to make his way back to the hotel. While walking though, Trevor could feel his heart going 100 miles per hour. What's he supposed to do when he sees Michael? Tell him or act like everything's the same when it's really not. Trevor soon found himself walking through the small lobby and up the gritty stairs to the room. Sighing, he tiredly dragged himself all the way there and softly tapped on the door. Soon enough Michael answered the door. "Trevor, where have you been? You left me worried!" He argued with a stern look on his face. Why was he worried?

"Don't panic sugar tits, I'm fine" Trevor rolled his eyes, kicked off his shoes and made his way to his bed before collapsing onto it. Met with no reply, Trevor looked up only to see Michael staring at him coldly.

"Trevor, what has gotten into you lately? You don't talk as much, you've been zoning out and I'd like to think of us as best mates but frankly it makes me feel shit when you isolate yourself. Not only that but we've got a MAJOR score coming up that I need your full attention on. Do you understand me, T?" Michael ranted while pacing slightly and waving his hands around and slightly raising his voice, no consideration for everyone else asleep in the hotel. "That's the fuckin' problem..." Trevor mumbled more to himself than anything.

"What'd you just say?" Michael asked aggressively. "I said that's the FUCKIN' PROBLEM MIKEY!" Trevor shouted back which caught Michael off guard. "All right? That's the problem" He repeated.

"What's the problem, T? Talk to me..." Michael asked calmly now, a complete change in composure. Trevor sighed and ran his fingers through his slightly greasy hair. "That we're best friends... I don't want that" Trevor explained, leaving Michael confused but not for long "Look, I-... I think I really like you and do you know how fuckin' hard that is? To just have that weight on your shoulders? Not only do I feel so different because of it but then I also have to worry about judgement coming from you.". Once it was said, there was pure silence. Then soon the sound of the hotel door opening and then shutting just as quickly.

Shit.

In a fit of rage, Trevor jumped up and began throwing things around the room. Why did he have to tell him... he should've kept his mouth shut. Still smashing things around, tears brimmed at his eyes from both anger and sadness. Pictures on the walls were soon smashed beyond repair, there were several holes in the wall, one of the drawers was ripped completely off. After his tantrum, Trevor soon curled up onto the floor, softly crying. '

Why must I ruin every good thing in my life?'

A/N PT.2: Heyo! So This isn't the end so don't worry! Michael and Trevor will get together. The fluffy ending will be posted tomorrow as it's 00:30 right now and I'm exhausted. BYEE :)

#trevor philips #gta 5 #michael townley #gta v #angst #trikey #trikey fanfiction #trevor philips x michael townley #michael de santa #trevor x michael

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rreskk · 2 months

Text

NEW MEDIA

A late valentines gift for my girlfriend (I love you ;D). Also inspired by @miranita's latest trikey art from her twitter!! Check her out, talented as Hell! :)))

Summary: The boys decided to try and record their private time together. TW: Smut Pairings: Michael De Santa/ Trevor Philips Word count: 1638

“Are you recording?”

Michael grunted when two hands praised his hardened cock. The other man – preoccupied with lust – sprawled out below him, looking directly into the camera, kneeling on bed with sweat drizzling down his sideburns and scrawny skin.

“Yeah.” Michael whispered back, zooming in with his fingers on the screen. Trevor took this as a signal and started to stroke his boyfriend’s beasty cock that he knows all too well.

The camera flash was on as the full sight was in motion. It captured the way his cock was being warmed and licked around by that nasty tongue of his boyfriend – experiencing hardcore desperation before the recording even started – that he paced around the tip like a desperate dog, panting and panting and panting and whinging.

“You like that, Trev?” Michael took notice, “You love my cock, don’t you, baby?”

Trevor would’ve replied but he was too infatuated by the cock sitting down his hungry throat. He sucked and ignored how much he needed to gag at the thickness of Mikey’s size. It was his favourite part about it, the way it could easily rip him apart in the most dirtiest manner, wanting to feel it bruise him from the inside.

And it excited him more when feeling the flash startle upon his flustered face. Trevor glanced up and made low noises, eyes staring into the lenses, aroused by the idea of being watched; whoever would watch this, probably perverts and whatnot freaks. But he know someone would.

“Oh, yeah…” The voice murmured from the background as Trevor grew more active, his head rocking up and down. Michael grasped onto the collar of his boyfriend’s grey vest, his hand becoming pulsed and deeply veiny from the rough lighting of Trevor’s bedroom. The fingers clenched hard. His knuckles turned white and pressed against Trevor’s chest harshly, encouraging the man to abuse himself on the cock in his mouth.

“Argh – “ Mikey heard him moan.

Before he could have too much fun, he pulled out of Trevor’s mouth and ignored the pathetic cries of his name. The camera captured the saliva on his cock that drooled from the tip to his dark pubes, causing this overstimulation where Michael knew he couldn’t wait any longer. He grunted, moving his boyfriend onto his back dominatingly, removing the vest in the process. By removing, he snatched it instead; with distress and want.

“Fuck me, Mikey.” Trevor whined as his clothes were vanished aggressively. The fabric ripped from his chest and so exposed his complete nakedness, at mercy of Michael who recorded every step so the potential viewers could watch this tough criminal become submissive as a whore.

“Wait for it,” Michael ordered, “Stay on your back. Spread your legs.”

Trevor groaned and arched his spine while positioning his backside to lean upwards, his legs squatted and inviting. His face was snarled but his eyes glistened with mischief and humour. That jester-like man caressed his displayed stomach and waited for further instructions or signals.

Then the camera flash blinded him again and he knew it was coming. Trevor breathed heavily and loudly, small sighs departing from his scarred lips, his whorish mouth feeling empty without Michael’s cock shutting him up. He loved being fucked to the point of numbness. It brought him back fond memories from the younger days – thinking about younger Michael – just how simple yet intense things were. There was a shared spark, and they were trying to bring it back.

“That’s right…” Mikey held the camera and lined himself up. The flash startled his erection which twitched and sat outside Trevor’s anus, the tip rubbing across just to make him squirm.

“Fuck, sugar… C’mon. I’m so ready for you. You want me so bad.” Returned Trevor who tried to grind at every passing opportunity. However, when he tried to insert pleasure, a sharp moan escaped his throat suddenly when Michael slapped his ass, spanking out of discipline for acting up too soon. Like a dog, he was treated… Like a damn dog.

“Stop acting like a brat or you won’t get it.”

“Ohhh…” Trevor sucked in his lips and turned, shoving his face into the duvet sheets to avoid having his pleasure taken from him. All he wanted was a good fuck from Michael. He craved it for too long.

“Good, good,” Michael whispered, pushing in, pushing out; getting comfortable and easy with the sensation, small mewls exiting his throat, “Oh… Fuck, shit. Fuckin’ A…”

It would piece together like a puzzle. As soon as he thrusted into Trevor, they both grunted at the cause. His massive cock forced its way into Trevor’s tight anus but he loved the challenge and pain. He grabbed onto the duvet and cried, even when the fabric suffocated his noises. The camera would stare as he reacted so violently pleased with the physical beating.

Mikey chewed his tongue and grabbed onto Trevor’s hips with one hand, the other zooming the camera close to the younger man’s face. He enjoyed humiliating his fuck-buddy since everyone sees him so intimidating and dangerous. Michael wondered their reactions to seeing Trevor acting like a wrecked puppy. He wondered how good it would feel to degrade Trevor into craving his cock with every second of his life, needing to see his face drenched with tears and cum, voice breaking with begs and worships.

“Yes, yes, yes! I know you have it in you, sugar – fucking fuck me! Ruin me!” Trevor’s voice echoed through his trailer while Michael slammed his palm against his extroverted mouth, silencing him from disturbing the neighbours since it was the early hours of the morning. Trevor’s brows raised at the swift loss of words but soon rolled his eyes back, continuing to moan into his boyfriends hands.

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael hissed and thrusted harder, “Not another damn word. You’re gonna take it, Trev. You’re gonna fucking take it.”

He could then feel that brattish mouth twitch into a smirk, a slimy tongue wickedly licking against his rough palm while his body completely dominated the other by pressing Trevor into the mattress as the cock proceeded further and beyond. The camera changed and focussed on Mikey’s cock eating at his sore anus, pre-cum aiding it’s entrance and exit, the tip reddening by minute.

“Fuck… Mikey…” Trevor’s untouched boner stood straight with a heavy load waiting to burst. It shook helplessly. He tried to comfort himself but Michael slapped his hands away before slapping his cock, recording the whole abuse. The torture gave Trevor a second reason to cry, his face scrunched with agony.

“Don’t.” Was all Michael said.

The duvets creased up more when the pace between them increased horrifically. Trevor’s body mounted up and down, his back torn between sweat and the bedsheets, penis struggling to contain any further fucking like the chump he was. It was swollen and he breathlessly reached for Michael’s arms which held the camera.

“You want them to see?” Mikey teased and zoomed into the mans distressed face.

Trevor growled as cum drooled from his tip. Any more words from his boyfriend’s mouth, and he’ll cum. He knows it.

“Ohhh, what’s this…” His hips shuddered when the camera flashed onto his soon to be cum-painted stomach. Trevor winced when Michael handled his tired cock, squeezing it relentlessly. This released more semen that it all came out in that second. His throat went numb and he moaned pathetically, only to be overpowered by Michael who seemed amused by the easiness of his orgasm, “You can’t help yourself, Trev. Look at you… A fucking mess.”

“Shit, fuck… Sugar…”

“You’re an easy little fuck-toy, baby. All you need is a fucking minute and you’ll cum right away.”

