Archive of Our Own

“Wow you uh…you really did all this?”

For the first time in Ron’s gritty life, delivering a surprise carried a positively satisfying edge. After countless grueling hours spent wrestling with schedules, drowning in paperwork, and sifting through the labyrinthine financial records, Ron Jakowski had triumphantly tallied every hard-earned cent that had flowed into TPI’s coffers since its inception. He’d meticulously tracked down every debtor, pinpointed their whereabouts, and nailed down the exact moments when the debts had been incurred—all of it neatly chronicled within the pages of his weathered black ledger.

Those long, hard-earned years as an accountant had finally paid their dues, and the astonished expression that spread across Trevor’s rugged face was Ron’s hard-earned reward. A few rogue specks of crimson dusted Trevor’s cheeks as he absently scratched his greasy, salt-and-pepper locks beneath the battered bucket hat that perennially adorned his head. “I did Trevor! It's all there. Every PENNY TPI ever earned.”

The brunettes lean body was hunched over the collection of carefully filed and managed paperwork, his amber eyes scanning it in somewhat disbelief. He was unsure how Ron even knew about half of these transactions, he wasn’t even there for most of them.

Right?

Or…. was he?

As Trevor mulled over the enigma of how one man could blend into obscurity as much as Ron could, The man himself was engaged in the polar opposite.

 His restless eyes hungrily traced every curve of his boss's slender form as it leaned provocatively across the table. The pink tank top clung tenaciously to Trevor's generous chest and svelte waist, outlining the contours with almost painful precision. Even Trevors constantly perk nipples were visible clear as day. With each rise and fall of Trevor's hairy chest, the shirt seemed to reveal more of its secrets, tantalizing Ron with a soft, irresistible allure.

Trevor's audacious ensemble culminated in a pair of deep blue short shorts that defied modesty, cutting daringly high on his softly bronzed thighs. Ron struggled to avert his gaze, but the primal urges of his subconscious waged a relentless battle against his better judgment. He knew he shouldn't allow himself to indulge in such forbidden fantasies about Trevor, who had made it abundantly clear that he resented being objectified, especially by Ron.

 “You wanna take a fuckin picture Ron?” he’d grumble whenever catching him staring for just a hair longer then he should.

 It was one order he just couldn’t follow, though. No one appreciated Trevor, physically or otherwise.

Not the way he did.

How many long nights had Ron spent fantasizing about being the man in his bosses life? To grab Trevors hips and press his needy cock up against those soft plushy mounds that teased him every day. Oh the things that he’d do to them.

“Jesus Ron. This is actually useful.”

Pulled out of the lustful ideals that haunted him Ron cleared his throat.

“Its all there boss. And, I got somethin else for you too!”

Trevors beady eyes flickered back to the smaller man who was now eagerly digging around in his cargo shorts for a folded piece of paper. It was electric blue and upon opening it and spreading the paper out it was clear as day why. It was a blueprint. In the upper right hand corner was the FIB “Seal of confidentiality”.

“You know that little shipment coming in in Sunday? Through that boating port ‘mystery buyer’ that took it from right under your nose last week? Well, you were RIGHT Trev! It WAS the FIB!”

“Yea OF course I’m right, I’m ALWAYS fuckin right.”

Pre-emptively flinching he put up an arm, giving Trevor a nervous smile “Uh yeah, of course Trev. I just meant.. uhm..I got the blueprint of whatever it is they wanna port! See!” Still staying a distance away he pointed to the paper “its…it’s all there Trev!”

“how the hell did you get your paws on that Ron?”

It was a blueprint hed gotten from a guy he’d bought similar plan off of years ago. Sure it wasn’t exactly straight from the source, but what did it matter?? The boat and the blueprint looked near identical. It was probably fine.

Again turning away from his lackey oak colored eyes flickered from left to right to read it over before a grin curled his lips “Ron…this is the first..and probably only time…I’ll ever be proud of you. I can’t believe you actually got your MANGY paws on this. How’d you do it!?”

Ron's heart raced so wildly it felt like it might burst from his chest the moment he heard that rare, unadulterated praise. The sight of Trevor wearing a faint but genuine smile, those typically hostile, beady eyes now slightly more softened, locked onto him was enough to send Ron into a whirlwind of emotions. It was as if the radio host's heart was threatening to implode with the sheer intensity of the moment.

All those years of meticulously crafted plans, endless late nights spent relentlessly working to garner even a fraction of the attention that someone else always seemed to effortlessly command, had finally borne fruit.

It was Ron’s time to shine.

He was so caught up in the praise he didn’t have the heart to tell Trevor that he’d gotten these plans from a third party. It’s frowned upon to buy a federal schematic from another buyer, especially one that could just be faking it for a good chunk of change.

But the seller was reliable. He knew the guy.

It was probably fine.

“Just a lot a hard elbow grease!”

“Yea well, you got enough grease to go around.”

“The MOST grease Trevor!”

That was when, much to Rons personal horror, the taller of the two pulled out his cellphone and started tapping away “…uh…What’s going on Trev?”

“WE are gonna steal that mystery piece of shit out of their docks. If they wanna buy my port they gotta pay the Trev tax. If we’re doin a job like this, we are gonna need some back up.”

Rons stomach dropped to his knees. He didn’t even need to ask who it was Trevor was reaching out too, he already knew.

Michael De ‘washed up’ Santa.

“….come on Trev, we don’t need that guy! We can figure it out on our own!”

“Noooo can do Ron, we need all hands on deck. If we are gonna intercept this thing we need brains on board.”

Knowing Ron still didn’t qualify for brains despite the hard work he’d put in stung, but it wasn’t surprising. Everyone in Trevors life played second fiddle to that has-been regardless of their status. Teeth chewed along the dried ridges of his bottom lip, watching the eyes he wanted so badly on himself solely focused on the cellphone in his palm.

Awaiting Michaels response.

A response that wouldn’t come for another ten minutes.

Unlike Ron who would have replied instantly as the loyal man he was, that miserable jock dared to make Trevor wait and even just replied with a “this better be worth it, T”

How one man could talk to Trevor like that was absolutely beyond him yet, at the reply the reaction from his boss was clear as day. Those eyes turned honey soft, probably not even noticing how a big smile spread over his face at the returned text.

What did Michael De Santa have that he didn’t anyway?

Whenever he was around him and Trevor would bicker, or he’d just complain nonstop. The guy constantly dogged him about what Trevor needed to do, what he messed up, and every flavor of insult anyone could imagine. No one else would put up with being treated like that, least of all a loaded gun like Trevor.

 Yet he did.

When Ron even tried that though? Trevor looked like he was about to gouge out each one of his eyes to use as his own personal stress ball. He was lucky to walk away with only a few bruises on his arms instead a missing limb.

Whenever Michael came on scene Trevor circled him like a dog awaiting its greeting each and every time.

When Ron arrived? It was a heavy sigh and a look of contempt.

Still, it was attention. Every scathing comment was even more exciting then the last, making his heart flutter and dance in his chest regardless of how wicked it was. He loved how powerful and certain Trevor was, even if that power was inflicted on him in the form of sharp insults and even sharper hits. He’d take every smack, every insult, every teasing outfit if it meant he’d get to be by his side the next day. To Ron he was the obvious pick, and all this hard work would pay off. Soon he wouldn’t be watching the brunettes built body from a distance, but instead appreciating him with his own two hands. It was only a matter of time before Trevor opened up his eyes to the truth.

Michael wasn’t worth the investment. Ron was.

Trevor had just poured a fresh cup of gasoline as the unmistakable sound of Michaels car door slamming cut through the house, making Ron sit straight up in his seat. A sting of adrenaline hit his gut quickly chased by a clenching of his jaw.

