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You sit in Michael’s lounge, cheeks hot from the glass of mulled wine that Tracey had pushed into your hands the second dinner was over. You’ve eaten too much, drunk even more and you are definitely leaning on the drunk side of tipsy. You’ve spent the last twenty minutes watching with growing amusement as Franklin desperately tries to communicate to Jimmy whatever the hell is on his card and there’s a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the people that you were spending Christmas eve with.
Your eyes trip over them one by one. Jimmy and Frank, now arguing over the amount of syllables in sorcerer, Tracey on the floor between Amanda’s knees eyes closed as her mother played with her hair, and Michael and Lester sat next to you on the sofa, talking in hushed tones. You grin. Your weird little dysfunctional family.
Your eyes drop to the place where Trevor usually sprawled, stretched out like a cat between you and the fire, and your smile falters. You’d really hoped that he’d be show up today. He’d made his feelings about the “spending a night in a snake pit” abundantly clear, but you’d really thought your relentless pestering had worn him down and you let out a little sigh. You had no idea how it had happened but over the last couple of months you’d found yourself on the wrong side of an all consuming crush. It was childish, bone-achingly embarrassing and just the idea of Trevor finding out about made you feel a bit sick. You’d lapsed into an easy friendship over the last few months since you’d moved to the desert, and he was one of the few people in the world that you actually liked. If he found out how you felt about him it would change everything. He was hardly a subtle man and you didn’t think your friendship would survive whatever would come out of his mouth if he found out.
You sigh louder, drawing your legs up to your chest as you stare balefully into the flames. A nudge in your ribs startles you and and you glance over to find Michael staring at you.
“You okay, kid?” He asks, blue eyes catching in the orange firelight as he leans back into the sofa. Your gaze drops to the penguins ice skating on the front of his jumper and you grin. That had been a request you didn’t think the boys would agree to, and you’d been floored when they had. You shrug, trying to shake off your disappointment at Trevor’s no-show.
“Yeah Mikey, I’m good. Just trying to digest this food baby.” You reply with a yawn, patting your stomach, and he gives you a half smile, eyes flicking over the collection of oddballs gathered in his house.
“We got some family here, right?” He says and you nod, a little taken aback that he’d literally said what you were thinking. “Though you ever notice that no matter how peaceful it is without him, it don’t feel quite right without T here?”
Your take a gulp of wine. That was a little too close to what you were thinking for your liking. You open your mouth to change the topic, but you’re interrupted by the crash of the front door slamming open, followed by heavy footsteps and a manic cackle.
“Holy shit Mikey, you guys really fuckin’ buy into the commercialisation of the birth of our lord and saviour, huh?” Trevor cackles from the hallway and your heart leaps into your throat. You can’t help the grin that bursts over your face and Michael snorts, rolling his eyes as he stands up to greet his friend.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Merry Christmas to you too, T.” He says, strolling over and pulling him into a bear hug. Trevor’s honey-brown eyes meet yours over Michael’s shoulder and he wiggles his eyebrows at you. You shiver and force a police smile. Jesus.
He pushes Michael away, and flops down next to you, grabbing the mug out of your hands and downing the contents. His body is a burning line of heat where it presses against yours and you swallow as he tilts his head up, a wicked grin on his lips.
“Merry Christmas, sugar.” He purrs, the sound of his voice sending little pulses of warmth through your belly. “Miss me?”
You shake your head but you can’t help but smile back.
“They not teach you to tell the time in Canada?” You ask, nodding pointedly to the clock and he shifts, falling to the side and resting his head in your lap. He smells like cigarettes, beer and something inexplicably sweet and festive, and it’s making your mouth water. God, you need to get a fucking grip.
“Because I’m suuuuuch a nice guy, and because it’s Christmas, I’m going to let that slide, sugar.” He growls, fingers resting on his belly as he stares up at you and you roll your eyes.
“You’re a fucking saint.” You deadpan and he lets out a cackle of laughter, swinging his legs back down and falling back into the sofa.