“Mngh – “ Trevor grunted as he was being fucked still.

“Now, now…” Whispered Michael before tossing his boyfriend onto his stomach, them fine shoulder blades tensing and clenching when Trevor had more access to the duvet for support. He gripped onto them, being penetrated harder due to the better position. Mikey caressed the defined muscles on the back in front of them, then leaned forward, placing the camera in front of Trevor with a pillow supporting it.

He now had both hands free, and they directly occupied the neck.

Trevor gasped and stared into the camera as it recorded the blurred background of Michael thrusting with his hands covering that “cut here” tattoo. It felt so raw and deep that Trevor couldn’t help but cum again. It dampened the sheets, his eyes oozing salty tears.

“I love you, I fuckin’ came– “ He struggled to speak.

“Oh yeah?” Michael’s voice appeared faint from the back. He liked showing off his mans beauty when being toyed around, “You came again, baby?”

“Mikey, I love you. Fuck…”

“I know you do.”

Trevor moaned and groaned, “Fuckin’ love you!”

“Keep it together, Trev. Keep it…” Michael winced when he approached that feeling, “Shit…”

Trevor noticed how sloppy the cock was and it was hardened to stone when it bullied his anus repeatedly. It made him excited and he stared into the camera with a tearful smirk, ignoring the hands around his neck, waiting for the moment where his older boyfriend would cum.

“Fuckin’ A…” Mikey breathed shakingly and thrusted one more time before gasping out of pleasure. He buried inside Trevor, leaning forward, his chest grinding his back, leaving a whole load inside the man underneath.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, taking in the anticipation. Trevor had left a puddle of sweat and drool onto the sheets as Michael reached for the camera, showing the future audience one last peek of the anus that was bricked with white cum. His breathing was heavy and he exhaled, stopping the recording, leaving behind a filthy video of their nastiness, haunting the hard-drive into uploading days later.

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strawberrybobamilk · 8 days

Text

Cut Here (Part 6)

TWs: Language, drugs, mentions of abuse

1988

Some months have passed ever since Trevor and Michael's first encounter and robbery. From that day on, they have engaged in various other crimes together, that ranged from small pickpocketing to selling weed to junkies that passed by under that bridge the duo first met, to bank robberies.

Michael was a planner, carefully studying his every move before acting. He explained Trevor he has already been in prison twice as a consequence for not thinking his moves through enough, and of course he wasn't gonna make the same mistakes.

Trevor on the other hand was a ticking bomb, just waiting, BEGGING, to go off and blow shit up. Sure he cared about getting money and getting the job done, but not as much as causing mayhem with no restriction whatsoever.

A weird mix, but it strangely worked. Surprisingly good too.

Part of Michael was terrified of Trevor's impulsive and reckless nature, yet another part of him found that man... interesting. "T" (so he called him) was good with weapons and plus had a grand physical strenght, but didn't even need to use those skills: his roars and screaming threats were enough to intimidate anyone. And while "M" was more laid back, T's behaviour encouraged him to let go and unleash his inner wild side. He was pretty sure T would have got them both killed at some point sooner or later... yet the thought was absolutely exhilarating.

As for T... it felt so right, to have finally found someone who didn't utterly hate him or ran away from him screaming in terror as soon as they saw him. Someone who made him feel alive, like "his life was worth living".

"Come on... piece of shit... WORK!" Michael was grumbling to himself while trying to make the TV work.

Trevor was lying down on their cabin's couch, amused by Michael's annoyance "All of this just for a movie?"

"Hey it's not 'just a movie', it's 'Albert The Gentleman Thief', one of David Richards' most memorable movies!" Michael explained "You might like it, if only I can manage to make... this... work... THERE!"

A peaceful violin music started playing along with the intro credits, as Michael excitedly sat besides Trevor on the couch.

Michael wasn't wrong: Trevor actually ended up somehow enjoying the movie, while Michael commented on how many times he already watched it and how classy and timeless black and white movies were back then.

Trevor fake coughed "NERD"

"Hey I'm just saying the truth" Michael chuckled.

They laughed together.

Trevor kept laughing, as his laughs then faded into a smile. He never felt happier in his life. He took his attention away from the movie, and looked at Michael. How his sky blue eyes were mesmerized at every detail of the movie. How excited he was to see the main character in the action scenes. How... Michael was a bright ray of sun in his deep gray stormy life.

"Everything alright T? Or you're gonna stare at me the whole time?"

Trevor got out of his trance state and looked at his knees, thinking of something to say "Uh, yeah... I was just thinking of..." he suddendly thought of their first encounter under the bridge "Why didn't you shoot me the first time we met? Even though you had the perfect chance?"

Michael's face darkened "Huh..." he then made a forced smile and pointed at the TV "Hey, this a nice scene there..."

"I asked you a goddamn question Townley..." Trevor gritted his teeth with a growl.

Michael was growing exhasperated "Because... just because, okay?!"

"THAT'S NOT A FUCKING ANSWER"

"OKAY! I'LL FUCKING TELL YOU OKAY?!" Michael yelled "I fucking spared your life because..." his voice lowered and he looked down "...when I saw you under that bridge, at rock bottom in your life, thinking that your life wasn't worth shit... I saw myself in you..."

Trevor's eyes filled with an emotion he rarely felt, compassion.

Michael breathed in "Yeah... you ready for me to tell ya about the story of my life Trevor?" the hazel eyed man nodded, and Michael began "So... I never knew my mother, my old man was a drunk son of a bitch who'd give me beatings on a daily basis and then abandoned me, and to top it off we lived in a dilapidated shitty house"

Trevor's eyes widened as Michael spoke. His own childhood memories resurfacing.

Michael's face suddendly filled with pride "But... there was something good after all. At school I was the jock. Quarterback for a football team. And at least there, everyone admired me. Hell, I even had a dream job back then: becoming a sports star! But then..." he frowned "...fuck me. It was all my fucking fault. I got expelled. Due to my anger issues" he let out a heavy sigh, as he felt Trevor's unusually empathetic eyes on him "...I felt... useless, you know? Fuck, the reason I started doing all this robbing and criminal shit was because... I wanted to become someone! To make something out of my fucking life! And it does feel good! But then, sometimes I feel even worse, because I start wondering what the fuck am I even doing with my life"

Michael's rant stopped as he focused on the movie for a moment, currently depicting the main character with his wife.

"O Albert, I love you so much, but isn't a life of crime too dangerous for you and our family? O what if I lose you?"

"Madeleine, I love being a gentleman thief, but for you I'd be ready to give up anything"

As he watched the two lovers sharing a romantic kiss on the TV screen, Michael let out a heavy sigh "I mean... I'm sick. I'm a sick and awful human being who does sick and awful stuff just so he doesn't feel like a failure. And who'd ever wanna marry a criminal like me? Guess I'll probably die alone"

Trevor finally spoke "You're not gonna die alone"

As Michael replied with a soft "mhm", Trevor, without even thinking about it, put his hand upon Michael's, much to the blue eyed man's shock.

Trevor took away his hand in embarrassment, opening and closing his mouth, not knowing what to say, and improvised with a "heh, North Yankton's pretty chilly ay? My balls are freezing!"

Michael didn't say anything, just looked at him with an unreadable expression, and got up. Trevor looked down in shame. Just as always, he had to fuck up everything. But suddendly, he felt a warmth enveloping him, and Michael sitting down besides him with a blanket covering them both.

"Better?" Michael asked.

After some seconds, Trevor nodded "Yes, definitely better"

"Agree" Michael smiled "I'm cold too..."

#grand theft auto #gta v #trevor philips #michael de santa #gta fanfiction #trikey

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loserme-hello79 · 7 months

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*Trevor and Michael, while in a high speed chase with the cops*

Trevor: SLUGBUG! *punches Michael straight in the face*

#trikey #trevor philips #michael de santa #michael townley #gta v fanfiction #gaymer

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beetleblunt · 7 months

Text

All dolled up

Summary: TRIKEY HURT!!!!

TW: drunk driving?

Words: 1,082

ao3 link

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.

#this is my first fic #so sorry if it sucks #but i had this idea rottin in my head and i needed to put it SOMEWHERE #gtav #michael de santa #trevorphilip #grand theft auto v #trevor philips #michael gta #trevor gta #michael townley #trevor fanfiction #gta fanfiction #gta v fanfiction #gtav trevor #trikey #trikey gta #trevor x michael #bugs write

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gunsoffire · 2 months

Text

Buried Inside

I actually wrote a fanfic for this game, wow!

Rating: Mature

Category: M/M

Fandoms:

Grand Theft Auto V

Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games)

Relationships:

Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips

Michael De Santa & Trevor Philips

Characters:

Michael De Santa

Trevor Philips

Additional Tags:

Fight Scene

POV Michael

One Shot

Fix-It of Sorts

Homoerotic Implications

Bury The Hatchet (Grand Theft Auto)

I Wanted Them to Kiss but Unfortunately They Didn't

My First Work in This Fandom

Words:1,630

Buried Inside by KissOfLightning (AKA GunsOfFire)

Summary:

What if the Chinese took a little longer to reach Trevor & Michael in North Yankton? Alternatively, what was going on in Michael's head?

Work Text:

As Michael rushed through the streets of Ludendorff, his heart felt as if it were trying to leap out of his chest. A part of him knew this moment would come, and he dreaded it. Or perhaps, he anticipated it. Was he here because he really thought he could stop Trevor? Or did he want to see him find out? Maybe a part of him was yearning for this moment.

Michael lowered a window for fresh air to ease the anxiety; it was as cold as he remembered it. The moon illuminated brightly over the fields and streets covered in snow. As he continued to drive, memories of the deal flashed in his mind. His soul ached with regret.