God, did he loathe that man.

A scowl etched itself onto Michael's face as he pushed open the front door, revealing the man of the hour. Dressed in his customary gray suit, his hair slicked back with unwavering precision, Michael's expression seemed perpetually annoyed even before he stepped foot inside. His eyes swept the room, first landing on Ron, who occupied the couch, and then turning to Trevor, who was currently immersed in his plastic cup.

Michael’s irritation emanated, as it always did, a gritty familiarity. His eyes roved the room before settling on Ron, who held a stubborn scowl. The ex-Catholic couldn’t help but double-take, his eyebrows furrowing in perplexity. Nevertheless, he brushed it aside with a casual shrug, treating Ron like an incessant fly instead of any kind of threat.

As he always seemed to do.

“HEYYYY look who decided to show! Took you long enough.”

“Didn’t want to uh… interrupt your precious gasoline time.”

Trevor was practically beaming as a hand slapped the center of Michaels back, putting the cup down “Don’t you worry buddy, I can multitask.” He was hardly amused, grimacing a little at his cohort before making his way to the other side of the grimey couch opposite of a still glaring Ron. It was the only part of the house he could bring himself to touch without immediately feeling like he’d need a shower after “…so? You wanna run it down for me? This doesn’t seem like a ‘beers and movies’ night.” Trevor was practically bristling with excitement as he leaned against the counter, laying out the blueprint infront of him “Oh you’re already soooo curious! Good. You’re in debt, don’t forget that.”

“Forget? Haha..Tevor, don’t you worry, I can’t forget it. You remind me so much I hear it in my sleep.”

Ron sucked air through his nose as his friend turned around to pour the gasoline back in its Jerry can. The way those shorts rode up when he leaned over the counter had to be intentional. It was unholy how they clung so tightly to the insides of his hairy thighs, rounding out his backside far too perfectly “Yea, well that’s what happens when you have a debt to me. Think you’d learn that by now.”

There was no way Trevor was wearing underwear today, Ron decided.

Those shorts were just tight enough they’d outline anything if it was there, yet there wasn’t a single bump on his round backside. Only those tiny shorts were keeping him from the one thing he desired more then anything. How easy it would be to just hook ones finger into them and move it the side to finally have access to the one thing he craved. More then just wanting it, he wanted Trevor to want it. Maybe the taller man would even be the one pulling his shorts to the side to reveal himself for him, asking for Ron to fill him up in that deep graveling tone he loved so much.

The fantasy shot blood right between his legs in a flash. He crossed his thighs sweat starting to build on his temples.

“…If you’re done whining, Ron told me about something that’ll be fun to destroy so those inhuman government SHITBAGS know in the future to not purchase shit in MY turf.”

The only thing more attractive then Trevors lean body was when he shit talked the government. He was so sexy when he screamed about dismantling our system of function. What a catch, Ron inwardly swooned.

In that very moment, Trevor clenched the raggedy edge of his pink tanktop, hoisting it up to his forehead like a rag, soaking up beads of  sweat. This rickety trailer had 0 air flow, so sweating is pretty normal. As he did, the neon pink trim surged upward, unveiling the bronzed expanse of his back, accentuated by the subtle allure of two dimples just above the waistband of his weathered shorts. Hovering tantalizingly above, the tail end of his spine zipper tattoo glimmered against the glistening canvas of his sweat-slicked skin.

Just as Ron was drinking in the sight so it could imprint itself on his memory for material to use during his more private time he just so happened to catch a movement in his peripheral vision. On reflex his eyes ripped away from the treasured sight to catch whatever it was that seemed to be moving.

Sitting on the other side of the couch was Michael, and maybe had Ron not taken a closer look, he’d be normal seeming.

Unfortunately for the Irishman though, Ron just so happened to catch a glimpse of  an intense look wrinkling his features. Trevors cohort had his lips pressed to a stern line, body hunched forward, eyes all but unabashedly devouring the sight laid out infront of him. The way those pupils narrowed laying on Trevors curves gave away his predatory gaze. His elbow was leaned against the armrest of the couch, a hand not propping him up anxiously drumming silent against his own thigh. The way his legs parted just a bit was a tell all its own.

From one quiet on looker to another Ron knew all those little signs.

Michael was looking at Trevor in the exact same way he was.

The idea of an ex con turned Los Santos movie producer at all being interested in a recklessly violent methamphetamine seller like Trevor Philips was almost inconceivable. Sure they were long time best friends, but as little as Ron had a shot? Michael must have had an even smaller one. All he did was whine, complain, and pick apart every little flaw his boss had. That’s not even mentioning all the terrible past behavior the Trevor somehow let him get away with. A part of Ron believed that maybe he was just biding his time, that a real revenge was on its way any day now. It probably still was, he assumed. It was just a genius plan that would take some time was all.

Michael was clearly delusional. For once this jock was the butt of the joke, not him.

As if a boss like his would ever give a washed up, traitor, has-been like Michael De Santa a chance.

While relishing in his perceived victory Ron had made the mistake of watching his enemy just a bit longer then he should have. Michael must have felt eyes burning into the side of his skull since his gaze went from hungry and eager to seeing Ron and filling with what can only be described as contempt.

He'd been caught red handed.

Right as the fingers resting on his thigh curled to make a fist, a silent threat, Trevor turned back around to face the two “Alright. Michael, let’s go. Ron you stay here.” Without a word the jock stood up and dusted off his suit, lips still pressed to an annoyed line. He had certainly not intended anyone to see that, and knowing that just made it all the sweeter for the radio jockey. Ron snapped to reality when it dawned on him he was, again, being left behind “…awe Cmon Trev! Let me go!” Seeming annoyed his leadership was questioned a curt huff flew from his nose “No Ron, someone’s gotta stay behind to watch over TP industries. You’re acting CEO while I’m breaking my BACK keeping this gorgeous desert in tip top shape. Somebody’s gotta keep these fuckin animals in line.”

Of course, how could he be so foolish? Trevors viewpoint was, obviously, the right one. Straightening out his hunched stature he gave a compliant “You’re right Trevor!” With that usual fear induced smile Ron seemed to display so much “Yea, of course I’m fuckin right. Stay here and we’ll be back soon, alright?”

Ron all but glowed in response.

He was put in charge of Trevors glorious, blossoming industry while Michael was just some lackey. That’s all he was now, no longer in his treasured prime that Trevor met him in. That’s all he was good for.

As if Ron had anything to worry about.

“Trevor, are we doin this or what? Gonna kiss him goodbye too?”

The desperate radio jockey restrained the urge to look hopeful at a real kiss at the suggestion, knowing full well by the angry look on his face Michael was saying it spiteful. Obviously this has-been was jealous of how close they were, Ron was sure. Watching Trevor roll his eyes in contempt he grabbed the houses front door “Alright, alright. DON’T fuck up my house Ron.”

An accusatory finger jabbed in his direction before the door slammed shut.

“Wouldn’t dream of it Trevor!”

“Fuck up your house? How much worse can it get?” Michael mumbled

“Everything has a PLACE Michael, there’s a METHOD to my madness. You wouldn’t get it, since it’s not maintained by a maid.”

Their voices quieted down the further they walked from the trailer into Michaels car.

Leaving Ron to his own devices.

He did all the usual things he does when Trevor goes away.

Making sure all his paperwork is in order, driving around to keep an eye out for any trouble making motorcyclists, and making sure Trevors clients are up to snuff and well supplied. Being the right hand of such a high end business man was a busy job after all.

It wasn’t until after the job it all fell apart.

