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Trevor could never stand to hear the word "no." Especially from Michael. There were many reasons, the most important of which was that he couldn't beat and kill his audience like he always did, because this was Michael. And God knew how much Trevor loved Michael. Apart from the God who didn't exist, everyone knew that. Anyone who spent a few days with them would know that Trevor had a strange feeling about Michael.
But Michael was completely oblivious. When it came to Trevor, Michael was like an innocent country girl whose boyfriend asks her out for sex and she just says, "So, can I get you some coffee?" The fact that Michael always pretended not to know irritated Trevor. The fact that Michael could feel Trevor's eyes on him and not react was ridiculous.
They were both sitting tiredly on the couch in Trevor's house. Michael growled, "Damn Martin... I'll kill him."
Trevor scratched his sweaty neck and said with a frown, "Your arm is injured."
Michael took off his gray coat and left it on the floor. The injury on his arm wasn't much. Trevor showed no reaction to the wound. He had seen many of these wounds before. He knew Michael had endured more than this. Trevor raised the glass bottle of whiskey to his lips and took a sip. His throat burned a little as he said in a choked voice, “I want to kiss you.”
Michael rolled his eyes as he unbuttoned the first button of his shirt and said simply, “No.”
Trevor kicked Michael hard in the shin and stood up. Michael cursed Trevor under his breath and grunted in pain, but said nothing more. Trevor was still busy with his whiskey. Drunk and tired, he walked in front of the sofa, drinking his drink. Michael had his arm resting on the arm of the sofa and was following Trevor's steps with his gaze. Trevor suddenly stopped and angrily slammed the empty whiskey bottle against the wall, the sound of it breaking hurting Michael's ears. Michael closed his eyes from the loudness of the sound. But that was his only reaction. He didn't even frown a little. Trevor shouted angrily, "No, no, no. That's all you're saying. You must be very happy that I want to kiss you."
Michael said mockingly, “Thanks, but your mouth smells like shit.”
Trevor thought for a moment, frowning and drunkenly, then said, “I’ll brush my teeth.”
Michael laughed and said, “Really? When was the last time you used your damn toothbrush?”
Trevor shouted with drunken eyes, “Don’t make fun of me, you bastard.”
Michael laughed with amusement this time and rubbed his face with a hand. "Shut up, T. Let me rest."
And he closed his eyes to ease his headache. If he had only had a little more tolerance for drunkenness that night, he would have definitely stolen Trevor's bottle from him. But his damn headache was even scaring him from sleeping.
Trevor was so drunk and angry that he couldn't think of anything but kissing Michael's pale lips. Or maybe biting his cheeks, which were plump with a little fat. Trevor smiled dirty and said, "You said you were a football player... I remember... I remember you said you were on the football team.. If only I had been there...."
Michael's amused smile faded and he swallowed in surprise. He had never seen Trevor look at him like that before. "What the hell would you do if we had known each other back then?" Michael had gotten himself into trouble. Trevor took a step toward him and said, "First, for you... I would quit hockey... I would join your team... so... so I could lock you in one of the club's bathrooms and..."
Michael quickly said loudly, "Hey, hey, shut up. Go to sleep, you little shit."
He got up and tried to go to Trevor's room (where he had been sleeping for several nights), but Trevor violently grabbed Michael's shirt from his chest and slammed him hard against the sofa. Michael frowned helplessly and felt a sharp pain behind his head, where he was pressed against the sofa's arm. He grunted in pain, "oh fuck off T.."
Trevor was excited and his eyes were bigger than ever. Without a moment's hesitation he kissed Michael's lips violently and pressed Michael's body between himself and the sofa. When he released Michael's lips after a rough kiss, Michael was panting and staring at Trevor in surprise. The damn man was old, thin and seductive. Michael frowned in confusion and wanted to say something when Trevor kissed him harder. Trevor's cold hands roamed over Michael's trembling body. Michael was shaking so much that Trevor thought for a moment that Michael was scared. So he pulled his lips away from Michael's and, as he squeezed Michael's fat thigh slightly in his hand, he searched Michael's eyes for an answer. Michael was shaking and frowning with a headache. It was clear that he had a fever. His forehead was sweaty and he was panting. But the man whispered, completely unexpectedly, "Fuck me."
Trevor suddenly laughed mischievously and cursed, "You ugly old man."
And he bit Michael's neck hard and pressed his hips against Michael's. Michael shifted slightly under him and, with a snort, squeezed Trevor's shirt in his fist. Trevor grabbed Michael's chin tightly and said, "I should have done this years ago."
Michael snorted again, frowning, and closed his eyes helplessly. Trevor was more alert than Michael, despite his drunkenness. With a little concern, he ran a hand over Michael’s forehead and hair and whispered, “Are you okay?”
But the question remained unanswered. Michael was clearly sick. Trevor, frowning, kissed Michael’s cheek and temple; Unprecedented kindness from him.
He gently stroked Michael’s trembling side and whispered, “You need to rest.”
And he slowly got up on one knee on the couch and put one arm under Michael's waist. Just as he was about to lift Michael (Michael was overweight enough to be difficult to lift, but Trevor had already proven that he had no trouble lifting Michael), Franklin entered the house without any preamble and said quickly, "My damn car was..."
And seeing the situation Michael and Trevor were in, his eyes widened and he swallowed. "Trevor..." Trevor quickly said in a harsh whisper, "Shut up."
And he lifted Michael and threw him over his shoulder. Michael was too sick to resist. Franklin took an involuntary step toward them, ready to help Trevor if he couldn't lift Michael. But Trevor quickly carried Michael into the room and threw him on the bed.
Franklin was leaning against the door frame. "Sick? What's wrong?" Trevor frowned at Michael, who slowly turned over and fell asleep after hugging the blanket. He whispered with difficulty, "Yeah, I think so."
Franklin shrugged and said, "Tomorrow will be fine. Now answer me. Why is my car here?"
Trevor sat on the edge of the bed impatiently and closed his eyes wearily. His jeans were still tight from the excitement of a few minutes ago. He whispered wearily, "Just get lost, Franklin... not tonight. Okay man? Just get lost tonight."
Franklin glanced at the two men and said before leaving the room, "I can't come tomorrow. If anything happens, you know where to find me."
Trevor pulled Franklin's car key out of his pocket and said, "Hey.."
And he threw the car key at him. Franklin took the key and took a step back. "If he doesn't get better, you should take him to the hospital."
"I'm not taking him to the hospital. He'll get better on his own."
Franklin didn't say anything else and left.
Trevor looked at Michael, whose body was shaking slightly in his sleep, and said with disgust, "You always find a way to escape."
And he leaned over Michael and, as he stroked Michael's back a little, he said in his ear, "But I'll find a way eventually."
Trevor's face sank into Michael's hot neck, not seeing the cruel grin that formed on Michael's face.