Did he regret what he did? How could he not? But he did what he needed to do to protect himself and his family. There was no other choice. That’s what he kept telling himself. The guilt only managed to set in when Trevor walked back into his life. The man was deranged, an asshole, and would murder without a second thought. Michael was a murderer too, but at least he felt guilty about it.

What’s done is done. It doesn’t matter how guilty I feel about it; it doesn’t change anything.

Michael parked outside the cemetery, and darted towards his own grave. ‘His grave.’ In reality, it was really Brad’s grave. Trevor was already there, digging it out.

Michael held onto hope; the only potential way out of this was to play it cool. “You’re wasting your time.” He spoke to him.

“Oh yeah?” Trevor retorted with fury in his tone. “Is that why you flew all the way down here? Huh? To tell me I’m wasting my time?”

Maybe I can discourage him by pretending I don’t care about it.

“Go ahead. Dig it up. I don’t give a shit.” Michael lied.

“Yeah, that’s what you look like. A guy who doesn’t give a shit.”

Michael waved his hand in dismissal and pretended to start walking away. “Ah, this is ridiculous.”

“How long are you going to keep lying for Mikey, huh? When’s it going to stop?” Trevor pressed.

Michael’s blood ran cold. He turned back to Trevor, listening to him.

“What happens in the dark, comes out in the light.” A wide smile of determination formed on Trevor’s face, as if he knew he was going to find exactly what he was looking for. And he was.

Michael’s heart clenched in dread.

Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT!

“Give it a rest Trevor.” He managed to say calmly. “There’s nothing there!”

Trevor’s shovel clunked against the coffin. “This is it.” He stopped for a breath. “Moment of truth.” Trevor gave Michael one last look in the eyes, as if he were giving him one last chance to finally talk.

Michael shifted his head and shrugged. He shifted to investigate the hole as Trevor did, feeling extreme nausea.

And there it was. “UGGH! As if I didn’t know.” Trevor cried out as he gestured to the corpse. “Brad.”

“Look, we gotta do what we gotta do to survive.” Michael justified. “This thing, it didn’t work out the way it was supposed to.”

“Oh, and how was that?” Trevor’s voice escalated. “With Brad in the can and me in the ground? Or-or-or both of us in the coffin?”

“Brad got shot. You saw it! He didn’t make it. I got shot, I did. That, that’s it!” Michael protested.

Trevor sat himself up out of the ditch he dug. “I think the only thing that didn’t go as planned was me showing up on your doorstep ten years later.” He shifted from squat to full standing. “Mikey.” Pointing at him, “I mourned you.”

Read the rest on AO3:

Buried Inside - KissOfLightning - Grand Theft Auto V [Archive of Our Own]

#post 56 #gta v #Bury the Hatchet #trevor philips #michael de santa #michael townley #GTA Fanfic #GTA fanfiction #gta gifs #trikey #trevor x michael #Michael POV #gof's post #gta textpost

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whosyourcreepyunclenow · 10 months

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alright, for some reason this exists. not quite aware about your boundaries, so I'm obligated to warn: this content may not be suitable for some readers

warnings: smut, ust, non-conish dub-con(?), toxic crap, sad silly nonsense, probably weird english

was written to a nice song though

(it's pov Michael but I can only write in second person, so imagine yourself a depressed middle-aged man and go ahead)

It’s supposed to be a fucking jinx, doesn’t it? Just how you missed the old times few crazy weeks ago, so much you hate ‘em now. And of course, hate yourself for missing ‘em, like it somehow brought back that wild crap right into your present day. What a joke.

Memories should remain memories. To indulge yourself in a good old shitty nostalgia, to dive headlong into that abyss again and get off scot-free. Your personal paradise of fun where the heart trembles, the night's still young, and the bullet in your shoulder doesn’t bother like a real one. No bruises from recoil, no shortness of breath. You’re the sharpest shooter, Mikey, the clearest mind, you always make the right decisions.

Such a calming little lie to fool yourself you could be better than this. Not just a drunk old loser, feeling sorry for himself, but a drunk old loser with history, which you wisely choose to left behind and move forward. You were a terrible person, you still are. However even a terrible person needs something to be proud of.

And there must be no way for that special something to become more than just a back door to escape reality. No fucking way.

The old days taste like nauseating warm beer and smell like piss. Stained with blood, sweat and cum, sound like annoyingly loud swearing and crunch of broken glass. It was a lot easier to forget their true colors, so you gladly forgot, leaving the only ones suitable for a proper melancholic reminiscence. You know, ain’t nothing wrong with romanticizing the past. The trouble begins when you're starting regret things. Oh man, you should never trust your memories, they’re such fabulists…

Another bottle became a pile of trash for Patricia to clean up. Not sure how obvious but you kinda hate her for no reason, just along for the ride. She could tidy up this rubbish dump for days, it’ll never get clean. She could call him good, kind, mature or whatever, he’ll never stop being himself. And neither will you.

Trying to steady the swaying room, you stabilize its dirty walls with your hands, occasionally grabbing a poster girl’s ass, she doesn’t get offended. The next one even deserved a slight slap, as if you weren’t already horny enough – to even feel the seductive warmth of skin through the faded paper and sincerely enjoy that little illusion of touch. Same 'bout an illusion of privacy behind the flimsy folding door you keep closed anyway.

At least he doesn’t mind. Being asleep and completely wasted, the only thing his doped body’s still capable of is snoring. Lying on his back, with his arms and legs spread out, in that smelly stretched briefs, he’s utterly disgusting and sexy at the same time.

Well, in the old days you wouldn’t think twice. But it ain’t the old days.

So you just carelessly shoved him aside and fell down with your face in the pillow, warm and wet from his oily hair. Took a deep breath. Fucking awful as always. He murmured something unintelligible, then turned on his stomach too, but faced to the other side. You don’t look at him either.

“Forget any idea ‘bout molesting me, pork chop. Or I’ll get sober and shove a grenade into your butt, you hear me?”

Feels like you’d blow up his butt right now, without any other tools except your own. Why the hell.

“You really flatter yourself, T. Like… greatly.”

Still somehow managed to keep your voice smooth, though the stupid nervous smirk makes it a bit softer. You swallowed hard, throwing the fuck out of your mind that nostalgic bullshit ‘bout using your saliva in a more efficient way. There was times when your fingers woulda been doing their job already, now they simply clenched into a fist, crumpling a checkered blanket. Those times have passed long ago.

“We both know you ain’t too picky.”

Is he taunting or just mocking you? Any mistake could be unreasonably costly in a lot of senses.

“Yeah, maybe.”

The catch is you ain’t even confident about yourself anymore, face it. Desire is enormous, the foretaste drives you crazy – hey, when was the last time you felt so aroused by someone? Or just aroused without any fucking reason, like in your twenties, but still aroused as fuck? Though it doesn’t mean that need can be satisfied, since any little bullshit’s enough to ruin the feeling and turn you off like a broken switch. So you hate yourself again and hate your body, hate your deceptive mind, hate your everything.

Guess getting old is a great excuse for losing interest, yeah? At least it works for Amanda and your other whores who demand from you much more than you're capable of. But the truth is you haven’t ever lost interest, you’ve just become more… picky? Or egoistic. Or less randomly horny for pretty things or simply tired from imitating it – that’s what they usually call sexual problems.

Resumed snoring let you know that T’s asleep again. So alright, you can continue feeling pity for yourself until the morning. The only thing you can do as long as you want.

Or there’s another option. Weirdly compromise, still crazy. Hence exciting.

You cautiously turned on your back and glanced at him to check, as if the obvious sound was not enough. Part of you treacherously want him to wake up at the worst moment possible, but clearly not yet. Man, what the fuck are you doing…

Quietly unbuckled your belt and unzipped your pants, suddenly worrying. Years ago it was his thing to masturbate on you sleeping, what always felt confusing when you caught him doing that. As if you were jealous of him to himself and somehow got offended, what a dumbass. Didn’t realize that every opportunity to touch someone you wanna touch is a treasure.

And now you’re casually squeezing your cock, remembering his. You jerked him half-ass mechanically, roughly, without giving a single fuck about his pleasure, the only one that really mattered was your own. Of course you tried to make it less obvious, but it was obvious – you were awful. And he loved you awful. More than anyone.

“Fuck, Trevor…”

Can’t help but whispering, not expecting to be heard. Your handjob is a lot better when you’re staring at his sweaty back, fighting the urge to remove these shitty briefs. Ain’t no even need to screw, you may climax just from looking at his naked ass.

It's almost perfect time for him to wake up and punch you. Almost.

Luckily, he doesn’t. Even when you’ve finally lost your damn mind and pull off his underwear, then predicably realized you need more than looking. And holy fuck… this was your last meaningful conclusion.

Quite unable to mess around, you got to the point, eagerly lubing up your cock with saliva and pushing apart his buttocks, barely maintaining a sense of reality… With all these toys he regularly shoves in himself, you thought it would be easier, but his hole just doesn’t let you in. So you spat on your fingers once more and smeared on his tight entrance, then tried again. He’s already disturbed enough to start moaning and lazily fidget, but not fully awake yet.

“Hey, T… You wanted the old me? You’ll get him.”

Finally, he howled when you pushed yourself inside, probably too fast. Ain’t exactly how things should be done, you was merely trying to avoid that awkward pause between “I wanna fuck you” and “I’m actually fucking you” stages. Just can’t deal with that clarifying relationships shit, not fucking now…

“FUCK!”

Alright, he woke up. And he’s trying to shove you out, if only you hadn’t held his bottom like a fucking lifeline.