“you FUCKIN IDIOT. I TOLD you to just leave it alone, but you just COULDN’T STOP YOURSELF COULD YA?”

Ron had only just returned moments ago back to the trailer when Michaels voice cut through the air like a knife “SO it got a LITTLE hot, Whats the big deal!? That little PUSSY you got now doesn’t like it? We got caught and I dealt with the witness. DONE DEAL.”

“Fuck yourself, Trevor. You almost lit me on FIRE.”

With a sharp slam Rons head spun to the front door, spotting a seething Michael stomping his way inside. He didn’t even acknowledge the confused jockey as he started pacing in the living room, arms gesticulating every which way in anger “…and that’s not even COUNTING the guard you shot. We were supposed to be stealthy about this, this ain’t the type of job you can just WALK AWAY after killing someone. Those people are LETHAL. I don’t know why I even thought you were capable of NOT making a huge mess outta this.”

Trevor abruptly came in behind him to lean his body against the sink, his hand gripping the handle of his Jerry can. It was clear what he needed after a job like that “Don’t you FUCKIN say it, I already KNOW what—”

“we should have called lester.”

“OH for FUCKS sake—”

“Its true T, we should have had a better defined plan, That blueprint was shit. NOTHING was where it was supposed to be.”

Trevors arms tightly folded to his chest “Who could forget our TRUSTY TWENTY PERCENTER you always get involved, that sucks up OUR money while he sits on his ass doing NOTHING. YOU picked the wrong way to go, YOU led us to the guard. What was I supposed to say? ‘Uh, hey mister guard, I know the government has your nuts in a vice to keep this safe but can you point me in the right direction so I can BLOW IT UP PLEASE?’ because I got a feeling THAT WOULDN’T FLY.”

“That’s BULLSHIT, first of all this ain’t even a job with a profit. You’re just being STUBBORN. AS USUAL. SECONDLY I went according to the dumbass blueprints supplied to me, and they were wrong. The lookouts were on the OTHER SIDE of the dock AND none of what was in there MATCHED. If I coulda got the boat to start, I woulda.”

Rons eyes bounced back and forth as the two spat venom, truthfully concerned for his own safety more then anything. An angry Trevor was not something he wanted to be in the middle of, even if Michael himself seemed hellbent on jumping right in for whatever reason. It was one of the many behaviors he just never understood Michael doing. Not that Ron would stop him, of course. The worse he made himself out to be the better.

“RON!”

The harshness of the tone sent adrenaline shooting up his arms in a flash “Y-Yes Trevor!” Those amber eyes now beady and narrow honed in on him “Where did you get those blueprints?” A dry swallow scraped down Rons throat, fear blanking his mind for a moment. A moment Trevor was not in the mood to wait around for “WHERE, RON.” A hard flinch reflexed arms to be put up defensively at the impending hit he knew he was on the cusp of receiving “I- I got em from an informant! They’re GOOD blueprints—“

His terrified mind raced in a frantic scramble. The thought of Ron being left to shoulder the blame for this colossal mistake sent shivers up his gut. In hindsight, those blueprints were nothing but a hasty, nebulous mess. The guy who sold them had a gift for the quick sell, and in his zeal to win Trevor's favor, he callously swept the crucial details under the rug promising to revisit them at some vague "later time" that had completely gotten glossed over. Ron couldn't afford a stain what he viewed as a near perfect record with Trevor. He hungered for recognition as the true mastermind, a claim he absolutely believed he deserved far more than Michael ever did. When the chance arose to pin it all on Michael, Ron leapt at the opportunity “…Michael just…didn’t read em the right way. They seemed pretty cut and dry to us, right Trev?”

The trailer fell completely silent. For the first time in his little, pathetic life Ron had gotten up the nerve to actually outwardly talk badly about Michael infront of Trevor. Though his boss looked both surprised and amused by the outburst, when he glanced back at Michael he saw the way Trevors longtime cohort looked at him. It was like he wanted to skin him alive.

Still, he took his shot. Maybe things like this may wake Trevor up to the truth.

That they are far beyond this wash ups scope.

Trevor gave a snorting laugh “…you’re right. It was pretty cut and dry to us wasn’t it? Maybe me and you are just on a different wavelength.”

“oh fuckin spare me.”

The two older men were staring daggers into each others eyes for a few moments, leaving nothing but a tense silence behind.

“….Where are the plans, Ron.”

“THE BACKROOM TREVOR! I-I put it in the backroom for safekeeping! I figured you might need it-“

“The back ROOM? Why the FUCK would I ever want plans, plans we NEED, in a fucking BACK ROOM RON.” A tattooed hand dragged down his own face with a growling exasperated noise before pointing to it “go the fuck back there and FIND it.”

“I uh ….it’s kinda hard to…to move stuff around with one hand, Trevor. Could you maybe..hold the flashlight an—”

“IM SURROUNDED BY USELESS FUCKIN INGRATES. Here it is, Trevor goin in SOLO.”

Snatching the flashlight off the counter he shot them both a hard scowl, pointing two dirty fingers in both their directions “I’ll be right fuckin back, and when I DO, we are gonna have a TALK about the rancid 20%-er and my keen planning around GOOD blueprints.”

With a huff out of his nose Trevor stomped out of the door, leaving the two men alone.

Ron hardly had time to even sit before the fresh click of a lighter interrupted the usual stress Trevors looming anger brought. He glanced over at Michael, piercing blue gaze staring at him with a sort of ice cold contempt. Ron attempted to shoot a scowl back, but he already knew his own looked more fidgety and pouting then Michaels shark-like stare.

The silence was near palpable.

“….You bought those fuckin plans from a back alley seller didntchya?”

Rons stomach clamped as soon as Michael asked the question, his lips pressing into a shakey line before that attempt at a hard scowl was utterly demolished. He was completely floored that Michael was able to tell that quickly they were from a third party and not an insider leak like he usually gets.

His eyes flicked away, unable to keep the attempted hard stare any longer.

“……so!? My guy is REALLY reliable, he wouldn’t screw me over like that. He knows how important my partnership with Trevor is.”

Michael scoffed, the cigarette lit between his fingers now sitting between his lips “Partnership? You think you have a partnership with that psychopath-- what you have is the worst case of Stockholm Syndrome I’ve ever seen.”

Ron gave a sharp exhale through his nose “Course I do! Me and Trev are gonna make it for the long haul. Just because…. you and him were thick as thieves, doesn’t mean you still are! Even after that big heist! You’re just some… washed up jock. He’s gonna be raising up TPI until it’s end!”

The smokers  gaze fixed out of the broken down, dirty window, taking a deep drag of his cigarette so that pleasant burn could tickle the edges of his lungs. There was a prolonged silence before his gaze silently fell back on Ron, who was unsure of the expression on his face. It was like trying to read the eyes of a cobra.

“….I bet I could prove it to you.”

“…prove…what?”

Without even bothering to explain himself Michael walked up to Ron in firm strides, stomping on the rickety trailer floor in shoes far too expensive to have in a dingy place like this. Ron took cautious steps back closer to Trevors room and the bathroom.

“Why don’t you do me a favor buddy, take a LOAD OFF.” With a single shove Rons thin body thrown into the bathroom like a ragdoll against the toilet, His hat flying onto the disgusting floor “—HEY!!”

Before the jockey could really gather himself together enough to stand upright Michael firmly gripped the door and slammed it shut. Hard. “You don’t seem to be real good at listening, but I guess working with Trev it’s not really a surprise. I don’t think he has a uh… vetting process.” There was a deep drag of his cigarette, the distinct smell of Redwoods sneaking in through the many cracks of the door. It was then Ron heard the hard thump  of a fist slamming against the metal latch of the sliding door.

