Page 44 of Trevor Takes Care


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G.G. was probably friends with Lincoln Lee, the bakery owner. They were close in age and Lincoln flew those little Pride flags in his bakery to attract all the queers in the area, Trevor was pretty sure. It was why Trevor had gone there in the first place, a quick visit before everything, when he’d been on his way to a family gathering at his grandma’s house.

He didn’t think his grandmother believed him, but Trevordidneed more friends, friends outside of the gaming group for one, since, if G.G. was right, those were probably already lost to Trevor. And hewouldhave been friends with G.G., and whatever else G.G. would have allowed.

“I know things are different for you boys,” his grandma began hesitantly, and despite his mood, Trevor nearly turned around to drop a kiss on the top of her head for the phrase ‘you boys.’ “But a box of pastries is not howIwould say no to a date.”

“But he didn’t….” Trevor ended his argument before it could really begin. “He already said no,” he corrected himself.

Which would make this an apology gift. Which was so unnecessary, Trevor didn’t even know how to express it.

He flipped the lid to open the box and then stared at pastries that were not the muffins and croissants he’d been expecting. “These are some of Lincoln’s fancier creations,” he remarked, stunned. “I think you have to special order these. They’re rarely in the display case.” Hadn’t been even before the pandemic that had made every business cut back. “Unless Lincoln made them for some other reason. Maybe a canceled event or something.”

The box contained eleven pastries, with one missing from the dozen that his grandmother must have already sampled. Originally, it must have been four each of lavender-lemon bars, small cakes that smelled of oranges and rosemary and something boozy, and honey-apple tartlets.

The honey made Trevor think that those had to be G.G.’s favorites of Lincoln’s rarer treats. They’d cost a pretty penny; for something like that, Lincoln would use finer ingredients. But G.G. had money and apparently no one but a cat to spend it on. He didn’t even indulge himself much. His books were mostly paperback, not hardback.

Trevor’s grandmother was talking. Trevor turned to her and tried to catch up with what he’d missed.

“I showed him one of your cans of tea,” she said. “He seemed taken aback. I see why, now.”

Trevor closed the box and shook his head before walking out of the room.

“Trevor?” his grandma called after him.

Trevor stopped but didn’t turn around. “I’m trying to take myself more seriously. I’m trying to be the sort of person to appreciate lavender-lemon and rosemary-whatever. But I’m a cheap can of tea sort of guy.”

“Oh, Trevor,” she answered. She was audibly upset by Trevor’s pity party, so he turned to smile at her.

“I’ll eat some later. I’ve got work to do. Thank G.G. for me if he comes by again.”

With G.G.’s tastes on his mind, Trevor did a loose doodle of an orc up to its elbows in pastry dough, then put it in a tiny, frilly apron that contrasted beautifully with its muscles, thick belly, and furred chest. He also, because he could, did the same orc bent over a table laden with bags of flour, distracting himself with orc hole like an immature artist with nothing better to do. He did not draw the orc getting fucked. The orc could fucking beg for it until he cried, but he didn’t deserve the cock he wanted.

Even a monster should know how to R.S.V.P. no.

Trevor added some shading to indicate red marks across the orc’s ass and back from the punishment it had more than earned, then blew out a breath and shoved the sketchbook aside.

He watched a video class on storytelling, forcing himself to pay attention, and then thought,Fuck it, and went to the kitchen for a can of tea because he liked them.

The bakery box was still on the table.

Trevor cracked open a can and considered the elegance of that box and the pastries within it.

G.G. had thought that suited Trevor. Though he’d also imagined Trevor with a pot of tea.

Trevor, when not drinking it from cans, did make tea. Usually herbal teas without caffeine that came in sweeter, fruity flavors. But he made them for Sky. Sky only sipped them, but sometimes liked to have something warm to hold post-scene.

G.G. had thought these treats might please Trevor. No can of sweetened tea or three-dollar box of teabags would do these pastries justice. They would be best with real coffee or tea, strong and bitter—except for possibly a dollop of honey.

Or a bite of one of those tartlets.

Trevor almost reached for one, but took a small cake instead.

It was delicious, not overly sweet, but warming. He finished it, had some water, and then gave in and took one of the apple tartlets.

He had to lick honey off his fingers when he was done, which was in seconds, because it had been amazing.

“Good?” his grandmother asked from the couch as Trevor walked in to see her. “But they feel almost like wedding food. Not for every day, I mean.”

Wedding food. Meant to impress. Maybe the kind of thing G.G. would have made himself if he could have right now, or wanted to make but decided not to because he didn’t think it would be good enough. So instead, he went to an expert professional like Lincoln Lee and spent way too much after already offering to make Trevor a desk.