“Am I shitting? Feels like a big turd’s stuck in my butt… Not so big, actually.”

“Hi to you too, Trevor.”

It’s so tense here like he’s trying to bit off your manhood with his anus and chew it. And maybe a little dry, yet not enough for him to lament.

“Remember what I said ‘bout molesting me, sugar?”

You spread out his cheeks slightly, conciliatory massaging them to appease, but he keeps struggling. It’s easier to lay down and put your weight upon him, bury yourself even deeper, softly mutter into his neck.

“C'mon, T, let me love you…”

He smells attractively horrible, alluring your lips to fondle his skin with short kisses. He tastes salty.

“It’s not fucking LOVE, you dick! It’s taking advantage!”

“Call it whatever you like.”

You thrust in him slowly, knead his hips with all tender affection you can muster, what the fuck else does he want? Alright, it ain’t really convenient now but lift him a bit to play with his boy too, and this time do it right… Oh please, just make sure to do it right.

God, he’s hard. He’s hard and hot like hell, goddammit…

“No! Just, NO I said! And pull your junk outta me!”

So this moron just slapped your hand, shoved it away and wriggled out from under your body, making you both highly unpleasant. Fucking great!

He got up, swaying and shaking, put up his briefs back on and somehow fixed his boner. Still doesn’t look at your face, though he’s not the only who hesitates. After all, you have no damn idea what went wrong or what he wanted you to do. From your perspective it felt as good as it could be, unspeakably good.

“Oh seriously, what’s the problem?”

Crap, he clearly didn’t like the question.

“What’s the problem?! WHAT’S THE FUCKING PROBLEM you asking?!”

“Yes, what’s the fucking problem!”

Fuck it. He finally turned and faced you, with so much desperate hate in his eyes that you went numb. Like everything what happened was so terribly wrong he could never forgive. Like you hurt him in ways you can’t even imagine.

“Listen… Right now, I’m making incredible efforts to not kill you, Michael,” his voice got menacingly quiet, yet notes of deeply rising anger strive to break through. “If that ain’t A PROBLEM to you, guess what I’d be doing with your corpse!”

Shit, he’s so fucking fine when he’s mad. Scary to realize, you’d probably rape him, if only he wasn’t a lot stronger, even with a such hangover. Or perhaps what you’ve already done can be as well considered as a sexual violence – of course, how else. So you’re a rapist now. Congratulations, pal.

“A-right, I got it,” but you’re still a human, who has his goddamn feelings too. “Go fuck yourself then.”

That treacherous, suicidal part of you expected him to react – in any way. He could punch you, slam you against the wall, chock you, shove a fucking grenade into your ass, rape you in revenge. You want him to do fucking anything, you just want him. Desperately.

Hastily zipping up your pants, slide open the door and leave. Patricia’s asleep on the coach or pretending being asleep. Who cares.

When harrowing horniness finally let you go, thirst hit. So bad you’d dry up the Alamo Sea despite its saltiness and ask for more. You bursted into a bathroom, opened the tap at full and drunk greedily from your palms until you felt sick, but couldn’t bring yourself to vomit. The water was muddy, rusty and smelled like sewer, lovely taste of a childhood. Lastly, you washed your face and turned to the broken mirror.

Of course, you’re miserable. Fat old fool with shadows under his eyes, saggy skin and smoky teeth. So what goddamn hopes you had for yourself? He might like that perfect old you, young and handsome, everyone’s blue-eyed boy. Oh, you were hot back in the day, admit it.

You were something to jerk on. Now you ain’t even someone to drunkenly fuck.

So go outside, get in the car. Find yourself the ugliest, the dopest hooker and blow your load into her stretched ass to chill out. Kill some strangers, if doesn’t help, trash someone’s car, rob a store. No other entertainment in this fucking nowhere.

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derangedandbestfriend · 1 year

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a little something i just wrote about trevor in the aftermath of michael's death

death wasn't new to trevor, so his first kill didn't affect him as much as it probably should. the sight was disgusting and terrifying and he'd never forget the smell of burning flesh, but it didn't turn him crazy or overwhelmed by guilt. soon, with the career he chose, he became so accustomed with death, that it didn't even scare him anymore. the suicidal thoughts and lack of care for his own life were a big part of his life since childhood, so that didn't bother him either. death was safe, death was familiar.

but nothing, absolutely nothing could've prepared him for michael townley's death.

it wasn't brutal by any means, at least not by his standards, but that didn't stop it from being the worst fucking thing trevor has ever witnessed. those few tragic seconds were enough to traumatize him for the rest of his life.

every time he closed his eyes he saw michael's lifeless, bleeding body. it wasn't like in all these movies michael forced him to watch. it all happened so fast, there was no time for last words, last wishes or last kisses.

trevor used to hate michael's movies. they were all fake and unrealistic and he watched them just for michael's sake. but now he wished so fucking badly to have something straight out of them. he wanted nothing more than to sit with michael's head on his lap during his last moments and tell him everything that he was too afraid to say before. how his love only grew from the moment they met. how michael was the only thing keeping him alive. how he wanted to cry and scream and destroy everything in sight whenever michael would go back to amanda. how, despite the growing distance and resentment between them, trevor would still always choose michael's life, michael's safety, michael's happines over his own.

he wondered if michael would let trevor kiss him then. he was always so reluctant to display any affection in public, the fear of his biggest secret being discovered was too much. and trevor understood that, he really did, but that didn't mean his heart didn't sink every fucking time michael refused to even grab his hand when someone could see them. maybe the cops would be enough for michael to shut off completely. or maybe, just maybe in his last moments he'd finally stop caring about other people and be himself, even if just that one time. maybe the truth about their hidden love would even make it to the news alongside the information about their deaths. what a perfect fucking way to be remembered. trevor philips—michael townley's partner in crime, best friend and lover.

but he couldn't have that. michael died in mere seconds, his last words were meaningless and so many things were left unsaid between them. he wanted to scream.

he thought about their actual last kiss and how he was the only person alive who even knew about it. michael held him just a little tighter than usual. they were just about to get inside that fucking cash depot and there was desperation in michael's eyes before he pulled trevor in for a long kiss that was broken only when brad yelled at them from around the corner. it was beautiful, heart wrenching and so emotional that even thinking about it made trevor want to smash his head against the nearest wall until he passed out.

most of the time he did.

#im so sorry this just popped into my head #idk if that's even consistent and makes any sense but yeah hope u like it #trikey #trevor philips #michael de santa #gta v #gta v fanfiction #my fic

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trikeysworld · 2 years

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I freakin love these two. Hope u like this edit I made a while ago

#trikey #gta 5 #gta v fanfiction #michael de santa #trevor philips #gta v michael #gta v trevor

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nevergonnasimpyoumikey · 6 months

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He stared at the frozen lake, wanting to cut a hole in the ice and then drown himself.

There was no point in living, was there? He had run away from Michael, the only good thing he'd had — even when he could barely call it that after the man had tried to push him away for the last couple of years.

He had left Michael to die.

And Brad. He had left them both there lying with bullets in their chests.

Brothers for life, he always used to say to Michael.

Some brother he was.

He walked to the ice. An area a bit further away had been cleared of snow for skaters and he walked there, paving his way through the thick layer of snow. He didn't know why since the lake was frozen solid and he had no tools to break the ice. He couldn’t drown here.

He still stomped his foot down, achieving nothing.

He tried again, harder. Same spot. What else was there to do? Again and again and again, until eventually he let out a frustrated yell and jumped up, as if his full weight would be enough.

He was swept off his feet, landing on his back and hitting his head on the ice. For a moment his vision blurred as pain soared through him.

But the pain was good. Pain was a dear family friend. He hit his head a few more times for good measure — and everything already felt clearer. Everything was just that tiny bit easier. His vision returned and he stared at the stars in the sky, tears and snot freezing on his face.

He asked me to run. He wanted me to survive.

So he got up, marveling at the aches in his body, and went back to the car he had stolen. He would drive until he couldn't anymore, and then he would just have to find a new meaning for his life.

The guilt wouldn't stop haunting him but at least he had his pain.

#my fics #trevor philips #trikey fanfiction #gta fanfiction #tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: self harm

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trevorphilips-enthusiast · 2 years

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Pt.2

A/N: Here's the LATE part two to my previous post and I assure that this contains fluff for you all

Summary:

After Trevor's episode from Michael leaving suddenly, something unexpected awaits him in the morning.

Contains:

Slight angst(?), confessions, swearing, fluff and a cheeky little kiss (maybe more than one)

Fuck.

Trevor's head was spinning 100mph and he wasn't even hung over. I guess the overload of emotions he felt the previous night had tipped him completely over the edge. He couldn't really understand how Michael could just leave him in a time of vulnerability. He thought there were at least friends.

Laying his hands out and expecting to feel the hard floor, he was met with the relatively soft mattress instead. What? Trevor swore that he fell asleep on the floor last night... so why was he on the bed. It was only now that he took notice of the calloused hand which rested on his torso and the weight of someone's head resting relatively close to his.

Trevor quickly sprung up and turned to rest on his other side to see Michael's sleepy form resting on the other side of the bed. He froze. Since when did Michael come back? And why was he in the same bed as Trevor? Although Trevor wasn't complaining in the slightest.

He was too busy focusing on how cute Michael looked sleeping but not in a creepy way. It was quite a contrast to the chaotic life that he and Trevor were on the path of riding down. His features looked completely relaxed as apposed to the how tense Michael seemed 24/7. His lips slightly parted and sounds of his breathing flowing through the room.