“Ain’t I just.” He chuckles, fixing you with a dark stare. You hold it for a fraction too long, hypnotised by pools of molten honey before you realise what you’re doing and tear your gaze away. He’s quiet for a second, waiting, but you stare determinedly into the fire and after a heartbeat you feel his weight, and interest, shift.
“Hey Lester, didn’t see you there, got any new restraining orders for the holidays?” He cackles and as the ensuing argument begins you sneak a glance back at him. His jumper has ridden up, exposing a slither of taut, tanned skin and your cheeks immediately set on fire.
Christ you’ve got it bad.
You make the executive decision to get more drinks/ get away from Trevor, excusing yourself and grabbing Frank by the arm to help you carry everything back in. He follows you to the kitchen a few minutes later, arms laden down with mugs and glasses.
“You alright?” He asks and you nod, grabbing the nearest mug, ladling steaming hot wine into it.
“Yeah I’m all good.” You reply, but your voice is tight and breathy, and he smiles at you gently.
“You don’t look ‘all good’.” He says and you glare at him.
“Gee, thanks, this coming from a man in a reindeer onesie.” You reply and he holds his hands up with a laugh.
“Nah, I don’t mean it like that, girl, you know you fine. I just mean that you look like you got something on your mind. Like maybe something, shit, maybe someone got you struck.” He says and you sigh, putting down the ladle and covering your face in your hands.
“Can you stop with the perceptive shit for one second, please?” You sigh, taking a deep swig from your mug and he laughs, leaning against the counter. You swallow and put the mug down. “Please don’t say anything, Frankie.”
“Shit, girl, I ain’t said nothin’ yet have I? Your business’ your business. Just be careful, alright? T’s a good guy but, damn, you know how he gets.” He says and you nod thoughtfully, filling up the rest of the mugs.
“Yeah I know.” You say and then smile and shake your head. “Not that it matters anyway. I’m pretty sure the strongest emotion he feels for me is irritation.”
“You’re shitting me, right?” Franklin says and you frown, about to ask what he means, but you’re interrupted by Michael and Trevor as they barrel into the kitchen.
“-what and you can’t fuckin’ relate?” Trevor snaps, barging past Michael. “It’s funny how you think an immaculate conception is beyond the realms of possibility but you don’t seem to have any problem whatsoever with the concept of immaculate fuckin’ resurrection.”
“Jesus Christ, not this again T, please.” Michael groans as he leans next to Franklin, head in his hands.
“Its always this, Michael.” Trevor hisses, eyes narrow and dark. “It will always be this.”
“Come on y’all, how many times I gotta tell you I ain’t got time for this shit.” Says Franklin, passing Michael a mug of wine and gesturing to you. “And I know she sure as hell don’t.”
Trevor’s eyes snap to you at his words. You try to keep your face impassive but it’s a real struggle because you’ve just realised what he’s wearing. It’s a threadbare red jumper with the words Santa’s favourite ho scrawled in loopy white writing along the front. It’s so him that it makes your heart hurt and you’re torn between wanting to laugh and trying to stop yourself from drooling, because he’s rolled up the sleeves and the muscles beneath his tanned, tattooed arms are bunching and rolling as he rocks against the countertop.
“Yeah you’re right kid, sorry.” says Michael, picking up as many mugs as he can carry. “Look, why don’t we get back in there and we can do White Elephant. After all, what’s Christmas without presents?”
“That is just so typical of you Mikey, Christmas-“ Trevor starts, rounding on him, but before he can get there you grab hold of his jumper and pull him back.
“Jesus Christ Trevor give it a rest.” Michael sighs, rubbing his temples and gesturing to the corridor as Trevor glares at you. “The sack’s by the tree in the hall – drop your gift in it and let’s get this over with.”
“Wait, what?” Trevor asks, his voice oddly high as Michael points to a plastic bag shoved in the corner that you realise must contain Trevor’s gift.