And the distinct noise of the latch going down.

Ron stood up in a flash, making a bee line for the door. When his fingers hooked inside the crevice to pull it open—it stuck. No more how much flimsy strength he gave to pull on the door, it was glued shut. The mechanism inside had worked for the first time in years and now it was frozen that way, the hinge inside stuck in the lock position.

“LET ME OUT!!! TREVORRR!!!!!”

The distinct sound of Michael lightly tapping the door with his shoe stopped his hollering “Cmoooon Ron! Don’t be like that. Don’t you wanna know?”

“Know what!?”

“How much you mean to your treasured partner. Aren’t you just the least bit curious?”

Ron scoffed, kicking the door with his scuffed sandals “NO! I’m NOT! Trev and I go WAY BACK. I worked with him AFTER you, you don’t even know him anymore!”

There was a pause, another hard inhale of smoke, and an exhale. Followed by a dry laugh.

What about this was funny?

“…you want Trevor to set me straight, right? Show that I’m not.. readin the situation right?” clearly a jab at Rons earlier comments of Michael not reading the blueprints correctly.

“I won’t test Trevor. I know me and him are gonna be working on TPI together until it’s an EMPIRE!”

“Mh. Of course not. What kind of good lackey would? How about….If Trevor agrees with that sentiment, ill just… buzz off. Sit my happy ass right back down on my pool chair back in Santos where i belong. How’s that?”

That got Ron to stop his fussing.

He stood frozen, fixated on the door where he was certain that Michael stood on the other side. If Trevor truly committed to staying with his beloved enterprise and continuing to work alongside Ron for years, would Michael really just leave?

No more Trevor longing for him to come back?

No glint in his eyes when he showed his face on his doorstep?

No competition for first place?

While the notion of testing Trevor's loyalty felt like a betrayal of everything Ron held dear, it was no longer beyond consideration. He couldn't deny the way Trevor's expression shifted when Michael returned to Santos after his visits. Sometimes it really was as if he was counting down the moments until Michael would come back.

Lost in his contemplations, the distinct sound of Michael's footsteps echoing into Trevor's room broke his reverie. "I'll interpret that as a yes," Michael muttered under his breath.

Pushing his slender body against the shower wall he pressed his ear to it. Even from the inside of the bathroom he could hear Trevors noises of rummaging around coming to a halt as he stomped his way back into the trailer. The door slammed wide open, shivering as it knocked against the wall at his entrance “LOOK, these prints are-“

Silence.

“…Ron? Where the fuck did you go?”

Before he could even open his mouth Michael interrupted with a swift “He took off. Who knows what a guy like that is up too.”

Rons lips pressed back shut.

Trevor’s tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, the unmistakable sound of the fridge seal breaking filled the air. Having his boss so close by sent Ron’s anticipation surging, and a wave of nerves sent shivers down his spine. The irrational fear of being discovered by Trevor while concealed in the bathroom gnawed at him. It was well past the point where he should reveal his hiding place, but confessing now might come with consequences.

With Trevor, you never knew what kind of punishment awaited you—it was like a coin toss.

He was trapped.

“Out of the good beer. Which means no low calorie stuff for my princess guest. Sorry sugar.” The door slammed shut, various empty bottles inside rattling.

“Oh fuck off.” Michael chuckled, Rons face now pushing against the bathroom door. He listened to the noise of Trevor lips unsuctioning, signaling a big gulp of what was undoubtedly the bitter PiƁwasser they’d come to enjoy, the only other thing Trevor drinks “…..look at the blueprints Mikey. They’re good. Ron is reliable, trustworthy. Not that you’d know ANYTHING about that.”

An amused chuckle escaped Michaels lips, taking a hard exhale from his nose.

Ron’s anticipation was unbearable. He couldn’t stand being in the dark about what was happening outside. Merely listening to their muffled noises didn’t suffice, he had to see what they were doing. Adjusting his glasses on his nose, he gingerly nudged the stuck sliding door open, creating the narrowest of crooked gaps between the door and the frame. It offered him a brief peek into the room, revealing the two men leaning against the counter. Trevor held the blueprints in one hand and a bottle in the other.

“…..You’re really that moody over a botched mission?”

Trevors piercing eyes flicked over to his friend, sipping on his drink “…it was going to be something fun until you decided to be a prick about it. Which, isn’t anything new, but if I knew you were gonna be pissy I wouldn’t have signed you up for it.”

Michaels eyes shifted subtly to the bathroom door, Rons heart quickening its pace as their gaze connected. There was a pause, before Michaels beady gaze slowly turned back to Trevor.

The look on his face was hard to place.

But it was undeniably malicious.

“……Me pissy? No, I think youre pissy.”

Trevors eyes flicked over to the others “…..the hell does that mean? Of course that’s what I’m pissy about. I have a RIGHT to be pissy about it.”

The ex catholic gave an amused snort, swirling the contents of his bottle before again looking at the sliver Ron was peaking through.

Why did he keep looking over here?

Rons brows knit together in confusion, the two staring at each other for a moment before Michael switched his beer to his right hand.

Leaving the left to settle back on the sink.

 Or in this case, on top of Trevors tattooed hand.

A pang was felt in Rons stomach.

“….I think you’re pissy I’ve been too busy to hang out this week. You know, Tracey is heading out to college. Mandy has me doing all kinds of shit to get her ready.”

As he spoke, Trevor gave a huff out of his nose, sipping tentatively on the bottle “….yea well, you ditchin me aint anything new, now is it “

“Aw come on T, it was just one week. It aint like that.”

Trevor let his palm be buried under Michaels, despite his attitude not moving it an inch from Michaels grip. The jockey was shocked he hadn’t gotten hit yet.

Not even a threat.

“…..how can I show I’m not gonna just ditch you? When are you gonna believe me? Especially now that we picked up some other.. habits. You think that would be enough to show it.”

Michaels smiling lips seem to curl just a little more harshly, leaning in even closer to Trevor as he spoke “…..You want some more proof?”

Trevs honeyed gaze, seeming much softer then Ron had ever seen him make before, aimed itself at Michael.

Before he could even reply with another biting comment, Michaels head leaned in radically closer. Close enough to wear their noses touched.

For a moment it hadn’t truly registered to Ron what it was they were doing.

The stark reality hit Ron as Michael’s hand moved from the counter to firmly grasp Trevor’s hip, sliding upwards to reveal the tanned skin beneath his shirt. Their passionate kiss left little room for imagination. A muted, unmistakable sound from Trevor, muffled between their locked lips, marked the intensity of the moment. Michaels body pressed feverishly into his partner’s, leaving the bottle behind as both of his hands pinned Trevor’s form from either side.

Finally it ended with a soft squeak of their lips unsuctioning.

 “…It only took a week after we finished that big job for us to start getting handsy…but you’re still doubtin me. Can’t ya just trust me?”

Ron felt the pang evolved into a muscle ripping knot in his gut.

Trevor’s stare lingered on Michael before he emitted an irritated huff, shoving past his captivation to storm his way into the squalid bedroom at the rear of the trailer “Yea, well, it doesn’t seem to fuckin bother you any. Still run over here when Mandy gets borin.”

The vacuum in Rons stomach seemed to vanish in an instant, replacing with hope.

Maybe Trevor was just caught up in another of that slime balls schemes?

 Maybe he was using Michael right back?

Maybe they only messed around once or twice.

Every potential scenario made him more hopeful then the last, now walking into the shower so he could hear the continued conversation. A morbid part of him had to know.

“Oh come ooonnn T. You really got your panties in a bunch over this?”