To Trevor, this only worsened the situation. He couldn't fathom that someone could ever be so perfect to him. How could someone like Michael ever like someone like Trevor? He's a psychotic freak while Michael is... also psychotic but he's got his head screwed on. Sighing, Trevor went to swing his legs over the side of the bed but stopped when he felt a hand grab his wrist.

"G'morning T..." Michael grumbled while slowly sitting up and rubbing his eyes with his free hand. So cute. Trevor only groaned slightly in response, still deep in thought. Something was definitely going to be said about last night . "So I'm guessing you're wondering how we both ended up in bed together huh?" Michael chuckled while scratching the back of his neck.

"Um yeah... what he fuck happened?". Taking a deep breath, Michael turned his body fully to face Trevor and started picking at the bed sheets. What was he going to say to him?

"So when you told me about how you felt last night, I needed to get some fresh air and clear my head because I mean... that was a massive fucking shock to me, T. I didn't think you were... y'know... gay." Michael explained, flapping his hands about slightly. "Bi-sexual..." Trevor mumbled under his breath, subtly correcting Michael but wanted to hear what he had to say.

"And... I guess while I was out, I couldn't help but realise that maybe I feel the same way but it's insanely hard for me because I didn't think I'd ever feel this way about a guy.". Looking over at Trevor for a response, Michael was only met with a blank face. "Wh-what I'm trying to say here.. T... is that I'm on the same page as you... on this whole thing" Michael tried explaining but was still faced with Trevor's blank expression.

"Oh for fuck sakes. I LIKE YOU, T! OKAY?! Maybe even love!" Michael yelled, now staring straight into Trevor's eyes with a stone cold face. However Trevor's expression was now completely different. A smile now grazed his face and his eyes crinkled at the sides. That's all he ever wanted to here. I love you. Yet this just seemed to piss Michael off. "Oh yeah, great! Don't answer me and just look right at me! After I pour my hea- mmph!"

Trevor cut him off with a quick kiss, ending it nearly as fast as he initiated it. Now both red in the face and looking at one another, Michael then placed both hands on the side of Trevor's face and pulled him back into a passionate kiss.

This is everything Trevor's dreamed of and more. It seemed like a fever dream that Michael actually liked him back. Smiling into the kiss, Trevor trailed one hand in Michael's short hair and the other on his waist. The euphoria that ran through his veins in that moment was unexplainable as he continued to kiss Michael. Sure Trevor dreamed of this moment but never did he think it would be this good.

After what felt like ages, Michael broke the kiss and could help but smile at the flushed look on Trevor's face. "Am I really that goood, T?" Michael whispered smugly, a smirk planted on his face. Trevor only rolled his eyes at this and murmured "Fuck off Mikey" before kissing him again.

#trevor philips #michael townley #gta 5 #gta v #fluff #angst #trevor x michael #trikey #trikey fanfiction

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rreskk · 7 months

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Fuck buddies

Thanks for requests. Working on them :)

Summary: Trevor was starving for Mikey, breaking an entry and giving him a sight to behold in the bedroom.

TW: -Smut

Pairings: Trikey

Word count: 1727

Michael returned home after dropping Amanda off at the shops. He approached his bedroom door, unbuttoning his white shirt in hopes to catch up on sleep. When that handle pushed open the door, he paused in his tracks and stared ahead. His throat clogged with secret arousal. The surprise of seeing his best friend sprawled out on his own bed. Michael was uncertain. He held his forehead, believing this was some sort of sleep-deprived hallucination.

“Fuck… Mikey…”

Trevor was lying on his back, wearing this slim, silky red dress and black fishnets that were torn around his crotch. The dress was so tight around his waist and stomach that it crazed the surface of his small tummy, and whenever he’d inhale, tainted abs would form. Beyond this sight, Trevor was also making passionate love with himself. Dick in hand, touching his neck and hair; crying for Michael with such desperation. He arched his back and moaned when masturbating harder. He had his nose based on Mikey’s pillow, sniffing up the scent he had missed the most.

Michael held the doorway for stability as he continued watching his best friend beat himself raw. He felt disgusted but so allured. There was this sudden strain in his pants, an itchy throb that tugged at his forming erection. It has been quite a while since he’s felt so sexually aroused. It almost felt like a sexual awakening – even through the past of intwining with Trevor so physically and intimately. Michael was so engrossed that his stomach twirled at the memories.

Now his best friend was on his own bed, such a sudden surprise.

Then he remembered Amanda. He remembered all those arguments about her suspicions of Trevor. He remembered all those nights he tried to make-up for his absence, but she knew. She always knew.

“What are you doing?” Michael croaked with such intensity that his voice cracked. His eyes watered with overwhelming disgrace at the torturous memories. Yet it didn’t stop his body from yearning for that familiar feeling.

Trevor’s head jerked up at the sound of his favourite person. He clawed his own jaw and gritted his teeth, his hand loosening from that twitching penis. It stood up, so fiercely erected. It was hidden under the dress when he sat up, his hair tangled and drool falling down his chin.

“Are you wearing Mandy’s clothes?” Mikey whispered – taunted and tempted.

“I missed you.” He’d whine back.

“What are you doing here, Trev?”

“C’mon, Mikey. I can’t pretend anymore. I miss you,” Trevor stayed on the bed, his legs only widening that his cock returned in the spotlight, “Please… One last time?”

“We said that last time.” Michael uttered and clenched his fists in retaliation.

“Don’t you miss me? We had so much fun when you were bunked with me. I can’t stop thinkin’ about you, Mikey, baby.”

“Trevor… Not here, not when Amanda’s around – “

“You said that before,” Trevor glared, “It’s not fair. Why can’t I see you anymore? Only when she ain’t around. Pathetic.”

“You know why.” He stepped closer, avoiding the pieces of clothing scattered on the floor.

“It makes me want to exile her for life – just so I can have you to myself, Mikey!”

Michael’s eyes twitched as he pointed a finger at Trevor. But he grinned, spreading his legs more. His scrawny hands returned to his tip, slyly scraping the skin and making himself moan huskily. His eyes kept tabs on Mikey, making sure this show was only specialised for him.

“You like this...?” He’d purr and arch his back again.

“Stop.” Michael pled, refusing to look (even if he wanted to).

“Babbbyy – “

“Trevor, you need to leave. What if the kids walk in, huh? What if Mandy comes back?”

“Your “kids” are grown adults now. They know best than to walk into daddy’s bedroom.” Trevor sensually dragged up his dress to reveal more of his naked body.

“Trevor…” He sighed at this sight.

“C’mon, Mikey. Remember how good it feels? I could help with that… Issue of yours, if you know what I mean – “

“Trevor.” Michael snapped but was greeted with an amused cackle from his best friend. He wanted to walk out and prove his strength, he really wanted to feel something other than attraction. This wasted years of messing around led to hiding another affair from his wife. And with the same man he told her not to worry about.

“I want to be a better man.” Whispered Mikey, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“When are you ever a good man?”

“I didn’t say good. I just wanna be better…”

“In the bedroom, or? – “

“Can you be serious for once?” He snapped and glared towards Trevor.

The other man gave him a look of distaste before reaching over and wrapping his arms around Michael’s neck. He ignored his attempts to escape and pulled him close, managing to lure him on top. Trevor gazed up at Mikey with a cheeky smile, one of his legs wrapping around his waist.

“I wanna be serious with you for once.” He whispered then pressing his lips against his.

Their lips melted together perfectly, just like how they used to back in the Midwest. It sent Michael into a fit of nostalgia and want. Without knowing, he kissed back, his hands holding onto Trevor’s scrawny hips and guiding their bodies closer.

Trevor smirked during the kiss, “I know you’ve been missing me.” Before he continued making it deeper, wanting to feel him everywhere again.

Mikey mentally rolled his eyes before pining Trev against the mattress, his hands naturally finding itself around the other mans throat as they made intense eye-contact. There was this hardened boner that pressed against Michael’s groin, and when he gazed down, he wondered how it could get even more stiff and pulsing. He knew Trevor had a hyper-sexual drive, but by the looks of his cock, this was pure arousal. It looked Godly painful.

“Fuck, Trev…” He uttered and nudged his waist forward, grinding that monstrosity against his work trousers, causing Trevor to moan. This gave him access to full power. Michael abused this, deciding to release one hand from T’s throat and using it to handle this throbbing penis. He tortured the tip, watching it squirm and gurgle out pre-cum.

“Mikey! Yes, baby!” Cried Trevor, “I’m your fucking cum slut, baby!”

Michael groaned at his desperation. He looked down to see Trevor’s cock passively squirting out more cum. He’d then rub him raw, warming the skin and making the frame of his best friend shudder and squirm.

“FUCK!”

“You wanted this, you dick – “

“I want more, more. Mikey, more!” He begged.

“You fucking whore.” Michael smirked and unbuckled is belt, letting his trousers fall around his ankles to show that growing bulge within his pants. The way Trevor’s eyes widened. He went to sit up and grab at his boner, but once again, he was thrown back and pinned against the bed.

“Babbyyy! – “

“No touching unless I say. C’mon, T, you know the rules,” Mikey tormented, freeing his penis and lining it against Trevor’s anus. He ogled down at this pathetic excuse of a man underneath and smirked before thrusting. Instant relief. He remembered the first time they’ve ever done this, and it brought him loving memories.

“Mikey! Yes, fuck me!” Trevor moaned and moaned and moaned.

“You like that, huh?” He grunted when rocking back and forth, “I bet you missed being fucked like this.”

“You’re so big, baby!”

“Shut up before I shove this cock down your throat.”

