Page 62 of Trevor Takes Care

Trevor scoffed at G.G.’s absent family. “It’s pretty clear from your house, and office, and this place, that you’re someone who knows what he’s doing. And what I’ve seen of your taste is… holy shit. Classic, but not boring. It’s no wonder my tats confused you.”

G.G. turned to sweep a brief, puzzled look over Trevor. “Your tattoos didn’t confuse me. The lembas one is solid work, clearly referencing ads from the midcentury in a playful way. That one is entirely your design, right? And the other one, I don’t quite know what it is, but it’s sexually charged without being explicit. Is that your original drawing too? It has good lines.”

“God, you’re hot,” Trevor panted at him.

G.G. seemed absolutely startled.

“Do you have any?” Trevor wondered while also wondering if G.G. would like to be groped inside this shed. “Tats, I mean.”

“No, well, an old stick-and-poke some friends and I did as teens, but it’s a mess and faded now because I never touched it up.” G.G. drifted closer to Trevor as he answered, perhaps accurately reading Trevor’s thoughts. “On my ankle. A star. Teen silliness.”

Trevor tried not to look too horny at this, although considering how he’d reacted to G.G.’s piercings, he supposed he’d already given that game away. “I like the look of them on some people. Like art on a body. Sky has a game character on his thigh and something in Quenya—elvish—between his shoulder blades. Like a true nerd.” Trevor really had a type. He wasn’t ashamed but it was sort of sadly funny.

G.G. stared at him for a long moment, then said, “I think we need to have that talk now.”

At the reminder of things they had yet to do, Trevor exclaimed, “My lasagna!” and paused only to make sure G.G. was with him as he hurried toward the house.

Trevor checked on the lasagna, turned the oven temperature down, then went to the dining room table where he’d left his notebook and set up two chairs.

He pulled the pen from the notebook’s spiral binding after he took a seat and clicked it to get it ready while G.G. frowned and sat across from him.

Trevor opened the notebook, cleared his throat, then said formally, “I need to know your likes and dislikes, and limits, and what you’d like from me. We don’t need to discuss everything now, but we should at least get the basics before we go any further,” before he looked up.

G.G. had both eyebrows raised. His gaze went from the cheap spiral notebook to Trevor’s face.

Trevor slowly closed the notebook. “This is dorky?” he guessed-not guessed. “Definitely a turnoff?”

“Itisdorky.” G.G. smiled suddenly, the warm, private one that felt like a gold star sticker. “But thank you for it. I’ve done a lot of things. Some I regret… not for what they were, but more for the people I was with. If any of them had had a dorky notebook, I might not have regretted anything.”

“Oh.” Trevor smiled back at him, then abruptly frowned. “The goal of this isn’t to hurt you. I mean… sometimes it will be, if you’re into that, as I suspect you are.”

“Yes.” G.G. sighed it, then sat back.

Trevor took a deep breath. He nodded while he adjusted mentally to dealing with G.G. instead of Sky, which meant no squirming, just clear answers once G.G. trusted him enough to give them. “I meant,” he corrected himself seriously, “the goal is to ultimately give you what you want.”

G.G. looked nearly at ease, studying Trevor while slightly slouched in his seat, his expression intrigued but not alarmed. “Do you keep this sort of information together in books like those?”

“Mostly in my head.” Trevor gave a vague gesture that could have meant anything. “Some on my phone. Some… well, I have a notebook for Sky too. His likes, and what he needs, and things I’d like to try. Sketches, sometimes, while I’m thinking. I sketch his hands a lot.”

G.G.’s gaze was bright. “Have you sketched me?”

“No?” Trevor didn’t think that crossed a line, but he should be honest. “Well, not your face yet. But… yeah.” He arched an eyebrow. G.G. seemed anything but shocked. “Want to know what you were doing?”

G.G. leaned forward again and put his hands flat onto the table. He didn’t look tense. He looked… interested. Pinking up again but focused. “I don’t like not being able to breathe.” He swallowed. “I like a hand at my throat. I can wear a tight collar. But I do not enjoy breath-play. That’s not for me. All right?” He paused there, watching Trevor closely. “That goes in the book. I need to be able to breathe or I’ll panic.”

Trevor shut his mouth and nodded. He clicked the pen a few times to get his energy out, then opened the notebook to write that down. “I’ll organize everything later,” he informed G.G. absently, mind already working on questions and specifics to discuss in the future.

“You weren’t kidding,” G.G. remarked after watching Trevor scribble. Trevor glanced up in surprise as he realized that had been another test, a small one. G.G. bestowed another a gold star on him. “I like the idea of a notebook in your hands with my name on it.” G.G. shivered as he said it and his voice got even huskier. “Though a leather journal would be more appropriate.”

Trevor’s mouth was dry. But he nodded in calm agreement. “I see your point, but I probably couldn’t afford a really nice set, at least not this month.”

Still pink, G.G. leaned back again. “I can afford one or two.”

“Dwarf warrior,” Trevor whispered, mostly to himself. “Collecting skills and a treasure hoard but generous with those dear to him.”

G.G. wanted to help, to share, and no one let him.

Trevor would. He noted that, wrote the wordgiving, then also wrote the wordleather, which he circled, because G.G. hadn’t brought up leather for no reason. “That might be fun,” he remarked casually casual, “taking you out in public to shop for your own notebook.”

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