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Michael's face lit up in a splat of fire just to turn blue again a moment later, contrasting with the bright red tip of his cigarette. He propped himself against the porch railing, taking pleasure in spoiling the pristine white snow that rounded all the man-made edges, squishing it into a bland mess with his arms. Watching the puffs of smoke disappear into the indigo sky, Michael shivered under his heavy jacket. It was Halloween in North Yankton again - as cold as an unhappy marriage and just as ugly. He hated every second between the end of September and the beginning of June. It meant cold air pouring inside and nagging at bare patches of skin at night. It was a time of spending evenings with the family in the worst ways imaginable - playing (and losing, that was the worst) stupid games, watching dull cartoons and festive specials, and worst of all, school drama club shows. Somehow, sitting in an auditorium filled with people who were coughing and sniffing, making the air thick with their unpleasant musk and vapour from wet boots, was not very high on Michael's bucket list. On top of that, he had to waste two hours of his time watching his children babble in lousy costumes and bear with the forced enthusiasm of their teachers while he could spend the very same one hundred and twenty minutes in the local cinema, consuming the real culture.
The only tolerable feature of winter was food. Oh yes. Michael sighed when he imagined how Tracey and Jimmy lay in bed, their heads heavy with dreams about chocolate, their painted faces smiling innocently, while he decimates the candy they collected trick-or-treating, ravenous after yet another of Mandy's tasteless meatloaves. Soon, he thought and inhaled a fluffy hit. Soon, he would have all the sweets his heart desired, and he would blame Trevor for stealing and eating them because who would believe the crazy uncle? Michael snorted, throwing the smouldering butt of a cigarette into the snow. He watched it hiss as it angrily burrowed itself into the powder till there was no evidence left. Kids loved him anyway, so it would take a couple of silly grimaces, and Trevor would win their hearts all over again. The perfect crime, committed by the perfect Townley.
The sound of high-pitched voices from the other side of the door grazed his ears. Turning around, Michael hesitated, not quite ready to jump back into the preparations for the night. Amanda was capable of taking care of things herself, her voice engaged in a duet of argument with Tracey. No, he didn't need to step back into the warm light of their brand new living room and be forced into taking sides. Michael was perfectly fine right there in the cold, his back propped by the fruit of his hard work. He remembered how Trevor laughed when he first proudly showed him the white picket fence and teased Michael over owning the most American house in both Yanktons. The corners of his mouth curled up slightly when the memory brought a phantom touch where Trevor poked his belly, calling him an apple pie and how he had to tickle Trevor's soft spot on the side of his neck to make it stop. That evening a couple of months back, they ended up sitting on sun-drenched porch steps of the empty Townley manor, washing down giggles with cheap cigarettes and beer.
As if his thoughts were a mating cry attracting the man who occupied his mind, the silence of the Halloween afternoon was cut short by crunching stomps. Michael didn't have to turn around to know exactly whose feet kicked the steps to remove the remaining snow off the boots. Instead, he simply flicked another cigarette butt behind his shoulder and straightened his back, counting every crack in his spine before he would have to face the chaos Trevor always brought about. To his surprise, the only part left of Trevor he knew was a signature shark smirk. It was newly framed by black lipstick, white make-up, smoky eyeshadow, and a long black wig. Michael couldn't help but let his mouth gape in surprise, taking in the tall slim outline of Trevor's body enveloped in a thick black coat and the way the fake fur around Trevor's shoulders rose and fell in times with his breath. Silk gloves delicately underlined the outfit, and thanks to the high heels boots, Trevor towered over Michael. For a shameful moment, Michael wished to pin the man to the wall, kick his legs apart and vandalize the outfit in the worst ways imaginable.
"Oh, I take it you like my mask then, Mikey?"
Michael closed his mouth too fast when called out, and the clack of his teeth resonated painfully through his skull. "What are you talking about?"
Trevor's mouth widened with a grin. "Boo, you looked like you wanted to fuck my little Morticia Addams self through the wall, didn't you?" A silk-clad finger slid alongside Michael's jaw. "Your mouth was gaping the second you laid eyes on me!"
"I was shocked! You look like..." Michael gestured frantically, "like those chimpanzees they test make-up on!"
Trevor merely chuckled. "So what, are you developing a new kink for hairy apes wearing make-up? I shouldn't have shaved then."
Michael's glare didn't need an explanation. Instead of continuing the convo with the unnecessarily hot friend, Michael gestured towards the door, muttering something about mulled wine under his breath. Trevor chuckled again when Michael opened the door for him, still fooled by the feminine outfit and the way he puffed up his chest when he realized his mistake.
The moment they stepped inside, the screeching that nagged on their ears turned into a barely mistakable sound of awe and jaw-dropping onto the meticulously sewn costume, followed by a snort and two tiny feet stomping towards them.
"Uncle T! You look like the witch from that emo family on TV!"
Michael secretly loved each and every interaction between Trevor and Tracey. Given the opportunity, he watched how Trevor's face bloomed into a toothy grin as he squatted and gave his goddaughter a hug.