“MY panties are the least bunched they’ve EVER fuckin been. YOU just wanna play family man, then come to my trailer and fuck around when you get bored.”

“I’m tellin you it aint like that.”

God how he wished he could get a visual of Michaels face. To see how it feels to taste rejection in the many ways he himself already had countless times. In desperation he found a particularly rotted out portion of the wall of the grotesque shower, scratching a little at it with his dirty fingernail so he could get a peak. Near effortlessly the crumbling bits of iron filtered away, leaving a narrow crack for him to peak out from.

It seemed like the crack was directly at eye level with the disheveled mess of Trevors bed, littered in cigarette butts and old beer cans. Sitting on its edge was its owner, looking irritated as he did so. Michael walked directly infront of where he was peaking, sitting down on the opposing side.

Close enough so their knees touched.

A move seemingly deliberate.

The cigarette he had been nursing found its way onto the lip of an already overstuffed ashtray on Trevors bed.

“…..you know… it’d fix all of this if you just-“

“Not happening. I aint movin to LS. I’d rather gut myself then live in that 7^th layer of hell you got goin on over there.”

“…but if you did…”

The teasing canter in Michaels voice made even the hairs on Rons neck stand on edge.

“….we could mess around a lot more then this.”

Again, the snake pressed closer, far too casually placing a hand on Trevor's thigh, sliding it upwards until it reached the fleshier innermost part. "…Aren't you tired of just the weekends?”.

Just the weekends?

A hole started to morph in the radio jockeys gut.

Sure he had hears some moaning and groaning coming from Trevors trailer, and sure they sounded masculine, but never had he considered the source.

It was just a late night fuck. Just a one night stand. A guy Trev scooped up from the dirty floors of various strip clubs for the sake of getting off. They were the equal worth of a used cum sock.

Or, they were supposed to be.

This entire time, it was Michael?

As Ron’s realization dawned on him, he observed Michael’s hand beginning Its stealthy ascent up his hairy thigh. His head tilted slightly as those thin lips once again made contact with his boss’s more voluptuous ones. It wasn’t an ordinary kiss; Trevor still held onto a trace of reluctance in the face of forgiveness, but catching a glimpse of Michael’s tongue teasingly rolling against his lower lip, he clearly couldn’t resist any longer. His maw parted, inviting that tongue inside.

This time, Trevor didn’t make even the slightest sound of discontent.

Much to Rons horror, he actually watched Trevors body slowly dip back until he finally collapsed back on the bed, letting Michaels broader form gradually lean over his own.

He shrugged off his suit jacket without once breaking their lips contact, Trevors hands diligently unbuttons his white shirt to expose the hairy chest beneathe.

Though Ron couldn’t see the details of their faces much, he could see Michaels pale hand cupping and rubbing the slowly growing bulge forming on the outside of Trevor’s shorts. The way he slid and rolled his fingers over the growing lump, it wasn’t like the fumblings or someone who didn’t know what they were doing. This was experienced.

Just further establishing the idea that this wasn’t their first time.

Ron was going to be sick.

It was the mixture of fury and jealousy that ran in his veins that made vomit start to bubble in the back of his throat. His stomach clamped, cold sweat gathering on his temples.

Wasn’t Michael just supposed to prove he cared? Why go through this?

Why force him to watch?

His throat felt like it burned. Choked shut with the need to speak but unable to find his voice.

A soft groan muffled against Michaels mouth the second those adventuring fingers dipped their way into his shorts, unable to keep himself from looking away as much as it made his chest burn.

Especially not when Trevors now half mast muscle sprung out of its confines.

It was fair skinned, haloed with wirey, unkempt pubic hairs. It was nothing massive, about an average length, but its curve upward and pale look was certainly enough to make blood shoot right through his upset feelings and right to his cock.

“..mhh…. You’re not gonna pop already are ya?”

“fuck off.”

Michael let out a chuckle, wrapping his fingers around the base of his muscle—but not pumping. They instead lazily drifted back and forth, clearly teasing him. Trevor’s hips gave a greedy slide upward against his skilled palm, but to no avail.

“..nhhh…not comin over for a week.. and pullin this shit…”

“You’re always so fuckin impatient… like a dog. Just chasing whatever stimulates you next. There’s a skill to this, T.” His index and middle finger stroked from the tip of his now strained muscle all the way down past the whisps of pubic hair to his ballsack, driving a guttural grunt out of Trevor “what the… fuck are you doin..? It’s not a play toy-“

“Move to Santos.”

A mocking laugh burst out of Trevor, shaking his head “You think a lousy handjob is gonna convince me to move? Fat Fucking chance. Santos is the closest thing to hell that exists. A soulless oil pit of—nnHH”

Michaels hand had slithered deeper into the confines of his tight shorts, the distinct lump of his fingers moving much lower. Ron watched, unable to look away, as the traveling hand went right where his ass began.

Undoubtedly pressing right between his cheeks.

“fuck… fuck… mikey-“

The low, pleading tone made Rons fingertips tingle and mouth salivate in that warm, guttural way a person does when they are about to throw up. He felt ill, nauseous, like at any second his head was going to throw up every organ inside of his body all at once.

Again, Michael got to be closer to Trevor.

Again he got to have what Ron only could dream of.

Yet he couldn’t look away. It was impossible.

Like the most blood soaked train wreck right before his very eyes.

“T… don’t make me beg.”

While he put on a facade of even considering begging Trevor to stay, going so far as to have a mocking coo in his voice, the wicked grin on Michael's face exposed the truth – he was firmly in control. There was no trace of pleading in his demeanor. Michael savored every second of their encounter, relishing the clear dominance he had.

The back of his hand pushed down the shorts more and more, knocking them far back enough on his thighs so they tumbled down to his ankles. The paler skin of his upper thighs now out in the open. Trevor walked around in his underwear enough to have clear tan lines starting right below his hips, the paler skin beneath looking all the more delicate in comparison.

It was the most naked he had ever seen Trevor. All of his most private areas completely exposed, fully occupied by Michaels teasing hand fiddling with it like it was a toy he had played with a million times. Each tender gliding of his fingertips pulled a breathey sigh out of Trevors lips, legs spreading apart to reveal more of the intimate area in a desperate attempt for more friction “…mmnhh… mikey….for fucks sake…”

His once stern, angry tone had now melted into a shakey one, sounding much softer then before.

“Come on T…. Dontchya miss this?”

Trevor grabbed the sheets, giving an impatient noise in response. His head turned to the side, cheek burying into the mattress, eyes sliding shut to enjoy the teasing ministrations despite how desperate they were making him.

“…where’s the lube?”

“…don’t…ask stupid…fuckin questions.”

Michael's gaze darted straight toward the bathroom the moment Trevor spoke, as though he could sense the impact those words would have on Ron, even without seeing it.

And indeed, they had a profound effect.

How many secret trysts had they shared while Trevor resided in the trailer? It had been less than a year since their reunion, but their history was becoming glaringly obvious. A fact Michael seemed keen on driving home.

Michaels free hand shot beneath Trevors pillow to pull out a sticky mini bottle of lubricant,  obviously well used with just a very small handful left to supply. Flicking the lid open with his thumb Michael sat up on his knees, dumping a plentiful bit of lubricant on his fingers and palm, some even dripping down to entangle in Trevors happy trail “I know this isn’t enough for you.. you’re too greedy to be satisfied by this.”

The addicts cock pulsed the second those fingers teased around his pinkened hole for a second time, a sharp inhale of air punctuated the sound of his legs limply falling open. Every part of Trevor was all but pleading for more attention. Because of how his body was positioned, head against the wall, ass facing the wall directly, every inch of his heated skin was fully exposed to Rons eyes.