Trev smirked cheekily at this threat but obeyed. He grabbed his cock and began to jerk as Mikey continued to butcher his anus alive. The dress was practically torn off by the rapid movements, exposing all his chest and stomach that glistened with sweat. He eagerly grinded against the penis that was fucking him, adding to that extra spice, making them both groan sensually.

“Mikeeeyy! Hit me, hit me hard! Ah! – “ He was silenced when a strong hand slammed his mouth closed. Trevor’s muffled giggle was felt from behind Michael’s palm as he was physically forced to stay silent in case his family could hear.

“You’re an asshole.” Mikey hissed with anger, beginning to thrust deeper and rougher. The bed beneath them shook frantically and Trev’s body was pathetically jerking up and down like a personal fuck-toy. He’d squeal from behind Michael’s hand, loving the idea of being restrained because of his unnatural chaos.

Soon enough, he was drilling into Trevor relentlessly. They were having the roughest sex imaginable. Their hips were slapping together, Trevor’s face was bright red with the inability to breathe, Mikey was sweating through his whole suit attire. It was forgotten that his kids were at home, and admitting the volume, they were super louder. Trev’s screeching of joy was heard, Michael’s dirty words, their moans, the bed creaking, the floor struggling to keep the weight. This passion was unstainable, resulting in this godforsaken, mutual orgasm.

Trevor was released and he yelped, “MIKEY! FUCK!” His cock squirting ruthlessly onto his stomach.

Michael fucked through the orgasm, his own penis ejaculating fluids into Trev’s anus. He was stumbling with his movements. The staggering thrusts of his hips made them both moan before he fell backwards, holding his limb cock and staring at Trevor’s abused hole. He grinned and stroked his thumb across the surface, then giving it a deserving slap.

“Ah!” Trev gasped at this aggression. He had completely disbanded the dress, lying on Mikey’s bed naked. He was breathing furiously after the intense orgasm.

However, before they could speak, the front doors opened.

“Michael! Help me with my bags!”

He went wide eyed, hushing Trevor out with a hand. While begging him to leave, he had zipped up his flies and brushed any creases from the bedsheets. Mike pled him to hurry as Trevor seemed annoyed but nodded. He left the dress, crawling out of the window naked.

Michael watched him with disturbance before the bedroom door opened, but luckily his fuck buddy was long-gone.

“Michael!” Amanda sighed, “Didn’t you hear me?”

He shook his head shamelessly.

“Well, I got bags from shopping. Could you help?”

He nodded and followed close behind. He took one last look at the window Trevor climbed from, softly smiling to himself.

#grand theft auto 5 #trevor philips #grand theft 5 #grand theft auto #gta 5 #gta v #trevor gta #grand theft auto v #michael de santa #gta trikey #trikey #trikey gta #gta #my fanfic writing #my fanfic #my fanfiction #fanfiction

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gtafest · 1 year

Text

GTA Valentine's Day Secret Art Exchange

Is that title way too long? Absolutely. Do I care? Absolutely not.

There was some interest in Valentine's Day event, so here it is! The difference to Secret Santa is that this time the focus is on romance and love instead of Christmas. And, the bigger change: nsfw gifts between adults will be allowed due to popular demand. This is why the form asks your age and is a bit different in other ways too.

Here's the drill:

We do art trade as an exchange between artists and writers who create fics/fan arts/graphics/etc for one another as a gift. Secret means that you can’t tell anyone what you are working on until it’s time to post your work. You make a gift and get a gift.

This event is for all GTA games despite the name of the blog. You can ask for gifts about any GTA games or even your original characters, but make sure the prompt is very clear on what you want. Leaving many different kinds of prompts is preferable! The mod will do their best to match up everyone so that there is representation for as many games as possible.

The theme is love and romance, but you can also leave other kinds of prompts if you want. Platonic love definitely counts! This is a good time for all your fluffy, romantic, soft, cute, or sexy prompts. Themes so heavy that they could make people uncomfortable are not allowed. Always ask if you’re unsure! You will be contacted if there’s a problem with the matchmaking or your prompts, so be sure to leave the correct information on your social medias.

You can join by filling in this form. It will only be available until January 10, so be quick! By the end of next week, you will receive the information about the person you’re going to gift your work. Then you will have until Valentine's Day to work on your gift.

The moderator will ask you for progress a couple of times before the deadline to make sure that everyone gets their gift. If there are any problems and you can’t participate any longer, contact the mod ASAP and be honest. We've had a few issues with this before, and I hope it won't repeat again. If you're unsure if you can partake in this exchange, think twice before signing up.

That’s about it! Feel free to reblog this post (my tagging system is lacking tbh) and hopefully, we get a lot of participants!

Mod: @nevergonnasimpyoumikey

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sinisterexaggerator · 6 months

Note

I know the answers to like 99.9% of these.

But. Here we go! 👀 ⛔️

⛔️ "Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?"

Hmm, not exactly. I always have the intention of finishing something, even if it takes me a year or more.

Well, I guess there was this one for a young Trevor Philips and Michael De Santa in North Yankton for GTA V. Never got around to adding more to it, and probably never will:

---

“Jesus, T! Get us the fuck out of here!”

“I’m trying M, but if you’re not satisfied with my driving skills, why don’t you sit YOUR fat ass behind the wheel?”

“Why the hell did you have to kill that guy?! He’s probably got a wife and kids!”

“Hey! He triggered the alarm! That’s why we’re in this mess.”

“No, we’re in this mess because you’re TRIGGERhappy!”

“Nananana… That snitch got what he deserved!”

Flashing lights, red and blue, reflecting off the crisp, white snow; two robbers running from the cops. Always running, forever, until the end of time, or at least that’s how Michael Townley felt, locked in tight by his seatbelt, the getaway car little better than a piece of shit, found somewhere off the beaten path before the job. It was a small-time gig, just a liquor store, but plenty of people warmed themselves by getting drunk; the register loaded down with money while its patrons were loaded down with booze; a typical, cold winter’s night for the pair of two-bit crooks.

Michael turned around, his weapon drawn, a pair of police cruisers in hot pursuit. They were firing their own rounds, aiming for the tires, and Townley knew he had to do something soon or wind up behind bars. “Can’t this thing go any faster, T?!”

“You know what’s REALLY fast? Your God damn mouth. Quit flapping your lips and get those assholes off our tail!”

Michael took a shot simply to smash the rearview windshield, seeing the cruisers clear as day as they were gaining on them, M feeling that all too familiar rush of adrenaline permeate throughout his entire being; he would tell T that he hated it, but the rush he felt made him feel alive, something he rarely felt at all.

On a good day he was half a man, kept alive by petty theft and diner food, skirting from one town to the next, Trevor at his heels like an obedient, somewhat restless puppy that needed to be potty trained – M taking it upon himself to break him in. He was useful, beneficial, however unrestrained and somewhat uncontrollable; he had it in his mind it was an easy fix, but Trevor had other wild ideas.

Michael pulled the trigger, and one cop spun out in a flurry of ice and squealing rubber, the car being buried conveniently in a mountain of thick, white powder, but not cocaine; that would be saved for their celebration later if they made it out alive.

“Whooo! That’s my cowboy! That’s some rootin’ tootin’ damn good shootin’, Mikey!”

“I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again.”

---

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

LOL, you know allllll about my WIPs. Probably before anyone else. I have too many to choose from, but I hope to do these three things first and foremost:

Chapter 15 of Stars Above. Bane is in the bacta tank, forced to endure flashbacks from his past in the form of nightmares, and Zulara is left alone with Todo until he wakes up, however long it takes. But will Cad be pleased to see her there? What will Kayson think about her disappearance over the next few days? What lie or cover story will Hondo make up, if any?

This Hondo x Reader fic, where the reader is a spoiled little rich girl who is the daughter of a weapon's manufacturer. Their fates are hilariously intertwined, and Hondo is going to wind up getting more than he bargained for when he had originally set out to simply steal a little something off her.

A Tech x Reader fic where the Marauder is left in Tech's care during a Separatist attack on the planet Bandomeer. He comes across the reader who is injured and trapped under some rubble. He must help you/her and then pilot you both to safety. An unexpected turn of events causes you and Tech to be stranded until he can repair the ship; you are at the mercy of nature and the elements over the course of the next few days, not to mention any droids who may find you, and the rest of Clone Force 99 is preoccupied and unable to help. Hurt/Comfort/Possible smut. >D

#writer ask #ask game #fanfiction #thank you teeeeeeth #GTA V #Trikey #My WIPs

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d-u-s-t-9379 · 1 year

Text

Hi @tdutchartist! And Merry Christmas! I was your @gtavfest secret santa <3

I had so much fun writing this inspired by your celebration prompt! I hope you like it!

Title: Sneaking Beers

Words: 3,870

Ship: Michael x Trevor (My first time writing Trikey! I love reading it but have never been confident in my ability to write it, so I hope you enjoy!)

Summary: The boys go out for one (definitely only one) drink to celebrate a successful job. Drunkenness ensues.

No one had turned the lights on in the motel room. And as the sun had sunk, it found the windows – rosy, prying fingers of light forced through cracks – and painted the walls a sultry orange. But no one was there to witness the warm golden hour and it quickly faded to gloom. And no one turned on the lights

So that it was sitting dark; slipped into night without any acknowledgment of the march of time. No recognition of the day that had passed for all the – no doubt – innumerable creatures who inhabited the economical room. The rats in the walls; the cockroaches beneath the bath; the microbes growing between the sheets. This last should certainly have been afforded some kind of celebration for seeing in a new sunset. Given how short their lives were.

But what no one tells you, is that the question – you know the one. The one that goes If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it. You know. That one?

