Trevor and Mitchell Fiction: Outside Lyrical Pleasures

The first thing Trevor saw when he and Mitchell walked into the shop was Melody, of course. She had that stupid chair of hers positioned perfectly, so that when you walked into Lyrical Pleasures, the first thing you saw wasn’t Lyric. It was Mama Melody, holding court on that stupid velvet lounge chair.

Mitchell, of course, bent over and gave her a kiss.

“Trevor,” Melody purred, raising an eyebrow, clearly waiting for him to follow the big idiot and pay proper homage.

Trevor bent down and, instead of kissing her, touched the spot beside her eye as gently as he could. “You should tell Lyric to start carrying skin shit. Your wrinkles are showing.”

Mitchell grabbed his upper arm and dragged him out into the street as Melody gasped in outrage, but Trevor didn’t care. He couldn’t stand Melody. Didn’t much like Lyric, but at least she didn’t expect groveling from him because he’d decided to spend money in her store.

“The fuck!” Mitchell was too pissed to bother growling. It just came out as a roar, and an ugly one at that. It didn’t help that they’d just been at Harry’s Hoagies and the guy had the breath of the dragon he was fast turning into.

Trevor shrugged and turned his back on Mitchell, bracing his hands against the storefront’s outside wall. Mitchell would beat him into a pulp for what he’d said and frankly, he deserved it. Right here, in full view of everyone.

“You just fucking wait here, all right?” Mitchell said. “And next time, if you don’t want to come with, just fucking say so.”

Trevor took a deep breath. Mitchell wasn’t going to hit him? Why the fuck not?

He glanced around. Nope, no cops in sight. So what was Mitchell’s problem? Maybe he needed to be pushed farther. “Not my fault you give all your rubbers away so you’re out when you actually need one.”

“That’s not what I’m doing here, dickhead. Now don’t fucking move.”

Trevor turned his head. “You mean you want me to stand here like this?” He jerked his head at the building, his hands still planted on its side. He looked like he was waiting to be frisked by that cop. The one not around.

Mitchell narrowed his eyes. “No. On second thought, go close that dumpster and sit on it.”

That, Trevor was all too happy to do.

Maybe he’d come back in a day or two and beg Melody’s forgiveness. She didn’t look that old. Hell, she didn’t even look washed up. In fact, she looked pretty damn good for a woman who had a set of adult twins. She wasn’t just any woman with twins, either; she was still the reigning porn queen, even if she’d retired after she’d had daughter number three. No one had shocked people the way Melody had. No one had made the point about sex being good any better than Melody Maker. Oh, there were new stars, of course, nubile young things who explained the meaning of words like nubile with just one glance. But no one had made other women actually like having sex. Not the way Melody had.

Maybe, Trevor thought as he closed the dumpster and jumped up, letting his legs swing over the metal lip, she did deserve some respect.

But he still wasn’t bending over her like she was some queen. Or if he did, it’d be because they were both naked and willing.

This week’s Sunday Scribblings prompt was aging. I was going to focus on Melody originally, but when I sat down to write, Trevor seized control. Go figure.

If you need a timeline placement for this, it happens before Mitchell meets Kerri (that’s the Trevor’s Song era), but after they’ve established themselves pretty well. Probably right before the Massive album; that’s the album that established them as bona-fide stars.