While the radio station hosts lips parted in disbelief as Michaels pointer and middle finger began to press themselves into his warm hole, even from the bathroom he can see the way Trevors hips give a surprised jolt at their entry, the lubrication making them cold to the touch. The brunettes head dips back, a soft groan coming from him the finger sink inside all the way to the knuckle.

Just from the way his ringed muscle clamped and cock flinched told Ron he knew exactly where to strike inside the warm heat to make that low groan evolve into a higher pitched whimper.

Much to Michaels amusement, of course.

That little smirk now evolved into a horrible grin, like he heard a joke only he’s in on, fingers hooking upward to rub a spot thoroughly enough to grant another choked gasp, Trevors hands shooting up to grab at Michaels arms in a desperate bid for more attention.

Ron finally couldn’t take it anymore.

Stepping away from the peephole, eyes nearly watering from how wide they had been shot open.

Unblinking.

Watching it all unfold.

The body he fixated on daily, the one he relentlessly pursued, was now at the mercy of the one vile figure he least wanted near it. Every instinct compelled him to pound on that door, to kick it in, to confront Trevor, and lay bare Michael’s sick plan for a meticulously crafted private spectacle.

Yet, his skin and muscles felt like they were peeling off, his body teetered on the edge of retching, torn between suppressing his repulsion, violently emptying his stomach, and succumbing to gut-wrenching sobs until his eyes threatened to burst from their sockets. The disgust oozing from every pore didn’t ease the sickness; it only deepened the gritty sense of revulsion.

And all of it topped with the hardest erection he’d ever had in his life.

Ron didn’t want to believe what he was seeing. He couldn’t.

Right as his body finally granted him the mercy of enough strength to finally start letting out the sobs threatening his throat, he heard a particularly hard moan choke out from the room next door.

As much as both of his legs felt like lumps of led, curiosity was far stronger then any kind of diseased jealousy that was taking over every sense he had. Carefully, quietly, he walked over toward the hole again to take another look at the horror scene unfolding.

Out of all the choices he’d made that day, that was the one he wished he hadn’t done.

By the time he peaked back in on the two Trevor was laying flat on his back with Michaels hands gliding up his ribcage and stomach to pull the tanktop over his head, discarding it onto the dirty trailer floor. His legs had been pulled around Michael’s wider frame, ankles crossed behind his back. Their lips were caught up again in a heated tangle, a fervor of tongues and teeth that had Trevor nearly clawing at the skin of his upper arms.

But the real cherry on top. The real factor that sent sick leaping into the back of Rons throat, was the sight of Michael pulling out his own cock to press against Trevors.

While his boss was a pleasant average size, uncut, Michaels was not like that at all. He was a bit passed Trevor in terms of length, enough to be noticeable, but in girth is where Ron himself really could see the difference. With their cock pressed together the ex Jock looked more coke can then Trevors more traditional shape. It was thick enough to hide most of the veins, save for the broad one on the bottom.

Michaels palm encompassed half of both erections, pumping them in unison to get them both straining against the other in anticipation. The addicts head lifted off the bed, breathey groans and huffs leaving his lips, watching the languid strokes in an almost hypnotized desperation.

Ron had walked in on Trevor masturbating before, groaning and mewling over the dirty unworking toilet with the door wide open. It wasn’t unusual frankly.

If solo he makes noises like that, he always imagined with a partner, Trevor must have been a mess. How many fantasies had he had where Trevor was gasping and clawing at his back while he “ravaged” him? They were nearly uncountable.

As he reached a hairy palm down rub against his own unfortunate erection, it dawned on him just how they compared.

Ron was smaller. Narrower.

He didn’t hold a candle to that.

Nothing that would make Trevor have the dazed look he was sporting now at least.

After only a few pumps the sticky residue of precum started to leak onto Michaels palm, the way Trevors tattooed hands gripped the grimey sheets below making it obvious who had spent it.

“Christ, T… you got the lowest stamina on a man I’ve ever seen. Can’t even take a lousy hand job?”

He retracted his fingers, not wanting his partner to pop so soon, only to hear a frustrated groan as Trevors head fell back in defeat, one of his legs driving his heel mattress “ARRGGHHHGCOMEONMIKEY-“ The hasty slurred demand just made the other man stare down at him, amused, giving the base of his cock a light flick “Can it. Every time you cum before I put it in you start gettin whiney. Then you complain about it later. You gonna complain?”

Trevor, horny and impatient as he was, shook his head. Anyone can see he wasn’t really listening to Michaels warning, but his scope of reference was only the next five minutes and he knew he was too horny to bother thinking about a second past that. Wrapping his pale digits back around the base of Trevors muscle the ex catholic started his slow pumping, free hand lining his own cock up with the twitching, heavily lubed entrance winking back at Ron in the next room.

Were they really gonna have sex? Had Michael completely forgotten he was even there? He wanted to look away. He wanted it more then anything.

If Ron could, he’d physically grab his own face and force it to look away from the nightmare. Rip off his glasses and shatter them on the floor so he couldn’t see it.

But he was hard.

The hardest he’d ever been in his entire life. It was painful. Precum had even spit up on the front of his dirty cargo shorts without a lick of friction, just from seeing the sight unfold.

His thoughts were shattered when Trevors hips leapt upward in a shakey thrust right into Michaels palm, a high pitched, needy cry coming from him as white spilled itself against the skilled palm. The orgasm dripped down Michaels still moving palm, seemingly giving a few more strokes for good measure before finally coming to a stop. A few pants of air, pale chest rising and falling, even his nipples pointing upright as wave after wave of orgasm shatters him.

That’s when the tip of Michael’s muscle started its pushing in.

Trevor had 0 time to recover.

His head shot back, spindly fingers now digging into the mattress, scratchy broken hiccups coming from him the moment the very tip managed to pop inside the ring of muscle already twitching around him. As much as the sight nearly made vomit in the back of Rons throat finally kick to the surface, it was sidetracked by what he saw next.

Once his cock had pushed in enough to no longer need guiding, both hands rested on his lovers hairy thighs, Trevors back arched just slightly in an attempt to keep himself grounded as the hunk of meat pressed further and further into the tight heat that seemed to be baring down on every inch.

Michael gave a shakey exhale, tongue rolling over his top lip so he could taste the fresh salt of sweat building there, clearly indulging in the opening swallowing him up until it had all but vanished inside. The two men were frozen for a moment, Trevor trying to deal with the intense intrusion right after cumming, And Michael enjoying a warmth Ron could only dream of.

“F…ffffuuCckk…youu.. asshoLE. GivE…..givemea…SECONd…--”

“No. I said no complainin.”

With that he gripped down on the addicts hips with an intense squeeze, tight enough so small bundles of flesh popped between his thick fingers, before he started bouncing his hips up against him.

It was then wet, loud smacks echoed throughout the grimey bathroom and right into Rons unwilling ears.

Trevors head turned to the side, unknowingly facing Ron, hands reaching behind him to pull at the dirty sheets. Loud, throaty moans tripped out from his parted lips, every few thrusts shooting up an octave like Michael had just struck a particularly nice spot inside him.

He had never seen Trevor's face so uncharacteristically tender. Rather than contorted in anger, frustration, or loathing, it wore an unexpectedly gentle countenance. His mouth was slightly ajar, brows raised, and his eyes squinted with an unusual softness. The color growing over his face was rapidly spreading to the tips of his ears, every soft push inside driving out another groan from deep in his chest.

Ron hardly had time to enjoy the expression.

After just a few well aimed thrusts Michaels crude mug blocked the pleasant view, smashing his lips hungrily into Trevor’s in a fever a tongues and soft smacks.