Yeah.

That question is only important, or even interesting, because we assume the no one – the one who isn’t around to hear – must be human.

No one cares, or thinks about, empty motel rooms.

There must be people in them to make them interesting. To make a story.

So, let’s add some.

---

This is not an empty motel room.

This is an emphatically not empty storage lock up.

Not empty because it contains a car. And not empty because that car contains three dark clad figures.

Their faces are covered by masks – ridiculous, plastic clown masks – and they sit in the car, in the dark. They are listening to sirens outside.

Muffled by the shuttered door of the lockup, the sirens nonetheless grow louder. And louder still.

And then, once more, louder.

Then they receded.

A breath was released. Not by any of the figures in the car. No, they were far too experienced by now to hold their breath for the LSPD. They released no puff of relieved air when the patrol cars fled past without a care in the world.

By the universe then. The breath released.

As though the universe gave a shit.

Or at least, it never had before to the man who climbed out of the motionless vehicle first, yanking off the claustrophobic mask first and tossing it in the back seat. It hit the man sitting there who made a wordless noise of disapproval. Michael De Santa, nee Townley, pulled his phone from his pocket as he levered himself out of the passenger side seat. He squinted in the blinding blue light, and it took a moment for him to find the number. It rang only a couple of times.

‘Hey, Lest,’ he said into the hand piece, keeping his back to the car. ‘Yeah, we got it. Pretty easy actually. Maybe too easy. Ground forces seem to have lost us, but you mind checking they don’t got a bird in the area before we come out of here with our asses hanging out?’

A pause and then Michael said, ‘Okay. Thanks.’

He turned back to find his two accomplices had emerged from the car as well. Franklin was leaning with his arms folded on the roof – he’d taken his mask off too. The third had left his on.

Michael found the plastic eyes – with the dark holes cut out for sight – disconcerting. He looked instead at Franklin. ‘So?’ the younger man asked. ‘We good?’

Michael shrugged before saying, ‘Apparently. No more units in the area and Lester said-’

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by a whoop that filled the confined space of the garage. The third man finally ripped off the mask and Michael didn’t think what lay beneath was any easier to look at.

The lock up was hot in the early evening sun, but it was more than just that which drew the sweat from Trevor’s brow. Beneath the heavy structure, eyes glinted. Deceptively keen, deceptively clever eyes. But the grin the spread across his face, that showed all his teeth, was genuine – as much as it was chemically fuelled. Natural and synthetic.

Adrenalin and speed.

‘Lester said,’ Michael repeated loudly, avoiding looking too long at his old running buddy, ‘we should be good to leave the stuff here. Someone will come by and pick it up and we’ll get paid once it’s been verified.’

‘And we got a guarantee on that?’ Franklin asked, eyes narrowed. ‘Like, it’s for definite.’

‘What are you expecting, kid? A pro forma? Guy said he’d pay us on delivery. We gotta take him at his word.’

Trevor scoffed loudly. ‘And we all know what a man’s word means to you, Mikey.’

This earned him a look – albeit short lived. ‘For now,’ Michael continued doggedly, ‘let’s all go home; keep quiet; and see what happens.’

Franklin nodded, but Trevor was blocking the exit. ‘Oooooor,’ he drawled, placing his feet wide and raising his hands to point at them. ‘We could not be total fucking pussies. Go out. Get a few drinks.’ His movements became more energetic as he spoke, more erratic. ‘Fucking celebrate, man! We’ve done a good, long day’s work here. Least we can do is get some beers in.’

Michael looked doubtful, but Franklin was already nodding. ‘Sure, dog. I could use a fucking drink.’

‘Alright!’ Trevor’s hands clapped together – the sound echoed off the wall. ‘Mikey? Come on, sugartits. You owe me a drink.’

‘I don’t know, T. Amanda is-’

‘Fuck Amanda!’

‘Watch it, T.’ The look Michael gave him was dangerous, but at least he was looking at him.

Trevor’s smile grew.

‘Come on,’ he wheedled. ‘One fucking drink. Just to toast our success. Come on. One.’

---

Six, Michael thought, looking down at the heavy-bottomed glass on the table. It shifted before his eyes, splashing amber liquid. No. Seven?

And Michael was laughing. Genuinely, belly-clutching, wiping tears away, laughing. Laughing like he hadn’t in years.

Because Trevor was telling stories.

There were many things about Trevor that were utterly clear to the naked human eye. Many aspects of his personality that made themselves known to even the most obtuse observer. That he hadn’t bathed in a number of months; that some substance stronger than caffeine was fuelling him; that he was dangerous.

But as clear as all these things were, there was still – even Michael must admit – much about him that was unexpected. And one of these hidden attributes, one that was making itself known tonight, was that he was a great storyteller.

‘So the guy – headless chicken in hand – looks at Michael. And Michael’s walking like he’s just shit his pants with all this cash stuffed down the back of his jeans.’ Pausing, Trevor pointed a finger at Franklin, and said, ‘Now, if there'd been a dye pack in this take, that'd’ve been quite a show.’

‘Man, fuck you,’ Franklin said, but he was laughing too.

‘I don’t know how we'd have explained that one.’

Trevor’s eyes slipped to Michael, who shrugged and suggested, ‘Explosive diarrhoea.’

‘Always did say you were full of shit, Mike. But, as it was, we never even got that far. Because before we could even ask if he had a phone we could use, he turns to us and goes-' Trevor’s voice ratcheted up an octave, taking on an exaggerated yokel twang that was completely out of character with where the story was actually set ‘- Hold on just one gosh-darn minute! I know you fel- Bang!’

The table shuddered, ice clinking in glass, as Trevor drove his fist into the surface.

‘Mikey shoots the poor old guy. Straight through the fucking chicken in his hands. Chest cavity explodes. Blood and fucking feathers everywhere!’

Not laughing any more, Franklin looked at Michael, sitting in the booth beside him. Michael shrugged again.

He knew the ending to this story.

‘Then, this man,’ Trevor continued, indicating Michael once more. ‘This man, who has just mowed down droves of pigs; who has just massacred some poor, innocent old farmer. This man steps up to the body, looks down at the gory sight, and says-'

Trevor stopped, hands held out to Michael like a showman presenting his finest act. Looking down at his drink and unable to hide the wry smile creeping across his face, Michael concluded the tale.

‘Poor chicken.’

Trevor was the only one who laughed. Head thrown back and loud enough that, even in the crowded bar, he drew some irritated looks. It was the type of place that, ten years ago, would have been considered a dive. But after a celebrity was spotted slumming it and trying to pass for a normal human being, it had experienced a brief period of trendiness – during which it had exchanged its real grit for the faux stuff. The kind that made you feel like you were somewhere with an edge, while you rubbed elbows almost exclusively with finance bros.

And though the celebrities had long since moved on to other, harder to find spots, their pictures still adorned the walls amidst the store-bought, easily consumed knickknacks of Vinewood glitz and glamour. The bar desperately clinging to their five minutes in the sun. That they had allowed Trevor on the premises was a sign that things were returning to the natural equilibrium though. Already Michael could see the nervousness settling in. Young men in suits looking uncomfortable as their favourite dive bar became just a little too realistically gritty.

Though, Michael was perhaps being unfair on them. After all, Trevor was too gritty for most people.

Grit ingrained so deep within the pores of his skin it would never come off.

‘Yo,’ Franklin said. ‘For real?’ He was looking at Michael with a perturbation he hadn’t in a long while.

‘Look, kid, it’s not what you think. The guy was a retired cop. He knew me from back in the day. Plus he was a prick. Used to beat the ever-loving shit outta his wife. Everyone knew.’

‘As if you gave a fuck about his wife,’ Trevor barked.

Franklin felt the conversation needed some steering. ‘What happened to the chicken?’

Michael looked to Trevor who shrugged and said, ‘Made a mean pot pie.’

With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Franklin slipped out of the booth and said, ‘Sure, dog. Was the chicken you put in the pie.’

‘What are you implying, Frankie?’

‘I ain’t implying nothin’, man. You may be inferring some shit, but I ain’t implying nothing.’ He gave the older man a look that was entirely innocent. ‘I’mma hit the pool table. You dogs wanna join?’

‘Nah.’ Michael burped. ‘I stand up right now I’m gon’ end up on my ass.’

‘Trevor?’

‘You go ahead, kid. I’m quite comfortable where I am.’

Michael heard Franklin walk away and concentrated on the table in front of him. The wood grain was flowing water – streaming across the surface in a rippled wave. He blinked and realised his excuse to Franklin had been truer than he'd thought.

It took an effort to raise his gaze and he wished he hadn’t. Because it was only to find Trevor’s on him. Those dark eyes that could glint no matter how dull the light was – like they contained it. Like a log in a burned low fire, black and cracked on the outside but still a scintillating, fluid inferno within. They lit a fire beneath Michael’s skin.

And it sparked his temper.

‘The fuck do you want?’ he snapped before he could stop himself.

The slow smile that unfurled across Trevor’s face was triumphant. ‘Nothin’.’

‘Then quit fuckin’ staring, creep.’

Trevor’s brow shot up. His grin was still amused, and it only pricked Michael’s nerves more. ‘Creep?’

‘Oh, fuck off.’

‘Didn’t realise it bothered you so much.’ There was a creak of cheap pleather as Trevor settled further back into his seat. ‘What, I’m not even allowed to look at you anymore?’

‘Not like this, man,’ Michael muttered. His fingers drummed on the table spanning between them, wood still shifting like sand. He could almost feel it beneath his fingertips.

That’s what they had exchanged it for, right?

What he had exchanged it for.