“It’s White Elephant, T, it’s anonymous. Otherwise people will know to just avoid whatever house of horrors shit you’ve deemed worthy to be a gift.” he says and the look on Trevor’s face is priceless. It’s somewhere between anger and horror and you suddenly realise that he’s never played this game before. And that makes you sad. You don’t know a lot about his childhood but you know enough to know that gift giving probably didn’t feature a whole lot in it.
You move next to him and slip your arms around him in a quick hug and he stiffens at your touch.
“It’s just a stupid game T. It doesn’t matter what you got. Nobody knows who got who and nobody has any idea what they’ll end up with.” You say, letting him go and holding out your hand. He stares at it for long enough that you start to feel self conscious. You’re about to retract it when he grabs it and you pull him into the lounge behind you.
Franklin and Jimmy have stolen your seat on the couch so you flop down next to a Trevor by the fire, but he doesn’t look at you, just keeps his eyes fixed on the doorway. You follow his gaze as Michael walks into the room in Santa’s hat, a hessian sack slung over his shoulder.
“Ho, fuckin’ ho.” He rumbles as he drops the sack in the middle of your little group. He tips it open and as the pile of gifts tumble out onto the floor one immediately catches your eye.
“Can I go first?” You ask, and Michael shrugs.
“Sure thing, kid.” He says. You give Trevor’s leg a quick squeeze before crawling forward and plucking a small, badly wrapped package from the top of the pile. You can almost feel the heat of Trevor’s gaze as you plop back down next to him.
“What?” You ask innocently, and the smile he gives you is worth whatever horrors await you inside this package. In fact now you can study it closer you can see that it’s covered in a white residue and you put it down, subtly wiping your hands on your jeans. No matter how much you loved the guy, if this was a bag of meth you were going to hit him.
It doesn’t take long for the rest of the gifts to be distributed, and your friends squabble as packaged switch and change hands, everyone trying to figure out which is the best and trading up. Unsurprisingly, nobody tries to switch with you. At least until…
“I read online that the best gifts are usually the weirdest looking.” You haven’t been paying attention but you latch onto that and look up to find Jimmy staring at you.
“Oh yeah?” You reply, keeping your face carefully blank. You were pretty sure that whatever was in the package in front of you was going to be weird as shit, but regardless of how sad this was, it was from Trevor and that made you want it more than anything else.
“Yeah.” He replied shaking the box in his hands violently and you bite your lip.
“But what if it’s a double bluff?” You ask and the kid narrows his eyes and slides the box over to you, making a gesture for you to swap.
“Hand it over. If you want it that bad, it must be good.” He says and you sigh and pass it over to him as Trevor stiffens beside you; the package in his hands creaking as his knuckles then white.
“Alright then,” says Michael, eyes flicking to Trevor briefly before smiling at the rest of you. “I don’t believe in that ‘one at a time’ bullshit so on my word… go!”
You rip the paper off the box with and your mouth drops open. It’s a brand new ifruit phone with a prepaid SIM card attached. For a whole fucking year. You look up and catch Trevor’s eye. He’s looking at it angrily, his present unopened in his lap. You try to think of something to say, but before you can there’s an indignant grunt from across the room that distracts you.
“What the fuck.” Jimmy splutters, pulling out a small, warped ceramic figure from the box and your heart stops. You recognised it. You’d helped Trevor put up a tiny tree in his trailer last week and he’d shown it to you. It was a hideous, handmade statue of what he’d claimed was a deer but if he hadn’t told you there’s no way in hell you’d have been able to tell. He’d told you he’d made it for his mother when he was a kid, and that was that until a few hours and many, many cups of egg nog later, when he’d told you it was the only thing he’d ever given her that she’d been proud of him for. He’d looked at it reverently, like it was something rare and precious and opposite you, Jimmy had dropped it on the floor while he rifled angrily through the box. Shit.
“That’s it? Just a shitty ornament and burnt cookies?” He yells, not sensing the impending danger and you turn just in time to see Trevor’s leap to his feet.