Nothing was allowed to go untouched.

No area spared for Ron left to look later and enjoy.

Everything he pined after was desecrated.

Poisoned with him.

It was undeniable that Michael knew exactly how to move and in what ways.

When he pulled back Trevors thighs twitched, when Michael unsuctioned himself from their kiss the others lips trailed down his neck without missing a beat, earning a pleased grunt from Michael in response.

It's like they were a well oiled machine.

After a few moments the Irishman pulled his cock out of the very much still twitching opening, Trevors own muscle pulsating up and down impatiently at the empty feeling “for fuck SAKE Mikey…” The complaint was more breathey then mad, sounding on the cusp of whining.

“Oh I know… hungry for it aren’t ya? I bet baby.”

“fuck…you.”

Grabbing the base of his muscle Michael tapped the tip on the outside of his rim, watching the entrance squeezing up on nothing in an impatient bid for more attention. Trevor's inked palms balled into fists so fierce that his knuckles blanched, a stark reminder of just how desperate he was for the bliss Michael was teasing at. Those icey blue eyes narrowed down at the slimmer man under him squirming, watching his chest rise and fall much quicker then before “You’re being a grade A prick-“

Michael leaned back toward the closest ashtray he had rested his cigarette in before, placing the butt between his lips taking in a pleasing inhale, crisp to the insides of his lungs. It’s gentle burn shot a warm feeling through the back of the neck all the way to the tips of his fingers, the shot of nicotine re-invigorating him “Oh I’m weepin for ya, T….I really am…”

“….but you know what I’m gettin at..”

Ron had never before seen Michael’s eyes gleam with such a wicked, devious glint as they did in that very moment.

Usually when the ex jock was here he was quiet, and when he did speak it was some kind of whining.

The one time Ron directly approached him to antagonize him, he’d given a vague threat under a hiss and mumble that Ron had better watch out or he'd see his glory days up close. At the time he thought it was the empty grumblings of a washed up has been.

But as he stood now, he was practically glowing.

Anyone could see Michael was absolutely amped up from watching the most dangerous man on this side of the coast melt into a needy puddle under him.

“…Leave Sandy Shores…”

With another deep drag on his cigarette, he withdrew it from between his lips, releasing a hazy plume of smoke that cascaded down onto Trevor’s trembling figure. This time, instead of giving a sarcastic laugh or even shaking his head, he just turned away from Michael with lips pulling into a tight line.

“….be my own personal ash tray.”

Both of Ron's grimey hands landed on the stained bathroom wall. The silence from his boss was unnerving. What was he thinking? Before Ron could even contemplate the implications, Michael plucked the cigarette from his lips, pinching it between his fingers before branding the lit cherry directly onto the tender skin of Trevor's chest.

Trevor's reaction was immediate. A searing cry erupted from his throat, his body convulsing as his frantic hands clutched at the blankets. The acrid scent of burnt tobacco filled the air, and his boss's head turned with gritted teeth, baring the harsh stinging sensation echoing on the scorched skin of his chest.

A part of Ron wanted to break down the door, kick and make a fuss so Michael couldn’t put so much as another finger on Trevor.

But that wasn’t needed, because this was the Trevor Philips. No one was going to hurt him without repercussion. He’d seen him almost twist a man’s head right off his shoulders over scuffing a pair of boots he didn’t give a damn about.

 There was no way he’d just let this go.

Right?

His thoughts were interrupted by another strangled cry ripping out of Trevors throat, smoke trails raising from the damage of another harsh burn decorating his flesh.

“You always get so noisy when I start markin you up… what a fuckin masochist. One a these days I should make somethin permanent. Make sure everybody knows who a deranged psychopath like yourself reports too.”

Right as he spoke the cock that had been teasing his pink hole started pressing itself slowly back through.

Trevors expressions flickered from wincing in pain from the burned skin, to smoothing over as the pleasure of his long awaited muscle finally entering back inside him at a lazy pace that was as agonizing as it was satisfying.

Ron watched in real time a bead of precum leak out onto Trevor stomach despite the torture.

Torture he would have been gutted alive for even thinking about.

Despite the soul crushing pain that made his chest feel like it would explode from the inside out, the erection he was sporting was almost just as agonizing. Without much consideration for his aching heart Rons dirty hand reached down to grope at his own straining muscle, starting to unzip his pants.

It wasn’t even an action he thought out. His hand just moved.

A primal desire beating out the much more painful human one.

Michael waited until he was completely sunken in to the hilt, the bulge of his tummy resting over the much narrower body under his own. Michael might not have matched Trevor in sheer strength, but he wielded his body weight with finesse. The brunettes enthusiastic response to the pressure of the larger frame pressing against him left no doubt about how thoroughly he relished the sensation, his brown eyes flicking from the stomach bearing down on him to the face of the man balls deep inside, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“fuck..fuuuckcmon MikeyyyyyYYYYMOVE-“

“You ain’t the one giving orders here, T. I am.”

In a growl of defeat he flopped his body back on the mattress, taking in deep breathes “ah…ah… I’ll… I’ll fuckin… visit. I’ll stay for..a few months and-“

“You arent listenin real good. Maybe you really are better suited as an ashtray.”

This time the cigarette stabbed directly over Trevors heart, another strained cry coming from him as the skin sizzled. His hand balled in a fist to slam on his bed, sucking in a gulp of air, trying desperately to take the burning pain while it was subsiding.

Rons lusting gaze watched both hands slide up Trevor legs to settle beneath his knees, pressing both down onto Trevors chest to keep them pinned. His heavier body hovered over, eyes narrowing just a bit before his hips pulled back to give a nice slam against the hips below.

Ron had seen enough porn to know exactly the consequences of such a vulnerable position.

He himself had never even had a chance to try it.

Michaels cock was stabbing directly into Trevor’s prostate without even the hassle of having to aim. It wasn’t just a nudge either, knowing the sweet spot is only about an inch inside it was all of Michaels unrelenting girth pushing down on it combined with the benefit of gravity putting all his weight on the delicate area as well.

All it took was a glance at Trevors face to see the devastating effects.

His head was tilted back, mouth gasping, folded legs limp against the broad palms holding them in place.

Rons sweaty hand was trying to pump his shorter muscle in accordance with Michaels movements, as if it was him, but the emotional toll of it left him in a state of being quasi flaccid. Like jerking a half cooked noodle.

The fight between satisfying his animalistic urges and crying in a ball on the floor were neck and neck.

In an agonizing tempo Michael started up moving his hips again, a soft sigh of pleasure leaving his lips as the eager hole wrapped tight around his girth, twitching at every deep stroke in his depths. Trevors free palm flew up to the ex catholics shoulders, digging into the tender skin there as the once low grunt and moans were now at the highest octave his vocal chords could pull without cracking.

“Christ, T…you’re squeezing down on me like a vice. I can hardly even pull out.”

A remark clearly intended for their unseen audience.

The once slow grind amped itself up in an ever increasing tempo, Rons eyes glued to the source of their connection with a gut wrenching, hypnotized stare.

The hand massaging his own cock was only getting more frantic, precum slathering all over his own palm the perfect lubricant for his desperate jerking. Pressing closer to Trevor, their lips again collided in a sloppy yet fervent kiss, teeth clashing and tongues exploring each other with an urgent hunger. Trevor’s intensity made it seem as if he were attempting to consume Michael rather than kiss him, but the quickening pace indicated that both were too consumed by their passion to care.

As Michael pulled back to catch his breath, he deliberately left his lips slightly parted, a glistening thread of saliva connecting their mouths, ensuring a good amount of his spit was going directly into Trevor’s still gaped maw.