"Aww, why thank you, sweetie!" Trevor's nails, long and black against pink chiffon, distracted Michael for a moment. "Your costume is amazing! You look almost as good as me!"
Tracy, who was just in the middle of an adorable giggle she practised in front of her stickers covered mirror, stopped suddenly and smashed her fairy stick against Trevor's forehead so hard the velvet he was wearing suddenly resembled starry night.
"Almost? What do you mean, almost? I DO look better than you!"
Trevor merely snickered and tried to give her another hug, but she, nose up, was already on her way back to Amanda, who spewed lightning with her sight and stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed on her chest.
"Tracey, come on, you know I was kidding! You look much better than your old uncle!"
Michael couldn't help but snort when he saw how Tracey turned on her toes tips, playing bold the way her mother used to when he first met her. Her triumphant expression, half-hidden under locks of brown hair that fell into her forehead, and Trevor's desperation to win her over reminded Michael of his and Amanda's past with a bittersweet kick to the gut.
"I don't believe you, T." Trevor flinched as the magic stick flew around his ear. "But just you wait till mom does my hair and make-up! You won't stand a chance!"
Before Trevor could answer, Amanda got hold of Tracey and stepped back to the living room, and with a sneer and a remark about Michael not helping at all, she muted out a new tantrum with her own voice full of desperation. Michael could feel Trevor's gaze roaming from the doorframe to him, and in a rare moment of hospitality, Michael pulled him to his feet and nodded towards the kitchen, a quiet haven with dim lights and a promise of alcohol.
With a precision screaming unhealthy habit, Michael pulled two bottles out of the fridge. He threw one to Trevor and let himself marvel at the clinking sound of cheap rings closing around the cold glass as Trevor caught the bottle and turned it right side up. The kitchen wasn't the largest room of the house, but there was enough room for an island right in the middle of it, and Michael was secretly grateful for the obstacle. From his vantage point by the fridge, hidden in shadow, he could easily observe Trevor. The way his lips curled around the tip of the bottle, how his tongue darted out and searched for white foam, the way he looked back at Michael biting his lip. Michael could barely do anything but keep eye contact and take in Trevor's slow approach.
Before he could utter a word of protest or fight his petrifying fascination, Michael found his back pinned against the fridge door, plastic fruit magnets imprinting into his skin. The sound of rustling paper as he ruined his children's drawings took his attention off the fact Trevor pressed him there, and that long black nails were scratching down his face in a silent plea.
"Are you wearing a new cologne, Mikey?" Trevor leaned in, and his breath left goosebumps on Michael's neck. "I don't know what it is, but you make me so damn hard."
Michael gulped. Trevor's warmth alone almost drove him crazy, flooding him with memories he didn't want a glimpse of. Trevor's fist grabbing a handful of his shirt. Trevor's half-open lips so close to his. Trevor's eyes dark with longing. Trevor's chest rising almost under his palm, the only barrier being a layer of soft cloth. The world was spinning under his feet and Michael could do nothing but give in to the temptation.
Just as Trevor was leaning in to get his treat - and Michael closed his eyes and slightly parted his lips to give him his best - the heat disappeared abruptly. Michael, grieving the sensation by letting out a shaky breath, could only blink away the black outline that stepped back from him.
"What... What's the problem, T?"
In between stood black and white silence, occasionally interrupted by Tracy's angered screech.
"I'm sorry, Michael, I got carried away..." Trevor's head dropped the way a reprimanded child's would when caught drawing on a wall. "Please don't kick me out, I was looking forward to trick and treating with kids and..."
Michael's hand was shaking - shit, when was the last time he trembled so much from just a touch? The back of his hand gently slid down Trevor's cheek, only to bloom into all his fingers to brush against the soft spot on his neck and elicit some shivers too. Slender fingers covered his when they met on Trevor's chest, and the warmth he craved so much was back.
"Are you sure, Mikey?" there was a squeeze to his hand, and Michael squeezed back. When did Trevor become so gentle with him? He wasn't sure - but he was silently glad for Trevor's hand sliding into his hair, bringing him closer. Another bang from the living room, and Trevor jumped slightly, his breath hot on Michael's lips. Finally, he could not take it any longer and grabbing fists full of velvet, Michael surged forward and killed the needy gasp on Trevor's lips.
******
Later that night, Michael stood by the railing again, smoking yet another Red Wood. He told himself it was out of habit, but some tiny part of him demanded to erase the memory of the taste of beer mixed with lipstick and something unmistakeably Trevor. Dragging deep into the lungs, he couldn't help but wonder if he would hate it if it still was just him, Trevor and Lester on the run. His eyes followed two boys with plastic water guns running through the street, stealing from seldom other carolers, hand in hand, laughing. When he turned around, all he saw was an empty house, dark and cold, no matter how much knick-knack accumulated inside. Michael chuckled humorlessly. What he and Trevor did was great, but for kids. He had a family - responsibility, and no amount of lipstick smeared on his face and around his cock could ever change what he had become. Closeted bastard with two kids, cheating on his wife with his cross-dressing best friend, screamed his conscience. A fifth butt got buried in snow. Yeah. He hated Halloween.