“Listen here, shitbag,“ He growls, picking up the ornament and knocking the box out of Jimmy’s hands, sending cookies scattering across the floor, “Do you have any idea of the sentimental value of this? Do you? Huh? And you, Michael, this is how your raise your kids? To throw shit away like it’s worthless? I don’t know why I’m so fucking surprised, the rotten apple doesn’t fall far from the rotten tree. ”
Jimmy cowers in his seat, pale as a ghost, and you scramble to your feet, hurtling forward and grabbing a Trevor’s hand. He snarls at you but doesn’t protest as you pull him upstairs, shoving him roughly out onto the balcony overlooking the pool. He stumbles into the cold with wide, angry eyes and you slam the doors shut behind you.
“Jesus Christ.” He growls arms automatically wrapping around himself to protect him from the cold, eyes still glowering. The movement makes his biceps bulge and you have to force yourself to meet his gaze.
“What the hell Trevor?” You hiss, your words hanging in the air between you, little whispers of fog in the Los Santos night. He scowls and shrugs, but there’s a shiftiness in his eyes that makes you step forward and take the ornament out of his hand.
“Trevor, what is this.” You ask, a little gentler this time, and he lets out a growl of frustration.
“It’s a fuckin’ present, what does it look like?” He snaps and you narrow your eyes and step forward. He stiffens, eyes locked warily on you like you’re about to attack him.
“I know that asshole. But why did you…. Who was it meant for?” You ask and he tries to step back but the balcony is tiny and he bumps into the rail.
“It’s a stupid fucking game, you know.” He growls, hands grasping on the rail as he stares at you. “What’s the fucking point in it, huh? It’s rampant fucking consumerism, that’s what it is. Nobody gives a shit about what they get as long as it’s the best. Do you know how stupid that is? It’s fucking- ”
You grab his arm in frustration and the second your skin touches his a flash of desire shoots through you and he cuts himself off mid-sentence. For a long moment neither of you speak, just stare at where your hand rests on the flesh of his arm.
“Trevor, please, I know how much this means to you. Who was it for?” You say finally, when you’re sure your voice is steady, and he tears his gaze away from your arm and sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Fuck, fine, fine. You, it was obviously for you.” He snaps and your heart flips.
“You were giving it to me. Why?” You ask, warmth flooding through you as you realise that means that he baked the cookies for you, too. You have a mental image of him crashing around his trailer covered in flour and it’s so endearing you have to bite your cheeks to stop yourself from smiling.
“What’s with the fucking tenth degree, huh? Can’t a man just give his, his… give you something because he wants to without needing a fucking reason?“ he grumbles, and he looks irritated and a little panicked as he folds his arms defensively across his chest.
“His what?” You giggle, a burst of happiness flooding through your guts as you realise what he’s getting at, and he narrows his eyes, darkness overtaking his features.
“You making fun of me?” He growls and even though it’s scary you can’t stop smiling and you shake your head and bite your lip.
“Close your eyes.” You demand and he freezes.
“What? Why?” He asks, anger dissolving into fear and you just smile wider, giving him your best innocent face, which only serves to make him look more terrified.
“So I can give you your present.” you say and he swallows loudly but closes his eyes. You take a breath and step forward, placing your hands on his chest. The warmth of his skin radiates through his Christmas jumper and he jolts at the contact but, to his credit, doesn’t open his eyes. You can feel his heart pounding against his ribs like a jackhammer and your stomach is a swirling pit of nervousness, but you’ve come this far and it’s Christmas so…
“Happy Christmas, Trevor.” You whisper, and before you can change your mind you push yourself up onto your tiptoes and brush your lips against his.
He doesn’t react, doesn’t even breathe, as your warm lips press against his cold dry ones, and for a horrible second you wonder if you’ve somehow gotten this all wrong. That he really does only think of you as a friend and this is going to ruin everything.
But then his hands snake around your waist, calloused fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your jumper, and you squeak as he pulls you as close to him as he possibly can.
“Mmm it sure fucking is.” He growls, and there’s something sweet and desperate to the way he says it, and when pushes you up against the patio door and slips his tongue into your mouth, he tastes like whiskey and fire, and you can’t help but think that this may just be the best Christmas ever.