This is what Ron fantasized of.

Having Trevor melt in his arms in a heated entanglement of grunts and sweat that made everything else around them vanish.

Nothing mattered to the two men at this moment.

Not their bad blood, not bad history, not even Michaels wife he promised so many times to be loyal too.

Even Ron could tell right now, all that existed were the sins happening on this bed.

Ron almost felt his heart crack in half when Trevors voice breathlessly speak

“Ohh fuhhhhhck...thats…Mi…chael… nnhhhffUCKMICHAEL…! ILL…I’ll move—I’ll fu..hh…fuckinMOVE-“

A low ringing burned in Rons ears.

The hand trying feebly to jerk himself came to a defeated stop.

As soon as the words sputtered out the addicts body went stiff, the hand jacking himself off stopping as spurts of white leapt upward to the point it was visible. His hips twitched and shivered, trembling boots pointing forward, nails digging into the flesh of Michaels shoulder as the power of a second orgasm bulldozed over every sense Trevor had.

“You got the stamina of a fuckin virgin…. All i have to do is fuck you for a minute or two before you start wailing. What’d Mandy say- A one pump chump? That’s what they called ya? They were right…”

Michael paused his moving, raising up a hand to wipe the building sweat trickling down his forehead.

“….I aint ready to go yet. You better hold out.”

“Waihh..t…ah...wait…mike—"

The stride sped up, now those reasonably paced thrusts starting a rapid slamming that sent his mattress into repeatedly squealing. Michael was throwing a combination of his weight and gravity into every pound, leaving the already loud cries to start cracking as they reached a fevered pitch.

Trevor's eyes remained trapped in a perpetual roll, seemingly unable to recover from a state of overwhelming stimulation that had fried every neuron in his head, leaving nothing unscorched. Both hands abandoned their post to dig back into the dirty, sweat stained sheets.

A subdued growl escaped Michael’s lips, his cheeks flushed with the strain, and his skin glistening with perspiration, reflecting the effort he was putting in to making Trevor cry the way he was.

“Swear..T ..swear on your mother you’ll move to..Santos.”

Trevor's speech was reduced to an unintelligible, slurred mush, punctuated by desperate, ineffectual sobs that seemed to claw their way out. His over stimulation was etched on his face, with contorted features and eyes welled up in a silent plea, tears threatening to cascade from the corners of his eyes. Rons hawk-like watching easily caught sight of them.

“MIKeY…. Miii..mmmnnhhhhAaa…waitWAITfuckfuckFfuCckk…!”

The most feared man in Los Santos was being utterly ripped apart by Michael pinning him down and fucking into him like an animal in heat.

Ron’s forehead pressed against the scum ridden shower wall, his stinging eyes determined to stay open despite the tears beginning to well in them.

He couldn’t stop watching.

Even if it was the most painful thing he’d ever seen, he couldn’t look away.

For some additional motivation Michael's teeth sank into the addict's throat like a ruthless predator, punctuating the scene with a gruesome display of dominance, saliva welling up around the edges as the victim's struggle intensified.

“I SWEAR…OOHhhhffFfFnnRRRHH….isweARISWEAR..! ILL FUCKIN MOVE …!!”

Michael unsuctioned himself from the neck he’d been marking, purple welt left behind, a bit of saliva trickling down his lip.

“Ya…? That…that right?”

He huffed and puffed as he spoke, his out of shape stature finally starting to catch up “what…about TPI? What about Ron?”

The radio jockeys whole body felt like a lightening bolt had struck it.

Another shattered sob tore through his already abused vocal cords, his hands clawing frantically at the rapidly reddening flesh of Michael's back, desperate for respite amidst the overwhelming euphoria that had pushed every dopamine receptor into overdrive.

“AH..AH… oohhhHHfuCK…—AHH! Fuck…TPI.”

Rons entire body froze, heart launched directly into his throat.

The beds slamming into the wall now hit a crescendo.

 “fuCk….FUCK RON…!”

Michael's eyes shifted towards the bathroom, a sly, almost feral grin tugging at the corners of his lips, hinting at the malicious joy of victory hiding just beneath the surface.

The jockeys now aching cock was left to quietly twitch as his forced open eyes stared forward, tears freely falling down scarlet cheeks. He had to hold back the urge to sob, despite it threatening to spill out of his throat.

Ron knew how seriously Trevor took things like oaths or promises. That wasn’t something he was just going to walk back on.

Just like that, Trevor had abandoned everything.

Everything he’d built, everything they had done together.

Gone.

After those compliments today he felt like he’d really got somewhere with him. Maybe they could have even started a connection.

His greasy palm reached to his own cock again, giving a half hearted jerk as a small hiccup slipped.

Luckily, his boss was far too gone to notice.

Not even the aid of his hand was necessary at this point, Michael having pushed him clear passed the point of regular body sensitivity. Each orgasm made his already non existent stamina vanish, his skin feeling like one big nerve ending his partner seemed keen to now leave marks on, if not with cigarettes then his own mouth. Precum looked almost like it was being forced out of his now exhausted cock, lazily spitting up on his still crunched abdomen.

The bed slammed into the wall with a resounding thud, its impact punctuating the rhythm of their fervent fucking. Trevor’s spindly fingers, like claws on a scratching post, raked his lover’s skin, leaving firey trails in their wake. His head fell backward, releasing a stream of long, intoxicated groans that echoed in the room.

“I’m cuhHmm…I’m cuhhMMING…! IM CUMMINg— ilovEYou…micHAEL…!”

Rons lips parted just slightly, the hand on his own muscle coming to a dead stop.

Everything around him suddenly felt suffocating.

“NhhHHH…fuhhhcK…i… luhhvYou…ILOVEYOUILOVEYOU—"

It was impossible to hear Michaels reply, but from what he could make out it seemed like almost cooing  “I know ya do, baby…I know..”

With a strangled near scream Trevors entire body went stiff, mouth gaping as a mixture of white and clear cum spat up on his abdomen, testicles bunching up in a pathetic bid to dump whatever reserves it had left out.

Michael had finally reached his breaking point, letting out a deep groan before slamming inside as deep as he could, filling Trevor up to his brim with all the cum he’d been building up.

Ron could tell by the way his thighs gave a fluttering tremble and deep groan paired with it that Michael had spent out all his supply into the man under him.

As the two were caught up in the throws of orgasm the distinct scent of sweat and sex had now permeated into the once safe room Ron was hiding in, the poison filling the room to its brim. The ex catholic finally let his heavier body fall onto Trevors, both of them now turned to the side in a flurry of huffs and pants, something that only seemed to exaggerate as Michael slowly pulled himself out of Trevors fully used hole.

Droplets of cum oozed from the now slack entrance, white blotches pronounced against the deep color of the sheets.

“You…you happy now, turd?”

Trevors voice was crackled, clearly going out after all that screaming.

A faint chuckle could be heard from Michael, whose fat back was now facing him. He pulled the wrinkled bedsheets up and over them “Happy? …I don’t know if I’d say that. Dealin with you is a pain and now you’ll be even closer.”

Trevor let out his own playful laugh, sounding like a schoolgirl infront of that monster, not even bothering to unwrap his legs from Michaels waist as they spoke.

“Making your own problems then? Nothin new there. You gonna complain about that too?”

“Yep...you better believe I will. You got any smokes left?'

Ron couldn’t stand another second of it.

His hand finally abandoned his pathetic muscle so he could cover both ears.

His forehead gradually slid down the wall until he landed on the grimey shower floor, a few curt hiccups leaving, tears absolutely drowning all of his features. Everything he had spent years on was now gone.

If there is a hell, there’s no way its any lower then this.