Fucking sand.

Fucking sand and fucking palm trees.

But he could smell snow.

‘You’ve been staring all day. It’s creepy.’

‘Only ‘cause you’ve been avoiding meeting my eye all day.’

Like a string pulled taut between them, Michael’s eyes sprung up and caught on level with Trevor’s. ‘I-‘ There was heat rising from the collar of his shirt. The AC in this stupid, pretentious dive was probably busted. ‘Like hell I have.’

Trevor’s head cocked to one side. He said nothing.

‘I haven’t,’ Michael insisted, though even to him it sounded unconvincing. ‘I-’ The lies melted on his tongue – dissolved in whisky and salt water – leaving only the truth. Still he hesitated over it. Less than honest at the best of times, Michael had always found it even more difficult where Trevor was concerned. So he took a breath before saying, ‘You look weird.’

Whatever Trevor had been expecting, this drew him up short. His brows crashed back down; fresh fuel to the fire. ‘What?’

Michael looked down again, back to the safety of his drink. He raised it to his mouth but didn’t drink yet. ‘I don’t like that you shaved your head,’ he slurred into the glass. His lips felt strange – swollen.

There was a pause and then. ‘I don’t like that you abandoned me for nine years.’

Bleary eyes found Trevor, grown around mournful frustration. ‘Can we hang out for once without you bringing that up?’

Another pause.

Michael didn’t look this time.

He couldn’t imagine a favourable response. But then Trevor said, ‘Sure, Mikey.’

Though he half suspected this to be Trevor’s intention, Michael looked up again nonetheless. But Trevor wasn’t watching him now. Face turned away, he was staring at the table. One elbow resting on the surface, he scratched at the back of his freshly shorn head.

Michael found himself watching the movement closely. The flex of his roughened fingers and the crease of skin stretched thin across bone, revealing every curve and line.

‘After all,’ Trevor continued after a moment. ‘It’s a celebration.’

---

The strip club was a mistake.

Two blocks before they arrived at its door, Michael had already realised it was a mistake.

It had seemed like such a good idea when they’d left the bar.

But somewhere in the short walk between the two establishments, Michael had sobered up enough to rethink this decision. Still, he followed Trevor and Franklin inside regardless and – after a number of whiskey shots and a couple of private dances – it was back to being the best damn idea they’d ever had.

After all, like Trevor had said, it was a celebration.

And Michael felt like celebrating.

So much so, that he didn’t even care when – several hours and another, fresher number of whiskey shots later – he was all but carried outside by Trevor.

He didn’t care. No he didn’t care. Not at all.

It’s not like there hadn’t been nights in the past, many in fact, that had ended the exact same way. There was something familiar about it. Even now, nearly a decade later and untold pounds heavier, Trevor’s arm around his torso, strong as an iron beam, kept him up. Familiar. Almost comforting.

Not that he cared.

He didn’t care.

‘Ughhh,’ he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the assault of night air. ‘I’m gonna throw up.’

‘Let it all out, bud.’

Michael could feel the words pass from Trevor’s chest to his. ‘Or I’ll shit the bed.’

‘Let it all out.’

‘Ay.’ Franklin’s voice. The kid was still here? Shit. Had he said anything weird? Done anything? He hadn’t- Everything was spinning.

He remembered his eyes were still closed. But opening them didn’t help.

‘He gon’ be good?’ Franklin was asking. ‘He’s pretty drunk-’

‘Yeah, I’m drunk!’ Michael agreed enthusiastically – too loudly. ‘I’m fuckin’ drunk- mm’fuckin’… Bleeeeeh.’

The world heaved and for a terrifying, stomach-lurching moment Michael thought he’d fallen, but it was only Trevor readjusting his hold – pulling Michael’s arm more firmly over his shoulders. ‘He’s fine, kid,’ he assured Franklin easily. ‘I’ve seen him worse. He just needs a bed to sleep it off. I’ll get him home. He’ll be fine.’

Doubt softened Franklin’s voice. ‘Man, you sure?’

‘Trust me.’ Trevor’s was solid as wood. ‘I know him.’

‘I- I know me,’ Michael informed them. He added, in a quieter mumble, ‘I just don’t like me.’

Trevor met Franklin’s pointed look head on and said, ‘Ahh, he’s always saying that!’

And Franklin had to admit that was true. ‘Alright,’ he said, and the word trailed into oblivion. He remembered that he was far from sober himself and suddenly his bed was the most enticing thing he could imagine. And Trevor was sober – well, as sober as T ever got. He’d see them alright.

Right?

But Franklin’s head was spinning too fast now to properly answer that question. With a shake of his head, which he quickly regretted, he waved the two men, alongside his concern, away. ‘Whatever, man,’ he slurred as he stumbled away. ‘I’ll see you next time.’

‘Safe home, kid.’

‘S’f’ome,’ Michael echoed.

And then Michael blinked and Franklin was gone. And they’d teleported several blocks over. And Michael’s head felt like it had a tent peg buried in it. The kind he’d seen fathers teach their sons how to anchor into the ground in movies. Film fathers that took their sons camping. Not like his old man who’d left before teaching him anything approaching useful. Not like his stepfather who had taught him only how to take shit that didn’t belong to him – but never got around to imparting the secret of how to enjoy it.

Not like-

Michael’s feet – half walking, half dragging along the sidewalk – stopped.

Trevor stopped too. He looked over at Michael and their faces were discomfortingly close. ‘What’s up, buddy?’

‘Hey, T?’ Michael’s tongue felt twice its usual size and he had to concentrate on forming the words.

‘Yeah, M?’

‘Did your dad ever take you camping?’ His vision was still blurry, like looking through rippling water, but Michael thought Trevor was frowning.

‘Are you fucking kidding?’

‘Yes… No.’ He laughed through his nose. ‘I always wanted to take Jimmy. But I- I never did. I don’t know why. And now- now…’ He laughed again and, flinging his arms suddenly wide, knocking Trevor away, he gestured in an expansive circle around them. ‘Now, where would I take him? If he was even interested. An alley behind Vinewood Boulevard? A homeless camp under an overpass in Mission Row?’

There was no reply. After a moment, Michael noticed Trevor watching him – not with animosity, but something that might be called thoughtfulness. Michael, swaying on his feet, looked back at him belligerently. ‘What?’ he asked, his voice husky.

He could almost feel the whisky seeping from his pores. Sobriety crept over his limbs, injected by Trevor’s fierce look.

It felt hot. Like morphine in his veins.

‘What are you fucking looking at?’ he snapped.

Trevor stepped forward.

For the first time Michael noticed where they were. The alley was bare and quiet. Gas stains mottled dusty concrete and drains steamed with heavy fug. A half-hearted street light spread a soft glow across the deserted urban landscape. Warm orange light that caught Trevor’s eye.

Michael’s heart stuttered in his chest. He felt lightheaded.

Trevor was close now. And normally that would make Michael nervous. But whether it was the alcohol, or the residual high from pulling off the job, tonight it didn’t. For some reason. Tonight, Michael didn’t step back. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t put space between them.

Still Trevor said nothing. Only looked.

And those eyes – near hidden in the shadow of his heavy brow – were inescapable.

Growing up there had been few restraints in Michael’s life. So long as he didn’t annoy the adults in his life, they couldn’t give a shit what he got up to. So long as they didn’t have to see him, he could pretty much do as he pleased.

There had only been one hard rule.

Never take his stepdad’s beers.

And so, of course, Michael had begun sneaking them at a very early age. And though he could have found other ways to get booze, and though each bottle was a risk of getting the ever-loving shit beat out of him, he kept taking them.

Because it wasn’t about the beer. It wasn’t about getting drunk.

It was about the thrill.

And there and then, in that dingy alley in Los Santos, he felt like that kid again – carefully extracting a glass bottle from an open fridge. Praying that it didn’t clink against the others; or the door didn’t open behind him and his stepdad walk in; or his hitched breathing, deafening to his own ears, give him away.

Michael felt that same thrill now as he reached up and, without looking in those eyes, brushed his fingers against the shorn, bristly stubble on Trevor’s head. He could feel the hot skin, and beneath that thin barrier, his skull.

Heart in his throat and praying the bottles didn’t clink together, Michael asked, ‘Why did you do it?’

Trevor’s voice was low and gruff, and close enough to feel. ‘It was going anyway.’

Michael’s fingers moved, rubbing the strangely soft cranium. Trevor’s face changed, but Michael wasn’t looking to see it.

‘You don’t like it, huh?’

Michael shook his head.

But even he couldn’t be blind to the grin that spread wolfishly across Trevor’s features. ‘Yeah,’ Trevor said softly. ‘You do.’

When Trevor moved it was blurry – fuzzy like a film not quite in focus. And Michael wasn’t sure if – if he’d been sober – he’d have reacted differently. But, confused and cotton-headed, he didn’t draw back. And when Trevor’s mouth crashed onto his it was as teeth. As want and need and heavy desire.

It was as heat and pain. As razors and pleasure.

He didn’t pull away.

He didn’t pull away, he kissed him back.

And the heat and pain and desire and need – it wasn’t all on one side.

In the end it was Trevor who pulled them apart. Only to look – as he had been looking all night – at Michael and, breathless, say, ‘Motel?’

Michael could feel artificially cold air on his cheeks; could smell the contents of a fridge left too long. He nodded.

Bottles clinked.

And Trevor grinned.

‘After all,’ Michael said with his heavy tongue. ‘It is a celebration.’

---

So that it was sitting dark; slipped into night without any acknowledgment of the march of time.

That is, until a key – fumbled in drunken fingers – scraped against the lock.

And the door opened.

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